Letter // 03 Nov 1976
Moonyface,
Sorry that it took me so long to write back to you. I told you a few days ago, when you whinged to me that my presence wasn't enough and demanded your letter (which really wounded me, you absolute knave), that I would not have time as I scrambled to put together the most brilliant pirate costume ever. Even you cannot deny how amazing I looked as the Dread Pirate Padfoot, seeing as how I swashed your buckle following the Halloween Ball. So, despite my love of sweets, I was not rejected. HA! And speaking of the Ball, what the bloody hell were you supposed to be again? I still can't figure it out. I was sorely disappointed in the lack of tights, leather, and/or sparkly things, I must say. You should have been my damsel in distress as I asked of you. You would have been fetching in pin curls.
Marshmallows can still go gooey on your skin, you know. A simple spell is all it takes. And then I could lick all that sweet, sticky-ness off. So... are you free Saturday night?
I know why you took on that gargantuan task: you're mad, love. It's as simple as that. As for how much you enjoyed that bath, I do believe all of Scotland heard you. ("Ohhhhh, Padfoot. Yes! YES!") My hands are nice, I agree, but they are not nearly as nice as every centimetre of skin that I bathing and touching and stroking that night. You may have decided to avoid the pornography but I, my friend, have not. You shagged me absolutely senseless during the course of that bath and it is a wonder how I did not drown. Good thing I had your arse to hold onto. Kept me afloat. Wait. Don't you already love me forever? I need more incentive to do that again.
All right. I will concede that the incident in Charms bordered on harassment but that was only one instance out of many in which I am utterly sweet and not harassing in the least. I do believe you are overreacting, though. Besides, it is not my fault that you do not have the foresight to button yourself up before Flitwick passes your desk. Wait. You should have buttoned the shirt up before you even left the library. Completely and totally your fault. You see how I was able to arrive in a fashion most presentable. You could learn a thing or two from me, love.
If you would cease that infuriating resistance you put forth at night when I try to undress you, then I would not have to change my methods. I was thinking that perhaps you preferred to be naked during the daylight hours. It was just a theory I was testing. I don't think that anyone saw but they certainly got a treat if they did.
How can you not see what my fixation (nicer word than obsession in my opinion) is with nakedness? It's... well, it's NAKED. The fact that you're even asking why I like nakedness boggles my mind. Of course you're naked during sex. But what is so wrong about being naked after sex and all the other times in between? (Quit being so prudish. Must I remind you of that time in the Restricted Section? You know the one. We borrowed James' cloak. Yeah. That one.) As Chief Licker and Toucher of Moony's Skin, I have got to wholeheartedly disagree with your assertion that your skin is not soft. Your skin gives any baby's bum a run for its sickles. It is so soft that I think it's almost unnatural. But that softness is yet another reason I like you sans clothing more often. And we can spend the entire night huddled together, all skin on delicious skin. Why are you not convinced yet?
Of course you can't hate me, you tosser. How can anyone hate the one person who makes them say the things you moaned to me last night? (By the by, I had to end up seeing Pomfrey about those scratches. She thinks that I ran across a bush with a nasty temper. You've got to be more careful as I am running out of excuses, love.) And don't so much worry about understanding me. Just keep shagging me and we'll be fine. Oh, and loving me. That, too. Honestly, the way you constantly go on about how mind-boggling it is that I fancy you one would think you want me to find another to fancy. So who else would you like to see me with other than you - James? Or maybe Shacklebolt? Which transitions nicely to Quidditch, actually. It's my thighs, isn't it? All that gripping tightly onto the broomstick has really toned my thighs. It also has helped me to use said thighs to grip onto you when necessary. Don't worry about me ever quitting Quidditch.
Order is thus restored to the world! I could not fathom you being out of parchment; that would be like me running out of dungbombs. It just didn't make sense. You're right, though, about me being terribly disappointed in the instance of you're not replying to me. I would have thought that our erotic correspondence had lost its shiny luster and you grew bored of it. Do you think I am not privy to your inability to resist my full, pouting lips? I know that I need only jut out this bottom lip a fraction of a centimetre and you're all over it, sucking and nibbling. Remind me to pout at you when I see you. But think not that I only desire you for your curls of thick paper, love. There is another thick something you are in possession of that I absolutely crave.
... you didn't? Oh. Ha ha. I suppose it's too late to ask you to forget that I ever said anything? And I do work more than once a year, Remus! There have to be at least three occasions throughout the year when I take it upon myself to do proper work. I am affronted.
WHORISH?! I am NOT whorish! I am only letting one person fuck me, thank you very much. A bloke stashes a pair of black knickers beneath his bed and he is branded a whore? I shudder to think what you thought of me the moment you saw me in that leather collar. The slackened jaw and the excess drool must have been a cover for your utter disgust. And the tugging on the collar so that you could snog me was surely the only way you could think of to stop yourself from calling me a complete slag. Do not try to butter me up now by saying how fantastic I must look in them. The damage is done.
........... a thong. You want to see me in a thong?! I understand the desire to see as much of my arse as possible but why not just strip me naked? Starkers is definitely preferred to a strip of fabric uncomfortably wedged in the crack of my arse. That is just... I don't know how birds do it. And the few blokes nutters enough to... Moony, do YOU have a thong? Please tell me you don't because I could not handle the shock of you running out of paper AND wearing thongs. I would simply die. And I am not prancing about in a thong for you, don't even consider it.
NO.
Okay:
- I do not steal your socks. And you quoted Billy Shakespeare at me. How cute! Still, as tempting as it is to picture you as the sweet Juliet to my dashing Romeo, I am wearing Peter's socks today so HA. I borrowed them. He just doesn't know it yet.
- Ye gods, Muggles are twisted! Why would anyone want to keep one of those things around? Surely it must serve some useful and less painful purpose. No, I would not like a demonstration.
The real question is why haven't you watched any Muggle pornography? Scratch that... why haven't WE watched any together?! That would make for the loveliest Saturday night, I think. It is a stereotype I have never heard of. Can you imagine McGonagall....... actually, I sort of can. Let's move along. There is nothing to be embarrassed about, Remus, love. Embrace your inner pervert. And maybe feel him up, too. He'd like that. You won't actually make good on that threat! You can't keep your hands off me, you insatiable beast. Right? You won't really cut me off from sex. You can't.
Right??
... oh. Har, har. You're just so hilarious in the way you wind me up. Well, one day I might get very much irritated with this winding up and decide to call this whole affair off. I will seek out a nice boy whose only desire is to write erotic letters to me and cater to my every whim. He will have an entire collection of pornographic films and will gladly watch them with me, perhaps even making one of our own one night.
Now. How do you like it? You knew I wasn't being serious, right?
I never once blotted or dotted anything belonging to James! I did, however, cross a T once in a drunken haze. It was very confusing but Prongs was exceedingly gentle and he held me afterwards. He even served me a proper fry-up in bed the following morning, the sweet boy.
I would say you're improving, love, but do tread carefully around Prongs and myself. You and Wormtail have learnt well, as you're studying under the very masters of the art, but you're still far too green to take us on. I will perhaps have to give you private lessons to get you up to snuff. We can work on rolling things off the tongue as well. I've any number of exercises that will hone that particular reflex.
It is neither the butternut squash nor the lavender (really, it would bring out your eyes) that makes us gay. It's not the glitter I know that you're secretly very fond of or the eyeliner that I have worn on select occasions. It's not even so much the fact that we don't chase skirts all about Hogwarts, though that is a side effect. That thing that makes us most gay is the copious amounts of gay sex that we gayly have in a most gay manner. I don't know if I was complaining about your being so gay as much as just pointing it out. I thought maybe you'd forgot. But fair enough... I am very gay too.
You're right about me making myself jealous, actually. I would be terribly upset if Prongs showed the slightest interest in your bits. Because I have been shagging you to bide my time until James realised this Evans thing was just a phase. It would make me positively green with envy if you snagged Potter and I did not. We could always just give a threesome a whirl.
Don't even start with that bloody shit, Remus. We made the effort to be your mate because, shock of all shocks, we liked you. Take a moment to let that process. Of course, the fact that you did try to put us off only made James and I more determined to make you love and adore us as you now do. And Peter didn't really have much of a choice. We told his he was going to be our mate whether he liked it or not and then we told him he was going to be your mate as well. Luckily, he liked you anyway.
Moony, the what-ifs don't matter. The point is that you do have us and we're not going anywhere and shut up about it, yeah?
I know. And me too.
You only feel hysterical and stupid because you know you are telling me UNTRUTHS. I've not only seen, I've heard. Seriously, Remus, it's perfectly normal for a teenage boy to wank... especially when said teenage boy has a bloody gorgeous boyfriend who can't be around at all times. If you didn't wank as you're claiming, then I'd be honestly worried about you. Thankfully, I know the truth - even if you refuse to admit it, love.
Oh, Remus. Stop that. I hate it when you talk like that. You fucking know that I am not in this just for the sex. I can get sex anywhere, let's be honest. I actually sort of love you too, in case you hadn't realised. The sex is just a result of our being so insanely attracted to each other that we can scarcely take our hands off each other. I say WE because you're all over me when you get into your frisky moods, Moony. I can't believe you really worry that we're only together because of sex. I think I am a bit insulted.
... I. What kind of question is that?! Gods, Remus, you're an absolute nutter. When you say no, I do one of two things: wank or just sit there with you. Simple as that. I don't have to "do it" all the time, for your information. I just like to. With you. You should be flattered. I am NOT a nymphomaniac! You know what? Fuck it. I will just have to steel myself and show you exactly how wrong you are about me. I can go a while without sex. Just you watch. (For the record, though, I am not always the one that initiates things. You're being sort of unfair to me now.)
I do try to be discreet about those Wandering Hands. I usually let them fly when no-one else is looking. Or... I think no-one else is looking. I can't always be sure. Seems like we've been rather careful so far, though. I can't imagine we'd not hear it from certain people if they knew we were such utter queers for one another. (Yum? You trollop.) Oh. Yeah, I did forget. I always forget about that. You know, because you're just Moony to me. I don't think of you in terms of your lycanthropy. But, according to you, I only think of you in terms of sex. (Yes, I am pouting now.)
First off, I don't entirely hate your little gold badge. It's sort of handy to have an authority figure on your side. Remus, please stop selling yourself short unless you want me to buy it and just move on to someone who is far superior. (Never going to happen, by the by, so don't even start.) The Prefect thing is most certainly not all you've got going for you. I would list everything else but I simply don't have enough parchment. So shut up about this, too.
Might I take the opportunity to point out that YOU CAME AND FOUND ME AND PROCEEDED TO RAVAGE ME. You propositioned me in writing and then were too impatient to wait so you abandoned the letter and came to me. For sex. In a not-at-all-soundproof passageway. You're kinky and insatiable. I win. (In more ways that one, really.) Also? Bloody fuck, that was brilliant. Even with the scrapes that the wall left on my cheek.
Was found and utterly had by you,
Always in love with you too, you sappy berk,
Padfoot
p.s. - A nice set of general rules should do the trick, love. And it's borrowing. Borrowing.
p.p.s. - Can I call you that, then?
p.p.p.s. - Next time, re-dip the quill before crossing things out. I still read that. And...... I really do love you too. Now stop making me all girly.