Of Sweat, Oranges, and the Scientific Mind by madsciencechick
Title: Of Sweat, Oranges, and the Scientific Mind
Author: madsciencechick
Summary: Sirius is glazed, Peter can't get it up, James loves Lily for her glands, and Remus is doing stretches in his pajama bottoms. Only two of these things are related.
Rating: PG-13 for innuendo
Recipient: sazzlette
Notes: Thanks to my beta, who shall remain nameless to protect the (mostly) innocent, and to Victoria for forgiving my inability to recognize the existence of "time zones."
***
Of Sweat, Oranges, and the Scientific Mind
On November 28th, 1977, Sirius Black went crazy.
That was the only possible explanation for it, Remus mused, peeling his orange with the careful appreciation of fresh fruit in cold months that only too much scarcity could teach. Across the table, Sirius's mouth was gaping slightly, his eyes a little glassy, his spoon dangling, forgotten, over his half-eaten treacle tart. He appeared to be staring at the smooth wooden surface of the Gryffindor table immediately beneath Remus's hands.
Remus looked down between his fingers. As expected, there wasn't anything there.
He sighed. This was getting out of hand. It had started at a friendly Hufflepuff-Gryffindor game of pickup Quidditch. Remus had been cajoled off the stands and into playing Chaser, since Longbottom had a nasty case of Pestilent Purple Probiscitis and Peter had to take his place as Beater. They'd lost when Vivianne Gunter jumped off her broom, made a nearly impossible grab for the Snitch, fell fifteen feet, and then just barely managed to catch the tailsticks of Sirius's Nimbus 500. She'd, thankfully, been unscathed, and the play had been so daring that Remus, at least, felt fairly comfortable relinquishing the win.
Remus had landed, breathless and sweaty, to Sirius cursing angrily. " - just grabbed my broom, if you please, like I have nothing better to do than - hullo, Moony."
And that had been the first time Remus had seen the Look. Sirius's cheeks went a little pink. His lips parted. He swallowed, rapidly, several times. Overall, he started to strongly a Prongs caught in the headlights of a Muggle automobile. And he utterly lost his train of thought.
Remus had wiped a trail of sweat off his temple, laughing. "Honestly, Padfoot, only you would be angry that a member of the opposing team managed to save her own life by catching onto your broomstick."
"My broomstick?" Sirius inquired vaguely.
Remus's brow furrowed. "You all right? You look a little funny."
James had slung an arm around Sirius's shoulder. "Now, now, Remus. Padfoot always looks a little funny."
That had seemed to call Sirius back to himself. "Egotistical git," he retorted.
James had mussed up his hair. Sirius had shrieked like a girl.
Remus had seen the Look again that Wednesday, when he was in the dorm doing a series of stretches Madame Pomfrey had recommended to loosen up his muscles in the days around the transformation. He'd been bending to grab his toes, touching the floor for ten seconds, standing up and stretching for the ceiling for ten seconds, then bending over again and repeating the whole process. Sirius had entered with Peter, discussing their latest Charms assignment.
" - but I don't think that Flitwick's flourish on the final swish is strictly necessary, although it seems to - hullo, Moony."
"Hullo," Remus had replied with a grin, and then reached to tug up his sliding pajama bottoms as Sirius's face slowly took on the unmistakable beginnings of the Look.
"Seems to what?" Peter asked. "Without it, I can't seem to get it up."
"Get it up?" Sirius echoed, sounding confused.
"My stocking - er, stork. I can never seem to make it fly without the final flourish, but then I always hit someone in the face."
"Try holding your wand closer to you," Remus suggested through his knees, as he reached for his toes. "It'll help you control the motion more accurately."
"Thanks, Moony," Peter replied. "C'mon, Sirius - go downstairs and practice?"
That shook Sirius out of his reverie. "Oh, sure, downstairs. Yes. Downstairs." He looked at Remus, and swallowed. "Probably a wise idea."
It hadn't stopped there, either. When Remus first pulled his curtains back in the morning, hair sticking up every which way, Sirius got the Look. When Remus slouched in one of the oversized Common Room chairs, toed off his shoes, and loosened his tie, Sirius got the Look.
Most recently, Sirius had gotten the Look in Transfiguration. Remus couldn't figure it out. All he'd been doing was working on his exam, sucking on the tip of a sugar quill to help himself focus, and Sirius had gone so glassy-eyed that Professor McGonagall had to rap his desk with her knuckles several times to get him to turn his attention back on the exam.
An ordinary boy, Remus suspected, would have simply decided that Sirius had gone a bit funny in the runup to the N.E.W.T.s, and left it at that, but Remus was not exactly an ordinary boy. He was of an analytic mind, and it bothered him to leave any mystery unsolved. So, he began to experiment.
Sirius had once got the Look when Remus had undone the top button on his shirt, so Remus went around an entire day with the top button undone. That did not produce the Look, but carefully rolling up his sleeves in Potions did. So he went a whole day with his sleeves rolled up, but no Look. It was most perplexing.
The final straw came when Lily Evans knocked a stack of books off their table in the library. James was busy gazing soulfully up at Lily's breasts; Sirius was busy reading a copy of his latest comic - "Agnes Nutter: Nocturnal Avenger," Remus believed it was - cleverly concealed in a copy of Hogwarts, A History; and Peter was busy trying to hide behind his book and pretend he hadn't hexed Snape's boots with a permanent sticking charm, he hadn't lost them fifty points, and he didn't, in general, exist, so Remus ended up being the one to spring to his feet and help Lily gather the books and put them back on the table. He'd diverted her apologies and given her an apologetic grin for James's behavior, and then carefully placed the last volume on top of the stack, just as she walked away.
As he moved his fingers gently across the leather cover, he noticed Sirius. Who was staring at Remus's hands. And who had the Look.
Remus scowled, and snapped his fingers.
"Wha?" Sirius started.
"What is wrong with you?" Remus asked, exasperated. "Every time I look at you, you've got an expression so glazed you rival Peter's pound cake."
Peter and James exchanged a look, and then, by some unspoken agreement, quickly and silently left.
Sirius swallowed, rapidly, several times.
Remus glared at him.
"Oh, bloody hell," Sirius sighed, and buried his face in his hands. "I just can't take it, Moony. You've got no idea what it does to me."
Remus's brow furrowed. "What what does to who?"
Sirius looked up, his expression rather desperate. "You. Me. First, it was the sweat, on your neck - and then the bending over - the bedhead, and the tie-loosening, and your feet - and it's just not fair, Moony. You can't do that to a man."
"Do what to who?" Remus was getting more and more confused. He licked his lower lip uncertainly.
Sirius groaned, and then all of a sudden he was standing, leaning across the table, and his mouth was pressed against Remus's, awkward and dry-lipped. Remus blinked.
Then he opened his mouth, and showed Sirius how it was supposed to be done. He swiped his tongue across Sirius's lip; stroked his fingertips along the long, smooth stretch of Sirius's pale throat; bit, ever so gently, at the lobe of Sirius's left ear.
"Boys!" Madame Pince exclaimed, clutching at her chest in horror. "Not in front of the books!"
Remus grinned, and grabbed Sirius's hand.
"Where - where're we going?" Sirius asked, a little breathlessly.
"The Room of Requirement," Remus replied, quite matter-of-factly. "For sweat, on your neck, and you, bending over, and bedhead and tie-loosening and, most especially, your extraordinarily ticklish feet."
Sirius made a noise that sounded like, "Meep."
Remus pushed open the door. "After you, Padfoot." He grinned. "I have some experiments to run."
Sirius wore the Look pretty much permanently, after that.
***
Author: madsciencechick
Summary: Sirius is glazed, Peter can't get it up, James loves Lily for her glands, and Remus is doing stretches in his pajama bottoms. Only two of these things are related.
Rating: PG-13 for innuendo
Recipient: sazzlette
Notes: Thanks to my beta, who shall remain nameless to protect the (mostly) innocent, and to Victoria for forgiving my inability to recognize the existence of "time zones."
***
Of Sweat, Oranges, and the Scientific Mind
On November 28th, 1977, Sirius Black went crazy.
That was the only possible explanation for it, Remus mused, peeling his orange with the careful appreciation of fresh fruit in cold months that only too much scarcity could teach. Across the table, Sirius's mouth was gaping slightly, his eyes a little glassy, his spoon dangling, forgotten, over his half-eaten treacle tart. He appeared to be staring at the smooth wooden surface of the Gryffindor table immediately beneath Remus's hands.
Remus looked down between his fingers. As expected, there wasn't anything there.
He sighed. This was getting out of hand. It had started at a friendly Hufflepuff-Gryffindor game of pickup Quidditch. Remus had been cajoled off the stands and into playing Chaser, since Longbottom had a nasty case of Pestilent Purple Probiscitis and Peter had to take his place as Beater. They'd lost when Vivianne Gunter jumped off her broom, made a nearly impossible grab for the Snitch, fell fifteen feet, and then just barely managed to catch the tailsticks of Sirius's Nimbus 500. She'd, thankfully, been unscathed, and the play had been so daring that Remus, at least, felt fairly comfortable relinquishing the win.
Remus had landed, breathless and sweaty, to Sirius cursing angrily. " - just grabbed my broom, if you please, like I have nothing better to do than - hullo, Moony."
And that had been the first time Remus had seen the Look. Sirius's cheeks went a little pink. His lips parted. He swallowed, rapidly, several times. Overall, he started to strongly a Prongs caught in the headlights of a Muggle automobile. And he utterly lost his train of thought.
Remus had wiped a trail of sweat off his temple, laughing. "Honestly, Padfoot, only you would be angry that a member of the opposing team managed to save her own life by catching onto your broomstick."
"My broomstick?" Sirius inquired vaguely.
Remus's brow furrowed. "You all right? You look a little funny."
James had slung an arm around Sirius's shoulder. "Now, now, Remus. Padfoot always looks a little funny."
That had seemed to call Sirius back to himself. "Egotistical git," he retorted.
James had mussed up his hair. Sirius had shrieked like a girl.
Remus had seen the Look again that Wednesday, when he was in the dorm doing a series of stretches Madame Pomfrey had recommended to loosen up his muscles in the days around the transformation. He'd been bending to grab his toes, touching the floor for ten seconds, standing up and stretching for the ceiling for ten seconds, then bending over again and repeating the whole process. Sirius had entered with Peter, discussing their latest Charms assignment.
" - but I don't think that Flitwick's flourish on the final swish is strictly necessary, although it seems to - hullo, Moony."
"Hullo," Remus had replied with a grin, and then reached to tug up his sliding pajama bottoms as Sirius's face slowly took on the unmistakable beginnings of the Look.
"Seems to what?" Peter asked. "Without it, I can't seem to get it up."
"Get it up?" Sirius echoed, sounding confused.
"My stocking - er, stork. I can never seem to make it fly without the final flourish, but then I always hit someone in the face."
"Try holding your wand closer to you," Remus suggested through his knees, as he reached for his toes. "It'll help you control the motion more accurately."
"Thanks, Moony," Peter replied. "C'mon, Sirius - go downstairs and practice?"
That shook Sirius out of his reverie. "Oh, sure, downstairs. Yes. Downstairs." He looked at Remus, and swallowed. "Probably a wise idea."
It hadn't stopped there, either. When Remus first pulled his curtains back in the morning, hair sticking up every which way, Sirius got the Look. When Remus slouched in one of the oversized Common Room chairs, toed off his shoes, and loosened his tie, Sirius got the Look.
Most recently, Sirius had gotten the Look in Transfiguration. Remus couldn't figure it out. All he'd been doing was working on his exam, sucking on the tip of a sugar quill to help himself focus, and Sirius had gone so glassy-eyed that Professor McGonagall had to rap his desk with her knuckles several times to get him to turn his attention back on the exam.
An ordinary boy, Remus suspected, would have simply decided that Sirius had gone a bit funny in the runup to the N.E.W.T.s, and left it at that, but Remus was not exactly an ordinary boy. He was of an analytic mind, and it bothered him to leave any mystery unsolved. So, he began to experiment.
Sirius had once got the Look when Remus had undone the top button on his shirt, so Remus went around an entire day with the top button undone. That did not produce the Look, but carefully rolling up his sleeves in Potions did. So he went a whole day with his sleeves rolled up, but no Look. It was most perplexing.
The final straw came when Lily Evans knocked a stack of books off their table in the library. James was busy gazing soulfully up at Lily's breasts; Sirius was busy reading a copy of his latest comic - "Agnes Nutter: Nocturnal Avenger," Remus believed it was - cleverly concealed in a copy of Hogwarts, A History; and Peter was busy trying to hide behind his book and pretend he hadn't hexed Snape's boots with a permanent sticking charm, he hadn't lost them fifty points, and he didn't, in general, exist, so Remus ended up being the one to spring to his feet and help Lily gather the books and put them back on the table. He'd diverted her apologies and given her an apologetic grin for James's behavior, and then carefully placed the last volume on top of the stack, just as she walked away.
As he moved his fingers gently across the leather cover, he noticed Sirius. Who was staring at Remus's hands. And who had the Look.
Remus scowled, and snapped his fingers.
"Wha?" Sirius started.
"What is wrong with you?" Remus asked, exasperated. "Every time I look at you, you've got an expression so glazed you rival Peter's pound cake."
Peter and James exchanged a look, and then, by some unspoken agreement, quickly and silently left.
Sirius swallowed, rapidly, several times.
Remus glared at him.
"Oh, bloody hell," Sirius sighed, and buried his face in his hands. "I just can't take it, Moony. You've got no idea what it does to me."
Remus's brow furrowed. "What what does to who?"
Sirius looked up, his expression rather desperate. "You. Me. First, it was the sweat, on your neck - and then the bending over - the bedhead, and the tie-loosening, and your feet - and it's just not fair, Moony. You can't do that to a man."
"Do what to who?" Remus was getting more and more confused. He licked his lower lip uncertainly.
Sirius groaned, and then all of a sudden he was standing, leaning across the table, and his mouth was pressed against Remus's, awkward and dry-lipped. Remus blinked.
Then he opened his mouth, and showed Sirius how it was supposed to be done. He swiped his tongue across Sirius's lip; stroked his fingertips along the long, smooth stretch of Sirius's pale throat; bit, ever so gently, at the lobe of Sirius's left ear.
"Boys!" Madame Pince exclaimed, clutching at her chest in horror. "Not in front of the books!"
Remus grinned, and grabbed Sirius's hand.
"Where - where're we going?" Sirius asked, a little breathlessly.
"The Room of Requirement," Remus replied, quite matter-of-factly. "For sweat, on your neck, and you, bending over, and bedhead and tie-loosening and, most especially, your extraordinarily ticklish feet."
Sirius made a noise that sounded like, "Meep."
Remus pushed open the door. "After you, Padfoot." He grinned. "I have some experiments to run."
Sirius wore the Look pretty much permanently, after that.
***