Fic: To Make the Most of Tangency
Title: To Make the Most of Tangency
Author: guupi
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Chocolate. CHOCOLATE.
Word Count: 5292
Summary: It's not a date.
Author's Notes: First date. Thank you to Damascened for beta-ing for me. Did you ever know that you're my hero?
Looking back on it, Remus-with all his exceptional perceptive skills and the acute instincts allowed to a werewolf-should have seen it coming from miles away.
On the first day, Something is Amiss.
Remus has a peculiar, quite curious sense for Something Amiss, because in his charmed and often unfortunate life, Something Amiss usually involves one Sirius Black III of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, the patron saint of Something Amiss and all its proceeds.
It’s late noon or maybe early afternoon when the shop bells jerk Remus away from his paperback to see Sirius peering in almost sheepishly, a slight sheen and colour on his face from the summer heat-not that it mars him any, of course, never. Remus isn’t surprised to see him. The shop he works at is in charming Muggle corner of London, not an unreasonable distance from Sirius’ neighbourhood even on foot, even in the full swing of summer. Sirius is clutching something behind his back in a poor attempt at covert operations as he ducks inside, running his free hand through his hair before he securely affixes that insufferably engaging smile. Remus raises his eyebrows as he leans over the counter, casually resting his chin in his hand.
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
Sirius laughs quietly, shuffling his feet for a moment before slouching against the wall with his hands very, very conspicuously behind his back.
“I was in the area so I thought I’d pop in for a tad. Dreadfully empty in here.”
He takes account of his surroundings for a moment in the dim, dusty light of the store, eyeing the shelves of organic foods and protein powders and all manner of items with a palpable lack of understanding in his pureblood eyes. It’s comical, sometimes, though Remus does his best not to laugh. Deeply protected under Sirius’ hard shell lies a gooey, weepy center prone to theatrics and Silent Treatments and it’s all around simpler to cater to the poor thing, really.
“Kind of a hippy shop,” Remus provides, encouragingly. Sirius nods in feigned comprehension. “Health food isn’t a huge seller, apparently. I’ve gathered that people generally prefer fish and chips and kebabs. The work is easy, though.”
“That’s nice,” Sirius murmurs at the stocked shelves
It’s exceedingly obvious that something’s going on, but Remus decides on humouring Sirius for just a hair longer, an allowance he has practiced for a small handful of years by now. He raps his knuckles on the cool wood of the counter, watching Sirius fidget in that silly leather jacket of his with the shoulder studs.
“Isn’t it a bit hot for that?” Remus gestures to the jacket. Sirius just shrugs in that subtly self-conscious way that most people who are not Remus would overlook, shifting whatever he has behind his back. He’s right on the edge of saying or doing something, and Remus can see his apprehension in the way he chews on his lip, blowing the dark hang of his fringe out of his eyes.
“Go on then,” Remus says in what he hopes is not a condescending tone. “Show me what it is.”
“It’s just-” Sirius starts, almost desperately. Remus’ smiles in confusion as he watches Sirius at his most un-Sirius, his well-versed confidence wobbling like a runny flan, all dribbly and woeful. It has travelled past the road to amusing and found its way to mildly concerning.
Sirius catches himself, and carries on in a more subdued tone.
“I was wandering around the shops, and I remembered where you said your workplace was, and I thought-well, I found these, and I had some spare money, and…”
He pulls out a box of chocolates.
It’s a square-ish box. It’s not excessively ornate; it’s practical, but pleasant to the eye with its curled, embossed lettering and glistening foil lining, catching in a dusty beam of sunlight that cuts through the muted light of the front room. Remus takes it gingerly, holding it in front of him like something fine and encrusted with jewels.
“Padfoot,” he quietly laughs, “you do realise I’m not of the female persuasion, yes?”
Sirius juts his lip out, crossing his arms defensively.
“I know that,” he mutters. “I just reckoned you might like it, what with being cooped at work all day. It’s summer. You should be enjoying unsavoury pursuits and-adventuring with me.”
With me, he says.
Remus has certainly seen some interesting developments today.
He nods slowly, too pleased to see chocolate offering itself for the taking to preoccupy himself terribly much over how surreal this is.
He sets the box before him, on the modest, scraped wood of the counter, slowly flipping the lid and taking in the neat rows of crisp and melty, creamy and dark chocolates, lined up so beautifully together that he’s sure some sort of Feng Shui has been employed. He appraises them for a moment under Sirius’ gaze before looking at the considerate guide illustrated on the underside of the lid.
Caramel Swirl one label reads, and Remus hones in on a chocolate in the left corner, nestled sweetly between two dark confections. True to its name, a delicate swirl of caramel sits neatly at its top, like a golden crown. Remus takes it carefully in his fingertips and sucks on it slowly, happily, letting himself work out all the intricacies of its flavour as it smoothly melts on his tongue, so delicate that the chocolate shell breaks beneath his index finger and opens its gateway to caramel sliding its lazy way out, down to the bend of his knuckle as he carefully licks it away. Sirius makes a funny noise, somewhere, outside the miasma of the blissful chocolate realm that Remus has entered.
Remus finally opens his eyes, not realising that he had closed them in the first place. Sirius has a funny colour on his face, so perhaps the heat has finally got to him.
“Ta, Sirius,” Remus finally says with a big chocolate grin. Sirius blinks at him for a moment, like he’s forgotten how to speak.
“It’s nothing,” he mutters eventually, putting his hands in his pockets and idly kicking the floor. He’s smiling, though. A slow curve, almost hidden behind his hair as he ducks his head with what would look like bashfulness if it wasn't Sirius Black. He quietly clears his throat before hopping up to sit on the counter, tangibly loosening up as he rolls his shoulders in one even movement and straightens the dark leather of his jacket. Remus pops a Raspberry Delight into his mouth, licking the tip of each finger cheerfully. He figures that when one is given chocolate, it’s best to just not ask questions and eat the damn chocolate.
“You never told me why you’re working in London,” Sirius continues.
“My mum’s Muggle cousin,” Remus answers around the chocolate. “Her husband owns the place. They trust me enough to man the shop by myself sometimes and customers only show up here and there. Fairly nice deal all around.”
“Mm,” Sirius agrees, taking in the empty store and its lonely aisles. Remus selects a Noisette Cream and holds it out to him, knowing Sirius’ fancy for hazelnuts. Sirius just looks at him for a moment, uncomprehending, until Remus gestures for him to open his mouth, and Sirius does so as his brows draw together. Remus slides the chocolate past Sirius’ lips with a grin, ignoring that strange expression on his face, and he can’t help but lick his thumb and forefinger as Sirius begins to work the chocolate around his mouth, leveling Remus with a stare.
“You alright, Pads?” he finally asks.
Sirius nods, looking away. He eats the hazelnut cream and thumps his boots against the front of the counter, like a child. Remus looks at him a while longer, seeing the frown work its way all along Sirius’ posture, though his face reveals nothing .
“Things not going so well at home, then?”
Sirius’ shoulders stiffen for a moment before he nods again, this time with a snort.
“Mum spouting her usual drivel,” he grunts. “Reggie gets all aflutter with that delicate constitution of his and goes hiding in his room, and of course she goes off at me. It’s always worse when dad’s not around.”
Remus frowns. He never knows how to reach out to Sirius in these moments, and then he feels useless, and all he can do is say he’s sorry, and give him a manful pat on the back, and be done with it. Remus isn’t enough.
It’s only that he can’t understand that kind of feeling, not quite, though he tries to reach it, tries to reach across the expanse closer to Sirius-as he always will, he suspects . He knows how his own mum can sometimes operate with the slightest coldness, and distance, like she doesn’t know how to be what Remus should need her to be. But she loves him, takes care of him and provides for him and sometimes gathers him warm in her arms, and he’s grateful for what she can do. She tries very hard.
And then there’s Sirius’ family, which is a different entity entirely.
Remus moves around to hop on the counter next to Sirius, bumping shoulders with him affectionately. Being friends with Sirius, Peter, James, Remus knows how, at times, they can all read each other, how they don’t always need words. Sirius smiles, in a very small, subdued way, and Remus supposes that this is a time when they don’t need words.
The door signals a customer and Remus looks up to see an elderly Muggle woman wander in, eyeing the two boys sitting next to the register-especially Sirius in his leather regalia-with suspicion.
“Anyway,” Sirius says briskly. He slides from the counter with a thud, the buckles of his boots jingling as he scrubs a hand through his hair. “Hope you enjoy those. I’ve got to head back; I promised Reg I’d sneak him to see the Underground.” He grins wryly. “Persistent little git.”
“Thanks again,” Remus says, quietly.
“Yeah, well… Hey, see you later, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Remus agrees.
Sirius smiles, largely this time, so his eyes crinkle just that little bit and he brightens up like the sun. Remus smiles back. He salutes Sirius off, out into the bright noise of London’s streets, then slides off the counter and back to work.
-----
The second day, everything takes a turn for the bizarre.
Remus is helping a young man find something called “tofu” in the refrigerated section-a friendly specimen, chatty and animated and wearing a curious amount of robin's egg blue. He’s in the middle of telling Remus about some nearby club or another when the bells chime and Remus turns to see Sirius, returned and in a similar state of leather and buckles.
“Anyway,” the man continues as Remus gives Sirius a small wave, “you should really stop by the place sometime. You might as well do something fun while you’re in London, right?”
“Right,” Remus agrees. He likes the man. He’s cordial and, unlike other people Remus may or may not associate with, doesn’t like to set things on fire or make fart noises for fun. Remus finds himself mirroring the smile on the man’s face.
They don’t talk for much longer before Sirius strides neatly over, grabbing Remus by the arm with a firm grip.
“Ack!” Remus squawks. “Sirius, what in the Christ?”
“Can I, ah, talk to you for a moment?” he says in clipped tones.
Remus frowns, turning to direct the man where the manager is stationed at the register, though not before being handed the information to the club and saying his goodbyes.
“What was that about?” Sirius mutters irritably. He glares at the man’s retreating figure with a comically sour face.
“He was a customer, Pads. Shops often have them.”
“No, I mean, what was with him all chatting you up and the works?” Sirius brushes a bit of dust off of his jacket before adding darkly, “Looked like some kind of pervert.”
Remus leans against the shelves of dried fruit, crossing his arms wearily. He doesn't know how he manages to be consistently surprised by Sirius' enigmatic moods, sparking up beneath him like a salamander's fire, or knitting together like the pregnant bodies of clouds and raining on everything.
“He was nice. I liked him. Invited me to a club and everything.”
Sirius glares at nothing for a while, before mimicking Remus’ pose beside him.
“Are you going to go, then?”
“Hm?”
“To the club. You gonna go?”
Remus shrugs, staring ahead.
“Maybe. Depends on what comes up on the schedule.”
“The schedule, huh?”
“The schedule,” Remus confirms. “What is that you're fidgeting with now, honestly?”
Sighing, Sirius glances around a moment before sheepishly pulling out a single stalk of some odd looking, slightly flowering plant from inside his jacket, giving it a wave so that it bursts into a sort of green bouquet dotted with fragile white blossoms.
“It's Lycanite,” Sirius says gruffly. “My mum's an evil bitch who likes to grow wolfsbane in her garden; apparently isn't one for posies, I guess.” He runs a hand through the tousled length of his hair before continuing, two spots of red blooming across his cheekbones. “Anyway, it just takes a touch of splicing with catnip and a few charms before you get this. Just-here, sniff it.”
Remus does, in fact, sniff it, his confusion quickly melting into a fog of tingling, comforting serenity. It’s a feeling on par with the best chocolate, or perhaps the first warm gaze of spring, or even, yes, the dark void of a new moon. He thinks he might be bubbling away, like a carbonated drink, but he finds himself not entirely caring when he has this warmth pooling in his belly and fluttering in his chest.
“I didn't know you had a passion for herbology, Sirius,” Remus sighs happily, opening his eyes to see Sirius squirming as if in embarrassment. He feels suddenly hungry, and almost sleepy, and finds himself idly petting the plant.
“I wouldn't call it a passion, exactly,” Sirius sniffs. “Just something I came across third year. Any chance to sabotage Mother's garden, you know. Anyhow, the schedule.”
“The schedu-? Oh,” Remus recalls. “I'll be finding out any moment now if they'll be needing me for the rest of the day. Mum's cousin will be in soon, so they'll likely be all covered. This really is tops, you know, Pads.” He gathers the bouquet closer, smelling it once more so that a silly grin spreads across his face, tingling in his cheeks.
“Ah,” Sirius says softly. “When you get off you should, ah- I mean, would you like to-”
“Remus, lad,” the shopkeeper calls. “I'm guessing we'll be fine, Margot'll be in shortly so you just run along, now.”
Remus waves to him, cradling the Lycanite behind his back.
“Well then!” he says enthusiastically, turning back to Sirius. Some practical compartment in his brain is telling him to stop smiling as if he were a simple person, but the calming, lemony fumes of the plant soothe his concerns away like a gentle flow of water. “You were saying?”
Sirius shuffles, his dark hair hanging around his face.
“Would you like to, er, grab some food, then?”
“Food,” Remus says. He blinks for a moment. “Food! That’s good, I’ll go for food.” He’s already wandering out of the shop as he says it, Sirius stumbling after him as he steps out onto the sidewalk and takes in the blinding swelter of sunshine. It is full-on summer in London, the air wobbling above the pale pavement of the streets as people wander unabashed in their plastic sandals and swimming gear. The sky is as blue and as cloudless as it can be in the middle of the city, glaring when Remus squints up at it.
“I should have given you that stuff sooner,” Sirius laughs. “Maybe you wouldn't gripe like an old maid at the rest of us.”
“Bite me,” Remus says pleasantly.
All memory of pastel-dressed men and clubs flicker away as Sirius leads him forward, hunched into his pockets as Remus experimentally shakes his precious plant back to pocket-sized and nestles it lovingly in the breast pocket of his sweater vest. He supposes he should be wary of any kind of foliage that makes him feel almost inebriated, but somehow in the glow of placidity he feels his senses sharpened and acute-and anyhow, Sirius gave it to him, not some ill-reputed stranger. Well, okay, Remus revises, Sirius is pretty ill-reputed. But not some stranger. In any case, walking for about ten minutes in the summer heat sobers him up considerably, his good mood ebbing into slightly chagrined neutrality as the sun worked its evil on the back of his neck.
And as he absorbs the sun, very slowly Remus absorbs the unsettling quiet drifting in waves from Sirius like the heavy summer air, so foreign that he scarcely knows what he could say. So he, too, settles into silence, kicking occasional stones displaced from the sidewalk.
Sirius has never been very fluent in silence, Remus knows, from the time he was a small boy in the austere walls of his pureblood estate. He’s not well-versed in Remus’ language of secrets and deception. Truthfully, Remus has always been very fond of this quality, for all the trouble Sirius’ mouth causes. He's never met anyone so genuine, someone he could forgive for everything (and sometimes, yes, a dark part of Remus does wish he could not forgive, because there's probably no one else who could be forgiven for what Sirius has done, because there's probably no one else who should be forgive for what Sirius has done).
He quickens his pace so that he walks alongside Sirius and shoulders him, smiling in what he hopes is a supportive way. Sirius just quirks his eyebrows-and a small corner of his mouth-before he stops and grabs Remus’ shoulder, directing him to the building before them.
Remus had expected fish and chips, or maybe a wizard pub.
But this.
This.
Is an Italian restaurant.
“Ah, Pads,” he says carefully. “I don’t exactly have a load of money to spare.”
“Don’t be silly,” Sirius grumbles. “I’ll pay.”
Very slowly, Remus turns to Sirius, feeling his mouth gaping primitively as all the gears finally slide neatly into place in small clicks and whirs.
“Sirius,” he hears himself saying, “is this”-a pause- “a date?”
“No!” Sirius responds with emphatic horror. “No, I just-I thought-“
Seeing Sirius Black at a loss for words is like seeing a dog walk on two legs, and Remus swallows for a moment, trying to find a hold for the whole situation.
“I'm honest when I say I'm not a bird, Padfoot,” he reminds.
“I know that,” Sirius mutters, almost regretfully. He sighs, his chest falling and rising with a great whoosh of air as he runs his hands through his hair once again. Unlike James, the habit is less obnoxiously forced and more appealing in its nonchalance as he pushes all of that glossy hair aside. It is an odd thought for Remus to have.
“Shut up and come in with me,” he finishes weakly. Remus pauses, for just that hair of a moment, a does so.
Sirius drags them to the seating area as quickly as possible once they enter, head ducked and shoulders stiff as he marches through the subdued lighting and gently wafting scents of food. The host seems to visibly perk up as they enter, leading them to a table immediately, to Sirius’ apparent relief. Remus takes in his surroundings for a moment-the gentle music, the fountain cheerfully tinkling in the center of the room- as a waiter hurries over, adjusting his admirably waxed moustache.
“Afternoon,” he greets energetically, laying down pristinely laminated menus. “Our specials today include our lunchtime pesto pasta, our original recipe garlic bread, and the tiramisu. Shall I get you some candles?”
“That won’t be-“Sirius begins.
“I’ll just go and do that. Be thinking of what you want, then.”
Sirius blinks, his face reddening troublingly before he finally rests his head on the table as if in submission. Remus, meanwhile, suppresses his grin. It is now a familiar effort. He surveys the menu casually as Sirius melts where he sits, glancing over pastas and soups and certain foods he can’t exactly pronounce. Gazing upward, he sees the restaurant dotted with couples, surreptitiously holding hands and playing revolting games of footsy, and it’s then that he notices a small handful of male pairs dining together peppered throughout the room. When he turns back Sirius is finally sitting up, the menu sticking to his forehead comically.
“Here you are,” the waiter chirps as Sirius grouchily pulls the menu off. The man sets wine red candles on either side of the table before taking their orders, giving them what seems to be a knowing eye as Sirius stutters out his choices. As the waiter retreats, Sirius’ complexion begins to work its way to a severe purple.
“Lovely place,” Remus remarks, quietly. He glances up at Sirius beneath his fringe, watching him hunched over and drawing swirls on the table restlessly. Sirius just grunts, looking everywhere but at Remus.
It’s only when their food is finally set before them that the grin finally breaks across Remus’ face like cracks in a dam, flooding out so he cannot even hope to restrain it. He tilts his head, gently resting a cheek in the palm of his hand.
“Sirius,” he laughs-and then, enunciating very slowly, “This is a date.”
Sirius stiffens up as if struck by lightning.
“I wouldn’t call it that, exactly,” he responds affrontedly to his salad.
“Sirius, you bought me chocolates. You gave me flowers. You’re trying to court me.”
Only a breath later, Sirius finally caves, scrubbing two hands down his face.
“I just really, really wanted to do something nice for you,” he says helplessly. “I don’t know what this is. I don’t want to take Peter or, Merlin forbid, James to restaurants! Moony, I have never been more confused in my entire life.” He begins to look a bit hysteric, so Remus reaches over to give him a comforting touch, watching Sirius relax as if touched by healing hands.
I’m the Padfoot whisperer, Remus thinks wryly. He watches Sirius first deflate, then take in a slow, quiet breath of air, steadying himself for something.
“I,” Remus begins. “I’m pretty confused, too.”
He thinks about it, though, Remus does. He thinks of Sirius wanting to court him, slowly and immaculately, wine and dine him with all the frills and trimmings, and he finds that all he feels is an excited whirling of butterflies through his stomach. A warm glow sliding its way through his veins. Then, that dizzying grin, slowly stretching itself into fruition before Sirius tentatively matches it.
“I could go for it, though,” Remus finishes. He slides his hand back, very slowly, like a lure, resting it in the middle of the table so that Sirius’ hand shyly swims over to be captured. Their fingers lace, linking up like a chain.
-----
Walking out of the place, the sun has lowered itself enough to glare at them straight-on like a burst of fire, so that Sirius ends up pulling them into a side alley. In the shade, Remus can see the silver spark of Sirius’ eyes, rediscovering that familiar grin of assurance as his hands lightly touch Remus’ hips.
“Was the not-date a success, then?” Sirius says in a low voice, a quiet rumble that sends a tremor down Remus’ spine. He nods shallowly as Sirius edges in inch by inch, curling fingers around Remus’ belt loops. Their noses touch and Remus swallows. The glow of Sirius’ face is a comfort, though, like old jumpers and dog-eared novels, making the smile unwind itself slowly, a rising crescendo bubbling into a laugh that Sirius swallows with his mouth.
It is the final step, the finishing layer. First the warm press of lips, hands on the sides, hands on the shoulder blades as Sirius’ tongue carefully finds him in a hot, slow swipe. Pressing in against the cool bricks of the wall, a gentle suck on Remus’ bottom lip, hips meeting. Remus makes a small noise in the back of his throat which Sirius seems to like and then, uncertainly, Remus responds with a small flick of his tongue meeting Sirius’ tongue, and it’s all fireworks from there.
But it’s slow, lazy, so that Remus thinks he must be floating, up above the heat, out of London, out of this world. Slow, lazy, even when Sirius’ hands slide down to squeeze his bum and Remus’ hands tangle in his hair, all moving like a rational development even as everything seems to explode exciting and new. Whether or not this is acceptable for blokes doesn’t even begin to factor in when Sirius kisses him like this, as if he was always meant to kiss Remus like this. The poncy sentiment almost makes Remus laugh, even with Sirius all around him, hands and mouth and the careful brush of a knee and his nose against Remus' cheek.
They wander to a nearby park afterward, sometimes twining hands, sometimes pushing each other off the path and into the grass. Sirius goes Padfoot behind some bushes and splashes around in a pond, chasing mean-spirited geese toward Remus, who ducks in a public loo as refuge.
Sirius kisses him again before Remus floos back home, slow and languid and warm as the sun slides closer to the horizon, slow and languid and warm. He says something about how they must be poofs and Remus laughs and swats at him while they loiter in front of a wizarding pub, and Sirius cups his hand around the curve of Remus’ jaw, fitting neatly as a puzzle piece, like they were carved out for one another. Remus has never entertained such an embarrassingly girlish thought in his life, so this must be it, he thinks, this is what everyone else has had that he has never had. The word for it is too frightening, so he just allows himself the moment and tries not to think for once in his life.
Then, then he presses a very slow, a very purposeful kiss at the very corner of Sirius' very mouth. That small, precise point of contact kind of tickles, makes things bubble up in Remus so that he very nearly understands boxed chocolates and flowers and the saccharine art of romance.
“Tomorrow, right?” he says. The elation on Sirius' face flashes forward so swiftly and baldly that Remus can't help but laugh this time.
“Yeah-yes!” Sirius confirms. “Yes, tomorrow, splendid Moony, really-“
Remus retreats into the pub then, swiftly, so he can have the indulgent pleasure of seeing Sirius jolt with the need to chase. He smiles slyly, then, at the knowledge that Sirius wants him as he shuts the door on his gaping face and darts to the floo.
He still feels that tingle on his lips as he's jerked out of London; he still sees the spark in Sirius' eyes.
-----
“You’re dressed awfully nice tonight, Padfoot.”
“Brilliant deduction, Wormtail.”
Sirius straightens his collar in front of the dormitory mirror, which is of course spotted with hair gel and odd splatters of toothpaste and an absolutely lovely scorch mark from a game of Exploding Snap that got just a bit out of hand in fourth year. Remus watches Sirius casually from where he’s reclined on his bed, the both of them occasionally meeting eyes in the mirror with a jolt of electricity that makes Remus’ stomach flutter. Sirius runs a comb through his hair only to shake his head like a wet dog, returned to his disheveled glory-a display that makes Remus smile fondly behind his blank piece of parchment as he counts the seconds in a jitter of anticipation.
“Pads has got himself a date,” Peter singsongs. James snickers into his magazine, but Sirius just grins smugly.
“I might. I think it’ll be one for the archives, truth be told.”
“She’s a busty Ravenclaw, I’m sure of it,” Peter stage whispers to Remus. Sirius hurls a bottle of Glisten Glow hair cream at Peter, who squawks with indignation as they fall into something of a pillow fight, which James thoroughly ignores.
It’s the first weekend of the new term, and for once Remus is setting the premier load of essays and studying aside so he can Do Something on a Friday Night, as he’s heard tell of only in legends (or so it is insisted). He’s already feverishly arranged his hair to perfection and he’s wearing his most suitable clothes under his robes, and watching Sirius put himself together so nicely for him sets a beating in his chest that makes his hands tap restless rhythms on the knobs that are his knees. Sirius glances up at him just then as he holds Peter in a headlock, his eyes so brightly intense that Remus’ face must be in flames.
“Well,” Sirius says, pushing Peter into his pillows as he stands, “I don’t want to be late.” He gives Remus a Significant Look, and Remus squirms like a first year Hufflepuff girl. The cut of Sirius’ jaw, his high cheekbones, his stupidly brilliant eyes set darkly in his face, his pink mouth-it all should be illegal, prohibited, punished to the full extent of the law.
“Be gentle with her!” James calls.
“I can’t promise anything,” Sirius says lecherously, giving Remus the slightest of winks. He breezes out of the room, shutting the door with a smart click.
“Blimey,” Peter exhales as soon as Sirius is gone.
“Honestly,” James agrees. “Has he ponced up like that for any other girl?”
“He’s pulling tonight, no doubt about it.”
“Well,” Remus says abruptly. “I’ve got something of a study session tonight. I’ll see you lads later, yeah?” He gathers up his bag, which he will soon dump behind the statue of Agitha the Ageless before sneaking out of the castle for quite the enjoyable rendezvous with Sirius.
He must be slightly transparent, because Peter snickers.
“I think Moony’s pulling tonight, too.”
“Are you, Moony?” James asks with (slightly wounding) astonishment, now upright and casting Quidditch Quarterly aside.
“We’ll see,” Remus sniffs.
He doesn’t give them any more than that, striding neatly out of the room with his chin out-systematically disregarding James’ calls as to who the lucky girl is- only to grin like a lunatic as soon as he shuts the door. Soon he’s left the dormitories, then the common room, then Gryffindor Tower completely, casting his personal effects aside as he hurries to find Sirius just outside the front doors.
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
Sirius’ hands are in his pockets as he lounges against a stone railing, hair drifting over his eyes as he does something akin to a smirk-which, really, should not even be that infuriatingly attractive. It is not in the nature of the universe to become accustomed to Sirius Black.
“I was just in the area,” Remus answers airily. He pulls out a single chocolate frog and tosses it at Sirius, who fumbles for one comical moment, which Remus readily laughs at. Sirius straightens then, chocolate frog in hand, giving Remus a mock glower as his cool is shattered.
“Git,” he says fondly, the grin breaking across his face.
Remus shuts him up with a kiss.
Author: guupi
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Chocolate. CHOCOLATE.
Word Count: 5292
Summary: It's not a date.
Author's Notes: First date. Thank you to Damascened for beta-ing for me. Did you ever know that you're my hero?
Looking back on it, Remus-with all his exceptional perceptive skills and the acute instincts allowed to a werewolf-should have seen it coming from miles away.
On the first day, Something is Amiss.
Remus has a peculiar, quite curious sense for Something Amiss, because in his charmed and often unfortunate life, Something Amiss usually involves one Sirius Black III of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, the patron saint of Something Amiss and all its proceeds.
It’s late noon or maybe early afternoon when the shop bells jerk Remus away from his paperback to see Sirius peering in almost sheepishly, a slight sheen and colour on his face from the summer heat-not that it mars him any, of course, never. Remus isn’t surprised to see him. The shop he works at is in charming Muggle corner of London, not an unreasonable distance from Sirius’ neighbourhood even on foot, even in the full swing of summer. Sirius is clutching something behind his back in a poor attempt at covert operations as he ducks inside, running his free hand through his hair before he securely affixes that insufferably engaging smile. Remus raises his eyebrows as he leans over the counter, casually resting his chin in his hand.
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
Sirius laughs quietly, shuffling his feet for a moment before slouching against the wall with his hands very, very conspicuously behind his back.
“I was in the area so I thought I’d pop in for a tad. Dreadfully empty in here.”
He takes account of his surroundings for a moment in the dim, dusty light of the store, eyeing the shelves of organic foods and protein powders and all manner of items with a palpable lack of understanding in his pureblood eyes. It’s comical, sometimes, though Remus does his best not to laugh. Deeply protected under Sirius’ hard shell lies a gooey, weepy center prone to theatrics and Silent Treatments and it’s all around simpler to cater to the poor thing, really.
“Kind of a hippy shop,” Remus provides, encouragingly. Sirius nods in feigned comprehension. “Health food isn’t a huge seller, apparently. I’ve gathered that people generally prefer fish and chips and kebabs. The work is easy, though.”
“That’s nice,” Sirius murmurs at the stocked shelves
It’s exceedingly obvious that something’s going on, but Remus decides on humouring Sirius for just a hair longer, an allowance he has practiced for a small handful of years by now. He raps his knuckles on the cool wood of the counter, watching Sirius fidget in that silly leather jacket of his with the shoulder studs.
“Isn’t it a bit hot for that?” Remus gestures to the jacket. Sirius just shrugs in that subtly self-conscious way that most people who are not Remus would overlook, shifting whatever he has behind his back. He’s right on the edge of saying or doing something, and Remus can see his apprehension in the way he chews on his lip, blowing the dark hang of his fringe out of his eyes.
“Go on then,” Remus says in what he hopes is not a condescending tone. “Show me what it is.”
“It’s just-” Sirius starts, almost desperately. Remus’ smiles in confusion as he watches Sirius at his most un-Sirius, his well-versed confidence wobbling like a runny flan, all dribbly and woeful. It has travelled past the road to amusing and found its way to mildly concerning.
Sirius catches himself, and carries on in a more subdued tone.
“I was wandering around the shops, and I remembered where you said your workplace was, and I thought-well, I found these, and I had some spare money, and…”
He pulls out a box of chocolates.
It’s a square-ish box. It’s not excessively ornate; it’s practical, but pleasant to the eye with its curled, embossed lettering and glistening foil lining, catching in a dusty beam of sunlight that cuts through the muted light of the front room. Remus takes it gingerly, holding it in front of him like something fine and encrusted with jewels.
“Padfoot,” he quietly laughs, “you do realise I’m not of the female persuasion, yes?”
Sirius juts his lip out, crossing his arms defensively.
“I know that,” he mutters. “I just reckoned you might like it, what with being cooped at work all day. It’s summer. You should be enjoying unsavoury pursuits and-adventuring with me.”
With me, he says.
Remus has certainly seen some interesting developments today.
He nods slowly, too pleased to see chocolate offering itself for the taking to preoccupy himself terribly much over how surreal this is.
He sets the box before him, on the modest, scraped wood of the counter, slowly flipping the lid and taking in the neat rows of crisp and melty, creamy and dark chocolates, lined up so beautifully together that he’s sure some sort of Feng Shui has been employed. He appraises them for a moment under Sirius’ gaze before looking at the considerate guide illustrated on the underside of the lid.
Caramel Swirl one label reads, and Remus hones in on a chocolate in the left corner, nestled sweetly between two dark confections. True to its name, a delicate swirl of caramel sits neatly at its top, like a golden crown. Remus takes it carefully in his fingertips and sucks on it slowly, happily, letting himself work out all the intricacies of its flavour as it smoothly melts on his tongue, so delicate that the chocolate shell breaks beneath his index finger and opens its gateway to caramel sliding its lazy way out, down to the bend of his knuckle as he carefully licks it away. Sirius makes a funny noise, somewhere, outside the miasma of the blissful chocolate realm that Remus has entered.
Remus finally opens his eyes, not realising that he had closed them in the first place. Sirius has a funny colour on his face, so perhaps the heat has finally got to him.
“Ta, Sirius,” Remus finally says with a big chocolate grin. Sirius blinks at him for a moment, like he’s forgotten how to speak.
“It’s nothing,” he mutters eventually, putting his hands in his pockets and idly kicking the floor. He’s smiling, though. A slow curve, almost hidden behind his hair as he ducks his head with what would look like bashfulness if it wasn't Sirius Black. He quietly clears his throat before hopping up to sit on the counter, tangibly loosening up as he rolls his shoulders in one even movement and straightens the dark leather of his jacket. Remus pops a Raspberry Delight into his mouth, licking the tip of each finger cheerfully. He figures that when one is given chocolate, it’s best to just not ask questions and eat the damn chocolate.
“You never told me why you’re working in London,” Sirius continues.
“My mum’s Muggle cousin,” Remus answers around the chocolate. “Her husband owns the place. They trust me enough to man the shop by myself sometimes and customers only show up here and there. Fairly nice deal all around.”
“Mm,” Sirius agrees, taking in the empty store and its lonely aisles. Remus selects a Noisette Cream and holds it out to him, knowing Sirius’ fancy for hazelnuts. Sirius just looks at him for a moment, uncomprehending, until Remus gestures for him to open his mouth, and Sirius does so as his brows draw together. Remus slides the chocolate past Sirius’ lips with a grin, ignoring that strange expression on his face, and he can’t help but lick his thumb and forefinger as Sirius begins to work the chocolate around his mouth, leveling Remus with a stare.
“You alright, Pads?” he finally asks.
Sirius nods, looking away. He eats the hazelnut cream and thumps his boots against the front of the counter, like a child. Remus looks at him a while longer, seeing the frown work its way all along Sirius’ posture, though his face reveals nothing .
“Things not going so well at home, then?”
Sirius’ shoulders stiffen for a moment before he nods again, this time with a snort.
“Mum spouting her usual drivel,” he grunts. “Reggie gets all aflutter with that delicate constitution of his and goes hiding in his room, and of course she goes off at me. It’s always worse when dad’s not around.”
Remus frowns. He never knows how to reach out to Sirius in these moments, and then he feels useless, and all he can do is say he’s sorry, and give him a manful pat on the back, and be done with it. Remus isn’t enough.
It’s only that he can’t understand that kind of feeling, not quite, though he tries to reach it, tries to reach across the expanse closer to Sirius-as he always will, he suspects . He knows how his own mum can sometimes operate with the slightest coldness, and distance, like she doesn’t know how to be what Remus should need her to be. But she loves him, takes care of him and provides for him and sometimes gathers him warm in her arms, and he’s grateful for what she can do. She tries very hard.
And then there’s Sirius’ family, which is a different entity entirely.
Remus moves around to hop on the counter next to Sirius, bumping shoulders with him affectionately. Being friends with Sirius, Peter, James, Remus knows how, at times, they can all read each other, how they don’t always need words. Sirius smiles, in a very small, subdued way, and Remus supposes that this is a time when they don’t need words.
The door signals a customer and Remus looks up to see an elderly Muggle woman wander in, eyeing the two boys sitting next to the register-especially Sirius in his leather regalia-with suspicion.
“Anyway,” Sirius says briskly. He slides from the counter with a thud, the buckles of his boots jingling as he scrubs a hand through his hair. “Hope you enjoy those. I’ve got to head back; I promised Reg I’d sneak him to see the Underground.” He grins wryly. “Persistent little git.”
“Thanks again,” Remus says, quietly.
“Yeah, well… Hey, see you later, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Remus agrees.
Sirius smiles, largely this time, so his eyes crinkle just that little bit and he brightens up like the sun. Remus smiles back. He salutes Sirius off, out into the bright noise of London’s streets, then slides off the counter and back to work.
-----
The second day, everything takes a turn for the bizarre.
Remus is helping a young man find something called “tofu” in the refrigerated section-a friendly specimen, chatty and animated and wearing a curious amount of robin's egg blue. He’s in the middle of telling Remus about some nearby club or another when the bells chime and Remus turns to see Sirius, returned and in a similar state of leather and buckles.
“Anyway,” the man continues as Remus gives Sirius a small wave, “you should really stop by the place sometime. You might as well do something fun while you’re in London, right?”
“Right,” Remus agrees. He likes the man. He’s cordial and, unlike other people Remus may or may not associate with, doesn’t like to set things on fire or make fart noises for fun. Remus finds himself mirroring the smile on the man’s face.
They don’t talk for much longer before Sirius strides neatly over, grabbing Remus by the arm with a firm grip.
“Ack!” Remus squawks. “Sirius, what in the Christ?”
“Can I, ah, talk to you for a moment?” he says in clipped tones.
Remus frowns, turning to direct the man where the manager is stationed at the register, though not before being handed the information to the club and saying his goodbyes.
“What was that about?” Sirius mutters irritably. He glares at the man’s retreating figure with a comically sour face.
“He was a customer, Pads. Shops often have them.”
“No, I mean, what was with him all chatting you up and the works?” Sirius brushes a bit of dust off of his jacket before adding darkly, “Looked like some kind of pervert.”
Remus leans against the shelves of dried fruit, crossing his arms wearily. He doesn't know how he manages to be consistently surprised by Sirius' enigmatic moods, sparking up beneath him like a salamander's fire, or knitting together like the pregnant bodies of clouds and raining on everything.
“He was nice. I liked him. Invited me to a club and everything.”
Sirius glares at nothing for a while, before mimicking Remus’ pose beside him.
“Are you going to go, then?”
“Hm?”
“To the club. You gonna go?”
Remus shrugs, staring ahead.
“Maybe. Depends on what comes up on the schedule.”
“The schedule, huh?”
“The schedule,” Remus confirms. “What is that you're fidgeting with now, honestly?”
Sighing, Sirius glances around a moment before sheepishly pulling out a single stalk of some odd looking, slightly flowering plant from inside his jacket, giving it a wave so that it bursts into a sort of green bouquet dotted with fragile white blossoms.
“It's Lycanite,” Sirius says gruffly. “My mum's an evil bitch who likes to grow wolfsbane in her garden; apparently isn't one for posies, I guess.” He runs a hand through the tousled length of his hair before continuing, two spots of red blooming across his cheekbones. “Anyway, it just takes a touch of splicing with catnip and a few charms before you get this. Just-here, sniff it.”
Remus does, in fact, sniff it, his confusion quickly melting into a fog of tingling, comforting serenity. It’s a feeling on par with the best chocolate, or perhaps the first warm gaze of spring, or even, yes, the dark void of a new moon. He thinks he might be bubbling away, like a carbonated drink, but he finds himself not entirely caring when he has this warmth pooling in his belly and fluttering in his chest.
“I didn't know you had a passion for herbology, Sirius,” Remus sighs happily, opening his eyes to see Sirius squirming as if in embarrassment. He feels suddenly hungry, and almost sleepy, and finds himself idly petting the plant.
“I wouldn't call it a passion, exactly,” Sirius sniffs. “Just something I came across third year. Any chance to sabotage Mother's garden, you know. Anyhow, the schedule.”
“The schedu-? Oh,” Remus recalls. “I'll be finding out any moment now if they'll be needing me for the rest of the day. Mum's cousin will be in soon, so they'll likely be all covered. This really is tops, you know, Pads.” He gathers the bouquet closer, smelling it once more so that a silly grin spreads across his face, tingling in his cheeks.
“Ah,” Sirius says softly. “When you get off you should, ah- I mean, would you like to-”
“Remus, lad,” the shopkeeper calls. “I'm guessing we'll be fine, Margot'll be in shortly so you just run along, now.”
Remus waves to him, cradling the Lycanite behind his back.
“Well then!” he says enthusiastically, turning back to Sirius. Some practical compartment in his brain is telling him to stop smiling as if he were a simple person, but the calming, lemony fumes of the plant soothe his concerns away like a gentle flow of water. “You were saying?”
Sirius shuffles, his dark hair hanging around his face.
“Would you like to, er, grab some food, then?”
“Food,” Remus says. He blinks for a moment. “Food! That’s good, I’ll go for food.” He’s already wandering out of the shop as he says it, Sirius stumbling after him as he steps out onto the sidewalk and takes in the blinding swelter of sunshine. It is full-on summer in London, the air wobbling above the pale pavement of the streets as people wander unabashed in their plastic sandals and swimming gear. The sky is as blue and as cloudless as it can be in the middle of the city, glaring when Remus squints up at it.
“I should have given you that stuff sooner,” Sirius laughs. “Maybe you wouldn't gripe like an old maid at the rest of us.”
“Bite me,” Remus says pleasantly.
All memory of pastel-dressed men and clubs flicker away as Sirius leads him forward, hunched into his pockets as Remus experimentally shakes his precious plant back to pocket-sized and nestles it lovingly in the breast pocket of his sweater vest. He supposes he should be wary of any kind of foliage that makes him feel almost inebriated, but somehow in the glow of placidity he feels his senses sharpened and acute-and anyhow, Sirius gave it to him, not some ill-reputed stranger. Well, okay, Remus revises, Sirius is pretty ill-reputed. But not some stranger. In any case, walking for about ten minutes in the summer heat sobers him up considerably, his good mood ebbing into slightly chagrined neutrality as the sun worked its evil on the back of his neck.
And as he absorbs the sun, very slowly Remus absorbs the unsettling quiet drifting in waves from Sirius like the heavy summer air, so foreign that he scarcely knows what he could say. So he, too, settles into silence, kicking occasional stones displaced from the sidewalk.
Sirius has never been very fluent in silence, Remus knows, from the time he was a small boy in the austere walls of his pureblood estate. He’s not well-versed in Remus’ language of secrets and deception. Truthfully, Remus has always been very fond of this quality, for all the trouble Sirius’ mouth causes. He's never met anyone so genuine, someone he could forgive for everything (and sometimes, yes, a dark part of Remus does wish he could not forgive, because there's probably no one else who could be forgiven for what Sirius has done, because there's probably no one else who should be forgive for what Sirius has done).
He quickens his pace so that he walks alongside Sirius and shoulders him, smiling in what he hopes is a supportive way. Sirius just quirks his eyebrows-and a small corner of his mouth-before he stops and grabs Remus’ shoulder, directing him to the building before them.
Remus had expected fish and chips, or maybe a wizard pub.
But this.
This.
Is an Italian restaurant.
“Ah, Pads,” he says carefully. “I don’t exactly have a load of money to spare.”
“Don’t be silly,” Sirius grumbles. “I’ll pay.”
Very slowly, Remus turns to Sirius, feeling his mouth gaping primitively as all the gears finally slide neatly into place in small clicks and whirs.
“Sirius,” he hears himself saying, “is this”-a pause- “a date?”
“No!” Sirius responds with emphatic horror. “No, I just-I thought-“
Seeing Sirius Black at a loss for words is like seeing a dog walk on two legs, and Remus swallows for a moment, trying to find a hold for the whole situation.
“I'm honest when I say I'm not a bird, Padfoot,” he reminds.
“I know that,” Sirius mutters, almost regretfully. He sighs, his chest falling and rising with a great whoosh of air as he runs his hands through his hair once again. Unlike James, the habit is less obnoxiously forced and more appealing in its nonchalance as he pushes all of that glossy hair aside. It is an odd thought for Remus to have.
“Shut up and come in with me,” he finishes weakly. Remus pauses, for just that hair of a moment, a does so.
Sirius drags them to the seating area as quickly as possible once they enter, head ducked and shoulders stiff as he marches through the subdued lighting and gently wafting scents of food. The host seems to visibly perk up as they enter, leading them to a table immediately, to Sirius’ apparent relief. Remus takes in his surroundings for a moment-the gentle music, the fountain cheerfully tinkling in the center of the room- as a waiter hurries over, adjusting his admirably waxed moustache.
“Afternoon,” he greets energetically, laying down pristinely laminated menus. “Our specials today include our lunchtime pesto pasta, our original recipe garlic bread, and the tiramisu. Shall I get you some candles?”
“That won’t be-“Sirius begins.
“I’ll just go and do that. Be thinking of what you want, then.”
Sirius blinks, his face reddening troublingly before he finally rests his head on the table as if in submission. Remus, meanwhile, suppresses his grin. It is now a familiar effort. He surveys the menu casually as Sirius melts where he sits, glancing over pastas and soups and certain foods he can’t exactly pronounce. Gazing upward, he sees the restaurant dotted with couples, surreptitiously holding hands and playing revolting games of footsy, and it’s then that he notices a small handful of male pairs dining together peppered throughout the room. When he turns back Sirius is finally sitting up, the menu sticking to his forehead comically.
“Here you are,” the waiter chirps as Sirius grouchily pulls the menu off. The man sets wine red candles on either side of the table before taking their orders, giving them what seems to be a knowing eye as Sirius stutters out his choices. As the waiter retreats, Sirius’ complexion begins to work its way to a severe purple.
“Lovely place,” Remus remarks, quietly. He glances up at Sirius beneath his fringe, watching him hunched over and drawing swirls on the table restlessly. Sirius just grunts, looking everywhere but at Remus.
It’s only when their food is finally set before them that the grin finally breaks across Remus’ face like cracks in a dam, flooding out so he cannot even hope to restrain it. He tilts his head, gently resting a cheek in the palm of his hand.
“Sirius,” he laughs-and then, enunciating very slowly, “This is a date.”
Sirius stiffens up as if struck by lightning.
“I wouldn’t call it that, exactly,” he responds affrontedly to his salad.
“Sirius, you bought me chocolates. You gave me flowers. You’re trying to court me.”
Only a breath later, Sirius finally caves, scrubbing two hands down his face.
“I just really, really wanted to do something nice for you,” he says helplessly. “I don’t know what this is. I don’t want to take Peter or, Merlin forbid, James to restaurants! Moony, I have never been more confused in my entire life.” He begins to look a bit hysteric, so Remus reaches over to give him a comforting touch, watching Sirius relax as if touched by healing hands.
I’m the Padfoot whisperer, Remus thinks wryly. He watches Sirius first deflate, then take in a slow, quiet breath of air, steadying himself for something.
“I,” Remus begins. “I’m pretty confused, too.”
He thinks about it, though, Remus does. He thinks of Sirius wanting to court him, slowly and immaculately, wine and dine him with all the frills and trimmings, and he finds that all he feels is an excited whirling of butterflies through his stomach. A warm glow sliding its way through his veins. Then, that dizzying grin, slowly stretching itself into fruition before Sirius tentatively matches it.
“I could go for it, though,” Remus finishes. He slides his hand back, very slowly, like a lure, resting it in the middle of the table so that Sirius’ hand shyly swims over to be captured. Their fingers lace, linking up like a chain.
-----
Walking out of the place, the sun has lowered itself enough to glare at them straight-on like a burst of fire, so that Sirius ends up pulling them into a side alley. In the shade, Remus can see the silver spark of Sirius’ eyes, rediscovering that familiar grin of assurance as his hands lightly touch Remus’ hips.
“Was the not-date a success, then?” Sirius says in a low voice, a quiet rumble that sends a tremor down Remus’ spine. He nods shallowly as Sirius edges in inch by inch, curling fingers around Remus’ belt loops. Their noses touch and Remus swallows. The glow of Sirius’ face is a comfort, though, like old jumpers and dog-eared novels, making the smile unwind itself slowly, a rising crescendo bubbling into a laugh that Sirius swallows with his mouth.
It is the final step, the finishing layer. First the warm press of lips, hands on the sides, hands on the shoulder blades as Sirius’ tongue carefully finds him in a hot, slow swipe. Pressing in against the cool bricks of the wall, a gentle suck on Remus’ bottom lip, hips meeting. Remus makes a small noise in the back of his throat which Sirius seems to like and then, uncertainly, Remus responds with a small flick of his tongue meeting Sirius’ tongue, and it’s all fireworks from there.
But it’s slow, lazy, so that Remus thinks he must be floating, up above the heat, out of London, out of this world. Slow, lazy, even when Sirius’ hands slide down to squeeze his bum and Remus’ hands tangle in his hair, all moving like a rational development even as everything seems to explode exciting and new. Whether or not this is acceptable for blokes doesn’t even begin to factor in when Sirius kisses him like this, as if he was always meant to kiss Remus like this. The poncy sentiment almost makes Remus laugh, even with Sirius all around him, hands and mouth and the careful brush of a knee and his nose against Remus' cheek.
They wander to a nearby park afterward, sometimes twining hands, sometimes pushing each other off the path and into the grass. Sirius goes Padfoot behind some bushes and splashes around in a pond, chasing mean-spirited geese toward Remus, who ducks in a public loo as refuge.
Sirius kisses him again before Remus floos back home, slow and languid and warm as the sun slides closer to the horizon, slow and languid and warm. He says something about how they must be poofs and Remus laughs and swats at him while they loiter in front of a wizarding pub, and Sirius cups his hand around the curve of Remus’ jaw, fitting neatly as a puzzle piece, like they were carved out for one another. Remus has never entertained such an embarrassingly girlish thought in his life, so this must be it, he thinks, this is what everyone else has had that he has never had. The word for it is too frightening, so he just allows himself the moment and tries not to think for once in his life.
Then, then he presses a very slow, a very purposeful kiss at the very corner of Sirius' very mouth. That small, precise point of contact kind of tickles, makes things bubble up in Remus so that he very nearly understands boxed chocolates and flowers and the saccharine art of romance.
“Tomorrow, right?” he says. The elation on Sirius' face flashes forward so swiftly and baldly that Remus can't help but laugh this time.
“Yeah-yes!” Sirius confirms. “Yes, tomorrow, splendid Moony, really-“
Remus retreats into the pub then, swiftly, so he can have the indulgent pleasure of seeing Sirius jolt with the need to chase. He smiles slyly, then, at the knowledge that Sirius wants him as he shuts the door on his gaping face and darts to the floo.
He still feels that tingle on his lips as he's jerked out of London; he still sees the spark in Sirius' eyes.
-----
“You’re dressed awfully nice tonight, Padfoot.”
“Brilliant deduction, Wormtail.”
Sirius straightens his collar in front of the dormitory mirror, which is of course spotted with hair gel and odd splatters of toothpaste and an absolutely lovely scorch mark from a game of Exploding Snap that got just a bit out of hand in fourth year. Remus watches Sirius casually from where he’s reclined on his bed, the both of them occasionally meeting eyes in the mirror with a jolt of electricity that makes Remus’ stomach flutter. Sirius runs a comb through his hair only to shake his head like a wet dog, returned to his disheveled glory-a display that makes Remus smile fondly behind his blank piece of parchment as he counts the seconds in a jitter of anticipation.
“Pads has got himself a date,” Peter singsongs. James snickers into his magazine, but Sirius just grins smugly.
“I might. I think it’ll be one for the archives, truth be told.”
“She’s a busty Ravenclaw, I’m sure of it,” Peter stage whispers to Remus. Sirius hurls a bottle of Glisten Glow hair cream at Peter, who squawks with indignation as they fall into something of a pillow fight, which James thoroughly ignores.
It’s the first weekend of the new term, and for once Remus is setting the premier load of essays and studying aside so he can Do Something on a Friday Night, as he’s heard tell of only in legends (or so it is insisted). He’s already feverishly arranged his hair to perfection and he’s wearing his most suitable clothes under his robes, and watching Sirius put himself together so nicely for him sets a beating in his chest that makes his hands tap restless rhythms on the knobs that are his knees. Sirius glances up at him just then as he holds Peter in a headlock, his eyes so brightly intense that Remus’ face must be in flames.
“Well,” Sirius says, pushing Peter into his pillows as he stands, “I don’t want to be late.” He gives Remus a Significant Look, and Remus squirms like a first year Hufflepuff girl. The cut of Sirius’ jaw, his high cheekbones, his stupidly brilliant eyes set darkly in his face, his pink mouth-it all should be illegal, prohibited, punished to the full extent of the law.
“Be gentle with her!” James calls.
“I can’t promise anything,” Sirius says lecherously, giving Remus the slightest of winks. He breezes out of the room, shutting the door with a smart click.
“Blimey,” Peter exhales as soon as Sirius is gone.
“Honestly,” James agrees. “Has he ponced up like that for any other girl?”
“He’s pulling tonight, no doubt about it.”
“Well,” Remus says abruptly. “I’ve got something of a study session tonight. I’ll see you lads later, yeah?” He gathers up his bag, which he will soon dump behind the statue of Agitha the Ageless before sneaking out of the castle for quite the enjoyable rendezvous with Sirius.
He must be slightly transparent, because Peter snickers.
“I think Moony’s pulling tonight, too.”
“Are you, Moony?” James asks with (slightly wounding) astonishment, now upright and casting Quidditch Quarterly aside.
“We’ll see,” Remus sniffs.
He doesn’t give them any more than that, striding neatly out of the room with his chin out-systematically disregarding James’ calls as to who the lucky girl is- only to grin like a lunatic as soon as he shuts the door. Soon he’s left the dormitories, then the common room, then Gryffindor Tower completely, casting his personal effects aside as he hurries to find Sirius just outside the front doors.
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
Sirius’ hands are in his pockets as he lounges against a stone railing, hair drifting over his eyes as he does something akin to a smirk-which, really, should not even be that infuriatingly attractive. It is not in the nature of the universe to become accustomed to Sirius Black.
“I was just in the area,” Remus answers airily. He pulls out a single chocolate frog and tosses it at Sirius, who fumbles for one comical moment, which Remus readily laughs at. Sirius straightens then, chocolate frog in hand, giving Remus a mock glower as his cool is shattered.
“Git,” he says fondly, the grin breaking across his face.
Remus shuts him up with a kiss.