One Fine Night by kabeyk
Title: One Fine Night
Author: kabeyk
Summary: Sirius wants a relaxing night, but with Remus (and Remus' book) he gets a lot more than he bargained for.
Rating: R
Recipient: xylodemon
Notes: I thought I might as well include everything that was asked for. I heartily thank my betas.
***
One Fine Night
"You spiked the tea again." Remus is grumbling the minute they get outside, peering into the depths of their flask with an expression of fast-impending doom that tea doesn't often warrant.
"Didn't," Sirius says, busying himself with arranging the blankets, tartan wool rough against his fingers.
Remus clutches the flask against his chest protectively, but continues to complain. "Why must you do that, always? Tea is tea. Fair enough whisky. And then tea; just one, or the other." He's started on those hand gestures that make Sirius snigger. "But not all at once, together, in the same drink. It's not right."
Sirius sighs a long plume of clammy, frosted breath and settles back against the tower wall, resting his cigarette tin in his lap in front of his raised knees. "I didn't put whisky in the tea, Moony."
Remus growls a little and sniffs the flask again, delicately and with a hint of distain in the curl of his upper lip. "Smells it. There's something in there."
"Rum."
"Y'what?"
"Bit o' spiced dark rum. There wasn't any whisky."
"Oh god," Remus groans, pouring a mouthful-worth of the liquid into the accompanying plastic cup gingerly as if it were poison, "you put rum in."
"Yes I put rum in. Dunno what's to complain for; it was that or the meths." Sirius settles down to let that one sink in.
"Meths! You have meths? You've tried drinking- Oh god. I mean, why?"
Sirius ignores the bitter cold on his fingers and fiddles himself out a cigarette paper. "Experiments."
Remus sniffs. "You and your experimenting," he says darkly, before rather over-dramatically throwing his head back and tossing the alcohol-laced tea down his throat. Sirius keeps his eyes on the fag he's rolling so that he won't smirk.
There's a short, guttural choking sound followed by a splutter. "Fuck," Remus curses, his voice gasping and broken. "Nearly threw that right back up."
"Can't take your liquor, eh?" Sirius asks, amused, rolling his thumbs around and flickering his tongue out to seal his smoke.
"Disgusting," Remus says coldly, then sets the flask down and inexplicably reaches to pull both of his socks off.
"What… are you doing?" Sirius asks flatly, bunching the blankets up thicker beneath him to protect his arse from the hard floor. He takes out his favourite lighter -- old and scuffed brushed-silver -- sparks it and inhales.
"Nothing," Remus mutters distractedly, hunched over, slim palms stroking over his bare feet.
Sirius watches him for a while with slight annoyance, watches Remus' thumbs kneading firmly at his high insteps and slipping between his toes.
"Do you ever feel," Remus begins eventually, in a slow, slightly irritable tone, "that your toes are too close together?"
Sirius sighs and pretends to think about it, tucking his own happy toes under a corner of blanket. "Mm, no. In fact," he adds, "I think they're a pretty good distance apart. Wouldn't want 'em any further, might be rather messy."
Remus is frowning, out over the low tower wall and across the lake, though his lips twist slightly. "Must just be me," he says. Sirius tries not to groan; he wouldn't have brought Remus out if he'd thought he'd be faced with one of these vague, contemplative sort of moods. "Feels like my body's not all in the right place, sometimes."
"Yeah," Sirius agrees with a bit of a sneer. "It's pro'lly a werewolf thing, all your bits fusing back differently." He allows a very brief pause before continuing: "Would explain that massive cock growing out of your forehead."
Remus scowls abruptly, which Sirius always finds terribly amusing. "Just fucking get on with it," Remus snaps, after a second or two of sulky silence.
"I'm in no hurry," Sirius reminds him, taking another draw from his cigarette, "I meant it when I said I was staying out all night."
"How grown up," Remus says tartly, curling his spine right over and curving his ankle round to peer at the flat, wrinkled underneath of his foot.
Sirius attempts to ignore him again, and instead stubs the thin end of his fag away, crumpling it against the flagstones, and begins to assemble his ingredients. He sets out papers, matches, the soft pouch of tobacco and a pungent twist of dull grey-green weed neatly across his knees, though Remus' twitching is distracting. "God, can you just stop groping your own feet for one second? You're fidgeting worse than Peter having an epileptic fit on a cold day."
"Not funny. Get on then," Remus says, finally leaving go of his feet only to promptly whip a book out from a cloak pocket.
Sighing, Sirius spreads out a cigarette paper and sprinkles some weed in with a practised flourish of thumb and forefinger. "Come out here for a quiet read, eh?" he asks.
Remus doesn't look up - he hates to be pestered when he's absorbed in a book. "Mm."
It's going to be a fun night, Sirius can tell. "Why isn't James here again?"
"In a sulk," Remus mumbles, "dunno."
Sirius twists off the end of the joint and lights it, sucking hard as the paper burns. "Well fuck him," Sirius says in a hot cloud of beautiful, pungent smoke, "and you, y'boring old fart."
Book still rested in his palm, thumb marking his place, Remus edges nearer to pluck the joint from Sirius' fingertips. "Missed this," he says dreamily, "good stuff."
Dope makes Remus all intense, and Sirius is again holding back his laughter as Remus concentrates on smoking; serious eyes watching the tip glow then closing and eyelashes fluttering as he exhales.
"Hoy," Sirius says when he's bored of watching and Remus has smoked far too much, "cough it up."
Remus smiles pointily, rather sly, and hands the joint back with a quick flick of wrist.
Sirius snatches it back and mutters "Ta" reluctantly. "What's your book then?"
Remus flips it over quickly, checking the cover as if he's forgotten already. "Trashy murder-mystery thriller thing, s'good."
"So you're going to read all night," Sirius says resignedly as he sucks on the last tiny tip of smouldering joint, held pinched in thumb and forefinger while he tries not to burn his lips.
"Uhmm," Remus replies, already re-absorbed, face never changing, eyes flickering back and forth.
Remus is, Sirius has always thought, bloody fucking annoying. That solemn expression of his easily mistaken for smug self-satisfaction, which has a tendency to rub Sirius up the wrong way every time.
"Great," Sirius says aloud and spitefully. Even though Remus is generally only smug when the occasion really warrants it, the calm way he's stretched out and reading still makes Sirius' throat burn and his bones itch with annoyance.
The problem with tonight is that Remus is absolutely sod-all like James. What James is in a huff about Sirius doesn't know, but even a huffy James would be better company than Remus and his book. For fuck's sake, they're supposed to be getting drunk and Sirius' head's already moderately blurry.
Sirius picks up one of Remus' tatty brown-leather shoes, tosses it from hand to hand, then chucks it.
"Don't be childish," Remus tells him in that awful, priggish, prefect-voice, barely even flinching when the shoe bounces off his arse.
James, Sirius knows, would be telling dirty jokes now, head tossed back as his fingers rifle through his own hair, broad shoulders shaking because he finds himself so fucking amusing. Remus is too skinny, his much-thinner shoulders hunched intently over his book. Sirius idly studies the smooth line of his friend's body, slim hips and narrow arse, sparrow-ankles and bony knees. Even his bare feet are thin-looking, far too pointy. James has square feet and hands, a lovely widening back and thighs packed with muscles, not stringy wire and sinew.
Remus pauses in his reading to yawn widely, and Sirius glares, but softens a bit watching the stretch of tendons in his neck, white, surprisingly blunt teeth, and a quick flicker of tongue.
"Tired already?" Sirius snaps anyway, with pointless malice.
"M'okay," Remus replies, shuffling his shoulders and falling back into his reading. Sirius watches Remus' fringe twitching in front of his eyes. He finds even that annoying.
"Well if your book's boring you…"
"Nope, it's brill."
Sirius hates to be dismissed, and there's a distinct hint of 'shut up or fuck off' in Remus' tone. This is my night, Sirius thinks. Either he wants to be happy and jeering and bickering - maybe a bit of a play-fight to get the blood racing - or he wants to be gazing grimly across the bleak landscape, wallowing in the cold harsh romance of it.
Yes, by now they should be roaring with laughter, trying to decide which of their professors they'd shag if they really had to, or making up lies about their sexual experience, or something.
"You ever done it, Moony?"
Remus' hands clench on the pages. Sirius can hear the exasperated sigh even when there isn't one. "I don't think-"
"You don't know?" Sirius screeches, clutching at Remus' comment gleefully. "That quick, were you?"
Remus' eyes actually leave his book, though they don't meet Sirius'. "I don't think that that's an appropriate question," Remus finishes primly.
"But-" Sirius can't think of any reason why Remus would tell him, except for the fact that he should, just because. "Moony!" He takes a healthy gulp of rummy tea and recovers. "I'll take that as a no. But have you ever got close?"
Remus turns his book over, slaps it roughly to the stone tiles and turns to look right at Sirius. His face is horribly blank and serious, so Sirius puts down the flask and prods it in Remus' direction with his toe.
Sirius doesn't understand this. "What?"
"You don't want to have this conversation with me."
"Well I'd like to have some conversation, and this is the first that shocked you away from your book. So come on, talk dirty at me. Who do you want, who do you wank over?"
Remus rolls up onto his side, chin propped in one palm, eyes glistening too brightly in the darkness. "Why don't you tell me, you filthy little fag."
All the blood in Sirius' body rushes down, pooling in his toes which start to burn, though maybe that's the cold. "What?"
Remus' eyebrows raise calmly. "You have magazines," he states, as if that's the end of it.
Sirius' nails curl into the blankets beneath him, but he holds himself back enough to form a sensible reply. "So what? I have Quidditch magazines!"
"With only male players in? The sort that are only bought by teenage girls? Never mind that other one, that promises nicely-oiled men."
A coincidence, suggests that part of Sirius' brain that always advocates the policy of keep on lying. "Quidditch magazines," Sirius repeats.
"You keep them under your bed," Remus continues tiredly. "Some of them have unsightly stains."
It's Remus' matter-of-fact attitude that makes it plain infuriating. The way he's lying there; eyes flickeringly watching him, painfully smug again, and Sirius is so bloody enraged by this he just wants to - fucking - oh god. The cold realisation, clammy and sickening, is even skin-crawlingly worse than that first time he caught himself slyly eying up James in the shower, and he automatically reaches to roll another joint.
"So we shouldn't talk about sex," Remus says after a while, "because, if you think about it, our tastes have little in common. For instance, I have rather a fancy for a nice pair of tits."
Sirius can't even snigger, and he certainly can’t look up, so he licks the edge of his paper and pushes the filter jerkily between his lips. "Fuck off," he mumbles around it, and flares his lighter. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Remus shrug.
It feels like Sirius' head is filling with smoke, lovely and foggy and numb as he inhales. He holds the breath as long as possible, even forcing a small smile when he exhales.
It's too final, is the problem. It isn't real if no-one knows but you. And Remus has evidence.
"You sharing that?" Remus asks impatiently, and Sirius realises he hasn't turned back to his book.
"What?" Sirius blurts. Remus snips his fingers in Sirius' direction, and Sirius realises he means the joint. "Oh." He hands it over carefully. Remus' hand is cold.
Remus puffs on it, casual, wisps of smoke twining between strands of his hair.
"So," Sirius says, almost to take his mind off his sudden passion for Remus, "James."
"He'll get used to it," Remus says shortly, and oh if that isn't just the worst feeling in the world.
"Right," Sirius mumbles, though it does explain a lot. "Why are you still here then?"
The joint is handed back, and Sirius gets the urge to lick Remus' wrist as he reaches over. It's not normal, he's just had several too-hurried gulps of strong rum; there's a lot of fuzz in his head, already.
Remus stays stretched out and looks up at Sirius as Sirius takes a long drag. "Well, y'don't fancy me, do you."
Some breathing-room would have been nice, to wallow in himself and a bit of privacy that doesn't get mixed up with the three other people he shares his room and life with. "I might," Sirius says. "And I don't necessarily-"
"You go silent," Remus says, flopping over onto his back, "if he so much as takes his cloak off. He probably knew for ages but just wished he didn't."
It isn't like Sirius doesn't know; he's quite aware of the meaning of the word 'unrequited'. But it's cruel of Remus. "Why are you still here?" Sirius asks nastily.
Remus' smile is giddy, casual. Sirius actually wants to close a hand around that white neck and choke the life from him, except he can't give Remus the satisfaction, especially because he'd end up mashing their lips together even as his hand tightened.
That tiny, twisted grin. "Your dirty little secret," Remus replies, and Sirius stares. He'd not known, never expected that Remus needed to settle any scores.
"Maybe I do want to shag you," Sirius whispers, flicking the fag-end over the balcony and crawling forward onto his knees. "Maybe I'm thinking it right now; stripping you naked, fucking you up the arse."
It's worth it, just for the iced-over smile on Remus' face, even though it's making Sirius hard while he says it. He drags himself up over Remus, on all fours. Remus doesn't look the least intimidated of course, caught between the urge to punch and giggle by the looks of it, which is good, because that's how Sirius feels, amongst other things.
"Want it, do you?" Sirius grunts, and they struggle, Remus too light and useless to win, though he cleverly jabs his boniest bits into Sirius' stomach. Then Remus shoves a cold, smooth hand up Sirius' shirt while trying to wrestle him off, and Sirius rolls sideways quickly, flopping down onto his back and stealing a corner of blanket. "I'll take that as a no?" he gasps, eyes fixed on the stars.
Remus laughs, which is making things slightly less painful. "Maybe you haven't got me drunk enough yet."
Sirius lifts the flask and places it in Remus' hand. "Maybe."
There's a hush as they stare into the sky. Side-by-side and only partly twisted into the blankets, the back of Remus' hand is hot on Sirius' wrist, the jutting bone of Remus' hip pointing in and the heat from his thigh scorching through Sirius' clothing.
It's just the alcohol - bit of dope and rum smushing his thoughts up the wrong way, but Sirius wants Remus so much right now. Watching the stars but really only noticing the rush of irritation mingling into thick, persistent lust, and images of Remus' lanky naked body; skin and bone but also soft calves and the curve of his arse.
Maybe Sirius just wants anyone, really, anyone that wouldn't mind, preferably male. Remus isn't that disgusted, and he smells so nice, like soap and rum and rough wool. He's breathing awfully jerkily as well, which is somehow exciting; that Remus' breathing could become faster, harsh and shaky.
Sirius nearly snatches his hand away in a panic when Remus moves suddenly, but he's just trying to pour himself a drink, the flask shaking and the cup rested precariously on his fluttering chest.
"But I do," Sirius says without thinking.
"Do what?" Remus mumbles, slurping his tea awkwardly, then giving up.
Propping himself up on his elbows, Sirius sighs. "Fancy you, really."
Next to him, Remus nods, reaching to place flask and cup to one side, then slowly twists up, kissing Sirius in one easy movement.
Sirius doesn't bother to worry about why, when Remus' mouth is small and open, moving softly against his.
He rolls over and on top, because this won't be just a kiss, and he isn't going to let Remus stop for anything. Remus lets out a disgruntled little squeak, probably rather shocked, though Sirius couldn't care less. "Shut up," he moans.
"Fuck, fuck," Remus says in reply, but tilting his head for a good kissing angle, lovely and open-wet and sloppy. "You're bloody mad, you. Fucking off it."
Laughing, almost, Sirius manages to grunt "You started it," and flattens his hips to Remus' pelvis to make his point, or at least some point. This isn't my fault, he thinks, and realises that, for once, the statement is actually true. "And you want it, you little bastard."
Remus doesn't protest. He feels strange in Sirius' arms, not like James does when Sirius is stealing his covert gropes. Too bony, or maybe just bony, because it doesn't matter.
Oh it's good. The way Remus stretches up and wriggles, and hooks his right leg over and between as if he needs to hold Sirius down to stop him going anywhere. "Moony," Sirius mumbles, needing to make it known that this isn't in lieu of James, "Moony."
It feels like Remus is enjoying it, cold hands sliding up Sirius' jumper again and gripping. Now-or-never, maybe, Sirius moves, nearly thrusting. And there, as his thigh slides between Remus' legs, is some proof.
"Bloody-fuck-bugger," Sirius curses, pushing again, the rough shift of Remus' trousers too-good against him. "Fuck-bloody-fuck," he adds, just in case. Their noses bump together and Sirius pulls away.
Remus dares to grin. It's quite frightening, Remus' brown eyes so familiar, except with a slight edge to their expression. Worried that Remus will say something to spoil it, get on with it, then, perhaps, Sirius hurriedly thrusts again, falling back in for more kisses.
"Run out of swear-words?"
Sirius jerks hard, dragging his hip over Remus' erection almost too roughly, but Remus sobs out an involuntary whine, nails curling sharp pain in to Sirius' hips, for all he cares.
"One way to stop you complaining-" Sirius begins, but abandons verbal teasing in favour of real thrusting, grinding into Remus as fast as he can.
Constant, repeating whimpers are all the sounds he gets from Remus after that. Remus is really trying to fuck him, hips jerking in time with his moans.
"Damn," Sirius whispers, as it starts to get too good.
"Oh god, did you," Remus asks, voice coarse and pained.
"No, hold on-" Sirius hitches himself higher, one hand sliding under Remus' arse to position. "There, fucking there-"
He comes silently, with Remus still rhythmically gasping beneath him. He moves slower as he comes down, until Remus cries out "Sirius," as if it's killing him, so Sirius presses his hips down even as he aches, and watches while Remus' jaw loosens and his eyes finally crinkle up.
There's a brief moment of calm, and then Remus wriggles. "Oh," he says, tonelessly, shoving Sirius off.
"Oh what?" Sirius asks, lying back down on the blankets, squirming with discomfort.
"Nothing," Remus mutters, followed by far too much silence.
"I didn't plan to," Sirius says eventually, pleading, still desperately breathless, though his whole body feels heavy and warm. "I didn't."
"Well you're the one that wanted to stay out, so what the hell did you plan to do all night?"
Remus sounds highly indignant about it all and Sirius groans. "Remus-" He turns over only to find Remus has lifted his book again. "I hate you," Sirius says, before realising they're both trying to hold back laughter. "Twat."
"Pillock," Remus replies airily, with a knowing look.
"You-" The word 'wanker' is on the tip of his tongue, but Sirius changes his mind when he notices that Remus' eyes aren't moving over the words. He has lovely eyelashes, Sirius kicks himself for thinking. "You aren't pissed off that I - that is, we - that we just… did… that. Thing, are you?"
Remus chews lightly on his own lip, quietly contemplating it. "Not really," he says at last, almost smiling. "I never said I only liked girls. You rolling another or what?"
***
Author: kabeyk
Summary: Sirius wants a relaxing night, but with Remus (and Remus' book) he gets a lot more than he bargained for.
Rating: R
Recipient: xylodemon
Notes: I thought I might as well include everything that was asked for. I heartily thank my betas.
***
One Fine Night
"You spiked the tea again." Remus is grumbling the minute they get outside, peering into the depths of their flask with an expression of fast-impending doom that tea doesn't often warrant.
"Didn't," Sirius says, busying himself with arranging the blankets, tartan wool rough against his fingers.
Remus clutches the flask against his chest protectively, but continues to complain. "Why must you do that, always? Tea is tea. Fair enough whisky. And then tea; just one, or the other." He's started on those hand gestures that make Sirius snigger. "But not all at once, together, in the same drink. It's not right."
Sirius sighs a long plume of clammy, frosted breath and settles back against the tower wall, resting his cigarette tin in his lap in front of his raised knees. "I didn't put whisky in the tea, Moony."
Remus growls a little and sniffs the flask again, delicately and with a hint of distain in the curl of his upper lip. "Smells it. There's something in there."
"Rum."
"Y'what?"
"Bit o' spiced dark rum. There wasn't any whisky."
"Oh god," Remus groans, pouring a mouthful-worth of the liquid into the accompanying plastic cup gingerly as if it were poison, "you put rum in."
"Yes I put rum in. Dunno what's to complain for; it was that or the meths." Sirius settles down to let that one sink in.
"Meths! You have meths? You've tried drinking- Oh god. I mean, why?"
Sirius ignores the bitter cold on his fingers and fiddles himself out a cigarette paper. "Experiments."
Remus sniffs. "You and your experimenting," he says darkly, before rather over-dramatically throwing his head back and tossing the alcohol-laced tea down his throat. Sirius keeps his eyes on the fag he's rolling so that he won't smirk.
There's a short, guttural choking sound followed by a splutter. "Fuck," Remus curses, his voice gasping and broken. "Nearly threw that right back up."
"Can't take your liquor, eh?" Sirius asks, amused, rolling his thumbs around and flickering his tongue out to seal his smoke.
"Disgusting," Remus says coldly, then sets the flask down and inexplicably reaches to pull both of his socks off.
"What… are you doing?" Sirius asks flatly, bunching the blankets up thicker beneath him to protect his arse from the hard floor. He takes out his favourite lighter -- old and scuffed brushed-silver -- sparks it and inhales.
"Nothing," Remus mutters distractedly, hunched over, slim palms stroking over his bare feet.
Sirius watches him for a while with slight annoyance, watches Remus' thumbs kneading firmly at his high insteps and slipping between his toes.
"Do you ever feel," Remus begins eventually, in a slow, slightly irritable tone, "that your toes are too close together?"
Sirius sighs and pretends to think about it, tucking his own happy toes under a corner of blanket. "Mm, no. In fact," he adds, "I think they're a pretty good distance apart. Wouldn't want 'em any further, might be rather messy."
Remus is frowning, out over the low tower wall and across the lake, though his lips twist slightly. "Must just be me," he says. Sirius tries not to groan; he wouldn't have brought Remus out if he'd thought he'd be faced with one of these vague, contemplative sort of moods. "Feels like my body's not all in the right place, sometimes."
"Yeah," Sirius agrees with a bit of a sneer. "It's pro'lly a werewolf thing, all your bits fusing back differently." He allows a very brief pause before continuing: "Would explain that massive cock growing out of your forehead."
Remus scowls abruptly, which Sirius always finds terribly amusing. "Just fucking get on with it," Remus snaps, after a second or two of sulky silence.
"I'm in no hurry," Sirius reminds him, taking another draw from his cigarette, "I meant it when I said I was staying out all night."
"How grown up," Remus says tartly, curling his spine right over and curving his ankle round to peer at the flat, wrinkled underneath of his foot.
Sirius attempts to ignore him again, and instead stubs the thin end of his fag away, crumpling it against the flagstones, and begins to assemble his ingredients. He sets out papers, matches, the soft pouch of tobacco and a pungent twist of dull grey-green weed neatly across his knees, though Remus' twitching is distracting. "God, can you just stop groping your own feet for one second? You're fidgeting worse than Peter having an epileptic fit on a cold day."
"Not funny. Get on then," Remus says, finally leaving go of his feet only to promptly whip a book out from a cloak pocket.
Sighing, Sirius spreads out a cigarette paper and sprinkles some weed in with a practised flourish of thumb and forefinger. "Come out here for a quiet read, eh?" he asks.
Remus doesn't look up - he hates to be pestered when he's absorbed in a book. "Mm."
It's going to be a fun night, Sirius can tell. "Why isn't James here again?"
"In a sulk," Remus mumbles, "dunno."
Sirius twists off the end of the joint and lights it, sucking hard as the paper burns. "Well fuck him," Sirius says in a hot cloud of beautiful, pungent smoke, "and you, y'boring old fart."
Book still rested in his palm, thumb marking his place, Remus edges nearer to pluck the joint from Sirius' fingertips. "Missed this," he says dreamily, "good stuff."
Dope makes Remus all intense, and Sirius is again holding back his laughter as Remus concentrates on smoking; serious eyes watching the tip glow then closing and eyelashes fluttering as he exhales.
"Hoy," Sirius says when he's bored of watching and Remus has smoked far too much, "cough it up."
Remus smiles pointily, rather sly, and hands the joint back with a quick flick of wrist.
Sirius snatches it back and mutters "Ta" reluctantly. "What's your book then?"
Remus flips it over quickly, checking the cover as if he's forgotten already. "Trashy murder-mystery thriller thing, s'good."
"So you're going to read all night," Sirius says resignedly as he sucks on the last tiny tip of smouldering joint, held pinched in thumb and forefinger while he tries not to burn his lips.
"Uhmm," Remus replies, already re-absorbed, face never changing, eyes flickering back and forth.
Remus is, Sirius has always thought, bloody fucking annoying. That solemn expression of his easily mistaken for smug self-satisfaction, which has a tendency to rub Sirius up the wrong way every time.
"Great," Sirius says aloud and spitefully. Even though Remus is generally only smug when the occasion really warrants it, the calm way he's stretched out and reading still makes Sirius' throat burn and his bones itch with annoyance.
The problem with tonight is that Remus is absolutely sod-all like James. What James is in a huff about Sirius doesn't know, but even a huffy James would be better company than Remus and his book. For fuck's sake, they're supposed to be getting drunk and Sirius' head's already moderately blurry.
Sirius picks up one of Remus' tatty brown-leather shoes, tosses it from hand to hand, then chucks it.
"Don't be childish," Remus tells him in that awful, priggish, prefect-voice, barely even flinching when the shoe bounces off his arse.
James, Sirius knows, would be telling dirty jokes now, head tossed back as his fingers rifle through his own hair, broad shoulders shaking because he finds himself so fucking amusing. Remus is too skinny, his much-thinner shoulders hunched intently over his book. Sirius idly studies the smooth line of his friend's body, slim hips and narrow arse, sparrow-ankles and bony knees. Even his bare feet are thin-looking, far too pointy. James has square feet and hands, a lovely widening back and thighs packed with muscles, not stringy wire and sinew.
Remus pauses in his reading to yawn widely, and Sirius glares, but softens a bit watching the stretch of tendons in his neck, white, surprisingly blunt teeth, and a quick flicker of tongue.
"Tired already?" Sirius snaps anyway, with pointless malice.
"M'okay," Remus replies, shuffling his shoulders and falling back into his reading. Sirius watches Remus' fringe twitching in front of his eyes. He finds even that annoying.
"Well if your book's boring you…"
"Nope, it's brill."
Sirius hates to be dismissed, and there's a distinct hint of 'shut up or fuck off' in Remus' tone. This is my night, Sirius thinks. Either he wants to be happy and jeering and bickering - maybe a bit of a play-fight to get the blood racing - or he wants to be gazing grimly across the bleak landscape, wallowing in the cold harsh romance of it.
Yes, by now they should be roaring with laughter, trying to decide which of their professors they'd shag if they really had to, or making up lies about their sexual experience, or something.
"You ever done it, Moony?"
Remus' hands clench on the pages. Sirius can hear the exasperated sigh even when there isn't one. "I don't think-"
"You don't know?" Sirius screeches, clutching at Remus' comment gleefully. "That quick, were you?"
Remus' eyes actually leave his book, though they don't meet Sirius'. "I don't think that that's an appropriate question," Remus finishes primly.
"But-" Sirius can't think of any reason why Remus would tell him, except for the fact that he should, just because. "Moony!" He takes a healthy gulp of rummy tea and recovers. "I'll take that as a no. But have you ever got close?"
Remus turns his book over, slaps it roughly to the stone tiles and turns to look right at Sirius. His face is horribly blank and serious, so Sirius puts down the flask and prods it in Remus' direction with his toe.
Sirius doesn't understand this. "What?"
"You don't want to have this conversation with me."
"Well I'd like to have some conversation, and this is the first that shocked you away from your book. So come on, talk dirty at me. Who do you want, who do you wank over?"
Remus rolls up onto his side, chin propped in one palm, eyes glistening too brightly in the darkness. "Why don't you tell me, you filthy little fag."
All the blood in Sirius' body rushes down, pooling in his toes which start to burn, though maybe that's the cold. "What?"
Remus' eyebrows raise calmly. "You have magazines," he states, as if that's the end of it.
Sirius' nails curl into the blankets beneath him, but he holds himself back enough to form a sensible reply. "So what? I have Quidditch magazines!"
"With only male players in? The sort that are only bought by teenage girls? Never mind that other one, that promises nicely-oiled men."
A coincidence, suggests that part of Sirius' brain that always advocates the policy of keep on lying. "Quidditch magazines," Sirius repeats.
"You keep them under your bed," Remus continues tiredly. "Some of them have unsightly stains."
It's Remus' matter-of-fact attitude that makes it plain infuriating. The way he's lying there; eyes flickeringly watching him, painfully smug again, and Sirius is so bloody enraged by this he just wants to - fucking - oh god. The cold realisation, clammy and sickening, is even skin-crawlingly worse than that first time he caught himself slyly eying up James in the shower, and he automatically reaches to roll another joint.
"So we shouldn't talk about sex," Remus says after a while, "because, if you think about it, our tastes have little in common. For instance, I have rather a fancy for a nice pair of tits."
Sirius can't even snigger, and he certainly can’t look up, so he licks the edge of his paper and pushes the filter jerkily between his lips. "Fuck off," he mumbles around it, and flares his lighter. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Remus shrug.
It feels like Sirius' head is filling with smoke, lovely and foggy and numb as he inhales. He holds the breath as long as possible, even forcing a small smile when he exhales.
It's too final, is the problem. It isn't real if no-one knows but you. And Remus has evidence.
"You sharing that?" Remus asks impatiently, and Sirius realises he hasn't turned back to his book.
"What?" Sirius blurts. Remus snips his fingers in Sirius' direction, and Sirius realises he means the joint. "Oh." He hands it over carefully. Remus' hand is cold.
Remus puffs on it, casual, wisps of smoke twining between strands of his hair.
"So," Sirius says, almost to take his mind off his sudden passion for Remus, "James."
"He'll get used to it," Remus says shortly, and oh if that isn't just the worst feeling in the world.
"Right," Sirius mumbles, though it does explain a lot. "Why are you still here then?"
The joint is handed back, and Sirius gets the urge to lick Remus' wrist as he reaches over. It's not normal, he's just had several too-hurried gulps of strong rum; there's a lot of fuzz in his head, already.
Remus stays stretched out and looks up at Sirius as Sirius takes a long drag. "Well, y'don't fancy me, do you."
Some breathing-room would have been nice, to wallow in himself and a bit of privacy that doesn't get mixed up with the three other people he shares his room and life with. "I might," Sirius says. "And I don't necessarily-"
"You go silent," Remus says, flopping over onto his back, "if he so much as takes his cloak off. He probably knew for ages but just wished he didn't."
It isn't like Sirius doesn't know; he's quite aware of the meaning of the word 'unrequited'. But it's cruel of Remus. "Why are you still here?" Sirius asks nastily.
Remus' smile is giddy, casual. Sirius actually wants to close a hand around that white neck and choke the life from him, except he can't give Remus the satisfaction, especially because he'd end up mashing their lips together even as his hand tightened.
That tiny, twisted grin. "Your dirty little secret," Remus replies, and Sirius stares. He'd not known, never expected that Remus needed to settle any scores.
"Maybe I do want to shag you," Sirius whispers, flicking the fag-end over the balcony and crawling forward onto his knees. "Maybe I'm thinking it right now; stripping you naked, fucking you up the arse."
It's worth it, just for the iced-over smile on Remus' face, even though it's making Sirius hard while he says it. He drags himself up over Remus, on all fours. Remus doesn't look the least intimidated of course, caught between the urge to punch and giggle by the looks of it, which is good, because that's how Sirius feels, amongst other things.
"Want it, do you?" Sirius grunts, and they struggle, Remus too light and useless to win, though he cleverly jabs his boniest bits into Sirius' stomach. Then Remus shoves a cold, smooth hand up Sirius' shirt while trying to wrestle him off, and Sirius rolls sideways quickly, flopping down onto his back and stealing a corner of blanket. "I'll take that as a no?" he gasps, eyes fixed on the stars.
Remus laughs, which is making things slightly less painful. "Maybe you haven't got me drunk enough yet."
Sirius lifts the flask and places it in Remus' hand. "Maybe."
There's a hush as they stare into the sky. Side-by-side and only partly twisted into the blankets, the back of Remus' hand is hot on Sirius' wrist, the jutting bone of Remus' hip pointing in and the heat from his thigh scorching through Sirius' clothing.
It's just the alcohol - bit of dope and rum smushing his thoughts up the wrong way, but Sirius wants Remus so much right now. Watching the stars but really only noticing the rush of irritation mingling into thick, persistent lust, and images of Remus' lanky naked body; skin and bone but also soft calves and the curve of his arse.
Maybe Sirius just wants anyone, really, anyone that wouldn't mind, preferably male. Remus isn't that disgusted, and he smells so nice, like soap and rum and rough wool. He's breathing awfully jerkily as well, which is somehow exciting; that Remus' breathing could become faster, harsh and shaky.
Sirius nearly snatches his hand away in a panic when Remus moves suddenly, but he's just trying to pour himself a drink, the flask shaking and the cup rested precariously on his fluttering chest.
"But I do," Sirius says without thinking.
"Do what?" Remus mumbles, slurping his tea awkwardly, then giving up.
Propping himself up on his elbows, Sirius sighs. "Fancy you, really."
Next to him, Remus nods, reaching to place flask and cup to one side, then slowly twists up, kissing Sirius in one easy movement.
Sirius doesn't bother to worry about why, when Remus' mouth is small and open, moving softly against his.
He rolls over and on top, because this won't be just a kiss, and he isn't going to let Remus stop for anything. Remus lets out a disgruntled little squeak, probably rather shocked, though Sirius couldn't care less. "Shut up," he moans.
"Fuck, fuck," Remus says in reply, but tilting his head for a good kissing angle, lovely and open-wet and sloppy. "You're bloody mad, you. Fucking off it."
Laughing, almost, Sirius manages to grunt "You started it," and flattens his hips to Remus' pelvis to make his point, or at least some point. This isn't my fault, he thinks, and realises that, for once, the statement is actually true. "And you want it, you little bastard."
Remus doesn't protest. He feels strange in Sirius' arms, not like James does when Sirius is stealing his covert gropes. Too bony, or maybe just bony, because it doesn't matter.
Oh it's good. The way Remus stretches up and wriggles, and hooks his right leg over and between as if he needs to hold Sirius down to stop him going anywhere. "Moony," Sirius mumbles, needing to make it known that this isn't in lieu of James, "Moony."
It feels like Remus is enjoying it, cold hands sliding up Sirius' jumper again and gripping. Now-or-never, maybe, Sirius moves, nearly thrusting. And there, as his thigh slides between Remus' legs, is some proof.
"Bloody-fuck-bugger," Sirius curses, pushing again, the rough shift of Remus' trousers too-good against him. "Fuck-bloody-fuck," he adds, just in case. Their noses bump together and Sirius pulls away.
Remus dares to grin. It's quite frightening, Remus' brown eyes so familiar, except with a slight edge to their expression. Worried that Remus will say something to spoil it, get on with it, then, perhaps, Sirius hurriedly thrusts again, falling back in for more kisses.
"Run out of swear-words?"
Sirius jerks hard, dragging his hip over Remus' erection almost too roughly, but Remus sobs out an involuntary whine, nails curling sharp pain in to Sirius' hips, for all he cares.
"One way to stop you complaining-" Sirius begins, but abandons verbal teasing in favour of real thrusting, grinding into Remus as fast as he can.
Constant, repeating whimpers are all the sounds he gets from Remus after that. Remus is really trying to fuck him, hips jerking in time with his moans.
"Damn," Sirius whispers, as it starts to get too good.
"Oh god, did you," Remus asks, voice coarse and pained.
"No, hold on-" Sirius hitches himself higher, one hand sliding under Remus' arse to position. "There, fucking there-"
He comes silently, with Remus still rhythmically gasping beneath him. He moves slower as he comes down, until Remus cries out "Sirius," as if it's killing him, so Sirius presses his hips down even as he aches, and watches while Remus' jaw loosens and his eyes finally crinkle up.
There's a brief moment of calm, and then Remus wriggles. "Oh," he says, tonelessly, shoving Sirius off.
"Oh what?" Sirius asks, lying back down on the blankets, squirming with discomfort.
"Nothing," Remus mutters, followed by far too much silence.
"I didn't plan to," Sirius says eventually, pleading, still desperately breathless, though his whole body feels heavy and warm. "I didn't."
"Well you're the one that wanted to stay out, so what the hell did you plan to do all night?"
Remus sounds highly indignant about it all and Sirius groans. "Remus-" He turns over only to find Remus has lifted his book again. "I hate you," Sirius says, before realising they're both trying to hold back laughter. "Twat."
"Pillock," Remus replies airily, with a knowing look.
"You-" The word 'wanker' is on the tip of his tongue, but Sirius changes his mind when he notices that Remus' eyes aren't moving over the words. He has lovely eyelashes, Sirius kicks himself for thinking. "You aren't pissed off that I - that is, we - that we just… did… that. Thing, are you?"
Remus chews lightly on his own lip, quietly contemplating it. "Not really," he says at last, almost smiling. "I never said I only liked girls. You rolling another or what?"
***