I admit it, I totally dig slash. Especially Wolfstar, clearly the superior choice in the HP fandom. I wrote this in high school and promptly forgot about it, but upon rediscovering it...I kind of like it. Enjoy, and as always, R&R :)

(I am but a simple, broke American girl in my early 20s; I am the furthest thing from JK Rowling, so bring no legal complaints against me, please.)

Remus Lupin was surprisingly similar to his favorite sweater: faded, tired-looking, dotted in odd places with melted chocolate. They had both seen too many moonrises, been torn in too many spots, but they would always be held in someone's fondness: Remus would never part with his sweater, no matter how many holes gaped in its thin knit, and Sirius said that each scar tracing Remus' skin only made him love him all the more.

Even when there was little to distract him, when the fire breathed the perfect amount of warmth into the air, and his tea felt like sweetened silk on his tired throat, and the sky was utterly moonless, even then Remus could not remember exactly what had made him do it.

He was never the brash one of the group, never said or did anything that didn't pale in comparison to the antics of James and Sirius, highly animated, hot-blooded teenagers that they were. But there may have been something foreign and exciting in his pumpkin juice that night, or perhaps his sinews were tightened in preparation for the transformation that lay only two short days ahead. Either way, he remembered feeling uncomfortably warm sitting in the common room, as though the couch on which he lounged was parked atop a gigantic heating coil.

"I'm not going to get any work done if you keep shifting the cushions," Sirius sighed, cross in a way that was not cross at all, rather more resigned to the fact that, after he'd set aside time to actually do some work on it, he would most likely never finish his Potions essay.

Remus was embarrassed, and immediately ceased jiggling his knee up and down. "Sorry," he grimaced, tugging at his collar; please, Merlin, just let a bit of heat out, siphon it out through the top of his sweater and away from the skin that was already very slightly damp. He just felt so clammy.

It took several seconds for Remus to identify the tingling feeling that began to steadily encroach across his skin. Looking over at Sirius very quickly, he noticed with a start that the boy was staring at him, sucking absently at the tufted end of a Sugar Quill.

"What is it?" Sirius said finally, with the harsh barking note to his voice, the one that came out every so often, when his thoughts strayed and the dog in him bled through. "You look like you're deciding whether or not to puke."

Remus let out a high, unnatural laugh, suddenly all too aware of the sweat gathering in his palms. "I've decided not to. Although it is awfully warm in here. Yes, it's a bit nauseating, mind if I let in some fresh air?" Without waiting for a response, Remus stood sharply and crossed to the window. He felt oddly jerky all over as he unlatched the pane and pushed it open; it was as though his nerves were shutting off and turning back on intermittently, making his limbs move in every direction.

"You're really acting funny, Moony," Sirius said, his voice leaden with a rare dose of concern. He walked over to where Remus stood, clutching the windowsill and feeling hotter than ever despite the sporadic November breezes that were now ghosting across his skin.

Sirius peered into Remus' face, his blue eyes probing and curious. "It's almost that time of the month, is it?" he attempted; the slight grin that flickered across his lips made Remus feel, as though it were even possible, more awkward in his too-warm sweater.

"Sirius…just…"

"PTS, then? Pre-Transformation Syndrome? You and Evans should swap some pointers-"

"No. I..." His blood was thundering in his ears.

"Merlin, you do look sick. Sit down, Moony, before you fall over."

"You're an idiot," Remus snapped, before pressing his lips fiercely against Sirius' just-parted mouth.

He felt the chain reaction sweep through them both; the sudden tensing of Sirius' every muscle, tightening the air, while Remus felt like his heart was going to jump ship and throw itself headlong down Sirius' throat. Remus broke it off quickly after that sensation occurred, not keen on the idea of any of his internal organs trying to escape. Sirius looked dazed; his eyes were wide, and his fingers came to rest pointlessly against his bottom lip, not really feeling for anything, simply there.

"Sirius, I'm sor-"

The final syllable did not have the chance to pitch itself, hasty and embarrassed, from Remus' lips; Sirius covered them violently with his own, and suddenly Remus' blood was pumping through him like liquid fire, burning away the jittery nervousness that had been flowing through his veins in its place. The relief – or was it the kiss itself? - was dizzying.

Sirius was actually kissing him. Not merely a reflex brought on by Remus' clumsy oral attack; no, this was a skilled master at work, working on him, bloody wanting to… He was sweet like things in dreams are sweet: startlingly real against your tongue, so vivid in an instant, but fleeting, as though the approach of the morning would turn the taste to something softer, grayer. Time was spooling slowly out around them like a velvet cord unwinding, each second luxuriously stretched.

Suddenly, the air cracked in half with the unmistakable sound of a heavy door slamming somewhere above them. The two of them flew apart so quickly that the world seemed to tilt. The breath in Remus' lungs felt as though it had coalesced into something more like water, drowning him as they stared at each other, waiting for another sound to pierce the room. Delirious terror crackled between them like static. No footsteps came, no other voices, but the two of them remained as still as sculpted marble, trying to breathe.

It was Sirius who at long last broke the silence. His voice was ragged, as though something in his throat had torn it at the edges on its way out.

"Now what?"