Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Sirius Black / Remus Lupin

Summary: Because cross dressing gay werewolves simply don't get enough time in the spot light, and insist to be written about.

Warning/Spoilers: Crossdressing!Remus. That is all.

Disclaimer: See the lady that's still tweaking the fifth book? That one over there with the initials JKR? Yeah, her. She owns the characters, I don't.

Feedback: Craved and desired.

He would smooth the fabric down over his legs, humming to himself in satisfaction as every crease in the fabric simply disappeared underneath his hand. ( And he would be ignoring the particularly cheap thrill that he got when feeling the fabric running against his skin -- though he told himself it was a cheap thrill, and it should just be that, nothing more. )


He would turn around, looking at the pleated skirt from every possible angle he could manage. Making sure that it fell down far enough his legs, barely reaching the top of his thighs, and flaring out just enough so that when he turned around quickly, it would lift up. Teasing.

It was all ways about teasing ( and taunting, of course ).

Shaking his head in amusement, he would set himself down on the edge of the bed. Lifting one of his legs up and holding it poised in the air, as he would run his hand down the smooth skin. Freshly shaven, because all that hair on his leg just got in the way of the stockings. He would smiled fondly, turning his head to the side, and setting his hand on the black satin stockings and then picking it up to slip it onto his leg. Bunching it up just long enough to slip it onto his foot, and then slide it -- oh so slowly, feels so nice -- up along his leg, and let it fit perfectly against his leg.

The same thing would be done to the other leg, a small flutter in his stomach as the satin melded against his skin.

He would then stand up, making sure that everything fit perfectly, before finally slipping on the simple white blouse he had chosen. By far, the simplest article in the ensemble, but he all ways adored simplicity. ( This was about being simple, though in truth there was nothing simple at all about it. ) The buttons on the shirt would be buttoned up, and he would straighten out the shirt on his lean figure. Making sure that everything was in place, before turning to the dresser, and looking to the make up that sat there.

Choices of what to wear on his face would all ways be easy ( a deep brown eyeliner, a soft pink lipstick, a smudge of golden brown eye shadow with glitter, and a touch of rouge to the cheeks ), and would all ways be easily applied. The briefest moments of when he would make sure to get rid of excess lip stick by pressing his lips to a piece of cloth, and then would run the tip of his finger along the outline of his lips to clean up what he missed, would be taken and then he would move on to do something with his hair.

That, along with the rest, would be uncomplicated. He would pick up the brush next to the make up, and brush out his hair. Slowly, and then when that was done he would use the brush to make his hair curl just enough to frame his face. ( His hair was getting longer, he would note, and then shake his head in amusement, turning away from the mirror -- the same one that flirted with him, most outrageously. )

After that, the traditional tie of the Gryffindor house would be put on. Tied very neatly, and straightened out like all the other articles of his clothing. The next to last article of clothing would be the tried and true Hogwarts sweater vest he would slip on over his shirt ( making sure to not smug any of his make up, or wrinkle any of his other clothing ). Finally, after everything else, he would slide the robe, front open as all ways, and clearly putting himself on view for someone to see.

He would exit the room, hips swaying deliciously, leaning in against the doorway that lead from the bedroom to the main room of his quarters, and would lower his eyes. Eyelashes brushing against his cheeks, as he would slowly look up, watching the other man in the room. A slow seductive smile would bloom on his lips, and his eyes would turn a molten golden colour.

"Professor," he would murmur in sweet honeyed tones, "your student is here."

And he would never fail to miss the flash of arousal in stormy blue eyes, and he would never fail to smile even more.