N/A: If you haven't read it already, One Day by David Nicholls in an absolutely magnificent book. I owe everything about how well this turned out to having read it before I started writing.
Disclaimer: Sirius and Remus are both the property of J. K. Rowling.
Castaways
"Where will we be when we're forty?"
"What a predictable question." Sirius rolled over, exhaling a ribbon of smoke toward the ceiling. "Can't you talk about something else?"
Remus sighed, and decided it would be better not to look at him. He had entered into one of those moods of affected nonchalance that were designed to make him look as if, frankly, Moony darling, he didn't give a shit. It never failed to amuse, and infuriate Remus that he felt the need to fall back on such a transparent trick, when he knew exactly what Sirius was thinking and exactly, to the last tremor along his slightly goose pimpled bicep, how terrified he was of the world that waited for them. Cast from Hogwarts' cradle and into the deep blue ocean, they both knew that their chance of survival, let alone success was breathtakingly slim.
"Thirty then," he persisted. "Where will we be at thirty?"
Sirius took one final drag on his cigarette before stubbing in out on the headboard of Remus' four poster.
"Gods that was just unnecessary!" Remus scolded, reaching over and grabbing his wrist before he could repeat the motion. Sirius stared coolly up at him, and then his face broke into a smirk. He was, in every respect, from the black mane spread out across the pillows, to his chipped crimson lips, to the way his dark eyebrows arched slightly as Remus unconsciously tightened his grip on his wrist, utterly beautiful. There was no other word for it.
"Here," Sirius chuckled, as he let the fag end spiral off the edge of the bed. "I'd like to be here in thirty years please."
"Sad bastard," Remus whispered, staring down at him, their faces mere, easily spannable inches apart. "Where's your sense of adventure? You can't spend the next 12 years dreaming of being back at school."
"Not at school, you daft prick," Sirius grinned, reaching up and running his finger tips, calloused enough to make his touch achingly sexily, along the curve of Remus' cheek. "Like this, with you."
Remus sighed, and then smiled, and decided to allow himself a moment of rare self indulgence. "Well," he murmured, "That, I suppose I can understand."