Perfervor
(Sirius's spell doesn't quite work; Remus has an affliction. Buzzword was "resplendent/resplendence" and genre/cliché was "spells gone awry." Warning: wanking. I tied for the win this week!)
Sirius's Silencing Charm is not working. Not like Remus doesn't know what he's going to be doing – they all acknowledge it as truth, and ignore it to the best of their adolescent ability, never speaking of it: When a boy of sixteen comes just a bit too quickly up into the dormitory, and jerks his bed-hangings shut around himself, and hastily mumbles Silencio, the only two things he can really be doing are crying or having a wank, because nothing else is that embarrassingly private. And as Remus has been told before, Sirius is a Black, and Blacks do not cry.
It doesn't mean he is any less wholly unprepared.
Oh, if he were anyone else, Remus thinks, he would put an end to this. If he were Peter he'd just pop out from his own curtains and cast the spell himself, though it might take a couple of tries through his stammering and blushing; if he were James he'd chuck things at Sirius's bed, heavy things like trainers (James's) and cauldrons (Sirius's) and books (probably Remus's own, lamentably) until he sussed it out, and then mock him about it for weeks. But he is Remus Lupin, and when it comes to Sirius Black he has something of an...affliction. A demented, corrosive disease, with the apparent side-effect of turning him into a somewhat hyperactive sort of thesaurus, so that the desperate crumple of shifting fabric is hands fisted in sheets, frenetic, tenuous and the slim crack in the curtains, the place that is probably letting the sound out, is sunlight glinting on mussed hair, resplendent, ethereal and each little gasping hitch of Sirius's un-Silenced breath is parted lips, lascivious, wanton, delectable, because in all his twisted imaginings, every fleeting fantasy Remus has had of hearing all of this and more, Sirius has been sharp and loud, and hearing this whispered softness instead is the reason he can't possibly bring himself to correct Sirius's error and the reason his brain won't seem to shut off. He can't put an end to this, no matter how wrongwrongwrong it is, because it is just so invasively, pruriently right.
A deep, hard, keening noise, and Remus's left hand scrambles for his trouser zip before his right has even dropped the wand that casts a hasty Silencio of his own. Sirius shifts and so does Remus, rucking up his shirt to make a wide sweaty-palmed pass down his stomach before he gets to his erection; Sirius pants and so does Remus, gasping for breath as quietly as possible because he wants to (he wants to not want to) be able to hear every little sound from the other side of Sirius's curtains from the other side of his. And Sirius chokes out noises, and Remus is right behind him, a bit more loudly even, thankful for his charm, especially when Sirius's bright cry of climax triggers Remus's in about two seconds flat, the cracking note crackling down Remus's overworked nerves and straight to his overheavy prick.
After that, there is at last a moment or two of true silence.
But oh, then –
"Quite nice, wasn't it?" hums a thick, satisfied voice.
Remus wants to cry.
"I especially liked the part where you joined in."
Remus wants to die.
Instead, from behind his bed-hangings, he sputters, "Whah?"
Sirius's head, jet-black hair and glint-white grin, pokes its sweaty way in a second later. "I rigged the whole room," he says, enunciating deliberately, exacerbating Remus's consumption. "No Silencing Charms for an hour. I heard everything."
Something spirals away out of the pit of Remus's stomach, horror, mortification, dread. And yet – somehow, there is a black look on Sirius's face, wry and devious, and not unlike the expression he wears when a truly brilliant prank is underway but somehow much, much more serious, that says to Remus that this could end up being either completely serendipitous or totally insalubrious.
Or with gleaming, conniving, sexy Sirius Black, probably both.