A/N:

Woah. Okay so this work has really begged to be written. I'm just really excited to post the first part of it.

WARNING/Note A: I know it talks about a lot of sensitive topics. Fair warning that it may be fairly triggering, but there is no explicit non-con, only mentions of past non-con. There's also some victim-blaming and slurs. Also, there's some internalized homophobia, but this is not a closet-case story by any means. Please don't read this if any of that is going to hurt you. I don't want to hurt anyone.

Note B: I'm not British. I tried very hard not to be a total American about all this. If there's something that catches your eye as an American-ism, please tell me and suggest a way I can fix it.

Since he was a small child, Remus has dealt with a variety of patrons. Once when he was eight, he dealt with a man and woman who showed up to his art studio half-nude, without an appointment, and rambling about Da Vinci and Mozart. Remus had just cocked his head to the side with wide eyes while his mother made a fuss and tried to get them to explain what in the world they wanted. Remus calls this client a Money Guzzler – typically people with too much money and nothing to do with it who don't actually know what they want: just that they want something to show off to their friends.

Remus was first introduced to the Busy Boss patron when he was six. A man in a way too expensive suit who checked his watched every two seconds and had coffee stains on his teeth had arrived fifteen minutes late for a consultation. The balding businessman threw a few thousand dollars and a picture of his wife at them and told Remus's mom to make sure it was ready in two days. Needless to say, Remus's small painting career had suddenly become something much bigger than it was. When the man's wife came in, Remus entertained another type of patron. She waddled into his studio and demanded he fix a perfectly executed painting. She proceeded to yell at him about "how can you be a bloody art prodigy when you can't even get my chin right." To which, Remus innocently replied, "I'm sorry, but my mum said you might not like how fat your chin really is so I slimmed it down a bit." His mum quickly apologized to the woman who was quickly growing purple and ushered her to the back room, away from her son.

He has plenty more stories he'd love to share at the ripe age of sixteen, but as it just so happens, his favorite patrons strutted in. The Blacks. Remus looked up from behind his canvas where he was working on a personal piece only to silently groan and attempt to put on a smile. Long gone were the days when his mother dealt with clients and patrons. Since he was twelve years old, every year or so the Black family comes in for another family portrait. The obvious patriarchs of the family Mr. Orion Black and Mr. Cygnus Black are always discussing politics in quiet, even voices. Their discussions are usually limited to the people they were work with and the people who they hope have a misfortunate scandal that ends their careers in politics. Mr. Orion Black is married to Mrs. Walburga Black, a catty woman with a fake smile and too much hairspray. She gossips mindlessly to Mrs. Druella Black who constantly looks tipsy. Remus doesn't blame her with her three daughters. Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa are perhaps the most different sisters Remus has ever met. Bellatrix grins maniacally and has this slight twitch to her eye. Remus is never sure whether she's happy or if she's just murdered a man . Perhaps both, he thinks. Andromeda is quiet, like her cousin Regulus, and pointedly stays out of the spotlight. That spotlight is happily filled by the constantly flicking blonde hair of Narcissa Black who seems to be under the impression she's God's gift to man.

As much as Remus uses the term "favorite" ironically, there is one person Remus is always excited to see. This time, the boy arrives five minutes after the rest of the family. Rather than his hair pulled back into a neat pony tail and a suit buttoned up to the neck, Sirius's hair is windswept to match his leather jacket. To finish the look, he wears ripped up jeans and a white t-shirt that looks matted in grease. Remus resisted the urge to ask him why he looked like a bad replica of a 1950s American "greaser."

For the first time since Remus has known him, Sirius grins with wild abandon. That is, until Walburga sees him and demands to know who he thinks he is and what he thinks he's doing look like some street rat. Sirius rolls his eyes in a way Remus is sure they're taught to at whatever haughty private schools Sirius attends. Then the gray-eyed boys catches Remus's eye and winks.

"Wotcher, Lupin. Miss me?" Sirius saunters up to the skinny artists that his aristocratic family has been actively ignoring since they arrived. He leans up against the wall beside Remus's easel. Sirius's lips twitch up in satisfaction as the Blacks go back to entertaining themselves until their stylists can arrive and give them any last minute touch ups. Remus always give himself all day to deal with this family, so it's no real issue.

"Don't I always, Mr. Black?" Remus smiles shyly, not forgetting their patron-artist relationship quite like Sirius seems to.

"Ew. Don't. My father's Mr. Black. You can call me Sirius – or Oh Masterful God of Sex. That works too," Sirius shrugs. His toothy grin broadens as Remus blushes.

"Okay, Sirius," Remus chuckles quietly and looks away to keep his ogling to a minimum. He figures he'll get enough time staring at Sirius while he's painting.

In the time it takes him to look away, Sirius leans down until Remus can feel his warm breath on his neck. Remus tenses slightly and draws in a breath to tell Sirius to get out of his personal space when Sirius says, "So, Lupin, do you paint nudes?" Remus is sure he turned all shades of red. He stands up and grabs his painting as if he's just putting away the materials he won't need for his new job.

"You didn't answer my question," Sirius complains louder this time. Remus swivels around to stare at him at the same time the other Blacks seem to look at Remus expectantly. Remus flushes and glares, he feels his temperature rising, and he curls his fingers tighter into the half-painted canvas he's holding. Remus notices the contemptuous glitter of amusement in Sirius's eyes.

Remus takes a deep breath and forces a polite smile. "Yes, I do under the right conditions." That answer seems to satisfy the Blacks – who must be completely oblivious to the question not to say anything. They return to their private conversations.

"What conditions would those be?" Sirius hummed with an arrogant smile. Remus raises an eyebrow before he turns away to continue tidying up.

"My standard contract, my own fee plus the cost of the materials and an additional fee for the – er – sensitive nature of subject matter," Remus replies in an all-business tone.

"And what does it take to get an exclusive appointment with the great Remus Lupin?" Sirius asks with an almost mocking tone. The blood of your first born child and a background check with the

Pope, he considers saying. Remus glances at him quickly before deciding against the words at tip of his tongue.

"That depends on the client and when they wish to make the appointment and the type of appointment, of course," Remus responds, unphased by Sirius.

"How's this Sunday?" Sirius questions. Remus turns around and gapes at him. He stands there unmoving, just waiting for the laugh and mocking jeer but it never comes.

"I'm free," Remus says. He is free because he doesn't work on Sundays. That's the time he and his parents decided he needed to reserve for himself. When he was younger, his work hours were even more limited, but for the most part they let him make his own decisions nowadays. However, Sirius doesn't really need to know his studio's usually closed on Sundays.

"Great. Pencil me in, Mr. Van Gogh." Sirius smiles.

Remus just shrugs and mutters, "I expect my money upfront."

"Of course."

"Sirius, get over here. Stop flirting with the help!" Bellatrix sneers.

Remus scoffs indignantly and rolls his eyes. An artist is hardly "the help." Sometimes he just wanted to look at clients like her and inform her that he has people from all over the world commission his pieces, little less get one-on-one time with him in his studio. He's been displayed in art galleries next to Matisse and Stella and Dufy. Sure, he grew up in East End, but he's also a renowned artist. There were only very few well-paying clients he stilled did portraits and such for rather than more contemporary work.

The stylists arrive shortly after and clean up everyone, especially Sirius. Remus gently guides them into positions and fixes the lighting for his own reference. He takes several pictures, many close up so he can capture them in their best detail. He still wonders why people commission paintings for family portraits rather than photographs – but the money is good and a source of entertainment and practice between bouts of inspiration.

They spend four hours with Remus doing preliminary sketches and fixing anything they don't quite like. Narcissa wants longer hair. Bellatrix wants bigger breasts. Orion wants to look younger. Cygnus wants to look thinner. Remus jots down these notes and thanks them for coming and promises to contact them when their portraits are finished (identical ones for each family). He is so busy and so exhausted by their very presence, he hardly notices Sirius is sitting on the island that breaks up his main studio and the small kitchen nook. Nor did he notice him obnoxiously kicking his legs like an impetuous child until he heard them hitting the wood of the island.

"Sirius," Remus begins kindly. "As much as I love your company, should you not be leaving with the rest of your family?"

"Yeah, but I got a hold of your planner while you were arguing with 'Cissa. I noticed you haven't got any more appointments for the day. So I figured I could take you out. Have some fun," Sirius suggests.

"Are you asking or telling me?" Remus replies dryly.

"Asking of course. Consent is essential to all acts of love, Lupin," Sirius retorts with a mockingly sweet smile. Remus frowns at his wording and looks away, turning his whole body slightly away from Sirius. He fidgets crossing and uncrossing his arms. He tugs on his shirt, as if pulling it more firmly into place. He feels his stomach turn slightly and a tremor passes throughout his body. He swears at himself for playing into Sirius's flirtatious advances.

"That's not a good idea," Remus mutters, his voice lacking in emotion. When he glances up at Sirius, the boy has lost all joy and amusement in his face. Now he wears a bitter smile.

"Yeah, of course. Sophisticated painter boy can't be seen with someone with – oh my – torn jeans and a leather jacket. Might ruin your pretty boy image. Sorry for asking," Sirius sneers and grabs his motorbike helmet from the counter as he jumped down.

"That's not it," Remus pleads, feeling torn.

Sirius turns with a guarded expression. "What is it then?"

"I… uh…" Remus stammers. "I cleared the day to work on your family's painting. That's why it's blank," he comes up quickly. "I'd really like it if you kept me company, though." He smiles hopefully but inwardly hates himself. This will only end badly, he just knows it. But he can't help the feeling of euphoria when Sirius's face lights up and he tosses his helmet down.

"Yeah, I'd like that too," Sirius beams. "So how does the whole thing work?" He picks up a kolinsky sable brush. Remus nearly grabs it out of his hand, but decides that would be rude.

"First, I like to make several sketches. You don't need a brush for that," Remus informs him. He picks up his sketchbook and puts it on the counter. He sits down with an ordinary number 2 HB pencil and waits for Sirius to inevitably realize this was actual work and leave. Surprisingly, Sirius jumps back up on the counter and watches Remus quietly put down marks on the paper.

"I thought artists had special pencils and such. That one looks like the one I used in class today," Sirius points out, his eyebrows knitting together a bit.

Remus shrugs, "Some use them. Some don't. Just a matter of preference."

"Uh huh. Did you learn that in art school?" Sirius asks as he grabs a small ball of clay that was lying on the counter. He tosses it up and down methodically.

"I was home schooled, actually," Remus responds. "What about you?"

"Chelsea," Sirius shrugs. Remus looks up at him with an eyebrow raised and a small smile.

"Really? I figured you'd say Eton or something like that," Remus admits and tries to refocus on his sketch.

"Do I look like an Eton schoolboy?" Sirius smirks and chuckles.

"I can't say I knew Eton schoolboys have a distinctive look."

"They do. Look at Regulus. That's what an Eton schoolboy looks like. Pompous and stiff," Sirius remarks casually. Remus shakes his head. He gets the feeling that "pompous and stiff" more so describes how Sirius feels about his brother than the actual school.

"Chelsea's hardly a bad school," Remus scoffs.

"It's not Eton, though," Sirius rolls his eyes. "My dad's an Eton alumnus. So are all the men in my family. I was a huge disappointment for them," Sirius smiles unexpectedly. "I didn't even want to study my A-levels, really. Just going to Chelsea to appease my parents."

"Oh, then what do you want to be?"

"A musician. My best mate James and I are going to start a band like the Rolling Stones. Make it big. Money, sex, fame. The whole ordeal," Sirius sighs contently. He gazes up at the ceiling with an almost dreamy expression.

Remus smiles softly, "What do you play?"

"Piano and the bass and guitar. Parents made me learn piano classically when I was younger. Bass is just something I picked up and never could put down," Sirius explains.

"I know the feeling," Remus smiles, pointing at him with the eraser end of his pencil.

"Is that for emphasis, or an example?" Sirius grins.

Remus considers it for a moment before replying, "Both."

They sit there talking for nearly an hour as Remus works on different sketches – changing the composition and lighting slightly with each rendering. Sirius watches for a while. Thirty minutes into the hour, he jumps up and runs out of the room. He returns a few minutes later with an acoustic guitar making Remus laugh. Sirius beams and strums. He dances around the large studio in a silly manner. Remus turns in his chair and follows the movements with his eyes. Eventually he begins singing along to the silly songs which only encourages Sirius's behavior. Remus feels absolutely weightless (and somewhat ridiculous) as Sirius grabs his hands and pulls him to his feet. Sirius forgets his guitar for a second to make Remus dance. Remus lets out a an awkward laugh and tries to stop Sirius, but he eventually gets pulled into dancing to an unknown tune.

Eventually they both end up sprawled across the couches near the back of the studio as Sirius lazily strums a tune. Remus smiles softly and taps the beat on the side of the couch.

"So much for work, eh?" Sirius murmurs.

Remus snorts and rolls his eyes. "Eh. I'll work later tonight and crash here."

Sirius lays down his guitar and turns over on his stomach with a glint in his eyes. A tooth, crooked grin spreads across his face. "Oh?"

Remus tosses his head back to look at Sirius. "Yes."

"So you just have this place to yourself – all the time. You could…. Hypothetically … do anything you want," Sirius suggests, his tone far more than suggestive.

"Hypothetically, I suppose." Remus smiles with a faint blush and looks away.

Sirius's eyes flash to the clock and then he swears. "Well, sorry, mate. I'll have to keep that in mind for Sunday. I'll be around, okay?" Sirius was nearly out the door by the time he stopped talking. Remus is surprised to say the least, but doesn't argue. He just bids his newfound friend farewell.

Remus lies on the couch for several minutes, just feeling tingling all over his body and warmth in his chest for the first time in years. He lets out a short breathe and beams. He knows he's as pink as a rose and utterly screwed, but he can't find it in him to care.

Sirius speeds down the motorway on his bike. He cuts a corner, jumping a sidewalk and nearly knocks down a prostitute and her client. "Sorry, love!" He calls back apologetically. He makes a few more sharp turns before skidding into his parking spot outside the familiar flat that belonged to his best friend James Potter.

James is a wealthy Welsh bloke who originally went to Eton. When he decided he wanted to study at Chelsea with his best mate in the whole world, his parents bought him a flat with the understanding that he'd be responsible. James acquiesces to their rules for the most part. Sirius thinks its a load of bollocks that the most James bends the rules of his new found freedom is to have his girlfriend over and stay out a bit later than his parents want him to. If it had been Sirius, he'd have been living by the good old saying "sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll." Though, Sirius does that while he still legally lives at home.

Sirius takes the stairs up to James's flat two at a time. He doesn't bother to knock as he runs inside. James is sitting at his small table flipping through a textbook. He barely looks up.

"Evening, Sirius," James calls as Sirius jumps into the chair across from him.

"Jimmy, old sport," Sirius pauses to cackle at James's face of disgust, "guess what!"

"What?" James mutters and flips the page, his face stoic and concentrated.

"Met a bloke today. Well, didn't just meet him. Met him a few years ago. But I really talked to him this time. For hours. Are you even listening?" Sirius frowns and shoved the textbook off the table and sends papers flying with them.

"Yes, Sirius," James snaps and glowers. "I am listening. You talked to a bloke you fancy. Wow. You talk to blokes all the time. If you don't mind, I've got an exam in the morning."

"I've got a nude date with this bloke," Sirius chimes in. All anger on James's face dissipates to be replaced by a mixture of confusion and amusement.

"I wasn't aware you schedule shags these days," James smirks.

"Not like that… he's an artist," Sirius explains, a little less excited.

"And he asked to paint you nude?" James raised an eyebrow. Then realization dawned on him, and he smirked. "Wait, that Lupin bloke you're always on about? You're joking."

"Yes, Remus Lupin," Sirius grins and falls back into his chair with a content sigh. "Well… he didn't actually ask. I just asked him if he painted nudes. He said he did if someone wants them. Yeah, so we have a date on Sunday."

"Sounds more like a job, Sirius," James informs me as he begins picking up his papers.

"No!"

"Yeah. You don't normally pay people to date you."

"What do you know?" Sirius retorted, crossing his arms and pouting.

"I do have a girlfriend. Been around the block a time or two," James chuckles. Sirius frowns and tilts back his chair until he falls over.

"Fan – fucking – tastic." Sirius groans into his hands. He lies there silently for a few moments before stating simply, "We'll end up shagging anyway."

"He have any say in this? How do you even know he's gay?" James cocked an eyebrow.

"Did I just not say he's an artist?" Sirius blinked, looking up at James as if he's gone mad. James opened and closed his mouth, staring at his best friend like a gasping fish.

"Do you want me to tell you how many things are wrong with that statement?" James asks, shaking his head. "Mate, look at you. You ride a motorbike and play rock 'n' roll music and shag birds. You're gay as they come – yeah bisexual, whatever you know what I mean - you like cock at any rate. Look at say Longbottom. He likes flowers and things. He's straight. Lupin being an artist hardly means he's gay."

"He was flirting with me!" Sirius whines. Why can't he just be happy I've met a bloke I fancy? Sirius complains to himself.

"Are you sure? You thought Longbottom was flirting with you too when he was just being nice," James tsks. Sirius sighs and throws his head back.

"No. Don't say that, you arse. Shut up and let me pretend Lupin's at least as bent as I am." Sirius grumbles. "My rotten luck every bloke I fancy turns out straight."

James frowns and hesitates. "I wasn't saying he's straight. Hell, maybe he's got a big gay crush on you. You never know."

Sirius glares at him disdainfully. "Don't fuck with my head, James."

"Here, invite him before Sunday. I'll get Lily over and we'll try to help you out. Nothing to it. See if he's just friendly or wants your cock," James offers and grimaces at his own choice of words. Sirius beams happily.

He did this every time Sirius got pouty or sad. He went out of his way to fix it, no matter if it was his fault or not. They had first met last year when Sirius was visiting Regulus early on in his first term. Sirius had been kicking up stones as he walked around the college. Regulus was in class, and Sirius didn't care to lay about his little brother's dorm room with a greasy looking bloke with a hook nose. Sirius had kicked a large stone straight into the headmaster. Seeing as Sirius wasn't supposed to be there, Sirius instantly began to panic – internally at least. The headmaster began to storm up to him when James walked forward with a charming smile and apologized. He took the blame for Sirius and said Sirius was his brother Jeffery who was visiting from Cardiff. The headmaster was won over by James immediately and apologized for his previous behavior.

"Thanks, mate. Owe you one," Sirius had told him as soon as the headmaster had left. James had just laughed and stuck out his hand.

"I'll make sure to call it in. James Potter."

"Sirius Black."

"Any relation to Regulus by chance."

"Don't remind me. Just finished moving the brat in. He's my younger brother."

"That makes more sense. Here I thought all the Blacks were Eton boys."

"Not on my life," Sirius barked a laugh at this. "I go to Chelsea. First in many, many generations not to go to Eton though."

"What's it like?" James asked curiously. He too came from a long family line of Eton alumnus.

"There are birds for one," Sirius smirked. James laughed heartily.

"You've sold me," James grinned. "Say, I've got to head to class, but I'll see you around sometimes won't I?"

"As soon as you transfer to Chelsea," Sirius winked and continued his walk of solitude. James laughed. Despite his words, Sirius visited James most weekends and nearly got both of them kicked out on more than one occasion.

Sirius manages to drag Remus out of his studio that Friday night with the promise of food and good music. Remus is hardly dragging his feet despite the gnawing remarks of his father's reprimands over wasting time "with a client, no less" fresh in his mind. He holds on tightly and ducks his head into Sirius's back as they zip down the roads, weaving through cars and buses with wild abandon. The last thing Remus expects was for Sirius to stop at a corner where a girl was fumbling for her keys to get into the building.

"Hey, Melody, right?" Sirius asks her as he takes his helmet off.

"Sorry, buddy, I don't do corner deals. I make my money legally," the girl chimes, gripping her keys tighter and her body falling into a more defensive stance.

Sirius makes an indignant noise and flushes. "That's not what I meant! Oh god. I just wanted to apologize for nearly running you over the other day."

She swivels around with a raised eyebrow and a guarded expression. She stares at him, scrutinizing him. She seems to visibly relax when she notices the way Remus is clutching Sirius around the waist. A smirk twitches on her lips. "No blood, no foul."

"You're okay then?" Sirius questions, his eyebrows knit together slightly and a soft frown forms on his lips.

"Yeah. Missed me by a whole meter. Nicked my client, but he was into the whole thing," she shrugs.

"Good. I've got a hot date, but you take care," Sirius winks and flashes a broad grin. She smiles softly and nods. Sirius waits for her to get into the building before he asks Remus if he's okay to get the show on the road.

"Was she a hooker?" Remus asks quietly as the conversation played and replayed in his head looking for clues.

"I guess so," Sirius shrugs. "I jumped a corner nearby the other day. She was walking with this bloke. I knew I didn't hit them; but when I saw her, I figured I should apologize anyway."

Remus smiled softly. "Okay." He murmurs. He's trying to hide the fact he feels like he's practically glowing. Sirius grins and kicks off his motorbike to continue to James's flat. Remus grips onto Sirius tight and is sure there will be nail marks on his leather jacket. Instinctively, he loosens his grip as not to damage the jacket. He settles on just pressing closer and shutting his eyes. He might have said a prayer, but that's for him to know and for no one else to ever find out.

They arrived outside the flat to hear two people yelling upstairs. Remus winces and looks at Sirius questioningly.

"Sounds like Lily's here! Charming," Sirius grins with delight. Remus shakes his head and follows Sirius up the stairs towards the yelling. Remus begins to fumble with his fingers and shift his weight unevenly. Sirius notices and assures him, "Lily's a doll. James's just a bit of a prat from time to time. Don't worry. She'll be embarrassed when she realizes you could hear her."

"If you say so," Remus bits his lip momentarily before offering a small smile. Sirius takes that as his cue to push open the door and waltz in as if he lived there. James and Lily look at each other and then at Remus with nervous smiles. "Hello," he mutters, looking down at his shoes.

"Well, are you staying out there, or joining us for the evening?" James asks with a grin. Whatever spat he and Lily were having out seemed to be forgotten. "I'm James." He sticks his hand out cordially. Sirius rolls his eyes and makes a face behind James's back that makes Remus chuckle as he shakes James's hand.

"I'm Lily," the redhead informs him politely.

"Remus," the boy replies. He glances at Sirius who was rounding the corner into the kitchen.

"Nice to meet you, Remus. You're nothing like Sirius described," James jokes and shuts the door behind his new guest.

"Oi! I can't help he's more amazing in person!" Sirius called indignantly.

"Keep it in your pants, mate!" James hollers back. Remus laughs at the exchange, although a bit nervously. Lily offers him a seat, smiling with amusement at her boyfriend and Sirius.

"Sirius says you're an artist," Lily prompts, hoping to cure Remus of his palpable nerves.

"Yeah, that's actually how we met. His parents commission a family portrait every year," Remus explains.

James snickers immediately. Sirius returns, bottles of beer in hand. He glares at James and sticks his tongue out knowingly. Lily and Remus exchange looks, but neither seems to understand the two boys.

"Beer or water, Remus?" Sirius asks, both in hand. Remus takes the bottled water gratefully. Sirius shrugs and takes a swig of his own beer.

"For the love of Christ, James…" Lily mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"I need to do the shopping. Don't judge me," James smiles sheepishly. Lily looks at him and shares his infectious smile.

"I don't know why I put up with you," Lily teases.

"I don't know why either," Sirius mocks them before their sickeningly cute game can begin. James shoots him a look and then smirks.

"It's 'cause I'm attractive, unlike you," James remarks. "Don't you think I'm attractive, Remus?"

Remus raises his eyebrows and his mouth falls open slightly. He blinks several times, staring at James. "Uh…" he stammers, "I suppose. Though Sirius is hardly unattractive." Sirius sends a smirk at James who rolls his eyes at his best friend.

"Will you two stop?" Lily chides without conviction. They smile innocently and bat their eyelashes dramatically. It is scarily in sync, and Remus finds himself shifting in his seat and glancing at the clock more than he would ever consider polite

"Ignore him, Remus. I told you he's a prat. But he's always good on liquor. Only reason I keep him around," Sirius jokes. Remus smiles weakly, trying to be polite.

Remus glances around, taking in the small flat. The carpet's a bit graying and the walls need a new coat of paint. The sofa is a beige color that clashes horribly with the pale green and aqua polka dots of the armchair where Sirius sits. Remus's own chair is striped orange and red. There is a small television set that seems several years old. At least it's well-lit. It is mismatch and awkwardly set up. Yet it somehow seems to reflect the personality of the messy-haired boy it belongs to. Remus notices The Call of the Wild by Jack London on the dark wood end table.

"Jack London?" Remus notes, eyebrows rising.

"Have you read it?" Lily asks with a wide grin.

That's all it takes. Sirius loses all chances of talking to Remus tonight as he and Lily begin talking all about books they've read and book they want to read. Their conversation leads to other novels like The Great Gatsby, The Grapes of Wrath, The Scarlet Letter, and last, but not least,The Lord of the Rings. Lily stares at him with a broad smile and adoration in her eyes when he mentions the last set of books.

"That's the one with the little guys with hairy feet, right?" Sirius perks up, tearing himself away from James's conversation about rugby. Remus looks at him and smiles.

"You mean hobbits?" Remus prompts.

"Yeah! I read The Hobbit. Bilbo's the man. I mean – little dude fighting trolls and dragons. It was brilliant!" Sirius beamed, happy to finally be a part of the conversation. "The guy was scared out of his mind – he didn't have to go with Gandalf. But he went for the adventure and because they needed him. Noble guy, yeah?"

"Well, more so than Frodo, I guess," Remus agrees. "He's realistic though. The one ring does corrupt him a bit over the years. It's understandable, if sad."

"What?" Sirius looks at him, eyes wide and mouth agape. "The ring… oh… but… Bilbo." Sirius looks like he just witnessed his puppy being run over multiple times by a malicious postman. The puppy is just suffering as the tires on the man's bike slowly crush it's neck.

"I'm sorry. I thought you knew!" Remus gasped, covering his mouth with his hand.

"It's okay. He doesn't end up like Gollum!" Lily assures Sirius. Sirius nods slowly, still pouting.

"How the hell does a ring corrupt someone?" James asks, breaking the small tension. Remus and Lily practically fall over laughing. Sirius goes into a long charade of telling the hobbit and how Bilbo got the ring (including a lot of plot that had nothing to do with the ring). He acts out each scene with vigor. Lily and Remus take it from there, explaining the general plotline of the trilogy. James just sits there shaking his head and smiling.

"I'll wait for the movie," he finally concedes.

"Or, you know, you could pick up a book," Lily teases him.

"Or, you know, I could not," James laughs just as there's a knock on the door. A chubby guy with dirty blond hair shuffles in a moment later.

"'lo guys. Didn't know you were having a party," Peter smiles weakly.

"Awe, Remus, this is my other good mate Peter. Let me tell you something: if you ever need an alibi, he's the man. He plays innocent better than any bloke I know," Sirius introduced him.

"Oh, you're the –" Peter stops himself from letting the cat out of the bag at the last second. "You're the artist guy, right?"

"Yeah, I'm the artist guy," Remus smiles, but there's tension in his jaw. He looks down at the floor as if the carpet was suddenly very interesting. He knows he's being unfair because it's hardly Peter's fault that Sirius doesn't seem to see him as anything but a half-decent artist and a potential mate.

"Peter, Remus is a Tolkien nerd," Lily beams. Peter returns the smile excitedly and begins asking Remus all sorts of questions regarding his interpretation of the Lord of the Rings trilogy and the Hobbit and if he had heard about The Silmarillion coming out that next year. That's all it takes for things to smooth back over.

They spend the next hour or so talking about books and films and such. Remus accepts a beer after the others start drinking as well. The fun doesn't begin until Lily suggests a game of I-Have-Never, pulling out some vodka and challenging their masculinity after James and Sirius groan.

"I'll start. I have never ever stolen a car," Lily says, pouring out drinks with a vicious smile. Remus notices quickly she really could hold her liquor. He had barely drunk his beer but he felt warm and fuzzy and a bit dizzy.

James and Sirius groan in unison, once again. They each grab a shot glass and throw it back. Sirius glares at Lily while James frowns deeply.

"Fine, I have never ever shagged a bloke," James pipes in, already refilling a shot glass for Sirius. Sirius sneers and grabs the glass. Remus tries to hide a broad grin.

Sirius quickly realizes it's his turn. "Well shit," he swears, trying to think of something. Remus raises an eyebrow and smiles. "Uh… I've never engaged in a 6-way orgy with more than two men in it."

"Have you engaged in a 6-way orgy with two men in it?" Peter asks, shaking his head and squinting his eyes.

"I was drunk. It was Panama. Shit happens," Sirius shrugged. Needless to say, no one takes a drink to that one.

"Like Central America Panama?" Remus raises an eyebrow.

"No, like Florida, USA, Panama." Sirius explains.

Remus blinks and smiles weakly. He shakes his head. He then taps his chin and decides, "I have never ever smoked marijuana."

Peter, James, and Sirius all take a shot, much to Remus's surprise.

"Are you kidding, Remus? Peter deals it," Lily laughs. Remus's mouth falls open slightly before he can compose himself. Peter shrugs.

"Yeah, yeah. I've never-ever had ten thousand pounds to my name," Peter sighs heavily. Sirius, James, and Remus drink this time. Remus is beginning to feel nothing like himself.

This goes on for several rounds that get more and more ridiculous. It seems they all blacked out some point during the night. Remus and Sirius wake up in James's bed, entirely naked, somewhat sore, and sticky. James must have ignored them that morning when he got up and around to go to a makeup exam. Realizing the situation, Remus jumps up and his feet get tangled in the sheets. He cracks his head against the nightstand and rolls onto the floor. He stumbles about trying to pull on his clothes Remus alternates between holding his head and his stomach. He winces and gags at the smell of his own breathe.

"Oh shit," Sirius swears, wiping the sleep from his eyes. "James is going to kill me." Remus stares at Sirius agape and shakes his head.

"I've got to go," Remus informs him in a rush.

"What's the hurry?" Sirius yawns.

"I have clients, Sirius," Remus hisses. "I have responsibilities. I've already missed one appointment. I can't miss anymore."

"Yeah, give me a few minutes. I'll drive you home," Sirius promises.

"Not enough time. I'll catch a cab or run or something," Remus shakes his head and practically sprints out of the door. Sirius stares at the doorway before rolling his eyes, pulling the blanket up to his chin, and falling back asleep.

Saturday passes in a flash and so does most of Sunday. Sirius tries to go over to Remus's studio Saturday night, but he apparently isn't there. Sunday morning, Sirius lounges outside the studio. He lights a fag as he waits. He burns out two before Remus finally walks up. The boy has dark circles under his eyes and is muttering to himself. He smiles softly upon seeing Sirius, but there is an ounce of unease in it.

"G'Morning," Remus greets him and unlocks the front door to the building. He walks in and Sirius follows.

"Yeah, you too. I came over last night," Sirius announces.

"I was with my parents," Remus chokes out and begins coughing. Sirius puts a hand on his shoulder and turns him around gently.

"Remus, what's wrong?" Sirius asks earnestly. Remus shakes his head. "This isn't… this isn't about Friday. I mean, we can forget all about it if you want."

Remus stares at Sirius with a gaping mouth before grabbing his hand and pulling him inside the studio, out of the hallway where his secretary might show up at any moment. Remus lets go of his hand once they walk inside and begins pacing the long expanse of the studio.

"Sirius, do you know what T-cells are?" Remus asks quietly, pausing to look at him. Sirius shakes his head, standing rigid where Remus had left him. Remus nods in response, "T-cells are cells produced or processed by the thymus gland. They're in charge of the immune system, for the most part. Without out them, you can die of the common cold."

Sirius nods. "Yeah… okay. What about them?"

"Well, the reason I was with my parents yesterday was because I had a doctor's appointment. I went several months ago and just got my results. I have fewer than 200 T-cells when most people have between 600 and 1,500 T-cells," Remus took a deep breathe, figuring this was all lost on Sirius.

"So, you're sick?" Sirius asks, swallowing thickly.

"Yeah, that's one way of saying it. Sirius, when I was eight years old I had the same test done and had 400 T-cells," Remus says slowly.

"So you've been sick for a long time?" Sirius questions, his eyebrows scrunching together and his lips pursing slightly.

"You don't get it," Remus mutters and shakes his head. "When someone has a T-Cell count between 600 and 200, they're considered HIV positive."

Sirius tilts his head, recalling the term vaguely. He had read something about it in one of Regulus's science magazines. "Okay. What does that mean?"

"HIV is a virus that leads to one developing AIDs – what I have," Remus stares at him, wishing he just knew. "It's transmitted through bodily fluids – semen, blood, vaginal fluids, breast milk, but especially blood."

"Oh," Sirius says. They stare at each other in silence for several long moments. "Are you saying I could have HIV? That you might have just signed my death certificate! You've gone and killed me?" Sirius voice rises as he speaks. He's nearly shouting by the word "me."

"Sirius, this is why I've been pushing away your advances since day one! I didn't want you to get hurt!" Remus shouts. He crosses his arms into a hug over his chest.

"I'm going to end up with some - what, monkey disease because you're a fucking slut?" Sirius snarled.

Remus flinches. "You're the only person I've ever had sex with," he whispers.

"Yeah right. Then how'd you get it huh? Blood pact gone wrong?" Sirius sneers.

"I was raped!" Remus cries, holding himself tighter. He's seeing red. He feels heat radiating from him and his pulse is pounding in his ears.

"Men can't get raped!" Sirius yelled back.

"I was a child," Remus snaps. He's burning red and feels a sharp stab of pain in his stomach. His nostrils flare and he closes his eyes tightly. "Get out," he orders in a harsh whisper. "Get out now." Sirius doesn't hesitate in storming out the door. Remus feels hot tears drip down his face. He turns away from the door, his upper lip curled and a nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach.