Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine; I'm just borrowing them. Also, "Careless Whisper" is not mine, but it helped the writing and I needed a title.
A/N: Written for the poetry prompt for day three of LJ's Tell Me A Kiss challenge.
Well, it's finally happened; James and Lily are married. Took them long enough too, or, at least Sirius thinks so. Finally, he doesn't have to deal with any more over-the-moon, death-inducing sweetness about how James is "going to marry her someday." Sure, there's a war going on, but the plonker's snagged his woman at last; the ceremony was beautiful, and now the reception's a bloody party – as well it should be. Mad despots and Death Eaters have no business ruining something this happy, even if they're only in spirit. A certain Remus John Lupin, however…
Sirius leaves the dance floor with Peter, both of them abandoning their current charges and laughing. Despite the fact that Peter's had more to drink, he keeps slurring reminders that one champagne's enough for Sirius, especially after he wound up literally dancing on the tables at the bachelor party the week before. This had resulted in them being kicked out of the bar, and his memory was fuzzy from when he vomited in a gutter to when he found himself the next morning on the sofa in Remus's flat, freezing underneath one of Remus's mum's old comforters; Peter was sprawled on the floor, and James was conked out in the armchair.
"Mind you," he adds alcoholically, "'t was…hilarious at the time…but not in the morning. Don't do it again, ya daft prat!"
"Yes, mum," Sirius chuckles, turning his attentions to finding Remus, who he hasn't seen in a good hour and a half.
"I…I mean it! D'you have any idea how much of a nance you sounded like…going on about the beer you got on those…ridiculous leather trousers? Why'd you buy those things anyway? I mean…ridiculous…"
"Uh huh…"
Sirius nods, but stops listening; he's too busy right now for Peter's drunken shenanigans…and he doesn't care if he sounded like a nance. If he tries to count the times that Peter has…well, the list is long. And no Remus just yet. James and Lily are dancing cheek to cheek, Frank and Alice too; that girl Peter brought has also left the dance floor and is talking to some of Lily's friends; Dumbledore is proposing yet another toast to Mad-Eye, his hip flask, and the Prewetts; and…ah-ha! Remus is…at the bar, alone, head down and – Sirius thinks – a glass in hand. Now why the Hell is he sulking when there's all this fun to be had? Drinking, of course, makes sense, as it's a bloody wedding, but still! The full moon's not for another two weeks, the music is loud and good (which never happens), there's no need to know how to dance – what's there to sulk about?
Sirius huffs and blows some of his hair out of his face. This sort of behavior is just not allowed, and it's his duty, as best mate and best man, to make it stop. Lightly, he claps Peter on the shoulder, interrupting the increasingly incomprehensible rant.
"Oi, Pete…I think your date's lonely."
Peter squeaks, nods, and scurries away. Thank Merlin for easily shirked friends, because, whether he thinks it or not, Remus is the hardest person in the world to just brush off. He used to be less so, kind of, for about a week and a half or thereabouts. And then he started disappearing and Peter took his place; took Remus awhile to grasp that friends care about each other, but he's hypothetically gotten it…except for the fact that he really hasn't. He got in school, or acted like it well, but hasn't done such a good job acting since the Marauders left Hogwarts, never to darken its doorway again, as students anyway. Bloody stubborn werewolf…thinks help equals handouts, which, in turn, equal no one having faith in him, which equals, "damn it, Sirius, I don't need your money!"
Well, he certainly needs something, and, damn it, he's going to knock off this self-righteous nonsense and fucking take it, whether he likes it or not. Sirius grumbles and begins waling over; it goes faster than it should, and he's sitting on the barstool at Remus's side before the song reaches the chorus. The distance seemed longer, but why argue? He sighs and pulls off his tux jacket, but Remus doesn't notice, doesn't react at least…he's too busy nursing a drink. From the looks of it, it's liquor, and undoubtedly not his first. Sirius can't see his face in full, but the available sliver of eye looks blurry…and, aside from that, there are three empty glasses sitting around him. Merlin, he can't afford this…and he can't hold his alcohol for shit either! For being so bloody brilliant and reasonable, he sure is being an idiot…and he looks terrible.
James insisted on buying the dress robes for everyone, and they're about the only part of Remus that doesn't show that he's struggling. He's always been tall and skinny, but it's even worse now…and the reasons make sense too. Why do they have to do that? If they weren't entirely logical and rational and whatnot, then Sirius might have less of a time dealing with Remus's stupid refusal to accept help when he needs it and his entirely thick insistence on Doing Everything For Himself. But he can only get Muggle jobs – and, at that, only bad ones, because (as Lily's wholly repulsive sister has proven tonight) Muggles are completely fucking ridiculous. Then most of the money goes to keeping his tiny flat heated, so he can't buy good food (if any food some weeks), and the dinner here is probably the first actual meal he's had in weeks…why can't he just take help as it is and let his friends rest easy? Isn't there enough to worry about with the war? Do they really need to worry about whether or not he's letting himself die as well?
And, damn it, Sirius is going to set him straight on this. It's simple: "Remus, you idiot, no one's going to think any less of you if you just let us buy you dinner, or take some money if we give it to you, or move in with me because you need money and your flat's the worst." But, when he opens his mouth, Remus cuts him off.
"Better get back t' the dance floor if you're not drinkin', mate," he huffs, grimacing and throwing back the remnants of his drink. "Th' girls'll get lonely."
"Don't care," Sirius sighs. "Moony…how can you afford this?"
"I'll figure it out…wash dishes or somethin'. Think they'll take my soul? …And the hell do you care for?"
"Because you're my friend, you prat. And friends care-"
"Some 'friend'…you don't think I can take care of myself, do you?"
"I think you can, but I also see that you're doing a shite job of it."
"'m alive, aren't I?"
"Yeah, but-"
"So back off!"
Despite the fact that he's clearly drunk – and living in abject poverty – he slurs to the bartender for another drink, and the damn parasite actually gives it to him. Stupid fucking…it takes an immense force of will to keep Sirius from screaming at him that money isn't everything. And it's that Captain Redbeard's Rustic Rum that James snuck into Gryffindor Tower after graduation; he'd gotten it off the discount rack at the liquor store in Hogsmeade, and it tasted terrible. Still, Sirius imbibed more than his fair share and, aside from the memory of kissing Lily on the cheek and getting punched in the eye for it, he has no memory of what happened. That's how powerful it is, and Remus is on his bloody fifth! He didn't even like it then, which goes without saying that he can't hold his liquor at all.
"Moony-"
"Don't. Fucking. Start."
"C'mon, mate…you've had enough. Let's go find some girls and dance."
"Yeah. Right. Ya mean you'll get a girl, and I'll watch."
"No, I-"
"I only got ta dance with Lily an' Alice, an 't was out of pity. Can you-"
"No, it wasn't-"
"Sirius! They're married!"
"So?"
"'sides…don't like 'em like that."
"Yeah, 'cos James and Frank would be madder than a pair of wet hippogriffs if you did."
"No, 's different…bugger, dunno what 'm sayin'."
"…Dance with me then?"
"Bugger…egotistical – the Hell am I sayin'? Oh bloody…fucking…can't form a bloody sentence…"
"Yes or no?"
"Yes…"
Although this doesn't achieve the desired effect of Remus not finishing the drink, at least he drinks it quickly, and comes up coughing. Once he's done, he gives Sirius a demanding – and quite inebriated – stare; Sirius smiles and leads him to the dance floor. Funny…the walk seems to take longer this time, but they make it just in time for a slow song. Given that he's taller, more experienced, and more sober, he takes Remus's waist and leads, but Remus is the one to bring them closer together…not quite as close as Lily and James – no, their chests are pressed together…they're definitely that close, and it's closer than two mates usually would be.
And Sirius can't really say that he minds. It's nice, actually…dancing with Remus's hand on his shoulder, and Remus's chest to his. And Remus is strangely warm, and when he puts his head on Sirius's unoccupied shoulder, everything feels that much more peaceful, like maybe he's learned his lesson. Maybe he'll get it now that no one doubts his competence – least of all Sirius – they only care about him. But he takes one, shuddering gasp of air, and, suddenly, he stiffens, and he looks up at Sirius slowly, his hazel eyes wide. Panic spasms across his face and he turns to run; Sirius doesn't catch him. He's too fast, but they meet again at the bar, where Remus is shaking and getting into his sixth of that fucking rum; this time, Sirius sighs and takes it away. Remus grabs to take it back, but his reaction time and spatial judgment are terribly impaired.
"Pads…" he slurs in protest, teetering dangerously on his stool. "…C'mon…"
"I don't think you need that," Sirius says blandly; he sets the drink down and helps Remus to sit up.
"Hypocrite."
"Do I drink? Yes. Have I tonight? Champagne, for the toast, which, by the way, was in my job description here."
"But, I-"
"Moony…Remus, you are blind, stinking drunk."
"'m not!"
"Trust me, mate; I've been blind, stinking drunk, and you most certainly are."
"Nuh uh. Not drunk 'nuff to dance with Wormtail, so 'm not drunk."
"But you're drunk enough to dance with me?"
"Well…I…completely different…"
"How so?"
"…Just is."
"Remus, you can tell me, really."
"…Put m' head on your shoulder, right?"
"Yeah, why-"
"Damn it!"
"Remus? What is it?"
"Fuck, arse, bugger…Merlin's plaid pants…"
"What? What's wrong?"
"The dancing, you prat!"
"What about it? Did I do something wrong?"
"Not you…me! Fucking – no one cares if you dance with a bloke…you're Sirius Black…irresistible little bugger – why the Hell did I…might 's well told 'veryone with th' Quidditch megaphone…an' I worked on not tellin' and everythin'…"
"Rem – Moony, I don't care if you fancy blokes, it's not-"
"Not that, you idiot!"
"Then wha…put that down."
Apparently, Remus is fast in more ways that Sirius doesn't know, and he's used his friend's care and concern to distract him, just to steal that bloody drink back. And he drinks it too, arching backwards to down it. Bloody hell…he's obviously doing this just to spite Sirius for trying to help him. Merlin, he's supposed to be the mature one. Abruptly, he slams the glass down, inhales sharply, and turns back.
"Needed that," he sighs.
"What for?"
The answer is not exactly what Sirius expects, though he chides himself for not guessing that it would come. Without words, Remus looks at him – bleary-eyed, reeking of rum, and somehow different than just drunkenness – takes him by the tie, and pulls him forward; they meet at the lips. It tastes like shit, since rum and champagne don't mix (Sirius didn't know that, and it doesn't seem like Remus cares, but…this mistake will not be made again). But, other than that, there's nothing Sirius can find to complain about. Both of them have had experience, it's clear that neither is completely without a clue, but…it's new in its repetition. Something about how Remus runs a hand down Sirius's jaw, strokes his tongue with the taste of far too potent alcohol, and keeps himself up with a hand on Sirius's thigh…something about all the thought in the mindlessness makes Sirius close his eyes and curl his toes, even though the fancy shoes should prevent that. In the mess of snogging, he finds himself snaking a hand through Remus's hair, and Remus deepens the kiss.
They only stop when, thoroughly drunk (and now light-headed as well), Remus breaks it off to pass out on Sirius's shoulder. Well then…he's just going to have to deal with Sirius picking up his tab then, and Sirius does. Unfortunately, Lily's side is full of Muggles, who aren't allowed to see magic, so, sighing heavily, he lifts Remus up from behind the legs; not surprisingly, the werewolf's length is more of a problem than his weight. Still, Sirius manages to find a balance and proceeds outside, where he can Apparate; in trying to sneak out, he somehow attracts James, but he's grown up, a married man now, and he understands, for which Sirius is eternally grateful. After all, it's not that two of his three best mates don't want to stay; it's that one is passed out drunk, and the other plans on taking care of him.
James gives him a quick nod, a smile, and runs back off to Lily; Sirius returns to the original course of heading outside. It appears that Remus is also going to be sleeping at his flat tonight, with its comfy sofa and heat and good food, whether or not he likes it. Propping Remus's lolling head up against his chest, Sirius Apparates home.
It makes him feel maternal when he does it, but he takes the time to set Remus up for a proper sleep too – and in the bedroom too; maybe he can make drunken friends sleep on sofas, but to Sirius, that is Sick And Wrong. Supporting him with the headboard, Sirius removes Remus's fancy clothes, down to the socks and undershirt (he can see ribs, even if they're more hints than actually present, and the stomach is concave; he'll just have to deal with an enormous breakfast a la Sirius in the morning too). Delicately, he eases him down, body into bed and head into pillow, and tucks him in. Knowing Remus, the comforter, at the least, is going to end up on the floor. If he had pajamas, he'd share them, but he saw no point for them after school and sold them and put the money in the Motorcycle Fund.
But…still, he'll take the couch and hope that Remus remembers this, even a disconnected part, in the morning; he will and, hopefully, this is what Remus feels, and not just the booze. Sirius remembers admitting once to the other Marauders, over Butterbeer and Truth or Dare, that, if he ever had to fancy a bloke, he'd like it to be Remus, or someone exactly like him, if he couldn't have the real thing; Remus blushed, naturally, while James and Peter laughed it up…and, until now, Sirius never even considered that it might actually true. And he's not actually upset that it is…he always thought he would be. It makes him smile, and, though Remus is completely unaware of the rest of the world, he leans in close and kisses his cheek lightly.
"G'night, love," he whispers warmly into Remus' ear. And, with the unsaid now out there, he goes to the sofa to sleep for himself.