Disclaimer - Anything recognizable belongs to JK Rowling. Written for fun, not profit.
A/N - I wrote this as a drabble for awdt on Livejournal - the prompt was "I think you'll have to wait for an invitation." Originally published on my LJ, adonis-flammea. This was my first time writing Wolfstar so I'm not really sure what it is.
It crept —'cause it was trapped, trapped between two lungs. - Florence + the Machine
"I could give you both detention. Suspension, even."
Sirius and James look at each other sidelong, eyebrows rising simultaneously. James makes a half-hearted effort to sit up, but his limbs are too tangled with Sirius', and he collapses back onto the common room carpet.
"Hello, Remus the Prefect," he says, his words only a little slurred. "What have you done with our friend Moony?"
Sirius chuckles, low in his throat. Remus' gaze slides over his bare neck, over his fingers, delicately clasping the near-empty bottle, over the bend of his knee, where fabric is bunching up, curving over James' calf. When Remus speaks again his voice feels tight, sounds strange even to his own ears.
"Drinking in school violates at least three rules at once. Underage drinking, alcohol on school grounds…" Remus trails off as James pushes Sirius' leg off of him, separating himself from the mess of crooks of elbows and exposed wrists that their bodies were making when Remus found them a few moments ago.
When James stands up he's unsteady on his feet, and Remus notices that both of them have glassy eyes, flushed cheeks.
"How often do you two…do this?" Remus says, hating himself for the way his voice cracks, the way his chest burns.
"Fairly often. It's two mates getting together for a drink, Moony; it's not a big deal." As Sirius stands, he casually drops the bottle of vodka to the floor.
Two, Remus thinks, watching the light from the fire glinting off of the glass bottle as it rolls. He's disappointed when it disappears under an armchair. Not for the first time, he doesn't want to meet his best friends' eyes.
"I won't give you two detentions," Remus says, trying to keep his voice steady, impassive, and feeling ridiculous, "if you let me join next time."
"It's a deal, then," Sirius says, and Remus thinks he might be smirking. "Right, Prongs?"
James and Sirius smile at each other playfully, almost cryptically, and Remus aches for their easy complicity.
"So, when?" he manages to say.
"I think you'll have to wait for an invitation, Moony," James says, his elbow knocking against Sirius'.
As they brush past him on their way up to the dormitory, Remus thinks about numbers. Two. Four. One. Two.
It happens in History of Magic, a couple of weeks later. Remus feels a hand, clammy with sweat, knock into his, and looks up from his textbook to see Peter trying to pass him a note.
When Remus unfolds the scrap of parchment, all it says is, "Tonight, midnight. Padfoot." The exclusion of James' name in the signature makes his heart leap.
Neither Sirius nor James say anything about it for the rest of the day, and Remus realizes that they are keeping it a secret from Peter – the way they must have previously been keeping it secret from him.
Remus knows that as a prefect he shouldn't be encouraging, let alone participating, in his friends' drinking nights, but he thinks of the flush of Sirius' cheeks and his skin against James', and decides he doesn't care.
Remus hasn't commented on James' absence. Neither has Sirius.
At this point Remus doesn't trust himself to mention it. He isn't sure how well he'll be able to control his tone of voice; his tongue feels heavy and Sirius, who can hold his alcohol better than he can, will be far too perceptive.
They've made their way through most of the bottle. Sirius hands it to him and their fingers touch for what seems to Remus to be a very long moment. Remus takes another gulp, steeling himself for the burn in his throat as he swallows. He coughs anyway, and Sirius laughs, reaching out and patting Remus' knee.
The room seems to be tilting slightly. Remus closes his eyes and when Sirius speaks, he listens to the swells of his voice, the rush of his breath between words.
"This isn't as exciting as you thought it would be, is it?" Sirius hasn't taken his hand off of Remus' knee; he can still feel its weight, the heat of its potential.
Remus isn't sure about how exciting he thought this would be – only that he was expecting it to be Sirius and James, and Remus watching, avid and resentful and grateful to be there all the same.
"No," Remus says. When Sirius laughs again, Remus opens his eyes to watch him tilting his head back, to watch his dark hair swing against his neck and briefly brush his shoulders. Sirius' hand moves on his knee, and suddenly it's caressing his thigh. Remus' breath catches, and for a moment he's frozen, staring at Sirius.
When Remus moves closer to him, a question on his lips, Sirius abruptly grabs his wrist and lies down, pulling him down with him. And suddenly they are a mess of tangled limbs, and Remus can feel Sirius' breath on his cheek, and he can't help but think of Sirius' leg draped across James when he came across them that night two weeks ago.
Sirius' breath against his cheek is quick and smells like alcohol, and the more Remus focuses on it the harder it is for him to tell it apart from his own breathing.
Sirius' hand has found its way back to Remus' thigh. Remus wishes the strokes were tentative, hesitant, but they are assured and bold.
"I know what's going on here, Moony," Sirius whispers. "Let's just do this already."
Remus turns his head to say "I think you'll have to wait for your invitation," but finds himself breathless.
Sirius' eyes are so close, so dark, and his breath is fanning over Remus' lips. Remus opens his mouth to catch that breath, take it from him, and Sirius meets him halfway.
Their arms rearrange themselves, wrapping around each other's waists and shoulders. Remus draws Sirius closer, still chasing his breath on his lips.
The fact that he is mildly inebriated, lying on the floor of the Gryffindor common room with his best friend's body pressed against him is only a detail; what's important to him is the comforting familiarity of Sirius, the exciting strangeness of the press of lips, the gasping exchange of breaths.
Remus feels as though something inside of him has finally, finally let go, but now that it's gone he can't remember what it was.
In their dormitory upstairs, two of the beds are filled, two of them empty.