Author's : Figured I should put some general information here, at the start of the story. Don't jump my ass if it's not repeated throughout - I don't like how author's notes at the start of a chapter looks.

Warning: There be gay-ness in this fic. Don't like it? Don't read. Read anyway? Don't bother flaming.

This story is rated M for - Extreme language, some violence, and possible sexual content. Anything explicit will be posted elsewhere, as per FanFiction's ToS. I know you lot don't like it, I don't either, but I don't wanna risk some asshole getting me banned for it. :I

Disclaimer: I do not own. I do not own. I do not own. If I did, Remus Lupin and Nymphodora Tonks would not have been married. :I

I think I could fall madly in bed with you. ~ Author Unknown

The bar was smoky and badly lit at the time of night it was - close to midnight. Some no-name band that acted like they were big was playing loudly in the cornered stage, and that was in violent competition against the TV that was playing replays of the game that day. Not that Remus Lupin knew what game that would be - that was always more Fenrir's taste, and after the argument earlier that had landed his belongings (not many, seeing as they all fit in two suitcases) in the Motel 6 right across the street from the bar, he couldn't care less about sports.

He always had just pretended to care, anyway.

He'd driven as far as he could before he feared his own safety, weaving back and forth between the two lanes that drove into the party city he was in at the moment - not that it seemed very lively on a Wednesday. Already, he'd called into the school and took a family emergency vacation - a week would be more than enough to gather his wits about him, and hunt out an apartment far enough from the one Fenrir had rented that he wouldn't be a wreck before school daily.

Which brought him to where he was at the moment - specifically, a rather dull bar, other than a few drunk couples swing-dancing to the trashy Shinia Twain cover the no-name band was dragging out, and the couple of men shouting at the game on the TV - obviously in no rush to get home to a cold dinner and colder wife. He himself was slumped over the bar, staring down into the glass filled to the brim with Jack.

He hardly ever drank. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy it, nor was it that he was worried about becoming an alcoholic - he simply never had a reason to. But now after that stupid ass argument with Fenrir, drowning his sorrows seemed like the most preferable reaction he could have. Honestly, it had been such a dumb little argument, he couldn't even remember what had started it, just that it had unraveled quickly by the time Remus was digging out his suitcases and Fenrir was actually throwing the teacher's clothes out of the closet at him.

You're a workaholic!

Yeah? Well at least I don't stay out till midnight screwing all my secretaries and then tell my loving boyfriend I was working overtime!

Don't you fucking go there!

Oh, sorry, would you rather me bring up what a slob you are? Or how you think you can push me around?

That was when the punch had landed, bruising his chest in a blossoming purple and yellow that made it hurt a little to breath. But at least it wasn't on his face. Explaining that to his coworkers as part of his 'family emergency' would have just gotten complicated.

Understandably, after the punch, Fenrir had left the apartment, the china in the cabinet rattling when he slammed the door shut behind him, and Remus quietly packed his clothes in his suitcases. Maybe the Jack would ease up the pain in his chest - physical, not emotional. He felt surprisingly calm about the mess - it was doubtful that he'd bat an eyelash if he caught the businessman fucking his secretary on the hood of his hard-earned 'Vette.

"Oh, Jack, you're the only man who I can stand at the moment." He sighed softly, before knocking back the drink in one swift, practiced move. It went down easily enough, and he motioned for the bartender to pour him a second.

And then a third. A fourth, and then the bartender was quite seriously refusing to pour him any more. Really, it wasn't like he was struggling with reality - he had a firm grasp on the language, and proved to the bartender that he still had a firm grasp on the theory of gravity - by bumping into someone who had just entered the bar, and almost going crashing to the ground.

Instead of having his arse becoming fast friends with a filthy floor that he felt would be unsanitary to even touch, though, there was suddenly one hand grasping his hand and another on his waist, steadying him. "Hey, hey, careful there, babe." A silky smooth laugh followed the just as smooth stranger's voice, and Remus blinked slowly. All he saw was leather, and that could never be too much of a bad thing.

"Ah, sorry, was just trying to prove to the gentleman behind the counter that I'm perfectly able to get another drink." Remus would've been ashamed, later, that he was rambling, but he was, and was far too distracted by the intense stormy grey eyes and soft black hair, and the owner of said features poured into quite well-tailored leather jacket and pants.

"I know how that is." The stranger laughed again, righting the teacher easily, but curiously, the hold on his waist wasn't released, but instead tugged him a little closer. When Remus didn't even attempt to fight back, the grey eyes flashed in interest. "Third bar I'm visiting tonight." A devilish grin. "Where're you from, cutie?"

Normally, Remus would have protested, on principle, the very notion of being called things like 'cutie' and 'babe', but the stranger made the words sound quite enjoyable, and Remus didn't find himself caring nearly as much as he should've. "Oh, I'm from Surrey, actually. Just drove in tonight." He bit his tongue firmly to keep from rambling on about the argument with Fenrir and leaving and kept it short. Short was good.

Though they were the same height, and that was even better. "Oh really? You came quite a ways." The stranger had the most charming smile Remus could suddenly remember ever having seen, and it made his knees feel a little weak, and other areas not so weak.

"I did," and damn, am I glad I did, he added to himself, before teasingly tugging himself out of the stranger's grasp. "C'mon, I'll buy you a drink, since you've been to so many bars t'night." Suddenly, he didn't quite care that he taught grammar and how to sound correct when speaking - more of his focus went into swaying just the right way up to the bar, aware of the stranger's striking eyes stuck on him.

And then he heard the low mutter of the dark-haired man, and it all went sinking straight to Remus's groin. "Mm, I think I see something I'd like more than another drink."

Remus couldn't remember how it started, but suddenly they were dancing right against the band's stage, grinding against each other in a competition (unsaid) to try and get each other hard as fast as possible, before they were swinging and tugging at each other in some fancy step that had inhabited, untapped, in some corner of their minds. 'Babe' and 'cutie' kept being murmured in his ear, along with a rough laugh, and he would laugh softly in turn, shivering when he felt the man's teeth trace the ear he'd been talking into.

Then, as best as he could recall straight away, they were tearing at each others' clothes in his cheap-ass hotel room and tumbling into bed together. They certainly acted like they wanted to make the neighbors jealous with how they went at each other relentlessly, gasping and moaning and screaming among the slamming of the headboard against the wall, finally succumbing to sleep when the sky in the window was turning a soft pink with the sunrise.

It was long after noon when Remus groaned, stretched and forced himself awake, glaring at the alarm clock that was blaring what he hoped was a completely wrong time. There was no way he slept through till one in the afternoon. Then, though, his hand that was clutching his pillow caught and held his attention, a simple gold band encircling his ring finger. He raised his head and examined the hand as if it was detached from him, eyes wide.

"Oh fuck..." His voice was hoarse, and then he realized that an arm was heavy on his waist and he glanced over, seeing the stranger from the night before - Sirius, his memory of the bar's hushed conversation supplied, though no last name came with it - sleeping beside him, quite obviously just as undressed as he was.

With a matching gold ring.

"Oh fuck."

Author's Note: And so begins our story. This started as a little idea in the back of my head, listening to country music on a fourteen hour drive. Obviously, the credit of that goes to Carrie Underwood and her same-titled 'Last Name'. Let's see, I had to dust off this account in order to post, so I'm technically new to the site, since it's been a little over three years since I last posted.

What else, what else... I have one more chapter written, but I'm going to use that as my buffer while I try to finish up writing everything. I want to have this all written before November starts, or anyone who reads this will be in for a bit of a wait, since I'll be devoting my November to a story for NaNoWriMo.

Please leave a review if you liked it! I run off of good vibes, which is why I'm posting this!