If owned Harry Potter, the world would be a slightly more depraved place. With all hope, at least.

He doesn't know what he does to me. Him with his fuck-me wrists and innocent eyes, a paradox of sex and naivety. He doesn't even notice what he's doing to me now, standing in front of me with a friendly smile, his closeness making my heart beat that little bit faster, his scent intoxicating my lungs.

"Hey Sirius," he says, Two words. Hey and Sirius. Just two small words which are so guileless, so carelessly said yet to me they ooze allurement and quixotic him.

"Remus!" I reply quickly, "what brings you to a place like this?" How smooth. As if he needs further reason to doubt my ever fading sanity. He smiles though, smiles as if he finds me funny, as if he's supposed to, he smiles and it makes me smile right back.

"Hogwarts Express, actually." He grins.

"What?" I say, "I didn't know it ran during the school year. Did you commandeer it for your own nefarious deeds? You know, Moony, that's frowned upon in civilised society. People can get in trouble for piracy."

Great. Now I have an image of a swarthy, swash-buckling Remus in my head. Ten galleons to whoever can guess what I'll be dreaming of tonight. He however, seems not to notice my discomfort, he laughs and sits down beside me and that's good except for the fact that he's so close that he's almost touching me and my breath is hitching and good grief how can he not notice what he does to me? I'm obvious about it. I know I am. James knows. Evans knows. Merlin, even Snivellus knows. And Peter – well, Peter's and idiot, but buggering bludgers, McGonagall knows for crying out loud! How can he not know? He's not like Peter. He's smart. So smart. And he's talking again and I can't begin to even comprehend what he's saying because his presence has stolen my concentration and how can he not know when I'm such a bumbling dolt around him? Then again, I didn't realise for ages myself, even with the way he affects me. James once said that it took one day for me to fall for Remus, but three years to notice that I had.

He's stopped speaking. He's evidently awaiting a reply. Bollocks. I panic. What was he saying? Something about studying, I think. When it doubt, always answer with a senseless, non-descript statement.

"Don't be ridiculous, Nicholas." Bad choice of senseless, non-descript statement.

"My name's not Nicholas, Padfoot," he says with a quirk of his eyebrow and the beginnings of a smile. Well at least it stopped him realising my lack of listening.

"That's hardly the point, is it?" I reply.

"Well it sort of is," he responds, "it's like calling me Edmund or Carlton or something."

"Edmund's a poufter's name." Balls. What a dumb thing to say.

"I guess it's rather apt then," he says, quite factually as if he were merely commenting on the weather.

I freeze. And think. Is he saying what I think he's saying? I ask. He is.

"Oh," I say. Sometimes, my extraordinary wit astounds even me. The inner me is panicking and celebrating and is so on the brink of crashing down due to this latest revelation that it hurts. I'm overwhelmed with wondering if this means I would have a chance with him.

"Surely you knew," he's saying. I surely didn't. I shrug, non-commitedly.

"You don't mind, do you?" he continues, "I didn't think you would. I figured if you were okay with the whole werewolf thing that this" he gestures, waving his hands to signify himself, "wouldn't even be a blip on the radar of acceptance or whatever. I just doubted my sexuality was as big a deal as my lycanthropy. But well, is it, like a big deal or well, a problem, or ummm. I...well. "

He's rambling. And nervous. And he's biting his lip and looking at me with wide and cautious eyes. This is probably the most opportune time to tell him how I feel. The best chance I'll ever get to tell him calmly, suavely and distinctly how I feel and to make him understand what he means to me. But I can't find the words. I'm completely tongue-tied. A rather disconcerting feeling, if I do say so myself. And we sit in silence for a while, him gazing at me with a sad look on his face and it hurts me so much that eventually I can't take it anymore so I jump to my feet. And I grab his arms and I take him up with me. And now he's wearing that shocked look and it's utterly adorable because it's him and then...well, then I pounce. I lunge. I make my move. And all of a sudden I'm pushing him against a wall and telling him everything, in complete contrast to my prior loss of speech. I'm pushing and thrusting against him whilst my hands accost his waist and my mouth roughly caresses his neck and breathlessly speaks all the mortifying things I can't keep inside any longer.

"Oh good god, Remus," I say, "Remus. Remus, Remus, Remus. You don't know how much I've wanted to do this, but I was so scared, fuck I'm still terrified but I have hope. Hope you gave me. Hope, hope, hope. You're gay and I'm gay. So gay. I'm gay and I'm bloody crazy about you. And I've just got to tell you now and it's your fault for giving me this dratted hope because now I know you're gay and you have to understand, you do, you have to get it. Not that I thought you wouldn't understand if you were straight," oh Merlin, I'm babbling, he's going to think I'm entirely unhinged and yet I still continue, "because you would have, because you're you. You couldn't not have. You're so polite, you know, and so moral. Damn it, you're so polite that I can't believe you haven't drowned in a sea of your own gentleman like conduit of decency and chivalry and of course, politeness."

And I hope he can understand what I'm trying to explain, behind my mindless ranting, because I sure can't. And I hope I'm not frightening him but I can't stop myself and I push even harder against him and I'm sliding my hands up inside his shirt and touching that fucking chest of his that I've dreamt of for so long, tracing the raised plateau of his scars with my fingers. And all the while, I keep spewing forth my word vomit as I badly articulate my thoughts.

"You're too good for me, you know. And you're not good for me, at all, or even right for me and you're not the one I need but bugger you're the one that I want so badly, that it makes me need you more than anything."

And what I'm saying, it's not logical, but he's moaning as I nuzzle into him and I can feel the vibrations of his throat as I hold my lips to it and I'm so close to wholly losing control because this Remus.

Fucking Remus. Fucking Remus and his fucking wrists and his fucking everything and then he pushes me away. And I let him. And he then looks at me with those eyes of his for what seems to be an age before pulling me back to him and kissing me.

Remus is kissing me. Remus is kissing me and I'm relieved and amazed and disappointed because there were no fireworks. It was a kiss. An extraordinary, incredible, unbelievable kiss but nonetheless it was just that, a kiss. Yet it was so much more than that at the same time, because it's also a promise. Of future fireworks. And for now, that's all I need.

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