Warnings: Mild sexual content
Remus did consider telling the others about the Guildhall gig. It took approximately two and a half minutes before he concluded that he wouldn't. Still, they found out about it anyway. Frank was signed up for all sorts of newsletters and notifications about performances in the surrounding areas, including ones at the Guildhall since it was the county's most well-known and respected live music venue.
That was why Remus had Dorcas round on the evening of the gig, throwing various shirts at him and sighing long-sufferingly at everything he tried on. He hadn't invited her but she'd insisted that he wasn't going to the show with just anything on his back. She seemed to have it in her head that he would be representing Soundscape. He definitely wasn't about to tell her and Emmeline and Benjy and Frank that he was going to review the show for a different magazine altogether. He felt guilty enough about it as it was, without having to face their hurt expressions and complaints. Benjy would probably smack him one.
But then, what did they expect him to do? Sit around and wait for Freddie Mercury or Jimmy Page to wander into the countryside and demand a feature? His mother, much as he hated to admit it, had been right: he needed some sort of steady income, even if he didn't want to obtain that in the way she happened to have in mind.
So he didn't express his intentions to the others and he allowed Dorcas to continue trying to dress him with the assumption that he was merely going to the gig to impress the band enough to get them to come back to The Old Crown and have one of them whisk her off her feet.
"You can't wear that," she spluttered now, gesticulating so wildly she slopped tea down her wrist.
Remus plucked at his Floyd Cramer t-shirt, confused. Bar a couple of wonderfully soft jumpers, it was his absolute favourite item of clothing. It was laundry-softened and purple and it clung to his body in a warm, comforting kind of way.
"Why not? What's wrong with it?"
Dorcas stood up from his bed, holding her mug more securely now and reaching out to him with the other hand.
"Well, there's nothing really wrong with it," she said, tugging at it. "In fact, it looks quite nice on you. Shows off how skinny you are, lucky thing. But it's Floyd Cramer. No one listens to Floyd Cramer."
"He was one of the greatest recording pianists of all time."
"So?"
"He played piano for Elvis."
"I don't care if he played for Danger Mouse, you can't wear another musician's shirt to a different band's gig. That's just wrong. Don't you have a Blue Stag one you can wear?"
She started glancing around his tip of a room, rifling through a nearby heap of clothes.
"Oh come off it. No one actually wears a band's merchandise to their own show," said Remus, watching her. "It's just tacky. Wearing another musician's stuff is... edgy. Shows they have to work to impress me."
He'd read that in a recent copy of Rolling Stone: 'How Not to be the Alien at a Concert', a vital read for someone such as himself (though he'd had to hide the copy so that Frank wouldn't catch him drinking in the words of another publication to relish rather than rival them).
"Wear this instead," Dorcas suggested, picking up a long-sleeved maroon top from the floor.
He snatched it from her exasperatedly. "Dorcas, that's my pyjama top."
"Oh." She blinked. "Well it's very nice."
"I'm wearing this," he said, motioning to the Cramer shirt, "and it'll be fine. Sirius will appreciate it."
He'd said it before he could stop himself; Dorcas, as usual, was quick on the uptake.
"Sirius will appreciate it?" she echoed, adding with a cackle, "What kind of a nancy boy thing to say is that?"
"Oh shut it." He threw the pyjama top at her chest, hard, but she continued to giggle.
"Ah," she cooed, "are you trying to impress your hero?"
"He's not my hero," Remus said firmly, turning to his mirror and pretending he was more interested in doing his hair than talking to her, even though he didn't have much hair to do in the first place. "I'm only going because he asked me to."
She stopped laughing then, and the smile that still played on her lips was one of confusion.
"He's taken a bit of a shine to you, that Sirius Black, hasn't he?" she said after a while.
Remus paused in scrubbing a hand through his hair to look at her in the mirror and shrug.
"Don't get me wrong," she went on, flopping back down on to his unmade bed and cradling her mug thoughtfully, "I think it's really cool. And it's good for you to get away from this place every once in a while but..." She shrugged, smiling up at him hesitantly. "Don't stray too far, will you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, just that you don't seem to have been yourself recently," she said carefully. "You seem more... distant. Like you've got something on your mind."
She said it with a little rise like a question, probing him to spill whatever secret he had plaguing him. He scoffed gently, glancing at the bedside clock in the hopes that it was time to go.
"It's been busy recently," he said lamely. "You know it has."
"Is it your mam? Has she been on at you again?"
It was a bit out of the left-field for Dorcas, especially since Remus barely discussed his parents with anyone, lease of all her. He knew, living in the place they did, it was likely Dorcas saw them around town quite a lot anyway, but he couldn't imagine his mother stopping and talking to her; she thought all of his Soundscape friends were odd. "Like little beatniks" she'd once said.
"No," he lied, "of course not. Why are you so concerned all of a sudden anyway?"
"Oh right! My friend's got something bothering him and I can't even show a little concern?"
"But there's nothing bothering me and you're saying these strange things. Asking about my mum and that."
"I am trying to be a nice friend," she grumbled. "You've been acting right funny ever since you came back from that tour, and even funnier since you got back from London."
That was a bit abrupt. He raised his eyebrows at her. He didn't see how he'd been acting "funny". Perhaps he'd been a bit more distracted than usual, but what did she expect? He'd never had anything particularly interesting happen in his life before, and now there was something he found it rather exhausting to say the least. Of course he was bound to be quieter, more concentrated on other things. But acting funny? What did that even mean?
"Feel free to elaborate," he said after a moment's silence.
"Oh I don't know," she whined. She put her mug down, tugged at the sleeves of her oversized jumper and stood up. "You're just so distracted. Frank said you haven't written a thing recently."
"The next issue's going on sale tomorrow, I've got ages to write for the next one!"
"But you've normally written heaps by now," she said. It was odd really, because of them all, Dorcas was the least likely to start a row of any kind. Even as she spoke now she sounded like she was forcing the words out, as though they had to be said but she didn't want to be the one speaking them. "Did you write anything while you were in London?"
"What? No, of course not! I'm not just going to follow Sirius around with a notepad. He invited me as friends, not as another bloody journalist to bother him."
He turned back towards his wardrobe, looking for a pair of decent shoes in the hopes of avoiding any further gripes or question. Concluding that the only shoes in his wardrobe fit to be seen were ones he'd bought for a funeral three years ago, he left the room to search for suitable footwear elsewhere. Dorcas followed.
"I'm sure he wouldn't have minded," she called after him. "You said he was nice!"
"So I should take advantage of that, should I?"
"I've an idea," she announced, ignoring his question.
They were in the downstairs hallway now, her on the bottom step, hands planted on either wall, and him in front of the door with a pair of scuffed black Nikes hanging limply from each hand. He raised an eyebrow in question.
"This gig you're going to," she started, and somehow he knew what she was going to suggest before she'd even said it, "why don't you review it?"
Biting back a sigh, Remus made a motion with his hand for her to shift so he could sit down and pull the Nikes on. He considered an "I'll think about it", but he was always doing that; being a pushover, trying to make other people happy. Why couldn't he just do what he wanted to for once?
"No," he said, as firmly as he could manage.
"Why not?"
"Because, Dorcas, it's called Soundscape, not... Blue Stag Monthly."
"Remus," she said slowly, "magazines feature the same bands consecutively all the time."
"And anyway," he went on, since he knew it was an awful first point and that she was right, "I don't have their permission."
"You don't need permission, you just need an invitation. Which you have."
He sighed again, masking it as exertion with wrestling the second shoe.
"Yes, but I know them. We're sort of... friends now." Well, he and Sirius anyway. James struggled to remember his name, and he doubted Fabian and Peter would recognise him either. "I can't just write about them and not tell them."
"I thought the number one rule of journalism was to be objective," said Dorcas, folding her arms across her chest. "You're letting your feelings get in the way of what could be a fantastic opportunity for us. Knowing Blue Stag is going to open so many doors!"
It was the optimism in her voice, the total faith in the future, that made him wince.
"Look, I've got to go," he said. "I'm going to be late."
So much for saying and doing what he wanted to. Ignoring the subject completely seemed even worse than lying, somehow. Although he was still lying actually – he wasn't going to be late at all. So all in all, he was ignoring the subject and lying. An ignorant liar. Splendid.
"No you're not, it doesn't start until seven."
"I'm meeting Sirius before." That was a lie too.
Dorcas huffed and tugged her coat down off the hallway rack, shrugging it on and tossing her hair out of the collar. She left the house, and while he thought she was going to wait for him, he realised once he'd locked the door she was already up to the garden gate.
"Dor," he sighed, striding after her. "Why are you getting angry at me?"
"I'm not angry." She struggled with the gate, making a frustrated noise when he reached forward and easily opened it for her. "I just don't want you to be late for your friends, that's all."
She looked on the verge of marching off then, but they both knew that was a completely un-Dorcas thing to do. She sighed instead and dug her hands in her coat pockets, jingling her keys.
"Look, I'll see you tomorrow, alright? Have a good time tonight." She reached up on tip toes and pressed a chaste kiss on his cheekbone. Then, standing back, her dark eyes scanned over him. "You look really nice," she said, and then she left, not even letting him walk with her to the bus stop.
He caught the bus into the city centre, forcing himself to put Dorcas's words to the back of his mind as he sat down. He didn't really understand where she was coming from. It was true that he'd had his mind on other things recently, but she was the one who'd babbled about how exciting it was that he'd been to Sirius's house in London.
He had a horrible feeling she knew about everything, which was silly really because he hadn't even tried to send anything off to another magazine yet, and even if he had he would have been perfectly within his rights.
I'm not obliged to stay at Soundscape for the rest of my life out of pity he thought, before physically flinching at how awful he sounded. Knowing Sirius Black and having a stranger offer to show some of his writing to an editor didn't automatically make him better than his friends. If he wasn't careful he was going to end up as big headed as James.
Since it was a chilly wednesday evening, he found the city centre fairly empty. Outside the Guildhall itself, however, were dozens of people – mostly teenagers – milling about, desperate to catch a glimpse of one of the band or probably to worm their way into the concert itself.
The Guildhall was a pretty impressive building – nowhere near as big as London's, of course, which was like a scaled down version of Westminster Abbey – and it had only recently been turned into a music venue. Already a few big names had played there (he remembered Kent DuChaine in particular, that had caused a right commotion) but mostly it was used for "up close and personal" gigs, the musicians acting like they were doing the country bumpkins a huge favour by taking the time out of their big city tours to grace them with their presence.
He stood alone for a few moments at the corner of the Building Society, wondering how he was going to battle through the crowds and then convince the doormen he was on the list while still managing to appear sane.
My name is really Remus Lupin, he practised in his head, Sirius Black invited me, honest.
But as it happened, and greatly to his relief, he didn't have to in the end. Behind him, large stone stairs led to the stretch of land homing King's Walk, and he heard two sets of footsteps descending them, carrying with them the sounds of crinkling paper. Turning, assuming he was about to be ambushed, he spotted two bright red heads.
Fabian he recognised immediately, though it took him a few seconds to realise that it was Lily, James's girlfriend, accompanying him. He was enveloped in a pair of strong arms before he'd even had a chance to remove the look of surprise from his face.
"Remus! I haven't seen you in ages!" Fabian released him, holding him at arm's length, a bag of strawberry bootlaces in his large hand. "Ah, look at you, mate."
Lily gave him a friendly smile, waggling beautifully manicured fingers. "Hi, Remus."
"Hi, Lily," he managed to return, once Fabian had released his suffocating grip on him.
"What do you think of the gig, eh, Remus? Good idea, hey? Want a lace?" The paper bag was shoved under his nose.
"Er, no thank you– "
"Fabian here was starving," said Lily dryly, picking demurely at her own small bag of pick 'n' mix. "Most unlike him, isn't it? You're here for the show then, aren't you?"
Remus said that he was, and she smiled at him again.
"You're a bit early, but you can come with us if you like. Can't he, Fabian?"
The drummer nodded enthusiastically, mouth full of red liquorice, and Remus smiled back gratefully. He hadn't really got to know Lily very well during the summer but she'd always seemed nice, if a bit fiery. Plus he was really just rather glad to go in with someone else who wasn't actually in the band, otherwise he wouldn't know what to do with himself.
They led him down the alleyway separating the Building Society from the Guildhall, Fabian tossing the hood of his jacket over his head for good measure even though the crowd outside the building showed no signs of turning round and catching sight of him.
"Glad I ran into you actually," Remus confessed. "I didn't fancy facing that mob."
"They've been out here hours, poor things," Lily replied as Fabian held the heavy back door open for the two of them. "If James doesn't come out afterwards to speak to them I'll leave him stranded here."
James, as it happened, was at that time as far from the fans as possible. The back entrance led to a long corridor of dressing rooms and he was sat in the largest, feet propped up on a dressing table, a magazine in his lap. A tall girl with a nose ring was leaning over him, dabbing powder on to his face, and Remus almost smirked.
He wasn't really sure he was supposed to be here, fairly certain James wouldn't want him around anyway. When he looked up though he didn't even notice Remus, especially since there were about a dozen other people in the room, all bustling about clutching bottles and smoking.
"Lily!" James had noticed only her. "Have you seen the shit they're saying about my band?"
Lily rolled her eyes discreetly and wandered over to where James sat huffing at his copy of Sounds newspaper. "No, my sweet, I haven't seen what they're saying about your band."
He passed the newspaper over with a grunt, batting the stylist's hands away from his hair, muttering something like "it's supposed to be that messy".
Remus stood awkwardly as Lily read the offending article with a thoughtful expression on her face, popping sweet bananas and shrimps into her mouth every so often. He glanced around, hoping to spot Sirius, but the bassist, along with Fabian and Peter, was nowhere to be seen.
He was saved, however, when a roadie wearing a headset and a black Filthy Voice jumper jogged in, summoning the band for a final sound check. Fabian was back, out of nowhere, Peter in tow, and someone was saying "find Sirius, find Sirius". Remus was considering volunteering to be the one to help when he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Lily.
"Come on," she said, while three of the four band members and their entourage filtered out, "let's go now. I don't fancy being backstage tonight."
She chucked the Sounds newspaper in the bin, pulling a face, and Remus grinned. He allowed her to lead the way to the concert hall even though he probably knew the place better than any of them, but she stopped halfway and suggested they went to the hall bar beforehand, as James hated anyone watching him during sound check.
"This band has turned him into such a perfectionist," she said, and she was laughing but Remus thought he caught a hint of disappointment in her voice too. "When I first met him, he didn't care what he was doing as long as all eyes were on him."
Indeed, when they were finally allowed to go into the concert hall itself with the other few hundred people James was looking suitably smug now that he was safe in the knowledge that his microphone was fine and his voice was warmed up.
And they'd found Sirius, thankfully. He seemed to be his usual mellow self, though it was difficult to read his expression very well since Remus and Lily had been just a few moments too late and had ended up with pretty duff seats at the back. It didn't really matter though. They only needed to be able to hear, and as it turned out, the acoustic arrangements were pretty fantastic.
Both Peter and Sirius played guitar, while James only sang, and Fabian had an array of different percussion instruments before him like some kind of African master drummer. Primarily, they ran through most of the hits that had made them famous, and while they were well-received, it was perhaps not with the ardency that would come with a regular crowd; the audience now was made up mostly of friends and people who were in the music industry. It was when they did their more obscure songs and covers that people started to stand and show more enthusiasm, making it feel more like a real concert.
Remus tried to make notes but it was difficult. He was too distracted. Once or twice he was certain Sirius's eyes met his, but it was too far to tell properly. Even so, the pages of his notebook stayed blank, and towards the end when Sirius and James collaborated on a particularly spine-tingling, elaborate sort of acoustic version of 'Purple Haze', he closed the book altogether.
Afterwards, when he slipped backstage with Lily, it was 'Purple Haze' that he congratulated Sirius on most profusely. Blue Stag had been given two dressing rooms, and James and his admirers occupied one while the rest of the band were in the other. After a gentle knock, Sirius opened the door and Remus found himself immediately pulled into a tight hug.
"I was worried you weren't here. Why didn't you sit at the front, you fool?"
So their eyes hadn't met then. Oh well.
Stupidly, Remus apologised.
"It sounded so good. It really did," he burbled. "'Purple Haze' was such a brilliant arrangement. Completely your own."
Sirius held his hands out to each side, clutching the fluffy towel he'd been using on his face. He was still in his stage clothes of white t-shirt and ridiculously tight trousers, and was looking sufficiently flushed and tousled.
"Well, what can I say?"
"You arranged it?"
Sirius's hands flopped back down to his sides. "I'm not completely inept," he laughed, chucking the towel at him. "Want a drink or something?"
"We should go to a pub," Fabian piped up. He was sprawled across the couch, feet in Peter's lap, a bottle of ice water pressed to his head and a fag dangling between his fingers. "I've always wanted to go to a country pub."
"Such high aspirations you have," said Sirius, wandering back over to the dressing table and picking up another bottle of water. "Anyway, we're not going to a pub. Remus is taking me to his house after this."
"I am?" he said dumbly. It was news to him, although he didn't have time to decide whether it was unwelcome or not before Sirius was speaking again.
"Course. I'll show you how to play 'Purple Haze'." He held the bottle up to take a sip, but stopped and grinned when he saw Remus staring at him.
"Moody's already got the four of us booked in at that Mercure place, Sirius," Peter reminded him, looking up from the Sounds newspaper he'd dug out of the bin.
Sirius waved a dismissive hand in his direction as he downed his water, and Fabian watched, giving a little smile and shake of his head which Remus forced himself not to begin analysing.
"Alright, but he won't half be pissed off. It's supposed to be amazing," said Peter, turning back to the article.
"Where's your rebellious spirit, Pettigrew?" Sirius asked, but he hadn't taken his eyes off Remus once. Remus forced himself to stare back, the hard grey gaze unreadable.
"I'm just saying. It's fine to go out but it doesn't help to just not come back to base at all. We've got –"
"Oh give over, you little lackey." Sirius finally broke the stare and lobbed the near-empty bottle of water at Peter's head, turning and snatching a jacket off the back of the door. "Come on." He looped an arm around Remus and guided him out of the door, only leaving him with a nanosecond to bid the other two musicians a hasty farewell, to which Fabian replied with a very obvious goodnight.
"Don't you need to speak to Moody first? Or James?" Remus asked as they walked towards the back exit together. "In fact, are you sure you want to come to mine anyway? It's sort of a mess. You saw what it was like last time –"
"Remus," Sirius interrupted, stopping in the corridor and taking his arm from around Remus's shoulder. "Come on. I haven't seen you for days, and I really don't fancy sticking around with that lot tonight. James has been doing my head in all day, and now Pete's being a little crawler too."
He was looking at him calmly, but there was a pleading expression in his eyes that Remus couldn't fail to notice. He felt a bit bad then. It wasn't that he didn't want to be with Sirius because he did. It was just that his house really was in a state.
"Alright," he said. "You can come, just erm – stay out of the kitchen, yeah? I haven't done the washing up or anything and it's a tip."
Sirius grinned. "Is that a way of telling me I'm not allowed to drink?"
Oh God, now he'd gone and made himself sound like a right bossy twat.
"No, no," Remus said quickly, "I didn't mean it like that. Although having said that, I don't think I have any drink in anyway. Well actually there's Cinzano, but it's a bit crap, isn't it? And I think Dorcas left one of those horrendous bottles of Babycham the other week but I doubt you drink stuff like that –"
"Remus," Sirius laughed, "calm the fuck down, would you? Christ, anyone'd think you couldn't stand to be around me."
He pushed the heavy back door open and poked his head out long enough to hear that the crowd was indeed still waiting outside the front entrance, very much ready to converse with and possibly maul their favourite rock stars. Sighing, he rested his head against the door frame.
"I know it's awful but I just don't feel like facing a crowd tonight. Is there any other way we can go?"
"There's Park Road," said Remus. "It goes around the edge of the woods. It's quite a long walk though. There might be some, er, drunken yobs along the way."
"Nothing like a nice romantic walk in the park," Sirius grinned, grabbing Remus's hand and tugging him out into the cool night. "And I think I can handle a few drunken yobs, don't you?"
To be fair, he did look sufficiently daunting in his leather jacket and boots, and Remus could do nothing but nod in agreement. The plus side to the long walk was that it gave Remus a chance to settle back into the swing of things. Given the route they took, all patchy scrubs of grass and cracked concrete, there wasn't much he could point out to Sirius that added anything to his probably already quite low opinion of Gloucester, but Sirius didn't seem too interested in that anyway.
When they made it to Remus's house, Sirius shrugged off his jacket and dropped it in a heap on the hallway floor, before wandering into the living room and flopping down on to the couch. It was a sequence of actions that, had it been anyone else, probably would have annoyed Remus quite a bit.
"Do you want anything?" he asked.
Sirius shook his head no and Remus dropped on to the other end of the sofa, folding his legs underneath him. He let out a long, quiet breath, eyes darting around the room, quickly searching for any offensive items he might have to discretely cover up. Thankfully, bar a couple of empty mugs and a Carly Simon record, there was nothing too bad.
"What's on the agenda for tomorrow?" Sirius asked him.
"Well, I suppose I should get some work done. I haven't written a thing lately, and I barely wrote anything just now."
"You must have been enjoying yourself."
"It was brilliant, honestly. Really brilliant."
Sirius gave him a slow, satisfied smile.
"Here," he said, "I'll write it for you. It'll be easy. Where's your book? Just say 'Sirius Black is irresistibly sexy when armed with an acoustic guitar, and he does a fantastic Hendrix cover'. Go on."
"Charming as that is, Sirius, I'm the kind of journalist who likes to stay as true to the facts as possible."
"Ouch. It's taken, what, all of half an hour for you to get a lip on you?"
"Sorry."
"Don't apologise, it's cute."
Remus looked up at him, scanning his face to see whether or not he was joking. The smile he was faced with seemed genuine, and he felt a strange tug in his stomach as he glanced away, any ounce of confidence he was starting to build up quickly abandoning him.
"Are you sure you don't want anything?" he asked again, desperate for something to do. "There's coffee. I don't drink it. I hate it. I know you like it though."
Sirius shook his head. He leaned a little closer, and Remus felt the pull in his abdomen increase tenfold, as though he were harbouring a whole stomachful of butterflies.
"I'll put some music on!" he said abruptly. Forcing himself not to look at his guest, Remus slid off the couch towards the alcoves, grabbing at the first record within his reach which happened to be Morrison Hotel.
"The Doors, eh?" said Sirius, as strains of 'Roadhouse Blues' began to fill the room.
Remus sat back on the couch hurriedly, record sleeve still in his hands.
"You kind of look like Jim Morrison," he breathed. Upon receiving no reply, he held it up for Sirius to see. "Don't you think? Well, in the early days I mean. Before he got all bearded and odd-looking."
Sirius leant his head back against the sofa and looked at him with hot, curious eyes. Remus forced himself to meet the strange gaze. He felt his heart kick up a beat, the sound of the tack piano heavy in his ears, and his tongue darted out to wet suddenly very dry lips. Then he became struck by an odd panic as he wondered if Sirius would take the gesture as a come-on. Hell, maybe it was a come-on. Even Remus couldn't tell.
Sirius was staring at his mouth, and Remus knew full-well what was going to happen before it did, but when Sirius reached across, traced a thumb over his lower lip and pulled him in for a kiss, Remus didn't stop him.
The tenderness surprised him. It was a slow, sweet brushing of lips that helped quell the sickly swirl of nerves in his stomach. It didn't last long. He wasn't sure, but it couldn't have been more than a few seconds before Sirius was pulling back, Remus's jaw still cupped in his hand.
Sirius quirked an eyebrow in question. Remus could only blink by way of some kind of agreement, some kind of allowance, and then Sirius was kissing him again, firmer this time, the brush of denim against the couch alerting Remus to the fact that their bodies were beginning to press together.
His eyes fluttered for a moment, and he let go of the record sleeve to curve a hand around Sirius's neck. Something told him he should have been protesting but he wasn't really sure why. Sirius was a much better kisser when he was sober, when he didn't taste of booze and tobacco, when he was parting Remus's lips with his own, slow and easy, tracing patterns along Remus's jawline with the warm pads of his thumbs.
He was dimly aware of the devilish melody of 'Roadhouse Blues' in the background, but the song seemed to almost fade as he became swamped by the wave of sensations Sirius's touch always seemed to evoke.
They didn't come apart until the short song ended and 'Waiting for the Sun' came on, and Sirius pulled back, panting slightly, to murmur "I love this song" and to press another chaste kiss to Remus's lips. He ducked his head then, seeking Remus's gaze.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
There was nothing wrong as such, but Remus was experiencing that awful emotion of thinking he'd made a bad decision and not really being able to explain why. He liked kissing Sirius, but liking it was terribly confusing.
"Nothing." He began to shift away but Sirius was quick, grabbing him and hauling him back with a breathless laugh.
"No," he said, in the tone a parent might use on a little kid trying to wander off. "Don't bugger off now. Do you know how long I've been wanting to kiss you?"
"Not very long probably."
"Oh shut up."
Sirius brushed another kiss over his lips, and Remus let him. Not that his mind wasn't swimming with doubt. Because Sirius couldn't have been wanting to kiss him for so long if he took that boy, that gap year student, back to his house when Remus had been there.
"Sirius," he mumbled against his lips, "wait."
Sirius huffed impatiently. "What for?"
"Maybe we shouldn't..."
When Sirius immediately shot back with "why?", Remus couldn't give an answer. Sirius cocked his head to the side, unimpressed, and then stunned Remus further by suddenly climbing on top of him, straddling him in one swift movement. He placed his hands on either side of Remus's head against the back of the sofa, and the image of Jake being trapped in a similar fashion at the Palace flashed into his mind.
"Look," he said, "I like you. And I know you like me."
"How do you know that?"
"You kissed back." Sirius leaned forward to nudge their noses together, Eskimo fashion. "And you said I was alright."
Remus managed a feeble laugh. "You remember stupid things."
"I remember everything you tell me."
For a short moment, Remus allowed himself to feel touched. Then he saw the hopeful look in Sirius's eyes, and wondered if it was a line he used on everyone he fancied a bit of. His gaze dropped to Sirius's lips, his full, pink lips, and his stomach curled as he forced himself not to care. 'Waiting for the Sun' abruptly ended and Remus began to speak.
"It's just... it's not that you're not a lovely kisser, but I've never really done stuff with a bloke. Not much anyway."
Sirius shrugged. His right hand slid lower now, his thumb beginning to draw circular patterns on Remus's stomach, making him feel giddy.
"First time for everything," he said. "You do worry, don't you, Remus? It's lovely, don't get me wrong, but don't you ever just do what you want without thinking about what might happen later?"
"No," Remus admitted.
"You should be more spontaneous. Stop caring so much, just do what feels right. You should always live like that."
"That's horribly impractical," he said weakly, but even as he spoke he could feel himself relaxing against Sirius's hands, the back of his head, the tips of his fingers, the bottom of his spine all tingling with anticipation.
Sirius laughed gently and moved so their foreheads were touching. His hands were hot against Remus's neck, soft black hair tickling his face. Then he was pressing against him, warm mouth settling on Remus's once more and it wouldn't have been fair to say it didn't feel wonderful, and so Remus let it happen.
It was fine for a while. Sirius kissed deeply, slow and languid, and it wasn't much work to keep up with him. The stubble was a new sensation, but not an unpleasant one, and Remus was just starting to properly relax when Sirius ran a warm, teasing tongue across his lips, gently easing it into his mouth.
Remus had long since felt himself beginning to get hard, cock straining uncomfortably against the unyielding denim of his jeans. As Sirius's tongue began to explore his mouth hotly, Remus tensed up, unsure what to do in return, with himself, with his hands. They sat uselessly like dead things, cautious on the seat of the chair, in stark contrast to Sirius's hands which touched him everywhere - his face, neck, trailing a path down his chest, around his waist, finally to his crotch which was given a gentle squeeze, each deft movement brimming with expert flair.
Without warning, Sirius broke the kiss.
"What is it?" he asked.
Remus blinked down at him, desperately wondering what he'd done wrong. "Nothing."
"You're tense, I can feel you." He gripped Remus's waist a little tighter, making him jump. "See?"
"I'm just..."
"Do you want to stop?"
Wordlessly, Remus shook his head. Sirius considered him with the tiniest of smiles threatening to blossom.
"Do you always feel nervous around people," he asked teasingly, "or just me?"
Remus swallowed, drawn by the sight of Sirius's wet, red lips. "Just you."
Sirius leaned to press a soft kiss to Remus's throat, his chin, nose, cheek, the patch on his neck just beneath his right ear which gave his stomach an especially sharp tug.
"You just need to relax," he whispered.
So focused was Remus on the ghosting of hot breath across his neck, and the intoxicating scent of dried sweat and creamy aftershave and smoke from the stage, he barely noticed the hand trailing down his chest, further and further, until long fingers were dipping beneath the waistband of his jeans.
His body throbbed with awareness as his zipper was pulled down, absurdly loud as it cut through the low hum of 'You Make Me Real', a shockingly inappropriate song given the moment and the languid, measured pace of their actions, the only other noise the huff of his breath mixing with Sirius's.
Then a hand, heavy and determined, pressed against him through the thin cotton. Remus grabbed Sirius's fingers.
"Wait," he breathed, but it was a stupid interruption because he was so obviously hard beneath the assault of Sirius's hand and it was manners, rather than a lack of desire, that made him interfere. "You don't have to –"
Sirius batted him away impatiently. "I want to," he growled, and then he pressed his mouth against Remus's throat, nipping and licking at the tender skin as he slid warm fingers beneath his boxers, taking Remus's cock firmly in his hand.
It didn't last long; Sirius gathered the precome already gathered at the tip, slicked it down the length, wanked him firm and even, kissing him all the while, rolling Remus's balls between the fingers of his other hand. Remus let his eyes sink closed for a few seconds, until Sirius squeezed his cock deliberately and said, low and gravelly, "Look at me, Remus."
Their gazes locked. Sirius's hand began to speed up, faster and faster until Remus was tense and panting beneath him, arching his hips unashamedly, nerves forgotten in the face of bliss. Time passed in quick, frenzied minutes, and they kissed, hot and wet, until Sirius was pulling back, moving to brush his lips over the shell of Remus's ear, hot breath tickling him.
"Are you relaxing yet?" he whispered, and then he kissed him again, and Remus moaned and twisted and bit down. Hard.
"Fuck!" Sirius wrenched back, bringing the heel of his free hand up against his mouth, already spotted with blood.
"Fucking hell." He'd barely finished coming before he was grabbing on to Sirius and burying his face in his shoulder, an dreadful mixture of pleasure and embarrassment coursing through his body. "S-sorry. I didn't mean to."
Remus stilled against him, unable to bring himself to drag his head up. He'd bitten Sirius. He'd made him bleed. He'd whimpered. Repeatedly. As in, more than once. He couldn't even orgasm like a normal person, couldn't even get a handjob without inflicting grievous bodily harm. He concluded, with a small groan, that from now on he would live in a box under the stairs.
But then two fingers gently lifted him by the chin, and Sirius was looking at him with an expression caught between amusement and surprise.
"Quite the bite you've got on you," he said, taking his hand away and sucking on his sore bottom lip.
"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. Do you want ice on it?"
"I think I'll manage." Sirius caught Remus's flailing hand and squeezed gently. Then he seemed to notice Remus's pained expression and his face fell. "Didn't you like it?"
"Yes, of course! But I bloody bit you."
"Oh Remus, get over it."
He wasn't just embarrassed that he'd tried to gnaw Sirius's lip off though. It was also the idea of someone seeing him come undone like that, all worked up and whimpering like a big pile of wet leaves. Hastily he pulled his boxers the rest of the way up, fastening his jeans as Sirius leaned back, still straddling him, and glanced around.
"Got any tissues or anything?"
Remus looked around too and quickly snatched a tea towel from the side table, making a mental note to throw it away later.
"Erm," he started, watching Sirius rub his hands with the gingham cloth. "Do you want..?"
He gestured awkwardly and Sirius looked at him, then down at his jeans, then back up. He gave a little smirk and tossed the towel aside as he leaned to brush Remus's lips with his sore ones once more.
"Nah. Not right now."
On the one hand, Remus was fairly relieved; he wasn't sure he'd be able to do as good a job on Sirius as Sirius had done on him. On the other, he was worried Sirius just didn't want him touching him like that. He was probably mad about the bite. He probably knew Remus would be utter bollocks at it.
"But maybe tomorrow," Sirius continued with another kiss. "If you're letting me stay, that is."
"Of course." Remus jumped at the chance to redeem himself. "There's a spare room, although it has damp. Or you can have my bed. It's more comfortable but my room's kind of a mess..."
Sirius had already moved off him, standing up and stretching, announcing cheerfully that he was going for a fag and heading towards the kitchen to get to the back door. Remus almost blurted out a reminder that his kitchen was in a state.
No, Remus Lupin. No. You're going to stop this sort of thing right now. Be normal for once in your life, for fuck's sake, be normal!
He leaned back against the sofa and waited anxiously for Sirius to return, convinced that when he did he'd confess he wanted to leave now because the kitchen was revolting or because his lip hurt or because Remus was the worst host ever.
Drumming his fingers against his legs, the record still playing in the background, he mulled the little episode over in his mind, unsure how he felt about it now it was over. He'd definitely enjoyed it - certain parts anyway - but the whole thing seemed now to have passed very quickly. Everything between them before seemed to have moved at a positively glacial pace, but now all he could think was that it was done, over in a flash. They'd done things together now, and there was no longer the option of backing out.
When Sirius returned a few minutes later, Remus budged up on the couch for him. Sirius quietly kicked off his boots, then lay down, stretched out like a cat, feet in Remus's lap. HIs grey eyes studied him carefully and silently in a way that made Remus unsure if what he was about to hear would be good or bad.
But as it happened, Sirius said nothing. He sniffed, rubbed at his eyes, and rested his hands on his stomach. The two of them listened to the remainder of the album in comfortable silence, and by the time 'Indian Summer' had ended, Sirius had fallen asleep.