f i f t y . d o l l a r s . f o r . t h e . p o w d e r . r o o m

Fifty Dollars for the Powder Room
[by victoria p.]

Rating: Adult

Summary: It rained the day Remus moved into the flat above Sirius's.

Notes: Loosely based on the movie version of Breakfast at Tiffany's. Thanks to Bethy and DD for the beta.

Date: March 2, 2006

Sirius stroked Remus's sweaty hair as they lay in bed, still panting and shaking from the latest -- last, thought Sirius with a smidgen of regret -- round of shagging. Before Remus could get too comfortable, Sirius said, "This is it, then."

"Hmm?"

"We leave school tomorrow."

"Yeah," Remus answered, yawning hugely.

"Whole big world out there."

"Yeah," Remus repeated, obviously not getting it.

Sirius shifted. "Fun to be had."

"Mmm." Remus was starting to nestle, which was a bit disturbing. Blokes weren't supposed to nestle, Sirius thought, even after half a bottle of firewhisky and some really satisfying sex. They were supposed to shag and then go back to their own beds and not talk about it in the morning. And now Remus was making him talk about it, and it wasn't going well.

"Fun with other people," he clarified.

That woke Remus; he sat up, elbowing Sirius in the chest in the process. "What?"

"Other people, Moony. To have fun with. I'm going to look into that, and I think you should too."

Remus swung his feet to the floor and stood; he seemed to huddle in on himself in the cool air of the dormitory. "I see," he said in his quiet, careful, 'I'm afraid my shoes might explode if I move,' voice, the one he didn't use much anymore, and Sirius sighed, exasperated.

"Look, don't take this the wrong way," Sirius said. "We've had a lot of fun. But it's not anything serious, is it? I mean, we're eighteen, for fuck's sake." He'd originally hoped he and Remus could continue to shag on the side, but Remus's tendency towards nestling had made him realize that would be a mistake that could only lead to trouble.

"Right," Remus said, pulling on his pajama bottoms. "Ta, then." He crossed the floor to his own bed and yanked the curtains shut behind him. Sirius watched them sway for a moment, because Remus hated sleeping with his curtains closed nearly as much as Sirius did, but then he shrugged and slipped back under the covers.

The sheets had cooled off, which felt good against Sirius's skin, and he fell into a restless sleep.

Remus was carefully cordial in the morning, friendly without being warm, but he'd thaw eventually. He always did. Sirius was glad he wasn't going to fuss over it. Sirius hated scenes, unless he started them himself.

The train ride back to London was filled with jokes and reminiscences, and if Remus held himself aloof, his smile never quite reaching his eyes, Sirius pretended not to notice.

The summer passed in a whirl of strobe lights and alcohol and pretty boys with wicked mouths, punctuated by Sunday afternoon brunches at the Potters'. After the first two weeks, James stopped asking if he'd heard from Moony, and Sirius tried to forget the distance between them was partly his fault. He was having fun, and that was what counted.

The full moons were tense, but Sirius left the morning-after clean up to James and Peter, Disapparating at moonset and telling himself Remus was probably glad he wasn't around. Oddly enough, he didn't find that comforting, and slept restlessly until noon both times.

It rained the day Remus moved into the flat above Sirius's. Sirius was putting food out for the stray cats in the neighborhood when the taxi pulled up and Remus got out, all his worldly goods in the brown leather case James and Lily had got him for his last birthday. Except for a few minutes on the night of the past two full moons, he hadn't seen Remus since they'd left Hogwarts, though he knew James and Peter had, once or twice. He'd forced himself not to ask how Remus was doing, and now he was irrationally glad of that, since the bastard seemed to be doing fine on his own.

Remus stopped and stared, and Sirius smiled. "So you're the new neighbor, huh?"

Remus laughed. "I guess so. I didn't even--" He pushed his rain-soaked fringe off his forehead. "I didn't remember your new address, or I'd have let you know." He shrugged a shoulder and Sirius thought he was lying, but couldn't tell for sure. He'd never been able to tell for sure, though he'd always claimed he could. "I guess I'll see you around." Remus headed up the stairs, suitcase in hand.

Sirius nodded, doing nothing to defuse the awkwardness of the situation.

He stood for a long time under the striped awning, watching the rain pound the cars and the pavement before heading back inside, shivering at the few raindrops that slipped beneath the collar of his shirt, leaving cool trails against his skin.

Sirius dipped and swayed to the music, always on the lookout for the next good time, which tonight appeared in the form of a very pretty boy with red hair and green eyes who moved as if his bones were made of rubber. As Sirius followed him into the men's room, he thought this was why he'd taken a flat in London, after all, why he'd spent his money on Muggle clothes and Muggle music. Why he'd freed himself of any attachments that might have got in the way of his fun.

He hadn't meant for things to end badly with Remus, but then again, he hadn't meant to start them either. He certainly hadn't thought Remus would have expectations, hadn't thought their messing about meant anything at all. But Remus had, and though he'd sworn it didn't matter when Sirius told him the messing about part of their friendship was over, he'd disappeared into himself, and then disappeared from Sirius's life, and there was no Hogwarts Express to bring them back together again now.

Sirius shook his head. Best not to think of that now, pressed up against the tile wall of the lav, while the red-haired boy with big, green eyes had pretty, pink lips wrapped round his prick. If when he closed his eyes and came, he imagined brown hair and brown eyes, he blamed it on the Pernod.

It was odd, knowing Remus was so close and not actually living with him anymore. Odder still that he wasn't sure they were still friends after that last conversation, even though Remus assured him there were no hard feelings.

He thought it would be nice to have Remus back again, as a friend, and was on the stairwell headed upstairs to his flat when he saw another man -- tall, handsome, familiar -- on the landing above. Remus pulled the man into a heated embrace, and when they broke apart, Remus smiled and murmured something. The man -- Merlin on a motorbike, Sirius thought. It's Caradoc Dearborn. -- cupped Remus's chin gently and then walked away, whistling jauntily.

Sirius hurried back down the stairs to his own flat, angry with himself for being angry.

When he ran into Remus in the stairwell or the hallway, it seemed natural enough to fall into step with him, seven years of friendship, after all, and they were usually going to the same place -- newsagent, pub, Order meeting. It seemed stupid and pointless to avoid each other, especially now that all James's free time was taken up by Evans, and Peter was always working.

Sirius was coming in early one morning as Remus was heading out, and for the first time, Remus stopped him in the hallway and said, "I'm going to the coffee shop for some tea before I head over to the office. Want to come with?"

And though he'd spent the night dancing and drinking and getting high with beautiful boys who wouldn't look twice at Remus's weedy frame and tweedy blazer, he turned around and headed back out the door.

They sat across from each other in the small booth, Remus stirring an ungodly amount of sugar into his tea while they chatted about inconsequential things -- Quidditch, James and Lily's new flat, how odd it was not to be back at Hogwarts for the first time.

"Bollocks," Remus said after the waitress had refilled Sirius's coffee cup a third time. "If I don't leave now, I'm not going to make my appointment with Graves."

"Graves?"

"The bloke who's editing my story."

"So you're really going to be published." It was hard to believe, but Remus was always scribbling something, had used to make up stories for them all during school, and it wasn't the kind of thing where they cared about him being a werewolf.

"Looks like. Muggle magazine, of course, but still. Maybe I won't spend my life working in the mailroom, after all." Remus ducked his head, too-long fringe falling into his eyes, a boyish contrast to his old man tweed.

"That's the dog's bollocks," Sirius said, and he meant it.

Remus's smile lit his face, turning him from plain to noteworthy, and Sirius thought the coffee must have been too hot, because he felt heat spread in his chest, warming him all over, and lingering for a while after Remus left.

After that, they met regularly for coffee in the mornings, and Sirius found himself sometimes cutting his nights short so he would be awake and ready, found himself looking forward to time spent with Remus that could have been spent on other things.

It was just because James was so busy with Lily, and really, the clubs were letting anyone in these days, and Sirius had missed their friendship. That was all.

He invited Remus out a few times, but Remus usually begged off. He never said it was because of Caradoc, but Sirius wasn't stupid -- he saw the man arrive every Tuesday and Thursday evening like clockwork, and he sometimes saw him leave early in the morning as he was coming home.

He didn't have to be told that Caradoc wouldn't approve, but that just made him more determined to dress Remus up and drag him out. One night, he refused to take no for an answer.

"You know you're going to love it," he said, pulling a pair of jeans out of Remus's closet and tossing them at him. "Put those on." He rummaged through Remus's meager collection of t-shirts, but didn't find anything appropriate, though he considered stealing the Velvet Underground one. "I'll be right back."

He Apparated into his flat and found the green button-down one of the girls he'd slept with had given him. He'd never worn it -- he refused to wear green on principle -- but it would probably look good on Remus. He also grabbed a black one, just in case.

When he Apparated back upstairs, Remus was standing barefoot and bare-chested in his bedroom, his hair still dripping wet from his shower, droplets running in rivulets over his pale skin. Sirius swallowed hard and forced himself to look away, even though he wanted to wet his tongue with the water rolling over Remus's chest and belly.

He dropped the shirts on the bed and grabbed Remus's abandoned towel. "You're dripping," he said, his voice scratchier than he'd have liked. Remus took the towel and scrubbed at his head with it, absorbing a little of the water and making his hair stand on end. With more regret than he'd have liked to admit, Sirius directed a drying charm at him, then stepped close to push his fringe out of his eyes. "You've let yourself get shaggy."

Remus laughed. "Isn't that the style now?"

"I suppose. Never thought you'd be one to follow fashion." His own hair was sleek as always.

Remus opened and closed his mouth as if he were going to say something and then thought better of it. Instead, he pulled the shirt on and buttoned it up with nimble fingers.

Sirius had been right -- it did suit him. Not that it mattered what he was wearing -- being with Sirius would be enough to get him in the door at any club they chose to go to.

The music was loud and the alcohol flowing freely when they arrived, and Sirius let himself be carried away by the crowd, forgetting, for a while, that Remus never would, never could.

He caught occasional glimpses of Remus, leaning against the bar, one long-fingered hand wrapped carelessly around the neck of a beer bottle tipped against his mouth or held down at his side. He looked pale and out of place, and the throng of dancing, drinking, flirting people moved around him, like a river around a rock.

Sirius wound his way back, and when Remus grinned, raising his bottle in silent toast. Sirius took the bottle from him and drank deep before handing it back.

"Having fun?" Remus asked, still grinning.

"Oh yeah. You?"

"Loads."

Sirius cuffed his shoulder. "Don't be a git."

"I'm serious."

"No--"

Remus wouldn't let him finish it, though. "I mean it. This is... something else." His smile grew diffident, his gaze distant. "I can write about this. I've been lacking inspiration lately." Sirius looked over the crowd, trying to see what Remus saw, Remus's voice barely audible, breath warm against his ear. "All these people, looking for some kind of connection, some kind of warmth, but they don't know how, they can't quite get it right." His voice was soft, mesmerizing. "You come because you don't want to connect and you know here you never will." It took a moment for the words to sink in, and Sirius admired the artistry of it, the way he admired that first, perfect, red bead of blood welling up when he cut himself shaving, before he could feel the pain.

"And you?" he asked, feeling his smile go sharp at the edges.

"Oh, I can't connect at all," Remus replied airily. "I've given up trying."

Sirius grabbed the bottle from Remus's hand and drained it in one long gulp, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "You're so full of shit."

Remus laughed. "Maybe." He hitched a shoulder. "I'm going to--"

Sirius nodded. "Yeah, okay." He looked over the crowd again, which seemed much less attractive now. "Let's."

Remus made him stop at the chip shop on the way home. "Still a growing boy," he said around a mouth of grease and starch and salt. "Need to keep up my strength."

Sirius bumped him and he stumbled a bit, laughing. Sirius was surprised at how easy it was, how good it felt to be here with Remus rather than back in the club.

At the door to his flat, he fumbled with his wand. "One last drink?" he asked, wondering if Remus might give him a tumble, for old times' sake if nothing else. Wondering if he wanted him to.

"There you are." They looked up and saw Caradoc Dearborn leaning over the banister. "I was starting to worry."

"Hullo, Caradoc," Remus said.

"Yes, hello, Caradoc," Sirius said at the same time, all icy politeness. "I'd have invited you along if I'd known you were going to be here."

"Of course, of course," Caradoc said, smiling blandly. Sirius hated his stupid, Hufflepuffian, hail-fellow-well-met attitude, and hated that Remus was leaving him to go upstairs and shag the bastard.

"Night," Remus said, swinging himself around onto the stairs without a backward glance.

"Don't forget the silencing charms," Sirius called after him. "Don't want to keep the neighbors awake." He slammed into his flat before Remus could reply.

He didn't see Remus again until the next Order meeting, held in a dark upstairs room in a Muggle tavern in Bristol. It smelled of wet wool and had a fireplace that smoked, and even McGonagall's stern spellwork couldn't make it stop.

James and Lily were huddled in a corner with Moody, and as they continued to ignore Sirius, he considered chucking the whole thing and heading downstairs for a pint. Remus showed up then, damp from the ceaseless rain and red-cheeked from the wind, and Dumbledore called them to the table. There was no chance to chat. After the plans were made, the orders given, they broke into small clumps, and left singly or in pairs, trying not to give anything away.

Caradoc was there, his arm around Marlene McKinnon, and he brushed past Remus with a curt nod, as if they barely knew each other. Remus didn't seem surprised or hurt; he wore the bemused smile that meant he was laughing at some joke only he was in on, and when he caught Sirius's eye to share it, Sirius had to look away.

He made his way over to Remus and said, "I've half a mind to--"

"And half is all you have," Lily interrupted. "Git. We've been worried about you." She smiled at Remus. "You, too. Peter's around every week for dinner, but you two have disappeared into the ether."

"Don't want to impose," Remus said.

"Pfft. It's no imposition whatsoever."

"You've never seen him eat," James said.

And the odd tension between them dissolved into laughter. As Lily continued chastising Remus for his absence from their get-togethers, James said to Sirius, "So you two are all right now?"

"Yeah," Sirius said. "I suppose. I mean, he lives upstairs, you know?"

"Yeah. Weird, how that worked out. Didn't think he could afford--"

"He's getting published," Sirius said, though he'd wondered about it himself, enough that he'd taken a look at the mail slot and found it wasn't Remus's name on it but Caradoc's. "He works."

"I know, but it's got to be rough. I wish we could do more. We should be there on the full moon for him, at least."

"I'll make the arrangements and let you know."

Nothing more needed to be said, and when Remus asked if he wanted to grab some takeaway on the way home, Sirius said yes. It wasn't Remus he was angry with, after all.

Sirius had to visit three newsagents before he found the magazine Remus's story was in, and they only had five copies. He bought them all, smiling sheepishly at the bored girl behind the counter. "One of my best mates has a story in here," he said, flipping it open to show her Remus's name, right there among the non-moving adverts for Muggle cars and clothes.

Remus was waiting at the coffee shop, sipping a mug of tea in the booth Sirius had come to think of as theirs.

"You can sign a copy for me, Moony," he said, sliding into the seat and placing his loot on the table.

"You're daft," Remus replied, but he looked pleased, and there was a slight flush across his cheekbones. Sirius found himself fascinated by the bones of Remus's wrist as he drank, his long, elegant fingers, the freckles on the underside of his jaw, sprinkled amongst the golden brown stubble there. "So how's the motorbike coming along?" he asked, breaking Sirius out of his reverie.

"Brilliant. Still haven't figured out how to make her fly, but she runs like a dream now. Found a special brand of motor oil -- the Muggles may not know shit about some things, but they know how to make an engine purr."

They chatted about it for a while -- Remus suggested talking to Lily about some experimental flying charms she'd been working with -- and that segued into talk of Quidditch, and gossip about people they'd known at school, and suddenly, the morning was gone.

"Come on," Sirius said, "I'll take you for a ride on the motorbike, and we can have lunch in Chinatown."

Remus's eyes lit; the way to his heart was definitely through his stomach. "Prawns?"

"Prawns. Dim sum. Rice wine, if you like. We're celebrating, after all."

"We are?"

"It's not every day one of my best mates becomes a published author. Soon you'll be famous, going to posh parties with the Muggle nobs."

Remus ducked his head and blushed again, laughing. "No, I don't think so. But it is an accomplishment. Hopefully not my last one. I haven't been able to write in months. I--"

"Oi, Moony, stop being such a pessimist. Of course you're going to get more stories published. You're a great writer."

Remus looked at him then, laughter gone, eyes intense. "Did you read it?"

It was Sirius's turn to look away, to feel the tips of his ears burn with embarrassment. "No, not yet. Not enough time. I'm sure it's ace, though."

"You don't have to," Remus murmured.

"I want to."

"It's really not your kind of thing at all. More of a romance, really, than anything."

"I like romances."

"You were the one who wanted to set the girls' romance novels on fire when we were in sixth year."

"That's because they're horribly written. Who wants to read shit like that, Moony? Heaving bosoms and throbbing manhoods, and addlepated females who faint at the slightest hint of sex. I like Austen well enough, and I did a whole essay on the Brontës once for Muggle studies."

"Well, it's nothing like the Brontës or Austen."

"I'll be the judge of that. I'll read it now." He reached for one of the magazines he'd bought, but Remus jumped up.

"Let's go for that ride."

And Sirius was only too happy to oblige him.

Lunch was fantastic. They rose from the table groaning, and Remus said, "It's a good thing the motorbike doesn't fly yet -- we ate so much I don't think it could get off the ground."

"You could use some feeding up," Sirius said, eyeing his skinny frame. "You don't eat enough." He thought about inviting Remus to move in with him, so he could make sure he always ate, at least. It was obvious Caradoc didn´t.

"I eat," Remus said defensively.

"When you remember." He slung an arm around Remus's shoulders, breathed in the scent of his hair, his skin, and his mind went blank for a second.

Cathedral bells tolled two in the distance and Remus jumped, shrugging off his embrace.

"Fuck! I was supposed to meet Caradoc at noon. We were going to celebrate..." He trailed off when Sirius scowled at him. "Padfoot. I have to go." It was small consolation that Remus looked regretful, sounded apologetic.

"Fine." Sirius bit the word off and swung a leg over the motorbike.

"Padfoot." Remus put a hand over his, thumb rubbing softly against his wrist in entreaty. "Thank you for lunch. For everything."

Sirius nodded, letting himself be appeased for the moment, but the anger still simmered beneath his skin as Remus Disapparated.

Sirius sprawled on the couch, bottle of firewhisky in one hand, magazine in the other.

Remus's story wasn't any easier to read when he was drunk. He stared at the words, which now swam across the page, taking on some deeper, secret meaning he couldn't quite grasp, but like the pattern of blue veins beneath the paper-thin skin of Remus's eyelids, or the insides of his wrists he'd used to stare at, mesmerized, he was sure if he looked hard enough, he'd figure it out.

He started and stood when the door opened, ready to Disapparate, but Remus was alone. He looked tired.

Sirius dropped the whisky to the couch, but kept the magazine clutched in his hand. "That must have been quite a celebration," he said.

Remus took a deep breath and shook his head. "Sirius. What are--" He looked down at the magazine in Sirius's hand. "Oh."

"Yeah."

Remus stripped off his jacket and laid it across the back of a chair. "I didn't--"

"Do you really believe this shit?" Sirius said, taking a step towards him.

"What?"

Sirius raised the magazine and began reading aloud. "'Don't be tedious, darling,' she said. There was no softness in her, only the merciless truth of one who would always be beautiful, beloved. 'This has nothing to do with love. What fun would that be?'"

"It's just a story."

"Is it?"

Remus shook his head. "I said you didn't have to read it."

"You didn't want me to read it. Because you knew I'd know."

"Know what?" He pushed a hand through his hair, bewildered, and Sirius could see the heavy silver band of a watch on his wrist. It hadn't been there this afternoon. It made him sick.

"I was wondering how you were paying for this place. I mean, I think you're a brilliant writer, but it's not the kind of job that gets you piles of Galleons, is it?"

"I have a day job," Remus said.

Sirius rolled his eyes, though he knew it was true. "I'm sure."

"You know I have," Remus insisted, but Sirius was already past that.

"It's not your name on the mail slot," he said. "I reckon it's not your name on the lease or the rent check either."

"I'm subletting the flat from Caradoc," Remus answered, raising his chin defiantly.

"Is that what you're calling it these days?" Sirius's voice was a knife, all the anger and envy he'd felt coalescing into cold steel on his tongue. "He pays the rent and you fuck him. In what way are you not a kept man?"

He saw Remus's fist coming and managed to move quickly enough that it only grazed his cheek. He grabbed it, held it tightly in his own hand while he waited for the world to steady itself.

"You're not any better," Remus snarled, trying to jerk free. "Going down on strangers in the gents', fucking your way through the clubs--"

Sirius felt a sharp burst of heat, of pleasure, almost, in his chest at Remus's admission. "So you have been paying attention."

"It's not like you've been subtle about it. You wouldn't know subtlety if it bit you in the arse."

"Damn right I wouldn't. Looks too much like hiding, like playing it safe. Like you, with your tweeds and your books, acting like you're fifty-nine instead of nineteen." He pulled Remus closer, his other hand coming up to wrap around the nape of Remus's neck. He could feel the tension in Remus's body, but Remus allowed himself to be kissed -- a fierce meeting of lips and teeth and tongue that sent a jolt right to Sirius's cock.

They were both breathing heavily when Remus broke away. "I don't see why it's any of your business who I fuck," he said. "You made it very clear it wasn't going to be you any longer our last night at school." Sirius opened his mouth but Remus kept going. "Did you think I would pine? Aren't you the one always going on about how we should get out there and have a good time? Maybe Caradoc is showing me a good time."

"Caradoc couldn't find his own arse with both hands and a map, let alone a good time."

"Oh, really?" Remus snapped, pulling him in for another bruising kiss.

They stumbled back and when Sirius had Remus pressed between him and the wall, he started unbuttoning Remus's shirt, desperate for the feel of skin beneath his fingertips.

"Really," he said, sliding his hands up to cup Remus's face in his hands. Remus shivered under the touch and took a shuddering breath, but didn't lower his gaze. Sirius glared right back. "I'm not ashamed of you, Remus. I wouldn't stash you away in a flat somewhere and only visit on Tuesdays and Thursdays because my girlfriend and my boss don't approve."

"No, you just dumped me, and seven years of friendship, as well, because you wanted to go out on the pull every night."

"I fucked up, okay? I'm a bastard and I fucked up. What else do you want me to say?"

They stared at each other for a long moment, and Sirius was afraid he'd fucked up again -- and this time, there would be no fixing it. But Remus's hands flexed against his chest, then fisted in his shirt, and Sirius allowed himself to breathe, to hope. Remus pulled him close and kissed him, softer this time, but just as hungry, and Sirius kissed him back, promising himself that he wouldn't screw up again, that what he'd been looking for was right here.

end

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