r o m e o . i n . b l a c k . j e a n s

Romeo in Black Jeans
[by victoria p.]

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Sirius has an epiphany. Remus needs convincing.

Notes: Thanks to luzdeestrellas for betaing and to Mousapelli for helping out at the end. Title from Michael Penn's "No Myth."

Date: June 14, 2006

Sirius tries to be patient, but he cannot stand it when Remus ignores him in favor of books, even if Remus needs the books to do his homework, which he's still catching up on, though the full moon was nearly a week ago.

"Moony, are you done yet?"

Remus heaves a great sigh and closes his eyes. Sirius notices how long his lashes are, brown and curling away from his pale skin in an elegant arc.

Sirius likes elegant things, and pretty things, and he drops down onto the bed to take a closer look, because he's never really noticed Remus's eyelashes before, and also, because it's sure to annoy Remus and get his attention.

"I would be done more quickly if you'd stop pestering me. Why don't you and James--"

"James is with Lily." Sirius doesn't even try to keep the petulance from his voice. Lily has ruined absolutely everything with her sudden and inexplicable capitulation to James's dubious charms, and Sirius isn't quite over feeling abandoned yet, though James and Lily have been together going on three months now.

Remus draws a deep breath and opens his eyes. "No Slytherins to hex, or Hufflepuffs to harass?"

"James said if I lost us any more house points before the match with Slytherin, he'd kill me himself." Which is horribly unfair, Sirius thinks, but there's nothing to be done about it now. They can't lose to Slytherin this year. It's their last year at Hogwarts and they have to go out in a blaze of glory.

"You could help me with this Transfiguration essay."

"You could just copy mine."

"I think McGonagall would notice."

Sirius grunts in frustration, knowing Remus is right. "You--"

"Look, Sirius, I didn't ask you to stay with me."

It's true, but it doesn't stop Sirius from muttering, "Ungrateful bastard."

Remus raises an eyebrow but returns to his reading, unfazed. Which will not do at all, Sirius thinks. He's distracted for a moment by the way Remus's fingers, long and thin, splay across the back of the book, nails neatly trimmed but the cuticles on his thumbs ragged from being chewed far too often while Remus is occupied with weightier matters, such as the best place to hide James's new racing broom while he's off gallivanting with Evans, or learning all the words to "Bohemian Rhapsody." Sirius hasn't paid any attention to Remus's hands before, either, but they look as if they may deserve closer study.

Remus turns a page and Sirius shakes himself out of his odd daze.

"Holly Morris is having a party on Saturday," he says.

"Is she?" Remus asks absently.

Sirius flings himself off the bed and begins pacing. "Yes, she is. You know she is. It's all anybody's talked about all week. Her parents are going out of town and she'll have the whole house to herself. James is already planning ways to get off with Lily--and I really did not want to think about that." He wrinkles his nose. It's not that he doesn't like Lily--she's a fine girl, when she's not shrieking at him like a fishwife for things he has no intention of admitting he's done--so much as he doesn't like what she represents. James is already talking about things like getting married and buying a house, and Sirius hasn't even found a girl he'd like to sleep with a second time. He shakes off the depressing thought of life after Hogwarts and says, "Everyone's going to be there."

"I'm not."

Sirius stops and wheels around to face Remus. "What?"

"I said, I'm not going."

"I heard what you said, but I don't believe you actually said it." He sits down on the bed again, plucks the book from Remus's hand, tosses it aside carelessly, and grabs Remus's shoulders. "It's a party, Remus. You actually like parties, when you can be arsed to put down the books and show up."

"I never said I didn't like parties. I said I wasn't going to Holly's party."

"But, but--Oh. Is it because you never pull?"

Remus opens his mouth, and shuts it. It's a reaction Sirius sees all too often, and he takes it as a victory. Remus is no longer paying attention to books and homework--Remus is paying attention to him, which is the way things are meant to be.

"No," Remus answers sharply, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown, "that's not why."

"If I find you a girl to take to Holly's party, will you go?"

Remus looks horrified. "What?"

"I, Sirius Black, do solemnly swear to find you, Remus Lupin, a date for Holly Morris's party. Not just a date, no." Here Sirius slings an arm around Remus's neck and pulls him close, lips practically touching his ear, ignoring the way Remus tenses. Remus gets twitchy when Sirius touches him now; their days of wrestling in the common room, of curling up together in the Shrieking Shack on mornings after the full moon, are over, and Sirius finds he misses that closeness. "I'm going to find you a girl so beautiful, so eager, so willing to spread her legs and finally make a man of you--" Sirius takes a deep breath and gets distracted. "You smell really good, Moony. Did you start using my shampoo?"

Remus shrugs him off and stands, gathering his books and his parchment and his Muggle notebooks (which really are much easier than ever-curling rolls of parchment for taking notes, though Sirius will never tell him so).

"I am not using your shampoo, I am not a virgin, and I am not going to the party on Saturday," Remus announces, and stomps out of the room, letting the door slam behind him.

For a moment, Sirius considers this a triumph, because Remus hates slamming doors, and he hates doing his homework in the library, where he can't eat while he works, and yet, there he goes, all because of Sirius.

Then Sirius realizes he's alone in their room with nothing to do and no one to bother, and his victory feels hollow.

Whistling jauntily, he heads down to the library to continue pestering Remus. He really can't think of anything else he'd rather do.

Sirius is halfway to the library, running through the names of girls who might be worthy of Remus (and coming up strangely empty), when Remus's words finally sink in. He stops dead on the stairs.

How is it possible that Remus has had sex and Sirius doesn't know about it? He can't quite process the idea. He sinks down onto a step, running over the girls they know for a second time, and again, discarding them one by one. He's still sitting there, vaguely discomfited, when James comes tromping up the stairs, silly grin on his face.

"Moony's not a virgin," Sirius says abruptly.

"Good for him," James replies, continuing up the steps.

"How did we not know this?" Sirius asks, following him.

James shrugs as they enter the dormitory. "To be honest, I haven't given it a lot of thought."

"But who--"

Another shrug as James tosses his practice robes on over his head and grabs his broom. "I don't know. Polly Parkinson? Demeter Bagshot?"

"Fabian Prewett," Peter says, letting the door slam behind him, making them both jump. He drops his books onto his bed with a sigh.

"Moony's a poofter?" James says incredulously, pulling a face, but things start to click in Sirius's brain, and he realizes he should have known all along.

"How do you know?" he asks, pinning Peter with a glare.

Peter shrugs. "Remus talks to me."

"Remus talks to me," Sirius says indignantly.

"When you're not harassing him."

"I don't harass him," Sirius splutters and James laughs.

"You do so."

"It's not harassing," Sirius insists. "It's being a mate. He needs someone to loosen him up."

"Apparently, he's pretty loose already," James snickers, and Peter starts laughing. Sirius finds this unacceptable.

"It's not funny," he says over the sounds of their laughter, chucking a pillow at James's head. "I thought we didn't have any secrets from each other."

"Moony's always got secrets," Peter replies. "It's just his way."

And this, Sirius knows, is true. But he doesn't have to like it.

He tracks Remus down in the library, back in the section on Ancient Runes, where he always sits when he wants to be left alone (he sits near the Transfiguration section when he wants to be disturbed, and Sirius is sure there is some kind of meaning in this, some symbolism he hasn't quite pieced together yet, but he never asks, because he's afraid he might be wrong, and he doesn't want Remus changing things on him now that he's figured them out), though Sirius doesn't always respect the code.

"So," he says, sliding into the seat across from Remus, shoving his fringe out of his eyes and leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. Remus raises an eyebrow, waiting. "I may have run into a bit of a snag about finding you a girl for the party."

"Like the fact that I'm not going?"

"Like the fact that you fancy blokes."

Remus goes utterly still; his face drains of color and he looks as if he's trying to swallow his lips.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sirius continues, hoping if he keeps talking, Remus will relax. "I told you about Iphianassa Beckett, and Elizabeth Saunders."

"It's not the same thing." Remus's voice is so low Sirius has to strain to hear him, even in the dusty silence of the library.

"It's exactly the same thing," Sirius answers. Remus's look in response is one of wry incredulity, and Sirius wonders how he manages to put all that into the tilt of his eyebrow and lips, which, thankfully, are no longer in danger of disappearing from his face. Be a shame if they did, Sirius thinks. They're rather nice lips, all things considered. "Okay, not exactly the same. I bet Fabian Prewett didn't make you buy him dinner first."

"Sirius--"

"He should've bought you dinner. I mean, he was the one trying to get into your pants, yeah?" He tilts his head, suddenly overcome with curiosity, mind filling with images of naked Remus stretched out on a bed mounded with pillows. "What exactly did you do with him?"

Remus flushes. "Sirius," he hisses through clenched teeth. "It's none of your business."

"How can you say that? You're my best mate--"

"James is your best mate."

"One of my best mates," Sirius continues as if Remus hasn't said anything. "I mean, you can tell Peter--Peter, I ask you--but you can't tell me? What is that about?"

"Peter listens," Remus says in a sharp tone that strongly reminds Sirius of McGonagall, "and he doesn't press for details that are none of his business. He doesn't mock, and he doesn't threaten to tell the whole bloody school when he's angry." Remus pales again, realizing what he's said, and Sirius feels his own stomach drop. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean--"

"No, you did. And it's--" It's not all right, but Sirius can't think of anything else to say. He didn't apologize at the time, and he can't apologize now, doesn't think he even knows how to say the words, doesn't think he could force them out even if he did. Apologies are something the Blacks bred out of themselves centuries ago, and much as he tries to deny it, he is still one of them. He waves a hand dismissively. "Water under the bridge, my dear Mr. Moony." As if he's the injured party granting forgiveness. As if he has the right.

Remus flushes again, pale cheeks pink in the low-angled afternoon sunlight, but he sounds normal when he says, "Plonker," and Sirius knows it's all right. In his gratitude, he doesn't point out how easily Peter let Remus's secret slip.

Instead, he leans in, says in his most confidential, you-can-trust-me-Moony voice, "Seriously, how was it?"

Remus closes his book, closes his eyes, and the smile on his face makes Sirius's stomach do weird things again, because he's only seen Remus look like that a handful of times in the seven years he's known him, and it's always been because of something he did. He doesn't like the idea of Fabian Prewett--or anyone else--being the cause of it.

"It was good. I mean, it was awkward, and a little strange--I suppose that's why they call it queer?" He laughs nervously at his little joke and doesn't seem to notice Sirius isn't laughing with him. "But really good. It's--" He puts his book down and leans in, and Sirius shifts closer, as if drawn by gravity. "It's," he laughs again, with wonder this time, "it's really fucking brilliant, Padfoot. But you know that already."

Sirius swallows hard, because it is and he does, but somehow the fact that Remus knows, and that he found out with--with Fabian Prewett makes him feel sick. "Yeah," he says, and his voice sounds creaky. Maybe he's coming down with something, and that's why he feels qu--strange now. Remus is staring at him, eyes widening in a question Sirius doesn't understand, or, perhaps, doesn't want to answer.

He shoves back his chair, the screech of wood against stone loud in the silence, and clears his throat. "See you," he says gruffly, inanely, his usually facile brain coming up with nothing better.

"Yeah," Remus says, and he sounds confused, and a little disappointed.

Sirius stops, curls his hands around the top of the chairback. "Hey, you know, I don't care--I mean, it doesn't matter, birds, blokes, we're still mates, yeah?"

Remus smiles again, obviously relieved, and says, "Yeah," and Sirius feels something go tight in his chest. He walks away feeling breathless, lightheaded, and he doesn't want to think too much about why.

Two days later, Sirius bounces into the pile of homework on Remus's bed, and says, "Edgar Linton."

Remus wrinkles his nose. "I'd have thought you'd be taken with Heathcliff, not Linton. All that swanning about tragically on the moors seems right up your alley."

"Not the bloke from Wuthering Heights, Moony. The Ravenclaw chaser."

"Edward Lawrence?"

"Yeah, him." Sirius frowns. "Maybe that's why he didn't answer me when I tried to talk to him earlier." He shakes his head. "I think I liked him better when he didn't have two first names. There's something sneaky about someone who has a first name for a last name, don't you think?"

"I--" Remus makes a sound that is half sigh and half laugh, a sound Sirius has grown used to over the years. "I've never really thought about it."

"Sneaky bastards. Why don't they have last names like the rest of us? I mean--"

"Sirius, did you have a point? I mean, besides the whole first name for a last name thing, which I never really thought about before, but which is now going to bother me tremendously."

Sirius nods. "See? It's just weird. But Linton. Lawrence. Whatever. You should take him to the party on Saturday."

"I told you, I'm not going." He looks down at his homework for a moment and then, "You didn't tell him--"

"No. No." Sirius scrambles to a sitting position. "I would nev--I wouldn't do that. I just thought he seems...your type and if the reason you don't want to go--"

"That has nothing to do with why I don't want to go. And even if it did, I'd hardly want to show up at a party with another bloke as my date, would I?"

"I suppose not." Crisis averted, Sirius lies down again, this time with his head against Remus's belly. He reaches beneath himself to rid Remus's lap of pointy books that are digging into his back, and then settles in with a sigh. Truth be told, he's rather glad Remus isn't interested in Linton. Lawrence. Whatever. With two first names, he obviously can't be trusted. "Why don't you want to go, then?" he asks when Remus gives up muttering about overgrown mutts who don't know their place and shifts so they're stretched out on the bed together, Sirius's head on his chest and his hand playing absently with Sirius's hair, as if Sirius were actually in dog-form. Sirius hopes he doesn't realize what he's doing and stop, because it feels good in ways it probably shouldn't.

"Because I don't."

"That's not a reason."

"It's reason enough."

"Moony--"

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Do that."

"Say your name?"

"Whine like that. It's unmanly."

"And you're the expert on being manly now?" Sirius says. "I bet I can still make you shriek like a girl."

He shoves Remus's t-shirt up and starts blowing raspberries on his belly. Remus squirms and does, in fact, squeal like a little girl who's been pushed past the edge of endurance. Sirius has just barely registered that Remus's skin is soft and smooth under his lips, and tastes of sweat and soap--and that he likes it, so much so that he's getting hard--before Remus shoves him away.

They are both breathing heavily, and Remus curls up on his side, clutching a pillow to his lap, and Sirius realizes that he's had the same reaction, that this is why he doesn't like Sirius to touch him anymore.

"Go away," Remus says, his voice low and pleading. "Sirius, please--"

"Remus--"

"I have to finish my homework."

Sirius sighs and flings himself away, back to his own bed. The sound of Remus's curtains being pulled shut behind him is unexpectedly hurtful, and he yanks his curtains closed in response. In the warm, dark space, body still humming from the taste and smell and feel of Remus's skin under his lips, Sirius doesn't stop to think about what he's doing, doesn't stop to think at all. He closes his eyes, licks his lips--tells himself he can still taste Remus on them--and unzips his trousers. The sound is very loud in the silence.

He's just wrapped his hand around his prick and run his thumb over the head when the curtains open and Remus is standing there, staring.

"You didn't even use a silencing charm."

"Why should I? I haven't anything to be ashamed of. You made me hard and now I'm having it off. Going to think about you while I'm doing it, too."

Remus gapes, and it's easy to see he's having a hard time tearing his gaze away from the lazy way Sirius is stroking himself, and that sends a thrill down Sirius's spine, right to his already aching prick. Remus definitely fancies him. He likes the idea more every second.

"You--It doesn't mean anything," Remus finally says, his voice hoarse, yet insistent. "You're eighteen years old, Sirius. You get a stiffie if the wind blows the right way."

"In case you hadn't noticed, Remus," Sirius answers, summoning every ounce of arrogance he can, and even on his back with his prick in his hand, he can summon quite a bit, "there isn't any wind in here." When Remus doesn't respond, Sirius raises his chin defiantly and says, "Either lend a hand or get out. I don't like being stared at." Which is a lie, apparently, given how his cock is reacting to this situation, but Remus doesn't need to know that.

Sadly, Remus doesn't take the invitation. He leaves, letting the curtains sway shut behind him. A few seconds later the door slams, but this time, Sirius doesn't feel any sense of triumph.

He does, however, imagine it's Remus's hand stroking him, lips curved in that special smile Sirius wishes nobody but him ever got to see, long lashes fluttering closed when Sirius touches him the same way.

He comes with a grunt that's half moan, still imagining Remus in bed with him. All in all, it's a very satisfying wank.

Sirius knows himself pretty well--he has no more patience with lying to himself than he does with other people lying to him, and he's been infatuated often enough to recognize the signs, though it's taken him a little longer than usual this time. Possibly because it had never occurred to him before that his preoccupation with Remus was anything other than normal. Of course, he doesn't really like the idea of other people being as preoccupied with Remus as he is--not that he can't handle whatever competition comes his way; he's Sirius Black, after all--but he wonders for a brief moment why they're not. Then he turns his not inconsiderable intellect back to contemplating Remus, which, given the way his prick twitches at he thought, probably isn't the best idea if he wants to get anything else done. And he does.

He has some very important plans to make.

James and Peter, impatient to spend time with their girlfriends in Hogsmeade before the party starts, give up on waiting for Sirius, who makes a show of not being able to decide what he should wear. Remus lies on the floor of the room, feet propped up on his bed, still in his pajamas. He's flipping through one of the Muggle comic books his mother sends him every month, but Sirius knows that's just for show, that Remus has been watching him dress and undress for the past half hour through half-closed eyes. Sirius has been watching him, too, long fingers splayed against cheap, bright Muggle paper, pale strip of belly showing where his shirt rides up.

Sirius removes yet another t-shirt and tosses it onto the floor. "You know, you could just come with me."

"You know, 'no' is one of the most commonly used words in the English language. You alone must hear it two or three hundred times a day, at least, and yet, you still seem unable to grasp its meaning." Remus rests his comic on his belly (covering the strip of pale skin Sirius has been covertly staring at the whole time), and puts one long finger to his chin mock-thoughtfully. "I wonder why that is."

Sirius drops to the floor beside him and grins, pleased at the way Remus's eyes widen and his hands curl instinctively, crinkling the cover of his comic. "It's not that I don't grasp its meaning, Moony, it's that I know it doesn't apply to me."

"Oh, of course not. Silly me. How could I forget that the great Sirius Black is exempt from--"

Sirius kisses him. It's the only way to shut him up, really. His mouth is warm and tastes of toothpaste, and it's not so different from kissing a girl, except in the way it totally is, because Remus hasn't shaved and his stubble scrapes against Sirius's skin, sending a thrill down his spine and to his cock, and when Sirius leans close, it's Remus's flat chest pressed against him, and Remus's bony shoulders under his hands.

For a second, Remus kisses him back, but then he shoves him away, hard, and stares at him, wild-eyed, lips red and wet. He swings his legs down from the bed and sits up. "What the fuck are you doing?" His voice is hoarse and his breathing ragged.

"I've been thinking a lot about it--about you--since--" He took a deep breath and blurted, "I think I fancy you, Remus."

"That isn't fucking funny."

"That's good, because I'm not joking." He reaches over to cup Remus's face, but Remus slaps his hand away.

"Sirius, I swear--"

"Remus, please." It really is a magic word, Sirius thinks, because it stops Remus completely (possibly because Sirius says it so rarely he's stunned into silence), and gives Sirius a chance to kiss him again. Now that the first shock of it is past, he takes his time, lets his tongue slide slow and heavy against Remus's, and he can feel Remus shiver at the touch. He twines his fingers in the shaggy brown hair that curls listlessly against Remus's collar, holding him close even as he tries to pull away. Remus's eyes are still wary, and his body is tensed for flight.

"You have no idea what you're doing," he says. "You don't mean--"

"Come to the party with me--with me, Remus--if you don't think I mean it. We'll show everyone."

Remus laughs then, a soft snuffling sound that makes it even harder for Sirius to breathe. "That's why I didn't want to go, you know," he mumbles, and even as close as they are, Sirius can barely hear him. "Hated watching you pull." He looks down, hiding behind his fringe, flushing.

"Oh. Well." For once, Sirius isn't sure what to say, so he tips Remus's face up and kisses him again, gently this time. "Don't have to worry about that anymore."

"Mmm."

"So, do you want to go?"

"Can think of better things to do here," Remus answers, teeth sharp against his jaw. He shoves playfully at Sirius's shoulder and Sirius lies back, closing his eyes to enjoy the sensation of Remus crawling on top of him, hips grinding down.

"This is the best idea you've ever had," Sirius says, gasping at the friction. He thrusts up into it, wanting more. "We'll have our own party right here."

Remus reaches down between them, unzipping Sirius's jeans and reaching inside with a breathless laugh. "And now, I'm the one doing the pulling."

Sirius definitely approves of that.

end

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