3.

It's nearly nine o'clock, the night after Halloween, and where are our protagonists?

Remus is laying flat on his back on the Charms classroom floor. Sirius is kneeling in front of him. His mouth's unusually full, so he's mumbling a bit when he tries to talk, and Remus is muttering, "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" under his breath. They're both sweating hard.

Wait, don't get excited.

"You know what?" Sirius says, as the two of them chip splodges of rock-hard chewing gum from the undersides of the desks. "I reckon we ballsed something up, somewhere."

Remus tries to push his hair out of his face with his elbow, because his fingers are covered in everybody else's revolting stinky sugary spit, but it doesn't work, so he glares at it with all the raging fury a teenage werewolf with PMT can muster - which, by the way, is a LOT. Somehow that doesn't work, either. He scowls and shakes his head until he can see.

"We ballsed nothing up. You ballsed something up when you drank all the Firewhiskey in the northern hemisphere and you refused to get out of bed and go to lessons, so this DISGUSTING detention is your fault."

"I didn't ask you to snuggle with me! You did that all on your own, so you'd better take three-quarters of the responsibility, since that's how much of my bed you took."

"I might have taken most of the bed, but you stole all the covers!"

"It's not important! I'm not even talking about that!"

Remus blinks, and puts down his chisel so he can stretch out his aching fingers.

"Then what?"

"This."

Sirius grins. Not because the cracking of Remus's knuckles is fabulously amusing. He's just trying to show off the fangs. The long, sharp, pointy, brilliantly white fangs that don't look nearly as cool when he's dressed like an English schoolboy as they did when he was dressed like the Transylvanian Prince of Darkness.

"They're still here. AS I'M SURE YOU'VE NOTICED."

"I wonder," Remus says.

Sirius waits, and when there is nothing to follow that he says impatiently, "You wonder in general about the state of the world and the meaning of life? Or what?"

"I just wonder," Remus says. He's tapping his finger gently against his chin. He always does when he's thinking. "About your fangs..."

"Yes?"

"And what would happen if I kissed you?"

Sirius's eyes go very big.

"I would advise you to be very careful," he says and flashes a grin that would be very smooth and charming if not for the frightened-bunny-wabbit look.

"Careful," Remus repeats scornfully, and throws his chisel away. It chips a corner of flagstone, Sirius notices. Oops. And then he doesn't notice very much at all, because Remus is getting really really close now.

"Um," he says, and, "Ah. Oh. Oh wow. Hello, Moony," because they've somehow swapped positions - Sirius is leaning back on his elbows and Remus is on his knees.

Hold off the excitement a bit longer, this is still fairly innocent. That is, clothes are still on and nobody's been kissed yet.

There's a heat in Remus's eyes, though, and he's moving in closer and pushing Sirius's supporting arms away (oh how cute, he's got his hand behind Sirius's head so he doesn't crack it off the stone floor) and crawling up on top of him and, "Oh my god," Sirius says in a squeaky little whimper, and Remus laughs.

"Thought you said you didn't believe in God?"

"I might learn to."

"Let me see your teeth."

The squeaky little whimpers are different now - it's difficult to properly enunciate this kind of whimper when you have a mouthful of your friend's fingers, after all.

Sirius's heart is pounding like McGonagall's fist on a locked dormitory door.

"This is impressive charmwork," Remus is saying, all businesslike as if this whole thing isn't affecting him at all. Too bad he's got that adorably mockable tendency to blush at the faintest hint of romantic action.

"Impressive my foot," Sirius tries and subsequently fails to say. "Ih'h h hihheh hihaher oh hy HIHE."

"Don't be stupid. The biggest disaster of your life was the time you streaked over the Quidditch pitch and Regulus-"

Sirius bites Remus's fingers to make him shut up, only now he's become very aware of how much of his tongue is wrapped around bits of the boy he happens to want to get naked with, so he pulls away quickly and spits Remus's fingers out and tries to act really cool which is stupid, really, since he knows Remus is thinking about kissing him and Remus knows Sirius is thinking about kissing him (and damn those pronouns - it's confusing enough being an upper-class teenage poof anyway without having to sort out the muddled thought-threads), and besides that, Remus is sitting on his (Sirius's!) considerable Problem, and he (Remus!) must have noticed. So-

Oh. Okay. Ohgod. Kissing with fangs is sort of nice. Kissing without the fangs would be nice, too - it really doesn't matter either way, as long as the person kissing him so slowly and sweetly (and, yes, carefully) is Remus.

"Is this okay?" Remus asks. He's so close and he speaks so quietly and anxiously that Sirius can almost taste the words, not hear them. Silly Moony. Sirius just kisses him back. It's a much better response than words. They've had all day to talk about it and it's got them nowhere. Kissing seems to be doing the trick - it's suddenly warmer under the desk, like their FLAMING TEENAGE ARDOUR is so strong and powerful it's rewriting certain laws of physics and making all the heat sink to the bottom of the room and wrap around them like a big thick cuddly blanket, and Remus is blushing again, and smiling, and Sirius hopes he's not going to bite right through their lips. He's trying to be careful but it's so difficult to keep things all gentlemanly and tender when Remus is squirming...

"I know it's not very gallant to say something like this before I've even bought you dinner," Sirius says - with some difficulty, because teenage werewolves with PMT are randy little buggers and Remus's tongue doesn't seem to want to vacate Sirius's mouth - "but I'm about to have an accident in my pants. Fair warning."

"That's okay," Remus says, and squirms with a bit more intent, and kisses him harder, and Sirius makes an unspellable noise and squeezes his eyes shut and then there's silence.

"Heh," he finally says, weakly. "Um. We, er, need to get my teeth fixed."

Remus is snuggling again like he did in bed last night - eyes closed, head on Sirius's chest, content little smile. He reaches for Sirius's slack hands and winds their fingers together. "Why? It's not like I'm not used to dealing with large sharp teeth, is it?"

"Well, no, but they've always been your own. Right?"

"Well. Yes, there is that."

Sirius begins to stroke Remus's hair. It takes a lot of effort. Every single part of him feels heavier than lead, except his mind, which seems to be spinning very happily a million miles above the rest of him.

"There's a joke in all this," he says. "Something about fangs, Dracula, sucking - necks or otherwise - but I'm too lazy to put the words together so they make sense."

"Shut up," Remus says, with such blatant fondness and adoration that Sirius wants to cry, or perhaps to sing.

end.

PS - And they all lived happily ever after, until McGonagall found them and shouted.