There are a lot of things that Sirius Black likes about Remus Lupin.
Remus has nice hair. It's not all shiny and liquid-looking like Sirius' own, but gold and coppery-brown and out of focus, with all sorts of odd angles to it, particularly when he's just woken up.
And Remus comes up with some of the most clever, cheeky ideas for mischief Sirius has ever heard. For all his disapproving glares and tsk tsks, Remus has always had creative ideas for inciting his own brand of mayhem. For all that he lacks James' and Sirius' gutsy, head-first, surely they won't kick us out for a little thing like this but just in case let's not get caught mentality, Remus has been the quiet mastermind behind several of their more memorable and, proportionately, more illegal pranks. See, he has this sneaky way of controlling things without feeling the need to draw diagrams or stand on chairs and make proclamations, as James and Sirius are wont to do. He says things like "you could just..." and "it wouldn't be hard to..." and the next thing anyone notices, the Slytherins can only communicate through yodeling.
And, apparently, Sirius Black sincerely, unfortunately, in a really weird way, likes the way Remus Lupin kisses. Not that he knows from experience, technically (yet), but it's the kind of thing just he knows, the way one might know one likes a particular type of cake without actually having a slice. And gods, does Sirius ever like cake.
It is this infallible, undeniable Sirius-Think that has compelled him to act in a manner some might consider coercive, but Sirius likes to think of as merely persuasive. They are in a bathroom. It is night. They are very, very alone.
They are both in the third stall from the door, which took a good bit of maneuvering and vague gesturing on Sirius' part, though not quite as much maneuvering or indeed finesse as how they happen to be standing: Remus with his back against the stall door, Sirius with his front against Remus. But no one seems to be complaining. In fact, the flimsy pretense under which Remus had even agreed to leave the dorm seems to slip quietly into the corner and make itself scarce.
"Is this… alright?"
Sirius smiles against Remus's throat. "Everything's alright so long as you don't get caught."
Remus tenses a little, and Sirius wonders if his Prefectly honor is going to get in the way, but then Remus twists his fingers into Sirius's hair and tugs his head upward so that their eyes meet. Moments later, their lips follow suit.
On the list of Very Bad Things Sirius Black has done, Snogging Moony In a Bathroom Stall is really only eighth or ninth, although, in all fairness, Prongs might disagree. In fact, James might disagree loudly and frequently and perhaps in three languages, but then, James really needn't know. Moony, on the other hand, for all his Maraudery scheming, is practically pure as driven snow, and Sirius knows he is over the line. Fortunately, Sirius has always been of the mind that lines were made to be not only crossed, but, at times, run past, taunted, or patently ignored.
"What if someone walks—" but Sirius swallows the rest of the sentence. The whispered anxiety is lost between their lips.
As their mouths move, Sirius presses on, slipping his hands beneath the hem of Remus's already un-tucked shirt and letting his fingers trace the myriad of scars on his torso. Again, Remus stills, his eyes wide.
"Siriuuuusss," he hisses, his hand falling from Sirius's hair to bat away Sirius's rogue fingers.
Sirius cocks his head to the side in what he knows to be his most charming innocent-puppy impression and slides his hand a little further up Remus's shirt. He knows that Remus doesn't like his scars, but he also knows that he really wants to get Remus out of his shirt, so he sincerely hopes Remus will just get over said dislike, quick like, because when you get down to it, Sirius was there when most of those scars came to be, and it's not as though he himself doesn't have a few stray scratches from the very same encounters.
And there, yes, he does seem to be getting over it, because now he's arching his back and there's no space between them. Sirius rather likes the way Remus's body sort of curves against his, and thinks that, perhaps, they fit together a bit too well for this to not be alright.
It certainly feels more than alright—it feels like getting away with murder, except with fireworks and inebriation and a jelly-leg jinx, all twisted together and tied-up in a knot in the center of Sirius's chest. It feels like something that's been waiting to happen, he just took so bloody long figuring it out, but now that he has, it's standing there waving and saying "well hello there, what in the hell took you so long?"
It feels like free-fall in the pit of his stomach, but then he's suddenly lost his footing, and the floor in here is really rather disgustingly slick, and now he's grappling at Remus's arm trying not to fall over because nothing says passion like getting sewer water and bits of damp toilet paper stuck in one's unusually shiny hair.
And then he does fall over. Fuck.
"No," Sirius replies, without bothering to move. The floor looked shiny and slick, but in actuality it is slightly sticky, and not at all the type of surface one would voluntarily lie down on. In fact, given the option, one might trade large bags of galleons not to lie down on this type of floor, but Sirius regrets he was given no such option and cringes a little at the sensation of what is, at best, toilet water seeping through his robes.
"Actually, I think I am dying, have died. Oh great buggering fairies, this is absolutely disturbing."
"Come now, Sirius, at least no one ever uses this bathroom, it could be so much worse."
"Oh you're right, whatever's all over me has had about fifty years to get cozy on this floor and now I'm mercilessly tearing it away from it's natural habitat."
"You're being dramatic."
"No, honestly Remus, I think I've made it angry. Look! I think it's trying to eat my scalp! Is my scalp still there Moony? It burns, it burns!"
"When you're done behaving like a three-year-old you might consider getting off the floor—I think that greenish-purply thing is making a move for your left foot."
"Oh Christ! I need that foot, it's my favorite one!" Sirius squeals in a voice that would be absolutely gay coming from anyone else, and gets to his feet with an awkward lurchy movement that would resemble a dance move, were it not for the look of impending death on his face.
"Right. Well, let's get out of here," says Remus calmly. He straightens his shirt in what Sirius can't help but think of as a Moony-like gesture, and pushes the hair from his eyes.
"What, you don't want to snog me now that I'm covered in loo?"
Remus turns an unnatural shade of scarlet and lets out a painful sounding series of ugghmmffs and eehkkhhs, giving him the distinct look of someone choking on a tamale.
"Relax, you old prude, I wouldn't expect you to passionately embrace someone wearing a robe that may very well be housing hostile life-forms," Sirius says, pulling something unidentifiable and soggy from behind his ear and flicking it away.
"Yes, well," says Remus, moving towards the door, "It's not as though this has been entirely—I mean, that is to say, I did actually have things to be doing, you know—and not Maraudery things, either—real, school work, read a book and write about it things. But all that being, well, being what it is (I mean, what else would it be?), I suppose this was rather, erm—What are you doing?"
Sirius looks up at him, his nipples getting embarrassingly hard in the cool, night air.
"That robe was unsanitary."
Remus looks like he might spontaneously combust. It's not a good look for him, Sirius thinks, but then realizes he is, actually, the one without a shirt on, and as such is probably not in any position to be judgmental. And come to think of it, has his bellybutton always looked so bloody weird?
"I took it off."
"That you did," Remus says quietly, and his face goes completely blank.
"And the shirt was, er... Not a good shirt."
"No, I suppose it wasn't," he says matter-of-factly. His eyes are wide and long lashed and shockingly bright.
"Come here," Sirius says quietly, trying to sound every bit as confident as he absolutely does not feel so that perhaps he can trick Remus into thinking that he's thought this through, which he certainly has not. Unfortunately, it works, and now Remus is just standing there, too, too close, and Sirius can't for the life of him think of what to do next, so he kisses him, which is something Sirius often does when he's not sure what else to do, although, admittedly, not like this.
In fact, he's never actually kissed like this before. He's snogged his fair share of giggly Hufflepuffs and weak-kneed Ravenclaws, but there's something entirely different at work here. It's as though he knows the dance steps but can't quite remember the order. Or hear the music. Or feel his feet.
This time, Remus barely flinches when Sirius pushes up his shirt. It's not terribly practical, having a wad of wrinkly fabric shoved between their chests, but the concept of "buttons" seems horrid and strange just at the moment, so Sirius ignores this fact. There's a helpless struggle of lips and angles, and their noses bump together in a way that he imagines should be awkward but somehow isn't, and they're back against the wall, but this time Sirius is sure to grab hold of the sink beside him so that there are no more delays due to slippage of any sort.
Which raises the question of what exactly he is trying to do here, and to be honest, he's not entirely sure. He wanted something from all this. He wanted to find out For Bloody Sure if Remus was what was making his fingers twitch and his lungs feel too big and his stomach swirl. He wanted to see if he was really obsessed with chocolate cake, or if it was the mere idea of cake, in the abstract, that he was drawn to, with chocolate cake being a symbol for all—
Remus makes a little keening sound and bites Sirius' lower lip.
No, it's definitely the chocolate cake.