A/N: It's been a while, forgive me. But I've done it! I've used all the prompts from HedwigBlack's Slash/Femslash Boot Camp Challenge! (Which has apparently been adopted by HP Slash Luv! The more you know.) I'VE COMPLETED A BOOT CAMP. YES. *celebrates*
Prompt: 6. Sarcastic
Remus sits, swathed in rolls of yellowed parchment. He worries at his lip with his teeth, muttering under his breath nervously. A smudge of dark ink stains his bottom lip, a faint palm print on his left cheek, but Sirius doesn't tell him. In fact, Sirius rather likes it.
"Moony, you're going to give yourself a heart attack." When Remus ignores him in favour of reciting the names of the seven leaders of the First Goblin Rebellion, Sirius sighs loudly and dramatically. "They can't possibly expect us to know all this stuff."
This catches Remus' attention in the way that most bouts of Sirius Logic tend to do. He looks up, very slowly, eyes wide as they settle on Sirius' face. "Oh, no," Remus breathes. "No, you're absolutely right, Padfoot. Why on earth would this educational institution insist we actually learn the material they have spent almost every day for the past seven years teaching us to better us as wizards and ensure we are properly trained in magical theory and practice?" He exhales sharply through his nose and shakes his head. "I can't think of any decent reason for the life of me."
Sirius stares at the inkstain on Remus' lip, debating whether it's actually black or just a really, really dark blue, and doesn't throw a pillow straight at his stupid, studious little face.
"Sarcasm is never necessary," he says crossly. "It is the lowest form of wit, in fact. You know, I thought better of you, Moony."
"Git." Remus' glare is interrupted by a sudden yawn. Sirius watches as he tries to stifle it, exhaustion rolling from his slumping shoulders. He stretches, long and languid, and the million and one rolls of parchment around him crinkle and crackle and fall from the bed. "Merlin, I'll never make it through all these at this rate."
Sirius' mouth is unnaturally dry when he tries to smile. He swallows, eyes still roaming the line of Remus' throat, the hills and valleys of his body, from chin to neck to jaw to chest, the thin scars creeping up under that cream collar. "Maybe...don't."
"Don't?" Remus says slowly, his amber eyes on Sirius as he rises and walks across the room, towards Remus' library of a bed.
"Yeah," Sirius says, reaching down and pulling Remus up by the wrist. "Just...don't." Homework falls around them in a storm of bristling parchment, and Sirius hears the distinct thump of a book hitting the ground, but he doesn't look away from Remus' face. Remus. Remus and the way Remus is looking back at him, expectantly, nervously. Remus and the scar that pulls at his lip, Remus and the freckles only on the right side of his nose, Remus and his stupid sandy hair falling into his stupid beautiful eyes, and Remus, who is going to give himself a heart attack one of these days from sheer exhaustion of doing.
Sirius tongue darts out to wet his dry lips. They curl into a smile when he sees Remus stare at his mouth. He is very aware of his fingers around Remus' wrist and the flutter of a heartbeat there somewhere, but he's not sure whose anymore. He's not sure whose breath is huffing softly over his damp lip either, because quite suddenly Remus is close enough to taste, barely an inch between them.
"Don't?" Remus mutters, and Sirius can feel the way his mouth moves, the shape of the word against his lips.
"Don't," he breathes back, and presses his lips to Remus' swiftly.
The parchment lies forgotten, the books open to pages that won't be read for the longest time. There is silence but for the quiet, breathy sounds of two young boys finding each other and the gentle murmur of a friendship blossoming into something so much more.
Sirius can taste the inkstain; it tastes like learning and Remus and discovery. He hopes, when he finally pulls away, that it will have stained his bottom lip, too.