Chapter Text
The airport bar at Christmas time is unsurprisingly crowded, filled with single travelers lugging rolling bags. Remus plants himself on the stool at the end of the bar top, which he’s hogged for about four hours so far. Four hours since his flight was cancelled and he was stranded in the airport.
A new bartender walks in the bar, and Remus watches him with a dull interest. He speaks with the short girl with a blond pixie cut who made Remus’s last two drinks, then gives her a hug before she unties her apron and walks out. The new guy starts at the other end, checking on various bedraggled patrons as he makes his way down the bar.
When he reaches Remus, he leans against the bar top toward him with a crooked smile. “Hello handsome. Can I get you another one?”
“Might as well,” Remus grunts. “A rum and coke, thanks.”
The man nods and starts filling a small glass with ice. “You got it man. What brings you in tonight? You coming or going?”
Remus huffs. “Not sure anymore. I was just here on a layover, but my flight out was cancelled, now I’m stranded.”
“Dude, that sucks,” the bartender says, turning the rum bottle up to pour into the glass. “You got somewhere to stay?” He grabs the soda gun and tops it off. There’s a glint in his eye as he looks over Remus that isn’t entirely innocent.
Remus considers him for a minute and the implied offer to come with him. He genuinely considers it, because no, of course he doesn’t have somewhere to go. But the guy hardly raises any interest in him, and Remus can’t really be assed for the trouble of leaving the airport for a hook up just for this guy. “I’ll figure something out.”
He shrugs, hardly seeming disappointed at all. “This one is on me,” the man says, passing it across the bar. Remus glances down at the nametag on his chest, reading Larry. Gods, even his name is boring. “Merry Christmas. Let me know if there’s anything else I can help you with.”
Remus raises the glass a bit. “Cheers. Thanks, man.” Perhaps, after a few more drinks, Larry will seem more interesting.
Remus grabs his phone as Larry walks away, popping his hip out as he talks with an older man with salt and pepper hair, seemingly receiving more interest. Remus swipes into the text chat he has going with his mom.
Remus frowns at his phone. He doesn’t want to take money from his mom, but he really doesn’t have the money to get a room here for one night, much less the two or more that it’s looking like it will take for him to fly out again.
Before Remus can type out another message to her, someone slips into the seat next to him. Remus glances over, merely intending to glance at the sudden movement near him rather than really looking at him. However, he does a little double take to get a better look at them.
He’s half turned away from Remus, one finger raised in a gesture to beckon Larry over again. Remus takes the opportunity to study him. He has long hair down his back and a pair of tight black jeans that do his ass a lot of favors. Remus would normally turn around and mind his own business at this sort of thing, but… well, he’s intrigued by the man.
“Merry Christmas,” Larry says, grinning broadly at Remus’s new seat mate. “Can I get you something, handsome?” Remus narrows his eyes, wondering if the handsome line is some sort of bit he does.
The man next to him seems unphased. “Scotch. Blue label, if you have it. Neat. Thanks.” Without waiting for acknowledgment, he turns back to Remus. He's gorgeous, with soft, smooth skin that looks like it was chiseled from marble, and bright grey eyes that almost hurt to look at. “Can I buy you another one?” His smile is so blindingly brilliant that Remus finds himself nodding without thinking twice about the fact that his glass is still mostly full. “And another one of these for my friend.”
Remus takes a gulp of his drink as the man offers his card. Remus watches him pass a black American Express card across, his eyebrows shooting up. He’s only ever heard of them before, the elusive black credit card that is only held by the uber wealthy, supposedly made of metal. He wonders if this guy would let him hold it.
The guy turns toward him again, and Remus feels like he's hit with another wave of awe, as though he forgot in the moment the man was turned around how gorgeous he really was. Remus is drawn in by his eyes, unable to look away from his intense stare, almost like the man has some sort of magical draw that forces Remus to look at him.
Eventually, disappointingly, the man pulls his gaze aw`ay as Larry sets drinks in front of them both. “Thanks. Cheers.” He takes a quick sip, his tongue darting out over his lower lip to catch the last drop, then looks up at Remus again. “I hope you don’t mind me being forward, but it’s been a bit of a shit week, and I honestly can’t be bothered to be subtle.”
His eyes dip to the table again, and Remus leans in a bit, unconsciously, dying to know what forward question this man is going to ask him. “I was wondering, well– you seem like you’re sitting here either with no place to go, or avoiding going somewhere you don’t want to go, and I was wondering if instead, you might want to go to the Susraine Islands with me?”
Remus’s eyes go wide at the suggestion. He’s heard of the Susraine Islands, a tropical resort with picturesque beaches that someone like Remus would put up on a vision board and dream of going his whole life. Actually, Remus is fairly certain that his mother does have a picture of some resort on the Susraine Islands on her cork board at home. “You want me to go with you? Why?”
The man grimaces a bit, taking another sip from his drink. “Well, you see, today was supposed to be my wedding day. And two days ago, I found my fiance in bed with another man.”
“Oh gods,” Remus says. He grabs the man’s hand, almost without thinking, then looks down at it in shock. He doesn’t pull away, feeling a bit awkward about it now, but he commits to the action. “Are you alright?”
The man huffs. “I shouldn’t be, I guess, but mostly I just feel relieved? Which is maybe awful, but–”
“No, it’s not,” Remus says quickly. “I mean, unless you’re relieved because you cheated too, and now you won’t get caught.”
The man laughs, and the sound hits Remus right in the chest, warming him up. “No, not that. More in the dodged a bullet sort of way.”
“Well, then I think you’re completely justified in feeling relieved,” Remus says. “Seems like you did, in fact, dodge a bullet. How does that get us to the Susraine Islands?”
“Well, it was supposed to be our honeymoon,” he says. “And I decided to go anyway. I thought I could go alone, but it turns out that I’ve booked everything, start to finish, as a couples’ thing.”
Remus cocked his head sideways, smiling through his confusion. “Obviously, if it was your honeymoon.”
“Obviously,” he says, drawing the word out teasingly. “You would think so. Only, I showed up for the limo to take us to the airport, and the driver asked where my husband was. And inside the car was celebratory champagne. I checked in for the flight and went to the lounge, and they congratulated me and asked where my husband was. I’ve barely made it to the airport, and I’m already tired of explaining that no, my husband is not coming.”
Remus grimaces, sipping his drink. “I can see how that would get annoying.”
“You’re right, it does.” The man leans his elbow on the counter, grinning at Remus with something akin to mischief. “So, what I want is for someone–you–to come along with me, and pretend to be my husband.”
“Just so people stop asking you what happened?” Remus laughs.
The man shrugs, but there’s something a bit vulnerable in his eyes as he looks at Remus again. “I also don’t want to go alone, but I don’t really have anyone who can go with me. It could be a laugh, right? You’ll be able to tell your grandkids about the time you went on a stranger’s honeymoon with them.”
Remus swirls his straw in his glass, making the ice cubes clink around. He looks back at the man, who watches him hopefully. “I can’t afford any part of this trip. I couldn’t pay you for the tickets or anything.”
The man brushes the thought away. “It’s all prepaid. Meals, tickets, everything. And non-refundable, so I’m shot either way. I’ve just got to change your name on the ticket, but that’s easily handled.”
“Why me, though?” The question slips out before Remus can really think twice about it, but he doesn’t try to take it back. It’s a good question. There’s no good reason it should be him.
“Because you’re hot,” the man says with a shrug. “If I’m going to have a fake husband, he’s got to be hot. You were an obvious choice.”
Remus laughs, turning and shaking his head. When he looks back at the man, he’s watching Remus with one eyebrow raised. “Wait, you’re serious? How many of those have you had to drink?”
“This is my first.” The man gestures around the bar. “Besides, look around. This place is filled with desperation. Not a single man in here, present company excluded, is anything less than exceedingly desperate.”
There’s a huff from across the bar as a man who looks like he spent the night sleeping in the airport rolls his eyes and looks away. Remus looks around the bar then, and… well, the man has a point. There’s a handful of guys here, all of whom look like they’re half melted into their barstools. Remus can’t imagine trying to pick any of them up either, though he doesn’t really see that making him a better option.
When he meets the man’s eyes again, he’s grinning knowingly. “You see my dilemma. So, make my day a little brighter and tell me you’ll come with me? Please? I’m not above begging.”
Remus chews on his lip for a moment. He doesn’t have anywhere else to go, and the prospect of sleeping in this airport with Mr. Eyeroll across the bar does not exactly sound appealing. It’s crazy. It’s absolutely crazy. He should say no. No one in their right mind jets off to a tropical island with a stranger in an airport.
“I don’t even know your name,” Remus says. “You don’t know mine.”
“Well, that’s easily remedied.” The man reaches a hand out toward him. “I’m Sirius. What's yours?”
Remus slips his hand into Sirius’s, his smooth, warm grip wrapping around Remus’s hand. “Remus.”
Sirius looks at him with wide, eager eyes. “Does that mean you’ll go?”
Fuck it, Remus thinks. “I’ll go.”