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“Let me get this straight,” Sirius says, fixing Remus with a look full of promise.
Remus knows that look. Sirius reserves it for special occasions — whenever he believes Remus is due for a stern talking-to or an orgasm. Either way, Remus is in trouble.
“Get what straight?” Remus asks, playing for time. “Nothing is straight in this home, you know that. Not the walls nor the occupants.”
Sirius ignores this fine example of wit, which is a shame. Remus is fairly certain he’s been growing funnier with age.
“Let me get this straight,” Sirius says again. “A hot stranger hit on you, and—”
“I never said he was hot,” protests Remus.
“You just did,” says Sirius, smirking. “Thank you for the confirmation.”
“Unfair!”
Sirius’ self-satisfied expression merely intensifies. Pathetically, predictably, Remus can feel himself starting to grow hard. Remus knows this curious dance of theirs — push and pull, thrust and parry — only too well. He knows what it inevitably leads to: Sirius pounding into him relentlessly, digging hard into his flesh and leaving pretty bruises behind. Experience is a greater aphrodisiac than any spell.
“I never said he was hot,” Remus says again, just to have something to say. “All I said was—”
“That you were approached by a young man,” Sirius says, nodding, “who thought you were a shop attendant.”
“He felt quite badly about that,” says Remus, remembering the way the man had flushed and ducked his head, apologising profusely all the while.
“The perils of dressing like you live amongst books,” Sirius remarks, nodding at Remus’ frayed cardigan. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you,” he adds, as Remus tugs self-consciously at one sleeve. “The sexy librarian look is impossible to resist.”
“‘Sexy librarian’? The polite term is ‘alluring archivist’ these days.”
“I apologise,” says Sirius, adopting a falsely penitent tone and topping it off with a mock bow. “How about ‘beguiling bibliosoph’?”
“Acceptable.”
“So this hot young man,” Sirius persists, after a pause. “What did he look like?”
Remus flounders for a moment before landing on something sufficiently descriptive yet bland. “He had glasses,” he says. “And dark hair. Messy hair.” The words don’t do the stranger justice, but there’s no need to belabour the point.
Sirius nods. “And he approaches you to ask for your help in finding a book.”
Remus sighs. “Can’t we drop this?”
“He’s looking for a particular title,” says Sirius, undeterred. “Something sexy. Something scandalous. A treatise on revolutionary politics, was it?”
“A book on Charms theory, I’ll have you know,” Remus says, unable to ignore Sirius’ goading. “Flourish and Blott’s government-overthrowing section is rather sparse, actually.”
“You helped him find the book, of course,” continues Sirius, his eyes half-closed as if he’s watching the scene play out before him in his mind’s eye. “Even though you don’t work there.”
“Of course.”
“Because that’s the kind of sweet, bookish man I married.”
Remus feels a swooping, fluttering sensation in his chest at the praise. The feeling reminds him of their old Hogwarts days — that burst of nervous energy he’d always get whenever he spotted Sirius’ face among a crowd of students — but it hasn’t dimmed at all over the intervening years. It’s familiar, but it’s never lost its potency. It feels like falling in love all over again, all these years later.
“You flatterer,” Remus says, pushing off the compliment. It’s easier than trying to put his feelings into words.
“Is it flattery, my love, if it’s true?” Sirius asks, shooting Remus a mischievous grin before closing his eyes again. “He thanked you for helping him, of course.”
“He did.”
“And all the while he flirted with you,” says Sirius. “Shamelessly.”
“I never said ‘shamelessly.’”
“No?” yawns Sirius. “Well, it was implied.”
“You’re reading an awful lot of things into this story by implication,” Remus points out. “What actually happened was much simpler. James asked me to help him find a book—”
“James!” exclaims Sirius. “A strong name. A virile name.”
“The name’s hardly important, is it?” Remus says impatiently. “He asked for help. I helped him. Easy.”
“And after you helped him find the book…”
“He asked me on a date,” finishes Remus, hating the flush that he can feel spreading across his face.
“And?”
“And I declined.”
“What specifically did you say?” Sirius asks, his eyes narrowed.
Remus’ heart skips a beat. The conversation feels less like foreplay now and more like Remus is getting himself into a different kind of trouble.
“I can’t remember word for word,” Remus says, fiddling with the hem of his cardigan again. “I thanked him for the compliment and told him that while I was flattered, I wasn’t interested.”
“So you lied,” says Sirius, looking directly into Remus’ face like he’s searching for something — perhaps evidence of guilt. Not for the first time, Remus thinks that Sirius would be an excellent Legilimens. Sirius’ eyes are dark and inscrutable behind narrowed lids; they seem to be drilling into Remus’ soul.
“Lied?” Remus repeats feebly. “What do you mean?”
“You were interested, weren’t you?” Sirius asks. His tone is curious rather than accusatory, but Remus still feels a swooping sensation in his stomach, like he’s been called to the Headmaster’s office. “You found him attractive. You were interested.”
“I… I suppose so,” says Remus, unable to look at Sirius any longer. “But I would never… I would never act on those feelings, Sirius.”
The silence that follows is brutal, but Remus still doesn’t look up. He’s not sure he can stomach seeing disappointment on Sirius’ features.
At last, when Remus is beginning to panic in earnest, the stillness is broken by Sirius’ booming laugh. Remus loves that laugh, loves the way it radiates warmth through the entire house, but it doesn’t fully assuage his nervousness and guilt.
“Why are you laughing?” Remus asks, addressing his next words to the floor. “I just said I would never act on it, and—”
“Why the hell not?” Sirius demands. “Remus, darling!” He grabs Remus by the shoulders and shakes him, none too gently, as if to wake Remus from a nightmare. “Oh, my love! Don’t tell me you’ve been beating yourself up about this?”
Remus’ pitiful reply is lost in Sirius’ deep belly laugh, which seems to shake the walls again.
“Moony,” Sirius says, taking Remus’ face gently in his hands and peppering his cheeks with kisses, “you adorable fool. What was the point of opening our relationship if not for this exact scenario: to allow you to flirt shamelessly back when you meet hot strangers in bookstores?”
“Oh,” says Remus, whose bewildered brain is desperately trying to catch up to Sirius’ words. “Oh, Merlin. I forgot.”
“You forgot? We did have, I don’t know, thirty conversations about the matter,” Sirius reminds him, still chuckling under his breath. “Establishing guidelines, working through hypothetical scenarios…”
“I just didn’t expect this!”
“You didn’t expect men to chat you up?” Sirius asks, as if Remus has gone mad. “Have you never looked in a mirror? I’m surprised it doesn’t happen every day. Hell, I’m surprised you aren’t bombarded with suitors the second you set foot in any public place.”
“Sirius, honestly.”
Sirius presses another kiss to Remus’ cheek. “You adorable fool,” he says again. “You have my permission to flirt with as many pretty bookstore patrons as you like — as long as you tell me all the details afterwards.”
Relief is still flooding through Remus, making his mind feel sluggish and waterlogged. Before he can muster a reply, Sirius is speaking again.
“Of course,” Sirius says hastily, “if you’ve changed your mind—”
“It’s not that! It’s just…” Remus falters, unable to find the words. “It was always theoretical, before. Flirting with a stranger, agreeing to a date, maybe even going home with someone…”
“We can keep it theoretical, if you like,” Sirius promises, running a soothing hand through Remus’ hair. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
Sirius is so sweet, so earnest, so goddamn perfect that Remus can’t hold back. He wraps his arms around Sirius and pulls his husband into a kiss.
“I think,” Remus says, when they break apart, “that I might need to take another trip to Diagon Alley. Do you think Flourish and Blotts keep records for their customers?”