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"It can get a bit slippery, so make sure you've got a good grip. Hold it real tight."
Sirius squeezed his eyes shut, his teeth digging into his lower lip.
"Once you've got a firm handle on it—there you are—you twist as you press down—nice and slow—that's it."
His nostrils flared through another bracing breath.
"Alright, now continue just like that, twisting, pushing down, keeping a steady hand—"
Sirius gripped the fraying fabric of his armchair, willing his mind to focus on something other than the lurid sounds coming from the kitchen. He watched Marlene braiding Dorcas' hair, or Lily whispering in James' ear until his eyes widened and his face flushed pink. He narrowed in on the way the fibres of the ancient green shag carpet felt between his toes, on the sound of Bowie's guitar riff as it grew louder, higher, more jarring, more desperate—on anything, anything other than the deep, lilting, Welsh-tinted voice floating into room with his careful instructions.
"Okay, you're just about there, tidy job that, now get a real tight grip around the whole thing, and squeeze—"
Sirius was failing. Miserably.
"That's it. You want to get as much as you can, so keep squeezing, keep squeezing. You're doing really well."
A girlish giggle. The sensation of teeth grinding against teeth.
"Better hand it to me to finish off, my hands are a bit larger."
A barely suppressed scoff. The temptation to moan.
"Don't feel bad, I've had loads of practice. See how when I squeeze like this, I'm getting more to come out?" The low voice was growing strained, and Sirius was becoming dizzy with restraint. "I want every last drop."
"I think I'm gonna be sick," Sirius muttered under his breath, pulling a mostly empty pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and tucking one between two fingers. Not to smoke, just to hold something in his hands, a bit of cold comfort whilst his sanity slipped away with the echoing reverb of "Watch That Man."
"Oh no!" a shrill voice exclaimed. "Your hand's all messy now. You're dripping!"
"Ah, so I am. A consequence of squeezing so hard at the end. Don't bother with a towel. I'll just lick it off—I don't mind the taste."
The cigarette snapped between Sirius' fingers, and the unlit tobacco scattered across his lap like the last leaves of autumn shaken from a branch. "Shhhhhit." He tilted his head back with a groan.
"Oi! Steady on, Sirius. That's my last pack," Pete chastised from across the room.
Sirius glared, crumpled the pack tightly in his fist, and chucked it, smirking slightly when it smacked Pete right between the eyes. "Choke on 'em."
Ignoring Pete's squeaks of annoyance, Sirius swept the tobacco from his lap, and shoved the remains of his broken cigarette into his pocket. He could feel James' eyes on him, too heavy, too knowing, but Sirius kept his gaze on the bit of tobacco clinging to the ripped knee of his jeans, putting his persistent, gnawing, clawing, ridiculous feelings into a submissive chokehold.
He would be cool. He would be calm. He would be a completely normal twenty-three-year-old man, hanging out with his mates on a regular Friday night. They would get a little tipsy, totter over to the club to drink some more. He'd smoke like a chimney and throw back some shots, teeter towards blackout before grinding up on some lucky man who would take him home and fuck him until Sirius forgot that he was agonisingly in love with his best friend.
Just the same as every other Friday night for the last two years.
Tonight, however, the universe was testing Sirius' resolve to keep calm and carry on. He couldn't possibly be expected to endure. Not when when he was wearing those jeans. Not when he brought home a half dozen albums that 'reminded me of you,' carried in his ugly orange canvas tote with one of The Wombles ironed on the front. Not when he smelled like cinnamon and rainstorms and home.
"So, Sirius," Dorcas called from the floor, her head tilted to one side as her girlfriend expertly tied off a braid, "Who's gonna be the lucky boy tonight, do you reckon? You know, Fabian was asking about you after last week. I told him you're not keen on repeats."
"Wow, Cas, you make him sound like such a slag!" Lily cackled from her corner of the couch.
"Well, if the shoe fits," Marlene muttered.
"Slut-shaming? Really, Marls?" Sirius could fill a Rolodex with all the women Marlene had tagged, bagged, and shagged—pre-Dorcas, of course.
Sirius looked to James for help, who sat up immediately, rising to the occasion, as always. "He's not a slag, he's just an empty hole that needs to be filled."
"James!" Lily smacked him upside the head.
"What? That's what he said!"
Feeling the striking need to correct the record, Sirius spoke up. "That's not exactly how I said that, Jamie, but thanks for baring my soul to the entire room."
"Sorry, Pads," James said softly, looking duly chastised.
"What I actually said was my heart had an empty hole and no one could possibly fill it except—"
The current bane of Sirius's existence, aka Mary MacDonald, chose that moment to walk into the room with a fresh tray of cocktails, doled out into their flat's mismatched mugs. Following closely behind her was the very air Sirius needed to breathe, aka Remus Lupin—a lumpy-jumpered man who was as adept at squeezing fresh lemon juice as he was at leaving Sirius' heart a battered mess and his brain utterly baffled about his sexual preferences.
"He must be gay, Prongs, he must," Sirius had spiralled to his best friend the previous Friday night at the club. "Look at the way he dances. No straight man knows how to move his hips like that. Not anyone from Wales, anyway."
"Hmm, yes, I see what you mean. But on the other hand," James unhelpfully countered, "his hands are very nearly on Mary's arse."
Sirius hadn't spoken to James for the next forty-eight hours after that.
"Everyone grab a glass, such as they are," Remus cheerfully ordered the room. "Mary's done a banging job making us a round of lemon drops."
"Yes, we heard," Sirius mumbled as he sat up to grab one for himself. "Every last drop."
Before he could reach for the tray, his favourite mug, the hot pink one with BASH THE FASH written on the side, was being pressed into his hands. Crinkled eyes were peering down at him over a long, perfect nose, and that scar, the one nestled over an upper lip Sirius wanted to memorise with his tongue, spread wider. Remus' crooked smile slipped up to the right as his head tilted to the left with a questioning, "Alright?"
Sirius' insides turned to molten goo, and he rolled his eyes, pretending to be very put out by Remus pushing his arm out of the way so he could perch his arse mere inches from Sirius' face.
The lemon drop was gone in three sips. Unfortunately, it was fucking delicious, and his conscience forced him to tell Mary as much. Fortunately, it was also quite strong. Still, Sirius was going to need another handful of lemon drops to get through the night intact.
*
It was Sirius' favourite part of their usual Friday evening: the walk from their flat six blocks to their favourite club—the one with decent cocktails (per Remus) and an actually-not-that-shit DJ (per Sirius). They made their way in twos and threes, with Remus and Sirius in the rear, as usual. Often because Sirius had to circle back for something he'd forgotten, or because he decided last-minute to change his entire outfit and the only person willing to put up with it was Remus—patient, lovely, loving Remus, who never complained, but was ready with a lit cigarette the moment his Docs were tied and his leather jacket was zipped.
During those six blocks, Sirius could feel himself dawdling, letting the moment drag, the several glorious minutes when he had one hundred percent of Remus' attention. Inquisitive, curious, caring Remus who didn't mind at all when Sirius bopped from one topic to the next higgledy piggledy, and followed him down the chaotic rabbit hole that was Sirius' train of thought with easy laughter and a sharp, biting wit.
A block away, Sirius had the same urge he had every Friday night.
Take his hand, Sirius. Drag him back home. Push him down onto the couch and climb into his lap and grab his face and kiss him.
Put your hand in his, Sirius. Hold him and squeeze him and never let go.
On a typical Friday, Sirius did not listen to his heart but did the exact opposite of his instincts and stupidly pushed Remus away. Maybe it was a new bartender he would pick to flirt with all night. Maybe he would bum a smoke from the boy from his ceramics class, even though they both knew he had a full pack in his back pocket. A snog in the bathroom, a grope on the dance floor.
Another pointless, meaningless, mindless distraction.
He would always look back, just once, just long enough to see the light in Remus' eyes fade a bit dimmer, his smile grow a bit tighter, and that slithering, twisting, squeezing creature inside of him would grip a little tighter to that cruel mistress called hope. Was it possible that it made Remus jealous to see Sirius run into another man's arms? Did he want to be the owner of the ear Sirius whispered filth into all night? Did he wish it was his neck Sirius dragged his teeth along, before leaving behind a mark? Did he want it to be his chest Sirius' hands moved up as he rocked his hips closer in time to the music?
There were some moments when he was so, so sure. Sometimes, just for a moment or two, he would feel certain that all he needed to do was take Remus' hand in his, pull him close against his body, and all the wanting, the needing, the suffering would finally be over.
But then there were nights like tonight, where Remus threw his arm around Mary MacDonald the moment they stepped inside the club, pulling her over to the bar, making her laugh, that teasing glint in his eye. The look that Sirius wanted all to himself. No one else deserved that look. No one else fully understood that look—knew how to bend it, twist it around their finger, tug it closer until the glimmer of mischief became something almost dangerous.
"Padfoot?"
It was James, calling to him from a group of tables they'd pulled together across the club, his brows furrowed as he looked from Sirius to Remus and Mary cosied up at the bar.
Sirius felt exposed—caught in the act as his heart fell out of his chest, bleeding on the sticky tile floor, beating in time with the thrumming bass, the naked muscle squeezing with an unending two-syllable pulse.
Remus Remus Remus.
*
The balm to numb the sting of a breaking heart left behind to sulk and brood? Booze, typically. Occasionally, drugs. Pathetically, one night stands. This particular night, Sirius was working methodically through step one of his modus operandi: get fucking shitfaced.
It was drink number ???, and he was sitting strategically, catty corner down the long table from Remus, who was still (maddeningly) happily chatting up Mary—although Dorcas and Marlene were also there, and maybe it wasn't flirting, maybe it was just being friendly, and anyway, he's allowed to talk to girls, Sirius. He's even allowed to sleep with them. He can flirt, he can fuck, he can do whatever the hell he wants with whoever the hell he—
"Ouch!" Sirius was snapped out of his broodery by a pointy elbow to the ribs. This time, from Lily. Busted.
"Smoke?" she asked. Sirius stood up, stealing the last cigarette from Pete's pack, knowing that Lily's request was a mandatory one.
She allowed him two puffs before laying into him. "Enough, Sirius."
"What are you—"
"Enough."
Another slow drag.
"You're torturing each other and I cannot stand another minute of it."
"Me torturing him? I'm the victim here, Evans, not Rem—"
"Bollocks! You are just as bad as him! No, actually, you're worse! Because you actually go home with these idiots whereas the most he does is dance with a girl, kiss her a little—"
Sirius couldn't help but moan, feeling a very strong compulsion to empty the last several rounds into the nearby buses.
"—and end the night with her number in his pocket which he'll never call because she's not you!"
Sirius could only gape like a fish. It was not a great look. Sirius, preferring to look as good as possible as often as possible, pushed his hair off his face with dramatic panache, masking how stunned she had just left him with a careful tilt of his cheek bones, an incredulous eyebrow, pursed lips.
"You've got it all wrong. He doesn't think of me like—"
"Eurgh," Lily growled with apparent frustration. "What is it with you, Black? Are you actually this dense or is the lie that you're unlovable just so deeply ingrained in you that you don't notice when someone standing right in front of you is loving you with his whole damn heart?"
A beat passed between them.
"Wait, are we still talking about Remus?"
A wild shriek of exasperation disappeared into the chilly night air with the cloud of Lily's breath. "Get in there and stop fucking around, Sirius. I mean it. He's about to give up on you and Mary is only too happy waiting in the wings."
"Mary motherfucking MacDonald is not my bloody understudy, Lily," Sirius managed through gritted teeth.
"Good," Lily said as the door to the club swung open, and the tall, floppy-haired devil himself stepped out, a cigarette tucked under his lip, his hands stuffed into his jean pockets. "Because here's your cue."
Sirius flicked his cigarette compulsively whilst he watched Lily make her way back inside, pausing as Remus bumped his shoulder playfully into hers. Remus leaned his head down to listen to something Lily said, too soft for Sirius to catch, but he did not miss the look Remus sent him as she left them alone in the alley.
Just Sirius and Remus. The moon and stars above them. The air they breathe between them.
"Have a light?" Remus asked.
Sirius tossed him his Zippo, immediately regretting the choice. Another lost opportunity to huddle their heads close together. Although, silver lining, Sirius shivered from the lingering touch of their fingertips as Remus handed back the lighter.
He watched intently as Remus pulled smoke in his lungs, his cheeks hollowing, his full lips forming a perfectly soft 'oh' as he exhaled a satisfied nicotine sigh.
Sirius' cigarette was long gone now, but he was bolted in place, his fists clenching and unclenching in his jacket pockets, his jaw working through the urge to vomit—words or booze, it was anyone's guess.
"I had the funniest interaction the other day," Remus amiably filled the awkward silence. He always knew just what to do. "Benjy Fenwick. Do you remember him?"
Sirius nodded. He'd forgotten how to speak, apparently.
"I saw him at the record store—"
"Which one?" Good job, Sirius. Words aren't that hard, are they?
"Cheapo Cheapo."
"Oh, nice. Good selection there."
"Anyway, I was just getting on with it, and Benjy comes up to me, asks how I've been, you know, the usual, and we have an entire, completely friendly, sort of innocuous conversation." He paused to take another drag from his cigarette and Sirius noted he'd stopped breathing at some point, enraptured as he was with the art of Remus talking about anything and everything and absolutely nothing.
"He's moved back into the area, I reckon. So I gave him the flat's number, we make tentative plans to meet up one of these nights. Then he heads for the exit, bumps into someone as they walk inside and six or seven records fall out from where he'd hidden them under his shirt."
Sirius burst out laughing at the image Remus continued to describe.
"Five foot seven, hundred twenty pounds soaking wet, Benjy Fenwick managed to stow a half dozen records without being detected, only to drop them all directly in front of the shop clerk."
"Coppers called?"
"Oh, immediately. And he didn't even try to run. Maybe because I was there to witness it. He looked about ready to cry, the poor sod. Hilarious, right?"
"That is quite mad. I guess Cheapos wasn't cheapo enough for him," Sirius chuckled, the panic from earlier having lost most of its potency. Bless you, Remus Lupin, and your charming anecdotes. "Benjy always was a clumsy little fucker."
"Well, I guess I won't be hearing from him again anytime soon. For the best. I think he might have been hitting on me."
Benjy with his big, blue eyes, and tight, pert arse. How dare he. Sirius' vision clouded a little around the edges. "Oh?" he managed.
"I'd forgotten, but he's quite fit."
A jealous icicle pierced Sirius painfully in the solar plexus.
"Though not exactly my type."
"Not a girl, you mean?"
"No, Sirius. That's not what I mean." Remus looked him dead in the eye, giving him a meaningful look not even Sirius could reasonably misinterpret.
Well, there's an opening if ever there was one.
"I see." Sirius tore his eyes away from Remus and cleared his throat. "Well, it's come to my recent attention that I've been a right arse."
"Surely, this isn't news to you, Padfoot."
"Ouch. And yet, fair. Although, you don't know why I've been accused of arsery."
"Not sure that's a word, but off the top of my head I can think of a few possible reasons for the charge."
"It was regarding you, in particular."
"Me?" Remus pointed at his chest, eyebrows raised, a hint of a smile teasing his lips.
"Yes."
Remus rubbed his chin in thought. "Oh, well, let me think. You do owe me a couple quid from that film we saw last week. Other than that… well, there's my favourite jumper you shrank in the wash."
"Oh, that gwenny thing?"
"Gwenny?!" Remus laughed. "You've been spending too much time with me, talking like that."
"Not possible."
"And don't let my mam hear you insult that jumper. She designed the pattern and all."
They smiled at each other, big stupid grins and then, Sirius' next words came easy.
"Moony, I think I'm in love with you."
There was a significant moment of silence during which Sirius considered climbing up the drainpipe and disappearing into the night.
Remus' next words came out a bit strangled. "I'm sorry. I think my ears just did something really strange. Can you repeat that?"
There it was again. Hope. This time much louder, like a pure, peal of a church bell, beckoning Sirius closer.
He stepped into Remus' space, lifting onto his toes to whisper in his ear, "I want to kiss you so badly sometimes I can barely breathe."
A sharp inhale, a hand gripping the sleeve of his jacket.
Sirius leaned back, trying on his most rakish smirk. The one with the highest success rate. He was playing for keeps, after all. "Did you hear that?"
He tracked the movement of Remus' throat as he swallowed heavily, noting how his pupils darkened as he nodded slowly.
Suddenly, Sirius' back was pressed against the rough brick wall of the club, large hands encircling his waist firmly. Remus was so close, Sirius was forced to tilt his head up to maintain eye contact.
His heart almost hurt, painfully squeezing every beat as they stood there for several, long moments, not moving, barely breathing, eyes lingering on lips before connecting once more.
Sirius' hands found their way to either side of Remus' warm neck, finding his pulse fluttering as wildly as his own, and that final confirmation that Remus was just as affected as him was the last push Sirius needed to finally bring their lips together.
If a kiss could sigh in relief, then that was the only way to describe the way Sirius melted into Remus—finally, finally learning exactly how he tasted—sweet alcohol and bitter smoke, and something else uniquely Remus. He catalogued every nuance. How his stubble prickled under his fingers, the way Remus' hands gripped him tightly, how he pressed his hips against Sirius with perfect, certain weight.
They kissed slowly at first, almost tentatively, waiting for the other to pull back and call it a mistake. And when that didn't happen, they grew emboldened, licking past lips, pulling moans from each other's throats, kissing until they were breathless, until Sirius was positive no one else could possibly kiss him better. Remus kissed him and kissed him, thoroughly and ruinously, making every miserable day without this in his life seem like both a complete waste and a necessary step toward his and Remus' inevitability.
"Just in case I'm not being clear," Remus said, when they finally broke apart, "and I suspect that has been part of the problem between us—yes, I'm attracted to men. To you, specifically. From the moment I laid eyes on you, as a matter of fact, until the point of complete and utter madness."
"Oh," Sirius breathed. It was almost unbelievable hearing the confirmation aloud. "Am I really that blind or are you just that hard to read?"
"A little of column A, a little of column B, I think," Remus said fondly. "But I really am stupidly into you, Sirius. It's embarrassing how bad I have it, actually."
Sirius could have jumped in the air and flown straight to the moon. He was half tempted to try. "And you don't mind I've been a bit of a slag as of late?" he asked, genuinely concerned about that aspect of the last many months. "It was a pathetic attempt to get over you and didn't work even a little."
"Nah, I only wish it had been me. Starting about two and half years ago. You're much better at instigating a jealous rage, by the way."
"Are you mad? I've been moments from socking Mary on the nose on several occasions. At least thrice this very evening!"
"Don't punch Mary, Sirius. Hitting women is frowned upon, as a general rule. And I think she'll be hurting enough after tonight. I've been a bit unfair to her, I fear."
Sirius couldn't help but feel ridiculous pleased by that. He pulled Remus in to kiss him again before someone came outside and interrupted them. This time, Remus' hands moved more boldly over his body, squeezing his arse, then tangling in his hair. Memories surfaced in his mind, depicting the many hours Sirius laid his head on Remus' lap in front of the telly, falling asleep as Remus gently stroked his long fingers through his hair, and the certainty that they'd been colossal idiots cemented somewhere in his bones.
They were forced to part when the squeaky door to the club opened once more. James' hopeful head popped out the door, his glasses slightly askew. He let out a surprised gasp, followed by a soft, victorious whoop, gave an exaggerated wink, then shut the door again, dampening the music from the club once more.
"Well, everyone knows now," Remus remarked flatly.
"Yes, I suppose they do." The idea of walking back inside to be flayed alive by Mary's caustic glare sounded rather less than appealing.
"Do you want to know what Lily said to me before she went inside?" Remus had his arms wrapped tightly around Sirius' waist; Sirius played with the curls at the nape of Remus' neck and nothing in his life had ever felt more easy.
"What's that?"
"James is staying at hers tonight."
"Oh, really? …D'you have any heartburn about locking Pete out of the flat for the night?"
"He'll be fine. He's scrappy."
*
Those six blocks home never flew by so fast nor felt so long. They had to pause every so often to press each other against lampposts, or parked cars, once getting yelled at by an ancient woman in curlers to "stop defiling my fence, you heathens!"
By the time they reached the flat, things had grown rather urgent, and Sirius regretted (mostly) choosing the tightest pair of black jeans he owned. They got down to their pants and tops right there in the entry way, a feat in and of itself as they didn't stop kissing for even a single second.
After ensuring the door was latched from the inside (sorry, not sorry, Pete), they made it to the living room, where Sirius played out a long-held fantasy of ripping off Remus' well-worn jumper and shoving him onto the sofa, straddling his lap before attacking his lips once more.
His lips were already swollen and tender, so turned on he could barely see straight, his cock straining painfully in his pants, and he rocked his hips more firmly against Remus until they broke apart with gasps of pleasure.
"I hope you don't find me too forward but I want you—no, actually, I need you to touch me or I think I might die." Remus looked wrecked, his hair a wild mop, his lips red and slick with spit, his slender but muscular chest, heaving with laboured breath.
Sirius was similarly losing his mind, but in a desperate move to keep the upper hand, he decided to be a little minx and tease the fuck out of Remus for as long as he could stand it.
"Touch you?" He slid his hands down from Remus' shoulders, his nails dragging lightly across Remus' nipples. "Touch you like this?" He ducked his head to find a sensitive patch of skin under Remus' jaw, nibbling until Remus hissed, his hips rocking more insistently upwards. "Like this?"
Sirius kept teasing him, finding new sensitive spots to exploit, bringing his hands closer and closer, stopping short at Remus' waistband on the first pass, sneaking a pinky underneath on the next.
Eventually, Remus hit his limit. "Put your hand on my cock, Sirius."
Orders were never obeyed so quickly. Remus lifted his hips long enough to allow Sirius to free him from his briefs. Grasping Remus firmly in hand, he took a moment to evaluate the considerable task in front of him, his cock leaking inside his briefs, his hole fluttering a little at the possibilities, his mouth filling with saliva.
"Fuck, Remus. I'll be honest. This is a little intimidating."
Remus blushed beautifully. "Don't be ridiculous."
"There are a lot of things I've been thinking about doing with you, but… we may have to ease into it."
"I could fill several books with the things I want to do to you, Sirius." Remus kissed him slowly, then guided Sirius' hand up and down the length of him. "And I'm in absolutely no rush."
Well, shit.
"Tell me how you like it." Sirius spit into his hand, and returned it to Remus' cock, smearing the gathering precum and saliva around the tip, experimenting until he found a rhythm that forced Remus' eyes shut.
It was a two-handed operation, assisted with more spit from both of them, between wet, messy kisses. As he pulled and pushed, he followed the cues of Remus' body, and then his words, low and a little demanding.
"That's it, Sirius, just like that—twist at the top, ffyc, that feels so nice. I knew you would be so, so good—a little faster, squeeze a little tighter, ohh perffaith, annwyl, my god, please don't stop."
Remus was losing control, his English fading in and out of Welsh, the veins in his neck bulging the tighter Sirius gripped him, the faster he moved. The sounds he made were unholy, sending every last bit of blood straight to Sirius' cock, still trapped uncomfortably in his briefs.
As if reading his mind, Remus licked his palm and pulled him out, his large hand like a vice around Sirius' throbbing cock.
"Careful, I won't last." He was embarrassed to admit he was already so close when he'd barely even been touched, but he soon lost all awareness other than the pulse of Remus' blood under his hands, the growing pleasure that was pulled methodically from his body.
"Here, let me." Remus grabbed both of them in his larger hand, and they moaned at the slick sensation of their cocks sliding against each other. Sirius thrust up in time with the movement of Remus' tight grip, his face tucked against Remus' neck, gasping against him as he squeezed and pulled, twisted and pushed, each movement heightened by the feel of them pressed together.
"Oh, fuck, I'm coming!" It happened so fast, so hard, Sirius' vision turned white as he came, warmth spurting between them, easing the movement of Remus' hand.
"That's it, baby, come for me. Give me everything." Remus' voice rumbled through him as he pulled Sirius through his climax—squeezing out every. last. drop.
The moment Sirius could think straight, he batted Remus' hand out of the way. Remus used the opportunity to lick some of Sirius' release from his hand, and Sirius' spent cock gave a valiant twitch at the sight.
He focused once more on getting Remus off, desperate to watch him fall apart under his hands. He grabbed his flushed, leaking cock with two hands once more, using his cum to push Remus to the very edge, kissing him and kissing him until Remus finally broke with a stuttering gasp, gripping Sirius' hips almost painfully, until he finally fell limp with a long, soft sigh.
"Well, that was an auspicious start," Sirius mumbled against Remus' chest when his head cleared a little. "I'm not sure I've ever come so hard in my life."
Remus could only moan his agreement. After a long pause of them both catching their breath, he added, "Perhaps it was the literal years of anticipation."
Sirius smiled, stroking a hand gently up and down the outside of Remus' arm, not bothered in the slightest by the warmth growing tacky between them. "Twenty-four months of not-so-pleasurable edging."
"Closer to thirty for me. But the payoff was extraordinary."
Eventually, as his sweat cooled, Sirius began to shiver. Remus softly coaxed him to let them up to clean off in the bath. Sirius eventually agreed to move from his very comfortable perch, just so long as Remus remained naked until the sun came up tomorrow.
A deal was struck, and after they were much cleaner, and Sirius drank the glass of water Remus insisted upon, they moseyed their way to Remus' bedroom—the one with clean sheets and a visible floor.
"Come down here for a cwtch, Pads," Remus yawned, pulling back the covers before laying down on the bed, beckoning Sirius closer. Warmth filled every cell in Sirius' body as he paused to take in the sight in front of him. The love of his life, stretched out in all his sated glory, his eyes soft, reaching for him, patiently waiting for Sirius to fall back where he belonged, held tightly his arms.