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hp fic: Home
Title: Home
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Rating: R
Word count: ~2,500
Summary: One week became two weeks became three weeks became a month.
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
escribo, and ![[personal profile]](https://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif?v=88)
rs_small_gifts 2013.
Home
The door creaked open by itself as they reached the top of the stairs. Remus figured that was probably a bad sign.
"Don't mind that," Sirius said, waving Remus off before he could speak. "The frame's a little warped, is all. You know, from the damp. The building's Muggle-built, so every spell I try just slides right off."
They stood there for a moment, breathing in dust and uncertainty, until Sirius caught Remus' elbow and herded him across the threshold.
"Brilliant, innit?"
Remus chewed his lip as he took it all in -- the dingy, colourless carpet, the peeling lino in the kitchen, the dull orange and gold wallpaper, the naked light bulb buzzing angrily above his head. Everything smelled of unwashed laundry and cigarette smoke. A potted plant was dying at each windowsill.
"Absolutely."
Sirius snorted. "It's rubbish, is what it is. The ekeclicity is tetchy and the pipes rattle like anything. But it's mine, and it's paid for through 1983, bless Alphard's shrivelled old heart."
Another silence: Remus scratched the back of his neck and studied a spidery crack in the ceiling.
"I've plenty of room."
"Sirius."
"Moony."
"I'm all right."
Sirius leaned back against the door frame, folding his arms across his chest. "You've been sleeping at the boob station."
"The tube station, Sirius. The tube station, and it was only for one night." It had actually been two nights, but Remus didn't see the sense in adding more fuel to Sirius' fire. "Don't get your knickers in a twist."
"And where'd you sleep before that, then? No one's seen you in a month."
Remus frowned at the ceiling crack again, searching for an answer Sirius would accept. He'd spent his first three days out of school at the Three Broomsticks, half-hoping Madam Rosmerta would only charge him half, and then he'd moved on to do a full week at the Leaky Cauldron, free of charge because old Tom owed his father a favour. After that, he'd wasted the last of his coin on a string of Knockturn Alley flophouses, the kind of places that slept eight to a room and made you check your wand at the door, and then he'd gone to the tube station, which had been noisy and uncomfortable. His next stop would've likely been the Shrieking Shack; the ground floor never leaked and the parlour was warm enough with a fire on.
"Really, it's fine." Living with Sirius was a terrible idea, not least because Remus had been half in love with him since their fifth year of school. "I'll get a job, and -- "
"Not in London, you won't. You're on the bloody list."
Remus couldn't argue with that. So far, he'd been refused every job he'd looked into because his name was on the Werewolf Registry.
"Stop being a knob, will you?" Sirius said, batting his hair out of his face. "The rent's already paid. It's not like you'll be costing me anything. Besides, I really do have the space." He pointed at the couch, a boxy thing the colour of ash with the look and feel of Transfiguration.
"No."
Sirius sighed, then quirked his mouth and elbowed Remus in the side. "C'mon, Moony. I haven't lived alone in a hundred years. Would you believe I miss the sound of Prongs snoring at night?"
"You're either barmy or a liar."
"Please?"
"All right, all right. But only for a week, mind," Remus said, and Sirius smiled like a sunrise.
--
One week became two weeks became three weeks became a month. Every morning, Remus told himself today would be the day he moved out and lived on his own, and every night he found himself sitting on the couch with Sirius, listening to the Wireless or watching the Muggle telly Lily had picked up at a charity shop.
"She said what now?" Sirius asked, wiping his greasy fingers on the back of the couch, never mind that Remus had to sleep there.
He was a terrible roommate, far worse than he'd been at Hogwarts, with Peter complaining about the mess and house-elves following after him with a broom. He hogged the hot water. He left wet towels on the floor of the loo. He walked around in his pants, he smoked with the windows closed, and he left food on the counter to rot for days because he never remembered they had a Muggle refrigerator.
They ate takeaway almost every night; Sirius couldn't cook at wand point and Remus' skills peaked with a good builder's brew and a halfway decent cheese on toast. Their flat was on the edge of the Wizarding district, on a street that had been Muggle less that fifty years ago, taken over bit by bit as the Muggles slowly moved out, put off my too many things they couldn't explain, noises and shadows and flashes of light in the middle of the night. The next block up was brimming with restaurants and food stands; they could go two straight weeks without eating the same meal twice.
Tonight's supper was fish and chips, paid for with the money Remus had saved from the Muggle job he just lost.
"She didn't like my face."
"Go on."
"I thought it would be all right, working a Muggle job," Remus said, popping a chip into his mouth. "They don't believe in werewolves or vampires or -- any of that stuff, really. She wasn't even fussed when I asked for four days off."
"But?"
"She didn't like how I looked this morning," Remus admitted. The full moon had been rough on him; he had two black eyes and bandages on both hands. "She called me a no-good brawler. Said she didn't need that kind of trouble in her shop."
Sirius barked out a short laugh, wiping grease from his mouth with the back of his hand. "Fancy you having arms with anyone. I mean, you're stronger than you look, because -- well, because," he paused, making a vague gesture meant to infer Remus' furry little problem, "but you're rather not built for that sort of thing. You're all over bones and pointy bits."
"Tosspot."
"Wanker." Sirius leaned back, propping his feet on the wooden crate that passed as a coffee table. They were bare; he'd probably stuffed his dirty socks between the couch cushions when Remus wasn't looking. "Are you going to finish your fish?"
"Yes."
Sirius sighed. "Fine. Turn on the Wireless, will you? They're doing a Martin Miggs."
--
Remus lost his third Muggle job the same way he'd lost the first two; his boss had taken one look at him the morning after and told him to hit the road.
"I'm not even that badly off," Remus complained. Aside from a bruised cheek and a limp, most of this month's damage was hidden under Remus' clothes.
Sirius made a rough, irritated noise in the back of his throat. "Sod them." He was sitting on the open kitchen window, one leg balanced on the sill as he blew smoke at the fire escape. The potted plant nudging his foot was three days past dead. "Anyway, you hated that job."
"I rather did hate it, but it paid fairly well," Remus said, exploring his bruise with cautious fingers. "You know, money."
"I already told you, I've got plenty."
"It'll run out one day."
Sirius dismissed this with a lazy wave. "Not tonight, it won't. I've enough to keep us in firewhiskey and fags for another three years, at least. Speaking of -- I bought a new bottle of Ogden's Old this afternoon. Fancy a drink?"
"It wouldn't help."
"All right, but it wouldn't hurt, either."
Remus sighed and settled at the edge of the couch, curled up against the arm with his sore ankle stretched out. It wasn't properly sprained, but it still throbbed like anything and buckled if he put too much weight on it. He studied it for a few minutes, poking it and flexing his toes until the couch dipped and creaked. It was Sirius, with the Ogden's Old tucked under his arm; he took a swig straight from the bottle, then poured two fingers into an empty Pot Noodle and passed it to Remus with a shrug.
"Sorry. All the posh glasses are dirty," he said, like it wasn't his turn to do the Dishwashing Charm. He took another swig of firewhiskey, then set the bottle on the crate and leaned back, his hand curled gently around Remus' bad ankle. "If you're so arsed about making money, and that, why don't you take that job Dumbledore's got?"
"I don't know, really," Remus said, shrugging into his firewhiskey. "I probably should."
Dumbledore had made the offer twice already, cash under the table to run errands and carry messages for the Order. It was steady work, and Remus would never have to report his wages to Beast and Being, but it meant travelling -- fairly consistent travelling. Remus was reluctant to leave this flat, which he now considered his home in spite of himself, and he was even more reluctant to leave Sirius, for reasons he chose not to examine too closely.
"Might be a kick," Sirius said, his thumb brushing over the swelling in Remus' ankle. "Better than sitting around here all day long."
"Yeah, all right. I'll floo Dumbledore in the morning."
--
Remus' first assignment was a weekend trip to Aberdeen. The night before he was meant to leave, Sirius hovered like a Flitterbloom in dire need of a Pruning Charm.
"Have you packed yet?"
"Yes."
"Do you need any money?"
"No."
"What time is your train?"
"I'm doing a Portkey. Dumbledore set it for half six."
Sirius went quiet for a moment, his mouth taking a sullen twist. He was wearing a grotty t-shirt and a pair of jeans with more holes than denim, and Remus' chest pulled tight if he looked at him for too long.
"Maybe I should go with you."
"No," Remus said, a little too quickly. "You can't. I mean, I'm meeting some secret contact. I wasn't supposed to tell you about it."
Sirius padded across the kitchen, his bare feet rasping over the faded lino. "Are you hungry? There's curry in the frigidbox."
"There's always curry. You'd eat it three times a day if I didn't bring a pizza home now and then."
"Pizza is for savages."
"We're not having this discussion," Remus said. He watched the Dishwashing Charm finish the last of the plates, then wiped his wet hands on his jumper. "It makes me want to hit you in the snout with rolled up paper."
Sirius barked out a laugh, but sobered quickly, tilting his head as his fingers plucked at Remus' sleeve. "Just, be careful, will you?"
"Of course."
"Moony." Sirius sidled in closer, nudging Remus back against the sink.
Letting Sirius kiss him was a horrifically stupid idea; there was a war on, even if Dumbledore was the only one willing to admit it out loud, and Sirius had the attention span of a damaged Bludger, which meant Remus would eventually find himself eating cold takeaway on the couch while Sirius chatted up some bird at the local. But Sirius had soft lips, and he made a rough, inspiring noise when Remus curled a hand in his hair, and clutched at the front of Remus' jumper when Remus sucked his tongue into his mouth.
--
Remus came home from Aberdeen tired and sopping wet. Sirius was waiting up for him, drinking tea from a Pot Noodle and flipping through a Quidditch magazine, his feet propped up on the crate that passed for a table. The Muggle telly hummed quietly, its picture painting his face in flashes of red and blue. Remus hesitated in the doorway for a moment; he'd half expected Sirius to be avoiding him.
"Wotcher, Moony," Sirius said, looking up as the floorboards gave Remus away with a creak. "You're dripping on the carpet. Fall in a bog, did you?"
A Red Cap had jumped out at Remus from behind a pile of rocks he hadn't realised were ruins, then chased him into a bog before he could finish reciting the Lord's Prayer, but he didn't feel like talking about it just yet. "Something like that, yeah."
"There's a spell for that, you know," Sirius said, snorting. "Tergeo!" He tossed the magazine on the floor and patted the spot beside him on the couch. "C'mon, then. They're doing that programme you like. The one with the mad bloke who lives in a police box."
--
They kissed in the kitchen in the mornings, slow hands and soft mouths, the kettle bubbling on the stove and the thin, London sunlight streaming through the window. That was the warmest part of the day in their flat, the three hours leading up until noon, before the sun hid behind the hulking, five-storey Muggle tenement across the alley. The neighbour's crup barked at the post owls, and Sirius made their toast without a shirt, pinching Remus in the side when Remus kissed the freckles on his shoulder.
Sirius took a job at the start of the rainy season, tending bar at a Wizarding local in Whitechapel, more for the potential war intel than the money. On Sirius' days on, Remus did the shopping and the washing up and translated dusty, frightening old scrolls for Dumbledore and the Order; on Sirius' days off, they stayed curled on the couch all day, watching the Muggle telly and eating cold takeaway, Remus' mouth pressed to Sirius' neck and Sirius' hands tucked under Remus' shirt. Fucking on the couch was dangerous business; it dumped them off half the time, maybe because it was Transfigured, maybe because it wasn't big enough for that sort of thing. Remus always complained when they ended up sprawled on the floor, his head banging off the crate and his elbow stuck in one of Sirius' shoes, but Sirius would just laugh and suck another mark into Remus' throat, rubbing himself against Remus' hip as he wrapped his hand around Remus' cock.
Their flat leaked with the rain and creaked and sighed in the wind. Sirius still smoked with the windows closed and forgot the water the potted plants, and Remus still went out of town every couple of weeks, doing things he wasn't supposed to talk about with people he didn't really know. There was a war on, even though Dumbledore was the only one willing to admit it, but when Remus came home, Sirius was waiting for him.
When he came home, he came home.
--
"You awake, Padfoot?" Remus asked, mostly to the curve of Sirius' shoulder.
Sirius grunted and slowly opened one eye. "I wasn't."
"I'm off to Brighton in the morning."
"Bully for you. Bring me back a Blackpool rock."
Remus leaned over, kissing Sirius until his huffy, bleary noises began to sound encouraging. When he pulled back, Sirius was watching him with narrowed eyes.
"I don't suppose you can talk about it," he said.
"No."
"Well, be careful, whatever you're doing. I've got used to you snoring in my ear at night."
Remus kissed him again. "Yeah, I know."
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Rating: R
Word count: ~2,500
Summary: One week became two weeks became three weeks became a month.
Notes: For
escribo, and rs_small_gifts 2013.The door creaked open by itself as they reached the top of the stairs. Remus figured that was probably a bad sign.
"Don't mind that," Sirius said, waving Remus off before he could speak. "The frame's a little warped, is all. You know, from the damp. The building's Muggle-built, so every spell I try just slides right off."
They stood there for a moment, breathing in dust and uncertainty, until Sirius caught Remus' elbow and herded him across the threshold.
"Brilliant, innit?"
Remus chewed his lip as he took it all in -- the dingy, colourless carpet, the peeling lino in the kitchen, the dull orange and gold wallpaper, the naked light bulb buzzing angrily above his head. Everything smelled of unwashed laundry and cigarette smoke. A potted plant was dying at each windowsill.
"Absolutely."
Sirius snorted. "It's rubbish, is what it is. The ekeclicity is tetchy and the pipes rattle like anything. But it's mine, and it's paid for through 1983, bless Alphard's shrivelled old heart."
Another silence: Remus scratched the back of his neck and studied a spidery crack in the ceiling.
"I've plenty of room."
"Sirius."
"Moony."
"I'm all right."
Sirius leaned back against the door frame, folding his arms across his chest. "You've been sleeping at the boob station."
"The tube station, Sirius. The tube station, and it was only for one night." It had actually been two nights, but Remus didn't see the sense in adding more fuel to Sirius' fire. "Don't get your knickers in a twist."
"And where'd you sleep before that, then? No one's seen you in a month."
Remus frowned at the ceiling crack again, searching for an answer Sirius would accept. He'd spent his first three days out of school at the Three Broomsticks, half-hoping Madam Rosmerta would only charge him half, and then he'd moved on to do a full week at the Leaky Cauldron, free of charge because old Tom owed his father a favour. After that, he'd wasted the last of his coin on a string of Knockturn Alley flophouses, the kind of places that slept eight to a room and made you check your wand at the door, and then he'd gone to the tube station, which had been noisy and uncomfortable. His next stop would've likely been the Shrieking Shack; the ground floor never leaked and the parlour was warm enough with a fire on.
"Really, it's fine." Living with Sirius was a terrible idea, not least because Remus had been half in love with him since their fifth year of school. "I'll get a job, and -- "
"Not in London, you won't. You're on the bloody list."
Remus couldn't argue with that. So far, he'd been refused every job he'd looked into because his name was on the Werewolf Registry.
"Stop being a knob, will you?" Sirius said, batting his hair out of his face. "The rent's already paid. It's not like you'll be costing me anything. Besides, I really do have the space." He pointed at the couch, a boxy thing the colour of ash with the look and feel of Transfiguration.
"No."
Sirius sighed, then quirked his mouth and elbowed Remus in the side. "C'mon, Moony. I haven't lived alone in a hundred years. Would you believe I miss the sound of Prongs snoring at night?"
"You're either barmy or a liar."
"Please?"
"All right, all right. But only for a week, mind," Remus said, and Sirius smiled like a sunrise.
--
One week became two weeks became three weeks became a month. Every morning, Remus told himself today would be the day he moved out and lived on his own, and every night he found himself sitting on the couch with Sirius, listening to the Wireless or watching the Muggle telly Lily had picked up at a charity shop.
"She said what now?" Sirius asked, wiping his greasy fingers on the back of the couch, never mind that Remus had to sleep there.
He was a terrible roommate, far worse than he'd been at Hogwarts, with Peter complaining about the mess and house-elves following after him with a broom. He hogged the hot water. He left wet towels on the floor of the loo. He walked around in his pants, he smoked with the windows closed, and he left food on the counter to rot for days because he never remembered they had a Muggle refrigerator.
They ate takeaway almost every night; Sirius couldn't cook at wand point and Remus' skills peaked with a good builder's brew and a halfway decent cheese on toast. Their flat was on the edge of the Wizarding district, on a street that had been Muggle less that fifty years ago, taken over bit by bit as the Muggles slowly moved out, put off my too many things they couldn't explain, noises and shadows and flashes of light in the middle of the night. The next block up was brimming with restaurants and food stands; they could go two straight weeks without eating the same meal twice.
Tonight's supper was fish and chips, paid for with the money Remus had saved from the Muggle job he just lost.
"She didn't like my face."
"Go on."
"I thought it would be all right, working a Muggle job," Remus said, popping a chip into his mouth. "They don't believe in werewolves or vampires or -- any of that stuff, really. She wasn't even fussed when I asked for four days off."
"But?"
"She didn't like how I looked this morning," Remus admitted. The full moon had been rough on him; he had two black eyes and bandages on both hands. "She called me a no-good brawler. Said she didn't need that kind of trouble in her shop."
Sirius barked out a short laugh, wiping grease from his mouth with the back of his hand. "Fancy you having arms with anyone. I mean, you're stronger than you look, because -- well, because," he paused, making a vague gesture meant to infer Remus' furry little problem, "but you're rather not built for that sort of thing. You're all over bones and pointy bits."
"Tosspot."
"Wanker." Sirius leaned back, propping his feet on the wooden crate that passed as a coffee table. They were bare; he'd probably stuffed his dirty socks between the couch cushions when Remus wasn't looking. "Are you going to finish your fish?"
"Yes."
Sirius sighed. "Fine. Turn on the Wireless, will you? They're doing a Martin Miggs."
--
Remus lost his third Muggle job the same way he'd lost the first two; his boss had taken one look at him the morning after and told him to hit the road.
"I'm not even that badly off," Remus complained. Aside from a bruised cheek and a limp, most of this month's damage was hidden under Remus' clothes.
Sirius made a rough, irritated noise in the back of his throat. "Sod them." He was sitting on the open kitchen window, one leg balanced on the sill as he blew smoke at the fire escape. The potted plant nudging his foot was three days past dead. "Anyway, you hated that job."
"I rather did hate it, but it paid fairly well," Remus said, exploring his bruise with cautious fingers. "You know, money."
"I already told you, I've got plenty."
"It'll run out one day."
Sirius dismissed this with a lazy wave. "Not tonight, it won't. I've enough to keep us in firewhiskey and fags for another three years, at least. Speaking of -- I bought a new bottle of Ogden's Old this afternoon. Fancy a drink?"
"It wouldn't help."
"All right, but it wouldn't hurt, either."
Remus sighed and settled at the edge of the couch, curled up against the arm with his sore ankle stretched out. It wasn't properly sprained, but it still throbbed like anything and buckled if he put too much weight on it. He studied it for a few minutes, poking it and flexing his toes until the couch dipped and creaked. It was Sirius, with the Ogden's Old tucked under his arm; he took a swig straight from the bottle, then poured two fingers into an empty Pot Noodle and passed it to Remus with a shrug.
"Sorry. All the posh glasses are dirty," he said, like it wasn't his turn to do the Dishwashing Charm. He took another swig of firewhiskey, then set the bottle on the crate and leaned back, his hand curled gently around Remus' bad ankle. "If you're so arsed about making money, and that, why don't you take that job Dumbledore's got?"
"I don't know, really," Remus said, shrugging into his firewhiskey. "I probably should."
Dumbledore had made the offer twice already, cash under the table to run errands and carry messages for the Order. It was steady work, and Remus would never have to report his wages to Beast and Being, but it meant travelling -- fairly consistent travelling. Remus was reluctant to leave this flat, which he now considered his home in spite of himself, and he was even more reluctant to leave Sirius, for reasons he chose not to examine too closely.
"Might be a kick," Sirius said, his thumb brushing over the swelling in Remus' ankle. "Better than sitting around here all day long."
"Yeah, all right. I'll floo Dumbledore in the morning."
--
Remus' first assignment was a weekend trip to Aberdeen. The night before he was meant to leave, Sirius hovered like a Flitterbloom in dire need of a Pruning Charm.
"Have you packed yet?"
"Yes."
"Do you need any money?"
"No."
"What time is your train?"
"I'm doing a Portkey. Dumbledore set it for half six."
Sirius went quiet for a moment, his mouth taking a sullen twist. He was wearing a grotty t-shirt and a pair of jeans with more holes than denim, and Remus' chest pulled tight if he looked at him for too long.
"Maybe I should go with you."
"No," Remus said, a little too quickly. "You can't. I mean, I'm meeting some secret contact. I wasn't supposed to tell you about it."
Sirius padded across the kitchen, his bare feet rasping over the faded lino. "Are you hungry? There's curry in the frigidbox."
"There's always curry. You'd eat it three times a day if I didn't bring a pizza home now and then."
"Pizza is for savages."
"We're not having this discussion," Remus said. He watched the Dishwashing Charm finish the last of the plates, then wiped his wet hands on his jumper. "It makes me want to hit you in the snout with rolled up paper."
Sirius barked out a laugh, but sobered quickly, tilting his head as his fingers plucked at Remus' sleeve. "Just, be careful, will you?"
"Of course."
"Moony." Sirius sidled in closer, nudging Remus back against the sink.
Letting Sirius kiss him was a horrifically stupid idea; there was a war on, even if Dumbledore was the only one willing to admit it out loud, and Sirius had the attention span of a damaged Bludger, which meant Remus would eventually find himself eating cold takeaway on the couch while Sirius chatted up some bird at the local. But Sirius had soft lips, and he made a rough, inspiring noise when Remus curled a hand in his hair, and clutched at the front of Remus' jumper when Remus sucked his tongue into his mouth.
--
Remus came home from Aberdeen tired and sopping wet. Sirius was waiting up for him, drinking tea from a Pot Noodle and flipping through a Quidditch magazine, his feet propped up on the crate that passed for a table. The Muggle telly hummed quietly, its picture painting his face in flashes of red and blue. Remus hesitated in the doorway for a moment; he'd half expected Sirius to be avoiding him.
"Wotcher, Moony," Sirius said, looking up as the floorboards gave Remus away with a creak. "You're dripping on the carpet. Fall in a bog, did you?"
A Red Cap had jumped out at Remus from behind a pile of rocks he hadn't realised were ruins, then chased him into a bog before he could finish reciting the Lord's Prayer, but he didn't feel like talking about it just yet. "Something like that, yeah."
"There's a spell for that, you know," Sirius said, snorting. "Tergeo!" He tossed the magazine on the floor and patted the spot beside him on the couch. "C'mon, then. They're doing that programme you like. The one with the mad bloke who lives in a police box."
--
They kissed in the kitchen in the mornings, slow hands and soft mouths, the kettle bubbling on the stove and the thin, London sunlight streaming through the window. That was the warmest part of the day in their flat, the three hours leading up until noon, before the sun hid behind the hulking, five-storey Muggle tenement across the alley. The neighbour's crup barked at the post owls, and Sirius made their toast without a shirt, pinching Remus in the side when Remus kissed the freckles on his shoulder.
Sirius took a job at the start of the rainy season, tending bar at a Wizarding local in Whitechapel, more for the potential war intel than the money. On Sirius' days on, Remus did the shopping and the washing up and translated dusty, frightening old scrolls for Dumbledore and the Order; on Sirius' days off, they stayed curled on the couch all day, watching the Muggle telly and eating cold takeaway, Remus' mouth pressed to Sirius' neck and Sirius' hands tucked under Remus' shirt. Fucking on the couch was dangerous business; it dumped them off half the time, maybe because it was Transfigured, maybe because it wasn't big enough for that sort of thing. Remus always complained when they ended up sprawled on the floor, his head banging off the crate and his elbow stuck in one of Sirius' shoes, but Sirius would just laugh and suck another mark into Remus' throat, rubbing himself against Remus' hip as he wrapped his hand around Remus' cock.
Their flat leaked with the rain and creaked and sighed in the wind. Sirius still smoked with the windows closed and forgot the water the potted plants, and Remus still went out of town every couple of weeks, doing things he wasn't supposed to talk about with people he didn't really know. There was a war on, even though Dumbledore was the only one willing to admit it, but when Remus came home, Sirius was waiting for him.
When he came home, he came home.
--
"You awake, Padfoot?" Remus asked, mostly to the curve of Sirius' shoulder.
Sirius grunted and slowly opened one eye. "I wasn't."
"I'm off to Brighton in the morning."
"Bully for you. Bring me back a Blackpool rock."
Remus leaned over, kissing Sirius until his huffy, bleary noises began to sound encouraging. When he pulled back, Sirius was watching him with narrowed eyes.
"I don't suppose you can talk about it," he said.
"No."
"Well, be careful, whatever you're doing. I've got used to you snoring in my ear at night."
Remus kissed him again. "Yeah, I know."
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