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Fem in a Black Leather Jacket (Gonna Take Him Home with Me)

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"Punk" isn't the first adjective Remus would use if asked to describe himself. Peeking around the heavy curtain from his vantage point backstage, he sees very few knit sweaters in the small but slowly growing crowd. He fiddles with his drumsticks anxiously.

When Lily first asked him to fill in for Tonks (who couldn't make the show because of some family drama Remus was too polite to ask about), his worries were threefold. Firstly, his presence would disrupt The Unlucky Mothers' all-female energy, though Lily, Alice, and Marlene assured him they would persevere despite. His second worry was one of aesthetics. Remus was certain he'd look like a school librarian who'd accidentally wandered into a punk show.

"You know, Remus, the most punk rock thing you can do is be yourself," Lily had told him, sat on the edge of his bed as he searched through his closet for something black.

"Well, I can't go on stage looking like a grandad, can I?" Why is everything he owns wool or tweed?

"You go everywhere else looking like a grandad, so why not?" she had teased. Decidedly unhelpful. He settles on an old Act Up t-shirt, a pair of jeans that shrunk in the wash, and uncombed bedhead. That feels close enough. Given the angle of the stage, hopefully no one will notice his rather grandad-like shoes.

His third, final, and greatest worry is performing. On a stage. In front of people. It's no stadium show and none of the bands are famous by any means, but Remus has been watching audience members steadily flow into the room since doors opened. Before tonight, he could count the number of people who had heard him play on his fingers, a few of which being his neighbors who didn't have much choice. Drumming is a form of stress relief for Remus. Hitting something hard and making a lot of noise all while being creative and productive. But tonight, it seems the opposite of calming. What if he fucks up and throws off the rest of the group? What if his hands sweat too much and his drumsticks fly out of his grasp? What if he single-handedly wrecks his friends' up and coming fanbase through his own incompetence? What if--

"Quit looking at them if it makes you so nervous," Lily appears suddenly, nearly startling him out of his ill-fitting jeans. He last saw her with one of the guys from the opening band. The Debauchers or The Rabblerousers or something like that. The guy (the scruffy one with the glasses) was clearly trying to chat her up and she seemed to be allowing it.

"I can't," Remus protests. He fears if he looks away the crowd might surge up and eat him alive. "How do you do this on a regular basis?"

"Confidence, Reems. I asked you to do this for a reason." She stands on the tips of her toes to reach up and further muss his hair. "You're a rockstar, darling."

Remus scoffs. "Thanks for the support but I think that's your title."

"Takes one to know one," she shrugs. "Me and the girls are going up to the balcony. Are you coming or would you like to continue stewing?"

Remus isn't quite sure he's ready for an aerial view of the crowd yet. "I think I'll stew for a few more minutes, if that's alright."

"If you insist. Make sure you get up there by the time The Marauders start playing. Don't tell any of them I said this, but they're actually quite good."

"Too late, I heard you!" calls a laughing voice coming up from behind Remus. He turns his head to see a wild-haired man moving towards them in a manner that can only be described as swaggering.

Lily groans. "Fucks sake, Black, I wish you hadn't. If your head gets any bigger, you'll lose balance and fall right off the stage." The harshness of her words is contrasted against an affectionate smile as the man slides a leather-clad arm around her shoulders.

"Nothing wrong with a healthy ego," he defends without denying it. It's probably natural to feel that way when you look like that, Remus thinks.

"Well, see if you and your healthy ego can calm my drummer down better than I can." Remus scoffs again, indignant. As if siccing an attractive man on him will make him less nervous. Lily steps out of the leather-jacketed man's loose grasp and calls over her shoulder as she walks away, "Break a leg!" Whether she's referring to the upcoming performance or the new assignment to "calm the drummer", Remus isn't sure.

Leather Jacket smiles, baring prominent canine teeth that do nothing to detract from the handsomeness of his face. He addresses Remus, "Why, Nymphadora, you're looking very different. Let me guess. New dye-job?"

Remus laughs at the reference to Tonk's ever-changing hair. Their apparent mutual friendships make Leather Jacket's swaggering confidence a little more approachable. He gives a shrug, doing his best to play along. "Needed a change, you know how it is."

"Well, it looks great on you." He quickly looks Remus up and down. ...Oh. "So what's your actual name?"

Confidence, Reems, the little Lily in his brain echoes. He straightens his back slightly as he answers, "Remus."

"Hello, Remus. Sirius Black, at your service." He flourishes his hand with a little half bow. "So I hear you're a drummer."

"Lucky guess." He casually twirls one of his sticks through his fingers. Sirius doesn't have to know that he's been practicing that trick for years with mixed success. "And I'm guessing you're a..." He trails off with a thoughtful noise, taking this excuse to give Sirius a once over in return.

Sirius takes a step back to allow him a better look, ostensibly for his assessment. He's really more pretty than handsome now that Remus has had more time to look at him, his features somehow angular and soft at the same time. His eyes are sharpened by winged eyeliner and Remus is both intimidated and intrigued by the piercing in the center of his lower lip. Beneath the leather jacket is what looks to be a Maurauder's t-shirt raggedly cropped in half, exposing his stomach. Low-heeled boots put the two of them nearly eye to eye.

"Bass player?" Remus offers as his conclusion.

Sirius raises an amused eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"

"Your hands." Glittering red and gold nails sparkle persistently at the ends of long fingers, despite the polish being nearly chipped away in places.

He smiles his sharp-toothed smile again. "I'm afraid that's incorrect but thank you for playing."

"Never was very good at guessing games. What do you do, then?"

"I sing." He shrugs in an imitation of modesty, unconvincing from someone wearing their own band's t-shirt. "And play a bit of guitar."

"If I had known you were the frontman, I'd have asked for your autograph," Remus teases.

Sirius laughs, grey eyes crinkling at the corners. Remus is pleased to see that he can take a joke. "I've been practicing, if you want one. Though maybe I should be asking for yours since you have the coveted Evans Stamp of Approval."

The drummer's stomach turns at the reminder of the upcoming performance despite the compliment. "Well, we'll see if I can keep it after tonight. Hopefully I won't cock it up."

"You'll do great," Sirius assures him, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. When that doesn't seem to work he leans in slightly, voice lowering to ask, "Would you like to hear a secret trick?"

"Sure," Remus answers, matching his low tone.

"If looking at the people gets to be too much for you, just close your eyes real tight. You don't have to see them and they'll just think you're in the throes of musical passion. That's what I do."

Remus's eyebrows raise in disbelief. "You don't strike me as someone who gets nervous."

He waves the assumption away. "I get nervous all the time. Singing, making important phone calls, talking to handsome boys, et cetera."

At that last example, Remus smiles in spite of himself. Damn it, Lily was right. Sirius is making him feel better. "Are you nervous now?"

Sirius isn't touching him anymore but with the way the singer-slash-guitarist is looking at him now, Remus wishes he was. "I'm quaking."

A short, blond guy chooses then to pass them by, hurriedly tuning a bass guitar. "Sirius, finish your flirting. We've got--" He checks his watch as he walks away. "Five minutes."

"Alright, Pete." Despite his theatrical mannerisms up to this point, Sirius's sigh of disappointment seems genuine. "Well, I don't think I was quite done flirting but duty calls."

"You can finish later," Remus is offering before his brain can second-guess it.

Sirius's eyes light up again, his lips quirking into a sort of half-smile. "Is that a promise?"

"Unless Lily has been sorely mistaken and your music is terrible, yes."

He gets the suspicion that Sirius is a man who likes a challenge. He gives Remus another up and down look, this time slower and completely unabashed, and grins. "Oh, we'll put on a show for you."



Remus joins Lily and the rest of the band upstairs just before the lights dim. The four of them seem to be the only ones up there, the rest of the seats marked "reserved". Being in a band has its perks, Remus is starting to realize.

"What'd you think of Sirius?" Lily prods knowingly as Remus takes his spot next to her.

"He's certainly something," he answers to her apparent amusement.

"He certainly is."

The Marauders take the stage. Sirius and the guy Lily had been talking to take up their guitars behind their microphones, each with no small amount of swagger, followed by the blond bassist Remus had briefly encountered backstage. A lanky redheaded man takes a seat behind the drums and counts them in with the wooden clack of his sticks, and just like that the first song is off to a deafening start.

Sirius is fun to watch, mostly because he's clearly having fun himself. Even standing in one spot, confined by guitar and mic stand, he's animated and expressive. His hair may as well be a fifth member of the band. It's not surprising that he's a good performer. The man had stage presence even without a stage. By the time that first song ends, Remus notices he's forgotten to watch anyone else.

"How is everyone tonight?" Sirius asks in the pause between songs, pushing his long hair out of his face during the answering "woo"s. "These beautiful boys and I are The Marauders and we're delighted to be here opening for our good friends, The Unlucky Mothers."

The audience erupts into applause at the mention of the band. Remus looks to the three women in the balcony with him, all three grinning proudly. In this brief moment, the honor of being asked to take part in something so important to them, even temporarily, eclipses his fear of mucking it up.

"By the way--" Sirius cups his hands around the microphone to stage-whisper, "I'm trying to impress someone so I need you all to be very enthusiastic and make me look cool, alright? Help me out." Remus's stomach does a pirouette.

The crowd laughs before cheering compliantly. Sirius pumps his arms up, urging them louder and louder until the crowd is making as much noise as they can. "That's perfect. Keep that up. This next song is about mummy issues."

Remus finds himself genuinely enjoying their music, though he had no real doubts that he would. Lily Evans is a woman of trustworthy taste, however their reasons for enjoyment may differ a bit. One song contains a long, raspy scream that leaves Remus both impressed by Sirius's lung capacity and slightly aroused. He can't tell if Sirius is trying to be sexy or if it comes naturally in the way he moves and the timbre of his voice.

He can't tell, that is until one of The Marauders' final songs. In the second repeat of the song's chorus Sirius continues singing (or a muffled version of it) while vanishing an impressive amount of the mic into his mouth, to the laughter and whistles of the audience. He doesn't take his eyes off the balcony as he does it. Remus was promised a show.

"Subtle, isn't he?" Remus says out loud, mostly to himself.

Lily looks at him and bursts into giggles.


"You look like if you were wearing a bra, you'd be throwing it onstage."

"I could say the same to you," Remus volleys back with a wave towards the bespectacled lead guitarist (James, Sirius had introduced a few songs ago), who is currently standing on top of one of several amps.

"Touché," Lily admits, glaring with narrowed eyes.

The Marauders finally exit the stage with a few deep bows, the promise of t-shirts and records available (Remus might have to get one), and a very sweet hype-up of the next band. Remus is excited to hear them for all of three seconds, at which point he remembers that he's in the next band. And instead of watching from his nice reserved seat, he'll be performing.



Just off stage, Alice and Marlene each hold one of Remus's hands in a bid to prevent them from shaking. They go on in seconds.

"You got this," Lily coaches. Remus feels like a boxer in a film about to enter a prize fight. He just needs a shiny robe and a shoulder massage. That might help, actually. "Now you say it."

Obediently, "I got this."

"We're rockstars," Lily leads.

"We're rockstars," the rest of the band repeats, Remus a beat behind the other two.

"Alright, let's go," Lily says, punctuating her support with a pat to his cheek that verges on a slap. She turns on her heel and walks out to the sound of applause. Oh god oh god oh god.

Alice's strong bassist's hand between his shoulder blades nearly pushes him out into the bright, colorful lights of the stage. There's still cheering, which is a good sign. They didn't immediately boo at the sight of him. From those cheers he can pick out familiar vocals from the second level, where The Marauders are now occupying the same space The Unlucky Mothers had just been. Sirius smiles brightly and waves, which Remus finds more comforting than perhaps he should given that they've had one conversation. James blows a kiss, which Remus can safely assume was not meant for him.

Luckily, the first song starts off with guitar. He simply has to stay in rhythm, follow Marlene's lead, and try to make enough noise to drown out his own frantic heartbeat. Alice soon joins in with the baseline. Lily begins to jump in place as she calls all girls to the front.

"I mean it! Come on, I want to see all your lovely faces. Fellas, take a step back if you'd be so fucking kind." Sure, Remus is terrified. But he's also excited to see Lily command a stage, even if he has to watch the show from behind.

It's doesn't feel as terrible as he thought it would. In fact, it feels kind of good. Once the initial shock wears off, he can enjoy the experience of playing with a full band, something fairly new and exciting for him. His eyes do occasionally stray into the crowd, away from their safe landings on his friends or his drums. He follows some recently imparted advice and shuts his eyes tight, focusing instead on the sound and the practiced movement.

Remus manages to play really well, to his own surprise. He nails a particularly complicated drum solo, one he had spent the whole week practicing. An appreciative audience member rewards him with a shouted fuck yeah! Okay, he can definitely see why people do this on a regular basis.

The rest of the set passes in a blur, probably due to either the adrenaline rush or the amplified sound rattling his brain around. Before he knows it, the last song is ending and Lily is introducing the band members.

"And Mr. Remus Lupin on the drums, filling in for Tonks." The audience claps politely as he does his best seated bow. He'll blame his blush on the heat of the stage lights.

Alice and Marlene each throw their picks into the crowd. It looks like it feels cool so Remus, latent rockstar, tosses a drum stick out into the pit. Not forgetting his main audience, he sends the other high and far towards the balcony. Sirius leans so precariously far over the ledge to grab it that Peter, the bassist, grips the back of his jacket as a precaution.

It does feel pretty damn cool.



They're on their way to The Three Broomsticks, a pub Lily likes that happens to be conveniently close to Remus's flat. The two bands walk together mostly en masse with the exception of the pair lagging behind the rest of the group, keeping conspicuously slow pace with each other.

Remus feels very, very good. He has his first live performance under his belt, a pretty man walking alongside him, and a new vinyl record tucked under his arm, courtesy of The Marauders.

"You were fucking incredible," Sirius says. He aims a playful elbow at Remus's side. They're walking close enough together that it's easily within reach. "All shy and nervous and then you absolutely destroy it."

"You were pretty incredible too." He tries not to blush at the praise. He doesn't have anything to blame it on here. He continues, grasping desperately for smooth, "Consider me thoroughly impressed."

The guitarist gives another dubiously humble shrug. "I aim to please."

Sirius blinks slowly like a cat, Remus notices as they hold each other's gaze for just a little too long. He's searching for something to say when Lily falls back from the larger subgroup to join them. She wraps an arm around Remus's waist as they walk. "Did you have fun playing riot girl for a night?"

He nods and drapes his arm across her shoulders in return. "Thank you for asking me to do this." He means it. He thought he was doing her a favor but the way this night's gone, it seems to be the other way around.

"You're very welcome, mon frère. Is that another specimen for your collection?" Lily asks, pointing to the record. He holds it out so she can look at it. The cover is a drawing of a black-maned lion wearing red lipstick. Sirius had refused to let him pay for it.

"You have a collection?" asks its latest contributor.

"He's got a whole bookcase full," Lily intercepts before Remus can answer. She points an accusing finger at him. "You were about to be modest about it, I could tell. You're always so damn modest. It really is quite something, Sirius. The record collection, that is."

With a smile verging dangerously close to a smirk and his voice just a little too innocent to be innocent, "I'd love to see it sometime."

Remus shakes his head in a sort of joyous disbelief. "You lay it on thick, don't you?"

"I'm not big on subtlety," Sirius admits. His intense gaze shifts oh-so-casually away from Remus, moves on to inspect his own nails. "I can back off, if you want me to. If it's too much."

"Don't," Remus insists, and Sirius's eyes snap right back to him. "It's a lot, but... I think I like it."

Sirius smiles like a sunrise, slow and blinding and beautiful. "Good."

"Did James just say my name? Well, better go see what he wants," Lily pipes up, reminding the other two of her presence. Funny, Remus didn't hear James say anything. "You boys have fun." She makes a hasty getaway from this conversation, leaving her two friends alone with each other.

Remus takes a deep breath. Confidence.

"So... How badly do you want to go to this pub?" He tries to shape his voice into the middle ground between light and pointed.

Sirius looks up at him knowingly and replies in the same tone, "I could take or leave it."

"Thought maybe you'd like to see that record collection." He unconsciously holds his breath as he waits for an answer.

"I thought you'd never ask," Sirius says. A blatantly untrue statement.

Remus finally takes Sirius's hand and leads him away from the group. Apparently not as stealthily as he had intended because someone from their combined bands, Remus doesn't look to see who, wolf-whistles after them, setting of laughter and cheers of encouragement and a shouted reminder to practice safe sex.



"I do actually want to see your records, you know," Sirius says as they ascend the stairs to Remus's front door. "I'm not that kind of girl, Mr.-- What's your last name?"

"Lupin," Remus answers with a laugh, unlocking the door. God, he hopes the place isn't too terrible a mess. He wasn't exactly expecting company.

"Mr. Lupin," Sirius finishes, mockingly stern, as he follows him inside.

"Tea?" he offers, postponing his initial impulse to back Sirius up against the door right away. It's been a while since he's brought a man home. He's fuzzy on the proper order of operations. Instead he ducks into the kitchen, leaving Sirius to peruse his belongings. Maybe if he busies himself with tea-making he can stave off the self-consciousness threatening to rise up.

"So this is where the magic happens?" Sirius asks from the tiny living room. Remus looks up from the stove to see him standing by the drum-set, unglamorously housed in the corner of the room. He taps his painted nails across the hi-hat, making a faint metallic ting-ting-ting. "Think you could teach me something?"

"Maybe when my neighbors aren't definitely asleep." He and Minerva, the old lady he shares a wall with, have an agreement that he can play during certain hours as long as she can make the occasional request. He secured this deal by buying her a pair of earmuffs.

"Neighbors. Got it. I'll hold you to that, though," Sirius says with determination, stepping reluctantly away from the drums and towards the large bookcase where the vinyl is held. "I'm thinking a 'pottery scene from Ghost' sort of setup."

While the kettle boils, Remus leans back against his kitchen sink and watches Sirius browse his shelves. As fun as it is to watch him flirt and dance and scream, it's just as nice to watch him quietly read. 

"Alphabetized and by genre," Sirius notes, breaking the brief quiet.

Remus gets the sense he's being teased. "Nothing wrong with being organized."

"Of course not. I like a man who pays attention to detail." He punctuates this with a wink.

Maybe he's being teased little differently than he thought.

"God Is My Co-Pilot, Pansy Division, Team Dresch," Sirius reads aloud, touching each record as he names it. He pulls a Tribe 8 record off the shelf and holds it up as if it was a piece of evidence in court. "I thought you said you weren't punk rock."

Remus scoffs as he pours hot water into a pair of mismatched mugs. "I enjoy punk rock. To say that I am feels like a stretch."

"You rock, therefore you are." He places the record back where he found it (in its correct alphabetical place, Remus notes appreciatively. His Marauders record will soon go between Limp Wrist and Mouthfull).

"You haven't seen me during the day. I usually look like a holloween costume of a maths teacher," he feels compelled to argue. He rounds the counter separating the kitchen from the living room, a mug in each hand.

Sirius hops up onto the edge of the counter, next to where Remus stands, and takes the mug offered to him. He's the taller of the two this way. "A cool maths teacher, I'm sure." His thigh touches Remus's arm where it rests on the countertop.

"Not really," Remus laughs dryly, eyes looking down into his mug. "More of the boring sort. The kind who alphabetizes."

"Well, I think you're pretty fucking cool, Remus. Far from boring." He places a finger under the drummer's chin, tilting his downcast face back up to look at him. "And who didn't fancy a teacher or two?"

Remus moves then, slowly placing himself in front of Sirius, between where his feet hang above the floor. His hands rest on the cool surface of the counter on either side of his hips. He really doesn't have much of a game plan. His body is just telling him to get closer and for once he's listening.

Sirius smiles another one of those sunrise smiles. "Are you going to kiss me now?"

Remus traces a fingernail absently down the outer seam of Sirius's worn black jeans. "I'd like to." He's surprised he hasn't yet. He thinks Sirius might be too.

"You're blushing." He looks amused. Or maybe fond. Maybe both.

"Yeah," Remus admits. It feels like it's spreading across his whole body. "That happens."

Sirius places a hand against his cheek, long fingers curving around his jaw, and leans in until their noses almost brush. He's just as pretty up close.

"Kiss me, Remus."

With that permission, he does. It's a hard kiss, earning a little noise of surprise from Sirius that quickly shifts into one of satisfaction as he takes Remus's face between both hands and kisses back like he's making up for lost time.

The feel of a lip ring is new for Remus but not too much of an obstacle. It's actually kind of hot. He considers tugging lightly at it with his teeth but worries that could hurt. Maybe he'll ask later, when they're willing to separate enough to talk, or breathe. Instead he lets his hands travel up Sirius's thighs, over his hips to take hold of his waist. His exposed skin is soft and warm beneath the leather of his jacket, and Sirius responds by sucking his tongue into his mouth. Fuck, he's been waiting all night for this. He lets out a soft whine when Sirius breaks the kiss.

"Hold on, let me--" Sirius makes a fumbling attempt to rid himself of the jacket, confident composure knocked askew. Remus may be a little too proud of that. He smiles to himself as he leans in and licks at Sirius's throat. "You are not helping." It doesn't sound like a complaint.

He finally manages to free his arms and sinks his hands into Remus's uncharacteristically messy hair. The sleeves of his crop top are also, of course, cut off, exposing a few tattoos and a nicotine patch. Remus continues to mouth across his neck and jawline to gently set his teeth to his earlobe (the one that doesn't have a safety pin through it). "How do you feel about hickies?"

Sirius scoffs with a lopsided grin. "A maths teacher, he says." He tilts his head back and looks down through his lower lashes. "Knock yourself out." Remus starts at the hinge of his jaw, sucking a red spot into the skin there. He nips at it with his teeth for good measure, drawing out a sighed, "Fuck." Sirius's hands pet across his shoulders and back as he trails open-mouth kisses and bites across his neck.

Without thinking, Remus tangles his fingers in Sirius's hair and tugs, only enough to pull his head back just so but also enough to potentially hurt. He's is about to apologize but the shaky gasp of pleasure Sirius lets out tells him that isn't necessary. He feels the thrumming pulse beneath his tongue and his too-tight jeans are feeling even tighter.

"The bedroom's right over there," Remus invites, somewhat muffled against Sirius's skin. He's happy to stand here turning Sirius's neck into a pointillist painting all night if that's what he wants but he gets the feeling (pressed against his stomach) that they both want more.

"Lead the way," Sirius answers. Remus can hear that he's smiling.

He helps Sirius down from the counter. He doesn't need it but it seemed the gentlemanly thing to do, and Sirius must agree because he rewards him with another kiss. And another. They stand there, distractedly kissing until Sirius reminds, "I believe we were going somewhere."

It's a small flat and they're there in a matter of seconds. Sirius flops down on the bed first like he owns the place. Remus is laughing as he climbs on top of him, until he's quieted by another enthusiastic kiss and two hands sliding down to palm his ass. Maybe these jeans weren't so bad an idea. They rock against each other, mostly an unconscious motion of want until Sirius's hands pull Remus more roughly against him. Remus takes the hint (if you can call it that) and presses his hips forward in a deliberate grind.

Sirius bites down on his own lip halfway through a moan. "Sorry. Forgot about the neighbors."

"Fuck the neighbors," Remus dismisses (sorry, Minerva) and kisses Sirius before he can make an innuendo out of it. Sirius groans loudly into his mouth, possibly just because he can. 

"It's a great cause and all but I need this gone," he says, pulling on the hem of Remus's t-shirt. His own crop top is impatiently pushed out of the way, effectively just a dark strip of fabric over his collarbone, covering nothing.

Remus sits up and takes off his shirt. He's never thought much of his own body, perfectly average if not a little scrawny, but Sirius regards him with heavy eyes and sharp teeth. Remus bends down to kiss him again (God, kissing Sirius is amazing, and he had thought being on stage was a rush) but before he can reach, Sirius's hand moves up his bare torso to find his nipple, forcing out a soft ah! of equal parts surprise and pleasure.

"That was beautiful. You ought to take up singing."

He's joking and Remus wants to banter and flirt back, he really does, but between the fingers playing with his nipple and the feeling of clothed cock rubbing against his own, all he can say is, "Sirius."

At that Sirius moans and drops his hands to Remus's zipper. "Fuck, please let me blow you. I've been thinking about it all night, Jesus fucking--."

"Won't that microphone be jealous?" Remus manages to ask through his thick cloud of arousal.

Sirius laughs out loud, his head falling back into the pillow, displaying the reddening marks on his neck. He sits up, pushes a willing Remus onto his back, and presses a kiss to his chest. "I don't think the microphone will mind."



"Jesus H. Christ, you really went to town, didn't you?" Sirius calls from in front of the bathroom mirror. Remus, still in bed, can see him craning his neck back to see all the marks. They're both still naked. Remus's breathing still hasn't quite gone back to normal.

He flings his arm over his face in embarrassment. "Sorry."

"Oh, that wasn't a complaint." He turns out the bathroom light and crawls back into bed. He smiles at Remus, almost conspiratorially. He always seems to look like he's just gotten away with something, or like he has a fantastic secret he can't wait to tell you. "You're fucking incredible. I should send Evans a fruit basket."

Remus can only laugh breathlessly in response. He stretches his arm out lazily and Sirius takes the invitation to curl into his side and splay a hand over his chest. He's glad they both seem to be cuddlers. They spend a few moments in companionable silence, Sirius faintly tracing patterns on Remus's chest. Remus could fall asleep. In his comfortable haze, he hopes he doesn't wake up alone.

"So stop me if this is weird..." Sirius actually seems nervous. Remus can feel tension in the body against his where it had felt nearly boneless only minutes ago.

He pries one eye open. "You're off to an interesting start."

"I know you've only just met us and all, but Arthur's missus is pregnant again so he's been talking about quitting The Marauders. Definitely once the kid's born, maybe before. James and Pete and I were talking while you guys were playing and of course I thought you were fantastic, obviously, and so did--"

"Did you have sex with me to get me to join your band?" Remus laughs, no real heat behind the accusation.

Sirius lets out a little huff of laughter, a hot puff of air against Remus's collarbone. "I wanted to sleep with you before I wanted you to join my band. I have my priorities in order, thank you."

Remus hums thoughtfully. "Does the sleeping together have to stop if I join this band of yours?"

Sirius answers with a long and thorough kiss. He tugs Remus's lip between his teeth as he pulls away, grinning.

"Not if I have any say in it."