The air is so thick, it feels heavy. It drapes over his shoulders like some massive velvet cape. He shrugs a few times to try and lift it off. Nothing seems to provide him the relief he needs. He thinks about taking off his shirt but sees a small family walk by. The mom is staring at him with a saucy half smirk. He gives her a wink. He knows the neighborhood ladies love to talk about him. He loves to fuel their fire.
He looks back down at his work. Only half a yard left to mow. Half a yard until reprieve in the form of another cig, an ice cold beer and the sweet, sweet sound of Led Zeppelin.
It’s the middle of August 1980, and instead of frolicking through New York, using money like poker chips, he’s in fucking New Jersey. The goddamn armpit of America. Worse, he’s doing yard work.
He pulls the key out of the mower and pushes it back up the hill and into the shed. He jogs around the house, throws the screen door open and jumps into the kitchen. He pushes the headphones to hang around his neck. The beginning riff of “Hot Dog” blares out of the earpieces.
“Mrs. Lewis?” He shouts. “I’m all done. Did the lawn and the weeding and watered your pansies. I’m off for the weekend!”
An older woman wobbles down the stairs. She’s slightly overweight and favoring her right leg.
“Did you get the hydrangeas too?”
Sirius shoots her a megawatt grin. “Do I ever not?”
“Oh, you!” Mrs. Lewis giggles. She fishes around the table and comes up with her purse. “You’re such a ham. I bet you break all the ladies' hearts.”
She starts flipping through her wallet and Sirius turns on the charm. He feigns hurt and presses a hand to his sweaty chest. “Mrs. Lewis! Please! They break mine!”
She laughs again before handing over a wad of cash. She pats the top of his hand and gives him a warm smile.
“I gave you a lil extra,” she coos.
“You’re too kind,” He starts back towards the door. “Au revoir mademoiselle!”
He’s fully out the door by the time Mrs. Lewis can even reply through her fit of giggles. He starts to count the cash as he walks down to the street. Forty bucks. Twenty more than usual. That means he can get both beer and weed that weekend. He flips the tape in the walkman. His headphones slide back up over his mullet and “Carouselambra'' is chiming in his ears.
He’s back at his uncle’s in ten minutes. Alphard is nowhere to be found. Probably still on the beach in a speedo scaring the locals. Sirius grabs a PBR from the fridge and shimmies his way up to his room. As the album ends in his ears, he flicks through his records, humming along. He sets the vinyl down on a cherry red turntable and throws himself down to the floor as it starts up.
More Zeppelin.
Most of his collection is Zeppelin. Save for a few Bowie albums that Alphard had and some Bob Dylan his brother forced onto him. His jean-clad leg bobs along to the music on the floor. A cig pokes out of his mouth. He pulls it out so he can do his best rendition of Plant’s “please save me a slice.”
“Christ, do you only listen to Zeppelin?”
Sirius doesn’t even sit up to see who it is. He knows. He shrugs against the floor and takes a heavy drag. “Do you always smell like dirty fry grease?”
“Har har, dickwad.”
Sirius sits up with a smile. The man in his door frame is still wearing his apron and silly little hat from the burger shack. A ridiculous cartoon hamburger smiles back at him.
“Bad day, huh, Loops?”
The man sighs and slumps to the floor. “Someone shit on the floor again. Right in front of the toilet. Fucking gross,” he pauses and juts his chin towards Sirius’s cigarette. “Let me have one of those.”
He hands one, wordlessly, over to the only friend he made in this town. The man lights it and takes a drag that rivales Sirius’s most recent one and lets his head thud against the wall. His hat slides off his head and to the ground.
Remus Lupin was the only kid in town as weird as Sirius. Though, he was weird in a different way. He was tall and lanky, all bone and no meat. His face was bisected by a nasty scar. Sirius still didn’t know how he got it. Every time he asked, Remus gave him a different answer ranging from “meat cleaver” to “bear.” But, for as weird as he was, Remus Lupin was the only one who treated Sirius like a person and not an exhibit in the fun house. It intrigued Sirius in a way he couldn’t explain.
They’d met after Sirius had ordered a burger at the shack. He was sitting behind the establishment, one bite in when the back door nearly flew off the hinges and Remus came out in a swearing flurry. He threw his hat down and stomped on it with big black boots, all while cursing anything and everything. When he finally stopped and noticed Sirius, he asked if he had a lighter. The two then smoked the biggest joint Sirius had ever seen outside of the city. Sirius asked Remus if he liked music and that was about that. Then again, life wasn’t much more complicated than weed and music when you were eighteen.
Remus flicks the walkman, discarded on the floor. “I still can’t believe you have one of these.”
Sirius shrugs. “Was only like a hundred-fifty.”
“Hundred fifty is like my bi-weekly salary, dude,” Remus snorts. “But I guess everyone in New York must have them.”
“Nah, not really,” Sirius takes another drag and rolls his head on the floor to look at Remus. “You ever been?”
Remus shakes his head. “Never been further than Atlantic City and that place is—“ he shivers slightly. “Horrid.”
“Well you’ll have to come visit then!” Sirius says. He props himself up on his elbows to look at the other man. Remus has a curious sort of spark in his eye.
“You mean it?”
“Course!” Sirius says. “I’ll take you to my favorite bar. Get you hammered off cheap rum punch and find you a bunch of girls to kiss.”
Remus hums like he’d rather do anything else. Sirius raises an eyebrow. “What? You don’t like kissin’?”
“I — like …it?”
Sirius raises to sit on his ass. “You’ve never kissed a girl have you?”
Remus turns beat red. “Maybe I haven’t.”
“Dude!” Sirius cackles. “How’ve you not gotten to third base yet? We can be drafted and yet you’ve never even had a hand on your dick?”
“I didn’t say that,” Remus sneers.
Sirius laughs harder. “Oh Loopy, you dog!”
“So you’ve kissed loads of girls then?”
“Loads,” Sirius draws the word out. “More than you can count. I’m an expert, really.”
“Alright then,” Remus says. “Teach me, oh glorious expert of the make out.”
Sirius can’t help but cackle more. He moves back over to the turntable and lifts the arm. He pulls the vinyl off and goes back to sifting through his crated collection.
“Now, Loops,” he says. “When it comes to making out, whenever possible, put on side one of Led Zeppelin IV.”
Remus groans. “I should’ve known this would be Zeppelin propaganda!”
“Listen!” Sirius shouts before slipping the new record on. It crackles slightly. “Just listen and learn.”
Remus makes another exasperated noise and takes another drag of his cig. More crackling emits from the record player. Then, the first few strums of a guitar followed by Plant’s gravely voice blares out of the speakers.
“Hey, hey momma! Say the way you move. Gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove!”
The next riff is just as loud. Sirius begins to bob his head along in time, mouthing the words to all the lyrics.He throws his body back to the floor as the first chorus starts up. His hands fly up as if he’s playing his gorgeous red Stratocaster back home in the city. He sits back up and finds Remus, eyebrow raised in a sort of unamused fashion. The cigarette hangs loosely out of his mouth.
“You see, Loopy, darling,” Sirius reaches over and plucks it out. Remus grumbles in protest and rolls his eyes as Sirius takes a pull. “‘Black Dog’ is great for the beginning make out. Set the mood, you know?” He waves the cig. “Raunchy, fast, ass-grabbin’ and fast breathin’.”
“Delightful,” Remus deadpans.
“Then ‘Rock and Roll’ keeps that going, yeah?” Another drag on the cigarette. “Clothes could be flying off at this point.”
“Are you fucking or kissing?”
“Porque no los dos?”
“I failed Spanish, you know.”
“That’s the fun of making out,” Sirius says. He’s back on the ground, cig limply hanging out of his mouth. “You don’t know if it’s gonna end naked or with a fat hickey on your neck.”
“Hickies,” Remus takes the cigarette back and takes a drag. He holds his breath in as he speaks. “Are disgusting.”
“You’ve never had one, how would you know?”
Remus smirks down at Sirius. It’s this hungry little thing, making him look slightly wolfish. Something stirs deep in Sirius, and he twitches a bit. He tears his gaze from Remus and rolls back to his front. He props himself up and drags the needle across the vinyl. It makes a terrible noise but then launches into chiming, harmonic guitar plucking.
“This is where it gets good,” Sirius says. “The making out, that is. You’ve been going at it like wild animals and all. But this hit pops up and you slow it down. Get real in there. Lick each other's teeth and such.”
“You’re gross,” Remus comments. He’s whittled down the cig to its filter. He snubs it out in the ashtray on the floor.
“Loopy,” Sirius says plainly. “You’ve never been kissed. How would you know?”
“So show me,” Remus says.
Sirius blinks. “What?”
“Show me,” Remus repeats. “You’re telling me tonsil hockey is so fun and all that. Then show me.”
Sirius stares at him for a second. The plucking of the mandolin grows louder and Sirius can’t help but watch Remus’s tongue as it comes out to wet his lips. In truth, he’s less odd looking and more handsome with each second Sirius looks at him. Mousy brown hair and gold eyes. Even the scar is kinda nice, silvery at parts. Sirius wets his own lips and tilts his head to the side in agreement.
He shifts over to kneel between Remus’s long legs. He lets his hands fall down to bracket Remus’s hips. Despite the anticipation, Remus is calm. He watches Sirius, eyes darting back and forth between Sirius’s eyes and his slightly parted lips. His hands loosely lay on the floor. Sirius lifts one of his own. He gently lets his hand cup Remus’s jaw. He’s acutely aware of how clammy they are. Even more so, when Remus snorts.
“Nervous?” Remus whispers.
“Maybe,” Sirius says back.
“Don’t worry,” Remus tips his chin up and his breath ghosts over Sirius’s lips. “I’ve done this a few times.”
It’s all Sirius needs to push his lips into Remus and ignite a kiss, so hot it may be the sun. Behind them, the beginning riff of “Stairway to Heaven” plays like a soundtrack.