Day Three
Day Three:
On the third dan of Winterfic, Hazel gave to you, A West Wing AU with Coops!
“That’s good.”
Remus kept his eyes on his laptop as he typed.
The voice over his shoulder sighed, then crunched a peanut M&M. “That’s good.”
Remus pressed his lips together, kept typing.
“That’s—”
Remus lifted his hands from the keys. “Are you trying to freak me out?”
He looked up at Sirius, who just popped another piece of candy into his mouth.
“And—” Remus took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. He leaned back in his chair and stared at his computer, at the document that had barely five sentences on it. “And…”
“It sucks,” Sirius said.
Remus tossed the glasses down. “It sucks.”
“We suck.”
“We suck.”
There was a knock on Remus’ office door.
“Logan, don’t speak to us right now,” Remus said.
Logan arched a brow. “Finn said you’d have the draft by lunch.” Logan turned and shouted. “Finn—”
From far off, “I told you, I called the place, your order’s in! More people than you have to eat, Logan!”
“Are they burning my burger?” Logan shouted back.
“I said well-done!”
Logan made an unsatisfied sound and turned back to Remus and Sirius—Remus, still staring at him, Sirius still eating. “I like it when, if I dropped it on the floor, it’ll crack. Or just sit there.”
“Logan,” Remus repeated.
“Like a hockey puck.”
“Logan.”
Logan smoothed out his tie, looking entirely unbothered. “Finn said you’d have the draft by lunch.”
Remus spread his hands, gesturing around his office. “Do we look like we have the draft?”
Logan paused, then his eyes moved to Sirius. “Are you eating M&Ms?”
Sirius crunched. “Yes.”
Logan’s eyes went back to Remus. “Do they have peanuts in them?”
Remus gave a single, silent nod.
“So…it’s not going well.”
“No,” Remus said.
“And I should leave you alone.”
“Yes.”
Logan’s eyes went back to Sirius. “Can I have one?”
“Out,” Sirius said.
Logan put his hands up and retreated as told. He closed the door a little hard, though, making the shades drawn down over Remus’ office windows rattle. Remus and Sirius had been locking themselves away—even from their staffers—for a week now. One of the biggest speeches of the year was just around the corner, barely four days away now, and if they couldn’t open this right…Well. President Dumais had good numbers. They deserved to stay that way, and it was Remus and Sirius’ job to keep those numbers in place. They were the White House’s voice.
“We’re the President’s voice,” Remus mumbled.
“Well.” Sirius crunched on another candy. “We seem to have laryngitis.”
The door opened again, making the shades shake. Lily poked her head in, red hair twisted up neatly at the back of her head. “Hey, Re, me and Leo are going to the place. You want a salad? Sandwich?”
“For the love of God—” was all Sirius got out before Lily sucked air in through her teeth, mouthed sorry, and shut the door again.
Remus pushed his laptop away, rubbing at his eyes. “Okay. Maybe we should take a lap.”
“We don’t have time for a lap.”
“We have to.” Remus stood, cracked his back, and began trying to push Sirius towards the door.
“I’m sorry,” Sirius laughed humorlessly—made more humorous by the fact that he still had a handful of colorful M&Ms. “Did I miss the part where we are in high school gym class?”
“Move,” Remus said. “Come on. We’re gonna walk this off. Our talent has to be somewhere in this building.”
Sirius turned away from him, letting Remus pass towards the door.
“Come on,” Remus sighed again, opening the door. “You can bring your candy, you baby.”
Sirius only mumbled something that Remus couldn’t quite catch.
“Hm?” Remus said.
Sirius took a long moment to reply. He looked around Remus’ office. It was a mess, Remus had to admit. It usually ended up that way, no matter what he did, besides—maybe—during the days that followed New Year’s, when he made an annual promise to himself that he would keep it cleaner. That usually lasted about a week.
Sirius didn’t seem to be looking at the mess, though. He didn’t seem to be looking at anything in particular. His gray eyes—which Remus thought about more than he should—were unfocused. He had discarded his suit jacket somewhere, they both had. He looked handsome, with his dark, nearly black hair brushing his cheeks.
“What?” Remus tried again—gently.
Sirius shook his head in a frustrated way. “I said—maybe it’s not in the building.”
“What isn’t?”
Sirius sighed. He dumped the last of the M&Ms into his mouth and crinkled the wrapper in his hand. “Our…talent. My talent.”
Remus didn’t understand. “What, you left it on the train this morning?”
“Or it’s in New York. With the person who the President actually wanted for this job.”
Remus paused. The sounds of the outer communication offices drifted in through the open door—phones ringing, printers pressing ink onto white pages. The familiar smell of freshly cleaned carpet, and something else that Remus had always associated with ballpoint pens.
“What?” Remus asked again, at a loss. “What are you—why would you say that?”
“Because…” Sirius sighed, tossed the M&M bag into a waste basket, and closed his eyes. “Because I was his second choice.”
“Sirius.” Remus shut the door, surprised. “What? That isn’t true.”
“Yeah.”
“No, it…”
“I’ve always known it,” Sirius said. “I just thought I could do a good enough job and…” He shook his head. “Disprove it.” He laughed, humorless again. “I guess.”
Remus could only watch, at a loss to how Sirius, Sirius Black—just a little older than him, someone he looked up to and also maybe—maybe he also felt—
“How the hell can you think that?”
Sirius just looked down at his shoes. “I’m not an idiot.”
“Neither am I.”
Sirius’ fingers flexed like he wished he still had something to hold onto. “I know how long it took him to offer me the job, Remus. I know what that means. He was after someone else and—and they said no.”
Remus couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the look on Sirius’ face, hurt and frustrated and unsure—such rare emotions for him. Remus wanted to deny it all, but he had no idea, in truth, about who had also been on the short list for Sirius’ position. Even more, he wanted to press into Sirius’ mind that it didn’t matter.
“All right, fine.” Remus took a step forward. “Maybe that’s true, but—so fucking what? He got you. The President loves you. Everyone loves you.”
Sirius just shook his head. “It’s—If—Remus, God, I’m not trying to get you to say nice things about me.”
Remus laughed. “Fine. You’re fucking cranky. You’re a stickler for grammar and that drives people crazy—even if you are right. And you eat peanut M&Ms of all things when you’re frustrated which is really fucking weird. But they do.” Remus was right in front of him now, as if he could make Sirius believe him just by being closer. “They love you, Sirius.”
Sirius looked down at him, grey eyes and all. He seemed to chew over his words, mouth set, jaw working. Finally, eyes darting over Remus’ face. “They?”
Remus took a breath and held it. There had been moments like this before. If he was honest, there had been plenty of them. They had started out small. Touches that Remus made a point of telling himself meant nothing. Because this wasn’t a profession in which something like this could happen. They weren’t two peoplethat could kiss, breakup, get awkward around each other, not be able to talk to each other. They had to be loose. They were the White House speech writers. They had to be able to speak their minds—and sometimes read each other’s minds.
But then there were the bigger moments. Little hesitations in bars after wins, or loses. Sharing a cab home and a breath before goodnight. But Remus always ducked out of the cab. Always.
But they? They love you?
He’d walked right into that, sure, but Sirius had been the one to put a hand on the door to stop it from closing.
“Us.” Remus took a long breath. “Me.”
One moment, they shared that breath again. The moment to turn away, to slam the cab door, to look up with a cleared throat at the shelves of bottles on the other side of the bar. Call it a night?
But now, Sirius’ hand cradled his jaw, and Remus hardly had time to breathe in again before they were kissing. Remus let Sirius press the kiss into him, chin ducking with how it surprised him, and how badly he wanted it—had wanted it for so long. He tasted the cheap chocolate, the bitter-sweet false-colored candy coating. He imagined he could smell the occasional, victorious cigar that Sirius smoked, even though one wasn’t in sight. He could see him at the bar, the one they’d gone to after—when was it? Which—it didn’t matter. Standing outside on the dilapidated patio, smoke curling up. Remus could have kissed him then.
Sirius made some sort of noise, a soft wanting thing, and Remus felt his other hand curl around to hold the small of his back. They broke apart, Sirius’ breath coming out unsteady, only for Remus to curl his fingers into his hair and pull him back in, suddenly more than hungry for it. Only, there was—
“Wait,” Remus breathed. Sirius ducked down, breathing hard and resting his forehead against Remus’ temple. “God—wait.” Remus pressed a sloppy kiss to the corner of his mouth, unable to help himself.
“You think this is a bad idea,” Sirius breathed. “I…Remus.”
“This might be a bad idea, but I’m not stopping if you’re not.” Remus pulled Sirius’ mouth back to his for another hard kiss before breaking again. “I just think we’ve been interrupted enough times for one day. Don’t you?”
A rare smile from Sirius as his eyes darted to the door. “Oh. Yeah.”
Remus eased himself away, eyes lingering on the dip of Sirius’ throat that his loose tie revealed. He walked half-backwards, fingers fumbling for the lock, and felt it in his chest when it clicked, making the drawn shades rustle.
“Okay?” he said.
Sirius’ smile was brighter this time. “Okay.”