At the Pub, Part 1
“Thanks, I think it’s what my students call the Loony Lupin style, though I’m sure they’ve got worse names for me behind my back. But it’s sexy, right?”
Remus was talking to Rita, who was ruffling his hair and giggling flirtatiously.
“But I can’t compete with this guy,” he said when Sirius sauntered over with a pitcher of beer. “Hey, Curly Locks, what took you so long?”
“Oh, look at you, you got a pitcher for the table!” Rita shouted.
“The table?” Sirius scoffed. “Hell no, this is all mine, bitches. Now shove over, don’t you know I want to sit with my boy.”
Rubeus, who was sitting on the other side of Remus, courteously moved to a chair and beckoned for Sirius to join them, leaving a space the width of at least two men on the long bench for him to sit. All of the adults in the cast and some of the crew were there, and together they took up three round tables at the pub. It was clear to Sirius that some of them had slammed back a few shots before he arrived – Remus, for example. He was in his nice first stages of booziness: confident, flirty, and happy.
There were a few big drinkers in the bunch, but Sirius and Remus were known to get utterly wasted on the regular. Sirius was a fun drunk, always wild and sometimes naughty. Some of his best memories involved alcohol; he loved exotic beers from little-known breweries, he never puked no matter how much he drank, and he’d never had a hang-over that couldn’t be cured without a glass of orange juice and a spicy breakfast burrito. He would often lead his friends in a round of boisterous song or climb something, anything – trees, fences, playground equipment – whatever was around.
Remus’ experience of liquor, however, was more of a mixed bag. When he drank, he would first become entertainingly chatty, letting his guard down (and he had a very dedicated guard). As the night wore on and the liquor kept flowing, he would get silly and stumbly, slurring his words and losing his balance, eventually becoming incoherent. Then, when he was very, very drunk – and he was often very, very drunk – he would stop speaking entirely and turn in on himself, seeming to be locked in some deep, dark place inside his mind, and that was a sure sign he was getting ready to either pass out or vomit, remembering nothing the next day.
Now, Remus was slamming back his favourite drink, a double gin-and-tonic. He preferred hard liquor to beer, though at the pub he’d guzzle eagerly anything set in front of him. Sirius filled his own glass and the glasses of the others at the table who were having beer, and poured a little from the pitcher into Remus’ mouth, where it spilled over his chin. They both laughed and clinked their glasses together.
“Check out old Severus being the fanciest arse in the place,” whispered Rubeus, and Sirius looked across to the far table where he saw Severus, seated between Horace and Pomona, sipping daintily at a glass of red wine.
“I’m gonna tell him off later,” Remus smirked, “just wait’ll I get a few more drinks in me.” He tipped his glass to his lips. “Liquid courage!” Banged it down on the table. “I might also tell him he’s hot. Maybe.”
Sirius gaped. “You think he’s hot? The man who rejoiced at treating you like shit all day?”
“Little bit.”
That brought the conversation round to dating, and why so many of them were single, and which one of them would literally die if they didn’t get laid soon (Quirinus), and which were getting laid plenty but not by the right people (Sirius).
Rita asked Remus, “What about you? You’re adorable, smart. You must be beating them off you with a stick.”
“Yeah, right,” he scoffed. Then he lowered his head and mumbled almost imperceptibly into his drink, “Have you seen this face?”
“Well, actually, I’ve been wanting to ask you, love,” she said, “what exactly did cause those scars?”
Rita was new to the company that season, so she was still getting to know everyone, and as a newspaper reporter, she wasn’t one to hold back out of politeness when she had a deeply personal question to ask.
“Fought with a werewolf,” Remus replied without missing a beat. A ridiculous enough answer that there was no way to question it without sounding like a fool. It was his way of saying this was much too big to talk about over drinks, his way of saying, “I was abused” without having to actually say the words.
Whether or not she understood, Rita changed the subject and didn’t ask again. Sirius breathed a sigh of relief knowing Remus could enjoy the night without having to explain himself. He’d tell Rita the truth later, to keep her off his back. For now, he was thinking of that little comment: Have you seen this face? It killed him.
He put his arm around his friend and rubbed his shoulder, eliciting a sweet and grateful smile. Remus leaned over and put his head on Sirius’ shoulder, and Sirius ran his fingers up through Remus’ hair at the back of his head.
“Why is everyone playing with my hair tonight?” Remus slurred, referring to Rita’s earlier flirting. “I must be looking cute.”
Sirius laughed. “You are. And I’m about to buy you a drink. ‘Nother g and t, Romeo?”
“Please.”
When he got back to the table with the gin and tonic and a fresh pitcher of beer, everyone was laughing as Rubeus’ big, friendly voice boomed out, “So I says, ‘No offense, ma’am, but most folks would carry the iguana on their shoulder, if you see what I’m gettin’ at!’”
Sirius snorted, “Wish I’d heard the leadup to that punchline!” Rubeus worked in an animal shelter and always had funny stories about the pets and the people who adopted them. “Tell another one, Rube.”
As the large, gentle man started in on another tale, Remus leaned down and pressed his lips into Sirius’ shoulder as a thank you for the drink. Sirius grinned and returned the affection by running his fingers up and down Remus’ back, though he wasn’t sure if his friend could feel it through his sweater. There was a time when he had had those lips on his. It was about a hundred times, actually. Sadly, none of them were real.
He and Remus had been in a play together; their characters were a gay couple and, yes, there had been one wonderful, romantic kiss in the final act. Looking back four years on, Sirius could see that it had been a pretty lousy script, with the kiss written in to make it risqué and draw attention to the production. But at the time… oh, how that kiss had seemed exactly right. He still remembered the warmth of Remus’ open mouth, the lazy movement of his tongue taking its sweet time sliding through Sirius’ own mouth like melting chocolate. And then once while rehearsing the scene he had let himself murmur just a hint of what was on his mind: “This is so hot, I love it.”
And Remus had come back with an astonished, “Whoa, now, don’t ruin a friendship over a role.” And he’d laughed, and Sirius had realized he was right. They had an amazing friendship; he’d never been so close with anyone. He wasn’t willing to lose that to a desire he could easily satisfy through other means – there were plenty of men (and women) eager to spend the night with him. Still, he missed those kisses that had made him want to grab Remus by the hair and hold him there, keeping the two of them where they fit together best, like lock and key.