hackthis_archive

Sorry about earlier, but one of my betas popped up right at the last moment, and I felt that subjecting you lot to a raw effort was mean, so I let her suffer first. FYI: This is Sirius/Remus, which is yet another new pairing for me writing-wise, so you know, I'm still trying to get the feel for them, gimme time.

Harry Potter
The Fairytale Way

The story is quite obviously not supposed to go like this:

Boy meets boy.

Boy befriends boy and several other questionable characters.

Boy finds out boy is not just any boy but also an animal three days out the month. It does not matter that boy has always wanted a pet.

Years pass, boy and boy maintain the air of friendship, with certain benefits, despite bouts of serious jealousy, questionable accidents befalling all potential partners, and vindictive, spiteful, evil, shrew-type queen mothers.

Boy finally admits being in love with other boy.

Boys settle down to fight That Slytherin Twat and live happily ever after -- until one gets sent to jail.

::

The story should go like this:

The boy is Prince Charming.

Prince Charming comes from a rich, noble family.

He cares about the family honour and all that other business.

He marries a nice girl and they have lots of Pureblooded ankle-biters.

That’s how it should go.

Prince Charming should not want a Prince Charming of his own.

He should not want to be just another boy, albeit one with a foul temper and rather large egotism issues.

The Prince is not supposed to leave the kingdom.

He is not supposed to show up on the doorstep of The Other Boy with only the robe on his shoulders, a wand in the back pocket of his flares and a broom on his shoulder. It’s not how things are done.

Imposition is not the English way. Or the fairytale way. Certainly not the Black way. Sirius is quite sure of all this. Except that Sirius isn’t living in a fairytale. Being a white-sheep Black is truly a rare accomplishment, and there are only so many places he can go.

So, when sixteen year-old Sirius leaves Grimmauld Place, he doesn’t consider the Potters or the Pettigrews. He doesn’t give a toss what people on the tube say about the long-haired boy carrying a broom. He hops the Piccadilly line from Knightsbridge to Green Park, changes to the Jubilee line and takes the first train to Kilburn. To the Lupins.

Because that’s how his story goes.

::

Sirius doesn’t remember the lectures about the Brothers Grimm in History of Magic. Then again History of Magic isn’t his course on the rota, and far be it from Sirius to attend a course that isn’t required by the Marauder Homework Ethic. That’s what mates are for.

Best mates have other perks, too: the ability to turn tea into butterbeer and create maps of certain secret passages. Best mates let you stay in their homes and sleep in their beds during the school year. Sometimes they know to comfort you even when you don’t ask for it.

Sirius’ first night away, the Lupin’s sofa feels too foreign and new. Sirius’ bed at home is 127 years young. Except that Grimmauld Place isn’t Sirius’ home any more, and he climbs the steps to Remus’ room in borrowed red and gold striped pyjamas, making sure to skip the creaking third and eighth steps, respectively.

Sirius is not surprised to find Remus still up and reading in bed, and rather than questioning his light-footed houseguest, Remus flips back the covers in invitation and begins to read aloud from the tome he’s perusing: Muggle Stories Derived from Wizarding Stupidity.

Sirius slips under the covers as though sharing a bed with Remus is the most natural thing in his world.

Right now, it is.

::

Prince Charming is not supposed to be looking for his Prince Charming.

It’s not something Sirius has ever been told, per se, but he just has this feeling. It’s that same feeling he gets right before James tries to hex him, or Peter‘s about to say something daft. The latter he doesn’t really need an instinct for, but Sirius doesn’t tend to pay much attention to his conscious mind. Instinct is everything to him.

But conscious bollocks and all that aside, there are quite a few things that Sirius is quite clear on. One, Remus’ mum is quite clearly the best cook in all of wizarding Britain, and she’s going to blow up Sirius so he can’t fit on his broom if he’s not careful. Two, sweating while sleeping next to Remus goes to prove that he clearly radiates more heat than any other person or animal on earth. And three, which perhaps should have been one, Sirius is quite certainly not Prince Charming.

His knowledge of Muggle stories is rather limited, but he’s quite sure that Prince Charming is supposed to have a horse, his own castle, and not bunk with the prince from the next kingdom over.

The Muggles never got their stories straight at any rate. Sirius didn’t need Remus’ book to know that fairytales are just Muggle explanations for some of wizarding kinds’ more unfortunate accidents.

There was that Animagus that got stuck in wolf form and wound up being beheaded by that woodsman. And then was that girl Squib who went to live with seven goblins, shame they weren’t able to protect her from her witch mum.

But those are fairytales, and Sirius is living in reality. He doesn’t need someone to come rescue him when Remus’ arm is slung low across his waist, and Remus’ breath is warm in his ear.

Remus sniffles in his sleep, nuzzling Sirius’ neck, and all Sirius can do is bite his tongue.

He desperately needs to have a wank, and it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t know any story like theirs.

They’ll make their own.

“All right?” Remus’ voice is scratchy and hoarse in Sirius‘ ears, and he blinks in the darkness. Sirius thought he was doing quite well with the not-kicking and fidgeting thing, and Remus sounds the exact same way after snogging sessions and Quidditch matches.

This is not helping Sirius’ predicament.

“Course,” Sirius says. “I’ve got my own personal furnace, complete with cold nose. How do you manage that anyway, the cold nose bit, because the rest of you is easily five degrees warmer, and –-“

Sirius’s train of thought derails when Remus nips at his earlobe, and he closes his mouth perfunctorily. They’re quiet for several seconds except for the rustling of the linens as Sirius turns on his side to face Remus. He blinks when Remus’ hand emerges from the covers to push his hair behind his ear. He blinks again, when that same hand reaches out and pushes Sirius’ hair behind his right ear.

“Can’t sleep?” Remus says finally, breaking the silence.

“Just thinking.”

“Sirius Nigellus Mordred Black thinking by choice? That’ll be the day.” Remus’ arm retreats back under the covers, and Sirius’ breathing hitches slightly when he feels Remus’ hand on his hip, sliding under the hem of his pyjama bottoms.

Remus’ fingers move in soothing circles, and Sirius finds himself inching closer and closer until they’re nose to nose. It’s been two months since school let out, and he’s forgotten what it’s like when Remus touches him. Or perhaps not forgotten so much as attempted not to drive himself insane by obsessing over it. He blinks when Remus’ hand changes direction suddenly, and there are warm fingers sliding through his pubic hair and seeking out his erection.

“Don’t worry, it’ll sort itself out,” Remus says, his lips almost brushing Sirius’.

“I never said I was worried,” Sirius retorts. Except his snort of derision turns into a low moan when Remus rubs the palm of his hand over the head of Sirius’ cock.

“Of course not. We can’t have the great Sirius Black worrying about things like family and shelter and school when there are pranks to pull and younger years to torment.”

Under the covers, Sirius’s hands have busied themselves with the string of Remus’ pyjama bottoms, and Sirius tastes blood as Remus’ hand begins to slide along his cock.

It’s not the most lubricated handjob he’s ever received from Remus, but under the circumstances, he couldn’t give a niffler’s arse. “Moony?”

“Yeah?” Remus’ breathing stutters when Sirius licks the palm of his right hand before sticking it down Remus’ pyjama trousers. Remus is heavy and thick in Sirius’ hand, and it takes Sirius several seconds to get his retort out.

“Piss off.”

As far as declarations of love and loyalty go, it’s not Sirius’s finest hour, but apparently Remus has his own built in translator for Sirius-speak, because he kisses Sirius, hard.

It’s messy and harsh, and Sirius spares a brief thought for the Lupins down the hall. If they throw him out for debauching their son, he’ll try Peter’s next. There’ll be no debauching there for certain.

Someone is making little keening noises, and they’re all Sirius needs to rush back to the present. A bite on the lip from Remus’ is all it takes for Sirius to come in his borrowed pyjamas. Before the lethargy can set in, Sirius works his left arm free from the bed linens so he can cup the back of Remus’ head and snog him.

Sirius’ kisses are fierce, and he can feel Remus’ sticky hand scrabbling for purchase on his waist. His strokes become shorter and quicker, and when Remus gasps his climax, Sirius pulls back enough to let him breath.

Their panting overlaps, and it reminds Sirius of the nights spent in the Shrieking Shack.

It’s probably not the best castle a prince could hope for.

::

They drift off to sleep after several Cleaning Charms and two changes of clothes: Sirius wearing a red kit supporting Puddlemere United, and Remus sporting a shirt leftover from a Muggle concert.

It’s late in the wee hours, and Sirius curls up behind Remus without second thought.

They fit the way people who belong together do, and Sirius thinks that this is a brilliant thing.

It may not be how Muggle stories go, but it’s how their story goes.

-finis-

Notes: This is not what I had intended to write, but it's what happened. Love to Lar for iconography, and mad love to