All the Young Dudes ( Sirius' Perspective )

Sixth Year : New Normal

A stud is a lamb

With the thoughts of a tiger

Who moves like a cat

And knows how to ride her

But I can’t get no satisfaction

All I want is easy action, baby

 

Mid-December 1976

 

Avni knew how to kiss. She was clearly somewhat experienced, employing her tongue in a way that suggested previous practice. Florence was good with her hands, and Daisy had a filthy mouth, and Tessa knew how to move her hips just so. They were all lovely, pretty and eager and pliant.

And it didn’t matter one bit.

None of them, not a single one, could hold a candle to the forest fire that seared in his blood when Sirius was with Remus.

It was as terrifying as it was thrilling, a sensation like plummeting—as if he had jumped from the Astronomy Tower and was now in freefall, pretending he could fly. One day this will kill me, Sirius would think, pressing his mouth to Remus like he was starving, like he needed it, like he had never wanted anything else. One day we’ll crash. But he couldn’t make himself care enough to stop.

It was never Remus who initiated—only Sirius. He knew, vaguely, what this meant: that it wasn’t urgent for Remus the way it was for him, that the other boy didn't need it. When he let himself think about it, Sirius felt the slow creep of guilt, like he was using Remus, corrupting him—but his friend never stopped him, and Sirius was too selfish to stop himself.

So he didn’t. He kept going, dragging Remus into broom closets, empty classrooms, hidden alcoves. He snuck into Moony’s bed at night, shaking with the overwhelming force of his own desire. Never under the covers, of course—it wasn’t like they were queer. They were just...teenagers. Remus was clearly pent up, and Sirius...well, he still liked girls, obviously. Nobody could deny that, not when he had a new one in his lap every other week. He was still normal. What he had with Remus was just....different. Separate. He could keep them separate. Even when he found himself staring at Moony’s hands in class, watching those long fingers twitch as he took notes, thinking about how it would feel to have them tangled in his hair...

It didn’t matter. Sirius had self-control. At least—he had enough self-control to wait until they were out of class, until James had left for quidditch and Peter to find Dezzie. He had enough self-control to make it to the nearest broom cupboard, to wait until they were in the dark before sliding his hands under Remus’s jumper, tracing the patterns of his scars, running his tongue along the juncture of jaw and neck...

Yes, Sirius was very much in control.

Besides, he told himself, it wasn’t as if this thing with Moony was meant to last. Eventually, Remus would find a girlfriend, and whatever it was that existed between them would fade, and everything would go back to normal. Sirius wasn’t unreasonable; he knew that what they were doing didn’t actually mean anything to either of them. It wasn’t like it had been with Mary, where he was supposed to worry about feelings. That would be queer.