Chapter Text
Well, really, the whole thing is bullshit, because it’s not like Sirius isn’t out or like he even minds the rumors about him and James. He doesn’t—mind them, that is. Actually, he seems to think they’re hilarious. But James doesn’t reckon that his unlikely chances with Lily Evans are going to get any better the longer that she thinks he’s already in a relationship, and Remus is so sick of hearing James gripe about it that the idea just—slips out.
Both of them—and Peter, for that matter—think Remus is just shitting them at first, but when he doesn’t start laughing along with them, Sirius starts to take him seriously. “Wait a second—you’re not joking?” he marvels. They’re sitting in the dormitory; Peter is bent over the Marauder’s Map, picking at the spell that’s supposed to let you see all seven stories of the castle at once, and James is popping Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans into his mouth as Sirius leans forward in his bed, as if getting a closer look at Remus will illuminate his logic.
Even Remus doesn’t really know where the hell this is coming from, but he maintains, “Think about it. Both of us want Prongs to shut up about how gay Evans thinks he is, right? If people think I’m dating you, they’ll stop thinking you’re with James, leaving Evans free to reject Prongs for one of the two dozen other, more legitimate reasons she has to do so—”
“Gee, thanks, mate,” says James, rolling his eyes.
“—and the three of us,” Remus continues, indicating himself, Sirius, and Peter, “stop getting an earful of his toxic masculinity hour after hour every night. Besides, it’s not like you care if people think you have a boyfriend, right? I mean, you get a charge out of every time somebody accuses you of dating James, and it’s not like you have many dating prospects around here—if there are any other gay blokes within a year of us, they’re not coming forward anytime soon.”
“Yeah, but what about you, Moony?” Sirius asks. “If you start going around acting like you’re my boyfriend, you’re killing your own dating prospects, too—and then when James and Evans get together—”
“Appreciate the support,” James says as he pumps a fist in the air.
“—and we stop fake dating, all the birds are going to think you’re gay and not want to go anywhere near you.”
“Werewolf, remember? No girl is going to want to come anywhere near me already once she finds out what I am.”
He thinks James is buying it, but Sirius still looks skeptical, and Peter’s eyebrows have risen high enough to disappear under his hairline. “Not that it’s any of my business,” says Peter, “but volunteering yourself for something like this is really unlike you, Moony. Are you sure you want to—”
Remus shrugs. “If I’m stuck being single forever, I may as well put myself to good use and help a bloke out, right?”
If he’s being honest with himself—really honest with himself—his real reasons for offering himself up to Sirius as fake boyfriend material have nothing to do with helping Sirius help James out. But, well, who’s it going to hurt to keep those to himself if he goes through with this? If Remus wants to do a trial run of coming out, knowing that he can take it back after and claim it was all a ruse—worst-case scenario, he goes back to hiding who he is when all’s said and done, but best-case, people get used to it without the world falling apart, and Remus gets to stay out even after his “relationship” with Sirius unravels. And if he gets to cuddle up to Sirius a little in the meantime—
“Yeah, but will anybody actually believe you?” says Peter. “I mean, Prongs is the one Padfoot’s inseparable with. Why should anybody think that he’d go for you?”
It’s Remus’s turn to repeat, “Gee, thanks, mate.” Sirius cackles.
“Look,” James says, polishing off the last Bean and tossing the empty sack in the general direction of the trashcan between Peter’s bed and Sirius’s. He misses. “If you want to go for it so that I can go for it with Evans without her thinking she’s just my gay beard, I’ll owe you big time, but I don’t want you to do it unless you’re sure you’re okay with it, all right? I don’t want to be responsible for perfect Lupin jacking up his perfect reputation and have you resent me for forcing you into it later.”
“You’re not forcing me into it,” says Remus, rolling his eyes, “and I’m not going to resent you.”
He looks at Sirius, and Sirius looks back at him. “If we’re going to do this, we better do it right,” says Sirius. “So, boyfriend—” Remus feels a chill go down his spine “—when, where, and how exactly are we going to start going out?”
xx
The whole thing is done very publicly—a lot more publicly than necessary, in Remus’s opinion, but this is Sirius he’s dealing with, and Sirius never passes up an opportunity to do a thing like this all the way. Remus would have been perfectly happy to come up with a story about how he “started dating Sirius” in the privacy of their dormitory and just spread it around after the fact, but Sirius insists on staging the whole shebang—and so here they both are, sitting with James and Peter on the lake on a Saturday afternoon, surrounded on all sides by students drinking in the last of the September summer before the temperature starts to drop and they can’t avoid their mountains of homework any longer, when Sirius raises his eyebrows and Remus gives him a subtle nod.
Here they go.
“You’re gay, Sirius,” says Peter loudly, leaning back on his elbows and grinning lazily. “You’re telling me you’ve never thought about banging James? Not once?”
Already, eyes are starting to follow them—of course everybody at Hogwarts wants to hear about its one gay bloke’s sexual fantasies—and Sirius laps it up, giving Peter a sly grin. “I mean, sure, I have. With James’s arse looking like it does, who hasn’t thought about banging that man? I’ll bet you have, too, and you’re not even a fruitcake.” Peter glares at him—Sirius has gone off script here—but Sirius just smirks and plows on, “But I haven’t given more than a passing thought to it, honestly. James, mate, I love you, but you’re not my type.”
“Fine by me,” James drawls. “You’re not my type, either.”
“Then who is?” Peter presses. “I mean—out of all the blokes around here, who is your type?”
Sirius’s eyes flicker to Remus, running from his face down to where Remus is sitting hunched over on the ground, then back up. Sirius licks his lips, and Remus thinks he might die. He can do this, he tells himself. He just has to follow the script. Besides, it’s not like he’s going to give himself away—if anything, Sirius and James are going to be entirely pleased with him for giving a convincing performance.
“No,” says James dramatically. “Really? You’re saying you’d do Remus if he let you?”
“If he let me,” Sirius tosses out casually. “Pity he isn’t into blokes.”
It’s Remus’s turn to speak. He knows his line—he’s been rehearsing it in his head all day—but now that it’s time to actually say it, all he can manage to get out is, “Um…”
Sirius narrows his eyes at him—because he’s annoyed with him for fudging his line, Remus thinks, but it probably looks to outsiders like Sirius is deep in thought, trying to discern what exactly Remus’s reaction means. Sure enough, some of the onlookers are giggling. Finally, Sirius seems to realize that he’s not getting anything more out of Remus without his own interference, and he widens his eyes. “No—you’re not saying—are you?”
“I… I am,” says Remus hoarsely.
“You—and me?”
“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “I would.”
“For real? Right now?”
“Well, maybe not here,” mutters Remus. He’s doing a shit job of projecting all his lines for the whole lake to hear like he’s supposed to be doing, but he can feel enough pairs of eyes watching him—hear enough of a hush over the lake—that he doesn’t really think it matters. “But—if you wanted—?”
Sirius runs his eyes up and down Remus again. Time stands still for a second, and then—
The thing is, it’s bullshit, because Remus knows it’s all for show when Sirius swoops in and lays one on him, but it doesn’t feel like a show. Sirius’s mouth is firm and fast and insistent, and Remus can barely hold on for dear life, let alone kiss back—but he tries. He tries, and it goes on for far too long, but when it’s over, it’s over way too soon.
Led by Peter and James, people around them are whooping, but Remus can hardly hear them. He tries to snap himself out of it—it won’t do for Sirius to start wondering why Remus is so winded—as Sirius says, “C’mon, Lupe. Dormitory. Now.”
Sirius leads him by the hand all the way up from the dirt, across the grounds, through the castle, and up the stairs leading to the seventh year boys’ dormitory. When they finally get there, the door snapping shut behind them, Sirius lets go at once. Remus’s hand is sweating for reasons that have nothing and everything to do with Sirius having been holding it. “Dude, choke much?” says Sirius, scowling.
“Sorry. I’m not… I just…”
“Yeah, well, I should have anticipated that—you’ve never had much of a flair for the dramatic, mate. I think I covered for you okay. People are just going to think you’re being brainy loner Lupin like usual.”
“Sorry,” Remus says again.
“Seriously, though,” Sirius continues, “we can’t have you freezing up every time I try and touch you—we’re going to be doing a lot of it until Evans gives in to Prongs or Prongs gives up on Evans, and Prongs is way too stuck on her to give it up before it’s been at least a few months. If you’re going to be my boyfriend, you’re going to have to learn how to be my boyfriend.”
Remus’s mouth suddenly feels dry, and he swallows hard. “So what are you saying, exactly?”
“Well,” says Sirius, “first of all, we’re going to have to do something about the way you kiss.”
“What’s wrong with the way I kiss?”
“I hate to break it to you, dude, but you kiss like a dead fish. Just—come here.”
“What?”
“You’re never going to convince anybody if you keep kissing me like you’re not into it at all.” Sirius hasn’t got any idea how much Remus actually is into it, but if Sirius thinks Remus’s unenthusiastic reaction is because he’s not, well, Remus doesn’t intend to ever allow him to find out just how wrong he is. “So get over here. You’re going to have to do something with your hands, by the way—don’t just dangle them limply like that. Honestly, haven’t you ever snogged anybody before?”
Remus stares dumbly at him, and Sirius’s mouth falls open a little. “Wait, you’ve never—back at the lake, that was your—?”
“Padfoot, man, don’t you think you would have known about it already if I’d ever snogged anybody before?”
Sirius cocks his head to the side. “Yeah, I guess that’s fair. Look—Moony—I’m really sorry. If I’d have known that was going to be your first—”
“It’s fine,” Remus mumbles. “It’s what I asked for, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but nobody’s first kiss should be a fake one put on for the benefit of a whole bunch of staring people. I’m giving you a do-over.”
He can’t believe his life right now. “What?” he repeats.
Sirius rolls his eyes. “You’re not going to freak out on me about how I’m secretly trying to turn you gay or anything, are you? Because I swear, I don’t have an agenda here.”
“No,” says Remus, stunned. “I just didn’t think—why would you do that for me? You don’t even like me that way.”
Shrugging, Sirius says, “Well, it’s half a do-over and half a lesson, because I wasn’t kidding when I said we seriously have to do something about your technique. Anyway, kissing is kissing, isn’t it? Just because I don’t want you to really be my boyfriend doesn’t mean I can’t get behind a little lip-on-lip action. Even when I was dating girls—” he shudders “—the kissing part was never the problem.
“Now, put your hands…” He pulls back, his own hands gripping Remus tightly by the shoulders, and scrutinizes him for a moment. “On my cheeks,” he concludes. “But, like, don’t just hold them there like you’re scared to move them—you’ve got to move them around after a minute. Pull on my hair, or put one of them on my neck or my chest or wherever.”
“Okay,” mutters Remus, positive that he’s blushing. He raises his hands into the air, hovers there for a second, and then gingerly places them on both Sirius’s cheeks.
“Good. We’ll start slow, okay? Kissing is kind of a push-and-pull thing—try and match my pace. And Moony?”
“What?” he says, positive that he’s somehow already managed to do something wrong.
Sirius grins. “Try and enjoy yourself, okay? This is supposed to be fun. People who aren’t weirdo loners like this.”
Somehow, Remus doesn’t think that not enjoying himself is going to be an issue, but he doesn’t dare tell this to Sirius. All too fast, Sirius is putting his own hands on Remus’s neck and leaning in—and then—
xx
“Moony—Padfoot—have a little decency,” Peter mutters. “You two are having way too much fun over there. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were dating for real.”
“Keep your voice down,” says James, even though Peter’s voice is already pretty damn low. “Evans is going to hear you.”
“She’s not going to hear him,” Sirius says with a roll of his eyes. He pulls his head off of Remus’s shoulder but keeps his arm looped around Remus’s waist, his fingertips tracing idle circles through the fabric of Remus’s robes. “Quit being so paranoid. It’s entirely unbecoming. Anyway, the good news is that Moony’s getting much better at this, aren’t you, Moony? It’s been a whole two weeks since I’ve heard anybody make any comments about me and Prongs, thanks to this one.”
He lowers his hand to grab at Remus’s bum, and Remus actually yelps and jumps a little at the contact. Peter and James roar with laughter. It’s the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year, and they’re walking along the grounds of Hogwarts toward the village; they’re planning on raiding Zonko’s together when they get there, but then they’ll split up so that Remus and Sirius can go on their first official date—or what the rest of the castle thinks is their first official date, anyway. For Remus’s part, he knows exactly what this means (or doesn’t mean) to Sirius, even if he’s allowing himself a little leeway to pretend like he doesn’t.
They haven’t kissed in private since that first day, when Sirius told him he wanted to make up for Remus’s shitty first kiss and gave him a twenty-minute demo on how to bite lips and touch tongues and grope each other through your robes. Remus feels like he’s living a double life—allowing Sirius to shower him in all this public affection, then turning right around when the doors close and never so much as brushing fingers. If this keeps up, he’s going to go insane. If this doesn’t keep up—if and when this ends—he’s going to be devastated.
He and Sirius are in The Three Broomsticks when Sirius snatches up his hand and starts tugging him in the direction of the restrooms. “What?” says Remus blankly, even as he’s following Sirius across the store, around the corner, and through the unlocked door.
“Evans and Macdonald just walked in,” Sirius explains. “If they noticed us heading for the loos, they’ll definitely notice if we’re making loud groaning noises in here for—oh, let’s give it a quarter of an hour, shall we?”
“Padfoot, I’m sure Prongs will appreciate how thorough you’re being, but is this really necessary? I mean, Evans already knows we’re dating—‘dating,’” he corrects himself in an undertone. It’s not like Remus wants to discourage Sirius from playing up their relationship, but, well—it wouldn’t be very characteristic of Remus to go along with all of it without question, would it? If he doesn’t put up any protests, Sirius might get suspicious.
“Dude, if we’re going to do this, we shouldn’t be doing it halfway. I told Prongs I would deliver, so I’m going to deliver. If we suddenly stop showing each other any affection, people might start to think we’re not as into each other as we really—well, you know what I mean.”
“Right. And what do you propose we do in here while we’re ‘making groaning noises’ for the next fifteen minutes?”
“Well,” says Sirius, reaching around Remus to lock the door behind him, “I have a few ideas.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I already told you—kissing is kissing. We’ll have our eyes closed—you can just pretend I’m somebody else. Besides, bathrooms echo—people are going to figure it out if they hear us talking instead of macking on each other in here. So mack on me. Let’s go.”
He literally rolls up his sleeves and then wraps his arms around Remus’s waist. Remus gulps. He doesn’t think he’s going to need to pretend Sirius is anybody but himself in order to get through this.
He thinks they lose track of time a little because it’s definitely more than a quarter of an hour before they hear banging on the door from the hallway. “Hurry it up, lovebirds,” calls an irate voice that Remus recognizes as Frank Longbottom’s. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to get in there?”
Remus starts to hastily fix his tousled hair and askew robes, but Sirius grabs his hands and pulls them away. “Leave it,” he says. “We have appearances to keep up, remember?”
“You can’t tell Prongs,” Remus mutters. “Or Wormtail.”
“Why not? If all goes according to plan, they’re going to hear about our little excursion anyway, and when they do, Prongs will just be happy that we’re giving him extra cover. Come on—if we hurry, we’ve still got time to scope out Honeydukes before visiting hours are over.”
xx
They’re in the dormitory when it happens again. James and Peter are passed all the way out—Remus can hear them both snoring, and not the fake kind they try to do when they’re really just eavesdropping—and Sirius and Remus are sitting half a meter apart on Remus’s bed, Sirius trying to catch Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans in his mouth as Remus flicks them at him. But then Remus runs out of Beans, and when Sirius tries to say goodnight, Remus comments, “Gross. Go brush your teeth first, grungy.”
“Dude, since when do you care about my hygiene habits?”
“Since I have to snog that mouth every day,” says Remus without thinking.
“Yeah, but you’re not snogging me now—unless…”
They look at each other. Sirius quirks an eyebrow.
Three months ago, Remus never would have dared to do anything like this—but three months ago, Remus hadn’t gotten comfortable with the reality of what it’s like to kiss Sirius Black day in and day out, to waltz around the castle with his hands on Sirius’s waist and shoulders like they own the place. He lunges forward; their teeth knock together, but Remus doesn’t care—he steadies himself by grabbing hold of Sirius’s pajamas and dragging himself upward by them, or maybe dragging Sirius down to his own level, he’s not sure, and Sirius twists them around and pushes until he’s got Remus pinned to the bedspread. Their fingers interlock, and Remus surges upward as best as he can, meeting Sirius’s ramrod-sturdy resistance—and he never wants this to end.
But it does end, of course. Sirius wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his pajamas and stares at Remus like he’s never seen him before, and then he stumbles backward out of the bed and yanks the hangings on his own four-poster so hard that they rip.
At dinner the next day, James is whistling. “Your service terms are complete,” he informs Remus and Sirius as he wedges in between them on the bench and grabs himself a couple of turkey legs. “Evans and I have a date!”
Remus doesn’t look Sirius in the eye—hasn’t looked Sirius in the eye all day.
xx
He’s avoiding being alone with Sirius these days, so it’s a good few weeks before Sirius manages to pin him down (figuratively, this time). “We need to talk,” says Sirius, and he sounds so earnest that Remus is sure he knows what admonishment is coming.
“I need to get to the library. I—”
“Remus,” he says, and Remus stops. “I owe you an apology.”
That wasn’t what he was expecting to hear. “For what?”
“For… taking advantage of you the other night. I know you’re not interested in me like that, and I shouldn’t have…”
Remus’s breaths are coming out in shallow puffs. “You didn’t take advantage of me. I knew what I was doing.”
“Yeah, but I’ve been making excuses for myself for a very long time—I’ve been using you, and I haven’t been honest with you. I just wanted so badly to let myself believe that I wasn’t feeling what I was feeling, you know? You were allowed, and he wasn’t—” Remus suddenly feels ice-cold “—and I just thought, if I could remind myself that I can feel good fooling around with someone who isn’t him…”
“Who is ‘he,’ Sirius?”
Sirius looks away. “You know. You know already. Do you really need me to say it?”
And then it hits Remus—it only ever could have been him, couldn’t it? “You’re in love with James,” he says.
“I was supposed to be over him by now,” whispers Sirius. “By the time you and I broke up—‘broke up’—I was supposed to be free of him. Instead, I’ve just dragged you into it and made a mess of our friendship.”
“This… was about convincing James you aren’t in love with him as much as it was about convincing Evans, wasn’t it?”
Sirius looks away, finally. “Do you hate me?”
And Remus could never hate Sirius—that’s the whole problem. “I think people do stupid, selfish things when they’re lonely,” he says, but he’s not talking about Sirius.