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Sirius’s thoughts are a slow-moving, impending disaster. How he wants to pin Remus up against the cupboards, to crowd him into a corner; how he wants to intertwine their fingers, to brush his lips against Remus’s forehead, his jaw. Instead, he settles for ducking his head and sliding a finger through the belt loop of Remus's jeans—a ridiculous gesture so utterly intimate, even for the pair of them, that he only allows it because he’s just drunk enough.
“Stop stealing my bloody clothes, Lupin.” He says, very quietly.
Remus looks up at him, eyes dark, and murmurs pleasantly: “Better learn to do your own laundry then, Black. Consider it my fee.”
***
It was an impossible thing, living with Remus Lupin--but Sirius was doing it anyway.
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Bookmarked by maraudersmap23
24 Sep 2023
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[18:12] Seriously, wrong number. Don’t send shirtless pictures to strangers.
[18:13] Padfoot, this rejection hurts.
[18:16] What’s a Padfoot?
[18:17] Wait, is this actually not Padfoot?
[18:19] I don’t even know what that is, but no. I’m not a Padfoot.
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Bookmarked by maraudersmap23
19 Sep 2023