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"No, I won't."
"You might as well, at this point."
"No, I mean — " Sirius' hand fished around awkwardly in the back pocket of trousers he'd probably grown out of sometime fifth year — for Sirius it was a choice, and that alone must have lent it its elegance. It was something that caught Remus' attention — not the thing itself, but the inconsequential nature of attraction.
The point was not about the tightness of the trousers, but that this caused Remus to have time to ponder the metaphysics of trousers while he waited for Sirius to manoeuvre his hand around his own arse. It was much too sunny for this.
Sirius flourished paper at him — muggle paper, not parchment, folded twice and concave. Remus absently pushed back against the indentations as he read. "It's a lease."
"I am swearing off Blacks from here on out. Unless Reg wants to come beg me for money once Mum cuts him off, too."
"I thought Uncle Alphard only left gold to you."
"He did, but." Sirius shifted. His hand refracted the light of the sun as he grabbed the lease. "You know the cunty bitch only did it because — you know. He'll do it. He will."
"You're not likely to have any money to spare, anyway, once you've squandered it," Remus reflected. The wall was uncomfortable against his shoulderblades, but it was so warm.
"I can be responsible! It's perfect. There are cracks in the plaster, Remus!"
"Mm." Remus squinted into his smile.
"Fucker. You can visit during the holiday. You know, any time." The metaphysics of Sirius. "Jamie'll be at Lily's, or Lily at James', fucking like lovebirds or summat." It still possessed a certain physical power, though. It was only spring, and warmth was fleeting. Remus pushed away from the wall.