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It was official: Hufflepuff threw the best fucking parties. Everyone knew it, everyone pretended to argue otherwise, but when the night fell and the spells dimmed the torches to a sultry gold glow, every student worth a damn gravitated to the cellar corridors like moths to flame.
The common room had been transfigured for the occasion—sofa cushions scattered like sacrificial offerings on the floor, candles floating and twirling lazily above drunken heads, and some ambitious seventh-year had charmed the walls to throb and pulse to the beat of Bowie’s Rebel Rebel.
There were no stupid house rivalries tonight. No Slytherin-Gryffindor glaring. No Ravenclaw scoffing at the idiocy of the rest. Not here. Not in the Hufflepuff Den of Sin™. This was neutral ground. This was party fucking ground.
And in one of the deeper corners of the room—half swallowed by shadows and smoke—Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and James Potter lounged on a battered but comfortable golden sofa, surrounded by half-empty bottles of firewhiskey, joints passed around like communion, and the residual haze of sex, sweat, and too much damn teenage heartache.
Remus was high. Of course he was. He was always high. Not the clumsy kind either, not stupid high—Remus was elegant about it. Calm. Languid. Like being slightly detached from the physical world gave him a goddamn sense of superiority.
James had his own cigarette—lazy smoke curling upward—and was currently half-listening to Sirius and Remus bicker about something that didn't matter.
Sirius was pouting like a kicked puppy, arms crossed dramatically. “I don’t see why you get to smoke yourself into the stratosphere every night but when I try, it’s suddenly ‘bad for my health’ and ‘ruining my brain cells.’ Like, sorry, Dad.”
Remus, who was very clearly blitzed out of his fucking mind—red-eyed, lazy-smiling, legs stretched out like he owned the floor—didn’t even open his eyes. “Because your brain cells are already on life support, Black.”
Sirius gasped. “You bastard.”
“Shut up,” Remus said affectionately. He flicked ash into a stolen goblet and then, without warning, yanked Sirius by the collar of his vintage Muggle shirt and pulled him directly onto his lap. “You're happier here anyway.”
And he was. Instantly.
Sirius sighed like the drama queen he was, melting into Remus like wax, his head falling back onto his shoulder with practiced ease. “Fuck. Fine. You win. I love you again.”
“You never stopped,” Remus murmured into his hair.
James gagged. Loudly. “Merlin, can you two not do foreplay where I can see it?”
Sirius smirked at him, lazily making heart shapes in the air with his fingers. “Jealous, Potter?”
James rolled his eyes. “Of you? Fuck no. I’d rather wank into the Whomping Willow.”
“You probably have,” Remus muttered.
James raised his middle finger but didn’t bother turning. “Fuck off.”
He sank further into the couch, adjusting his glasses with one hand and downing the rest of whatever cursed drink had been left in his lap. Someone had shoved it at him earlier and called it “Wiggly Wizard Water,” and it tasted like blueberry piss, but it hit. Hard.
“Fucking... I don’t know what the fuck this is,” James was saying, waving a hand vaguely toward a drink someone had shoved in his hand. He sipped it anyway. “Something fruity. Not bad though. Probably spiked to hell.”
“You sound surprised,” Remus mumbled, his voice low and syrupy, like he was speaking from underwater. He passed the joint to Sirius, whose eyes lit up like a bloody Christmas tree.
Sirius, dramatic as always, took it with exaggerated reverence and dragged deep. “You let me this time. Fuck me sideways, it’s a miracle.”
Remus rolled his eyes lazily. “Yeah, well. You're insufferable when you're sober and annoying when you're high. Pick your poison.”
Sirius grinned with all teeth, his hair a wild halo of sweat and curls. “You love me.”
Remus didn’t respond, but when Sirius turned to face him with that feral, manic grin, Remus tugged him by the front of his shirt and pulled him right down into his lap.
Sirius folded there like he belonged, leaning back into Remus’ chest with a satisfied, “Fuck yes,” and letting his head drop back onto his shoulder.
James made a half-hearted retching sound, but he was grinning too. “You two are fucking disgusting,” he muttered.
“Jealous, Potter?” Sirius crooned, lazily exhaling smoke rings at the ceiling.
James snorted. “Of you? Never. I like my partners less likely to hex my bollocks off if I look at someone else.”
“Excuse me,” Sirius said, feigning offense. “I’m the picture of emotional maturity.”
Remus snorted so hard he choked on smoke.
The music shifted. Something slow and pulsing. The room felt like it was vibrating from the inside out. Somewhere near the center of the dancefloor, Marlene McKinnon was definitely making out with Dorcas Meadowes to the point where they were either going to combust from friction or end up horizontal.
Mary Macdonald was dancing barefoot, hair wild, and Lily—gorgeous, radiant Lily—was laughing with her, flushed and alive, red hair glowing under the candlelight like a goddamn beacon.They were friends now. Real friends.
She’d stopped slapping him every time he opened his mouth.
He’d stopped pretending she was the only girl in the world.
Now they shared drinks and middle fingers and the occasional knowing glance when Sirius said something profoundly stupid.
No strings. No chasing. No heartbreak.
James leaned his head back. Closed his eyes. Exhaled smoke.
But fuck—he did want someone.
Not Lily. Not some random snog in the Astronomy Tower. Not a body to hold for an hour and then forget.
Someone who could match him. Someone who didn’t flinch at his loud mouth or mind games. Someone who wanted more than just a party.
Problem was, everyone around here was boring, brainless, or batshit.
No one was good enough. Not yet.
Sirius shifted in Remus’ lap, stealing another sip of firewhiskey from someone else's cup. “Tell me I’m pretty,” he demanded, voice syrupy and slurred.
“You’re the prettiest fucker in the room,” Remus said instantly, eyes still half-closed.
“I know, but say it again.”
“You’re disgustingly pretty,” James offered helpfully.
“Not you.” Sirius snorted.
“Hey!” James protested. “I’m charming as fuck.”
“Yeah,” Sirius said. “Like a charming goblin. A very hairy goblin.”
Remus chuckled and bit Sirius’ ear lightly. “Shut up and let me get high in peace.”
Sirius melted again, spine going soft, hand trailing lazy circles on Remus’ thigh. “Don’t let me do anything stupid.”
“You’ve already failed,” James muttered, watching someone vomit glitter onto a ficus.
Remus took another slow drag and passed it back to Sirius. “He means don’t do anything else stupid.”
Sirius nodded solemnly. “Too late.”
They sat like that for a while—three idiots on a sofa, surrounded by sweat and smoke and magic.
Peter still hadn’t reappeared.
James leaned forward eventually, elbows on knees, squinting through the mess of bodies and booze. “I swear, if that little fucker actually gets laid tonight, I’m hexing myself.”
“Don’t be bitter,” Sirius said, half-laughing. “You’ve got your fan club.”
James looked over at the blurry, giggling group of third-years who’d been eyeing him all night like he was a goddamn rockstar.
He grimaced. “They’re twelve, Sirius.”
“Emotionally, they’re your level.”
“Fuck you.”
“Already taken,” Sirius grinned, pressing a messy kiss to Remus’ jaw.
James groaned and reached for another drink. “I need to get obliterated.”
“You’re halfway there, love,” Remus said, voice sweet and vicious.
“I want to black out and wake up in Albania.”
“You have class,” Sirius said, raising a toast.
“Thanks,” James muttered, raising his own. “To being single, stupid, and stuck in a fucking furnace with you bastards.”
They clinked.
The night stretched on. Louder. Hotter. Drunker.
Outside, the moon was fat and yellow and useless.
Inside, someone was screaming about their missing shoe, someone else was topless and dancing with a Hufflepuff banner wrapped around their waist, and in one far dark corner, a Slytherin and a Gryffindor were doing something that would probably earn them detention and praise.
And at the center of it all:
Three boys. A couch. Too much firewhiskey.
And all the time in the world.
---
The room was soaked in heat, like the castle itself was sweating from all the dancing bodies pressed against ancient stone. Someone had conjured purple fire in the fireplace that cast wild shadows against the walls, and the smoke in the air was getting thicker, hazier, almost syrupy. The music had long since stopped making sense—it was just beat now, bass and skin and magic.
The sofa was their fortress.
Remus and Sirius, entangled like it was a goddamn renaissance painting painted by someone high off fairy dust.
James, spread out, one leg draped over the side, still holding his bottle of whatever-that-was like a holy relic.
They were talking nonsense—well, Sirius was monologuing about how hot vampires were and Remus was arguing that technically, they couldn’t consent to anything while under bloodlust, so it was a moral gray area—and James had just leaned his head back and started tuning them out when someone dropped next to him.
Not next to him, really.
More like on him.
A body. Warm. Slender. Smelling like smoke, sandalwood, and forbidden perfume.
Regulus fucking Black.
“Oi—!” James blinked, nearly spilling his drink as someone practically folded into his lap.
“Reg?” Sirius said instantly, suspicion sharp in his voice like a fucking blade. “Are you drunk?”
Regulus flopped down with all the grace of a swan dive into hell. His cheeks were flushed, his hair slightly curled with sweat and magic, pupils the size of sickles, and his robes barely hanging off one shoulder like he’d either been snogged half to death or rolled in a potion cupboard.
“No.”
Regulus said it with all the solemn conviction of someone who had no fucking clue where he was.
“Noooo. I am—tres bien.”
“Oh, he’s speaking French. We’re fucked,” Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face.
Regulus half-purred, half-snorted as he shifted, practically laying across James before the older boy had the sense to grab him by the waist and slide him fully onto the cushion beside him. His hand lingered. Maybe too long. But who cared. It was hot.
James raised an eyebrow. “Did your brother send you to spy on us or are you just looking to get shagged?”
Regulus turned, looked at him—eyes all sharp and soft at once—and then launched into a string of fast, breathy French, voice low and slick like honey sliding down a blade.
James blinked.
“I understood none of that,” he said. “But Merlin, you sound like a sin.”
Regulus laughed, head tilting, and kept going—some long-winded line that sounded like poetry but could very well have been death threats with the way he licked his bottom lip halfway through.
James was nodding along, eyes wide, enthralled like he was watching a particularly sexy prophecy unfold.
“Right, so,” Sirius said flatly. “He just called you a walking aphrodisiac with Quidditch thighs and said he wants to suck the magic out of your spine.”
James blinked again. “...That’s either the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me or I need an adult.”
Regulus purred something else. Fast. Filthy. Intimate.
Sirius stood up.
“Nope. We’re done here. Regulus. Stop it.”
Regulus didn’t even flinch. Just smirked, eyes glinting with the kind of chaos James usually saw in the mirror. He leaned a little closer.
James looked at Sirius. “Mate, I think your brother’s flirting with me.”
“He’s trying to fuck you, Potter.”
“I mean, same difference.”
Sirius looked scandalized. “He’s sixteen!”
James shrugged. “So was I last year. And he’s like... advanced sixteen.”
“He’s off his tits!”
“I know. So am I. Maybe that’s the secret language we’re speaking.”
Sirius’s voice pitched up. “He just asked if your dick has a birthmark.”
James blinked. “...It does, actually.”
Remus, who’d been watching with a kind of detached, high amusement, finally stepped in. He tugged Sirius back by the belt loop of his trousers, pulled him straight down onto his lap again, and shoved a joint into his hand like he was pacifying a feral cat.
“Let him flirt,” Remus muttered. “They’re both stupid and hot. Let nature take its dumbass course.”
“He’s my baby brother,” Sirius snapped, already sparking the joint and taking a furious drag. “And he’s higher than me—which is just fucking rude.”
Regulus leaned in, lips inches from his ear. “Tu veux que je te baise ici, Potter?”
James’ brain flatlined.
“What the fuck does that mean?” he asked, breathless.
Remus whistled. “That one means: ‘Do you want me to fuck you right here, Potter?’”
James sat back like he’d been electrocuted. “Jesus fuck—okay! Alright! That’s, uh—that’s a line.”
“Do you?” Regulus asked in English this time, voice velvet.
James looked him up and down. “I... no. I mean. Maybe. Fuck. I don’t know. Ask me tomorrow.”
Sirius was fully about to scream.
“Regulus fucking Black,” he barked, standing again despite Remus pulling on him. “If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m gonna tell Mum you shagged a Hufflepuff in the library.”
Regulus yawned. “Go ahead. She’ll just be proud it wasn’t a Gryffindor.”
“Oh, fuck you!”
James, meanwhile, was grinning like a man who just discovered how to set himself on fire and found it sexy. Regulus was still speaking fast, unintelligible French, his body slouched comfortably against James like they’d been doing this for years.
Every few words sounded vaguely sexual. Or violent. Maybe both.
James didn’t care.
He was too drunk to care.
Too bored of normal to care.
Too turned on by chaos to care.
He leaned closer. “Hey, Reg. Can you say that thing again but slower this time? Like you mean it.”
Regulus obliged. Whispered something directly in his ear that made James go very still. Then laugh. Then blush.
Sirius groaned like he’d just been hexed.
Remus pet his hair. “You’re okay, love. Focus on this,” he said, taking the joint from him, exhaling slow smoke into Sirius’s mouth before kissing it back in. Sirius growled but melted again.
James, still wrapped around a Black brother, looked mildly feral and vaguely enchanted.
“You know,” he said slowly, eyes still on Regulus, “I think he just said he wants to do things to me that might technically require Ministry approval.”
“He did,” Sirius confirmed. “And possibly a blood contract.”
“I love it here,” James said dreamily.
Regulus smirked, resting his chin on James’ shoulder like he’d won something. He probably had.
And Sirius just lit another joint, muttering under his breath while Remus kept stroking his thigh like it was going to keep him from hexing his own bloodline.
It was that kind of night.
---
The couch was sagging under their weight, old velvet gone rough with spilled beer and someone’s lipstick-stained arseprint. The music still thudded in the background — not loud enough to drown anything out, but heavy enough to give the moment a pulse.
Sirius Black was curled across Remus’s lap like he fucking owned him — legs splayed wide, cigarette dangling from his lips, boots kicked up on the edge of the coffee table like his mere presence was enough to justify being the most important bastard in the room.
Remus looked like sin and salvation — shirt unbuttoned to the third button, sleeves rolled up, eyes half-lidded and stoned to hell. One hand was lazily stroking Sirius’s thigh like he wasn’t entirely aware of it, just something to do with his fingers while he took slow drags off the joint. Sirius was talking nonsense into his ear, all velvet-voiced filth and nicotine-smelling affection, but it was a distraction tactic — Remus fucking knew it.
Sirius hadn’t taken his eyes off James and Regulus in twenty minutes.
“You’re drooling,” Remus murmured, tapping ash into an empty Firewhiskey bottle.
Sirius scowled. “I am not drooling, you fuckwit.”
Remus grinned. “Alright, then. Just vibrating with murderous intent, yeah?”
Across the room, sprawled like the most insufferable poster children for "too rich and too horny," were James Potter and Regulus Black. James had his arm tossed over the back of the settee behind Reg’s shoulders, and he was leaning in, talking low — something filthy by the look on Regulus’s smirk. Reg had one leg crossed over the other, wine glass in hand like this was the goddamn Ritz and not a sweaty party in someone's magically-expanded flat with a broken toilet and a pixie infestation in the cupboard.
“I swear to fucking Merlin,” Sirius muttered, voice low and dangerous, “if he touches him again, I’m going to burn this entire flat to the ground.”
Remus hummed, dragging fingers through Sirius’s hair, tugging a little at the roots just to distract him. “That would be arson, darling. And we’d have to do the walk of shame in front of the Aurors again.”
Sirius blew smoke toward the ceiling. “Totally worth it if it means I never have to see Potter eye-fuck my brother again like he’s a fucking treat wrapped in expensive silk.”
“He is wearing silk,” Remus said, eyeing Regulus’s open, black button-up that shimmered faintly under the lights. “And nothing under it, judging by the way he’s sitting like his balls are gold-plated.”
Sirius groaned. “Fuck me.”
“You wish,” Remus muttered, amused.
James leaned closer to Regulus, murmured something that made Reg laugh — laugh, that low, posh little noise that sounded like it belonged in a goddamn perfume ad — and then tilted his head like he was about to whisper directly into Reg’s mouth.
Remus stiffened slightly. “Right. Okay. That’s about to be a problem.”
Sirius sat bolt upright on his lap, nearly knocking the joint from Remus’s hand. “I fucking knew it. He’s going to kiss him. He’s actually going to — I will kill him. I swear. Right now. Wand out. Incendio to the dick.”
Remus grabbed him by the belt loop and yanked him back down. “Jesus, sit down, psycho.”
“Let me go, Moony!”
“I am letting you go. I’m letting you go insane. Gracefully. On my lap. Like a good little maniac.”
Sirius thrashed — in the way only Sirius could thrash, all drama and chaos and black glitter eyeliner smeared from where he’d rubbed his eyes too hard. “Why him?” he spat. “Why not some random Ravenclaw slag or one of the French boys with the cheekbones? Why the one person I’d actually mind?”
Remus kissed his temple, amused and tired. “Because you mind, obviously. That’s why it’s fun.”
Across the room, James laughed loud enough to draw attention — hand on Reg’s bare chest now, thumb brushing lazy little circles against that pale skin, and Regulus? Regulus was eating it up. Chin tilted back, legs spread wider, smirking like he’d won.
Sirius screamed. Internally. Then very externally.
“FUCKING HELL, JAMES!”
The room went quiet for half a second before the music swelled again, and Sirius was up, pacing in tight circles like a bomb about to detonate.
Remus rubbed his face, deadpan. “Okay, alright. That’s enough foreplay. Time for someone to go do something sensible. Like leave.”
But instead, Sirius stormed back toward the couch, furious, cheeks red, cigarette somehow still lit and clinging to his lips.
He flopped back onto Remus with a dramatic huff. “Distract me. Distract me, Moony. Or I’m going to Avada-fucking-Kedavra them both, and then you’ll have to bury a body and I’m not doing Azkaban in this shirt.”
Remus gave a long-suffering sigh, flicked the joint out the open window, and tilted Sirius’s face toward his. “You want distracting?”
Sirius nodded, wide-eyed, desperate. “Please.”
So Remus kissed him — slow, deep, tongue filthy and hands firm, like this was the only way to keep a massacre from happening. Sirius melted into it instantly, hands gripping the collar of Remus’s shirt like it was a lifeline.
“Better?” Remus murmured against his lips.
Sirius blinked, dazed. “Still want to kill James.”
“Understandable.”
“And Reg.”
“Double homicide, I’ll bring snacks.”
But Remus could feel it — the tension radiating off Sirius like static. It wasn’t just jealousy. It was old shit. Family shit. That complicated fucking cocktail of hate and longing and rivalry that meant Sirius didn’t know how to deal with Regulus. And James — James just made everything worse by being James: charming, cocky, emotionally unavailable, stupidly hot when he wanted to be.
Eventually, Remus whispered in Sirius’s ear, “I can’t distract you forever, you know. They’re going to dance. They’re going to snog. They might even fuck. You can’t kill them both.”
Sirius groaned. “I fucking can.”
But the fire was fading — because now Regulus had stood up, tugging James by the collar toward the dancefloor, and James followed like a dog in heat.
---
Remus leaned against the couch, puffing at a slightly-crushed joint, his shirt half unbuttoned and a lazy grin stretched across his face. He exhaled in a long stream and laughed low in his throat.
“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, “I told them. I fucking told them. Sirius is gonna murder one of them. Or both. Honestly, I hope I get front row seats.”
He took another drag. The weed was strong, stolen from Dorcas’s stash — earthy and mean, just like her. He squinted through the smoke, watching his friends act like gods and devils down below, and whispered to the air, “At least someone’s getting laid tonight.”
The music throbbed — low, sexy bass pulsing through the floor like a second heartbeat. James had his hands on Reg’s waist, and they moved together like they’d been doing this forever. Slow, too slow for the rhythm. Intentional. Deliberate. Teasing. Like they wanted to be watched.
They knew they were being watched.
Remus leaned back on the couch, smoke curling from the joint between his fingers. He’d lost track of time — too much weed and too many emotions he didn’t feel like untangling. Sirius was next to him, legs spread, jaw clenched so tight you could cut glass on it. He hadn’t noticed yet. Remus took another long drag, lips pursed just so, eyes flicking lazily to James and Regulus. And right on cue—
“What the fuck,” Sirius muttered. “What the actual fuck are they doing?”
Remus took another hit and muttered, “And cue the apocalypse.”
He exhaled slowly, his mouth tilted in a lazy grin. “What does it look like, Pads? They’re fucking dancing.”
“Dancing?” Sirius snapped. “James looks like he wants to shove his tongue so far down Reg’s throat he chokes.”
“Bit dramatic,” Remus mumbled through smoke.
“Dramatic?!” Sirius half-stood. “That’s my fucking brother and my best mate! Snogging in front of me like I’m not even—”
“Sit down,” Remus said, not looking at him. “You’re going to start a scene. Again.”
Sirius was halfway off the couch, fists clenched like he wanted to hit something — or someone. Remus grabbed his wrist and yanked him back down with more force than Sirius expected.
“Christ,” Sirius hissed, “you’ve got a fuckin’ grip—”
“You like it,” Remus said, voice low, rough. The kind of tone that made Sirius shut up without even knowing why.
Just then, Mary MacDonald swanned over in her glittery halter top, hips swaying like she knew they were watching. She leaned in to whisper something, probably a “hi,” and went to press a kiss to Remus’s cheek — but either she was too high or he turned at the wrong time, because it landed square on his mouth.
Remus blinked. Mary froze. Sirius looked like he’d just been slapped.
“Oops,” Mary said, wide-eyed, but she didn’t back away.
“It’s fine,” Remus muttered. “It’s not like it’s the first time, is it?”
Mary flushed and laughed, flirty and a bit embarrassed, before backing off. “You’re such a fucking menace, Lupin.”
She turned and disappeared into the haze of bodies and lights. Remus didn’t move.
Sirius, on the other hand, was seething.
“Not the first time?” he echoed, voice venomous. “How many people have you snogged then, Remus? Just casually? While we’re sitting here like—”
Remus didn’t let him finish. He leaned in, grabbed Sirius by the jaw, and kissed him — slow, filthy, the kind of kiss that said shut the fuck up, I’m busy.
Sirius made a muffled sound of protest, which melted into something else entirely when Remus passed the joint to his lips mid-kiss. His fingers brushed Sirius’s cheek, then his neck, sliding down — deliberate, dirty.
“You’re such a jealous little shit,” Remus whispered against his lips. “You fuckin’ hate that I’ve kissed other people. Even if it was years ago.”
“Because you’re mine,” Sirius growled.
Remus chuckled — low and sharp. “Right. Yours. So possessive, like you’ve ever even said it out loud.”
Sirius took a deep drag from the joint and exhaled hard. “Say what?”
“That you want me.”
“You already know I fuckin’ do,” Sirius snapped. “You’re all I think about. Fuck, Moony—”
Remus kissed him again, harder this time, and his hand slid between Sirius’s legs, unashamed. Sirius gasped — more from surprise than anything else — and Remus just grinned against his mouth.
“Can’t stop thinking about you either,” he murmured, voice soaked in smoke and heat. “Especially when you’re mad. You get so pretty when you’re jealous.”
“You’re an arsehole,” Sirius muttered, but his hands were already pulling Remus closer, dragging him halfway into his lap.
“Yeah, but I’m your arsehole.”
“You’re everyone’s arsehole if Mary’s had a go.”
Remus laughed, properly this time. “Oh, fuck off. That was one time. Third year. You were too busy shoving your tongue down Evan Rosier’s throat to notice.”
Sirius went still. “You saw that?”
“I saw everything, Pads. Always do.”
Silence. Tension. The joint burned low between them, smoke clinging to their clothes and hair. Remus’s fingers stayed exactly where they were — pressing in, teasing, dangerous.
Sirius’s breath hitched. “You gonna make me beg?”
“Maybe.”
“Fuck you.”
“You wish.”
“You’re the worst person I’ve ever loved.”
Remus blinked, his grin flickering for just a second. “Say that again.”
Sirius went red — not from weed this time. “You heard me.”
“No, no, I heard you. I just want to make sure you meant it.”
Silence again. But this time, it felt different. Not playful. Not horny. Serious.
Remus leaned in, their foreheads touching. “Don’t go ballistic every time someone touches me. You’ve got no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”
Sirius swallowed. “Me too.”
And then Remus kissed him again — deep, messy, possessive. This time it wasn’t about show. This was about claiming. About need. About years of unresolved, unspoken, repressed fucking want finally cracking open.
When they pulled apart, Sirius was flushed and panting, and Remus looked drunk on more than just the joint.
“You’re mine,” Sirius whispered, like a threat. “Mine.”
Remus smirked, licking his bottom lip. “Then show me.”
---
But this was not the end.
Remus got distracted bc his joint was gone.
Sirius took this oppertunity.
Sirius pushed through the crowd like a wrecking ball of fury. “Oi! Oi! James, get your fucking hands off my brother before I shove my wand so far up your arse you’ll be casting Lumos from your dick.”
James didn’t flinch. “Relax, Pads. We’re just dancing.”
Sirius snarled, “You’ve got your tongue halfway down his throat and your hand halfway down his fucking trousers, Potter. That’s not dancing. That’s a goddamn porno.”
Regulus smiled lazily, all venom. “Jealous, brother? You wanted to go first?”
“Oh, fuck off, Reg,” Sirius spat. “Don’t play the sulky little heir with me, you slippery little snake. You’re not fooling anyone.”
“Not trying to. I just like fucking things that piss you off.”
James coughed — a laugh, or a choke, no one could tell. “Alright, alright, calm your tits. No one’s fucking anyone on the dance floor. Yet.”
Regulus tilted his head toward Sirius and said, perfectly calm, “I’ll let him ride me later and call him your name. That’ll make it even.”
Sirius blinked. “You wanna fuck around, Potter? Huh? You wanna fuck me off just because you’re bored and drunk and got your dick hard for danger?”
James, ever the idiot, grinned. “That’s what makes it fun.”
Regulus, behind him, leaned on one leg and pulled out a cigarette. Lit it with a flick of his wand. “This is honestly the best party I’ve been to since that one time in Knockturn Alley with the twins and the sentient lube.”
Remus was howling.
Sirius barked, “Say one more word, Reg, and I swear I’ll hex your dick off in your sleep.”
Regulus blew smoke in his face. “You’re the one acting like I’m the slut. Your mate was the one who begged for a dance and came in his pants halfway through the second chorus.”
“Fuck you,” James hissed.
Regulus smirked. “I’m trying.”
Before Sirius could actually curse them both, Remus finally stepped in — wand raised, lips twitching, stoned out of his mind but still the only adult in the room. “Alright, alright, let’s all take a fucking breath. Sirius, put the wand down before you blow off something important, like James’s last two brain cells.”
James, against the wall, gave a breathless, “Hey.”
“And you two,” Remus pointed at Reg and James like a disappointed schoolteacher, “stop snogging in public if you don’t want to get murdered. Or at least do it where I don’t have to explain it to the Aurors when they ask why Black killed Potter in a nightclub bathroom.”
The music kept thudding in the background — some terrible funk remix now — and the smell of firewhiskey, smoke, and teenage idiocy hung thick in the air.
Sirius finally stepped back, muttering, “Fucking idiots.”
Regulus blew another smoke ring. “Still prettier than you.”
James fixed his collar, still smirking, but his heart was racing, pupils blown wide, and he was drunker than he thought. “Well,” he said with a crooked smile, “at least now everyone knows we’re not just friends.”
Remus groaned. “I need a drink.”
Sirius growled, “I need a fucking exorcism.”
They walked slowly back to the couch.
Remus laughed, pulled another joint from behind his ear, and lit it with a flick of his wand. “They’re gonna do it right there, aren’t they?”
And Sirius watched — watched his little brother slow dance with his best mate, mouth on mouth, hands on hips, looking like they were in love or on drugs or both — and Sirius just buried his face in Remus’s shoulder and groaned.
“Moony, I fucking hate this decade.”
--
The room had quieted into a haze of leftover music and low voices, like the party itself had taken a hit and sunk deep into the cushions. Most people had either left or found a dark corner to fuck in, but Sirius Black — sprawled, high, furious, half-lucid — hadn’t moved more than a metre from Remus’s lap.
Remus was sunk low on the couch, long legs spread open, one arm slung behind Sirius’s back like he owned every bone in him — which he sort of did. His other hand held the still-burning joint, fingers loose and lazy, eyes at half-mast. The weed hit different tonight. Maybe because the tension had finally melted. Maybe because Regulus and James had finally fucked off to snog in some closet.
Either way, Remus was loose and velvet-voiced and grinning, like he’d been waiting all night for this moment: just him and Sirius and the dim gold lighting that made them look holy and haunted all at once.
Sirius was straddling his thigh now, head on Remus’s shoulder, nails dragging along the back of his neck like he couldn’t stand being apart by even an inch.
“Where’d they go?” Sirius murmured, but he sounded a little less angry now. Just pathetic. Stupid. High.
“Don’t know,” Remus said. “Don’t care.”
Sirius looked up at him, pout already forming. “Bet they’re fucking.”
“Bet they’re not as good at it as we are.”
Sirius let out a half-laugh, breath hot against Remus’s throat. “That’s not hard. James probably fucks like a Golden Retriever.”
Remus snorted. “And Reg looks like he comes just from eye contact.”
Sirius bit his lip and grinned, teeth all crooked and filthy. “Fucking hate them.”
“Same.” Remus let his hand wander, slipping low around Sirius’s waist, grabbing a handful of his arse without hesitation, kneading like it was nothing. “But you’re here. So I’m winning.”
Sirius groaned. “You’re so fucking high.”
Remus blinked down at him, mouth parted. “And you
fucking love it when I’m high.”
Sirius swallowed. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Yeah, I do.”
Because high Remus was different. Still soft, still wicked smart, but with no filters. Possessive. Touchy. Filthy as hell. His hands wandered like they had rights. Like Sirius was his to hold, to use, to wreck. He always was, but Remus didn’t always act like it.
Now though? Remus was touching Sirius like he needed to remind his hands where everything was — like the map had shifted and he had to relearn every inch.
Remus blew smoke directly into Sirius’s mouth, lazy and hot, and Sirius just breathed it in, eyes fluttering.
“You’re so fucking pretty when you beg,” Remus murmured, voice heavy and soaked in sin. “Bet you’d get on your knees for this joint.”
Sirius groaned again, grinding down onto Remus’s thigh just to feel something. “Fuck off.”
“Beg me.”
Sirius pouted, dragged his fingers along Remus’s chest where his shirt gaped open. “Please.”
Remus raised an eyebrow.
“Moony,” Sirius groaned, slumping forward, dragging his nose along Remus’s jaw, “give it to me. Fuck, please. Please give it to me.”
Remus exhaled smoke through his nose, slow and deliberate. “Say please again. Like you mean it.”
Sirius whimpered — actually fucking whimpered — grinding down against Remus’s lap. “Please, Remus. Baby. Baby, give me the fucking joint, I’m dying.”
Remus chuckled, gripped Sirius’s waist with both hands, dragging him down hard until Sirius gasped. “No you’re not. You’re just being a needy little bitch.”
“Your needy little bitch,” Sirius mumbled, mouth on Remus’s ear now, fingers sliding under his shirt.
“Fucking right you are.”
“Fucking please, Moony. I need it. You’ve had it all fucking night and I’m— fuck — I’m dying.”
Remus took another slow drag, tilted Sirius’s chin up, and kissed him open-mouthed while he exhaled. Sirius whined, clung harder to him.
“You’ll live,” Remus said against his lips, then finally, finally, pressed the joint to Sirius’s mouth. “But only because I like your whimpering.”
Sirius took it like a lifeline, inhaled deep, coughed, and laughed. “You’re such a dick.”
Remus grinned and kissed the corner of his mouth, then the line of his jaw, then dragged his lips down his throat.
“Yeah, but I’m your dick.”
Sirius, ever the dramatic bastard, clutched his heart like he’d been shot. “Say that again.”
Remus sucked a bruise into the base of his throat. “Mine.”
“Fuck,” Sirius breathed, clutching at his shoulders.
Remus finally — finally — brought the joint to Sirius’s lips, still burning low and heavy with whatever filthy shit they'd mixed in. Sirius inhaled like it was oxygen, cheeks hollowing, eyes rolling back a little. When he exhaled, it was into Remus’s mouth. Their noses brushed, smoke curling between their lips.
“God, you’re fucking hot when you’re high,” Sirius muttered, hands gripping Remus’s thighs like he’d fall through the Earth without them.
Remus just smirked, dragged one hand up Sirius’s back under his shirt — slow, all possessive and dirty. “And you’re insufferable. Pretty. But insufferable.”
That word made Sirius blink. “Pretty?”
“Mhm.” Remus’s hands were on him again — sliding down to cup his arse like he owned it, fingers digging in just enough to make Sirius squirm. “Prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
Remus’s hand slipped up Sirius’s shirt, down the front of his jeans, tugged at his belt with no shame. Sirius was grinding down onto his thigh, panting into his mouth, a mess of velvet and sweat and eyeliner.
Then Sirius pulled back just a bit, looked down at him, eyes glassy but still burning. “Moony?”
Remus hummed.
“…Is Reg prettier than me?”
And Remus stopped — froze — like the question had just broken something open. His face shifted instantly, and he reached up, cupped Sirius’s cheek like he was fucking priceless, like he wasn’t covered in someone else’s glitter and smudged mascara and too many bad ideas.
“No,” Remus said, voice low and certain and serious in a way that sliced through all the smoke. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. You always have been.”
Sirius blinked, lips parting like he didn’t know what to do with that.
“And I don’t mean, like… pretty-boy, tragic beauty pretty. I mean…” Remus’s hand moved down his chest again, slow and worshipful. “You’re fucking filthy gorgeous. You’re fire and teeth and magic. You’re mine. And nothing — nothing — is prettier than that.”
Sirius exhaled like he’d been punched.
“Fuck,” he said, voice gone soft, vulnerable. “You’re such a bastard.”
Remus grinned, tongue peeking out between his teeth. “You love me.”
“I do,” Sirius breathed, dazed, hips still rocking against his thigh. “Fucking hate you. Love you.”
Remus dragged his mouth across Sirius’s collarbone, teeth nipping, fingers slipping lower with intent. “Let me remind you how much.”
“Fuck,” Sirius said again, eyes fluttering.
And then his hands were everywhere — on Sirius’s thighs, on his hips, up his ribs, fingers slipping under fabric, dragging nails along skin like he wanted to leave marks. Sirius gasped, head falling back, lips parted.
“You’re the prettiest thing in this whole fucked-up castle,” Remus murmured, voice wrecked from weed and want, “and I want everyone here to fucking know you’re mine.”
Sirius was vibrating — needy and wild and grinding down like he couldn’t stop. “Then show them.”
So Remus did.
He kissed him. Hard. Messy. Hands tangled in Sirius’s hair, pulling just a little too tight. Tongue filthy and possessive, teeth dragging across lips that were already swollen. Sirius moaned into it, loud and shameless.
Their hips moved like they were trying to crawl into each other — slow, obscene grinding that had nothing to do with dancing and everything to do with getting off on a couch at a house party full of teenagers.
“God, I fucking love when you’re like this,” Sirius breathed, nails digging into Remus’s shoulder. “So high you forget how to act. Grabby and fucking rough.”
Remus chuckled, biting his throat. “I’m always rough when I want to be.”
“Yeah? Fucking prove it.”
Remus shoved Sirius down flat on the couch. Just pushed him — Sirius landed with a thud, hair wild, shirt hiked up his stomach, mouth open in surprise. Remus loomed over him, one knee between Sirius’s legs, joint still in one hand, burning low.
“Still want the rest of this?” Remus asked, dangling it above his lips.
Sirius reached for it.
Remus pulled it away.
“Beg better.”
“You cunt,” Sirius laughed, breathless.
“Say please. And say you’re mine.”
Sirius stared at him — high and filthy and grinning like he’d sell his soul for another hit. “I’m yours. Always. Fucking please, give me the rest.”
Remus fed it to him — held it to his lips like a god, and Sirius sucked it in like salvation.
And when he blew it out again, Remus was kissing him, dragging fingers up under his shirt like he couldn’t bear a second of distance. There were hands under trousers, under shirts, bruises blooming on hips and thighs, inappropriate didn’t even cover it.
They were moaning into each other’s mouths, dry humping like fucking teenagers (because they were), making out so sloppily that one of the Hufflepuff girls looked over and laughed, shaking her head.
Neither of them noticed.
Remus pulled back just enough to look down at Sirius — flushed, red-lipped, trembling from the inside out — and murmured, “I don’t care who sees. You’re mine. You hear me?”
Sirius nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, fuck, I’m yours.”
Remus kissed his neck, wet and messy. “Say it louder.”
“I’M YOURS,” Sirius shouted — laughing and filthy and so far gone.
Remus laughed against his throat, high as hell and a little feral. “Good boy.”
They didn’t stop touching — not for a second. Fingers always moving, mouths never far apart. Dirty words whispered in between smoke and sweat and soft kisses that turned filthy again three seconds later. Possessive hands. Vulgar mouths. High as fucking kites and completely unhinged.
And when the party started dying down, and the couch was a mess of tangled limbs and hot breath and spent joints, Sirius curled into Remus’s side, kissed his jaw, and whispered:
“You’re gonna wreck me, you know.”
Remus just kissed his forehead and said, “Already have.”
---
They kissed like they were starving.
Like no one else had ever existed. Remus’s hands were everywhere, rough and hungry and unforgiving, and Sirius? Sirius just let it happen, let himself be taken, because when Remus was high and jealous and touchy like this, it was everything Sirius ever wanted. No one else got to see this side of him. No one else got the filth and the love in equal measure.
Later, maybe they'd crash on the floor in a heap of limbs and smoke, laughing at nothing, whispering about dumb shit they’d never remember.
But for now, Remus touched Sirius like he was holy and fucked him with words like he was home.
And Sirius let him, gasping into his mouth, hands gripping his shirt like he never wanted to let go.
----
Sirius woke up to birds singing outside the window like they weren’t mocking his existence. His head pounded, his mouth tasted like ash and someone else's spit, and his body… ached.
Not in a normal hangover way. In a thoroughly-fucked-against-a-couch-multiple-times-by-a-werewolf way.
The sheets were warm. The bed was unfamiliar.
Remus’s bed.
Remus was lying next to him — shirtless, hair all fucked up, still snoring softly. His arm was draped over Sirius’s stomach like he’d tried to cage him in sleep.
Sirius blinked up at the ceiling and groaned, his voice gravelly. “Christ.”
Remus stirred. “Don’t bring him into this,” he muttered, still half-asleep. “Not after what we did.”
Sirius snorted, rolled to face him. Their legs tangled naturally. “You awake or just talking in your sleep again, loverboy?”
Remus cracked one eye open. It was bloodshot. “You’re naked.”
“So are you.”
“Yeah. I know.” He yawned, then buried his face in Sirius’s chest. “Fuck, my head hurts.”
“Same.” Sirius pressed a kiss to the top of Remus’s head. “You got any potions or you gonna make me suffer for my sins?”
“I’ll get the hangover draught,” Remus mumbled, pushing himself up. The blanket slipped down and revealed long red scratches down his back. “You’re not suffering alone.”
They sat in bed, slowly sipping the foul-tasting potion, half-cuddling and bitching like two housewives on a Tuesday. Remus rubbed circles on Sirius’s thigh while Sirius kept kissing the corners of Remus’s mouth and whispering, “You were so dirty last night,” until Remus swatted him.
After the headache faded and the nausea dulled, Sirius dragged himself to the edge of the bed and started getting dressed.
“Fuck,” Remus muttered when he looked up.
“What?”
“You—” Remus’s mouth dropped open, his face pale. “I fucking wrecked you.”
Sirius turned to the mirror and—
“Jesus fuck.”
His whole torso was covered in bite marks. Some were deep — bruised purple and red. Hickeys scattered up his neck like a necklace. Scratches down his hips, a few clear hand-shaped bruises on his ribs. His thighs looked like he’d gotten into a fight with a werewolf and lost — which, in fairness, he had.
Remus was behind him before he could say anything else, arms wrapping around Sirius’s waist. He buried his face in Sirius’s shoulder, guilt seeping through his skin.
“I’m sorry,” Remus murmured. “Fuck, Pads, I didn’t mean to— I was so high and you were so loud and— fuck. I should’ve been gentler.”
Sirius turned in his arms, hands on Remus’s jaw, eyes dark and soft. Then he kissed him — deep, dirty, with tongue and teeth and a moan so obscene it echoed in the dorm room.
“I like when you’re rough,” Sirius whispered against his mouth. “I want you to leave marks. I need them.”
Remus let out something between a growl and a sigh of relief. “You’re such a fucking slut.”
“You love it.”
Remus kissed him again. “I do.”
---
They came down the stairs together, clothes wrinkled, Sirius in Remus’s shirt because he couldn’t find his own. His collarbone was still visible. So was half his chest. And the hickeys. And the bite marks. He looked like he’d been eaten alive and barely survived.
The great hall exploded.
“OHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
“FUCKING HELL, BLACK!”
“WHO DID THAT TO YOU?!”
“Did you fight a bloody vampire?!”
Sirius just grinned and threw his arm around Remus’s shoulders, who was red. Like full fucking tomato. Peter was still eating toast like nothing was wrong, but he had a few bite marks too, which made Sirius cackle.
“Remus,” James called from across the room, “Did you fuck a vampire, or did you become one?!”
Remus ducked his head into Sirius’s neck. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Get in line,” Sirius muttered, smirking like a whore who’d just come out of confession. “This is art, Jamie.”
“You’re art, mate, but you also look like someone tried to exorcise you with their teeth.”
Sirius leaned back, let his shirt collar fall a little looser. “Jealous?”
James looked like he had another quip locked and loaded—
Until Regulus strolled by.
All slow and smug and glittering with post-sex glow. He had a few very obvious hickeys on his neck, one on the line of his jaw, and one— just one —on the inside of his wrist. Deliberately visible. He glanced at Sirius, then looked directly at James, and—
Winked.
James froze. His whole face lit up like a fucking Weasley firework.
“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!” Sirius barked, stepping forward like he was about to murder someone.
James sprinted.
“I’M GONNA FUCKING KILL HIM!” Sirius yelled, trying to chase him — but Remus wrapped both arms around his waist from behind.
“Padfoot—!”
“HE FUCKED MY BROTHER?! HE LET REGULUS MARK HIM?!!”
Peter coughed. “Technically you did worse.”
“NOT THE POINT, PETEY.”
Remus kissed the back of Sirius’s neck. “Breathe. Please. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll bite you again.”
Sirius froze. Slowly turned in Remus’s arms, seething, eyes glowing.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Fine.” He glanced at the stairs. “But I will kill James.”
“I’ll help. Later. After dessert.”
Sirius grinned, then kissed Remus like they were alone — hands in his hair, body pressed tight, biting his lip until Remus groaned into his mouth. When they broke apart, it was only to sit down on either side of Peter, steal his food, and continue traumatizing the younger years.
Remus rested his hand on Sirius’s thigh under the table.
Sirius leaned close and whispered, “You’re gonna have to top that performance tonight.”
Remus smirked, teeth flashing. “Oh, I plan to.”
---