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"Speed dating?!"
Sirius didn't bother hiding his contempt. James knew him well enough to know it was a horrible suggestion, and yet here he was, suggesting it anyway. Perhaps he didn't really know Sirius at all. Perhaps their lifetime of friendship had been nothing but a sham.
"It's not just speed dating, though!" James implored. "It's a camp out!"
"What does that even mean?" Sirius turned his attention back to the tools he was organizing, placing the torque spanner next to the umbrella ratchet.
"I'm not sure, really." James scratched the back of his neck before picking up a quarter-inch flathead and plopping it thoughtlessly with a three-eighths-inch flathead. "S'pose you sleep over at the venue. Star gazing, maybe? S'mores?"
"Stargazing and s'mores at Pasquale's Italian Ristorante?" Sirius moved the quarter-inch to its proper place with the groove pliers.
"Yes?" James picked up a hammer, gesturing around with it as Sirius watched him dubiously. "It's quirky! Think of the people who will be there. Fun-loving folks who aren't afraid of a little whimsy. Aren't you always saying everyone takes themselves too seriously?"
He had a point, there.
Sirius took the hammer before James could take his eye out, or worse: put it with the other hammers. James never could understand his system. "Can I see the flyer?"
"No."
"No?"
"I don't have it. There was a foxy lady looking at it over my shoulder." James wiggled his eyebrows like a horny cartoon character. "Said she wanted to tell her friend about it, so I gave it to her with my number written on the back."
With a long-suffering sigh, Sirius placed the hammer with the power probe.
"Don't worry though," James tapped his wild-haired head. "I've got all the details right here!"
⛺
Per James's apparently memorized details, Sirius found himself at Pasquale's at seven o'clock on Saturday night (why did it have to be a Saturday?! That was basically the entire weekend!) wearing a flannel shirt and carrying a sleeping bag and a rucksack packed with toiletries and his cutest pajama set.
A chipper lady with an ironic Karen haircut told him to order a drink and mingle, so he got himself a Long Island Iced Tea and silently scoped everyone out. The crowd seemed pretty typical for a dating event; everyone had cranked up their personal style to eleven and the atmosphere was tangibly nervous. No one struck Sirius as particularly fun-loving or whimsical and, notably, no one else was hauling camping supplies around with them.
Sirius was scanning the restaurant for the designated put-your-stuff-here corner when the front door swung open; and in that moment, if anyone were ever a horny cartoon character it was Sirius. He could swear his eyes went boi-oi-oing and popped out of his head in the shape of hearts, and he nearly dribbled his Long Island all over himself as he took in the man whose long, long legs were click-clacking into Pasquale's clad in fishnets and pumps. He was wearing teeny tiny black briefs, a sparkly corset, a chunky pearl necklace, and an enormous wig of black curls. With his frowny lips, long nose, and fields of golden hair shimmering on every expanse of exposed skin, he was truly the sexiest Frank-N-Furter since Sir Timothy Currington himself.
Sirius watched the man look around the restaurant, his expression morphing from nervous to confused to horrified, before turning back to the door in a hurry. Luckily, Sirius's feet were faster.
"Take me with you."
"Oh god!" The man turned back with a start. "What?"
Sirius gestured to the man's mouth-watering ensemble. "Clearly you're heading to a much more fun event than speed dating. I'd like to go."
"Actually," the man sighed, his sad lips wobbling into an even sadder pout, "I am here for speed dating. My friend said it was 'camp' themed and I thought, who's more camp than Dr. Furter?"
"Ah." Sirius shook his head. "I'm afraid your friend was gloriously mistaken. It's actually a camp out."
"What does that mean?"
"Not sure, exactly." Sirius looked around again. "I haven't seen a single marshmallow."
"Hello, everyone!" The lady with the Karen hair shouted across the restaurant, arms raised and maw agape in a toothy smile. "Welcome to tonight's speed dating event, brought to you by Camp: OUT! Funtivities for queer adults!"
Huh. Sirius couldn't decide if that name was cute or stupid. It seemed like someone thought of it in a hurry and didn't get it peer-reviewed.
"I'll give you all another few minutes to get yourselves settled and acquainted, and then the fun will begin!"
"I can't do this!" Frank-N-Furter started for the door again, but Sirius grabbed his sparkly-glove-covered arm.
"No, you must!"
The man stopped and turned to Sirius expectantly, who yanked his hand back. You're not really supposed to grab people, are you?
"I got it wrong, too," Sirius explained, taking off his rucksack and offering it to the man. "I brought pajamas. You can borrow them to change into, if you'd like."
The man's tense shoulders dropped. "Really?"
"Sure! They'll make you feel less… vulnerable." The man didn't seem to pick up the reference in his panicked state, but he took the bag with a grateful nod.
👠
"I'm Sirius, by the way," Sirius said once they'd scooted to the loo and the man had locked himself in a stall with Sirius's bag.
"Oh, right! I'm Remus!" the man called back. "It's nice to meet you! Sirius, you said?"
"Yes. Like the star, not the adjective."
"Noted. Sirius, are these women's pajamas?"
Sirius scoffed. "Must we gender clothing?"
"Fair."
Sirius's eyes were drawn to the space under the stall where Remus's enormous high-heeled feet shuffled around as he changed, the sparkly corset flopping onto the tiles. He tried not to think objectifying thoughts about the bare chest and tummy that were now slipping into his pajama shirt.
"I don't normally dress like this," Remus explained, the curly wig falling next. "Here, there must be a photo of me in here somewhere."
Before Sirius knew it he was diving across the room to catch Remus's phone as it flew over the top of the stall. It was unlocked and open to his camera roll. Either this man had absolutely no shame, or nothing at all to hide.
Amazingly (and a little disappointingly for Sirius's sudden and insatiable thirst), it was the latter. Sirius scrolled and scrolled and found nary a selfie, let alone a nude. It was all stray cats, flowers, and screenshotted memes (which were all excellent). So he made a bold choice and opened Remus's Instagram. Remus (or rather, "moonman69") hadn't posted much, and what he had posted was more of the same. But Sirius was good at phone, so he navigated to the "tagged in" section of Remus's profile, and– jackpot.
The first post – from someone named "liillllzzzzz" – was a slightly blurry, mid-blink Remus strolling through the city at night and going to town on a handful of chips. His natural hair was golden brown and messily cropped, like he liked it neat but let a friend cut it for him, and he was wearing a vintage jumper and faded jeans. Cute. Very cute.
Sirius snorted a little giggle, and the sound of shuffling fabric halted. "You found the chips one, didn't you?"
Sirius couldn't help but laugh. "It's charming!"
"I told her not to post that!" Remus whined. "My friends are cruel." Then he swung the stall door open and stepped out to reveal his new look with an uncomfortable grimace. "Is this better?"
Sirius willed his face to be normal as he drank in the sight of Remus, his long, pale limbs contrasting gorgeously with Sirius's black satin shorts set. He was still wearing the pearl necklace, so he looked like he was attending the annual sleepover at Blair Waldorf's Manhattan penthouse.
"Do you feel better?"
"Not really." Remus frowned. "I think it's the shoes."
He was indeed still wearing the pumps.
"What size are you?" Sirius knelt and untied his Doc Martens.
"Thirteen." Gulp. Hot. "But I think these are twelves. They're very snug."
Sirius was only an eleven, but Remus managed to slip the boots on alright with the laces completely undone. And Sirius couldn't complain about the extra swagger he felt as he walked to the door in Remus's heels. When he turned back, Remus was standing in the middle of the room, staring at the general area of Sirius's bottom. He had worn particularly tight jeans.
"Earth to Remus," Sirius teased, snapping Remus out of his trance. "I can hear Karen trying to herd all the sheep."
Remus blinked and shut his mouth. Then blinked again. "Who?"
🍹
Speed dating was speed dating. And it was a generalized "queer" speed dating, so Sirius wasn't everyone's preferred gender, but apparently the idea was to find connections of all kinds, romantic or platonic. But Sirius didn't find himself connecting with anyone, and his eyes kept wandering towards Remus. Until, finally, they were matched up.
When Remus lowered himself demurely into the seat across from him, Sirius reflexively sat at the edge of his seat and leaned onto the table. "How's it going?"
Remus replied with a frown and a raised eyebrow. "I've spent half the time explaining why I'm dressed like this. And you know not a single person has found it funny? They've all just given me a pitying look and asked if I have any siblings."
"Do you have siblings?"
"Not canonically, no. How's it going for you?"
Sirius rolled his eyes. "Probably not a good sign that my best conversation has been with Gil, pet psychic to the stars."
"Pet psychic?!" Remus whisper-shouted. "He told me he was Gaga's acupuncturist!"
"Maybe he's both!" Sirius chuckled.
"Have you met Benjy?" Remus crinkled his nose, which had Sirius's heart-eyes threatening to pop out again.
"Yeah, he's sweet, isn't he?"
"Very sweet." Remus nodded, but with a frown, like he was conceding a point. "I think he likes me."
"He has good taste." Sirius flashed his most effective smile – it was a sly smirk, really, with a hint of teeth and come-hither eyes. With a short gasp, Remus blushed, his eyes darting to Sirius's mouth and up again.
Gotcha. Remus was caught.
"Do you?" Remus squeaked. Then he cleared his throat. "Have any siblings, I mean?"
Ding ding ding!!
They both frowned. They couldn't have been talking for more than ten seconds!
Remus gave him a shy smile. "Time flies when you're having fun, I suppose."
⏳
When the dates were over and evaluation papers had been collected (Sirius had only written down the one name that mattered), Sirius and Remus gravitated towards each other.
"Thank you again for the change of clothes," Remus said in a low voice that made it feel oddly like the end of an actual date.
"Any time."
"Look, I–" Remus crossed one arm over his waist and brought the other to fiddle with his necklace. "I sort of… walked here. And it was one thing when I thought I was going to a cool fancy dress event, but now… well, I really don't want to put the outfit back on. Would you mind walking home with me and I can give you your things there? I'm not far, and I promise I'm not a murderer!"
Sirius barked a laugh at that.
"Sure, Remus. I'd be happy to."
So they made the ten-minute walk – Remus still in silk pajama shorts and unlaced boots, Sirius in his flannel shirt and high heels – and talked along the way of everything they didn't have time for at the table: their jobs, their idiot friends, their favorite Tim Curry films. Even their siblings (or lack thereof).
And once they arrived at Remus's flat and he changed into a vintage jumper, faded jeans, and very comfy socks, they kept talking and laughing long into the night.