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Kissing Practice

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Remus realizes (quite belatedly) that pretending his pillow is the man of his dreams, namely Sirius, and that clutching his pillow to his chest so that he can nibble his pillow-Sirius's ear and kiss pillow-Sirius's downy, soft lips should not be done in his dorm room. Quite possibly pillow-fraternization should not be done at all, but specifically it should not be done in his dorm room . . . which he shares with Sirius and which Sirius frequently enters in the middle of the day when they are both supposed to be in Transfiguration.

"Moony?"

Remus pauses mid-pillow-cheek caress, pulling away from the suddenly suffocating pillowcase. Managing to temporarily swallow his embarrassment, he clears his throat and merely says, "Yes, Padfoot?"

Sirius graciously doesn't laugh and plops on the foot of Remus's bed, toeing off shoes and loosening his tie. "I bet my pillow's a better snog than yours."

Remus throws pillow-Sirius at the real one, hoping his blush will fade by the time Sirius rights himself.

Sirius laughs, that annoyingly infectious bark Remus sometimes thinks he hears over his shoulder. "What are you doing? I mean, really."

That's such an excellent question, Remus thinks, because he should have already considered that one of his three roommates might possibly catch him pulling his pillow and ask this same question. And before such an event was to occur, he should have devised some sort of answer that did not sound like "I was imagining kissing Sirius, actually. Do you think he'd prefer a lot of tongue or a little lip nibble?"

Remus opens his mouth, hoping something better will fall out of it. "Committing suicide." Exactly the better thing he could have said.

Sirius nods once, eyebrows twitching in confusion.

Remus coughs, sitting up straighter and repositioning his tie. He shouldn't beg off Potions today, and perhaps mentioning academia will send Sirius into anaphylactic shock and cause all pillow-snogging to be wiped from his memory faster than saying Obliviate.

"So," Sirius says before Remus can enact his plan, "who's the lucky lady?"

"Er. . . ."

Sirius reclines, propping himself on his elbows. "Clearly you were practicing kissing someone." He helpfully demonstrates by puckering up and kissing the air.

"I wasn't—" Remus's voice is ridiculously squeaky and absolutely not the voice of an innocent man. Possibly it's the voice of an innocent young girl, but it's not about to fool Sirius for one bloody second. Remus coughs, changing direction. "I wasn't going to talk about it. I'm terribly . . . shy." He tries to keep the mental cringe from his face.

"You were the first one of us lot to walk around completely starkers in the morning," Sirius says with a smirk.

"Because you dressed the giant squid in all of my clothes, you pillock." Really, what is it about Sirius that Remus finds the least bit attractive?

Sirius rolls over, seizing Remus's wrist and pulling him down to eye level. Sirius's gray eyes spark and Remus's heart hitches into his throat. "But the squid looked so fetching in all those sweater vests."

He should hit Sirius, or say something, or at least laugh, but Remus's stupid mouth can only gape and his stupid flesh can only heat up, focused entirely on the continued contact between Sirius's absurdly cold hand and his own rather bony wrist.

Sirius's eyelids shift, and he sucks in a breath through his teeth, his customary signal of visual approval (usually reserved for his bird-of-the-week). Remus's body prickles.

"You ever snogged a bird before?"

Remus shakes his head, quite sure that in Sirius's snogging-taxonomy, Conrad, the Muggle he met over the summer, does not classify as a 'bird.'

"I always find," Sirius says, leaning closer. "That the best approach to take. . . ." He brushes their cheeks together, sending a shiver down Remus's spine. "Is a hands-on approach." His lips hover over Remus's mouth, bumping against them when he says, "Need some hands?"

There's a second where Remus thinks maybe it's a gag and that Padfoot will pull away with a laugh and a slap, and shove another pillow in his face, but his body surges forward regardless, and he presses his mouth against Sirius's full lower lip.

It's better than he imagines—mostly because Sirius is kissing him back (under false pretenses, perhaps, but Sirius had made the first move)—wetter than the pillow, certainly, and more sloppy than his fantasies (also with less gusting wind and fewer fjords)—but it's still better because it's real.

He opens his mouth, angling his head, and Sirius follows suit. He followed suit, Remus thinks wildly.

Sirius slides his socked foot under Remus's shin, tangling their legs together. Sirius's hand finally moves from Remus's wrist and fits on his waist, drawing him closer. It's strangely chaste until Remus remembers that it isn't a fantasy and real-Sirius, who Remus thought wasn't at all queer until thirty seconds ago, will probably take it slower than pillow-Sirius who was two seconds away from shucking his pillowcase when real-Sirius walked in.

Of course then Sirius's hand is on Remus's ass and most of his remaining mental faculties spill out of his head.

Naturally that's the moment when the door bangs open, and Remus realizes he not only should have had something prepared for getting caught snogging his pillow, but he might have also considered preparing a statement for getting caught snogging Sirius. He really should have considered the scenario given that Padfoot is a mad exhibitionist and if they ever were to 'get it on,' he was likely to leave the door unlocked or leap atop Remus in the middle of the Quidditch final.

Sirius pulls away slowly, rising up to glance over Remus's shoulder. Remus guiltily swipes his hand over his mouth, Sirius's saliva smearing on his palm. Out of his peripheral vision he sees James framed in the doorway, mouth gaping.

"What are you doing?" he stutters. "Padfoot?"

Sirius shrugs his shoulders, lazily brushing his hand over Remus's rump, eliciting a stiffening not strictly confined to Remus's pants. "I'm just teaching Moony to snog."

"And you had to do that with your—with your handthere?" James looks to the ceiling, to the floor, to Peter coming in through the still open door.

James lunges for Peter, covering his eyes. "Wormtail! Save yourself and divert your eyes! It's too late for me, man, but you can go to your grave unblemished."

"James?" Peter's voice wobbles from behind James's hands, but it feels like Peter is speaking for Remus's wobbling insides because he's a poofter and he snogs pillows and his friends now know it.

"Did it ever occur to you that you're being a prat?" Sirius snaps.

Remus sits up, carefully sliding from under Sirius's arm. "I think you meant 'unreasonable.'"

Sirius rolls his eyes, mumbling, "I said what I meant." Sirius leaps from the bed with a bounce and approaches James with open arms. "I'd help any of you out like this. Want a kiss there, Prongs?"

James pulls Peter in front of him, using Peter as a shield, screaming all the while.

"James? What's going on?" Peter's eyes are tightly closed even though James's hands are off his face. "What's happening?"

"It's all right, Peter," Remus soothes. He's supposed to be the reasonable one. He can put his accidental outing into a mental box and shove it under a mental bed. He'll spread it over his mental desk after Peter opens his eyes, Sirius stops chasing James, and James's voice sounds like it's actually been through puberty.

"It's not all right," James shrieks. Sirius and James run around Peter, pushing Peter back and forth as they try to catch and avoid each other. "Sirius is trying to molest me! Shirt-lifter!"

So Remus will be compartmentalizing this for a few months, then.

"Just pucker up," Sirius laughs, pushing Peter's arm out of his face.

"Moony!" Peter yelps.

"Yes! Moony! Sirius, go after Moony!" James nearly looses his glasses when Sirius gets a finger around James's ear for a moment.

"But I've already been kissing Moony," Sirius whines. "I'm tired of kissing Moony."

Remus crosses his arms, slumping. "Thanks."

Sirius reaches under Peter's outstretched arm, calling over his shoulder. "I enjoyed every second of it." He turns back to James, managing to get his face a few inches away. "The man can suck like a vampire."

"Ah!" James stumbles backwards, arms flailing. He trips over his own open trunk and lies sprawled out on the floor. The trunk upturns covering him with parchment and clothes, including Lily's 'lost' brassiere.

"He's down!" Sirius lunges, but Peter chooses that moment to turn slightly and crack open one eye. Sirius bangs into Peter's side, knocking the two of them down, still feet from James's colossal fall. Remus winces only because Peter doesn't deserve this abuse, and Remus still can't figure out why Sirius is so unreasonably attractive.

"I'm dead," James finally wails. "I died a noble death, fleeing from Sirius's man-kissing lips. There will surely be songs about the preservation of my honor during my moment of bravery."

Remus stands, holding tight to the bedpost, attempting to survey the damage. "I'm sure you meant 'moment of clumsiness.'"

James tuts, his feigned pain put on hold while he glares at Remus. "It's your fault this happened. You encouraged him."

Remus presses a hand to his chest. "I encouraged him?"

Sirius raises his head, his hair falling across his face, and half-covering his excited features. "You did rile me up." Sirius grins, waggling his eyebrows, and makes a lewd gesture with his tongue.

James and Peter both cry out in fear.

Remus has to quash the flutter in his stomach.

"It's your fault, Moony." James throws a hand to his head, closing his eyes. "If I survive and am pulled from this floor, the least you should do is assist me until such a time as I am fully rehabilitated."

"Rehabilitated." Remus stops pretending to tape his mental box shut, and just walks away from it. There are other things he has to deal with.

"Oh, yes," James says, not paying attention to Remus's shifting moods. "It will be a month, at least. You'll have to carry my broom to Quidditch practice."

"Of course you'll still be able to play Quidditch," Remus says coolly. He steps towards James slowly, gently placing his weight on the balls of his feet so as to avoid the creaking plank between his and James's beds.

"It will be difficult, but I'll manage. I have fans to consider."

James opens his eyes only a second before Remus descends. Remus traps both of James's wrists, pushing them down to the floor. He straddles him in one swift motion and then plants his lips over James's mouth. Not the boy he was enjoying snogging, but sacrifices must be made to make a point.

The kiss is sloppy and rough, but complete, and Remus dips his tongue into the warm wetness between James's lips and sucks James's tongue. There's an involuntary flicker of tongue muscle, an indecision between enjoying it and knowing that one of his best mates is snogging him.

Before James can react (or fail to react) more, Remus is lifting off, licking his lips, letting James go.

James stays in his position, not even blinking.

Peter and Sirius slowly crawl over as Remus lowers himself to the floor and wipes at his lips with his thumb.

"James?" Peter asks.

"Prongs?" Sirius inquires.

James blinks once.

"He's alive!" Sirius claps Peter on the back. He seizes Remus's barefoot and shakes it. "I thought you'd killed him."

James coughs. "I believe he could do that."

Sirius crawls up beside Remus and wraps an arm around him. "See? Just a few pulls and you're already killing people with your kisses." He whispers directly into Remus's ear, "The pillow must not have been bad for practice after all."

Remus blushes slightly and looks at Sirius out of the corner of his eyes. "Was I killing you?"

Sirius kisses the side of his head playfully. "A fair bit, Moony. A fair bit."

Remus leans against Sirius, smiling. "Good. Then I suppose I should tell you: I didn't actually need any practice." He swallows his pride, hoping that Sirius is as queer as James thinks he is. "And I wasn't fantasizing about a girl."

Sirius ducks his head, scratching his cheek. "I sort of figured that out."

"Obvious?" Remus winces.

"Not terribly so." Sirius thinks a moment and then laughs. "At least not before you snogged James within an inch of his life."

"And thanks for that," James says, finally rolling to his feet. "I'll never be able to look at Lily the same again, knowing that she'll never be able to live up to you." James cups his face, shaking his head. "I've been ruined by you poofs."

"He's taking it remarkably well," Remus says.

Sirius taps his lip. "Really is."

"You're a werewolf," Peter says, as usual able to read Remus when he least expects it. "You think 'queer' is that much harder to accept? We do live with Sirius, you know."

Remus feels his jaw go slack and wonders if the word 'what?' has actually been stamped across his face.

Sirius flashes a winning smile. "Obvious?"

Remus blinks, replaying hugs, tackles, kisses to temples and cheeks, and wet licks across his nose that he thought were related to Sirius's animagus personality bleeding over (or perhaps that was just an excuse to be even more bizarre). "It's possible that I'm terribly oblivious."

Sirius ruffles his hair, winking. "But I like that about you."

"Oh?" Remus doesn't just hear 'like,' he hears 'like', and to be utterly unconfusing, he likes it. "Well." Remus twists his hand into Sirius's tie, pulling him closer. "I like that about you, too."

"I'm oblivious?"

Remus plays back the conversation, realizing that he's not making sense and he's probably crap at seducing men anyway.

"That you're you," he finally says. He shuts Sirius up with a kiss.

"Ew, ew, ew!" James shrieks.

"We can accept it, but we don't want to watch," Peter adds.

The door slams, but Remus doesn't even flinch. He's too busy feeling the hard floor beneath his ass, the scratch of stubble against his chin, and Sirius's spit-slicked lips opening so that Remus can have more hands-on practice. All in all, he's not terribly disappointed that his fantasy was interrupted.