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Let Your Hips Do the Talking

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It was one thing for Sirius to climb into bed with him when they were first or second-years, but Remus thought it should have stopped long before seventh year. He was tired of waking up with six feet of Sirius Black sprawled in his bed and stealing his covers.

He was tired of the way Sirius seemed to have no concept of personal space, that he was always touching Remus, an arm around his shoulder, a hand on his thigh, his mouth practically pressed to Remus's ear when he whispered plans for their next adventure.

Remus wasn't fond of unexpected touching. It made him nervous. And Sirius did it all the time. The more Remus tried to avoid it, the more Sirius touched him. Which made Remus even more nervous.

Mostly, though, he was tired of having to hide his body's reaction to all this touching. It was bad enough he was a werewolf -- he really didn't need the added difficulty of being a woofter on top of it.

Sirius snuggled up against him, warm and pliant in sleep, and Remus shrugged him away.

"Gerroff," he muttered, pushing at Sirius. Sirius, still asleep, didn't move.

Remus considered dragging himself over to Sirius's cold, unslept-in bed, so nobody would get any ideas about what was going on in his, but the thought of crisp icy sheets daunted him. With a sigh, he sunk back down into the warmth of his Sirius-infested bed, and prayed he was up before James in the morning, so he could chivvy Sirius back to his own bed before anyone found out.

God, Remus learned in the morning, was not that kind.

He woke with Sirius's arm wrapped around his waist, one long-fingered hand splayed on his belly under his cotton t-shirt, Sirius's breath warm and shivery on the skin of his neck, lips almost close enough to be considered kissing. If Sirius were awake, of course, which he was not.

Sunlight streamed in through the open bed curtains and Remus squinted up, puzzled, because he was sure he'd pulled the curtains closed last night, to see James and Peter staring down at him. Peter's eyes were wide as saucers, and his cheeks were rosy with embarrassment. James's hair stood on end and he removed and replaced his glasses twice, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing -- he looked like he'd been hit with a bludger.

"Morning?" Remus croaked, trying to escape Sirius's clutches. But Sirius was apparently part squid or something, because it felt like he had eight arms all ready to cling to Remus when Remus tried to get away.

"What the hell is going on here?" James shouted.

Sirius finally woke. "Merlin's wrinkly balls, Prongs, do you have to be so fucking loud in the morning?" He stretched, yawning, and scratched himself. "What's your problem?"

"Why are you sleeping in Moony's bed?"

Sirius snorted. "There's a draft over mine. Warmer over here."

James grunted. "All right then." He didn't see the hand Sirius slid beneath the sheet to pinch Remus's arse. Remus turned his surprised yelp into a cough and jumped out of bed.

"Tonight, I'll send him over to you," he said.

James looked horrified. "No way, mate. With my luck, he'd shed all over my pillow and then Lily would think I had a bird on the side."

"I'll tell the house-elves to fix it when I hit the kitchen this morning," Peter said.

"No, no, that's all right. I'll tell them myself," Sirius replied, draping himself languorously over Remus's pillows.

"If you say so," Peter said dubiously.

"I do."

The subject was dropped as they got ready for breakfast, but when they were walking down the corridor, Sirius slung an arm around Remus's shoulders and pulled him close so their hips bumped while they walked. Remus came very close to tripping over his own feet trying to get away, and he was wearing a sweaty blush by the time they reached the Great Hall.

At breakfast, Sirius kept sticking his fork into Remus's eggs. "Yours are better, Moony," he said around a mouthful.

"They're the same as yours."

Sirius shoveled in another mouthful of Remus's breakfast. "No, you put more salt on, or butter, or something."

Remus shoved the plate at him and stood. "Fine, they're yours. I'm going to see Lucy before class starts."

He could have sworn Sirius looked stricken for a moment, but told himself he was imagining it. As he walked away, Sirius was finishing off his eggs and gesticulating wildly with his fork.

Later that afternoon, Remus was curled up on the couch in the common room, reading his Defense textbook. Most everyone else was out at Quidditch practice so he had the place practically to himself, except for some of the little kids, who knew better than to try to sit on the sofa near the fire.

After a quiet hour, Sirius bounded in and pounced -- there was no other word for it. He jumped on Remus, all autumn-cold hands and sweaty Quidditch skin, and pinned him to the cushions, once again manifesting in his assault the superior clutching technique of an octopus. Remus tried to fight back but the tickling was too much. When he finally had breath enough to speak again, he roared, "Goddammit, Sirius, can't you stop touching me for five seconds?"

Sirius pulled back in shock, hurt clearly evident on his face for a moment before his typical insouciant grin appeared.

Along with the rest of Gryffindor house.

Remus flushed to the roots of his hair and stormed off to his room, slamming the door behind him.

He flung himself onto his bed and muttered angry curses at Sirius, at the world, at himself. A few minutes later, the door opened and Sirius shuffled across the floor.

"Remus?"

Remus covered his face with his pillow. "Go away."

"No." The mattress shifted as Sirius sat down next to him.

"Go away," Remus repeated. "You are tormenting my soul."

"Stop being such a big girl's blouse, Moony."

"They probably all think I'm queer now, think I'm a shirt-lifter." He removed the pillow to look up at Sirius. "You, too. Don't you care?"

Sirius shrugged. "Been called worse."

Remus felt a pang at that, because he was sure it was true. He'd met Sirius's family once, at King's Cross. It hadn't gone well.

"They'll all be saying you're my boyfriend," he said, trying to sound lighthearted about it, instead of upset.

Sirius reached out and brushed Remus's fringe off his forehead, his hands warm now, and gentle. "Is that so bad?"

Remus sucked in a breath and held it. Sirius couldn't mean-- "I--" He couldn't look at Sirius when he exhaled all in a rush. "No." The mattress shifted again as Sirius lay down next to him, turning so they were nose to nose. "Are you sure?"

Sirius laughed, his breath warm against Remus's lips, and smelling of butterbeer. "Yeah."

"No draft, then?"

"No. Well, yes, for a while last year. But the house-elves fixed it. Still, your bed is warmer."

"And all the touching?"

"Mostly it was taking the piss -- winding you up is hilarious. Your face gets all red and you do this thing with your nose." He smiled as if remembering something funny. "But also it seemed like the best way to tell you." He leaned forward, pressed his lips to Remus's.

Remus sighed into his mouth, curling his fingers into the material of Sirius's shirt to pull him closer.

After a few minutes that felt like heaven -- or maybe just lack of oxygen -- Remus pulled back with a shaky laugh.

"That would have worked better," he said.

Sirius snorted and rolled them over so he was on top. "I see there's only one way to shut you up, Mr. Moony," he said, leaning in for another kiss. Remus was happy to let him. It was better than talking any day.

end