Rating: NC-17 (much smut this edition)
Summary: Remus deals with Sirius becoming an Auror.
A/N: beta'ed by madam_minnie. This chapter includes a steamy letter from Sirius.
Feedback: Yes Please!
3 June 1978
Against my will, I am going to the cottage Monday with Sirius and James. Peter cannot join us. Supposedly I am going with to assist in cleaning. I know Sirius; he wants me to go so that I’ll fall in love with the place. Then I can fall at his knees and declare “Yes, my darling, there is nothing I would love more than living with you in this heaven on earth!” *swoons* the thought makes me sick. On a good note, I have been spending more time with Peter and Lily. I feel like I’ve been neglecting my friends the past three or four months. Peter is such a breath of fresh air. He’ll listen to what I need to say and only interject when he feels I want his opinion. He doesn’t take sides like James can and he doesn’t pout and ignore what I’ve said like Sirius does. Peter lets me get so much off of my chest and then gives a thoughtful reply. I know he feels slighted that he can’t go with to the cottage. I’d gladly change places with him, except… I am a bit curious as to what this cottage looks like.
5 June 1978
I got so caught up with a naked Sirius in my bed that I almost forgot about my meeting with Moody and Dumbledore this morning. I’m certain there will be repercussions soon. Anyway, Moody has set up a training schedule for me for the summer. Dumbledore suggested a few muggle establishment where I could get work without too many questions, possibly tending bar. His understanding is that that environment has very flexible hours with very open-minded people. So, I’ll be able to schedule time off around the full moons and no one would become suspicious. I’m not sure if I want to work in a pub; a disco or club would be fun though. I could dress like David Bowie every night. I know Sirius would love that… I don’t want to go to the cottage. I don’t want Sirius to get enough NEWTs to go into Auror training. He’s going to get himself killed as it is. He doesn’t need a career that would increase his chances. He only thinks of himself. If he ever put someone else’s needs before his own, I would die of shock. He is just a spoiled brat… That’s not true. He acts like a child, sulking when he doesn’t get his way. I am quite used to not getting my way in life and I deal with it. I don’t sulk; I accept what is and move on. Some things you are powerless to change and no amount of sulking, pouting, or fighting will make any difference. It is wonderfully naïve to believe anything is possible, but I live on Earth. Naivety is fed to the wolves, literally. It would be dangerous for me to forget that fact. As much as I would like the “happily ever after” life, real life does not work that way. And Sirius makes me forget tha—
6 June 1978
Sirius attacked me last night. It serves me right for getting him all worked “up” in the morning and abandoning him all day. I didn’t get the flat in Liverpool. Lily and I are looking over her muggle paper for flats in London. Sirius can bugger off if he starts his crap again. I’m going to the bloody cottage. He should be happy with that and not push me any further. I think I’d be happy living in the Soho area in London. Looks like my sort of environment, at least for city living.
8 June 1978
Cleaned the cottage today. No magical pest to get rid of. Some dusting, removing furniture covers, cleaning out chimneys, making sure the plumbing worked. It’s gorgeous! Too perfect, even. Small enough to be cosy, yet large enough so you’re not on top of each other. The Library! It is a den, but 3 of its walls are lined ceiling to floor with bookshelves full of Shakespeare, Goethe, Poe, Swift, Pope, Aristotle, Woolfe, Plato, Sophocles, Virgil, Moliere, Rimbaud, Faulkner, Sartre, Freud, Camus… the list goes on! The furniture is tasteful, comfortable, and well aged. The kitchen is small but practically designed. And there are trees everywhere! There’s a small clearing around the cottage (a perfectly sized yard), a number of flowerbeds, and room for a vegetable garden. Everything else is forest. It is quiet, peaceful, secluded. Exactly the sort of place I would buy if I had the money to spend. And I hate Sirius. I hate him for insisting I come to “help.” He knows me so well. He knows my weaknesses and he exploits them. That cottage is idyllic, perfect. Too perfect. In fact, it is so perfect that I believe I shall be able to resist it. Except, I can’t get this image out of my mind: Sirius padding around the kitchen, brewing tea in the morning, wearing pyjama bottoms and slippers with his robe open. I walk sleepily into the kitchen to get some tea… I won’t continue; I’ll lose my resolve.
9 June 1978
Sirius doesn’t understand anything at all. He caught me sulking last evening while I was writing in my journal. He thought my mood had to do with everyone looking for employment. He thought I sulked because I am qualified for good jobs in the wizarding world but I couldn’t get them due to my “condition.” Yes, the thought does aggravate me, but I can still find gainful employment elsewhere. The cottage and the fact that Sirius plays me like a harp, that’s what I was sulking about. And I keep going back to that scene in my mind… Parents will be arriving in a few days for our graduation, a gathering of seventh years in Hogsmeade to celebrate the end of our education. The Evanses, including Petunia, are venturing north for the occasion.
14 June 1978
My parents have just left. They helped me move my belongings into my meagre flat. One bedroom, one bath, one kitchen/living room, Soho area in London, not too much a month. I’m going tomorrow to gather applications for a few bartending positions. Moody trained me this past Wednesday and Thursday; he took me to the Hog’s Head to learn a few things. This place does look like a “first flat.” It is humble, but I couldn’t be more proud. I am going to Sirius’ cottage for the full moon. I must be sure to bring some work along so I don’t waste time shagging Sirius. There are so many reports to go through, maps to draw, notes to decipher…
15 June 1978
I am at the cottage. He thinks I am asleep. I did fill out ten applications today before gathering a few things and apparating here. Sirius cooked supper: spaghetti with bread and wine. He didn’t burn anything. I’ll admit to being somewhat impressed. Tomorrow night is the full moon; I’m attempting to abstain from sex. It wasn’t too difficult tonight, as Sirius seemed to behave himself. I worry about tomorrow though. There won’t be anyone to interrupt us until 7pm. I’ll just have to bury my nose in paperwork rather than the base of Sirius’ cock. Oh bloody hell! I’m going to sleep now before I go looking, and find, a midnight snack.
16 June 1978
Just finished lunch. Sirius tested and strengthened wards while I worked on maps this morning. He is beginning to get pouty. I know he’ll try something in a little while; the boy is sex-crazed. Not that I would mind bending him over the desk and fucking him, it’s just I have these parchments to look over. Dumbledore has given me until the 19th to turn them in, but I want to finish them before they’re due. That and I don’t want to let Sirius use me again. Not that he does, he just exploits my weaknesses when it suits him. He’s randy; I’m not in the mood. It’s the full so all he has to do is act slightly provocative and Moony will pounce on his arse. Better return to Diggle’s notes.
Sirius is pacing the cottage and using our telepathy to try to sway me to his side. Diggle’s notes are so obvious; he doesn’t code them or anything. And he sends them by the hired owl. No sense what so ever. Crap, Sirius’ footsteps are getting closer. Now what is he up to?
FUCKING BLOODY WANKER! Thank Merlin for my self-control. Do you know what he did? He came into the study innocently, yeah right, asking if I wanted his help with anything. Naturally I said yes as I had been feeling guilty about neglecting him. And my thanks is a neglected bulge in my trousers that I can’t take care of because the insatiable PILLOCK beat me to the shower!! Of course, nothing is stopping me from joining him in the shower and teaching him a lesson. I love the way water runs over his body, over every crevice, every muscle… Need to focus. Moonrise is in four and a half hours now. I must get more of these note copied in a coherent report. My urges can wait.
17 June 1978
I feel like utter crap. And satiated. I don’t need to remember what happened last night to know what happened. Except, I don’t think Moony was the one doing the buggering. I’m going to kill Sirius when I get my strength back. Once again he takes advantage of my weakened mental state. Peter’s right, Sirius is too much like a spoiled prince. He always has to get his way. And if people don’t concede to his request, he finds a way to get what he wants when they are at their weakest. This is not just Peter being jealous; this is truth. Sirius wants me to live with him as a couple. Yet did he even consult me when he and James got the brilliant idea to become Aurors? No, he did not. He wants us to be as close to married as is possible yet he excludes me from important decisions like taking an occupation with a high death rate! Why? Because he wants to play hero and he’ll be damned if anyone talks him out of it! This is all just a reaction to the House of Black. He needs to grow up and realise that by acting this way they still have power over his life—the one thing he swore the never would have again. Good, I hear him coming to check on me now. I’m going to give him a piece of my mind!
18 June 1978
Sirius will be on his way over for supper in an hour. We had a row, and then I backed down. He’s staying the weekend. He leaves for training next Friday, the 25th. I have decided our relationship is over. There is no communication at all. He can’t or won’t see my point of view. Three days of farewell fucking; of course, he’ll believe that it’s make-up sex… It’s better for him this way. Maybe Auror training will make him grow up and we needn’t break up. And if it doesn’t, I’ll find a way to break it to him gently and concisely. I’ll make up my mind when he comes back from training.
22 June 1978
I have an interview tomorrow at the Glitter Collar. I’m fairly certain I’ll get this job. In other news, my weekend consisted of sex, sex, and more sex. Sirius really is an excellent lover; he’s just not a good boyfriend, not for me anyway. We don’t really have that much in common, now that I think of it. I like to be quiet and read. He’s loud and obnoxious. He likes to be the centre of attention. I like to be left alone. And this is enough reflecting.
23 June 1978
I have accepted a bartending job at the Glitter Collar; I start tomorrow. I have also made a new acquaintance, Daniel. He’s a student at the Guildhall School. We met at the neighbourhood pub at supper tonight; apparently he lives just three blocks from my flat. We had a two-hour discussion comparing Marx’s Communist Manifesto to Plato’s Republic. I haven’t had such a good discussion in ages. The last one happened over Christmas holidays with my father. We were discussing the beat writers and Gertrude Stein’s “boys.” Anyway, Daniel and I exchanged telephone numbers with a promise to meet for tea and more debates. Finally I have met someone who stimulates my intellect.
27 June 1978
I am enjoying my job immensely. The Collar is a very open and fun-loving atmosphere. Though, I’m still not certain how to handle our more flirtatious customers. I feel like I’m living two lives: by day, a studious, reserved bibliophile, by night a… well, the opposite of a studious, reserved bibliophile. Moody came by at 6:30 am yesterday; I got in from work at 4. Barely two hours of sleep then he wakes me up to practice hexes until lunchtime. I slept in past noon today. I have never, except for moon recovery, slept past eleven on a Sunday! So, I have been feeling guilty. The Collar is closed on Sunday and Monday so no work for two days. I think I’ll phone Daniel and see if he wants to meet up tomorrow. I wonder if he is gay as well…
29 June 1978
Tea with Daniel was rather invigorating. We talked about some of our favourite playwrights. I have an affinity for Shakespeare, which he finds odd from an intellectual standpoint. So we argued about the social critique Shakespeare wove into the subtext of his plays. As well as discussing the homo-eroticism inherent in the traditional productions; young men playing the female roles, etc. There’s a production of Othello in the West End we’re going to see this Friday. A friend of Daniel’s is in the production. In other news I received a letter from Sirius. It is quite explicit. I was right; Sirius is only interested in sex. He is so focused on the fleeting pleasures of the flesh that he has forgotten the lasting pleasure of companionship. I need to end it before it gets worse.
I miss your hands. I miss your long, artistic fingers. How they hold your quill so delicately, yet firmly as you write. How they slide through your hair as you prepare to answer another of my endless questions. How my hair flows like water through your fingers. How your fingers twine and tighten in my hair as you hold my head still to kiss me. How they slowly caress the side of my face, my neck, my chest. Soft, light, ticklish touches that leave my skin tingling. How they circle around my nipples, teasing, flicking, pinching, making them erect. How your hands trail down my stomach, passing over my reddened, throbbing, leaking cock to touch, stroke my feet, legs, thighs. Your hands feel so good on my body, leaving a blazing trail of heat and desire. I beg for your hands to touch me there, to alleviate the tension. You oblige; taking my balls in one hand, you rub your thumb over my sac. With your other hand, you slip it down my cleft, stroking my opening. I relax; you push one finger past the muscled ring, probing further inside until you find that nub and stroke it, watching with feral eyes as I buck on your hand. You add a second finger twisting them inside me; my cock jumps with every stroke over that spot inside. You add a third finger now; you’re fucking me with your hands. And I’m whining, moaning, pleading with you to fuck me for real. Instead, you add a fourth finger and move your other hand. You stop fingering my sac and start teasing my leaking cock. Slowly, you take one finger and circle it around the head, coating it with my pre-come. Then you stop, take your finger to your mouth and lick it clean. You return your hand to my cock and start stroking me; pumping me. You rub your thumb over the head with each upward stroke; my hips continue to buck on your other hand. You’re fucking me with your hands and I’m loving it. I’m so close, so close; finally I reach that sweet blinding white light of orgasm. I come over your hand; you’re still stroking me as I calm down. You pull your hand out and I feel empty without it. I watch with lidded eyes as you lick your other hand clean of my come. What I love even more than your hands on my body, is watching your hands pleasure yourself. Watching you stroke your cock as I whisper naughty thoughts to you. Knowing that you’re probably doing that right now, did you come yet? I have.