Title:The London Underground Book of Love

Warnings: Muggle AU.

Rating: M

The cardinal rule of the London Underground is to never, ever make eye contact. It is a rule that precedes above all other rules, even ones that dictate that you never stop mid-walk during rush hour and never stand still on the left side of the escalator/travellator. It is a rule that, among many others, Sirius tends to follow despite his otherwise rebellious, non-rule-following nature. He has followed this rule for the past ten years now, ever since he ran away from home as a teenager and given up the right to a personal chauffeur. He is so diligent about this fundamental rule that even on a normal basis, he has hard time making eye contact with the people he knows. Lily, his best friend's wife, has told him many times that he looks suspiciously shifty eyed. His past of mischief making and pranking does not help his case.

The first time he makes eye contact with a human being in the subway comes as much of a shock to him as anyone else. Like any other Monday morning rush hour, Sirius watches the scores of people drifting in and out with a sense of detachment that comes from a lack of sleep/potential hangover and also because of his diligence in following The Rule. He notes the longing looks some of the older crowds send him or more so, his seat; but Sirius has a policy of never giving up something as precious as a seat unless he is faced with the severely crippled or frighteningly pregnant. In the London Underground Book of Rules, your seat is your currency during rush hour. So he purposely refuses to acknowledge all the looks he gets and stares straight ahead towards the closing doors. Of course, there is always that one idiot that tries to make it into the car in the last minute and manages to jump in with a triumphant smile, after getting banged up by the closing doors.

The man is still grinning when he pushes past the crowd and stands right in front of Sirius, holding the side bar for support with one gloved hand while cradling his mobile phone in the other. His bright amber eyes are looking at his screen with an excitement that is almost sickening, and Sirius knows he is probably waiting for the next station to come along so that he can get a discernible signal. At least someone is having a good day, Sirius thinks grumpily, despite a smile creeping to the corners of his own mouth. He also finds it rather endearing how the man's sandy blond curls keep tumbling into his eyes with every shake of the train. Each time this happens, the man pushes back his hair with his gloved hand and Sirius finds this persistence for something so moot extremely charming. He only realises he is staring when those amber eyes rise to meet his and the man, clearly not familiar with the London Underground Book of Rules, bursts into an even wider and goofier grin.

Sirius looks away, embarrassed.

It isn't until Sirius hears the distinct tones of an automated voice messaging system that he realises that the man has managed to acquire enough signal between stations. He isn't an eavesdropper; a part of the London Underground Book of Rules is that you always minded your own bloody business even if the person beside you is dressed as a thong wearing cow (something his very first girlfriend actually was). However, the man is standing so close that he unwillingly hears everything and feels terrible for doing so, because the message is far from pleasant.

'Remus,' a man's voice starts, 'I know you must think I'm such a twat for not even having the nerve to talk to you in person, but I can't do this anymore.' An audible swallow. 'Look, last night, I panicked. When you told me you loved me, I didn't know how to react. I felt like I had to say it back, so I did; but Remus, I-' A pause. 'I don't love you. I'm sorry.'

Sirius is horrified when he hears an audible sniff come from above him and looks up to see the beginning of tears pooling in the man (Remus)'s eyes. He looks around, panicked, to see if anyone else has noticed. He is definitely not the only one close enough to have heard that shoddy excuse of a message, but everyone else is following the London Underground Book of Rules religiously and ignoring it all. Sirius tries to do the same, but somehow, an overwhelming concern grips him and he looks up again to see fat tears of despair rolling down Remus's flushed cheeks. The man is sniffling, wiping his eyes with the back of his gloved hand and making his eyelashes darken and clump together. His lips, neck, ears and cheeks are all tinted red, which is stark against his very pale skin, and there are the tiniest of hiccups escaping the man's mouth. Sirius thinks it is the most attractive crying face he has ever seen, which instantly makes him feel guilty for perving on a man in obvious misery. Again, he attempts to look away and ignore it, but his eyes keep going back to Remus and the little droplets of salty tears that are now hanging from the very tip of his chin.

Fuck it, he thinks, and stands up to give up his currency.

Someone tries to pounce on it immediately, but Sirius shoots them a glare that would have made his bitch of a mother proud and offers it to Remus. The man is so distraught that he can barely form a coherent thank you, but he does bestow Sirius with a grateful smile. It is not nearly as attractive as his goofy smile and certainly not as attractive as his crying face, but Sirius smiles back nonetheless as he stands in the same spot Remus was occupying moments earlier. In his mind, he decides that he has done his philanthropic act for the year and can go back to ignoring everyone until he reaches his stop in Canary Wharf. This is very hard to do when the man, who should have stopped crying by now after Sirius's more than generous gift, continues to cry. It is very, very inconvenient because it makes Sirius break the cardinal rule of the London Underground Book of Rules and stare.

It is very hard not to when confronted with a crying face this ridiculously attractive.

Sirius's intuitive nature kicks in and before his mind can remind him of the London Underground Book of Rules, he slides the hand that is holding on to the rail downwards and over Remus's in a gesture of comfort. He studiously looks away when the man's head jerks up in surprise, but definitely notices the slight upward lilt of Remus's lips.

Remus's hands are warm underneath his and it is startling how comfortable it feels, in an awkward, I'm-holding-hands-with a-stranger sort of way. None of them make eye contact for the rest of the journey, but just before Remus gets off in Southwark, he gives Sirius's fingers a tight squeeze.

Sirius sees Remus again two days later.

This time, Remus manages to find a seat opposite Sirius, who expects him to fully ignore him as per the London Underground Book of Rules. Remus, however, does not. By now, Sirius is sure that Remus has no concept of this book and is completely unaware of the social rules that govern it or society as a whole. Because he looks directly at Sirius and smiles. This makes Sirius's stomach flutter and not smile back, because he is too busy feeling awkward and anxious about the right thing to do when faced with situations like this.

Finally, when he feels that he has gotten his wits under control, Sirius looks back up and gives the man a very weak and hesitant smile. In turn, the sandy blond lights up like a million light bulbs, and the expression on his face is so ridiculous that Sirius has to look back down to his lap again out of embarrassment. How, he wonders as he tries to look occupied with his phone, can a grown man look like a bright beam of sunshine?

The next twenty minutes until Remus's stop arrives is the most awkward moment of Sirius's life. He is fighting a war within himself the entire time; the war of To Look or Not To Look. Every few minutes, he finds himself glancing up at Remus through his eyelashes, and every time he does, the man gives him a cheerful smile, completely undeterred by his odd behaviour or lack of smile. Unfortunately, the more Sirius looks, the less he wants to look away. With each glance, he takes in the man's subtle features – his crooked nose, small pouty lips, round boyish face, and that ridiculous hair that curled in no particular order or direction. He is also so tall and lanky that he is nothing but clumsy limbs when he gets up, knees knocking together and arms swishing on either side of him.

He waves goodbye as he leaves and Sirius is left to stare behind dumbly.

He knows he looks a complete fool when he suddenly leaves his seat (his currency) and rushes to the closed doors to peek out the windows. His eyes follow Remus leaving, and as if by his will alone, the man turns to look back. The grin Remus's face breaks into just about shatters the world and somewhere in outer space, he has managed to create an all-consuming black hole in the centre of which is Sirius's rapidly beating heart.

Sirius is still stupidly waving goodbye until the train goes into a tunnel.

After that, they meet every day. Sirius would like very much to think that it is fate and coincidence, but the utter truth of the matter is that he always chooses to board the very first compartment. Both times that he has met Remus has been in the first compartment and in an effort to recreate their meeting each time, Sirius has added a slightly personalised rule to his copy of the London Underground Book of Rules: Sit thy buttocks in only the first car for maximum cardiac discomfort.

Nothing really happens apart from a lot of looking and smiling. It is the same every day. Remus comes in, stands or sits beside him, and they spend the rest of their ride glancing up and at each other, and exchanging sickeningly sweet smiles. It isn't that Sirius hasn't thought about introducing himself or at least saying a good morning, but somehow this relationship of theirs seems fragile with a lack of definition. It is restricted to them being strangers in a subway and he is loath to break it, because neither of them may like the reality that comes with it.

Sirius makes true progress on Friday morning, two weeks later, when Remus walks in, looking adorably ruffled and like he has yet to complete his nightly quota of sleep. Luckily, the seat beside his is empty and he flops down into it heavily, his long limbs knocking into each other and Sirius's. Like always, he smiles brightly and then without permission, simply rests his head on Sirius's shoulder and promptly falls asleep.

Sirius stares, dumbfounded.

He wonders when he went from being prankster extraordinaire to the one being pranked on. Because surely, this must be a joke.

He wiggles his shoulder a little, but Remus does nothing but snore softly. Sandy blond curls topple all over Remus's eyes and tickle his nose, and Sirius feels that it is his duty as a citizen to brush it back behind the man's ears. It is not at all his fault that his fingers linger and he continues to pet Remus's hair gently, the tips of his blunt nails massaging into his scalp. Remus snuggles further into his shoulder and Sirius hopes he cannot hear his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. He tries to distract himself from their obvious closeness by looking down, but that only makes him notice how Remus has completely failed at being a functional human being and buttoned his shirt completely wrong. Not a single button seemed in its rightful hole; not even on his belt, where the hook had simply been shoved to the side of the notch and was being held together on the man's slim waist by the mercy of the Gods. Sirius wonders if he should attempt to fix this, but feels the judgmental eyes of the old grandma sitting opposite him.

It is bad enough that Sirius has already turned his head and is now inhaling the scent of Remus's hair.

He is smelling a random stranger's hair in a crowded subway.

He is also liking the smell of this stranger's hair.

He is a creep.

He is an utterly vile creep, but he is also extremely unashamed of being one.

A man cannot be given flowers to smell and not expect to smell them.

Apart from the scruffiness of Remus's appearance today, it is obvious that the man is usually quite neat. His wrongly buttoned shirt is crisp and ironed; his shoes are shined to perfection, and his skin is soft and smells just like fresh soap and cologne. Not that Sirius has touched or smelled the man's skin. If he has, it is only to inspect the scarring on his forearm and hands. They are littered with thin scratches, some old and some new, but far too many to actually count. They give the man made of sunshine a lining of dark, mysterious clouds. Sirius's curiosity is definitely peaked and he wants to ask about them, but finds that this would be a horrible way to have their very first conversation.

He is about to investigate further when he realises Remus's stop has arrived, and he grudgingly shakes the man by the shoulder to wake him. When the sandy blond manages to pull an eye open to look at him, Sirius points to the blinking map ahead of them as a way to say that it is his time to go. Remus doesn't even spare a glance at it; he simply shakes his head in a no and goes back to sleep. Sirius thinks to question this decision, but right then, Remus sidles even closer to him and their sides are pressing together in a way that is definitely not acceptable, even in the London Underground Book of Rules where extreme bodily contact during rush hours is considered a norm and not spoken of. This jostling and cuddling has also made something fall out of Remus's pocket.

It is a name card and it falls right in between Sirius's feet.

It is Wonka's golden ticket.

A name card would have a full name, an address, and maybe even a phone number. A name card meant Sirius would know the object of his affection better without resorting to illegal methods of stalking and spying. Not that Sirius would ever do something like that. He maybe mad(ly in love), but not to such an extent. However, he cannot bend over without waking the other man and he cannot wake the other man without being caught reading his name card without permission. So he extends his neck to look down as far as he can without actually moving, as he thanks the Gods for his more than passable eyesight. He cannot read the smaller print with the contact details, but he can make out the brown wolf logo and the larger text underneath.

Remus J. Lupin

Rabbit Behavioural Specialist

Hagrid's Training Facility for Furry Little Problems

Well, Sirius thinks as he adjusts his shoulder so that Remus's breath is now tickling him just between the collar bones, if there is any man who can have rugged scars from a rabbit, it is this man. Remus, frowning at the movement, wraps an arm around Sirius's waist to hold him firmly in place and any semblance of a normal heartbeat Sirius may have regained during this time has just shot through the roof.

He tries to get his breathing under control, trying to remember the Lamas classes he has attended with Lily during her pregnancy. In. Out. Out. Out. Out. In.

He looks at the card again and notices that in the very corner, office hours are highlighted in red: Monday to Thursday, 9:00 AM to 7:00 PM.

Sirius blinks.

It is a Friday, which means Remus has no reason to be here.

It also means that a rather arrogant/hopeful part of him realises that the possibility that this man is riding the Underground today just to be with Sirius is very, very high.

Ecstatically high.

Sirius is proven right when Remus wakes up and gets off at Canary Wharf with him, only to take the train back home.

They wave at each other until neither can see the other.

On Monday morning, Sirius makes a bold move. He buys two cups of steaming hot chai latte and tries his best to keep it warm until Remus's station by wrapping it with his gloves. He has also purposefully sat in such a way that his entire body is sprawled across two seats instead of one. He knows that this is viciously breaking the moral code in the London Underground Book of Rules, but he has had enough of rules. Sirius is following another set of rules now, and they are primarily governed by his heart. He ignores all the dirty looks he receives and breaks into a wide grin, when Remus finally gets on.

When he sits down, all bony angles, Sirius hands him the cup he's been guarding for the past few stops. Remus accepts it with a shy smile and then offers a little paper bag where there are two buttery croissants resting snugly together. It seems Sirius isn't the only one who likes to make bold moves. He doesn't even know how Remus knows to choose the Zaatar flavoured one for him. It's not exactly a common flavour for croissants and even James sometimes forgets to buy it for him. The other one is chocolate and it definitely is no surprise to Sirius that the man who looks like sunshine and pets rabbits for a living will also be a chocoholic.

They sit close so that their sides are pressed together and Remus pulls out a book from his brown satchel, and opens it to the first page. Wordlessly, as if in sync, they rest their heads together and start to read. Like always, they don't speak and the only sounds Sirius hears from Remus is the occasional giggle when the protagonist does something silly. Sirius barely pays attention to the book, often gazing up at the man beside him to admire the smattering of freckles across his cheeks, the thin wispy eyelashes that flutter every so often, and those wonderfully dowdy curls that never stay in place. Remus nudges him sometimes to ask if it is okay to turn the page and something in Sirius's love-struck smile must resonate as an intelligent and coherent response, because the pages turn and they start to read again.

'Not that you don't always look spiffing, but is there a reason why you've taken to wearing your funeral suit to the office?' James smirks and pushes his glasses up with his index all knowingly, just as Sirius walks in to the office, empty latte cup in hand. It is not his latte cup; he has chucked that ages ago. 'Could it be because someone is trying to make a good impression on Subway Sunshine?' He only chuckles, undeterred, when Sirius glares at the nickname. 'Has the rabbit behaviourist managed to make a decent boy out of the Black dog, after all?'

Sirius chucks his stress ball at James's head and grumbles when his friend manages to catch it effortlessly. All those years playing Cricket for the school team has made James's reflexes sharp as a tack.

'Well,' James presses, 'did you manage to ask him out on a date?'

'Kind of,' Sirius mumbles, sitting down.

James raises an eyebrow. 'Explain this "kind of"?'

'I bought him a coffee today and saved him a seat on the tube.'

His best friend does not look amused

'Look,' Sirius flings his hands up, exasperated, 'I already tried calling him on the number on his card, but the bloody receptionist keeps answering and telling me I have to book an appointment to talk to any of the specialists.'

James snorts derisively, clearly finding Sirius's excuse unacceptable. 'Are you telling me that twenty five years as a prankster hasn't taught you to fake it?'

'I tried,' Sirius grumbles, colouring slightly.

'Define "tried".'

'She wanted to know what the name of my rabbit was and I panicked, mate. I panicked and I said Bugs, like Bugs Bunny! I didn't know what else to say and I could tell she thought I was a prank caller, so I just cut off. I can't call back; she knows my name. What if she tells Remus about it and he thinks I'm some kind of crazy stalking liar?'

'Mate, the man doesn't even know your name because you turn into a blubbering, mute mess when you're with him.'

Oh. Up until now, Sirius hasn't realised this tiny little fact. They have not yet spoken and they never exchanged business cards (Sirius sort of stole Remus's), which means the man he is in utter, mad love with doesn't even know his name. Sirius feels like a teenage girl lamenting on not being noticed by her crush. 'He doesn't even know my name,' Sirius tells himself, dimly horrified. All this wonderful progress he has made with the coffee and the croissants won't work if Remus does not also get equal opportunity to stalk him through his name. 'James, what do I do?' Sirius asks in panic, grabbing James by the collar and shaking him. 'I need some kind of identification. Do you think I should drop my office ID on his lap by mistake or sneak it into his pocket if he falls asleep?'

Sirius is shaking his friend so hard that James's reply comes out as nothing but garbles and vibrations.

Dread sets in deep as he wonders if Remus is truly interested in him, because surely if you fancied someone, you would want to know their names.

Sirius worries for nothing because the next day, Remus is still there, with his blinding smile and a bag of croissants.

A routine sets in for the week.

Every day, they sit together side by side, reading or listening to music, and sharing breakfast until Remus's stop comes and they part. On Friday, Remus rides all the way to Canary Wharf to Sirius's office. Sirius does manage to give the man his name in the end, but not because he has finally gathered the courage to talk to the object of his affections. He writes it on the corner of Remus's book, along with his phone number, just before he leaves for work on Friday. He does this in hopes that Remus will call him on the weekend.

He then spends the whole day moping in the office because he will not be able to see Remus for the next two days. He works like a zombie, barely smiles even when James sneaks chilli powder into their boss's tea, and prays for the day to end so he can go and mope in peace on his bed. Sirius has never hated the arrival of the weekend as much as he does right at that very moment. He is in such a rotten mood throughout the day that James actually takes pity of him and invites him to dinner at the Potter home. If anything can put Sirius in a reasonably good mood, it is Lily Potter's roast.

So it is an understatement to say that he is happy when he finds none other than Remus Lupin sitting on the bench closest to the downward escalators to the tube. Sirius is so shocked at first that he breaks another cardinal rule of the Underground and stops in his tracks, right in the middle of rush hour foot traffic. He can hear all the disgruntled tutting behind him, but pays them no mind. He is too busy looking at Remus and his wonderfully floppy hair and his bright amber eyes, and thinking this horrible day may have turned for the better. Sirius isn't even sure how long Remus has been here, but it must be a while because Remus's coat, gloves and shoulder bag are scattered all across the bench.

He is also looking at Sirius with an expression of extreme disappointment and sadness.

It takes Sirius a moment to realise why. James has his arm around Sirius's shoulders and is still yammering on about a prank they played during their school days. Remus must think that Sirius and James are entangled somehow. To avoid any further misunderstandings, Sirius does the only thing he can think of with his Remus addled brain; he shoves James sideways and away from him with a panicked and hasty, 'Okay, bye.'

He completely disregards James's shouts about where he is going and what about dinner, and fast walks to Remus with the stupidest grin on his face. Remus returns it and holds up two greasy cartons of Chinese takeaway: a dinner date.

It isn't the most romantic date Sirius has been on, but it is certainly the most intimate. The food is cold, cementing Sirius's belief that Remus had been waiting a long time for him, and there is a crowd of people pushing against them in a hurry to get home. They eat standing up; Sirius holds a carton while Remus takes turn to feed him and himself. They maintain eye contact at all times, and Remus wipes away any stray sauce that smears Sirius's lip from time to time. Sirius doesn't complain when his fingers linger nor when Remus realises that he is staring for too long and flushes. Sirius almost envisions a Lady and the Tramp moment when their noodles lead them to a smooch but none of it happens, which would have been a disappointment if every inch of Remus wasn't pressed into him. Sirius has never loved rush hour as much.

Even when the seats starts to empty, they stand, face to face and nose to nose. Sirius isn't as shy about touching as Remus is, and drifts his hand across the man's hair, his face, his neck, his sides, anywhere he can touch without being inappropriate. Though the way Remus closes his eyes and shudders is plenty inappropriate; Sirius's nether regions certainly think so. He can tell that Remus feels the same, because his amber are swirling with flecks of green and gold. When Sirius finally gives in to the sexual tension and closes the distance between their lips, explosions go off in his head. Remus's arms come to wrap around his shoulders and pull him closer. Sirius is brash and messy when it comes to kissing, but Remus slows him down to a point where it is playful and pliant. He is experiencing things he has never experienced; feeling the sensations from their shared tongues run all the way down his spine and end in tingles in his toes and the tips of his fingers. He feels acutely, the way Remus's fingers play at the nape of his neck and with his hair. He feels their bodies brush against each other, feeling naked despite the layers of winter clothing separating them. When they part, he is breathing so hard, it is as if he's just run a marathon.

He has broken the rule dictating public displays of affection in the Underground, and he doesn't give a fuck.

He smiles and buries his face into Remus's neck, and stays there for the rest of the journey, content with the fingers combing through his hair. When Remus's stop comes, Sirius doesn't let him go, answering the questioning gaze with a chaste kiss and a tangle of their fingers on both hands. It is an invitation to come over to Sirius's and Remus accepts it shyly, his cheeks blossoming a pink so delicious that Sirius actually bites it playfully. Remus swats at him, but does not let go of Sirius's hand.

Sirius cannot keep his hands to himself.

His touches are light in the subway, all the way to Kilburn; kept chaste only because they are in public.

His arm is around Remus's waist, thumb rubbing circles as the short walk to his flat feels like forever.

His lips are on Remus's neck, as he fumbles clumsily with the key to his front door.

As soon as the lock clicks, he is everywhere.

He is pushing Remus towards the bedroom, while divesting them off their clothes, while kissing the man messily with tongue and lips and teeth, while pushing and pulling and bringing their naked skins together. Yet, Remus slows him down again when they're finally on the bed, and Sirius loves it. Sirius loves how Remus is the juxtaposition of everything he is. How Remus's slow and steady hands touch him in a way that drives him mad and makes him moan illegibly for more and please, please, please, more. How Remus's skin slides against him so effortlessly, each movement drawn out and calculated, as if Remus has always known the nuances of Sirius's body and the ways to make it sing with pleasure. When Remus guides him in, Sirius mimics the care he shows and takes things slow. He waits for Remus to take him in at his own pace and that gives his head time to catch up with his heart, and suddenly he is thinking less with lust and more with love, love, love, love.

Their bodies move in tandem after that, lips meeting messily and sweat pooling in the hollows of their stomachs. Silvery grey eyes meets rich, golden amber; and the connection established between them is far beyond physical. Sirius find this feeling overwhelming and it transfers into his fingers which hold Remus tight enough to bruise; and then into the very core of his belly as a tidal wave of orgasm grips him and he loses himself in the man beneath him.

Once they're done, Sirius looks up, breathing hard. 'Hi,' he says, exchanging a grin with the other man who is in a similar dishevelled state. His fingers curl his sweat soaked hair and he kisses him sweetly on the temple.

'Hi,' Remus replies and his voice is exactly how Sirius has always imagined it to be – low and smooth, with an undertone of kindness (that is probably expected from a man who tames rogue rabbits).

'I love you,' Sirius informs him in a tone that belies the pounding nervousness of his heart. Unconsciously, he holds Remus a little tighter as if afraid the man may leave.

Remus's eyes crinkle, he smiles so wide. 'I love you.'

I just wanted to write a one shot where love doesn't need words to happen. So I did. :D Also, kudos to those of you who got and giggled at the rabbit reference.

Hope you guys liked it and don't forget to review!