Disclaimer: I own nothing. Aside from a few smelly socks littering my bedroom floor, which may or may not be making a guest appearance in later chapters… It's all JK's.

Author's Notes: No, I have no idea where I am going with this. I just really wanted to write something where Sirius was asleep and Remus considers jumping on him… All stemming from this thing that happened to my mother while she was at work the other week. It's best not to ask.

It's amazing how you can spend all day in a boiling hot classroom, willing the hours away, complaining incessantly of boredom and fatigue, longing for your snug, comfy bed up in the boys Gryffindor dorm, yet when you're actually there, all wrapped up in the middle of the long, tedious nights, you feel wide awake and just want to get up and dance. Well, maybe not dance. I would if I were as outgoing as James, as carefree as Sirius, or even just as plain daft as Peter. But no, I'm bland, boring, perfect Prefect Remus, destined to be the 'nice, quiet one' the teachers all have a special soft spot for. Who currently happens to be wide awake, twitching with nothing to do.

I cast my eyes all around the room, but see nothing. The inky black night has swallowed my entire surroundings, and I couldn't distinguish a bedpost from a mattress if you held me at wand point and threatened me with permanent attachment to Snape for the rest of my life. The desperate, sleep-deprived part of me briefly entertains the idea of whacking my head against something big and heavy to knock myself out, but unfortunately, the much bigger, more rational side of my mind has already begun categorising and alphabetising the many extensive reasons why this would be a bad idea, possible concussion and unbearably excruciating pain being just one of them.

Sighing melodramatically, I violently toss the covers off myself and thump my feet on to the cold, wooden floor. I wait a few moments, but my efforts are in vain- Everyone is fast asleep and no matter how much I huff and stamp, that's not going to change.

Well, now that I'm out of bed, I figure I might as well go for a wander. If I happen to stumble over someone's carelessly strewn belongings on the floor, causing me to fall and shout, possibly awakening the others, unfortunately forcing them to join me in my misery, well, that's just not my problem. However, despite trying, I manage to make my way across the dorm and to the door in the pitch black, without even standing on something sharp, or even stubbing my toe. I 'accidentally' slam the door behind me, and listen intently from the other side, but eventually have to resign myself to the fact that this is set up to be yet another sleepless night spent alone and bored.

Padding down the spiralling stairs, the inviting glow of the crackling, yellow fire in the common room entices me, and I begin to feel that maybe relaxing in one of the huge, squashy armchairs by the fireplace with a good book might make good use of the peace and quiet that comes with the night. After all, usually I can't get a moment to myself, what with the first years constantly pestering me for protection from the pranks and jinxes from older members of the house, and the second years running riot, throwing sweets and chasing each other. The others aren't much better. In fact, I seem to spend most of my waking time trying to control James and Sirius. Not that they listen or anything.

The warmth of the log fire is so welcoming on my bare limbs, in my sleepless state of mind I appear to have wandered down here in just my boxers and old baggy shirt. Never mind, it's not like anyone will see me, and at least the majority of my transformation-induced scars are covered if they do. As I pass the battered couch which has been officially known as the Marauders' since at least second year, I nearly jump out of my skin as I notice a familiar, slender yet muscular body sprawled across the plump cushions. I stumble most ungracefully and my head makes contact with a tall lamp with a loud 'thwack' and I find myself in a tangled heap on the rug behind the couch. I freeze, wondering if I have awoken him, and my question is answered as a black mop of hair, framing delicately chiselled cheekbones and wide dark eyes peeks over the back of the seat

Sirius' sleepy eyes take in the scene, and with a snort of laughter, his athletically toned arms pull himself up and over the couch, and he crouches, bare-chested, only inches from my face.

"You alright, Moony?"

Despite his wide grin and amused tone, I can see from his eyes he's genuinely concerned for me. Pulling myself up into a more conventional sitting position, I force my face into a nothing more than friendly smile, desperately trying to disguise my far from platonic thoughts and haughtily grumble, "Nothing bruised except my ego."

He straightens himself up, and, despite snickering slightly, offers me his hand, which I grasp gratefully, glad to finally be back on my feet. As he stretches, I hear his spine crack and try not to stare too much, but it's so difficult when he's so temptingly close and wearing so little-

"You going to stand there all night?"

Sirius' silky voice wakes me from my reverie, I shake my head and obediently make my way to one of the armchairs by the fire. Sirius has reclaimed the battered three-seater sofa as his own personal recliner, spreading himself across its entire length, his feet hanging over one end and his head the other. Curling my legs beneath me, I spot one of my books on the other side of the room, and with a quickly muttered "accio!", the old leather cover is sitting comfortably in my hands. Under the pretence of reading, I watch as Sirius' eyes gradually droop downwards, his chest begins to fall and rise much more evenly and his limbs appear limp and relaxed.

I'm not sure how long I sit gazing at him, such a peaceful, tranquil sight especially when in comparison to his usual waking self. I often wonder if other people see him as I do. To me, every single inch of him is perfect and precious, every smile line and uneven crease is endearing. Of course, you could argue that my biased opinion doesn't count, considering what Lily likes to call my 'infatuation'. Hours might have passed, I don't know, but definitely nowhere near long enough, when the perfectly formed lips I so long to caress with my own part slowly and murmur, "seen something you fancy?"

Shocked and embarrassed, I almost jump out of my skin, but I manage to compose myself before he lazily opens one eye to observe me.

"Don't worry, I know you're gagging for it… Absolutely lusting for me… After all, who wouldn't want a bit of Padfoot?"

He mockingly runs his tongue over his bottom lip, a playful glint in his eye, and I have to wonder if he ever stops playing the fool just to be serious for once. Of course, I don't voice that particular thought, due to the inevitable "but I'm always Sirius" puns that would follow.

As is expected of me I retort with, "oh yes, Sirius my darling, my loins are simply burning for you, I don't know how I shall cope without your love", in the most monotonous and unromantic tone I can muster. Grinning and satisfied, he shuffles, rearranging himself amongst the many cushions littering his makeshift bed.

Despite my calm exterior, my heart thuds as I automatically turn a page of the heavy tome currently resting in my lap. I've no idea what the words say, or if I've already read them, my mind is wandering to a much more pleasant and scary subject.

"Sirius?"

"Yeah?"

"Ah…Nothing."