Title: Fidelity

Author: mysid

Disclaimer: Sirius and Remus belong to J.K. Rowling.

Rating: PG-13

Notes: I started this story last February but didn't get it done in time for Valentine's Day. It then languished unfinished on my laptop until I remembered it just it time to ready it for this Valentine's day.

I couldn't resist including tributes to themes that were once common in Remus/Sirius stories: the pups celebrating Lupercalia instead of Valentine's Day, the pups being mated for life--and yes, m-preg. Don't worry. I haven't crossed to the Dark Side--yet.

Thank you to erastes for suggesting Shoot! Magazine.

Fidelity

Sirius shrugged out of his damp cloak and hung it on its usual peg near the front door. He knew he should probably throw a drying charm at it, but it didn't seem damp enough to make the effort. It was February fourteenth, for the second year in a row he actually had someone who made him feel like all the date's required soppy declarations of love weren't complete bollocks, and judging by the enticing aroma of something cooking—roast beef or beef stew would be his guesses—his "Valentine" was already home.

"Hey, Padfoot," Remus called out from the living room. Sirius wasn't surprised to find Remus sprawled upon the sofa and reading the latest issue of Shoot! Sirius had arranged a subscription after noticing that Remus would buy a copy whenever he had enough spare change in his pocket. Sirius didn't understand the appeal of muggle football—Boring!—but he certainly didn't mind the glossy photos of well-muscled and sweaty men exerting themselves.

Sirius took advantage of Remus's semi-reclined pose to stretch out upon him. Remus merely lifted his arms a bit higher and wider to accommodate Sirius's head and shoulders upon his chest while he continued to read an article. Sirius slid his cold hands under Remus's jumper and warmed them against Remus's belly. Remus had tensed for just a moment, and then, realizing that Sirius was putting his cold hands between the jumper and the shirt beneath rather than on bare skin, he had relaxed again. Sirius had been tempted to torture Remus with icy fingers on bare skin, but had easily resisted the temptation. He knew that doing so would result in a giggling, squirming Remus, struggling to get away from him. And as much as he enjoyed a squirming Remus, at this moment he much preferred this relaxed and content one beneath him.

"Happy day before Lupercalia, Moony," Sirius said as he let his hands shift to Remus's sides and leaned forward to kiss Remus's throat.

"It's called St. Valentine's Day, idiot," Remus muttered, but a slight smile twisted his mouth and his eyes flickered down to Sirius before looking back at his magazine.

"Well, my family wasn't big on holidays named after saints." Or to be more accurate, his parents had never celebrated the one named after this particular saint.

"Didn't stop you from celebrating St. Patrick's Day last year."

"Yeah, well, O'Brien had brought a keg of Guinness to the party. I can make an exception under those circumstances. Whatever is cooking smells good."

"It should. My mother made it."

Sirius immediately pulled his hands out of Remus's clothing and sat back on his heels. Remus's mother may tolerate their relationship, but subjecting her to the sight of her son lying beneath his male lover—even while fully clothed—would probably test her tolerance to the breaking point.

"She's not here," Remus reassured him, setting aside his magazine at last and giving Sirius his full attention. "She dropped off the food and left. She said that restaurants are always so crowded on Valentine's that we'd probably prefer to stay in and celebrate."

"Brilliant woman," Sirius said as he lay down again. This time he let his hands—no longer as icy—work their way under Remus's shirt to touch bare skin. Remus didn't seem to mind. "Remind me to buy her something nice for her birthday."

"It was just her oh-so-subtle way of ensuring that you and I didn't go out in public tonight."

Sirius was always alert to any signs of Mrs. Lupin's approval or disapproval, for he knew what she thought mattered to Remus. If she were pressuring Remus to hide their relationship, that didn't bode well.

"I thought she was OK with the idea of us?" Sirius asked.

"She is—to a point," Remus said. He stroked Sirius's hair the way one might do to calm a frightened child. "But she knows that most people aren't. Any other night of the year, you and I could sit together in a restaurant and no one would look twice. But on St. Valentine's Day, it's just asking for trouble. 'Hi. We're queer. Come bash our heads in.'"

"Like to see 'em try."

"Not tonight," Remus said. "Getting into a brawl with homophobic Neanderthals is not my idea of the ideal way to spend this holiday." The way that Remus was now combing one hand through Sirius's hair, the way he so often did during sex, gave Sirius an indication of how Remus did want to spend the holiday. His other hand, which was unbuttoning those of Sirius's buttons that he could reach, gave an even clearer indication.

Sirius shifted up higher so he could kiss Remus more easily. He had been lying between Remus's legs—a lovely place to be—but Remus obligingly shifted one leg inward so Sirius could straddle his thigh and butt his own thigh up snugly against Remus's balls. An undulation of his hips caused the most delicious rubbing sensation against the firm muscle of Remus's thigh. Judging by Remus's grunting moans, he was enjoying the mirrored motion of Sirius's thigh against him. Cock to thigh and thigh to cock.

"Supper?" Sirius thought to ask before things could go any further. As far as he was concerned, supper could burn to a cinder, and it would be a fair trade. But Remus's mother had made it for them, and he'd really prefer not to admit to her that they'd let it burn. She'd be certain to guess why, and she'd be very certain to blame him.

"Supper can wait," Remus murmured before latching his mouth back onto Sirius's throat and sucking in a way that made Sirius's cock throb for that same attention. "Warming charm keeping it ready until we are."

Remus had undone enough of Sirius's buttons now that he was able to push his robe off one shoulder. Sirius started to pull his arm free of the sleeve, but in doing so, he felt the small bulge in his robe pocket. His mind paused from it's headlong rush into euphoria, and he remembered his plan for the evening.

"I was in Knockturn Alley today."

"Run into any relatives?" Remus asked against the skin of Sirius's shoulder.

"No, but I—uh—I passed by Practical Potions. You know the place that'll make any potion for a price."

Remus stilled and turned his head to look Sirius in the eye. "I know the one," he said warily. Questions were in his eyes, and Sirius smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way.

"They had a St. Valentine's window display with love potions and aphrodisiacs. Little red and pink hearts all over the place. Looked far too cheerful for Knockturn Alley."

"I hope you didn't waste your money. I'm already in love with you, and neither one of us needs an aphrodisiac," Remus said as stroked Sirius's already erect cock through his robes, thereby proving his point.

"I—uh—did buy something, actually," Sirius admitted as he took a dark purple vial from his robe pocket. He laughed nervously. "Spirit of the season, and all that."

Remus eyed it for a moment before closing his hand around it and taking it from Sirius. "What is it?" he asked in a resigned voice.

"Fidelity Potion."

"Fidelity Potion," Remus repeated as he held up the vial to the light.

"In a lot of families it's traditionally drunk on the wedding night. They drink it, then they consummate the marriage, and then they can't have sex with anyone else."

"No wonder divorce rates are so low in pureblood families. If you can't fuck someone else, might as well fuck the one you're with."

"It doesn't last forever, only about a year or two. My mother used to drink it every year on her wedding anniversary—until she and my father stopped sharing a bedroom. I don't think she bothered any more after that."

"Just your mother drank it?" One corner of Remus's mouth twisted up into a half-smile, making clear what he thought of the fairness of that situation.

"Well, yeah. The point was to prove that her children were really his children. Inheritance issues and all that."

Remus shook his head as he closed his eyes for a moment. "Well, Padfoot, unless you have another bizarre potion in your other pocket, I don't think any issues of paternity are going to arise between us."

"I know that," Sirius said crossly. He really didn't want Remus to make light of this—of him. "I just—like I said, spirit of the season."

Remus sighed and put the vial on the coffee table. "I can think of three reasons why you may have purchased this. One, it was meant as a romantic gesture to prove that you love me—in which case it was unnecessary. A good shag is more to my taste. Two, it was because you don't trust me—" Sirius opened his mouth to interrupt, but Remus silenced him with fingers on his lips while he continued, "in which case, you're a fool." Remus smiled. "Have you looked at yourself in a mirror lately? Why would I even look at someone else when I have you? Or three, it was because you don't trust yourself, in which case, we do have a problem—and not one that a stupid potion will fix." Remus removed his fingers from Sirius's lips and waited for answer. "Which?" he finally prompted.

"Romantic gesture," Sirius affirmed. "Stupid romantic gesture."

"Thought so," Remus said with a smile. "Bedroom," he said as he pushed Sirius off him and stood up. "I suppose we shouldn't shock anyone who might happen to use the floo."

"Be there in a minute," Sirius said. "I just have to—" He gestured in the direction of the bathroom. "I'll pour this out while I'm at it," he said as he picked up the vial.

Sirius closed the bathroom door and leaned back against it staring at the vial in his hand. He thought of the good-looking blond muggle who'd slipped his telephone number into Sirius's pocket last week—and of the fact that it had taken him three days before he crumpled it up and threw it away. "Better safe than sorry," he muttered as he wiggled the stopper free. He drank half of the potion—the correct dose for one person—and poured the rest out in the basin.

—Written February 2008