Title: Stalking Sirius
Characters/pairing: Remus/Sirius, mentions of Lily/James, hinted Peter/Alice
Warnings/Notes: graphic sexual situations, language, non-magical AU. Written for the lupinbigbang. Thank you to my Beta, dogunderfoot for her advice, encouragement and for supplying commas. Gorgeous art work by comicsforcate available by clicking the link on my profile.
Disclaimer: This fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by people more talented than me. No money is being made, no copyright or trademark infringement, or offence is intended. All characters depicted in sexual situations are above the age of consent.

'Sirius! Sirius, over here!'

'James! Sirius! Come on, lads! Just one photo!'

'James, when are you and Lily going to confirm your engagement?'

'Sirius! Is it true you and Selena Marks are dating?'

'Sirius! Do you think my arse looks big in this?'

Sirius shot a disbelieving look over his shoulder at the skinny, shabbily-dressed reporter who'd almost screamed the last question in his ear. The man grinned cheekily at him then a flash went off in Sirius' face. Realising he'd fallen right into the other man's trap, Sirius shot the reporter the filthiest look he could muster. The man's grin widened and he winked at Sirius before raising the camera once more. Sirius quickly ducked his head and almost fell headfirst into the back of the waiting limo.

'Go,' he snapped at the driver as he lurched into the seat. 'For the love of God, go!'

He was thrown back against the leather seat as the limo jerked into motion and grumbled discontentedly to himself as he fumbled with his seat belt. A chuckle made his head shoot up and he glared furiously at his companion.

'Shut. Up.'

'You always fall for it,' James Potter laughed, shaking his head at his friend. 'He always manages to get you to look. What did he ask this time?'

Sirius mumbled something unintelligible under his breath and James' grin grew.

'Sorry? Didn't catch that?' he teased, leaning towards Sirius. He knew the more evasive Sirius was, the better the reporter's question had been.

Sirius huffily crossed his arms over his chest and said through gritted teeth, 'He asked if his arse looked big in what he was wearing.'

James chortled and Sirius threw a half-full bottle of water at him. 'It's not funny!'

'It's bloody hilarious, mate,' James retorted, pulling out his phone and with a few jabs of the buttons, pulled up his messages. 'I can't believe, after all these months he's been following us around, that you still can't manage to ignore him.'

'He's just so… 'Sirius waved his calloused hands around, trying to find the correct description for the paparazzo that had been practically stalking the members of The Marauders for the last six months.

'… Hot? Cute? Fuckable?' James suggested, thumb busy punching in a text message while he smirked.

'Annoying,' Sirius said darkly, narrowing his eyes at James when his phone beeped. 'A personality quirk you both share.'

James snorted and, after a quick glance at the message, snapped his phone shut. 'Peter and Lily want you to know that you are a knob and that they are planning on mercilessly taking the piss out of you when we get back to the hotel.'

'Why do you feel the need to tell them everything?' Sirius moaned, closing his eyes at the thought of the ribbing he was going to get for allowing the journalist to catch his attention yet again.

'So they can share in the fun, of course,' James said, reclining in the seat and crossing his arms behind his head. 'Besides, they'll see the photos in the paper tomorrow.'

He contemplated Sirius for a long moment then asked, 'You are so good at ignoring the rest of them. Why do you let him get under your guard?'

Sirius frowned. 'I don't do it deliberately,' Sirius insisted, irritated by James' skeptical expression. 'He is just… always there and always manages to bloody surprise me with those stupid questions…'

'Did his arse look big in what he was wearing?' James asked slyly, and Sirius kicked out with his foot, catching James' shin with his booted toe.

'I didn't look,' Sirius snapped, crossing his legs loosely. 'He's a bloody journalist, James. If I looked, it would be all over the front page that the lead singer and guitarist of the internationally acclaimed band, The Marauders, was a flaming fucking queer.'

'Er – you are a flaming fucking queer,' James reminded him and Sirius pouted.

'I'm bisexual,' he corrected pointedly. 'And I prefer to keep that on a need to know basis.'

'Need to know being the moment after you bend a bloke over the speakers backstage but before you stick your cock in his arse?'

'Something like that.'

James tsked at him and Sirius rolled his eyes. 'I am aware of your disapproval of my lifestyle choices,' Sirius said wearily, having listened to James' lectures on the perils of casual sex enough to have memorized them. 'And you know that I find your own path equally as distasteful.'

'Yes, I recall how horrified you were by my decision to settle down with the one woman,' James said dryly then he shook his head despairingly. 'Sirius, one day, all this sneaky fucking around is going to come back and bite you on the arse.'

Sirius stared at his friend, recognizing the note of concern under the biting tone. He refused to acknowledge the little flame of uncertainty that flared to life in his gut and tossed his head, his shoulder-length black hair whipping around his face.

'Bite me on the arse?' he said, leering at James and wriggling his eyebrows. 'That sounds like fun to me.'

James made a huffing noise and pulled his phone out again.

Remus tapped the mouse pad on his laptop, choosing the best photographs of Sirius Black and James Potter to email out to various publications along with his brief account of the men's most recent activities. There would be the usual flurried bidding war, the photographs would go to the highest bidder, and Remus' landlord would be off his back for the next couple of months.

Remus added the name of the final recipient to the email then clicked send. 'And the winner of biggest whore goes to Remus Lupin,' he muttered, scowling at the screen of the laptop as the words Message Sent popped up. 'This is not going to win me a British Press Award.'

He slumped back into his chair, reaching for his open beer and gulping down the last warm mouthful. This was not the career he'd envisioned having when he graduated from university five years earlier. He'd had big plans: start off with one of the smaller newspapers to get some valuable, practical experience in the field, then he would dazzle one of the larger papers with a pithy and in depth report on… something interesting… and be the youngest recipient of every journalism award there was going.

But instead, he was freelancing because any permanent position he was offered only paid enough to either feed him or keep the leaky roof over his head. He wasn't investigating political corruption, or bringing down corporations that conned little old ladies and poor families out of their homes and life savings. He wasn't saving the world one keystroke at a time.

Instead, he was chasing mediocre rock stars around London hoping for a photo of them shooting up, or shagging some other celebrity, or just fucking up in some embarrassing way so that he could immortalize the moment on film. He would then prostitute himself – letting the highest bidder fuck his conscience raw – and get to eat baked beans and sausages in his shitty flat with the leaking roof for another day.

He'd fallen more than slightly short of his life goals.

Remus placed his bottle down on the kitchen table with a clunk and minimized his email account. The screen was now filled with thumbnails of the photographs he'd taken over the last few days and Remus' hand seemed to move of its own accord, directing the cursor towards the frame filled with black hair and pale skin.

Sirius Black.

Remus smirked at the photograph that now filled the screen. Sirius Black – lead guitarist and singer for The Marauders - caught staring with a mixture of disbelief and annoyance right down the lens of the camera. The rags he'd sent this to were going to be bitch-slapping each other trying to buy this shot. Sirius was rarely caught without his carefully created public persona firmly in place; the man seemed to have an uncanny ability to know exactly where the press would be and how to avoid letting them get an unflattering shot of him.

But it appeared that Remus Lupin had somehow managed to become the exception to the rule.

Remus' hand moved again, swiftly transferring the photograph to a file of pictures titled 'Sirius Black' then clicked on the slide show option. Eyes on the screen as each photo scrolled past, he stretched his arm across the tiny space between his kitchen table and the fridge, and opened the door, pulling out the last bottle of beer and popping the lid. He watched with a frown as photos of the top of Sirius' head floated past then suddenly… there!

His hand shot out and paused the barrage of photographs on a shot of Sirius' face, his lips parted in surprise and grey eyes wide. Remus put his beer down carefully then leaned forward, his face in his hands and elbows planted either side of the laptop. Sirius Black had dueling reputations amongst Remus' peers: some called him difficult, moaning that his arrogance and sense of entitlement made interviews with him agonizing, but others had practically swooned after meeting him, proclaiming him to be the most charming person they'd ever had the good fortune to meet. Sirius Black, it seemed, was an enigma, a chameleon. Few had managed to get much past the steely façade and no one had ever done more than simply scratch the surface of the man underneath.

And that made him incredibly fascinating to the journalist in Remus.

He touched a fingertip to the screen. No matter what he personally thought about Sirius Black as a person, as an artist, Remus couldn't deny that he was one hell of a beautiful man, and that very much appealed to the sex-starved part of Remus.

Remus traced the outline of Sirius' jaw then brushed his finger lightly over the curve of the slightly quirked lips. He wasn't a fan of The Marauders' style of music – too much noise and not enough focus on actual rhythm for Remus' taste – but Sirius was without doubt a talented, charismatic man who had been born to be a star and played the public and the press like a finely tuned instrument.

Perhaps that was why Remus took so much satisfaction in being the one who had managed to break that famed control.

He sank back into his chair and lifted his drink to his mouth. Stalking Sirius Black might not have made him his fortune, or brought him the respect of his peers, but it was proving to be a hell of a lot of fun.

Sirius slammed his bedroom door and stalked across the living area to the suite's kitchenette. Peter Pettigrew put down his newspaper and watched Sirius open and close every cupboard door then wrench open the refrigerator door and stare moodily into its depths.

'You've seen the paper then?'

'Fucking journalists should be fucking shot and hung up by their bollocks.'

'I'll take that as a yes.'

Sirius shut the fridge door harder than necessary then collapsed into the armchair opposite Peter. 'You are not to let me go out in public alone,' he said firmly, pointing a finger at Peter. 'You must carry a cattle prod at all times and poke me with it if it looks like I'm going to give this Lupin bloke another shot of me looking like a vacant bloody knob. Poke. Me. Hard!'

Peter exhaled in amusement and gave the newspaper a shake before he lifted it once more. 'And the photo of that should buy Lupin a condo on the Riviera.'

Sirius scowled. 'At least he'd be out of my hair there,' he muttered.

Peter closed the newspaper and folded it in half. 'You realise we have a press conference this afternoon to promote the new album?' he reminded Sirius who immediately closed his eyes and groaned as if in excruciating pain.

'God, he's going to be there and he's going to ask me what colour underwear I'm wearing, or if I'm a natural brunette and embarrass me in front of the fucking world!' he wailed.

Peter looked thoughtful. 'Hasn't he already asked you if you were a natural brunette?' he asked. 'I think the photo of that reaction got him on the front page.'

'It was a slow news day,' Sirius snapped then he heaved a loud, put-upon sigh. 'Why can't he pick on one of you for a change?'

Peter pushed himself to his feet. 'Because you are such an easy target,' he teased then reached across the coffee table to slap Sirius over the head with the newspaper. 'And because you're soooo pretty!'

'Oh, so now I'm being literally and metaphorically beaten by those rags,' Sirius said, fending off Peter's second blow and snatching the paper out of his hands. 'And I'm not pretty. I'm fucking stunning, mate.'

'Mm, maybe he fancies your stunning self?' Peter said, tousling Sirius' carefully groomed hair.

'He's got a funny way of trying to get into my pants then,' Sirius retorted, slapping Peter's hand away. 'Public humiliation isn't really my thing.'

'Yet you still get up on stage thinking you can sing,' Peter said in a pitying tone then he laughed as he ducked out of the way of Sirius' swinging fist.

A sharp series of raps on the door broke up their playful fisticuffs, and Sirius sprawled across the soft armchair as Peter disappeared up the hall. The familiar staccato beat of stiletto heels on the tiled floor made him shoot upright once more, plastering a broad smile on his face as he turned to greet their visitor.

'Alice! Beautiful, gorgeous, love of my life…'

'You are going to that press conference, Sirius,' Alice Longbottom said as she breezed past Sirius, her eyes never leaving her black electronic organizer. 'I don't care how those big bad journalists scare you; this is your bread and butter. Without those…'

'Vultures?' Sirius suggested when Alice, distracted by her organizer, paused.

'… reporters,' Alice said, continuing as if Sirius hadn't interrupted, 'you would have no publicity for the launch of the new album which means that no one would know it had been released which would rather negatively affect sales.'

She shut her organizer with a loud snick and looked up at Sirius for the first time with a brisk smile. 'And we must keep you in leather trousers somehow. Irritating journos who manage to get under your skin are the price you pay for those – admittedly rather fetching – perks.'

She looked over Sirius' head, and her smile softened. 'Thanks, Peter,' she murmured coyly, and Sirius was startled by the change from ball-breaker to ingénue. He looked from Alice to Peter – who was flushing a light pink as he handed their blonde manager a cup of coffee – and rolled his eyes.

'God, you're all at it,' he muttered under his breath then he groaned when he caught Peter's silent but insistent hand gestures that Sirius took to mean 'get the hell out'. He begrudgingly rolled off the chair and staggered to his feet. 'I know when I'm not wanted…'

Alice snorted delicately, and Peter chuckled. Sirius made a face and snatched his leather jacket off the back of the seat where he'd thrown it the night before.

'I'm going to visit James and Lily in their suite…'

'Oh, I wouldn't,' Alice piped up, crossing her rather remarkable legs and taking a tiny sip of the coffee. 'They asked not to be disturbed. Having a lie in.'

Sirius swore then, after another of Peter's non-verbal hints, he sighed. 'I'll just…' He waved his hands vaguely. '… go somewhere else. Maybe get some breakfast...'

'You do that,' Peter encouraged before turning to grin at Alice.

Sirius could barely hold back a sarcastic remark at the sight of Peter's fawning expression and hastily left the room before his control snapped.

He made his way to the hotel restaurant; his progress slowed by a group of middle-aged women who recognized him. He signed some autographs and smiled for a few quick photographs, trying to ignore his stomach's increasingly loud objections to such a late breakfast. As he reached the lobby, Sirius noticed that there were still a few photographers lingering outside and mentally kicked himself when he realised he was searching for a glimpse of the annoyingly persistent Remus Lupin.

Annoyingly persistent and cute.

Sirius grimaced at the rogue thought then greeted the concierge who swiftly organized a table at the back of the restaurant behind a privacy screen so Sirius could eat in peace. He placed his order - scrambled egg whites with mushrooms and coffee (he had to make certain he fit into those leather pants) – and sat back in his chair, absently people watching through the silk screen.

He was accustomed to this life now: being recognized wherever he went, having his every move watched and cataloged by the press, not being able to get through a meal without having to sign an autograph. Sometimes, though, he felt disconnected from the rest of the world, as if The Marauders was its own little universe and stepping out in public was like visiting a parallel universe where everything was identical, but just an inch further to the left.

He wasn't comfortable being himself in this world anymore. Not when his ridiculously expressive face would reveal every single emotion he was experiencing at any given moment. Not when every stupid mistake or broken heart would be splashed across every newspaper stand in the Western world to be consumed over a morning coffee along with all the other celebrity gossip of the day.

That was why he created The Mask.

James had decided Sirius' public face needed capitalization, joking that The Mask appeared so often that it should have official status as their fifth band member. It was the device Sirius employed so he could keep just a little bit of himself for himself. He'd learned how to lock away all the notes and chords and lyrics that were the soundtrack of his life. He let the public see little glimpses of it in his music, on stage, in film clips, but only what he chose to let them see. He was paranoid that if he let all the other shit – the speculation, the gossip, the fame – get past his protection, it would infect him. It would take the only thing he had left that was his and his alone, and he would lose himself.

And that was why he hated Remus Lupin - because that damnable man with his tatty jeans and permanently wind-blown hair and cheeky smile had managed to crack through Sirius' carefully constructed armour.

Sirius sighed heavily then smiled at the nervous looking waiter as he approached with his breakfast. He eyed the other man's arse in those tight black slacks as he departed then dug his fork into the fluffy mound of eggs. He was nearly done when he was startled out of his thoughts be a cheery greeting.

'Morning!'

Sirius looked up, automatically plastering on a smile, only to have it fall from his face almost immediately.

'You!'

TBC