Sirius had always been something of a messy drunk.

Remus had seen him this way many a time over the years, and, while wearying, it was always a little amusing to watch his friend's carefully cultivated, devil-may-care charmer persona give way to a slight list when he walked and less-than-eloquent speech.

Something else that was beyond him was the one thing Sirius always did when he was in such a state; the reason he was making his way – stumbling just a little – toward Remus across Grimmauld Place's basement kitchen.

"Remus!" Sirius called, tripping the last few paces and throwing an arm around his shoulders. The drink in his hand tipped a little, a pipe resting in the fingers of the other. Remus managed to fake a good-naturedly weary smile for the benefit of Harry and the Weasleys – you know what he's like, should have stuck with Butterbeer, but he'll never learn...

"You're enjoying yourself, then?" he said steadily, but somehow his smile started to feel a little more genuine. His friend had spent so long cooped up in this house that he hated, and it was Christmas, and Arthur was going to be okay, and why not celebrate?

"Moony, listen, mate," Sirius began, and Remus suppressed a sigh, "I've been thinking. About me and you."

"I know you have, Padfoot..." Remus told him quietly, trying to head off the inevitable discussion – well, invitation – that they went through every time. "You always –"

"Would you just listen?" Siriuis interrupted, a little irritably, and Remus wondered whether he was quite as drunk as he appeared. Remus was certainly a little tipsy, which was a little out of character for him; would it be so impossible for Sirius to have leant in the opposite direction? He leaned down a little to speak directly into Remus's ear, who was uncomfortably aware that Hermione was watching them – not that anyone else had noticed anything out of the ordinary, but she was more than observant enough to make up for the rest. No one knew about these conversations, either, James and Peter hadn't; it was something that belonged to Moony and Padfoot and no one else.

Remus flashed Hermione a wholly unconvincing smile and tried not to get distracted by his friend's mouth against his earlobe.

"I was thinking," Sirius began anew, "why couldn't this work, you and me? You're my best friend, Rem, you have been since we were at school. Sometimes more so than James... I mean, I loved James, I did –" his brow furrowed as though in confusion; perhaps he felt he was doing his friend a disservice, "- but you always saw things he didn't... quite a few things, actually..." Remus could feel him grinning, and tried not to recall the times to which he knew Sirius was referring. "You remember..."

Remus's sigh turned into a strangled gasp as Sirius's teeth brushed the spot on the side of his neck that always made his knees buckle and god damn it, get a hold of yourself, he chastised himself silently, you're not sixteen anymore, what's wrong with you?

"Mind, there's a thing or two I'd be hard pressed to forget, myself..." Sirius murmured, his voice rich with amused satisfaction at the reaction he'd created, and Remus tried (unsuccessfully, but valiantly) to ignore the feel of his friend's lips against his unshaven jaw. "The way you looked after a snog... how we always had to be quiet in the dormitory, and you could never quite say my name when you were right on the edge... how you'd get all flushed when you were embarrassed, or riled up, but you'd never say anything... like now..."

"Sirius..."

"Remus..." Sirius replied, sounding triumphant, as if he'd proved a point.

"We're not teenagers anymore... you can't just..." Considering how well-spoken he normally was, Remus was finding it incredibly difficult to get words out, and despite his protests, he was certainly feeling adolescent again. He was determinedly avoiding Hermione's gaze. He inhaled, long and deep, trying to steady himself, but this was a mistake: all it got him was a lungful of the mixed smells of the Firewhisky, pipe smoke, and something else uniquely Sirius – aftershave and something surprisingly clean and masculine Remus couldn't place but had always secretly loved. Damn it.

"Oh, I can't... ?" And he knew Sirius's grin was impossibly wider as he dropped his drink onto the mantel at Remus's shoulder, and traced his fingertips across the back of his neck, which instantly flushed still more red.

"Someone will see... Hermione..."

"They're all far more gone than I am, Moony, and it's so goddamned loud in here that I don't think anyone can blame me for wanting to get a little closer to you," Sirius replied mock-innocently, with a touch of his old arrogance.

"Sirius, you can't – "

"Always loved it when you said my name," Sirius murmured, "instead of Padfoot... say it again..."

"We - you're drunk," Remus managed to say.

"No more than you," came the calm reply, against his neck. "Come on, Remus, what's to stop us from going upstairs right now and getting to know each other again... it's not the lack of inclination, certainly..."

Remus was sure the sensations of Sirius's fingers playing at the collar of his shirt and Sirius's mouth on his skin would be his undoing; he was, quite literally, weak in the knees... and as he stood there and considered it, he wondered what was to be gained by declining the invitation... Just because we'll be in a bedroom, he thought, doesn't mean anything has to happen. That's a teenager's perception. We're not as young as we used to be... he's right, I suppose, it's not disinterest that's stopping me, is it? He suppressed a snort. It's definitely not disinterest...

"Padf – Sirius," Remus started, and Sirius mmmed appreciatively in his ear, "don't you think we should discuss this – I mean –"

"Nothing to discuss," Sirius replied tersely, still smiling, and his fingers slipped around Remus's collar and a couple of inches down the front of his shirt. For the first time, he looked Remus in the eyes. "We want what we want. You're right, we aren't teenagers anymore, we're perfectly at liberty to come back down here later tonight looking exactly like we've just fucked. Neither of us has anything to hide from anyone in this room."

For once, Remus couldn't argue. Sirius was right.

"And you want to..." Sirius continued, catching Remus's earlobe in his teeth, voice as low and positively dirty as it had been a few moments previously, "I know you so well... you want to... you want me, don't you..."

"Fuck," Remus hissed, uncharacteristically. If he was being honest with himself, he was fairly surprised he hadn't come yet, just from this conversation, the tone of Sirius's voice, the sound of his name, his real name, not Moony... and what he was saying...

"I want to take you upstairs," Sirius told him, quietly but clearly, "and I want to do everything to you and with you that we used to... remember?"

"I remember," Remus breathed after a time, and for the first time since Sirius had come over to him, he smiled.

"Well, then, after you," Sirius said, with an exaggerated gesture toward the door.

"You just want to watch me walk in front of you, don't you?"

"Maybe a little." Sirius winked.

Remus grinned and turned to leave, murmuring over his shoulder, "You will pay for all of this teasing, Sirius Black."

"Well, you are a man of your word..." he replied. Hermione was scrutinizing them both, her expression unreadable. Sirius tipped an imaginary hat to her and smirked, then followed Remus out of the room.