klena | Half of a fandom birthday gift

Title: The Light The Day Can Never See
For:

kabeyk – a glorious writer of Marauder smut and R/S/J threesomes and the most awesome, funny, clever stories that never fail to make me laugh, cry, blush or drool. Hurrah for her, I say!
Prompt: Drunken Marauders and drunken kissing practice. Except I forgot about the practice, ha ha!
Word count: 2, 745 in this part
Pairings: We have Remus/James, Sirius/Peter and Peter/Remus in this part
Warnings:Language, alcohol consumption (as per orders), Remus/Food pairing (haha!), crude sex talk (dear, dear, Sirius has a filthy mouth), angst and, oh noes, boys rubbing against each other!
Notes: Lyrics at the beginning of this section stolen from: Mad At Gravity, Aqualung and Jude Christodal
Note 2: This is honestly the first time I’ve written kissing in a good two years and then had to think about how each Marauder would kiss – so I’m saying please be gentle! Also, I’ve never written anything explicitly smutty or sexual before so it was a bit of a learning experience, ha ha! Slash ahoy!
Note 3: THIS ISN'T BETAED SO IT COULD BE CRAP!
Feedback: Is much desired and much loved and will earn you a cookie.

Pushed away on principle

The dare, in itself, was quite a simple one – at least in Marauder reckoning. Sneak into Filch’s room and steal some of the hundreds of Dungbombs he had confiscated from the student masses of Hogwarts. The twist – at least in Sirius’s hazy, drunken eyes – was to make Remus go and do the dare. The prefect had balked in his typical way – as Sirius knew he would – and Sirius had leaned over the almost-forgotten bottle of Firewhiskey and whispered the forfeit if Loony Lupin didn’t complete the dare. Peter and James had laughed – leaning against each other for comfort and also the support, holding their sides and snorting with laughter.

Remus paled and agreed to do the dare as long as he got the Invisibility Cloak. James had agreed and volunteered to make sure he completed the dare. Sirius laughed heartily, waved the hand that wasn’t possessively clutching a bottle of Firewhiskey magnanimously and nodded, as words had failed him in his drunken stupor.

After long, long moments of trying to find the Cloak and trying to get James to stand up right, they were ready. Sirius lay grinning and spread-eagled on the Common Room floor giving them a pathetic wave goodbye and Peter just laughed again. Remus muttered darkly – some foreign quote about winged vengeance overtaking them as they set off in what Remus deemed a brisk walk and what James moaned was a run.

“Fuck it Remus – Filch!” James whispered desperately, grabbing the other boy by the nearest body part as he bolted away from the door (a soft squawk of protest muffled by hands) and skidding into the corner, pressing Remus flush against the wall and throwing the Invisibility cloak over them as he did.

Filch and Mrs. Norris slunk in only seconds later, Mrs. Norris yowling and shooting dirty looks at their corner and Filch threw unidentifiable belongings into his cupboard. He spun around quickly, squinting around his room as he thought he heard moans but decided Peeves was just trying to rattle him. He tickled the cat under her ear and chuckled.

“Thought they could get away from us, didn’t they, my pet? That’s three more for detention in the dungeon tomorrow!” He cackled gleefully, gathering the cat up in his greasy arms and sweeping out again – practically skipping at his prospect of the student’s punishment.

All of this went unnoticed by the two in the corner because, as Filch had returned, James’s focus was on the fact that Remus was getting hard against his hip. Very slowly twisting away from the door and cocking his head, James grinned and winked at Remus who wouldn’t meet his eyes as he fearlessly discovered at least six new shades of crimson and mauve.

“Liked being watched Moony?”

Remus moaned – a sound tinged with desire and embarrassment and fear – trying to wriggle away from James, clawing slightly at the arms around his waist and neck keeping him pressed flush against James. A twist of the hips as a last ditch attempt didn’t quite go to plan as he felt himself rub against James. Remus stopped instantly – like a deer caught in headlights (and the irony of that statement wasn’t lost on him) as his brain caught up with his body. James. James was hard.

“Mmmmmm Moony,” sighed the hot breath in his ear as the door slammed shut with Filch’s departure. “Liked that?”

“…Fuck off James, this isn’t funny.”

“Who said anything,” and oh balls was that really James’ tongue licking along the shell of his ear and turning his knees to jelly as if he had been hexed and, oh fuck, fuck fuck, please, “about me being joking?” Remus moaned again and wound his arms around James, just lightly crooking his fingers and digging the tips in. The tongue attached to James (for surely, Remus thought, James’s tongue had been cursed or charmed to do such things and make him a large wall-pressed shape of a Remus) began tracing the line of his jaw and then flicked up the scars marring his cheek.

“More,” Remus moaned, drifting his fingers down to the base of James back and dancing over the cloth-covered vertebrae like little kisses. James gasped, jerking his hips into Remus, pressing his cock against his leg, seeking friction. There was an answering gasp as Remus buried his head against James’s bony shoulder and thrust back. Something his head was whispering – something about…

James kissed him – a gentle, shy kiss against his lower lip and looked down, blinking rapidly, bright brown eyes shining – seeking Remus’s approval. There was a nod and James leant in again, mimicking his first kiss almost exactly. Sensing his lack of knowledge, Remus cupped his chin and forced James to meet his eyes as he arched up slightly and flicked his tongue against the lower lip before pressing several chaste kisses to the corners. James caught his lips and trailed over them lazily – his mouth tasting of cornflakes and Firewhiskey from the last dare – as fingers rubbed against the bulge in Remus’s threadbare flannel pjs. Remus gasped, and arched into the touch as James’ tongue suckled on the hollow of his neck and he cried out,

“Lily!”

“Not quite,” James muttered, then “…What?” Remus was intensely aware of James’s fingers lingering over his cock, tracing the length up and down as glassy unfocused eyes burned.

“We can’t – oh – ah ah! – James, James – Lil – Lily.”

There was a pause – fingers slowing – and James stepped back. He shivered from the loss of the heat – and kissed James who shook his head, lips then brushing at his jaw.

“You’re right – you’re right. Sorry Moony.”

By the time Remus had the words ready to answer, James was gone and there was a heavy ache beginning to settle in his chest.

This is just one of those lonely nights

“Sometimes you know – the sound is deafening…y’know? Like so tight it feels I’m going to explode. That’s why.”

Peter nodded to Sirius’s words. Even thought they were utter drunken bollocks, Peter could see what he was trying to get at. He felt it was a skill, understanding what Sirius was talking about. Even thought he was perhaps the best-looking boy in school (he could admit that freely, even without the alcohol – Sirius was an attractive bloke), sometimes Peter wondered if he was mad. He had asked Remus once who had smiled that gentle, polite smile of his and quoted “mad, bad and dangerous to know?” There had been a small slip in the smile – a crack in the intricately laid armour. The Prank, as Peter had taken to calling it, was like a dream or a nightmare that still lingered on in the tails of conversation and in tiny but wholly telling comments – like syrup, after you’ve washed your hands of it the skin is still sticky and vaguely unpleasant to touch –

“What’chu thinkin’ so deeply about?” A vaguely husky voice snarled into his thoughts and, automatically Peter replied,

“Syrup and how your skin feels gunky even after you’ve washed it.”

He blushed at Sirius’ piercing cloud-grey stare and quirked eyebrow until there was a rough barking laugh and half a bottle of Firewhiskey forced into his hand. He made some questioning mouse noise as he tried to press the bottle back – but Sirius clamped his burning fingertips over Peter’s little stumpy hands and leaned in, storm-tossed eyes gleaming with the nearby firelight that, coupled with the hard line of his attractive mouth, made him slightly demonic and mad.

“No Pete,” he said very deliberately as if talking to a child, “I want you to have it,” the bursting in fits of howling laughter, falling back on the floor.

Peter smiled to himself – yep. Definitely mad.

“So Wormtail, old pal, old buddy, old…noodle…”

“Yes Padfoot, ye mad, crazy drunkard?”

There was a small appreciative grin sent his way before he was serious (in his head Peter heard the rat whisper Serious Sirius and was very pleased indeed that he did not collapse in a fit of unmanly giggles.)

“Have you…y’know…?” Peter was amazed at the blush elegantly gliding over Sirius’s cheeks and focused his attention away from the beginnings of his hard-on and on the suggestive hand movements.

“Had sex? Yeah.”

“Really? You sneaky rat! With who?

He shrugged nonchalantly

“Girl in the year below.”

“And…like…how was it?”

He shrugged again.

“Sweaty. Wet. And…well…”

“Yeah?”

Peter leaned in and whispered,

“She made these yowling noises – like a cat. And no pussy jokes.”

Sirius laughed,

“Hadn’t even crossed my mind…Cat noises? Really?”

Peter grinned.

“Yeah. And being a –”

“-rat yeah. Not good.” Sirius thought for a moment on this and then howled with laughter again. This time Peter joined him before asking,

“Why’d you want to know? Have you?”

“Yeah!” he said a little too quickly, which to his credit, he realised and, shuffling over so as to sit against Peter and the giant chairs, admitted “it was just – I don’t think she enjoyed it. I mean, I came but she didn’t. She made herself come.”

Peter thought about this for a minute before concurring,

“……Ah well. You came.”

Sirius gave him an incredulous look and chuckled slightly.

“‘Ah well ’,” he repeated to himself, “nice one mate!” Peter smiled but could tell there was still something.

“What else Pads?”

“…ithoughtaboutboys.” The words were rushed – almost whimpered which made Peter’s chest hurt but he heard them – the rat had heightened hearing.

“…OK. So?”

“Fuck Peter!”

“…Let’s not.” He laughed and was glad of the reward in the small crooked smile.

“But it’s wrong! And I want,” he flung his hands out wildly, “people I shouldn’t and – fuck, girls barely make me hard anymore! Even if they’re lying there with their legs gaping – and and…Barely anything! And when I wank, I need to think about boys to bring myself off! Or else – or else I can’t and it’s driving me fucking mad! Fuck – I’m such a fucking pervert.”

This last declaration was accompanied with Sirius hanging his head in his hands and digging the nails in hard enough to turn the skin bleached-bone white. Peter raised a hand, chest and heart burning as if he were in the heart of a star, and laid it over Sirius’, squeezing gently. When he saw one wet eye focus on him, he admitted softly,

“I think about boys sometimes too.”

There came a whimpering, broken noise – half sob, half laugh – at this so Peter added

“And I think about people I shouldn’t too…But that’s just the way it goes – right?”

“…We want what we can’t have…”

“Yes.”

Sirius leaned forward – his forehead pressed against Peter’s and sighed – making Peter’s head swim with despair and Firewhiskey. They were quiet except for slight panting breaths.

“…What if now I want you?”

Peter kissed him. It wasn’t a perfect kiss by any accounts – one nibbled too hard on the other’s lips, the other was sloppy and wet – but it wasn’t the technique that counted, it wasn't the technique that made them breathless, it was the knowledge and the security of the comfort in each other.

You’ve got such a pretty smile – it’s a shame the things you hide behind it

It wasn’t fair, Peter decided, that Remus sounded so obscene when he moaned at the sight of food. There had been pre-moon cravings so the two set off under the Invisibility Cloak for a late-night kitchen raid. The house-elves supplied them with a basket of varying meats, pastries and cheeses that was so gratefully received by Remus that Peter had to drag him away from his flowery, bizarre declarations of love for the house-elves once he had got down on one knee to propose marriage to a little girl elf. They weren’t far from the Common Room – a few stairs and two or three more corridors away – when Remus decided to stop and inhale the scent of the basket. Peter thought he was crazy – and was fully prepared to tell him so – except that he made the fatal mistake of –looking– at Remus.

Peter wasn’t a painter or a poet or some great artistic mind – but as he watched Remus for those few moments, he wished he had some form of talent to capture the obscene religious ecstasy on the werewolf’s face. There was always the hint of something dark about Remus but, here and now as he looked the most animalistic he had ever done, Peter had thought he never seemed more glorious. His eyes followed the long graceful line from the nape of his neck to his ever-so-slightly hunched shoulders as though it were his fingers caressing their way down. His hair – sandy brown lit to silvery from the light of the moon – was as shaggy and wild and tousled as though he had just fallen from the place the Muggles called Heaven and Peter felt he could believe in it for a lifetime-in-a-moment. A pale pink tongue flicked out between lips to trail a loving line over their shape as he breathed again, head rising with the inhalation as though this were some drug, some extraordinary love. Peter thought he knew the feeling as hooded eyes – sinfully dark with lust, tinged at the edges with flecks of pale moon-coloured light – met his, almost guiltily in their indulgence.

“It’s a bit of an obsession I’m afraid,” Remus laughed (polite and warm and self-depreciating and hinting at many shadows) before a smile tugged at his lips, as though it was unbidden.

“…The secret vices of our resident prefect?” Peter managed – voice only slightly squeaky as he felt his erection press against the cotton of his sky blue pyjama bottoms.

Remus laughed again, louder and wilder (voice ringing with memories of the forest and the wolf and the pack), before tightening the Cloak around them.

“We better hurry or they’ll think we’ve been attacked by Slytherin.”

“More likely they think we’ve been attacked by house-elves and forced to eat as much as we can.”

Remus thought about this (scars across his cheek stretching lazily as his lips pursed) then nodded.

“That sounds a more likely train of thought for those two.”

“Anything is a likely train of thought for those two.”

They shared a secret laugh, one they had shared before, about the other members of their little group before Remus gestured toward the nearby stairs, moving on.

But Peter found he couldn’t.

It took him a few steps to realise he was the only one beneath the Cloak but, once the scent of Peter (fur and dust and earth) started to die, Remus turned and saw the other boy standing still a few feet back.

The light of the waxing moon (close, very close to full and new blood spilled) lit this figure up; who wasn’t Peter who was so often ignored or shunned because he was smaller and slightly chubbier and was a rat. This was a Peter he had seen glances of before – the serious Peter who thought deeply about everything and took each wound of his friends as his own. He appeared almost ghost-like in the light – pale hair, pale eyes, pale skin – with an expression of wondering and fear and warmth over his face.

“Peter?” He asked, moving back down to where he stood and frowning slightly at the dazed look turned his way. He touched Peter’s arm (even though he hated contact this close to the moon – was so sensitive to everything; every breath or brush of skin or press of fabric) and asked again, voice soft and concerned.

The daze faded – eyes clearing at the touch – sharp, determined gaze now. There was the soft scratch of sock covered feet moving, arching as one hand (blessedly cool and tender and encompassing) cupped his cheek and lips were brushed against his like a whisper. He felt his hands clutch at the hem of a T-shirt as the lips moved over his – his lips responding eagerly, desperately – and then there was the timid swipe of tongue against his lower lip. Remus leaned into the kiss – and swept his tongue along the roof of Peter’s mouth before gently tugging on the T-shirt with enough force to disentangle himself from the other boy. There was confusion in the word,

“Remus?”

“I’m sorry Peter.” Remus said regretfully, meeting his eyes and finding understanding there. Peter smiled and nodded,

“Let’s get you fed.” Remus nodded slowly and walked back up to the Tower holding his friend’s hand.