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Sing Along Forever	By : JBankai89 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Remus/Sirius Views: 3825 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, I gain nothing from this but a way to pass the time.

Chapter List
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- 3
- 4
A/N: I am SUCH an idiot. Somehow I managed to totally skip over posting chapter 2 of this fic and went straight to chapter 3. *facepalm* I'm so sorry.
Chapter 3 – I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend

Hey little girl
I wanna be your boyfriend
Sweet little girl
I wanna be your boyfriend
Do you love me babe?
What do you say?
Do you love me babe?
What can I say?
Because I wanna be your boyfriend.
I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend, The Ramones

Remus had no idea what Sirius had planned. All he was told was “it's a surprise,” by text, followed by a number of cheesy emoticons, and the promise that it would be cliché and well within his comfort zone.

It should not have surprised him however when Sirius pulled up the day of their date on a shiny motorbike, and Remus began to wonder if Sirius actually owned any clothes that did not fall into the realm of The Uniform. Another pair of jeans, the same leather jacket, and another black graphic T-shirt, this one reading NOFX with the words backstage passport written in block letters below it.

Remus had been sitting on the front step, and Moony went predictably bonkers when Sirius pulled up. When he cut the engine, pulled off his helmet, and heard the dog, his eyes lit up.

“You have a dog?” Sirius asked before Remus had even opened his mouth to greet him.

“No, it's just my anti-theft motion sensor, it makes barking dog noises to put off potential burglars,” Remus said in such a deadpan tone of voice that he could see Sirius trying to work out whether he was joking or not. “Yeah I do, I wasn't sure if you liked dogs so I figured I should wait for you outside so that you don't get accosted by my enormous and overexcited ball of fur.”

“I love dogs,” Sirius said, kicking down the stand on his bike and hurrying over. “Can I meet him? Please?”

“Are you sure? He's gonna get white fur all over your shirt,” Remus said as he stood, his hand already on the door handle.

“I don't care. It's a dog. I fucking love dogs,” the earnest proclamation was adorable, there simply wasn't another word for it. There was something highly amusing and endearing about this tall, broad, punk rock, motorbike-riding man, basically devolving into an exuberant child at the possibility of meeting a dog.

“All right, c'mon,” he motioned with his hand, and bracing himself he unlocked the door and shepherded Moony back while Sirius followed him in. “Back, Moony, Back.”

Remus closed his hand around the thick leather collar to keep him from immediately jumping on Sirius, and Remus struggled with the urge to laugh at his raw enthusiasm. Once he'd gotten a hold on the collar Moony calmed a little, staring past Remus to Sirius, his ears pricked, tail high, and mouth open and panting in a clear doggie smile. “Sirius,” Remus said, “this is Moony. Moony, this is Sirius.”

“Let him go, it's fine,” Sirius said, and after a moment's hesitation he let go of the collar and Moony bounded over, forty kilos of dog barrelling into Remus's date with an audible oof from Sirius as the dog jumped up. Sirius lifted his knee to stop Moony jumping on him, and he stood at Sirius's feet, his tail almost a blur in his excitement. Sirius extended his hand, which Moony sniffed curiously, his tail still wagging excitedly. Apparently he accepted Sirius as he gave the hand a lick, and Sirius crouched down and roughly scratched the dog behind his ears. “Oh my God, you're adorable,” Sirius muttered to the dog, “I have half a mind to leave Remus behind and take you out instead.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Remus said with a short laugh. The sight of his dog so enthusiastically greeting Sirius was a good sign. He had always been a much better judge of character than Remus was, and if Moony liked him, he was probably an all right bloke.

“I could actually stay here and play with your dog all day, so we better go before I get too attached,” Sirius said after a few minutes, standing up reluctantly and moving towards the door.

“If there's a second date we could always take him to the dog park if you like,” Remus said with a chuckle as they stepped back outside and Remus paused to lock the door.

“Well, now that's an incentive for me to make this an amazing first date,” Sirius said with a grin as he threw an arm around Remus's shoulders and began to steer him towards his bike.

Startled by the sudden movement, Remus staggered a little and Sirius paused, turning to look at him with his eyebrows raised in surprise and confusion.

“You okay Remus?” He asked, and Remus felt his face grow a little warm under the expression Sirius wore. How much did he want to say? After Gilderoy...he wasn't sure whether full disclosure so soon was a good idea or not.

“Er...old injury,” Remus said, looking away from him, “sometimes makes it hard to walk like a normal person. I'm not in pain or anything, just...slow.”

“Why didn't you say something?” Remus turned back to Sirius at the question, surprised at the tone he heard—it wasn't unsettled or put-off. It was concern. It had been a long time since he'd seen something like that from someone he was interested in.

“I dunno, people are sometimes put off by my...stuff,” Remus said, feeling a little uncomfortable, though he couldn't put his finger on why. “I don't like people treating me differently because I'm a little slower or something.”

“If you were a head in a jar, I'd treat you the same,” Sirius said, throwing his arm back around Remus's shoulders and leading him to the bike, though his stride had slowed slightly. The familiar touch was strange enough, but not saying a word of complaint to Remus's vague explanation was a surprise.

“Have you ridden one of these before?” Sirius asked as they stopped before the bike, and he turned back to Remus as he spoke, pulling his own helmet back on, and offered a second one to Remus.

“No, I haven't,” Remus said as he accepted a black helmet from Sirius, “how likely are we to crash and die?”

“Luckily for you, I actually know how to drive, so pretty minimal I'd say,” Sirius said, though his wolfish grin wasn't exactly reassuring. After another moment's hesitation, Remus pulled the helmet on, and climbed on the back of the bike behind Sirius. Sirius kicked the ignition, and Remus locked his arms around the other man's waist. Despite his reassurances, the rumbling under his bum and the lack of windows on either side of him was nerve-wracking, and as Sirius put the bike in gear and shot off, an involuntary yelp of surprise escaped Remus, and his hold on Sirius tightened. A quiver ran through Sirius as though he was laughing, and Remus glared at his broad back.

Remus would have liked to ask where they were going, but over the engine's rumble he doubted Sirius would be able to hear him, and instead turned to watch the scenery zip past. It soon began to make him queasy however, and he buried his face in Sirius's back and felt himself flush with embarrassment when he felt Sirius laugh at him again.

After what felt like hours—though in reality it had probably been less than fifteen minutes—the motorbike pulled to a stop and Sirius cut the engine.

“Not that I mind you clinging to me like that, but...we're here,” Remus could hear the grin in Sirius's voice as he straightened up, and was surprised to see that they were stopped outside a little coffee shop with a closed-off terrace that would likely be filled with patrons in the summer. With his arms still a little stiff, he unlatched himself from around Sirius and slid of the bike, pointedly ignoring the arm Sirius held out to help him down. He wasn't helpless, damn it.

They walked into the little shop, called The Espresso Pump, and Remus found it to be buzzing with people. So busy in fact, that there were no free tables. Remus and Sirius exchanged a look, then by some fluke, Remus spotted a student packing up his laptop and preparing to leave.

“I'll get the drinks, you grab the table,” Sirius said in a tone of voice like they were planning the invasion of Normandy. “What d'you want?”

“Just get me a latte,” Remus said, fishing out a fiver from his wallet and pressing it into his hand. For a moment it looked as though Sirius was going to protest and not take his money, but then offered Remus one of his infuriatingly charming smiles and hurried over to the counter.

Remus managed to nab the table a scant thirty seconds before two teen girls got to it, and they slunk away while they gave him a rather nasty look. Feeling distinctly out of place, he pulled out his mobile to fiddle with while he waited for Sirius to return, still stuck in a dreamlike mentality. He couldn't believe that this was actually happening. In what bizarro universe did ridiculously attractive musicians ask out meek, bookish nerds? His mobile buzzed, and he saw a text message from Alice.

Details. Now. Where did he take you? What are you wearing? Is he paying?

Remus snorted, and could practically hear her demanding voice in his head as he read it. Rolling his eyes at the last inquiry, he began to type an answer.

Some coffee shop. He promised me cliche, and it doesn't get more cliche than a coffee date. What I usually wear. Jumper and jeans. No, he is not paying. It's not the 1950's, and I'm not a girl.

Alice replied almost immediately.

Yeah, but you're a big nelly bottom so it's practically the same thing.

Remus scowled at his mobile.

And when's the last time you let Frank pay for dinner? Point. Now shut up, he's coming back.

Remus flicked his phone to mute just as she texted him back, (Don't forget to let him hold the door for you sweetie!) and slipped it in his pocket. Remus accepted the mug topped with a ridiculous amount of foam, and Sirius sat across from him with a black coffee and a croissant.

“I miss anything exciting?” Sirius asked with a smile, and Remus felt himself flush a little, painfully aware of more than a few women casting glances Sirius's way as he shed his jacket and hung it on the back of the chair. His T-shirt clung to him snugly, and he could see that he had a handful of tattoos, the four rectangles on his inner forearm that he'd noticed when he first saw him, an old-fashioned microphone on his bicep, and the beginnings of some sort of complicated tattoo on his shoulder, which was mostly obscured by the shirt's sleeve.

“Aside from my friend texting me and treating me like a lady from the fifties? Not as such,” Remus replied, smiling when his comment got a small chuckle from his companion. He cradled the mug in his hands and took a careful sip, licking the foam off his lips as he did so, and did not miss the way Sirius's eyes followed the movement keenly.

“So like, telling you to keep your knees together or something?” Remus snorted a little to Sirius's question, and he smiled.

“Something like that, yeah.”

Sirius split his croissant and offered Remus the larger half, to which he shook his head minutely. He shrugged and ripped off a chunk with his teeth, then chased it down with a sip of coffee.

“So, tell me something about yourself,” Sirius said, watching Remus like he was the most interesting person on the planet. It felt very strange to be looked at like that.

“What do you want to know?”

“Well, I know you dress like a librarian, or a grandfather, I can't decide which...you apparently like books, given your profession, and you have some old injury that on occasion makes your walking a little slower than an average person's...so I'm guessing war wound or you were wrestling bears or something, I can't decide,” Sirius said as Remus laughed, “I just wanna know about you. When's your birthday? What's your favourite colour? What's your major? What kind of music d'you like? Give me something.”

“Well, I'm in English Literature—I want to be an editor. My birthday's tenth March, I don't really have a favourite colour...maybe something foresty, like green or brown? Um, you probably wouldn't like what I like.” Remus felt himself grow a little warm with embarrassment, certain that Sirius was one of those music elitists like Alice was—scoffing at any music they disliked. Sirius reached across the table and rested a hand over Remus's. Remus continued to feel uncomfortably warm, but now for a very different reason.

“Try me.”

“Erm, Norah Jones, Michelle Branch, Adele, Eliza Rickman...” he trailed off, but was surprised when Sirius didn't laugh at him.

“You were right, those ladies aren't exactly my thing,” Sirius began, his charming smile never wavering, “but they're yours, so I can learn to like them.”

“Does this sucking up routine generally work for you?” Remus asked with another short laugh, and Sirius grinned again.

“I guess that sort of thing won't work on someone with standards, eh?” Sirius asked as he retracted his hand and sipped on his coffee.

“You'll have to try harder than that Mr Black,” Remus replied, though try as he might he couldn't stifle the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Okay, my turn. Birthday, favourite food, favourite book or books. Go.”

Remus had expected the question to make Sirius stumble. Surely someone like him wasn't a big reader. Instead, he grinned a little.

“Third November, Punjabi eggplant curry—which is totally James's mum's fault. She makes the best damn curry in the universe. And books...Jesus, that's a hard one. I'll go with authors, otherwise we'll be here all day. J.D. Salinger, Jack Kerouac, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Irvine Welsh, Kurt Vonnegut, Henry David Thoreau, Friedrich Nietzsche, and David Foster Wallace. I...What?”

Remus stared. Of all the authors he'd expected to come spouting out of Sirius's mouth, Salinger and Dostoevsky hadn't ranked high. Damn it, Remus thought, he's hot and intelligent. Fucking hell, he's perfect.

“No, seriously, why are you looking at me like that? Is there something wrong with my hair?” Sirius reached up and began to paw at his locks, while Remus shook his head a little.

“Your hair's fine Sirius. I'm just...surprised, I guess. I didn't expect you to read stuff like Thoreau and things.”

“What, you thought I was some uneducated urchin?” He asked, his grin widening when Remus felt his face grow warm.

“No, but...You don't exactly strike me as the type to lock yourself away with a bunch of musty old books,” Remus said, hiding his embarrassment behind the overlarge mug.

“Among other things, I am a ridiculous packrat, and have quite the library of my own. You're welcome to come by sometime and peruse my shelves, then you can see for yourself how well-read I am.”

“That is the weakest excuse to have me over for a shag that I've ever heard,” Remus said with a snort.

“Yeah, but you're not saying no, so it's a start,” Sirius smirked, again flashing him that perfect smile.

They spent the whole afternoon in the café, and it was quite clear by early evening that neither man was ready to part company yet. Leaving the bike where it was, Remus led Sirius down the street to the corner, where his favourite restaurant was located.

It was nothing special or fancy, an American-style diner that looked like a set from Grease, complete with the plastic booths, greasy food, and waiters and waitresses dressed in offensively bright, pastel uniforms.

“I can see why you like this place...it's very you.,” Sirius said with a grin as they stepped inside and were led to a table.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” He asked, intent on sounding mildly offended, but the disarming look on Sirius's face meant that he failed rather spectacularly.

“It's adorable, and you're adorable, so again I say: very you,” Sirius said, his grin widening when Remus felt himself go very red.

After placing their orders and receiving a soft drink each, they fell into a comfortable silence.

“So, how did you get into all that stuff?” Remus asked a moment later, and Sirius cocked an eyebrow, indicating that he didn't know what stuff Remus was referring to. “I mean all that Punk stuff. I didn't really know much about it til a few days ago.”

Sirius fell silent, his expression shifted from nonchalant to thoughtful, and he sipped his Fanta while he thought.

“Well,” he began, “I went to this hoity-toity boarding school in Scotland. Very posh. Practically everyone who attended were from wealthy families, and it was just this...cesspool of entitlement. My brother and I were from a similar kind of family, but while he ate it up, I never bought into all the shit our parents tried to beat into us. That's where I met James; his parents were just as loaded as everyone else there, but he was...different. Decent, mostly. He found it first when he was making corny mix CDs for one of our classmates he fancied, and it was just like...a revelation. A music that reflected our frustration at the bullshit class system, the wealthy entitlement and total disregard for anyone beneath them, our political views...everything just laid bare like that. I loved it.

“My darling mother was hell-bent on making sure we grew up cultured so Reg—that's my brother—and I had all sorts of music and etiquette lessons during our holidays, and it was James's idea to start covering songs we liked, since neither of us were creative enough to come up with our own stuff. It sort of went from there.”

Sirius finished, and Remus felt himself stuck on the phrase the shit our parents tried to beat into us. He couldn't claim that his parents had been perfect, but his father had been decent to him after the accident. He had nothing to complain about, and seeing this happy-go-lucky, obscenely confident man sat before him, it was hard to believe he had such a traumatic adolescence. A look of worry crossed Sirius's face, and he cocked his head to the side as he regarded Remus.

“Remus, what's wrong?”

“Your parents hit you?” Remus couldn't even look up as he spoke, wincing a little as he tried to picture it. It made him feel impossibly angry to imagine anyone hurting Sirius in any capacity. Sirius seemed to only just realize what he'd said, and he went a little pink.

“Fuck, I didn't mean to say that,” he said, his tone embarrassed, but most strangely he didn't sound ashamed of it. “Golden rule and all that—nothing too heavy on first dates.”

Sirius paused when their food arrived, and they both offered their waitress a murmur of of thanks before she swept off, and Sirius reached across the table to rest a hand over Remus's wrist. Remus looked up and met Sirius's grey gaze, to find him smiling warmly at him.

“When I was sixteen I had enough and left, James's parents put me up until I finished school, and I came into some inheritance from a relative that really hated my parents. I haven't seen either of them in nearly ten years. It's past, and I have good people in my life now, a real family.” Sirius finished speaking and shifted his hand to rest over Remus's, and he felt himself grow warm. At that moment, he hadn't realized just how much he wanted to be part of that family of his. Afraid of overstepping his bounds and going too fast Remus said nothing, and turned his hand under Sirius's to offer it a light squeeze. They both turned to their food and lighter topics of conversation.

“So, why does James call you Padfoot?” Remus asked, choosing his moment well, and bit his lip to keep himself from laughing when Sirius choked on a chip.

“A nickname from secondary school,” Sirius replied when he'd recovered. “I was like...like the stereotypical Weird Horse Girl, but with dogs. I was obsessed. My parents would never let me have one, so I talked James's ear of constantly of what breed I'd get if I could, and what I'd name it, and all that. His was Prongs—there was an incident with a fork.”

Remus chuckled at the latter vague explanation, but faltered when Sirius prompted, “I'm sure you have a nickname or two from school too, so don't you tease me about ours.”

Yeah, Ahab. He thought, nearly wincing at the scathing tone that usually went with it. How would he explain that to Sirius though?

“Nothing as thought-out as yours,” Remus replied eventually with a helpless shrug, and Sirius chuckled a little, his leg swinging out under the table and hooking around his ankle—thankfully he'd chosen his flesh and bone one, and not the one made of plastic. Remus wasn't sure he was ready to explain that just yet.

Once more, Remus was struck by a sense of unease that pooled in his belly. His affection for this man was happening way too quickly, and it was highly unnerving. I need to slow this down, he thought, the second he finds out that I'm an amputee he'll head for the hills like all the others. I shouldn't be setting myself up for another disappointment like this.

Remus hid his anxieties behind a placid smile, and after dinner they reluctantly called it a night. Sirius took Remus home and escorted him inside for an excuse to see Moony again. After he'd greeted the dog, he straightened up, reached forward and threaded his fingers through the front of Remus's jumper.

Before Remus was able to ask what he was doing, Sirius pulled him forward and Remus stumbled into his arms. He only had a moment for his mild alarm to register before he felt Sirius's mouth cover his own in a heated kiss. Remus's eyes fluttered shut and his arms draped over Sirius's shoulders, while he tried valiantly to ignore the dog at waist-height that was whining and trying to worm in between them in his effort to regain their attention. Sirius broke the kiss with a soft chuckle, and he had reached down to pet the dog at the same moment that Remus had, resulting in their fingers tangling together.

Both laughing, Sirius used his free hand to draw Remus in for one final kiss.

“I just wanted to do that at least once, in case you decide that I'm not worth your time,” he whispered, his breath tickling over Remus's damp lips as he spoke. Sirius patted Moony once, stole another kiss, and slipped out the door. Remus watched him go with Moony sitting attentively at his side, and with a roar from his motorbike, he was gone.
A/N: NOFX Backstage Passport is a brilliant documentary where the band NOFX travel to a bunch of countries punk bands generally don't visit much (places in Southeast Asia, the Middle East and South America, if I remember correctly) and this was the doc that turned me on to NOFX to begin with. You can't watch a band get barred from the venue they're going to play because of sketchy crime lord things, then have all the fans who meant to attend their show show up at their hotel to bid them goodbye and watch the singer break out a guitar and play an acoustic show right there in the hotel lobby without falling a little bit in love with them.
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Sing Along Forever