@messrsmcrauders
It didn't happen often that Remus got this drunk or high, as he didn't like loosing control of himself as a rule - a mental kind of scar left by his monthly transformations no doubt. And he wasn't even sure what had got to him tonight, whether he had drunk too much, or if any of his drinks had been spiced with more than he had thought was in the cup. But the fact was he was absolutely sloshed, finding his way to a quiet corner... and realising with delight that it was the same spot Sirius had chosen to catch a moment of rest too.
"I think they spelled the whiskey." He informed him as he dropped on the tiny sofa beside him, the world spinning a little. "Or I've caught Pete's lightweight disease between last week and today."
Shifting, he threw his arm around the backrest of the couch, getting his long limbs more comfortable, and leaning against Sirius in the process. He tilted his head to watch him and if Sirius replied anything to his comment Remus didn't catch it. His attention was captured by the way the dim lights played in Sirius' grey eyes, by the shape of his nose, the line of his lips and height of his cheekbones. So fucking pretty, he thought to himself, for a hundredth, thousandth time perhaps. Pretty in a way guys had no business being, and frankly not so many were. Mostly it was only Sirius who caught Remus' attention so, his intense eyes, his cocky smiles, his loud laughter and sharp jokes. The dizzying wonder of his affection.
Remus wanted him, and he had wanted him for years now.
He wasn't sure what exactly prompted him to move. The proximity? The enticing curve of Sirius' smile? The warms of his shoulder against Remus'? Finally, the excuse of his drunkenness giving him a false sense of safety, perhaps? He moved and cupped the other's face, and breathed him in for a second, face hovering close, before closing that distant in a flash. A kiss, swift, intense, and thoughtless. Sweet with Sirius' taste, the heat of his lips, tinge of alcohol on both their tongues.
And then - the reality of what he was doing, the depravity of it. He pulled back, head spinning and heart hammering in his chest. What had he done? He got up to his feet on shaky legs, brown eyes panicked. The consequences... oh they were bound to be dire and Remus couldn't face them. In his cowardice, he stumbled away, near tripping over his legs, catching his balance with a hand on the wall then away, away from that corner they shared, away from the shame, the fear. Through flashes of faces, passing through the party, through the deafening music and conversation, and deafening hammering of his pulse in his head. Out, out - to gasp the cold air and try to ease the unbearable knot in his stomach.
Oh what had he done?


















