Of Grease and Fresh Paint: a Solnste oneshot
Inspired by Solnste by @lumosinlove.
Without his translator, Sirius must present his new project in English alone. When his guests laugh at him, Remus can’t take it anymore. read it on ao3 here.
The call from Barry had come that same morning—the flu, a sore throat from the flight, and apologies about not making it to the inauguration of Sirius’ newest project. Sirius had ordered him to stay in bed and had had some broth sent to his room, without mentioning work at all. Remus, who’d been in free fall for three years and a half, had just kissed Sirius’ shoulder as realisation set into grey eyes.
Sirius needed to deliver the presentation alone.
That’s how, for the next day and a half, the mirrors of their suite became the audience of his speech. Post-its with difficult words, surrounded by small, red exclamation points, found their way on the fridge, by the sink, and even by the toilet. The sketches of the majestic villa, rising from the vineyards as a temple, was marked with technical terms on his nightstand.
Of course, Remus jumped in to help. They repeated every part slow and emphatic, both in bed and at dinner, at the café and at the park. They also worked on easing the tension—a reward Sirius got at the end of a well delivered paragraph.
It’s not that Sirius wasn’t a good public speaker—quite the contrary. Remus had seen his charisma cross languages and rooms, and he’d never blamed people for looking at his fiancé with longing and admiration. It could never bother him, not when, at the end of the day, Sirius’ smile shined differently for him, a strong hand on the small of his back as they walked home together. That was the true victory.
English was what worried Sirius. Remus knew it, a worry that had been in Sirius’ mind for far longer than Remus himself, and there was no other way to put it. Speaking every day helped, but in between planning dinner with your fiancé and delivering a presentation on the newly finished villa for Sirius’ patron, well, those were worlds apart. Yes, Remus had gladly substituted Sirius’ translator at parties, where his figure at Sirius’ side was constant and warm, but business events like these…that’s where Barry’s presence was required. Remus had learnt the side of Sirius that dreaded being vulnerable and unprepared in front of clients, and even a word pronounced wrong, the consequential look it got him, was enough to make him fumble.
But there they were. Remus was buttoning his linen shirt, sat on the edge of the bed, looking at Sirius with soft eyes. He was standing and facing the mirror on the closet, with furrowed brows and busy hands, half fixing his tie and half gesticulating. Remus could hear him repeat the part about the windows and light under his breath. Hoping it would go well. Sirius deserved it.
…
The villa smelled of fresh paint and expensive perfumes. It was, of course, flawless, Remus thought, looking around as he followed the small party listening to Sirius describe the architecture as the masterpiece it was. Remus kept himself at the end of the group in a discreet silence, to allow Sirius to focus. He’d been speaking well, really well, until—
A small laugh echoed in the airy hallway.
Until people had started reacting to Sirius’ small mistakes as dynamite to fire. Small laughs, puffs, eye rolls, all to show, in the worst attempted subtlety Remus had ever seen, that these people were too good for Sirius’ mistakes. Some polite benefactors at the front politely coughed to silence the obnoxious ones, but it had stopped working five minutes ago. Remus had taken plenty of deep breaths already.
Sirius threw a look in the direction of the giggle but moved on. “Now, the main staircase is located in the centre of house, in the heart so to speak. Mim…mikin…mimicking most forms of vertebrate life, spine and heart are close. Together with being inspired on nature, it also, ah, takes Fibonacci’s sequence into consideration. Likewise.” He showed a few other pictures on the tablet, with the Fibonacci’s sequence designed in nature and the staircase’s project. Remus had already seen every picture and drawing but still smiled at Sirius’ genius.
“Tell them about the wind catchers,” he whispered under his breath.
“Now, be so kind to follow me…”
Once again, Sirius turned to lead the way, and Remus heard voices making the same, stale jokes, and giggles echoing on the new concrete.
Oh, be so kind…is that an order?
Ah, right!
I can’t help but mim…kiki…minikiki…him, ha!
Honestly, if you want a job like this, have the decency to learn the language…
Remus bit down his anger, grasping at the image of Sirius’ kind, open eyes, and the hours of practice for this moment. He would not make a scene.
You’d think someone so smart would at least bother…
Oh, it stopped being exotic years ago…
That’s the problem nowadays, you know…people too lazy to adapt in the country they—
Remus stilled. He watched as the crowd went on, following Sirius, all tight shoulders and rigid steps. His kind, smart Sirius, open mind and even more open heart. Fuck this, Remus thought.
“Excuse me, that’s quite enough,” he hissed, pushing through the little crowd of people in front of him. He reached Sirius, exchanged a quick glance—enough to be hit by the tension and embarrassment in his eyes. Oh, these jerks. Remus turned to face the rest of the people, a sea of pressed shirts and extravagant hats. They were now looking at him with the same condescending arrogance they’d given Sirius. He fulminated them.
“You have a notorious, talented architect presenting his last, amazing project to you privately, per your request, in his second language. And you laugh at him? You joke about his English?”
“Remushya, it is fine—” Sirius tried with a hand on his shoulder, voice small. Remus gently pried it off.
“I’d like to see him speak in his own language and see what you understand. Then maybe you’d get how hard it is. The effort and practice it takes. I’ll take a generalised guess and say that no one here bothers to learn the language spoken in the countries where you build your villas.” He scrutinised the now astonished expressions in front of him and frowned. “I don’t know if respect is something they didn’t teach you in posh schools or if it’s something you lost along the way, but you better fish it out from the shallow depths of your ego. I won’t stand for my fiancé to be ridiculed for doing his work. Are we clear.”
When he was met by silence, he crossed his arms.
“Are we clear?”
This time, he caught some sparce affirmative murmurs and small nods. Deciding he wouldn’t get much more out of those wrinkled mouths, he nodded and took a step back to stand next to Sirius. He cleared his throat and spoke slowly, careful not to let any trace of venom find Sirius’ eyes.
“Mister Black, I apologise for the interruption. Would you be so kind to finish the tour before the aperitif in the gardens?”
Sirius, whose eyes were already on him, wide open and mixed with a fierce blush on his cheeks, blinked, and nodded. “Da. Yes. Certainly.”
Remus stood by his side for the rest of the presentation, nodding encouragingly and throwing warning glares at the small crowd from time to time. Sirius’ tone regained stability and confidence, allowing himself to slow down on the tricky bits. At the conclusion, when they arrived at the gardens, Sirius smiled and thanked everyone for the attention. Remus’ chest swelled with pride as people clapped and went to shake his hand. After, people quickly spread around, where waiters and light music were waiting for them to start the aperitif.
Remus smiled and nodded until only he and Sirius were left, then turned to look at him, biting his lip. He found wide open eyes and an open mouth.
“Sirius, before you say anything, I’m sorry, but I couldn’t take it anymore—"
“Remus.” Sirius’ hands found his shoulders.
“…and they were disrespecting you, and—”
“Remushya.”
Smiling. Sirius was smiling.
“карамель, brilliant. Most brilliant.”
And Sirius was kissing him.
Remus melted the moment their lips touched, letting go of the anger, and brought his hands around Sirius’ strong back.
“So…you’re not mad?”
Sirius’ chest shook against his. His smile was all Remus could see. “Mad? Remus, so brilliant. You defended me, kind of hot, I must say. So glad I had tablet to hide my hard on.” Remus rolled his eyes, heat racing to his cheeks. Sirius gently took his chin, making him look up again. “No, Remus, not mad. Never mad for…defending, protecting. Helping. I—I don’t know how I would do without you, карамель.” Remus was engulfed in another hug. He closed his eyes, running a hand down Sirius’ broad back. His shirt was tight against the muscles he watched him train every day. “You’re…kind of home. Protect.”
Remus squeezed him before letting go. He needed to look Sirius in the eyes for this.
“Sirius, you deserve respect. Those people don’t know how much you work, how hard it is.”
Sirius looked down at his shoes, shrugging. “It’s okay, I don’t care what they think.”
“But you do,” Remus whispered, bringing a hand to his cheek. “You do because you’re a good person and you’re great at what you do.” Sirius smiled again, grey eyes back on him. “And fuck them, you nailed all the tricky words you were worried about.”
“Because you are here.”
Remus kissed him again.
“Because you’re that good. Now, how about we get a little drunk at the open bar, stay for a bit, and then leave and find a place for a pizza and huge amounts of fried food?”
Sirius laughed. “Save dirty talk for later, Remushya. We do that, yes.”
And that they did. They were stopped a few times to chat with the nicer people, and Remus mostly took the lead. He could see Sirius’ smile was strained and tired. He was out of English. Some old ladies complimented them both.
“An amazing work you did with this villa, Mr Black. And a neat presentation.”
“Ah, very kind. Thank you.”
“And congratulations to your boyfriend as well,” the other lady added. “Feisty one, kept everyone on their best behaviour.”
Sirius smiled, clicking his glass with theirs. “Fiancé, please.”
…
An hour later, Remus had calmed down completely. Maybe it was the breeze in the garden, overlooking hills rich and green with vines, or the three Aperol Spritzes in his body—or Sirius’ hands on his body. Not exactly the way he wished—needed—but he would take his strong arm around his waist any day. And he did, he smiled to himself. Yes, the drinks were doing their work. Maybe he’d go for a fourth, later.
They’d found a wooden deck chair that seemed able to hold them both, in a quiet part of the garden. The sunset cast the vineyards in a warm glow. They were stretching lazily, Remus leaving a series of small kisses on Sirius’ chest. The arm that wasn’t around Remus was covering his eyes. He’d gone quiet.
“You okay, love?”
Sirius groaned. “занадто багато англійської.” Too much English.
Remus nodded, running his fingers through black curls and pressing on the scalp. He felt Sirius melt against him.
“Але ви добре говорите,” he tried, painfully slow. But you speak well.
Sirius smiled, eyes still closed, giving Remus’ shoulder a squeeze. They met halfway for a kiss.
“Карамель, кожного разу, коли ти говориш моєю мовою, я пам'ятаю перший раз.”
Remus laughed. “Okay, slow down, cowboy.” He stayed pressed in Sirius’ nook where he was keeping him tight. Sirius smelled of perfume, fresh paint, and home. Remus wanted him home.
“Still down for greasy food in nearby town?” Sirius whispered after a while, as if not to disturb the distant bird calls echoing in the valley.
Remus hummed in agreement, without making a move yet. His eyes lost focus just then, the oranges and pinks of the sky fading with the green hills as he stopped to think about it, really think about it, once again. His heart skipped a beat as he realized that it could have just been that. Going out for greasy food at the end of a day of work with Sirius. Working normal jobs, with no penthouse or private jet or luxurious parties in Tuscany. A Sirius with his grin, still, sloppy kisses and big hands. A Sirius who maybe wouldn’t have turned his world upside down as he had in this life, but who would have made it better, making Remus feel like a king in a cramped flat, quick kisses between second jobs and double shifts.
Sirius could have smelled of grease, he realized, just like Remus’ clothes had been stained with the pizza place’s smell he used to work at years ago. Grease, fresh paint, mechanic oil—any smell, any job, any house, any wallet—Sirius would have been home.
“I think,” Remus whispered back, blinking away images of another life, “That every version of you, at some point, takes me out to eat greasy food.” He felt tears in his throat.
Sirius’ chest shook with a small laugh, rubbing Remus’ shoulder energetically—he did that, to tell Remus it was time to go. “карамель, drinks make you all philosophical about greasy food? Okay. Up we go.”
They stretched and kissed, their last gift to the valley, then walked to their car.
In every life, Remus would have followed Sirius anywhere.
.
.
.
