Harry Potter, This Charming Man

Title: This Charming Man [Remus/Sirius]
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for some inexplicit motorbike lovin’.
Summary: Why ponder life’s complexities when the leather runs smooth on the passenger seat?
A/N: For Musesfool, because she loves this song and said somebody should write it.

This Charming Man

Remus was surprised, when coming home from work late on a Friday night, to find Sirius still in the flat, and not out parading about in some indecently-clad manner, as he had informed Remus he would be doing that morning over breakfast.

“Weren’t you going out?” he asked, staring half in horror and half in asthetic fascination at Sirius twiddling with his motorbike in the middle of their living room in an indecently-clad manner. Must he wear leather trousers? Must he wear nothing BUT the leather trousers?

“Was,” Sirius grunted, muscles flexing in his shoulders as he tightened some bit or other on the front wheel. “Punctured a tire on the hill, had to turn around, then I got grease on the shirt, and anyway it’s too late now.”

“It isn’t that late,” Remus’ mouth felt dry and distantly he recognized that he should try to stem the tide of babbling a leather-clad, shirtless Sirius doing manual labor was sure to invoke, “if you still want to go, you could use your broom you know, or I could go with you if you wanted, or if you wanted to go alone that’s fine, I could take you…”

“Moony,” Sirius looked bemused as he gazed up from under the dark hair slipping out of his ponytail and into his eyes, “I can’t go out tonight. I haven’t got a stitch to wear!”

Remus rolled his eyes as Sirius gestured gravely at the stained shirt, crumpled into a ball beside him.

“It’s only one shirt!” he protested. “You’ve dozens of them!”

“But it’s the shirt that goes with these trousers!” Sirius informed him, picking up a rag and wiping off his hands. “It’s an ensemble! Could you throw a leg over her, hold her up while I make sure everything’s tightened evenly?”

“Sirius,” Remus gave a little internal whimper as he obediently put a leg over the bike and settled into the sinfully slick leather seat, “why don’t you just wear different trousers then?”

“Why ponder life’s complexities,” Sirius’ voice was far too close to Remus’ ear, and Remus stiffened when Sirius slid in behind him, pressing close against his back, “when the leather runs smooth on the passenger seat?”

“Wha…” the squeak of leather on leather as Sirius shifted made Remus cut off and swallow hard. His ability to speak fled totally when warm hands slid around his waist.

“You don’t know anything about fashion,” Sirius murmured into Remus’ ear, “you jumped-up pantry boy.”

“What in the world,” Remus’ sense of the ridiculous briefly restored Remus’ speech, “is a pantry boy? And why are you talking like a bad novel for housewives?”

Not bothering to dignify such niggling questions with a response, Sirius distracted Remus by running his fingers under the tails of his shirt, across the smooth skin above Remus’ waistband.

“Moony?” Remus could barely believe it, but Sirius actually sounded uncertain. Remus leaned back into the heat enveloping his back.

“Don’t stop,” he ordered, and Sirius was happy to oblige, undoing Remus’ trousers and slipping a hand inside to stroke him to hardness, not that Remus needed much encouragement. He managed a strangled, “should move.”

“Like you right here,” Sirius whispered, making him shiver.

“Stain your seats…”

That was all it took to convince Sirius a strategic move to a bed was prudent, and besides, there was no way Remus could have got Sirius writhing and pleading underneath him while straddling a motorbike.

“We could still go out,” Remus offered when they were both sprawled on their backs catching their breath.

“I would go out tonight,” Sirius said reflectively, “but here I haven’t got to wear a stitch.”

There was a moment of silence while Remus took that in before Sirius began to snicker at his own cleverness.

“Such a charming man,” Remus sighed long-sufferingly.

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