Title: All I Want
Author: kbk
Rating: PG-13
Notes: challenge was: love-hate R/S, FlamboyantlyGay!Sirius, GlassesWearing!Remus. must have: Peter, vampy red nail varnish, disastrous detention, Fizzing Whizbee overdose, Leicester City football shirt, and five given lines that I can't be bothered typing out again. Many thanks to Alison and Lakshmi Lupin for their help with spells.

“James, my love, do you think, just possibly, that seventeen Fizzing Whizbees at one sitting may have been just one too many?” said Sirius, as they floated down the dungeon corridor towards their Potions class, Peter by their side and Remus walking below, attempting valiantly to look as though he had no idea why the three idiots by the ceiling were tied to him. His “unconcerned face” was apparently a success, because Professor Dinwoodie called out only three names in anger – “Black! Potter! Pettigrew! Get down from there at once!” “We can’t, sir,” James attempted to explain, “the levitating charms…” “Twenty points from Gryffindor,” the Potions Professor interrupted. “And detention, immediately after class. During which, you will tie yourselves to the seats. Now get down!” He reached up to catch at Peter. Unfortunately, he missed, pulling down Peter’s bag instead, which promptly spilled its contents all over the corridor – including a Leicester City football shirt which draped artistically over Dinwoodie’s head. He was not amused.

Dinwoodie’s reputation for meting out hideous detentions was, unfortunately for his victims, well-deserved. They had each, in the course of their school careers, suffered through many hours of punishment from almost all of the Professors in the school, but this particular detention, they agreed, was remarkably disastrous. From the multiple extensions because of their “bad attitude” and “general insolence” to the work itself, cleaning delicate glassware without leaving fingerprints and scrubbing muck-encrusted cauldrons by sheer elbow grease, Peter summed it up when he called it “hellish”. The threesome, on leaving, were thus somewhat depressed – a fact not helped by their having missed dinner while occupied in the dungeons. A kitchen raid was promptly proclaimed, and they headed down the corridors to avail themselves of the house-elves’ service.

Sirius, overly aware of his “toned physique”, stopped eating long before his companions, and took advantage of the time to inspect his appearance in the gleaming pots and pans hanging on the wall. His hair, long, jet-black and only slightly waved, was his pride and joy, and he was pleased to see that it still looked good at the end of a long hard day, the slight mussed-ness only adding to his general sexiness. His eyeshadow, however (a deep blue which brought out the colour of his eyes) had suffered quite considerably. Having fixed it as best he could, he turned to his companions, leaning his hip against the counter.

“So, mi amors,” Sirius said, “what shall we do to recover from our ordeal?” Peter looked up from his sandwich to gaze steadily at the other boy. “Personally,” he said, “I’m quite happy to be out of there and filling my stomach. I suppose you have a plan, though. I wonder what it could be,” he finished with a sarcastic lift of one brown eyebrow. James grinned at the frown appearing on Sirius’s expressive face, and continued. “Could it possibly be… I don’t know… finding some new way to torment Remus?” Sirius pouted, and protested, “But dear little Remy is such fun.” The other two exchanged a rueful glance, and James decided to take his friend to task. “Why can’t you be nicer to him, Siri?” he said. “The pair of you just seem to bring out the worst in each other,” diplomatised Peter. “And isn’t it perfectly glorious?” Sirius asked with an extravagant wave of his hand for emphasis. James sighed. “It’s glorious. It’s wonderful. It gives us some of our best ideas. It also got you caught fourteen times last year because you couldn’t wait to get back to the tower before you started yelling at each other.”

“But…” Sirius attempted to stand up for himself, but Peter took up the argument: “And it has hurt you both. Remember what happened when you charmed his glasses so he couldn’t see the stairs? Or when he put itching powder in your blue glitter?” “We were fine afterwards…” the dark boy sulked with a toss of his hair. “Siri…” warned Peter. “I’m not going to do anything to hurt him, just… shake him up a bit. He’s so dull, don’t you agree? You’d think colour meant nothing to him, and I doubt he’s even heard of Lycra! And those white cotton shirts he wears all the time…” James sighed. “Sirius,” he stated carefully, “he’s a werewolf.” “Well that’s hardly an excuse,” came the reply, “and all I want to do is paint his nails.” “You have some weird fetish, don’t you?” asked James, not really wanting to hear the answer. “Several, actually,” preened Sirius, “but I don’t like him that way.” “Oh please,” imitated Peter with a camp flick of his hand, “you’re so hot for him.” “I’m so not.” “So this isn’t designed to let you sit on him?” the smaller boy asked. Sirius inspected the kitchen wall with a studied air of nonchalance. The other two glanced at each other, trying not to laugh. “All right, we’ll help, but when he wants to get back at you we’ll help him too, all right?”

Remus, the subject of their discourse, was lying on his bed reading a book, enjoying the peace and quiet which he so rarely found as part of the company of pranksters. His glasses had slid forward slightly on his nose, but he left them in their precarious position, appreciating the way they combined with the light-brown curtain of his hair to narrow his focus to the book before him. His sharp hearing picked up the sound of footsteps, but he ignored them in favour of turning another page. Then the door slammed open, jolting him out of his peace, and he turned to face the entrant. His gaze swept appreciatively past the leather boots and up the black jeans, which flared around the ankle but narrowed to cling to muscular thighs and sinuous hips, to the red T-shirt that was about two sizes too small, but stopped before he reached the face – he knew who it was, and he was continually exasperated by his visceral reaction to the boy. It was probably what made him so snappish towards Sirius. Or perhaps it was the fact that said boy was flinging a small projectile towards him, and only his quick reflexes saved him from being hit in the face.

“Sirius, you utter prat, what the hell…” he yelled as he opened his hand to find a small bottle, containing extraordinarily vampish red nail varnish. “You do know what this is for, don’t you?” said boy questioned with a languid wink. “Of course I know what it’s for,” Remus replied angrily, “what I don’t know is why you’re launching it at me.” He threw the bottle back at Sirius and flopped back on his bed. “Will…” Sirius started. “No,” cut off Remus with a curt finality. Sirius waited a moment, wondering how far he would have to push before the other boy got that remarkable angry glow that went straight to his groin. “If…” he prompted. “No,” said Remus again. “What…” said Sirius, distracted slightly by the sight of his companions entering. “No,” Remus snapped. Sirius, disappointed, pushed once more with “But…” Remus broke. He sat up and yelled “NO!!” disgusted at himself for allowing Sirius to get to him once again. He lay back again, drawing his control around him and changing his focus to the rest of the boys in the room.

James and Peter stood not far from him, apparently absorbed in quiet discussion of a transfiguration. “Have a nice detention, boys?” Remus asked cheerfully, attempting in a far from subtle manner to change the subject. “Now that you mention it…” James started. “No” finished Peter as the pair pounced, pinning Remus to his bed by the shoulders and thighs. They had, however, reckoned without his lycanthropic strength; he tossed them off his bed with little difficulty. Remus lay back down, looking very self-satisfied at the volume of profanity coming from the floor. This expression only lasted a few moments, until Sirius cried, “Locomotor Mortis,” with an airy swish of his wand. “If you weren’t sitting way over there, I’d beat the crap out of you, you stupid dick-headed sorry excuse for a wizard,” Remus said in a scarily calm voice. Sirius sauntered over, leaping back when Remus grabbed for him. He waited until Remus settled back warily, leaning on his elbows, before he added “Petrificus Totalis.” Remus glared. “And if I hadn’t just petrified you, obviously,” Sirius answered the earlier comment with a smirk. He swung his leg over the prostrate boy, settling himself comfortably on Remus’s thighs.

With a practised touch, Sirius stroked the red onto each of Remus’s fingernails in turn. “Now, Remus,” he said as he worked, “you have to wear this for all of tomorrow, at least. We can’t have the prettiest boy in the year- my own good self, of course, being the most beautiful – making no attempt whatsoever to celebrate Valentine’s day.” Remus’s amber eyes flashed fiery retribution at the camp male perched on top of him. James and Peter, looking on, were a little taken aback, but Sirius, apparently oblivious, leaned to the other side and started on the nails there, absently noting the smoothness and shapeliness of his captive’s hands. “It’s a shame, really, that you have to wear those glasses. Much as that quietly studious air suits you, and those wire frames really emphasise your cheekbones, I would simply love to see you in glittery eyeshadow. Actually…” Sirius swept the brush over the last nail and sat up, pulling out his wand. “Accio eyeshadow!” he called, and several tiny bottles lifted from the floor by Sirius’s bed. He banished all but two back to their previous positions and tossed the nail varnish in the same direction.

“Now,” Sirius continued, “I’m not entirely sure which of these to use, so I’m going to test both. Jamie, be a doll and take his glasses?” James did as instructed, a little surprised that the snapping eyes didn’t hurt his hands, then sat back to enjoy the show. Sirius shifted to kneel over Remus’s stomach, dipping his finger in the first tub then daubing the gold glitter over Remus’s right eyelid and smearing it out to the side in his own customary style. He repeated the process over the other eye with silver glitter, then called his friends closer to take a look. “I think the silver, loves, wouldn’t you agree?” he said. “You’re the expert, Siri,” Peter demurred, and James simply agreed with both of them. Sirius nodded gravely, then lit up with excitement.

“Kohl!” he cried, “we must have definition!” He fished the ever-present pencil out of his jeans pocket (with some difficulty, due to the abnormal tightness of the clothing) and drew a line below Remus’s eye, smudging it with his pinkie. “There,” he stated, “perfection.” Remus glared with such intensity that Sirius was desperate to know what he had to say, and thus lifted the petrifying curse – ensuring first that his partners in crime each had an arm firmly pinned down. “Get off me, you prat!” were the first words out of his mouth. Sirius leaned back to escape the vehemence of the statement, then wiggled his arse delightedly. “Is that a wand in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” “Oh, fuck off,” Remus replied, face beginning to turn a fetching shade of pink. “I do believe you like me,” Sirius gloated, “and I wasn’t even sure you were gay!” “I never had that problem,” Remus spat. “Um, was that supposed to be an insult?” Sirius asked, preening more extravagantly than usual. “C’mon, Remy, you know you love me really. I’ll even give you back your glasses.” Sirius matched actions to words and placed the spectacles gingerly on Remus’s face. “And truly there can be no finer expression of tender feelings than the return of one’s own property,” Remus sneered. “You know, if I were you, Lupin, I’d…” “…be a much better man?” questioned Remus sweetly. “… be very careful what I said to the young man sitting on top of me,” capped Sirius.

Remus rolled his eyes. “Sirius,” he said. “Yes, dear heart?” prompted Sirius. “You’re a prat. An utter imbecile. A canker on humanity’s arse. The vainest girl in the country and unjustifiably so. The bastard son of a pig and a baboon. A cretin of the worst order. A faithless, traitorous, unreliable, unimpressive fuckwit with ridiculous fashion sense. An obstinate, unimaginative, prattling, nonsensical shithead who…” Remus’s tirade was cut abruptly short as Sirius’s lips met his own for several long seconds. “Peace,” said Sirius, leaning back in to swipe his tongue along Remus’s lower lip, “I will stop your mouth.” He kissed Remus again, and again, and again, then picked up his wand briefly to murmur, “Finite Incantatem.”

“Uh, Siri? Rem?” James spoke up as Remus grabbed Sirius and rolled to lie over him in the bed. They ignored him. “C’mon, James,” Peter said, “leave them be.” “They’re gonna shag in our room!” “Best place for it, as long as we’re not here.” James took the point and followed Peter out of the room, carefully closing and locking the door behind him.

Remus looked up at the sound and was grateful for their tact even as he ripped off Sirius’s T-shirt. Sirius was enthusiastically if ineffectively attempting to remove both of their pairs of jeans. Remus knelt up – on the fourth attempt, having been hampered by his own reluctance to stop kissing Sirius, Sirius’s reluctance to let him go for more than half a second, and the tangle of their legs which unbalanced him – and stripped off first his own shirt then Sirius’s jeans. This took longer than it should have, since the clothing in question was exceedingly tight – a fact which had pleased both parties with the excellent view it gave of Sirius’s arse, but now caused both frustration and hilarity as a firm tug served simply to pull Sirius down the bed. With their removal, Sirius was naked, pale skin luminous against the red of the sheets and the black of his hair. Remus paused to gaze at his prize. “You are beautiful,” he said, smoothing a hand down Sirius’s flank. “Love you,” whispered Sirius in return. “You’re all I ever wanted.”

The next morning, Remus wore both the nail varnish and the eyeshadow. Sirius wore one of his lover’s loose shirts.