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Padfoot is handsome and charming
And some find his brilliance disarming
But he doesn't care
'cause he never plays fair
Besides, the number of people who think he's hot and want to shag him is alarming.

"Hey," Remus said, leaning over to where Sirius was sprawled on his bed and smacking him
lightly on the back of his head. "You're not supposed to write your own limerick! Also, that last
line has far too many syllables, and it's complete shite."

"It rhymes, doesn't it? It's my birthday so I can do whatever I want. Rule 35."

"There's no such thing as Rule 35," James said,
taking his own opportunity to smack Sirius in the head much harder than Remus had.

"Oi," Sirius grumbled, trying to sit up and grab James, but James had already backed away out of
his reach. "Wankers, the lot of you. And sure there is. Comes after Rule 34."

Remus snorted. "Your brilliance is disarming."

Peter cleared his throat. "I know I'm going to regret this, but what's Rule 34 then?"

Sirius rolled back over onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows, and grinned. "If it
exists, then there's porn of it."

Remus stared at him. "You made that up."

"Did not. I made up Rule 35. The real Rule 35 says that if there's no porn yet, there will be
eventually. I exist, therefore there is, or will be, porn about me. Cool, eh?"

"Yeah, he probably wrote it himself. And it's probably pants like that limerick," James said,
dragging Remus and Peter to the other side of the dormitory, and ignoring Sirius' pout. "Right.
It's our turn to write a limerick for Dogsbreath's birthday. What have you got, Moony? Wormy?"

Peter closed his eyes and pursed his lips. "Hmm. How about 'There once was a black dog named
Padfoot.'"

"No, that won't work," Remus said thoughtfully. "Nothing rhymes with Padfoot except soot."

"And kaput," Peter added.

"Yes, and that's even more helpful," Remus said, rolling his eyes and sighing. "You can't write a
decent limerick with those words."

"It's because I'm unique!" Sirius called out from behind his bed curtains.

"It's because you're a nuisance," Remus said, and ducked just in time as a pillow came whizzing
past.

"Maybe we should forget the limerick and write him some porn instead," James said, scratching
his chin. "I'm much better at porn than I am at limericks."

Peter grabbed his pillow and buried his face in it while Remus raised his eyebrows. There was a
lot of loud snorting, and noises that sounded more like choking and barking than laughter coming
from Sirius' bed.

"Ha ha, Prongs! That's a good one! What do you know about sex that doesn't involve your right
hand and your own knob?"

"Shut up, ya wanker," James muttered, turning red. "I have a vivid imagin—."

"Actually," Remus interrupted, lowering his voice so that Sirius wouldn't overhear, "we know
people who are much better at this than we are. We should send them an owl. I think they'd be
glad to help."

Peter lowered the pillow, his eyes wide. "You think they'd do it?"

"Of course they will," Remus said. "They're gluttons for punishment. And really, better them
than us."

"I suppose you have a point," James said, nodding. "The only time I want to write the words
'Sirius' cock' in that order is if I'm talking about his pet rooster."

"He doesn't have a pet roos—Oh!" Peter said. "Um. Good point."

James grinned and jumped to his feet. "It's settled then. We'll leave his illustrious cock, feathered
or otherwise, in their hands. I'll go get my quill!"

~*~

*cue drumroll*

[personal profile] red_squared, [personal profile] mindabbles, [profile] midnitemaraud_r and [profile] gryffindor_j proudly present round two:

Sirius Black's Bonfire Night Birthday Bash!


(No, it's not his official canon birthday. Because he doesn't have one, we took a few
liberties. What can we say - we like doing things like that.)


Bonfire of the Inanities by [profile] midnitemaraud_r Rated: PG-13
Summary: Sirius is determined to build their bonfire the Muggle way.

Always Bet on Black by [profile] gryffindor_j Rated: PG-13
Summary: On Halloween, 1981, Sirius got to the Potters first, changing their fate. Now, two years later, the war still rages while Remus tries to pick up the missing pieces of his past.

Best things in life are free by [personal profile] red_squared Rated: PG-13
Summary: "I'm so proud of you, doubling your entendres at last."

And my contribution:

Title: When All is Said and Done
Author: [personal profile] mindabbles
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,552
Prompt: Bath
Characters and/or Pairings: Remus/Sirius, James, and mentions of Peter and Lily
Summary: I want him to forget that I ever accused him, but more, I want to believe him. I want him to tremble apart in my hands.
Warnings: Angst, first person, make up sex. Oh, and there is no actual bath in this fic.
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. If they were, they would be celebrating their 51st birthdays together. Together.
Notes: Thanks to [personal profile] red_squared for the super quick beta and to the other fabulous Sirius-celebrants, [profile] midnitemaraud_r and [profile] gryffindor_j!!



James Potter has never taken "no" for a fucking answer in his life. He's about to start if I have anything to say about it.

"You'll be there." James crosses his arms and attempts to nail me to the wall with a stare that could make Peter wet his pants – and probably some Death Eaters as well.

"No, James," I say, staring back despite the slight tremble in my knees.

"You will," James says. He's beginning to look a touch deranged. "You have to be. It's Padfoot's birthday. One does not miss Padfoot's birthday."

This is a James Potter truth, like the perfection of Lily's hair or the wrongness of lime marmalade — indisputable, irrefutable.

"Sirius doesn't want me there," I say. The truth in the words cut my throat like glass.

The look on James' face nearly does me in. "You can't believe that. Even if...it shouldn't..."

"Oh, James," I say. He's far from being a fool most times, but when it comes to his friends, he does a fair impression of one.

*

I can't move. Can't breathe.

I can prepare myself when I know I’m going to see him – Order meetings, Thursdays at the Leaky Cauldron, anytime I think I have a moment to chat with James and Peter. These times I know I will have to be in the same room. Have to watch his dark hair fall over his cheek and not brush it back. Have to see his hands in full flight of speech and know I will not feel them later on my skin.

It's different if he catches me unawares at Flourish and Blott's or if I have a spare galleon to treat myself to a pastie and a pint at lunch at the Leaky Cauldron. It's a train wreck I can’t walk away from. And here I thought I knew all there was to know about pain.

I have the mad urge to run from the apothecary and pretend I never saw him. The look on his face says that I won't escape unscathed.

He's beside me in a breath. His tall, broad frame fills the space between me and my only exit and I hate my weakness that all I can think is how he used to pin me to his bed, the wall, the back of the sofa, and fuck me until I trembled to pieces in his arms.

"Well? Do you have anything to say?" he asks, placing the little bag of bath salts he has in his hand back on the shelf. I imagine that I see something like regret on his stupidly beautiful face.

"I can't imagine what," I say, and the look changes to the anger I knew was already there.

The bell on the door jingles merrily when he slams it shut. I always knew it was only a matter of time until I fucked this up.

*

I drum my fingers on James' kitchen table. The bastard. He's tricked us both. I can see that Sirius no more wants to do this than I do.

James looks back and forth between us. He hesitates and then brandishes his wand at each of us, shouting, "Expelliarmus" and dashes from the room with both of our wands like the mad bastard he is.

"Arse," Sirius mutters, fiddling with his bottle of Butterbeer until he nearly tips it out on the table. I restrain myself from reaching out to steady it.

"Me or him?" I ask.

"Both," Sirius says. He glances at me and then looks away.

I bristle and I hate feeling prickly and brittle with him, but I can't seem to stop it, can't seem to take whatever step will bring him back to me.

"You'll not blame this on me," I say and he frowns.

"I don't know who then—" he stops and the muscles along his jaw flex. "Never mind. James wants us to be all friends together tomorrow. I don't know why it's so important to him, but there it is. I'll be civil if you will."

The cold, matter-of-fact tone cuts through me like a knife. "Fine. I'm nothing if not civil."

He looks as if he's about to say something else and I waver. I wonder what would happen if I reached across the table and put my hand on his arm.

"Prongs," Sirius bellows. "Give us our fucking wands back. We're not going to kill each other."

James is through the door in an instant. He looks grim and disappointed. So does Sirius. I can't stand those looks on their faces.

"See you tomorrow, then," I say, and I go before they can answer me.

*

I don't know why I'm here. See there. I even lie to myself.

"I knew you'd come. You said you would," James sings. He slings a sloppy arm around my shoulders and squeezes. I try a smile. This isn't James' fault, after all. "Good old Moony."

"Have another whisky," I say and James laughs with relief.

Sirius is in the centre of the room and the centre of attention. Everyone wants to be near him. Everyone wants him. Fair enough. I always have. Almost all of the Order is here, crammed into Lily and James' little cottage. Peter sits next to Sirius, basking in his glow and hoping some of it will rub off.

I catch Sirius’ eye and my breath stops in my throat. He looks at me with what can only be called defiance and throws his arm around the broad shoulders of fucking Gideon Prewett. That's what started this in the first place. I wince as images of that bloody miserable night flood my memory – me, like an arsehole, squaring off with him in the middle of his living room, accusing him of cheating. You don't accuse Sirius Black of cheating. He leans and whispers something to Gideon, glancing back at me.

I haven't had nearly enough to drink, so I retreat to the quiet of the kitchen.

"Oh," I say to James' back, bent over the cooker and staring into the pot.

"The custard's gone all lumpy. Padfoot's pudding," he says mournfully. "You were trying to sneak off, weren’t you?" he adds shooting me a shrewd glance. I hate that James is never as pissed as he lets on.

I look in the pot and mutter a spell and the custards swirls, smooth and golden. Sirius loves custard almost more than anything.

"I can't do this," I say. "I'm sorry. I'm tired. It's too close—"

"Don't give me that shit," James says. "You're both going about with faces like funerals and all that's needed is for one of you to say something first. You're a pair of miserable gits and you're making me miserable and I won't have it. It is Padfoot's birthday.," James says, as if that settles everything. For him it does. Birthdays are sacred and all must be forgiven to make way.

"And why is it to me to say something first? He's the one who—"

"Because you are marginally less of a stubborn arse, although I'm revising that opinion of late," James says as the swinging kitchen door bangs open and Sirius bursts in.

"Goodnight, James," I say, looking determinedly away from Sirius.

James dashes to block my potential exit. Sirius looks from me to him and rolls his eyes. He doesn't want to talk to me any more than I want to talk to him.

"I am trying not to ruin his birthday," I say, squaring off with James. He has that fierce, determined look on his face and my stomach hurts. He will never give up and I don't think I can do this anymore. "Get out of my way."

"Let him go, Prongs," says Sirius. I hate that my chest aches when he won't look at me.

"You have to mend it," James says. He looks back and forth as if he's watching a duel. I almost feel sorry for him. "You're miserable fucks when you're rowing and I can't take you not speaking to each other."

"Leave it," Sirius says. "He's said what he thinks."

"If I thought –" James says. He rubs his hand through his ridiculous hair. "Christ. You wankers are going to kill me. If I thought you would be happy, if I thought you could just go back to being mates, I'd leave it."

"It was inevitable really," Sirius says. He turns and pierces me with his storm-cloud grey eyes. "Spend all that time together, four blokes, and two of them fancy blokes. That's apparently all it was."

My words, tossed in the air for James to hear, sound so cruel. I can hardly believe I said something that hurtful to him.

"You're neither of you going anywhere." James crosses his arms and glares. "And if you try to get out of here before you've talked through whatever it was one of you did or until you've at the very least shagged, Wormtail and I will track you down."

He slams out of the kitchen and there is a series of soft sounds as he seals the windows and the door.

*

I've never known Sirius to be quiet for this long. Apparently his anger is more powerful than his hyperactivity.

From the sounds of silence from the other room, it seems as if the party is over. Lily's, James', and Peter's voices occasionally waft through the door. I wonder if they will leave us in here, not speaking to each other, until we die.

I consider making a sandwich. I've never made a sandwich and not offered one to Sirius. Not since I was eleven. I sigh.

"Look—" we say in unison and both startle at the sudden echoing of voices in the long silence.

"I have one thing to say," Sirius says, jumping in before I can get the first word. "I am not a liar. Well, not to you lot anyway. And I cannot believe you accused me of cheating."

"You still haven't denied it," I say.

"I shouldn't have to." His cheeks glow pink and his eyes blaze.

"I know what I saw." I'm pleased with the steadiness of my voice despite the way the hurt in his voice has stolen my breath. "Everything looked...all the evidence...Gideon was half naked and in your bedroom and —"

"You are supposed to know me well enough to see past the fucking evidence!" Sirius bellows, turning away violently, with his wand drawn.

The bang is deafening and the pot full of custard explodes. Sirius still does not know his own strength, I think, as a warm splodge of the stuff oozes from my hair to my neck. Sirius has some running off his nose and clumping in his shining hair. He tries to look at the stuff on his nose and goes cross-eyed.

"James won't be pleased," I say, with the sudden, probably inadvisable, urge to laugh.

Sirius draws his finger through the sticky, yellow mess on his cheeks and sucks it into his mouth. "My bloody birthday pudding."

I watch his finger disappear between his lips. I want it to be my finger. Or my lips. He looks at me, but doesn't speak, and I realise that I have hurt him enough that he can't make the first move to bring us back together.

I can hardly believe he'd want to hear it, but I force myself to meet his gaze and say, "I'm sorry."

The silence around us threatens to burst my eardrums with its pressure. He stares at me and I shift from one foot to the other. There's custard in my shoe.

"I'm sorry, Padfoot," I try again. "I shouldn't have said—" I trail off.

He looks down, away from my pleading eyes. "Say it. Say you were wrong."

"I'm – I was wrong."

"I want to hear you say that I would never do that," he says slowly. I open my mouth and he holds up his hand, silencing me. He speaks so quietly, I have to lean in to hear him. "And I want you to take back that this – us – is just fucking convenience because we were both there."

"I know you wouldn't betray me, Padfoot," I say. My heart is beating. I don't like this quiet, intense Sirius. "And I'm sorry I said that."

I take a step closer to him where he has placed his hand on the table. He raises his other hand to stop me. His shoulders shake.

"Tell me that I'm the sexiest, smartest, most brilliant person you've ever met," he says, choking back a laugh.

"You're having me on?" My voice is shriller than I would like. I slap my hand down on to the table, right into a huge blob of custard that splatters like congealing gloop onto both of us.

"Oi!" he yelps as a yellow blob hits his chin. "You deserved it."

"You've custard." I point towards his chin. "Custard, about to drip—" I reach out and swipe it off. I expect him to flinch. We can't be finished with this talk already. He tilts his chin, inviting me to touch. Fingers are not enough. I want to taste him.

I grab his wrist and lean to lick along his jaw, the sweet, creamy custard masking the salty tang of his skin. It's only been a few days, but it has been years since I've gone a few days without touching him. I step in, pulling him to me as I kiss his cheeks and nose and lips, eyes closed so I don't know when I'll taste him and when I'll taste vanilla and sugar.

His fingers curl in my sticky hair and he murmurs, "You need a bath."

"Not now," I whisper onto his lips, and I press into a kiss, sliding my tongue alongside his. I want to melt into him. His lips move on mine and our tongues curl together in a rhythm we learned together years ago. I could never tire of him, never want anyone else, and I think I'm finally beginning to believe that it's the same for him.

His fingers are at the buttons of his soiled shirt and I step back to watch, savouring each new bit of the body that I had resigned myself to never seeing again. The custard has run under his collar and there's a streak down his chest. I curve my hand around his bare waist, feeling the play of his muscles under his warm skin, and sweep my tongue over his nipple.

"Delicious," I mutter, and he gasps and tangles his fingers deeper into his hair. I lick again and he presses my head to his chest. I wrap my arms around him and slide to my knees, kissing and laving away any traces of custard as I go.

I want him to forget that I ever accused him, but more, I want to believe him. I want him to tremble apart in my hands. I want to be the only one he wants to touch like this, the only one he needs, ever.

I kneel before him and bow my head. "I’m sorry," I say.

His fingers loosen in my hair and he strokes my head. "I know."

I flip open the button of his trousers and run my fingers just under the waist band of his pants. He gasps and I can feel his breath hitch in the movement of his belly, so I do it again. I follow the same path with my lips, caressing the curve of his arse. I can feel his muscles tighten, knowing he must be as hard as stone already.

"Get on with it, or you'll have something else to be sorry for," he growls, but his hands are still gentle in my hair.

I press my mouth to the outline of his hard cock and a groan escapes me. Since the first time I did this, saw what it did to him even in my fumbling inexperience, I have hungered for his cock heavy on my tongue. I suck on the skin just under his belly button gently as I pull his trousers and pants down in one go. I can feel his beautiful cock pressing into my shoulder and I circle it loosely with my fingers.

"Please," he groans and leans back against the table, planting his feet further apart.

I let myself just look for a moment. His white shirt is hanging open, there’s a flush already creeping up his chest and his normally impeccable hair is mussed every which way and still caked with custard. I am overwhelmed with how much I need him. I can't believe I thought I could breathe without him.

The first touch of my tongue to the tip of his cock makes both of us moan. I swirl my tongue around the head and then down the length.

"I plan to make your knees buckle in a moment," I say, pressing kissing to the base of his cock. "Budge up."

"Let's see that, then," he says, with a crooked smile. He pushes himself up so he's sitting on the table and leans back, bracing himself with his hands.

I cup my hands around the sides of his arse and slide my lips over the tip of his cock. He tilts his head back and hisses a relieved, "Yes." My eyes fall shut and I concentrate on the sounds he makes and the velvet slide of his skin on my tongue as I take him deeper into my mouth. My own cock is throbbing and I move a hand to press against it.

"Yeah," he breathes. "Touch yourself."

I touch myself just enough to feel it, just enough to drive me into a near frenzy. I could come like this – sliding my lips up his cock until I can suck on just the tip – so easily. I don't want to, tonight. I want this to be just the start and I want to come with him inside me. I flatten my tongue against the underside of his cock and let him push into my mouth until the head of his cock hits my throat. I suck hard, as hard as I can, cheeks hollowing out and Sirius thrusts, his knuckles white on the edge of the table.

"Fuck, Moony," he groans. "That's fucking perfect."

He can still talk, so it's not perfect enough. I take my hand from where it's still pressing on my cock – the slightest move now and I'll come – and squeeze his balls gently in time to the movements of my mouth. I circle his cock with my other hand, and stroke it, slick through my saliva. I can concentrate on the head now, sealing my lips just around the ridge and curling my tongue around and around.

Sirius groans and lets out a string of inarticulate babble. His fingers clench almost too tightly in my hair and his cock pulses. He likes it hard and fast when he comes and I hear my name amongst his mutterings. He completely loses himself...but that's not it, he's completely here with me when he comes, and I wonder how I could have ever thought he'd share this with someone else. I taste him hot and bitter, completely banishing the sweetness of the custard and any traces of our days apart.

"Fuck, ah, Remus," he says, pulling me from my knees and against him, in the "v" of his legs. I kiss him so he can taste himself on my tongue and he moans again.

I can't help now but rock against his thigh, and kiss him hard. I don't know if I can wait.

"Not like this," he says, stilling my hips. "I want to be inside you when you come."

"Mm," I moan, a sharp frisson of desire coursing through me. I kiss him again. "I'm not using custard as lube. Let's get out of here." I want him to fuck me against the wall just inside his front door, and then take a bath together in his absurdly huge tub and do it again.

"Yeah," he says. He hops off the table and pulls on his pants and trousers. I wait and watch him, just trying to breathe as my hand finds its own way to press against my cock again. "I'll tell that lot." He turns to go, but stops and bends over by the door, picking something up.

He hands me a slip of parchment that was slid under the door. It reads, in James' slanting scrawl, We've gone to Wormtail's. I heard the explosion. I don't want to know. Moony, take the mutt home and give him a bath. Don't tell me about it tomorrow. Happy birthday, Padfoot.

"You do enjoy your bath," I say, running my hand down Sirius' arm. I can't stop touching him. I feel inordinately pleased with myself. And so turned on, I don't think I can Apparate.

"You know me well, Moony." He slides his hand down my front and cups my achingly hard cock. "Come on. I don't think you're in a fit state to—" he begins. He wraps his arm around me and I feel the pressure of Apparition.

He does know me well.
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