Marauder crack

That's what mates are for, innit?

Among the students, Sirius Black is reputed to be an inflexible Quidditch captain. Tyrannical, merciless, that governs the team by fatigue and discouragement.

But among the players, everyone knows that Sirius demands each and every one of them nothing more and nothing less than what he demands of himself. The Glory or death. Bite the dust, leave blood on the field and go out singing in victory.

Everyone remembers the match against Slytherin in his fifth year, going up to his position in front of the Quidditch rings with a dislocated shoulder and several fractured bones, staying on the broom by force of will and fury. When the game gets tough it's his voice that resounds like a roar in the field and inspires them with the strength to do feats they never would have dreamed to accomplish. "We don't play to win" he likes great catchwords before the big games "We play so that the people who are in the bleachers talk about this game to their children and their eyes fill with tears ".

Generally, his speeches include colourful phrases and his usual foul expressions. "Did you hear me right, you bastards?" "If I notice that anyone of you have a minimum of strength to stand up after this match, I'll make sure you regret it". He prepares them in advance and once it occurred to him to rehearse it in front of Remus. The damn bastard had the nerve to laugh.

- Are you laughing at me, douchebag?

- Forgive me. It is not exactly the sermon of Saint Crispin's day.

Sirius had no idea what St. Crispin's Day was, nor he had heard of Shakespeare in his life, but Remus lent him "Henry V", and he used it before every game ever since. When his players hear the one of "whoever sheds his blood with me will be my brother!" come out fired into the field as if catapulted by a bloody emotion.

Shakespeare has a burning effect on his spirit. He loves to cheer on his players, that's the truth. He likes to see them win and put them on their feet when they lose. He likes the mud under the boots and that amazing feeling of being part of an indestructible whole. He likes to notice that James has seen the snitch and when he personally sends the bludgers to Dublin with a fatal blow. He likes to win over Slytherin, and on Fridays, after training, he likes to stay last in the field.

He takes a couple of turns with the broom, he imagines the stands full of audience and he goes over the strategies for the matches in the autumnal silence.

By the time he gets to the locker room, most of them left. Hood remains, his best kicker. A nice sixth-year boy. He congratulates him for his improvement that afternoon.

- Not bad, Hood.

- Did I make you cry?

- Almost. I'm crying on the inside.

- We'll do better next time.

Lionel Hood. Yes sir. A nice boy. When he leaves, Sirius is left alone in the locker room. He undresses unceremoniously and turns on the shower tap from a distance, just with a wave of the hand and an enchantment. He likes it too hot and too high pressure. He likes it to rip his shoulders and leave his skin raw. He likes to let shoot an intense water jet and hit his contractures until dull and constant pain invades.

He likes it so much that he ducks his head and groans when the jet hits him on the neck. "Hell, yeah". He loses track of time under the tap, gets hit and massaged, and everything is water, heat, steam, pain, pleasure. He opens several showers and strolls from one to the other, letting the water hit his face and arms, thighs, and ass. He doesn't realize that the mmmm of him and his aaaahhh can be heard by anyone. He spends so much time moving his neck to get pressure on all the seized muscles, that when he's finished he's all steamy and he has to fumble for the towel. He ties it around the waist and comes out of the showers touching the wall almost blindly.

- In order not to be one of those who moan, you have given a good concert.The mist begins to dissipate. He is sitting on one of the benches. Surrounded by the clothes that Sirius has left lying around. His voice is the latest that he expected.

-What's a werewolf like you doing in a place like this, Lupin?

- I've come to see naked boys.

Raindrops vibrate on his chest when Sirius laughs.

- Really?

Remus nods. With that sparkling smile behind those boyish eyes.

- It's an advantage I have over girls. This wardrobe has procured endless hours of pleasure over the years.

Years. For the first time, Sirius realises that, indeed, Remus has been into men for years. He always supposed so, at least. Has he noticed him like a love interest for years? He's intrigued by the possibilities.

- Sometimes you have to tell me a couple more stories.

- Anytime.

The tone of his voice is so fucking promising that Sirius can't wait.

- Tonight?

- In the shrieking shack.

He wants to take a couple more steps and kiss him but if they kiss they will end up shagging under the fucking shower, even though is not a bad idea too.

- What happens tonight in the shrieking shack?

No, please, no fuck, fuck, FUCK!.

James asks the question while re-entering the showers he had left 20 minutes ago. He had forgotten his fucking boxers under the shower fucking bench.

- Nothing- Sirius tries to think fast but nothing occurs to him, and Remus doesn't seem to have any better ideas other than saying "nothing" to himself, at the same time as him. They sound so suspicious that, before he knows it, James has invited himself to have a little house party with a little alcohol and Peter, just what was missing.

He promises to bring firewhiskey, and Sirius promises himself to try not murder him.