Marauder crack

Diagnose: Lupinitis

It's hard to think of anything else. It's REALLY hard for Sirius to think of something else. He should be used to it, because has always been a part of his brain - James has always said that the ninety-five percent - dedicated to thinking about sex. The girls, their legs, lips, kisses, how to put his hand over them, those things. Sirius could be thinking about quidditch and sex. In casting an incantation and in sex. If he ever thought of homework, he could have done it while thinking about sex. The only difference is that he now thinks of having sex with a boy. And it shouldn't be that much of a difference.

In theory.

But Sirius is pure action and he has always believed that theories are not worth it for almost nothing. They are only good in theory. In practice, he is assaulted by feelings like rubbing against Remus Lupin twenty-four hours a day, and yes, fuck, how could he not be distracted. He is distracted by the way he brushes his teeth with his tongue because, at that moment, the shirt reveals Remus' arms of astral lengths, and his pijama bottoms are low, they have the first button almost loose and held in the phenomenal curve of his rear. It's hard not to think about sex right now, as he feels like pulling down his pijamas and biting his ass, candidly. During breakfast, it is almost worse. Remus has a habit of smearing honey butter on toast and every morning when he takes the first bite, the geometry of his face betrays him and the tip of his nose is stained with honey. It is hard to remember that it wouldn't be a good idea to pull his tie and lick him clean, mixing butter and honey and Remus on his tongue. It takes a lot, during long study sessions, to think about something different than his eye color and the flamboyant curve of his upper lip, his hands when they move to attract a book with the wand from the other end of the table. At that moment, he raises his eyebrows, deflects his light brown hair and he looks at him, only at him.

- You're not studying? - He asks.

- I'm already studying.

Between class and class, they steal mischief from time and Sirius drags him to the broom drawer and touch each other under their uniforms, without unbuttoning their ties. Sirius promises to study him thoroughly until he gets a NEWT in Lupin. And he always keeps his word. Naturally, these escapades will give lots of new things to keep getting distracted. Because now, when he sees him helping Peter with his homework and reviewing him by saying "mmmmmm you don't have it right" inevitably recalls another moan "mmmm yes, right there Sirius" as they rubbed with their pants down in the girls' bathroom to scandal Moaning Myrtle.

So anyone is distracted.

Anyone except the stoic, unchanging, unflappable, calm of Remus Lupin.

If the theories worked, things should be more balanced and Remus would have to sexually assault him much more often. Because let's face it, what usually happens is that Sirius has to figure out how to sneak out somewhere. But Remus doesn't, my friend, he doesn't. Remus always agrees to his sneaky escapades and kisses so damn well that he should be in a special section of hell BUT - and he's a very important but- nine times out of ten it is Sirius who has to wait for him after class and drag him to some hiding place. It is Sirius who seeks and doesn't get tired of touching him in prohibited areas of the castle and he is beginning to feel like an addict without his provision of crack from him.

It is Sirius who has serious trouble following the course of a Quidditch conversation with James just because he's distracted watching Remus with those waist-high first years that don't stop harassing him with questions. They make Remus, by comparison, seem taller, languid, ungainly elegant, something endless to which makes Sirius want to lick him night and day.

"Are you hearing yourself, Black?"

Even his subconscious reproaches him for thinking so much about Remus and that's the main problem. That for the first time in his life, and if he has to be completely honest with himself now that no one hears him - except the stupid subconscious of him- he's not exactly thinking about sex. But in reality, the person he wants to have sex with.

He's thinking about Remus, all the fucking time, and he has a feeling that nobody sees him, that everyone passes by and does not stop to look at him for a second. Because if they did, if they saw him once, Sirius is sure that the same thing would happen to all of them and they would be dazzled, dumb, slightly dizzy from all that beauty that Remus Lupin hides.Everyone would feel, like Sirius, the urge to interrupt the class of Arithmancy and raise his hand, announcing, "I'm sorry, professor, but Remus and I have to go to the bathroom to shag.

- Can't wait, Black? - the teacher would say.

-No, sir, it's quite urgent- Sirius would plead."

And if he went to the hospital wing they would diagnose him with a serious case, terminal, acute lupinitis. Possibly hopeless.

He is sometimes tempted to tell James.

"- Hey, Jimmy. Since I've switched to white chocolate, I have the feeling that Remus never takes the first step and I always have to harass him sexually in the nearer broomstick room. Do you think he should ask her something?"

Good old Prongs would surely say:

"- Can you repeat the chocolate thing?"

No, James is not a good choice. Plus. Nor that he was a girl to go around talking about that kind of crap. Remus and he are ... well, Remus and him. And sex is great. Brilliant, sublime. And it's not worth giving more thought about that. He doesn't have to tell anyone that something weird is bubbling up in his stomach and that he sometimes cannot eat because where before there was hunger or anger or rage, now there is only a hole with Remus's name on it and Sirius doesn't know why, even when he's with him, putting his hand between them while kissing. Sex does not fill the damn emptiness inside and Sirius asks himself and whoever is listening how, with what, could he fulfil that hunger that is consuming him alive. No matter how close they are, he needs more. Something more, even though he doesn't know what the hell he needs yet.