Boys' Own Camping Adventure

Boys' Own Camping Adventure: Sirius


Sirius slowed down and pulled over onto the hard shoulder. Losing speed was a bore, but how else was he supposed to drink his whisky? This empty rural road was just bumpy enough to make him spill it whenever he lifted it to his mouth. He took a long swig from the bottle.

Satisfying enough, but all I really want to do is howl.

Hiccuping, he put bottle the bottle away and revved his bike.

Can't howl, though; Remus would hear, and he can read howling like an open book. Blast him.

He drove off, accelerating to a blur within seconds. At the next fork, he took a right.

The road is good, the road tells me where to go. If I took off flying, who knows where I'd end up... Well, I do, actually. Back at the damn camp.

He'd tried distracting himself at a seedy local pub, flirting with girls. But the girls had looked ruddy-faced, flabby, and devoid of mystery. He'd even smiled back at a stranger in tight jeans who'd leered at him from over the pool table, but the idea of taking it any further had repulsed him.

Stupid village pub. I wish we were nearer London. I wish I'd never agreed to this dorky camping trip.

It had been a wonderful week. The Marauders' last hurrah. Their last chance to be boys before taking on the role of responsible members of society, James had said. Typical of James, that. Now that he and Lily were such an established couple, he was becoming insufferably mature.

In a way, it had all been James' fault.



It was certainly James' fault that Sirius had ended up sharing a tent with Remus. The two ring-leaders usually stuck together, but this summer Sirius just couldn't face all that well-meant advice. Not that it had been an unpopular swap: Peter had grabbed at the chance to room with his hero, and Sirius himself had been quite happy to spend more quality time with Remus.

Almost too happy, in fact, looking back.

Where hanging out with James often put him on edge, driving him to plot, fight, and offend, Remus' presence had proved to be, well, relaxing. His friend's dry sense of humor and no-nonsense approach to life had soothed him into contentment, and he'd found himself really looking forward to their nightly chats.

Damn you, Remus.

What came next was James' fault, too. One aspect of James' newfound adult dignity was his sudden unwillingness to get into fights.

And that's why Sirius had felt compelled to talk Remus into that infamous wrestling match.

From the start, it had been, for Sirius, a very interesting experience. Not just because (much to his surprise) he kept losing again and again, but because of the intensity of it all. Fighting an irritated James had always been a faintly humorous experience: fighting Remus was a serious activity, their bodies moving against each other in action and reaction.

Still, somehow, Sirius was able to concentrate, listen to his friend's suggestions, and learn. And when he saw the right opening, he took it, and thus was able to pin Remus to the ground more securely than ever before.

"Victory! Is mine!" Sirius gasped, filled with an immense sense of satisfaction.

Phew, finally... Really, Remus is far better at this that I suspected... In much better shape, too: thin, yes, but really quite muscular. Who would have thought it, to look at him in his shapeless robes?

But then, I suppose, few people get to see him without them. Especially to see him this closely.

"Hey," Sirius mused out loud. The silence was starting to bother him. "I bet this is more overall body contact than you've had in months!"

A moment later he was flying through the air, and landing quite painfully on a knot of tree roots.

As he lay there in the gentle breeze, he became aware that he'd been, well, more visibly excited by the situation than he had realized.

Oh. That's just great. I bet I've weirded him out.

Sirius groaned to himself.

I hope he realizes that it's not a big deal. I mean, I can (and do) find anything from trees to well-cooked steak vaguely erotic.

Quite aware that Remus would surely return, he decided to use his favorite remedy: imagining a group of naked, dancing house-elves. Sadly, it didn't seem to be working very quickly. He screwed up his eyes, concentrating harder.

"Sirius...?"

Damn. That's exactly I needed to think about: a naked Remus dancing with the elves.

"Sirius, I'm sorry... I didn't mean to..."

OK, self-insight time: I have fancied people before. I fancy Remus now. It must be all that wrestling. No big deal.

Sirius opened his eyes and grabbed Remus' hand before its touch could do any more damage.

"Don't worry, Moony," he attempted to keep his voice low and even. "I just needed to, er, rest for a while." He sat up, clearing his throat. "Besides, I'm the one who should be apologizing. I'm sorry about what I said. I'm just so used to insulting James, occasional insults do that boy a world of good."

He still looks worried. I'd better try to laugh it off. Put him at his ease.

"Not that I thought you you were James - you, um, look very different to James. I mean, James always gets flabby in the off-season, as I was pointing out to him the other day. But I suppose there is no real off-season for werewolves, and you look..."

Oh yes, very smooth. Time for plan B: the cover-up."

Sirius decided to lurch to his feet. "Damn, I feel cold!" he exclaimed with a smile, reaching for their robes. After throwing Remus' back to his friend, he pulled his own on hurriedly.

"We're pals, aren't we, Remus?" he asked, smoothing out the fabric. "Why don't we go to a pub together tonight and... pick up some girls, or something."

Or something... mmm... James is right, I AM a pervert. I mean, this is REMUS, my old friend REMUS!

And Remus certainly was Remus, now that he was dressed. He no longer looked anything like an intense hand-to-hand combat expert, but like a vaguely disheveled future Hogwarts teacher.

THAT should destroy the mood of the moment. So why is it, if anything, more exciting?

"I'd rather not," Remus said at last, serene as ever.

How does he do it? Does NOTHING ruffle him for more than a few minutes?

Sirius' arms twitched. He had a sudden impulse to try his hand at being the ruffler.

Instead, he did the honorable thing and went off to jump in the icy river.



Was it the same river he was racing along right now? It was strange to be so close to something that could lead him right back to the camp. He stopped his bike again, and took another swig of whisky, pausing to take a look at the half-empty bottle.

Alcohol. Alcohol did play a role in getting me into this mess.

Sirius swore and tossed the bottle into the river. It flew through the air, letting loose a stream of golden liquid, catching the moonlight.

Damn this moonlight. Stupid werewolves.

He watched the bottle sink, and remembered.



After his little swim in the river, he had spent the rest of that day acting like the usual kind of idiot. He was pretty sure that James and Peter had noticed nothing. He himself had felt very uneasy, though.

Remus, meanwhile, had sat down under a tree and read. Calm and collected, he would welcome Sirius with a vague smile whenever the latter happened to walk by. Sirius tried to keep those walks down to a minimum, even though just walking by the tree was enough to take the edge off his unease.

Well, there were other ways to get over one's lack of ease. As night fell, he took his whisky bottle off into the forest, away from his friends' eyes. He knew it would not solve his problems, but it did often make them go away, at least for a while.

Only this time it didn't.

As time went on and more and more liquor burnt its way down his throat, Sirius found himself deciding that Remus had not actually seemed outraged at all. He was, after all, pretty open-minded. He had to be, with all his problems.

Would he be open to a proposition? Sirius decided to give it a try, if only to get the idea out of his head. If it didn't work, he could always blame it on the liquor. Quite truthfully, really.

Returning his bottle to its hiding place, he walked back to the tent, softly. He crept in, making a point of jarring Remus' hip.

Damn it! He's asleep. He didn't even feel me touch him.

Sirius slowly inched his way into his sleeping bag, and considered the situation, his courage leaking away slowly. What was he supposed to do, molest a sleeping friend? Wake him up, and offer him an, um, backrub?

Why can't I be my usual, suave self? How James would laugh.

On second thoughts, I don't think he would. I think he'd have a fit.

Lying there, wrapped up in indecision and a tattered sleeping bag, Sirius felt all heat leak away with his courage. All those cold baths, and all that drinking, had done him no good whatsoever.

He started to shiver.

This has GOT to be one of the lowest points of my life.

"Sirius?" a hoarse voice asked in the darkness, "Are you OK?" A hand touched his shoulder and Sirius felt energy flowing back into his body and mind. "Do you want to go and warm up by the fire?" the voice continued, full of concern.

Hah! As if I WOULD ever leave such a perfect setup!

"No, this is f-fine," Sirius whispered, moving in closer. He had a plan. "You know, R-remus," he began persuasively, "My mother's friend Uncle Ch-cherry, the polar explorer, had a bit of advice for s-situations just like this."

He felt electricity shoot through him as Remus' hand slipped in through the bag.

"Sharing a s-sleeping bag!" he continued. "It helps to capture body heat, you know."

I'll tell him the penguin egg expedition story, that should convince him.

But Remus was, apparently, much more easily convinced. Sirius heard a sound that sounded quite a bit like the swish of an opening sleeping bag.

His reactions had always been fast, though, and, surprised or not, he wasted no time before switching bags. He felt much warmer immediately, once Remus had put his arms around him as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

If this wasn't Remus, I'd think he was hitting on me. But, in this case, it's quite possible that he's just being helpful.

There's one way to find out. Like flipping a coin.

Having made up his mind, Sirius turned around and kissed Remus on the lips. It was an intense kiss, but not a very adventurous one; the sort of kiss you could maintain even if the other party didn't really kiss you back.

Remus didn't. At first, all his muscles were locked in shock. Then, the moment he had recovered, he pulled back rapidly, breathing hard in confusion. Still, he could escape neither the sleeping bag nor his friend.

OK, so he WASN'T hitting on me. But if he was completely unhappy with me, surely he would have punched me by now?

Sirius leaned slightly towards Remus' right ear. "Remus," he whispered. "As I see it, you have two options now. You can either run out of this tent and send in Peter who is, I promise, safe from my molestations, or you can kiss me back."

"Are you sure?"

Quite sure.

"Option two, then," Sirius said, leaning in again, this time will more pleasing results. This kiss went on for quite a while. As he ran a casual hand through Remus' hair, he could feel his friend drawing closer, shuddering as if in relief.

He himself was no longer shivering at all. He felt quite wonderfully warm, inside and out.

This feels so right. And to think I almost chickened out of trying!

He heard the two of them making idle chit-chat, but his own replies were just automatic. He felt pleasure wash through him, but he was no stranger to that. He was most interested in the warm glow he could feel in his heart, and in how long before the glow was replaced by the usual unease.

In the darkness, he could not see Remus, but he could hear his uneven breathing and, sometimes, even the rapid beat of his heart.

It's really quite amusing how much the fact that it's Remus, of all people, appeals to me.

And so it went on, amusing, exciting and soothing all at once. Like the best thing in the world: like a non-violent fight between equals. And Sirius enjoyed both winning and losing equally.



There were a few time-outs.

"I thought Shakespeare said that alcohol takes away from the performance," Remus muttered dizzily somewhere around half-time.

"You can't trust Shakespeare," Sirius yawned, "Just look at the way he portrayed witches. Anyway, never mind all that now: is this a dagger which I see before me?"

It's stupid to wish that this could go on forever. Dawn will come, and the real world is waiting outside.



It wasn't until he heard the birds singing outside that Sirius started to feel on edge again. Remus could not help this time; he had dozed off. After taking a long look at his sleeping friend, Sirius pulled his arm away, and slipped out of the bag carefully.

He did not want to leave. Which, of course, was why he had to.



A fast escape on the morning after is the best way to avoid complications.

He had avoided complications by turning into a dog and jogging to the village to look for poodles. Even his doggy self was, however, quite disturbed when he noticed his sudden attraction to the sullen wolfhound at the fire-station.

I'd do better as a human. And on my Shadow.

He went back for a moment to fetch his bike, but it was a toss-up as to what was worse: being a dog with unexpected psychological problems, or a half-drunk sleep-deprived cloakless motorcyclist in denial.

What about a rejected werewolf?

The thought surprised him as he stood there, gazing into the river. He'd never really considered Remus' point of view.

He'll be fine. He always is, damn him.

Sirius could recall many instances of Remus coping annoyingly well with stressful situations.

Not THIS sort of situation, though: can't remember his ever being in one.

The prickle of guilt was a very new emotion. He chewed it over.

He WILL be fine. He must be.

But would he, Sirius, be fine?

For a guy with a five minute attention span, he'd been spending a ridiculous amount of time focused on just the one... problem.

Well, what was he to do? Take it one hour at a time, perhaps. He turned his bike around and set out for the campsite.