InsaneJournal

LMoM: 1979 (Part 14~ April 11, 1979)
Title: 1979
Today’s Date: April 11, 1979
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~1,200
Pairing: Remus/James/Sirius, Peter
Kink(s): wanking (mutual), voyeurism, alcohol use, weird consent issues
Challenge: Lusty Month of May 2008
Summary: 1979: One of the worst years of Remus's life. Also, one of the best.
Today’s Episode: There is nothing worse than realizing, right in the midst of a circle jerk, that you don't want to be there.
Notes: The possibly insane blpaintchart has agreed to speed beta and Brit pick for as long as she can stand it while I try this…so generous is my Chart!! Not only that, she is veritable font of ideas! Also, thank you to McKay for running this crazy thing.

Need to catch up? Here are the previous parts:Jan 1, Jan 15: Day, Jan 15: Night, Feb 2, Feb 9, Feb 20, Mar 10, Mar 24, Mar 25, Mar 25: Later, Mar 26, Mar 31, Apr 1




There was a familiar fist wrapped around Remus’s cock, tugging and pulling and stroking, and his own hand was curled around another cock, firm and thick and leaking, but damned if Remus didn’t wish he was anywhere but where he was, even while teetering on the edge of orgasm.

Peter had sent an innocent invitation for drinks and card games, and Remus had (stupidly, in retrospect) assumed that he was the only one invited. Ten straight days in bed with Severus had obviously melted his brain. (Oh gods, Severus, Remus thought, as the firm hand gripping him tugged harder.)

The horror began when first Sirius, then James arrived at Peter’s flat, each paling as they saw Remus, each clearly also under the delusion that they were the only one on the invite list. The air in Peter’s little sitting room grew so heavy with tension, Remus could scarcely lift his arms.

Peter could not possibly have known that the last Remus had seen of Sirius, he was being sucked off by a disco-tramp transvestite, nor could he have known that he and James had been avoiding each other like the poles of a magnet since Remus had stormed out on in him in a cupboard at New Year’s. No, he could not have known that, because fuck if anyone knew where Peter had been all year. He knew nothing. So he had invited them all over for game night and a fun-filled Marauders reunion.

Brilliant.

Peter’s hopeful grin and platters of twiglets, quavers and pork scratchings making it impossible to simply stand up and storm out, they did the only sensible thing left to them.

They all started drinking.

Peter must have sensed something was amiss, because he could not shut up, filling all the tense silences with babbling on about his mother and their two weeks in Blackpool and fooling people by turning into a rat every few days and isn’t that a laugh, guys!. Remus smiled and nodded and threw back shot after burning shot of firewhiskey. He laughed at the right moments in Peter’s stories, all the while avoiding the what-the-fuck glances from James and the lust-and-bitterness glares from Sirius by focusing on flipping cards with his wand to keep their game of Queen’s Wand moving.

Sirius was the one to push it too far, of course.

“This game is fucking dull,” he said, with a faint slur. “Isn’t it, Remus?”

“It’s all right,” Remus replied, trying to avoid meeting Sirius’s eyes.

“Trouble is, there is nothing at stake.” Sirius’s eyes were framed in the longest fucking eyelashes in the universe.

“Just play your card, Padfoot,” said James, from where he was reclined against the sofa, sipping an emerald brandy. He had been very quiet all night.

“I was talking to Remus,” Sirius said. “Don’t you think the stakes should be raised, my dear Moony?” he asked, his tone dangerous.

Remus looked away and reached for a handful of twiglets.

“I like Queen’s Wand,” Peter added into the silence, turning a five. “Bugger.”

“I say from now on, the loser provides the winner a handjob,” Sirius said, still looking only at Remus.

“What?” That was Peter, his voice a high-pitched squeak. “No way!”

Sirius did not look at Peter when he said, “Don’t worry Worms, you never win.”

“I might lose,” Peter muttered.

“It’s a game of chance, Sirius,” Remus said. “Any of us could win or lose. No skill is involved.”

“So that raises the stakes, doesn’t it? Could be any of you wankers pulling my nob,” Sirius replied.

There was a long pause. Remus studied the shag carpet.

“I’m in,” said James, sitting up and throwing down his cards. “I’ll deal.”

“We’re all in,” Sirius stated, staring at Remus, and his tone did not allow for argument. James started floating the cards into formation, and air of grim determination filling the room.

Remus poured himself another shot, the warm emptiness of inebriation the only thing shielding him from the wreck of his childhood imploding around him.

They played a round.

Remus lost.

To his horror, Sirius won.

Through his alcoholic haze, Remus knew it was time to leave, but Sirius did not waste a moment, lurching up from where he was reclined on the floor and opening his flies as he strode towards Remus.

“Sirius, you aren’t really…” Peter said, trying in vain to preserve the last moments of his little game night with his mates.

But Sirius had whipped out his half-hard prick and shoved it in Remus’s face.

“Pay up, Moony,” he slurred.

Remus didn’t move.

“Come on, Remus,” James said, his tone cool. Remus suspected he might not be as drunk as everyone else. “You lost. You owe him one.”

Remus remained still. Sirius rubbed his stiffening prick against his cheek.

“He doesn’t know what to do, Jamie,” Sirius said.

James crawled over towards them. “He knows,” he said. “He just needs a reminder.”

James grabbed Sirius’s cock, giving him a few hard strokes, right in Remus’s face.

“Let me out of here, you pricks,” Remus said, rising, but Sirius grabbed him. Remus didn’t try very hard to escape his grasp, as Sirius quickly reached down and cupped the growing bulge in Remus’s trousers, stopping Remus in his tracks with the familiar feel of his hand. Sirius, breathing hard as James continued to stroke him, reached below Remus’s waistband and fisted his cock. Against his will, Remus moaned.

“Guys?” That was Peter, seated on the sofa, eyes bulging from his head as he watched events so quickly devolve.

James stood up then, not releasing Sirius’s prick, and freed his own cock, rubbing against Remus’s hand, and like so many times in their past, Remus didn’t think, just grabbed hold and tugged hard, and James swore like a sailor and pumped his hips.

They were in a tight circle, arms and cocks tangled and thrashing, their three sets of eyes searching each others expressions for a clue about why this was happening. Over James’s shoulder Remus could see Peter staring at them in silent fascination. Something about Peter’s awed and terrified expression pulled Remus back to himself just enough, even as he felt James’s prick tightening, even as his own release was imminent, that he pulled away with a violent thrash, knocking himself backwards against the wall.

He looked at each one of his friends, his best friends in the world, all staring back at him, and then steadied himself and ran out of the room.

“What the hell, Moony?” James yelled after him. “Can’t finish anything you start anymore?”

Sirius ran after him, catching Remus by the arm just as he reached the door to the flat. “Where do you think you are going?”

“I have to get out of here, Sirius. You should go home too.” Remus pulled his arm free.

“Stop fucking walking out on me, Remus!” yelled Sirius.

“You were the one who walked away last time, as I recall,” Remus said, holding himself up against the wall. “And you wasted about thirty seconds before you had another cock down your throat.”

“Fuck you, Moony.”

Remus closed his eyes, the world swaying. “Yeah, well, fuck you too, Padfoot. Now get out of my way. I need to go and spend the rest of my night shagging Severus Snape into the mattress. Excuse me.”

He shoved past Sirius, who stood speechless, and slammed out of the door.