Disclaimer: These wonderful boys are not mine, but I promise to not hurt them. Also, JRR Tolkein's works and the Olympic games aren't mine.

A/N: Written for days 11 and 12 of LJ's Tell Me A Kiss challenge; the prompts were the Olympic rings and "Ireland," and the era was "Hogwarts."

Remus sighs and sinks further into the armchair. It's too bloody late for James and Peter to still be in detention (with the Invisibility Cloak, for some reason), but Marauders stick together, so he and Sirius are still up waiting for them. Rather, he's up re-reading The Lord of the Rings and Sirius is lying on his back, on the couch, playing with a leaf he rescued from the piles earlier, before any of the first-years could trounce it. The leaf, as he explained it, was still green and perfect; it had just fallen with the others because it had no choice. All in all, it seemed too philosophical for Sirius, but at least he didn't participate in, literally, hexing Snape's eyebrows off after Potions because he was admiring it. Usually by now, he would be bored with it and getting restless, but he's still looking at it, holding it above his eyes…he's even managed to do all his homework so he can go back to pondering it without Remus having to try to be a good Prefect. It's almost uncharacteristically nice of him…even if he was the one to work out the Furry Little Problem and devise this Animagus scheme of theirs.

…But there are more important things at hand right now, like Sam trying to follow Frodo to Mordor. Remus sighs; this scene always gets him. And the fact that Sirius has sat up again, although his previous, languid position suited his activity more. When Remus casts a glance at him, though, he isn't looking at his leaf anymore; he's staring at him. Must be the t-shirt he's wearing. Like everything else he owns, it's old, but, unlike a lot of his things, it isn't second hand, simply a souvenir picked up by a Ministry-employed cousin when he went to make sure that the Muggle Olympic Games in Munich, 1972 weren't housing Dark Wizard activity. They weren't, and now, three years later, Remus can still wear the shirt. More often than not, it's reserved for sleeping, but he didn't intend on being up this late…and that's probably why Sirius is staring; he hasn't seen it before, and he's just confused. Remus lowers his book and smiles.

"Can I help you, Pads?"

"Yeah," Sirius says, distracted and incredulous; he points at Remus's chest. "…Shirt?"

"My cousin got it for me," Remus explains.

"Does it have to do with that Tolkein bloke?"

"…No. It's from this Muggle sports contest-"

"Like the Quidditch World Cup?"

"…Yes, like the Quidditch World Cup, only with more games. And the top three get medals."

"Not at all related to the Tolkein bloke?"

"Not at all related to the Tolkein bloke."

"Well, I've never read the books-"

"You could try."

"Why do that when I have a Moony to tell me the story instead?"

He's leaning on the sofa's armrest now, Remus notices. And he's giving him that wide-mouthed, maniacal grin that consistently gets Remus to do what he wants; Remus rolls his eyes and closes the book. Somehow, he makes it to Bilbo's birthday party before Sirius interrupts.

"But why isn't this just in Ireland, Moony?"

"…Because it's in Middle Earth."

"But why can't it be in Ireland? I mean, it doesn't have evil volcanoes and whatnot, and this bloke obviously had no clue how elves really are-"

"He was a Muggle, Sirius; that's how they think about Elves."

"But…tall and graceful? And immortal?"

"That's what I thought elves were until you and James started breaking into the kitchens. I mean…not every family has a House Elf, and my parents never bothered telling me about them…"

"But…" he pauses his own thought and sticks out his lower lip pensively. "…We should go to Ireland, Moony."

Remus blinks and stares at him.

"No, seriously! We should!"

"…All four of us?"

"No, you and me…and maybe Kreacher, so we don't have to do anything…or Regulus, so we can shove him into something other than the Lake and make it look accidental-"

"And when do you propose to do this?"

"Summer, of course!"

"Don't you and James have tickets to the Quidditch World Cup? In Russia?"

"Yeah, but…he can take Wormtail, or we can go after, or…something."

"And why won't James and Peter come along to Ireland?"

Sirius presses himself up onto his knees and stretches out with a wide yawn. Scratching his head, he flips over, swings his legs off the couch, and snakes up gracefully. Slowly, he saunters over and kneels; looks like he's relishing in every slow, calculated step and each casual swing of his hips. And he runs his fingers through his hair, pushing it back. Okay…he never does this kind of thing without purpose, usually when there are girls around and his ego needs feeding (it never really does; he just likes the attention). Why is he doing it when it's only the two of them? Certainly Remus doesn't need to have the Charms of Sirius Black worked on him? Besides, he's hardly Sirius's apparent type. He's not female, for one thing. Nor is he particularly pretty or especially notable, save the monthly disappearances.

And Sirius just kneels there, grinning cleverly, inching himself closer to Remus's face. Oh damn…the eyebrows are raised seductively, never a good sign.

"…S-S-Sirius?" Remus stutters. "W-why won't J-James and Peter come with us t-to Ireland?"

"Because I don't want them there," Sirius replies, voice smooth, calm, collected, and dangerously low.

"W-well why not?"

"'cos I don't want them there."

"A-any reason why?"

"Don't want them to see me do this."

Remus opens his lips to give Sirius a mouthful of confused protest; he gets a mouthful of Sirius instead. Wait…this isn't right. Sirius likes girls. And they're not quite best friends, since James gets that honor, but they're still mates, and Sirius is admittedly rather good-looking, but Remus isn't supposed to like him in this way. He's really not supposed to like Remus in this way either. It's not even about them both being blokes; it's all about friendship, and…and that tongue is not supposed to be in his mouth. It's supposed to be in Sirius's mouth, where it belongs. Remus tenses up, ready to push him away, but then…there's a reassuring hand behind his head, and another on his arm, and suddenly it doesn't seem to matter so much. After all, Sirius kissed him, so it's not like he's enforcing his will on one of his friends. And it really is nice. The Prefect side of him pipes up loudly, reminding him that he got that badge for not being a risk-taker, for being the one to calm his risk-taking friends.

But they are alone…

Forcing his pinned-open eyes shut, Remus takes a risk: he kisses back, extending his own tongue and letting himself fall out of time and into Sirius. Neither even notices that they're not so alone, until…

"Ten Galleons, Prongs," Peter's voice says smugly. "Told ya they'd do if we left them alone."