The grass was wet and cool, but the night air was warm and even wetter. James lay stretched out, catlike and relaxed, his shirt riding up to reveal a thin strip of pale, muscled midsection. Sirius leaned in and bit it.

"Ow! Christ, gerroffame!" James cried, but he was laughing, and Remus laughed too, from the sidelines, of course.

"Fine. Suit yourself. But I'm gonna remember that the next time you come 'round begging for a shag," Sirius replied, digging in the pocket of the muggle jeans he'd nicked from Merlin knows where.

He produced a half empty packet of cigarettes and held them out. James of course took one, because it wouldn't do to look less cool than Sirius, and Peter took one because James did. There was a time when Remus would have taken one, simply because someone had thought enough of him to offer, but that time had passed, and now Remus just found all the calculated rebellion tedious. And he was never particularly fond of smoking, besides.

Three tiny golden sparks traced arcs against the inky sky—hip to lips, lips to hip. Remus lay on his side watching until the pattern became predictable, like everything else, he thought. He rolled onto his back and stared at the moon, yet another perfectly predictable element of his life, until the grass molded to his shape and the laughter from beside him died down and his eyelids grew heavy.

---

When he awoke, it was to muffled sounds and exaggerated breathing. Remus stared at the stars, willing himself not to move, not to look, not to let on that he was awake.

"Fuck," a voice breathed. It was impossible to tell whose it was, but Remus was willing to venture a guess. The voice was almost smiling, and Sirius's voice never hinted a smile when he and James were—well, Remus didn't think it polite to speculate.

Cautiously, slowly, he shifted just a little to his left, so he could see silhouettes moving in the dark. Peter, on Remus's right, snored soundly, but James and Sirius nearly drowned him out.

"Shhh! Shhh, shhh, shhh!"

Familiarity crept in and Remus's heart sank. There wasn't enough light to see, but there was no need really.

"Jesus, Prongs…"

"Oh gods—Oh—Oh—Oh buggering…"

Kissing noises, sloppy and wet, rang out, and seemed to bore into Remus's brain, unrelenting and unsettling.

"Oh my—Pads, I—Oh! I'm gonna—Ahh!"

"Shhh… Shite, Jamie. You're so beautiful…You're so fucking—"

Little whimpery noises rang out, breathy moans and gasps punctuated by the occasional low rumble, and then silence. The shadowy figures went still and separated, no longer one writhing, black mass, but two motionless shadows, lying flat in the grass.

"My robes are all soggy."

Laughter, bubbling then rising to a feverish pitch. Such blunt, innocent, happy sounds, so diametrically opposed to the brutal noises they'd just been making. They sounded exactly like little boys frolicking in the grass long past curfew—which, Remus thought, they very nearly were. Beneath the booze and the parties and the haze of nicotine, beneath the deep sky and the sliver of moon, they were still silly, naïve children, as careless and controversial as ever.

Remus smiled at the night and drifted back to sleep.