Name: The owl
Title: The Night of the Olives
Ratings/Warnings: slash, sexual situations, substance abuse, mild profanity
Word Count: 797
Link to Post Containing Pairing: here
A/N: I am a determined James/Lily and Remus/Tonks shipper, so I imagine this night to be a one off. A very fun one off, but not a repeatable one. Also, the olives idea came from a Canadian comedian called Mae Martin. She maintains that you can't really be a grown up until you have an opinion about olives and I kinda agree XD
Remus was drunk. He had known it was coming; after all, James had just come of age. However, knowing that you're going to get drunk and being hit by the actuality of it were two very different things, he thought. And “actuality” was not a word he planned on saying aloud any time soon, not least because James would laugh at him.
Thinking about James and saying things aloud, Remus suddenly realised that James was talking to him. Talking very animatedly, but Remus had no idea what about.
“I don't even know how I feel about olives!” exclaimed James. He was looking at Remus like he expected a reply.
“No one's going to make you eat them, Prongs,” he hazarded.
“That's not the point,” said James. “Weren't you listening, Moony? Head in the clouds as usual?”
Remus ignored James's smirk; Prongs didn't need encouragement to appreciate his own jokes. “Backtrack a bit. How did we get onto olives? You know I hate them.”
“That's my problem!” said James, taking a swig of Firewhisky straight from the bottle. “You know how you feel about olives. It's fine for you!”
James's gestures were rapidly growing more extravagant and Remus feared for his drink. He slid one arm around his glass to shelter it from his friend's windmilling arms.
“Me?” James continued. “I'm ambliv... Ambilv... I can't make up my mind about the bloody things. How can I be an adult when I can't even handle a little green fruity vegetabley thing?”
“Don't forget the black ones,” Remus offered. “They taste different – equally horrible, but different.”
“Brilliant,” said James and made a sweeping gesture which caught Remus directly.
The sheltering arm wasn't enough. Mead went flying over Remus's robes, soaking right through to his chest. James, who had been about to continue talking, didn't close his mouth. Instead he sat, mouth agape, staring at the spreading damp patch on the front of Remus's robes.
“Um, right,” said Remus, suddenly feeling unfortunately sober. “I suppose I'll go and dry these off.”
“Yeah, of course,” said James, seemingly just as lost for words as Remus was.
Remus got up quickly and headed for toilets, very glad that Sirius and Peter were off trying their luck with Madame Rosmerta and hadn't seen what just happened. He was sure he hadn't imagined it. Something had felt... different when James's arm had met his. There had been plenty of physical contact between them over the years – only last week Remus had wrestled James and Sirius for his moon charts – but it had never felt like that before. It had never been tense, exciting even, before.
Closing the door behind himself, Remus shook his head. He was being stupid. It was only James. They had both drunk a lot and they'd had an exciting day. If it hadn't been an exciting day, they wouldn't be in The Three Broomsticks at this time of night, after all (although as a Prefect, he did feel rather bad about that). Remus was sure that was all it was: excitement and alcohol confusing him.
But James's reaction. He had looked just as startled as Remus felt. And the way he had stared at Remus's chest. What if..?
Remus shook his head again, trying to clear it. Thankfully, the toilets were empty. He pulled his wand out of his pocket and, putting it down on the edge of the sink, pulled his robes off over his head. The pub was as warm as the balmy air outside, so he wasn't cold, even with only his boxers on. He picked his wand back up and pointed it at the wettest patch of his robes, concentrating to perform the drying charm non-verbally. Anything to keep his mind off James.
And then the door opened.
Remus had his back to the door, but he knew the voice instantly as James's. James had seen him in many states of undress over the years, but Remus knew this wasn't the same. He turned around slowly.
James hadn't entered the room, but was leaning against the door, holding it open. This was a common pose for James, but instead of looking confident and cool as usual, he looked like he was leaning there because he'd been Petrified.
Remus smiled slightly. “Are you just going to stand there? Shut the door behind you.”
James's eyebrows shot up, understanding exactly what Remus hoped that he would. He let the door fall shut and walked to stand in front of Remus, very close, their toes practically touching. One hand landed on Remus's upper arm; the other took Remus's wand and laid it on the basin. James looked up; Remus looked down.
Simultaneously, they leant closer.