Older And Far Away
The first thing Remus noticed was his hair -- dark and thick and curling loosely over the collar of his brown leather jacket. Remus's fingers itched with the need to touch it, run through it, bury his nose in it and feel it tickling his skin as he breathed in, the scent of leather and smoke and sweat all joined together in that spot on his neck.
The second thing Remus noticed, when he got a look at the man's face in the mirror behind the bar, was the eye patch. He'd always had a soft spot for rogues and pirates, though in the years since Sirius's death he hadn't indulged it much. He'd grown to prefer quieter, bookish, brown and grey men more like himself and less likely to win his heart and then break it. This was about sex, nothing more, and he wanted to take a chance. It had been a long time since he'd taken a chance, felt the frisson of dangerous possibility shiver down his spine, and he missed it. He hadn't been doing much of anything lately -- the war had been over for years, but the peace had taken longer to settle, and it was only recently Remus had found himself at loose ends, drifting through life without much purpose anymore, and he wasn't enjoying it as much as he'd expected.
But the reason Remus strolled over and sat down in the booth across from him was his mouth -- full and mobile, it looked like it would be warm and soft and taste of the Guinness and chips sitting on the table in front of him. He licked a bit of foam off his upper lip with the tip of his tongue, pink and inviting, and Remus found himself staring, mesmerized, heat rolling through his veins.
"Is this seat taken?" Remus asked wryly, setting his pint down on the table and leaning back to look at the young man more closely.
"It is now, I guess," he answered with a half-grin.
'Ah, American.' Remus waited, but the brush-off, the subtle (and sometimes not-so-subtle) hint of "bugger off, you old queer," didn't come.
"Remus Lupin," he said, offering a hand. The young man checked slightly at that, which was surprising, as Remus hadn't been to America in years, and he was almost certain this bloke was a Muggle, and not really up on wizarding gossip. Remus had stopped trawling wizarding pubs after the embarrassment of brushing past a shocked and horrified Percy Weasley getting a blowjob in the men's room at one such establishment. It made Remus feel terribly old and perverted to see his former students when he was out on the prowl.
"Xander Harris." His hand was warm and callused, his grip firm.
"Here on holiday?" Remus asked, reaching over to steal a chip off of Xander's plate, looking for a reaction. All he got was that luscious mouth quirking in another brief half-smile.
"Something like that." Xander gave nothing away, though the guarded look he wore didn't fit his open features well. It was more difficult than Remus had expected to read a man with one eye.
"Bad break-up?" he said sympathetically.
Xander snorted. "That's one way of putting it." He looked as if he were about to say more, and stopped himself. Oh, this one was a talker, Remus was sure of it, but something had made him wary, and while Remus understood the safety of reticence better than most, he thought it a little sad that Xander had already begun using it as a refuge. He seemed rather young for it.
Remus must have said something out loud because Xander said, "I'm twenty-four," though he wore an expression that made him look older and sadder, a look Remus recognized from his own face at that age, and from Harry's now. And this bloke was Harry's age. God. He pushed that thought away, letting his body dictate tonight, something he did rarely, but he thought this would be worth it. Xander would be worth it, those lips, lush and red and mobile, wrapped around his cock--
He felt the predatory smile crease his face, and Xander shifted nervously. Remus waited for the stuttered, "It's not what you think," or perhaps, "I've never done this before."
Instead, Xander took a long swallow of Guinness, eye half-closed in pleasure, and said huskily, "I've got a hotel room not far from here--"
Remus nodded -- it was, after all, what he'd come here for -- and they headed out into the cool, early spring night.
Xander walked with an odd sort of nervous confidence that reminded Remus of Neville Longbottom once he'd grown into himself. He kept his hands tucked in his pockets, and he seemed alert even though he'd had at least one pint of Guinness that Remus had seen, and possibly more before Remus had arrived at the pub. He was about Remus's height, broad-shouldered and solidly built, and he moved with a rangy ease that was not quite graceful.
"So, are you a werewolf?" Xander asked, breaking into Remus's reverie.
Remus froze for a moment, imperceptibly, he hoped, and then gave a nervous laugh. "What makes you say that?"
"Your name--" Xander shook his head. "Sorry. Bad joke." Then, under his breath, "Stupid. Awkward."
"I only bite if you ask nicely," Remus replied with a grin, and laughed again at the look of disbelief Xander shot him. "One bad joke deserves another." He hoped Xander didn't notice that he hadn't answered the question, hadn't said no.
They were at the hotel now, and Xander led him to the elevators, shoulders relaxed again. "Well, I'm asking nicely," he said in a low voice, once the doors had shut. He was suddenly much closer than Remus had thought, his lips nearly brushing the sensitive skin of Remus's neck when he spoke. The doors opened before Remus had a chance to respond.
Xander fumbled for a moment with the keycard, but then the door swung open, revealing a standard Muggle hotel room, lights on low, king-sized bed with the ugly comforter turned down.
This was at once more familiar and strange, but then Xander looked at him with that quick half-grin again, and Remus forgot any awkwardness. He brushed his thumb over Xander's lower lip, warm and soft and slightly damp from where he'd just bitten it. Xander's tongue darted out to lick at the pad of Remus's thumb, and Remus drew a shaky breath, body humming with desire.
They stumbled to the bed, shedding clothes in a leisurely flurry between kisses, Xander's mouth hot and sweet beneath his. Numerous interesting scars on the supple, lightly tanned skin of Xander's body made Remus less worried about leaving the lights on while they did this. And then Xander took the head of Remus's cock in his mouth, and Remus forgot to think at all.
Xander was not only a talker during sex, he was a cuddler afterward, which was not what Remus was used to (though in this case he probably should have expected it), and not generally what he wanted. But Remus felt strangely safe with him -- he exuded security, a sense that everything would be all right if he put his arms around you. And Remus hadn't felt that in longer than he'd have liked to admit. He was a little embarrassed at feeling it now, in the arms of someone young enough to be his son.
He could count on one hand the times he'd spent the night with someone after sex since Sirius died, but he fell asleep easily curled up with Xander and woke only to the sound of the ringing phone a few hours later.
"Yeah, okay. Vamps under the Blackfriars Bridge. Right. Yeah," he heard Xander say. "Okay, Will. Got it. Gimme twenty minutes."
Remus could hear a female voice on the other end, speaking softly and rapidly. He closed his eyes, wondering what kind of trouble he'd inadvertently got mixed up in when he heard the word Giles. He'd known a Giles, once, Rupert Giles. Fit bloke who'd worked at the British Museum and gave head like a rock star. He hadn't seen him in ages. Maybe he ought to look him up.
Xander said, "Be careful, Will. I'll be there as soon as I can," and hung up, folding the phone and dropping it back onto the night table.
Remus groaned a little at the loss of warmth, brain still sleep-fogged, but then it clicked. Vamps. Giles. The old Muggle myth about the Slayer, which had turned out not to be a myth at all, according to that same Giles from the museum.
"Sorry," Xander said with a tight smile. "Family emergency. You can spend the night, it's no trouble."
Remus raised an eyebrow. "You're awfully trusting."
Xander shrugged, his naked body shadowed in the darkness of the room, lit only by a slender gleam of light through the drapes from somewhere outside. "It's not like I have anything worth stealing." He went into the bathroom and flicked on the light, calling over his shoulder. "Whatever you want to do. It's all right," and then shut the door behind him.
Remus heard the shower start, and slipped from the bed. He quickly spelled himself clean and pulled his trousers on. He contemplated leaving, having got what he'd originally wanted, but now his curiosity was piqued, and he found himself enjoying the dangerous possibilities opening up before him. With a murmured, "Lumos," he looked around the room more carefully than he had earlier. An open duffel bag sat on the armchair, and after a half-second of half-hearted resistance to temptation, he knelt to peer inside.
Stakes. Crosses. Holy water.
Oh yes, he'd definitely got himself into something here. Vampires under Blackfriars. That was new. He thought he might tag along, offer his services. He'd once cleaned out a nest of vampires in the Black Forest -- they didn't like werewolves much, and the feeling was mutual.
There was a battered notebook on the chest of drawers, with a cartoon dog on its creased cover. Remus flipped through it, puzzling over the list of names. Tucked into a pocket on the back cover, there was a small pile of Muggle photographs -- several of Xander, younger and with two eyes, with two girls, a blonde and a redhead. There was also one of a stunning brunette, and a few of another woman, no less attractive, though with sharper features and a variety of hair colors from red to blonde to brown. Another of Xander and the redhead, the redhead and the blonde, the blonde and girl with light brown hair who was obviously related to her, a sister, probably.
The shower stopped and Remus put them back where he'd found them. He finished dressing, and was running a rueful hand through his tangled hair, thinking he needed to get it cut, when Xander emerged, dripping wet and wrapped in a towel. The sight was enough to make Remus want to fuck him all over again.
"Sorry about this," Xander said as he toweled himself off and dressed. "I didn't expect--"
"That's why they call them emergencies."
That won him a half-grin, and Remus was glad he'd been right about Xander's mouth. He moved closer, brushed a brief kiss over those expressive lips, and then licked at a droplet of water running down the side of Xander's throat. Xander shivered and growled low in his chest.
"If you stay we can order in room service for breakfast," Xander said, his voice a rough purr. "I know some interesting uses for maple syrup." He pulled away. "But I really have to go now." He tucked the notebook into an outside pocket of the duffel bag, but neglected to zip it, so when he yanked on one handle, the contents spilled out onto the floor. One of the stakes rolled under the bed, and Xander muttered a curse as he bent down to retrieve it.
Remus raised an eyebrow but said nothing, enjoying the view instead.
"They're props." He shoved the truant stake into the bag and zipped it shut. "I've been doing some day labor on movie sets." Xander wasn't a bad liar, though he'd hesitated just a bit too long, and dropped his eyes when he spoke. Remus knew the signs. He'd spent a lot of time eradicating them from his own behavior when he lied.
"And you're taking them to this... 'family emergency?'"
"I--"
"Why don't you let me help?"
Xander blinked in surprise and thought about it. "Can you drive?"
It was Remus's turn to be surprised at how quickly Xander accepted his offer. Though he supposed Muggles exposed to magic probably learned to be flexible fairly quickly.
"Yes," he answered, "though it's been a while."
Xander tapped the patch. "I have trouble at night, especially in strange places where they drive on the wrong side of the road."
Remus laughed. "I think can manage."
"Okay then." Xander didn't speak again until they were getting into his rental car. "I guess I should tell you, vampires and demons are real--" Remus tried to look appropriately astonished as Xander explained the Muggle version of the supernatural to him, but felt it was safer to concentrate on driving, which, much like riding a broomstick, wasn't quite as easy as everyone made it out to be. "But you knew all that already, didn't you?" Xander finished, and Remus shot him a surprised glance -- not faked now -- before turning his eyes back to the road.
"What? How--"
"You don't live on a Hellmouth your whole life and not pick up a few things." He grinned. "Also, I saw you use magic to make a light while you were going through my stuff."
"You were in the shower."
Xander shook his head. "No. The shower was running. I wasn't in it the whole time."
Remus laughed, oddly delighted rather than appalled at being caught. "So. Not as trusting as all that."
"I like to think of it as part of the Keep Xander Alive program." Xander shrugged, and once again Remus was reminded of Harry and Neville, Ron and Hermione, all too old before their time, conscripts in a war he'd signed up for long ago. A war that still needed to be fought in other places, other ways.
It had been a long time since Remus had been in a good fight. Too long, really. As he turned the car toward Blackfriars Bridge, he found he was looking forward to it.