Sirius and Remus were both incredibly drunk, one fine evening among the crowd of Ponte Vecchio.

Ponte Vecchio was a bridge that hung over the Florentine river. If I were to describe it succinctly, which I don't tend to do, I would call it magnificent.

It was its own street, home to shops and laughter and beautiful, beautiful men. Men who dressed themselves in the most brilliantly coloured clothing and flocked into bars, where they would drink well into the night and wake up undressed in unfamiliar beds beside unfamiliar people.

As a celebration of yet another completed painting, Sirius and Remus had made their way to this fantastically chaotic hole for some well-earned fun.

Except Remus found himself not having much fun at all.

He glowered at his friend from a corner, watching at a distance as Sirius laughed with another man. They were sitting far too close on their little stools, looking at each other with pointed lust.

Obviously, Remus had no right to feel put out. He hadn't yet swooped Sirius off his feet and kissed him senseless, feeling certain that the other man was not yet in the right mindset to want it.

Apparently that was no longer the case.

"Well, hello."

Remus looked up. A young man had sauntered up to him, leaning on the table at which Remus was standing.

Well. It would not do to dwell on Sirius.

"Hello, darling" Remus replied, easing into a smile.

The man was a little shorter than him (as were most people), and quite attractive, too, in a bland sort of way.

They talked a little, the stranger dropping heavy hints that he was interested, Remus trying to keep his eyes away from Sirius, who was getting more and more tipsy.

"I think this place has rather pleasant rooms upstairs, too."

"Oh, does it?" Remus said slyly, looking down at him over his third glass of... something. He couldn't quite remember, actually. But it was very nice.

The man was very nice too, in a pretentious sort of way. Not in the warm, genuine manner Sirius was, speaking of, where was his muse-friend-thing?

Remus looked up again. Sirius had somehow clambered into the other man's lap, held by a stranger's hands.

They were too close. Too, too close.

Annoyance bubbled in Remus' stomach. How dare his Sirius-friend-almost-lover-thingamabob flirt with that dirty bastard?

"What say you to renting a room - " his own man continued, stepping closer.

"Hum, what? Oh, no, thank you, I must be going."

"What - ?"

Remus walked over to where Sirius was giggling, leaving the poor lad with half a question still in his mouth.

There was only one thing clear in his hazy, drunk mind: keep your fucking hands off Sirius.

"Keep your fucking hands off Sirius."

"I beg your pardon?" said the horrible, horrible human being, his hands definitely not on Sirius' back anymore.

"Beg all you want, Sirius and I are leaving now."

"We are?" Sirius had no right to look so pretty when he was so confused and so drunk.

"We are." Remus pulled him off the man's lap, despite them both protesting, and dragged him out of the door and into the street outside.

"Why are we leaving?"

"Shut up."

Sirius gasped, affronted, then shoved Remus off him. "Excuse me - "

Remus gave him no time to finish his sentence, marching off in the vague direction of his home, mumbling angrily.

And Sirius had no choice but to follow, scowling at Remus' back with all the anger he could muster.

***

Once home, Sirius thudded up the stairs in the wake of Remus' footsteps. "Why did we leave?"

"Go away."

"No." He followed Remus into his bedroom, furious. "Why did we leave?"

Remus turned on him. "Because you were being far too touchy with that man."

"You have no right to tell me how touchy I'm allowed to be with a man."

"Oh, don't I?" Remus tried pushing him out the door, bur Sirius held firm.

"No, you don't." He pushed back, making the still-very-drunk Remus stumble.

The taller man gaped. "You pushed me!"

"You pushed me first!"

"That's no excuse!" Remus shoved him again, making Sirius (equally drunk) trip.

"Yes it is!"

"No it's not!"

"Yes! It is!"

Thus began the most pathetic shoving competition ever hosted, Remus pulling Sirius' hair, Sirius delivering (admittedly weak) blows to the (admittedly limited) parts of Remus he could reach.

"Say sorry!"

"No! It's your fault we came home!"

"It's yours! I was having the time of my life and you ruined it!"

"Shut up!"

"MAKE ME!"

"FINE!"

So Remus leaned forward, one hand tightly wrapped in Sirius' hair, eyes filled with blurred fury as he dragged Sirius into the kind of kiss that could have left a bruise for all eternity.

For a tiny moment, the entire world collided into that space where their lips were joined, as if nothing else existed except the mere concept of having one mouth on the other in such a way.

Then the world continued, Remus pushing forward and Sirius stumbling into the dressing table, which dug into the small of his back.

Sirius felt his eyes close and mouth open, allowing Remus his entirety.

There was a brilliance in the way Remus kissed, something filled with bites and heat and deepness.

Remus kissed like poetry, the kind of poetry that left you feeling exposed and vulnerable, completely taking away your breath for it to keep as a sacred memory.

One of his hands was still threaded through Sirius' hair, tugging at the strands. The other held his jaw tightly, demanding Sirius to open his mouth further.

Sirius whimpered, entirely engulfed by Remus, Remus, Remus.

And Remus?

He pressed closer to the shorter man, pushing him further back, letting his tongue drag through Sirius' mouth.

"Re..."

He let out a tiny groan in response to Sirius' plea, pressing the edge of his teeth against Sirius' lips, a hand sliding down to slip around his throat, nails against soft, soft skin.

They were so close. They might as well have been made from one flesh.

But within the vivid nothing of warm skin and warmer desire, a tiny voice in Remus' mind mumbled to him that they shouldn't go further now.

Even though it was definitely evident that Sirius wanted this, and Remus was keen to continue, he had always been distinctly uncomfortable with fucking someone for the first time when either were drunk.

After the first time? That was usually fine. At that point it was generally clear they were both alright with whatever the situation was.

But being drunk reminded him too much of being fucked by Greyback, of feeling slightly like he wouldn't have allowed it had he been sober, even if at the time there were no regrets.

It was a difficult thing to explain, and he was loathe to bring it up with anyone, so he simply would not fuck while drunk, and avoided being in a situation where it was the reasonable route to take.

But he'd been careless now.

"Sirius," Remus sighed, pulling back and breathing the name against Sirius' lips.

"Please," he whined back, eyes opening and meeting the taller man's.

A small, slightly sad smile. "We should stop."

"I... why?"

Remus took one of his hands, which had been holding tightly to the table. "Because I don't think you're in a position to agree to this."

"But I - "

"And neither am I," he added.

There was a silence, in which Sirius turned red and seemed to crumple inwardly. He shrank back a little, and the movement of his shoulders made something twist in Remus' gut.

"I'm- God, I'm sorry, I thought you wanted to - as well as me, I'm sorry - "

"I do want this." Goddammit Remus, use your bloody words right.

"Then... what? Why not now?"

A sigh. "It's a long story." Remus pressed a kiss to Sirius' palm, making the shorter man shiver. "I'll explain once I can think better through my thoughts."

There was a beat of silence. "I - okay. Alright."

"Are you alright?"

"Y-yes." He still looked nervous, so Remus leaned down and kissed him gently on the cheek, feeling Sirius sink into his touch.

This was nice. This was so much nicer than it usually was.

"Are you alright?"

Remus smiled into Sirius' skin. "More than you could imagine."

After some more mild conversation, the two men deemed that it would be alright if they shared Remus' bed, purely because it was much more comfortable than Sirius' one, and definitely not for any other reason.

As Remus lay down on his side of the bed, staring at Sirius' lax face, warmth seemed to creep into his chest, settling into his heart.

It was probably the alcohol, but it was rare for him to feel so safe with someone that he would allow them to sleep beside him while he was drunk.

But there was an openness to Sirius that Remus was grateful for: one that told you clearly where you stood with him, told you what he wanted.

He couldn't wait for morning.