Stirring Up Trouble
Remus always hated Potions class. It wasn’t that he was bad at it—he was actually quite decent—but the sheer monotony of it, the endless chopping and stirring, made his brain itch. Add in the ever-present risk of Snape sneering at him across the dungeon, and the whole thing became unbearable.
But today, he had something else to be irritated about.
Sirius was staring at him.
Not unusual in itself—Sirius was Sirius, and Sirius always looked at him—but this was different. He was staring at him like he was a particularly delicious dessert, and Remus had no idea why.
He was halfway through brewing a Wiggenweld Potion when he rolled up his sleeves. The dungeon was hot, and honestly, he’d had enough of the fabric sticking to his skin. He pushed them up to his elbows, revealing the lean, scarred expanse of his forearms.
The reaction from Sirius was immediate.
A sharp intake of breath. The faint clatter of a dropped spoon. And then, absolute silence.
Remus glanced up and caught Sirius mid-stare—eyes dark, lips slightly parted, fingers gripping the edge of the table like he was holding on for dear life.
“What?” Remus asked, frowning.
Sirius blinked, but he didn’t look away. His gaze flicked from Remus’ forearms to his face, then back down again, and when he finally spoke, his voice was rougher than usual.
“Nothing. Just—” He licked his lips. “Didn’t know you had those.”
Remus raised an eyebrow. “Had what?”
Sirius gestured vaguely. “Those. The arms. The veins. The—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply as if disgusted with himself. “Never mind.”
Realization dawned, and a slow smirk tugged at the corner of Remus’ mouth.
“Oh,” he said, far too pleased with himself. He flexed his fingers, watching Sirius’ gaze follow the movement like a cat tracking a mouse. “You’ve got a thing for forearms, do you?”
Sirius made a strangled sound. “I do not.”
“Right.” Remus reached for his stirring rod, deliberately rolling his wrist as he mixed the potion. His forearm tensed, the muscles shifting, and he swore Sirius actually whimpered.
The thing about Sirius Black was that he was always cocky—always the one in control, the one who flirted and teased without hesitation. But now? He looked wrecked.
Remus decided to push his luck.
He tilted his head, voice dropping just slightly. “You’re staring, Pads.”
Sirius swallowed. “Am not.”
“Are too.” Remus leaned in, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Bet you want to touch them.”
Sirius’ breath hitched. “Fuck off.”
Remus laughed, enjoying this far too much. He flexed his hand again, slow and deliberate, and Sirius’ fingers twitched like he was barely holding himself back.
Slughorn’s voice rang through the dungeon, announcing that time was almost up, but neither of them moved.
Sirius finally exhaled, long and shaky. He dragged a hand through his hair, looking thoroughly undone, and muttered under his breath, “You’re evil.”
Remus smirked, reaching for his quill to jot down the last potion notes. “And you’re ridiculously easy to wind up.”
Sirius didn’t answer, just glared at him with a heat that promised this wasn’t over. And honestly? Remus couldn’t wait to see what happened when it wasn’t.
