though you're the nearest to my heart

[chasestails]

Sirius is having a dog dream. It's not exactly a rare occurrence, but it's always strange waking up from these dreams in his regular body, halfway between a boy and a man, all long limbs and sharp edges. The shaggy hair is a constant, though, and so the first thing Sirius does upon waking up, half-hanging off the sofa in Remus's living room, is to

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[themoonsbitch]

There are brief snippets of last night forming in the back of his head, and he has the good sense to ignore every single one of them. Merlin, he's tired, and ever space inch of his body is screaming in protest as he tests out a stretch. Immediately he realises that no, that was a terrible idea and he clearly should have stayed curled up against what he imagines is a deer carcass.

That last thought forces his eyes open, and the light fading in through the window is far too bright and it warrants of his own, even before Sirius has drawled out his name.

Alcohol is a bad idea. Alcohol is always a bad idea. Drinking alcohol on his 'furry night' is terrible idea. He's certain that Sirius came up with it, and if he didn't, he's going to blame him for allowing him to drink before changing. He should be more responsible, and the headache that's lurking just behind the pain of everything else is a constant reminder of that fact

[chasestails]

If Sirius had known he was being compared to a deer carcass, he most certainly would have taken offense. But as it is, he's no Legilimens, so he remains blissfully unaware. However, as he filters through the fog that's settled over his brain, he realizes that Remus is quite nearby, and it's confirmed when he returns Sirius's query with his own name. Oh. He vaguely remembers passing out near Remus's furry wolf-body last night. He must have turned human again in his sleep

[themoonsbitch]

"Bugger decency," he grumbles loudly, pushing himself to hazard a glance around the room. It is, of course, in complete and utter disarray, with shredded pillows and a - well, Sirius, which good be either a good thing or a bad thing. He seems to be in the exact same state Remus is in, if only a little more over dramatic (which, he reminds himself, is nothing new

[chasestails]

"Nnngh." This is the only reply Sirius can muster at the moment. He's dying. Any moment now he'll breathe his last and that will be that. Remus will be left alone and naked with his incredibly handsome corpse. But then the moment passes and he realizes with a strange sinking feeling that he's not going to die. He has to live through this terrible hangover. Excellent.

Eyes still closed, he listens to the sound of Remus rooting around for clothes. At the question, he remembers the bottle near his foot. He nudges it with one toe until it falls over the edge of the couch, opening an eye to look at it. Scotch.

"That, for starters," he groans. He knows that wasn't it; he remembers there being beer. Possibly vodka, judging by the stinging in his sinuses. "Though I don't recall you exactly protesting last night." If Remus were to look, he would see the very wolfish smile crossing Sirius's features right now.