R/S drabble
Writing R/S drabbles after coming home from the races is getting to be a tradition. This is a Mid-Ohio sequel to the Daytona drabble here.
Consider it a shout out to CLS, the only other fanfic writer to give Sirius Black's bike a make, model, and name.
"Look at it, Remus, just look at it!" Sirius waved a hand at the giant black-and-chrome hulk in front of them, his eyes shining with a glee that Remus knew from experience was a dangerous, dangerous thing. He'd had the same look in his eyes yesterday at the motocross course, gazing with awed delight at the sheer amount of mud coating everything and giving Remus the sinking feeling that he'd be spending the rest of the weekend steering Sirius away from little motocross bikes.
"It's very nice," Remus said, giving the motorcycle only a brief glance before turning his attention back to the way Sirius's eyes sparkled--and the way those scuffed muggle racing leathers clung to his legs as he knelt down to peer at the thing's engine. Once you had seen one big, black motorbike, you'd seen them all.
"Nice? It's a nineteen fifty-three Vincent Black Shadow." Sirius flicked a piece of hair out of his eyes and leaned in closer, his nose nearly touching the shiny silver engine. Give it forty seconds, and he'd be stroking the leather seat, in flagrant and uncaring violation of the little red sign warning people to look and not touch. "It's a classic."
"First call for race two," the track's loudspeaker system announced. "Class C and production lightweights." Sirius ignored it, continuing to inspect the big two cylinder engine. From their place in the infield, it was only a distant crackle anyway.
"Really?" Remus looked at the bike again, trying to see whatever it was that made it so special. It was a very nice paint job, the gas tank, pipes, and frame gleaming a spotless pitch black, but overall it looked a lot like the bike Sirius already had--and the black Matchless they'd looked at out in the swap meet, and the Norton Commando parked in the pits, and the three Triumphs that all looked the same but were apparently three different models. "It looks rather like your bike, only with a smaller seat."
"You can't compare a Triumph Trident with a '53 Vincent," Sirius said, glancing up from the motorcycle to give Remus an indignant look. Sirius was nearly as passionate about muggle motorbikes as he was about astronomy, quidditch, and the need for the Ministry to wipe all Dementors off the face of the earth. "People'll pay a fortune for one of these things, especially one this well restored. They're going to rake in galleons with this raffle. Well, dollars." He grinned suddenly, a speculative grin Remus hadn't seen since the war ended. "I wonder how fast this one would fly."
"Fast," Remus guessed. The engine was at least as big as the Black Bitch's, and by the time Sirius and Lily had finished casting their seemingly endless cycle of charms on her, she'd been able to go nearly two hundred miles per hours through the air, more than fast enough to scare months off Remus's life the first time Sirius had taken him up--and whole years off, the first time Sirius had let Harry and Ron borrow it. Harry and his friends would have a hard time fitting on this bike, though. The seat was noticeably shorter than the one on Sirius's beloved old Triumph, and two grown--or nearly grown, in Harry's case--men would be a tight fit.
"I'm buying a ticket," Sirius decided, rising to his feet with a bounce decidedly reminiscent of Padfoot and going in search of the nearest muggle in an "American Motorcycle Association" t-shirt.
In fact, he bought ten of them, handing over a fistful off green paper money without even a moment's pause to mentally translate the price into pounds and then galleons. "We'll have to come back next year to see if I've won," he announced as the two of them strode out of the AMA tent and into the sunlight.
The lingering rain clouds that had hung in the sky when the two of them had entered the tent were blowing away, and the bright sunlight made Sirius's sloppy black ponytale shine--and picked out the handful of grey hairs he had brought back from his long sojourn in Hades, a dark, mysterious span of time he always refused to discuss, even with Remus. "I went, it was sodding awful, you and Harry brought me back. Just be grateful he blackmailed Snivellus into teaching him necromancy and live in the now, Remus."
The light also made Sirius's new mechanical lust object shine even more brightly, the polished chrome fittings flashing in the sun. All right, Remus silently conceded, it was a damn good looking motorbike. He admitted as much to Sirius, and got the same smile he'd received when he'd finally learned how to use a telescope. "I knew you'd come around," Sirius said. He gave Remus a playful shove in the arm--a pale shadow of the casual hug he probably wanted to give him, but the sort of American muggles who showed up at motorcycle races were not always overly pleased at the sight of two men demonstrating affection for one another. "Just imagine taking something like this up for a spin. Nothing but you, me, and a great big engine between your legs, roaring like a-"
"Stop that." Remus whacked Sirius's arm with the back of his right hand, feeling the eyes of a good half-dozen muggles on his suddenly over-heated skin. None of them were really looking at them, of course, but if Sirius kept on like that…
"Slavering beast," Sirius accused, smirking happily. He cast another glance at the raffle prise, looking once more as if he yearned to run grease and oil-stained fingers over its gas tank and handlebars. "Give it a year and it could be ours. Just imagine how much fun getting it through customs will be."
"You do know that you probably won't win, right?"
"Well, yeah." Sirius shrugged, then turned away from the Vincent to look at Remus again. "But even if I don't, I'll still have the Black Bitch. Her seat's a better size for two people anyway. Still, it would be nice to have a back up when Harry finally wraps her around a tree."
"He won't," Remus assured him. "I put an anti-crash ward on her years ago." Which didn't make it any easier to watch his former student enact aerial acrobatics better suited to a Firebolt. Even the best anti-crash wards had their limits.
"Really?" Sirius raised his eyebrows. "So that's why I never ran into anything back when I used to ride her home from the pub."
"Well, that and the other Aurors usually confiscated the keys if they needed to."
"Remind me when we get home that we are never introducing Harry to the joys of drinking," Sirius muttered. His eyes were once again straying to the bike, and he kept casting little glances back over his shoulder.
"He's an Auror in training," Remus reminded him. "I'm sure he knows all about them by now."
"Not if I have anything to say about it," Sirius said darkly.
"Third and final call for race two, Class C and production lightweights," the loudspeaker announced through a crackle of static.
"I better get back to the pits," Sirius said, casting one last, lingering glance at the bike. "There's only five races to go until mine."
"Go ahead." Remus gave his shoulder a gentle shove, the long burn mark across the back of Sirius's leathers rasping at his fingers. "I'm going to stay here and look for a bit longer."
"Don't look too long or you'll miss watching me win."
"Win? I'll be standing by turn three waiting for you to crash."
"Oh, but I never crash." Sirius grinned. "My bike is magic. And anyway, the dead are probably tired of my company." And then he turned and started walking toward the overpass and the pits beyond it.
Remus watched him go, and then turned back to survey the Vincent Black Shadow. There was room for two men on the seat after all, he decided eventually, provided the one in back had his arms tight around the rider in front's waist.
"One ticket: $5," the signboard propped next to the bike read. "Five tickets: 20$."
Remus pulled out his wallet, and began searching through the collection of galleons, sickles, and five pound notes for a twenty dollar bill.
^_~
Consider it a shout out to CLS, the only other fanfic writer to give Sirius Black's bike a make, model, and name.
"Look at it, Remus, just look at it!" Sirius waved a hand at the giant black-and-chrome hulk in front of them, his eyes shining with a glee that Remus knew from experience was a dangerous, dangerous thing. He'd had the same look in his eyes yesterday at the motocross course, gazing with awed delight at the sheer amount of mud coating everything and giving Remus the sinking feeling that he'd be spending the rest of the weekend steering Sirius away from little motocross bikes.
"It's very nice," Remus said, giving the motorcycle only a brief glance before turning his attention back to the way Sirius's eyes sparkled--and the way those scuffed muggle racing leathers clung to his legs as he knelt down to peer at the thing's engine. Once you had seen one big, black motorbike, you'd seen them all.
"Nice? It's a nineteen fifty-three Vincent Black Shadow." Sirius flicked a piece of hair out of his eyes and leaned in closer, his nose nearly touching the shiny silver engine. Give it forty seconds, and he'd be stroking the leather seat, in flagrant and uncaring violation of the little red sign warning people to look and not touch. "It's a classic."
"First call for race two," the track's loudspeaker system announced. "Class C and production lightweights." Sirius ignored it, continuing to inspect the big two cylinder engine. From their place in the infield, it was only a distant crackle anyway.
"Really?" Remus looked at the bike again, trying to see whatever it was that made it so special. It was a very nice paint job, the gas tank, pipes, and frame gleaming a spotless pitch black, but overall it looked a lot like the bike Sirius already had--and the black Matchless they'd looked at out in the swap meet, and the Norton Commando parked in the pits, and the three Triumphs that all looked the same but were apparently three different models. "It looks rather like your bike, only with a smaller seat."
"You can't compare a Triumph Trident with a '53 Vincent," Sirius said, glancing up from the motorcycle to give Remus an indignant look. Sirius was nearly as passionate about muggle motorbikes as he was about astronomy, quidditch, and the need for the Ministry to wipe all Dementors off the face of the earth. "People'll pay a fortune for one of these things, especially one this well restored. They're going to rake in galleons with this raffle. Well, dollars." He grinned suddenly, a speculative grin Remus hadn't seen since the war ended. "I wonder how fast this one would fly."
"Fast," Remus guessed. The engine was at least as big as the Black Bitch's, and by the time Sirius and Lily had finished casting their seemingly endless cycle of charms on her, she'd been able to go nearly two hundred miles per hours through the air, more than fast enough to scare months off Remus's life the first time Sirius had taken him up--and whole years off, the first time Sirius had let Harry and Ron borrow it. Harry and his friends would have a hard time fitting on this bike, though. The seat was noticeably shorter than the one on Sirius's beloved old Triumph, and two grown--or nearly grown, in Harry's case--men would be a tight fit.
"I'm buying a ticket," Sirius decided, rising to his feet with a bounce decidedly reminiscent of Padfoot and going in search of the nearest muggle in an "American Motorcycle Association" t-shirt.
In fact, he bought ten of them, handing over a fistful off green paper money without even a moment's pause to mentally translate the price into pounds and then galleons. "We'll have to come back next year to see if I've won," he announced as the two of them strode out of the AMA tent and into the sunlight.
The lingering rain clouds that had hung in the sky when the two of them had entered the tent were blowing away, and the bright sunlight made Sirius's sloppy black ponytale shine--and picked out the handful of grey hairs he had brought back from his long sojourn in Hades, a dark, mysterious span of time he always refused to discuss, even with Remus. "I went, it was sodding awful, you and Harry brought me back. Just be grateful he blackmailed Snivellus into teaching him necromancy and live in the now, Remus."
The light also made Sirius's new mechanical lust object shine even more brightly, the polished chrome fittings flashing in the sun. All right, Remus silently conceded, it was a damn good looking motorbike. He admitted as much to Sirius, and got the same smile he'd received when he'd finally learned how to use a telescope. "I knew you'd come around," Sirius said. He gave Remus a playful shove in the arm--a pale shadow of the casual hug he probably wanted to give him, but the sort of American muggles who showed up at motorcycle races were not always overly pleased at the sight of two men demonstrating affection for one another. "Just imagine taking something like this up for a spin. Nothing but you, me, and a great big engine between your legs, roaring like a-"
"Stop that." Remus whacked Sirius's arm with the back of his right hand, feeling the eyes of a good half-dozen muggles on his suddenly over-heated skin. None of them were really looking at them, of course, but if Sirius kept on like that…
"Slavering beast," Sirius accused, smirking happily. He cast another glance at the raffle prise, looking once more as if he yearned to run grease and oil-stained fingers over its gas tank and handlebars. "Give it a year and it could be ours. Just imagine how much fun getting it through customs will be."
"You do know that you probably won't win, right?"
"Well, yeah." Sirius shrugged, then turned away from the Vincent to look at Remus again. "But even if I don't, I'll still have the Black Bitch. Her seat's a better size for two people anyway. Still, it would be nice to have a back up when Harry finally wraps her around a tree."
"He won't," Remus assured him. "I put an anti-crash ward on her years ago." Which didn't make it any easier to watch his former student enact aerial acrobatics better suited to a Firebolt. Even the best anti-crash wards had their limits.
"Really?" Sirius raised his eyebrows. "So that's why I never ran into anything back when I used to ride her home from the pub."
"Well, that and the other Aurors usually confiscated the keys if they needed to."
"Remind me when we get home that we are never introducing Harry to the joys of drinking," Sirius muttered. His eyes were once again straying to the bike, and he kept casting little glances back over his shoulder.
"He's an Auror in training," Remus reminded him. "I'm sure he knows all about them by now."
"Not if I have anything to say about it," Sirius said darkly.
"Third and final call for race two, Class C and production lightweights," the loudspeaker announced through a crackle of static.
"I better get back to the pits," Sirius said, casting one last, lingering glance at the bike. "There's only five races to go until mine."
"Go ahead." Remus gave his shoulder a gentle shove, the long burn mark across the back of Sirius's leathers rasping at his fingers. "I'm going to stay here and look for a bit longer."
"Don't look too long or you'll miss watching me win."
"Win? I'll be standing by turn three waiting for you to crash."
"Oh, but I never crash." Sirius grinned. "My bike is magic. And anyway, the dead are probably tired of my company." And then he turned and started walking toward the overpass and the pits beyond it.
Remus watched him go, and then turned back to survey the Vincent Black Shadow. There was room for two men on the seat after all, he decided eventually, provided the one in back had his arms tight around the rider in front's waist.
"One ticket: $5," the signboard propped next to the bike read. "Five tickets: 20$."
Remus pulled out his wallet, and began searching through the collection of galleons, sickles, and five pound notes for a twenty dollar bill.
^_~