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They’re only 35 years old. Not even 40, which is the real panic-point in Sirius’ opinion. But he’s a good husband, so he watches and listens empathetically as Remus paces across the floor of their living room, almost tripping on the corner of the rug in his haste to get from point A to point B and back again.
“I just feel so ancient— you know— it’s just—“
“Darling, I'd know if you’d managed to spit out a full sentence at any point in the last 10 minutes.”
Remus does not cease in his attempts to wear a drag path in their rather fancy Moroccan rug. Sirius bites his tongue— decides to be a priss about it later when Remus is done doing whatever it is he’s doing. Fretting, mostly, he thinks.
Remus is tugging at the flop of curls that tops his head, a few new strands of grey woven deliciously through the sandy brown. Sirius has the passing thought that he’d prefer to be the one tugging, biting a lip as he watches the back and forth motion in front of him. Remus’ hair is longer than he’s ever let it grow, tickling the top of his narrow shoulders and flopping across the arch of his brow, though the fringe does not hide the furrow that's formed between them.
“They called me…. Unc.” Remus says, stopping only to twist his hands together furtively in front of himself.
Sirius blinks. “I have no idea what that means.”
“I didn’t either, so I texted and asked Harry. Apparently, it means—“ Remus sighs, “that I’m old. Uncle? And not cool. Unc. Uncool. Fucking hell, it still doesn't really make sense to be honest, but I know it doesn't feel great!” The assault on his curls starts again, and they're really getting quite frizzy now.
“You’re sincerely the coolest person I know.” And the dorkiest, probably the swottiest too, but he doesn’t say that bit out loud.
“You have to say that, you’re my husband.” Remus pauses to flash his gold wedding band before taking up his pacing again, a more exasperated look on his lovely face now, rather than the panic there a moment ago.
He’s driving Sirius a little bonkers, if he’s honest. In more ways than one. Sirius tamps down on his ill-timed arousal, Remus' hair looking a little too close to sex-mussed, and takes a deep breath.
Sirius pats the sofa cushion next to him. “Moonbeam, come sit down.” To Sirius’ surprise, he listens, flopping down on the sofa with the same flair as a toddler protesting bedtime. “Do you… feel? Uncool?”
“Only literally always. I work with teenagers, Sirius. I don’t know why this is getting to me, out of all the things they’ve ever called me. Unc. Fuckin’ ridiculous, really.” Remus tips his body to the side, going limp and letting his head come to rest on Sirius’ shoulder. “Am I old?” He asks in a quiet, meek voice.
“I’m literally older than you. And I’m not old, so no.”
“But I’m not cool.”
“I just said you’re the coolest.”
“But—“
“Moons, seriously, what’s this about?”
“I don’t know.” He groans, plucks a stray thread off his fraying blazer, still on after getting back from school. The pacing had been immediate and intense upon Remus’ arrival home, no time to disrobe into something more comfortable like Sirius’ own soft sweats and tee. “I think maybe I just feel uncool. And old. When I wear tweed now, it looks less like a fashion choice and more like I’m—“ he gags, “dressing my age.”
Sirius perks up, jostling Remus’ head a little. “Is it time?”
“…Time for what?”
“A Moony Makeover. Oh my god. Can I call Marlene? I’m going to.”
Remus does not protest, not a peep, as Sirius excitedly yanks his phone out of his pocket. In the past, when Sirius had brought up making updates to his wardrobe or hair— knowing it would help him feel better about himself— Remus had protested, saying, 'I’m fine as I am.’ Which— too true. Scruffy and fraying is Remus’ default state, and it’s more than enough to get Sirius hot and bothered on the regular. But Sirius knows his husband's self-esteem has always been lacking, despite his best efforts to assure him he’s as beautiful as the day they met all those years ago. The issue is that Remus didn’t believe him then, either; maybe never has. Honestly, it’s a miracle Sirius was able to trap him into marriage in the first place. Getting a first date was like pulling teeth.
But Remus’ silence, or rather, his quiet acceptance, is all the go-ahead Sirius needs. He’s had a Pinterest board locked and loaded, waiting for this day to come. As he knew it would, because he knows his husband.
Sirius silently thanks the kids in Remus’s 10th-year English classes as he unlocks his phone and dials Marlene, Remus nuzzling back into his shoulder in the meantime.
***
Marlene shows up 45 minutes later with her toolbox and bag full of god knows what. Sirius thinks he sees a box of hair dye through the thin plastic and mentally throws daggers at his friend for even daring to think of covering Remus’ greys.
“Thanks for coming,” Sirius kisses her cheek and pulls the door shut behind her.
“‘Course. Good timing for a style crisis, salon had a cancellation this afternoon.”
“Oh, perfect.” Sirius waves his hand, beckoning her to follow. “He’s in here. Don't you dare use that dye on him.” His whisper is scathing.
Marlene smirks but puts two hands up in surrender, the offending dye swaying in its bag hanging from her thumb.
Remus is a pitiful, horizontal lump on the sofa as they walk into the living room.
“Moons, Marlene’s here.”
Remus grunts, his eyes staying firmly shut.
“Nice to see you, too, Lupin.” Marlene turns to Sirius and silently mouths, “Is he for real?”
“Yes, be nice.” Sirius mouths back, widening his eyes to emphasise the statement.
They leave Remus in the living room to go turn the kitchen into a makeshift salon. As Marlene lays out her clippers and scissors, Sirius boils the kettle and sets a few mugs of tea to brew.
“Alright,” Marlene says, lining up the last of her little bottles of hair serums on the counter, “show me the Pinterest board. I know you have one.”
So Sirius does. It only takes a few minutes of scrolling through photos to decide on a style that would suit Remus’ features. It’s now just a matter of getting Remus into the chair and caped up.
Sirius strolls back into the lounge and gets on his knees in front of the sofa, where Remus has folded himself in half, legs dangling over the edge of the cushion.
“Moons,” Sirius leans in to press a kiss to a scruffy cheek. The beard, grown out of laziness, is about to be sheared off, so Sirius nuzzles his nose into it one last time. “Come to the kitchen? I have a tea for you.”
Remus cracks one eye open to peer back at him, “Tea?”
Sirius sighs, incredibly fond of the ever-predictable man he married. Tea always does the trick.
“Tea. Then we can get started, yeah?”
Remus groans as he rights himself to sitting before leaning in to press a kiss to Sirius’ forehead, lips warm and a little chapped.
“Alright then, let’s get it over with.”
“That’s the spirit,” Sirius climbs to his feet to follow him to the kitchen.
Upon entering and seeing the various bottles and clippers lined up on the countertop, and Marlene stood slightly menacingly with a cape and a pair of scissors behind a kitchen chair turned salon chair, Remus wheels right back around with wide eyes.
“I’ve changed my mind.”
Sirius grips his shoulders and looks down into his wary, deep-set eyes, shaking his head.
“No, you haven’t.”
Remus nods once, gulps audibly. “No, I haven’t.” He then allows Sirius to steer him to the chair where Marlene drapes the cape around his shoulders and fastens it behind his neck.
“You ready to be the hottest teacher in school, or what?” Marlene says, clicking her scissors together a few times. The snipping sound makes Remus flinch, and Sirius has to try not to giggle at the melodrama of it all. Usually, that's his thing.
Really, he is proud of Remus for taking this step. He’s been so busy with his classes this year, bringing home piles of papers to grade and answering emails from panicked students well into the night. His self-care routine— though never the most robust— has fallen to the wayside, and Sirius thinks a little refresh will be good for him. Healthy. Though he will miss the beard and curls combo, his little hippie.
“Okay, if you two are all settled here, I’m going to nip out to the high street. Won’t be too long.” Sirius knows exactly which shops will have what he’s looking for, and damn if he hasn’t been waiting for the chance to make a few very particular purchases.
“Yeah, we’re good, aren’t we, Remus?” Marlene says, starting to spritz down Remus’ hair with the spray bottle.
“Mhm.” Is all the reply they get from Remus, sipping his tea and trying very hard to look brave.
Sirius just smiles, heart near to bursting at the sight, and shoves on his sneakers before slipping out the door.
***
It’s an hour or so later when Sirius tumbles back in through the front door of their flat, arms laden with more than a few logo-emblazoned shopping bags. He’d seen one top that he knew Remus would love, a green fleece thing, and then another slightly more outside of his comfort zone; one Sirius had been quietly imagining him in for weeks since he'd seen it in the window of the shop. After securing that in his basket, Sirius ended up in the t-shirt section and, of course, after that, he got a little carried away. Sweaters, tees, some trousers, and even a nice new pair of Doc Martens. Remus had always been partial to Converse, but the black slip-on leather Chelsea boot style (which was on sale, might he add) seemed like a pretty good compromise.
“I’m back!” Sirius shouts, slipping his shoes off at the door.
“Don’t come in! He wants to surprise you. We went, uh, a little off plan.” Marlene shouts in return from the other room. “Drop the goods there and go to your room for a few. We’ll holler when he’s ready.”
Sirius can hear the smile in her voice and can’t decide whether it’s a good or bad thing. He decides to go with neither and calmly places the bags on the floor.
Off plan.
Sirius isn't a control freak, not really, especially not about something like other people's appearances. He loves individuality, walks the talk every day with skin covered in tattoos and ears pierced ten times over. But Remus going off plan…. that's unexpected. While also not a control freak, Remus is definitely particular. Well thought out, typically. Most of the pins on Sirius's 'Moony Makeover' board had been approved by Remus himself as they lay in bed for their evening parallel scroll time.
Most of the hairstyles had been conservative, nothing too crazy. Just shorter layers that would define his curls and accentuate that lovely jawline. Outfits, much like the ones Sirius just purchased. (Okay, so maybe Sirius had gone a little off plan himself with a few items in the bags. But if Remus didn't want them, Sirius would wear them.)
Resigned to not knowing, Sirius goes to their bedroom and plops down stomach first onto the bed to scroll on his phone, looking at the Pinterest board again and wondering what Remus could have possibly done that would be such a surprise.
He's nearly dozing off, grip on his phone loose, tired from the hour growing late and his rushed shopping trip, when Marlene calls out for him. A quick glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand tells him nearly an hour has flown by.
"Coming!" Sirius yells, rushing to his feet and flinging the door open.
He stops in his tracks.
Remus. Oh, Remus.
He's beautiful. His long legs are accentuated in the black pleated trousers Sirius had just brought home, belted at the waist where his new deep-pink sweater has been French-tucked in. His chest looks broader beneath the thick cable knit, his arms thicker. The shade makes his skin look so warm, freckles popping and eyes glowing. This sweater is one of the items Sirius thought might be a swing and a miss, but clearly, he's hit a home run. Remus looks cosy, comfy, but put together. The leather boots work perfectly and—
His hair. Fuck.
Sirius feels his jaw loosen and the wind leave his lungs, thinks maybe Marlene might be snickering from where she's leaned against the archway that leads into the kitchen.
Sirius forces his eyes to drag away from the bloody mullet on his husband's head, far more attractive than it has any right to be, and refocuses on his face, where, once again, he's rendered breathless.
Oh. Oh.
The beard is gone. But not all of it.
Above the pouty pink lips he'd so love to be kissing right now, a trimmed and tidy moustache has taken up residence.
Remus looks unsure, starting to fiddle with his sweater sleeves, which means Sirius should probably just kiss him. So he does, lunging forward and leaning down to press his lips against Remus'. The short stubble on Remus' chin scratches a little, but it's nothing when the hair above his lip tickles Sirius' own as their tongues collide.
"Aaand that's my cue. See ya later, boys."
Sirius thinks Marlene's said something, but he can't hear much over the chorus of 'holy fuck my husband is so hot' chanting on loop inside his head.
The door slams, and Sirius pulls away breathless. He'll have to text a thank you to Marls later. Much, much later, if he gets his way.
Remus, lips kiss-swollen and also winded, says, "It's good then? You like it? I wasn't sure about the—" he gestures to his hair, how it's shorn short on the sides, curls maintained— albeit shorter than before— on the back and top of his head. Sirius can't help but slip his fingers into the downy strands of it, softer than before, probably thanks to Marlene's bag of potions. The greys are noticeably intact, thank god. "And the—" he gestures again to his face, the moustache. The moustache, that is currently making Sirius feel unholy in a way he hasn't since he was back in his parents' house. He can't help but imagine the way it would tickle when Remus tracks kisses all over his body, as he is wont to do. So different from the prickly beard he'd grown accustomed to in the last couple of months.
Sirius sighs, gripping harder on his curls, "Like is perhaps an understatement. I am so glad you went off plan. Jesus, Moons. You're so beautiful. The hair is perfect."
Remus flushes at that, cheeks very nearly matching the shade of his sweater. Sirius likes that even after a decade of marriage and even longer of dating, he can still make Remus blush like it's day one.
"Thanks, it was Marlene's idea, actually. Apparently this style is back in, at the moment. Who knew."
Not Sirius, that's for sure. But then again, he's not typically found looking at other men's hair when his husband's is so alluring.
"And this?" Sirius brings his other hand up to grip Remus' jaw, thumb brushing over his lips and the ends of his moustache.
"My idea, actually. It's alright?" Remus swallows, cheeks staying pink, but his eyes are on Sirius' now, pupils dilated and making his big brown eyes look sinful.
"More than… It's just—" Sirius can't help it, he has to kiss him again. The spit-slick drag of their lips against each other and the new sensation mixed in makes him feel a little light-headed and a lot turned on. "It's just really doing it for me, actually. You look so good."
Sirius pulls back and releases his grip on Remus' hair and drags a hand down his bicep, wool soft beneath his palm, until their fingers catch together. He's pleased to see the shape of his husband's arousal beneath the slight billow of his new trousers. Sirius tugs their hands, taking a step backwards, and then another when Remus starts to follow with raw hunger painted on his face.
"Is it?" Remus smiles, that crooked canine Sirius so loves, framed by the equally crooked slope of his lips. His dimples pop, parentheses on either side of his mouth, no longer overshadowed by the scruff on his cheeks.
"Mhm. Do I need to show you how much?" They reach the bedroom, door still open from when Sirius had rushed out, and cross over the threshold. He pulls Remus closer, spinning them around to push him down onto the bed.
Sirius doesn't follow, instead getting onto his knees for the second time that day, slipping the boots off of Remus' feet and reaching for the buckle of his belt. He's half tempted to undo it with his teeth, feeling ravenous, but he'd hate to nick the fresh patina on the leather.
Remus leans back on his palms, breathing hard and watching Sirius fumble with the belt. Sirius' hands are a little shaky, mouth watering in anticipation, but he gets it undone eventually and slides it out of the loops before undoing the button on the trousers.
"Off," he breathes, tugging at the fabric. Remus lifts his lower half dutifully, and then it's all long, sun-deprived limbs and the length of him straining behind black briefs. "Those, too." He tugs again until all that's left on Remus' body is the pink sweater. That can stay, he thinks, the moustache too.
"Look at you," he runs his hands up the muscle of Remus' thighs, getting close but not too close to where he knows Remus wants him.
Sirius places gentle kisses on his scarred knees, the lower half of his belly and around the crease of his thigh while Remus pants above him.
"I'm going to do this, get you ready for me, and then you're going to show me all the ways you can use that moustache to tease me. Yeah?"
"Fuck— yeah, okay," Remus chokes out, nodding frantically as he hikes the sweater higher up onto his abdomen.
"Good boy," Sirius says, and then grips him, swallows him whole until the tip of him hits the back of his throat.
He hums around it, twirling his tongue and sucking exactly how he knows Remus likes it. He can feel hot tears gathering in his eyes, but doesn't let up until the need for air wins out. With a pop, he pulls off to breathe and starts dragging his tongue up the length and around the head, flicking across the slit.
"Fuck, Sirius, so good, please—" Remus is cut off by a moan as Sirius swallows him down again, head bobbing to take it as far as he can. "I'm gonna—"
Sirius stops, pulls off, replacing his mouth with his hand and giving a few tugs. Not enough to send Remus over the edge, but just enough to keep him on it.
"I believe I was promised something," he taunts, circling his thumb on the reddened tip of Remus' cock.
Remus tilts his head forward from where he'd thrown it back, face flushed, slack with pleasure.
"You're a brat."
"You love me."
"Yeah, I really do. Get up here."
Sirius doesn't need to be told twice; he stands quickly, knees cracking (is he old?) from the hard wood floor, and climbs onto the bed next to Remus.
"Hi," Remus smiles, rolling onto his side and tapping the tip of Sirius' nose. "You're very clothed."
"I know someone who could fix that, crazy enough."
"Oh," Remus slots their lips together, "were you expecting company?"
Sirius pulls away, gasping as Remus begins to palm him over his pants. "Prick."
"Your prick."
"Mhm. Mine."
It's not long before Sirius is rid of his comfy clothes, never having bothered to change from his sweats before going to the shops. Remus is above him, between his spread knees, dragging his lips across every inch of skin he can get his mouth on, and Sirius is a puddle beneath as he grinds down on Remus' thigh.
Warm breath on his neck sends goosebumps dancing across his pale skin, his nipples painfully hard. Between his legs, his cock is untouched and weeping, pearly beads slipping down his shaft as Remus continues to tease. He kisses his neck, down his chest, stopping for a moment to suck a nipple into his mouth and nibble at it. Sirius' back arches off the bed, his hands winding into Remus' hair as he releases it from between his teeth and drags his moustache over the bud.
It tickles, it hurts a little, but mostly it feels fucking incredible and honestly, Sirius isn't sure he won't come untouched.
"Oh my god, that feels amazing," he groans, a little hoarse.
"This?" Remus does it again to the other side, biting and then blowing air to cool the spit, all as he drags his facial hair around it.
Remus hums, contemplative, as Sirius writhes.
"I'm going to try something," he says.
"Sure, whatever, yeah," Sirius babbles, halfway out of his mind.
Remus slips further down the bed, coming to rest on his stomach with his head between Sirius' knees. His hair looks properly fucked now, at Sirius' hands. The mess only makes his new hairstyle look better.
Wrapping his hands around them, Remus begins to kiss the inside of Sirius' thighs, trailing his moustache after each press of his lips and drifting higher and higher until one hand releases its grip. Sirius hears the distinct click of a lube bottle, and like a Pavlovian response, goes boneless on the bed just as Remus begins to press at his entrance with a finger.
"Look at you, all worked up, leaking for me," he punctuates his words with more kisses as he adds another finger, "you weren't kidding."
Sirius gasps as Remus' long fingers nudge against his sweet spot, body flinching with the force of the sensation. "I really, really wasn't. The moustache, Moons, it's— fuck."
"It's 'fuck'?" He reaches around and drags his free fingers through the liquid running down Sirius' cock, swirling the pad of his thumb around the slick tip of it.
"Bastard, you know what I'm getting at. Do that again, please."
Remus does it again, adds another finger, stretching and scissoring in and out of him.
"I think you're ready for me, love." Remus removes his fingers and leaves Sirius feeling empty for a moment, hole clenching around nothing, until he crawls up Sirius' body and folds his knees back.
"I am so ready," he says, moans, really, as he wraps his arms around his knees to hold them in place against his chest.
Remus pours a little more lube into his palm, fists his dick, and lines himself up before pushing inside, agonisingly slow until he's fully seated. The stretch is wonderful and welcome, and Sirius feels so full he could cry. Maybe he is, if the hot tracks running down his temples are any indication.
"C'mere," he pants, releasing his knees so he can wrap his legs around Remus' hips as he begins to thrust into him. "Kiss me."
Remus does, their mouths open and panting to the point that it's less of a kiss and more of an exchange of air. Remus pulls away to slot his face into the crook of Sirius' shoulder while his hips move rhythmically.
The kisses placed on his neck tickle again, paired with the slight scratch of the stubble on Remus' cheek, and suddenly, Sirius is close. Remus is too, going by the way his thrusts are growing erratic.
"I'm close, baby, you gonna come for me too?"
"Fuck, Sirius, yes, 'm gonna," Remus pants, pounding into him faster and harder as he chases his release.
"In me, I want you to come in me, please," he reaches down to pump himself, and it only takes a few slick movements before he's coming between their bodies, the warm release coating their stomachs as Remus follows suit and empties himself inside Sirius. The hot pulse of it makes Sirius feel dizzy with pleasure as Remus slows to a stop, breathless and beautiful above him, with sweat making curls stick to his forehead. Sirius brushes his hair back with a palm and smiles.
"Hey," he says, placing a gentle kiss on the corner of Remus' mouth.
Remus laughs, more a breathless huff than anything. "Hello there, do I know you?"
"Mm, I don't think so. See, today when I went out, I left my husband behind at home. You might have met him? A little shaggy, a little more beardy than you. He definitely did not have this glorious moustache, or the mullet either."
"Ah, I see. It's me, darling. That's the old Remus. You're looking at the new and improved Remus. The cool Remus."
Sirius throws his head back and laughs as Remus slips out of him, too amused to feel the empty ache.
"Right, sorry, of course, Mr. Cool Guy over here. Should I grow one of those, too? The 'stache?" He's left cold on top of the bedsheets as Remus rolls off to fetch a flannel from the en-suite, pale arse cheeks flexing in the moonlight seeping in through the curtains, below the sweater he still has on as he pads across the floor.
Remus looks over his shoulder as he runs the faucet to get the water warm before soaking the cloth. "Absolutely not, this is my brand now. You've got the whole tattooed, pierced thing going on. Stay in your lane, baby."
"Stay in your lane? Oh my god, who are you?" Sirius giggles once again as his husband crosses the room to drag the wet flannel over his skin until he's clean, before pulling the duvet over their bodies.
"The kids keep me young, what can I say?" Remus is soft like this, in the dim light and post-sex haze. Sirius loves it, him, all warm and pliable. He flings a leg over Remus' hip and pulls him into his chest.
Privately, Sirius thinks those few strands of grey and the very near panic attack this afternoon are probably (definitely) courtesy of those said kids. But he just hums contentedly, "Of course they do. And cool, don't forget cool."