Fic: Sirius Black: Cafe Racer (PG-13/R)
Title: Sirius Black: Cafe Racer
Author: melamserious
Rating: PG-13 (Boarderline R) Language.
Pairings/Characters: Sirius, Remus, Remus/Sirius, Various OCs
Summary: Sirius Black's bold attempts at Muggle cafe racer glory, and the dirty cheating that insues.
Word Count: 2,000
Disclaimer: Not mine, JKR's. No money being made here.
Author's Notes: We can blame this on the History Channel. I was watching "Modern Marvels: Motorcycles" in which they mentioned the practice of cafe racing in London. Which well, wouldn't Sirius do that?




The front tire of a black motorbike rolled to a halt out side the South Downs transport café. The bike’s engine cut out, and a thin black clad leg swung over the seat. A few footsteps latter, the doors to the café opened, and loud punk music flooded the night.

The rider sauntered up to the bar and ordered a drink. Rocco didn’t hear what, but that didn’t matter. What did matter was that Rocco had never seen this bloke before, and he was sitting like he owned the place, grinning at the birds and even the other blokes as he waited for his drink.

“You ride?” Rocco asked taking the stool next to the dark haired man in leather.

“Yeah, the black Triton out there’s mine,” he said gesturing over his shoulder to the line of motorbikes parked outside.

“Well anyone can own a bike,” Rocco muttered as he picked up the drink the barkeep had set down for the stranger.

“Your point being?” he asked watching Rocco down his drink.

“Have you ever made the Ton?” Rocco asked, allowing a sidelong glance at the dark haired rider.

“No, but I bet I can,” he answered with a grin and looking, in Rocco’s opinion, all too much like an over excited puppy.

“All right then mate,” Rocco banged down the shoot glass on the bar and jumped to his feet. “SHUT YER GOBS!” The café went quiet save for the mechanical noises of the jukebox turning over a new record. Once the blonde was sure of the attention he required he continued.

“This bloke here has never ridden the Ton!” He gestured toward the dark haired man beside him. “Yet! Yet, he insists on calling himself a rocker!” This comment was followed by indignant shouts, groans and a few calls of ‘Mod’.

Rocco leaned in close to the man and asked in a whisper, “What’s your name mate?”

“Sirius Black,” he answered, nonchalantly thumbing a silver earring.

“Sirius Black,” Rocco echoed. “Well, Mr. Sirius Black, here’s the deal. One of the boys picks a location another picks a song from our selection on the jukebox. What you need to do is get to the location and back here before the song is over.”

“Sounds simple enough. Do your worst,” Sirius said leaning in lecherously close to Rocco.

Rocco arched one thin blond eyebrow, before turning to one of the surlier looking of the lot. A man with a shaven head wearing a ‘Wot! No Bike?’ jacket.

“Frank! Destination?”

“The King’s Head,” Frank grunted through the fag clutched between his teeth.

“Rog! Song?” This time Rocco addressed a wiry man sporting a crimson mohawk.

“’Seventeen’,” Rog replied smugly and without a moment’s hesitation.

Rocco draped an arm around Sirius’ shoulders and lead him out the door to his motorbike. “Right oh, Rog’s picked ‘Seventeen’. That gives you two minuets and forty-six seconds to get to the King’s Head. Frank’ll ride out ahead of you. He’ll be there to make sure you get there, we can’t go letting you cheat.”

~*~

Frank rode off as Rocco yelled over his shoulder for Rog to prep the jukebox. Rog scrambled through the crowd, digging change out of his pockets as he went. The mohawk sporting biker dropped a coin in the slot and punched in the code for ‘Seventeen’.

Rocco shouted over the roar of the engine as Sirius started his motorbike, “The route is up to you! Just get there fast! Go!”

~*~

Tires tore across pavement, and the wind whipped his hair into a tangled mess. He wove through traffic, inciting angry honks and bouts of cursing from the Muggles he passed.

Sirius was beginning to feel a tad anxious, ‘Seventeen’ wasn’t an especially lengthy song, and it had to have been at least a minuet already. Then The King’s Head came into view, and there was Frank leaning against his bike lighting a fresh cigarette.

The Triton roared into the pub’s car park and made a hairpin turn past Frank and back out onto the road. Frank twisted out his cigarette and stuck it in his coat pocket before following Sirius off the lot, back toward South Downs.

~*~

Two riders rounded the corner and skid to a halt out side the transport café. One of them suddenly found himself being pelted with garbage, and nasty insults. Though, admittedly he agreed with a few of the comments about his mother.

Rocco sauntered up to Sirius. “Sorry mate, song finished about a minuet ago. You’re welcome to try again of course.”

“Yeah when your riding doesn’t suck Mod cock!” This exclamation was greeted with appreciatory cheers.

Then someone hit Sirius in the side of the head with a crushed beer can and yelled, “Get out of here you fucking Mod poof!”

Rocco shrugged at Sirius. “My offer stands. Just work on your bike a bit before you come back.”

Sirius suppressed a bit of a sneer before he sped off into the night, a bottle shattering on the pavement just behind him as he whipped around the corner.

~*~

Remus looked up as Sirius walked into the flat, reeking of cheap tobacco and liquor. He sipped his evening tea, eye brow quirked as he knew Sirius was likely to start raving about what was troubling him weather Remus wanted to hear about it or not.

“How can I make my motorbike go faster?” Sirius posed the question from the deep recesses of the pantry.

“For which Satanic cause would you possibly need to make that two wheeled whirling death machine to go faster? Or would I rather not know?” Remus inquired leaning over on the table in order to see into the pantry. The doorway of which framed the alluring image of Sirius’ leather clad arse.

“Café racers,” came Sirius’ grunted reply.

“I’m afraid a tad more information is in order dear Padfoot,” Remus said over his shoulder, as he had moved to the kitchen to rinse out his teacup.

Sirius leaned against the door jam, a box of biscuits in hand for snaking, and explained the practice of café racing.

“Uh-huh. Well that settles it Pads, you’re mental. I thought it was official when you bought the thing. Then I was sure there couldn’t be any more proof when you started swapping parts, and- what was the wording you used? Oh yes, ‘stream lining’ it.”

Sirius rolled his eyes.

“Really Sirius, the only way you could make the thing faster is by riding naked and shaving all your hair off in the name of aerodynamics.” Remus caught a glimpse of Sirius’ hands flying to his hair. “Or making it fly.”

The second Remus said it he regretted it with all his being. Remus Lupin was going strait to hell for giving Sirius Black, certified maniac, the idea of making that thing fly.

“You’re brilliant Moony!” He grabbed Remus by the shoulders and kissed him, before running off to the study where they stored the spell books. Remus sunk against the wall, one hand over his eyes in anticipation of the headache this was going to end up causing him.

~*~

Two nights later, about an hour after midnight, Sirius was sitting astride the bike headed for South Downs. Suffice to say, Remus had been a bit unnerved by the speed in which Sirius had found the charms necessary to make the machine fly, and put it through some cursory testing, but Sirius had insisted that he go back as soon as possible.

“The pretty boy has returned!” Rocco announced when Sirius arrived at the transport café. There was much jeering from the surrounding crowd.

“It’s only been two days Mr. Sirius Black, are you so confident so soon?” the blonde rocker inquired, leaning against Sirius’ bike.

“Perhaps. Why don’t you call for the Ton again?” Sirius said, leaning toward Rocco.

“Just so you know, It’s gonna be harder this time ‘round,” Rocco said with his hands in his pockets.

“Good,” Sirius replied with a smirk.

Rocco stepped back toward the crowd. “My fellow café racers!” He climbed up on top of a Vincent to better be the center of attention. “Mr. Black has decided he wants to attempt the Ton once again.”

“What he didn’t learn the last time?” the call came from some unnamed body in the middle of the crowd.

“Why don’t you choose the destination then?” Sirius spat back at the crowd.

A fierce looking red head in a mini skirt detached herself from the crowd. “Hat’s Bend,’ she said bluntly.

“Then I chose the song,” said Rocco, jumping down from the bike he had used as a stage. There was some groaning and mutinous muttering at this. “Bohemian Rhapsody.” There was even more muttering at this.

“And I’ll go out to Hat’s Bend to make sure he doesn’t cheat,” said the read head climbing onto a motorbike and taking off sending gravel into the crowd.

~*~

Once Sirius rounded the corner into a more lightly traversed alleyway the bike began to lift smoothly off of the pavement. Soon he was above roof level and he twisted the throttle taking the bike into the clouds. It was exhilarating, moist icy wind in his face, the dark putrid alleys below obscured by dark clouds. Sirius urged the bike forward searching out a good alley near Hat Side to set down.

~*~

“So, you going to follow me back to South Downs?” Sirius asked rolling to a stop next to the woman who was sitting sideways on her bike.

“How’d you get here so fast?” Came her perturbed reply.

Sirius gave her a wide grin. “That’s my secret I’m afraid.”

Then, without waiting for a reply, Sirius peeled out of the car park, turning quickly onto a side street. By the time the woman had started up her bike to follow him he was nowhere to be seen, but she could swear she heard the rumble of an engine very near by.

~*~

Sirius cut the engine and coasted back into the car park of South Downs just as Freddie Mercury finished his line about having a devil set aside for him. The crowd was silent.

“No one’s ever made Hat Side that quickly. What’d you do, fly?” said Rocco as he swaggered up to Sirius, cigarette in hand.

“Perhaps,” Sirius replied with an entirely satisfied smirk.

“Fancy a drink then. Celebratory like,” inquired Rocco flicking ash off his fag.

“I think I may have to decline mate. I’ve got a different sort of celebration planed,” said Sirius kicking the Triton into gear and riding back out, a wide and very pleased grin on his face, thoughts of Remus and victory shags dancing in his mind.

And after that he could even try coercing Remus onto the bike for a ride to the country, for more shagging.