(no subject)
Title: Hardened Clay Cubes
Author: soleta
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Sirius/Remus
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: In no way do I have any rights to these characters. I am evil, I take without asking.
AN: Marauder era, post-Hogwarts, pre-slash (kinda). Sometimes when I get pretentious, I write dialogue like this instead of "like this". Don't hurt me. It all came from me running out of clean glasses and using a china bowl to drink from. I love being weird sometimes.
It's where magic happens, the line between the damp, drenched heat and the thunderstorm, the same line that divides sense and insanity, or even persistence and stubbornness.
It can be a very fine line, indeed; sharp enough to cut, if you balance there too long. It encourages you to fall, one way or the other, into organization or chaos, into humid swampland or glorious rain; there's no dragging yourself back, once you've fallen.
But there are all sorts of ways to balance.
-
Remus wouldn't have been surprised if Sirius had got a pint-sized apartment just to have an excuse to spend most of his time at Remus's. It was that peculiar brand of Sirius-logic that left certain people (read: Evans) squinting. Remus shrugged, grinned lopsidedly, and left the couch (mostly) uncluttered.
It started to smell like Siri, like sweat and wood and the harsh smell of black Indian tea that he liked, with a trace of smoke from the Muggle bar Sirius was fascinated with and under everything, the slight smell of semen he never seemed to be without.
When Sirius asked him grumpily why Remus never seemed to wash the sheets, Remus muttered something about water economy and turned away.
-
Buying an actual set of dishes is beyond Remus's capabilities. If left to him, he will buy (and has done, in the past) exactly three plates, one fork, six knives, and no glasses. When asked, he shrugged. It works for me, he said.
On the other hand, he had a perfectly exquisite set of thin, low-lipped Chinese bowls. They were not dishwasher safe, but they were waterproof. The first time he found Sirius drinking water out of one, Remus threw a fit. It distracted him from the way Siri's lip curled around the rim, the way it glistened and shone, the way it elongated into a smirk.
Remus swore when he caught himself drinking out of one. Sirius didn't need to say anything; it was all there, in the glint in his eyes.
Instead of throwing it at him (which would really have been a waste, he'd have to replace it if he chucked it at Siri, plus he'd have to listen to Sirius whine about it until the end of time) Remus carefully emptied the dish out and set it on the drying rack.
He was tempted to ask Sirius if Mater et Pater Black had a set made out of Muggle bone.
He didn't, of course. But he wanted to.
-
Remus had a day job, the sort no one noticed him at, at which he did all sorts of boring and, essentially, useless clerking duties.
If he didn't show up one day, he doubted anyone would miss him.
It was, however, a steady, if tiny, paycheck.
When he came home at nights, he dove back into the Wizengamot's records. It was the sort of work he loved, and if he could be useful doing something he loved...
No one needed him to not do it (except Siri) and everyone seemed happy when he found some obscure bit of knowledge that could help them against the Dark Lord (except Siri), so he kept on, ignoring his health and his life for the Cause (and Siri could bugger himself sideways, when had he ever done anything for someone other than the Marauders, when had anyone needed him and only him?)
-
Remus comes home, sometimes, and finds the larder empty.
He has to wait for Sirius, because Siri would never forgive him if he went to a Muggle market without him. There, they pick up the brand of soda that makes Sirius sticky and hyper off all the sugar, and the cereal that Sirius likes to charm into swimming through the milk in his bowl, and the toiler cleaner that, paradoxically, works better than anything on the wizarding market. Sometimes Muggles were incredibly inventive.
Then, as Remus refuses to live without pumpkin juice, he drags Remus to Diagon Alley, knowing perfectly well that while they're there, one of them will be dragged into Quality Quidditch Supplies, and the other will sulk in the bottom floor of Flourish and Blotts.
They have a rhythm, and Remus is content and impatient with it in turns.
-
Sirius can't wait to get home before popping open the soda (and since when is Remus's apartment home to them both?) and thus manages to spill stickysweet down his front. Remus mutters something about children and restraints before stalking off to the kitchen with their groceries. If he stays much longer, he'd be tempted to lick Siri off.
When he comes back out later, Sirius is cleaned off and draped over the couch, leaving a narrow space on the edge. Remus wedges into the space, presses against Siri, and sighs. It amazes me that you can eat like you're still eleven, he says, and turns to look at Sirius.
This is a mistake.
Siri still has stickysweet on his upper lip. As Remus watches, he deliberately licks it off.
Certain parts of Remus snap to attention. Other parts go soft and wrenching.
Damn you, Sirius.
Remus staggers up off the couch and retreats, heading for the bedroom, which incidentally has a door with a lock on. He opens it.
Sirius's hand hits it above Remus's head and slams it shut.
Moony?
Yes, Sirius? What the bloody hell do you want? Right now I need a wank like I need to breathe.
Get a clue, why don't you? With that, Sirius's mouth comes down on his neck, and many things that were uncertain suddenly became clear.
Author: soleta
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Sirius/Remus
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: In no way do I have any rights to these characters. I am evil, I take without asking.
AN: Marauder era, post-Hogwarts, pre-slash (kinda). Sometimes when I get pretentious, I write dialogue like this instead of "like this". Don't hurt me. It all came from me running out of clean glasses and using a china bowl to drink from. I love being weird sometimes.
It's where magic happens, the line between the damp, drenched heat and the thunderstorm, the same line that divides sense and insanity, or even persistence and stubbornness.
It can be a very fine line, indeed; sharp enough to cut, if you balance there too long. It encourages you to fall, one way or the other, into organization or chaos, into humid swampland or glorious rain; there's no dragging yourself back, once you've fallen.
But there are all sorts of ways to balance.
-
Remus wouldn't have been surprised if Sirius had got a pint-sized apartment just to have an excuse to spend most of his time at Remus's. It was that peculiar brand of Sirius-logic that left certain people (read: Evans) squinting. Remus shrugged, grinned lopsidedly, and left the couch (mostly) uncluttered.
It started to smell like Siri, like sweat and wood and the harsh smell of black Indian tea that he liked, with a trace of smoke from the Muggle bar Sirius was fascinated with and under everything, the slight smell of semen he never seemed to be without.
When Sirius asked him grumpily why Remus never seemed to wash the sheets, Remus muttered something about water economy and turned away.
-
Buying an actual set of dishes is beyond Remus's capabilities. If left to him, he will buy (and has done, in the past) exactly three plates, one fork, six knives, and no glasses. When asked, he shrugged. It works for me, he said.
On the other hand, he had a perfectly exquisite set of thin, low-lipped Chinese bowls. They were not dishwasher safe, but they were waterproof. The first time he found Sirius drinking water out of one, Remus threw a fit. It distracted him from the way Siri's lip curled around the rim, the way it glistened and shone, the way it elongated into a smirk.
Remus swore when he caught himself drinking out of one. Sirius didn't need to say anything; it was all there, in the glint in his eyes.
Instead of throwing it at him (which would really have been a waste, he'd have to replace it if he chucked it at Siri, plus he'd have to listen to Sirius whine about it until the end of time) Remus carefully emptied the dish out and set it on the drying rack.
He was tempted to ask Sirius if Mater et Pater Black had a set made out of Muggle bone.
He didn't, of course. But he wanted to.
-
Remus had a day job, the sort no one noticed him at, at which he did all sorts of boring and, essentially, useless clerking duties.
If he didn't show up one day, he doubted anyone would miss him.
It was, however, a steady, if tiny, paycheck.
When he came home at nights, he dove back into the Wizengamot's records. It was the sort of work he loved, and if he could be useful doing something he loved...
No one needed him to not do it (except Siri) and everyone seemed happy when he found some obscure bit of knowledge that could help them against the Dark Lord (except Siri), so he kept on, ignoring his health and his life for the Cause (and Siri could bugger himself sideways, when had he ever done anything for someone other than the Marauders, when had anyone needed him and only him?)
-
Remus comes home, sometimes, and finds the larder empty.
He has to wait for Sirius, because Siri would never forgive him if he went to a Muggle market without him. There, they pick up the brand of soda that makes Sirius sticky and hyper off all the sugar, and the cereal that Sirius likes to charm into swimming through the milk in his bowl, and the toiler cleaner that, paradoxically, works better than anything on the wizarding market. Sometimes Muggles were incredibly inventive.
Then, as Remus refuses to live without pumpkin juice, he drags Remus to Diagon Alley, knowing perfectly well that while they're there, one of them will be dragged into Quality Quidditch Supplies, and the other will sulk in the bottom floor of Flourish and Blotts.
They have a rhythm, and Remus is content and impatient with it in turns.
-
Sirius can't wait to get home before popping open the soda (and since when is Remus's apartment home to them both?) and thus manages to spill stickysweet down his front. Remus mutters something about children and restraints before stalking off to the kitchen with their groceries. If he stays much longer, he'd be tempted to lick Siri off.
When he comes back out later, Sirius is cleaned off and draped over the couch, leaving a narrow space on the edge. Remus wedges into the space, presses against Siri, and sighs. It amazes me that you can eat like you're still eleven, he says, and turns to look at Sirius.
This is a mistake.
Siri still has stickysweet on his upper lip. As Remus watches, he deliberately licks it off.
Certain parts of Remus snap to attention. Other parts go soft and wrenching.
Damn you, Sirius.
Remus staggers up off the couch and retreats, heading for the bedroom, which incidentally has a door with a lock on. He opens it.
Sirius's hand hits it above Remus's head and slams it shut.
Moony?
Yes, Sirius? What the bloody hell do you want? Right now I need a wank like I need to breathe.
Get a clue, why don't you? With that, Sirius's mouth comes down on his neck, and many things that were uncertain suddenly became clear.