Day 18, Contemplations and Brown Orbs
Title: Contemplations and Brown Orbs
Author: glinter
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Word Count: 941
Rating: PG-13, at most, for possible suggestiveness.
Prompt Number: 18
Summary: Open the goddamn door, Moony.
Notes: This may be very incoherent, but I had an urge and wrote this in the past twenty minutes. It should be shorter, and it should be edited. Perhaps it shouldn't be here at all?
He needs to be more quiet, he knows, but, really, when did he know best? There definitely was a key in his trouser's pocket before he'd left at half past noon and onto the pub, Remus still curved into the worn cotton of his tee shirt, all neck and elbows edging off of Sirius' couch inch by unpleasant inch in the April heat. These are all new things Sirius has taken note of.
And honestly, when had it last been this hot in April, really? It's been long past frizzled hair and sweat down the neck, dipping into his collar and becoming damp. Sweltering, Sirius thinks, And bugger this goddamn lock Moony why aren't you opening this door? Spells would be good right now, and if memory serves him right, Sirius had magical powers somewhere at somepoint in time
Oh, he may have said that out loud, because no matter how impaired Sirius' motor skills have become tonight, he could still feel the unacceptable discontent for always being able to pay his bar tab with the money he never earned himself, the nothingness in the way he could always just leer, can leer, and the broad would swoon, will always swoon, getting on her hind legs and panting, knowingly or not. That is, if he ever paid attention to these things (as every other Marauder has), but he doesn’t, and so it’s nothing, really, and Sirius can feel that just as much as his heavy head as his voice echoes around the hallway.
He can hear the floorboards shifting under Remus’ weight behind Sirius’ locked door, no matter how minimal that seems to have become since graduation last year. It has been a year of struggles and freedom not quite realized, Sirius thinks.
James and Sirius have, if possible, become more fraternal (perhaps or perhaps not in Regulus’ very apparent disappearance), Peter and Sirius have, if possible, begun to understand each other. Or, at least, Sirius would like to think he is beginning to appreciate Peter for more than a pudgy swaggler always tailgating on the edge of his school robes. Maybe it’s because he’s gone more.
Remus and Sirius: now there is a thought. Sirius has always tried to give Remus attention when Remus caught his, and it never seemed to be returned, even as he went so far as to offer himself up as a potential roommate last summer (To which Remus declined much too politely). After months of no meetings between him and Remus, other than those cordially associated with the Order and clapping one another on the back at the Potter's, good old Moony finally stood on this very floor Sirius has found himself sprawled upon right now, whenever that had happened. Moony had happened last week; it may have been a Wednesday, but he definitely needed a place to stay, and perhaps definitely a new coat (Sirius had noted), a smaller one at that.
Of course Sirius obliged. Really, we couldn’t have an emaciated Moony lanking about the streets of London, could we? No, definitely not, but if only he had known, or even saw this coming (he should have), he would have had another bed to offer. Sofa would do just fine, Remus had said, and this so far seems true.
“Sirius.”
“Hmmph,” Could it be that Remus finally heard him calling?
“Shh. Sirius, get up.” The Gods have answered his prayers!
“Moony, there’s lad. Now. Please keep that door unlocked ‘til I am properly on its other side.”
Twelve seconds later when Sirius is still on the floor, he may have heard Remus sigh. He definitely felt Remus' grip along his waist pulling. "Up we go, right." Waist to waist now, Remus guides Sirius safely into his unlit flat, sharp contrast to the dingy bulbed outside.
It shouldn't be surprising that Remus bears strength right along tattered resignation, but it's just seen so little. "When did you get so strong?"
Remus snorts and locks the door back up, one hand still cupping Sirius' arm, "I'm a werewolf."
Sirius keeps his eyes on the door chain as he mutters out a "Right."
"I've been a werewolf for fourteen years. That means I've been strong the entire time you've known me."
Sirius furrows his brow at that. "Yes, well,"
"Really, I had always thought that's why you had used me." Sirius met Remus' sidelong cool stare with sidelong wonderment as Remus shifts and they begin to move again.
"But, Remus, what-"
"It's time for bed now, Sirius."
"Okay," says Sirius, and Moony is right, because there is his bedroom and one thing that Remus has always been, Sirius knows, is rational. Rationally, Sirius concludes, Remus should not move his arm away like he's doing now just because he's just been laid down and Sirius has never been good with goodbyes or silence without a companion.
He goes for whining like an unrequited lap dog but it comes out more gruff because of the down pillows in his face, a splurge that couldn't count as a splurge in his account. Remus stops, hand on the edge of the mattress, "What?"
Simply, "Stay."
There's a pause longer than Sirius' entire stay on the grimy linoleum, or it seemed that way to Sirius. The only sound is Sirius' neck cracking as he stretches for his turn at "What?"
Remus' eyes seem unwavering and constant in the darkness as he breathes out a "Nothing", lets his hand slide off the spread, and slips back into lockdown. Sirius is left to ponder half-lidded where he misplaced the key to Remus, and, really, whether he had possessed it in the first place.