The Kindliness of Sheets
Title: “The Kindliness of Sheets”
Prompt: #02,
Then, the cool kindliness of sheets, that soon
Smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss
Of blankets; grainy wood; live hair that is
Shining and free; blue-massing clouds
Warning: Nothing, really.
Length: About 100 words.
Summary: Remus and Sirius linger in the frosty waiting time that exists after Christmas and before school, and both find comfort there.
AN: Once I read the prompt, this scenario sprang full grown into my head. Which was frankly unfortunate, because I found it next to impossible to evoke the proper sort of cold fuzzy winter feeling that I wanted while enjoying the sunny, eighty degree day. Thanks a million Sar for a quick and useful beta!
Remus moved like his Grandmamma, all aching joints and the burning pull of muscles that had been masticated by overuse. Sirius bounded ahead, always the over-excited puppy, circling around the slower boy and playing in the snow.
His cheeks were flushed and his grin was manic, but he was still a strikingly handsome man. His long hair was wet and covered in soft flakes of snow, sticking like tendrils down the side of his face and his skin was unearthly pale where it was not red. His lips were on the edge of blue, but they were still plush and arrogant, with a cruel twist to the side.
A scarf hung around his neck, but it was soaking wet and largely useless. Soft leather gloves should have protected his hands, but they were currently stuffed into one of his pockets, joining a bit of sodden mistletoe.
It was the mistletoe that forced Remus to avert his eyes. The mistletoe was old, from a Christmas that had already passed, but it was nevertheless a plant of kisses and sweethearts, as opposed exuberant mates and their prematurely elderly fellows. Their plants were evergreen trees and the spindly oak without leaves; there was a little place there that was a fine location for lounging in summer and a snowy picnic now.
Sirius reached it and looked back, already balling up a snowball.
“You do that and I kill you,” Remus said, drawing all of his gravitas together like a cloak.
Sirius snickered and affected a mock-indignant expression, “My dear Moony! I was merely making decorations. For our picnic, which I, being such a lovable and loyal Padfootian companion, have gathered for us.”
Remus sat and settled the basket with a crunch of compressed snow, “And I have carried it.”
Sirius had already transfigured the snow into blankets, but they still held the cold of winter. They couldn’t cut through the chill, because they were the chill. Remus snuggled deeper into them, despite knowing that it wouldn’t work.
Sirius glanced at him and slipped out his wand, murmuring a warming spell. The blankets melted from the heat into silvery silk sheets, pooling around Remus with faint textile whisperings.
Remus laughed slightly and Sirius answered with a grin.
Modifying the warming spell slightly (so there was no need for heavy blankets and the decadent silk would serve), Sirius created a half-sphere of comfort, leaving the two boys sitting on wet and yellowed grass. Remus cocooned himself in the ice-crystal weave and stretched out.
It hadn’t been a particularly difficult moon; Remus had only the minimum of bumps and Padfoot got out untouched. Easy transformations drained him just as much, however, and he just knew his skin was a sickly gray color that matched the planks of the Shack.
His maudlin thoughts were interrupted by a chocolate bar and a cube of cheese landing on his chest. Blindly groping for it, he took a large bite of foil before resigning and opening his eyes.
He munched on the chocolate, wrinkling his nose at the odd flavor, and ruffled through the picnic basket. Peter was better at organizing kitchen raids; he had elevated the simple midnight snack to high art and fine theatre. James was functional, only that, but neither of them were here. They had both gone home for Christmas. Sirius, of course, had no intention of going home unless he absolutely had to and Remus preferred to stay because of the moon.
Remus and Sirius, typically, were the absolute worst at picnics. Remus always filled his with chocolate and sausages (particularly those that are delicately spiced and have an odd, fishy smell. No one liked them but him. No one, even him, knew quite what they were.) Sirius was in charge of today’s spread, and it was clear.
There was chocolate, cheese, bread and marmalade. Yet there was also a bit of lasagna wrapped in some grimy napkins and curry which had leaked, spreading its yellowy sauce to all the other dishes. Mash lurked in the corners along with three fried tomatoes, right in a row.
He looked at the chocolate suspiciously. That was where the spice had come from.
“Sirius,” he said, looking at the boy smirking at him from across the basket, “you’re absolutely disgusting, you do know that, right?”
“Yeah, basically,” he said, scooping some mash potatoes and licking it off his fingers. Remus groaned and lay back down.
The cold seeped through the very ground, tensing his shoulders from it. It was odd, the contrast between warm and cold and he commented on it.
It set Sirius off on some sort of rant that Remus barely listened to, only hearing the rhythms of the speech instead of the words themselves. It was more music than meaning, and Remus was too tired to handle Sirius’ typical information waterfall.
“-you know the way things seem to always know where you are in this castle, the stair-cases follow you-“
His eyes fluttered closed and he heard Sirius pause. He started in again a moment, though, continuing on his grand theories of Hogwarts. Remus loved to hear him like this, uncontrolled and without any hesitation. Sirius seemed to be the most impulsive one of the four, but he only let himself go among the Marauders.
“-could be the portraits, or some sort of magical energy voodoo thing or maybe the Sorting Hat creates some sort of connection. I can’t decide whether or not connection is a dirty word, or maybe not completely dirty, just a double entendre. Innuendo, like.”
Remus felt the touch of a hand on his forehead and his slow shifting stilled. Sirius’ speech slowed and finally stopped. It wasn’t a pause, this time. Remus opened his eyes again to see Sirius looking down at him.
He looked disarmingly vulnerable and there was a worried crease between his eyebrows. Remus smiled, but only little. Sirius’ hand moved toward his face again and settled on his cheek, cupping it. His fingers were cold.
Sirius shifted a little and lifted Remus head unto his lap, leaning down to whisper:
“Sleep like this, it’ll be more comfortable.”
Mind hazy with fatigue, Remus murmured an assent and closed his eyes again. This made sense, this was comfort. Just before he dropped into sleep, he felt a dry brush of lips on his forehead.
The snowflakes turned to rain when they fell into the warmth.
Prompt: #02,
Then, the cool kindliness of sheets, that soon
Smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss
Of blankets; grainy wood; live hair that is
Shining and free; blue-massing clouds
Warning: Nothing, really.
Length: About 100 words.
Summary: Remus and Sirius linger in the frosty waiting time that exists after Christmas and before school, and both find comfort there.
AN: Once I read the prompt, this scenario sprang full grown into my head. Which was frankly unfortunate, because I found it next to impossible to evoke the proper sort of cold fuzzy winter feeling that I wanted while enjoying the sunny, eighty degree day. Thanks a million Sar for a quick and useful beta!
Remus moved like his Grandmamma, all aching joints and the burning pull of muscles that had been masticated by overuse. Sirius bounded ahead, always the over-excited puppy, circling around the slower boy and playing in the snow.
His cheeks were flushed and his grin was manic, but he was still a strikingly handsome man. His long hair was wet and covered in soft flakes of snow, sticking like tendrils down the side of his face and his skin was unearthly pale where it was not red. His lips were on the edge of blue, but they were still plush and arrogant, with a cruel twist to the side.
A scarf hung around his neck, but it was soaking wet and largely useless. Soft leather gloves should have protected his hands, but they were currently stuffed into one of his pockets, joining a bit of sodden mistletoe.
It was the mistletoe that forced Remus to avert his eyes. The mistletoe was old, from a Christmas that had already passed, but it was nevertheless a plant of kisses and sweethearts, as opposed exuberant mates and their prematurely elderly fellows. Their plants were evergreen trees and the spindly oak without leaves; there was a little place there that was a fine location for lounging in summer and a snowy picnic now.
Sirius reached it and looked back, already balling up a snowball.
“You do that and I kill you,” Remus said, drawing all of his gravitas together like a cloak.
Sirius snickered and affected a mock-indignant expression, “My dear Moony! I was merely making decorations. For our picnic, which I, being such a lovable and loyal Padfootian companion, have gathered for us.”
Remus sat and settled the basket with a crunch of compressed snow, “And I have carried it.”
Sirius had already transfigured the snow into blankets, but they still held the cold of winter. They couldn’t cut through the chill, because they were the chill. Remus snuggled deeper into them, despite knowing that it wouldn’t work.
Sirius glanced at him and slipped out his wand, murmuring a warming spell. The blankets melted from the heat into silvery silk sheets, pooling around Remus with faint textile whisperings.
Remus laughed slightly and Sirius answered with a grin.
Modifying the warming spell slightly (so there was no need for heavy blankets and the decadent silk would serve), Sirius created a half-sphere of comfort, leaving the two boys sitting on wet and yellowed grass. Remus cocooned himself in the ice-crystal weave and stretched out.
It hadn’t been a particularly difficult moon; Remus had only the minimum of bumps and Padfoot got out untouched. Easy transformations drained him just as much, however, and he just knew his skin was a sickly gray color that matched the planks of the Shack.
His maudlin thoughts were interrupted by a chocolate bar and a cube of cheese landing on his chest. Blindly groping for it, he took a large bite of foil before resigning and opening his eyes.
He munched on the chocolate, wrinkling his nose at the odd flavor, and ruffled through the picnic basket. Peter was better at organizing kitchen raids; he had elevated the simple midnight snack to high art and fine theatre. James was functional, only that, but neither of them were here. They had both gone home for Christmas. Sirius, of course, had no intention of going home unless he absolutely had to and Remus preferred to stay because of the moon.
Remus and Sirius, typically, were the absolute worst at picnics. Remus always filled his with chocolate and sausages (particularly those that are delicately spiced and have an odd, fishy smell. No one liked them but him. No one, even him, knew quite what they were.) Sirius was in charge of today’s spread, and it was clear.
There was chocolate, cheese, bread and marmalade. Yet there was also a bit of lasagna wrapped in some grimy napkins and curry which had leaked, spreading its yellowy sauce to all the other dishes. Mash lurked in the corners along with three fried tomatoes, right in a row.
He looked at the chocolate suspiciously. That was where the spice had come from.
“Sirius,” he said, looking at the boy smirking at him from across the basket, “you’re absolutely disgusting, you do know that, right?”
“Yeah, basically,” he said, scooping some mash potatoes and licking it off his fingers. Remus groaned and lay back down.
The cold seeped through the very ground, tensing his shoulders from it. It was odd, the contrast between warm and cold and he commented on it.
It set Sirius off on some sort of rant that Remus barely listened to, only hearing the rhythms of the speech instead of the words themselves. It was more music than meaning, and Remus was too tired to handle Sirius’ typical information waterfall.
“-you know the way things seem to always know where you are in this castle, the stair-cases follow you-“
His eyes fluttered closed and he heard Sirius pause. He started in again a moment, though, continuing on his grand theories of Hogwarts. Remus loved to hear him like this, uncontrolled and without any hesitation. Sirius seemed to be the most impulsive one of the four, but he only let himself go among the Marauders.
“-could be the portraits, or some sort of magical energy voodoo thing or maybe the Sorting Hat creates some sort of connection. I can’t decide whether or not connection is a dirty word, or maybe not completely dirty, just a double entendre. Innuendo, like.”
Remus felt the touch of a hand on his forehead and his slow shifting stilled. Sirius’ speech slowed and finally stopped. It wasn’t a pause, this time. Remus opened his eyes again to see Sirius looking down at him.
He looked disarmingly vulnerable and there was a worried crease between his eyebrows. Remus smiled, but only little. Sirius’ hand moved toward his face again and settled on his cheek, cupping it. His fingers were cold.
Sirius shifted a little and lifted Remus head unto his lap, leaning down to whisper:
“Sleep like this, it’ll be more comfortable.”
Mind hazy with fatigue, Remus murmured an assent and closed his eyes again. This made sense, this was comfort. Just before he dropped into sleep, he felt a dry brush of lips on his forehead.
The snowflakes turned to rain when they fell into the warmth.