HP:: Safety [Andromeda/Sirius::PG]
Author: Lina
Characters/Pairing: Sirius Black/Andromeda Black; Sirius POV
Prompt: Sloth
Word Count: 216
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: Short, sweet, and in the end, a memory.
He liked the fact she would lie in bed until noon with him.
Both of them would lay tangled in the sheets of his bed (as it usually was, the memories clearly preserved in the unwashed halls of Twelve Grimmauld Place) and her black hair would mix and look like black opals in the sun and against the grey of his sheets as she slept and he watched her.
When she slept, she only moved in slow, languorous movements, as if she was swimming and he sometimes liked to reach out a hand and run it along her naked spine and watch her shiver and react without waking.
He loved the fact that that neither of them ever felt any rush to leave the confines of this space.
It was sacred. Even after she left, it still smelled like her and when he smelled the sheets, the pillowcases, they reeked of her perfume.
He would drown in her and feel to need to be saved.
There was something deeply sensual about it.
This was their temple and the irony was that it was in their prison. Downstairs was the tree that could and would condemn them, but neither really cared.
He brushed a finger across the constellation of freckles on her shoulders. This was their safety.
Characters/Pairing: Sirius Black/Andromeda Black; Sirius POV
Prompt: Sloth
Word Count: 216
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: Short, sweet, and in the end, a memory.
He liked the fact she would lie in bed until noon with him.
Both of them would lay tangled in the sheets of his bed (as it usually was, the memories clearly preserved in the unwashed halls of Twelve Grimmauld Place) and her black hair would mix and look like black opals in the sun and against the grey of his sheets as she slept and he watched her.
When she slept, she only moved in slow, languorous movements, as if she was swimming and he sometimes liked to reach out a hand and run it along her naked spine and watch her shiver and react without waking.
He loved the fact that that neither of them ever felt any rush to leave the confines of this space.
It was sacred. Even after she left, it still smelled like her and when he smelled the sheets, the pillowcases, they reeked of her perfume.
He would drown in her and feel to need to be saved.
There was something deeply sensual about it.
This was their temple and the irony was that it was in their prison. Downstairs was the tree that could and would condemn them, but neither really cared.
He brushed a finger across the constellation of freckles on her shoulders. This was their safety.