*Ficlet: Dishevelled Elegance* (steady on, no cardiac arrests, please)
I am lame, but here is my ficlet for devkel's birthday challenge.
Title: Dishevelled Elegance
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: James/Sirius but not really.
Words: 745
For: prurient_badger who requested James/Sirius, paintings that don't move, doughnuts; and devkel because it was her birthday and she didn't whip my ass even though I know she could. So sorry it is late, babes! But rough and ready nonetheless.
I ate no doughnuts in the writing of this story.
James had said he'd pop by. Sirius was hanging over a box, grime itching in the whorls of his fingers, sweat-steam creeping through his t-shirt and flushing his face red, when it occurred to him: it was two o'clock and he hadn't eaten - he was hollow with hunger, godammit - and where was James?
He didn't have a chance to explore the ramifications of this one major realisation (food, lack of) and one minor (best friend, slack) as James, with his trademark timing, cracked into the room. "Standing around doing nothing, Padfoot? As I expected." He strode towards Sirius - now bending backwards in a stretch - a grinning ball of enthusiasm.
"About to pass out actually. Cor, that looks promising though," Sirius said as he and his torso returned to equilibrium and he noticed the paper bag James was holding. He clapped a hopeful hand on his shoulder.
"Doughnuts. Thought you could do with a tea break."
"James, this is why I love you, mate."
James chuckled and Sirius followed him into the kitchen (not hard to miss, being as it was, more correctly, a kitchen-cum-living room-cum entrance way), pulling his wand from the back pocket of his jeans and tapping the kettle. Helpless against the gravitational pull of doughnuts, the two of them stood together and peered into the bag with awe.
The fresh, crisply warm smell of batter, sugar and cinnamon floated up and before they knew it they were tearing into the bag with an abandon that only men in need of a sugar fix can display. Sirius had chewed through three doughnuts before he felt sated enough to lean against the bench and reflect, licking his fingers absently and wiping them on his shirt.
"It's strange, you know, you moving out," James said, pausing between bites. "I mean, getting up in the morning, and no coffee and messed-up newspaper?" He looked at the doughnut in his hand and laughed before popping it in his mouth.
They'd always had this way of not-quite skirting around the important stuff. They could say these things and it wasn't embarrassing, as long as it was casually said. And it did mean something. Who was James if he couldn't loaf around for half the day in his pyjamas with his best friend amidst the breakfast dregs?
"There comes a time in a man's life when he learns to make his own coffee," Sirius said as he moved to inspect the kettle. "You'll get used to it."
By the time Sirius was done brewing the tea James had settled himself on the couch, slightly slumped, belly slightly bulging.
"This sofa is nice, Padfoot. Shame about everything else," James said as he sat up to receive the cup Sirius had waved over.
"It's the centrepiece of my 'dishevelled elegance' approach to interior decoration," Sirius said taking a seat on said centrepiece.
James choked a bit on his tea before gathering himself to deliver a withering stare and a spell that made 'wanker' dance over Sirius' head in sparkling letters.
Sirius looked up and raised an eyebrow in dismissive acknowledgment. Then he sipped on his tea. "No but ... a thing like that makes even the crap look good." As James surveyed the avowed 'crap' Sirius let his head drop back onto the cushiony velvet, feeling the heat of the tea working down his throat, and through the crockery cup now resting against his knee
"You have paintings."
"I do."
"I mean," James said, leaning forward, "Muggle paintings."
"I know." Sirius said looking at the row of paintings lined up along the wall. "Moony gave them to me. I think they were cheap."
James just watched a while before finishing his cup off and sitting back. "I like them," he said, and they both looked at the Chinese-style ships done in bright but dirty strokes of colour, so still, so mysterious.
"Are you staying?" Sirius asked, as he twisted the cup around, only soft warmth now against the denim. "I could use a hand with all these boxes."
"Such a weak thing, Sirius. If only people knew." James looked at him and there was amusement in his eyes, a gentle smile on his lips.
Sirius wondered who he would be now.
"Yeah, I'll stay," James finally said. Sirius grinned and stood up, gesturing for James' cup. It was handed over and he took it. He looked James in the eye and leaned across and kissed his cheek.
"Thanks."
Title: Dishevelled Elegance
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: James/Sirius but not really.
Words: 745
For: prurient_badger who requested James/Sirius, paintings that don't move, doughnuts; and devkel because it was her birthday and she didn't whip my ass even though I know she could. So sorry it is late, babes! But rough and ready nonetheless.
I ate no doughnuts in the writing of this story.
James had said he'd pop by. Sirius was hanging over a box, grime itching in the whorls of his fingers, sweat-steam creeping through his t-shirt and flushing his face red, when it occurred to him: it was two o'clock and he hadn't eaten - he was hollow with hunger, godammit - and where was James?
He didn't have a chance to explore the ramifications of this one major realisation (food, lack of) and one minor (best friend, slack) as James, with his trademark timing, cracked into the room. "Standing around doing nothing, Padfoot? As I expected." He strode towards Sirius - now bending backwards in a stretch - a grinning ball of enthusiasm.
"About to pass out actually. Cor, that looks promising though," Sirius said as he and his torso returned to equilibrium and he noticed the paper bag James was holding. He clapped a hopeful hand on his shoulder.
"Doughnuts. Thought you could do with a tea break."
"James, this is why I love you, mate."
James chuckled and Sirius followed him into the kitchen (not hard to miss, being as it was, more correctly, a kitchen-cum-living room-cum entrance way), pulling his wand from the back pocket of his jeans and tapping the kettle. Helpless against the gravitational pull of doughnuts, the two of them stood together and peered into the bag with awe.
The fresh, crisply warm smell of batter, sugar and cinnamon floated up and before they knew it they were tearing into the bag with an abandon that only men in need of a sugar fix can display. Sirius had chewed through three doughnuts before he felt sated enough to lean against the bench and reflect, licking his fingers absently and wiping them on his shirt.
"It's strange, you know, you moving out," James said, pausing between bites. "I mean, getting up in the morning, and no coffee and messed-up newspaper?" He looked at the doughnut in his hand and laughed before popping it in his mouth.
They'd always had this way of not-quite skirting around the important stuff. They could say these things and it wasn't embarrassing, as long as it was casually said. And it did mean something. Who was James if he couldn't loaf around for half the day in his pyjamas with his best friend amidst the breakfast dregs?
"There comes a time in a man's life when he learns to make his own coffee," Sirius said as he moved to inspect the kettle. "You'll get used to it."
By the time Sirius was done brewing the tea James had settled himself on the couch, slightly slumped, belly slightly bulging.
"This sofa is nice, Padfoot. Shame about everything else," James said as he sat up to receive the cup Sirius had waved over.
"It's the centrepiece of my 'dishevelled elegance' approach to interior decoration," Sirius said taking a seat on said centrepiece.
James choked a bit on his tea before gathering himself to deliver a withering stare and a spell that made 'wanker' dance over Sirius' head in sparkling letters.
Sirius looked up and raised an eyebrow in dismissive acknowledgment. Then he sipped on his tea. "No but ... a thing like that makes even the crap look good." As James surveyed the avowed 'crap' Sirius let his head drop back onto the cushiony velvet, feeling the heat of the tea working down his throat, and through the crockery cup now resting against his knee
"You have paintings."
"I do."
"I mean," James said, leaning forward, "Muggle paintings."
"I know." Sirius said looking at the row of paintings lined up along the wall. "Moony gave them to me. I think they were cheap."
James just watched a while before finishing his cup off and sitting back. "I like them," he said, and they both looked at the Chinese-style ships done in bright but dirty strokes of colour, so still, so mysterious.
"Are you staying?" Sirius asked, as he twisted the cup around, only soft warmth now against the denim. "I could use a hand with all these boxes."
"Such a weak thing, Sirius. If only people knew." James looked at him and there was amusement in his eyes, a gentle smile on his lips.
Sirius wondered who he would be now.
"Yeah, I'll stay," James finally said. Sirius grinned and stood up, gesturing for James' cup. It was handed over and he took it. He looked James in the eye and leaned across and kissed his cheek.
"Thanks."