fic: On Where He Stands [Remus/Sirius PG 500 Watchers Challenge]
Title: On Where He Stands
Author: txilar
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1000 (2 for 1?)
Characters: Remus/Sirius
Summary: Remus remembers and, for a brief moment, thinks he smells apples.
Author’s Notes: I’d started this just before seeing the Watchers Drabble Challenge. It quickly went beyond 500 words, but here it is nonetheless. For the 500 Watchers Celebration or just for a synaesthetic overdose.
Black is the colour of my true love’s hair
His face so soft and wondrous fair
The purest eyes
And the strongest hands
I love the ground on where he stands
///
Remus buries his nose in Padfoot’s fur. The scent of forest, dog, and earth fill him with moonlight, running, and moss. He sighs, digging his fingers into Padfoot’s chest, grinning and crinkling his nose at the heavy tongue trying to lick his face. He laughs and buries his face further as he tries to get away. In a crisp moment, his face is buried in Sirius’s neck and he inhales deeply, the same scents now deep with a hint of skin, magic, and butterbeer. The smell of burnt sugar arises, and Remus tastes caramel as he touches the pulse of Sirius’s neck with his fingertips. Sirius tickles him and he laughs helplessly, shouting and trying to get away. His fingers are pineapples and Remus shrieks unashamedly at each sour tickle.
Remus wakes to find his face buried in Sirius’s pillow. Sirius has once again woken early and left him alone. He sighs, not knowing which Sirius will return; the distant one, the angry one, or the false one. He inhales deeply from the pillow, cigarette smoke and sweat permeating the sugary burn of warm caramel that is always Sirius whether distant, angry, or false.
Remus stares at the night sky and remembers hair blacker than black, thick, tangled and sweet smelling, each strand a sharp moment of time. He tastes lips that were apples, sweet and liquid on his teeth. He bites his lip, face contorting as he tries to keep it in, hold it in. His stomach shakes and he winds his arms around his stomach, hovering for a moment, wavering in his determination. Be strong, be a man, chin up. You don’t cry and you damn well don’t do it for murderers.
Remus fingers the ragged ends of Sirius’s hair as Sirius clings to him. The scent around him is decay, death, endless nothing and Remus almost loses what little lunch he had. Sirius’s thin shoulders are stale bread and sloping. The bones like clicking marbles under his fingers. He tries not to cringe and his hands clasp Sirius’s dry cheeks for half a second before the world splits yet again, a knife sharp jolt of pain, mistakes, loss and no, wait just a minute-
Remus dreams of Sirius, James, and Peter. They are in the Common’s room late at night. A fire is roaring and he is hot, always so hot. Sirius is crowding him on the sofa and he keeps pushing him away, I’m hot, get off, he says. Sirius gives him his best wounded puppy eyes, but Remus is sweating and gives one last shove. The look turns honestly hurt and he tries to pull Sirius back to him, but Dementors are dragging him away. He lunges for Sirius, but James and Peter hold him back. He’s a Black, Remus, you can’t trust him, yells Peter and James just shrugs shaking his head. His fingers hold Remus tight, digging into the skin like fleshy wands.
-please don’t go. Remus wakes with a start to find Sirius on his knees beside him, face buried in his neck. He mutters and clings to Remus. Ruined threads slip through Remus’s fingers. Let’s get you in the bath. Dogs aren’t allowed on the furniture. Remus pulls back to see his smiling face but Sirius clings like a lost child. Remus ignores the tears that sneak out and lets them slide, like yesterday and the sky’s watery grey, down his cheeks.
Remus smells Sirius right through the warm toasted spices of the holidays. Cinnamon brooms and mulled wine can’t hide Sirius from him, though it seems they try. His eyes follow Sirius from room to room, person to person. Each press of his lips against a cheek is an apple bite and Remus swallows compulsively. The maroon flannel he wears slides across his back like secrets but it can’t hide him. Sirius winks jauntily from across the room, his eyes slanting to the mistletoe charmed to hover over his head. Remus rolls his eyes as he smells Sirius’s neck and hips caramel warm in the quick glance. He watches as Sirius dramatically kisses Molly on the cheek, holding her close, arms flung out as if they were going to tango. His laughter at her sudden joining in is like cranberries and Remus’s mouth waters as Sirius spins Molly round, the wand in her teeth sprouting roses.
Sirius peels clothes from them like candy wrappers exposing his caramel warmth and Remus’s burning wood smoke curls and spirals above them. Sirius breathes him in, tastes him, consumes him, and fills him. This is the only time I can breathe, he whispers, moving too slowly and Remus digs his fingernails into warm caramel, murmurs, and sucks at the curve of neck-meets-shoulder.
Remus watches the colour fade from the world, taste and smell sliding from things as though they were melting. He can’t eat, can’t taste; he can’t distinguish the smell of friend or foe, let alone roast or trifles. He listens to Tonks, but doesn’t notice her hair changing. Then he doesn’t notice that it isn’t changing. Christmas comes and hides Sirius like it never could before. He changes alone. Soon, Harry’s eyes are no longer Lily’s and Severus’s sneers are no longer paper cuts on his fingers. When Harry tells them of Snape’s deeds, Remus wonders how he missed the bitter pinecone crunch of betrayal running down his spine.
Remus bites into an apple he can’t taste and remembers when Sirius first kissed him. Remus, he whispered. Remus, I want you. All of you. Every line, every freckle, every moment. Remus, face red and frowning, pushed Sirius away. Stop it, you sound like a girl. Sirius ignored him and kissed him. When he pulled away, lips wet, Remus was breathing hard and smiling. Apples. You taste like thirty red apples. Sirius wrinkled his nose. I hate apples.
Remus remembers and, for a brief moment, thinks he smells apples. Then there is nothing but a chill that can’t be banished from the room.
///
end
Author: txilar
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1000 (2 for 1?)
Characters: Remus/Sirius
Summary: Remus remembers and, for a brief moment, thinks he smells apples.
Author’s Notes: I’d started this just before seeing the Watchers Drabble Challenge. It quickly went beyond 500 words, but here it is nonetheless. For the 500 Watchers Celebration or just for a synaesthetic overdose.
Black is the colour of my true love’s hair
His face so soft and wondrous fair
The purest eyes
And the strongest hands
I love the ground on where he stands
///
Remus buries his nose in Padfoot’s fur. The scent of forest, dog, and earth fill him with moonlight, running, and moss. He sighs, digging his fingers into Padfoot’s chest, grinning and crinkling his nose at the heavy tongue trying to lick his face. He laughs and buries his face further as he tries to get away. In a crisp moment, his face is buried in Sirius’s neck and he inhales deeply, the same scents now deep with a hint of skin, magic, and butterbeer. The smell of burnt sugar arises, and Remus tastes caramel as he touches the pulse of Sirius’s neck with his fingertips. Sirius tickles him and he laughs helplessly, shouting and trying to get away. His fingers are pineapples and Remus shrieks unashamedly at each sour tickle.
Remus wakes to find his face buried in Sirius’s pillow. Sirius has once again woken early and left him alone. He sighs, not knowing which Sirius will return; the distant one, the angry one, or the false one. He inhales deeply from the pillow, cigarette smoke and sweat permeating the sugary burn of warm caramel that is always Sirius whether distant, angry, or false.
Remus stares at the night sky and remembers hair blacker than black, thick, tangled and sweet smelling, each strand a sharp moment of time. He tastes lips that were apples, sweet and liquid on his teeth. He bites his lip, face contorting as he tries to keep it in, hold it in. His stomach shakes and he winds his arms around his stomach, hovering for a moment, wavering in his determination. Be strong, be a man, chin up. You don’t cry and you damn well don’t do it for murderers.
Remus fingers the ragged ends of Sirius’s hair as Sirius clings to him. The scent around him is decay, death, endless nothing and Remus almost loses what little lunch he had. Sirius’s thin shoulders are stale bread and sloping. The bones like clicking marbles under his fingers. He tries not to cringe and his hands clasp Sirius’s dry cheeks for half a second before the world splits yet again, a knife sharp jolt of pain, mistakes, loss and no, wait just a minute-
Remus dreams of Sirius, James, and Peter. They are in the Common’s room late at night. A fire is roaring and he is hot, always so hot. Sirius is crowding him on the sofa and he keeps pushing him away, I’m hot, get off, he says. Sirius gives him his best wounded puppy eyes, but Remus is sweating and gives one last shove. The look turns honestly hurt and he tries to pull Sirius back to him, but Dementors are dragging him away. He lunges for Sirius, but James and Peter hold him back. He’s a Black, Remus, you can’t trust him, yells Peter and James just shrugs shaking his head. His fingers hold Remus tight, digging into the skin like fleshy wands.
-please don’t go. Remus wakes with a start to find Sirius on his knees beside him, face buried in his neck. He mutters and clings to Remus. Ruined threads slip through Remus’s fingers. Let’s get you in the bath. Dogs aren’t allowed on the furniture. Remus pulls back to see his smiling face but Sirius clings like a lost child. Remus ignores the tears that sneak out and lets them slide, like yesterday and the sky’s watery grey, down his cheeks.
Remus smells Sirius right through the warm toasted spices of the holidays. Cinnamon brooms and mulled wine can’t hide Sirius from him, though it seems they try. His eyes follow Sirius from room to room, person to person. Each press of his lips against a cheek is an apple bite and Remus swallows compulsively. The maroon flannel he wears slides across his back like secrets but it can’t hide him. Sirius winks jauntily from across the room, his eyes slanting to the mistletoe charmed to hover over his head. Remus rolls his eyes as he smells Sirius’s neck and hips caramel warm in the quick glance. He watches as Sirius dramatically kisses Molly on the cheek, holding her close, arms flung out as if they were going to tango. His laughter at her sudden joining in is like cranberries and Remus’s mouth waters as Sirius spins Molly round, the wand in her teeth sprouting roses.
Sirius peels clothes from them like candy wrappers exposing his caramel warmth and Remus’s burning wood smoke curls and spirals above them. Sirius breathes him in, tastes him, consumes him, and fills him. This is the only time I can breathe, he whispers, moving too slowly and Remus digs his fingernails into warm caramel, murmurs, and sucks at the curve of neck-meets-shoulder.
Remus watches the colour fade from the world, taste and smell sliding from things as though they were melting. He can’t eat, can’t taste; he can’t distinguish the smell of friend or foe, let alone roast or trifles. He listens to Tonks, but doesn’t notice her hair changing. Then he doesn’t notice that it isn’t changing. Christmas comes and hides Sirius like it never could before. He changes alone. Soon, Harry’s eyes are no longer Lily’s and Severus’s sneers are no longer paper cuts on his fingers. When Harry tells them of Snape’s deeds, Remus wonders how he missed the bitter pinecone crunch of betrayal running down his spine.
Remus bites into an apple he can’t taste and remembers when Sirius first kissed him. Remus, he whispered. Remus, I want you. All of you. Every line, every freckle, every moment. Remus, face red and frowning, pushed Sirius away. Stop it, you sound like a girl. Sirius ignored him and kissed him. When he pulled away, lips wet, Remus was breathing hard and smiling. Apples. You taste like thirty red apples. Sirius wrinkled his nose. I hate apples.
Remus remembers and, for a brief moment, thinks he smells apples. Then there is nothing but a chill that can’t be banished from the room.
///
end