Moments (Remus/Sirius, pg)
Title: Moments
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Rating: pg
Word count: 655
Comments: This is my first post here, written in celebration of being invited to join and inspired, at least a little bit, by graduating college (ack). Feedback is always loved.
The Central Line
The train rattles - shaking the seats, drowning out sound, whitewashing the world into metal gears bumping and grinding and rocking. It is hot. Stuffy. Summer has arrived, and has drifted down with oppressive fingers, invading the tunnels, the escalators, the old chipping bricks. The heat - permeating the tube cars - brings an increased density of ruffling tourist maps, foreign accents, and jostling bodies cramped in.
The heat carries along, causes perhaps, a rise in chaos - disordered, messy movements of crowds, winding and waiting and standing and sitting.
Amidst the turbulence, in between the swirling torrents, folded in, are patches, moments, bits of calm and peace and stillness.
Marble Arch
A voice announcing, proper and paced and distant - lost somewhere amidst the screech of breaks and the shuffles of movement - “This is Marble Arch…”
Doors open.
Crowds shove, surge, push, part. Cars empty then fill.
“Doors are closing…”
One more passenger squeezes in - just in time - jostling against the other travelers, forcing everyone to rearrange.
On the other side, by the opposite door, a man shifts a little in his seat to accommodate, to allow for, the movement. Next to him two figures occupy two seats - oblivious, un-noticing.
Bodies turned toward one another - angled, slightly - feet, flat on the shuddering floor, just barely, not quite, touching; hands grazing, fleetingly, against arms.
The world dissolves, is pushed out, away - forced to fade - graying edges.
All that’s left are two pairs of eyes, two sets of legs and arms, two heads leaning in over a map almost, but not, touching. Soft words are spoken - only meant for a single set of ears -exclusivity at its utmost peak - secretive; apart from, unconscious to the world, the chaos, the heat.
Two strong jaws, two faces with chiseled features, two pairs of lips - smiling. Smiling only for each other.
The discreet movements, the deliberate lack of possession, serve only, somehow, to accentuate, to underline the meaning behind the absence.
“Almost there” one mouths. The other nods - easy smile - gentle tugging at the corners.
Hyde Park
Two young bodies entwining in the grass - under thrown shadows, tossed, carelessly in a disarray on the ground.
The grass is wild, late summer, green - almost hiding entangling limbs in between its blades.
One of them is laughing - honey-tone and easy.
The other suddenly stops - pauses and lets his gray eyes drop just a bit - focusing on jaw line, on curving neck, on collar bone peaking out from unbuttoned shirt.
“Moony” he begins softly, “we could do this every day you know.” Pause. “Explore muggle London like this.” Words begin to tumble and twist - somehow nervous - perhaps to spite the speaker - revealing. “It could be fun you know. It could be like we’re still in school. Adventures and the like…” He trails off. Glances up, hoping his meaning is understood, hoping to be saved from continuing.
Remus stares up at him - steady and un-hinting at any comprehension.
Sirius looses his nerve.
Sirius’ flat
Flesh on flesh. Breath hitching. Faster. Harder. Desperate. Feral.
Grunt. Then moan.
“Remus” mumbled into sweat painted skin.
Sirius opens his eyes - later - and stares at the man tangled with him; watches the chest slow its breathing. Watches Remus - parted lips, peaceful - slight smile, curving the lines. He wants to try to ask again - the words forming in his brain. Please. It’s lonely. I love you. His mouth is dry. He can’t force them past his throat.
He tightens his grip on Remus’ hand and stays silent.
The moment feels slick around his fingers. Sliding past. Slippery like sin and pleasure. Ungraspable.
He licks his dry lips, unsure and scared - he doesn’t understand why. He wants to hold onto this forever - this moment, this look on Remus’ face, this sound of breathing, this smell of summer wafting in through an open window.
Summer nights feel like silk on skin - flowing, ebbing, sliding; elusive - slippery like time and youth and moments.