Crazy drabbling and men in crushed velvet
The London Premiere: yes, please, may I have some more?
And the drabbles from this afternoon's queerditch_pub:
Remus/Sirius: Now you would not think to look at him/But he was famous long ago/For playing the electric violin/On Desolation Row
Remus knows Sirius is dead, yet he’s seen him so often walking down the street or as he’s choosing cucumbers in the vegetable aisle that he doesn’t even question it anymore. When he turns for a closer look , Padfoot is always gone, like a whisper from beyond fluttering curtains.
So when he opens the door to The Leaky Cauldron and steps inside, he knows at once that he’s seeing a ghost; this is Sirius as he should have been, as he is in Remus’s dreams during the cold moon-filled nights. He is gorgeous, glossy black hair just brushing the top of his tailored cloak, grey eyes filled with laughter. The door closes behind Remus with a bang, and notSirius looks up, catches his eye.
Remus feels himself drawn to the apparition, though he knows it’s false, to the sparkling insubstantial simulacrum leaning against the bar, nursing a firewhiskey (since when did Sirius drink firewhiskey?) and watching him. Remus slides into the vacant seat next to Sirius. Sirius holds out his hand and smiles and, to Remus’s surprise, speaks.
“Hi there. I’m Stubby Boardman. Can I buy you a drink?”
Harry/Snape: My body's broken, yours is bent / Carve your name into my arm / Instead of stressed I lie here charmed
You trace the Dark Mark that still taints his arm. It’s faint, now, like the dream of a past you both lived but can’t quite remember. The outline is still there, though, ugly and threatening, coloring all his actions and yours.
You remember the petty cruelty with which he treated you as though it happened to someone else, some other green eyed black haired scarred little boy who only wanted someone who understood. He understands, now, but at too high a price. The War was won with your innocence and his condemnation, and now he is the only one who understands. Everyone else is dead and buried or else has left you in disgust. You’re only a shell of what you were, they say, and perhaps they are right.
But when he sinks into you, claiming you, you almost feel like that little boy again, scarred and broken. Then he strokes you with his left arm, and the memory drifts away, one less scar to taint you.
Remus/Sirius: I'm trying to find a way out of the blackness of this tunnel at the end of the light
What Sirius likes best about the full moon is how Remus’ personality transforms subtly along with his body - he’s more aggressive, more dominating, less inclined to sit under a tree and continue reading quietly as his friends get into as much trouble as possible.
How, like now, his eyes light on Sirius, eyes that are dark yet that somehow make you think of the light at the end of a tunnel leading to the Shrieking Shack, eyes that say I own you you are mine as Remus pulls Sirius to their little cave made of dark red blankets (that look black in the new moon) and darker wood, their sanctuary against the night and Peter and James (how could they understand?)
They don’t make it to the bed before their ties hit the floor, shirts and trousers following after, and it is hot and sweet and almost like being Padfoot and Moony, like running down a tunnel towards bright white light and release.
Writing anything decent in 20ish minutes is fucking hard, if you're wondering.
Also: Happy Birthday, spurious!
And the drabbles from this afternoon's queerditch_pub:
Remus/Sirius: Now you would not think to look at him/But he was famous long ago/For playing the electric violin/On Desolation Row
Remus knows Sirius is dead, yet he’s seen him so often walking down the street or as he’s choosing cucumbers in the vegetable aisle that he doesn’t even question it anymore. When he turns for a closer look , Padfoot is always gone, like a whisper from beyond fluttering curtains.
So when he opens the door to The Leaky Cauldron and steps inside, he knows at once that he’s seeing a ghost; this is Sirius as he should have been, as he is in Remus’s dreams during the cold moon-filled nights. He is gorgeous, glossy black hair just brushing the top of his tailored cloak, grey eyes filled with laughter. The door closes behind Remus with a bang, and notSirius looks up, catches his eye.
Remus feels himself drawn to the apparition, though he knows it’s false, to the sparkling insubstantial simulacrum leaning against the bar, nursing a firewhiskey (since when did Sirius drink firewhiskey?) and watching him. Remus slides into the vacant seat next to Sirius. Sirius holds out his hand and smiles and, to Remus’s surprise, speaks.
“Hi there. I’m Stubby Boardman. Can I buy you a drink?”
Harry/Snape: My body's broken, yours is bent / Carve your name into my arm / Instead of stressed I lie here charmed
You trace the Dark Mark that still taints his arm. It’s faint, now, like the dream of a past you both lived but can’t quite remember. The outline is still there, though, ugly and threatening, coloring all his actions and yours.
You remember the petty cruelty with which he treated you as though it happened to someone else, some other green eyed black haired scarred little boy who only wanted someone who understood. He understands, now, but at too high a price. The War was won with your innocence and his condemnation, and now he is the only one who understands. Everyone else is dead and buried or else has left you in disgust. You’re only a shell of what you were, they say, and perhaps they are right.
But when he sinks into you, claiming you, you almost feel like that little boy again, scarred and broken. Then he strokes you with his left arm, and the memory drifts away, one less scar to taint you.
Remus/Sirius: I'm trying to find a way out of the blackness of this tunnel at the end of the light
What Sirius likes best about the full moon is how Remus’ personality transforms subtly along with his body - he’s more aggressive, more dominating, less inclined to sit under a tree and continue reading quietly as his friends get into as much trouble as possible.
How, like now, his eyes light on Sirius, eyes that are dark yet that somehow make you think of the light at the end of a tunnel leading to the Shrieking Shack, eyes that say I own you you are mine as Remus pulls Sirius to their little cave made of dark red blankets (that look black in the new moon) and darker wood, their sanctuary against the night and Peter and James (how could they understand?)
They don’t make it to the bed before their ties hit the floor, shirts and trousers following after, and it is hot and sweet and almost like being Padfoot and Moony, like running down a tunnel towards bright white light and release.
Writing anything decent in 20ish minutes is fucking hard, if you're wondering.
Also: Happy Birthday, spurious!