Prompt Ficlet: Interpretation is Nine-Tenths of Misunderstanding (R)
I should have been doing Big Bang beta duties this evening, but was lured by
darsynia's First Line Meme. I picked this prompt:
Remus didn't like sitting alone in the room, but Sirius was still asleep, and while he could tell himself that he hadn't sought to wake him because he needed his rest, the real reason was that Padfoot could be a right bastard when he didn't wake naturally.
I suppose I could have chosen a McShep one, but what would have been challenging about that? Behind the cut, to be kind and because most of my flist may not be interested in a Remus/Sirius story.
I should point out that this is somewhat AU in that, in my canon, Sirius did not die in Book 5. Rated R for language and mention of body parts.
Interpretation is Nine-Tenths of Misunderstanding
Remus didn't like sitting alone in the room, but Sirius was still asleep, and while he could tell himself that he hadn't sought to wake him because he needed his rest, the real reason was that Padfoot could be a right bastard when he didn't wake naturally.
Of course, that begged the question just when a natural rise to consciousness might occur. He took a deep breath. One didn't have to have a keen sense of smell to recognise the heavy scent of Ogdens that clung to Sirius and hovered about the room. Sirius' room, the one Rosmerta let him for nothing, or for old time's sake, or what the hell ever. The room he stayed in so rarely these days - always off on some mission for Dumbledore. Paddy had certainly taken to his new role as a spy for the Order and Remus worried that sometimes he wasn't careful enough - on purpose. Not a death wish exactly, but a desire to undo as much damage as had been wrought upon him and the ones he loved as possible.
What sitting there alone had done was given him a chance to watch Sirius sleep. On the rare occasions they spent time together anymore, his friend seemed more distant, even more shut off and little things like looking at him or trying to talk to him if he didn't initiate it, irritated him. But at least he wasn't spending most of his time as Padfoot anymore. Nevertheless, things had been decidedly different since Sirius returned from his most recent mission. It had been a mission so secret, Remus hadn't known where he'd been or who he'd been with, as Dumbledore was quite clear that no Order members were to be going off on their own.
Many of the harrows of Azkaban seemed to disappear from Sirius' face when he slept. No longer angelic, as it had been when they were students - Remus had watched him sleep then, too - the lines there now spoke of brokenness, loneliness and a longing… for what, Remus wasn't exactly sure. Of course, to hear Sirius tell it, he was fine.
He left his chair and threw off the tattered cloak he'd been using to keep warm. Slipping into the small bed, Remus swallowed hard at the sight of the naked body beside him - a body that had, no question, lost some of its former glory, but that didn't matter to Remus, had never mattered really.
Remus lifted the long, scraggly locks from that serene face and drew them across Sirius' bony shoulder, fingering the thick tresses. He smiled, remembering how adamant Black was about not cutting his hair, and if anyone asked Remus' opinion, he'd tell them he didn't mind at all. It wasn't as shiny or as silky as it had once been - felt different when he combed his fingers through it, but it was still gorgeous, maybe even a bit more rakish than before, but then… so was Sirius.
The uncovered shoulder was cold as Remus slowly leaned into it. He pressed his lips there as he drew the thin blanket up over them.
Sirius stirred and Remus was both pleased and sorry. After the unexpected intensity of the night before, he wasn't sure what type of mood Sirius would wake to. Pleased at the possibility of taking things a bit slower this morning, but sorry because he could no longer just look and hold.
As he brushed his lips over Sirius' neck, even the lingering traces of the whiskey couldn't stop Remus from pulling him closer - the blood rushing to his already half-hard cock at the way Sirius' skin felt beneath his hands. Nor could it stop him from nosing through the mass of hair to kiss his way to Black's ear. "Good morning," he whispered.
"Mmmmmm… morning."
"Tea?" He wasn't sure if Sirius was nodding or burrowing deeper into the pillow, but deciding tea would be a necessity no matter what, he made to get up.
"Mmmmm, no, don't," Black mumbled, reaching back for him and catching Remus' hip. "Hmmm, stay… Severus."
The rest of room blurred around him, the only thing Remus was aware of was Sirius' hand sliding down his thigh. He quickly moved away and sat on the edge of the bed. He felt suddenly sick - the reason for Black's annoyance, his bad moods, his more than usual cantankerousness now became very clear. He started at the hand at his back.
"Mooney? All right there?"
Remus turned to stare at him. He was lying on his stomach, hair tousled even more and one eye still shut. Remus' own stomach lurched with emptiness.
"Right then. Since you're awake, how about you make tea, eh? I've got one fucker of a headache," said Black, running his long, thin fingers through his hair and massaging his temples.
Remus stood.
"Oy, make some of that black Irish sludge Snape left." He raised himself up, head hanging into his hands. "As strong as you can get it."
Remus looked at the sprawling naked form on the bed and tried to take a full breath, tried to… His feelings started to slip away from him like sand through an hourglass, slipping away into nothing but numb. He was only dimly aware that he was staring.
"What?" Black asked irritably. "Tea, Remus. Preferably sometime before my fucking head explodes, eh?"
Remus turned and stumbled blindly across the room, not knowing if his feet were touching the floor, not even caring, because Sirius demanded tea, because Sirius demanded. And, he thought, placing the battered kettle on the small fire he'd conjured with unfeeling hands, it just wasn't in him to tell Sirius to fuck off and make his own sodding tea.
darsynia's First Line Meme. I picked this prompt:
Remus didn't like sitting alone in the room, but Sirius was still asleep, and while he could tell himself that he hadn't sought to wake him because he needed his rest, the real reason was that Padfoot could be a right bastard when he didn't wake naturally.
I suppose I could have chosen a McShep one, but what would have been challenging about that? Behind the cut, to be kind and because most of my flist may not be interested in a Remus/Sirius story.
I should point out that this is somewhat AU in that, in my canon, Sirius did not die in Book 5. Rated R for language and mention of body parts.
Interpretation is Nine-Tenths of Misunderstanding
Remus didn't like sitting alone in the room, but Sirius was still asleep, and while he could tell himself that he hadn't sought to wake him because he needed his rest, the real reason was that Padfoot could be a right bastard when he didn't wake naturally.
Of course, that begged the question just when a natural rise to consciousness might occur. He took a deep breath. One didn't have to have a keen sense of smell to recognise the heavy scent of Ogdens that clung to Sirius and hovered about the room. Sirius' room, the one Rosmerta let him for nothing, or for old time's sake, or what the hell ever. The room he stayed in so rarely these days - always off on some mission for Dumbledore. Paddy had certainly taken to his new role as a spy for the Order and Remus worried that sometimes he wasn't careful enough - on purpose. Not a death wish exactly, but a desire to undo as much damage as had been wrought upon him and the ones he loved as possible.
What sitting there alone had done was given him a chance to watch Sirius sleep. On the rare occasions they spent time together anymore, his friend seemed more distant, even more shut off and little things like looking at him or trying to talk to him if he didn't initiate it, irritated him. But at least he wasn't spending most of his time as Padfoot anymore. Nevertheless, things had been decidedly different since Sirius returned from his most recent mission. It had been a mission so secret, Remus hadn't known where he'd been or who he'd been with, as Dumbledore was quite clear that no Order members were to be going off on their own.
Many of the harrows of Azkaban seemed to disappear from Sirius' face when he slept. No longer angelic, as it had been when they were students - Remus had watched him sleep then, too - the lines there now spoke of brokenness, loneliness and a longing… for what, Remus wasn't exactly sure. Of course, to hear Sirius tell it, he was fine.
He left his chair and threw off the tattered cloak he'd been using to keep warm. Slipping into the small bed, Remus swallowed hard at the sight of the naked body beside him - a body that had, no question, lost some of its former glory, but that didn't matter to Remus, had never mattered really.
Remus lifted the long, scraggly locks from that serene face and drew them across Sirius' bony shoulder, fingering the thick tresses. He smiled, remembering how adamant Black was about not cutting his hair, and if anyone asked Remus' opinion, he'd tell them he didn't mind at all. It wasn't as shiny or as silky as it had once been - felt different when he combed his fingers through it, but it was still gorgeous, maybe even a bit more rakish than before, but then… so was Sirius.
The uncovered shoulder was cold as Remus slowly leaned into it. He pressed his lips there as he drew the thin blanket up over them.
Sirius stirred and Remus was both pleased and sorry. After the unexpected intensity of the night before, he wasn't sure what type of mood Sirius would wake to. Pleased at the possibility of taking things a bit slower this morning, but sorry because he could no longer just look and hold.
As he brushed his lips over Sirius' neck, even the lingering traces of the whiskey couldn't stop Remus from pulling him closer - the blood rushing to his already half-hard cock at the way Sirius' skin felt beneath his hands. Nor could it stop him from nosing through the mass of hair to kiss his way to Black's ear. "Good morning," he whispered.
"Mmmmmm… morning."
"Tea?" He wasn't sure if Sirius was nodding or burrowing deeper into the pillow, but deciding tea would be a necessity no matter what, he made to get up.
"Mmmmm, no, don't," Black mumbled, reaching back for him and catching Remus' hip. "Hmmm, stay… Severus."
The rest of room blurred around him, the only thing Remus was aware of was Sirius' hand sliding down his thigh. He quickly moved away and sat on the edge of the bed. He felt suddenly sick - the reason for Black's annoyance, his bad moods, his more than usual cantankerousness now became very clear. He started at the hand at his back.
"Mooney? All right there?"
Remus turned to stare at him. He was lying on his stomach, hair tousled even more and one eye still shut. Remus' own stomach lurched with emptiness.
"Right then. Since you're awake, how about you make tea, eh? I've got one fucker of a headache," said Black, running his long, thin fingers through his hair and massaging his temples.
Remus stood.
"Oy, make some of that black Irish sludge Snape left." He raised himself up, head hanging into his hands. "As strong as you can get it."
Remus looked at the sprawling naked form on the bed and tried to take a full breath, tried to… His feelings started to slip away from him like sand through an hourglass, slipping away into nothing but numb. He was only dimly aware that he was staring.
"What?" Black asked irritably. "Tea, Remus. Preferably sometime before my fucking head explodes, eh?"
Remus turned and stumbled blindly across the room, not knowing if his feet were touching the floor, not even caring, because Sirius demanded tea, because Sirius demanded. And, he thought, placing the battered kettle on the small fire he'd conjured with unfeeling hands, it just wasn't in him to tell Sirius to fuck off and make his own sodding tea.