R/S Fic; G; Here Comes the Sun
Remus Lupin chews the side of his lip, already cracked and hard from old bites and scarred from old bites, thumbs through the hole in his jumper sleeve and runs a pale, spidery hand through his newly- cropped hair for the thousandth time. He’d let his mother cut it, finally, after a long year of awkward shagginess endured and jokes about feral wolves made, so now he’s stuck looking like a schoolboy from the War- nearly-shorn on one side with the rest, left thankfully ear-length, combed neatly over his eyes on the other. It suits him, but he dreads what Sirius will say, when and if the arse eventually shows up.
And, and, there he is, suddenly, striding through the press and the bulk of the many, many robe-clad mothers and their overexcited children screeching for…whatever it is they’re screeching about. Sirius, tall and broad-shouldered and grinning, slim legs arching forward in his new, skin-tight denims, hips poking out gracefully from beneath the hem of an artfully-worn t-shirt, dark, with some kind of band logo branded on the front.
“Moony!” He crows, rushing the final twelve meters like a child playing aeroplanes with his arms held out either side of him to wrap about the taller boy, who jumps awkwardly at the impact and begins to lean in just as Sirius pulls away. Sirius raises a hand to ruffle the new shearing Remus desperately wants him not to comment upon, and brings the other to pound upon his own chest.
“Nice ‘do, professor Lupin,” he laughs, a great, shouting exaltation squeezed from the depths of his lungs, and then, with a swooping, dramatic gesture at his own person- “like m’ new togs? Got ‘em both at a muggle charity shop just down- well, there,” and he points, but Remus isn’t looking. He’s staring at the earrings Sirius is sporting, two on one ear, aligned and rebellious and brilliant all at once.
When Sirius does something, he does something, and rebellion is simply a new, glorious challenge to throw himself into headfirst. He’s seen Sirius’s mum at the station to greet her darling second son, and the scornful glances scorching the length of her straight, tapered nose she casts upon the entire station. Seen the lines at the sides of her prim mouth tighten like pressed linen as she watched Sirius disentangle himself from his friends and slink over dutifully as a march to the gallows in his purposefully-rumpled school robes. She will not greet this step with indifference.
“Anyway,” Sirius is babbling, “an’ the shopkeeper’s all ‘oh, have a look, we’ve just got some new boots in, only five quid,’ mad, muggles, why do they need so many names for their money, how does anyone do anything- annnnd so-“ and he gestures at Remus with the tip of one of a pair of scuffed motorcycle boots, leather and enormous and waggling hello at him from the general region of his upper thigh. Sirius overbalances slightly, and the boot rests its thick, rubber treads upon his corduroys for a moment before Sirius jumps back and places the foot firmly back upon the smooth cobbles beneath.
“Whoops! Naughty buggers, but what can you do,” Sirius said fondly, “almost booted you in the manhood there, Moony, sorry ‘bout that.”
“Your mum’ll be pleased,” Remus laughed, beaming, still not quite over the pure Sirius essence radiating from the boy hopping around before him, “c’mon, let’s- here-“
Remus grabs hold of an arm, newly stilled, and tugs Sirius into the shadow of an overhanging balcony, out of the stream of pedestrians and their dangerous shopping bags.
“Er,” Remus clarified, “oh. About, about the clothes. Not the accidental… fondling. Although, probably neither, now that I think about it.”
“Yeah, well,” Sirius wrinkles his nose at Remus, “she’ll just shout for a few hours and try and get my dad to- well, anyway. It’s hardly like she can do anything about it, eh?” He adopted a falsetto, expertly crabbed and pinched, and receded back into the depths of his natural, plummy pure-blood accent. “Shame of my flesh, how dare you waltz about in such atrocities, parading yourself like scum, seventy-eight generations betrayed-“
He forced a laugh, and slipped back into the more familiar accent he’d learned from Peter and James, so familiar Remus had almost forgotten Sirius had grown up to speak like one of his father’s grandparents, proper and traditional. He knew Sirius had almost uttered the words ‘try and get my dad to whack me ‘round with the cane a few times’ as he had on one occasion previously before they’d all stared at him in horror and he hadn’t mentioned it again. But the moment was over, and there was no use dwelling upon it any longer, so Remus snorted and flicked some of his hair out of his eyes.
“Erm. So. Want to go for an ice cream, or…something?”
With a clearing, doglike shake of the head, the dark expression clouding Sirius’s dark eyes swam away, and the boy looked up to grin lopsidedly at Remus, slinging an arm loosely about his bony shoulders.
“Only if I can pay, mate. ‘Snot my money, anyway, might as well spend it, eh?”
And, and, there he is, suddenly, striding through the press and the bulk of the many, many robe-clad mothers and their overexcited children screeching for…whatever it is they’re screeching about. Sirius, tall and broad-shouldered and grinning, slim legs arching forward in his new, skin-tight denims, hips poking out gracefully from beneath the hem of an artfully-worn t-shirt, dark, with some kind of band logo branded on the front.
“Moony!” He crows, rushing the final twelve meters like a child playing aeroplanes with his arms held out either side of him to wrap about the taller boy, who jumps awkwardly at the impact and begins to lean in just as Sirius pulls away. Sirius raises a hand to ruffle the new shearing Remus desperately wants him not to comment upon, and brings the other to pound upon his own chest.
“Nice ‘do, professor Lupin,” he laughs, a great, shouting exaltation squeezed from the depths of his lungs, and then, with a swooping, dramatic gesture at his own person- “like m’ new togs? Got ‘em both at a muggle charity shop just down- well, there,” and he points, but Remus isn’t looking. He’s staring at the earrings Sirius is sporting, two on one ear, aligned and rebellious and brilliant all at once.
When Sirius does something, he does something, and rebellion is simply a new, glorious challenge to throw himself into headfirst. He’s seen Sirius’s mum at the station to greet her darling second son, and the scornful glances scorching the length of her straight, tapered nose she casts upon the entire station. Seen the lines at the sides of her prim mouth tighten like pressed linen as she watched Sirius disentangle himself from his friends and slink over dutifully as a march to the gallows in his purposefully-rumpled school robes. She will not greet this step with indifference.
“Anyway,” Sirius is babbling, “an’ the shopkeeper’s all ‘oh, have a look, we’ve just got some new boots in, only five quid,’ mad, muggles, why do they need so many names for their money, how does anyone do anything- annnnd so-“ and he gestures at Remus with the tip of one of a pair of scuffed motorcycle boots, leather and enormous and waggling hello at him from the general region of his upper thigh. Sirius overbalances slightly, and the boot rests its thick, rubber treads upon his corduroys for a moment before Sirius jumps back and places the foot firmly back upon the smooth cobbles beneath.
“Whoops! Naughty buggers, but what can you do,” Sirius said fondly, “almost booted you in the manhood there, Moony, sorry ‘bout that.”
“Your mum’ll be pleased,” Remus laughed, beaming, still not quite over the pure Sirius essence radiating from the boy hopping around before him, “c’mon, let’s- here-“
Remus grabs hold of an arm, newly stilled, and tugs Sirius into the shadow of an overhanging balcony, out of the stream of pedestrians and their dangerous shopping bags.
“Er,” Remus clarified, “oh. About, about the clothes. Not the accidental… fondling. Although, probably neither, now that I think about it.”
“Yeah, well,” Sirius wrinkles his nose at Remus, “she’ll just shout for a few hours and try and get my dad to- well, anyway. It’s hardly like she can do anything about it, eh?” He adopted a falsetto, expertly crabbed and pinched, and receded back into the depths of his natural, plummy pure-blood accent. “Shame of my flesh, how dare you waltz about in such atrocities, parading yourself like scum, seventy-eight generations betrayed-“
He forced a laugh, and slipped back into the more familiar accent he’d learned from Peter and James, so familiar Remus had almost forgotten Sirius had grown up to speak like one of his father’s grandparents, proper and traditional. He knew Sirius had almost uttered the words ‘try and get my dad to whack me ‘round with the cane a few times’ as he had on one occasion previously before they’d all stared at him in horror and he hadn’t mentioned it again. But the moment was over, and there was no use dwelling upon it any longer, so Remus snorted and flicked some of his hair out of his eyes.
“Erm. So. Want to go for an ice cream, or…something?”
With a clearing, doglike shake of the head, the dark expression clouding Sirius’s dark eyes swam away, and the boy looked up to grin lopsidedly at Remus, slinging an arm loosely about his bony shoulders.
“Only if I can pay, mate. ‘Snot my money, anyway, might as well spend it, eh?”