r/S Fic; G; Only the Good Die Young
"C'mon," Remus said to him, grabbing him about the wrist with his sweaty, clammy fingers, "I've got a surprise for you."
"Is it head?" Sirius smirks, ignoring the tightening of the hand clasping many, many of his arm hairs and the wild eye-roll aimed in his direction, and allowed himself to be tugged along, past the Van Gogh prints framed neatly in the hall, the shelves of well-read books and their cracked spines and torn jackets, the many ticking antique clocks crammed onto the wooden-paneled walls. Up the stairs, Remus pulled him, to where his tiny, cramped bedroom lay at the top of the stairwell, the tiny bedroom with its taupe shag carpeting with orange puffballs and the one windowsill covered in well-tended potted plants. Sirius wanted to memorize each detail to this house, the coziness, familiarity a shocking contrast to his own ancestral home- he felt rebellious simply by standing here amongst the faded magazines about barefoot muggles climbing mountains or whatever it is they did in their spare time.
Remus crossed to the desk, barely large enough for one person, and from beneath a knitted cover slid an old Victrola, well-polished and aging well. Sirius slid his newly-freed hands into the pockets of his jeans, peering over at where his second-best-friend was bending over to retrieve something from behind the desk.
A moment later he handed over a large, flat package, wrapped neatly in brown paper. Sirius examined it, ran his thumb over the ridges in the paper and looked up, grinning. Remus's pale face was twisted in a us of anxiousness and nerves, the boy himself rooted to the spot, fingers twitching against his fussy woollen jumper.
"Well, go on!" He urged, flashing a quick, nervous smile, and Sirius grinned as he slit a finger beneath the sellotape and pushed the paper apart.
"'cos honestly, Moony," Sirius laughed, wriggling apart the LP sleeve from the paper wrapping, "if 's'not oral sex, I've got to say I- oh, mate."
"I didn't know what to get for your birthday," Remus babbled, twisting his fingers tightly against his jumper once more, "so I went to the muggle record shop in London after last term and, and I saw it on display and I knew you liked Billy Joel and-"
"Moony, shut up a second," Sirius laughed again, crossing the short distance between them, nearly tripping as his trainers stuck to the awful carpeting, "mate, it's perfect, honestly, now budge up, I want to play this thing before James finds out I've got it before he did." He clapped Remus on the back, quick and warm and over far too soon, but you're not supposed to properly hug your mates after age six or so, and Sirius, who didn't really have much experience with hugs, never wanted to muck anything up.
Remus laughed and cracked open the Victrola with a crabbed movement of his palms, lifting the needle in invitation and Sirius lost no time in eagerly shimmying the record out of its case and soon, the tiny room was bathed in the opening sounds of piano and snare drum. Sirius collapsed onto Remus's unmade bed, lost in musical ecstasy, grinning fiendishly, slim legs tapping along to the beat, and Remus felt something warm and -happy- rush over him at the sight of Sirius, faded tee riding up, revealing the pale lines of one lean hip, exuding youth and happiness and gleeful energy, such foreign, wonderful things to this particular bedroom, and if a simple Billy Joel record could do that to Sirius, well, then Remus wanted to rush to America and kidnap the man personally.
A/N: an unfinished drabble from something I'm working on- basically, I'm trying to get into the habit of posting what I'm working on, instead of just letting it rot on my hard drive forever like all of my Merlin fics, haha. SO, hi. It's shit, but hey, whatever. I just did it for the mental picture of Remus's house? Yup.
"Is it head?" Sirius smirks, ignoring the tightening of the hand clasping many, many of his arm hairs and the wild eye-roll aimed in his direction, and allowed himself to be tugged along, past the Van Gogh prints framed neatly in the hall, the shelves of well-read books and their cracked spines and torn jackets, the many ticking antique clocks crammed onto the wooden-paneled walls. Up the stairs, Remus pulled him, to where his tiny, cramped bedroom lay at the top of the stairwell, the tiny bedroom with its taupe shag carpeting with orange puffballs and the one windowsill covered in well-tended potted plants. Sirius wanted to memorize each detail to this house, the coziness, familiarity a shocking contrast to his own ancestral home- he felt rebellious simply by standing here amongst the faded magazines about barefoot muggles climbing mountains or whatever it is they did in their spare time.
Remus crossed to the desk, barely large enough for one person, and from beneath a knitted cover slid an old Victrola, well-polished and aging well. Sirius slid his newly-freed hands into the pockets of his jeans, peering over at where his second-best-friend was bending over to retrieve something from behind the desk.
A moment later he handed over a large, flat package, wrapped neatly in brown paper. Sirius examined it, ran his thumb over the ridges in the paper and looked up, grinning. Remus's pale face was twisted in a us of anxiousness and nerves, the boy himself rooted to the spot, fingers twitching against his fussy woollen jumper.
"Well, go on!" He urged, flashing a quick, nervous smile, and Sirius grinned as he slit a finger beneath the sellotape and pushed the paper apart.
"'cos honestly, Moony," Sirius laughed, wriggling apart the LP sleeve from the paper wrapping, "if 's'not oral sex, I've got to say I- oh, mate."
"I didn't know what to get for your birthday," Remus babbled, twisting his fingers tightly against his jumper once more, "so I went to the muggle record shop in London after last term and, and I saw it on display and I knew you liked Billy Joel and-"
"Moony, shut up a second," Sirius laughed again, crossing the short distance between them, nearly tripping as his trainers stuck to the awful carpeting, "mate, it's perfect, honestly, now budge up, I want to play this thing before James finds out I've got it before he did." He clapped Remus on the back, quick and warm and over far too soon, but you're not supposed to properly hug your mates after age six or so, and Sirius, who didn't really have much experience with hugs, never wanted to muck anything up.
Remus laughed and cracked open the Victrola with a crabbed movement of his palms, lifting the needle in invitation and Sirius lost no time in eagerly shimmying the record out of its case and soon, the tiny room was bathed in the opening sounds of piano and snare drum. Sirius collapsed onto Remus's unmade bed, lost in musical ecstasy, grinning fiendishly, slim legs tapping along to the beat, and Remus felt something warm and -happy- rush over him at the sight of Sirius, faded tee riding up, revealing the pale lines of one lean hip, exuding youth and happiness and gleeful energy, such foreign, wonderful things to this particular bedroom, and if a simple Billy Joel record could do that to Sirius, well, then Remus wanted to rush to America and kidnap the man personally.
A/N: an unfinished drabble from something I'm working on- basically, I'm trying to get into the habit of posting what I'm working on, instead of just letting it rot on my hard drive forever like all of my Merlin fics, haha. SO, hi. It's shit, but hey, whatever. I just did it for the mental picture of Remus's house? Yup.