Fic for August 3 - Drought
Continuing with the dogdaysofsummerseries
Title: Drought
Author: Pandaimonia
Word Count: 959
This is a continuation of the storyline from the previous ficlets Arson and Strays, though it can be read independently.
The local stream under the culvert has slowed down to a muddy trickle. It was a good place for Padfoot to hide, with the shade of the culvert and water for him to drink. Now the water is warm and brackish and the ground is dry and cracking. The whole world seems thirsty-even the birds droop with the heat and don’t bother to sing.
Padfoot’s black coat is oppressive in this weather and now it’s dirty and matted from rolling around in the dust. He crouches there hour after hour, panting and gazing listlessly into space, hoping for a breeze to bring new scents his way. Come afternoon, his ears prick up and his nostrils twitch, ready for a scent of Remus. Remus comes from his house, bearing popsicles or something cool and fruity to drink, maybe a sandwich already getting soggy in the heat. By the time he reaches the drainage ditch, his hair is already collecting beads of sweat and Padfoot’s tail is thwacking with anticipation.
Remus joins Padfoot-turned-Sirius by the edge of the water and they sit silently side by side, their feet drifting in the deepest pool of the stream. There is a drought of words between them, as if it requires too much energy to talk and the heat has bleached the life from them. Yet it is good to have company, good to have a limp sandwich in one hand and Remus’s hand in the other. Kissing with dry, chapped lips stained artificial cherry red is not exactly a substitute for words, but it works. Up close, Sirius examines the freckles that are becoming denser on Remus’s face each hot, bright week of summer; he runs sun-bleached ends of hair though his fingers, inhales Remus’s warm, slightly musty boy-breath.
They lie on their backs in the dirt, searching for a cloud in the sky to point at and name, to beg for a little rain, a little moisture. Day after day, the sky is empty and so blue it hurts to look at it. When they sit up, their backs are dirty with streaks of sweat running down them. “You need a bath,” Remus says. “You haven’t bathed for days, and it shows.”
“I thought we were supposed to conserve water, eh?”
Remus runs a finger down Sirius’s back, holding it up to show the dirt gathered there. “There’s a difference between being careful and saving water and being able to grow a garden on you. I’d say you’re inching toward the latter, mate. Come back to my house and take a sponge bath at least before you start supporting other life forms.”
“I’m not letting your parents see me like this.”
After laughing at Sirius’s vanity for a few minutes, Remus relents. “All right, I’ll get you into the house tonight without seeing them.”
So that night, they sneak up the back stairs into the washroom so Sirius can scrub himself down hastily with soap and washcloth. Remus was right, of course. It feels amazing to wash his hair again and scrub his neck and back from the layer of grime coating them. Sirius rinses quickly and looks at himself in the mirror, wiping the condensation back to make room for his reflection. Flipping his hair back over his eye, he grins cockily at himself. He looks good and he knows it. Remus is keeping watch outside, and when Sirius takes too long he taps on the door and snorts. “Gorgeous enough to come out yet, or do you need to prettify yourself longer? I swear my mum is faster than you.”
“I don’t need to prettify myself, thank you.” Sirius gives his bangs a quick finger-comb and then he’s ready to join Remus. They crowd together on Remus’s bed, nibbling crackers and marmite, leaving crumbs all over the bed that will make Remus’s mother swear the house will be overrun by vermin. They leave a glass of water by the side of the bed and see how much it drops over night, measuring the heat of that night by the water lost.
Quietly is the rule for everything, for they don’t want Remus’s parents to hear voices, to distinguish two sets of feet, two laughs in the dark. Whispering in the dark, mouth against ear, limbs overlapping, hands entwined is an environment made for secrets, for sharing what you never meant to share with another person.
Finally Remus says what he’s been thinking for some time. “It would be more sensible to go to James’s house, you know. You don’t need to be hot and miserable here day after day.”
“It’s hot there too,” Sirius says stubbornly.
“You’d be more comfortable there. And I could come visit-it’s not like we’d never see each other.”
“It wouldn’t be the same. James would be around all the time and then Peter would come to visit, and do you really think your dad would let you get away that much?”
Remus is quiet for a long time, turning onto his side away from Sirius. Several times he gives a sharp little inhale, as if he is beginning to say something, but he doesn’t follow through. “I don’t want you to stay here and make yourself miserable just for me though.”
“I’m staying here because I want to stay here. It’s never a hardship for me to be with you. You know that, don’t you?”
Remus sighs. “I suppose. I mean, sometimes I do-most of the time. But I forget.”
“And that’s why I’m here to remind you-in case you need it.” Sirius kisses Remus’s spine, as if a kiss for each vertebrae will cement the knowledge in his mind that he is wanted, that he will not be abandoned, forgotten.
Title: Drought
Author: Pandaimonia
Word Count: 959
This is a continuation of the storyline from the previous ficlets Arson and Strays, though it can be read independently.
The local stream under the culvert has slowed down to a muddy trickle. It was a good place for Padfoot to hide, with the shade of the culvert and water for him to drink. Now the water is warm and brackish and the ground is dry and cracking. The whole world seems thirsty-even the birds droop with the heat and don’t bother to sing.
Padfoot’s black coat is oppressive in this weather and now it’s dirty and matted from rolling around in the dust. He crouches there hour after hour, panting and gazing listlessly into space, hoping for a breeze to bring new scents his way. Come afternoon, his ears prick up and his nostrils twitch, ready for a scent of Remus. Remus comes from his house, bearing popsicles or something cool and fruity to drink, maybe a sandwich already getting soggy in the heat. By the time he reaches the drainage ditch, his hair is already collecting beads of sweat and Padfoot’s tail is thwacking with anticipation.
Remus joins Padfoot-turned-Sirius by the edge of the water and they sit silently side by side, their feet drifting in the deepest pool of the stream. There is a drought of words between them, as if it requires too much energy to talk and the heat has bleached the life from them. Yet it is good to have company, good to have a limp sandwich in one hand and Remus’s hand in the other. Kissing with dry, chapped lips stained artificial cherry red is not exactly a substitute for words, but it works. Up close, Sirius examines the freckles that are becoming denser on Remus’s face each hot, bright week of summer; he runs sun-bleached ends of hair though his fingers, inhales Remus’s warm, slightly musty boy-breath.
They lie on their backs in the dirt, searching for a cloud in the sky to point at and name, to beg for a little rain, a little moisture. Day after day, the sky is empty and so blue it hurts to look at it. When they sit up, their backs are dirty with streaks of sweat running down them. “You need a bath,” Remus says. “You haven’t bathed for days, and it shows.”
“I thought we were supposed to conserve water, eh?”
Remus runs a finger down Sirius’s back, holding it up to show the dirt gathered there. “There’s a difference between being careful and saving water and being able to grow a garden on you. I’d say you’re inching toward the latter, mate. Come back to my house and take a sponge bath at least before you start supporting other life forms.”
“I’m not letting your parents see me like this.”
After laughing at Sirius’s vanity for a few minutes, Remus relents. “All right, I’ll get you into the house tonight without seeing them.”
So that night, they sneak up the back stairs into the washroom so Sirius can scrub himself down hastily with soap and washcloth. Remus was right, of course. It feels amazing to wash his hair again and scrub his neck and back from the layer of grime coating them. Sirius rinses quickly and looks at himself in the mirror, wiping the condensation back to make room for his reflection. Flipping his hair back over his eye, he grins cockily at himself. He looks good and he knows it. Remus is keeping watch outside, and when Sirius takes too long he taps on the door and snorts. “Gorgeous enough to come out yet, or do you need to prettify yourself longer? I swear my mum is faster than you.”
“I don’t need to prettify myself, thank you.” Sirius gives his bangs a quick finger-comb and then he’s ready to join Remus. They crowd together on Remus’s bed, nibbling crackers and marmite, leaving crumbs all over the bed that will make Remus’s mother swear the house will be overrun by vermin. They leave a glass of water by the side of the bed and see how much it drops over night, measuring the heat of that night by the water lost.
Quietly is the rule for everything, for they don’t want Remus’s parents to hear voices, to distinguish two sets of feet, two laughs in the dark. Whispering in the dark, mouth against ear, limbs overlapping, hands entwined is an environment made for secrets, for sharing what you never meant to share with another person.
Finally Remus says what he’s been thinking for some time. “It would be more sensible to go to James’s house, you know. You don’t need to be hot and miserable here day after day.”
“It’s hot there too,” Sirius says stubbornly.
“You’d be more comfortable there. And I could come visit-it’s not like we’d never see each other.”
“It wouldn’t be the same. James would be around all the time and then Peter would come to visit, and do you really think your dad would let you get away that much?”
Remus is quiet for a long time, turning onto his side away from Sirius. Several times he gives a sharp little inhale, as if he is beginning to say something, but he doesn’t follow through. “I don’t want you to stay here and make yourself miserable just for me though.”
“I’m staying here because I want to stay here. It’s never a hardship for me to be with you. You know that, don’t you?”
Remus sighs. “I suppose. I mean, sometimes I do-most of the time. But I forget.”
“And that’s why I’m here to remind you-in case you need it.” Sirius kisses Remus’s spine, as if a kiss for each vertebrae will cement the knowledge in his mind that he is wanted, that he will not be abandoned, forgotten.