fic: Dead Birds and Birthday Gifts
Remus Lupin doesn’t have a lot. Remus Lupin doesn’t even have a little. Remus Lupin has learned to live with patches and rips and food from a can and a small little house but he’s okay with that. He is content with his life. He doesn’t tend to care when people comment on his ragged attire. The only thing that really bothers Remus is when it comes to giving other people things.
His family is easy because they are all equally poor. Whatever he gives his mother will be just as drab and cheap as whatever she gives him, and whatever he gives his father will be the same.
When it comes to his friends, however, it’s a different story altogether. Christmas and birthdays are the bane of Remus’ existence. It isn’t as bad with Peter, who, while not exactly poor, isn’t the same type of rich as James or Sirius, and even if he were, Peter’s idea of a good gift is socks, and as long as he receives chocolate he tends to be happy.
Sirius and James are completely different stories. They have more money than anyone really needs, and even though they never flaunt this fact (James because he doesn’t like to rub it in other people’s faces and Sirius because ‘I’d rather be poor and happy than be rich with galleons tainted with pureblood hate and inbreeding.’ Remus never contradicts him even though he’s been on the poor side and he isn’t sure Sirius would take to it particularly well) their Christmas loot always gives them away. Solid gold chess sets and jackets with jewels for button (“this is goddamn hideous, I know my mother is an ignorant cunt but she can’t honestly expect me to wear this, can she? I bet Reg got something fucking useful, he always bloody does”) contrast sharply with the yellowed paged books Remus always unwraps, and he always tries to hide the hand knit clothes his mother sends. (Sirius, for his part, simply adores his mother’s sweaters and when Remus one time mentions this to her she promptly knits him one, which causes Remus more humiliation than he had ever before experienced and caused Sirius to grin and wear it every day for the next two weeks, until the three of them had started to complain of the smell and he put it to rest.)
Remus also hates unwrapping his friends’ gifts to him (with the sole exception of Peter’s annual gift of socks). James always gets him something extravagant that he will never put to use, and he flushes and thanks him and wonders what the fuck he’s supposed to do with the newest gadget. Sirius, on the other hand, has a ridiculous ability in which he always seems to know exactly what will make Remus happiest, so he’ll be holding the newest almanac or a first edition of a classic or a new cauldron (“knew you needed one, but I don’t really see the point, you’ll still suck at Potions”) and Remus will feel a terrible feeling of inadequacy in the pit of his stomach and Sirius’s eyes will sparkle and he’ll subtlety touch him in some way in order to say not a fucking word about the price, you’re worth it, you wretched beast and Remus will know that it’s useless to argue but he’ll try anyway.
“Sirius-”
“Shut the fuck up, you ungrateful wolf, I don’t want to hear it.”
Remus does as he’s told- shut’s the fuck up, that is- and thumbs through the pages of the new book (which, more often than not, it is) and refuses to meet his gaze for a few hours before Sirius drags him behind a tapestry to loosen him up.
Remus’ birthday in sixth year is a different affair, though, because this time Sirius is poor. He has been burned off the family tree, has had howlers sent to him in the mail, has gotten into fights with his brother in the hallways, and he can barely afford to say his entire name. No one makes that big a deal out of this, but as March rolls around Padfoot crawls into his bed anxiously and wakes him up by breathing dog breath in his face.
“Ugh Padfoot, that is disgusting, put your tongue in your mouth and turn back. Not that you smell much better as a boy, mind you.”
Padfoot shoves his cold, wet nose into Remus’ neck and the boy sighs and tangles his fingers in the dog’s fur. “What’s wrong?”
Padfoot shifts into Sirius, nose still in Remus’ neck, curled comfortably around him. His lips float over Remus’ skin.
“S’your birthday soon.”
“Did you come here to remind me?”
Sirius sighs. “No.”
“Then why, pray tell, did you wake me up when I was sleeping peacefully?”
Sirius’ nose is cold. He really is just a daft dog when you get down to it, too affectionate and playful and apparently unaware of the concept of personal space. “Don’t know what to get you.”
Remus, being Remus, is fully aware of what Sirius actually means when he says this, but it doesn’t stop him from saying, obliviously, “You don’t need to get me anything.”
Sirius’ angry exhale on his neck lets Remus know that he will have none of that. “S’not what I mean, don’t be thick.”
“Sirius, you could get me anything and I’d be happy.”
“What about a dead bird?”
“I said you could get me anything, not Padfoot.”
Sirius’s hand starts to trace circles on Remus’ stomach, hand creeping up his shirt. Sirius often told him he slept in too many clothes and it’s at times like this, when Sirius sneaks into his bed, when he can’t help but agree. Especially since Sirius is always perpetually naked, and this is no exception. Bare skin rubs against Remus’ shirt and with both of their boxer shorts there is far too much material separating them. Especially during times like these, when Sirius is vulnerable, which Remus knows he shouldn’t enjoy but he knows he is the only one who gets to see Sirius like this and his greed and his ego love that, and they take a hold of this boy who is pressing gentle kisses to Remus’ neck and absorb him, steal him away so no one else can experience him like this.
“I always loved shopping for you. I would imagine your face when you opened up your present and I would imagine that slow, sleepy smile that always crept across your face but I could never imagine it properly because it was always ten times more beautiful than my brain thought it was. And then I would imagine you later, when I got you alone, and how you would always smile every time you looked at me because you were just remembering what I got you and even though you would always tell me I spent too much on you and you weren’t worth it but you would clutch the goddamn present while you were saying that and I always wanted to try to take it away from you, to say you’re right, that’s too much and see if you would let me have it back.”
“That sentence was a paragraph, Pads.”
“Shut the fuck up, now is not the time to edit my sentences. I’m telling you that was my favourite thing to do, to watch you open up my present because I know you, Moony, and I know what you like and I guess maybe that means I love you, because I sure as shit don’t give a fuck what Prongs’ face looks like when he opens up his present I just want to know what he got me.
“And now I can’t do that because of my bitch mother and my stupid pureblood family and the fact that if I get within two feet of Reg I’m not allowed to breathe because I can’t afford to breathe in Black air anymore, that shit is precious, don’t you know Moony, and I was thinking, maybe I could make you something but then I nixed that idea because I’m not a fucking girl, I can’t make things, and don’t tell me that’s sexist because you know what I mean. So now I don’t know what to get you, although the dead bird idea is still on the table.”
Remus curls a strand of the other boy’s hair around his finger, biting his lip. This was quite a lot of information to process. Remus’ brain didn’t quite know what to do with it all.
“Sirius... quite frankly I think that was a pretty amazing present, as presents go.”
Sirius blinks at him adorably (oh god Remus Lupin did you just say adorable), clearly confused. “Sorry? Do you mean the dead bird because I was only joking-”
Remus snorts. “No, you idiot, I was not talking about the dead bird. I was talking about you crawling into my bed and spewing your guts, which you don’t tend to do very often. I was talking about your breath on my neck and your hand, which, by the way, started out much higher on my chest, you pervy asshole, and I was talking about the fact that you just told me you loved me, in an odd, very Sirius type way.”
Sirius blinks some more and then grins, laughs in a way that sounds suspiciously like a bark, and then shifts so he’s leaning over Remus, knees on either side of Remus’ hips. He snorts obnoxiously and then lowers his forehead, pushing it against Remus’, and then says, voice brimming over with laughter, “Only you, Remus Lupin.”
“Only me what?”
“Only you would be happy with words as a birthday present.”
Remus can’t help but laugh and Sirius kisses him quickly, steals the laughter from his mouth, presses down against him.
“Only your words,” he whispers very quietly into Sirius’s mouth, because he half doesn’t want him to hear because Sirius always makes fun of him when he says these things. But Sirius doesn’t say a thing, just kisses him some more, and then later, when sleepiness squeezes it’s way between them, he collapses to the side and folds himself around Remus.
“I’ll still get you something, though.”
“Just as long as it’s not a dead bird.”
His family is easy because they are all equally poor. Whatever he gives his mother will be just as drab and cheap as whatever she gives him, and whatever he gives his father will be the same.
When it comes to his friends, however, it’s a different story altogether. Christmas and birthdays are the bane of Remus’ existence. It isn’t as bad with Peter, who, while not exactly poor, isn’t the same type of rich as James or Sirius, and even if he were, Peter’s idea of a good gift is socks, and as long as he receives chocolate he tends to be happy.
Sirius and James are completely different stories. They have more money than anyone really needs, and even though they never flaunt this fact (James because he doesn’t like to rub it in other people’s faces and Sirius because ‘I’d rather be poor and happy than be rich with galleons tainted with pureblood hate and inbreeding.’ Remus never contradicts him even though he’s been on the poor side and he isn’t sure Sirius would take to it particularly well) their Christmas loot always gives them away. Solid gold chess sets and jackets with jewels for button (“this is goddamn hideous, I know my mother is an ignorant cunt but she can’t honestly expect me to wear this, can she? I bet Reg got something fucking useful, he always bloody does”) contrast sharply with the yellowed paged books Remus always unwraps, and he always tries to hide the hand knit clothes his mother sends. (Sirius, for his part, simply adores his mother’s sweaters and when Remus one time mentions this to her she promptly knits him one, which causes Remus more humiliation than he had ever before experienced and caused Sirius to grin and wear it every day for the next two weeks, until the three of them had started to complain of the smell and he put it to rest.)
Remus also hates unwrapping his friends’ gifts to him (with the sole exception of Peter’s annual gift of socks). James always gets him something extravagant that he will never put to use, and he flushes and thanks him and wonders what the fuck he’s supposed to do with the newest gadget. Sirius, on the other hand, has a ridiculous ability in which he always seems to know exactly what will make Remus happiest, so he’ll be holding the newest almanac or a first edition of a classic or a new cauldron (“knew you needed one, but I don’t really see the point, you’ll still suck at Potions”) and Remus will feel a terrible feeling of inadequacy in the pit of his stomach and Sirius’s eyes will sparkle and he’ll subtlety touch him in some way in order to say not a fucking word about the price, you’re worth it, you wretched beast and Remus will know that it’s useless to argue but he’ll try anyway.
“Sirius-”
“Shut the fuck up, you ungrateful wolf, I don’t want to hear it.”
Remus does as he’s told- shut’s the fuck up, that is- and thumbs through the pages of the new book (which, more often than not, it is) and refuses to meet his gaze for a few hours before Sirius drags him behind a tapestry to loosen him up.
Remus’ birthday in sixth year is a different affair, though, because this time Sirius is poor. He has been burned off the family tree, has had howlers sent to him in the mail, has gotten into fights with his brother in the hallways, and he can barely afford to say his entire name. No one makes that big a deal out of this, but as March rolls around Padfoot crawls into his bed anxiously and wakes him up by breathing dog breath in his face.
“Ugh Padfoot, that is disgusting, put your tongue in your mouth and turn back. Not that you smell much better as a boy, mind you.”
Padfoot shoves his cold, wet nose into Remus’ neck and the boy sighs and tangles his fingers in the dog’s fur. “What’s wrong?”
Padfoot shifts into Sirius, nose still in Remus’ neck, curled comfortably around him. His lips float over Remus’ skin.
“S’your birthday soon.”
“Did you come here to remind me?”
Sirius sighs. “No.”
“Then why, pray tell, did you wake me up when I was sleeping peacefully?”
Sirius’ nose is cold. He really is just a daft dog when you get down to it, too affectionate and playful and apparently unaware of the concept of personal space. “Don’t know what to get you.”
Remus, being Remus, is fully aware of what Sirius actually means when he says this, but it doesn’t stop him from saying, obliviously, “You don’t need to get me anything.”
Sirius’ angry exhale on his neck lets Remus know that he will have none of that. “S’not what I mean, don’t be thick.”
“Sirius, you could get me anything and I’d be happy.”
“What about a dead bird?”
“I said you could get me anything, not Padfoot.”
Sirius’s hand starts to trace circles on Remus’ stomach, hand creeping up his shirt. Sirius often told him he slept in too many clothes and it’s at times like this, when Sirius sneaks into his bed, when he can’t help but agree. Especially since Sirius is always perpetually naked, and this is no exception. Bare skin rubs against Remus’ shirt and with both of their boxer shorts there is far too much material separating them. Especially during times like these, when Sirius is vulnerable, which Remus knows he shouldn’t enjoy but he knows he is the only one who gets to see Sirius like this and his greed and his ego love that, and they take a hold of this boy who is pressing gentle kisses to Remus’ neck and absorb him, steal him away so no one else can experience him like this.
“I always loved shopping for you. I would imagine your face when you opened up your present and I would imagine that slow, sleepy smile that always crept across your face but I could never imagine it properly because it was always ten times more beautiful than my brain thought it was. And then I would imagine you later, when I got you alone, and how you would always smile every time you looked at me because you were just remembering what I got you and even though you would always tell me I spent too much on you and you weren’t worth it but you would clutch the goddamn present while you were saying that and I always wanted to try to take it away from you, to say you’re right, that’s too much and see if you would let me have it back.”
“That sentence was a paragraph, Pads.”
“Shut the fuck up, now is not the time to edit my sentences. I’m telling you that was my favourite thing to do, to watch you open up my present because I know you, Moony, and I know what you like and I guess maybe that means I love you, because I sure as shit don’t give a fuck what Prongs’ face looks like when he opens up his present I just want to know what he got me.
“And now I can’t do that because of my bitch mother and my stupid pureblood family and the fact that if I get within two feet of Reg I’m not allowed to breathe because I can’t afford to breathe in Black air anymore, that shit is precious, don’t you know Moony, and I was thinking, maybe I could make you something but then I nixed that idea because I’m not a fucking girl, I can’t make things, and don’t tell me that’s sexist because you know what I mean. So now I don’t know what to get you, although the dead bird idea is still on the table.”
Remus curls a strand of the other boy’s hair around his finger, biting his lip. This was quite a lot of information to process. Remus’ brain didn’t quite know what to do with it all.
“Sirius... quite frankly I think that was a pretty amazing present, as presents go.”
Sirius blinks at him adorably (oh god Remus Lupin did you just say adorable), clearly confused. “Sorry? Do you mean the dead bird because I was only joking-”
Remus snorts. “No, you idiot, I was not talking about the dead bird. I was talking about you crawling into my bed and spewing your guts, which you don’t tend to do very often. I was talking about your breath on my neck and your hand, which, by the way, started out much higher on my chest, you pervy asshole, and I was talking about the fact that you just told me you loved me, in an odd, very Sirius type way.”
Sirius blinks some more and then grins, laughs in a way that sounds suspiciously like a bark, and then shifts so he’s leaning over Remus, knees on either side of Remus’ hips. He snorts obnoxiously and then lowers his forehead, pushing it against Remus’, and then says, voice brimming over with laughter, “Only you, Remus Lupin.”
“Only me what?”
“Only you would be happy with words as a birthday present.”
Remus can’t help but laugh and Sirius kisses him quickly, steals the laughter from his mouth, presses down against him.
“Only your words,” he whispers very quietly into Sirius’s mouth, because he half doesn’t want him to hear because Sirius always makes fun of him when he says these things. But Sirius doesn’t say a thing, just kisses him some more, and then later, when sleepiness squeezes it’s way between them, he collapses to the side and folds himself around Remus.
“I’ll still get you something, though.”
“Just as long as it’s not a dead bird.”