Into This Breathing World Scarce Half Made Up (blanketforts Day 13)
Title: Into This Breathing World Scarce Half Made Up
Rating: PG for language.
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm just borrowing them because I like them.
Wordcount: 1376
Prompt: It snowed and snowed, the whole world over, Snow swept the world from end to end. A candle burned on the table; A candle burned.
~ Boris Pasternak, Doctor Zhivago
Notes: I go for a three day moon. In January 1979 that's the 11th to the 13th. Remus, after the moon. Sheer fluff. Title from Richard III
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13
The first thing he was aware of was candlelight. He could see it through his eyelids, a flickering, orange blur.
His shoulder hurt.
“Don’t move.” That was Sirius, his voice muted but still intense.
“Wasn’t planning to,” Remus managed. “What happened?”
“Snow,” Sirius said. “We lost you for a bit, up towards Drumglas.” Remus felt a warm hand on his bare shoulder, pressing him back down. “Nothing happened. We caught you before you got near the road. Had to take a lump out your shoulder, though.”
Remus subsided. “No one was hurt?”
“No one was hurt. Except you.”
“We should stop doing this. It isn’t safe. It isn’t worth-”
Sirius’ hand slid up from his shoulder and pressed on his lips. “Hush, you.”
Remus tried to keep protesting but all he could feel was the brush of his lips against the warm weight of Sirius’ palm. He could hear Sirius breathing, slow and steady, and feel the pulse in the heel of his hand and beating in his thumb, pressed against Remus’ cheekbone. He stopped talking, and let his lips rest against Sirius’ palm. He could taste the warm tang of sweat, the sourness of snow and a faint heaviness that had to be oil.
“Patching you up again, eh?” Sirius moved his hand away, cupping Remus’ face.
“Told you you should have been a healer.”
Sirius snorted. “Don’t like ill people.”
“Don’t know how you put up with me, then.”
“You’re you, you prat.”
Remus opened his eyes. Sirius was kneeling beside the bed, regarding him solemnly. His eyes were dark in the gloom, and the candlelight reflected off his hair, in red highlights. Behind him the candle flickered on the mantelpiece. A dim, cold light crept through the window, signifying snow.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hello,” Remus said and couldn’t keep from smiling. “Where’s Prongs and Wormtail?” Had he hurt them?
“Prongs twisted his ankle,” Sirius said, his fingers tightening. “Pete took him to Lily’s. Stop worrying. He’s probably getting the shag of his life right now.”
Lucky James. Remus blinked and tried to remember what he was going to say.
“Go back to sleep,” Sirius said gently. “It’s Saturday. We can stay here all day.”
“When’s the moon?”
“Sunset’s four-twenty. The moon rises at five. They’ll be back at four. You’ve got six hours to rest.”
“Okay. You staying?”
Sirius rolled his eyes. “Of course I’m staying.” He shoved to his feet, shaking his hair back. “Warm enough?”
“Yeah.” He was freezing. He could feel his toes cramping.
“Liar.” Sirius bent over him again, pulling the blanket up firmly. “I’ll run down into Hogsmeade and get more blankets later.”
“I don’t need more blankets.”
“Tough. I want more blankets.” Sirius crossed the room, and Remus let himself watch. Didn’t he ache from the chase? Didn’t his muscles burn with weariness? How did he manage to be so graceful all the time?
He should argue about the blankets. He really should but he was tired and everything seemed to be right for once and he didn’t want to fight with Sirius.
Sirius set a tripod over the candle and then busied himself with a beaker and vial of something green and viscous.
“What’s that?”
“Pain potion. I’m just warming it up - tastes like piss when it’s cold.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Shut up, Moony.”
Remus subsided into his pillows. Sirius was talking to him again, without a snarl in every sentence. That was something, he supposed. Perhaps, he should give up again and be satisfied with the warmth of this friendship. All love had its boundaries and if theirs was to be confined to shared laughter and quiet, careful mornings, so be it. Even if he never found anyone he wanted like he wanted Sirius, he would survive. Celibacy wasn’t so bad. Lots of his heroes had been celibate. William of Ockham, Bede, Asser, Merlin. Well, there had been that thing with Nimue and nobody really knew about Bede, did they? Anyway.
The problem was, he thought, that he still wasn’t convinced that Sirius would prefer that. It was all very well to be celibate if the person you wanted to be uncelibate with didn’t want to be uncelibate with you but if they were, for peculiar reasons of their own, actually unwilling to be celibate and pretending otherwise, then everything changed.
“Ow.”
Sirius turned, lithe and worried. “What hurts?”
“Nothing. Just giving myself a headache.”
“Prat.”
“S’all your fault, anyway.”
“Yeah, yeah. Blame the dog. Bet you kick puppies, too.”
“Only if their initials are S. B. and they deserve it.”
Sirius grinned and walked back over, cradling the beaker. “You’re waking up.”
“Am I?”
“Yup. It’s obvious.” Sirius set the tea beside the bed and slid an arm around Remus’ shoulders. “Come on. Sit up.”
Remus let Sirius move him and then settled back against Sirius’ warm shoulder. Much better than the pillows. “Why’s it obvious?”
“Here. Drink this.” Sirius curved his hands around the beaker and then chuckled in his ear. “You go through several stages when you wake up. Stage one - you panic. Where am I, Padfoot? Did I eat anyone’s pet bunny? Did I strip naked in the Great Hall in my sleep? Did I snore? Drink.”
Remus eyed the beaker unhappily. It smelt and there were strange, sludgy things floating in it. “What is it?”
“Pain potion. I made it so it’s okay. It’s not like I let Wormtail loose with a cauldron.”
Remus sipped it. It was foul. “I’m not thirsty. I don’t panic.”
“I’m not making tea until you drink it.”
“You brought tea?”
“Because I am a genius. Right, stage two - you get grumpy. Evil little git, you are, in the mornings.”
Remus gulped down the potion, trying not to taste it. “I am not grumpy.”
“I didn’t say bitchy. I could have said bitchy.”
“Fuck off, Pads.” There were bits in the bottom. He closed his eyes and tipped the beaker back.
“See. Stage three is bossy.”
The throb in his shoulder was already fading. He dropped the beaker to the floor and murmured, “Not bossy.”
“You work out exactly what you think you should be doing for the whole day. You plan things. You make timetables. Padfoot, get out of my way. I’m due to cut my toast in half at eight-oh-two precisely and your antics with the jam are disturbing my schedule.”
“Your antics with jam are always disturbing.” He wanted to go back to sleep. He shouldn’t. He should let Sirius out first.
“And then, finally, you wake up and turn into a proper Moony.”
“Does it work backwards? ‘Cause I’m going back to sleep. I am.”
“Are you?”
“Mmm. You should move.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Okay. Thanks for the potion.”
“My pleasure. Hang on. I’m just going to move a bit so you’re not squashing my arm.”
He moved Remus gently but he still winced as his shoulder flared into pain again. Then he was settled against Sirius’ chest, cradled by his legs.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No. Not much. Doesn’t matter.” He pressed his cheek against Sirius’ collar, though he knew the seam would leave a mark.
“It always matters.”
“Better now. How long have I got?”
“Ages.”
“How long have I got?” He could feel the pull of the moon in his blood.
“Five and a half hours.”
He sighed and Sirius folded his arms around him, murmuring, “Don’t think about it.”
“Can’t help it.” Then, because it was only Sirius, and he didn’t have to as brave in front as him as he did with James and Peter, he added, “I don’t want to.”
“I know.”
“I hate it.”
“I know.”
“It’s not okay. It never is.”
“I know.” Sirius was rubbing circles on his belly, through the blanket. “If I could cure it, I would. I’d do anything.”
“I know,” Remus said, smiling a little at the echo. “Don’t deserve you.”
“Deserve better,” Sirius said and his hand stopped.
“That’s crap. I really am going to sleep.”
“I noticed.”
“You should move.”
“Don’t want to.” Sirius tugged the blanket up again. “Go to sleep, Remus. I’ve got you.”
“I know,” Remus murmured and burrowed against Sirius’ neck. “Don’t go.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good.”
And Remus slept.
Rating: PG for language.
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm just borrowing them because I like them.
Wordcount: 1376
Prompt: It snowed and snowed, the whole world over, Snow swept the world from end to end. A candle burned on the table; A candle burned.
~ Boris Pasternak, Doctor Zhivago
Notes: I go for a three day moon. In January 1979 that's the 11th to the 13th. Remus, after the moon. Sheer fluff. Title from Richard III
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13
The first thing he was aware of was candlelight. He could see it through his eyelids, a flickering, orange blur.
His shoulder hurt.
“Don’t move.” That was Sirius, his voice muted but still intense.
“Wasn’t planning to,” Remus managed. “What happened?”
“Snow,” Sirius said. “We lost you for a bit, up towards Drumglas.” Remus felt a warm hand on his bare shoulder, pressing him back down. “Nothing happened. We caught you before you got near the road. Had to take a lump out your shoulder, though.”
Remus subsided. “No one was hurt?”
“No one was hurt. Except you.”
“We should stop doing this. It isn’t safe. It isn’t worth-”
Sirius’ hand slid up from his shoulder and pressed on his lips. “Hush, you.”
Remus tried to keep protesting but all he could feel was the brush of his lips against the warm weight of Sirius’ palm. He could hear Sirius breathing, slow and steady, and feel the pulse in the heel of his hand and beating in his thumb, pressed against Remus’ cheekbone. He stopped talking, and let his lips rest against Sirius’ palm. He could taste the warm tang of sweat, the sourness of snow and a faint heaviness that had to be oil.
“Patching you up again, eh?” Sirius moved his hand away, cupping Remus’ face.
“Told you you should have been a healer.”
Sirius snorted. “Don’t like ill people.”
“Don’t know how you put up with me, then.”
“You’re you, you prat.”
Remus opened his eyes. Sirius was kneeling beside the bed, regarding him solemnly. His eyes were dark in the gloom, and the candlelight reflected off his hair, in red highlights. Behind him the candle flickered on the mantelpiece. A dim, cold light crept through the window, signifying snow.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hello,” Remus said and couldn’t keep from smiling. “Where’s Prongs and Wormtail?” Had he hurt them?
“Prongs twisted his ankle,” Sirius said, his fingers tightening. “Pete took him to Lily’s. Stop worrying. He’s probably getting the shag of his life right now.”
Lucky James. Remus blinked and tried to remember what he was going to say.
“Go back to sleep,” Sirius said gently. “It’s Saturday. We can stay here all day.”
“When’s the moon?”
“Sunset’s four-twenty. The moon rises at five. They’ll be back at four. You’ve got six hours to rest.”
“Okay. You staying?”
Sirius rolled his eyes. “Of course I’m staying.” He shoved to his feet, shaking his hair back. “Warm enough?”
“Yeah.” He was freezing. He could feel his toes cramping.
“Liar.” Sirius bent over him again, pulling the blanket up firmly. “I’ll run down into Hogsmeade and get more blankets later.”
“I don’t need more blankets.”
“Tough. I want more blankets.” Sirius crossed the room, and Remus let himself watch. Didn’t he ache from the chase? Didn’t his muscles burn with weariness? How did he manage to be so graceful all the time?
He should argue about the blankets. He really should but he was tired and everything seemed to be right for once and he didn’t want to fight with Sirius.
Sirius set a tripod over the candle and then busied himself with a beaker and vial of something green and viscous.
“What’s that?”
“Pain potion. I’m just warming it up - tastes like piss when it’s cold.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Shut up, Moony.”
Remus subsided into his pillows. Sirius was talking to him again, without a snarl in every sentence. That was something, he supposed. Perhaps, he should give up again and be satisfied with the warmth of this friendship. All love had its boundaries and if theirs was to be confined to shared laughter and quiet, careful mornings, so be it. Even if he never found anyone he wanted like he wanted Sirius, he would survive. Celibacy wasn’t so bad. Lots of his heroes had been celibate. William of Ockham, Bede, Asser, Merlin. Well, there had been that thing with Nimue and nobody really knew about Bede, did they? Anyway.
The problem was, he thought, that he still wasn’t convinced that Sirius would prefer that. It was all very well to be celibate if the person you wanted to be uncelibate with didn’t want to be uncelibate with you but if they were, for peculiar reasons of their own, actually unwilling to be celibate and pretending otherwise, then everything changed.
“Ow.”
Sirius turned, lithe and worried. “What hurts?”
“Nothing. Just giving myself a headache.”
“Prat.”
“S’all your fault, anyway.”
“Yeah, yeah. Blame the dog. Bet you kick puppies, too.”
“Only if their initials are S. B. and they deserve it.”
Sirius grinned and walked back over, cradling the beaker. “You’re waking up.”
“Am I?”
“Yup. It’s obvious.” Sirius set the tea beside the bed and slid an arm around Remus’ shoulders. “Come on. Sit up.”
Remus let Sirius move him and then settled back against Sirius’ warm shoulder. Much better than the pillows. “Why’s it obvious?”
“Here. Drink this.” Sirius curved his hands around the beaker and then chuckled in his ear. “You go through several stages when you wake up. Stage one - you panic. Where am I, Padfoot? Did I eat anyone’s pet bunny? Did I strip naked in the Great Hall in my sleep? Did I snore? Drink.”
Remus eyed the beaker unhappily. It smelt and there were strange, sludgy things floating in it. “What is it?”
“Pain potion. I made it so it’s okay. It’s not like I let Wormtail loose with a cauldron.”
Remus sipped it. It was foul. “I’m not thirsty. I don’t panic.”
“I’m not making tea until you drink it.”
“You brought tea?”
“Because I am a genius. Right, stage two - you get grumpy. Evil little git, you are, in the mornings.”
Remus gulped down the potion, trying not to taste it. “I am not grumpy.”
“I didn’t say bitchy. I could have said bitchy.”
“Fuck off, Pads.” There were bits in the bottom. He closed his eyes and tipped the beaker back.
“See. Stage three is bossy.”
The throb in his shoulder was already fading. He dropped the beaker to the floor and murmured, “Not bossy.”
“You work out exactly what you think you should be doing for the whole day. You plan things. You make timetables. Padfoot, get out of my way. I’m due to cut my toast in half at eight-oh-two precisely and your antics with the jam are disturbing my schedule.”
“Your antics with jam are always disturbing.” He wanted to go back to sleep. He shouldn’t. He should let Sirius out first.
“And then, finally, you wake up and turn into a proper Moony.”
“Does it work backwards? ‘Cause I’m going back to sleep. I am.”
“Are you?”
“Mmm. You should move.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Okay. Thanks for the potion.”
“My pleasure. Hang on. I’m just going to move a bit so you’re not squashing my arm.”
He moved Remus gently but he still winced as his shoulder flared into pain again. Then he was settled against Sirius’ chest, cradled by his legs.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No. Not much. Doesn’t matter.” He pressed his cheek against Sirius’ collar, though he knew the seam would leave a mark.
“It always matters.”
“Better now. How long have I got?”
“Ages.”
“How long have I got?” He could feel the pull of the moon in his blood.
“Five and a half hours.”
He sighed and Sirius folded his arms around him, murmuring, “Don’t think about it.”
“Can’t help it.” Then, because it was only Sirius, and he didn’t have to as brave in front as him as he did with James and Peter, he added, “I don’t want to.”
“I know.”
“I hate it.”
“I know.”
“It’s not okay. It never is.”
“I know.” Sirius was rubbing circles on his belly, through the blanket. “If I could cure it, I would. I’d do anything.”
“I know,” Remus said, smiling a little at the echo. “Don’t deserve you.”
“Deserve better,” Sirius said and his hand stopped.
“That’s crap. I really am going to sleep.”
“I noticed.”
“You should move.”
“Don’t want to.” Sirius tugged the blanket up again. “Go to sleep, Remus. I’ve got you.”
“I know,” Remus murmured and burrowed against Sirius’ neck. “Don’t go.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good.”
And Remus slept.