Bonus fic: King of Carrot Flowers, for brighty18
Title: King of Carrot Flowers
Author: a_merry_chase
Recipient: brighty18
Rating: R
Highlight for Warnings: *implied domestic fighting and alcoholism*
Word Count: approx. 1220
Summary: Home is not always a place.
Author's notes: For brighty18's first prompt of King of Carrot Flowers, Part 1, by Neutral Milk Hotel. So much of what I have in my head is pure imagery that it's nearly impossible to put into words, but this captures some of what I was wanting to get across. Enjoy! :)
Huge hugs to K and A for being amazing, as always.
The argument between his parents in the other room had reached the point where Remus could no longer ignore Sirius ignoring them.
“Come on,” he said, grabbing Sirius’ arm and hauling him up the stairs.
“I thought your parents got along.” Sirius was still looking over his shoulder as Remus pulled him into his bedroom and shut the door.
“Yeah, well, it’s Christmas. Christmas means presents, presents cost money. Can’t have presents without spending money, won’t have money if you spend if all on presents.” Remus rattled off this piece of logic while shoving everything on his bed off of it. “I told them I didn’t care. I should have known better, really, because then they both started in on me.”
“Guess that explains why you were so glad when I showed up.”
Remus turned around, his mouth caught painfully between a smile and a grimace. His hands went to the hem of his jumper, stripping it upwards over his head. He was already anticipating the look of confusion he would find on Sirius' face once he emerged. Remus returned his gaze steadily.
"Moony?"
“Lock the door.”
***
“What should we plant in the garden, Remus?” his mother asked. The house was new, or rather, they were new to the house. Money was tight, and the garden more necessary than his mother would admit.
“Carrots!” Remus replied, excited. He loved carrots. His mother had charmed rabbits across the walls of his room, chasing each other through a field of wildflowers. Violets, daisies, cowslip, meadowsweet, wild carrot. Carrots didn't have flowers, he told his mother, who laughed and tried to explain. In the end, she charmed carrot plants in as well, to give the rabbits proper food to eat.
The pictures faded over the years, along with the house, the furniture, and his mother, but Remus pretended not to notice.
***
The room was cold, as cold as the rest of the house, but neither boy cared, too intent on the feel of skin against bared skin to notice anything else. Their shirts were a memory, their trousers open and pushed down past hipbones as Sirius pressed Remus into the threadbare sheets. He felt the scratch of woollen blanket under one elbow, the scratch of Remus’ fingernails down his back, the scratch of stubbled upper lip as he shifted his mouth, fighting for control of their kiss. He briefly thought of all the grand plans he’d made, all the places more fitting for what they were doing and what they were about to do, and let them go. Moony was his, finally his, and if this taking and surrendering was going to happen in Moony’s dingy room, with Moony’s idiot parents screaming at each other the day after Christmas, then so be it.
His hips dug down, hard, wringing a cry from Remus. Sirius thought he might drown in that noise.
***
“Eat your dinner, Remus,” his mother pleaded, holding a fork to his mouth.
He turned his head away, still too young to understand how he could be hungry and sick to his stomach all at the same time. “Don’t want it,” he whined.
“One bite? Please? You have to keep your strength up.” Her voice shook, and, guilt-stricken, Remus accepted the mouthful of food. “That’s it.” She smoothed the hair from his forehead. “What will the rabbits think if you don’t eat your carrots?” she asked, looking from his bruised face to the walls. Her chin trembled.
“They can have mine if they want,” Remus said. His mother choked on a laugh that sounded far too much like a sob.
***
“Ah, Pads...I...” Remus sucked in air until he thought his lungs would burst, needing that pressure in his chest to counteract the pressure of Sirius slowly pushing inside him. He could no longer hear his parents, could hear nothing beyond the drumbeat pounding of blood in his ears and the low groan that ripped its way from Sirius’ throat.
“Christ, Moony, breathe,” Sirius gasped, staring down, his face frozen into a beautiful mask of tension.
Remus thrust his hips up and watched the mask shatter.
***
“Why didn’t Mum plant a garden this year?” Remus asked. His third year at Hogwarts over, he’d arrived home eager to see how things were growing.
Remus’ father looked up at his son from where he sat at the kitchen table, his eyes tired. “We weren’t sure until just a couple of weeks ago that we’d be able to stay here.”
“Why wouldn’t we be able to stay?” Remus fought back a frown, trying to feign a calm he didn't feel.
“There’s no need to go into that now. We’re staying. It’ll just be a bit of a lean summer, without the garden. We’ll get by.”
Remus, who hadn’t even thought until that moment that there might be reasons for the vegetable garden beyond the simple pleasure of fresh food, nodded. He’d been upset over the barren patch of ground outside the back door where the garden should have been, but that disappointment was a small, whimpering thing compared to the look in his father’s eyes. He recognised its significance only after finding his mother in the living room, listless and silent in her chair, a bottle of sherry on the side table and an empty glass slipping from her fingers.
***
The faded flowers on the walls were the first things to swim back into focus. Sirius squinted at them, wondering why Remus would keep something so much better suited to a young child in his room. “What are those?” he pointed a finger, trembling with the effort.
Underneath him, Remus languidly turned his head to see. “Which ones?” he asked, his voice as heavy and sated as their bodies felt.
“All of them.”
Remus told him the names his mother had told him. It seemed so long ago. He didn’t want to think about his mother, not now.
“I like this room,” Sirius said, his smile sweetly drowsy as he let his head droop back down onto Remus’ chest. He groped out a hand, blindly pulling the blanket over them both.
“Why? It’s rubbish.”
“''S yours,” Sirius mumbled. His breath, the faintest tickle against Remus’ skin, evened out in sleep.
From the floor below came the smash of glass and more yelling. Sirius didn't even twitch, a testament to either their exertions or his familiarity with the sort of scene playing itself out downstairs. Remus shifted, pulling him closer.
The room was rubbish, Remus told himself, even if the boy in his arms seemed perfectly comfortable there, and even if Remus credited Sirius with being so lovestruck as to think that Remus’ presence alone transfigured it. He'd rather listen to the voice that whispered how much more his room felt like home with Sirius there.
Sleep tugged at him. It was an interesting idea. Maybe, Remus thought as his eyes drifted closed, maybe home wasn't necessarily defined by location. Maybe home was more who, not where. Maybe that was something his parents had forgotten. Maybe that was something he needed to remember. Maybe, he thought, unaware of being swept up into the curiously illogical logic of dreams, maybe if Sirius were his home, neither of them would ever lack for carrots.
Author: a_merry_chase
Recipient: brighty18
Rating: R
Highlight for Warnings: *implied domestic fighting and alcoholism*
Word Count: approx. 1220
Summary: Home is not always a place.
Author's notes: For brighty18's first prompt of King of Carrot Flowers, Part 1, by Neutral Milk Hotel. So much of what I have in my head is pure imagery that it's nearly impossible to put into words, but this captures some of what I was wanting to get across. Enjoy! :)
Huge hugs to K and A for being amazing, as always.
The argument between his parents in the other room had reached the point where Remus could no longer ignore Sirius ignoring them.
“Come on,” he said, grabbing Sirius’ arm and hauling him up the stairs.
“I thought your parents got along.” Sirius was still looking over his shoulder as Remus pulled him into his bedroom and shut the door.
“Yeah, well, it’s Christmas. Christmas means presents, presents cost money. Can’t have presents without spending money, won’t have money if you spend if all on presents.” Remus rattled off this piece of logic while shoving everything on his bed off of it. “I told them I didn’t care. I should have known better, really, because then they both started in on me.”
“Guess that explains why you were so glad when I showed up.”
Remus turned around, his mouth caught painfully between a smile and a grimace. His hands went to the hem of his jumper, stripping it upwards over his head. He was already anticipating the look of confusion he would find on Sirius' face once he emerged. Remus returned his gaze steadily.
"Moony?"
“Lock the door.”
***
“What should we plant in the garden, Remus?” his mother asked. The house was new, or rather, they were new to the house. Money was tight, and the garden more necessary than his mother would admit.
“Carrots!” Remus replied, excited. He loved carrots. His mother had charmed rabbits across the walls of his room, chasing each other through a field of wildflowers. Violets, daisies, cowslip, meadowsweet, wild carrot. Carrots didn't have flowers, he told his mother, who laughed and tried to explain. In the end, she charmed carrot plants in as well, to give the rabbits proper food to eat.
The pictures faded over the years, along with the house, the furniture, and his mother, but Remus pretended not to notice.
***
The room was cold, as cold as the rest of the house, but neither boy cared, too intent on the feel of skin against bared skin to notice anything else. Their shirts were a memory, their trousers open and pushed down past hipbones as Sirius pressed Remus into the threadbare sheets. He felt the scratch of woollen blanket under one elbow, the scratch of Remus’ fingernails down his back, the scratch of stubbled upper lip as he shifted his mouth, fighting for control of their kiss. He briefly thought of all the grand plans he’d made, all the places more fitting for what they were doing and what they were about to do, and let them go. Moony was his, finally his, and if this taking and surrendering was going to happen in Moony’s dingy room, with Moony’s idiot parents screaming at each other the day after Christmas, then so be it.
His hips dug down, hard, wringing a cry from Remus. Sirius thought he might drown in that noise.
***
“Eat your dinner, Remus,” his mother pleaded, holding a fork to his mouth.
He turned his head away, still too young to understand how he could be hungry and sick to his stomach all at the same time. “Don’t want it,” he whined.
“One bite? Please? You have to keep your strength up.” Her voice shook, and, guilt-stricken, Remus accepted the mouthful of food. “That’s it.” She smoothed the hair from his forehead. “What will the rabbits think if you don’t eat your carrots?” she asked, looking from his bruised face to the walls. Her chin trembled.
“They can have mine if they want,” Remus said. His mother choked on a laugh that sounded far too much like a sob.
***
“Ah, Pads...I...” Remus sucked in air until he thought his lungs would burst, needing that pressure in his chest to counteract the pressure of Sirius slowly pushing inside him. He could no longer hear his parents, could hear nothing beyond the drumbeat pounding of blood in his ears and the low groan that ripped its way from Sirius’ throat.
“Christ, Moony, breathe,” Sirius gasped, staring down, his face frozen into a beautiful mask of tension.
Remus thrust his hips up and watched the mask shatter.
***
“Why didn’t Mum plant a garden this year?” Remus asked. His third year at Hogwarts over, he’d arrived home eager to see how things were growing.
Remus’ father looked up at his son from where he sat at the kitchen table, his eyes tired. “We weren’t sure until just a couple of weeks ago that we’d be able to stay here.”
“Why wouldn’t we be able to stay?” Remus fought back a frown, trying to feign a calm he didn't feel.
“There’s no need to go into that now. We’re staying. It’ll just be a bit of a lean summer, without the garden. We’ll get by.”
Remus, who hadn’t even thought until that moment that there might be reasons for the vegetable garden beyond the simple pleasure of fresh food, nodded. He’d been upset over the barren patch of ground outside the back door where the garden should have been, but that disappointment was a small, whimpering thing compared to the look in his father’s eyes. He recognised its significance only after finding his mother in the living room, listless and silent in her chair, a bottle of sherry on the side table and an empty glass slipping from her fingers.
***
The faded flowers on the walls were the first things to swim back into focus. Sirius squinted at them, wondering why Remus would keep something so much better suited to a young child in his room. “What are those?” he pointed a finger, trembling with the effort.
Underneath him, Remus languidly turned his head to see. “Which ones?” he asked, his voice as heavy and sated as their bodies felt.
“All of them.”
Remus told him the names his mother had told him. It seemed so long ago. He didn’t want to think about his mother, not now.
“I like this room,” Sirius said, his smile sweetly drowsy as he let his head droop back down onto Remus’ chest. He groped out a hand, blindly pulling the blanket over them both.
“Why? It’s rubbish.”
“''S yours,” Sirius mumbled. His breath, the faintest tickle against Remus’ skin, evened out in sleep.
From the floor below came the smash of glass and more yelling. Sirius didn't even twitch, a testament to either their exertions or his familiarity with the sort of scene playing itself out downstairs. Remus shifted, pulling him closer.
The room was rubbish, Remus told himself, even if the boy in his arms seemed perfectly comfortable there, and even if Remus credited Sirius with being so lovestruck as to think that Remus’ presence alone transfigured it. He'd rather listen to the voice that whispered how much more his room felt like home with Sirius there.
Sleep tugged at him. It was an interesting idea. Maybe, Remus thought as his eyes drifted closed, maybe home wasn't necessarily defined by location. Maybe home was more who, not where. Maybe that was something his parents had forgotten. Maybe that was something he needed to remember. Maybe, he thought, unaware of being swept up into the curiously illogical logic of dreams, maybe if Sirius were his home, neither of them would ever lack for carrots.