fic - split infinities - prompt 4
Title: Split Infinities
Author: jadeddiva
Format & Word Count: Drabble, 328
Rating: PG-13ish?
Prompt: 4 - Damien Rice, “Delicate”
Warning: none
Summary: It’s an accident - at least, that’s what they say the first time, stumbling into a darkened room that might be a full of doxies or demons, for all they know.
Author's Note: I should be writing my thesis but it’s a monsoon out there. And it’s nice to get back into the swing of Remus/Tonks. Concrit is always welcome and encouraged, as I’m a bit rusty these days.
It’s an accident - at least, that’s what they say the first time, stumbling into a darkened room that might be a full of doxies or demons, for all they know. There are nervous hands (made bold by alcohol) that brush against hips and fingers fumbling with buttons, but in the end there is nothing but a brief respite from the wickedness that prowls outside the door.
She thinks too much of it, of course, even though she wants to think nothing but there’s a lingering doubt like the way his lips lingered against her throat about what exactly all this means in the grand scheme of the Order/their lives/etc. There’s a lingering glance over morning tea, and she is the one who looks away first.
It’s not surprising, then, that he kisses her first the second time round.
“It’s nothing,” he says, slipping his jumper back over his head. “It’s just the way - “
“I know about this sort of thing,” she says, zipping up her boots. She knows about it, of course but not like this, not like the need to forget everything and just to feel.
“Well,” he says, hands in his pockets and she wonders why of all the people in this place she’s stumbled into him, all angles and old cardigans and nervous laughs when he could be the long fingers and sinewy muscles she sees when she closes her eyes.
She says nothing, brushes past him on her way out and wonders when the next time will be, because it’s a forgone conclusion this will, inevitably, continue and she’s surprised to think she wants it too. But she knows they’ll have to be careful - they barely know each other, and this is delicate, but she wants this more than she knows even though she has no idea what this is.
She just thinks about what it could be, the infinite possibilities and separate trajectories, and it’s her that kisses him the next time.
Author: jadeddiva
Format & Word Count: Drabble, 328
Rating: PG-13ish?
Prompt: 4 - Damien Rice, “Delicate”
Warning: none
Summary: It’s an accident - at least, that’s what they say the first time, stumbling into a darkened room that might be a full of doxies or demons, for all they know.
Author's Note: I should be writing my thesis but it’s a monsoon out there. And it’s nice to get back into the swing of Remus/Tonks. Concrit is always welcome and encouraged, as I’m a bit rusty these days.
It’s an accident - at least, that’s what they say the first time, stumbling into a darkened room that might be a full of doxies or demons, for all they know. There are nervous hands (made bold by alcohol) that brush against hips and fingers fumbling with buttons, but in the end there is nothing but a brief respite from the wickedness that prowls outside the door.
She thinks too much of it, of course, even though she wants to think nothing but there’s a lingering doubt like the way his lips lingered against her throat about what exactly all this means in the grand scheme of the Order/their lives/etc. There’s a lingering glance over morning tea, and she is the one who looks away first.
It’s not surprising, then, that he kisses her first the second time round.
“It’s nothing,” he says, slipping his jumper back over his head. “It’s just the way - “
“I know about this sort of thing,” she says, zipping up her boots. She knows about it, of course but not like this, not like the need to forget everything and just to feel.
“Well,” he says, hands in his pockets and she wonders why of all the people in this place she’s stumbled into him, all angles and old cardigans and nervous laughs when he could be the long fingers and sinewy muscles she sees when she closes her eyes.
She says nothing, brushes past him on her way out and wonders when the next time will be, because it’s a forgone conclusion this will, inevitably, continue and she’s surprised to think she wants it too. But she knows they’ll have to be careful - they barely know each other, and this is delicate, but she wants this more than she knows even though she has no idea what this is.
She just thinks about what it could be, the infinite possibilities and separate trajectories, and it’s her that kisses him the next time.