Fic - >2
Title - >2
Author -
joely_jo
Rating - Hm, probably R, though I’m quite liberal-minded.
Characters - Remus/Tonks
Prompt - 10, Awake
Summary - A decision is made.
Author’s Notes - This is basically a stand-alone story, although it does in fact carry on from where my fic Home Soon left off. However, it is not really necessary to have read that fic beforehand, only to know that Remus has returned to Tonks having been away and they are together once again in Coniston.
Through the sunken lead-glass of the old cottage’s window, rain washed their bodies in shadows of rivulets. Remus watched the patterns stream down the white sheet she had thrown haphazardly over her body, under the milky skin of her arm.
It looked like they were bathed in tears.
He could feel her breath tickling his cheek, her face so close they were barely apart. Her eyes, her hazel eyes, were closed now, but her hand was touching his in the valley of the mattress between them. His leg lay in silhouette to hers.
He was overdressed in comparison to her near nakedness; his thick corduroys juxtaposed with the transparent skin of her exposed calf; his coarse jumper a counterpoint to her fragile arms. He could smell her - that rich, feminine scent of jasmine and honey, musk and sweet baby powder. It was a perfume he had not smelt in what seemed like a lifetime, all the more intoxicating for its rarity. He sought it out, moving his face towards the white rose of her neck.
He kissed her. Her mouth was pliant beneath his lips, like silk under cream, warm and liquid. A hand gripped his waist, then, and pressed down, pushing him into the mattress. An ancient spring squeaked. Thunder burbled dangerously in the distance, growing to a crescendo, and a similar sound crept from her throat in a humming moan. He pulled back, to look into her face and see her.
“Dora…” His voice was croaky and not his own. He paused and closed his eyes against his inability to express himself. When he opened them again, she was watching him. “I missed you,” he settled on finally.
She seemed pleased with his words, for she leaned forward and feathered her lips along his again. “I know.”
Her fingers ran down his cheek, then she lifted the sheet away. She was almost naked beneath it, just a thin, white vest draping the rising curve of her hip to the dip of her waist and caressing the soft fullness of her breast. A dark nipple showing through the fabric drew him. She was alabaster. Coffee and rich, rich cream. Pearl beneath pale water. The rain gave her water-coloured tiger stripes and he thought how apt, how perfectly fitting, that he could compare her to such a noble creature.
He touched her with his eyes, then his hands. The ball of her shoulder, the hard edge of her collarbone, the tattoo of her pulse beneath his fingertips; his lips travelled along the same path, trailing up to the jut of her proud chin, then over her mouth. She welcomed him, and their tongues twined together. His hand fell to her breast and he cupped it.
They were picking up speed, their time apart falling away from them like pages from a broken book. The weariness that had clung to him like cobwebs slipped free and tension released itself from his bones. He murmured something unintelligible and she responded in kind, the language of touch and breath replacing the need for real words.
Without pausing to confirm her ascension, Remus eased her t-shirt from her, pulling it up over her head, then did the same with his own shirt and jumper. In the temporary blindness the movement wrought, he felt her leg brush against his calf, the smoothness of her skin quickening his blood. The t-shirt gone, she encased him in her embrace, cocoon-like, and he opened to her, mouth tasting of tea and relief.
For three long, long weeks he had imagined the texture of her lips, dreamt of the dizzying sensation of her touch, as harsh Irish rain beat down on him and the wetness seemed to permeate his very existence. There had been no den, no hideout, no Death Eaters at all, just hours of dampness and faces that were not hers. He’d tried - oh Merlin he had tried - with closed eyes to envision her standing before him in his lonely hotel room, come to save him from his tedium, but she had never been there when he’d opened them.
And now he luxuriated. Like a cat in a shaft of sunlight he stretched himself over her, nuzzling into the tender skin of her neck, breathing her in like he could draw her through his pores. His hands continued to play over her skin. What joy it was to be home again!
His hand slipped down the front of her body, over her stomach and between her thighs. For a moment she seemed to open to him, then she froze and a tight sound squeaked from her lungs. He stopped and looked down at her, easing himself away from her a little. “What’s the matter?” he asked.
“I’m sorry… I…” Her voice trailed away and she shook her head. “I want to but I…”
Worry stabbed him and he reached up to caress her cheek, concerned that he had somehow hurt her. “Dora, what is it?”
“We’re missing something,” she said, her voice sounding like a riddle wrapped within an enigma. He was not entirely sure he knew what she meant. He met her passion-darkened eyes and saw a glimmer of something there… something unnameable. Tears glazed them.
His hand reached up to push the lick of hair that had crept forward back behind her ear. “I don’t understand,” he murmured.
She looked up at the ceiling and he followed her line of sight. There was a watermark on the grey woodchip, he noticed, yellow and ugly. “You… me…” She huffed out a breath. “Us. What are we but the sum of our parts? What do we intend to do when that sum doesn’t quite add up?”
He frowned at her cryptic words, unable to decipher immediately what she was getting at, but then it struck him and he felt the wind suck out of him. “Dora… you know… I…” he stumbled. “You know what I think about it.”
Her head flopped over and she stared at him, spread out with total emotional baldness. “I want a baby with you.”
Remus’s sigh spewed out like air from a punctured balloon. A frown crinkled his brow. Long moments passed in silence. “I’m afraid…” he admitted eventually.
“Of what?”
“Of this. Of… of what might be if…” His voice trailed away and he felt a thousand pins stick into him, voodoo-style.
She stared at him. “Why?”
He rolled out of her grasp and lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling and the foul-coloured watermark. It was the colour of a bruise, green and yellow and brown, the colour of the potion she took every morning. He sighed, “I’m afraid that if we do this, if we make a baby, it’ll be a monster.”
Tonks reached over. She placed her hand atop his heart and his eyes flickered towards her, then back to the watermark. Her hand rose and fell as he breathed in and out. “I don’t want us to be afraid of something like that,” she said quietly.
“But what if…” he began, then sighed and closed his eyes. “What if he’s like me? What would we do then?”
The duvet crinkled and the bed creaked and Tonks eased herself alongside him. “Even if it were possible… would you love him or her any less if it was the case? Would I?”
Eyes met eyes and Remus felt something stir inside him, something powerful and all-consuming. He rolled to face her. “No…” he murmured.
She smiled and it was like the dawn. “Then there’s nothing to worry about.”
And with that, she leaned into him and kissed him. He nodded, one hand coming to rest on the curve that tracked between her hip and waist. She sucked in her stomach as he reached for her again, fingers questing, feeling his own body begin to quicken once again. She shifted and his hands came up to frame her face. “Dora…” he murmured. “Oh, Dora…”
He shed his remaining clothes and rolled atop her, his hands on her body, gentle touches, strokes, like a harpist with a golden instrument. She was right, he thought, as he eased himself inside her, and waited: they were more than just the two of them. They had more to give, and he knew that, while the road ahead could never be described as straight and even, it was at least now clear.
The rain outside played an accompaniment to them, then, and he lost himself in her softness and touch and breath. When the tension peaked, he forced himself to look at her - her face was smiling, even with her eyes pressed tight shut against the pleasure. She moaned and her hands pressed into his back, pushing him down and down.
And with a shiver and a sigh, he came, and the wheels of something greater than two span into motion.
The End.
Author -
joely_jo
Rating - Hm, probably R, though I’m quite liberal-minded.
Characters - Remus/Tonks
Prompt - 10, Awake
Summary - A decision is made.
Author’s Notes - This is basically a stand-alone story, although it does in fact carry on from where my fic Home Soon left off. However, it is not really necessary to have read that fic beforehand, only to know that Remus has returned to Tonks having been away and they are together once again in Coniston.
Through the sunken lead-glass of the old cottage’s window, rain washed their bodies in shadows of rivulets. Remus watched the patterns stream down the white sheet she had thrown haphazardly over her body, under the milky skin of her arm.
It looked like they were bathed in tears.
He could feel her breath tickling his cheek, her face so close they were barely apart. Her eyes, her hazel eyes, were closed now, but her hand was touching his in the valley of the mattress between them. His leg lay in silhouette to hers.
He was overdressed in comparison to her near nakedness; his thick corduroys juxtaposed with the transparent skin of her exposed calf; his coarse jumper a counterpoint to her fragile arms. He could smell her - that rich, feminine scent of jasmine and honey, musk and sweet baby powder. It was a perfume he had not smelt in what seemed like a lifetime, all the more intoxicating for its rarity. He sought it out, moving his face towards the white rose of her neck.
He kissed her. Her mouth was pliant beneath his lips, like silk under cream, warm and liquid. A hand gripped his waist, then, and pressed down, pushing him into the mattress. An ancient spring squeaked. Thunder burbled dangerously in the distance, growing to a crescendo, and a similar sound crept from her throat in a humming moan. He pulled back, to look into her face and see her.
“Dora…” His voice was croaky and not his own. He paused and closed his eyes against his inability to express himself. When he opened them again, she was watching him. “I missed you,” he settled on finally.
She seemed pleased with his words, for she leaned forward and feathered her lips along his again. “I know.”
Her fingers ran down his cheek, then she lifted the sheet away. She was almost naked beneath it, just a thin, white vest draping the rising curve of her hip to the dip of her waist and caressing the soft fullness of her breast. A dark nipple showing through the fabric drew him. She was alabaster. Coffee and rich, rich cream. Pearl beneath pale water. The rain gave her water-coloured tiger stripes and he thought how apt, how perfectly fitting, that he could compare her to such a noble creature.
He touched her with his eyes, then his hands. The ball of her shoulder, the hard edge of her collarbone, the tattoo of her pulse beneath his fingertips; his lips travelled along the same path, trailing up to the jut of her proud chin, then over her mouth. She welcomed him, and their tongues twined together. His hand fell to her breast and he cupped it.
They were picking up speed, their time apart falling away from them like pages from a broken book. The weariness that had clung to him like cobwebs slipped free and tension released itself from his bones. He murmured something unintelligible and she responded in kind, the language of touch and breath replacing the need for real words.
Without pausing to confirm her ascension, Remus eased her t-shirt from her, pulling it up over her head, then did the same with his own shirt and jumper. In the temporary blindness the movement wrought, he felt her leg brush against his calf, the smoothness of her skin quickening his blood. The t-shirt gone, she encased him in her embrace, cocoon-like, and he opened to her, mouth tasting of tea and relief.
For three long, long weeks he had imagined the texture of her lips, dreamt of the dizzying sensation of her touch, as harsh Irish rain beat down on him and the wetness seemed to permeate his very existence. There had been no den, no hideout, no Death Eaters at all, just hours of dampness and faces that were not hers. He’d tried - oh Merlin he had tried - with closed eyes to envision her standing before him in his lonely hotel room, come to save him from his tedium, but she had never been there when he’d opened them.
And now he luxuriated. Like a cat in a shaft of sunlight he stretched himself over her, nuzzling into the tender skin of her neck, breathing her in like he could draw her through his pores. His hands continued to play over her skin. What joy it was to be home again!
His hand slipped down the front of her body, over her stomach and between her thighs. For a moment she seemed to open to him, then she froze and a tight sound squeaked from her lungs. He stopped and looked down at her, easing himself away from her a little. “What’s the matter?” he asked.
“I’m sorry… I…” Her voice trailed away and she shook her head. “I want to but I…”
Worry stabbed him and he reached up to caress her cheek, concerned that he had somehow hurt her. “Dora, what is it?”
“We’re missing something,” she said, her voice sounding like a riddle wrapped within an enigma. He was not entirely sure he knew what she meant. He met her passion-darkened eyes and saw a glimmer of something there… something unnameable. Tears glazed them.
His hand reached up to push the lick of hair that had crept forward back behind her ear. “I don’t understand,” he murmured.
She looked up at the ceiling and he followed her line of sight. There was a watermark on the grey woodchip, he noticed, yellow and ugly. “You… me…” She huffed out a breath. “Us. What are we but the sum of our parts? What do we intend to do when that sum doesn’t quite add up?”
He frowned at her cryptic words, unable to decipher immediately what she was getting at, but then it struck him and he felt the wind suck out of him. “Dora… you know… I…” he stumbled. “You know what I think about it.”
Her head flopped over and she stared at him, spread out with total emotional baldness. “I want a baby with you.”
Remus’s sigh spewed out like air from a punctured balloon. A frown crinkled his brow. Long moments passed in silence. “I’m afraid…” he admitted eventually.
“Of what?”
“Of this. Of… of what might be if…” His voice trailed away and he felt a thousand pins stick into him, voodoo-style.
She stared at him. “Why?”
He rolled out of her grasp and lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling and the foul-coloured watermark. It was the colour of a bruise, green and yellow and brown, the colour of the potion she took every morning. He sighed, “I’m afraid that if we do this, if we make a baby, it’ll be a monster.”
Tonks reached over. She placed her hand atop his heart and his eyes flickered towards her, then back to the watermark. Her hand rose and fell as he breathed in and out. “I don’t want us to be afraid of something like that,” she said quietly.
“But what if…” he began, then sighed and closed his eyes. “What if he’s like me? What would we do then?”
The duvet crinkled and the bed creaked and Tonks eased herself alongside him. “Even if it were possible… would you love him or her any less if it was the case? Would I?”
Eyes met eyes and Remus felt something stir inside him, something powerful and all-consuming. He rolled to face her. “No…” he murmured.
She smiled and it was like the dawn. “Then there’s nothing to worry about.”
And with that, she leaned into him and kissed him. He nodded, one hand coming to rest on the curve that tracked between her hip and waist. She sucked in her stomach as he reached for her again, fingers questing, feeling his own body begin to quicken once again. She shifted and his hands came up to frame her face. “Dora…” he murmured. “Oh, Dora…”
He shed his remaining clothes and rolled atop her, his hands on her body, gentle touches, strokes, like a harpist with a golden instrument. She was right, he thought, as he eased himself inside her, and waited: they were more than just the two of them. They had more to give, and he knew that, while the road ahead could never be described as straight and even, it was at least now clear.
The rain outside played an accompaniment to them, then, and he lost himself in her softness and touch and breath. When the tension peaked, he forced himself to look at her - her face was smiling, even with her eyes pressed tight shut against the pleasure. She moaned and her hands pressed into his back, pushing him down and down.
And with a shiver and a sigh, he came, and the wheels of something greater than two span into motion.
The End.