Fic: Soon Love
Fic: Soon Love
Author: La (hostile_21)
Rating: PG
Length: 208 words
Summary: History/future imprinted on the skin.
AN: Infinite thanks to statelines and sheafrotherdon for picking this over with me (and to Cate, for goading me into posting here.) All for raelala in honor of her graduation. Yay Rae! More presents can be found at the_lint_trap.
X-posted: the_lint_trap, two_boys, remusxsirius (Overkill? Me?)
There are subtle lines on Remus's forehead, delicate, like maybe cobwebs or the creased spine of a book. Sirius likes to touch them while Remus is sleeping -- this is what they will be, this history imprinted on the skin, the curve of time in the lifeline on the palm of his hand (they used to snicker together at the crisp lithographs in their books: here is your heart, here is your head; your secrets are hidden in the furrows of your wrist and follow the swell-rise of the moon edges on your palms. Now Sirius takes secret pleasure in thinking this might be true, pressing his left hand flat against Remus's shifting belly and imagining an India ink imprint of whorls and curving spiderweb lines.) Silver-gray morning light settles in the bump-grooves of Remus's spine, and the slow shiver-crawl of Sirius's fingertips counting years: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight (soon nine, soon ten, soon eleven, soon after.) Remus shifts, legs loose-woven with Sirius's own, and Sirius rests his hand on the ragged-edge silver scar, and it gathers in the bend of his knuckles (first kiss, first night, first bed, first house, first family, together last) like circular plotted points interconnected by fine silk thread.
Author: La (hostile_21)
Rating: PG
Length: 208 words
Summary: History/future imprinted on the skin.
AN: Infinite thanks to statelines and sheafrotherdon for picking this over with me (and to Cate, for goading me into posting here.) All for raelala in honor of her graduation. Yay Rae! More presents can be found at the_lint_trap.
X-posted: the_lint_trap, two_boys, remusxsirius (Overkill? Me?)
There are subtle lines on Remus's forehead, delicate, like maybe cobwebs or the creased spine of a book. Sirius likes to touch them while Remus is sleeping -- this is what they will be, this history imprinted on the skin, the curve of time in the lifeline on the palm of his hand (they used to snicker together at the crisp lithographs in their books: here is your heart, here is your head; your secrets are hidden in the furrows of your wrist and follow the swell-rise of the moon edges on your palms. Now Sirius takes secret pleasure in thinking this might be true, pressing his left hand flat against Remus's shifting belly and imagining an India ink imprint of whorls and curving spiderweb lines.) Silver-gray morning light settles in the bump-grooves of Remus's spine, and the slow shiver-crawl of Sirius's fingertips counting years: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight (soon nine, soon ten, soon eleven, soon after.) Remus shifts, legs loose-woven with Sirius's own, and Sirius rests his hand on the ragged-edge silver scar, and it gathers in the bend of his knuckles (first kiss, first night, first bed, first house, first family, together last) like circular plotted points interconnected by fine silk thread.