FIC: Harry Potter
TITLE: Forgotten
CHARACTERS: Remus/Sirius
RATING: R for boysex
POSTED IN: 30minutefics
Author's Notes: Written for 30minutefics like, eons ago. I am not a R/S shipper, this was for a certain person to whom I am no longer in contact with, sadly (very sadly). I have been searching all over for this, because I rather liked it, even though I'm not into teh slash or theirloveissocanon (cause it's so not). I find it a bit ironic that I'd searched everywhere for this thing and didn't even remember what the title was...which was part of what made it so hard to find...and the title was Forgotten. Huh.
In the years that passed, he’d forgotten. It was easier that way, really. Easier than holding on to the memories. Sirius was in Azkaban now, would be there for life, and Remus found that forgetting was the only way he could make the pain go away. So he forgot. He forgot sunlit days, laughing carelessly as they ran down the streets of Hogsmeade. He forgot hours spent by the lake, kissing and touching. He forgot dark nights, where the only sound was the persistent call of thunder and the low moans from his lover’s throat. He forgot all that.
He forgot the soft skin sliding against his scarred body, the rise of hips in response to gentle touches, the mouth that tasted of butterbeer and cocoa and something else, something uniquely Sirius. Salty tastes of love, pulsing and gasping, he forgot that. He forgot what it was like to cradle the softest parts in his hands, forgot that the feeling of it was like a tiny baby bird, forgot how the best way was to stroke that skin gently as his mouth pulled and swirled over Sirius’ hardness. What he got in return was forgotten, too, being filled over and over, hearing his name spoken in reverent tones, the shudder as they came together in the most unlikely of places. Those places were all forgotten--the alleyway behind Honeyduke’s, the four-poster bed with heavy drapes and silencing charms, the kitchen counter of the flat they shared.
It was all forgotten, and he was numb. He liked it that way, it meant nobody could affect him, that he would never feel the pain of loss again. And then it happened. The dead came back to life, and Remus stood face to face, toe to toe with the one person in his life who had ever truly mattered. Remus felt strong arms around his shoulders, arms he had long since forgotten. Later, after the Time Turner, after Buckbeak, after his resignation, he stood face to face with Sirius again, and Sirius cupped his face gently and whispered familiar words, words that cut to his core. The words sounded vaguely familiar, but he didn’t recall hearing them said in quite this manner. The lips that met his, too, seemed like a ghost of the past. A past he’d forgotten.
And he let Sirius kiss him, slide his shirt over thin, bony shoulders, fumble with his belt buckle. He let those once soft hands, now toughened and frail, explore his skin, creep slowly down until they wrapped around his arousal. He gave in to the sensations, new after all those years. His body surrendered to familiar patterns--hands stroking a body now thinner than his own, lips seeking out with fierce hunger a mouth not touched in twelve years. Long fingers cradled the baby-bird softness as he dropped to his knees, even as his mind pitched and twisted. How is it that he should remember this, when he’d spent so many hours forgetting it? Why is it that he would return so easily to a world a decade past? His mind told him he shouldn’t remember this, that it was no longer stored in the vault of his memories. It was no longer a part of the picture-book of his life.
But his body had never forgotten.
CHARACTERS: Remus/Sirius
RATING: R for boysex
POSTED IN: 30minutefics
Author's Notes: Written for 30minutefics like, eons ago. I am not a R/S shipper, this was for a certain person to whom I am no longer in contact with, sadly (very sadly). I have been searching all over for this, because I rather liked it, even though I'm not into teh slash or theirloveissocanon (cause it's so not). I find it a bit ironic that I'd searched everywhere for this thing and didn't even remember what the title was...which was part of what made it so hard to find...and the title was Forgotten. Huh.
In the years that passed, he’d forgotten. It was easier that way, really. Easier than holding on to the memories. Sirius was in Azkaban now, would be there for life, and Remus found that forgetting was the only way he could make the pain go away. So he forgot. He forgot sunlit days, laughing carelessly as they ran down the streets of Hogsmeade. He forgot hours spent by the lake, kissing and touching. He forgot dark nights, where the only sound was the persistent call of thunder and the low moans from his lover’s throat. He forgot all that.
He forgot the soft skin sliding against his scarred body, the rise of hips in response to gentle touches, the mouth that tasted of butterbeer and cocoa and something else, something uniquely Sirius. Salty tastes of love, pulsing and gasping, he forgot that. He forgot what it was like to cradle the softest parts in his hands, forgot that the feeling of it was like a tiny baby bird, forgot how the best way was to stroke that skin gently as his mouth pulled and swirled over Sirius’ hardness. What he got in return was forgotten, too, being filled over and over, hearing his name spoken in reverent tones, the shudder as they came together in the most unlikely of places. Those places were all forgotten--the alleyway behind Honeyduke’s, the four-poster bed with heavy drapes and silencing charms, the kitchen counter of the flat they shared.
It was all forgotten, and he was numb. He liked it that way, it meant nobody could affect him, that he would never feel the pain of loss again. And then it happened. The dead came back to life, and Remus stood face to face, toe to toe with the one person in his life who had ever truly mattered. Remus felt strong arms around his shoulders, arms he had long since forgotten. Later, after the Time Turner, after Buckbeak, after his resignation, he stood face to face with Sirius again, and Sirius cupped his face gently and whispered familiar words, words that cut to his core. The words sounded vaguely familiar, but he didn’t recall hearing them said in quite this manner. The lips that met his, too, seemed like a ghost of the past. A past he’d forgotten.
And he let Sirius kiss him, slide his shirt over thin, bony shoulders, fumble with his belt buckle. He let those once soft hands, now toughened and frail, explore his skin, creep slowly down until they wrapped around his arousal. He gave in to the sensations, new after all those years. His body surrendered to familiar patterns--hands stroking a body now thinner than his own, lips seeking out with fierce hunger a mouth not touched in twelve years. Long fingers cradled the baby-bird softness as he dropped to his knees, even as his mind pitched and twisted. How is it that he should remember this, when he’d spent so many hours forgetting it? Why is it that he would return so easily to a world a decade past? His mind told him he shouldn’t remember this, that it was no longer stored in the vault of his memories. It was no longer a part of the picture-book of his life.
But his body had never forgotten.