companion piece to The Drowned Phoenician Sailor
Title: Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks
By: Venilia
HP, R/S, AU, NC-17
Description: Remus wants to tell Sirius about how he never dreams about anyone else.
companion piece to The Drowned Phoenician Sailor.
Notes: Remember the doctor prescribing glasses, flicking the lenses up and down on the machine you're looking through? "A... or B?" he asks. "Here's A... and this is B."
Well, this is B.
Remus decides that he absolutely must tell Sirius, tell him that he’s working for the Order, that last week he brought a clan of twelve vampires to, if not their side, at least reject Voldemort. Tell him about how he lies awake at night in whatever backroom or stable or, once, a fire escape, he’s managed to bargain for himself in whatever gods-forsaken country Dumbledore and the Order have sent him to, and dreams about walking with Sirius out in the sunlight, about playing with Padfoot in autumn leaves, about tea and about Sirius’ long legs wrapping about his waist as he pushes in slow, slow, gloriously slow, so good, Sirius, so good.
Remus wants to tell Sirius about how he never dreams about anyone else.
But they are so tired, so very tired when he finally sees Sirius (stumbling in at eight o’clock at night, Another attack. Didn’t catch anyone. Fuck, I’m so tired, Moony) later that week and it is all he can do not to fall asleep before they reach their couch, which is softer and cleaner and even just flatter than anything he has slept on in the past sixteen days and most of all, oh! most of all, it has Sirius who smells like wet dog and motor oil and firewhisky and hunger (Remus makes a mental note to feed his lover, but later, later, after they’ve slept at least ten hours) and perfume. And he’ll also get up both the energy and the courage to ask about that because he could almost stand it (except, not really at all) if Sirius was cheating on him with another man, but that it should be a woman (who apparently has either particularly bad taste or no olfactory nerves whatsoever) might just kill him, kill them, kill whatever’s left of them. But later, later, later. Because it feels so very good to have Sirius’ weight sprawled out on top of him on their stupid, lumpy, blessedly soft, eyesore of a couch and Dementors couldn’t shake his happiness right now.
Remus dreams of Sirius lying on him, holding him, kissing him, and when he opens his eyes he finds that at least the first one is true. He tries to wake his lover out of a deep sleep with a kiss and gets, Mmm? Moony? Z’that you? Lemme sleep lil longer, m’k? followed by a yawn and a half hearted grope (somewhere in the vicinity of his belly button) and, Feels nice. Nice couch. Nice Moony, and Sirius is drooling a little puddle on his shoulder and Remus wants to tell Sirius everything, right now, but perhaps just a bit more sleep.
For a while Remus doesn’t dream at all, and then he’s dreaming that there’s a very horny Sirius on top of him, hips rolling gently but persistently against his and mouth mumbling dirty, beautiful things like, Mooooony. Oh Moony! I know you’re not sleeping, not with that boner in your trousers, and, Feels good against mine, doesn’t it? Bet it would feel even better without the trousers, and then there is a shifting of positions just slightly and Remus knows that he is not dreaming, not at all. Dreams couldn’t be so lovely and wouldn’t mumble, Mmmm, yeah, spread your legs. You want me, don’t you? Want me to fuck you hard and deep until you can feel my come half way up your spine, until you smell like me for days, until I’m so deep inside you that I can’t find my way out, into his neck while nipping right there, right on that spot that only Sirius knows about, and, Oh Circe’s tits! but that feels (right, unbelievably right) wonderful, like dying or maybe like living or maybe like being raised from the dead. And there’s more rearranging and Remus rolls off their make-shift bed to end up on his knees, bracing himself on his elbows on the cushions of their gods-ugly (orange and brown striped and natty like an old blanket) couch and he barely even notices because there’s a spell and enough cold gel to lubricate a cactus but (Yes! Oh gods, just, just get -) no real preparation and then Sirius is (Oh God! Oh God! S-Sirius! Ah!) inside him and thrusting harder than ever before and it’s more painful and perfect than anything Remus has ever felt in his whole life.
There’s no food in the flat (or at least nothing that they are hungry enough to risk) and Remus thinks, Now or never, and convinces Sirius to walk down to the market place with him. (Forget the ice box for now. It can’t possibly get any worse, anyway.)
They walk the five blocks to the market place and Sirius tucks his hands into the pockets of his leather coat while Remus nibbles on a stale biscuit they found in the cupboard, and when Sirius starts humming Remus takes a deep breath and steels himself and, No, Moony. No! eyes half-wild, desperate and pleading, I know that look, and I don’t care why, you can’t leave again. Not now. Not if I -, and, Sirius. Stop, he interrupts, I’m not…I just wanted to tell you, and then it starts to spill out, haltingly at first, and by the time they reach the market street Sirius’ entire attention is on Remus and his shoulders have relaxed in a way that made him look less dangerous, younger. At the creamery (butter, cream, milk, and a tub of chocolate ice cream) Remus tells about how Dumbledore recruited him, and said words like, invaluable, and, with your unique position, and, need, and, sacrifice and how Remus had looked at the old wizard’s face and seen, for the first time, how he could have his place in the war, how he, Remus Lupin, werewolf, could fight.
The deli (cheese, a chicken, sausages) and (Have you ever been to Romania? I’ve never met more suspicious, superstitious people in my life. I swear if I never see another strand of garlic bulbs,) he’s telling Sirius all about Vampire clans and their intricacies, about wild werewolf packs, and the time he was actually shot at with silver bullets, (Nicked my arm, here. Gave me a fever for four days. Had a time of it when I got home trying to keep you from finding out,) and by the time they reach the produce stands (oranges and apples and potatoes and broccoli, which Sirius hates, and carrots) he’s spilled out far more information than Sirius ever needed to know, information which could probably get Sirius killed (later he’ll ask if he can Obliviate parts of his stories) but the dam has burst and he still hasn’t managed to explain enough. Sirius needs to know.
It’s not until he’s choosing eggs (No, that one has a crack right there,) that he starts confessing the important things, things like, I had to kill another werewolf, once. It - there wasn’t any other choice. Fuck, Padfoot, I’ve never - I had to say the curse twice because I didn’t do it properly the first time, (Sirius remembers this, That was the night you wouldn’t touch me when you can home, wasn’t it?) and others, and then he comes to, There was this boy in Spain, dark eyes, prettiest skin - like a girl’s - and gods, Sirius, but I wanted… It’s just, I was so alone, (not meeting Sirius’ eyes because he can’t stand how utterly silent he’s gone, how still,) and I’m pretty sure he was offering a blowjob, but I turned it down -- Gods! I actually turned it down. You would not believe how hard I was -- because, I mean, I wanted to say yes but (hand on his wrist, squeezing hard. He doesn’t think Sirius has noticed.) but Padfoot, what I really wanted was you. But that was better than this girl in, oh, somewhere in Asia. Can’t even remember where, rightly. Poor thing thought I was her prince, come to rescue her, (and there’s a small grin, because Remus has always preferred boys. Sirius looks relieved.) She started stripping in the middle of, but here, in front of the bakery (bread, biscuits) Sirius stops his flow by kissing him. Just a quick little smack on the cheek, but it says, I forgive you, and, I understand, and Thank you for telling me, and everything Remus needed to hear, but what Sirius actually says is, Moony, you’re a wanker, which is even better because it means, I love you.
They forget to buy porridge and they’ll probably run out of tea tomorrow, but that doesn’t matter because what happens is that they go home and make love (not slowly, but almost tenderly) against their kitchen door (didn’t even make it to the couch this time) and then afterwards Sirius serves toast which they eat on the floor next to the ice box and Sirius whispers in his ear, I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I’ve been so worried and Peter said, and, and gods, Merlin but I love you, Remus, and Remus pets his hair like he’s Padfoot while Sirius buries his face in against his neck, and maybe he cries, but then, maybe Remus cries too, so neither of them will mention anything in the morning, when they have their toast and eggs and what’s left of the tea and squabble over the Daily Prophet and hold hands like they’ll lose each other if they let go, like they finally found each other, across the kitchen table.
By: Venilia
HP, R/S, AU, NC-17
Description: Remus wants to tell Sirius about how he never dreams about anyone else.
companion piece to The Drowned Phoenician Sailor.
Notes: Remember the doctor prescribing glasses, flicking the lenses up and down on the machine you're looking through? "A... or B?" he asks. "Here's A... and this is B."
Well, this is B.
Remus decides that he absolutely must tell Sirius, tell him that he’s working for the Order, that last week he brought a clan of twelve vampires to, if not their side, at least reject Voldemort. Tell him about how he lies awake at night in whatever backroom or stable or, once, a fire escape, he’s managed to bargain for himself in whatever gods-forsaken country Dumbledore and the Order have sent him to, and dreams about walking with Sirius out in the sunlight, about playing with Padfoot in autumn leaves, about tea and about Sirius’ long legs wrapping about his waist as he pushes in slow, slow, gloriously slow, so good, Sirius, so good.
Remus wants to tell Sirius about how he never dreams about anyone else.
But they are so tired, so very tired when he finally sees Sirius (stumbling in at eight o’clock at night, Another attack. Didn’t catch anyone. Fuck, I’m so tired, Moony) later that week and it is all he can do not to fall asleep before they reach their couch, which is softer and cleaner and even just flatter than anything he has slept on in the past sixteen days and most of all, oh! most of all, it has Sirius who smells like wet dog and motor oil and firewhisky and hunger (Remus makes a mental note to feed his lover, but later, later, after they’ve slept at least ten hours) and perfume. And he’ll also get up both the energy and the courage to ask about that because he could almost stand it (except, not really at all) if Sirius was cheating on him with another man, but that it should be a woman (who apparently has either particularly bad taste or no olfactory nerves whatsoever) might just kill him, kill them, kill whatever’s left of them. But later, later, later. Because it feels so very good to have Sirius’ weight sprawled out on top of him on their stupid, lumpy, blessedly soft, eyesore of a couch and Dementors couldn’t shake his happiness right now.
Remus dreams of Sirius lying on him, holding him, kissing him, and when he opens his eyes he finds that at least the first one is true. He tries to wake his lover out of a deep sleep with a kiss and gets, Mmm? Moony? Z’that you? Lemme sleep lil longer, m’k? followed by a yawn and a half hearted grope (somewhere in the vicinity of his belly button) and, Feels nice. Nice couch. Nice Moony, and Sirius is drooling a little puddle on his shoulder and Remus wants to tell Sirius everything, right now, but perhaps just a bit more sleep.
For a while Remus doesn’t dream at all, and then he’s dreaming that there’s a very horny Sirius on top of him, hips rolling gently but persistently against his and mouth mumbling dirty, beautiful things like, Mooooony. Oh Moony! I know you’re not sleeping, not with that boner in your trousers, and, Feels good against mine, doesn’t it? Bet it would feel even better without the trousers, and then there is a shifting of positions just slightly and Remus knows that he is not dreaming, not at all. Dreams couldn’t be so lovely and wouldn’t mumble, Mmmm, yeah, spread your legs. You want me, don’t you? Want me to fuck you hard and deep until you can feel my come half way up your spine, until you smell like me for days, until I’m so deep inside you that I can’t find my way out, into his neck while nipping right there, right on that spot that only Sirius knows about, and, Oh Circe’s tits! but that feels (right, unbelievably right) wonderful, like dying or maybe like living or maybe like being raised from the dead. And there’s more rearranging and Remus rolls off their make-shift bed to end up on his knees, bracing himself on his elbows on the cushions of their gods-ugly (orange and brown striped and natty like an old blanket) couch and he barely even notices because there’s a spell and enough cold gel to lubricate a cactus but (Yes! Oh gods, just, just get -) no real preparation and then Sirius is (Oh God! Oh God! S-Sirius! Ah!) inside him and thrusting harder than ever before and it’s more painful and perfect than anything Remus has ever felt in his whole life.
There’s no food in the flat (or at least nothing that they are hungry enough to risk) and Remus thinks, Now or never, and convinces Sirius to walk down to the market place with him. (Forget the ice box for now. It can’t possibly get any worse, anyway.)
They walk the five blocks to the market place and Sirius tucks his hands into the pockets of his leather coat while Remus nibbles on a stale biscuit they found in the cupboard, and when Sirius starts humming Remus takes a deep breath and steels himself and, No, Moony. No! eyes half-wild, desperate and pleading, I know that look, and I don’t care why, you can’t leave again. Not now. Not if I -, and, Sirius. Stop, he interrupts, I’m not…I just wanted to tell you, and then it starts to spill out, haltingly at first, and by the time they reach the market street Sirius’ entire attention is on Remus and his shoulders have relaxed in a way that made him look less dangerous, younger. At the creamery (butter, cream, milk, and a tub of chocolate ice cream) Remus tells about how Dumbledore recruited him, and said words like, invaluable, and, with your unique position, and, need, and, sacrifice and how Remus had looked at the old wizard’s face and seen, for the first time, how he could have his place in the war, how he, Remus Lupin, werewolf, could fight.
The deli (cheese, a chicken, sausages) and (Have you ever been to Romania? I’ve never met more suspicious, superstitious people in my life. I swear if I never see another strand of garlic bulbs,) he’s telling Sirius all about Vampire clans and their intricacies, about wild werewolf packs, and the time he was actually shot at with silver bullets, (Nicked my arm, here. Gave me a fever for four days. Had a time of it when I got home trying to keep you from finding out,) and by the time they reach the produce stands (oranges and apples and potatoes and broccoli, which Sirius hates, and carrots) he’s spilled out far more information than Sirius ever needed to know, information which could probably get Sirius killed (later he’ll ask if he can Obliviate parts of his stories) but the dam has burst and he still hasn’t managed to explain enough. Sirius needs to know.
It’s not until he’s choosing eggs (No, that one has a crack right there,) that he starts confessing the important things, things like, I had to kill another werewolf, once. It - there wasn’t any other choice. Fuck, Padfoot, I’ve never - I had to say the curse twice because I didn’t do it properly the first time, (Sirius remembers this, That was the night you wouldn’t touch me when you can home, wasn’t it?) and others, and then he comes to, There was this boy in Spain, dark eyes, prettiest skin - like a girl’s - and gods, Sirius, but I wanted… It’s just, I was so alone, (not meeting Sirius’ eyes because he can’t stand how utterly silent he’s gone, how still,) and I’m pretty sure he was offering a blowjob, but I turned it down -- Gods! I actually turned it down. You would not believe how hard I was -- because, I mean, I wanted to say yes but (hand on his wrist, squeezing hard. He doesn’t think Sirius has noticed.) but Padfoot, what I really wanted was you. But that was better than this girl in, oh, somewhere in Asia. Can’t even remember where, rightly. Poor thing thought I was her prince, come to rescue her, (and there’s a small grin, because Remus has always preferred boys. Sirius looks relieved.) She started stripping in the middle of, but here, in front of the bakery (bread, biscuits) Sirius stops his flow by kissing him. Just a quick little smack on the cheek, but it says, I forgive you, and, I understand, and Thank you for telling me, and everything Remus needed to hear, but what Sirius actually says is, Moony, you’re a wanker, which is even better because it means, I love you.
They forget to buy porridge and they’ll probably run out of tea tomorrow, but that doesn’t matter because what happens is that they go home and make love (not slowly, but almost tenderly) against their kitchen door (didn’t even make it to the couch this time) and then afterwards Sirius serves toast which they eat on the floor next to the ice box and Sirius whispers in his ear, I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I’ve been so worried and Peter said, and, and gods, Merlin but I love you, Remus, and Remus pets his hair like he’s Padfoot while Sirius buries his face in against his neck, and maybe he cries, but then, maybe Remus cries too, so neither of them will mention anything in the morning, when they have their toast and eggs and what’s left of the tea and squabble over the Daily Prophet and hold hands like they’ll lose each other if they let go, like they finally found each other, across the kitchen table.