Week 6 topic - 'How did you lose your virginity?'
The main body of this follows on directly after 'Changes' and makes more sense then - I hope *g*
Peter splashed cold water on his face and looked up into the soap-streaked mirror. Dark, damp strands of hair clung to his pale clammy forehead and his eyes were puffy and bloodshot under the harsh bright light. He rubbed a scratchy towel over his face a couple of times, wincing at the discomfort and wishing he could summon up a soft fluffy towel from home instead. Maybe these things were a muggle preference - if so he was more relieved than ever to have led a sheltered life away from such things.
A wave of dizziness overtook him and he leaned heavily on the sink, careless of the hairs and abandoned disposable razors that littered the icy cold surface. Somewhere unseen, water trickled slowly, echoing around the grimy little room. He may have had one too many. Or possibly several too many. His head throbbed dully already. He always thought that was supposed to happen the following day. Saturday night for getting drunk, Sunday to recover, and Monday morning to start his job at the Ministry. It was all going to plan, even the part where he picked someone up in a young and carefree last minute bit of fun, which if he was honest was the part he hadn't been too optimistic about.
"Maybe I should just leave."
Perhaps he would, if he could find the front door when he left the bathroom. It seemed an unlikely possibility at the moment. He chuckled unsteadily into the mirror, watching his lips move for no particular reason. He remembered too late that he wouldn't get an answer from this mirror, and prodded at its surface in wonder. It looked just like a normal one; it was hard to believe it couldn't answer him or give him advice like his bedroom mirror at home or the wise and world-weary Gryffindor bathroom mirror.
He smiled woozily at himself. That mirror had been his chief confidante for the things he couldn't say to anyone else for many years. He wondered what it would say if it could see him now.
- - - - -
"Nothing wrong with a good cry, you know."
Peter lifted his head up to the mirror, eyes red and face flushed. "I know. But my face hurts now." He rubbed his hands along his jaw and up the sides of his face, trying to smooth the ache away.
"Warm water's what you want, then dry it off nice and gently."
He followed the instructions automatically, long used to trusting the mirror's advice. By the time his face was buried in a warm soft towel the aches were easing off and some of the heat of the bathroom had relaxed him. Squinting into the mirror again, he pushed the hair back from his eyes. His fingers brushed lightly over one ear.
Remus had stroked his hair, brushing over his ear just like that. Over and over, so gently, calming him like a distressed pet. Peter's hand followed the same path again, mesmerised by the sight in the mirror as he remembered the sensation of Remus' touch. Had his hand touched his cheek a time or two as well? He wished he had been paying more attention now. Don't be stupid Peter, you were too upset - that's why he was doing it.
Slowly he slid a warmed hand down the side of his face, his eyes closing briefly. Yes, he thought it was like that. He lingered in the memory for a moment, recreating the pressure of the arm around his shoulders on him again, the heat of another body so close…
He flushed even more, watching an unbecoming red stain his cheeks. Remus was just being kind to him and all he could think about… he imagined the look in those distant eyes if Remus had any idea what he was thinking. Horrified. He wasn't far from it himself. It was just the shock - grief, that was it. It was simple comfort Remus was offering, and it was all he wanted. Nothing more.
- - - - -
The dorm had gained two more teenagers and a scattered collection of baggage by the time Peter returned. A wave of mingled relief and disappointment that he wouldn't be alone with Remus swept over him, and tears pricked his eyes again as James turned a serious face his way.
"Bad luck mate." James slung an arm over his shoulder and gave him a quick squeeze. "If there's anything we can do…"
Peter just shook his head and dared to lean into the brief hug for a moment before James pulled away.
"Well you could have my father instead." Sirius' voice was grim, "but I wouldn't wish him on anyone."
"Sirius, don't." Remus frowned, looking up from the letter. "Peter, do you want us to come with you to the funeral? I'm sure we could get permission."
Peter felt a lump constrict his throat and just nodded.
"Great idea." James yawned and climbed into bed without unpacking any further. "Don't worry mate, we'll look after you."
- - - - -
"You don't mind?"
Peter looked up as he unpacked his pyjamas and toothbrush from his bag. "Mind what?"
Remus waved a hand towards the second bed that had been added to Peter's bedroom for him. "Me being in here. I know…" he paused, as if trying to decide what to say.
"It's fine," said Peter hurriedly, avoiding Remus' eyes. He had been a little hurt by the easy assumption of James and Sirius that they would share a room, leaving him with Remus, but it wasn't as if it was a secret that Sirius was James' best friend, really. Still, just this once it would have been nice to pretend.
"It'll be good to sleep in a room without them after this week though, don't you think?" Remus began to unbutton his shirt, turning away.
"This week?" Peter was puzzled. What on earth was he talking about?
Before Remus could answer there was a knock on the door. Without waiting for any reply the door opened and Sirius' head appeared.
"There you are." Sirius half fell into the room as James apparently gave him a push from behind.
"Speak of the devil."
"What have I done now?" James flopped onto Peter's empty bed.
Sirius followed him, pouncing on a tatty old teddy bear propped up on the pillow, a darkly mischievous look in his eye. "Hey Peter--"
Remus interrupted quickly, raising his voice. "Don't tell me you haven't heard them, Peter. You must sleep like the-- like a log. They've been wanking over Sirius' new dirty magazine at all hours of the night since term started."
"Hey!" Sirius rolled over and sent a mock glare at Remus. "We've just been..."
He looked at James.
"Appreciating the photographic arts." James grinned.
"That's the one."
"Like I said." Remus sat down and pulled his boots off, unperturbed.
"It's perfectly natural to have an interest in…art…at our age." James didn't seem the least bit ashamed, to Peter's surprise.
"Well I don't doubt your enthusiasm, given the amount of noise you make." Remus aimed a rolled up sock at James' head. "At least I might get a bit of sleep tonight without the sound of you two wankers."
James flashed a grin at him as he dodged it. "That's all Sirius, he's just an animal. Can't keep it in his pants at the slightest glimpse of female flesh-"
He gasped as Sirius tackled him, and burst out laughing as they rolled heavily onto the floor, the old teddy bear soon dropped and forgotten about as they concentrated on their wrestling match.
- - - - -
Apparently when Remus wasn't watching in that uncomfortable way he had, he made up for it by listening. The familiar room Peter had spent almost every night of his life in before school seemed different with two pairs of lungs breathing in it. The extra bed seemed to alter the whole feeling of the room somehow, the rearranged furniture making unfamiliar shadows as he strained his eyes searching out comforting shapes in the darkness. It didn't help that every time he moved in the bed he was aware of the slightest sound, and knew Remus was awake, listening.
Somehow he'd never imagined that the first of his friends to explore the inside of this room would be Remus. He wondered why it didn't bother him; Remus was hard enough to keep secrets from even without allowing him to see the embarrassingly childish possessions he hadn't been able to let go of yet.
He shifted restlessly. It was too quiet. He wondered if James and Sirius were asleep. Maybe they were…he still couldn't quite believe what the others had implied was going on. They-- in front of each other? He shivered and stared into the dark above him. Or maybe they touched each other? No, James wouldn't do that. Sirius would, but Sirius would do just about anything - Peter had caught him before now sprawled carelessly on his bed, barely bothering to disguise what he was doing.
Face hidden by a book. Just a glimpse of a hand - sliding slowly, perfectly, up, around, down - before the leg moves to obscure the sight and the curtains close.
Not tonight though. Not in a house with a dead body lying downstairs. That was…it would just be wrong. He jerked his own hand away from the comforting path down his body it was automatically taking.
He turned over, trying to shut wildly imagined images of white puffy-faced corpses out of his mind, even if it had helped put him off.
A dead body. He'd been told only the grown ups were going into the parlour before the coffin was shut. Maybe he should insist on seeing. It couldn't be as bad as the horrors he was imagining - could it?
He squeezed his eyes tightly shut. The dark closed in, and a tremor of vague fear ran through him. He snuggled deeper in the blankets, enjoying the warmth and forgetting both Remus and dead bodies for a moment as his hand slipped down again… just for reassurance, squeezing warm between his legs. Maybe it wasn't wrong, as long as he didn’t think about it. It could be any night he spent here alone, nothing unusual.
It wasn't quite so easy to shut out thoughts of what James and Sirius might or might not be doing, however. A hand couldn’t feel too much different whoever it belonged to, could it? So it probably didn't matter if they…it wasn't as if they were getting any real experience, nothing they couldn't do for themselves even if they did touch each other. It wasn't as if they were--
Peter's eyes flew open in shock as a startlingly clear image of Sirius came into his mind, the familiar face smiling seductively as he bent his head down over him.
A second later Peter's feet hit the cold floor, feeling around tentatively for his slippers.
"What's up?" Remus' voice was muffled with sleep as he tried to lift himself up out of the blankets.
"Nothing. Just…" Peter hesitated. "I want to see him."
With a rustle of bedclothes Remus was by his side in moments, wand firmly grasped in hand as he struggled into a robe. Wand, yes, that would help. Peter felt around for his and stuck it in his pocket. He could barely see Remus, thick curtains between them and the moonlight for once.
"You don't need to--"
"I'm coming."
- - - - -
Peter took a deep breath as he turned the handle and pushed the heavy parlour door open. Remus was so close he could feel him breathe, his body the only source of heat in the chilly atmosphere.
The door stuttered shut behind them, Peter leaning on it until he heard the worn catch click into place.
"Lumos." Remus' wand flared into life.
The furniture had been rearranged to allow for the large coffin - too large it seemed for the frail man Peter had seen only a week ago - to sit in the centre of the room. He pulled his ill-fitting dressing gown straight nervously and remained leaning against the door, not sure if his legs would take him any further into the room. He watched as Remus calmly looked down into the casket.
"It's all right. Come on." Remus' voice was a whisper as he turned to Peter, the light from his wand gleaming off polished chestnut.
Peter was grateful for the dim light as he studied his father's peaceful face. In the gloom it almost looked as he remembered it best, solid and reassuring, not gaunt and worn as it had for the last few months.
"Tell me about him." Remus closed the gap between them as he whispered.
"He…" Peter wasn't sure what to say. "He worked long hours at the Ministry, and was always tired. I always thought he must be important to do that, but he wasn't really. It didn't get him very far, but I don't think there is a far in Broom Control. Just more paperwork."
Remus squeezed his hand. Peter hadn't even realised he was holding it.
"When I was little I just remember him coming home tired around the time I was going to bed. He'd usually fall asleep in his chair straight after dinner. He never had much time for anything but work."
"You must have done some things together?" Remus' voice was strangely wistful as his hands stroked across Peter's back.
"Some." Peter relaxed into a sudden smile as he leaned back unconsciously into Remus' touch. "When he was in a good mood he'd read me stories. Not children's stories - proper grown up books, he'd read out loud from them. He thought they were better for me than 'all that childish rot'."
The arm that slipped around his waist gave him the confidence to continue. "But all the same, when I couldn't sleep, or if I wasn't well, he would always read me the Three Grumpy Wizards, and he'd do all the voices properly."
Remus gave a low laugh and hugged him more tightly. Peter turned in surprise and felt the arms loosen their hold. He was disappointed for a moment until he found himself faced with a gaze as warm as the body pressed so close to his. Their noses bumped lightly before Remus' hand reached up and guided his head forward to touch their lips together.
The house didn't seem so dark on the way back up the stairs, although Remus still seemed to need the guidance of Peter's hand to find his way to the wrong bed, and Peter's mouth on his to murmur him to sleep as they curled, damp, sticky and sated, into a comfortable embrace.
- - - - -
Peter woke with his face pressed into a hot neck, soft hair tickling his nose and legs tangled with the naked Remus that seemed to be in his bed. It wasn't until Remus moved and stretched back against him that he dared to allow his hand to slide over the smooth skin and rest his chin against the bare shoulder underneath it.
He half expected it to be shaken off, but there was barely time for Remus to react before the door burst open and they untangled quickly, scrambling to retrieve pyjamas abandoned under the covers.
"What the hell are you doing over there?" James frowned in honest confusion as Remus struggled to his feet, pyjama bottoms on the right way round only by sheer luck.
"You want to be careful. People will think you're a right pair of poofs if you carry on like that." Sirius yawned lazily, reaching up for an old Quidditch magazine from Peter's shelf and dropping onto the barely slept in spare bed.
"You don't think that's a bit rich coming from you two?" Remus' voice was as mild as ever, but Peter could see the tense set of his shoulders as he collected his neatly folded clothes from the chair.
"There's a big difference between reading a dirty mag together when you don't have the real thing and…" James seemed stuck for words for a moment.
Sirius lowered the magazine to make exaggerated kissy faces at James. He grinned.
"Exactly."
Peter kept his face away from them as he struggled into his clothes, but his brain was trying to make sense of these new rules. So…you could do it as long as you didn't really want to? As long as it didn't mean anything? Did Remus know this; was that what it was for him too?
He sneaked a glance at Remus. His face was pale as he bent to tie his shoes, and his eyes shuttered as he straightened up to face Peter. He was silent for a long moment before carefully looking away.
"Weren't you going to write to that girl of yours this morning, Peter?" Remus' tone seemed no different from normal, but Peter started at the dismissal as if he'd been slapped. He stared at the tense back in shock, not certain he had understood, but the cool expression as Remus turned left him in no doubt.
"Yes." He controlled himself enough to not snatch up the parchment and quill in an obvious temper. "I'll do that now." And he watched as Remus followed James and Sirius out of the room.
- - - - -
Hot breath panted against Peter's neck, and from the clumsy kisses in the car park he knew enough to be grateful his head was turned away from the combined sour smells of whisky, cheap curry and strong cigarettes.
He hadn't been prepared for this; he'd tried to find the words to say so but speech was hard work and it was easier to let the long-haired stranger take the lead. He had pretty hair, if not too clean, and long; it trailed along Peter's back as he huffed and groaned on top of him, struggling to enter him and apparently unaware that he was not used to being penetrated.
He wondered if it was the alcohol turning his limbs to useless lead weights attached to his body or whether it was always like this; pinned down, pierced to the very core of him despite the shallow, drunken nature of the coupling that was happening out of his sight. He could only feel, breath and voice nowhere to be found as hands fumbled on his cock in a half-hearted attempt to match the rhythm of the grunts into his ear.
His body seemed happy enough to get on without any input from him, the friction of hand and varying pressure enough to excite him physically, and he drifted until he felt the urgent thrusts and frantic rubbing signal an end in sight. He tried to sound satisfied rather than relieved when the paralysing weight lifted from his back and he was left with just a ticklish damp dribble between his buttocks to match the cooling pool underneath him.
Sore, aching, and strangely empty, he squeezed his eyes shut against the stabbing pain in his head, shifting onto his side. Facing this way the flashes of light from cars on the main road outside broke through his closed eyelids, but he didn't have the energy to reach over and pull the curtains. There was the harsh flare of a match, and a stream of cigarette smoke coiled over the bed, making him want to retch. He held it back with difficulty - he wasn't sure of standard post-coital etiquette but he was fairly sure it didn't involve vomiting over the side of the bed.
"Stay the night if you want, it don't bother me."
The indifference in the man's voice was almost enough to send him out looking for a cab even at this hour, but a smattering of rain against the windows decided the matter.
He curled up tightly on the far side of the bed, his arms wrapped around him, and allowed himself to be lulled to sleep by the drip and patter of the rain, slipping into dreams of warm hands, murmured laughter and the almost-forgotten smell of soft, clean hair.
Muse - Peter Pettigrew
Fandom - Harry Potter
Words - 3350
Peter splashed cold water on his face and looked up into the soap-streaked mirror. Dark, damp strands of hair clung to his pale clammy forehead and his eyes were puffy and bloodshot under the harsh bright light. He rubbed a scratchy towel over his face a couple of times, wincing at the discomfort and wishing he could summon up a soft fluffy towel from home instead. Maybe these things were a muggle preference - if so he was more relieved than ever to have led a sheltered life away from such things.
A wave of dizziness overtook him and he leaned heavily on the sink, careless of the hairs and abandoned disposable razors that littered the icy cold surface. Somewhere unseen, water trickled slowly, echoing around the grimy little room. He may have had one too many. Or possibly several too many. His head throbbed dully already. He always thought that was supposed to happen the following day. Saturday night for getting drunk, Sunday to recover, and Monday morning to start his job at the Ministry. It was all going to plan, even the part where he picked someone up in a young and carefree last minute bit of fun, which if he was honest was the part he hadn't been too optimistic about.
"Maybe I should just leave."
Perhaps he would, if he could find the front door when he left the bathroom. It seemed an unlikely possibility at the moment. He chuckled unsteadily into the mirror, watching his lips move for no particular reason. He remembered too late that he wouldn't get an answer from this mirror, and prodded at its surface in wonder. It looked just like a normal one; it was hard to believe it couldn't answer him or give him advice like his bedroom mirror at home or the wise and world-weary Gryffindor bathroom mirror.
He smiled woozily at himself. That mirror had been his chief confidante for the things he couldn't say to anyone else for many years. He wondered what it would say if it could see him now.
- - - - -
"Nothing wrong with a good cry, you know."
Peter lifted his head up to the mirror, eyes red and face flushed. "I know. But my face hurts now." He rubbed his hands along his jaw and up the sides of his face, trying to smooth the ache away.
"Warm water's what you want, then dry it off nice and gently."
He followed the instructions automatically, long used to trusting the mirror's advice. By the time his face was buried in a warm soft towel the aches were easing off and some of the heat of the bathroom had relaxed him. Squinting into the mirror again, he pushed the hair back from his eyes. His fingers brushed lightly over one ear.
Remus had stroked his hair, brushing over his ear just like that. Over and over, so gently, calming him like a distressed pet. Peter's hand followed the same path again, mesmerised by the sight in the mirror as he remembered the sensation of Remus' touch. Had his hand touched his cheek a time or two as well? He wished he had been paying more attention now. Don't be stupid Peter, you were too upset - that's why he was doing it.
Slowly he slid a warmed hand down the side of his face, his eyes closing briefly. Yes, he thought it was like that. He lingered in the memory for a moment, recreating the pressure of the arm around his shoulders on him again, the heat of another body so close…
He flushed even more, watching an unbecoming red stain his cheeks. Remus was just being kind to him and all he could think about… he imagined the look in those distant eyes if Remus had any idea what he was thinking. Horrified. He wasn't far from it himself. It was just the shock - grief, that was it. It was simple comfort Remus was offering, and it was all he wanted. Nothing more.
- - - - -
The dorm had gained two more teenagers and a scattered collection of baggage by the time Peter returned. A wave of mingled relief and disappointment that he wouldn't be alone with Remus swept over him, and tears pricked his eyes again as James turned a serious face his way.
"Bad luck mate." James slung an arm over his shoulder and gave him a quick squeeze. "If there's anything we can do…"
Peter just shook his head and dared to lean into the brief hug for a moment before James pulled away.
"Well you could have my father instead." Sirius' voice was grim, "but I wouldn't wish him on anyone."
"Sirius, don't." Remus frowned, looking up from the letter. "Peter, do you want us to come with you to the funeral? I'm sure we could get permission."
Peter felt a lump constrict his throat and just nodded.
"Great idea." James yawned and climbed into bed without unpacking any further. "Don't worry mate, we'll look after you."
- - - - -
"You don't mind?"
Peter looked up as he unpacked his pyjamas and toothbrush from his bag. "Mind what?"
Remus waved a hand towards the second bed that had been added to Peter's bedroom for him. "Me being in here. I know…" he paused, as if trying to decide what to say.
"It's fine," said Peter hurriedly, avoiding Remus' eyes. He had been a little hurt by the easy assumption of James and Sirius that they would share a room, leaving him with Remus, but it wasn't as if it was a secret that Sirius was James' best friend, really. Still, just this once it would have been nice to pretend.
"It'll be good to sleep in a room without them after this week though, don't you think?" Remus began to unbutton his shirt, turning away.
"This week?" Peter was puzzled. What on earth was he talking about?
Before Remus could answer there was a knock on the door. Without waiting for any reply the door opened and Sirius' head appeared.
"There you are." Sirius half fell into the room as James apparently gave him a push from behind.
"Speak of the devil."
"What have I done now?" James flopped onto Peter's empty bed.
Sirius followed him, pouncing on a tatty old teddy bear propped up on the pillow, a darkly mischievous look in his eye. "Hey Peter--"
Remus interrupted quickly, raising his voice. "Don't tell me you haven't heard them, Peter. You must sleep like the-- like a log. They've been wanking over Sirius' new dirty magazine at all hours of the night since term started."
"Hey!" Sirius rolled over and sent a mock glare at Remus. "We've just been..."
He looked at James.
"Appreciating the photographic arts." James grinned.
"That's the one."
"Like I said." Remus sat down and pulled his boots off, unperturbed.
"It's perfectly natural to have an interest in…art…at our age." James didn't seem the least bit ashamed, to Peter's surprise.
"Well I don't doubt your enthusiasm, given the amount of noise you make." Remus aimed a rolled up sock at James' head. "At least I might get a bit of sleep tonight without the sound of you two wankers."
James flashed a grin at him as he dodged it. "That's all Sirius, he's just an animal. Can't keep it in his pants at the slightest glimpse of female flesh-"
He gasped as Sirius tackled him, and burst out laughing as they rolled heavily onto the floor, the old teddy bear soon dropped and forgotten about as they concentrated on their wrestling match.
- - - - -
Apparently when Remus wasn't watching in that uncomfortable way he had, he made up for it by listening. The familiar room Peter had spent almost every night of his life in before school seemed different with two pairs of lungs breathing in it. The extra bed seemed to alter the whole feeling of the room somehow, the rearranged furniture making unfamiliar shadows as he strained his eyes searching out comforting shapes in the darkness. It didn't help that every time he moved in the bed he was aware of the slightest sound, and knew Remus was awake, listening.
Somehow he'd never imagined that the first of his friends to explore the inside of this room would be Remus. He wondered why it didn't bother him; Remus was hard enough to keep secrets from even without allowing him to see the embarrassingly childish possessions he hadn't been able to let go of yet.
He shifted restlessly. It was too quiet. He wondered if James and Sirius were asleep. Maybe they were…he still couldn't quite believe what the others had implied was going on. They-- in front of each other? He shivered and stared into the dark above him. Or maybe they touched each other? No, James wouldn't do that. Sirius would, but Sirius would do just about anything - Peter had caught him before now sprawled carelessly on his bed, barely bothering to disguise what he was doing.
Face hidden by a book. Just a glimpse of a hand - sliding slowly, perfectly, up, around, down - before the leg moves to obscure the sight and the curtains close.
Not tonight though. Not in a house with a dead body lying downstairs. That was…it would just be wrong. He jerked his own hand away from the comforting path down his body it was automatically taking.
He turned over, trying to shut wildly imagined images of white puffy-faced corpses out of his mind, even if it had helped put him off.
A dead body. He'd been told only the grown ups were going into the parlour before the coffin was shut. Maybe he should insist on seeing. It couldn't be as bad as the horrors he was imagining - could it?
He squeezed his eyes tightly shut. The dark closed in, and a tremor of vague fear ran through him. He snuggled deeper in the blankets, enjoying the warmth and forgetting both Remus and dead bodies for a moment as his hand slipped down again… just for reassurance, squeezing warm between his legs. Maybe it wasn't wrong, as long as he didn’t think about it. It could be any night he spent here alone, nothing unusual.
It wasn't quite so easy to shut out thoughts of what James and Sirius might or might not be doing, however. A hand couldn’t feel too much different whoever it belonged to, could it? So it probably didn't matter if they…it wasn't as if they were getting any real experience, nothing they couldn't do for themselves even if they did touch each other. It wasn't as if they were--
Peter's eyes flew open in shock as a startlingly clear image of Sirius came into his mind, the familiar face smiling seductively as he bent his head down over him.
A second later Peter's feet hit the cold floor, feeling around tentatively for his slippers.
"What's up?" Remus' voice was muffled with sleep as he tried to lift himself up out of the blankets.
"Nothing. Just…" Peter hesitated. "I want to see him."
With a rustle of bedclothes Remus was by his side in moments, wand firmly grasped in hand as he struggled into a robe. Wand, yes, that would help. Peter felt around for his and stuck it in his pocket. He could barely see Remus, thick curtains between them and the moonlight for once.
"You don't need to--"
"I'm coming."
- - - - -
Peter took a deep breath as he turned the handle and pushed the heavy parlour door open. Remus was so close he could feel him breathe, his body the only source of heat in the chilly atmosphere.
The door stuttered shut behind them, Peter leaning on it until he heard the worn catch click into place.
"Lumos." Remus' wand flared into life.
The furniture had been rearranged to allow for the large coffin - too large it seemed for the frail man Peter had seen only a week ago - to sit in the centre of the room. He pulled his ill-fitting dressing gown straight nervously and remained leaning against the door, not sure if his legs would take him any further into the room. He watched as Remus calmly looked down into the casket.
"It's all right. Come on." Remus' voice was a whisper as he turned to Peter, the light from his wand gleaming off polished chestnut.
Peter was grateful for the dim light as he studied his father's peaceful face. In the gloom it almost looked as he remembered it best, solid and reassuring, not gaunt and worn as it had for the last few months.
"Tell me about him." Remus closed the gap between them as he whispered.
"He…" Peter wasn't sure what to say. "He worked long hours at the Ministry, and was always tired. I always thought he must be important to do that, but he wasn't really. It didn't get him very far, but I don't think there is a far in Broom Control. Just more paperwork."
Remus squeezed his hand. Peter hadn't even realised he was holding it.
"When I was little I just remember him coming home tired around the time I was going to bed. He'd usually fall asleep in his chair straight after dinner. He never had much time for anything but work."
"You must have done some things together?" Remus' voice was strangely wistful as his hands stroked across Peter's back.
"Some." Peter relaxed into a sudden smile as he leaned back unconsciously into Remus' touch. "When he was in a good mood he'd read me stories. Not children's stories - proper grown up books, he'd read out loud from them. He thought they were better for me than 'all that childish rot'."
The arm that slipped around his waist gave him the confidence to continue. "But all the same, when I couldn't sleep, or if I wasn't well, he would always read me the Three Grumpy Wizards, and he'd do all the voices properly."
Remus gave a low laugh and hugged him more tightly. Peter turned in surprise and felt the arms loosen their hold. He was disappointed for a moment until he found himself faced with a gaze as warm as the body pressed so close to his. Their noses bumped lightly before Remus' hand reached up and guided his head forward to touch their lips together.
The house didn't seem so dark on the way back up the stairs, although Remus still seemed to need the guidance of Peter's hand to find his way to the wrong bed, and Peter's mouth on his to murmur him to sleep as they curled, damp, sticky and sated, into a comfortable embrace.
- - - - -
Peter woke with his face pressed into a hot neck, soft hair tickling his nose and legs tangled with the naked Remus that seemed to be in his bed. It wasn't until Remus moved and stretched back against him that he dared to allow his hand to slide over the smooth skin and rest his chin against the bare shoulder underneath it.
He half expected it to be shaken off, but there was barely time for Remus to react before the door burst open and they untangled quickly, scrambling to retrieve pyjamas abandoned under the covers.
"What the hell are you doing over there?" James frowned in honest confusion as Remus struggled to his feet, pyjama bottoms on the right way round only by sheer luck.
"You want to be careful. People will think you're a right pair of poofs if you carry on like that." Sirius yawned lazily, reaching up for an old Quidditch magazine from Peter's shelf and dropping onto the barely slept in spare bed.
"You don't think that's a bit rich coming from you two?" Remus' voice was as mild as ever, but Peter could see the tense set of his shoulders as he collected his neatly folded clothes from the chair.
"There's a big difference between reading a dirty mag together when you don't have the real thing and…" James seemed stuck for words for a moment.
Sirius lowered the magazine to make exaggerated kissy faces at James. He grinned.
"Exactly."
Peter kept his face away from them as he struggled into his clothes, but his brain was trying to make sense of these new rules. So…you could do it as long as you didn't really want to? As long as it didn't mean anything? Did Remus know this; was that what it was for him too?
He sneaked a glance at Remus. His face was pale as he bent to tie his shoes, and his eyes shuttered as he straightened up to face Peter. He was silent for a long moment before carefully looking away.
"Weren't you going to write to that girl of yours this morning, Peter?" Remus' tone seemed no different from normal, but Peter started at the dismissal as if he'd been slapped. He stared at the tense back in shock, not certain he had understood, but the cool expression as Remus turned left him in no doubt.
"Yes." He controlled himself enough to not snatch up the parchment and quill in an obvious temper. "I'll do that now." And he watched as Remus followed James and Sirius out of the room.
- - - - -
Hot breath panted against Peter's neck, and from the clumsy kisses in the car park he knew enough to be grateful his head was turned away from the combined sour smells of whisky, cheap curry and strong cigarettes.
He hadn't been prepared for this; he'd tried to find the words to say so but speech was hard work and it was easier to let the long-haired stranger take the lead. He had pretty hair, if not too clean, and long; it trailed along Peter's back as he huffed and groaned on top of him, struggling to enter him and apparently unaware that he was not used to being penetrated.
He wondered if it was the alcohol turning his limbs to useless lead weights attached to his body or whether it was always like this; pinned down, pierced to the very core of him despite the shallow, drunken nature of the coupling that was happening out of his sight. He could only feel, breath and voice nowhere to be found as hands fumbled on his cock in a half-hearted attempt to match the rhythm of the grunts into his ear.
His body seemed happy enough to get on without any input from him, the friction of hand and varying pressure enough to excite him physically, and he drifted until he felt the urgent thrusts and frantic rubbing signal an end in sight. He tried to sound satisfied rather than relieved when the paralysing weight lifted from his back and he was left with just a ticklish damp dribble between his buttocks to match the cooling pool underneath him.
Sore, aching, and strangely empty, he squeezed his eyes shut against the stabbing pain in his head, shifting onto his side. Facing this way the flashes of light from cars on the main road outside broke through his closed eyelids, but he didn't have the energy to reach over and pull the curtains. There was the harsh flare of a match, and a stream of cigarette smoke coiled over the bed, making him want to retch. He held it back with difficulty - he wasn't sure of standard post-coital etiquette but he was fairly sure it didn't involve vomiting over the side of the bed.
"Stay the night if you want, it don't bother me."
The indifference in the man's voice was almost enough to send him out looking for a cab even at this hour, but a smattering of rain against the windows decided the matter.
He curled up tightly on the far side of the bed, his arms wrapped around him, and allowed himself to be lulled to sleep by the drip and patter of the rain, slipping into dreams of warm hands, murmured laughter and the almost-forgotten smell of soft, clean hair.
Muse - Peter Pettigrew
Fandom - Harry Potter
Words - 3350