Rain, Wine, Oranges
Title: Rain, Wine, Oranges
Rating: PG
Prompt: 3 ( 1, 2)
Word Count: 640
Summary: The carpet smells of dog and summer, rain and motor oil.
August 3rd, 1978
It’s raining, and the clouds seem to be threatening thunder, which Remus thinks is appalling behaviour in the weather, as it is August and this is a month which is not supposed to even consider the possibility of clouds, let alone a full-blown storm. He is curled around a book on the windowsill in Sirius’ tiny flat, listening to the rain and the words of Mary Lennox and Dickon and Colin Craven running across the pages.
He starts and grins when Sirius apparates into the flat with a crack, sopping wet and carrying a distinctly soggy shopping bag. “You dimwit,” he says mildly, going back to reading. “You should have brought an umbrella.”
“I like getting wet.” Sirius shakes himself off as Padfoot would do, and sets the shopping bag on the coffee table. Remus sometimes wonders whether Sirius actually recognizes the boundaries between man and dog.
“You’re dripping on the carpet; it’s not just you that’s wet.” Defiantly, Sirius sits down on the carpet and stretches out, creating a Sirius-shaped damp patch in the beige carpeting.
“Hey, but it’s my carpet to drip on, isn’t it? God, I love having my own flat. I can drip wherever I want.”
“As long as you don’t drip on me.”
“Oh, you just wait. What are your reading?”
“The Secret Garden.”
“Muggle kid’s book, isn’t it?” Sirius is unpacking his shopping bag, pulling out biscuits and oranges and a carton of eggs, and what looks like a bottle of red wine.
“Classic Muggle kid’s book. You’d like it, I think. The main character reminds me a little of you.” He smirks as he says this, knowing as he does in what particular respect Mary Lennox reminds him of Sirius.
“Well, classic or not, put it down and come help me drink this wine.”
“Where’d you get that?” Remus puts a bookmark in his place and crawls off the window sill, pulling the sleeves of his grey jumper down over his hands.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Remus lifts an eyebrow at this and thinks maybe he doesn’t really want to know after all. Sometimes Sirius’ actions are better left unquestioned. “Shouldn’t we have wine glasses?”
Sirius lazily flicks his wand at the cork, and it goes flying and hits Remus on the nose. He looks pointedly at Remus and drinks straight from the bottle.
“Well then.”
-
They are lying on their stomachs, side by side. They have drunk more wine than the bottle could possibly contain, which Remus suspects has something to do with the thing he wouldn’t like to know. Sirius is always very contemplative when drunk, while Remus has retained considerably more of his wits than his companion. They make an odd pair.
Sirius rolls over onto his back suddenly, and stares fixedly at the ceiling. “Would you rather I hadn’t come home and tried to get you drunk so you could have gone on reading your Muggle kid’s book? Sorry, classic Muggle kid’s book.”
“I sense there was some motive in your attempt at my inebriation.” Remus’ voice is muffled in the carpet, which is still faintly damp. It smells of dog and summer, rain and motor oil. He looks up, and Sirius has scooted closer so that his face is next to Remus’, large and pinkish at such close range.
“Wanted to kiss you. Thought it best to get you drunk first.” And he does, though Remus isn’t really very drunk, and would have snogged him at any level of sobriety. Sirius is sloppy and warm and smells of dog just like the carpet, and tastes, oddly, not of red wine but of the oranges in his shopping bag, which they have not eaten. Remus pulls back and grins.
“I would have minded, had it been anyone but you trying to get me drunk.”
Rating: PG
Prompt: 3 ( 1, 2)
Word Count: 640
Summary: The carpet smells of dog and summer, rain and motor oil.
August 3rd, 1978
It’s raining, and the clouds seem to be threatening thunder, which Remus thinks is appalling behaviour in the weather, as it is August and this is a month which is not supposed to even consider the possibility of clouds, let alone a full-blown storm. He is curled around a book on the windowsill in Sirius’ tiny flat, listening to the rain and the words of Mary Lennox and Dickon and Colin Craven running across the pages.
He starts and grins when Sirius apparates into the flat with a crack, sopping wet and carrying a distinctly soggy shopping bag. “You dimwit,” he says mildly, going back to reading. “You should have brought an umbrella.”
“I like getting wet.” Sirius shakes himself off as Padfoot would do, and sets the shopping bag on the coffee table. Remus sometimes wonders whether Sirius actually recognizes the boundaries between man and dog.
“You’re dripping on the carpet; it’s not just you that’s wet.” Defiantly, Sirius sits down on the carpet and stretches out, creating a Sirius-shaped damp patch in the beige carpeting.
“Hey, but it’s my carpet to drip on, isn’t it? God, I love having my own flat. I can drip wherever I want.”
“As long as you don’t drip on me.”
“Oh, you just wait. What are your reading?”
“The Secret Garden.”
“Muggle kid’s book, isn’t it?” Sirius is unpacking his shopping bag, pulling out biscuits and oranges and a carton of eggs, and what looks like a bottle of red wine.
“Classic Muggle kid’s book. You’d like it, I think. The main character reminds me a little of you.” He smirks as he says this, knowing as he does in what particular respect Mary Lennox reminds him of Sirius.
“Well, classic or not, put it down and come help me drink this wine.”
“Where’d you get that?” Remus puts a bookmark in his place and crawls off the window sill, pulling the sleeves of his grey jumper down over his hands.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Remus lifts an eyebrow at this and thinks maybe he doesn’t really want to know after all. Sometimes Sirius’ actions are better left unquestioned. “Shouldn’t we have wine glasses?”
Sirius lazily flicks his wand at the cork, and it goes flying and hits Remus on the nose. He looks pointedly at Remus and drinks straight from the bottle.
“Well then.”
-
They are lying on their stomachs, side by side. They have drunk more wine than the bottle could possibly contain, which Remus suspects has something to do with the thing he wouldn’t like to know. Sirius is always very contemplative when drunk, while Remus has retained considerably more of his wits than his companion. They make an odd pair.
Sirius rolls over onto his back suddenly, and stares fixedly at the ceiling. “Would you rather I hadn’t come home and tried to get you drunk so you could have gone on reading your Muggle kid’s book? Sorry, classic Muggle kid’s book.”
“I sense there was some motive in your attempt at my inebriation.” Remus’ voice is muffled in the carpet, which is still faintly damp. It smells of dog and summer, rain and motor oil. He looks up, and Sirius has scooted closer so that his face is next to Remus’, large and pinkish at such close range.
“Wanted to kiss you. Thought it best to get you drunk first.” And he does, though Remus isn’t really very drunk, and would have snogged him at any level of sobriety. Sirius is sloppy and warm and smells of dog just like the carpet, and tastes, oddly, not of red wine but of the oranges in his shopping bag, which they have not eaten. Remus pulls back and grins.
“I would have minded, had it been anyone but you trying to get me drunk.”