Prompt One (I'm trying to catch up... seriously)
Title: Truth or Drink
Author: pezzy387
Word Count: 1294
Rating: PG-13, I think
A/N: Omg. I'm back to my old self with the angst. It wasn't meant to be this... intense, but I reached a point and this thing started, for better or worse, writing it self.
Feedback: is love.
Something in the back of Sirius' mind is screaming that this isn't right. Remus doesn't drink like this. Not without James and Peter there, and Sirius' gentle teasing about how their bookish, rule abiding Remus has gone astray. And Remus most certainly is never the one who suggests raiding James' trunk for stolen firewhiskey from past Hogsmeade trips, and playing a drinking game with Sirius alone that is making him feel offkilter though the game has not even started, the bottle not yet open. Slightly sick. More than slightly unsure of who this Remus is and where this is all leading to.
Quite honestly, seeing the dangerous look in Remus' eyes, Sirius is scared to death. And he's never felt that way about the other boy. Not that he'll say it. No, this is the first time that Remus has let himself be alone with Sirius since the incident, and he isn't going to
let that slip away.
Drink or Dare. Some horrible muggle drinking game that with a mirthless laugh, Remus changes to Truth or Drink. Sirius grins, what could you possibly not know about me, Moony?, and then inwardly flinches. Remus, Remus, Remus. Moony is a nickname reserved for trusted friends who don't make their best mate an unwitting instrument in a near-murder. All of these new lines that he alone has created, cannot cross, in their relationship. Overlapping and crisscrossing in a protective barrier around Remus that dizzily reminds Sirius of the crosshatch scars that he can see running up under the bunched up sleeves of Remus' jumper, sliding down his pale neck and under his collar.
Guilt is weighing heavily on Sirius' shoulders before the questions even start. No, he definately does not like this. But he owes this to Remus. In some far off way, he knows that this is important and he owes it.
If Remus notices Sirius' slip up and resulting uncomfort, he gives nothing away. In fact, Sirius could swear that Remus' face softens considerably for just a moment.
"I don't know... but Drink or Dare would be stupid, don't you think? It's only the two of us, and what fun is a dare in that?" Remus smiles, just a little. "Besides, I know how you are. And I'm not about to down this whole bottle because you want me to go running naked through the snow or anything like that."
"Well noted. So uh, how do we start this?"
"Someone asks a question. It's my game, so you start."
Sirius rocks back and forth from where he sits on the floor, both of them tucked into the space between their two beds in the Gryffindor dorm. "Okay, you've never talked to any of us about all of this, but you've had a girl right? I mean, a snog in the Astronomy Tower or two?"
"No." Simple enough. "And you, how many of the girls you've taken to the Astronomy Tower have meant anything to you?"
Sirius' jaw drops at the coldness of the question. Nevertheless, he considers it, and isn't fond of the answer. "None, not like love anyways... but-"
"Your turn."
"Oh. Right. So, you've never uh... But you've been interested in someone, surely. Right?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
"It's not your turn."
"Right."
Remus considers Sirius carefully, and Sirius feels like he's being picked apart under the stare. He returns the look evenly, determined not to show his nerves.
"Why do you hate Snape so much? Sure, he's an absolute berk, but no more than any other Slytherin..."
Sirius sighs, quickly seeing where this is going, and having no power to stop it.
"I, well he... James and..."
"This isn't about James," Remus interrupts. Voice cold and even once more, making Sirius shiver a little. This is punishment, he knows it. And he deserves it. He deserves the little way his heart is breaking at this Remus who isn't his Remus, who would never take these cruel, yet so deserved stabs at him.
Frustrated, Sirius reaches for the bottle between them and throws back a shot. Remus looks smug and satisfied. As if knowing that Sirius has no true reason for his hatrid of Snape gives him one more reason to look down upon Sirius.
The firewhisky burns going down, unpleasant and yet somehow a welcome feeling. The shock briefly clears Sirius' mind, and he braces himself for what's to come, dreading it all the same.
"Right," he sighs. "My turn again. So, who is it? This interest of yours?"
Without hesitation, Remus presses the rim of the bottle to his lips, throwing back perhaps far more alcohol than necessary. Sirius' eyes go wide beyond his control at this display of Remus' lack of trust. Not that he deserves trust. It always comes back to that for Sirius. Remus was wronged and his anger and mistrust are more than fair game. Sirius doesn't know what to do other than to bear it with hopes that Remus will one day call them even. Juvenile and unlikely, he knows, but it's all he has to hope for.
The game volleys back and forth seemingly aimlessly, Sirius sometimes bailing on pointless questions that he knows Remus knows the answers to, just so he can feel the warm buzz of firewhisky coursing through him.
He's more than just a little drunk when Remus finally asks him (probably out of turn, he's not really sure actually, and everything seems so hazy) the question that makes his heart slam against his chest.
"Why did you do it?" Remus' voice rises, ending on a slightly hysterical note, and Sirius wonders idly how much Remus has had to drink. "Why... how could you use me like that?"
The question doesn't need explanation. Sirius' mind is reeling, thinking back to the fateful encounter in the hallway with Snape, the drop of his stomach when he realized what he had said, Remus' look of betrayal the next morning as Sirius had babbled on trying to explain a situation to which there was no satisying explanation. A look so close to what Remus was wearing now.
He looks in to Remus' eyes as his own fill with tears, and reaches slowly for the bottle. The action screams surrender, not refusal. Look, I have no reason. There couldn't possibly be a reason. I was wrong. I was wrong. There are no words that can make this better.
Remus grabs his hand and the bottle goes careening across the wooden floor, a dull thunk as it hits a bedpost across the room.
"No! No, you don't get out of this. Why did you do it, Sirius? How could you when... when..."
And somehow Sirius knows. And he's sitting on the floor sobbing, sobbing and Sirius Black does not cry. No, not when he was disowned from his family, not ever. The look on Remus' face, the answers (or lack thereof) to questions that at the time had meant nothing suddenly make it all so clear.
He pulls Remus to him and they both tumble to the floor, struggling apart and trying to fit together, crying and babbling against shoulders and neck crooks and hair. A fight that isn't because they're somehow pulling apart and holding on to each other for dear life.
There's alcohol on his breath when Remus' voice, stripped raw from crying, chokes out "I loved you."
The past tense draws yet another line between them that Sirius will remember in the morning, even through a blinding hangover.
But tonight the alcohol blurs that line, and when Remus' mouth slides desperately against Sirius' cracked lips, slick with salt tears and firewhisky, he opens his mouth to the other boy, hoping that Remus can pull from his lips the answers that Sirius knows not how to speak.
Author: pezzy387
Word Count: 1294
Rating: PG-13, I think
A/N: Omg. I'm back to my old self with the angst. It wasn't meant to be this... intense, but I reached a point and this thing started, for better or worse, writing it self.
Feedback: is love.
Something in the back of Sirius' mind is screaming that this isn't right. Remus doesn't drink like this. Not without James and Peter there, and Sirius' gentle teasing about how their bookish, rule abiding Remus has gone astray. And Remus most certainly is never the one who suggests raiding James' trunk for stolen firewhiskey from past Hogsmeade trips, and playing a drinking game with Sirius alone that is making him feel offkilter though the game has not even started, the bottle not yet open. Slightly sick. More than slightly unsure of who this Remus is and where this is all leading to.
Quite honestly, seeing the dangerous look in Remus' eyes, Sirius is scared to death. And he's never felt that way about the other boy. Not that he'll say it. No, this is the first time that Remus has let himself be alone with Sirius since the incident, and he isn't going to
let that slip away.
Drink or Dare. Some horrible muggle drinking game that with a mirthless laugh, Remus changes to Truth or Drink. Sirius grins, what could you possibly not know about me, Moony?, and then inwardly flinches. Remus, Remus, Remus. Moony is a nickname reserved for trusted friends who don't make their best mate an unwitting instrument in a near-murder. All of these new lines that he alone has created, cannot cross, in their relationship. Overlapping and crisscrossing in a protective barrier around Remus that dizzily reminds Sirius of the crosshatch scars that he can see running up under the bunched up sleeves of Remus' jumper, sliding down his pale neck and under his collar.
Guilt is weighing heavily on Sirius' shoulders before the questions even start. No, he definately does not like this. But he owes this to Remus. In some far off way, he knows that this is important and he owes it.
If Remus notices Sirius' slip up and resulting uncomfort, he gives nothing away. In fact, Sirius could swear that Remus' face softens considerably for just a moment.
"I don't know... but Drink or Dare would be stupid, don't you think? It's only the two of us, and what fun is a dare in that?" Remus smiles, just a little. "Besides, I know how you are. And I'm not about to down this whole bottle because you want me to go running naked through the snow or anything like that."
"Well noted. So uh, how do we start this?"
"Someone asks a question. It's my game, so you start."
Sirius rocks back and forth from where he sits on the floor, both of them tucked into the space between their two beds in the Gryffindor dorm. "Okay, you've never talked to any of us about all of this, but you've had a girl right? I mean, a snog in the Astronomy Tower or two?"
"No." Simple enough. "And you, how many of the girls you've taken to the Astronomy Tower have meant anything to you?"
Sirius' jaw drops at the coldness of the question. Nevertheless, he considers it, and isn't fond of the answer. "None, not like love anyways... but-"
"Your turn."
"Oh. Right. So, you've never uh... But you've been interested in someone, surely. Right?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
"It's not your turn."
"Right."
Remus considers Sirius carefully, and Sirius feels like he's being picked apart under the stare. He returns the look evenly, determined not to show his nerves.
"Why do you hate Snape so much? Sure, he's an absolute berk, but no more than any other Slytherin..."
Sirius sighs, quickly seeing where this is going, and having no power to stop it.
"I, well he... James and..."
"This isn't about James," Remus interrupts. Voice cold and even once more, making Sirius shiver a little. This is punishment, he knows it. And he deserves it. He deserves the little way his heart is breaking at this Remus who isn't his Remus, who would never take these cruel, yet so deserved stabs at him.
Frustrated, Sirius reaches for the bottle between them and throws back a shot. Remus looks smug and satisfied. As if knowing that Sirius has no true reason for his hatrid of Snape gives him one more reason to look down upon Sirius.
The firewhisky burns going down, unpleasant and yet somehow a welcome feeling. The shock briefly clears Sirius' mind, and he braces himself for what's to come, dreading it all the same.
"Right," he sighs. "My turn again. So, who is it? This interest of yours?"
Without hesitation, Remus presses the rim of the bottle to his lips, throwing back perhaps far more alcohol than necessary. Sirius' eyes go wide beyond his control at this display of Remus' lack of trust. Not that he deserves trust. It always comes back to that for Sirius. Remus was wronged and his anger and mistrust are more than fair game. Sirius doesn't know what to do other than to bear it with hopes that Remus will one day call them even. Juvenile and unlikely, he knows, but it's all he has to hope for.
The game volleys back and forth seemingly aimlessly, Sirius sometimes bailing on pointless questions that he knows Remus knows the answers to, just so he can feel the warm buzz of firewhisky coursing through him.
He's more than just a little drunk when Remus finally asks him (probably out of turn, he's not really sure actually, and everything seems so hazy) the question that makes his heart slam against his chest.
"Why did you do it?" Remus' voice rises, ending on a slightly hysterical note, and Sirius wonders idly how much Remus has had to drink. "Why... how could you use me like that?"
The question doesn't need explanation. Sirius' mind is reeling, thinking back to the fateful encounter in the hallway with Snape, the drop of his stomach when he realized what he had said, Remus' look of betrayal the next morning as Sirius had babbled on trying to explain a situation to which there was no satisying explanation. A look so close to what Remus was wearing now.
He looks in to Remus' eyes as his own fill with tears, and reaches slowly for the bottle. The action screams surrender, not refusal. Look, I have no reason. There couldn't possibly be a reason. I was wrong. I was wrong. There are no words that can make this better.
Remus grabs his hand and the bottle goes careening across the wooden floor, a dull thunk as it hits a bedpost across the room.
"No! No, you don't get out of this. Why did you do it, Sirius? How could you when... when..."
And somehow Sirius knows. And he's sitting on the floor sobbing, sobbing and Sirius Black does not cry. No, not when he was disowned from his family, not ever. The look on Remus' face, the answers (or lack thereof) to questions that at the time had meant nothing suddenly make it all so clear.
He pulls Remus to him and they both tumble to the floor, struggling apart and trying to fit together, crying and babbling against shoulders and neck crooks and hair. A fight that isn't because they're somehow pulling apart and holding on to each other for dear life.
There's alcohol on his breath when Remus' voice, stripped raw from crying, chokes out "I loved you."
The past tense draws yet another line between them that Sirius will remember in the morning, even through a blinding hangover.
But tonight the alcohol blurs that line, and when Remus' mouth slides desperately against Sirius' cracked lips, slick with salt tears and firewhisky, he opens his mouth to the other boy, hoping that Remus can pull from his lips the answers that Sirius knows not how to speak.