Lupin Love for Lupercalia: Falling Is Like This
Mmm... Remus...
Technically unbetaed, so there may be tweaks or minor changes before I put it up on my site.
Speaking of which, Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered is up, all html-ized and pretty. (now with correct link)
Now, more fic.
Title: Falling Is Like This
Author: victoria p.
Summary: "Love is like falling and falling is like this"
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I own not. You sue not.
Feedback: Makes my day
Notes: Thanks Dot, Meg, Jen, Pete/Melissa, DD and Bethy. Summary and title from Ani DiFranco. Lupin-love for Lupercalia.
Date: February 15, 2004
~*~
Falling Is Like This
Sirius has always known Remus is different. Remus wears otherness like a fine velvet robe, the way Sirius wears his name and James, his Quidditch prowess. It took Sirius a while to see it, but he's always been good at putting the smallest clues together to complete a puzzle, and as skilled as Remus is at dissembling, he can no longer hide from Sirius.
Sirius has no inkling what he's setting in motion the first night he crawls into bed next to Remus. They are only boys, and at the time, he believes Remus's parents are beating him. It is the only explanation for the endless succession of injuries Remus bears upon returning from his monthly visits home. Sirius understands this -- his father is heavy-handed with the strap on his back and his mother quick with the back of her hand across his insolent mouth. He and Regulus used to huddle under the blankets in much the same way.
It is the first thing he shares only with Remus; James would never understand -- his parents dote on him -- and Sirius barely tolerates Peter when he notices him at all.
This monthly ritual becomes such an integral part of their lives that even finding out the truth of what Remus is doesn't stop it. In fact, Sirius goes out of his way to touch Remus as often as he can without attracting notice, to make him feel as normal as possible.
Various girlfriends come and go as they grow up, but girls cannot interfere in this one thing. However far apart the boys drift during the day, on full moon nights, the four roam together, and on the nights after, Sirius offers Remus comfort in the only way he knows how.
It has become important to him on a level so deep he can never articulate it, for all his skill at charming his way out of detentions and into people's pants. When he first discovers his attraction to other boys, he's grateful he can change into Padfoot on these nights, so Remus never mistakes his intent and pulls away in disgust.
He begins hoarding moments, secrets, things Remus shares only with him, and he offers secrets and fears in return, whispered in the warm dark of Remus's bed. He comes to rely on Remus, steady as a rock and nearly as strong.
So it feels as if the earth has dropped away the first time he sees Remus kiss another boy. His stomach plummets, the way it does when he takes a steep dive on his broom, and he finds it hard to breathe.
This is a secret Remus hasn't shared, and Sirius cannot grasp the enormity of his betrayal. He finds refuge in anger, sends Snape to the Shrieking Shack without a thought for what he's doing.
James saves the day, as he always does, and the import of what Sirius has done is borne in upon him.
Remus is in the worst shape he's been since they mastered the Animagus transformation. He is in the hospital wing most of the day, and Pomfrey won't let Sirius in to see him, though Sirius tries every trick he knows for talking teachers round. James won't lend him the Invisibility Cloak, gives him a black eye and a bloody nose when he asks, so he spends the day in a state of ever-increasing anxiety -- that Remus is hurt so badly magic cannot help, that he won't let Sirius apologize, won't let him offer comfort, will never speak to him again. That their friendship has been irrevocably broken by his stupidity.
Remus's bedcurtains are drawn when Sirius returns to the room that night after spending hours pacing the grounds in dog form, trying to work off his nervous energy.
Sirius is a true Gryffindor at heart, though, so he gathers his courage and pushes his way into Remus's bed, the way he has on dozens of other nights.
Remus is already asleep, his normally fair face ashen. Sirius takes advantage of this rare opportunity to watch him when his guard is down. Remus isn't handsome, not the way Sirius and James are, but there is a harsh beauty in his face and strength in his bones. One long-fingered hand rests on the pillow, the white of the linen bandage wrapped around it stark against the softer white of well-worn sheets.
Sirius slips in behind him, gently fitting his body against Remus's, careful not to wake him or brush against any visible injuries. He lays his head on the pillow, breathes in Remus's scent, familiar from so much time spent as Padfoot. It sends a thrill through him, here in the silent dark, he's breathing in the air Remus exhales, absorbing part of Remus into himself.
Feeling daring, he nuzzles Remus's neck, shocked at the heat firing along his veins from touching a familiar body in unfamiliar ways and places. Remus's skin is soft and warm; the aroma of the lavender soap Pomfrey keeps in the infirmary, overlays the natural scent of sweat and boy.
Remus's eyes open and Sirius freezes, caught. He fumbles for words, explanations, apologies, but all he can manage is a whispered, "Moony?"
"Don't call me that."
Sirius drops his gaze, abashed.
"If you ever, ever do that to me again," Remus says, his voice hard, though he doesn't move away from Sirius's embrace, "I will kill you."
Sirius believes him.
"I'm so sorry--"
"We're done talking about it," Remus says in that same steely tone. "Don't ever mention it again."
He's back to sleep within seconds, Sirius's arms around him, body at his back.
Sirius is off-balance, breathless at this sudden change in their relationship. He spends the night staring at Remus's sleeping face in the dark, feeling every breath and beat of Remus's heart as if it were his own, some form of magic crackling between them, making Sirius's hair stand on end.
He has no idea what's happening. All he knows is he's got a second chance, and he's going to make the most of it.
The next morning, Remus looks at Sirius's battered face and James's stony one and says, "It's enough."
James nods and the tension in the room diffuses, but Sirius knows things will never be the same.
Months pass, and life settles back into routine until the summer is upon them.
Sirius is stifled by the silence of his room at night at Grimmauld Place. He misses Remus's soft exhalations beside him, James's rumbling snores across the way, and even Peter's muttered nonsense when he's dreaming.
His days are spent in a battle of wills with his parents; shouts echo through the house, and then that deadly silence falls when they retire.
He finally breaks when his mother refuses to let him visit Remus for the full moon. She doesn't know why, precisely, he needs to be there those days, but she knows that it is important to him, that he wants it badly enough to ask for it, so she denies him.
He packs a small bag that night and leaves; goes to James's, not Remus's, not wanting to intrude, and leaves the stifling silence of the Blacks behind for the Potters' warm, if wary, welcome.
He misses that moon, but in August their little pack reunites for a camping trip in the Lake District, arranged by James's father.
They sleep beneath the stars, Remus's warm tenor telling them the myths behind the constellations, a favorite pastime of a childhood spent in the sickroom. Sirius has heard these stories before, but still he listens, mesmerized by the curve of Remus's lips as he speaks, the white flash of his teeth and the gleam of eager intelligence in his eyes, visible even in the dark.
He falls asleep with his head on Remus's shoulder, Remus's voice a drowsy drone in his ear.
When he wakes, the waning moon has risen, and they are tangled together beneath a blanket, but on top of their sleeping bags. He tries to breathe but his chest is tight, as if Remus has stolen all the air from his lungs. It is different, though, from the stifling gloom of his parents' house, as different as a pillow from a stone. He breathes Remus in, more needful than oxygen, and takes care not to wake him.
Sirius realizes, as he stares down at Remus, that he loves this boy, and he is in love with this boy.
He gasps at the revelation, like a drowning man breaking the surface of the sea.
Remus wakes at the sound. He turns his head and smiles. "Sirius," he whispers sleepily.
And between that one breath and the next, everything changes again.
"Remus," he says, as if for the first time, and presses his mouth to those smiling lips.
end
***
Comments and feedback are worshipped with wild abandon. *g*
Technically unbetaed, so there may be tweaks or minor changes before I put it up on my site.
Speaking of which, Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered is up, all html-ized and pretty. (now with correct link)
Now, more fic.
Title: Falling Is Like This
Author: victoria p.
Summary: "Love is like falling and falling is like this"
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I own not. You sue not.
Feedback: Makes my day
Notes: Thanks Dot, Meg, Jen, Pete/Melissa, DD and Bethy. Summary and title from Ani DiFranco. Lupin-love for Lupercalia.
Date: February 15, 2004
~*~
Falling Is Like This
Sirius has always known Remus is different. Remus wears otherness like a fine velvet robe, the way Sirius wears his name and James, his Quidditch prowess. It took Sirius a while to see it, but he's always been good at putting the smallest clues together to complete a puzzle, and as skilled as Remus is at dissembling, he can no longer hide from Sirius.
Sirius has no inkling what he's setting in motion the first night he crawls into bed next to Remus. They are only boys, and at the time, he believes Remus's parents are beating him. It is the only explanation for the endless succession of injuries Remus bears upon returning from his monthly visits home. Sirius understands this -- his father is heavy-handed with the strap on his back and his mother quick with the back of her hand across his insolent mouth. He and Regulus used to huddle under the blankets in much the same way.
It is the first thing he shares only with Remus; James would never understand -- his parents dote on him -- and Sirius barely tolerates Peter when he notices him at all.
This monthly ritual becomes such an integral part of their lives that even finding out the truth of what Remus is doesn't stop it. In fact, Sirius goes out of his way to touch Remus as often as he can without attracting notice, to make him feel as normal as possible.
Various girlfriends come and go as they grow up, but girls cannot interfere in this one thing. However far apart the boys drift during the day, on full moon nights, the four roam together, and on the nights after, Sirius offers Remus comfort in the only way he knows how.
It has become important to him on a level so deep he can never articulate it, for all his skill at charming his way out of detentions and into people's pants. When he first discovers his attraction to other boys, he's grateful he can change into Padfoot on these nights, so Remus never mistakes his intent and pulls away in disgust.
He begins hoarding moments, secrets, things Remus shares only with him, and he offers secrets and fears in return, whispered in the warm dark of Remus's bed. He comes to rely on Remus, steady as a rock and nearly as strong.
So it feels as if the earth has dropped away the first time he sees Remus kiss another boy. His stomach plummets, the way it does when he takes a steep dive on his broom, and he finds it hard to breathe.
This is a secret Remus hasn't shared, and Sirius cannot grasp the enormity of his betrayal. He finds refuge in anger, sends Snape to the Shrieking Shack without a thought for what he's doing.
James saves the day, as he always does, and the import of what Sirius has done is borne in upon him.
Remus is in the worst shape he's been since they mastered the Animagus transformation. He is in the hospital wing most of the day, and Pomfrey won't let Sirius in to see him, though Sirius tries every trick he knows for talking teachers round. James won't lend him the Invisibility Cloak, gives him a black eye and a bloody nose when he asks, so he spends the day in a state of ever-increasing anxiety -- that Remus is hurt so badly magic cannot help, that he won't let Sirius apologize, won't let him offer comfort, will never speak to him again. That their friendship has been irrevocably broken by his stupidity.
Remus's bedcurtains are drawn when Sirius returns to the room that night after spending hours pacing the grounds in dog form, trying to work off his nervous energy.
Sirius is a true Gryffindor at heart, though, so he gathers his courage and pushes his way into Remus's bed, the way he has on dozens of other nights.
Remus is already asleep, his normally fair face ashen. Sirius takes advantage of this rare opportunity to watch him when his guard is down. Remus isn't handsome, not the way Sirius and James are, but there is a harsh beauty in his face and strength in his bones. One long-fingered hand rests on the pillow, the white of the linen bandage wrapped around it stark against the softer white of well-worn sheets.
Sirius slips in behind him, gently fitting his body against Remus's, careful not to wake him or brush against any visible injuries. He lays his head on the pillow, breathes in Remus's scent, familiar from so much time spent as Padfoot. It sends a thrill through him, here in the silent dark, he's breathing in the air Remus exhales, absorbing part of Remus into himself.
Feeling daring, he nuzzles Remus's neck, shocked at the heat firing along his veins from touching a familiar body in unfamiliar ways and places. Remus's skin is soft and warm; the aroma of the lavender soap Pomfrey keeps in the infirmary, overlays the natural scent of sweat and boy.
Remus's eyes open and Sirius freezes, caught. He fumbles for words, explanations, apologies, but all he can manage is a whispered, "Moony?"
"Don't call me that."
Sirius drops his gaze, abashed.
"If you ever, ever do that to me again," Remus says, his voice hard, though he doesn't move away from Sirius's embrace, "I will kill you."
Sirius believes him.
"I'm so sorry--"
"We're done talking about it," Remus says in that same steely tone. "Don't ever mention it again."
He's back to sleep within seconds, Sirius's arms around him, body at his back.
Sirius is off-balance, breathless at this sudden change in their relationship. He spends the night staring at Remus's sleeping face in the dark, feeling every breath and beat of Remus's heart as if it were his own, some form of magic crackling between them, making Sirius's hair stand on end.
He has no idea what's happening. All he knows is he's got a second chance, and he's going to make the most of it.
The next morning, Remus looks at Sirius's battered face and James's stony one and says, "It's enough."
James nods and the tension in the room diffuses, but Sirius knows things will never be the same.
Months pass, and life settles back into routine until the summer is upon them.
Sirius is stifled by the silence of his room at night at Grimmauld Place. He misses Remus's soft exhalations beside him, James's rumbling snores across the way, and even Peter's muttered nonsense when he's dreaming.
His days are spent in a battle of wills with his parents; shouts echo through the house, and then that deadly silence falls when they retire.
He finally breaks when his mother refuses to let him visit Remus for the full moon. She doesn't know why, precisely, he needs to be there those days, but she knows that it is important to him, that he wants it badly enough to ask for it, so she denies him.
He packs a small bag that night and leaves; goes to James's, not Remus's, not wanting to intrude, and leaves the stifling silence of the Blacks behind for the Potters' warm, if wary, welcome.
He misses that moon, but in August their little pack reunites for a camping trip in the Lake District, arranged by James's father.
They sleep beneath the stars, Remus's warm tenor telling them the myths behind the constellations, a favorite pastime of a childhood spent in the sickroom. Sirius has heard these stories before, but still he listens, mesmerized by the curve of Remus's lips as he speaks, the white flash of his teeth and the gleam of eager intelligence in his eyes, visible even in the dark.
He falls asleep with his head on Remus's shoulder, Remus's voice a drowsy drone in his ear.
When he wakes, the waning moon has risen, and they are tangled together beneath a blanket, but on top of their sleeping bags. He tries to breathe but his chest is tight, as if Remus has stolen all the air from his lungs. It is different, though, from the stifling gloom of his parents' house, as different as a pillow from a stone. He breathes Remus in, more needful than oxygen, and takes care not to wake him.
Sirius realizes, as he stares down at Remus, that he loves this boy, and he is in love with this boy.
He gasps at the revelation, like a drowning man breaking the surface of the sea.
Remus wakes at the sound. He turns his head and smiles. "Sirius," he whispers sleepily.
And between that one breath and the next, everything changes again.
"Remus," he says, as if for the first time, and presses his mouth to those smiling lips.
end
***
Comments and feedback are worshipped with wild abandon. *g*