scarvesnhats day eleven: Into The Darkness.
Author: Me! (old_light)
Story: Into The Darkness.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Remus/Sirius, contemplation of Sirius/other
Words: 634
Summary: A train journey back from an Order mission. Sirius sleeps, Remus angsts thinks.
Disclaimer: Roses are red,
All flowers rot,
Joanne K Rowling
Is someone I'm not.
Notes: scarvesnhats Day 11. (What a great prompt!) Hello! Remember me? No? I've had a terrible, busy November and haven't been able to write for about a month...yet I still want to complete scarvesnhats. I've skipped two days because day nine is giving me a bit of trouble and I knew exactly what I wanted with this one. Hopefully the rest of the month will follow soon. Hopefully.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12
Night was falling. The train sped past darkening farms and fields with growing shadows beneath tall, golding trees. The sky turned from blue to orange to red and the sanguine edges of day began to dip below the horizon to rise in other places at other times. A slow, autumnal dusk was lowered like a blanket over the countryside.
Inside the gently rocking carriage there was warmth and light. Sirius lay across the table from him, his body sprawled over two seats, head gently inclined in slumber, black hair tousled. For the first time that day he looked vulnerable. As if, before long, the daily horrors of this war would catch up with him and he would finally see. And fall.
Remus didn't want to think about the details of the mission (a grey industrial town, a possible lead on a Death Eater spy, fight and flight, four murdered innocents, screaming, blood, blood everywhere) so he watched the boy in front of him.
He watched a half-open mouth. A mouth that was so talented when it came to licking and sucking and biting and leaving feather-light, scorching hot kisses on every inch of his skin. A mouth which could laugh and smile and shout and joke and whisper soft words into his ear at night during a tangled euphoria of limbs. A mouth with two blood-red lips pouting slightly in slumber. Could that mouth ever mutter Order secrets into the ear of an outside source, or kiss another's lips bruisingly, shakingly?
He saw how hair fell around his face so easily, framing it with dark strands. It was rumpled, but showed no evidence of its earlier condition (matted with blood, soaked with sweat and fear as the screams rang out around them). This was hair he was used to seeing spread out on a pillow beside him, hair he tangled his fingers in and blindly clutched at as his eyes fluttered shut with overwhelming pleasure. Thoughts of foreign digits ensnared within it and ebony tresses being used in dark spells slithered across his mind. Who was to say that fidelity existed in times of war?
Beneath closed lids he knew grey eyes lay. The colour of stormy skies. The colour of northern seas. Silver. Smoke. Slate. Eyes which he could drown in. Did treachery lurk like skulking vermin behind clear-storm irises? Had anyone else - man or woman, enemy or not - been engulfed so totally by those eyes that they had counted every single fleck of brown amidst the grey as he had?
He observed the noble features of hundreds of years of fine Black breeding; the high cheekbones, the straight-set, aristocratic nose. Genes betraying personality. A serpentine history shining through a lion's mask. A slight worried crease in his forehead was the only physical manifest of the day's battles. Would bravery be enough to stem the rising tide of bloodshed? Did another ever kiss the smooth countenance and caress an ivory-skinned cheek as he so often did?
Remus watched. He watched His mouth, His hair, His eyes, His brow. He watched His Padfoot. His Lover. He watched and he knew.
We're not going to last this war.
Sirius stirred, and suddenly he was faced with tired grey eyes and a wave of frantic-loving-burning warmth rushed through him, exploding in the pit of his stomach. Making him regret that he had ever doubted. Shaming his lack of faith.
The next words were thick with drowsiness.
"H'long have we got?"
"A while yet. Go back to sleep, Pads."
Sirius smiled gratefully and closed his eyes. It had begun to rain. Remus leant against the cold window and stared through the night to the blurring, far-off lights, listening to the hollow sound of the drops hitting the glass.
The train rattled on, into the darkness.
Story: Into The Darkness.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Remus/Sirius, contemplation of Sirius/other
Words: 634
Summary: A train journey back from an Order mission. Sirius sleeps, Remus angsts thinks.
Disclaimer: Roses are red,
All flowers rot,
Joanne K Rowling
Is someone I'm not.
Notes: scarvesnhats Day 11. (What a great prompt!) Hello! Remember me? No? I've had a terrible, busy November and haven't been able to write for about a month...yet I still want to complete scarvesnhats. I've skipped two days because day nine is giving me a bit of trouble and I knew exactly what I wanted with this one. Hopefully the rest of the month will follow soon. Hopefully.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12
Night was falling. The train sped past darkening farms and fields with growing shadows beneath tall, golding trees. The sky turned from blue to orange to red and the sanguine edges of day began to dip below the horizon to rise in other places at other times. A slow, autumnal dusk was lowered like a blanket over the countryside.
Inside the gently rocking carriage there was warmth and light. Sirius lay across the table from him, his body sprawled over two seats, head gently inclined in slumber, black hair tousled. For the first time that day he looked vulnerable. As if, before long, the daily horrors of this war would catch up with him and he would finally see. And fall.
Remus didn't want to think about the details of the mission (a grey industrial town, a possible lead on a Death Eater spy, fight and flight, four murdered innocents, screaming, blood, blood everywhere) so he watched the boy in front of him.
He watched a half-open mouth. A mouth that was so talented when it came to licking and sucking and biting and leaving feather-light, scorching hot kisses on every inch of his skin. A mouth which could laugh and smile and shout and joke and whisper soft words into his ear at night during a tangled euphoria of limbs. A mouth with two blood-red lips pouting slightly in slumber. Could that mouth ever mutter Order secrets into the ear of an outside source, or kiss another's lips bruisingly, shakingly?
He saw how hair fell around his face so easily, framing it with dark strands. It was rumpled, but showed no evidence of its earlier condition (matted with blood, soaked with sweat and fear as the screams rang out around them). This was hair he was used to seeing spread out on a pillow beside him, hair he tangled his fingers in and blindly clutched at as his eyes fluttered shut with overwhelming pleasure. Thoughts of foreign digits ensnared within it and ebony tresses being used in dark spells slithered across his mind. Who was to say that fidelity existed in times of war?
Beneath closed lids he knew grey eyes lay. The colour of stormy skies. The colour of northern seas. Silver. Smoke. Slate. Eyes which he could drown in. Did treachery lurk like skulking vermin behind clear-storm irises? Had anyone else - man or woman, enemy or not - been engulfed so totally by those eyes that they had counted every single fleck of brown amidst the grey as he had?
He observed the noble features of hundreds of years of fine Black breeding; the high cheekbones, the straight-set, aristocratic nose. Genes betraying personality. A serpentine history shining through a lion's mask. A slight worried crease in his forehead was the only physical manifest of the day's battles. Would bravery be enough to stem the rising tide of bloodshed? Did another ever kiss the smooth countenance and caress an ivory-skinned cheek as he so often did?
Remus watched. He watched His mouth, His hair, His eyes, His brow. He watched His Padfoot. His Lover. He watched and he knew.
We're not going to last this war.
Sirius stirred, and suddenly he was faced with tired grey eyes and a wave of frantic-loving-burning warmth rushed through him, exploding in the pit of his stomach. Making him regret that he had ever doubted. Shaming his lack of faith.
The next words were thick with drowsiness.
"H'long have we got?"
"A while yet. Go back to sleep, Pads."
Sirius smiled gratefully and closed his eyes. It had begun to rain. Remus leant against the cold window and stared through the night to the blurring, far-off lights, listening to the hollow sound of the drops hitting the glass.
The train rattled on, into the darkness.