Fic: Conversations (Harry Potter)
Title: Conversations
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Sirius/Remus
Rating: PG
“Whatcha reading?”
“I’d think even you would recognize a book when you saw one.” And I’m an open one. My god, those eyes.
“Well fine, if you’re going to be that way.”
“What way is that?” Yes, I am that way, thank you, and it’s all your bloody fault.
“All snarky and what have you.”
“I don’t take kindly to being interrupted.” Except by you. Please, interrupt me, interrupt me good.
“I’m bored.”
“And this concerns me how?” I could entertain you. Please, let me entertain you.
“You, as my mate, are obligated to assist me in becoming un-bored.”
“I am obligated to no such thing.” Unless you ask. “Your ennui is not my problem.” You could just sit here and be bored. Just sit there next to me and look gorgeous.
“My what?”
“Ennui.” Which is probably rather similar to the noise I’d make if... oh bollocks.
“Whassat?”
“It’s French.” French. Kiss. Tongue. Fuck. “It means ‘boredom’.”
“Oh.”
Open your mouth a little wider, let me pretend.
“Why don’t you just say ‘boredom’ then?”
“Because ‘ennui’ sounds better and has a slightly more accurate connotation.” And because I knew you’d ask, and the more questions you ask, the longer you’ll stay here with me.
“Ah.”
Say something! Say something! He’s got bored! He’s losing interest! He’s going to go someplace else, go find some girl to.... Nope, not going to think about that. Not going to think about him with someone else.
“So what are you reading?”
“Do you care?” Fuck, now he’s going to think I don’t want him here. No, no, don’t get that look on your face. Don’t look at me like that, like I’ve hurt your feelings.
“Well... yeah, I guess.”
“You guess?” Oh, just let him win, Mooney! He’s being friendly, stop snarking at him.
“Just wanted to talk.”
Fantastic, he’s sulking. I’ve gone and been rude and hurt his feelings. Fuck. Well how about my feelings? The fact that he’s sitting here, breathing, smelling like Christmas. Shit, what am I going to get him for Christmas? “What do you want for Christmas?”
“You.”
Didn’t miss a beat on that one, did he? “Not in stock. Try again." Although, if you ask nicely, I would be perfectly happy to be at the foot of your bed Christmas morning wearing a big red bow... just a big red bow.
“Seriously, you could just put on a big gold bow, nothing else. I’d be a very happy puppy.”
And when did he learn legillimency? And why oh why, dear gods above, does he have to grin like that when he says it. “Mm, I think red would be more seasonal.” Unless he actually... no. Don’t even dare.
“Gold would match your eyes.”
“My eyes aren’t gold.” Are they? Yours are grey. Beautiful, perfect, thunderstorm grey.
“Well, sort of gold. So how ‘bout it? Can I have you for Christmas?”
Yes. Yes. In fact, why wait? You can have me now. Take me right here on the couch. “Mr. Mooney advises Mr. Padfoot to not proposition his mates, even in jest. That’s how rumours get started.”
“Let them talk.”
“Sirius.” I love you. I love the breath of wind that stirs the loose strands of your hair. I adore the firelight that shines in your eyes and glows across your face. I love this world that has you in it.
“What?”
“What do you want for Christmas?” Ask for the stars to hang above your bed. Ask for a cloud to wrap you when you sleep. Ask for an ocean on which to sail away. Oh now that’s a smile I’ve never seen...
“Whatever you pick, Mooney, I’m sure it’ll be grand.”
“Well fine then, be difficult.” I would give you my heart, my body, my soul, all wrapped neatly in a porcelain box, if I thought, for a moment, you would accept it.
“Well what do you want?”
To sleep at your feet, to wake upon sheets bathed in the scent of you. “Whatever you pick will be grand, I’m sure.”
“Hah. Fine then, be difficult. I’ll leave you to your reading.”
“Alright. Night, Pads.” No, don’t leave me. If you leave, you take my heartbeat, my soul.
“Night, Mooney.”
Come back, I love you. Let me worship the soles of your feet, they understand, for they alone of all your body have kissed the ground you walk on. Oh, stop being maudlin, Remus. Pull yourself together. Now what page was I on?
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Sirius/Remus
Rating: PG
“Whatcha reading?”
“I’d think even you would recognize a book when you saw one.” And I’m an open one. My god, those eyes.
“Well fine, if you’re going to be that way.”
“What way is that?” Yes, I am that way, thank you, and it’s all your bloody fault.
“All snarky and what have you.”
“I don’t take kindly to being interrupted.” Except by you. Please, interrupt me, interrupt me good.
“I’m bored.”
“And this concerns me how?” I could entertain you. Please, let me entertain you.
“You, as my mate, are obligated to assist me in becoming un-bored.”
“I am obligated to no such thing.” Unless you ask. “Your ennui is not my problem.” You could just sit here and be bored. Just sit there next to me and look gorgeous.
“My what?”
“Ennui.” Which is probably rather similar to the noise I’d make if... oh bollocks.
“Whassat?”
“It’s French.” French. Kiss. Tongue. Fuck. “It means ‘boredom’.”
“Oh.”
Open your mouth a little wider, let me pretend.
“Why don’t you just say ‘boredom’ then?”
“Because ‘ennui’ sounds better and has a slightly more accurate connotation.” And because I knew you’d ask, and the more questions you ask, the longer you’ll stay here with me.
“Ah.”
Say something! Say something! He’s got bored! He’s losing interest! He’s going to go someplace else, go find some girl to.... Nope, not going to think about that. Not going to think about him with someone else.
“So what are you reading?”
“Do you care?” Fuck, now he’s going to think I don’t want him here. No, no, don’t get that look on your face. Don’t look at me like that, like I’ve hurt your feelings.
“Well... yeah, I guess.”
“You guess?” Oh, just let him win, Mooney! He’s being friendly, stop snarking at him.
“Just wanted to talk.”
Fantastic, he’s sulking. I’ve gone and been rude and hurt his feelings. Fuck. Well how about my feelings? The fact that he’s sitting here, breathing, smelling like Christmas. Shit, what am I going to get him for Christmas? “What do you want for Christmas?”
“You.”
Didn’t miss a beat on that one, did he? “Not in stock. Try again." Although, if you ask nicely, I would be perfectly happy to be at the foot of your bed Christmas morning wearing a big red bow... just a big red bow.
“Seriously, you could just put on a big gold bow, nothing else. I’d be a very happy puppy.”
And when did he learn legillimency? And why oh why, dear gods above, does he have to grin like that when he says it. “Mm, I think red would be more seasonal.” Unless he actually... no. Don’t even dare.
“Gold would match your eyes.”
“My eyes aren’t gold.” Are they? Yours are grey. Beautiful, perfect, thunderstorm grey.
“Well, sort of gold. So how ‘bout it? Can I have you for Christmas?”
Yes. Yes. In fact, why wait? You can have me now. Take me right here on the couch. “Mr. Mooney advises Mr. Padfoot to not proposition his mates, even in jest. That’s how rumours get started.”
“Let them talk.”
“Sirius.” I love you. I love the breath of wind that stirs the loose strands of your hair. I adore the firelight that shines in your eyes and glows across your face. I love this world that has you in it.
“What?”
“What do you want for Christmas?” Ask for the stars to hang above your bed. Ask for a cloud to wrap you when you sleep. Ask for an ocean on which to sail away. Oh now that’s a smile I’ve never seen...
“Whatever you pick, Mooney, I’m sure it’ll be grand.”
“Well fine then, be difficult.” I would give you my heart, my body, my soul, all wrapped neatly in a porcelain box, if I thought, for a moment, you would accept it.
“Well what do you want?”
To sleep at your feet, to wake upon sheets bathed in the scent of you. “Whatever you pick will be grand, I’m sure.”
“Hah. Fine then, be difficult. I’ll leave you to your reading.”
“Alright. Night, Pads.” No, don’t leave me. If you leave, you take my heartbeat, my soul.
“Night, Mooney.”
Come back, I love you. Let me worship the soles of your feet, they understand, for they alone of all your body have kissed the ground you walk on. Oh, stop being maudlin, Remus. Pull yourself together. Now what page was I on?