two HP ficlets (Remus/Sirius)
I appear to have fallen behind. I also have no idea which prompts go with what day anymore.
Rumpled Blankets
“Mmm, stay,” Sirius says, arm sliding tighter across Remus and holding him fast.
The words are no more than a mumble, still heavy with sleep, and Remus thinks he shouldn't be growing accustomed to this so easily, that it is stupid and careless to cling to these slow, easy awakenings when he has managed to do without them for so long. He knows this, but his reason has always given way in the face of Sirius, and he would gladly trade all his sense for the man behind him.
“Can’t,” he says, which is true, because he’s agreed to help Molly with some Order research. He says it more, though, because he knows Sirius will talk him out of it, and because he likes the sound of Sirius’s voice so close to his ear, especially on mornings like this, when it's cold outside and there is only tedious work ahead.
“Can,” Sirius says. “Will.”
“Articulate,” Remus retorts, and Sirius huffs laughter onto the back of his neck, and thirteen years, Remus thinks, are blown away by it. “Molly might see,” he adds.
“Good. Hope she does.” Sirius slides deft fingers lazily against Remus’s skin, and they both know Sirius’s work is almost done. “Anyway, she’s sensible enough to stay well away from this room -- a little terrified about what she might find, I think. Now shut up and go back to sleep.”
Remus grins, and wraps his fingers around Sirius’s. He leans closer against him, let’s the rhythm of Sirius’s breathing lull him back to sleep, and promises he’ll make it up to Molly.
***
They're still sleeping half an hour later, while a red-faced and somewhat uneasy Arthur hides behind his paper and explains to Molly why Remus’s bed probably looks as though it hasn’t been slept in. Molly says it can’t possibly be so, that of course Arthur has misunderstood. But there are cobwebs on the second floor that she absolutely must get rid of, and if she should accidentally direct the wrong spell at the wrong door, then no one could really blame her; it is, after all, a very dark house.
She stands for a moment in the doorway, and then she smiles as she walks away. She will certainly never tell Arthur that she thinks they look rather nice wrapped around one another like that, but she makes him an extra cup of tea when she gets back downstairs, and offers him a slice of the sponge cake she had been intending to keep for after dinner.
***
A Lost Glove
The glove is lying forgotten at the bottom of the stairs, holes in three fingers, and Sirius knows immediately that it's Remus’s. He thinks it's too small to lie in the huge expanse of hall; he doesn't like the way it looks like a hand in the dark, and he advances upon it, picking it up and feeling soft wool under his fingers. He smiles to himself, because he remembers how Remus used to hate being without his gloves, and he carries it with him into the kitchen, absurdly unwilling to simply put it down.
He wonders if Remus knows he has left it behind, imagines him searching his rucksack with mounting dismay, and he pretends he isn't waiting for the click of the door and the sound of Remus’s voice calling. Still, he listens, and he waits, glove stuffed into a pocket so Sirius can smile and hold it out to him if Remus comes back, a triumph of having done something useful, an offering of what they once had.
The day slips towards night, though, and Remus doesn't return. Sirius drops the glove on the floor beside the bed, and curls beneath the covers. He falls asleep to images of long-fingered hands and flashes of pale skin through fraying wool, and in his dream, those hands offer caresses like kisses, and Sirius believes their promises of safety and hope.
But when he wakes, the bed is still empty and cold, and the light from the morning seems not to penetrate the room.
Rumpled Blankets
“Mmm, stay,” Sirius says, arm sliding tighter across Remus and holding him fast.
The words are no more than a mumble, still heavy with sleep, and Remus thinks he shouldn't be growing accustomed to this so easily, that it is stupid and careless to cling to these slow, easy awakenings when he has managed to do without them for so long. He knows this, but his reason has always given way in the face of Sirius, and he would gladly trade all his sense for the man behind him.
“Can’t,” he says, which is true, because he’s agreed to help Molly with some Order research. He says it more, though, because he knows Sirius will talk him out of it, and because he likes the sound of Sirius’s voice so close to his ear, especially on mornings like this, when it's cold outside and there is only tedious work ahead.
“Can,” Sirius says. “Will.”
“Articulate,” Remus retorts, and Sirius huffs laughter onto the back of his neck, and thirteen years, Remus thinks, are blown away by it. “Molly might see,” he adds.
“Good. Hope she does.” Sirius slides deft fingers lazily against Remus’s skin, and they both know Sirius’s work is almost done. “Anyway, she’s sensible enough to stay well away from this room -- a little terrified about what she might find, I think. Now shut up and go back to sleep.”
Remus grins, and wraps his fingers around Sirius’s. He leans closer against him, let’s the rhythm of Sirius’s breathing lull him back to sleep, and promises he’ll make it up to Molly.
***
They're still sleeping half an hour later, while a red-faced and somewhat uneasy Arthur hides behind his paper and explains to Molly why Remus’s bed probably looks as though it hasn’t been slept in. Molly says it can’t possibly be so, that of course Arthur has misunderstood. But there are cobwebs on the second floor that she absolutely must get rid of, and if she should accidentally direct the wrong spell at the wrong door, then no one could really blame her; it is, after all, a very dark house.
She stands for a moment in the doorway, and then she smiles as she walks away. She will certainly never tell Arthur that she thinks they look rather nice wrapped around one another like that, but she makes him an extra cup of tea when she gets back downstairs, and offers him a slice of the sponge cake she had been intending to keep for after dinner.
***
A Lost Glove
The glove is lying forgotten at the bottom of the stairs, holes in three fingers, and Sirius knows immediately that it's Remus’s. He thinks it's too small to lie in the huge expanse of hall; he doesn't like the way it looks like a hand in the dark, and he advances upon it, picking it up and feeling soft wool under his fingers. He smiles to himself, because he remembers how Remus used to hate being without his gloves, and he carries it with him into the kitchen, absurdly unwilling to simply put it down.
He wonders if Remus knows he has left it behind, imagines him searching his rucksack with mounting dismay, and he pretends he isn't waiting for the click of the door and the sound of Remus’s voice calling. Still, he listens, and he waits, glove stuffed into a pocket so Sirius can smile and hold it out to him if Remus comes back, a triumph of having done something useful, an offering of what they once had.
The day slips towards night, though, and Remus doesn't return. Sirius drops the glove on the floor beside the bed, and curls beneath the covers. He falls asleep to images of long-fingered hands and flashes of pale skin through fraying wool, and in his dream, those hands offer caresses like kisses, and Sirius believes their promises of safety and hope.
But when he wakes, the bed is still empty and cold, and the light from the morning seems not to penetrate the room.