[Fic] Synchrony
Title: Synchrony
Rating: R.
Summary: The body preserves memories the mind lost long since.
Notes: No HBP spoilers just yet. This could fit both after PoA and during Ootp, I think. It's small, few words shy of 400... And, concrit? Yes, please.
---
The mind lost long ago the memory of the exact ways these two bodies felt, moved, worked together.
But what the mind forgot, the body remembers.
It's almost frightening how instinctively, how quickly these hands are picking up motions that used to be familiar only a lifetime ago-- and how the skin under them doesn't feel right. Even if it should. It should, screams the body in a silent cry, and it pins this well-known stranger against the bed, the sheets pleating and ruffling around them, and the stranger pushes back, hands clawing shoulders, hips jutting up to meet other hips, friction, maddening friction that makes the breath stutter and break, and this, this is how it was, how it used to be, how it has to be, and the feeling of dread subsides.
The mind, though, picks up soon enough.
Yes, it thinks, he thinks, when thighs clamp his hips. Yes, when the head in front of him rolls backward revealing a white throat, Adam's apple going up and down, up and down, and if the black hair never quite reached past the pillow before, surely it doesn't matter now. Yes, when lips seek and find that pulse, yes, when he feels fingers going up the back of his head, yes, when he feels them gripping his hair, but no, where the skin under his fingertips is dry and coarse instead of smooth, no when he finds scars where there should be none, no when he feels bones too close and it's so wrong, and no, no, no when Sirius' broken cry echoes all of the desperation and the emptiness that he is trying so hard to fight. So he holds him, he just holds him as he, too, suddenly stops breathing and the heat fueling all his body explodes, he holds him tight, because it's still so good, still so good, that he doesn't want to stop. Ever. Ever again.
Because, underneath it all, it's still him, and that has to count for something.
A few moments after, when they both are not so short of breath anymore, absentmindedly Sirius starts threading his fingers through Remus' hair, the way he has done for as long as he can remember. Remus kisses his shoulder and thinks that it's worth it. No matter what, it's worth it. He buries his face in Sirius' neck, feels a chin press firmly against his cheekbone, and he doesn't think about how much time they might still have left.
Rating: R.
Summary: The body preserves memories the mind lost long since.
Notes: No HBP spoilers just yet. This could fit both after PoA and during Ootp, I think. It's small, few words shy of 400... And, concrit? Yes, please.
---
The mind lost long ago the memory of the exact ways these two bodies felt, moved, worked together.
But what the mind forgot, the body remembers.
It's almost frightening how instinctively, how quickly these hands are picking up motions that used to be familiar only a lifetime ago-- and how the skin under them doesn't feel right. Even if it should. It should, screams the body in a silent cry, and it pins this well-known stranger against the bed, the sheets pleating and ruffling around them, and the stranger pushes back, hands clawing shoulders, hips jutting up to meet other hips, friction, maddening friction that makes the breath stutter and break, and this, this is how it was, how it used to be, how it has to be, and the feeling of dread subsides.
The mind, though, picks up soon enough.
Yes, it thinks, he thinks, when thighs clamp his hips. Yes, when the head in front of him rolls backward revealing a white throat, Adam's apple going up and down, up and down, and if the black hair never quite reached past the pillow before, surely it doesn't matter now. Yes, when lips seek and find that pulse, yes, when he feels fingers going up the back of his head, yes, when he feels them gripping his hair, but no, where the skin under his fingertips is dry and coarse instead of smooth, no when he finds scars where there should be none, no when he feels bones too close and it's so wrong, and no, no, no when Sirius' broken cry echoes all of the desperation and the emptiness that he is trying so hard to fight. So he holds him, he just holds him as he, too, suddenly stops breathing and the heat fueling all his body explodes, he holds him tight, because it's still so good, still so good, that he doesn't want to stop. Ever. Ever again.
Because, underneath it all, it's still him, and that has to count for something.
A few moments after, when they both are not so short of breath anymore, absentmindedly Sirius starts threading his fingers through Remus' hair, the way he has done for as long as he can remember. Remus kisses his shoulder and thinks that it's worth it. No matter what, it's worth it. He buries his face in Sirius' neck, feels a chin press firmly against his cheekbone, and he doesn't think about how much time they might still have left.