About the Moon, Even in August
Another for Dog Days. Better than the last, imnsho.
The solemn light behind the barns,
The rising moon, the cricket's call,
The August night, and you and I-
***
Moony staggers back, after it's done with, all of it, the curlingsweepingwavesofnausea, the runninghowlingrending under a vast lunatic sky, the moon as red as spilled blood, the grass awash in whispers and echoes of thisthatandthisthat, thisoneandthatone and the dead hunger that is rage...
Unknowable, after. He was sick a dozen times, he spits and wipes his mouth, and cannot be free of it.
Then there, in the shadows of the barn, black fur against golden straw. So still that at first Remus' stomach feels like a small stone. His skin is too tight with fear that this time, the wolf went too far, got something in his nostrils he wanted and...
Padfoot is breathing. As Remus creeps closer, the black fur shifts into smooth young skin. A tousled mass of hair still thick with straw shifts as Sirius arches his spine. Exhausted, scratched, bruised, but smiling.
Remus settles beside him, head under chin, and listens to the steady pound of Sirius' heart. The anthem of his happiness. The rhythm of their lives.
Crickets whisper behind their backs. Sirius burns like a small sun, and Remus... lovehateshateloves... himself is the moon.
The solemn light behind the barns,
The rising moon, the cricket's call,
The August night, and you and I-
***
Moony staggers back, after it's done with, all of it, the curlingsweepingwavesofnausea, the runninghowlingrending under a vast lunatic sky, the moon as red as spilled blood, the grass awash in whispers and echoes of thisthatandthisthat, thisoneandthatone and the dead hunger that is rage...
Unknowable, after. He was sick a dozen times, he spits and wipes his mouth, and cannot be free of it.
Then there, in the shadows of the barn, black fur against golden straw. So still that at first Remus' stomach feels like a small stone. His skin is too tight with fear that this time, the wolf went too far, got something in his nostrils he wanted and...
Padfoot is breathing. As Remus creeps closer, the black fur shifts into smooth young skin. A tousled mass of hair still thick with straw shifts as Sirius arches his spine. Exhausted, scratched, bruised, but smiling.
Remus settles beside him, head under chin, and listens to the steady pound of Sirius' heart. The anthem of his happiness. The rhythm of their lives.
Crickets whisper behind their backs. Sirius burns like a small sun, and Remus... lovehateshateloves... himself is the moon.