birthdayfic
For
entropical87, on her birthday. Hope you're having a lovely day darling
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Word count: 1200
Rating: NC-17
This is post last-battle general fixit complete denial fic, because I can't stand to see Remus all heterosexual alone.
A bottle of Firewhisky, a cigarette lighter, a sacrificial knife from one of the stalls in Knockturn Alley, and an Accio spell. Shouldn’t have been that easy. He hasn’t told Harry; poor lad is still in shock that it's actually all over, and…it might not have worked. Shouldn’t have worked, but then there’s magic and rigid forms, and there’s magic and this deep fucking need, something that takes love and hate and longing, twists it all together until the stars could weep blood, the oceans run dry, and…
And a half dead eighteen year old could win a battle that hundreds had lost before him.
Remus smiles slightly, strokes Sirius’s hair as they sit in the rubble of the Ministry. Somewhere to his right, there’s the Werewolf Registry office, to his left, the Department of Impossible things, and straight ahead of him, a curtain flutters, and he hears whispering. He’s had so many nightmares about that curtain, this room, and now it’s all ashes, dust, crumbling ruins of the old world. Sirius shivers, even in the sun. He takes off his cloak, clumsy from the firewhisky, wraps it around Sirius with a confused tenderness that makes his heart break all over again, reform into a new shape. “Sssh Pads, it’s over now.”
He strokes the side of Sirius’s face, can hardly believe he’s actually there.
“Started, you mean,” Sirius whispers, smiling crookedly. Remus nods, stands up, somehow managing not to topple over with the weight in his arms. He leaves the bottle of firewhisky there, but takes the lighter and the knife. He knows someone will want to know mechanics, whys, wherefores, will want to dissect the spell- someone being Hermione or Snape; Harry will just be happy that it has happened.
Too drunk to apparate; he walks out of the Department, and into Wizarding London. It’s late, and people are still twitchy about being out after dark, the curfew that was imposed a habit now, ingrained. There are banners in shop windows, the tattered remnants of streamers, a few bright flashing illusory spells on shop signs. He hardly notices the walk, lets himself in to the flat above Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, then he’s home, and Sirius is there, and he knows there are so many things to fix, to explain, but for now it’s perfect. He puts Sirius on the sofa, goes to make a cup of tea, more out of habit than anything. When he gets back from the kitchen, Sirius is sitting up, looking around.
“You had us worried,” he says softly, trying not to show how much worry there had truly been. His hair is now more grey than brown, his face deeply lined, scarred from his final fight with Greyback. Sirius nods, smiles wryly.
“I think I might have had me worried, too.”
Doesn’t say anything more than that about it. Remus knows better than to push, just puts his hands on Sirius’s shoulders, bony and fragile feeling, even through the thick cloak. Sirius leans back into him, not as touch shy as after Azkaban, more seeming to crave it than fear it. He doesn’t see any aging, either, no sign that anything has changed from…from before. He hadn’t gained much of the weight from Azkaban, or lost the twitchy energy of before.
“How long?”
“Forever. No time at all. Thirty months, one week, two days, seven hours, three min-”
Sirius puts his hand over one of Remus’s, and he notices distantly that his face is wet before Sirius is moving around the sofa, turning him so they’re facing each other, and looking at him, long, elegant fingers going up to Remus’s cheek. “And did you cry for me? Sorry, cruel question. Unnecessary. You aged, grieved, fought. And won, of course, why else would you bring me back?”
“I wanted to before, but…you were in more danger than the rest of us, and I’m…I’m selfish, pads.”
“Aren’t we all?”
He kisses him, then, his hand going to the back of Sirius’s head, the kiss soft, drink-clumsy. He wants to say so much with it, tell him so many secrets his heart is almost bursting with holding it all in, all the sorrys. Sirius is hard, naked under the cloak, pressed up against him so there is only the fabric of his trousers separating them. Sirius is demanding, backing him up to the sofa so he has a job keeping his balance, unfastening his trousers, pulling them down along with his boxers, and Remus knows he could escape, could easily overpower him but he doesn’t, just stays still and feels, and gasps. His hand is grasped, wrapped around both their cocks, and it’s like being back at Hogwarts, fumbling drunken handjobs in the dorm when they were alone, or in the Restricted Section, gasps muffled, fear of getting caught making it all the sweeter. Sirius still has the same gasp when Remus lets the callused part of his hand touch him, the same headtilt.
It shouldn’t be the same. Remus knows this, of course he knows this, but for the moment the way his shoulder aches in the rain, and the headaches he still gets don’t matter, because he has his Sirius back, slick and hot in his hand, warm up against him, one arm wrapped around him. Hard to tell who comes first really; all he knows is they topple over and sprawl, half upside down on the couch, and that his shirt needs a good scourgify before he can be seen in public wearing it. He lazily does his night time locking charm, summons his duvet from his bed, and pokes Sirius when he calls him lazy.
“Mister Moony respectfully informs Mister Padfoot that he would like to take this opportunity to bask in the glory of his company with the minimum amount of movement on his part,” he whispers, shifting so the sofa’s more comfortable. Sirius laughs, nicks his wand and transfigures the sofa into a bed that looks remarkably like one of the ones at Hogwarts, only the drapes are chintz, not red, and the headboard is padded. Sirius’s wand is at Grimmauld place; tomorrow, they can go and get it. Tomorrow is going to be a day full of questions and reunions. He groans, thinking of all the noise and kerfuffle.
“We could just leave ‘em a note,” Sirius says, voice muffled by the fact that he seems to be burrowing into the mattress. “Go to the South of France, maybe the Dordogne, see some castles and rivers, annoy my aristocratic cousins for a while. Take Harry along with us, tell Hermione to explain to the others.”
“She’d kill us.”
“I didn’t say the plan was without its drawbacks.”
Remus laughs, wraps his arms around Sirius, then wraps the duvet around them both.
“I’ll take it under advisement.”
Sirius doesn’t answer, his breathing evening out, body gradually relaxing. Remus can hear his heartbeat, strong and steady, can feel his breathing pattern being drawn into that of Sirius’s, his heartbeat slowing. Tonight, he knows his sleep with be dreamless. Tonight the world is fair, right, sweet.
entropical87, on her birthday. Hope you're having a lovely day darling
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Word count: 1200
Rating: NC-17
This is post last-battle general fixit complete denial fic, because I can't stand to see Remus all heterosexual alone.
A bottle of Firewhisky, a cigarette lighter, a sacrificial knife from one of the stalls in Knockturn Alley, and an Accio spell. Shouldn’t have been that easy. He hasn’t told Harry; poor lad is still in shock that it's actually all over, and…it might not have worked. Shouldn’t have worked, but then there’s magic and rigid forms, and there’s magic and this deep fucking need, something that takes love and hate and longing, twists it all together until the stars could weep blood, the oceans run dry, and…
And a half dead eighteen year old could win a battle that hundreds had lost before him.
Remus smiles slightly, strokes Sirius’s hair as they sit in the rubble of the Ministry. Somewhere to his right, there’s the Werewolf Registry office, to his left, the Department of Impossible things, and straight ahead of him, a curtain flutters, and he hears whispering. He’s had so many nightmares about that curtain, this room, and now it’s all ashes, dust, crumbling ruins of the old world. Sirius shivers, even in the sun. He takes off his cloak, clumsy from the firewhisky, wraps it around Sirius with a confused tenderness that makes his heart break all over again, reform into a new shape. “Sssh Pads, it’s over now.”
He strokes the side of Sirius’s face, can hardly believe he’s actually there.
“Started, you mean,” Sirius whispers, smiling crookedly. Remus nods, stands up, somehow managing not to topple over with the weight in his arms. He leaves the bottle of firewhisky there, but takes the lighter and the knife. He knows someone will want to know mechanics, whys, wherefores, will want to dissect the spell- someone being Hermione or Snape; Harry will just be happy that it has happened.
Too drunk to apparate; he walks out of the Department, and into Wizarding London. It’s late, and people are still twitchy about being out after dark, the curfew that was imposed a habit now, ingrained. There are banners in shop windows, the tattered remnants of streamers, a few bright flashing illusory spells on shop signs. He hardly notices the walk, lets himself in to the flat above Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, then he’s home, and Sirius is there, and he knows there are so many things to fix, to explain, but for now it’s perfect. He puts Sirius on the sofa, goes to make a cup of tea, more out of habit than anything. When he gets back from the kitchen, Sirius is sitting up, looking around.
“You had us worried,” he says softly, trying not to show how much worry there had truly been. His hair is now more grey than brown, his face deeply lined, scarred from his final fight with Greyback. Sirius nods, smiles wryly.
“I think I might have had me worried, too.”
Doesn’t say anything more than that about it. Remus knows better than to push, just puts his hands on Sirius’s shoulders, bony and fragile feeling, even through the thick cloak. Sirius leans back into him, not as touch shy as after Azkaban, more seeming to crave it than fear it. He doesn’t see any aging, either, no sign that anything has changed from…from before. He hadn’t gained much of the weight from Azkaban, or lost the twitchy energy of before.
“How long?”
“Forever. No time at all. Thirty months, one week, two days, seven hours, three min-”
Sirius puts his hand over one of Remus’s, and he notices distantly that his face is wet before Sirius is moving around the sofa, turning him so they’re facing each other, and looking at him, long, elegant fingers going up to Remus’s cheek. “And did you cry for me? Sorry, cruel question. Unnecessary. You aged, grieved, fought. And won, of course, why else would you bring me back?”
“I wanted to before, but…you were in more danger than the rest of us, and I’m…I’m selfish, pads.”
“Aren’t we all?”
He kisses him, then, his hand going to the back of Sirius’s head, the kiss soft, drink-clumsy. He wants to say so much with it, tell him so many secrets his heart is almost bursting with holding it all in, all the sorrys. Sirius is hard, naked under the cloak, pressed up against him so there is only the fabric of his trousers separating them. Sirius is demanding, backing him up to the sofa so he has a job keeping his balance, unfastening his trousers, pulling them down along with his boxers, and Remus knows he could escape, could easily overpower him but he doesn’t, just stays still and feels, and gasps. His hand is grasped, wrapped around both their cocks, and it’s like being back at Hogwarts, fumbling drunken handjobs in the dorm when they were alone, or in the Restricted Section, gasps muffled, fear of getting caught making it all the sweeter. Sirius still has the same gasp when Remus lets the callused part of his hand touch him, the same headtilt.
It shouldn’t be the same. Remus knows this, of course he knows this, but for the moment the way his shoulder aches in the rain, and the headaches he still gets don’t matter, because he has his Sirius back, slick and hot in his hand, warm up against him, one arm wrapped around him. Hard to tell who comes first really; all he knows is they topple over and sprawl, half upside down on the couch, and that his shirt needs a good scourgify before he can be seen in public wearing it. He lazily does his night time locking charm, summons his duvet from his bed, and pokes Sirius when he calls him lazy.
“Mister Moony respectfully informs Mister Padfoot that he would like to take this opportunity to bask in the glory of his company with the minimum amount of movement on his part,” he whispers, shifting so the sofa’s more comfortable. Sirius laughs, nicks his wand and transfigures the sofa into a bed that looks remarkably like one of the ones at Hogwarts, only the drapes are chintz, not red, and the headboard is padded. Sirius’s wand is at Grimmauld place; tomorrow, they can go and get it. Tomorrow is going to be a day full of questions and reunions. He groans, thinking of all the noise and kerfuffle.
“We could just leave ‘em a note,” Sirius says, voice muffled by the fact that he seems to be burrowing into the mattress. “Go to the South of France, maybe the Dordogne, see some castles and rivers, annoy my aristocratic cousins for a while. Take Harry along with us, tell Hermione to explain to the others.”
“She’d kill us.”
“I didn’t say the plan was without its drawbacks.”
Remus laughs, wraps his arms around Sirius, then wraps the duvet around them both.
“I’ll take it under advisement.”
Sirius doesn’t answer, his breathing evening out, body gradually relaxing. Remus can hear his heartbeat, strong and steady, can feel his breathing pattern being drawn into that of Sirius’s, his heartbeat slowing. Tonight, he knows his sleep with be dreamless. Tonight the world is fair, right, sweet.