I Can See a Better Time [Rodolphus/Sirius - PG - 948]
Title: I Can See a Better Time
Author: hikarievandar
Pairing(s): Rodolphus Lestrange/Sirius Black, background Rodolphus/Bellatrix
Prompt: Own Prompt
Word Count: 948
Rating: PG
Contains (Highlight to view): *Infidelity*
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Thanks, as always, go to S for her beta work. The title of this fic comes from a line in the song Fairytale of New York by The Pogues, which I listened to while writing.
Summary: Rodolphus slips away from his wife and in-laws in order to salvage his Yule.
He pulls up the hood of his cloak as he steps out into the night. The wind is biting cold, and his hood flares as it gusts stinging rain into his face. Behind him, warm light and sharp laughter urge him to turn back, but he closes the door firmly behind him instead.
His wife and her immediate family have little to offer him. He has played his part as husband past the point of nausea, and he steps into the cold in an attempt to salvage the rest of his Yule. Bellatrix is a misery to be tied to. Her cousin, on the other hand…
His gift for Sirius weighs heavily in his pocket as he walks. Trudges, more like. The rain and the passage of people have turned the snow to grey slush, and he hunches himself down as much as he can to hide himself from the miserable weather. His shoulders are hunched over - partly because of the weather, and partly because his winding steps are taking him into a Muggle neighbourhood. It’s heavily populated. Huge buildings tower over him on either side as he walks. Grimy kebab shops, greasy spoons, and corner shops nestle at street level in progressing amounts of squalor.
The streets are empty aside from the occasional bundle of rags in a doorway. Everything is grey.
He doesn’t know how Sirius can live here, in this corner of the world. He doesn’t know how even the Muggles can stand it.
Arriving at Sirius’ building, he uses the key Sirius gave him to get in. It had been accompanied by a wary look and then a shrug, like he hadn’t entirely cared whether or not Rodolphus was entirely trustworthy. He’s not, of course, but Sirius’ ambivalence towards that is one of the things he likes about him.
He rides the clanking, miniscule lift up to the fifth floor. It smells of damp up here. There are stains on the hall carpet and the light closest to the lift flickers intermittently. It’s a world away from the great and noble houses of the Blacks that Sirius grew up in, and Rodolphus thinks that’s probably why Sirius ended up here. Whether the choice was deliberate or not, running from his family is something Sirius will never stop doing.
Sirius opens his door in his dressing gown and pyjama bottoms, with his hair curling damp at his shoulders. He raises an eyebrow. “You’re early,” he says even as he lets Rodolphus in and takes his cloak. “They won’t miss you?”
“Not with Bella as drunk as she is, and with Saint Lucius to entertain,” Rodolphus replies. “I hope I’m not interrupting…”
“The self-recriminations of Dr Frankenstein can wait,” Sirius says. He shrugs, boneless and uncaring, and lifts his arms to drape them about Rodolphus’ neck. “Good Yule to you, love.”
His kiss tastes of mint and faintly of ashes - he’s been smoking those repulsive Muggle cigarettes again, but at least this time he’s tried to cover the taste.
Rodolphus lets himself be drawn in. Sirius is slender - almost bony - but his mouth is soft and his body welcoming. He slips his hands beneath Sirius’ robe to warm his hands on the smooth skin of his hips only for Sirius to flinch away, laughing.
“Fuck but you’re cold,” Sirius complains.
“Aren’t you going to warm me up?” Rodolphus asks, and he grins when Sirius laughs again.
Sirius always laughs at him. Sirius laughs at everyone, though, so it offends him less than perhaps it should. He loves the sound of it. He loves the way Sirius’ eyes crinkle up at the corner, and the way he tosses his head back.
He loves that laugh too much to give Sirius up, even though he knows he should.
He lets Sirius take his hand and guide him further into the flat. It’s warm and cosy and decorated completely at odds with the rest of the building. His furniture is old, but comfortably so, and Rodolphus’ sharp eyes skip over the familiar designs on some of the pieces. They’re Black family heirlooms, no doubt from his uncle’s estate.
He settles himself on the sofa. There’s a Muggle book open on the arm, and the whole thing is littered with dog hair, though there’s no sign of an animal in the flat. There never is. Sirius, so he says, sits for a neighbour every so often, but Rodolphus has never been introduced to the thing. It’s black, he knows that much. Its fur clings to him whenever he leaves, marking him.
Sirius hands him a finger of whiskey in a tumbler, and settles himself on Rodolphus’ lap. He takes Rodolphus’ free hand with his own, and slips it back under his dressing gown, pressing Rodolphus’ palm to his heart so he can feel it fluttering.
“What time do you have to leave?” he asks.
“I can spend the night,” Rodolphus tells him, knowing that he will be gone and his pillow cold before Sirius wakes. The look in Sirius’ eyes says he knows it too, but that he appreciates the lie. It’s likely he appreciates it more than he will the gift later, so Rodolphus doesn’t mention it. He’ll leave it behind when he goes.
He slides his hand over Sirius’ skin; he pulls him closer and kisses him slow and deep until Sirius shudders against him and moans.
He wants to treasure this. He wants to carve this into his memory forever - this and every one of their encounters. He wants to savour every touch and every kiss, because until the Dark Lord wins and the world is at peace again, these stolen moments are all they are allowed.
Author: hikarievandar
Pairing(s): Rodolphus Lestrange/Sirius Black, background Rodolphus/Bellatrix
Prompt: Own Prompt
Word Count: 948
Rating: PG
Contains (Highlight to view): *Infidelity*
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Thanks, as always, go to S for her beta work. The title of this fic comes from a line in the song Fairytale of New York by The Pogues, which I listened to while writing.
Summary: Rodolphus slips away from his wife and in-laws in order to salvage his Yule.
He pulls up the hood of his cloak as he steps out into the night. The wind is biting cold, and his hood flares as it gusts stinging rain into his face. Behind him, warm light and sharp laughter urge him to turn back, but he closes the door firmly behind him instead.
His wife and her immediate family have little to offer him. He has played his part as husband past the point of nausea, and he steps into the cold in an attempt to salvage the rest of his Yule. Bellatrix is a misery to be tied to. Her cousin, on the other hand…
His gift for Sirius weighs heavily in his pocket as he walks. Trudges, more like. The rain and the passage of people have turned the snow to grey slush, and he hunches himself down as much as he can to hide himself from the miserable weather. His shoulders are hunched over - partly because of the weather, and partly because his winding steps are taking him into a Muggle neighbourhood. It’s heavily populated. Huge buildings tower over him on either side as he walks. Grimy kebab shops, greasy spoons, and corner shops nestle at street level in progressing amounts of squalor.
The streets are empty aside from the occasional bundle of rags in a doorway. Everything is grey.
He doesn’t know how Sirius can live here, in this corner of the world. He doesn’t know how even the Muggles can stand it.
Arriving at Sirius’ building, he uses the key Sirius gave him to get in. It had been accompanied by a wary look and then a shrug, like he hadn’t entirely cared whether or not Rodolphus was entirely trustworthy. He’s not, of course, but Sirius’ ambivalence towards that is one of the things he likes about him.
He rides the clanking, miniscule lift up to the fifth floor. It smells of damp up here. There are stains on the hall carpet and the light closest to the lift flickers intermittently. It’s a world away from the great and noble houses of the Blacks that Sirius grew up in, and Rodolphus thinks that’s probably why Sirius ended up here. Whether the choice was deliberate or not, running from his family is something Sirius will never stop doing.
Sirius opens his door in his dressing gown and pyjama bottoms, with his hair curling damp at his shoulders. He raises an eyebrow. “You’re early,” he says even as he lets Rodolphus in and takes his cloak. “They won’t miss you?”
“Not with Bella as drunk as she is, and with Saint Lucius to entertain,” Rodolphus replies. “I hope I’m not interrupting…”
“The self-recriminations of Dr Frankenstein can wait,” Sirius says. He shrugs, boneless and uncaring, and lifts his arms to drape them about Rodolphus’ neck. “Good Yule to you, love.”
His kiss tastes of mint and faintly of ashes - he’s been smoking those repulsive Muggle cigarettes again, but at least this time he’s tried to cover the taste.
Rodolphus lets himself be drawn in. Sirius is slender - almost bony - but his mouth is soft and his body welcoming. He slips his hands beneath Sirius’ robe to warm his hands on the smooth skin of his hips only for Sirius to flinch away, laughing.
“Fuck but you’re cold,” Sirius complains.
“Aren’t you going to warm me up?” Rodolphus asks, and he grins when Sirius laughs again.
Sirius always laughs at him. Sirius laughs at everyone, though, so it offends him less than perhaps it should. He loves the sound of it. He loves the way Sirius’ eyes crinkle up at the corner, and the way he tosses his head back.
He loves that laugh too much to give Sirius up, even though he knows he should.
He lets Sirius take his hand and guide him further into the flat. It’s warm and cosy and decorated completely at odds with the rest of the building. His furniture is old, but comfortably so, and Rodolphus’ sharp eyes skip over the familiar designs on some of the pieces. They’re Black family heirlooms, no doubt from his uncle’s estate.
He settles himself on the sofa. There’s a Muggle book open on the arm, and the whole thing is littered with dog hair, though there’s no sign of an animal in the flat. There never is. Sirius, so he says, sits for a neighbour every so often, but Rodolphus has never been introduced to the thing. It’s black, he knows that much. Its fur clings to him whenever he leaves, marking him.
Sirius hands him a finger of whiskey in a tumbler, and settles himself on Rodolphus’ lap. He takes Rodolphus’ free hand with his own, and slips it back under his dressing gown, pressing Rodolphus’ palm to his heart so he can feel it fluttering.
“What time do you have to leave?” he asks.
“I can spend the night,” Rodolphus tells him, knowing that he will be gone and his pillow cold before Sirius wakes. The look in Sirius’ eyes says he knows it too, but that he appreciates the lie. It’s likely he appreciates it more than he will the gift later, so Rodolphus doesn’t mention it. He’ll leave it behind when he goes.
He slides his hand over Sirius’ skin; he pulls him closer and kisses him slow and deep until Sirius shudders against him and moans.
He wants to treasure this. He wants to carve this into his memory forever - this and every one of their encounters. He wants to savour every touch and every kiss, because until the Dark Lord wins and the world is at peace again, these stolen moments are all they are allowed.