fic: Tomorrow (HP; Remus/Sirius; g)
Tomorrow
Harry Potter; Sirius/Remus; g; 205 words
Remus's lips taste of apples, of cinnamon and nutmeg, when Sirius kisses him.
Thanks to luzdeestrellas for looking this over. Written for the West Wing title project.
~*~
Tomorrow
Sirius used to love the autumn, used to love watching the shimmering red-gold trees zip by while he soared overhead, used to love the feel of soft wool against his cheek, warmed by Remus's skin and smelling of wood smoke and pumpkin juice.
Remus's lips taste of apples, of cinnamon and nutmeg, when Sirius kisses him. He tastes of falling leaves and late afternoon sunlight slanting across dying grass, of a chill in the air, the looming threat of a cold, dead winter.
Maybe that's why, he thinks. Maybe he can't ever love anything that isn't dying. They're all dying by inches, have been since James and Lily died, since before that, when they stopped trusting each other. Since the day he sent Snape to the shack, the night Remus was bitten. The day they were born.
"Hey," Remus says, his hand warm against the wind-chilled skin of Sirius's cheek.
Winter is coming; no magic in the world can stop it. Tomorrow, they could wake to a bleak, grey world, but today there is still light filtering through the falling leaves, and Remus's mouth is red and wet.
Sirius kisses him again, licks the taste of apples and autumn from his mouth, and feels alive.
end
~*~
Feedback is adored.
~*~
Harry Potter; Sirius/Remus; g; 205 words
Remus's lips taste of apples, of cinnamon and nutmeg, when Sirius kisses him.
Thanks to luzdeestrellas for looking this over. Written for the West Wing title project.
~*~
Tomorrow
Sirius used to love the autumn, used to love watching the shimmering red-gold trees zip by while he soared overhead, used to love the feel of soft wool against his cheek, warmed by Remus's skin and smelling of wood smoke and pumpkin juice.
Remus's lips taste of apples, of cinnamon and nutmeg, when Sirius kisses him. He tastes of falling leaves and late afternoon sunlight slanting across dying grass, of a chill in the air, the looming threat of a cold, dead winter.
Maybe that's why, he thinks. Maybe he can't ever love anything that isn't dying. They're all dying by inches, have been since James and Lily died, since before that, when they stopped trusting each other. Since the day he sent Snape to the shack, the night Remus was bitten. The day they were born.
"Hey," Remus says, his hand warm against the wind-chilled skin of Sirius's cheek.
Winter is coming; no magic in the world can stop it. Tomorrow, they could wake to a bleak, grey world, but today there is still light filtering through the falling leaves, and Remus's mouth is red and wet.
Sirius kisses him again, licks the taste of apples and autumn from his mouth, and feels alive.
end
~*~
Feedback is adored.
~*~