August 2 - Strays
Title: Strays
Author: Pandaimonia
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Word Count: 924
This is a continuation of the storyline from the previous ficlet Arson so it'll make a bit more sense if you read that one first. ;)
Staying with Remus is almost like being normal, though Sirius knows he can’t stay here for too long. Remus doesn’t say it, but Sirius knows that having guests is a burden for his family. And Sirius pretends he doesn’t notice, but Remus’ dad, a silent man who is proud of what he has and keeps mum about what he lacks, makes him uncomfortable. When Remus volunteers, “He can sleep in my room,” Sirius feels Mr. Lupin’s eyes cut to him, waiting. Like he knows what they’re up to in there each night, Sirius hopping out of his sleeping bag and coming to join Remus in his narrow brass bed as soon as the parents have gone to bed.
There’s not room for them to sleep side by side, but they don’t sleep much. Sirius braces himself on the bedstead and they push against each other as hard as they can, their bodies sliding down against the sweat-dampened sheets. Remus’s hands tangle in his hair and he grips Sirius’s shoulders, arching under him as they rise and fall over and over. They try to keep the moving and creaking to a minimum, because the bedsprings are loud and they can hear Remus’s father snoring just half a hall away. When he comes, Sirius presses his lips to Remus’s shoulder or Remus captures his lips in a kiss, open-mouthed and gasping as they shudder together as silently as possible. The next morning at breakfast, he avoids looking at Remus’s father directly.
But Sirius can’t impose like this forever. So he tries to spend an equal amount of time at James’s house, occasionally dropping in with other friends or housemates who’ll let him sleep on the couch at night and eat a little dinner with him. When missing Remus catches up with him, he goes to the outskirts of Remus’s neighborhood, a little public park with a few children playing on rusty swing sets and dilapidated monkey bars, and transforms into Padfoot. This way he is inconspicuous, moving freely around the neighborhood at will, nosing into whatever he pleases.
Whenever he can, Remus joins him. They play catch in the park or they go out walking among parallel lines of hedges and row houses, and Sirius wonders what it would be like to live here. Somewhat eerie, all these identical houses lined up on a perfect grid, with their neat gardens stretching out into the horizon. It may not be the happiest of places, but it is quiet and comfortable in summer, and he enjoys this time. He feels free and happy, patting after Remus in the hot day, dry grass whispering against his dog-feet, sniffing at things contently. As Padfoot, he goes bounding up to little children, nuzzling their feet and licking at their hands. He is thankful for this place, the world of a dog, all scent and sensation.
Remus’ hands taste good and salty, and he smells like himself, only more so. Padfoot likes it when Remus scratches him behind the ears or rubs him on the stomach; it fills both the person-self and the dog-self with happiness. Sometimes Sirius might be tempted to stay a dog, everything simple and pleasant and existing only in the moment, though he enjoys being a human too-human kisses are more fun than dog kisses, and sometimes he does want to talk to Remus. Then they go to a little patch of woods behind the park, hidden from view, and Sirius transforms there. They can sit and talk uninterrupted; no one comes around during the day, it’s only Muggle teenagers who come at night and leave broken beer bottles and used condoms behind.
“My parents think it’s nice that I’m making friends with a stray dog,” Remus says. “Nothing more masculine than a boy and his dog, right?”
Sirius picks at the lawn, splitting blades of grass into strips and scattering them. “You think they suspect?”
Remus shrugs. “They’ve always thought I was a little odd-my dear dad has seemed to sense something poncy about me from the beginning, though it could be the magic. I guess he hoped that that I wouldn’t turn out this way, like Mum, you know. And then there’s my furry little problem, which he can’t bring himself to talk about. He had no idea that werewolves existed until I was bitten. Mum didn’t bother to mention that-course he had no idea that witches and wizards existed until he met my mum.”
“Oh.” Sirius doesn’t know what to say about this dilemma of Muggle parents. Granted, he knows all about parent troubles, but of a different kind. Not that his dad wouldn’t likely hex Sirius’s balls off if he found out that his son was gay, but he has escaped. They’re different; Remus couldn’t leave his family-doesn’t want to hurt his mum or disappoint his dad.
Remus makes an effort to smile wryly. “I never had a chance to be normal, did I?”
“I don’t want you to be normal. I’m not normal, am I? Who else spends their summer holidays as a stray dog?”
“We’re both strays, you and I, aren’t we?”
Sirius doesn’t have a proper response to this, but his throat swells up tight at these words. There behind the grassy knoll, in the heat of a late August afternoon, Sirius kisses Remus fiercely, trying to say that what he means is You don’t need to be like anyone else, I want you just the way you are, you just have to be mine. That’s all.
Author: Pandaimonia
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Word Count: 924
This is a continuation of the storyline from the previous ficlet Arson so it'll make a bit more sense if you read that one first. ;)
Staying with Remus is almost like being normal, though Sirius knows he can’t stay here for too long. Remus doesn’t say it, but Sirius knows that having guests is a burden for his family. And Sirius pretends he doesn’t notice, but Remus’ dad, a silent man who is proud of what he has and keeps mum about what he lacks, makes him uncomfortable. When Remus volunteers, “He can sleep in my room,” Sirius feels Mr. Lupin’s eyes cut to him, waiting. Like he knows what they’re up to in there each night, Sirius hopping out of his sleeping bag and coming to join Remus in his narrow brass bed as soon as the parents have gone to bed.
There’s not room for them to sleep side by side, but they don’t sleep much. Sirius braces himself on the bedstead and they push against each other as hard as they can, their bodies sliding down against the sweat-dampened sheets. Remus’s hands tangle in his hair and he grips Sirius’s shoulders, arching under him as they rise and fall over and over. They try to keep the moving and creaking to a minimum, because the bedsprings are loud and they can hear Remus’s father snoring just half a hall away. When he comes, Sirius presses his lips to Remus’s shoulder or Remus captures his lips in a kiss, open-mouthed and gasping as they shudder together as silently as possible. The next morning at breakfast, he avoids looking at Remus’s father directly.
But Sirius can’t impose like this forever. So he tries to spend an equal amount of time at James’s house, occasionally dropping in with other friends or housemates who’ll let him sleep on the couch at night and eat a little dinner with him. When missing Remus catches up with him, he goes to the outskirts of Remus’s neighborhood, a little public park with a few children playing on rusty swing sets and dilapidated monkey bars, and transforms into Padfoot. This way he is inconspicuous, moving freely around the neighborhood at will, nosing into whatever he pleases.
Whenever he can, Remus joins him. They play catch in the park or they go out walking among parallel lines of hedges and row houses, and Sirius wonders what it would be like to live here. Somewhat eerie, all these identical houses lined up on a perfect grid, with their neat gardens stretching out into the horizon. It may not be the happiest of places, but it is quiet and comfortable in summer, and he enjoys this time. He feels free and happy, patting after Remus in the hot day, dry grass whispering against his dog-feet, sniffing at things contently. As Padfoot, he goes bounding up to little children, nuzzling their feet and licking at their hands. He is thankful for this place, the world of a dog, all scent and sensation.
Remus’ hands taste good and salty, and he smells like himself, only more so. Padfoot likes it when Remus scratches him behind the ears or rubs him on the stomach; it fills both the person-self and the dog-self with happiness. Sometimes Sirius might be tempted to stay a dog, everything simple and pleasant and existing only in the moment, though he enjoys being a human too-human kisses are more fun than dog kisses, and sometimes he does want to talk to Remus. Then they go to a little patch of woods behind the park, hidden from view, and Sirius transforms there. They can sit and talk uninterrupted; no one comes around during the day, it’s only Muggle teenagers who come at night and leave broken beer bottles and used condoms behind.
“My parents think it’s nice that I’m making friends with a stray dog,” Remus says. “Nothing more masculine than a boy and his dog, right?”
Sirius picks at the lawn, splitting blades of grass into strips and scattering them. “You think they suspect?”
Remus shrugs. “They’ve always thought I was a little odd-my dear dad has seemed to sense something poncy about me from the beginning, though it could be the magic. I guess he hoped that that I wouldn’t turn out this way, like Mum, you know. And then there’s my furry little problem, which he can’t bring himself to talk about. He had no idea that werewolves existed until I was bitten. Mum didn’t bother to mention that-course he had no idea that witches and wizards existed until he met my mum.”
“Oh.” Sirius doesn’t know what to say about this dilemma of Muggle parents. Granted, he knows all about parent troubles, but of a different kind. Not that his dad wouldn’t likely hex Sirius’s balls off if he found out that his son was gay, but he has escaped. They’re different; Remus couldn’t leave his family-doesn’t want to hurt his mum or disappoint his dad.
Remus makes an effort to smile wryly. “I never had a chance to be normal, did I?”
“I don’t want you to be normal. I’m not normal, am I? Who else spends their summer holidays as a stray dog?”
“We’re both strays, you and I, aren’t we?”
Sirius doesn’t have a proper response to this, but his throat swells up tight at these words. There behind the grassy knoll, in the heat of a late August afternoon, Sirius kisses Remus fiercely, trying to say that what he means is You don’t need to be like anyone else, I want you just the way you are, you just have to be mine. That’s all.