Drabbles!
:O I come with drabbles! :O
In autumn nights were the sweet moments that he loved best of all. The first chill of winter called for blankets, tucked tightly around the beautiful nudity of the boy who lay beside him. He smiled to see goosebumps rise and the shiver that brought him closer.
It was in sleep that he was truly undone. Remy allowed himself to be cradled, held tight by the boy who loved him. They lay spooned together, one face tucked close into the others neck and nothing to separate them. Danny slept because Remy loved him. That was all he needed to know.
The flat is dimly lit when he pushes open the door, barely ajar, pathway into a home of bad repair, immaculately kept. Music flowed through, one song on endless repeat of a mournful female voice. Give me that old fashion morphine...
“Dan?”
He has not seen him in two years, and already he knows he is too late - something in his bones tells him so. The song increases, trumpet wailing to the dark room. “Danny?”
His fingers touch a door, push it open to lay it bare, and show him the inside. He blanches at the sight, turns - and runs.
“Aguamenti. Aguamenti! Agua-sodding-menti!”
“Somehow,” Gillichu muttered from across the library table, “I don’t think that’s quite the right wording.”
Matthieu growled, slamming his textbook closed and slumping down onto it. “I’ll never get it! I’ll fail and get kicked out and I’ll never be as good as Remy and it’ll all be worthless!”
“Wow.” The Ravenclaw was momentarily amazed. “All for one charm?”
“You don’t get it.” Matthieu sighed and sadly shook his head, all sorts of deep-rooted self loathing rearing its ugly head. “One charm’s just the start.”
“It’s your turn.”
“You know,” Remy mumbled sleepily, loathe to leave the comfort of their warm bed for any reason, “I’m sure it’s yours.”
“Nope.” Danny yawned smugly, and Remy felt a push at his shoulder. “Definitely yours.”
With a groan, the exhausted Gryffindor heaved himself out of bed, padding towards the door and the yells of their tiny son. Tristan, three weeks old now with a mop of coppered hair, was their pride and joy - whenever he wasn’t screaming at ungodly hours to be fed, that was. A sleep routine had been horribly absent for a very long time.
It wasn’t hard to guess Gillichu’s favourite shop on Diagon Alley. Even as grown adults, Pimento still found him inside the Magical Menagerie, crouched in front of all sorts of creatures. It was quite sweet, really, though Pimento did despair of her fiancées insistence on pointing out how those rats should be fed correctly.
“Nobody cares, Dogboy!” She snapped, tuggi ng at him.
“I care!"
“Ugh!” Pimento released him, giving in. “I’ll be in Scrivens when you’re done gawking. Twerp.”
“I love you.”
The girl, briefly, relented for a kiss. “Don’t think that makes you any less of a twerp.”
He loves to handle him as if he were precious, loves to cradle the slender boy in his arms and touch the lightest breath of air to his forehead in a kiss. When they are alone, not even the intrusion of clothes between them, Remy slides his fingers achingly slowly over the contours of Dannys skin, reverential and awed just to be this close to him. His mouth is soft as it adores him, and their breath shutters together when Danny arches at his touch, eyes closed in trembling pleasure.
The slightest pressure, Remy tells himself, and Danny can splinter under him. Like glass, he feels so fragile. There is so much, he knows, that can break him. Danny loves it, he tells him so with every kiss, every path his fingers make across a white stomach. He shows him in the gasps for breath, the moans and achingly tender whimpers that send his back arching upwards from the bed and into Remys solid arms. Remy fits himself to him, the frame to Dannys portrait and there is such beauty there. Danny is glass, impossibly delicate, and just one stone thrown by Remy will shatter him before his very eyes.
Danny had always thought, for too many years, that Remy Cowan was beautiful. He drew crowds, admirers, friends, as though he was a living flame, making everybody want to be around him with hardly any effort at all. Danny watched him sometimes - sat reading when he was playing rugby, glanced at him across the Great Hall at lunch; once even dared to sit at Remys library table uninvited in a fit of impulsive bravery. The older boy had not even cared to give him the time of day, and when Danny had finally slunk away, laden with books, he didn’t think Remy had even noticed.
It was, Danny felt, as though he were an incidental speck of dust, a forgettable bit of nothing.
Remy laughs over photos sometimes, remembering school days, and sat beside him Danny remembers being on the side, watching from a distance. Always forgotten, never included, his own photos are full of loneliness. He could have been the only person in the world.
“I couldn’t imagine life without you.” Remy tells him, and Danny laughs, calling him a liar. It was no so long ago, after all, that Remy thought of Danny as simply nothing at all.
The house they were exploring was musty, old, full of signs of ageing, disrepair, and damp but that only served to convince Remy further that this was not just an ordinary project. It was a challenge.
He sneezed loudly, nose tingling, as he opened the door to the next room and peered around inside. Beside him, Apollo frowned in complete distaste, manicured and moisturised fingers carefully picking up a dustsheet draped over a nearby sofa and throwing it away again out of disgust.
“We’re going to live here? In this…hovel?”
“Eventually!” Remy chirped and Apollo’s scowl, if possible, twisted further.
He tested it, daily, just to see how much the mirror lied. Or, rather, was it Remy lying? Perhaps it was the entire world, telling him endless fibs, just to get him to do something. Anything. Danny had given up trying to force himself to be somebody that anybody liked long ago. Now it was just all about the lies.
His reflection smiled, grotesque in its enormity and Danny recoiled, disgust pooling in his stomach. The thought crossed his mind that if disgust was the only thing residing in his flabby gut of a belly, that suited him just fine.
White gold, a single gleaming diamond set precisely into the very top. Elegant and beautiful, this was the ring Remy gave to Danny on their tenth anniversary, down on one knee and with a ray of hope behind warm brown eyes.
“Be mine.” He had asked, and had been eternally gratified when Danny, ever the woman, had begun to cry and had taken it, nodding his assent with no ability to speak at all. The yes was barely audible, but when finally whispered, Remy had risen, wrapping him in his arms and kissed him with every tenderness in the world.
In autumn nights were the sweet moments that he loved best of all. The first chill of winter called for blankets, tucked tightly around the beautiful nudity of the boy who lay beside him. He smiled to see goosebumps rise and the shiver that brought him closer.
It was in sleep that he was truly undone. Remy allowed himself to be cradled, held tight by the boy who loved him. They lay spooned together, one face tucked close into the others neck and nothing to separate them. Danny slept because Remy loved him. That was all he needed to know.
The flat is dimly lit when he pushes open the door, barely ajar, pathway into a home of bad repair, immaculately kept. Music flowed through, one song on endless repeat of a mournful female voice. Give me that old fashion morphine...
“Dan?”
He has not seen him in two years, and already he knows he is too late - something in his bones tells him so. The song increases, trumpet wailing to the dark room. “Danny?”
His fingers touch a door, push it open to lay it bare, and show him the inside. He blanches at the sight, turns - and runs.
“Aguamenti. Aguamenti! Agua-sodding-menti!”
“Somehow,” Gillichu muttered from across the library table, “I don’t think that’s quite the right wording.”
Matthieu growled, slamming his textbook closed and slumping down onto it. “I’ll never get it! I’ll fail and get kicked out and I’ll never be as good as Remy and it’ll all be worthless!”
“Wow.” The Ravenclaw was momentarily amazed. “All for one charm?”
“You don’t get it.” Matthieu sighed and sadly shook his head, all sorts of deep-rooted self loathing rearing its ugly head. “One charm’s just the start.”
“It’s your turn.”
“You know,” Remy mumbled sleepily, loathe to leave the comfort of their warm bed for any reason, “I’m sure it’s yours.”
“Nope.” Danny yawned smugly, and Remy felt a push at his shoulder. “Definitely yours.”
With a groan, the exhausted Gryffindor heaved himself out of bed, padding towards the door and the yells of their tiny son. Tristan, three weeks old now with a mop of coppered hair, was their pride and joy - whenever he wasn’t screaming at ungodly hours to be fed, that was. A sleep routine had been horribly absent for a very long time.
It wasn’t hard to guess Gillichu’s favourite shop on Diagon Alley. Even as grown adults, Pimento still found him inside the Magical Menagerie, crouched in front of all sorts of creatures. It was quite sweet, really, though Pimento did despair of her fiancées insistence on pointing out how those rats should be fed correctly.
“Nobody cares, Dogboy!” She snapped, tuggi ng at him.
“I care!"
“Ugh!” Pimento released him, giving in. “I’ll be in Scrivens when you’re done gawking. Twerp.”
“I love you.”
The girl, briefly, relented for a kiss. “Don’t think that makes you any less of a twerp.”
He loves to handle him as if he were precious, loves to cradle the slender boy in his arms and touch the lightest breath of air to his forehead in a kiss. When they are alone, not even the intrusion of clothes between them, Remy slides his fingers achingly slowly over the contours of Dannys skin, reverential and awed just to be this close to him. His mouth is soft as it adores him, and their breath shutters together when Danny arches at his touch, eyes closed in trembling pleasure.
The slightest pressure, Remy tells himself, and Danny can splinter under him. Like glass, he feels so fragile. There is so much, he knows, that can break him. Danny loves it, he tells him so with every kiss, every path his fingers make across a white stomach. He shows him in the gasps for breath, the moans and achingly tender whimpers that send his back arching upwards from the bed and into Remys solid arms. Remy fits himself to him, the frame to Dannys portrait and there is such beauty there. Danny is glass, impossibly delicate, and just one stone thrown by Remy will shatter him before his very eyes.
Danny had always thought, for too many years, that Remy Cowan was beautiful. He drew crowds, admirers, friends, as though he was a living flame, making everybody want to be around him with hardly any effort at all. Danny watched him sometimes - sat reading when he was playing rugby, glanced at him across the Great Hall at lunch; once even dared to sit at Remys library table uninvited in a fit of impulsive bravery. The older boy had not even cared to give him the time of day, and when Danny had finally slunk away, laden with books, he didn’t think Remy had even noticed.
It was, Danny felt, as though he were an incidental speck of dust, a forgettable bit of nothing.
Remy laughs over photos sometimes, remembering school days, and sat beside him Danny remembers being on the side, watching from a distance. Always forgotten, never included, his own photos are full of loneliness. He could have been the only person in the world.
“I couldn’t imagine life without you.” Remy tells him, and Danny laughs, calling him a liar. It was no so long ago, after all, that Remy thought of Danny as simply nothing at all.
The house they were exploring was musty, old, full of signs of ageing, disrepair, and damp but that only served to convince Remy further that this was not just an ordinary project. It was a challenge.
He sneezed loudly, nose tingling, as he opened the door to the next room and peered around inside. Beside him, Apollo frowned in complete distaste, manicured and moisturised fingers carefully picking up a dustsheet draped over a nearby sofa and throwing it away again out of disgust.
“We’re going to live here? In this…hovel?”
“Eventually!” Remy chirped and Apollo’s scowl, if possible, twisted further.
He tested it, daily, just to see how much the mirror lied. Or, rather, was it Remy lying? Perhaps it was the entire world, telling him endless fibs, just to get him to do something. Anything. Danny had given up trying to force himself to be somebody that anybody liked long ago. Now it was just all about the lies.
His reflection smiled, grotesque in its enormity and Danny recoiled, disgust pooling in his stomach. The thought crossed his mind that if disgust was the only thing residing in his flabby gut of a belly, that suited him just fine.
White gold, a single gleaming diamond set precisely into the very top. Elegant and beautiful, this was the ring Remy gave to Danny on their tenth anniversary, down on one knee and with a ray of hope behind warm brown eyes.
“Be mine.” He had asked, and had been eternally gratified when Danny, ever the woman, had begun to cry and had taken it, nodding his assent with no ability to speak at all. The yes was barely audible, but when finally whispered, Remy had risen, wrapping him in his arms and kissed him with every tenderness in the world.