statelines: remus/sirius: ficlet: "a catalogue of small things" [pg-13]
title: a catalogue of small things
author: statelines
pairing: remus/sirius
rating: pg-13
words: 450
notes: YAY FOR RAE! i apologise for the crack; this is my brain on drugs at four am. it is uncapitalised, and there are footnotes. oh god. but it is fluff! i promise!
*
when sirius is gone, remus looks for him in things: in their flat, in the middle of september, in the murky afternoon light, that spills across the single mattress in the corner, spills across the coffee-stained newspapers lining the floor like carpeting, spills across his watery hair. when sirius is gone, remus looks for him:
in the slide of his fingertip down the spine of books, lined together, different heights [1]; the dry leather beneath his hands that cracks open, the splinter of old glue, the splinter of his binding; the hiss of pages turning, like the slide of their bodies under the window, under the blankets, under him. in the tick of the clock above the kitchen sink [2], seventeen minutes, seventeen kisses fast; in the slow inhale, exhale, of traffic outside the window, whispering at three or four a.m.; in the sssts tssst of a radio in the flat next-door, that he sets his heartbeat to.
(there are traces of him everywhere.)
when remus meets him at the train station, at the end of the week, at half-ten in the evening, in the rain, in his coat rumpled like a paper ball, he pulls sirius in close [3], pulls him in by his jacket lapel, pulls him in and doesn't let him go. sirius has dark circles under his eyes, dusty grey skin, wet hair matted to his face, and he steps into remus' orbit with an oof and a sloppy smile, his bag dropping to their feet with a promise.
their foreheads knock, and their knees brush, and they breathe in the same platform stale air; it's cold enough to burn his nose, and remus reaches up a hand, smoothes away sirius' inkstain hair and says, i found you, here, against the curve of his lips, the crash of his hips. the elbows of sirius' leather jacket are rough and bumpy, like the pavement under remus' palms, when he kisses him, and remus' skin hums with the gentle shock of meeting sirius' again.
[1] sirius knocked his chin against remus' cheek, in the grocer, in the third aisle, and remus shook his fringe out of his eyes, turned on the tips of his toes, between the dairy and eggs, to press his lips to sirius'.
[2] where remus shoved him against the counter, wednesday last, and said umm against his lips, said don't--ah, stop with a swipe of his tongue against a salty palm, said yeah, yeah in the pale conch of sirius' ear, and his breath echoed back like the ocean.
[3] sirius pulled him back in bed, in a tangle of limbs, in the morning, before he left, and grinned against remus' collarbone, grinned against his shoulder, grinned and said, you will wait for me.
*
author: statelines
pairing: remus/sirius
rating: pg-13
words: 450
notes: YAY FOR RAE! i apologise for the crack; this is my brain on drugs at four am. it is uncapitalised, and there are footnotes. oh god. but it is fluff! i promise!
*
when sirius is gone, remus looks for him in things: in their flat, in the middle of september, in the murky afternoon light, that spills across the single mattress in the corner, spills across the coffee-stained newspapers lining the floor like carpeting, spills across his watery hair. when sirius is gone, remus looks for him:
in the slide of his fingertip down the spine of books, lined together, different heights [1]; the dry leather beneath his hands that cracks open, the splinter of old glue, the splinter of his binding; the hiss of pages turning, like the slide of their bodies under the window, under the blankets, under him. in the tick of the clock above the kitchen sink [2], seventeen minutes, seventeen kisses fast; in the slow inhale, exhale, of traffic outside the window, whispering at three or four a.m.; in the sssts tssst of a radio in the flat next-door, that he sets his heartbeat to.
(there are traces of him everywhere.)
when remus meets him at the train station, at the end of the week, at half-ten in the evening, in the rain, in his coat rumpled like a paper ball, he pulls sirius in close [3], pulls him in by his jacket lapel, pulls him in and doesn't let him go. sirius has dark circles under his eyes, dusty grey skin, wet hair matted to his face, and he steps into remus' orbit with an oof and a sloppy smile, his bag dropping to their feet with a promise.
their foreheads knock, and their knees brush, and they breathe in the same platform stale air; it's cold enough to burn his nose, and remus reaches up a hand, smoothes away sirius' inkstain hair and says, i found you, here, against the curve of his lips, the crash of his hips. the elbows of sirius' leather jacket are rough and bumpy, like the pavement under remus' palms, when he kisses him, and remus' skin hums with the gentle shock of meeting sirius' again.
[1] sirius knocked his chin against remus' cheek, in the grocer, in the third aisle, and remus shook his fringe out of his eyes, turned on the tips of his toes, between the dairy and eggs, to press his lips to sirius'.
[2] where remus shoved him against the counter, wednesday last, and said umm against his lips, said don't--ah, stop with a swipe of his tongue against a salty palm, said yeah, yeah in the pale conch of sirius' ear, and his breath echoed back like the ocean.
[3] sirius pulled him back in bed, in a tangle of limbs, in the morning, before he left, and grinned against remus' collarbone, grinned against his shoulder, grinned and said, you will wait for me.
*