Bonus fic: Watching me as he rows out
Dec. 27th, 2010 09:52 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
lyras.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
small_giftsTitle: Watching me as he rows out
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lyras
Recipient:a_shadow_there
Rating: R
Warnings: None except melancholia.
Word Count: 1000 words
Summary and prompt: "I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked" - from Howl by Allen Ginsberg.
Author's notes: The title is from Seamus Heaney's poem, "Stern", written in memory of Ted Hughes.a_shadow_there, I hope this suits!
A door sliding open into darkness. Feet padding across the floor, carefully, to avoid crushing any of the mess, which is newly overlain with Christmas presents, cards and leftover wrapping paper. It’s the middle of January; probably time for a tidy-up, but the messier the room is, the less opportunity Kreacher has for prying, and the greater the insult to Sirius's mother. Both excellent reasons for maintaining a mess, Sirius feels.
The bed dips; the blackness condenses into the shape of a man divesting himself of clothes; the silence dissolves amid scuffles of fabric against skin and the flop of a slipper onto the carpet. Then the shadow is gone and in its place is Remus, full-length alongside him, nosing forward for a kiss.
“You all right?”
Sirius has stopped considering this a stupid question. They both know that he is not all right at all, trapped in his hated childhood with nothing to sustain him but ragged memories of the dead and occasional morsels of Remus and Harry. But Remus’s question is not about larger matters; it is merely a check. Have you drunk too much tonight? Did you lean out of that attic window until it was almost too late to pull yourself back? Did you place your hand on the front doorknob and consider walking outside, giving yourself up to chance? Am I about to lose you?
Sirius has had a few drinks, but he delayed them until after dinner, which seems reasonable, and he neither leant out of any windows nor approached the front door, although he considered doing both. So an affirmatory ‘all right’ feels like a fair answer to Remus’s careful query.
A chilly hand settles on his waist; he flinches and shoves it under his armpit for warming. You’d think werewolves wouldn’t feel the cold, but Remus’s circulation just seems to get worse with the years.
“You should wear gloves,” he mumbles into Remus’s cheek.
“I did.” Remus’s other hand lands tentatively on his chest, raising goosepimples.
Sirius slaps it between his thighs. “You should let me buy you some decent ones, then.” He knows it’s the wrong thing to say, even before Remus stiffens, but what else can he do, stuck in this house while failed Death Eaters like Snape get to wander around pretending to be useful? Harry left today, and hell only knows when they’ll see each other again. Meanwhile, fucking Snape will be teaching him Occlumency.
“Where’ve you been all day?” He was aiming for a light tone, ironic, but it comes out as a whine and Remus sighs.
“Surveillance, as you know per-” He breaks off and starts again in a gentler voice. “Then Albus wanted to see me. He’s very concerned.”
“About Harry?”
There’s a nuzzling against his face that might be Remus shaking his head. “Always about Harry, yes, but all the rest of it, too. That snake – where the hell is Voldemort hiding it? And Umbridge seems to be planning something big at the school, and I still don’t think Albus is entirely convinced she isn’t working with Voldemort.
“I thought she was just Fudge’s stooge?” Sirius slips Remus’s warmed hand from his armpit and snuggles closer.
“She probably is,” Remus says. “But we have to consider all the possibilities. Everything she’s done so far seems to be playing right into Voldemort’s hands.”
Sirius remembers what he told Harry when Umbridge first appeared at the school, about life being shades of grey rather than black and white. At times, these past few months, he’s lost himself in his own shades of grey, between the drink and the memories that assault him in the shadowy corners of the house. His mind can no longer be trusted: he will be remembering Harry’s infectious baby-giggle, or James and Lily curled around one another on the sofa in his flat, until without warning the memories are shredded by chilly despair. It’s safer, surely, to block his mind with firewhisky, where the memories and the Dementors can’t reach him.
Remus’s lips against his bring him back to the present. If he had Remus here all the time, or Harry, he might be able to survive, might be able to cling to the tatters of his good memories without being overwhelmed by the bleakness. But even Remus has things to do, and why should he – why should anyone – put his life on hold to hold together a broken man with nothing to offer except a house of ghosts and a headful of despair?
But Remus’s touch is tugging him back, insistent. For me, if not for yourself, he said a few weeks ago, the last time he saved Sirius, before they knew Harry and the others would be there for Christmas. Save yourself for my sake.
Sirius moves within Remus’s arms. If this is something he can do, he will do it well, the way he’s always done everything, thank you very much. And when Remus moans, a part of Sirius that the Dementors did not touch exults, because this, here, this human touch and human want and human love, is what they can never grasp however hard they try. It slides through them like mist.
I saw the Longbottoms in hospital, Arthur said uneasily at dinner, and How are they, poor loves? Molly answered, and Arthur shook his head.
Sirius remembers Alice’s throaty laugh, and the way Frank used to watch baby Neville with a face full of dazed love. All gone, erased, like Lily’s wit and James, hell, James, with his easy laugh and casual assumption of Sirius as a brother. And is he any better himself, with no life lived for thirteen years and half his memories before that in tatters?
Remus is reaching for him, hand pressing on his hip, and Sirius turns under him, needy, desperate to give Remus what he wants, desperate to feel wanted, needed, loved. It’s quick and quiet, although they have the house to themselves tonight, and afterward, Sirius lies still in Remus’s arms. So long as they lie there, unmoving, he doesn’t have to wonder how he will get through the next day; doesn’t have to steel himself for the grey waves of despair.
“I’ve got you,” Remus murmurs. They are a few days into a new year. A better one than the last, maybe.
Sirius sleeps.
Author:
lyrasRecipient:
a_shadow_thereRating: R
Warnings: None except melancholia.
Word Count: 1000 words
Summary and prompt: "I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked" - from Howl by Allen Ginsberg.
Author's notes: The title is from Seamus Heaney's poem, "Stern", written in memory of Ted Hughes.
a_shadow_there, I hope this suits!A door sliding open into darkness. Feet padding across the floor, carefully, to avoid crushing any of the mess, which is newly overlain with Christmas presents, cards and leftover wrapping paper. It’s the middle of January; probably time for a tidy-up, but the messier the room is, the less opportunity Kreacher has for prying, and the greater the insult to Sirius's mother. Both excellent reasons for maintaining a mess, Sirius feels.
The bed dips; the blackness condenses into the shape of a man divesting himself of clothes; the silence dissolves amid scuffles of fabric against skin and the flop of a slipper onto the carpet. Then the shadow is gone and in its place is Remus, full-length alongside him, nosing forward for a kiss.
“You all right?”
Sirius has stopped considering this a stupid question. They both know that he is not all right at all, trapped in his hated childhood with nothing to sustain him but ragged memories of the dead and occasional morsels of Remus and Harry. But Remus’s question is not about larger matters; it is merely a check. Have you drunk too much tonight? Did you lean out of that attic window until it was almost too late to pull yourself back? Did you place your hand on the front doorknob and consider walking outside, giving yourself up to chance? Am I about to lose you?
Sirius has had a few drinks, but he delayed them until after dinner, which seems reasonable, and he neither leant out of any windows nor approached the front door, although he considered doing both. So an affirmatory ‘all right’ feels like a fair answer to Remus’s careful query.
A chilly hand settles on his waist; he flinches and shoves it under his armpit for warming. You’d think werewolves wouldn’t feel the cold, but Remus’s circulation just seems to get worse with the years.
“You should wear gloves,” he mumbles into Remus’s cheek.
“I did.” Remus’s other hand lands tentatively on his chest, raising goosepimples.
Sirius slaps it between his thighs. “You should let me buy you some decent ones, then.” He knows it’s the wrong thing to say, even before Remus stiffens, but what else can he do, stuck in this house while failed Death Eaters like Snape get to wander around pretending to be useful? Harry left today, and hell only knows when they’ll see each other again. Meanwhile, fucking Snape will be teaching him Occlumency.
“Where’ve you been all day?” He was aiming for a light tone, ironic, but it comes out as a whine and Remus sighs.
“Surveillance, as you know per-” He breaks off and starts again in a gentler voice. “Then Albus wanted to see me. He’s very concerned.”
“About Harry?”
There’s a nuzzling against his face that might be Remus shaking his head. “Always about Harry, yes, but all the rest of it, too. That snake – where the hell is Voldemort hiding it? And Umbridge seems to be planning something big at the school, and I still don’t think Albus is entirely convinced she isn’t working with Voldemort.
“I thought she was just Fudge’s stooge?” Sirius slips Remus’s warmed hand from his armpit and snuggles closer.
“She probably is,” Remus says. “But we have to consider all the possibilities. Everything she’s done so far seems to be playing right into Voldemort’s hands.”
Sirius remembers what he told Harry when Umbridge first appeared at the school, about life being shades of grey rather than black and white. At times, these past few months, he’s lost himself in his own shades of grey, between the drink and the memories that assault him in the shadowy corners of the house. His mind can no longer be trusted: he will be remembering Harry’s infectious baby-giggle, or James and Lily curled around one another on the sofa in his flat, until without warning the memories are shredded by chilly despair. It’s safer, surely, to block his mind with firewhisky, where the memories and the Dementors can’t reach him.
Remus’s lips against his bring him back to the present. If he had Remus here all the time, or Harry, he might be able to survive, might be able to cling to the tatters of his good memories without being overwhelmed by the bleakness. But even Remus has things to do, and why should he – why should anyone – put his life on hold to hold together a broken man with nothing to offer except a house of ghosts and a headful of despair?
But Remus’s touch is tugging him back, insistent. For me, if not for yourself, he said a few weeks ago, the last time he saved Sirius, before they knew Harry and the others would be there for Christmas. Save yourself for my sake.
Sirius moves within Remus’s arms. If this is something he can do, he will do it well, the way he’s always done everything, thank you very much. And when Remus moans, a part of Sirius that the Dementors did not touch exults, because this, here, this human touch and human want and human love, is what they can never grasp however hard they try. It slides through them like mist.
I saw the Longbottoms in hospital, Arthur said uneasily at dinner, and How are they, poor loves? Molly answered, and Arthur shook his head.
Sirius remembers Alice’s throaty laugh, and the way Frank used to watch baby Neville with a face full of dazed love. All gone, erased, like Lily’s wit and James, hell, James, with his easy laugh and casual assumption of Sirius as a brother. And is he any better himself, with no life lived for thirteen years and half his memories before that in tatters?
Remus is reaching for him, hand pressing on his hip, and Sirius turns under him, needy, desperate to give Remus what he wants, desperate to feel wanted, needed, loved. It’s quick and quiet, although they have the house to themselves tonight, and afterward, Sirius lies still in Remus’s arms. So long as they lie there, unmoving, he doesn’t have to wonder how he will get through the next day; doesn’t have to steel himself for the grey waves of despair.
“I’ve got you,” Remus murmurs. They are a few days into a new year. A better one than the last, maybe.
Sirius sleeps.
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no subject
Date: 2010-12-30 06:41 pm (UTC)L, this is just lovely and painful and oh-so-plausible. The writing just makes it--so understated and tight and pointed. Lovely, introspective, emotional, and true. *hugs* M.
no subject
Date: 2011-01-03 10:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-30 08:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-03 10:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-30 09:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-03 10:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-31 02:02 am (UTC)The pacing is outstanding and pretty much sums-up the entire era. I love the way they converse about such utterly important topics whilst cuddling with each other and Sirius entertains such very dark thoughts.
And your Sirius is so perfect, broken but still essentially sane and incredibly strong. Sirius remembers what he told Harry when Umbridge first appeared at the school, about life being shades of grey rather than black and white. At times, these past few months, he’s lost himself in his own shades of grey, between the drink and the memories that assault him in the shadowy corners of the house. His mind can no longer be trusted: he will be remembering Harry’s infectious baby-giggle, or James and Lily curled around one another on the sofa in his flat, until without warning the memories are shredded by chilly despair. It’s safer, surely, to block his mind with firewhisky, where the memories and the Dementors can’t reach him. You just want to snuggle him and yet pity is not the stand-out feeling. He is still so giving and loving.
Sirius moves within Remus’s arms. If this is something he can do, he will do it well, the way he’s always done everything, thank you very much. And when Remus moans, a part of Sirius that the Dementors did not touch exults, because this, here, this human touch and human want and human love, is what they can never grasp however hard they try. It slides through them like mist. That seems entirely "right" to me, for it is exactly the sort-of thing he would do. One of the first thing he does in canon is send Harry a present and, eventually, offer him a home. He very much needs to be loved and useful and you portray that well.
This was really lovely.
no subject
Date: 2010-12-31 02:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-03 10:44 am (UTC)You just want to snuggle him and yet pity is not the stand-out feeling. He is still so giving and loving.
Exactly what I was going for - thank you!
no subject
Date: 2010-12-31 02:20 am (UTC)Sirius remembers Alice’s throaty laugh, and the way Frank used to watch baby Neville with a face full of dazed love.
and this:
Remus is reaching for him, hand pressing on his hip, and Sirius turns under him, needy, desperate to give Remus what he wants, desperate to feel wanted, needed, loved. It’s quick and quiet, although they have the house to themselves tonight, and afterward, Sirius lies still in Remus’s arms. So long as they lie there, unmoving, he doesn’t have to wonder how he will get through the next day; doesn’t have to steel himself for the grey waves of despair.
no subject
Date: 2011-01-03 10:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-31 02:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-03 10:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-01 03:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-03 10:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-03 02:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-04 03:35 am (UTC)