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small_giftsTitle: Midwinter's Eve
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mindabbles
Recipient:busaikko
Rating: PG-13
Highlight for Warnings: *angst and memory-fluff*
Word Count: 1,300
Summary: These dreams are memories that make him feel.
Author's notes: Busaikko, thank you so much for doing such a brilliant pinch hit. It was an honour to write a small gift for you and I hope you enjoy it. I went back to your prompt from the very first year of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
rs_small_gifts and picked solstice, first kiss, and angst. There is also romance and a sexually-confident!Remus, although there is sadly little actual sex in this. Thank you and hugs to red_squared for the beta.
There should be light at Solstice: candles to ward off the dark, a fire to warm the cool air. An altar in the room to invite the pale light of the shortest day as the sun skirts the horizon. Sirius feels the whisper of thrilling fear that today is the day to discover if the light will return, pulsing and ancient through his veins.
Sirius hears the door of his flat open, but he doesn't turn. He is at the last stage of the charm that will keep the dozens of candles suspended just below the ceiling, burning brightly throughout the evening. They create a barrier, like the radiance of a Patronus, protecting against the heavy darkness of midwinter's eve.
"Well, if it isn't Lord of the Inferno. I didn't realise it would be a conflagration," Remus says. His cheeks are pink from the cold and he shakes a dusting of snow from his shoulders and from his soft hair.
Sirius holds a finger to his lips and finishes the spell. "There," he says. "Perfect."
"Perfect says you," Remus adds. "An excuse to drink too much wine and to have a dangerous number of candles. Your ideal evening."
"Don't be such an old fuss pot, Moony," Sirius says. He feels the warmth of the fire heat his cheeks and his flat is suddenly cosy at Remus' smile.
"Shut up, you," Remus says, and Sirius is certain he doesn't mistake that the friendly affection in Remus' voice is layered with something sweeter.
*
"Oh, go on," Dorcas says. "The Minister will never go against Dumbledore to that extent. Just because he's half-blood, everyone either expects him to fail or to be the bloody saviour."
"He caves at every chance," James says. His face is ruddy with the heat of drink and the conversation.
"Leave off, you two," Peter says. "Can't we talk about something else? Sirius bought four different cheeses."
"Yes, Padfoot," Lily says. She slings an arm around Sirius' shoulders and blinks slowly. "Where do you purchase your cheeses?"
"He nicks them from Hogwarts," Remus says.
James and Dorcas laugh, and the tension dissipates. Remus is leaning against the fireplace, an arm's length away. His hair falls to his shoulders. He hasn't had it cut since they left school. Sirius shoves his hands in his pocket to stop himself from touching the shimmers of red from the fire, caught in the soft brown. The way that Remus smiles mischievously at him leaves Sirius thinking that his fingers in Remus' hair might be welcome.
*
Sirius uncorks the tenth bottle of wine, charming the cork in loop-de-loops across the kitchen and into the bin. He hears the kitchen door open, but he doesn't turn.
Laughter and chatter drift in from the other room.
"I think you can call your first attempt at playing the host a success," Remus says. "Although, it's not over yet."
Remus’ shoes click on the tile floor as he walks nearer. Sirius busies himself with another bottle of wine, just in case they need it and just in case Remus can see his heart in his throat.
"With this lot, if you've enough food and drink, you can hardly miss," Sirius says. He decides to take the less cowardly approach, and turns. Remus is closer than he'd thought and his hand brushes across Remus' stomach. His breath catches in his throat. He braces himself, hand on the counter.
"I think I've had enough to drink." Remus laughs. His gaze sweeps Sirius' face until he looks down, eyelashes shuttering the hope Sirius saw in his eyes.
Sirius brushes his hand across the soft wool of Remus' jumper again, purposeful and unmistakeable this time.
"Remus," he says, and his voice echoes through the kitchen.
He knows for a moment, can feel it on his skin, that he is about to be kissed. Remus covers Sirius' hand on the counter with his own and his other hand tangles in Sirius' hair. It probably lasts the time it takes to draw one breath, but Sirius feels eight years of friendship in the anticipation of that kiss. Remus curls his fingers in Sirius' hair and pulls him down.
Remus' lips press to his and he parts his lips with a sigh. It's a resolution and a beginning, as he opens to Remus' searching tongue and lets him press him against the counter.
"Padfoot," Remus says, low and rough and sure.
Remus hands move down his back, his hips pinning Sirius in place, rocking against him. Remus deepens the kiss, drawing Sirius' tongue into his mouth and then chasing it back into Sirius'.
"Oh Christ, Moony," Sirius gasps. He is utterly swept away, completely overtaken. His blood is pounding through his veins and he tips his head back as Remus' mouth makes the skin on his neck burn.
A bottle falls with a loud clank behind him and something in Sirius' memory stirs. The window blows open with the gale and a blast of cold air sweeps through the kitchen.
*
Sirius wakes, his cheek on the grimy floor. He's slipped off his mat and the sudden cold from Dementors on their rounds chills him to the bone. They always come just after these vivid dreams. He closes his eyes and he can still feel the warmth of the kiss, holds onto that until they pass. Sometimes, he can hold onto the memories for the time it takes to draw a few breaths.
He rolls onto his back, the relief from the pressure on his hip only lasting a moment until the pain from the hard floor and the inadequate mat settles into his lower back. The days after these dreams – when he more than remembers, when he feels what he once had – are the worst. They're worse than the cold, worse than the boredom, worse even than the despair brought by Dementors. The loneliness always feels deeper, the loss more acute.
He can see from his narrow, slit window that the sun barely clears the horizon. The waves of the North Sea, stormy, always stormy around Azkaban, seem to lap at it, as if to extinguish its light.
He tries to remember that Harry is still out there. That Remus is alive somewhere. That there are reasons to keep breathing. He tells himself that as he concentrates, gathering his magic, and draws his finger in a line on the wall, adding a mark to the others.
He hears the clank of keys, the sharp clip of boots, and the sound of a human voice, but he doesn't turn to look. The unit warder – not a bad bloke, never unnecessarily cruel – is shouting in the corridor and Sirius shakes his head and tries to make sense of the words.
"Look lively," the man calls. "Minister's coming today. Inspection. I'm told to tell you to mind your manners. He'll leave at the end of the day, and you'll all still be here. Remember that, lads."
His words are greeted with a deafening silence.
These little visits aren't a bad thing – a brief interruption of boredom, sometimes a better meal that day – and with the taste of Remus' kiss still on his lips, Sirius is grateful for the distraction.
He leans into the window and the narrow edges press into his forehead. If he turns just so, he can see the sun low in its arc, and know that the light always returns. Tomorrow the day will lengthen as the earth hurtles toward midsummer. In a castle in Scotland, Harry can see the same sun climbing to its zenith, and somewhere, somewhere, Remus' hair will reflect the red that the sun has managed to hold for another year.
Author:
mindabblesRecipient:
busaikkoRating: PG-13
Highlight for Warnings: *angst and memory-fluff*
Word Count: 1,300
Summary: These dreams are memories that make him feel.
Author's notes: Busaikko, thank you so much for doing such a brilliant pinch hit. It was an honour to write a small gift for you and I hope you enjoy it. I went back to your prompt from the very first year of
rs_small_gifts and picked solstice, first kiss, and angst. There is also romance and a sexually-confident!Remus, although there is sadly little actual sex in this. Thank you and hugs to red_squared for the beta.There should be light at Solstice: candles to ward off the dark, a fire to warm the cool air. An altar in the room to invite the pale light of the shortest day as the sun skirts the horizon. Sirius feels the whisper of thrilling fear that today is the day to discover if the light will return, pulsing and ancient through his veins.
Sirius hears the door of his flat open, but he doesn't turn. He is at the last stage of the charm that will keep the dozens of candles suspended just below the ceiling, burning brightly throughout the evening. They create a barrier, like the radiance of a Patronus, protecting against the heavy darkness of midwinter's eve.
"Well, if it isn't Lord of the Inferno. I didn't realise it would be a conflagration," Remus says. His cheeks are pink from the cold and he shakes a dusting of snow from his shoulders and from his soft hair.
Sirius holds a finger to his lips and finishes the spell. "There," he says. "Perfect."
"Perfect says you," Remus adds. "An excuse to drink too much wine and to have a dangerous number of candles. Your ideal evening."
"Don't be such an old fuss pot, Moony," Sirius says. He feels the warmth of the fire heat his cheeks and his flat is suddenly cosy at Remus' smile.
"Shut up, you," Remus says, and Sirius is certain he doesn't mistake that the friendly affection in Remus' voice is layered with something sweeter.
*
"Oh, go on," Dorcas says. "The Minister will never go against Dumbledore to that extent. Just because he's half-blood, everyone either expects him to fail or to be the bloody saviour."
"He caves at every chance," James says. His face is ruddy with the heat of drink and the conversation.
"Leave off, you two," Peter says. "Can't we talk about something else? Sirius bought four different cheeses."
"Yes, Padfoot," Lily says. She slings an arm around Sirius' shoulders and blinks slowly. "Where do you purchase your cheeses?"
"He nicks them from Hogwarts," Remus says.
James and Dorcas laugh, and the tension dissipates. Remus is leaning against the fireplace, an arm's length away. His hair falls to his shoulders. He hasn't had it cut since they left school. Sirius shoves his hands in his pocket to stop himself from touching the shimmers of red from the fire, caught in the soft brown. The way that Remus smiles mischievously at him leaves Sirius thinking that his fingers in Remus' hair might be welcome.
*
Sirius uncorks the tenth bottle of wine, charming the cork in loop-de-loops across the kitchen and into the bin. He hears the kitchen door open, but he doesn't turn.
Laughter and chatter drift in from the other room.
"I think you can call your first attempt at playing the host a success," Remus says. "Although, it's not over yet."
Remus’ shoes click on the tile floor as he walks nearer. Sirius busies himself with another bottle of wine, just in case they need it and just in case Remus can see his heart in his throat.
"With this lot, if you've enough food and drink, you can hardly miss," Sirius says. He decides to take the less cowardly approach, and turns. Remus is closer than he'd thought and his hand brushes across Remus' stomach. His breath catches in his throat. He braces himself, hand on the counter.
"I think I've had enough to drink." Remus laughs. His gaze sweeps Sirius' face until he looks down, eyelashes shuttering the hope Sirius saw in his eyes.
Sirius brushes his hand across the soft wool of Remus' jumper again, purposeful and unmistakeable this time.
"Remus," he says, and his voice echoes through the kitchen.
He knows for a moment, can feel it on his skin, that he is about to be kissed. Remus covers Sirius' hand on the counter with his own and his other hand tangles in Sirius' hair. It probably lasts the time it takes to draw one breath, but Sirius feels eight years of friendship in the anticipation of that kiss. Remus curls his fingers in Sirius' hair and pulls him down.
Remus' lips press to his and he parts his lips with a sigh. It's a resolution and a beginning, as he opens to Remus' searching tongue and lets him press him against the counter.
"Padfoot," Remus says, low and rough and sure.
Remus hands move down his back, his hips pinning Sirius in place, rocking against him. Remus deepens the kiss, drawing Sirius' tongue into his mouth and then chasing it back into Sirius'.
"Oh Christ, Moony," Sirius gasps. He is utterly swept away, completely overtaken. His blood is pounding through his veins and he tips his head back as Remus' mouth makes the skin on his neck burn.
A bottle falls with a loud clank behind him and something in Sirius' memory stirs. The window blows open with the gale and a blast of cold air sweeps through the kitchen.
*
Sirius wakes, his cheek on the grimy floor. He's slipped off his mat and the sudden cold from Dementors on their rounds chills him to the bone. They always come just after these vivid dreams. He closes his eyes and he can still feel the warmth of the kiss, holds onto that until they pass. Sometimes, he can hold onto the memories for the time it takes to draw a few breaths.
He rolls onto his back, the relief from the pressure on his hip only lasting a moment until the pain from the hard floor and the inadequate mat settles into his lower back. The days after these dreams – when he more than remembers, when he feels what he once had – are the worst. They're worse than the cold, worse than the boredom, worse even than the despair brought by Dementors. The loneliness always feels deeper, the loss more acute.
He can see from his narrow, slit window that the sun barely clears the horizon. The waves of the North Sea, stormy, always stormy around Azkaban, seem to lap at it, as if to extinguish its light.
He tries to remember that Harry is still out there. That Remus is alive somewhere. That there are reasons to keep breathing. He tells himself that as he concentrates, gathering his magic, and draws his finger in a line on the wall, adding a mark to the others.
He hears the clank of keys, the sharp clip of boots, and the sound of a human voice, but he doesn't turn to look. The unit warder – not a bad bloke, never unnecessarily cruel – is shouting in the corridor and Sirius shakes his head and tries to make sense of the words.
"Look lively," the man calls. "Minister's coming today. Inspection. I'm told to tell you to mind your manners. He'll leave at the end of the day, and you'll all still be here. Remember that, lads."
His words are greeted with a deafening silence.
These little visits aren't a bad thing – a brief interruption of boredom, sometimes a better meal that day – and with the taste of Remus' kiss still on his lips, Sirius is grateful for the distraction.
He leans into the window and the narrow edges press into his forehead. If he turns just so, he can see the sun low in its arc, and know that the light always returns. Tomorrow the day will lengthen as the earth hurtles toward midsummer. In a castle in Scotland, Harry can see the same sun climbing to its zenith, and somewhere, somewhere, Remus' hair will reflect the red that the sun has managed to hold for another year.
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no subject
Date: 2011-01-02 05:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 05:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-02 05:50 pm (UTC)I loved the beauty of the Solstice party, so perfect for the holiday: rich food (including luscious, purloined cheese), plentiful fire, and good friends. And, of course, love:
He knows for a moment, can feel it on his skin, that he is about to be kissed. Remus covers Sirius' hand on the counter with his own and his other hand tangles in Sirius' hair. It probably lasts the time it takes to draw one breath, but Sirius feels eight years of friendship in the anticipation of that kiss. Remus curls his fingers in Sirius' hair and pulls him down. It was just such a happy memory!
And, yet that happy memory is what really killed me at the end. Poor, darling Sirius. Still, it was a rather beautiful image of Azkaban in that Sirius still had hope, clarity, and a reason to live. He tries to remember that Harry is still out there. That Remus is alive somewhere. That there are reasons to keep breathing. He tells himself that as he concentrates, gathering his magic, and draws his finger in a line on the wall, adding a mark to the others. Oh!
This was exceedingly gorgeous!
no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 05:53 am (UTC)Thank you so much!! ♥
no subject
Date: 2011-01-02 07:35 pm (UTC)Now I'm a sucker for good kisses, so naturally my favourite part was this: He knows for a moment, can feel it on his skin, that he is about to be kissed. Remus covers Sirius' hand on the counter with his own and his other hand tangles in Sirius' hair. It probably lasts the time it takes to draw one breath, but Sirius feels eight years of friendship in the anticipation of that kiss. The tension, the anticipation! And the actual physical sensation of the moment just before Sirius is kissed is absolutely beautiful. Bravo! ♥
no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 05:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-02 08:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 05:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-02 11:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 05:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-02 11:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 06:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-02 11:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-03 01:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 06:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-03 01:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 06:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 05:47 am (UTC)It probably lasts the time it takes to draw one breath, but Sirius feels eight years of friendship in the anticipation of that kiss.
Loved this sentence so much.
Well done!
no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 06:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-11 07:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-18 04:40 am (UTC)Thank you for the lovely comment!! I am so glad you enjoyed it.