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small_giftsTitle: Nightly Sings the Starring Owl
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ohkaye
Recipient:archduck
Rating: G
Contents or warnings (highlight to view): None
Summary: Sirius has an early sort of gift for Remus, with Peter's help.
Notes: Thank you so much to my wonderful beta J, and for the mods asking me to pinch-hit so I could participate this year :D The title comes from one of Shakespeare's sonnets. I hope this is to your liking, lovelyarchduck!
The night is clear and cold and bright, and Padfoot can smell snow. It’s crystalized in the wind that huffs into his fur; there is a sheer shimmering hint of it in the frost on the grass that shivers between his toes and along the pads of his paws. Prongs and Moony could smell it too, probably, but Prongs and Moony aren’t here. It’s only Padfoot, with Wormtail clinging gently to the heavy fur around his ruff.
It is Peter, not James, in whom Sirius has entrusted this plan, for a number of reasons that are easier for Padfoot’s brain to articulate than Sirius’. Peter is a gentle soul, sensitive to the needs and wants of others and even more sensitive to his own inability to live up to those needs and wants, most of the time. And he knows Remus well, has spent time curled into nooks with him reading or studying or trying to understand something that only Remus has the patience to articulate. And because Sirius has noticed, lately, that Peter is beginning to splinter away from them, and he is not ready for that change.
Padfoot thinks that the pack survives in winter, that the pack is most important, that the pack should be put first. Sirius, since the summer, has been more and more inclined to agree. After all, this is his only family now. And Peter had been so pleased when he’d asked.
Wormtail clutches softly at Padfoot’s ear as he climbs up on the big dog’s head to get a better look at the surroundings. Padfoot slows and then sits, letting him look around. The rat nods in a distinctly un-rat-ly fashion (the dog can feel it more than see it) and clambers down, back across Padfoot’s neck and down his shoulder. And then it is Peter sitting beside him with a hand in Padfoot’s fur, scratching thoughtfully across his shoulders. “This should do,” he says.
Sirius shifts back. Pete’s arm around him is comforting and warm. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah. Need open space. And the lake there will be a nice touch.” His authoritative tone is not one Sirius has often heard before, but one he always thinks he misses when it crops up again. Peter blinks suddenly and looks at him. “If you’re sure, that is.”
Sirius grins at him. “You’re the mastermind, Pete.”
“Hardly that.” He twirls his wand in his fingers, looking up at the stars again.
“Don’t say that,” Sirius says, more sharply than he intended. The silence that follows is not uncomfortable, but warm with a kind of gratitude that rankles at Sirius and makes him remember why his patience with Peter is often so short.
“So. I’ll need help with the initial spell,” Peter says after a moment. Sirius was prepared for that – it’s big magic, summoning snow, even when it’s just making sure it’s earlier than it’s supposed to be. They stand together and begin moving through the complicated patterns they’d practiced on the sly, to the point where even James had begun to notice them disappearing together. And then, of course, had come the snide remarks about wanking together and snogging and fuck only knows what else, and he hadn’t had the intelligence not to make such stupid remarks in front of Remus.
Sirius has no idea he’s saying any of this out loud until Peter starts to laugh. “You’re completely daft,” he says, with an elegant turn of his wrist that brings a mass of cloud that much closer. “No one in their right mind would think you’d choose me over Remus.”
“Except Remus,” Sirius points out wryly, and Peter doesn’t have a retort to that. It’s true. Remus J. Lupin has the terrible habit of never expecting anything good to come his way. Well. If Sirius has his way (and he intends to, almost always) that will change.
Suddenly, it starts to snow: massive flakes, like the stars themselves are falling. Peter flourishes once and they begin to glow faintly like tiny candle-flames in the dark.
“Perfect,” Sirius breathes.
Peter claps him on the shoulder. “I’ll go get him.”
* * *
Remus returns alone, though, as per Sirius’ request. They are not far from the castle and Sirius can see that the full effect of all this flickering snow has not yet quite sunk in. His grin is enormous and artlessly sweet, and snow has begun to clot his sleep-tousled hair. Sirius walks to meet him, trying to keep his heart from staging a coup and relocating to his mouth.
“Hello,” he says, feeling inane. He’d had this so well-planned, and now here Remus finally was and everything was beautiful and perfect and the best he can manage is hello. Insipid. Daft. Completely fucking—
Remus kisses him without warning, his mouth warm and dry against Sirius’. “You did this for me?” he asks after a moment, his mouth still alarmingly close to Sirius’. Their lips brush together when he speaks. Sirius can smell the peppermint on his breath from his toothpaste.
“Pete helped,” he starts, then, “Pete did it, really, I just had the idea,” then, “Yes, for you.”
Remus’ eyes are enormous when he pulls away to look at Sirius properly. They are a little more gold than hazel, the pupils slightly narrower. Sirius thinks he’s beautiful, always but especially now. “You didn’t want to miss the first snow,” he says quietly, “Moony wouldn’t have remembered.”
For a long moment Remus stares at him, his long lashes catching snowflakes. He is holding Sirius’ hands and Sirius can feel how warm they are, even through the two layers of their gloves. “You’re a wonder, Sirius Black,” he says then, and Sirius pulls him forward to wrap his arms around his shoulders and clutch him close.
Later, Sirius thinks, there will be time to figure out what on Earth they are or can or should be, but for now it is to feel Remus laugh into the damp wool of his jumper, to cup the firm line of his abdomen with his elbow as he pulls them both down into a snowdrift, and to kiss him again and again amidst the falling snow.
Author/Artist:
ohkayeRecipient:
archduckRating: G
Contents or warnings (highlight to view): None
Summary: Sirius has an early sort of gift for Remus, with Peter's help.
Notes: Thank you so much to my wonderful beta J, and for the mods asking me to pinch-hit so I could participate this year :D The title comes from one of Shakespeare's sonnets. I hope this is to your liking, lovely
archduck!The night is clear and cold and bright, and Padfoot can smell snow. It’s crystalized in the wind that huffs into his fur; there is a sheer shimmering hint of it in the frost on the grass that shivers between his toes and along the pads of his paws. Prongs and Moony could smell it too, probably, but Prongs and Moony aren’t here. It’s only Padfoot, with Wormtail clinging gently to the heavy fur around his ruff.
It is Peter, not James, in whom Sirius has entrusted this plan, for a number of reasons that are easier for Padfoot’s brain to articulate than Sirius’. Peter is a gentle soul, sensitive to the needs and wants of others and even more sensitive to his own inability to live up to those needs and wants, most of the time. And he knows Remus well, has spent time curled into nooks with him reading or studying or trying to understand something that only Remus has the patience to articulate. And because Sirius has noticed, lately, that Peter is beginning to splinter away from them, and he is not ready for that change.
Padfoot thinks that the pack survives in winter, that the pack is most important, that the pack should be put first. Sirius, since the summer, has been more and more inclined to agree. After all, this is his only family now. And Peter had been so pleased when he’d asked.
Wormtail clutches softly at Padfoot’s ear as he climbs up on the big dog’s head to get a better look at the surroundings. Padfoot slows and then sits, letting him look around. The rat nods in a distinctly un-rat-ly fashion (the dog can feel it more than see it) and clambers down, back across Padfoot’s neck and down his shoulder. And then it is Peter sitting beside him with a hand in Padfoot’s fur, scratching thoughtfully across his shoulders. “This should do,” he says.
Sirius shifts back. Pete’s arm around him is comforting and warm. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah. Need open space. And the lake there will be a nice touch.” His authoritative tone is not one Sirius has often heard before, but one he always thinks he misses when it crops up again. Peter blinks suddenly and looks at him. “If you’re sure, that is.”
Sirius grins at him. “You’re the mastermind, Pete.”
“Hardly that.” He twirls his wand in his fingers, looking up at the stars again.
“Don’t say that,” Sirius says, more sharply than he intended. The silence that follows is not uncomfortable, but warm with a kind of gratitude that rankles at Sirius and makes him remember why his patience with Peter is often so short.
“So. I’ll need help with the initial spell,” Peter says after a moment. Sirius was prepared for that – it’s big magic, summoning snow, even when it’s just making sure it’s earlier than it’s supposed to be. They stand together and begin moving through the complicated patterns they’d practiced on the sly, to the point where even James had begun to notice them disappearing together. And then, of course, had come the snide remarks about wanking together and snogging and fuck only knows what else, and he hadn’t had the intelligence not to make such stupid remarks in front of Remus.
Sirius has no idea he’s saying any of this out loud until Peter starts to laugh. “You’re completely daft,” he says, with an elegant turn of his wrist that brings a mass of cloud that much closer. “No one in their right mind would think you’d choose me over Remus.”
“Except Remus,” Sirius points out wryly, and Peter doesn’t have a retort to that. It’s true. Remus J. Lupin has the terrible habit of never expecting anything good to come his way. Well. If Sirius has his way (and he intends to, almost always) that will change.
Suddenly, it starts to snow: massive flakes, like the stars themselves are falling. Peter flourishes once and they begin to glow faintly like tiny candle-flames in the dark.
“Perfect,” Sirius breathes.
Peter claps him on the shoulder. “I’ll go get him.”
Remus returns alone, though, as per Sirius’ request. They are not far from the castle and Sirius can see that the full effect of all this flickering snow has not yet quite sunk in. His grin is enormous and artlessly sweet, and snow has begun to clot his sleep-tousled hair. Sirius walks to meet him, trying to keep his heart from staging a coup and relocating to his mouth.
“Hello,” he says, feeling inane. He’d had this so well-planned, and now here Remus finally was and everything was beautiful and perfect and the best he can manage is hello. Insipid. Daft. Completely fucking—
Remus kisses him without warning, his mouth warm and dry against Sirius’. “You did this for me?” he asks after a moment, his mouth still alarmingly close to Sirius’. Their lips brush together when he speaks. Sirius can smell the peppermint on his breath from his toothpaste.
“Pete helped,” he starts, then, “Pete did it, really, I just had the idea,” then, “Yes, for you.”
Remus’ eyes are enormous when he pulls away to look at Sirius properly. They are a little more gold than hazel, the pupils slightly narrower. Sirius thinks he’s beautiful, always but especially now. “You didn’t want to miss the first snow,” he says quietly, “Moony wouldn’t have remembered.”
For a long moment Remus stares at him, his long lashes catching snowflakes. He is holding Sirius’ hands and Sirius can feel how warm they are, even through the two layers of their gloves. “You’re a wonder, Sirius Black,” he says then, and Sirius pulls him forward to wrap his arms around his shoulders and clutch him close.
Later, Sirius thinks, there will be time to figure out what on Earth they are or can or should be, but for now it is to feel Remus laugh into the damp wool of his jumper, to cup the firm line of his abdomen with his elbow as he pulls them both down into a snowdrift, and to kiss him again and again amidst the falling snow.
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