Fic: Wishing for Knowmefirst
Dec. 6th, 2013 08:44 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
brighty18.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
small_giftsTitle: Wishing
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
brighty18
Recipient:knowmefirst
Rating: PG
Contents or warnings (highlight to view): *swearing, vague sexual references, coffee, non-recommended use of office supplies *
Word count: About 1,500
Summary: Everyone has a Christmas wish, even lonely accountants.
Notes: Based on two prompts, “Wishing,” and the wildcard prompt, “Remus as accountant/Sirius as client.” Merry Christmas and lots of good wishes to the lovelyknowmefirst, I hope you enjoy the story. (And, yes, for the record, I very much am obsessed with coffee.) Special thanks to my fabulous beta, cackling_madly, and, as always, the wonderful Mods.
Remus sat alone at his desk, wishing for coffee. Coffee was his semi-secret vice – semi-secret in the fact that, to his co-workers at Dalasi, Krona, and Rand Accounting, he claimed to prefer it straight and black, strong, masculine coffee devoid of unmanly swirls of sugar, crème, and caramel. But it was just those swirls he was secretly craving. Cocoa. Cinnamon. Vanilla. Remus had a sweet tooth a mile wide, but he hid it from co-workers.
In fact, Remus his many things from his co-workers.
He hid the fact he hated rugby, deftly avoiding the passionate and volatile discussions around the water cooler each Monday.
He hid the fact that he read Latin for fun. Cicero. Cato. Seneca. All in the original language. Sure, his co-workers were mainly swotty little accountants with the same privileged, independent school education, but they concealed it much better, forgoing discussions of philosophy and politics in favour of trading stories of sports and banal celebrities.
And he hid the fact that he slept with men.
Remus also hid the fact that he didn’t much care for parties, hence he was sitting alone at a cluttered desk in the semi-darkness of a rainy Christmas Eve afternoon whilst the rest of the company was two floors up, slurping down eggnog and whiskey and engaging in unspeakable acts on the copy machine. His boss, Obert Frona the Third, had attempted to force poor Gemma Roxbury, the new receptionist, to the stay behind and proverbially man the store, but Remus knew she had a secret crush on Eamon Yenn from Corporate Finance, and took pity on her. “You go the party, love,” he’d said. “I’ve got some work to catch up on, anyway.”
In truth, Remus had no work – unless you counted sitting in the dark, wishing for coffee and company, and crafting complex sculptures out of random office supplies. Currently, he was constructing something resembling an unholy cross of a Christmas tree and a carousel – or perhaps a giant dreidel – with colorful paperclips suspended on elastic bands rotating around on a Styrofoam cup balanced on a well-sharpened pencil. “I wish this damn thing spun better,” he mumbled aloud, giving it violent whirl.
A rainbow of paperclips sprayed out over the office like the gayest shrapnel in the world.
“Oi! Watch it!” barked an unfamiliar voice from the shadows near the door. “Christmas Eve would be a terrible time to lose an eye.”
“Is there a particularly good time to lose an eye?” Remus shot back. “Guy Fawkes Day is more likely, though frankly, a little cliché.”
“Fair point,” came the reply, “Though I’ve been told my eyes are quite stunning. It would be a shame to lose one.” The stranger took a confident step forward, allowing Remus to see that, indeed, he did have stunning eyes. He was also tall, handsome, and, unfortunately, clutching a tray of paper cups and a large box overflowing with paperwork. “Hullo, I’m Sirius,” the stranger said.
“I highly doubt it,” replied Remus. “In fact, I rather suspect Obert sent you down here as a joke.”
“Well that’s a fine way to say Merry Christmas,” laughed the stranger. “And what the hell kind of name is Obert?”
After a moment of silence, punctuated only by the soft ticking of the office clock, Remus realized that this sort of joke was far beyond the meager powers of his numbers-obsessed boss – not to mention the fact that it wasn’t at all funny. “What the hell kind of name is Sirius?” he asked finally.
“It’s a family name, unfortunately. Though I fared far better than my younger sibling. He’s called Regulus, which, frankly sounds like some sort of old-fashioned laxative.”
Despite it all, Remus laughed. “So what brings you to our fine firm this stormy Christmas Eve,” he asked.
Sirius – if that was really his name – deftly balanced the tray of cups in his left hand and plunked down the enormous box with his right. “You see, I have a little problem…” he began.
Remus wished for a moment that the majority of interactions he’d had as an accountant did not begin with this statement. All his clients had “little problems” that, in most cases, turned out to be big problems. Despite its rather conservative reputation, Dalasi, Krona, and Rand had a tendency to attract clients of somewhat financial ill repute. Not members of the underworld, exactly, just white collar financial crimes committed by tedious little men in dreary grey pinstriped suits. This stranger, however, was anything but dreary, and the preposterously tight jeans he was wearing were a far cry from pinstripes.
“Are you even listening to me?” Sirius asked. “I’ve been explaining my situation for the past seven minutes… or were you just staring into my so-called ‘stunning’ eyes?” He gave Remus a wink with one of those grey beauties, and Remus felt himself losing all sense of time and space.
“Erm… I… erm… you know, Christmas Eve and all…” he stammered.
Sirius just shook his head. “Here,” he said, pushing a steaming cup toward Remus, “clearly you are in dire need of coffee, Mr. Lupin.”
Remus half-blindly accepted the cup. Unthinking, he pried off the plastic lid and peered inside. The scent of caramel and vanilla rose to his nostrils and thick layer of creamy foam swirled with cinnamon covered the top. “How on earth did you know what I drank?” he asked. He took a long sip. It was glorious.
Sirius laughed. “Had you been listening – and not staring off thinking of god-knows-what – you would have heard me explaining that I work out of that ramshackle little coffee shop you so favour. I hear you order every day. I hear the barista call out, “Caramel-vanilla latte for Remus Lupin?” and I watch you dump in what appears to be an entire teaspoon of cinnamon.”
“Why?” asked Remus.
“I assume because you really like cinnamon.”
Remus let out a sigh that sounded far more exasperated than he intended. “No, I mean why are you there?”
“You really weren’t listening, were you?” Sirius said, taking a long sip of his own coffee. “Apparently you missed the part about my writing a novel, but my flat being redecorated, so I sit all day in the coffee shop.”
“Oh!” Remus mentally kicked himself, wishing desperately that he’d never allowed himself to be distracted by thoughts of unsavoury clients and piercing grey eyes. He struggled to piece together the rest of the story: the purpose of the box, the reason for being out on Christmas Eve, the need for urgency, the unlikely presence of handsome stranger in an empty office on a rainy Christmas Eve.
As if sensing his distress, Sirius gently reminded him of the rest of the story. “So I got an advance on my novel,” he explained, “and was told to save all receipts for expenses. But then, out of the blue, I was rudely informed that all such receipts had to be coded and labeled and turned in by the end of the year. The end of the year! Can you believe it? It’s a travesty, I tell you!”
Remus, who’d had almost a decade of financial experience with highly unorganized clients, found that, indeed, he could believe it. “Well, let’s take a look,” he said, pawing his way into the box. There seemed to be hundreds of receipts. Coffee. Meals. Computer supplies. And, inexplicably, a three-hundred pound cashmere scarf from Herrods.
“It’s a possible present for my accountant, on account of his being made to work on Christmas Eve and all,” Sirius offered by way of explanation.
Though Remus, like all sane human beings, adored cashmere, he chose to ignore that last remark. “That’s a lot of receipts for Christmas Eve,” he mumbled, still rifling through the box.
“Oh, it’s just the beginning, there’s four more boxes back in my flat.”
“What?” squeaked Remus, but Sirius just laughed.
“Or did you have something better to do tonight? A party perhaps?”
“My co-workers are grippers and berks,” answered Remus, honestly, “But why aren’t you with your family?”
“My family’s all wankers and twats... and semi-decent little brothers named after laxatives.”
Another beat or two of silence passed, these more companionable than awkward. From two floors above, drifted down shrill shrieks of female laughter and the predictable chuck-chuck-whine of the copy machine.
“You ready to go?” asked Sirius. Somehow he’d managed to wrangle Remus’ coat from the back of the chair and was holding it out, shaking it gently by the shoulders.
“Absolutely,” answered Remus, allowing his body to ease into the proffered garment.
They left the darkened office, walking toward Christmas in the waning light of a London evening. “I wasn’t joking about the four boxes,” said Sirius offering his Remus his arm, “but I will try to make it worth your while.” He gave his companion a saucy wink, causing Remus to blush.
The rain fell lightly around them, the sidewalks reflecting a muted rainbow of holiday lights. For once Remus had nothing to hide. And for the moment he’d nothing more to wish for.
Author/Artist:
brighty18Recipient:
knowmefirstRating: PG
Contents or warnings (highlight to view): *swearing, vague sexual references, coffee, non-recommended use of office supplies *
Word count: About 1,500
Summary: Everyone has a Christmas wish, even lonely accountants.
Notes: Based on two prompts, “Wishing,” and the wildcard prompt, “Remus as accountant/Sirius as client.” Merry Christmas and lots of good wishes to the lovely
knowmefirst, I hope you enjoy the story. (And, yes, for the record, I very much am obsessed with coffee.) Special thanks to my fabulous beta, cackling_madly, and, as always, the wonderful Mods.Remus sat alone at his desk, wishing for coffee. Coffee was his semi-secret vice – semi-secret in the fact that, to his co-workers at Dalasi, Krona, and Rand Accounting, he claimed to prefer it straight and black, strong, masculine coffee devoid of unmanly swirls of sugar, crème, and caramel. But it was just those swirls he was secretly craving. Cocoa. Cinnamon. Vanilla. Remus had a sweet tooth a mile wide, but he hid it from co-workers.
In fact, Remus his many things from his co-workers.
He hid the fact he hated rugby, deftly avoiding the passionate and volatile discussions around the water cooler each Monday.
He hid the fact that he read Latin for fun. Cicero. Cato. Seneca. All in the original language. Sure, his co-workers were mainly swotty little accountants with the same privileged, independent school education, but they concealed it much better, forgoing discussions of philosophy and politics in favour of trading stories of sports and banal celebrities.
And he hid the fact that he slept with men.
Remus also hid the fact that he didn’t much care for parties, hence he was sitting alone at a cluttered desk in the semi-darkness of a rainy Christmas Eve afternoon whilst the rest of the company was two floors up, slurping down eggnog and whiskey and engaging in unspeakable acts on the copy machine. His boss, Obert Frona the Third, had attempted to force poor Gemma Roxbury, the new receptionist, to the stay behind and proverbially man the store, but Remus knew she had a secret crush on Eamon Yenn from Corporate Finance, and took pity on her. “You go the party, love,” he’d said. “I’ve got some work to catch up on, anyway.”
In truth, Remus had no work – unless you counted sitting in the dark, wishing for coffee and company, and crafting complex sculptures out of random office supplies. Currently, he was constructing something resembling an unholy cross of a Christmas tree and a carousel – or perhaps a giant dreidel – with colorful paperclips suspended on elastic bands rotating around on a Styrofoam cup balanced on a well-sharpened pencil. “I wish this damn thing spun better,” he mumbled aloud, giving it violent whirl.
A rainbow of paperclips sprayed out over the office like the gayest shrapnel in the world.
“Oi! Watch it!” barked an unfamiliar voice from the shadows near the door. “Christmas Eve would be a terrible time to lose an eye.”
“Is there a particularly good time to lose an eye?” Remus shot back. “Guy Fawkes Day is more likely, though frankly, a little cliché.”
“Fair point,” came the reply, “Though I’ve been told my eyes are quite stunning. It would be a shame to lose one.” The stranger took a confident step forward, allowing Remus to see that, indeed, he did have stunning eyes. He was also tall, handsome, and, unfortunately, clutching a tray of paper cups and a large box overflowing with paperwork. “Hullo, I’m Sirius,” the stranger said.
“I highly doubt it,” replied Remus. “In fact, I rather suspect Obert sent you down here as a joke.”
“Well that’s a fine way to say Merry Christmas,” laughed the stranger. “And what the hell kind of name is Obert?”
After a moment of silence, punctuated only by the soft ticking of the office clock, Remus realized that this sort of joke was far beyond the meager powers of his numbers-obsessed boss – not to mention the fact that it wasn’t at all funny. “What the hell kind of name is Sirius?” he asked finally.
“It’s a family name, unfortunately. Though I fared far better than my younger sibling. He’s called Regulus, which, frankly sounds like some sort of old-fashioned laxative.”
Despite it all, Remus laughed. “So what brings you to our fine firm this stormy Christmas Eve,” he asked.
Sirius – if that was really his name – deftly balanced the tray of cups in his left hand and plunked down the enormous box with his right. “You see, I have a little problem…” he began.
Remus wished for a moment that the majority of interactions he’d had as an accountant did not begin with this statement. All his clients had “little problems” that, in most cases, turned out to be big problems. Despite its rather conservative reputation, Dalasi, Krona, and Rand had a tendency to attract clients of somewhat financial ill repute. Not members of the underworld, exactly, just white collar financial crimes committed by tedious little men in dreary grey pinstriped suits. This stranger, however, was anything but dreary, and the preposterously tight jeans he was wearing were a far cry from pinstripes.
“Are you even listening to me?” Sirius asked. “I’ve been explaining my situation for the past seven minutes… or were you just staring into my so-called ‘stunning’ eyes?” He gave Remus a wink with one of those grey beauties, and Remus felt himself losing all sense of time and space.
“Erm… I… erm… you know, Christmas Eve and all…” he stammered.
Sirius just shook his head. “Here,” he said, pushing a steaming cup toward Remus, “clearly you are in dire need of coffee, Mr. Lupin.”
Remus half-blindly accepted the cup. Unthinking, he pried off the plastic lid and peered inside. The scent of caramel and vanilla rose to his nostrils and thick layer of creamy foam swirled with cinnamon covered the top. “How on earth did you know what I drank?” he asked. He took a long sip. It was glorious.
Sirius laughed. “Had you been listening – and not staring off thinking of god-knows-what – you would have heard me explaining that I work out of that ramshackle little coffee shop you so favour. I hear you order every day. I hear the barista call out, “Caramel-vanilla latte for Remus Lupin?” and I watch you dump in what appears to be an entire teaspoon of cinnamon.”
“Why?” asked Remus.
“I assume because you really like cinnamon.”
Remus let out a sigh that sounded far more exasperated than he intended. “No, I mean why are you there?”
“You really weren’t listening, were you?” Sirius said, taking a long sip of his own coffee. “Apparently you missed the part about my writing a novel, but my flat being redecorated, so I sit all day in the coffee shop.”
“Oh!” Remus mentally kicked himself, wishing desperately that he’d never allowed himself to be distracted by thoughts of unsavoury clients and piercing grey eyes. He struggled to piece together the rest of the story: the purpose of the box, the reason for being out on Christmas Eve, the need for urgency, the unlikely presence of handsome stranger in an empty office on a rainy Christmas Eve.
As if sensing his distress, Sirius gently reminded him of the rest of the story. “So I got an advance on my novel,” he explained, “and was told to save all receipts for expenses. But then, out of the blue, I was rudely informed that all such receipts had to be coded and labeled and turned in by the end of the year. The end of the year! Can you believe it? It’s a travesty, I tell you!”
Remus, who’d had almost a decade of financial experience with highly unorganized clients, found that, indeed, he could believe it. “Well, let’s take a look,” he said, pawing his way into the box. There seemed to be hundreds of receipts. Coffee. Meals. Computer supplies. And, inexplicably, a three-hundred pound cashmere scarf from Herrods.
“It’s a possible present for my accountant, on account of his being made to work on Christmas Eve and all,” Sirius offered by way of explanation.
Though Remus, like all sane human beings, adored cashmere, he chose to ignore that last remark. “That’s a lot of receipts for Christmas Eve,” he mumbled, still rifling through the box.
“Oh, it’s just the beginning, there’s four more boxes back in my flat.”
“What?” squeaked Remus, but Sirius just laughed.
“Or did you have something better to do tonight? A party perhaps?”
“My co-workers are grippers and berks,” answered Remus, honestly, “But why aren’t you with your family?”
“My family’s all wankers and twats... and semi-decent little brothers named after laxatives.”
Another beat or two of silence passed, these more companionable than awkward. From two floors above, drifted down shrill shrieks of female laughter and the predictable chuck-chuck-whine of the copy machine.
“You ready to go?” asked Sirius. Somehow he’d managed to wrangle Remus’ coat from the back of the chair and was holding it out, shaking it gently by the shoulders.
“Absolutely,” answered Remus, allowing his body to ease into the proffered garment.
They left the darkened office, walking toward Christmas in the waning light of a London evening. “I wasn’t joking about the four boxes,” said Sirius offering his Remus his arm, “but I will try to make it worth your while.” He gave his companion a saucy wink, causing Remus to blush.
The rain fell lightly around them, the sidewalks reflecting a muted rainbow of holiday lights. For once Remus had nothing to hide. And for the moment he’d nothing more to wish for.
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no subject
Date: 2013-12-17 10:02 pm (UTC)I adore non-magic AUs and this is just a gold mine. I love that bit about Remus and his coffee. And the dialogue between the both of them is just grand. I love how it flows naturally and just weaves in and out.
no subject
Date: 2013-12-23 05:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-18 12:24 am (UTC)A rainbow of paperclips sprayed out over the office like the gayest shrapnel in the world. – haha
I’d love to read more from this AU (Oh I don’t know, maybe to see Sirius’s idea of ‘making it worth your while’ *wink*)
Well-written, really well-written. Kudos! (:
no subject
Date: 2013-12-23 05:14 am (UTC)Now maybe I will write more sometime soon...
no subject
Date: 2013-12-18 07:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-23 05:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-18 09:06 am (UTC)I would happily read a long story about these two, this is absolutely adorable. The dialogue and the descriptions of the firm and the office are spot on.
I love AUs, and this one was lovely :D
no subject
Date: 2013-12-23 05:15 am (UTC)And I might just write more sometime.
Yeah, I've done some time in "cubicle hell," so I can relate to poor Remus here.
no subject
Date: 2013-12-19 06:14 pm (UTC)I didn't know what to expect with an accountant AU, but Remus mildly fixing "small" accounting problems that turn out to be huge really fits in a way I didn't expect. It gets at the sense of chaos underlying the best Hogwarts scenes from the book. Fun! M.
no subject
Date: 2013-12-23 05:18 am (UTC)I'm not an accountant, but I've done some accounting and it's a weird little world in it's way. There are so many stories buried in those numbers, I could see Remus being good at something like it.
no subject
Date: 2013-12-20 02:51 am (UTC)This made me smile. Thank you for this AU vignette - I agree with the general comment consensus that there should be more of this world (I'm very curious as to what kind of novel Sirius is writing ... I vote gay romance novels.)
no subject
Date: 2013-12-23 05:19 am (UTC)Coffee and cashmere do make nice bonuses, though, I suppose...
I might actually write more with these guys. Who knows?
no subject
Date: 2013-12-21 01:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-23 05:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-22 03:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-23 05:21 am (UTC)Sadly, much like Remus, I, too, might be tempted into unspeakable acts for the sake of a latte. ;)
no subject
Date: 2013-12-24 02:19 pm (UTC)Sirius being disorganised.
Remus staring off into space and not hearing a word Sirius says.
Sirius being so observant and Remus being so oblivious.
Lovely sweet story. I too would like to see more of this world.
no subject
Date: 2013-12-24 05:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-24 08:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-24 11:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-30 04:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-30 04:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-07 07:33 am (UTC)OMFG, I love it! You just gave me everything I wanted and more. Non-magic AU's and Remus, I just love him and Sirius oh that naughty man he sure knows how to use his good looks. I don't have words to describe how much love I have for this little piece. Please tell me that your thinking of giving us a sequel to it :D
Thank you!!
no subject
Date: 2014-01-07 08:40 pm (UTC)Both boys are fun to write in AU. As a semi cubicle sweller (who's spend time in such trenches), I could rather relate to Remus here, and Sirius is just... Sirius.
And I might just do a sequel...
Thanks for commenting!
no subject
Date: 2014-01-07 09:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-09 03:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-09 03:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-09 03:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-10-23 07:53 am (UTC)This is delightful! The conceit could so easily have gone wrong, but in hands as deft as yours, it works brilliantly. The nonchalant wackiness is just wonderful - love how Sirius manages to balance a banker's box in one hand while holding a coffee tray in the other, for instance. Who knew accountants' offices were the stuff of romance? ♥