fic: wintersong
Dec. 11th, 2007 05:50 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
glass-icarus.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
small_giftsTitle: wintersong
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
glass_icarus
Written for:leafyaki
Rating: PG
Prompt: church choirs
Summary: Remus loiters, and Sirius is late. MWPP-era, holiday season.
Remus blows into his hands, the ragged edges of his tattered gloves fluttering against his skin. Sirius is late, which is not unusual, but it's getting darker now, with the streets white and hushed.
He leans against the side of the church, rough stones cold against his back even through his coat and sweaters. The snow is falling faster now, the grey of the clouds nearly indistinguishable from the white haze descending. Perhaps it would be wiser to go indoors- his eyes flick up toward the light wavering through the stained glass- but he doesn't want to enter just yet.
The sound of the organ pulls him from his thoughts, and Remus frowns. Sighing, he adjusts his scarf and pushes away from the wall. Since he's here, he might as well enjoy the service. Remus is far from religious, but the sense of sanctity and tradition appeals to him, especially during the holiday season, and he knows that Sirius, for all his willful rebellion, feels exactly the same way.
Suddenly, a pair of warm arms materializes around his middle, and the familiar scent of boy-and-dog envelops him as Sirius drawls, "You weren't about to go in without me, were you, Mooooony?"
Remus snorts to cover the instinctive shiver at the feeling of Sirius' breath in his ear. "Well, you were pretty late..."
"It's not my fault I had a bit of trouble with the bike!" Remus fixes him with a sharp look; Sirius flushes and looks away. "Bloody weather."
"Sirius-"
"Moony." Sirius looks at him with pleading eyes, and Remus sighs and bites back his lecture about flying the motorbike in the middle of a snowstorm. He laces his fingers into Sirius' hair and tugs gently, before releasing him and turning toward the door.
It's a modest church, Remus knows, nothing like the glory that is Salisbury Cathedral during Christmastime, but all the same, he finds himself short of breath as they slip unnoticed into the back pew. Sirius' eyes are round and wide, taking in the soft glow of the lights, the organ pipes, the stained glass windows. Remus squeezes his hand, and Sirius turns to smile at him as the priest's oration washes over them.
Then he hears the boys' choir, voices high and sweet, and Sirius' hand bears down hard on his own. Remus has never asked about the Christmas traditions of the Black family, but he suspects that this must have been one of them: Sirius' lips are moving, almost imperceptibly, with the words. Regulus, he thinks, and smoothes a finger over the crease in Sirius' brow.
"Pie Jesu, qui tollis peccata mundi, dona eis requiem," Remus murmurs under his breath, and Sirius' grip loosens even as the hymn comes to a close.
"... Today we light the second candle, the candle of peace. We light it knowing full well that peace is elusive, and in some parts of the world, it is almost completely absent. Yet in this season of Advent, we trust that God is never absent from us. God is always preparing something new. And even where there is war and discord, whether between countries, within families, or within our own hearts, God is present, gently leading us to new possibilities," the priest is saying. It is a speech that Remus desperately needs to hear.
Sirius seems to think so, too, glancing at him sidelong with all traces of darkness gone from his face. "Happy Christmas, Moony," he whispers, lips quirking.
"Happy Christmas," Remus replies, and slips their hands into Sirius' pocket.
Sirius' smile unfurls like a glowing secret as the second Advent candle is lit. They sit together, a comfortable press of shoulders, and let the music wash over them.
Author:
glass_icarusWritten for:
leafyakiRating: PG
Prompt: church choirs
Summary: Remus loiters, and Sirius is late. MWPP-era, holiday season.
Remus blows into his hands, the ragged edges of his tattered gloves fluttering against his skin. Sirius is late, which is not unusual, but it's getting darker now, with the streets white and hushed.
He leans against the side of the church, rough stones cold against his back even through his coat and sweaters. The snow is falling faster now, the grey of the clouds nearly indistinguishable from the white haze descending. Perhaps it would be wiser to go indoors- his eyes flick up toward the light wavering through the stained glass- but he doesn't want to enter just yet.
The sound of the organ pulls him from his thoughts, and Remus frowns. Sighing, he adjusts his scarf and pushes away from the wall. Since he's here, he might as well enjoy the service. Remus is far from religious, but the sense of sanctity and tradition appeals to him, especially during the holiday season, and he knows that Sirius, for all his willful rebellion, feels exactly the same way.
Suddenly, a pair of warm arms materializes around his middle, and the familiar scent of boy-and-dog envelops him as Sirius drawls, "You weren't about to go in without me, were you, Mooooony?"
Remus snorts to cover the instinctive shiver at the feeling of Sirius' breath in his ear. "Well, you were pretty late..."
"It's not my fault I had a bit of trouble with the bike!" Remus fixes him with a sharp look; Sirius flushes and looks away. "Bloody weather."
"Sirius-"
"Moony." Sirius looks at him with pleading eyes, and Remus sighs and bites back his lecture about flying the motorbike in the middle of a snowstorm. He laces his fingers into Sirius' hair and tugs gently, before releasing him and turning toward the door.
It's a modest church, Remus knows, nothing like the glory that is Salisbury Cathedral during Christmastime, but all the same, he finds himself short of breath as they slip unnoticed into the back pew. Sirius' eyes are round and wide, taking in the soft glow of the lights, the organ pipes, the stained glass windows. Remus squeezes his hand, and Sirius turns to smile at him as the priest's oration washes over them.
Then he hears the boys' choir, voices high and sweet, and Sirius' hand bears down hard on his own. Remus has never asked about the Christmas traditions of the Black family, but he suspects that this must have been one of them: Sirius' lips are moving, almost imperceptibly, with the words. Regulus, he thinks, and smoothes a finger over the crease in Sirius' brow.
"Pie Jesu, qui tollis peccata mundi, dona eis requiem," Remus murmurs under his breath, and Sirius' grip loosens even as the hymn comes to a close.
"... Today we light the second candle, the candle of peace. We light it knowing full well that peace is elusive, and in some parts of the world, it is almost completely absent. Yet in this season of Advent, we trust that God is never absent from us. God is always preparing something new. And even where there is war and discord, whether between countries, within families, or within our own hearts, God is present, gently leading us to new possibilities," the priest is saying. It is a speech that Remus desperately needs to hear.
Sirius seems to think so, too, glancing at him sidelong with all traces of darkness gone from his face. "Happy Christmas, Moony," he whispers, lips quirking.
"Happy Christmas," Remus replies, and slips their hands into Sirius' pocket.
Sirius' smile unfurls like a glowing secret as the second Advent candle is lit. They sit together, a comfortable press of shoulders, and let the music wash over them.
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