angelgazing (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
angelgazing) wrote2004-09-12 11:10 pm
angelgazing) wrote2004-09-12 11:10 pm
fic sneak peek
Because Twin is nowhere to be found and I need to know if I am getting this right at all before I go on.
He is sitting on the ripped bed in the shack the morning after the full moon—bones replaced with fire and muscles screaming and arms bleeding through the white shirt he’s trying to button with tired, numb-clumsy fingers—when Sirius lifts his hand his hands in his spot on the floor across the room.
“It’s getting worse,” he says, as though it is an absolute truth of life that he knows first hand.
Remus silently wishes for James to burst through the door with his arrogance and grace and ability to handle Sirius and save the day once again. Even Peter would do because Sirius would shut up then, at least, instead of offering one more empty apology. With an apparently lack of a forthcoming savior, he chooses to once more hold his tongue.
Sirius, of course, doesn’t nothing of the sort.
“You won’t let me near you.”
The sun is just over the horizon outside the window, but he can’t see it for the rain clouds that spread across to leave the sky gray.
“Sirius,” he begins, then stops because it’s just too much too speak right now. His throat is raw and his limbs feel like lead and he’s just so bloody tired of all of this. His hands fall into his lap and he missed a button somewhere along the way.
Something in Sirius’ face softens then, and he crawls across the small and broken room on hands and knees to kneel in front of Remus. “You don’t understand,” he says, but softly, hushed and scared and tired. “If I could do anything I would-”
“Join The Clash,” he finishes for him—before he gets a chance. “No, Sirius, I can’t say that I understand that at all. But I’ve certainly heard enough about it to know.”
“No, you bloody git,” Sirius whispers, his fingers sliding along the outside of Remus’ thighs until they reach the fabric of his shirt, “if I could do anything in the world I would take back what I did.” He looks thoughtful, for just a second, as he begins undoing the buttons that Remus worked so hard on. “Then I’d join The Clash,” he adds like an afterthought.
The absurdity of it would make Remus laugh he didn’t think laughing would kill him.
“I’m not making excuses anymore.”
With the last button undone, he slides his fingers lightly just beneath the edge of the shirt. Remus hisses when he touches a spot that’s still too sore. Sirius winces when his fingers come away damp with blood.
“If you would just tell me… Moony, I’ll do anything, I swear it, If you would just tell me so this can stop. You wouldn’t let me near you last night and look at you now, it hasn’t been this bad in over a year and you know it.”
Sirius wipes his fingertips on his blue jeans and then, starting at the bottom, begins redoing the buttons. “We need to let Pomfrey have a look at you,” he says, when the shirt is buttoned save for the top one that Remus never leaves undone.
His fingers flutter at the peak of the scar that the loose button reveals. Remus hisses again and closes his eyes; his head falls back just a little.
Leaning forward, Sirius nuzzles his neck as though he were still Padfoot. “Moony,” he whispers against the column of Remus’ throat, “Moony, I swear I’ll do anything. I swear… Please, Moony, just forgive me.”
Remus, with his fingers clenching tight against the ripped and bloodied bed sheets groans out a laugh. “Begging on your knees, Padfoot?”
“If that’s what it takes,” he answers, nuzzling just a little higher.
He raises his hands to push Sirius away, but they end up resting on his shoulders. He tilts his head down and opens his eyes. “How am I supposed to trust you?” he asks, fingers tightening and pushing back finally.
“Moony,” Sirius whines in the back of his throat—always a hint of puppy and dog even with boy arms that hold Remus in place, “come on, Moony, have a little faith.”
Remus isn’t quite sure how his fingers come to be catching a tangle in Sirius’ hair that makes his breath hitch. “Tell me why I should.”
“I won’t fuck up again, I swear I won’t. I can’t stand this.” He leans forward when Remus tries to lean back, stands just enough to put a knee on the mattress between Remus’ thighs. Sirius presses his nose just below his jaw and his lips against his throat. “I can stand not getting to touch you. I can’t stand not getting to run beside you at the full moon. Maybe I deserve it, but I know that you don’t. I won’t fuck up again. Please, Moony, just have a little faith, would you?”
Because he’s tired—exausted to the bones that broke and reshaped and broke again and it hurts to breathe and he feels too heavy to move—he turns his face into Sirius’ hair and says, “I’ll kill you if you do.”
Sirius grins with relief against his neck. “I’ll let you,” he says, and then presses his mouth against Remus’ before he can reply.
And now I will go back and reply to people because I am suddenly scared of Word.
He is sitting on the ripped bed in the shack the morning after the full moon—bones replaced with fire and muscles screaming and arms bleeding through the white shirt he’s trying to button with tired, numb-clumsy fingers—when Sirius lifts his hand his hands in his spot on the floor across the room.
“It’s getting worse,” he says, as though it is an absolute truth of life that he knows first hand.
Remus silently wishes for James to burst through the door with his arrogance and grace and ability to handle Sirius and save the day once again. Even Peter would do because Sirius would shut up then, at least, instead of offering one more empty apology. With an apparently lack of a forthcoming savior, he chooses to once more hold his tongue.
Sirius, of course, doesn’t nothing of the sort.
“You won’t let me near you.”
The sun is just over the horizon outside the window, but he can’t see it for the rain clouds that spread across to leave the sky gray.
“Sirius,” he begins, then stops because it’s just too much too speak right now. His throat is raw and his limbs feel like lead and he’s just so bloody tired of all of this. His hands fall into his lap and he missed a button somewhere along the way.
Something in Sirius’ face softens then, and he crawls across the small and broken room on hands and knees to kneel in front of Remus. “You don’t understand,” he says, but softly, hushed and scared and tired. “If I could do anything I would-”
“Join The Clash,” he finishes for him—before he gets a chance. “No, Sirius, I can’t say that I understand that at all. But I’ve certainly heard enough about it to know.”
“No, you bloody git,” Sirius whispers, his fingers sliding along the outside of Remus’ thighs until they reach the fabric of his shirt, “if I could do anything in the world I would take back what I did.” He looks thoughtful, for just a second, as he begins undoing the buttons that Remus worked so hard on. “Then I’d join The Clash,” he adds like an afterthought.
The absurdity of it would make Remus laugh he didn’t think laughing would kill him.
“I’m not making excuses anymore.”
With the last button undone, he slides his fingers lightly just beneath the edge of the shirt. Remus hisses when he touches a spot that’s still too sore. Sirius winces when his fingers come away damp with blood.
“If you would just tell me… Moony, I’ll do anything, I swear it, If you would just tell me so this can stop. You wouldn’t let me near you last night and look at you now, it hasn’t been this bad in over a year and you know it.”
Sirius wipes his fingertips on his blue jeans and then, starting at the bottom, begins redoing the buttons. “We need to let Pomfrey have a look at you,” he says, when the shirt is buttoned save for the top one that Remus never leaves undone.
His fingers flutter at the peak of the scar that the loose button reveals. Remus hisses again and closes his eyes; his head falls back just a little.
Leaning forward, Sirius nuzzles his neck as though he were still Padfoot. “Moony,” he whispers against the column of Remus’ throat, “Moony, I swear I’ll do anything. I swear… Please, Moony, just forgive me.”
Remus, with his fingers clenching tight against the ripped and bloodied bed sheets groans out a laugh. “Begging on your knees, Padfoot?”
“If that’s what it takes,” he answers, nuzzling just a little higher.
He raises his hands to push Sirius away, but they end up resting on his shoulders. He tilts his head down and opens his eyes. “How am I supposed to trust you?” he asks, fingers tightening and pushing back finally.
“Moony,” Sirius whines in the back of his throat—always a hint of puppy and dog even with boy arms that hold Remus in place, “come on, Moony, have a little faith.”
Remus isn’t quite sure how his fingers come to be catching a tangle in Sirius’ hair that makes his breath hitch. “Tell me why I should.”
“I won’t fuck up again, I swear I won’t. I can’t stand this.” He leans forward when Remus tries to lean back, stands just enough to put a knee on the mattress between Remus’ thighs. Sirius presses his nose just below his jaw and his lips against his throat. “I can stand not getting to touch you. I can’t stand not getting to run beside you at the full moon. Maybe I deserve it, but I know that you don’t. I won’t fuck up again. Please, Moony, just have a little faith, would you?”
Because he’s tired—exausted to the bones that broke and reshaped and broke again and it hurts to breathe and he feels too heavy to move—he turns his face into Sirius’ hair and says, “I’ll kill you if you do.”
Sirius grins with relief against his neck. “I’ll let you,” he says, and then presses his mouth against Remus’ before he can reply.
And now I will go back and reply to people because I am suddenly scared of Word.