yiling matriarch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
marginalia) wrote2004-07-02 02:04 pm
marginalia) wrote2004-07-02 02:04 pm
Entry tags:
s/r cookie. liek. hrm.
the point is i'm trying to write something, but it might be long and take a while and stuff, and right now i still can't decide if i love or hate it. and so i offer a cookie to the masses. it's informed by cuaron's movie-verse, if that matters to anyone.
cookie for [the shape i found you in] - sirius/remus
Sirius had escaped everything only to find himself trapped again, trapped in caves, trapped in Padfoot. When the owl arrived, for once not from Harry, he looked at it disbelieving, procedure for communication with adults nearly forgotten. The note was brief - an address in Muggle London, signed simply -R. As closed as a note could be. That was something he had not forgotten, how Remus could wield both words and silence.
Sirius found his way to Remus in the dark, slipped through the country and the streets in black and white, pausing to transform at Remus's door, pausing to rest, pausing to wonder. There were so many things they had forgotten about each other. Had Sirius always been so wiry, or had Azkaban merely reduced him to his essence? Had Remus always been so tall, or had the wolf, tearing itself from him, through him, torn him into something greater? Long ago Sirius had fancied himself the protector, the strong one keeping the wolf in check, but now, scarred knuckles hovering in midair in front of the door, he was suddenly certain that it had been Remus and only Remus in quiet control.
Remus opened the door almost before Sirius knocked, opened the door and took him in, took him in with his eyes and the lightest of touches. "Let's get you human again."
"Good luck with that." Sirius tried to laugh, but it came out a harsh cough, and he slumped against Remus, muttering an apology. Remus, face closed as the words of his note had been, half-carried Sirius to the bath, steaming water nearly drawn. He tossed Sirius's ragged and foul clothing aside as Sirius lowered himself into the water, an involuntary sigh escaping as the heat began to work itself into sore and tired muscles. "Thank you, Moony."
"Best wait for the thanks until I'm quite finished with you." Sirius peered up at him. "I thought it was my turn," Remus said brusquely. "Besides," in a lighter tone, "Perhaps I just don't trust you to get all the dirt off before I hand you over to my clean sheets."
"Very well then," Sirius managed a pale imitation of a regal wave.
Remus rolled up his sleeves, cradled Sirius's head and neck with one hand, and poured water through the tangled, grimy curls with the other. "Severus has nothing on you," he smiled, but any response from Sirius was lost in Remus's long fingers working the shampoo through Sirius's hair as he hummed low in his ear.
He hummed a standard by Berlin, the sort of song the old Sirius never would have admitted to knowing. Tonight he would have confessed to anything to keep Remus touching him, massaging away years and weariness and fear. Sirius didn't even have the energy for concern as Remus's hands moved down his torso to his hips, near his still-soft cock. Tonight, this moment, it was all so far outside of the realm of sexuality. He let his fingers float on the surface of the water, kept his eyes closed, drifted as a child.
When Remus scrubbed Sirius's feet roughly it was almost Sirius's undoing, that Remus had remembered how he preferred it, remembered how to keep it from tickling. His eyes flickered open, and Remus looked away, wringing out the cloth and reaching for the shave gel. "I want to see your face," Remus whispered as he drew the razor down.
"Once you're quite finished, I'm taking off that damned moustache of yours," Sirius said, an idle threat. As the water began to cool, Remus helped him from the bath, dried him in cheap towels charmed fluffy and warm with a few low words, swaddled him in a spare robe, then led him into the bedroom. "Rather presumptuous, Moony," Sirius said, falling between the sheets.
Remus stepped out of his reach. "My tea's in the kitchen." By the time he returned, Sirius was asleep. Remus stood over him for a moment, brushed the damp curls back from Sirius's forehead, then allowed himself to settle back in the chair and wait for what the morning might bring.
cookie for [the shape i found you in] - sirius/remus
Sirius had escaped everything only to find himself trapped again, trapped in caves, trapped in Padfoot. When the owl arrived, for once not from Harry, he looked at it disbelieving, procedure for communication with adults nearly forgotten. The note was brief - an address in Muggle London, signed simply -R. As closed as a note could be. That was something he had not forgotten, how Remus could wield both words and silence.
Sirius found his way to Remus in the dark, slipped through the country and the streets in black and white, pausing to transform at Remus's door, pausing to rest, pausing to wonder. There were so many things they had forgotten about each other. Had Sirius always been so wiry, or had Azkaban merely reduced him to his essence? Had Remus always been so tall, or had the wolf, tearing itself from him, through him, torn him into something greater? Long ago Sirius had fancied himself the protector, the strong one keeping the wolf in check, but now, scarred knuckles hovering in midair in front of the door, he was suddenly certain that it had been Remus and only Remus in quiet control.
Remus opened the door almost before Sirius knocked, opened the door and took him in, took him in with his eyes and the lightest of touches. "Let's get you human again."
"Good luck with that." Sirius tried to laugh, but it came out a harsh cough, and he slumped against Remus, muttering an apology. Remus, face closed as the words of his note had been, half-carried Sirius to the bath, steaming water nearly drawn. He tossed Sirius's ragged and foul clothing aside as Sirius lowered himself into the water, an involuntary sigh escaping as the heat began to work itself into sore and tired muscles. "Thank you, Moony."
"Best wait for the thanks until I'm quite finished with you." Sirius peered up at him. "I thought it was my turn," Remus said brusquely. "Besides," in a lighter tone, "Perhaps I just don't trust you to get all the dirt off before I hand you over to my clean sheets."
"Very well then," Sirius managed a pale imitation of a regal wave.
Remus rolled up his sleeves, cradled Sirius's head and neck with one hand, and poured water through the tangled, grimy curls with the other. "Severus has nothing on you," he smiled, but any response from Sirius was lost in Remus's long fingers working the shampoo through Sirius's hair as he hummed low in his ear.
He hummed a standard by Berlin, the sort of song the old Sirius never would have admitted to knowing. Tonight he would have confessed to anything to keep Remus touching him, massaging away years and weariness and fear. Sirius didn't even have the energy for concern as Remus's hands moved down his torso to his hips, near his still-soft cock. Tonight, this moment, it was all so far outside of the realm of sexuality. He let his fingers float on the surface of the water, kept his eyes closed, drifted as a child.
When Remus scrubbed Sirius's feet roughly it was almost Sirius's undoing, that Remus had remembered how he preferred it, remembered how to keep it from tickling. His eyes flickered open, and Remus looked away, wringing out the cloth and reaching for the shave gel. "I want to see your face," Remus whispered as he drew the razor down.
"Once you're quite finished, I'm taking off that damned moustache of yours," Sirius said, an idle threat. As the water began to cool, Remus helped him from the bath, dried him in cheap towels charmed fluffy and warm with a few low words, swaddled him in a spare robe, then led him into the bedroom. "Rather presumptuous, Moony," Sirius said, falling between the sheets.
Remus stepped out of his reach. "My tea's in the kitchen." By the time he returned, Sirius was asleep. Remus stood over him for a moment, brushed the damp curls back from Sirius's forehead, then allowed himself to settle back in the chair and wait for what the morning might bring.
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::applauds wildly::
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That was something he had not forgotten, how Remus could wield both words and silence.
*writhes* You had me there and I now plainly refuse to let go. How I wish I could write these two. How I wish I could write like you. <3
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^^^^what she said.
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thank you! <3
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Yes. I have a hair-washing thing that's a holdover from my X-Files fanfic days :)
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When Remus scrubbed Sirius's feet roughly it was almost Sirius's undoing, that Remus had remembered how he preferred it, remembered how to keep it from tickling.
and that was my undoing. *cries quietly*
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well, you know, eventually there will be more. i was -readng- and taking -notes- and -everything-. they are eating my brains. *nibble*
thanks, dear! <3
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Thank you.
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That's the only way to wash feet when you're deathly ticklish and I love you for including that! =D
Great job on this. Especially like how you said the moment was outside the realm of sexuality =) But who knows what the morning will bring *grin* Thank you for sharing! =)
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*squeeeeee*
I'm so friending you so I don't miss out =D
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please?
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thank you!
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*hearts*
So pimping your cookie.
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although i have to admit, when i first saw the title i could have sworn it said the snape i found you in.
oops
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I love your icon!!! =D
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thank you :)
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hee :) thank you, dear :)
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Icon!
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:D
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:)
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And, LJ, WTF?? *prods*