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fox_confessorTitle: In the Sun
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
escribo
Rating: R (though not this part)
Warnings: passing mention of Sirius' parents disciplining him by striking with an open hand (this part)
Word count: 2020 (this part)
Summary: AU. Sirius was sorted in Slytherin and Remus isn't a werewolf
Notes: This has been sitting on my hard drive for nearly three years so I thought it might be a good time to finish it and get it posted :D
iv.
It was three days before Remus saw Sirius again. There was a dance and Sirius was in dress robes, looking beautiful and elegant if miserable, and Remus still in his ill fitting servants’ garment holding a tray of glasses. Sirius was stalking Remus a bit but Remus never looked at him, never directly, never took the chance. This job meant he wouldn’t have to ask his mum for money for school books and supplies or new robes that fit and a pair of shoes that didn’t pinch and hadn’t been resoled.
Still, near the end of his shift he let himself be caught in the hallway near the kitchen, let Sirius pull him outside and into the garden before he even thought about protesting. They were hidden against the building, the night cool in comparison to the crowded ballroom, and Sirius was very close. He held out a small chocolate that had melted slightly on his fingers and Remus was tempted by more than just the bit of sweet. He shook his head with more resolution than he felt. "I'll get in trouble if someone thinks I'm eating food meant for the guests."
Sirius dropped the bit into the grass, wiping his hand against his robes, and then roughly pressed his fingers against Remus’ wrist. It almost hurt but Remus didn't pull away. Sirius' voice, when he spoke, sounded desperate. It wasn't something he had ever expected considering how distant, how cold Sirius had always been at school.
"Promise you'll meet me tonight?" Sirius whispered, stepping even closer.
For a moment Remus thought that maybe his resolve would extend to saying no to Sirius' question. It would be very late by the time the dance ended and he'd helped clean up. He had to work again in the morning, setting up a luncheon for a witches' group. Sirius' mother would be there. Stolen bits of chocolate would be the least of his concerns if she found out that Remus had been with her son the night before.
Sirius pressed harder against Remus' skin, curling his long fingers around the delicate bones of Remus' wrist, and Remus could feel him tremble slightly, waiting for an answer. Sirius' eyes were pale gray in the moonlight, like the sea when it stormed and just as intense. Remus meant to say no--he tried to say no but nodded his head instead and pulled away quickly, disappearing back inside and into the kitchens where Sirius couldn't follow. He had to press his hand to chest to catch his breath before he picked up another tray.
v.
It was very late when the dance finally ended and Sirius could sneak out of his room. He ran all the way to the cove, afraid it was too late. He was relieved when he found Remus waiting for him, his arms wrapped around his thin chest as he stood on the bluff. "Are you well, Remus?" he asked, afraid, too, of the answer.
"Tired."
Remus smiled at him but it faded quickly, and Sirius stepped closer, unsure if he could or should touch Remus but wanting to until his fingers burned with the need. When he looked back up at Remus’ face, he saw the same patience that Sirius had sometimes seen from Professor McGonagall when she helped a student work through a problem, waiting on them to come up with the answer on their own, and it suddenly clicked into place. Quick, before he could think about it too hard, Sirius leaned in and kissed Remus, surprised when he felt rather than saw the smile come back. It was brilliant, more so when Remus stepped closer, his hands settling onto Sirius' waist as he kissed back.
Every day and night for the next two weeks after that, as often as they could manage, they would meet and kiss and talk and gently rub against one another with soft gasps. In the long grass in the field above the bluff or in the warm sand, the sun beating down on them, they'd kissed until their lips were bruised and swollen and then Sirius would rest his head on Remus' chest, feeling long and lazy and very, very good and right with the world, the best he’d ever felt.
Sometimes at night when they would creep out of their beds to meet, Sirius would wrap his arms around Remus' body from behind and hold him as they watched the stars and moon climb higher. He would whisper questions for which he'd always wanted answers but had never had the nerve to ask or seek out on his own. How does it feel to play quidditch and to be able to fly so fast and so high? He was jealous of his brother being on the quidditch team when he was never allowed, and he told that to Remus, too. How do muggle born witches and wizards find out about Hogwarts, about their magic? His fascination for Muggles was another secret he'd never told another person, and Remus answered all his questions and some he hadn't known to ask. Why did Remus let Sirius kiss him that first time? For that, Remus had no answer to give, at least none that gave a better answer than his lips and hands could.
One night, Remus told Sirius that James Potter was coming to spend the week with his aunt. Sirius' hands had clutched a bit tighter where they had been exploring Remus' body. "Did you tell him about us?"
"No."
"Are you going to?"
"Would it bother you if I did?"
"I don't know." He buried his face into Remus' neck and breathed deeply his warm scent. Remus smelled like sunshine and wind and stars and everything good like boys and sweat and running through the grass and swimming until his arms ached.
Sirius hated to think of what would happen when the end of summer came, when they went back to Hogwarts and Sirius was supposed to hate Remus for being a Gryffindor, and then after when he would have to marry Natasha and live the life his parents had planned for him when he was still in the womb. Years stretched out before him, years of not being able to touch or smell or taste Remus, and it made him feel cold, as if he'd just walked through a ghost, and alone, burning only with his hate for everything and everyone, and most of all himself.
"I don't want anyone else to kiss you," Sirius whispered urgently against Remus' throat, half hoping that Remus hadn't heard him at all. It was the only thing he could think to say, and he was embarrassed by it--confused, more so when he heard Remus laugh. He closed his eyes tightly, wanting to hear that sound for forever. "I don't."
"I don't kiss James. He's my best friend. He's not--it's not like this."
"I only ever want you to be like this with me," Sirius insisted, knowing he sounded spoiled and petulant but not caring at all. Remus gave him that patient smile again and Sirius blushed and buried his face into Remus' shoulder, thinking that maybe he knew the answer here, too, but was afraid to give it. Instead, he said, "if my father ever found out--"
"Then we'll wait until we're 17 and it won't matter. Can you wait?" Sirius nodded, not saying that even then it would matter to his father, that this was the first time that Sirius had ever defied his family's wishes and that he'd only ever done it because of Remus.
vi.
The week that James was there, Sirius saw more of him at events than he did of Remus. A week of not touching or kissing Remus, of not hearing his laughter, of watching him fade into the background until Sirius sometimes had to force himself to see Remus. He found himself to be extremely tetchy during this week--miserable, arguing with his brother, making tiny rebellions against his parents, his mother quicker to strike with an open hand than his father, whose anger would simmer before boiling over hot and fast all at once.
On Saturday afternoon, there was a tea at the club, and Sirius was nearly vibrating with nerves and longing. Natasha had had her hand on his arm for what felt like hours, showing him off to her friends as if she's won a prize, and he couldn't bear it. Afterward, he was made to sit with his mother for forty long minutes while they sipped tea and ate tiny sandwiches. The women and their children criticized the others in the room, especially that Potter boy who has turned out so wild. Friends with muggle-borns, did you know, they whispered greedily (while that Potter boy laughed merrily at his aunt's table and once made Remus give a smile, which forced Sirius' guts to twist into jealous knots that he couldn't be quite so free) in a strange reaffirmation of their allegiance to blood lines and purity. Remus served the tea quietly, clearing away dishes and Sirius had to force himself not to look, not to scream.
And then, as the witches turned themselves out to the gardens and into the small terraced rooms, his mother demanded that he play. He thought to refuse, biting at his lip to work out the words and work up the courage, but, just when he thought he might have actually found the strength, he happened to look up into the dining room they'd just left and saw Remus there, standing quite still. He knew Remus was waiting to hear him play, and all protests died on his tongue.
Sirius sat himself at the piano, pushing his robe off in the heat and rolling up his sleeves. He played from memory, slowly, trying to make it the best he's ever done, and watched as Remus slid into the room, hid himself from the view of the ladies on the terrace behind the curtains. He leaned his head back against the wall, Sirius could see the long column of his throat and thought about kissing him. When Sirius was almost done, he saw that Remus' eyes were closed as he listened to the last few notes, and Sirius thought he'd never seen anything more beautiful. The lightness of the next piece Sirius began to play clearly surprised Remus, and he opened his eyes to smile at Sirius, knowing that Sirius was playing just for him. By the third piece, Sirius had forgotten everything except Remus and performed happily and effortlessly for the first time in his life.
Sirius was in the middle of the Aria from the Goldberg Variations when Natasha came into the room with her friends, all of them tittering loudly. Remus heard them, too, and stepped from the room almost without being seen before Natasha spoke.
"Oh, you, boy," she said, her tone high and nasal. "Fetch us some pumpkin juice? It's ghastly hot out there."
Sirius' hands froze above the keyboard so that Natasha's voice rang out and Sirius could hear Remus' whispered, yes, ma'am as he slid from the room. Sirius stopped playing altogether after that and stood at the window with his hands in his pockets, brooding, when Remus was suddenly at his elbow, a last glass of iced pumpkin juice on the tray alongside some almond biscuits.
"The back gardens are particularly lovely, sir," Remus whispered. "You might find the air more refreshing, especially just as the sun is setting."
"Yes, thank you," Sirius said, daring to look at Remus before Remus turned away and backed from the room.
Waiting was terrible but then, just at dusk, Sirius found the small opening in the hedge that bordered the back garden and followed Remus through it. Their hands clasped together as Remus led him away and through the thick woods until Sirius, ever impatient, pushed Remus against the trunk of an ancient oak tree and kissed him.
"I hate them," he said fiercely, pausing only long enough to press another kiss to Remus' mouth. "I hate to hear them talk to you like that."
"You used to talk to me like that," Remus said as he reached for the ribbon that held back Sirius’ hair. He pulled it loose, slipping it into his pocket.
"I didn't!" Sirius protested though he knew it was true.
Remus laughed at him, the sound high and clear. "Maybe you will again."
"Stop. I love you," Sirius said, his voice taking on that desperate pitch that it had never held before this summer. He felt stupid and a bit reckless, realizing that he'd never said it before to anyone. He pulled away a bit so that he could see Remus' face, afraid he would laugh again, but Remus didn't laugh.
Remus took Sirius' face between his hands, cradling his head and pressing his fingertips into the tender spots beneath Sirius' jaw, before he kissed Sirius' lips, his nose, his forehead. He met Sirius' eyes and Sirius wanted to look away but forced himself to be still until Remus' scrutiny. It was a long time before Remus answered him. "I think you mean that."
"I do, Remus. I do."
to be continued...
Author:
escriboRating: R (though not this part)
Warnings: passing mention of Sirius' parents disciplining him by striking with an open hand (this part)
Word count: 2020 (this part)
Summary: AU. Sirius was sorted in Slytherin and Remus isn't a werewolf
Notes: This has been sitting on my hard drive for nearly three years so I thought it might be a good time to finish it and get it posted :D
It was three days before Remus saw Sirius again. There was a dance and Sirius was in dress robes, looking beautiful and elegant if miserable, and Remus still in his ill fitting servants’ garment holding a tray of glasses. Sirius was stalking Remus a bit but Remus never looked at him, never directly, never took the chance. This job meant he wouldn’t have to ask his mum for money for school books and supplies or new robes that fit and a pair of shoes that didn’t pinch and hadn’t been resoled.
Still, near the end of his shift he let himself be caught in the hallway near the kitchen, let Sirius pull him outside and into the garden before he even thought about protesting. They were hidden against the building, the night cool in comparison to the crowded ballroom, and Sirius was very close. He held out a small chocolate that had melted slightly on his fingers and Remus was tempted by more than just the bit of sweet. He shook his head with more resolution than he felt. "I'll get in trouble if someone thinks I'm eating food meant for the guests."
Sirius dropped the bit into the grass, wiping his hand against his robes, and then roughly pressed his fingers against Remus’ wrist. It almost hurt but Remus didn't pull away. Sirius' voice, when he spoke, sounded desperate. It wasn't something he had ever expected considering how distant, how cold Sirius had always been at school.
"Promise you'll meet me tonight?" Sirius whispered, stepping even closer.
For a moment Remus thought that maybe his resolve would extend to saying no to Sirius' question. It would be very late by the time the dance ended and he'd helped clean up. He had to work again in the morning, setting up a luncheon for a witches' group. Sirius' mother would be there. Stolen bits of chocolate would be the least of his concerns if she found out that Remus had been with her son the night before.
Sirius pressed harder against Remus' skin, curling his long fingers around the delicate bones of Remus' wrist, and Remus could feel him tremble slightly, waiting for an answer. Sirius' eyes were pale gray in the moonlight, like the sea when it stormed and just as intense. Remus meant to say no--he tried to say no but nodded his head instead and pulled away quickly, disappearing back inside and into the kitchens where Sirius couldn't follow. He had to press his hand to chest to catch his breath before he picked up another tray.
It was very late when the dance finally ended and Sirius could sneak out of his room. He ran all the way to the cove, afraid it was too late. He was relieved when he found Remus waiting for him, his arms wrapped around his thin chest as he stood on the bluff. "Are you well, Remus?" he asked, afraid, too, of the answer.
"Tired."
Remus smiled at him but it faded quickly, and Sirius stepped closer, unsure if he could or should touch Remus but wanting to until his fingers burned with the need. When he looked back up at Remus’ face, he saw the same patience that Sirius had sometimes seen from Professor McGonagall when she helped a student work through a problem, waiting on them to come up with the answer on their own, and it suddenly clicked into place. Quick, before he could think about it too hard, Sirius leaned in and kissed Remus, surprised when he felt rather than saw the smile come back. It was brilliant, more so when Remus stepped closer, his hands settling onto Sirius' waist as he kissed back.
Every day and night for the next two weeks after that, as often as they could manage, they would meet and kiss and talk and gently rub against one another with soft gasps. In the long grass in the field above the bluff or in the warm sand, the sun beating down on them, they'd kissed until their lips were bruised and swollen and then Sirius would rest his head on Remus' chest, feeling long and lazy and very, very good and right with the world, the best he’d ever felt.
Sometimes at night when they would creep out of their beds to meet, Sirius would wrap his arms around Remus' body from behind and hold him as they watched the stars and moon climb higher. He would whisper questions for which he'd always wanted answers but had never had the nerve to ask or seek out on his own. How does it feel to play quidditch and to be able to fly so fast and so high? He was jealous of his brother being on the quidditch team when he was never allowed, and he told that to Remus, too. How do muggle born witches and wizards find out about Hogwarts, about their magic? His fascination for Muggles was another secret he'd never told another person, and Remus answered all his questions and some he hadn't known to ask. Why did Remus let Sirius kiss him that first time? For that, Remus had no answer to give, at least none that gave a better answer than his lips and hands could.
One night, Remus told Sirius that James Potter was coming to spend the week with his aunt. Sirius' hands had clutched a bit tighter where they had been exploring Remus' body. "Did you tell him about us?"
"No."
"Are you going to?"
"Would it bother you if I did?"
"I don't know." He buried his face into Remus' neck and breathed deeply his warm scent. Remus smelled like sunshine and wind and stars and everything good like boys and sweat and running through the grass and swimming until his arms ached.
Sirius hated to think of what would happen when the end of summer came, when they went back to Hogwarts and Sirius was supposed to hate Remus for being a Gryffindor, and then after when he would have to marry Natasha and live the life his parents had planned for him when he was still in the womb. Years stretched out before him, years of not being able to touch or smell or taste Remus, and it made him feel cold, as if he'd just walked through a ghost, and alone, burning only with his hate for everything and everyone, and most of all himself.
"I don't want anyone else to kiss you," Sirius whispered urgently against Remus' throat, half hoping that Remus hadn't heard him at all. It was the only thing he could think to say, and he was embarrassed by it--confused, more so when he heard Remus laugh. He closed his eyes tightly, wanting to hear that sound for forever. "I don't."
"I don't kiss James. He's my best friend. He's not--it's not like this."
"I only ever want you to be like this with me," Sirius insisted, knowing he sounded spoiled and petulant but not caring at all. Remus gave him that patient smile again and Sirius blushed and buried his face into Remus' shoulder, thinking that maybe he knew the answer here, too, but was afraid to give it. Instead, he said, "if my father ever found out--"
"Then we'll wait until we're 17 and it won't matter. Can you wait?" Sirius nodded, not saying that even then it would matter to his father, that this was the first time that Sirius had ever defied his family's wishes and that he'd only ever done it because of Remus.
The week that James was there, Sirius saw more of him at events than he did of Remus. A week of not touching or kissing Remus, of not hearing his laughter, of watching him fade into the background until Sirius sometimes had to force himself to see Remus. He found himself to be extremely tetchy during this week--miserable, arguing with his brother, making tiny rebellions against his parents, his mother quicker to strike with an open hand than his father, whose anger would simmer before boiling over hot and fast all at once.
On Saturday afternoon, there was a tea at the club, and Sirius was nearly vibrating with nerves and longing. Natasha had had her hand on his arm for what felt like hours, showing him off to her friends as if she's won a prize, and he couldn't bear it. Afterward, he was made to sit with his mother for forty long minutes while they sipped tea and ate tiny sandwiches. The women and their children criticized the others in the room, especially that Potter boy who has turned out so wild. Friends with muggle-borns, did you know, they whispered greedily (while that Potter boy laughed merrily at his aunt's table and once made Remus give a smile, which forced Sirius' guts to twist into jealous knots that he couldn't be quite so free) in a strange reaffirmation of their allegiance to blood lines and purity. Remus served the tea quietly, clearing away dishes and Sirius had to force himself not to look, not to scream.
And then, as the witches turned themselves out to the gardens and into the small terraced rooms, his mother demanded that he play. He thought to refuse, biting at his lip to work out the words and work up the courage, but, just when he thought he might have actually found the strength, he happened to look up into the dining room they'd just left and saw Remus there, standing quite still. He knew Remus was waiting to hear him play, and all protests died on his tongue.
Sirius sat himself at the piano, pushing his robe off in the heat and rolling up his sleeves. He played from memory, slowly, trying to make it the best he's ever done, and watched as Remus slid into the room, hid himself from the view of the ladies on the terrace behind the curtains. He leaned his head back against the wall, Sirius could see the long column of his throat and thought about kissing him. When Sirius was almost done, he saw that Remus' eyes were closed as he listened to the last few notes, and Sirius thought he'd never seen anything more beautiful. The lightness of the next piece Sirius began to play clearly surprised Remus, and he opened his eyes to smile at Sirius, knowing that Sirius was playing just for him. By the third piece, Sirius had forgotten everything except Remus and performed happily and effortlessly for the first time in his life.
Sirius was in the middle of the Aria from the Goldberg Variations when Natasha came into the room with her friends, all of them tittering loudly. Remus heard them, too, and stepped from the room almost without being seen before Natasha spoke.
"Oh, you, boy," she said, her tone high and nasal. "Fetch us some pumpkin juice? It's ghastly hot out there."
Sirius' hands froze above the keyboard so that Natasha's voice rang out and Sirius could hear Remus' whispered, yes, ma'am as he slid from the room. Sirius stopped playing altogether after that and stood at the window with his hands in his pockets, brooding, when Remus was suddenly at his elbow, a last glass of iced pumpkin juice on the tray alongside some almond biscuits.
"The back gardens are particularly lovely, sir," Remus whispered. "You might find the air more refreshing, especially just as the sun is setting."
"Yes, thank you," Sirius said, daring to look at Remus before Remus turned away and backed from the room.
Waiting was terrible but then, just at dusk, Sirius found the small opening in the hedge that bordered the back garden and followed Remus through it. Their hands clasped together as Remus led him away and through the thick woods until Sirius, ever impatient, pushed Remus against the trunk of an ancient oak tree and kissed him.
"I hate them," he said fiercely, pausing only long enough to press another kiss to Remus' mouth. "I hate to hear them talk to you like that."
"You used to talk to me like that," Remus said as he reached for the ribbon that held back Sirius’ hair. He pulled it loose, slipping it into his pocket.
"I didn't!" Sirius protested though he knew it was true.
Remus laughed at him, the sound high and clear. "Maybe you will again."
"Stop. I love you," Sirius said, his voice taking on that desperate pitch that it had never held before this summer. He felt stupid and a bit reckless, realizing that he'd never said it before to anyone. He pulled away a bit so that he could see Remus' face, afraid he would laugh again, but Remus didn't laugh.
Remus took Sirius' face between his hands, cradling his head and pressing his fingertips into the tender spots beneath Sirius' jaw, before he kissed Sirius' lips, his nose, his forehead. He met Sirius' eyes and Sirius wanted to look away but forced himself to be still until Remus' scrutiny. It was a long time before Remus answered him. "I think you mean that."
"I do, Remus. I do."
to be continued...
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no subject
but mostly i love the way you describe things, i can always picture your stories happening like a movie in my head - this i realize was something i mentioned in a comment i once left you on a story i didnt even knew you had written. :-) - and the whole atmosphere here is beautiful.
may i ask, is this finished or are you still working on it? we will get to see them at hogwarts or is it a summer story only?
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It is, I'd say, about 80% complete and only because in my original I really spin off and need to rein that in and give it an ending, so it's a rewrite rather than writing new stuff, which I find most difficult. Which is to say, it should be done and completely posted by the end of the month.
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I'm really not too into AU's, but since it is YOU, I gave it a chance as I said I would and well, I do like it thus far. I'm a bit surprised at how quickly the relationship has been established, but I assume that this is because its going to be a short fic or they're going to find trouble once they return to school (or just trouble in general).
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