Touch: R/S in Three Parts
Title: Touch (series)
Part 1: Second Thoughts
Part 2: Chance
Part 3: Skin
Pairing: Remus/Sirius, of course *grins*
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: slash, fluff, angst, explicit language
Summary: "It just felt right".
Words: about 2000 all up, I should think.
Comments: if you feel so compelled (ooh, I hope so)
PART 1: SECOND THOUGHTS
The mattress sighed under Remus’ weight. He swung his spindly legs up onto the bed, sliding them between the crisp sheets. A moan of melancholy longing slipped over Remus’ pink lips, dissipating into the air before anyone might be able to perceive that it had ever existed. Remus rolled onto his side, his fingers hugging his light frame. He dug into his own flesh, feeling for his ribs. Remus closed his eyes, but he did not draw the curtain.
Remus lay awake for some time, he could not be sure for long. He continued to feign sleep as James and Peter ascended the stairs to the dormitory. Their raucous laughter split the silence of the room, tearing at it like a blade through a paper bag, before James apprehended Remus’ presence: “Ssh!” he hissed, presumably to Peter, who willingly complied.
Some, but not many minutes later, Remus heard the heavy footfalls of Sirius on the staircase. A sharp intake of breath shook Remus from his falsified slumber: his eyes came to rest on the back of Sirius Black. Remus watched the starchy, crumpled cotton of his school shirt slide over his shoulders revealing a slender, and slightly pimpled back. Remus stared as Sirius’ shoulder blades moved underneath his skin, the muscles and ligaments sliding and stretching – performing, albeit unwillingly, for Remus.
Remus gulped as Sirius’ fingers unclasped his belt, the draping fabric of his school trousers barely touching the skin of his thighs as they slipped down over his hips before collapsing in a heap around his ankles. Barely touching, Remus thought and then, for a moment…what if? What if he eased out from under the covers; what if he padded over to where Sirius was; what if he reached out a hand – no, a single finger – and ran it softly over the protruding vertebrae of Sirius’ spine; barely touching.
The thought, the mere thought of his own skin pressed against Sirius’ caused Remus’ heart to pound vehemently in his chest: it was keeping a beat so loud that he thought that Sirius would be able to hear its anxious palpitations. Remus closed his eyes again. He listened to his heartbeat, willing it to slow, to calm, to rest. He could still hear Sirius’ movements, his nocturnal shufflings as he readied himself for bed. And somewhere, between the thumping in his chest, and the constant image of Sirius that was seemingly etched into his mind, Remus fell asleep.
Sirius kicked his trousers out of the way as he pulled back the covers. A sleepy sigh escaped Remus’ lips, drawing Sirius’ attention. Sirius smiled wanly, as he crept quietly to Remus’ bed, careful not to wake him. Sirius grasped the drapes of Remus’ bed in one hand: he was about to close them when he looked down at the sleeping figure that lay before him; at the coppery strands of hair falling across Remus eyelids, and Sirius hesitated. And for a moment – only a moment, Sirius told himself – he wondered…what if?
PART 2: CHANCE
Sirius crawled into bed, shaken by the nature of the thoughts that had just crossed his mind. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to rid himself of the image: a sleeping Remus, his lips slightly parted, each exhalation of breath passing softly over the chapped skin; the thin auburn hair, raked over his eyes; the slender bare arm protruding from under the sheets. Sirius could feel the pulsing of his heart in his throat. He shut his eyes tighter still, as though the contrived darkness would offer him the relief of sleep. It didn’t. The thoughts – the questions – plagued him. The vision, the sheer unexpected beauty of Remus haunted him every time he closed his eyes. And so Sirius stared at the ceiling, his arms pressed stiffly against his sides.
The dawn finally broke as Sirius rolled onto his side for the umpteenth time that night. He rose early: he did not know if he could face Remus, not after the insomnia his friend had inexplicably inspired. Sirius showered, and dressed, and peering through bloodshot eyes he climbed through the portrait-hole.
*****
“Hey Remus, you seen Sirius today?” James asked through a mouthful of toast, crumbs taking up residence in the corners of his mouth. Remus choked down the spoonful of porridge as he answered, shaking his head guiltily.
*****
Remus was worried. He had not seen Sirius all day – not even at dinner that night, and it was not like Sirius to miss a meal, and it was most certainly not like him to spend an entire day without the company of his three closest friends. Perhaps he saw me, Remus thought, the very formation of the idea leaving his mouth drier than one of Professor McGonagall’s jokes. It was at this very moment that James rather unfortunately chose to ask Remus the same question he had been asking all day: “Remus, you seen Sirius?” James asked innocently as he set opened his Potions text. Remus’ fingers turned to rubber as he dropped his own book noisily on the floor.
“No!” Remus spat suddenly at James, the blood rushing to his cheeks at an almost unnatural pace, “I haven’t bloody seen him, so stop bloody well asking me!” James sat, mouth agape: he looked as though he had been petrified mid-sentence. Embarrassed and shocked at his own outburst, Remus swept his arms over the table trying to collect his things before scrambling out of the common room.
*****
Sirius sat, pressing the nib of his quill against the parchment, the scratching sound his only company. He had not managed to write anything, but he had managed to carve a rather elaborate looking ravine onto the page. “Fuck,” he whispered under his breath.
“Sirius?” a tentative voice asked from amongst the stacks. Sirius’ fingers froze, his quill slipping from his slackened grip.
“Sirius?” the voice asked again: this time, it was accompanied by the pale, somewhat gaunt face of Remus Lupin.
“Remus,” Sirius rasped uncertainly, his voice barely audible. He cleared his throat, and tried again, “Remus,” he said, “Hey.”
“Hey,” Remus replied with a nervous half-smile. Clasping his books against his chest, Remus approached Sirius’ desk and took a seat across from his friend.
“Where’ve you been all day?” Remus started, “And what are you doing here…in the library?”
Sirius did not meet Remus’ gaze, merely stared at the sheet of parchment before him. He began to fidget with his quill.
“Well, you know, thought I’d try and get some work done,” Sirius replied.
Remus half-rose from his seat and scanned Sirius’ parchment, “How’s that working out for you?” Remus asked with a raised eyebrow as he resumed sitting. Sirius forced an anxious laugh.
“Well,” he began, “I said I’d try, I didn’t say it would work.” Sirius swallowed, his throat so dry that the muscles seemed to be grating painfully against one another. Sirius continued to stare at the parchment, intermittently allowing his eyes to flicker upwards and fall on the face that had been the cause of so much turmoil on this particular day. Remus was still looking at him, watching him, as the two sat in silence. Remus gulped. He extended a hand. He reached across the table: he reached for Sirius’ hand. Sirius looked up from his parchment as Remus’ fingers came into view. Remus bit his bottom lip, one of his canine teeth piercing the chapped skin, as he mentally propelled his hand forwards: he hesitated, his hand hovered above Sirius’ and then…and then he placed it over Sirius’ slightly trembling fingers. Grasping it: holding it. Remus could feel the bones of Sirius’ knuckles pressing into his palm.
Sirius’ chest heaved. He looked, wide-eyed, as Remus’ hand enveloped his own. He looked at Remus: at his watery azure eyes, his pale skin, and his pronounced cheekbones. Sirius opened his mouth to speak but the words caught in his throat, stumbling into one another and knocking each other down. Sirius’ vision was drawn to their touching hands: he hastily retracted his hand from Remus’ gentle hold. Sirius stood suddenly. He tried to collect his books but his hands were shaking and his grip weak: the books tumbled from Sirius’ arms and crashed upon the desk and the floor, pages and parchment crinkling and creasing as Sirius’ bolted from the library, leaving Remus to stare at the space where Sirius had only moments before been sitting. As Remus stared, tears began to fall, his hope fading like the stars at dawn.
PART 3: SKIN
Remus held his shaking fingers up before his eyes. His vision obscured by the silent deluge of tears that was rolling over his face and neck, he beheld only a fuzzy outline of his digits, juxtaposed against the hollow of space from where Sirius had fled. The prickly heat of Remus tears cooled as they trickled over his bobbing Adam’s apple: the fluid reminder of his emotions staining the collar of his shirt with regret. Remus hung his head: how could I have been so stupid?
*****
Sirius’ feet pounded heavily on the stone floor of the castle’s corridors. The dull thud of his boots reverberated off of the walls, enveloping him in the echoes of his fear. Eyes darting around, Sirius had lost track of where he was, and he certainly didn’t know where he was going. Spying a bathroom a little way ahead, Sirius broke into a run.
He hurled his body through the door. The velocity of his movements threw him forwards against one of the cubicles: sheer force almost knocked the cubicle door from its hinges as it met Sirius’ shoulder.
“Fuck!” Sirius exclaimed angrily as he fell to the ground. Rubbing his shoulder, Sirius scrambled forwards on his knees. Sitting on the cold stone floor of the cubicle, Sirius kicked the now somewhat unstable door closed. Still grasping his bruised shoulder, Sirius leaned against the cubicle wall, knees raised to his chest. He breathed deeply, exhaling in a growling, guttural howl as he began to cry.
Why did I run? Sirius scolded himself, Why? Sirius wiped his running nose on his sleeve as he regained control of his breathing. Because I wanted him to touch me, Sirius answered himself.
Because I wanted him, Sirius’ internal monologue corrected: Remus. Sirius gasped as the realisation dawned on him: and he wanted me too. Sirius sighed, the anxious tightnss in his chest evaporating for the first time since last night. Sirius smiled weakly.
“It just felt right,” Sirius mumbled as he traced over the place where Remus had so briefly held him. Everything would be all right. It had to be: he could not bear to lose Remus.
*****
Remus’ eyes felt like sandpaper. He was simply unable to cry anymore: he didn’t have the tears, he had used them all up. And for what? he muttered to himself as he traipsed up the stairs to the dormitory.
“For nothing,” Remus whispered harshly, the self-loathing in his voice so sharp it sliced the air in two, “I’ve gone and fucked everything up for nothing.” Remus dumped his and Sirius’ books on the floor at the foot of his bed. He had lost Sirius, and he would probably lose James and Peter now, too. Remus undressed and climbed into bed, clothed only in his underwear. He hastily drew the curtains, resigning himself to a dark and lonely future at Hogwarts.
*****
Sirius wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but when he returned to the common room it was nearly empty. His eyes stung with exhaustion. His limbs felt heavy. His shoulder throbbed. But Sirius didn’t really care. He dragged himself up the stairs to the dormitory. He was greeted by the rhythm of James and Peter’s snores. Sirius sat on the edge of his bed. He rested one foot on his knee and began to unlace his boots.
As his fingers fumbled in the dark, the moonlight caught Sirius’ eye: it had illuminated a path to the foot of Remus’ bed, where Sirius’ and Remus’ books lay scattered. Sirius hurriedly unlaced his boots, letting them fall to the floor. He stepped quietly towards Remus’ bed, gently pulling the curtain open. Sirius paused, gazing about the room, searching the dark…and then he nodded. Sirius began to unbutton his shirt, slipping it off over his tender shoulder. He unzipped his trousers, letting them fall as he had done so many times before. He stepped out of them and stood beside Remus’ bed, shivering in the cold: a thin layer of cotton his only protection against the night air. Sirius lifted the corner of Remus’ bed covers, exposing Remus’ naked back to the dim of the room. Sirius smiled. His heart did not race; his breathing did not catch in his throat. He was calm: it just felt right.
Sirius eased himself into bed beside Remus, who was lying on his side. Remus gasped as he felt the weight and warmth of Sirius next to him. Remus’ body tensed. Sirius slipped his arm between Remus’ side and arm, resting his hand on Remus’ chest. Sirius could feel the bones of Remus’ sternum and ribs beneath his fingers as he lightly grasped for Remus, pulling him close: holding him. Sirius shifted his body, inching himself forwards. Lying on his side, he pressed his own near naked body against Remus’. The tension that had consumed Remus’ body melted under the heat of Sirius’ touch.
Bodies moulded against one another, Remus felt at ease. Behind him, Sirius sighed contentedly. And, as Sirius’ breath brushed gently against Remus’ earlobe, Remus smiled.
It just felt right.
It just felt right.
Comments