InsaneJournal

                                                

                                                  ~ “The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot”

           Brand New

 

Sirius lightly traced the outline of Remus jaw with the fleshy tip of his index finger. His washed out grey eyes followed the trail, his mind focussed on the contrast between his dark, tanned skin and the wan beauty of Remus face.
Even his face, thought Sirius, even his face is pale. Remus had always been pale, and he had hated it; Sirius did not. Sirius adored the luminescence of Remus’ complexion, and its beautiful fragility. Just like Remus, he thought.

 

Sirius’ finger continued it’s lackadaisical meanderings over the contours of Remus face. Sirius pressed his thumb softly against Remus cheekbone as it jutted out from under the skin. He closed his eyes are pressed the fleshy rise of his thumb a little harder, tracing over the bone.

“Ow,” Remus muttered sleepily. He opened his eyes and rested on his elbows. “What are you doing, Padfoot?” he asked confusedly.

Sirius shook his head and dragged his thumb over Remus cheek. “Nothing, Moony, nothing.”

Remus raised a slender auburn eyebrow in a questioning arc. “Are you sure?” Remus smiled gently at Sirius as he placed his hand over Sirius’ arm as it lolled non-commitally against the bed covers.

Sirius nodded, “I’m sure. Go back to sleep,” he whispered as he cupped Remus’ face in his hands.

 

***

 

Remus lay on his side: one hand tucked under the pillow on which he rested his head, the other he had wrapped around his ever-diminishing frame. He stared, his eyes blearily focussed on the rangy form of Sirius Black, sleeping beside him. The years, and Azkaban, had not been kind to Sirius. The tangled mass of Sirius’ ebony hair sprawled over the pillow. The amber glow of a bedside candle illuminated strands of a silvery grey. Remus closed his eyes, and sighed. He wanted to reach out to Sirius, to touch him: to hold him again. He wanted so much to feel the warmth of Sirius’ breathing, pulsing – living - body against his own.

 

Remus opened his eyes: the lashes were damp with the tears he had been holding back since Sirius had arrived, since he had come home. Remus raised a hand and wiped the tears away, sniffing as he did so. He gazed back at Sirius: his mouth was open a little; a length of saliva had escaped its cavernous domain and cascaded onto the starchy fabric of the pillowcase. Remus smiled to himself, and to the surrounding darkness. He extended a hand. With outstretched thumb he wiped the drool from Sirius’ mouth. Biting his lip, Remus let his thumb linger. He allowed it to trace over the dry cracked terrain of Sirius’ lips. Sirius snorted suddenly. Remus hastily withdrew his hand.

“Moony,” Sirius growled. Sirius fumbled in the dark for Remus’ offending hand. Eyes still closed, he found it: Sirius grasped Remus hand tightly, entwining Remus’ fingers with his own. “Moony,” Sirius growled again, as he held Remus’ hand against his rising and falling chest. Remus closed his eyes again. He could feel it: the breathing, the heat.