Rebel Prince (allhisengines) wrote in pervy_werewolf, @ 2008-05-03 22:50:00 |
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Current mood: | drinking |
Entry tags: | #lmom 2008, author: allhisengines, kink: collaring, remus/sirius |
LMoM Day 3: Leading the Way
Title: LMoM 3- Leading the Way
Rating: PG13/R for implication
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Kink(s): Collars
Challenge: LMoM 2008
Word Count: 702
Notes: I found myself in a mood to write a more toned-down emotional fic tonight. There is certainly implied and about-to-commence naughtiness. Maybe tomorrow will herald more absolute smut from me. Hope you like it.
Before the memories of their schoolboy antics had ceased to elicit survivors’ guilt and pain, Sirius and Remus were unable to set foot in the Shrieking Shack except for the night Sirius came home.
Remus always expected to see Prongs there, lounging on the beaten-within-an-inch-of-its-life sofa with a clever smirk on his face; Peter reading quietly in the armchair by the bookcase or tending to the fire. He expected to see Sirius at the piano, eyes closed and fingers drifting over the keys; the dark and tragic pieces of one of the Romantic classical Muggle composers. Without the accompanying orchestra, the music piano seemed lonely and he remembers letting it wash over his torn flesh and agony.
Sirius longed to see James, bright-eyed and flushed from a snowball fight in the Forest warming himself by the fire. Wished he could remember a Peter who would scurry through the rafters before leaping with a squeak onto James’ head and burrowing around in his hair before fleeing his wrath as they all laughed and made terrible puns about rat-nests and so forth. He craved the all-consuming anxiety and joy upon seeing Remus’ tired, golden eyes slowly open and the flood of relief that would wash through them after a difficult transformation.
Neither of them, for a long time—too long—could bear the thought of returning only to see that the Shack was full of dust, blood, and ash. They figured they’d find an old notebook of James’ with his adolescent scrawl across the cover—James + Lily. They feared they would find a hint of Peter’s true allegiance that they should have known all along and if only they could have found it before.
When they did return, almost ten years after the War had ended, they were both relieved and devastated at what they found. The couch had the human-imprint of a young boy who spent his life dreaming of a just and right world where he could raise a family with the love of his life. There were bloodstains from Severus’ death on the Oriental rug in the center of the room. Shadows of the strong-willed and courageous children they once were.
But there was also the piano and ancient bed. The piano, still tuned, looked the same as they left it except with a bit more dust: the candle wax rivers from the stalks and holders that sat on the lid and the sheet music in the bench was still wrapped in cellophane. The bed had the same clothes—the deep purple and gold duvet and white sheets with old blood stains that wouldn’t wash out no matter the method. An emerald-laden necklace of platinum gold—Lily’s—hung from the bed post with a cheap, drugstore canvas dog collar with tag that Remus knew read ‘Padfoot. If impounded please contact James Potter at Godrics’ Hollow’.
Remus remembered well the momentous Impounding and Near-Castration of Sirius Black that inspired such an inscription. It took Sirius a week to get over the indignity of it all and finally ceased his pouting when Remus surprised him with a wicked gleam in his eyes and a leash that lead to what was perhaps the most spectacular shag of his life thus far. He’d been dragged through the Shack on hands and knees, following commands the most well-trained dog could never accomplish. Mostly because of anatomical constraints, but he was still proud. He hadn’t walked straight for days afterwards and the bruises that circled his throat were worn proudly as a reminder, much to the continual embarrassment of their delightfully perverse and upstanding wizard Remus Lupin, Prefect.
The rest of day of their return to the Shack saw Remus snuggled comfortably in the old bed that had never brought comfort before but was now filling him with hope and a happy desperation. Sirius recited his old favorite compositions on the piano despite his extreme lack of practice. In the last bars of Moonlight Sonata, Sirius felt rough fabric wrapping and then buckling across the back of his neck. A husky whimper passed over his ear and Sirius bid Beethoven a truncated adieu and turned to his lover, throat exposed in submission and awaiting the lead.