leashy_bebes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
leashy_bebes) wrote2009-01-19 03:02 pm
leashy_bebes) wrote2009-01-19 03:02 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: Expected Part 6
Part 6 of Expected - the talky one.
Rated R for angst and stuff.
The next one will be porn porn porn to make up for this emotional wreck, I promise.
I don't own them.
You are patrolling when it happens, on your own because James had ordered and Lily had pleaded, and they'd managed to swing a rare evening off together. You doubt that studying was on James' agenda for the night, but they'd seemed happy enough when you left them in the common room earlier. As you move along the Charms corridor from a patch of darkness to the light cast by a torch, a warm invisible something presses against you and you jump about a foot in the air before you realise.
"Hello, Padfoot."
"Hello," says the invisible something, and grabs your arm, pulling you down the corridor and into a storeroom.
You catch a glimpse of piles of irregularly sized boxes before he closes the door, casting you both into darkness. You hear a rustle as he pulls off the cloak, the soft sound of it hitting the floor as he presses his hands to your shoulders and guides you back against the wall. He presses himself close to you, nuzzling his face against your own. He kisses your cheek, your jaw, your neck, shoves your collar aside to get closer, and presses hot little bites into your skin.
"Sirius - "
"Shh," he whispers, and he sounds desperate and intent and a bit odd.
There is a thud and suddenly the warmth is gone from your front, and there are fingers scrabbling at your robes, shoving them aside to get at your trousers.
"Padfoot - "
"Don't - " he says tightly. "Shh - "
Much as you like the way he fumbles with the fastenings on your trousers, you can't get away from the niggling feeling that something is not quite right. As he shoves your shirt upwards and kisses your stomach, you slide your wand out of your sleeve and cast a quick lumos. He tries to hide it, but the light shows all too clearly that he has a black eye.
"Sirius - "
"It's alright," he insists, hands sliding to the back of your hips to pull you closer. You'd bet good money that he's trying to hide a set of skinned knuckles.
"What happened?"
"Nothing, I had a fight, it doesn't matter."
"With who?"
"It doesn't matter, just a Slytherin, look - "
"Which Slytherin?" you demand, and he looks up at you with a frown. The bruise around his eye is already purpling and angry looking, and he has a knot on his jaw as well.
"Regulus, but I keep telling you it doesn't matter."
"I - think it probably does," you say reluctantly.
"Remus, it doesn't."
"Right, so you had a fight - a fight, not a duel - with your brother, and for possibly the first time since you were a child, he got close enough to leave marks. And then instead of patching yourself up or going to the hospital wing, you come and find me and try to - I don't even know what you're trying to do."
"I was trying," Sirius says, sitting back on his heels and glaring up at you, "To give you a blowjob, but if you're having some sort of ethical crisis, then I won't bother."
"Sirius - "
"Fuck off!"
"Oh, come on - " you plead.
"Get lost," he snaps, grabbing the cloak, getting to his feet and storming out of the cupboard.
"Oh for - Sirius wait!"
By the time you get your trousers done up and duck out of the cupboard, he is long gone, and of course, as Sirius has the cloak and the map is in the dormitory, you have no way of tracking him down. Anyway, you know better than to go after him while he is still angry. Not that he'd do anything, he just doesn't hear anything, either.
You finish your rounds, and when you get back to the common room, it is empty apart from Sirius and a lingering aroma of dungbombs. He obviously sees your nose wrinkle when you step through the portrait hole.
"I set some off to clear everyone out," he says and you nod, approaching him a bit cautiously. He doesn't stand up from the sofa, but looks up at you, and you can see that he still hasn't dealt with the injuries Regulus gave him. You pull your wand out and touch it to his jaw, and then, as gently as you can, to the delicate skin around his eye. Your healing charms aren't fabulous, but the swelling goes down, and most of the colour washes out of his black eye.
"I'm sorry," he says, looking away. "I was - I'm such a fucking idiot sometimes."
"It's alright," you say, sitting down next to him and nudging his leg with your knee.
"I - " Sirius frowns. "I can't do this."
"You don't have to," you remind him because there is a world of difference between bossing him around in bed and making him do something he really doesn't want to do.
"No, I want to, I just..." He looks at you almost warily for a moment. "Don't laugh at me," he says tightly, and you are still trying to formulate a response when he slides off the sofa and sits on the floor, next to your feet.
"Sirius?"
He just shakes his head and sits in silence for a moment, staring at the fire.
"Alright," he says eventually. "I can do it like this, but you have to - just let me..."
"Whatever you need, Sirius," you hear yourself say and shift a little closer. He leans more heavily against your legs.
"This isn't even - this wasn't even what I was going to talk about," he says softly. "I've known all this for years, tonight was just about Regulus. He winds me up, the little shit."
You stay silent this time, because yes, Regulus does annoy Sirius. Annoys a lot of people, James and Peter included with his cocky attitude. In spite of the fact that your loyalties obviously lie with Sirius, you've never been able to work up any real dislike for Regulus. He's only two years below you, but he always strikes you as being like a child. You feel vaguely disappointed when Sirius fights with his brother, not from any deep respect for the fraternal bond, but because so much of Regulus' behaviour is so obviously for show. Sirius wouldn't be Sirius if he didn't rise to the bait, though.
"Our uncle died," Sirius says, still staring into the fire.
"Oh. I'm sorry," you offer.
"Don't be," he says, waving a hand. "He was a wanker, I just - This all happened over a month ago, alright. No one told me. I mean, he was Regulus' favourite and he didn't even tell me until tonight, and when he did... Like I said, he winds me up. He's not - Regulus isn't really the point." There's a long pause before he sighs. "Here," he says, pulling what looks like a small ring out of his pocket. He taps it with his wand and it expands into a thick silver band with the Black family crest engraved at the front.
"What's that?" you ask.
"It's something I keep," he says, "to remind myself that not everyone is like my family."
"What d'you mean?"
"We both had one," he says. "Me and Regulus." His thumb is drifting over the family crest. "We had to wear them. Around our necks."
"W - Why?" you ask, almost completely sure you won't want to hear the answer.
"Well - you can't accio a person, can you?"
"What?" A cold sickness drops into your stomach at the image that brings to your mind. When they were children... And then you imagine yourself tugging him forward by his tie the other week, imagine the thoughts that must have brought to his mind. "Fucking hell."
"Don't," he says. "God, don't act like that's so terrible or we'll never get through this."
"Is - alright," you nod, and reach down, press your hand to his shoulder. He reaches up and squeezes your fingers for a second before letting his hands fall down to his sides. There's silence for a long moment, and you wonder if you should prompt him to speak. Just then there's a crackle from the fireplace and he stirs a little. You look down to see that his fists are tightly clenched and that he is scraping his lower lip through his teeth over and over again. You reach down and touch his shoulder again, and the sudden twitch he gives in response makes you think that he started to flinch away and then stopped himself.
"When I was seven," he says, and then his voice breaks and you think for a horrible half-second that he's going to cry. Instead he rubs the thumb and forefinger of one hand over his closed eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. After a moment of silence he goes on in a flat monotone which is probably more disturbing than tears would have been. "When I was seven my I had to remove a house elf's head. One had died and it was my turn, but I couldn't do magic well enough with my father's wand to do it that way, so I had to use a knife, and everyone was watching, even Regulus. He was only five."
"Padfoot," you breathe, your throat suddenly tight. Christ, are you going to cry?
"Stop it," he says tightly. "Don't you fucking feel sorry for me."
"I'm not - " you start, lying through your teeth.
"You are. I can tell," he says fiercely. "Just fucking stop it. That's not why I told you. I don't want you to fucking pity me." You decide that this probably isn't the best time to go into the fact that being furiously sad for him is not the same as pitying him. "My point - my point is that stuff like that is normal for us - them. For them," he corrects himself. "Everyone's done that sort of thing, seen that sort of thing. I mean - Bella, right. You know I hate her fucking guts, but she's - her mother is probably worse than mine, and she drinks a lot. And she - there's things a Black won't even make a house elf do, and Bella's seen and done things for her mum that no child should ever have to do. It doesn't change the fact that she's an evil cow, but it sort of explains it, doesn't it?"
"You think?" you ask cautiously.
"You're born bad or you're made bad," he says firmly. "I sometimes feel that either way, I'm kind of fucked."
"Not true," you say quietly.
"But I'm - they - "
"I'm not denying that your family are - damaged," you say as tactfully as you can manage. "I just don't believe that anything can make you behave a certain way. People make choices, Padfoot. And, alright," you add, feeling him tense up all over again, "We make our choices in the light of what we've seen and experienced, but there's always a different choice from just repeating history."
"You make it sound so simple," he says.
"I can't believe it's any other way," you tell him, but you don't think he understands that you really can't believe in a world where precedent is enough to shape your whole life because really... What hope would there be for you then?
"But - alright, then. I've - I made a bad choice."
The way he wraps his arms around his stomach leaves you in no doubt as to what bad choice he's referring to. He always does it, and it makes you wonder if maybe James punched him in the stomach over it at some point, or if the thought of the incident with Snape just makes him feel sick the same way it does with you.
"Yeah," you say gently. "You did."
"I'm sorry."
"We've been here," you remind him, and he nods tightly. "It's over. And anyway, a bad choice doesn't make you a bad person."
He takes a little glance up at you and nudges your leg in gratitude.
"So - alright," he says, turning away again. "Assuming I don't turn into some kind of pureblood supremacist nutcase - "
"Pretty safe assumption," you interject. The corner of his lips that you can see curves up in a smile, but when he speaks next he sounds more desolate than you've ever heard him.
"What if I just...lose it?"
"Lose what?" you ask.
"It. My mind, my self, however you want to say it," he shrugs. "I feel like there's this...darkness, when I think about it for too long. All my thoughts get so loud. It'd be so easy to...to just accept it."
"Don't," you say. "Don't accept it. That's not you."
"But they - the odds aren't great, are they?"
"Padfoot - "
"Everyone I'm related to is either cruel, or mental, or heading that way. They've got some nerve to talk about muggleborns having something wrong with their blood."
"It's not you," you repeat, and he shrugs.
"Maybe," he says, and you can tell he's not completely swayed. "He's accepting it, though. Regulus. And I - I can see it happening. He can be so cruel, and he can be so much like me. That's when he winds me up the most, when he's being a vicious little smart-mouthed bastard, and he's like me at my worst."
"Maybe so," you acknowledge. "But he couldn't - no one in your family can even come to close to you at your best. And you're at your best for a really large percentage of the time, Padfoot."
He sighs again and rests the side of his head against your thigh.
"This is why I need you," he says, his arms wrapping suddenly around your lower legs. "Like that." He presses his face to your thigh and your hand drops reflexively into his hair, choosing not to consider how strange a sight the two of you must make. "You make it all go quiet," he says.
You curl his hair gently around your fingers, and realise that he probably isn't going to say anymore. But in case he does, you'll be willing to sit here like this with him for as long as it takes, in the quiet.
tbc
>>Part 7 (aka sex sex sex, aka normal service has been resumed)
fuck, i feel like i just vomited or something
Rated R for angst and stuff.
The next one will be porn porn porn to make up for this emotional wreck, I promise.
I don't own them.
You are patrolling when it happens, on your own because James had ordered and Lily had pleaded, and they'd managed to swing a rare evening off together. You doubt that studying was on James' agenda for the night, but they'd seemed happy enough when you left them in the common room earlier. As you move along the Charms corridor from a patch of darkness to the light cast by a torch, a warm invisible something presses against you and you jump about a foot in the air before you realise.
"Hello, Padfoot."
"Hello," says the invisible something, and grabs your arm, pulling you down the corridor and into a storeroom.
You catch a glimpse of piles of irregularly sized boxes before he closes the door, casting you both into darkness. You hear a rustle as he pulls off the cloak, the soft sound of it hitting the floor as he presses his hands to your shoulders and guides you back against the wall. He presses himself close to you, nuzzling his face against your own. He kisses your cheek, your jaw, your neck, shoves your collar aside to get closer, and presses hot little bites into your skin.
"Sirius - "
"Shh," he whispers, and he sounds desperate and intent and a bit odd.
There is a thud and suddenly the warmth is gone from your front, and there are fingers scrabbling at your robes, shoving them aside to get at your trousers.
"Padfoot - "
"Don't - " he says tightly. "Shh - "
Much as you like the way he fumbles with the fastenings on your trousers, you can't get away from the niggling feeling that something is not quite right. As he shoves your shirt upwards and kisses your stomach, you slide your wand out of your sleeve and cast a quick lumos. He tries to hide it, but the light shows all too clearly that he has a black eye.
"Sirius - "
"It's alright," he insists, hands sliding to the back of your hips to pull you closer. You'd bet good money that he's trying to hide a set of skinned knuckles.
"What happened?"
"Nothing, I had a fight, it doesn't matter."
"With who?"
"It doesn't matter, just a Slytherin, look - "
"Which Slytherin?" you demand, and he looks up at you with a frown. The bruise around his eye is already purpling and angry looking, and he has a knot on his jaw as well.
"Regulus, but I keep telling you it doesn't matter."
"I - think it probably does," you say reluctantly.
"Remus, it doesn't."
"Right, so you had a fight - a fight, not a duel - with your brother, and for possibly the first time since you were a child, he got close enough to leave marks. And then instead of patching yourself up or going to the hospital wing, you come and find me and try to - I don't even know what you're trying to do."
"I was trying," Sirius says, sitting back on his heels and glaring up at you, "To give you a blowjob, but if you're having some sort of ethical crisis, then I won't bother."
"Sirius - "
"Fuck off!"
"Oh, come on - " you plead.
"Get lost," he snaps, grabbing the cloak, getting to his feet and storming out of the cupboard.
"Oh for - Sirius wait!"
By the time you get your trousers done up and duck out of the cupboard, he is long gone, and of course, as Sirius has the cloak and the map is in the dormitory, you have no way of tracking him down. Anyway, you know better than to go after him while he is still angry. Not that he'd do anything, he just doesn't hear anything, either.
You finish your rounds, and when you get back to the common room, it is empty apart from Sirius and a lingering aroma of dungbombs. He obviously sees your nose wrinkle when you step through the portrait hole.
"I set some off to clear everyone out," he says and you nod, approaching him a bit cautiously. He doesn't stand up from the sofa, but looks up at you, and you can see that he still hasn't dealt with the injuries Regulus gave him. You pull your wand out and touch it to his jaw, and then, as gently as you can, to the delicate skin around his eye. Your healing charms aren't fabulous, but the swelling goes down, and most of the colour washes out of his black eye.
"I'm sorry," he says, looking away. "I was - I'm such a fucking idiot sometimes."
"It's alright," you say, sitting down next to him and nudging his leg with your knee.
"I - " Sirius frowns. "I can't do this."
"You don't have to," you remind him because there is a world of difference between bossing him around in bed and making him do something he really doesn't want to do.
"No, I want to, I just..." He looks at you almost warily for a moment. "Don't laugh at me," he says tightly, and you are still trying to formulate a response when he slides off the sofa and sits on the floor, next to your feet.
"Sirius?"
He just shakes his head and sits in silence for a moment, staring at the fire.
"Alright," he says eventually. "I can do it like this, but you have to - just let me..."
"Whatever you need, Sirius," you hear yourself say and shift a little closer. He leans more heavily against your legs.
"This isn't even - this wasn't even what I was going to talk about," he says softly. "I've known all this for years, tonight was just about Regulus. He winds me up, the little shit."
You stay silent this time, because yes, Regulus does annoy Sirius. Annoys a lot of people, James and Peter included with his cocky attitude. In spite of the fact that your loyalties obviously lie with Sirius, you've never been able to work up any real dislike for Regulus. He's only two years below you, but he always strikes you as being like a child. You feel vaguely disappointed when Sirius fights with his brother, not from any deep respect for the fraternal bond, but because so much of Regulus' behaviour is so obviously for show. Sirius wouldn't be Sirius if he didn't rise to the bait, though.
"Our uncle died," Sirius says, still staring into the fire.
"Oh. I'm sorry," you offer.
"Don't be," he says, waving a hand. "He was a wanker, I just - This all happened over a month ago, alright. No one told me. I mean, he was Regulus' favourite and he didn't even tell me until tonight, and when he did... Like I said, he winds me up. He's not - Regulus isn't really the point." There's a long pause before he sighs. "Here," he says, pulling what looks like a small ring out of his pocket. He taps it with his wand and it expands into a thick silver band with the Black family crest engraved at the front.
"What's that?" you ask.
"It's something I keep," he says, "to remind myself that not everyone is like my family."
"What d'you mean?"
"We both had one," he says. "Me and Regulus." His thumb is drifting over the family crest. "We had to wear them. Around our necks."
"W - Why?" you ask, almost completely sure you won't want to hear the answer.
"Well - you can't accio a person, can you?"
"What?" A cold sickness drops into your stomach at the image that brings to your mind. When they were children... And then you imagine yourself tugging him forward by his tie the other week, imagine the thoughts that must have brought to his mind. "Fucking hell."
"Don't," he says. "God, don't act like that's so terrible or we'll never get through this."
"Is - alright," you nod, and reach down, press your hand to his shoulder. He reaches up and squeezes your fingers for a second before letting his hands fall down to his sides. There's silence for a long moment, and you wonder if you should prompt him to speak. Just then there's a crackle from the fireplace and he stirs a little. You look down to see that his fists are tightly clenched and that he is scraping his lower lip through his teeth over and over again. You reach down and touch his shoulder again, and the sudden twitch he gives in response makes you think that he started to flinch away and then stopped himself.
"When I was seven," he says, and then his voice breaks and you think for a horrible half-second that he's going to cry. Instead he rubs the thumb and forefinger of one hand over his closed eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. After a moment of silence he goes on in a flat monotone which is probably more disturbing than tears would have been. "When I was seven my I had to remove a house elf's head. One had died and it was my turn, but I couldn't do magic well enough with my father's wand to do it that way, so I had to use a knife, and everyone was watching, even Regulus. He was only five."
"Padfoot," you breathe, your throat suddenly tight. Christ, are you going to cry?
"Stop it," he says tightly. "Don't you fucking feel sorry for me."
"I'm not - " you start, lying through your teeth.
"You are. I can tell," he says fiercely. "Just fucking stop it. That's not why I told you. I don't want you to fucking pity me." You decide that this probably isn't the best time to go into the fact that being furiously sad for him is not the same as pitying him. "My point - my point is that stuff like that is normal for us - them. For them," he corrects himself. "Everyone's done that sort of thing, seen that sort of thing. I mean - Bella, right. You know I hate her fucking guts, but she's - her mother is probably worse than mine, and she drinks a lot. And she - there's things a Black won't even make a house elf do, and Bella's seen and done things for her mum that no child should ever have to do. It doesn't change the fact that she's an evil cow, but it sort of explains it, doesn't it?"
"You think?" you ask cautiously.
"You're born bad or you're made bad," he says firmly. "I sometimes feel that either way, I'm kind of fucked."
"Not true," you say quietly.
"But I'm - they - "
"I'm not denying that your family are - damaged," you say as tactfully as you can manage. "I just don't believe that anything can make you behave a certain way. People make choices, Padfoot. And, alright," you add, feeling him tense up all over again, "We make our choices in the light of what we've seen and experienced, but there's always a different choice from just repeating history."
"You make it sound so simple," he says.
"I can't believe it's any other way," you tell him, but you don't think he understands that you really can't believe in a world where precedent is enough to shape your whole life because really... What hope would there be for you then?
"But - alright, then. I've - I made a bad choice."
The way he wraps his arms around his stomach leaves you in no doubt as to what bad choice he's referring to. He always does it, and it makes you wonder if maybe James punched him in the stomach over it at some point, or if the thought of the incident with Snape just makes him feel sick the same way it does with you.
"Yeah," you say gently. "You did."
"I'm sorry."
"We've been here," you remind him, and he nods tightly. "It's over. And anyway, a bad choice doesn't make you a bad person."
He takes a little glance up at you and nudges your leg in gratitude.
"So - alright," he says, turning away again. "Assuming I don't turn into some kind of pureblood supremacist nutcase - "
"Pretty safe assumption," you interject. The corner of his lips that you can see curves up in a smile, but when he speaks next he sounds more desolate than you've ever heard him.
"What if I just...lose it?"
"Lose what?" you ask.
"It. My mind, my self, however you want to say it," he shrugs. "I feel like there's this...darkness, when I think about it for too long. All my thoughts get so loud. It'd be so easy to...to just accept it."
"Don't," you say. "Don't accept it. That's not you."
"But they - the odds aren't great, are they?"
"Padfoot - "
"Everyone I'm related to is either cruel, or mental, or heading that way. They've got some nerve to talk about muggleborns having something wrong with their blood."
"It's not you," you repeat, and he shrugs.
"Maybe," he says, and you can tell he's not completely swayed. "He's accepting it, though. Regulus. And I - I can see it happening. He can be so cruel, and he can be so much like me. That's when he winds me up the most, when he's being a vicious little smart-mouthed bastard, and he's like me at my worst."
"Maybe so," you acknowledge. "But he couldn't - no one in your family can even come to close to you at your best. And you're at your best for a really large percentage of the time, Padfoot."
He sighs again and rests the side of his head against your thigh.
"This is why I need you," he says, his arms wrapping suddenly around your lower legs. "Like that." He presses his face to your thigh and your hand drops reflexively into his hair, choosing not to consider how strange a sight the two of you must make. "You make it all go quiet," he says.
You curl his hair gently around your fingers, and realise that he probably isn't going to say anymore. But in case he does, you'll be willing to sit here like this with him for as long as it takes, in the quiet.
tbc
>>Part 7 (aka sex sex sex, aka normal service has been resumed)
fuck, i feel like i just vomited or something
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I loved it, even as sad as it was, and I can't wait for the next chapter.
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Ooh, interesting spells...I'm really looking forward to reading that!
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"Maybe so," you acknowledge. "But he couldn't - no one in your family can even come to close to you at your best. And you're at your best for a really large percentage of the time, Padfoot."
I love your Remus for being, at once, so rational and so loving. He really "gets Sirius," which is precisely as important as sex.
This part killed me in it's beauty:
He sighs again and rests the side of his head against your thigh.
"This is why I need you," he says, his arms wrapping suddenly around your lower legs. "Like that." He presses his face to your thigh and your hand drops reflexively into his hair, choosing not to consider how strange a sight the two of you must make. "You make it all go quiet," he says.
Honestly, this may be my favorite chapter so far. Well, it's hard to actually pick favorite chapters (because I loved the one for me best), but I truly loved the "talkiness" of this. You do such a fine job with character development and this chapter is a stunning example.
And the sense of love you create between the two is equally as stunning.
Excellent!
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I'm glad you felt that Remus was still loving in his rationality. I tend to believe what Remus says in this chapter, but feel how Sirius feels.
Really thrilled that you enjoyed it :)
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I think that's pretty much true always. Remus is gentle and quiet and painfully honest. I think that, perhaps because of the wolf, he is almost afraid to be guided by emotions. Yes, he feels things (and you show that well), but he is hesitant to let his feelings be his guiding impulse.
In some respects, Sirius is the opposite. He feels things deeply and, in fact, that is part of what separates him from his family. That horrifying bit with beheading the House Elf? What made him different from Bella there was that he felt something. Horror, guilt, fear, and revulsion, are not pleasant emotions, but they are humanizing ones. And it is that humanity that makes him so fragile and loving.
Oh, and before I forget, your description of Bella (and her mother being worse than Walburga) was was both heartbreaking and terrifying. But it made a nice foil to Sirius. (And, even, now that I think about it, to Regulus.)
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That's it exactly! A thinker rather than a feeler, and I tend to see Sirius as exactly the reverse. Not that Sirius is dumb, just that I tend to imagine that his knee-jerk emotional reaction is the one that he goes with most of the time.
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*nods* You're right. Alas, Remus is only here to solace Sirius. XD
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This chapter does have an awkward tilt--not because your writing is in any way deficient, but because the characters themselves are feeling their way through emotions that they don’t quite understand. The point of view you’ve chosen (second-person, is that what it’s called?) is often a hard one to get right, but you make it work wonderfully, giving us a look into Remus’ thoughts from his own perspective.
I also have to adore reluctant!dom!Remus, and insecure!sub!Sirius. The D/s element in this story is not only erotic, it’s deeply moving and entirely believable.
Just overall awesome!
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