FIC: Transgenerational Trandsetting [1/1]
Jul. 8th, 2009 08:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
leashy_bebesTitle: Transgenerational Trendsetting
Rating: PG
Pairing: Remus/Sirius, Teddy/OFC, background James II/Scorpius
Summary: One t-shirt, working miracles down the generations
Notes: An outtake from 'Getting There'. You don't have to have read it to read this, although it'd probably make more sense, particularly the end. (This is my birthday present to myself and hence, totally self indulgent.)
Words: ~1300
***
Sirius is always insufferable when he gets back from Andromeda and Ted's, obsessed with some new Muggle craze, bouncing around as though he owns the place. Sure enough, when he bounds into the dorm room late on Sunday night, he's wearing tight black jeans with ragged holes in the thighs and knees, and a white t-shirt with a bold black logo on the front.
Remus spares him barely a glance but Peter and James crow with laughter, telling Sirius he looks like a cat with its fur soaked down to the skin. Remus has to admit that the tight clothes certainly show off Sirius's lean body to good advantage, but drowned feline doesn't really spring to mind.
"What on earth are you wearing?" James demands, laughing as he looks at Sirius.
"What's a sex pistol?" Peter asks.
"The Sex Pistols, Pete," Remus explains. "They're a band. Muggle one."
"How do you know that?" Sirius demands.
"Mystic powers," Remus says without looking up from his book, waving the fingers of his free hand in a vague motion. He can feel Sirius's eyes on him but doesn't look up until Sirius turns away. Only then does he let his eyes shift, let himself stare up and down the long line of Sirius's body, let himself think wow.
A while after that, Sirius hassles James and Peter to go on a kitchen run. He's too tired apparently, and Remus just studiously keeps his mouth shut. He's always amazed that the others haven't worked it out yet. He sometimes wonders if James knows because after all, James and Sirius speak a non-verbal language that no one else will ever understand.
"You like, Moony?" Sirius asks as the door swings shut behind James and Peter, and Remus looks him up and down with barely the flicker of a smile on his face.
"Very provocative," he admits.
"Mission accomplished," Sirius crows, throwing himself down on the bed next to Remus. He plucks Remus's book from his hand easily and drops it carelessly to the floor. Remus doesn't even protest, just lets Sirius pull him in close, closing his fingers in the soft white cotton stretched tight across Sirius's shoulders.
***
It's different, but the same. Worse, but better. Remus doesn't know what it is, doesn't know what they are, only knows that half the time he wants to scream and the rest he can hardly believe his luck. Because he has Sirius back. His Sirius, the only one who ever really mattered, the only one who made his heart stammer at breakneck speeds, the only one who had ever, really and truly, made him feel in love.
But sometimes he doesn't have his Sirius. Sometimes he has a worn out, tired, irritable version of his Sirius that he barely recognises. A Sirius who drinks too much and cries at night in the dark and won’t let Remus hold him, a Sirius who is angry and paranoid and so, so sad.
Today has been a bad day and Remus is determined to make it into a better afternoon as he bows to Buckbeak before turning to the corner of the room where Sirius is sitting.
"Hello, Padfoot."
"Alright," Sirius mutters, pulling the blanket more tightly around his shoulders. "I'm sorry," he adds, before Remus can go any further. "Apparently even Azkaban hasn't knocked all the idiot out of me."
"I'd be worried if it had," Remus jokes, sitting down next to Sirius and holding out a handful of white material.
"What's that?"
"Have a look," Remus offers and Sirius holds out his hand, shaking out the proffered material to see a faded, presumed-lost t-shirt.
"You kept it!" Sirius grins.
"Of course," Remus says, ducking his head bashfully. "Apparently you were right, all those times you said I was the woman in the arrangement."
"D'you remember what this shirt used to do to you?" Sirius laughs.
"Only too well," Remus says dryly, and Sirius laughs again.
"I'll wear it to the next Order meeting," he offers, and it's Remus's turn to laugh. The noise dies in his throat when Sirius rests his head on Remus's shoulder with a long, soft sigh.
***
Remus can't bear to stay in the bedroom for long, but he knows what he's looking for, so it doesn't matter. In the third drawer down is a white t-shirt and Remus picks it up without pausing to unfold it or look at the logo. He turns around and leaves the room as quickly as he can, because it smells like Sirius, and if he listens too carefully, he's afraid he will still be able to hear Sirius too, hear his laughter echoing from the corners of the room, and Remus will likely never leave the room again if that happens.
As it is, he clutches the t-shirt tightly in his hand, and once again, it becomes all that he has left of the man he has always loved.
***
Teddy and some of his friends had worked out in their fifth year how to unlock the Floo in the Gryffindor common room, and he'd passed the secret on when James was thirteen and, in Teddy's words, as responsible as he was ever likely to get. A few days before the ball, James waits until everyone has gone to bed – alright, maybe he encourages them to go with the strategic deployment of dungbombs – and throws a handful of his own personal stash of Floo powder into the flames.
Experience (and seeing things no well-adjusted gay boy wants to see) has taught him not to just go straight through, so James leans his face into the green flames a bit gingerly, tempted to keep his eyes shut until he knows what the situation is.
"Teddy? You home?" James calls.
"Uh - Jamie?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't come through."
"Right you are. Hi, ma'am," James calls and hears a feminine giggle and Teddy calling him a prick. He appears a few seconds later, dressed in unbuttoned jeans and with hair messy enough to rival James's own. "Sorry," James says unrepentantly.
"Right," Teddy says dryly, squatting down in front of the fire.
"I can see your package," James lies.
"Well that should please you, you little deviant," Teddy shoots back, not bothering to check the buttons on his jeans. "What d'you want?"
"Favour," James says. "Got a Muggle themed ball coming up, I need something good to wear with my jeans. Any ideas?"
"Er... Oh yeah!" Teddy smiles, waving his wand and casting an Accio. A bundle of material flies through from the bedroom, accompanied by the sound of a drawer opening and closing. Teddy shakes the material out revealing a familiar shirt. "This okay?"
"Nice one," James says with a smile.
"You can't keep it, though," Teddy hastens to add. "It was the single cool item of clothing in my dad's wardrobe, and it's my pulling shirt."
"Oh yeah?" James grins.
"Got your eye on someone?" Teddy asks.
"Maybe," James says evasively.
"Well, I wish you every luck," Teddy says. "Maybe it be as good to you as it has been to me," he adds. "I'll owl it over in the morning, yeah, I've got to get back to my guest."
"Guest," James scoffs and Teddy winks. "Sure, alright," James says. "Is it okay if I resize it, though?"
"Yeah, just make sure you put it back," Teddy says, already turning away to head back to his lady-friend.
***
"You might have to fight me for that shirt," James tells Teddy a few days later, unable to keep the grin off his face. "I think it's lucky for me, too."
Rating: PG
Pairing: Remus/Sirius, Teddy/OFC, background James II/Scorpius
Summary: One t-shirt, working miracles down the generations
Notes: An outtake from 'Getting There'. You don't have to have read it to read this, although it'd probably make more sense, particularly the end. (This is my birthday present to myself and hence, totally self indulgent.)
Words: ~1300
***
Sirius is always insufferable when he gets back from Andromeda and Ted's, obsessed with some new Muggle craze, bouncing around as though he owns the place. Sure enough, when he bounds into the dorm room late on Sunday night, he's wearing tight black jeans with ragged holes in the thighs and knees, and a white t-shirt with a bold black logo on the front.
Remus spares him barely a glance but Peter and James crow with laughter, telling Sirius he looks like a cat with its fur soaked down to the skin. Remus has to admit that the tight clothes certainly show off Sirius's lean body to good advantage, but drowned feline doesn't really spring to mind.
"What on earth are you wearing?" James demands, laughing as he looks at Sirius.
"What's a sex pistol?" Peter asks.
"The Sex Pistols, Pete," Remus explains. "They're a band. Muggle one."
"How do you know that?" Sirius demands.
"Mystic powers," Remus says without looking up from his book, waving the fingers of his free hand in a vague motion. He can feel Sirius's eyes on him but doesn't look up until Sirius turns away. Only then does he let his eyes shift, let himself stare up and down the long line of Sirius's body, let himself think wow.
A while after that, Sirius hassles James and Peter to go on a kitchen run. He's too tired apparently, and Remus just studiously keeps his mouth shut. He's always amazed that the others haven't worked it out yet. He sometimes wonders if James knows because after all, James and Sirius speak a non-verbal language that no one else will ever understand.
"You like, Moony?" Sirius asks as the door swings shut behind James and Peter, and Remus looks him up and down with barely the flicker of a smile on his face.
"Very provocative," he admits.
"Mission accomplished," Sirius crows, throwing himself down on the bed next to Remus. He plucks Remus's book from his hand easily and drops it carelessly to the floor. Remus doesn't even protest, just lets Sirius pull him in close, closing his fingers in the soft white cotton stretched tight across Sirius's shoulders.
***
It's different, but the same. Worse, but better. Remus doesn't know what it is, doesn't know what they are, only knows that half the time he wants to scream and the rest he can hardly believe his luck. Because he has Sirius back. His Sirius, the only one who ever really mattered, the only one who made his heart stammer at breakneck speeds, the only one who had ever, really and truly, made him feel in love.
But sometimes he doesn't have his Sirius. Sometimes he has a worn out, tired, irritable version of his Sirius that he barely recognises. A Sirius who drinks too much and cries at night in the dark and won’t let Remus hold him, a Sirius who is angry and paranoid and so, so sad.
Today has been a bad day and Remus is determined to make it into a better afternoon as he bows to Buckbeak before turning to the corner of the room where Sirius is sitting.
"Hello, Padfoot."
"Alright," Sirius mutters, pulling the blanket more tightly around his shoulders. "I'm sorry," he adds, before Remus can go any further. "Apparently even Azkaban hasn't knocked all the idiot out of me."
"I'd be worried if it had," Remus jokes, sitting down next to Sirius and holding out a handful of white material.
"What's that?"
"Have a look," Remus offers and Sirius holds out his hand, shaking out the proffered material to see a faded, presumed-lost t-shirt.
"You kept it!" Sirius grins.
"Of course," Remus says, ducking his head bashfully. "Apparently you were right, all those times you said I was the woman in the arrangement."
"D'you remember what this shirt used to do to you?" Sirius laughs.
"Only too well," Remus says dryly, and Sirius laughs again.
"I'll wear it to the next Order meeting," he offers, and it's Remus's turn to laugh. The noise dies in his throat when Sirius rests his head on Remus's shoulder with a long, soft sigh.
***
Remus can't bear to stay in the bedroom for long, but he knows what he's looking for, so it doesn't matter. In the third drawer down is a white t-shirt and Remus picks it up without pausing to unfold it or look at the logo. He turns around and leaves the room as quickly as he can, because it smells like Sirius, and if he listens too carefully, he's afraid he will still be able to hear Sirius too, hear his laughter echoing from the corners of the room, and Remus will likely never leave the room again if that happens.
As it is, he clutches the t-shirt tightly in his hand, and once again, it becomes all that he has left of the man he has always loved.
***
Teddy and some of his friends had worked out in their fifth year how to unlock the Floo in the Gryffindor common room, and he'd passed the secret on when James was thirteen and, in Teddy's words, as responsible as he was ever likely to get. A few days before the ball, James waits until everyone has gone to bed – alright, maybe he encourages them to go with the strategic deployment of dungbombs – and throws a handful of his own personal stash of Floo powder into the flames.
Experience (and seeing things no well-adjusted gay boy wants to see) has taught him not to just go straight through, so James leans his face into the green flames a bit gingerly, tempted to keep his eyes shut until he knows what the situation is.
"Teddy? You home?" James calls.
"Uh - Jamie?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't come through."
"Right you are. Hi, ma'am," James calls and hears a feminine giggle and Teddy calling him a prick. He appears a few seconds later, dressed in unbuttoned jeans and with hair messy enough to rival James's own. "Sorry," James says unrepentantly.
"Right," Teddy says dryly, squatting down in front of the fire.
"I can see your package," James lies.
"Well that should please you, you little deviant," Teddy shoots back, not bothering to check the buttons on his jeans. "What d'you want?"
"Favour," James says. "Got a Muggle themed ball coming up, I need something good to wear with my jeans. Any ideas?"
"Er... Oh yeah!" Teddy smiles, waving his wand and casting an Accio. A bundle of material flies through from the bedroom, accompanied by the sound of a drawer opening and closing. Teddy shakes the material out revealing a familiar shirt. "This okay?"
"Nice one," James says with a smile.
"You can't keep it, though," Teddy hastens to add. "It was the single cool item of clothing in my dad's wardrobe, and it's my pulling shirt."
"Oh yeah?" James grins.
"Got your eye on someone?" Teddy asks.
"Maybe," James says evasively.
"Well, I wish you every luck," Teddy says. "Maybe it be as good to you as it has been to me," he adds. "I'll owl it over in the morning, yeah, I've got to get back to my guest."
"Guest," James scoffs and Teddy winks. "Sure, alright," James says. "Is it okay if I resize it, though?"
"Yeah, just make sure you put it back," Teddy says, already turning away to head back to his lady-friend.
***
"You might have to fight me for that shirt," James tells Teddy a few days later, unable to keep the grin off his face. "I think it's lucky for me, too."
