my stories

It’s easier to be brave in his head and in all the letters he’s written but never sent than it is to tell him in person.

Sirius has declared a moratorium on all talk of the war.

Sirius isn’t secretly, irrationally jealous of that ice lolly.

"I have to go," he murmurs against Sirius’s neck, "but every second I’m there, I’ll be wishing I were here with you."

"We should be safe here for a little while."

"Perhaps I oughtn't shave myself, but you could do it for me."

"This car belongs to Lily’s dad. Do you really want to face a brassed off Lily Evans if you wreck it?”

"We have to get out of these clothes."

"There's only one honour I want tonight."

Every day is measured out in hours, in increments, the shifts he spends on the front lines of this secret war.

nightswimming

"Snot's always funny."

"Oh God, there was singing."

LJ-versary ficlets! Woo! The Real Thing | West Wing | Sam Seaborn | for bluerosefairy | 237 words The Real Thing He watches the campaign, of course. Who doesn’t? But he watches the phone as well, waiting for the calls, and when they come, he is ready. With Josh, it’s rambling at three a.m., how…

"This house is killing you, and I can't bear it. I let you down once, let you rot in Azkaban. I'm not doing it again."

these are things no camera could ever capture, no ink and paper could ever record, but over the years, Remus never stops wishing they could.

Everything has changed, Remus thinks, and he can’t blame this one on James.

And I hate myself / Just enough to want him / But I hate him just enough to get off

He wants to believe Sirius is only like this with him.

We were born before the wind / Also younger than the sun / Ere the bonnie boat was won as we sailed into the mystic

Sirius is drunk on firewhisky and Remus is drunk on Sirius

Remus loves the beach, and he loves sharing it with Sirius best of all.

The crab reminds him of Remus, all hard shell and sideways scrambling, never quite opening up, claws at the ready should someone get too close.

Sirius loves him like this, tongue and body loose from rum sneaked from the Lupins' liquor cabinet, mind set free to roam by the joint they pass between them, sickly sweet smoke dancing arabesques in the lambent morning air, milky translucent like the ski

I have waited for you here / On the moist edges of daybreak / And saw how you arrived holding sway over everything

None of this romance shite for us, she says.

Remus will always remember this day, this endless moment, this feeling of kissing daylight itself as he comes, only the weight of Sirius's body pressing him to the earth keeps him from escaping the bonds of gravity and touching heaven.

"I thought after LaJolla, we agreed not to do this on jobs anymore."

He is still pale, scarred, thin (scrawny, Sirius says), but in the moonlight it doesn't matter -- he is luminous as opals here, with no one else to see.

Shall I wear my trousers rolled?