...and drabbles.
May. 15th, 2005 08:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
magisteraWell, it's sunday, so it was Queerditch again. Five drabbles. The theme this week was Shakespeare.
Sirius/Regulus/James: Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.
And maybe it's not so strange, the three of them in this room. Sirius is giving him a look, the one that says I dare you and you're not scared, are you? It makes James swallow whatever protest he was going to offer and square his shoulders, like he's bracing himself to step off the edge of a cliff. Regulus is hunched in a corner, looking vaguely terrified, as Sirius grabs his hand and pulls him into the center of the room.
"Come on, Prongs," he says, extending the other hand to James. "This was practically your idea, after all," and James wants to laugh at that, because all he'd done was remark on how much Regulus resembled his brother, and Sirius had claimed to see some speculative glint in his eyes and everything had snowballed somehow, leaping from conclusion to conclusion and now, here they were, in this room, and there was nothing he could do except curl his fingers around Sirius' hand, take two steps forward and one deep breath, and jump.
Remus/Lily/James: Oh! how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes.
He'd never really thought of Lily in that way, but when James comes to him with his halting, awkward question, Remus tries. He starts watching her in classes, trying to find some more than human beauty in her face. He traces her curves with his eyes as she walks down the corridors, looking for some accident of grace in her form that would draw him in and set her apart from a sea of other bodies in a crowd.
A few times he thinks he sees something, but by the time Friday rolls around and James is lifting up the edge of the cloak to invite him underneath, he's still not sure he's found it. His throat is dry as they creep through the halls to where they've agreed to meet her.
It isn't until James breaks away from Lily's lips and turns her gently toward Remus, that he realizes what it is. He only catches the remnants of the besotted expression on Lily's face as she slides her arms around his neck, but it's still clearly visible in James' eyes as he watches her, and Remus suddenly feels superfluous and left out, despite the lips on his and the skin that trembles under his caressing hands.
When the door closes behind him, leaving them to kiss and murmur to each other in the afterglow, he walks back up to the dormitory slowly, wondering why the taste in his mouth is so bitter.
Regulus/Remus: Give thy thoughts no tongue.
Regulus enjoys taunting his brother with reminders of everything he's had and lost, and all the ways he's fallen from the path he was raised to walk. He loves the way Sirius' eyes always flash, hand twitching toward his wand. It's almost too easy to extract his revenge for every imagined slight and injustice of their shared childhood this way.
But somehow, when Lupin is around, his voice fails him, and he can only lower his eyes and walk away. There's something in Lupin's eyes when he looks at Sirius, something that tells Regulus that no matter what battles he may have won, there are some prizes that are still out of his reach. When he walks away from those silent confrontations, feeling Sirius' eyes burning holes through his back (he knows that Lupin's eyes are anywhere except on him), he considers the vagaries of war and wonders how to tell a victory from a massacre.
Sirius/Peter: If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction.
It almost seems like the punchline to some bizarre joke. Peter wonders how on earth he could have ended up here, in this alcove, with Sirius' hands roaming restlessly over his torso and Sirius' lips hot on his own. His memory of the events leading up to their current predicament are vague: finding Sirius sitting alone in the common room, head in his hands; suggesting a run down to the kitchens as a way to cheer him up (food always made Peter feel better, so it was his first solution to every problem). His hand kept brushing against Sirius' as they walked, and Peter wouldn't have noticed it so much if it weren't for the way Sirius seemed to twitch, and give a little gasp, every time it happened.
He tried to make conversation, but his voice sounded high and nervous to his own ears, because Sirius kept shooting him these agitated looks that made him feel jumpy and surrounded. Then Sirius' hand closed around his arm, and Peter was being dragged into a different corridor, pushed behind a tapestry into a shallow depression in the wall, just barely large enough for two bodies.
"Sirius, what –" Peter startd to say, but he was cut off by the insistent press of Sirius' lips, and this couldn't possibly be happening.
"Shh," Sirius hissed at him, and Peter wanted to protest but there were hands moving up and down his sides, grabbing at the back of his neck and dragging him closer, and then Sirius' tongue was in his mouth and Peter didn't know whether to kiss back or bite it.
No one will ever believe me if I tell them this, was his last thought before he arched up into Sirius' hands, crying out against his mouth.
Bill/Tonks: Was ever woman in this humour woo'd? / Was ever woman in this humour won?
It was a bit strange, really, to be chasing after a woman when you didn't even know what she really looked like. Bill wondered, sometimes, whether she'd turn back to her real self in her sleep, or if her face would go through a thousand permutations in her dreams (which leads to dreamy wonderings about waking up every morning next to a different witch, followed by horrified thoughts of waking up next to a troll – or a man – or Snape, and he shudders and tries to think of something else).
He's not sure how to go about wooing her. He's never felt himself at a loss with women before, but he finds himself almost as clumsy as she is, when he's around her. He stumbles over compliments (you idiot, she picked those eyes, of course they're pretty), feels like a bragging moron when he talks about his work with Gringotts (right, tell her about the time you almost got eaten by a zombie, that'll make you sound like a real man), and blunders into silence when he runs out of things to say that ought to be suave but somehow never are when she's around.
He's always surprised, therefore, when he enters a room and she turns, and smiles at him (the same smile, no matter what face she's wearing) and it's like the rest of the world disappears, and there's only the two of them, and the space between them, just waiting to be breached.
Sirius/Regulus/James: Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.
And maybe it's not so strange, the three of them in this room. Sirius is giving him a look, the one that says I dare you and you're not scared, are you? It makes James swallow whatever protest he was going to offer and square his shoulders, like he's bracing himself to step off the edge of a cliff. Regulus is hunched in a corner, looking vaguely terrified, as Sirius grabs his hand and pulls him into the center of the room.
"Come on, Prongs," he says, extending the other hand to James. "This was practically your idea, after all," and James wants to laugh at that, because all he'd done was remark on how much Regulus resembled his brother, and Sirius had claimed to see some speculative glint in his eyes and everything had snowballed somehow, leaping from conclusion to conclusion and now, here they were, in this room, and there was nothing he could do except curl his fingers around Sirius' hand, take two steps forward and one deep breath, and jump.
Remus/Lily/James: Oh! how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes.
He'd never really thought of Lily in that way, but when James comes to him with his halting, awkward question, Remus tries. He starts watching her in classes, trying to find some more than human beauty in her face. He traces her curves with his eyes as she walks down the corridors, looking for some accident of grace in her form that would draw him in and set her apart from a sea of other bodies in a crowd.
A few times he thinks he sees something, but by the time Friday rolls around and James is lifting up the edge of the cloak to invite him underneath, he's still not sure he's found it. His throat is dry as they creep through the halls to where they've agreed to meet her.
It isn't until James breaks away from Lily's lips and turns her gently toward Remus, that he realizes what it is. He only catches the remnants of the besotted expression on Lily's face as she slides her arms around his neck, but it's still clearly visible in James' eyes as he watches her, and Remus suddenly feels superfluous and left out, despite the lips on his and the skin that trembles under his caressing hands.
When the door closes behind him, leaving them to kiss and murmur to each other in the afterglow, he walks back up to the dormitory slowly, wondering why the taste in his mouth is so bitter.
Regulus/Remus: Give thy thoughts no tongue.
Regulus enjoys taunting his brother with reminders of everything he's had and lost, and all the ways he's fallen from the path he was raised to walk. He loves the way Sirius' eyes always flash, hand twitching toward his wand. It's almost too easy to extract his revenge for every imagined slight and injustice of their shared childhood this way.
But somehow, when Lupin is around, his voice fails him, and he can only lower his eyes and walk away. There's something in Lupin's eyes when he looks at Sirius, something that tells Regulus that no matter what battles he may have won, there are some prizes that are still out of his reach. When he walks away from those silent confrontations, feeling Sirius' eyes burning holes through his back (he knows that Lupin's eyes are anywhere except on him), he considers the vagaries of war and wonders how to tell a victory from a massacre.
Sirius/Peter: If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction.
It almost seems like the punchline to some bizarre joke. Peter wonders how on earth he could have ended up here, in this alcove, with Sirius' hands roaming restlessly over his torso and Sirius' lips hot on his own. His memory of the events leading up to their current predicament are vague: finding Sirius sitting alone in the common room, head in his hands; suggesting a run down to the kitchens as a way to cheer him up (food always made Peter feel better, so it was his first solution to every problem). His hand kept brushing against Sirius' as they walked, and Peter wouldn't have noticed it so much if it weren't for the way Sirius seemed to twitch, and give a little gasp, every time it happened.
He tried to make conversation, but his voice sounded high and nervous to his own ears, because Sirius kept shooting him these agitated looks that made him feel jumpy and surrounded. Then Sirius' hand closed around his arm, and Peter was being dragged into a different corridor, pushed behind a tapestry into a shallow depression in the wall, just barely large enough for two bodies.
"Sirius, what –" Peter startd to say, but he was cut off by the insistent press of Sirius' lips, and this couldn't possibly be happening.
"Shh," Sirius hissed at him, and Peter wanted to protest but there were hands moving up and down his sides, grabbing at the back of his neck and dragging him closer, and then Sirius' tongue was in his mouth and Peter didn't know whether to kiss back or bite it.
No one will ever believe me if I tell them this, was his last thought before he arched up into Sirius' hands, crying out against his mouth.
Bill/Tonks: Was ever woman in this humour woo'd? / Was ever woman in this humour won?
It was a bit strange, really, to be chasing after a woman when you didn't even know what she really looked like. Bill wondered, sometimes, whether she'd turn back to her real self in her sleep, or if her face would go through a thousand permutations in her dreams (which leads to dreamy wonderings about waking up every morning next to a different witch, followed by horrified thoughts of waking up next to a troll – or a man – or Snape, and he shudders and tries to think of something else).
He's not sure how to go about wooing her. He's never felt himself at a loss with women before, but he finds himself almost as clumsy as she is, when he's around her. He stumbles over compliments (you idiot, she picked those eyes, of course they're pretty), feels like a bragging moron when he talks about his work with Gringotts (right, tell her about the time you almost got eaten by a zombie, that'll make you sound like a real man), and blunders into silence when he runs out of things to say that ought to be suave but somehow never are when she's around.
He's always surprised, therefore, when he enters a room and she turns, and smiles at him (the same smile, no matter what face she's wearing) and it's like the rest of the world disappears, and there's only the two of them, and the space between them, just waiting to be breached.
