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Entry tags:	sirius/remus:dogdays

day 8: For You
dogdaysofsummer day 8: For You | 676 words

For You

I have waited for you here
On the moist edges of daybreak
And saw how you arrived holding sway over everything
~David Huerta (translation unknown)

Remus takes off his trainers and digs his toes into the sand, which is damp and grey in the pre-dawn light, reflecting the damp grey sky above. He yawns, covers his mouth with one hand, then rests his head on his knees, curled close to his chest, arms wrapped round protectively.

He forces himself not to take the letter out of his rucksack; he’s read it a thousand times or more, the sprawling scrawl of Sirius’s handwriting, We’ll be there the night of the seventh. Look sharp.

He’d waited by the window at first, trying to ignore the excited flutter in his belly, his mother’s amused glances, his father’s veiled disapproval. When it had grown late, and Sirius and James still hadn’t arrived, his parents went to bed and he’d settled on the porch. He'd fallen asleep propped against the old wicker loveseat. He woke in a panic in the middle of the night, sure he'd somehow missed them, but there were no signs anyone had been there at all. With the approach of dawn, he’d stolen down to the beach, telling himself it didn’t matter, he didn’t care. Maybe he’d got the date wrong. Or they were just having too much fun and had forgotten him. Wouldn’t be the first time.

He is stiff and chilled and wondering where his summer is going, has gone, and isn’t he supposed to be having the time of his life? He is working himself into a proper sulk when he hears a dull roar in the distance, louder than the crash of the ocean and getting closer by the second.

He looks up and it takes his brain a moment or two to make sense of what he’s seeing -- a large black motorbike diving through the sky, its rider whooping with laughter, black hair whipping in the wind.

Remus rises slowly, stunned, as Sirius sets the bike down on the ground in front of him, spraying him with damp sand.

“What--"

“So sorry I’m late, Moony,” Sirius says at the same time, swinging one denim-clad leg over so he’s leaning against the bike, all long limbs and tanned skin, teeth white and sharp in a wild grin. Remus cannot hold onto his anger and self-pity in the face of this shocking show of vitality -- he can practically hear Sirius’s blood racing when Sirius reaches out a hand, he can see it in the faint tracery of blue veins beneath the fine skin of Sirius’s wrist, fine-boned, elegant, all the things Remus, awkward and scarred and brown as a wren, is not. “We had a little trouble with the braking charms. Heavier than a broom, y’know. Had to do some fancy Arithmancy at the last minute to make it work. Could have used your help.”

Remus nods, blushing faintly at this praise, this indication that they had thought of him. He doesn’t care that it’s a lie, that James and Sirius have never needed anyone else for anything (certainly not Arithmancy); it’s the thought that counts, the fact that Sirius even tries to make him feel needed, that matters, that sets heat rising beneath his skin.

Sirius swings back onto the bike and jerks his head. Remus shoulders his rucksack, slips on his shoes, and gets on behind him, allowing himself, as always, to be drawn into Sirius’s madness.

"What are you waiting for?" he says, his lips so close to Sirius’s ear he can taste his soap and sweat, every inch of him pressed tightly to Sirius, this imitation of intimacy the closest he believes he’ll ever come to the real thing, at least with Sirius. "Let’s go."

He thinks he must be imagining it over the whine of the engine, but he could swear he hears Sirius say, "For you. Always for you," as they take off into the sun, which has just peeked over the horizon. Remus shivers in need, in anticipation, and tightens his grip. Sirius lets out a whoop as they rise, and Remus answers, letting Sirius’s presence, his sheer joy, carry him away.

*