Current mood:	Faulknerian
Current music:	Little Sister - SRV
Entry tags:	sirius/remus:dogdays

day 19: At My Most Beautiful
dogdaysofsummer day 19, and the prompt was nightswimming, which I maybe kinda sorta have a big kink for and have written omg a million a few times, so if the snotty kisses from yesterday's entry didn't drive you away, this one might because omg Faulkner again, and well, as you can see, I'm still in the grip of the endless run on sentence from hell, but at least the possibly random italicizing has stopped, so have an lj-cut instead...

At My Most Beautiful | 537 words

At My Most Beautiful

Remus looks at Sirius and sees: perfect body, whole skin unmarked by scars, sleek dark hair, firm muscles glistening as water sluices down over chest and belly, strong bones. He sees: grey eyes, pink lips cooling to pale blue in cold lake water, dangerous silver in the moonlight

(skin that tastes of sweat and lake water, soap and Sirius, soft and downy under his fingers, his tongue; lips that kiss and curse in equal measure, hurting and healing in the same lingering touch, muscles firm, yet yielding, opening to Remus’s invasion, welcoming him into the tight heat of his mouth, his body, setting them both aflame with need and pleasure).

He sees: careless disregard for rules, defiance, strength. He sees cruelty tempered by love, low-burning anger never assuaged, and the unthinking aristocratic arrogance of the beautiful

(a hundred thousand little moments of friendship that can never be undone, even in the face of betrayal and anger, as Sirius pulls him close and pushes him away, the never-ending dance of motion and inertia, water slowly wearing away at rock, fire consuming air, and Remus knows -- he knows -- that he will endure, but he will always yield in the end, he is a satellite, caught in Sirius’s gravitational pull and never able to escape; and sometimes it’s more fun to make Sirius work, but sometimes he just wants to give in and be carried away, and he’s never sure from one moment to the next which it will be; Sirius manages this constant negotiation effortlessly, instinctually, but for Remus there is always a cost-benefit analysis, a slow uncoiling of the chain of cause and effect and how much of myself do I lose and how much of him do I gain and will it ever balance out can it ever balance out should it ever balance out ringing in the silence of his head in the seconds between Sirius’s question and his answer).

Remus looks at himself and sees: a crosshatching of pale pink scars, gleaming dully in the moonlight that birthed them, narrow chest and concave belly, bones that break and knit each month in unbearable pain that somehow makes him stronger and yet he’s still so easy for Sirius to break. He sees ink-stained fingers and quill calluses, elbows and knees and long awkward legs ending in narrow feet that still occasionally tangle and trip him up. He sees the reflection of a pale face featureless in dark lake water, he sees secrets, half-truths, lies, bitterness muted by friendship

(beautiful Moony, so beautiful, lies like jewels fall from Sirius’s perfect lips and Remus wants to believe so desperately, and then those lips are around him, tight wet heat and suction as if the physics of a blowjob can make him believe, transmute pretty false words into truth, and is evidence of desire evidence of desirability, and will I ever see what he sees, can I ever, do I even want to and fuck, Sirius, yes, as he shudders and comes apart, everything he is or was or ever will be in one moment of potential realized and is that the truth, and is truth beauty and Moony, stop thinking for just one goddamned second)

and he does.

*

Er, lemme know what you think. *g*