hello bab!! absolutely obsessed with this prompt game idea xx im giving you a choice between 12 and 19--take your pick xox
send me a richard siken line and i'll write a mini fic inspired by it
hi omg HELLO ridi!! isn't it insane! prob the worst idea anyone's ever had im so excited about it!!!!!
ahhh god okay i went with:
19. i take off my hands and i give them to you. (oh also, vaguely nsfw? like not at all but also sorta, to be safe!)
“Did you know I’m left-handed?”
The question startles Remus. At first, he’s sure he’s misheard, muffled as the words are, spoken into the small dip of skin where his collarbone meets the bony juncture of his shoulder. It was never a spot Remus thought was particularly notable or interesting, at least not until the day Sirius Black decided to attach his lips there, and make it so.
Remus' breath hitches. “Hm?” he murmurs. His hand tightens in Sirius’ hair, fingers scraping scalp, and he tugs lightly until Sirius lifts his head. “What?”
Night sky leaks through the curtains, and Sirius’ eyes are shining, lips parted and cherry red. There’s always something that sits heavy in Remus’ stomach on the nights they do this, like holding your breath underwater, or the slow tick of a broken clock. Something that’s over, inevitably, just as soon as they're brave enough to admit it.
“I said-” And Sirius is grinning, because surely he’s only thinking of the bulge in Remus’ trousers, and how they can be as loud as they want now, here, in their flat, and is not - like Remus - thinking of all the ways he’d break himself apart, limb from limb from limb, if it might drag this thing out a little bit longer. “I said…” Sirius leans in, presses a kiss under Remus’ jaw, “-did you know-” another kiss to his throat, one to his chest, “that I-” cold fingers, skirting under his waistband, “...am left handed.” Sirius finishes with a poke and a loud, wet smack just above his belly-button. He snickers into it, warm breath tickling the hairs there.
“Yes, Pads,” Remus huffs, stomach trembling, his voice horribly shaky. “Seeing as I shared a dorm with you for seven years, and classes for just as long…yes, Sirius, I had noticed sometime in there that you were left-handed.”
There’s a moment, still and quiet. The sheets are warm, and balmy summer air drifts through the open window. A bird perches on the sill, claws scratching into chipped white paint and grass that’s sprung up between the cracks. They look at each other - him and Sirius, not him and bird - and the heavy feeling in Remus’ stomach feels sort of nice. Like a weighted blanket.
Eventually, Sirius nods. Slowly. “Well, good,” he says. His mouth quirks in the corner. “Good, because I’ve noticed things about you, too.”
Remus’ hands find themselves back in Sirius’ hair.
Have you? he wants to ask. What kinds of things?
And then: because there are so many things i’ve noticed about you. i noticed that you went for a run in the rain yesterday and your legs were hurting after and your hair looks lovely when it’s damp. and last week at the park your hands smelled like orange slices and sometimes you smile when i walk into the room and also sometimes you don’t.
…have you noticed how i always smile? when i see you. but maybe it’s not obvious. maybe you don’t think it’s obvious, just like you don’t think i know you write with your left hand and have a scar across the middle knuckle from Prongs and maybe you don’t realise i kiss it every time i have the chance and maybe you don't notice how the smell of oranges in summer always makes me sneeze. have you noticed that? what else is there to see?
“Alright,” he says instead. Because it’s their flat and it’s his bedroom and Sirius’ knees are around his hips, and maybe he doesn’t feel like being brave enough to acknowledge anything else right now.
“Alright?” Sirius laughs. “You’ll allow it?”
“Sure.” Remus cups his cheek, grins slowly, hesitantly, into their next kiss. Do you feel this? he wants to ask. My hands, these hands, these lips…they’re all yours. Do you have any use for them? “Yeah, alright, I’ll allow it.”
51 notes
·
View notes