nekare

Ahh, it seems I've only had time for drabbles as of lately. Saw Munich today, and it was one of the best dramas I've seen in a long way. The paranoia of the character is so tangible, and the movie crushes whatever hope one has left in humanity. Really, really good movie. (And then I saw Temporada de Patos again, and boy, do I love that black and white photography, the sardonic humor and the brownies-made-out-of-pot. *laughs again*)

Oh, and I signed in for another challenge. *headdesk* I really should stop doing this, since I've got his historical one I'd forgotten since christmas, furiosity's 'bring back the dead' one, angelgazing's prompt fic, jadis31 thank you fic, and now this, the remix one. Guh. At least the omniocular's one is already done, and I'm only waiting for it to be beta-ed. *freaks out*

Title: Playing With Light
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 312
Author Note's Written with this prompt for blanketforts.

Firework Series Day: 21 26 29

Remus had once heard that the fibers of light filtering through the cotton-candy clouds are called ‘God’s fingers’, and as he watches the light playing on the snow, creating petty shadows that rise and move and hide before you can catch them (just as his own shadow sometimes played hide and seek with him when he was little, when he still thought fairy dust would make him fly), he can almost believe it.

A penny for your thoughts, says Sirius from behind him, stopping his smoking for a second and sinking his nose in the empty space between Remus’ shoulder blades (as empty as his head goes everytime he comes down from orgasm with Sirius’ hair tangled around his fingers), and Remus doesn’t know exactly what to answer.

You. You are in my thoughts. Remus shivers as Sirius blows blue-gray smoke (so alike to his eyes) into his nape, and Sirius just curls his arm around Remus’ neck, bringing the cigarette to chapped lips. Remus inhales, his arms still at his sides, and stares, stares, stares, into the white extension in front of his eyes, silent and warm against all reason.

They share the cigarette, lungs poisoned with the same sweet torture (an affinity, a romantic gesture), pressed together so tightly Remus wants to think their limits will blur, their molecules attach together. I’m creating havoc in your mind, then? Sirius asks after a while, staring at him as he rests his head atop Remus’ right shoulder.

You’ve no idea, Remus wants to say, but instead, he takes another drag, staring into Sirius’ eyes and exhales against his lips, a sharing of smoke, an almost-kiss painted with air. Maybe, he chooses to say, eyes half lidded, and Sirius kisses him (for real, this time) in return.

They lay on the snow later, and the snow around them melts with their body heat.