nekare

A tiiiny drabble before I go to bed, since I gotta be up at six. T-T

Title: Dust Bunnies
Rating: G
Word Count: 299
Author Notes: Written for prompt 7 (puddle jumpers) and 10 (spring cleaning) of wellymuck.

Day: | 1 | 2 | 4 | 11 |

“Do you still need these socks?” Sirius asks one April morning, wanting to say Do you still need me?, and yet the words get caught on his throat like the apple in Snow White’s. He and Remus are sitting on the floor, surrounded with dust (dust bunnies? He’d like to see one), broken mugs and old souvenirs of a school-filled life he sometimes can’t remember buying.

Remus barely glances his way, frowns at the socks he holds with his left hand. “No, not really. Just put it in the rubbish pile.” Sirius throws it, hoping Remus is actually talking about the silly mustard-colored striped socks, hoping he’s not as enthusiastic with this stupid spring cleaning because he wants a new life (already).

It smells like rain, with the windows thrown open like this, the dark clouds cracking and rustling with expectation for water and thunder and soaked earth, blooming flowers that get drowned on the puddles. “I feel like jumping in puddles,” says Sirius after a while, with an old, hole-filled shirt between his fingers, and Remus finally looks at him instead at through him.

He bites his lip. “We can do that, once the rain starts falling, if you want to.” It sounds like a peace offering; something to share that could be warmer and much more real than the thick silence between them.

“Is that a promise, Mister Lupin?” says Sirius, coy and flirtatious like he hasn’t been in months, and Remus smiles a bit.

“Maybe.” The keep on cleaning, humming together, and when the rain finally falls, they find themselves kissing with water filtering to their mouths, sticking their clothes to their bodies in the same way they stand close.

There’s still a spark between them, lingering deep, and Sirius sets out to find it again.