Written for Day 1 (Warm Stones) and Day 3 at
dogdaysofsummer.
Eat Me Up
Remus/Sirius – Warm stones – Breakfast – 248 Words
|3|
You’re going to die young if you keep on eating like that, says Sirius without meaning it on the third of July, sipping on his coffee slowly as Remus wolfs down the heavy meal – beans on toast, yolk all over them, and as he sucks his fingers clean Sirius reminds himself that’s not something one should be mildly attracted too.
Remus doesn’t listen to him, doesn’t even look at him until he’s finished with his meal and his too fast metabolism sets on dissolving anything that touches his stomach, perpetually leaving him hungry. Sirius reckons that’s the reason Remus is always starving for attention, for recognition, only he has learned to bury the ache beneath his skin.
Sirius is sitting on the back of his couch, feet over the purple cushions James got him as a joke and he decided to keep as defiance. His cup is balancing precariously on his left knee, the heat traveling down his leg the same as his blood travels to his face when Remus looks at him as if he could use him as dessert.
Were you saying something? asks Remus after a few moments of silence, as he lights a cigarette (because he knows Sirius likes it when he smokes, knows it makes his head spin and his breath quicken) and takes out from his pocket the little stone that he found on the beach three years ago and that he keeps playing with, the one that Sirius imagines must be warm from the summer in Remus’ mind and the body that it’s always pressed against.
I said, would you like to share some pudding. It doesn’t sound like a question, because Sirius already knows the answer.
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Eat Me Up
Remus/Sirius – Warm stones – Breakfast – 248 Words
|3|
You’re going to die young if you keep on eating like that, says Sirius without meaning it on the third of July, sipping on his coffee slowly as Remus wolfs down the heavy meal – beans on toast, yolk all over them, and as he sucks his fingers clean Sirius reminds himself that’s not something one should be mildly attracted too.
Remus doesn’t listen to him, doesn’t even look at him until he’s finished with his meal and his too fast metabolism sets on dissolving anything that touches his stomach, perpetually leaving him hungry. Sirius reckons that’s the reason Remus is always starving for attention, for recognition, only he has learned to bury the ache beneath his skin.
Sirius is sitting on the back of his couch, feet over the purple cushions James got him as a joke and he decided to keep as defiance. His cup is balancing precariously on his left knee, the heat traveling down his leg the same as his blood travels to his face when Remus looks at him as if he could use him as dessert.
Were you saying something? asks Remus after a few moments of silence, as he lights a cigarette (because he knows Sirius likes it when he smokes, knows it makes his head spin and his breath quicken) and takes out from his pocket the little stone that he found on the beach three years ago and that he keeps playing with, the one that Sirius imagines must be warm from the summer in Remus’ mind and the body that it’s always pressed against.
I said, would you like to share some pudding. It doesn’t sound like a question, because Sirius already knows the answer.
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