James Potter (prongslove) wrote in hpvanilla_slash,
James Potter
prongslove
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Ever Seen the Rain

Title: Ever Seen the Rain?
Author: Anna Zomgprongs
Pairings, etc: Sirius, Remus
Length: 1218 words
Rating: PG-13 maybe, but only for slash and brit cursing



Remus wonders for the fifteen millionth time how he ever let Sirius Black talk him into walking out into the middle of a muddy field in Devonshire with nothing but an umbrella to protect him. Sirius seems to enjoy the rain, but Remus feels cold and out of place as Sirius runs next to him in an old, black leather jacket and boots, almost as if he’s completely oblivious to the fact that the weather is absolutely miserable, even for England.

Sirius drinks in the rain with a lighthearted grin, lapping at the raindrops that hit his eager pink tongue, eyes squeezed shut and arms stretched wide as if to catch the wind. Strands of long, black hair cling like thin ropes to his pale forehead, and beads of rain trail down his nose and cheeks. His white shirt is drenched and semi-transparent, but Sirius doesn’t seem to care. He’s almost basking in the miserable, grey, sunless sky and the steady rhythm of the rain, which hits Remus’ umbrella with a shallow, slapping sound.

“Come on, lose the umbrella, you look like such a plonker,” Sirius says, swinging an arm out to cuff Remus on the fleshy part of his arm, “It’s not like you’re going to melt.”

Remus gives Sirius a look that is almost parental in nature and shakes his head, “I can’t, these are my good leather shoes, and you know what water does to leather.” Sirius rolls his eyes with his whole body, shoulder slumping and neck rolling back.

“That’s so boring,” Sirius states in a childish, whiny voice. “Come on. You are getting wet whether you like it or not.” While Remus is trying to come up with another excuse, Sirius grabs the umbrella and wrenches it out of his hands, leaving Remus to grasp at the air in an attempt to snatch it back. Sirius gives Remus an innocent grin, dangling the umbrella just out of his reach and looking at his now bone-soaked friend. Remus looks and feels much like a wet cat, startled and cold and defensive, and Sirius the impish toddler who decided to throw the cat in the pool. He looks positively gleeful as raindrops drum loudly on Remus’ head, and he presses a button on the umbrella that causes it to collapse before throwing it as far as he can behind him.

A wounded little noise much like a whimper issues from Remus’ lips, his knees bending slightly under him in defeat. He briefly considers pursuing the lost umbrella, his only protection against the elements, but one look at the sly grin on Sirius’ face, and Remus knows that any efforts to retrieve it would be in vain. A pained, patronizing expression washes over Remus’ face, and he looks up at Sirius with a sigh.

“All right, now I am wet and cold, and these are the only clothes I brought with me, which are also wet and cold, and I am short an umbrella. Are you happy?” Remus stands still and expectant, hands clenched tightly to his side for warmth, and his drenched wool sweater vest weighs heavily on his shoulders and against his chest. His cheeks are flushed pink with cold, and Sirius thinks he looks rather magnificent with that wrong-footed, parental look on his face, his shoulder blades jutting out at odd angles and bony wrists showing under too-short sleeves.

Sirius grins, “Ecstatic,” he says, following a drop of rain that washes down the crease of Remus’ brow and drops off the tip of his rather large and flat-ended nose, gliding along the line of a deep, pink scar that has blemished his face for as long as Sirius can remember.

Remus feels defeated and vulnerable in every sense of the word, exposed to the elements and unsure of what to do with himself. Before, he had an out. He was Remus Lupin, boy with a very useful umbrella that he could use to protect himself against rain or hit Sirius, rather than Remus Lupin, boy that looks like a wet prat who just had his umbrella stolen in a rainstorm and would probably make an excellent lightening rod should those ominous clouds decide to make him one. Now he glances expectantly at Sirius, waiting for some sort of cue. In all his books that describe rain as some wild, romantic phenomenon, there has yet to be a character in a situation that even remotely resembled his.

First off, there was never a ponce in an old leather jacket harassing the characters in such books, smirking and grinning like a fool and jerking them by the arm, pulling them into a run, trying to get them to run out into the middle of a field in Devonshire. And for that matter, none of the books were set anywhere near a bloody field in bleeding Devonshire. The aforementioned ponce, known to most as Sirius Black, did not try to convince any such character to catch the dirty rainwater, which probably had unfortunate bacteria in it anyway, on his or her tongue. But Remus’ train of thought was interrupted by a Padfoot, who suddenly dropped to the ground and yanked Remus down with him and straight into a puddle, getting mud on his clothes. Remus wonders if his poor shirt, the innocent victim of canine abuse, will ever be clean again.

Sirius regards the other boy thoughtfully, looking over at him with that same ridiculous smile and cocking his head to the side. “You never do anything completely irrational, do you?” He asks, pulling himself up and waiting for an answer. When Remus says nothing, Sirius decides that the best way to extract an answer from an unwilling detainee is to sit on his stomach, which he does, straddling Remus’ waist and putting his hands on either side of Moony’s head. “Do you?”

Remus looks back at Sirius, considering his answer for a moment and starting to respond with an, “Of course I – ” but no one ever knew what, of course, he did. Deciding that he’d heard enough, Sirius leaned down and pressed his lips firmly, purposefully into Remus’.

Sirius is heavy, Remus renders vaguely, heavy on his waist and heavy on his chest and forceful on his lips, and there are teeth and tongues and entirely too much spit, but suddenly, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that Remus is muddy and wet and working on a cold, it doesn’t matter that Sirius is muddier and wetter and smelling faintly like a Labrador, it doesn’t matter that Remus’ nose is big and awkward and his hands feel clumsy and useless even as they pull Sirius in by the nape of his neck, all that matters is some indescribable energy that both of them share in a muddy field with lightening striking in the distance.

“That,” Remus says finally when Sirius pulls away, gasping and panting against Remus’ chest with a fond look on his face, “Was completely irrational.”

“Did you like it?” Sirius asks with a smug little grin that doesn’t quite mask an edge of nervousness to his tone.

Remus looks thoughtful for a long moment before finally smiling, the hint of a smirk on the corner of his lips, “I can’t be sure. You are going to have to test it again.”
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