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cimorenei am using this icon because i wanted to look at it, thank you for asking.
as the vessel of remus's pov it's perfectly ok for me to lust after sirius, too. ::lusts::
When he turned around and went to his trunk for a fresh pair of trousers, Sirius was bootless and hatless, with one arm out of the quidditch robes. He was fumbling in the pocket of the snug quidditch trousers with that hand--muddied white silk falling over his wrist--for his wand and muttering. The robes hung askew about his neck.. Remus didn't realize he was looking until Sirius's eyes flashed brilliantly to his and he said distinctly, though his voice was not by any stretch even-- "Since it's your fault, Moony, that I can't unfasten my robes, would you help me?" Sarcasm poured on heavier, then. "You needn't touch me."
His trousers unfastened, Remus stopped with his mouth open. Could he walk across the rug and touch the frogs at Sirius's neck--a scant few inches below the bite marks--and not touch the pale skin? He flushed. And went.
alas, the situation is not as compromising as it appears. they're just changing out of muddy clothes. but! she went and formatted the partial draft, all christmassy even, and added a title and--how much do i adore her, how much? XD
He sinks down his onto his haunches on the damp doorstep. Remus doesn't have a welcome mat. The rabbit fantasy has fled, and the Peter fantasy sends chilly, unpleasant slivers of raw anticipation through him. He licks a forepaw and sniffs the air. Remus here, of course, on the door, most of it, and so little else. Brief, fleeting snatches of passersby. Milkman, perhaps, postman, landlord. Sirius himself, but he's not had time to stamp his mark on this house. Remus would notice even a most discreet marking, and would without doubt disapprove.
eeee otp cakes! ::falls over::
i'm all right. really.
as the vessel of remus's pov it's perfectly ok for me to lust after sirius, too. ::lusts::
When he turned around and went to his trunk for a fresh pair of trousers, Sirius was bootless and hatless, with one arm out of the quidditch robes. He was fumbling in the pocket of the snug quidditch trousers with that hand--muddied white silk falling over his wrist--for his wand and muttering. The robes hung askew about his neck.. Remus didn't realize he was looking until Sirius's eyes flashed brilliantly to his and he said distinctly, though his voice was not by any stretch even-- "Since it's your fault, Moony, that I can't unfasten my robes, would you help me?" Sarcasm poured on heavier, then. "You needn't touch me."
His trousers unfastened, Remus stopped with his mouth open. Could he walk across the rug and touch the frogs at Sirius's neck--a scant few inches below the bite marks--and not touch the pale skin? He flushed. And went.
alas, the situation is not as compromising as it appears. they're just changing out of muddy clothes. but! she went and formatted the partial draft, all christmassy even, and added a title and--how much do i adore her, how much? XD
He sinks down his onto his haunches on the damp doorstep. Remus doesn't have a welcome mat. The rabbit fantasy has fled, and the Peter fantasy sends chilly, unpleasant slivers of raw anticipation through him. He licks a forepaw and sniffs the air. Remus here, of course, on the door, most of it, and so little else. Brief, fleeting snatches of passersby. Milkman, perhaps, postman, landlord. Sirius himself, but he's not had time to stamp his mark on this house. Remus would notice even a most discreet marking, and would without doubt disapprove.
eeee otp cakes! ::falls over::
i'm all right. really.
