the city clocks / twelve deep vibrations toll

Fic: While The Smell Of Pomade Lingers (House; House/Chase)

Sun, 11 Mar 2007 08:32:10 GMT

Title: While The Smell of Pomade Lingers
Fandom: House
Pairing: House/Chase (vaguely)
Rating: G
Word Count: 192
Notes: Written off of episode 1x02, Paternity.

//

Chase was first.

This is what he reminds himself of on days when House's eyes linger a moment too long and a few inches too low when Cameron has her back towards him.

He was first.

He tells himself this over and over, the phrase running on repeat in his head like a mantra, like a skipping record, when House gives a generous genuine laugh at something Foreman says.

Chase does his best to get things right. He gets up extra early every morning to decide on ties and fix his hair and make himself look as professional as he can be. During differentials, he throws out suggestions and sticks to them until they end up being proven, because he knows House likes conviction.

He wants to be the one to make House laugh. He wants to be the one hired as eye candy. He wants his answers to be correct, he wants to hear House say those words (that's a good point) to him every day. He wants House to be impressed, because one day, that might bring him a step closer to being proud.

Fic: Ways of Days (House; House/Wilson)

Sat, 10 Mar 2007 20:51:06 GMT

Title: Ways of Days
Fandom: House
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 185
Notes: Written off of episode 1x01, Pilot.

//

"Yeah. He cares about me."

He says it because he has to, wants to, needs to believe it. Because this faux-cousin of his says that actions speak louder than words, but House's actions really don't say much more than his words, because on nights when he is silent, he is also still. When he doesn't talk, he doesn't move, he just watches TV and drinks beer, and he heads to his bedroom when he's tired, knowing Wilson will let himself out.

On nights when House talks, the words mean nothing. They're just fuck and oh and Jimmy and harder, and the way he twists and arches his back when he comes, it has no deeper hidden message, Wilson knows, it communicates nothing.

He wants to understand the silence and the words and the actions and the stillness. He wants to know if his statement to ~~Rachel~~ Rebecca Adler means a thing, or if it's just another few empty words leading to a blank meaningless space.

Fic: Ruling the World (House; House/Wilson)

Sat, 10 Mar 2007 09:27:49 GMT

Title: Ruling The World
Fandom: House
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: G
Word Count: 201

//

You know what it's like?
This whirling spinning racing down the street
in a flashing red Corvette?
The roof's down
and the radio's up
and I am quietly in love with the man driving this car.
His fingers are white-knuckled on the clutch
and I wonder about how that hand might
burn and brand my skin.
We're listening to a song I've heard so many times that
it's lost its meaning,
except for the way he sings along,
unashamed and almost peaceful like he hardly ever is.
It's nearly dusk and when I look over,
the sun roars around him,
making him a perfectly flawed,
perfectly horrible,
perfectly removed image of loss and pain
and ten years of unrequited thumping bruised-to-purple love.
We reach his apartment and the car slows down
but the way my heart races when I'm with him,
no, it's like something wild
broken free of fetters and chains and pressures
of love refusing to die (even of old age).
We walk inside, stepping in time with each other,
smiling and breathing and drinking in time, and...nah.
You don't know what it's like.

Fic: The Only Immortality (Harry Potter; Remus/Sirius)

Sat, 10 Mar 2007 09:25:25 GMT

Title: The Only Immortality
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1046

//

According to Sirius, Remus and books just went together.

Back at school, Remus was always the one with an extra book in his bag "just in case" (in case of what, Sirius could never figure out). The Hogwarts library was where Remus turned to in times of personal trouble, the study tables his refuge, the narrow spaces between the musty shelves his sanctuary. Books were how Sirius and Peter and James had studied to become Animagi- for Remus, always for Remus.

Sirius remembered the book that Remus was reading on his bed when he had leaned in and kissed Remus for the first time: Advanced Rune Translation. Not very romantic, but as it had fallen to the floor in a matter of seconds anyway, it didn't really matter.

Sirius was not in the least surprised when Remus's first job after leaving school was working in a Muggle library. They celebrated in their small flat in the middle of the night, drinking far too much champagne and tumbling into bed giggling and not able to keep their hands off each other.

The next morning, however, they had had A Talk. Remus told Sirius he absolutely could not visit him at the library, it was for Muggles (and Remus) only and Sirius would be sure to hurt the books anyway so he better just stick to tinkering with his silly motorcycle. Sirius had pouted and scowled, but eventually nodded.

---

It was the middle of winter. Sirius was on holiday from work, being as it was almost Christmas, but he knew Remus couldn't afford to ask for any extra days off besides for the ones he needed to recover from the full moon. Remus had been working at the library for three weeks now, coming home every day rambling excitedly about books and Muggles and card catalogues. Sirius always listened intently, because Remus returning to the flat was the highlight of his days. He would be lounging on the couch, usually napping, and he would hear the door open, and jump up and run to Remus, kissing him all over his face like an excited puppy.

But lately, napping had grown old- so had playing Exploding Snap by himself, and so had Apparating in on Lily and James going at it so many times that they had put up specific wards around their bedroom to keep him out.

On the day before Christmas, Sirius realised he was really, truly bored. That would simply not do. So he thought up a plan- it was a rather brilliant one, inspired by a frustrated James snapping at him about bothering someone else for a change, and also by the fact that Remus had been too tired to do anything for ages now, and Sirius was a man, and he had needs.

He decided he would pay Remus a little visit at the library.

He found the address buried in a pile of papers on Remus's desk, and figured out a small wizarding pub nearby. He threw on a cloak, grabbed his wand, and Apparated in, drawing a few disinterested glances but mostly going unnoticed. He slipped out of the pub into the snow, and shivered, drawing his cloak tighter around himself. He started off down the street, bending his head against the wind.

Finally, he reached a relatively small brick building, and pushed the doors open, stumbling inside, rubbing his hands together for warmth. The library was brightly lit, and looked fairly new and clean, and yet it still had an air of library around it that reminded Sirius of revisions and Hogwarts.

"Can I- er. Can I help you, sir?" A petite woman with a severe bun that reminded Sirius far too much of McGonagall peered at him nervously.

He gave her his very best charming smile. "I'm looking for Remus Lupin, is he around?"

The woman relaxed a little, obviously relieved that the strange dark man in the cloak wasn't here to terrorize the books. "Yes, he's in the back room right now, he's revising some of the card catalogues." She pointed off to her left, towards a dark hallway ending with a door.

"Thank you very much, love," Sirius beamed, and took the woman's hand and kissed it lightly. She went red and smiled back at him briefly, before bustling off, mumbling something about bills. Sirius set off down the hallway, and quietly eased the door open.

Remus was sitting hunched over a desk, his tweed coat draped over the back of the chair and his shirtsleeves pushed up to gather around his elbows. He was carefully writing something out on a small piece of paper with what Sirius recognized as some Muggle thing called a pen. The room was dim and Sirius could see that Remus was squinting slightly.

Without looking up, Remus sighed heavily. "I'm almost done, Gertrude, just a few left to go."

Sirius closed the door behind him and slipped his cloak off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. "I'm not Gertrude."

Remus’s head jerked up, and he met Sirius's eyes with shock. "I told you not to come here!"

Sirius pouted. "C'mon, Moony, that’s not a very nice welcome. Hardly anyone even noticed me come in, anyway."

Remus put down the pen and ran his hand back through his hair, looking frustrated. "That's not the point, Sirius. This is my first job ever and I can't have anyone suspecting anything."

"But I missed you," Sirius said quietly.

Remus's eyes softened just enough for Sirius to notice, and he bit his lip in that way he always did when he was trying to hold back a smile. "I've missed you too."

Sirius took Remus's hand and pulled him up, and touched their noses together. "Silly prat, you know I wouldn't have been able to stay away," he murmured. He tilted his head and gently brushed his lips against Remus's. Remus sighed a little and kissed back for a moment before breaking away.

"The books will see," Remus said softly.

"Not these ones," Sirius grinned, and slid his hands lower.

And, with a sparkle of mischief in his eyes, Remus grinned back.

Fic: Teatime (Harry Potter; Remus/Sirius)

Sat, 10 Mar 2007 09:16:15 GMT

Title: Teatime
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Rating: G
Word Count: 257

//

"There is no trouble so great or grave that cannot be much diminished by a nice cup of tea."

--Bernard-Paul Heroux

Remus Lupin loves his tea.

He loves his books also, and rain, and the tingling feeling he gets when Sirius brushes up against him when the four Marauders are under James's Invisibility Cloak.

But the tea. It is a comfort, a security blanket, a safe haven in times of trouble and need. After the full moon, tea is all that Remus can manage to hold down. Dark plain tea for times when he needs strength- before an exam, before the change, before a prank- and tea with heaps of milk and sugar for when comfort is necessary- like when Sirius is in the common room snogging that girlfriend of his. Cynthia, or Cindy, or something like that. A fifth year, too young for him, Remus thinks.

Remus sneaks down to the kitchens at night sometimes, when his friends are asleep, and has tea with the elves. While not the greatest company, they usually manage to make him smile. Which seems to be a rare occasion, these days.

One night, he doesn't feel like talking to the house elf who serves him tea. He sits outside of the kitchens, on the stone floor, leaning back against the portrait of the fruit. His fingers and nose are numb despite the heat of the tea, and a sudden voice tells him he's going to get sick if he sits in the cold. Sirius sits down next to Remus and leans his head over to lie on Remus's shoulder.

Remus trembles, and not because of the cold.

Fic: Moratorium (Harry Potter; Remus/Regulus, Remus/Sirius)

Thu, 17 Aug 2006 04:40:49 GMT

Title: Moratorium
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Remus/Regulus, Remus/Sirius
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 405

//

Humanity has still not figured out a good way to handle this.

This is Remus’s best mate’s brother stumbling into his flat, entirely sloshed and raving about killing Sirius. This is Remus, bewildered, asking (instead of why murder was being threatened) why Regulus would look for Sirius here. It is Regulus’s assumptions and Remus’s old aching wants clashing together.

Remus can’t really blame himself for what happens, because, well, he never before had realized just how much Regulus and Sirius look alike. He wonders, then, with Regulus’s tongue sliding along his teeth and Regulus’s hands sliding up his shirt, if they kiss alike too.

Remus enjoys it, because he can make his eyes go all unfocused and it is suddenly all his pubescent fantasies come to life right there in his unmade bed.

And by the time he notices the Dark Mark flashing black on Regulus’s naked arm, it has become too late not to enjoy it anymore.

--

Humanity has not figured out a good way to handle this, either.

This is this lurching of stomachs and sudden cold sweats, this desperate screaming in one’s mind to run run run even though you know running would only make it worse. It is this wanting to shake up a Time Turner and change just one thing, this need to plead for forgiveness—this getting caught.

Sirius’s eyes are locked onto his and all Remus can see in the dull blue irises is the terrific ache of betrayal. Sirius is shaking. Remus doesn’t look away but he wishes he could, wishes he could do absolutely anything except sit, painfully naked, on the rumpled sheets of his bed, and tangle his hands together and silently plead for forgiveness.

Remus refuses to let his guilt turn into anger, his defensive stance turn into offensive accusations. He longs to cry out, yell that you have no business bursting into my flat anyway! and aren’t you supposed to be at work? and my life is mine to live! and you made this happen years ago. But then there’s reality, and there’s what happened, and there’s what Sirius saw, and there’s how they are all one and the same. So Remus waits for Sirius to make the first move.

But Sirius never does.

He turns, and he walks out the door, and they don’t talk, and one year later it’s the worst Halloween Remus Lupin will ever have.

He never stops waiting.

[end]

Fic: Forgiven (Narnia; Peter/Edmund)

Wed, 04 Jan 2006 01:17:17 GMT

Title: Forgiven
Fandom: The Chronicles of Narnia
Pairing: Peter Pevensie/Edmund Pevensie
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,293

//

Edmund thought that once the crowns had been placed on their heads, everything would change.

And everything did, in a way. Most things. There was a heavy responsibility on all of the children’s shoulders that had not been there before. It was a weight made visible in the crinkle of Peter’s forehead when working out a new law, and a pressure that made Susan’s hands tremble upon meeting foreign ambassadors.

They grew up quickly—they had to, in a world of dinner parties and etiquette, of dark wine and corruption. Lucy no longer cried when she had nightmares. Edmund was positively desperate to grow up, and accepted each new stage of maturation eagerly. After all, the older he got, the more years were present between the current times of plenty and the past that he never wanted to think about again.

But he soon found that there was no way he could leave his betrayals behind. They stared out at him from every snowfall, every conversation with Lucy’s Mr Tumnus, and every mention of Aslan.

One summer night, the rulers of Narnia sat down to dinner with a group of elderly centaurs to discuss recent disturbances in their home in the west. Edmund felt delightfully warm, cradled by the humidity of the courtyard and the wine. He was laughing along with the rest of the table to a story Lucy was telling everyone about the most recent excursion of the Giant Rumblebuffin, when one of the centaurs held up his hands with a solemn look on his old face.

“Your majesties, you have been more than kind to us this night. We never dreamed of holding audience with the kings and queens themselves in order to discuss our relatively small problems. In thanks to you all, we have brought a foreign delicacy for dessert, from a different world, or so the shopkeeper claimed!” He laughed roughly, and then reached under the table and drew out a large, brightly coloured box. “They’re called Turkish Delights, and there are plenty to go around.”

Edmund felt as though the Witch were back and had turned him into stone. He was frozen, freezing, memories tumbling down and crashing into betrayal and guilt. His brother and sisters did not seem to recall the name of the sweet from their other life, and they smiled and gratefully took one each. But when Edmund stayed still in his seat, his eyes fixedly staring into space, Susan nudged him gently, jerking him back into the present. He looked around wildly at the faces surrounding him, mumbled a “thank you but no”, and nearly tripped over himself as he scrambled out of his chair, his cheeks aflame. The pace at which he walked away might be referred to more closely as running.

Susan and Lucy took control immediately, talking quickly to smooth over the situation and soothe the centaurs’ hurt dignity. Peter hurriedly excused himself, pushing his chair back and dashing after his younger brother.

Edmund fell back against the cold stone wall of Cair Paravel around the corner from where the dinner had been taking place. He pressed his hands against his face and rubbed hard at his eyes. It had not been so long since he had betrayed his family to the Witch—a mere year or so, and the shame was still planted deep within his soul.

Suddenly, strong fingers wrapped around his wrists and pulled his hands down away from his face, and then Edmund was staring into Peter’s eyes. He scowled and pulled his hands away, folding his arms to put distance in between he and his brother.

“What is it?” Peter whispered, his face drawn and worried.

Edmund looked at his feet and sighed quietly. It was no good to keep secrets from Peter, he always found out in the end. “The Turkish Delights. She gave them to me the first time we met.”

“She? Who—oh.” Peter bit his lip. “You know we’ve all forgiven you. Even Aslan told us to put it behind us, where it belongs. You’re a different person now.”

Edmund looked up sharply. “Am I? How do you know? How do you know I’m not plotting to take over as High King myself? How do you know I’m not planning your assassination or—or a return of that horrible winter?” His chin trembled with angry held-back tears.

Peter smiled, sweetly and sadly, and lifted a hand to place against Edmund’s freckled cheek. “I just know.”

Edmund shuddered and squeezed his eyes closed. “But how?”

There was a silence, and for a terrible moment Edmund thought Peter had gone, gone back to the dinner, back to his majestic place in the world.

That is, until he felt the light brush of Peter’s lips upon his own. He froze, like he had at the table, but this time the warmth of Peter’s body was unmistakable, and there was no cold.

“What was that?” Edmund asked, his eyes wide.

“It was a kiss, Ed. Just…just a kiss,” Peter stammered, and began to back away. “I just thought…oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He turned to leave.

“Wait!” Edmund cried out, almost against his will, and Peter turned back, his face blank. “I didn’t tell you to leave.”

“I thought you would want me to,” Peter replied.

“Well, I don’t.”

The boys stared at each other for a brief moment. Later, neither could say which one had walked faster, which had covered more ground to reach the other. But run to each other they did, and when they met their arms reached around each other’s bodies, holding tightly, and when their mouths crashed together, Edmund finally understood forgiveness.

---

Everyone knew, of course, the day after. Susan’s sharp eyes picked up on the way Peter’s hand lingered on Edmund’s back a moment too long, and Lucy’s ears picked up on the peculiar quality of Edmund’s laugh, clearer than before. The sisters looked at each other and nodded, understanding completely.

And even when, a week later, a faun who never could keep secrets walked in on Peter and Edmund (partially unclothed and hands scrambling to uncover more skin), and ended up spreading the news all over court, no one said a single condemning word.

After all, it was Narnia, so no one thought the worse of you for something like that.

---

Years later, and also in no time at all, the Pevensie children fell back through the wardrobe and into what no longer felt like their world.

England was a fine place, it had cricket and big old houses in which to play long, drawn-out games of hide and seek. But it did not have speaking animals, it did not have Cair Paravel, and it did not have a place for what had grown between brothers.

So they hid, deep under blankets in the dead of night. Young hands explored young bodies once again in the dark, trembling with the memories of all that they had done and all they would never again do. They sneaked hard, fast kisses when Mrs Macready wasn’t looking, when Susan and Lucy were studying for their lessons and were slowly forgetting Narnia, and in the rare times the two boys were absolutely alone.

They loved each other, they did, but they got scared and cold and soon learned from the world outside the wardrobe that what they had done and were doing was wrong, wrong in the eyes of society and of the Lord.

It was not until the Professor saw them one day, Edmund’s hand under Peter’s shirt and Peter’s hand tangled in Edmund’s dark hair, when they were reassured that there was still love for them out there, from Narnia, from long ago—when the Professor saw them, and understood, and smiled.

[end]