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whitmans_kissTitle: Hark! The Herald Snorkacks Bray
Word Count: 300
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
whitmans_kiss
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: implications of debauchery
Characters; Pairings: Remus Lupin/Sirius Black
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no profit from this piece of fiction. All characters depicted are of legal age.
Summary: It was this thing Sirius did, where no matter how guilty he looked, he could charm even the most stone-hearted of statues into believing his innocence. And on Christmas, half-drunk and with his mother at the door, Remus is going to have none of it.
Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
mp_ldws, Round Two/Week Seven.
Prompt: "Meet the Parents" "broomstick" "up to 300 words" "Team Moony"
(crossposted here atmp_ldws)
A ham, Remus thought through his heady buzz of too many gingerbread cookies dunked into single-malt scotch, she’s brought a bloody Christmas ham.
“Remus!” His mother cooed, thrusting the roasting pan forward as her bosom heaved, stepping uninvited over the threshold into her son’s flat.
The strangled noise that clawed its way forth from Remus’ throat choked itself into an attempt at “Mum! How good– what a– surprise– ” as his stomach dropped like he’d fallen fifty feet from a broomstick.
“Whossat the door, Moony?” Sirius’ voice wafted in like a languid purr from the kitchen, cigarette smoke close behind. Remus didn’t answer, wishing instead that spontaneous combustion would stop being so bloody spontaneous and happen rightnow, helpless to stop the force that was Jeanette Lupin from unleashing herself upon the tiny apartment.
Sirius was lounging in one of the wooden chairs, head tipped back, humming, sock-clad feet propped on the table, collar open and neck red enough from Remus’ mouth to match the tinsel above the sink.
Sirius’ fingers stopped conducting the opening bars of ‘Hark! the Herald Snorkacks Bray’ with the smoldering fag held loosely between them, immediately twisting upright.
“My mum,” Remus said, discreetly checking that his flies were done up right, “has brought a Christmas ham.”
“Why, so she has,” said Sirius, collecting himself, smoothly reaching forward to take the pan from her with a murmured “enchantée; won’t you remove your coat, sit down?”
“Actually, mum, snow’s supposed to get heavy, but ta for the food– ”
“Why, Remus,” Sirius sounded affronted, raising a slick eyebrow that would later lose him oral sex through Twelfth Night, “all these years and your mum and I have never had a proper meal together, can you think? And it’s Christmas.”
Mrs. Lupin beamed, and Remus thought he'd die.
Word Count: 300
Author:
whitmans_kissRating: PG-13
Warnings: implications of debauchery
Characters; Pairings: Remus Lupin/Sirius Black
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no profit from this piece of fiction. All characters depicted are of legal age.
Summary: It was this thing Sirius did, where no matter how guilty he looked, he could charm even the most stone-hearted of statues into believing his innocence. And on Christmas, half-drunk and with his mother at the door, Remus is going to have none of it.
Written for
mp_ldws, Round Two/Week Seven. Prompt: "Meet the Parents" "broomstick" "up to 300 words" "Team Moony"
(crossposted here at
mp_ldws)A ham, Remus thought through his heady buzz of too many gingerbread cookies dunked into single-malt scotch, she’s brought a bloody Christmas ham.
“Remus!” His mother cooed, thrusting the roasting pan forward as her bosom heaved, stepping uninvited over the threshold into her son’s flat.
The strangled noise that clawed its way forth from Remus’ throat choked itself into an attempt at “Mum! How good– what a– surprise– ” as his stomach dropped like he’d fallen fifty feet from a broomstick.
“Whossat the door, Moony?” Sirius’ voice wafted in like a languid purr from the kitchen, cigarette smoke close behind. Remus didn’t answer, wishing instead that spontaneous combustion would stop being so bloody spontaneous and happen rightnow, helpless to stop the force that was Jeanette Lupin from unleashing herself upon the tiny apartment.
Sirius was lounging in one of the wooden chairs, head tipped back, humming, sock-clad feet propped on the table, collar open and neck red enough from Remus’ mouth to match the tinsel above the sink.
Sirius’ fingers stopped conducting the opening bars of ‘Hark! the Herald Snorkacks Bray’ with the smoldering fag held loosely between them, immediately twisting upright.
“My mum,” Remus said, discreetly checking that his flies were done up right, “has brought a Christmas ham.”
“Why, so she has,” said Sirius, collecting himself, smoothly reaching forward to take the pan from her with a murmured “enchantée; won’t you remove your coat, sit down?”
“Actually, mum, snow’s supposed to get heavy, but ta for the food– ”
“Why, Remus,” Sirius sounded affronted, raising a slick eyebrow that would later lose him oral sex through Twelfth Night, “all these years and your mum and I have never had a proper meal together, can you think? And it’s Christmas.”
Mrs. Lupin beamed, and Remus thought he'd die.
