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whitmans_kissTitle: #42285-C
Word Count: 250
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
whitmans_kiss
Rating: PG
Warnings: AU, angst, disturbing images/themes
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: Sirius Black, werewolf sympathizer, works in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Beast Division, Werewolf Registry. Remus Lupin is a detained werewolf, brought in for mandatory branding of his registration number as per the newly-passed Code 180 regarding Werewolf Tracking and Identification.
Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
mp_ldws, Round Two/Week Nine.
Prompt: "First Meeting" "shampoo" "up to 250 words" "Team Padfoot"
(crossposted here atmp_ldws)
The iodine-soaked cotton leaves behind a streaked stain on the werewolf’s skin, the tincture’s sharp, chlorinated scent mingling with Lupin’s cheap shampoo to create an unnatural industrial smell that chokes Sirius’ nostrils; his hand slips, and the base of his palm strokes the flat expanse of Lupin’s smooth shoulder.
Lupin does not flinch.
“What’s your name?” Sirius asks him, although he's learned it already, briefed on the way down to the examination room, and sets down the cloth to pick up his wand. It is the least he can do, he thinks, to offer some humanity.
“Four-two-two-eight-five; C-type threat,” grits Lupin through a tense jaw, turning his head so that Sirius sees him clearly in profile, a steely resolve in his eyes that pierces through the fringe falling in front of them, and Sirius is struck with an unfamiliar urge to touch Lupin’s hair, stroke his neck—
Instead, he grips his wand tighter in his hand and ignores the way Lupin’s fingers close around the chains of his restraints as Sirius draws it up against his skin, pressing the tip against his spine before centering it on his shoulder.
Sirius leans forward, I'm sorry brushing alongside his lips against the shell of Lupin’s ear; he can’t close his eyes as a hoarse scream rents the air— traces four, two, two— overwhelmed by the sick-burnt flesh-scent of eight, five, C—
Lowering his wand, Sirius rests a shaking hand on Lupin’s arm and suddenly hates this, hates himself—
—Lupin does not flinch.
Word Count: 250
Author:
whitmans_kissRating: PG
Warnings: AU, angst, disturbing images/themes
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: Sirius Black, werewolf sympathizer, works in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Beast Division, Werewolf Registry. Remus Lupin is a detained werewolf, brought in for mandatory branding of his registration number as per the newly-passed Code 180 regarding Werewolf Tracking and Identification.
Written for
mp_ldws, Round Two/Week Nine. Prompt: "First Meeting" "shampoo" "up to 250 words" "Team Padfoot"
(crossposted here at
mp_ldws)The iodine-soaked cotton leaves behind a streaked stain on the werewolf’s skin, the tincture’s sharp, chlorinated scent mingling with Lupin’s cheap shampoo to create an unnatural industrial smell that chokes Sirius’ nostrils; his hand slips, and the base of his palm strokes the flat expanse of Lupin’s smooth shoulder.
Lupin does not flinch.
“What’s your name?” Sirius asks him, although he's learned it already, briefed on the way down to the examination room, and sets down the cloth to pick up his wand. It is the least he can do, he thinks, to offer some humanity.
“Four-two-two-eight-five; C-type threat,” grits Lupin through a tense jaw, turning his head so that Sirius sees him clearly in profile, a steely resolve in his eyes that pierces through the fringe falling in front of them, and Sirius is struck with an unfamiliar urge to touch Lupin’s hair, stroke his neck—
Instead, he grips his wand tighter in his hand and ignores the way Lupin’s fingers close around the chains of his restraints as Sirius draws it up against his skin, pressing the tip against his spine before centering it on his shoulder.
Sirius leans forward, I'm sorry brushing alongside his lips against the shell of Lupin’s ear; he can’t close his eyes as a hoarse scream rents the air— traces four, two, two— overwhelmed by the sick-burnt flesh-scent of eight, five, C—
Lowering his wand, Sirius rests a shaking hand on Lupin’s arm and suddenly hates this, hates himself—
—Lupin does not flinch.
