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trakkie (Remus/Sirius) | marginalia (Marauders and Lily) | blythely (Sirius/Lily)

For trakkie; remus/sirius aggression, yielding

Remus is fascinated by how Sirius has always found it easier to control his emotions as a dog than as a man. He’s not exactly yielding, of course, but he’s also not anything like as fierce as he can be on two feet. And in the guise of Padfoot, Sirius does not have access to a weapon more powerful than his wand or his teeth—his words, his occasionally magnificent and more often scathing speech.

Remus loves both sides of his friend, but still, too often he finds himself shrinking from Sirius and tormenting Padfoot. They trade defiance and devotion, aggression and affection, unable to back away from each other entirely, whatever the cost in the morning.

They make their apologies to the others alone, never blaming anyone but themselves. James tells Sirius that he cannot always assume that Remus will bend to his demands, and Peter tells Remus that he cannot always believe that Padfoot will live through another night of Moony’s attack.

Later, when they find themselves alone in the parlour, they circle and sniff and bow as if they’ve forgotten how to acknowledge each other as human again.

“Did I—?”

“Yes. Should I—?”

“No.”

“I think—“

A laugh. “Please don’t.”

One takes a step back, the other a step forward. Another moment and they will laugh, compare scars, make promises and sweeter threats. But in the air between them now hang the apologies they cannot make to each other—

Apologies neither wants to hear.

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for marginalia; Marauders and Lily

Lily had fallen asleep with Harry across her chest, both of them glowing in firelight. Sirius turns quickly in the opened doorway to shush James and Remus’ laughter and nod them forward, until all three are silenced by the vision before them.

James earned the right to kiss her first and last a long time ago, but Remus is as ever the one to brush the hair back from her forehead. Sirius has always contented himself with cradling her warm hands.

They are a family now, the five of them—an odd one, to be sure, but a family nonetheless.

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for blythely; Sirius/Lily

Lily purrs. She crawls and mewls, hair falling in her face—falling, always falling, which is a shame unlike any particular other, because curtains that fall don’t always rise again.

She curls her hands up into claws, arched fingers scratching and leaving trails of destruction in the carpet. Tomorrow morning she will have no memory of this. She’ll wonder about the fibers beneath her fingernails, but for now that’s just part of the game.

“Teach me,” she breathes, pink tongue flicking and burning up Sirius’ cheekbone. “Show me how.”

Sirius reaches and catches hold of her hair, tight at the back of her long neck, and tugs, exposing her throat a little. She moves forward eagerly, settling between his legs like the cat she longs to be, just for an evening, just to see what it’s like, just to run with the dog and the wolf and the rat—

And the one creature who would never notice her under his feet.

Lily purrs. And slides her hands, her fingernails, her entire yielding self, up Sirius’ thighs and bends to lick again, this time at his collarbone. “Tell me,” she whispers, more urgently now. And Sirius almost breaks. Almost. If Lily wants to become more of an animal—if she wants to be feral and free and yes, on occasion, frightened, then it’s not going to be him who points the way.

“You’ve got the begging down, Lily,” Sirius smiles into the warm skin of her neck. “You’re already halfway there.”

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