|In Astra Aspera
Author: mercutio-rane PM
Nine Remus and Tonks drabbles written for the rtchallenge on livejournal. Heavy on the angst with a side order of romance, please.Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Romance - Remus L. & N. Tonks - Words: 1,253 - Reviews: 13 - Favs: 8 - Follows: 1 - Published: 03-01-06 - Status: Complete - id: 2825023
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Author's Note: These drabbles were written for rtmoonlighting's February rtchallenge on livejournal. Bloody awesome stuff came out of it, and the link is on my homepage if you want some great fanfics to read. I was lame and mostly wrote drabbles, but a lot of people wrote some phenomenal one-shots. They may host another one soon, so I hope you guys head on over to write, read, and bask in the Remus/Tonks lurve. ;)
I'm getting ready to post some dialogues that just reek of fluffiness, so you guys can read those to clear up the angst smoke from these. ;)
It stands to reason that a man who denies options even exist will fall hardest in the midst of them. For when the haze clears, Remus starts awake, suddenly swatted by sleep's brutal clarity to find himself cold and alone, empty-handed…hollow hands scraping along baked dirt as he sits up, tree bark stamping his skin through threadbare clothes when he leans into the stump to feel something real. Wiping away sleep, he finally sees the other route…the lit pathway where she meant all the things she said…where moments between them held more than empty dreams and maps to nonexistent places.
2:00AM Grimmauld was a dark nest of fitful somnolence when Tonks arrived and blindly found the bathroom…steam smelling of Remus and soap heavy in the air. She showered, took his damp folded towel from the hamper, smiling devilishly to run it down arms…stomach…legs, unaware her own towel had disappeared, draped snugly around Lupin's neck as he stood a wall away, hair damp and heart pounding, fingering her towel and listening to the dripping showerhead, knowing she stood naked in the steam. He swelled…breathless…unaware that Tonks wore his dirty boxers to bed, hot from more than water, his body surrounding her.
I took up smoking after you left, coated lungs embracing either side of a wilting heart to keep my dying spirit company. I chose bars like one selects a coffin. I felt warm and slow, sitting in dark shadows, a cigarette's acrid tendrils curling dreamily above me, saying, "Fall downward with us on the upward spiral to oblivion."
One bottle nearer to epiphany, Molly shows, her coddling morphing into, "No more of this!...Tonks, dear, what would Remus say."
…..I can see you, head cocked, hands in pockets even if I'm a breath away, saying…."You shouldn't smoke, Nymphadora."
Shattered dreams move from us to others, returning like long lost lovers.
Your body is the ever-changing cloud to me….your voice whispering in the leaves, your tears soaking me through and through when the rains fall downward.
And in the grey moon's rise, within its sorrowful deep shadows, a subtle beauty.
If I could make your fantastical future a reality, I'd be God.
If I could feel you again, breathing my name above me on this bed, I'd be selfish.
If I read the signs you strew about me, like colored flagging for lost and deluded souls, I'd be weak.
If I walked the floor of our intertwined lives from front to back and re-measured, I'd be stronger.
If I had a galleon for every thought of you, I'd be rich, Nymphadora.
But if I gained only a knut for every moment your memory cuts me to the bone, I'd be richer.
He meanders to her doorstep at 2:00 AM, brimful of alcohol and unable to hide it as she guides him to her room, not asking questions.
After all, Sirius died only fourteen….no…fifteen days ago.
Body crumbled on the bed, his eyes cock upward at her window sill, hand sloppily picking up a snow globe and pressing it to his eye, vision prismatic, as he looks through curved plastic, weak rainbows glinting on the bedsheets when his hand wobbles.
"I had one 'o these as a boy…always wanted to…live inside…"
She joins him on the warm sheets, arm threading under his un-tucked shirt as he drops his hand, leaving the trinket on his eye, blinking lazily against it then reopening the lid, mesmerized.
"Why?" she asks, licking her lips in near sleep. She can taste firewhiskey on her tongue he reeks so strongly of it.
"…'Cos….everything's protected an' when your world turns upside down, nothin' happens 'cept….soft falling mirrors reflectin' back at you, like a slow motion dream…or a…gentle death…Maybe that's what he felt….if…."
When he trails off, she opens her eyes to find him sleeping. And, gently removing the trinket, she covers them both with thick, handmade quilts, protecting, hoping in his dreams the world shimmers and dances, even as it turns beyond their control.
Bill and Fleur had kissed heatedly to everyone's amusement. They'd smashed cake in each other's faces and slow danced to an old Muggle song. The best man just wrapped up his generic speech.
And about this time at weddings, Remus usually became desperate to leave…..But not today. Even the squeal of twenty schoolgirls bumping at his shoulders and scrambling for the bouquet couldn't budge him from his view.
She wore that crème satin dress like a second skin, warm sunlight falling on her body and piercing the crystal glass that lightly turned in her hands as she talked to some red-headed relative.
Suddenly, their eyes met, electric, as she politely wrapped up her conversation and came closer, all satin cloth and velvet skin, pink lips parted when she raised up on her arches to whisper, "I want to get out of here and touch you all over."
Remus went even hotter at the tight ache in her voice. Breath shallow, she stole a furtive kiss near his collar as he made a strangled grunt and led them to the exit. And for all the times he had left wedding receptions early out of sheer depression, he found sheer depravity a much better excuse for escape.
You can't know my life, living as you do in goodness and faith, all things eager for your touch. You easily stretch and take moments, emotions I cannot grasp.
You can't know.
Life tempts me, see, every ripe piece hanging just beyond my reach, making me strain even as I remember my place…anchored here, to what I am.
You shouldn't help me when the moon sets, make me tea…warm me with your smile when I hurt and crawl inward. Eventually, I'll come to, falling downward. And where will you be?
On the highest branch, I hope, growing in the sunlight.
Outside your door, I'm desperately penitent and terrified with wondering. My mind has listed a thousand things to say and scratched them out, disgusted. Oh, the truth. I have nothing to tabulate, no finer selling points and obvious wear and tear. Might you require me, for any service, menial or amorous? I desire your laugh, Tonks, your face by my morning coffee and your heart near mine. I'll edit our past, those parts blotted with spilled intent and abandoned revisions….No? Perhaps you're right, but I can turn the page. So bright and clean, waiting for my pen and yours.