Disclaimer: Harry Potter © J. K. Rowling.
Warnings: Language, slash, angst.
Summary: Remus couldn't breathe. Not continually. It was like holding the wind – it always escaped.
They fell – fell in steady streams of sound and breath, fell in monotonous uniform like the shattering china plates that impacted the floor. Cupboards were raped viciously, inner contents exposed and pushed, pushed, pushed faster than the rate of gravity. Clash, clatter, crack. White shards of ignorance and anger fell in waves of porcelain across the kitchen. It remained oddly silent, despite the destruction.
"Fuck. Fuck, Remus, fuck."
He could see the ferocity behind the actions, the way the powerful fingers clutched almost desperately at the nearest inanimate kitchen utensil, before just as powerfully flinging it across the room. The Indian tea set given to them by Lily and James on their third-year anniversary were the first to go, ritualistically crushed between tanned digits then dropped with a rain of red drops to the floor. Remus winced at seeing the mutilated flesh on Sirius' hands, the palms sliced jagged in deep and shallow cuts, remnants of glass still evident in skin. He turned his head, but the memory of dripping blood running down Sirius' fingers was eternally ironed and pressed into him. In between the silences, he could hear the drops embrace the floor.
"Damn it, Remus!"
Next went the silverware, bent and flung at the wall were Remus was standing. The metallic thud played a hollow tune with the wallpapered prison, gathering like starving children around his feet. A few unfortunate spoons found their way to Remus' knees, finished destinations initiating sparks of pain. However, the melody of the ceramic bowls breaking was much more painful – the dissonant sound of death and Sirius' voice a burden to Remus' ears. The bowls were bought when they first moved in together, Remus thought idly.
"If you want bloody coffee, I could get you fucking coffee." Breathe, breathe, stop. "If you want to eat lunch at Rico's Pub, I could fucking take you."
No reaction or reply was given, save for when Sirius reached for the tea cups next – Oh please don't break those they were so bloody hard to find and the bargain was amazing – and Remus gave an audible whimper, choked halfway up his throat and through his larynx. Sirius swirled around at the sound, bloody hands smearing the white tea cups as they fell to the ground, crumbling forcefully like the decaying bricks of the Bastille. Black eyes pierced as black hair swung as black lips snarled.
Instantly Sirius had Remus pinned against the wall, hard knee shoved between his parted legs as Sirius' bared teeth laid dangerously close to Remus' jugular. The brunette noted with mild distaste the seeping warm wetness through the material on his wrists. Sirius had him imprisoned in damp red shackles.
"Why the bloody fuck are you still here? Do you hate being with me that much? So much that –"
"- Sirius, calm down, I –"
"- just had to go out to lunch with Tonks? Fuck, Remus, fuck!"
Remus was pressed into the wall and pressed into Sirius, so overwhelmingly covered in Sirius that his very breath rushed out of his lungs, his rib cage crying out in protest at the sudden force of pressure, unmovable. Breathe, breathe, breathe…stop.
Sirius' forehead rested heavily on Remus' collarbone, sweaty skin digging painfully. Ghosts of breath flew in unsteady patterns of rhythm, stimulating every cell on Remus upper torso, his nerves electrifying and quivering in anticipation. Remus was familiar with this emotion. He remembered it like his first transformation, the spine-breaking, soul-shredding feeling of being ripped and sewn together at the same time. It was his favourite companion in school, when Sirius sat just too close to James in the Common Room, or the rustling of sheets behind closed curtains in the dorm were too foreign to belong to just one. Even at the wedding dear God the wedding the way he looked the way they looked the way she understood even at the wedding so why not now is it still now. Remus also knew that Sirius was becoming familiar with this emotion too.
"Please, Remus." Please don't do this anymore. An artist's gentle stroke of lips swayed across the skin of Remus' neck.
"Remus, Remus." I'm sorry.
Slowly the shackles fell, much like the words, the dishes, the stability. Remus grasped Sirius' rough hands, wet with blood and something too slippery to hold, to keep. He held on anyway and brought them gingerly to his mouth. Coldness painted his face, the swell of his lips.
"Oh, Remus." A sigh - I love you.
Black eyes met brown, and fumbling fingers intertwined. Intimate. Sirius leaned forward, foreheads embracing and noses touching. They breathed into each other, not blinking. Remus vaguely recalls this as remission.
"Remus…" Please don't leave me.
Decadence would commence soon, Remus knew. Nonetheless, he pushed forward and leaned, holding onto whatever wind he may. Lips and hands and lips and breath. The broken pieces framed around them like a mosaic puzzle piece.
"I won't leave." If you stop leaving.
And Remus breathed.
Author's Notes: I actually haven't written in quite a while, so take this as a form of mental regurgitation. XD Either way, I hope it was enjoyable and not too confusing! All comments would be appreciated; critically-constructive comments receive heart-shaped cookies. Flames will be distinguished with ignorance and a smile. Have a fantastic day, everyone! 8)