Disclaimer: I don't own anything here. Really. I swear. Title by thought up by sprky007. Not betaed. Not proof-read. Written in fifteen minutes out of sheer boredom. Meep. You have my sympathies with this.
Summary (which you'll definitely need): Sirius and Remus are sitting out under a tree. Remus is reading aloud to Sirius. Ends in a kiss. A pure, fluffy G.
Heat
by hilarity
It is hot.
They sit out in the yard; together. One tawny head bent low over an open book; the pages browned and crinkled, as if extracted from burning flames, leaving marks like charcoal on long, delicate fingers as the words presented there are gently coaxed out. These are words unused to being exposed to the light, and they wither away on the tongue as if frightened.
One raven head leans languidly against the shoulder of the one moulding the words. His back is awkwardly dependent on the rough skin of the tree for secondary support as he listens with open ears and wide eyes to these raw and untouched words. There is little motivation to move because that tawny head letting the words escape is entrancing him with an urgency he'd not ever before felt, and he can see the words play and dance through the humidity of the noonday air.
He reaches out to touch them, but finds contact with warm skin; skin coated in a sheen of sweat and glowing both pale and pink, as if unable to decide upon which to choose and simply too fatigued to fight between the two. Both were oddly appropriate.
Pink dominates as the hand lingers, fingers gently brushing away glistening trail of sweat from the tawny-shielded temple. The words linger as well, hanging just out of reach as a gasp of the heated air halts them in mid-formation.
A desperate hand clutches to another desperate hand, each trembling and still lethargic from the stale, sluggish heat enveloping them, pushing them closer together. Faces are now as pink as the lips which have stopped the mantra of words and settled for a mantra of more lips. They are oblivious to everything except for the heat, which has now morphed into something new; something much less the result of the lethargy that has permeated everything else.
There was a book whose words were few and never read. Remus had been reading it. Sirius had been listening.
The book was forgotten.