Disclaimer;; J.K. Rowling owns these characters. They are not mine. I do not own them.
AN;; these things always look longer in Word.....
History of Magic
Remus
I can still smell bread and butter on his breath, mingling with the sweet pumpkin juice he dislikes but drinks anyways, and even the bit of peppermint left over from his toothpaste this morning. That was nearly three hours ago. I can smell his hair, freshly washed this morning, the clean scent of soap mixing with his natural musky smell deliciously.
I smell these things because it is all I can own of Sirius Black.
He sits next to me in class, drawing on his parchment rather than listen to Professor Binns and take notes. Black hair falls like silk into his storm grey eyes, drifting over his rugged features and stubble lined jaw. His breath causes his too long hair to flutter as he sighs, obviously bored. He licks his lips and I am caught in the motion, wishing that was my tongue or my lips he was caressing. The action is simple, innocent even, and yet I am caught up in it like a fierce wind. His gaze turns to me and I am caught like a child taking one too many sweets. A smirk breaks his face and I am trapped, staring at his mischievous glittering eyes as he licks his lips slowly again, throwing in as much seduction as he can. I feel myself leaning forward ever so slightly but I force myself to stop.
Sirius leans towards me now, the space between us closing far too rapidly than appropriate. His tempter's grin is too much for me and my mind swirls with thoughts worthy of one of Sirius' dirty magazines. I clench my hands, quill stabbing my sweating flesh, willing myself to not kiss my best mate of seven years in the middle of class, willing myself to not weave my fingers into his hair and pull him close and drown in his taste and scent. I want to see him writhe in pleasure underneath my ministrations. Now, though, all I see is the laughter, confusion and perhaps lust in his eyes. He has known for several months now that I fancy him. He does not know that I have allowed it to become borderline obsession.
Class ends abruptly, startling us both from our tense world. I draw a deep breath, cradling my silent fancies against my heart before collecting my material things. Perhaps I am a little too dramatic about the entire situation. Perhaps not. Every breath I take that is not tainted with his scent stings like rejection. Every sight of him and a girl burns like phoenix fire.
It hurts worse because I know that he fancies me back.