Disclaimer;;
I am not J.K. Rowling. I am just borrowing her characters to play with and promise to put them back when done.
Warnings;;
Cursing, drinking and a bit of ooc-ness
5. Seeking Solace
The scent of brandy tainted the air, thick and cloying. Bottles littered the floor of the flat, clinking together slowly as sock covered feet shuffled through them. Pillows sagged against the coffee table, staring mournfully at the couch some distance away. The once neat and square blanket now draped from the back of the couch, trailing against the floor like a pool of tepid water. Agony and melancholy was writ through every face of the London flat, anger having sunk and twisted into depression, disbelief and grief.
The man sunk onto his couch, ignoring the sloshing protest of the brandy bottle as it slipped from its container and stained his hand and shirt. He sat, rigid and hard despite the grip the brandy and previous fire whiskey had upon mind, body, and soul. Stubble coated his jaw, his shaggy hair knotted and twisted, falling over his face carelessly. Grief and drunkenness clouded his eyes as the man sunk lower onto the couch, the brandy spilling further upon his clothing as he lay down. He sighed, the breath twisting into a soft snarl as he rolled onto his side, cradling the alcohol within his arms.
A sharp rap startled his senses, making him jerk from the doze he had sunk into. The man moaned, shifting and ignoring the disturbance. Another rap on the door made him grumble and climb to his feet. The brandy bottle had long ago slipped from his fingers to the floor, empty and joining the multitude of other glass bottles on the floor. A third rap made the man call out a 'fuck you, bastard', his voice hoarse and raspy, grating on his ears as if he had shoved a knife into them.
"What the…the bloody hell do y-you want…want?"
His speech was slurred, stumbling past chapped, brandy stained lips to greet a disgustedly sober Animagi as he opened the door. Black's storm grey eyes seemed to cut through him and Lupin couldn't bear having them on him anymore. He left the door open and returned to the couch, tugging a corner of the blanket so that it draped over him instead. He frowned in the darkness, lips twisting into a frown as he listened to his lover close the flat door and make his way in.
"Remus."
He could sense Sirius hovering over him; smell his shampoo, the bacon and eggs the man had consumed for breakfast. Lust suddenly stirred in his loins but he rolled over, asking and allowing the brandy to devour his thoughts. Hands drifted over his blanket clad shoulder and the couch sank beneath him as Sirius sat down. The blanket slipped away from bloodshot eyes and he stared at the cushions of the couch before allowing himself to be cradled like a doll. He stared at Sirius' face, just now noticing the man's red rimmed eyes; his own stubble lined jaw and tangled hair. Grief seemed to take each person in a very different way.
They shifted and moved, seeking comfort, solace, in each other's warmth, scent, breath. Remus found himself sometime later, dozing, head curled on Sirius' chest, listening to the other's heartbeat. A leg was thrown over his hip and arms curled around his shoulders. He wished he had another bottle of brandy. The comforting, delicious fog was beginning to wear off of him. He didn't know what to do. Remus hadn't a clue as to how to deal with the open wound in his heart.
How does one deal with the loss of loved ones? Of life? Of friends? How can you deal with a wound cut with a silver knife, tainted with salt and poison? How do you deal with a wound meant to burn for all eternity?
Is it even possible?
He whispered something, voice as hoarse and ragged as ever, causing his lover to shift under him. Remus blinked, realizing the other had managed to fall asleep in the grief stricken flat, despite the taint of brandy and fire whiskey in the air. The brown haired man sighed, staring at the exposed brick wall, dark eyes seeing everything and nothing. He wondered if this was supposed to be his comfort: a lover of ten plus years and a bottle of brandy. What a fucking unfair trade. Grief for…for this? He clenched his eyes shut, long fingers clutching at Sirius' shirt, the material bunching easily within his grip. A whimper slipped from his throat, animal and feral, as the tears came for the first time in two days.
Merlin, save us all.
