Never Again ... Until Tomorrow
Aug. 29th, 2006 10:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tattooedsirenTitle: Never Again ... Until Tomorrow
Ships: Remus/Hermione
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Say it with me now ~ me ... don't ... own.
Summary: The moon draws him in, even when it’s not full. It is what steals him from the comfort of the bed, from the warmth of her embrace, to the cool night air outside her house.
Authors Notes: The winner of the poll was Remus/Hermione and here is the fic. It turned out a bit different to what I first intended but I think it works well this way. Enjoy!
Never Again ... Until Tomorrow
The moon draws him in, even when it’s not full. It is what steals him from the comfort of the bed, from the warmth of her embrace, to the cool night air outside her house.
Remus sits in silence on her porch, a cup of coffee warming his hands. His back is propped up by the wooden railing and his legs are crossed at the ankle. He can see his breath escape his lips, though he rarely feels the cold, and he can sit under the bright half moon in nothing but boxers and a t-shirt.
He aches for her. She is the reason for his being, she’s his saviour. But he can’t do this to her. He won’t.
He loves her too much to ruin her. And he won’t sit idly by and allow her to wander down his path, he won’t watch as she gives up everything for him.
He leaves the mug on the floor. He softly pads into her bedroom, dressing silently, careful not to wake her. He wants to walk away without looking back. But he can’t. He stands there and watches her sleep for a good five minutes. She sleeps on her stomach, her arms wrapped around her pillow. She looks so peaceful and content and he envies her that. He flirts with danger as he steps forward and crouches beside the bed. He presses a soft kiss to her shoulder, whispers, “Goodbye, Hermione,” and silently creeps from the room.
*
He looks into her eyes as they become one. She arches up under him as he exhales a shallow breath. They move together, so practised and knowledgeable now. And when he comes, it is with her name on his lips.
He collapses atop her, careful not to crush her under his weight. She kisses his neck and shoulder, in no hurry to have him move. He shifts his weight to his forearms, leaning up so he can look at her face. She is beautiful, with bright brown eyes and soft, full lips. She whispers his name as she caresses his cheek and he has the sudden, overwhelming desire to cry. Or laugh. Whichever comes first.
He lies down beside her, resting a hand on her stomach. She makes him feel so many things, things he never thought he could or should feel. And he doesn’t know how to handle that.
His head keeps repeating it. You are no good for her. She deserves better. Leave. But his heart screams in defence. She chose you. She makes you happy. You make her happy. Stay.
He has always listened to his head. He doesn’t know any different. So he leaves.
*
She owls. He doesn’t reply. She apparates to his flat and pounds on the door. He ignores it. She seeks him out through their mutual friends. None of them have heard from him.
It breaks his heart, to be so far from her. The days are torturously long and he feels like he has lost all purpose. Everything he does seems to be echoed in his memories of her.
He doesn’t understand. He was perfectly fine before they got involved. Before a casual dinner between old friends turned into something more and they flooed back to her flat in a flurry of kisses. So how could he not function now?
She owls on a daily basis and he inhales every single word. The letters become shorter, more desperate, more confused. He caresses the paper, the only tangible thing he has to remind him that yes, it did happen. They did happen. And now it’s over.
*
He’s weak. He knows that. But he loves her too much. She has become entwined with his true self and he is a stranger without her.
He knocks on the door and doesn’t even allow her to complete her outcry of shock before his mouth is devouring hers as he kicks the door closed behind them. And she gives in, unquestioningly, as they move as one to her bedroom.
She asks why he left. He tells her. She asks why he came back. He tells her that too.
He is unflinchingly honest. He tells her that this is it for them, that they cannot be and they have been fooling themselves for too long thinking that they could. He tells her that this is their last night together.
She blinks at him, stunned into silence, which he takes for acquiescence. He presses his lips to hers and rises from the bed, dressing in silence. She watches him and attempts to speak several times, but the words always die in her throat.
He wants to walk out without looking back but he can’t do it. He is not yet that low. He hovers in the doorway and turns back to look at her. Their eyes meet and he knows he has to tell her so he mouths, ‘I love you.’ She smiles faintly, whispers, “I love you too,” and he is out the door.
*
He runs his fingertips softly down her bare back. She smiles sleepily and closes her eyes, falling asleep within minutes.
He can’t help but smile at her. She is so complicated and gracious and compelling and real. He can barely remember his life before her, before this amazing creature made him realise he had been sleepwalking through life by waking him with a kiss.
But this cannot be. This has to be the last time.
How can he, someone who claims to love her, let her do this? How can he simply stand by and watch as she loses friends and family for him?
He kisses her head and leaves the warmth of her bed. He dresses in silence and pads out to the kitchen, making himself a hot drink before sitting on the back porch.
He repeats the words over and over in his head. Never again. Never again. Never again.
Never again will he touch her, kiss her, love her. He must be firm in his resolve this time. No matter what, he needs to let her go.
He is surprised by the touch of her hand to his shoulder. He looks up and she is standing behind him, a blanket around her shoulders, hair messy from sleep.
“What are you doing out here in the middle of the night, Remus?” she asks in a tired whisper.
He shakes his head, smiling at her. “Nothing. Just thinking.”
“Come back to bed.”
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
She nods and he presses his lips to her hand. She turns on her heels and softly walks back inside.
He runs a hand through shaggy locks, staring up at the bright moon. He looks at it for the longest moment. He is drawn to it with the same intensity that draws him to Hermione and for a moment that thought disturbs him. Gazing at the brilliant moon he remembers his resolve.
Never again.
Never again.
Never again.
He stands from the porch and heads back inside, to Hermione.
Never again.
Until tomorrow.
Ships: Remus/Hermione
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Say it with me now ~ me ... don't ... own.
Summary: The moon draws him in, even when it’s not full. It is what steals him from the comfort of the bed, from the warmth of her embrace, to the cool night air outside her house.
Authors Notes: The winner of the poll was Remus/Hermione and here is the fic. It turned out a bit different to what I first intended but I think it works well this way. Enjoy!
Never Again ... Until Tomorrow
The moon draws him in, even when it’s not full. It is what steals him from the comfort of the bed, from the warmth of her embrace, to the cool night air outside her house.
Remus sits in silence on her porch, a cup of coffee warming his hands. His back is propped up by the wooden railing and his legs are crossed at the ankle. He can see his breath escape his lips, though he rarely feels the cold, and he can sit under the bright half moon in nothing but boxers and a t-shirt.
He aches for her. She is the reason for his being, she’s his saviour. But he can’t do this to her. He won’t.
He loves her too much to ruin her. And he won’t sit idly by and allow her to wander down his path, he won’t watch as she gives up everything for him.
He leaves the mug on the floor. He softly pads into her bedroom, dressing silently, careful not to wake her. He wants to walk away without looking back. But he can’t. He stands there and watches her sleep for a good five minutes. She sleeps on her stomach, her arms wrapped around her pillow. She looks so peaceful and content and he envies her that. He flirts with danger as he steps forward and crouches beside the bed. He presses a soft kiss to her shoulder, whispers, “Goodbye, Hermione,” and silently creeps from the room.
*
He looks into her eyes as they become one. She arches up under him as he exhales a shallow breath. They move together, so practised and knowledgeable now. And when he comes, it is with her name on his lips.
He collapses atop her, careful not to crush her under his weight. She kisses his neck and shoulder, in no hurry to have him move. He shifts his weight to his forearms, leaning up so he can look at her face. She is beautiful, with bright brown eyes and soft, full lips. She whispers his name as she caresses his cheek and he has the sudden, overwhelming desire to cry. Or laugh. Whichever comes first.
He lies down beside her, resting a hand on her stomach. She makes him feel so many things, things he never thought he could or should feel. And he doesn’t know how to handle that.
His head keeps repeating it. You are no good for her. She deserves better. Leave. But his heart screams in defence. She chose you. She makes you happy. You make her happy. Stay.
He has always listened to his head. He doesn’t know any different. So he leaves.
*
She owls. He doesn’t reply. She apparates to his flat and pounds on the door. He ignores it. She seeks him out through their mutual friends. None of them have heard from him.
It breaks his heart, to be so far from her. The days are torturously long and he feels like he has lost all purpose. Everything he does seems to be echoed in his memories of her.
He doesn’t understand. He was perfectly fine before they got involved. Before a casual dinner between old friends turned into something more and they flooed back to her flat in a flurry of kisses. So how could he not function now?
She owls on a daily basis and he inhales every single word. The letters become shorter, more desperate, more confused. He caresses the paper, the only tangible thing he has to remind him that yes, it did happen. They did happen. And now it’s over.
*
He’s weak. He knows that. But he loves her too much. She has become entwined with his true self and he is a stranger without her.
He knocks on the door and doesn’t even allow her to complete her outcry of shock before his mouth is devouring hers as he kicks the door closed behind them. And she gives in, unquestioningly, as they move as one to her bedroom.
She asks why he left. He tells her. She asks why he came back. He tells her that too.
He is unflinchingly honest. He tells her that this is it for them, that they cannot be and they have been fooling themselves for too long thinking that they could. He tells her that this is their last night together.
She blinks at him, stunned into silence, which he takes for acquiescence. He presses his lips to hers and rises from the bed, dressing in silence. She watches him and attempts to speak several times, but the words always die in her throat.
He wants to walk out without looking back but he can’t do it. He is not yet that low. He hovers in the doorway and turns back to look at her. Their eyes meet and he knows he has to tell her so he mouths, ‘I love you.’ She smiles faintly, whispers, “I love you too,” and he is out the door.
*
He runs his fingertips softly down her bare back. She smiles sleepily and closes her eyes, falling asleep within minutes.
He can’t help but smile at her. She is so complicated and gracious and compelling and real. He can barely remember his life before her, before this amazing creature made him realise he had been sleepwalking through life by waking him with a kiss.
But this cannot be. This has to be the last time.
How can he, someone who claims to love her, let her do this? How can he simply stand by and watch as she loses friends and family for him?
He kisses her head and leaves the warmth of her bed. He dresses in silence and pads out to the kitchen, making himself a hot drink before sitting on the back porch.
He repeats the words over and over in his head. Never again. Never again. Never again.
Never again will he touch her, kiss her, love her. He must be firm in his resolve this time. No matter what, he needs to let her go.
He is surprised by the touch of her hand to his shoulder. He looks up and she is standing behind him, a blanket around her shoulders, hair messy from sleep.
“What are you doing out here in the middle of the night, Remus?” she asks in a tired whisper.
He shakes his head, smiling at her. “Nothing. Just thinking.”
“Come back to bed.”
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
She nods and he presses his lips to her hand. She turns on her heels and softly walks back inside.
He runs a hand through shaggy locks, staring up at the bright moon. He looks at it for the longest moment. He is drawn to it with the same intensity that draws him to Hermione and for a moment that thought disturbs him. Gazing at the brilliant moon he remembers his resolve.
Never again.
Never again.
Never again.
He stands from the porch and heads back inside, to Hermione.
Never again.
Until tomorrow.
