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[sociopolitically]

I TOLD MYSELF, FOR SURE, LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL

maybe for you who live like you're in a dream,
dressed in gold and silk

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@corautnil.

[sociopolitically]

[ 💬 meant Sirius was thinking about it. The 50 Euro meant he wanted to be found, eventually, when he was done thinking. So, Claude drops by their usual place on the way back from uni, picks up 50 Euro worth of sausages (which is a lot of sausages, he might add) and makes his way to the Bois de Boulogne, the forest he knows is the other man's favoured spot when he isn't feeling in a social mood - that rare time - and also the place he picked to show Claude his dog form. Magic, again. Always magic.

Claude approaches casually, knowing Sirius can no doubt smell what he's bringing, and sits down cross-legged on the forest floor, not caring about dirtying his clothes. Beginning to unwrap the sausages, he jokes: ]

We can't keep meeting this way.

[corautnil]

( there's something to be said about how well claude reads him, how much it too reminds him of remus. it's enough that sirius considers remaining hidden for at least another few minutes to add to the mystery, but it's very difficult to ignore the hungry clench if his stomach, especially as a dog. the fact he can smell a lot of sausages doesn't help, both because the hound hungers and also because sirius had meant for claude to get something for himself too and now feels guilty for turning whatever claude's breakfast could have been into the mountain of sausages that have replaced it.

he's silent as he passes through the nearby trees to approach, remembering to make more sound as he stalks closer to keep from starting claude. the hulking beast remains fit in this form, a mass of muscle the size of a small bear, and so it is that sirius also knows just how frightening that can be.

walking into view, the black dog pauses, nose twitching appreciatively at the scent of salt and meat. but rather than tuck straight in, his paws guide him to a seat beside claude, and he offers a hot, wet, sloppy lap against his friend's cheek in gratitude. while he does tend toward this form when he wants to avoid feeling or thinking too much, for however dull the mind of a dog is, sirius still maintains willful control when he wishes to. )

[sociopolitically]

[ He isn't startled. Mainly, that's Sirius' doing, moving through the mass of dead leaves and broken branches littering the forest floor noisily enough that he hears him approach after a little while. He could have bought a whole plate of food for himself and still have had enough money for some sausages, but he felt bad about insisting so vehemently on talking Sirius through the thing with his friend. Sometimes, Claude, he can hear Yves say at the back of his mind, people just want a fucking hug and not to talk about shit.

Of course, Claude knows, but words are his tools and his weapons both. It's the only way he knows how to resolve anything and secondarily - the only way he truly believes in.

But Sirius appears finally and sits his bum down next to him, licking him in the face like, all forgiven or sorry about that or both, and they can share that sentiment, right? They can both feel a little bad and thereby, show how much they actually care. It's nice. He huffs out a breath and wipes his cheek once the dog draws away. ]

Yeah, me too, my friend. Me too. Here. [ Holding out a sausage for him on flat palm, he adds, teasingly. ] Forgive me for not licking you back.

[corautnil]

( sirius certainly means more of the latter, always plenty sorry after a good sulk, but with his upbringing, he'd never quite learned how to process the guilt better, only thinking of it as mark against him that anyone might then use to hurt him with. it's worse, with friends, the guilt. for however defiant and pompously spoiled he can be, he doesn't want to lose anyone he feels is important. and claude surely is important, a lifeline in another country.

first giving the sausage a sniff — because it certainly smells like the best damn thing in the world right now and the dog salivates from the prospect — he offers another big, sloppy lick against claude's cheek before bowing his head and snatching up the sausage. It's gone within a few quick snaps of his jaw, so quickly one could even wonder if he bothered chewing. )

@corautnil.

[sociopolitically]

1. i don't need romance, i need a cheese board.

2. there is a time and a place for ass-grabbing and that was not it.

3. fuck morning classes. fuck early work. fuck anything in the morning that doesn't involve sleep, sex or bacon.

4. isn't it sad that we can reminisce about our childhood but we cant remember shit we did last month?

5. there's a drunk guy arguing with a goose in the parking lot.

wildcard.

1

[corautnil]

speaking my language, gorgeous

[sociopolitically]

just saying.
most of these cheeses will still be alive in some form or another long after any romance i could find has died.

this is me, being forward-looking.

[corautnil]

sometimes I forget how much of a pessimist you are...

I disagree, though. I know you'll find someone good, someday. we're still young and beautiful. that's plenty enough reason for anyone to get one board.

2

[corautnil]

saying "fuck you" doesn't always mean they're not interested!

[sociopolitically]

maybe, but it definitely means they're not interested in you grabbing their ass.

[corautnil]

well, I strongly disagree, cause I've definitely said it and meant it before. I'm sure others have, too.

3

[corautnil]

lucky for you I've just made a plateful of bacon.

and now I've unlocked the door for you. 😉

1/2

[sociopolitically]

don't gobble down the bacon before i can have some.

2/2

[sociopolitically]

[ They live streets apart which used to be infuriating, but now is mostly practical. Each their own apartment, rich, luxurious, you know, that neighbourhood of Paris. After receiving Sirius' text, Claude shrugs into the first, the best t-shirt he can find, already in a pair of tight-fitting jeans, grabbing his empty bag - usually full of books throughout the week - but it's the weekend now. Meaning, he has to ignore his hangover, making his way over to Sirius' place on foot, but that's the least of it.

As promised, the door's unlocked.

And seeing as he's being allowed, Claude enters quietly and heads for the kitchen, the smell of bacon heavy in the air, thick, savory. His stomach growling announces him before he can announce himself. ]

Is it all gone?

[corautnil]

( sirius does well in nibbling on only a single piece as he waits, heart skipping when he hears the door open, the familiar steps of claude as he passes further into the apartment and becomes visible past the half wall marking off the kitchen from the entry. merlin, he's gorgeous, hair a bit rumpled and sulking a bit, likely from a hangover.

the black heir smiles fondly, chewing through his bite and swallowing before gesturing to the plate, still full of bacon, with the remaining half of the bacon strip in his hand. steam rises gently from the freshly cooked nest of bacon, urging claude to partake. )

Just the one taken. ( he waves the piece he holds playfully before taking another small bite. ) I'd never want to deprive you of my meat. ( of course, he winks. )

4

[corautnil]

in my defense, I'm much more high these days than I was as a youth. but also everything that happens these days is much more average and unmemorable compared to being locked in the basement or cruciod.

crucio'd?
crucioed.
no that looks wrong, too.

whatever.

[sociopolitically]

can you tell me what 'crucio' means before i reply to this?

[corautnil]

you already replied, you sod!

it's
well, it's qualified as an Unforgivable curse in the UK. I don't know about what it is here, but it's considered very illegal. the Cruciatus curse is used to torture people. forces excruciating pain on the target. long term exposure can lead to insanity, and I can confirm this to be probably true, if my manic behavior is anything to go by.

5

[corautnil]

is he cute? cause he sounds like my soulmate.

[sociopolitically]

he's at least 50 and wearing an oversized 'i love nyc' t-shirt as some kind of tunic.
luckily it covers most of it.

your soulmate?

@dead_tongue.

[sociopolitically]

[ from here. ]

[ Oh? Flowers.

His face lights up and he takes them with a wide smile, stepping aside to let Iggy in - his big, well-lit living room, open kitchen concept, money views. As promised, he's dressed in the bare minimum, a pair of pyjamas bottoms clinging to his hips, that's it.

There's nothing underneath, by the way. ]

I never really understood why "you shouldn't have" is the polite thing to say. I'm really happy you did and I wouldn't have been without it, so. Thank you.

[ Grabbing a vase off one of his shelves, he heads for the kitchen. All bare back. Muscles tightening and relaxing near his shoulders, upper arms. ]

[dead_tongue]

[Iggy beams, moving to take off his shoes. They're a pair of his good ones, matching the all black ensemble he has on: turtleneck, blazer, slacks. The portrait of a Serious Young Artist.

He follows after Claude, blatantly ogling.]

I thought you might enjoy.

@seemssopleasing.

[sociopolitically]

[ from here. ]

don't think i wanna pick, jamie.
i think i'm taking all of it.

[seemssopleasing]

you have the best plans.
three?

[sociopolitically]

three.