the_debt_of_time

letter to the ground roughly, bringing his hands up to cover his face in an effort to hide the surfacing anger,
shame, and bitterness.
James sighed in frustration on his behalf. He picked up the letter from the ground, reading it aloud
when Remus made no movement to stop him from doing so. "I can only hope that you wait until
you're of age to maul and kill the poor girl, that way when you're arrested and sentenced to
Azkaban or worse, I will no longer be held accountable for your actions."
James clenched his fists, crumpling the edges of the parchment in his hands. Sirius was pacing
angrily. Peter was shaking, and Lily stood behind him, patting his shoulder. Mia was affectionately running
her fingers through his hair, and the simple action reassured Remus that she did not fear him in the slightest.
"Since you can't seem to control your actions, you are not welcomed home for
Christmas. It's something that pains me greatly to say, as your mother has not been well
for some time."
"Looks like another Potter Christmas," Sirius suggested with a tense smile, trying to break the
foul mood that had cursed the common room.
Remus had forced his father's words out of his head and channelled his anger into
a purpose: proving that he was not the monster his father thought he was. Every smile,
laugh, and pleasure-filled moan Mia gave because of him fuelled Remus's desire to prove
he was more man than beast—despite how often he found himself growling in her ear each
and every time he buried his cock inside her.
"Thank Merlin for Quidditch." Mia laughed through panting breaths as Remus
found his rhythm in slow, deep strokes, smiling down at her.
"Not quite the poetry I was hoping for," he teased as he leant down and nipped her
earlobe before dragging moist lips down the skin of her neck. With one hand bracing
himself against the headboard, he used the other to hike her leg over his hip, allowing him
to thrust deeper inside of her as his fingers gripped at her soft curves.
"Remus," Mia moaned at the new angle, and his chest rumbled in amusement at her
whimpers and cries. She grinned and laughed as well, swatting at his arm lightly.
"You're supposed to be the poet."
"If you insist." He kissed at her pulse point, growing more excited when he felt it
beat against his lips. "'Your whole body,'" he said on a groan, "'has a fullness or a gentleness
destined for me.'" Kissing along her throat, he breathed in the scent of honey and
rainstorm.