Midnight's Wood

Dark is midnight’s wood, as clouds drift across the black sky and kiss the moon. But a man stands brooding in the shadows of a great elm, kicking leaves in his impatience. A shadow passes across his own face as he waits, silently.

But then in the darkness, another figure materialises. His gait is anxious as he hurries towards the other man, who still leans up against the tree, stiff and unmoving.

“Aren’t you going to speak to me?” asks the second man.

The first man’s black eyes glower into the night. Concern flickers in the second man’s eyes, and he raises a hand to the first man’s check. He snaps it away with a snarl.

“Sirius-”

“You’re late.”

The accusation hangs in the air, moodily, and with a small note of hurt in his voice.

“It couldn’t be helped,” says Remus, quietly.

Moments pass. Eventually, Sirius straightens up, and without preamble, they embrace in the dark, hidden, with only the moon as witness. With clouds obscuring the great orb, the wood is almost pitch-black, save for the light in their eyes. But that does not matter. They know each other so well; ever movement, every breath, every inch of their bodies, that this blindness does not deter them. If anything, it only prolongs their moment with slow and careful movements.

So with the hunger and anger of a prolonged parting, the forest floor becomes a blur. With biting and scratching in their strange animalism, they take each other, disturbing the silence of the wood and running fingers over every longing inch of flesh.
The clouds shift, and moonlight strikes the clearing, as both men howl passion towards the goddess of the moon.