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hp fic: Thicker Than Water
Title: Thicker Than Water
Pairing: Sirius/Regulus, Sirius/Remus
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~6,900
Warnings: Angst, dubious consent.
Summary: Sirius can't have what he wants and doesn't know what he has.
A/N: For![[personal profile]](https://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=88)
moshes, on the occasion of her birthday.
Thicker Than Water
I.
Sirius likes to watch Regulus stroke himself, watch Regulus wrap his long, pale fingers around his cock and pull, his curled hand sliding up and down and up and down, slowly at first, like the steady tick of a clock, then faster, erratic and quick like the pounding of Sirius' heart.
It's dark in Regulus' bed with the drapes drawn, the only light a hurried and halfhearted Lumos glowing from the tip of a discarded wand. The light is weak, casting strange shadows over Regulus' body, and it's a sickly yellow, but it makes Regulus' fair skin shine like gold.
Regulus is propped up against the headboard, his head tilted back, long legs spread wide, giving Sirius a perfect view. Sirius is torn, unsure of what he wants to look at more, his eyes darting between the lazy pleasure written across Regulus' face and the hand fisting his cock.
In this light, Regulus looks exactly like Sirius, the subtle differences between them muted by the shadows. It's like watching himself, yet different. Better. And it's wrong, so wrong, dirty and filthy and a hundred other things, but Sirius doesn't care because Regulus is his.
It was an accident the first time; they'd had too much to drink while hiding in the attic when their mother was on one of her tirades. And when it was over, after they'd both come, panting into each other's mouths and spilling over each other's hands, they swore it would never happen again. But it did, again and again and again, each time Regulus crept into Sirius' bed because he couldn't sleep, every time Regulus sneaked downstairs when Sirius was locked in the basement.
Regulus makes a small, soft noise, and Sirius knows he's close, knows by the way Regulus' hips are rocking up to meet his hand and the way his teeth are pulling at his lower lip. Sirius moves, crawling across the bed like a cat, and when Sirius bats Regulus' jerking hand away from his cock Regulus stiffens and whines.
He wants to take that cock in his mouth, wants to run his lips and tongue over that hot, hard length until Regulus moans and thrusts and pulls on his hair. But even more, he wants to be in Regulus, wants to bury himself deep inside Regulus. Sirius wants to claim him, so no one else can have him; not Snape, who Sirius has seen looking at him, or Rosier, who Sirius has seen talking to him, or their mother, who is trying take Regulus away, trying to make him hate Sirius by poisoning his mind.
Sirius pauses when he slides inside, trying to anchor himself, trying to catch his breath, because Regulus is too hot too tight too much and Sirius is afraid he will come if he so much as blinks. But Regulus arches, rocking up against him, mouthing a wet trail along his jaw, so Sirius kisses him, his tongue plunging deep into his brother's mouth, and moves.
And Sirius thrusts, again and again, lips wandering his brother's neck and throat, fingers sliding up to tease over nipples as he pushes into Regulus' body. Regulus is shifting under him fitfully, straining for release, his cock throbbing hot and hard between their bodies, but when Regulus reaches down to touch himself Sirius stops him, catching Regulus' wrists and pinning them over his head.
He wants to make Regulus come, wants Regulus to come because of him, wants Regulus to come on his cock.
Sirius tells Regulus this, whispers it hoarse and low in his ear, and with one more thrust Regulus is there, coming hard and thick on himself, on Sirius, and Sirius follows, growling as Regulus' tightening, shuddering body tips him over the edge.
He lingers for a moment, his face buried in his brother's neck, his lips ghosting over soft skin. He doesn't want to leave, he wants to curl up next to Regulus and sleep, but he can't, he can't get caught down here, so he pulls James' Invisibility Cloak over his head and slips out the door.
II.
Remus grunts as he's pushed back against the shelving; the wood is hard, and is as solid and unmoving as a stone wall. The horizontal slats press into his skin, one against his shoulders, one across the middle of his back, another digging into the curve of his arse.
Hands pull open his robes, deftly parting the heavy material, and Remus starts, gasping as they slip under his jumper. Strong fingers move over his skin with touches that are insistent and sure, smoothing over his back and sides, mapping out his scars, each brush of those fingertips sending pulses of heat through Remus' body.
He tries to think, tries to understand, but his mind feels fevered and sluggish and refuses to work. There is no rhyme or reason to this, it doesn't make sense, there is no explanation for how he went from waiting outside Scrivenshaft's while Sirius argued with his brother to being shoved up against the shelves in a back room at Honeydukes with Sirius' tongue in his mouth.
Sirius' lips leave his, sliding over his jaw, kissing a hot, wet trail across his throat, sucking at the place where Remus' neck curves into his shoulder. He leans into Remus, teeth grazing over spit-slick skin, his cock pushing against Remus' hip, and Remus decides the hows and whys aren't that important.
He's been in love with Sirius as long as he can remember, before he really understood what love was, when all he knew was something about Sirius made his stomach knot and chest go tight and his skin flush hot and cold.
It's not something Remus can explain; Sirius is just Sirius, reckless and mercurial and loyal, long black hair and storm-gray eyes that creep into Remus' dreams. Remus has always tried his best to ignore it, because he never thought anything would come of it.
But Sirius is here; Sirius is kissing him, his tongue teasing over Remus' lips, sneaking into Remus' mouth like a thief and stroking hot and slippery against Remus' own. And Sirius is hard, hard because of him, his cock rubbing against Remus' through their clothes every time Sirius moves.
Remus knows there is a catch to this, a trick, some if or and or but that will shatter his heart when he hears it, but he shoves that thought away, buries it under the feel of Sirius' hands on his body and Sirius' lips against his own, because this with Sirius is one of the few things he's ever truly wanted.
The air is thick with the scent of sweets; chocolate and cherries, sugar and vanilla, cinnamon and coconut and mint, a confusing tangle, and heavy in such an enclosed space. But underneath it, Remus can smell Sirius, soap and sweat and skin, and it's familiar, he's smelled it every day for nearly six years, but it's different now, because Sirius is so close, because his nose is in Sirius' hair and his mouth is on Sirius' neck.
He stills when Sirius' hand finds its way inside his trousers, the feel of Sirius' fingers curling around his cock causing what's left of his brain to seize up and freeze. Sirius doesn't stop, doesn't pull away or comment; he coaxes instead, jolting Remus into motion by sucking Remus' tongue into his mouth, by drawing down his own zip and wrapping Remus' hand around his cock.
Sirius growls when Remus starts to stroke, a low rumbling sound; it's wild and dangerous like everything else about Sirius and it makes Remus' cock ache. Remus' free hand clutches at Sirius, digging into his shoulder, because he wants Sirius closer, but Sirius is already there, thrusting into the circle of Remus' fingers in time with the hand fisting Remus' cock.
And Sirius is coming, hard and wet in Remus' hand, shuddering against him, whispering his name against Remus' neck, not Remus but Moony, and that's all it takes for Remus to snap, spurting long and hard over Sirius' fingers.
When Remus can breathe again, he opens his eyes and Sirius is looking at him, studying him with wide gray eyes and a shocked, open mouth. Remus watches Sirius for a long, uncomfortable moment, the icy chill of horror quickly replacing the lazy thrum of release, because he knows this is where things become awkward and strange, this is where Sirius makes excuses and this is where Sirius regrets.
He tries to speak, tries to get one word in before Sirius completely destroys him, but nothing comes out when he opens his mouth, a thousand different things coming to rest in the back of his throat. Sirius is still staring at him, still looking at Remus like he's never seen him before in his life, then something passes over his face, a flash in his eyes Remus can't read.
Before Remus can ask, Sirius pulls him close and kisses him again.
III.
A House banner hangs behind the Slytherin table, fine threads depicting a serpent on green that shimmers in the hovering candlelight. It hangs on the wall directly across from Sirius, mocking him, framing his brother in a triumphant swirl of emerald and silver.
It's the Sorting; the first day of the school term and the first time Sirius has seen Regulus since he left for the Potter's, since the night Regulus looked him in the eye in the entryway of Grimmauld Place and chose their mother's side.
He had asked Regulus to come with him, he had pleaded and begged, he had shouted and raged, and when all else failed Sirius had tried to force him. But Regulus had refused, shrugging Sirius off with a hex he had learned from Sirius when he was ten, telling Sirius he would not be disowned and dishonored just because Sirius thought his friends were more important than family.
Regulus didn't write Sirius once in those two months, not a single solitary word, and he returned all of Sirius owls, sending them back to the Potter's unopened.
And now, sitting in the same room as Sirius, sitting just across the Great Hall, Regulus won't even look in his direction.
At the front of the Great Hall Dumbledore is speaking, his blue eyes bright behind his spectacles, his voice echoing off the walls. It's the same speech he's given every year; others are laughing and clapping appreciatively, but Sirius doesn't hear a word of it. He doesn't hear McGonagall announce the Sorting, doesn't see the first years scramble into a line, doesn't notice when the Sorting Hat begins to sing.
His attention is wholly on Regulus, Regulus who is facing him, with Narcissa and Bellatrix on one side and Parkinson and Rosier on the other, Regulus who won't even glance in his direction. Sirius watches him, his blood boiling, anger knotting hot and tight in his chest as Regulus smiles at Rosier and Bellatrix whispers in his ear.
Bellatrix looks over at Sirius and smiles, a sickly twist of her perfect lips that doesn't reach her eyes. She holds Sirius' gaze as she leans into Regulus again, whispering to him, poisoning his mind just the way his mother does, arching a delicate eyebrow at Sirius as she lays her hand on Regulus' arm.
His world narrows to Bellatrix' hand, shrinking down to her slim fingers on Regulus' wrist, and Sirius suddenly feels sick. His stomach sours and knots at the thought of it, at the thought of Bellatrix touching what belongs to him.
Sirius knows Bellatrix all too well; he knows the games she plays and the kind of webs she weaves. She's tried to trap him more than once, and he knows she won't think twice about trying her charms on Regulus. Bellatrix was born a Black and Bellatrix intends to stay one, and Sirius knows Bellatrix thinks one Black brother is just as good as another.
Anger explodes inside him, coursing through him until he is shaking with it, shaking so hard Remus notices and gives him a questioning look. It's all can do not to jump out of his seat and run across the hall. He wants to get his hands on her, wants to wrap his fingers around her pale throat, wants to press and squeeze until she can no longer breathe.
Bellatrix whispers to Regulus again, and she's talking about Sirius because Regulus looks up, looks over at Sirius for the first time all night, his eyes cold and angry and hard. He hold Sirius' gaze for a long moment, his fist opening and closing on the table. Then he looks away and pushes back his chair, muttering something to Rosier before standing and walking out the door.
Sirius has to force himself not to follow, because he can't follow, not just yet, not with every Slytherin at the table watching and expecting and waiting. He grips the edge of the table until his knuckles turn white, trying to calm himself, trying to remember how to breathe, trying to find comfort in Remus' hand resting on his thigh.
Long, slow minutes pass before Sirius whispers to James that he needs a distraction, a distraction James is more than happy to provide. Sirius slips out of the room just as two legs on the Hufflepuff table collapse, and he doesn't look in Remus' amber eyes as he makes his excuses, as he lies to Remus, Remus who loves him with everything he has.
He finds Regulus at the end of the hall, his arms folded across his chest and his face as stony as the wall he is leaning against. He's waiting for Sirius, just as Sirius knew he would be, because Regulus is angry, Regulus is stubborn and petulant and has been listening to their mother's lies, but Regulus can't stay away anymore that Sirius can.
Regulus starts to shout, parroting the same filth about families and Muggles and pureblood pride Sirius has heard one too many times. Sirius ignores it, he doesn't listen, he pushes Regulus back against the wall and silences him with his mouth.
And Regulus doesn't fight him, he doesn't try to push Sirius away, but when he kisses Sirius back there is anger behind it, his tongue pushing its way into Sirius' mouth roughly, and his teeth grazing Sirius' bottom lip hard enough to break the skin. Sirius hisses, but he doesn't pull away, because he's missed Regulus, missed this, missed having his brother's body pressed against his own.
He pushes into Regulus, bringing their cocks together, rubbing himself against Regulus' hardness. He wants their robes off, their clothes off, he wants to get a hand on Regulus' cock, but he can't, not in the middle of a bloody hallway, and there's no time for that, he's already close and it's been too long and it won't take much to tip him over the edge.
Sirius works a hand between them, cupping Regulus through his robes and Regulus comes, his fingers digging into Sirius' arms, his face buried in Sirius' neck, and it's enough, Regulus is shaking and gasping against him and Regulus' breath is hot and heavy against his skin and that's all he needs to spiral out of control.
His orgasm hits him like an Unforgivable, sharp and bright and so violent it almost hurts, so sudden he has to hold on to Regulus to keep from falling, and it's never like this with Remus, never this desperate and needy and raw, Remus never makes him feel like this, like he's falling and drowning and one heartbeat away from dying.
IV.
The dorm is dark when Remus enters, the lamps along the wall have been extinguished and all the candles have been snuffed. The only light is the waxing moon shimmering through the window, and it does little more than carve a silver slice into the deep red carpet.
James is gone, off somewhere with Evans, and Peter is in bed with his drapes drawn tight. Sirius is also in bed, sprawled across the middle with his blankets twisted around his legs, open curtains leaving him on display.
Remus is quiet when he approaches, watching the feeble moonlight play across Sirius' body and the even rise and fall of his chest. He's still as Remus lingers over him. A bit too still. Remus brushes his lips over Sirius' forehead, but doesn't wake him, because he doubts Sirius is really asleep.
He moves to his own bed, swallowing the sigh building in his throat, and when he crawls under the duvet he pulls his own bed hangings closed behind him. He contemplates a charm to keep them from being opened from the outside, but he lets it go, because he knows there is no point.
There is no telling if Sirius even plans to join him tonight, and if he does, a charm certainly won't stop him. Sirius would think it was a fine joke on Remus' part, trying to keep him out, and he would only find a way around it, just as he finds a way around everything.
Remus waits, his blanket pulled around him protectively, his ears straining to pick up every minute sound. Sirius breathing. Peter tossing and turning. The wind outside whispering through the trees. The floor groaning as the ancient castle settles. But he doesn't hear what he expects, he hears only silence, silence, and more silence, and guilt gnaws at him, aching and deep, and he thinks maybe he's wrong.
He hopes.
But it comes eventually; the swish of tossed-back bed linens, the rasp of a zip, the soft padding of carefully placed feet. The footsteps pick a slow, quiet path past Remus' bed to James', then pause. Remus hears the click of a latch, the creak of a trunk being eased open, the dull rustle of heavy fabric, and Remus adds pilfering and theft to his mental list of Sirius' crimes as the dormitory door is opened and closed.
Remus lies there, telling himself Sirius has only gone to the kitchens, telling himself it was really Peter sneaking out, but he knows better, and when he pulls back the hangings enough to rummage through the drawer of his night-stand he doesn't look at Sirius' empty bed.
He fingers the vial thoughtfully for a moment, hesitant to unstopper it, because he knows he shouldn't. It's from Pomfrey, a potion meant to chase away the violent nightmares after the full moon, and it's strong, something a body could easily grow to need. When he finally opens it he compromises with himself, taking just a small sip, enough to let the sour taste spread over his tongue, enough to make him drowsy and ease the fitful pounding of his heart.
He wakes to the bed creaking and the mattress dipping, to a warm weight settling behind him and an arm curling around him. Remus knows it's Sirius, even though he's groggy and confused, and the near-darkness visible through the tiny crack in the drapes says it is well past the middle of the night.
Remus' mind rouses, but his body feels heavy and leaden. The potion is strong even in small doses, meant to keep a person asleep for several hours, and when he tries to shift away from Sirius his limbs are clumsy and refuse to cooperate.
Sirius' lips are moving along the back of his neck, hot and wet, and a bit muzzy, as if he wants Remus to think he's just woken up. Remus mumbles, a protest, a complaint, but his tongue is lazy and thick with both the potion and sleep.
Sirius smells wrong, smells stale and damp, like dark places and things that have been left underground. He smells like dungeons and potions and Slytherin, and a weight settles in Remus' stomach, heavy and cold, because he knows his suspicions are correct.
Remus has seen the heated glances and intense stares between them, has seen the longing looks and the notes passed in a way Remus is sure was meant to be discreet. But he's continually ignored it, burying it in the back of his mind, because it was too ridiculous to be true, that of all the people Sirius could sneak around with, he'd choose to do it with his brother.
He mumbles again, louder, trying to make words come out, trying to make his muscles move, but Sirius ignores it, pressing closer, because it would never occur to Sirius that Remus would want to be left alone. But deep down, Remus doesn't want to be left alone, doesn't want Sirius anywhere else but here, so he relents, he gives in, allowing Sirius' tongue to trace the curve of his ear and Sirius' hand to slip inside his pajamas.
Sirius rocks his hips, his cock hardening against Remus' arse, his lips moving along Remus' skin more purposefully, intently, and Remus feels a sweet, familiar rush of warmth, even though the thought of Sirius naked and sweaty and tangled with his brother makes his stomach knot and his chest ache.
Remus feels his body wake, feels it stir and come alive, as if the heat rushing through him is chasing the potion from his veins. Sirius' hand finds his cock, his strong, clever fingers touching and stroking, reminding Remus how to move, and he does, rocking forward into Sirius' fist and back against the hardness pressed along his arse.
Sirius' movements grow erratic, his hips rubbing against Remus in a stuttering, syncopated rhythm that speaks of release, his hand moving over Remus' cock harder, faster. Then he stills, pushing against Remus and holding, murmuring a hoarse train of nonsense into Remus' hair.
Remus comes slowly, the potion muting it, making it soft and warm, something that washes over him in waves instead of a buildup of sensation that coils tightly and explodes. He is boneless as Sirius rolls him over, pushing him back into the pillows, and Sirius settles over him, brushing kisses over his neck and jaw, his lips lingering over Remus' with the barest flutter of tongue.
And Sirius whispers to him, words Remus isn't sure he means, promises Remus knows he can't keep, things like mine and yours and I love you, things Remus knows he can't believe even if he wants them to be true.
V.
Sirius answers the door wearing nothing but a pair of Remus' pajama bottoms and a scowl, because he can't be bothered with finding a shirt. He does grab his wand; the flat he shares with Remus is in a Muggle district, but living outside the Wizarding World no longer implies saftey, and it hasn't for some time.
He does not expect the person ringing his bell to be his brother.
He's shocked and confused, and stares at Regulus for quite some time before remembering himself and gesturing him inside. He doesn't understand how Regulus found him; the flat is not Unplottable and he and Remus have not yet arranged a Secret Keeper, but very few people outside the Order know where they live, and Sirius' family is certainly not part of that number.
Regulus comes in, but he won't sit when Sirius offers and he waves off Sirius' suggestions of tea and Butterbeer. He even refuses firewhisky, something Sirius has never known him to turn down.
He looks worse for wear; tired, haggard, like he hasn't slept in weeks. Sirius has only seen him a handful of times since he graduated, most recently when he spotted Regulus in Diagon Alley close to six months ago, but the difference between then and now is striking. Regulus is thinner, almost gaunt, and he's pale, shadows hollowing his cheeks and lingering under his eyes.
Sirius wonders what he wants, wonders why his brother is here, why Regulus went to all the trouble of finding out where he lives. Regulus looks like he wants to speak, his face is determined and his jaw is set as if it's a speech he's had planned for some time. But he won't say it, the words seem caught somewhere in his throat, and he just stands there, watching Sirius with blank gray eyes.
Sirius sits, his eyes still fixed on his brother, and his stomach twists, a strange chill creeping over his skin. He thinks of the night he left for the Potter's, and how Regulus had argued with him, how Regulus had shouted about responsibilities and bloodlines in a way that must have made their mother proud. He thinks of every conversation they've had since that night, the same words repeated at different times in different places, and he knows whatever Regulus has to say right now is something he doesn't want to hear.
But Regulus doesn't say anything; he moves in front of Sirius, his gray eyes still empty and hollow as he drops to his knees, and Regulus buries his face in Sirius' lap like he used to do when he was a child, when their mother had been yelling and he wanted comfort but didn't want Sirius to see him cry.
Sirius' hand starts stroking through his brother's hair of its own volition, his fingers slipping through long, black strands so much like his own. He tries to think of something to say or ask, tries to think of something to do, but nothing comes to mind, and he hates himself for letting things fall apart this badly, hates his mother for stealing Regulus away from him.
He feels himself hardening, his cock aware of Regulus' proximity, of Regulus' breath, warm as it ghosts through the thin material of his pajamas. He tries to ignore it, tries to calm his mind and will his cock to behave, but he can't, because Regulus won't let him, because Regulus is rubbing against it, pressing soft kisses along his length that burn through the cotton.
He protests when Regulus tugs at his pajamas; he can't do this, not now, not here, Remus only left to go to the store and could back at any moment. He grumbles and bats at his brother's hands, but it's halfhearted and weak, and he finds himself arching up off the couch so Regulus can yank them down.
Regulus' mouth is hot and wet, a liquid slide of lips and tongue that's fucking perfect, perfect because it's Regulus, because it's been far too long since his brother has touched him like this, since his brother has wanted to be anywhere near him. He lets everything go, forgets about his mother and bloodlines and Remus and the war, forgets about everything but Regulus in front of him on his knees and the slick, delicious heat of Regulus' mouth.
Sirius moans, a low, rumbling sound that is nearly a growl, his fingers tightening in Regulus' hair, twisting and pulling. Regulus' tongue moves over him, hot and wicked, sliding over every inch of him, dragging up along the underside and swirling around the head. Sirius thrusts, wanting more, wanting everything, and Regulus gives it to him, swallowing around Sirius as Sirius fucks his mouth.
Regulus' hands are not still, they slide over him, smoothing over his legs and thighs, his fingers brushing over Sirius' balls and around the base of his cock. Sirius feels one of Regulus' fingers slip inside his mouth, right alongside his cock, and his breath catches, heat pooling in his stomach because he knows what Regulus is going to do.
Then Regulus does it, pushing a finger inside Sirius as he takes Sirius' cock down the back of his throat and everything disappears, everything but the tip of Regulus' finger touching just the right spot and the muscles of Regulus' throat fluttering around his cock and Sirius is coming, coming so hard and fast and thick he can't remember how to breathe.
He pulls Regulus to him, kissing him, sucking on Regulus' lower lip and tasting himself on Regulus' tongue. Regulus kisses Sirius back hard, his tongue dipping into Sirius' mouth roughly, his hands snagging in Sirius' hair.
But Regulus fights when Sirius tries to get his clothes off, his protests sharp and his hands forceful as they pry Sirius' away. Sirius plays Regulus' game for a few moments, but loses his patience and Banishes his brother's clothes with a quick spell and a flick of his wand.
And then he understands.
Regulus twists his arm behind his back just as his clothes disappear, trying to hide it, but Sirius can see it, a hint of darkness on the pale skin of his brother's arm. Regulus' eyes are wide and full of fear when Sirius pulls his arm out in front of him, and he winces, bracing himself as if expects Sirius to yell.
Sirius doesn't, because he cannot find the words, because there are no words. He can only stare at the dark skull and snake marring his brother's arm, at the poison and lies and betrayal branded into his own flesh and blood. He touches it, tracing a finger around the outline, running it over the surface, and he feels sick and nauseous at what his brother has done, but he also feels hate and darkness and malice, coming from it, coming through it, bleeding into him from the barest brush of a fingertip.
He doesn't look in Regulus' eyes when he pushes him down onto the couch, he doesn't want to, he can't bring himself to, can't bring himself to admit that this person he grew up with, this person he loves, this person who looks so much like him is not his brother anymore.
Sirius rests his head on Regulus' shoulder as he coaxes him back to hardness, his eyes closed and his face buried in Regulus' neck. He finds Regulus' arm, that arm and pins it over his head, away from them both, his hand covering as much of the Dark Mark as he can manage.
And when Regulus comes, spilling over Sirius fingers with a small, soft noise, he doesn't watch the way he always used to, and it doesn't mean anything to him at all.
VI.
It's dark when Remus walks out the back door of the shop; the sun has already dipped below the horizon and the waning moon is just starting to rise. It's a nice night, cool but not cold, with a clear sky and bright stars and the barest hint of a breeze.
Remus locks the door of the shop, then turns, dropping a large bag of rubbish into a nearby oversized bin. He glances around as he shuts the lid, and when he sees no one lurking in the shadows he ducks behind the bin and Apparates to the alley behind his flat.
He likes his job well enough; its the first time he's not been paid less because he's a werewolf, the first he hasn't been let go because he needed the full moon off. He's working at a Muggle bookshop, a fact many of the people he went to school with would probably find amusing, but it was easier that way.
Muggles don't have a Werewolf Registry, they don't even believe in werewolves, save for a few nutters no one ever listens to. The lady who owns the bookshop doesn't mind that Remus has to sit with his sick grandmother once a month, she says he's a fine young man for doing it.
Sirius says he doesn't have to work, he says the money his uncle left him is more than enough for both of them. But Remus likes working, likes having a job and money of his own. The pay is modest, but he doesn't mind, he likes not having to depend on anyone, not having to depend on Sirius.
He'd prefer not having the evening shift, sleeping late in the morning is nice enough, but he never gets home until well after dinner. But he supposes it doesn't really matter, he and Sirius probably wouldn't have dinner together even if came home by noon.
Sirius is on the couch, snoring lightly, his legs stretched out and an arm thrown over his eyes. Remus doesn't see a bottle of Firewhisky, but he knows one is there, either tucked in the cushions or under the couch, and Remus is willing to wager it's empty.
Remus doesn't wake him; Sirius will only be in the mood for a fight, if Remus can even rouse him at all. He collects a half-eaten carton of curry from the table as he passes, turns off the lights, and switches off the Muggle teevee that Sirius insisted on buying but has never quite learned how to operate. He debates bringing Sirius a blanket, but decides against, he knows Sirius wouldn't notice if he did.
Remus keeps telling himself it will pass, that Sirius will eventually straighten himself out, that everything will be fine. But it's been close to six months and nothing has changed, Sirius' moods have only grown worse, and Remus has only tossed more firewhisky bottles into the bin.
The bed is cold and empty without Sirius, but Remus almost thinks it's better. He loves Sirius, but he'd rather go to sleep alone than have Sirius with him, drunk and thinking about his brother.
Sirius won't admit it, he's content thinking that Remus is clueless, and if Remus was to mention it he would deny it, he would deny he has a brother, at all. But Remus has heard the Order members whispering, he knows Regulus has joined with You-Know-Who.
Remus isn't sure if knowing makes it any easier to understand. If anything, it makes it harder to swallow.
He hears Sirius coming down the hall, hears the stumbling, uneven steps of someone who has had too much to drink, and when he cracks open one eye he can see Sirius, leaning heavily on the door, his hand resting on the doorknob.
He stills his breathing, trying to keep it slow and even, hoping Sirius will think he is asleep. He doesn't want to argue, he doesn't want to talk, he doesn't want to deal with Sirius at all.
Sirius pauses, cocking his head to the side like he listening, then picks a slow, crooked path towards the bed. He quietly calls Remus' name, waiting a moment before climbing onto the bed, and again as he settles in behind him.
Sirius' hand is gentle as it smoothes over Remus' body, sliding down his arm, tracing the angle of his hip. He moves in close to Remus, pushing against him, pressing soft, wet kisses along his neck. Remus keeps his eyes shut and his breathing even, keeps himself from twisting around to kiss him, from rocking back against him, because as much as he loves Sirius, as much as he loves the feel of Sirius' hands on his body and Sirius' cock hard against his arse, he doesn't want this, not from Sirius and not right now.
Sirius starts to talk, his voice hoarse, his words thick with firewhisky and sleep. He tells Remus he loves him, which Remus doubts, tells him he missed him, which Remus also doubts, and after a long pause and a deep shaky breath, he tells Remus he's sorry.
And that makes Remus angry, turns the slow burn of arousal caused by Sirius' hands into something sharp and fierce, and he rolls, growling, pushing Sirius onto his back, putting Sirius under him.
Sirius is still talking, still trying to placate him, but Remus doesn't want to hear it, so he shoves his tongue in Sirius' mouth and bites down hard on his lip. Sirius hisses, but he doesn't pull away, and when he arches up off the bed he's hard against Remus' hip.
He pulls on Sirius' pajamas so harshly they rip, the material splitting and fraying at the seams, and when he pushes Sirius' legs apart he digs his fingers into Sirius' skin hard enough to bruise. He can't find his wand, he doesn't know where it is and he can't be arsed to look for it. He only gets the spell half right without it, but it doesn't matter because his fingers are already inside.
Sirius isn't ready when Remus enters him, he's still too tight and Remus knows it must be hurting Sirius because it's hurting him, but Sirius is kissing him, Sirius is pulling him closer and rocking against him, Sirius is still fucking telling him he's sorry.
And Remus wants to believe him, and he tells Sirius this with each thrust, but he can't, he knows he can't, he knows that tomorrow he'll go to work and Sirius will drink, he knows that when he comes home tomorrow night nothing will have changed.
He feels Sirius' hand slide between them, feels Sirius wrap his fingers around his cock, and Remus wonders how he's even hard after everything he's had to drink, but he is, and he's coming, warm and sticky onto Remus stomach. His body is still too tight, it clenches around Remus' cock like a vise, and it hurts, pain almost outweighing the pleasure, but he's coming anyway, coming so hard his vision starts to blur around the edges.
Sirius kisses him, long and slow and almost tender, but Remus thinks it is as much of lie as everything he's said, so he pulls away, grabbing a blanket before walking to the couch.
VII.
Sirius' parents are on holiday when Regulus dies, vacationing in one of those places rich people go to escape the cold and wet. When the Ministry's owl returns from Grimmauld Place unopened, it is sent on to Sirius' flat.
He studies the letter for a long time after he opens it, the words not quite sinking in. He reads it over and over and over, until the words start to run together and his body starts to go numb.
Remus is asleep when he leaves, napping off the weariness of his recent transformation on Uncle Alphard's black brocade couch. He doesn't wake Remus, because Remus needs his rest, and he doesn't leave a note, because it isn't Remus' business.
The Ministry official is curt as he speaks with Sirius, his words sharp and clipped, his eyes continually straying to Sirius' arm as if he expects a Dark Mark to be visible under the sleeve of his shirt. Sirius ignores him, he can't find it inside himself to get angry, he just stops listening altogether, and nods silently when the man leads him to a Floo bound for St Mungo's.
The mediwizard is an older woman, with a stern voice and a tightly knotted bun that reminds Sirius vaguely of McGonagall. Her eyes are not suspicious like the Ministry official's, they are filled with pity instead, and Sirius stops looking at her as they make their way to the basement because Sirius doesn't want to see it.
He shivers when the Mediwizard pulls the sheet back, an iciness settling over him that has nothing to do with the chill in the room. Regulus is pale, paler than he ever was in life, and naked, save for white bandage wrapped around his arm, hiding the Dark Mark from view. His body has the smooth, unmarked look of someone murdered by the Killing Curse, but his face is pinched around the eyes and jaw, a tightness that speaks of Cruciatus.
Sirius stares at Regulus, willing him to move, wanting nothing more than for Regulus to open his eyes and breathe. He stares so long the mediwizard clears her throat and tugs lightly on his arm. He takes the parchment she hands him, signing it with the quill and ink she offers, his signature confirming the body is Regulus Black, confirming his brother is dead. He is disowned and dishonored, but he is still a Black, and that is apparently enough for St Mungo's.
Sirius brushes his lips over his brother's forehead as he leaves, because he doesn't have the words to say goodbye.
Ibis & Jacquel is a small shop at the edge of Diagon Alley, a mortuary that has been in business longer than Ollivanders has been making wands. It's a tidy, unassuming building that looks a bit like a house, and Regulus' body is already there when Sirius arrives.
He charges the burial costs to his parents account at Gringotts, but pays for the Cleansing Spell and Keeping Charm out of his pocket. He gives the reedy man behind the counter a little extra to keep quiet about the mark on Regulus' arm.
Remus is still asleep when Sirius gets home, which suits Sirius just fine, because he doesn't want to talk, he doesn't want to think, and he doesn't want to explain. He pours himself a tall firewhisky and writes a letter to his parents. He addresses it to Kreacher so it just won't come straight back, and he tells the owl to leave it on the steps if the house-elf won't accept it.
Sirius doesn't go to Regulus' funeral. When his brother is lowered into the ground, he is in his flat, with his cock in Remus' arse and his teeth in Remus' neck.
Remus, who is not Regulus.
Remus, who will never be Regulus.
Remus, who will just have to be enough.
Pairing: Sirius/Regulus, Sirius/Remus
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~6,900
Warnings: Angst, dubious consent.
Summary: Sirius can't have what he wants and doesn't know what he has.
A/N: For
moshes, on the occasion of her birthday.I.
Sirius likes to watch Regulus stroke himself, watch Regulus wrap his long, pale fingers around his cock and pull, his curled hand sliding up and down and up and down, slowly at first, like the steady tick of a clock, then faster, erratic and quick like the pounding of Sirius' heart.
It's dark in Regulus' bed with the drapes drawn, the only light a hurried and halfhearted Lumos glowing from the tip of a discarded wand. The light is weak, casting strange shadows over Regulus' body, and it's a sickly yellow, but it makes Regulus' fair skin shine like gold.
Regulus is propped up against the headboard, his head tilted back, long legs spread wide, giving Sirius a perfect view. Sirius is torn, unsure of what he wants to look at more, his eyes darting between the lazy pleasure written across Regulus' face and the hand fisting his cock.
In this light, Regulus looks exactly like Sirius, the subtle differences between them muted by the shadows. It's like watching himself, yet different. Better. And it's wrong, so wrong, dirty and filthy and a hundred other things, but Sirius doesn't care because Regulus is his.
It was an accident the first time; they'd had too much to drink while hiding in the attic when their mother was on one of her tirades. And when it was over, after they'd both come, panting into each other's mouths and spilling over each other's hands, they swore it would never happen again. But it did, again and again and again, each time Regulus crept into Sirius' bed because he couldn't sleep, every time Regulus sneaked downstairs when Sirius was locked in the basement.
Regulus makes a small, soft noise, and Sirius knows he's close, knows by the way Regulus' hips are rocking up to meet his hand and the way his teeth are pulling at his lower lip. Sirius moves, crawling across the bed like a cat, and when Sirius bats Regulus' jerking hand away from his cock Regulus stiffens and whines.
He wants to take that cock in his mouth, wants to run his lips and tongue over that hot, hard length until Regulus moans and thrusts and pulls on his hair. But even more, he wants to be in Regulus, wants to bury himself deep inside Regulus. Sirius wants to claim him, so no one else can have him; not Snape, who Sirius has seen looking at him, or Rosier, who Sirius has seen talking to him, or their mother, who is trying take Regulus away, trying to make him hate Sirius by poisoning his mind.
Sirius pauses when he slides inside, trying to anchor himself, trying to catch his breath, because Regulus is too hot too tight too much and Sirius is afraid he will come if he so much as blinks. But Regulus arches, rocking up against him, mouthing a wet trail along his jaw, so Sirius kisses him, his tongue plunging deep into his brother's mouth, and moves.
And Sirius thrusts, again and again, lips wandering his brother's neck and throat, fingers sliding up to tease over nipples as he pushes into Regulus' body. Regulus is shifting under him fitfully, straining for release, his cock throbbing hot and hard between their bodies, but when Regulus reaches down to touch himself Sirius stops him, catching Regulus' wrists and pinning them over his head.
He wants to make Regulus come, wants Regulus to come because of him, wants Regulus to come on his cock.
Sirius tells Regulus this, whispers it hoarse and low in his ear, and with one more thrust Regulus is there, coming hard and thick on himself, on Sirius, and Sirius follows, growling as Regulus' tightening, shuddering body tips him over the edge.
He lingers for a moment, his face buried in his brother's neck, his lips ghosting over soft skin. He doesn't want to leave, he wants to curl up next to Regulus and sleep, but he can't, he can't get caught down here, so he pulls James' Invisibility Cloak over his head and slips out the door.
II.
Remus grunts as he's pushed back against the shelving; the wood is hard, and is as solid and unmoving as a stone wall. The horizontal slats press into his skin, one against his shoulders, one across the middle of his back, another digging into the curve of his arse.
Hands pull open his robes, deftly parting the heavy material, and Remus starts, gasping as they slip under his jumper. Strong fingers move over his skin with touches that are insistent and sure, smoothing over his back and sides, mapping out his scars, each brush of those fingertips sending pulses of heat through Remus' body.
He tries to think, tries to understand, but his mind feels fevered and sluggish and refuses to work. There is no rhyme or reason to this, it doesn't make sense, there is no explanation for how he went from waiting outside Scrivenshaft's while Sirius argued with his brother to being shoved up against the shelves in a back room at Honeydukes with Sirius' tongue in his mouth.
Sirius' lips leave his, sliding over his jaw, kissing a hot, wet trail across his throat, sucking at the place where Remus' neck curves into his shoulder. He leans into Remus, teeth grazing over spit-slick skin, his cock pushing against Remus' hip, and Remus decides the hows and whys aren't that important.
He's been in love with Sirius as long as he can remember, before he really understood what love was, when all he knew was something about Sirius made his stomach knot and chest go tight and his skin flush hot and cold.
It's not something Remus can explain; Sirius is just Sirius, reckless and mercurial and loyal, long black hair and storm-gray eyes that creep into Remus' dreams. Remus has always tried his best to ignore it, because he never thought anything would come of it.
But Sirius is here; Sirius is kissing him, his tongue teasing over Remus' lips, sneaking into Remus' mouth like a thief and stroking hot and slippery against Remus' own. And Sirius is hard, hard because of him, his cock rubbing against Remus' through their clothes every time Sirius moves.
Remus knows there is a catch to this, a trick, some if or and or but that will shatter his heart when he hears it, but he shoves that thought away, buries it under the feel of Sirius' hands on his body and Sirius' lips against his own, because this with Sirius is one of the few things he's ever truly wanted.
The air is thick with the scent of sweets; chocolate and cherries, sugar and vanilla, cinnamon and coconut and mint, a confusing tangle, and heavy in such an enclosed space. But underneath it, Remus can smell Sirius, soap and sweat and skin, and it's familiar, he's smelled it every day for nearly six years, but it's different now, because Sirius is so close, because his nose is in Sirius' hair and his mouth is on Sirius' neck.
He stills when Sirius' hand finds its way inside his trousers, the feel of Sirius' fingers curling around his cock causing what's left of his brain to seize up and freeze. Sirius doesn't stop, doesn't pull away or comment; he coaxes instead, jolting Remus into motion by sucking Remus' tongue into his mouth, by drawing down his own zip and wrapping Remus' hand around his cock.
Sirius growls when Remus starts to stroke, a low rumbling sound; it's wild and dangerous like everything else about Sirius and it makes Remus' cock ache. Remus' free hand clutches at Sirius, digging into his shoulder, because he wants Sirius closer, but Sirius is already there, thrusting into the circle of Remus' fingers in time with the hand fisting Remus' cock.
And Sirius is coming, hard and wet in Remus' hand, shuddering against him, whispering his name against Remus' neck, not Remus but Moony, and that's all it takes for Remus to snap, spurting long and hard over Sirius' fingers.
When Remus can breathe again, he opens his eyes and Sirius is looking at him, studying him with wide gray eyes and a shocked, open mouth. Remus watches Sirius for a long, uncomfortable moment, the icy chill of horror quickly replacing the lazy thrum of release, because he knows this is where things become awkward and strange, this is where Sirius makes excuses and this is where Sirius regrets.
He tries to speak, tries to get one word in before Sirius completely destroys him, but nothing comes out when he opens his mouth, a thousand different things coming to rest in the back of his throat. Sirius is still staring at him, still looking at Remus like he's never seen him before in his life, then something passes over his face, a flash in his eyes Remus can't read.
Before Remus can ask, Sirius pulls him close and kisses him again.
III.
A House banner hangs behind the Slytherin table, fine threads depicting a serpent on green that shimmers in the hovering candlelight. It hangs on the wall directly across from Sirius, mocking him, framing his brother in a triumphant swirl of emerald and silver.
It's the Sorting; the first day of the school term and the first time Sirius has seen Regulus since he left for the Potter's, since the night Regulus looked him in the eye in the entryway of Grimmauld Place and chose their mother's side.
He had asked Regulus to come with him, he had pleaded and begged, he had shouted and raged, and when all else failed Sirius had tried to force him. But Regulus had refused, shrugging Sirius off with a hex he had learned from Sirius when he was ten, telling Sirius he would not be disowned and dishonored just because Sirius thought his friends were more important than family.
Regulus didn't write Sirius once in those two months, not a single solitary word, and he returned all of Sirius owls, sending them back to the Potter's unopened.
And now, sitting in the same room as Sirius, sitting just across the Great Hall, Regulus won't even look in his direction.
At the front of the Great Hall Dumbledore is speaking, his blue eyes bright behind his spectacles, his voice echoing off the walls. It's the same speech he's given every year; others are laughing and clapping appreciatively, but Sirius doesn't hear a word of it. He doesn't hear McGonagall announce the Sorting, doesn't see the first years scramble into a line, doesn't notice when the Sorting Hat begins to sing.
His attention is wholly on Regulus, Regulus who is facing him, with Narcissa and Bellatrix on one side and Parkinson and Rosier on the other, Regulus who won't even glance in his direction. Sirius watches him, his blood boiling, anger knotting hot and tight in his chest as Regulus smiles at Rosier and Bellatrix whispers in his ear.
Bellatrix looks over at Sirius and smiles, a sickly twist of her perfect lips that doesn't reach her eyes. She holds Sirius' gaze as she leans into Regulus again, whispering to him, poisoning his mind just the way his mother does, arching a delicate eyebrow at Sirius as she lays her hand on Regulus' arm.
His world narrows to Bellatrix' hand, shrinking down to her slim fingers on Regulus' wrist, and Sirius suddenly feels sick. His stomach sours and knots at the thought of it, at the thought of Bellatrix touching what belongs to him.
Sirius knows Bellatrix all too well; he knows the games she plays and the kind of webs she weaves. She's tried to trap him more than once, and he knows she won't think twice about trying her charms on Regulus. Bellatrix was born a Black and Bellatrix intends to stay one, and Sirius knows Bellatrix thinks one Black brother is just as good as another.
Anger explodes inside him, coursing through him until he is shaking with it, shaking so hard Remus notices and gives him a questioning look. It's all can do not to jump out of his seat and run across the hall. He wants to get his hands on her, wants to wrap his fingers around her pale throat, wants to press and squeeze until she can no longer breathe.
Bellatrix whispers to Regulus again, and she's talking about Sirius because Regulus looks up, looks over at Sirius for the first time all night, his eyes cold and angry and hard. He hold Sirius' gaze for a long moment, his fist opening and closing on the table. Then he looks away and pushes back his chair, muttering something to Rosier before standing and walking out the door.
Sirius has to force himself not to follow, because he can't follow, not just yet, not with every Slytherin at the table watching and expecting and waiting. He grips the edge of the table until his knuckles turn white, trying to calm himself, trying to remember how to breathe, trying to find comfort in Remus' hand resting on his thigh.
Long, slow minutes pass before Sirius whispers to James that he needs a distraction, a distraction James is more than happy to provide. Sirius slips out of the room just as two legs on the Hufflepuff table collapse, and he doesn't look in Remus' amber eyes as he makes his excuses, as he lies to Remus, Remus who loves him with everything he has.
He finds Regulus at the end of the hall, his arms folded across his chest and his face as stony as the wall he is leaning against. He's waiting for Sirius, just as Sirius knew he would be, because Regulus is angry, Regulus is stubborn and petulant and has been listening to their mother's lies, but Regulus can't stay away anymore that Sirius can.
Regulus starts to shout, parroting the same filth about families and Muggles and pureblood pride Sirius has heard one too many times. Sirius ignores it, he doesn't listen, he pushes Regulus back against the wall and silences him with his mouth.
And Regulus doesn't fight him, he doesn't try to push Sirius away, but when he kisses Sirius back there is anger behind it, his tongue pushing its way into Sirius' mouth roughly, and his teeth grazing Sirius' bottom lip hard enough to break the skin. Sirius hisses, but he doesn't pull away, because he's missed Regulus, missed this, missed having his brother's body pressed against his own.
He pushes into Regulus, bringing their cocks together, rubbing himself against Regulus' hardness. He wants their robes off, their clothes off, he wants to get a hand on Regulus' cock, but he can't, not in the middle of a bloody hallway, and there's no time for that, he's already close and it's been too long and it won't take much to tip him over the edge.
Sirius works a hand between them, cupping Regulus through his robes and Regulus comes, his fingers digging into Sirius' arms, his face buried in Sirius' neck, and it's enough, Regulus is shaking and gasping against him and Regulus' breath is hot and heavy against his skin and that's all he needs to spiral out of control.
His orgasm hits him like an Unforgivable, sharp and bright and so violent it almost hurts, so sudden he has to hold on to Regulus to keep from falling, and it's never like this with Remus, never this desperate and needy and raw, Remus never makes him feel like this, like he's falling and drowning and one heartbeat away from dying.
IV.
The dorm is dark when Remus enters, the lamps along the wall have been extinguished and all the candles have been snuffed. The only light is the waxing moon shimmering through the window, and it does little more than carve a silver slice into the deep red carpet.
James is gone, off somewhere with Evans, and Peter is in bed with his drapes drawn tight. Sirius is also in bed, sprawled across the middle with his blankets twisted around his legs, open curtains leaving him on display.
Remus is quiet when he approaches, watching the feeble moonlight play across Sirius' body and the even rise and fall of his chest. He's still as Remus lingers over him. A bit too still. Remus brushes his lips over Sirius' forehead, but doesn't wake him, because he doubts Sirius is really asleep.
He moves to his own bed, swallowing the sigh building in his throat, and when he crawls under the duvet he pulls his own bed hangings closed behind him. He contemplates a charm to keep them from being opened from the outside, but he lets it go, because he knows there is no point.
There is no telling if Sirius even plans to join him tonight, and if he does, a charm certainly won't stop him. Sirius would think it was a fine joke on Remus' part, trying to keep him out, and he would only find a way around it, just as he finds a way around everything.
Remus waits, his blanket pulled around him protectively, his ears straining to pick up every minute sound. Sirius breathing. Peter tossing and turning. The wind outside whispering through the trees. The floor groaning as the ancient castle settles. But he doesn't hear what he expects, he hears only silence, silence, and more silence, and guilt gnaws at him, aching and deep, and he thinks maybe he's wrong.
He hopes.
But it comes eventually; the swish of tossed-back bed linens, the rasp of a zip, the soft padding of carefully placed feet. The footsteps pick a slow, quiet path past Remus' bed to James', then pause. Remus hears the click of a latch, the creak of a trunk being eased open, the dull rustle of heavy fabric, and Remus adds pilfering and theft to his mental list of Sirius' crimes as the dormitory door is opened and closed.
Remus lies there, telling himself Sirius has only gone to the kitchens, telling himself it was really Peter sneaking out, but he knows better, and when he pulls back the hangings enough to rummage through the drawer of his night-stand he doesn't look at Sirius' empty bed.
He fingers the vial thoughtfully for a moment, hesitant to unstopper it, because he knows he shouldn't. It's from Pomfrey, a potion meant to chase away the violent nightmares after the full moon, and it's strong, something a body could easily grow to need. When he finally opens it he compromises with himself, taking just a small sip, enough to let the sour taste spread over his tongue, enough to make him drowsy and ease the fitful pounding of his heart.
He wakes to the bed creaking and the mattress dipping, to a warm weight settling behind him and an arm curling around him. Remus knows it's Sirius, even though he's groggy and confused, and the near-darkness visible through the tiny crack in the drapes says it is well past the middle of the night.
Remus' mind rouses, but his body feels heavy and leaden. The potion is strong even in small doses, meant to keep a person asleep for several hours, and when he tries to shift away from Sirius his limbs are clumsy and refuse to cooperate.
Sirius' lips are moving along the back of his neck, hot and wet, and a bit muzzy, as if he wants Remus to think he's just woken up. Remus mumbles, a protest, a complaint, but his tongue is lazy and thick with both the potion and sleep.
Sirius smells wrong, smells stale and damp, like dark places and things that have been left underground. He smells like dungeons and potions and Slytherin, and a weight settles in Remus' stomach, heavy and cold, because he knows his suspicions are correct.
Remus has seen the heated glances and intense stares between them, has seen the longing looks and the notes passed in a way Remus is sure was meant to be discreet. But he's continually ignored it, burying it in the back of his mind, because it was too ridiculous to be true, that of all the people Sirius could sneak around with, he'd choose to do it with his brother.
He mumbles again, louder, trying to make words come out, trying to make his muscles move, but Sirius ignores it, pressing closer, because it would never occur to Sirius that Remus would want to be left alone. But deep down, Remus doesn't want to be left alone, doesn't want Sirius anywhere else but here, so he relents, he gives in, allowing Sirius' tongue to trace the curve of his ear and Sirius' hand to slip inside his pajamas.
Sirius rocks his hips, his cock hardening against Remus' arse, his lips moving along Remus' skin more purposefully, intently, and Remus feels a sweet, familiar rush of warmth, even though the thought of Sirius naked and sweaty and tangled with his brother makes his stomach knot and his chest ache.
Remus feels his body wake, feels it stir and come alive, as if the heat rushing through him is chasing the potion from his veins. Sirius' hand finds his cock, his strong, clever fingers touching and stroking, reminding Remus how to move, and he does, rocking forward into Sirius' fist and back against the hardness pressed along his arse.
Sirius' movements grow erratic, his hips rubbing against Remus in a stuttering, syncopated rhythm that speaks of release, his hand moving over Remus' cock harder, faster. Then he stills, pushing against Remus and holding, murmuring a hoarse train of nonsense into Remus' hair.
Remus comes slowly, the potion muting it, making it soft and warm, something that washes over him in waves instead of a buildup of sensation that coils tightly and explodes. He is boneless as Sirius rolls him over, pushing him back into the pillows, and Sirius settles over him, brushing kisses over his neck and jaw, his lips lingering over Remus' with the barest flutter of tongue.
And Sirius whispers to him, words Remus isn't sure he means, promises Remus knows he can't keep, things like mine and yours and I love you, things Remus knows he can't believe even if he wants them to be true.
V.
Sirius answers the door wearing nothing but a pair of Remus' pajama bottoms and a scowl, because he can't be bothered with finding a shirt. He does grab his wand; the flat he shares with Remus is in a Muggle district, but living outside the Wizarding World no longer implies saftey, and it hasn't for some time.
He does not expect the person ringing his bell to be his brother.
He's shocked and confused, and stares at Regulus for quite some time before remembering himself and gesturing him inside. He doesn't understand how Regulus found him; the flat is not Unplottable and he and Remus have not yet arranged a Secret Keeper, but very few people outside the Order know where they live, and Sirius' family is certainly not part of that number.
Regulus comes in, but he won't sit when Sirius offers and he waves off Sirius' suggestions of tea and Butterbeer. He even refuses firewhisky, something Sirius has never known him to turn down.
He looks worse for wear; tired, haggard, like he hasn't slept in weeks. Sirius has only seen him a handful of times since he graduated, most recently when he spotted Regulus in Diagon Alley close to six months ago, but the difference between then and now is striking. Regulus is thinner, almost gaunt, and he's pale, shadows hollowing his cheeks and lingering under his eyes.
Sirius wonders what he wants, wonders why his brother is here, why Regulus went to all the trouble of finding out where he lives. Regulus looks like he wants to speak, his face is determined and his jaw is set as if it's a speech he's had planned for some time. But he won't say it, the words seem caught somewhere in his throat, and he just stands there, watching Sirius with blank gray eyes.
Sirius sits, his eyes still fixed on his brother, and his stomach twists, a strange chill creeping over his skin. He thinks of the night he left for the Potter's, and how Regulus had argued with him, how Regulus had shouted about responsibilities and bloodlines in a way that must have made their mother proud. He thinks of every conversation they've had since that night, the same words repeated at different times in different places, and he knows whatever Regulus has to say right now is something he doesn't want to hear.
But Regulus doesn't say anything; he moves in front of Sirius, his gray eyes still empty and hollow as he drops to his knees, and Regulus buries his face in Sirius' lap like he used to do when he was a child, when their mother had been yelling and he wanted comfort but didn't want Sirius to see him cry.
Sirius' hand starts stroking through his brother's hair of its own volition, his fingers slipping through long, black strands so much like his own. He tries to think of something to say or ask, tries to think of something to do, but nothing comes to mind, and he hates himself for letting things fall apart this badly, hates his mother for stealing Regulus away from him.
He feels himself hardening, his cock aware of Regulus' proximity, of Regulus' breath, warm as it ghosts through the thin material of his pajamas. He tries to ignore it, tries to calm his mind and will his cock to behave, but he can't, because Regulus won't let him, because Regulus is rubbing against it, pressing soft kisses along his length that burn through the cotton.
He protests when Regulus tugs at his pajamas; he can't do this, not now, not here, Remus only left to go to the store and could back at any moment. He grumbles and bats at his brother's hands, but it's halfhearted and weak, and he finds himself arching up off the couch so Regulus can yank them down.
Regulus' mouth is hot and wet, a liquid slide of lips and tongue that's fucking perfect, perfect because it's Regulus, because it's been far too long since his brother has touched him like this, since his brother has wanted to be anywhere near him. He lets everything go, forgets about his mother and bloodlines and Remus and the war, forgets about everything but Regulus in front of him on his knees and the slick, delicious heat of Regulus' mouth.
Sirius moans, a low, rumbling sound that is nearly a growl, his fingers tightening in Regulus' hair, twisting and pulling. Regulus' tongue moves over him, hot and wicked, sliding over every inch of him, dragging up along the underside and swirling around the head. Sirius thrusts, wanting more, wanting everything, and Regulus gives it to him, swallowing around Sirius as Sirius fucks his mouth.
Regulus' hands are not still, they slide over him, smoothing over his legs and thighs, his fingers brushing over Sirius' balls and around the base of his cock. Sirius feels one of Regulus' fingers slip inside his mouth, right alongside his cock, and his breath catches, heat pooling in his stomach because he knows what Regulus is going to do.
Then Regulus does it, pushing a finger inside Sirius as he takes Sirius' cock down the back of his throat and everything disappears, everything but the tip of Regulus' finger touching just the right spot and the muscles of Regulus' throat fluttering around his cock and Sirius is coming, coming so hard and fast and thick he can't remember how to breathe.
He pulls Regulus to him, kissing him, sucking on Regulus' lower lip and tasting himself on Regulus' tongue. Regulus kisses Sirius back hard, his tongue dipping into Sirius' mouth roughly, his hands snagging in Sirius' hair.
But Regulus fights when Sirius tries to get his clothes off, his protests sharp and his hands forceful as they pry Sirius' away. Sirius plays Regulus' game for a few moments, but loses his patience and Banishes his brother's clothes with a quick spell and a flick of his wand.
And then he understands.
Regulus twists his arm behind his back just as his clothes disappear, trying to hide it, but Sirius can see it, a hint of darkness on the pale skin of his brother's arm. Regulus' eyes are wide and full of fear when Sirius pulls his arm out in front of him, and he winces, bracing himself as if expects Sirius to yell.
Sirius doesn't, because he cannot find the words, because there are no words. He can only stare at the dark skull and snake marring his brother's arm, at the poison and lies and betrayal branded into his own flesh and blood. He touches it, tracing a finger around the outline, running it over the surface, and he feels sick and nauseous at what his brother has done, but he also feels hate and darkness and malice, coming from it, coming through it, bleeding into him from the barest brush of a fingertip.
He doesn't look in Regulus' eyes when he pushes him down onto the couch, he doesn't want to, he can't bring himself to, can't bring himself to admit that this person he grew up with, this person he loves, this person who looks so much like him is not his brother anymore.
Sirius rests his head on Regulus' shoulder as he coaxes him back to hardness, his eyes closed and his face buried in Regulus' neck. He finds Regulus' arm, that arm and pins it over his head, away from them both, his hand covering as much of the Dark Mark as he can manage.
And when Regulus comes, spilling over Sirius fingers with a small, soft noise, he doesn't watch the way he always used to, and it doesn't mean anything to him at all.
It's dark when Remus walks out the back door of the shop; the sun has already dipped below the horizon and the waning moon is just starting to rise. It's a nice night, cool but not cold, with a clear sky and bright stars and the barest hint of a breeze.
Remus locks the door of the shop, then turns, dropping a large bag of rubbish into a nearby oversized bin. He glances around as he shuts the lid, and when he sees no one lurking in the shadows he ducks behind the bin and Apparates to the alley behind his flat.
He likes his job well enough; its the first time he's not been paid less because he's a werewolf, the first he hasn't been let go because he needed the full moon off. He's working at a Muggle bookshop, a fact many of the people he went to school with would probably find amusing, but it was easier that way.
Muggles don't have a Werewolf Registry, they don't even believe in werewolves, save for a few nutters no one ever listens to. The lady who owns the bookshop doesn't mind that Remus has to sit with his sick grandmother once a month, she says he's a fine young man for doing it.
Sirius says he doesn't have to work, he says the money his uncle left him is more than enough for both of them. But Remus likes working, likes having a job and money of his own. The pay is modest, but he doesn't mind, he likes not having to depend on anyone, not having to depend on Sirius.
He'd prefer not having the evening shift, sleeping late in the morning is nice enough, but he never gets home until well after dinner. But he supposes it doesn't really matter, he and Sirius probably wouldn't have dinner together even if came home by noon.
Sirius is on the couch, snoring lightly, his legs stretched out and an arm thrown over his eyes. Remus doesn't see a bottle of Firewhisky, but he knows one is there, either tucked in the cushions or under the couch, and Remus is willing to wager it's empty.
Remus doesn't wake him; Sirius will only be in the mood for a fight, if Remus can even rouse him at all. He collects a half-eaten carton of curry from the table as he passes, turns off the lights, and switches off the Muggle teevee that Sirius insisted on buying but has never quite learned how to operate. He debates bringing Sirius a blanket, but decides against, he knows Sirius wouldn't notice if he did.
Remus keeps telling himself it will pass, that Sirius will eventually straighten himself out, that everything will be fine. But it's been close to six months and nothing has changed, Sirius' moods have only grown worse, and Remus has only tossed more firewhisky bottles into the bin.
The bed is cold and empty without Sirius, but Remus almost thinks it's better. He loves Sirius, but he'd rather go to sleep alone than have Sirius with him, drunk and thinking about his brother.
Sirius won't admit it, he's content thinking that Remus is clueless, and if Remus was to mention it he would deny it, he would deny he has a brother, at all. But Remus has heard the Order members whispering, he knows Regulus has joined with You-Know-Who.
Remus isn't sure if knowing makes it any easier to understand. If anything, it makes it harder to swallow.
He hears Sirius coming down the hall, hears the stumbling, uneven steps of someone who has had too much to drink, and when he cracks open one eye he can see Sirius, leaning heavily on the door, his hand resting on the doorknob.
He stills his breathing, trying to keep it slow and even, hoping Sirius will think he is asleep. He doesn't want to argue, he doesn't want to talk, he doesn't want to deal with Sirius at all.
Sirius pauses, cocking his head to the side like he listening, then picks a slow, crooked path towards the bed. He quietly calls Remus' name, waiting a moment before climbing onto the bed, and again as he settles in behind him.
Sirius' hand is gentle as it smoothes over Remus' body, sliding down his arm, tracing the angle of his hip. He moves in close to Remus, pushing against him, pressing soft, wet kisses along his neck. Remus keeps his eyes shut and his breathing even, keeps himself from twisting around to kiss him, from rocking back against him, because as much as he loves Sirius, as much as he loves the feel of Sirius' hands on his body and Sirius' cock hard against his arse, he doesn't want this, not from Sirius and not right now.
Sirius starts to talk, his voice hoarse, his words thick with firewhisky and sleep. He tells Remus he loves him, which Remus doubts, tells him he missed him, which Remus also doubts, and after a long pause and a deep shaky breath, he tells Remus he's sorry.
And that makes Remus angry, turns the slow burn of arousal caused by Sirius' hands into something sharp and fierce, and he rolls, growling, pushing Sirius onto his back, putting Sirius under him.
Sirius is still talking, still trying to placate him, but Remus doesn't want to hear it, so he shoves his tongue in Sirius' mouth and bites down hard on his lip. Sirius hisses, but he doesn't pull away, and when he arches up off the bed he's hard against Remus' hip.
He pulls on Sirius' pajamas so harshly they rip, the material splitting and fraying at the seams, and when he pushes Sirius' legs apart he digs his fingers into Sirius' skin hard enough to bruise. He can't find his wand, he doesn't know where it is and he can't be arsed to look for it. He only gets the spell half right without it, but it doesn't matter because his fingers are already inside.
Sirius isn't ready when Remus enters him, he's still too tight and Remus knows it must be hurting Sirius because it's hurting him, but Sirius is kissing him, Sirius is pulling him closer and rocking against him, Sirius is still fucking telling him he's sorry.
And Remus wants to believe him, and he tells Sirius this with each thrust, but he can't, he knows he can't, he knows that tomorrow he'll go to work and Sirius will drink, he knows that when he comes home tomorrow night nothing will have changed.
He feels Sirius' hand slide between them, feels Sirius wrap his fingers around his cock, and Remus wonders how he's even hard after everything he's had to drink, but he is, and he's coming, warm and sticky onto Remus stomach. His body is still too tight, it clenches around Remus' cock like a vise, and it hurts, pain almost outweighing the pleasure, but he's coming anyway, coming so hard his vision starts to blur around the edges.
Sirius kisses him, long and slow and almost tender, but Remus thinks it is as much of lie as everything he's said, so he pulls away, grabbing a blanket before walking to the couch.
Sirius' parents are on holiday when Regulus dies, vacationing in one of those places rich people go to escape the cold and wet. When the Ministry's owl returns from Grimmauld Place unopened, it is sent on to Sirius' flat.
He studies the letter for a long time after he opens it, the words not quite sinking in. He reads it over and over and over, until the words start to run together and his body starts to go numb.
Remus is asleep when he leaves, napping off the weariness of his recent transformation on Uncle Alphard's black brocade couch. He doesn't wake Remus, because Remus needs his rest, and he doesn't leave a note, because it isn't Remus' business.
The Ministry official is curt as he speaks with Sirius, his words sharp and clipped, his eyes continually straying to Sirius' arm as if he expects a Dark Mark to be visible under the sleeve of his shirt. Sirius ignores him, he can't find it inside himself to get angry, he just stops listening altogether, and nods silently when the man leads him to a Floo bound for St Mungo's.
The mediwizard is an older woman, with a stern voice and a tightly knotted bun that reminds Sirius vaguely of McGonagall. Her eyes are not suspicious like the Ministry official's, they are filled with pity instead, and Sirius stops looking at her as they make their way to the basement because Sirius doesn't want to see it.
He shivers when the Mediwizard pulls the sheet back, an iciness settling over him that has nothing to do with the chill in the room. Regulus is pale, paler than he ever was in life, and naked, save for white bandage wrapped around his arm, hiding the Dark Mark from view. His body has the smooth, unmarked look of someone murdered by the Killing Curse, but his face is pinched around the eyes and jaw, a tightness that speaks of Cruciatus.
Sirius stares at Regulus, willing him to move, wanting nothing more than for Regulus to open his eyes and breathe. He stares so long the mediwizard clears her throat and tugs lightly on his arm. He takes the parchment she hands him, signing it with the quill and ink she offers, his signature confirming the body is Regulus Black, confirming his brother is dead. He is disowned and dishonored, but he is still a Black, and that is apparently enough for St Mungo's.
Sirius brushes his lips over his brother's forehead as he leaves, because he doesn't have the words to say goodbye.
Ibis & Jacquel is a small shop at the edge of Diagon Alley, a mortuary that has been in business longer than Ollivanders has been making wands. It's a tidy, unassuming building that looks a bit like a house, and Regulus' body is already there when Sirius arrives.
He charges the burial costs to his parents account at Gringotts, but pays for the Cleansing Spell and Keeping Charm out of his pocket. He gives the reedy man behind the counter a little extra to keep quiet about the mark on Regulus' arm.
Remus is still asleep when Sirius gets home, which suits Sirius just fine, because he doesn't want to talk, he doesn't want to think, and he doesn't want to explain. He pours himself a tall firewhisky and writes a letter to his parents. He addresses it to Kreacher so it just won't come straight back, and he tells the owl to leave it on the steps if the house-elf won't accept it.
Sirius doesn't go to Regulus' funeral. When his brother is lowered into the ground, he is in his flat, with his cock in Remus' arse and his teeth in Remus' neck.
Remus, who is not Regulus.
Remus, who will never be Regulus.
Remus, who will just have to be enough.