Work Text:
In the midst of his slumber, Sirius’ mind only distantly registers hands roaming around his shoulders, his pyjama top unbuttoned halfway down, chest exposed, cooling off. Goosebumps rise at the nape of his neck as something soft and damp is being repeatedly laid over his cheeks and eyelids, chin and lips. Feathery soft sensation, a press of something warm, not entirely unpleasant, but still foreign enough that it’s making his chest tighten in subconscious apprehension. He squirms.
The last thing Sirius remembers before he fell asleep is Regulus slipping into his bed, an hour or so after Sirius had his third altercation with Walburga that day. Things have been escalating.
This wasn't the first time.
Sirius is used to his brother doing this—since he can remember, it was Regulus’ way of offering consolation and comfort. They figured long time ago that offering sympathy verbally doesn't really work for them because of Regulus’ habit of always attempting to excuse their Mother’s behaviour—at least partially—although with seemingly the best intentions, he has always tried to patronize Sirius, convince him that all could be fine and dandy if only he had tried a little harder, remained quieter, stayed meeker; stopped resisting his parents’ ideals and suggestions, did his duty just like Regulus himself.
The two of them, categorically different characters as they are, will never agree on that.
Still, Regulus is his brother, and Sirius knows that no matter what, he feels bad for the sort of treatment his older brother has been subjected to, lately as often as several times a day. The younger boy found his own way of making it all better—on nights like this one, he sneaks into Sirius’ bedroom, slides into his bed, slips his feet under the cover to tangle them with Sirius’, and wraps his arms around his older brother; he lets Sirius do the same in return, letting him sleep in peace.
They are old enough now that this sort of behaviour would be considered strange by their peers, but old habits die hard and the truth is, Regulus’ hugs feel just as good now as when they were eleven and ten, twelve and eleven, thirteen and twelve.
Sirius is sixteen, and by now he knows he won't be able to enjoy Regulus’ touch for much longer.
The summer is halfway to its death, and besides the dismissal and dismay he’s been facing from his parents, there are a lot more unspoken sentiments between Regulus and him that Sirius doesn't know how to assuage and rectify. It is infinitely better that they don't try to discuss them because, more often than not, it feels like any more arguments in this house could bring Sirius to the edge of insanity.
James promised Sirius could stay with him and his family, so all Sirius has to do now is to count down the days.
But for now, his sleep-addled mind is just trying to figure out what’s going on.
Soon enough, Sirius comes back to his senses to realise that the unceasing sensation that has now spread to his mouth and chest is Regulus’ lips pressing kisses all over his face, his hands tracing lines over his clavicles. Sirius feels himself shiver, and groggy as he is, he opens his eyes at last.
“Regulus?” Sirius barely manages to question before his lips are covered with his brother’s.
Regulus tastes surprisingly sweet, a realization that comes to Sirius in a delayed wave of drowsy cognition; he never wanted to know. Him opening his mouth has given his brother a chance to slide his hot tongue into Sirius’ mouth—unprepared as Sirius is, it makes him choke. The kiss is sloppy, wet, and uncoordinated. One-sided. Regulus’ tongue is darting into his mouth haphazardly—it’s hardly any more experienced than Sirius’ own.
Even at his age, this is something Sirius has only ever thought about, as his sole object of affection is strictly off-limits—he barely has interest in anyone else. And kissing for the sake of practice has never appealed to him—too bothersome to deal with, especially with the aftermath—despite the fact he has had an ample amount of opportunity to try it out.
Regulus’ fingertips brush against Sirius’ nipples, and they turn into hard nubs—his teenage body responsive despite the growing dread inside his guts. Finally, amidst his shock, Sirius finds the strength to grip at his brother’s shoulders and push him away. His chest is heaving, ears filled with a symphony of blood rushing in the background of his hammering heart.
“What are you doing?” Sirius grits out, upset clear in his voice, an onset of outrage.
The response comes back in a similar tone. “Don't go.”
Regulus leans in again, pressing another forceful kiss to Sirius’ lips, the tenderness that woke him up long forgotten. His hands slide over Sirius’ front and down to his stomach, his pyjama shirt undone in its entirety now. Regulus’ tongue once again prods at the seam of his lips, and Sirius purses them instinctively, squeezes his eyes shut as he once again pushes his brother away from him. “Stop it! Just stop it right this minute, Regulus!”
Bewildered by the demented reality of his brother forcing himself on him, Sirius is full of disbelief.
Not an ounce of understanding about what’s come over his brother in his head. Missing clues and context. Sirius opens his eyes again, blinking rapidly to force them into getting used to the darkness, desperate to see his brother’s expression. One look at his earnest face is enough to understand he’s been a fool all along. He’s been too focused on a different boy to really see, equally dark-haired, but unlike his brother, sun-kissed and bespectacled—ironically, Sirius seems to be the one who needs glasses the most.
And now, all Sirius needs to know is right here in front of him. It has been there. For ages. In Regulus’ willingness to stay mute in spite of differing views, in those never questioning embraces, in the warmth of Regulus’ body that has never seemed to give in to the freezing quality of those of the rest of their family members.
“I've seen them. Read the letters… Don’t go?”
Sirius holds his breath. Through their mirror James told him about all his letters that have never made it to his hands. Sirius thought it was Walburga. He was confident the letters were never explicit enough for his Mother to be able to tell what Sirius’ intentions were, so he wasn't worried, but it’s been his little brother stealing them all along, and somehow, he has figured it all out.
Sirius’ grip on Regulus doesn't ease up, but Regulus’ hands, too, have sneaked back to his waist, his thumbs digging harshly into the thin, sensitive skin just above his hip bones. He feels them profoundly, feels like they are punching permanent holes inside him, such that won't ever close.
“What reason do I have to stay?” he hisses, the words filled with a surprising amount of anger and sense of betrayal as he strives to stay as quiet as possible. Regulus knows full well that staying in this house, with their parents, is not feasible for much longer. Opinions and values misaligned. Every time Walburga raises her voice, Sirius is more and more convinced there’s no way to reconcile them. He’s been nothing but a disappointment for the longest time, and at this point, he wouldn't have it any other way. “Those letters were not yours to read. They weren't meant for you.”
Breathless, Regulus pleads simply, “Don't go.” The only thing Sirius can hear in his voice now is desperation. It shaves off the edges of his irritation unexpectedly fast.
“Reg,” Sirius murmurs, trying to find a way to reason with him. About the whole situation. About the impossibility of the emotion hidden behind those two simple words. Don’t go.
“Don't you get it? Nothing will change if you go, Sirius,” Regulus continues.
“Nothing will change if I stay,” Sirius intones in defiance.
Regulus opens his mouth, closes it. He seems powerless in the face of that argument, but his chest puffs up as he inhales, and his hands slide a little lower, fingers slipping past Sirius’ waistband over the top of his buttocks. Sirius too breathes in sharply, his hands quickly moving to Regulus’ wrists to grip there instead, to prevent his brother from progressing any further.
“I can't give this to you,” Sirius says. Despite the tight coil of anxiety that has nestled inside his body, way too deep to be extracted now, he sounds calm even to himself.
Regulus’ response comes out hushed, words uttered in quick succession, “You could. You can. You’re family. We’re meant to love each other.”
It’s a wretched thought that Sirius, in fact, does love his brother. Only he’s kept making bloody sure the love he feels is within the borders of reason. It only took a single wild sneer from James for Sirius to reject the notion of Toujours Pur. No decision has ever been easier, though he’s been paying the price for making it ever since then.
Recently, Sirius hasn't been thinking about the ways his family kept their blood pure. The ways they kept their loyalties unstraying. He didn't think he needed to, not since the plan with James had been formed. And he didn't think it was necessary in relation to his own brother, quite naturally. It’s ironic. Still, Sirius feels the hold he’s got on Regulus’ wrist loosening. The space between them is filled with the echo of Regulus’ shaky breath.
“Please… stop,” Sirius tries; he can hear himself turn hopeless.
“Love me,” Regulus says. He demands. Commands. And inches that bit closer.
“I'm sorry,” is all Sirius can say to that. And accept is all he can do when Regulus closes the gap between them to press his lips to Sirius’ cheek and his jaw and below his ear and down his neck.
“You owe me.” Regulus mumbles against the wildly throbbing pulse on the side of Sirius’ throat. “If you leave me all alone.” The words reverberate through Sirius’ whole being, “You owe me.” Even as muffled as they are, their hardness comes through fully.
Sirius cranes his neck, closes his eyes and lets go of Regulus’ wrist.
“I’ll never forgive you,” Regulus whispers when his lips find Sirius’ just before their tongues meet once more.
Sirius wraps his arms around Regulus tightly, lets his legs fall apart to accommodate his brother’s insistent thigh between them. All he can think of as Regulus grinds into it is his mostly packed suitcase, and a small envelope with some Muggle money and a piece of paper containing a train timetable and the address of Potter’s Estate. Sirius knows he’ll be needing that before the dawn comes.
But until then, he must love his brother. Love him like this. Sirius must convince himself it’s possible. And pretend that Regulus in turn might one day forgive him.
Surely you could.
Surely you can.