Hannah (noneedofcrepe) wrote in fandomcommerce,
Hannah
noneedofcrepe
fandomcommerce

Gift for: bloodredsummer

bloodredsummer, your gift has been submitted - enjoy!

Title: Every Breath We Drew
Recipient's LJ name: bloodredsummer
Rating: NC17
Pairing(s): Remus/Sirius, Remus/Regulus, Sirius/Regulus
Word Count: 2,500
Warnings: Sex, angst, Blackcest, language, underage people doing things with other underage people
Prompt Chosen: Private Fears in Public Places
Authors notes: This completely ignores all of the Regulus canon from Deathly Hallows, because I couldn't be bothered. Dates from Shoebox Project and the Lexicon. Library sex inspired by Atonement. I hope you enjoy <3

Every Breath We Drew

1980

The door to Remus' bedroom has rusted hinges, and they protest horribly when anyone touches it. He sits in the darkness, alone in a pale strip of street lamps, watching the door let in shadows as it opens. One shadow in the doorway, dark and lean. Sirius smiles a smile that's more like a smirk, moving inside.

"It's quiet, at my place." he says, and: "I thought it would be better here."

"It's quiet here, too." Remus murmurs.

"We'll see." Sirius replies, then kicks off his shoes, pulls the sweater over his head. It's unceremonious, really, just an action. It used to be like removing a second skin when they undressed together, peeling off layers to reveal soft, new white. He slides under the sheets beside Remus and touches his waist with winter cold fingers, making him jump against him, shivering.

"Bastard." Remus whispers, but he smiles into a kiss, opening his mouth to it. He lets Sirius push him down, like always, lets him climb over top of him and press him into the mattress. Their hips lock for a moment before sliding so Sirius has a knee between his legs, and Remus arches into him, gasping out into the cold air. Across the room, his window has blown open, the wind rushing over them, but he can't make himself move away from him.

It didn't use to be like this, so needy. It was all about rushed fucks in broom closets, brushing up against each other in the common room, moments of sheer want, where he could hardly stand to do anything before he could taste Sirius again.



It was those moments when they never touched, after that sudden, quick betrayal, when Remus sought strange comforts in a younger face and tried to pretend. He's not sure he loved anyone, back then.

1976

They had known each other for years, but they had never known each other. Regulus was just the younger Black, not quite a carbon copy of his brother, smile shyer and skin thinner, and Remus was just one of Them. He wasn't like Sirius and James, though, not even like Peter. Almost an outcast, always a question with his scars and his secrets and his quiet desires. They weren't anything to each other, because that was the way things were supposed to be.

Then, Remus doesn't speak to Sirius for three weeks, and every single moment he feels like the wolf is resting at the base of his neck, breathing warm and waiting, and suddenly he sees Regulus everywhere. They brush shoulders in crowded hallways, hold gazes and linger but never say anything.

He's not surprised when it happens, though. Neither of them are surprised. It has been three weeks, four days, ten hours, fourteen minutes and thirty six seconds since he last spoke a word to Sirius, and Remus is on his knee in one of the corridors leading down into the dungeons, letting Regulus Black wrap his fingers in his hair and guide his mouth on his cock. He places his palms flat on the damp stone and arches his neck, taking Regulus deeper, grunting in the back of his throat. He watches through half-shut eyes as the younger boy's head falls back, a moan slipping from his lips when his fingers tighten at the back of Remus' head, quickening the pace. Remus doesn't have any control, can do nothing but let Regulus use him for this brief moment, for both of them. He might not feel better after it's over, but now, just for now, it doesn't matter.

Remus, at the worst times, used to imagine what Sirius would sound like in moments like these. When Regulus shudders, he makes a noise that's like a sob, pushing his hips forward and forcing himself farther down Remus' throat.

"Fuck," he pants, "fuck."

He makes one last keening noise from somewhere deep inside him, and he comes, arching forward. Remus tries to swallow and ends up choking before he's finished, before Regulus pulls away from him. Remus coughs, a soft, wet echo, and Regulus falls beside him.

"Why?" he murmurs. Remus looks at him, frowning a little, lips stretched and swollen. He tries to say something, but the words catch in his teeth. Instead, he turns his face up to Regulus, questioningly. The younger boy stares back at him, gray eyes clouded over, before he reaches a thin hand up to cup the edge of Remus' jaw.

In his fantasies, Sirius was romantic, but he's not sure it could ever be like this.

Regulus presses their lips together, pulling Remus to him. A hand on his arm holds him in place as Regulus kisses him, tasting himself on Remus' tongue, and Remus hesitates before he slowly starts to kiss him back. He presses up against him, making Regulus push back harder, so his shirt rucks up and his spine presses up against cold stone.

"I have to go," Regulus mumbles, into his mouth, "but I want to see you again."

"That's not how it's supposed to work." Remus whispers, breathing heavy, moving his face away to rest it against his neck. Regulus slides a hand down to press against Remus' erection, through his trousers, and Remus gasps, mouth open on his skin.

"I want to see you again." he says, louder, and Remus had forgotten that he was a Black son, that there's one universal truth to them.

They always get what they want.

1975

In a weird way, Sirius thinks their mother would probably approve. If they're going to fuck boys, they may as well keep it in the bloodline. Regulus is fifteen when he first slides into Sirius' bed, both of them with stolen alcohol on their breath, and neither of them knows who starts it. Somewhere between their shoulders brushing beneath the blankets and their fingers brushing once, twice, they find themselves curled into each other. Their lips touch once and burn, as Sirius makes a choked noise, and Regulus moves even closer.

"What are we doing?" he murmurs, and Sirius doesn't know what to answer, and he doesn't even move away to attempt it. The kisses are slow, strange things, like they're exploring new territory. It's not like Sirius has never kissed someone before. Sirius has kissed most people before. But this is definitely, definitely new.

"We're drunk." Sirius says, finally, a vague proclamation. ". . .drunk people do things like this all the time."

"All the time." Regulus echoes, nodding agreement. His long fingers rest on the buttons of Sirius' shirt, pausing for a moment as if in hesitation before he slips one under the fabric, soft skinning brushing his chest. Slowly, methodically, he undoes each buttons and slides it from his arms. Sirius sits up enough to let him, then falls back with a light noise of his head hitting the mattress as Regulus presses messy kisses to the side of his neck, the curve of his shoulder.

Sirius swears, then pushes him away, getting up for long enough to pull off his trousers. He pauses with them around his knees, stopping to look at Regulus, laying back on the sheets, watching him with wide, dark eyes.

"Are we really doing this?" he asks, quietly.

"Have you seen our family tree?" Regulus asks, but he blushes.

". . .odder things have happened." Sirius agrees. They pause for a long moment, before Sirius steps forward and slides his hands against the waistband of Regulus' trousers, fingers in the belt loops to pull his hips from the bed. He undresses him gently, fabric from skin, until Regulus kicks them onto the floor and pulls Sirius to him.

"It's just once, anyway." Regulus murmurs, against his lips. Sirius pushes up, and Regulus gasps at the end of his words.

"Just once."

1976

Regulus doesn't talk to Sirius at school. They don't look at each other.

Sometimes, he thinks that maybe Remus was meant to replace him, because, though he wasn't at all like Sirius, he was a part of his world that Regulus could control. He knows that while he's still with him, Remus won't be with Sirius, won't really forgive him even if he says he does.

"He wanted to talk to me." Remus murmurs, late at night in the library, looking at him with soft eyes. "I should have. . ."

Regulus rests fingers on his lips, cutting him off.

"He doesn't deserve you." he whispers, moving his hand to slide it into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him forward and kissing him once, gently, the way he likes to be kissed. Remus sighs and shifts against him, smiling. There is no light in the library except for the lamps in the windows, small flames bathing the floor at their feet.

"We can't do anything here." Remus says, without much conviction, turning his face away. "We can go somewhere. . ."

"Who's going to stop us?" Regulus asks, feeling a sudden, harsh possessiveness shoot through him, a spark of anger in his blood. "Undress."

"I don't. . ."

"Please." Regulus murmurs, smiling down at him, on an angle. Remus falters before leaning forward to press a dry kiss to the corner of his lips. He rises and takes a step back, stricken still and pale in the light from the window straight above him before he slowly pulls off his clothes. Regulus watches intently as he blushes, studies the way his bony, narrow feet shift against the dark wood, fingers arched across the scar on his side. There are smaller scars, on his arms and legs, scars that he has touched before but still doesn't know where they came from. They all have their secrets.

He stands and kisses Remus hard, letting him tug off his clothes as he buries his hands in his hair and tries to lose himself. When they are both shaking and bare, pressed together, Regulus places hands on Remus' hips and turns him around to face the bookshelf. He follows a thin arm as it moves to grip the edge of a shelf and wraps his fingers around the back of Remus' hand, both of their knuckles white as Regulus quickly prepares him and presses inside. They both gasp and shake until Regulus is flush against his back, when they still, grow silent.

"Love," Remus says, voice breaking on a pitch and floating out to the room behind them, "I love. . ." He draws off as Regulus grasps his side with his free hand and fucks him slowly, rocking. He rests his face against the crook of Remus' neck. He feels teeth on the inside of his arm, and he bites down on his shoulder, softly, retaliation.


1979

Remus tries not to let himself be startled, when Regulus shows up on his doorstep. He tries not to let it matter, not to let him matter, anymore than he already does. Sirius is the one who opens the door at the hesitant, quiet knock. He stands in the open doorway and stares and stares, until Remus moves to see what's happened and sees a pale, starved version of a boy he used to know.

"I had nowhere else to go." Regulus murmurs, looking at the floor until he finds Remus' eyes on him. "I left. . .I left them. . ."

"You expect me to take you in?" Sirius starts, and Remus slides a shaking hand across his back, holding onto the loose fabric of his shirt. "You chose your life, little brother, and-"

"I'm not asking you." Regulus interrupts, and his teeth find the edge of his lower lip, biting down. "I'm asking Remus." It is a strange, long moment that pulls away from those words, poised in the air between them. Sirius' body shifts under his hand, tensing. Remus almost feels like laughing, because they sound like children, and they are children, and he doesn't know what to do.

"Figure out what you're going to do," he says, finally, "and be out by morning." He moves aside, mouth set in a straight line, and Regulus looks at Sirius for a long moment before he steps inside. Sirius retreats to the sofa, and Remus finds a bottle of whiskey under the cabinet and hands it to Regulus, eyes telling him that it is in no way a peace offering.

"You've grown up, haven't you?" Regulus asks, settling on the opposite side from Sirius, bottle resting in his hands. Remus looks at him from across the room.

"People are dead." he says. "We've had to grow up."

1976

"What are you doing with Remus?" Sirius asks, the first time he catches Regulus alone, pulling him outside onto the front steps as everyone else disappears into class. He has been watching the map, seeing them together any time Remus sneaks away and thinks none of them notice, their black ink marks too close. Regulus stares up at him for a long moment before smirking, shaking his head.

"Do you want to know if I'm fucking your friend?" he asks.

"Answer my question."

"If I tell you anything different, you won't believe me." Regulus replies. He leans his body into the stone wall behind him, comfortably. "Are you jealous, Sirius? Of me or him?" Sirius feels a quiet rage shooting through him, a shock across his skin.

"Just stay away from him." he says, refusing to look at Regulus, turning his eyes away.

"I don't think I will." Regulus says, moving forward a little, nudging Sirius with a thin shoulder to make him meet his eyes. "Do you want to know what sort of noises he makes? If he says your name?"

Something inside of Sirius snaps at that, and he shoves Regulus forward, listening to his back hit the wall. Regulus lets out a startled laugh, but there's fear beneath his eyes, like he's gotten too far into something and he's reconsidering. Their faces are too close, and he can feel warm, frantic breath near his jaw, and he doesn't know what he's doing.

"Don't hurt him." he whispers, finally, fingers digging into his shoulder. "I'll kill you if you hurt him."

"I won't." Regulus says, a sudden change, and he almost sounds like he means it.

1980

Remus isn't sure when they found each other, really, halfway between childhood and adulthood. After Regulus, the way he had once marked his life, Sirius would slide into his bed at night and sleep next to him and only touch him when he touched him first. They didn't kiss for weeks, until one night outside, a horrible cliche, in the middle of a rainstorm.

Now, so many years later, they move quietly around each other, living as much as they can in the middle of a war, hiding beneath sheets when they can't.

They've grown use to each other, grown comfortable.

Remus thinks that might be what love is, in the end.

Tags: gift for bloodredsummer, round 4
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