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Sirius gave the empty beer bottle a firm kick. It clanked along the pavement, echoing satisfyingly in the quiet night, and then smashed against the curb, smattering shards everywhere. Fuck you, bottle, Sirius thought. He looked around for another thing to break.
James had begged off pub night again. Sirius liked Lily, adored her really. She was brilliant and fierce and took no shit—all qualities Sirius approved of—but did she have to be so bloody perfect for his best mate that he had no time for Sirius anymore? Marauders pub night was sacred.
It was raining by the time Sirius neared the flat he rented with uncle Alphard's money, fat drops coming down like a heavy curtain. He pulled his leather jacket over his head and sprinted the last couple metres towards the front door. There was a cloaked figure huddled in the hallway near the stairs. The cloak was wizarding, a robe with the hood pulled low. Sirius' wand was in his hand in an instant. Some scum tried to jump Alice in Hogsmeade two weeks ago. Better safe than sorry. "Show yourself," he snapped. "Who are you?" The head raised slowly and Sirius' grip on his wand tightened.
"Hello brother."
Sirius' wand arm didn't lower. "Regulus. How did you know where I live?"
Even though Regulus was huddled in a corner and currently resembled a drowned rat more than he did a wizard, his tone dripped with pureblood disdain. "I followed you, obviously. It's not like it's hard; you're still rubbish at stealth. Your little stunt with the bottle probably woke up half the neighbourhood. Did you have to squat amongst Muggles, by the by? It reeks."
"Fuck you too," Sirius said, pocketing his wand. It was just his brother, ambushing him to be his little shit self. "What do you want?"
"Language—"
"Buggering shit fuck cunt," Sirius said, spitting every word. "You get one more chance before I let you freeze to death on my front step."
Regulus opened his mouth. "I…"—he shuddered visibly, his face crumbling in a grimace of pain—"had a bit of an accident."
"Accident how?"
Regulus staggered to his feet under Sirius' watchful gaze, reaching out to lean against the wall while his body shook, fingers digging into the plaster. He was breathing hard, skin pale and waxy under the harsh glare of the light bulb flickering overhead. He looked sick. "What the fuck happened to you?"
"Curse," Regulus gritted out. "Give me a moment." He panted, his prim diction of moments ago—honed by endless elocution lessons as a child—dragging, consonants slurred together.
Sirius made a snap decision. He grasped Regulus' waist, slung his brother's arm over his shoulder and pulled him up the stairs before he could protest. Regulus made a low noise as he leaned heavily into Sirius, his breath puffing warm and damp against Sirius' neck.
"Let's get you inside," Sirius said, kicking the door to his flat shut and groping for the light switch at the same time, all while trying not to drop his brother on his face. Regulus was a dead weight in his arms, clinging to him as if Sirius was the only thing keeping him upright. Sirius pushed his brother down onto the sofa in the small living room. Regulus made another low noise as Sirius let go of him.
Sirius started at the buttons of Regulus' sodden cloak. "Let's get this off. Where're you hurt?"
Regulus huffed a laugh, then coughed as a shudder wrecked his body. "Not—not that kind of curse."
"What do you mean?" Sirius asked as he wrestled Regulus out of the cloak. "Come on, a little help. Raise your arms. There you go."
Finally free of the cloak, Regulus put his face in his hands, curling in on himself. Sirius was rocked by a sudden, vivid flashback to their childhood. When they were little, trapped in Grimmauld Place together. Regulus used to pretend he was invisible. He'd make himself as small as possible, sitting still and silent in some hidden nook, his eyes unblinking, mind far, far away. Kreacher could usually be found lurking nearby, a bat-eared shadow silently glowering.
It used to drive Sirius mad knowing there was a part of his little brother Sirius couldn't access. Regulus had always been good at that, putting himself away and disappearing into his own head until there was nothing left, and no way to follow him.
Regulus mumbled something unintelligible, face still hidden in his hands.
"What was that?"
"I said I got hit with a spell," Regulus snapped, glaring now, and that was better. Sirius didn't like seeing his brother cowed.
"Played a little rough with your friends, did you?" Sirius asked. Regulus had terrible taste in friends: half his Slytherin mates had one foot in the Death Eaters already, and that twitchy little Crouch bloke had trouble written all over him.
Regulus made an outraged sound and stood up, swaying slightly, but Sirius pushed him back down. "Not so fast. You came to me. Now spill, what's going on?"
Regulus glowered at him, his jaw clenching. Stubborn little freak. "It was the Concubori spell, if you must know," he said, tone clipped.
Concubori: fuck or die. It was one of the spells he had laughed over with his friends, jostling each other in the library. That's not a curse, that's a bloody good time. I'll die if I don't have sex, babe, he remembered joking, throwing his arm around James, saying something crude about James getting lost in Lily's firecrotch. He wasn't joking now. "You are hurt," he said. "You need St Mungo's. I don't have Floo access, but there's an Apparition point nearby."
Regulus' laugh was humourless. "I don't need St Mungo's. I need you to fuck me."
Sirius was so shocked to hear his proper little pureblood brother say fuck that the meaning of his words took a moment to sink in. "No. We can't. Reg, I can't. I—no, absolutely not."
"I didn't know where else to go," Regulus said. He looked so miserable and small suddenly, so fucking pale. All the fight gone out of him.
They'd been boys, barely grown, it had meant nothing; just a bit of creature comfort in that nightmare of a house. A spot of warmth in the polar desert of their parent's ill regard.
Regulus laid a trembling hand on Sirius' knee. "I don't have anyone else. Siri, please."
Sirius flinched. He knew what it must cost Regulus to beg—he was so very proud—but the use of the old nickname was a low blow. Which was just typical, underhanded Slytherin tactics from his brother. Sirius had never been able to say no when Regulus said please. Not when his brother was seven and hiding from their mother because he'd broken a vase in the forbidden parlour, and not when he was eighteen, pale and shaking on Sirius' sofa.
Sirius closed his eyes. Damn him. He had never been able to say no, either, when Regulus crawled into his bed late at night and nestled himself close, his small hands finding skin and pressing closer still, Regulus' little-boy cock, barely awakened to pleasure, stiffening in Sirius' hand. He'd been so small and soft—too soft. Too soft to survive their family intact: their mother's temper and harsh judgement and their father's reproachful stare; too malleable and eager to please.
He had never asked for anything but this: for Sirius' hands and mouth and body, letting him warm his perpetually cold fingers against Sirius' belly, for Sirius' thigh to ride until his little-boy cock spurted warm and sticky into his pyjama bottoms with Sirius' childhood nickname on his lips like a broken, choked-up prayer: Siri, Siri, Siri. He'd never asked for anything but for Sirius to hold him close as Regulus cried himself to a fitful sleep.
It had been the only thing Sirius could do for his brother, make him feel good under the cloak of darkness, in his bed. Until he couldn't anymore. They had never talked about it. Not then, not now, not ever. They hadn't properly talked in years.
"Alright," Sirius said, crouching down in front of his brother. "Alright, Reggie, come here." And Regulus pressed himself close instantly, as if he'd been waiting for permission all along, crawling into Sirius' lap and fitting himself into Sirius' arms as if the chasm that had opened up between them over the past few years had never existed. Sirius brushed wet hair out of Regulus' eyes and pressed a kiss to his brother's temple. "Shh," he soothed, "I'll take care of you."
Sirius took Regulus by the hand and led him into the bedroom. Regulus stumbled along in a daze. His eyes were glassy and he was burning up, panting against Sirius' neck, his mouth smearing wetly against Sirius' skin. Sirius pushed Regulus down onto his unmade bed. Regulus sat quietly through Sirius unbuttoning his shirt, but when Sirius made to slide it off his shoulders he twisted away with a distressed sound. "Hey, hey, calm down. Where does it hurt?"
Regulus shook his head, arms pressed tight to his torso. "Told you, not hurt."
Sirius didn't believe him—his dear brother was a little liar—but he let it go for now. If Regulus wanted to keep the shirt on, so be it. He pushed Regulus down onto the mattress and started on Regulus' trousers instead. Regulus hid his eyes in the crook of his arm. His cheeks were blotchy red down to his collar bones, his narrow chest rising and falling rapidly. Sirius could almost hear the rabbiting of his heart. He crouched down to remove Regulus' shoes and socks, and then stripped off Regulus' trousers altogether in one swift motion. Regulus' feet were narrow and bony; he had long toes. Sirius' hands slid up Regulus' calves, lingered in the tender hollow behind his knees, the pale softness of his inner thighs parting for him so sweetly. There was a rushing in Sirius' ears, like flying his broom in a storm.
His hands paused over the jut of sharp hip bones. Regulus sucked in a breath; his belly going concave. Sirius' gaze snagged on the trail of hair there. He had the sudden, wild urge to bend down and lick it, feel the rasp of hair under his tongue. This patch of skin was unfamiliar to him. He wanted to taste it.
He hadn't felt this greedy for touch in years. Was the curse doing something to him too? With his fingertips just barely touching, he watched Regulus pant; his mouth open in a perfect, pink o.
Here goes nothing, Sirius thought, and pulled the pants down.
Regulus was hard, his cock flushed pink with eager blood, a drop of precum beading at the tip. He wasn't twelve anymore. His little brother had grown up while Sirius wasn't looking. His body was still wiry and pale, but his shoulders were broader and he had some sparse hair on his body now. Regulus was as lean as a beanpole but there was strength there, muscle cording his thighs and arms. He was beautiful, his Reggie.
It had been so long since he came to Sirius like this, too long. Regulus had never given any indication that he still needed his brother, avoiding him in the halls of Hogwarts or sending his coterie to pester Sirius and his friends like a swarm of particularly annoying midges. Regulus had seemed happy, playing heir and lording his newfound status over his gaggle of friends. He'd been welcome to it. Good riddance to bad rubbish.
He was here now, back in Sirius' bed. Sirius' gums itched. He longed for Padfoot's sharp canines, wanted to sink them in his brother's flanks, mark him and claim him—what a cruel twist of fate that this was how his brother returned to him. He'd almost forgotten, this desire to devour, to keep and own—that his brother was beautiful and his.
They were supposed to be comrades and best friends, but Regulus had chosen to stand next to their mother as she ordered Sirius out of her house, silent and ghostly pale, wearing her hostile face.
Despite it all, Sirius wanted his brother back. The boy he remembered. Regulus had belonged to him under the cover of darkness, in his bed, where the secrets of their bodies were theirs and theirs alone.
"Siri," Regulus said, reaching for him "Please." And Sirius finally gave in to the urge clamouring in his chest and put his mouth on the shiny-sticky head of his brother's cock.
Regulus' hips twitched with eagerness. He clutched at Sirius, desperate fingers in his hair, making low breathy noises that spurred Sirius on, letting his lips go soft for Regulus to push inside. It was sloppy-wet and less than graceful; Sirius wasn't in the habit of putting his mouth on other boys, just Regulus. Only Regulus was allowed to use his mouth like this, pushing himself deeper until Sirius sputtered and choked, spit dripping down his chin. He wiped it off with the back of his hand, groping for his wand with the other. He cast the spells he had memorised years ago as he had poured over the pilfered Restricted Section books with his friends: cleaning, lubrication, protection.
Regulus' skin was fever-hot and slick with sweat. Sirius' thumb pressed against Regulus' hole, watched his finger be swallowed up by Regulus' body. It gave way so easily, so pliable for Sirius. Regulus had always been like that: soft and eager, willing to take whatever people gave him. Sirius would give him everything this time, fill him up to the brim, leave him satisfied for once. Sirius would make sure his brother would never go looking anywhere else after he was through with him.
"Have you ever?" Sirius asked, pressing another finger inside. Regulus shook his head. Sirius withdrew his finger.
Regulus' hand shot out and wrapped around Sirius' wrist like a vice. "Don't—I want…" His eyes looked wild, pupils blown wide and as dark as their cursed family name.
His silly little brother, he must think Sirius didn't want him. But Sirius wanted everything Regulus wanted and more, wanted to shove his cock deep inside him and stay there forever.
"Shh." Sirius leaned up over him and kissed Regulus' sweaty brow, his cheek, the tip of his freckled nose, murmuring, "Shh, I got you. I'll make you feel good. I'll make you feel so, so good, take such good care of you." Sirius kissed Regulus' lips, gave him his tongue to suck on.
"Siri," Regulus gasped. They'd never kissed before, never tasted each other's mouth. Regulus' voice broke on a sob, and he sounded just like he did as a little boy. When he still belonged to Sirius.
Sirius opened him up so carefully, soothing Regulus whimpers with gentle fingers and a gentler tongue. He spread Regulus' legs wide and lapped at his pink little hole until Regulus moaned and clutched at fistfuls of Sirius' hair, until his body opened up to him and welcomed Sirius’ cock inside.
Regulus was so warm inside and out, his skin burning up. Sirius tasted the salt of his skin, his sweat and tears. He pulled Regulus' knees up to his chest, folding him in half so he could drive himself deeper inside his brother's body, over and over, until Regulus' spine bowed and he cried out, his cock jerking white all over his belly and chest without a touch from Sirius' hand. Sirius didn't pause, didn't stop. He fucked Regulus through his orgasm and beyond. He wasn't done yet, couldn't stop fucking his little brother.
Regulus was gone, a writhing, mewling mess in Sirius' bed. Sirius pushed forward, brought Regulus' hips with him up off the bed. He gripped Regulus' narrow hips as he watched his cock fuck into Regulus' puffed up, pink hole. His prim, neat little brother, never a hair out of place, and look at him now: holding himself in place with his fingers around the heels of his feet, his formerly pristine shirt tangled around him, as come-streaked and sweat-soaked as Sirius' bedsheets. Regulus was meant for this. He was beautiful like this: a gorgeous, wanton mess, and all for Sirius.
Regulus' hands slipped from his feet down to grip his thighs, rucking up his shirt sleeves. Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius glimpsed the dark outline of a grotesque snake on the inside of his forearm.
This little fucker, this little idiot, had gotten himself branded. Rage burned hot and bright in his gut. Sirius started fucking him harder, staccato thrusts that pushed Regulus into the matress. Regulus' head was thrown back, his eyes squeezed shut as his breath was pushed out of him in choked gasps and moans. Yes, Sirius thought, that's right, you belong to me.
"You're mine," Sirius groaned. "Look at me."
Regulus' eyes blinked open, lashes clumped together wetly, blinking his too large eyes at him. Cow eyes, cousin Cissy used to call them snidely, but that wasn't right. They weren't brown, but grey, like early morning mist. They looked just like Sirius' own eyes.
"Tell me," Sirius demanded hoarsely. "Tell me you're mine."
Regulus' lips formed words but no sound came out. Sirius fucked into him hard, hitting his prostate perfectly to make him cry out. "Tell me you're mine. Tell me you'll stay."
He hadn't meant to say that, but now that it was out there the words kept coming. "You belong to me, not him. You had no right to take his brand. Did you forget that you're mine? Did you forget who we are? We are Blacks. We're a jealous, spiteful breed, and we don't share." Every word punctuated by a sharp thrust that drove Sirius deeper and deeper into his brother's body until the fevered madness in his blood finally boiled over, and he collapsed on top of Regulus with a bone-deep shudder.
Regulus' strong arms and thighs clamped around Sirius as he whispered, "Yours, I'm yours. Please, Siri, I'm yours."
Sirius' balls almost cramped with the force of his climax as he groaned out his release, spilling inside his brother's body, claiming him with his come. Nobody had ever done this to Regulus before. Sirius was his first, and he'll be his last. He was sure of it. Sirius was going to keep him forever now.
Sirius rested his fevered brow in the crook of Regulus' neck and curled himself around his brother. Regulus stroked his hair and whispered gentle words until Sirius slipped away into sleep.
In the morning, Sirius woke up in an empty bed. There was a note on the bedside table. In Regulus' neat cursive it read: I'm sorry. I'll make it right. Yours, always.