Gift for BlackMoonRuby!
Title: Tour de Force
Author: maidenform
Recipient: blackmoonruby
Pairing: Sirius/Regulus.
Rating: R
Summary: Sirius had always wanted to be an artist.
A/N: Special thanks go to my wonderful beta, to stephanometra for running this exchange and being patient with me, and to blackmoonruby for the prompt. I hope you like this!
*
Sirius spent hours studying the portraits.
He rambled from room to room, observing what he saw. He noted the colors, the shapes, the hurled insults from the various subjects, all of whom were darting about in a frenzied panic. He knew what troubled them.
Blood traitor. They didn't have to speak those words for Sirius to hear them. He looked down at the picture he held in his hands. He watched as he and his friends taunted those on the wall, their faces contorted in mockery and hatred. He saw himself in the picture, more angry and contemptuous than the others.
He crumpled the picture up, throwing it against the wall before hurrying out of the room.
*
Sirius watched as his brother Regulus posed for his portrait. He watched as Regulus' hair fluttered in the slight breeze that trickled in from the window, dancing over his piercing green eyes and slightly upturned nose. The corner of his mouth was twisted in his usual half-smirk, a trait that Sirius found attractive if not sexy. Sirius noticed a knowing look in his brother's eye and blushed, turning away before he revealed any more secrets.
Sirius started having these sorts of feelings for his brother almost as soon as Regulus came of age. He found himself noticing the minutest features of Regulus' body, such as the ends of his hair curled ever so slightly upward or the way he held his hands as he walked, or even the delicately twisted shape of his ears. And he also found himself with thoughts in his head, thoughts of defilement and degeneration. He pictured Regulus falling under his control, open to his every advance. And he hated himself for thinking of his brother like that. He hated himself for the bulge in his pants that turned up every time Regulus flipped his hair, or quivered his lip.
The portraits hated him too, and they mocked him ceaselessly.
*
A portrait of his brother, staring at him with cold, steel eyes, accusing him with every piercing glance.
He knows he does not have much time left before it is all too late, before the cascade of events falls into place and traps him in its enveloped walls. And he knows that for good or ill, the deed is done.
*
Regulus didn't think twice before he plunged in.
It all happened too quickly for anyone to really think about it. Regulus watched from a distance as his brother stared longingly at his portrait, one hand wrapped around his cock, the other disappearing behind himself. Before long, Regulus found his own hands wandering, keeping time with his brother's thrusts and moans. A minute or three passed unmarked, the two standing there unmoving except for their busy hands, their feet seemingly nailed to the floor. The portrait watched in horror, screaming in disgust.
Regulus watched as his brother neared his climax. He watched as Sirius' back arched, coming in short spurts of thick whiteness. He watched as his brother's breathing returned to its regular pattern. He watched as his brother turned to face him, a smirk on his face, a look of victory in his eye.
He came right then, for his brother and his portrait to watch.
*
It was not long before they knew what he did.
He ran, disappearing into run-down bars and otherwise questionable establishments. He tried hiding as a Muggle, he tried altering his appearance, but they repeatedly almost caught him.
He was surprised he had made it this long.
*
Sirius had to take the portrait down from the wall to preserve his sanity. He buried it in a far corner of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, casting spell after to spell to attempt to silence it, but it was to almost no avail. Its accusations were too harsh, too close to reality, and Sirius wouldn't have his little dream dashed on a stone. Everything depended on all the minutiae falling into place like bricks and mortar, and he knew they would. For he was a Black, and Blacks always got what they wanted.
Even if they brought their entire world down in the process.
As he passed under the doorway of that forgotten room in the house, he felt a flame burning through the back of his head. He turned, and saw his brother standing in the shadows with harsh, cold, infernal eyes. That one look was it all it took to end everything that Sirius had worked for, his entire empire in Regulus' mind brought down faster than the destruction of Rome. It was then that he snapped.
He overheard Regulus' secret meetings with their intolerable cousin, he couldn't help but notice how he hid his left arm from view. He saw the frenzied glow in his brother's eyes, the hardened glimmer. It was his fault, he knew. No one else's.
*
Before they found him, Peter had already betrayed the Potters.
In a way, he was thankful that he was captured by the ministry. Azkaban might be a terrible fate, but it was no worse, or even better, than getting caught by them. At least he would have his innocence to carry him through his sentence. Regulus would have nothing.
*
Shortly after he purged his brother's accusatory stare from his mind, Sirius left. He would no longer let the memory of that portrait tear him apart. When he slammed the door of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place shut, he did not look back. Not even once.
Not even to see his brother standing in the second-story window, a cold, metal gleam piercing his eye.
Four years later
Regulus was sitting in his favorite chair, reading his favorite book, when he heard a small creaking noise. He looked up, saw nothing but the curtain flowing in the night breeze, the door swinging gently back and forth. He looked at the curtain again.
His brother stepped out from the shadows.
"How did you get here? If Mum finds out…"
Sirius didn't answer, a faint, fanatical shine dancing about his eyes. He only stepped forward, taking measured steps towards the chair. He raised his wand.
"Siri…"
"Silencio."
Regulus started to step backwards, horrified. Sirius advanced, taking care not to make any loud noises. Eventually, Regulus hit the wall. Sirius pointed his wand at his brother's throat. He held it there for a few seconds, before lowering it, pointing the tip at the snake-encircled skull burning on Regulus' arm.
"I had to, Sirius. It was the only choice."
"No it wasn't. You could have chosen me."
"B…"
Sirius muttered a spell that Regulus couldn't hear. And then it was all over.
*
Sirius put the new portrait of Regulus in the sitting room before he stole away from the house. Walburga never found out where it had come from, nor did she bother to find out. She quietly ignored Regulus' pleas for help as he scratched vainly at the outside world, broken and defeated.
*
I had apple-cinnamon scones for breakfast this morning. Know what would have been even better? Feedback.
Author: maidenform
Recipient: blackmoonruby
Pairing: Sirius/Regulus.
Rating: R
Summary: Sirius had always wanted to be an artist.
A/N: Special thanks go to my wonderful beta, to stephanometra for running this exchange and being patient with me, and to blackmoonruby for the prompt. I hope you like this!
*
Sirius spent hours studying the portraits.
He rambled from room to room, observing what he saw. He noted the colors, the shapes, the hurled insults from the various subjects, all of whom were darting about in a frenzied panic. He knew what troubled them.
Blood traitor. They didn't have to speak those words for Sirius to hear them. He looked down at the picture he held in his hands. He watched as he and his friends taunted those on the wall, their faces contorted in mockery and hatred. He saw himself in the picture, more angry and contemptuous than the others.
He crumpled the picture up, throwing it against the wall before hurrying out of the room.
*
Sirius watched as his brother Regulus posed for his portrait. He watched as Regulus' hair fluttered in the slight breeze that trickled in from the window, dancing over his piercing green eyes and slightly upturned nose. The corner of his mouth was twisted in his usual half-smirk, a trait that Sirius found attractive if not sexy. Sirius noticed a knowing look in his brother's eye and blushed, turning away before he revealed any more secrets.
Sirius started having these sorts of feelings for his brother almost as soon as Regulus came of age. He found himself noticing the minutest features of Regulus' body, such as the ends of his hair curled ever so slightly upward or the way he held his hands as he walked, or even the delicately twisted shape of his ears. And he also found himself with thoughts in his head, thoughts of defilement and degeneration. He pictured Regulus falling under his control, open to his every advance. And he hated himself for thinking of his brother like that. He hated himself for the bulge in his pants that turned up every time Regulus flipped his hair, or quivered his lip.
The portraits hated him too, and they mocked him ceaselessly.
*
A portrait of his brother, staring at him with cold, steel eyes, accusing him with every piercing glance.
He knows he does not have much time left before it is all too late, before the cascade of events falls into place and traps him in its enveloped walls. And he knows that for good or ill, the deed is done.
*
Regulus didn't think twice before he plunged in.
It all happened too quickly for anyone to really think about it. Regulus watched from a distance as his brother stared longingly at his portrait, one hand wrapped around his cock, the other disappearing behind himself. Before long, Regulus found his own hands wandering, keeping time with his brother's thrusts and moans. A minute or three passed unmarked, the two standing there unmoving except for their busy hands, their feet seemingly nailed to the floor. The portrait watched in horror, screaming in disgust.
Regulus watched as his brother neared his climax. He watched as Sirius' back arched, coming in short spurts of thick whiteness. He watched as his brother's breathing returned to its regular pattern. He watched as his brother turned to face him, a smirk on his face, a look of victory in his eye.
He came right then, for his brother and his portrait to watch.
*
It was not long before they knew what he did.
He ran, disappearing into run-down bars and otherwise questionable establishments. He tried hiding as a Muggle, he tried altering his appearance, but they repeatedly almost caught him.
He was surprised he had made it this long.
*
Sirius had to take the portrait down from the wall to preserve his sanity. He buried it in a far corner of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, casting spell after to spell to attempt to silence it, but it was to almost no avail. Its accusations were too harsh, too close to reality, and Sirius wouldn't have his little dream dashed on a stone. Everything depended on all the minutiae falling into place like bricks and mortar, and he knew they would. For he was a Black, and Blacks always got what they wanted.
Even if they brought their entire world down in the process.
As he passed under the doorway of that forgotten room in the house, he felt a flame burning through the back of his head. He turned, and saw his brother standing in the shadows with harsh, cold, infernal eyes. That one look was it all it took to end everything that Sirius had worked for, his entire empire in Regulus' mind brought down faster than the destruction of Rome. It was then that he snapped.
He overheard Regulus' secret meetings with their intolerable cousin, he couldn't help but notice how he hid his left arm from view. He saw the frenzied glow in his brother's eyes, the hardened glimmer. It was his fault, he knew. No one else's.
*
Before they found him, Peter had already betrayed the Potters.
In a way, he was thankful that he was captured by the ministry. Azkaban might be a terrible fate, but it was no worse, or even better, than getting caught by them. At least he would have his innocence to carry him through his sentence. Regulus would have nothing.
*
Shortly after he purged his brother's accusatory stare from his mind, Sirius left. He would no longer let the memory of that portrait tear him apart. When he slammed the door of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place shut, he did not look back. Not even once.
Not even to see his brother standing in the second-story window, a cold, metal gleam piercing his eye.
Four years later
Regulus was sitting in his favorite chair, reading his favorite book, when he heard a small creaking noise. He looked up, saw nothing but the curtain flowing in the night breeze, the door swinging gently back and forth. He looked at the curtain again.
His brother stepped out from the shadows.
"How did you get here? If Mum finds out…"
Sirius didn't answer, a faint, fanatical shine dancing about his eyes. He only stepped forward, taking measured steps towards the chair. He raised his wand.
"Siri…"
"Silencio."
Regulus started to step backwards, horrified. Sirius advanced, taking care not to make any loud noises. Eventually, Regulus hit the wall. Sirius pointed his wand at his brother's throat. He held it there for a few seconds, before lowering it, pointing the tip at the snake-encircled skull burning on Regulus' arm.
"I had to, Sirius. It was the only choice."
"No it wasn't. You could have chosen me."
"B…"
Sirius muttered a spell that Regulus couldn't hear. And then it was all over.
*
Sirius put the new portrait of Regulus in the sitting room before he stole away from the house. Walburga never found out where it had come from, nor did she bother to find out. She quietly ignored Regulus' pleas for help as he scratched vainly at the outside world, broken and defeated.
*
I had apple-cinnamon scones for breakfast this morning. Know what would have been even better? Feedback.