New Fic.
Title: Iridescent Reflections.
Rating: PG-13.
Summery:
Paring: Regulus/Sirius.
Warnings:incest.
Dedication: To _emeraldgreen. Happy Birthday!
A/N: Heavily inspired by Terry Pratchett’s ‘Witches Abroad’ and the fairytale ‘The Snow Queen’. Thanks again to ladyblack888 for beta.
Regulus sat enshrined on a throne of pillows, the mirrors of his bedroom reflecting his image back at him like a sun orbited by a thousand, pearl-sheened moons. He turned his head at the sound of the door and a hundred mirror Reguli turned with him, fixing their cold, reflected eyes on Sirius.
Regulus drew his power from mirrors, vain and pretty and contented in front of them and often Sirius would find him stretched out in front of them - glorious in his nudity, fingers following the expanse of his body, stroking over the curved bone of his hip as he gazed hungrily at his reflection's multiplication.
When they made love, Sirius panting and sweaty and dishevelled, Regulus watched the mirrors - immaculate and cold as the glass he loved so much. Regulus thought the mirrors made him stronger, but Sirius saw what they really did to him. He had watched the way Regulus sweet, baby fattened frame had melted to the cold expanse of bone, his flesh so thin and so sickly it seemed any second now it would rip and everything that was left of Regulus would pour away and be soaked up by the bed beneath him. He had seen how his brother's luminous skin had waned to the cold, brittle colour of grave dust, and how his normally bright eyes had dulled and dimmed till they no longer resembled the star of his name.
Regulus thought mirrors made him beautiful, but Sirius saw they took the beauty away.
Regulus patted the bed beside him, offering a prong tongued brush from his bed side table- a miniature peace-offering across the vast expanse of brotherly distrust.
"You can comb my hair," He said; the words more order than suggestion and turned his back on Sirius, drawn again to his pretty, pleasing image. Sirius took a few hesitant steps across the floor, before he knelt behind his little brother and stroked his hand lovingly across the smooth, perfectly curled head of dark hair.
The brush felt heavy in his hand, the weight of the other Reguli's eyes seemed to watch him still, even though his own, real Regulus had his closed, humming so quietly and Sirius wanted nothing more than to take him in his arms and flee with him right then, But he didn't know if the Regulus he chose would be the real one, or the vacant mirror brothers who mocked him even now.
He gently slid the brush through Regulus' hair, listening to his contented little sighs and looked again at the brush in his hand, as heavy now as lead. If he threw it now he couldn't imagine it would go far but he couldn't stand the mocking eyes, couldn't stand the way the glass hands reached for his precious, precious Regulus.
The mirror shattered, and Sirius heard the scream but it didn't come from the boy fainted dead away in his arms, it came from the mirror child who screamed and screamed and screamed as the mirrors snapped and twisted and exploded, showering the bed in icy, crystal shards. Sirius covered Regulus' lax and limp body with his own and watched the shower of glass fall cascade onto the floor, as if the mirrors were weeping for their loss.
And when the last one had shattered he uncurled, and Regulus beneath him slumbered on - his cheeks warmed pink at last and Sirius shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around his beautiful, sleeping little brother. And then he lifted Regulus up so gently and carried him across the field of broken glass, which crunched beneath his shoes. And with each step Regulus became more alive, became fuller and more human, until by the time they reached the door his eyes were opening and he brought his sweet, perfect hand up and smacked Sirius across the face.
"My mirrors," He squeaked angrily, twisting in his brother's arms to see over his shoulder. "I'm not cleaning that up!"
Rating: PG-13.
Summery:
Paring: Regulus/Sirius.
Warnings:incest.
Dedication: To _emeraldgreen. Happy Birthday!
A/N: Heavily inspired by Terry Pratchett’s ‘Witches Abroad’ and the fairytale ‘The Snow Queen’. Thanks again to ladyblack888 for beta.
Regulus sat enshrined on a throne of pillows, the mirrors of his bedroom reflecting his image back at him like a sun orbited by a thousand, pearl-sheened moons. He turned his head at the sound of the door and a hundred mirror Reguli turned with him, fixing their cold, reflected eyes on Sirius.
Regulus drew his power from mirrors, vain and pretty and contented in front of them and often Sirius would find him stretched out in front of them - glorious in his nudity, fingers following the expanse of his body, stroking over the curved bone of his hip as he gazed hungrily at his reflection's multiplication.
When they made love, Sirius panting and sweaty and dishevelled, Regulus watched the mirrors - immaculate and cold as the glass he loved so much. Regulus thought the mirrors made him stronger, but Sirius saw what they really did to him. He had watched the way Regulus sweet, baby fattened frame had melted to the cold expanse of bone, his flesh so thin and so sickly it seemed any second now it would rip and everything that was left of Regulus would pour away and be soaked up by the bed beneath him. He had seen how his brother's luminous skin had waned to the cold, brittle colour of grave dust, and how his normally bright eyes had dulled and dimmed till they no longer resembled the star of his name.
Regulus thought mirrors made him beautiful, but Sirius saw they took the beauty away.
Regulus patted the bed beside him, offering a prong tongued brush from his bed side table- a miniature peace-offering across the vast expanse of brotherly distrust.
"You can comb my hair," He said; the words more order than suggestion and turned his back on Sirius, drawn again to his pretty, pleasing image. Sirius took a few hesitant steps across the floor, before he knelt behind his little brother and stroked his hand lovingly across the smooth, perfectly curled head of dark hair.
The brush felt heavy in his hand, the weight of the other Reguli's eyes seemed to watch him still, even though his own, real Regulus had his closed, humming so quietly and Sirius wanted nothing more than to take him in his arms and flee with him right then, But he didn't know if the Regulus he chose would be the real one, or the vacant mirror brothers who mocked him even now.
He gently slid the brush through Regulus' hair, listening to his contented little sighs and looked again at the brush in his hand, as heavy now as lead. If he threw it now he couldn't imagine it would go far but he couldn't stand the mocking eyes, couldn't stand the way the glass hands reached for his precious, precious Regulus.
The mirror shattered, and Sirius heard the scream but it didn't come from the boy fainted dead away in his arms, it came from the mirror child who screamed and screamed and screamed as the mirrors snapped and twisted and exploded, showering the bed in icy, crystal shards. Sirius covered Regulus' lax and limp body with his own and watched the shower of glass fall cascade onto the floor, as if the mirrors were weeping for their loss.
And when the last one had shattered he uncurled, and Regulus beneath him slumbered on - his cheeks warmed pink at last and Sirius shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around his beautiful, sleeping little brother. And then he lifted Regulus up so gently and carried him across the field of broken glass, which crunched beneath his shoes. And with each step Regulus became more alive, became fuller and more human, until by the time they reached the door his eyes were opening and he brought his sweet, perfect hand up and smacked Sirius across the face.
"My mirrors," He squeaked angrily, twisting in his brother's arms to see over his shoulder. "I'm not cleaning that up!"