FIC: "Things Are Changing," Sirius & Regulus gen, PG-13
Title: Things Are Changing
Alternate title: Squishy (has nothing to do with the fic, of course)
Word Count: Fucked if I know, I wrote this in Firefox
Rating: PG-13 I guess, as I can't keep from saying fuck a lot
Disclaimer: So not mine. So very not mine.
A/N: Sirius & Regulus gen. No, I've never written gen before. No, I didn't pick this prompt just so I could use my Regulus icon. Yes, I know I suck at coming up with titles. This is nothing new. Written for xylodemon's "I Didn't Get to Go to TWH" Ficlet-A-Thon for dream_catcher_8. Unbeta'd like a really unbeta'd thing.
The club is dark and smoky, full of pretty young things drinking fruity neon concoctions and dancing to that tasteful cacophony of sounds Muggles like to call music, and as Sirius sits down at the bar he’s glad for the kaleidoscope of faces, because it means that he can pretend he’s not alone.
He doesn’t like drinking alone.
He likes things to make sense, likes knowing that his life is a jumbled mass of experience that nevertheless is perfectly organized if you squint, and lately it seems that no amount of squinting can put things back in order. Worse, he absolutely doesn’t know how he fucked everything up so badly, much less how to fix it, and James isn’t there to fix it because he’s too busy fussing about Lily and the baby and the future and Merlin knows what else.
Sirius doesn’t really know how to be a godfather, but he’s pretty sure that hoping the brat is stillborn just so he can get his best friend back isn’t the best place to start.
At least Remus understands, or is at least good at pretending he does. Usually. Sometimes.
"It’s not just today. It’s every damn day. It’s James’ bloody life, Sirius, and I don’t want to hear about it. And maybe if you spent half as much time worrying about us as you do carrying on about him, we wouldn’t be having this row!" Then he’d slammed the door to their flat, and Sirius had of course done exactly what he’d done every time before when someone had tossed him out.
"I’m sorry, Padfoot, but Lily needs me right now. You can take the couch if you want, but I won’t leave her like this." James had looked sheepish and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose before turning, leaving the door open behind him.
Sirius had shut it and Apparated away, coming to the club alone after banging on Peter’s door for just long enough to ascertain that he wasn’t home.
Muggle clubs usually fascinate him, but as a man with a mission - to get as pissed as it takes for life to seem normal again - he’s not concentrating on the club’s eminently shaggable crowd or the truly awful music or anything other than the scotch and water he’s pouring down his throat at a truly alarming rate.
So when another body slides into the seat next to his and the noise level substantially dies down, he barely notices. When said body offers him a fag, he takes it without looking up. And when a hand comes up to light it, he very nearly misses the inky, sinister glare of the Dark Mark on the impossibly white wrist.
Sirius goes very still, instantly sober, before turning slightly in his chair, right hand slipping inside his jacket to finger his wand.
"Good Lord, Sirius. Put that away before you hurt someone," Regulus Black says, casually flicking his cigarette and giving his brother a patronizing look.
Sirius is fairly sure that he manages to conceal his surprise. "Why the hell are you here?" he asks, glowering in what he hopes is a threatening manner. He turns towards the bar again and lifts his drink to his lips.
"I like the music."
Sirius snorts into his scotch.
"I’m looking for a lay, genius. You think I’d be out like this otherwise?" Regulus runs a hand through his hair and looks disinterested in a very elegant sort of way, which Sirius has to admit is rather impressive seeing as how Regulus is wearing eyeliner and black leather trousers and positively smoldering.
"You’re still a great bloody girl, you know that?" Sirius says, shifting in his chair. Can't let the tosser know he looks brilliant, of course.
"And the ladies love it. You’re still a prat when you’re drunk."
"Thank you."
The bartender sets a martini in front of Regulus, and they both drink for a while without speaking.
"Things not going so well with the werewolf, then?"
"Bugger off."
"Ah."
"Wait, how the fuck do you know about it?"
"That he’s a werewolf, or that you’re fucking?"
"Both. Either. I don’t know." Sirius sighs. "Why do you even ask?"
"It’s a diabolical Death Eater plot to learn all the details of your sex life."
"You shouldn’t joke about things like that."
"I know."
Another long pause. Regulus stubs out his cigarette.
"I’m glad to see you."
"Don’t let Bella hear you say that."
"Bella’s a crazy bitch."
"I’m pleased you’ve finally figured that out."
Regulus flicks his lighter, staring into the flame. "I’ve figured a lot of things out."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Sirius finishes his drink and turns the glass around in his fingers, watching the lighter’s reflection dance on its surface. "Things aren’t going so well with anything."
"I never would have guessed."
"And I'd never have thought you'd rather taunt me about my love life than Crucio Mudbloods."
Regulus' face darkens, and he snaps the lighter shut with a click before standing up and turning to walk away, and Sirius realizes that maybe he went a little too far. Blame the alcohol, he thinks, and follows, the muting spell shattering when he leaves the bar, the music deafening as it pounds in his ears once more.
Sirius is swaying on his feet when he finally catches up at the door of the club, grabbing hold of his brother's sleeve. "M'sorry, I shouldn't have said that."
Regulus looks at Sirius, a cheerless smile twisting his face. "You really are quite drunk, aren't you?"
Sirius nods vigorously, but a group of giggling girls in too-short dresses and too much makeup pushes them apart before either can speak.
When the girls pass, Regulus opens his mouth, then closes it, shutting his eyes for a moment and then opening them again to stare at Sirius. "Things are changing, you know."
A short bark of mirthless laughter. "Only too well."
"Somehow, I'm not sure you do."
"It sure as hell can't last forever."
"It won't." Regulus holds Sirius' gaze for a moment, then both look at the ground. "Do you ever regret it?" he asks quietly.
"Never in a thousand lifetimes."
"I do."
"You don't know how many times I've wished that you didn't have to."
They understand one another perfectly, even though they've omitted far more than they've said.
Regulus leans in and kisses Sirius full on the mouth, the barest taste of gin and longing. "Take care of yourself," he whispers against Sirius' lips, and then he pulls away and is gone with a crack! that nobody but Sirius hears.
Sirius shoves his hands in his pockets, looks appraisingly at the bar, then turns and leaves the club altogether.
Maybe Remus has unlocked the door.
...
Comments appreciated.
Alternate title: Squishy (has nothing to do with the fic, of course)
Word Count: Fucked if I know, I wrote this in Firefox
Rating: PG-13 I guess, as I can't keep from saying fuck a lot
Disclaimer: So not mine. So very not mine.
A/N: Sirius & Regulus gen. No, I've never written gen before. No, I didn't pick this prompt just so I could use my Regulus icon. Yes, I know I suck at coming up with titles. This is nothing new. Written for xylodemon's "I Didn't Get to Go to TWH" Ficlet-A-Thon for dream_catcher_8. Unbeta'd like a really unbeta'd thing.
The club is dark and smoky, full of pretty young things drinking fruity neon concoctions and dancing to that tasteful cacophony of sounds Muggles like to call music, and as Sirius sits down at the bar he’s glad for the kaleidoscope of faces, because it means that he can pretend he’s not alone.
He doesn’t like drinking alone.
He likes things to make sense, likes knowing that his life is a jumbled mass of experience that nevertheless is perfectly organized if you squint, and lately it seems that no amount of squinting can put things back in order. Worse, he absolutely doesn’t know how he fucked everything up so badly, much less how to fix it, and James isn’t there to fix it because he’s too busy fussing about Lily and the baby and the future and Merlin knows what else.
Sirius doesn’t really know how to be a godfather, but he’s pretty sure that hoping the brat is stillborn just so he can get his best friend back isn’t the best place to start.
At least Remus understands, or is at least good at pretending he does. Usually. Sometimes.
"It’s not just today. It’s every damn day. It’s James’ bloody life, Sirius, and I don’t want to hear about it. And maybe if you spent half as much time worrying about us as you do carrying on about him, we wouldn’t be having this row!" Then he’d slammed the door to their flat, and Sirius had of course done exactly what he’d done every time before when someone had tossed him out.
"I’m sorry, Padfoot, but Lily needs me right now. You can take the couch if you want, but I won’t leave her like this." James had looked sheepish and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose before turning, leaving the door open behind him.
Sirius had shut it and Apparated away, coming to the club alone after banging on Peter’s door for just long enough to ascertain that he wasn’t home.
Muggle clubs usually fascinate him, but as a man with a mission - to get as pissed as it takes for life to seem normal again - he’s not concentrating on the club’s eminently shaggable crowd or the truly awful music or anything other than the scotch and water he’s pouring down his throat at a truly alarming rate.
So when another body slides into the seat next to his and the noise level substantially dies down, he barely notices. When said body offers him a fag, he takes it without looking up. And when a hand comes up to light it, he very nearly misses the inky, sinister glare of the Dark Mark on the impossibly white wrist.
Sirius goes very still, instantly sober, before turning slightly in his chair, right hand slipping inside his jacket to finger his wand.
"Good Lord, Sirius. Put that away before you hurt someone," Regulus Black says, casually flicking his cigarette and giving his brother a patronizing look.
Sirius is fairly sure that he manages to conceal his surprise. "Why the hell are you here?" he asks, glowering in what he hopes is a threatening manner. He turns towards the bar again and lifts his drink to his lips.
"I like the music."
Sirius snorts into his scotch.
"I’m looking for a lay, genius. You think I’d be out like this otherwise?" Regulus runs a hand through his hair and looks disinterested in a very elegant sort of way, which Sirius has to admit is rather impressive seeing as how Regulus is wearing eyeliner and black leather trousers and positively smoldering.
"You’re still a great bloody girl, you know that?" Sirius says, shifting in his chair. Can't let the tosser know he looks brilliant, of course.
"And the ladies love it. You’re still a prat when you’re drunk."
"Thank you."
The bartender sets a martini in front of Regulus, and they both drink for a while without speaking.
"Things not going so well with the werewolf, then?"
"Bugger off."
"Ah."
"Wait, how the fuck do you know about it?"
"That he’s a werewolf, or that you’re fucking?"
"Both. Either. I don’t know." Sirius sighs. "Why do you even ask?"
"It’s a diabolical Death Eater plot to learn all the details of your sex life."
"You shouldn’t joke about things like that."
"I know."
Another long pause. Regulus stubs out his cigarette.
"I’m glad to see you."
"Don’t let Bella hear you say that."
"Bella’s a crazy bitch."
"I’m pleased you’ve finally figured that out."
Regulus flicks his lighter, staring into the flame. "I’ve figured a lot of things out."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Sirius finishes his drink and turns the glass around in his fingers, watching the lighter’s reflection dance on its surface. "Things aren’t going so well with anything."
"I never would have guessed."
"And I'd never have thought you'd rather taunt me about my love life than Crucio Mudbloods."
Regulus' face darkens, and he snaps the lighter shut with a click before standing up and turning to walk away, and Sirius realizes that maybe he went a little too far. Blame the alcohol, he thinks, and follows, the muting spell shattering when he leaves the bar, the music deafening as it pounds in his ears once more.
Sirius is swaying on his feet when he finally catches up at the door of the club, grabbing hold of his brother's sleeve. "M'sorry, I shouldn't have said that."
Regulus looks at Sirius, a cheerless smile twisting his face. "You really are quite drunk, aren't you?"
Sirius nods vigorously, but a group of giggling girls in too-short dresses and too much makeup pushes them apart before either can speak.
When the girls pass, Regulus opens his mouth, then closes it, shutting his eyes for a moment and then opening them again to stare at Sirius. "Things are changing, you know."
A short bark of mirthless laughter. "Only too well."
"Somehow, I'm not sure you do."
"It sure as hell can't last forever."
"It won't." Regulus holds Sirius' gaze for a moment, then both look at the ground. "Do you ever regret it?" he asks quietly.
"Never in a thousand lifetimes."
"I do."
"You don't know how many times I've wished that you didn't have to."
They understand one another perfectly, even though they've omitted far more than they've said.
Regulus leans in and kisses Sirius full on the mouth, the barest taste of gin and longing. "Take care of yourself," he whispers against Sirius' lips, and then he pulls away and is gone with a crack! that nobody but Sirius hears.
Sirius shoves his hands in his pockets, looks appraisingly at the bar, then turns and leaves the club altogether.
Maybe Remus has unlocked the door.
...
Comments appreciated.