Killing the Invincible
Well, it's back off to classes - or class, in today's case. The reality of studying and work asn't really set in, I'm too excited about seeing cero and gonzofx and everyone else. Thought I'd post this nice and early in the day, at any rate. My intention to write super-smut failed, as I spent most of the smutty bit with one hand over my eyes muttering "Ohmahgawd, ohmigodddd....." as I went.
Happy end-of-holidays, everyone! And for those who are traveling, have a safe trip. Watch out for those icy patches!
Title: Killing the Invincible
Author:waxrose
Summary: The year is 1980 and the tide of the war has turned in Voldemort’s favour. Regulus seeks out his brother’s help and Sirius is left to make choices in a world overturned by fear.
Rating: R
Pairings: Sirius/Regulus, implied Sirius/Remus
Length: 1322 words.
Notes: A belated birthday present for klena. Sorry that this took so long, wifey dearest! Also, eternal gratitude to my wonderful beta, elsie_shade!
Nothing else can hurt us now
No loss, our love's been hung on a cross
Nothing seems to make a sound
And now it's all so clear somehow
Nothing really matters now
We're gone and on our way
Love Burns - Black Rebel Motorcycle Club
He’s scraped by death once too often, Moody tells him, voice gruff with barely concealed pride. A rough clap on his shoulder, drinks all around, boys and for a few hours, Sirius allows himself to forget those he couldn’t save. The alcohol burns down his throat and tears sting in the corners of his eyes and God, but they nearly lost James tonight, but it’s going to be okay. Arm’s a bit broken, yeah, pride’s a little sore at being caught off guard, but a little fussing by a certain redhead would do him good.
The pub empties quickly as the sun sets and darkness spreads like black ink over London. Friends and colleagues say their goodbyes, leave together in groups of two or three. Every element of life has been touched now by the war, every action modified to include the possibility of attack - of death. Sirius feels older than he ever has, for all his nineteen years. He is slower to leave, lingers over his last pint as the barkeeper anxiously slaps a cloth across the counter. Home is a shabby fourteenth-floor flat shared with Remus in a rough corner of Muggle London and, of late, the scene of far too many fights to be considered a refuge.
He leaves the pub (cleverly disguised as a deserted flower shop) and squints under the yellow streetlights of a nearly deserted Muggle street. The shabby rows of townhouses cramped together with pocket-handkerchief lawns are bright with lights muffled by closed curtains.
Wand out, watch your back, trust your instincts, he remembers, Moody’s low growl conveying a warning that has become as routine as brushing his teeth in the morning. The street itself is empty but for an old Muggle walking his dog. Sirius casually ambles towards the alley next to the pub.
There is someone else in the alley.
Sirius raises his wand, ready to strike as a figure moves out of the shadows. The stranger throws back his hood, meets Sirius’s stare evenly. His black hair shines under the moonlight filtering through the high brick walls of the surrounding buildings.
“Reg,” Sirius says, keeping his voice even. He hasn’t seen his younger brother since Hogwarts. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He grips his wand tighter, aims for his brother’s heart.
Regulus laughs softly, stretches out a hand towards Sirius. “Not pleased to see me, dear brother?” He moves forward, his lowered hand still clutching his mask. A Death Eater mask. The bottom of his robes are singed and torn. There is a tear in the sleeve of Regulus’s outstretched arm and Sirius’s eyes widen.
“Quite a scramble today,” he says finally. “Wasn’t it?”
Regulus nods, smiling bitterly. “It’s a pity you didn’t stop to say hello.”
“It’s a pity that I missed,” Sirius retorts. “Get out of here, Regulus. Before I take you in.”
“No - Sirius...” Regulus stops, as if to compose himself. He draws his arm back, hugs it close to his chest. “I need...a favour.”
“And you thought I would give you a hand?” Sirius laughs hoarsely. “You’re thicker than you look, little brother.”
“You always did,” Regulus answers, smiling again. “You always will, even if you’re such a bastard about it.”
“Shut it and get out, you whinging traitor,” Sirius snaps, “I won’t betray my friends.” But he is weakening, he is listening.
There is a crack, a flash of movement, and suddenly, Sirius finds himself flat on his back, immobilised and staring at the black sky. Regulus’s face appears above him, triumphant. He raises Sirius’s wand and twirls it, grinning.
“Looks like the mighty Auror has a weakness after all,” Regulus says, kneeling beside him. He threads his fingers through Sirius hair. “Finite Incantatum. Sirius, I won’t hurt you.”
Sirius sits up gingerly, snatches his wand when Regulus hands it over. “Like you could have,” he retorts.
Regulus leans forward until their lips nearly brush. “I could have,” he whispered hoarsely. “I could have left you cold and dead here and they wouldn’t have found you for days.” The air between them almost vibrates with tension and want and need and fuck, Sirius has never had such a hard-on in his life. He lunges forward and kisses his brother roughly.
It’s startling, sloppy and violent. Teeth clash accidentally and tongues duel for possession of each other’s mouths. Sirius closes his eyes, pulls Regulus down on top of him. He can feel Regulus’s arousal, stiff against his leg and shoves his hand roughly through Regulus’s robes, unzips his trousers and takes his brother’s stiff prick in his hand. Regulus groans and hides his face in Sirius’s shoulder.
They rut against each other in the stillness of the night. The ground is cold and rough against Sirius’s back, he grinds upwards towards Regulus’s warmth, the wet, hard kisses and the low moans that spill from his brother’s mouth. It’s over soon enough and Sirius is once again staring at the sky, letting the stars light burn into his eyeballs and listening to his brother’s pants against his shoulder.
“Help me, Sirius. This needs to end,” Regulus whispers, breath hot against the shell of Sirius’s ear. “Just trust me.”
He stares into Regulus’s eyes, their panting breaths the only sound beyond the wailing traffic sounds of the outside world.
And then Sirius Disapparates soundlessly, reappearing in the hallway outside of his and Remus’s flat.
He can hear the ordinary, angry clang of dishes within and smell roast, potatoes, the sharp sweetness of roast carrots. Remus is making his favorite dinner to apologize for last night’s argument, Remus is furious and because he is late, Remus has the wireless turned on to listen for any news, Remus is probably wearing that daft apron he likes so much.
Sirius hides in a nearby stairwell for a while, smoking his last cigarette and slumping against the concrete steps. He tries to forget the screaming, dark world he only just left, and instead fill his head with the smell of musty carpets and everyday arguments and suspicions over mushy peas.
They will both pretend that everything is all right, as they always do. He can imagine Remus’s shoulder’s visibily relaxing at the snick of his key in the lock. They will talk of simple things, how is James?, Give me a hand with the washing up, will you Pads. Life will settle into a keening hum, barely disguising the snapping, empty chorus of spy, spy, traitor that has haunted Sirius’s thoughts every morning he has woken up next to Remus these past five months.
He stubs out his cigarette on the stair railing and stands.
- - -
There is a grave without a body in the Black family cemetery and there is a heaviness to Sirius’s world. Colors are too bright, red like sunrise, red like blood. Screams echo in his ears for hours after combing through rubble, rattling around his head shrilly and painfully. He can taste bile in the back of his throat as he watches Remus walk out again, slamming the door so hard that the wood shivers.
The world is black with death, stained by the screams of the dying. Every morning the Prophet delivers news of murders, bleak and ordinary in their presentation, almost businesslike. His hand shakes and spills cold tea as he carries his dishes to the sink. The flat is empty, a shell that’s lost the soul of laughter and midnight conversations.
Sirius finds hope in the ordinary sunlit days of summer, quiet and beautiful in their overwhelming simplicity. There is still goodness to be found beneath the apple tree in the Lily and James's yard, Harry breathing peacefully in his sleep, tiny warm huffs against his shoulder.
And though he knows it cannot last, Sirius ignores the swallowing darkness and clings, holds on for just as long as he can.
FIN
cross-posted to sbrb_blackcest
Happy end-of-holidays, everyone! And for those who are traveling, have a safe trip. Watch out for those icy patches!
Title: Killing the Invincible
Author:waxrose
Summary: The year is 1980 and the tide of the war has turned in Voldemort’s favour. Regulus seeks out his brother’s help and Sirius is left to make choices in a world overturned by fear.
Rating: R
Pairings: Sirius/Regulus, implied Sirius/Remus
Length: 1322 words.
Notes: A belated birthday present for klena. Sorry that this took so long, wifey dearest! Also, eternal gratitude to my wonderful beta, elsie_shade!
Nothing else can hurt us now
No loss, our love's been hung on a cross
Nothing seems to make a sound
And now it's all so clear somehow
Nothing really matters now
We're gone and on our way
Love Burns - Black Rebel Motorcycle Club
He’s scraped by death once too often, Moody tells him, voice gruff with barely concealed pride. A rough clap on his shoulder, drinks all around, boys and for a few hours, Sirius allows himself to forget those he couldn’t save. The alcohol burns down his throat and tears sting in the corners of his eyes and God, but they nearly lost James tonight, but it’s going to be okay. Arm’s a bit broken, yeah, pride’s a little sore at being caught off guard, but a little fussing by a certain redhead would do him good.
The pub empties quickly as the sun sets and darkness spreads like black ink over London. Friends and colleagues say their goodbyes, leave together in groups of two or three. Every element of life has been touched now by the war, every action modified to include the possibility of attack - of death. Sirius feels older than he ever has, for all his nineteen years. He is slower to leave, lingers over his last pint as the barkeeper anxiously slaps a cloth across the counter. Home is a shabby fourteenth-floor flat shared with Remus in a rough corner of Muggle London and, of late, the scene of far too many fights to be considered a refuge.
He leaves the pub (cleverly disguised as a deserted flower shop) and squints under the yellow streetlights of a nearly deserted Muggle street. The shabby rows of townhouses cramped together with pocket-handkerchief lawns are bright with lights muffled by closed curtains.
Wand out, watch your back, trust your instincts, he remembers, Moody’s low growl conveying a warning that has become as routine as brushing his teeth in the morning. The street itself is empty but for an old Muggle walking his dog. Sirius casually ambles towards the alley next to the pub.
There is someone else in the alley.
Sirius raises his wand, ready to strike as a figure moves out of the shadows. The stranger throws back his hood, meets Sirius’s stare evenly. His black hair shines under the moonlight filtering through the high brick walls of the surrounding buildings.
“Reg,” Sirius says, keeping his voice even. He hasn’t seen his younger brother since Hogwarts. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He grips his wand tighter, aims for his brother’s heart.
Regulus laughs softly, stretches out a hand towards Sirius. “Not pleased to see me, dear brother?” He moves forward, his lowered hand still clutching his mask. A Death Eater mask. The bottom of his robes are singed and torn. There is a tear in the sleeve of Regulus’s outstretched arm and Sirius’s eyes widen.
“Quite a scramble today,” he says finally. “Wasn’t it?”
Regulus nods, smiling bitterly. “It’s a pity you didn’t stop to say hello.”
“It’s a pity that I missed,” Sirius retorts. “Get out of here, Regulus. Before I take you in.”
“No - Sirius...” Regulus stops, as if to compose himself. He draws his arm back, hugs it close to his chest. “I need...a favour.”
“And you thought I would give you a hand?” Sirius laughs hoarsely. “You’re thicker than you look, little brother.”
“You always did,” Regulus answers, smiling again. “You always will, even if you’re such a bastard about it.”
“Shut it and get out, you whinging traitor,” Sirius snaps, “I won’t betray my friends.” But he is weakening, he is listening.
There is a crack, a flash of movement, and suddenly, Sirius finds himself flat on his back, immobilised and staring at the black sky. Regulus’s face appears above him, triumphant. He raises Sirius’s wand and twirls it, grinning.
“Looks like the mighty Auror has a weakness after all,” Regulus says, kneeling beside him. He threads his fingers through Sirius hair. “Finite Incantatum. Sirius, I won’t hurt you.”
Sirius sits up gingerly, snatches his wand when Regulus hands it over. “Like you could have,” he retorts.
Regulus leans forward until their lips nearly brush. “I could have,” he whispered hoarsely. “I could have left you cold and dead here and they wouldn’t have found you for days.” The air between them almost vibrates with tension and want and need and fuck, Sirius has never had such a hard-on in his life. He lunges forward and kisses his brother roughly.
It’s startling, sloppy and violent. Teeth clash accidentally and tongues duel for possession of each other’s mouths. Sirius closes his eyes, pulls Regulus down on top of him. He can feel Regulus’s arousal, stiff against his leg and shoves his hand roughly through Regulus’s robes, unzips his trousers and takes his brother’s stiff prick in his hand. Regulus groans and hides his face in Sirius’s shoulder.
They rut against each other in the stillness of the night. The ground is cold and rough against Sirius’s back, he grinds upwards towards Regulus’s warmth, the wet, hard kisses and the low moans that spill from his brother’s mouth. It’s over soon enough and Sirius is once again staring at the sky, letting the stars light burn into his eyeballs and listening to his brother’s pants against his shoulder.
“Help me, Sirius. This needs to end,” Regulus whispers, breath hot against the shell of Sirius’s ear. “Just trust me.”
He stares into Regulus’s eyes, their panting breaths the only sound beyond the wailing traffic sounds of the outside world.
And then Sirius Disapparates soundlessly, reappearing in the hallway outside of his and Remus’s flat.
He can hear the ordinary, angry clang of dishes within and smell roast, potatoes, the sharp sweetness of roast carrots. Remus is making his favorite dinner to apologize for last night’s argument, Remus is furious and because he is late, Remus has the wireless turned on to listen for any news, Remus is probably wearing that daft apron he likes so much.
Sirius hides in a nearby stairwell for a while, smoking his last cigarette and slumping against the concrete steps. He tries to forget the screaming, dark world he only just left, and instead fill his head with the smell of musty carpets and everyday arguments and suspicions over mushy peas.
They will both pretend that everything is all right, as they always do. He can imagine Remus’s shoulder’s visibily relaxing at the snick of his key in the lock. They will talk of simple things, how is James?, Give me a hand with the washing up, will you Pads. Life will settle into a keening hum, barely disguising the snapping, empty chorus of spy, spy, traitor that has haunted Sirius’s thoughts every morning he has woken up next to Remus these past five months.
He stubs out his cigarette on the stair railing and stands.
- - -
There is a grave without a body in the Black family cemetery and there is a heaviness to Sirius’s world. Colors are too bright, red like sunrise, red like blood. Screams echo in his ears for hours after combing through rubble, rattling around his head shrilly and painfully. He can taste bile in the back of his throat as he watches Remus walk out again, slamming the door so hard that the wood shivers.
The world is black with death, stained by the screams of the dying. Every morning the Prophet delivers news of murders, bleak and ordinary in their presentation, almost businesslike. His hand shakes and spills cold tea as he carries his dishes to the sink. The flat is empty, a shell that’s lost the soul of laughter and midnight conversations.
Sirius finds hope in the ordinary sunlit days of summer, quiet and beautiful in their overwhelming simplicity. There is still goodness to be found beneath the apple tree in the Lily and James's yard, Harry breathing peacefully in his sleep, tiny warm huffs against his shoulder.
And though he knows it cannot last, Sirius ignores the swallowing darkness and clings, holds on for just as long as he can.
FIN
cross-posted to sbrb_blackcest