Blackficathon Challenge: Illusions
vixenette provided the challenge: "A Regulus/Remus story (because there can never be too many)."
Pairings: Regulus/Remus, unrequited Remus/Sirius
Warnings: Slash. Nothing explicit, though.
Rating: PG, because it deals with slash relationships, but really, this is as gen as slash can get.
Summary: "Remus does not, of course, love him. Regulus knows that he is, at best, a substitute."
Author's Note: This is very definitely NOT Regulus Arc Regulus.
Remus does not, of course, love him. He knows that. Regulus knows that he is, at best, a substitute, a stand-in, an acceptable alternative. He is margarine instead of butter, vanilla yoghurt instead of Forbidden Chocolate ice cream.
He is what Remus settles for instead of the real thing. The real thing is incurably heterosexual, and is therefore unavailable.
His looks are what got Remus into his arms, his bed and his life. His longish black hair (not quite as long as Sirius'), his clear light blue eyes (just a shade darker than Sirius') and his rangy build (a hair less sinewy than Sirius') are close enough to what--who--Remus really wants. His appearance allows Remus to pretend, though Regulus knows he's not supposed to know what Remus is pretending.
Why he continues to meet Remus for these trysts, knowing that he is only an understudy in this drama, is hard for him to explain, even to himself. Remus has what he wants, or the illusion of it, but Regulus has never liked illusion; he prefers to deal with reality, once he's certain that he knows what it is.
Part of it, he knows, is the opportunity to cock a snoot at his wilfully blind brother, who simply won't see what he's passing up. Part of it is spite--"I know you hate me, Sirius, but one of your best friends thinks I'm worth having sex with, because I look like you." Part of him wants to shake his brother and tell him to look at Remus' face when Remus speaks to him, to look, really LOOK, at those fiercely blazing brown eyes that never leave Sirius' face, that watch Sirius' every movement. Part of him is exasperated and infuriated and oddly touched by Remus' kindness and gentle optimism; it is not possible to be a Black and to be an innocent. Remus' innocence and hope are intoxicating at times.
Not, of course, that he loves Remus. Regulus dreads love. Sex is far safer. The only ill effects he can suffer from fucking are sexually transmitted diseases and a certain loss of reputation. Love--which Regulus has no personal experience of, but which he has learned about by watching Remus--is monstrous. It is soul searing, ripping away all defences, leaving the one who loves naked to the world.
Regulus was taught about vulnerability by austerely cruel parents and vicious, selfish schoolmates. Given his choice, he would barricade himself behind walls of iron and Damascus steel rather than ever be vulnerable again. Eternal loneliness would be better than the terrible, all-consuming--and purely hypothetical--fire of love.
He does what he can to preserve the illusion that Remus wants so badly. He does not talk to Remus much, because he is a tenor and Sirius is a baritone, which destroys all semblance of who is who. He rolls away from Remus after sex and pretends to fall asleep, so that Remus, who is still in oh-god-Sirius mode, will not be forced to confront the fact that he has just made love to the wrong person. He resists the impulse to share his thoughts about the war, and his growing conviction that either side is suicide. He refrains from commenting on the new scars that Remus has every month, from mentioning the Werewolf Registry tattoo--hidden by Remus' thick brown hair--on the back of Remus' neck. He tries to keep himself safe and Remus safer.
Sirius has warned him, several times, to leave Remus alone, to neither corrupt him nor to break his heart. Stupid warnings. He has no intention of corrupting Remus; innocence is too valuable a commodity. And Remus' heart is not his to break.
More disturbing is the fact that his Death Eater colleagues have learned that he is having sex with a member of the Order of the Phoenix. They want information, of course--gleaned from a Remus who is a willing traitor if possible, and an unknowing one if not. So far he's managed to keep them satisfied with a mulligatawny stew of lies and half-truths, with a few minor facts mixed in for flavour.
It won't last, of course. Sooner or later, they'll demand that he either turn Remus or kill him. Both are unacceptable, though he's not sure why. Remus alive should be better than Remus dead, even if the price of survival is treason. But somehow the thought of Remus, his lean features concealed behind the expressionless bronze mask of a Death Eater, his honest brown eyes half-maddened with lust for power or tainted with cowardice, is utterly unthinkable.
Once the others realise that he will not do what they wish, he will die. In unholy pain. Traitors--and the others will inevitably view him as betraying the Dark Lord's ideals--must suffer for their treachery. His death will not be a clean one.
The whole situation is idiotic, and he knows it. Dying for a man who is no more than a fuckbuddy is pointless. He should leave England, change his name, and flee to some corner of the world where the Dark Lord as yet has little influence. He could get away from his parents, from his persistent reputation as the soft, malleable weakling of the Black clan. He could find a man--oh, there must be one, somewhere--who would rather see and hear and touch Regulus Black instead of Sirius. He could find a way to live.
But that would mean leaving Remus. Remus, who does not understand how vulnerable he is. Remus, who has ignored the few oblique warnings Regulus has given him. Remus, who will not acknowledge that the Dark Lord demands that Dark Creatures serve him alone. Remus, the infuriatingly honourable Gryffindor, who will never desert the war effort, or the Order, or Sirius.
Which means that he can't leave either.
Regulus wonders sometimes if Remus will miss him after he dies. He doubts it. Sirius surely will not. He scarcely acknowledges Regulus' existence now. His parents, of course, will be ashamed of his craven treachery.
No one will mourn.
He tries very hard not to think about that.
He resolutely puts his oncoming death out of his mind, and focuses on what he has now: the lean, scarred, brown-haired man sleeping beside him. One of Remus' arms is curled over his head; the other is lying across Regulus' stomach. His thin lips are upturned in a joyful smile.
Something twists painfully in Regulus' heart as he watches Remus sleep. Heartburn, most likely. They really should not have eaten Chinese last night.
Tentatively, he brushes the backs of his fingers up the curve of Remus' cheek. Lightly, he kisses Remus on the tip of his freckled nose, then his eyelids, then his forehead...
...and stops abruptly as Remus, still slumbering, murmurs, "Sirius," with lazy pleasure before nestling against Regulus' shoulder and drifting into deeper sleep.
Regulus takes several deep breaths, settles back against his pillow and stares up at the ceiling till daybreak, trying not to think of the price he would pay if just once--before the Death Eaters slay him--Remus would smile joyfully and cry out Regulus' name.
Pairings: Regulus/Remus, unrequited Remus/Sirius
Warnings: Slash. Nothing explicit, though.
Rating: PG, because it deals with slash relationships, but really, this is as gen as slash can get.
Summary: "Remus does not, of course, love him. Regulus knows that he is, at best, a substitute."
Author's Note: This is very definitely NOT Regulus Arc Regulus.
Remus does not, of course, love him. He knows that. Regulus knows that he is, at best, a substitute, a stand-in, an acceptable alternative. He is margarine instead of butter, vanilla yoghurt instead of Forbidden Chocolate ice cream.
He is what Remus settles for instead of the real thing. The real thing is incurably heterosexual, and is therefore unavailable.
His looks are what got Remus into his arms, his bed and his life. His longish black hair (not quite as long as Sirius'), his clear light blue eyes (just a shade darker than Sirius') and his rangy build (a hair less sinewy than Sirius') are close enough to what--who--Remus really wants. His appearance allows Remus to pretend, though Regulus knows he's not supposed to know what Remus is pretending.
Why he continues to meet Remus for these trysts, knowing that he is only an understudy in this drama, is hard for him to explain, even to himself. Remus has what he wants, or the illusion of it, but Regulus has never liked illusion; he prefers to deal with reality, once he's certain that he knows what it is.
Part of it, he knows, is the opportunity to cock a snoot at his wilfully blind brother, who simply won't see what he's passing up. Part of it is spite--"I know you hate me, Sirius, but one of your best friends thinks I'm worth having sex with, because I look like you." Part of him wants to shake his brother and tell him to look at Remus' face when Remus speaks to him, to look, really LOOK, at those fiercely blazing brown eyes that never leave Sirius' face, that watch Sirius' every movement. Part of him is exasperated and infuriated and oddly touched by Remus' kindness and gentle optimism; it is not possible to be a Black and to be an innocent. Remus' innocence and hope are intoxicating at times.
Not, of course, that he loves Remus. Regulus dreads love. Sex is far safer. The only ill effects he can suffer from fucking are sexually transmitted diseases and a certain loss of reputation. Love--which Regulus has no personal experience of, but which he has learned about by watching Remus--is monstrous. It is soul searing, ripping away all defences, leaving the one who loves naked to the world.
Regulus was taught about vulnerability by austerely cruel parents and vicious, selfish schoolmates. Given his choice, he would barricade himself behind walls of iron and Damascus steel rather than ever be vulnerable again. Eternal loneliness would be better than the terrible, all-consuming--and purely hypothetical--fire of love.
He does what he can to preserve the illusion that Remus wants so badly. He does not talk to Remus much, because he is a tenor and Sirius is a baritone, which destroys all semblance of who is who. He rolls away from Remus after sex and pretends to fall asleep, so that Remus, who is still in oh-god-Sirius mode, will not be forced to confront the fact that he has just made love to the wrong person. He resists the impulse to share his thoughts about the war, and his growing conviction that either side is suicide. He refrains from commenting on the new scars that Remus has every month, from mentioning the Werewolf Registry tattoo--hidden by Remus' thick brown hair--on the back of Remus' neck. He tries to keep himself safe and Remus safer.
Sirius has warned him, several times, to leave Remus alone, to neither corrupt him nor to break his heart. Stupid warnings. He has no intention of corrupting Remus; innocence is too valuable a commodity. And Remus' heart is not his to break.
More disturbing is the fact that his Death Eater colleagues have learned that he is having sex with a member of the Order of the Phoenix. They want information, of course--gleaned from a Remus who is a willing traitor if possible, and an unknowing one if not. So far he's managed to keep them satisfied with a mulligatawny stew of lies and half-truths, with a few minor facts mixed in for flavour.
It won't last, of course. Sooner or later, they'll demand that he either turn Remus or kill him. Both are unacceptable, though he's not sure why. Remus alive should be better than Remus dead, even if the price of survival is treason. But somehow the thought of Remus, his lean features concealed behind the expressionless bronze mask of a Death Eater, his honest brown eyes half-maddened with lust for power or tainted with cowardice, is utterly unthinkable.
Once the others realise that he will not do what they wish, he will die. In unholy pain. Traitors--and the others will inevitably view him as betraying the Dark Lord's ideals--must suffer for their treachery. His death will not be a clean one.
The whole situation is idiotic, and he knows it. Dying for a man who is no more than a fuckbuddy is pointless. He should leave England, change his name, and flee to some corner of the world where the Dark Lord as yet has little influence. He could get away from his parents, from his persistent reputation as the soft, malleable weakling of the Black clan. He could find a man--oh, there must be one, somewhere--who would rather see and hear and touch Regulus Black instead of Sirius. He could find a way to live.
But that would mean leaving Remus. Remus, who does not understand how vulnerable he is. Remus, who has ignored the few oblique warnings Regulus has given him. Remus, who will not acknowledge that the Dark Lord demands that Dark Creatures serve him alone. Remus, the infuriatingly honourable Gryffindor, who will never desert the war effort, or the Order, or Sirius.
Which means that he can't leave either.
Regulus wonders sometimes if Remus will miss him after he dies. He doubts it. Sirius surely will not. He scarcely acknowledges Regulus' existence now. His parents, of course, will be ashamed of his craven treachery.
No one will mourn.
He tries very hard not to think about that.
He resolutely puts his oncoming death out of his mind, and focuses on what he has now: the lean, scarred, brown-haired man sleeping beside him. One of Remus' arms is curled over his head; the other is lying across Regulus' stomach. His thin lips are upturned in a joyful smile.
Something twists painfully in Regulus' heart as he watches Remus sleep. Heartburn, most likely. They really should not have eaten Chinese last night.
Tentatively, he brushes the backs of his fingers up the curve of Remus' cheek. Lightly, he kisses Remus on the tip of his freckled nose, then his eyelids, then his forehead...
...and stops abruptly as Remus, still slumbering, murmurs, "Sirius," with lazy pleasure before nestling against Regulus' shoulder and drifting into deeper sleep.
Regulus takes several deep breaths, settles back against his pillow and stares up at the ceiling till daybreak, trying not to think of the price he would pay if just once--before the Death Eaters slay him--Remus would smile joyfully and cry out Regulus' name.