Absinthe - Remus/Regulus - NC17 - by PetulantGod
I don't write often, as I leave that to SV, but when I do write, I try to have some of the same panache and feeling she does. Thank you, eumenides1 and underlucius for inviting me to post this here. I've been told before that men shouldn't write slash, and it's nice to see that there are truly talented women who disagree.
Title: Absinthe
Author: petulantgod
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Remus/Regulus
A/N: Written for caemlyn. Thanks to satinvalkyrie for... everything.
Absinthe shimmering in the glass, emerald drops clinging to full pink pouting lip, beckoning to Remus. Wrong immaterial in this moment with the wormwood painting translucent colors across the palely perfect face before him, painting red and gold where green and silver were, painting his brother's face where there is only Regulus.
Remus's tongue catches the licorice tasting liquid as it drips down almost-innocent chin, savoring, imagining. This could almost be who he wants it to be. In the near darkness of the Shack, he can pretend. So alike the black shining fall of hair in wide grey eyes fringed with long lashes, so alike the broad shoulders and the slim hips under his scarred palms as he makes his move.
Their stripped robes make a soft pallet on the floor, mingled and brilliant under the hallucinatory rainbows streaking over Remus's vision. Regulus is trembling and pliant, a creature of smooth skin and hungry whimpers as Remus's fingers move inside him, spreading warmth and slickness. It can't be wrong, Remus thinks, can't be wrong when he wants me.
He grabs the unlabeled green-glass bottle, drizzling a thin line of the absinthe from Regulus's mouth to his cock, licking down the writhing body while his fingers stretch and press, grazing his teeth over boyish nipples and biting at bobbing Adam's apple.
"Please," Regulus moans, thrusting against Remus's hand, "Please, Remus..."
It's not wrong if he begs me, Remus thinks, withdrawing his slick fingers and wrapping them around his cock, stroking it slowly, staring at Regulus's face, and it's not Regulus's face anymore. It's not really Regulus as he pushes into tight hot flesh, not Regulus as he closes his eyes to feel. It isn't Regulus consuming his mind or running shaky fingers over his chest to pull him closer. It's not Regulus kissing him and not Regulus's tongue swirling around his. It's all a hallucination. It's all just the absinthe.
"Ohhh," not-Regulus moans, "Oh, please, fuck..."
Remus closes his eyes tighter, letting the illusion sweep him away, letting the hard flesh he grips in his hand and rubs against his stomach be Sirius's, letting it all be what he wants it to be, letting this be perfect. It's not wrong to do this to him because he wants this from me, Remus thinks to himself, his hips snapping harder and faster, driving him deeper into unresisting flesh that is not Regulus. His hand moves in counterpoint, his thumb running over the damp head, willing it to pulse and spill over his fingers, willing this to be what not-Regulus wants, because Remus can't come if this isn't right, if this isn't what he wants. He can't use him, can't...
It's not right, somehow, still not right, and he opens his eyes, carefully avoiding looking directly into that face, too young to be the right face, too narrow, not quite right, not quite perfect... Remus's hand slides into the pile of robes until he finds his tie, red and gold, perfect, and he wraps it around not-Regulus's neck and pulls it tight, thrusting harder, moaning now. Perfect, he thinks, perfect, and he pulls the tie tighter until not-Regulus can't breathe, can't talk, can't fill Remus's ears with that wrong voice. Perfect, perfect, Remus thinks, fucking him harder, brutal, needy, grasping these blessed seconds of perfect illusion while he can.
He leans forward to kiss the parted, gasping lips, his hand tender and insistent on not-Regulus's cock, sliding faster and harder over it until the boy beneath him stops breathing altogether as the hot wet spatters against Remus's belly, slides over his hand. Remus snarls and lets loose the tie, letting redgold silk slide from nerveless fingers as he comes, no name falling from his lips because there is no name, this is not him, but it's perfect, and it's not-Regulus.
Title: Absinthe
Author: petulantgod
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Remus/Regulus
A/N: Written for caemlyn. Thanks to satinvalkyrie for... everything.
Absinthe shimmering in the glass, emerald drops clinging to full pink pouting lip, beckoning to Remus. Wrong immaterial in this moment with the wormwood painting translucent colors across the palely perfect face before him, painting red and gold where green and silver were, painting his brother's face where there is only Regulus.
Remus's tongue catches the licorice tasting liquid as it drips down almost-innocent chin, savoring, imagining. This could almost be who he wants it to be. In the near darkness of the Shack, he can pretend. So alike the black shining fall of hair in wide grey eyes fringed with long lashes, so alike the broad shoulders and the slim hips under his scarred palms as he makes his move.
Their stripped robes make a soft pallet on the floor, mingled and brilliant under the hallucinatory rainbows streaking over Remus's vision. Regulus is trembling and pliant, a creature of smooth skin and hungry whimpers as Remus's fingers move inside him, spreading warmth and slickness. It can't be wrong, Remus thinks, can't be wrong when he wants me.
He grabs the unlabeled green-glass bottle, drizzling a thin line of the absinthe from Regulus's mouth to his cock, licking down the writhing body while his fingers stretch and press, grazing his teeth over boyish nipples and biting at bobbing Adam's apple.
"Please," Regulus moans, thrusting against Remus's hand, "Please, Remus..."
It's not wrong if he begs me, Remus thinks, withdrawing his slick fingers and wrapping them around his cock, stroking it slowly, staring at Regulus's face, and it's not Regulus's face anymore. It's not really Regulus as he pushes into tight hot flesh, not Regulus as he closes his eyes to feel. It isn't Regulus consuming his mind or running shaky fingers over his chest to pull him closer. It's not Regulus kissing him and not Regulus's tongue swirling around his. It's all a hallucination. It's all just the absinthe.
"Ohhh," not-Regulus moans, "Oh, please, fuck..."
Remus closes his eyes tighter, letting the illusion sweep him away, letting the hard flesh he grips in his hand and rubs against his stomach be Sirius's, letting it all be what he wants it to be, letting this be perfect. It's not wrong to do this to him because he wants this from me, Remus thinks to himself, his hips snapping harder and faster, driving him deeper into unresisting flesh that is not Regulus. His hand moves in counterpoint, his thumb running over the damp head, willing it to pulse and spill over his fingers, willing this to be what not-Regulus wants, because Remus can't come if this isn't right, if this isn't what he wants. He can't use him, can't...
It's not right, somehow, still not right, and he opens his eyes, carefully avoiding looking directly into that face, too young to be the right face, too narrow, not quite right, not quite perfect... Remus's hand slides into the pile of robes until he finds his tie, red and gold, perfect, and he wraps it around not-Regulus's neck and pulls it tight, thrusting harder, moaning now. Perfect, he thinks, perfect, and he pulls the tie tighter until not-Regulus can't breathe, can't talk, can't fill Remus's ears with that wrong voice. Perfect, perfect, Remus thinks, fucking him harder, brutal, needy, grasping these blessed seconds of perfect illusion while he can.
He leans forward to kiss the parted, gasping lips, his hand tender and insistent on not-Regulus's cock, sliding faster and harder over it until the boy beneath him stops breathing altogether as the hot wet spatters against Remus's belly, slides over his hand. Remus snarls and lets loose the tie, letting redgold silk slide from nerveless fingers as he comes, no name falling from his lips because there is no name, this is not him, but it's perfect, and it's not-Regulus.