fic: sequence of times, pg-13, regulus
Erm... since some people insisted that I should post this here, I'll just get over myself and finally say hello. :) It's not the most brilliant thing I have ever written and as you probably guessed already, I'm not too content with it, but there you go. Perhaps you can help me find out what it is that I'm not comfortable with.
TITLE: Sequence Of Tenses
RATING: PG-13
PAIRINGS: hints of - Regulus/Sirius, Regulus/Remus, Regulus/Rabastan, Sirius/Lily.
WARNINGS: mentions of incest, angst
WORD COUNT: 519
DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter & everything attached to this boy is copyright by JK Rowling.
SUMMARY: It all comes back to that year. That last year. And when time reaches a dead end for him, it slips backward, again and again.
Sequence Of Tenses
The minute he stretches out his hand, time slips backward.
It’s November again, one last time, and Regulus cries in the bathroom of his brother’s and Remus’s flat, only when November unfreezes to October, his crying is reflected by a hundred broken pieces of scintillating glass, thrown back inside him, forced down his throat, deeper, deeper, until it’s only a dull aching long before Halloween- a buttonhole frays- life feels so worn thin- a tropic mouth opens and clashes with his European lips- Sirius kisses- fire in his chest.
September pushes him head-first and bruised into wild August undergrowth, yellow grass crunching beneath his feet, rippling surface of the sun against his hand, hot pavement, loose shade blowing. A cool hand leaves white fingerprints on his arm, You know there is more to life than that, Regulus, steely snarl and boots in whirling July dust. The promise of something. (They promised Severus a family. And him? A life? A death?)
June has him retching in a backyard out in the rain, and May, maybe, Regulus thinks, may have been, oh, he kisses Remus then, ice cream cold between their lips, wide hazel eyes, airy laugh, fingertips on his forehead that lead him into April: his mother, her dress, its chiffon blaze and seams. Do something with your life, Regulus, her voice. Thin and tight. Eye of a needle, words taut like thread.
Silvergreen leaves grow back into the trees, he stumbles through unmelting snow and it becomes white again under his feet; March hitches on February, and his hair shouldn’t slap against his face in a wind that blows inyear. There is Hogwarts, the dungeons, Slytherin. Lestrange slams his head into a wall, his hand tightens on his throat for an inside-out second; January he leans back slowly from the edge of the astronomy tower and lets the ache subside a second time. Rabastan fucks him from orgasm to foreplay in the dungeons, but he always, always returns to the tower, cradled by the sky, when the night wind curls, cramps around him like fingers.
December ebbs away slowly, Remus takes the book back that is meant to be a Christmas present for him, and on the fourth Regulus forgets about his brother shagging Lily Evans in a dark corridor on the morning of the fifth. He forgets about flying.
He un-stretches his hand.
“Nothing,” he says now and swallows the year, they have arrived at the first day of December again. Time continues to swing back and forth for a bit, his hand jerks forward, he opens his mouth, closes it, pulls his hand back to his chest.
Sirius traces the skyline of his jaw, where the light trips and falls and bleeds shadows on his face because he stands with his back to the window - “Okay,” Sirius says, “bye then,” and they pull apart like two negative poles. He’s dizzy, the future has been cut off, and now the ends of time dangle loosely in space and branch out into memories of the present -
And when Regulus turns around, he comes face to face with November again.
TITLE: Sequence Of Tenses
RATING: PG-13
PAIRINGS: hints of - Regulus/Sirius, Regulus/Remus, Regulus/Rabastan, Sirius/Lily.
WARNINGS: mentions of incest, angst
WORD COUNT: 519
DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter & everything attached to this boy is copyright by JK Rowling.
SUMMARY: It all comes back to that year. That last year. And when time reaches a dead end for him, it slips backward, again and again.
Sequence Of Tenses
The minute he stretches out his hand, time slips backward.
It’s November again, one last time, and Regulus cries in the bathroom of his brother’s and Remus’s flat, only when November unfreezes to October, his crying is reflected by a hundred broken pieces of scintillating glass, thrown back inside him, forced down his throat, deeper, deeper, until it’s only a dull aching long before Halloween- a buttonhole frays- life feels so worn thin- a tropic mouth opens and clashes with his European lips- Sirius kisses- fire in his chest.
September pushes him head-first and bruised into wild August undergrowth, yellow grass crunching beneath his feet, rippling surface of the sun against his hand, hot pavement, loose shade blowing. A cool hand leaves white fingerprints on his arm, You know there is more to life than that, Regulus, steely snarl and boots in whirling July dust. The promise of something. (They promised Severus a family. And him? A life? A death?)
June has him retching in a backyard out in the rain, and May, maybe, Regulus thinks, may have been, oh, he kisses Remus then, ice cream cold between their lips, wide hazel eyes, airy laugh, fingertips on his forehead that lead him into April: his mother, her dress, its chiffon blaze and seams. Do something with your life, Regulus, her voice. Thin and tight. Eye of a needle, words taut like thread.
Silvergreen leaves grow back into the trees, he stumbles through unmelting snow and it becomes white again under his feet; March hitches on February, and his hair shouldn’t slap against his face in a wind that blows inyear. There is Hogwarts, the dungeons, Slytherin. Lestrange slams his head into a wall, his hand tightens on his throat for an inside-out second; January he leans back slowly from the edge of the astronomy tower and lets the ache subside a second time. Rabastan fucks him from orgasm to foreplay in the dungeons, but he always, always returns to the tower, cradled by the sky, when the night wind curls, cramps around him like fingers.
December ebbs away slowly, Remus takes the book back that is meant to be a Christmas present for him, and on the fourth Regulus forgets about his brother shagging Lily Evans in a dark corridor on the morning of the fifth. He forgets about flying.
He un-stretches his hand.
“Nothing,” he says now and swallows the year, they have arrived at the first day of December again. Time continues to swing back and forth for a bit, his hand jerks forward, he opens his mouth, closes it, pulls his hand back to his chest.
Sirius traces the skyline of his jaw, where the light trips and falls and bleeds shadows on his face because he stands with his back to the window - “Okay,” Sirius says, “bye then,” and they pull apart like two negative poles. He’s dizzy, the future has been cut off, and now the ends of time dangle loosely in space and branch out into memories of the present -
And when Regulus turns around, he comes face to face with November again.