FIC - Sirius/Regulus
Title: Written All Over Me
Rating: PG 13 - R
Word Count: 1, 601
Pairing: Sirius/Regulus
Summary: Sirius and Regulus escape for a while from a family party.
A/N: Dedicated to Joel Plaskett, who probably never imagined that his song would inspire incest.
Someone’s picking leaves off the family tree
and I’ve got trouble written all over me.
Written All Over Me, Joel Plaskett Emergency
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sirius leans, shirtless, against the wall. Regulus’ room is all black and white, like an old photo, or a chessboard. Dark, heavy curtains, white bed linens, black walls, white wardrobe, black headboard, white skin, black hair, white shirt, black pants.
“You’re all fancied up, pretty boy.” Sirius comments, watching his brother fussing around with his hair, sweeping it this way or that, mussing it up, patting it down, pulling mercilessly on this strand and that one.
“All the family is coming Sirius, it’s important to make a good impression,” Regulus looks haughtily over at Sirius’ disheveled frame, “You might at least want to put a shirt on or something, they’ll think mother has been neglecting you.”
“Why do I even have to go down there, they know I hate them, I know they hate me, lets not pussyfoot about, yeah?”
“Because you’re the heir to the House of Black, that’s why. You have take over when father dies, and that means you’ll have to deal with these people.”
“Deal with them how? Keeping up bribes so that I can keep muggleborns out of the Ministry? Or stall laws that threaten my pureblood integrity? Or how about marrying my fucking cousin cause she’s the only true pureblood around? Give me a fucking break Regulus, when the old man dies I’m giving this shit-hole to you.”
“That’s very generous of you Sirius, but it doesn’t quite work that way,” Regulus runs a final hand through his hair and turns toward the door. Sirius stands moodily next to it. “You get way too worked up about this stuff, Sirius. It’s always been this way, it’ll always be this way, and you’re not going to change anything by showing up to the party naked, so will you please put a shirt on?”
Sirius rolls his eyes and stomps out of the room. However, when he next sees him Regulus is relieved to note that Sirius looks rather respectable. His clothes are a little rumpled but at least there aren’t any stains on them. He glares at the guests as they arrive, but it just makes him look more attractive, and Regulus almost wants to keep a tally on how many female heads he sees turn to catch a glimpse of the handsome heir. He would make quite a prize, too bad he’s not interested, Regulus thinks.
The party goes surprisingly well. Neither Sirius nor Walburga cause any sort of scene, Aunt Druella is a little to tipsy to be a bitch, and great-aunt Cassiopeia hasn’t burst into tears over the cucumber sandwiches yet.
Regulus is talking to Evan Rosier in the drawing room when he spots Sirius making a beeline towards him from across the room.
“Piss off, Rosier,” Sirius growls and pulls Regulus by the arm to a less occupied corner of the room.
“Such a charming lad, aren’t you,” Regulus says sarcastically.
“Shut up, I had to get away from Uncle Alphard, he was trying to feel me up near the dining room. Can we please get away from these freaks now?”
Regulus scans the crowd, he figures they could probably sneak away without being noticed.
“Fine. Let’s go up to your room.”
“Thank god,” Sirius says, and drags Regulus upstairs.
Where Regulus’ room is cold, monotone colours, Sirius’ room is a flurry of noisy reds, golds, greens and blues. Posters of rockstars and Quidditch heroes wink down at them from the walls. The bed isn’t made and various articles of clothing are haphazardly strewn about the floor. Pictures of school friends are tacked on every available surface: Remus and Sirius sitting down by the lake; James dressed up in Quidditch regalia with a huge grin on his face; Peter asleep with the word “CUNT” written across his forehead in bold black ink; Sirius, James, Peter and Remus all posing together, arms slung around each others shoulders.
“Still not letting Kreacher in your room, huh?” Regulus asks, noting a mug that appears to have bright orange mold growing over its sides.
“So he can snoop around my stuff and nick my letters to give to mother? No thanks, next he’ll be bringing her my porn.”
Regulus moves to sit down on the bed, picking up an Ancient Runes textbook and flipping vacantly through the pages.
“You should have taken Runes, it’s wicked,” Sirius says. Regulus shrugs. “You wanna see the tattoo I got of one?”
“You got a tattoo? When?” Regulus asks, looking up, but Sirius is already unbuckling his belt and pulling down the top of his trousers to show Regulus the symbol on his hip.
“Is that hardcore or what?” Sirius asks, grinning like a six year old who’s just received his first racing broom.
“What does it mean?” Regulus questions as Sirius flops down beside him.
“Means ‘trouble’.”
“Trouble?”
“Yeah,” Sirius looks straight at him and smiles mischievously, “I’ve got trouble written all over me.”
He bursts out laughing and Regulus rolls his eyes. He shakes his head at Sirius, but can’t help smiling himself.
“You’re such a wanker.”
“Do you want one?”
“What? No!”
“Oh, come on, Regulus, live a little. I’ll give you a temporary one if you like.” Sirius slides over to his bedside table and grabs an ink pot and a fine tipped paintbrush. He crawls back over to Regulus, careful not to spill the ink on the sheets. “Roll up your sleeve, will you,” Sirius commands. Regulus resignedly does what he’s told. “Hold this,” Sirius hands him the ink pot, firmly clasps Regulus’ forearm and dips the brush into the pot. The ink is cool and slick against Regulus’ skin as Sirius traces out a foreign symbol about the size of a sickle in diameter on his wrist.
“What is it?” Regulus asks when Sirius leans back to admire his work.
“Ancient Egyptian. It means ‘seduction’.” Regulus looks up at Sirius, who is watching him with an almost feral look. Regulus feels heat crawling up his neck and looks away.
“So is that why you’re grounded, cause mother found your letters?” Regulus asks, trying to ignore Sirius’ continued stare.
“Yes, apparently I’ve been up to some rather unmentionable Griffindor activities that do not befit the reputation of the Black heir. That, and the fact that she’s just a bitch,” Sirius grumbles.
“Griffindor activities?”
“Oh yes.”
“Like?”
Sirius leans his face in close to Regulus’, close enough so that their identical noses touch tip to tip. His mouth is grinning as he presses it into his brothers.
“Oh, you know,” Sirius breathes, his hot breath burning against Regulus’ parted lips, “ All types of debauchery and sexual deviancy.”
Regulus feels his blood rush through his body; into his head and behind his eyes until his vision is so intense it’s painful; and down to his cock, making his stomach lurch. In the haze Sirius pushes him down onto the bed, his taller frame leaning heavily into Regulus’ body. He reaches up to grab fistfuls of Sirius’ hair, whether in desire or a lame attempt to wrestle the older boy off of him isn’t exactly clear.
He’s always let Sirius do what he’s wanted. He fears Sirius temper, which is as fiery as their mother's. Following the same tact as their father, he avoids conflict with Sirius by giving him full reign. Letting Sirius take his toys, which usually ended up broken, giving in to arguments, even when he knows Sirius is wrong, letting Sirius order him around, thinking maybe Sirius won’t be so mean to him if he just does what he says. But he knows Sirius resents his compliance. Knows Sirius would much rather be brothers with James Potter, who fights with him and tells him off, and yet Sirius loves him more for it. Regulus doesn’t get it, he really doesn’t.
So Regulus lets Sirius’ hand wander first up his shirt, and then down his pants. He wraps a leg around Sirius’ hip and bunches Sirius’ shirt up in his fists. He can feel Sirius’ hard-on pressing into his thigh, feels the vibration of his chest when he moans, drags his palms over the hard bumps of Sirius’ backbone.
Sirius pulls his head up from it’s location at Regulus’ neck and cocks it like a dog, listening to something Regulus can’t hear through the drumming of his heart in his ears.
“Fuck,” Sirius swears and rolls dramatically off of Regulus, who lays panting and paralyzed. He can hear them now: the footsteps coming down the hall.
There’s a loud knocking on the door and, “Sirius! Stop hiding in your room and get down here, your Uncle is looking for you,” Walburga’s shrill voice comes drilling through the door. Sirius heaves an annoyed sign and drops off of the bed, standing up and adjusting his clothes.
“Yeah, I bet the old perv’s looking for me. Come save me in about twenty minutes, otherwise I’ll be face down in the laundry room,” Sirius says before slinking out of the bedroom, leaving Regulus staring blankly up at the ceiling. Sirius has tacked a poster to it, directly above his line of sight.
Stubby Boardman winks down at him from behind his tangled mass of black hair.
Regulus rolls over and buries his face in a pillow.
*end
Rating: PG 13 - R
Word Count: 1, 601
Pairing: Sirius/Regulus
Summary: Sirius and Regulus escape for a while from a family party.
A/N: Dedicated to Joel Plaskett, who probably never imagined that his song would inspire incest.
Someone’s picking leaves off the family tree
and I’ve got trouble written all over me.
Written All Over Me, Joel Plaskett Emergency
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sirius leans, shirtless, against the wall. Regulus’ room is all black and white, like an old photo, or a chessboard. Dark, heavy curtains, white bed linens, black walls, white wardrobe, black headboard, white skin, black hair, white shirt, black pants.
“You’re all fancied up, pretty boy.” Sirius comments, watching his brother fussing around with his hair, sweeping it this way or that, mussing it up, patting it down, pulling mercilessly on this strand and that one.
“All the family is coming Sirius, it’s important to make a good impression,” Regulus looks haughtily over at Sirius’ disheveled frame, “You might at least want to put a shirt on or something, they’ll think mother has been neglecting you.”
“Why do I even have to go down there, they know I hate them, I know they hate me, lets not pussyfoot about, yeah?”
“Because you’re the heir to the House of Black, that’s why. You have take over when father dies, and that means you’ll have to deal with these people.”
“Deal with them how? Keeping up bribes so that I can keep muggleborns out of the Ministry? Or stall laws that threaten my pureblood integrity? Or how about marrying my fucking cousin cause she’s the only true pureblood around? Give me a fucking break Regulus, when the old man dies I’m giving this shit-hole to you.”
“That’s very generous of you Sirius, but it doesn’t quite work that way,” Regulus runs a final hand through his hair and turns toward the door. Sirius stands moodily next to it. “You get way too worked up about this stuff, Sirius. It’s always been this way, it’ll always be this way, and you’re not going to change anything by showing up to the party naked, so will you please put a shirt on?”
Sirius rolls his eyes and stomps out of the room. However, when he next sees him Regulus is relieved to note that Sirius looks rather respectable. His clothes are a little rumpled but at least there aren’t any stains on them. He glares at the guests as they arrive, but it just makes him look more attractive, and Regulus almost wants to keep a tally on how many female heads he sees turn to catch a glimpse of the handsome heir. He would make quite a prize, too bad he’s not interested, Regulus thinks.
The party goes surprisingly well. Neither Sirius nor Walburga cause any sort of scene, Aunt Druella is a little to tipsy to be a bitch, and great-aunt Cassiopeia hasn’t burst into tears over the cucumber sandwiches yet.
Regulus is talking to Evan Rosier in the drawing room when he spots Sirius making a beeline towards him from across the room.
“Piss off, Rosier,” Sirius growls and pulls Regulus by the arm to a less occupied corner of the room.
“Such a charming lad, aren’t you,” Regulus says sarcastically.
“Shut up, I had to get away from Uncle Alphard, he was trying to feel me up near the dining room. Can we please get away from these freaks now?”
Regulus scans the crowd, he figures they could probably sneak away without being noticed.
“Fine. Let’s go up to your room.”
“Thank god,” Sirius says, and drags Regulus upstairs.
Where Regulus’ room is cold, monotone colours, Sirius’ room is a flurry of noisy reds, golds, greens and blues. Posters of rockstars and Quidditch heroes wink down at them from the walls. The bed isn’t made and various articles of clothing are haphazardly strewn about the floor. Pictures of school friends are tacked on every available surface: Remus and Sirius sitting down by the lake; James dressed up in Quidditch regalia with a huge grin on his face; Peter asleep with the word “CUNT” written across his forehead in bold black ink; Sirius, James, Peter and Remus all posing together, arms slung around each others shoulders.
“Still not letting Kreacher in your room, huh?” Regulus asks, noting a mug that appears to have bright orange mold growing over its sides.
“So he can snoop around my stuff and nick my letters to give to mother? No thanks, next he’ll be bringing her my porn.”
Regulus moves to sit down on the bed, picking up an Ancient Runes textbook and flipping vacantly through the pages.
“You should have taken Runes, it’s wicked,” Sirius says. Regulus shrugs. “You wanna see the tattoo I got of one?”
“You got a tattoo? When?” Regulus asks, looking up, but Sirius is already unbuckling his belt and pulling down the top of his trousers to show Regulus the symbol on his hip.
“Is that hardcore or what?” Sirius asks, grinning like a six year old who’s just received his first racing broom.
“What does it mean?” Regulus questions as Sirius flops down beside him.
“Means ‘trouble’.”
“Trouble?”
“Yeah,” Sirius looks straight at him and smiles mischievously, “I’ve got trouble written all over me.”
He bursts out laughing and Regulus rolls his eyes. He shakes his head at Sirius, but can’t help smiling himself.
“You’re such a wanker.”
“Do you want one?”
“What? No!”
“Oh, come on, Regulus, live a little. I’ll give you a temporary one if you like.” Sirius slides over to his bedside table and grabs an ink pot and a fine tipped paintbrush. He crawls back over to Regulus, careful not to spill the ink on the sheets. “Roll up your sleeve, will you,” Sirius commands. Regulus resignedly does what he’s told. “Hold this,” Sirius hands him the ink pot, firmly clasps Regulus’ forearm and dips the brush into the pot. The ink is cool and slick against Regulus’ skin as Sirius traces out a foreign symbol about the size of a sickle in diameter on his wrist.
“What is it?” Regulus asks when Sirius leans back to admire his work.
“Ancient Egyptian. It means ‘seduction’.” Regulus looks up at Sirius, who is watching him with an almost feral look. Regulus feels heat crawling up his neck and looks away.
“So is that why you’re grounded, cause mother found your letters?” Regulus asks, trying to ignore Sirius’ continued stare.
“Yes, apparently I’ve been up to some rather unmentionable Griffindor activities that do not befit the reputation of the Black heir. That, and the fact that she’s just a bitch,” Sirius grumbles.
“Griffindor activities?”
“Oh yes.”
“Like?”
Sirius leans his face in close to Regulus’, close enough so that their identical noses touch tip to tip. His mouth is grinning as he presses it into his brothers.
“Oh, you know,” Sirius breathes, his hot breath burning against Regulus’ parted lips, “ All types of debauchery and sexual deviancy.”
Regulus feels his blood rush through his body; into his head and behind his eyes until his vision is so intense it’s painful; and down to his cock, making his stomach lurch. In the haze Sirius pushes him down onto the bed, his taller frame leaning heavily into Regulus’ body. He reaches up to grab fistfuls of Sirius’ hair, whether in desire or a lame attempt to wrestle the older boy off of him isn’t exactly clear.
He’s always let Sirius do what he’s wanted. He fears Sirius temper, which is as fiery as their mother's. Following the same tact as their father, he avoids conflict with Sirius by giving him full reign. Letting Sirius take his toys, which usually ended up broken, giving in to arguments, even when he knows Sirius is wrong, letting Sirius order him around, thinking maybe Sirius won’t be so mean to him if he just does what he says. But he knows Sirius resents his compliance. Knows Sirius would much rather be brothers with James Potter, who fights with him and tells him off, and yet Sirius loves him more for it. Regulus doesn’t get it, he really doesn’t.
So Regulus lets Sirius’ hand wander first up his shirt, and then down his pants. He wraps a leg around Sirius’ hip and bunches Sirius’ shirt up in his fists. He can feel Sirius’ hard-on pressing into his thigh, feels the vibration of his chest when he moans, drags his palms over the hard bumps of Sirius’ backbone.
Sirius pulls his head up from it’s location at Regulus’ neck and cocks it like a dog, listening to something Regulus can’t hear through the drumming of his heart in his ears.
“Fuck,” Sirius swears and rolls dramatically off of Regulus, who lays panting and paralyzed. He can hear them now: the footsteps coming down the hall.
There’s a loud knocking on the door and, “Sirius! Stop hiding in your room and get down here, your Uncle is looking for you,” Walburga’s shrill voice comes drilling through the door. Sirius heaves an annoyed sign and drops off of the bed, standing up and adjusting his clothes.
“Yeah, I bet the old perv’s looking for me. Come save me in about twenty minutes, otherwise I’ll be face down in the laundry room,” Sirius says before slinking out of the bedroom, leaving Regulus staring blankly up at the ceiling. Sirius has tacked a poster to it, directly above his line of sight.
Stubby Boardman winks down at him from behind his tangled mass of black hair.
Regulus rolls over and buries his face in a pillow.
*end