Fic: There's Nothing Here to Run From; Regulus/Gilderoy
Title: There's Nothing Here to Run From
Characters: Regulus Black and Gilderoy Lockhart
Pairing: Regulus/Gilderoy
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 891
Warnings: lol smut? 1979-verse, naturally.
Summary: “Tomorrow is the day that I will die.”
Author Note: Birthday fic for Caitlin (paragonish). Completely unedited, but that makes it more FROM THE HEART. Obviously. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. I told you I'd write you smut.
bones sinking like stones
all that we've fought for
homes, places we've grown
all of us are done for
- “Don't Panic,” Coldplay
“Tomorrow is the day that I will die.”
The words slip from Regulus’ mouth with every ounce of sincerity afforded to him; every syllable comes out with ease, and he does well not to tremble with every ounce of fear that fills his bones, every bit of feeling that reminds him how easy it would be to become a coward in this fight against the most powerful being in the world. He does not know if his singular effort will change the world, but he remembers the shaken form of Kreacher with a bit of disparity, and knows he has no choice.
“Don’t be silly, Regulus!” Gilderoy says, his voice full of the annoyingly coddling tone that fills him whenever he’s in the company of the Black boy. He turns from his now-closed door with a wide grin that has clearly been glamoured to grab Regulus’ attention, but it only makes his head ache a little more. “You won’t die tomorrow! Not after a day like this, I’m sure. We had a fantastic dinner, don’t you think? And we’ll have a brilliant breakfast tomorrow, don’t you worry.” His statement comes to an end when he settles into the bed beside Regulus, head tilting to the side as he tries to catch Regulus nervous gaze.
“What do you want most of me, Lockhart?” It is then that his hands start to shake. They are covered in a bit of sweat, and he swallows, knowing the answer behind this question and knowing-wanting-it to be predictable. Regulus’ gaze burns into the floor for a moment before his head swiftly turns and catches Lockhart’s gaze.
They sit in silence before Lockhart tries to speak, but the words come out in a sputter. The words, on pursed lips and from a face with reddened cheeks, sputter out again and again before Regulus is forced to piece them together, reaching over and responding with his lips smashing against Lockhart’s. It is not so unlike the times with Barty; it is not so unlike their teasing and their jokes, the smell of marijuana lingering up into Regulus’ nostrils as he would dig his nails into Barty’s neck while Barty’s hand would slide down his cock; it’s not so unlike all of that, only Lockhart actually wants him, curls underneath him and gives with every touch of Regulus’ hands. For even if Lockhart is dirty and impure, he is clean; he doesn’t smell of inconsistent loyalties and mockeries, but pure loyalty-to the last remaining heir of the Black family.
Regulus doesn’t think as he pushes Lockhart against the bed, hands easily tugging open his shirt as his mouth bites down against his neck. There isn’t mouth thought behind the tangling of hands and the muttered commands-direct, forceful, and always followed by the pale blond boy beneath him. When Lockhart’s cock is erect inside his trousers, Regulus tugs them open and starts pulling him off, his free hand tugging open his own pants and trying to kick them off. It is awkward and it is rushed, as if he has one day left to live and this is his last task he has to complete.
It is his last day, so when Lockhart muffles “I love you, Regulus” beneath his ear just before Regulus pulls back and uses a lubrication spell, he only nods, doesn’t correct-because maybe in another life, he would have felt the same way, too. He doesn’t correct Lockhart as he tries to speak easily when Regulus is inside of him, praising him, telling him that he has always been the best-best hair, best looks, best smile when he bothered-because the words are soothing and the best sentiment that Lockhart knows.
And when Lockhart comes, the white liquid spelling out against his stomach, Regulus doesn’t feel disgusted, and he feels no different when he does the same inside of Lockhart, body stiffening and leaving him limp against Lockhart, leaving him open for Lockhart to imprison him with limbs and desperate kisses. This is longing, Regulus realizes; this is Lockhart getting it, for once, understanding it-for once.
They fall asleep in a position that is not so different, with Regulus facing the door and Lockhart behind him, arms around him in a protective hold and breath cooling the back of his neck in a room heated by the warm air of the English summer. But Regulus cannot sleep, the sight of Kreacher in pain wrenching him from Lockhart’s arms in a cold sweat. But Lockhart sleeps on, with a smile on his lips and matted golden hair resting against his forehead.
“Erase their memory and they’ll never know the difference,” Regulus whispers in his ear before he leaves the room with a crack and feeling as if his heart has already stopped. Lockhart never seems to hear any of it-not a syllable of the statement nor the crack, but he’s unsurprised when he wakes up to the absence of Regulus.
-
It takes two weeks for them to officially declare Regulus a casualty of the war, a Death Eater on the side of the Dark Lord. When both sides declare him a cheater, Gilderoy finds his resolve and understands Regulus’ words. What does it matter if they have a memory stripped, when the real ones are always so faulty?
Characters: Regulus Black and Gilderoy Lockhart
Pairing: Regulus/Gilderoy
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 891
Warnings: lol smut? 1979-verse, naturally.
Summary: “Tomorrow is the day that I will die.”
Author Note: Birthday fic for Caitlin (paragonish). Completely unedited, but that makes it more FROM THE HEART. Obviously. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. I told you I'd write you smut.
bones sinking like stones
all that we've fought for
homes, places we've grown
all of us are done for
- “Don't Panic,” Coldplay
“Tomorrow is the day that I will die.”
The words slip from Regulus’ mouth with every ounce of sincerity afforded to him; every syllable comes out with ease, and he does well not to tremble with every ounce of fear that fills his bones, every bit of feeling that reminds him how easy it would be to become a coward in this fight against the most powerful being in the world. He does not know if his singular effort will change the world, but he remembers the shaken form of Kreacher with a bit of disparity, and knows he has no choice.
“Don’t be silly, Regulus!” Gilderoy says, his voice full of the annoyingly coddling tone that fills him whenever he’s in the company of the Black boy. He turns from his now-closed door with a wide grin that has clearly been glamoured to grab Regulus’ attention, but it only makes his head ache a little more. “You won’t die tomorrow! Not after a day like this, I’m sure. We had a fantastic dinner, don’t you think? And we’ll have a brilliant breakfast tomorrow, don’t you worry.” His statement comes to an end when he settles into the bed beside Regulus, head tilting to the side as he tries to catch Regulus nervous gaze.
“What do you want most of me, Lockhart?” It is then that his hands start to shake. They are covered in a bit of sweat, and he swallows, knowing the answer behind this question and knowing-wanting-it to be predictable. Regulus’ gaze burns into the floor for a moment before his head swiftly turns and catches Lockhart’s gaze.
They sit in silence before Lockhart tries to speak, but the words come out in a sputter. The words, on pursed lips and from a face with reddened cheeks, sputter out again and again before Regulus is forced to piece them together, reaching over and responding with his lips smashing against Lockhart’s. It is not so unlike the times with Barty; it is not so unlike their teasing and their jokes, the smell of marijuana lingering up into Regulus’ nostrils as he would dig his nails into Barty’s neck while Barty’s hand would slide down his cock; it’s not so unlike all of that, only Lockhart actually wants him, curls underneath him and gives with every touch of Regulus’ hands. For even if Lockhart is dirty and impure, he is clean; he doesn’t smell of inconsistent loyalties and mockeries, but pure loyalty-to the last remaining heir of the Black family.
Regulus doesn’t think as he pushes Lockhart against the bed, hands easily tugging open his shirt as his mouth bites down against his neck. There isn’t mouth thought behind the tangling of hands and the muttered commands-direct, forceful, and always followed by the pale blond boy beneath him. When Lockhart’s cock is erect inside his trousers, Regulus tugs them open and starts pulling him off, his free hand tugging open his own pants and trying to kick them off. It is awkward and it is rushed, as if he has one day left to live and this is his last task he has to complete.
It is his last day, so when Lockhart muffles “I love you, Regulus” beneath his ear just before Regulus pulls back and uses a lubrication spell, he only nods, doesn’t correct-because maybe in another life, he would have felt the same way, too. He doesn’t correct Lockhart as he tries to speak easily when Regulus is inside of him, praising him, telling him that he has always been the best-best hair, best looks, best smile when he bothered-because the words are soothing and the best sentiment that Lockhart knows.
And when Lockhart comes, the white liquid spelling out against his stomach, Regulus doesn’t feel disgusted, and he feels no different when he does the same inside of Lockhart, body stiffening and leaving him limp against Lockhart, leaving him open for Lockhart to imprison him with limbs and desperate kisses. This is longing, Regulus realizes; this is Lockhart getting it, for once, understanding it-for once.
They fall asleep in a position that is not so different, with Regulus facing the door and Lockhart behind him, arms around him in a protective hold and breath cooling the back of his neck in a room heated by the warm air of the English summer. But Regulus cannot sleep, the sight of Kreacher in pain wrenching him from Lockhart’s arms in a cold sweat. But Lockhart sleeps on, with a smile on his lips and matted golden hair resting against his forehead.
“Erase their memory and they’ll never know the difference,” Regulus whispers in his ear before he leaves the room with a crack and feeling as if his heart has already stopped. Lockhart never seems to hear any of it-not a syllable of the statement nor the crack, but he’s unsurprised when he wakes up to the absence of Regulus.
-
It takes two weeks for them to officially declare Regulus a casualty of the war, a Death Eater on the side of the Dark Lord. When both sides declare him a cheater, Gilderoy finds his resolve and understands Regulus’ words. What does it matter if they have a memory stripped, when the real ones are always so faulty?