FIC: these are the hells we crave [Regulus/Sirius - NC-17]
Author: Anonymous
Title: these are the hells we crave
Characters/Pairings: Regulus/Sirius
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: incest, but I’d wager that’s pretty obvious.
Word Count: ~1200
Summary: Toujours pur, and this is no place for outsiders so we’re fucking keeping this shit in the family.
Prompt: #108 - Sirius/Regulus. They were born sinners. (submitted by crazyparakiss)
-/-
Regulus doesn’t properly remember the first time.
He’s no idea why it started or where it happened, not really; he remembers that it was winter, which makes a strange bit of sense, and that Sirius had worn a black wool coat that evening, had stolen Regulus’ Slytherin scarf, and that he looked so fucking perfect, looked like those colours were where he belonged.
Mother had been in what could almost be considered a good mood, Father actually smiling, and dinner has been a nice and quiet affair.
And then it jumps to Sirius’ cock, hot and pulsing in his mouth, and wet fingers stretching him to a point of pain and too-much and wanting and more and when they were done, blood all over his sheets.
-/-
It seems fitting that he would lose his virginity to his brother, to a Black. It takes the mad to truly understand the insane and there’s a difference, of course there is.
He may be mad--it’s in his blood-- but Sirius... see, Sirius is absolutely fucking insane.
-/-
The first time that he is inside a woman, it’s Cousin Bella.
She sits on top of him, to the hilt, and teaches him the simple and underrated power in scratching a lover’s skin, in leaving an imprint where there definitely shouldn’t be one. Her tits bounce as she rides him, and when he tries to do something for her she slaps his hands away, pushes him back down.
-/-
“Toujours pur,” his mother whispers into his ear at two, seven, eleven, fourteen.
Toujours pur, and this is no place for outsiders so we’re fucking keeping this shit in the family.
-/-
(What you have to understand is that Regulus never asked for any of this. )
-/-
Sirius is a year and three months older than he is, born on the winter solstice, son of the night. Heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and there’s not a bastard alive worth living that doesn’t know who he is.
He’s the curly-haired, gray-eyed handsome one with the craze in his bright eyes and too much person for anyone to handle and a fucking disgrace to all we stand for.
Regulus does not love him.
(He tells this to himself and no, he still can’t sleep at night.)
So he should probably go see a Healer, right, ask them for something to help deal with it all, because sleep is probably something fairly important, except that Blacks don’t admit to weaknesses. Not now, not ever.
Instead, he climbs out of his bed at 2:27 in the morning and pads as silently as possible to Sirius’ room and lets his brother pretend to be asleep for eight minutes before he drops his robe. He looks ethereal with Sirius’ windows wide open, moonlight pouring through, and his skin is deceptively pale and fragile because Blacks believe in spilled blood as much as they do in pure blood.
Regulus looks at him and Sirius looks back and it’s really very easy to lie to themselves, to act as if they don’t need this.
Blacks don’t need anything.
-/-
There’re three ravens on their sigil, a knight with a blood-splattered sword and a skull grinning down and one day, when he’s feeling particularly morbid and it’s Hogwarts days so Sirius is hanging out with those blood-traitors and half-blood scum, he uses his wand to carve those smirking bones onto his skin and he hurts and he smiles.
When Sirius is asleep, he sketches out toujours pur on his inner thigh and the thing is that most people outside their family would assume that he’d get angry but no, it’s never that simple with him, don’t they get it, so Sirius smiles, dangerous and crooked and nothing like perfect, and fucks Regulus into the mattress while reciting the history of the Blacks in French, and Regulus wraps his legs around his brother’s waist and leaves brutal, red marks down his back with his nails and arches, screams when he comes.
-/-
(Regulus isn’t impressed much by the Dark Lord either, but the difference between his brother and himself is that Regulus actually knows when to lay down his cards.)
-/-
When Severus almost dies and absolutely everyone knows that Sirius had something to do with it and Slytherin declares fucking war, Regulus sits in his dormitories and hums to himself.
Stares at his dormmates and dares them to say anything about it, anything at all, hexes them when they do because quite honestly, he does not give a shit about House loyalties when it come to hurting another Black and especially, God, especially not his brother.
Snape’s buddies start yapping on about how they’re going to fucking kill Sirius, about how they’ll rip his fingers off one by one, and if a curse falls off Regulus’s lips and Dolohov starts spasming and shrieking on the floor, a word isn’t said because sometimes, sometimes people just need to understand.
-/-
And actually, it’s around that time, winter holidays after Snape’s injury, that Regulus gets to fuck Sirius for the first time, because Sirius is feeling guilty, vulnerable, his Gryffindor friends are apparently angry at him, and you didn’t honestly think that Regulus wouldn’t use that to his advantage, did you?
Regulus watches as Sirius puts three slicked fingers up his arsehole, fucks himself, brutal and fast and painful, and Regulus grins, because he knows what it feels like, that’s the norm for them, right, and he is terribly and strangely giddy over the fact that Sirius gets to hurt the way that he does every single bloody time.
Sirius feels exactly like Regulus never thought he would, lying on his back, legs spread wide fucking open, whining like a slut for Regulus to to fuck him and he thinks this isn’t exactly befitting of a Black, is it, brother? but complies, entering with one quick, hard thrust and Jesus.
“Reg,” Sirius says, panting, pulls his knees even farther up and Regulus didn’t even think that he could, but that’s exactly why; don’t you get it? “Wan’ you t’fuck me, fuck me, shit,” and this is so terribly out of character for Sirius that Regulus has to laugh, deep and choking in his throat.
He burrows his face into the hollow of Sirius’ neck, inhales and smells cologne and shampoo and smoke and magic, because Sirius is just crackling with that, always has been since they were kids, and then Regulus is remembering the time he managed to make Narcissa dangle left-up during a row with Father’s wand and a barely-muttered spell and even through all the yelling, a damned Muggle would have been able to tell that Walburga was proud.
He bites down and Sirius impales himself up on Regulus’ cock and oh, they were doomed from the very fucking start, weren’t they?
-/-
(What you have to remember is that Regulus never asked for any of this.)
Title: these are the hells we crave
Characters/Pairings: Regulus/Sirius
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: incest, but I’d wager that’s pretty obvious.
Word Count: ~1200
Summary: Toujours pur, and this is no place for outsiders so we’re fucking keeping this shit in the family.
Prompt: #108 - Sirius/Regulus. They were born sinners. (submitted by crazyparakiss)
-/-
Regulus doesn’t properly remember the first time.
He’s no idea why it started or where it happened, not really; he remembers that it was winter, which makes a strange bit of sense, and that Sirius had worn a black wool coat that evening, had stolen Regulus’ Slytherin scarf, and that he looked so fucking perfect, looked like those colours were where he belonged.
Mother had been in what could almost be considered a good mood, Father actually smiling, and dinner has been a nice and quiet affair.
And then it jumps to Sirius’ cock, hot and pulsing in his mouth, and wet fingers stretching him to a point of pain and too-much and wanting and more and when they were done, blood all over his sheets.
-/-
It seems fitting that he would lose his virginity to his brother, to a Black. It takes the mad to truly understand the insane and there’s a difference, of course there is.
He may be mad--it’s in his blood-- but Sirius... see, Sirius is absolutely fucking insane.
-/-
The first time that he is inside a woman, it’s Cousin Bella.
She sits on top of him, to the hilt, and teaches him the simple and underrated power in scratching a lover’s skin, in leaving an imprint where there definitely shouldn’t be one. Her tits bounce as she rides him, and when he tries to do something for her she slaps his hands away, pushes him back down.
-/-
“Toujours pur,” his mother whispers into his ear at two, seven, eleven, fourteen.
Toujours pur, and this is no place for outsiders so we’re fucking keeping this shit in the family.
-/-
(What you have to understand is that Regulus never asked for any of this. )
-/-
Sirius is a year and three months older than he is, born on the winter solstice, son of the night. Heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and there’s not a bastard alive worth living that doesn’t know who he is.
He’s the curly-haired, gray-eyed handsome one with the craze in his bright eyes and too much person for anyone to handle and a fucking disgrace to all we stand for.
Regulus does not love him.
(He tells this to himself and no, he still can’t sleep at night.)
So he should probably go see a Healer, right, ask them for something to help deal with it all, because sleep is probably something fairly important, except that Blacks don’t admit to weaknesses. Not now, not ever.
Instead, he climbs out of his bed at 2:27 in the morning and pads as silently as possible to Sirius’ room and lets his brother pretend to be asleep for eight minutes before he drops his robe. He looks ethereal with Sirius’ windows wide open, moonlight pouring through, and his skin is deceptively pale and fragile because Blacks believe in spilled blood as much as they do in pure blood.
Regulus looks at him and Sirius looks back and it’s really very easy to lie to themselves, to act as if they don’t need this.
Blacks don’t need anything.
-/-
There’re three ravens on their sigil, a knight with a blood-splattered sword and a skull grinning down and one day, when he’s feeling particularly morbid and it’s Hogwarts days so Sirius is hanging out with those blood-traitors and half-blood scum, he uses his wand to carve those smirking bones onto his skin and he hurts and he smiles.
When Sirius is asleep, he sketches out toujours pur on his inner thigh and the thing is that most people outside their family would assume that he’d get angry but no, it’s never that simple with him, don’t they get it, so Sirius smiles, dangerous and crooked and nothing like perfect, and fucks Regulus into the mattress while reciting the history of the Blacks in French, and Regulus wraps his legs around his brother’s waist and leaves brutal, red marks down his back with his nails and arches, screams when he comes.
-/-
(Regulus isn’t impressed much by the Dark Lord either, but the difference between his brother and himself is that Regulus actually knows when to lay down his cards.)
-/-
When Severus almost dies and absolutely everyone knows that Sirius had something to do with it and Slytherin declares fucking war, Regulus sits in his dormitories and hums to himself.
Stares at his dormmates and dares them to say anything about it, anything at all, hexes them when they do because quite honestly, he does not give a shit about House loyalties when it come to hurting another Black and especially, God, especially not his brother.
Snape’s buddies start yapping on about how they’re going to fucking kill Sirius, about how they’ll rip his fingers off one by one, and if a curse falls off Regulus’s lips and Dolohov starts spasming and shrieking on the floor, a word isn’t said because sometimes, sometimes people just need to understand.
-/-
And actually, it’s around that time, winter holidays after Snape’s injury, that Regulus gets to fuck Sirius for the first time, because Sirius is feeling guilty, vulnerable, his Gryffindor friends are apparently angry at him, and you didn’t honestly think that Regulus wouldn’t use that to his advantage, did you?
Regulus watches as Sirius puts three slicked fingers up his arsehole, fucks himself, brutal and fast and painful, and Regulus grins, because he knows what it feels like, that’s the norm for them, right, and he is terribly and strangely giddy over the fact that Sirius gets to hurt the way that he does every single bloody time.
Sirius feels exactly like Regulus never thought he would, lying on his back, legs spread wide fucking open, whining like a slut for Regulus to to fuck him and he thinks this isn’t exactly befitting of a Black, is it, brother? but complies, entering with one quick, hard thrust and Jesus.
“Reg,” Sirius says, panting, pulls his knees even farther up and Regulus didn’t even think that he could, but that’s exactly why; don’t you get it? “Wan’ you t’fuck me, fuck me, shit,” and this is so terribly out of character for Sirius that Regulus has to laugh, deep and choking in his throat.
He burrows his face into the hollow of Sirius’ neck, inhales and smells cologne and shampoo and smoke and magic, because Sirius is just crackling with that, always has been since they were kids, and then Regulus is remembering the time he managed to make Narcissa dangle left-up during a row with Father’s wand and a barely-muttered spell and even through all the yelling, a damned Muggle would have been able to tell that Walburga was proud.
He bites down and Sirius impales himself up on Regulus’ cock and oh, they were doomed from the very fucking start, weren’t they?
-/-
(What you have to remember is that Regulus never asked for any of this.)