100 Moments
folder
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
100
Views:
11,672
Reviews:
52
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
100
Views:
11,672
Reviews:
52
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Clean
Title: Clean
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Drabble, Slash, Angst
Warnings: M/M, Black!Cest, Dark!fic.
Summary: #99 – Clean. He would have a chance to be clean again.
Word Count: 1,094 words.
Author's Notes: Drabble: a slice of fic in less than 1500 words. Regulus is 18 in this fic!
Prompt 99 – Clean
A profane house that was what it was to him, yet it was a house that still had its share of happier memories. As his grubby fingers ran over the clippings on the walls, he could not help but remember when Regulus put them there.
“You couldn’t find a more handsome hero?” he had said to him.
“What does it matter if he’s handsome or not? It’s power he has,” Regulus had answered.
He remembered scoffing, sarcastically. “I’m much more handsome, and powerful than Riddle is…”
“That’s Lord Voldemort, to you,” Regulus drawled, smoothing the newest clipping close to the family crest over the bed.
He blinked, slightly affronted by Regulus’ tone, and then he grinned, launching himself off the foot of Regulus’ bed, tackling the younger teenager to bed. Regulus was laughing, his wand falling from his fingers to the floor after using a sticking Charm to affix the clipping.
“Ah, but what if he were more handsome, more like me, what would you think then?”
Regulus grinned, his fingers reaching up to tug on long black hair, hair that was very much like his own.
“Well…” Regulus sighed.
He remembered stroking Regulus’ cheek with his right hand, a cleaner, younger hand that now stroked the dusty duvet next to where he sat on the bed.
“Well?” he remembered daring.
“Depends. He would have to convince me he was worth believing in, I suppose,” Regulus had said, his thumb brushing over his lips.
He remembered playing at being offended. “You mean, you don’t believe in me?”
Regulus chuckled, his thighs parting to let him rest more comfortably above… “All younger brothers should believe in their older brother, I suppose…”
He remembered grinning before taking Regulus’ mouth, kissing him as he had always kissed him when he was delighted in Regulus’ words. What his younger brother lacked in looks, he made up in words and charm. It was the reason Sirius loved Regulus.
There had been fights, he remembered, terrible disagreements over Regulus’ obsession with ‘Lord’ Voldemort. There had been fights at school when James would sometimes stick his nose in where it did not belong. Sirius was perhaps the least ‘Black’ in the family, but it was still his family, at least for Regulus’ sake.
“You can be so…” he remembered Regulus had tried to say when Sirius kissed the boy’s throat, pulling open his impeccable black dress shirt, pushing the green cravat aside.
Regulus sighed as Sirius pushed open the shirt, trying to strip it off. Sirius remembered Regulus distract him from removing the shirt, knowing, in hindsight that Regulus did not want his older brother to see the fresh, new Dark Mark.
Oh, if only he had known, he thought. He would have taken Regulus away from Britain.
“…infuriating,” Regulus had breathed when the front of his trousers were open and Sirius could take in the scent of clean, mint, and light musk.
The memory was terrible and beautiful, the last time they had been together…
His lovely brother, his dear heart—Sirius held his disgusting hair and unshaven face in his hands. He had not dared to think of Regulus in Azkaban.
He did not think about how he smelled, or how he tasted. He did not think of how lovely his brother was, the sound of his sighs and moans when Sirius sucked at the hot flesh, the stiff shaft, the soft black hair surrounding his organ tickling his nose. He did not think of how deceptively forceful Regulus could be, bending him over the end of the footboard, touching him in a way that only one other would ever touch him—one who was now dead.
Tears streamed from his red-rimmed eyes, making clean tracks on his sunken cheeks as he clutched his middle and bent over to let a sob pass.
“I could be like ‘him’ someday,” Regulus whispered, his fingers slipping into Sirius, spreading, preparing. “The both of us…so powerful, handsome…someday a boy will have clippings of us on his wall…”
The smooth slide had nearly undone him, and Sirius remembered his grey eyes rolling back at the first thrust. Regulus had strong hands, small hands, a Seeker’s hands, and when they pulled at his sac, Sirius would always whisper: Regulus…
It would always get rougher, the dark, wicked internal pains Regulus harboured would burn into him, tear into him when fingernails raked down his back. Sirius could still feel the scars when he would touch parts of his thin back. An eternal reminder of a time when all that matter was how much he adored Regulus.
“Harder,” he would say over his shoulder, grey meeting grey.
Sometimes it was like looking in a mirror, when their eyes met. Sirius remembered the last time, he saw despair.
Regulus rolled him onto his back, leaning forward to kiss him, biting into his lower lip until blood mixed in their mouths. One small hand stroked him roughly, painfully; the other shoved long white fingers into his mouth, gagging him.
“Some days…” Regulus gasped, his thin hips slamming into his bottom, cock burying deeper as Sirius lifted his feet to rest them on Regulus’ shoulders. “I hate you…”
Fingers slipped from his mouth, trailing blood and saliva to his nipple, pinching hard, breaking skin. When the dampened hand replaced the dry hand, Sirius remembered groaning, his hands grasping the duvet under him.
“And some days…”
His back arched as come flew from his cock, into his mouth, into his eyes.
“I love you.”
Regulus thrust twice more, harder than ever, and with a strangled gasp, pulled from Sirius, moving over the mattress to sit on his chest, cock slipping between his bloodied lips.
“Today is such a day, brother.”
It would be the last time, Sirius would find. It would be the last time his brother would speak words of love—speak words at all.
He had swallowed every bittersweet drop; he let Regulus lick off what was on his face, kissing him, touching him, torturing him. They only lay together for a short while before Kreacher came into the room, announcing: “It is time, dear heart…”
A pet name, one that Sirius called Regulus ever since Sirius was three years old playing with Regulus as a baby.
Kreacher would never utter those words again.
A profane, bleak house it was, after so many years.
Sirius had never intended to return; yet, he had, out of necessity. ‘Lord’ Voldemort had taken Sirius’ ‘dear heart,’ and finally Sirius could try to be clean again with a second chance at revenge.
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Drabble, Slash, Angst
Warnings: M/M, Black!Cest, Dark!fic.
Summary: #99 – Clean. He would have a chance to be clean again.
Word Count: 1,094 words.
Author's Notes: Drabble: a slice of fic in less than 1500 words. Regulus is 18 in this fic!
Prompt 99 – Clean
A profane house that was what it was to him, yet it was a house that still had its share of happier memories. As his grubby fingers ran over the clippings on the walls, he could not help but remember when Regulus put them there.
“You couldn’t find a more handsome hero?” he had said to him.
“What does it matter if he’s handsome or not? It’s power he has,” Regulus had answered.
He remembered scoffing, sarcastically. “I’m much more handsome, and powerful than Riddle is…”
“That’s Lord Voldemort, to you,” Regulus drawled, smoothing the newest clipping close to the family crest over the bed.
He blinked, slightly affronted by Regulus’ tone, and then he grinned, launching himself off the foot of Regulus’ bed, tackling the younger teenager to bed. Regulus was laughing, his wand falling from his fingers to the floor after using a sticking Charm to affix the clipping.
“Ah, but what if he were more handsome, more like me, what would you think then?”
Regulus grinned, his fingers reaching up to tug on long black hair, hair that was very much like his own.
“Well…” Regulus sighed.
He remembered stroking Regulus’ cheek with his right hand, a cleaner, younger hand that now stroked the dusty duvet next to where he sat on the bed.
“Well?” he remembered daring.
“Depends. He would have to convince me he was worth believing in, I suppose,” Regulus had said, his thumb brushing over his lips.
He remembered playing at being offended. “You mean, you don’t believe in me?”
Regulus chuckled, his thighs parting to let him rest more comfortably above… “All younger brothers should believe in their older brother, I suppose…”
He remembered grinning before taking Regulus’ mouth, kissing him as he had always kissed him when he was delighted in Regulus’ words. What his younger brother lacked in looks, he made up in words and charm. It was the reason Sirius loved Regulus.
There had been fights, he remembered, terrible disagreements over Regulus’ obsession with ‘Lord’ Voldemort. There had been fights at school when James would sometimes stick his nose in where it did not belong. Sirius was perhaps the least ‘Black’ in the family, but it was still his family, at least for Regulus’ sake.
“You can be so…” he remembered Regulus had tried to say when Sirius kissed the boy’s throat, pulling open his impeccable black dress shirt, pushing the green cravat aside.
Regulus sighed as Sirius pushed open the shirt, trying to strip it off. Sirius remembered Regulus distract him from removing the shirt, knowing, in hindsight that Regulus did not want his older brother to see the fresh, new Dark Mark.
Oh, if only he had known, he thought. He would have taken Regulus away from Britain.
“…infuriating,” Regulus had breathed when the front of his trousers were open and Sirius could take in the scent of clean, mint, and light musk.
The memory was terrible and beautiful, the last time they had been together…
His lovely brother, his dear heart—Sirius held his disgusting hair and unshaven face in his hands. He had not dared to think of Regulus in Azkaban.
He did not think about how he smelled, or how he tasted. He did not think of how lovely his brother was, the sound of his sighs and moans when Sirius sucked at the hot flesh, the stiff shaft, the soft black hair surrounding his organ tickling his nose. He did not think of how deceptively forceful Regulus could be, bending him over the end of the footboard, touching him in a way that only one other would ever touch him—one who was now dead.
Tears streamed from his red-rimmed eyes, making clean tracks on his sunken cheeks as he clutched his middle and bent over to let a sob pass.
“I could be like ‘him’ someday,” Regulus whispered, his fingers slipping into Sirius, spreading, preparing. “The both of us…so powerful, handsome…someday a boy will have clippings of us on his wall…”
The smooth slide had nearly undone him, and Sirius remembered his grey eyes rolling back at the first thrust. Regulus had strong hands, small hands, a Seeker’s hands, and when they pulled at his sac, Sirius would always whisper: Regulus…
It would always get rougher, the dark, wicked internal pains Regulus harboured would burn into him, tear into him when fingernails raked down his back. Sirius could still feel the scars when he would touch parts of his thin back. An eternal reminder of a time when all that matter was how much he adored Regulus.
“Harder,” he would say over his shoulder, grey meeting grey.
Sometimes it was like looking in a mirror, when their eyes met. Sirius remembered the last time, he saw despair.
Regulus rolled him onto his back, leaning forward to kiss him, biting into his lower lip until blood mixed in their mouths. One small hand stroked him roughly, painfully; the other shoved long white fingers into his mouth, gagging him.
“Some days…” Regulus gasped, his thin hips slamming into his bottom, cock burying deeper as Sirius lifted his feet to rest them on Regulus’ shoulders. “I hate you…”
Fingers slipped from his mouth, trailing blood and saliva to his nipple, pinching hard, breaking skin. When the dampened hand replaced the dry hand, Sirius remembered groaning, his hands grasping the duvet under him.
“And some days…”
His back arched as come flew from his cock, into his mouth, into his eyes.
“I love you.”
Regulus thrust twice more, harder than ever, and with a strangled gasp, pulled from Sirius, moving over the mattress to sit on his chest, cock slipping between his bloodied lips.
“Today is such a day, brother.”
It would be the last time, Sirius would find. It would be the last time his brother would speak words of love—speak words at all.
He had swallowed every bittersweet drop; he let Regulus lick off what was on his face, kissing him, touching him, torturing him. They only lay together for a short while before Kreacher came into the room, announcing: “It is time, dear heart…”
A pet name, one that Sirius called Regulus ever since Sirius was three years old playing with Regulus as a baby.
Kreacher would never utter those words again.
A profane, bleak house it was, after so many years.
Sirius had never intended to return; yet, he had, out of necessity. ‘Lord’ Voldemort had taken Sirius’ ‘dear heart,’ and finally Sirius could try to be clean again with a second chance at revenge.