Chapter Text
Regulus's fingertips are stiff with cold, his nose practically chafed raw by the wind, when he lands in the back garden of the home that once belonged to Uncle Alphard, and now houses his brother, Alphard's only heir. A light dusting of snow clings to the hood and shoulders of his emerald green cloak, and he catches his broom easily up to his side and walks up the steps onto the porch without breaking stride. He knocks briskly at the door, shivering slightly; 12 Grimmauld Place is only twenty minutes away by air, but after being up in the blisteringly icy atmosphere for that long, extraneous bits of him are frozen solid in spite of the warming charms on his clothes.
Somewhat to his surprise, the door swings open almost immediately, spilling light and warmth out. "Reggie!" Sirius crows. "You actually came."
"I said that I would," Regulus points out, and steps inside, letting out a soft, involuntary sigh. His skin tingles with the temperature difference, and he leans his broomstick beside the coatrack.
"Yeah, but to be honest, I thought you might lose your nerve," Sirius says plainly. "Well, welcome - here, let me help, and you can leave your boots on the mat there."
Regulus unclasps his cloak and lets his brother whisk it off his shoulders, hanging it neatly on the rack even as Regulus bends to tug his laces loose. He hasn't seen this house in years, and to his critical eye, it hasn't changed much. It's still mostly Uncle Alphard's furniture, here in the living room, even his piano standing in the corner.
He was never here at Christmastime before, and he's nearly blinded by the decorations, which scream Sirius through and through. Lights strung around the bay window, and along the mantel of the fireplace, flames roaring in the grate. Mistletoe in every doorway, and strings of garland looped up the banister. Every surface - and there are many, endtables and the coffee table and shelves and the piano itself - covered in a reckless variety of nutcrackers, pinecones, and snowglobes. And, of course, a massive tree that nearly touches the ceiling, positioned somewhat awkwardly by the corridor which leads to the foyer, in such a way that it would be a squeeze to reach the front door. Regulus is rather glad now that coming by broom meant entering through the back.
It just feels right, sort of sneaking in like this. He's not supposed to be here, and he reiterates, "I can only stay until nine. Mother and Father could return at any time after that."
"Nine? That's crazy, Reg," Sirius scoffs. As he straightens up, Sirius catches his hands, and Regulus blushes at the surprising intimacy of his brother tugging his gloves off, one by one. "Your hands are like ice. You'll barely be warmed up by nine."
"Ouch," Regulus says, as Sirius's larger hands enclose his own, rubbing the tingle away; in spite of the automatic response, there's no actual pain, and he does not pull back, softly glowing under the unexpected attention. "What about your friends?"
Sirius waves a dismissive hand. "Remus is with his dad, and James and his parents are with - Effie's folks. They'll be ages, they always stay well into the night, and Rem won't want to leave his dad alone too early. You know it wouldn't be a disaster if they saw you here, though, right? And you are an adult now, like...Walburga and Orion can't do anything to you for visiting somebody."
"You're ridiculous," Regulus huffs. It would be a disaster for anyone to discover his presence here. He's not supposed to be in contact with his blood traitor brother. Not supposed to care about him at all. James and Remus think he's a monster, a snake through and through; it would lead to a bloody row and spoil the holiday. And as for their parents...no. Not worth thinking about.
They have a couple of hours, though, and as the burn in his extremities begins to ease with acclimation and Sirius's careful rubbing, Regulus relaxes, and offers his brother a shy smile. They haven't actually spent time together in over two years, not since Sirius ran away. But gradually, last year, Regulus's anger and hurt gave way from cutting remarks to longing gazes across the Great Hall. Stolen touches when they passed in the corridors, hands brushing together. No apology has been given for the abandonment and at this point, Regulus doesn't expect one; he just wants his brother back, and the way Sirius watches him in the rainbow glow of Christmas lights makes his face heat, that eager, wondering stare. The closeness, so easy, as years of estrangement melt away in seconds.
"Let's enjoy the time we have, if you're going to be such a priss about it," Sirius offers. "Nine o'clock, as if an adult can have a curfew..." But he bites back what surely would have been more caustic commentary about Regulus being a perfect little angel for their parents, and gestures to Regulus to have a seat on the couch, in front of the fire.
Regulus wasn't sure what to expect of this meeting, honestly, when he received Sirius's owl inviting him over. He pulls out the silver-wrapped parcel in his pocket and sets it on the coffee table, beside a tray with a pot and two cups on it. "Tea?"
"Hot cocoa," Sirius says. "Want some? It'll warm you up."
Regulus nods, and Sirius pours; when he hands over the cup - a truly stupid-looking reindeer mug with a handle sculpted like a tail - their fingers touch. Just for a moment, but it's as brightly electric as the lights glittering on the tree, makes him shiver.
It's always been like this between them, ever since puberty. Touching makes Regulus buzz, in a way he never feels with anybody else. By now he's figured out what it means - he's not an idiot - and he's damn sure that Sirius feels the same. But it's obviously not an attraction they can act on, and especially not now, when they have to relearn how to be brothers.
He sips the cocoa, and gasps as unfamiliar heat spreads on his tongue. "What's in this drink?"
"Cinnamon, nutmeg, cardamom," Sirius lists. "It's - Effie's recipe. I think I made it right, is it gross?" He takes his own experimental drink.
It's definitely not gross, just unexpected, a light but desirable burn inside his mouth. "I like it," Regulus says, idly cataloguing the second time Sirius's breath has hitched on Euphemia Potter's name. He knows why, of course - he's heard through the grapevine that Sirius refers to them as Mum and Dad now. It means more than he dares express aloud that his brother is taking pains not to do that in front of him, not to slap him in the face with his brand-new family.
"Good," Sirius says. "Marshmallows, if you want them. And feel free with the candy." It's spread all over the coffee table in festive tins and boxes - candy canes, taffy, gumdrops, gingerbread cookies.
"You really went all out," Regulus notes. "Just for me?"
"Well, you're my brother," Sirius says easily. "I wanted you to have fun. How are classes? You doing okay with NEWTs?"
"Of course I am - it's not easy, per se, but the course load isn't too heavy for me. I'm Quidditch captain, did you hear?"
"I didn't - congratulations," Sirius says. "Do you like it? James bloody loathed it, organising practices and everything..."
It shouldn't be this simple, after abject betrayal, after grieving the loss of the brother who was supposed to stay with him. But Sirius has a gift for making the impossible seem possible, he always has. And maybe it's right that he didn't reach out last year, or the year before, or over the summer, or even at Halloween. The riot of festive color in the room is a pleasant distraction, the cocoa heats Regulus's belly from the inside, and of course there are presents, exchanged after half an hour of shockingly easy conversation.
Regulus isn't sure about his, truth be told, and waits with bated breath as Sirius unwraps it. The slim package contains a pair of black leather gloves - fingerless, studded with silver points along the edges, a style too edgy for him that he thinks will suit his brother. They're meant to be Quidditch gloves, but he explains, "You wanted that - cycle thing? The Muggle thing you talked endlessly about, so..."
"Reggie," Sirius breathes. "They're so fucking hot." That's not the way he thought they'd be described, and Regulus tentatively smiles, though it disappears into shock when his brother leans right into his space and presses his lips to Regulus's cheek.
His own skin is smooth - always has been, he can't grow more than a few straggly hairs on his chin and keeps those off with magic. Sirius's light stubble rubs against him, a scrape that earns a gasp and a squirm, as Regulus instinctively squeezes his thighs together.
"I - I - I'm glad you like them," he manages; Sirius pulls back and meets his eyes, grey ones identical to his own and shining, and Regulus presses his lips together at the sight of his brother's smirk.
Oh, Sirius knows exactly what he's doing to Regulus, and Regulus hastily turns to the larger box on the coffee table while Sirius tugs the gloves on to give them a try. It's not quite as neatly wrapped as his own, and the red paper is covered in cartoonish dog bones for some reason, only the fact that they each have a ribbon drawn around them making them remotely festive. It's bloody silly, but it makes him smile, and he neatly folds the paper once he's peeled it loose before opening the box.
Inside is a set of bookends - heavy silver, and when he lifts one out, he finds that they are carved into the shape of what he takes for chess pieces - a stylized rook and knight, with surprisingly exquisite details that he notices as he examines the one in his hand, a tower with small windows and delicate bricks.
"These are beautiful," he breathes. "Sirius..." They must've cost a fortune, even if it's not real silver, far more than he spent on the gloves.
"I hoped you still like chess," Sirius says, surprising anxiety laced in his tone. Regulus raises his eyes to his brother, watches the way Sirius flexes his hands in the new gloves, the shift of knuckles beneath leather.
Impulsively, Regulus leans over and brushes his own soft lips against Sirius's bristly cheek. "I do. And I love these. Thank you, and happy Christmas, Sirius."
"Happy Christmas," Sirius echoes.
It's a brilliant evening, really. They skirt matters that might cause a flaming row - they don't mention the looming threat of Lord Voldemort, or the Blacks, or the Potters, apart from Sirius's occasional reference to James, which Regulus supposes is inevitable when the man lives here. Sirius teases Regulus about his continued lack of a girlfriend or boyfriend, and Regulus mercilessly teases back about Sirius's hedonism, though it doesn't really have the intended effect when Sirius has always been so proud of his lifestyle. And though Regulus has no interest in sleeping around - no interest in anyone, really - he envies that. He envies his brother's freedom, his openness, all the things that Regulus can never have, because he has been left behind to be the heir, perfect and proper.
He has no need to be perfect, proper Regulus Black under this roof, though. He's not the heir of anything. He's just Reg or sometimes Reggie, and there are no sharp reprimands when they laugh a little too loud, nobody to slap Sirius's hand when he gets crumbs all over the table. The tree in the corner is a confusing mishmash of random ornaments and multicolored lights quite different from the elegant silver which drapes the one at home. Regulus could stay forever...
But he can't. He can't stay, forever. They only have this one night, because he can barely conceive of the punishment which would come his way if he was found to be in contact with Sirius.
It's a wonderful night, though. Regulus finds himself quite relaxed on the couch, his legs drawn up underneath him and his robes partially open to accommodate his knees, as he absently reaches for a candy cane and pulls the plastic off with quick hands. "It was a genius interpretation of the play," he says earnestly. "Have you been to any theatre lately?"
"No, we go to movies," Sirius says, a bit absently, his brow knitting slightly as Regulus hooks his finger through the candy cane's curve and slips the other end past his lips.
The peppermint tastes amazing on his tongue, mingling with the soft remnants of cocoa and marshmallows and gingerbread, a sharp and spreading flavor that hits him in his nostrils as much as his taste buds. And Regulus finds himself caught like a butterfly pinned to a board, beneath his brother's piercing gaze. Their eyes lock, and Regulus hollows his cheeks a bit, and sucks.
Sirius's breath catches - just a bit, barely audible over the crackle of the fire, and Regulus instinctively swallows. His tongue curls over the slim shaft, pokes out past his lips for the briefest second -
It's a dangerous game, heat pooling low in his stomach. They can't have this. Even if they weren't brothers, they are on opposite sides. And they are brothers, trying to repair something broken. This teasing is...it's not going to help. It's going to make things worse -
"Movies," Sirius repeats. "I know they're Muggle and you'd hate them, all loud and explosive, but Godric, I wanna take you to one, Reggie. It would be so funny, if nothing else. You'd jump out of your skin. I beg of you, do this for me - "
His pleading - his taunting - comes with a hand reaching out to squeeze Regulus's thigh. Just low enough to be decent but too high to be sane, and Regulus's muscles stiffen under the touch.
He pops the candy cane out of his mouth, the red lines already fading, slick with saliva, and says, his tongue heavy with sugar, "No, go to a play with me. Go to an opera with me, and don't fall asleep on me like you did when we were kids, and then maybe I'll think about wrecking my eardrums with Muggle madness for you."
His wrist barely moves back toward his mouth before Sirius catches it, gives a little tug and leans forward at the same time, and slips the tip of the candy cane past his own lips - the same end Regulus was sucking on, and Regulus swallows hard, eyes widening. Sirius is bloody obscene with it, too, keeping his mouth slightly open, enough for Regulus to see his lithe, pink tongue flicker around the length, replacing Regulus's spit with his own before he lets it pop back out.
"Ugh! Sirius! There are a dozen more in that tin," Regulus gasps reprovingly, certain that the blush on his face is as violent as a sunrise. "That one was mine, I can't eat this now - "
"Sure you can, Reggie," Sirius says, low and coaxing. "It won't kill you. I'm not sick, and we're brothers."
They are brothers. Which is exactly why he shouldn't do what he does: press the candy cane back between his lips. It doesn't have a different taste at all, apart from perhaps a hint of spice because Sirius was just drinking more of the cocoa a minute ago. And yet...it tastes indefinably Sirius, in a way that Regulus almost chokes on, but not from disgust. Not at all.
He is held captive by Sirius's gaze, and the hand on his thigh doesn't leave, rubs a bit. Doesn't move higher, not without permission - Sirius would never do that. But his interest is obvious, and by his smirk Regulus knows that his own arousal is clear as glass -
The clock in the foyer chimes unseen, and Regulus jumps, pulling away; Sirius withdraws his hand, and Regulus hastily tucks the ridiculous dog-bone paper inside his box, neatly closing up the gift. "I really can't stay," he manages, wrapping the candy cane up in a napkin and stuffing it into his pocket for later.
"Regulus," Sirius protests. "Nine on the bloody dot? Whose bloody party is it, even?"
"Bella's, so you know they won't stay especially late."
"Oh, please. Mother will be caught up gossiping with Aunt Druella until midnight - "
"And Father will have gotten into a drunken duel with Uncle Cygnus, and Mother will drag him home in a strop," Regulus says in dire tones. A quick tap shrinks the box, and into another pocket it goes. "I'm sorry I can't stay, but - it's been such a nice evening, Sirius. More than nice. I'm so grateful you invited me."
When his hands move to reclasp his robes, to hold in heat, Sirius reaches out to clutch the edges, preventing him from doing so. "Reggie, it's cold outside," he pleads. "You're not really flying home, are you?"
"If they find out we've seen each other, they'll kill me," Regulus says softly. It's only a partial exaggeration. "I can't Apparate, they might hear it if they've beaten me home. I can't Floo, what if they check with the Department of Magical Transportation - "
"Oh, now you're being outrageously paranoid, you little loon." When Regulus tries to slap Sirius's hands away, his own are grabbed again, and Sirius uses the grasp to lever himself off the couch. Regulus's breath catches; his brother has always been taller than he is, and looms over him.
"Mother will worry if I'm not at home. People go missing these days, Sirius," Regulus reminds him, and takes his hands back, skirting the couch the long way round to head toward the coatrack. He shoves his hat on his head haphazardly, and bends to tug his boots on.
"Not people like you, Reg," Sirius points out.
"I might, if I keep Father up. He'll work himself into a proper rage over me not leaving a note." He nearly slips, and tenses when hands spread over his slim waist, catching him and holding him upright. The tiny whine that escapes his throat is frankly embarrassing, and he can practically feel Sirius's grin as his brother leans over him, breath against his ear.
"Pretty boy, please don't hurry," Sirius whispers.
Merlin's arse. There is nothing subtle about it anymore. And there is no denying that Regulus wants it, either. He doesn't protest, doesn't slap Sirius's hands away - takes it as a victory, even, the warmth of palms against him through two layers of fabric, steadying him as he laces his boots.
Of course, he knows Sirius has an ulterior motive, and as soon as he straightens, an arm slips fully around him and tugs him over to the bay window. It's well-frosted by now, and Sirius scrubs at the pane with his palm. "It's coming down hard out there," he wheedles. "The Knight Bus won't be running."
"As if I'd take the Knight Bus, you must be out of your mind," Regulus scoffs. "Really, Sirius, I've flown in worse conditions." Though he has to admit, it's snowing much more heavily than it was on the way here; it's shocking how much has piled up onto the bushes outside the window since he walked through the door, actually.
"At least one more drink, then," Sirius suggests. "To warm you up for the flight back."
Regulus wavers. The arm around his waist is strong, solid, steady. It's so tempting to lean into it - to accept something akin to an embrace, even to turn in Sirius's hold...
"Fine," he says. "One more hot cocoa."
"Brilliant," Sirius says, and in an instant he's snatched the hat off of Regulus's head. Regulus gasps, indignant, as Sirius leans over to hang it back on the hook, and then grins and ruffles his hair. "You've grown it out an inch or two. It suits you, beautiful."
Another easy pet name. This one, unlike "pretty boy," so romantic that Regulus's mouth instantly goes dry, and he clears his throat, turning his head to meet Sirius's affectionate gaze. And he almost breaks, almost lets the words spill out. What do you want from me, why are you doing this, should we do this, can we do this?
But to acknowledge the game is to lose it, he knows. To lose whatever strength of will he has left. No matter how much he wants to taste Sirius's lips, to feel hands on his body...he can't, not tonight. Not ever. They are not allowed to be together in any respect, and it will only hurt more fiercely to lose something like that, no matter how tempting it is.
So he simply says, "Thank you. Yours looks good this length - and the piercings." Regulus allows himself this single indulgence, reaching up to push a lock of Sirius's hair back to reveal small silver cuffs studded with rubies, the lightest brush of his fingertip grazing the curve of Sirius's lobe.
And then he drops his hand, and throws an expectant look toward the pot of chocolate on the coffee table.
"Fuck," Sirius breathes, and then his eyes flash with heat and some unknown intent. He brushes past Regulus, and tosses over his shoulder, "Put a record on while I pour, would you?"
Oh, this has terrifying potential. But it does afford the opportunity for Regulus to say sternly, "One song," as he steps over to the record player on the side table. It's clearly a Muggle design, a little different from the ones he's used to, but he figures it out quickly enough as he flips through the vinyls neatly stacked on the shelf beside it. He selects one of Celestina Warbeck's albums, an upbeat jazzy one from his recollection, slips it onto the turntable, and drops the needle.
The warm tones of brass instruments fill the air, quickly followed by Warbeck's voice, and Regulus turns and accepts the stupid reindeer mug back from Sirius. For the moment, they don't speak, and yet the room is full of noise - most of it drowned out now by the music, but he can still hear the roar of the fireplace, and underneath it all, the very soft, but increasingly pushy tick of the clock out in the hall.
As the song hits a peak, Sirius grabs his free hand, and Regulus huffs out a laugh of disbelief as his brother gives him a little twirl. "Stop that, you'll make me spill," Regulus commands.
"I'd love to make you spill," Sirius murmurs, his grey eyes darkening.
It takes a moment for Regulus to grasp the implication there, and when he does, he gives a small, shocked gasp and tugs his fingers free of Sirius's grip, mind reeling. It can't possibly be a sex joke...but then, what have they been doing all night if not dancing around the topic?
He gulps down more of the hot chocolate and sets the mug down with what is meant to be a very final click. Every moment he stays, he can feel his willpower weakening. There is most certainly a part of him that wants to throw caution to the wind, acknowledge what is growing between them, and do something about it...but the consequences would be too dire. He can't, he can't.
He wants to, though, and when Sirius reaches for him again, he doesn't pull away, like he's bloody enchanted or something, under a spell he can't break - except there is nothing like that to cling to, no true excuse for the surrender. Sirius's hands settle low on his waist, catch his hips like bloody handles, and he tugs Regulus further out into the room. "If you really intend to fly home, you need to get your circulation up first," Sirius counsels. "Dance with me."
Regulus ought to say no, but he doesn't. He deliberately chose a record that wasn't particularly slow or romantic in nature, but somehow that doesn't stop Sirius from finding it acceptable to appropriate him like this. "Put your hands higher," he orders, when he should say take them off me, and Sirius obliges - but somehow that makes it worse, one settling on his waist, the other sliding to the small of his back to guide him into another little spin. Regulus has very little choice in where to put his own arms, and gingerly drapes them over Sirius's shoulders.
"What's with these limp little noodle arms?" Sirius teases. "Hold me closer, Reggie."
"You're the worst," Regulus huffs, but he obeys without hesitation, tangling his fingers into Sirius's tumbling black locks. Tells himself that he's just keeping his hands warm.
He never really thought of Sirius as a dancer - just not something that occurred to him - but it turns out Sirius is ridiculously good at it. He doesn't twirl Regulus often enough to make him dizzy, matches the rhythm effortlessly. And Regulus is mesmerized by it - by the way Sirius's muscles work underneath the hand that still grasps his shoulder, and how warm he is, how very close...
He can't take his gaze off of his brother's, and when the song ends, in the brief, humming space before the next one begins, Sirius murmurs, "Your eyes are like starlight."
"Oh," Regulus whispers. He definitely feels warmer than he did before they danced - overheated, honestly, his face must be so red that he's sure his blush can't increase anymore.
Sirius leans closer, enough for their noses to brush, and there is a reckless moment when Regulus tilts his head up and thinks about letting this happen...
Just as he feels the soft puff of breath from Sirius's lips on his own, he tugs away. Sirius lets him go - not without protest, but his hands slip instantly away from Regulus's body, at least.
"Come on, Reggie, I love this song," he says.
"No - no," Regulus insists. "I have to leave."
Sirius waits, a beat, then two, and then his lips spread into a wicked grin. "But you're not."
That's true. Regulus is rooted to the spot, just a foot away. "I'm trying," he grumbles.
"Trying so hard, I can see that," Sirius drawls. "Reggie..."
"Sirius," he breathes.
"Baby, don't hold out," Sirius pleads. He doesn't take another step forward, though. He lets Regulus have his space, what little there is between them. "You don't want to go home, it'll be miserable. We can dance, or sing. Play the piano. Talk some more. There's so much candy left, I worked so hard on this...really, you'll be hurting my pride if you go so soon. It will break me. I'll never host a party again - "
Regulus sighs. "You made me feel very welcome," he admits. "It's wonderful here. But the answer is no."
"They might not even notice you missing."
"Oh, they will. Kreacher will be waiting at the door for me, which will make Father suspicious. And you know Mother's mind is vicious - she'll concoct all sorts of absurd, horrifying scenarios and bully me about them."
"Well, I don't want you to be bullied, Reggie. But I guarantee nothing she can come up with is as sordid as the truth." Sirius inches closer again, and when Regulus stands his ground, his brother's hand reaches out to cup his cheek. Regulus leans instinctively into the touch, turning his face into it, practically nuzzling Sirius's palm. At home he can expect nothing but icy isolation, and this, he misses already. "Godric, your lips look delicious."
Regulus stops breathing entirely for a long moment, eyes wide as he watches his brother. That's the most overt come-on yet, there's no mistaking it, there's no shrouding it in subtext. It is what it is, and his heart beats wildly in his chest. Now he feels dizzy, even though they've stopped spinning, lightheaded almost.
It would be trivially easy to say no, we can't, are you out of your mind, and yet he doesn't - say any of those things. "Siri," he manages.
His brother's thumb drifts over his lower lip, and Regulus parts them instinctively, Can't pull away, when Sirius leans down to press their foreheads together. And although Regulus is not ready to take the initiative, he does tip his chin up slightly, and Sirius correctly takes it for assent when he closes that miniscule but infinite distance between them, and kisses him.
It's instantly intense, his knees almost buckling as Sirius's free arm catches him around the waist again. Regulus fists his hands in the front of his brother's shirt in desperation to stay upright, absolutely flooded with desire and need. A descent beckons, a plunge into rolling waves which will spit him out on a distant shore, wholly changed by the experience.
Sirius deepens the kiss slightly, nudges him back - and when Regulus's legs bump the couch, instead of sinking onto it, he gasps and turns his face away, still clinging to his brother for support.
"I must go," he whispers, his mouth as dry as his lips are wet and glistening. He doesn't even dare look at Sirius's face right now.
Once again, Sirius lets him go, and this time Regulus moves, fast, grabbing his cloak and swirling it around his shoulders. For a moment he thinks he's won the point - that Sirius will let the matter drop, let a kiss be a kiss.
He really should know better.
"I've never seen a blizzard like that," Sirius says, following him toward the door.
"It doesn't matter, I've got to get home," Regulus says, practically babbling.
Sirius snatches up the broomstick leaning against the wall. "Baby, you'll freeze out there." Before Regulus can even demand it back, he learns that Sirius did not take it solely to prevent him from leaving; his fumbling hands don't have the cloak clasped before Sirius insinuates the broom handle beneath it, hooks it up through the collar, and rips it off Regulus's shoulders, letting it slide into a puddle of emerald fabric on the floor.
Regulus spins to face him with a laugh. "Sirius!" Not to be deterred, he reaches for the next best thing, a heavy-looking coat on the rack. "You'll have to lend me one, then."
"It's up to your knees out there - you'll never take off," Sirius insists, eyes sparkling.
"Just watch me," Regulus threatens, and steps forward. He slides his fingertips down Sirius's arm - more than a brush, a deliberate press which eventually finds bare skin, the soft back of Sirius's hand. Their gazes match one another, and Sirius's smirk widens as he catches the challenge, some fire stoked under Regulus's own skin. He wrenches the broom out of Sirius's hand, and says, "You've been wonderful, I promise. You know this isn't about you. This isn't about us, it's about..." Everyone else. Everything else. Everything that would be compromised if Regulus gave in.
"I love when you touch me," Sirius practically purrs, flexing his fingers as if that simple brush really did turn him on.
Regulus can't help it - he knows that he should double down, make this serious. He knows his brother believes that he's just playing hard to get. The problem is that...he is. Sort of.
"Don't you see?" Regulus pleads, but his words are softened, undermined, by his own streak of the dramatic, as he slides his hand down the broomstick until he can let the handle dip, aiming it directly for Sirius's throat. Too ridiculous to come across as a real threat, but at least it keeps a physical distance between them, when Regulus's resolve is weakening by the second.
Sirius grins, and raises his hands, though Regulus knows better than to take it as real surrender. "Oh, Reggie, how can you do this to me?"
"We'll get caught," Regulus insists. "It'll ruin us - "
"But think of my lifelong sorrow if you caught pneumonia and died," Sirius says, tragic, theatrical.
"I really can't stay," Regulus hedges, and backs toward the door, fumbling for the handle. He doesn't even have the stolen coat on. His hat is still on the hook. But he knows if he doesn't escape into the brutal cold right now, he never will.
The door opens less than an inch, admitting just the slightest swirl of snow carried on a harsh wind. Sirius shoves the broom handle aside and closes the distance with shocking speed, catches Regulus by the shoulders and shoves him back, uses Regulus's own body to slam the door shut again. Regulus gasps, and the coat and broom fall from his hands as Sirius bends to him, lips finding the exposed column of his throat and drifting across his skin.
"Don't hold out," Sirius murmurs. "Reg...I love you."
He wasn't waiting for those words, exactly - the thought hadn't even crossed Regulus's mind until this instant. Of course they love each other, they're brothers, but it's something he hasn't heard in much too long. A moan escapes from him as he tips his head back against the door, Sirius's lips finding the point where his pulse beats, his teeth grazing against a shockingly sensitive spot.
"I love you too," Regulus admits, and he cups Sirius's face, drags him up from his throat to press their lips together.
This kiss is hotter than the last, open-mouthed and with an edge of desperation as Regulus discards propriety and sense just like everything else that's fallen to the floor in the last few minutes. Sirius catches his hips and yanks them forward, and Regulus groans, his cock stirring in his pants at the feel of the bulge in Sirius's own trousers, rubbing against him right where it fucking matters. "Sirius," he groans, lacing his hands behind his brother's neck.
Without words, without any communication besides what must be telepathically conveyed between desperate, overheated bodies, Regulus practically climbs his brother to even out their heights, and Sirius catches him by the thighs before he can slip as Regulus winds his legs around Sirius's waist. Grinding down every so slightly rubs their centers together, and his breath catches, turning a wet, sloppy kiss into him pressing his forehead against Sirius's temple, already overwhelmed as his brother nudges him back against the door again.
"You feel so fucking good," Sirius practically growls, and with Regulus's lips momentarily out of reach, attacks his throat again, more hungrily this time, sucking what will surely be a dark, mouth-shape bruise into pale skin that welts up entirely too easily. Regulus has no protest left to make, though - he is all in, all of a sudden, and he simply moans and pants right into his brother's ear, tongue darting out to trace along the shell, to test the cool metal sunk through the lobe.
For this, he earns a roll of Sirius's hips against his own, the tightening of fingers against his slim thighs. Regulus whimpers, cries out as he bucks forward, seeking any kind of friction he can get at this moment. He somehow finds Sirius's lips again, and without further ado, Sirius's tongue licks into his mouth, all the flavors of the season melting together and then away as they try to devour each other, replacing cinnamon and chocolate and peppermint with something indefinably human and impossibly slick.
From this angle Regulus can't do much but take it, the way Sirius rocks into him, can't change anything about the rough rub of their still-covered erections unless he wants to overbalance them. So when it all starts to make him dizzy with desire, he's the one who manages tightly, "Bed - couch - anything, anywhere - "
The bed would be safer, hidden behind doors, but taking the stairs up to Sirius's room feels entirely impossible in their current states. Sirius doesn't even bother to let Regulus down, just spins and staggers over to the couch, tossing Reg down on it. He lands on his back and pushes up on his elbows, already grasping for his brother again.
It's a nonsensical process, tearing each other's clothes off. Regulus is sure that one of the hooks gets torn off his robes as Sirius practically rips them open, and Regulus struggles to get the sleeves off while simultaneously trying to coax his brother's shirt up over his head. Then it's Regulus's jumper in the way along with the fact that Regulus has never had to undo somebody else's belt buckle before and finds it difficult to do backwards. Sirius tries to drag Regulus's trousers down, as Regulus lifts his hips helpfully, but finds his boots an insurmountable problem and laments, "You fucking idiot, why'd you try so hard to leave?"
"I don't know," Regulus says with a laugh. "I don't remember."
He doesn't, truly, especially when the unexpected complication finally makes Sirius slow down, giving him a look that sizzles between them. Regulus falls silent again, knows his eyes are enormous as saucers, as Sirius slides back to the far end of the couch, tugs one of Regulus's feet into his lap, and starts to undo the laces again - slowly. Very slowly. Excruciatingly slowly, with just the occasional pet given, a press that he feels through the boot or against his calf.
"Siri," Regulus breathes.
"How long have you wanted this, Reggie?" Sirius asks, voice low and coaxing.
"A long time," Regulus admits. "But I thought...I mean..." It's all too impossible, too sordid. If anyone finds out...
But that no longer matters to him now, with his brother's hands on him, with his cock ragingly stiff because of his brother's touches and kisses. The tent in his boxers is undeniable, and Sirius smirks, but doesn't touch it - not until he's finally let both of Regulus's boots thump to the floor, and stripped his pants off to send them flying off to Salazar knows where.
Then and only then, Sirius drags the boxers down too; Regulus flushes as his brother takes in a sight nobody else has ever seen, his erection bobbing against his stomach. "You're so fucking gorgeous," Sirius breathes, trailing a hand up Regulus's bare thigh.
Even without clothes on, the crackling fire keeps the room warm; there is no excuse for the way Regulus shivers at the ghost of his brother's touch against him. He moans when Sirius cups his bollocks, rolling them expertly against his palm, and doesn't see it coming until Sirius leans in between his wantonly spread legs and licks a broad, demanding stripe right up his cock.
Regulus practically screams at that, his whole body jerking against the couch, and Sirius laughs merrily, wrapping his fingers around the base of Regulus's shaft to hold his cock upright. "Been awhile?"
"Never," Regulus whimpers.
That, of all things, brings his brother up short; Sirius's brows knit together, and he frowns. "What do you mean, never? You've never gotten a blowjob before?"
"I'm - focused on other things!" Regulus protests, embarrassed. Surely it isn't that big a deal. Desperate, he reaches down, cards his fingers through Sirius's hair. "I want this, Siri. I do, I do. I was only fighting it before because..."
Well, there are a million reasons not to do it, yet all of them fail on his tongue now, overtaken by desire and love and something that feels more and more like a need by the minute.
Sirius shuts his eyes tight and lets out a groan. "You're gonna kill me," he manages. "Okay, so no sex - "
"What do you mean, no sex?" Regulus demands. "I never said that." He gives a fierce, though hopefully not painful, tug to Sirius's black locks, which spill so prettily over his own pale fingers. "I want you, Siri - I want anything you want to give me."
It doesn't take much to convince his brother, of course. Regulus watches tiny expressions flit across Sirius's face in the span of seconds, and then settle once more into wicked resolve. His brother's eyes open, gleaming dangerously, and Sirius leans forward - and misses Regulus's cock entirely, pressing his lips to Regulus's taut stomach, tongue darting out to tease around the dip of his navel. Regulus shudders under a very unexpected assault to nerves he hadn't realised were there, writhing against the couch.
"I want to give you everything, little brother," Sirius whispers huskily. "Everything you could ever possibly want."
"Please," Regulus begs -
And then his brother's mouth is on him, licking over the tip of his cock, and Regulus's back arches as he fights to keep his hips still. Heat engulfs him as Sirius slowly, slowly presses more of his length between his lips, tongue constantly swirling around every inch as he takes Regulus deep. The sounds wrung forth by this are frankly embarrassing, but Regulus sinks easily back into the waves of lust, as Sirius sucks him with determination and all evidence of enjoyment. Sirius bloody hums around his shaft, and the low vibrations make Regulus twist and writhe desperately, as if his body seeks to escape from overwhelming pleasure even though he might die if Sirius stops again.
But there are no more little crises of conscience. Sirius coaxes Regulus's legs over his shoulders; Regulus doesn't figure out why for a little while, until Regulus breathily gasped, "I - I'm going to - "
Sirius is a monster, because he takes that as his cue to pull off, with an audible pop as Regulus's cock slides free of his mouth. The air, warm as it is, on his spit-slick prick is both revelation and nightmare; Regulus instinctively tries to reach down, to stroke himself, to get to the peak that is well within his grasp -
Except Sirius doesn't let him grasp it, catches his wrist and pins it. Sirius smirks at him, and uses his free hand to press Regulus's throbbingly hard shaft against his belly, denying him any friction even as Regulus fruitlessly bucks his hips.
"Sirius," he protests.
"Trust me," Sirius coos, and presses his lips to Regulus's bollocks - teases the soft skin, sucks on them one at a time. It isn't quite enough, though it keeps the energy thrumming, and Regulus whines again when Sirius stops doing even that. "Draw your knees back a bit? Yeah, there you go," Sirius encourages, as Regulus, confused, pulls his knees toward his chest, his heels rubbing up behind his brother's shoulderblades.
He's too overawed to realise how exposed this leaves him until Sirius spreads his arse cheeks with one hand, and licks over his hole.
Regulus shrieks, stunned silly both by the fact that Sirius would do something that dirty, and by how bloody amazing it feels. Incoherent fragments of speech drop from his lips as his brother industriously laps at him, teases the tight ring of muscle, and eventually pushes his tongue inside.
It's so much, too much - Regulus can't come from it, though, but that suddenly doesn't matter, as Sirius expertly works over a part of him that he's never really considered might feel good like this. And oh, yes, it feels good - feels amazing, as Sirius gets him wet and slick, enough to eventually work a fingertip inside. Regulus clenches up instinctively, and Sirius chuckles, "If you're gonna do that, we'll be here all night."
"Yeah, yes, fine," Regulus says deliriously, a far cry from earlier.
"Relax, baby," Sirius purrs. "I've got you, you can relax."
It isn't easy to convince his body to do so, but when Sirius takes pity on him and starts lapping at his cock again, silly little kitten licks along the shaft, Regulus groans and falls boneless against the couch, throwing an arm over his eyes, as the intruding finger presses just a little deeper, coaxing his rim to allow entry.
With only spit, Sirius doesn't try to do much more than that for a good while. Just as the torture becomes too much, though - just as Regulus is ready to start begging for release or at least escalation - his brother seems to read his increasingly petulant whimpers correctly. The finger withdraws - Regulus actually mourns its loss - and Sirius sits up, Regulus's legs slipping off his shoulders, leaving him spread open, bare to his brother's gaze.
Sirius has never taken his pants off, Regulus realises, but he does now. Regulus's erection is a good size - a bit above average by his understanding, though he's never felt any need to compare with his dormmates or anything. Sirius's cock, though, practically dwarfs his own, bobbing up between his legs, flushed and swollen. Regulus's lips part on seeing it, tongue darting out to wet them, and Sirius grins, eyes gleaming.
"Like what you see?" he asks.
"Yes," Regulus whispers, and he doesn't just mean Sirius's dick, as his gaze rakes over his brother's form. He's seen a couple of Sirius's tattoos before, like the star on his wrist, but there are far more that his clothes had covered. An inked armband around his left bicep, a constellation - Leo - sprawled over his chest. Though Sirius doesn't really turn his back to Regulus, he catches a glimpse when his brother turns slightly to toss his pants toward the nearest chair, of what seems to be the spread of wings along his entire back.
Sirius takes his wand out of his pocket before discarding his trousers, and gives it a flick, muttering a summoning spell. A small bottle whizzes down the stairs, and he catches it with ease. "You do want to be on the bottom, right?" he clarifies. "I'd let you top me."
Regulus blinks. That's a heady idea, but one he rejects. "No, I - I want you inside me, Siri," he says breathlessly.
"Okay. Fuck. Brilliant," Sirius says, and slicks up his fingers.
The lube is cold at first, but warms quickly when Sirius presses inside him - first with just one finger, but once Regulus stops tensing over the temperature, a second quickly joins it, stretching him open. It's a strange sensation, but not at all unpleasant, especially when Sirius leans over him to snog him some more. Regulus loops his arms around his brother's shoulders and moans into his mouth, though it turns into a laugh when Sirius starts to mimic the rhythm of the record that is still bloody playing in the background.
"You like that?" Sirius teases.
"Yeah, I - I think so. It feels - Merlin's arse," Regulus practically shrieks, as another thrust delves even deeper inside him, and Sirius crooks his fingers. It's an explosion of pleasure that makes his hips jerk up, and he tosses his head back against the couch pillow with a sharp gasp when Sirius strokes him there again. "Siri - Siri - "
"I got you, baby," Sirius croons, and licks soothingly at his neck as Regulus writhes.
In moments Regulus is practically delirious with desire, begging for things he doesn't even know how to describe beyond more, faster, deeper, more more more. Sirius obliges; the only reason Regulus even notices when a third finger presses in too is because it feels so bloody good to be so full, and he gasps out a "thank you" as he tries to open his legs further, the attempt arrested by the back of the couch.
"Thank me?" Sirius asks smugly, preening, and Regulus surges up to kiss him again, called to bite his lip. "You little minx. You think you're ready?"
"Yes, yes," Regulus groans. Perhaps it's too quick, but he's been hovering on the edge of orgasm for what feels like eternity, starving for something unnameable. For closeness, for intimacy, for connection with the person he loves most in the world.
Sirius encourages Regulus's legs around his waist, and the blunt head of his cock nudges up behind his balls, against his entrance. Regulus, hand shaking, pushes his hair back from his face, sweaty and on the verge of too warm even though he has no clothes on, and meets Sirius's gaze. His brother's gaze.
Nothing has ever felt more right than when Sirius presses his hips forward, slides inside of him with a groan that rings like music in Regulus's ears. It's more than just his fingers had been, burns a little but in a good way - a very good way, as Regulus gasps. "You okay, Reg?" Sirius asks through gritted teeth, catching him by the waist to hold him still.
"Yes, keep going - please keep going," Regulus whimpers, tries to angle his hips a bit more encouragingly.
Not that Sirius needs any encouragement to sink further inside - just another inch before he slips out again. He works Regulus open like that, slow thrusts that gradually push deeper and deeper, never too much at once. When he rubs up against that spot inside, Regulus practically screams, arching his back and clawing for his brother's shoulders, dragging Sirius down into another deep, desperate kiss.
It's passionate, all-consuming, and at last their hips meet as Sirius fills him out completely, resting there for a long moment. "Fuck, Reggie," he groans, dropping his mouth to Regulus's ear, nibbling at the lobe. "You're so fucking tight, you feel amazing."
"You feel amazing," Regulus manages. "I didn't know - I didn't know it felt like this."
"It's good?" Sirius asks.
"Very." Regulus rocks his hips slightly, rubbing his leaking, throbbing cock up between them, against Sirius's taut stomach. Sirius laughs, and insinuates a hand between them in response, and finally starts to stroke him, in pulls too slow to get Regulus off fast, timed with thrusts that are far too gentle.
Some petulant part of Regulus wants to whine for him to go harder, but with a flourish, the song ends - and another one doesn't start. A hush falls over the room, a blanket of quiet, but not silence. The fireplace crackles, and Regulus can hear the thrum of his own heartbeat in his ears - and more importantly, every gasp and groan that falls from Sirius's lips as they shag.
As they make love.
Regulus swallows, hard, and kisses Sirius again. Life has conspired to send them on very different paths, and this convergence feels all the sweeter for time spent apart, somehow. Choosing each other, when they didn't have to. When nobody else in the world thought that they should.
He loses himself in the roll of Sirius's hips against him, in the sensation of fullness and completeness where Sirius's cock carves him open, in the wet press of lips and tongues. His fingertips dance over his brother's skin, feeling the muscles work in his shoulders and back, running his fingers through Sirius's long hair. The hand on his cock rubs and squeezes and caresses him, and this time Regulus isn't even aware of how close he is to climax until it's very nearly upon him, the graze of Sirius's cock against his prostate making him whimper with every roll of his hips that drives his thick cock against it.
"Siri, please," Regulus begs, nearly mindless. "Please, please - "
"Yeah, come for me, Reggie," Sirius pants. "Come on, baby, let me feel you - "
Regulus cries out when he comes, bucking his hips desperately, his arse clenching down around Sirius - which is enough to make him come too, a flood of unexpected wet heat deep inside of him as his brother's hips stutter. Regulus's own release coats his brother's knuckles and his own stomach, and Sirius doesn't stop stroking him, wringing pulse after pulse out of Regulus as the waves of pleasure crest higher and higher.
At last Sirius half-collapses over him, buried deep inside, panting out hot breaths against Regulus's shoulder. Regulus locks his arms around Sirius, shivering as his brain slowly stops spinning inside his head.
"That was...that was incredible," Regulus manages.
"You were incredible," Sirius tells him, muffled. "You good? I'm not too heavy, nothing hurts?"
"Nothing hurts," Regulus promises, tightening his legs around Sirius's waist. "Don't leave me."
"I won't, Reg. I got you."
Regulus nuzzles the side of his brother's head as reality sets back in - but not the cold, lonely reality of before. They are bathed in the glow of brilliant Christmas lights, both irrevocably changed, and Regulus can't stop smiling.
Sirius finally recollects himself enough to pull the blanket down from the top of the couch to cover them both, though they are near enough to the fire that Regulus doesn't really think that necessary, even with sweat cooling on his skin. When Sirius moves, his soft cock shifts slightly inside Regulus, enough to make him moan again. Sirius grins down at him, and cups his cheek, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.
"No regrets, Reggie?" he asks.
"None at all," Regulus promises. "I love you, Siri."
"I love you, too," Sirius returns, without giving him even a second to wonder if he was off the mark. The smile on his brother's face is too sweet, too kind to make Regulus fear that this had been all about sex.
He finds himself being kissed again, and melts back against the couch cushions as time disappears in the hot haze of passion. Sirius eventually drops his hand between them again, toys with Regulus's cock until it starts to swell under his palm, and Regulus squirms, sure he can feel Sirius hardening inside him, where they are still connected -
The clock chimes in the foyer, and Regulus twists his head to look in that direction, though he can't see it from inside the living room. "Oh..."
"One more for the road?" Sirius suggests, thumb teasing at his sensitive slit. "Or, you know...you could stay the night..."
"I could," Regulus starts, unwilling to move.
And then there's the distinct pop of Apparition from the foyer, and James Potter's cheerful voice calls out, "I'm home! Hey, Padfoot, how'd it go with Regulus?"