Summary: Sirius is rather good at keeping secrets: the heat of a slender, aristocratic palm on the small of his back -- pursed lips -- Sirius turns over on his side and stares into sharp blue eyes just like his. NC-17. Blackcest, very twisted. Mentions of RL/SB.
Warnings: Swearing. Blackcest. Slash. Disturbing imagery.
Disclaimer: The characters do not in any way belong to me. Neither does the title, as it is from a line of an e.e.cummings poem, entitled simply '82' in a book of 100 selected poems.
Author's note: I wrote this a while back for someone on livejournal, and I recently rediscovered it and decided to fix it up a bit and post it here. The way I've written Sirius here is completely OOC and totally un-Canon that it's fairly laughable, but that's how I see him and usually write him especially when it comes to Blackcest -- I always wanted Sirius to be some sort of hybrid of Harry and Draco: the pureblood with a conflicting amalgam of righteousness, bravery, cunning, and cruelty. I always wanted him to be darker than he was in Canon...a deeper thinker, deliberately cruel instead of immaturely cruel. But I wanted it to be tempered by his more likeable qualities -- his indiscretion and loyalty and hot-headedness. I hope I was able to show those two contrasting sides in this fic.
For those of you reading this who are also readers of "Lollipop," rest assured that I haven't abandoned it. I'm starting a new livejournal (username: tinycherryteeth) where I will post updates about my stories, as well as little drabbles and things I don't want to post here; I'll probably be posting some fanart too, if you're curious. Feel free to add me there.
It's been a while since I've written Blackcest. I'd forgotten how depraved I can be. I would apologise for it, but...oh well, best just get on with it. Here we go, and hope you enjoy!
their eyes would never miss a yes
"Sirius? Can you keep a secret?"
The "yes" he responds with is not one of immediacy or intimacy, nor one of unconditional acceptance, and for some reason that makes Remus trust him more. It reminds him of what and who Sirius is, and almost immediately he feels on steadier footing with this knowledge.
"Good," Remus says.
Sirius raises an eyebrow, but takes it at face value and doesn't say a word.
What Remus doesn't realise, Sirius thinks to himself, is that he actually is rather good at keeping secrets. The heat of a slender, aristocratic palm on the small of his back, pursed lips -- childish but graceful -- as Sirius turns over on his side and stares into the sharp blue eyes just like his. "Does he make you come?" that sweet mouth asks him. Sirius can think of better uses for that mouth than voicing questions it has no business voicing.
"Curiosity killed the cat," he replies softly, a stillness settling in his stomach as his tongue leaves a glistening trail of saliva on skin the colour of sweet cream. He admires his work. Yes.
"No." Mirthless tone, and those sultry lips twist into something loveless and feral. Smooth fingertips flash, never fumbling as they find Sirius's cock. "That was our mother."
It's freezing, and Sirius burrows underneath his covers. He hears the dormitory door click open and knows it must be Remus, but he doesn't move a muscle.
"How was visiting your mother?" he asks. His breath creates a hotbox beneath his covers; suffocating velvety air surrounds him, mussing his hair, flushing his cheeks. His hand trails gently down his chest and stomach, fingers etching flightily round his belly button, leaving an imprint of searing heat on his skin. In this light -- or lack-of, rather -- his hand looks so much like Regulus's that Sirius is caught between a desire to let go and a need to hold fast. A strange detachment settles over him. He waits.
As if sensing Sirius's preoccupation, Remus becomes particularly tightlipped on the subject. "I'm sure she'll pull through," he says simply, and slips into Sirius's bed, just below the coverlets. The white, gold, and blood-red duvet seals them snugly in their fate just as Sirius fingers close around himself.
"I think he's suspicious," Sirius says eventually in an off-hand voice, finishing off his claret with an agility and grace that scream good-breeding and pure blood. He pours them each a glass more. "I think he's afraid I'm off…doing things I shouldn't. Selling his secrets out to the Dark Lord, or something."
"What you're doing is much worse," Regulus reminds him almost kindly.
Identical ice-blue eyes flash. "I don't think so," Sirius remarks.
"You never think so," says Regulus. "You never think." And Sirius feels his lithe, icy fingertips creep up to rest on Sirius's thigh. The rest of the thought goes unsaid. Not when you're doing that, not when you touch me like that, oh yes, right there --
Lying in bed together is when the truth comes out. "If I didn't know better," says Sirius reasonably, "I'd think you were jealous."
"Why," says Remus calmly, and it isn't a question.
"You grill me about it all the time."
"I just wonder what you're doing, is all," Remus says, trying to sound uninterested.
"Curiosity killed the cat, Remus," he whispers back, mouth deftly encasing itself around Remus's shuddering prick. Remus hisses slightly, hips bucking impolitely until he comes not thirty seconds later. Sirius twitches slightly at the bitter taste, but swallows every drop. For the briefest of moments, Sirius feels the dizzy ghost of symmetry brush against his lips, but then Remus is flipping him over to reciprocate and suddenly he is feeling much more than symmetry --
Regulus's lips, hot and burning like fever, melt into his cock, pool their blistering heat against his skin -- and Sirius arches like a child again, as if he has no restraint. In rare moments like this, if Regulus told him to choose, he would.
Regulus stops an inch from climax, whispering hotly, "Do you love him? Does he make you come?"
Such a Slytherin, Sirius thinks, half in appreciation and half in spite. Regulus is bred to the utmost perfection -- to be the Black Sirius never could be. The green and silver of his crest stares him down, taunting Sirius with what he is not, commanding a response --
"Yes," Sirius says, and it is not a yes of immediacy or intimacy, nor one of unconditional acceptance as Regulus would have it.
No, it is not how Regulus would have it at all.
It isn't until he finally fucks Regulus on Remus's bed, on a night of the full moon, that Sirius gives Regulus the answer he's been looking for.
The softness of Remus's duvet is not lost on the lither boy, nor is the way Sirius's eyes stay trained on him, utterly unwavering, as though there weren't the very real risk one of his Housemate could come bounding in at any moment. Regulus sees -- sees Sirius's calculating stare and cavernous clawing cleaving need --
sees and swallows and OH -- yes-please-again-more
...and the look on his little brother's face is oh so delicate that Sirius comes twice.
A/N: Once upon a time I pretended to write fics I wouldn't get flamed for. That was...a very long time ago. Oh dear.