when I burn

Written for lb_x who requested, for xylodemon’s The I Didn't Get To Go To TWH Ficlet-a-thon, “S/R/R with shower porn”.
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Remus/Sirius, Remus/Regulus, Sirius/Remus/Regulus
Summary: It *could* have happened like this….
Warning: Canon Character Death. Touched by the run-on sentence fairy. Verily, I ramble.
A/N: Title from the Will Oldham song You will miss me when I burn which is absolutely heartrendingly beautiful. You need to hear this song.

He loves you, Remus said, and the next thrust was so hard that his head cracked against the wall.

Is that right? Long aristocratic fingers, roughened with misuse, wrapped around his cock and pumped him angrily. Remus pressed his palms against the wall and forced himself back into the battering assault. His face rubbed nearly raw on the bare mattress. The room was squalid and horrible; he hated to come here almost as much as he needed to possess the man above him. It was a terrible thing to know that the integrity of your soul lay without your control, lay in the control of your enemies.

This responsibility might tear him in two as surely as he was being fucked in two now.

Yes, he does, he said, yes he does, and he was still saying it as the orgasm exploded through him like one of those horrible Muggle warfare devices. He grabbed the arm braced by his head and pulled it down, pressing his mouth over the terrible Mark, kissing and sucking it. Regulus grabbed him and screamed as he came, holding on desperately, as if to let go would mean spinning away down into the void.

He loves you, Remus said, sliding freshly-washed black hair through his fingers, consciously forcing himself not to pull.

Funny way to show it. Long aristocratic fingers traced the red welts that ran from Remus’ shoulders past his arse.

He does, you know he does, and you love him, Remus said, knees wobbling and all his fine logic dissolving in the warm and wet, hot and slick as Sirius wrapped his hand around both their cocks and thrust his tongue into Remus’ mouth, matching the rhythm of sex.

Help me out here, Moony, Sirius said. He wrapped his fingers around Sirius’, overlapping and lacing and so fucking good. The fall of the shower became a roar, and his body slid against Sirius’, desperately seeking purchase that was not there. He nearly slipped and fell, would have but for Sirius, who pressed him to the tiles, buried his face in his neck and with his teeth marked him. Remus felt Sirius’ orgasm through his jaws, and when he kissed him after it was sharp with the tang of his own blood.

I love you, Sirius said.

But you loved him first, Remus replied, his head back, water pooling on his eyelids like a benediction.

Say it, Remus said around Regulus’ cock. Say it, you stubborn bastards.

I– Sirius said, and stopped.

Regulus smiled in that cold way of his, and Sirius grabbed him. He pressed his mouth over Regulus’, his tongue tracing the contours, forcing its way between sharp white teeth. Regulus’ arms were around Sirius’ back as Remus swallowed his cock, and Sirius leaned his weight on Regulus’ shoulders as he fucked Remus hard; and still they were kissing; and then Regulus cried out, his mouth tearing away, and very nearly forming all the words that had never been said.

Then it was all done, and they were kissing again, slow and careful now. Whether Sirius pulled Regulus down or Regulus pulled Sirius down, it didn’t matter. They lay on the carpet, fingers exploring faces, hair, bodies. Differences, they were so different, but they fit together like halves of the same whole, like something sundered and lost and yearned for and fought over and earned. All it would take was surrender.

Come to us, Remus said, we love you, I love you, and Sirius couldn’t stop kissing his brother, his other, first and best beloved, rival, enemy.

It was raining when he was buried, and Sirius didn’t even go further than the cemetery gates, didn’t approach the small dark knot of father, mother, cousins, enemies. He had no one with him: he wanted James, but James had the baby now, and it was his baby brother going into the ground. The kiss of promise had somehow become the kiss of betrayal, and he knew he could never look at Remus again without hearing the words gone all knife-sharp and cruel.

Come to us, he’d said; and Get out, Sirius said, an hour or a lifetime ago in the rain, I don’t want to see you here when I come home.

And the echo of the door banging open in the half-empty flat sounded like half of hell, and the prison door shutting not a year later was the other half of his desolation.

By the time the evidence of Regulus’ bravery and resolution was found, and his name was exonerated, and his brother’s name was added to his tombstone; by that time, Remus found that the words I love you were hollow and devoid of meaning, ghosts only of what might have been, ghosts calling come to us; and there were days when he wanted nothing more.

::: fin :::

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