jateshi | Drabbles: Sirius/Remus/Regulus (Various Ratings)

Sirius/Remus/Regulus - Keeping Secrets (G) Written November 2004

"Didn't you tell him?" The question hung in the air between the three men, Remus' voice catching at the sight.

"Didn't have the time to do it, Moony," Sirius says softly, looking apologetically to his fellow Gryffindor. Regulus' bobs from one boy to the other, silver eyes wide and lit with questions.

"Why is he even here?" Regulus finally finds his voice admist the silent exchange, Sirius and Remus' eyes locked together. One hand points to Remus, accusations embodied in his words as he looks to his brother.

"Why bring him," Remus was ignoring the plantive look in Sirius' eyes, or the distrustful glare from Regulus, "if he doesn't know?"

"He needs help." For once Sirius' words were clipped, steel behind every syllabl.

"Why?"

Even Regulus appeared to want to hear that answer, Sirius shaking his head agains the onslaught of two sets of eyes. "Trust me."

"You've never kept a secret before," Remus said softly, though he signaled compliance.

Sirius/Remus/Regulus - Spring Showers & Easter Lilies (PG) Written April 2005

Trudging down to the family plot there was a small spray of brilliant, pristine white among row after row of black robes. Their mother droned on, her carefully pitched voice carrying over the masses of wizards and witches gathered but managing to sound bereft - she was always able to do that, Sirius reminded himself, always able to change her tone of voice to be the perfect weapon. Some of the gathered 'friends' shifted their footing, anxious for the matriarch of the Black family to shut up.

Written in all of their eyes he could see it, a comment they wanted to voice but dared not to; he wasn't perfect or angellic but as old traditions dictated a carved guardian stood watch over his burial slot. Every minute or so grey eyes caught the statue blinking, a fresh trail of tears making its way down the granite surface of her cheek. Beside him, in a borrowed-from-Prongs robe, Remus stood still; without the soft and even pattern of breath near his ear, his fellow Gryffindor might have been carved of stone too, a matched and tormented angel to pair with the one over the plot.

They waited. They waited hours, standing to the back and side, letting the Malfoys and the LeStranges and the Prewitts pass. In the eighteen years he had known his family, not a single comment passed between them as the remaining Blacks filed silently to their carriage. A light rain came down once the cemetary was cleared, a fine drizzle that drowned that weeping angel's tears into meaningless company, no longer the only tracks dripping across her chin.

Fifty steps took him to the grave itself, kneeling in the soft and wet grass, brushing aside a patch of upturned soil. Shifting the bouquette from one hand to the other he peeled his glove off, nails dragging over the ground. One rock then two, picked out and tossed aside. In their place, resting under the name and date of birth and death, Sirius laid the lillies down.

Sirius/Remus/Regulus - Lover's Obsession (PG-13) Written January 2005

Their hands are so similar, in the dark he can't tell one from the other. Only at first, really, because then the differences are so glaringly obvious, a simpleton could pick them out.

The way Regulus' lips softly beg and then plunder, his hips rubbing against his trousers without even pretending to wait. The way he doesn't say 'love' when gasping out his name, but something else, a word with just as much emotion and affection behind it. When the beams of moonlight flitter from the window to the bed, their skins are so alike that instead of being two boys, two men, they're one pounding body of flesh.

Remus is different though, after a hesitation. His cool amber eyes and sandy hair aren't a perfect twin of his own colourings. His skin is harder, but so much warmer than any Black's. When his voice forms words during the middle of sex, a lick and tug on his ear, he breathes the words against skin. Remus knows the perfect way to play him, the exact movements which send every thought from his mind, every protest from his lips until he's compliant and ever so willing.

In the halls, when Regulus reaches out to ghost a hand over his lover's chest, a single motion from Remus and the battle's over before it ever begun. Remus can turn Sirius any way he wants, and he pulls him away from his brother, from his family, just as easily as leading him by the hand. When Regulus finally stops pursuing, and turns to another comfort, it always looks like the one he never touched.