Regulus Black/Sirius Black fic, one-sided attraction.
It took Regulus two weeks to breach his older brother's abandoned bedroom. The shape of the door like a butterfly pinned to a wall, the first thing he sees when he exits his own bedroom. Which he has to do, try as he might to avoid stepping foot in the thick tension left over from the last argument between his mother and his brother. He hasn't spoken more than three words at a time since that day. Any more than that and he felt as though it would tarnish his memory, like every word he said would be pushing out Sirius' memory. Which was exactly what his mother and father wanted.
They were out of the house, visiting the Malfoys in the hopes of finding some clarity on the situation. To find justification that they did right in driving their heir, their son, out of their home and disowning him with a blast of sparks. Regulus had prayed for a moment alone like this.
He knocked on the middle of Sirius' door, a habit instilled in him since he was very young. There was no answer. Regulus turned the doorknob and pushed it open.
All at once his nostrils were infiltrated with the scent of his brother. He hadn't been in his room properly in years, not really since he was sorted into Slytherin. Sirius must have been disappointed that his brother did not join him in Gryffindor. Regulus was too, at the time, that he would be separated by the only person he looked up to. The person who told him all about Hogwarts the two years leading up to his letter, promising to let him in on all her secrets, help him with homework and charming the professors. His first year of Hogwarts did not go like that. He felt alone, surrounded by people who wanted a taste of the Black family blood that lie inside him, once dormant but now living and breathing as soon as the Sorting Hat hissed, "Slytherin!"
After filling his lungs sufficiently with the intoxicating smell of dirty clothes, stale, secret firewhiskey, the dusty books on his shelf with cracked spines and dog-eared pages. Those were the first things Regulus gravitated towards. It was too painful to look at anything else too soon.
Sirius taught him how to read. They had tutors, in multiple languages in fact, but none of them were the very first to teach Regulus. Late at night, when they were both supposed to be sleeping but it was too stormy or cold or warm, any excuse really, Regulus would sneak into Sirius' bedroom on silk-socked feet and plead with him to read until he could fall asleep. Sirius let him sit in the bend of his legs, back pressed against his chest, and would read him poetry and fiction and anything. He would patiently listen to Regulus sound out the words, gently correct him when he would make a mistake. What he would give to have Sirius' soft whispers tickling his ear at that moment.
One book, a copy of poetry Sirius had never read him before, had lots of dog ears. It was an anthology, the language was too dense for Regulus to parse. But he uncreased and recreased the folds in the book like it would somehow summon Sirius to reprimand him for messing with his things. Why hadn't Sirius taken any of these items? What was left of him, were they the things he wanted to leave behind? All those memories Regulus cherished deep in his heart, left to collect dust on a bookshelf.
Next he attempted the desk. It was covered in dents and markings from various writing instruments. Regulus dipped his finger in every one. Sirius took all his summer schoolwork with him when he left. Despite his reputation for being a troublemaker, a reputation that gave the professors reason to keep a close eye on Regulus, he wanted to do well. Maybe in a desperate attempt to impress their parents, or maybe an attempt to spite their parents, show that his rebellion had merit.
Regulus sat in his chair and leaned back in it. There were posters everywhere, even on the ceiling. He wondered how Sirius managed to stick them up there so solidly. Most of them are Muggle, spelled to stay on the wall despite even the strongest of efforts to get them off. Women in bikinis and motorcycles. Photographs of him and his friends. Laughing, smiling. Facial expressions that Regulus had only seen in passing, never aimed with their full brightness at him.
In some ways, Regulus hated Hogwarts. He hated being magical. Without Hogwarts, Sirius still would have loved him. Wouldn't have made him choose between him and his family. He would have stayed if only they hadn't been separated by a stupid hat. The chair creaked as he got up. He didn't want to cry, pathetic hot tears rolling down his cheeks in the stifling silence of his big brother's empty bedroom. It was childish and it wouldn't do any good. Sirius wouldn't be there to take him in his arms and comfort him, pet his hair and let him sob into his shirt. No, they were apart.
Finally, saving the dessert for last, Regulus collapsed onto Sirius' bed. The bedframe squeaked from the sudden use. Sirius' sheets were crumpled under his pelvis, Regulus stuck his face into his pillow. Inhaling as deeply as he could. Maybe a part of Sirius would become part of him, sucking up his dead skin cells from the fabric. He opened his mouth and took a chunk of the pillow between his teeth, letting his tongue wet it and taste it. Sweat and oil from his black hair. He used to let Regulus run his fingers through his hair, comb out the tangles.
He wet the pillow with his tears and saliva. Why had Sirius said that? "I don't even need to guess who you agree with." And with his upper lip curled in such disgust? Did he think so little of Regulus' feelings for him? Regulus hated him for that. For never considering him, never looking outside of his own experiences and the feelings of his best friends. Even now, he was living with the Potters, with the brother he always wanted. The brother he could have had, had he just let Regulus speak. I would have gone with you! Regulus wanted to yell at him, throw everything at him.
Regulus was drowning. He felt sick with it, stomach churning and head pounding with every sob ripped out of his throat. Spoiled rotten as he and his brother were, he never knew what it felt like not to have something. To be missing something so close to you. Like losing a limb, like losing water, like losing air.
He rubbed his body deep into the bed. Hips chasing the friction his skin craved. Hoping to become part of it, to match the fossil of Sirius' imprint. God, he wished he could be this bed and feel his brother's weight on top of him. To cover him fully, not like a cocoon, but as an object to use. Maybe if he were a well-loved object, Sirius would have taken him with. He wished he were schoolwork, he wished he were parchment, he wished he were a quill. A drop of ink in the bottle. To be used up in a single stroke of Sirius' hand.
With a sob wrenched out of him, he came in his pajama pants, the fabric sticky against his skin. Regulus let go of the pillow raised himself up on his arms and stared down at the bed. It was damp with his perspiration, there was a wet stain where his pelvis had been. Shame and hatred boiled up inside his chest. Look what Sirius had done to him, and he wasn't even there to witness it. To take responsibility. Sirius never took responsibility. Regulus wasnt sure why he ever expected that of him.
His temples throbbed. His face felt tender, especially around his eyes, and drool was drying from his mouth to his chin. He was sure his face was red and blotchy, like he had been slapped. His prick was still stiff. He was sure he looked completely pathetic.
Mother and father would be home soon. They couldn't catch him like that, they would make him regret it. Regulus dragged himself off the bed and sniffed. The blankets were disturbed, pillow dark where his eyes and mouth had been. Nobody would know but him and Kreacher, who still visited every few days as if he were also expecting the true Black heir to return.
On the wooden floor beside the bed, in a crumpled heap of laundry, Sirius' Gryffindor scarf lie twisted like a dying snake. Regulus picked it up carefully, avoiding the bite of longing and keeping it with him as he left the bedroom. He closed the door, tracing Sirius' name with his fingertips. He pressed those same fingers to his lips, and turned back in his room.
Nobody would find the scarf, hidden under his pillow for easy access while he slept. The last part of his brother Regulus had to hold.