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themostepotenteI can has ficlet! And I'll have Harry/Draco and Merlin ficlets soon, too. Do wonders never cease?
Title: Nothing Shines Here
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
themostepotente
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Teddy/Regulus, an appearance by ?
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the smut.
Summary: The youngest lieutenants of the oldest enemy clans try and negotiate a peace.
Warnings: AU, dark themes, character death, wordsmithy
Author's notes: Forsnegurochka_lee and melusinahp. I haven't written anything in ages, so don't expect miracles, ladies. Betaed by perverse_idyll. Any mistakes thereafter are mine.
Nothing Shines Here
Nothing shines here.
Not even the moon, thick and bloodless and suspended far above the treetops. Clouds like frozen breaths still at Seléne's breast, this moon of hounds and jackals and wolves.
Wolves, those filthy mooncalves, are the bane of the vampires' existence. The Elder of the blood brethren, hair black as a stain on moonwashed skin casts no shadow himself as he leans, waiting, against a broken hull. What peace can be made, met with creatures so foul and far gone? And they send the whelp of Lupin and his beta-bitch, a cub whose very name defies choice. Teddy is young and impulsive and perfect for this damned treaty.
They who are the true Methuselahs, send the child of Black, his heart a grey and stony pit in his sunken chest. Regulus is young and eager to prove himself, and Lupin and Black, like it or not, are bound by blood.
Their place of secrecy is long past forgotten, a Death Eaters' asylum made from the husk of the great Durmstrang vessel run aground on a skerry of Orkney. A dingy bed rests on a planked platform, and the airless room stinks of seawater and rotted barnacles. It will do. It always does.
There are but five words between them. Five words are all it takes to initiate a peace. To fulfil a peace, there must be action. Mouths crash and tongues like serpents dance. Limbs tangle and nails drag as teeth sink and flesh yields. There is a struggle for dominance that only one of them can know. That only one will ever know.
Regulus removes his robe, and it slides from his shoulders like a priest's scapular. Teddy leans his head back, a distant gleam in the ochre of his eyes, tongue extended to accept Unholy Communion. But the gleam in Teddy's eyes dims at the sight of silver rings; one on each of Regulus's hands and one through the crown of Regulus's cock.
Their courtship is savagely beautiful, and eldritch noises tear from the back of Teddy's throat. The arch of spine is elegant even for a beast, and Regulus is pleased that he has bent Teddy to his will. Teddy's long fingers trace the veins that splinter and divide like the nervure of leaves under Regulus's pale skin. Teddy's eyelids flutter in gramercy, and for a brief moment nothing shatters their glass-fragile world.
A lambent flick of wandlight, and another emerges from darkness, a pack-brother to the vanquished cub, the pinpricks of his yellow eyes rounding to fullness. To kill would be easiest, but the wolves are proud beasts. It is not enough to kill, they must undo. A single, stolen page from an ancient and angelical text is rewritten in his father's hand. And sung in reverent wolfsong be the gramarye of the living dead undone.
There is but a single pop, and then all falls quiet.
Unknowing, the Elder keeps watch outside the rusted porthole, a cigarette between thin, blood-parched lips. A dark curl of smoke hovers above his head in a sigmoidal calling card. On his third cigarette, he imagines a phantom growl in his belly. If he weren't so lost in noctule thought, he would revel in the pitch-perfect moments of silence before his stump hisses in the meltwater at his feet. Abruptly, his gaze turns up.
Violence begets a deep red moonswell, and by then it is too late.
Regulus lies naked on the bed, a page spiked through his hand. His eyes dim from saxe blue to steel grey before the Elder's touch darkens them for good.
Angels be damned, the Elder curses the Enochian tongue scrawled in Remus's hand. Devils be blessed, the Elder sets the page afire and steps out of the tomb. Clenched in the bones of his fingers are the silver rings, tarnished with blood and semen.
Nothing shines here but the moon, and in his heart lies the shadow of vengeance. And the night is as black as peace.
-=The End=-
Title: Nothing Shines Here
Author:
themostepotenteRating: NC-17
Pairing: Teddy/Regulus, an appearance by ?
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the smut.
Summary: The youngest lieutenants of the oldest enemy clans try and negotiate a peace.
Warnings: AU, dark themes, character death, wordsmithy
Author's notes: For
snegurochka_lee and melusinahp. I haven't written anything in ages, so don't expect miracles, ladies. Betaed by perverse_idyll. Any mistakes thereafter are mine.Nothing shines here.
Not even the moon, thick and bloodless and suspended far above the treetops. Clouds like frozen breaths still at Seléne's breast, this moon of hounds and jackals and wolves.
Wolves, those filthy mooncalves, are the bane of the vampires' existence. The Elder of the blood brethren, hair black as a stain on moonwashed skin casts no shadow himself as he leans, waiting, against a broken hull. What peace can be made, met with creatures so foul and far gone? And they send the whelp of Lupin and his beta-bitch, a cub whose very name defies choice. Teddy is young and impulsive and perfect for this damned treaty.
They who are the true Methuselahs, send the child of Black, his heart a grey and stony pit in his sunken chest. Regulus is young and eager to prove himself, and Lupin and Black, like it or not, are bound by blood.
Their place of secrecy is long past forgotten, a Death Eaters' asylum made from the husk of the great Durmstrang vessel run aground on a skerry of Orkney. A dingy bed rests on a planked platform, and the airless room stinks of seawater and rotted barnacles. It will do. It always does.
There are but five words between them. Five words are all it takes to initiate a peace. To fulfil a peace, there must be action. Mouths crash and tongues like serpents dance. Limbs tangle and nails drag as teeth sink and flesh yields. There is a struggle for dominance that only one of them can know. That only one will ever know.
Regulus removes his robe, and it slides from his shoulders like a priest's scapular. Teddy leans his head back, a distant gleam in the ochre of his eyes, tongue extended to accept Unholy Communion. But the gleam in Teddy's eyes dims at the sight of silver rings; one on each of Regulus's hands and one through the crown of Regulus's cock.
Their courtship is savagely beautiful, and eldritch noises tear from the back of Teddy's throat. The arch of spine is elegant even for a beast, and Regulus is pleased that he has bent Teddy to his will. Teddy's long fingers trace the veins that splinter and divide like the nervure of leaves under Regulus's pale skin. Teddy's eyelids flutter in gramercy, and for a brief moment nothing shatters their glass-fragile world.
A lambent flick of wandlight, and another emerges from darkness, a pack-brother to the vanquished cub, the pinpricks of his yellow eyes rounding to fullness. To kill would be easiest, but the wolves are proud beasts. It is not enough to kill, they must undo. A single, stolen page from an ancient and angelical text is rewritten in his father's hand. And sung in reverent wolfsong be the gramarye of the living dead undone.
There is but a single pop, and then all falls quiet.
Unknowing, the Elder keeps watch outside the rusted porthole, a cigarette between thin, blood-parched lips. A dark curl of smoke hovers above his head in a sigmoidal calling card. On his third cigarette, he imagines a phantom growl in his belly. If he weren't so lost in noctule thought, he would revel in the pitch-perfect moments of silence before his stump hisses in the meltwater at his feet. Abruptly, his gaze turns up.
Violence begets a deep red moonswell, and by then it is too late.
Regulus lies naked on the bed, a page spiked through his hand. His eyes dim from saxe blue to steel grey before the Elder's touch darkens them for good.
Angels be damned, the Elder curses the Enochian tongue scrawled in Remus's hand. Devils be blessed, the Elder sets the page afire and steps out of the tomb. Clenched in the bones of his fingers are the silver rings, tarnished with blood and semen.
Nothing shines here but the moon, and in his heart lies the shadow of vengeance. And the night is as black as peace.
-=The End=-
