The moon is currently at its brightest tonight. Leaving a path of light painting Regulus' large bedroom. He smiles as he slips from his bed to the open balcony outside. The cool air gently flew around him, touching his skin, and leaving chills behind that he did not care for.
His hands find the cold and stony balcony railing. It’s rough against his skin, and vines are crawling up. Reaching for the top, only a few manage to actually make it. One of which where a blue morning glory has blossomed. His thumb and index finger brush against the soft petal, silently celebrating the flower’s victory. Because he too, will have one, very soon hopefully.
A sharp knock on his bedroom door pulls him quickly away from the flower, nearly ripping it from its vine.
“Celeste!” Oh god, that wretched name.
Regulus moves swiftly to the door, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to look tired, and he opens the door for Walburga.
“Yes, Mother?” He asks, trying to drawl his voice out a bit.
“You have been in bed haven’t you?” She raises a thin brow, “No more of that-” she makes a disturbed face and waves her hands,“-Crouch-nonsense. You are already betrothed.”
Regulus bits on the inside of his cheek, Walburga would never understand, because she never married for love. She married for necessity. Orion would never love her the way he loves his perfumed-soaked mistresses. And she would never love him the way she loved her desperate misters eager for her cold touch. They would never love each other the way Sirius and the doctor with scars love each other. The way Regulus and Barty love each other.
It was almost pitying.
“Of course, Mother,” he lies through his teeth. Desiring for her to leave him quickly.
“He is a grotesque man,” Walburga hisses, “dirty, and filthy, a madman who will ruin your life. Remember that, my sweet girl. I only want the best for you.”
You ruined my life, Regulus thinks, but he doesn’t say it out loud. She will never understand. She will never understand his love. His name. His gender. His life. Regulus doesn’t want to be a wife solely for children. He wants to be a writer. He wants to be the man he truly is.
And Barty understands that. Because Barty has peeled away the layers of pale skin that hide the raw truth of what Regulus truly is. Not a wife. Not a daughter. Not a mother. Not a woman whom the noble lords can breed to death. But man, a man who can put together words that invoke buried feelings. Feelings that leave even the coldest person warm with either sadness, anger, or love. A man with the skill to undo the tightest stitches that hold a person together with his words.
He digs his fingernails into his palm as Walburga presses a cold kiss to his forehead and bids him a goodnight that makes his skin crawl in disgust. When he flexes his finger apart, there is blood coating the tip of his nails. He looks at the closed bedroom door and pushes down the urge to slam his body against it. To bruise his body. To force out the flames of anger his mother stroked alive by painting his body a beautiful dusk of purples and blues. And he knows Barty would love to trace a gentle finger against the pained and sensitive skin, and he would do it so carefully, admiring, but never hurting.
He locks his bedroom door. Ensuring privacy. And turns around, making his way back to the balcony with his morning glories. Back to the full moon, the rough balcony stone railing, and the cold air.
This time, he closes the curtains that act as a barrier between his bedroom and the balcony, giving himself a bit more privacy as he waits. Which he doesn’t have to do for long.
The moment he slumps down on one of the stone benches is the moment he hears a faint rustling of vines.
Barty is here.
He flings himself to the edge of the railing, scratching his palms with the friction of the rough stone against smooth skin, a grin spreading wide on top of his face. Because nothing else matters anymore. Because Barty is finally here. With his toothy grin, messy brown hair with dirty green streaks he tried to paint on, and eyes of amber that always held a flame in them. He climbs to the top, the rough stone makes no impact on his calloused skin.
“Barty!” He does not attempt to silence his voice, not tonight, “Oh my heart! You’ve arrived!”
Barty sits on the railing, his long legs dangling, nearly brushing the floor. His arms are wide open and waiting, waiting for Regulus, and a sparkle in his amber eyes reflects the moonlight.
“Ah!” Barty laughs, “My Regulus!”
He throws himself into the other’s long awaiting grasp. His hands hold on tight to the fabric of Barty’s clothes. Inhaling Barty’s familiar scent of roses and hints of iron, he buries himself deeper within. Almost like he wants to permanently crawl into Barty’s chest and stay there. Hidden from the world.
When Barty finally pulls away, he says, “Stone and thorns scratch my body, but I hold scars close for I know you will love me all the same. My heart has ached since our last parting so let me consume you with love once more again. Oh! How long it has been.”
Regulus laughs, feeling freer than ever before, the anger and ugly from his interaction with his mother having faded, replacing the deep desire, the need, to tie Barty down where he sits so Regulus could always see him and love him, or perhaps to stitch Barty to him so they will always be connected. He chases Barty’s lips, capturing them with his own, and refusing to let go until the need for oxygen threatens to drag them to the depth below. But Regulus won’t entirely mind if Barty stays with him.
“Practicing, eh?” Regulus smirks. His lover was never much for poetry or writing in general, his handwriting was always rushed and messy. His love is not spoken with words but with hands and his body. His eyes exposed the parts of his heart and soul that words won’t ever be able to.
“Well, I have to sweep you off your feet one way!” Barty grins, his sharp teeth exposed.
Regulus leans in, his lips brushing against Barty’s, and he whispers, “Oh but you already have. From the moment I saw you. From the moment your skin brushed mine.”
Barty doesn’t wait for another second before he devours Regulus’ lips like a hungry animal, starved for days and days. Like his lips were the only thing to satisfy him. Barty’s tongue weaves into his mouth, and Regulus lets out a soft moan as he forces his body closer to Barty’s. Nearly shifting his entire weight onto Barty’s lap.
Love. It’s what fuels their bodies. It’s what flows through their veins as they attempt to force their bodies closer than what their physical being allows. Regulus feels nothing else as Barty’s lips move downward to his neck, and pull him closer. Love that weaves its way through Regulus’ heart and unravels the tangled knots that await for the right moment to drag him into hell.
“Oh, darling,” Barty mumbles against his skin, “oh darling. Oh, how I’ve missed you.”
He runs his fingers through Barty’s hair, a smile on his face “My love, my love.”
It’s just the two of them. It always has been from the moment they found each other in the empty cathedral. Where blood stained Barty’s fingers and Regulus found the urge to clean them off his hands rather than scream and run away. His mind had paid no attention to the mutilated corpse of Barty’s doing as he stood there, mesmerized and captivated in a way he had never felt before.
Regulus smiles at the memory.
He pulls away with a cheeky grin and a mischievous glint in his eyes. Tugging on Barty’s hand, Regulus leads him to his–no, their–bed. They collapse on the soft blankets with laughter and love unfurling from their bodies. They exchange kisses and vows. In their own little world where it’s just the two of them without everyone breathing down their backs.
When they finally stop, they lie there, under the blankets and contently buried in each other’s arms.
“You act as if we haven’t seen each other in centuries!” Barty teases, “I oughta to thank the force for whatever made you so clingy tonight since I got you all loving.”
Regulus rolls his eyes, “The ladies kept asking me about my engagement. Would’ve been irritating enough if it weren’t for their husbands trying to tug at my ribbons.”
Barty presses a kiss behind his ear, whispering, “You should’ve let me pull you away from the crowd, I would have made the evening much more enjoyable.”
“And I would’ve been put through the annoyance of my mother berating me for going missing when I could’ve been engaging with my “future husband”,” Regulus groans, rolling himself over so he would be on top of Barty. He places a kiss in the corner where the neck meets the shoulder, “You know how she gets. It makes me worry.”
“About?”
“Us.”
There is a small moment’s silence as Barty tilts Regulus’ head up slightly to meet his eyes. An amber color that makes Regulus want to pluck them and preserve them in a formalin solution in the prettiest jar that Regulus could ever commission from the best artisan. He has read notes about preserving the human body, and while he may not be an expert the same way his dearest friend, Evan Rosier, is, Regulus is sure Evan would be able to give some pointers. Goodness knows how much Regulus talks about Barty to his dear friend.
“I could care less whatever the public sees when you marry,” Barty hums, “so as long as you retain in your heart, your love and desire for me. Why should I care about what the people see of? I will love you until the concept of love is long gone, and then I will feel for you a desire so strong it surpasses the understanding of it.”
Regulus scoffs, but his cheeks flush a bright red, “It will be hard to love me when I lay dead six feet underground.”
“Who says I won’t be down there with you, hm?” Barty replies, tucking a loose curl behind Regulus’ ear, “I won’t survive knowing we don’t breathe the same air.”
“And I thought I was the writer,” Regulus mumbles into his neck.
Their peaceful moment is ruined when a sharp knocking interrupts them. Barty and Regulus freeze, holding still, hoping that whoever is behind the door assumes that Regulus is asleep. That he, actually is not in bed with the child of his father's rival.
They don’t take the hint, the knocking becomes sharper. The voice of Orion Black was clear and cold, “CELESTE! OPEN THE DOOR! I KNOW YOU HAVE THE WRETCHED BOY IN YOUR ROOM!”
Regulus pulls away from the comforting hold of Barty’s arm, and sits up, his eyes wide with terror and shock, “Did someone see you?!” His hisses.
Barty’s head sharply turned to the door where Orion was screaming his head off, “Well clearly someone did! Fuck!”
“He’ll kill you!” Regulus is terrified. His grip on Barty’s tunic is harsh and tight, “You need to go!”
This wasn’t supposed to happen, Barty wasn’t supposed to be found and they weren’t supposed to be interrupted in their night together. They were supposed to share their love, not dance on the edge of death by Regulus’ father.
“And leave you to deal with this?! He’ll kill you!” Barty’s hands wrap around Regulus’ arms, his hold equally harsh and tight, “I’m not leaving you to deal with this!”
The banging grows louder and louder, and soon, they can hear Walburga screaming too. And Regulus is alone with Barty. The threat of tragedy looms over them and Regulus wishes he had run like Sirius did. He wishes that he had run off and married the true love of his life like Sirius did. He wishes he hadn’t lingered with his parents with the small, tiny hope that they would accept him and his love. How stupid was he, and now Barty is going to die-
The door breaks open.
“SHIT!” Barty shouts, as if on instinct, he pulls Regulus’ body closer in a protective manner. How idiotic of him when he would be the one on the other end of the trigger.
Orion and Walburga stand there, their eyes wide with anger and insanity prominent in their family line. Where Walburga stands, fist clenched in with blood, and her husband with a small handgun.
Orion was going to shoot Barty.
“YOU!” He points at Regulus with his handgun, “YOU WHORE! I SPOILED YOU TRULY AND NOW YOU RUN ABOUT WITH OTHER MEN WHILE ENGAGED?”
Orion was going to shoot Barty. He’s waving his handgun around madly. He’s going to pull the trigger.
Barty was going to be shot.
Barty was going to be shot.
And Regulus won’t ever live again.
Walburga stands near the entrance like she was prepared to hide in safety when he insane husband finally pulls the trigger. Equally trembling with rage. But Regulus pays her no mind, not when his life is about to be taken.
His grip on Barty is near bruising. A desperation to keep Barty alive for Regulus would never live again if he died.
Orion fires a missed shot and they cower further away. Regulus wonders how many warning shots he will shoot before he aims for Barty.
“Get away from from that boy, Celeste!” Walburga’s voice hisses through like a snake, “Do not make this worse than it already is!”
In spite of that, Regulus pushes himself against Barty as much as he can. And like a damn has broken, he angrily shouts back, “QUIT CALLING ME THAT!”
Another shot fires as Barty rolls him over on their side. Nearly falling off the bed. There is smoke flying in there where the hit is.
“Love,” Barty lets out a breathy whisper into Regulus’ ear, “I need you to listen to me very carefully.”
Regulus nods faintly.
“AND NOW YOU DARE TO SHOUT AT YOUR MOTHER?” Orion’s voice is loud and clear, booming against the bedroom walls, “YOU DISGUSTING, SPOILED, UNGRATEFUL WHORE! I SHOULD’VE MARRIED YOU AGES AGO! GET YOU OFF MY HANDS!” His eyes directly meet Barty’s gaze, “AND YOU SON OF BITCH! COMING INTO MY HOUSE-!”
“Remember-”
“YOU TOUCH MY DAUGHTER-?!”
“-What I have told you,” he reaches underneath Regulus’ pillow.
He had been so young, when his Sirius told him, “I won’t be able to protect you anymore, Reggie.”
His older brother slides him a pair of scissors, decorative, beautiful scissors, “Always have something on you.”
He slides the familiar pair of decorative, beautiful scissors into Regulus’ palm, and Barty whispers against his ear, “Go for his heart.”
As Orion is going on his tangent, thankfully not having shot another bullet. Regulus pounces.
He’s always had the lucky ability to be quicker than his peers. Quicker than his ailing, old father. Quicker than his mother who never once lifted a finger. And this time was no different.
In a mere blink of an eye, the beautiful scissors are buried in Orion’s chest and Walburga is screaming. Thankfully, the ear-splitting sound is cut short when Barty jumps from the bed.
Blood shoots from Orion’s chest. Splattering the walls and ruining the painted mural he had worked so hard on years ago. It almost replicates fingers forcing themselves from the body, finally free from the tight space they were all forced into. Regulus vision is dotted with red but he finds that he does not care. He pulls the twin blades from the chest and, without another thought, digs them in again. The red soaks the nightshirt Orion wears and paints Regulus’ hand.
They both fall to the ground with a loud thud but that doesn’t bring Regulus back anyhow, his mind is blanketed as he continuously stabs the man below him. He is aware that he can’t cut through the rib, so he opts for another spot.
The face, perhaps. The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black took pride in their sharp and gorgeous features. Orion was no different.
Unfortunately, with the skull, Regulus knows his options on the face are limited, but it would be a perfect opportunity.
The eyes or the mouth. The eyes that held too much anger and madness for a father. The mouth that spoke too cruelly to young children.
In the end, Regulus chooses the mouth. To finally shut the remarks about his looks and “need” to marry. He raises the twin blades and forces them through. Blood pools in the mouth and spills to the ever-expanding mess on the floor. He pays no mind to it. For years of compacted anger, frustration, sadness. It all pours out angrily.
He’s free.
He forces the blades through again. Shoving past the pearly, white teeth and into the tongue. He knocks some of the teeth out, but the movements push some of them into Orion’s throat.
Because he had gone for the heart. Orion wouldn't have been alive to suffer through Regulus’ anger. A shame. It’s unfair. How Regulus spent years under his father’s thumb, suffering. And he didn’t even get a minute of it. It was all so unfair.
He hadn’t realized he had begun crying until his throat was hurting and sore. The scissors still jammed into Orion’s mouth. The handles sticking out from the bloody mess.
Times pass but he is unaware for how long. Only that it does when he hears footsteps and a weight against his body. And the sudden awareness of the dried and sticky blood on his skin.
Barty.
“Shhh-,” his lover hums, pressing wet and bloody kisses against his neck, “everything’s alright.”
“He–” Regulus swallows, “He died–so quickly–it’s not fair.”
“I know, I know,” Barty pulls him off Orion’s limp body, and to his chest, on his lap, where Regulus could hear the steady beating of Barty’s heart. Steady. One. Two. Three. Repeat. Barty dries his face, wiping the mixture of blood, dry and sticky alike, and salty tears. He presses kisses to his face to soothe the ache, and Regulus clings on harder.
“I got you something,” Barty says softly, “to make you feel better.”
Leave it to Barty to always cheer him up, “What is it?” He asks, grey eyes shifting up.
Barty brings the object into view from his back, Regulus hadn’t even realized that his lover was hiding something earlier, and sets forth a heart. It had stopped beating, Walburga didn’t have enough life in her for that, but it was in perfect shape. Bloody, yes, but Regulus could make out the bumps from the veins and where the left pulmonary artery crosses over the aorta.
It’s beautiful and it steals his breath away.
His hand reaches for it. To touch. To admire the careful work Barty placed into making sure the heart left the body in perfect shape. All for Regulus. For him. And suddenly, the sadness doesn’t feel so prevalent. It’s love that he feels instead.
He gently takes it from Barty’s hand. His eyes never leave the large organ and he traces his thumb over the veins and muscle. He leaves behind trails of smeared blood but that’s okay. He’ll just wash it off and preserve it.
“Thank you,” he smiles, and Barty presses a kiss to his neck, “Thank you.”
He presses the organ to his chest where his own heart rests, beating so steady and calm, and turns to Barty. Chasing the other’s lips with his own. Desperate and needy. The taste of iron and roses. Everything melts away and he feels happy. Happy with Barty. Happy without the cold breath breathing down his neck from his parents. Happy with the gift Barty gave him.
A soft moan slips from either of their mouths, and Regulus drops the heart to the floor, he’ll care for it later, before he pushes Barty to the messy floor. It’s just them now.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
The chateau is pretty empty, the servants having been dismissed for the night by Regulus when he finally pulled away from Barty. They gave him pretty weird looks but a large sum of money was enough to shut them up. He might just dismiss them permanently and sell the place so he can move somewhere else with Barty. London does them no good. Perhaps to the French countryside? He’ll ask later.
Barty had motioned for Regulus to help him drag Orion’s body to the kitchen areas, a mischievous grin plastered on his face. He had been confused but followed anyway.
When they stopped at the kitchen, his feet stopped at the sight of Walburga Black. Her body, pale and stiff, held a deep chest cavity. Red and black, her white nightdress soaked thoroughly with blood. Her hair splayed about the large kitchen counter, damp, her fingertips dipped in blood, and her face craved in a grotesque, twisted grin. The dark red bloody mess made a sharp contrast against her white skin.
It seems that Barty had given him his mother’s heart. How sweet, he thought with a smile.
However something else caught his eye, Walburga’s eyes. Her eyelids were pinned to her head by tiny pins with little gold caps. Tiny droplets of blood and small dots of purple around the pinned area. Forcing them open. A mock attempt to make her look conscious while death was evident in her cold, iron eyes.
Now he stands, in the kitchen, trapped between Barty’s arms as his lover sharpens a knife. His parents’ corpses lie there, unmoving and stiff. Cold and pale.
“What do you think?” Barty hums, raising the pointed kitchen knife to Regulus.
He raised his index and middle fingertips. Sliding them against the sharp blade. It cuts his fingertips painlessly. Drawing a small amount of blood.
“Good,” he replies as he raises his fingers to his tongue. A faint taste of iron.
Barty presses a kiss to his neck and pulls away, walking to the stiff corpses.
Regulus watches with interest as Barty slides the knife into the neck of the corpse. Of course, not a lot of blood bleeds through. He manages to get a piece out. The inside is a beautiful red.
Barty takes it between his fingers and holds it out. His amber eyes enticing Regulus closer. And closer. Until his lips are around Barty’s finger. The cold flesh in his warm mouth. The taste of iron, once more, and stiff skin.
“There we go,” he hears Barty say, and he feels an arm wrap around his waist. Pulling him closer, “Gorgeous boy.”
That causes him to lean closer into Barty’s chest. Creeping his hands up his lover’s chest as he faintly chews on the flesh and lightly sucks Barty’s fingers. Small trails of saliva drip down the edge of his mouth. He grips Barty’s bloody tunic as he swallows. A soft whimper leaves his throat and Barty pulls him even closer.
“Beautiful, angel,” he hears Barty say as he pulls his fingers from Regulus’ mouth, “my angel. I wish I could marry you.”
“You could.”
“Could I?”
“My mother’s eyes are wide enough.”
Barty laughs a loud laugh that makes Regulus smile and break into fits of giggles. He places the knife down to wrap his other arm around Regulus and spins him around with affection in his eyes before sitting Regulus down on a free space on top of the counter. He raises a thumb to trace Barty’s cheek as gently as he can, hoping he can channel all the love he holds for the man in a simple action.
He presses a kiss to Barty’s lips and mumbles against his mouth, caging him in with his legs, “Marry me right now. Tell me how much you love me, how you would never leave me, how you would chase me to the end of the world. Tell me everything. And let me tell you everything I feel for you. How much I want you. How much I would die for you. How much I would throw away just to have you. Please.”
Barty is silent for a moment before he pulls their lips away and Regulus almost cries at the loss, but Barty presses their foreheads together and cradles Regulus’ face in his hands, “I love you, Regulus Black. I love you so much, you know? From the moment I saw you in that cathedral, I thought I saw an angel. So beautiful. And perfect. When you touched me I thought I was blessed, something so new to a man like me. I’m no religious man, Regulus, but I would’ve spent my entire life on my knees if it meant I could worship and touch you.”
In truth, Regulus almost wants to cry. His face is flushed and heated, and he feels his eyes start to water.
When Andromeda and Sirius ran away to marry their lovers, the chemist, Ted Tonks, and the doctor, Remus Lupin, Regulus felt confused about why they would give away their life for someone. He hadn’t fallen in love with Barty yet. He had not tasted what true love was like. It isn’t a cold shoulder or an objectifying possessive glare. It’s warm touches, never harsh slaps. Soft encouragements and never brutal scolds.
True love is Barty.
“Let me give you a ruined heart that can only love once more,” he says, his voice so loving and warm, it makes Regulus melt, “and let it love you last until it can no longer, and allow me to give you another. Allow me to give you whatever makes you smile, for I will burn villages, conquer kingdoms, and bargain with the fates and gods themselves to keep you by my side.”
He feels Barty remove his hand from Regulus’ face and in the corner of his gray eyes, he notices a hand reach for the knife before a cold, sharp blade, is pressed to his bottom lip.
“Don’t leave,” the words leave Barty’s lip almost like a plea, but before Regulus can object to that foolish notion, he continues his vows, “Stay with me forever. Don’t go,” The cold blade presses into the bottom lip, and there is a slight shock of pain and then something wet, “I’d follow you down to hell or crawl up on scraped knees to reach you in heaven. Just don’t go, marry me, and let me have you in my senses.”
He kisses him, it’s wet with blood and saliva, soft but with so much love and desire that Regulus feels no pain upon the pressure on the bloody cut. His grip on Barty is tight, near bruising, but he’s scared to let go, to let the moment slip away. So he holds on. Tighter and tighter.
“I’ll marry you,” Regulus moans softly against his husband's lips, he pulls away slightly, his grip still tight, his eyes watered, and he feels a tear slip, “I’ll marry you in every life I am given. I love you. I love you. I have never loved anyone the way I will ever love you. I’ll clean your bloody fingers in every empty cathedral in every lifetime if it means I’ll marry you. If it means I get to have you in my eyes, my lips, my hands, my entire being.”
Pale hands reach for the handle of the cold blade, Regulus digs the point into Barty’s bottom lip until red is drawn and blood starts to seep through the skin. He leans in to kiss his husband before the precious ichor is lost.
“I love you, so, so much,” Regulus starts to cry when he pulls apart their bloody lips, it’s all too much, and Barty’s beautiful amber eyes are glossy too, “I love you so much it makes me want to carve my own heart out from my body and give it to you so I can see love in your eyes before I die. Do you know I love you so much I want to stitch my body to yours so we would never separate? Did you know that when I first saw you in the cathedral I was ready to go to hell with you? That I was ready to burn with you on a stake in front of millions so as long as we were together-”
He doesn’t get to finish his vows because Barty yanks the knife away and pushes Regulus down on the counter, knocking over minor plates and bowls and sending them crashing onto the floor. But Regulus doesn’t care because his husband’s lips are on his and loving hands are touching his body.
A laugh breaks through Barty and him, because finally.