By: DursleyFamily
Sirius was never one for patience. He'd spent his entire life breaking rules, pushing boundaries, and tearing down walls that people told him couldn't be torn down. And that attitude extended to everything—especially his family. The mere thought of Grimmauld Place always made his skin crawl, a reminder of the oppressive weight of tradition and duty that his parents had tried to force on him. But as much as he hated this place, there was something in it that he needed now.
Information.
The Order had been trying to track down Death Eater movements for weeks, and they kept hitting dead ends. Every time they got close, the trail went cold, like smoke slipping through their fingers. But Sirius had a theory. One that he didn't share with anyone—not even Remus. It was too personal, too tangled up in his own past, and he wasn't ready to open that wound just yet. He knew, though, deep down, that Regulus had something to do with it.
His little brother had always been the careful one, the quiet one, who observed from the shadows. Regulus wasn't a fool, and Sirius knew that if anyone had the information the Order needed, it would be him.
But it also meant facing him again.
The memory of their last conversation hung in the back of Sirius' mind like a bitter aftertaste. The confrontation in the drawing room had left him feeling raw, exposed in ways he hadn't expected. And the worst part was, he couldn't shake the feeling that Regulus wasn't entirely lost—that maybe, just maybe, there was still a way to pull him back from the edge.
If he could get through to him.
Sirius clenched his fists, the leather of his jacket creaking as he paced the dark corridor outside the drawing room. The house was quiet now, save for the occasional creak of the old floorboards, but Sirius knew Regulus was still here. He could feel his presence, like a ghost haunting the place, lingering just out of sight.
He turned sharply, making his way down the narrow staircase toward the lower levels of the house, where he knew Regulus often retreated. His footsteps echoed in the emptiness, each one steady, purposeful, as he steeled himself for the conversation ahead.
The air down here was colder, damper, and the shadows seemed thicker somehow, wrapping themselves around the edges of the narrow hallway. Sirius could hear the faint crackle of a fire from behind one of the closed doors and knew immediately that he'd found his brother.
Without hesitating, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Regulus was sitting by the hearth, his back to the door, reading something—a letter, maybe, or a report. He didn't turn around when Sirius entered, didn't even flinch. It was as if he had been expecting him all along.
"What do you want, Sirius?" Regulus' voice was cold, detached, but there was an undercurrent of tension in it that made Sirius bristle. He hated that tone—the tone of someone who thought they were above it all, who thought they had everything figured out.
"I want information," Sirius said bluntly, stepping further into the room, the door creaking shut behind him. "You're going to tell me everything you know about the Death Eaters' next move."
Regulus finally turned his head, his gaze slow and deliberate as it met Sirius'. His eyes were dark, unreadable, and for a moment, Sirius wondered if this was even the same boy he'd grown up with.
"And why would I do that?" Regulus asked, his voice calm but with an edge of challenge to it.
Sirius didn't miss a beat. "Because you know you're in too deep. Because you're smarter than they give you credit for, and you know this isn't going to end well for you. You think Voldemort's going to let you walk away when he's done with you?"
Regulus' expression didn't change, but something flickered behind his eyes—something Sirius recognized. Doubt. Fear, maybe. He pressed forward, closing the distance between them.
"You have a choice, Regulus," Sirius continued, his voice lowering but losing none of its intensity. "You can either help me, help the Order, or you can go down with the rest of them. Don't think for a second that being a Black will save you from what's coming."
Regulus stood slowly, placing the letter on the chair behind him with deliberate care. He turned to face Sirius fully now, his eyes narrowing as he looked him over.
"Spare me the lecture, Sirius," Regulus said, his voice a little harder now. "You don't know anything about what I've done or why. You left. You always leave."
Sirius felt the familiar heat of anger rise in his chest, but he swallowed it down. This wasn't the time to get into the past. He needed to focus, to get Regulus on his side. But Regulus wasn't making it easy.
"And you stayed," Sirius shot back, his tone sharp. "And for what? So you could follow the same broken path as our parents did? So you could serve a man who doesn't care whether you live or die?"
Regulus stepped closer, his face tightening, the tension between them thickening like a coiled spring ready to snap. "You don't get to judge me, Sirius. You don't get to pretend like you know me."
Sirius felt something snap inside him. The calm façade he'd been trying to maintain shattered as he grabbed Regulus by the front of his robes, shoving him back against the wall. The sound of the impact echoed through the small room, but Regulus didn't flinch. His eyes were locked on Sirius', burning with something Sirius couldn't quite name.
"I'm not pretending," Sirius growled, his face inches from Regulus'. "I know exactly who you are. You're the one who's pretending. You think you're in control of this, but you're not."
Regulus didn't push back. He didn't try to break free. He just stared at Sirius, his breath coming faster now, his chest rising and falling under Sirius' grip. The room was too quiet, the air too thick with all the words that had never been said between them. It was a powder keg waiting for a spark.
Then, in an instant, it exploded.
With a sharp movement, Regulus shoved Sirius back, breaking his grip. "You don't know anything!" he snapped, his voice louder than before, filled with years of anger and bitterness that he had kept bottled up. His fists clenched at his sides as he glared at his older brother, daring him to say something—anything—that would justify this feeling of rage boiling inside him.
Sirius didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, slamming his shoulder into Regulus and pushing him back against the wall again, this time with more force. "I know enough!" Sirius growled, his voice rough. "I know you're just another pawn, too scared to make your own decisions."
Regulus snarled, his hand shooting up to push Sirius off him, but Sirius was faster. He grabbed Regulus by the front of his robes again, pulling him forward before shoving him back hard, the impact rattling the wall behind them. Regulus grunted but didn't back down.
With a flash of movement, Regulus struck, his fist connecting with Sirius' jaw in a quick, vicious blow. Sirius staggered, but he caught himself before he could fall, his own hand coming up to rub the spot where his brother had hit him. The pain only seemed to fuel him.
"You little—" Sirius didn't finish the sentence. He lunged at Regulus again, and this time the two of them were locked in a full-on brawl. Fists flew, hands grabbed at robes and hair, both of them fueled by years of resentment and unresolved emotions. There was no precision, no thought, just raw, untamed fury.
Sirius managed to get Regulus in a headlock, pulling him down toward the floor, but Regulus twisted his body and threw an elbow into Sirius' ribs, knocking the wind out of him just enough to wriggle free. He didn't stop, though—he slammed Sirius back against a nearby bookshelf, sending books toppling down around them.
"I stayed," Regulus hissed through clenched teeth as he pinned Sirius against the shelf. "I stayed when you ran away. I held this family together when you turned your back on it."
Sirius shoved him off with a snarl, blood trickling from a cut on his lip. "You didn't hold anything together, Regulus! Our parents are dead, and it's just you and me left. Now, you are letting yourself get swallowed by this!"
They crashed into each other again, fists swinging wildly. The room felt too small for the sheer force of their anger, the walls closing in as they fought, both of them too lost in the heat of the moment to think. Sirius managed to get the upper hand, pinning Regulus against the wall once more, his chest heaving, eyes blazing with anger.
And then it happened.
Without warning, Regulus grabbed the front of Sirius' jacket and yanked him forward, closing the distance between them with a force that felt like desperation—no, more than that, it was years of pent-up anger and longing exploding all at once. The world around them blurred, and Regulus crushed his mouth against Sirius', the kiss violent, raw, and overwhelming. It wasn't calculated. It was instinct, driven by the storm raging inside him, a storm he'd never been able to tame.
Sirius froze for a split second, caught off guard by the suddenness of it. His mind reeled, but his body reacted before he could think, before he could make sense of what was happening. The sensation of Regulus' lips—hot, unrelenting, demanding—sent a shock through him, sparking something deep in his chest that had been buried for so long, he'd almost forgotten it was there.
It wasn't a kiss born of affection, but of everything that had been left unsaid between them. Regulus' lips moved hungrily against his, dragging him deeper into something Sirius hadn't even realized he wanted—something he had denied in himself for years. It was like trying to tear down the years of distance and hurt, like trying to erase the space that had grown between them since the day Sirius walked out. Every movement, every press of Regulus' lips, felt like both a punishment and a plea.
Sirius could taste the bitterness of their shared history on Regulus' lips—the resentment, the regret, and the twisted, confusing love that had always existed between them, buried under layers of pride and pain. It was as though the fight had unlocked something primal, something neither of them had been ready to face, but now there was no turning back.
And then, almost as quickly as it started, Sirius found himself responding, a fierce heat rising in his chest as his anger mixed with something darker, something he didn't want to name. His hands, which had been gripping Regulus' arms in fury, slid upward, tangling in his brother's hair, pulling him closer, harder, as if trying to close every inch of space between them. It was a battle, the kiss—a new kind of fight, one that neither of them could win but both of them refused to lose.
Their lips clashed, teeth scraping in the heated fury of it. Sirius felt the sharp sting of pain as their mouths collided, but it only fueled him further. The kiss wasn't soft. It wasn't tender. It was fire—blistering, wild, and consuming. It was a reflection of everything they felt: the hatred they didn't know how to express, the love that had gone unspoken for too long, the regret for what they had lost, and the raw desire that now blazed between them like a flame they couldn't put out.
Sirius could feel Regulus' body pressed tightly against his, every muscle tense, vibrating with the same energy that coursed through him. The heat of Regulus' skin radiated through his clothes, and Sirius' hands roamed desperately, fingers digging into Regulus' shoulders, his neck, his back. He needed to feel every inch of him, to make sure this was real—that this wasn't just another twisted dream brought on by guilt and longing.
It was a fight still—just one without fists. And it felt more dangerous, more vulnerable. Their kiss was laced with all the emotions they hadn't been able to articulate, all the questions left unanswered between them. There was no room for softness, no room for hesitation. It was fierce and unyielding, like everything about their relationship had always been. Each movement was a clash of wills, a desperate attempt to take control, to be the one who didn't give in first.
Sirius' back hit the wall with a dull thud, but he didn't care. His grip on Regulus tightened, pulling him impossibly closer as their kiss deepened, becoming more frantic, more desperate. He could feel Regulus' heart pounding against his chest, matching his own erratic rhythm. His mind was spinning, his body burning with the intensity of it all, and for the first time in what felt like years, Sirius allowed himself to let go—to stop fighting the pull he had always felt toward his brother.
There was no thought in his actions now, no calculation, only raw feeling. His heart was pounding in his ears, drowning out everything else—their past, their family, their broken history. All that mattered in this moment was the way Regulus was kissing him, the way he was holding onto Sirius like he was afraid to let go.
When Regulus finally broke the kiss, his breath was ragged, his lips swollen and reddened from the intensity of it. He didn't step back, didn't put any distance between them. Instead, he stayed close, his forehead resting against Sirius', their breaths mingling in the small space between them.
Sirius' chest heaved as he stared into Regulus' eyes, wide and wild, as though he was seeing his brother for the first time. There was something in Regulus' gaze now—something untamed, something Sirius hadn't seen before. It made his pulse race, his breath catch in his throat.
"You think I'm weak?" Regulus whispered, his voice low and rough, filled with the kind of anger that came from years of being underestimated, of being pushed aside. "You think I don't know what I'm doing?"
Sirius opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say a word, Regulus' lips were on his again, more demanding this time, more insistent, as if daring Sirius to say otherwise. The force of it made Sirius' knees weaken for just a moment, but then the fire in his chest reignited, and he found himself giving in to the heat, the anger, the undeniable pull between them.
Regulus kissed him like it was the last thing keeping him alive, like he needed this—needed Sirius—more than he needed to breathe. His hands gripped Sirius' jacket, pulling him closer, pressing their bodies together until there was no space left between them.
They were still fighting, in a way. But this time, the battle wasn't about words or fists. It was about control, about dominance, about years of unresolved tension crashing together all at once. Neither of them was willing to back down. Neither of them was willing to give an inch. And yet, neither of them could stop.
Get the chapter a day early on our writing group's blog https://fictioneers.thinkific.com/pages/blog.