evandar: (Bellatrix)
Title: Don't Go
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: R
Genre: Angst
Pairing: Barty Crouch Jr./Regulus Black
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Regulus isn't acting like himself.
Author's Notes: This was written for this year's [livejournal.com profile] rarepair_shorts Wishlist event, for [livejournal.com profile] alley_skywalker, and it's based off her requests for 'Barty/Regulus - "don't go"'.

Regulus has spent the evening glancing towards the clock. Barty’s not blind: for all that Reg is physically with him, his mind is far from present. He was distracted through dinner – the remains of their takeaway are spread over discarded plates on the coffee table, and there’s far more left of Reg’s meal than there should be.

Regulus is reading, apparently. He hasn’t turned a page in hours. He’s curled up against Barty’s side, tucked under his arm, but he’s far from relaxed. Barty can feel the tension in his shoulders; he’s picked at his fingernails until they’ve bled, leaving smears of blood on the book he’s holding, and when Barty listens closely, he can hear Reg’s teeth grinding.

He hasn’t seen Reg this stressed since their NEWTs. This is worse. This time, there’s no reason. No real reason, anyway. He knows Reg has been having doubts lately; has caught his lover looking at the Dark Mark on his arm as if he’s not entirely sure why it’s there. But they’ve all had doubts to some degree since the War started in earnest and bodies started falling; Barty has had doubts. Doubts that he’s confided in Regulus – and Regulus took him seriously and, eventually, Barty got over them. Their Lord needs them. They’re doing the right thing. They –

He still has doubts sometimes, but they’re mostly doubts about Regulus now. Reg hasn’t said a word, but his body language speaks volumes, and Barty can’t help but feel a little betrayed that Regulus doesn’t trust him as much as he trusts Reg.

He shifts slightly. He rubs his hand up and down Reg’s arm until he snaps out of whatever trance he’s in and looks up at him. There are shadows under Regulus’ eyes like he hasn’t slept for a week. He hasn’t. At least, he hasn’t that Barty knows of – if Regulus comes to bed at all these days it’s after Barty is already asleep, and he’s always gone by the time he wakes up.

He strokes a lock of hair back from Regulus’ face, tucking it behind his ear before curling his fingers gently around his jaw. “Hey,” he says.

Regulus smiles at him. It’s soft and wistful and not an expression Barty’s ever seen him wear before. Now that Regulus is looking at him, he’s looking at him as if he’s trying to memorise him. It’s a little uncomfortable. Worse, it’s frightening; Regulus is looking at him as if they’re never going to see each other again, and that’s a possibility Barty never want to think of.

“Hey,” Regulus says back.

It’s Regulus who kisses him. Like his look, it’s frightening in its intensity, and Barty finds himself being pushed back against the arm of the sofa as Regulus squirms onto his lap and lets his book fall to the floor with a thud. Regulus is pressing against him so hard that it feels like he’s trying to crawl under his skin, and Barty grips his hips to try and – Not push him away. He’ll never push Reg away. To hold him steady and try and make it last longer. He slides his hands up under Reg’s shirt and skims his fingers over the waistband of his trousers. Regulus’ breath hitches and he rocks his hips slowly, suggestively.

“Can we?” he whispers against Barty’s lips.

Barty smiles faintly. They’ve been together since they were thirteen – he’s not sure why Regulus thinks he needs to ask permission now. Perhaps because it’s been so long… “Yes,” he says. “Gods, yes.”

Regulus kisses him again. Hard. For all that he’s been so distracted lately, he’s suddenly very, very focussed and there’s little Barty can do to slow him down. Not that, really, he wants to. It has been a while, and this is the most passionate he’s seen his lover be about anything in weeks. They’re naked in what feels like seconds; shirts torn and pants banished to the other side of the room. It’s hard and fast with minimal preparation. Regulus rides him like he wants to feel him for days and Barty knows that it has to hurt but Regulus doesn’t stop until they’re both sated and panting.

Regulus kisses him again afterwards, still straddling his lap. It’s sweet and soft and close-mouthed and when he pulls back there are tears in his eyes.

That’s when the knut drops. Reg is leaving. Not him, which would have been bad – cripplingly bad – but the Dark Lord, which is…worse. Uncharacteristically stupid.

He watches, numb, as Regulus pulls on his clothes. There are bruises forming on his hips from where Barty was gripping him too tightly, and his face contorts in discomfort – barely visible behind the curtain of his hair – as he bends to put his trousers back on.

Barty’s mind is racing. Regulus is leaving. He has to do something – has to stop him - but he can’t move. His mind is racing, but the words he needs to say won’t come. He sits on their couch naked, stunned, and watches as Regulus finds a hair tie on the bookcase and pulls back his hair into a loose braid.

“Don’t,” he says. It comes out choked and barely understandable. He coughs. Stands. He reaches for Regulus and catches his wrist and forces him to stop. “Don’t go,” he says. “Please, Reg, don’t do this.”

Regulus looks up at him. That awful look like he’s trying to carve Barty’s face into his brain.

“I have to,” he says. “It’s okay.” He smiles, the bastard, like he isn’t about to shatter their entire world. His hand flutters upwards to brush away a strand of hair that he’s missed. He’s so beautiful that it hurts to look at, but Barty can’t tear his eyes away. He knows that he’s looking at Regulus in that same, frightening way that Regulus is him, but…

Regulus is leaving.

“I should be back in an hour,” Regulus says. “If I’m not, I’m… It’s better if I don’t tell you anything.” He leans up and kisses Barty quickly. “I love you,” he says.

Barty can’t reply. The words stick in his throat, but he knows that Regulus knows. A sad little smile flits across Reg’s face and he twists his wrist to free it from Barty’s hold. He disapparates with a crack, leaving an awful silence and a hole in Barty’s chest behind him. He drops back onto the sofa as if his strings have been cut and buries his face in his hands.

“Don’t go,” he murmurs into the silence. “Regulus, don’t.”
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