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Title: Beltane (The Sacred and Profane)
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: NC-17
Genre: PWP
Pairing: Barty/Regulus, background Rodolphus/Rabastan/Evan, background Sirius/Remus
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Dumbledore doesn’t approve of rituals being held on school grounds, so they meet outside of it. All of them left who practise the Old Ways.
AN: Written for the 'Festivals of the Quarter' prompt on my GenPrompts Bingo table. It's a little early for Beltane itself, but...yeah.
Dumbledore doesn’t approve of rituals being held on school grounds, so they meet outside of it. All of them left who practise the Old Ways (even the blood traitors; no one bats an eyelid at Sirius Black, not here, because here they’re united whatever their politics) gathered in a grove in the Forbidden Forest.
Regulus nods at his brother when they meet at the hawthorn tree. Its thorny branches are dripping in sick-smelling white flowers and decorated with bells and shells and ribbons of all colours. They tie their decorations on in silence and part, heading in different directions. Regulus joins his friends, lets Barty slip an arm around his waist and draw him possessively close to kiss; Sirius stands on the edge of things, staring at the fire pit.
Once lit, they come together as One. They dance about the flames, firelight burning madness and magic into their skin, and they take turns to leap the flames – singing hair and cloaks and gaining blessings, their magic spiralling up to the sky with the smoke. They feast on oat cakes drenched with honey, and chunks of roasted spring lamb that drips grease over their hands; Regulus licks fruit juice from Barty’s fingers and suckles honey from his tongue, pressing decadently into his side.
This is Barty’s first ritual. He’s new to the Old Ways – placing Regulus’ traditions before his father’s beliefs – but he takes to the ancient magic with ease. The dancing too. Regulus drags him into it, and once he’s stumbled through his first steps he leaps and twists as well as the rest of them, laughing madly.
The power is a rush, and Regulus laughs, breathless and panting as Barty pulls him from the circle and presses him back against a tree. He spreads his legs eagerly when Barty’s hands quest beneath his robes and find his cock – he’s naked beneath his robes; achingly hard and dripping – and his moans are lost in the noise of the ritual and the crackling of fire. A familiar spell is whispered between them and Barty sinks home, panting into his ear as Reg clings to him, hooking his legs around his waist.
They aren’t the only ones. All about the clearing, couples are pairing off – driven wild by the magic of changing seasons, renewal and fertility. Over Barty’s shoulder, he glimpses Rabastan leaning back into his brother’s hold, kissing him desperately while Rodolphus holds his legs open for Rosier. He sees Sirius, eyes reflecting green – oddly animal and utterly alien – slipping off into the trees, no doubt in search of Lupin.
He’s pulled back to himself by a nip to his throat. “Good view?” he asks, and Regulus feels the curve of a wicked grin pressing against his skin.
He laughs and tips his head back against the tree. “Harder,” he begs. He tightens his arms around Barty’s neck, pulling him closer and bites down lightly on his ear. “Fuck me,” he says.
He doesn’t last. He comes, screaming wordlessly with his head thrown back and Barty kissing his throat, scraping at him with blunt teeth and digging bruises into Reg’s thighs with grasping hands.
His second orgasm is gentler, triggered by Barty’s own, and he moans softly into his boyfriend’s ear. “I love you,” he breathes, turning his head and pressing sloppy kisses to his mouth.
Barty’s hips keep moving, working his come deeper in, until he softens and slips out. He lowers Regulus carefully to the ground, but leans against him, pressing him against the tree and returning his kisses.
The fire is dying. Regulus studies Barty’s face and the glint in his eyes and grins. Barty is alive with magic and elation. The lingering power of the ritual and the afterglow of their lovemaking combined with the red glow of the fire makes him look almost inhuman. Primal and beautiful; young and ancient.
Sacred and profane.
He pulls Barty back to him, whispering his love between kisses as Barty tangles his fingers into his hair and whispers back.
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: NC-17
Genre: PWP
Pairing: Barty/Regulus, background Rodolphus/Rabastan/Evan, background Sirius/Remus
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Dumbledore doesn’t approve of rituals being held on school grounds, so they meet outside of it. All of them left who practise the Old Ways.
AN: Written for the 'Festivals of the Quarter' prompt on my GenPrompts Bingo table. It's a little early for Beltane itself, but...yeah.
Dumbledore doesn’t approve of rituals being held on school grounds, so they meet outside of it. All of them left who practise the Old Ways (even the blood traitors; no one bats an eyelid at Sirius Black, not here, because here they’re united whatever their politics) gathered in a grove in the Forbidden Forest.
Regulus nods at his brother when they meet at the hawthorn tree. Its thorny branches are dripping in sick-smelling white flowers and decorated with bells and shells and ribbons of all colours. They tie their decorations on in silence and part, heading in different directions. Regulus joins his friends, lets Barty slip an arm around his waist and draw him possessively close to kiss; Sirius stands on the edge of things, staring at the fire pit.
Once lit, they come together as One. They dance about the flames, firelight burning madness and magic into their skin, and they take turns to leap the flames – singing hair and cloaks and gaining blessings, their magic spiralling up to the sky with the smoke. They feast on oat cakes drenched with honey, and chunks of roasted spring lamb that drips grease over their hands; Regulus licks fruit juice from Barty’s fingers and suckles honey from his tongue, pressing decadently into his side.
This is Barty’s first ritual. He’s new to the Old Ways – placing Regulus’ traditions before his father’s beliefs – but he takes to the ancient magic with ease. The dancing too. Regulus drags him into it, and once he’s stumbled through his first steps he leaps and twists as well as the rest of them, laughing madly.
The power is a rush, and Regulus laughs, breathless and panting as Barty pulls him from the circle and presses him back against a tree. He spreads his legs eagerly when Barty’s hands quest beneath his robes and find his cock – he’s naked beneath his robes; achingly hard and dripping – and his moans are lost in the noise of the ritual and the crackling of fire. A familiar spell is whispered between them and Barty sinks home, panting into his ear as Reg clings to him, hooking his legs around his waist.
They aren’t the only ones. All about the clearing, couples are pairing off – driven wild by the magic of changing seasons, renewal and fertility. Over Barty’s shoulder, he glimpses Rabastan leaning back into his brother’s hold, kissing him desperately while Rodolphus holds his legs open for Rosier. He sees Sirius, eyes reflecting green – oddly animal and utterly alien – slipping off into the trees, no doubt in search of Lupin.
He’s pulled back to himself by a nip to his throat. “Good view?” he asks, and Regulus feels the curve of a wicked grin pressing against his skin.
He laughs and tips his head back against the tree. “Harder,” he begs. He tightens his arms around Barty’s neck, pulling him closer and bites down lightly on his ear. “Fuck me,” he says.
He doesn’t last. He comes, screaming wordlessly with his head thrown back and Barty kissing his throat, scraping at him with blunt teeth and digging bruises into Reg’s thighs with grasping hands.
His second orgasm is gentler, triggered by Barty’s own, and he moans softly into his boyfriend’s ear. “I love you,” he breathes, turning his head and pressing sloppy kisses to his mouth.
Barty’s hips keep moving, working his come deeper in, until he softens and slips out. He lowers Regulus carefully to the ground, but leans against him, pressing him against the tree and returning his kisses.
The fire is dying. Regulus studies Barty’s face and the glint in his eyes and grins. Barty is alive with magic and elation. The lingering power of the ritual and the afterglow of their lovemaking combined with the red glow of the fire makes him look almost inhuman. Primal and beautiful; young and ancient.
Sacred and profane.
He pulls Barty back to him, whispering his love between kisses as Barty tangles his fingers into his hair and whispers back.
