Warning (highlight to view): Regulus is fifteen.
Word Count: 495
Summary: Regulus has a sweet mouth.
Disclaimer: This work of fan fiction is based on characters and situations created by J. K. Rowling and owned by J. K. Rowling and various publishers, including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made from (and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended by) the posting of this fan work.
Author's Note: shyfoxling prompted me with Severus/Regulus: calligraphy, midnight.
Severus didn't know why Regulus followed him around like a young Crup; it irritated him, but he couldn't very well kick him . . . and confusingly, he wasn't sure that he wanted to. At fifteen, Regulus was . . . not pretty, exactly, but he was androgynous enough to have featured in one or two of Severus' more disturbing dreams. It was his mouth, Severus decided, one night in the common room.
His generous mouth, Severus thought, his prick twitching to see Regulus suck on a Licorice Wand.
Shifting a bit, he turned away before anyone could catch him staring at the other boy, hiding his blushes with his hair. He didn't look up again until the clock was chiming midnight.
Regulus and he were the only two remaining in the common room.
"Shouldn't you be in bed?" Severus asked sharply.
Regulus, his sweet sucked almost to nothing, smirked and came to sit next to him. Looking at Severus' parchment, he replied, "Isn't calligraphy for girls?"
Annoyed, Severus turned to mutter something rude, and experienced the tangy taste of licorice sliding over his tongue as Regulus thrust his into his mouth. Oh, my Go— "What are you doing?"
"Kissing you. Haven't you ever done it before?" asked Regulus, grinning.
"Of course I have!" Severus lied, shooting to his feet and hastily gathering his belongings.
"So what's the problem, Snape? I'm a good kisser, aren't I?"
"That's not the point, Black."
"No, this is the point," Regulus replied, pressing his palm against Severus' trousers.
Severus' mind blanked as Regulus fell to his knees, his fingers hooked into his waistband.
Looking up at Severus, he said, "Tell me no."
Severus' tried to, but no sound escaped his throat—until Regulus unfastened his trousers and sucked him all the way to the back of his. "Fuck!"
Regulus' mouth working his prick was so much better than anything he'd ever done to himself, so much so that he couldn't bring himself to pull away.
But I want to, he thought. I want to, I want to, I want—
Severus came, hard, all over Regulus' mouth. Mortified, he was about to apologise for it when Regulus stunned him, again, by licking his lips clean.
"Not quite as sweet as licorice, but I like it all the same," Regulus murmured, as he spelled Severus' prick clean and tucked it back into his trousers.
"What . . . why . . . you—"
Laughing, Regulus got unsteadily to his feet and said, "Next time, you suck the sweet."
"You mean, you don't want—"
"Oh, I want," Regulus told him, suddenly inches from Severus' face, "but I expect I should let you get used to the idea first."
Again, Severus tried to speak but couldn't.
"'Night, Severus. Dream of me."
When Severus dreamed, it was of a snake, a long, black snake that wrapped itself around his wrists and ankles and tickled his prick with a forked tongue, leaving him desperate for more.
He never thought of Regulus in light of a young Crup again.