Morningside

"I could try to forget what you do when I let you get through to me but then you do it over again … I could rage like a fire, and you'd bring rain I desire … 'Till you get to me on my Morningside …" ~Morningside by Sara Bareilles

Sweat.

Heat.

Panting.

A name; quiet on sleeping lips – the barest of whispers. The movement of the skin was slow and languid – barely there at all … Unlike the desperate fantasy that played out behind his closed eyes; the movements took his breath away, his heart raced – the noises in this dreamscape echoed and arched; writhed through the air around the bodies that mimicked the sounds. The sounds that danced only for the two of them, hidden in the black, a white-hot crouch against the sheets …

"Nnnng … R-Re—"

Muddied hazel-green eyes snapped open, and a sharp intake of breath heralded his waking. Laying where he was, the teenager panted, too-long bangs that his mother would have cut in a heartbeat had he been home matted against his cheeks and the sides of his face … It was a long stretch of time, staring blankly at the ceiling, before he realized where he was exactly. The emerald green draperies that enclosed his bed gave him a substantial clue, and once he had that clue, well ...

"… Fuck …" was all he managed to get out in a harsh whisper, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead and pushing the sticky blond mess out of his face. His pale skin was cold, clammy, and against his flushed face it felt almost refreshing as he slid it down his own cheek, eventually settling it on the back of his neck. Calm … Just be calm and forget about it … He's not there… he thought to himself, feeling his body tremble under the heavy comforter though he was not the least bit cold, but he was decidedly alone. His mental command, however, did nothing to quell the ache that he noticed as soon as he re-closed his eyes; he could feel the stimulated pulse in his temples like his mother pounding on the bedroom door to wake him up during the summer. Funny, because most of his blood seemed to be occupied elsewhere, and yet it still managed to strike his skull incessantly above his eyes.

Yes, that other ache had not gone unnoticed.

Ignoring it was … foolish at best, and he knew it; it wasn't often he had this problem, but when he did it could be … Persistent. It was this fact that prompted him to disentangle from his far, far too warm sheets. At the same time he tried to use a hand to push the curtain that fell around his bed out of the way so that he could leave the dormitory quickly, with less chance of being noticed. The last thing he wanted was for someone to notice his departure. Of course, fate was never on his side, and in order to keep his ankle from breaking, since it had decided to remain ensnared when he started to move after mostly escaping his blanket-y prison, he had to grab the curtains he was moving with one hand and fall onto the bedside table with the other. This caused it to skid across the stone floor an inch or so, and produced a most foul noise to accompany the action, such that he was sure the entire dormitory would be roused.

The sixth year froze in place, attempting to stop every action, even breathing, though he had set his untangled foot on the stone floor to help keep his balance and it was so cold against his free foot it felt like it was being burned. He didn't even dare close his eyes, lets his eyelids somehow produce a sound more offensive than the table, and that be what got someone's attention. The only noise had been the sound of snoring and rolling over, and at that he had nearly choked on his heart. But, since it felt like the muscles in his chest were attempting to crush his ribcage, it was probably good that his heart had moved while it had the chance. The next few seconds felt like the duration of a Quidditch match; it felt like he had tensed every muscle in his body so hard that it hurt … Or maybe that was just the one muscle that was the source of his current troubles – hard to say, no pun intended.

Eventually he allowed a slow breath to escape him and he closed his eyes, noticing his throat was dry and sore from the previous rapid movement of air back and forth, to and from the cavern of his lungs. Licking his chapped lips, he carefully slid the foot that had tried to kill him out from under the sheets, gingerly pulling up the loose pants he was wearing and waiting to see if there was any more movement from his dorm mates. Pressing his hand against his lips, he tried to breathe evenly, pushing back the dream, down somewhere that it would hopefully never resurface from. Of course it always did rear it's ugly head again, but, well, hope is hard to kill. Swallowing past the cotton in his throat, his bare feet padded softly across the winter-chilled stones that made up the floor, eventually getting used to the burn he felt against his skin. It was almost comforting, the sharp contrast to how hot he felt and the cold pain he felt in the soles of his feet … And at the same time strange; because it burned in both cases …

Out the door, around the corner … Quietly … There wasn't much natural light in the dungeons, and so, he couldn't see if there was any one in the stairwell, but moving cautiously, the blond was pretty sure that he didn't see any movement, which was a good sign. That meant that it was probably late, or early, enough that no one would be around. Good; at least something could go my way … he thought with some degree of relief as he walked, intent on heading into the bathroom for a little privacy.

"… Barty?"

Fuck.

Everything.

Seriously – right in the face.

The blond stopped dead in his tracks halfway to his destination and turned to face the person who had said his name, able to see only by the wand light that was suddenly blinding him up to the point that he needed to squint, raising a hand to block the bright blue-ish white glow that was staring him in the face.

"Reg, you're blinding me," he said, the uncomfortable squint evident in his tone as he addressed who he knew by the voice to be Regulus Black. The last person on earth he needed to interact with right now.

"Huh; oh – sorry," the voice said, hastily lowering the wand and allowing the spots to appear before the blond's eyes along with a blurry version of his friend. Bartemius Crouch Junior was suddenly very glad for the fact that he tended to wear pajamas that were several sizes too big and extremely formless. Awkwardly, he tugged at the sleeve of said pajamas, waiting for the youngest son of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black to say something, because the longer he stood there looking everywhere except Regulus Black, the more he felt … It. He could feel his toes curling against the cold ground and he chose to focus on them mentally, tapping them lightly in a gesture of nervousness – or impatience; it could definitely be misinterpreted as impatience. Eventually it seemed as if Regulus realized that Barty was waiting for him to say something, which was why he was still standing there.

"I'm … surprised to see you up this late." You have no idea, Barty thought to himself, but rather than say it out loud, he just shrugged, not really answering. He really just wanted to Reg to go back to sleep behind them in the dorm room, or whatever it was he was doing that made it so the blond hadn't noticed him … He was nearly drumming his toes on the stair at this point, though he didn't notice, and it was difficult to see that since the legs of his pants fairly pooled around his feet.

"So—what are you—" Regulus started to ask, but Barty couldn't take it; it was going to be difficult to walk soon, and he did not want to have to deal with a case of blue balls. The irony of the fact that the person who caused this problem in the first place was the obstacle he had to get past to rectify it was not lost on the frustrated teenager.

"Christ Reg; what are you, my mum? I woke up and had to take a piss – no big mystery here!" he barked the response in a sharper tone than he'd meant to, but he didn't care. Barty used the shock factor to fairly storm off, rough stone scraping the bottom of one of his feet as he stepped off of the rug that covered a lot of the floor in the Slytherin common room, irritably striking the bathroom door to open it and allowing it to swing shut behind him. He thought he might've heard Regulus say something behind him, but he didn't care – maybe if his fellow Slytherin thought he was mad at him he would leave Barty alone for a few minutes … Which wasn't exactly fair, because it wasn't like Regulus had actually done anything, but he didn't want to think about that right now.

At this point, the blond was nearly in physical pain, and walking was no easy task – his original plan had been to torture himself and rinse off in some ice water before shivering his way back to bed and sleeping for the rest of forever but … Those concerned gray eyes … He bit his lip, and already he was turning on the shower water and turning the dial so that it would come out warm … And then hot …

This is the last time I'm doing this, he mentally assured himself as usual, allowing the water to feel like something other than icy knives on the palm of his hand before withdrawing it. That's it; I'm not doing this again …

Glancing over his shoulder, he was a little nervous that someone might be around to hear him that he didn't really want to deal with the paranoia while he was taking care of his problem – it would just make things that much more difficult for him … After a few moments of waiting, he rationalized that Reg had probably gone back to bed, since he wasn't hearing anything, and everyone else was asleep, since it was so late ... Barty decided not to worry about it ultimately.

Undressing proved … Irritating, but it was only a few seconds before he had managed to step under the spray, and he couldn't helpe the pleased noise that escaped him as he closed his eyes.

The water was so hot that it nearly burned him … But it felt good at the same time – almost like there was someone there with him – another warm body. The breath that escaped the blond in almost a sigh was consumed by the sound of the water echoing through the room, and he didn't pay it much attention any way as his fingers slid over his own chest. The water made it easy for his hands to move against his skin, and the friction felt … Really good.

Leaning back against the wall, it was cool against his back, but he didn't notice much as his fingers wandered – and so did his mind. Pale skin – that much was easy. Bartemius Crouch Junior's skin was just about the color on his mind; the skin he imagined was more so though – smooth and cool to the touch … Until exposed to the right touch; his imagination told him then that it would be warm – almost hot … Squirming and pressed up against him … The blond's breath hitched a little as his fingers brushed across a nipple, pressing his temple against the wall of the shower, still under the spray of the water.

Nnnngg … Reg was so infuriating sometimes .. He always wanted to help everyone – even if they didn't want it … Or he was getting in the way … One of the Slytherin's hands pressed against his lips to muffle the noise as a hand – his hand – slid down his hip and squeezed, which made him whimper quietly and tilt his head back as it moved lower …

"Ahhh …" the wavering noise escaped him before he could help it, and he felt the shiver down his entire body. Nnnn ….Selfless idiot ... Gasping a little, his slick hand met no resistance as it moved, fingers shaking as he tried to keep himself as quiet as he could. He imagined his friend saying his name, in that concerned tone; and then changing it around a little in his head, fabricating a whimper in the paler Slytherin's voice. The pleasure it inspired was intense; it felt like an angry snake twisting below his stomach – it was so intense it almost made him feel sick. The arm, apparently not useful in it's original task of keeping the blond quiet, was moved to the wall, elbow bent and pressed against the cool tile so that he could press his forehead against the crook, forcing his eyes to remain closed.

Black.

An appropriate name for the Slytherin – his hair was just that color; he'd seen Regulus get out of the shower once or twice before by proxy of living in the same dormitory as him for the past six years… And fall in the lake once or twice too; those memories were easier to recall – that black hair, glistening in the sun … It would be the same if he was there right now, with the blond; his hand squeezed without his permission at the thought.

"Ah – R- …" he put his tongue; even if the name was going to be a whisper, he couldn't risk it. There were stranger things than ghosts in the castle … And many of those things had ears.

Trembling, he could barely stand up any longer, hand moving faster, hot and wet and slick in the shower water. Swallowing thickly, his lips parted, unable to keep the panting to himself because he needed to breathe more, lungs demanding more oxygen than these tiny breaths could offer. Nnngg … Reg … Ah … … he imagined himself saying it out loud; really saying the other's name – the slightly embarrassed sound he'd get in response – Regulus trying to hide his face, turn it away a little in that shy way he did things … Gently taking his face and turning it back … Stealing a glimpse of thick eyelashes that edged his deep, gray-blue eyes. Barty's breath caught in his throat and a strangled noise that almost turned into a keen escaped him, the sound harsh behind the heavy spray of the burning hot water that was surely branding his flesh an angry red.

"Ah … Reg …. … Reg …" he couldn't help it; the name escaped once, and then a second time … Before he was murmuring his friend's nickname like a prayer, pace picking up suddenly. He pressed his face so hard against the flesh of his arm that black and white spots started to appear behind his eyelids – but he didn't' care; in fact, he hardly noticed and he made strained little noises, as quietly as he could. It was so close; he thought he would never get there – but all he had to do was take a step forward … The blond's legs shook slightly, and he couldn't help slowly sliding down the wall so that he was kneeling on the floor instead of standing, a choked half-shout escaping him. In his mind's eye, he could see the other sixth year's face perfectly; he had had years of watching him to help him with this; Barty could imagine it – just a little flushed, overwhelmed, but excited, trusting …

It was something he couldn't forget …

Even if he tried; all he had to do was see Regulus' face; hear his voice … And it happened all over again; the teenager did it to Bartimeus Crouch Junior all over again …

"Regulu~~sssss …" the tone he used was both begging and whining; the loudest one he'd made so far, followed by what truly sounded like a sob; he could barely breathe after that, air heavy and damp, and getting stuck in his throat. His whole body was shaking now; hot and dizzy, he couldn't have sat up straight if he'd tried … In his mind's eye, Reg was right there … In the foggy haze of his mind, he leaned forward, softly pressing a kiss to the paler teen's lips.

In actuality he was kissing the skin of the side of his wrist, but it was soft, firm skin, so it was easy to pretend.

In actuality he was muffling a scream against his arm and his hips rocked almost violently in time with his hand.

In actuality he was staining the wall in front of him white – if tile could be stained by the substance now coating it that is…

It took a while before Barty fell onto an arm with a wince, body shaking as he attempted to resist the urge to curl up on the ground under the hot water … As nice as that hot water was, and as good as he felt, he didn't want to risk someone coming in here and finding him … But maybe he could just lay there for a moment and, for lack of better term, bask … For the last time. Which is what he always told himself after this happened – and look how well that always went for him.

It didn't matter; as long as no one found out. His father and Regulus himself were really the only two that absolutely could not know … And as far as he knew they never would.

In fact, he was so assured in his knowledge that no one would ever find out, he didn't hear the bathroom door as someone exited just before Barty got up to clean the wall of the shower and get out so he could go back to bed …

FIN

Inspired by the song Morningside by Sara Bareilles and the fic "The Light of a Fading Star" by Seirios Aster. (Go read it. Seriously; right now. Shoo.)