A/N: For the Connect the Characters Challenge (Peter) and the Sherlock Competition (Part 1, Prompt 8: write about someone who can't stand up for himself; alternatively, write about Peter. So I sort of used both prompts.) With love, for Paula because she introduced me to this pairing.

I.

He is a coward, your beautiful little coward. He follows you like a lost puppy, always looking at you with those eyes that whisper, "Regulus, save me."

You can bend him to your will, stringing him along, and he will never question you. All you have to do is give a little, and you can take everything.

II.

He traces his fingers over your bare chest. "Come to bed, Reg," Peter whispers.

You look at him, eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm busy," you say simply, returning your attention to a letter from your brother.

"Reg..."

With a groan, you push him away, sending him crashing to the floor. "Merlin, no wonder your own friends didn't like you. Haven't you heard of personal space?"

His lips tremble, and for a moment you think he might actually fight back. But then he just picks himself up with a mumbled apology, head bowed as he slinks off.

You try to focus on your brother's desperate plea for you to see what he calls reason, but your mind is miles away. You crumble the parchment into a ball and toss it into the fireplace.

OoOoO

"I'm sorry," you whisper against Peter's neck, though you're far from contrite.

It's all a game to you. How far can you push him? How much will he bend?

He curls closer, kissing your lips. "'S okay," he murmurs in sleep-heavy tones.

How long before you break him? How long before you lose him?

III.

"Reg? What's wrong?"

You push him, but this time it's not a game. This time, it's goodbye. By morning, you'll be dead, and you can't stand his touch.

Far too late, you realize that you love him. You've dragged him down with you, and now it's time to break his chains.

"Piss off!" you growl. "You're pathetic."

But he doesn't back down tonight. Maybe he can sense the finality of this moment.

His lips crush against yours, and you wonder if he can taste goodbye on your tongue. "You don't get to push me away. Not this time."

You know you should fight him. He's fragile, always clinging to the hope of affection. Just the right push, and he will break again. You would win, as you always do.

But tonight you let him hold you, if just for a few fleeting moments.

It's your final game, and the least you can do is let him win.