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Summary
Regulus eyes the statue, forces himself to pull his gaze away from James as he pats down the back of his blue jeans. “How’d you even get up there? It’s, what, a full storey?”
“If you include the base bit, yeah.” James slaps a hand on the brick stack under the horse’s bronze feet. “And I couldn’t tell you how I get up to half the shit I do.” He wiggles his eyebrows, looking far more lecherous than he has any right to. “Trade secrets, Reggie.”
Regulus raises an eyebrow, leaning his weight against the base of the statue. “And your trade is…?”
James shrugs and offers him a smile, slow and bright. “Fucking about, mostly.”
Or, Regulus happens upon James on a chilly night in Bristol.