Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s at the exact moment that Regulus locks himself inside a stall in a grimy club bathroom that he realises going out had been a bad idea.

Someone’s banging on the door, high pitched giggles and the thick smell of cigarette smoke wafting through the gap. Out on the dancefloor, a Muggle pop band is crooning Gimme, gimme, gimme, a man after midnight, which is a rather odd choice for a lesbian club, Regulus thinks. They’re not exactly the target audience for such a song.

“He doesn’t deserve you, darlin’,” someone shouts from the other side of the door.

Though the advice isn’t needed, Regulus appreciates it regardless. What he could use is an exit out of the bathroom that doesn’t take him past the large group of women that have apparently decided to adopt him on the spot. Based on what grounds, he has no fucking idea. His mates tend to tell him that he has sad eyes, so perhaps that’s it; some misguided sense of maternal affection from women his age.

The door rattles when one of the women falls against it, laughing at something her friend is saying, her words too slurred to decipher.

Regulus isn’t quite at the point of climbing out the tiny window overhead, but he’s getting close. The night is most definitely not still young, and it’s high time that he headed home; his mates have been gone for at least an hour, off to snog their respective partners.

Not that the night hasn’t been good overall; there had been dancing and disco music, and Marlene had lifted an entire bottle of vodka from behind the bar at the club before this one. It’s been exactly what he needed to let loose and get on with his life. Dorcas had made him promise, screaming in his face to be heard over the drums of the live band, that he’d make the ‘off’ status with his casual work hookup permanent. She wouldn’t drop it until he’d agreed to it three times, before handing him a shot glass filled with something green and laughing when he gagged at the taste.

Bristol is exactly where he needs to be. With his friends, dancing to upbeat Muggle music. A location where he actually stood a chance at picking someone up would have been preferable, but needs must.

The group of women outside the bathroom door seem to be filtering back out to the dancefloor, Regulus’s plight forgotten. The pop music increases and decreases in volume as the grimy yellow door is pushed open and swings closed.

After shooting a quick cleaning spell at the ground, the toilet seat, and the door handle, Regulus slinks out. He considers casting a Disillusionment Charm, but that feels a bit against the spirit of things. If he’s going to sneak out, he might as well do it the Muggle way. When in Rome and all that.

The back exit of the club is propped open, cool air rushing in to dilute the humidity inside. He jogs up the stairs and out onto the street, only glancing over his shoulder once. He has half a mind to chuck a glass of water over Marlene once he gets back to her flat, a heartfelt thanks for throwing him to the clutches of her group of acquaintances.

Well, he assumes that she knew the group of girls prior to meeting up with them at the bar, but now he isn’t entirely sure.

Regulus shivers as the last dregs of warmth fall away, frigid fresh air surrounding him rather than the comforting press of cigarette smoke and stale air of the seedy underground club. Goosebumps rise on his skin under the thin fabric of his jumper, making the hair on his forearms stand on end. He isn’t sure at what point he should cast a Warming Charm – the Muggles in the area seem like they would be too drunk to care, stumbling along the pavement laughing to each other as they are, but he doesn’t want to risk it. His parents have far too much political pull and won’t hesitate to use a violation of the Statute of Secrecy against him if it lands in their stuffy old laps. No, best not to risk it; Marlene’s flat is only a bit of a walk away.

A group of Muggles are stood outside a kebab place, the lights from inside spilling out onto the street. The air smells of the food here, lamb and chicken and baskets of chips. Regulus rather likes chips; they’d been one of the first Muggle foods he tried after moving out of home, and they’d yet to be beat so far. There’s a cart selling cinnamon donuts parked next to the kebab place, the same one Regulus had visited earlier in the day when scouting out the area with the girls. He can still taste the sugar on his tongue when he runs the tip of it across the back of his teeth.

He stands at a cross street, squinting his eyes to best read the street signs in the gloom. He’s nearly at the point of saying bugger it and casting a proper Lumos when his thoughts are rather rudely interrupted.

“Oi, mate,” a male voice shouts from down the lane.

Regulus sighs and slips his hand into his pocket, running his fingers down the handle of his wand. He turns to face the street to his right, the look of it identical to those around it, all brick and pavement and storefronts shuttered for the night. He vaguely recognises the voice. It’s likely Evan speaking into a spell and having him on, making him sweat a bit. They’ve got voice obscuration charms for sale now – you can buy them in Knockturn if you know where to look.

“Hullo,” the person shouts again. “Might be a bit forward but did you fancy coming back to mine?”

Regulus rolls his eyes and steps off the pavement, walking down the street towards the voice. “Yeah, alright, you tosser.”

The voice is audibly more surprised as it replies, “Uh, actually?”

Regulus sighs as he walks further down the street, eyes darting about as he searches for the garish yellow shirt Evan had been wearing earlier. “Where are you? Don’t jump out or I’ll have to hex you. You know I’m quick enough with one.”

“Hex? Shit are you – I’m up here.” The source of the sound is inexplicably sat atop a large bronze statue of a horse. It rises up out of the gloom, taking up a good portion of the pavement on the pedestrian street. From his vantage point at the base, Regulus can’t tell whether the man is leaning his weight back against a bronze sculpture of some great military general, or if he’s atop the horse because there wasn’t already a person there, seeing fit to fill the empty space on the horse’s back with himself.

It's at that point that Regulus’s eyes adjust enough for him to make out the idiot sitting up there in the dark. His mouth drops open as he takes in the sight before him. “No fucking way.”

James fucking Potter.

The James fucking Potter that had consumed a good portion of Regulus’s thoughts since he’d first gone to Hogwarts. And, shamefully, quite a few since he’d left. The very same James fucking Potter who had whisked Regulus’s older brother away in the night like a damsel in distress from a storybook, and never brought him back.

Well, that might be a little dramatic; Regulus has seen Sirius since he hightailed it out of their ancestral home, of course. But seeing his brother over a glass of pumpkin juice at the Leaky Cauldron didn’t feel quite the same as having him just across the hall. You couldn’t exactly cast your own Cooling Charms under the bathroom door to fuck with yourself in the shower.

Regulus had hated all the teasing and the needling jokes at the time, had wanted to cave Sirius’s head in the third time he’d spelled Regulus’s old toy knights to start screeching Muggle pop songs at the top of their non-existent wooden lungs in the middle of the night, but he’s found himself missing that type of thing as of late. That easy camaraderie borne from a shared experience, from two people suffering through the same upbringing.

James though … the years out of school have clearly been good to him. From what Regulus can see from his vantage point on the ground, about ten feet down, James has grown up nice. Regulus is close enough to see the definition in James’s arm muscles, the cords straining as he clutches at the statue. He’s holding himself up there on strength alone, meaty thighs wrapped around bronze metal.

James laughs at him, sounding more than a little shocked, clearly just now clocking who he’s speaking to. Who he’s just heckled in a dark street. “Reggie. It’s been a while.” He jumps down from the statue, feet landing on the pavement with a soft thud. It’s more of a controlled fall than anything properly dignified, but he makes it down without banging his ankle about. Regulus had been half convinced he’d need to be Levitated down.

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.”

“Ah, good. So you haven’t changed at all? And here I was, wondering.”

It’s a lie, of course. A boldfaced lie that anyone with eyes could refute, but that’s not the point here. Regulus knows it, and he thinks that James knows it too.

True to form, James Potter rises to the occasion.

He drags his eyes up Regulus’s legs, lingering on his cocked hip, the dip of his waist, his shoulders, before finally making eye contact. A slow smile spreads across his face, one dimple popping. Regulus had always loved those, had spent hours in his room thinking about them, about what it would feel like to trace his tongue over one.

“But you have,” James says, lifting an eyebrow. “Changed, that is.”

Regulus sniffs, slightly put out. He doesn’t love the reminder that he was a skinny, pale thing back in school, the last time James had seen him. It wasn’t Regulus’s fault that his parents act like the whole ancestral line is allergic to the sun; they’d had half the windows in the house bricked up, for Merlin’s sake. Regulus and Sirius are both proof that a Mediterranean holiday and a few hearty kebabs a week could work wonders for a bloke’s physique. As James well knew, having grown up with a holiday house in Spain and one of the most renowned kitchen elves in Britain at his beck and call. He’d no excuse not to be blisteringly hot, really.

Regulus, on the other hand, has to work for it. Balance out the distant – and yes, it’s distant enough, thanks ever so – inbreeding with a bit of cardio and a proper meal.

“So,” James says. He lets the word hang in the air, waits for Regulus to reach out and take it.

“Do you usually go round shouting at men in the street, or am I just lucky?”

James purses his lips slightly, his expression thoughtful. “Bit of column A, a dash of column B?”

Regulus calls up every bit of confidence he has within himself, yanking forward the memory of every whispered compliment that’s been dropped in his ear, each pair of hands reaching for him in a smoky room, the noises he makes fall from between men’s parted lips. He knows he’s attractive. He just needs James to know it too, to be ready to admit to it. He rubs his thumb over his lower lip as he makes a big show of looking James up and down. “Is the offer still on the table?”

“Yes,” James says, then jerks upright as though he hadn’t meant to agree so easily. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip in a mimicry of Regulus’s movements, eyes locked on the spot where Regulus’s mouth parts against the pad of his thumb. “It’d be properly irresponsible for me to let you wander about by yourself, wouldn’t it? Who knows who might entice you down a dark street?”

“Who knows, indeed.”

James jerks his head to the side. “I’m not too far back that way. Walk with me?”

The breeze is cold, winter just around the corner. Woodsmoke hangs in the air, heavier than the smells of fried food and cigarettes this far from the main strip of bars and pubs. There aren’t many cars about, just a few black cabs moving quietly up and down the streets.

Regulus shivers and rubs his hands up and down his arms. James turns toward him, apparently attuned to the shift of his body. He shrugs his coat off his shoulders and holds it out, smiling softly.

There’s no reason for him to take it, Regulus reasons with himself. Warming Charms would be the better option for both of them, would be a far more effective way of shaking the cold from his bones. Functionality aside, Regulus is loath to be treated in the same manner as some damsel in distress in need of assistance.

But, on the other hand, there’s no chance of him passing up the opportunity to wrap himself in James Potter’s clothes. None at all.

The lining of the coat is velvety, made of fleece or down or something of the sort. It smells faintly like cigarette smoke and something earthy and natural when he tilts his chin to press his nose against the collar. He wonders if James’s sheets smell like that; if Regulus were to ruck them up is that what would greet him?

“When we get in, we’ll have to be quiet; Sirius and Remus are both home, as far as I know. Remus is back from Uni for the week so they’re doing all that–” James waves a hand in the air, making a twisty motion “–couple stuff. Did you know Remus is in Uni? Shit, I should probably explain.” James steps sideways to walk a bit closer, their shoulders bumping. Regulus is sure that if he were to reach out and run a hand down James’ arm he’d feel goosebumps there. But he doesn’t do that, not yet. “He’s been over in Paris,” James continues, the speed of his words ramping up as he begins to wax poetic about his friend’s smarts, his utter brilliance that James had always seen was there, under the pratty surface. “He’s doing, uh, rock stuff. Rocks from the ground, not like the music. And he’s making pictures from them. Uh…” James stumbles through an explanation, doing his best to lay out exactly what Remus is doing over in France, despite clearly having no idea what the fuck he's talking about. But the effort’s there. Regulus wonders how James talks about him when he’s not around, if his name passes between James’s lips with the same level of care that Remus’s does.

Through the long-winded explanation, the pauses and restarts, Regulus doesn’t stop James, doesn’t redirect him. He doesn’t tell James that he knows all about Remus’s work with moonstones and their lunar properties, how they can be used to carve moving landscapes out of quartz, weaving magical tapestries that ripple at the corners of your vision. He lets James continue, doing his best to fill Regulus in on people he hasn’t seen in years.

Regulus doesn’t interrupt him, preferring to walk quietly and listen. He doesn’t say that he knows that James has been working for a broom designer company in Bristol, that he spends his days throwing himself off treetops to see if he’ll still fly, that he’s getting close to perfecting the angle for the rear sticks on the newest Nimbus model. Regulus doesn’t mention any of that, just as he doesn’t say that he’s stopped asking after Sirius now but that he also doesn’t need to, because Marlene forwards him every letter that she gets from Sirius as soon as she’s read them, knowing that Regulus feels awkward asking.

Regulus especially doesn’t say that he thinks of them often, the four of them, their group that he always watched from the shadows. He won’t say so until he knows that they’ve thought of him back.

“So who’d you go out with tonight then?” Regulus asks, shoulder knocking against James’s as they turn a corner onto an identical looking street. The city has started to peel away into a more residential area, the streets smoothing from cobble into tarmac. “If Sirius and Remus didn’t want to come with you.”

James’ face screws up slightly, his cheeks going pink. “They, uh, needed some time to themselves.” He directs Regulus down the next street with a hand on his back, just brushing the small of it. “I went to the pub with some blokes from work. Was going alright until Jerry knocked a tray of pints over and the barkeep tossed us out. The rest of them wanted to go to some odd Muggle place that … Merlin, I’ve never been anywhere like it. They had these girls on poles wearing these lacey outfits and I just–” He mimed running on the spot, getting so into it he nearly pitched himself over the low garden fence he was walking beside.

“Not your kind of scene?” Regulus asked, grinning as he watches James right himself.

“Look, some bits weren’t bad. There was a lad going for his life on the saxophone in the corner, gave the place a proper atmosphere. It was the prices of the pints, really. I didn’t need to pull out the Galleon conversion spell to know it was a bloody swindle.”

Regulus raises an eyebrow, sidestepping a plastic shopping bag blowing down the path. “Your parents aren’t giving you an allowance still?” He didn’t really need James to answer; he knew full well the Potters had been filling both James and Sirius’s vaults. According to Marlene, it was how the two of them had gotten their absurdly nice flat, one with a rooftop space they held ‘raves’ on in the summer and big windows overlooking the canal.

“Yeah, but that’s not the point, is it? I’d rather spend that on a new shirt or something, not slipping a tenner down the bra of some woman named Cherry.” His face took on a dreamy quality as he pretended to swoon. “Or a Vespa. I’d spend it on one of those. Have spent it on one. It’s yellow, like mustard. It’s brilliant, way better than Sirius’s shitty bike. That thing wakes up half the street when he starts it up. But a Vespa? Quiet as a dove.”

He has an easy smile on his face when they stop at an intersection and wait for a cab to drive past. The driver winds down the window and makes a gesture to James that Regulus doesn’t recognise, but he assumes they’re being asked if they want a lift. James looks at him and raises an eyebrow, waits for Regulus to shrug and confirm that they can.

The back of the cab is one of those odd configurations where the seats all face each other. It’s a rather weird setup, but all cars are, in Regulus’s opinion. Despite Sirius’s attempt at convincing him otherwise, Regulus doesn’t get the appeal of cars, or vehicles in general. He feels the same way about brooms, always has. It’s likely connected to some deep-seated issues around Sirius knocking him off their shared training brooms as kids, but that’s neither here nor there.

The uneasiness must show on his face because James smiles at him, wide and sunny, and asks if he gets carsick. Regulus doesn’t miss the way the cabbie’s head snaps up at that, eyes finding Regulus’s in the rearview mirror.

“No,” Regulus says, shaking his head at the cabbie. “I just prefer that my feet stay on the ground, thanks. Or move at a leisurely walking pace.”

James pauses, leaning forward into the space between them, palms on his knees. “You grew out your hair.” He reaches out as though in a fugue state, unaware of his own movements, to twist a strand of it round his finger. His thumb brushes Regulus’s cheek; Regulus watches as his lips part in response to the contact, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards.

Regulus smiles back. “Only a little bit.”

It had been his first act of rebellion, that small thing. You’d have thought he was denouncing the family name the way his mother reacted to his new preference of letting his hair flop over his forehead. He quite likes it, reckons it makes him look a bit more like Sirius, or like some cool, moody Muggle rockstar on a poster. The second bit is what Marlene says, anyway.

James lets the strand of hair drop from his fingers and sits back in his seat. He spreads his legs a little as he relaxes, the movement casual. He has to know that Regulus would look. He’d be mad not to. “It suits you,” James says, as easy as breathing.

You’d suit me, Regulus wants to say, but he doesn’t. And I’d suit you even better. Let me show you just how much.

James shifts out of his seat to tap his fingers on the side of the cabbie’s chair. “Here’s good, mate. Thanks.”

Despite all the talk of allowances and Vespas and the benefits of being born into wealth, James lets Regulus pay the fare without fuss. He watches, expression interested, as Regulus counts out the money, watches him dole out a tip with the coins from his pocket.

The street is quiet and dimly lit, only a few lampposts holding the inky black shadows at bay. Further down the lane, light flickers in a downstairs window, a television screen flashing grey and white. There can’t be anything on, not at this hour. Regulus wonders if the person fell asleep in front of the TV, a cup of tea on the end table next to them.

“This is us,” James says, holding open a small, wrought iron gate. All the houses on the street are virtually identical; two floors, a painted front door, a small garden ringed by a squat brick fence. It’s a far cry from the mausoleum that is Grimmauld Place, and an even further one from the Potter family home, out in some far-flung bit of countryside that Regulus has never seen but could surely construct from memory. He’s heard Sirius describe it enough times over the years, detailing its wide lawns and deep lakes that are perfect for swimming on a sticky summer afternoon, its sash windows and opulent ballrooms. His brother had always spoken of it with a whimsical look on his face, ink staining his fingers as he penned yet another letter to his new best friend, a cool, distant figure that Regulus had never met.

James unlocks the front door with a key – an actual key, no spells to be seen – and directs Regulus to take off his shoes and place them by the mat.

“I’m not joking in the slightest, by the way.” James toes off his own shoes and runs a hand through his hair, dark curls catching and twisting around his fingers. “You’d not believe the fucking rows Sirius and I have had about mopping the bloody floors. I completely understand why our parents all had spells woven into them now, they’re a proper bloody nightmare. Use a mop once and you’ll understand, trust me.” He leads Regulus down a hallway towards the back of the house, flicking on a few lights as they go. “Want a drink? We’ve got …” He pulls open the fridge, grimaces, then checks the cupboard. “… Not a whole lot, actually. I’d offer you the posh stuff, but Remus’ll kill me if I pop open one of the French bottles he’s brought with him. Honestly, you go abroad once and decide you’re foreign now. He’ll grow a moustache and switch to baguette meals only, I guarantee it.”

Regulus waves his hand, hiding his smile in the collar of James’s borrowed jacket. He’s loath to take it off but the back of his neck is starting to prickle, and he doesn’t fancy sweating through James’ clothing – certainly not without help. “Whatever’s fine.”

He glances around as he shrugs off James’s jacket, laying it over one of the wooden stools in the kitchen. There are bits of James everywhere here, Sirius too. He recognises the leather jacket tossed over the back of the ratty old couch, knows that the pack of smokes on the counter usually go in the front left pocket. The jacket pairs with the black combat boots that are peeking out from under the side table, scuffed on the toes. But the knitted throw blankets, the mismatched cushions, the stack of vinyls; they’re James’s, he knows it.

“Here you go.” James deposits something in his hands, a mug with a chipped rim that reads Butlins, for your holiday in looping red script down the side. “It’s Bailey’s. Proper shite, honestly. Probably why it’s still here and Sirius hasn’t finished it off yet.” He sinks down onto the couch, pats the spot next to him for Regulus to follow. He stretches his arm along the back of the couch, fingers dizzyingly close to brushing Regulus’s shoulder. He looks relaxed, here in his Muggle flat, wearing jeans and drinking from an even more battered mug than the one he’s given Regulus. It’s a good look on him. He’s always been beautiful, but he really looks it in that moment, comfortable and in his element.

“What are you thinking about?” Regulus asks. He needs to know, wants some small glimpse inside James Potter’s mind, however mundane.

James looks down for a moment, hair obscuring his eyes. When he lifts his head the corner of his mouth is quirked up in amusement. He levels Regulus with a look that’s dripping with self-assuredness, so obviously comfortable with himself, at ease in his own skin. “You, actually. About how fit you’ve grown up. Your hair really does suit you.”

Regulus lets himself relax into the couch, lets James’s dangling fingertips brush the back of his neck. “And Muggle life suits you.”

James scoffs, rolling his eyes dramatically. It reminds Regulus so keenly of Sirius; it makes him ache. “We’ve got Warming Charms built into the shower, it’s hardly Muggle. Don’t give Sirius any more credit for that than he’s due, his head’s big enough already.” He says it with a smile, fingers brushing against Regulus’s neck, the touch more confident now.

“I’d tell you you’ve grown up fit too, but you’ve always been fit, so … a bit disingenuous to say.”

James chokes on his drink, has to put it down on the little side table so it doesn’t spill everywhere. “Is that right?”

Regulus lets himself look freely, eyes roving up and down James’s body. It’s something he’s done time and time again in secret, turning away before he’s noticed. He’s never done it purposefully before, catching James’ gaze and holding it, making him see. He raises an eyebrow and nods once. “Surely you don’t need me to point that out to you?”

A slow smile spreads across James’s face, an intense thing that makes Regulus’s heart race. “And you don’t need me to tell you either, I’m guessing. You know that about yourself.”

“I do, but it would still be nice. Nothing wrong with a bit of flattery now and then.” Regulus leans over to place his mug on the side table next to James’s, uses those short few seconds to take a deep breath in and let it out. James places a hand on his knee, just resting there. The touch of it is hot, Regulus’s pulse thumping at the weight of it.

“Reggie,” James says. His voice is lower than before, a whisper caught in the air between them. “Do–”

Regulus cuts him off, turns to touch his lips to James’s, soft and chaste. James’s lips part reflexively on a gasp, and he grabs for Regulus’s shoulders, using his hold to tug Regulus halfway onto his lap.

There’s a hunger in it, the heated press of mouths. Regulus knows he’s not imagining it, that it’s not just him, it can’t be. He’s imagined so many times how it would feel to have James pressed against him, where he’d rest his hands, how James’s fingers would skate across his skin. His imagination hasn’t even come close to the real thing.

James tugs on Regulus’s jumper, fists the material and uses it to pull him close and keep him there. His tongue is slick when he runs it across Regulus’s teeth, the corners of his open mouth tugging upwards into a smile as he tastes the sugar there from the donuts Regulus ate with Marlene. The kiss is hot and dirty, needy in a way that makes Regulus’s cock thicken in his trousers. He gasps into the kiss as James shifts his hips, increasing the pressure that’s so close to where he wants it, where he needs it.

“Alright,” James says, his breath puffing over Regulus’s damp lips. His hands rub up and down Regulus’s sides, rucking up his jumper. “Um …” He laughs, resting his forehead on Regulus’s shoulder. His hair smells like vanilla and something spicy, like the remnants of Gillyweed smoke. “What was I saying?”

Regulus runs his fingers up the side of James’s neck, watches the goosebumps rise in response to his touch. James shivers, shifting his hips again and making them both gasp.

“You haven’t said anything worthwhile in at least five minutes,” Regulus says. “Not out of the ordinary for you, though.”

“Hey.” James tilts his head up, dark eyes shining with mirth. He grins at Regulus, drags his jumper up just so. The touch of his fingers on the bare skin of Regulus’s hip makes his breath catch audibly. “Would you …”

“Yes.” It doesn’t need to be asked, although perhaps it does, to James. Perhaps Regulus hadn’t been as obvious as he thought, all those years ago.

Somehow, shockingly, James looks almost surprised. A smile spreads across his face, dimples appearing at the corners. Regulus leans in before he can second guess himself, presses a soft kiss to one, runs his thumb over the other.

The breath seems to leave James’s lungs in one swift rush. He wraps his arms firmly around Regulus’s waist, surges up to kiss him. Nothing compares to it, the feeling of James’s soft lips moving in time with his. It’s electric, addictive.

He groans when James pulls back, more out of exasperation than anything else.

James grins at that, dips his fingers under the waistband of Regulus’s trousers and pulls them back out. “So when you say ‘yes’…”

“Merlin alive,” Regulus mutters and pulls his jumper over his head.

“Thank fuck,” James mutters and kisses him again. His hands are everywhere; calloused fingers, textured from his broom work, run down Regulus’s chest. He rubs the pads of his thumbs over Regulus’s nipples, grins into the kiss when Regulus moans and rocks downward, eager to get some friction on his cock, stiff inside his trousers.

“Off,” Regulus mutters, the word getting lost in the press of James’ tongue. “Get rid of it.” He rucks James’s shirt up until it’s practically at his chin and James has no choice but to let himself be divested of it. It ruffles his hair as he pulls it off, sending the thick curls into disarray.

“Let’s go upstairs,” James says, and it sends heat shooting through Regulus’s stomach. He’d be embarrassed by how fast he clambers off James, eager to get going, if James didn’t stand up just as quickly.

The third stair from the top creaks when Regulus steps on it, as he follows James up to his bedroom. It’s not as loud as James’s muffled laughter though, pressed against the skin of his forearm after he trips over the bottom step when he turns around to wink at Regulus.

“You’re ridiculous,” Regulus mutters, giving him a shove to keep him moving. He lets his hand linger on the bare skin of James’s lower back, just for a moment. He knows he can touch now, that he’s allowed to somehow, but it still doesn’t feel entirely real. He’s not convinced he won’t wake up any moment now, with sweaty sheets and tight pyjama bottoms.

James’s room is smaller than Regulus might have expected, given the opulence of the downstairs area; it’s mostly taken up by a large bed with a harvest gold duvet and an imposing dresser made of dark wood. James casts a Lumos at the standing lamp in the corner, some gnarled old thing that could be a bona fide Potter family heirloom, though it was just as likely to have been picked up by Sirius as it lay abandoned on the side of the road. He’d done that before with a couch at Grimmauld Place, had Levitated it up the main staircase right past their screeching mother as she attempted to light it on fire right there in the hallway. Regulus had sat on the top step watching as the flames licked up the arms of the couch, snuffed out again and again by the steady stream of water shooting out the end of Sirius’s wand. Kreacher had cleaned up the ash before it could get underfoot when Regulus eventually went downstairs.

The door makes a soft click as James closes it behind himself, interrupting Regulus’s racing thoughts. He steps behind him, fitting his chest to Regulus’s back. He presses a kiss to Regulus’s shoulder, breathing heavily as his hands caress Regulus’s stomach, fingers toying with the button of his trousers.

Regulus grabs his hand, pressing it to the round of his erection. He rolls James’s palm over it, tipping his head back on James’ shoulder.

“Do you like that?” James asks, lips against Regulus’s skin.

Anything more than a yes seems beyond him in that moment as James curls his fingers over Regulus’s clothed erection. He steps towards the bed, tugging James along with him. It isn’t the most dignified of manoeuvres, James’s toes knocking into the back of Regulus’s heels with each step, his fingers tensing around Regulus’s cock when he nearly trips, but he smiles all the way, hiding it in the curve of Regulus’s shoulder.

James stops them when Regulus’s knees bump into the bed. He wiggles his fingers and undoes Regulus’s trousers, letting them fall to the ground in a heap. He doesn’t touch Regulus’s cock, pulling his hand back when Regulus attempts to drag it there. He grins again, kisses Regulus’s neck.

“Gonna turn around, Reggie?”

Regulus does, saving his eyeroll for when James can see his face. He’s glad he pasted an aloof expression on his face as he turns, because otherwise the sunny smile he receives in response would have made his knees go wobbly.

James starts to undress then, slowly pulling down the zipper of his jeans. The sight of it makes Regulus’s mouth water.

“You’ve done this before?” James asks. He keeps physical contact with Regulus at all times, a palm on his waist, toes pressed against the side of his foot, even as he takes off his clothes.

Regulus thinks of the fumbling sex he’s had with boyfriends in the past; of sneaking around in the dorms at school, of hasty Silencing Charms that were more likely to fail than not. He thinks of dry palms in alleyways that reeked of cigarette smoke, of grimy bathrooms with men waiting in them who gave him little more than an appreciative once-over before pushing him to his knees.

Yes, he has done this before.

He has, but it was nothing like this.

Nothing that made it feel as though the world might crack open if he admits out loud just how much he wants it.

He can’t say that, so instead he nods.

Something crosses James’s face then, an expression that Regulus can’t read. He lets himself believe for a moment that James might be jealous of those faceless men who meant less than nothing, a means to an end. As though they could ever compare to James Potter. It’s a pipe dream, but he lets himself bask in it. He kisses James, brings their bodies into contact and lets James rut against the jut of his hip. The head of his cock catches on the seam of Regulus’s pants, leaving a damp patch there.

“Touch me,” James says, the words a breath.

Regulus does, wraps his fingers around James’s cock and starts to wank him slowly. James groans and shifts his hips, thrusting into Regulus’s grip.

“Fuck, that’s good.” James mouths over Regulus’s collarbone; there’ll be redness there in the morning, marking where his teeth nip at the skin.

James’s cock is thick in the circle of his fingers, the head of it tacky. Regulus nearly loses himself in the feeling of it. He rubs his palm over the head, drags James’s foreskin down and back up until he knows exactly what speed makes James’s knees shake. He leans in, twisting his hand around the head of James’s cock as he whispers, “I want you to fuck me, Jamie,” right into his ear.

It’s a low blow, he thinks, using Sirius’s nickname for James from years gone by. But it does the trick.

James grabs Regulus’s wrist, abruptly stopping the movement of his hand. He’s hissing through gritted teeth, visibly trying to hold his orgasm at bay. Precome drips down onto his fingers as he tightens his grip on the base of his own cock, face tense.

Regulus uses his distraction to tug off his own pants and kick them onto the floor, hoping they land somewhere that he’ll be able to find them later. Hopefully in the morning, if James lets him stay. He sits down on the bed behind him, lets himself sprawl out on James’s duvet. His palms his cock, sorely neglected at this point, and lets his eyes slip closed as a shudder runs through him at the contact.

“Fuck,” James says.

Regulus opens his eyes to see James standing over him, slowly wanking his cock as he watches Regulus touch himself. James’s hand tightens on his cock when Regulus shifts his hips, spreading his legs to give James room to kneel between them. They both laugh when James does it a little too quickly, knees knocking and hands slipping.

“Merlin alive,” Regulus gasps when James thrusts down, sliding their cocks together.

“Fuck yes,” James groans, rolling his hips.

Regulus runs a hand down James’s side, feeling the flex of his muscles as he moves his body. It sends a spark of heat down his stomach to pool in his groin, that display of physical strength as James moves. He slides his other hand between them, wrapping his fingers around their cocks and jerking them slowly.

“I could come like this,” James says. He kisses Regulus then, wet and dirty, tongue sliding over his lips.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Regulus hisses, ripping his hand away from their cocks.

James makes a sound that’s half a laugh, half a whimper. He fucks into the empty air, useless thrusts that offer him no relief. His next kiss is softer, a slow press of his lips and tongue. It makes Regulus’s toes curl against the duvet.

“Bit rude of you,” James whispers, but he doesn’t sound all that bothered. He’s still smiling when Regulus nips at his mouth, light presses of teeth against his bottom lip.

“I’d rather you didn’t come before you get inside me, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Yeah, fuck, alright.” James shifts back on his heels and lets his eyes roam over Regulus’s body. Regulus does the same, his gaze settling on James’s cock, the head of it dark and leaking, pressed up against his body. Spreading his legs a little further is a reflex more than anything, an unconscious response to the sight in front of him. James notices it immediately, his eyes going dark. “Did you want me to use spells or fingers?”

“Both,” Regulus says. “I like both.”

James swears under his breath. His cock twitches as he looks at Regulus again, eyes focused on the space between his legs. He runs his fingers down Regulus’s thigh, pressing to the side slightly, encouraging him to move.

Regulus turns over onto his stomach, spreading his legs and angling his hips up. He smiles into the pillow when he hears James swear again, muttering something as he rests a hand on Regulus’s lower back.

The touch of the spells is jarring, a cold popping sensation that spreads throughout Regulus’s lower half as James casts. It’s a stark contrast to the warmth of the fingers that are tracing circles on the back of his thigh, a soft caress. It makes him want more.

“James,” Regulus groans, pressing his hips back.

“Shit, yeah, ok,” James says. His wand makes a quiet thump when he tosses it onto the bed, up by the pillows.

The first touch of his fingers on Regulus’s rim are tentative, a light tracing that tickles more than anything. Regulus huffs a quiet laugh, rocks his hips back and moans loudly against his forearm when the tip of James’s finger slips in as easy as anything.

“Oh my – fucking hell,” James mutters. He presses two fingers into Regulus, slick with conjured lubricant.

Of course, Regulus thinks, when James crooks his fingers to rub exactly where Regulus wants him, sparks of pleasure shooting through his tensing muscles. Of course, he’d be good at this too.

James fingers him open messily, lubricant sliding down Regulus’s thighs and smearing over the curve of his arse. He rocks back into the touch, fucking himself on James’s fingers as best he can. James is making possibly even more noise than Regulus is, groaning with each press of his fingers inwards and gasping when Regulus tightens around him as he draws his fingers back out.

“Do you want me to make you come first?” James asks, the words broken by a throaty groan as Regulus clenches around his fingers.

Regulus can’t help but nod, pressing his face into the duvet and breathing, inhaling the scent of James there. The slide of James’s fingers in and out is delicious, wet and heady. It makes his head spin as he pushes back on it again and again, the sound of James’s groans washing over him.

James snakes his hand under Regulus’s stomach, wraps his fingers around Regulus’s cock and tugs. Regulus comes with James’s name on his lips, a moan that wavers in intensity as his orgasm washes over him.

“That’s … fuck, Reggie.” James covers Regulus with his body then, presses his forehead against Regulus’s spine, wraps his arms around his waist. He thrusts his cock against Regulus’s arse, leaving a sticky line on his skin where the head rubs.

They’re going to fuck now, he knows it. Regulus arches his back, ready for James to press himself in, but then he stops. It’s so different than it has been before, so, so different. It’s incomparable, really. Flashes of memories run through his mind, the edges of them jagged. Men pressing him against tiled walls, the grimy brick of alleyways behind London clubs. He can’t picture their faces. He can’t, but he also doesn’t care to; they mean nothing to him. But James? James means something. He means everything.

Before Regulus can say anything, try and articulate the jumble of thoughts rushing through his brain, James rubs a hand over Regulus’s hip and clears his throat.

“Reggie.” His voice is low, more gravelly than it has any right to be. Regulus’s spent cock gives a valiant twitch against the damp duvet. “I know it’s easier this way but could …” He pauses, presses a kiss to the middle of Regulus’s back. “I want to see you. Can you turn over?”

Regulus does, flipping over quickly enough that he completely unseats James who tumbles to the side, laughing all the while. He gives James a breathless smile, reaches out to tug him close with a hand around his wrist. “I want that too.”

“Fuck,” James mutters, staring at the rapidly cooling come splattered over Regulus’s front. “I just … I want to see that it’s you that I’m fucking. Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Their next kiss is heated, tongues sliding and breaths mingling in the space between their mouths. James rolls on top of Regulus, grabs onto his thighs and pulls them around his waist. He grins when Regulus mumbles, pretending to be put out about the manhandling. James kisses him again, rests his forehead against Regulus’s.

“You love it,” he breathes against Regulus’s open mouth. He presses the head of his cock against Regulus’s arse, rolls his hips to push it in just a little bit.

“Oh,” Regulus groans. He tips his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. The first slide is always the hardest, his muscles fighting against their baser instincts. He grabs James by the back of the neck and kisses him, distracting himself with the press of James’s mouth, the smoothness of his tongue. “Oh,” he gasps again as James drags his cock out, then thrusts back in. “Yes, fuck. Just like that.”

James shudders, head hanging low as he begins to move properly. Every drag of his cock lights up Regulus’s body from the inside out, heat already beginning to coil low in his stomach. His cock bobs with every thrust he takes, short and sharp. The friction of their stomachs against the head of his cock is mind-blowing, his every nerve oversensitive yet eager for more.

“James,” Regulus gasps. He grips James’s hair, feels the curls slide through his fingers. “Jamie.”

“Fuck, I–” James moans, his hips stuttering on his next thrust. His eyes are screwed shut, his mouth open as he pants against Regulus’s collarbone. Regulus can feel how close he is, every muscle in his body coiled tight under Regulus’s searching hands. “Where?”

“Where what?” Regulus tightens his thighs around James’s hips. He clenches around his cock just to hear him moan. “Jamie?”

James lifts his head, eyelids fluttering on his next thrust. It rocks Regulus’s whole body, pushing him further up the bed. “Where can I come?”

“Come like this.” Regulus presses his forehead to James’s, fingers tight in his hair. “I want you to look at me when you come inside me.”

He feels James’s next moan all the way down to his toes, the sound of it ripped right from his dirtiest wank fantasies, secreted behind heavy green bed curtains. “Reggie,” James gasps, Regulus’s name a whimper as it passes his lips. “Fuck I’m–”

“Look at me.” Regulus tugs James’s head up as he begins to let it drop. “Watch me while you come. I want to see it.”

James nods, a shudder wracking his body. “Touch yourself.”

The feeling of his own hand on his cock is heaven. He nearly breaks the request he set for James not seconds ago, eyes threatening to slam shut as he wanks himself.

“I can feel it.” James sounds breathless, dark eyes locked on Regulus’s. “Fuck, you’re close. I can feel how close you are.”

“Come with me,” Regulus says. He inhales the breaths that come directly from James’s mouth, the shared moans tattooed on their lips. The heat in his stomach is unbearable now, intense pressure coiling as his balls draw up tight. “Fuck, Jamie, do it now.”

He starts to come as James does, his fist rapidly moving in the tight space between them. He clenches down on James’s cock as they both come, panting into each other’s mouths. James’s eyes squeeze shut involuntarily as he fucks his spurting cock deeper into Regulus. Regulus breaks their eye contact at the same time to press his face against James’s shoulder, his whole body curling inwards with the force of his orgasm.

James’s body is heavy when it drops down onto Regulus’s, stealing the air from his lungs. He doesn’t mind so much because James kisses him again, a soft press of lips that’s more reminiscent of a kiss on the doorstep after a first date than their current activity.

Regulus wraps his arms around James and takes a moment just to hold him, savours it for as long as he can. He’ll remember this moment, he knows it. He’ll think about the way James felt moving over him, about the way the muscles in his arms rippled as he thrust, how good his cock felt inside him – he’ll think about those things when he touches himself later. But he’ll think about this moment too, holding James against him as the sweat cools on their bodies, sharing lazy kisses in the dim light. That’s what he’ll think about when he’s sitting in the window of his flat, watching the rain fall onto the London street below. It’s what he’ll hold close to him when he’s lying in bed at night, scratchy covers bunched up around him.

James rolls off him but stays close, laying one leg over Regulus’s thigh. He rubs his toes against the hair on Regulus’s calf and offers him a cheeky grin. There’s fatigue hanging at the corners of his eyes, right where they crinkle. He’s beautiful.

“I liked you, you know,” Regulus says into the space between them.

James smiles wider, dimples deep in his cheeks. “Yeah. I had a thought that you might. Ages ago.”

Regulus grabs his wand, casts a cleaning spell over them both. James curls in close when he lays back down, an arm and a leg across Regulus’s body, his head on the same pillow.

“Then why,” Regulus says, pressing a thumb against one of James’s dimples, “did you look so surprised earlier when I agreed to come here?”

James’s expression shifts, his smile turning heavier. He runs his fingers along Regulus’s collar bone, presses his thumb to the hollow of his throat, a soft caress. “That was a long time ago, Reggie. A long, long time ago. We’re different people now than we were in school. You might have liked me then, but I didn’t know if you still did.”

He says it so easily, as though that was something that a person could just do; forget James. If there was one thing that had been a constant in Regulus’s life, as certain as the sun rising and setting day after day, it was his feelings for James Potter.

Their next kiss is slower, lips moving against each other as James traces circles on Regulus’s chest, fingers pressing right over his heart.

“I’m not that different,” Regulus says, pressing his forehead against James’s.

James smiles, reaches for his wand and spells off the light. “You are,” he says, fitting himself against Regulus’s body. “You are, Reggie. And that’s a good thing.”

*

He isn’t sure what’s responsible for waking him the next morning – the bright sunlight streaming through the uncovered window, curtains hanging useless on the sides, or James’s tortured groan, overly loud in the quiet of the room.

“Fuck,” James mutters.

Regulus cracks an eye open to see that James has his hands over his face, his groans muffled by his palms. “You alright?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” James brushes a strand of hair off of Regulus’s cheek, his fingers lingering there for a moment.

“Hard to believe given the racket you’re making. If you’re having regrets, it’s a bit of a tactless way to voice them.”

“No,” James cries, sitting up so fast that he dislodges the blankets, exposing his soft cock to the cool morning air. “I’m not having regrets.”

“No?” Regulus teases, shifting onto his side so he faces James fully. “Then what are you moaning about?”

“Well, my head’s a bit sore, if you must know.”

“Shouldn’t have taken an O on your N.E.W.T.s to know that was coming.”

“And I promised Sirius and Remus that I’d bring them breakfast this morning. Bit of a ‘sorry I barged in without knocking because I forgot what a closed door means’ apology breakfast.”

Regulus winces at the unwelcome mental image.

“So I’m going to go do that before I talk myself out of it.” He thumbs over a scar on Regulus’s ribs, a tiny, raised crescent that’s been there so long he doesn’t know where it came from. “There’s a bakery down on the corner that does these cheesy rolls that are insanely moreish. They’ve seen Sirius and I at our worst, those bakers. We’re always stumbling in on Sunday mornings ready to buy a whole oven full. They work better than a Pepper Up, I’m telling you.” He smiles softly at Regulus, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You can come if you like.”

If you like.

Regulus gnaws on his lip, the points of his incisors sinking deep enough to cut.

He would like.

He wants to go wherever James goes. Not being with him is unthinkable now that he’s had him. But he can’t say that he wants it, can’t force it, so he says nothing.

James watches him for a moment, fingers still tracing circles on Regulus’s bare chest. “Just so we’re clear, I’d like you to. You should, really. It can be your good deed for the day, making sure that I don’t buy an entire tray of rolls. Sirius’ll kill me if I spend half our weekly takeaway budget on one meal. Then …” he leans in close, presses a soft kiss to Regulus’s forehead. It makes something twist in his gut, a warmth that spreads throughout his whole body. “After that you should come back here with me and have breakfast with us. Sit down at our shitty Oxfam table with the wobbly leg and spend the morning. I’d like it if you would. Remus will want to see you too, it’s been ages. And Sirius too.” He pulls back, sits up and runs a hand through his messy hair. “If you’ve not got plans, obviously. If you’re busy that’s fine too.”

It doesn’t look fine, and that knowledge emboldens Regulus, makes him sit up and press a soft kiss to James’s bare shoulder. “I’m not. Busy, that is.”

James turns towards him, runs a thumb over his cheekbone. “So you’ll stay? Well, come to the bakery and then stay after that?”

Regulus nods and James’s face lights up, his smile as bright as the sun.

*

James’s Vespa is indeed yellow, an intense mustard colour that looks downright appalling, the worst of the 70s all rolled into one. It has a little metal kickstand that doesn’t look like it should be able to hold up the weight of the unexpectedly bulky bike, but evidently does the job just fine.

“Here you are.” James hands Regulus something heavy and round, shooting him a cheeky grin.

“Why have you handed me a helmet?” Regulus screws his nose up as he turns the bright green helmet over in his hands. “And why is it that colour? Where did you even find something in this shade?”

“Oxfam.” James shrugs. “And the helmet makes it easier to blend in with the Muggles. Protection Charms are alright until you get stopped by the bobbies for the third time in one night for not wearing one. Besides,” he slides the helmet onto Regulus’s head and gives him a flick on the chin, “they’re rather sexy.”

Regulus makes a face, lifting his gaze skyward. “I look ridiculous.”

“You don’t. It suits you, actually.”

Regulus opens his mouth to say that offensively bright helmets don’t look good on anyone but then James slides on a neon pink one and the words die in his throat.

“Here,” James says, tugging at the straps on Regulus’s helmet. He fastens it under Regulus’s chin and tightens it until the strap is snug. His face does something odd then, a faraway look appearing in his eyes.

“What are you thinking about?” Regulus asks.

James presses his lips together, a dimple appearing next to the corner of his mouth. “Things that aren’t appropriate for me to say in public.”

“So you still…” Regulus trails off, not entirely sure how to finish his sentence. Still want me? Still like me? Still want to kiss me and bring me back home?

Thankfully, James doesn’t need him to finish his sentence. He curls a finger around the chin strap of Regulus’s helmet and pulls him in close, kissing him softly. He tastes like mint, evidence of a breath-freshening Charm. He smiles into the kiss when Regulus wraps both arms around him, hands sliding around the back of James’s neck.

“Yeah,” he says when they pull back enough for him to speak, the front of their helmets pressed together. “I still do.”

After one last kiss Regulus pushes him back and throws a leg over the bike, settling uncomfortably into the seat.

James snorts and shakes his head, curls bouncing against his forehead where they’re escaping the helmet. “You look like you’re heading to your execution.”

“I might as well be. This thing barely looks roadworthy. And I did say last night that I prefer leisurely, feet on the ground style travel.”

James steps over the bike, sinks into the seat and kicks up the stand. “Don’t worry,” he says, throwing Regulus a smirk over his shoulder. “I’ll go slow.” He lets out a whoop as they peal away from the pavement, Regulus tightening his arms around James’s waist, though they’re not going fast enough for him to need it.

“How far away did you say the bakery is?” Regulus shouts over the buzz of the engine.

“Just down there.” James raises a hand and points down the street to their right, flicking on his indicator and waiting for a red Beetle to drive by.

Regulus can see the sign for the bakery just down the hill. There’s smoke coming out of the chimney, the smell of bread wafting down the lane towards them. When he turns around to look over his shoulder, he can see the front of the flat James shares with Sirius. In one of the upstairs windows, a curtain twitches. The Vespa pulls forward before Regulus can see who it is.

True to his word, James takes it slow, driving at no more than half the posted speed limit. Regulus can see his dimples when he rests his chin on James’s shoulder, arms tight around his waist. He thinks of how easily he could get used to this, spending lazy weekend mornings driving down to the bakery with James. He could have it, he thinks. He really could.

They’re going to walk in through the shop door, a brass bell signalling their arrival. James will try to buy an entire tray of cheesy rolls and Regulus will pretend that he shouldn’t, but he’ll help carry the bags all the same. They’ll go back to the flat and Regulus will put the kettle on and make four cups of tea while James heads upstairs. Remus will come down first and he’ll tell Regulus how happy he is to see him. He’ll hug him tight, smelling of those awful herb cigarettes he smokes. He’ll ruffle Regulus’s hair even though he’s not a kid anymore and Remus isn’t really his brother, not yet, though he might as well be.

When Sirius comes down, he won’t hug Regulus but he’ll smile at him just like he did when they were kids. He’ll say that he’s glad Regulus is there, that he’s been waiting for him to show up. They’ll share a look as they all sit down at the table, Sirius throwing him a raised eyebrow over the plate of cheesy rolls, nudging his foot under the table when James makes a crap joke. It’ll be like it was before, but better.

And James will smile at him and grab for his hand under the table and thread their fingers together, easy as anything.

That’s what will happen. Regulus knows it.

James turns his head, the back of his helmet bumping into the front of Regulus’s. “You alright back there?”

Regulus tightens his arms, presses a kiss to the side of James’s neck. He sees James’s dimples deepen, so he kisses him again. “Yeah,” he says. “Never been better.”