Chapter Text
“Why do you look like you swallowed a bowl of limes?” Barty asked as Regulus flopped against him. The corner booth in the back of the bar was soft and plush but not comfortable enough to distract Regulus from the dread that sloshed around in his belly, mixing poorly with the cocktails and fries he’d devoured throughout the night.
Sirius and his friends had gone all out to make Halloween night memorable for anyone who entered The Marauder's Pub–transforming the usually homely bar into something nearly unrecognizable. When Regulus had entered, there was a set of crooked wooden signs that read: Haunted Forest. Wicked Witch’s Castle, 1 mile. I’d turn back if I were you! Naturally, he’d scoffed and stepped onto the yellow-chalked brick that led into the pub, where two vultures with shining red eyes stared down at him from above the propped-open door. Once he had made his way in, he found each corner of the large room had a theme.
To his left had been a swirl of red and yellow chalked onto the floor—a feature that would surely be swept away by the end of the night as the pub’s patrons’ soles snatched up bits of the makeshift yellow brick road. Lollipops, both real and painted, were tacked to the wall—treats deliberately left out for the taking. To his right had been the haunted forest, complete with a red-haired apple tree (Lily) who took great fun in tossing an apple his way as he entered her realm. In the far right corner was the aforementioned Wicked Witch’s Castle, complete with large red curtains, live torches, a looming hourglass hanging from the ceiling, and a crystal ball that sat in the corner booth, while the far left corner featured a wall of red paper machete poppies and a bright red shag rug.
But the main feature was the bar—and those who stood behind it. Honestly, Regulus had been mesmerized by the lengths the men had gone to—naturally with the help of their friends. Green emerald curtains framed the bar, and a projector lit up the back mirror, light bouncing off the bottled spirits as a large recording of Oz’s face looped over and over again. Sirius quickly took orders, spinning on his ruby red heels—his skirt flying every which way and flashing a fair amount of skin, which only served to fill the tip jar with more greenery. Peter restocked the glasses, ice, and snacks with clumsy paws—tripping every so often over the long lion’s tail that Marlene eventually pinned to his arm. Remus worked up a sweat mixing cocktails—giving his gray makeup a shiny finish—and every so often took a swig from his silver flask labeled: oil can. James poured the brews, occasionally scratching at the straw as it irritated his skin—entertaining the guests with horrible jokes that shouldn’t have earned the laughs he received.
The bar was a firefighter’s worst nightmare with the fog machine that sputtered in the corner and the overabundance of candles that lined the back of the bar—sitting far too close to the half-empty bottles that lined the mirrored shelf—and Regulus was genuinely surprised no one had come to shut the place down.
All manner of witches, ghouls, zombies, and skeletons danced together at the front while Regulus lamented in the muffled corner. He’d been caught unaware—inebriated from the drinks his brother continued to pour down his gullet, he’d been bamboozled when Sirius had proposed a change in tradition to this year’s Christmas festivities. Regulus could still hear the drunken pleas, could still see the way Sirius’ eyes lit up with hope as he waited patiently for Regulus’ response.
“I just agreed to spend Christmas with the Potters.” Regulus lamented, feeling nauseous at the prospect as the acidic tide pushed and pulled, growing stronger the more he dwelled on his impending doom.
“I’ll start planning your Yuletide funeral.” Barty chuckled, flicking his cigarette above the ashtray. Regulus watched as the orange embers glimmered among the gray and black soot—burrowing his face deeper into Barty’s neck as he groaned. Tender fingers carded through his hair, caressing his scalp, and Regulus felt a bit of the weight that pooled in his stomach lift, offering him a moment's reprieve from his horrid choices.
“How’d he manage it?” Barty asked.
“How did who manage what?”
“Sirius.” Barty asked, “How’d he manage to convince you?”
“I told him if I was going to spend Christmas with the Potters, he was going to have to spend Christmas with me.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?” Barty asked curiously, “You’ll both be at the Potters' for Christmas, so he will obviously be spending it with you as well.”
Regulus shook his head, his cheek brushing against Barty’s shoulder as he corrected, “A Potter Christmas is seven days long. We were already planning on spending Christmas Eve and Christmas Day together like we always do, but the other five days? He owes me five parties.”
“Ah. So a Black Christmas for a Potter Christmas.” Barty surmised correctly.
“Yes.” Regulus nodded.
“Well, isn’t that a good thing?” Barty asked, “For you, I mean.”
“I just—I hate Christmas.”
“Liar.” Barty accused, “You love Christmas. All those stupid songs repeated over and over in a different font, the light displays, decorating trees, and cookies. It’s your favorite fucking holiday.”
“Fine. I don’t hate Christmas. I hate Christmas gatherings.” Regulus began, and once he had, he found it difficult to stop the fears from trickling past his lips and toward his best friend’s ears. “You know how they are. They always come with the same annoying questions: What are you going to do with your degree? Are you going back for your master's? When are you gonna settle down? Are you seeing anyone? And when the answers come out with anything but a hearty yes or a vivid depiction of the future, there is disappointment and then immediate dismissal. Like you’re nothing apart from what you do or who you screw. And now I’ve got to answer those questions to strangers, let alone my own family.”
The last question was always the most dreaded. Regulus was twenty-five years old, and he had yet to date a single person. It hadn’t been for a lack of wanting—because oh, how Regulus wanted—but despite his best efforts, in the face of any potential partner, his mind always turned back toward crisp blue, bespectacled eyes and floppy curls, and all candidates seemed to pale in comparison.
His eyes caught the man in question, laughing gaily with a beautiful blonde around his arm. Yellow straw stuck out of his collar, arms, legs, cap—which was barely hanging on under untamable chestnut locks, glasses askew and cheeks painted pink, James Potter's face and neck glistened in the soft overhead light and the flickering flames to his left, and Regulus was forced to look away before he was caught staring.
He was so sure his childish crush had dissipated—having been so careful to only see him once a month, which had the poor side effect of only seeing Sirius once a month, as they were as tied to the hip as the blonde currently was. But all it took was one night—one look—and Regulus was right back where he started eleven years ago: drooling over James Potter.
In the corner of his eye, Barty’s hand shot out for the drink in front of him, and when the glass hit the table–a little harsher than intended–Barty slurred, “Well, what if you did have a boyfriend?”
Regulus pulled back from the comfort of Barty’s arms and swayed as the fairy lights hung on the wall danced along the wood. “Well then, we wouldn’t be in this situation now, would we?”
Barty frowned, brow curling in confusion before he rattled his brains against his skull, cowboy hat hanging loosely to one side as he clarified, wetting his bottom lip with the underside of his tongue, “No, I mean, what if you pretended to date someone for the holidays?”
“Like who?” Regulus scoffed.
A devilish grin curled at the corners of Barty’s mouth, growing wide enough to rival the Billy the Kid’s, and he splayed his arms wide in offering.
The nausea in Regulus’ stomach evaporated making room for rich, unbridled laughter that caused him to lean back entirely too far and nearly topple over the edge of the booth. Barty quickly grabbed hold of Regulus’ neck as he grasped for the edge of the table and hoisted himself upright, laughter dying as Barty sent him a mocking, wounded look. “Ow.”
Regulus giggled as he declared, “No one would believe that. We’d be awful for each other.”
An indiscernible expression crept across Barty’s face–harsh lines casting odd shadows that seemed to flicker with the candlelight, but soon Barty’s face smoothed over into a confident smile and Regulus chalked the strange look up to a trick of the light.
“Friends to lovers is easy to believe,” Barty proclaimed with a wink, “and I’m a terrific actor.”
“Why would you possibly want to pretend to be my boyfriend for the entirety of Christmas?” Regulus asked skeptically.
“For starters, you’re my friend,” Barty said with a pointed look, “and you’re in need. And if I can knock one of those stupid questions off your list at these parties, they might be mildly enjoyable for you.”
Regulus hummed as Barty took a drag of his cigarette. Barty and Regulus had been thick as thieves since the beginning of college, and though he was seen as a rogue and a rake by many, whenever his friends needed him, Barty was always there to heed the call.
“And for seconds?” Regulus asked, mulling over the idea.
“I want front row seats to watch your brother and his brainless leech of a friend squirm.” Barty puffed out, and a plume of smoke wafted in the air toward his evergreen sights. Regulus’ head swiveled, and his eyes followed the gray trail with curiosity toward James Potter, whose attention was no longer on the blonde in his arms but fixed in a heated battle with Barty.
Barty drummed his fingers in the air, giving James a taunting wave before snaking his hand behind Regulus to card those fingers in his curly black locks.
“Why do you hate him so much?” Regulus asked, his head lolling back and to the side, as the cowboy continued to play with his curls.
It was no secret to anyone that Barty and James had some unspoken rivalry that started with sharp tongues and piercing eyes and almost always ended with bloodied knuckles and bruised cheeks.
“He knows.” Barty said, gaze fixed on the man in question.
“Well, I don’t.” Regulus pouted, crossing his arms in a huff.
“Don’t you worry your pretty head about it, angel,” Barty whispered, curling Regulus closer toward his chest like a rag doll. “Now what do you say? Will you be my fake boyfriend for Christmas?”
“We’ll have to start earlier than that if anyone is going to believe us.” Regulus mused, “And we’ll have to set some ground rules.”
“Lay’em on me,” Barty slurred, lightly scratching Regulus’ scalp.
“Minimal public displays of affection.” Regulus began. The hand in his hair stopped immediately, and the chest beneath his head rumbled with laughter. “Yeah, okay, fair point. No more than usual, I guess. Just the occasional kiss.”
“You gonna let me kiss you, angel? I’m honored,” Barty teased.
“Yeah, I think one per party should do it.” Regulus mused, “As far as presents, I think we should cheat.”
“How?”
“I can’t rationalize you spending a ridiculous amount of money for me, so just find some random thing lying around and wrap it, and then I’ll give it back when all of this is over. We can save our real gifts for Christmas Day.” Regulus offered.
“Anything else?” Barty asked.
“No antagonizing Sirius.” Regulus said.
“Well now that’s just impossible.” Barty lamented with an audible pout.
“Alright, no antagonizing him more than you usually do.” Regulus conceded, “I really want him to enjoy these gatherings. I know you like to push his boundaries, but don’t bend them too far.”
“What about Potter?” Barty asked.
Regulus’ eyes flickered over toward the man in question and was shocked to find blue eyes fixed on them, face wrinkled in an indeterminable expression.
“Potter is free rein.” Regulus smirked.
“Excellent,” Barty purred. “Guess the only thing to determine now is when do we begin our festive charade?”
“We could say we started dating tonight?” Regulus offered, “I’ll mention to Sirius tomorrow that I started dating someone but not mention who—I don’t know how he’ll take the news that it’s you, so I want him to get used to the idea of me dating before he has a fit.”
“He should be so lucky to have me as a prospective brother-in-law.” Barty bristled.
“Not sure he’ll see it that way.” Regulus chuckled, “Especially with your history.”
“My history?” Barty barked, “I dare him to judge me on my history; maybe I’ll buy him a mirror for Christmas.”
“Speaking of—” Regulus said, “While you’re pretending with me, it might be best to avoid any other—entanglements. For appearance's sake.”
“I’d never cheat on you, angel. Fake or not.” Barty swore, kissing the top of tousled curls, “I’m going to be the best fake first boyfriend you’ve ever had. Believe me, I’ll positively ruin you for any other man.”
Regulus snorted, “I’ll believe that when I see it.”
───── ❄︎⋅☆⋅❄︎ ─────
“You’re doing it again,” Evangeline alerted James.
James shook his head, turning to the pixie at his side. “Doing what?”
Evangeline leaned in, smudging glitter along his cheek as she purred into his ear with a teasing slur, “Starin’.”
To James’ credit, the view was entrancing. It had been all night. He had been all night. From the moment Regulus walked into The Marauders’ Pub, his presence demanded attention. Long, beautiful curls on display—some his own, some carefully placed extensions to complete his costume—Regulus was dressed in an ivory laced dress, his neck accentuated by the lace collar that likely itched, but Regulus made no move to scratch or tug. The only evidence that he was not as he was dressed was the lively blush that burned against pale cheeks with each drink.
Sirius had teased Regulus that he looked more like a bride than a ghost, but James certainly felt haunted by the man’s presence, his mind wandering to the raven-haired beauty even when his eyes hadn’t.
“Sorry—I—” James apologized. It was terrible form to be ignoring his date, and though James felt awful about it, he truly couldn’t help himself.
“No worries.” Evangeline soothed, petting his chest playfully, “He’s quite captivating. How long have you liked him?”
James’ laugh sounded wrong—forced—even to his own ears. “Since I was sixteen.”
Evangeline whistled high, letting it fall dramatically and crashing on the floor, “Why haven’t you done anything about it?”
“That’s Sirius’ little brother.” James informed, taking a shot—wincing as the burn traveled down his throat toward his stomach, seeping lower toward his aching cock as he watched his daydream curl into his nightmare.
“Surely Sirius would be happy for you?” Evangeline offered, but James shook his head with a sour smile—wide and dark.
“Sirius made us all promise when we met that we wouldn’t go after his brother.” James said, “He’s very protective.”
“Clearly not if he’s allowing Crouch to paw all over him.” Evangeline scoffed, looking over toward the dastardly cowboy in the corner.
“They’re just friends,” James gritted as Crouch sent him a taunting wave.
“Doesn’t seem like that from here.” Evangeline chuckled, “You might have your work cut out for you.”
“There isn’t any work to be had. I’m not going to go after him, and neither is that little snake.” James declared through clenched teeth.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Evangeline said, tossing her long blonde locks over her shoulder.
“Regulus is too clever for that.” James said, scratching at his neck as the straw began to itch unbearably, “Crouch isn’t the settle-down type, and Regulus is. They’re not compatible.”
“They seem pretty compatible to me,” Evangeline smirked.
“Whose side are you on?” James glared.
“Yours.” Evangeline softened, blue eyes piercing him as she whispered, “Talk to Sirius. Tell him how you feel. That it’s not just a fling or a passing fancy. He might surprise you.”
Evangeline kissed his cheek and sauntered off, leaving James to stew in her wisdom. Crouch had Regulus in his arms, and his knowing eyes never left James’ face, even when James had dutifully ignored the couple. He seemed to be studying James for cracks—weaknesses—and James hated the insufferable smirk permanently plastered on the cowboy's face. Crouch’s tongue darted out against his bottom lip, making it glossy as he puckered them with a teasing kiss and a flirtatious wink, and James frowned at having been seen. He had no doubt the other man knew of James’ affections, and though their meetings were few and far between, he always made it a point to rile James up every second he could.
The pair seemed to be talking in hushed whispers in the corner of the bar, and James could only hope they weren’t laughing at him.
“Prongs!” Sirius cried from the other side of the bar as the baby blue bows around his pigtails bounced, “Did I tell you the news!”
“What news?” James asked, sliding his empty glass across the bar for Remus to fill.
“Reggie is coming to Christmas!” Sirius exclaimed, eyes bright with excitement.
“He is?” James frowned.
“Yep! All seven days! Can you believe it?” Sirius slurred.
“Honestly, no?” James said—Regulus had always made a point not to spend Christmas at the Potters. Always stealing Sirius away for the evening, unable to spare even a moment to pop in and say hello, Regulus would impatiently honk his horn from the driveway until Sirius joined him.
“He promised.” Sirius pouted, “Well—we bargained.”
“You bargained?” James asked, flicking his eyes past Sirius’ shoulder to see a silver-painted Remus shrug behind him as he slid the drink back toward James.
“I have to go to Christmas with my family.” Sirius frowned. “Petey!”
Peter’s head popped out of the crowd, and he ran toward the bar, sliding the second half of the way and barreling into the bar.
“Ow.”
“Peter, my darling, we have to make a Christmas schedule.”
“Halloween isn’t even over?” Peter said, rubbing his ribs with his lion’s paw.
“Yes but I have to go to several holiday parties with the Blacks. So we need to come up with a plan for who is going with me when.” Sirius said.
“Why not have Remus go with you for all of them?” Peter asked.
“Cause that’s not fair to you or James to have to work every weekend during the holidays.” Sirius said.
“Beats going to some stuffy Christmas with a bunch of asshats.” Peter shrugged.
“How about because we all need to be there for Pads?” Remus offered.
“Not sure how much help I’ll be,” Peter said glumly.
“Peter, my darling, you keep me sane.” Sirius declared, “Think of all the snide comments you can make about my relatives right under their noses. No one makes me laugh like you.”
“Yeah, alright,” Peter smirked, pasted whiskers twitching with pride.
“Now we have the Tonks’ Christmas, my grandfather’s Christmas, my aunt's Christmas…”
Sirius listed all the obligatory festivities he would need to partake in, and James’ eyes traveled toward the pair in the corner. Crouch was holding Regulus upright as they scooted out of the booth and stood on shaky legs. They stumbled toward the edge of the bar near the exit where the Marauders were plotting, and James frowned, barely catching Regulus as he fumbled out of the cowboy’s hold.
“You two gonna be okay to get home?” James asked, directing his question toward the swaying man past the ghost in his arms.
A phantom trace of concern flickered over Crouch’s features before he schooled his face into the familiar teasing smirk, “Awe, you worried about us, Potter?”
“I’m worried about Regulus.” James corrected.
Crouch’s smirk twitched downward before righting itself as he wrapped Regulus’ left arm around his neck.
“We could always just snag Sirius’ shoes and click our way back home.” Barty joked.
“With how drunk you are, I’d be surprised if you could even count to three.” Peter laughed.
Regulus stood up straight and away from his friend—clearly exerting much effort to prove the lion wrong but he swayed back on his heels and would have tumbled to the ground if Crouch had not caught the flailing ghost by the arm, swinging it back around Crouch’s head to hang limply on his shoulder.
“Come along, Potter,” Crouch slurred. “Let’s get our boy home safe and sound.”
James pursed his lips as his eyes wandered toward a worried Sirius, who sent him a quick nod.
Remus had already rounded the bar with James’ coat in hand. It was a bit of a fight to get the flailing ghost wrapped up properly, but between Remus, James, and Crouch, they managed, and James wrapped Regulus’ other arm around his neck as the three walked out of the pub and into the crisp autumn air.
“We’re just around the block,” Crouch huffed, his own steps lazy and weak.
“I know,” James said, his knuckles brushing against the cowboy’s side while his steady palm squeezed the hip beneath his hand. “You alright, Reggie?”
“Floor’s spinin’” Regulus slurred, little puffs of white drifting from his cherry red lips.
The short walk was made in near silence—only briefly interrupted by the quick curses as Crouch stumbled.
When they reached the green door of their apartment, Crouch handed James Regulus’ other arm while he fumbled for the keys, swaying back and forth from the door.
Regulus mumbled something against James’ neck, but he couldn’t make it out, and after several tries, Crouch finally swung the door open—offering a wide sweeping gesture that said: after you.
Struggling to hold the smaller man in his arms, James declared defeat, bending his knees and gathering the excess of Regulus' dress along with his wobbly legs, carrying him like the bride his brother had previously dubbed him.
With easy steps, James walked toward Regulus' room, his neck blushing brightly as Regulus giggled against it, tickling the fine hairs that stood at attention. Crouch had walked around him, opening the door to the bedroom, and stepped aside for James to carry the lush to the mattress. Gently laying him down, James frowned as he noted the corset. It didn't look as if it would bruise in the night, but it didn't look very comfortable either. Still, James had no intention of letting Crouch get the wrong idea and go running to Regulus in the morning to tell him a salacious tale of how James undressed him—especially considering the half-sleeping ghost wasn't likely to remember on his own.
With a sigh, James turned to face an all too pleased Crouch with mischief dancing in his eyes as he raised a brow and said, "He won't thank you for leaving him like that in the morning."
James looked down at the disgruntled man, struggling to find a comfortable position, and with a long sigh, James began to unlace the corset, which was conveniently tied at the front.
With quick hands that James refused to let linger, he had unclasped the corset, rolling Regulus to the side so he could slip it from under him, and laid the garment on the hamper.
Regulus shivered at the sudden cold around his middle, and James pulled the sheets from under him before draping them across him, tucking him in at the sides into a comfortable cocoon.
With one last look, James watched as Regulus sighed, seemingly content with his lot, then turned toward the door.
“What’d I got to do to get the Regulus Black treatment?” Crouch slurred as he leaned against the door frame.
James huffed and strode over toward the door, harshly grabbing Crouch’s arm as he dragged him to the room across the hall, slamming him down on the bed.
“Hey!” Crouch cried, “My hat!”
James rolled his eyes, stealing the crumpled hat and punching it back into place, smoothing the creases and dents back to their former glory before setting it down on the chair next to the bed.
“You’re not gonna tuck me in?” Crouch pouted as James headed back toward the door.
James’ fingers curled and his knuckles cracked as he turned on his heel to see Crouch and that insufferable smirk he kept stapled to his face. With quick, loud steps, James barreled toward the edge of the bed, ripping Crouch's boots off and chucking them haphazardly toward the floor.
"You were so gentle with Regulus," Crouch pouted, crossing his arms and looking very childish.
"I like Regulus." James huffed, walking toward the side of the bed and yanking down the covers from under Crouch to pull them back over the mostly dressed cowboy.
"I know." Crouch grinned. And there it was. James had suspected his affections had not gone past Crouch's astute perception. Knowledge was a dangerous thing in the hands of Barty Crouch Jr., and James hated how he always seemed to have the upper hand—always seemed to be two steps ahead. "But don't worry. He hasn't a clue."
"Wouldn't matter if he did," James huffed under his breath, wrapping Crouch far more tightly than he had Regulus—if only to keep him in his place.
No sooner had James turned to leave than Crouch whined, "What? No bedtime story? No goodnight kiss?"
This time James didn't turn back. He walked toward the door, keys clenched in his fist so that he felt the teeth snag against the meat of his palm and locked up for the night.