Chapter Text
Somewhere in Toulouse (France). 16th of November. 01h38.
Brown.
It started with a pair of brown eyes flashing through the raging crowd. A soft familiar tone of chocolate, his own secret and favourite flaw. Because as far as Regulus lets himself remember, it had in all fairness always started with brown.
The night is coming to an end and his memories burst in waves of warmth. All the drinks he downed within the last hour make his brain foggy. Warmth is every declination of brown known to Earth and brown is life, brown is love. A particular glint in a particular gaze, on a particular sun-drenched face, from a particular embrace. Something deeply anchored inside and left behind, buried in the past that leaves him with only bones to gnaw at, where the phantom touch leaves him with the perpetual chase of a thrill that doesn’t come.
Warmth and brown is an open bleeding wound and he’s holding the dagger firmly, plucking at the flesh.
“… Should I stay… Should I go?... Oh, the world feels oh-so cold…”
There, again, the same eyes he keeps searching like a magnet. They land on him between a few pressed bodies across the dance floor.
Regulus smiles for himself and tilts his head as he moves along with the music beat. He lets the mysterious stranger take a better view of each line from his neck to the roundness of his shoulder, hopes the silver jewellery he wears catch the eyes. Carried by the tune playing, he indulges in being undressed by a certain piercing gaze, moving his hips accordingly. That man will do for tonight; Regulus has now decided he’s drunk enough to forget.
“… it’s a predicament that I find myself caught in again… it’s no different than the first time…”
Regulus lets the music brush against his skin for a moment, taking in the vibration. Closing his eyes, his hands run through his hair, shake it, and reach high toward the ceiling lights. He spins, black-outs the noise until his perception of everyone around fades into a slight tremor at the back of his mind. They’re just ants. Hundreds of insignificant dummies who will leave no mark, no trace, all forgotten at the crack of dawn and even before then, when he will collapse on the bed alone and the silence will refresh his thoughts.
He drinks, and he dances, lives in the anticipation of a fuck, and he forgets, forgets, forgets… swipes all the worry in a corner until it blurs with some elegant twists of his body.
A hand grips his bare waist and a warm body settles him by pressing onto his back, moulding every curve, following his movements, and as he keeps dancing, he instinctively rocks his hips slower, arching into the stranger until an arm sneaks with more confidence on the exposed skin of his belly.
“… Should I stay… Should I go?…”
The song is hammering his senses but he’s no longer playing solo on its hypnotising rhythm. One of his hands above his head shifts down until Regulus reaches a mess of sweaty curls behind him where he tangles his fingers in and pushes the man’s face into his space. The stranger is the right height, fits the absence. In the mass of people, he smells good too. The grip tightens around him and for a split second, everything is divine.
Neon lights flash too brightly, too fast in comparison to their teasing sway, barely giving away the stranger’s face but Regulus has long learned not to care. He has brown eyes, like the echo of a memory locked in a box he keeps ajar without meaning to, opened impossibly enough for air to run through the emptiness of his chest. They’ve been eyeing each other for hours between drinks and flushed dances, finding the other here and there as if playing on the same intricate fated line.
The appetiser is over now, foreplay has begun. Fingers still hooked in the messy curls of the admirer nosing in his hair, Regulus drags him in and moans a whimper lost in the general ambiance. He feels the ghost of parted lips traveling down his temple, retracing with an open-mouth the path to his jawline where the man buries himself deep.
Closer is suddenly not enough and it’s rare. Regulus wants in. Somewhere his ribs will crack and the pain will die. Years of chasing a memory and it still hurts like the very first day.
“… I was swimming in shallow water… where did time go? I’ve been through it all but what do I know? …”
Regulus plays pretend. He can act like it’s him, for once. He can act like he’s familiar with the body pressed against his arse, that he knows the touch flying greedily on his skin, possessively grabbing his waist not knowing Regulus doesn’t belong here in the slightest. He doesn’t belong anywhere. Strangers can take and play too, distract him from the bad and the ugly, what’s terrible to name and face, but they can never really have all of him. Regulus never lets them dive very far under the surface.
Even intoxicated, out of himself, Regulus has the upper-hand. He’s a thief, a wolf in sheep's clothing.
He perfectly knows how magnetic he looks and how to control the sweetness of his traits to better steal what he needs. His eyes are a weakness to some. His tongue is perfectly skilled. His waist with the dimples of his lower back is a luring bait to the wildest fantasies known to men. Or so he’s been told. He’s been manhandled in earnest by one pair of trusting hands tugging his hair and pinning his face into the mattress, soft hands pressing his spine to thrust into him senseless, loving hands keeping his head still while having his mouth fucked. Hands that had known every corner and trigger of his body; Greedy, demanding hands exactly like these ones.
Regulus is no stranger to compliments and so he knows how to blink quickly to tame the hardness ready to strike behind his long eyelashes. He knows how to move his hips to stir the needs and the wants. How to fake has no secret, he knows how to remember and how to forget.
“… I got a couple skeletons in my dresser… I got a couple elephants in that room…”
Time has never erased anything and let alone the smallest of details lodged deep in his head like a pointy thorn.
A kiss is tenderly laid on the bone of his shoulder, as if he should be worshipped and not fucked on the spot like intended, and the sad truth he’s hit with in that moment is no matter the lies and the control, it’s a torture to be alone in his own skin.
Lips tease, brushing up along his neck to his ear as Regulus keeps dancing, laying countless other delicate kisses in their path. It’s a torture too, that they feel precisely as they should. That, with his eyes closed, Regulus can definitely pretend he’s not screaming for someone else. It’s so tempting to jump ahead and imagine all of… this… feels just… right.
The stranger wears the exact same hint of perfume. His arms hold him in the perfect steady embrace as they sway together. The slope of the nose drawing on his skin tastes so precisely like the way Regulus enjoys to be teased and the sound soon breaking through his lips is almost foreign. It’s been ages since he felt this specific craving, this… warmth flooding him, crushing his organs. His body arches again and fills all the blank spaces left between him and the other man.
That devious man whose arousal is thick through his trousers and makes his mouth water… because for all that Regulus cares and feels, it’s him. It needs to be him or Regulus won’t survive opening his eyes again.
Fingertips slip under the waistband of his ripped jeans to simply rest there like a cruel torment he probably deserves, leading their hips together. Regulus disappears within himself into that little space in the pit of his chest where all the memories threaten the false restraint he ever built for himself. He’s nothing but a miserable outlaw yearning for an illusion.
A nip at the back of his nape sends a shiver through his body. It roots him back in the present for the tongue that follows, wiping the sweat beading on his skin from his collar to his ear. The stranger captures both earring and lobe between his teeth and slides them into his wet mouth.
“Yes…” Regulus sighs in contentment before he can align two thoughts, working on the line of some instincts buried deep. He rarely sobs in bed, rarely pleads, but he knew how to make a puddle out of him. Being reduced as nothing else but tears and pleasure altogether was as delectable as it was unnerving. “Like that, please…”
Please, please, please.
There’s a chuckle… Or so Regulus believes, because the man drags his tongue on his neck again, this time sucking greedier under his jaw until it bruises, folding a muffled moan of his own in the action.
“You’re as stunning as the last time I’ve tasted you.”
It’s maddening how everything fits tonight. The voice, the compliments coated in a raspy tone. The heat pressed onto his back. How the man’s tongue swirls and maps his neck as if he knows what direction to take.
Everything matches. Everything hurts. Everything—
“Reg.”
His eyes open. Surely, he misheard. Regulus shifts out of the embrace to turn toward the man but the arm wrapped around his middle squeezes him tight and keeps him close. In other instances, he would fight it. He would claw his way out and he would do so dirty, Regulus is a mean thing when cornered. But brown eyes lock with his’ and it’s not any brown.
It’s not any touch.
“Don’t run from me, love.”
Impossible. It can’t… The hold softens only for Regulus to fully face him. It can’t be you. James welcomes the shift of their bodies with a sad smile.
“You have no idea how…” James swallows but his unsaid words are not lost and hits Regulus fair in the heart. I want it so badly to be you. Please, be real. Dragging his hand to cup Regulus’ face, the other man breathes, “You’re so… You’re still…”
“You’re here.”
The sadness breaks into a familiar warmth as James’ smile spreads, cocky enough in the corners that it punches Regulus too. “Yeah…” He laughs as Regulus covers his hands with his own, still stunned. “Yeah, I’m here. You’re here. We— Oh, fuck that.”
James and the weight of the past years altogether lean in. It’s what it feels like when their lips meet in full force and the kiss knocks Regulus backward. He’s struck by strong winds that Regulus doesn’t even brace himself against, instinctively wrapping his arms at the back of James’ neck to drag the other man with him if he has to fall, to welcome him closer in his shield instead, always so closer, urging him to lick into his mouth and strip him from everything he wants to take for once and for all.
Regulus couldn’t care less of their bodies hitting the people in their surroundings, digging their way out through the crowd. The anthill can burn. All those ants can go to Hell in fact. The entire city can crumble. As for him, he’s standing exactly where he should belong.
“… I was living in pain… but I still have one last song, and I’ll sing it til I’m gone…”
Same place. Same date. 15 minutes later or so.
His back hits the stall. The loss of James’ mouth for the second it takes the man to close the toilets’ door behind them tears a sob from the back of his throat.
Like it's a tether, James instantly comes back on his skin. James’ lips travel the slope of his ear down his shoulder with renewed hunger. James is sucking at his neck. James, James, James… It’s him. Kissing back his mouth, where the fruity taste of their drinks mix. Regulus isn’t dreaming this time, it’s not a game of pretend. Hands are pressed into the flesh of his waist like they used to, with the intent to leave imprints, and they’re nothing but James’ beloved hands. Those hands that slip into his pants to bring him closer by the tender meat of his arse and know how to knead him like dough.
The thought of what they can do to him makes him moan into the kiss. Those hands can be very persuasive, and they always know how to please him. Even four years later, Regulus could recognise their touch with his eyes closed… And somehow, he did. In some marvelous, scary parts of himself, he really, really, did.
He fucked many men looking like James after he faked his death; a game to forget his past life, to remember, to lose and win. A way to pretend sacrificing everything to ensure the safety of his loved ones had been worth it in the end, though it had always felt like sheer defeat. But in reality, none of these hook-ups have ever tasted exactly like he needed.
No one ever did, nor ever will.
Only James feels like James, and James is alive.
Moaning on his tongue, breathing close. Actively clawing a path right back into Regulus’ chest where he never really left. Hands grab his arse’s cheeks until Regulus can only count on the arm snaked behind James’ head for support. The desperation has a weight and the weight is a gravity of its own, pushing Regulus in, always in, as much as possible in.
Are you here? Are you really here with me? Are you here to finish what they have started?
Is Regulus going to die by those hands he loves so much? The old James would not, but what about this James? That’d be quite a sweet death if retribution comes today. Please, keep your eyes on me when doing so. Please, don’t look. If you have to lose me, please, love me again.
A hand lifts his face and Regulus’ moans break into an uncontrollable sob. “Oh, baby. Shh,” James tsks gently on his throat, retracing every piece of skin so softly with his tongue Regulus feels set alight bit by bit, taking all the time in the world to burn to ashes. “I’ll take care of you, sweetheart.” A kiss at the junction of his neck. “I’ll be good.” Another, down his collarbone. “You know I can be good.”
His hips arch into James in response, seeking more friction now that both hands have left his pants. He wants to be touched so badly, he’ll die if he’s not. He’s starved. Fucking-years-starved. Because none of those he brought here were anything more than a poor substitute. His skin craves the sensation of James’ teeth, of his murmured words.
And oh, yes. Yes, he knows perfectly well how dedicated James is when he’s good.
“Please…” Regulus doesn’t even know what he wishes to say. Please, do something, anything. Please, it better be really you. There’s so many words spiraling in his mind and none crossing his lips. Please, James, trap me better this time.
“I know, baby,” James mutters when a near-sob escapes Regulus at the touch of lips around his covered left nipple. “I know,” he repeats, slowly licking and nipping his way to the right one, the most sensitive of the pair. A free hand slides on Regulus’ front to stroke his waiting cock through his jeans. “This is what you want?”
“Y-Yes… James, yes.”
Always yes. James never lost his full free use of him; he could turn Regulus on his stomach, slap his face against the stall to fuck him raw, it’d be perfect. He could manoeuvre Regulus down to thrust into his mouth rough and Regulus would take it. James could make Regulus his cum slut and Regulus would say thank you, please again, and his cock twitches at the thought.
Time doesn’t erase the smallest details and time doesn’t erase the trust Regulus had placed in James and that James then cherished.
For every loss of control, for every tear and moan shed, Regulus would be pampered and showered in unconditional attentions afterwards. James would break each of his defenses in place and Regulus would simply surrender, he would open easily and be adored, seen and known by heart, and that’s why they had worked surprisingly so well before, like two pieces of the same puzzle. That’s why dying had been so excruciating to live through.
Regulus is hard, achingly so as James works the fabric of his top until it’s damp, teasing the nipples underneath until the touch of his tongue is overwhelming. He goes slack under James’ greed, not realising yet that everything he’s feeling is part of the present time too.
“I swear, James…” Regulus gasps at the hands trailing on his abdomen, soon followed by open-mouthed kisses under his navel. “Yes… Fuck me. You should just fuck me.”
Ruin me. Kill me. Do with my body and my corpse what you wish, everything you want. Did it ever stop to be yours anyway?
A groan on Regulus’ hip later, James drops to his knees. James barely struggles with the button and the zip, dragging briefs and jeans down Regulus’ ankles, that his mouth is already on Regulus, swallowing his cock whole without any warning, only releasing a deep moan as he gags on the length. He stays there, breathing through his nose buried against Regulus’ pelvis with such a content expression that Regulus flushes red, groin instinctively lurching forward to chase the back of his tight throat.
Regulus spaces out; he’s screwed, completely screwed, if James only warming his cock can send him in such a daze. Not his fault the man has always been so beautiful with his mouth full.
The vision of James popping his cock out to properly breathe a second before slowly burying it again inside his heat, spit spilling on his chin as he goes, stirs a long whine out of Regulus. He definitely remembers now how good James feels, how wet and tight, how both good and greedy he can be.
“Oh… God. Please,” Regulus moans, holding the man in place by the hair. James raises two eager brown eyes from his position, hands tucked between his thighs to give the lead away.
Thing is, Regulus knows how rare the view is. Not James sucking him off, that he does, well he used to, a lot actually, but James is hardly the one usually seeking to lose control.
“Go on. Move for me, please,” Regulus gives his hair a little tug, feels the power it fills him with when James listens by slowly dragging his mouth along his cock. “Yes… Fuck, yes, show me how good you are to me.”
James’ eyes flutter shut. His moan vibrates through Regulus who tilts his head back against the stall, tugging harder at the curls locked between his fingers if possible.
Regulus refuses to look away, to miss any of James moving and choking on him, whining about the loss of Regulus when Regulus pulls him and holds him steady and empty, moaning when he’s pushed back deep and slow onto his cock. He’s a delicious sight frying his brain, urging his body to take the release he’s been denied for so long.
“Where’s your glasses?” Regulus complains in a whimper, thumbs tracing the mount of James’ cheekbones where the bottom frame should have been. His hands slip back into the man’s hair and, unsatisfied by the silly absence, Regulus buries himself roughly between the other man’s lips. The inside of his mouth is so wet, so hot, but all he can think of for a minute are those stupid, fancy glasses he loves so much. “They’re missing…” He huffs again. “Why are they missing… Your glasses, love. Why aren’t they— Fuck, like that. You’re so tight. Why are you so tight?”
The chuckle James pulls away with reverberates everywhere against his cock. He’s cheeky, but mostly, Regulus can tell, James is beaming, his joy shining bright, and that too is an enticing sight of its own.
James gives a lick from the base to the tip, where his tongue curls slowly, gathering his own drool and the pre-cum he swallows with a delighted hum. “Temporary vision spell,” he says, as a hand replaces his mouth. He starts stroking, pumping fast as his lips take a detour on his inner thigh to bite, then to his balls that he swallows. “I always leave them behind when I’m out on a mission.”
So… James is here for a reason. The thought of the Order is a dreadful one to have in mind when one of his balls disappears in the tight space of James’ mouth but all sense of self-preservation definitely flies out of the window the moment James’ hand speeds up the pace.
“You’re still so very sensitive, Regulus… Breathtaking,” James praises, thrilled, pushing himself back up to play with the leaking head of his cock. It’s because it’s you. “I wonder if you still taste the same. What if I make you come on my tongue?”
That earns a sound so raw, from so far down, Regulus isn’t even surprised it’s coming from him. Eyes lock on him as James lays heated kisses on his length. A wave of pleasure pushes his hips forward in response to the teasing touch, to the way James can unfold him so easily even without trying.
“You’d like that too, baby, right?”
“James… I like everything you do to me…” Regulus whispers with fire in his voice, and fuck if that’s true. He looks down at James waiting on his knees, stroking Regulus’ cock. “You never needed to ask anything.”
There’s no need for Regulus to repeat his words twice for James to close his lips around his length again and behave less like a fucking tease. Pumping the base faster, harder, he starts bobbing his head up and down, chasing all the colourful sounds they both know Regulus can make.
Every lick, every sharp turn of his tongue, every moan James muffles. Regulus drinks it all.
He wants to reach James and touch him everywhere. He wants to suck on the man's cock until he comes undone and goes soft in his mouth. He wants to fall asleep with James in and wake up being railed. He wants to wake up filled to the brim, eyeliner smudged by the tears. No-one can make him leak or fuck him stupid over and over again until morning the way James does.
Where the fuck have you been all this time? Oh, do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you? Were you happy? Did you mourn me?
Did you mourn me the way I mourned your absence every fucking day?
“You’re killing me,” James breathes at the tip before taking more. So eager to take more… “Oh, baby, you'll be my end. The sounds you make…”
It's you. If Regulus is heavenly to James’ ears, then Regulus doesn’t know what to call the moist noises his cock makes popping in and out of James. There’s something primitive in their shared hunger. The moan James releases when the back of his throat is hit in earnest finishes him off. It’s always you— “Keep going,” Regulus breathes out at the subtle suction of James’ hollow cheeks. “Oh, fuck. Yes. Yes. I’m… Here, I’m so close…”
Too close, even. Far closer than he thought.
His hand clenches at the back of James’ neck, holding on tight as his climax starts hitting him in the guts. James catches the familiar tremor in his breath and slows down the cadence enough to feed the growing shudder ripping through his body. Baring his throat, sobbing, Regulus knocks his head back on the stall and spills deep in his mouth.
Lips work him through the end of his orgasm until his legs shake. James licks every drop of cum like he’s enjoying the meal. If not for the grip his partner exerts on his hip for support and restraint, Regulus would have folded on the ground. He could say please and thank you here now, could say more. He could beg. He wants to, yet he whines instead.
The fabric of James’ trousers is obscenely stretched. If Regulus was able to move, he would definitely fall to his knees and stick his tongue out.
He won’t, they both know Regulus is a doll in James’ arms. A soft and malleable little puppet. If James wants the favour to be returned, if he wants anything, he will need to manoeuvre Regulus however he wants to have him and take.
James proves it by hopping on his feet and by easily working Regulus' lips open with his tongue so he can get a taste of himself. He proves it by parting Regulus’ thighs with a simple press of a knee, by seizing the back of one leg to wrap it around his waist, encouraging Regulus to grind against his covered cock while James uses the position to reach his arse.
Regulus ignites, burns, and melts.
“What’s this, baby, hm?” James teases, two fingers toying along his crack until they hook around the base of the plug Regulus had worn all night. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice it while taking my fun down there? Couldn’t even have a little taste…”
“Fuck,” Regulus retorts, sweating, balancing his head against the stall again at James slowly moving the bulge of the toy out before sliding it back raw. “Oh, fuck. Fuck.” More.
“Are we still a little loose slut?”
“Makes it faster to forget,” Regulus mumbles, bracing for the second round but not for it to come with the force of James’ entire body slamming against his front.
Again.
“How has being dead been working for you all this time, my love?”
James takes less care to remove the plug this time, teasing the tip of the toy against his twitching hole next.
It's the perfect punishment for someone as impatient as Regulus, who gasps at the contact, now desperately grinding both against it and against James. The blend of sensations stirs his cock awake again. The private staff's bathroom is too hot, a stall is too small of a place. All he wants is to lay bare and tied on his sheets and let James have his ways with him until he’s passed out on the bed.
The plug is pushed back inside in a brief flick of James’ wrist. “I asked you a question, Reg.”
There’s a sob first. The words hit later.
“How. Has. It. Been. Working?” James presses on, pulling the plug out again. Regulus squeezes James’ waist with his thigh. His entire body is shaking. “Tell me, baby.”
Not working at all, that’s for sure. There’s never enough drinks to muffle the regrets and the brown-eyed strangers are barely a distraction. The toy stretches him easy and enough not to be touched, to pass the first shot of pain so he can forget without invasive hands near his parts. He feels dirty every time afterwards regardless.
“Bad,” Regulus strangles with. “It was just bad.”
The mouth travelling on his neck heats with anger and Regulus can’t even blame him. He’ll take everything coming from James. He deserves it. “Replacing me, were you?” James says, too quietly to be innocent. “Erasing what we had, what we were?”
“No. I couldn’t— They’re not—” A loud thud tells him the metallic plug has hit the floor. Two fingers replace the empty spot it left and pull Regulus closer by his hole. “James.”
“Would you cry their names too?”
His body jolts in response to the fingers curling inside of him. “Never.”
“Good.” A playful nip tug at his lobe, followed by a raspy laugh. “Eyes up, baby,” James orders, a smirk spreading on his face the moment Regulus’ gaze instinctively flutters back to him. “Look at you. So pliant for me… It’s okay, I’m sure they didn’t know. They had no idea what gem you truly are when you’re tamed.”
Like a moth to flame, Regulus can’t help chasing the trap of those words. He whimpers at James who keeps denying his lips the moment his own gets too close. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Fill me. Please, give it all,” he begs, taking deep, deep, deep, James’ fingers. “I’ll be good too, love.”
A cheeky glint sparks in James’ eyes. Gaze dropping to his mouth, he wraps his free hands around Regulus’ neck to keep him still, thumb pressing softly onto his pulse. “Tell me then, have any of my privileges been revoked?”
“None, none at all. You know they never will.”
The reward comes with James slipping his tongue between his parted lips as he fingers him raw, praising Regulus licking full into his mouth with a groan. They kiss and James squeezes his throat. Or James squeezes his throat and they kiss again. One before the other at some point, but both at the same time in the end for sure, sending Regulus on cloud nine.
“Hmm, you’re so good indeed,” James breathes at the corner of his lips. No, no. Again. More. As if the content of his head has spilled out at his feet, James presses his neck stronger, the friction of his hard-on against his stomach throwing him straight back into bliss. “Such a good, good boy, sweetheart.”
It’s another sort of high than being drunk.
James’ voice carries on with praise but all Regulus can hear is a vibrant buzz until he’s released, catching a shallow breath, stars tainting his vision. “More…”
Regulus is an addict and his drug is James pinning his body back on the stall by the neck. His dopamine is the open mouth sucking the air he exhales when James’ hand chokes him; the cure is the pleads at the tip of his tongue, five fingers pressing on his throat, three stretching him open in replacement of the plug.
“More.”
James executes, again and again, savouring the way Regulus trembles, hard again already. Regulus is overly conscious of the emptiness when James unbuttons his trousers to free his cock. He can't believe how hollow everything feels suddenly, his hole fluttering around nothing. How desperate he had grown into.
A whine pushes out of his mouth when the tip of James’ cock registers against his rim. The shiver that the anticipation sends down his skin increases with the spell murmured on his lips before James kisses him again, spitting in his mouth the way lube starts leaking down the back of his thighs.
“Damn, you’re still so tight,” James curses under his breath and Regulus’ own hitches. Silly now, how James makes the plug feel so small in comparison that he has to stop half-way in. “I know you can do a little bit more, baby… You take me so well.”
His insides seem on fire but his hips listen to James’ voice, slightly rolling to adjust. It’s okay, my body remembers you. It’s okay, I recognised you with my eyes closed. James’ deliberate slowness is to kill him. Move. He’s fine with pain. He can take more than a little bit. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.
“Reg, t’es là?” (Reg, you there?) The main door of the bathroom flies open after Evan’s voice reaches them, silencing both James and Regulus at once. “Hello? Non? Okay… My bad, je croyais.” (Hello? No? Okay… My bad, thought so.)
It could have been simple, and Evan could have left without further ado, if only James didn’t squeeze his throat in the privacy of their stall at the same time… The fault to his eyes as well, to the way Regulus squirms under their intensity and impales himself deeper on James’ cock, letting out a broken moan in the silence.
Shit.
The main door creaks back open. “C’était toi, ça?” (That was you, right?) Evan asks while Regulus bites his lips. “Laisse-moi deviner. Tu vas me dire que je dérange?” (Let me guess. You're gonna tell me I'm interrupting?)
“Go on, answer him,” James mutters and completely sinks into him in one go, lips hungrily seeking the softest point of his neck as he savours Regulus’ reaction.
“Ouais.” (Yeah.) Regulus gasps, finally full. It feels so good to be stretched. Filled, and choked. “Ouais aux deux, putain.” (Fuck. Yeah to both.)
James moves again, holding Regulus’ leg up and tight against his flank for easier access.
“T’es vraiment une merde,” (You're such a shithead.) Evan laughs, because with the sound he just made, it’s impossible that his friend doesn’t know what he’s doing right now, though he probably has no idea Regulus is doing James. “On est en train de fermer. Finis tes conneries et viens nous aider.” (We're closing. Stop your bullshit and come help us.)
Whatever.
James is biting the skin of his neck to keep himself quiet and Regulus is seriously on the verge of losing his sanity.
“Reg, did you hear me?”
“Oui.” (Yes.) Not really. “Oui, got it. All good.”
“I don’t think it’s my words you’ve got all good up your arse but sure. Tell your stranger to hurry up, though, or I’m sending Bee.”
“Go get fucked, Ev.”
There’s another laugh before the door finally closes. James lets go of the torn patch he was biting on to release a groan.
“Well done, baby,” James mutters, sliding both his hands on each side of Regulus this time. “Don’t think I missed how you squeezed around me. Like being caught, aren’t you? Makes you feel nasty, hm?”
He’s barely aware he’s murmuring yes to all, yes to the touch, and yes to how Regulus feels, completely exposed as he’s being lifted, abandoning his jeans on the floor to wrap his legs around James’ waist on instinct.
Maybe it’s yes to his own hands slipping into James’ hair for a good hold, definitely, without a single doubt, domesticated.
“I still have my privileges indeed,” the other man hums hot on his skin. “Yeah… I’m sure they didn’t know how much of a princess you are.”
“James, please…” The position makes the penetration deeper, but Regulus can barely move. It’s all James, but James is too busy marking every piece of skin he can find with his mouth to catch on. “I swear to fucking Merlin, you better—”
James starts thrusting faster into him. He first uses Regulus’ lighter weight to drag him up and down his hard-on, until the pace is not enough and James keeps Regulus still against the stall to pound harder into him like the perfect cock-slut Regulus wishes he could be again.
“Like that?”
“Y-Yes.” One thousand times yes. Regulus is too far gone. The pleasure in James’ voice, the way he groans against his skin… “More… James, more.”
His feet are back on the ground without ceremony. He’s about to whine in frustration when he’s flipped around against the stall, a hand swiping the sweaty curls away from his face. James tangles his fingers in his hair and tugs roughly so Regulus can get a hint.
“Lift your hips for me,” James guides while sliding his other hand on his front. “If you could see yourself from my eyes, your ass is so pretty for me… You’re always so eager, aren't you?”
James slams back in, helped by the firm hold in Regulus’ hair. He fits so well inside, so perfect. His body fully remembers the shape of him, as if James had branded himself there so deep he wouldn’t have been able to forget even if he had wanted to. It’s all in the details.
It’s in the breath brushing his spine as James leans in. It’s in the tears gathering at the corner of his eyes because he’s finally fucked the way he should. The compliments, the praises. He can’t stop sobbing.
Pre-cum glistens from his cock with each deep thrust. Regulus wants James’ touch everywhere, more than just fingers in his hair and fingers gripping his hips until it hurts, he imagines the hand he slips down his body to touch himself is the man’s instead and closes his eyes to take it all.
“James… Harder,” he whines, his climax lurking close. “I can take it, pl—please…”
The hand on his waist leaves for his mouth where James shuts him up with two fingers on his tongue. He still complies and buries his cock to the hilt however, slamming into his arse so hard Regulus fumbles forward and smashes into the support of the stall.
He is a princess in James’ hands; everything he asks, he receives. He is a slut; drooling and moaning around the fingers in his mouth, high on James using him as he sees fit.
“So cute when you cry, baby. Want more?”
Cock-drunk, Regulus nods.
I can take you until you rip me apart.
The hold on Regulus’ hair tightens, his pace gets greedier. It hits Regulus then, that maybe… James has been reading all his thoughts.
Some would recoil at the idea, but Regulus… Ah, Regulus is a little weak for it. James and his rightness are for the stranger crowd, Regulus has a different James, one he adores, one whose morals are a little more intricate and trickier than it seems. James always wants to know, always wants to possess, always anticipates. He meets each of Regulus’ needs. Faking his death had only worked because they were forced apart and James couldn’t peek at the truth in his head, but Regulus knows too well James would have sacrificed everything they had accomplished if it had meant keeping him close.
But perhaps it was the only logical evolution coming from being closer to the Blacks’ craziness than most. Perhaps it’s simply innate from his own kin too. James is honest, but honest according to Regulus’ standards.
James. You said, more.
The groan that follows his attempt confirms his suspicion and Regulus lets out a short, giddy huff.
Oh, my James, give it to me… If I’m good, just a tiny bit good for you… You need to give me more. You need to use me well and done… Am I not being good enough?
“You’re not good, you’re perfect.” A gasp escapes Regulus when James concludes by removing the fingers he was sucking on out of his mouth. One joins James’ cock and slips easy and slick into his arse with a new thrust. “So warm, taking me so nicely.” Regulus welcomes the stretch with a shudder, his sob encouraging James to add the second in a blink. “Oh, yes. Yes, you’re just perfect.”
With a look over his shoulder, Regulus catches James enthralled by the view. He’s going slower now, careful in the way he makes Regulus take him harder. A third finger pushes in with the rest up to the second knuckle, a reward for his resilience or simply because James’ greed knows no limits.
Cheeks red, his eyes follow the cadence, hypnotised by the way Regulus moves his hips in unison to meet him, seeking more and more of the delicious burn.
“As beautiful as the last time I’ve seen you like this,” James hums, but it’s him who’s stunning, tearing him apart. The hand releases his hair to travel down the arch of his back, to seize his waist, thumb dragging slightly back up to search for Regulus’ dimple. “I could come just with your heat around me.” He holds him steady, fucking into him. “I don’t need…” Fingers and cock. “…Anything more.”
James is such a tease, taking his time like that, playing his body with such confidence.
He pulls out lazily but keeps his fingers warm inside. His cock uses Regulus’ arse’s cheeks, then thrusts in again and stays deep. James watches attentively as he repeats the gesture. He does so a while, letting the pressure and the stretch reach beyond the physical, heat seeping in and spreading everywhere.
… so slow… so hot…
In… and out.
Regulus’ breaths get heavier before he notices. His body rocks along James’ languid movements. He’s finally full, filled. It’s so…
“James, I think I—”
Regulus’ vision whitens and his body betrays him with a slow-building cry as he spills into his hand.
He wasn’t even actively touching himself. He had stopped, waiting flushed and aching, closing his eyes under the sounds echoing at his ears. That’s not how he wanted to come but his climax is stronger than the first orgasm. It leaks between his fingers. It doesn’t seem to end. Shaking, Regulus can’t even finish what he wanted to say.
“Fuck,” James groans, clearly aroused by the state of him. His fingers slip out of him to find the second dimple and grab onto his waist.
With a grunt, he starts chasing his own pleasure with lips on the skin of his back until it’s painful for Regulus not to get hard a third time on command. There’s nothing more intoxicating to him than the idea of only being a toy to James’ climax. It blurs all his perception of right and wrong, he’s cherished at his finest and he’s cherished at his dirtiest. Only remains his deepest desire of being owned.
James leans in against his back and comes hard, biting on his shoulder blade like an animal.
Everything stills for a minute, even in his own head where the noise finally clears out. A little sweaty, a little happy, completely dazed. Regulus counts their breathing. They stay a while like this; James’ mouth teasing the mark his teeth left, their bodies slowly swaying together, an arm around Regulus’ middle, perfectly mirroring the way they danced earlier on the main floor. No wonder Regulus recognised that man without thinking.
“See, I was right,” James mutters in awe after inhaling deep, nosing the base of Regulus’ neck. “You’re so very lovely,” he says, traveling down, and down, with no intent of stopping in his tracks.
Regulus whines, “James… What are you doing…”
“Enjoying my privileges, my love,” James chuckles as he kneels on the floor, spreading his arse’s cheeks. “I told you that too, I want my little taste.”
Oh, God. Regulus muffles his gasp into the crook of his elbow, hiding his sudden flushed face. His reaction earns another chuckle from James, a warm breath against his rim and it’s worse. James doesn’t know… Or maybe he does, he guessed it, he's good at that… but it’s been so long… It’s been—
It’s been since James and James does have all the privileges he can think of. There’s not a claim he can’t make. Regulus is his’ and loves everything this man does to him indeed.
“Of course you love it, baby,” James huffs, no longer hiding every thought he’s following in Regulus’ head. “Knowing I’m yours makes you all flustered…”
“James.”
His tongue feels fucking amazing. Deeper… and deeper… James licks the cum dripping out of his hole in earnest, pushing in and out, undecided as whether he prefers to savour their mixed taste or savour the thought of Regulus being filled until the next day. The indecent eager noises he makes… Regulus isn't that strong.
“Feels so good…” He’s so screwed. He’s so fucking screwed if there too, he can’t seem to get enough. “You feel so good, James. Fuck.” Fuck me.
Instinctively pressing onto him, Regulus braces for the wave incoming as James keeps taunting his limits. The overwhelming pleasure wets his cheeks with tears, his breath shortens. James knows his body so well and plays him until he reaches another kind of pleasure. Until Regulus suddenly grips his cock tight with a whine and cums despite being soft.
Kisses showers his thighs as James mutters, “Let me see your face.” Everything is just so… Just so. Regulus can't feel his shaking legs anymore. It takes James' strong hands to guide his body then, they slip up on his waist and nudge him slowly so Regulus can turn around. "So beautiful, sweetheart,” he praises once their gaze meet. “You did so good, you know that? Let me take care of you.”
His right foot is taken off the floor and set on James' knee, his calf massaged as James meticulously helps him back into his underwear and jeans, soon repeating the gesture on the other side.
Lips never once leave his skin from there. Their touch a feather as they retrace every bone, thank every part of his body up to the tender surface of his belly. He licks him clean, takes Regulus' wrist to unclench the fist in which he spilled twice to let his tongue run between the rings on his fingers. James adores him everywhere. He's so delicate in the way he treats him and soothes him that Regulus feels the weight of the miserable years alone hit him harder than it ever did.
“Regulus, baby, don’t cry. Shh, it’s okay, I'm here,” James mutters, cupping his barely dried cheeks to kiss them softly. “Hey, you know I still love you, right? I didn’t expect to find you here, and you’re alive, you’re well, and I still love you… The rest doesn’t matter, I’m here now. You hear me? I'm here.”
“It’s not that…” Or maybe it is, somewhere deep down. There’s fear for the first in something he's been so sure for so long. The pain of the absence is still a blade. “What if—” I’m not well, and the thought breaks the subtle joy at the corners of James’ lips.
The main door slams open before he can find his words and they both jump at Barty’s annoyed voice. “Are you fucking done, now? I don’t have Ev’s patience, Reg. We need help closing.”
“Fuck off,” Regulus groans, dropping his head on James’ shoulder. “I’m busy.”
“You, fuck off.” Barty concludes by a knock of his boot on their stall. “That’s not the busy we’ve asked. Get out. Ready or not, I’m smashing the door at five, you’ve been warned. One…”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Barty did that often enough to get rid of one of Regulus’ strangers after closing hours for Regulus to know it’s no joke. He seizes the waistband of his jeans trying to zip it up correctly but still shaking, his hands don’t seem like they want to cooperate with the fabric.
“Two…”
“Shit,” he mumbles, now struggling with the button. “Shit, I can’t.”
It needs James, who had already buckled his trousers, to step in, dragging Regulus by the waistband to make it so stupidly easy.
“Three…”
He feels a wandless Scourgify in the stall while he’s briefly reorganising his hair. Which, for a second in the urgency, Regulus frowns at because their hands and clothes are indeed cleaned, yet he still feels sticky and wet, and James grins at him.
“Leaving you with a small gift,” he hums low in his ear as he leans in, muttering another spell next. The plug slips back easy inside his arse. James catches him by the waist the moment his legs give way. “Think it’ll be enough to remember I've been here?”
“Four.”
“Crouch can really fuck off, though. Always had the worst timings,” James laughs, still unfazed by Barty’s impatience in the bathroom. “Tomorrow morning in front of the pub, love. Ten o’clock. Don’t be late, princess.”
A chaste kiss is pressed on his neck and James vanishes in a loud crack before Regulus can think of something to say.
“… Reg?” Barty calls. “It's five, by the way. But I fucking swear to Salazar, if you apparated away just to escape us, I’m going to bloody murder you.”
“I’m not stupid enough to do magic,” Regulus snaps. “Don’t break the door again, I’ll come out. Just, give me a real damn second. ”
It’s nothing compared to what he’s been fucked with, but each inch of the toy feels as raw as the sudden absence he can feel in the stall. Regulus visibly can’t think straight; his body is sated for now, purring in contentment like a cat, and still, the dire counterpart waiting in the shadow of that feeling isn’t something he’s ready to face yet.
Barty is leaning back against the main exit when Regulus finally emerges from the stall. His stare isn’t very subtle as he takes him in. “Who was in there with you?”
“None of your business.”
“If he can apparate then yes, I’m afraid it’s our fucking business, Reg. You’ve been drinking,” Barty points out. “This habit isn’t good for you. One day, you’ll find yourself with someone you shouldn’t have been with and what will happen, huh?”
Regulus is crashing out real quick. After the high comes the low.
Being left alone after they had sex isn’t what it’s supposed to be between him and James. It never has. His skin feels too much for one; he wants him back. Wants him close. He wants the brown caring eyes, and the warmth, and the infinite tenderness he’s craving after being plenty fucked but that won’t come now because James can’t stay. It’s like he’s been shredded in pieces, flayed and too raw to even speak.
What if his mind made it all up? What if he’s not fucked in, but simply fucked up… Has anyone thought about that? Because Regulus is thinking about it now. It’s all he can think of.
“Evan worries about you,” Barty tries again, softer this time. Which is bad. Breaking Barty’s bones doesn’t seem like a terrible idea right now. “We care. You can't keep going on like that.”
“You forget who I am, Barty. If someone has bad intentions, they'll be welcomed with a far worse offer. Move.”
“In the state you're in?”
“And you forget your place, now. Great.”
“I perfectly know where my place is, Reg. In my book, friends look after each other and unfortunately, a brat like you is still included in the lot.”
Regulus glares.
After a short silent confrontation, Barty shifts enough to let him pass. He’s still following behind as Regulus retraces his steps from the private bathroom to the bar, where he finds Evan cleaning the counters. The silence on his arrival isn’t lost on him but Regulus ignores them both. He perches himself on his toes to grab the strongest whisky they're stocking on the shelves.
“I found him like that,” Barty shrugs after Evan throws him a questioning look. “Lost cause, tonight. Painful to watch, if you ask me.”
“Fuck. Off.”
Barty points at him with his hand as if to say See, but doesn’t add anything. Thank Salazar, because the sadness is hitting hard and when Regulus is sad, he’s mean.
“Where’s the guy?”
“It was a wizard, Rosie. Whether that fucker was too drunk to care where he was apparating from or whether he knew Regulus was like him, which means our cover is busted, I can’t tell because that one hasn’t said anything.”
Taking a sip directly at the bottle, Regulus flips him off. “Keep going and that one is going to break your fucking nose.”
“Funny you're mentioning a wizard,” Evan hums, lost in thought, “I could swear I recognised someone earlier. Maude served him so I can’t be really sure but—” He stops dead in his tracks and raises two hands at Barty. “Don’t look at me like that, it’s nothing bad. Must have been a trick of the light anyway.”
Regulus whines at that.
He didn’t mean to, but the mention of lights made him think of the dance floor. The dance floor reminded him of a warm body swaying against his own. The dancing pushed the memory of James calling his name. Like a snowball effect, it doesn't stop there. He’s in withdrawal and every image is collapsing into one another. The whisky doesn’t help anymore. James isn’t here to fully take care of him and his skin feels just fucking cold.
Evan softens, giving the towel in his hand to Barty. “What do we have here, Reg?”
“The usual crippling depression, what else?”
“Okay, listen… You're still yourself, so there's that, but how about we call it a night?”
“I don’t like this. We may be in danger,” Barty mumbles.
“Are we?” Evan asks, but he’s looking at Regulus. He’s far closer than he was a minute ago, slowly taking the bottle out of his hold.
“I don’t know, no. I don't think so,” he admits, because in the position they're in, Barty’s concerns make sense. Yet, it's James they're talking about. They like James. The old James wouldn't. “I need tomorrow. Give me tomorrow.”
“Demain, alors. On peut faire ça, oui,” (Tomorrow, then. We can do that, of course.) Evan concludes gently, nodding at Barty. He wraps an arm around Regulus’ shoulders and sets the whisky back on the counter. “Sorry, Bee. I think it’s time for me to tuck our kid to bed before his teeth chatter. I don’t want to see him puke on the floor I just cleaned.”
It’s the worst walk up to their apartment on the first floor Regulus ever lived through. Strong emotions don’t mix well with alcohol and alcohol doesn't mix well with the stairs. If he sobered up under James’s touch, it’s long behind him and it punches him back in the gut now. He feels like he’s going to puke each step of the way indeed.
He fights Evan’s hold who tries first to shove him under the shower. He doesn’t want to erase James’ smell, all the skin that has come into contact with him, all the skin he worshipped. He doesn't want to remove the plug either.
His friend ends up giving up and leads Regulus to his room instead, but not without a lecture on his unhealthy tendencies and heartbreaking habits. Regulus isn't as mean in return as he could have been if it were Barty, because between his two friends, Evan knows better how to deflate a situation and compromise than his partner who would have screamed back at his face. Yet, it's still a short call.
“Here, knobhead. At least, drink that before you sleep,” Evan sighs as he hands him a glass of water from the edge of the bed. “You better apologise to Bee tomorrow. He will never admit it, but you know he’s the one who worries the most in this house. He hates seeing you hurting like this.”
“Oops, comme c'est dommage (that's too bad), I just decided I won't remember.”
Evan hums, unconvinced. “Mais oui.” (Sure.)
“Well, it's tempting.”
“Don't be a meanie. I don’t think that’s true at all,” he says, pointing toward his cheeks, then to the love bites around his neck. “Something is telling me you won't forget tonight. We know there’s only one thing that makes you cry, Reg.”
“Sex. Good sex makes me cry, that’s all there is. Ouch.”
“And don’t be a fucking twat,” Evan huffs after he flicked Regulus on the forehead.
“That hurts.”
“Like I said, there’s one thing that can make you cry and I'd like to believe your wizard wasn’t a trick of the light.” He flicks his forehead again, but much softer to catch his attention. “So… You’ll be nice for me and apologise, alright? Whatever comes tomorrow, I have a gut feeling we’ll be okay.”
Still in Toulouse (France). 16th of November. 8h54.
Gut feeling, gut feeling… Ugh. Gut feeling, his arse. It’s freaking cold outside.
Regulus isn’t so sure about waiting. It may be snowing soon and he feels stupid. He has a very bad habit of loud drinking before he starts his other very bad habit of hooking-up with strangers. Now in broad daylight, truth be told, he’s not so certain he didn’t just hear what he wanted to hear and made an enormous dick of himself calling some random man James.
Taking a long drag of his cigarette, he leans back against the pub’s red bricks. He’s fighting the biggest hangover of his life. Something is hammering his skull, his temples throb. But his body aches in other parts too, so his night must have been real to some extent as well.
That’s where the hope fucking hurts. He woke up earlier this morning remembering Evan had tucked him to bed. He also remembered to apologise to Barty when he came across his friend in the living room. He remembered every sweet word from James and how he’s been fucked senseless, he remembered he had to be here, freezing his arse off in the middle of November, an hour early with a missing piece of his limbs.
It must have been him.
It has to. There’s not a single part of himself that believes a stranger could have made him feel, could have stirred this long lost spark from so far down.
I’m here. I love you.
Tilting his head toward the sky to release a puff of smoke, Regulus still wonders what’s going to happen if it was all a pipe dream. It was a wizard no doubt. That, he remembers too, and Barty packing their savings just in case wouldn’t have let him forget. Wizards are bad signs, even among the French ones. Their eyes are more trained to see the uncommon and the uncanny, and what simply passes for a fancy tattoo on an arm is more of a bad omen than anything else then… Regulus understands the threat, he gets it. Really, he does. But then, what?
They find a new city, they leave (again), and then what? They start over, and then what? Paris, Bordeaux, Toulouse, what’s next? They struggle and all for nothing? Sacrifices are fucking bullshit. His life has never been the same since he fled. Never once Regulus built something for himself without being remembered he’s missing the essential. So, once again, then what?
He crushes the cigarette with his shoe and buries his cold hands in his pockets.
Plus, they would have to move in the middle of winter. That sucks. He hates winters.
Regulus is already thinking about the logistics, and mostly about the pub; the money, the staff and the neighbourhood, the visiting queer community they cared enough to shelter and protect, as they had learned sooner than later how muggles were a tad late about those matters. He’s thinking about all those small details that don't make a life of its own but make a living when he instinctively notices the silhouette approaching.
His eyes catch him in a blink.
Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.
It’s him.
Ba-dum. Ba-dum.
Fuck. He’s still so very dear, so very beautiful.
Ba-dum.
James is early too. He stops in front of Regulus, who lifts his head to him and wonders how stupidly he had been drinking the night before not to recognise this man at first glance.
“Morning, love.”
The lack of glasses, that he’s wearing for good this morning, shouldn’t have fucked with his brain that much. It’s… really him. A bit taller than Regulus, an athletic frame wrapped in a dark brown coat that highlights his natural complexion and the specific shade of his eyes Regulus had chased like a madman all this time. His shoulders are still relaxed. The expression on his face is a little cocky, yet he bites his smile so it doesn’t get too bright.
The bouquet of red carnations in his arms proves his romantic attentions have never faltered either. He's still wearing the golden earring Regulus offered him on his left ear. James feels like James, but in definitive James is just James and Regulus never fell out of love.
“Regulus… If you don’t say anything in the next three seconds, I’ll believe you’re not real.”
“You’re an idiot,” Regulus breathes out, taking the bouquet to smell his favourite flowers, letting the rest of their past-life flow back to him in one devastating, happy wave. “Thank Merlin it was you.”
James doesn’t need more to release a delighted laugh and fills the distance. Hands cup Regulus’ face to take him in better, thumbs tracing each side of his cheeks softly. He stares long, like he can’t believe what he’s watching and it suddenly sounds crazy to Regulus that this man is doubting himself too.
“I’m real, James.”
“Yeah… Yeah, you are.”
What now?
“Now, I have you,” James huffs and leans in to press a soft kiss on his forehead, to which Regulus closes his eyes, hugging the carnations to his chest. “Well or not well, you're mine. You have no idea how much I’ve grieved you…,” he says and then kisses his temple, “how much I’ve been hoping to see you again,” next his cheek, his nose, their lips brush but James moves to the other side of his face. “There hasn’t been a minute of me not missing you.”
The road to his mouth is slowly mapped. James traces and retraces every line he can think of, murmuring all the words Regulus has never thought he would hear again, as if James is needing them more in the moment than he does himself.
“You missed me, but I’ve missed you more.”
James’ eyes widen as Regulus concludes by jumping to his neck, sealing their lips together before he starts melting on the pavement.
“I’m real, you’re here, and you have me,” Regulus says, savouring the arm wrapping around his waist to push him further into the wall. “I’ve missed you too much, James. I don’t think I can stand you edging me like that. Kiss me stupid, or get out.”
Which… is completely an empty threat, let’s be honest.
His hand has already found the hair at the back of his head. His body is buried in the heat of his coat in a perfect fit. He’s warm, and comfortable. Regulus is too entangled in James to let him leave.
It makes James laugh against his mouth at least, his joy spilling on his tongue when he deepens their embrace. His greed doesn’t know any limit in their kiss either. Even though it starts soft and indulgent, his lips seek Regulus like they’re starved. His hands keep dragging him closer, so much closer a knee part his legs and their position could easily lead to public indecency. Whenever James is near, whenever they collide, there’s always heat. How is Regulus supposed to resist?
“One minute,” James says, nosing into his hair after Regulus had managed to lead them behind the closed doors of the pub. “Give me a minute to breathe you, love. I don’t want to doubt again. I've been missing you last night too.”
Regulus whines at the reminder.
He sets the carnations on the nearest table, then slips both his hands into the opening of James’ coat, reaching under his jumper where his skin shivers at his contact. With a sigh, he rests his head at the base of his neck and it's nice. As long as they’re touching, he feels whole again. Somehow, it’s as intimate, if not more, as when they fuck.
“Whatever you’re here for… I’m not going back there,” Regulus mumbles after a while of them like this, his brain back on track enough to break the silence.
“Anything you want, sweetheart. France’s good. We always said we would live there.”
“That’s not what I mean, James,” he says. “I’m not… selling myself, I won’t sell my friends either. I won’t place them, like I won’t place you in any danger. I’m—”
“Danger?” James pulls back, which makes Regulus frowns. “What danger?”
“What danger? Are you hearing yourself?”
There’s a fleeting second where James tilts his head on the side, clearly stunned as he carefully reads his expression. Perhaps reading his thoughts in the process as well, because all he says for a while is, “I see.”
Then he guides Regulus by the hips until he makes him sit on the nearest stool. It must be bad. James settles between his legs and his lips curl downwards, hands warm around his face.
“How should I tell you this…” He must have realised his poor choice of words, because he quickly adds, “No, no, I’m not bringing bad news. I swear. Your brother's well, our friends too. Have you— Have you not peeked into my head last night? Don’t break my heart, love. I’ve been answering you, thoughts for thoughts. It’d be sad if you didn’t.”
Regulus stretches a fist and punches his shoulder in response. As if he could have. As if, he hadn’t been scared to do so and find things he wouldn’t have been able to fathom.
“There’s nothing in there that isn’t yours,” James says, catching his hand where it landed and places a kiss in the palm. There’s nothing else but you. I’m afraid it’s just been miserable for me.
“Fuck off.”
Still, there’s a tender smile spreading on his own lips. The stubbornness of James’ mind is like a pulsing thing of its own. It's happy to find him here again, like a puppy wagging its tail at his presence inside.
“You said you were on a mission, idiot.”
The hand still around his face slips under his chin to lift it up. “Auror’s mission, not from the Order’s. I feel we have more to catch up on than I initially anticipated, because I can assure you they’re a ton different. The Order has been dismantled. The war is over, Reg, we won. No one is in danger anymore.”
“You’re joking.”
“I'm not.”
This isn’t something I would joke about, Reg. It’s been two years. I’m sorry you were too scared of either side to ever look back.
Everything he had missed because they cut themselves off the wizardry world. Everyone he had sheltered and lost with his sacrifice. All the time that can’t be made up for… Regulus wants to scream.
“I’m here. You’re safe,” James roots him back, slowly threading his fingers into his hair. “More than that, the journals you’ve left Sirius had such an impact on the outcome of the war, you were granted a posthumous pardon. You’re free.”
Him. But not Evan, not Barty.
“That doesn’t tell me why you’re here.”
“Ah. About that…” A chuckle. “Funny you thought of your friends because it all started with Crouch, actually. Or, may I say… it started with his wand? Does that wanker know a dead wanted man isn’t supposed to use his wand by any chance?”
Barty will be insufferable to know he brought James back to Regulus now - what a shame Regulus just apologised, he'll need to kill the guy.
“He only used it twice.”
“Which, I found out, was for the wards around the pub?” James asks, watching around them, making Regulus fairly conscious he opened the door to an Auror. “Fine work, by the way. The protections are pretty solid.”
“How much trouble are we in?”
“Oh wow, slow down in that head of yours, baby… It’s me,” James says, then winks. “Since when do I care about the rules? All I’m ever going to do is pretend it has been stolen by some wandless folk and that an official warning has been issued. Happened a lot after the war. I'll reset the wand and Crouch will keep it just fine.”
Something must have short circuited somewhere in his brain because Regulus stares.
Sat on his stool, he doesn’t know for how long but he just does. It's still the same old James and his unpredictable morals, after all. James is studying their surroundings under a new light and Regulus is very aware he has now started dressing him with the distinct Auror uniform in his head, trying not to drool at the authority the dark attire must give James’ features. How his shoulders would look in the tight fabric. His waist. Damn, it's not fair, he should have really worn it.
Alright, there's big chances Regulus would have stilled in fight or flight mode, but James should have still made the honour to wear it. He can’t help but wonder if James would, if he asks…
If the experience of having an Auror’s cock deep up his arse and an Auror’s hand around his throat is as thrilling as it suddenly sounds…
If James would even be willing to make him bleed, just for the thrill of blurring some lines along the way…
“Yeah. Feeling better now I suppose, hm?”
Regulus’ thighs squeeze at the look in his eyes. “I was simply wondering… whether I can bring you upstairs now.”
Whether you’ll take care of me like I deserve.
Whether—
He’s yanked up by the collar. Lips crash against his own. There’s a smile in the way James devours him and it finally tastes right. “Took you long enough to get there,” the other man says, getting a good hold of him. “Yes, you can. Yes, I will. Later, for the uniform.”
Fuck.
Thank God they made it inside. Regulus’ state is close to mush, in and out of his body, absolute dough in those hands. From the high to the low to the high again.
Lust, as it seems, isn’t easier than emotions and alcohol to navigate the stairs with. They’re a mess of limbs, the hungover completely forgotten. Regulus leads his lover by the waistband, walking backward not to miss out on anything. James is there to catch him anyway before he stumbles, pushing him back into the handrail to lick the bruises he left on his neck the night before and kiss him better.
You smell so good, taste so perfect. I’ll fuck you anywhere you want us to.
He’s painfully hard by the time they reach the apartment, drunk on the spiral of James’ intoxicating thoughts he's now peeking at freely. Grinding on each other barely soothes the ache. There’s too many fabrics, too many layers. Their coats are long behind them in the stairs, yet Regulus is burning deep.
“Which door is your room?”
The question doesn’t even register. That pretty head of James is a storm, I wanna hear you cry, I wanna hear you loud, I wanna breathe, eat, sleep with my cock deep in your slutty holes, I'll show you how much I've missed you, setting his skin alight. He presses his hard-on against James, gasps at the warm welcome of the man's palm.
Still, there's barely enough touch.
“Baby, tell me,” James mutters again and traces a wet path to his ear with his lips. “Where should I take you?”
“Maybe the shower would be a good starting point, Potter,” Evan answers instead from the kitchen doorway, sipping on his tea as he arches two mocking brows at their attention. “Far be it from me to interrupt whatever charming reunion you’re having… but Stinky Reg needs one.”
“Putain, Evan. Va te faire foutre.” (What the Hell, Evan. Fuck off.)
“Morning to you too, Rosier,” James groans.
“Yeah, yeah, morning. It's been a while, glad to see you're still doing well.”
Regulus finds out he’s not very fond of James’ attention slipping elsewhere. James, who hesitates as to whether he should say something or not because the man had been raised polite under any circumstances, even while having a hand lost in someone’s pants stroking their cock. It shouldn't be a surprise that he wants to say hello because it's Evan. James and Evan used to get along quite well in the past. But there's quite more urgent matters to take care of right now.
“He’s not entirely wrong, though,” Regulus whispers low enough for James as he scoots closer, “I still have the plug.” I still have your cum, love. Think of everything you can do with it, how easy you'll slip in.
James swallows hard. “Alright. Fucking you in the shower sounds good to me.”
And I'm going to take care of you for days on end afterwards, baby.
To his own horror, Regulus giggles.
“Alright. Whatever, guys,” Evan waves at them as Regulus takes James in the correct direction by the collar of his shirt. “Be a good boy for us all, Potter, and use a Silencing Charm. Spare my ears this time, thank you.”
“As someone here says, Rosier…” James grins back cheeky over his shoulder, tightening his hold on Regulus in response, “and with all my respect, of course… Get fucked.”