Dangerous Waters
James’ Pov
It’d been almost two weeks since James had arrived to Paris, and he was still living in his hotel. It was fine by him, really, mostly because he wasn’t the one paying and it was spacious, way too spacious for just James to live in. His plan of action to win over Regulus was still crystal clear: visiting flats with him, charming him into falling in love with him, and living together happily ever after. There was no point in trying to get over him, that James had realised a long time ago, so really, his whole future depended on if his plan worked.
And so far, two weeks in, they’d visited one flat together – or really, just walked in and out as soon as they saw it, if that counts as a visit – went to have dinner at Lily and Mary’s place and hadn’t talked in ages. Or, like, in a week and a half. So, ages, if you were to ask James.
That’s why, this Thursday morning, James woke up with a newfound motivation. He got his phone out as soon as he woke up, and texted Regulus, asking if he’d found any flat for James, and if yes, if they could go visit it as soon as possible.
Then, James went about his day, checking his phone periodically for a response, until it arrived around four pm that day. James was fairly sure that Regulus had avoided answering for a while, but it didn’t matter: he’d ended up answering anyway. Telling James that there was one available in the 5th arrondissement, and that they could go visit it the next day. To that text, James had cheekily answered with one ‘so happy to see you, best friend!’ knowing it would get a rise out of Regulus. Or maybe make him smile a little. That would be a huge win for James.
As practice ended, one of James’ teammates, Pablo, an Argentinian defender, asked him if he wanted to join him and some of the other lads to some pub that night, since they were off practice the next day. Naturally, James agreed, and that’s how he found himself at a pub on a Thursday night, with already two beers in and a huge smile on his face.
One of the rare times he and his teammates from Manchester had parties, it was after a particularly hard win, during which they would mostly bitch about the other team, rather than uplifting each other and celebrating their win like he and his old team in Hogwin used to do. It felt rather anti fair play to James, who always prided himself in being rightful on the field as a captain, even when one of his lads were in the wrong. So, having a pint with his teammates for no real occasion feels great to James. Like he’s not just the new kid, but the new kid who everyone wants to learn to know.
Around ten that night, James proposes himself to go get the next round at the bar, mostly just needing to stretch his legs a little. As he waits in line to get his order in, he thinks of the next day: how mean will Regulus be? Will he ignore James completely, or will he be nice enough to indulge him and act friendlily? Nah, James would rather if he was mean. Regulus is so endearing, but even more so when he’s trying to be curt and cold and mean. It makes him look so irresistible, like some sort of James Bond villain who’s all untouchable. Little does he know, James can manage to break his little bubble of hatred and touch him. It’d just take a little while, is all.
Yes; James is that delusional.
All James can think, is that even if the flat Regulus shows him is perfect, he’d probably turn it down. There are plenty of flats, but occasions to spend time with someone as regal as Regulus Black? Not so common.
His eye catches into a figure walking towards the counter to order, walking right to where James is standing. Maybe, perhaps, occasions to spend time with Regulus aren’t so rare after all. Because standing right next to James in a random bar in Paris is Regulus Black himself, looking thoroughly pissed off.
“Potter.” He spits out as he gets to his level, not reacting to James’ huge grin overtaking his face.
“Oh, hey Regulus! That’s such a great surprise !” he grins, and Regulus only swats at him.
“Oh cut the bullshit.” He frowns at James, and something inside of him goes off, some alarm that pings saying ‘Regulus is mad! Regulus is mad! You won the big prize!’.
“What bullshit?” James asks with a small smile. He’s so weird sometimes, and it only makes him that much more endearing.
Regulus rolls his eyes, “You couldn’t wait one day to bother me, you had to go and be at the exact same bar I’m at.” He accuses, and James only frowns at him.
“I-that wasn’t intentional?” he asks, squinting at Regulus in confusion. Does he think that James is some sort of stalker that has nothing better to do than spend his evenings spying on him? Well, James has to admit it sounds like something he would do. But still.
“So, you just happened to be at the exact same pub at me on the one night of the year I go out?” Regulus raises an eyebrow at him, clearly not believing him. Regulus is endearing, but James has always had a penchant for justice, and a hatred for people who didn’t take his word – except when he was lying, then, he’d love these people for seeing through his bullshit (hence why James loves McGonagall so fiercely).
“Yes?” James explains simply, watching as Regulus’ glare turns even more doubtful, “How would I even know you were going out tonight?” he asks, “I don’t have a spy car, Regulus, nor have I sewed a GPS tracker onto your neck.” He disclaims with a smile, hoping that his interlocutor will have the reference, but he clearly doesn’t.
“Of course not, I would have spotted it right away. Both the car and the tracker.” Regulus explains sagely, like it’s the most mundane thing in the world, “No, I imagine you saw Barty’s idiotic social media publications.” He rolls his eyes upon his words.
James raises his eyebrows, “Crouch is here?” he asks, and Regulus nods.
“Yes, he and Evan are visiting me.” He explains, then raises an eyebrow at James, “And who are you here with, if you’re not simply following me?” he asks, making James chuckle.
“Jesus, and they say Sirius is the dramatic one.” He grins at Regulus, who rolls his eyes, “I’m here with some teammates.” He nudges his head towards the back, where the lads are laughing brashly, probably the incarnation of everything Regulus has ever hated in his life.
“Figures you’re here with them.” Regulus sighs, and steps out of where he was standing in line to order, and James realises that the line has now cleared, and that a barkeep is staring at him expectantly.
“Oh, sorry, bonjour.” He tries with a horrible French accent that has him wincing, and the barkeep smiling mockingly, “Uh, bières? S’il vous plait?” he tries, pointing to the tap and at the back of the pub, where the lads are still laughing loudly, “Quatre.” He asks, with all the French he can muster with already two beers in his system.
The barkeep keeps smirking at him like he’s in on a joke James wasn’t privy to and gets to filling pints with the first beer on tap. It’s a blonde, and James already knows that he won’t like it. That’s on him, he guesses. Should have specified.
When he turns back to where Regulus was standing he finds him looking down at his phone, with his drinks ready on a stand in front of him.
“Were you waiting for me, Reggie?” James grins at him, and is met with yet another judgmental eyebrow raise. One more and James will become immune.
“Have you forgotten my name again?” Regulus asks tiredly, then looks at a table to his right, James’ left. There are seated the two kids James remembers from school; Crouch, with his emo style and black and green dyed hair, whom James always remembered as the creepy one – something hard to achieve when you’re friends with Regulus Black – and Rosier, a very tall dude, almost tall enough to compete with Remus, that James always thought seemed cool enough. Too bad he liked to hang out with weirdoes like Crouch or Avery.
Where James remembered them as weird bigoted kids who agreed with the Black’s horrible opinions, and even talked about joining the sect one day, he sees now two young adults who look every bit like the enamoured couple: with Barty talking animatedly with a grin on his face, and Evan looking at him with that stare people in love often have, like the person they’re looking at has hung the stars and the moon themselves. Like Remus looks at Sirius, like Dorcas looks at Marlene, like James probably looks at Regulus.
“I’m leaving them some space.” Regulus explains, “Nothing to do with you, just not feeling like third wheeling just now.” He says, and James’ eyes widen comically.
“Are they a couple?” he asks, and it makes Regulus snarl at him.
“No need to look so shocked.” he rolls his eyes with a disgusted look on his face, “It’s 2025 for fuck’s sake. Thought you’d be less prejudiced than last year.”
His comment would have made James smile if he wasn’t trying to appear solemn. One smile and Regulus could think he’s mocking them, “No, it’s not that, it’s just that they used to be, like, so bigoted back in school.” He shrugs, “Figured they’d be homophobic too.”
Regulus rolls his eyes, and a little part of James hopes he’s feeling at least a little guilty for getting angry at James so easily. Then, another, bigger part of him knows that Regulus just won’t feel guilty for it and loves him endlessly for that.
“Whatever. I’m going to have a smoke.” He declares and steps out of the bar, leaving the drinks on the counter. Without thinking, James follows him onto the night outside: they’re in the 16th arrondissement, and they’re probably the only two people smoking true cigarettes and not multicolour LED equipped vapes.
“Can I bum a smoke?” James asks as he reaches Regulus, who went to stand along the far wall of the bar as to not be in the middle of the way. Upon his request, Regulus eyes him warily and offers the pack wordlessly.
“Cheers.” He grins and when Regulus lifts his lighter to his own fag, James snags it right out of his hands.
“You have a tendency of stealing my things.” Regulus underlines, “I’m not enjoying it.”
James grins, and once his cigarette is lit, he positions the lighter under Regulus’ cigarette, right between his fingers, “I am.” He nods at Regulus, “And if I can’t steal your heart, I’ll keep on stealing your cigarettes.” He explains with a beam, simply because there was no way he was keeping himself from making that joke.
Regulus only shakes his head and takes a drag, not even acknowledging James’ words. “Oh come on, Regulus, that was a great punchline!” he smiles, “I bet you’re laughing inside. Or have I charmed you speechless already?” he asks.
“I assure you, I’m not.” Regulus answers, probably just to prove James wrong. The little bastard. “That was lazy at best.”
James gapes at him, “What? How dare you!” he accuses, then chuckles, “If your jokes are much better, then I’d love to hear them.” He challenges, and Regulus only takes a drag.
“Calm yourself, Potter. You’re more entitled than I thought if you think I need to prove myself to you.” Regulus says, and it makes James grin. Means Regulus didn’t think he was the most entitled person in the world.
“Ah but you will. I’ll hear your jokes soon enough.” He nods to himself and takes another drag. The smoke is good, and really, James doesn’t know where Regulus managed to find good smokes like that here. Not that James is looking: he isn’t allowed more than three cigarettes a month, and he already had one with Sirius when he visited him and Remus. If he smokes any more, he’ll be out of breath before he makes it to the half of the pitch. And well, we can’t have that now, can we?
As he smokes, James’ mind is brought back to the inside of the pub, when Regulus accused him of being homophobic. It reminds him that it isn’t the first time, that back on that godforsaken rooftop in Istanbul, Regulus had said something similar about James being prejudiced and critical of queer people. It doesn’t sit right with James.
“Regulus, what you said earlier…” he starts, daring a look at the younger boy, who keeps looking out onto the street and decidedly ignoring James. Although, James knows he is listening, because he hasn’t taken another drag, simply kept his hand hoovering in the air, waiting for James to talk. So he does. “Do you actually think I’m some sort of homophobic idiot?” he asks, because there’s a good chance he’s just talking out of his arse. Of course, he isn’t.
“Yes.” Regulus slides his teeth together, making a sizzling sound, “Maybe not to your friends, I mean, you are friends with my brother and Lupin, but you are to guys who come onto you. Or to girls you can’t pull.” He explains calmly, and James finds himself frowning, for real this time.
“I…Why? Why would you think that?” he asks confusedly. Whenever has he ever made that impression? He’s always tried to be the most kind, polite and accepting person possible; how is it possible that Regulus has felt this way about James?
Regulus rolls his eyes, “Your attitude. I can bet your first reaction when you hear there’s a gay man in a room is to declare that you’re straight. Though I’m sure this could just have to do with your enormous ego, thinking the entire world’s in love with you.”
It is a humbling realisation for James, to think that this is how he’s being seen by people. It’s like all of his efforts were for nothing; all the hours he’s spend befriending, comforting or defending people just for people to still think he’s some heartless egoistical football jockey.
And the fact that it’s coming from Regulus dampens James’ mood a little more.
“I don’t think like that-I.” he stops himself, then takes a deep breath, looking straight at Regulus, “That’s not true. I’m bisexual, Regulus.” James announces, and that finally makes Regulus’ deep green eyes fall onto James, “You shouldn’t make assumptions about people you know nothing about.”
Regulus stares at him for a little longer, before squinting at James, “Because you haven’t made any assumptions about me? Or do you pretend to know more about me than I do you?” he asks, apparently not fazed at all by James’ coming out. If truth be told, James would have loved a little reaction; a smile, or a gasp, anything really, anything that showed that Regulus cared a little bit that James could be available. But, no, Regulus still seems to hate James’ guts, whether those guts be straight or bi. Such a shame.
“I may have made assumptions about you in the past, while you and Sirius were still…you know.” James explains, “But I don’t pretend to know stuff about you that I don’t know for sure already. And surely not offensive things.”
Regulus only nods and nudges his head towards the bar behind them, where they can hear the buzz of the music and people laughing coming from inside, “Just like you didn’t assume that Barty and Evan were a couple? Because they aren’t.” Regulus retorts, and James has to admit that he kind of has a point there.
“I-okay, you got me there.” James chuckles, “But they really did look like a couple, didn’t they?” he asks, and James can swear he saw one of Regulus’ jaw muscles moving, as if he was restraining a smile. One point for James.
“I imagine it’ll take them only a few other years to figure out that they’re in love.” Regulus sighs, “I thought a year sharing a room just the two of them would be enough, but well. I was wrong.”
James smiles, thinking back to his last two years of high school, years he spent watching Remus yearn after Sirius and Sirius pine for Remus, only for them to figure it out in bloody Egypt of all places, after seven whole years without so much as a single kiss.
“I hope they’ll figure it out, eventually.” He smiles, “I don’t really know or like them, but everyone deserves to be loved.”
Regulus looks at him once again, “Of course you’d think that.” He mumbles around his cigarette, effectively putting an end to the topic. It puts James on edge a little, because he doesn’t want this moment to be over, which means he has to find a new subject. Fast.
It takes him about ten seconds, so a drag of his own and a scruff of Regulus’ shoe on the pavement to start the conversation back up, “Do you think tomorrow’s flat is going to be better than the first one?” he asks, and Regulus shrugs.
“I don’t know. Never been.” He says, and lets his cigarette butt fall onto the pavement. Even done with his cigarette, he stays there with James, which the latter can only read as an actual want to spend time with him.
“C’mon, I know you know a little about it. How is it? Is the floor normal or is it some weird purple carpet?” he presses, and James swears he sees the hint of a smile on Regulus’ face. Or maybe James is already going insane.
“Purple?” he repeats, “I do have some taste, you know.”
James chuckles, “Well, I don’t know, seeing how the last flat was.” He accuses, “Can’t exactly get a fair idea of your taste.”
“I didn’t know that flat at all!” Regulus defends, “If you want to blame anyone, blame my music teacher.”
“Yeah, but that’s not the only thing, now is it?” James continues, and really, he’s known since he could talk that his impulsivity was going to be the death of him. Which is the reason he says his next words without so much as thinking beforehand, “Your taste is truly horrendous if you’re not attracted to me right now.”
Regulus eyes him for a moment with a blank face, as if he was rethinking all of his life choices that led him to that moment, until he blushes for a split second before turning back to his usual ghostly self, “I’d say my taste is exquisite. And not yours to judge anyway.”
“Point taken.” James nods, then looks at Regulus, “If your taste is exquisite, it means you’re attracted to me. And, you know, I wouldn’t blame you at all, and it would actually put us on something of an equal stand. Because it does feel pathetic being the only one attracted to the other right now.” He says without thinking, and relishes in the way Regulus stares at his shoes in a desperate attempt to hide his blush. It’s fruitless, and James is able to see the delicious rose tint taking over Regulus’ skin.
After what feels like forever, Regulus looks back up at James with his effortless, bored stare that is so damn captivating, “Too bad for you. It is rather pathetic.” He nods at James in compassion, whose smile only grows smugger. He feels the strum of his heart beat harder against his skin, and thinks that he might be able to get somewhere today.
“Is it? I suppose it’d only be more pathetic to lie about who I think is hot.” James retorts, using the momentary purple lightning going towards them to readjust his position: he is now standing in front of Regulus, closer than before, instead of simply leaning against the wall.
Regulus shakes his head, “You’re insane if you think I want you right now.” He says with a shaky voice, his eyes looking up at James so beautifully, like they’re almost begging him to do something. Something that would drop the charade once and for all.
“Really?” James chuckles, and his eyes fall involuntarily to Regulus’ lips, “Because you don’t look repulsed at all.” He says, and inches closer to the smaller boy, backing him up against the wall. He hears Regulus’ breath itch, and it only fuels James further. To know that he is the one who gets to destabilize Regulus like that is insane.
“You don’t know how I’m feeling.” Regulus declares in a whisper. To test the waters, James raises a hand slowly towards Regulus’ face, and watches him look at the hand warily.
“Tell me to stop and I will.” James murmurs back, now close enough to Regulus so that voices aren’t necessary: whispers, murmurs and sighs are sufficient. His hand, rising slowly but surely, finally touches Regulus’ neck, then delicately moves up to cup Regulus’ jaw. The moment James’ hand touches Regulus’ skin, he hears the other boy gasp quietly, but doesn’t move. No, instead, Regulus allows the touch, even if he looks more on edge than James has ever seen him.
“Is this okay?” James asks, and it takes a second for Regulus to nod slightly.
“Wha-I…” Regulus mumbles, but his voices dies in his throat when James traces a small circle with his thumb on Regulus’ cheekbone. His mouth, however, stays open, either in shock or simply because he didn’t realise it was still open, and it takes everything in James not to lean in and kiss him immediately. Because of course he wants to: Regulus is right there, literally in the palm of his hand, soft, pliant and whispering, and he isn’t pushing James away. No, instead he stares at James, his beautiful green eyes roaming over James’ face, until they settle on one point. Lower than James’ eyes, but higher than his neck.
Fuck it.
It’s all it takes for James to finally lean in. To rediscover, after nine months, how Regulus’ lips feel like, how warm they are, how they move and how harshly. To see if he is as forceful as he was in September, or if the months soothed him. To know if he still feels the same under his fingers and if he still sounds and feels the same: a mixture of resentment, anger and want.
Except that he never gets to. Because the moment James gets close enough to feel Regulus’ cool breath on his lips, the moment his stare on Regulus’ lips gets so close his eyes slip shut, the hand that was cradling Regulus’ jaw finds itself empty. Because Regulus all but ran away when James got too close.
As soon as James feels that the warm person under him left, he opens his eyes to find a bare wall, and not a single person outside, not even a cat. An empty night in Paris, with the sounds of the bar behind him, and no Regulus to kiss. He checks all around himself, over the street that angles the bar, and even through the small passageway through the back of the building, but to no avail. No, it’s plain as day: Regulus left, went away, all but vanished into thin air, leaving James all alone.
A few minutes later, when it finally dawns on him that he probably fucked up everything between them, James rests with his back against the wall, closing his eyes instead of looking up at the early June night sky. He really fucked up.
Nice one, James.
____________________________________________
Barty’s pov
It’s really a shame, Barty thinks as he wakes up the next morning, that in a flat as huge as Regulus’, with as many bedrooms as there is, he wakes up on the hardwood floor. He opens his eyes to see that it’s light outside, that the curtains weren’t ever drawn the night before, but it isn’t what woke him. No, along with the ache in his back from lying on the floor, it was the cold chill settling over his skin that woke him.
Because he’s fully naked. Bound to feel cold, isn’t he?
He sits up on the floor with a frown to realise exactly what is happening right now: he really doesn’t have any clothes on, which he can understand, it’s the middle of June, one’s bound to get warm in their sleep, but what he can’t get is why he was sleeping on the floor in the middle of Regulus’ living room.
And why Evan is lying, dead asleep, naked as a baby, a few meters from Barty himself.
That’s really something Barty cannot understand. What the hell even happened last night? He went to the bar with Regulus and Evan, that much he knows; that they were having fun, that Regulus just disappeared at some point and that he and Evan did shots after shots, until, well, Barty doesn’t know. Can’t remember a thing after the shots.
But Evan naked next to him, without so much as a blanket to cover him? That’s new. And Barty cannot remember the events that led to that.
Or, well, seeing Evan naked isn’t new. Maybe, just maybe, over the course of their last year of high school, when either of them was bored or horny or angry, they would have occasional, super friendly, protected sex. Mind-blowing, earthshattering, limp-creating sex, but still in friendly terms.
And, well, if they did it last night, it’s a shame Barty can’t remember it. And it’s an even bigger shame for Regulus’ polished hardwood floor.
One thing that is new, though, is Barty getting to see Evan in the aftermath. Usually, back in school, it was more of an unspoken thing, just something they sometimes did that didn’t really deserve any talk. A quick blowjob between lessons, a raw shag in their dorm before dinner, that kind of thing. No sleepover, never in a bed, never lingered after it was done. Just, a quick, efficient way of getting it out of their systems.
And, well, Evan is hot. So that’s that. And, well, maybe Barty is known for liking things he shouldn’t. For doing things that would be frowned upon by society. That’s why he lets himself watch Evan sleep naked like a creepy voyeur.
Now, Barty is anything but a poet. He’d like to describe Evan in a more pretty way than saying he’s hot, and that Barty would love to bounce on his dick right now, but he doesn’t really know how. He’s just pretty, is the thing. Though, Barty thinks as he watches him, maybe people who don’t know him wouldn’t find him as pretty as Barty does. In surface, he’s just some random guy: tall, all angles with baggy clothes and a bored stare. Someone you wouldn’t look twice at. Or, well, you would, but just because he’s wearing some weird ass shirt and you’d wonder ‘hey, why’s that guy wearing a neon green shirt with pink designs?’, because your life is boring and that’s enough to make you look twice. But to anyone who really knows Evan, so, like, Barty and Regulus, he’s so much more than that. He’d like to, but Barty can’t describe it. It’s just that pull, that thing that makes him so interesting. That makes Barty want to stare forever.
Another breeze of cold air passes over his skin, and Barty thinks that maybe he can stare once he’s wearing clothes. Because he’s fucking cold.
And since when does he spend so long thinking about his mates? That’s some weird ass shit. Must be the shots. And the weed.
Barty dresses and decides to venture upstairs to find Regulus. There’s no way the bugger isn’t awake: even at school, he was always annoyingly awake at six am every day. Saying that he had no use of spending more time than necessary lying on a mattress. As if it wasn’t a primary need. Whatever.
Upstairs, everything is neat and clean, obviously – it’s Regulus ‘deep cleans his phone everyday’ Black’s apartment – and it does not look like someone even slept here last night.
It doesn’t take long for Barty’s brain to turn into panic mode: Regulus disappeared while getting drinks last night, and never came back, not even to his flat. Was he kidnapped? Taken advantage of? Was it someone from the sect, someone from his family?
With his mind racing, Barty rushes down the stairs, passes Evan who is still sleeping and exits the flat onto the main stairway. He gets outside quickly enough, without so much of a plan in his mind, unless shouting Regulus’ name in the street like a deranged idiot counts as a plan. He could go back to the pub of last night, ask if they’ve seen a black haired guy, even pressure them into letting him see footage from the cameras.
When he sets foot into the street, a thought enters his mind: what if Regulus just went home with a guy? It literally stops him in his tracks and puzzles him entirely. It’s possible, on theory, that the reason someone is missing after a night out is sex related. But on practice, well. It’s Regulus Black. Poor bloke is like the biggest virgin on earth, right before James Potter.
It’s not his fault, not that it’s a bad thing or whatever, Regulus was just too busy destroying his family, sending his relatives to prison and committing arson to concentrate on romantical relationships. Or sexual ones, at that.
Let’s just say that out of all the crazy shit Regulus has done, a one night stand seems completely out of thought. Impossible. A kidnapping is much more plausible.
A glance to his right proves Barty wrong. There, riding a bloody motorcycle, is Regulus Black. Barty thinks that this was higher than ‘one night stand’ on the Regulus probability scale. Of course, ever the precautious one, he is wearing the whole attire: helmet, gloves, moto pants, an anti-shock jacket and boots, and is going so slowly Barty would be faster by foot. With Barty still gaping at him, Regulus pulls up onto a parking spot and steps down with the grace of someone who is beyond uncomfortable.
“What the fuck?” Barty shouts, “Since when are you cool?” he asks Regulus with a dropped jaw, who takes his helmet off and shrugs.
“Since when are you ever up before ten?” he retorts and puts his gloves, hood and neck warmer into the helmet. Barty cannot wrap his head around this. Since when is Regulus a rider? Since when is he cool like that? When did he even get all of this equipment? And why does it all look so big on him…?
“I-Is this yours?” Barty asks with his jaw still hanging, “It’s too big for you. Is it some dude’s bike?” he frowns, then gasps, “Reg, did you steal this?”
Regulus rolls his eyes and takes off his security jacket, “I’m too rich to steal anything. And no, it isn’t mine, nor are the protections.” He explains calmly, putting the jacket on top of the motorbike and starting to strip off his protection pants, “It’s a gift for Sirius.”
Barty releases a breath. Then frowns. It does sound like the most expected answer, doesn’t it? When you hear motorbike, you hear Sirius Black. It just makes sense. It sounds like a cover. “Why would you gift him anything? His birthday’s in November.” He asks sceptically.
At that, Regulus bites his lip, “I-Why do you know my brother’s birthday?” he asks back with a frown.
“I’ve had a crush on him since I was thirteen.” Barty shrugs, “Keep up, mate.”
“Right, almost forgot about that.” Regulus clears his throat, then sees Barty’s expectant glare, “Look, Sirius’ boyfriend, Lupin, he asked me to get the bike for him. It’s their anniversary soon, or something, I don’t really care, but being in good terms with the boyfriend makes Sirius happy, and a happy Sirius doesn’t bother me as much as a sad one.” Regulus explains, and Barty hates to admit that it makes sense.
“So, that’s why you weren’t around the flat this morning? You were getting a motorcycle for your brother?” Barty asks, “Because I thought you’d gotten kidnapped or something last night, and that we were too pissed to notice.”
Regulus rolls his eyes and walks over to the front steps of his building, where the settles all of his motorcycle attire, “I did leave around eleven, but of my own volition.” He says, then looks at Barty warily, “Why were you even on the street to begin with?” he asks.
“Because I thought you’d gotten kidnapped!” Barty exclaims, “You weren’t there this morning, and I panicked. Sorry for thinking that kidnapping isn’t too farfetched of a possibility for someone like you.”
“And going out onto the street was going to help how?” Regulus asks, a mocking smile playing at his lips, “About to sniff your way onto finding me, were you?”
“Tosser.” Barty rolls his eyes and takes the helmet as Regulus takes a hold of the jacket and trousers to go up to the stairs, “I was worried, just be glad about that, won’t you?”
“Your love knows no bounds.” Regulus sighs, “So, how was it last night after I left?” he asks.
“It was fine, got hammered.” Barty shrugs, then frowns at Regulus, “Why did you even leave?”
He shrugs, “I agreed to go to a pub, not to stay there.” He explains, and opens the door to his flat, when his voice dies in his throat. Barty sees him looking at the middle of the living room, where Evan is still sleeping, very much naked, on the floor, and without surprise, Regulus’ jaw is on the floor and Barty sees colour rising in his cheeks. It’s sweet how he is still a bloody prude, even as he’s almost seventeen now.
Barty had also completely forgotten that Evan was still sleeping, and still naked. In his stupid panicked state, he’d forgotten about this small predicament, about the few minutes he’d spent staring at his naked sleeping best friend. Weirdly, Barty finds himself blushing as well. Stupid.
Slowly, Regulus closes back the door as if nothing has happened, and turns to face Barty.
“Why is Evan sleeping naked on the floor?” he simply asks, easy as that. “You do know there’s four guest rooms plus the drawing room. Like, you have options.” He reminds Barty, who is too well aware of that. Too aware of the abnormality of it all.
Barty shrugs, “I don’t know. I just woke up there, couldn’t tell you what happened last night.” He says, and only notices his mistake when it’s too late.
“You woke up there too?” Regulus asks with round eyes, “Please don’t tell me you had sex on my floor.” He pleads, now face filled with worry, and Barty can only bite his lower lip.
“I hope we didn’t?” he offers guiltily, and watches as Regulus’ face turns into something of horror, “I don’t remember last night.”
Regulus gapes at him, “But that means it’s a possibility.” He pinpoints, “Barty, have you and Evan finally figured your shit out?” he demands, staring at Barty with a face that tells him there is a wrong answer to that question.
“Er, what shit?” he asks, and shrugs, “We just fuck every once in a while. Nothing worth telling.” He explains, and it makes Regulus take a deep, irritated breath.
“Fuck buddies?” Regulus waits until Barty nods as a confirmation to continue, “I swear, I lose years off my life when I deal with you.” He mumbles and rolls his eyes.
“I-what did I even do? Excuse me for not being a bitter virgin like yourself.” Barty says, and Regulus scoffs.
“As if. Barty, you’re going to be honest with me.” Regulus orders, and really, Barty knows him enough to know that he shouldn’t cross him right now, “Do you have feelings for him?”
“No.” is Barty’s immediate reaction. Then, he thinks. “I mean, he’s my best friend, like, my partner in crime, you know? So, like, I have feelings in that sense of it, I guess.” He explains, and adds, “Plus he’s hot.”
Regulus sighs, “God.” He mumbles, “Okay. And if I told you that while you went to get us drinks that first time at the club, some guy flirted with Evan and gave him his number, what would you say?” he asks, and Barty pictures it. Some ugly, creepy dude, slipping Evan a piece of paper with a number on it, winking and disappearing with the swarm of bodies of the pub.
“That that guy’s a weirdo.” Barty shrugs, “Anyone giving teenagers their numbers in bars are weird. Like, find someone your age, won’t you?”
“As if you’ve never shagged a mother.” Regulus snorts, “No, imagine Evan accepted his number and called him. You’d be fine with that, since he’s just your fuck buddy, right?” he asks, and Barty frowns.
“This is still hypothetical, right?”
“Who cares?” Regulus asks with a shrug, “You’d be fine with that anyway, right?”
“I care!” Barty announces. No way someone gave Evan their number. What if Evan has sex with them? What if they get to kiss Evan, when even Barty himself never got to kiss him? What if Evan falls in love with them? Now, that would feel…great.
“Why do you care?” Regulus questions, and Barty’s eyes go wide.
“Because!” he exclaims, “What if they don’t want to be with Evan for the right reasons? No one knows him like I do. They could hurt him; I know he plays all insensitive and uncaring all the time but he’s pretty soft, you know. Like, he cares. That guy wouldn’t care enough.” Barty shakes his head. Evan going out with that guy is just plain mad. He hopes both Regulus and Evan will see reason in this.
“Hmm, right.” Regulus nods slowly, “And you do, don’t you?”
Barty frowns, “I what?”
“You care.” Regulus answers simply, and Barty just shrugs.
“Of course I do. He’s my best friend.”
Regulus smiles, “Your best friend that you find hot and wouldn’t want to be in a romantic relationship with anyone but yourself.” He rationalises, and Barty is forced to take a step back.
“Yeah. So?” he asks in a small voice. He knows exactly what Regulus means, but he needs to hear it to let himself think about it.
“So maybe you should be in a relationship with him.” Regulus summarises simply, and Barty can’t stop himself from gasping. A relationship with Evan. A relationship at all. The with Evan part sounds better than the relationship part, if Barty is honest.
Being with Evan would be great, if Barty is honest. In letting himself think about it, he imagines them tagging buildings and hanging on the train tracks like they used to do back in school, but now kissing every so often. He imagines himself and Evan making out in front of Bartemius Crouch Sr, flipping him the bird as they go. He imagines himself finally kissing Evan after months of meaningless sex. And he finds himself blushing a little.
Because isn’t it ridiculous how a kiss is what makes him flustered, something as innocent as a kiss, when he’s already explored Evan’s body through and through. He knows why they never kissed: physical, sexual acts don’t mean anything, but kissing is more intimate. Kissing involves feelings. Kissing is something sweet and loving, while sex is just reaching for pleasure.
And that’s why they never did it.
Barty shakes his head, “He…he wouldn’t want.” He says, and is surprised to find his voice a little stuffy. He clears his throat, “We’ve never kissed, you know. I think this is really just sex for him. Nothing more.” He shrugs, and he is somehow forced to admit to himself that it isn’t just sex for him. Maybe never even was.
“You don’t know that. And you know, from the way he looks at you, I think he likes you too. As more than a fuck buddy.” Regulus says gently, and that kind of makes Barty frown.
“Since when are you all insightful about love?” he asks, then grins, “Finally gotten over Potter, have you?”
Regulus frowns and swats at him, “Shut up!” he orders, “I’ve no idea what you mean. Never liked Potter.” He lies, and Barty bursts out laughing.
“Please!” he chuckles, “You used to be a better liar.”
“I’m done talking to you.” Regulus sighs, holding up his hand to block Barty out, who is still cackling, “Just go in there and wake up your boyfriend, won’t you? Get him dressed so I can enter my own home.”
“Not my boyfriend.” Barty rolls his eyes, still smiling, and enters the flat to obey. He sees Evan on the floor, looking every bit like an angel, and he can’t believe that only an hour ago, he didn’t think he was in love with that beautiful sleeping man.