Piano Man
Regulus’ pov.
For the thousandth time, Regulus positions his fingers on the pads of the piano, ready to start his symphony again. The dancers get back into place after one of them did a wrong movement, forcing Regulus to start up from the beginning. It gets annoying, after a while, but anytime Regulus gets to moves his fingers around, creating this atmosphere of music and classicality, he forgets to feel angered.
Let the dancers mess up as many times as they want; it only serves as an excuse for Regulus to play. Because as soon as they’ll leave, he’ll remember that his master is the violin, and that he ought to be practicing it instead of the piano, but he doesn’t want to.
It’s such a petulant thought, ‘I don’t want to’, but Regulus is allowed. As James reminded him about ten days ago, he’s just seventeen. He’s still allowed to be petulant.
Even if he is obviously better at the violin, after an entire childhood forced to learn, again and again, until his fingers bled and his ears rung, until the song was deemed perfect enough for Walburga, he prefers the piano. It should remind him of horrors too; of Sirius sitting at the piano, only nine of age, with bloodied fingers, tears streaming down his face, flinching every time his fingers touched the notes but still playing like an angel, because he had to choice but to be perfect, even if his perfect was never perfect enough for their mother.
For some reason, the piano doesn’t remind him of it. Rather, it reminds Regulus of times spent with Sirius, messing with the piano as children when their parents weren’t there, playing movie songs on the piano, or just made up partitions that sounded all too childish for the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.
So, Regulus plays the piano. He plays with a smile on his face, imagining the dancers behind him making his music come to live, imagining Sirius congratulating him afterwards, imagining someone watching him fondly, waiting patiently for him to be done to cherish him afterwards.
Once again, Regulus is being a selfish kid. No one would want to be there to wait on him; he knows it, but he wants someone to. He wants love, he wants to feel cherished, he wants someone to wipe all the horror from his mind and make him feel human again.
He knows it’ll never happen, that no one will ever care enough to take the time to make him feel safe, no one will ever want to be with someone with as much baggage as him, but still Regulus allows himself to dream. He’s been doing that a lot.
Ever since he joined the cult last year, with the only intent to destroy it, he’s been dreaming. At first, he dreamed of a family filled with love and happiness, instead of hurt and pain, then he dreamt of a loving brother who would forgive him for staying, and then he’d dream about a happy group of friends based on trust and laughter, and now, he’s dreaming of long arms wrapped around him, of kisses in his hair and affirming words making Regulus smile, of the warmth of a loving home, of the low rumble of a sleepy voice in the morning…
The sound of the baton of the dance teacher hitting the floor snaps Regulus from his revery. His fingers slip from the piano, letting silence fill the room as the dancers start to exit. That was the end of the dance session, and now no one needs him. No one is waiting for him at home – Barty and Evan left last weekend – but someone is waiting for him to leave the building to close behind him.
Regulus is at the most prestigious dance conservatory in Paris, and he knows no one can linger too much. Except on Tuesdays. And he’s smiling again when he realises that it is Tuesday already. Because on that day, some dancers are allowed to use the rooms from ten to midnight, and have the key to lock the back exit behind them. And Regulus always slips in around midnight after them.
In that moment, Regulus already has his evening planned out for him: playing the piano, mastering the composition he’s working on, La Campanella by Liszt, until midnight, then head home to sleep. Sounds sensible.
But of course, Regulus never even gets the chance to positions his fingers on the pad again before he hears the sound of feet behind him.
He whirls around like a tornado, and the adrenaline that rushed through his body turns into quiet anticipation when he sees who it is. Because who else would it be than James fucking Potter?
“What are you doing here?” Regulus frowns at him, his voice a little broken from not using it for so long.
James grins that boyish grin that Regulus hates so much, “You know, I heard the sound of a piano from out on the street and just needed to see who was playing.” He explains, and upon Regulus’ eyebrow raise, he corrects himself, “I wanted to see you.”
Regulus sighs, “And just like any normal person, you just creep up on me instead of just calling.” He summarises. This is the thing with James: Regulus never knows when he is going to see him. Because as it seems, James just shows up whenever he feels like it, and never thinks to let others know.
“Ah, but the look of surprise is just so much more entertaining!” James grins, then walks over to the piano, “Don’t look so down, I know you’re pumped to see me.”
“I can assure you, I’m not.” Regulus lies. His stomach is already swooping, and he hates how good James looks right now. His hair is still a mess, and his glasses are still low on his nose, but he is wearing a printed shirt with Spiderman on it – really, this guy has to stop with the Spiderman obsession already – and a pair of long dark blue shorts. He looks ridiculous, but Regulus stupidly likes it.
“Liar.” James smirks and leans against the piano, pressing a si with his arse without meaning to, “I know you’re just dying to dance with me again.”
Regulus almost laughs at that. Last week, something had shifted in his mind. He doesn’t know if it was James’ presence, or the music, but he let go of everything and just danced, without a care in the world. He should feel ashamed of it, but really, Regulus had been thinking one thing since then: to make all his dreams come true, maybe stepping out of his comfort zone was a good start.
“I think I’ll live if I don’t dance again.” Regulus smiles at him, and looks back at the piano. Isn’t it ironic; refusing to dance in a dancing room?
Reading his mind, James rolls his eyes playfully, “We’re in a dancing room! The world is practically begging you to dance.”
“Did you come here to ask me to dance?” Regulus asks, and James chuckles beautifully. It’s one thing Regulus has always hated about James: he looks so, so beautiful. There a lot of other words for it, but there is also none: James Potter is beautiful. He’s gorgeous, charming, stunning, pretty. He’s like a fire in the cold of winter, like a shot of espresso in a dreary morning. Regulus hates him.
“No, actually.” James smiles, then looks at Regulus’ fingers, which are still on the notes, “You said you were a better musician than the people on the street on the 21st. You’ve got to show me, now.”
“Weren’t you just listening at the door?” Regulus asks with an eyebrow raised, and James chuckles.
“Ach, but you’re not supposed to know that!” he exclaims and walks to Regulus’ left side, staring at him expectantly. “Play for me, please?” he asks gently, and Regulus rolls his eyes. The nerve.
He stares at James incredulously for a few seconds, waiting for him to back down, but eventually, Regulus thinks that he’d like to play. That it’s the sole reason he’s there at all. And, well, if James saw how well he plays, then there would never be any doubt of his talent again.
So, Regulus positions his fingers on the cold notes again and closes his eyes. He decides to play the one he knows the best: Beethoven’s Für Elise. He knows James knows it, because anyone who doesn’t is a moron, and he plays with expertise, his fingers moving around freely across the clavier like they have a mind of their own. They might as well have one: they’ve played this song so many times it’s muscle memory by this point.
When he is done, he opens his eyes again to find James staring at him with an expression Regulus has never seen before. It looks like adoration, pride and emotion, feelings that Regulus is a stranger to. He’s never had anyone feel this way about him.
“This…that was beautiful.” James whispers, “I-I can’t believe you can do that with your eyes closed.”
Regulus shrugs, feeling his cheeks reddening. One thing he isn’t used to are compliments. “It’s the habit.”
“I-will you teach me?” he asks, and Regulus arches a brow. “I play guitar already, I know how to read a sheet music.” He precises, as if Regulus didn’t already know. As if Regulus hadn’t been obsessed with him ever since he was eleven.
Regulus nods and shifts to the right to let James sit on the piano bench next to him. He puts his hands on the pads, and Regulus shows him on which notes to start.
“So, this one, then you switch quickly onto this one,” he explains, guiding James’ hands with his own. He knows how to teach people piano: he’s been doing it for years in Hogwin, helping kids to learn how to play the piano properly. “You, know, there this dun-dun-dun-dun,” he says, playing it as well with his finger, “So you alternate the two, and then switch onto the rest. The hardest is to switch from the repetitive thing to the actual music.”
“So, like this?” James asks, doing exactly what Regulus showed him. He smiles.
“Yeah, exactly.” He beams at James, “And you know, afterwards it’s just memorizing it. It’s hard, but it’s like learning the keys of your computer or the accords on your guitar. You’ll get used to it.”
James nods at him with a smile and retries, this time making it to the end of the intro, and stopping when he doesn’t know the rest.
“It’s weirdly intuitive.” James chuckles, then looks at Regulus, “You’re a really good teacher.”
Regulus rolls his eyes, “Always the tone of surprise.”
“No, I mean it.” James chuckles, “I didn’t expect you to be patient.”
“I put up with you, don’t I?” Regulus retorts, making James grin his charming grin. Regulus hates it so much that he wants to kiss it off James’ face.
“Ah, right, excuse me.” James rolls his eyes, then smiles, “But you are putting up with me. I see my pressing is working.”
Regulus rolls his eyes, fighting a smile, “It can stop working very fast, you know.”
“No, just give me some time. You’ll be obsessed with me soon enough.” James grins at Regulus, who shakes his head. If only he knew, Regulus thinks. At least he’s good pretender, he thinks.
“Did you want to learn piano?” Regulus asks, and James nods like a good student.
“Yes, yes absolutely, sorry.” He nods and places his fingers again. He starts the first few notes, but when he goes to change the cadence, his fingers trip over themselves, making a horrible sound.
“Okay, no, look.” Regulus says and allows himself a small insanity. He puts his hands over James’ and directs them to the beginning notes, “See you start here, and when you move, you don’t move your whole hand, but you just take your pinky,” he says, and takes James’ finger, “to reach this note. And once you’re there, you just use it as a level to make your hand travel.” He explains, keeping his hands on top of James’. Like everything about him, his hands are warm, and just so much bigger than Regulus’.
“Like that?” James tries on his own, his gaze fixated on his fingers. He does exactly as told, and manages to switch from the notes without playing off key.
“Yeah!” Regulus grins, “See, you didn’t skip.”
James chuckles, and looks at Regulus with a hint of mischief in his eyes, “I didn’t, you’re right.” He grins, “Can you keep your hands over mine though? I think it’s really attractive, and I like it.” He tells Regulus solemnly.
Regulus stares at him, and shakes his head in amusement, “You can’t learn the piano if my hands are on yours.”
“What a bummer.” James shakes his head with a grin.
“You’re not here to learn the piano, are you?” Regulus asks, knowing damn well the answer.
James shakes his head and turns his hands to lace his fingers with Regulus’ and bring them down, off the piano and between them, “Not really.” He admits, and starts to bite his lips.
Regulus stares at the motion, and in that second, he makes a split decision. He takes his conscience and better judgement in a little box at the back of his mind and locks them in. He can’t be blamed for whatever happens tonight.
“Then why are you here?” Regulus asks in a whisper, feeling the tension between them rise like smoke. It gets thick quickly, and Regulus thinks one could cut it with a knife.
“Honestly?” James asks, and Regulus nods. He’s been trying to figure out what exactly has been going on between them for a while now, and he thinks he is about to get his answer. “I wanted to see you. Because I was thinking about you.”
“How come?” Regulus asks, his gaze already falling to James’ mouth. His lips are full but straight, as if designed with a ruler. They’re symmetrical, and there’s a small mole at the corner of his upper lip. Regulus thinks that if James had a moustache, it wouldn’t be visible, and thanks the stars above that he doesn’t have one. Not that he’d mind have a beard rub on his face.
James stares at him too for a moment, until Regulus feels a hand slip from his and fingers and coming to touch Regulus’ face. He lets him put a hand on Regulus’ chin, doesn’t pull away or move. He’s supposed to hate him, but he really doesn’t. He couldn’t count the number of times he’s dreamt of James kissing him.
“Because I was wondering if you’d pull away again. If you’d leave me alone, like you did last time.” He explains, and Regulus finds that they’re much closer than before. He doesn’t know if he leaned in or if James did. “Are you going to let me kiss you again?” James asks, and Regulus’ eyes snap back to James’ brown ones.
They’re beautiful, his eyes. But what’s more beautiful is the acceptance and genuine question in them. He’s not looking at Regulus like he already knows, but like he’s actually asking. Letting Regulus decide. Not many people have let Regulus decide in the past.
And, well, with his good conscience and better judgement locked away in the dungeons of his mind, Regulus can only nod.
He sees James’ lips turn into a smile before his eyes slid shut on their own. He finds that he trusts James. He doesn’t stare and wait to see what actually happens, because he knows that James won’t do anything Regulus doesn’t want. He’d never to anything that could upset anyone.
And even if Regulus has been angry, livid or furious with him, it’s for reasons beyond the will of James Potter. Because to some extent, Regulus knows that whatever he did, he did with the belief that it’s the option that would hurt the less people. Because James is the definition of peace, of comfort and joy. Everything he does is to help people, and that’s part of why Regulus has been so adverse to him. He doesn’t like people’s help.
So, with his eyes shut and mouth open, only a breath away from Regulus’ childhood crush, the only person Regulus has ever thought of in that way, he trusts. And he lets James kiss him.
It’s tentative and slow at first, with James’ hand holding his chin, but as soon as Regulus realises that fuck, he’s kissing James Potter, he braces his hands on either side of James’ face and kisses him deeply. He pushes against James, and is met with the same amount of force. So, it seems, he hasn’t been the only one to really want this. Maybe James hasn’t been lying, maybe he actually started to like him.
“Fuck,” James swears as he draws back for a second, and Regulus almost whines. He’s never quite done this before, and he learns things about himself. It seems he’s a little needier than he thought he were. Without waiting for James to talk, or whatever was the reason for him drawing back, he presses his lips to his against.
Thankfully, James kisses him back, and Regulus forgets everything. Every reason he might have hated him in the past, all the resentment and anger he felt after their first kiss in Istanbul, every confused thought he’s had about James in the past few weeks. He forgets and kisses him with everything he has.
James kisses like a fucking God, Regulus realises. He doesn’t want to know if it’s the result of many previous experiences or just a gift, but he’s happy to benefit of it. And he quickly finds that he’d like to benefit from a bit more today.
He draws back from James’ lips to find him frowning, and only smirks at him, “Get up.” He orders and watches at James’ eyes widen and he stands from the piano bench. As soon as they’re both up, Regulus goes back to kiss him, holding his face to bring him down to his level, because of course, the fucker is a few inches taller than him. James manhandles him with his hands on his waist and makes him walk backwards with their eyes closes and lips interlocked until his back hits the floor to ceiling mirror.
When they’re settled, James slides his legs between Regulus’, creating some much needed friction that makes Regulus gasp.
“Fuck.” He mumbles in James’ mouth and feels him smirk a little without drawing back from his lips. They make out hungrily for a while, with their hands roaming all over the other’s body, rolling their hips to create some friction, and it feels so, so good. But Regulus has gotten greedy, and he wants more.
So, after a long while that feels like two seconds, while James has moved from Regulus’ lips to his neck, Regulus stops him from going any further down.
“James.” He calls, and James’ eyes snap up to him, lips not leaving his skin, “James, stop.” He says again, and immediately, James takes a step back, detaching himself completely from Regulus.
“Sorry. Got carried away.” He mumbles, clearing his throat. Regulus looks at him, at his spit strained lips, his ran through hair and the obvious bulge in his pants, and smirks.
“I can see that.” He says, looking at it, and James at least has the decency to blush.
“You’re not much better yourself.” James points out, and, well he’s not wrong. Regulus’ cock is very much up and ready for business.
Both blushing messes, they look at each other with hunger and a little bit of unsureness that comes with first hookups with someone you’ve known a long time. Not that Regulus would know, since, as Barty so beautifully often says, he’s a ‘bitter virgin’.
He thinks quickly that he wants to do it with James, because he’s been wanting to ever since he understood what sex even meant, but he also realises that James has to know he’s never done it before. At least it would explain why he doesn’t know what he’s doing.
“There’s something you should know.” Regulus starts, and James chuckles.
“There’s not much you can say that would make me back down, you know?” he says, and it makes Regulus feel wanted. It feels good.
“I’m a virgin.” He explains quickly, “Been too busy taking down crime organisations in my youth to navigate through the joys of underage sex.”
It makes James laugh and shake his head, “I see, yeah.” He nods, and shrugs, “It doesn’t matter to me. If you want to know, I’ve never been with a guy either, so.”
It does make Regulus feel a little better, and he nods, “Are, er, are we doing this, then?” he asks, and James smiles gently at him.
“I want to. If you do too?” he asks, and it makes Regulus roll his eyes. He wouldn’t be having such an awkward conversation if he didn’t want to.
“Come on.” Regulus orders and takes James’ wrist, guiding him out of the building through the back entrance. Once outside, he walks quickly towards his apartment complex, which isn’t too far, and thinks that he’s probably being a little too eager for this. None of the nonchalant persona he puts on, none of the easily bored, cold and uninterested Regulus he offers to the world most often. No, right now, he feels like the person he is when he is alone with a piano, or when he was a kid, laughing with Sirius. He feels like himself.
They enter Regulus’ apartment not long after, and Regulus doesn’t give him time for random niceties, for polite compliments about his living space. No, instead, Regulus pushes him against the nearest wall and kisses him hungrily, as if not a second passed since they left the dancing room. James’ hands find their way towards Regulus’ waist, and he finds that he wouldn’t mind James keeping his hands there always. It’s like they were made to fit there, in that little space between his hips and his ribs, where his skin dips a little.
They make out like that for a while, until Regulus demands for James to take his clothes off. He obliges, and Regulus slides off his shirt, letting fall to the floor, until his eyes settle on a naked James Potter in front of him.
It certainly is a sight. One Regulus couldn’t wipe from his memory if he tried. He has seen James half naked a few times already, which tends to happen when you go on a trip with someone, but never like this, never without anything. Well, he has a golden chain on, but that’s it, and Regulus thinks he is beautiful. Apollo himself if Regulus ever saw one. His brown skin is almost glistening, almost golden and shiny, his muscles well defined and his legs long. Regulus knows that no one in the world is prettier than James. It isn’t possible.
He’s known it forever anyway; James Potter is the only person for him. He knows, and there isn’t even any hope: he was made for James, and he’d like to think that James was made for him. At least the way they fit makes him think so.
“You’re beautiful.” He whispers, because it would be an insult not to, even if he really wants to cringe as he does.
James chuckles, his eyes trained on Regulus too, “I can’t believe you’re saying that.” He murmurs back. This tension around them is so thick, but Regulus thinks it precious. He wants to preserve it, to always have this sweet, quiet moment between them of appreciation and lust. There’s love too, somewhere around there. Regulus knows.
James walks back to kiss Regulus, a little more gently this time. They make out for a while, until a hand, Regulus’, who has gotten a little impatient, travels down through James’ body. Then, they get to the bed, and wear each other out gently, taking their time and making the other’s pleasure their priority. It’s sweet, and still stupidly hot, and Regulus thinks it’s perfect.
An hour or three later, once they’ve had a few rounds of sex, they settle in Regulus’ bed, worn out and sweaty and ready for a coma worth of sleep. Regulus feels good, feels amazing, actually, but his conscience creeps back onto his mind. Tells him that James doesn’t love him like Regulus does, that to him, this is just a game, just sex, just a new project to make time pass. That James doesn’t care about him.
Maybe his conscience isn’t really his conscience but his trust issues, but before they both crash out and sleep, he asks James one thing.
“When I wake up tomorrow, I want you to be gone.” He asks, “I need time to figure this out.”
He doesn’t wait for James to answer and turns in his bed to face his nightstand, away from James. He slips his eyes shut and feigns sleep all through the night. He doesn’t know if James sleeps, but he doesn’t hear a sound all night, and by six in the morning, he feels the bed get colder and the front door close quietly.
Regulus turns back onto his back and breathes. He takes his phone out and deletes James’ number. He can’t get himself used to this. It’ll only end up hurting him.
This is for the better.