In the Heat of It
James and Regulus are currently making out in the train compartment.
Regulus isn’t quite sure how it happened, exactly. Probably something to do with James wearing that damn brown leather jacket again—his ultimate weakness. One glance and he’d lost all self-control.
Not that James seems to mind. He's kissing back with absolutely no restraint. None whatsoever.
Regulus feels dizzy.
They’re on their way home, and Regulus has been spiraling internally for most of the ride, dreading the moment he’ll have to tell Effie and Monty that he's dating James Potter. But right now? He's not nervous. He’s not even thinking straight.
“Jamie,” Regulus manages between kisses, trying half-heartedly to push him away, “Sirius could come back any second. I think we should—”
“Fuck it,” James murmurs, already diving back in.
Regulus is in heaven.
“Oh my god, Prongs—hands off my baby brother right now!”
Regulus is in hell.
“Sirius, really?” Regulus groans, wrenching himself—reluctantly—away from James. It’s not easy; they’re rather… entangled. He keeps his hands tucked under James’s shirt, though. Partly because it’s warm. Mostly to mess with his brother. The drama queen.
“Padfoot, come on,” James complains at the same time, finally detangling himself fully. A tragedy, really. Regulus is tempted to hex Sirius bald.
“I was gone for five minutes! Just five bloody minutes to grab food! And this is what I come back to? You two have zero self-control.”
“You’re being dramatic,” Regulus mutters.
“Pads,” James says, suspiciously calm, “I told you I’d never bring it up, but—remember that one night I went to the kitchens?”
“No. James. Don’t.”
“And when I came back ten minutes later—”
“NO.”
“You and Remus were—”
“Alright, FINE!” Sirius throws his hands up, scandalized. “Make out all you want, just—don’t tell my little brother about it, Prongs. That’s a low blow, even for you.”
“Deal,” James says brightly. “Regulus, get back here—”
“No! Please don’t. I don’t want to watch my best mate grope my brother. I’m not snogging Moony in front of you two, either.”
They both stare at him.
“…Okay, fine. I do, but—that’s beside the point. Just tone it down a little in front of me, yeah? Please.”
James sighs, “Since you asked so nicely—”
“No,” Regulus says, tugging James in by the collar and smashing their mouths back together. James makes a muffled sound of surprise before melting into it, his hands slipping eagerly under Regulus’s shirt once more.
Sirius sounds like he might cry. “I’m in hell.”
Regulus knows the feeling.
The compartment door creaks open again.
“Oh,” comes Remus’s voice, a little amused and a little tired, “So this is why I haven’t seen my patrol partner in twenty minutes.”
James detaches his mouth with a guilty grin. “Sorry, Moons. Got... distracted.”
Remus raises an eyebrow at the scene—Sirius looking scandalized and betrayed, Regulus half in James’s lap, shirts slightly rumpled—and sighs. “I don’t even want to know.”
“Please do,” Sirius mutters. “Join me in my suffering.”
Remus just shakes his head. “I’m going to the Prefect’s carriage. If I don’t make it back, assume I’ve jumped.”
He shuts the door behind him.
Regulus snorts, burying his face in James’s shoulder. “We’re going to get hexed.”
“Totally worth it,” James says, and kisses him again.
Sirius groans.
---
At some point, they’d managed to stop making out.
They played Exploding Snap with Sirius until Remus returned from the Prefect’s compartment, and then—somehow—Regulus ended up falling asleep in James’s lap. He’s not entirely sure how that happened, but when he starts to stir, blinking his way back to consciousness, one thing is clear: he feels good.
Really good.
It’s warm. Comfortable. He’s curled up in his boyfriend’s arms, the low hum of the train still rumbling under them. There’s a hand gently carding through his hair—
Wait.
There’s a hand in his hair.
Now, Regulus is well aware that James has a thing about his hair. He’s constantly going on about how soft it looks, how his curls are “ridiculously cute”—which always earns him a sharp glare in return. Because Regulus is not cute, thank you very much.
And yes, during their snogging sessions, James’s hands inevitably find their way into his hair. But this is different. This is unearned. Unauthorized. Non-snog hair-touching. Which Regulus does not allow.
No one touches his hair. Not unless your name is Euphemia Potter… or, occasionally, Pandora Lovegood, and only if he’s in a good mood.
So why does this feel like absolute heaven?
Salazar, it’s divine. No wonder people like this.
But he cannot—cannot—let James know that.
So he does what any emotionally repressed Slytherin would do. He pretends to still be asleep.
“Reg, I know you’re awake, love.”
Really? Fuck.
“No, ‘m not,” Regulus mumbles, voice thick with faux-sleep.
James chuckles softly but—praise Merlin—keeps playing with his hair.
“You know,” he says, light and teasing, “if you secretly like me playing with your hair, you can just say so. No shame in it, honestly.”
Regulus peeks up at him with a scowl and starts to sit up. “I do not like it.”
“Suuure.”
“I really don’t.”
“Reg, love, you’re a terrible liar. Your nose always scrunches up in that adorable way—”
“I’m not adorable.”
“You absolutely are. But listen, if you really want me to stop, I will. Of course I will. But…” James gives him a meaningful look. “You did say you’re trying to ask for the things you need or want.”
Regulus narrows his eyes. “That’s low. Just admit it—you’re the one who wants to touch my hair.”
“Well, yeah,” James says, grinning. “I do. But only if you like it.”
Regulus hesitates for a beat, then mumbles, almost too quietly, “You can keep playing with it.”
He drops his head back into James’s lap with the melodrama of someone submitting to fate.
James lights up, immediately resuming the soft, rhythmic strokes through his curls.
Regulus giggles.
He actually giggles.
Horrified, he slaps a hand over his mouth, but it’s too late. The sound is out there. In the world. Irrevocable.
James laughs, pleased with himself, and doesn’t stop playing with his hair.
“Godric,” comes Sirius’s voice, dripping with disgust, “you two are disgusting.”
Oh. Right. That. Sirius is still here.
“Fuck off, Siri,” Regulus mutters, voice muffled against James’s leg. “You’re just jealous no one’s playing with your hair.”
Sirius snorts. “Reggie. Look up.”
Regulus cracks one eye open.
Oh.
Right. That’s Remus sitting beside Sirius, absentmindedly twirling his fingers through his hair. Sirius looks smug as hell.
“Oh,” Regulus sighs, closing his eyes again. “I stand corrected.”
Sirius just chuckles.
The train begins to slow not long after that, the brakes hissing gently as they near the station.
Regulus hums contentedly as James’s fingers keep moving through his hair.
Yeah. He could get used to this.
The train comes to a full stop with a soft jolt, the familiar screech of brakes followed by the loud clatter of students leaping into the corridor and dragging their trunks along behind them.
Regulus sits up reluctantly, James helping him with a steadying hand at the small of his back. His hair is a mess—thanks, James—and he should probably care more, but he doesn’t. Not when James is smiling at him like that, all warm eyes and quiet affection.
They’d agreed they wouldn’t make a big deal out of it. No dramatic announcements. No hand-holding just to make a point. They’ll tell Effie and Monty when they get home. Like normal people.
Still, as Regulus steps off the train and spots them waiting on the platform, something clenches tight in his chest.
Effie waves the moment she sees them, beaming like the sun. Monty stands beside her, one hand shoved into the pocket of his coat, the other lifting in a small wave. Calm. Steady. Safe.
Regulus is hit with it all at once—the noise, the cold air, the smell of smoke and metal—and then her arms are around him.
“Hello, darling,” Effie says, voice warm against his ear.
Regulus freezes for half a second, overwhelmed, and then melts into the hug. His own arms come up around her waist, holding tight. She smells like lavender and shortbread.
“Hi,” he says, and his voice comes out quieter than he means it to. He clears his throat. “Hi, Effie.”
She pulls back just enough to cup his face in her hands. “You look tired. And entirely too pretty for your own good.”
He rolls his eyes, but it’s instinctive, the kind of reaction that’s safe to have around her. That realization hits him like a gentle wave.
Monty steps in next, and without a word, pulls him into a brief but solid hug. It’s awkward—Regulus isn’t used to fatherly affection—but it’s not unwelcome. Not even a little.
“Good to see you, Regulus,” Monty says simply.
“You too,” Regulus replies. And he means it.
James is standing beside them, chatting with Sirius and Remus, but his eyes keep flicking back to Regulus. There's pride there, and something else—something quiet and certain that settles in Regulus’s chest like a warm stone.
When Effie pulls James and then Sirius into her arms next, Regulus moves to stand beside Monty, who offers him a small, knowing smile.
“Did you have a good train ride?” Monty asks.
Regulus nods. “Yeah. It was…good.”
Effie turns to look at both of them, one arm around Sirius, the other reaching for Regulus again like she doesn’t want to let either of them go. “We’ve got dinner ready at home. Your favorite, Jamie. And yours too, Regulus. You do still like lemon roasted chicken, don’t you?”
“Mum, don’t call me that.”, James frowns a little at the nickname which makes Regulus feel…smug. Because he loves it when he calls him Jamie. Effie just ruffles James’s hair again.
Regulus blinks. “I—yeah. I do.”
“Wonderful. You can tell us all about your term over dessert.”
Regulus feels James step a little closer, their arms just barely brushing.
He doesn’t flinch away.
He feels…good.
They’ll tell them tonight. No dramatics. Just honesty.
But for now, Regulus lets Effie ruffle his hair, lets Monty take his trunk with a quiet “I’ve got it,” and lets James bump their shoulders together like a secret promise.
He’s okay.
He’s better than okay.
He’s home.
---
Dinner is... stressful.
Delicious, of course. The Potters know how to cook, and the food is comforting in that rich, warm, homemade way Regulus rarely lets himself admit he craves. But his stomach is tying itself into more knots than even Effie’s perfectly braided bread rolls.
James is laughing at something Sirius said. Regulus is trying to act normal, but his knee keeps bouncing under the table and he’s pretty sure he’s using the wrong fork for everything. He’s barely spoken. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because the words keep getting stuck in his throat.
They said they’d tell them tonight.
Easy. Just… say it.
Except it isn’t easy. Not with Euphemia Potter sitting across from him looking like some kind of warm, maternal sunbeam. Not with Monty’s calm, curious eyes occasionally flicking toward him like he knows something’s up. Not with Sirius right next to him, grinning knowingly every time Regulus tries to meet James’s gaze and then instantly looks away.
“So,” Effie says lightly, sipping her wine, “any exciting news from school?”
Regulus almost drops his glass.
James straightens in his seat. “Uh, well… Not— I mean, nothing like—”
Sirius snorts into his potatoes.
Monty raises an eyebrow. “Something we should know?”
James glances at Regulus. Regulus glares at James. Do not look at me like this is my job.
“Well, we’ve, um…” James fidgets with his napkin. “There’s been, er—Reg and I—we’ve kind of…”
“Oh my god,” Sirius says. “Just spit it out.”
Regulus wants to throw his knife at him.
“I just—” James tries again. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together, and—”
“We’re dating,” Regulus blurts out, eyes wide.
The room goes very still.
Sirius nods sagely and keeps eating like this is the least surprising thing in the world.
Effie blinks. Monty doesn’t say anything. Regulus can feel their surprise radiating across the table.
And then—it happens.
“I’m in love with him. I love James,” Regulus says.
Everyone freezes.
He freezes.
He hadn’t meant to say that.
Oh no.
He said love. Not like. Not tolerate, not emotionally tolerate but with kissing—he said love.
He just admitted, out loud, in front of James’s parents that he loves James Potter.
Oh fuck.
James stares at him.
Regulus stares back, eyes wide like he’s just thrown himself off a cliff.
And then James grins.
Big. Bright. Completely stunned but somehow still so sure.
“I love you too,” James says immediately.
Regulus’s heart is not okay. What? Did James just-
“I love you too,” James repeats, beaming now. “I love you, I love you, I love you—Reg, I can’t believe you said it first.”
Regulus makes a strangled noise.
Effie has one hand over her heart, eyes sparkling. Monty just looks quietly delighted.
Sirius is groaning. “Merlin, that’s so annoying but also really sweet somehow.”
James turns to Regulus, who’s still halfway frozen, but smiling now. Stupidly. Softly. Like he’s never smiled before in his life and now suddenly can’t stop.
James leans in and kisses him.
Just a quick one. Gentle. Familiar. But it feels like fireworks going off in Regulus’s chest.
Sirius makes a dramatic retching noise.
Effie swats him. “Oh hush, let them have their moment.”
“Are you two going to float off into the clouds now or…?”
“Working on it,” James says cheerfully, already standing and tugging Regulus up by the hand.
Regulus doesn’t even fight it. He just lets himself be pulled, still dazed.
They’re halfway to James’s room when they hear it—Effie and Monty laughing in the dining room.
And Sirius’s voice carrying after them: “They’ve been like this the whole bloody time. It’s unbearable.”
James just squeezes his hand, still grinning.
Regulus leans into him.
And this time, he doesn’t feel nervous at all.
James’s room smells like cedarwood and lemon shampoo and something soft Regulus can’t name but thinks might just be home.
They tumble in half-laughing, flushed from the dinner, from the confession, from each other. The door clicks shut behind them and the world narrows instantly—just the two of them, the warmth between their palms, the way James is looking at him now. Like he’s a miracle. Like he’s a secret he’s never wanted to keep.
“You really love me?” James asks, voice low, a little breathless.
Regulus’s stomach flips. He could lie. He could joke. But he doesn’t.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I do.”
“I really love you too.”
And James kisses him.
Not playful. Not teasing. It’s slower now. Deeper. A kiss that says thank you for telling me, a kiss that says I’ve wanted to hear that for so long. Regulus melts into it, hands curling in the soft cotton of James’s shirt, mouth parting easily, welcoming.
He doesn't even remember moving toward the bed. But suddenly James is guiding him back, easing him down, never breaking the kiss. The world is narrowed to the feeling of James’s hands, James’s mouth, the press of their bodies slowly aligning.
It’s not desperate, not rushed. Just… inevitable.
James pulls back slightly, breathing heavy, lips kiss-swollen and pink. His eyes are shining.
“Reg,” he whispers. “Is this okay?”
Regulus nods, immediately, and then again—firmer. “Yes.”
James’s hand finds his. “Tell me if you want to stop, yeah? Anytime.”
“I know,” Regulus says. And he means it. He feels safe here. Steady. Wanted.
James kisses him again, slower still, his hands everywhere and nowhere all at once—Regulus’s waist, his cheek, the line of his jaw. Their legs tangle. Their breathing syncs. Heat blooms like a fire being fed.
The kiss turns hungry, then. Regulus tugs at James’s shirt. James groans softly into his mouth, like he’s been waiting for this forever. Maybe he has.
Clothes start to disappear in pieces, careful and slow and reverent, scattered somewhere between laughter and gasps and the whisper of fabric on skin. Every inch of contact makes Regulus’s head spin, his pulse thunder. He’s never felt like this before—bare and wanted and loved.
They don’t rush.
James treats him like something precious. Like every part of him is worth knowing, worth touching, worth keeping. And Regulus feels… good. He feels beautiful. He feels loved.
There’s more kissing. A lot more.
And when things get even closer, hotter, heavier—James pauses again, thumb brushing along Regulus’s hips.
“Still okay?”
Regulus exhales shakily, his eyes dark and soft and full. “Yeah,” he says, “I want this. I want you.”
James kisses him again. “Then I’ve got you.”
The light from the bedside lamp glows soft and gold around them. Their breaths fill the quiet. Hands map skin like sacred ground. Love hums in the space between each kiss.
And then—
The rest of the world fades away.
---
The room is quiet now.
Dark, except for the faint glow of the moon through the curtains. The only sounds are the soft rustle of the blanket when they shift, the creak of the mattress as James curls closer, and the occasional quiet puff of breath where Regulus is tucked under James’s chin.
They’re still a little tangled up. A little sweaty. Regulus is trying not to think too hard about how fast they left the dinner table. About how quickly everything happened once they got to this room. About—
“Oh Merlin,” he whispers suddenly, burying his face in James’s chest.
James freezes. “What? What’s wrong?”
Regulus groans into him. “I left dinner. With you. To have sex. With Effie and Monty’s son.”
There’s a beat of silence.
And then James laughs.
“Reg,” he murmurs, tightening his arm around him, “I think they figured that out the moment we ran off blushing like idiots.”
Regulus whacks him weakly in the side. “Don’t laugh at me, I’m having a moral crisis.”
“I’m not laughing,” James says, still very clearly laughing.
Regulus sighs dramatically. “I’m a guest in their home.”
“You’re my boyfriend,” James says, voice low now, gentle. “And you’re not a guest. You live here. You’re allowed to sneak away with me sometimes.”
They fall quiet again. James plays with his hair lazily, twirling one of his curls around his finger. Regulus relaxes into it almost without thinking.
After a minute, James clears his throat.
“Was it…” he starts. “I mean. Are you—was it okay?”
Regulus blinks up at him, surprised. “What?”
James’s face is shadowed, but his voice is careful. “I just—I want to make sure I didn’t push. That I didn’t get carried away. I meant what I said before. You can always stop me.”
Regulus stares at him for a moment. This lovely idiot. And then, softly:
“James,” he says, “it was lovely.”
James lets out a shaky breath, like he’d been holding it for an hour.
“You were lovely,” Regulus adds. “You are lovely. And I wanted that. I wanted you.”
James stills. His hand in Regulus’s hair falters.
“Say it again,” he whispers.
Regulus blinks. “What?”
“Say it again,” James repeats. “Please.”
Regulus shifts, lifts his head just enough to look at him in the dim light.
“I love you,” he says, clear and sure and all the way from the center of his chest.
James’s face breaks into the softest smile Regulus has ever seen.
“I love you too,” he says. “So much. Reg—I love you so much.”
And then they’re kissing again.
It’s slower now. Not heated, not hungry—just soft. Like a promise. Like a thank you. James kisses him like he means to remind him of every moment, every word, every touch. And Regulus kisses him back like he’s finally allowed to feel everything he’s always tried to hide.
Eventually, they settle again, tangled up and close. Regulus tucks himself against James’s chest, warm and safe, and James pulls the blanket higher over both of them.
Outside, the world keeps turning. Inside, everything is still.
And Regulus, for once, lets himself rest. In his boyfriend’s arms.
---
Regulus wakes up to the sound of birds and the horrifying realization that he’s naked in James Potter’s bed.
Correction: barely naked. There’s a sheet. Sort of. Mostly draped over James, who’s starfished and snoring beside him, blissfully unaware of the absolute existential spiral Regulus is having.
Because.
Because he did that.
He had sex. With James. With James Potter. In this house. With Effie’s roast potatoes still digesting in his stomach.
Regulus presses his palms to his face and exhales a muffled, strangled sound. He’s not ashamed. Not at all. Last night was... beautiful. Actually beautiful. He felt wanted and safe and kissed within an inch of his life. But still—he left dinner and had sex with his boyfriend and he’s going to have to make eye contact with Effie again.
He groans softly and flops back down just as James stirs, blinks sleepily at him, and grins like the smug bastard he is.
“Mornin’, love,” he mumbles, voice raspy with sleep.
Regulus narrows his eyes. “I cannot believe you corrupted me under your parents’ roof.”
James just beams and stretches like a smug cat. “I think you corrupted me, actually. You’re very persuasive when you climb into my lap and say things like—”
“Don’t,” Regulus warns, throwing the pillow at him.
James catches it one-handed, grinning. “Want me to say it again?”
Regulus grabs a corner of the blanket and wraps himself up like a traumatized burrito. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“…No. I don’t.”
They’re both laughing by the time they manage to get dressed—James in yesterday’s shirt and trackpants, Regulus in an oversized jumper he stole from the floor and a pair of pyjama bottoms that are definitely too big for him. It’s scandalous.
When they stumble into the kitchen, Effie is humming and sipping tea, Monty is reading the paper upside-down, and Sirius is halfway through a piece of toast. All three look up.
Regulus freezes. James bumps into him from behind.
Effie just raises a brow. “Morning, darlings. Sleep well?”
Regulus is about to combust. “Yes, thank you,” he says, voice far too high.
Sirius snorts immediately.
Monty folds the paper and says very casually, “Would you boys like some eggs, or are you still full from, ah… last night?”
James chokes.
Regulus physically walks out of the kitchen and then back in because he realizes he still wants tea. He avoids all eye contact and pours it with trembling hands while Sirius wheezes into his orange juice.
James, traitor that he is, throws an arm around Regulus’s shoulders and says brightly, “We’re very full, thank you, Dad. Last night was extremely satisfying.”
Regulus kicks him in the shin under the table.
Monty just sips his tea, entirely unfazed. Effie pats Regulus’s hand when he sits down, still red.
“I like seeing you in James’s jumper,” she says sweetly. “You look very cozy.”
Sirius makes a strangled sound. “Effie, please, I’m trying to eat.”
“I was just being nice,” Effie says, not at all innocent. “But if they wanted to go upstairs and be cozy again—”
“Mum!”
Regulus hides behind his tea. James is still laughing.
They manage breakfast without further emotional scarring (barely), and later, when they’re alone in the living room and James is cuddled up on the couch while Regulus is inspecting the tragic state of his hair in the mirror, James says softly, “You okay?”
Regulus glances over. Then he walks over, climbs onto the bed, and settles right into James’s arms like he never wants to be anywhere else.
“I’m more than okay,” he says. “You’re annoying. And cocky. And absolutely insufferable.”
James kisses his forehead. “But…?”
Regulus sighs, smiling. “But...you’re good in bed.”
James grins. “Thanks, Reg. Not what I meant though.”
Regulus rolls his eyes but says it anyway. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
And then they’re kissing again. And honestly, if they end up missing lunch too… well. Right now, he doesn’t give one fuck.
---
Regulus finds Effie and Monty in the garden after lunch (which they didn’t miss), sitting beneath the old apple tree like they’ve lived here for a hundred years and have never once raised their voices. Monty’s got a glass of lemonade, Effie’s reading a book with her legs curled beneath her, and there’s a certain glow around them that makes Regulus feel both warm and vaguely ill.
He clears his throat.
Effie looks up immediately, smiling. “Hello, darling.”
“Hi,” Regulus says, then clears his throat again. “Er—can I… talk to you both?”
Monty lowers his glass and quirks a brow. “Of course. Is everything alright?”
“Yes. I mean—yes, I think. I hope. It’s just—about last night.”
Effie pats the cushion beside her and Regulus sits down, hands clasped tightly in his lap.
“I just wanted to say sorry,” he blurts. “For dropping the whole dating thing like that and then immediately leaving the table. That was… rude. And possibly dramatic. And also probably a bit—er—inappropriate. I know I’m not exactly known for my social finesse but that was—”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Effie says with a laugh, reaching over to gently touch his arm. “It wasn’t rude. It was adorable.”
“Utterly romantic,” Monty agrees. “I thought you were going to explode from nerves.”
“I was,” Regulus mutters. “And then I said the love thing and everyone stared and I panicked and then we—uh—left.”
Effie’s eyes sparkle. “And ended up in James’s room.”
Regulus turns scarlet. “Yes. I apologize again for—”
“Darling,” Monty cuts in, voice warm and amused, “you don’t need to apologize. You’re two young people in love. It’s a beautiful thing.”
Effie nods sagely. “Honestly, I thought it might happen sooner. James has been mooning over you since the Christmas holidays. He wrote poetry, Regulus. Thought we wouldn’t notice.”
Regulus blinks. “He what?”
“Terrible poetry,” Monty adds with a grin. “But heartfelt.”
“Oh Merlin.”
Effie squeezes his hand. “We’re happy, Regulus. Really. We love you, and we’re so glad you and James have found your way to each other.”
Regulus swallows. His throat’s a little tight. “You… really mean that?”
“Of course,” Effie says, then winks. “Though if you keep sneaking off to snog him in the middle of meals, we might have to institute a no-kissing-at-the-table rule.”
Regulus groans. “Please don’t tell Sirius that. He’ll never let it go.”
Monty chuckles. “Too late. He’s already drawing up a list of punishments.”
Effie gives him one last pat. “You’re part of the family now, Regulus. Which means you’re stuck with all of us.”
She pauses, then adds with a teasing smile, “And when you marry James, you’ll be a Potter for real. I cannot wait to call you my son-in-law.”
Regulus nearly chokes on air. “I—what—”
“Oh, relax, darling. I’m just planning the seating chart.”
Monty laughs, Effie grins, and Regulus hides his face in his hands, but he’s smiling under there. He really is.
---
Later that day, when they’re all in the garden after dinner and some Quidditch with Sirius, Regulus confronts his boyfriend.
„Sooo…”, he starts, smirking a little, “you wrote poems about me?”
James lets himself fall into the grass and groans.
Regulus laughs.