vignettes

James has had a long fucking day. He can’t remember the last time he had this much paperwork, this many contracts demanding his attention. Usually he would walk in the door of the flat he shares with his boyfriend and go straight for the liquor cabinet, a nice Scotch to salve his frayed nerves, but tonight he craves something different. Something sweeter.

This is how he finds himself debauched, shirt half-off his shoulders and tie haphazardly tossed aside, lying on the plush carpet of their living room, face buried between Regulus’ thighs, spit and cum dribbling in rivulets down his chin.

It started when he walked through the front door and Regulus greeted him in the hallway, gray joggers low on his hips, one of James’ old shirts cut into a crop top, exposing the taut expanse of his stomach. That damn JFP tattoo that makes James run circles around himself when he sees it.

“Hey, James.” Regulus tossed a towel over his shoulder; it caught some of his curls, ruffling his hair. “You’re home earlier than I thought. Dinner isn’t ready yet.”

Regulus, a chef. Content to make everything under the sun and then some. James never complains, though sometimes he does feel a bit bad. On those nights, he refuses to let Regulus cook. Makes them grilled cheese like Euphemia taught him and hopes for the best.

“Couldn’t take another second at the office.” James dropped his briefcase and yanked at his tie. “You look—Well, fucking delicious.”

Regulus cocked his head. He leaned against the wall, a slight grin on his full lips. “You think?”

“How long before dinner is ready?”

“It has to simmer for twenty-five minutes.”

James grinned. “That’s a perfect amount of time for me to eat you out.”

Regulus’ skin flushed pink right to the high point of his cheekbones. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I’ve had a long day, and all I want right now is for you to sit on my face.” James shrugged his jacket off and dropped it on the floor. He didn’t care about it. He had plenty more. “Come on, love. We only have twenty-five minutes and I want to use all twenty-five.”

And Regulus, never one to tell him no with too much bite, was on him in a second. Arms and legs wrapped around him, kissing James with reckless abandon. James walked them into the living room and laid Regulus on the plush carpet. They worked most of their clothes off, but James was only concerned with the joggers.

Regulus hardly ever wore anything underneath.

James pressed his thumb to the apex of Regulus’ thighs and smiled at the whimper that tumbled off his lips. “Fucking incredible. I missed you.”

“Not sure if you’re talking to me or what’s between my legs,” muttered Regulus, squirming under the pressure of James’ thumb on his clit. Close but not moving; torture.

James swirled his thumb, gentle, and delighted in the arch of Regulus’ back. “Both, baby. Always both.” Then he ducked down, arms under Regulus’ thighs, hands on his stomach, and mouth running up Regulus’ slit, collecting the taste of him on his tongue.

It was after about ten minutes of this, of James savoring every lick and suck and nip like it would be his last meal, that Regulus managed, barely coherent, “Let me—fuck—let me ride your face. James.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” James pulled back just enough for Regulus to slip out from underneath him, then turned to lie flat. He expected Regulus to sit the way he always does, but he merely shifted forward, sitting backwards. “Oh, that’s new.”

“Too lazy to turn around.” Regulus laid his palms flat on James’ chest. “You can—Shit, James. That feels—”

But his voice broke, shattered, and this is how James came to be under Regulus in their living room, the taste of him so addicting that James isn’t willing to stop. Doesn’t want to. Refuses. He keeps bringing Regulus to the edge, but won’t let him fall over.

“I’m gonna—” is the start that gets James to stop. Even when Regulus grinds down on him, searching for the last bit of pressure that will send him over, James just gives him kitten licks, soft little kisses that do nothing for him but make him growl in frustration.

“James, we don’t have time for you to be coy.”

“Twenty-five minutes, baby.” James’ tongue darts in, then out, then in again. Swirls around his entrance, tasting.

“Yes, but that was twenty minutes ago.”

James blows warm breath over Regulus, laughing when he shivers, thighs quivering around James’ head. “Fine. You’re just so delicious and I needed this.”

“You can fuck me after dinner,” Regulus points out. He leans back, adjusts his position, and suddenly there are two hands on James’ throat. Not applying too much pressure, but holding Regulus aloft. Cool rings press into James’ hot skin. “So make me come now.”

James doesn’t argue. He gets back to his ministrations, tongue and mouth working in perfect synchronization to bring Regulus back to the edge. Truly, eating Regulus out is only trumped by fucking him. But James could do this all day.

There’s a squeeze at his throat, fingers digging in. “James,” warns Regulus in a broken voice. “One minute.”

His jaw aches, his face is shiny with spit and cum, and there is nothing he loves more than this. James swirls his tongue around Regulus’ clit, groaning when the pressure on his neck increases, a warning, and he runs the tip of it back through wet folds, long strips that he knows Regulus loves.

“Fuck, I’m—Don’t you dare fucking stop,” Regulus grits out, and now his hands are squeezing hard enough that James isn’t breathing. Regulus grinds down on his face, uses his mouth and tongue, and James lets himself be used so Regulus can chase the edge and fall right over.

He’d do anything for Regulus, after all. Bend himself backward and let himself snap if it’s what Regulus asked of him. He’s putty in the hands of the man above him.

It’s at the exact moment the timer in the kitchen goes off that Regulus comes, his orgasm so intense it shakes his entire body, thighs clenching around James. His vision has gone a little spotty from lack of oxygen, but the hands on his neck loosen when cum hits his tongue. He laps at it eagerly as his lungs fill with air, and it makes the whole experience that much more intense.

Regulus is everywhere, the taste and smell and feel of him, and James forgets all about contracts and irritating clients and whatever else he dealt with at work. He’s floating on a cloud that is shaped with all of Regulus’ dips and valleys.

“Shit, the fucking pasta,” mutters Regulus, struggling to his feet.

James whines at the loss of him; he wants to keep Regulus firmly seated on his face. He’s aching in his suit trousers, hard and desperate for relief, but Regulus is gone, disappearing into the kitchen at a run.

James licks his lips, grinning. Blissed out. He stretches like a cat, then reaches down to press the heel of his hand to his cock. The pressure helps a little, at least.

“You’re so lucky the pasta isn’t ruined.” Regulus comes to stand over him, lips pursed and brow arched. “You look like a fucking mess.”

“Thank you.” James grins stupidly up at him. “Now we eat?”

“No. The sauce is simmering.” Regulus presses his foot to James’ cock through his trousers. It rips a groan out of James’ throat. “Ten minutes.”

James grins, eyes rolling back in his head when Regulus applies a little more pressure. “I’ve fucked you in half that.”

“And I expect you to do it again.”

This time, they don’t hear the timer. James is buried in Regulus, fucking him into the couch, and Regulus is loud, begging for more, for James to go harder. It’s twenty minutes later, after Regulus has come twice more and James spills inside him, that they remember the pasta.

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” Regulus shoves curls off his sweat-slicked forehead. His ankles are crossed at James’ lower back, holding him inside. “It was a new recipe.”

“S’fine, love,” James mumbles into his neck. He feels loose, all of his threads scattered and content. “I’ll just make us grilled cheese.”