Santa Claus
Harry was supposed to be asleep. It was Christmas Eve —- practically Christmas as it was rapidly nearing midnight —- and James was setting up presents. He loved doing this. He wore a Santa costume, and Regulus would watch with a cup of tea, making borderline (crossing, actually) sexual remarks about James’ ass. It was the best time. So when Regulus decided to treat his husband with a little kiss after setting up the presents oh so prettily and Harry “just-so-happened” to need a drink that exact nanosecond, well it was just hilarious.
Regulus rushed Harry back off to bed as James hid his face to avoid ruining the magic for him. But the following morning was the funniest thing James had seen in a while.
“Dada! Dada! I saw Papa kissing Santy Claws!!” Harry shouted from his place on the chair as James entered the kitchen. Harry was already eating pancakes, chocolate syrup and whipped cream around his mouth. It seemed Regulus had tried to bribe Harry’s silence, but very unsuccessfully.
“Oh, did you now? And what exactly was Papa doing kissing Santa Claus?” James replies with a smug smile, looking at Regulus amusedly, who crossed his arms and pouted grumpily.
“Oh, nothing, he just looked very pretty last night and he wanted a kiss,” Regulus says smoothly, cleaning Harry up as he finished
his pancakes and letting him run out to the living room to eagerly open presents as his dads lingered in the kitchen.
“I seem to recall you saying something else of Santa’s was quite pretty, too,” James whispers slowly, gently kissing Regulus’ lips with a smirk. Harry’s voice sounds from the living room, impatient.
“Dada!! Papa!! Presents!!!”