I Know Enough
Regulus hadn’t heard from James in two weeks—two agonizingly long weeks since that impulsive, stolen kiss that left him reeling. He checked his phone obsessively, a foolish hope simmering beneath his stern self-control. Each time his screen lit up, his pulse surged with expectation, but the disappointment that followed was relentless. There was no text from James, no missed call. Nothing. A gnawing ache of humiliation nestled in his chest as the harsh truth settled in: he had let himself believe, just for a moment, that maybe James did want to get things right. But it seemed James had no trouble leaving him behind, that fleeting kiss fading as easily as a whispered secret.
Barty, on the other hand, was a different story. They’d been hooking up whenever they could manage, entangled in moments of raw need, but Regulus knew better than to expect anything beyond the physical. Regulus knew Barty was fucking other people, which fine, it was alright. That was how they worked, anyways. It was their agreement. Regulus could taste it on Barty’s dick—the stale remnants of other people’s presence, something both intoxicating and deeply unsettling.
It reminded him of the hollow nature of their arrangement, a searing reminder that Barty’s loyalty was fractured and scattered, belonging to no one. And yet, for all his resentment, Regulus couldn’t shake the twisted pull that kept him coming back, a spiral of desire and disdain that left him feeling more isolated with each encounter. He had no right to be jealous—not when he was the one who had kissed James Potter, despite Barty’s warnings. He’d ignored every whispered caution, telling himself it was meaningless, a fleeting impulse. And besides, Barty wasn’t his to begin with; Barty made that abundantly clear each time he came and went without a second glance, pursuing others just as easily. He was free to do as he pleased, but it still stung. It was a bitter, silent betrayal, knowing that Barty had all the freedom to leave him in empty rooms, tangled in sheets that still carried the scent of someone else.
What made it worse was that while Barty was slipping further away, occupied with strangers and moments that didn’t involve him, Regulus was left in a miserable loop, thinking about James Potter. The kiss haunted him, as much for its spontaneity as for what it represented: a glimmer of something outside the hollow mess he’d entangled himself in with Barty. And yet, as much as he wanted to let go, the memory of that kiss tugged at him, reminding him of a softness he hadn’t known in years. It left him trapped in a silent, lonely resentment, wondering if either James or Barty thought of him at all.
But in contrast to James, Barty did think of Regulus—all the time. Regulus wasn’t like the others; he was the only one Barty didn’t just kick out after a night together. With Regulus, there was a lingering closeness in the aftermath, their bodies settling into the comfort of familiarity as their heartbeats slowed and breaths synced. They would lie there, sharing those quiet, weightless moments that bridged the space between friendship and something neither of them dared to name. They were best friends, and it showed. Barty never treated him like a forgettable hookup, a face to discard when the moment passed.
Maybe that’s why the recent distance gnawed at him. Regulus was used to having Barty’s attention anchored on him, a constant presence, an unspoken loyalty between them. But now, something felt off-kilter. Barty was still there, still flashing his signature smirk, still slipping into Regulus’s bed, but there was a strange detachment, like part of him was elsewhere. Regulus couldn’t quite put his finger on it; he didn’t even fully understand what he was feeling. It was just this vague, unsettling awareness that something was shifting, slipping through his fingers, and he was powerless to stop it.
Damn, why did Sirius have to come back? Ever since he showed up, everything had started unraveling. It was typical of his brother to storm back into his life and leave chaos in his wake, disrupting the fragile balance Regulus had managed to build. As far as Regulus was concerned, Sirius had a talent for ruining things—especially things Regulus had worked so hard to keep in order. And now, it felt as if every carefully placed piece in his life was shifting, cracking, all because Sirius couldn’t just stay away.
A knock echoed through the room, and for a fleeting moment, a smile tugged at his lips—Barty, he thought, surely. It was their routine: every Thursday, Barty would show up unannounced before they headed out for the night races. It was a pattern Regulus had come to rely on, a small comfort in the chaos. But as he opened the door, his anticipation drained away, replaced by a stunned disbelief.
Standing there, of all people, was James Potter.
“Potter,” he sighed, his voice tinged with annoyance as his smile melted into a scowl.
“Well, no need to act so excited,” James teased, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he leaned casually against the doorframe.
Regulus rolled his eyes, crossing his arms with deliberate indifference. “What are you doing here, Potter?” he replied, his voice laced with forced boredom, though his gaze lingered a moment too long on James.
“I was thinking…” James started, a glint of mischief in his eye.
“Oh no,” Regulus cut in sharply, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow. “You were thinking? That’d be a first.”
James rolled his eyes, brushing off the jab with a small chuckle. “Haha, very funny. But listen,” he continued, undeterred. “Seeing as we’ve got a couple of hours until the race… why don’t I take you out to dinner?”
Regulus scoffed, his expression hardening. “Are you kidding me?”
“Nope,” James replied with a grin, that irritatingly self-assured grin that always seemed to slip past Regulus’ defenses.
“You’re not taking me out,” Regulus retorted, his tone edging toward defensive, his body tensing as he kept himself firmly rooted in the doorway.
But before he could protest further, James took a step forward, gently but insistently pushing past him into the house. For reasons he couldn’t quite explain—even to himself—Regulus didn’t stop him. Instead, he stood there, watching as James surveyed the room, unbothered, as though he belonged there.
“Ah, Reg,” James sighed, shaking his head as he looked around, his gaze finally settling on him with an unmistakable warmth. “You always were quite stubborn, weren’t you?”
Regulus clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing, but his pulse betrayed him, quickening as he took in the easy confidence radiating off James. He hated how effortlessly James invaded his space, how his presence felt disarmingly natural here, stirring something Regulus couldn’t quite suppress.
"I haven’t heard from you in two weeks," Regulus pointed out, his voice cold but laced with a vulnerability he couldn’t quite mask. He squared his shoulders, forcing himself to meet James’s gaze, though a hint of frustration flickered in his eyes. "What exactly gives you the right to kiss me, vanish without a word, and then just barge into my house asking me out like it’s nothing?"
James paused, caught off guard, his playful grin faltering as he took in the tension simmering beneath Regulus’s calm exterior. Regulus was standing firm, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his posture rigid as though bracing himself. His eyes were sharp, searching James’s face for any sign of an answer, any hint of apology or explanation.
But James, after a moment, only shrugged, his confidence slipping back into place. “Look, I didn’t mean to disappear,” he said softly, stepping closer, his voice low. "But here I am now, Reg. Isn’t that worth something?”
Regulus clenched his jaw, feeling the pull of James’s words even as a part of him wanted to push him away.
“No,” Regulus retorted sharply, his voice unwavering. “It isn’t worth anything.”
“Come on, Reg,” James insisted, taking a step closer, his expression softening. “Just give me a chance. I disappeared because…” He faltered for a brief moment, his confident façade cracking just enough for Regulus to catch a glimpse of uncertainty beneath. “Well, it’s quite embarrassing, honestly,” he finally concluded, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to ease the tension building between them.
Regulus raised an eyebrow, the edges of his irritation fraying at the sight of James’s vulnerability. “Embarrassing? That’s rich coming from you,” he shot back, though the sting in his voice was softened by the slightest hint of curiosity. He could see James grappling with his words, the way his brows knitted together in thought, and it made Regulus’s resolve waver just a bit.
“Just tell me the truth, Potter,” Regulus challenged, crossing his arms tighter as if to shield himself from the unexpected rush of emotions James stirred within him. “What’s so embarrassing that you couldn’t even pick up your phone?”
“The thing is,” James began, his voice earnest as he looked straight at Regulus, “I’ve been thinking about you a lot… about us. But I’ve also been thinking about Crouch and what went down at the races. I always knew you two were close, but for him to punch me like that? He must really care about you… and that got me thinking—” He pressed on, rambling as the words spilled out in a rush, the urgency in his tone barely masking his anxiety. “I actually don’t know anything. I don’t know if you’re even single or if you’re with Barty. Maybe you’re in love with him, and I just kissed you without asking first. So, for these past two weeks, I’ve been thinking I really screwed up. Because you probably hate me now, given that I’ve completely ruined your relationship and made you cheat on him—”
“Alright, alright,” Regulus interrupted, unable to bear another second of James’s spiraling thoughts. “First of all, I don’t hate you now. I’ve always hated you. So get that through your head.” He planted his hands on his hips, leaning in slightly, a mix of irritation and amusement dancing in his eyes. “Second, you took two weeks to reach out because you thought you had homewrecker-ed my relationship?”
James seemed to latch onto that, his brow furrowing in confusion. “So you do have a relationship?” he asked, completely ignoring Regulus's disdain, his focus narrowing in on the potential revelation.
Regulus sighed, a mix of exasperation and something else he couldn’t quite identify bubbling beneath the surface. He felt a twinge of annoyance at how easily James shifted the conversation, but part of him couldn't deny the warmth that crept into his chest at the thought of being desired, even if it was wrapped in the chaos of misunderstandings.
“It’s not any of your business,” Regulus shot back, his irritation flaring.
“But it is my business,” James countered, his tone earnest, “because I want to take you out. And if you’re taken, I can’t really do that.”
“I’m not yours to take out,” Regulus snapped, lashing out a little more than he intended, his voice rising as the frustration coursed through him.
In an instant, James closed the space between them, pushing Regulus against the wall with a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder, leaning in just enough to feel the warmth radiating from him. “You were once,” he whispered, his voice low and filled with both longing and hurt, his golden eyes searching Regulus's emerald ones for some sign of what he wanted to hear.
Regulus’s breath caught in his throat, the air thickening around them as if the room had suddenly shrunk. The weight of James’s gaze held him captive, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist.
“Things change,” Regulus mumbled, the words barely escaping his lips as he tried to regain some semblance of composure.
James’s eyes flickered down to Regulus's lips, then back up, igniting a shiver that raced down Regulus’s spine. “So why did you kiss me back then?” he asked, a hint of cockiness creeping into his tone, as if daring Regulus to deny the connection that had sparked between them.
Regulus felt the heat rise to his cheeks, caught between the urge to deflect and the undeniable thrill of James's closeness. “I—” he started, but the words tangled in his throat, caught in the tension of the moment.
“Just admit it, Reg,” James pressed, a teasing lilt in his voice. “You missed me.”
Regulus shot him a scowl, a flash of annoyance igniting in his chest. “I haven’t missed you,” he retorted, shoving James away with enough force to stumble him slightly. “You treated me like shit, so no. Ex-fucking-cuse me if I don’t want to go out with you.”
James took a moment to process Regulus’s words, the weight of them hanging in the air. After a beat, he shrugged his shoulders and plummeted onto the couch, an unbothered grin spreading across his face. “Alright, fine. If you won’t go out with me, then I’ll simply stay in with you. Any movie you like?” he asked, his casualness only infuriating Regulus more.
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Regulus exclaimed, finally letting his frustration boil over. He couldn’t believe James was just planting himself in his house, annoying the hell out of him. “Get out of my house!” he demanded, his voice rising in pitch as he marched over and grabbed James by the wrist, trying to pull him up.
But James wouldn’t budge. Regulus might have been strong, but James was stronger. In a quick counter move, James seized Regulus’s wrist, pulling him forward with surprising force. Regulus found himself crashing into James’s lap, the shock of the sudden movement sending a jolt of electricity through him.
For a moment, they both froze, the air thick with an unexpected tension. Regulus’s heart raced, caught between indignation and the unbidden thrill of being so close to James. “What the hell, Potter?” he sputtered, half-heartedly trying to push himself away but failing to hide the spark of confusion and excitement in his eyes.
Face to face, James let out a cocky smirk, his golden eyes gleaming with mischief. “Hi, Reg,” he uttered, his voice low and teasing, clearly reveling in the unexpected position of having Regulus straddling him. The playful glint in his gaze only deepened the tension between them, making Regulus acutely aware of the warmth radiating from James’s body.
Regulus’s heart raced, a mix of annoyance and exhilaration flooding through him. “You think this is funny?” he shot back, trying to sound indignant, but the way James looked up at him—confident and unrepentant—made it hard to maintain his facade. The air around them crackled with an intensity that was both infuriating and intoxicating, leaving Regulus torn between wanting to push him away and the undeniable urge to lean closer.
“It’s a little funny,” James admitted, his smirk widening as he met Regulus's fiery gaze. “You always were pretty hot when you were angry.”
Regulus felt his cheeks heat at the compliment, anger mixing with an unexpected flutter of embarrassment. “That’s not the point,” he snapped, attempting to sound annoyed, but the edge in his voice faltered under the weight of James's boldness.
James leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Oh, come on. You can’t deny there’s something about this moment. I mean, look at us.” He gestured between them, his grin unwavering.
Regulus swallowed hard, the proximity amplifying the tension in the air. “You’re ridiculous,” he replied, trying to keep his tone steady, but the way James’s gaze lingered on him made it difficult to concentrate.
“Ridiculously gone for you? Sure,” James pressed on, his grin turning more playful as he shifted slightly beneath Regulus. “Can’t you feel it, Reg? I’m hard just by having you on top of me.”
Regulus felt a rush of heat wash over him, the teasing admission making his heart race in a way he couldn’t quite control. “I—” he stammered, his voice faltering as he struggled to maintain his composure. But then a scowl reappeared on his face, the annoyance almost a defense mechanism. “You don’t even know me,” he shot back, the words coming out sharper than he intended.
James tilted his head, his expression shifting from playful to serious in an instant. “I know enough,” he countered, his gaze unwavering and intense. “I know you’re fierce, stubborn, and way too captivating for your own good.”
Regulus felt his resolve weaken under the weight of those words, the tension between them palpable. The scowl on his face softened for just a moment, and he found himself caught in James's gaze, aware of how close they really were. But he didn't back down.
“That’s not enough,” Regulus shot back, his voice tinged with defiance.
“Alright,” James sighed, letting his head fall back against the couch in mock resignation. “Let’s see if this is enough then.” He paused for dramatic effect, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Your all-time favorite movie is Tangled because it starts with the sun. But your favorite underrated gem? Bones and All, because you love all things morbid and you need someone to desperately consume you—otherwise, it just isn’t love.”
Regulus blinked, caught off guard by how well James had nailed his preferences. But he refused to let that show.
“Your favorite color is bottle green,” James continued, leaning in closer, his voice lower and more intense. “It reminds you of the ocean on a stormy day. You adore the rain because it feels like you’re being baptized—even if you don’t believe in God.”
He crossed his arms, but the way James held his gaze made it hard to keep the facade.
“Your favorite book is The Song of Achilles because if it isn’t tragic, what’s the point, right?” James asked, raising an eyebrow. He paused, then continued, “And your favorite number? Eight, because it symbolizes infinity—your favorite shape and concept. It gives you hope, knowing that everything that comes and goes will come back again, and that even in the darkest moments, good can return. For you, infinity means that you are infinite. It validates your existence.”
Regulus felt the words resonate within him, but he held firm, unwilling to let his defenses slip.
“You’re a dreamer, but you pretend not to be, masking your illusions under the guise of reality,” James said, his tone turning softer. “But you hate reality. You fear it. Nothing scares you—except that.”
Regulus's breath caught as he felt exposed, like James was peeling back his layers.
“You love terror because beauty is terror,” James continued, his gaze unwavering. “Your favorite horror movie is IT, but it’s not the one that truly scares you. That honor goes to Hereditary—because it has a brilliant plot, incredible acting, and the best jump scares. You thrive on the rush of fear, don’t you?”
Regulus finally broke eye contact, shifting uncomfortably in James’s lap, a mix of irritation and curiosity swirling within him. How could James know all this? It was infuriating yet disarmingly intimate.
“Potter—” Regulus tried to interject, but James cut him off.
“I’m not done,” James said firmly, his voice steady as he leaned in closer, fully capturing Regulus’s attention. “Your favorite season is winter because snow acts like a soundproofing blanket over the world. It gives you a moment of quiet inside your head, doesn’t it?”
“And you think you’re second best in everything because Sirius was always first,” James continued, his tone now softer, almost contemplative. “But you’re not. You’re actually first in so much more than he is—in piano, violin, and in devouring books. You excel in every subject, consistently earning the top grades in your class.”
Regulus’s heart raced as James laid bare his accomplishments, and he fought against the swell of pride and embarrassment threatening to surface.
“Astronomy was always your best course, too,” James said, his voice rich with sincerity. “You learned all about the stars when you were little. Those late nights spent gazing up at the sky, dreaming of far-off worlds. That passion? It’s something Sirius never understood.”
“Because unlike Sirius, who made reality his playground, you’ve never had that privilege,” James said, his voice laced with understanding. “You don’t feel like you have the right to rebel, so you’re trapped, left to navigate the shadows of expectation. All that’s left for you is to dream.”
Regulus felt a knot form in his stomach at James’s words. They cut deep, exposing a part of him he often kept hidden. He shifted slightly, unable to meet James's gaze, feeling both exposed and seen. The truth hung heavy in the air between them, a reminder of the weight he carried daily. James’s insight was unnervingly accurate, and it sent a shiver down Regulus’s spine.
“You’ve built walls to protect yourself,” James continued, his voice gentle but firm, “but those walls also keep you from living. You’re so much more than what others see, and I can help you break free from that if you let me.”
“Want me to keep going?” James asked, a playful yet earnest glint in his eyes. “Because I will, you know? I can tell you how you’re drawn to chaos even when your mind screams for peace. I could describe that little scar on your cheekbone from when you were distracted during archery practice. Or how you can’t stand coffee because you detest both its smell and taste, yet you still reach for energy drinks sometimes, even though you loathe those too. And tea? Forget it—anything warm just isn’t your style. That’s probably why you can’t stand me,” he teased, a smirk creeping onto his face.
Regulus felt the heat rise in his cheeks, a mix of irritation and something else—something that fluttered just beneath the surface. James’s hands tightened around his waist, anchoring him in place, and he felt as if the air had thickened around them. “Your hands are always cold,” James continued, his tone shifting slightly, “even though your mouth runs hot. And—”
“Stop,” Regulus interjected, his voice slicing through the ramble. It was too overwhelming, the way James dissected him so effortlessly, like he could see right through the walls he’d built. The grip on his waist felt too intimate, too consuming, and for a brief moment, he was paralyzed
“What's wrong?” James asked, his brow furrowing with genuine concern. “Is that not enough for you?” His voice was softer now, laced with an urgency that pulled at Regulus. The teasing light in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a seriousness that made the air between them feel charged.
“How do you—” Regulus started, his voice trailing off as the weight of the moment pressed down on him. “How do you know all that?” He looked at James, his heart racing, trying to reconcile the boy he thought he knew with the depth of this unexpected insight.
“Well, isn’t it obvious?” James replied, a hint of exasperation in his tone. He leaned in slightly, his golden eyes locking onto Regulus’s. “I pay attention.”
James noticed the hesitation in Regulus’s posture, the way his breath hitched just slightly. There was a storm brewing in those stormy emerald eyes, which held an unexpected hint of blue—like staring into the depths of the ocean. James felt an overwhelming urge to dive in, to devour him whole.
“Please, Reg,” he pleaded, his voice low and earnest. “I know I was a dick. I get that you hate me, and honestly, I don’t deserve you because you’re far too good for me. But it’s been five years… just give me a chance. Things change. I’ve changed, too. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t mean it.”
Regulus let out a heavy sigh, his defenses still firm but cracking ever so slightly. “What if it’s me who doesn’t want you?” he shot back, the challenge in his tone cutting through the air. “What if I want to use you now?” His eyes sparkled with mischief, hinting at a playful defiance, yet there was a deeper vulnerability lurking beneath the surface.
“You want to use me? Go ahead,” James challenged, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “I wouldn’t mind a little revenge if it means I get to taste you again.” His voice was laced with a playful confidence, but there was an undeniable hunger behind his words, a longing that made the air between them crackle with tension. James leaned in slightly, his gaze locked onto Regulus’s, daring him to take the bait.
And after a heartbeat of hesitation, Regulus leaned in, closing the distance between them. He caught James’s lips with his own, the kiss igniting a spark that surged through him. It was tentative at first, a delicate exploration, but as the warmth of their connection deepened, Regulus felt a rush of emotion flood through him, a mix of defiance and desire that left him breathless.
James’s hands slid beneath Regulus’s shirt, fingertips tracing the contours of skin he hadn’t touched since he was seventeen. The kiss quickly intensified, morphing into a desperate collision of lips and breath. Regulus wrapped his arms around James's neck, anchoring himself as he deepened the kiss, his fingers roaming over the warm skin, igniting a fire that surged through both of them. Their breaths mingled, quickening with the electricity of the moment, as the world around them faded into a blur of longing and forgotten intimacy.
James gently bit down on his lip, tugging it teasingly, coaxing a low moan from Regulus that sent shivers down his spine. He then trailed his lips from Regulus’s mouth to his cheek, savoring the warmth of his skin, before moving to his jaw, planting soft kisses that made Regulus’s breath hitch. Finally, he pressed his lips against Regulus’s neck.
The truth was, when he returned to London just a few weeks ago, fawning over Regulus Black hadn't been part of his plans. He often regretted how he had treated Regulus during their younger years, but being away from him had created a distance that made it easier to push those memories aside. It was harsh to admit, but it was the truth. However, two weeks ago, when James spotted Regulus standing there, watching the race, it felt as if all the air had been siphoned from his lungs. He had forgotten just how breathtakingly beautiful Regulus was, and the sight of him reignited feelings he thought he had buried deep. He was getting him back, even if it meant it would be the last thing James Potter ever did.
So yes, in this moment, he savored the taste of Regulus’s skin against his lips. Regulus didn’t owe him a damn thing, and after this, he might never want to see James again. Perhaps this was all he would ever get, and he refused to let it go to waste. Regulus felt exquisite under his touch, driving James to the brink of madness. He bit down on Regulus’s neck, recalling how it used to drive him wild. Suddenly, Regulus tangled his fingers in James's hair, tugging just enough to create a thrilling blend of pain and pleasure. James groaned into him, a desperate plea for more.
James was so hard in his pants that he felt he might burst at any moment. It was saying a lot, considering Regulus hadn’t even knelt before him yet.
In an instant, James yanked Regulus's shirt over his head, an urgent need to see every inch of him taking hold. He wanted to make Regulus feel good for all the times he hadn’t before. With eager hands, he unzipped Regulus's pants, ready to dive beneath the fabric. But Regulus stopped him, a flicker of fear shadowing his features. James paused, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze.
“Hey,” he murmured softly. “This time, it’s you using me, remember? You have nothing to worry about.”
Regulus swallowed hard, nerves creeping into his cheeks, painting them with a soft blush. He wanted this—there was no doubt about that—but how could he not be scared after what had happened last time? What if this was another mistake?
“You’re not gonna—” Regulus began, his voice trembling.
“I’m not ditching you,” James interrupted, his tone steady and reassuring. “I’m not that guy anymore. But you could ditch me if you wanted.”
And that was all it took. Regulus took James’s hand, guiding it beneath the fabric. The moment their skin met, a soft moan escaped Regulus's lips, a sound that revealed just how much he had missed James's touch—more than he cared to admit.
James began to stroke, moving his hand up and down with a deliberate rhythm, relishing the way Regulus unraveled beneath him. Each shiver and gasp drew him deeper into the moment, igniting a fire that had long been dormant between them.
“You’re so good for me,” James said, a slow smirk creeping onto his face.
“Shut up, Potter,” Regulus shot back, his tone defiant. Yet, it didn’t take long for him to grab the hem of James’s shirt, tugging it upward with a sudden urgency that belied his words.
Regulus let his hands wander down James's abdomen, kissing him deeply while biting his lip a bit more aggressively than he intended. James deserved it; after all, a little pain was only fair. Yet, to Regulus's surprise, James didn’t seem to mind—in fact, he was quietly reveling in the roughness. As Regulus's whimpers grew heavier and louder, James's hand moved with increasing urgency beneath him.
Because he had missed this—missed having Regulus on top of him, under him, simply… on him in every sense of the word. He hadn’t truly understood what it meant to want him until he lost him. After moving on from Lily, he had made peace with the heartache she caused. The truth about getting over someone is that the deeper your connection, the easier it is to let them go. But he never took the time to truly know Regulus. Even when buried deep within the recesses of his mind, Regulus never really left him. James was only just beginning to realize this now.
He felt the unmistakable sound of his own zipper being undone by Regulus, and that only urged him to quicken his own movements. Regulus’s hand faltered for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden intensity. James heard him swallow, a nervous sound that only heightened the electricity between them.
Then Regulus’s hand slipped beneath his pants, and he began to stroke as well. They were both lost in a rhythm, kissing and panting as they explored each other, their free hands tangled in hair and gripping skin. James moved his other hand to Regulus’s neck, applying just enough pressure to create a tantalizing choke.
Regulus let out a surprised yelp as James suddenly pulled both their hands away and pushed him down, his knees hitting the floor with a soft thud. Now on his knees, Regulus wasted no time in yanking James’s jeans down, along with his underwear. He looked up at him with those captivating eyes, and James felt his heart race. Regulus was breathtaking like this, and the sight sent a rush of heat through him.
Without a moment's hesitation, Regulus took him into his mouth, his tongue swirling expertly around James’s length. "Fuck," James gasped, his eyes widening in a mix of surprise and pleasure.
Regulus bobbed his head rhythmically, and James felt his head fall back against the couch, overwhelmed by a pleasure that defied description. He grasped Regulus's hair, urging him deeper, eliciting a muffled gasp from his lips that only heightened James's arousal. Each movement sent waves of ecstasy coursing through him, blurring the line between control and surrender.
“Reggie-” James panted.
The air was thick with desire, and beads of sweat began to form on their skin, mingling with the heat of the moment.
Regulus teased with his tongue, exploring every inch of James. His eyes were watery but he kept going. If anyone was going to be the undoing of James Potter, it was going to be him. Even if he was down on his knees, it was him who remained on top. He had the power here. Watching what he did to James was extremely arousing.
James shifted his gaze towards him, and caught his jaw in between his fingers, tilting his head up to get a good look on him. He was already a mess, with his lips glossy, wet and chaotic whilst his eyes were wet with tears. Regulus looked so angelic.
Regulus pulled away, a teasing glint in his eyes. “You like that?” he asked before taking him back into his mouth.
“Hm-hm,” James managed, his breath hitching at the sensation. “Keep going.”
Regulus did just that, continuing until James finally reached his peak, filling his mouth. The taste was thick and salty, flooding his senses. As he savored it, Regulus struggled against a rush of emotions he thought he had buried deep within himself.
Then, without giving Regulus a moment to process, James yanked him up and captured his lips in a heated kiss, tasting his own cum on Regulus's tongue. When there was nothing left to savor, he lifted Regulus, pulled his pants down, and shoved him onto the couch. Regulus's chest pressed against the cushions, his ass arched invitingly toward James, anticipation crackling in the air between them.
James climbed on top of Regulus and, in one swift motion, thrust himself inside. He gripped Regulus's hair, pulling him upward, forcing his neck to arch back. The action drew a loud moan from Regulus, a sound that resonated deep within James, fueling his desire even further.
“Tell me you want me,” James pleaded, driving into Regulus with a relentless rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through them both.
“I hate you,” Regulus gasped, his voice strained yet laced with undeniable desire, his mind lost in the throes of lust.
James gripped Regulus’ waist and pulled him up, positioning him on his knees, his face sinking deep into the couch. “I know you do,” he teased, “but how much?” As he continued to thrust into him, James wrapped one hand around Regulus’ length, stroking him in rhythm with his movements.
Regulus let out a soft whimper, the sensation of James inside him paired with the pleasure of his own touch sending a rush through him. “I hate you,” he gasped, the words laced with a desperate mixture of pleasure and anger. “I hate you so much.”
James pounded deeper into him, the rhythmic sounds echoing throughout the house. Regulus’ skin flushed a vivid red from the force, but he reveled in the sensation, each impact sending waves of pleasure coursing through him.
The strokes quickened, and Regulus felt the impending wave of climax build within him. It was difficult to breathe or grasp any coherent thoughts; his mind was flooded with sinful desires, swirling in a delicious haze of pleasure.
“Cum for me, Reg,” James urged, his voice laced with a demanding edge.
“No, I—” Regulus attempted to protest, but the words barely escaped his lips.
“Don’t be so stubborn,” James insisted, his breath quickening. “I can feel you trembling beneath me. I know you want to.”
James secured both of Regulus' arms behind his back, gripping them tightly as if he were a cop executing an arrest. The dominance of the gesture sent a thrill through him, intensifying the moment.
“You can let go, Reg,” James murmured, his tone gentle despite the intensity. “I won’t hold it against you.”
At those words, something in Regulus unraveled, and he surrendered, spilling over James’ hand and onto the couch. It was the unexpected tenderness in James’ voice, a quiet reassurance woven through the roughness of their bodies. In that moment, vulnerability overtook him. It always did whenever he was under James.
“Such a good boy,” James whispered into his ear, his voice rough yet affectionate.
Regulus’ stomach pressed into the couch, his breaths coming shallow and fast as he drifted in a daze, completely overtaken by the intensity of it all. James had collapsed over him, his chest rising and falling against Regulus’ back, grounding him. Soft lips brushed his neck, trailing gentle kisses that were a stark contrast to the frenzy from moments before. The tenderness was overwhelming, each press of James’ mouth adding another layer to the haze.
They lay there, wrapped in the heavy silence of the aftermath, catching their breaths. As Regulus slowly came back to himself, a sharp pang of realization set in. What had he just done? How had he let himself give in to James Potter so easily?
James shifted beside him. “Can I take you out now?” he asked, his voice softer than before, hopeful.
“Potter, get off me,” Regulus said abruptly, a rising anxiety tightening his chest.
James felt a wave of worry pulse through him, catching the edge in Regulus’ tone. But he did as he was told, sitting up just as Regulus stood, already grabbing his clothes and tossing James’ across the room.
“Get out,” Regulus said, watching him with a guarded, unreadable expression as James hurried to dress, confusion clouding his face.
“But I thought—”
“Get out,” Regulus repeated, the words final, like the slam of a door shutting tight.
James understood. Regulus had every right to push him away, to kick him out of his life if that’s what he truly wanted. But James wasn’t about to let this end so easily. Not this time. He needed Regulus to know that this wasn’t just a fleeting night for him—it meant everything.
“Alright, I’m going,” he said, pulling his shirt on, voice calm yet resolute. “But this isn’t over, Reg. I’ll make it right, no matter what it takes.”
Regulus rolled his eyes, a skeptical scowl tightening his features. “Sure you will,” he muttered, crossing his arms, the walls going back up.
But James Potter wasn’t one to be dissuaded by a hard look or harsh words. Before stepping out, he let a warm, defiant grin spread across his face. “See you at the race,” he said, his gaze lingering on Regulus a moment longer before he finally turned to leave, the promise hanging in the air.
******
“Well, well, well…” Barty drawled, leaning against the doorframe with a cocky smirk plastered across his face. “If it isn’t my favorite neighbor.”
Evan’s stomach sank. He had just stepped into the hallway for a quick walk, only to freeze as the door to Barty’s apartment swung open, revealing a stranger stumbling out with visible bite marks scattered across his neck. The sight left him rooted in place, wide-eyed and regretting every step that brought him this close. He should’ve turned on his heel and left right then, but instead, he lingered—long enough for Barty to appear at the door, shirtless, looking far too smug. Blame it on a coincidence.
“I’m your only neighbor,” Evan muttered, a bitter scoff escaping him as he folded his arms, trying to ignore the flush creeping up his neck.
Ever since they hooked up two weeks ago, Barty hadn’t touched him again… but that hadn’t stopped him from filling his nights with a rotating cast of other people—girls, guys, whoever fit the bill. Friday and Saturday were especially brutal; the endless parties, laughter, and muffled sounds drifting through their shared wall drove Evan to the edge. More than once, he’d knocked on Barty’s door, ready to complain about the noise. And each time, Barty would flash that disarming smile, dragging him inside with a casual, “Come on, live a little.”
They’d talk, if it could even be called that—small talk mostly, with Barty barely looking his way, more engrossed in his party than the person he’d once fucked. It infuriated Evan. Who sleeps with someone and then discards them like they’re nothing?
But it was his own damn fault, really. He was the one who, instead of shoving Barty out of his apartment that night, had pinned him against the wall, unable to resist. The memory still burned—Barty’s smirk, the way he’d leaned in with that unapologetic confidence. Evan had acted on impulse, letting desire override his better judgment, and now here he was, left in the aftermath while Barty moved on without a second thought.
"That doesn’t make it any less true," Barty replied, running a hand through his hair with that insufferable grin still in place.
"I can’t be your favorite neighbor if I’m your only neighbor," Evan retorted, eyebrows raised.
"Sure you can," Barty shrugged, unbothered.
"You’re so—" Evan started, but what could he say? That Barty was the most infuriating person he’d ever met? He probably already knew that. Worse, he likely enjoyed it.
Evan’s gaze fell to Barty’s bare abdomen, catching on the toned lines of his torso and the tattoos teasingly visible just above his waistband, pulling his thoughts somewhere he’d tried to keep locked away. His lips pressed into a thin line as he fought to keep his focus. Barty, of course, didn’t miss a beat, catching the slip-up instantly.
“You like that?” he teased, a sly grin curving his lips. “You can touch if you want.” And before Evan could protest, Barty had closed the space between them, taking Evan’s hand and pressing it to the tattoo on his waistband. “Right here—go ahead, feel it.”
The heat of Barty’s skin under his fingertips was electric, and Evan’s pulse quickened despite himself.
Evan quickly pulled his hand back, heat rising in his cheeks. "Don’t do that," he muttered, but his voice betrayed him, trembling slightly.
Barty leaned in closer, his smirk widening. "Why not?" he murmured, his tone dripping with challenge. "It’s not like you haven’t touched me there before."
Evan clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the flash of memories Barty’s words stirred. "That was different," he managed, but even he didn’t sound convinced.
"Was it?" Barty challenged, a teasing glint in his eyes. He leaned closer, completely unfazed by Evan's discomfort. "We could always recreate it, if you’d like. I quite enjoyed having you in my mouth... and in other places, if you catch my drift."
His casual tone and the suggestive smile made Evan's heart race, caught between irritation and undeniable temptation.
“Crouch, piss off,” Evan retorted. “I came to London to start a new comic, not to be your fuck buddy.”
For some reason, that caught Barty's attention. His smirk faded, replaced by genuine curiosity. “Comics?”
“Yeah, go ahead, mock me if you want,” Evan pressed on, crossing his arms defensively. “I’m actually pretty good at it.”
“No one’s laughing,” Barty replied, his tone shifting to one of interest. “That’s quite… unexpected. But undeniably intriguing.”
“You think I’m intriguing?”
“Oh yeah, definitely,” Barty said, his gaze steady and unflinching. “Something’s bugging you. What’s wrong?”
“Well, the problem is, inspiration eludes me,” Evan admitted, sighing softly as he ran a hand through his hair.
“I could help with that,” Barty offered, a teasing lilt in his voice.
“Let me guess,” Evan shot back sarcastically. “You’re going to fuck me until the lightbulb in my head turns on, right?”
Barty let out a laugh, a devilish grin spreading across his face. “I mean, we could do that…” He leaned in slightly, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Or… I could take you to the races.”
“To the what?” Evan asked, confusion creeping into his tone.
“The races,” Barty repeated, his grin widening.
“I don’t—” Evan started, visibly confused. “What—”
“Oh right!” Barty interrupted, throwing his hands up in the air dramatically. “I haven’t told you! Every couple of Thursdays, there are these illegal races happening—think Fast and Furious. You’ve seen that saga, right?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Great!” Barty continued, his excitement palpable. “So, I race for money.”
“Isn’t that… illegal?” Evan asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Sure, but that’s what makes it fun,” Barty replied with a mischievous grin.
“I don’t think tagging along is a good idea,” Evan said, his mind racing with all the ways the night could go wrong.
“Oh, don’t be such a wuss, Rosier,” Barty coaxed, leaning in closer. “Regulus never says no.”
Evan narrowed his eyes, annoyance coursing through his veins. “I’m not Regulus,” he spat out, a hint of defiance in his tone.
Barty leaned back, arms crossed, his smirk widening. “No, you’re not. You’re something else… something entertaining.”
Evan scoffed, his irritation bubbling just beneath the surface. “Entertaining? Is that what you call it? You’re just looking for someone to distract you from your endless parade of parties and late-night escapades.”
“Maybe,” Barty admitted, unfazed by Evan’s jab. “But you have to admit, there’s a thrill in racing. It’s not just about the money; it’s about the rush. You might actually enjoy it.”
Evan hesitated, caught off guard by the genuine spark in Barty's eyes. “And if something goes wrong?” he challenged, trying to maintain his defensive posture. “What then?”
Barty shrugged, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Then you’ll have a hell of a story to tell. Life’s too short to play it safe all the time, don’t you think?”
Evan felt a knot of curiosity tightening in his chest. “And you’re sure it’s not just reckless?”
“Depends on your perspective.” Barty stepped closer, the space between them charged with tension. “You could call it reckless or you could see it as living on the edge. You’ve already crossed one line with me; what’s one more?”
Evan’s heart raced, the pull of Barty’s proposition battling with his better judgment. “You really think I’d enjoy that?”
“Definitely,” Barty replied, his tone teasing yet sincere. “Do it for your comic. Who knows? Maybe you’ll find your inspiration in the chaos.”
Evan bit his lip, torn. The allure of adventure flickered before him, but so did the fear of losing control. “Fine,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But if I end up regretting this, I’m holding you responsible.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Barty said dismissively, waving a hand in the air. “Whatever, Rosier. I’m going to get changed, and then I’ll knock on your door.”
He flashed a confident smirk before retreating back into his apartment, leaving Evan to grapple with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty.
Evan couldn’t believe this guy. More importantly, he couldn’t fathom how hard he was to resist. Despite Barty being a major slut—ignorant, dismissive, and blatantly rude—here he was, picking up his wallet and shoving it into his pocket, preparing to accompany Barty on an illegal escapade.
Just as Barty had predicted, a few minutes later, a loud knock echoed through the apartment. “Rosier, are you ready?” he half-shouted from the other side of the door.
Evan took a moment to grab a white Monster from the fridge before heading over and swinging the door open.
Barty’s eyes landed on the energy drink. “That stuff makes your heart race,” he remarked, a teasing glint in his eyes.
“Yeah, I know,” Evan replied. “Keeps me awake. That’s why I drink it.”
“Oh, but trust me, Rosier,” Barty continued with a smirk. “I’ll make your heart race even more.”
“I highly doubt that,” Evan challenged, his tone a mix of boredom and intrigue.
“You haven’t been in a car with me,” Barty replied, shrugging his shoulders casually. “That, and… well, we haven’t exactly fucked tonight.”
“Haha,” Evan muttered dryly. “We aren’t fucking.”
“We´ll see about that,” Barty retorted with a grin.
Evan shot him a look but said nothing more, the silence stretching between them as they walked to the parking lot. When they finally reached their destination, Barty led him to a sleek black Mustang. Evan’s jaw practically hit the floor.
“This is your car?!” he blurted, eyes wide.
“Don’t be a drama queen,” Barty teased, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he took in Evan’s genuine surprise. There was something almost endearing about the curiosity written all over Evan's face. “Get in.”
And Evan wasted no time, sliding into the passenger seat with a mix of excitement and nerves buzzing in his veins.
Evan barely had a moment to adjust before the thrill—and terror—hit him. The car’s interior was sleek and pristine; he ran his fingers along the buttery leather seats, feeling the smooth dash and compartment in front of him. It was exhilaratingly new, the scents and textures flooding his senses. Every detail felt sharp, like he was caught in a sensory overload, yet he could hardly pull his hands away.
Just as he began, “I can’t believe we’re going to—” his words turned into a startled scream as the car lurched forward, nearly plastering him to the seat.
“Crouch, we’re going to die!” Evan shouted, clutching the door handle for dear life.
Beside him, Barty only laughed, a low, amused sound that was somehow both comforting and infuriating. “We’re not dying!” he called out over the blaring rock music he’d cranked up the moment they hit the road. The heavy bass and screeching guitars pounded through Evan’s head, yet Barty was grinning, eyes alight with reckless excitement. “Relax!” he yelled over the music.
But relaxation was the last thing on Evan’s mind. Barty was pushing 140 on a road marked for 80, weaving between cars with alarming ease. Each time they’d near another vehicle, they seemed inches from collision before Barty would swerve just in time, darting into another lane with split-second precision. The world outside was a blur of headlights and neon streaks, and Evan’s heart hammered, a mix of terror and exhilaration buzzing through his veins.
Evan’s breathing came fast and shallow, his fingers digging into the seat. He could feel the Mustang’s engine growling beneath them, thrumming with unrestrained power. Every time Barty accelerated, a rush of adrenaline flooded Evan’s body, the thrill settling deep in his chest. He tried to stifle the fear and let the rush take over, forcing himself to trust Barty—however reckless he was.
France was nothing like this. People in France were refined, controlled, and had a sense of etiquette that permeated every interaction. There was a formality in the air—nothing was ever too spontaneous, too bold. No one in France would ever dare to act like Barty Crouch Jr., a man who seemed to thrive on chaos, playing mind games with Evan from the moment he moved in, and now, with a twisted grin, putting both their lives in danger for the sake of an adrenaline rush.
It should have terrified Evan—the reckless way Barty pushed them to the edge, the disregard for rules and safety—but as the speedometer on the Mustang climbed higher, and the wind whipped through the open windows, Evan felt an unexpected rush. His heartbeat matched the pounding rhythm of the music blaring in his ears. The danger, the intensity, it was a high unlike anything he'd ever known, and oddly, it was satisfying.
For a moment, Evan let himself surrender to the sensation, to the wildness that Barty reveled in. The fear melted into something else—something sharper, more thrilling. It wasn’t that he was comfortable; he was wide awake, on edge, every nerve alight. But there was something undeniably magnetic about Barty’s audacity, the way he lived on the edge and dragged everyone with him, even if they weren’t quite ready for the fall.
A song suddenly blared through the speakers, and Barty let out a wild howl, his voice blending with the intense rhythm of the music. "Do you know this song, Rosier?" he asked, his eyes lighting up with that familiar glint of mischief.
Evan couldn't help but glance over at him, feeling the intensity in Barty's gaze. The song pulsed with energy, raw and unapologetic, and Barty was thriving in it—completely immersed in the moment.
Evan's fingers gripped the seat, his heart hammering as the beat surged through the car, but he didn’t answer right away. He didn’t know the song, not exactly. But it didn’t matter. The way Barty looked at him—like they were in sync, like this moment was something far bigger than it seemed—made Evan’s breath catch in his chest.
"Come on, Rosier," Barty pressed, his smirk widening. "I bet you'd love it if you gave it a chance." The challenge in his voice was unmistakable, daring Evan to let go just a little more.
"This isn't really my style of music," Evan informed, his voice steady but with a hint of uncertainty as the song blasted through the speakers.
The track was chaotic—wild and unrelenting. It thrashed with an angst that seemed to radiate from every note, a punk anthem woven with jagged guitar riffs and a relentless beat. Hard rock, maybe, or something more primal. Evan wasn't sure, but it felt like the kind of music that demanded something raw, something visceral.
Evan’s tastes, on the other hand, leaned more toward the rhythm of Eminem’s sharp verses or the flow of a good hip-hop beat. Something structured, with words that hit hard and made sense. This? This was an explosion of noise that made his head spin.
But there was something about Barty’s infectious energy that made Evan reconsider. Barty seemed to live in it, every pulse of the music seemed to echo in his veins, his fingers tapping against the wheel with the beat. Evan couldn’t deny the way it made the air crackle with tension, as if they were both part of something bigger than themselves, something chaotic, even dangerous. Maybe, just maybe, that was the point.
"It’s The Damned!" Barty shouted over the music, his voice filled with unrestrained enthusiasm. "Show some respect, you noob."
Evan’s eyebrows shot up, half-amused, half-confused. “Did you just call me noob?” he asked, a grin tugging at his lips despite himself.
“Yeah, noob,” Barty smirked, giving him a cheeky side-eye before his fingers slammed down on the volume dial. The music instantly roared louder, thundering through the speakers like an out-of-control beast, making the car shudder beneath them.
Evan felt the vibrations travel through his chest, each beat slamming against his ribcage. The rhythm was chaotic, the air inside the car pulsing with energy. He couldn’t help but laugh, despite the rising tension in his stomach.
And then, as the music roared even louder, a thought struck him—just how insane was this guy?