Brat
“Reg, want me to drop you off?” Barty asked once the race wrapped up. Normally, there’d be an after-party, and Barty rarely missed those, but tonight his eyes gleamed with that familiar look—one Regulus knew too well. It was the kind of look that meant Barty was in the mood for something else entirely. He wanted to shag.
But something told Regulus that "something else" was Evan Rosier, not him. And frankly, he had no interest in being the third wheel to the guy who was supposed to be his.
“No, it’s fine,” Regulus said, his tone flat. “Sirius is taking me.”
“Am I?” Sirius interjected, appearing out of nowhere with his usual flair for dramatics.
“Yeah,” Regulus confirmed, his voice as plain as ever.
“Guess I am,” Sirius replied with a shrug, not even bothering to argue.
Barty narrowed his eyes, suspicion flickering across his face. Regulus could practically hear the gears turning in his head. Of course, Barty was thinking about him. About Sirius. About Potter.
“It’s nothing like that,” Regulus added quickly, cutting off whatever sarcastic comment Barty was cooking up.
“You sure?” Barty asked, his disbelief written all over his expression.
“Look, I just—” Regulus paused, glancing around. Then, with a subtle nudge, he led Barty away to a quieter corner, out of earshot from Evan or Sirius.
“You’re going to shag Evan,” Regulus began, his voice low and controlled, “and I just... Sirius can take me. I don’t need to get in the way.”
“It’s no bother,” Barty replied smoothly, his tone annoyingly casual. “You’re never a bother.”
“Yeah, but—”
“But what?” Barty pressed, his gaze sharp.
“I just don’t want to see you flirt with—” Regulus stopped himself, his eyes darting over to where Evan was standing, all charm and confidence.
“Oh,” Barty muttered, a sly smirk curling at the corners of his mouth. “Are you jealous, darling?”
Regulus scoffed, shooting him a sharp look. “Me? Never,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Whatever gave you that impression?”
“Liar,” Barty teased, his voice dropping into a low murmur.
“Wanker,” Regulus shot back, rolling his eyes.
Barty let out a quick laugh before his hand snaked to the back of Regulus’s neck. He pulled him in for a deep, possessive kiss, catching Regulus entirely off guard. His teeth grazed Regulus’s bottom lip, and when he pulled back, his voice was a sultry promise. “Rosier’s just a quick fuck. He’s got nothing on you.”
Regulus raised an unimpressed eyebrow, even as his cheeks betrayed him with a faint flush. “Whatever you say, Bee,” he replied with a sigh, brushing past him. “I’m still going with my brother.”
Barty let out a soft laugh, his smirk lingering. “Have it your way, darling.”
Barty pressed a quick kiss to Regulus’s cheek before heading toward Rosier. Without a second glance, he slid into his car and drove off, leaving Regulus standing there, alone. It was the first time it had happened, but Regulus knew it wouldn’t be the last.
He sighed, watching Barty’s car disappear into the distance. There was a strange tug at his chest—one he couldn’t quite place. But then his mind shifted to Evan, and for some reason, that tug made sense.
Evan had been surprisingly easy to talk to during the race. They’d exchanged a few words, and Regulus had learned that Evan wasn’t as one-dimensional as he’d first assumed. He was into comics, a fellow Frenchman like himself, and had moved here to start fresh. He had a twin sister too. Evan was also laid-back which Regulus couldn’t help but appreciate, even if he didn’t know if he liked him. He didn’t exactly hate him either. Evan was fine, he decided.
Just fine.
“Alright, so—” Regulus said, turning on his heel and heading toward his brother, who was standing beside Potter. Oh boy, this was going to be interesting. “Let’s go.”
Sirius shot him an incredulous look. “Why do you decide when we leave? It’s my car—”
“Let’s go, brother,” Regulus cut in smoothly. “I’m not saying it again.”
James let out an amused snort, while Sirius’s jaw practically hit the floor at the audacity of it all.
“Whatever,” Sirius muttered, clearly over it.
And just like that, they piled into his car. Regulus had assumed James would take the passenger seat, but to his surprise, some girl was already there. James, without missing a beat, slid into the second row right next to Regulus.
Regulus shot him a side-eye, eyebrow twitching in annoyance. “Um…” he said, unable to hide his irritation. “Who’s that?”
Sirius barely spared a glance over his shoulder. “Have some manners,” he grumbled, as if this wasn’t the most obvious thing ever. “That’s Addison.”
“It’s actually Adelaide,” the girl corrected, a bit too smug for Regulus's taste.
“Oh, is it?” Sirius asked with a lazy shrug. “My bad.”
Before the girl could fire off any kind of retort, Sirius slammed his foot on the pedal and cranked the volume up to a level that could wake the dead. The bass thumped through the car as if the speakers were about to explode.
Regulus, bracing himself, could already feel the headache forming. Loud music. Potter right next to him. This was going to be an absolute disaster.
Fuck his life.
The whole drive back, James’s eyes never left Regulus. Though Regulus did his best to ignore him, staring out the window as if the world outside could swallow him whole, he could feel the weight of James's gaze like it was a constant pressure on his skin. It was uncomfortable, almost suffocating.
He wanted to snap, tell James to stop staring, to look somewhere else for once, but the words stuck in his throat. He didn’t want to talk to him. Not now. Not when everything felt so… complicated. So, instead, he just kept his eyes fixed ahead, pretending the silence between them didn’t exist, even though it buzzed in the air like an electric current.
Luckily, Potter didn’t try to engage him. He wasn’t foolish enough to push it with Sirius sitting right in front of them, even if Sirius was too wrapped up in the road, the girl, and driving like an absolute madman. Regulus had to give him credit for that—Potter was smart enough to know when to keep his distance. He’d admit that much.
The drive had been going smoothly—or as smoothly as any car ride with Sirius driving like a lunatic and blasting music could go—until he blew past the exit to Regulus’ house.
“You just missed the turn for my house,” Regulus pointed out, his voice sharp.
“I know,” Sirius replied nonchalantly, not even glancing at the rearview mirror.
Regulus blinked, his patience already hanging by a thread. “What do you mean ‘I know’? You said you were taking me home.”
Sirius let out an obnoxious laugh, the kind that grated on every one of Regulus’ nerves. “Oh, you thought—no, I meant my home. I’m taking you to my house.”
“What?!” Regulus nearly screeched, his voice reaching a pitch that had even James looking over. “What the fuck? Turn the car around!”
“Relax, Reg,” Sirius said, all too casually. “I can’t. People are coming over, and I have to be there—it’s my party.”
“What party?” Regulus snapped. “You came in third, you absolute dumbass.”
“Okay, rude,” Sirius replied, shooting him an irritated glance. “It’s just a party. You don’t even have to go. Crash in my room or something—”
“But what about—” the girl in the front seat piped up, her voice cutting through the tension.
“Oh, right,” Sirius said, glancing at her with the kind of sheepish look that screamed Oops, forgot about that. “You can crash in James’ room.”
“What?!” Regulus exploded, his voice somehow even louder than before. “I don’t want to crash in his fucking room! Do I look like some kind of peasant to you?”
“What?” James interjected, his eyes wide with mock offense. “I’m literally rich?”
“Shut up, Potter,” Regulus snapped, glaring at him as though his very existence was offensive. “You’re poor in comparison.”
“Oh, okay!” James said, feigning dignity while stifling a laugh. “Sirius, can you tell your brother to stop being such a brat?”
Regulus’ head whipped toward James so fast it was a miracle he didn’t sprain something. “What?!” he exclaimed for the third time, his jaw practically hitting the floor. “I’m the brat? If I recall, the only brat here is you, Potter.”
“I’m not a brat,” James said, waving him off dismissively. “When have I ever—” He froze mid-sentence, the realization hitting him like a bolt of lightning. Regulus wasn’t just calling him a brat in the general sense. He was referencing something from years ago, back when… oh. Oh.
Regulus’ smirk was the very definition of smug. “Didn’t think you’d catch on to that one, to be honest,” he said, his tone dripping with satisfaction.
James’ brows furrowed, an expression of affront and faint horror crossing his face. “Oh, bugger off,” he grumbled, leaning back in his seat with a scowl. “You’re so evil.”
“What are you two on about?” Sirius asked, glancing at them through the rearview mirror, his face scrunched in genuine confusion.
“Nothing,” Regulus and James blurted out in unison, their voices overlapping in an oddly synchronized denial.
Sirius’ eyes narrowed suspiciously, darting between the two in the mirror. “Yeah, okay,” he said slowly, dragging out the words like he didn’t believe a syllable of it. “Super convincing.”
James coughed awkwardly, looking anywhere but at Sirius. Regulus, on the other hand, stared out the window with an air of forced nonchalance, clearly determined not to explain.
“You two are weird,” Sirius muttered, shaking his head as he turned his attention back to the road. “No wonder people think you hate each other.”
James shot Regulus a quick sideways glance, catching the flicker of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Yeah, sure. Hate.
“I do hate him,” Regulus said flatly, gesturing vaguely in James’ direction. “And, for the record, I also hate you, Sirius.”
“Well, that’s hardly fair,” Sirius retorted, glancing back at his brother with a mock-wounded expression. “You hate everyone.”
“I don’t hate Barty,” Regulus countered, his voice cool but pointed, as if that distinction somehow proved Sirius wrong.
“Oh, Barty!” James chimed in, his tone dripping with theatrical mockery. His hands flew up in exaggerated exasperation, nearly hitting the car ceiling. “Barty Crouch Jr.! What a fucking peach!”
Regulus turned to James with a slow, disdainful glare, like he was mentally calculating the exact level of effort it would take to shove him out of the moving car. “What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing!” James replied cheerfully, as if he hadn’t just thrown a tantrum over a guy he didn’t even know. “I’m just saying, Barty’s not exactly… well, a saint, is he?”
“You’d know a lot about saints, wouldn’t you, Potter?” Regulus snapped, his voice laced with venom. “What’s next, a lecture on morality from the Gryffindor golden boy?”
Sirius groaned loudly, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, Merlin. Can you two not? We’re stuck in a car together. I’d rather not die from secondhand embarrassment before we even get to the house.”
“I’m not the one embarrassing myself,” Regulus muttered under his breath, still shooting daggers at James, who was now leaning back with the most smug grin imaginable.
“I just think—” James started, his voice edging toward frustration.
“Oh, lovely,” Regulus interrupted with a dramatic sigh, tilting his head as if the weight of James’ thoughts were too much to bear. “You’re thinking.”
“I just think,” James pressed on, enunciating each word like they were precious pearls of wisdom, “that out of all the people you could choose not to hate, you picked the one guy you absolutely should hate.”
“Oh yeah? And why’s that?” Regulus challenged, folding his arms and narrowing his eyes.
“Well, because—” James began, faltering almost immediately. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Why couldn’t he say anything? Oh, right. Because he was jealous. “Because—” he tried again. “Because-”
“Because, because, because—” Regulus mimicked, his tone mockingly sing-song. “You sound like a broken record. Just spit it out, J-J-James.”
Sirius let out a bark of laughter from the front seat, clearly relishing the bickering match unfolding behind him. “Oh, this is fantastic. I should start recording these moments.”
“Don’t—” James snapped, glaring daggers at Regulus. “Okay, that was just plain rude.”
“I am rude,” Regulus shot back, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Get used to it.”
James crossed his arms tightly, narrowing his eyes. “First of all, I speak perfectly fine. Second of all… stop being such a—”
“Such a—what?” Regulus prompted, feigning curiosity.
James’ brain sputtered to a halt. Why was it so impossible to come up with something cutting? Regulus never struggled; he could throw verbal knives at James’ neck like it was an Olympic sport.
Regulus coming for his neck… James would like that.
“Sirius, your best friend is broken,” Regulus declared with a dramatic sigh, throwing up his hands as if to say fix him.
“I am not!” James shot back, his face turning red as Sirius cackled like a madman.
“Are too—”
“Am not—”
“Are too—”
“Am not!”
“Are too!”
Their voices rose with every retort, the childish argument escalating far past reason. They leaned in, faces barely inches apart now, neither backing down, oblivious to the proximity.
“Are too!”
“Am not!”
Closer.
And closer…
“Alright, enough!” Sirius barked, cutting through the tension like a whip. The sound startled both of them, and suddenly they were acutely aware of just how close they had gotten.
James blinked, his breath catching as he realized he could see the subtle flecks of blue swirling in Regulus’ stormy emerald eyes. They shimmered like ice under sunlight, sharp and striking.
Regulus, meanwhile, caught sight of the warm gold threading through the rich light brown of James’ eyes. It felt intrusive—intimate even—but he couldn’t look away fast enough.
They both froze, tension crackling in the air like static, before abruptly pulling back, avoiding each other's gaze.
“Seriously,” Sirius muttered, eyeing them in the rearview mirror with a smirk. “If you two are gonna start making out, at least warn me so I can crash the car in peace.”
“Shut up, Sirius!” they both snapped in unison, their voices overlapping in perfect harmony.
The rest of the car ride settled into an uneasy quiet, punctuated only by the steady stream of rock ’n’ roll blasting from Sirius’ car speakers. James and Regulus, now stationed firmly on opposite ends of the backseat, avoided even the slightest glance at each other, their earlier proximity still lingering like a phantom touch.
Adelaide, seated up front, was chattering away, trying her hardest to entertain Sirius. Her voice rose and fell with what must have been carefully rehearsed anecdotes, punctuated by bursts of laughter as she attempted to draw out even a flicker of amusement from him.
Regulus watched her effort with a flicker of disdain, leaning his temple against the window. Poor thing, he thought with detached pity. She actually believes she’s special.
Sirius, to his credit, threw in the occasional nod or half-smile, but it was clear his focus was split between driving and his own thoughts. Whatever this girl thought she had going, Regulus could already tell she’d be forgotten by the time they pulled into Sirius’ driveway.
In true Sirius fashion, the girl from the car was utterly forgotten the moment they stepped into his house. The party was already in full swing, music blasting and bodies swaying in every corner. This immediately drew Regulus’ ire.
“Are you kidding me?” he snapped at his brother. “If Mary Mcdonald was already taking care of everything, you could’ve just left me at my own house instead of dragging me here.”
Sirius shrugged lazily, brushing off the complaint with a casual wave of his hand. “Relax, Reggie. Live a little.”
At least the girl from earlier was gone, Regulus thought bitterly. Maybe he could just crash in Sirius’ room and ride out the chaos until morning. But his brief hope was shattered when he spotted Sirius, arm draped over a new girl, heading straight for the stairs.
“Sirius, wait!” Regulus called after him, his voice edged with irritation.
His brother didn’t even glance back, simply throwing out a dismissive, “Crash in James’ room. You’ll be fine!” before vanishing up to the second floor with a laugh.
Regulus groaned, burying his face in his hands. Fantastic. Just fantastic.
“You know,” came a familiar voice, annoyingly smug, from somewhere behind him, “you could always try actually enjoying the party.”
Regulus lifted his head, already glaring. “Fuck you.”
James stepped closer, a crooked grin playing on his lips. “Fuck me yourself, you coward.” He paused, mock-pensive, before adding with a glint in his eyes, “Oh, wait! You already did. Want to make it a double feature?”
“Fuck. You.” Regulus’ voice was sharp, but there was no denying the flush of heat creeping up his neck.
Without a second thought, he snatched the cup from James’ hand and downed it in one swift gulp. The alcohol burned its way down his throat, but right now, the burn felt like the only thing grounding him in this mess.
James, clearly entertained, leaned in slightly, his grin widening. “If you wanted a drink, all you had to do was ask.”
Regulus shot him a murderous look, wiping his mouth. “Shut up, Potter.”
“Make me,” James taunted, his grin downright infuriating.
Regulus groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Ugh, you’re so corny. It’s awful.”
“Corny?” James echoed, pretending to be offended. He placed a hand over his chest as if Regulus had just insulted his honor. “I prefer ‘charmingly bold.’”
“More like painfully unbearable,” Regulus shot back, narrowing his eyes. “Do you practice being this annoying, or does it just come naturally?”
“Oh, it’s a gift,” James said with a wink. “I’m glad you noticed.”
Regulus could punch him—hard—for being such an insufferable, arrogant prick. Yet, instead of taking that satisfying route, he reached for another nearby cup.
“Hey—” the stranger protested, but one sharp glance from Regulus sent him scurrying off without another word.
“You’re downright intimidating, you know that, right?” James pointed out, leaning against the counter with an infuriatingly amused expression.
“So?” Regulus replied flatly, taking a sip.
“No, no, it’s nothing,” James said quickly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “But if you’re going to keep drinking, I’m joining you. Fair’s fair.”
“Literally no one asked you to,” Regulus muttered under his breath.
Unfortunately for him, James heard it and let out an amused scoff. “You’re a real joy, you know that?”
“I’m not easy to bend,” Regulus said, his tone icy and measured.
James tilted his head, a mischievous glint sparking in his hazel eyes. “Eh, I don’t know about that… I’ve bent you over plenty of times before.”
Regulus froze, his cheeks igniting into a furious red, hotter than the burn of the alcohol he’d just swallowed. “You piece of—” He sputtered, too flustered to string a coherent insult together. “You—you—”
“You, you, you—” James mimicked, grinning like the smug bastard he was. “Spit it out, Reggie.”
And there it was—the mocking. He was using Regulus’ own words against him, that irritatingly perfect smirk plastered across his face like a badge of honor. Regulus could absolutely kill him for it.
“Potter, if you’re going to mock someone,” Regulus snapped, his eyes blazing with indignation as he took a step closer. “At least come up with your own insults. Recycling mine is pathetic—even for you.”
James shrugged, unbothered, his grin widening. “I don’t mind. If it’s about you…” He leaned in slightly, voice lowering just enough to feel intimate. “I’ll get as low as it takes. Hell, I’ll even get down on my knees—if you know what I mean.”
Regulus choked on his drink, coughing violently as James laughed, his expression dripping with triumph.
“Oh my—” James exclaimed, clutching his chest with mock concern, his expression exaggerated. “Are you having trouble breathing? Should I help? You know, share some air…”
Regulus’ eyes widened in disbelief, his cheeks still tinged red from before. “Oh my god, stop it! You’re such a slut. An insufferable one, by the way.”
James smirked, undeterred. “I thought you liked sluts, given that—”
“If you dare call Barty a slut—” Regulus interrupted sharply, his voice laced with warning. “I swear I’ll rip your eyes out with the nearest fork.”
James threw his head back, laughing, completely unbothered by the threat. “Can you even reach that high?” he teased, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“We’re literally almost the same height!” Regulus snapped, though they both knew it was a lie. James was taller—not by much, but enough to make it noticeable.
“Sure, sure,” James said, his grin widening. “That’s why you’re always tilting your head up to look me in the eyes. Real ‘same height’ behavior, Reggie.”
“You’re not that tall,” Regulus huffed, crossing his arms defensively. “And just so you know, I am tall. Alright?”
“I know you are,” James replied smoothly, leaning in just enough to be aggravating. “But not taller than me.”
Regulus glared, his jaw tightening, but James’ smugness only seemed to grow. And the worst part? Regulus didn’t have a good retort. Not one he could say out loud, anyway.
James leaned in close—so close that Regulus could feel the warmth of his breath against his ear. And then, in a tone low enough to send shivers down anyone’s spine, he murmured, “You’re only taller than me when you’re straddling me.”
It was audacious, bold, and utterly shameless—pure James Potter.
Regulus swallowed hard, his breath hitching as he tried to maintain his composure. “Well, in that case…” His voice was barely above a whisper, laced with defiance and something unsteady. “I don’t mind being shorter. Anything to avoid having you under me.”
James smirked, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. “And on top of you?” he teased, his words dripping with audacity. “Would you prefer that instead?”
“I don’t—” Regulus stammered, his voice faltering as he struggled to string together a coherent thought. “I don’t want you on top or under me. I just want you…” He took a sharp breath, his words thick with forced conviction. “As far away as possible.”
But the slight hitch in his voice, the flicker of hesitation in his eyes, betrayed the weight behind his declaration. It wasn’t conviction—it was a feeble attempt to suppress the fire James effortlessly stoked.
James pulled away with an amused glint in his eye. “You’re such a bad liar.”
Regulus scowled, his lips curving into a sharp frown. “And you’re a—”
“Prongs!” a voice called out, cutting through the tension.
Both turned to see an elegantly dressed boy approaching. He had sharp, gray eyes and messy, dirty-blonde hair. His tailored wardrobe gave off an air of sophistication, but the relaxed way he moved softened it.
“Pete, you made it!” James exclaimed, lighting up as he grabbed the newcomer and pulled him into a warm hug.
“Prongs, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Peter rambled, his words spilling out in a rush. “I didn’t even know you’d arrived, but then I saw you here, and I—”
“Prongs?” Regulus interrupted, his expression twisting into one of mild disbelief.
“Oh, hey,” Peter said, suddenly noticing him. He extended a hand politely. “I’m Peter. Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Regulus didn’t take the hand, his piercing gaze still locked on James. “Why does he call you that?”
James shrugged, his grin widening as if he’d been waiting for this moment. “Oh, that’s because of my tattoo,” he explained, far too casually.
“A tattoo?” Regulus repeated, incredulous. “What tattoo?”
Instead of answering, James gripped the hem of his shirt and lifted it. The move revealed his toned torso, and just above the waistband of his jeans, nestled along his defined v-line, was an intricate tattoo of antlers.
Regulus froze, his breath hitching. The sight felt charged—far too intimate, far too deliberate. The way the ink curved along James’ body only made it worse. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry.
James smirked, clearly reveling in Regulus’ flustered reaction. “Well?” he teased. “What do you think?”
“I think I’m gonna crash in your room,” Regulus blurted out, the words tumbling out far too quickly. He winced inwardly but didn’t let himself care.
Without waiting for a response, he spun on his heel and strode toward the stairs, his footsteps brisk and deliberate. His heart pounded like a drum in his chest, a betraying rhythm that echoed the chaos in his mind.
He needed to get away. Fast.
The image of James’ bare torso and that tattoo—bold, intimate, and undeniably enticing—was seared into his brain. It had stirred something dangerously close to a breaking point, and Regulus wasn’t certain how much longer he could hold himself back.
The way James had smirked, so sure of himself, only added fuel to the fire. If he stayed around him any longer, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to resist. And losing control in front of James Potter was not an option. Not again.
He shoved past bodies, the air thick with heat and the tang of sweat from the crowd grinding to the heavy bass. Smoke curled through the dim room, stinging his eyes and adding to the suffocating haze, but he didn’t stop. Regulus kept moving, his focus singular and desperate.
Finally, he pushed through the door to James’ room and shut it firmly behind him. The muffled thrum of the party dulled to a distant hum.
Regulus let out a shaky breath of relief, leaning back against the door. Slowly, his legs gave out, and he sank to the floor. His head tilted back to rest against the wood, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession as he shut his eyes tight.
Control yourself, he thought fiercely, trying to wrestle his erratic heartbeat back to something resembling normal.
He sat there for a moment, letting the quiet envelop him. The chaos of the party faded into the background, leaving only the steady rhythm of his breathing to anchor him. Here, in this small moment of solitude, he felt a fragile calm begin to settle, even if he knew it wouldn’t last long.
And it didn’t.
As soon as Regulus opened his eyes, he became painfully aware of where he was—James’ room.
The bed, to his surprise, was impeccably made, the sheets smooth and tucked in as if mocking the chaotic personality that inhabited the space. His gaze flitted over to the desk, cluttered with an unorganized pile of comic books—Batman, X-Men, and even a few well-loved issues of Spider-Man. Scattered amongst them were stray pens and crumpled sticky notes with scribbled reminders or doodles.
The walls were a shrine to James’ varied interests, plastered with movie posters ranging from Spider-Man to Transformers, Narnia, and even Pokémon. The edges of the posters were worn, some curling slightly, giving the space a lived-in charm.
In the corner, an old, abandoned basketball sat forgotten, its surface scuffed and deflated in spots, a relic of James' brief interest in the sport. Clothes were draped haphazardly over the back of his desk chair, a mix of t-shirts, hoodies, and jeans, while a collection of colorful sneakers, mostly worn down, was lined up against the wall in no particular order.
Regulus’ eyes caught on the half-open drawer by the dresser, its contents unmistakable—Calvin Klein underwear, a mess of black and gray peeking out as if taunting him. He gulped, feeling his cheeks flush, and immediately shifted his gaze elsewhere, only for his eyes to land on a photo frame atop the dresser.
It was a candid shot of James with Sirius, both of them grinning like idiots in front of some beach backdrop, arms slung over each other’s shoulders. The scene somehow made the space feel even more intimate, more James.
Regulus exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he realized there was no escape here. Everything screamed James Potter, from the scent of his cologne lingering faintly in the air to the chaos and order coexisting in this single space.
“Oh, fuck me,” he muttered under his breath, sinking further into the door.
Slowly, Regulus rose from the floor, his movements deliberate and cautious as he made his way toward the desk. His fingers brushed against the cluttered surface, an involuntary motion as he took in the mess scattered across it. There was no going back to the party now, and besides… might as well make himself comfortable.
At the nightstand next to the bed, something caught his eye—a single book, its cover worn and faded. It was the only one among the sea of comics, standing out like an anomaly in the room. He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. James Potter reading a book?
He picked it up, his fingers grazing the edges of the pages, and felt a strange mix of curiosity and amusement.
He hadn't known James was the type to read anything other than comics or sport magazines. This little discovery made Regulus’ lips twitch into the faintest smile, an almost unnoticeable shift in his usually stoic expression.
With a quiet sigh, Regulus flopped onto the edge of the bed, flipping the book open, allowing himself a moment to be distracted by something other than the chaos of his own thoughts.
It was Ready Player One—of course, it was. Regulus couldn't suppress a dry chuckle at the irony. James had always been obsessed with video games, ever since they were younger. He remembered James going on and on about the future of technology—the metaverse that would eventually take over the world. Regulus had dismissed it at the time, half-listening to his animated ramblings about virtual reality and the digital frontier. But now, as the world moved faster into the digital age, James had been right all along. Technology was everywhere, it was unavoidable, and it was reshaping everything, just as James had predicted.
Regulus hated it—the way people got lost in screens, disconnected from reality—but even he couldn’t deny the impressive engineering behind it. The way the lines between the physical and digital worlds were blurring... it was fascinating, in a way that made his skin crawl. The complexity of it all, the intricate algorithms and virtual environments—it was mind-boggling.
With a heavy sigh, Regulus flipped open the book, his eyes skimming over the first few pages. The words blurred together, his mind too tired to focus, but he kept reading, determined to distract himself from the pull of his own thoughts. It wasn’t long before the rhythmic sound of his own breathing, combined with the soft rustling of pages, lulled him into a sense of drowsiness.
As time slipped by, his eyelids grew heavier, each page feeling like an anchor pulling him deeper into exhaustion. The world around him faded—along with the dissonance of the party downstairs—until it was just the quiet hum of James’ room. Without even realizing it, Regulus drifted off, his body giving in to the weight of sleep.
Before long, he was fully asleep, sprawled across James' bed, the book forgotten beside him.
******
After a wild after-party at Barty's, the clock struck three in the morning. Barty stood in Evan's room, a smug grin plastered on his face as he eyed the half-naked Evan Rosier in front of him.
“Told you we’d be shagging tonight,” Barty teased, his tone dripping with self-satisfaction.
Evan rolled his eyes, his fingers working to undo his pants. “Shut up. This is all the alcohol’s fault,” he muttered, clearly annoyed but too tipsy to back out now.
“Yeah, sure,” Barty drawled, the words slurring slightly from the alcohol in his system. “Blame it on the booze. Nothing to do with the fact that you can’t get enough of me.” He let out a low chuckle, clearly enjoying the tension in the room.
“What’s to say you’re not the one who can’t get enough of me?” Evan shot back, his gaze heavy and deliberate as he leaned against the bed.
Barty scoffed, throwing his shirt over his head with a flourish. “Have you met me? I keep things casual. Never hook up with the same person twice.”
As the words left his mouth, Barty immediately realized the mistake he'd made. Evan raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk.
“You’re doing it with me…again,” Evan pointed out, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
Barty sauntered toward him, a smirk on his face as he stepped between Evan’s legs, the bulge in his jeans now at eye level. “Yeah, well,” he said, voice unbothered. “Let’s call it a coincidence.”
Evan’s smile widened, clearly entertained by Barty’s half-hearted excuse. His fingers danced across Barty's waist, a slow, deliberate movement that sent a shiver down Barty’s spine. Then, without warning, Evan's hand drifted to Barty’s zipper, swiftly undoing it with a ease.
In one smooth motion, Evan yanked Barty’s pants down, his fingers sliding effortlessly to his underwear. The unexpected contact made Barty's breath hitch, a shaky exhale escaping him before he could control it.
“Did you like it?” Barty asked, his voice unusually soft, almost hesitant.
“Like what?” Evan replied, his brow furrowed in confusion, his hand still moving with deliberate slowness.
Barty swallowed, his gaze dropping momentarily. “The race,” he clarified, his tone tinged with something unspoken.
Evan clicked his tongue, a grin forming at the corner of his lips. “It was thrilling,” he said, his words laced with approval. “You’re a superstar, apparently.”
“You think so?” Barty asked, his confidence returning in a flash. Without warning, he shoved Evan back onto the bed with a swift, controlled push. Evan smirked up at him, unbothered, as Barty climbed on top, his eyes dark with intent.
In a single fluid motion, Barty slipped his hand beneath Evan’s underwear, the touch almost too quick to register before Evan's breath hitched sharply.
“A phony superstar,” Evan managed to whisper, struggling to keep his composure as Barty’s fingers worked their magic, his words barely audible.
“Oh, am I now?” Barty purred, his voice thick with desire as he leaned in, his breath warm against Evan's skin. He pressed his lips to the curve of Evan's neck, the softness of the kiss quickly turning into a possessive bite. His teeth sank gently into the skin, a slow, deliberate pull that sent a shiver down Evan's spine.
Evan's breath caught, a soft gasp escaping his lips as Barty's teeth grazed the sensitive skin of his neck. The sensation shot through him, making him tense, then relax into the pressure of Barty’s lips. He could feel the heat building between them, the tension thickening in the air.
"You really think you can handle me?" Barty whispered against Evan's neck, his lips still hovering dangerously close to the spot he had just bitten.
Evan smirked, his hands slipping up Barty's chest, tugging him closer. "You'd be surprised," he murmured, his voice a mix of challenge and breathlessness.
Barty let out a low laugh, a dangerous edge to his voice. His free hand pressed firmly against the side of Evan's neck, applying just the right amount of pressure. "Try me," he said, his words laced with challenge.
In a flash, Evan shifted his weight, maneuvering them so that Barty was now pinned beneath him. “Not so tough now, huh?” he teased, his grin wide and triumphant.
Barty’s eyes flashed with irritation as he struggled beneath Evan’s hold. Evan’s strength was unmistakable, and for all Barty’s defiance, he couldn’t break free. “Stop fighting,” Evan said, his tone commanding, his grip unyielding.
“Piss off,” Barty shot back, his face turned to the side, frustration written clearly on his features.
Evan's laughter was soft but filled with mockery. "Not used to getting manhandled, are you?" he quipped, a hint of satisfaction in his voice as he leaned closer.
Barty’s scowl deepened as he twisted beneath Evan’s firm hold, the weight of his body pressing down on him with undeniable strength. His pulse quickened, a mix of frustration and something else—something that burned hotter with every second Evan kept him pinned.
“You think you’ve won?” Barty snapped, his tone sharp and defiant, but there was a flicker in his eyes that betrayed him—a flicker of something darker, something more intense.
Evan's grip tightened, but it wasn’t out of malice; it was control, dominance, and it sent a shiver through Barty’s spine. His lips quirked into a grin, dark and teasing. “You’re not as tough as you act,” he said, his voice low and smooth, laced with amusement.
Barty shifted again, trying to free himself, but Evan's strength held him there effortlessly. “And you´re not as soft as you seem,” Barty retorted, his voice now rougher, each word coming out between gritted teeth. His eyes flickered toward Evan’s, burning with challenge.
Evan chuckled, his thumb brushing lightly across Barty’s jaw, teasing, testing. “You don´t know me,” he whispered, leaning in closer. His breath ghosted across Barty’s ear, making him freeze for a moment before Evan took advantage of the stillness, pinning him harder against the bed.
Barty's jaw clenched, and the fire in his chest only grew. “And you don´t know me,” he muttered, his expression stubborn, though there was a flicker of tension between them—undeniable, raw.
“You make yourself impossible to read,” Evan murmured, his breath warm against Barty's skin as he teased his earlobe with the tip of his tongue.
Barty’s breath hitched at the sensation, but he quickly masked it with a scoff. “Trust me,” he said, voice steady. “It’s better that way.”
“That’s not for you to decide,” Evan replied, his voice low but resolute.
There was something in his words—the weight of an unspoken desire to truly understand Barty—that unsettled him. The undertone of it sent a flicker of unease through his chest. Barty wasn’t someone who could be understood. He was damaged, cynical, selfish, and broken. He wasn’t worth the effort.
“Stop talking and fuck me already,” Barty demanded, swallowing the knot of insecurities that threatened to surface. “I’m not here for small talk. Don’t get things twisted,” he snapped, his words sharp with an edge of defiance.
Evan stopped, visibly stung by the remark.
“You’re so cruel,” he said, his lips curling into a frown.
For a brief moment, Barty felt a flicker of guilt. He saw the hurt in Evan’s eyes, the way his words had cut deeper than he intended. He had treated him like just another conquest—another body to add to his list—and not a person. But it had to be this way. There was something about Evan, something that drew him in despite all his instincts telling him to keep his distance. Barty couldn’t afford to let that pull get any stronger.
“I told you, I’m mean,” Barty replied, a hint of bitterness in his voice. “What, you think you’re special?”
Evan’s expression shifted instantly, the sadness turning into a sharp, quick anger. “Shut up and sit up,” he snapped.
Barty, without hesitation, obeyed, the command triggering a strange sort of submission in him. Before he could process it, Evan moved with surprising skill, taking him into his mouth. Barty’s breath hitched, a soft moan escaping him as Evan’s tongue worked magic. Damn, he was good.
His fingers tangled in Evan’s hair, pushing him further in, urging him deeper. Evan’s breath hitched, the struggle evident as he fought for control, yet he didn’t stop. There was a raw intensity in his movements—forceful, even tinged with aggression.
Yes, get angry. Barty thought, the rush of satisfaction tingling in his veins. If Evan hated him, if this was what it took to keep them in this twisted, chaotic dance, then they could keep doing this. And God, Barty didn’t want it to stop.
Evan pulled away, only to tease Barty with his tongue while he looked up at him with beautiful icy blue eyes. God, he was pretty. Barty felt a shiver run down his spine, before dropping his head back in pleasure.
“Whore,” Evan taunted, his voice low, before taking him back in.
Barty’s lips twitched into a half-smile, a dark amusement flickering in his eyes. Did Evan just slut-shame him while he was the one giving head? That little shit.
Evan quickened his pace, his hand joining the rhythm of his mouth. Barty's breath grew ragged, each inhale more heated than the last, the pressure building with every passing second.
“Geez, Rosier,” he panted. “Who taught you how to do that?”
But Evan didn’t respond, too focused on pushing Barty to his limits. And he succeeded. In a matter of minutes, Barty came, still inside Evan’s mouth.
Quickly, before Evan could spit, Barty grabbed him by the chin and tilted his face upwards. “Swallow,” he demanded. But Evan pushed his hand away, and slowly, he tilted his face downward, spitting out the cum from his mouth, letting it fall onto his chest in a mix with saliva. For some reason, this was far more arousing.
Seeing Evan’s chest covered in his cum made Barty’s stomach tighten with arousal. He swallowed hard, his eyes widening in shock as he stared, unable to look away.
In one swift motion, Barty shoved Evan onto his back, climbing on top of him with an urgency he could no longer contain. His breath was ragged, his desperation palpable as he yanked Evan’s underwear down in a single, hurried motion.
Without hesitation, Barty pushed inside, and Evan’s moan sent a jolt through him, igniting something primal. The sound alone was intoxicating. Barty’s movements were deliberate yet rhythmic, his free hand wrapping around Evan, stroking him in time with his thrusts. Each motion was filled with a hunger that bordered on feral.
“You’re so pretty like this,” Barty admitted, his voice laced with irritation. It was maddening, the way Evan could look so beautiful.
Evan didn’t reply. Instead, he grabbed Barty by the neck and pulled him down into a kiss, their wet tongues tangling with urgency. Evan’s chin was slick with a mix of cum and saliva, but Barty didn’t care. If anything, he reveled in it. He ran his tongue over the mess, savoring every moment, before capturing Evan’s jaw between his lips, sucking lightly.
Barty knew this was a mistake. Sleeping with him twice was a mistake. He had only one rule for himself: never sleep with the same person twice—unless it was Regulus Black. It was a rule born from hard-earned experience, one he clung to because he learned early on that crossing that line blurred the boundaries of casual intimacy. People got confused. What started as a simple arrangement inevitably morphed into something more complicated—something romantic, even.
He’d been through it enough times to know the signs. There were the texts, the late-night calls, people asking to "grab dinner" or "see where this could go." As if Barty would go on a date. Then there were the ones who lingered, hanging around his apartment long after they were finished, assuming that staying over was an option just because it had happened more than once. He always kicked them out, and without fail, they had the audacity to look offended. It wasn’t his fault people didn’t understand how to keep things casual. Just because he treated the people he fucked with decency didn’t mean he wanted anything more than their bodies and their pretty mouths.
Yes, he was a slut—but at least he was honest about it. Unlike those wannabe fuckboys who strutted around thinking they were enigmas, bragging about their conquests as if it required skill. Those types worked for attention, dangling fake promises and sweet lies to reel people in, only to toss them aside later. Barty hated the type. They bragged because they needed validation, and in his experience, anyone who bragged that much was compensating for something.
Barty didn’t play those games. He didn’t chase anyone, didn’t string them along, didn’t kiss and tell. He didn’t have to. People came to him for one thing, and he gave it to them—no false promises, no feigned romance. He set his boundaries clearly, and for the most part, they worked. No hurt feelings, no expectations, no one overstaying their welcome. People would hook up with him, and then he’d never hear from them again.
That was how he liked it.
He couldn’t even remember the last names—or sometimes the first—of most of the people he’d been with. And that was fine. Because the truth was, they didn’t know him either, and that’s how it had to stay. No pretense, no entanglements, no mess. It was just sex.
Barty didn’t tell anyone they were beautiful. He didn’t whisper sweet nothings or act like he wanted more. He didn’t lead people on, and he certainly didn’t need to brag about his encounters. He lived his life on his terms, and that was that.
But this? Sleeping with the same person twice? This broke all the rules.
It was a dangerous game he was playing, especially because Evan wasn’t just some random guy he’d picked up at a bar or club—he was Barty’s neighbor. And maybe, sort of, a friend? He couldn’t avoid Evan even if he wanted to; the guy literally lived next door. That fact alone blurred the lines. Living next to each other meant coexisting, and coexisting would inevitably lead to getting to know one another.
Barty really hoped Evan wasn’t a romantic. He hoped Evan, like him, was content with keeping things casual. But what if he wasn’t?
Barty wouldn’t admit it, but he didn’t want to hurt Evan—not intentionally, at least. He actually liked him, if he was being honest. Evan was a chill guy, even if he did constantly complain about the noise from Barty’s parties. And he was mysterious, too. Barty didn’t know much—if anything—about Evan Rosier’s past. He didn’t know who he really was, what he liked or disliked. Yet, somehow, he liked having him around.
There was something about Evan that intrigued Barty, a sense that this guy had just appeared out of nowhere, as if their meeting had been inevitable.
It was a case of right place, right time—or maybe wrong place, wrong time—because just as Evan had entered his life, James Potter had re-entered Regulus’ life. And Barty wasn’t a fool; he knew exactly what that meant. He knew it was only a matter of time before he lost Regulus to that idiot. He’d seen the effect Potter had on Regulus when they were younger, and he could see the same thing happening now.
Evan’s presence was almost convenient. While Regulus was preoccupied with thoughts of Potter, Barty could bury himself in Evan—use him as a distraction from the growing anxiety of his inevitable undoing with Regulus. If Regulus was going to drift away, Barty might as well keep himself entertained in the meantime.
The expression on Evan's face as Barty thrust into him was nothing short of divine—a beautiful, god-given masterpiece. If it weren’t for Regulus, Barty might have declared Evan Rosier the prettiest boy he’d ever laid eyes on. And those muscles? Enough to make a grown man cry.
It was the way Evan panted beneath him, the way he groaned with need, the way his voice wrapped around Barty’s name like a plea for more—it sent a heady rush coursing through him, intoxicating and addictive.
“Harder,” Evan pleaded, his voice breathless and raw.
Barty didn’t hesitate, driving into him with a fiercer intensity. His rhythm deepened, each thrust deliberate and commanding. When Evan’s hand slipped down to touch himself, Barty’s lips curled into a wicked grin. There was something electrifying about watching someone take matters into their own hands, even as he was still buried inside them.
It told Barty everything he needed to know about Evan: the bastard was insatiable, greedy for more, and utterly shameless. And Barty loved every second of it.
Barty kept going, his movements relentless, eyes burning with raw desire. The tension between them built to a fever pitch until, finally, they both unraveled. Evan came first, his release spilling over his abdomen in hot, messy streaks. Moments later, Barty followed, groaning low as he released deep inside Evan, their bodies trembling in unison from the intensity of it all.
Barty fell on top of him, restless and breathy. He took one minute to regain his strength and then he was pulling away. Boundaries - he needed them. If he didn't leave now, then he might not ever.
Evan quickly sat up, a look of confusion evident in his face. He saw the way Barty got quickly dressed up, with a sense of ache in his chest. Before Barty could leave, he tugged at his arm.
“Wait,” Evan said softly. “Stay a little.”
Barty froze, his chest tightening with a pang of unfamiliar anxiety. It wasn’t the first time someone had asked him to stay, but it was the first time a part of him actually wanted to. That thought alone terrified him. The vulnerability, the pull—it was foreign and unwelcome.
He should have been kinder, less callous, but his mind was spinning, and instinct took over.
“Don’t kid yourself,” he said, a bitter scoff escaping his lips. “You’re not him.”
The words hung heavy in the air, cruel and cutting, before Barty turned and fled, slipping out the door like a scared, cornered child.