Chapter 1
All the tales the same
Told before and told again
A soul that's born in cold and rain
Knows sunlight, sunlight, sunlight
The lights pulse along to the beat of the song like a living heartbeat, loud and undeniable, impossible to ignore or escape from. The room is hot, the air thick and humid. Regulus manages his way to a window, stumbling and giggling all the while. He shoves the window up and sticks his hands out, trying to lean far enough forward to catch the raindrops falling from the sky on his palms. Little ocean kisses. He hums happily and turns his hands over, letting the rain run in rivulets across the backs of his hands.
“Reg, baby, what are you doing?” Warm hands encase his hips, gently caressing the exposed skin above the waist of his skirt.
“‘M catching the rain,” Regulus mumbles, pulling back from the window and leaning back against James’ chest with a dopey grin. James chuckles and presses a gentle kiss to the top of Regulus’ head, overtop one of the star clips in his hair. Regulus sways side to side in James’ arms, completely off-beat with the music.
“You’re absolutely pissed, aren’t you, love?” James murmurs into Regulus’s hair.
“No,” Regulus defends. “Just…tipsy.”
“Sure, love.”
Regulus giggles and stands on his tiptoes, clumsily trying to press a kiss to the gleaming skin of James’ neck. Distantly he wonders how it would taste if he licked the spot, if James would let him.
“Reg,” James warns lightly with a squeeze to his hip.
“What?”
James sighs and closes his eyes for a moment. “Alright. Let’s get you home.”
When the Uber comes, Regulus sits himself on James’ lap, humming to himself and pressing kisses to James’ neck, leaving it shiny with gloss.
“Petits soleils,” Regulus says breathily. He stares, entranced, at the marks on James’ neck, little butterflies erupting in his stomach. He can feel heat flooding his veins slowly, heart beating between his legs. “Tellement jolie.”
“Hm?” James questions, linking his hands together around Regulus, letting them rest against his lower back.
Regulus ignores the question, dragging his hands over James’ chest, broad and toned beneath his button up. Regulus unfastens the top few buttons and lets his fingers glide over the skin before sinking his nails in and watching marks bloom red under his fingertips. He giggles softly, entranced by how big James is.
“Shit,” James hisses. “Careful, sitaare.” Regulus hums noncommittally, leaning forward to trace over the lines with his tongue.
“Okay, that’s enough.” James pulls Regulus away from his chest with a hand in his hair. Regulus whines and pouts, sticking his bottom lip out and crossing his arms over his chest.
“Nooo,” Regulus complains.
“You’re drunk, love.”
“Am not,” Regulus grumbles, but he settles for the rest of the ride, tucking himself as close to James as he can possibly get without crawling inside his chest. Briefly, Regulus decides he’d like that, warm and comforted by the slow beat of James' heart that rings in his ears. His blinks get slower, eyes staying closed a moment later, his head drooping against James’ neck. James’ hand comes up to cup the back of Regulus’s neck, his thumb stroking up and down.
“Go to sleep, princess. I’ll wake you up when we’re there.”
“Mm,” Regulus whines, clutching tightly to James, who is attempting to lay him down. They’re inside now, tucked away in Regulus’s flat, safe from the prying eyes of strangers. His eyes are still closed, and sleep slows his limbs. “Nooo…”
James chuckles airily. “Come on, love. Gotta set you down.”
“No,” Regulus insists. “Because then you’ll leave. ”
“We’ve talked about this — ”
“No.”
James sighs and shifts Regulus, turning to take a seat on the couch with Regulus in his lap. Regulus opens his eyes, gazing up at James reverently.
“What am I gonna do with you?”
“Keep me,” Regulus responds instantly, pursing his glossy lips. “Forever.”
“Sirius might not like that,” James murmurs. “And we’re not going to have this conversation while you’re drunk.”
“You started it.”
It takes almost twenty minutes, but James manages to get Regulus comfortably tucked up on the couch — he had refused to go to his room, where he “wouldn’t be able to see you, Jamie.”
James sets himself to washing the dishes in Regulus’ sink, aware of the other’s eyes trained on him as he does so. In what James thinks of as a massive show of self-restraint, he doesn’t turn around, not once. Not until he’s washed every dish and has felt the heavy weight of Regulus’ eyes on him disappear.
He moves back into the living room, drying his hands on a chequered tea towel as he walks. Regulus has fallen asleep, eyes closed and lines of his face slackened. It makes James feel important, getting to see and take care of Regulus like this. Needed. Useful. Especially when Regulus begs him to stay, once going so far as to get on his knees, hands clasped in front of him.
James leans down to press a gentle kiss to Regulus’s cheek, the same way he’s done time and time before, but Regulus shifts so their lips brush.
“Minx,” James grumbles. “I know you’re awake.”
Regulus giggles breathlessly and opens his eyes, the pretty grey-green irises framed by thick, dark eyelashes. His cheeks are dusted with pink, a delicate rose colour. James wants to taste, wants to sink his teeth in and take. But this is Regulus, and wanting him — the desperate, aching longing that James feels in his chest — could never be so important as to disturb and possibly ruin the camaraderie and peace they have now. Regulus, apparently, has no such cares.
“Mhm.” Regulus bites his lip, his pearly teeth tugging at the shiny, messily glossed skin. “Kiss me again? Pretty, pretty please?”
It happens every time Regulus gets drunk — kissing James’ skin and leaving invisible marks across his skin as his fingers drag, and asking so nicely for a kiss at the end of the night. And James — James is weak, and Regulus is so pretty in his crocheted top, his curls artfully messy.
James presses his lips to Regulus’s — once, twice, a third time. Regulus grins and lets his tongue dart out, sweeping across James’ bottom lip. James pulls back and Regulus has the gall to look innocent, widening his eyes and slow-blinking.
It almost makes James forget — forget that Regulus only talks to him like this when he’s drunk, that sober Regulus has never done more than allow James to be as physically affectionate as he wants, that pretty, pretty Regulus in his skirts and crop tops is not James’s. But maybe that’s okay, for now at least, because James gets Regulus like this, and no one else does. Because James is the one he asks for, begs for, not anyone else.