Chanson d'Hiver

James was so bloody bored.

Sirius and Remus had gone on a date—there was no other way to say it; he’d known Sirius long enough to know that he was infatuated with Remus. Remus was generally fairly quiet, allowing James to do most of the talking, but the two had formed a fast and easy friendship. James recognized the signs in Remus as well—the flushed cheeks, the way he slipped Sirius into conversation constantly…

They were only here for a short time, but James was certain that the two of them would continue their relationship beyond Mont Blanc.

For his part, although James was still intrigued by Lily Evans (and her curves, and her shining copper hair, and her pert little nose), he also found himself becoming slightly infatuated with Sirius’s younger brother—a horrible move for so many reasons.

Every time James caught his mind drifting to Regulus’s carefully tousled curls, his delicate features, his slender, ringed fingers, he forced himself to envision Lily (and those curves), or how Sirius would react (probably not well), or how Regulus himself would react—Regulus, who called the cocoa vendor an idiot, who was constantly aloof, composed, cold, impenetrable…

So when James found himself suddenly standing outside of Regulus’s suite, poised to knock, he was somewhat startled to realize that he didn’t even remember consciously making the decision to go there.

I’m just bored, he thought, squaring his shoulders. Regulus is on his own, and so am I, and we may as well spend some time together since Sirius and Remus are occupied.

He felt the lie of it churn in his stomach, but he rapped quickly on the door anyway.

“It’s unlocked,” a voice called softly from inside.

James walked into the room to see Regulus seated at a table in the center of the room, tousled head bowed over a large sketchpad. A stack of books sat beside him—an art book on Degas, Wuthering Heights and Anna Karenina set atop it. The sleeves of his oversized ivory button up were loosely rolled to reveal delicate wrists, his left hand dragging the charcoal stick across the page. His rings flashed in the gently setting sunlight that shone through the window behind him.

James swallowed once, forcing himself to speak rather than stand there peering at Regulus as if he were some sort of spectacle.

“What are you listening to?” he asked, noting the peaceful piano music that tinkled in the background as he looked around.

Regulus did not look up as he responded. “Chopin’s Nocturnes.”

“Hmm… okay then.”

James continued to stare at Regulus as he sketched, noting the similarities and differences between him and Sirius—as if someone had made intentional mistakes between them. Sirius’s face was softer, more heart-shaped, whereas Regulus’s nose was a bit longer and his chin a bit pointier, his jaw chiseled and his cheekbones high and sharp enough to cut diamonds. His dark lashes rested on his cheeks, the curly halo of black hair shorter than Sirius’s flowing waves.

“Did you need something?” Regulus asked sharply.

James startled.

“N-no…” he began. “I just thought I’d see what you were up to.”

James shrugged, going for casual as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

“Did you.” Regulus said this flatly, finally deigning to look at James.

Another difference: Sirius’s eyes were the color of a stormy sea, but there was a warmth to them. Despite the watercolor shades of Regulus’s—the blues and greens flecked with gold—the way he was glaring at James right now was anything but warm.

James felt the corner of his mouth lift—something about Regulus’s insouciance was incredibly appealing.

“Yes, I did,” James grinned, coming around the table to peer over Regulus’s shoulder at the sketch.

It was some sort of landscape—difficult to tell precisely where due to the lack of color, but it was good. James was impressed.

“Somewhere you’ve been?” James asked, pressing his index finger to a line on the parchment.

“Marseille,” Regulus said. “I rather hoped we would spend the holiday somewhere warm, but here we are.”

The song changed to something dramatic and operatic. James leaned over to see the name of the song on the screen—“E Lucevan le Stelle”—and in the meantime was hit with Regulus’s scent. It was erotic—eucalyptus and oud and something woodsy. The Black brothers must do some sort of wizardry to be able to smell so good. It made James’s pulse pound.

“Do you mind if I sit down?” James asked, not wanting to lurk over Regulus’s shoulder.

“Please.” Regulus gestured to the empty chair beside him.

“So you prefer the warm weather,” James stated.

“Ouais. I can’t imagine why anyone would choose to go outside in the snow and slide down a hill with boards strapped to their feet, getting soaking wet and ice cold.”

“You only get soaking wet and ice cold if you fall down a lot,” James teased.

“I can ski just fine, thank you very much,” Regulus said primly. “My parents made sure of that from a young age—not that we were given much choice.”

Regulus was twirling his rings, drawing James’s attention once more to his hands. His fingers were long and slender and James was enamored with them. Every conversation they had had over the course of the past week and a half drew James in, and in spite of Regulus’s apparent aloofness, he hadn’t asked James to leave—had engaged with him, every single time.

“Your art is quite good. I’m excited to see the finished product,” James said, leaning forward to look at the sketch once more.

Another art book—this one of Monet—was open on the table, and James noted this as well. Sirius had never mentioned that Regulus was so artsy, but it was undeniable that he was talented.

“Thank you,” Regulus said stiffly.

“I don’t usually ‘get’ art,” James began.

Regulus’s eyes flashed.

“I mean, I can’t just look at a piece of art and be like, ‘oh yes, the significance of this cloud’ or ‘ah, the symbolism of the color blue here’ or whatever,” James said.

“No, no, no—non. That’s not what art is about at all—people always get it wrong,” Regulus said. He shook his head.

“Sorry,” James said quickly, although he wasn’t sure why exactly he was apologizing. Regulus seemed offended—he was a bit fussy, and James didn’t mind that, but he also didn’t want to upset him.

“Art is less about the symbolism of a certain color—that’s a meaning that others ascribe to it,” Regulus said, leaning forward as well. “Art is about how you feel—here,” he said, pressing his elegant hand to James’s heart.

James forgot how to breathe.

“Mmblgmm,” he murmured—or something to that effect. Regulus was vibrant, impassioned, talking with his hands as he arched closer, and James was enchanted. 

“It’s that piece of music or that poem or that piece of art that stays with you and becomes a part of whoyouare—like a beautiful sunset, or the ocean on a stormy day, or when you go outside at night in the middle of a gorgeous snowstorm and the snow whispers down around you and it’s like no one exists but you—like the snow and the stars, all of it, exists just for you—that is what art is about.”

“That’s a beautiful way to describe it,” James said.

Even in the dusky twilight glow, James could see that Regulus’s cheeks were flushed; whether from the compliment or the art talk, James couldn’t be sure. A pair of dimples bracketed a rare smile, and that made it all the brighter.

“It’s true,” Regulus said, still smiling. “Art is accessible—it’s one of the few things that transcends time and space and reminds us that we are not alone, that we’re all more connected than we realize.”

“It’s comforting to think of it like that,” James mused.

“It is—I’ve always found great comfort in that,” Regulus said.

He was fiddling with his rings again. He wore a signet ring on the middle finger of his left hand—James recognized it because Sirius had one as well, emblazoned with the Black family crest and motto. On his right hand, he wore delicate silver bands around his thumb and ring finger and a silver serpent with emerald gemstone eyes—this is the one he was twirling round and round. Regulus was usually so composed that seeing him fidgeting was incredibly disarming—as if he’d let the mask he always wore slip, just a bit. It was almost as if he were allowing James in to see a part of him that he usually kept hidden away. It was lovely, and James’s heart flipped.

Regulus seemed to have a thing for Italian opera—another song began that hearkened to warm nights and cool ocean breezes in Italy (or so James imagined, as he’d never actually been to Italy).

James thought that Regulus looked like art—like a Renaissance painting, or something Impressionist and lovely.

“You’re so pretty,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. “Like art.”

Regulus flushed. He quirked a brow, as if unable to read James’s sincerity.

“You are. You’re so lovely. You feel like… like an ocean sunset, or a blizzard—something beautiful and powerful.”

Regulus breathed in heavily through his nose, shaking his head slightly.

“What are you…”

“You are, Regulus. You’re absolutely captivating, and fascinating. You make me feel something,” James said, running his fingers through his hair and feeling it get messier than usual.

At some point, they had gotten closer to one another, their foreheads nearly touching in that shared space of their breath. Regulus was like a magnet: James couldn’t control his body’s urge to be closer and closer to Regulus. He wanted to drown in him, in his eucalyptus-heavy scent, in his sun-flecked eyes. He was close enough now that James could see the tiny scar that cut through the cupid’s bow of his upper lip, to see the freckle on his cheekbone, another near his hairline… to see every eyelash, every pore…

Regulus took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Regulus…”

“James.”

And something about the way he looked up at James from under those lacy black lashes had James leaning forward, wrapping his hand around the nape of Regulus’s neck and pressing a kiss to his lips.

Before he could even process what was happening or really appreciate the marshmallow-softness of Regulus’s lips, Regulus was leaning into him as well and kissing him back. James could hardly believe that this was happening. The heady scent of Regulus combined with the pressure of Regulus’s hands running over James’s chest and arms made him dizzy—even more so when Regulus gently squeezed his bicep and let out a soft sound of approval.

James reached up expertly with one hand and tugged off his glasses, setting them on the table with a carelessness he didn’t usually exhibit with his only way of seeing the world, turning his focus entirely back on Regulus.

Regulus had risen slightly, and James slid a hand to his trim waist and pulled him closer. Regulus straddled James, rolling his hips against James and nibbling slightly on his lip before running his tongue over it. James’s entire body reacted to that, and Regulus pulled away, giving James a self-satisfied half-smile at the palpable reaction beneath his jeans. Regulus slid his hands over James’s chest before running them over the short hair at the nape of his neck, pressing a kiss to the space just beneath James’s earlobes.

James tightened his grip on Regulus’s hair in response, pulling him closer. Regulus moaned slightly, and James felt his core tighten with desire. He tugged again, experimentally, and Regulus moaned again, leaving no doubt that he was enjoying the gentle roughness.

James felt the strain against the front of Regulus’s tailored trousers, his need as apparent as James’s own. He pulled Regulus in closer, barely able to process that this completely lovely human was having the same visceral reaction to this experience that he was.

James pressed his lips to Regulus’s neck, the ivory skin smooth as he traced his tongue over it, tasting the desire that seeped through his pores. Regulus gasped as James licked the spot behind his ear.

“Encore,” he gasped, tilting his head back to expose his neck. “Plus, s’il vous plait.”  

James wasn’t entirely sure what Regulus said, but him murmuring in French and pressing himself as close as humanly possible left little doubt as to what he desired. James continued to run his mouth over the column of Regulus’s neck, tugging softly at the curls around his ears as he did so.

He lowered his attention to the expanse of chest where Regulus had left the top two buttons undone under the silver chain he wore. Regulus continued to rake his hands through James’s hair and up and down his back.

“Hold on,” James murmured, reaching down to yank his rugby shirt over his head with one hand, the other still holding on to Regulus’s waist.

Regulus’s bedroom eyes widened momentarily at the sight, which was admittedly satisfying. James worked hard to stay in shape and was pleased that Regulus noticed. Regulus flushed slightly when he noticed James’s attention, and James felt his face spread into a crooked smile. He felt Regulus’s heart rate increase and slid his fingers nimbly over the buttons of his shirt, pausing before pulling it down over Regulus’s slender shoulders. Regulus nodded once, assisting in removing the shirt (including a slightly awkward moment when the buttonhole of the sleeve somehow got stuck around the tail of Regulus’s snake ring—which required some fumbling before it was freed).

It was James’s turn to stare. Regulus was compact and slender, his delicate but strong build chiseled in a way that James hadn’t expected to find underneath the oversized button up shirts or baggy jumpers Regulus favored. His skin was smooth as marble and unmarred apart from a few freckles that spread across his arms and torso like a constellation, a map of Regulus Arcturus Black.

Regulus was biting his lip, his eyebrows drawn as if he were nervous.

“You’re lovely,” James breathed.

Regulus blushed—a raspberry flush that spread over his cheeks and across his clavicle, which James leaned in to kiss as he stood in one swift movement, carrying Regulus over to the sprawling bed in the next room. Regulus wrapped his legs closer to James, climbing up his torso and pressing fierce kisses to him.

They were a tangle of tongues and teeth and hands, frantic as if they could not get close enough. James laid him down on the bed, the soft moonlight reflecting off the snow their only source of light, and hovered over Regulus, feeling the muscles in his back ripple as Regulus ran his hands over them.

They made quick work of removing their trousers, and Regulus reached out to touch the tip of James, running his thumb over it, sliding his hand around the length of him. And damn those bloody rings—they were cold, as were Regulus’s hands, and he gasped at the unexpected pleasure of it all. Regulus gave James that same little smirk from before, completely aware of the impact that he was having.

James was determined to reciprocate and lowered himself down Regulus’s front, pressing kisses along the way, feeling Regulus shudder and shiver beneath him as he got closer to that most sensitive point.

James dragged his tongue up the length of Regulus’s pulsing cock, smiling around the twitch of it. He looked up and could just make out Regulus leaning his head back, closing his eyes in ecstasy, before sliding his mouth over the throbbing arousal. Regulus wound his hands in James’s hair and pulled, gasping aloud.

“James…” he whispered, and James thrilled at hearing Regulus say his name like that.

He pulled away when he felt that Regulus was close, holding himself over him once more. He kissed Regulus, pressing their chests together.

“James, please…” Regulus begged.

James had no idea if Regulus was interested in him, or what was going to happen, but he wasn’t worried about Sirius or Remus or anything in this moment but being with Regulus and making him feel as wonderful as possible.

He lined up with Regulus and slid inside, allowing both of them a moment to adjust to the feel of it before they began to move together as one.

When it was over, James laid on his back in Regulus’s silk sheets, running his hands up and down Regulus’s shoulders and through his bedhead of curls. They had both come, and while James had not intended for any of this to happen when he approached Regulus’s room earlier, he was not at all surprised or upset that it had occurred. They had been circling each other, James thought, since the first moment they’d seen each other upon his arrival to Mont Blanc.

How he moved forward, though, would be tricky. Regulus was his best friend’s brother. Regulus was a Black, an heir to one of the most notorious homes in Britain, and his parents were incredibly conservative. Obviously he was less so, if the previous hours were any indication, but would he be willing to move forward with James? Was that even what he, James, wanted? He sighed, pressing his lips to the curls atop Regulus’s head, breathing in his woodsy scent.

Regulus slept sweetly, dozing against his chest, and it wasn’t long before the rise and fall of his body against James lulled him to sleep as well.