Flush
A few months ago, Regulus wholeheartedly believed that he was trapped inside a nightmare that won’t ever cease. He was sure that even if he ever did wake from it, that the horror of it shall come to grace him even in his daydreams, looming over him like the deep, dark truth he believed it to be. A few months ago, Regulus felt as if he was in a land between that of the living and the dead, a place between France and England, between strength and weakness: death.
A few days ago, Regulus found it hard to believe that he wasn’t stuck in a beautiful daydream. A part of him thought, as the kisses and the praise came to grace him, as the evasive looks became intent stares and the flush of shame became that of joy, that he would wake, panting, still inside that ancient nightmare which used to be his reality. A few days ago, Regulus made peace with sharing the land he once thought was his own to nurture. Peace, as it turned out, was a land all over France, England and Russia: it was Sankt Peterburg and it was Paris and Edinburugh, and it was black curls mixing gently with brown ones, a place between happiness and sorrow: love.
It was hard at first.
Getting used it.
The voice is still there, after all of these months, and he still bends before it sometimes, but the hands that carry him away from it are far more gentle and inviting than those who pushed him to the abyss he is in when he hears it. Oh, how gentle they are.
Sometimes, as Regulus came to find in those last few days since he said yes to a question he feared so much of being asked, the hard questions are very easy to answer.
And sometimes, a nightmare isn’t as scary when someone is there to wake you from it with a caress.
Sometimes, it is better to have loved than to not have loved at all.
The ball is tonight, as he is constantly reminded by the stares and the whispers around him.
From Growing up as a Black and a member of the Sacred Twenty Eight, Regulus was quite used to balls and dances such as this. As a child up until he was fifteen, he was paraded around - along with his brother, of course - in events such as this. The heir and the spare. Sirius and Regulus.
Being a part of several different wizarding houses around Europe, they attended balls all around it. From Russia to France, back to Scotland and the little trip it took to Germany. He would always dread them and anticipate them all at once. The dread, of course, was of the company and being paraded around like a doll, but the anticipation was of glory.
He used to love it as a child.
In a way, he still does.
It was the music, some composers being wizards, but the occasional slip of a muggle one. By fatal mistake or on purpose, he always thought of those moments in awe, because no matter how much distaste and disgust his mother held for muggles and all that was related to them, she could never really escape her own love for their music. From her study at home and her lips at these events, he would hear it under a muffled silencing spell and smile.
It was the culture, and the languages that flowed around like pieces of a puzzle only he could make whole: not all of the ancient houses made their children learn as many languages, but if not anything, Regulus was happy that he did. In a way, he felt that he had a better understanding of the world around him, and the more people around him spoke, some in ball gowns and some in dress robes, always whispering - shushing, putting a hand on each other’s mouths - forgetting that there is no such thing as privacy when you’re an heir, no such thing as being entitled when you’re a tsar. From whispers, some speaking in ancient tongues to avoid being heard - he knew and understood.
There were bad parts, of course. There always was a catch with the Blacks. The way there and the way back home, the silence and the threatening stares from across the ballroom that came with his mother’s intentful gaze. Stay pure, it said, for I am always watching.
For a moment, when putting up a spell to iron his dress robes for tonight, he wondered what his mother was doing. If she still went to balls, accompanied by the cold arm of his father. Did she still linger sometimes when she heard a whisper of Latin? Did she gaze at another boy with black curls as he had, leering until she understood that both her sons have left her, and she was likely never to see them again?
Regulus shushed her voice in his head and looked at the result.
They were black and white, simple but with elegance. He was used to wearing them, having left them with some other belongings before he got kicked out during Christmas. It was interesting, of course, to come back and see all that he had left thinking he wouldn't need. A little sad at first and more solemn as time passed.
It was a wound at first. Gushing and flooding him, covering him with his own blood. Drowning at first, haunted and now, still feverish but almost well.
Almost.
A wound doesn’t become a scar right after flooding. Sometimes we linger on the pain, opening it once again just to see our skin ripping. Just to see our own blood again, to prove to ourselves that it still flows within our veins after gushing.
But it is a scar now - opening every now and then, sometimes on its own, grazing against a memory, and sometimes because he opens it just to see himself bleed, but it is a scar.
Scars fade.
They become memories.
“Nice robes, Reg,” Barty said.
“Mhm?” he replied absentmindedly.
“Nice robes.”
“Thanks,” Regulus smiled softly and looked at the robes, fixing the tie. They were resting on his bed, ready for him to put them on.
“You’re happy,” Barty winced. “Stop it. It’s weird.”
“Can’t I be happy?”
“You’re smiling. I didn’t know your face could do that.”
“Shut up.”
“Seriously,” Barty snickered and pulled Evan’s hand to see, “He’s smiling.”
“I smile. I’m cheerful,” Regulus argued.
Evan snorted.
“If you’re cheerful then my date tonight is the giant squid.”
Regulus finally looked up. They were standing close, Barty’s hand reaching for Evan’s. It was a quiet gesture which seemed almost like an instinct - he wasn’t sure that Barty noticed it - but Evan’s fingers laced with his with ease.
“Not too far off, I’d say.”
“I wish for you to die in agony,” Barty stated dramatically.
“And I wish for you to put a silencing spell when you’re fucking your boyfriend. We don’t all get what we want, do we?” he snickered.
Evan choked a laugh and went to fix his robes, which were hanging in a rack near his bed.
“Maybe you wouldn’t have to listen to your friends fucking if you were to bring a certain someone to our lovely home,” Barty said.
“For the last time, I am not-”
“I’m sure you aren’t,” Evan interrupted the never ending argument that flooded their room in the last few months. Because Barty knew, and Regulus knew that Barty knew, and Barty knew that Regulus knew that he knew. It was fun to keep the secret for just a little while longer.
“Almost seven,” he stated after casting a quick tempo, “Shall we get ready?”
✹
When they agreed to go to the ball together, it meant - technically - that they weren’t going together, but rather together in spirit. They were together, and if anyone asked James to dance he would serve a disapproving look, and would anticipate his gaze from the other side of the room when he disappeared for a moment. He would relish in the idea of a dance, of getting his hands on him. He would nod to all of the odd looks to come their way - what an odd pairing they must seem to outsiders, don’t they? - he’d smile softly, knowing that not one person on earth besides he and James will know of this treasure between them.
All of the pining and anticipation, all of the agony and the craving, all of the secrets and whispers, every moment where he could almost reach out and touch it, every place in James’ throat that he’d kissed in the last few days and intends to kiss every day until he’ll leave a permanent mark. Every bit of royalty within his blood that would be tainted to another pureblood and fearful for a half-blood is his own to tarnish.
Regulus, Barty and Evan walked in the ballroom to see Pandora and Dorcas waiting for them at one of the tables. Dorcas sitting with a drink in her hand - undeniably and shamelessly staring at Mckinnon, who wore a delicate red dress and was talking to Mary on the other end of the room, seemingly oblivious. Dorcas was slouched on her chair in a black cocktail dress, the drink undoubtedly spiked or she wouldn’t have enjoyed it as much as she seemed to, and her hand on Pandora’s shoulder as she turned and saw them, “Boy, do you clean up well,” she snickered.
Barty, Evan and himself were in formal black and white dress robes. Barty’s tie was missing, Evan’s dress shirt a few buttons opened and Regulus in the tight embrace of properly worn formal robes. On his left hand was the Black family crest, a white gold ring with a jet black diamond on it. It meant little to nothing now - with being disowned - but power was power, and beauty was beauty, and he wanted to wear it - so he did.
“You too, Meadows,” Barty complemented with an up-and-down gaze.
Regulus turned to look for James but couldn’t find him anywhere in sight.
The whole lot of students around them were dressed formally, and rather beautifully. The girls in dresses, the boys in formal robes, Tchaikovsky’s waltz from the large (and ancient) gramophone. The people pouring in - fifth year and up, not yet dancing but chatting amongst themselves and looking around in awe.
Pandora turned to Regulus and said, with her firm, knowing smile, “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” he turned back to her and smiled. She wore a light blue dress that hugged her slightly and went loose on the bottom. Her visage slightly glistened in the floating oil lamps, delicate as only a Lestrange could be.
She gently gestured for him to walk with her to the drinks table, near the back exit. She grabbed a glass of champagne (non alcoholic, he assumed) and looked around her to see if anyone was watching, and pulled out a silver flask to put in it. She handed it to Regulus with a smile and proceeded to make another glass for herself.
“You hang out with us too much, you know,” he said and sipped his drink. Looking around, he noticed James was still nowhere to be found.
“You seem eager to find something,” she pointed and took a sip of her own drink.
He gave her a look, which she returned with a slight tilt of the head, which meant she already knew, but would only point it out if he were to bring it up.
“I am,” he admitted. She hummed and smiled to herself. “Am I being obvious?”
“The smiles give you away. You hardly ever smile like that, you know.”
“And?” he sipped again.
The music changed. Mozart now, he noted to himself.
“All of the eye fucking, and the staring. He’s always staring at you, you know. Has been for years.”
“We’re together,” he managed faintly after another sip.
She laughed. “I know.”
It felt good to admit it. The secret thing was just for now, he knew. But it felt good nonetheless.
“I’m really happy, Dora,” he said and turned to look her in the eye. “He’s- I mean, you’ve seen him.”
Her smile grew bigger. “I have. He’s hot.”
“You think?”
“I know that you think so. You always look like you’re having an orgasm when Gryffindor plays Quidditch. Oh, and when he comes in the hall with his uniforms, and when-”
“Shut up. I should’ve told Dorcas.”
She laughed.
He was pouring a second drink when she pulled his arm and whispered, “Смотрите кто здесь.”
He turned and oh, that’s just not right.
Through the arched doors of the ballroom, Sirius and James walked in. Slightly behind them, trailed Lily, who wore a soft violet dress and was passionately talking to Remus about something. He wore a Black and white suit, and his tie hung loosely.
Sirius looked fondly behind them and threw a remark that made Remus chuckle when they walked in. He was wearing his formal dress robes in a manner that would send their mother to her grave if she ever saw it, with the buttons open and revealing his chest, his tie stuffed in his front pocket and his eyes slightly smudged with eyeliner. But next to him, stood James.
And oh, was it unfair that Regulus couldn’t walk next to him. The dress robes were formal - nothing too special to them besides the way he wore them. The buttons of the jacket were crossed and buttoned all the way up, hugging his frame gently. The Potter crest was on his finger, gently wrapped around a black daisy he held in his hand. His tie was nowhere to be seen, his brown curls slicked back, almost blond in this light, gently framing his face. He didn’t seem uncomfortable in the robes as one might think he would - his parents were pureblood, sure - but they weren’t like other pureblood families. They didn’t run in the same circles as the Blacks or forced their children to learn all which was considered aristocratic. They were a family before they were a dynasty, and that has made all the difference.
Still, he was still an heir. James was used to getting his hair drenched in sweat in practice and was comfortable in his uniform as he was in high society attire. Being an elite didn’t rid him of his boyishness, and being boyish didn’t take the ability to look like an heir when he desired it.
“Fuck, he’s hot,” he mumbled.
Pandora laughed and leaned on the table.
“Call him here.”
“How? He’s far away.”
“Do that weird psychic thing you do to guys. It’s funny, I want to see it.”
“I don’t do a psychic thing to-”
“Ah, you sure do. He sees you,” she noted.
James’ eyes widened as he caught Regulus’. From the other side of the room, a smile rose to his face and he whispered something to Remus who stood near him. Like a game of domino, Remus nodded and then took Sirius’ arm in his, which easily distracted Sirius from anything else around him. The three - Remus, Sirius and Lily - walked to greet Mary in the middle of the room - leaving James alone near the entrance.
Regulus nodded slightly at him without ever removing his gaze. James started walking to him.
Pandora leaned closer to him, “If you don’t think that’s psychic…”
Regulus snorted.
“You just summoned him with your incredibly all-powerful fuck me eyes to the other side of the room. Look at him. He’s practically-”
James stopped close to Regulus and drew his hands behind his back. “Regulus,” he greeted.
A pureblood manner to show respect is to kiss the other’s hand. And so, James took his hand and slightly grazed it with his lips, maintaining eye contact before finally kissing it.
“James,” Regulus swallowed.
“How are you doing?” Pandora asked him warmly and poured him a drink. “Here.”
“Oh, thanks! I’m doing good.”
“Spike it?” she offered.
“Sorry?”
She huffed and quickly pulled out her flask to put in his drink.
“Oh, you’re a lifesaver. Thank you,” he took a sip. “Fuck, that’s strong.”
“She’s Russian.”
“So, James,” she played with the straw in her drink, “Who’s your date?”
“отьебись от него,” Regulus turned to her. Pandora pulled her shoulders innocently.
“She knows,” he turned to James, who looked oddly flushed.
“Good. Great. I mean- fantastic,” he mumbled.
“Fantastic?” Regulus inquired, smirking.
“Well, yes,” James said, sheepishly.
“I have never once heard you use that word.”
“I use it! It’s just, well…” he started.
Pandora gave them both an amused glance.
“He thought it was hot,” she turned nonchalantly to Regulus.
James buried his face in Regulus’ shoulder.
“He thought what was hot?” Regulus asked, confused.
“You speaking Russian.”
Regulus turned to look at James.
“Well that’s my queue, удачи.”
And with that she took a swift turn and got back to the group.
“So… Russian?” he asked.
“And the French,” James admitted with a grunt.
Regulus laughed.
“I’d love to see your face when you’ll learn I know Latin.”
“You do?” his eyes met Regulus’. “Oh, that’s not good for me. Say something.”
“Te amo,” he whispered.
“What’s it mean?” James whispered back.
“I said your hair looks ridiculous,” Regulus took a sip of his drink.
“You did not,” James rolled his eyes.
“You’ll never know,” Regulus hummed with a smile.
“You’re evil.”
“And hot, as I’ve learned.”
“Oh, so hot. You have no idea,” James smiled.
“I didn’t know she spoke Russian,” he noted after taking another sip.
“Oh, yes. We all do. The Letranges and the Blacks, I mean. We’re distant cousins, so we grew up together. Mother is Russian and Father is French. Pandora is Russian and Eastern European, so we speak it sometimes.”
“So,” James said with a very serious face that made Regulus deepen his smile, “How many languages do you actually know?”
“Is it really that attractive to you?” he laughed.
“Oh, extremely. You have no idea. I have dirty dreams of you whispering sweet nothings in my ear in all kinds of languages I don’t understand.”
Regulus snorted.
“Well, there’s French and English, of course. Russian and a bit of Ukrainian, Latin, and I’ve been wanting to learn Greek.”
“What I would not give to suck your cock right now, you have no idea.”
Regulus’ heart flipped inside his chest in a very embarrassing manner.
“The night is still young, Potter,” he stated with a raise of his eyebrows.
“Ah, that it is, baby.”
“What’s with the flower?” Regulus gestured with a smirk.
“What flower?” James looked confused, and then, “Oh! Yes, it’s for you.”
“For me?”
“You told me what you’d wear, so I thought it would match. I know you still don’t want everyone to know, so I thought that way you could have a piece of me all night even if I’m not with you.”
“Fuck you, now I really want to suck your cock.”
James laughed as he put the flower to Regulus’ dash.
“We could sneak out later,” he suggested.
“Always trying to get in my pants, aren’t you?”
“Oh, shamelessly. If you saw how you looked right now, you would want to get in your pants.”
“Why should I when James Potter can do it for me?”
James groaned.
“You’re making this too hard.”
“Oh, I’d bet.”
“That’s it. I’m leaving,” he stated with a comically pained voice.
“Save a dance for me, won’t you?” He grabbed James’ hand before he left to go back to his friends.
“Oh, don’t you worry. I’m gonna get you back,” James whispered before he turned on his heel and went back to Sirius and Remus.
The night continued to swirl, and more and more people walked in before Dumbledore walked in to stand in the middle of the floor and raised his wand to his throat to give the usual speech.
Well, Regulus assumed it was a usual matter. The dance happened once every five years - just as the old tournament that it is meant to be a memorial of did - always on the same day and always with a speech. He would talk about the tournament, then perseverance - getting over losses only to reach prosperity, and blah, blah blah.
Regulus was too busy staring at someone other than Dumbledore to fully listen to the whole speech.
In his defense, he was much more interesting than Dumbledore.
On the second floor of the ballroom, stood James with a glass in his hand and a tight smile, beside Remus. His head was held high as he looked at Remus, who was probably telling a joke, because his lips pursed with a tight smile trying to contain his laughter and he held his glass up to cover his face. Regulus stared at him, almost ogled, if you looked too closely at the way his eyes filled with hunger.
James’ eyes turned to look down at the first floor and he recognized his gaze immediately. He held his glass up as if to say hello, and smiled at Regulus. He could practically feel himself melting under his gaze, so he reluctantly turned his head to look straight forward to Dumbledore.
And then, prosperity, perseverance and… he had to look again.
Carefully he carried his gaze to look up again only to find James gone from his previous post. Remus was now leaning on the parapet, Sirius next to him.
The speech ended with a clap and a filling of the trays in food, and Dumbldore disappeared from behind the arch and sat next to Mcgonagall. As he disappeared, a flap of his wand sounded - and the gramophone began playing Regulus’ favorite: Mozart’s Requiem.
“Dance with me,” James’ voice came from behind his shoulder.
Regulus smiled knowingly before turning around.
“And if they see?” he asked carefully.
“I don’t care. Dance with me,” he repeated, pleading.
Regulus held out his hand high in the air and waited. James smiled knowingly, for it was the gesture to start the traditional dance. He kissed Regulus’ hand without daring to look away from his gaze and slowly took his arm in his, and the dance began.
The dance is known to him by now. He’s used to it, though usually he performed it with an heiress instead of an heir, and he didn’t know if the Potters actually attended classical balls anymore, so maybe James won’t be as practiced with it as-
Oh, nevermind.
James stepped forward with his left foot and bowed.
“Since when do you know how to dance?” Regulus asked, amused and rather impressed.
James put his hand on Regulus’ lower back. “Why?” he said cockily.
“I didn’t know the Potters attended formal balls anymore.”
James swayed Regulus’ frame to the right. His arm held Regulus firmly as he did, as to not allow him to fall.
“We do,” he said simply.
“What did Sirius say when you came down to see me?” he asked as he separated their hands only to rejoin them later. He took his hand again and they danced through the crowd, the blur of other dancers near them becoming almost too much.
“Nothing. I didn’t look.”
They spinned faster.
“Regulus,” he called quietly. He sounded curious.
“Yes?” Regulus raised his face to meet his gaze.
“You never did tell me what you did during those three weeks we didn’t talk. I’m curious.”
“Well, you know I-” he started. The guy in the hallway was not his proudest moment, to say the least.
James stopped him immediately with the flight of hand to his shoulder and the slowing of the rhythm. “I’m not talking about him.”
“Then, other than that, well - I talked to you,” he said nonchalantly.
“But we weren’t…”
James’ hand finds itself on his lower back again.
Then, the routine of a spin.
“Not you-you.”
“Is there another me-me?” he smirked.
“I may have had some very prolific conversations with you in my head, yes.”
“Oh. Awesome. By prolific you mean…?” he asked suggestively, his smile growing wider.
“No, I didn’t have sex with you in my head, James.”
“Not a mutual situation, if I dare say.”
Their hands dropped from each other, and not touching - they walked in a circle. The beauty of dance is almost animalistic in its nature. Dozens of couples around them, and yet only one shares the chemistry they share. In a room full of crowded people, Regulus felt he would know James blind, no matter the language he spoke or how far away he was.
“What did you talk about?” James asked.
Now, it was the non-leader’s turn to bow before the other. So, Regulus bowed, his head lowered, and crossed his hands behind his back.
“You, of course.”
“You talked to imaginary me, about me?”
“What else would I talk to him about?”
“Well,” James pulled his hips close to him again, smiling, “You are correct. I am the most interesting topic of conversation one can have. I’m flattered, even when you imagine me you can’t shut up about me, can’t you?” He smiled and made Regulus a bit weak in the knees.
Not that he was about to tell him that, of course.
He arched his back slowly and let James catch him. He was like running water in his hands, firm in his will to master the art and win the argument at the same time. What’s the saying? Once a Black, always a Black. In the good ways, anyway.
“Cocky for a guy who comes almost untouched.”
James’ smile grew wider.
“I’m a simple man.”
“Not kidding about the mean thing, then.”
“Oh, I never kid about psychosexual issues,” he whispered with a grin.
Around them, the others started separating from their partners.
The first dance was over.
James bowed one last time with a smile (not necessary by the requirements of pureblood dancing, but insanely attractive in a way that made Regulus’ stomach turn).
“It’s been a pleasure.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
“You are so turned on by this right now.”
“I’m not. Fuck off.”
James stepped a bit closer, as if to inspect. His cologne struck Regulus, almost as the amortentia did - not in a quaint manner, but in a gentle one. He swallowed. Hard.
“Your pupils are blown and you’re not standing straight.”
“So?”
His voice was weaker than he intended it to be.
“Ah, that supports my case. You are endlessly turned on by my pureblood elitist charms.”
“I hate you.”
“Many have swooned for them. You wouldn’t be the first, baby.”
“Says the guy who gets weak in the knees by getting his gigantic ego smacked relentlessly.”
James’ smile grew even wider and the familiar wicked grin lit inside his eyes. “As I’ve said, I’m a man of simple pleasures.”
He is almost close enough to kiss. Regulus chewed on his lip and nodded his head in astonishment, almost unbelieving.
“Hurry back,” he cleared his throat. “The feast is about to start.”
“I will. Don’t miss me too much. Wouldn’t want you to start imagining things.”
“Fuck off.”
James turned with a smile and went to the table.
The feast was another traditional part of the ball.
Historically, the three champions were to invite a partner to the ball, which was to be hosted between the first and second task. It was to be started with a speech, then a dance followed by a feast. After the feast, the teachers usually retired from the ball. The older students who remembered the ball that came before this one - five years ago - say that after it, some students threw after parties in the common rooms.
The Hogwarts ballroom, usually closed to students, was apparently quite large and multifunctional, for it held a frighteningly similar design to that of the Sacred Twenty Eight’s yearly ball.
It was interesting to notice the differences. Mainly, how few of them there were. He is quiet about it, of course, but it was obvious which people were used to these events and which weren’t. In his mind, he struggled to lay the difference between them to rest.
The dining room is designed with an arched ceiling with a large red gold chandelier crowded with burning candles. Large columns supported the ceiling and paintings hung on the walls around them. Regulus thought, funnily enough, that it oddly resembled the Arabian Hall of the Winter Palace.
The students started pouring in the dining room. The swiftness of the movement in dresses and the occasional rip of a tux, the words whispered and those spoken aloud were intoxicating. Dull at times, not as dramatic or dreadful as it usually is, gave him more of a chance to observe. Usually, Regulus was watchful of every happening in these events, but tonight was different.
Tonight, he didn’t care who came with who or who spoke of what. Tonight, he let the sneering slip away gently from his ears like running water. Tonight, he couldn’t care to cater the desires of the boys who stared from different ends of the hall, expecting him to give them what he usually gave. He didn’t care when Barty spilled the tiniest bit of champagne on his dress shirt and had no manners, or that Evan ruffled his hair and ruined the flow of his curls. He didn’t care about any of that.
Tonight, there was only one thing he really cared about.
The one thing that managed to spin his head around every time he heard a whisper of, the one thing that made him stare and ignore the food currently on his plate.
James.
From across the dining hall - for Sirius, much to Regulus’ dismay, sat on the opposite end to where Regulus and his friends sat and by that dragged his entire friend group (James included, of course) far away from Regulus.
They sat far away, but Regulus still watched. Shameless now, ignorant to his friends’ chit-chat and the gossip he was usually interested in (Nott was screwing Greengrass, believe it or not), he stared, with the daisy in his hand and a curious look as he watched James around his friends.
He was different than he was with them than when he was with Regulus, and in some ways he was the exact same. They were almost like a family in the way they exchanged gestures and kindnesses with each other - he couldn’t hear but he could see: pass me the bread, do you want some orange juice? you look lovely, and oh, what a dress!
But James, he was special.
Next to him sat a slight girl that Regulus didn’t recognize. She had brown hair and wore a green dress. She seemed new to the group - an outsider - not because they made her feel it with their actions, for all courtesies were extended to her as well, but in the way she only talked to James.
He seemed almost oblivious to it at first. To the way she touched his hand, which he left awkwardly at the table as he ate using only the other one. The way she rubbed herself on him - subtle at first but fully invading his space after a few minutes. Regulus watched, jaw locked and mouth shut as she did.
“Regulus.”
He ignored it.
“Sweetheart, you’re ruining your flower,” Pandora said and touched his hand.
“Oh.”
He looked down at his hand. And as she said, the daisy was half squished inside his palm, its black petals scattered beside his plate.
“Is everything alright?” she asked.
“ладно.”
His eyes lifted to watch them again.
She was touching his hair.
Her hand reached for it and she touched it with a dreamy look on his face. James seemed to talk to her, a bit awkwardly by the way he looked around and tried to involve his friends in the conversation, gesturing for them to join - and the way he tried to gently push himself away more to Sirius’ direction, who sat next to him and was soaked in a heated conversation with Mary.
And then her hand disappeared from where it was on the table and went under it, and enough was enough.
Regulus got up, startled.
Some eyed him but ceased once they saw he was staring pointedly to one place, and turned their heads to see James. Some whispered and looked at him, some went back to what they were doing without much interest, but Regulus didn’t care.
Like it was a call, James looked straight ahead to him. Regulus’ face was sealed, but James understood and got up.
Some of his friends looked at him funny, the girl was obviously upset, but he didn’t look. He was staring at Regulus. Not like he got caught, but with relief.
Regulus left through the arch on his way out of the ballroom.
He didn’t have to look back to know James was following him.
“She was flirting with you.”
“Well, she-”
“Was flirting with you,” Regulus interrupted.
“Yeah,” James gave up and awkwardly rubbed his hair.
“She can’t flirt with you.”
“I-”
“She can’t flirt with you. No one can.”
James eased with a smile and leaned closer. “Yeah?”
“You’re mine,” Regulus said simply, almost spitting venom but feeling calm all of a sudden with James and no one else with him in the hallway.
James smiled.
“Come. Right now,” Regulus started walking, his face still sealed.
James followed before he spoke. “Where to?”
“Your dorm.”
“My dorm?” he asked with surprise.
“You still owe me that tour. And I’m tired of wearing dress robes.”
James let out a relieved sigh next to him.
When they arrived, the common room was empty.
Everyone was still at the ball, and all who weren’t (fourth years and below) were asleep or in their dorms.
So, James snuck him a kiss. It was light, stunning him before he took his hand and led him to his dorm room.
He remembered the new year’s party now vividly. How he stood here, in this very spot, his back against a wall and James in front of him. Remembering it now was almost like recalling an old dream, almost hazy and yet so vivid. He felt deeply that it was another version of him who stood in this hallway that night. Like he’d grown and changed, evolved - he won’t lean against the door now, but he would open it, he would-
“Coming in?” James said with a smile as he noticed Regulus staring at the door.
“Yes.”
Inside was… not as he expected.
Four large bed posters - all very Gryffindor-y, of course: Not just the dorm room itself, but with the small house trinkets that were scattered across the room.
One bed was neatly ordered, like it hadn’t been slept in in quite a while. Next to it was a turntable and a stack of vinyls by the window. Near it were sprawled some shoes: a black pair of beaten up docs and black converse.
Sirius.
Next to it was a bed with a disorganized owner: Vinyls and some chocolate wrappers were scattered, and books were on it and in stacks next to it, not in a particular order, as he noticed, but they were good books. Some of his favorites there. In the stand by the bed was a beaten up copy of Black Beauty, and another of Little Women.
Remus.
The third bed had a few textbooks and quills, a small glass bottle of a muggle brand of alcohol Regulus recognized from the party. Some chocolate frog cases were on the nightstand and a few ties were thrown carelessly beside it, as if the owner couldn’t choose between which one to put on.
Peter.
The fourth bed was neater than he expected it to be. The chair beside it was stacked with neatly folded and washed Quidditch uniforms. The bed was made, not too meticulously but the effort was there. A red pair of converse, a bit beaten up (though not as bad as Sirius’ docs) were next to the night stand. And the cherry on top was the book on his night stand, a quill beside it.
The picture of Dorian Gray.
He turned his head to James who stood by him with a smile and waited for him to finish studying the room.
“So?”
“You’re reading the book I recommended to you?”
“Of course,” he said. “You said it’s one of your favorites.”
“And you’re reading it,” he repeated.
“I like it so far.”
“You do?”
“Yes! Very you, I think. My favorite quote so far is, er - let me see,” he opened the book and skimmed through - “Oh, there it is, ‘But beauty, true beauty, ends where intellectual expression begins.’ I feel like it really encapsulated Dorian’s own perception of his beauty. I mean, he was beautiful up until he was told so relentlessly by Henry, but his beauty ended the moment he became so aware of it.”
Regulus smiled in astonishment.
“I thought you’d like it,” he said with a small voice. He ran his fingers along James’ bed frame for a minute before he sat down. James was watching him intently.
He was leaning against the door, removing his cufflinks and loosening his tie.
His shoes came off with a clink and were put aside next to him.
Regulus swallowed as he came forward and sat close to him. His hand reached ever so frivolously and gently to Regulus’ hand and was cradling it, exploring it before finally joining them together.
He leaned his head and laid on the bed. Regulus watched him with a twitch of his lips until he sighed softly and laid next to him.
“Do you like the room?” James asked.
“I like your corner. It’s very you.”
James smiled but didn’t turn to him yet.
“Regulus Black on my bed. Fifth year me would be so jealous.”
“Yeah?”
“Totally. You do this thing when you stare at me-”
“I don’t stare at you.”
“Baby, you are in my bed, you have confessed your undying love for me on multiple occasions-”
“On one occasion-”
“-Multiple Occasions, no need to be shy about it now.”
Regulus gave in with a grunt.
“Sure. I do this thing when I stare at you,” he muttered and waited for the explanation.
James laughed, “You do this thing where you focus so hard that I can actually see your eyebrows furrowing from all the way across the hall. You’re so focused. I swear sometimes I feel like I’m the only thing you see.”
“You are,” he said softly. Like there was nothing else worth peeking another glance at.
James watched him for a few seconds before he swallowed and proceeded to climb on top of him lazily, his knees scraping against Regulus’ as he did. He wasn't careful or overly hesitant, he wasn’t calculated or consumed with lust as he has been every time up until now.
There was a smile on his face as he pulled, the way he stared at Regulus like nothing else existed in the space around them. Like there was nothing else and no one else, the way only people who’ve known each other for seconds know what those who shared a lifeline with one another do: there is something more sacred that one should cherish over anything, only one aspiration when you come back home after work and throw your bag on the floor and look around, tiredly. Only one thing.
An us.
Above him he continued watching for a few moments.
“Regulus,” he said.
“Yeah?” he croaked with a soft smile.
James seemed to try and mouth something, as if he had meticulously planned it out before, but then gave in, with a desperate look in his eye that Regulus could only recognize from his own reflection.
He leaned down softly, everything around them so quiet as opposed to before, and he could hear him breathing as he lowered his neck slowly to meet him for a kiss.
At first, it was frivolous, not to conquer, but just to touch. Not to own, but to have for a short moment, up until he came up for air.
He lowered himself down to Regulus’ neck, and planted another kiss, and then another. He was slow. As if there was nothing more important, as if Regulus was made to be worshiped.
“James,” he said faintly as James lowered himself.
His fingers fiddled with the buttons of the dress shirt and he met his gaze when he answered, “Yes?”
“Are you sure?” he asked, more quiet with every button he opened, with every slight graze of rough hands.
“I am. Are you?”
“You know that, but you’re- you said you wanted to wait, and I…” his head fell back onto the pillow with a groan because James started using his teeth to tear the last of the buttons.
“I want to.”
He was taken aback with a groan as James’ hand went to his hair and the other cupped his cheek.
“I want to worship you,” he whispered gently as he continued to kiss.
“James,” he is venerated and he is worshiped even now, floating between his hands. It is blasphemy and it is adoration when James is right there, looking at him like that.
“Will you let me?”
Regulus stared at him with his eyes starry, almost horrored with adoration. There is nothing more tiresome than pretending you don’t want something when you do, so badly, nothing more haunting than keeping a secret tucked in one’s soul.
And so, Regulus pulled James’ hair strongly to his neck and whispered, “Yes.”