Rome, Italy
JAMES
James was going to die.
Not right now, probably. But soon. Maybe in the next five minutes. Maybe by the time this fucking afterparty was over.
Because Regulus Black was trying to kill him.
He had spent the entire concert wrecking James—on purpose, obviously—and now he was sitting across the room, completely unbothered, sipping his drink with that infuriating, unreadable expression, like he hadn’t spent the last two hours driving James to the brink of insanity.
James had not recovered. Not even close.
Every time he closed his eyes, he could still see it—Regulus on stage, murmuring those lyrics into the mic like a fucking sin, like he had been singing directly to James and no one else. The slow, deliberate movements, the teeth on his lip, the way his voice had dipped just enough to make James’s entire body react—
No. Nope. Not thinking about it. Not here.
James took another too-large sip of his drink, letting the burn of the alcohol ground him. It wasn’t working.
Sirius threw an arm over his shoulder, shaking him slightly. "Mate, you look like you just went through hell. What the hell happened up there?"
James forced a grin. "You know. Just feeling the holiday spirit."
Sirius narrowed his eyes. "Right. Because nothing says Christmas like looking at my brother like you want to devour him."
James choked on his drink.
Sirius just laughed, punching him in the arm before turning back to Dorcas. James barely registered it because across the room—
Regulus was watching him.
Not in the way he had before—not with sharp, teasing amusement, not like he had just won some private game.
No. This was different.
Because Regulus’s lips quirked just slightly, like he had caught James staring, but his eyes—his eyes flickered with something else.
Something careful. Calculated.
Like he was waiting.
James swallowed, pulse hammering. Fuck.
And then Barty—absolute menace that he was—clapped his hands together, already tipsy. "I’m bored. Someone make this night worse."
Evan, lounging beside him, smirked. "Truth or dare."
James barely had time to process those words before Sirius cackled. "Oh, this is gonna be horrible."
Dorcas groaned but didn’t argue. Marlene grinned into her drink. Peter looked vaguely terrified.
Regulus just rolled his eyes. "Must we?"
James turned his head slowly, zeroing in. "Why, Regulus? You afraid?"
Regulus didn’t even flinch. "No, I just don’t have the energy to engage in your brand of stupidity."
James smirked. "Sounds like an excuse."
Regulus finally glanced at him—sharp, assessing. Annoyed.
James grinned wider. Bingo.
"Fine," Regulus said coolly, snapping his book shut and setting it aside. "Let’s play."
Barty cheered. Sirius pounded his fist against the table like a war drum. Remus sighed like he regretted every life choice that had led him to this moment.
James?
James just watched Regulus carefully.
This was about to get very interesting.
The game started harmlessly enough.
Dorcas dared Peter to chug an entire flute of champagne (he failed miserably). Evan had to text his ex (Barty stole his phone before he could). Sirius, already two drinks in, was dared to serenade a random person in the bar (he chose Remus, obviously).
Then, naturally, it escalated.
"Truth or dare, Potter?" Barty asked, grinning lazily as he swirled his drink.
James, already half-buzzed and running on sheer chaos, smirked. "Dare, obviously."
Barty’s grin sharpened. Oh no.
"Switch shirts with someone."
James blinked. "That’s it? Weak, Rosier."
Barty hummed, tilting his head. "Fine. Switch shirts with Regulus."
The room shifted.
James froze.
The group reacted immediately—Sirius cackled, Evan let out a low whistle, Dorcas smirked, and Remus sighed deeply, already regretting his life choices.
Regulus, for his part, simply raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
James licked his lips, heartbeat thudding in his ears. "What, right here?"
Barty shrugged. "Unless you’d rather back out?"
Oh. Oh, he was a bastard.
James turned to Regulus, who just stared back at him, completely unbothered, like this was the most boring dare of all time.
And that was what did it.
Because Regulus wasn’t flustered. Wasn’t rattled. Didn’t even blink.
James’s fingers twitched.
Fine.
He reached for the hem of his shirt, peeling it off in one fluid motion, ignoring the whistles and cheers. His pulse roared when Regulus—calm, calculated, fucking infuriating—followed suit, tugging off his own sweater with zero hesitation.
James barely registered the others laughing, barely noticed Sirius making some loud, dramatic comment about "protecting his innocent eyes."
Because Regulus was right there.
Bare shoulders, smooth skin, a constellation of freckles James had never seen before.
James swallowed.
Regulus met his gaze.
And then—he smirked.
James’s brain short-circuited.
"Are you going to stare all night, or are you putting it on?" Regulus asked, voice cool, indifferent.
James almost dropped the shirt.
Somehow, he forced his body to move, to pull Regulus’s sweater over his head (fuck, it smelled like him), to throw his own t-shirt in Regulus’s direction. Regulus caught it easily, sliding it over his head like this was nothing.
Like he hadn’t just completely ended James’s life.
James sat back, trying very hard to look normal, to breathe like a functioning human being, to not combust where he sat.
Barty grinned, sipping his drink like he had just orchestrated the greatest show on earth.
James barely heard whatever dare came next.
Because across the table, Regulus was still smirking.
And James?
James was fucked.
The game had spiraled into dangerous territory.
After the shirt-switching disaster that had utterly ruined James’s ability to think like a normal human being, he had been trying to keep it together.
Really. He had.
But then Barty—fucking Barty—turned toward Regulus with a slow, deadly smirk.
"Truth or dare, Black?"
Regulus, who had been lounging with a glass of wine like he was above all of this, raised an eyebrow. "Dare."
James should have known.
Barty’s grin was all sharp teeth. "Sit on James’s lap for the next two rounds."
Sirius choked. Evan looked like he was witnessing something biblical. Dorcas leaned forward, eyes sparkling with amusement.
James?
James forgot how to breathe.
Regulus, to his credit, didn’t react. He just blinked, exhaled slowly through his nose, and then—the bastard turned to look at James.
James, who was absolutely not handling this well.
Their eyes met, and for a second—just a second—James swore he saw the slightest flicker of hesitation in Regulus’s usually unreadable expression.
But then—it was gone.
Regulus set down his wine glass, pushed off the couch, and strolled over without breaking eye contact.
James swallowed.
And then—Regulus sat.
Right there, in his lap.
James’s entire body locked up.
Regulus was warm, all lean muscle and sharp angles pressing into him. His weight settled against James’s thighs, steady, unbearable.
James forced himself to breathe.
The room erupted.
Sirius was howling, Barty and Evan looked obnoxiously pleased with themselves, and Dorcas just smirked, swirling her drink like this was the most entertaining thing she had ever seen.
James barely registered any of it.
Because Regulus wasn’t moving.
Wasn’t shifting away, wasn’t adjusting—was just there, sitting like he belonged there.
And then—he fucking leaned back.
Settled in. Relaxed against James’s chest.
James saw black.
He didn’t move. He couldn’t move.
Regulus tilted his head slightly, his lips curling in the ghost of a smirk. Like he knew.
Like he was fucking enjoying this.
James clenched his jaw, gripping the armrest at his side like it might ground him, like he wasn’t actively losing his mind.
"You alright, Potter?" Regulus asked, voice silk and sin, just loud enough for James to hear.
James exhaled sharply through his nose. "Peachy, thanks for asking."
Regulus hummed. Hummed.
James’s hands itched—to hold, to steady, to grab.
But he didn’t. He just sat there, perfectly still, as Regulus destroyed him in real-time.
And the worst part?
They still had two full rounds to go.
James was not going to survive this.
***
The problem with Marauders and Emeralds afterparties was that they never really ended. They just… blurred into the next morning.
Which was exactly why James was currently slumped in a private airport lounge, wearing sunglasses indoors, sipping an espresso he absolutely did not order, and trying to figure out if he was still drunk.
Spoiler alert: he was.
Sirius was sprawled out on a couch, moaning dramatically about his "tragic downfall," while Remus was doing his best to mother the absolute shit out of everyone. Peter had been given a suspiciously large croissant and was already halfway through devouring it. Barty and Evan were nowhere to be found, but considering Evan had been dragging Barty out of the club at sunrise, James wasn’t entirely convinced they had made it out alive.
And then there was Regulus.
Regulus—who was somehow perfectly put together, sitting across from James in his obnoxiously expensive sunglasses, nursing a cappuccino like he wasn’t suffering the effects of half a bottle of wine and whatever else Barty had tricked him into drinking.
Regulus, who was watching him.
James grinned.
"Morning, sweetheart," he drawled, voice still hoarse from last night.
Regulus sipped his coffee way too elegantly for a hungover person. "You look like shit, Potter."
James pressed a hand to his heart. "You wound me, love."
Regulus didn’t even blink. "You’ll live. Unfortunately."
James beamed. "So you do care."
Regulus let out a suffering sigh, setting his cup down with deliberate precision. "I regret everything."
James leaned forward slightly, because he was an absolute menace and couldn’t help himself. "Even last night?"
Regulus stilled.
James knew exactly what he was doing.
The game had been fun before—but now? Now they were both playing it.
Regulus arched a delicate eyebrow, finally removing his sunglasses and meeting James’s gaze head-on.
"Remind me," he mused, tone utterly indifferent, except for the way his eyes flickered with amusement. "What exactly happened last night?"
James grinned, because two could play at that.
"Oh, you know. The usual. Drinks. Dancing. You sitting on my lap—"
Sirius, who had been half-asleep, immediately lifted his head. "He WHAT?"
Regulus kicked James under the table.
"OW—fuck, Reg!" James laughed, rubbing his shin. "That’s abuse, you know."
Regulus picked up his coffee again, the picture of elegance. "It’s self-defense."
James was having so much fun.
Sirius, however, was still having a crisis.
"You—sat on—James’s—" He turned to Remus like he had been personally betrayed. "Did you know about this?"
Remus didn’t even look up from his newspaper. "Sirius, I knew about it before it even happened."
Sirius groaned. "I hate this. I hate everything about this."
Regulus smirked. "You’ll survive. Unfortunately."
James lit up. "You just used my line, Reggie. Be honest, am I rubbing off on you?"
Regulus scoffed, but his lips twitched. "If I ever start acting like you, put me out of my misery."
James placed a hand over his heart. "I’ll make sure it’s a dramatic, romantic tragedy, just for you."
Regulus gave him a long, considering look. "You are still drunk, aren’t you?"
James grinned, tilting his head slightly. "Does that make you more or less interested?"
Regulus took another slow sip of his coffee, eyeing James over the rim of the cup. "I haven’t decided yet."
James grinned wider.
Yeah. This was going to be a fun flight.
Sirius was dramatically hungover, Evan had finally resurfaced from the dead, and Barty was actively being dragged away from a Duty-Free liquor store by Dorcas.
James was still drunk.
And Regulus was being a menace about it.
"You’re really going to wear sunglasses through security?" Regulus murmured beside him, watching as James very seriously refused to take them off.
"Absolutely," James said, standing his ground. "They make me look mysterious."
Regulus huffed a laugh. "You look like an idiot."
James grinned. "Yeah, but I’m your idiot."
Regulus’s entire body tensed.
James did not miss it.
But before he could push any further, a very tired, very done-looking security officer cleared their throat.
"Sir," they said, tone flat with exhaustion, "please take off your sunglasses."
James sighed dramatically. "Fine. But you’re ruining my aesthetic."
The security guard did not look impressed.
Regulus, however, was fighting a smirk.
James shot him a look. "You think this is funny, don’t you?"
Regulus tilted his head, lips curling in that way that made James’s stomach twist. "Oh, very."
James narrowed his eyes. "You’re the worst."
Regulus’s smile was downright smug. "You love it."
And James—completely, fully, undeniably gone for this man—couldn’t even argue.
Because he did.
***
James Potter was not okay.
Not because of the hangover—though, yes, his head was pounding, and he might have still been a little bit drunk.
Not because of the absolute nightmare that was getting through security (Sirius did in fact get flagged for trying to smuggle in a flask, and Peter did almost leave his passport in Duty-Free).
No.
James was not okay because he was currently trapped in a luxurious first-class cabin, on a private fucking jet, sitting directly next to Regulus Black.
And Regulus?
Regulus was not helping.
James had expected Regulus to spend the flight pointedly ignoring him, the same way he had all morning. What he had not expected was for Regulus to be sitting there, sipping champagne with the casual elegance of a fucking prince, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to make James’s brain short-circuit.
It was not fair.
James slouched back in his seat, sunglasses still on, a fresh drink in hand. “You’re really drinking more?” he asked, watching as Regulus tipped his glass back effortlessly.
Regulus raised an eyebrow, completely unbothered. “You’re one to talk, Potter.”
James grinned. “Yeah, but I have a problem. What’s your excuse?”
Regulus hummed, swirling his glass lazily. “Self-preservation.”
James blinked. “I’m sorry—self-preservation?”
Regulus turned his head slightly, meeting James’s gaze with obnoxious calmness. “I’m stuck on a plane with you, aren’t I?”
James lit up. “Oh, love—if you wanted to get drunk and make bad decisions with me, all you had to do was ask.”
Regulus’s lips twitched. “I’d rather throw myself off this plane.”
James gasped dramatically. “And here I thought we were bonding.”
Regulus rolled his eyes but didn’t look away.
James grinned.
Yeah. He could work with this.
The plane had been in the air for about an hour when Sirius decided that, actually, a peaceful, quiet flight wasn’t nearly chaotic enough for their group.
Which was why James was currently watching Sirius pace the aisle like a war general, brandishing a bottle of vodka.
“Alright, listen up, degenerates,” Sirius declared, already tipsy. “We’re playing a game.”
Remus sighed deeply from his seat. “We are not playing a game.”
“Oh, Moony,” Sirius grinned. “We are absolutely playing a game.”
Barty perked up. “Make it stupid.”
Dorcas, lounging with a mimosa, smirked. “Make it worse.”
Evan stretched out lazily. “Make it dangerous.”
Sirius beamed. “Truth or dare, motherfuckers.”
Regulus groaned. “Oh, for fuck’s sake—”
But it was too late.
Sirius was already sitting on the armrest of Regulus’s chair, grinning like the menace he was born to be.
“Truth or dare, baby brother?”
Regulus gave him a withering look. “I refuse to participate.”
Sirius gasped dramatically. “You refuse to have fun? I am shocked. Devastated.”
Barty snorted. “Coward.”
Regulus’s eye twitched.
James, sensing an opportunity, leaned in slightly. “C’mon, love. You afraid?”
Regulus turned slowly, his gaze sharp.
James smirked.
Regulus exhaled through his nose. “Fine,” he muttered. “Dare.”
Sirius lit up like Christmas.
“Oh, this is gonna be good.” He glanced around the group, plotting. Then, suddenly—his entire face split into a slow, devious smirk.
“Oh, I know,” he purred. “Sit on James’s lap.”
James’s brain flatlined.
Regulus’s entire body went rigid. “Again? No.”
Sirius grinned. “Yes.”
Regulus glared. “Absolutely not.”
Barty perked up. “I think he should do it.”
Evan smirked. “It’s the rules, Regulus.”
Dorcas sipped her drink, completely entertained. “You wouldn’t break the rules, would you, Black?”
Regulus’s teeth clenched.
James was going to die.
Because Regulus was trapped. Completely, utterly, undeniably trapped.
And James—James was having the best fucking time.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” James drawled, tipping his head back against his seat. “I won’t bite. Unless you want me to.”
Regulus’s jaw locked.
And then—slowly, painfully, resentfully— he stood.
The entire plane went silent.
James stared.
Regulus glared.
And then—he lowered himself onto James’s lap.
James stopped breathing.
Regulus was warm. And solid. And way too fucking close.
His arms crossed, his posture stiff, his back straight as a fucking board. “There,” he gritted out. “Happy?”
James swallowed, forcing himself to stay casual. “Oh, ecstatic.”
Sirius, absolutely vibrating with joy, cackled. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Barty clapped his hands. “Ten out of ten.”
Dorcas smirked. “I think you should stay there the whole flight.”
James choked on air.
Regulus’s entire body tensed.
Sirius snapped his fingers. “Brilliant idea, Meadowes.”
Regulus immediately moved to stand.
James, on pure fucking instinct, wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him back down.
Regulus froze.
James grinned. “Oh, c’mon, Reggie. You’re comfy.”
Regulus turned his head so, so slowly. “Remove your hand, Potter.”
James, absolutely unhinged, did not.
Instead, he squeezed just slightly. “Make me.”
Regulus’s eyes darkened.
The tension was palpable.
Sirius, from his seat, screamed. “STOP FLIRTING.”
James, without breaking eye contact, smirked. “We’re not flirting.”
Regulus narrowed his eyes. “No. We’re not.”
James leaned in just a fraction. “Shame.”
Regulus’s breath hitched.
And James—James fucking knew.
He grinned.
This was going to be a fun flight.
***
Regulus was still on his lap.
And —oh, oh— Regulus was falling asleep.
James had won.
He wasn’t sure what he had won, exactly, but it didn’t matter. Because Regulus Black—the same Regulus who had spent weeks pretending he wasn’t affected by James, the same Regulus who glared every time James so much as breathed too close—was now passed the fuck out in James’s arms.
James tried—really fucking tried—to stay cool about it.
But then Regulus shifted, his head dropping slightly against James’s shoulder, his fingers twitching against the fabric of James’s shirt, and—
Nope.
James was done for.
Across the aisle, Sirius was losing his mind.
“Oh my fucking GOD,” Sirius whisper-screamed, shaking Remus’s arm aggressively. “Moony. Moony, are you seeing this? Our little emotionally constipated disaster child is cuddling James Potter.”
Remus, who looked seconds away from throwing himself out of the emergency exit, pinched the bridge of his nose. “I regret every decision that led me here.”
Barty and Evan were delighted. Barty had his phone out, definitely taking pictures.
“Oh, this is going in the scrapbook,” he whispered gleefully.
Evan smirked. “Frame it.”
James flipped them off.
Then—Regulus moved again.
James barely had time to register it before Regulus’s entire body relaxed against him, his head pressing against James’s collarbone, his breath evening out.
James stopped functioning.
Regulus smelled good.
Like expensive cologne and sleep and something unfairly distracting.
James swallowed hard.
Because Regulus Black was asleep. On his lap. Wrapped around him.
And James liked it.
Too much.
Way too much.
Regulus shifted again, making a quiet, barely-there sound, his breath fanning against James’s neck.
James bit back a groan.
This was not fair.
This was not safe.
James was going to die on this plane.
But—well.
If this was how he went out?
It wouldn’t be the worst way to go.
***
James Potter was in heaven but stuck in hell at the same time.
Because Regulus was still in his lap.
And Regulus was still asleep.
And Regulus was still fucking touching him.
James had never been this aware of his own breathing before. Had never been this hyper-focused on not moving, not shifting, not doing anything that might wake Regulus up.
But also—he wanted to wake Regulus up.
Because what the fuck.
How was James supposed to survive this?
How was he supposed to pretend like this was normal?
Like this wasn’t the best fucking thing that had ever happened to him?
James exhaled sharply, clenching his jaw as he tried—and failed—to think about something other than the fact that Regulus was literally wrapped around him like a goddamn koala.
It was unfair.
It was so fucking unfair.
Regulus didn’t even realize what he was doing.
Didn’t even notice the way his fingers had curled into the fabric of James’s hoodie, like he was holding on without even thinking about it.
James was going insane.
And the worst part?
Everyone else on the plane was having the time of their fucking lives.
Sirius was shaking.
Barty and Evan were taking turns filming.
Peter had his face buried in his hands like he couldn’t handle witnessing this much secondhand emotional turmoil.
And Remus—Remus had simply given up.
“Moony,” Sirius whisper-yelled, practically vibrating in his seat. “Moony, I need you to confirm that this is real. I need you to confirm that I am not hallucinating.”
Remus, who looked so fucking done, sighed deeply.
“Oh, it’s real.”
James shot him a desperate, pleading look.
Remus didn’t even blink.
“Live with your choices, Potter.”
James hated him.
But not as much as he hated the way his own body betrayed him when Regulus let out a sleepy little sigh, shifting just enough that his nose brushed against James’s collarbone.
James stiffened.
Every single muscle in his body went tense.
Regulus didn’t notice.
Of course he didn’t.
Because Regulus was blissfully asleep, completely unaware of the absolute hell he was putting James through.
James’s fingers twitched against his knee, itching to do something—anything— to ground himself.
But if he moved, if he so much as breathed too deeply, he would risk waking Regulus up.
And he wasn’t ready for that yet.
Because what the fuck was he supposed to say?
Hey, Reg, you fell asleep on me, and now I have to pretend like I didn’t just go through heaven and hell?
James did not have the emotional capacity for that conversation.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
But he also couldn’t stay like this forever.
Unfortunately.
James swallowed hard, his throat dry as he tried to mentally prepare himself for what had to happen next.
He had to wake Regulus up.
And then pretend like this hadn’t completely ruined him.
James let out a slow, controlled breath, glancing down at the sleeping disaster in his lap.
He hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then—carefully, gently—he nudged Regulus’s shoulder.
“Reg,” James murmured, keeping his voice low, soft.
Regulus stirred.
James’s pulse jumped.
“Hey, love,” James tried again, forcing his voice to stay casual, easy, normal. “We’re landing soon.”
Regulus let out a quiet, sleepy grumble.
James’s brain short-circuited.
Oh, he was so fucked.
Regulus shifted again, his fingers tugging slightly at James’s hoodie, as if trying to burrow closer—
James panicked.
“Reg.”
Regulus made another grumbly, disgruntled noise.
Then—finally, finally—his eyes fluttered open.
James stopped breathing.
Because fuck.
Regulus was unfairly pretty when he was half-asleep.
His hair was messy, his lips parted slightly, his eyes hazy and still heavy with sleep.
James wanted to die.
Regulus blinked slowly, his gaze flickering up to meet James’s.
For a moment—just a brief, fleeting moment—he didn’t seem to register where he was.
Then—
Regulus froze.
James could practically see the exact second Regulus became aware of the situation.
The way his entire body tensed.
The way his sleepy daze evaporated.
The way his cheeks turned just the slightest bit pink.
Regulus was still in his lap.
Regulus had been asleep in his lap.
Regulus had just woken up in his lap.
Regulus knew it.
James knew it.
And for the first time in forever—
Regulus didn’t know what to do.
James felt a slow, victorious grin tug at the corners of his lips.
Because for once—just this once—Regulus was the one losing his mind.
Not James.
Not this time.
Regulus inhaled sharply, jerking away too fast, scrambling off of James’s lap like he had just been burned.
James let him go, but the damage was already done.
Regulus refused to look at him.
James was having the time of his life.
“Sleep well, darling?” James drawled, stretching lazily, like he hadn’t just spent the last hour desperately trying not to combust.
Regulus glared daggers at him.
James smirked.
James had won.
REGULUS
The moment they stepped into the hotel, Regulus marched ahead without a word, fingers gripping his bag like it might ground him. He was exhausted, still slightly drunk, and achingly aware of James Potter beside him.
Everything was too loud. Too bright. Too much.
Because James had held him on the plane. And Regulus had—Merlin help him—let it happen.
And now? Now James was clearly not letting it go.
"You know," James mused beside him as they waited for their room keys, voice low, smug, and far too pleased with himself, "I never thought you’d be a cuddler, love. And yet, there you were. Snuggled right up against me, looking so—"
Regulus turned sharply, glaring. “I was asleep.”
James grinned. “Exactly. Completely defenseless. Which makes it even funnier.”
Regulus clenched his jaw, refusing to let his face burn. “You’re insufferable.”
“I prefer irresistible,” James corrected smoothly.
Regulus exhaled, murderous.
Across the lobby, Sirius was making a scene about how his room should be the biggest since he was the most important person here, Barty was attempting to bribe the concierge for minibar access, and Evan was visibly regretting every life choice that had led him to be part of this band.
Regulus, however, had bigger problems.
Namely: James Fucking Potter.
"You know," James continued thoughtfully, as if they were discussing the weather and not Regulus's impending breakdown, "if you wanted to sleep on me, darling, all you had to do was ask. No need for all the pretending.”
Regulus’s grip on his bag tightened dangerously. “I will strangle you.”
James beamed. “Oh? Kinky.”
Regulus nearly blacked out.
Mercifully, the concierge finally handed them their keys.
Regulus snatched his, turned on his heel, and walked away before James could say something else that would inevitably ruin his life.
But, of course—
James followed.
Because of course he did.
By the time they reached their room, Regulus was barely holding onto his sanity.
James, meanwhile, was still insufferably entertained.
Regulus opened the door, fully prepared to slam it in James’s face—
Only for James to slip inside with him, grinning as he leaned against the door.
Regulus exhaled sharply. “Why are you in my room.”
James stretched, looking perfectly at home, despite not being invited. “I was hoping we could relive the magic of our little nap on the plane. Maybe this time I’ll be the one falling asleep on you. Equal rights and all.”
Regulus turned, deadpan. “I am going to push you out the window.”
James grinned. “You’re so cute when you threaten me, you know that?”
Regulus took a deep breath. Inhaled. Exhaled. Resisted the urge to scream.
James took a slow step closer, voice dropping just slightly. “You could’ve woken up, Reg. Could’ve pushed me away. Could’ve made a scene. But you didn’t.”
Regulus stilled.
James tilted his head, watching him. “Why?”
Regulus’s throat felt tight. “I was tired.”
James hummed, like he didn’t believe him for a second.
Then, with the audacity of a man with zero self-preservation, James reached up, brushing a stray curl behind Regulus’s ear.
Regulus nearly short-circuited.
“James,” he said, warning.
James’s grin was infuriating. “Reggie.”
“Go to bed.”
James smirked. “You first, darling.”
Regulus clenched his jaw. Refused to react.
James let the silence stretch between them, his smirk softening into something more dangerous. More real.
Then, stepping backward without breaking eye contact, James flashed him a final grin.
“You can sleep on me any time, love.”
And then—the bastard left.
Regulus stared at the closed door.
His pulse was still unsteady.
His skin was still burning.
And James Potter was going to ruin him.
Regulus had exactly two options.
- Pretend that James’s shameless flirting hadn’t completely destroyed his brain.
- Accept his fate and admit that he was, in fact, fucked beyond repair.
Unfortunately, option one was proving increasingly impossible.
Because even after James left, Regulus could still feel him—his warmth, his presence, the weight of his teasing words lingering in the air like cigarette smoke.
You can sleep on me any time, love.
Regulus exhaled sharply, dragging both hands over his face.
No. No, absolutely not.
He refused to let James get under his skin. He refused to sit here, overanalyzing a stupid moment on a plane, because that was exactly what James wanted.
James was a menace. He flirted with everyone, teased everyone, made everything into a joke.
This wasn’t special.
This wasn’t real.
Regulus was not going to let himself believe otherwise.
With a determined breath, he pushed himself off the bed, grabbed his bag, and went to take a shower. He needed to reset, clear his head, pretend none of this was happening.
He was fine.
He was fine.
And yet—
Twenty minutes later, when he stepped out of the bathroom, hair damp, skin warm, body relaxed—
James Potter was lying on his bed.
Regulus stopped dead in his tracks.
James turned his head lazily, grinning like he hadn’t just completely violated Regulus’s personal space.
"Hope you don’t mind," James said, completely unbothered. "Your bed is comfier than mine."
Regulus blinked. “You have lost your mind.”
James smirked. “Have I?”
Regulus stared. Considered murder. Decided against it—barely.
Instead, he inhaled deeply, voice perfectly calm. “Get. Out.”
James sighed dramatically, stretching his arms above his head—and the motion made his shirt ride up slightly, revealing a sliver of golden skin.
Regulus’s brain short-circuited.
James smirked. “You sure? We could have another nap together, darling.”
Regulus clenched his fists so tightly his nails dug into his palms.
Because this—this was not fair.
James was lounging like a Roman god in Regulus’s bed, smirking like he knew exactly what he was doing, and Regulus was one second away from actually losing his mind.
But no. No, he was stronger than this.
So, instead of caving, instead of letting James win, Regulus exhaled evenly and gave him a pleasant, cold, perfectly poised smile.
Then, without a word, he walked across the room, grabbed the entire mattress, and flipped it over.
James yelped, crashing to the floor with a loud thud.
Regulus adjusted his robe, looking down at him with zero remorse. “I warned you.”
James groaned from the floor. "Alright. Fair."
Regulus smirked just slightly, stepping over him. “Good night, Potter.”
James, still sprawled on the ground, let out a breathless laugh. “You really are trying to kill me, huh?”
Regulus rolled his eyes but didn’t look back.
Because if he did, he might have noticed the way James was still smiling.
And worse?
The way James was looking at him like he was already completely, utterly ruined for him.