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skellywagTitle: "Spoils of Victory"
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
skellywag
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Regulus/James
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Gay porn. No really, that's it.
A/N: Written forwestwardlee for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hpvalensmut. I had a lot to work with, because my request was so open. Top!Regulus, manly men (What's manlier than men competing at sports?), no heavy kink. The other potential pairings were pretty interesting, since I love a rarepair, but Regulus is just about my favourite thing ever, so I couldn't resist. Many thanks to corvidae9 for putting up with my frequent emails at submission time.
"Fancy yourself handy with a Snitch, do you, Potter?" Whereas many fifteen-year-olds would be intimidated by their older brother's friends, Regulus Black possessed what, to some people, might be considered a rather inflated sense of his own self-worth, and was not easily intimidated by anyone. It was a spring day, many students were outside on the school grounds taking advantage of the mild weather, and Regulus stood in front of four sixteen-year-old boys including his older brother, wearing a challenging smirk.
James Potter, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, and Remus Lupin sat together on a small hill overlooking the lake. Lupin and Pettigrew appeared to be working together on an assignment, while Sirius and James very pointedly were not—the latter fiddling with a Snitch instead of doing anything constructive. James glanced up upon being addressed, and when he recognized Regulus, regarded the younger boy with a patronizing smile and nudged Sirius with an elbow.
"Go away, Reggie-kins. We don't want to play with you right now." Sirius's voice was dismissive and impersonal, as if this boy before them could have been any Slytherin. He rolled his eyes theatrically for the benefit of his friends.
Regulus, however, hadn't been a proper younger brother since the age of ten, when Sirius had gone and got himself Sorted into the wrong House to their mother's everlasting shame. He had noticed Sirius's presence, had glanced at his brother when the older boy had spoken, but Regulus truly had eyes only for James and the glint of gold in his hand.
"Do shut up, Brother Mine," Regulus replied primly, his gaze not so much as wavering in its focus upon tiny, fluttering wings. "It's not as if you can pretend with me; I know for a fact Mum taught you not to interrupt other people's conversations."
James and Pettigrew burst into laughter, and even Lupin looked amused, though each of them shot Sirius a sympathetic look and tried to act abashed. Under normal circumstances, there would have been a show of Gryffindor Solidarity, but Regulus wasn't just any Slytherin. He was Sirius's little brother, a fact that apparently made the whole situation very funny.
Sirius's cheeks turned an unflattering shade of pink, but his scowl was for his brother and not his friends. "You also know," the boy's tone was scathing, "that most of the lessons Mum tried to teach me didn't take." The accusation in Sirius's words remained unvoiced, but he folded his arms in challenge.
Regulus smiled, the expression sharp and not particularly kind. "I don't suppose you could do me a favour and go away," he murmured slowly, as if Sirius were being deliberately obtuse. He stared narrowly at his brother from the corner of his eyes. "I have no desire to talk to you, which should have been obvious from the fact that I addressed Potter."
A surprisingly deep growl rumbled from Sirius's throat, but before he could snap a reply, James placed a restraining hand on his friend's shoulder. Silent until now, the bespectacled boy looked more amused than curious, eyes calculating and narrowed up at Regulus. "You want to talk to me? Go ahead." He planted his hands in the grass behind him, leaning back comfortably as if holding court. The Snitch was hidden beneath his palm—out of sight but not out of mind.
"I'm merely curious how talented you really are with a Snitch; you seem to have spent a lot of time showing off with that one, for someone who isn't a Seeker." Though he didn't look around to see if any of the nearby groups of students were paying attention, Regulus had raised his voice a little to make sure they could hear him. The ego of one's opponent could be powerful leverage. "Perhaps you'd like to demonstrate your skill against someone who knows what they are doing?"
Logically, if the contest was to catch the Snitch, a Chaser shouldn't have any chance at beating a Seeker. That was how Regulus knew James would take his bait, rise to the challenge. James was a show-off, and this would be an excellent opportunity to demonstrate his superiority—that he was so good at Quidditch, position was irrelevant. If he lost, something Regulus was sure James wouldn't even consider a possibility, well, that would be expected. But if James won, then the victory would only add to his already considerable celebrity as a Quidditch star.
James tossed his head, flipping hair out of his eyes as he raised a brow at Regulus. "When?" And then he grinned, flashing perfect teeth. That was how Regulus, who hadn't looked away from James, knew for a fact that they had an audience, because that kind of smile definitely wasn't for him. It was his "I love all my adoring fans" smile.
A slow smirk slid into place on Regulus's lips, which may or may not have been partly related to the outraged expression he'd noted on his brother's face from his periphery. "I suppose that would depend upon whether you want some last-minute practice." He reached into the depths of his robes and withdrew a small, sealed box that contained a brand-new Snitch. "I can be ready in as little as half an hour, but we can schedule something for next week if you're busy."
James' lip curled. He hadn't liked that implication one bit. He rose to his feet so that he could glare down at Regulus, who was by no means as physically impressive as the older boy. Thus far, Regulus's growth spurt had been more of a trickle, and there was no indication that it would ever result in any sort of significant physical change. However, short and slight was the best build for a Seeker, so Regulus didn't really mind that he hadn't sprouted up or filled out as much as his brother had. He also wasn't fazed by the stare-down and simply raised an eyebrow expectantly.
"I'll see you on the pitch in half an hour." How predictable. Regulus was almost embarrassed on James' behalf. Almost.
Regulus finally diverted his attention from James. His eyes found Lupin, who, from what he had heard, was the smart one among his brother's friends. He set the Snitch box on the ground next to that boy's hand. "It hasn't been tampered with, but you don't have to take my word on it," he murmured with what he imagined was an appropriate level of self-deprecation. Regulus's eyes flicked back to James. "Do you think you can get your hands on a set of practice bludgers? Make the contest a little more interesting?"
The older boy snorted, rolling his eyes. "Of course," he replied, waving a hand (the one still gripping his Snitch) dismissively. It was clear that James didn't appreciate being underestimated, but Regulus didn't illusion himself—he knew that James would be calm and focused when they faced off. Regulus wasn't foolish, and he wasn't underestimating his opponent at all, not really. The banter was simply banter, and not an attempt to catch the other boy off-guard or strategically manipulate his impulses, though he was certain he could have pulled that off, as well, if he had wanted to.
Regulus turned and walked away without another word, heading back up to the castle. He walked with a spring in his step, because he knew, now, that he was the one with an audience. There was no telling how far word could spread in half an hour, but Regulus had no doubt that he would find half the school down at the Quidditch pitch when he got there, drawn by James' celebrity. An audience would show up no matter who it was competing against James Potter, but that was fine. As far as Regulus was concerned, James tried too hard to be popular. He did no such thing himself.
He was nearly out of earshot when he heard his brother's voice, faint, behind him. Deliberately raised, so that Regulus would be able to hear. "Sorry about that. He gets that way if I haven't thrashed him in a while." Regulus smirked to himself and kept walking.
~~~~~~~~~~
"From what I can tell, the Snitch hasn't been tampered with, though of course there could always be something wrong with it I couldn't detect." Remus handed the box to Sirius. It hadn't been opened during the course of the examination, but that was sort of the point of a brand-new Snitch—no one had touched it ever.
Sirius glared down at the box as if it had personally offended him. "No, there wouldn't be anything wrong with it. My brother's a git, but he's not stupid. He probably knows more dark magic than all of us together, but he's too good to let himself get caught." The lack of anything resembling admiration from the otherwise ambitious prankster spoke volumes, but James only shrugged in response—if the Snitch was clean, then Regulus's recreational activities weren't immediately relevant. "He wouldn't risk us taking it to a professor to have it checked," Sirius continued. He didn't address the fact that they weren't taking that precaution.
"What if he's attempting to sabotage the upcoming match against Ravenclaw?" Peter walked with his wand held out before him, the rather large and unwieldy bludger case hovering and moving over the ground about a foot in front of him. He had to walk more slowly to focus the spell, and the other boys were careful to keep pace with him. "He wouldn't necessarily need dark magic if all he wants to do is knock James off his broom. If he made it look like an accident in front of enough witnesses, he'd be blameless."
It was actually a pretty reasonable suggestion, but James shot Peter a dirty look. "He isn't going to knock me off my broom," he muttered, his tone almost scandalized. "I suppose you think I'm going to lose, too," he accused, cheerfully enough to not only imply that he was making a joke and they should laugh, but also to convey how ludicrous he found the whole idea.
The other three boys shared a Look. Gryffindor Solidarity could only stretch so far, and was intended more for public displays, especially in confrontations with other Houses. "James," Peter began delicately, "we know you've got good reflexes, but you're not a Seeker, and Regulus is." Peter's eyes widened and he was quick to continue, before James could give voice to the outrage in his expression. "I'm not saying I think you're definitely going to lose. But he's been on the Slytherin team for three—" here he glanced at Sirius for confirmation, and the other boy nodded, "for three years, and it's not like he got the position for not knowing what he's doing."
James averted his eyes to Remus and Sirius in turn. "And you two agree, don't you?" Not exactly accusing, more disappointed.
Sirius rolled his eyes, grinning a little. "Oh, don't be so dramatic. We still want you to win. You have a chance of it just like my brother does. But underestimating him is about the worst thing you can do—he thrives on it, and I guarantee he won't underestimate you."
They reached the Quidditch pitch and any potential response from James was drowned by a riot of noise that was equal parts cheering and shouted abuse as they stepped into view. Regulus was already there, standing in the middle of the pitch leaning against his broom. The excitement clearly wasn't for him, but he smirked nonetheless. "What kept you?" he called. "You were very nearly late." His relaxed posture spoke of just how concerned he'd been about their punctuality. Quite the contrary, he had known James would show up. "Shall we get started, then? Or would you prefer a few moments to collect yourselves?" He gestured to Peter, and then to the grass before him, to indicate an adequate place for the bludger case.
It was almost impressive how much insult Regulus could work into words that under other circumstances could have been considered polite. James shrugged, regarding the younger boy with a lazy smile instead of rising to the bait. "I'm ready when you are." He gestured to the bludger case. "I can wait if you'd like to check the bludgers for jinxes."
Regulus feigned shock as he knelt to open the case. He stared up at James, his mouth a little round "o" of surprise, though the way his eyes glittered probably ruined the effect. "That thought didn't even occur to me," he murmured slowly. "Imagine that! And here I figured you'd be too proud and honourable to reduce yourself to cheating in order to win." His expression slid back into a smirk. "One bludger or two? How difficult should we make this, Potter?" He ghosted his fingers over the bludgers as they struggled against the leather straps confining them in the box. When he met James' gaze again, his steel-blue eyes were predatory, calculating, though distinctly lacking any obvious malice.
James carefully maintained a straight face, refusing to even twitch. He sighed internally, and then gave the answer his friends would want him to give. "One bludger will be more than enough for the two of us." A practice bludger would chase anything that moved, change direction in unpredictable ways so that Beaters weren't absolutely necessary. However, without Beaters to redirect a bludger, even just one would be enough to complicate their match, considering there would be only two of them to chase.
It hadn't been the answer that he had impulsively wanted to give. Even Regulus's expression briefly cleared with genuine surprise. Apparently he'd been expecting his baiting to work. "As you wish," the younger boy conceded, after too long a pause. James felt vindicated, and grinned his satisfaction.
"Peter, Remus, do you think you could release the Snitch and bludger for us? To make sure the start is as fair as possible, of course." James waited for the two boys to nod and then stepped back a few paces with his broom. And found his arm abruptly seized by Sirius, who all but frog-marched him a few feet away from the others.
"This isn't a good idea," Sirius growled quietly. "I have no clue what he's up to, but it isn't as if we don't know who his friends are, what kind of people they are. He's got to have some kind of agenda. You need to watch yourself up there. We aren't going to be able to do much for you down here." Sirius had brought his broom as a general precaution, but he wasn't a Quidditch player and held no illusions of his skill relative to James' and Regulus's.
"Or maybe," James interjected with a smirk, "he was only bored. I'm sure that even slimy little Slytherins get bored occasionally. Maybe he couldn't find a first-year to torture." His tone was dismissive, as if his own suggestion had as much credibility as anything else. Though, if that was, in fact, Regulus's problem, it was more than solved now. He looked around, taking in the half-full stands, and many of the students were younger ones, who should have been in lessons. That wasn't good. With so many skivving off class, professors might come looking. And there was some kind of rule against what they were doing; something about Quidditch players not competing against one another outside of sanctioned matches.
Sirius looked like there was more he wanted to say, but glanced around like James had and seemed to come to the same conclusion the other boy had. With a sigh, he flicked a hand towards where Regulus stood waiting, so much disgust packed into barely a gesture. It seemed to say, "Well, let's get it over with." It might also have added, "you utter ponce." James took this as a sign of his friend's blessing and stepped forward to square himself opposite the younger Black brother.
Being a Chaser, James had never really taken much notice of Regulus's technique, even while watching matches he wasn't playing. He focused on the other Chasers, to better arm himself for his own matches. Now, however, he hadn't much choice but to notice Regulus. The younger, smaller boy flew in the vaguely kamikaze manner shared by hunting falcons, and James couldn't shake either him or the psychotic practice bludger. It appeared as if Regulus's plan of action revolved around keeping James distracted, rather than hunting the Snitch himself. James had acquired a second shadow: shorter, lither, and more substantial than the original, though it clung just as tenaciously to him.
Regulus flew in James' slipstream, just to the side and slightly behind him, and the bludger regarded them as a single target, changing direction when it missed them to yet again shoot towards them unerringly. And whenever James moved to dodge, so too did Regulus, his movement as instantaneous and graceful as fish schooling. The effect was unnerving, because it seemed as if the younger boy was predicting his reactions. It could simply have been good reflexes, but with Regulus so close he could feel the boy's body heat through the thick padding of their uniforms, James could not sense a twitch of hesitation from his opponent to indicate he was acting on anything but instinct.
Even as James executed a suicide dive, pulling up mere feet from the ground, Regulus replicated the move in tandem. He wasn't certain, but James thought he heard the other boy chuckle before the sound was tossed away by the wind whipping by. The bludger was not so lucky and cratered in the grassy turf, sending up clods of dirt with the impact. However, it was not to be deterred and was on their tails again only seconds later.
And then, out of the corner of his eye, James caught a glimpse of gold, up high; it could just as easily have been a trick of the sun. James jerked, changing direction even as he tried to verify that it was the Snitch and not an optical illusion. And of course, Regulus did the same. No, if he was honest with himself, James could admit he'd felt the other boy shift against him first—a fraction of an instant, really—before James himself had altered his course.
The pair was pressed together from shoulder to thigh as they raced after the flicker of a mirage that was the Golden Snitch. The bludger chased them, but now it stood no chance. They had their eyes on the prize, and James elbowed Regulus in the side, hard, trying to gain a few inches, his fingers outstretched and grasping. The younger boy laughed into his ear, all hot and harsh and dark, and just kept on coming, not giving even a centimeter, edging forward by a fraction, and then by more than a fraction, but still that tantalizing glint of gold darted in front of them just out of reach. The sound of his amusement only earned the younger boy another elbow to the ribs, sharper this time.
Regulus grunted, but he was used to playing rough and didn't so much as waver on his broom. Quite the contrary, he laughed again, gleefully this time, and barrel-rolled around James in a slow spiral. He kept close such that they were touching throughout the manoeuver, side to side, back to back, and when Regulus slipped beneath James and they were face-to-face, he caught the other boy's eye and winked.
And then, still flying upside-down, as if he wasn't expending any effort whatsoever, Regulus tightened and narrowed his body to his broom and darted forward those few extra inches that had so eluded James, plucking the Snitch from the air like it hadn't even been moving. The effortless act was somewhat spoiled by the fact that the younger boy's face was flushed and damp with sweat, but the fact remained that he had won, and James gave him a tight-lipped nod of acknowledgment.
The bludger swerved away from them, directed back to its case by a rather grim-looking Sirius, and it was only then that they slowed—Regulus righting himself first—and then dropped back to the center of the Quidditch pitch. The jeering and boos drowned out any triumphant cheers from the Slytherin members of the assembled crowd, but Regulus didn't shown whether or not it affected him. Yet again, or maybe still, his eyes were only for James. "I win," he pronounced, nearly all of his self-satisfied amusement lost in the tumult around them. His eyes danced with a very private delight, and James would have grimaced if they hadn't had an audience.
However, before James could retort, the younger boy tossed the Snitch at him and mounted his broom. James caught it, more on reflex than by intention. And then Regulus was gone, rocketing back towards the castle. "Something new for you to play with," he crowed over his shoulder before he had gone beyond range of shouting. But James thought he could still make out the other boy's laughter.
James would have given chase, but then Sirius, Remus, and Peter were suddenly surrounding him, though none of them spoke. There was nothing for them to say. Sirius's hand was an attempt at reassurance on his shoulder, but Sirius didn't know the half of how serious a loss James had truly suffered. There would be consequences.
~~~~~~~~~~
Regulus felt like whistling, but he kept utterly silent as he crept through the corridors of the darkened castle. He wore thick socks and carried his shoes in one hand so that his movement was just as soundless as that of the lithe and sinuous creature keeping step beside him. She was a small grey tortoiseshell cat, and the primary reason Regulus could sneak about the castle without being caught. After all, it didn't take a genius to realize Mrs. Norris was the only reason Filch was at all effective at his job, and Regulus was liberal about using the enemy's tactics to his advantage. Her name was Sorrin, a name that was a personal thumb of the nose to the man who had given him the idea. Not that Filch knew about his cat, of course.
It was quick, easy work to escape the castle, something he had taken to doing quite frequently since the beginning of term. He put on his shoes just outside the door while his cat peered unblinking green eyes into the darkness around them. And then they set off together across the grounds at a comfortable pace, no longer furtive in any of their movements. There was no moon, and it would be difficult to pick them out, especially Regulus, wearing all black.
Somehow, they arrived at the greenhouse too soon. Regulus hadn't had adequate time to prepare himself. Though he was definitely looking forward to this, he was—blast it all—nervous. However, hiding things, emotions particularly, was something Regulus excelled at, and he schooled his expression to convey nothing but lazy satisfaction as he slipped into the darkened building, leaving Sorrin outside to stand watch.
He was instantly surrounded by sudden and imposing stillness, a silence that was very different in nature to the quiet that had reigned outside. The greenhouses were easily the most dangerous classrooms at Hogwarts, and though they contained no animals, they possessed the same atmosphere that a jungle at midnight might, full of invisible menace. Despite a propensity for the subject, Regulus had declined to continue to N.E.W.T. level Herbology. However, he loved spending time amongst a dozen different plant species that could kill him.
Especially after discovering how very little James Potter had retained from his own Herbology lessons. The first time they had met in one of the greenhouses, Regulus had found James reclining so close to a strand of venomous tentacula that it could have picked his pocket.
James always arrived first—Regulus wasn't sure how and had never bothered to ask—and it had quickly become something of a game for the younger boy to find him. Hide-and-seek, but more dangerous and with an arguably better reward. Tonight, he swallowed his impatience and crept low amongst broad, leafy fronds, moving from memory rather than any ability to see well. Leaves were generally safe to touch, though the medusa ferns in the back produced spores that paralyzed on contact. This time, however, Regulus didn't get a chance to go hunting through the bushes.
Cold fingers brushed the back of his neck, and Regulus nearly leapt out of his skin. In surprise, he told himself seconds later, and not fear. He straightened and turned in record time, and recognized the silhouette of James Potter in the near-complete darkness, low light glinting off white teeth that were, this time, bared in a triumphant grin just for him.
Regulus folded his arms. "I don't know what you're so pleased about," he sniffed petulantly. "You lost. In front of half the school," he continued, letting his own deep satisfaction leak into the words. The younger boy leaned close, voice dropping to a whisper as if they were sharing some sort of juicy secret. "Unless this is the outcome you hoped for all along…"
His smirk only grew when James seized him by the front of his robes and jerked him close, the older boy's face transformed to a scowl that was obvious even in the dimness. "The only reason I agreed to your ridiculous bet was because I expected to win."
"But now that you've lost," Regulus supplied, when James went silent a few beats too long, "you won't break your word." He was very much the cat who ate the canary—or perhaps a whole flock of small, cheerful birds. The younger boy pressed closer, stared up into James' eyes, and waited.
"You're pathetic," James replied, his voice lacking in any of the expected derision. "You held back against me. You chose a contest you knew you wouldn't lose."
Regulus's eyes lit up. "You weren't expecting to lose," he interjected quickly. "How is that diff—"
James gave the younger boy a rough shake, abruptly silencing him. "The difference is, you held back. You knew I've never cared to watch you play. You wanted to fuck me so badly you decided to practically cheat by omission, rather than in any obvious way."
"It would have been utterly foolish to cheat in an obvious way," Regulus purred. "Was I supposed to simply roll over like some submissive little tart and let you have your way with me?"
Inexplicably, James laughed, and it was rich and throaty, surprisingly warm. "I would have liked that, yes."
"Well, now you know better. I'm not that easy." Regulus leaned up on his toes, so close that their lips were only a hair's breadth apart, effectively cutting off whatever smart remark James had been about to make. "And yes," he murmured, voice hot and harsh, "to answer your accusation. I wanted to be the one to do the fucking. So much so that I chose a contest I couldn't lose. A contest that you ultimately agreed to. I have never hidden my skill, from you or anyone else; if you didn't know I was better than you, you have no one to blame for that but yourself. I didn't cheat to win, so the question is: Are you going to let me fuck you, per our agreement, or will I be forced to assert my dominance?"
James stared at him, and seemed to be debating whether laughter was the appropriate response to such a declaration. Then something shifted in his expression. "You talk too much," James snarled softly. And Regulus found himself unable to respond to that, because his senses were suddenly full of the other boy, his mouth occupied by something so much better than talking.
They had kissed before. With great frequency, in fact. But those kisses had nothing on this one. James was angry. With Regulus, almost certainly, but moreso he was angry with himself. The kiss was fierce with unrestrained hunger, and was the closest to an answer for the younger boy's question that Regulus was likely to get. It was vastly more satisfying than any verbal response he could have received. The kiss told him he would get what he wanted, but also that he would have to earn it, because James wasn't that easy, either. It said that even though Regulus had won the bet dictating the terms of their first time together, it was no guarantee that those terms might extend to future liaisons. Rather, each reproving nip or bite, each forceful swipe of tongue, the panted growls Regulus eagerly swallowed—they all promised the opposite. That James would make the younger boy submit, and Regulus would be pleased to do it. Maybe James would even make him beg. Gryffindors were not above seeking vengeance, after all.
Steady hands sank into Regulus's robes, seeking to part the fabric, and the younger boy shivered, pulling away with the greatest reluctance. "Not here," he muttered, the authority in his voice somewhat ruined by the high colour of his cheeks and the soft rasp that accompanied each laboured breath.
Even in the low light, Regulus could make out James' raised eyebrow. "Oh?" James asked, and his tone was coloured more by amusement than lack of composure. "Shall we just nip down to the Slytherin commons, then, and put on a show for your housemates? I'm sure they'll be happy to supply you with some tips, should you need them."
Regulus's lips curled. Two could play that game. "I was thinking your tower, actually. I wonder what they would think of their Quidditch star if they knew he was fraternizing with the enemy. Do you think they would shout out advice?"
James growled and yanked the smaller boy close again. "I would not need advice."
"So arrogant." Regulus sighed long-sufferingly. "But the point remains. Not here. I don't relish the thought of rolling around in the dirt with you, nor do I want to unintentionally find my way into a patch of devil's snare or strangle thorn."
As much as James wanted to argue the point since he'd seen Regulus windswept and rumpled (post-Quidditch) but never, ever dirty, he found that the other boy had an infuriatingly good point. There would be plenty of other opportunities to smear Regulus with dirt that didn't have to involve carnivorous plants and the like. "What do you have in mind?" he relented.
"I have a place," Regulus grinned.
~~~~~~~~~~
"I never took you for a cat person," James remarked quietly as they walked down a stretch of unremarkable second-floor corridor.
"Maybe that's because I'm not a cat person." Regulus had been quick to regain his composure, especially in the slightly better lighting of the darkened castle.
The older boy gestured to the rather cat-shaped creature keeping pace beside them. "How do you explain that?"
"Sorrin is a very small breed of well-behaved, quiet, and independent dog." Regulus rolled his eyes. "Owning a cat doesn't make me a cat person. I don't like most animals. My cat is a very useful exception." He stopped short at a door and gave it three sharp raps with his knuckles. It swung open silently to admit them, but James only permitted himself to have a look around once the door had been shut and locked behind them. He noted as a sort of afterthought that Regulus seemed to be doing the same thing.
The room had previously been the office of some probably retired professor. That much was obvious from the furniture. An old but sturdy-looking desk sat in one corner, two small, cushy armchairs arrayed in front of it. A threadbare couch leaned against the closest wall. All professors' offices had fireplaces, and this was no different. The flames danced at a low, steady crackle, and James decided, rather ungraciously, that there was no possible way Regulus had built so nice a fire. A thought that led to the very logical realization that it was unlikely Regulus had had anything to do with the cleaning and preparation of this room. Which explained the younger boy's scrutiny matching his own.
"How many house elves did it take to tidy up the place?" James asked, in a voice that betrayed how very clever he thought he was, even as it tried for nonchalance.
Regulus smiled. No wonder his brother liked James so much. The boy was a show-off, cocky, more narcissistic than many of the girls he knew, up to and including his cousins. But he was so damned cheerful and friendly that it served to make his faults…endearing. In a way, it was fairly nauseating, because no one else could even hope to get away with James' rather ridiculous behaviour. But at the same time, Regulus found he rather enjoyed having something nice for himself. Which was not to say that their relationship was hearts and flowers and god-awful pink bunnies. It was more often thinly (if at all) veiled insults to each others' house, family, friends, intelligence, punctuated by necking and occasionally interrupted if they were forced from a section of the greenhouse by a wandering brambleprick (very territorial).
Regulus imagined James' interest in him was very similar to his own. As much as James clearly enjoyed being a Quidditch star, as close to a celebrity as Hogwarts currently had, it was probably something of a relief to be with someone who wasn't interested in being impressed. Who wasn't easily offended, who could sling friendly insults as well as take them. And if the insults weren't so friendly, he would get even, rather than get hurt feelings. With Regulus, James didn't have to be nice, and it didn't change their relationship any. And it went without saying that Regulus was far more…congenial with James than he had any right to be.
"It only took one elf to clean this room," he sniffed loftily. "Black family elves know their business far better than these castle elves do. I wasn't about to roll around in a cloud of dust and cobwebs with you."
"A little preoccupied with the rolling, are we?" James drawled. "You do realize sex is messy, right? I don't care how many house elves you have in here, you aren't going to be clean afterwards. And I'm not referring to dirt or dust." The expression James wore could only be described as a leer.
Regulus rolled his eyes, though he could not remain totally unaffected by the look he was being given. "'Messy' is entirely different from 'grimy'." Then, like flicking a switch, his expression went completely feral, eyes narrowed, a grin that showed all his teeth. "But I didn't bring you here so we could argue technicalities, now did I?"
James reached out, buried his fingers in the younger boy's hair, and used his grip to yank Regulus forward. His other arm wrapped around the boy to keep him there. "There is always time to argue technicalities," he purred. "But I think I see your point. While we have the time now, it should be put to better uses." He might have resented Regulus's victory a little, but it made him no less eager, when it came right down to it. They had been Waiting. Not because either of them had wanted the moment to be Deep and Meaningful, but because both had had some difficulty backing down—relenting power, control.
Regulus grinned lazily. "You talk too much." He inched a hand up to the back of James' neck, used a firm grip to bring the boy's lips down to his level. This time, however, they didn't linger in a proper kiss for very long. James dropped his mouth to the side of Regulus's throat, and the younger boy arched his head back, but focused blindly upon the fastenings of James' robes. His hands seemed to stumble over the buttons—or was it the feel of an erratic heartbeat beneath the hurried ministrations of his fingertips? Mere seconds passed, the robe puddle at James' feet, and Regulus snapped his head back up when his fingers found bare skin. James had been wearing only trousers underneath his robes. He grinned, fiercely, and ran his hands down the older boy's sides, grazing his nails along lithe muscle and the jut of hipbone. The lack of a shirt spoke of anticipation…delicious.
James' skin was alive with gooseflesh beneath Regulus's fingers. There was a fire in the fireplace, but it hadn't been lit long enough to effectively warm the room. He pressed close to the younger boy, soaking in his warmth, hooking one leg behind Regulus's knees. They crashed heavily to the floor, two bodies used to rough treatment, tangled together on a thick rug. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" James asked breathlessly, his true level of concern punctuated by the velocity of his fingers, tripping deftly through the buttons of Regulus's robes, and then the shirt beneath.
A growl rumbled from Regulus's throat, though his body arched fitfully to effectively mitigate the sound of displeasure. "I am not a rare and delicate flower," he all but snarled. "Hurry up with my trousers, will you?" He glanced up into James' eyes and was met with a rather skeptical look. "Oh, quit that," he snorted, rolling his eyes. "I can tell you secretly love obeying orders. Especially from me."
There they stayed for long moments, James mired in indecision, and Regulus squirming beneath him, rather deliberately pressing their hips together more firmly where the older boy straddled him. And then: "I'm only taking off your trousers because I want them gone." It was a statement difficult to argue; Regulus could feel the truth of it pressed against his inner thigh.
"You ought to take yours off, too" Regulus suggested as he kicked off his shoes, lifted his hips to help as he was stripped to the pants. "It seems like something you might want to do!" he protested in the wake of James' glare.
The older boy hesitated a moment too long and summarily found himself flipped. Regulus leaned down for a kiss, a lash of tongues so fierce and hungry that it could not wholly be considered a diversionary tactic. His hands dropped to James' trousers, and even amidst distraction he had the older boy naked in moments. He shimmied out of his pants a second later, grinning wildly.
Crouching between James' knees, Regulus grazed his fingernails back and forth along the older boy's thighs, his demeanour simultaneously playful and pensive. The muscles twitched and flexed beneath his touch, eliciting a low groan from James. He chuckled quietly and dipped his head, licking and biting the older boy's abdomen. James was behaving quite pliantly, actually, and Regulus was going to make sure it continued. After all, he'd already won.
Everything had been planned, down to the lubricant Regulus had carried in his pocket. He hadn't anticipated how aroused he would be, the way his fingers would shake as he groped for the vial. He panted softly, pillowing his cheek against James' flat stomach, struggling for focus. The lube smelled faintly of vanilla, and Regulus spread a copious amount on both hands. One wrapped firmly around James' cock, stroking fluidly.
Oddly enough, it evoked a growl from the older boy, though he arched and strained, rocking his hips. "You think I don't know what you're doing?" James lifted his head to glower down his body at Regulus. "You think I'm going to let you make this easy?"
Regulus smirked, winking. His free hand slipped up the inside of James' thigh, smearing a trail of oil to the pucker of his opening. Without pausing, he slid a finger in to the knuckle, beginning a patient thrust. And how James moaned, tossing his head back wantonly. "You are already making this incredibly easy for me," he whispered gleefully. He wiggled his finger, working it deeper, and James' response came out an unintelligible moan. "Hmmm? What was that?" He withdrew his finger nearly all the way before driving it back in; James gasped and squirmed, his glare ultimately growing more and more muted. Regulus cocked his head as if listening. "You want me to do my worst? With pleasure." And then he began the onslaught in earnest.
Both Regulus's hands moved, in a concert that spoke more of focus than of practice or inherent skill. He stroked the other boy at a maddeningly slow pace, and it was clear that the stimulation was meant only to take the edge off what his other hand was doing. James was tense and tight around his intruding digit, gripping when he sought to thrust, to loosen the ring of muscle. A second joined the first easily enough, but the third made James cry out hoarsely, fingers digging into the thick pile of the rug beneath him. Regulus decided that James was incredibly lucky he had no designs upon harming the older boy, because this sweating, panting mass of nerve and muscle lying prostrate before him was just about helpless. Regulus thought it was a good look on him, and bent to sample the vanilla lube from the tip of James' cock. He took the head briefly in his mouth, tightening his lips so that when he pulled away there was a soft popping sound of suction. Then he tongued the length from root to tip in one slow, broad swipe, tasting the odd blend of sweet vanilla and the salty fluid already beginning to weep from the slit. And when he looked up into James' face, Regulus wasn't sure if the older boy was going to cry, strangle him, flip him over and fuck his mouth, or a depraved combination of the three. At least the three fingers twisting and thrusting within James didn't seem to be giving him any trouble.
Regulus grinned, but it was strained—it was impossible to watch the other boy squirm, observe how senseless he'd rendered James, and remain totally unaffected. He was so hard his toes ached, and he moved so quickly to shift and reposition himself between James' thighs that the older boy didn't get a chance to object as the fingers were withdrawn from him.
Not that James seemed interested in objecting. He sank a hand into Regulus's hair and used the grip to guide their mouths together feverishly. Regulus was forced to grope for the discarded vial of lube blindly, spilling more of the vanilla-scented oil than he managed to spread on his swollen, aching length.
His hand shook slightly as he aligned himself to James' opening, something that sounded suspiciously like a whimper escaping his throat to disappear against the older boy's lips. He wasn't anywhere close to composed, now. Regulus thrust forward, probably a little faster than he should have, wrenching his lips from James' with a raw cry. A sound that James echoed as he clung to the boy all but shivering above him.
It hurt; of course it did. But not as much as breaking his leg second year had. Regulus had done a surprisingly thorough job of preparing him, actually. He gave the younger boy a moment to gather his senses, because he was quite ready, thank you very much, and when Regulus proved reluctant to continue—or could he even think straight?—James shifted his body, rocking his hips to begin a slow rhythm himself. Regulus seemed to take over by instinct alone, panting thickly, and James was simply gratified that now he wasn't the only one so overcome. Or, he was until Regulus got the hang of what he was doing and began to drive their bodies. At that point, deliberate thought abandoned him.
There was nothing but movement, relentless sensation. James was remotely aware of how hot he'd become, the slick slide of their bodies as Regulus pounded into him. There wasn't breath to spare for kissing, but James clung to the other boy anyway, keeping their bodies close so that he could feel the motion of every muscle in the other boy's body as they writhed together.
Regulus finished quickly. James would have made fun of him for it if 1) he'd been in any shape to do so and 2) it hadn't felt so good, a hot surge within him that had hit a spot that Regulus hadn't quite managed to. It wrenched a strangled howl from James' throat, and the next brush of Regulus's stomach against his length finished him, seed pumping out in erratic spurts upon his abdomen. Regulus collapsed bonelessly onto the sticky puddle a moment later.
Neither boy spoke. It was late, they were tired, and their relationship was not one in which pillow talk was a requirement or indeed anything they desired. James rolled Regulus off him, pushing the younger boy gently onto his back. He reached out, brushing his fingers lightly down the side of Regulus's wrist, and that was how they fell asleep, side by side.
Author:
skellywagFandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Regulus/James
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Gay porn. No really, that's it.
A/N: Written for
westwardlee for hpvalensmut. I had a lot to work with, because my request was so open. Top!Regulus, manly men (What's manlier than men competing at sports?), no heavy kink. The other potential pairings were pretty interesting, since I love a rarepair, but Regulus is just about my favourite thing ever, so I couldn't resist. Many thanks to corvidae9 for putting up with my frequent emails at submission time."Fancy yourself handy with a Snitch, do you, Potter?" Whereas many fifteen-year-olds would be intimidated by their older brother's friends, Regulus Black possessed what, to some people, might be considered a rather inflated sense of his own self-worth, and was not easily intimidated by anyone. It was a spring day, many students were outside on the school grounds taking advantage of the mild weather, and Regulus stood in front of four sixteen-year-old boys including his older brother, wearing a challenging smirk.
James Potter, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, and Remus Lupin sat together on a small hill overlooking the lake. Lupin and Pettigrew appeared to be working together on an assignment, while Sirius and James very pointedly were not—the latter fiddling with a Snitch instead of doing anything constructive. James glanced up upon being addressed, and when he recognized Regulus, regarded the younger boy with a patronizing smile and nudged Sirius with an elbow.
"Go away, Reggie-kins. We don't want to play with you right now." Sirius's voice was dismissive and impersonal, as if this boy before them could have been any Slytherin. He rolled his eyes theatrically for the benefit of his friends.
Regulus, however, hadn't been a proper younger brother since the age of ten, when Sirius had gone and got himself Sorted into the wrong House to their mother's everlasting shame. He had noticed Sirius's presence, had glanced at his brother when the older boy had spoken, but Regulus truly had eyes only for James and the glint of gold in his hand.
"Do shut up, Brother Mine," Regulus replied primly, his gaze not so much as wavering in its focus upon tiny, fluttering wings. "It's not as if you can pretend with me; I know for a fact Mum taught you not to interrupt other people's conversations."
James and Pettigrew burst into laughter, and even Lupin looked amused, though each of them shot Sirius a sympathetic look and tried to act abashed. Under normal circumstances, there would have been a show of Gryffindor Solidarity, but Regulus wasn't just any Slytherin. He was Sirius's little brother, a fact that apparently made the whole situation very funny.
Sirius's cheeks turned an unflattering shade of pink, but his scowl was for his brother and not his friends. "You also know," the boy's tone was scathing, "that most of the lessons Mum tried to teach me didn't take." The accusation in Sirius's words remained unvoiced, but he folded his arms in challenge.
Regulus smiled, the expression sharp and not particularly kind. "I don't suppose you could do me a favour and go away," he murmured slowly, as if Sirius were being deliberately obtuse. He stared narrowly at his brother from the corner of his eyes. "I have no desire to talk to you, which should have been obvious from the fact that I addressed Potter."
A surprisingly deep growl rumbled from Sirius's throat, but before he could snap a reply, James placed a restraining hand on his friend's shoulder. Silent until now, the bespectacled boy looked more amused than curious, eyes calculating and narrowed up at Regulus. "You want to talk to me? Go ahead." He planted his hands in the grass behind him, leaning back comfortably as if holding court. The Snitch was hidden beneath his palm—out of sight but not out of mind.
"I'm merely curious how talented you really are with a Snitch; you seem to have spent a lot of time showing off with that one, for someone who isn't a Seeker." Though he didn't look around to see if any of the nearby groups of students were paying attention, Regulus had raised his voice a little to make sure they could hear him. The ego of one's opponent could be powerful leverage. "Perhaps you'd like to demonstrate your skill against someone who knows what they are doing?"
Logically, if the contest was to catch the Snitch, a Chaser shouldn't have any chance at beating a Seeker. That was how Regulus knew James would take his bait, rise to the challenge. James was a show-off, and this would be an excellent opportunity to demonstrate his superiority—that he was so good at Quidditch, position was irrelevant. If he lost, something Regulus was sure James wouldn't even consider a possibility, well, that would be expected. But if James won, then the victory would only add to his already considerable celebrity as a Quidditch star.
James tossed his head, flipping hair out of his eyes as he raised a brow at Regulus. "When?" And then he grinned, flashing perfect teeth. That was how Regulus, who hadn't looked away from James, knew for a fact that they had an audience, because that kind of smile definitely wasn't for him. It was his "I love all my adoring fans" smile.
A slow smirk slid into place on Regulus's lips, which may or may not have been partly related to the outraged expression he'd noted on his brother's face from his periphery. "I suppose that would depend upon whether you want some last-minute practice." He reached into the depths of his robes and withdrew a small, sealed box that contained a brand-new Snitch. "I can be ready in as little as half an hour, but we can schedule something for next week if you're busy."
James' lip curled. He hadn't liked that implication one bit. He rose to his feet so that he could glare down at Regulus, who was by no means as physically impressive as the older boy. Thus far, Regulus's growth spurt had been more of a trickle, and there was no indication that it would ever result in any sort of significant physical change. However, short and slight was the best build for a Seeker, so Regulus didn't really mind that he hadn't sprouted up or filled out as much as his brother had. He also wasn't fazed by the stare-down and simply raised an eyebrow expectantly.
"I'll see you on the pitch in half an hour." How predictable. Regulus was almost embarrassed on James' behalf. Almost.
Regulus finally diverted his attention from James. His eyes found Lupin, who, from what he had heard, was the smart one among his brother's friends. He set the Snitch box on the ground next to that boy's hand. "It hasn't been tampered with, but you don't have to take my word on it," he murmured with what he imagined was an appropriate level of self-deprecation. Regulus's eyes flicked back to James. "Do you think you can get your hands on a set of practice bludgers? Make the contest a little more interesting?"
The older boy snorted, rolling his eyes. "Of course," he replied, waving a hand (the one still gripping his Snitch) dismissively. It was clear that James didn't appreciate being underestimated, but Regulus didn't illusion himself—he knew that James would be calm and focused when they faced off. Regulus wasn't foolish, and he wasn't underestimating his opponent at all, not really. The banter was simply banter, and not an attempt to catch the other boy off-guard or strategically manipulate his impulses, though he was certain he could have pulled that off, as well, if he had wanted to.
Regulus turned and walked away without another word, heading back up to the castle. He walked with a spring in his step, because he knew, now, that he was the one with an audience. There was no telling how far word could spread in half an hour, but Regulus had no doubt that he would find half the school down at the Quidditch pitch when he got there, drawn by James' celebrity. An audience would show up no matter who it was competing against James Potter, but that was fine. As far as Regulus was concerned, James tried too hard to be popular. He did no such thing himself.
He was nearly out of earshot when he heard his brother's voice, faint, behind him. Deliberately raised, so that Regulus would be able to hear. "Sorry about that. He gets that way if I haven't thrashed him in a while." Regulus smirked to himself and kept walking.
"From what I can tell, the Snitch hasn't been tampered with, though of course there could always be something wrong with it I couldn't detect." Remus handed the box to Sirius. It hadn't been opened during the course of the examination, but that was sort of the point of a brand-new Snitch—no one had touched it ever.
Sirius glared down at the box as if it had personally offended him. "No, there wouldn't be anything wrong with it. My brother's a git, but he's not stupid. He probably knows more dark magic than all of us together, but he's too good to let himself get caught." The lack of anything resembling admiration from the otherwise ambitious prankster spoke volumes, but James only shrugged in response—if the Snitch was clean, then Regulus's recreational activities weren't immediately relevant. "He wouldn't risk us taking it to a professor to have it checked," Sirius continued. He didn't address the fact that they weren't taking that precaution.
"What if he's attempting to sabotage the upcoming match against Ravenclaw?" Peter walked with his wand held out before him, the rather large and unwieldy bludger case hovering and moving over the ground about a foot in front of him. He had to walk more slowly to focus the spell, and the other boys were careful to keep pace with him. "He wouldn't necessarily need dark magic if all he wants to do is knock James off his broom. If he made it look like an accident in front of enough witnesses, he'd be blameless."
It was actually a pretty reasonable suggestion, but James shot Peter a dirty look. "He isn't going to knock me off my broom," he muttered, his tone almost scandalized. "I suppose you think I'm going to lose, too," he accused, cheerfully enough to not only imply that he was making a joke and they should laugh, but also to convey how ludicrous he found the whole idea.
The other three boys shared a Look. Gryffindor Solidarity could only stretch so far, and was intended more for public displays, especially in confrontations with other Houses. "James," Peter began delicately, "we know you've got good reflexes, but you're not a Seeker, and Regulus is." Peter's eyes widened and he was quick to continue, before James could give voice to the outrage in his expression. "I'm not saying I think you're definitely going to lose. But he's been on the Slytherin team for three—" here he glanced at Sirius for confirmation, and the other boy nodded, "for three years, and it's not like he got the position for not knowing what he's doing."
James averted his eyes to Remus and Sirius in turn. "And you two agree, don't you?" Not exactly accusing, more disappointed.
Sirius rolled his eyes, grinning a little. "Oh, don't be so dramatic. We still want you to win. You have a chance of it just like my brother does. But underestimating him is about the worst thing you can do—he thrives on it, and I guarantee he won't underestimate you."
They reached the Quidditch pitch and any potential response from James was drowned by a riot of noise that was equal parts cheering and shouted abuse as they stepped into view. Regulus was already there, standing in the middle of the pitch leaning against his broom. The excitement clearly wasn't for him, but he smirked nonetheless. "What kept you?" he called. "You were very nearly late." His relaxed posture spoke of just how concerned he'd been about their punctuality. Quite the contrary, he had known James would show up. "Shall we get started, then? Or would you prefer a few moments to collect yourselves?" He gestured to Peter, and then to the grass before him, to indicate an adequate place for the bludger case.
It was almost impressive how much insult Regulus could work into words that under other circumstances could have been considered polite. James shrugged, regarding the younger boy with a lazy smile instead of rising to the bait. "I'm ready when you are." He gestured to the bludger case. "I can wait if you'd like to check the bludgers for jinxes."
Regulus feigned shock as he knelt to open the case. He stared up at James, his mouth a little round "o" of surprise, though the way his eyes glittered probably ruined the effect. "That thought didn't even occur to me," he murmured slowly. "Imagine that! And here I figured you'd be too proud and honourable to reduce yourself to cheating in order to win." His expression slid back into a smirk. "One bludger or two? How difficult should we make this, Potter?" He ghosted his fingers over the bludgers as they struggled against the leather straps confining them in the box. When he met James' gaze again, his steel-blue eyes were predatory, calculating, though distinctly lacking any obvious malice.
James carefully maintained a straight face, refusing to even twitch. He sighed internally, and then gave the answer his friends would want him to give. "One bludger will be more than enough for the two of us." A practice bludger would chase anything that moved, change direction in unpredictable ways so that Beaters weren't absolutely necessary. However, without Beaters to redirect a bludger, even just one would be enough to complicate their match, considering there would be only two of them to chase.
It hadn't been the answer that he had impulsively wanted to give. Even Regulus's expression briefly cleared with genuine surprise. Apparently he'd been expecting his baiting to work. "As you wish," the younger boy conceded, after too long a pause. James felt vindicated, and grinned his satisfaction.
"Peter, Remus, do you think you could release the Snitch and bludger for us? To make sure the start is as fair as possible, of course." James waited for the two boys to nod and then stepped back a few paces with his broom. And found his arm abruptly seized by Sirius, who all but frog-marched him a few feet away from the others.
"This isn't a good idea," Sirius growled quietly. "I have no clue what he's up to, but it isn't as if we don't know who his friends are, what kind of people they are. He's got to have some kind of agenda. You need to watch yourself up there. We aren't going to be able to do much for you down here." Sirius had brought his broom as a general precaution, but he wasn't a Quidditch player and held no illusions of his skill relative to James' and Regulus's.
"Or maybe," James interjected with a smirk, "he was only bored. I'm sure that even slimy little Slytherins get bored occasionally. Maybe he couldn't find a first-year to torture." His tone was dismissive, as if his own suggestion had as much credibility as anything else. Though, if that was, in fact, Regulus's problem, it was more than solved now. He looked around, taking in the half-full stands, and many of the students were younger ones, who should have been in lessons. That wasn't good. With so many skivving off class, professors might come looking. And there was some kind of rule against what they were doing; something about Quidditch players not competing against one another outside of sanctioned matches.
Sirius looked like there was more he wanted to say, but glanced around like James had and seemed to come to the same conclusion the other boy had. With a sigh, he flicked a hand towards where Regulus stood waiting, so much disgust packed into barely a gesture. It seemed to say, "Well, let's get it over with." It might also have added, "you utter ponce." James took this as a sign of his friend's blessing and stepped forward to square himself opposite the younger Black brother.
Being a Chaser, James had never really taken much notice of Regulus's technique, even while watching matches he wasn't playing. He focused on the other Chasers, to better arm himself for his own matches. Now, however, he hadn't much choice but to notice Regulus. The younger, smaller boy flew in the vaguely kamikaze manner shared by hunting falcons, and James couldn't shake either him or the psychotic practice bludger. It appeared as if Regulus's plan of action revolved around keeping James distracted, rather than hunting the Snitch himself. James had acquired a second shadow: shorter, lither, and more substantial than the original, though it clung just as tenaciously to him.
Regulus flew in James' slipstream, just to the side and slightly behind him, and the bludger regarded them as a single target, changing direction when it missed them to yet again shoot towards them unerringly. And whenever James moved to dodge, so too did Regulus, his movement as instantaneous and graceful as fish schooling. The effect was unnerving, because it seemed as if the younger boy was predicting his reactions. It could simply have been good reflexes, but with Regulus so close he could feel the boy's body heat through the thick padding of their uniforms, James could not sense a twitch of hesitation from his opponent to indicate he was acting on anything but instinct.
Even as James executed a suicide dive, pulling up mere feet from the ground, Regulus replicated the move in tandem. He wasn't certain, but James thought he heard the other boy chuckle before the sound was tossed away by the wind whipping by. The bludger was not so lucky and cratered in the grassy turf, sending up clods of dirt with the impact. However, it was not to be deterred and was on their tails again only seconds later.
And then, out of the corner of his eye, James caught a glimpse of gold, up high; it could just as easily have been a trick of the sun. James jerked, changing direction even as he tried to verify that it was the Snitch and not an optical illusion. And of course, Regulus did the same. No, if he was honest with himself, James could admit he'd felt the other boy shift against him first—a fraction of an instant, really—before James himself had altered his course.
The pair was pressed together from shoulder to thigh as they raced after the flicker of a mirage that was the Golden Snitch. The bludger chased them, but now it stood no chance. They had their eyes on the prize, and James elbowed Regulus in the side, hard, trying to gain a few inches, his fingers outstretched and grasping. The younger boy laughed into his ear, all hot and harsh and dark, and just kept on coming, not giving even a centimeter, edging forward by a fraction, and then by more than a fraction, but still that tantalizing glint of gold darted in front of them just out of reach. The sound of his amusement only earned the younger boy another elbow to the ribs, sharper this time.
Regulus grunted, but he was used to playing rough and didn't so much as waver on his broom. Quite the contrary, he laughed again, gleefully this time, and barrel-rolled around James in a slow spiral. He kept close such that they were touching throughout the manoeuver, side to side, back to back, and when Regulus slipped beneath James and they were face-to-face, he caught the other boy's eye and winked.
And then, still flying upside-down, as if he wasn't expending any effort whatsoever, Regulus tightened and narrowed his body to his broom and darted forward those few extra inches that had so eluded James, plucking the Snitch from the air like it hadn't even been moving. The effortless act was somewhat spoiled by the fact that the younger boy's face was flushed and damp with sweat, but the fact remained that he had won, and James gave him a tight-lipped nod of acknowledgment.
The bludger swerved away from them, directed back to its case by a rather grim-looking Sirius, and it was only then that they slowed—Regulus righting himself first—and then dropped back to the center of the Quidditch pitch. The jeering and boos drowned out any triumphant cheers from the Slytherin members of the assembled crowd, but Regulus didn't shown whether or not it affected him. Yet again, or maybe still, his eyes were only for James. "I win," he pronounced, nearly all of his self-satisfied amusement lost in the tumult around them. His eyes danced with a very private delight, and James would have grimaced if they hadn't had an audience.
However, before James could retort, the younger boy tossed the Snitch at him and mounted his broom. James caught it, more on reflex than by intention. And then Regulus was gone, rocketing back towards the castle. "Something new for you to play with," he crowed over his shoulder before he had gone beyond range of shouting. But James thought he could still make out the other boy's laughter.
James would have given chase, but then Sirius, Remus, and Peter were suddenly surrounding him, though none of them spoke. There was nothing for them to say. Sirius's hand was an attempt at reassurance on his shoulder, but Sirius didn't know the half of how serious a loss James had truly suffered. There would be consequences.
Regulus felt like whistling, but he kept utterly silent as he crept through the corridors of the darkened castle. He wore thick socks and carried his shoes in one hand so that his movement was just as soundless as that of the lithe and sinuous creature keeping step beside him. She was a small grey tortoiseshell cat, and the primary reason Regulus could sneak about the castle without being caught. After all, it didn't take a genius to realize Mrs. Norris was the only reason Filch was at all effective at his job, and Regulus was liberal about using the enemy's tactics to his advantage. Her name was Sorrin, a name that was a personal thumb of the nose to the man who had given him the idea. Not that Filch knew about his cat, of course.
It was quick, easy work to escape the castle, something he had taken to doing quite frequently since the beginning of term. He put on his shoes just outside the door while his cat peered unblinking green eyes into the darkness around them. And then they set off together across the grounds at a comfortable pace, no longer furtive in any of their movements. There was no moon, and it would be difficult to pick them out, especially Regulus, wearing all black.
Somehow, they arrived at the greenhouse too soon. Regulus hadn't had adequate time to prepare himself. Though he was definitely looking forward to this, he was—blast it all—nervous. However, hiding things, emotions particularly, was something Regulus excelled at, and he schooled his expression to convey nothing but lazy satisfaction as he slipped into the darkened building, leaving Sorrin outside to stand watch.
He was instantly surrounded by sudden and imposing stillness, a silence that was very different in nature to the quiet that had reigned outside. The greenhouses were easily the most dangerous classrooms at Hogwarts, and though they contained no animals, they possessed the same atmosphere that a jungle at midnight might, full of invisible menace. Despite a propensity for the subject, Regulus had declined to continue to N.E.W.T. level Herbology. However, he loved spending time amongst a dozen different plant species that could kill him.
Especially after discovering how very little James Potter had retained from his own Herbology lessons. The first time they had met in one of the greenhouses, Regulus had found James reclining so close to a strand of venomous tentacula that it could have picked his pocket.
James always arrived first—Regulus wasn't sure how and had never bothered to ask—and it had quickly become something of a game for the younger boy to find him. Hide-and-seek, but more dangerous and with an arguably better reward. Tonight, he swallowed his impatience and crept low amongst broad, leafy fronds, moving from memory rather than any ability to see well. Leaves were generally safe to touch, though the medusa ferns in the back produced spores that paralyzed on contact. This time, however, Regulus didn't get a chance to go hunting through the bushes.
Cold fingers brushed the back of his neck, and Regulus nearly leapt out of his skin. In surprise, he told himself seconds later, and not fear. He straightened and turned in record time, and recognized the silhouette of James Potter in the near-complete darkness, low light glinting off white teeth that were, this time, bared in a triumphant grin just for him.
Regulus folded his arms. "I don't know what you're so pleased about," he sniffed petulantly. "You lost. In front of half the school," he continued, letting his own deep satisfaction leak into the words. The younger boy leaned close, voice dropping to a whisper as if they were sharing some sort of juicy secret. "Unless this is the outcome you hoped for all along…"
His smirk only grew when James seized him by the front of his robes and jerked him close, the older boy's face transformed to a scowl that was obvious even in the dimness. "The only reason I agreed to your ridiculous bet was because I expected to win."
"But now that you've lost," Regulus supplied, when James went silent a few beats too long, "you won't break your word." He was very much the cat who ate the canary—or perhaps a whole flock of small, cheerful birds. The younger boy pressed closer, stared up into James' eyes, and waited.
"You're pathetic," James replied, his voice lacking in any of the expected derision. "You held back against me. You chose a contest you knew you wouldn't lose."
Regulus's eyes lit up. "You weren't expecting to lose," he interjected quickly. "How is that diff—"
James gave the younger boy a rough shake, abruptly silencing him. "The difference is, you held back. You knew I've never cared to watch you play. You wanted to fuck me so badly you decided to practically cheat by omission, rather than in any obvious way."
"It would have been utterly foolish to cheat in an obvious way," Regulus purred. "Was I supposed to simply roll over like some submissive little tart and let you have your way with me?"
Inexplicably, James laughed, and it was rich and throaty, surprisingly warm. "I would have liked that, yes."
"Well, now you know better. I'm not that easy." Regulus leaned up on his toes, so close that their lips were only a hair's breadth apart, effectively cutting off whatever smart remark James had been about to make. "And yes," he murmured, voice hot and harsh, "to answer your accusation. I wanted to be the one to do the fucking. So much so that I chose a contest I couldn't lose. A contest that you ultimately agreed to. I have never hidden my skill, from you or anyone else; if you didn't know I was better than you, you have no one to blame for that but yourself. I didn't cheat to win, so the question is: Are you going to let me fuck you, per our agreement, or will I be forced to assert my dominance?"
James stared at him, and seemed to be debating whether laughter was the appropriate response to such a declaration. Then something shifted in his expression. "You talk too much," James snarled softly. And Regulus found himself unable to respond to that, because his senses were suddenly full of the other boy, his mouth occupied by something so much better than talking.
They had kissed before. With great frequency, in fact. But those kisses had nothing on this one. James was angry. With Regulus, almost certainly, but moreso he was angry with himself. The kiss was fierce with unrestrained hunger, and was the closest to an answer for the younger boy's question that Regulus was likely to get. It was vastly more satisfying than any verbal response he could have received. The kiss told him he would get what he wanted, but also that he would have to earn it, because James wasn't that easy, either. It said that even though Regulus had won the bet dictating the terms of their first time together, it was no guarantee that those terms might extend to future liaisons. Rather, each reproving nip or bite, each forceful swipe of tongue, the panted growls Regulus eagerly swallowed—they all promised the opposite. That James would make the younger boy submit, and Regulus would be pleased to do it. Maybe James would even make him beg. Gryffindors were not above seeking vengeance, after all.
Steady hands sank into Regulus's robes, seeking to part the fabric, and the younger boy shivered, pulling away with the greatest reluctance. "Not here," he muttered, the authority in his voice somewhat ruined by the high colour of his cheeks and the soft rasp that accompanied each laboured breath.
Even in the low light, Regulus could make out James' raised eyebrow. "Oh?" James asked, and his tone was coloured more by amusement than lack of composure. "Shall we just nip down to the Slytherin commons, then, and put on a show for your housemates? I'm sure they'll be happy to supply you with some tips, should you need them."
Regulus's lips curled. Two could play that game. "I was thinking your tower, actually. I wonder what they would think of their Quidditch star if they knew he was fraternizing with the enemy. Do you think they would shout out advice?"
James growled and yanked the smaller boy close again. "I would not need advice."
"So arrogant." Regulus sighed long-sufferingly. "But the point remains. Not here. I don't relish the thought of rolling around in the dirt with you, nor do I want to unintentionally find my way into a patch of devil's snare or strangle thorn."
As much as James wanted to argue the point since he'd seen Regulus windswept and rumpled (post-Quidditch) but never, ever dirty, he found that the other boy had an infuriatingly good point. There would be plenty of other opportunities to smear Regulus with dirt that didn't have to involve carnivorous plants and the like. "What do you have in mind?" he relented.
"I have a place," Regulus grinned.
"I never took you for a cat person," James remarked quietly as they walked down a stretch of unremarkable second-floor corridor.
"Maybe that's because I'm not a cat person." Regulus had been quick to regain his composure, especially in the slightly better lighting of the darkened castle.
The older boy gestured to the rather cat-shaped creature keeping pace beside them. "How do you explain that?"
"Sorrin is a very small breed of well-behaved, quiet, and independent dog." Regulus rolled his eyes. "Owning a cat doesn't make me a cat person. I don't like most animals. My cat is a very useful exception." He stopped short at a door and gave it three sharp raps with his knuckles. It swung open silently to admit them, but James only permitted himself to have a look around once the door had been shut and locked behind them. He noted as a sort of afterthought that Regulus seemed to be doing the same thing.
The room had previously been the office of some probably retired professor. That much was obvious from the furniture. An old but sturdy-looking desk sat in one corner, two small, cushy armchairs arrayed in front of it. A threadbare couch leaned against the closest wall. All professors' offices had fireplaces, and this was no different. The flames danced at a low, steady crackle, and James decided, rather ungraciously, that there was no possible way Regulus had built so nice a fire. A thought that led to the very logical realization that it was unlikely Regulus had had anything to do with the cleaning and preparation of this room. Which explained the younger boy's scrutiny matching his own.
"How many house elves did it take to tidy up the place?" James asked, in a voice that betrayed how very clever he thought he was, even as it tried for nonchalance.
Regulus smiled. No wonder his brother liked James so much. The boy was a show-off, cocky, more narcissistic than many of the girls he knew, up to and including his cousins. But he was so damned cheerful and friendly that it served to make his faults…endearing. In a way, it was fairly nauseating, because no one else could even hope to get away with James' rather ridiculous behaviour. But at the same time, Regulus found he rather enjoyed having something nice for himself. Which was not to say that their relationship was hearts and flowers and god-awful pink bunnies. It was more often thinly (if at all) veiled insults to each others' house, family, friends, intelligence, punctuated by necking and occasionally interrupted if they were forced from a section of the greenhouse by a wandering brambleprick (very territorial).
Regulus imagined James' interest in him was very similar to his own. As much as James clearly enjoyed being a Quidditch star, as close to a celebrity as Hogwarts currently had, it was probably something of a relief to be with someone who wasn't interested in being impressed. Who wasn't easily offended, who could sling friendly insults as well as take them. And if the insults weren't so friendly, he would get even, rather than get hurt feelings. With Regulus, James didn't have to be nice, and it didn't change their relationship any. And it went without saying that Regulus was far more…congenial with James than he had any right to be.
"It only took one elf to clean this room," he sniffed loftily. "Black family elves know their business far better than these castle elves do. I wasn't about to roll around in a cloud of dust and cobwebs with you."
"A little preoccupied with the rolling, are we?" James drawled. "You do realize sex is messy, right? I don't care how many house elves you have in here, you aren't going to be clean afterwards. And I'm not referring to dirt or dust." The expression James wore could only be described as a leer.
Regulus rolled his eyes, though he could not remain totally unaffected by the look he was being given. "'Messy' is entirely different from 'grimy'." Then, like flicking a switch, his expression went completely feral, eyes narrowed, a grin that showed all his teeth. "But I didn't bring you here so we could argue technicalities, now did I?"
James reached out, buried his fingers in the younger boy's hair, and used his grip to yank Regulus forward. His other arm wrapped around the boy to keep him there. "There is always time to argue technicalities," he purred. "But I think I see your point. While we have the time now, it should be put to better uses." He might have resented Regulus's victory a little, but it made him no less eager, when it came right down to it. They had been Waiting. Not because either of them had wanted the moment to be Deep and Meaningful, but because both had had some difficulty backing down—relenting power, control.
Regulus grinned lazily. "You talk too much." He inched a hand up to the back of James' neck, used a firm grip to bring the boy's lips down to his level. This time, however, they didn't linger in a proper kiss for very long. James dropped his mouth to the side of Regulus's throat, and the younger boy arched his head back, but focused blindly upon the fastenings of James' robes. His hands seemed to stumble over the buttons—or was it the feel of an erratic heartbeat beneath the hurried ministrations of his fingertips? Mere seconds passed, the robe puddle at James' feet, and Regulus snapped his head back up when his fingers found bare skin. James had been wearing only trousers underneath his robes. He grinned, fiercely, and ran his hands down the older boy's sides, grazing his nails along lithe muscle and the jut of hipbone. The lack of a shirt spoke of anticipation…delicious.
James' skin was alive with gooseflesh beneath Regulus's fingers. There was a fire in the fireplace, but it hadn't been lit long enough to effectively warm the room. He pressed close to the younger boy, soaking in his warmth, hooking one leg behind Regulus's knees. They crashed heavily to the floor, two bodies used to rough treatment, tangled together on a thick rug. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" James asked breathlessly, his true level of concern punctuated by the velocity of his fingers, tripping deftly through the buttons of Regulus's robes, and then the shirt beneath.
A growl rumbled from Regulus's throat, though his body arched fitfully to effectively mitigate the sound of displeasure. "I am not a rare and delicate flower," he all but snarled. "Hurry up with my trousers, will you?" He glanced up into James' eyes and was met with a rather skeptical look. "Oh, quit that," he snorted, rolling his eyes. "I can tell you secretly love obeying orders. Especially from me."
There they stayed for long moments, James mired in indecision, and Regulus squirming beneath him, rather deliberately pressing their hips together more firmly where the older boy straddled him. And then: "I'm only taking off your trousers because I want them gone." It was a statement difficult to argue; Regulus could feel the truth of it pressed against his inner thigh.
"You ought to take yours off, too" Regulus suggested as he kicked off his shoes, lifted his hips to help as he was stripped to the pants. "It seems like something you might want to do!" he protested in the wake of James' glare.
The older boy hesitated a moment too long and summarily found himself flipped. Regulus leaned down for a kiss, a lash of tongues so fierce and hungry that it could not wholly be considered a diversionary tactic. His hands dropped to James' trousers, and even amidst distraction he had the older boy naked in moments. He shimmied out of his pants a second later, grinning wildly.
Crouching between James' knees, Regulus grazed his fingernails back and forth along the older boy's thighs, his demeanour simultaneously playful and pensive. The muscles twitched and flexed beneath his touch, eliciting a low groan from James. He chuckled quietly and dipped his head, licking and biting the older boy's abdomen. James was behaving quite pliantly, actually, and Regulus was going to make sure it continued. After all, he'd already won.
Everything had been planned, down to the lubricant Regulus had carried in his pocket. He hadn't anticipated how aroused he would be, the way his fingers would shake as he groped for the vial. He panted softly, pillowing his cheek against James' flat stomach, struggling for focus. The lube smelled faintly of vanilla, and Regulus spread a copious amount on both hands. One wrapped firmly around James' cock, stroking fluidly.
Oddly enough, it evoked a growl from the older boy, though he arched and strained, rocking his hips. "You think I don't know what you're doing?" James lifted his head to glower down his body at Regulus. "You think I'm going to let you make this easy?"
Regulus smirked, winking. His free hand slipped up the inside of James' thigh, smearing a trail of oil to the pucker of his opening. Without pausing, he slid a finger in to the knuckle, beginning a patient thrust. And how James moaned, tossing his head back wantonly. "You are already making this incredibly easy for me," he whispered gleefully. He wiggled his finger, working it deeper, and James' response came out an unintelligible moan. "Hmmm? What was that?" He withdrew his finger nearly all the way before driving it back in; James gasped and squirmed, his glare ultimately growing more and more muted. Regulus cocked his head as if listening. "You want me to do my worst? With pleasure." And then he began the onslaught in earnest.
Both Regulus's hands moved, in a concert that spoke more of focus than of practice or inherent skill. He stroked the other boy at a maddeningly slow pace, and it was clear that the stimulation was meant only to take the edge off what his other hand was doing. James was tense and tight around his intruding digit, gripping when he sought to thrust, to loosen the ring of muscle. A second joined the first easily enough, but the third made James cry out hoarsely, fingers digging into the thick pile of the rug beneath him. Regulus decided that James was incredibly lucky he had no designs upon harming the older boy, because this sweating, panting mass of nerve and muscle lying prostrate before him was just about helpless. Regulus thought it was a good look on him, and bent to sample the vanilla lube from the tip of James' cock. He took the head briefly in his mouth, tightening his lips so that when he pulled away there was a soft popping sound of suction. Then he tongued the length from root to tip in one slow, broad swipe, tasting the odd blend of sweet vanilla and the salty fluid already beginning to weep from the slit. And when he looked up into James' face, Regulus wasn't sure if the older boy was going to cry, strangle him, flip him over and fuck his mouth, or a depraved combination of the three. At least the three fingers twisting and thrusting within James didn't seem to be giving him any trouble.
Regulus grinned, but it was strained—it was impossible to watch the other boy squirm, observe how senseless he'd rendered James, and remain totally unaffected. He was so hard his toes ached, and he moved so quickly to shift and reposition himself between James' thighs that the older boy didn't get a chance to object as the fingers were withdrawn from him.
Not that James seemed interested in objecting. He sank a hand into Regulus's hair and used the grip to guide their mouths together feverishly. Regulus was forced to grope for the discarded vial of lube blindly, spilling more of the vanilla-scented oil than he managed to spread on his swollen, aching length.
His hand shook slightly as he aligned himself to James' opening, something that sounded suspiciously like a whimper escaping his throat to disappear against the older boy's lips. He wasn't anywhere close to composed, now. Regulus thrust forward, probably a little faster than he should have, wrenching his lips from James' with a raw cry. A sound that James echoed as he clung to the boy all but shivering above him.
It hurt; of course it did. But not as much as breaking his leg second year had. Regulus had done a surprisingly thorough job of preparing him, actually. He gave the younger boy a moment to gather his senses, because he was quite ready, thank you very much, and when Regulus proved reluctant to continue—or could he even think straight?—James shifted his body, rocking his hips to begin a slow rhythm himself. Regulus seemed to take over by instinct alone, panting thickly, and James was simply gratified that now he wasn't the only one so overcome. Or, he was until Regulus got the hang of what he was doing and began to drive their bodies. At that point, deliberate thought abandoned him.
There was nothing but movement, relentless sensation. James was remotely aware of how hot he'd become, the slick slide of their bodies as Regulus pounded into him. There wasn't breath to spare for kissing, but James clung to the other boy anyway, keeping their bodies close so that he could feel the motion of every muscle in the other boy's body as they writhed together.
Regulus finished quickly. James would have made fun of him for it if 1) he'd been in any shape to do so and 2) it hadn't felt so good, a hot surge within him that had hit a spot that Regulus hadn't quite managed to. It wrenched a strangled howl from James' throat, and the next brush of Regulus's stomach against his length finished him, seed pumping out in erratic spurts upon his abdomen. Regulus collapsed bonelessly onto the sticky puddle a moment later.
Neither boy spoke. It was late, they were tired, and their relationship was not one in which pillow talk was a requirement or indeed anything they desired. James rolled Regulus off him, pushing the younger boy gently onto his back. He reached out, brushing his fingers lightly down the side of Regulus's wrist, and that was how they fell asleep, side by side.
