Chapter Text
- The First Meeting
James Potter has always prided himself on being extremely likeable. He’s what most people would call a social butterfly with fond admiration. Most people either wanted to be him, fuck him, or get fucked by him. Most. He’s sure some others may have deigned to use a variety of other colourful terms ranging from arrogant prat to obnoxious loudmouth, but the fact of the matter still stood; James Potter was very well liked.
There’s a hilariously popular misconception among the student body at Hogwarts University that James could not stand it when someone disliked him or was anything other than cavity-inducingly nice to him. Some think it’s ego, some think it’s a symptom of the fact that he’s had people falling over his feet from when he was merely a doe eyed toddler asking for more sweets, but in reality the truth held much more depth than any of the prying eyes of classmates that couldn’t be bothered to look any further than the obvious assumption. It’s funny, really, how the rumour mill works. Misconstruing a single, or fine semi-frequent, event into a completely and utterly inaccurate character analysis on the poor James Potter who shits sunshine, vomits rainbows and can’t fathom the thought of someone not fawning over him at first glance.
The reality behind this seemingly alarmingly popular gossip topic was the exact opposite, and in truth much, much more debauched than anything any one of them could have cooked up. See, James Potter was bothered when someone wasn’t particularly nice to him, but in a far different way than anyone imagined.
A single day into the start of their third year, with the crisp September air prompting too-thin sweaters and too-thick scarves, along with the heat of his blush prone face determined to constantly fog up his glasses ever so slightly, James was about to be totally and completely fucked. And not in the good way. Well, in a pretty good way. The best way, if you ask him. Sirius, much to Remus’ torture, Peter’s exasperation and James’ endless amusement, was frantically running about their shared flat wearing nothing but his signature black ripped jeans, the waistband dipping precariously low on his hips, and brushing his fingers through his black locks with increased fervour by the minute.
“Tell me again why you look like you’ve gone to war and come back?” Remus asked incredulously, trying and failing to hide the way his eyes swept over Sirius’ bare torso, mapping the stark contrast between his swirling tattoos and alabaster skin with an only slightly dampened expression of absolute agony. His eyes were travelling down the taut skin of his abdomen, following the thin smattering of hair that led below the falling waistband of his jeans when Sirius stops dead in his tracks and ceases his muttering to stare back at Remus.
“Because he’s coming. Here. Today!” Sirius’ own words seem to send him back into his never-ending spiral and he resumes his mad pacing. James himself swallowed at the thought.
‘He’ of course referred to Sirius’ younger brother, Regulus Black. An enigma in every sense of the word. The brothers had been extremely close in childhood, a solace from the pressures of the batshit crazy family they had the pure misfortune of being born into. In later years, they drifted apart. An unfortunate inevitability at the hands of their mother’s manipulation, their faither’s indifference and the world’s cruelty. When Sirius couldn’t take it anymore, he was lucky enough to get out, but Regulus was still placed firmly under the unwavering thumb of Walburga Black, a frighteningly wicked woman with a disturbing mind and even worse track record. One of the only people that James had seriously considered hurting. Injuring beyond repair for the irreversible damage that she not only brought to his best friend, but relished in.
Although the years had not been kind to the Black brothers, they were spat out at the tail end of their teen years free from their parents in one way or another, and had made a significant change in their relationship. They put in all the effort it took to undo the resentment that The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black had instilled in them, and had managed to reform the brotherly bond they once held so dear. Although Sirius wouldn’t admit it to himself or anyone else, James had noticed that Sirius had been lifted of a significant weight off his shoulders in the past two years that he and Regulus slowly mended their relationship. He was more carefree than James had ever seen him, and a spark of gratitude lit in James’ stomach for the elusive Regulus Black.
They had never met, and yet James was endlessly intrigued by the younger boy. All he knew of him, courtesy of Walburga’s insistence that he attend a different school than his ‘disgrace’ of a brother instead of running the risk of him being tainted, was from Sirius’ ramblings. All through secondary, Sirius would talk about his brother with a strange mixture of fondness and disdain, with the prime takeaway of his comments or anecdotes from childhood being that he missed his brother more fiercely than anything that he ever had or ever would. Over the past few years since their reconciliation, the way Sirius spoke of his brother has…evolved, to say the least.
All of a sudden, he was talking James’ ear off in the wee hours of the morning about how Regulus still hated tomatoes, but would never ask for them not to be added to his food as he didn’t want to be a nuisance, instead opting to painstakingly remove any semblance of them himself. He ranted about his brother’s inexplicable fondness for their rather unfortunately nicknamed butler Kreacher, and how, although Sirius never liked him much, Regulus to this day spoke about him with admiration. It got to a point where Sirius would practically sit on the toilet as James showered just to revel in the fact that he could finally, finally speak about his brother like he actually knows him. Because he finally did.
The past week has been a dramatic escalation from the already abhorrent amount of Sirius’ honestly rather sweet proclivity for talking about his little brother, brought about by the fact that Regulus himself would now be attending Hogwarts University, finally cutting all ties with his family and dropping the business degree their parents insisted on in favour of pursuing his own passions and happiness. James, despite never having met him, felt an odd sense of pride. He supposes it was an offshoot of Sirius’ own tears of brotherly happiness at Regulus’ courage. He sometimes even found himself wondering if he may someday see Regulus as his own little brother figure.
Little did James know that the moment he set his eyes on Regulus, any kind brotherly thoughts were pushed so far out of his head that he nearly popped a blood vessel.
James was snapped out of his daydreaming by Sirius’ hands clicking in front of his dazed face.
“Prongs! Are you listening to me! Today is the first time that Reggie is meeting any of my friends, so that means you,” Sirius’ painted finger jabbed into his chest, punctuating every other word with a new stab as James lets out a scoff of mock injury, “have to be on your absolute best behaviour!”
“Oi! What makes you think that I’ll—” James is cut off by that same finger being pressed on top of his protesting lips.
“Let me give you an itemized list of why exactly you specifically need to behave,” Sirius removes the finger from his mouth and swivels to instead point it at a frozen Peter, interrupting him from his spot on the sofa with a forkful of leftover Chinese almost reaching his mouth.
“Peter, awkward as he may be, the poor sod,” Peter furrows his brows and makes a frustrated sound through a mouthful of noodles, “knows when to leave someone alone. He reads people well and doesn’t press on sensitive topics.”
“I feel like I should be offended at how pointedly you said those—” James is once again cut off, because who needs full sentences anyway?
“Remus,” Sirius’ finger is now dead set on Remus’ blushing face, his eyes shooting up from where they were glued to Sirius’ back as the muscles ripped with movement, “I already know is going to get on with Reg splendidly, because they both love literature and tea and other shit like that.”
“Should I be offended at how my existence has been boiled down to books and tea?” Remus says in amusement, gaining back some of his composure.
“Definitely not, Moons. I just need you to bring how incredible you are down a notch before Reggie figures it out and likes you more than me,” Sirius says with a teasing smile and a wink as he revels in Remus’ answering blush. Well, there goes that progress. James’ fond exasperation at his best friends’ antics is cut off by Sirius turning back to him with a glare.
“Now you, James Potter, are going to be absolutely obliterated unless you take all this,” Sirius gestures wildly to the way James is leaned leisurely on the counter with his classic smirk plastered on his face, “way down to a respectable 30%.”
“You just gestured to all of me!” James breathes out with a laugh, “I’m sure once Reggie gets to know me well enough, he can—,” honestly why does James even try anymore.
“See! That! For starters you cannot call him Reggie or Reg or any other variation of his name because he will eviscerate you on the spot,” Sirius states matter-of-factly and James makes a mental note to try it at least once, if only just to see what will happen. Maybe Sirius has a point after all.
“For how much you gushed about how incredible he is, you’re not exactly pleading his case, mate,” Peter says sheepishly, forking another mouthful of noodles as if to find an escape from Sirius’ possibly volatile response.
“He’s brilliant, truly. And immeasurably funny,” Sirius starts, looking fond, “but he does not take one ounce of bullshit from anyone, much less prats who don’t know how to comb their hair, which he will probably take the piss out of by the way.”
James can’t stop the grin that finds its way to his face, “I like him already,” he states as he beams.
“Thank you, James,” Sirius says exasperatedly, “for bringing me to my next point,” he bites out, “How do I put this delicately? Prongs, you have to zip your jeans up so tight they might as well become a pseudo chastity belt,” Sirius says with a smile as Remus chokes on his tea.
“I’m sorry what?” James chokes out in shock. What the ever-loving fuck could that possibly mean?
“What that means, Prongsie,” Sirius starts and James realizes he may have said what he assumed was his internal monologue out loud, “is that you have a type, and that type just so happens to be Regulus. To a bloody T.”
Now, if James wasn’t already superbly and irrevocably intrigued by the younger Black brother before, then that surely would have done it. Before James can embarrass himself further with his keen interjection as too why exactly Sirius said that, he continues.
“You tend to like people who don’t take you too seriously. Bickering is basically foreplay for you,” Sirius deadpans and the room breaks out in poorly concealed laughter, “and at the risk of wanting to off myself for saying this in relation to my little brother, you’re turned on by people who are mean to you.”
James blinks in shock at his, admittedly very accurate, analysis, and much to Sirius’ horror, a smirk splits open his face against his will as the only words he can form are, “You think he’ll be mean to me?”
The laughter that Remus and Peter had been very poorly attempting to hide behind noodles and tea truly erupted at Sirius’ subsequent sputtering following James’ words. “No! No! Bad Prongs!” he exclaimed as he threw stray almonds from the counter at James’ laughing form, “You will not, under any circumstances, flirt with my baby brother, understood, Potter?”
“Lord, if he calls him ‘Potter’ he’ll fold so easily he might as well be a lawn chair,” Peter says in between bouts of laughter, only stopped by a sharp look from Sirius.
“Understood? No fucking my brother, James!” Sirius says, finally stopping World War Almond to once again point in his direction. He’s one accusatory finger-point away from getting carpel tunnel. Now, James has a choice here. Does he dutifully accept his role as caring best friend and accept his terms of keeping his dick in his pants? Or does he fuel the fire and make Sirius shit a brick? The decision almost makes itself, honestly.
“Which one is it? Flirting or fucking?” James states as his smile twitches along with his quirked eyebrow. Sirius’ eyes are ablaze with frustration and James regrets absolutely nothing.
“I hope Reggie fucking eats you alive, Potter,” Sirius says with a faux smile as he absent-mindedly pops an ammo almond into his mouth.
“That can be arranged, Black,” James responds with a toothy smile and revels in the way steam is very nearly shooting out of Sirius’ ears as his eye twitches in annoyance. Just as Sirius is about to resume his prattling, Remus, bless him, steps in and grabs onto Sirius’ shoulder firmly, the skin on skin contact startling Sirius enough that he turns away from James to gaze at Remus.
“Fun as this all is, didn’t you say he was coming at around 4? You should probably finished getting dressed,” Remus almost looks pained at the thought as his eyes inadvertently glance back down to Sirius’ bare skin.
“Shit, you’re right!” Sirius exclaims, having been appropriately distracted from his war path and checking the garish orange clock precariously balanced on a single hook on the wall to see it read 3:31pm, “Reggie will almost surely take the piss out of me if I’m not dressed well, proper fashion guy that one,” he says, as if that does anything at all to help James’ wild imagination, “and he’s always bloody early so I have 15 minutes to figure out what to wear!”
Sirius goes back to his rummaging and picks out two shirts from the growing pile on the sofa. Deciding to ignore them for the moment he begins layering his usual necklaces and selecting his earrings before fitting them into their place on his earlobes. After fiddling around with a ring or two he turns his attention back to the shirts and picks one in a rich plum colour with a plunging V, shirking it on and rolling the sleeves up to his elbows to reveal his forearms, probably missing the way Remus’ eyes follow him every step of the way.
While Sirius is preoccupied, James slinks away to the bathroom to sneakily grab a glance at his appearance. He’s filled with the subconscious need to have Regulus like him. To impress him. He knows he looks good, realistically, his simple deep red shirt hugging the muscles forged by so many hours of football and his jeans low enough to teasingly showcasing just a centimetre of tantalizing tan skin. He’s never been one to accessorize, he likes to think that his hair is an accessory in itself, but he does have a simple black bracelet wrapped around his wrist. Some faraway corner of his brain, despite never having met the man, absent-mindedly hopes that Regulus likes what he sees. Really likes it.
As he nonchalantly makes his way back to the living room, Sirius seems to be ready, urging Peter to clean up his food and leave as little as possible to be criticized. James sees his anxiety and feels the need to step in once he sees Sirius biting his lip firmly.
“Pads,” he says softly as he grabs each of his shoulders with his strong arms and turns Sirius to look at him. His eyes are filled with excitement, but they have a tinge of fear lurking below the surface, “it’s going to be ok, you know that, right?”
“I just want everything to be perfect. I don’t want to lose him again, James,” Sirius admits, his brow furrowing slightly as he lets his lip fall from his teeth.
“You won’t. Do you want to know how I’m certain you won’t?” James asks as he squeezes his shoulders comfortingly, “Because anyone would be lucky to have you in their life. I’m not saying everything is going to be perfect all the time, but people don’t work so hard to rebuild a relationship if a single thing out of place would scare them away,” he says softly and truthfully, watches as Sirius eases up and his lips twinge.
“This still doesn’t mean you can fuck my brother,” he says with a snicker as the tension in the room dissolves.
“No promises. Especially if he’s pretty,” James says with a wink, laughing fondly at Sirius’ answering eye roll.
As if on cue, the ring of the doorbell echoes through the flat. 3:45. Just as Sirius said. With one last breath, Sirius gives James a final pointed look and walks to the door. He opens it up slowly, as if James needed any more suspense, and bit by bit reveals Regulus standing outside. Oh God.
James has to make a conscious effort not to let his jaw hang open at the sight of him. Before him is not just a boy, but an Adonis carved straight out of stark white marble. He could write sonnets about his skin and how he would pay bloody anything to sink his teeth straight into it. Atop his head lies thick ringlets of raven black hair, and James flexes his fingers to counteract the sudden urge he has to tug at his locks. And then his eyes. Oh lord, his eyes. There isn’t a strong enough word to describe the captivating pull that his storm grey eyes hold, not even the strongest person alive could withstand it. And James is a weak, weak man.
James’ eyes continue to flit over the younger boy standing before him, trying not to focus on the plump curve of his lips or the sharp edge of his jawline, Jesus, his jawline could cut glass. Sirius was right, he’s a fashion guy through and through, if his outfit has anything to say about it. He sure as hell knows what he’s bloody doing. His dark green scoop-neck sweater accentuates his protruding collarbones. James gulps as he eyes over the choker around his neck and the way his pants were loose and yet still hugged every curve they needed to, a belt sinching in his downright sinful waist. His eyes land on his hands, and if James wasn’t already a goner then he surely would be after catching a glimpse of the rings adorning his long aristocratic fingers. Not just on a couple, like Sirius tends to wear, but silver jewellery on almost every single one.
James has never been more glad that he didn’t promise Sirius something, because god knows that someone who looks like that and apparently a tongue so sharp one phrase alone could sentence you to death by a thousand cuts, is not someone that James wants to let go of very easily.
“Reggie!” Sirius exclaims, an uncontrollable smile on his lips as he catches sight of his brother.
“Dear Lord, there’s two of them,” James hears Remus say so quietly only he can hear, his eyes scanning appreciatively over Regulus, albeit not as intensely as James’. He hadn’t given much thought to the similarities between the two brothers, but all he had to say was that if their fucked up family did anything right it was the genetics.
“That colour looks nice on you, Siri,” Regulus drawls out as he steps inside, a smirk etching it’s way onto the lips that James had pointedly tried not to think so much about, “How long did it take you to pick out?” He tilts his head as he says this, widening his eyes enough to seem innocent but unable to hide the mischievous glint that passes over them. Oh, James is fucked.
“First time I’ve seen you in person in weeks and that’s your opening line?” Sirius says on a laugh, reaching up to ruffle his brother’s hair, “What did I tell you?” Sirius says, turning his attention back to the other three men in the room as he closes the door behind them.
Regulus fashions him one hell of a scowl as he deadpans, “Just because you roll out of bed and let your hair run wild, doesn’t mean I do,” while brushing one of his deliciously accessorized hands through the hair that James so desperately wants to run his own hands through.
Sirius places a hand on his chest in mock offense, “I’ll have you know that I have a tedious 5-step daily hair care routine, Reggie,”
“Only 5?” Regulus says with a small pout that James wants to bite. He really should stop looking at him so intently before someone—
“If anyone needs haircare help it’s obviously James bloody Potter!” Sirius rebuts on a laugh as he waves an absent-minded hand in James’ direction. A pair of stormy eyes follow and land on James as his own eyes snap up from where they were fixated on the younger man’s mouth.
He watches with bated breath as Regulus seems to scan over him in a matter of seconds, nowhere near the languid intensity of James’ own decidedly obvious appreciation. His eyes slow to a stop at his hair and Regulus tuts lightly before speaking, “Oh, that is tragic.”
James can’t help the startled laugh that escapes him at the words, thinking to himself that Sirius was spot-fucking-on with his previous observation. James could listen to him insult him all day and never tire. It’s only when Regulus eyebrow quirks up expectantly that James realizes he should probably respond, and yet all his words seem to die on his tongue as he catches a glint of something silver as Regulus’ tongue darts out to wet his lips (which James is once again not thinking about not thinking about not thinking about). All words except,
“Well, fuck me.”
A millisecond of silence passes, just long enough for Sirius to pinch the bridge of his nose as if a headache is approaching and Remus to hide a small chuckle behind his hand, before Regulus responds without missing a bloody beat.
“Don’t get your hopes up, Potter,” Regulus deadpans once again, a ghost of a smile flitting onto his lips. James can’t breathe, he’s decided. Because breathing will break this delicate, delicate moment where James’ heart is torn between beating the fuck out of his chest and running around campus or stopping completely dead in its tracks.
Regulus’ eyes give him one more quick, too quick, once-over before pointedly turning their piercing gaze to Remus, who stands at attention and drops the hand on his mouth. Regulus makes a small humming sound as he takes him in, before turning to Sirius standing beside him, “So that’s the one then?”
Sirius’ eyes widen momentarily and Regulus just smirks lightly. Sirius stomps a foot onto Regulus’ own but Regulus just smiles before speaking, “I’m wearing Docs, Sirius, try harder.”
If Remus thought for a second that their brotherly bickering was enough to give him a free pass from Regulus’ penetrative gaze, he was sorely mistaken. The eyes are back on him before he even has a chance to catch his breath or figure out what the hell that interaction was.
“Favourite book?”
James is realizing that this is a test. Sirius must have mentioned Remus’ affinity for literature and Regulus is bloody testing him to see if his taste is good enough. Why is that enough to make James’ breath catch in his throat?
“That would be ‘Maurice’,” Remus says confidently, not averting his piercing gaze. Regulus simply hums mildly.
“Favourite Shakespeare?”
“’Othello’, if only based on the sheer psychological depth of the characters,” Remus replies eloquently. If it were James being given the third degree, he surely would have cracked by now.
“Most interesting Shakespeare character?” Regulus asks with a glint in his eye.
“The most obvious choice would be Lady Macbeth,” Remus starts, being interrupted by Regulus’ deadpan,
“Basic.”
“But, my personal choice would have to be Katherine, Taming of the Shrew,” Remus finished up. James was sure there was some subtext to whatever this whole quiz was that he just wasn’t getting, but he was more than content to watch the way the corner of Regulus’ lip twitched ever so slightly. Remus seems to have passed whatever test he was set because Sirius finally lets out the breath he was holding as Regulus turns his attention to Peter.
“Have you got any tea?” he asks, not scanning over Peter as he did Remus and James but instead keeping eye contact with Peter’s widened eyes.
“Uh, yeah, of course. Do you prefer black or herbal?” Peter manages to get through without tripping over his words at the sheer intimidation of the younger boy.
“At the risk of the truly horrible pun, I’m gonna go with black. Milk and half a teaspoon of sugar, please,” Regulus asks with a soft smile and god, James wants to take a bath in his voice.
Peter gives a smile back and a small chuckle as he replies, “That’s funny, that’s exactly James’ strange tea preference as well,” before scurrying off to the adjoined kitchen to busy himself with the kettle.
Regulus’ gaze returns to James where he’s once again leaning on the counter, his forearms resting against the marble. James would give anything to know what was going through Regulus’ head at this very moment, as his grey eyes dropped for a split second to the veins on his forearms that he knows people tend to find attractive. Unfortunately for him, Regulus’ face remains utterly impassive as he returns to eye contact.
“Guess we’re meant to be, huh, Reggie?” James asks with a smirk because he honestly couldn’t help himself. He sees Sirius giving him a warning look from his peripheral vision but can’t bring himself to look away from Regulus. Regulus leans forward slightly to where he’s so close that James can smell the light floral notes of his shampoo. He’s dizzy with desire as Regulus leans in even closer. Above all else, James is self-aware. Too self-aware of the way his body and mind are reacting to being so close to him. His breath catches in his throat as Regulus begins to speak.
“James,” he starts, looking up at him through his unfairly long eyelashes, a smile drifts its way onto his lips as James swallows, “call me Reggie again and the only thing meant to be will be my platform Doc Martens kicking your balls in so far you can taste them.” Regulus said with a faux innocent look that was just sickeningly hot, his lips sliding over the last two words with such sensuality that James is sure it will make an appearance in his wet dreams for the next year.
Their interaction is cut short by the kettle whistling, the tension between them so thick you couldn’t get through it with a bloody chainsaw.
“That’ll be the tea,” Regulus says softly, his smile drifting into a smirk as he shifts past James into the kitchen, leaving James staring into space with his mouth open.
“You’re gonna catch flies, Prongsie,” Remus says with a laugh while Sirius looks to be a mixture of shocked, impressed and disgusted.
Regulus stays there for an hour, talking about his upcoming course, his flatmates, as well as a brief stint of literature jargon thrown around between him and Remus. He nurses his tea all the while, every so often absent-mindedly circling the rim of his mug with his middle finger and James is just so gone for him it hurts. Occasionally he peers over his tea at James while taking a sip, putting all sorts of debauched thoughts in his head. As if they weren’t already taking up all his brain capacity.
When Regulus excuses himself to settle into his flat, the door closes behind him with a click and silence envelops the flat. 3 seconds, 5 seconds, 10 seconds pass before Sirius speaks.
“You’re going to fuck my brother, aren’t you?”
“Oh, absolutely, mate.”