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“I’d like to make a toast to my brother-”
“Best friend,” Regulus mumbles under his breath. He matches the brow-furrowed look James sends him with an eyebrows raised one of his own, chin balanced in one hand, other wrapped tightly around the stem of his wine glass.
“My best friend,” James relents, rolling his eyes, “who is like a brother to me.”
“Well that makes this whole thing a little bit fucked doesn’t it?” Regulus mutters into his wine glass, quietly enough that he’s sure nobody else has heard it.
Sirius’ foot makes sharp contact with his shin under the table. “Stop fucking scowling,” he mutters through gritted teeth. Regulus flashes him his best, politest smile but does privately resolve to fix his mood. It’s his brother’s wedding, after all, and when the petulant mood swing ends he’ll feel like an ass for pouting through the entire rehearsal dinner.
James’ cheeks are pink from a handful of glasses of wine. Regulus forces another polite smile, and tunes out the rest of his toast - he’s saving his for the wedding night out of principle alone, which means tonight he can get drunk enough to ease some of the tense irritation without fear of real repercussions. He’s up and out of his seat to do just that as soon as plates are cleared, a slow parade of wedding-goers following him through to the bar from the private dining room. He gets there first, and has a gin and tonic in his hand by the time the rest of them follow, Sirius and Remus curled around one another like they’re a brand new couple and not the soon-to-be-wed, been-together-for-10-years lovebirds they actually are, Remus’ parents flush with wine and grinning ear to ear, friends of his brother he really wants nothing to do with, and Lily and James.
“So I’m finally worth a proper hello?” Regulus mutters when James’ elbows hit the bar top next to him. James shoots him a quizzical look.
“We’ve been sitting next to one another all night,” James say, eyes are wide and doe-like.
“Maybe,” Regulus says shortly, flagging down the bartender for another drink. She nods to him, but turns a dazzling smile on James, leaning across the bar and batting stupid (lovely) eyelashes at the stupid (handsome) man next to him.
“I’ll have what he’s having,” James says, and Regulus rolls his eyes.
“So now you’re going to clam up? Thought you wanted to talk to me.”
“I don’t know what gave you that impression.”
James laughs uncomfortably, pushing a hand through his hair as he tends to do when he’s nervous. Regulus’ eyes track his fingers, down to the flush in his cheeks, the liquor on his lips. He has his mouth half-open in another retort when a strong hand catches him by the shoulder.
“We need to talk,” Remus says stiffly. Regulus scrambles to catch himself on the bar, like if he clings hard enough to it he’ll be allowed to stay right here.
Remus shakes his head firmly in the direction of the door, and Regulus drags his feet all the way out, glass still sweating in his hand. The bar opens onto a quiet section of the hotel lobby, where light jazz music plays and the air smells like hibiscus and white tea. It’s quieter out here, so Remus’ voice is low when he turns to the two of them. Two of them. James following looking equal parts guilty and irritated.
“I don’t know what’s going on with you two,” Remus snaps, “but you need to cut it the fuck out. Sirius is going to lose his mind if you keep arguing like a pair of idiot toddlers.”
“We are not arg-” Remus cuts him off, holding his hand up between them.
“You’re right,” he says stiffly, “James isn’t doing anything but you’re being an ass. So get over it.” He shoots James a pointed look, as if to say ‘deal with him’ to which James makes a scoffing sound in the back of his throat.
“He’s right you know,” James says, when Remus disappears back into the bar.
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve been pissy since we got here.”
Regulus looks at him imploringly, though he can feel his cheeks heating up, and the blush is certainly carving off some of his bite.
“Right,” he says stiffly, “since you two” got here.
“Right…” James looks like he doesn’t quite get it.
“I thought you were just friends.”
“Who?”
“You and Lily.”
“We are.”
“Friends who hang all over on another?” Regulus snorts.
“We are not hanging all over one another.”
“You are.”
And then James laughs, a loud, barking sound that cuts over the music playing in the lobby. Regulus’ cheeks heat up to a vibrant shade of red and he has half a mind to kick him.
“Oh my God. You’re jealous,” James jabs a finger in his direction when he says it.
“I am not jealous,” Regulus says through gritted teeth.
“You are jealous,” James counters, taking a step into his space, infuriating eyebrows raised and mouth twisted into a smirk that makes Regulus’ blood boil.
“I’m not.”
James takes a step forward, and he takes a step backwards - and another, until his heel bumps into the solid wall behind him.
“Thought this was a no strings attached sort of thing, hm?”
Regulus shushes him, shooting a furtive glance back toward the bar. He can see the back of Sirius’ head through the crowd, balanced on Remus’ shoulder.
“It is,” he says, and ignores the rush of butterflies up his throat. He tries to ignore, too, James’ finger slipping under the neck of his button up shirt, and is promptly betrayed by his own body as breath catches in his chest.
“Hm,” James says, “right.”
He’s close, so close Regulus can feel his breath against his face, smell the gin on his lips, he’s light-headed with it, made stupid by it, so much so that when James leans in the rest of the way he almost kisses him back.
Almost.
“Not here,” he hisses and shoves him hard in the chest. James takes a few stumbling steps backward and rolls his eyes.
“Where then?” He asks, like simply walking away from one another simply isn’t an option. For a second he thinks he might have it in him to do the right thing, walk back into his brothers’ rehearsal dinner and forget all about James and Lily hanging all over one another.
He’s a weak, weak man.
“Here,” he says sharply, and seizes James by the wrist to yank him around the corner and down a long, dimly lit hallway.
“The bathroom Reg,” James says incredulously, his laughter echoing off of tall tile walls.
James kisses like he does everything else, enthusiastically. Regulus kisses like he does everything else - bossily. One hand slips up into James’ hair and the other pins him by the hips. He’s taller than him, stronger than him, but he doesn’t move from where he’s held and Regulus smirks smugly against his mouth.
“You’re so fucking annoying,” Regulus grumbles, “and she’s-”
“Hey,” James says sharply, and before Regulus knows what’s happened his back is up against the bathroom door and James’ mouth is on his throat. He’s careful not to leave a mark, a subtle drag of teeth over the point of his pulse, Regulus’ eyes cross. “Just because you’re jealous-”
“I’m not jealous,” Regulus grinds out.
“Doesn’t mean you get to be an ass.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” James says. Regulus can feel the vibrations of laughter in his chest, and if he were a stronger man he’d shove him away and tell him to fuck off then, but the problem with James Potter is that as annoying and insufferable and generally difficult to be around as he is, he’s so good with his hands, his mouth, his thighs - oh God the thigh that’s pressed up between his legs in a way that has him seeing stars - that he just can’t walk away.
“Are you going to apologize?” James’ voice is close to his ear, it sends a shiver all the way down his spine.
“Fuck off Potter-”
A sharp knock on the door snaps Regulus back to the present. James too, it seems, if the way he stills and drops his foot back to the floor is any indication.
The knock comes again, “hello? Is someone in there?” Says the disembodied voice from the other side. Regulus can feel every one of James’ labored inhales.
“I’m in 702,” he says against his ear, “come after. Ok? Please?”
Hidden in a bathroom stall, Regulus hears James mumble a sheepish, “careful, door sticks” as he retreats from the bathroom and back down the hall, and he curses him the entire time he wills his traitorous body to calm the fuck down so he can go back to his own brother’s rehearsal dinner without looking like he’s ready to drop to his knees for said brother’s best friend (and best man, he reminds himself. The irritation works wonders for the inconvenient situation in his trousers).
He waits there until he hears a toilet flush, the tap run, the door open and close again, and only then does he slink back to the bar where he’s accosted by a Sirius who looks like he’s several gin and tonics in, held up around the waist by Remus who, despite the fact that Sirius has spent the better part of the evening trying to convince the entire wedding party they should ditch this very respectable bar for the karaoke bar down the street, is looking at him with stars in his eyes.
“Where the hell have you been!” Regulus ducks under one of Sirius’ hands when it swipes at him. “You’re supposed to be spending time with us for fucks sake.”
He doesn’t make it out of the bar until half past two, and has every intention of doing the sensible thing: Taking the elevator to the seventh floor, turning right instead of left, keying himself into his own room alone and getting into his own bed, turning on some stupid nature documentary to help him sleep, and setting his alarm for the crack of dawn.
The elevator dings and he doesn’t think twice before knocking twice on James’ door.
It’s a flurry of limbs. James doesn’t waste a second pulling him inside - or maybe that’s for practicality sake. If Sirius saw them together he’d lose it on account of them being them, and if Remus saw them together he’d lose it on account of it being the night before his wedding.
“Hi,” James is grinning smugly at him.
“Shut up.”
Regulus doesn’t give him the chance to say anything else. It’s quick and it’s dirty. He can feel James’ hands carving bruises into his hips, the way he pins him against the hotel room door, feels the pop of buttons that he’ll complain about later but for now the only thing he’s interested in is getting James’ mouth on his body.
“God you looked so fucking good tonight,” James breathes into the shell of his ear, and then he’s trailing hot kisses across his jaw and down the pale column of his neck. He drags his teeth down the skin of his throat, and Regulus makes an unholy sound at the back of his throat, only just wrangling the presence of mind to give James’ hair a sharp tug and say “no marks you idiot” before James has dipped lower. He’s practically bent in half in order to reach his chest, and if Regulus cared before about being marked up by him he doesn’t now, not with the way skin flushes under James’ mouth.
James’ teeth rake over a nipple in a way that has him seeing stars.
“Bed?” James asks, teeth still clamped over sensitive skin.
“No, I want you to fuck me right here-”
James hesitates like for a second he thinks Regulus is serious. When he realizes he isn’t, he rolls his eyes and drags him by the hand to the plush bed in the middle of the room.
“Still pissy I see,” James says. Regulus shoves him down onto the bed and hovers over him on all fours.
“I’m not.”
“No? So you don’t want me to make it up to you?”
Regulus is one to test limits under normal circumstances, but tonight he’s been thinking about James Potter for hours so he gives up the pissed off act in favor of letting James undo his trousers and shove them down his hips, until they’re both naked from the waist down and sharing panted breaths with each grind of their hips.
“Turn over,” James says, and Regulus does. His warmth disappears for only a second, and there’s the sound of a plastic packet opening. Regulus’ legs fall open of their own accord and when James turns around to look at him he groans out loud. Regulus braces for some snarky quip, instead James sinks his teeth lightly into Regulus’ thigh and says, “fuck you’re so beautiful.”
The compliment does go to his head. Insufferable or not, brother’s best friend or not, there’s something disarming about James and his tendency to say just the right thing at just the right moment.
“I’ve been thinking about you all night,” James murmurs into the fabric of his shirt, half undone and clinging to his torso. Big brown eyes flick up to meet his, his hands braced on each one of Regulus’ thighs. He feels exposed even in the dim light, more so because his hips shift of their own accord, seeking friction. “Can I?”
“Yes-” Regulus breathes, squeezing his eyes shut. “Yes, just get on with it.”
And James does.
When he presses a finger into him, Regulus’ back arches off the bed. It’s been so long. Too long. And it’s definitely only because James is good in bed that Regulus hasn’t hooked up with anyone since the last time he came around. He’s reminded of it now, with the slow even pressure of a thick finger, the crook of a hand that makes him cry out.
“Alright?” James asks against his thigh. He’s pinning it down with his free hand, teeth grazing sensitive skin. Regulus nods because he doesn’t much trust himself to speak. And then it’s the press of two fingers, and then the stretch of three, and then Regulus is grinding down on his hand like if James doesn’t fuck him in the next five seconds he might actually die.
“Please,” he says, “please.”
James climbs back up his body, leaving a trail of kisses as he does, all but bending Regulus in half to line himself up. When he pushes inside of him it’s so slowly that Regulus can feel every inch of him, so slowly that he digs a heel into the small of his back in an effort to draw him in faster.
“So what was it?” James asks through gritted teeth, pulling all the way back out again.
Regulus’ eyes fly open, half-lidded and hazy as James snaps his hips forward.
“Lily sitting next to me? Me buying her drinks?”
James hitches his leg up higher, Regulus can feel the ache in his hip, picking up an easy, undeniable pace that makes Regulus’ breath hitch with every inward motion.
“Fuck off,” he snaps, head rolling back when James shifts his angle just enough that pleasure rockets up his spine.
“No. You’re - oh fuck - you’re hot when you’re jealous.”
The last thing he wants to think about while James fucks him is him spending his whole wedding weekend draped all over Remus’ best friend, but the bitter spark of jealousy originates somewhere between his legs in a way that makes his cheeks flush.
“You put your hand - fuck - on her thigh.”
James pauses, only moving again when Regulus gives a frustrated whine and grinds back into him.
“That’s what has you so worked up?”
Instead of answering, Regulus claws at James’ back to pull him down and kiss him silent. It isn’t long then before James’ hand drops between their bodies to wrap around his cock and Regulus can’t find the words to tell him off or the breath to kiss him, instead gasping raggedly into his mouth. His body is wound tight, muscles trembling, and when he comes James keeps fucking into him until he’s crying out with every thrust.
Afterward James rolls to his side and draws a hand over his body in the way he only does post-sex, tender and warm, working his fingers into the perpetual knots at the base of Regulus’ neck and carding through sweat-damp hair. It’s the closest thing he thinks he’ll ever get to bliss.
Morning comes too quickly, and with it a nauseating headache and a familiar, not unwelcome ache between his legs. In the afterglow of sex and sleep, he doesn’t mind the way James’ arm is draped around his waist, or the slow breath against his temple. James sleeps warm, and he sleeps clingy, limbs curled around him the way he might hold a lover. Regulus lays very still and watches shadows from the lace of the curtains play across the olive green of the wall.
“James!” Sirius’ voice is frantic on the other side of the door, and comes with hammering so hard it shakes the frames on the wall.
Beside him James lurches up to sit, squinting without his glasses, hair sticking up at all angles. “We fell asleep,” he hisses under his breath, leaning close to the face of his phone to check the time and cursing. When he turns it to face Regulus and he sees the time (10:02 AM!) his heart drops through the floorboards.
“For fuck’s sake James open the door!” Sirius cries through the wood, jiggling the handle like he might be able to break through the lock.
“You have to go,” James is hopping on one foot trying to get his legs into his boxers.
“Where the hell am I supposed to go, James?” Regulus asks, his voice several octaves higher than it should be.
“I - oh fuck I don’t know. Just hide then.” James has him by the shoulders and is dragging him bodily across the room. When Regulus realizes where they’re headed he digs his heels into the carpet.
“The closet James? Really? A more apt hiding spot for you isn’t it?”
“Oh my God Reg not now-” James stoops to pick up Regulus’ clothes and shove them into his hands. “It’s the closet or you come face to face with your brother. Which would you prefer?”
And well, the choice is easy.
Regulus presses close to the back wall, hidden behind a row of suits and button up shirts, elbow lodged precariously against a folded up ironing board. He holds his breath when the door swings open.
“You were sleeping!” Sirius croaks, shoving past James and picking up his silenced phone. “I’ve been calling!”
“Relax mate!” James says, voice tight and breathless. Regulus rolls his eyes. Telling Sirius to relax is rarely the right move.
Through the crack in the door he can see Sirius ushering James into yesterday’s clothes.
“You need to be downstairs like yesterday! Do you have anything nicer than that?” Sirius whirls toward the closet and Regulus thinks his heart might actually explode.
“Do you want me dressed and on time or do you want me late in a different shirt?” James gripes. Regulus’ view through the crack is blocked then, presumably by James’ back. There’s a tense silence, and Regulus can feel the way Sirius rolls his eyes, but he must relent because a moment later the hotel room door opens and the two of them retreat.
“Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Is the last thing he hears his brother say.
Breakfast is in full swing by the time Regulus makes it to the dining room, feeling particularly debauched and not in a good way. His hair is plastered to to the back of his head and there’s only so much magic that mousse and and a good comb can do, and he swears he can still taste James’ mouth on his tongue.
“So much for a nice breakfast together,” Sirius says blandly when he slips into his seat, cringing apologetically. James passes him a tray of toast without looking at him, in deep conversation with Remus to his left and Lily to his right. He can feel someone’s eyes on him though, and thinks they might belong to Sirius, so he focuses intently on the plate in front of him to avoid questions.
It’s fine, tense but fine, until the hotel restaurant runs out of champagne for mimosas and Sirius looks like he’s going to crack his jaw, the way he’s grinding his teeth. “You don’t even like orange juice,” Regulus reasons, still chewing on a dry piece of toast, not quite over last night’s gin and tonics.
“It doesn’t matter that I don’t like it,” Sirius sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, “it’s the principle - it’s like… you’re supposed to have mimosas in the morning, and for special occasions and shit. This is a special occasion, isn’t it?”
“Pads,” James reasons, tipping forward and planting his elbows on the table. “It’s fine. We have orange juice upstairs, we’ll make some nice drinks, we’ll bring up a basket of pastries, we’ll get ready, it’ll be fine.”
Except it isn’t fine. Because Regulus was too busy taking it up the arse to find time to pop down to the shop and pick up the orange juice that James is promising. He tries to tell him so with his eyes, staring daggers into the side of James’ head, but James still isn’t looking at him.
“Sirius,” he says reasonably, “why don’t you just do a coffee, hm?”
But Sirius isn’t listening. Fuck it.
Dropping his triangle of toast, Regulus shoots James what he hopes is a scathing look and makes up some shitty excuse about feeling suddenly a bit feverish. He really is feeling feverish by the time he makes it down the hill and back, a plastic grocery bag cutting marks into the soft skin of his forearm and trays of apology-coffees balanced in each one of his hands. Sirius answers the door when he knocks twice with the heel of his boot.
“Jesus,” he says, “you look like you just ran a mile - are you going to shower? What the hell have you been doing?”
“I’ve been doing your grocery run,” he says, and then sinks teeth into his tongue to shut himself up.
Sirius glares at him, but doesn’t comment, shoving him across the hall to James’ door.
“James,” Sirius snaps, “you have his suit, right? Can you deal with him?”
The sheets in James’ room are still rumpled from last night, and the evidence of what they did is still marked on his body, plain as day. He can see James eyeing the marks in the mirror - funny, they’ve never seen one another naked with the lights on.
“I need in there,” James complains when he wheels around to shut the door.
Steam fogs up the bathroom mirror and spills in billowing plumes into the bedroom proper, and Regulus wills the heat of the water to wash away the grime and some of the tension in his muscles.
“Don’t look then,” Regulus snaps as he unfastens his trousers and folds them neatly next to his discarded shirt on the floor.
“I think we’re a little past the point of modesty, don’t you?”
He doesn’t miss the way James’ eyes linger before he steps behind the frosted glass of the shower door. There’s no curtain - because of course there isn’t - so he can see James’ outline at the sink, bent close to the mirror with razor in hand. It’s distracting, the hard line of his shoulders, the way he hums while he shaves. There has to be something in the water, Regulus reasons, the way his fingers itch to pull open the shower door and get at James on the other side.
He hasn’t realized he’s groaned out loud until James clears his throat.
“Alright in there?”
“Fine.” Regulus replies stiffly.
“You know I need in there too…”
He still has shampoo in his hair (James’ shampoo, his brain supplies unhelpfully), “well you should have thought of that before you offered up your room.”
“I didn’t,” James snorts, “that’s all on Sirius.” Through the glass he can see that James has turned to lean against the counter, and even though there’s frosted glass between them, his skin prickles at the thought of being watched.
“You know,” there’s a rush of cold air when the door is nudged open. James, dutifully, has his head turned away, “there’s enough room for both of us, if you just let me in there we could be out of here in half the time-”
He wants to say ‘James you can’t seriously believe that’s true’, but to do so he’d have to admit that neither one of them can keep their hands off the other, so he says “fine,” instead, and smacks James’ hand when he reaches for the temperature knob.
It starts innocently enough, seems like it’ll actually go without incident, until James leans past him for the conditioner and braces one hand firmly on Regulus’ hip and his knees nearly go out from under him. The squeak he makes is indecent and not his fault and it’s definitely not his fault that James makes a matching sound that he uses his shoulder to smother.
“Don’t you dare,” Regulus says, squeezing his eyes shut and filling his head with unsexy thoughts. “This is your fault, so just keep your hands to yourself!”
“My fault?” James asks incredulously, “you were the one who showed up at my door-”
“You invited me!”
“So?”
Regulus turns very slowly, eyes narrowed. James still has a hand on his hip, skin slick with body wash, suds carving a line down his chest.
“Just keep your hands to yourself,” Regulus says tightly. “Ok?”
He isn’t sure who closes the gap first, he thinks (much to his dismay) that it might have been him, but one moment he’s trying to shove James out of the shower spray and the next he’s wedged between James and the cold tile wall at his back, gasping into the steam as James mouths down his neck.
“This is exactly what we weren’t supposed to do-” but it’s a weak argument, made weaker by James sliding to his knees.
“We’ll be quick,” James promises, “then maybe you’ll be in a better mood.”
They are quick, and they aren’t interrupted, but when James steps out of the shower to let Regulus regain his composure (and the ability to stand on his own two legs) he curses loudly and whips the only towel off the hanger.
“What!” Regulus’ heart, which was already beating at double the speed it normally does, jumps in his chest.
“I’ll be back,” James is aggressively toweling off his hair halfway out of the bathroom. “Ok? Tell Sirius I’ll be back.”
“He forgot his parents, Remus,” Sirius has the bridge of his nose between his fingers when Regulus finds him in his suite. He’s half-dressed, being fussed over by the photographer trying desperately to get him to smile. “His fucking parents! Who are basically my parents. Jesus Remus what’s gotten into him?”
Remus shoots Regulus a pointed look, but before he can open his mouth Regulus says, “he’ll be back any minute!” And shoulders his way between them.
“Aren’t you not supposed to be in here?” This he directs at Remus, who looks at him flatly.
“I mean it, go find Lily or something…”
Remus looks like he’d like to complain, but does relent, leaving Regulus to wrangle his brother into the rest of his suit.
They make it downstairs with twenty minutes to spare, James' parents in the hotel lobby and James in his suit (though, Regulus notes, he does look a bit disheveled).
"You've got to be kidding," James has a hand over his mouth, wide eyes on the garden - more specifically, on the torrential downpour in the garden.
"At least the rain wasn't our fault..."