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When James ducks into the closet to avoid Filch and his beady little eyes, he smashes headfirst into someone’s shoulders. It’s long after curfew, so every rule-abiding student is fast asleep in bed. Definitely not sneaking around and violating school rules. That’s the purview of the Marauders and no one else’s. So who on earth is monopolizing James’ trusty hidey hole? 

“Can’t you see this place is occupied?” the enigmatic individual snarls, actually resolving the mystery. The face of James’ unwilling, closeted roommate remains shrouded in darkness, but the nasal derision is a dead giveaway. Paired with the reedy voice and the posh accent, every consonant so sharp it could slice clean through the bone or someone’s dignity, it can only belong to one person. Regulus Arsehole Black.

How someone as brilliant as Sirius can have such a prat for a brother, I’ll never understand.

“Can’t see for shit because it’s so dark. What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?” James snarls, doing his level best to arrange his frame into a position that won’t bring him into direct contact with Regulus. Given the closet’s limited space and James’ solid build, it proves nearly impossible, but he succeeds, even if he has to contort body parts he usually prefers un-contorted.

“I was minding my own business, Potter,” Regulus spits, “until a brute with mud for brains barged in and started asking stupid questions.” 

Despite James’ best efforts, Regulus must be standing really close because his hot breath is misting against his neck. A spark of excitement tingles across his back, dancing through his belly and waking each nerve along the way.

Bloody hell. That was unexpected. 

James inhales sharply, struggling to wrangle his reaction to Regulus’ proximity under control.

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to be sick,” Regulus says flatly, disgust oozing from every syllable.

“Not going to be sick,” James spits in response. His brain is all muggy and refuses to cooperate, adrenaline still coursing through his veins after escaping Filch by the skin of his teeth. 

Yes. It’s the adrenaline throwing him for a loop. Not being crammed into a shoebox with his nemesis. His extremely attractive nemesis.

Unhelpfully, his brain reminds him of the confusing dreams that have been tormenting him for the last several months. Ever since they all came back to school this year, and Regulus strutted into the Great Hall, no longer short and sickly, but tall and flaunting the sharp beauty typical of the entire Black family.

James was stuffing his face with treacle tart when his gaze fell on him, resulting in his nearly choking to death on his favorite pastry. 

Regrettably, while Regulus’ looks have changed, his character remains the same. A blood supremacist par excellence and an all-around prick, sneering his way through Hogwarts and worst of all, beating James for the title of best student in Potions. Unforgivable. James is a legacy. 

To say there is no love lost between them would be an understatement. During the day, James wouldn’t touch Regulus with a ten-foot pole, but at night… well, night is a different story. In his dreams, he forgets his principles and imagines touching Regulus everywhere. With his fingers. With his lips. In a myriad of different ways that leave him resorting to a quick, shameful wank hidden by the heavy drapes of his four-poster bed and an even heavier Silencio. 

“What a relief.” Regulus’ tone suggests he’s not relieved at all. “Why are you here, then? Forget where your dorm is?” 

“None of your business,” James huffs in retaliation, patting himself on the back inwardly for showing Regulus up.

“I’d say it’s very much my business, considering you’re squishing me into a wall.”

“Believe me, if I wanted to squish you, you’d be squished,” James fires back, but he still attempts to change his position to avoid even grazing against Regulus. It’s in his own interest, too. Who knows how he’d react if he accidentally brushed the younger Black’s smooth skin? He might not be able to prevent himself from doing something unforgivable, like whimpering, and Regulus would lord it over him for the rest of his days. Ugh, the sheer horror.

“Is that so? I find that hard to believe, considering your lackluster performance on the Quidditch pitch.” 

“Sod off,” James says to distract himself from the smell of vanilla that emanates from Regulus. What is it, a shampoo? A soap? A spell? Does he bathe in ice cream? Does it cling to Regulus’ skin? Would he taste sweet if James licked him clean? 

“Such a well-thought-out argument. Very mature. You’re a credit to your house,” Regulus says in a bored drawl.

Like the mature person Regulus doesn’t think he is, James refuses to engage, switching tactics instead. “Yeah, well—you shouldn’t even be here in the first place. I could dock points from you.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something, Mister Head Boy? I’m a prefect. Well within my rights to patrol the corridors.” 

“Except this isn’t a corridor, is it? And you’re not on duty tonight. I checked the roster before we went—”

“Before what? Finish the thought. It wouldn’t happen to involve my brother and your pathetic posse of misfits?”

“Don’t change the subject. You’re not supposed to be out after hours, and as such, I’m well within my rights,” he imitates Regulus’ posh accent, “to report you,” James says, instantly hating himself for the threat. He’s no rat (sorry, Peter) to tattle on anyone, even bratty, arrogant Slytherins. He blames Regulus for this momentary breach of his personal code. Regulus and his taunts and his sweet scent and the warmth he radiates right next to James as if tempting him to sink into it.

“Oh, this should be interesting. Tell me more. Who are you reporting me to? Are you going to include the exact circumstances of our crossing paths in your report? Not to mention that reporting a prefect for being out after curfew will make you seem rather petty, don’t you think? Like you, perhaps, have a personal bias against Slytherins. As far as you know, I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Except for lurking. In a closet. With a nefarious intent, no doubt.” The words are out of James’ mouth before he can think his reply through, and he smacks himself on the forehead. Or he would if he could move and wanted to let Regulus have the win.

“I see,” Regulus says, an echo of laughter weaving through his tone. “And is being in the closet an aggravating circumstance? Would you consider my intent less nefarious if I were to lurk in the corridor?” 

“Hiding in a bloody broom closet certainly doesn’t scream ‘innocent.’ Only a guilty person would have a reason to hide. I’m onto you, Black.”

“Is that why you’re here, Potter? Hiding? Trying to get away with something? Possibly another one of your childish pranks only ‘the Marauders’ consider the height of cool, while they give the rest of us a severe case of second-hand embarrassment?”

“You know what? Shut up.”

“Is ‘shut up’ your default answer when you run out of arguments? Have you not heard of structured debates in Gryffindor?” 

“I said shut up. Or do they not teach you to follow simple instructions in the Snake Pit?”

Regulus smacks his lips, and for some reason, a shiver whispers across James’ skin, the root of his spine tingling.

“Comparing Slytherins to snakes. How original. I actually feel sorry for you, Potter. Do you want me to educate you in the art of crafting savvy insults? I’m not joking. Say the word, and I will. Consider it public service.”

“I don’t need any lectures from you, you prat.”

Regulus shrugs, or so James assumes based on the rustle of his robes. “Suit yourself.”

He can’t have been genuine about his offer. Could he? Was he perhaps angling to spend more time together? Perhaps James isn’t the only one feeling the strange pull between them. “Why would you want to help me? What’s your goal here?”

“Like I said, public service. Or better yet, charity. Sport, possibly. Take your pick. Or it could be to give myself more of a challenge when you’re wracking your brain for slurs to hurl at me in a desperate attempt to impress my brother. Or is it Evans you’re trying to impress these days? I’m afraid that might be a lost cause. She prefers her suitors well-groomed, not with the unfortunate disaster on your head you try to pass off as hair.” 

“Don’t bring Evans into this. She doesn’t belong in your filthy Pureblood mouth.”

“You don’t get to decide who belongs in my mouth.” James can’t see Regulus’ smirk, but he can hear it. It’s bouncing around the walls, so loud it’s a wonder it doesn’t wake up the entire school. 

A beat of silence before Regulus adds, “Potter.” 

The shiver from before evolves from a slight tremor to an earthquake, shaking the ground under James’ feet. The warmth from his cheeks has spread, too, down his throat, sliding across his chest and pooling in his gut, where it throbs in insistent pulses.

“You’re just a—just a—ugh,” James throws out his arms in frustration when he discovers every single invective has fled his mind, instantly regretting his action when he bumps his elbow into a wall. 

There’s another whisper of fabric. Regulus must’ve shifted his position. “Just ‘ugh’ what, Potter?” His breath strokes over James’ skin. “Don’t keep me in suspense. I’m simply dying to know.”

“A spiteful, immature little prick.” Finally. James lets out a tremulous exhale. He did it. Not the most inventive or the most devastating rejoinder, but it’s coherent, at least, and he said it without stammering. Mostly. A victory.

Regulus chuckles, not sounding offended in the slightest. If anything, he sounds—amused. As though he’s enjoying himself. Of course. The fucking arsehole. Antagonizing people is his greatest pastime.

He leans so close his lips brush the shell of James’ ear, forcing him to swallow an involuntary whimper. 

“Spiteful, possibly. Especially where you’re involved. Immature, that’s almost a compliment coming from you. But I take offense at ‘little.’ Believe me, Potter, there’s nothing little about my prick.” 

“I’m sure you like to think so, Black. Lucky for you, there’s no way to prove that,” he scoffs, tossing the challenge out there without thinking. He’s trying to rile Regulus up. Prodding at his vulnerabilities and delighting in every affronted huff it conjures. He doesn’t expect Regulus to launch an actual, honest-to-Merlin counterattack.

“Ah. So it’s proof you want. Indisputable evidence.” Regulus’ voice sharpens with danger. An alarm goes off in James’ mind, but it’s too late to sound the retreat. Besides. What self-respecting Gryffindor would be scared off by one lonely snake?

“Sure. Lay it on me. All the hard proof you’ve got,” he scoffs, injecting his voice with as much bravado as he can muster. Regulus is bluffing. He has to be. There’s no way he’s going to follow through on his words.

To his absolute shock, Regulus steps closer, his fingers tangling in the material of James’ robes. “With pleasure,” he purrs. 

Before James can react, Regulus molds his entire body against James’ front, every sleek line of him aligning with James. His shockingly lean, long torso. His graceful arms. His sculpted thighs. His rigid cock.

James’ brain does a double take at the sensation, then a triple take, and then bursts into an explosion of want, his common sense going out of commission for the foreseeable—if he’s being honest, probably ever. 

Because Regulus Arcturus Black, the scion and currently only heir of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, is hard and grinding the ridge of his erection against him as though he stepped straight out of James’ secret fantasies.

James bites the inside of his cheek to confirm he’s awake and this is not another dream. Sharp pain pierces his mouth, and he remains wide awake. This is real. Once the initial shock fades, other revelations trickle in.

Regulus smells even more potent up close, his vanilla scent coating James’ palate like the precursor to something decadent. He fits so well against him, and he’s—oh, Merlin. He’s not just hard, he’s fucking big. The robes do nothing to conceal his size, especially pressed against James, basically imprinting himself on him, as he is. In this position, James can feel every delicious inch of Regulus’ arousal digging into his stomach, and his own cock swells so fast he nearly blacks out. 

“Hit with a muting spell all of a sudden?” Regulus coos with fake sweetness.

James’ head is reeling as he’s trying to orient himself in the change of circumstances. One moment, Regulus is sniping at him, the next, he’s jabbing his erection in James’ stomach with nonchalance suited to a casual dinner party. As though it’s a completely normal thing to do to another bloke.

Has he somehow found out about James waking up panting and hard with the image of Regulus branded on his eyelids? Or is this like a handshake to him? A tactic he uses to unsettle people? Does he assume James will fall apart that easily? One stiff dick and he’ll unravel?

Well. Regulus has no idea who he’s dealing with. Because James Potter has not backed down from a challenge in his life. And if this particular challenge will fulfill some of the desires that have been lurking in his blood lately, all the better. Two doxxies with one hex.

He uses his proximity to Regulus to ghost a breath over his ear, then drops a hot, lingering kiss to the spot behind it, his lips curling into a smirk when a keening noise escapes Regulus, strangled as though it was ripped from him against his will.

James’ chest swells. His actions did that. His kiss drew that sound out of Regulus. He can’t resist needling him some more. “Quiet, Black. I don’t want to get caught just because you can’t control yourself around me.”

Regulus draws back as much as the confined space allows him, his back thudding against the wall. “Don’t flatter yourself. My neck cramped from how you twisted it, that’s all.”

Yeah, sure. A neck cramp. And James is Helena Ravenclaw. 

It’s a shame Regulus can’t see him in the darkness because his smirk is a work of art. Oh, sod it. He wants to see Regulus properly. And he wants to make sure Regulus is seeing him. Plus, if Filch was snooping around, he must’ve already passed their hideout, so they should be safe. 

He reaches for his wand and casts a wordless Lumos. 

Light spills over the narrow space, catching on the cobwebs in the corners and, more importantly, on the sharp peaks of Regulus’ face. His long nose. His pointy chin. His pupils, blown so wide they look ready to swallow James whole.

James’ smirk widens. “Is that why you sound like a Kneazle in heat? Because of a muscle spasm?”

“Fuck you,” Regulus says, his cheeks covered in red blotches. His lips are pressed into a thin line as he returns James’ gaze head-on. He doesn’t even need to tilt his head up. Damn. Not many people are able to do that, considering James towers over almost everyone. The knowledge is all that’s needed to bring the desire simmering in his gut to overflow, trickling into his veins and blotting out his common sense. How long before he presses Regulus against the nasty wall and crushes his mouth in a kiss? Just once. Just once, he wants to see if he can taste the disdain on his skin.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” James taunts, shoving away the image of Regulus, hard and glazed with sweat, and ramming into him. Owning him. Fucking him senseless.

The red patches on Regulus’ cheeks expand, spreading over his entire face and bringing out freckles on the bridge of his nose. A pulse is hammering away at his jaw, a sure sign of aggravation—or something else entirely. Something that sends desire flowing through James’ veins. 

Regulus glares at James for a moment longer, his eyes glittering. Then, in the blink of an eye, he surges forward, slides his fingers over James’ jaw, and smashes their lips together in a hard push.

James barely has enough time for a gasp before Regulus’ tongue plunges inside his mouth in a brutal claiming, rubbing hotly against every crevice. Spearing in and out without mercy, without giving James a second to catch his breath. Brutal. Possessive. Regulus’ hand twists in the fabric of his robes under the collar with such force it almost cuts off James’ air supply. 

This is not a kiss. It’s an assault, crashing into James with the force of a bludger, and Regulus is coming out as a victor because James gives himself over to him with an eagerness he’ll feel mortified about when he comes back to his senses. 

When he’s not consumed by Regulus’ taste invading every molecule of his being. When his fingers aren’t preoccupied by threading into Regulus’ smooth hair, always perfectly coiffed, and yanking at it roughly. The younger Black whimpers against James’ mouth, a split second of vulnerability that passes as fast as it occurred. Regulus retaliates by abandoning James’ lips and moving to his jaw, mouthing down his throat to sink his teeth into the juncture between James’ neck and shoulder.

Taking him. Marking him. Not like the sanctimonious prick James knows and loves to despise, but like a bloody animal incapable of keeping his baser impulses in check. 

A flash hotter than Fiendfyre sears through James’ guts, drawing a desperate moan out of him. Oh, fuck. There’s no chance Regulus missed that, is there? 

“Seems like you would too,” Regulus says, pulling back with an obnoxious smirk. His lips are shiny and swollen, bruised from the violence of their kiss, his eyes wide, the pupils so black there’s barely any silver around them. James probably isn’t faring any better, judging by the stinging in his lips and the heat zooming freely around his body. His fingers are already twitching with the need to pull Regulus closer again. 

“Keep dreaming, Black,” James laughs, but it sounds fake to his own ears. His hold on his restraint is paper-thin, and the kiss only weakened it further. As if Regulus’ lips contained a substance corroding James’ reason and his sense of justice. 

“You kissed me back,” Regulus says, collected again. Buttoned up and pristine, except for his hair, mussed where James raked his fingers through it.

I did that. I messed Regulus up.

James swallows hard as Regulus erases the distance between them in a liquid motion. Invading James’ personal microcosm again. He’s a lot more solid than his frilly robes and prissy attitude would suggest.

“See, I think you want me.” His palm comes to rest on James’ chest, right above his heart. “Poor Jamie Potter, pining after his best mate’s baby brother.”

“I do not pine,” James says through clenched teeth. His hands ball into fists by his sides. “Not after vicious little gits who sneak around hexing my friends.”

Regulus tuts. “Pot, cauldron. Admit it, Potter. You’re desperate to get your hands on me.” 

James grinds his teeth together. Otherwise, he might say something he will regret forever. Like admitting Regulus is right, dammit. 

“No response? Such a shame. You never were much of a liar, but I never pegged you for a coward.”

“I’m a Gryffindor.”

“So?”

“So I have it on record that I’m not a coward,” James says with his pulse thumping wildly in his throat. Yes, Regulus is one hundred percent goading him. The prat has an agenda, no doubts. Perhaps this was his plan all along, to ambush James, or another unwitting Gryffindor, alone in a closet, get them to admit their deepest, most shameful desires, and then use them for his own purposes. Which, knowing Regulus, won’t work in James’ favor.

So no. James won’t let himself be provoked into doing something foolish. No matter how much the vanilla is drowning his senses. No matter how hard his cock is, straining in his clothes. 

This has gone far enough already.

Too far.

“Prove it,” Regulus says, and really, the two words are all it takes for the last remnants of James’ self-control crumble into nothing. The wards around the curse raging in his heart break, and desire mixed with madness gushes out, eager to devour. Eager to ruin. Regulus, possibly. James, without a doubt. 

James ignores the voices in his mind screaming at him to stop, to pull himself together, zeroed in on the sole goal of proving that James Potter is not scared of anything.

He uses Regulus’ momentary distraction and shoves him against the wall, his earlier hesitation disappearing. He moves with purpose now, tipping his head down and licking a broad stripe across Regulus’ throat. A tang of salt assaults his taste buds. Regulus is not sweet, as James expected, but no less addictive. He ends up chasing the flavor down the line of Regulus’ frantic pulse, his original intention to win a point in this strange push-and-pull no longer important. 

Meanwhile, Regulus is gripping James’ shoulders as if searching for lost equilibrium, strong enough to leave marks, but he remains silent otherwise, as if determined not to let his self-control slip again.

No. That won’t do. Regulus won’t get to stand there all icy and unbothered while James is drowning in shame and want. If James has to tumble into the pit of bad decisions, he’s taking Regulus with him. He’s going to make him scream and beg and moan James’ name. 

Moving with intent now, James stops licking and kissing Regulus’ neck and dips lower, sucking a bruise between his clavicles, then soothing the spot with his tongue. And again and again, until Regulus hisses out a breath, letting his head fall back. His fingers are digging into James’ back as though he needs something to hold him upright, and he lets out an agonized wail that bounces around the cramped space a long while before it fades.

James halts for a beat, lifting his gaze to Regulus. “Still think I’m a coward?”

The younger Black looks wild, his lips swollen and spit-slick, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, and yet he somehow manages to summon an air of regality as he sticks his nose in the air. “Please, Potter. It was a kiss, not a trip to Azkaban. Hardly a great feat of bravery.” 

James huffs out a laugh. So that’s how Regulus wants to play it. Fine. He has no idea what he’s just unleashed because James is done holding back.

“Okay then,” he concedes.

“Okay? Okay what? What’s that supposed to mean?” A note of panic rings through Regulus’ voice, but James ignores him as he sinks to his knees as gracefully as possible since there’s barely any room for movement. 

Regulus’ fingers thread into James’ hair and tug his head up, none too gently.

The sharp sting of pain bursts across James’ skin, tightening his gut with lust, but he manages to keep a straight face. His cock is twitching in his robes, rock hard and leaking precum down his shaft, but James would sooner die than let Regulus see how wound up he is. 

“What do you think you’re doing, Potter?” he asks with alarm.

As if the situation offered any other interpretation.

“Proving I’m not afraid, I suppose,” James says with a pretend nonchalance before running his nose along the ridge of Regulus’ erection. Then, before Regulus can muster a reply, he undoes the clasps on the lower half of his robes, releasing Regulus’ cock. It bounces free, red and swollen and straining upward. Long and fairly thick, and with a pronounced curve to it, which makes James’ stomach clench in anticipation while simultaneously making him reconsider his earlier boasting. 

His experience with cocks has been limited to his own and one or two others, but none of them looked like this. Fuck. How is he supposed to fit this monster in his mouth? 

Better question yet, would it fit in his ass? The entire long, delicious, sharp angle of it? Would it be better than a finger? Would it be easier to hit that pleasant bundle of nerves James loves to play with? Most importantly, does he want to have Regulus buried deep inside him to find out? 

James doesn’t exactly trust him not to abuse such a vulnerable position, but the idea is a siren song luring him into dark waters. 

Tempting.

Too tempting.

He shakes his head to clear the cobwebs from it and regroups. Tentatively, he traces the veins running along Regulus’ shaft until he reaches the swollen crown to rub the underside with his thumb. A fat droplet of precum squirts out of the slit like a reward, and the sight has James palming his own cock to him from prevent coming in his robes this instant.

Regulus must notice his reactions because he gives himself a couple of lazy strokes. He teases the foreskin down, toying with the slit to get more precum flowing out. It clings to his fingers in long, shiny strands as he pumps himself, his eyes never leaving James’.

An invitation. A dare.

No. Regulus is not in charge here. With renewed confidence, James bats his hand away and grips the base of his shaft, sliding his lips over the crown without warning. Bitter saltiness assaults his tongue, and he sucks it down greedily before swallowing more of Regulus, testing how deep he can take him.

Regulus’ entire body tenses for an instant before he lets his head fall back against the wall with a dull thump. “Fuck, fuck, you dumb—damn you, Potter. You really—I can’t believe that you actually—you bloody prat. Fuck.”

If James could speak, he’d needle Regulus about his sophisticated dictionary turning crude after a mere couple of sucks. Luckily for Regulus, his mouth is full. Stuffed. Stretched to the limit. He’s struggling not to gag, Regulus’ curved prick pushing against the back of his throat in shallow thrusts. Every notion of proving himself forgotten, erased by the sensations pelting him from each side. Regulus’ scent, dark and arousing. His taste dripping into James’ throat like a prize he hasn’t earned yet. 

Regulus braces one of his hands on the wall, but his other hand goes back to James’ hair, guiding him. “Fuck, yes. Take it. Suck me down, Potter. All the way.” He begins to roll his hips faster. His movements are decisive, bordering on forceful, but they stay shy of violent, wary of actually hurting him. As if he cares.

Which is ridiculous. James can’t let himself consider such a possibility. That way, insanity lies. 

He banishes any silly musings and swallows Regulus deeper, as deep as he can, following his suggestions, and gags slightly when the unusual angle hits his soft palate. Regulus pauses only for James to give a hummed confirmation that he’s okay, and then he resumes his movements, his thrusts jerky and desperate. 

“That’s right, Potter. Look at you. A big, brave Gryffindor on his knees for a Slytherin—ah. Aaaaah.” Regulus’ voice dissolves into helpless moans when James hollows out his cheeks, increasing the suction. 

James might be on his knees, but he’s the one who’s calling the shots here, and he lets Regulus know it. No matter how desperate for relief he is. He’s never been this hard in his life. His cock is throbbing, soaking his clothes, but he’s concentrating too hard on Regulus to do something about it. Later. He’ll take care of himself later if the situation doesn’t resolve itself in the meantime. Which is growing more and more likely with every whimper falling from Regulus’ lips.

“Ah, Potter. So, you’re so—ngh,” Regulus releases a loud groan when James speeds up, bobbing his head frantically. Who would’ve thought that Regulus, prim, buttoned-up Regulus, would be so vocal? 

And who would’ve thought James would find it so arousing? Experimentally, he lets his tongue prod into Regulus’ slit on an upstroke, and Regulus lets out a strangled keening noise, one hand fisting in James’ hair, his hips bucking forward in stuttered, punched-out jabs. 

James had no idea it was physically possible for him to be this hard. It borders on agony, each pulse of his pounding heartbeat sending ripples through his cock and his balls. His control slipping, he moans around Regulus’ shaft, and a spurt of precum dribbles onto his tongue, followed by a string of expletives. 

“Fuck, fuck, dammit, I’m gonna—fuck, James, I’m, oh, please—” Regulus’ babbling makes no sense anymore, and James’ chest swells with pride. He did this. He reduced Regulus to this pathetic, incoherent mess. 

Regulus might carry himself like a little king through the hallways, prim and buttoned up, not a lock of hair out of place, but James will forever know what he looks like wrecked with pleasure, falling apart on his tongue.

He slides his hand under Regulus’ sac, causing him to shudder. The Slytherin tugs at James’ hair, but he’s no longer able to speak, just panting, eyes hazy and half-lidded, his smooth balls drawn tight to his body. He’s about to blow, and the realization has James almost coming untouched. 

True to his Gryffindor nature, James makes a split decision and lifts off before Regulus’ climax can hit. A string of precum clings to his bottom lip, linking them together with a shiny thread until James moves further away, snapping it in the process. Regulus’ cock jumps and twitches as he thrusts into the air, chasing his release without the change in circumstances registering. The second it does, his eyes fly wide open.

“W-what? What the fuck, Potter?”

James shakes his head, prodding his vocal cords into cooperation.

“Is this a joke to you? One of your pranks? Or some sort of revenge? Suck my prick and then leave before the finish? If it’s true, I swear to Salazar, I’m gonna hex you so hard your own mother won’t recognize you unless—”

James puts his hands on Regulus’ thighs, nuzzling against his cock and licking a salty drop from the crown, which effectively cuts off his rant.

“No. No. I wouldn’t be such an arsehole—no.”

“Then why?” Regulus demands. “What’s your game?” 

James bites his bottom lip. His eyes lock with Regulus’, and then, before he loses his nerve, he whispers in a strained voice. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Excuse me?”

He can’t resist turning the tables on Regulus. “Scared, Slytherin?”

“Hardly. Surprised, mostly. Didn’t realize you were into blokes.” 

“I just blew you in a closet.”

Regulus’ bare cock twitches in confirmation. He scowls as if trying to will the misbehaving part of his anatomy into submission. “Why?” he demands.

James shrugs. “To prove I’m not afraid. To get off. Or to find out how you’d feel inside me. How that long, bent cock of yours would feel in my arse. Take your pick.” 

“Ugh.” Regulus gives an involuntary thrust, smearing precum and saliva all over James’ cheek. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he taunts to hide the fear uncurling in his stomach. Fear of Regulus changing his mind. Fear of Regulus sweeping out of the closet and leaving James with nothing but a raging erection and a pile of regrets. 

“‘Maybe,” Regulus says. “But first, I need to confirm you mean it because once I start, there’s no changing your mind. I’m gonna fuck you into the wall until you scream my name, and I’m not pulling out until you’re coming your stupid Gryffindor brains all over me.” 

“That’s a lot of talk for someone who almost came down my throat seconds ago. I promise you, I’m not gonna scream. Mostly because you won’t last long enough for me to say the first syllable of your name, Slytherin.” 

“We’ll see, Gryffindor,” Regulus growls. “Now take off your clothes and bend over so I can fuck the ego out of you.” 

Regulus’ voice is husky, dipped in smoke and violence, and it steals the snarky response from James’ tongue. His limbs betray him as though they no longer belong to him, following Regulus’ order and shedding his robes and pants with hasty motions .

But James refuses to capitulate so easily.

“You too. Strip.” He pants while Regulus rakes his eyes over his naked form. “And stop drooling,” he adds with a smirk to even the score and regain some of the ground he lost in the previous round of their verbal sparring.

Soon, Regulus’ robes lie in a crumpled heap on the floor next to James’, and it’s James’ turn to drag his gaze appreciatively over Regulus’ frame. He’s long and lithe, his muscles shifting under pale skin like tightly packed steel bars. There’s not much hair on his body except for a sparse patch of pubes above his cock, which hasn’t flagged at all, pressing in a graceful arch against his abdomen. 

“Shame someone so pretty has such a nasty temper,” James can’t resist teasing. 

“You’re one to talk,” Regulus snarls before curling his hand around James’ neck and crushing their mouths together. Their kiss is explosive, tongue and teeth and moans traded like dirty secrets, but it’s over almost as fast as it began, and Regulus is turning James around, pressing his palm flat between his shoulder blades and shoving him down. 

On edge and desperate, even though he refuses to admit it out loud, James complies with a grunt and bends over for Regulus, exposing his arse. His earlier doubts return with a vengeance, assaulting him from every direction. How dumb is he to splay himself out for a person as malicious as Regulus? He’s leaving himself open to an attack, to a prank, to whatever scheme or punishment Regulus’ devious mind can concoct. It’s reckless and dangerous and hot. Oh so hot. 

Regulus rakes his well-manicured fingernails over James’ back, sending pricks of awareness down his spine. A groan falls from James’ lips.

“Yeah, that’s right, Potter. I’m in charge now. So be a good boy, sit tight, and make pretty sounds while I make sure you’re ready to take me.” 

James opens his mouth to object, but Regulus mutters an incantation, and a tingling and slippery sensation spreads through James’ hole. He winces. “Sweet Circe, what was that?” 

“A prep spell. Don’t you Gryffindors ever experiment?” 

“Um.” Warmth touches the tips of James’ ears as he pictures Regulus—experimenting. Reclining in his sheets, legs apart, panting. Fingers slick and pushing in and out, his lips parted, quiet moans filling the magically silenced confines of his bed. 

“No, of course not. You’re way too ‘chivalrous’ for that, aren’t you?” Regulus grabs James by the hips, rocking his pelvis experimentally to rub his cock against James’ opening. 

Arousal whips through James, but he barely has the time to adjust as Regulus spreads his cheeks apart and enters him with a steady thrust. He doesn’t wait for James to confirm he’s okay like a decent person, already moving inside him, his curved cock filling and splitting James in the weirdest, most wonderful way imaginable. 

Then Regulus adjusts his position and rolls his hips again, hitting the right spot, and a groan rips from James despite his promise to stay quiet. Yes, he might be desperate for Regulus and yes, this feels incredible, Regulus feels incredible, moving in smooth glides inside him, dragging hotly against his channel, but he won’t let him know how good he makes him feel. He’ll stay quiet, just like he said. He won’t scream Regulus’ name. He won’t. He—oh fuck—oh bloody hell—he won’t. 

“Dammit, Potter, you feel so fucking good,” Regulus groans as if taunting him.

James grits his teeth against the onslaught of ecstasy bolting through him, using one of his hands to brace himself against the wall while reaching behind with the other. 

Regulus grabs it without breaking his pace, linking their fingers. His motions are smooth and fluid, and every thrust hits James’ gland with the same clinical precision he exudes when he flies around the Quidditch pitch.

Words spill out despite James’ resolve. “Ngh, ahhh—ah—fuck, mmm, you’re so—so—”

“So what, Potter?” 

“Incredible,” James moans. “Right there, please, more. I can take it. Please. Please,” he nearly sobs. Pathetic. He’s pathetic, and he doesn’t care, not with Regulus gliding inside and out of him like a dream. 

“Say it. Say my bloody name when I’m fucking you,“ Regulus growls.

“Shit. Regulus. Regulus, please harder, aaaahhhh!” Fuck. He broke his promise, and it barely took five minutes. 

If anyone’s still looking for them, James has just made their job a lot easier, but he can’t bring himself to worry about that. Not when the pleasure in him crests, every nudge of Regulus’ cock stoking it harder, until it builds into an unbearable sizzle inside his gut.

 “Close, I’m close,” he blurts out, shocked by the realization. 

“Gonna come for me, Gryffindor? Come on, do it. Scream my name,” Regulus pants, speeding his motions.

“Regulus. Regulus. Please, aaaah, Regulus,” he cries, whines, shouts Regulus’ name exactly as he promised he wouldn’t, helpless against his impending release.

Regulus gives a harsh, almost violent thrust, sending him plummeting over the edge. His climax shoots through him like an overcharged spell, tearing through his core and into his limbs, leaving behind nothing but numb bliss. 

James is barely holding on, his legs losing their strength and trembling under him, but Regulus snakes his hand under his stomach, stabilizing him as he fucks him through the recovery period without mercy. His motions are growing erratic, his breathing ragged.

When James comes down from his high, he pushes against him, feeling Regulus’ sweat-slick body slapping against his ass. It’s brutal and sticky and filthy, and the idea of feeling Regulus’ release inside him has James growing half-hard again despite the aftershocks of his recent climax still shimmering through his body. 

“You’re gonna—aaaah, damn, ngh—you’re gonna make me cum, James,” Regulus says with an affront in his voice. Despite the circumstances, James almost laughs at his indignation, but he doesn’t have the energy to tease him, desperate as he is to put them on even ground. To wrench every drop of pleasure from Regulus. To show he can give as good as he gets.

“Do it, Reg. Cum in me. Wanna—wanna feel it.” 

“Oh.” It slips from Regulus, a shocked exhale more than a word as he gives a few stuttered thrusts and tips forward, his body resting on James’ back as he whimpers through his orgasm. 

Regulus Black. Overcome with pleasure. Whimpering. His cock pumping out streaks of hot liquid, lodged so deep inside James they melted into a singular entity for the moment.

James’ entire body shudders, clenching around Regulus. It squeezes a few more spurts out of Regulus’ cock before Regulus slumps against James for a second longer, his breathing coming out in ragged puffs. 

The tiny space reeks of sweat and sex, their scents mingling in the air. Peace settles over James, his mind blissfully quiet. Of course, it doesn’t last long. Without a warning, Regulus pulls out, his demeanor business-like as usual, despite his cock softening between his legs as he searches for his wand. 

James hisses at the unpleasant emptiness, but Regulus doesn’t apologize for the sudden retreat. He cleans them both with a spell and gets dressed, buttoning himself up without a single comment. All traces of passion are wiped from his face as though the charm got rid of them along with the bodily fluids. 

In a daze but unwilling to let himself be put to shame, James follows his example, albeit in a less organized fashion. He fastens the clasps of his robes somewhat haphazardly and spells his glasses clean before straightening them on his nose. 

“Would you look at that? You did cum screaming my name, just as I predicted,” Regulus remarks, brushing lint off his sleeves instead of meeting James’ gaze. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

James scowls at him. With his lenses smudge-free, he can see Regulus’ obnoxious smirk in sharp definition. Merlin, he’s so annoying. Fit and with a cock that will play a prominent role in James’ wanking fantasies from now on, but so bloody aggravating. “Figured you needed the confidence boost since it took you so long to cum. Thought Seekers were supposed to be fast.” 

Regulus lifts his head, his flared nostrils the only outward sign of his annoyance. James would applaud him for his self-control if he weren’t such an irksome twat. “I’ve got news for you, Potter. Speed is only a plus on the Quidditch pitch. Not during sex.” 

James shrugs. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself.”

A muscle in Regulus’ jaw twitches. “This would’ve been more believable if you weren’t coming untouched on my cock while begging for more only minutes ago.” 

James shrugs. “Heat of the moment.”

“If that’s what you need to tell yourself,” Regulus fires back without mercy, a nasty smirk twisting his lips. “By the way, this doesn’t change a thing between us. I still can’t stand you. In case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t,” James says, his voice carrying enough frost it could serve as a Freezing charm in a pinch. “And right back at you. Just because you can fuck doesn’t mean I like you now.” 

And fuck he can. Like a dream. 

He doesn’t say that out loud. Regulus’ ego doesn’t need more pats.

“Good. Then we’re on the same page. Except for the part where you can fuck, because Merlin knows you were middling at best. All that straight-laced Gryffindor chivalry is not as much of a turn-on as you think. It’s quite boring, actually,” he drawls.

James bristles, any shred of goodwill he might feel toward Regulus dissolving in the animosity quickly rebuilding between them. 

“Yeah, that’s not what that looked like when you were shooting your load and moaning my name.” 

He leans in closer, dragging his nose along Regulus’ throat until he reaches his ear. “Say what you want, Reggie, but you’re not that good of a liar, and I still have your cum leaking out of me as proof.” 

Regulus draws his shoulders high and sticks out his chin. “Don’t flatter yourself. It was a way to pass the time waiting, nothing more. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe we’re finished here.”

Without giving James a chance to formulate an answer, he throws the door open and steps out into the corridor. 

Fine. Far be it from James to stop him.

Not as though James expected a quick shag in a closet, however satisfying, would erase years of hostility. Or changed Regulus’ disposition into something pleasant.

James rushes out right after him, ready to head into his dorm and sort through tonight’s events, but immediately collides with Regulus’ back. 

“What are you doing, you bloody nitwit, sticking around as if someone got you with a stunner—” his words die on his tongue when he lifts his gaze and notices what made Regulus freeze in his tracks.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters. “ I mean, good evening, Professor.”

In their hurry to get away from each other, they forgot to check if the coast was clear. And now they’re going to pay the price. 

“Good evening, Mr. Potter. Mister Black.” McGonagall, wearing a tartan night-gown, her hair secured haphazardly with several pins to the top of her head, peers at them in turns above her reading glasses. Filch cowers by her side, rubbing his hands. His mangy cat rubs against his shins, giving James an unblinking stare and baring her teeth at him. As much as he adores all animals, magical and non-magical alike, he’d love to give Mr. Norris a good kick.

“I told you, Professor. I told you there were students sneaking around. Out of bed. Plotting and scheming and causing mischief. They should face consequences.”

“Yes, Argus, I appreciate your fervor. However, Mr. Potter and Mr. Black are Headboy and a Prefect. I’m sure they have a perfectly good explanation for why they’re causing a ruckus in a broom closet when they’re not scheduled for patrol duty today.”

“Erm.” James shuffles his feet, avoiding McGonagall’s eye. He’s never been the best at coming up with lies on the spot. That’s more of Sirius’ wheelhouse. Or Remus’, strangely. Moony can spin high tales without batting an eye, and since he’s so bloody unassuming, nobody tends to question him. The lack of natural talent doesn’t mean James will go down without a fight, however. 

“Well, I overheard some people planning to pull a bunch of pranks around the castle, so I thought better to check—” he begins, shaky at first but growing more assured as he goes on, “and I, um, picked up on some noise from the closet where I found Regulus, who—”

“—was trying to subdue Peeves,” Regulus takes over smoothly, his face the perfect mix of frustration and righteousness. “Apparently, certain students whose names he refused to divulge recruited him to do their dirty work for them. Unfortunately, when James barged in with his well-intended bluster, he distracted me, and Peeves escaped,” Regulus finishes, tugging his clothes tighter around him, looking every bit the picture of a rule-abiding Prefect he claims to be. 

If it weren’t for one of the clasps of Regulus’ outfit being undone, ruining his pristine image, James himself would have trouble believing he had Regulus stark naked pressed against him only minutes ago. That’s how poised and collected he looks. 

His excuse is pretty genius, too. It’s impossible to corroborate it because Peeves is famously untrustworthy, and Regulus didn’t name any specific names. 

James bites his lips to prevent a whimper from escaping. Regulus might be a prat, but his unflappability is a strange turn-on. If they were alone, James probably couldn’t resist dragging him back into the closet for round two.

Minerva looks them both up and down, then gives a curt nod. “Your dedication to your duties is commendable. Ten points for both Gryffindor and Slytherin.” 

The way Regulus demurely flushes and mutters a pleased thanks is a marvel and should be studied by future generations of prankmasters. James himself settles for an awkward chuckle. It feels wrong to be rewarded for breaking rules. More specifically, for hooking up with his mortal enemy in a blasted broom closet. Perhaps he should set the record straight. 

Regulus must sense his discomfort because he moves closer and covertly nudges his pointy elbow into James’ ribs, his eyes flashing as though attempting to convey ‘don’t you dare, Potter.’

Filch, on the other hand, appears crestfallen, but he launches one last attempt at bringing them to justice. “That’s not what I heard, Professors. These two are in cahoots! They were up to something before, and they’re up to something now! It’s obvious they’re just making excuses to cover up their transgressions.” 

“I don’t think so. Mr. Potter and Mr. Black are not famous for getting along, so if they both claim they were trying to prevent mischief, I believe them.” 

“B-b-but. They deserve punishment. A five lashes each, at least.” Filch’s bottom trembles like a kid who’s been denied a toy.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to forgo the flogging for tonight. Maybe next time, Argus. Now, be a dear and try to find Peeves. I want to have a word with him,” McGonagall says in a tone that doesn’t allow any protests.

Filch’s shoulders slump as he recognizes he’s lost this battle. “As you wish, Professor.” 

Filch slinks away, taking his nasty cat with him, and James whooshes out a huge breath of relief. Regulus pokes him again.

“Ouch. What was that for?” he hisses. When it comes to parts of Regulus’ anatomy inserted in James’ body, he vastly prefers his cock to his elbow.

Before Regulus can reply, McGonagall doubles back. “I almost forgot. Since you two are such an effective team and experienced at preventing disturbances, I’m assigning you extra patrol duty for three months, starting this Saturday.”

Oh. So that’s why Regulus poked him. He wanted to tell him not to celebrate prematurely.

“Three months,” Regulus repeats, incredulous. “But, Professor, that’s till the end of the semester.”

“Correct, Mr. Black. I am pleased to see you manage basic calculus despite your Pureblood upbringing. Is anything else unclear?” she asks, her mouth pursed in displeasure. Neither of them speaks. 

“Very well. Off to bed with you, gentlemen.” She spins on her heel and leaves them gaping at her back in the middle of the drafty corridor.

James groans.

The most fun evening of the week, wasted on patrol for the rest of the year. And not just on patrol, on patrol with Regulus Black, the most obnoxious git in the entire castle. 

“She saw right through us, didn’t she?” he asks, but it’s mostly rhetoric. There’s no pulling one over on good old Minnie, despite Regulus’ proficiency at lying. Which James nonetheless thinks was extremely hot, mind you.

“I’d say that’s obvious. What I don’t understand is why she refused to confirm the caretaker’s accusation if she was onto us the entire time.” 

“That’s easy. Because she hates him. Thinks he’s smarmy and cruel.” 

“So she played all of us,” Regulus says with awe in his voice. “How is she not the Head of my House?”

“You don’t have to sound so impressed. We’re now stuck together because of her. For three whole months,” James whines.

“Yes. What a horrible fate.” Regulus curls his mouth. “For me. I remember you quite enjoying being stuck with me. Begging for it, even.” 

“A moment of weakness,” James counters, his cheeks heating. 

“If it helps you sleep at night,” Regulus says with a saccharine smile that tells James he saw through his flimsy excuse. “I hope you’ll be well rested for next Saturday.” He wraps his arm around James’ waist, placing his mouth right beside his ear. “I, for one, intend to make the best of it.” 

And then he’s gone, disappearing in a swirl of robes like the dramatic git he is, and leaving James rooted to the spot with a massive hard-on.

It’s official.

Regulus has secured a landslide victory in this round. 

But James gets a do-over on Saturday, and like the Gryffindor he is, he won’t take the defeat lying down. 

No, if everything goes according to plan, Regulus will be the one taking it.

He heads back to his dorm room, smiling the whole way back.

Perhaps having patrol duty with Regulus won’t be so bad, after all. 

THE END