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It’s been a very quiet day, so Regulus is delighted when the door opens and instead of hanging out with the dead, a live body shows up.
It’s a good body, too. Tall and strong, and Regulus is delighted. He’s seen so many pale, dead bodies in the past few days, this is such a nice change.
“Hello.”
”Hi, welcome to Black Funeral Home. How may I assist you today?"
The man looks up from the display of fake flowers at this, obviously trying to decipher something. Regulus just smiles. With a blasé air, the man looks back at the fake flowers.
”I need a tombstone.”
"A tomb—Ah, indeed, of course. We can arrange that."
”And a coffin.”
"Absolutely, sir." The man's vacant expression prompts Regulus to clarify, “This is a funeral home.”
At this point, the man is close enough for Regulus to make out his expression with more accuracy, which is just… confusing. The man looks like he’s swallowed something sour, not like he’s mourning the loss of a loved one. It doesn't strike Regulus as the typical face of grief. "Do I need to schedule a time or...?"
Regulus glances around at the funeral home, as silent and still as the tombs it caters to.
"At present, there's no one around," he says after a brief pause. "Would you care to join me in my office, Mr...?"
"Of course. Name’s James Potter."
With a breezy gesture, Regulus shepherds James past the humdrum of the front desk, and into the more secluded setting of his office. Large, panoramic windows reveal a quiet, restful cemetery – the backyard of the Black Funeral Home. Some might see a final resting place. But Regulus? He relishes the sight – verdant grass, flourishing trees, and life persisting amongst the dead. The contrast is oddly comforting to Regulus, who spends entirely too long in the basement embalming corpses. Inviting James to settle into the guest chair, Regulus plonks himself down on his own, hands folding comfortably on his midriff.
Potter' eyes flit from the scenic view outside, falling onto Regulus' hands, particularly fixated on the wedding band. Ah.
As their gazes reconnect, Regulus hardens his features into a professional façade. Sure, Potter is an absolute head-turner, but this isn't happy hour at a bar. No shenanigans, not to mention that the man is probably - probably, though he looks as dead as the dead bodies downstairs, frankly - mourning.
"The deceased is..."
"My mother."
Regulus' voice softens, "My deepest condolences, Mr Potter."
The man swats the sentiment away, as if shooing an annoying fly. "Yeah, yeah."
Not the reaction Regulus expected, but okay. He clears his throat and steers the conversation back to the task at hand.
"Um, so, shall we get the ball rolling?"
At the prospect of moving forward, Potter' face lights up.
"Yes. I need your cheapest everything."
”Oh, well if you are on a budget—”
"I'm not."
"You're not."
"On a budget."
Regulus tries to keep up with the man’s cryptic replies. This is… not like his usual meetings.
"Erm, alright, well if you—"
"I want it to be tacky."
"Tacky."
"Embarrassing," Potter offers instead.
"Embarrassing," Regulus mimics.
"Yes."
Regulus’ face does something twisty and confusing.
“I—” Regulus starts. Doesn't get to finish.
“—Do you know what’s infuriating, ah, I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
"I...didn't give it," Regulus replies, reaching his hand out. "Regulus Black, sir."
Potter ignores the extended hand, elbows propped onto his thighs. "Do you know what's infuriating, Regulus?"
Regulus pulls his hand back on his desk, eyes wide. “Um, I’m not sure.”
"Dead people who you're glad are gone but still manage to screw up your day from beyond the grave."
"Oh, yes. Very... troublesome, those departed souls."
"That's what I'm saying." Potter abruptly stands, leaving Regulus floundering for a suitable reaction. He eventually settles for doing nothing. "They're always like, 'when I'm gone, you'll do this, you'll do that, you'll scatter my ashes from a volcano into a shark's mouth,' and I just want to dispose of them like you do a pet.”
“In a backyard?”
“You get me, Regulus. Fucking finally.”
Regulus has made a rather good assessment of the situation, and he’s pretty sure that now isn’t the time to reveal that burying pets in backyards is actually illegal, and that his attempt at humor was intended to be a joke.
As Potter starts pacing the room, Regulus is left to sit and watch, his eyes darting around the man’s moving figure.
"Alright, let's do this. Tacky and cheap," Potter continues, a determined edge to his voice. "I want pink and purple lilies. The synthetic ones, if you've got 'em."
Regulus raises an eyebrow but takes note. “Sure, Mr. Potter—”
“James.”
“Erm, James. Synthetic lilies, tacky and cheap... anything else?"
James seems to contemplate for a moment, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger. “How about the coffin?”
“Well,” Regulus starts, because this is his job, and they have so many great options, and—
“Something neon.”
"Something neon."
“Green.”
“Neon green.”
“Yes.”
Regulus blinks. "That's... um, unique. But if that’s what you want, we can certainly look into it."
"Great!" James exclaims, rubbing his hands together as though he’s planned the most exciting party of the century rather than a funeral. He turns towards the window, observing the quiet cemetery outside. "And for the tombstone... can you engrave 'Finally Silent' on it?"
Regulus chokes on nothing, staring at the man in stunned silence for a full three seconds. "Finally Silent? Are... are you certain?"
"Yes, absolutely," James confirms.
Regulus pinches the bridge of his nose, doing his best to maintain a professional demeanor, although he can feel his composure rapidly slipping. "Right, so pink and purple synthetic lilies, a neon coffin, and a tombstone that reads ‘Finally Silent’. Anything else, Mr. Potter?”
James, having finally stopped pacing, gives Regulus a satisfied nod. “No, that should do it. No, wait.”
“Yes?”
“I—I’m sorry, this is going to sound unhinged—”
Not like everything else you’ve said to me today, handsome stranger, but sure.
“—I need to know where I can get a drink. A strong drink.”
“A strong drink.”
“I need to get drunk, Regulus. Black out drunk. So. Help a guy out.”
And it comes out a little puny, but Regulus cannot help it. This man is insane. Is going to run onto oncoming traffic. He’ll be back in the BFH in no time as a corpse to embalm, and that would be a shame.
So he says, “Would you like some company?”
Potter - no, James, as he insisted - tilts his head, eyes narrowing as he scrutinizes Regulus. There's an unreadable look in his eyes that sends a shiver down Regulus' spine. He’s used to dealing with the dead, after all, not the living, and certainly not the peculiarly alive like James Potter.
After what seems like a millennium, the man grins a genuine, delighted grin. Regulus can't help but feel a strange sense of accomplishment. "You offering, Regulus?"
Regulus can't believe his own audacity as he nods. "Why not?"
There is, in fact, a place to get black out drunk three streets down from the BFH. It makes sense, because people sob as they come in, sob throughout the consultation, sob when they see the bill and then sob when the credit card goes through the machine, then sob again on their way out. The solution is, evidently, to have copious amounts of alcohol nearby to help with the situation.
James Potter is playing darts now, aiming with one eye closed and reaching the center every single time, like a hitman on a mission.
“I’m imagining my mother,” he says after a particularly good throw, and Regulus thinks that asking questions makes no sense at this point. The entire day is just happening in another dimension, and Regulus is just waiting for it to be over and for a new day to start, without… whatever it is that’s happening this late afternoon.
He’s sitting on a high stool, observing this stranger dissolve into a puddle of whiskey.
The thing is, a lot of people say that they aren’t on a budget when, really, they are. But seeing the rapidity with which James is downing £45 whiskey drinks, Regulus is starting to wonder if, perhaps, James is actually not on a budget at all, indeed.
And two beers in, Regulus is beginning to see the humor in this unusual situation.
“Alright, Regulus, your turn,” James slurs, pushing another glass of whiskey towards him. He’s grinning again, that wide, open grin that makes him look so much younger than he did a few hours ago. It doesn't fit with the picture Regulus has painted of him: a man who just lost his mother, a man with an undeniably… complicated relationship with the deceased.
Regulus glances at the glass, then back at James. “I’m not much of a drinker,” he admits, nursing his beer, though James doesn’t seem disappointed.
“That’s alright,” he says, taking back the whiskey with a shrug. “More for me.”
They fall into an easy rhythm then, Regulus nursing his single drink as James works his way through the bar’s whiskey selection.
As the evening wears on, James’ aim becomes sloppy, until he abandons completely and turns to Regulus.
“I’m not a bad son, am I?”
Regulus, caught off guard, shakes his head. “I don’t believe you are.”
“Good,” he mumbles, pushing himself off the stool. He stumbles a bit, but Regulus quickly reaches out to steady him. “I think I need to head home now.”
“I can call a cab.”
“No need,” James insists, shaking his head. “My place isn’t far.”
Regulus nods. “Alright, then. Be careful.”
“I don’t need to be careful, you’re going to walk me home.” James stumbles towards the door, grabbing onto Regulus’ sleeve. “Peter! Put this on my tab.”
“Already done, Prongs,” the waiter retorts, flapping his rag on his shoulder and raising an eyebrow at Regulus, who just follows James out. This is it. The end of his long day. To the sleep, and then… then, Regulus can go back to his regularly scheduled life. He’ll—
“Fuck.”
James turns around, assessing Regulus sloppily. “Meh, I don’t think I’m fit for it, right now.”
Regulus, who is currently in the throes of a sudden panic attack, pushes James away. “No, fuck me.”
“I can try, I mean, but—”
“I forgot Mrs Couvent in the fucking basement.”
“Who’s Mrs Couvent?”
“She’s—doesn’t matter. James, it was lovely to meet you. Can you find your way home? I need to go back.”
“Sure.”
“Great, lovely.”
Great, lovely, except James is following him.
“Is your home this way?”
“Oh,” James says, surprised. “No.”
“Aren’t you going back home?”
“I want to meet Mrs Couvent.”
“She’s dead, James. You’re not—”
“I like dead people. My dead mother? Much better dead than alive.”
Regulus doesn’t have time to waste. Fuck this. He starts walking towards BFH, taking James’ hand in his. “You’re going to behave.”
James follows dutifully, hand latching on to Regulus’ smaller one. “Isn’t your wife going to wonder where you are?”
“My wife?”
James looks down at Regulus’s wedding band. Oh, right.
“It’s not a wedding band.”
James tilts his head, turning Regulus’ hand over to bring it closer to his face.
“But it is, though.”
“Yes, but it’s a—repellent.”
“A repellent.”
“People in mourning act a little irrationally sometimes.”
“I don’t get it.”
Regulus stops walking, turns to look at James as if to say people like you.
“Mourning people hit on me and I feel bad for rejecting them, so I pretend I’m married to avoid the drama.”
“So you’re not married.”
“Is that what you gathered?”
“The most important thing I gathered, I reckon.”
“Oh my god. Are you hitting on me?”
James, who is back to following Regulus through the streets, frowns. “I’ve been hitting on you for ages.”
“I can’t do this right now.”
“I can’t stop, I’m drunk.”
“I–I’m not asking you to,” Regulus huffs. “You’ll be back to your sober self in no time and everything will go back to normal. People like you will go back to hanging with other people like you, while people like me will go back to embalming corpses in the basement.”
“That sounds fun.”
“I can’t take you down there,” Regulus warns.
“You have to,” James replies as Regulus gets the keys out and opens the front door of the BFH. “I want to meet Mrs Couv— wait, doesn’t she have a better name?”
“What?”
“Being called Mrs into death is terrible. What’s her name?”
“Jaqie.”
“Well, I want to meet Jaqie.”
“You’re drunk, you’re not meeting Jaqie.”
James stops walking. “No, I am.”
Regulus shakes his head. “No, you aren’t.”
“Please. I’m in mourning.”
“Jesus christ.”
“You’re going to let me sob upstairs the death of my mother while you put Jaqie back in the fridge?”
“It’s not a fridge.”
“A cupboard?”
“Closer, but still no.”
“Body fridge?”
“So close.”
James drops his head on Regulus’ shoulder. “End my suffering.”
“Body cooler.”
“That’s such a good name. Sounds like a rock band.” And then, James starts singing. “Take my bodyyy baaaackkk, in the body cooolerrr.”
“You can’t take a body back in a body cooler.”
“Perhaps not, but you can ruin somebody’s jive by being a dick. Anyway, now I’m sad and ruined, so you have to take me to Jaqie.”
Regulus lifts his head to the heavens. Praying for… something. Nothing comes, so he turns back to James.
“Fine.”
Immediately, James fist bumps the air.
“Yes!”
“You can come, but. ”
“Yes, totally, I’ll be so chill. So chill, like one of your peers. ‘cause they’re in a body cooler, you get it?”
“I do,” Regulus deadpans. “We’re going to wear things, and decontaminate. You,” he points to James, “are going to wear a mask because you reek.”
“That’s mean.”
“It’s also non-negociable.”
“Fine.”
Regulus leads James to a small side room, just before the entrance to the basement. The room is filled with lockers, each one meticulously labeled. He pulls out two sets of clothing, both resembling something between a hospital gown and a space suit, along with two pairs of rubber gloves and masks.
“This isn’t a joke, James,” Regulus insists, seeing the man’s playful smirk. “The embalming process involves hazardous chemicals and requires strict protocols for handling. So you wear this, and you don’t remove it.”
“I’ve got it, I’ve got it. No joking around,” James says, though his eyes sparkle with mischief.
Regulus simply sighs and helps James into the protective clothing. After they’ve suited up and masked their faces, they descend into the basement.
“Is it always this…quiet?” James asks, his voice muffled behind the mask.
Regulus nods. “There’s a certain tranquility that comes with the job. I don’t mind it.”
He opens the door, and there she is, covered but definitely not cool. It is eerily silent except for the hum of the body cooler and the echo of their footsteps.
Fuck.
“You forgot Jaqie on the embalming table.”
“I did.”
“You’re not a very good mortician, are you?”
“I am. I just—this has never happened to me.”
“What’s gonna happen to her?” James asks.
Regulus nods to the large metallic fridge, imposing and somewhat unsettling in the dim light. “I’m going to put her back in the cooler and pray.”
“What if praying isn’t enough?”
“Then she’ll start decomposing faster than expected and the open casket will be a strong ‘no’.”
James wrinkles his nose. “Who would want an open casket?”
Regulus shrugs. “So many people.”
“Do you think…” he trails off, and Regulus, somehow, knows this isn’t good news. “Do you think we could, like, forget my mom on that table and then have an open casket?”
“No.”
“But—”
“No. James. No.”
“But—”
“That’s disrespectful.”
“So she can be disrespectful to me in life, but I can’t be disrespectful to her in death?”
“Jesus, James, what has she done to you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“That’s not—”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Oh.” Regulus falls silent. The silence stretches between them, until he finally offers a quiet, “I’m sorry.”
James only shrugs, his gaze landing on Jaqie, then flicking back to Regulus, who sighs. “I need to put Jaqie back in the cooler,” he says, motioning towards the body on the table. “Then we need to get out of here.”
The night outside is still young by the time they get back out, stars shining brightly against the inky black sky. James glances at Regulus. “I reckon I'm sober enough now.”
“You know your way home?”
“Yeah.”
“All right.”
“All right.”
Fuck.
Fuck him and his good fucking grace. Regulus lifts his head to the sky.
“James,” he sighs.
“Yeah?” There’s so much hope in that sentence that it breaks Regulus’ heart.
“Do you have someone waiting for you at home?”
“Erm, I don’t exactly live here, I’m just pet sitting for a friend, but he’s on his honeymoon, so they’re— I didn’t want to bother them, with…” he trails off. My dead mother sounds like the likely end of that sentence.
Aaaaand Regulus hates himself. He sighs. RIP sleep.
“Do you want to go back to mine? I have—camomile tea, probably. We can put on a show. You’re not—you look like you could use the company.”
There is no stopping the smile on James’ face. “Oh? Yeah, okay.” The, “If it’s not too much trouble,” is an afterthought.
“It’s fine. Come on. We’re walking.”
Walk they do, in silence for a bit, before James starts B-rolling their walk, providing commentary of Regulus’ town. “You walk everywhere here?” Regulus opens his mouth, only to quickly discover that James isn’t actually asking a question. “That’s crazy, I like these sidewalks. It’s really quiet here. I should look for a place here. It’s got all the things I like. Oh, a punny coffee shop! I love that. Do you think there is a pun left in existence that hasn’t been used by a coffee shop yet?
Regulus can't help but chuckle at James' rambling. The man's energy is infectious, and he finds himself caught up in it. "I suppose there might be a few puns left. They're hard to exhaust entirely."
"Challenge accepted. I'll make it my mission to find one."
From then on, James is just shouting coffee puns in the air, following Regulus who, quite frankly, doesn’t know what to do but let it pass. Sirius is the same. When he’s that wound up, you just have to… let Jesus take the wheel. Trying to tame it leads nowhere. "Roast in Peace! You get it? RIP? Ha! Burial Beans! What about, like, Eterni-Tea Coffee Shop?" James throws up puns as they pass by a bakery, his voice echoing down the quiet street. Regulus winces at the loud noise but chuckles nonetheless, shaking his head.
“Coffin' and Brewing,” James suggests loudly, and Regulus has to actually shush him. “Final Grounds Coffee,” James continues, quietly now. “Oh, oh! Rest in Espresso. No, wait, Funeral Roasts.”
“I beg you to stop.”
A pause.
“Graveyard Grinds.”
“No. Stop . That’s enough.”
“I’m having the time of my life, Regulus.”
“I can see that, and I love this for you, but we might get stoned. It’s 11pm.”
“The perfect time.”
“For what?”
“Eh, I don’t know yet.”
“Oh my god.”
By the time they reach Regulus' place, a small, quaint house tucked away at the end of a sleepy street, James has run out of puns and his energy seems to have dimmed down a notch. He glances up at the house, his eyes wide. "This is where you live?"
Regulus nods, pushing open the front gate. "It's not much, but it's home."
James doesn't respond immediately, just takes a moment to take in the house. The small front yard is well-maintained, filled with a variety of potted plants and flowers that soften the austere look of the building. "It's nice," he finally offers, his voice softer than before.
Regulus leads the way inside, flicking on the lights to reveal a cozy living room. The interior is simple but comfortable. He motions for James to take a seat on the couch. A pair of black-framed glasses lie haphazardly on the coffee table and he picks it up, alongside a half-empty cup of something that's long since cooled while he heads to the kitchen to prepare their tea.
As Regulus busies himself with the kettle, he can hear James moving around the living room, his soft murmuring barely audible over the sound of the kettle filling up.
When Regulus returns, two steaming mugs in hand, he finds James standing in front of the small fireplace, staring at the pictures displayed on the mantel. There's a look of quiet contemplation on his face that makes him look older, his usually bright eyes shadowed with something that looks a lot like sadness.
Regulus hands James his mug, their fingers brushing briefly, and follows his gaze to the pictures. There's one of his parents, another of him and his brother, and one more recent one of him with a few friends from that photography trip he took a while ago.
"Your family?" James asks.
"Some of them," Regulus answers honestly, taking a sip from his mug.
James nods, his gaze lingering on the picture of Regulus and Sirius. When he turns to Regulus, there’s something interesting there, if a little confusing to decipher.
James finishes his tea and sets the cup aside, looking suddenly very tired. Regulus notes the dark circles under his eyes and the way his posture sags.
"You should get some rest," he suggests. "You've had a long day."
James merely nods, leaning back on the couch with a sigh. "Just... a few minutes," he mumbles, eyes already half-closed.
Regulus simply watches him, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction. That is short lived, however, when James just jumps up.
“Kittens!”
Regulus spills the remainder of his tea on his shirt. He looks up, eyes wide. “What?”
“Kittens! I’m house sitting kittens! I can’t just leave them there by themselves.”
“What are you on about, James, you—oh my god. ”
“What?” James gasps, panicking over Regulus’ tone. “What?”
“You are house sitting Sirius and Remus’ house?”
“Of course I am? How have you not picked up on that yet?”
Regulus just stares. “What do you mean, James?”
“My friends are on a honeymoon? Your brother is on a honeymoon? My name is James, your best friend’s brother’s name is James?”
“Butt—but you don’t live here.”
“Astute powers of observation, Regulus. Humans have legs, they can move around the world like that.”
“Wait—you know who I was?”
James looks at Regulus with a deadpan expression. “Black Funeral Home? Sirius and Regulus ? The signs were signing.”
“Then why are you here ?” Regulus knows his voice sounds like madness right now. Like utter confusion.
James shrugs. “I just kind of wanted to chat with someone from the Black family, ya know.”
“What—No, James, I don’t know. ”
“My mom died, Regulus. I didn’t want to call Sirius and ruin his day, especially for someone like—so I came to you, because the Blacks tend to be good at these things, and I need to go feed the kittens.” He stands up. Sways.
Regulus just sighs. “Fucking hell. Fine. Fine. Let’s go feed the kittens.”
“Wait, you’re coming with me?”
“Of course I’m coming with you. You’re barely standing, and Sirius’ house is at least fifteen minutes away.”
“...Which isn’t far,” James points out.
“In theory.”
“I’m tired,” James continues.
Regulus nods. “I know. I hate everything about this. Let’s go.”
And off they go, Regulus closing the door behind him.
It takes five minutes. Maybe three, before James is lagging. “Regulus. I’m so tired. I’m not going to make it.”
“That’s what happens when you down several bottles of expensive whiskey. The mighty downfall has started. Come on.”
James stops walking. “No,” he whines. “I can’t walk. I’m too tired. You go on without me.”
“Seigneur Jésus Marie Joseph, aidez-moi, abrégez mes souffrances,” Regulus mutters, head lifted to the dark heavens. No one answers, and Regulus looks back down at James. Sighs again. Makes up his mind. “Hop on.”
“Uh?”
Regulus turns around, shaking his head because what is today? “Hop on. I’ll carry you.”
“You can’t carry me.”
Regulus looks down his nose at James. “Then die.”
James flounders. “No, okay, I’ll jump on.”
And so, with a graceless, tired hop, James ends up on Regulus' back, arms draped around his shoulders and face tucked into his neck, Regulus catching him and piggy backing him the rest of the way.
James is heavy. He’s also drooling on his shirt, which is absolutely not hot in any way. By all means, Regulus should be disgusted, not endeared.
As they walk, Regulus can hear James' breaths growing slower and shallower, each exhale warm against his neck. By the time they reach Sirius and Remus' house, James is out cold, snoring lightly into his ear.
“James,” he nudges the man’s side with his elbow. “We’re here. Give me the keys.”
James turns his head into Regulus’ neck, breathing in the skin there and—well. Well, okay. “I don’t have the keys, Reggie, you have the keys,” he mumbles against the side of Regulus’ neck.
Regulus drops James unceremoniously down.
“Hey!"
“The keys, idiot. Give them to me.”
James rubs his butt, digging into his pocket. “You were so nice earlier. Why are you so mean now?”
“Because it is night and I am tired and we have been strutting around town for an age, and I have work tomorrow and—"
“You need to live more spontaneous adventures, Regulus.”
“Not in my storyline,” he retorts, grabbing the keys from James’ hand, then after a short consideration, James’ hand, and dragging him to the house.
“You’re holding my hand,” James notes.
Regulus shakes his head, because he’s embarrassing and unprofessional and should be put down like a dog. Maybe James can bury him in a backyard. They’ll excavate his corpse in fifty years and think he was a big pet, like a Great Dane, and his bones will be crushed into fish food. “I know, it’s tragic.”
James giggles, and Regulus rolls his eyes.
“You like me."
“I wouldn’t be risking my life in the dark streets if I didn’t think you were slightly okay.”
James frowns. “Slightly okay."
“Passable,” Regulus offers.
“You were a lot more welcoming earlier on, you know.”
“I hadn’t lived my life to the full yet, clearly,” Regulus deadpans, and then they’re in , and three kittens come running out from the house towards them at full speed.
“Lez uncohnous!” James exclaims.
Regulus stops. Looks at James. “Please. Say that again.”
Immediately, James rears back with an air of suspicion. “No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“James, I heard it now. It’s too late. Please. Please say it again."
James scrunches his nose, grabbing a gray kitten. He opens his mouth. Closes it.
“What are you doing?” Regulus asks.
“Practicing in my brain.”
“You’ll do it?”
“Fine.”
Regulus clasps his hands in delight. A black kitten grabs onto his pants and starts ascending, digging his claws into skin like a demon. Regulus scoops it up to bring it up to his face. “Hey there Légitimus.”
“LES UNCONNUS,” James pronounces, trying so very, very hard. Like if he’s louder, he’ll get it more correct. He doesn’t, not really.
Regulus turns from the kitten in his hand to look at James. “ A for effort.”
“Are you going to tell me how to pronounce it?”
“Hasn’t Sirius already tried? If he has been unsuccessful, why would you think I would succeed?"
“Because you are incredibly handsome and I actually want to pay attention to what comes out of your mouth.”
“High praises,” Regulus says, putting the kitten down and heading into the kitchen to dig under the sink for the cat food. James appears with the water bowl, dunking it down. Once the food is deposited on their bowl, the three kittens dart towards it with excited mews, their tiny tails wagging.
When the kittens have been fed and watered, Regulus looks at James, who is now holding a suddenly sleeping kitten. “Well, now what?”
James puts the kitten down, and they watch him strut to his siblings.
And then James is on Regulus, attacking him, which is really not what Regulus was expecting to do on a Wednesday night.
He’d been so good with his boundaries. Oh, they’re on the floor. They’re gone. They’ve been obliterated. He’s so grateful someone here doesn’t care about his boundaries, which is honestly not a sentence he ever thought he would formulate in his brain.
His back is against the kitchen arch and James is on his knees and it’s quick, divested of his pants and James hasn’t even kissed him yet.
The leg of the pants gets stuck in his shoes, so James removes each shoe.
“Why don’t you remove the socks, too?”
“Why? James grins up at him. “You would look dashing in nothing but socks.”
Regulus groans and removes his own socks with his toes.
“Hot.”
“Didn’t you have a plan in mind?”
“I do. But you’re not going anywhere, are you?”
“With you on your knees like this? Certainly not.”
“Good.” And then James rises up on his knees and bites at Regulus’ inner thigh.
“You know, this is really not what I had in mind when I said you should come up for tea.”
James, still mouthing around his cock, completely careless of the way it is evidently debilitating for Regulus, looks up. “Funny, this is exactly what I had in mind,” he says, before finally, fucking finally taking Regulus in hand, angling his head and diving.
“Oh—okay. Fuck, okay then.”
And then Regulus’ hand is in James’ hair, and it’s so easy for Regulus to abandon all hope of professional anything, at this point. He just cruises, because this isn’t his life, things like this do not happen to Regulus, so he’ll just enjoy it while it lasts.
And last it does, James enthusiastic, excited, touching and licking and biting, and Regulus is having a grand old time.
He’s cruising up, ascending to space, when James pulls away to drag Regulus’ hand out of his hair and pull his ring finger into his mouth, teething the wedding band off. Turning to the side, he spits it out, tearing a groan from Regulus.
James looks up. “None of this.”
Regulus is parched. Mouth dry. “This?” he manages.
“You’re not married tonight. You’re not single, either.”
“Oh?”
“We’re having another adventure, Regulus.”
“Believe it or not, I like this one a lot better than—Jesus fucking christ.”
James looks up, lip spit shiny. “Stop speaking, love.”
“It’s my house, James. I will damn well do what I—"
James dives down again, one slick finger now poised and ready at Regulus’ entrance, and Regulus chokes on air again.
There are no words after that, just James sucking turning Regulus inside out.
He knows it technically isn’t his house, but it is his brother’s, and if Sirius dies, he—that trail of thought disappears with James’ skills. Doesn’t matter, anyway. James isn’t listening, and Regulus is in no capacity to process information at this moment.
When he comes, it’s sudden, and honestly a surprise for them both. There is building, and then James does something and Regulus is gone. No tingle, no prevention, no one rings a bell and says, hello, the man from this afternoon who wants to bury his mother with the ‘Finally Silent’ engrave will be sucking your dick into oblivion in roughly eight hours, just a quick warning.
And then James pulls Regulus’ hand from his hair and spits some of Regulus’ come on his hand, before unceremoniously dipping a finger where Regulus was quietly, desperately hoping for.
The overstimulation from being drained by James’ very enthusiastic mouth, and immediately being fingered post orgasm does a thing to Regulus, who experiences a sort of electric shock, body spasming against James’ fingers and the kitchen arch.
“Can you take it?”
Regulus opens his mouth to say that of course he can, who do you take him for, he’s very resilient and flexible, robust even, nothing can break him, but all that comes out is a pitiful whine, which is concerning enough for James to stop and look up.
Regulus clears his throat. “Ignore that. Please proceed,” he rasps, like an embarrassment.
Except James does not ignore that.
He is up and has his arm belted around Regulus now, hoisting him up and dragging his hand under his thighs to encourage Regulus to wrap his legs around James’ waist.
“Good,” James says when Regulus does, and he is rewarded.
Lips climb from his collarbone, up the column of his neck, the side of his ear where James just whispers a somewhat shy hi, which is so stupid and cute it drags a smile from Regulus, and then James’ lips are on his.
It’s fun.
There is soft biting, and tongues exploring and retreating, and it’s gentle and very much like James’ hi. Unassuming, like greeting a long time friend.
Hey there.
Hi.
What’s up?
Regulus is the first one to pull away, James chasing his mouth like a hound dog. “Aren’t you tired?”
James nods, forehead resting against Regulus’. “Dead on my feet, actually."
“Guest bedroom’s that way.”
James raises an eyebrow, dips in for a kiss. “I know. I’m pet sitting here.”
“Oh my god. I completely forgot.”
“Fucked the smarts right out of you?”
“Basically.”
And then James pushes off the wall, securing Regulus in his arms and walking to the bedroom. He drops them on the bed, before climbing up and holding a pillow to his face.
“Bless.”
“James.”
“What.”
“Do you want me to return the favor?”
James cracks an eye open to stare at Regulus, who is looking at him like he’s a very complicated enigma to solve. “Nah,” James says eventually. “Tomorrow, if we’re up for it.” He pulls one hand from the pillow and reaches out to smooch Regulus’ lips together. “Now be quiet.”
And then James is asleep. Regulus follows him down within minutes.
Regulus wakes up from a good dream into an even better reality because there is a tongue at his rim and two fingers probing, and to be honest, this doesn’t really happen to Regulus either, so he takes it in stride and pushes back, gloriously delighted when a lubed up finger just—slips in.
“Oh.”
“Morning, Regulus. Had a good nap?” James asks against him, moving his lips to his left cheek to bite .
“Okay, yes, I’m with the program,” he says around a yawn because he is very much still half asleep, though awakening more and more with each passing minute.
“The program started a while ago,” James says cheerily around Regulus, which is—okay. Apparently. The saga continues, and the universe is presenting Regulus with a morning outside of his norm. Regulus can adapt. He’s so good at adapting. He’s adapting right now.
“Yes, evidently,” Regulus says, pushing back against James’ finger, who brazenly slips the second one in.
“Meh, you didn’t miss anything too exciting, and look, you’re just in time for the fun.”
Regulus really, really is, because the fun has started, and Regulus is solidly on board.
“So this is a thing that you do?” Regulus manages to ask, awkwardly, because the pleasure is ballooning inside of him and taking entirely too much space, clouding his throat and robbing him of his sanity.
“Mhm?”
“Nevermind, we can keep the chit chat for a later date, just keep—” James’ tongue goes on an adventure of its own and Regulus garbles the rest of the sentence. James chuckles against his skin, his warm breath sending shivers down Regulus' spine.
James withdraws his fingers, leaving him momentarily empty. But before he can voice his very loud, very offended protest, he feels James pressing against him, the head of his erection nudging in. The delicious burn of anticipation shoots through Regulus, intensifying the ache between his legs.
But then, nothing happens.
“James, I swear to god—”
Several things happen at once.
One hand goes around Regulus’ collarbone, the other against his lower belly, and then James pushes forward, dragging Regulus back, sliding inside him at a slow, deliberate pace. The feeling of fullness, of being stretched and filled, is quite consuming, especially because Regulus has literally just woken up. His hands grasp the sheets tightly as James begins to move, thrusts steady and controlled. It’s a gasp that comes out of his mouth, body tensing for a moment before relaxing, allowing James to sink deeper. Flailing, one hand goes around James’ forearm and squeezes, because it’s—overwhelming.
James grips Regulus' hips firmly, asking nothing of him, so Regulus throws his face against the pillow, muffling his moans as James’ thrusts grow more forceful. He’s pretty sure he’s swallowing feathers, or the balloon is expanding even further, because he has a mouth full of pillow sheet, and James’ grip on Regulus' collarbone tightens ever so slightly, other hand moving down and over him.
There is something primal about the way James is on him, one hand on his lower stomach, the other almost around his throat, lips at his neck and nipping. His breath dances across Regulus’ nape, raising the hairs on his skin. Even if Regulus wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to move. As it is, he is quite content being absolutely destroyed into the mattress by a funny, very good looking stranger.
This is a good day for Regulus.
It’s soft and intense, which is great because it’s too early, and Regulus isn’t in the mood to be thrown around.
It spreads around like lava, slow and warm, taking over from his spine to his legs. It’s a quiet fire, every nerve ending in his body catching, pressure building. When it explodes, he clings to James, and James to him, nails digging into skin.
It takes Regulus a solid minute to come down, finding himself cradled in James' arms, letting him press a gentle kiss to the nape of his neck.
“It’s not really a thing that I do,” James eventually whispers.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Regulus rasps.
“No, the…” he trails off, pushing forward and pulling a moan from Regulus, before pulling out. When he slips out, Regulus is just–empty. Sated. Tired. Confused but going with the flow. “The, erm, seducing, I guess.”
“Oh, this I could tell. You are awful at it.”
James' fingers grip an invisible shirt. “My feelings, they’re hurt. Get a medic!”
“I can’t help you much until you’re dead, unfortunately.”
James nods, considering. “Right, you’ll be of no use to me until I’m gone.”
Leaning into their game of faux melodrama, Regulus says, “I promise I’ll ensure your ashes end up scattered from the back of a shark into a volcano.”
James opens his mouth to protest, “That wasn’t—” but is cut off by Regulus.
“I won’t be taking any questions at this time,” Regulus cuts in.
James huffs. “You are terrible at making me feel better. I—” His sentence is cut short as a small kitten springs onto his chest. Then another follows suit, and another, until all three are crowding them, wide eyes blinking up at them expectantly.
Regulus reaches out to the black one, its fur soft beneath his touch. He lifts it, tucking it under his chin, as he asks, “What do you want?” His voice is gentle, a stark contrast to their earlier banter.
James' gaze softens as he watches Regulus with the kitten. “Food and play, probably. Or for me to go hunt the latest place they found to pee on.”
“Oh dear.”
An exasperated sigh escapes James. “The Yucca is dead. Peed on it so much the plant just gave up,” he mourns.
Regulus’ eyebrows shoot up, “Oh, Sirius won’t like that.”
“You know, I think it’ll go over a lot better than the news of us,” James comments.
Regulus raises an eyebrow, “We’re news?”
“Aren’t we?”
"I don’t know, seems a little early to call us news.” His gaze meets James', steady and genuine.
"Well, how long do I have to wait?"
"A few months, at least,” he retorts, because isn’t that how it all works out?
"But Sirius will be back in eight days," James points out. "Wait, do you think the neon coffin will be ready by then?”
"I obviously haven’t had the time to look into it yet. It’s my life’s mission, today.”
“Bless you.”
“Speaking of, what time is it?”
“Seven am. You’re fine.”
Regulus sighs dramatically, flopping back onto the pillows. "I’m not fine. I’m tired. I could sleep here all day,” he complains, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards in a small grin.
"I wouldn’t complain,” James quips, eyes warm.
Reviving some energy, Regulus points an accusatory finger at James, "Of course you wouldn’t, you’re the cause of my suffering. Make me coffee, wench."
"Me? Why me?"
"You’re the one who kept me up yesterday, and you’re the one who woke me up. I require sustenance,” Regulus grumbles.
"So do the…” James’ gaze flits to the kittens playing at their feet on the mattress, voice trailing off.
"Say it," Regulus challenges.
James inhales deeply, and with all the confidence in the world, declares, “LES UNCONNUSSES.”
Regulus shakes his head, trying to suppress a laugh, "I’m sorry to announce that the yelling doesn’t improve the pronunciation at all."
Determined, James insists. "Say it. Just the once, and I’ll try again."
Regulus, indulging him, slowly enunciates, "Les. In. Co. Nus. Les inconnus."
Proudly, James parrots back, "Lèz incohnuses. This is what I said."
"No."
"Yes."
"No. Don’t make me regret our involvement," Regulus warns.
James grins. "Already?"
“Bad French pronunciation is an ick for me.”
James doesn’t miss a beat. "Well, Regulus, we’re going to have a blast together, mon ahmoureuhhh."
"I hate everything about this already." But his laughter-filled eyes and the affectionate tilt of his head towards James tell a different story.
James smirks. "You don't sound very convincing."
"No? Then, perhaps I need to be more explicit. Your French pronunciation is abominable, and your coffee is probably going to taste like muddy water."
"Hmm." James contemplates his words. "Well, aren’t you charming in the morning?”
“Always,” Regulus replies without skipping a beat. "Et mon café?"
James rolls his eyes dramatically. "Your wish is my command, sire."
Regulus watches him as he clambers out of the bed, kittens scattering at the sudden movement, one climbing over Regulus’ frame. Regulus lifts his hand to stroke its soft fur, gaze lingering on James until he disappears from view, before burying his face into the pillow that still smells like James. Sirius might have a thing or two to say about this new development. He finds that he doesn't really care.
Regulus smiles into the pillow.
A few minutes later, James re-enters the room, balancing two steaming mugs of coffee, an impish grin playing on his lips. Regulus groans, and James smiles triumphantly.
"You were saying something about terrible coffee?"
Regulus doesn’t know what takes over him. He takes a sip and—
“…I guess I need to espresso my regret for such groundless assumptions about your coffee-making skills."
And the way James’ face lights up?
Worth the cringe.