Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s been three weeks since Amsterdam, and Regulus talks to James every day.

At first, it’s strange. He wakes in the morning and stretches. Brushes his teeth and takes a quick shower. Throws on something clean and hums under his breath. Normal things. Everyday things. Nothing out of the ordinary or different than his usual.

Until he picks his phone up off the nightstand.

He never knows what it’ll be. Sometimes it’s Hi baby, other times it’s Good morning. There are days it’s just a picture of James (he’s started saving these in a private album), and occasionally it’s a quick snapshot of wherever James is.

This is the moment each morning when he’s reminded that there has been a shift in his life. It’s cosmic, this change. He finds himself saying I hate you with less bite and more playfulness. Sirius catches him grinning at his phone more than once, and Regulus has to quickly tell him, “Just some guy.”

But James isn’t just some guy anymore, and this realization hits with each morning Regulus checks his phone and finds another text. He keeps waiting for James to lose interest. Regulus is a conquest at best; he’s sure of it. So he continues to tell James I hate you, and he waits for James to stop replying.

Except James doesn’t stop replying, and Regulus learns that James travels even more than he does. For work, mostly. He took over his parents’ company after they died, and when Regulus looks up the name, he nearly falls off his chair. It takes him a few more clicks to find James’ net worth. It leaves him speechless. How did he never bother to look up James Potter? In shock, he sends, No one should have that many zeroes in their bank account, to which James responds, I’ll give you a few if you want them, love.

Regulus really does fall off his chair at that.

He confirms that James crochets, and James sends him a picture of the beanie he made for his secretary before Christmas. Regulus stares at it for five minutes before bringing the phone back to his ear, says, “Somehow this might be the hottest thing about you,” and James laughs so loud a woman on the tube yells at him.

They bicker, but Regulus can feel himself softening. Hates it but doesn’t know how to stop it. The warm and boneless feeling that comes over him every time James calls him love, says baby, says his name, strong and sure—it’s ruining him.

“Just fuck him and get him out of my system, huh?” Regulus asks Barty one night, phone on the counter while he stirs noodles in homemade alfredo sauce. “You’ve never given me shittier advice in your life, Crouch.”

“In my defense, I genuinely thought that would work. It’s worked for me in the past.”

“Was Evan a ‘fuck him and get him out of your system’ guy?”

Barty is silent for a moment before he replies, “Yeah. Yeah, he was.”

“Fuck you very much.”

“It’s not my fault the first time you tried it, it didn’t work!” Barty argues. “I’m telling you. It’s worked in the past.”

Regulus adjusts the stove dials. “Yeah, well. It didn’t work this time. So I repeat: fuck you very much.”

“While we’re on the subject, is it true you let James take a bite out of you in Amsterdam?”

“We weren’t on the subject, but yes. It’s true. Several bites, actually.”

Barty snorts sardonically. “Some vampire hunter you are.”

“I’m thinking about retirement, actually.”

“Really?”

“My brother did it,” Regulus points out. “Why can’t I?”

“That’s fair.” Barty takes a swig of his drink before continuing. “Are you sure about this? James, I mean.”

Regulus fidgets with the hem of his jumper. “I’m not sure about anything anymore, but maybe that’s better than what my life has been.”

“Oh?”

He’s very aware he’s about to gnaw right through his bottom lip. “I mean, I’ve only ever been a hunter. I didn’t get to go to school like Sirius. And he has Remus. But I have…what? A hundred different cities under my belt and no one to share them with? A kill count longer than War and Peace? James is the most irritating person I’ve ever met, but I think I might actually like that about him.”

Barty makes a noncommittal noise. “You deserve to be happy, Reg. You won’t get any arguments from us about who you choose to spend your time with.”

“I know. But I didn’t think I’d be with a vampire. I’m supposed to hate and hunt them, y’know?”

“I’ll be honest, I saw this coming from a mile away,” Barty says with a laugh. “James is totally your brand of weird. But for what it’s worth, I think you’re his brand of weird, too.”

It’s nearly midnight, and Grimmauld is silent.

Regulus is curled up in bed with a book, dressed in a jumper that swallows his lithe form, a mug of steaming tea on his nightstand. Comfy, even as the January chill creeps into the townhouse. His room is lit by nothing but the full moon; it gives him just enough light to read by. He flips a page, engrossed, when his phone buzzes beside him. His heart threatens to beat right out of his ribcage when he reaches for it.

“Hello?”

“Hi, baby.”

Even over the phone, James’ voice melts Regulus right through his mattress, the bedframe, and all four floors of Grimmauld Place.

“Hi,” he manages, pushing up in bed. He puts the phone on speaker and settles against the pile of pillows against his headboard. Anxious, he yanks the sleeves of his jumper over his hands. Well, not his jumper. It’s James’. All black and made of fine cashmere, it’s the softest thing Regulus owns.

“How are you?” James asks, and then to someone else, “Cappuccino, please.”

Regulus pulls his legs up to his chest and rests his chin on his knees. “I’m okay. Just reading.”

“What time is it in London?”

“A little past midnight.”

“Ah. Regulus hours, then.” James is smiling; Regulus can hear it in his voice. “What are you reading?”

Regulus is so warm. “What Moves the Dead. It’s a retelling of Poe’s The Fall of the House of Usher. It’s short, but really good. I like it.”

“Horror?”

“Sort of. More…gothic than horror, I think. It’s creepy, but not scary.”

James says, muffled, “Thank you so much,” and then, clearer, “Sounds like your kind of thing. Do you want me to leave you alone to read?”

Regulus shakes his head before he remembers James can’t see him. “It’s fine. I’m in-between chapters.”

“Perfect. I’m heading back to my hotel now. Care to keep me company?”

“If I say no?”

James scoffs. “As if you could, love. I’ve got that pretty little body wrapped tight around my finger.”

“You do not. You’re getting too confident if that’s what you think.”

“Oh? And I suppose you have some grand plan to humble me?”

“I have a few ideas,” Regulus says.

“I’m all ears, love.”

He hums, pretends to mull it over. Then asks, “Did I tell you about the guy from Waterstones?”

A beat. “What guy from Waterstones?”

“I went the other day to buy a book. This one, actually. Anyway, he works the register. We talked for a few minutes. He likes horror, too. And he’s really cute.”

“Is he now?” James’ voice is too calm. Too even and smooth.

Regulus bites back a grin. “He asked me out for coffee.”

“Really? How sweet. Tell me, what about him is so cute?”

“Well,” Regulus says, grin broadening, “he’s got long brown hair. A nice fringe. Gorgeous eyes. Hm, what else. Oh, he’s tall. Great shoulders. He definitely works out. And did I mention he works at the bookstore? My favorite place?”

“You did mention that, actually. And did you get Mister Great Shoulders’ name, by chance?”

“I did. His name is Noah. He’s an exchange student from France.”

“Mm. Noah.” James rolls the name around on his tongue, but Regulus can tell he doesn’t like the taste. “And he asked you out on a date? To get coffee?”

Regulus bites the inside of his cheek. “He did.”

“Interesting.” Silence for a long moment broken only by the sounds of Manhattan in the background. “And what did you say?”

“I told him I’ll think about it.”

“You’ll think about it.”

“Mhm.” Regulus plucks at the hem of his socks. They cut off just below his knees and have definitely seen better days. “He asked if I have a boyfriend beforehand. It was very respectful.”

“I’m assuming you told him no, you don’t.”

Regulus bites the inside of his cheeks. “I did.”

“Of course you did. Though I seem to recall it was you, love, not me, who said we’re not in a relationship. Should I pull up the texts? Jog your memory?”

“Oh, no. I remember. It’s just that Noah asked me out on a proper date—”

“Coffee is not a proper date.”

“—and you haven’t.”

James sucks his teeth. “Noted.” There’s the sound of a lock turned and a door pushed open. Soft thuds as James tosses the contents of his pockets on a table. “Can we change the subject?”

“Sure.”

“Tell me what you’re wearing, baby.”

Regulus goes molten, warmth spreading low. He straightens his legs out in front of him. “Stockings. A jumper. Sleep shorts. Nothing special.”

“The stockings—are they knee highs? Thigh highs?”

“Knee. I don’t own thigh highs.”

“We’ll have to fix that.” Running water from a faucet while James washes his hands. “And the jumper?”

Regulus smiles. “Yours.”

“The one I left you in Amsterdam?”

“Yes.”

“That’s my favorite one. I know you look gorgeous in it.”

Regulus huffs a laugh. “It’s too big on me.”

“Not a bad thing. Is your hair still red at the ends?”

“Yeah. Barty dyed it again last week.”

“Good, good. I love that hair. Alright, I think I’ve got you in my head.” James’ voice dips, touches on something in Regulus that makes him squirm.

He fidgets with the hem, tugs at his stockings. “I could just send you a picture, you know.”

“You could, if you want.”

It takes Regulus a few minutes. He doesn’t know what to do, what works best, and the lighting isn’t great. But he’s nothing if not tenacious. He waits with bated breath after it sends.

James whistles low. “You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?”

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you.” There’s the sound of a belt buckle, a dull thud, and James says, “Leave the jumper and the stockings, but take off the shorts.”

Regulus isn’t breathing. “What?”

“I know you heard me. Take off the shorts, love.”

His whole body is on fire, heart racing in his chest. He hurries to remove his shorts and tosses them off the bed. He pushes the jumper up his chest and reaches for his phone. He sets it beside him on the pillow, if only to hear James’ voice as close as he can.

“Did you take them off?”

“Yes,” Regulus breathes. He glances down at his cock. It fills slowly, curving towards his stomach. His hands rest in the divots of his hips, fingers twitching. He wants to touch, but not yet. This is their game, and Regulus won’t admit it, but he fucking loves it when they play. So he waits. Waits until he hears—

“Touch yourself, Regulus.”

The first brush of his palm is electric, a current that zings up his spine to his brain and sends shivers throughout his whole body. He closes his eyes and moans softly as his hand works in slow strokes.

“Imagine it’s my hand, not yours.”

“One step ahead of you,” Regulus manages, his mind already supplying him with images of James on his knees, lips red and shiny. He thinks of Stockholm and Amsterdam often, uses them to get himself off when James is too busy to call and help him through it.

Thankfully, tonight is a night when James’ voice is syrup sweet in his ear, a gentle guide as Regulus works his own cock. Pretends it’s a pretty, tattooed hand. Pretends it’s long fingers and a cursed tongue working together in tandem. His breathing becomes a little uneven at the thought.

“I bet you’re all flushed and pretty,” James says, low and dark. “I’d sell my soul to have my head between your thighs right now.”

Shivers rack Regulus’ frame. “Do vampires even have souls?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Doesn’t really matter. Mine is all yours, anyway.” Another shiver. He bites his lip to hold back the moan clawing at his throat. “But I need you to focus, love. Can you do that for me?”

“I can focus.”

“Promise?”

“James,” Regulus whines, because James always does this. It’s a marathon, not a race, love, but they haven’t talked on the phone in days and Regulus waited. He was good. So now he’s a little irritated—a little pissed off, even—and doesn’t have the patience for James’ shit.

“Sorry,” he says with a low laugh. “I forgot.” There’s the telltale sound of a zipper, then James sighs, long and drawn out. “I hate that I don’t know when I’ll see you again. Can’t you just come with me everywhere?”

Regulus brushes his thumb through the wetness leaking from the head of his cock. His moan is soft, tentative. Still too loud for the quiet of his bedroom. “Being around you every single day sounds like actual torture.”

“You know, you have a lot of attitude for someone who begged me to fuck him.”

“I didn’t beg,” Regulus argues.

“It’s fine, love. I can get you to beg again.”

“Fuck off.”

“Sexy,” James deadpans.

“I hate you.”

“But you’re wet right now, aren’t you? Nothing gets you going quite like telling me you hate me.”

Regulus grits his teeth at the bolt of pleasure that goes through him. It isn’t so much James’ words that do it but the implication. James has catalogued these small pieces of him, put them away somewhere and kept them. It’s the thrill of being known. Of being understood.

“Next time we meet,” James starts, drawing Regulus from the pleasured haze in his head, “I want you to do something for me.”

“Of course you do.”

“I want you to sit on my face.”

Regulus coughs, cheeks hot. His hand stills. “What?”

“You heard me, love. But do you want me to say it again?” There’s a lilt to James’ voice, a little something like mischief. “Or would you rather I describe in detail how I’m going to eat you out?”

“Fuck,” Regulus breathes, hips stuttering forward and into his hand. “That’s—God.”

“Say my name when you touch yourself. No one else’s.”

Regulus makes a small noise in his throat, but he’s too focused on the warmth pooling in his abdomen. Spreading out into his blood, his bones. Hears himself whimper James’ name, feels the heat spread. He’s embarrassed but he’s shameless.

“Better. How do you feel? You’re doing so well, baby.”

Oh. Oh, the praise. Regulus wants to meld with his mattress and disappear. “Good,” he manages. His throat is dry from parted lips and heavy breaths. “I wish it was you, though.”

James laughs softly. “You’re meant to imagine it is me.”

“I’ve been imagining it’s you for a year. But I know the difference now, so it’s not so easy anymore.”

The admission slips out of Regulus before he can stop it. His brain is too muddled, thick with cotton as the pleasure builds. He wants to take it back, stuff it down his throat, forget I said that, but it’s too late.

“I didn’t realize Copenhagen had such an effect on you.”

“Bullshit,” Regulus mutters. He relents himself to the fact that James knows now. There’s no point in lying anymore. “You’ve been calling my bluff for ages.”

“It’s just nice to hear you admit it.” James hisses, and Regulus bites his bottom lip. He thinks of James alone in his hotel room, jeans open and hand working himself as he coaxes Regulus along.

“How do you feel?”

Another soft laugh. “I’m good. Just thinking about how pretty you’ll look when you ride me.”

Regulus wants to kill him for the mental image, the absolute devastation to his self-control. It’s the when that does it. James’ confidence that See you next time isn’t a goodbye anymore but a promise of what might happen the next time their paths cross. Regulus lets his imagination run wild, hand working a little faster, and thinks of himself with James underneath him. That look of awe and admiration he wears when Regulus comes.

“James, I’m close,” he whispers into the dim of his room. He squeezes his eyes shut, then opens them wide when his back arches off the pillows. “I’m—Fuck, I’m right there.”

“Then stop.”

Regulus whimpers, but he stills his hand, fingers wrapped around the base of his cock to bring himself away from the edge. “I hate you for this.”

“And yet you listen every time.” His voice is a little teasing when he adds, “You need to hear how good I think you are, don’t you?”

Yes. “No.”

“I don’t even need to hear your heartbeat skip to know you’re lying.”

“I am not.”

“You can touch yourself again. Go ahead,” James instructs, coy. “An ocean between us and you’re still this good for me? I’m a lucky, lucky man.”

Regulus grits his teeth as he starts to move his hand again. He’s dripping all over it in earnest now. “You’re pissing me off. You know that?”

“Does it help if I promise to reward you?”

“No.” Regulus is dangerously close to the edge again.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about Stockholm. You were right, love. I was holding back. I think I just wanted to fuck you so bad that I didn’t care about anything other than getting inside you.”

Jesus Christ.

Regulus breathes through his nose, tries to steady his racing heart, but it’s no use. James is on a roll.

“But this time? This time I’m going to draw it out. I want hours, love. I want you begging. I want you to come so many times you forget every name that isn’t mine.” A pause. “Stop.”

“F-Fuck you,” Regulus stutters, his hand stilling. “I’m right there, James.”

“I know. I can always tell.” He waits, then says, “Keep going.”

Regulus is losing his mind. Feels it spiraling right out of him with each word that comes from James’ mouth. It doesn’t take long before he’s moaning, obscene and broken, into the darkness of his room. He’s so thankful he lives alone, that no one else can hear the whimpers and whines that fall from his lips each time James tells him Stop, waits, then says, Keep going.

“How close are you?” James asks, and Regulus wants to cry from the ache, the need.

“Close,” he manages.

“Be specific, baby. Do you feel the edge? Can you taste it?”

“Yes.” He squeezes his eyes shut. He’s close, so close, needs only a little more, a few seconds if James keeps talking like this. Keeps telling Regulus how he’ll take him apart, make him squirm and beg and scream. “James. James, I’m—”

James’ voice settles over him, so soft. “Keep going, baby. Just like that. Are you there?”

Regulus’ back arches. He says, “Yes. Yes, I’m—”

“Good. Then I want you to call Noah and see if he can finish the fucking job better than I can.”

Regulus startles, ripped so violently from his orgasm he almost chokes. “Wh—?”

But the line is already dead, and without James’ voice to coax him to climax, he’s left aching, hand fisted around his cock but the pleasure gone. He sits up and stares at his phone, flabbergasted. He supposes this is what he gets for teasing. Really, he should’ve known better. Bringing up the guy at the bookstore was the equivalent of digging his own grave.

He’s learned that James has a bit of a jealous streak. A possessive one, too. He pokes at it sometimes, but never once has James done this. Regulus drops back against the pillows with a groan. He tries to imagine it, James’ hand back on him, but without James’ voice in his ear, he doesn’t feel anything but empty.

“Fuck you, James,” he mutters to his phone, sticking his tongue out at the black screen.

He gets up and walks to his bathroom, turns the shower nozzle to cold, and lets the icy water cool his burning skin. It does little for his erection until he forces himself to think of everything but James. It takes him thirty minutes to calm down before he gets out and crawls back in bed, naked and shivering.

He checks his phone—0 Messages. 0 Missed Calls.

“I hate you,” Regulus mutters, tossing it off his bed to the floor.

He should probably tell Noah to get the hell out of London.

Regulus
James. It’s been 3 days.
Cut this shit out.
I was joking.

James
Is Noah not doing it for you anymore?

Regulus
I’m not going out with him
I told him no when he asked

James
Oh that’s good to hear
I’m not a fan of how the French taste.

Regulus
I fucking hate you

James
Love it when you talk dirty
<3

There are some nights when Regulus is left all alone with his thoughts, feelings jumbled up and messy in his chest. He’s never been very good at making sense of them. It’s easier to ignore, to push them aside and forget they exist. But they’re getting too big, too damn persistent, and he doesn’t know yet how he’s meant to deal with them.

He stands in front of his bathroom mirror and stares at his reflection. Gray eyes and black curls, pale skin and a face he knows but doesn’t find familiar anymore. He tilts his head to one side and then the other, fingers featherlight against mirrored tiny scars on his neck—Copenhagen on the left, Amsterdam on the right. A third from Amsterdam a little beneath Copenhagen.

James is good. His bites are clean, the marks hardly bigger than a pinky nail. Regulus has seen entire throats ripped out, so he’ll admit he’s impressed with James’ skill.

He pulls at the neckline of his shirt to expose his left shoulder—Amsterdam.

They are pins in a map on the wall. A macabre road trip memorialized in his skin. He’s missing Berlin, and Oslo, and Paris, and Stockholm, but thinks, We can meet there again. We can go another time. It shouldn’t excite him, the prospect, but it does, here alone in his bathroom with the lights dim enough he feels safe.

He’s his reflection, watching. Not within his body but without.

Nothing feels quite right anymore. He thinks he’s only half alive, sometimes.

Maybe James broke him after all.

Regulus runs the pad of his index finger over the scars on his shoulder. They aren’t raised, and they don’t stand out. His skin is pale enough; even he has to squint to find them.

You don’t own me, James Potter.

Those bites on your neck say otherwise.

Yes, he thinks now.

They do.

“Alright, spill.” Barty collapses on the couch beside Regulus, a bowl of popcorn in hand.

It’s supposed to be movie night, but from the second Regulus walked in the door, Evan and Barty have bombarded him with questions about James.

“Yes. Details. We want all of them.” Evan sits to Regulus’ left, a box of Milk Duds balanced precariously on his knee. “There’s no detail too small, either.”

“Speaking of size…” Barty trails off, one eyebrow raised.

“You’re so right, B.” Evan pops a Milk Dud in his mouth and shifts his gaze to Regulus, suddenly serious. “Reggie, be honest with us. Are we talking ‘It’s nice enough to get the job done, but nothing to write home about,’ or ‘I would commit several war crimes for a chance to ride him harder than a cowboy can ride a bull’?”

Regulus’ looks at him blankly. “I’m sorry but, what the fuck did you just say?”

“Oh, please.” Barty rolls his eyes, exasperated. “We’re talking about dick, Regulus. More specifically, we’re talking about James’ dick. Come on. We need to know. You can’t fuck him and not tell us. We’re your best friends and it’s been weeks!”

“Honestly. I’m starting to think you’re gatekeeping vital information about vampires,” Evan remarks. He pops another Milk Dud in his mouth. “We need to know for science’s sake, Reg. I don’t know many hunters who’ve had the opportunity you’ve had.”

“I’m pretty sure there isn’t a single one,” Barty remarks.

Regulus crosses his arms and kicks his feet up on the coffee table. “You don’t need to know anything.”

“My dear, dear Regulus,” Barty says slowly. “My best friend since childhood. My platonic and most deranged soulmate. My—”

“What?”

“You went from ‘vampire hunter’ to ‘vampire fucker’ in the span of a year. And one who plans to commit repeat offenses. His dick has to be huge. You’re too fucking stubborn.” Barty turns to Evan. “Is Regulus not the most stubborn person we know?”

“The most,” Evan agrees around a mouthful of chocolate.

Regulus huffs, gaze turned to the ceiling. “I still hate him.”

“Sure you do. Are you about to tell us you’re straight, too? Is this a night for telling lies?”

“No, it’s a night for watching a movie. Which we are not doing. I’ve been waiting for this all week. Can we please just—”

“Um, no?” Barty interrupts, incredulous. “We want details first. Positions. Skill level. Technique. Size, Reggie. Come on, we all know you’re a size queen.”

Regulus glances sidelong at him, brow furrowed. “I have no idea what that even means.”

“Because you live under a rock and read about dead things.”

“I do not. Besides, I can’t tell you. I forgot.”

Evan reaches over to grip his chin and yank his face to the left so they’re nose-to-nose. “No, you didn’t. I’ve seen you put your phone down so fast. So look me dead in the eyes right now and swear on Sirius’ life that James hasn’t sent you pictures of his dick.”

“Oh, good one, Ev,” Barty pipes up.

Regulus sneers at Evan. “You’re a bastard, you know that? I can’t believe you brought my brother into this. You know—Hey! Barty, that’s my phone!”

But Barty is already up and running for the stairs, his laughter pure mania as he bolts, takes the steps two at a time and shouts over his shoulder, “Evan! Babe, come on! Do you remember Reggie’s password?”

“It’s Sirius’ birthday. One-one-zero-three.”

“Got it! We’re in!”

“Barty!” Regulus calls after him, scrambling to his feet and running up the stairs so fast he nearly slips on the carpet. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

Barty slams the bedroom door behind him, but before he can turn the lock, Regulus shoves it open. He tackles Barty to the floor and they go down in a heap of limbs, Evan’s laughter little more than a wheeze from where he watches by the door.

“Just—let me—see!” Barty shouts, arms outstretched to keep Regulus, who he’s managed to hold down with his legs, at bay. “One look. Come on, Reggie, it’s vampire dick!”

“There’s nothing special about it. It looks like a normal dick!” Regulus lunges for his phone, but Barty tightens his hold and holds Regulus down. He’s taller, more muscular, and Regulus wants to strangle him for it. But he goes slack, gives in, and says, “You know what? Fuck it. Go ahead. It’s all mine, anyway.”

Barty snorts. “Cocky little thing, aren’t you? Here, Ev. You first.”

He tosses the phone at Evan, who scrolls through it for a minute before he whistles low under his breath. “Yeah, this is a Dick. Capital D. And compliments to him on the lighting. This shit is better than the Mona Lisa. Here, B. Look.”

Regulus drops his head back against the carpet when Barty lets him go.

“Damn, Reggie,” Barty marvels, eyes trained on the screen. “You took all this? Impressive.”

“I’m actually regretting all of my life choices right now.”

“Yeah, well. Good dick will do that to you.” Barty scrolls a little more. “Holy shit. Wait a minute. This guy is fucking into you. How often do you two talk?”

Regulus throws an arm over his eyes. His cheeks are warm. “Every day.”

“Clearly. Oh. Oh, wow. He’s sweet, too. Does he seriously text you every morning?”

“Yes.”

Evan chokes back a cough. “‘I ordered you stockings. The thigh high ones. See you next time.’ Excuse me?”

Regulus nods, but keeps his arm firmly planted over his eyes. He’s blushing to his ears, hot all over. “He, uh, likes those. They’re nice. Really soft.”

“You are so gone for him,” Barty marvels, but it isn’t mocking.

“How long do you think I’ve got before I regret this?”

“Regret what, exactly?”

Regulus gestures vaguely above him with his other arm. “James. Whatever this is. I haven’t taken a job in weeks. Why? Because I feel wrong. He asked me about it the other day. Said his sources couldn’t give him a city to find me in because I’m still in London.”

“Are you afraid of seeing him?”

“No. I want to see him. I just…” Regulus trails off, unsure what exactly he feels. “Anyway, I have a job lined up in Rome this weekend. A little money. Nothing major. Maybe it’ll help me figure shit out.”

Evan nudges his foot. “Do you think you’ll see him?”

“Do you want to?” Barty asks.

“I don’t know.”

It’s a lie, of course.

Regulus paces his room the following night, duffle packed on his bed and phone clutched tight in hand. He hasn’t answered James’ last text for hours. He leaves them unanswered sometimes, or waits an entire day to reply. It kills him, if only because he wants to talk to James, but it’s the last vestige of control he has over whatever this is becoming.

Over whatever it is he’s feeling.

With a sigh, he sits down on the edge of his bed. Types. Deletes. Types again.

Regulus
Piazza della Trinità dei Monti, 6

He wants to throw his phone across the room. His heart lodges in his throat while he waits.

Then, a buzz.

James
???

Regulus
Google it.

More waiting. More anxiety.

“What is happening to me?” he mumbles, head in his hands.

His heart jumps when his phone buzzes again.

James
Hotel Hassler Roma???

Regulus
Figure it out.

He all but gave James his whereabouts on a silver platter, but he supposes time will tell if James makes good on it. He’s nowhere close to Italy—in Hong Kong, maybe—but he’ll make it happen, if he wants to see Regulus as bad as he claims.

Regulus leaves his phone on the nightstand, crawls into bed, and tries not to think about it.

The seventh time they meet is in Rome.

Regulus finishes the job before sunset. He’s anxious, nervous energy buzzing through his blood, and the vampire he takes down doesn’t stand a chance. He’s another one gone rogue, preying on tourists and leaving their bodies in pieces. Regulus doesn’t feel bad when he uses the anxious energy in his bones to not just stake this one, but also behead him.

James didn’t answer his last text, and he hasn’t reached out to James. In a moment of weakness, he checked flights from Hong Kong, but he doesn’t know which airline or flight James might’ve picked.

If he picked one at all.

Regulus returns to his room covered in blood beneath his long coat. He shrugs it all off and tosses it in the rubbish bin, irritated at yet another ruined set of clothes. At least his room is nice; he spared no expense this time. It’s massive, not his usual style, but there are parts of it he couldn’t say no to.

There’s a single mirror built into the ceiling over the bed, another long one above the headboard. They’re bordered by gorgeous crown molding, pristine without a single smudge on the glass. The only amenity better is the deep jacuzzi tub and shower with a thousand spray nozzles.

He’s going to be furious if he’s forced to spend the entire weekend staring at all of the places he could’ve been fucked, bottle of wine in hand and alone.

Regulus takes a long, hot shower to quell some of his anxiety. After, he messes with his hair. Runs his fingers through his curls to shake them out but doesn’t know if he should try. The tips have faded to a soft peach, but he likes them. In a way, they remind him of James.

He dresses slowly in an attempt to keep his heartbeat calm. There’s a full-length mirror behind the bathroom door, and he twists this way and that, biting his lip. James’ cashmere jumper comes just below the curve of his ass when he stands tall, and the thigh-high black socks are soft against his skin. He tries not to feel silly, dressed like James will come when he doesn’t know if he will.

“It’s your own damn fault,” he mutters, ruffling his hair again. “Could’ve just sent the dates you’re here. The room number. Anything.”

Regulus is curled up in a chair by the window, wine uncorked, picking at the hem of his stockings when there’s a knock on the door. His heart stumbles, but he refuses to hope. It could be anyone. Room service, even. Didn’t order it but—

Regulus yelps when a strong arm circles his waist, lifting him clear off the ground. The door bangs against the wall, pushed the rest of the way before he even opened it fully. He hears the sound of a duffle dropped to the floor, forgotten.

He wraps his legs around a narrow waist, his arms thrown over broad shoulders, fingers lost in soft curls and lips pressed to a warm mouth. A laugh bubbles out of him, unbridled and free. There’s desperation and need in every kiss. A sense of finally, finally, you’re here.

“You came,” Regulus says between frantic, open-mouthed kisses.

“Hi, baby.” James kicks the door closed behind him and has Regulus against the wall in the same step, hands underneath his thighs to hold him aloft. He molds their bodies from chest to hip, and his finger finds the concave under Regulus’ chin to tilt his head back. “I missed this mouth so fucking much. Missed these thighs. Missed your face. God, this face. Beautiful. You. Oh, I missed you.”

Regulus feels warm everywhere James touches him. Blooms hot where James kisses him. But he doesn’t know what to do with this. How does he handle I missed you? The words wrap around him like a vine, tangle in his skin and make him wonder why he ever thought he hated James. He wants to say, I missed you, too, but the words lodge in his throat.

Instead, he whispers, “I should’ve known you’d be a hopeless romantic.”

“Through and through, once you get past the fangs.” James mouths at Regulus’ jaw. He runs his nose the length of Regulus’ jugular and hums, the vibration reverberating across Regulus’ burning skin. “You smell delicious.”

Regulus’ fingers run through soft curls, dance along a sharp jawline, trail down a corded neck. Desperate to touch, to feel. “Just showered.”

“Mm. It’s that, but it’s something else, too.” James nuzzles into his neck and inhales deep into his lungs. “You smell like fresh rain. Cool morning air.”

Regulus curves his hand around the back of James’ neck. “Oh?”

James’ tongue glides flat over Regulus’ pulse point, and his voice breaks when he says, “Baby, please.”

It’s reverent and desperate, and it makes Regulus go pliant in James’ arms.

“You can, if you w—Oh. Oh, fuck.” Regulus’ back arches, though there isn’t much room for him to move. He’s pinned against the wall, arms and legs wrapped tight around James to hold them close. The sharp pain in his neck fades, twists, turns sensual as he feels his blood pulled from his body. It flows right out of him, down James’ throat, and he is so grateful he has something this precious to give. He thought it was a side effect of being high, when they were in Amsterdam. Thought the connection to it, the feel of it, had everything to do with the drugs.

He realizes now that he was very, very wrong.

James pulls away too soon, but his lips find Regulus’ in an instant. They taste metallic but are so soft, and something blooms in Regulus’ chest, takes root behind his ribcage and pushes. He clings tighter when James carries him to the bed, lays him out and follows him down.

James kneels on the edge and shrugs off his jacket, tossing it to the floor. His fingers circle Regulus’ ankle to lift his leg, and he mouths at the fabric of his stockings, moves along the inside of his calf, his knee.

“These suit you,” he muses, a smile playing on his lips. His fingers ghost along Regulus’ outer thigh—and stop. “What’s this?”

Regulus huffs a laugh. He digs his heel into James’ shoulder for leverage and lifts his hips to yank at the hem of his jumper. “I took a few liberties.”

“Fuck yeah, you did.” James’ expression is nothing short of awe. “Did you stake me at the door? Is my version of Heaven just you in a garter belt and—wait, is this lingerie?” He fingers the thin strip of elastic that connects the top of Regulus’ stockings to the satin belt around his waist. His touch is featherlight when he grazes the lace edge of a black G-string. “You really do hate me.”

“What made you think otherwise?” Regulus pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. “Is it too much?”

“Too much?” James chokes. He ducks his head to lean forward and press a kiss to Regulus’ left thigh. “You realize I’m fucking you in the stockings, right? They’re not coming off.”

“That was kind of the point.”

“I’m serious when I say—” James moves to the right thigh, “—that if there’s a God, I’m getting on my knees to bow and thank him for creating you.”

“Then you’re getting on your knees for the wrong man.” Regulus leans forward and fists both hands in James’ shirt. He pulls him down, slots their bodies together, and hikes his legs up around James’ hips.

Their kisses grow more desperate with each passing second, and Regulus pulls at James’ shirt until he sits back to yank it over his head. Regulus tosses the jumper on the floor, and it’s a frantic scramble to undo the buttons and zipper of James’ jeans. Neither of them want to separate for long, but it’s almost impossible to do this while doing that, so eventually Regulus mumbles, “Just take off your fucking jeans,” and James stands, hops on one leg when they get bloody stuck on my fucking ankle, until finally his weight settles over Regulus again.

James rolls his hips forward; he’s hard, a wet spot forming on his briefs, and Regulus aches. He wants every piece of fabric that keeps them from being skin on skin gone. He must say as much without meaning to, because James mutters, “Sorry, love. I’ll buy you more,” and there’s a ripping sound, the snap of clips, and Regulus shivers when cool air brushes newly-bared skin.

“I liked those,” he laments, a little petulant. “I really thought they’d last longer.”

“You overestimated my self-control.”

Everywhere James touches him—with lips or hands or the tip of his tongue—Regulus burns. James kisses along his neck, down his chest. Shifts left to take a peaked nipple in his mouth, uses teeth and tongue to pull sounds from Regulus that he didn’t know he could make. His hips roll, erection trapped against James’ thigh, and he tries to adjust, to—

“Cut that out,” James says, moving to Regulus’ other nipple. “I’m taking my time.”

“It’s been weeks,” Regulus whines, and he shifts his leg. It brushes James’ cock, and the fingers gripping his flank dig, hard and unyielding.

“Who was it that told me not to hold back?”

“I wish you had the memory of a goldfish.” Regulus arches when James begins to mouth along his sternum, down his abdomen, fingers trailing along Regulus’ side.

“I don’t think that’s true.” Little nips here, a gentle bite there.

Teeth at his hipbone, so close to where he’s desperate for James to be. Regulus throws his head back, lips parted from the sound that rips through him. His gaze finds their bodies reflected in the mirror above—and what a sight this is.

Tanned skin contrasts with his own. He watches James push his thighs apart to make room for himself in-between. Regulus can’t stop his hands from reaching down. His fingers brush over James’ shoulders, the intricate lines of a tattoo on his back. Muscles move and contract under his hands, under black ink, under beautiful golden skin.

Regulus doesn’t want to let him go. His ankles cross behind James, locking him in. Regulus both watches and feels when James noses along the inside of his thigh.

“Reg, love. Eyes on me.”

Regulus shakes his head. “They are.”

James turns his head and meets Regulus’ gaze in the mirror. His smile is a crooked, mischievous thing. “I guess that works, too.” He hooks his arms under Regulus’ thighs, palms pressed flat to his abdomen, and ducks to lick a line from the base of Regulus’ cock to the head, that damn piece of metal in his tongue like a second touch.

Regulus cries out, his vision white, and fists his fingers in the sheets. His ankles dig into James’ back, and another pass of James’ tongue turns him boneless, desperate. More, he wants to demand, but the words don’t come. James’ hands ghost over his skin, but it’s a deceptively gentle touch. A prelude to the way he swallows Regulus’ cock down to the back of his throat, takes it until his nose brushes coarse curls.

“Fuck, right there,” Regulus manages, and James hums in response. It only sends Regulus further into a heady mix of pleasure and agony. He can feel the back of James’ throat, the slide of tongue and metal, and he’s dangerously close to losing his mind.

It doesn’t take long. Between the sight above him and the pleasure building in his spine, Regulus is close. He can feel the pull to the edge with each second James spends between his thighs. For a second, he thinks James might really let him fall, but there’s a resounding wet pop, and James leans over him, lips swollen and slick with spit, grinning.

“Every fucking time,” Regulus moans, his body a livewire.

“Get up, love.”

Regulus’ brows skyrocket. “Why?”

With a roll of his eyes, James turns over and lies flat on his back. “It seems you are the one with the memory of a goldfish. I told you before—I want you to sit on my face.”

Regulus’ mind goes completely blank. There’s nothing between his ears but static when he pushes up, body trembling with anticipation and a need for release. James’ gaze is hungry, pupils blown right to the edges of his irises, and Regulus almost wishes he didn’t have to turn around and away from that look of awe.

He opens his legs and settles on his knees. His cock leaks all over James’ chest, and he tenses at the first breath against his entrance. Until James’ fingers trail down the divot of his spine, a gentle worship.

“You’re nervous,” he remarks. He traces over Regulus’ spine again. “Haven’t you done this before?”

“I have.” Regulus shudders; James’ touch is so light it’s almost ticklish. “But it’s different. Now.”

“Why?”

Regulus squeezes his eyes shut tight. Breathes in through his nose and says, “Because it’s you.”

There’s no response except a low moan at the back of James’ throat. His hands wrap around Regulus’ thighs to pull him down, merciless. The silky smooth glide of a wet tongue over his entrance makes him jolt forward, a withered sound ripped from his throat. James’ grip tightens, and he pulls Regulus back and down a second time.

“Regulus.” His licks are lazy; he’s taking his time, unraveling whatever holds Regulus’ bones together. “Sit, baby.”

“But you can’t—” Regulus chokes, overwhelmed. “You can’t—fuck—”

James laughs. “Breathe? I’m a vampire, love. I don’t need to.”

Regulus thinks maybe, just maybe, he’s died and gone to heaven.

He lets James pull him down, broken moans spilling from his throat as James continues to lap at his hole. It’s the flat glide of a tongue, piercing catching on his rim, and Regulus squirms. All of his pieces and parts are coming undone with that tongue. Reduced to his most base self by the tip of it, circling his rim in languid, slow circles. Unhurried.

James smacks his ass, kneads at it and moans, obscene, and Regulus’ entire body shivers. He grinds back, wants more, and James hums, content to provide. Another smack, another gentle knead to soften the blow, and endless swipes of his tongue.

Regulus whines when James pushes him up and off—no, no, no, not yet—but James merely assures, amused, “Not done, love,” and then there’s a thumb pushed into him, pulling gently at the tight ring of muscle. James spits once, twice, uses his tongue to push it inside and Regulus is finished.

His hands are on his thighs, flat on James’ chest, reaching back to grab the headboard. He can’t keep them anywhere for long; he’s trembling, and now there are two fingers inside of him, stretching, and he wants to cry, manages a broken sob, and oh, there’s that tongue again and he is gonegonegone.

“James. James,” he says, over and over like a prayer, like it’s blasphemy to say anything else. He reaches for his cock, but James’ hand comes down hard on his ass.

“No. Don’t touch.” James nips at the back of his thigh. Does it again but this time, it’s with the tips of his fangs. A cat scratch to draw blood to the surface and lick it clean. “I want you to come like this.”

Yes.

Regulus gives himself over to it—the warm and wet demand of James’ mouth, the burn and pleasure of a third finger pushed into him. He feels cracked open, split apart. Hears soft moans as though from a distance. He knows they’re his, growing louder. It’s a high closing in but still out of reach.

“So good for me,” James praises, gentle.

Regulus is shivering but hot all over. He’s desperate to reach down and take his cock in hand, but he wants this—James in control of it all. It isn’t until James says, You can come, love, that he wraps fingers around his length, works himself that last bit to the edge and finally, the scattered threads of his orgasm pull taut—and he shatters.

“—that’s it, baby, so good,” he hears James murmuring, the sharp edge of his fang a delicious scratch at the backs of Regulus’ thighs. He follows it with gentle licks, another scratch. Pain and pleasure so entwined that Regulus doesn’t know where one ends and the other begins.

James’ hands are on his hips, lifting him up. His legs don’t seem to want to work, but James lays him flat. He sets Regulus’ ankles on his shoulders and leans forward to kiss his forehead, his eyelids, the corner of his mouth. “You did so well.”

“I feel like I’m going to vibrate right out of my skin.”

“We’re not done yet.” James settles back on his heels, grinning.

“The lube’s over there,” Regulus mumbles, gesturing vaguely near his duffle. “I don’t—”

“It’s fine.”

“Wha—Oh, fuck. Okay. Yeah, that’s—God.”

Regulus watches James gather the thick streaks of white from his chest. He coats his fingers, gaze intent as he slips them back inside Regulus; it’s a smooth, wet slide. His face is smug when Regulus grapples for purchase on the bed, back arched and lips parted. James gathers the rest, spits on his palm, and uses the mix of it to coat his length. Regulus has nothing left to give but whatever James asks for, and he’s boneless under him, legs held up only because of James’ shoulders.

“Ready, love?” James asks, turning to kiss his knee.

“My head is so empty right now.” Regulus reaches up to grip the headboard. “But yes. I’m ready. Just—Fuck me, James. Now.”

“Always so bossy.” James lines himself up and pushes forward a fraction. “But I prefer it when you beg.”

He stops.

“Oh, fuck you,” Regulus snaps, hips canting down, but James is good. He pulls back and out, and Regulus whines. “God, I hate you.”

“I know, love.” This time, he pushes in a little further. Stills.

Regulus grits his teeth and stares defiantly up at James. But it’s on the exhale, just as he breathes, “Please,” that James snaps his hips forward, sheaths himself inside Regulus in one smooth, sure stroke, and bottoms out. Regulus writhes, broken sounds all he can manage as James fucks into him in earnest. He’s full, body adjusting to the stretch, but he craves the burn, wants and aches for it.

They don’t stay this way for long, even though Regulus enjoys watching James’ expression shift from pleasure to awe to something close to undoing. He pulls out of Regulus, ignores the whine of protest and flips him. Regulus yelps at the strength and agility of it, the ease. He knows James is strong, didn’t doubt it for a second, but his grip is bruising, his movements sure and precise.

James’ hand pushes him down, and then it’s hands on his hips, pulling them up, and James is back inside him, thrusts brutal and so—

“Good, so fucking good for me,” he hears James saying, over and over. “You were made for me, Regulus. Every single part of you is mine.”

Regulus buries his face in the pillows, but it smells like James and he’s overwhelmed, clawing at his own skin to get out of it. There’s pleasure at the base of his spine, building, but just when he thinks he’s going to explode, James eases to long, languid strokes in and out of him. It pulls him back into his body, grounds him.

There’s a hand in his hair, pulling him upright. This position changes the angle, and James brushes the bundle of nerves inside him with each thrust. He whimpers, lost to it all.

Until his head is yanked back and he’s watching their reflections in the mirror above.

“Look at yourself when I’m fucking you,” James commands, the timber of his voice dipped low. He kisses the curve of Regulus’ shoulder, licks a line along it to the underside of his jaw. “You fall apart so beautifully, baby. Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

Regulus can’t look away from what he sees reflected back at him. James is on his knees, thrusting into him with slow, purposeful strokes. He almost comes from the mere sight of James’ cock disappearing inside him; he watches it, feels it, knows he’s seconds from hysteria.

James grips his hips tight to hold him in place, but Regulus watches one hand trail up his abdomen, over his chest. Sees and feels fingers around his throat. He gasps at the first bit of slight pressure, and his eyes roll back. James shifts behind him, adjusts so every thrust hits the right spot.

“Right there. God, please. Don’t stop,” Regulus moans. He shifts his gaze to the mirror in front of him and stares into James’ eyes, heavy-lidded and dark. The pressure against his throat isn’t enough. He leans into it, asking.

In answer, James’ fingers press a little harder and he asks, lips against Regulus’ ear, “What name do you use when I’m fucking you?”

Regulus’ entire body shivers. He can’t breathe; doesn’t want to, doesn’t need to. He reaches up to fist his fingers in James’ hair, to hold him here, but James shifts back and to the other ear. His hand squeezes tighter, relents, tighter again, and Regulus claws at it with no real desperation, eyes squeezed shut.

“Regulus,” James whispers, dark and commanding. “What name?”

“James.”

“Try again.”

“James,” he repeats, barely a breath.

“Still not right. Beg for it.”

The resounding crack of a hand on his ass, and James’ grip tightens. Regulus sees stars from it; the edges of his vision darken. He’s delirious, pleasure in every atom in every molecule in every cell, and he is so reduced to nothing like this—wants for nothing but this—that it’s easy, so easy, to part his lips and open his eyes, to meet James’ gaze in the mirror above the headboard and breathe,

“Daddy, please.”

James’ grin is a wicked, terribly beautiful thing. “Better.”

His grip slackens and the sudden oxygen to Regulus’ brain after so long without makes him lightheaded. James’ fingers wrap around his cock, and Regulus reaches back to grab at James’ ass, his hips, anything. His fingernails break skin, and James hisses. His laugh is breathy, a little dark, and his arm wraps around Regulus’ waist as his hips snap forward.

“Beg, love.”

Regulus has nothing left. Is nothing, except for this. His head falls back, offering James the curve of his shoulder, the beating pulse at his neck, and he says, over and over until his voice grows hoarse, Please and James, fuck, right there and Don’t stop, daddy, please, and he isn’t sure which phrase does the trick, but James’ hips stutter forward just as Regulus falls apart all over again.

He’s a wave crashing against the shore when he comes with a strangled cry. He keeps his eyes open, watches James’ mouth over his throat, biting down. The mix of pain and pleasure is mind numbingly good, and Regulus can’t look away as twin trails of crimson spill from his neck. He lets James drink, rides the high, and it’s—

Euphoric.

James moans against his skin, thrusts once, stills, and warmth blooms deep as James spills inside him. He’s light-headed from coming, from the blood James takes in deep pulls, and he feels incredible. Never wants to come down from wherever this is because oh, it’s good. It’s so good and he’s—

James makes to move away, but Regulus’ hand curves around the back of his neck, fingers in soft strands so he can hold.

Take more, he wants to say. Take it all.

James’ fingers dig into Regulus’ waist as his hips stutter backwards and forwards. There’s blood on Regulus’ chest, dangerously close to dripping onto the crumpled white sheets, but he doesn’t care. But James forces himself off with a strangled groan, lips bright red and eyes wild. He licks at the puncture wounds to close them, then rests his forehead in the curve of Regulus’ neck.

“You alright, love?” he asks. His voice cracks at the end. “I—I’m sorry. I got a little carried away and I drank too much.”

Regulus shakes his head. “More. I—Take more, James. I want you to.”

James laughs softly. “I can’t. Trust me, I would if I could, but you’ve already lost too much.”

“I’m fine. I don’t care.”

“I do. And trust me, you’re not.” He pulls out with a pained sound, takes his hands from Regulus’ hips and—

Regulus falls forward, dazed and not at all in his body. James manages to catch him before he lands face first in the pillows and smears the bed with a mixture of blood and cum.

“Told you,” James mutters, turning him gently.

Regulus barely registers James’ lips and tongue moving across his stomach and chest. He can see it above him, knows he should feel it, but he’s numb. Fingers and toes tingling, everything light.

James settles beside him, head propped on his hand. “Was that enough for you?”

“Mm.”

“Because I wasn’t holding back, so if that wasn’t enough then I’m at a loss.”

Regulus blinks at him, bleary-eyed. “What?”

James’ grin is smug. “I’m getting the feeling it was enough.”

“Fuck off.”

“That carries a lot less bite when you can’t move.”

Regulus tries, but his arms and legs won’t listen. He huffs and turns his face away into the pillow. “I’m going to shove a stake through your heart when you’re sleeping.”

“Words every man wants to hear after sex.” James maneuvers them until he’s pressed against Regulus’ back, arm wrapped tight around his waist. “Rest, love. I’m not finished.”

It’s much later—how long, he doesn’t know—when Regulus is still boneless and pliant in James’ arms, that they go again.

James nuzzles the nape of his neck, runs a hand the length of his body and down between his thighs. Mumbles, “Yes?” into Regulus’ hair, and laughs softly when Regulus arches his back to feel James’ cock slide through the cleft of his ass.

“Yes.”

James hooks his hand under Regulus’ thigh, lifts his leg and says, “Hold it up for me, baby,” and when he’s satisfied, he guides himself inside Regulus with one smooth, sure stroke.

This time is slow. Neither of them chase an end; there’s only this—James’ lips at the curve of his shoulder and Regulus, full of James and what grows behind his ribs, branching out to follow his bones. When he comes, James holds him close against his chest. A moment later, James spills into him again, and Regulus reaches behind to grip his ass, to keep him close.

They doze for a while. The clock on the nightstand reads 11:37 P.M., but Regulus doesn’t know what it means. He doesn’t remember when James got here. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been tangled together in bed.

At some point, James gets up to go to the bathroom. Regulus hears the sound of water running in the tub, and a minute later there are arms under his knees and shoulders, lifting him easily, sheet and all. James carries him into the bathroom and sets him on the counter. Wraps the sheet around his shoulders to keep him warm.

“Mm.” Regulus’ head lolls; he’s tired, vision blurred. “Hi.”

James laughs softly. He takes Regulus’ face between his hands and kisses him, lazy and gentle, while the water fills behind him. “You alright?”

“M’Okay. Tired.”

“I know, love. We’re done, I promise.”

This snaps Regulus to attention. “No. I want—”

“Again?” James shakes his head in disbelief. “Absolutely not. You need to rest. Bath first, then sleep. We have tomorrow and the day after.”

“How do you know I’m here for three days?”

“Sources, love. I told you.”

Regulus frowns. “Someone in the organization?”

“Mm. Maybe.” James reaches down to pull at Regulus’ stockings, but Regulus grabs his wrists. Stops him. “I have to take them off for the bath. You can’t—”

“Do you think you don’t have to work for it anymore?” Regulus grins as James’ eyes go a bit glassy. He has James in the palm of his hand, waiting. So he says, soft as velvet, “Do it with your teeth, daddy.”

James drops to the floor on his knees, presses his forehead to the inside of Regulus’ thigh and groans. “Why do I feel like I’ve just given you the key to a box that was dangerous to open?”

“I really didn’t think this would be the thing that does it for you.” Regulus reaches down to run his fingers through James’ curls. He tugs his head back, and James is starry-eyed now. Adoration in every feature. “When’s the best time to use it? When I want something? When you’re mad at me after I play too many games?”

“Whenever you want, love.”

“Okay, daddy.”

James bangs his forehead against Regulus’ knee. “Oh, my God.”

“I, for one, am loving this.” He watches James pull at the stockings with his teeth. He takes his time, gets them halfway and then yanks them off with impatient hands. The air is cool against Regulus’ bare skin. He lets James kiss along his calf, the inside of his knees. It’s something like worship, the way James catalogues every part of him.

Eventually, he nudges James’ shoulder. “The bath, James.”

“Mm?”

“The bath, daddy.”

James laughs; it’s a joyous, open sound. A thing worth saving. “Yeah, I could get used to that.”

“Well, don’t. I’ll only use it on special occasions and when you deserve it.”

“I like the way you make up your own rules.” James turns off the water, then dips his hand under to check the temperature. “It’s hot. Really hot.”

“S’Fine with me.” Regulus slips off the counter and lets the sheet fall to the floor.

The water burns his already hot skin, but it loosens his muscles. He slips into the tub with a groan. James gets in behind him and pulls him back against his chest. He reaches for the soap and uses it to gently clean Regulus’ neck. The water turns a bit pink after that.

“Do you want to do anything tomorrow?” James asks. He holds out Regulus’ arm to lather it. “It’s Rome. There are beautiful things here, and we can go anywhere you want.”

Regulus heart skips a beat. “Really?”

“Mhm. This is me asking you on a date, by the way.”

“Is that so?”

James huffs. He drops Regulus’ arm back in the water, then gingerly takes his other arm in hand. “I’m going to make this quite plain to you. Are you listening?”

“Reluctantly.”

“I see you’re back to your regularly scheduled programming,” James sighs. “Maybe I do need to fuck you again.”

Regulus turns so fast water sloshes over the edge of the tub and onto the floor. “Yes.”

“Not if you’re going to be a brat.” James arches a brow. “Are you?”

“I’m not being a brat.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

James points a finger at him. “That right there? Brat behavior.”

“Fuck you.”

“Brat behavior.”

“James.”

“Regulus.”

They glare at one another, neither willing to give, until Regulus huffs, “Fine. I’ll be nice.”

“I didn’t say you have to be nice. I just said don’t be a brat.” James resumes his task of lathering Regulus with soap. “Anyway, as I was saying. You’re it for me. Signed, sealed, delivered, I’m yours. The whole bit.”

“Okay, Stevie Wonder.”

“What did I just say?”

Regulus coughs to hide his laugh. “Sorry. Go on.”

“I mean it, Regulus. I don’t want anyone else. I’ve thought about it a lot, and I’ve wanted you since Copenhagen. A year, love. I’ve waited. I’ve been patient.”

“You were a pain in my ass.”

“That’s your fault. You had to get over the whole ‘James is a vampire’ bit, didn’t you?”

Regulus sighs. “Conditioning. Not easy to break that.”

“But you did, and now look at you. Offering up your neck every chance you get. It’s—Ouch.”

“You fucking deserved that,” Regulus snaps, pulling his arm back from where he elbowed James in the ribs. “I’m not offering up my neck. I just—I like it, okay? Fuck. I’ll admit it. There’s something about it.”

“Closeness,” James offers. He pushes Regulus forward to scrub at his back. “Even vampires drink from one another sometimes. It doesn’t really do anything for us, but it’s…nice. Or so I’ve been told.”

Regulus turns to look over his shoulder. “You’ve never done it?”

“Nope. Never been with another vampire.”

“When was the last time you…?”

“Couple hundred years.” James reaches for the shampoo and squirts a dollop out in his palm. “Not really interested, if I’m honest. Sex is great, but I’m very use ‘em and lose ‘em about it.”

Regulus stares at James, heart hammering in his chest. He knows James can probably hear it. Knows his nerves are clear as day to the man busy shampooing his hair. “Until me.”

“Until you.”

“Why?”

James smiles softly. “I’m in love with you, Regulus. I have been for a while.” He cups water in his palms to wash the suds from Regulus’ hair, seemingly unconcerned he’s just said words that have upended Regulus’ entire being. “I’m just waiting for you to love me back.”

They spend the weekend in Rome.

James brings Regulus to his favorite restaurants, museums, and parks. They flit from shop to shop, and James buys Regulus whatever he wants. Mostly, he buys Regulus books. They find a few used and rare bookshops, and James follows Regulus through the stacks. Talks with him about this or that, depending on what Regulus picks up to show him.

Regulus isn’t poor; his parents left him and Sirius a sizable inheritance. They’ll live comfortable, with or without work, for the rest of their lives. But when Regulus puts a first edition back on the shelf, saying, “I’m not paying thousands for it, no matter how much I want it,” he doesn’t know what to do when James rolls his eyes, reaches for it, and marches right to the counter.

“If you want it, just tell me,” James tells him after, hands in the back pockets of his jeans as they walk through cobblestone streets. “I have more than enough money. Use it. I sure don’t.”

“Are you serious?”

“Dead.”

Regulus blinks at him, then grins. “Anything?”

“Within reason. I’m not buying you a private jet.”

“That’s your line? A private jet?”

“Well, yeah. I don’t see the point in owning two.”

Regulus chokes, a ludicrous laugh in his throat. “One is one too many.”

James’ brows furrow. “How do you think I got here so fast? By British Airways? Please.”

“I fly British Airways,” Regulus argues. “They’re not that bad.”

“But they’re not a private jet.”

“Okay, but I wouldn’t know that.”

James’ smirks. “You will.”

That night, they barely make it through the door before James is on him, dragging him to the bed and down against fresh sheets. They have sex for hours, until Regulus complains he’s hungry and James orders room service at nearly one in the morning. They make use of the shower, the bathroom counters, the chair by the window. Hell, they make use of that, too, with Regulus pressed up against it, the lights of Rome a glittering blur when he comes.

It’s the first time in years that he feels full of life. So full of it he thinks he might burst sometimes.

He looks up at James, sitting against the headboard with a book propped open on one knee. He turns the page, fingers absently running through Regulus’ hair, and there’s a warmth in Regulus’ chest so pure he wants to cry. Thinks he might, so he shuts his eyes and pretends to fall asleep.

I’m in love with you, Regulus. I’m just waiting for you to love me back.

It’s there, lodged in Regulus’ throat and clawing its way up and out. But he’s scared of what will happen when he says it. It’s a cold and harsh reality when he remembers he’s living on borrowed time, a human lifespan, and James might not be immortal, but he has thousands more years to fall in love.

What is Regulus, insignificant as he is, to that?

“How was Rome?”

Regulus glances sidelong at his brother, who sits on the couch in Grimmauld’s living room. He comes over sometimes to check on Regulus’ cat, but Regulus had hoped Sirius would be long gone by now.

“Why are you here?”

Sirius looks over the back of the couch, expression impassive. “You said you’d be home tonight. Thought I’d stay to say hello.”

“Oh.”

“I see we’re struggling with conversation. I’m guessing Rome sucked?”

No. Rome was brilliant. Rome was everything I’ve ever wanted. Rome was where I realized I’m falling in love with someone I can’t have forever.

“It was fine.”

“I see. Well. I’ll leave you to it, then. Unless you want to talk.”

Regulus drops his duffle on the ground. “About what?”

“James.”

Regulus’ heart slams against his ribs. “Why would I want to talk about James?”

“I just got off the phone with him.” Sirius turns so he’s facing Regulus full on. “Coincidentally, he was also in Rome. Funny, that.”

“Hilarious.”

Sirius narrows his eyes. “I’m going to ask you some questions, and you’re going to answer them.”

“No, I’m not.” Regulus crosses his arms. “I’m not a kid anymore, Sirius. You can’t bully me into answering things.”

“Maybe not, but I can try. So tell me, what happened in Copenhagen?”

“We went on holiday.”

Sirius tsks. “What really happened in Copenhagen?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s why I’m asking.”

Regulus turns his gaze to the ceiling. “Sirius. Please don’t. I’m not in the mood.”

“What happened with you and James?”

“Sirius,” he warns, but it’s no use. The lack of answer is admission enough.

“Regulus. Your neck is covered in hickeys and bruises.”

Oh.

Shit.

His fingers tighten around the scarf he’d kept wrapped around his neck all weekend. It only came off when he was alone with James. He knows his neck is—well, it’s a sight. Bruises from James’ fingers, love bites everywhere James could leave them, and enough new crescent scars to form a constellation.

“You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?” Sirius asks with a sigh.

“It’s none of your business.”

“It most definitely is when my best friend is sleeping with my little brother.” Sirius unfolds himself from the couch and comes to stand in front of Regulus. He tips Regulus’ head back, fingers gripped tight on his chin. “Jesus. And you let him bite you?”

Regulus clenches his jaw.

“Reggie, I don’t care that he’s a vampire. I don’t even care that he’s my best friend. Well, we’re still working on that, but it’s like riding a bike.” Sirius lets Regulus’ chin go. “My point is: do you know what you’re doing?”

“We’re just fucking.”

Sirius shakes his head. “James’ interest fades fast. I imagine it’s the fact that he’s old as hell. But it’s been over a year since Copenhagen, and you should hear the way he talked about you.”

“He talked about me?”

“Mentioned you, yeah. Skirted around it a bit, but I think it was an accident.” Sirius frowns down at him. “I told you, I think James had a crush on you. That’s years, Reggie. Years. This isn’t just sex to him.”

Regulus fidgets with his hands. “What’s the big deal?”

“You will age, and you will die. He won’t. Not really. Not in your lifetime. And maybe right now, it doesn’t matter. You’re young and full of life and it’s fun to be in love. I get it. But Reggie?”

“Yeah?”

“Someday, you’ll die. You’ll die and James will lose you.”

Regulus flinches. He draws back, feels the words like a blow. “I know.”

“Then I ask you one more time—do you know what you’re doing? I don’t care if you want to date a vampire. I don’t care that it’s James. But it’ll break his heart someday. Are you okay with that?”

His vision blurs, and he feels the pressure of hot tears. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“That’s fine. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin the end of your weekend.”

“It’s okay.” Regulus wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I think—Fuck, Sirius. I think I love him. I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way I—I stopped hating him.”

Sirius smirks. “I told you. He has that effect on people.”

“But he didn’t. Not on me.”

“You sure about that, Reggie?” Sirius cocks his head and regards him with a curious expression. “Or did you tell yourself you hate him long enough that you started to believe your own lies?”

James
Hi baby

Regulus
What do you want now?

James
I miss you
When can I see you next?

Regulus
I’m in Vienna in a few weeks.

James
Know your hotel?

Regulus
Not yet

James
Send me the address when you do.

Regulus
No.

James
Cute
See you soon, my love.

My love.

My love.

My love.

It bounces around in Regulus’ head for days.

He stares at the text—opened, but unanswered—until he’s fairly certain he knows by heart the pixels that make up the letters that make up my love.

Fuck.

What has he done?

It’s when he’s packing his bag for Vienna that he gets the call.

“Hi, baby. I only have a second before my flight takes off,” James says in a rush. “Did you pack yet?”

“Just finished. Why?”

James makes a small, triumphant noise. “Perfect. Did you pack anything nice?”

Regulus stares at his small suitcase. “Are we talking stockings and garter belt nice, or I could go to church in this nice?”

James pauses, seems to consider, then replies, “The first one. Definitely. But bring something you would wear on a date, too.”

“What?”

“A date, love. I’m taking you on a date. We missed Valentine’s Day, so I need to make it up to you.”

“Why?”

James sighs, exasperated. “Because, Regulus, that’s what a man does when he’s in love with you.”

This is foreign territory. Regulus has been on plenty of dates, but they were Hey, this place at seven? affairs, not I’m in love with you and I made us a plan things. He can’t remember a time when he went on a real date, with dinner and dessert and maybe candles as the centerpiece and—

“Damn it, the flight attendant is yelling at me. God, she looks mean. Who the fuck peed in her tea? I should’ve bought the second jet. Anyway, I gotta go, love. Pack something nice. And do not forget the garters. I will strangle you for real if you do.”

Regulus has just enough time to say, “Have a safe flight,” before the line goes dead.

He stares at his closet, unsure what nice means to James, who runs a company and jets around the world and is eight hundred years old. In the end, he only adds his favorite emerald scarf to his suitcase. Figures it’ll be a little something more to dark jeans and a black jumper.

There are butterflies in his stomach—anticipation and anxiety flutter around in tandem—and he hates James for this.

For making him feel as though the ground he walks on is uneven, and this new territory is best navigated with a map only James seems to have.

The eighth time they meet is in Vienna.

He’s in the passenger seat of a sleek black BMW, hands under his thighs and James tapping a steady rhythm on the wheel. The radio plays low, the music unfamiliar and definitely Austrian, and neither of them speak. They haven’t since James picked him up from his hotel.

“I thought you said wear something nice,” Regulus muttered when he saw James’ attire.

James cocked his head. “What’s wrong with this?”

“It’s just jeans and a jumper!”

“Love, you’re also in jeans and a jumper.”

Regulus scoffed. “With a cashmere scarf.”

“Do you want me to go buy a cashmere scarf? Will that be proper enough attire for you?” He leaned against the BMW, hands in the front pockets of his jeans. Regulus would admit then and he’ll definitely admit now that James doesn’t need anything fancy to look incredible—his shirt clings to him in all the right places, and it shows off his arm and neck tattoos.

Regulus has ogled them about a thousand times since they left the hotel.

“Where are we going?” he asks, fidgeting. “We’re driving away from the main city center. Isn’t that where the restaurants are?”

“We’re not going to a restaurant.”

“We’re not?”

“No, love. I think you’ll like this better. It’s more…you.”

This turns out to be a gravel drive in front of wrought iron gates, and behind those—a cemetery.

The old kind, with headstones that crumble to the ground, so worn with time their names and dates have become difficult to discern. There’s overgrown vines on every mausoleum, the marble worn with age, and the trees stretch high, their trunks thick, roots growing up and out along the ground.

James leads him down a narrow dirt path deep into the cemetery. It’s dusk; the sun nears the horizon line and paints the sky hues of purple, red, and gold, and Regulus estimates no more than thirty minutes before the entire graveyard is lit by nothing more than the full moon.

Somewhere along the way, James decides on the perfect spot. He leads Regulus to a grassy area devoid of any grave markers. It’s at the base of a giant tree, the canopy falling over them. From the bag he’s carried the whole way, he pulls out a blanket. Sets it down on the ground and places rocks on its four corners.

“Just in case it gets windy,” he explains, matter-of-fact.

Regulus isn’t listening. He’s too busy staring, open-mouthed and in shock, as James pulls out small containers of takeaway and sets them down. Then he sits, cross-legged, slightly off-center. He pats the spot beside him.

“You gonna sit next to me or just stand there all night?”

“What the fuck is this?” Regulus blurts. He kicks his shoes off next to James’ and sits beside him.

James passes him a container. “Well, I figured I could take you on a date to a fancy restaurant with expensive wine. Buy you tiramisu and feed it to you across the table. You know, what normal couples do. But we’re not normal, are we?” His grin is blinding. “I’m a vampire, and you’re supposed to have killed me a thousand times over. You’re also into creepy shit. I didn’t think red wine and tiramisu fit.”

Regulus blinks at him, startled. “So you thought cemetery instead?”

“In Vienna, love,” James points out. “Tell me this isn’t the coolest place. You like cemeteries, yes?”

“I love them.”

James opens his container, and the enticing smell of fresh-cooked spaghetti fills the air. “Creepier the better, right? Old headstones? Mausoleums that are falling apart?”

“Yes.” Regulus rolls his eyes; he knows where this is going.

James waves a plastic fork. “Picnic date. Brilliant Italian restaurant that only does takeaway. Family-owned and run since nineteen eighty-six. A vampire to keep you company. Oh, and a little bit of grass that may or may not have dead bodies six feet under. No headstones, so I can’t be sure.” He tilts his head. “How’d I do? Creepy and weird enough for you?”

Yeah, Regulus is definitely in love.

But the thought of saying it out loud makes his palms sweat, so he asks instead, “Is it wrong that I want to fuck you right now?”

“No, that’s actually pretty par for the course with you. But I thought we’d eat first.”

Regulus reaches over to take the container from James’ hands, shoves the top back on it and sets it down, out of the way. “Nope.” He pushes James back against the blanket and straddles his lap. “Sex. Right now. I’ve waited twenty-five years to eat takeaway Italian in a cemetery. I can wait another ten minutes.”

James grins up at him. “It’s cute you think you can last ten minutes.”

“You need your ego knocked down a peg.” Regulus yanks James’ jeans down just enough for his cock to spring free, fully hard and already leaking.

Regulus bends down, wraps his fingers around the base of James’ cock, and takes the entire length down the back of his throat. He breathes through his nose, hellbent on not gagging, but when James’ hips buck, pushing him deeper, Regulus can’t help the cough, the spit that dribbles down around his fingers.

“Fucking Christ,” James mutters, his hands fisted in Regulus’ hair. “Your mouth is perfect.”

Regulus hums in response, which only makes the fingers in his hair grip tighter. His scalp smarts in pain, but he doesn’t tell James to stop. He lets James guide him, doesn’t care that it’s wet and sloppy. Messy. He moans when James slides down the back of his throat again, then out, until James’ hips roll of their own accord.

After a few minutes, Regulus straightens. His jaw aches, spit drips from his chin, but he doesn’t feel an ounce of shame when he meets James’ gaze—because James looks at him like he’s art. His eyes are wide, pupils blown, awe in his expression. A soft smile tugs at his lips.

“You know you’re perfect, right?” James asks, breathless.

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Laying it on thick tonight, I see.” He gets his jeans down around his thighs and spits in his palm. Leans over James, rolls his hips forward and—it’s electric, this touch. It always is with James, every nerve in his body attuned to whatever is in James that calls to him. He wraps his palm around them both, the slide of his thumb smooth through the moisture that leaks from both their cocks.

James pushes up to kiss him, that soft smile still curling the corners of his mouth. He fists his hands in the material of Regulus’ jumper, holds him at the waist and whispers, “Move, love,” and Regulus does, hips pushing forward and pulling back, his grip tight on them both.

Regulus doesn’t last ten minutes. Eight, maybe. He gives it a solid try, but somewhere in the middle James’ mouth detaches from his and moves along his jaw to his ear. James’ lips are soft, featherlight as he speaks, but the words that fall from them are filthy. They turn Regulus inside out, send his entire body shivering. Promises of what James will do later and exactly how he’ll do it.

Regulus comes with a strangled sob that echoes in the darkness, and James follows quickly after him. He spills over Regulus’ hand with his own groan, and then it’s only their heavy breaths in the silence.

“Well. Eight hundred years and I’ve never done that in a cemetery,” James says with a laugh. “You’re brilliant. Just—Oh, fuck, come on. You—I hate you. Jesus. Who allowed this? Who allowed you?”

Regulus grins around the thumb between his teeth. He sucks it clean, then moves to his index finger. Middle. Ring. Pinky. Runs his tongue flat against the length of his palm. Tastes himself and James mixed on his skin and feels like he could conquer the fucking world.

James watches him, glassy-eyed and clearly dazed, until he’s done.

When Regulus is finished, he zips up his jeans and declares, nonchalant, “Now we can eat.”

James pushes his glasses up his forehead, then presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I’m so fucking screwed with you.”

“Yeah, probably. But you’re the one that chased me from city to city, so these are the consequences of your own actions. Here, your spaghetti.” Regulus drops the container on James’ stomach. “And put your dick away. You’re insulting Josefine Anzengruber.”

“Who the fuck is that?”

Regulus nods to the towering headstone some ten paces ahead of them. “Whoever is buried there.”

“Way to make it weird.”

“It was weird from the start. Pass me a fork and my pasta.”

They eat and talk, back and forth until the conversation lulls and Regulus can’t keep it in anymore. It’s been on his mind for days, weeks, and no matter how much research he did, the answer wasn’t there.

He sucks in a breath, bracing, and asks in a rush, “How do you become a vampire?”

James freezes. The spaghetti on his fork drops back into the container. “What?”

“A vampire. I—I’m curious. I’ve never talked to a Pureblood, and you’re the only ones that can Turn a human, right?”

“Yes,” James answers slowly. “But why are we having this conversation?”

“I told you. Because I’m curious. I like answers to questions, and this answer doesn’t exist in any of our archives and libraries. So—how?”

James sets his container down in his lap. “The process is easy, but it’s not pain-free. I’ve been told it hurts like a motherfucker. I’m going to use you and me as examples. Just examples, yeah?”

Regulus nods and takes a bite of his pasta.

“You have to drink my blood first. A lot of it. Then you wait, give it time to work its way into your system. It’s not like drinking a Coke. It…infects. Gets in your cells. It’s looking for things to heal, but more on that later, if you want.”

“I want. Definitely.”

“I figured. Anyway, after you drink, I—I have to kill you. Well, almost kill you. I drink until there’s almost nothing left. But almost is the point. You have to be close to death, but not quite. Your heart should stop, but you won’t be dead.” James pokes at his container of spaghetti. “This would be when my blood kicks in. It wants to heal, so it does. Starts repairing. Kicks you heart back into gear except this time, all you have is what I’ve given you. So my blood…remakes you, I guess. It burns, from what I’ve heard. Like someone setting you on fire from the inside-out. But once it’s done—you’re Turned.”

Regulus stares, slack-jawed. “That’s it?”

“Yep. Whole process takes maybe…twenty? Thirty minutes? People almost-die at different speeds, and they come back differently, too. Some are quick. Some take time.” James shrugs. “The end result is the same.”

“I don’t have to drink blood?”

“Not if you don’t want to. But baby vampires are insatiable. You can drink from me to take the edge off, but without the real deal, it’ll be agony.”

Regulus frowns. “How long until a baby vampire isn’t constantly craving blood?”

“Never.” James sucks the last bit of spaghetti sauce off his fork. “You always want it. But over time, you build up self-control. I can go days without feeding, but I get a little stir crazy if I go too long.”

“You drink from other people?”

“That aren’t you? Unfortunately.” James reaches for a piece of garlic bread. “They taste awful, if it’s any consolation. But we don’t see each other often enough for me to feed exclusively off of you. I have to make due.”

Regulus purses his lips in a pout. “I hate that.”

James snorts a laugh. “So do I. I use blood banks most of the time. Still tastes terrible, but I don’t care to stick my fangs in a neck that isn’t yours anymore.”

Regulus pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around his shins. He’s warm despite the February chill. “You said your blood looks for things to heal.”

“Mhm. Put it this way: if my spit can heal a puncture wound, my blood can cure fucking cancer.”

“Wait. Are you serious?”

James nods and rips a piece off the garlic bread. “Yup.”

“And you aren’t donating your blood because…what? James, people die from cancer.”

“So? They also die from heart disease. Liver failure. Car accidents. Other humans. Old age. Why is any of that my problem?”

Regulus gapes at him. “We’ve been trying to cure cancer for ages!”

“No, love. Not we. You. Humankind. Vampires? We don’t have a cancer problem. We do, however, have a hunter problem. And I for one like my freedom. I have zero desire to be chained up like a lab rat for humans to poke and prod.”

“But if you donate, then—”

“You really think a single hunter would leave us alone? That we’d be able to exist freely? Please. You know as well as I do that it’d be a witch-hunt. Even more than it is now.” James bites off another piece of bread and shakes his head. “Most of the people I decide to Turn are already dying. Even the runaways. It’s not my story to tell, but their lives meet an end and I offer to bring them back. Other than them, humankind means very little to me.”

Regulus frowns. “I’m human.”

“And if you tell me you have cancer, then I will donate my blood to cure you. Do you have cancer?”

“No.”

“Then I’m not donating shit. Finish your pasta.”

Regulus
I want to go to Copenhagen.

James
For????

Regulus
Me. You. That’s it.

James
We can go wherever you want to go
When?

Regulus
Your birthday.

James
You remembered?
Even I barely remember it.

Regulus
Do you want anything special?

James
Just you
You’re all I need.

Regulus glares at the glass of whiskey between his hands as though it somehow managed to offend him.

“Cough it up already, you miserable ass.”

Evan’s voice pulls Regulus from his melancholy. He turns to his friend and squints in the dim light of the pub. “I’m not miserable.”

“You are the most miserable person I’ve ever seen in my fucking life.” Evan nods at the half-drunk whiskey glass. “That’s your sixth glass. One more and I’ll be dragging you home by your ankle.”

Regulus moans, crumples forward onto the sticky bar counter and heaves a sigh. “I’m in love with someone I can’t have, Evan.”

“I forgot whiskey makes you fucking dramatic. Get off the bar, Regulus. You’ll catch something.”

“No. Maybe if I drink enough whiskey I can die here.”

Evan sighs. “How long has it been since Vienna?”

“A month.”

“And how long until you go to Copenhagen?”

“A week.”

“Then please, for the love of God, stop being dramatic. You’ll get a dick up your ass soon enough.” Evan shakes his head and takes a swig of his beer. “Does James know you’re in love with him?”

“No. I haven’t told him.”

“Of course you haven’t. Heaven forbid you let yourself feel anything.”

Regulus glares at him. “That’s not the problem. The problem is he’s not going to die. I am. In…sixty years, maybe. And he’ll still look like Adonis while I look like the fucking Crypt-Keeper.”

“I’ve seen the texts, Reg. He’ll probably still think the sun shines out of your ass even when it’s drooping clear to the floor.” Evan picks at the label on his beer bottle. “Have you…thought about it?”

“Thought about what?” To the bartender, Regulus says, “Another. Neat.”

“Letting him Turn you.”

Regulus stills. He doesn’t answer, but when the bartender brings his seventh glass of whiskey, Regulus downs it in two gulps.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Sirius will kill me for even thinking about it.”

Evan shrugs. “Not his life, Reggie. If you want to live another five thousand years, go for it. I’m sure you’ll see some cool shit. Flying cars and aliens. The cure for cancer.”

Regulus snorts, but it turns into a hiccup, then a cough. He’s drunk. So very, very drunk. And he misses James. Misses him more than he’s ever missed anyone in his life.

He groans again and drops his forehead on his arms. “What do I do, Evan?”

“I’m scared to give you advice after Barty’s backfired.”

“It didn’t backfire. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

“Then what’s the deal with all the whiskey?” Evan nudges him until he raises his head. The room spins, and the chair under him feels like it’s about to be replaced with the floor.

“I want to tell him. I want to tell him that I love him but does it matter, in the end? I’ll die someday, and then he’ll go off and fall in love with someone else. He’ll probably forget me.”

Evan’s eyebrows shoot clear to his hairline. “You don’t want there to be anyone else, do you?”

“No.”

“Just you?”

“Yes.”

“Then let him Turn you.”

Regulus’ jaw drops. “You say that so—so—so easily.” He hiccups again. “As if it wouldn’t completely change my life.”

Evan finishes his beer, then signals to the bartender. “I think you should tell him how you feel and go from there.”

“I don’t think I can say it out loud.”

“Text it, then. Fuck it. Just do it, and then you can tell him for real when you’re ready.”

Regulus
hiiiiiiiiiii daddy

James
Surprised, but not complaining
Hi baby
You home?

Regulus
yes
Bwrtu droppe d me off
now

James
Are you drunk?

Regulus
yes

James
Go to sleep.
I’ll call you tomorrow

Regulus
no

James
???

Regulus
ne ed to
talk

James
Right now?
Hello?
Reg?
Did you fall asleep?

Regulus
no
i love you

The call is immediate.

Regulus squints at his phone, vision blurred—how much whiskey did he drink?—but manages to hit the right button. “Hello?”

“Are you serious?”

“Are you—” Regulus hiccups, phone clutched tight in his hand. “Are you mad? That I—” Hiccup, “—said it this way?”

“What? No. No, I’m not mad. But Regulus, love, I need to know if you’re serious.”

Regulus’ chest feels tight. “Yeah. Yes. I’m serious.”

“Oh, thank God.” James says it with a laugh, and Regulus waits for him to explain, cheeks on fire and room spinning. “Regulus, baby. Do you—Why the fuck am I in Ireland right now? When did you—You know what, it doesn’t matter.” There’s a sound like blankets rustling on the other end. “I love you. I love you so much it’s driving me insane that we’re so far apart right now.”

Regulus buries his face in his pillow. I love you. James hasn’t said it this way before. Only reminders like I’m in love with you, but not this. Not three weighted words. So Regulus whispers, “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“One more time?”

James laughs, and it’s the most beautiful sound Regulus has ever heard. “I’m eight hundred years old and I have never loved anyone even half as much as I love you.”

“Oh. That’s…good, then.” Regulus’ toes curl, and he folds himself in half, overwhelmed. The warmth that’s bloomed behind his ribs threatens to tear his very bones apart. “Are you sure?”

“Am I sure?” James scoffs. “Of course I’m fucking sure. I’d burn the world and then some for you, love. I’m sure.”

Regulus closes his eyes. The next bit feels easier, somehow. “I want you to—James, I want you to Turn me.”

Silence.

Absolute fucking silence.

“James?”

“I’m here.”

“Did you—” Hiccup, “—hear me?”

“I heard you.”

Regulus curls tighter in on himself, blood gone cold. He waits with bated breath.

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to die someday. And I don’t want to.”

James looses a long breath. “You’re just drunk right now. Tomorrow you’ll wake up and—”

“No,” Regulus all but yells into the phone. “No, I won’t change my mind. I’ve thought about it since Vienna. Since before Vienna, James. I’ve thought about it for weeks.”

“That’s not—”

“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you to do it.”

James sighs again. “Do you realize what you’re telling me to do?”

“Yes.”

“Your friends will die, Regulus.”

“I know.”

“Your brother will die.”

“I know.”

“But you will live on. Without them. For thousands of years.”

Regulus huffs a breath. “I know, James.”

“And you’re fine with that?”

“Yes.”

“You’re fine with becoming what you hunt?”

Regulus shakes his head. “I’m retiring. I’m done.”

“Well, you’ll have to when you’re a vampire.”

When.

When.

When.

Regulus sucks in a breath. “You’ll do it?”

“I’m pretty sure your brother is going to hunt me down and stake me himself when he finds out.”

“But you’ll do it?”

“I’ll do whatever you ask of me, love. Whenever you ask it.”

Regulus sits up, which is a mistake. The room spins, and he groans. “I don’t think—I don’t feel well.”

“Before you go throw up, say it.”

“Say what?”

“Regulus.”

His name on James’ lips still heats him from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes. “I’m scared to say it out loud.”

“It’ll be alright. I promise.”

And because he trusts James more than he ever thought he could trust someone who isn’t Sirius, Regulus squeezes his eyes shut and says, “I love you.”

“Again.”

A little more confident: “I love you.”

“One more time?”

“I love you, James Potter.”

“You are everything.”

The ninth time they meet is in Copenhagen—and it’s where Regulus is born anew.

They tangle in sheets for hours in an old inn, neither of them really willing to let the other go. When they finish, they lie on their backs and talk until one of them decides talking is less fun than kissing, and kissing is more fun when they’re chasing the same high.

It’s when the clock turns to 12:00, and the date shifts to 27 March, that Regulus straddles James’ lap and says, “Happy birthday.”

James, who leans against the headboard, reaches for him. Wraps strong arms around his waist and peppers kisses across his neck, his jaw, his face. “Thank you, my love.”

“We should’ve bought a cake.”

“When, exactly? Because we haven’t left this bed in hours.”

Regulus ducks his head and tucks it under James’ chin. His heart beats unsteady in his chest, but he has no way to tame it. He’s nervous, buzzing with anxiety, and—

“What’s wrong? Your heart has never beat this fast.” James urges Regulus to look at him and holds his face between soft palms. “What is it?”

“Tonight,” Regulus breathes. “I want it to be tonight.”

James’ eyes widen. “Are you sure?”

“It started here. I want it to be here that it begins again.” Regulus reaches up to cup James’ cheek. “I’m asking you. Telling you. Here. Now.”

“It’s going to hurt.”

“That’s okay. You’ll be here for the whole thing, right?”

“I will.”

Regulus nods, resolute. “Then let’s do it. I remember how it's meant to go.”

James sits a little straighter and adjusts Regulus in his lap. Even his hands tremble when he brings his wrist to his mouth. He bites down, splits his own skin, and then holds out his wrist for Regulus, blood welling up from the puncture wounds.

It looks no different than a fine red wine.

“Drink, love.”

Regulus takes James’ wrist and brings it to his lips. He doesn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t this.

It definitely wasn’t this.

James tastes of summer. Of waves on a shore and toes in warm sand and life. So much life it makes Regulus dizzy. James tastes better than any wine Regulus has ever drunk, any food he has ever consumed. The burst of flavor on his tongue tastes the way falling in love feels. He drinks, eager and insatiable, his grip tightening on James’ arm to hold, to keep him in place so Regulus can drink until he’s full enough he bursts. He’s never been so close, so much a part of someone.

“Easy, love,” James says softly, his fingers brushing through Regulus’ hair. “Too much of a good thing is still dangerous.”

Regulus hears him, but he doesn’t listen. There’s sunshine on his tongue and James’ blood is so smooth. It slips down his throat as though it was meant to be consumed by him. It isn’t until James’ fingers fist in his hair and force him back that Regulus stops. He whines, tries to pull James’ wrist to his mouth again, but James is stronger than him.

“Enough. That’s plenty.”

“I wasn’t finished,” Regulus protests, reaching up to wipe at his mouth. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, desperate for anything that lingers.

James smirks. “Even a vampire can be bled dry.”

“Do we wait now?”

“A few minutes.” He brushes Regulus’ curls out of his face. “There’s no turning back after this.”

“I know.”

James leans up to kiss him. It’s chaste, just their lips pressed together, but Regulus wants to bottle the way it makes him feel. Safe and loved and wanted. Needed, even.

“Do you trust me?” James asks when he pulls back.

Regulus tilts his head to bare his throat. He feels the tickle of James’ fangs brush against his racing pulse and gasps. “I trust you.”

Just as it’s always been, it’s a sharp pain followed quickly by warmth and euphoria. Regulus’ hands are in James’ hair, holding him close.

Take it all.

He doesn’t know if he speaks the words aloud, but he supposes it doesn’t matter. James drinks, keeps drinking, until the edges of Regulus’ vision start to blacken. He only knows that he’s handing his life to James and James is taking it, consuming it—consuming him—and he’s alright with it. Doesn’t want anything else but this.

He belongs to James. Always has, always will.

Regulus’ vision narrows.

His breathing grows shallow.

His heartbeat slows.

There is a black pool that promises an eternity of comfort, a lifetime that never ends, and when he dips his toes into the darkness, he sees his reflection smiling back at him—with brighter eyes and canines that press shallow divots into his bottom lip.

Take it all.

His reflection holds out its hand and Regulus reaches down to take it. Skin against skin and he’s cold.

Terrified.

What has he done?

Where is he?

Why is his reflection pulling?

No. Not that way. The pool will drown him. He doesn’t want to drown.

Come back to me, love.

Regulus still clings to the hand of his reflection, but he looks around wildly. There is only darkness and still waters around his middle.

Don’t stay too long where you are. Come back.

James.

Regulus would know his voice anywhere, even here where it’s too dark and too cold to think.

He looks at his reflection. Opens his mouth but no words come out. He feels the pull, the tug on his hand. There’s nowhere else to go but wherever his reflection urges him to be.

Come back.

Regulus lets his reflection pull him under, lets the darkness swallow him. He drowns but there’s no liquid in his lungs, nothing to keep him from breathing. There’s only endless black and he’s tipping, head over heels and falling, falling,

f

 a

  l

   l

    i

     n

      g

until he crashes hard, lands with such force that his entire skeleton rattles. Tendon, muscle, and bone strain.

His body isn’t his anymore. Regulus is on fire from the marrow of his bones to the outermost layer of his skin. He feels his very molecules ripping and tearing apart, reforming all his cells. His brain is too big for his skull, his tongue and mouth and insides all wrong.

Why is he burning?

Why does it all hurt so much?

Everything is wrongwrongwrong and he needs out of his skin, needs relief and—

“Regulus, open your eyes. You’re safe. Baby, you made it. You’re safe.”

No.

Doesn’t James get it? He’s in so much pain.

Pure agony, that’s what this is.

Unending and eternal and what is that burn why does it all burn won’t it—

“Oh, love. Here. This will help.”

A moment and then there’s summer on his tongue again. Blue skies and warm waves and sand between his toes. A burst of pain in his mouth but it’s secondary, because the liquid on his tongue is divine. He needs more of this, whatever it is. It ebbs the burn, dulls the pain, and he might only ever be able to consume whatever it is that flows down his throat like nectar.

“There you go. Is that better? Can you open your eyes?”

Regulus doesn’t want to—even with them closed, it’s all blinding—but he does. Cracks them open and then a little more until he sees James’ face and oh. Oh, he’s—he’s beautiful. Gorgeous. Ethereal. Regulus’ eyes are better now and he can see; James is so many colors, so many shades and hues and Regulus isn’t an artist but if he was, he would never be able to capture this.

“Hello, my love,” James says softly. He pulls his wrist from Regulus’ mouth. “How do you feel?”

Regulus’ voice is barely more than a rasp when he replies, “Like I just got hit by a fucking truck.”

“Yeah, I’ve been told that’s what it’s like. Here, lick the wound. See what happens.”

He’s not sure what James means, but Regulus runs his tongue over the punctures in James’ wrist. Watches them knit themselves closed within seconds.

Twin scars remain.

“I can’t scar unless I’m bit by another vampire—or healed by one. So how do you feel?”

Regulus mulls this over. He’s still burning, the residual simmer tolerable but present. He wants it to go away, but nothing is immediate. Besides, he has time. So he says, “Unstoppable.”

James’ grin widens. “Yeah?”

Regulus kisses James instead of answering, and even this feels like summer, every neuron and synapse in his brain firing at once to taste and touch and consume. Regulus claws at James, needs him closer, so close their bodies are a single joined entity, and James smiles against his lips, lets Regulus devour him.

After a minute, James pulls back. He laughs at Regulus’ sounds of protest and reaches up to tuck a stray curl behind his ear. “We have thousands of years, you know. To kiss and fuck and live. We don’t have to do it all right now.”

“You taste the way summer feels.”

James smirks. “And you taste like the first dawn after a cool rain.”

“Oh.” Regulus shivers; and his fingers fist and unfurl against James’ chest. “Do we really have thousands of years?”

“I mean, unless some asshole hunter stakes one of us first, yes.”

Regulus’ lip curls. “I’ll rip out his throat if he tries.”

“Ah, there’s the violence I love so much.” James smiles, soft and tender. “What do you want to do with those thousands of years, hm?”

“Travel the world. Have sex in every city. Visit great libraries and read a lot of books.”

“All on your own?” James leans forward so their lips brush. “Or can I come with you?”

Regulus’ arms come around his neck. “I don’t want to do any of it without you.”

The kiss is electric, and Regulus lets James flip him onto his back. His body is his but foreign now, and he loses himself in the way everything feels like more. When James lets him fall over the edge, he feels as though the entire world is at his feet, that he’s a god without limit or restraint, and with James at his side, he is an unstoppable, untamable force.

“I love you,” he breathes into the dark, his back arched off the bed. Even the simmer in his blood has turned pleasant in the haze of pleasure. “I love you, and I will never let you go.”

James kisses his eyelids, his nose, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. Against Regulus’ lips, he whispers, “L’amor che move il sole e l’altre stelle.”

The first burst of blood on Regulus’ tongue is insanity.

James tastes better, and he can’t say this feeling is better than sex, but it’s up there. Oh, it’s fucking up there. His grip tightens on the man in his arms, but it isn’t necessary. He isn’t moving, held in place by James’ stare. He grips the man’s jaw between his fingers, and Regulus doesn’t know how deep or vast James’ abilities go as a Pureblood, but he is at least thankful for this one.

“Don’t drain him, love. You won’t like yourself if you do.”

I don’t care, Regulus wants to snap back, but he’s too busy drinking. James’ blood is incredible, but it’s the way a fine red wine pairs with a filet mignon. Not necessary to the meal but a compliment. This, though? This is a full seven courses, from start to finish until he’s ready to burst.

But he can’t stop. Won’t. There’s still food on his plate, and he’s never seen the point in leftovers.

“Regulus. Love. That’s enough.”

No.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. You are not killing the gas attendant. Talk about a low bar.”

James’ hand fists in his hair and pulls, yanks him back with so much force that Regulus’ fangs rip skin. There’s blood in his mouth that he can’t swallow before it dribbles down his chin, his neck. The man is bleeding in earnest now that his throat’s been ripped. A waste.

“I see I have to teach you self-control and cleanliness.” James ducks down to run his tongue over the man’s wounds. He flinches, mutters, “Tastes like gasoline,” and promptly pulls away. The bleeding stops, and James takes the man’s face between his hands, looks him in the eyes, and says, “Just forget it, yeah? You’re an idiot. Ran with scissors. Don’t do that again. Okay?”

“Okay,” the man mumbles without feeling.

“Lovely. Now go. Go home.”

Regulus wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, warm all over but his face is on fire. His gaze shifts, desperate to look at anything but James. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

“Hey. Hey, hey, hey. Look at me.” James cups his cheeks and forces Regulus to meet his eyes. “It was your first time. You didn’t kill him. Consider that a win.”

Regulus can feel the blood, sticky on his chin and neck, soaking his shirt. “I’m a mess, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but you are so beautiful. And my God, do I love you.” James’ thumbs rub gently along his cheekbones, expression soft, a little raw. Tender. “We’re going to have so much fun over so many lifetimes.”

“You promise?” Regulus asks, leaning into James’ touch.

“Yeah, baby. I promise. The whole world is ours.”

L’amor che move il sole e l’altre stelle.
— Dante Alighieri, Paradiso

✦