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Regulus adjusted the brim of the Stetson on his head as he approached Sirius’s bar, the ridiculous thing casting a shadow over his eyes and doing absolutely nothing to tone down how outrageously hot he looked. Not that he minded.
That was the point.
He hadn’t squeezed himself into the tightest pair of black jeans he owned and paired them with a cropped, clingy black shirt—one that rode up just enough to flash his belly button—on a whim. No, this was strategy . This was seduction dressed up in cowboy drag .
And it was executed with ruthless precision, aimed squarely at the man who’d been wrecking his heart and his back in equal measure for the past few months.
What had started as hookups—heated, frequent, no-strings-attached (at least on paper)—had slowly melted into something else. Something softer, more dangerous. Somewhere between all the whispered mi amors and the sleepy breakfasts and the way James kissed him like he meant it, Regulus had ended up with a boyfriend.
A proper one.
Who remembered how he took his coffee, let him sleep on his chest when he had nightmares, and had started leaving extra hoodies at Regulus’s place without ever saying a word about it.
It was horrifying. And kind of great.
Which was why, on this absurd cowboy-themed night—an idea only Sirius could dream up with enough glitter and fringe to induce migraines—Regulus was here, dressed to kill, looking for the man who’d accidentally become his favorite part of the week.
James was working tonight, helping Sirius handle the bar’s most chaotic event yet, and Regulus had every intention of distracting him.
Possibly to the point of getting dragged into the office for an “emergency.”
And if James got a little flustered watching him walk in like this? Well. That was just a bonus.
He stepped into the bar, instantly assaulted by twangy music and the sight of what had to be the entire queer population of London in fringe and rhinestones, living their best yee-haw fantasies.
Someone had already climbed onto the mechanical bull. A man in a pink cowboy hat shouted something about whiskey and feminism. Regulus had never wanted to turn around and leave so badly in his life. But then again, he hadn’t shown up to dance.
He was hit immediately with a wave of heat, music vibrating through his chest, bass thudding in his ribs. The lighting was low and golden, flickering like stage lights in a dusty saloon—or a fever dream, depending on your angle.
Bodies pressed in close on the dance floor, hips grinding, laughter loud, the sweet-sour bite of alcohol and perfume clinging to every surface. Somewhere in the back, a drag queen dressed like a rhinestone sheriff was doing body shots off a shirtless man in chaps.
Remus was behind the bar, chatting and pouring drinks like he wasn’t surrounded by chaos. His gaze flicked up, met Regulus’s, and a knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Yeah, yeah. Regulus didn’t need the commentary.
He could practically hear Remus’s voice in his head: “Nice hat, cowboy. Coming to wrangle your man?”
He made the mistake of glancing toward the stage—and immediately regretted everything.
Sirius.
Of course it was Sirius. In mesh, booty shorts, a cowboy hat, and far too much glitter. Singing. Thrusting. Doing what he clearly thought was choreography. Regulus could feel his soul physically try to leave his body.
Why was Sirius doing crazy shit every time he came to his bar?
He rubbed his eyes like that might fix things. It didn’t. Sirius did a spin and blew a kiss to someone in the crowd. A handful of people screamed. Regulus didn’t look to see if it was out of horror or will to die. Probably both.
Whatever. He was here for a reason, and that reason was standing on the other end of the bar looking like the second coming of bisexual Jesus.
James.
His boyfriend. His very sexy, very breakable boyfriend.
The flannel sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, curls a little messy like he’d run his hands through them on the walk over, and the jeans—God help him—the jeans were doing all the work in the world. He looked casual, golden, and deeply, devastatingly fuckable.
And he hadn’t noticed Regulus yet. Which was just fine. Regulus wanted the element of surprise. Wanted that exact moment of stunned silence when James realized what he was looking at. Regulus leaned back against the bar for a second, letting the music wash over him as he tracked James from the corner of his eye.
He was laughing at something one of the customers said, head tilted back just slightly, mouth open in that easy, warm way that always, always made Regulus’s chest feel a little too tight.
He was fucking glowing.
And Regulus had every intention of dragging him out of here by the belt loop.
The heat curled low in his stomach, steady and simmering. It was always like this with James—months in, and the spark hadn’t dulled a bit. If anything, it’d sharpened. They knew each other now, deeply and fully, and that intimacy only made the tension worse. Every look felt heavier. Every touch meant more.
Let the music swell. Let Sirius glitterbomb himself into oblivion. Let the chaos reign around them.
Because the only thing Regulus had eyes for was James Potter. And tonight, he wasn’t leaving this club until James was undone.
Regulus didn’t so much walk as glide, every step deliberate, every movement dipped in intention. The soles of his heeled boots clicked sharply against the scuffed floorboards, slicing clean through the roar of country twang and drunken laughter.
It was less a walk and more a performance—head high, hips rolling just enough to make people turn, make them look, make them wonder who the hell that was and how quickly they could get a drink in his hand.
Not that he noticed. Not that he cared.
He only had eyes for one person.
James stood at the far end of the bar, blissfully unaware that his life was about to be ruined in the best possible way. He was mid-laugh, beer in hand, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that stupidly endearing way Regulus had grown fond of, the low lighting catching in the mess of his curls like a halo.
He looked like sin dressed up in plaid. And he hadn’t seen him yet.
Good.
The anticipation was the point.
Regulus slowed as he got closer, letting his fingers drag along the edge of the bar. Light, teasing, like he might change his mind and walk away. Like he wasn’t already imagining dragging James into the bathroom or straight-up onto the stage, consequences be damned.
The thrill of being watched only fed the spark low in his stomach. That, and the way his shirt fluttered open when he moved. It wasn’t just undone—it was an invitation .
And then— then —James looked up.
Really looked up.
His gaze caught on Regulus like a fish on a hook. His entire body stilled, frozen in that one second between recognition and complete emotional devastation. The color drained from his face and came rushing back all at once, eyes going wide, jaw slack, mouth slightly parted like he’d actually forgotten how to function.
Regulus nearly laughed. Perfect.
He slid onto the stool beside him, all smooth lines and casual arrogance, chin resting in his hands, one long leg crossed over the other like he owned the place—and maybe he did. At least this corner of it. At least James’s attention, which was his and only his, completely and utterly.
He smirked. A wicked little thing. The kind of smirk that promised trouble. The kind of smirk that said, I wore this for you, and you’re going to do something about it.
James was still staring.
“Mi amor—” James breathed, voice thready, hoarse with disbelief and want.
Regulus tilted his head slightly, lashes fluttering. “Mmm?” he hummed, the picture of innocent curiosity.
But there was nothing innocent about the way he sat, the way his shirt rode up just a little higher to show more skin, the way the jeans clung to him like sin incarnate.
James made a noise—half groan, half prayer—and dragged a hand down his face like it might cool him off. It didn’t. “You’re—fuck.”
Regulus arched one brow, enjoying every second of it. “Articulate.”
“You trying to kill me?” James asked, voice low, almost reverent. Like Regulus had descended from heaven with a mission and a pair of skin-tight jeans.
Regulus’s smile deepened, teeth flashing just slightly. “If I were, darling,” he said softly, “you’d be begging me to finish the job.”
And James didn’t deny it. He just looked at him like he was already halfway there.
James was still staring. Still clearly recovering. Still gripping his drink like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality, like he wasn’t five seconds from just launching himself at Regulus in front of God, Sirius, and half of London’s queer nightlife.
Regulus leaned farther over the bar, elbows resting on the polished wood. The thin fabric of his shirt gaped just enough to be suggestive that James wasn’t already looking. The music pulsed around them, a steady beat of bass and steel guitar that made the air feel thick with heat and possibility. The lights shifted from warm gold to deep red, flickering off the rhinestones sewn into people’s clothes, bouncing off the mirror behind the bar in a dizzy kaleidoscope of glitter and smoke.
James’s gaze was fixed on him, somewhere between hungry and awestruck, and Regulus let him look.
“Remus seems to be holding it down just fine,” Regulus said, voice pitched low and smooth as whiskey. He let his eyes drift meaningfully toward the man behind the bar, who was chatting up a trio of flirty lesbians like he had all the time in the world. “No drink crises. No blood spilled. No dramatic fae demanding honey-based cocktails.”
James blinked, but only half-listened. His eyes had drifted lower, and Regulus smirked.
“I’m just saying,” he continued, reaching out to toy with the rolled-up edge of James’s flannel sleeve, slow and deliberate, like he didn’t have a care in the world. “If your friend can manage for ten minutes without you… maybe you could come dance with me.”
He leaned in closer, lips just brushing the shell of James’s ear as he added, “Unless you’re scared of a little sweat, cowboy.”
Then he pulled back with a wink, like he hadn’t just set a small fire in James’s brain.
James’s jaw flexed. His hand twitched like he was physically restraining himself from reaching out and dragging Regulus into his lap. “You’re evil,” he said.
Regulus raised both brows, all mock innocence. “I’m inviting you to dance. That’s not evil. That’s generous, mon amour.”
And then he pushed off the bar, turning on his heel and walking toward the dance floor with the kind of deliberate sway that made every queer in the room either stare or politely avert their gaze. He didn’t check if James followed—he already knew he would.
The crowd shifted as Regulus stepped into it, the bodies around him moving in rhythm to the beat—grinding, swaying, pulsing with heat and laughter and music. Sirius had long left the stage, a drag queen dancing instead. Cowboy boots clacked against the hardwood floor, the twangy strum of a steel guitar weaving into a remix with enough bass to shake the walls.
A disco ball spun slowly overhead, scattering fractured light over bare shoulders and mesh-covered chests. It was humid with the scent of sweat, perfume, and the electric promise of something more.
Regulus slipped between couples and clusters like he’d done this a hundred times before, like the dance floor had been made for him. Maybe it had. He found a pocket of space near the center—just enough room for two—and started moving, letting the music take him.
Hips rolled, his body catching the beat like it had teeth, something sinuous and suggestive in the way he moved. Every shift of fabric teased a glimpse of skin, every sway a promise.
When he felt James behind him—because of course James had followed, just like Regulus knew he would. He didn’t turn around right away. Instead, he backed up into him slowly, deliberately, until his ass brushed against James’s thighs and he felt a sharp intake of breath against his neck.
“Thought you said you were just inviting me to dance,” James said, voice rough and low in his ear.
“I am dancing,” Regulus replied with a small smirk, tilting his head just enough to make eye contact over his shoulder. “You’re the one standing still.”
That was all the invitation James needed.
His hands found Regulus’s hips like they were magnetized, gripping tight and guiding him as he began to move in sync with him, body pressed flush from chest to thigh. Regulus exhaled slow through his nose, smug and satisfied, as they fell into rhythm, grinding in time with the pulsing music and each other.
The crowd around them blurred into color and motion, a haze of sequins and laughter and the clink of ice in glasses. But Regulus didn’t see any of it—he only felt James, solid and warm and very clearly affected by the game he’d started.
“You wore this just to tease me,” James muttered, mouth brushing the skin behind Regulus’s ear.
“Of course I did,” Regulus replied, rolling his hips back a little harder, earning a quiet groan in response. “You going to do something about it, cowboy?”
James growled under his breath, his grip tightening.
“Oh,” Regulus said softly, wickedly, “there he is.”
They danced like that for a while—grinding, teasing, not quite kissing but definitely not keeping any distance. And somewhere between the heat of the dance floor and the slide of James’s hands up under the hem of his shirt, Regulus decided they weren’t going to be staying long. At least not in public.
He turned, pressed his chest to James’s, and dragged his fingers up the line of buttons on his flannel. “You ready to take this home, Tu veux baiser ce cow-boy?” he murmured.
James didn’t answer with words.
He just kissed him.
James kissed him like he meant it—like he hadn’t been thinking about anything else since Regulus walked into the bar in that damn hat and those indecent jeans. It was filthy in the best way, all tongue and teeth and the press of bodies too hot for anything this public.
Regulus let himself melt into it for a second, fingers curling around the front of James’s shirt to keep him there, to press him in even tighter.
The music kept thumping around them, the lights spinning overhead, but James’s mouth on his—hungry and hot and just this side of desperate—made everything else fade to static. Regulus barely noticed the cheer from the mechanical bull or the shout from someone at the bar. All he could think was: mine.
When they finally pulled apart, breathless and grinning in that sharp, heated way that always meant trouble, James’s hand had slid just under the waistband of his jeans—possessive and promising.
His curls were mussed, eyes blown dark with want, and his mouth was still parted like he was waiting for permission to do something unspeakable.
“Reg,” James said, his voice almost reverent, “I swear to God, if we don’t leave right now—”
Regulus laughed, light and mean, tipping James’s hat back on his head. “You’ll what? Fuck me on the dance floor?”
James groaned, like the idea had actually crossed his mind.
“Come on, Potter,” Regulus said, taking James’s hand and leading him off the floor with a sway in his hips that was absolutely not subtle. “You can make me regret this outfit in private.”
They slipped through the crowd, still holding hands. Remus raised an eyebrow from behind the bar as they passed, then very pointedly turned away with a smirk.
The night air outside was cool and sharp against their flushed skin as they stepped out onto the pavement. London buzzed around them, neon signs and street sounds and the distant pulse of another bass line from a different club down the block.
But it all felt peripheral.
Regulus pulled James into a shadowed alcove near the curb, pressed him against the wall, and kissed him again—slower this time, but just as filthy.
“I’m taking you home,” he whispered, lips brushing James’s as he spoke.
James’s hand slid around his waist, pulling him close. “Yours. Always.”
“Damn right,” Regulus murmured, and then—grinning against James’s mouth—he added, “Now stop talking and hail a cab, cowboy. I’ve got plans for you.”
James didn’t hesitate. They were gone in seconds.
They barely made it through the front door of James’s apartment before it slammed shut behind them, muffling the noise of the street and trapping them in their own heat.
The second the lock clicked, they were on each other like gravity demanded it. Lips crashing together, hands roaming with urgency, clothing already being tugged aside in a frantic, practiced rhythm.
Regulus was the one who walked them backward, bumping into the wall with a quiet thud, James’s mouth still on his like he couldn’t bear to be parted. Somewhere between kisses and fumbling fingers, Regulus reached up, fingers brushing the brim of the ridiculous cowboy hat perched on his head.
James caught his wrist before he could pull it off.
“The hat stays on,” he said, voice low, eyes dark with something feral and a little playful.
Regulus paused, then gave him that sharp, knowing grin—the one that made James weak in the knees and stronger than he’d ever been, all at once. “Do you have a thing for me playing dress-up?” he asked, all mock-innocent and positively glowing with mischief.
James didn’t answer with words. Instead, his hand dipped lower, sliding past the waistband of Regulus’s briefs—still damp and clinging from the heat between his legs—and cupped him. He pressed his fingers against his cunt through the soaked fabric.
Regulus gasped, the grin faltering into something breathless and wrecked, hips rocking forward into the touch without hesitation.
“I think,” James murmured, leaning in close, his lips brushing against the shell of Regulus’s ear as his fingers rubbed slow, maddening circles, “you have a thing for me. Period.”
Regulus shuddered, head falling back against the wall, breath catching. “God, you’re such a menace.”
James’s lips curled into a triumphant smile against Regulus’s skin as he half-dragged him down the hallway, the cowboy hat bobbing with each step. The bedroom door swung shut behind them, and before Regulus could even catch his breath, James had spun him around and guided him to the edge of the bed.
Regulus stood there, legs trembling with anticipation, while James settled onto the mattress, propping himself up on one elbow.
Slowly, deliberately, James reached for the waistband of Regulus’s soaking wet briefs. His fingers hooked under the elastic and tugged them downward, inch by teasing inch, until the fabric pooled around Regulus’s ankles.
Regulus gave a small, triumphant kick—an echo of control—sending the damp cotton flying somewhere across the room.
Regulus didn’t hesitate. He sank to his knees between James’s legs and spread them wide, the soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminating the slick curve of his inner thighs. He leaned forward, nose grazing the surface of James’s boxers, and his breath hitched as the heat of James’s arousal pressed against the cloth.
Then Regulus’s tongue came into play—slow, teasing licks that traced the outline of James’s cock through the fabric. He savored the taste of taut cotton and the promise beneath it, drawing a low, ragged groan from James that echoed around the quiet room.
With one precise tug, Regulus stripped James’s boxers down, letting them fall to the floor in a sodden heap. There, bare and shining, James’s cock hovered before him, already beading with precum. Regulus’s tongue darted out, brushing along the length of his vein, circling the red knot of the head.
His mouth closed around the tip for a kitten lick, and James arched against him, one hand tangling in the curls at the nape of Regulus’s neck where the hat didn’t reach.
“God, you’re so good at this, baby,” James murmured, voice thick with need. His fingers curled tighter, urging Regulus’s mouth down, deeper.
Regulus obeyed, sucking greedily, his tongue sweeping up the underside of James’s shaft. Spit pooled at the corners of his lips and traced a glossy line from his red bottom lip to James’s swollen tip. The sound of his wet, eager movements filled the space between ragged breaths and the muted thump of music drifting in from the living room.
“Not going to cum yet,” James warned, chest heaving. His thumb brushed over Regulus’s cheek, lips pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “I want to watch you.”
Regulus pulled back, a slow smile carving his lips as he wiped the trail of spit from his mouth with the back of his hand.
Regulus blinked up at him, chest heaving, mouth still full of spit. For a moment, he simply stared, tongue brushing against the back of his teeth as he tried to regain his composure and failed spectacularly. James was watching him, eyes dark and heavy with need, cock still throbbing in that space between them.
With a slow, deliberate motion, Regulus rose to his knees and swiped his fingers over his bottom lip, tasting the salt of James’s arousal against the sweetness of his own spit. He let out a small, teasing laugh. “Then what do you want, mon amour?”
James’s hand skimmed Regulus’s jaw, thumb tracing the line of his chin. “I want you ,” he breathed, voice thick. “Every inch of you.”
Regulus felt heat bloom behind his eyes. He stood, slick legs trembling. He straddled him slowly, thighs spread just wide enough to bracket James’s hips, and let his cunt drag slick and aching along the length of James’s cock. Not taking him in.
Not yet.
Just teasing, rubbing the flushed folds along the shaft. Smearing wetness from base to tip like he had all the time in the world and no intention of using it properly.
James let out a low, strangled sound—half-groan, half-whimper—and his hands flexed where they were fisted in the sheets. Regulus rolled his hips again, moaning at the friction, at how warm and hard James felt pressed against him, not inside him, not yet. Just enough to drive them both slowly mad.
“C’mon, baby…” Regulus whispered, breath shaky as he ground down again, letting the head of James’s cock catch just barely against his entrance and then slip away. “Fuck, please…” James hadn’t even fingered him. They’d gone without prep before, Regulus had no complaints with this being the same.
He sounded wrecked. Teasing and desperate all at once, a man unraveling in silk thread. He reached one hand down, holding James steady, lining them up—but still didn’t sink down, just let the tip slide against him again, drawing another whine from his throat.
“Just the tip?” he asked, voice sweet, almost innocent—if not for the way he was trembling slightly with want. He knew the game he was playing.
James exhaled like he was trying not to combust. His hips jerked once, involuntary, like every inch of him was screaming for more. He knew Regulus. Knew the games he liked to play. Knew when to call a bluff—and when to give in, because he didn’t have the strength not to.
“You’re not playing fair,” he muttered, voice gravel-low.
Regulus smirked, biting his lip as he rocked forward again, letting his slick fold over James’s tip in a slow, needy motion. “Wasn’t aware I had to.”
James’s hands came up, one gripping Regulus’s thigh and the other settling on his waist, fingers digging in like he needed something to anchor him. “You’re greedy,” he breathed, dragging his thumb across the line of Regulus’s hip. “So fucking greedy.”
Regulus leaned down, body flush to his now, mouth hovering just over James’s as he whispered, “You love it.”
And he was right.
He had switched to an implant a few weeks ago—James knew that. Knew it was safe. Knew they could do this without the risk. But somehow, every time Regulus got like this, whining and grinding and begging just enough to make James forget his name, that old thrill still licked at the edges.
The fantasy of danger.
Of getting lost in him, in all of it, without stopping.
Regulus whimpered again, angling his hips down just enough for the head of James’s cock to press against his entrance—threatening, teasing. It caught onto it before sliding past again.
“I want it,” he whispered. “Want you . Just a little. Just the tip…”
James’s grip tightened. His breath caught.
James swallowed hard, his throat working like he was trying to keep himself tethered. Regulus could feel it—the tension in him, the restraint coiled so tight it was practically humming off his skin.
“You say just the tip like I haven’t heard that lie before,” James rasped, his hands now planted firmly on Regulus’s hips, thumbs stroking the flushed, sensitive skin there. “You get one inch in and start begging for all of it.”
Regulus grinned down at him, eyes dark and half-lidded. “Isn’t that part of the charm?”
He sank just barely lower, letting the swollen head of James’s cock nudge against his entrance, parting him slowly. The contact made them both gasp—sharp, electric, hungry. Regulus was already so wet it was obscene, slick dripping down the underside of James’s shaft and pooling where their bodies met.
James’s hands trembled.
Regulus rolled his hips again, a slow, teasing grind that had the head of James’s cock catching on his opening, pushing— almost —but not quite in. Just that unbearable pressure, that maddening tease.
James cursed under his breath. “You’re going to be the fucking death of me.”
Regulus leaned down, chest brushing against his, mouth ghosting over James’s jaw as he whispered, “Good. Want you to die in me. Buried deep and shaking.”
James groaned, eyes fluttering shut as he tried to hold on. But Regulus could feel the way his hips jerked up again, trying to chase it. Trying to close the space between them.
“You know what this does to me,” James panted. “You grinding on me like this—fuck, Reg, I’m not made of stone.”
Regulus kissed him—slow and wet and possessive. “Then stop acting like it,” he whispered into James’s mouth.
And finally, finally , he sank down just enough for the tip to slide inside him—stretching him open inch by inch. They both gasped—James’s hands tightening, Regulus’s thighs trembling with the sharp rush of it.
Heat bloomed between them, thick and immediate. Regulus felt it in his gut, in the arch of his spine, in the electric line of pleasure that sparked up his belly and down through his thighs.
James was panting, fingers digging into his hips now. “You’re so—shit, you’re so tight—”
“Been thinking about this all fucking day,” Regulus groaned, already rolling his hips in shallow, torturous circles that drove James absolutely out of his mind. “You in me. Me on top. Watching you fall apart.”
James made a sound that might’ve been his name, might’ve been a curse, might’ve been a prayer. It didn’t matter.
Regulus moved with careful deliberation, rising up just enough for James’s cock to slip almost entirely free before lowering himself again, letting just the thick, sensitive head nestle back inside the dripping heat of his cunt. The stretch, even with so little inside him, was maddening—sweet and pulsing and not even close to enough.
He kept the motion slow, lazy, teasing. His thighs tensed with every subtle shift, his slick folds kissing the length of James’s cock but never taking him deeper than the very tip. It was torture, and Regulus was reveling in it.
The kind of drawn-out game they both loved, where power twisted between them with every breath, every restrained moan.
James’s hands gripped Regulus’s hips tightly, fingers pressing into the skin like he was grounding himself, holding Regulus in place—not forcing him down, but not letting him go any further either. His control was impressive, even if his jaw was clenched and his breath came in ragged bursts.
His knuckles were nearly white where they held him, and his eyes burned with a mix of restraint and barely-leashed hunger.
Regulus rolled his hips once more, slick and slow, letting the head of James’s cock glide through him with aching precision. Each little movement sent a ripple of pleasure spiraling up his spine, and with every shallow thrust, the need for more built like a fire under his skin.
His own breathing had quickened now, and his thighs trembled just faintly. His cunt clenched around James again, instinctively, craving more—craving everything . He sank just a little lower this time, taking in more of the thick length, gasping as the head pushed past that tight resistance and slid halfway inside him.
James groaned deep in his throat, fingers tightening their grip, and his voice came out rough and warning. “ Mi amor …” he breathed, like it was both a plea and a reprimand.
Regulus met his eyes, chest rising and falling with every breath, his voice low and wanting. “I want to feel you.”
It wasn’t a request. It was a confession—soft, aching, edged with the kind of hunger that didn’t care about patience anymore.
James looked up at him like he’d been struck—eyes wide, pupils blown, his hands twitching like he was on the edge of giving in. And Regulus, smug and desperate in equal measure, ground down just a little further. Savoring the way James cursed under his breath and tightened his grip.
Like he was torn between holding back and flipping them over to take control completely.
James’s grip tightened, like he was trying to physically hold himself back from thrusting up into him and shattering whatever slow, maddening rhythm Regulus had created. He looked ruined already—hair a mess, lips parted, a thin sheen of sweat forming at his temple. And they’d barely started.
Regulus exhaled a quiet laugh, breathless and smug, and traced a slow hand down his own stomach, pausing just above where they were joined. “You’re so good,” he murmured, voice a low purr, meant to soothe and tease in equal measure. “Letting me use you like this. You’re so—fuck, James, you’re hard.”
James groaned like the words alone had undone him, like being spoken to like that in Regulus’s voice was its own kind of undoing. “You think this is easy?” he panted, jaw tight. “You feel so good around me, clenching against me, Reg.”
“Good.” Regulus rocked his hips again, taking just a fraction more of James inside. His cunt clenched down instinctively, greedy for the rest.
He could feel how close James was to snapping—could see it in the tremble in his arms, the way his hips kept jerking upward in tiny, involuntary movements, aching for more friction, more warmth, more of him.
Regulus leaned down, bracing his palms against James’s chest, letting their noses brush, lips barely apart. His breath came out shaky now too, warm against James’s mouth. “You could fill me,” he whispered, voice ragged with want. “Split me open and fuck me until I forget my own name.”
“Christ,” James growled, eyes dark and blown wide with need. “You’re gonna kill me baby,
“You like it,” Regulus said with a soft smile, grinding down just enough to make both of them gasp. “You love when I’m like this.”
James let out something between a growl and a prayer, and finally— finally —his restraint snapped. His hands slid to the backs of Regulus’s thighs and dragged him down in one smooth motion, burying himself fully inside with a deep, shuddering thrust that stole the air from Regulus’s lungs.
Regulus cried out, back arching, thighs trembling around James’s hips as he took it—took all of it—so deep he could feel it in his gut. His cunt fluttered around him, stretched wide and stuffed full, and for a second, he could do nothing but cling to James’s shoulders and gasp.
James’s voice was rough against his throat, hands stroking soothing lines down his sides. “You feel that, baby?” he whispered. “You wanted it so bad. Now take it.”
And Regulus did.
He rolled his hips with a broken moan, finally giving into the hunger that had been simmering under his skin since the moment he walked into the bar in that ridiculous hat. The one he now clutched, barely holding onto the back of his head.
This was what he’d come for.
This was what he wanted —James buried in him, wrecking him slow. Letting Regulus ride the line between control and surrender until they both lost themselves completely.
James’s pace had turned relentless, each thrust sharp and deep, forcing little gasps out of Regulus with every movement. He was folded over him now, their bodies pressed so close it was hard to tell where one of them ended and the other began. His breath was hot against Regulus’s ear, ragged with effort and want, his voice low and wrecked when he spoke.
“So fucking slutty,” James growled, the words almost too filthy for the tenderness in his touch. “‘Just the tip,’ no condom.” he teased. “You want me to fuck a baby in you, is that it? See if it sticks.”
Regulus’s entire body jolted at the question, a guttural moan ripping from his throat before he could even think to stop it. His thighs shook where they were wrapped around James’s hips, fingers clawing at the sheets beneath him as his cunt fluttered helplessly around the thick length buried deep inside.
He hadn’t expected the question, not like that, not in that voice—full of heat and rough adoration and something that sounded disturbingly like awe. But God, it hit something sharp and dark inside him, made him burn.
“James,” he gasped, the name cracking in the middle, more like a cry than a plea.
James only smirked against his skin, lips brushing his jaw as he thrust deeper, grinding his hips at the end like he was trying to brand the shape of himself into Regulus’s body. “You act so in control,” he murmured, voice like silk pulled tight around a blade. “But your cunt tells the truth. Look how hungry it is for me.”
Regulus’s moan turned into a whimper, high and trembling, and he bucked up against him without meaning to. His mind was fogged with pleasure, his body burning from the inside out, and the only thing anchoring him was the feel of James—inside him, around him, in him.
“You want me to fill you up,” James breathed. “Want it leaking down your thighs, don’t you?”
Regulus couldn’t speak—he couldn’t think . He just nodded desperately, burying his face in James’s neck as his orgasm started to coil again, tight and wicked and close .
James’s hand moved with a kind of desperate precision, sliding between their sweat-slick bodies until his fingers found Regulus’s clit. There was no hesitation—just firm, practiced pressure in those tight, perfect circles that he knew would unravel him.
Regulus gasped, the noise catching in his throat as the first sparks of release lit up deep in his belly.
“Fuck—James—” he choked out, his voice raw, trembling.
His body tightened all at once, thighs shaking, his cunt fluttering and clenching around James’s cock like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. The orgasm hit hard, overwhelming, sharp enough to turn his vision white at the edges. His breath stuttered. His fingers clawed at James’s back. Every nerve in his body screamed with sensation.
But James didn’t stop.
Even as Regulus trembled beneath him—overstimulated and gasping—James kept moving. His thrusts never faltered, hips driving into him with slow, relentless rhythm, the kind that burned in the best possible way. The kind that made it impossible to tell where the pleasure ended and the ache began.
“Your cunt,” James murmured, voice low and reverent, pressed right against the shell of Regulus’s ear, “feels so fucking good when you’re clenching around me like that, mi amor …”
The words dragged a moan out of Regulus, loud and helpless. His whole body jolted as the sensitivity twisted into something darker, something needier—pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain. And still, James didn’t stop.
His fingers were still moving against his clit, dragging him higher again, building a second orgasm from the ashes of the first.
Regulus whimpered, overwhelmed and aching and full in every way that mattered, and James just held him tighter—his hand firm at Regulus’s hip, like he needed to keep him there, anchored to him.
His body was already shaking from the first orgasm, the muscles in his legs twitching with every thrust of James’s hips and every press of those maddening fingers. His breath came in gasps—high, needy sounds that he didn’t have the energy or presence of mind to hide.
Not that James would’ve let him.
James liked when he was noisy.
Liked knowing how good he made him feel.
And God, he was making him feel good. Too good.
“James,” Regulus gasped, clutching at his shoulders now. His nails dug into the skin there, desperate, trying to hold on to something solid while his whole world was falling apart. “I—can’t—fuck—”
“Yes, you can,” James whispered, kissing the side of his jaw, lips brushing sweat-damp skin. His voice was low, deep with something feral. “I know you can. You’re gonna give me another one, mi amor. Just like that.”
His thrusts stayed steady, deep, dragging against the most sensitive part of Regulus’s cunt with devastating precision. It was too much and not enough all at once. Regulus cried out again, his hips instinctively trying to pull away and chase the feeling in the same breath.
Every movement sent sparks shooting up his spine. It was agony, it was heaven. It was everything.
“I feel every twitch of you,” James murmured, like he couldn’t help himself. His free hand stroked up Regulus’s side, over the arch of his back, grounding him. “So warm, so wet, so tight —fuck, I could stay buried in you forever.”
That was all it took.
The pressure coiled inside Regulus again, sharp and sudden, an unbearable kind of fullness building like a wave he couldn’t stop. His second orgasm crashed into him so violently it knocked the breath right out of his lungs.
He sobbed through it—an honest-to-God sob, wracked and wrecked—his whole body convulsing as his cunt clenched hard around James’s cock, dragging him with him.
James moaned his name, voice wrecked, and buried himself deep with one final thrust, warmth flooding into Regulus as he came, hips jerking against him like he couldn’t not move. He held Regulus so tightly it almost hurt.
But Regulus didn’t want him to let go. Not yet.
Not when his body was still fluttering around James, overstimulated and oversensitive. Not when his thighs were trembling against James’s hips and he could still feel the aftershocks rolling through his core.
He turned his head and pressed his lips to James’s throat, tasting sweat and skin and the kind of intimacy that didn’t need words. His lips lingered there for a long moment, part kiss, part nuzzle—like he needed to ground himself in the rhythm of James’s pulse.
James shifted just enough to hold him tighter, one hand sliding up Regulus’s spine in a soothing, slow stroke. The other cupped the back of his head gently, guiding him closer as their foreheads touched and they breathed the same shallow, quiet air.
His cock slipped free, finally softening between Regulus’s legs, but he didn’t move away. Just stayed there, pressed against him, like he couldn’t bear even an inch of distance.
“You alright?” James asked softly, voice still wrecked, hoarse with the weight of what they’d just done. His hand kept moving in that calming rhythm, like he was trying to soothe every frayed nerve Regulus had.
Regulus gave a shaky little nod against him, lips brushing the curve of James’s jaw. “Yeah. You?”
A soft laugh rumbled in James’s chest, followed by a kiss to Regulus’s temple. “Still trying to figure out how I survive you.”
Regulus smirked, though the expression was lazy now—sleepy and sated. “Good. Means I’m doing something right.”
Eventually, James eased back, carefully—slow, measured movements, like he knew Regulus’s body was humming on the edge of too much. He helped guide him back onto the pillows, brushing damp hair from Regulus’s forehead before disappearing briefly out of the room.
The sound of running water and a cupboard opening filled the quiet, followed by James’s warm hands returning with a damp cloth. He cleaned Regulus off gently, murmuring soft apologies every time Regulus flinched from oversensitivity.
“You’re such a menace,” James said with a smile as he wiped between his thighs. “And still I want to take care of you. We need to stop taking the foreplay to my work though,”
“You like it,” Regulus murmured, barely able to keep his eyes open now. “Don’t act like you don’t.”
James didn’t argue. He just chuckled, tossed the cloth into the hamper, and climbed back into bed with him, pulling the blanket up over them both. His arms wrapped around Regulus, cradling him with the kind of ease that only came from loving someone deeply, openly.
Regulus tucked his face into James’s chest, breathing in the warmth and comfort of him. The ache between his legs was starting to dull into something almost pleasant, almost addictive. He felt wrung out, raw in the best way.
“Don’t fall asleep in the hat,” James murmured, fingers lightly tapping the brim. “You’ll crush it.”
Regulus hummed. “Then take it off me.”
James did. Gently. He placed it on the nightstand, leaned down to kiss Regulus’s forehead, and whispered, “There. Now I’ve got everything I want in bed with me.”
And with Regulus wrapped around him, their bodies tangled and hearts beating in the same quiet rhythm, neither of them said another word.