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James was much less prepared to face rightful consequences than he originally thought. He stared bluntly at the irritated expression in front but didn’t seem to sparke much of the familiar interest in the storm-gray eyes. What’s up with that? Honestly, what did that spoiled brat even want, aside from stealing away Potter’s raging youth and blooming love?
“Are you sane?” squinted James, air pushed out his lungs with effort he found himself requiring only with the heavy presence of the boy near him.
“Am I?”
And James could not bear the mocking. Truly, fuck Regulus Black.
It’s been nearly fifteen minutes since James Potter lost the quidditch match. Roughly six of those he spent proving that it wasn’t much of his fault to Sirius and six more to shit-talk the other team just to be safe. It’s not like he really meant what he said, and even if he did, it was none of Regulus’ business. As if lately, they both (read as proud R.A.B and salty Jamie) try to avoid business that’s not theirs, but here Regulus is, in the Gryffindor locker room after waiting for every single player to get out of there and give Black room to execute whatever revenge plan he had.
Losing eye contact for a second, Potter suddenly became aware of the bareness of his skin. The loose towel tied around his hips didn’t do much to hide the tanned muscles and silly scratches, the result of a hot-headed game a quarter of an hour ago. Wow. Regulus Black really knows how to get under one’s skin without even trying.
James sees the eyes before him flicker, wandering off from his frame and it feels almost criminal. What else he’s got to see?
It’s borderline infuriating, but he’s gotta push through. If he learned anything from being too close to Regulus Black, it’s that emotional attachment is always too one-sided for comfort.
“Care to share why you’re lingering around Gryffindor’s property?”
There’s a tag at the corner of his lips, that James unwillingly follows without even realising. A faint smile, the one that precedes a bite.
“Don’t care, actually.” Regulus scoffs, his eyes full of amusement. “Feel free to put your clothes on.”
“Well, that’s a first! Don’t remember you complaining.”
“Memory loss, perhaps.” he crosses his arms and it doesn’t hide from James how tightly he squeezes his elbows.
James rolls his eyes “You can’t just say ‘perhaps!’” and gets an eye roll from Regulus too.
Fine, Potter thinks. If that’s the game then he knows the rules. Honestly, they’ve been fighting more than not, so being at each other’s throats should feel natural but only gets a tired groan out. James walks over to his locker and takes out a change of clothes. Regulus stares, unimpressed as the guy before him dresses up, clearly unbothered for the eyes clocking his every move. It’s not really fair, but if Regulus doesn’t care for James then James won’t care for Reg either.
Being in a relationship with a Black, – Potter closely listened to Remus’ rants as in late – is like being at a warsight. There’s no place for vulnerability, unless you want to get scrambled up in centuries of abuse and mistreatment that circled back from the House of Black to any of the relationships in and outside of it. It sucked, really, more so with Regulus who was running back home every break they had.
“Can you hurry up, no?”
And James, as intuitive as he is, catches on to the hysterical notes in Reg's voice and softly sighs “Shhh, Reg, shush.”
The things it does to Regulus is fucking inconceivable. He gets angry so quickly that James doesn’t have time to stop the hand that shoves him at the closest locker, nails digging into his bare chest.
“Don’t piss me off, Potter”
James finds a safe space to look between tightly knitted brows in front of him. “James is fine, thank you.”
“Potter.”
Not the first time they circle back to second year, with the rivalry and stolen glances, but it must be hard to grow up in a house that holds you for nothing more than an inconvenience and a forced investment. James finds himself thinking the very same thought he and Sirius fought for, a mere hollow-confidence that if given the chance, they’d treat the boy better. If let close enough, he’d give Regulus everything no questions asked.
Except, well. When James gets too close he can’t help but take. Because Regulus is so cold, proud, jealous, cynical and rude and if James is given the opportunity he practically begs to get cut on those sharp edges. It’s really lovely, the way Regulus and James fit together so poorly like the whole universe isn’t fond of them being in love sometimes. But when they hate each other it’s torture like no other. Really, that’s what James is working with. In this case, half-naked and mildly upset from the lost game.
“I’m not about to take your mockery.” exclames Regulus
“Then take my leave, yeah? I can walk out like that.”
“Sure, you have no problem walking in front of the whole school half naked. It’s not like they’d see anything new.”
James takes a pause, inhales and exhales, like Remus does. At this point he’s sure that Regulus is as lost as he is.
“Are you calling me mediocre-looking or a manwhore?”
“...Which one annoys you best.”
“You are still touching me,” James notes, instead.
“That is because you are still here.”
“And you are not letting me leave either?”
“I don’t give a fuck regardless of what you do.”
James can’t help but cock a brow at that. It’s not like he believes the harsh words Regulus is so eager to use, because he’d much rather trust the little nice things he says or does without overthinking too much.
“That’s alright, i guess” he blurts out, voice suddenly hoarse trying to fill the heavy silence between them.
He’s met with another unsatisfied glance from Regulus. Surely, it wasn’t that bad, right? To make things worse, Potter did realise that he wasn’t at fault here. Yes, he did badmouth a couple of Slytherin quidditch players, but come on! It’s not like Reg even cared for quidditch, let alone for the dumasses that hexed the brooms just to get an upper hand this time.
Honestly, the hell with those quidditch players. Potter stared down – because of course he’d grown so much taller over the summer – at Regulus. It was criminal, his face. Sometimes James truly had no idea what could possibly make him ugly enough to overshadow the etherial features, the deep ocean-grey eyes and sweet words he’d chirp once in a while, making James’ chest swell at the warm feeling of tenderness.
“You here on business or was touching my chest your only goal for today?” James laughs out, sweet as if they’d never fought at all.
Because frustration was oh so easily erased with a simple glance at the short curled lashes and upward pointy nose in an up-close perspective. What is a better cure for hatred then absolute utmost improper thirsting over your best mate’s worst brother?
“Depends” Regulus lightly scratches the tightened muscles — ‘show off’ he thinks.
“Really, it doesn’t.” James snorts “Only an idiot would wait out for the whole team to leave the locker room just to find that I’m still here.”
“I have been quite forgetful lately.” He smirks, looking proud of his work. “Were you not heading to snog that poor girl? What was her name again?”
James frowns, confused. “You mean Lils?”
“Lils” whispers Regulus in a high pitched, sing-song manner.
“You can’t be serious, right? I sure do love her, but not like that. She’s practically my sister with the amount of hitting and punching that's involved in our relationship!”
“Bullshit.” cuts Regulus.
Rarely has James Potter been the one to first break the little physical contact he had with Reg. He could barely use up fingers of one hand to count total times Regulus would be the one to initiate contact, so the second he pushed the boy away he became painfully aware of the longing feeling on the back of his neck and the cold that followed after he made sure to put some distance between them.
“Last time you accused me of fucking Sirius.”
“Did I? Only because you have got ‘cheater’ written all over you.”
“Takes one to know one, yeah?”
Regulus rolls his eyes, with nothing better to do, evidently.
“You know I wouldn’t.” James frowns and gets a nod from Regulus, but only after he averts his gaze. “Let me put my clothes on, if you just wanted to talk.”
Reg groans: “Hate talking.”
He gets a boyish giggle: “Figured”
Regulus leans on one of the lockers, absentmindedly watching as James puts on his stretched shirt of bright red and gold.
“Couldn’t make up a proper fight.” he suddenly admits, half-smiling to himself.
“That I figured too.”
Regulus winces, “What else did you figure?”
“Is there something else you want from me? I thought I heard you say you dont give a fuck regardless of my actions.”
“I’m concerned for you, Potter. Your memory is not that great, is it?
It conveniently slips from James’ watchful eyes how step by step Regulus has been making his way closer.
“Maybe it is my memory. Then help me remember what you meant?”
“Sure.”
Reg grabs the nape of his neck, tugging on it to pull James lower and hooks the frame of his glasses, getting it away from Potter’s face. He then stretches upwards to clear the way to James’ lips, but not quite touching yet, as per small tugs on his sweater.
“People usually say sorry in this circumstance,” he reminds.
“I’m not ‘people’”
“Come on, try for me.”
Regulus winces and purses his lips so that the next words that come out sound hushed and mocking: “I’m sorry you are madly in love with me.”
He hears a hoarse ‘good enough’ before he feels hot, dry lips on his own thin ones. Regulus can’t help but smile into the kiss. It’s soft and really not that different from their usual kisses, except they both are painfully aware of the whole year and a half between their “usual” and “now”. But they don’t let the reality slip into the kiss, keeping it as soft and as innocent as the first one and the couple after, before they figured out how to slip away from Sirius’ attention for long enough to have time for more heated and more ‘closed-door’ activities.
It’s nice. The way Potter’s hands hover over Regulus’ cheeks just right, barely even touching and how Regulus grabs his neck in return, tugging on the grown-out curls as a reminder to not get too deep into it. The way James pulls away for half a second to breathe and angrily whisper “Open up”, rushed and hot. Regulus shakes his head, without registering that he’d already parted lips for James to lean into and devoure like they have all the time in the world and the right to stand there, stuck together without a second thought.
Regulus squeezes his shoulder and James makes an effort to peel himself off of the red — from kisses, of course — lips in front of him. “That’s enough.”
Potter frowns, his eyes glossy and still a bit confused “Yeah.”
“I’m going to leave now.”
“Yeah?”
“Because this is a dead end and we are clearly not a match.”
James looked at him wild-eyed: “We aren’t?”
“You have to stop turning off your brain like that.”
“I wouldn’t have to use it if you were near at times.”
“Not much to use to begin with.” Reg snorts.
“Shut it, Reggie.”
Black turns on his toes, still giddy from the kiss and walks out. Truly, they are not a match, but boy do they try to stick to each other.