James/Regulus
For fleshdress. This originally intended to be angsty, but instead turned out rather soppy (for James/Reg, anyway) and doesn't involve Knockturn Alley in the slightest. I'm sorry. ♥
They lie together in silence, Regulus with his face averted so that he doesn’t have to see the look on James’ face. Despite all the times that James has called him spiteful and cruel, he can’t seem to bear to see the hurt so obviously displayed with all his ridiculous Gryffindor honesty. It doesn’t comfort him that James still has an arm heavy across his side, fingers twitching against his bare skin as if he’s trying to rub away the awkward remains of the argument and start over again.
Regulus doesn’t know what to do, and so he does nothing. He’s not used to making up after fights: his wars do not end, and the enemy never switches sides. That he’s not sure which side he should put James on anymore is something that he doesn’t allow himself to think about.
He should leave: get up, get dressed and forget, but the hand on his hip seems to have tightened its grip, and then there’s a body pressing him down into the mattress with such urgency that it almost makes it impossible to breathe. Regulus finds himself submitting to it like an addiction: that James has this power over him is a terrifying revelation. But there are desperate kisses to his cheek that he doesn’t refuse, and he turns his face to James’ in time to kiss him back, not with the viciousness of before, but something slow and careful.
He refuses to say he’s sorry. He’s not, and pride wouldn’t allow him to even if he were. James doesn’t seem to have such reservations, kissing apologies into his skin without shame or fear of consequence. Regulus almost envies him this, wondering if it’s something that Gryffindors are just born with, until he remembers his brother and all his wilful stubbornness. Still, his frown is kissed away, and he is grateful when James doesn’t mention it when he lets his fingers wander across his shoulder, more of an apology than he’d ever put into words.
They fuck, and it’s like the sunshine after a storm. This time Regulus doesn’t turn away, and James watches him with such intensity that he’s scared that he can see inside, and know all the things that he does not, will not, say. There’s something different in James’ smile, something new, that Regulus doesn’t quite know how to take. It’s not sharp like before, always a flash of teeth away from dangerous; instead there is gentleness in the curve of his lips, softness in his blush that is more than just sex and sweat.
Regulus doesn’t notice when he smiles back: just the tiniest quirk of his lips, but it’s enough. Whatever they were fighting about before, it isn’t Regulus’ victory.
They lie together in silence, Regulus with his face averted so that he doesn’t have to see the look on James’ face. Despite all the times that James has called him spiteful and cruel, he can’t seem to bear to see the hurt so obviously displayed with all his ridiculous Gryffindor honesty. It doesn’t comfort him that James still has an arm heavy across his side, fingers twitching against his bare skin as if he’s trying to rub away the awkward remains of the argument and start over again.
Regulus doesn’t know what to do, and so he does nothing. He’s not used to making up after fights: his wars do not end, and the enemy never switches sides. That he’s not sure which side he should put James on anymore is something that he doesn’t allow himself to think about.
He should leave: get up, get dressed and forget, but the hand on his hip seems to have tightened its grip, and then there’s a body pressing him down into the mattress with such urgency that it almost makes it impossible to breathe. Regulus finds himself submitting to it like an addiction: that James has this power over him is a terrifying revelation. But there are desperate kisses to his cheek that he doesn’t refuse, and he turns his face to James’ in time to kiss him back, not with the viciousness of before, but something slow and careful.
He refuses to say he’s sorry. He’s not, and pride wouldn’t allow him to even if he were. James doesn’t seem to have such reservations, kissing apologies into his skin without shame or fear of consequence. Regulus almost envies him this, wondering if it’s something that Gryffindors are just born with, until he remembers his brother and all his wilful stubbornness. Still, his frown is kissed away, and he is grateful when James doesn’t mention it when he lets his fingers wander across his shoulder, more of an apology than he’d ever put into words.
They fuck, and it’s like the sunshine after a storm. This time Regulus doesn’t turn away, and James watches him with such intensity that he’s scared that he can see inside, and know all the things that he does not, will not, say. There’s something different in James’ smile, something new, that Regulus doesn’t quite know how to take. It’s not sharp like before, always a flash of teeth away from dangerous; instead there is gentleness in the curve of his lips, softness in his blush that is more than just sex and sweat.
Regulus doesn’t notice when he smiles back: just the tiniest quirk of his lips, but it’s enough. Whatever they were fighting about before, it isn’t Regulus’ victory.