Chapter Text
Of all the scandalous places Lord James Potter, Marquess of Richmond, had ever found himself in, this was by far his favourite.
Not because he ever engaged in the sort of behaviours one indulged in when on the premises (namely gambling, drinking, or groping women). James was far too careful for that. But because here, in this particular club just on the right side of disreputable, he had an ally. And that simplified matters considerably, something that James was very much in favour of because he was weary and wanted nothing more than to fall into his bed.
Rest couldn’t be had until he’d rescued his best friend from the clutches of some vice or other. Determined to deal with this as efficiently as possible, James stepped into the gentlemen’s club and pinned the door man with an authoritative look he knew bid people obey him without delay.
“Find me Lupin,” James said.
Remus Lupin was a man of terrible manners, mysterious background, and intimidating presence. He was also the only person in all of London whom James trusted to help him handle Lord Sirius Black.
“Richmond,” Lupin said, appearing at the door within five minutes of James having asked for him. “It’s a bad night.”
“I feared it may be,” James replied, following Lupin into the club. The man glanced at him over his shoulder, so James added, “He received upsetting news this morning.”
“He’s a grown man. Surely, he can handle upsetting news?”
James simply shook his head. He trusted Lupin to help him with Sirius because he had done so on many other occasions, but that was the extent of their cordiality. There was no further relation between James and Lupin. There could never be.
As a member of the peerage, James couldn’t risk tarnishing his reputation by associating with a man of a life such as Lupin’s, no matter how much he liked him.
It was bad enough that James went everywhere with Sirius—when he wasn’t in his cups having a fit of hysterics—and the only reason James got away with it was that the adoption of Sirius into the Richmond estate and the Potter family had been formalised by his father the Duke of Richmond and nobody ever dared upset a Duke.
“There are extenuating circumstances,” James said, and left it at that.
Lupin led him through a long corridor towards the back of the building. They walked past several rooms where gentlemen were engaged in cards, billiards or conversation, drinking port and smoking. Most had women draped over their laps, beautiful courtesans who made their living inside clubs like these, entertaining lords.
One of these rooms—a billiards one, to be precise—was where James had expected to find Sirius, so he was rather surprised when Lupin led him well past the public areas of the club. The first door was locked, and Lupin produced a key to open it and let James through. They walked down another corridor, then into a small, storage room that was empty save for the lone man sitting on the floor.
“Sirius?” James asked, crouching by his friend. “It’s me. James.”
“Oh,” Sirius said, blinking as he looked up. Bloodshot eyes made James’ chest tighten. “You came.”
“Always. You know that,” James said, hooking his hand under Sirius’ arm to pull him to his feet. “Now, compose yourself.”
“I’m composed,” Sirius protested, shaking off James’ hand. “He,” Sirius pointed an accusatory finger at Lupin, “told the staff to stop serving me some time ago like I’m a school boy and not a grown man in full possession of his wits.”
“But you aren’t,” Lupin said, startling James. He would have never expected Lupin to dare address Sirius in that way. Sirius may have been disinherited by his own family, but he was legally the second in line to inherit the Dukedom of Richmond, at least until James had children which was not likely.
The point was that Sirius was still a peer as far as Lupin was concerned. Well above Lupin’s station.
And yet, something in the way Sirius glanced at Lupin, then immediately away gave James pause. The colour rising in Sirius’ cheeks was enough to prompt James to make a hasty retreat, before he learnt something he couldn’t unlearn.
“We must leave at once.”
Lupin, bless his experience in dealing with wayward gentlemen, led them to the service door to spare Sirius the humiliation of being seen leaving with James. The scandal sheets would fill pages upon pages with it, should Sirius be caught in such a state.
Once they were on the street, and the cool air of the night was biting their cheeks, James turned to glance at Lupin. “You have my gratitude, again. Please, have the bills sent to my house at your earliest convenience. Add something for the troubles.”
“It wasn’t any trouble, my lord,” Lupin said cryptically.
Before James could enquire further, Sirius had stalked down the street and was already hailing a hansom cab.
****
“I beg you, Sirius, please stay home this evening,” James repeated for the eleventh time.
Standing across from him, with his own valet tying his cravat around his neck, Sirius shot him a look of incredulity. “Absolutely not.”
“What are you hoping to accomplish?” James asked, doing his best not to fidget lest he disturb his own valet’s work.
“I haven’t seen him in ten years,” Sirius replied. “Besides, it’s the first ball of the season. What sort of mediocre rake would I be if I didn’t attend it? It’s my duty to scandalise everyone so all the eligible ladies flock towards more respectable gentlemen.”
“I’m not looking for a bride,” James said stiffly.
“There are other respectable gentlemen.”
“None that you care about.”
“Not even a small amount,” Sirius replied. And that was the end of their argument, for James had never learnt how to say no to Sirius. There had been far too much of that in his life already, and James had always striven for filling Sirius’ life with yeses. To friendship. To happiness. To dreams. To love.
An hour later, Lord Richmond and Lord Sirius Black—he shouldn’t use the name anymore, and he didn’t, not in legal papers, but he knew it infuriated his parents to no end that he still introduced himself that way—dismounted James’ carriage and walked into the Rosier ball. It was early February. First ball of the 1843 season.
Snow crunched under their feet as they ascended the marble staircase. Sirius wrinkled his nose with distaste at a grand statue to the right before nodding towards the butler and stepping inside. A servant collected their coats and hats, then James and Sirius made their way to the ballroom.
Upon arrival, James quickly located the women he feared the most in this entire world. The mothers of debutants making their first season. As a Marquess—heir to a dukedom—and at only six and twenty years of age, James was, rather unfortunately, the most desirable bachelor in London.
Sirius surpassed him in good looks by a mile, but he was an infamous rake who had carefully cultivated a terrible reputation over the past few years. While there was no shortage of ladies who dreamed of being the one to reform the scoundrel, debutants didn’t dare go near him for fear of ruination.
For a woman, even a whisper of scandal was enough to destroy her marriage prospects. James found this to be absurd and wildly unjust, but he was just a man and the ton was set in its ways.
No sooner had they stopped by a column to take stock of those in attendance that James noticed his good friend, Lady Marlene McKinnon, daughter of the Earl of Belvoir, talking to a group of ladies that looked vaguely familiar but whose names James couldn’t recall.
A hand clamped on his forearm, gripping him with such force James’ head snapped up in alarm, half-expecting there to be a fire somewhere.
“He’s here,” Sirius whispered. “Standing with Lord Rosier.”
Across the ballroom, James found Rosier standing near a column. He was with his twin sister, Lady Pandora Rosier, and—
It couldn’t be. James felt his stomach swoop down into the bowels of the Earth, for the man standing with Lord Rosier could not be Lord Regulus Black, Marquess of Islington. Surely, Sirius was gravely mistaken. Had he much to drink before arriving at the ball? James couldn't recall.
His throat was thick with apprehension, the cravat his valet had skillfully arranged robbing him of breath. That man could not be Sirius' brother.He could not be, because he was Gabriel Tissier, a French gentleman James had met—and rather scandalously kissed—two years ago in Paris.
“Are you quite certain?” James said, voice strangled.
Sirius looked at him with an odd expression. “Of course, I am certain. He’s my brother.”
At that moment, Mr. Tissier—or Lord Islington—looked up and met James’ gaze. Recognition flitted across his face, accompanied by a dangerous tilt of his lips. Heat raced up to James’ cheeks. So, he remembered, too.
Then, his eyes slid towards Sirius and the half-smile dropped from his face. Lord Islington turned to look at Lord Rosier and whispered something to him that prompted both the Rosiers to look in their direction.
Overwhelmed, James cleared his throat, “Are you going to approach him?”
“No,” Sirius replied. “I’m not nearly drunk enough for that.”
“Very well,” James said. “The refreshments room is this way.”
####
Regulus thought the British ton was the most boring, prudish group of people he’d ever had the misfortune of meeting. Their rules were so absurdly rigid they gave him a headache.
Of course, being the son of a Duke, he knew the proper way to address people and how titles worked. He’d been instructed from the crib on the proper way to greet a lady or a fellow peer. How to conduct himself in public and in private. The proper way to wear his cravat and style his hair. Since arriving in England, his shirts had been so heavily starched by his new valet that they felt harsh against his skin.
The problem was not that Regulus wasn’t familiar with the rules. It was that he thought them absurd. Take, for instance, the man currently making a hasty retreat to the refreshments room. He was James, Lord Richmond. Regulus had once called him Potter. In France, the night they met. Potter hadn’t known Regulus was a British peer, too, and so he hadn’t bothered correcting him.
It had been wonderful to have leave to call him by a name no one else here would ever use to address him. To the ton, Potter was and could only be Lord Richmond, for that was his title. The family name was always discarded in favour of the stiff reminder of his station. One day, he would become His Grace the Duke of Richmond. Even worse.
Regulus hated the whole thing.
He wondered if Potter would let him call him that again, or if he’d insist on Richmond now that he knew Regulus wasn’t who he’d pretended to be in Paris. And that thought was enough to prompt him to action.
“Excuse me,” he said to Rosier, one of the few friends he had in London.
Despite his best efforts, Regulus was stopped no less than five times by lords and ladies making introductions. To his deep annoyance, he was cornered into agreeing to three dances. Back in France, Regulus had made sure everyone knew he had no interest in marriage. Or in women. But things were different here, and Regulus had to ensure he maintained at least a modicum of decorum.
By the time he finished the last of the promised dances, his brother had returned to the ballroom. He was talking to a lady with blond hair and dark eyes, her chaperone idling nearby. With a pang in his chest, Regulus noted that Sirius’ hair was longer than was acceptable—scandalously so—and that he looked happier than he’d ever seen him.
Potter was nowhere to be found, and that was exactly what Regulus had been hoping for.
The gardens behind Rosier House were shrouded in darkness. Regulus made his way past a marble bench, then stepped into the hedge maze. He recalled Potter confessing to him in Paris he had an unusual fascination with them.
It was a clear night—something of a rarity in London—and the stars and moonlight glittered on the snow dusting the gardens. It was a rather beautiful setting, made even more enticing by the lone figure standing by a fountain in one of the hidden recesses of the maze.
Deliberately, Regulus stepped heavily so the snow would crunch under his boot. Potter turned around, then immediately ran a hand through his hair upon meeting Regulus’ eye. His mouth tightened.
“Did you follow me here?” Potter asked. Regulus couldn’t tell if that was outrage or interest in his voice.
“And if I did?”
“I would thank you to turn around and take your leave,” Potter replied primly, tugging at the sleeves of his jacket.
“So formal,” Regulus said, stepping closer. “So proper. You weren’t half as composed as all this in Paris.”
“You gave me a false name,” Potter said accusingly. “I was under the impression you were a French gentleman, not a fellow peer, Lord Islington.”
“Oh, please,” Regulus said, rolling his eyes. “I despise the name.”
“But it is the one you have.”
“Call me Black,” Regulus suggested, just to see what Potter would do. “I recall you did not object to me calling you Potter.”
“I will not be calling you anything, and you will most definitely not call me, either,” Potter said, growing flustered. Regulus noticed with no small amount of satisfaction that he hadn’t stepped back even though Regulus continued to inch closer. “We are not friends.”
“No, we are not,” Regulus said, closing the final distance between them. “I have no intention of befriending you.”
“Now, that’s just impolite.”
“Well, I very much doubt you allow your friends to kiss you.”
Potter made a strangled sort of noise, then looked helplessly at Regulus. He smirked, cocked his head to the side and dropped his eyes to Potter’s mouth. Lush and full. A mouth made for kissing.
“Do you remember it?” Regulus asked. “I do. I find myself thinking of it often. That night in Paris.”
“Oh?”
“You are quite possibly the best kisser I’ve had the pleasure of meeting,” Regulus told him boldly. “In two years, I haven’t found anyone who could quite measure up to that one time. So, do tell, have you thought about it?”
Inhaling sharply, Potter’s eyes went wide. “I…” Then, with a defeated sigh, he admitted, “Yes.”
“Would you like to kiss me?”
“I cannot,” Potter protested, albeit rather weakly. “It’s improper. It’s wrong.”
“It most certainly didn’t feel wrong last time.”
“Because we were in France!” James said, and he sounded pained. “I was younger. Less… It was the last night of an adventure. This is not the same.”
“It could be,” Regulus said boldly.
Regulus remembered that encounter vividly. They’d met at a party on what was Potter’s last night in Paris before returning to London after a journey across the continent. The party had been at the home of one of France’s richest families, close friends with Regulus. He’d been having a rather dull evening, tired of the same faces and repetitive conversation, when he’d caught sight of the most intriguing man.
Regulus had been captivated immediately by his unruly hair, his dark skin, and the charming way in which his spectacles settled on his nose. From the first moment Potter had walked into that party, Regulus had decided he must have him.
Delightfully, Potter had been rather agreeable to the idea of absconding to a smaller room after some flirtatious conversation. There, with some help from a wonderful wine they’d both been sipping from elegant glasses, Regulus had used every seduction tactic he’d learned in his years surrounded by shameless Frenchmen.
After some cajoling, Potter’s composure had broken, and he had confessed to forbidden desires. Regulus would never—could never—forget the way he’d felt at realising he was quite possibly the first man to ever hear such an admission from the Marquess of Richmond. He’d been enthralled by him ever since.
Branded into his mind was the way he’d whimpered when Regulus had told him nothing was forbidden in Paris, right before kissing him full on the mouth. The way Potter’s hands had tangled in his hair, making Regulus wish they’d been somewhere much more private. Due to the circumstances at the time—the party, the people, the lack of time—their kiss hadn’t led to anything more, and that was one of Regulus’ greatest regrets in life.
He hadn’t been able to forget Potter and his mouth for two years, no matter how many partners he brought to his bed. Regulus was a clever man, and he understood the clear signs of infatuation. He had been deeply mesmerised by Potter that night, and he remained spellbound to this day. Most likely, he’d never rid himself of his fascination.
It was part of the reason he had agreed to returning to London when his father had fallen ill. As much as he despised British society and all its rules, Potter was here. And Regulus had fantasised about meeting him again. About kissing him again.
“Do you truly believe men in England do not enjoy each other’s company?” Regulus asked pointedly.
“I know they do,” James said defensively. “Just not in public, where they could be caught.”
“Hmmm,” Regulus said. “Stop me, then. If your fear outweighs your desire.”
Slowly, deliberately, he placed a gloved hand on Potter’s chest and ran it upwards, feeling the hardness of his muscles.
“Islington,” Potter said desperately.
Regulus kissed him.
The sound that escaped Potter’s throat was relief, and Regulus had the distinct impression that this man had been denying himself for far too long. Perhaps since Paris. The idea made him bold. Regulus ran his tongue over the seam of Potter’s lips, and he parted them for him. Gripping the lapels of his jacket, Regulus hauled Potter closer, deepening the kiss.
Oh, he tasted the same. Felt the same. Regulus’s memory had not done the man justice. He was the best mouth Regulus had ever kissed. Delirious with desire, Regulus broke the kiss to run his teeth along the firm muscles of Potter’s throat.
“Gabr—Islington,” Potter gasped. “We cannot do this here.”
Regulus was pleased that Potter was objecting to the location and not the act itself. That was very promising.
“Would you like me to stop?” Regulus asked, then tugged on Potter’s cravat to untie it so he could bite his collarbone.
Potter grunted, then seemed to abandon his reservations, for his hands found Regulus’ waist and pressed him closer. Through his trousers, Regulus felt the hard outline of his cock and smiled to himself.
Hand curled around the back of Potter’s neck, Regulus kissed him again and this time Potter matched his every move. He was starting to relinquish control, and Regulus would be damned if he was going to stop now.
“Ah,” Potter gasped when Regulus caught his skin between his teeth.
Regulus did it again, thrilled by the way Potter was slowly unravelling under his hands.
“Delicious,” Regulus muttered, tasting and licking at the skin that had haunted his every dream for two years.
Upon his return to London a month ago, Regulus hadn’t been sure if Potter would have married by now. He was young still, but one of the most desirable bachelors of the ton. He had no doubt every lady of marrying age wanted to snare Lord Richmond. Though he’d never admit it to anyone, Regulus had spent nights despairing over whether he was too late. Whether Potter would have forced himself to fit into what society expected of him by the time Regulus found him again.
Fortunately, he remained a bachelor, albeit a rather boring one according to gossip. Lord Richmond had never once been caught in a scandal. Not even a mild one. He was extremely well behaved, had an impeccable reputation, and conducted himself like the perfect gentleman.
There’d been some talk of an affair with an opera singer, but Regulus wasn’t much inclined to giving that any credit. In any case, the rumour was that the affair had long since ended. As far as Regulus had been able to glean, James had no current mistresses.
It was evident to anyone watching—and he had been watching for some time, covertly, in the shadows—that Potter was constantly holding himself back. Regulus knew it took effort for Potter to be the perfect example of propriety. He could see it in the tension coiled around his eyes, the small muscle jumping on his jaw. The tense set of his broad shoulders and the carefulness with which he moved.
Potter’s hand wound itself in Regulus’ curl, tilting his head back for another deep kiss. This was what Regulus had been seeking. The man beneath the veneer of polished reputation.
Regulus wanted to find out if he could make him unravel completely. He wanted to break down the walls of propriety behind which Potter was hiding. Peel every layer of etiquette and respectability he’d wrapped around himself. He wanted Potter wild with passion.
“Dear Lord,” James said when Regulus broke the kiss again to press a series of small bites to his neck.
His grip on Regulus’ waist tightened, and Regulus was greatly pleased when he tilted his hips forward, seeking contact. Regulus was about to push him back into the hedge to escalate matters when the sound of footsteps on the snow reached them.
Potter sprang back like he’d been stung. Urgently, he retrieved his cravat from Regulus’s hand, then paused. With a pained expression, he extended his hand again. “I do not know how to tie my own cravat.”
The admission made Regulus smile. He took it, then carefully arranged it on James’ neck in the exact same way he’d been wearing it before.
When the two gossiping ladies turned the corner of the maze, all they found were two gentlemen respectably walking about enjoying some fresh air.
####
Lady Marlene McKinnon loved dancing. Unfortunately, she hated balls.
“Please,” she said, approaching Lord Sirius Black. “Ask me for a dance. I beg of you.”
Her chaperone, a spinster aunt from her family, gasped at her blatant breach of etiquette but Marlene did not have it in her to care. If she was made to suffer through another waltz with a dim-witted, titled but impoverished man—in other words, a fortune hunter—she would flee the ball and fling herself out the nearest window.
Fortunately, Lord Black was a wonderful ally for he understood her perfectly. He was both infamous and intimidating enough that no one would dare interrupt, and rakish enough to not care he was breaking protocol by claiming a dance not on her card.
“With pleasure, my Lady,” he said, taking her arm and leading her to the floor.
Once they began, Marlene sighed and said, “Thank you. I haven’t enjoyed a single dance tonight.”
“They can’t all have been so horrid as that,” Black said, though the knowing grin on his face said differently.
“You know very well that they are,” Marlene replied. “The only young, handsome man in attendance is Lord Richmond.”
“Why didn’t you ask him for a dance?”
“And have the rest of the ladies turn their claws on me with envy? No. I shan’t be so foolish as to make enemies for naught.”
“Have you told your mother you have no desire to marry?” Black asked, amused. She had confided in him and Richmond that she was set on becoming a spinster, which was why they knew that when she came to them for assistance at balls, they ought to give it.
“I have. She won’t hear it,” Marlene said, defeated. “She…” Marlene hesitated, then decided if it wasn’t her, someone else would eventually tell Black that there was now a second, young, handsome and eligible bachelor in this season’s pool. “The countess believes I should try to catch Lord Islington’s eye.”
Black’s expression stiffened, but he simply nodded. “I see.”
They danced the rest of the waltz in silence. Marlene sensed that the return of Lord Islington was a difficult topic for Lord Black. Understandable, given the history between them. It was a pity, she thought, that two siblings had been driven apart by parents so clearly unsuited to the task. Neither the Duke nor the Duchess of Islington had an ounce of tenderness, or love for that matter, in their bodies and their two children had paid the price.
When Black took his leave, Marlene decided to feign a headache and leave the ball. She could simply not stomach another tedious, one-sided conversation with a suitor. Just as she located her chaperone, waiting for her on the outskirts of the ballroom, Marlene caught a glimpse of someone entering the room.
It had to be the bright blue colour of her gown, Marlene thought as she turned. A most exquisite shade she had never before seen made into a dress. But when her eyes locked onto the face of the garment’s wearer, her heart fluttered and her knees weakened.
Forget the dress. That was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen in her suddenly boring and plain life. Marlene felt as though she’d always been waiting for this moment. As though every day, every experience before this one had been in preparation for this moment. She’d simply been unaware of it.
Heart pounding in her chest, Marlene went in search of someone who could tell her the woman’s name.
“Lady Malfoy,” Marlene said, attaching herself to the first person she was familiar with. The Viscountess of Malfoy was a gorgeous woman with blond hair and a swanlike neck that had been the envy of the ton during her first—and only—season.
“Lady Marlene,” she replied, smiling demurely. She’d been in conversation with Lady Alice, which was a pleasant surprise. Marlene liked Lady Alice. “You look dashing.”
“Thank you. You must tell me who designed your gown. The red colour matches your constitution perfectly,” she replied in kind.
“You flatter me,” Lady Malfoy said, though she was smiling.
“I was wondering…” Marlene hesitated. It was borderline improper to ask for gossip outright, but she just couldn’t risk missing her opportunity. “I saw a lady with the most gorgeous blue gown, but I didn’t recognise her. Do you know her? Might you introduce us? I’ve been wanting to update my wardrobe, and I’d like to enquire after her modiste.”
“She’s not a lady,” Lady Malfoy replied, tilting her head in the direction of the woman. To Marlene’s surprise, she was talking to two men, for all intents and purposes unchaperoned. Rather scandalous, albeit not too terrible since she was in plain view of everyone.
“Her name is Miss Dorcas Meadowes,” Lady Alice supplied. “An American. The daughter of a very wealthy businessman.”
“She’s not one of us,” Lady Malfoy said, turning her nose up. “It’s unbecoming of the Rosiers to have invited her. She is of common birth. I cannot believe they allowed her past the door.”
Lady Alice said something in defence of Miss Meadowes, but Marlene wasn’t listening. The thumping of her heart now had a name, and Marlene was determined to find a way to become friends with her.
####
Sirius had lost both James and his senses.
The former was not too concerning, for James was a grown man and perfectly capable of finding his own way home after the Rosier ball. The latter… that was considerably more troublesome. Especially given the fact that Sirius was currently standing outside the Leaky Cauldron, the gentlemen’s club where Lupin worked.
Again.
“Lord Sirius Black,” the doorman said. “Please, do come in.”
Nodding his thanks, Sirius stepped inside and was immediately swallowed by the smell of cheroot, scotch, and too many bodies in too confined a space. Handing his hat, greatcoat and gloves to a passing employee, Sirius wove his way down the main corridor. He walked past rooms where familiar faces entertained themselves, steadfastly ignoring them all. At one point, he met three gentlemen as they exited a cards room. The men greeted him, then invited him to join them at the round of billiards they were on their way to. Not tempted in the slightest, Sirius excused himself and carried on.
He wasn’t here for cards, billiards or scotch.
Terrifyingly, he was here for Lupin.
The man was in the back room where he ran numbers for the owner of the club. Sirius shouldn’t know this, much less be familiar with the location of said room, but it couldn’t be helped. He’d spent an egregious amount of time watching Lupin. Waiting. Building up courage.
The first door should have been locked, but it wasn’t, and Sirius fleetingly wondered if he was unusually fortunate or if Lupin had left it open on purpose should he come back. That thought propelled him forward, until he was standing at the threshold of Lupin’s office.
“I still have at least an hour of work,” Lupin said without looking up from the ledger. “Barry should be around by now.”
“I am not here to see Barry,” Sirius said.
At that, Lupin looked up, startled. “You shouldn’t be here at all.” Then, decidedly too late, “My lord.”
“I know,” Sirius replied, twisting the single ring on his middle finger. “And yet, here I am.”
“Why?”
“We should talk.”
Dropping his pen, Lupin shook his head. “You don’t need to apologise or to bribe me. It’s in my best interest to keep what transpired that night secret.”
“I didn’t come here to bribe you,” Sirius said, appalled. “Or to apologise.” Then, a thought that made his insides curdle. “Do you think I should?”
“What are you really asking?” Lupin said, cocking an eyebrow. “My lord.”
Damn this man. Damn this man and his beautiful eyes and perfect hair and the things he made Sirius feel. Things Sirius should most certainly not be feeling. Not for a man. And yet.
“Stop ‘my lording’ me. I hate it.” Sirius paused, looked him square in the eye, and asked, “Do you regret it?”
Lupin studied him, narrowing his gaze. Sirius adopted his most insolent pose, loosening his cravat and tussling his too-long hair.
“Yes,” Lupin said, but he was betrayed by the hungry glint in his eyes.
He was lying, and Sirius knew it.
But he understood. Lupin was but a commoner and Sirius was not. He had a courtesy title. People called him Lord, as though he was one. And he was, in a way. A terrible one. Disowned and then adopted again. But he had privileges that Lupin could never aspire to.
If they were ever caught, Lupin would be tried, imprisoned, possibly executed. Sirius would be given a stern scathing and forced to marry the first available woman.
Sirius shouldn’t be here. It wasn’t fair to Lupin. It was dangerous and most selfish on Sirius’ part. But he couldn’t stay away.
Stepping around the desk, Sirius hooked his fingers on the armrest of Lupin’s chair and dragged it so they were facing each other. Bracing his free hand on the other rest, he leaned in, mouth hovering by Lupin’s.
“I do not beli—”
His words were lost as Lupin surged forward and captured his lips. He stood, pushing Sirius back, mouths still locked in an embrace. Before he knew what was happening, Sirius found himself pinned against the wall, Lupin’s body pressed against his firmly.
It was over all too soon.
“You cannot do this again,” Lupin said roughly, chest heaving with unchecked desire.
“I cannot stay away,” Sirius replied earnestly. “I tried.”
Groaning, Lupin ran a hand over his face. “You are a Lord. Your father is a Duke. I am the son of a butcher and a seamstress. You are a gentleman of leisure. I work in a club. Not to mention we are both men.”
“That part hadn’t escaped me,” Sirius said pointedly, glancing at where their hips were still pressed together, their hardness almost touching through their clothing.
An amused half-smile tugged at Lupin’s lips. “You must stop coming to the club.”
“It’s too late,” Sirius said. “Perhaps last month, I would have been able to muster up the strength to avoid you. But two nights ago, I kissed you, and you didn’t call the police, and now I am forever ruined.”
“How so?”
“All I want is to kiss you again,” Sirius confessed. “Your mouth haunts me, Lupin.”
There was a pause. Sirius let it hang, for he knew it was an important one. Lupin had to decide to do this of his own accord. And Sirius wanted to see him reach for it willingly. He wanted Lupin to want him as badly as he wanted him.
After a moment, Lupin gave him a wolfish grin that made Sirius’ insides tumble like passengers in a badly driven hackney.
“I shall come to Richmond House,” Lupin said. “That is where you live, with Lord Richmond, is it not?”
“I hate it when people call James that,” Sirius replied. “But yes. Richmond House.”
“Alert your servants that you have some accounts you need looking over,” Lupin told him. “My reputation with numbers is well known.”
“I shall kiss you again now,” Sirius informed him, giddy with excitement over the fact that Lupin had orchestrated a perfect ruse for them to see each other regularly for the foreseeable future.
“No, you shan’t,” Lupin replied firmly. “I’m going to kiss you.”
And he did.
****
The following morning, Sirius found James in his study bent over his correspondence. Closing the door behind him, Sirius cleared his throat and said, “I need your assistance.”
“You have it,” James replied, resting his pen and looking up. “What is it?”
“I do not know how to say this,” Sirius told him, plopping into a chair across from the desk. “I do not know if you’ll finally cast me out when I do.”
Frowning deeply, James said, “Nothing you could say would make me love you any less. You know this.”
Sirius took a moment to allow the words to hover in the air between them. Things such as these were not said. Not among gentlemen. Love was not something spoken of aloud, except perhaps between fortunate husbands and their wives. Even then, most marriages were of convenience, so it was rare.
But he and James had never been like the rest.
From a young age, James had shown Sirius an astonishing willingness to forego all rules and boundaries in the name of their bond.
“I fear this might be too much, even for you,” Sirius confessed.
“Have you killed a man?”
“Worse,” Sirius said, finding his courage in the caring and completely devoid of judgement gaze of his brother. “I have kissed one.”
Inhaling sharply, James glanced at the door before looking at Sirius again. “Were you caught?”
“No,” Sirius replied promptly.
“What do you need my assistance with, then?” James asked as though he were enquiring about the weather and not discussing a topic that could land Sirius in jail.
“You seem remarkably calm,” Sirius said. “Considering what I’ve just told you.”
“I suppose I would be much more scandalised had I not done the exact same thing just last night,” James admitted with a grin that reminded Sirius of their escapades when they were still boys.
Slumping back in his chair, Sirius laughed in relief. “Good God, when I told you to stop behaving so properly at all times I meant you should gamble or drink in excess! Who are you and what have you done with the respectable Lord Richmond?”
Embarrassed, James ducked his head. “I was caught in a moment.”
“You had not kissed a man before?”
James hesitated, and Sirius leaned forward, immensely curious. “I have. I have… had some encounters. Always very discreet, of course.”
“I cannot believe you’ve been fucking men behind my back!” Sirius exclaimed. “Why not tell me?”
The pointed look James gave him was answer enough. Much more relaxed, Sirius said, “Well, then. I am in need of advice. There is a man I would like to have some of these… encounters with. He has suggested I pretend to hire him to look over some accounts.”
“But you do not have any accounts,” James said, quick witted as ever. “Very well. I shall hire him to help you review the farmlands. I’m concerned with the state of some reports.”
Sirius grinned. “I do not deserve you.”
“Nonsense,” James replied. “But you must be careful.”
“Of course.” Then, taking a fortifying breath, he added, “It’s Lupin.”
“I gathered.”
This took Sirius by surprise. “How?”
“Well, I did notice the way you looked at him when I collected you from the club,” James said. “But I didn’t know if you knew.”
“That was when I kissed him first. I was… I didn’t know if he’d turn me in to the authorities, but I am now certain he will not. It was his idea about the accounts.”
“Is this where you went when you left the Rosier ball early?” James asked, fiddling with his cuff links in a manner that made Sirius raise an eyebrow.
“James, tell me you did not kiss a man at the ball,” Sirius said, aghast. “That is too scandalous even for me.”
“No one saw. We were in the gardens.”
“Good Lord,” Sirius groaned. “What possessed you?”
“I do not know,” he replied meekly. “I seem to turn into a cabbage head the minute he looks at me.”
“You’ve been with this man before?”
“Only the once,” James said. “I met him in Paris.”
“Gabriel?”
Sirius had heard about him. Never about them kissing, but James hadn’t been able to hide his fascination with the mysterious French gentleman he’d met one night in Paris. In retrospect, it seemed rather obvious to Sirius that his interest had been beyond James’ usual enthusiasm for those he considered friends. He should have known James had been… what? Besotted? Perhaps.
James nodded, then ran two distressed hands over his hair. “Only his name was never Gabriel. I discovered last night that he lied to me. He is a Britishman. And a peer.”
Sirius had never been more invested in a salacious bit of gossip. This was positively outrageous, and he was immensely glad it was a story involving James. God knew the man needed some adventure in his life. He’d always been too careful. Too composed.
The reason for it was obvious, and it filled Sirius with guilt and shame. James had never once risked tarnishing his reputation because it was the only thing keeping Sirius from being cast out by society completely. James’ decorum outweighed Sirius’ rakishness and so he never did anything to put that in jeopardy.
“Sirius,” James said heavily. “I take it you never did speak to Lord Islington last night?”
“You know we cannot be seen in public together. I was waiting for an appropriate time to indicate we should find a private place, but by the time people had drunk enough for us to be able to orchestrate that, I couldn’t find him,” Sirius replied dismissively. “Unimportant, who—”
Realisation dawned. Sirius’ entrails twisted themselves into knots, threatening to strangle him. “Don’t tell me that Gabriel—”
“Is Regulus, Lord Black, Marquess of Islington,” James finished for him. “I’m afraid so. He followed me outside when I went to get some air. I was overwhelmed when I saw him and realised the truth.”
“And then you kissed him.”
“He kissed me,” James confessed. “But I did not object.”
Sirius did not know what the appropriate reaction to this was. Part of him was strangely elated to discover his brother was so bold. Unafraid. Following someone into a garden to kiss them passionately was the height of impropriety, certain to give their mother the vapors. Another part of him was jealous that his little brother was back from France after a decade spent forcefully apart, and James spoke to him before he did. And then, a thought.
“Will he be calling?” He asked.
“Do you think he can?” James countered.
“The rules forbid him from meeting with me,” Sirius said. “Not you.”
“But you live here,” James pointed out. “And everybody knows it.”
“Still not a breach of contract if the gossip is that he’s here to meet with you. He’s a peer and so are you and he’s just back from France. It’s natural he would cultivate some acquaintances,” Sirius insisted. “Do you… is this… damn it. Do you want to carry on with him?”
Scandalized, James gasped. “Sirius! You know I cannot.”
“I didn’t ask if you could. I asked if you want to.”
“I…” James looked to the ceiling, a pained expression on his face. “I’m afraid I do. I can’t stop thinking about him.”
“Excellent!” Sirius exclaimed. “Write to him. Ask him to come for a social call. You shall meet him in the blue room.”
“Sirius…”
“James, please,” Sirius begged. “I haven’t spoken to him in ten years.”
####
James was unreasonably nervous.
Even his usually stoic valet had given him an odd look when he’d requested the third outfit change that morning. James knew it was exceedingly peculiar of him to be so agitated over a day suit, especially when he was to entertain in his own house. Still, he could not help it.
To his surprise and utter delight, Islington had accepted the invitation and was due to arrive at Richmond House in a matter of minutes. James had asked for refreshments to be readied in advance, and then made a point of commenting on the fact that Sirius would be confined to his study all day to begin work on the farmlands reports.
As much as he trusted his household staff, James was not gullible enough to believe they were above gossip. If word got back to the Duke of Islington that his son had been near Sirius, that could cause problems for everyone.
When Sirius had been disinherited after refusing to whip a servant and punching his father square in the face, a contract had been drawn up that there would be no interference with his adoption by the Potter family in exchange for him never again associating with his younger brother. James knew Sirius had wanted to find another way, but his brother had insisted it was the safest course of action.
Legally, Sirius was not allowed to speak to Islington—his little brother—ever again. Or, at least, until their father passed and Islington became the Duke, at which point it wouldn’t matter all that much if they set the damned contract on fire.
A knock on the door broke his reverie.
“Enter,” James said.
“My Lord,” his butler said, peering inside the blue room. “Lord Islington is here.”
“Send him in, Jenkins,” James told him, straightening his cravat. “And please alert the staff that we are not to be disturbed. If we need anything, I’ll send for you.”
“Certainly, my Lord,” Jenkins said, stepping aside to allow Islington to enter.
The breath caught in James’ throat and he found himself incapable of speech. Jenkins disappeared, closing the door shut behind him. Truly alone with Islington in a private space for the first time ever, James struggled to keep his composure.
It was rather unfair, he thought, that this man was so handsome. In the midday light filtering through the windows, his cheekbones were cast in stark contrast, the hollows below them darkened by shadows.
After a moment that was decidedly too long, James found his wits and gestured to the tray with drinks. Islington nodded, and James moved to pour some liquor for the both of them.
“Where is he?” Islington asked after taking a sip.
Disappointment pierced James’ chest. So, he had agreed to the house call only because he had deduced it was a ruse to see his brother. Well, then.
“One moment,” James said, setting his glass down to cross the room. Rapping his knuckles on the wall, he muttered, “Come.”
The wall swung inwards to reveal a secret passage. From it, Sirius emerged almost breathless with anticipation. Without sparing another glance at James, Sirius strode forward and was met half-way across the room by his brother. They embraced each other, holding tight. So touching was the scene, James had to look away to avoid the stinging building in his eyes.
“I shall leave you to it,” James said, clearing his throat.
“You cannot,” Islington said immediately. “You must stay.”
“We must be the only two siblings in history to need a chaperone,” Sirius muttered, grabbing the bottle of liquor and pouring himself a glass before plopping down on a sofa. “But Regulus is right, James. Stay.”
Because he’d been looking, James saw the slight widening of Islington’s eyes at the casual manner in which Sirius addressed him. He offered a small smile, then took a seat.
“Very well,” James said.
“How have you been?” Sirius asked his brother, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees. “It’s been months since your last missive.”
“Father is dying,” Islington said. “I’ve been busy.”
“How long?”
“Hopefully, no more than a few weeks.”
“And Walburga?”
James’ fingers tightened around the glass he was holding at the mention of the wench, but he didn’t comment.
“As soon as father dies, I’m sending her to the country,” Islington replied.
“It’ll be a scandal,” Sirius said, grinning. “A dowager duchess confined to the countryside.”
“You’ll find, brother, that I’m rather fond of scandal,” Islington said, and his eyes slid towards James, making heat flare inside of him. “I hear you are, too.”
“I’m a reprobate,” Sirius declared proudly. “Stories of my exploits keep the ladies of the ton entertained and scandalised.”
“Lady Pandora says no young woman looking for a husband dares be seen with you lest it ruin her,” Islington commented with forced disinterest. “Am I correct in assuming that’s by design? Do you not wish to marry?”
“I’m holding out for a love match,” Sirius said, smirking wickedly.
That made James laugh, and both brothers turned to look at him. It occurred to James that it was rather shocking he hadn’t immediately identified Gabriel when he met him in Paris. Sitting close to each other, it was impossible not to notice their resemblance. He should have known who he was the first time he met him.
A dark look crossed Islington’s eye, and he asked, “Are you two involved?”
Indignant, James sputtered but Sirius only dissolved into boisterous laughter. Narrowing his gaze, Islington cleared his throat, “I couldn’t help but notice you’re rather familiar with each other. It stands to reason.”
“James is like another brother,” Sirius said. “Someone had to put up with me for the past ten years. But no. We are not and have never been involved.”
“How did you manage to persuade him to use your name?” Islington asked, cocking his head to the side with obvious curiosity.
“He is right here,” James protested, aghast. “And that was different. I never use his name in public. It’s improper.”
“The Rosier’s hedge maze is hardly public,” Islington quipped.
Sirius’ eyebrows flew to his hairline.
The reminder of their interlude made James’ blood boil most pleasantly, and he realised that Islington had, perhaps, not come only for Sirius. The thought emboldened him, and he said, “Very well. I shall address you as Black.”
“Better than Islington, I suppose, Potter,” he said pointedly. Then, turning back to his brother, he asked, “Tell me what I’ve missed. There must be a story behind that decision to turn yourself into the most notorious rake in the kingdom. And that hair. It’s entirely indecent. I quite like it.”
James couldn’t suppress a shiver of pleasure at hearing that ‘Potter’ on Black’s tongue. He wondered, as the brothers caught each other up on the past year, what it would sound like to hear him say James.
In all his sexual encounters, James had never allowed anyone to use his given name. Nor had he asked for his partner’s. The whole thing was always conducted like a business transaction. He had needs, and he sought to sate them in the most efficient and discreet way possible. There were no attachments. No unbridled passion. No complications.
Hell, he’d fucked people less salaciously than Black had kissed him in that maze. And all at once, the thought struck him as terribly pathetic. When had James become the sort of man to be content with cold, detached trysts in lieu of real passion?
Glancing at Black, James felt something oddly akin to resolve harden in him. If he was given the opportunity again, he would not cower. He wanted Black, and James was determined to show him just how much.
####
Marlene liked to consider herself a resourceful woman. She was, after all, the daughter of an Earl and that carried quite a bit of weight with the ton. That’s why, after some careful manoeuvring around her mother, Lady McKinnon, she had secured her approval to host a ladies’ luncheon.
During the season, most people spent their day at home getting ready for the numerous balls. It was rather tiresome as they went on quite late. There were, of course, other social outings but luncheons were perhaps not terribly common.
Marlene had been undeterred. She had made her case to her mother and argued that she was in need of more friends.
The invites had been sent, and to her utter delight, all had been accepted. Including the one sent to the Rutledge Hotel where the Meadowes were staying while their brand new townhouse was being renovated.
Lady Alice was the first to arrive. Then, Lady Pandora Rosier accompanied by Miss Meadowes herself.
“Good afternoon,” Marlene greeted the ladies as they walked into the parlour.
“May I introduce Miss Dorcas Meadowes,” Lady Pandora said. “She’s delightful. Terribly forward, which I’m told is a trait most Americans share.”
“It’s very nice to meet you,” Marlene said graciously.
“Thank you very much for inviting me,” Miss Meadowes said, taking her seat next to Lady Pandora. “I must admit I was surprised.”
“Oh,” Lady Alice exclaimed. “Just you wait until the rest of the guests arrive. You, Miss Meadowes, might be American but in Marlene’s house, you’re hardly the most scandalous acquaintance one can make.”
“I’m positively intrigued,” Lady Pandora said, leaning forward. “Who are we waiting for?”
Marlene smiled just as the butler announced the arrival of her two final guests. Lady Mary Macdonald and Miss Lily Evans.
“Marlene, darling,” Lily said, sweeping into the room in a ruffle of skirts entirely too colourful for the hour and the setting. “It’s been too long.”
“Mary,” Alice called, gesturing to the chair to her right. “Do sit. I hear you had two gentlemen calling on you this week.”
With a most unladylike groan—definitely unbecoming of the sister of a Viscount—Mary plopped down and dropped her face in her hands. “I beg you, don’t remind me.”
“I thought…” Miss Meadowes started, stopped. Then, decided for boldness and said, “I thought that was rather the point of your seasons?”
“It is,” Lady Pandora confirmed. “But it doesn’t mean all of us enjoy it.”
“I don’t participate of the season at all,” declared Lily.
“Oh?” Lady Pandora and Miss Meadowes looked at her, surprise and curiosity in their gazes.
“I’m afraid we haven’t been introduced,” Lily said, looking at Lady Pandora with the sparkle in her gaze that made Marlene nervous. She had been subject to it, once. It had been Marlene’s first foray into a world of pleasure she had not known existed.
One hidden by the pretence of friendship, wrapped in the rustle of skirts and the murmur of silk falling to the floor. Before Lily, Marlene hadn’t known that pleasure between two women was possible. No. Not just possible. It was the only pleasure she was interested in, for it was most wonderful.
“Lady Pandora Rosier,” she said graciously. “But you may call me Pandora. We are among friends, are we not?”
“Why did I ever learn all those rules and fancy titles if you’re discarding them at the first opportunity?” Miss Meadowes protested before adding, “But certainly. Dorcas will do. This whole ‘miss’ this, ‘lady’ that is rather bothersome.”
“I like her,” Lily declared. “Are you American?”
“From New York.”
“Oh, Marlene! You hellion,” Lily said, clapping her hands. “Well, then. Who has the best bit of gossip? I’m afraid until theatre season begins next week, I’m rather out of touch.”
“Theatre season?” Dorcas asked.
Marlene took the opportunity to look at her. She was just as beautiful as she’d been the night of the Rosier ball. Dark skin, huge bright eyes, and lush lips that Marlene wanted to taste so badly she found herself leaning forward a bit.
“Lily is an opera singer,” Mary said knowingly. “Once the performance season begins, she gets to see everything.”
“The stage is the best seat in the house,” Lily confirmed proudly. “You’d be scandalised to hear the things people get up to in their boxes. It’s wonderfully salacious.”
“Oh,” Dorcas said, grinning. “Do you think I could come to the opera?”
“Of course,” Marlene said immediately, sensing her opportunity. “I’ll host you in the Belvoir box.”
“Thank you. I’ve never been. What should I wear?”
At that, all the ladies exchanged conspiratorial glances. It was Pandora who said, “Dorcas, I think it’s time you were introduced to Bond Street. We shall arrange a shopping trip. Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Mary asked, blinking.
“Well, yes. If we want her dress to be made in time for Lily’s opening night, we cannot delay,” Marlene said, having understood Pandora’s reasoning immediately.
“We shall visit Madame Sybil,” Lily said. “She’s the best modiste in the city. French. She makes all my dresses.”
“And mine,” confirmed Alice. “And Lady Malfoy’s, too.”
“Who is Lady Malfoy?” Dorcas asked.
“The Viscountess of Malfoy,” Mary explained with a sigh. “She was the belle of her season and married Lord Lucius Malfoy. At the time, he was the most eligible bachelor. Rich, titled, and young.”
“Are those the only requirements?” Dorcas asked.
Mary laughed. “Some people hold out for love matches, but that’s woefully impractical. Unless you’re prepared to embrace spinsterhood, yes. Those three are the important ones.”
“Unless, of course, you’re rich yourself,” Lily said. “In which case, you can hope for handsome and young.”
“Most families won’t allow a titled lady to marry a commoner,” Marlene observed, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “Titled men, however, have been known to marry untitled women. Especially wealthy ones.”
“This whole thing sounds horrid,” Dorcas said, grimacing. “How do you endure it?”
“Together,” said Alice with a sad smile. “There are few options available to women, especially women like us. The choice is marriage or spinsterhood.”
“What’s wrong with spinsterhood?”
“Nothing in principle,” Mary said. “But you become dependent on your relations. Most of them get shipped off to the country to live somewhere on their own. It’s…”
“Sad,” Lily said. “It’s sad. But that won’t happen to any of you. I won’t allow it.”
“So, are you all looking for husbands?” Dorcas asked.
“I wouldn’t mind making a match this season,” Alice said shyly. “But the lack of eligible men is appalling.”
“There’s always Lord Sirius Black,” said Marlene, grinning.
“You’re the only one daring enough to dance with him,” Mary said, also grinning. “You should have heard the outrage of the ladies of the ton. Lady Salisbury was envious.”
“They would never admit it,” Lady Pandora said. “But if Lord Black ever came to them, none would turn him away. Despite the hair, he’s exceedingly handsome. I have it on good authority several married women of the ton have made advances on him.”
“Good Lord!” Alice exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hand.
“I happen to quite like the hair,” Mary said. “One cannot be a first-rate rake with a respectable haircut.”
There was a burst of giggles at that, and Marlene made a note to inform Lord Black her friends approved of his too-long locks.
“Lady Malfoy commented on it, too,” Alice said. “She thinks Lord Islington’s arrival will either push his brother to completely fall into utter disgrace or it will be the thing that reforms him.”
“Why does Lady Malfoy have an opinion on the Black brothers?” Lily asked.
“She’s their cousin,” Mary told them. “She was born Lady Narcissa Black.”
“And now she’s the Viscountess of Malfoy,” Pandora said, nodding in agreement. “But they’re still relations.”
“Apologies. I… I have a question. This Lady Malfoy. She’s a Viscountess by marriage. Does it mean she’ll be a… countess eventually?” Dorcas asked. “I find it so confusing with the names and family names.”
“Lord Malfoy is a Viscount by title. His father is already dead. That means Lady Malfoy will remain a Viscountess,” Pandora explained.
“What you’re referring to,” said Alice, “are courtesy titles. James, Lord Richmond is the Marquess of Richmond because he’s the son of the Duke of Richmond. Once His Grace passes, Lord Richmond will become the Duke of Richmond.”
“And he won’t be Lord Richmond anymore?” asked Dorcas.
“No. That’ll be his son, if he has one,” Pandora replied. “A Duke is never Lord anything.”
“This is so complicated,” Dorcas groaned. “I’m never going to learn it. Can we not just call them by their names?”
“Scandalous!” Lily squealed. “You may call your husband by his name in private. The rest of them, never.”
“I’m certain I’ll make a mistake and embarrass myself in front of someone of import,” Dorcas said mournfully. “It’s truly very confusing.”
“That’s what friends are for,” Marlene said, grinning. “Stay close, and we’ll make sure you get it right every time.”
As close as you like, Marlene though, but didn’t say. She’d have to ask Lily for help, because Marlene was appallingly bad at detecting which ladies might be like her. Lily, on the other hand, seemed to have a compass in her brain that pointed her in the direction of women who preferred the company of other women.
Marlene desperately hoped Dorcas was one of them.
####
After that first social call to see his brother, James saw Black twice more that week alone.
First, a few days after the first call he had returned to spend more time with his brother—and James—in the blue room.
James spoke very little during the visit, absorbed as he was in listening to the brothers talk to each other. He learnt a great many things about Regulus from how he interacted with his brother. Namely, that he was as quick-witted as he was beautiful, had an uncanny ability to read between the lines, and, most importantly, that he loved his brother dearly.
James was utterly fascinated by the man, and not just because of their physical attraction to each other.
The second time had been just last night at the Greengrass ball, but there had been no opportunity to escape to the garden. To keep up the pretence of the two Lords developing a friendship, they’d talked and retired to the smoking room together with other gentlemen—Sirius had stayed in the ballroom with Lady Marlene and Lord Pettigrew—but that had all been a ruse.
That evening of conversation had also been most enlightening. Black had talked about literature and art, then moved on to politics. James had been enormously pleased to discover that they shared similar views, including a deep contempt for the Lords attempting to hinder new laws aimed at accelerating industrial progress. Regulus believed in the power of modernisation, and James couldn’t help but to agree with him.
It was most distressing to find that the only thing Black had lied about in Paris had been his name. He may not respond to Gabriel, but everything the man had told him that night, everything that had made Gabriel captivating, amusing, and fascinating was still true of Lord Regulus Black, Marquess of Islington.
James was raring to be alone with him, even if for the few minutes it took Sirius to make his way through the secret tunnel that led to the blue room. Like a schoolchild on Christmas morning, James found himself frustratingly impatient for the next social call. The fact that it was scheduled for two days from that afternoon was vexing. This week was interminable.
Alone in his study, James paced.
He was unsure of where he stood with Black. Did he long for another kiss? Had he found someone else to warm his bed? Was he, perhaps, not interested anymore? It wasn’t rare for men to enjoy the company of both men and women. Most turned to women when liaisons with men became too cumbersome. Perhaps that was the case with Black.
James himself had attempted to bed a woman only once. It had been disastrous. He simply did not find them enticing. Fortunately, the woman herself—a beautiful and greatly talented opera singer—had been rather lovely about the whole thing. When James had broken down in mortification at his inability to become suitably aroused, she’d simply told him she understood. Unprompted, Miss Evans had suggested she lie to her friends for him, if he lied to his for her. It transpired that she preferred the company of women and was tired of receiving men in her bed because it was expected of her.
For close to two years, James and Miss Evans had carried on a completely fake affair that had allowed her to turn down suitors and made society believe James was a great lover engaged in a very respectable, very manly affair with an opera singer.
They had ended it when James had left to travel the continent—the adventure that led him to meeting Gabriel Tissier—but they’d remained good friends.
It had been too long since he’d written to her, James thought, so he sat at his desk and penned a missive to Miss Evans. He would attend her opening night the following week at the opera and visit her dressing room, if she allowed it.
The knock on his door startled him, and he very narrowly avoided making an unsalvageable splotch of ink on the letter. “Enter.”
“Lord Islington is here, my Lord,” Jenkins said. “He apologises for the unexpected call, but he says there are urgent matters he needs to discuss with you.”
Heart pounding, James rose. “Of course,” he said. “Please, have some port sent up.”
“Right away, my lord,” Jenkins said, then he closed the door behind Black.
####
Potter looked agitated at having been caught unawares, which pleased Regulus enormously. It was his goal in life to drive Potter out of the confines of his self-imposed propriety. Few things thrilled Regulus more than the wild glean in Potter’s eyes when he said something scandalous or hinted at inappropriate behaviour.
Right now, as he stood in his study, slightly bewildered and flustered by the surprise visit, Potter looked positively delicious. It vexed Regulus slightly, Potter’s handsomeness. It struck him as deeply unfair that he should possess so much of it. A quarter of his gravitas would be enough to bring giants to their knees.
It had been a feat of herculean effort for Regulus to not do something terribly foolish last night at the ball. Watching Potter dance with a dozen beautiful, young women all hoping to tempt him into offering for them made Regulus feel rather possessive. He’d wanted nothing more than to rip the women from Potter’s arms and declare the man his to the entire ton. He’d behaved himself for the sake of retaining an excuse to continue visiting his brother, but he was at his limit.
Ridiculous as those thoughts were, Regulus had them. He did not want to share Potter with anyone. And he had come to Richmond House tonight with a mission.
“Black,” Potter said. “I wasn’t expecting you. I’m afraid Sirius is otherwise engaged this evening.”
“I’m not here to see Sirius,” Regulus said. Not a moment after the words had fallen from his lips, there was a knock on the door.
A maid brought in a tray with glasses and a bottle of excellent scotch, then left again, closing the door behind her.
Tilting his head, Regulus evaluated the situation before deciding he was done being careful. Deliberately, he strode to the door and locked it.
“What are you doing?” Potter asked.
“I do not want to be disturbed.”
“My butler always knocks before entering,” Potter pointed out.
“Not enough.”
To Regulus’ disappointment, Potter didn’t press the point further, instead busying himself with pouring drinks. Taking his, Regulus deliberately let his fingers linger on Potter’s a tad too long before drawing back and sitting on the sofa. Potter sat across from him on a chair.
“Why are you here?” Potter asked around a mouthful of scotch.
“For you,” Regulus replied.
He watched Potter’s face carefully, searching for a reason not to do this. When he found nothing but raw anticipation, he hooked his right boot around the leg of Potter’s chair and pulled it closer.
Potter inhaled sharply, setting his glass down on the side table to grip the armrests with both hands. “Black.”
“I do like that,” Regulus said. “But I’d prefer it if you just called me Regulus.”
“Absolutely not,” Potter choked, knuckles so white they were almost translucent.
Knocking back the entirety of his drink, Regulus set the empty glass next to James’ and leaned forward on the sofa.
“Must you be so proper all the time?” Regulus asked, fluttering his lashes a bit.
The blush that spread over Potter’s cheeks sent a rush of warmth through him. Interesting.
“Calling you Black is hardly proper,” Potter said tightly. “Neither is any of this.”
“Oh?” Regulus asked, then put his hand on Potter’s thigh. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Good Lord,” Potter said, wide eyes darting to the hand on his thigh, then to Regulus’ face.
Regulus propped himself up on one elbow, then began to slowly run his other hand up Potter’s leg. “You’re hard, aren’t you?”
“Of course, I am! What did you expect?” James replied immediately.
Oh. He was unravelling. Regulus was deliriously pleased by this, and so he continued with his careful strategy. He would have Potter as he was. No layers of decency and proprietary around him. Regulus wanted him bare. Stripped not just of his garments, but to his very core.
“How hard?” he asked, voice low.
Truth be told, Regulus had been hard himself since he’d walked in to see James in his shirtsleeves, no waistcoat or cravat at all. The expanse of taut skin under his collar and the cords of muscle on his exposed forearms had been more than enough to make Regulus’ cock stand at attention like a military man before his superior.
“Too hard,” Potter replied, breaking bit by bit. “You could check, if you’re so inclined.”
Regulus chuckled, then tilted his head. “I’ve been hard since I walked in. Where is your waistcoat, Lord Richmond?”
“Oh, no,” Potter said immediately. “Absolutely not. Do not call me Richmond while you’re looking at me like that. I can’t stand it.”
Still, Regulus noticed that Potter glanced downwards, where indeed he could see the bulge in Regulus’ trousers. “Very well, Potter. I shall call you whatever you want if you ask so earnestly.”
Regulus’ hand inched up his thigh, but he still did not touch him where he really wanted it. Eyes darkening considerably, Potter said, “Please.”
Shaking his head, Regulus replied, “Call me Regulus. Ask me again.”
“I cannot!”
Regulus drew back, his hand with him, and Potter whimpered. “Fine,” he said, reaching to grab Regulus’ wrist. “Regulus.” Then, quietly, “Please.”
Immediately, Regulus pressed his hand to the outline of Potter’s cock. It was larger than he’d presumed, and that was just more than he could reasonably be expected to handle in a civil manner. Shamelessly, Regulus ran his fingers up and down the hard ridge, then palmed it generously.
Potter made a sound of satisfaction.
Triumphant, Regulus gripped Potter by his shirt and hauled him onto the sofa with him before crashing their mouths together. It was fierce, a veritable collision of lips and tongues and teeth. James’ tongue dipped into his mouth, and Regulus closed his lips around it and sucked.
James growled, and Regulus’ ability to be coherent evaporated. Running his hands over the hard planes of James’ body, Regulus found the buttons of his breeches and popped them open with deft fingers.
“Mon dieu,” Regulus said when presented with James’ hard cock. It was magnificent. Possibly the most gorgeous one he’d ever seen, and Regulus had seen a great deal of them. The French didn’t have nearly as many reservations about same-sex relations as the British did.
Glancing at James to gauge whether this would be welcome, Regulus dipped his head and swirled his tongue over the head of it. Immediately, James groaned. “Yes. Please.”
“Come up here,” Regulus asked.
Propping himself up on his knees so he was half-standing, half-kneeling before him, James aligned himself with Regulus’ lips, hovering near but not pushing forward. It made something melt inside Regulus’ heart. Even here, now, with so much evidence of how desperately Regulus wanted this, James was being polite and considerate.
Determined to do away with all of that and have James reduced to his basest instincts, Regulus wrapped his lips around his cock, sucking him down.
“Oh,” James said. Regulus hummed to signal his own enjoyment, and James bit out, “Regulus. Oh God.”
James was rather huge, and he tasted unlike anyone else Regulus has done this with. He found himself incapable of restraint. Every new discovery drove Regulus closer to the edge of his sanity. He wanted, and wanted, and wanted. Wild and passionate and dangerous.
How could he get James to cease being so polite about the whole thing and want like Regulus did?
Looking up through his lashes, Regulus found James’ head was thrown back in pleasure. Beautiful and strong. It was not enough.
Emboldened by the accelerated rhythm of James’ breathing above him, Regulus decided to test the boundaries of his propriety again. To seek what he truly wanted and discover whether James wanted it, too.
Putting his hands on James’ hips, he jerked him forward, driving his cock deeper into his mouth.
“Regulus?” James asked, voice strained.
Regulus did it again. Harder.
“Oh,” James said, and Regulus prayed he’d understood.
A moment later, James’ hand came to rest on either side of his face. “Yes?”
Regulus nodded as best as he could given his face was rather busy. And then, glorious, smart man that he was, James began to thrust tentatively, and Regulus abandoned all decorum. Mouth slack, jaw relaxed to allow James to go as deep as possible, Regulus moaned, hoping it’d encourage James to thrust harder.
Bless this man and his desire to please others. James understood. Oh, how he understood.
When James came, it was with a shout and Regulus’ name on his lips, chest heaving with exertion at having fucked Regulus’ face vigorously. Almost delirious with his own arousal, Regulus swallowed.
He was truly elated that he’d driven James to such a raw response. That alone was almost enough to push Regulus over his own edge, though he’d never admit it. Usually, it took considerably more effort. Fortunately, when James recovered from his pleasure, he lowered himself to his knees between Regulus’ legs and set to work reciprocating.
James’ mouth was devilish. He did wicked things to the underside of Regulus’ cock with his tongue, then swirled around his head in such a way Regulus found himself clutching James’ shoulders with desperate uninhibitedness.
After, when Regulus was spent and sweaty, James closed his eyes and rested his head on Regulus’ thigh. There was a small smile on his lips.
In the silence that ensued, Regulus realised he’d been thinking of James by his given name throughout the encounter. Closing his eyes, Regulus pondered whether he dared use it aloud. He longed to taste it on his lips. To shape it with his tongue and breathe it in the space between them. A claiming of sorts. Intimate.
He didn’t dare. Not yet.
It was too soon, and it was likely to frighten him. If Regulus wanted James for himself—and he very much did—he had to be patient.
####
Sirius would have never guessed that accounting could be arousing, but here he was, sitting on the sofa watching Lupin go through farmland reports with a rather inconvenient and mildly painful cockstand.
“You know,” Sirius said casually, reclining back on the sofa as seductively as he could. “There is no expectation for you to do any real work.”
“We must be careful,” Lupin replied. “If suspicion arises, I shall be able to give ample details about these accounts. No one could doubt that I have, indeed, been working on them.”
“But that’s not the purpose of your visit,” Sirius protested. “It’s not why I asked James to hire you.”
“I’m surprised he agreed,” Lupin noted.
“He trusts me, and I trust him,” Sirius told him. “Now, are you quite done?”
“Patience,” Lupin said.
“I’ve never had much of it,” Sirius admitted. “Especially, not in such circumstances.”
Lupin glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. His gaze dropped pointedly to the bulge in Sirius’ breeches, then Lupin ran his tongue over his bottom lip. Sirius’ head fell back as he groaned. The man was going to kill him.
Desperate to lure him away from the blasted accounts, Sirius shifted on the sofa and attempted to adopt at more alluring pose. He wasn’t certain he wasn’t making a fool of himself, but he was beyond mortification. If he didn’t manage to persuade Lupin to kiss him within the next few minutes, Sirius would go mad.
Then, doubt stroke.
Perhaps Lupin simply did not want him. Perhaps he had decided he wasn’t worth the trouble. Perhaps Sirius was waiting for something that would never come.
“Have you changed your mind?” Sirius asked.
“No,” Lupin replied, making an idle annotation on the paper he had been using to write down details of the farmlands reports.
“You understand why I find that had to believe,” Sirius pointed out. “I refuse to accept accounting papers to be more enticing than I am.”
“Has it occurred to you,” Lupin said slowly, his voice dipping into a tone that made Sirius’ mouth turn dry. “That I may simply be waiting for you to come to me?”
“I have not made my intentions or desires secret,” Sirius protested. “You cannot possibly claim to be uncertain of them.”
“I am not uncertain,” Lupin said, finally setting the damned pen down. “But I quite enjoy watching a Lord make a fool of himself over one such as me.”
Sirius leapt out of his seat immediately, spurred on by the heat in Lupin’s voice and in his own trousers. Good Lord, this man was going to be the death of Sirius.
Standing by Lupin’s chair, Sirius looked down at him and cleared his throat. “How big a fool should I make of myself?”
At that, Lupin stood, cautious surprise on his face. He took in Sirius’ earnest stance, the open look in his eyes Sirius hoped conveyed he’d do anything if it meant Lupin would kiss him again.
“I’ve never met a Lord like you,” Lupin muttered. With the words, his features softened. “And I work at a gentlemen’s club.”
“I am not like the other gentlemen,” Sirius said with resignation. “And that is not a good thing.”
“Tell me,” Lupin asked, leaning his hip against the desk.
Sirius hesitated. He wanted this man more than he had ever wanted anyone before, with an intensity that scared him. He should attempt to preserve some semblance of pride.
And yet, there was something in the expectant way Lupin was regarding him that told Sirius he did not care for pride. Much less the pride of Lords.
“I was disinherited,” Sirius admitted. “My father cast me out. I lost my title and my wealth. I was to be a Duke. The Duke of Islington. My disgrace was the biggest scandal of that year. The ton discussed nothing else. I was repudiated and denied access to places I used to frequent.”
“How old were you?” Lupin asked.
“Ten and seven,” Sirius replied. “Old enough. Had I been a woman, it would have been the year of my first season.”
“What happened then?”
“James,” Sirius said. The name was uttered like a prayer. A holy thing. To Sirius, it was. James had saved his life in every possible way. “He was my best friend. The moment he heard what had happened, he travelled to the countryside to his parents in Richmond Estate. It took two weeks, the worst two weeks of my life, but when he came back he had adoption papers. The Potters made me one of theirs, protected me with their own name.”
“And you repay them by behaving like a scoundrel?” Lupin asked, narrowing his eyes. “I have seen you at the club. You drink and gamble and take women to bed like the rake they say you are.”
That, Sirius found, was too much for him. He wanted Lupin, but not enough to carry this conversation on any longer. It was one thing sharing something everyone who was anyone knew already. It was quite another to confess to his innermost troubles. No.
“I do not take kindly to being insulted in my own home,” Sirius replied, letting his tone tip into the authoritative voice of one who was once raised to become a Duke.
Lupin pursed his lips. Defiance shone in his eyes, and Sirius thought he’d have to ask him to leave. Instead, he nodded. “I understand there is more. Perhaps I will earn your trust and you will tell me.”
This was, admittedly, not what Sirius had been expecting so he fumbled for words like the fool he was. Surprising him once again, Lupin brought a hand to cradle his face, running this thumb over the curve of Sirius’ cheekbone.
“You are infuriatingly handsome,” Lupin muttered. “The first time I saw you I dropped the ledger I was holding. I was unreasonable angry at you afterward.”
“Angry?”
“Yes, well. It was damned frustrating that I’d discovered a man such as you existed only to realise I could not have you,” Lupin said.
“You were wrong,” Sirius told him.
Lupin’s grin turned wolfish. “On what account?”
“You can have me,” Sirius said, a tad desperately. “Please, have me. I beg you.”
“I do like it when you beg.” Lupin’s hands—the most beautiful hands Sirius had ever laid eyes upon—fisted in his linen shirt. Then, Sirius was hauled closer and Lupin crushed his mouth to his. It was a deep and drugging kiss. Sirius did not want it to ever end.
His mind spun with the overwhelming sensation of Lupin’s tongue in his mouth. He hadn’t shaved today, and the was a roughness over his face that felt coarse against Sirius’ own. He adored it. Kissing a man, kissing this man, was miles better than any of the women he’d ever kissed.
But when he kissed women, Sirius knew what to do. He had perfected the art of seduction and was familiar with everything one did in a bedchamber with a woman.
Right now, in Lupin’s arms, Sirius felt overwhelmingly inexperienced. His hands were gripping Lupin’s shoulders, digging into the strong muscles when he broke their kiss to lavish the skin of Sirius’ neck with attention. Was Sirius meant to touch him differently? Run his hands over his body or keep them still?
Lupin’s teeth grazed his skin and Sirius gasped, taken unawares. “You like that?”
“Yes,” Sirius replied, breathless. “I like it very much indeed.”
To his delight, Lupin did it again, more firmly this time. It occurred to Sirius that no woman had ever bitten him. He’d felt the delicate drag of teeth on skin, of course. But never something as salacious as a proper bite, which was exactly what Lupin was doing.
It struck him as the height of inanity that he was contemplating the proper way to bite another person, and had he not been so aroused, Sirius would have giggled.
His amusement was swiftly abandoned when Lupin closed his teeth on his skin again, this time right where his shoulder met his neck.
“Oh,” Sirius gasped, tilting his head to the side should Lupin want to carry on.
Sirius hoped he did. Alarmingly, Sirius wanted Lupin to bite him all over.
As though he could hear his thoughts, Lupin’s fingers began to work the buttons on Sirius’ shirt. It fell to the floor. Not to be outdone, Sirius followed his lead and shortly after Lupin’s own shirt joined his.
When Lupin’s hands found the button of his breeches, however, Sirius froze.
“Is something the matter?” Lupin asked, drawing back to observe Sirius’ expression.
He shook his head, swallowing. “No. No, I—”
Understanding dawned. “You have never been intimate with a man, have you?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what I’m doing,” Sirius said.
Lupin blinked, then laughed. It was the most beautiful sound Sirius had ever heard. In the months since he’d first caught a glimpse of Lupin and become enthralled by the man’s presence, Sirius had seen him smile on only a handful of occasions. Laughter? Never.
He felt an earth-shattering amount of pride at having coaxed this joy from him, and in that moment, Sirius vowed to do everything in his power to repeat the experience as often as humanly possible.
“You have a lovely laugh,” Sirius told him shyly. Was this the sort of thing a man said to another? “Even if it’s making me feel dreadfully inadequate.”
“You are not inadequate,” Lupin said, recovering. “But you should have told me from the start.”
“Does it bother you so?”
“No. But it means we won’t be doing what I came here to do,” Lupin informed him.
Appalled, Sirius protested this vehemently. “Surely, you do not mean to leave so soon? I couldn’t bear it.”
Lupin ran a finger over Sirius’ chest, sending a most delicious shiver down his back to coil in his lower stomach. “I do not make a habit of leaving a lover wanting, no,” Lupin said, hooking the finger in Sirius’ breeches. “But there is no need to rush things. I wouldn’t want to overwhelm you.”
“I am not overwhelmed.”
“You are taut as a bowstring,” Lupin observed. “And I do not mean your impressive cockstand.”
Sirius choked on his surprise before he remembered Lupin was a commoner and as such was probably a lot less concerned with the kind of words he said aloud.
“I will admit to feeling some nerves,” Sirius said, striving for neutral but landing closer to timid. “However,” he pressed on, determined not to ruin this for himself, “I am also rather obviously eager to learn.”
“Yes, I should hope so,” Lupin said, smiling again. Oh, that smile. Sirius was certain he would dream of it for nights to come. “Those farmlands reports are extensive,” Lupin continued, fingers opening the first button of Sirius’ breeches. “I shall need to return at least thrice a week for the next month to cover them all.”
“Oh,” Sirius said, delighted.
“That should be ample time for us to carry on our… lessons.”
With that, Lupin tugged Sirius’ trousers down and freed him to the warm air of the study. Before Sirius had time to grow self-conscious, Lupin growled from deep in his throat and knelt before him.
Sirius was inexperienced in dealings with men, but he understood immediately what Lupin intended and braced against the desk behind him for stability.
“First lesson,” Lupin said. “Men are much better at cock sucking than women, as a general rule. There are exceptions, of course.”
“What—” Sirius’ question was cut off as Lupin took him in his mouth all at once. To the hilt. “Oh.”
There was nothing for Sirius to do but surrender to the onslaught of pleasure that Lupin seemed determined to effect on him. It was the most enthusiastic anyone had ever been for this particular act, and Sirius had to admit that the way in which he could feel the head of his cock hitting the back of Lupin’s throat was most indecent. It was, as Lupin had warned, the best cock sucking he’d ever received.
Lupin continued with his ministrations, building Sirius’ pleasure like a crest rising over a shore. Sirius was so close to the point of breaking he could taste in the back of his teeth. And then, when he thought he was about to burst, Lupin drew back.
“What in the devil—” Sirius looked down, eyes wide, chest heaving.
“Patience,” Lupin said, entirely too haughty for a man on his knees.
“Patience! I did not consent to torture,” Sirius protested, bringing his own hand to his cock in an attempt at relieving the ache there.
Lupin slapped his hand away. “Shall I stop?”
“Good Lord, no! I do not understand why you stopped in the first place!”
“You’ll see,” Lupin told him, then he took him again and Sirius, in a moment of great magnanimity, decided to forgive this grievous offence at the first swirl of Lupin’s tongue along the underside of his shaft.
So focused was he on the movement of Lupin’s tongue and teeth that Sirius did not notice his hand until a finger ran lightly over the line between his buttocks. Sirius couldn’t help but to tense. When he looked down, he found Lupin watching him. Waiting.
He knew what he intended, for he’d been introduced to this particular pleasure by a courtesan he’d dallied with some time ago. Still, it felt considerably more depraved to have a man do it.
Sirius’ hesitation lasted but a second, however. He did not want Lupin to think him inadequate. And he did want to experience everything Lupin had to offer him.
“Yes,” Sirius said, and spread his limbs apart as much as he could with his trousers pooled around his ankles. “Yes, please.”
Lupin lifted his hand to Sirius’ lips, and he wetted the fingers offered to him. Then, Sirius closed his eyes for fear he wouldn’t be able to bear what he knew was coming.
When the first finger breached him, a most ungentlemanly like sound escaped his lips. Mortified, Sirius attempted to move but found he could not. Lupin’s other hand was gripping his waist firmly. Sirius felt a hum along his cock that must have indicated Lupin’s own satisfaction at his reaction and decided that he would not shy from this.
When he felt Lupin’s finger curl inside him, Sirius did no longer care that he sounded unhinged.
“Good God. Yes,” he hissed. A second finger joined the first, twisting and probing, and Sirius must have been delirious in his pleasure for he did not think to warn Lupin before he came deep in his throat.
Fortunately, it seemed that Lupin did not give a damn about warnings. He continued to suck and lick and swallow until Sirius could bear it no more. On shaky legs, he stepped back and pulled his trousers up.
Lupin stood and regarded him with a look of unguarded heat that made Sirius’ breath hitch despite the fact that he felt quite sated in that moment.
Leading Lupin to the sofa he’d been occupying earlier, Sirius gestured for him to sit down.
“I’m afraid my performance shan’t be half as good,” Sirius told him, kneeling in front of Lupin, settling between his thighs.
“Let me be the judge of that,” Lupin said, tilting his head. “I must admit you on your knees before me is already miles better than I ever imagined.”
Riding the burst of confidence Lupin’s words caused inside of him, Sirius unbuttoned his trousers… and cursed. “I’ll be damned.”
“I do not expect you to take all of it,” Lupin said before placing a gentle hand on Sirius’ head, fingers tangling in his too-long locks.
“Has anyone managed it?” Sirius asked, glancing up before pressing a first, tentative kiss to the head of the enormous cock in front of him.
“One or two,” Lupin confessed.
For a confusing moment, Sirius could not name the searing emotion piercing his chest. Then, he realised with a jolt that it was his very first bout of jealousy. Over unknown men in Lupin’s past.
That would just not do. If Sirius had any say in the matter, no one else would come near this man again. For that, he had to perform. And he wanted to. Possibly more than he had ever before wanted to do anything to anyone else.
“Feel free to provide instruction,” Sirius said, and then he took as much as he could of Lupin in his mouth.
He had had every intention of repeating all the wonderful, fancy tricks Lupin had performed with his tongue on him, but the moment he wrapped his lips around the hard length of him, Sirius’ brain turned to cabbage. It was most intimate, to hold Lupin in his mouth, to feel the hot, heavy weight on his tongue. Sirius tasted the salty tang of Lupin’s arousal and feared his eyes would become stuck at the back of his head for how far they went.
There was no way of guessing whether him becoming hard again was a normal reaction to sucking someone’s cock, but there was little Sirius could do about it. Instead of worrying, Sirius looked up and found Lupin watching him through hooded eyes.
“You are doing wonderfully,” Lupin said.
Sirius felt like he could fly.
He continued his task with renewed vigour, daring to go deeper. Take more of Lupin. The hand on his head began to stroke him tenderly. “Look at you,” Lupin muttered. “So beautiful. So eager.”
More.
Sirius would have preened had he any capacity for anything other than determinedly working on pleasing Lupin. He surmised that the thing preventing him from taking all of him in was simply a matter of available space, so Sirius tried to relax his face as much as possible and was rewarded with a most erotic groan from Lupin when he managed to fit almost all of it.
There was a bout of nausea, but Sirius had seen this happen before to women and he understood it was but a reflex. Firmly, with all the authority of a disgraced Marquess, he told his own brain that there was no need for such antics. He wanted Lupin to come back to him next time he sought pleasure, and for that he had to ensure this was the very best he could manage.
Sirius drew back, testing a few fanciful twirls of his tongue along Lupin’s cock as he did, then took a deep breath before moving back to take him.
“Oh, fuck,” Lupin cried out when Sirius managed to fit him.
All of him.
After, Sirius sat and watched Lupin return to his senses. It was, perhaps, the most beautiful thing Sirius had ever witnessed.
“Sit with me,” Lupin said, tucking himself back in his trousers. When Sirius settled on the sofa at his side, Lupin turned his body so they could regard each other.
“Was it to your liking?” Sirius asked.
“It was,” Lupin replied, and there it was—that grin Sirius was becoming alarmingly fond of. “It was also most enlightening.”
“How so?”
“That will be lesson number two,” Lupin told him. Then, he tugged Sirius closer and kissed him. “Which I’m very much looking forward to.” Another kiss, slow and torturous.
“Right now?” Sirius asked, hopeful.
Pressing a hand against the outline of Sirius’ once-again hard cock, Lupin hummed his displeasure. “Unfortunately not. I’m expected at the club before closing. I shall return tomorrow.”