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Regulus has come to the conclusion that the only thing worse than being stuck in witness protection is being stuck in witness protection with James bloody Potter.
He is insufferable.
But not for the reasons Regulus expected him to be. He thought James would leave dirty clothes strewn across the back of the sofa, or let used dishes pile high in the sink. The other Ministry-assigned Aurors were all old or smelled like moldy cheese, or a terrible combination of both. Their crimson-colored uniforms strained around their rotund middles, gold buttons dangerously close to popping off, flinging themselves across the room, and hitting Regulus in the eye.
The other Aurors left their sweat-stained robes all over Regulus’ favorite pieces of furniture; the cushions would be pungent for days. They never cleaned their dishes, content to let Regulus scrub furiously when he realized it would either be him or an army of ants in the kitchen. They used up all of the hot water, and some didn’t shower at all. They reheated salmon in a tiny Muggle contraption over the stove, and Regulus had to open every window for hours to air out the smell.
James Potter does none of these things.
He showed up last week after Auror Wright was pulled off of assignment. The Ministry has decided to rotate the Aurors keeping Regulus safe rather than assign one for the long term. Something about keeping the Dark wizards off your trail is easier if they can’t track one Auror and we Obliviate your location and any knowledge about you once the Auror returns to London.
There are hundreds of Aurors. Possibly thousands. Hell if Regulus knows.
So why did they have to send James bloody Potter?
The first day he showed up, he stood on the front stoop under the awning, blinking rain droplets from long, coal-black lashes and smiling sheepishly. He pushed dark, wet curls off of his forehead. Rain streaked his glasses. Did he not charm the damn things to be water resistant? He wore his Ministry-issued Auror robes, dark crimson against a background of green. The shoulders were darkened with rain. Merlin, did he not charm those, either?
“Hullo,” he’d said in a surprisingly smooth voice, though it was still a touch rough around the edges.
In that moment, Regulus would have given anything to have Auror No Showers or Auror Allergic to Dishes or even Auror Smelly Salmon. With the previous Aurors, Regulus’ blood didn’t boil beneath his skin. He didn’t feel feverish or queasy, or like his bones might melt any second. He would have rather fucked an unwashed cheese grater than any of the Aurors the Ministry sent.
Unfortunately, the moment James Potter showed up, this was no longer the case.
Regulus wanted—wants—very badly to fuck this Auror—and immediately.
He didn’t respond to James that day. His stomach twisted itself into knots. A slight burn bloomed in the base of his spine. Wetness dripped down the backs of his thighs.
Without a word, Regulus had turned on his heel and bolted for his bedroom.
Regulus didn’t come out of his bedroom for days.
The only time he opened his door was to retrieve the tray of food James left for him morning, afternoon, and night, not including the snack he brought between lunch and dinner, or the dessert he left after supper.
“Hey, Regulus?” asked James one afternoon. He knocked gently on the door. “Did I do something wrong? Are you alright?”
Regulus didn’t answer. He curled up in his bed underneath a nest of blankets and pillows, burrowing deeper when James knocked again. The scent that had filled the little cabin when James walked through the front door had finally started to seep into Regulus’ bedroom.
Rich cedar. Bright citrus. Fresh linen.
James smelled like clean clothes hung to dry on a line on a warm summer day. Regulus had never noticed it before, though it’s not as though they were ever friends. That was Sirius’ job. Regulus and James were more like casual acquaintances who said hello on holidays, then went long stretches without seeing one another at all.
“Reg?”
Regulus still didn’t answer, and he didn’t answer the next day, either.
A week after James’ arrival, he walks past Regulus’ room but stops just outside. Regulus can make out his shadow through the crack underneath the door; it’s a familiar sight.
“I’m gonna go into town, Reg. The house is yours, if you want. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
Regulus burrows underneath his blankets. He says nothing.
When Regulus was seven, his mother sat him and Sirius down in the drawing room of Number 12 Grimmauld Place and said, “You’re Veela.”
Sirius’ perfectly upturned nose scrunched. “What’s a Veela?”
Their mother seemed exceptionally exasperated by the question, but she answered it anyway. “They’re magical creatures. You’ll learn more about them when you go to Hogwarts. But it’s important that you tell no one what you are. Do you understand?”
“Is anyone else in our family Veela?” asked Regulus, legs swinging so his heels hit the couch rhythmically. His feet didn’t reach the floor then.
“No. The gene has been dormant for years.”
“But I thought we’re pure-bloods.”
“We are,” Walburga said fiercely. Her gray eyes flashed; Regulus shrunk into the cushions. “That’s why you can’t tell anyone. Your bodies won’t change much. There will be some differences in time, yes, but not for years. We can keep it hidden. You must keep it hidden.”
Their mother made them ashamed of it, but that didn’t mean they weren’t curious. There were no books in their father’s study about Veelas. Regulus and Sirius only ever knew what their mother told them, which was almost nothing. When they asked questions, she said, We’re not talking about it, and the brothers accepted the dismissal for what it was.
They learned very little about Veela while at Hogwarts, too. It wasn’t a topic discussed in Care of Magical Creatures, and the library only had two books with the word ‘Veela’ in their index. Neither proved helpful.
It wasn’t until Sirius experienced his first heat shortly after turning twenty-one that the brothers realized how potentially problematic being Veela could be. It happened during a professional Quidditch match, one that Sirius was meant to be the star player of—until he was overcome with sickness, burning up from the inside out, and fell from his broom to the grass field below.
“Did you tell anyone?” Regulus had asked frantically, shaking his brother’s shoulders in the infirmary. They were alone. “Did you tell anyone what you are?”
Sirius, still burning up so badly his skin was hot to the touch, shook his head. “I didn’t tell them. I didn’t—” He gasped, doubling over in pain with his eyes squeezed shut. “I told them it’s a—a stomach flu. Ate something bad last night.”
“Good.”
“You should—Reggie, you should go,” Sirius had managed through gritted teeth. He breathed through his mouth, not his nose. “But send—send Remus in. Please. They said I could—That he—Fuck.”
Regulus had rushed from the room, pushed Remus inside, and left. Sirius never told him what happened, and Regulus didn’t ask. He didn’t want to know. The unknown was terrifying, but he had the distinct impression that knowing what was coming would be even worse.
When his own heat came a year later, he wished more than anything in the world that he’d asked Sirius what to expect. It was brutal, and Regulus went through it alone. In fact, he went through all of them alone. He hunkered down in his flat, spent a few days alternating between fevers that made him want to die and exhaustion that left him boneless. He’s spent the last three years of his life enduring his heat cycles alone; they never get easier, or more pleasant.
As usual, Regulus has simply had to learn how to survive.
The cabin reeks of James.
Regulus tries to breathe through his nose, to cover his mouth. It doesn’t work. James has spent the last week lounging on the sofa, trudging back and forth from his bedroom to the kitchen, making himself comfortable in all of the spaces once occupied by men who smelled like moldy cheese and onion soup.
Now everything smells of sandalwood and bright citrus and fresh linen, and Regulus is salivating.
There’s a calendar on the fridge. He groans when he spies the date. He has three more days before this month’s heat. They come every three months, which is four times more than he wants to suffer per year. His last heat was absolutely fucking awful; he was sick to the point he thought he might die, desperate to take the edge off but disgusted any time he remembered his options. Auror No Showers had been around at that time.
Again: a used cheese grater would’ve been a better option.
He’ll just have to tell James to go away for a few days. Regulus can handle himself, anyway. There’s no need for the Aurors to hover. It’s been months; no one has tried to attack his little cabin in the Scottish Highlands. There are enough wards on the place to keep out the whole wizarding population. Regulus would much rather have peace and quiet while he suffers.
He’s not sure why James went into town. House-elves bring the groceries. The fridge and pantry are both fully stocked with everything either of them could ever need. There’s left over Bolognese that James made last night and brought fresh to Regulus’ door around six.
With a weighted sigh—through his mouth, not his nose—he uses a spoon to scoop cold Bolognese onto a plate. Auror No Showers taught him how to use the little Muggle contraption that Auror Smelly Salmon abused. Regulus yanks open the door, sets his plate inside the little box, and—
“Oh. Hi.”
Regulus freezes. His heart slams violently against his ribs.
“It’s good to see you up and about.” James sets something on the counter behind Regulus. “Have you not been feeling well? I picked up some stuff that might—”
James’ voice dims as though someone stuck Regulus’ head in a fishbowl. His breath quickens, and his heart skips several beats. He grips the microwave handle until his knuckles turn bone white.
“—and if that doesn’t work, then… Regulus? Are you alright?”
“M’fine,” Regulus replies through gritted teeth. He shuts the door harder than necessary. Merlin, this kitchen smells so fucking delicious his bones ache from the need to be closer to the source of it all—and it isn’t the Bolognese. “I’m just… Feeling a little…”
Oh.
Oh, no.
Regulus makes a soft, startled sound that’s a cross between a moan and a squeak. He can’t help it; James in the room is worse than whatever it is that’s left over when he leaves. There’s a fullness to this smell that’s only lingered since Regulus wandered into their shared space. His stomach twists, nausea rolling through him in waves.
His muscles ache from the rigidity of his body. His very bones feel wrong. Even his skin itches, a sure sign of just how desperately he wants to crawl out of himself and across the kitchen floor to James.
Fuck.
“Reg, you don’t look very good…” James steps closer, and Regulus makes another startled noise. He shies away, flinching. “Right, sorry. Don’t mean to…”
Sweat prickles the nape of Regulus’ neck, his underarms. His thin cotton shirt sticks uncomfortably in places where he’s already damp with sweat. He’s going to be sick. James stands too close, especially for such a small space. The kitchen smells like a forest, like sunshine, like grass freshly cut and cool between Regulus’ toes.
“Here, let me get you a glass of water.”
Heat builds in Regulus’ spine until it overflows, oozing along his bones like lava, burning him from head to toe.
No, no, no.
This isn’t supposed to happen for three more days. He’s supposed to have time. Time to tell James to get out, to leave him alone, to let him handle this by himself. It’s dangerous if James is here, if he’s within reach, if his hand is on the small of Regulus’ lower back and hot, hot, hot.
Regulus sways on his feet. He chokes on bile. The sight of leftover Bolognese in a container on the counter makes him want to stick his head in the rubbish bin and—
“D-Don’t,” he manages to gasp when James grips his elbow. “Don’t touch—Please don’t—”
“You’re gonna fall over, Reg,” James says, tightening his grip. Wide, hazel eyes swim into view. Their pupils are edged with brown, their irises rimmed with gold. “C’mon, let me help you to the sofa. I’ll get you a glass of water.”
There’s still a little time. Regulus isn’t doubled over in pain yet. He’s sweating like mad, the fever building with each second that passes, but there’s still time. He lets James lead him to the sofa, lets himself be pushed down gently until he’s seated on the cushions. His body is still rigid from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes. Merlin, he hates this. He hates that James is here to witness it.
Struck with the realization that in an hour or two, his heat will be at its peak, Regulus makes a defeated, tired sound. He pulls his knees to his chest, wraps his arms tightly around his legs, and drops his forehead in the space between his thighs. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He’ll have to lock himself in his bedroom for days. He won’t even be able to open it to retrieve the plates of food James leaves for him. It will be too much, too painful, to know that there’s a warm body just on the other side of the door. Someone who could take the edge off. Some who Regulus wants to help him take the edge off.
The sad truth is that Regulus has harbored a crush on James Potter for years. Perhaps a decade, maybe longer. The moment he sat down at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall and looked across to meet hazel eyes framed by wire-rimmed glasses, Regulus was lost. He tried his best then to keep it hidden, to keep his secret safe. So far, he’s succeeded. He’s dated other men—all of whom are tall with dark hair and olive-toned skin, but that’s not for anyone to unpack—and it’s been fine. He’s managed.
Regulus can’t let his heat—three days early and very unwanted—change the delicate balance of his (not quite) friendship with James. They see one another on holidays and birthdays. Regulus says hi and James says hullo, and then Regulus fades into the wallpaper and James doesn’t acknowledge his presence for the rest of the evening. It’s worked this long. The last thing Regulus needs to admit is that he would quite possibly sell his soul to any god or devil willing to listen for the chance to let James Potter fuck him.
As if Regulus’ thoughts beckoned him over, James sits on the couch. “Here,” he says, one hand laid gently on the middle of Regulus’ back while the other nudges him with a cold glass. “Drink this. Maybe you’ll feel better.”
“I won’t,” Regulus croaks. He doesn’t raise his head. It’s worsening, the nausea, and his skull feels like it might crack open any second. “This isn’t—You can’t fix this with water.”
“Humor me?”
Regulus turns his head, temple pressed against his knee, and groans when he takes in James, who watches him with wide, earnest eyes. He’s always been unfairly gorgeous, with a head full of thick, dark curls, a strong nose, and full, soft-looking lips. Tall and broad-shouldered, he’s kept his Chaser build well into his twenties. If anything, he’s even fitter now that he’s an Auror. He probably trains constantly to keep himself ready for whatever the hell it is they do when they’re not watching valuable witnesses.
“Drink, Reg,” says James softly. He offers a tiny smile and nudges Regulus with the cold glass again. “Even if it doesn’t help completely, maybe it can take the edge off?”
Water isn’t what Regulus needs. What he needs is—
No.
He can’t think about that. He won’t. Thinking about it will only make the creature in his chest rabid with need. James is tall, and strong, and well-built. There’s no doubt in Regulus’ mind that whatever James has between his legs would do the job brilliantly. But it doesn’t—
“Shit,” he grunts, curling in on himself as heat whips through his body. He knows he’s hot to the touch, his skin burning up. He’s going to sweat through his shirt. Might even sweat through his joggers. Merlin, it’ll be an awful sight. James will probably find him disgusting, want nothing to do with him.
He needs to get out of this living room. He needs to lock himself away for the next few days until all of this subsides and he can be normal again.
“Sorry, but I—” Regulus makes to stand, pushing off the couch with arms that are less helpful than cooked noodles. Somehow, he manages.
Until warm, calloused fingers encircle his wrist.
It fucking burns. Does his skin blister? It should. Merlin, it should. James’ touch scalds him, and he whimpers from the pain. Or perhaps this sound comes from the relief, because it’s here. Fucking hell, it’s here. He was supposed to have hours, but the peak has slammed into him with all the finesse of the Hogwarts Express at full speed.
Well, fuck.
He sways on his feet. “Oh,” he breathes, arousal coursing through his veins until all he can think about is how badly he wants James. How badly he needs him on, around, and inside. His touch is electric, burning but soothing at the same time.
This is bad.
This is very, very bad.
“I’m a Veela,” he blurts, his tongue heavy behind his teeth. He can barely see. His vision swims, the whole room gone topsy-turvy. The heat has obliterated his sense of self-preservation. His mouth is not his own. Neither are the words coming out of it. “And I’m—I’m going into—I’m in—”
James’ grip on his wrist tightens until the bones grind together.
“You shouldn’t—James, I can’t be—I’m not—”
Inexplicably, James’ nostrils flare with a short but heavy grunt of breath. Regulus glances down, the room still swimming but James in perfect clarity. His eyes are wide, his pupils blown. His lips part slightly, the bottom one still shiny like he’s just run his tongue along it.
Regulus would give anything to kiss him. Would give up anything. The thought makes him flinch; it’s shameless, so needy it’s almost embarrassing, and James is going to think he’s lost his mind.
“You should really—” He tugs in an attempt to pull his wrist from James’ grasp. The bones ache, but he’s not sure if the pain is from the heat or from James’ merciless grip. “I can’t—I’m not me when I’m like this. It’s gonna be bad in a second, and I can’t—Fuck, it’s already bad. You shouldn’t be with—”
“We actually have a slight problem,” James grits out, and Regulus startles to realize that James sits as rigidly as he did a moment ago. A muscle in James’ jaw feathers. “I need to know you won’t… The Ministry. You can’t tell the Ministry what I’m about to tell you.”
Regulus wants to roll his eyes, but he’s too focused on staying on his feet, on not crawling into James’ lap. “I won’t tell them,” he says. “So long as you don’t tell the Ministry what I am. No one knows I’m a Veela.”
“I do. Did. Sirius is one, too.”
“Oh. You’re not supposed to know that.”
“Too late.”
Regulus swallows thickly. He can practically taste James on the air, as well as— Well, fuck. He squeezes his thighs together, whining despite his better judgment. Mixed with the woodsy-citrus smell is sweet vanilla, and the wetness dripping down the inside of his leg is the final nail in his coffin.
It’s definitely started.
He’s in fucking heat.
And James is looking up at him with a hungry, dangerous gaze.
Regulus doesn’t know what to make of it.
“You should really let me go,” he pleads, tugging again. “James, I need to be away from you. If you know what I am, then you know what’s happening. You know what I—” He doesn’t want to say it. He really doesn’t want to say it. Their (not quite) friendship hands in the delicate balance. Instead, through the haze of arousal, he asks, “What am I not allowed to tell the Ministry about you?”
James breathes deeply, but it’s through his mouth. He braces himself. “I’m a werewolf,” he finally says. “Have been since I was nineteen. Got bit on a mission. I managed to keep it out of the reports, and I got lucky my partner didn’t see it happen, but—” His tongue flicks across his bottom lip, and Regulus’ breath quickens as he tracks the movement. “Remus is one, too. He’s helped me manage it. I’ve got potions. Shit to help with…”
Regulus’ brows furrow as James trails off. Both of them are breathing heavy in the weighted silence. “What does this have to do with me? The next full moon is weeks away.”
“Right. But I think your—your—your heat,” James finally manages to say, which only serves to make Regulus flinch again. “I think it’s tripped something in me. It has for days. Since the moment I fucking got here. That’s why I—” He gestures vaguely with his free hand. His gaze remains trained on the hollow of Regulus’ throat. “That’s why I had to get out of the cabin today. You’re everywhere. I was starting to go fucking insane, Reg. I was seconds from clawing at the door earlier to get to you.”
“Oh.” Regulus blinks several times. “You seemed so calm.”
“Yeah, well. I didn’t want to freak you out.”
“Oh.”
James huffs a short breath that’s not quite a laugh. “Can you stop saying that?”
“Oh. Oh, sorry.”
“Merlin.”
“Yeah. I’m—” Regulus shifts his weight from foot to foot. Fucking hell, he’s wet. It’s embarrassing, really. He’s never been around anyone else during a heat like this. There’s never been anyone else to have around. Sex usually happens outside of his cycles, if sex happens at all.
It’s been a dry few months, all things considered.
“Look, James,” he tries, inhaling to steady himself. It doesn’t help; the air reeks of warm cedar and sweet vanilla. The headiness of it goes right to his head—and his cock, which a quick glance confirms has noticeably tented his joggers. Shit. “I need to be alone, okay? I don’t want to involve you in this. It’s fucking embarrassing. I’m already a sweaty mess. The fever will get worse. I’m gonna be miserable and bitchy.”
James makes a soft noise. “Let me help.”
Now that is not what Regulus expected to hear. His eyes narrow, and he looks at James full-on. It’s not a great idea; the urge to fall forward into James’ arms is stronger when he acknowledges the man in front of him. But he needs to make sure he just heard what he thinks he heard.
“What?” he asks.
“Let me help,” James repeats, tugging gently on Regulus’ wrist. “Remus said he… When Sirius—”
“I do not want to talk about my brother right now.”
James winces. “Sorry. Yeah. Right. It’s just… Remus said that when this happens to you know who, there are things he does that… Well, they help.”
“And what,” Regulus asks through gritted teeth, “does Remus do that helps?”
“It’s…” The tip of James’ tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip again. Regulus wants to smack him for doing it; it’s bloody arousing, and he’s having a hard enough time focusing as it is. “It’s sex, Reg. That’s what helps.”
Regulus scoffs. He knew this, of course, but hearing James say it out loud makes him realize how fucking ludicrous this all is. “Me and you?” He scoffs again. “As if, James.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You haven’t looked at me twice since I was eleven years old, trailing after you and Sirius like a lost puppy.” Regulus’ voice hardens, his embarrassment mounting the longer he stands here sweating through his shirt, his joggers, his skin. Everything is sticky. The insides of his thighs are especially fucking sticky. He wants a shower. He wants to nest.
He wants James to fuck him until his back bows and is in danger of breaking.
“I don’t want your pity,” he snaps, tugging on his wrist again. “I don’t care that you’re a werewolf. Congratulations, or whatever. And I don’t care what my heat has triggered in you. I’m not interested in a pity fuck.”
James’ brows skyrocket to his hairline. “Pity? Reg, do you—” He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut tight as though in pain. He tries again. “Reg, do you really think I haven’t looked twice at you? Because if you do, that’s rich. You haven’t looked twice at me.”
Regulus guffaws; he can’t help it. “I haven’t looked at you? Merlin, James. All I fucking do is look at you. It’s why I dread every Christmas, every one of Sirius’ and Remus’ birthdays. Because you’re there, and I can’t have you.”
The words land between them, heavy and honest. Regulus’ breaths come in short, shallow gasps. His head swims with arousal, with the intoxicating, heady smell of James thick in the air. The creature part of him wants to submit, but the part of him that’s Regulus refuses to bend. He will not let his brother’s best friend fuck him out of pity. He’ll manage this heat alone, just as he always has, and he’ll think of James with two fingers pushed inside him. It’s worked before; it’ll work again.
“Oh,” James says on an exhaled breath. It pulls Regulus back into the living room, but only just barely. James’ eyes have grown rounder with each of Regulus’ admissions. “We… Have we both been looking at different times?”
“I don’t know. I don’t fucking know, but I’m—” With a pointed look, Regulus plucks at the front of his shirt. It clings to his chest, practically see-through. “I can handle this on my own. I’ve handled it a hundred times.”
James’ brow furrows. “On your own?”
“Yes. I’ve only ever spent my heats alone. I manage them alright. It’s a few days of fever and pain, and then I’m fine.”
“If that’s what you really want, then I need to go.” That same muscle in James’ jaw feathers again. “I can’t be in this cabin with you if you’re… I can smell it, Reg. I can smell you. The full moon is weeks away, but it’s not like the wolf dies in between cycles. It’s there. It’s very there.”
Regulus inhales a shaky, shuddering breath. He watches James watch him. James’ gaze is hungry, but it’s earnest. There’s barely controlled pain in his eyes. His irises have been swallowed up by black pupils; only a thin ring of gold remains on the edges.
“Were you really looking?” asks Regulus softly, unsure of what else there is to say.
“Yeah. Fuck. Merlin, Reg, I’ve been looking for years.” James laughs, but it’s a reedy sound. Not like him at all. “I’ve been looking since Sixth Year when you caught that Snitch flying upside-down on your broom. You were beautiful. You are beautiful.”
Regulus isn’t so sure his dizziness is a byproduct of the heat anymore. Not when James looks at him like this, so wholly honest and open his chest aches.
“I was over the fucking moon—no pun intended—when they assigned me to you,” James continues. “Not that the circumstances are great, but… I’d hoped maybe if it was just me and you for a few weeks that we’d, I don’t know, get to know each other better? Without everyone else in the mix. No Sirius or Remus or anyone else.” James’ eyes flick back and forth between Regulus’. “I thought if it was just you and me, then maybe you’d see me looking. That maybe you’d look, too.”
“I’ve been looking since I was eleven, James.”
“Yeah, I know that now. I’m a bit blind though, love. Literally.” James reaches up to tap the round edge of his glasses, and Regulus finally manages a proper eye roll. “But we’re both looking now.”
Regulus’ throat closes. “That’s just the heat talking. Or the… What do werewolves get?”
“Depends. This is a rut. Definitely. I’m managing alright, but I’ve got about ten minutes before I pin you down and don’t let you leave for days, so I’m gonna need to know if that’s wanted or not, because if not…” James’ nostrils flare. “If not, then I needed to leave five minutes ago.”
“And what if…” Regulus shifts forward, his gaze locked with James’. “And what if it’s wanted? What if I want you to do that?”
James’ eyes grow impossibly wider. He leans back against the couch when Regulus finally, finally crawls into his lap, knees bracketing his hips on either side. “You need to be completely sure, Reg. I don’t know that I can stop once I’m… Oh. Oh. Okay. Fuck.”
Regulus nuzzles the underside of James’ jaw, inhaling the richness of him. Cedar, citrus, fresh linen, and James. There’s a unique musk underneath the rest of it. A special something that Regulus can’t name and could never replicate.
He wants. Oh, does he want.
“James,” he whispers, aware all at once that he’s painfully hard, wetness dripping from the head of his cock and from between his thighs. He bears down on the sizable bulge in James’ jeans, unable to stifle his grin when James moans low in his throat. “You can help, if you really want. I want it, too.”
“What do you want? I need it to be—I need you to be clear, love. Crystal fucking clear.”
Regulus laughs softly, breath blowing across James’ throat. He’d give anything to open the windows, to let the cool Scottish air into the cabin so it can lessen the heat underneath his skin. But that would mean getting up from here, from the pleasant warmth of James’ lap, and that just won’t do.
“I want you to fuck me,” he says into James’ ear, and only then does chaos erupt.
James kisses him like a man who’s been starving for weeks but finally has his favorite meal spread out in front of him. He kisses Regulus like he’s gone without water for days in a desert, but there’s an ice-cold glass of it within reach now. His hands bracket Regulus’ face, holding him close, and his thumbs brush across Regulus’ cheekbones, the touch so soft but devastatingly electric.
Regulus kisses him back with equal fervor, sucking on his bottom lip, his tongue. Moaning into his mouth, wanton and desperate. Far from embarrassed. Regulus takes James between his teeth however he can—the cord where his pulse beats erratic in his throat, the thin skin over his clavicle, the soft lobe of his ear.
“Off. Take this off,” Regulus huffs, tugging at the hem of James’ shirt. It sticks to his skin with sweat the same as Regulus’. They have to peel one another out of their clothes, the effort painstaking. Neither of them is willing to separate for more than half a second.
James’ hand slips under the waistband of Regulus’ joggers. He kneads Regulus’ ass, moaning softly when the tip of his index finger grazes over Regulus’ hole—and comes away wet.
“Baby,” he breathes into Regulus’ mouth. The term of endearment sends a shiver down Regulus’ spine. James’ other hand tugs the back of Regulus’ joggers down, nestling them just under the curve of his ass. James reaches to press the pad of his index finger against Regulus’ hole; it gives easily, as greedy as Regulus is for something to fill it. “Fucking hell. You’re making a mess of yourself, love.”
Regulus whimpers, rolling his hips back to force James’ finger deeper. “Another,” he hisses, clinging to James’ shoulders. His nails dig ivory crescents into olive skin. “I can take it. Trust me. James, please, I need—”
“Shh, baby, I know what you need,” James coos, dropping kisses from the underside of Regulus’ jaw to the curve of his shoulder. He keeps going, adds tongue, and Regulus gasps, arching forward, when teeth graze his nipple. Everything is so hot and wet it’s almost unbearable. “And I’ll give it to you. I promise. When it’s like this, I can go so many times.”
“How many?”
“As many as you need.”
Regulus moans, eyes rolling back and lips parting. James takes a hard nipple between his teeth, the tip of his tongue flicking back and forth until Regulus can’t stand it anymore and begs. His throat will be raw soon. He doesn’t fucking care. James has two fingers in him now, pumping steadily, and he’s wetter than he ever is when he does this to himself. Like the added James of it all has his body more desperate.
Greedier.
He’s about to open his mouth, to beg James for the rest, when he’s suddenly lifted off of James’ lap and tossed onto the couch. He whines in protest, empty from the lack of fingers and burning up again now that James is no longer touching him, but his frustration doesn’t last long.
James maneuvers him onto all fours, then unceremoniously shoves a hand between his shoulder blades, forcing him to lie with his cheek pressed against the couch cushion. His joggers are gone, and cool air blows across his overheated skin. Slick drips down the insides of his thighs. For a moment, he’s embarrassed by it.
This is how bad I want you, he thinks, cringing at his body’s obvious desire. How bad I’ve wanted you for years.
But the embarrassment is promptly swallowed whole when James’ tongue trails from the spot just above his knee, all the way up to the back of his thigh. The moan James lets out is low and guttural. Inhuman, even.
It’s not like the wolf dies in between cycles. It’s there.
Regulus is going to burst into flame and set this entire cabin on fire. Maybe the surrounding forest, too.
“You taste so fucking sweet,” James whispers, disappearing for a moment only to reappear with his tongue flattened against the inside of Regulus’ other leg. He follows another trail, his hum a pleased little sound. “I’m gonna eat you up, love. Until there’s nothing left.”
All Regulus can do is manage a fervent nod and scratchy, “Please.”
James gives no real warning. One moment, his tongue follows the lines of Regulus’ thighs like they’re lollies, and the next, he licks a single broad stroke over Regulus’ hole.
“Oh, my—” Regulus chokes, eyes squeezed tightly shut as James begins to truly feast. He pays no mind to the way Regulus scrambles for purchase, fingernails dragging across the fabric of the couch until he finally gets ahold of a throw pillow. James throws an arm over Regulus’ lower back to keep him from squirming; fingers dig into his ass, spreading him so James can get impossibly closer. His other hand curls around the back of Regulus’ thigh hard enough to leave bruises.
The sounds James makes are obscene. It strikes Regulus through the haze of his own need that he’s only ever wondered about these noises. He’s not ashamed of it; James Potter has been the object of many wet dreams. But those imagined sounds are nothing like the real ones. These are low and guttural, like James’ throat has been drug across gravel. He laps at Regulus’ hole, dips his tongue past the rim, and when he becomes dissatisfied with only this, he slips two fingers inside Regulus, spreads them, and shoves his tongue in between.
Regulus doesn’t last. He wasn’t designed to. The heat begs for relief, and James is giving it to him. In minutes or perhaps hours, Regulus shudders, whimpers, “I’m gonna—” and then comes with a broken cry. James doesn’t let up even as Regulus clenches around his fingers, slick slipping down his thighs faster than James can lap it up with his tongue.
“Another,” James commands, his breath blowing hot across Regulus’ hole. “I know you can do it.”
It’s entirely possible Regulus has ascended out of the cabin and is sitting among the stars. On another planet, even. His fingers are numb, his mind fuzzy. Pleasure eases the heat under his skin like he’s doused himself in cool waters. But it’s not enough; it won’t be until James is inside him. This is better than when Regulus gets himself off, yes, but it’s not what he needs. What will make him—
“Regulus.”
“I—I’m here,” he croaks. His eyes are still shut. His knuckles ache from gripping the throw pillow in front of him. “M’okay.”
“I need another, baby. One more and then I’ll fuck you. I promise.”
Regulus shivers. His breath stutters out of him. James’ voice is his, but it’s unlike Regulus has ever heard it. It’s rougher around the edges. Regulus has never wanted to submit to anything or anyone more than he does right now. He widens his knees, arching, and James hums approvingly.
“Spread out for me like fucking dinner,” he says before diving back in.
This is the first time Regulus has ever come at the hands of someone else during his heat. It’s always his own fingers, or some toy he purchased through a discreet owl service. And for the hands and tongue to belong to James? James Potter? Oh, Regulus is over the fucking moon. No pun intended, of course. He’s fairly certain he could come on command—and oh, does he.
“One more, love. One more, and I’ll spend the whole night filling you up,” says James, his voice edged with a command that Regulus doesn’t dare disobey. Instead, he pushes his hips back, moaning into the bend of his elbow as pleasure rolls through him. “Is that what you want? I know Veela males are special. Different.” His teeth graze the curve of Regulus’ ass. There’s a smile in his voice when he adds, lower than before, “Could fill you up extra special, if you wanted.”
“James,” warns Regulus, though his instincts are screaming yes, yes, yes. This, at least, is something Sirius cautioned him about years ago. It had been a bloody awkward conversation that left Regulus blushing, embarrassed and newly self-conscious of the Veela part of him that could, apparently, procreate.
Who fucking knew?
Not Regulus, that’s for damn sure.
But he knows now, and he knows that low, possessive growl in the back of James’ throat is the exact thing the creature part of him craves. It’s practically singing at the thought of James claiming him right here on a couch in a cabin tucked away in the Scottish Highlands. He’ll be here for months and months and months, according to the Ministry. Oh, the nest he could make and curl up in, protected and cared for while his belly—
“No,” he snaps, horrified at how easily and quickly he devolved. He throws a scathing look over his shoulder. “Tell the wolf to stand down.”
James snorts, rolling his eyes. “As if it would ever listen.”
“I mean it. I’m not getting knocked up from a one-night stand.” Regulus blows air past his lips. “Besides, I take a potion. I’ve been taking it since the Ministry locked me up with all of you fucking Aurors. It’s been a precaution, just in case.” He shoots James another scathing, pointed look. “Clearly I needed it.”
“One night stand, hm?” quips James, grinning crookedly. “Is that all I am?”
Regulus doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know how. His skin is burning up again, the last orgasm ebbing away as the fever returns. James seems to sense it, hears the whine Regulus loosens when his shoulders begin to ache where a Veela’s wings are meant to be. He curls forward, spine arching, and James returns to laving broad strokes over his hole, one hand slipping between Regulus’ thighs to stroke his cock.
The second crest still doesn’t break the fever. If anything, it makes it worse. Regulus shivers once he’s come back into his body, thighs quivering while James laps at the slick dripping faster than he can swallow it down.
“Tastes like fucking heaven,” he murmurs against Regulus’ skin. “Is it always like this?”
“Like—Like what?”
“The slick. Do you always have that, or just during heats?”
Regulus’ breathing comes in shallow, quick bursts. “Always have it,” he manages. “Not just heats. It’s a—a Veela thing, I think.”
“Thank fucking Godric for that.”
Before Regulus can ask what the hell James is on about, he’s hoisted off the couch. He yelps, suddenly weightless, and finds himself face to face with James. His eyes are glazed over, his lips and chin shiny with spit and slick. He drops his head back against the couch when Regulus settles in his lap; it’s a cheeky grin he wears. Something immensely pleased.
He reaches up to tuck an errant, sweaty curl behind Regulus’ ear. “You’re so pretty.”
“Shut up,” Regulus mumbles. He ducks his head, cheeks heating, but is forced to look up when James’ finger curls in the concave under his chin. “You’re just saying that because of the rut or whatever.”
“No, love. I’m not. I’ve experienced plenty of these, but I’ve never felt like this. This feels…” James licks his bottom lip, then his top one. He sighs, satisfied. “I’m calm. Sort of. If someone walked through that front door right now, I might tear them to shreds for coming near you. But otherwise, I just feel really fucking good.”
Regulus rolls his eyes. “I didn’t realize werewolves were such possessive bastards.”
“We’re something, I’ll tell you that.” James grins with all of his teeth, reaches down to grip his cock and steady it, then uses his other hand to guide Regulus until the blunt head presses against his entrance. “You’re gonna take me, love. All of me. Understood?”
“Yes,” Regulus breathes, eyelids fluttering when the head of James’ cock presses into him. There’s a burn, a stretch, but the slick eases the pain, dulls it into pleasure.
“Look at me.”
Regulus’ eyes pop open, that primal part of him desperate to listen and be told—
“Good boy.”
Oh. Regulus braces his hands on James’ chest, fingernails digging into the skin right over his rapidly beating heart. He whimpers when James, both hands on his hips now, bounces him slowly up and down, easing the whole hot, thick length in inch by inch. When he’s fully seated, Regulus falls forward against James’ chest, shuddering.
“Shh, love, I’ve got you,” James says gently, nibbling on Regulus’ earlobe. “The fever is spiking again. Are you with me?”
Regulus nods, his face buried in James’ neck. He inhales, that mix of cedar, citrus, and fresh linen heady in the midst of pleasure. He feels so unbelievably full in a way he never has. Barely breathing, he whispers, “Fuck me, James. Now.”
If before felt mind numbing, this feels like insanity. Like someone has pulled the rubber band behind Regulus’ navel until it threatens to snap but hasn’t let it go. James fucks him so hard he sees stars. The fever burns through him, a raging fire that builds into an inferno the closer James pushes him to the edge.
He comes with a strangled cry, but James doesn’t let up. He flips them instead, driving into Regulus with a hand on the back of the couch and another tucked under Regulus’ jaw. He braces one foot on the carpet, bent forward so Regulus’ knees are forced to his chest. The angle is maddening; James’ cock brushes perfectly inside him with each stroke, and tears track Regulus’ cheeks when he comes a fourth time. It’s all but a dribble that leaks from the head of his spent cock, but like the fever, James still doesn’t let up.
Sweat drips from his forehead, from the ends of curls that stick to his skin. Regulus kisses all over James’ face, tasting salt and his own slick on James’ lips.
“I’m gonna—” James swears low, and Regulus’ eyes widen at a sudden increase in pressure against his rim. “Fuck. Fuck,” hisses James, his hips stuttering. “I haven’t—This hasn’t happened in—Shit, baby, I should—”
He makes to pull out, but Regulus quickly wraps his legs around James’ waist and locks his ankles. “No. Whatever it is, I want it.”
James makes a low, throaty sound, ducks his head to press his forehead against the curve of Regulus’ neck, and says, “It’s a knot, love. I haven’t had one in ages. Doesn’t usually… It might hurt.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“But—”
“James. I want it. I want you.”
There’s no reply except for a slight whine. James’ hips regain their rhythm, though it’s slower than before. A new pressure builds, and Regulus realizes suddenly that the base of James’ cock is swelling. It stretches him, presses, and Regulus can’t help but yelp when James grunts, thrusts once—hard—and stays. His entire body shudders under Regulus’ hands as he comes, and comes, and comes.
“Holy shit,” whispers Regulus, eyelids drifting shut and eyes rolling. James rocks against him, cock pulsing, still twitching as he empties himself inside Regulus. “That’s how you—?”
James merely grunts.
“Thank fuck for that potion. James, I can feel you. There’s—It’s so much. I’m…” Regulus clings to James, breathing heavily. His skin no longer burns, but he doesn’t know if the fever will come back. It usually ebbs and flows for three days. A glance at the clock in the kitchen tells him it’s barely been an hour.
“I can’t pull out until the knot goes down,” James mutters. He rocks forward again, and Regulus whimpers when his cock drags just right. “Sorry, baby. It’s biological.”
“S’okay. I like it.” It’s an admission Regulus doesn’t mean to make. He clears his throat. “I just mean… It’s nice. Being full like this. Feels complete, I guess. But maybe that’s just the heat talking. Don’t listen to me.”
James huffs a soft laugh. “It’s supposed to make sure you, er…”
“Get knocked up?”
Another laugh. “Yeah, that.”
They lie in silence while James’ breathing evens out. Regulus is careful to keep still; he learns in the first minute that any movement jostles James, who whines when the knot pushes against Regulus’ rim. It’s fucking sensitive, he wheezes, and Regulus giggles but fights to keep still.
Outside, the sun slowly dips towards the horizon.
“Did you mean it earlier?” James asks suddenly, breaking the silence. “When you said you’ve been looking since you were eleven… Was that you, or the heat?”
“A little bit of both,” Regulus admits. “It’s the truth, but I don’t think I would’ve admitted it without the heat. It strips away my sense of self-preservation.” He plays with one of James’ curls, wrapping it around his finger before letting it slide away so he can do it again. “Did you really mean it when you said you were glad they assigned you to me?”
James nods, his face still buried in Regulus’ neck. “Yeah. I mean, I didn’t expect us to fuck in the first week, but I’d hoped that we might become friends.”
“I thought we were friends before.”
“Okay, more than friends. There are some pubs in town. Cute little restaurants. I thought maybe…”
Regulus frowns up at the ceiling. “I’m not supposed to leave the cabin.”
“I’ll protect you.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s my literal job, love. But beyond that, it’s what I want to do. And wandering into town is fine. Most of the wards around this cabin extend so far beyond it. The Ministry went to great lengths to keep you safe. About the only thing they’ve done right this whole investigation.”
Regulus trails fingers up and down the dip of James’ spine. “How do you think the Ministry would feel about this? Us?”
“Fuck them.”
“That attitude is going to help you immensely on your performance review.”
James snorts. “I’m serious. If you want me to, I’ll tell them I’ll stay here for the rest of your witness protection, or until the Dark wizards looking for you are caught. However long it takes. I don’t care.”
“What if it’s years?”
“That’s fine. We’ve got a lot of time to make up for, anyway.”
Regulus chews on his bottom lip to hide his smile. He tucks it away in James’ neck, lips pressed against sweat-slicked skin. In time, James’ knot goes down enough for him to pull out, but he doesn’t. He rocks into Regulus gently, without purpose, and this time is less frenzied than before. His hips roll forward slowly; it’s a sweet kind of claiming, one full of aimless kisses and soft sighs.
The couch is a mess. There’s slick and cum and sweat everywhere. Frankly, Regulus doesn’t fucking care. He arches into James, sighing happily when he comes again, not at all bothered that his cock does little more than twitch where it lies on his stomach. This time, James’ knot is less swollen, and he comes with less fervor, but he still curls himself around Regulus in the aftermath, both of them tucked into the other’s neck, breathing in the other’s warmth.
“James,” says Regulus after the second time. “Can I…” He scratches the side of his nose, suddenly anxious.
“What, love?”
“When I’m… Well, it might be a little while before the fever comes back. But I like to, er… I like to nest. I make a big pile of blankets and pillows and curl up underneath them. Usually I do it alone, but…”
James mouths along the underside of his jaw, then kisses him full on the mouth. “Wait here.”
Not ten minutes later, James has managed to craft a small fort in the living room. He pushes the coffee table aside, uses bedding from his room and Regulus’, gathers his jumpers and shirts together in a pile, and builds all around the sofa. He beckons Regulus down to the floor with him, which he’s covered in his sheets.
“Oh,” Regulus groans, curling up on the floor with his face smashed into one of James’ pillows. “This is perfect. This is…” He makes another, smaller noise. James has used cushions from the other chairs in the room and laid Regulus’ bedsheet overtop them. There are jumpers and shirts everywhere, and Regulus scrambles to gather them close. He pulls an old Gryffindor hoodie over his head, breathing the scent that clings to it deep into his lungs.
James flips on the Muggle telly. He’s still naked; neither of them bothered to get dressed, and James’ lip curled when Regulus suggested a shower.
“Later,” he’d said firmly. “But I’m going to fuck you again in a little bit, and I want you to smell like me when I do it.”
Regulus couldn’t protest. He didn’t want to, anyway.
Instead, he curls against James’ side, his head on James’ chest and James’ arms holding him close. In an hour, the fever will spike again. When it does, he’ll straddle James’ hips and ride him as long and hard as it takes to ebb the need. James already said it’s alright, that Regulus can use him however he needs to get through these next few days.
But for now, he closes his eyes and sleeps while James watches reruns of a Muggle comedy show on the television set.
Regulus’ heat ends quicker than usual.
What usually plagues him for three or four days is over within twenty-four hours. James fucks him on every surface in the cabin, from eating him out on the kitchen table to bending him over the thick arm of the lounge chair, to rolling around in both of their beds. By the end of it, the place reeks of them both, their scents mixed and hanging heavy in the air.
“Do you think we should tell anyone?” asks Regulus a few mornings after the fever fully subsided. He pops a blueberry in his mouth while sitting on the kitchen island. A few feet away, James cooks breakfast, a towel thrown over his bare shoulder. He’s doing it the Muggle way, which Regulus finds oddly endearing. “Sirius. Or Remus.”
James shakes his head. “We can’t until we’re both back in London.”
“The Ministry… Do you really think they’ll accept a permanent assignment?”
“They will, or I’ll raise hell in the Auror Office.” James flips a pancake, grinning when it lands perfectly in the pan. “The other Aurors they’ve got lined up after me are useless. I’m the most fit to look after you.”
“Most fit to fuck me, you mean.” Regulus laughs when James shoots him an exasperated look. He’s so far not very fond of Regulus reminding him of the other Aurors who once made a home in this space. It’s another endearing part of him, this edge of possessiveness. It’s not a feeling Regulus ever thought James would have for him.
But he sobers the moment he thinks it. “They’ll Obliviate you,” he whispers. “That’s what they’ve been doing to the other Aurors… Once they’re back in London, they lose their memories of ever being here. What if—”
James whirls around and points the spatula at Regulus. “No. Don’t start with that.”
“But—”
“No. No one’s Obliviating me. And I’m not going back to London. Not until they’ve got this Dark wizard shit sorted and you’re safe. Bloody hell, does it really take this long to catch a rogue bunch of dicks? I don’t care if we have to live in this little cabin for the next ten years. I’m staying.”
Regulus’ mouth bunches to one side. “You can’t mean that. You’ll get bored of this place. I have.”
“Yeah, because none of the other Aurors have bothered to let you out past the cabin’s perimeter.” James rolls his eyes. “The town is fine. I went yesterday and scoped it out. Just a lot of Muggles, most of them older, and the wards extend far enough. There’s no reason for you to be locked up here. It’s a miracle you haven’t gone insane. Here, eat your pancakes.”
Regulus munches in silence, watching James lean against the opposite counter and eat his own stack of pancakes. The Muggle telly in the living room serves as quiet background noise, and the door leading to the outside garden is open to let in cool air. It rained this morning; Regulus woke to James spreading him open, already diving in and groaning lewdly when slick hit his tongue. It was slow and sweet. Gentle, even, and the rain didn’t stop until after they did.
“Does it bother you that I’m a werewolf?” asks James, and Regulus startles.
“What? No.” His heels bang a gentle rhythm against the cabinets. “Why would it bother me?”
James shrugs. “Just thought I would make sure. It might bother you a bit when the full moon gets closer. I can get a little… Well, like I was the other day. But worse. Though I’ve never been with someone who’s a similar creature. It feels different with you. I’ve been with other witches and wizards, but there’s no spark.”
“Like calls to like, I guess,” Regulus offers, and James winks.
“Suppose it does, yeah. I haven’t dated a lot, though. I don’t trust anyone enough to tell them, and it’s hard to come up with reasons I need to disappear for a few days every month.”
“You told me, though.”
“Because I trust you.”
Regulus ducks his head, desperate to hide his grin before it becomes obvious.
“Besides, you told me you’re a Veela.”
“That was the heat.”
James steps across the narrow space, urging Regulus’ legs to spread so he can settle between his thighs. He crooks a finger under Regulus’ chin to tilt his face up. “Are you saying you don’t trust me?”
“I didn’t say that.” Regulus tugs his bottom lip between his teeth, caught in James’ stare. “I trust you,” he finally admits. “And it won’t bother me. When the full moon comes, I mean. I want to see you like that. You’ve seen me and what I am, so it’s only fair.”
“I saw you ages ago,” James says softly. His thumb pulls Regulus’ bottom lip from where he worries it between his teeth. James leans forward to slot their mouths together, a perfect fit. It’s a tender, warm kiss, followed by, “But now we’re looking at the same time, aren’t we?”
Regulus grins against James’ lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I suppose we are.”
☼
love’s a madness on the breeze
just one look, i’m falling like the leaves
laying tender at your feet
i think you’ll be the death of me