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hufflepuffheroine · 3 months

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@jegulus-microfic | january 1, prompt: decent | word count: 1.366 featuring bodyguard regulus black and multi-billionaire heir james potter

“I am not here to be your friend, Mr. Potter.”

There's a crease marring Regulus' forehead, hidden just behind the curl of his sable strands, sculpted brows knitted into a censorious frown. It indicates his internal turmoil well enough, showing just how hard he's struggling to gauge the extent of reprimand he can justifiably express, given his position as the head of James Potter's security team, which still remained a subordinate one at that.

There’s the cocky cant of James’ head as he tries and ward off the smile threatening to quirk at his mouth’s corners. It had taken a decent amount of brainstorming, planning, and persuading to get Regulus to comply—have him begrudgingly acquiesce to the idea of accompanying James inside the club as a more hands-on approach to extending security, even though the former’s constant presence was painstakingly redundant in a heavily monitored club as Godric. But James had pushed his luck even then, insisting Regulus keep wearing his body and thigh holsters, convincing him the ‘streetwear chic’ would be greatly appreciated by the club’s dressing code and grant them easy entrance (as if any club would deny James Potter out of all people, a multi-billionaire heir and continent-renowned philanthropist.).

The straps of the harness glitter underneath the fluorescent strobes of vibrant purple, though nothing as piercingly brilliant as the dangerous glint catching the edges of Regulus’ withering glare.

Ah, fuck.

James traces the sugar-coated rim of his glass, biting down on his tongue, only loosened further by the nth cocktail he’s consumed as he speaks with a beguiling drawl, “But I don’t want you to be my friend, Regulus.”

Life is unfair. Let alone that he lives in a penthouse situated on London’s South Bank overlooking the River Thames or that he can afford designer wear not recognizable by most seeing how James Potter wears quiet luxury clothing brands like Gran Sasso and their perfectly manufactured cashmere sweaters or his current thousand-and-three-hundred quid shirt by Bottega Veneta that’s missing a button at the front with how much he’s been puffing his chest in attempts to draw the attention of his unfairly hot bodyguard.

Because Regulus Black is just it. Black hair meticulously combed so smoothly, inky-black ringlets curling around his face—complexion milk-white and skin undoubtedly just as soft to touch if James was given the chance. Lithe but possessing swift reflexes and at least seven black belts in seven different martial arts that don’t mandate physical strength. Just three days ago, James had seen him throw a man almost three times his size over his shoulder with effortless ease, and how badly James had wished it had been him being tossed around.

The past months have been torturous, especially when Regulus wore his white button-up, that specific white button-up that stretched around his torso, accentuated his small waist, made only smaller when the straps of his harness clung to his chest. And his legs, those fucking long legs, clad in black dressing pants that made the swell of his ass all the more prominent, like a peach. James wanted to fucking squeeze it and devour the pulp left behind, slurp it like an animal that needed to be caged.

Whether it’s the words or the uncurbed lust he’s exuding, Regulus’ features rearrange into something far more complicated. He sucks on his teeth, squints his eyes, and then casts his gaze back into the crowd—the moving masses of bodies lost to the thrum of music.

“No,” he answers from behind the curve of his drink.

James smiles. He’s got him.

“No?” he asks, scooting closer, shit-eating grin only growing wider when Regulus makes no move to increase the distance between them.

“It’s highly unprofessional and breaks every code of conduct I strictly maintain. Not to mention, you’re my employer and—”

“And you want me.” Because he hasn't missed the glances exchanged between them and will be damned if he doesn't do anything about it.

Regulus coughs, sending drops of whisky flying across because Regulus Black is the type of man to drink something so old-school in a club. “What?” he sputters

James shrugs, an act that makes the fabric around his shoulders stretch thin, and does not miss how Regulus’ gaze briefly flits to the sliver of cleavage showing behind the missing button. “Right now you’re just listing reasons that, on contract, prevent any sort of intimacy between us, but if there weren’t any there, you would want this.”

“You’re being highly presumptuous,” Regulus scoffs.

“No, I’m good at reading people.”

“I am paid to guard you,” Regulus deflects.

This, he saw coming.

“Oh, it’s a money thing then?” James asks, reaching into his pocket to retrieve his wallet. He flips it open and thumbs through the wad of bills stashed in the compartment. “That’s fine, I can pay.”

This, however, also doesn’t have its desired effect. Regulus makes a face, downright spiteful this time, and does inch away from him, glass slamming onto the counter so hard James fears it might shatter. “What— So now you treat me like a prostitute?”

“What?” James asks, brows furrowed in confusion. He looks at Regulus, his wallet, back at Regulus and—

James Potter, an Oxford graduate, top-of-his-class, can also be a massive idiot.

“Oh— Oh, no— Shit, I didn’t mean— No!” He’s fumbling for words and his wallet, almost dropping it in the act of trying to put it away, nearly releasing it when he misses tucking it back in his pocket. “I just thought— Fuck, no, I’m sorry,” Regulus doesn’t look any more convinced and now James is very much panicking, thank you. “I— You know what, fuck it. Hi, I’m James Potter.”

Regulus looks like he’s having a stroke.

But James is insistent, waving his hand like the gesture will dismiss the awkward, terribly embarrassing interaction from just seconds prior. “Can I get you a drink?”

Regulus blinks at him, then his extended hand, and drags a palm down his face, pinching his nose bridge and breathing in deep.

But James is nothing if nothing stubborn. “Must’ve had a long day, huh? Need an ear?”

“I got a boss that’s stupid as fucking rocks,” Regulus mutters, and oh, James swoons. No one ever dared call him stupid or insult him in this manner, and he might just discover something about himself tonight.

“Yeah, what else?”

Regulus down the remnants of his whisky before raising his glass. “I need a refill for that”

The refill comes quick and this time, James doesn’t feel too scared about bridging the gap between them bit by bit. “So this boss of yours…” he starts, because he’s already a little tipsy and on a streak of dauntless moves. “Is he hot?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “He’s okay.”

“Oka—” James starts, bridling, before he catches a sight of the subtlest of smirks. Then, excitement, coiling down his spine like a lick of flame kindled further by the challenging gaze Regulus looks at him with. “I think you’re selling him short.”

“He’s arrogant, I don’t think I could bear him with an ego that’s any more inflated.”

“Oh, but you wound him. He’s been trying very hard to be noticed these past couple of months. Even started waking up early to catch glimpses of a certain someone that moved in with him for work purposes.”

Regulus makes a face that reads like ‘Is that the fucking reason why you have been putting your alarm on 4:30 a.m. in a pathetic effort to catch a glimpse of me preparing for the day and trying to be an unnoticeable presence in your life because that’s expected of me as head of security?’ and James smiles like he’s trying to say ‘Yeah, I did. Seeing you drink coffee, freshly showered, is worth it even if I struggle to stay awake during meetings in the afternoon.’

Regulus quirks an eyebrow. “Why is he trying to be noticed by me?”

James links a leg around Regulus’ bar stool and yanks it closer, relishing in the little gasp that leaves his lips as a result. Their legs bump, James’ knee sliding inside Regulus’ thigh, coming to a rest against it.

“Why spoil the fun by talking? I could just show you instead.”

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hufflepuffheroine · 4 months

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@jegulus-microfic december 14 - stare - 2127 words (i apologise)

aka the Hogwarts School charmed mistletoe predicament

The first time it happens it’s truly purely by accident.

Regulus is walking back from the library, exhausted and sleep sluggish. It’s certainly close to curfew again or else Ms. Pince wouldn’t have woken him where he’d fallen asleep over his 3 feet parchment of Potions essay.

He’s barely keeping his eyes open, cozily buried in an extra cloak, imbedded with a heating charm and books hugged closely to his chest when he rounds a corner and runs directly into something.

Someone, Regulus realizes, as deft arms wrap around him to keep them upright.

The collision had shook most of Regulus’ slumber out of him and they only stagger for another moment, bodies pressed together before Regulus is about to pull his wand and tell this unattentive, idiot berk of a human being what he thinks of people that can’t keep their fucking hands to themsel—

“Shit, sorry- I’m sorry, did I—” and oh, Regulus knows that voice. Would recognise that scent of broom polish, citrus, spice and boy anywhere. James’ atrocious mess of a hair is tickling Regulus’ temples and the older boy is speaking again before he’s even entirely reared back to blink him into focus. Just the three soft syllables of his name whispered against the shell of Regulus’ ear.

And only then does James Potter take a half step back and pull to his full height, beaming down at Regulus with his stupid dimpled grin and his stupid round glasses that rest always just a smidge crookedly on his big nose.

“Hi Regulus,” and fuck James, honestly. Fuck him and then fuck him some more for the way the words drip like molten honey from his tongue and send a shiver racing down Regulus’ spine.

That’s when Regulus notices James’ hands still being wound around his waist. “Potter,” he says pointedly with a look between them.

All it does though is make James’ eyes droop and his grin tug into a lopsided smirk.

Regulus rolls his eyes and sets onto just striding past James when he feels his feet eerily unable to move.

He looks down in confusion, tries again to shuffle his feet and take a step in any direction, unsuccessful.

When Regulus’ head snaps back up to scowl at James this one is regarding Regulus’ predicament with a lax jaw, lips parted.

“Unstick the bloody charm, James, before I hex your kneecaps away,” Regulus threatens, wand pointed at James’ broad chest. He’s only wearing a T-shirt, the nutter. It’s freezing!

James, in a very unimpressed manner, simply bats the wand away gently and then does something weird with his knees and hips, twisting and turning.

Regulus watches this foolery for about 15 seconds before he’s done with it. “What in Merlin’s name do you think you’re achieving here?”

“Shh.”

“Wha– Did you just shush me?” a humorless laugh tumbles out of Regulus. He might be a little sleep deprived. “Oh, you must be fucking joki—”

Regulus breaks off into an incredulous noise when James clamps a palm over Regulus mouth to shut him up as he tips his head back to stare at the ceiling.

The wood of his wand is searing in Regulus’ palm, itching him to use it but he can’t quite help himself when his gaze follows James’.

Above their heads are the usual wall torches, adorned by greenery and Christmas decorations in all kinds of forms and house colors. There’s a little bow of green silver and red and golden tull adorned in these particular fir twigs.

Though when Regulus blinks the adornment a little sharper into focus he realizes that they’re actually two.

The second one floating just shy of the sprigs wreath and oh, no.

Regulus recognises the white little berries. The dull, tear-shaped leaves where it floats right above their heads.

Oh, Merlin, please don’t let it be-

“A charmed mistletoe,” James confirms, voice husky.

Regulus’ eyes widen and when his chin drops down James’ chocolate brown eyes are already there, right in front of him. Bright and glinting a little in the flickering light before the skin around the corners crinkle in a sickeningly adorable way when he erupts into an enormous smile.

“No,” Regulus says, shaking his head. “No.”

James, the bastard, huffs a laugh, frame shaking with it. Completely at ease apparently.

“Regs,” James tries, tone placating.

“Nope, nah-uh– Non.”

“Resorting to French, are we?”

“Not in a million lifetimes, Potter.”

“Reg, love—”

“No, I- how would we even- fuck, merde. Je n’arrive pas à y croire—”

“Regulus.” Broad hands circling his waist again.

Regulus is momentarily startled into silence by the contact.

“It won’t let us move until we kiss in any form, I’ve seen it happen just this morning,” James says, voice low and honest. Before he adds in a grumble, “Made us late to Transfiguration third period when Sirius refused to let Remus give a Ravenclaw sixth year a little peck.”

Regulus is going to scream.

Instead, he punches James in his stomach with his free hand.

The older boy grunts, hand wrapping around Regulus’ wrist as if to confiscate it. “Easy there, now,” he presses out between gritted teeth, tone low and warning.

A frustrated noise rips from Regulus’ throat as he feels himself flush, boring a hole into the air above James’ shoulder with his eyes. Oh, this can’t be happening. Why must these things always happen to Regulus?

“What were you even doing down here?” Regulus asks, incredulously.

“Snack duty,” James shrugs—the way his pecs and shoulders are stretching the thin cotton is bordering on indecent, “Know a shortcut or two into the kitchens.”

He’s still holding onto Regulus’ wrist, now carefully caressing the pad of his thumb there in small circles that do little to slowen Regulus’ rabbiting heartbeat.

Regulus sighs explosively and then promptly raises their joined hands up to James’ face, his knuckles up.

“Here.”

“‘Here’ what?”

Regulus jabs his slack hand more pointedly in front of James’ nose.

James gives him a look that’s equally fond as it is patronizing, “That won’t do.”

“How would you know?”

“Because I saw,” James snarks back. “Remember, I told you? This morning. Pads throwing a tantrum. Jingle any bells?”

Regulus growls in the back of his throat, “Try anyways.”

And yeah, that was probably the wrong thing to say. A mistake.

Regulus swallows hard, wishes he would chew the words back. But it’s already too late.

“Oh?” James makes, a satisfied little smile on his lips. Momentarily digging his teeth into his lower one before he adjusts his hold around Regulus’ hand.

Fingers sliding down until their encircling his and his thumb brushing over the bony length of Regulus thin fingers there too.

His gaze unrelenting, unblinking as he lifts Regulus and gives him a small kiss on his knuckles. Chaste, unlingering but warm. Warm and so, so soft. Very pleasant.

With that thought Regulus immediately rips his hand back, flight kicking in. Although he doesn’t come very far when he realizes he’s still unable to move his feet.

Still stuck.

Regulus feels a vein throbbing in his forehead.

James sighs across from him. “It has to be somewhere on the face.”

Regulus balks.

James rolls his eyes. “C’mon Regs, the cheek? Isn’t that how French people greet each other anyways?” His brown eyes regard him a little pleadingly. Always so honest and eager and true.

“Fine,” Regulus presses out, absently biting on the inside of his lower lip. “Just the cheek.”

James nods, raising his hands to presumably pull Regulus’ closer.

Regulus bats them away with his books but before James can do more than raise his eyebrows impatiently he grumbles, “I’ll do it.”

James lips part around a silent oh and then he blinks a little stupidly at Regulus. Like a slow owl that’s flown into one too many windows or something. Regulus wants to squeeze him to death.

And then the urge to hit him overcomes that again when he can see James’ lips twitching with a terribly badly suppressed grin.

So Regulus punches him in the shoulder for good measure before he sets his hand down there on the juncture of James’ neck muscles. He’s warm under Regulus’ touch, despite the thin clothing, and he allows himself one last glance into those doe eyes before he lifts slightly onto his toes and sways in.

James’ scent is even stronger there, and Regulus is a little confused for a second when a wave of mint and something sweet and tangy hits his nose. James’ soap, perhaps?

Regulus doesn’t know how much time has gone by yet with them standing so close, and that’s dangerous. He focuses back on the task at hand, mapping out the appropriate patch of skin to place his lips. Merlin, this is bonkers.

There’s a faint shadow of short stubble along the hinge of James’ jaw and up into his hairline. A pair of dark freckles just past that, right under the jut of his cheekbone. That’ll do.

Regulus takes a steadying breath and leans in.

The skin there is warm too as Regulus brushes his mouth against it. Warm and alive and making his lips tingle with it. Just the tiniest press, barely making a sound and Regulus has to work hard to extract himself from James’ orbit. The smell, the warmth of him almost like a magnetic pull to Regulus’ fingers, his lips, his chest.

James is gazing at him a little drunkenly when Regulus pulls back again.

“Again,” he rasps.

Regulus cocks his head, scowling at him as he strangles the books to his chest, clutching at them like a lifeline before he makes to leave.

Unsuccessful. What?

“I’m sorry, bad joke,” James amends quickly, taking a half step to the side, “But don’t already leave ag—”

“James,” Regulus cuts him off.

“Why don’t you join me on the way to the kitc—”

“James.”

The older boy shuts up.

“Why were you able to step aside when I still can’t?”

A crease forms between James’ thick eyebrows, “Er–”

“Why can you move?” Regulus asks again, baffled. To drive his point home he nudges James, prompting him to take another step.

James looks back at him with big eyes before his features erupt into a gleeful smile. He chuckles a little disbelievingly and then steps in again.

Regulus instantly fixes him with a narrow eyed glare.

James really leans in, moving slowly to cup Regulus’ face. Slow enough for Regulus to bat him away again. He doesn’t this time.

“Because I haven’t fulfilled my part of the equation yet.”

It’s spoken so softly in the small space between them that it doesn’t even cross Regulus’ mind to do anything besides give a tiny nod and then tilt his head to the side accommodatingly.

There’s shaky breath over his lower face, minty, and then James physically angles his face how he needs him. A smidge more to the side and his thumb guiding him beautifully by the chin. Body warmth radiating off him and reaching Regulus anywhere he isn’t shielded by his books. And then it’s the press of even warmer lips on the center of his cheek. Long and sweet, not firm but not shy either. A prickle of facial hair, just a hint of it. And the spice of him again as James keeps his lips pressed against his damn cheek and Regulus stares unseeingly over his shoulder, fingers nearly cramping in their grip.

The pressure lifts gradually at some point and when James pulls back his lips ghost over Regulus’ skin up until the corner of his mouth and for an insane moment Regulus thinks James is going to turn his head and kiss him on the mouth too.

There’s a second of damp breath spilling over Regulus’ parted lips that he’s not entirely sure he imagined and then the barely there touch is gone.

Regulus swallows heavily, nearly chokes on it, a strangled sound escaping him when he tries clearing his throat.

James’ lips twitch onto a sweet little smile, like he’s just so happy about all of this and if Regulus’ legs weren’t seconds from giving out he’d kick him in the shins.

His gaze is even droopier now and he’s not really meeting Regulus’ eyes. Fixated on a spot just a little lower and when Regulus licks his lips—simply a nervous habit, no intention behind the action—he sways dangerously in again.

Regulus takes an instinctive step back, a breath of relief spilling out of him at the fact that he’s able to again. “Don’t get any ideas now, Potter,” he adds, if a little shakily.

“Mm, that’s already too late, I’m afraid.”

“Goodnight.”

“Think I just found my Christmas sweetheart, actually,” James calls after him, grin evident in his voice.

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