Archive of Our Own

The Lord Chamberlain is commanded by
The Queen to invite

MISTER SIRIUS O. BLACK
&
MISTER REMUS J. LUPIN

to the Marriage of
His Royal Highness Prince Regulus of Wales,
with
The Lady Vivienne Price
at Westminster Abbey
on Sunday, 25th June, 2023 at 11:00 a.m.

❖︎

James reads the invitation once.

Twice.

A third and fourth time for good measure.

“Sirius!” he yells, glaring at the offensive stationary clutched tight in his hands. “Sirius, get down here!”

Footsteps on the stairs and then, “What the hell are you shouting like that for?”

James waves the invitation under his best friend’s nose. “Is your brother getting married?”

“Didn’t you know that?” Sirius frowns. “You’re his bodyguard, not me.”

“I was fired last week.”

“Oh. Well. That changes things.” Sirius takes the invitation from James’ hand. “Huh. I didn’t think it would be this soon.”

James might vibrate right out of his skin with how charged he feels. “What do you mean ‘this soon’?”

Sirius arches a brow. “Well, I knew they were supposed to get married. They’ve been betrothed since we were kids. I just didn’t expect it to happen—well, now.”

“It’s on his birthday,” James laments, slumping against the wall. “He’s getting married on his fucking birthday.”

“That isn’t really something he gets to decide. I imagine my mother pushed the date up for a reason.” Sirius turns the invitation over, reads the back, then sets it on the entryway table.

James closes his eyes. The world spins, his heartbeat erratic. “Why did you get an invite? I thought your parents hated and disowned you years ago.”

Sirius snorts, sardonic. “This isn’t from my parents. It’s from Reggie. I’m sure he pulled some serious strings and weight to get this here.” A brief, weighted pause. “Why did you get fired anyway? What the hell happened?”

Ah, that.

James smiles, small and sad. “We fell in love.”

It started two years ago while on a diplomacy trip in Switzerland. Something routine, but as his bodyguard, James went everywhere with Regulus. It didn’t matter where or when or why—if Regulus went, so did James. For a while he managed to fool himself into thinking it was part of the job, but eventually he knew it was more than that. There were plenty of places Regulus went that didn’t require James to be there; someone else could have gone with him. Even the trip to Switzerland didn’t require James’ presence.

But it’s the trip that changed everything.

It happened the second night of their five day trip. James was reading a book at the table in Regulus’ suite, a glass of Scotch in hand, when Regulus came out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel wrapped low around his hips, hair a mess of black curls around his head.

James stared—open and obvious. He’ll be honest that it wasn’t his finest moment, jaw hanging and eyes wide. But the sight of Regulus dripping wet from the shower, standing almost-naked in the center of the suite with beautiful picturesque mountains behind him? Oh, it was enough for James to know then and there that he wanted to fuck the next King of England right into a mattress more expensive than his yearly salary.

But it didn’t happen that night.

No, Regulus clocked him—saw the way his mouth gaped open, eyes wide and hungry. Knew the game and all its players, which pieces to move to get what he wanted. So for every night after, Regulus came out of the shower with a towel hung low, curls dripping all over the plush carpet, and he sat with James at the table, a picture of nonchalance.

It wasn’t until their last night in Switzerland that James snapped.

Regulus came out of the shower as he had each night prior, but instead of sitting at the table, James sat on the edge of the massive bed. At the sight of him, Regulus startled. Stared, wide-eyed, cheeks tinged a soft pink.

“What are—”

“Enough,” James said, firm. “We’re doing this or we’re not.”

Perfect brows drew together in innocent confusion. “What are you talking about?”

James gestured between them. “Us. This. You know I want to fuck you. And I know you know I want to fuck you.”

“That’s real bold of you to assume,” Regulus said, crossing his arms. He pursed his lips and feigned boredom. “What makes you think I want you to fuck me?”

“Tell me I’m wrong then.” James leaned forward, elbows on his thighs and hands between his knees. A practiced casualness that he didn’t feel in the slightest. Looking at Regulus there in the middle of his bedroom—James had never wanted anyone more in his life. “Say you don’t want me to take you right here and I’ll leave. We’ll go back to being whatever it was we were.”

Regulus inhaled a shaky breath. He seemed to debate for a moment, and then, in lieu of an answer, crossed the room to stand in front of James. There was uncertainty in his eyes, but he reached down to take James’ wrists—and placed his hands flat against the smooth plane of a taut stomach. “Yes.”

James swallowed, aware suddenly that he might have bit off more than he could chew. Regulus was never Prince Regulus of Wales to him, but he was still a prince. And James was only his bodyguard—four years his senior with nothing to offer but his bleeding heart.

Despite this, James mustered the remnants of his courage and asked, voice dipping low, “Yes what, love?”

Regulus shivered. “Yes. To us. This.” The mattress dipped underneath them as Regulus straddled James, leaning into him, smelling of cool mountain air, fresh linen, and a hint of spice. A smell distinctly Regulus. James had grown used to it; he hadn’t realized how much it would smell like comfort.

“Are you sure?” James reached to tuck a stray curl behind his ear. “I need you to be—”

It was Regulus who kissed James first.

Hard enough to feel teeth and with so much enthusiasm that it pulled a startled noise out of James’ throat. But it didn’t take long for him to find his rhythm after that. James was nothing if not committed to excellence in every area of his life—including this. He laid Regulus down beneath him and pulled out every trick he ever learned. Spent extra time between Regulus’ thighs, coaxing him to the edge just to pull him back again. Sucked and bit at his skin everywhere he could reach. Traced the winding serpent’s skeleton tattooed on his arm to his collarbone. Turned him over to tongue the dip of his spine all the way down to the dimples at his lower back.

It wasn’t just James who took Regulus apart that night. Somewhere amidst it all, Regulus took him apart, too. Rearranged and remade him. In the aftermath, hot and sweaty, breathing uneven, Regulus curled against James’ side, head on his chest and a long finger tracing shapes into James’ skin.

“How long?” Regulus asked quietly.

“Hm?” James was still too blissed out to register the question; his mind floated somewhere else entirely. He rubbed his thumb in absentminded circles on Regulus’ bare shoulder, their legs tangled beneath the sheets. “How long what, love?”

Regulus sniffed. “How long have you wanted—this? Me?”

James shoved his free arm underneath his head and stared up at the ceiling. “Let’s see. I started working for you a year ago. If I’m honest, I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen from the day I met you. I knew then that it’d be torture working for you.”

Regulus shifted until he was lying on top of James, looking down at him with wide, imploring eyes. “That long?”

“I think I always wanted you, but I didn’t know until a few nights ago that I needed you.” James wrapped his arms around Regulus’ waist to hold him in place. “If you told me no tonight, I was going to quit.”

“That’s very dramatic.”

“I mean it, Reg. It’s torture to be around you but not get to have you. Especially when all I want is you.” James leaned up to kiss him. “Unless you don’t want me and this was just a one-time thing. In which case, I might actually hand in my resignation tomorrow morning.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “I don’t do casual, James. And neither do you.”

“No, I don’t.”

“So this wasn’t a one-time thing. For either of us.”

James’ heart leapt. “You mean that?”

“If you make me say it a second time, I’m going to take it back,” Regulus deadpanned. But there was a light in his eyes James hadn’t seen before—something mischievous and full of joy. “Sometimes I think you’re the only one that sees me,” he continued, sobering. “The rest of the world sees a prince, but you see a person. You see me.”

“Of course I do. It’s like I said—you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. In more ways than one.”

It was all over after that.

James fell hard and fast. During the day, he stood at Regulus’ side and acted the part of a bodyguard. He kept his face blank and expression stoic, even when Regulus toyed with him. The bastard took pleasure in making James, ever the professional, squirm under his gaze and touch. But at night, when the rest of the world slept and Regulus’ wing of the palace emptied, James slipped into his bedroom and sought revenge for all of the heated glances and subtle touches.

Eight months after Switzerland, James told Regulus I love you, and Regulus, with a smile more brilliant than the brightest star in the sky, replied, And I love you.

One year after Switzerland, James nearly lost Regulus after an assassination attempt. It was the first time James ever blacked out. He still doesn’t remember exactly what happened, only that he pushed Regulus out of the way, took a bullet in his arm, and proceeded to shoot a man point-black between the eyes without a second thought. It put him in the hospital for a week, and Regulus never left his side.

Almost two years after Switzerland, the Queen found them tangled in Regulus’ sheets, both of them naked and bleary-eyed with sleep. James was put on temporary suspension pending review. He thought somehow it would work out, that he and Regulus would find a way to be together. So many nights spent talking about their futures together—marriage, a house by the water so Regulus could feel the sand between his toes, two children (eventually).

A month after his suspension began—and one week ago to the date—James received a call from the Palace that his employment contract was terminated, effective immediately, and his belongings would be delivered by post within the next five to seven business days.

When James asked the man on the phone about Regulus, he merely said, “The royal family is terminating your employment, Mr. Potter. Have a nice day,” and the line went dead.

James thought Sirius wouldn’t push, but he realizes now that he should’ve known better. Sirius always pushes, especially when it’s his little brother that’s involved. And James dropping the equivalent of an atomic bomb in the middle of their entryway?

It’s enough to send Sirius spiraling.

“You mean to tell me that the three years you worked as my brother’s bodyguard, you spent over half of that in love with him?” Sirius is hot on James’ heels, following him up the stairs. “We’ve been friends for seven years! When were you going to tell me this?”

“Never.” James pushes open the door to his bedroom. He isn’t surprised when Sirius barrels in behind him. “We kept it quiet for a reason. We were scared of what might happen if it got out.”

“I’m his brother.”

James sinks onto the edge of his bed, face in his hands. “I know. He did, too. But he was scared. It was safer to be in love in secret.”

Sirius paces in front of him. “This is why they moved his wedding date up, isn’t it? Mum found out. Didn’t she?”

James says nothing. It’s answer enough.

“That’s why they fired you. It was a big enough deal when I ran off, never mind if Reggie follows in my footsteps. You were a threat to the entire royal line.” Sirius pauses mid-step. “James. James. You are a threat.”

“What do you mean?”

Sirius sighs, exasperated. “Keep up, James. We don’t have a lot of time here. That wedding is in less than twenty-four hours. My parents are the King and Queen of fucking England. You don’t fight them. You stay, or you run.” Sirius takes James by the shoulders and shakes him until James’ head is lolling on his neck. “Reggie will stay if he thinks there’s no reason to run. He won’t have the courage to leave on his own.”

“You did.”

“No, I didn’t. I had Remus and you. I knew I wouldn’t be alone when I left.” Sirius is still shaking him; James’ brain feels ready to slip right out of his ears. “Don’t you see? He needs to hear it from you that he doesn’t have to go through with all of this shit. He needs to know that he has someone the way I had Remus. Otherwise he’s happy to be the dutiful son. Even I can’t change that. It has to be you, James.”

James is beginning to feel a little nauseous from all the shaking. “I can’t get into the Palace. Not with the guards. And they’ll recognize me. I worked with all of them.”

Sirius grabs the invitation back from James and waves it in front of him, nearly slicing James’ nose with the edge. “Do you have any idea how many times I snuck into Westminster Abbey as a kid? It was the best place to bring dates. They were always so impressed.”

“You don’t need to sneak in. You have an invitation.”

“God, you can be so dense. James, I can get you in. On the day of the wedding, I can get you in to see my brother.” Sirius is near-bouncing on the balls of his feet. “You can tell him he has an out. I know my brother, James. If he spent two years with you, he loves you. Deeply. This wasn’t his choice. So show him he can make a different one.”

James blinks at his best friend. “You’re talking about crashing a royal wedding. A televised royal wedding.”

Sirius’ grin is far too broad. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, actually.”

“That’s fucking mad.”

“And brilliant.”

“You’re mad.”

“And brilliant.”

James leans back on his bed. It isn’t a difficult decision to make. Of course he’ll do it—the plan is insanity, but if it works, then it’s worth it. More than that, Regulus is worth it. “Alright,” James concedes. “Okay. Yeah, let’s do it. I don’t know how we’re going to plan this in less than twenty-four hours but, yeah. I’m in.”

Sirius races for the doorway, leans into the hallway and yells, “Remus! Moony! Moons!”

“What?” comes the muffled—and slightly irritated—shout in response.

“Get that brilliant big brain of yours thinking. We’re crashing my brother’s wedding!”

Here’s the thing about royal weddings—they are exceptionally difficult to crash. They’re designed to keep unwanted guests out, and James Potter is a decidedly unwanted guest.

Sirius, despite all of his efforts, isn’t able to sneak James into the back rooms of Westminster Abbey. There are too many guards that recognize him immediately, and they end up racing through crowds of celebrities and other royal families in order to escape the narrowed gazes of suspicious security.

“Sirius, we’re running out of time,” James hisses under his breath when people begin to file into the main cathedral. “The wedding is going to start soon.”

“Quick change of plan,” Sirius tells him. “We’re going to let the wedding start.”

“What?” James is pushed along with the crowd, Sirius at his side. “What do you mean we’re going to let the wedding start? The whole reason—”

Sirius shushes him. “Keep your voice down. I said we’re going to let it start, not end.” He pushes James into a pew at the very back, right in the center of the aisle. He pulls him close and says into his ear, “You’ll have three minutes before they haul you out. One minute to convince him, one minute to get him down the aisle and through that door, and another minute to get into the limo Remus has waiting at the bottom of the stairs.”

James sucks in a breath. “I can manage it. I can get it done.”

“Good. I’ll see you back at the flat. I can’t stay. Once my mum and dad are here, I’m dead. Oh, and smile for the cameras, yeah? Make sure you show them your good side.”

Before James can answer, Sirius is gone, hunched over and rushing down the aisle. He disappears through a side door and doesn’t return.

It’s another minute before someone calls for quiet and people—

Oh.

He’s here.

The sight of Regulus in a tuxedo pulls a strangled noise from James’ throat. He’s striking in all black, with his curls perfectly framing his face. Even from a distance, James can see sadness in the gray of his eyes. An expression of carefully practiced neutrality. I don’t want this.

It’s hard to be so close and yet so far. James wants to touch. He wants to take Regulus in his arms and tell him it’s alright, that he doesn’t have to do this.

But the Wedding March begins and Vivienne Price enters the great cathedral. She walks down the aisle, passes James in a beautiful white dress. There’s a collective smattering of quiet praise popcorning through the audience at the sight of her. She is pretty, James will give her that. And for a moment, he feels bad. This won’t be pleasant for her. But he knows she isn’t what Regulus wants. That she can never be what he wants.

James is dangerously close to disassociating when Vivienne climbs the steps and stands in front of Regulus. The urge to slip out of his body and mute the words coming out of Regulus’ mouth is strong. Practiced vows and rehearsed lines. No feeling or inflection in his tone.

“—anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Silence.

James startles.

This is his moment—the defining three minutes of his life that could change everything, for better or for worse.

He doesn’t give himself time to be scared. He gets to his feet, steps into the center aisle, and shouts, clear as a bell, “I do. Me. I object!”

If there was silence before this moment, the complete absence of sound after it is deafening.

Until people start whispering behind their hands, all of them turned in their seats to see who would possibly have the courage to stand up during a royal wedding and object to the couple. The Crown Prince’s wedding, no less.

But all of them fall away and it’s just Regulus staring at him, shock and something else breaking through his careful façade. James only has a minute. Just one to make this count.

“Regulus Black,” he starts, wavering at first but finding his stride, “I don’t have a lot of time so I need to say this quick. I’m in love with you. So in love with you that I would raze this city to the ground if you asked me to.”

Gasps all around him, but James barrels forward. He only has eyes for Regulus.

“I know you’re doing this because your family is making you do it. I know you don’t want this. I know you don’t want her.” He pauses and turns to Vivienne, apologetic. “I’m sure you’re a lovely woman, but trust me when I tell you—”

“James,” Regulus says. His voice rings strong through the cathedral. “What are you doing?”

“I’m crashing your wedding, love,” James answers, as though it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “You can’t marry her. Not if you’re still in love with me. And I know you are. So come with me. Let me make you happy for the rest of your life. I promise I can at least do that, even if I can’t buy you the finest jewels.”

Regulus glances around the cathedral, the rows and rows of people here for him and his wedding. James’ heart beats wildly in his chest; he’s barely breathing. He knows he doesn’t have enough time. Not anymore.

“We have to go, Reg. If you want this—if you want me—then we have to go now.”

There are footsteps coming closer, shouts form the guard. But James won’t move. Not until Regulus decides, one way or the other.

“Let me take you home, Regulus.”

He sees the understanding in Regulus’ eyes—because home isn’t a place. It isn’t James’ flat or the palace or anywhere else they’ve been together.

Home is the space they make for themselves when they’re alone and the rest of the world falls away.

Regulus turns to Vivienne and tells her, “I’m sorry. I hope you understand.” Then he’s—he’s sprinting. Running down the aisle faster than James can process. The full weight of him crashes against James, arms around his neck, and it nearly knocks him right off his feet.

“I love you,” Regulus is saying, over and over. “I love you so fucking much. You got the invitation?”

“I got it,” James laughs, and he doesn’t care about the room full of people watching them. “But tell me in the car. We’ve gotta go now.”

They bolt down the aisle, hand-in-hand. People shout behind them, some standing up to see what all of the commotion is, but they’re already gone. They shove the cathedral doors open and race down the stairs. It’s a limo—long, black, and sleek—that they run towards. Remus leans against the driver’s side door, arms and ankles crossed. When he sees them coming, he rips open his door and jumps inside. Starts the limo, rolls down his window, and yells, “Get in!”

Thick crowds watch them fly down the steps; they take the stairs two at a time. Every single person in attendance recognizes Regulus the moment they see him, but James doesn’t stop and neither does Regulus. The limo is right there, and Remus is banging his hand against the side, antsy.

More shouts behind them—guards, security service, the entire royal army for all James knows. It doesn’t matter. Their sole purpose is to reach Regulus before James can take him away. And they might have, but James is fast and so is Regulus, spurred by their desire to get out, and they reach the bottom of the steps before the security teams can even start their descent.

They stumble into the limo and James slams the door behind them. It drowns out the cacophony of the crowd, turns it into a dull roar. Regulus collapses against the seat opposite James, his head tossed back, a laugh bubbling out of his throat. His smile stretches wide, open and unburdened, and it fills every part of James with warmth.

There’s a bottle of champagne on the seat beside James, still chilled. He reaches for it just as Remus begins inching through the crowd. They surround the limo, though none of them can see inside. The tint is too dark and their attention is on the cathedral, not the mysterious black car working through the crowded streets.

“I can’t believe you just crashed my fucking wedding,” Regulus laughs. He looks at James with wild, sparkling eyes. They look like that first night in Switzerland when they first collided.

“Of course I did,” James tells him, affronted. “I’m so in love with you it’s maddening. It makes me mad.”

“Mad enough to crash a royal wedding?”

James laughs; he can finally breathe. There’s air burning his emptied lungs with each inhale and Regulus is here. He left with James and they’re together, no matter what comes. “It’s you and me,” James tells him. He leans forward in his seat, elbows on his knees. “I don’t give a fuck about the royal family. It’s you, and it’s me. Us. Yeah?”

Regulus inhales a shaky breath. “You and me.”

“Good. Now, shall we?” James lifts the champagne bottle with a coy smile.

“How much time do we have?” asks Regulus. He bites his bottom lip, flushed from the sprint, curls wild and disheveled, no longer perfectly in place. But James likes him best like this; a little messy.

“Thirty minutes, I think. Once we clear the crowds we’ll be on our way pretty quick. Why?”

James can see Regulus thinking. The calculations in his head. Heat coils low in James’ abdomen, burning right through him, and he wants to reach across, grab Regulus by the lapels of his jacket, and kiss him hard enough to bruise his lips. To leave a mark and a claim on him.

To take him apart and make him desperate, just as James is for him.

“Open the champagne, James.”

He doesn’t waste an extra second. Works the cork almost out of the neck and aims it at the corner. With a loud pop, it erupts, shooting across the small space. Champagne follows, spritzing over everything. It’s all over the inside of the limo, ruining the seats and carpet, soaked through. It immediately smells sweet.

“James.”

He turns—and chokes. “Oh, shit,” he says with a laugh. “I ruined your suit.”

Regulus’ tuxedo is soaked, the trousers wet, his white dress shirt underneath a soft shade of pink. It’s a suit that easily cost more than James will ever have in his life—and it’s ruined.

“Oh. Bummer, that.” Regulus glances down, uninterested.

“I—Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“James. It’s just a suit.”

“Yeah, but—”

A heated stare. A crooked grin. Mischief in cool gray eyes. “Take it off.”

James’ heart is in his throat. “What?”

“The suit. Take it off.”

“Reg—”

“Take. It. Off, James.”

James can’t move from where he sits, transfixed, champagne running down his hands and dripping onto the seat and floor. He’s held in place by Regulus’ eyes. Watches him cross the distance, stunning and still flushed. He belongs in a museum, not in the back of a limo James could only afford to rent. And might have to pay extra for now that it’s soaked in champagne.

But none of it matters when Regulus slides into his lap, knees on either side of his hips, squeezing gently. He puts his hands in James’ hair and pulls him forward. Kisses him like a man starved and oh, James doesn’t give a single fuck about the limo. The champagne bottle slips from his fingers; he needs to touch Regulus, get his hands on every inch of him.

He moans when Regulus licks into his mouth, nips at his bottom lip, sucks on his tongue. All of it in a matter of seconds and James is overwhelmed. He’s going to burst into flames.

The car jolts to a stop, soft music filtering through the speakers. There’s hardly anyone outside now; they’ve managed to clear most of the crowd.

James is dimly aware of liquid soaking through his trousers. He knows the champagne has spilled all over; he can smell it, permeating through the small space. But Regulus rolls his hips, moans loud and filthy, and James is on him, the rest unimportant, ripping at Regulus’ jacket. Buttons fly, littering the floor of the limo. He pushes the jacket off and tosses it somewhere, unconcerned. It’s already ruined, anyway. He fists his hands in the front pieces of Regulus’ dress shirt and rips at that too, laughing into Regulus’ mouth when more buttons fly and litter the limo.

“I said take it off,” Regulus mutters between sloppy kisses. “I didn’t say destroy it.”

“Artistic license.” James leans up to mouth at the underside of Regulus’ jaw. There’s champagne drying on his neck, and the taste of it mixed with Regulus’ skin is a heady, intoxicating combination.

Regulus grinds against him again and James groans far too loud. He drops his head back against the seat and clings to Regulus’ waist, fingers curled in the fabric of his open shirt. James looks up at him through half-lidded eyes. Whimpers when Regulus bears down; they’re both hard, straining against their trousers, and the friction is delicious. Too much, not enough. Just right.

Regulus reaches for the champagne. A quarter has spilled onto the seat, but there’s still plenty left in the bottle. He drinks right from the neck, and with his other hand, he works nimble fingers down the buttons of James’ dress shirt. James undoes them from the bottom until they meet in the middle. He shrugs it off and adds it to the mess of clothes on the floor.

He intends to reach for the champagne still clutched in Regulus’ hand, but there’s a finger under his chin, tilting his face. Regulus leans up on his knees and looks down at James with a heavy-lidded gaze.

“Open up,” Regulus instructs, holding the bottle of champagne aloft above James’ mouth.

James whimpers at the forcefulness of the command, but he does as he’s told. He opens wide, tongue out like he’s trying to catch rain from the sky. He doesn’t close his eyes—he’s too captivated by Regulus’ stare, neither of them willing to be the first to break it.

It’s champagne that hits his tongue, cool and sweet. He swallows it down in eager gulps, but Regulus doesn’t stop. He keeps pouring, lets it run down James’ chin, his neck, his bare chest. Rivulets of it all over him until James is laughing, begging him to stop; the champagne he managed to swallow hits him quickly. Or maybe it’s just Regulus leaning over him, index finger still crooked under his chin, that has James feeling drunk.

“Drink more,” James croaks, nodding at the bottle.

“No.” Regulus takes James’ hand from his waist and shoves the champagne bottle into it.

James frowns. “But—Oh.”

Regulus ducks down and licks. It’s a long line from James’ jaw to the hollow of his throat and back up; he follows the rivers of champagne sliding down James’ bare skin, cleaning the mess. He does it again, follows another line with the flat of his tongue, and James is light-headed. Not capable of thought. He tilts his head back to give Regulus better access, a hand in soft curls, but Regulus is already moving on.

He slides down off of James’ lap to the floor and forces James’ knees apart. Settles between his thighs and leans down to mouth at his chest, hands sliding down and along his sides. It’s a gentle touch, a tender touch, that drives James positively fucking mad. Regulus flicks his tongue at James’ nipple and laughs when James’ entire body jerks; it’s a breath of cool air across his skin, drying the mixture of champagne and Regulus’ spit. James shivers, overwhelmed, only distantly aware that the moans filling the limo are his.

“Fuck, Reg,” he breathes, bucking his hips when Regulus licks further down and bites at the soft flesh of his waist. He does it again to the other side, continuing his ministrations. His tongue laps up all the champagne on James’ skin that it can manage to find, then it’s a smooth glide along the expanse of skin just above James’ waistband.

Regulus stops.

“No,” James whines, head lolling to the side to look down at Regulus between his legs. “Don’t stop, love. Please.”

Regulus smirks and James knows he’s in trouble. That look tells all. It’s the heel of Regulus’ hand pressed to James’ length, hard and aching, that makes James melt into the seat. “What do you want?”

James wants to answer, but the problem is that he can’t. He doesn’t have the words. Not when Regulus leans forward and mouths at the bulge in his jeans, clear in his intent but still waiting for James to ask properly. “Reg, baby, don’t tease. Don’t—”

“I’m not teasing you. You’re just not telling me what to do.”

He’s a little shit, looking up at James with eyes that taunt. He knows what this does to James. A mouth right there, so close, lips swollen and pink and shiny and not doing a damn thing.

James has had enough; they don’t have time for this.

He grips Regulus’ hair and pulls his head back, pleased at the startled noise that escapes. James uses his other hand to pop the buttons on his jeans, yanks at the zipper and grits out, “Take them off.”

Regulus pulls them down, takes James’ briefs with them. He manages to get one leg off but doesn’t get the chance to finish the other, the jeans left clinging to James’ ankle. He’s too focused on the hand James has fisted around the base of his cock. James watches Regulus stare when he twists his hand, a groan tumbling off his lips at the pleasure already building in his spine.

James moves his hand from behind Regulus’ head to the underside of his chin. Tips his face up and smiles, cheeky and sly, when he echoes Regulus’ own words back at him. “Open up.”

He can see the moment Regulus crumples, all of his fight and attitude puddling out of him and onto the champagne-soaked floor. He bats James’ hand away, places his own on the inside of James’ thighs, pushing them open wider, and doesn’t waste a second before he flattens his tongue to the underside of James’ cock. He licks a line from base to head in a single stroke, swirls around the tip and swallows James whole, all in one smooth motion that turns James’ brain to static.

“You’ve always been so fucking good at this,” James tells him, resting his hands at the back of Regulus’ skull. He doesn’t need to guide him; Regulus knows what he’s doing. He’s done this a thousand times. “You’re always so good for me.”

James lets himself get lost in the feel of Regulus, mouth so warm and wet that James is fairly certain there isn’t anything in the world better than this. Until Regulus takes him deeper, right to the back of his throat, and James changes his mind—this is the finest thing, the crème de la fucking crème of it all, and he can’t stop himself from tightening his grip to hold Regulus in place.

A hum—contentment—and the vibration zings right through James, hits the tips of his fingers and toes. He cries out, toes curling. He’s molten under Regulus’ touch, the hands that grip his waist and the mouth around his cock. Regulus moves again, pulls off of James with a wet pop before immediately taking him back down his throat. James leans forward just enough to settle his palm against Regulus’ throat, feels the press of his own length against his hand with each swallow, and he isn’t sure who’s more in control in this moment—him, or Regulus.

It might be Regulus, if the obscene whines coming from James are any indication.

“Reg, fuck, I—” James reaches behind to grip the back of the seat; he needs to hold on to something, because Regulus is running the flat of his tongue all over James. Teeth graze at the head when he sucks on it, using his hand to twist, and James feels the telltale burn in his spine, knows he’s close and this isn’t how he wants it to end. “Reg, baby, fuck, I’m—Regulus, wait—”

It’s at this moment that the limo takes a hard turn. James hadn’t even realized they were moving through traffic, the crowd long gone, but the turn is purposeful. Intentionally too hard. It sends them both flying, their balance off and neither of them prepared for the sharp movement. It’s a mess of limbs in the narrow space between the seats, Regulus half on top of James. They’re both slightly dazed at the sudden change in position, and the carpet is damp beneath them from champagne.

“I think Remus can hear us, and I think he’s pissed,” James whispers with a laugh. The music turns a notch louder.

Regulus pushes up on his hands. His hair is a mess, curls wild around his face. Some are still wet with champagne, damp and stuck to his forehead. There’s a flush high on his cheeks, his pupils blown wide, and his lips are kiss-bruised and swollen. Shiny with spit and precum.

James wants to ruin him.

“Reg, love. Come here.”

Rather than do as James instructed, Regulus reaches down to shimmy his trousers off his hips. He kicks them down his legs and off, adds them to the mess of clothes scattered about the limo. Then he swings a leg over and settles on James’ thighs. Their cocks brush, but Regulus seems to ignore it; the only indication that it does to him what it does to James is the slight hitch in his breath.

He runs a delicate finger down James’ chest, following the dried lines of sticky champagne. His shirt hangs off his shoulder, bunched around his forearms. He’s well on his way to looking positively debauched, but he isn’t there yet. Not in James’ opinion. Regulus is busy tracing lines on James’ skin; he skips his fingers over James’ abdomen to his hip bone, trails them back up and around his bellybutton. Intentionally misses James’ hard and leaking cock as he does, busy touching everywhere else instead.

“Regulus,” James whines, but he can’t move with Regulus sitting high on his thighs. His knees are slightly bent, the car too narrow for his height, and his feet push against the sidewall. “Come on, love. You were listening so well. What happened?”

“Changed my mind.” Regulus grins when the limo takes another turn, this one noticeably less aggressive than the last. “I want to try something…different. Something new.”

James arches a brow, his curiosity peaked. “Anything. Whatever you want.”

His pulse turns erratic when Regulus leans forward, licking and sucking his way along James’ chest. He takes a nipple between his teeth when James arches his back. There’s carpet burning against his skin but he doesn’t fucking care; all of his attention, every nerve under his skin, belongs to Regulus.

Regulus—who is still moving up, shimmying along until his knees bracket James’ shoulders. The head of his cock bobs just under James’ chin when he settles, looking down at James with dark eyes. But James’ gaze drifts to the smooth thighs right there next to his face, and he can’t help himself—he leans up and bites, sinks his teeth into white flesh and turns it red, laving at each mark with his tongue until Regulus squirms on his chest.

Soft hands slide into James’ hair, cradling the back of his head and neck, and James keeps working bites into Regulus’ skin, urged on by the moans and sharp intakes of breath above him. He intended to take it slow, to tease until Regulus begged for him, but it’s the sight of that fucking tattoo that changes his mind, sends him right over the edge.

JFP—inked in tiny black letters beneath his belly button, positioned perfectly between his hip bones. It altered something in James the first time he saw it, and it’s rearranged him again now.

“That tattoo,” James moans, “is going to be the death of me.”

“Why do you think I got it?”

Regulus’ cock leaks from the tip, precum mixing with the dried rivers of champagne on James’ throat and chest. He pulls back slightly, presses against the hands laced together behind him, and runs the tip of his tongue through the slit of Regulus’ head. It’s a mix of champagne sweet and something salty; James is going to lose his fucking mind at the taste of it on his tongue. He goes back for another swipe, but Regulus fists his hair tighter in one hand and uses the other to grip his chin between his forefinger and thumb.

It’s a savage grip that forces James’ mouth open.

“Take it,” Regulus breathes, and then it’s the heavy weight of Regulus on James’ tongue. Tentative at first, until James palms his ass and pushes, takes Regulus right down the back of his throat. The angle isn’t perfect, but James is good at this. Exceptional, even. He relaxes, breathes through his nose, and Regulus slips a little further back.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” he grunts, eyes wide and impossibly black. His hands cradle James’ head and neck again to take the strain off; it helps James relax even when Regulus’ length twitches in his throat. It’s going to ache after this; he already knows it. Wants it, even.

He moves his hands, hooks them around the backs of Regulus’ thighs at the point where they meet his hips. His fingers dig in and he pulls, tugging Regulus nearly out of his mouth. He hollows his cheeks around the tip and then pushes, takes Regulus down his throat again in a single motion. His eyes water, but his nose presses into the skin where that fucking tattoo is and James is driven so mad by it that he hopes it hurts to swallow tomorrow.

A steady reminder long after they’re finished.

James pulls Regulus back again and asks, “Got it?”

“Yes.” Regulus nods eagerly. He thrusts forward on his own and moans, broken and a mess, when James takes him easily, right to the base. “I think—I think I’m going to come like this.”

When Regulus pulls back, James says, smooth and confident, “You will, love.” He leans to the side, takes two of his own fingers in his mouth to coat them until they’re dripping. He tightens his grip on Regulus’ thigh with his other hand to hold him in place and watches, hungry for this moment that happens every time.

“Oh,” Regulus croaks; it’s a punched out breath when James pushes one slick finger inside him. “More. I need—” His voice breaks when James slips in deeper, waits until Regulus adjusts, then pushes in until the last knuckle. He crooks his finger and Regulus cries out. “More,” he manages again, but it’s a broken thing. Fingers fist tighter in James’ hair. “Please.”

“You’re not—”

“I don’t fucking care. Add another.”

James sucks in a breath, feels his dick twitch against his stomach. But despite Regulus’ pleading, James fucks into him slowly, waits until he feels the slight decrease in pressure before adding another beside it. He knows the stretch, the burn. That Regulus feels it now and keens from it, back arching and head back, hips thrusting forward and back to meet James’ movements.

“Look at me,” James commands, and Regulus does. He watches when James flicks the tip of his tongue against his leaking tip—a reminder of what the hell they’re meant to be doing on the floor of this limo in the first place.

Regulus understands. He pushes forward slowly, then pulls back, a loud moan tumbling from his lips when James’ fingers slip deeper inside him. He does it again, and again, growing bolder with each thrust, more comfortable. His thighs shake around James’ head, but his hands are steady. His fingers pull at James’ hair until there are sharp pains in his scalp, but he doesn’t tell Regulus to stop.

He licks and sucks when Regulus stops thrusting forward, James’ fingers working him open. Regulus waits until his breathing evens before burying himself in James’ throat again, then pulling out to fuck himself back on James’ fingers. It’s maddening what they’re doing. James feels like he’s riding an impossible high. Forgets he’s in a limo moving through the city in broad daylight.

He watches Regulus watch him—and this is all he cares to know.

Regulus’ thrusts grow erratic, hips stuttering forward and back onto James’ fingers over and over. No matter where he goes, it’s pleasure, the finest kind, and just as James promised—Regulus shatters on the final thrust, cries out and spills hot on James’ tongue and down his throat. He moans when James swallows eagerly, throat constricting around him.

“What the fuck,” Regulus mutters with a soft, huffed laugh. He sits back on James’ fingers with a broken sob and lets go of James’ head to shrug off his shirt.

James rests his head on the floor, neck twinging slightly. He doesn’t care; he’ll do it again and again. He’d break his neck to do it if it meant he got to watch Regulus come undone above him one more time.

Wait.

He—

“Please tell me you’re going to fuck me,” Regulus whines, looking down at James imploringly.

“Oh, more than that, baby.” James runs his tongue along his bottom lip. “I want you to sit on my face.”

Regulus chokes. “I—I sort of am.”

James shakes his head. “I don’t want you to sort of sit, Regulus. I want you to fully sit.”

And it’s only because Regulus seems slow on the uptake post-orgasm that James wriggles down, bending his knees a little more, and takes hold of Regulus’ thighs from underneath. He lifts him, laughs when he nearly collapses forward, hands flat against the limo windows to stop his fall.

“James, what the hell are—Ngh, fuck.”

James’ head is back, Regulus spread open above him. Two fingers in his hole and a tongue in-between always does the trick, and oh, there it is—the full body tremor, practically convulsion, and Regulus is moaning so loud, so obscene, that James doesn’t think he’ll be able to get it out of his head for days.

He licks and sucks, caring little for the strain in his neck. His tongue darts in and out between his fingers, the thrusts followed by flat licks, and maybe he can’t breathe so well, but who is he to complain?

He’s covered in champagne with the most beautiful man in England coming apart on his tongue.

Life is, objectively, quite good.

Regulus’ moans crescendo—and with them, the music.

James pauses.

“No,” Regulus whines, grinding down on James’ fingers, his face. “Don’t stop.”

“I think Remus can hear you.”

“I don’t care. Quit talking.” He presses down on James’ fingers again, but James slips out of him and taps his thigh.

“Up, love. I want to fuck you. We don’t have a lot of time.”

Regulus moves fast. He twists and sets his elbows on the edge of the seat, spreads his knees and arches his back, head hanging between his arms. He’s shaking, but stills when James presses a hand to his lower back.

To the antlers tattooed there, just for James.

Regulus’ tattoos aren’t very princely, but they aren’t meant to be. They’re some of his most rebellious moments—the star on his chest, the snake on his bicep, the initials below his bellybutton. And these. James leans forward to lick a line from the twin dips in Regulus’ back, tracing the detailed outline of each antler. He maps them until Regulus writhes underneath him, pushing his hips back.

“God, you’re fucking perfect,” James says softly. He lines up the head of his cock with Regulus’ entrance, spits right on his hole even though it’s already dripping wet, and eases himself in. Watches Regulus take him inch by torturous inch.

“I won’t break,” Regulus snarls; it trails off into a broken sob. “If you’re going to fuck me, mean it.”

James sighs. “Always so fucking bossy.”

But Regulus is right—he isn’t fragile. He begs James every time to break him to pieces. So James smacks his ass a fraction of a second before he slams home, buries himself in tight heat and pulls back immediately. He thrusts hard and deep, delighting in the sight of Regulus spread out under him, palms flat against the back of the limo seat.

“You’re so fucking tight,” James grits out. “Like you were made for me.”

“Maybe I was.”

James’ eyes roll back; he could die happy here, thrusting into Regulus with purposeful strokes. The sun shines through the tinted windows and glances over the red print on Regulus’ ass. James lays his hand over it, fingers sinking into taut muscle, then there’s another resounding smack and Regulus yelps.

James reaches forward and uses a hand in Regulus’ hair to pull him up, his back arched. James slips his hand around to grip Regulus’ throat; his thrusts are steady, hitting the same spot he knows turns Regulus inside out. He can feel Regulus’ moans against his palm.

“What do you want?” James whispers into his ear, nipping at the shell.

“Touch me,” Regulus breathes. His head falls back on James’ shoulder, and he gasps when James’ fingers tighten on his neck. “Please.”

James presses a hand against Regulus’ abdomen, holding him in place. So close to his untouched cock, swollen and leaking again. But James says, “Not a chance, my love,” and shoves him forward, back on all fours, just to grab his hips and fuck him harder. Regulus feels incredible, but then again, he always does. James meant what he said—Regulus feels made for him. A body with curves that fit his hands, a mouth that slots perfectly against his own. It’s too good to be true but it is.

It’s when Regulus is climbing again, both of them moaning absurdly loud, James lost in the tight wet heat clenching around him as Regulus reaches the edge, that the limo takes another aggressive, sharp turn. It forces James out of Regulus, and his shoulder slams against the door.

Oh, yes.

Remus is definitely pissed.

But before James can process what this means, Regulus is on him. He shoves James back against the seat and climbs on top of him, gripping both their cocks in his hand. He kisses James senseless, filthy and wet, and he’s no longer concerned about whether or not Remus can actually hear them fucking. He’s too busy with this.

He doesn’t ever want to let Regulus go. The thought is enough to break his heart clear down the center. Regulus is a part of him now, and the loss would be too great, too awful. He’s sure they’re meant to be together—the two of them against the world.

Me and you.

You and me.

Us.

James doesn’t mean to say it. Really, he doesn’t. But Regulus leans back, drops his chin to look down at where he grips them together, and James catches a glimpse of that JFP tattoo inked into Regulus’ skin. Permanently attached to him.

It’s out before James can stop it.

“Marry me.”

Regulus stills. He glances up at James beneath long, black lashes. “What?”

“Marry me,” James repeats, firmer this time.

“You’re supposed to get down on one knee when you propose.”

James shakes his head. “You’ve had me on my knees since the day we met. Those are just semantics.”

Regulus chews on his bottom lip, his hand still tight around them. “You meant it?”

“With all that I am.”

“I—” Regulus sucks in a breath. “Yes. Okay, yes.”

James’ grin slowly widens. “Seriously?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Yes, James. I will marry you.”

He captures Regulus’ lips with his, their kisses messy and filthy. Open-mouthed, tongues rolling against each other, and James swallows all of the moans that tumble from Regulus’ lips when he takes over, wraps his hand around their lengths and loses himself in the feel.

But Regulus is loud—too loud apparently, because there’s banging on the closed window that separates the front seat from the back.

“Can you two stop having sex in the back of my fucking limo?” Remus bellows, and he bangs on the window another time for emphasis.

James pulls back, and Regulus ducks down to kiss his jaw. “We’re getting married, Remus!”

“Congratulations. But do you need to fuck right now? Where I can hear you?”

“Turn the music up!” James shouts back, and almost immediately there’s heavy bass filling the limo.

But Remus isn’t done—he takes another turn too hard, intent on throwing them again, but this time James has one hand braced on the seat and an arm around Regulus’ waist. It keeps them from tumbling over, and he grins triumphantly.

Regulus watches him, amused. “So that’s it then?”

“What? Fuck no,” James snaps. “We’re not done. Not yet.”

“James—”

“Regulus,” he counters, “I said we’re not done. Not until you come again. We’ve got at least ten minutes. I can make it fucking count.” He holds his hand out, palm up, and says, “Now, spit.”

Regulus arches a brow, still amused, but he does as James asked. Spits into the upturned palm, his inhale shaky when James slicks himself up a little more, pulling Regulus up and over him. He rubs the head of his cock against Regulus’ entrance and he is so close. So fucking close. He tries to push inside, to pull Regulus down, but Regulus, cheeky fucking bastard that he is, hovers. Just hovers. He plants his hands behind him on James’ knees and smiles like he’s got something up his sleeve.

And James supposes he does, teasing like that.

“Reg, love, come on,” James urges, pumping himself a few times to relieve the ache. The need. “Let me fuck you. I told you we only have ten minutes. Don’t start playing games.”

Rather than answer, Regulus lowers himself just enough for tight heat to envelope James’ head—before he pushes up on his hands, forcing James out.

“Oh, I hate you,” James mutters, and he’s desperate now. Begging. “Don’t do this. Not now. Please, baby, you know how long it’s been.”

Regulus is still smiling when he lets James slide in the barest inch—and stops.

“You’re hovering”

“I am.”

James glares at him. “I told you before and I’ll tell you again—I want you to sit.”

“How bad?”

“More than anything.” James leans forward until they’re a breadth’s width apart. “All I can think about is the way you feel. So fucking good. So fucking tight.”

“And what do I get? If I sit?”

“Everything you want, whenever you want it.”

That does it—Regulus sinks down, leans back on his hands a little more. He rides James with his head thrown back, moaning loud when James reaches between them to grip his cock. His other hand reaches out to thumb his own initials, rubbing gentle circles over it, almost reverent. That’s when he feels it—a bulge in Regulus’ lower abdomen, the angle just right for the head of James’ cock to push right below his belly button.

It’s filthy, the way James rubs circles against that goddamn tattoo and feels himself. Everything in him short circuits and there’s nothing left but Regulus over and around him, in his hand, and James hurtles towards the exact moment he’s going to break.

But it’s Regulus who breathes, “I’m close,” his head still thrown back, and James can only manage a broken, “Thank fuck,” before his hips snap up to meet Regulus in the middle.

Another smack on the window and Remus’ voice, distant and pissed, but James doesn’t hear him. Not when Regulus is coming apart in his lap and he’s there, following behind, tumbling over the edge and burying himself in Regulus the exact moment Regulus shatters, painting their chests white.

“Holy fuck,” James mutters. He feels boneless. There’s nothing left of him after this. Not even a semblance of self. “You’re incredible. So perfect and beautiful. And I am so fucking in love with you.”

Regulus drops his forehead into the crook of James’ shoulder. His chest heaves with each breath, and his thighs are trembling. He sighs, content, when James trails a finger along his spine. A soft touch. Gentle. “We’re getting married.”

“Hell yeah we are.” James pulls back, takes Regulus’ face between his palms. “I swear I didn’t just ask you that because I was balls deep in you. I meant it.”

“You’re still balls deep in me,” Regulus points out.

“Can you stop being a smartass for two seconds?”

“No. I’m fairly certain that’s part of why you want to marry me.”

James rolls his eyes. “It’s more than just that.”

“Yeah? Tell me.”

“You make me—” James leans forward and ghosts his mouth over Regulus’, “—a mean tortellini carbonara.”

Regulus smacks his bicep three times, each blow harder than the last. “I hate you, James Potter.”

“And I love you.” James laughs when Regulus pushes at him, struggling to stand on his own legs. His thighs shake, and he swears when a line of cum drips down his thigh.

“I’m going to kill you.” Regulus snatches his trousers from the soaked limo floor. “You’re going to wake up and I’ll have you tied down—”

“Love this already. Keep going.”

“—and I’m going to draw and quarter you.”

James whistles low. “Sexy. I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

Regulus chucks James’ shirt. He’s on the opposite side of the limo, struggling to pull his shirt and jacket on. There are too many buttons missing, and there’s zero chance of hiding what happened. James accepts in this moment that Sirius is probably going to kill him.

They manage to make themselves look somewhat presentable, but when the limo finally stops and the side door opens, there’s no mistaking the sheer astonishment on Sirius’ face when he takes in his brother’s appearance—shirt wrinkled and not even buttoned, neck covered in love bites, hair disheveled, and lips kiss-bruised.

“James,” Sirius says slowly, “I told you to wreck my brother’s wedding. I did not tell you to wreck my fucking brother.”

“In my defense, he started it.” James points a finger at Regulus. “I didn’t prepare for this.”

Regulus cocks his head. “Is that why we used spit instead of lube? You forgot it?”

Sirius makes a choking noise that borders on a gag. “Oh, my fucking God. Where’s Remus? Moony!”

“Don’t fucking talk to me,” James hears from the front seat. “I just listened to your brother and James fuck for thirty minutes. Thirty minutes, Sirius. I will never get that time back.”

“I’m sor—”

“No. No, no, no.”

The car door opens, then promptly slams shut again.

“Remus, come on. Get out of the car.”

A huff. “I want to die. Just leave me here to die, Sirius.”

James looks at Regulus with a raised, questioning brow. He nods to the opposite door and puts a finger to his lips.

“I didn’t know James would—”

“Oh, no,” Remus argues. “I heard it. All of it. That was all your brother’s doing. He’s fucking feral. In broad daylight, Sirius. They had—Hey! Where are you two going?”

James and Regulus are running again, hand-in-hand, for the back entrance to James’ flat building. They’re a mess, flushed and laughing, and Sirius and Remus both call out after them, but neither have a care in the world for anyone else in this moment. James leads Regulus upstairs, unlocks the front door to his flat with shaking hands. When they’re in the entryway, he kicks the door shut and immediately drops to one knee at Regulus’ feet.

“Marry me,” he says again, hands on Regulus’ hips. “I’m asking you properly this time. Marry me, Regulus.”

Regulus purses his lips. “Did you buy me chocolate cake?”

“There’s a slice in the fridge.”

It’s a full smile on Regulus’ face—radiant and worth every wild second it took to get them here.

“Then yes, James Potter. I will marry you.”

❖︎

Crown Prince Rumored to Have Eloped With Mysterious Royal Wedding Crasher—Who Is He?

Rumors continue to circulate surrounding the Prince’s consort. When asked for comment, the royal family declined an interview, stating that they are working to resolve the situation and that there is no “consort.”

However, we received additional news today that submission has been made by Prince Regulus Black himself to change his formal name. We are still seeking confirmation from sources, but at this time, it is rumored that he is changing his legal name to Regulus Black-Potter.

Further details to come.

Subscribe for further updates on the couple’s juicy secret relationship, and if any of our readers happen to have details about this mysterious Mr. Potter, drop us a line. See you in the next one!