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"Stop being so tense, Prongs."
Sirius' shoulder is solid where it nudges against James' own. It pushes him sideways, jarring him out of his thoughts as he focusses back on his surroundings. They're in the lobby of a smart physio therapists' office. The walls as blank and sterile as the hospitals James has been trying to avoid ever since that fuckwit from the Magpies body checked him into the boards. It had been violent, pre-planned, a play to get James off the pitch that had worked all too well.
He'd been in the wrong position to block it; had seen it coming through the widest reams of his peripheral, but was distracted enough by his ex's phone call that morning that by the time his head caught up to what his eyes could see, there was no air left in his lungs and the kind of pain he couldn't help but fixate on had spread across his ribs like a flame.
He'd thought maybe he'd blacked out for a moment, jolted back to awareness a second later when he'd tried to gasp in an inhale only for a staggeringly sharp pain to pierce through his chest. It meant that he'd missed out on the fight Sirius had started, focus maxing out on the hand that came to rest flat on his back, touch feather light but grounding.
"Breathe, mate." Peter was saying. "Not too deep, okay? That's it."
The touch got him to straighten up; to save face in front of a crowd there for his flirtatious charm and cocky grin. Pete guided him off the ice with a hand on the small of his back, taking on the role of the ref that was too busy occupied with two teams of riled up athletes.
The prognosis wasn't good. Three fractured ribs that caused two deep lines to appear between Lily's brows as manicured fingers pressed against tender skin.
"You need to go to the hospital." She'd said, glancing up at him from where she'd had to crouch down.
"S'not bad." James had replied, knowing that he was lying.
Lily shook her head. "I can't tell what's going on beneath it all. You need to get proper checks, proper rest."
James shook his head back.
"You're pushing yourself too hard. Its stupid. You're going to ruin your career."
The words weren't what he needed to hear, the stress of the past few days, weeks, months, building like a sickening fire inside a chest that already burnt. His throat hurt with an unexplained thickness he'd named exhaustion. He just wanted to go to sleep.
"Okay." She stood up, pressed a kiss against curls that sat flat against his head. "Okay."
They weren't together anymore. Hadn't been for years. It meant that the bareness of his torso had come with no teasing words of flirtatious wink. That her fingers didn't trail downwards from his chest to his v-line just to get him to smile. That her thumb didn't brush his cheekbone when she asked him to check in. Regardless, her blunt touch was familiar enough that he curled into it, forehead resting against her stomach.
"I'm gonna call for someone, okay?" Her fingers pulled gently at sweat matted curls, coaxing them back to their natural place. "It's not gonna take long to fix. You just need to give it time. To let yourself heal. From it and from him."
Him. The man that had broken James' heart in so many ways he wasn't sure it was still beating.
Despite Lily's words, recovery had been rough. He'd gone of his meds a week after he'd been prescribed them, proving his readiness to return despite breaths that continued to jab at his nerves and coughing fits that were nothing short of agony. He wasn't in the right headspace to come back. Wasn't in the right headspace to do much of anything except throw himself back into the sport he'd always deemed an escape. James' coach had been furious with him when he’d returned, his sympathy wavering after several months of a star player with a lost spark. "What the fuck was that?" Had been the first words James was greeted with upon entering the rink. "We're three months off playoffs and you're going to blow the whole thing for everyone. Fix your mindset or you're out."
And so James had fixed his mindset. He went back into the game with a determination he wasn't sure he'd felt in a long time. A fixation on channelling the buzzing beneath his skin. To get back at his ex who'd said he'd never amount to anything. To prove Sirius right in his unfailing belief in him. It meant ignoring the pain in his ribs until the hurt he claimed had disappeared began to do just that. He ignored the pain in his groin, too, the one that felt like his muscle had ripped as he’d attempted to dodge the blow that had crushed his chest. He pushed himself further, and faster, and harder until each game ended with a slap on his shoulder from his coach, and a team that was proud to have him, and a body that hurt but withstood it, until-
Until.
"You have to see a physio, James."
"I'm not doing it, they'll tell me to take a rest. We're a month off of the playoffs-"
"Its been worse for days. You want to permanantly fuck yourself? You're on the right track." They're alone in the locker room, James sat slumped on the bench in front of their lockers, elbows resting heavily against his knees.
"I can handle it."
"Clearly." Sirius snaps, only to soften at James' face. "See Lily, then. For Christ's sake this fixable. You're going to fuck yourself over a groin strain, do you know how stupid that is?"
"She's the worst for it. I'm not- I'm doing well, Sirius. I'm doing well. And they're gonna lose faith if im out again on a fucking injury. I just need time."
Sirius scowled, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "No."
"What do you mean no?"
"I'm taking you to see Reg-"
"Regulus?"
"-tonight. He'll sort you out and he's discreet, okay? If he tells you to sit this out then it's on you to decide, but hopefully he can at least make it less sore cause watching you like this is fucking unbearable."
"James Potter?" The announcement startles James out of his thoughts. "Mr. Black will see you now."
James glances over at Sirius. He's never been very good with clinical settings. They freak him out. A constant reminder of everything he stands to lose with one matter-of-fact diagnosis.
"C'mon." Sirius says, standing up with him.
"Through the doors, first room on the right."
Sirius thanks her as though he doesn't already know, leading them both through until James hesitates at the door.
"You'll be fine, Jamie." Sirius says. "Just tell him what's wrong and he'll fix it."
James doesn't have the heart to tell him that's not why he stopped. He can see Regulus through the door's slim panel window, jet black hair curling around startlingly sharp features. James hasn't seen him for years. Not since they were seventeen sneaking glances at each other in the showers. He's been handsome even then, all sharp lines and cheeks that reddened with the flush of youth. He'd been shorter then, thinner, sweet beneath a facade of indifference. It’s all James can remember of him, really. He hadn't payed nearly enough attention at the time.
Now, he can't seem to look away. Regulus' shoulders are broad, his build similar to Sirius' only slighter; a testament to teenage years competing in the same sport but an adult life dedicated to repairing injuries instead of causing them. He's lithe, if James had to put a label on it, lean and long limbed with a waistline that tapers in enough to make James' mouth water.
"James." Sirius nudges him. "Go."
Only James can't, because Regulus is looking at him; grey eyes piercing through through glass. He doesn't remember Regulus ever looking at him like that. Calm and controlled, at ease within his own space, within his own form. Like he's been expecting James in a way James hadn't been expected him.
"Fucking hell." Sirius pushes past him, grabbing the handle and swinging open the door. "Hey, Reg. Sorry again for this. You're a life saver."
Regulus rolls his eyes. "Who needs dinner, anyways."
James internally winces at the insinuation. He doesn't want to be here. He wants to be back at training, covered head to toe in gear that protects him from a gaze like Regulus'. He hasn't spoken to anyone outside of his teammates in months. Just being out feels... jarring.
"So, what's the problem?" Regulus' gaze has shifted from Sirius back to him, no less intense than it was moments before.
"Pulled groin." Sirius answers for him.
It makes James' jaw twitch. Unfairly, that is, because he hasn't been that much help to himself as of late.
"Sorry, I didn't realise I'd invited Mother in today." The gaze is gone, sorely missed for a moment before its back. "Do you need someone to hold your hand, James?-"
Yes. Yes. Please. You
"-Or can you speak for yourself."
James clears his throat. "I can speak for my self."
"Right then."
There's a beat where no one moves.
"So?"
"So what?"
"So. Out."
"Prat." Sirius mutters, hands finding his knees as he pushes himself up. "Tell him when it hurts." He glares at James, before glaring back at Regulus. "And for the love of fuck, fix it, he's unbearable."
The door slams behind him on his way out, ever a flair for the dramatic.
James misses the distraction of him the second he leaves, craving something new to look at now that the wearing edge of Sirius' shoe is out of sight.
"Sit." Regulus says, nodding towards the treatment table that sits almost in the centre of the room.
James does as he's told. The material of the bench is cool against his skin; goosebumps pebbling against the bare expanse of his thighs.
Regulus pulls over his office chair, taking a seat almost between James legs. The thought of Dumbledoor shagging crosses James' mind before he remembers he isn't seventeen anymore, and that using his teachers to quell a boner is nothing short of childish.
"Where's bothering you? Left side or right?"
"Right." James says. His voice feels a bit hoarse, a testament to its disuse rather than the two grey eyes that look up at him, over analytical and stripping.
"Higher up?"
James nods.
"Okay. I'm going to push your shorts up on the right side, is that okay?"
James swallows, thick. "Yeah. Okay."
Regulus' fingers are cool and professional where they push the shorts aside, barely brushing against James' skin. It doesn't do anything to calm James' racing heart. He doesn't know what's wrong with him. Doesn't know what it is about Regulus' gaze, about his touch, that brings back a sex drive that hasn't raised its head in months.
"I'm going to put pressure on okay? Let me know when it hurts."
The pressure Regulus applies is light but firm, exploratry as it tracks along the muscle coating James' inner thigh and up to his groin. It only takes a second for flames to erupt beneath his skin; a dull sort of nausea that worsens as Regulus' thumb stops in its tracks and digs in.
"Fuck!" James snaps, leg jerking up so fast he almost knees Regulus in the face.
Regulus releases the pressure, meeting James' betrayed gaze with one of blind indifference.
"I told you to tell me when it hurts."
It’s a punishment. One that has James' gritting his teeth with as much urge to snap at Regulus as to give up every ounce of his control to hands that know exactly where to press.
Regulus presses lightly on the swollen area, fingers warming as he frowns.
"How long's it been like this?"
"Six weeks."
Regulus looks up at him again, those sharp eyes critical in a way that makes James want to squirm in place. He wonders what Regulus would have been like if he'd come a month ago. Whether he'd be gentler. Praising.
"Lie back for me."
The 'for me' does things to James he doesn't want to recognise.
He does as he's told, wincing as hoisting his legs onto the table pulls at the strain. He watches Regulus busy himself as he lies back, dragging his gaze to the ceiling the second Regulus turns back to him. The ceiling is plastered, even, so uninteresting that James really can't blame himself for seeking out the planes of porcerlain he'd so rather be looking at. It's a mistake to watch as one of those hands dips in to the pot of sports balm on the side. Torture to observe as Regulus warms it between his hands; palms rubbing deftly against eachother, moulding it into submission. James is already on the precipice of half-hard when Regulus approaches him; mouth flooded with the kind of need that makes it hard to speak.
"I'm going to push your shorts out of the way, is that okay?" Regulus' tone is unaffacted, shocking James back to a reality in which Regulus is doing nothing other than his fucking job.
James bites the inside of his cheek as fingers push the material of his shorts up and out of the way. They're already short. Almost obscenely so, if you asked Remus. But the act strips away the last allusions of his self-control; edges Regulus' fingers closer to the only place James would beg to be touched and-
The reality of it all has him softening at a sickening rate; spit thick in his throat as he reminds himself that this is Regulus' job. Not some filthy role play he's coaxed his partner into embarking on.
He barely breathes as those same hands manhandle him into place. Regulus looks up at him every once in a while, a silent check in that rely's more on James' expression than it does words Regulus doesn't care to recognise as the truth. James squeezes his eyes shut as Regulus hooks his left hand under the bend in his knee, coaxing his leg out to the side as he splays his right hand across James' thigh. James is almost surprised at the deep pressure he manages to exert through each of his fingertips as he pushes up towards James' groin; a slight massage designed to get him to relax.
To James' surprise, it does. He's kept the injury to himself so long that the gentle but firm strokes release more than just a physical tension. Its been playing on his mind. This constant fear that the injury's developed to such an extent that this wouldn't be possible. That Regulus would take one look at him and abandon all routine; informing James that what he needed was rest and at least a week off. To come back and see him at the end of the month when the muscle wasn't nearly so cross.
Instead, Regulus' hands are sure and firm; pulling the softest sound of relief from James' lips that he tries and fails to swallow.
"Okay?" Regulus' words filter through the slightest of fogs.
James nods. Swallows. Nods again.
"I'm going to put your foot on my hip, now. Is that alright?"
James nods again.
"Is that alright, James?"
"Yeah. Yeah." He wants Regulus to do it without asking. To act without permission. To take control over James' entire life so that James doesn't have to fucking think.
There's nothing unprofessional about the way Regulus places James' bare foot against his hip. Nothing untoward about the hand that exerts pressure as it slides down James' inner thigh. Nothing out of the ordinary that makes it any different to the hundreds, no, thousands, of sports massages James has sat through.
Only Regulus' hands feel different. Different for reasons James can't explain. His gaze is unbearably attentive, sharp and extracting in a way that makes James want to roll over and confess every mistake he's made over the last few months that have led to this moment. To let Regulus put a name to the reprocussions that come with each error. To tell James what to do to fix them instead of letting him carry them around on muscles that shake with strain.
James shivers at the thought.
He'd thought he'd had the pain under control until Regulus moves his leg to lie open on the table, placing one clever hand over the other and increasing the pressure. It transforms a motion that was already startlingly sore into something unbearable, the descent from mid-thigh to groin enough to make James' limit for pain explode. His toes curl up tight, body jerking away from a touch that chases. The knot is agony; easily provoked and fucking sore.
"Okay. Okay. You're alright." Regulus' touch is feather light within an instant. It throws James for six; has him scrambling to keep up with hands he swore he was growing accustomed to. "You're alright." His hands are back to smoothing over the area, thumbs digging in to the tightness that surrounds the spot of agony. It leaves James wondering whether he'd imagined it being that painful. Whether he could have sat through it, been better, tried harder.
"Breathe in through your nose." Regulus' words are calm, sure, a buoy to cling onto amongst thoughts that race. "There you go. Good. Now out through your mouth." He doesn't sound patronising, nor overly indulgent. They're just instructions. Clean, professional, instructions.
"I'm going to apply pressure to the same spot, okay?"
James feels himself nod; tries to brace himself for an agony he knows he can't properly prepare for. Regulus is watching his features; must see something James has forgotten to conceal because one moment he's beside him and the next he's gone, returning with a ball that's foamy to the touch. "Here." He says. "Squeeze this."
It starts slow, easy as Regulus coaxes the muscle that hisses and flinches into a false sense of security; promising to be gentle and sweet and sticking to it - until he doesn't.
James thinks he's going to stop, once he sees the way James' teeth grind against each other. Or how his nostrils twitch in discomfort. Or the way his fingernails dig into the stress ball so hard they leave crescent moons in its skin-
James jolts in his seat. "Ow Regulus- fucking ow!". He jerks in an attempt to sit up, only for Regulus to pin him back down with a hand on his chest and a gaze that holds him there.
"Fifteen seconds." He says. "You can take it for fifteen seconds."
The sound James lets out is nothing short of desperate.
"I know. I know." The words are a balm over the first few seconds of white hot pain. They wear off all too quickly, leaving james to writhe as the pain becomes an agony; a rock forced down against a nerve. The crown of his head presses back against the bench, teeth gritted as he breaks Regulus' instruction and his back arches of the table.
"Fuck- Regulus, I can't- I can't- fuck- I-"
As fast as it came, it’s gone. Agony replaced by a strange, heady sensation. It's as though his mind can't quite keep up with the change, like his head's chosen to check out even though the pain has evaporated.
"There you go. That's it. Feels better, doesn't it?" Regulus' hands are still on him, pressure light but sure; working the last of the knots into the ground.
James is panting, ever so slightly, swallowing around the strange sensation of relief in his sinuses. It turns dry the second he tries to draw himself back into his body; muscles seizing up as he realises he's rock hard.
"Regulus-" He jerks away from the touch. Panicked. Mortified. He feels tears prick at his eyes, overwhelmed and confused by a comedown that hit too quick.
"Shh. I know. I know. S'okay, James. It's normal." The hand that massages him doesn't move. Doesn't do anything other than continue its slow circles; ever so carefully weighted to make James' eyes roll back with relief. It’s like pushing on a sore tooth, that nerve provoking sort of pain he was never quite sure he wanted to admit he enjoyed but couldn't help but revisit time and time again.
"Regulus." He repeats, but this time, it’s a plea. He feels himself twitch inside his boxers, the outline of his cock shockingly visible beneath shorts too thin to conceal them. "Regulus-"
"I know. Just let it go. That's it. There you go. Beautiful."
James' hips twitch; bucking up senselessly into air that taunts him. His boxers feel wet against his tip, a request that Regulus must see as it bleeds through to stain his shorts.
"Do you want me to touch you?"
James makes a strangled sound in his throat; half moan, half plea.
"James. Do you want me to touch you?"
"Please." He says. "Please- Regulus, Please."
For the first time since James came into his office, he sees the self-control on Regulus' face waver.
It's the back of his hand that brushes the length of James' cock. It's firmer than feather light, weighted and intentional; a pressure that demands to be felt. James' head thunks back against the table as he bucks up into it, a moan released from between parted lips.
"Please-" He gasps. "Please- Regulus- I want- I need-"
He's cut off as the hand Regulus hasn't provided him to rut against grows bolder in its pressure, sinking into muscles that moan in protest.
"Fuck- O-ow- Ow- fuck- Regulus- fuck-"
Regulus doesn't say anything. The hand that brushes stays light, moving torturously slow and with just enough pressure to make James pant. He's barely clothed, his shirt rucked up over his stomach from where he's arched off the table, and yet sweat begins to cast a sheen on his skin; collecting between the lines of his muscles.
"Fuck- Oh- oh- fuck-" He's gasping, thrusting shallowly against Regulus' hand that isn't doing any work. It's embarassing. Mortifying. And yet he can't quite get a grip on what he looks like; chasing a release he didn't come here looking for. The pressure of Regulus' right hand hurts. Fuck does it hurt. And yet the material of his shorts runs like a river against him, torturously soft where it slides, trapped, between him and Regulus.
"I know. I know. Just ten more seconds. You can take that, can't you Jamie?"
Pressure carves into muscle so tight James swears he can feel the fibres split. He cries out, pain prickling his eyes until he can't see past the tears that blur his vision.
"Oh, love. This is what happens when you leave it so long. You should've come to me sooner."
James' breath hitches, tears he's not sure the cause of welling thick in his eyes.
Regulus drags his left hand upwards, knuckles catching on the head of James' cock.
"Oh fuck- oh fuck- Regulus- I'm gonna- fuck- I need-"
"That's it. Just let it go, James. Let it go."
The words push James over the edge; unexpected as the warmth that had coiled low in his stomach spreads like a storm. He arches his back, hand finding the edge of the table as his nails carve lines into its leather and wet warmth pulses into his pants. Regulus strokes him through it, motions as wave like as the orgasm that washes over him.
"There you go." The words are soft, praising. "That's it."
James makes a low sound in his throat, almost a keen.
"You're okay. Just come down slow. That's it."
James swallows thick, not quite sure he can process what Regulus is saying. His body jerks with the occasional after shock, suddenly cold in the sterile room. Regulus' fingers have turned painfully light; experimental as they skim across the fabric of his shorts with just enough pressure to make James' cock twitch miserably beneath his fingertips.
"Can you sit up for me?"
James isn't sure that he answers, but warm hands help him up, startling against the cool grey eyes that meet his own from where Regulus has moved to sit in front of him.
"Take this to clean up." James takes the tissue. Swallows again. "Oh, and here's my number." There's something watchful in Regulus' gaze. "Give me a call if it gives you any more trouble." He holds a card out between two elegant fingers. "It won't, by the way." He pulls the card back just as James reaches out to take it. "But call me anyway."