Work Text:
All James wants, in this specific moment in time, is to go home.
He's been away for a whole week for a Potioneer's summit in Mumbai, listening to his peer's conferences on magical advances, new theories on chemical interactions between inter-species components and novel, humane ways to harvest ingredients ethically. Wizarding Mumbai is a lively, warm city full to the brim with the only food that has ever gotten close to his mother's cooking. Exploring the sights, visiting a couple of distant relatives and enjoying the different feel of the magic of the land tingling against his skin is an amazing experience, but he feels as if he's been traveling for a whole month instead of a mere seven days.
He yearns for his bed and a full night's sleep. When he was younger he was able to fall asleep anywhere, simply closing his eyes and passing out on every available surface without a hitch. His friends even made a game of seeing who could stack the most objects on him, keeping score and making up points depending on height and strangeness of the stack. Now, sleep seems impossible to achieve when he doesn't go through his routine. He's gotten old, and his mind refuses to shut down whenever he's in an unfamiliar environment.
He misses his giant shower with its giant, rain-like shower head; the fluffy towels straight out their warming bin enveloping him like a hug once he is out and clean. He misses slipping into bedsheets with a ridiculously high thread-count, much like the ones he used to relentlessly tease Sirius for — until he started using them himself. He misses his husband's body wrapped around him like a koala, stealing his warmth, shocking his system whenever he puts his frozen feet on his calves to fight the cold, making James feel safe, cherished, loved.
He misses Regulus' sleepy smile first thing in the morning most of all, when he's still in that liminal space between awake and asleep. All defences down. No mask or pretending or social standing, just two bodies on the precipice of beginning a day anew, in a comforting bubble of their own creation.
He's pulled out of his thoughts by the international portkey coordinator, beckoning him to step forward into the designated travel area. The Indian Ministry of Magic is a grandiose building, impeccably organised and labelled in several languages, but human error still makes the poor wizard look dead in the eyes from wrangling people and passing around trinkets from several drawers. It's barely eleven in the morning. James walks to the only remaining space in the circle of four people, grabs onto the toy xylophone as best as he can, and before he can look at all of his companions, magic pulls at his navel and spins him into himself and away from Mumbai. The portkey takes him on a bumpy ride that scatters every atom in his body before putting him back together.
He comes back to himself disoriented and a little nauseous, closing his eyes for a second to recenter himself as he adjusts to the brisker temperature, and to avoid face planting in the International Travel Department of the British Ministry of Magic. He is on a whole different country — a different continent, even— and yet he is again urged to move along by a witch with the same defeated and faraway look in her eyes as the coordinator in Mumbai. Some things are just part of the human experience, he guesses. James checks his cloak pockets for his shrunken luggage, and walks confidently out of the arrival area and into the first elevator he can find to take him to the atrium, familiar with the maze of corridors of the building from visiting Regulus at work so often.
According to his tempus charm, it's eleven fifteen when he queues up for the floos, so he estimates he has at least six hours before Reg is back home; enough time to pass out on his bed and catch up on sleep before curling up around him for the rest of the weekend. He's not even going to shower before flopping on the bed, he decides, he can always change the sheets and drag his husband into a long bath to make up for it once he's no longer home alone.
The exposed skin of his hands, neck and face tingles as he steps into the green fireplace, and he recites his address with closed eyes, sighing as he is magicked away for what is hopefully the last time for the day, and arrives home.
He fully expects to be alone, so he startles when he opens his eyes and sees Regulus sitting on the couch with a book in his lap, a slender finger marking his place as he looks up at the fireplace with hopeful eyes and a small smile.
"Jamie," he murmurs, standing and rushing over to hold James' face in his hands, kissing him chastely. It's soft, familiar, and quickly snaps James back into reality. "Welcome home, darling."
His heart grows a size once he pulls back, his hands instinctively going to hold Regulus' waist and giving him a once over.
"What are you doing home, love? Not that I'm complaining, but I didn't expect to see you until the evening."
Regulus scoffs. A fond smile stretches his lips while he runs a hand through James' hair, trying and failing to tame its windswept look and tucking a stray longer piece behind his ear.
"You've been away from home long enough. Did you honestly expect I'd let work keep me from you even longer?"
"They let you take the day off, then?"
"There is no 'they', James. I can't even recall the last time I interacted with another Unspeakable. Who would even notice I'm gone for a day?"
Fair enough, James reasons. While getting inducted as an Unspeakable was a complicated process, once Regulus was sworn to secrecy and all the security and identity spells were in place, he was essentially given free reign of the sixth floor of the Ministry, and ample time to present any findings. When it all concluded, it was like a weight lifted off Regulus' shoulders, and he finally had the chance to shift back into his usual snarky, pointy self.
Regulus interrupts his musings by wrapping his arms around James' neck and pulling him back for a kiss, this time with more passion behind it. James' hands splay across his shoulder blades, and he pulls Regulus closer, revelling in his smell, his skin, the velvet feel of a tongue asking to be let into his mouth. He dreads that he is going to have to either leave Regulus alone while he sleeps or be a little miserable if he tries to tough it out and spend the day with him. Neither option sounds very appealing.
"Love," he interrupts them. "I missed you so much, and this is the loveliest of surprises, but I need to either sit down or jump into a bath before I pass out and take you with me. I'm dead on my feet."
He expects Regulus to tease him or make a quip about his age, and thinks it's coming when Regulus smirks at him.
"I know, darling," he purrs, a cryptic edge to the words.
James is confused for only a second before Regulus holds his hand and begins to pull him through the house, walking with purpose to their bedroom and straight into the en-suite bathroom. Regulus leaves him standing before the mirror and twin sinks, ignores the bathtub James really hoped to lay in, and turns on the shower, steam immediately fogging the glass walls and warming up the room.
"Reg, I think I'd prefer a bath—"
A finger shushes his lips and, after a quick peck, Regulus pulls James' wand out of his pocket and begins to unbutton his cloak, letting it drop to the ground. His belongings make a thud on the ground after sliding off his body, but he could care less when his husband's nimble fingers start to unbutton his dress shirt and caress the skin of his chest as it becomes exposed. There's solemn reverence in every brush , and James' mind feels quiet after a week of non-stop bustling.
He shivers when Regulus steps in to kiss his jaw, his neck, to nose behind his ear while he unbuttons his trousers with practised ease.
"I know what you need, Jamie. I'm not here to tire you out more, I'm here to take care of you. So step out of your clothes and let me."
Oh.
His perfect, perfect husband. James' heart rate picks up at the reversal of roles; he's the one usually taking care of Reg. The combination of growing up in a family that showed its love with actions, and being with a man who was neglected so much by the very people meant to love him most of all, has always left James with an almost desperate need to care of Regulus, to be soft and safe for him. Being on the other side of it makes him feel warm all over, even after so many years together.
James steps out of his clothes and shoes, and feels the tingle of a cleaning charm zipping across his skin. He looks up to see Regulus vanishing everything to the hamper and rack with a quick wave of his wand, like an afterthought. He notices for the first time that he's wearing his house robe, and James' mouth waters when he nonchalantly opens the black silk and carefully hangs it on the perch next to the door, leaving his pale body naked and exposed.
There are kilometres of soft freckled skin before him that he hasn't gotten his hands on in a week — a whole age, it feels like — so his brain goes on autopilot to pull Regulus against him, running his fingers down his sides, up his arms and neck and carding through his hair. Regulus sighs and leans his head into the touch, but his eyes snap open when one of James' hands starts squeezing his backside possessively.
"None of that," Regulus chides. And with that, he steps back and away from a pouting James, walking backwards into the shower. "Join me?" James' vision goes blurry as he rips his glasses from his face and rushes over like a man possessed, fingers twitching to get on Regulus' wet skin once more.
The water is as close to scalding as possible, just as he likes. They step into the shower and James chases him single-mindedly, lacing both their hands and using them to press them together from chest to thigh, kissing him deeply. Water runs down their bodies in rivulets, squeezing through the gaps, making them slippery, the lack of air making his head spin. Maybe its not the oxygen but just Regulus, finally in his arms after so long and kissing him like he is trying to devour him, liking into his mouth, holding eye contact as he pulls his lower lip with his teeth and making him hiss from the pain. James wants to bruise his hips, leave love bites all over his chest, scratch down his back — renewing his claim on him, marking him as his again. Regulus is lost in it, breathing heavily and grinding against his thigh. James turns him around, nibbling on his neck and lazily moving his hands towards his cock. As soon as he grasps it, though—
"No," Regulus murmurs, pulling back.
James blinks repeatedly as he comes down to earth again, tilting his head to try to assess if he's hurt him somehow, or crossed a line. Regulus is two steps away from him, panting for a second before stepping up on his tip toes to kiss him again. This time it's a quick kiss, departing with a long lick of his tongue across James' lips to then run it into the shell of his left ear. James holds him again and shudders as Regulus places kisses down his throat, sucking on the junction of his neck and clavicle, threatening to leave a bruise.
His breathing picks up as his lover trails lower down his body, kneeling before him and nuzzling between his legs with his eyes closed. James puts his hands on his wet curls, petting them lovingly until Regulus opens his eyes, looks directly at him as he sticks out his tongue and licks him from root to tip, a perfect picture of lust. Every poetic thought in James' head disappears the moment his cock is enveloped entirely.
It's hot inside Regulus' mouth. He feels as if his cheeks burn every part of him, feels like the steam around them is is not from the shower, but from the slow exhales coming out of his husband's nose. Regulus buries his nose in the patch of curls on James' lower abdomen, swallowing around him and making him see stars. Regulus closes his eyes, enraptured, one hand holding onto James' thigh, the other at his base. He pulls back torturously slow, opening them as the tip pops out of his mouth, and gives him a few swirls before going back in, bobbing with vigour and cupping his balls, alternating between massaging them and pulling on them slightly, making his hips stutter. Regulus notices and covers James' hands with his own, and encourages him to pull his hair with more force, guiding him to use his throat and relinquishing control.
"Reg, baby…"
The only sounds for a minute are the falling drops of water and the gagging noises Regulus makes, occasionally groaning in pleasure with him still in his mouth. Each vibration brings James closer to orgasm, and he finally spills over during a particularly long moan. Not a drop is wasted, and Regulus keeps his eyes on his all throughout. James' breath is ragged; he feels himself wobble as soon as it's over, but his husband is faster, standing up to hold him steady and guiding him to sit on the built in shower bench. James drowsily moves his head to face Regulus' midsection, seeking to return the orgasm, but notices that he is no longer hard.
"Did'ya come already?" he mumbles out, and is answered with a chuckle.
"You didn't notice me touching myself, then?"
He did not, and he feels like the scum of the earth, sure to be the unluckiest bastard to have ever lived if he missed the sight.
"'m sorry, baby—"
But Regulus shuts him up with a kiss to his temple, and then turns to the side to grab a bottle of shampoo. Coming was good — incredible barely begins to cover it, actually — but feeling fingers in his hair, massaging shampoo and making both him and the room smell like his husband is heavenly. Nothing even comes close to the feeling of long, nimble fingers massaging his scalp, suds sliding down his neck and tickling his back. The exhaustion from the week hits him full force, and the soothing feeling of Regulus' ministrations keeps him right between asleep and awake, tilting his head up when it's time to rinse. If that wasn't enough, when Regulus leaves his side for a second, he peeks, seeing him quietly grab his expensive conditioner — that James is explicitly forbidden from using for being 'a heathen with no appreciation for good hair care"— and turning to spread it through his wet hair.
James has never felt this loved.
His limbs are next, each arm caressed as soap glides on his skin, massaging his tired shoulders and upper back before giving extra care to his biceps. Regulus will never admit it sober, but he adores them, and prefers holding onto them rather than James' hand when they're out and about. Drunk Regulus, however, will not let them go at any point of the night, unless it's to drag him away for more than a sneaky grope. This is him unguarded, tender, a raw version of him that no one else ever gets to see. A smile bleeds through James' exhaustion, and he feels a peck on his lips before Regulus moves on to clean his legs. He presses on the sides of James' thighs with his thumbs, dragging them up and down repeatedly to get rid of the tension that comes from being away from home for a while.
James fades away in the quiet, his clean body loose and sated, melting into the shower and close to becoming part of the wall himself. He thinks back on the choppy firecalls they had during his week away, the mornings that he woke up on the other side of the bed from chasing a body that was not there, and every second of new, colourful magic he witnessed and wished he had the company of his lover to share the marvel with.
Here, in their home, with gentle hands on his body, he is whole.
He is startled out of sleep when Regulus urges him to stand and the shower stops running. A slow blink later he's enveloped in a warm, fluffy cloud, and his hair is dried with a charm. He is tottered away to the bed, where the covers are already open and waiting for him. Before he is aware of it, the towel is off and he is lying on his side, his husband's body around him, legs tangled, holding him as the little spoon. His last conscious thought is that Regulus' feet are cold, even right out of the hot water.
When James comes to, all he feels is safe. His face is mushed against the blanket, and when he contracts his body, he finds himself hugging Regulus' middle. Face to hip, their legs are tangled together and he is held in both his arms, one caressing his back, the other burrowed in his hair as he reads, levitating a heavy, ancient looking tome on obscure magic, flipping the page wandlessly and wordlessly.
Bliss.
Regulus notices his stirring and caresses his face with a soft smile before going back to his book, giving him a second to come back to the land of the living.
"How late is it?" James finally gets out.
"Barely supper. Remus and Sirius got back from Wales two days ago, there is enough of Hope's stew to feed a herd of hippogriffs when you feel up to it."
"Not yet", he says with a happy sigh.
He dozes on, head in his lover's lap, content to want nothing in the world but to stay in bed with this man.