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James must be sick. That’s the only explanation.
A fever high enough to make him delirious would have to be taking place, because nothing else could explain how he got the boy from the dancefloor kneeling in the filthy stall, lips stretched wide around him. A very high fever would explain the entire night: Remus vanishing almost two hours earlier, Evan pouring shots down James’s throat, the two impossibly beautiful boys laughing in the seats across from them… He’d have to admit they looked a tad too young for his usual liking, maybe starting their twenties, but still beautiful.
A fever probably wouldn’t explain how now his cock kept disappearing between those swollen lips like it belonged there, making James brace himself against the door, grimy paint flaking under his nails, just trying to stay aware enough to keep his body upright. Fevers also didn’t explain the filthy way the boy gagged then laughed around him, in a vicious, wet little choke that sent James’s vision sparking white at the edges.
Fevers had little to nothing to do with the slick pop every time the boy pulled back for air, spit clinging in long strings to James’ cock before his tongue curled, greedy, pulling him right back in.
The boy’s tongue was everywhere at once. Flattened wide to drag wet, sloppy swipes along the underside of James’s shaft, then curling tight to press against the thick vein pulsing there. Every time James bottomed out, that tongue spread flat again, hot and quivering, the very back of it flexing as the boy gagged. It was obscene, how purposeful it felt. Like he knew exactly where to press, where to tease, where to make James shudder and bite down on the back of his hand to keep from moaning loud enough to bring the whole bar down to the bathroom and risk ending whatever was going on there.
That was it. James must have been running a fever.
Because how else does he justify the sight in front of him? The press of flushed lips, the glide of a tongue, the dirty stall door biting into his palms as he tries to hold himself steady? He doesn’t even know the boy’s name. Fucking Christ, he doesn’t know a thing about him except the sharp flick of his eyes and the cruel little smirk when he pulls back for air.
Fever, that’s all. Fever and liquor. And well… Motherfucking Evan Rosier.
James is trying very hard to concentrate and not finish embarrassingly quick, but his body keeps trying to betray him. His hips twitching against his will, pulse frantic, mouth falling open on a sound he didn’t even recognize every time those lips slide down his cock. The boy’s head bounces back and forth, mouth stretched around him in ways not everyone could handle, the wet heat gripping him, pulsing along his thick shaft, teasing his tip before the gag reflex caught, threatening to make him lose control.
Fever is the only thing that makes sense, because otherwise James has to admit he doesn’t it to end, and that it feels closer and closer at each second.
This was supposed to be a celebration. Their celebration. Him, Remus and Evan, the three idiots who had somehow survived together through boarding school, college, and now grad school applications. A celebration of the three letters of acceptance into the PhD programs of their dreams, even when James didn’t even know he dreamed of becoming a PhD fellow. They’d promised themselves one night of stupid joy before the work swallowed them whole. James had imagined sticky floors and bad music, Remus with a cigarette between his fingers complaining and bitching about the anthropology program, Evan drinking himself under the table. He hadn’t imagined this. He hadn’t expected a perfect pretty boy on his knees, sucking the life out of him like this.
James forced his eyes open, and the sight almost undid him at the spot. The black shirt clinging too tightly to his narrow frame and his big gray eyes staring straight up, barely blinking and locked on his face, damp hair curling against his temples. James barely remembered how they’d end up there, just the feel of a small hand pushing under his shirt on the dancefloor, and then this, his cock vanishing between spit-slick lips, and him being swallowed deeper than anyone else had ever managed.
He plunged forward, helpless, into head and pressure. The boy gagged instantly, choking on him, coughing around his length in a wet, desperate stutter that sent shocks of pleasure all the way up and down James’ body. His hands shot at the stall door, nails dragging against the old paint, the other gripping tight at the boy’s nape. His hips jerked uncontrollably, rutting against that ruined throat, and every swallow dragged him closer to the brink.
“You don’t have to hold back, you know?” The boy came back for air, looking into James’ eyes with his watered ones. “You can fuck my face if you want, daddy.”
That fucking word detonated something inside James and it was all the incentive James needed, and the boy seemed to notice because he laughed as James drove himself harder, holding firmly to the boy’s hair and fucking his pretty mouth, slamming deep, feeling the gag reflex catch and release with each brutal push. The boy’s tongue was relentless, flicking along the underside of his shaft, circling the tip, stroking the thick vein in long, wet pulls, while the tight throat and slick lips pressed him in ways that had him gripping the hair at the nape like his life depended on it.
The boy’s throat stretched impossibly around him, trembling and convulsing with every ragged inhale. His eyes were full on streaming now, cheeks red, lips slick and trembling, trying to take all of him. Not everyone could handle James’ size, not to brag, but he knew that, not everyone could stretch wide enough, take him deep and thick while still swallowing, gagging, and bobbing just enough to drive him insane. James could feel every pull, every tight squeeze, every slick press against his tip, and it was exquisite torture.
“Fuck… Baby, God… So good, so fucking good!” he groaned, hips moving despite himself. Every bob of the boy’s head made his knees quake, every gag and cough hitting him like a wave of pleasure and panic. The stall was hot, close, every breath smelling of spit and sweat, and James had to fight not to collapse into the boy, lost in the raw heat of it.
He was struggling now, hands clutching at James’s thighs, tiny body trembling with effort as he tried to swallow, breath and take him at the same time, but not pushing away or trying to stop him. His throat clenched, sputtering, choking, gagging around the impossibly thick shaft, but he refused to let go, refusing to yield, teasing James with every desperate, wet gulp.
James hissed, leaning forward, hands tangling in damp curls, pulling his face up while ramming inside his mouth, forcing the boy’s eyes up to meet his. “Christ, baby… Look at me… Eyes up here, yeah… So good, you’re such a good boy… You’re taking me… Shit, so fucking good,” he panted, voice ragged, chest heaving. Every wet, strained swallow made him lose a little more control, pulse hammering, cock throbbing deep inside the small, unrelenting mouth.
The words come out strangled, rougher than he intended, but the boy only hums around him like that’s the response he wanted all along. James’s head thuds back against the stall door, a dull crack of bone against metal, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut before the world tilts completely out of control.
He doesn’t do this.
This is not who James is.
Well, not anymore.
At least not since him and Lily got married sixteen…
No, seventeen years earlier.
And even when he was with Lily, they had been dating for years before doing something remotely this filthy. But every instinct he has is short-circuited, overridden by the slick heat and the hand that grips his thigh like it owns him.
And maybe he could blame his divorce, but that happened five years earlier. He could blame the excitement for the PhD, or boredom, or a fever, or Rosier like he’d been doing for the past minutes, but truth is, he was in heaven. This was heaven.
“Christ,” The word broke on a gasp when that sharp little tongue pressed hard against the vein running up his length. James’s hips bucked helplessly, fucking into his throat before he could stop himself. He swore, half-apology, half-prayer, stilling his hips all at once, but the boy only held him tighter, small hand wrapping around the base of him, keeping the pace of his movements. “Baby, you feel so good, I swear, so fucking good but we have to stop. You need to get off, I’m going to–”
That earned him a breathless laugh, sharp and wicked, before the guy turned his head just enough for the words to fall between them.
“It’s okay, you can come on my mouth. I want it. Give it to me, daddy.” James couldn’t help but notice the way he dragged every syllable, his watery eyes had smudged make up around the corners. “Let me taste you.”
James swore, a guttural sound that broke in his throat, hips slamming forward with reckless force. His body seized, his hand fisting in damp curls and dragging him back down before his mind could catch up. His hips pistoned, filthy and desperate, cock punching deep into that tight throat again and again while spit and precum smeared down his chin.
“Christ, baby you’re– Fuck.” James rasped, teeth gritted and sweat dripping down his temple as he fucked his face harder. His hand clawed at the metal door, knuckles scraping as his body bowed. A broken sound tore from his throat, and he came, spilling inside the boy’s throat, his whole body spasming as he clenched down around him.
There he was, at thirty-six learning something entirely new about himself. The word daddy still ringing in his years as he tried to come down.
For a long moment James could only hear the wet pound of his own heartbeat, loud and fast, rattling his chest like it might crack him open. He blinked down at the boy still crouched before him, taking in his red lips, swollen and glistening.
A fever, James thought again, dazed. That had to be it. Because otherwise he’d have to face the truth: that he’d just lost himself in the mouth of a stranger.
He should say something. Anything. Ask his name, maybe. Apologize for coming in his mouth. But his tongue felt heavy, mouth dry, as if the word daddy had stolen his breath and lodged itself permanently in his chest.
The boy swallowed it down, licking his lips when he finally pulled off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and tilting his head with a soft small smirk James had noticed earlier on the dancefloor. Like he’d won something, even when James had handed it over so willingly.
James stuttered when he finally managed to find his voice. “I… Fuck… Look, I don’t usually… This isn’t…” He shook his head, words tripping uselessly over his tongue. His chest still heaved, shirt sticking to his back, like the heat hadn’t quite left him.
The boy laughed, tilting his head just enough as he got up. “Yeah? Could’ve fooled me. Fucked my face like a pro, daddy… If we had a little more time I’d let you fuck me right here, bet your cock would fill me up so good, but my friend is waiting for me outside…” He looked at his wrist watch and cursed. “And my brother said we have to go in ten.”
James swore again, cheeks burning this time, shame and want tangled together. He scrubbed a hand down his face, trying to ground himself, and when he lowered it his eyes locked on the boy’s swollen lips, that smug smile still curving them.
“At least…” His throat felt raw. He coughed, tried again. “Could you give me your number?”
The boy’s laugh came sharper this time, careless, opening the stall’s door and walking over to the sinks.
“Look, you’re really hot and nice and all that with that daddy vibe and that graying hair of yours really did something for me, but we don’t have to do this, eh?” he murmured, lips quirking, James noticed his voice had a soft accent, something that years of speaking english couldn’t erase. “We were dancing, you’re a little buzzed, I’m a little high. You’re hot, you have a huge fucking cock, it was great, but let’s not turn this into a thing, you don’t have to feel guilty or shame. It’s fine, we’re two strangers, I’ll be on my way and you and your blonde buddy can… Do whatever you two do? I actually have to grab the friend that’s chatting him up, hope that doesn’t make him too upset… I’ll get out first, give me five minutes, eh?”
James blinked at him, the words knocking the air out of his lungs harder than the orgasm had. We don’t have to do this. James wanted to argue, wanted to hold on to him a little longer, but something in the boy’s laugh made his stomach twist.
His hand twitched at his side, as though he might reach out and catch the boy before he slipped away, but he didn’t. Couldn’t. “That’s it?” he asked, voice rougher than he meant, still frayed at the edges.
The boy gave him a look over his shoulder, eyes glinting through the smudge of eyeliner, and smiled like he was in on a joke James hadn’t been told. “That’s it.”
“Okay, can I at least know your name, then?”
“Regulus. Name’s Regulus.”
“I’m James.”
“Nice to meet you James, your cock is absolutely delicious.” And then he was gone, pushing out of the stall, swallowed by the noise and light of the club as though he’d never been there at all.
James stayed where he was, back pressed against the filthy door, pulse hammering like it hadn’t gotten the message that it was over. His legs still trembled, his throat raw, and the word daddy still echoed in his ears, unforgiving and unshakable.
A fever. That had to be it.
It was the only logical explanation. His legs still felt like they were made of gelatin, and he had to press his hands against the cold, grimy walls of the hallway outside the bathroom just to stay upright.
He pushed himself away from the wall, his own reflection in the bathroom mirror was enough to tell what was going on, James threw some water over his face, fixing his hair and his shirt. This wasn't him. Well, it was, but it wasn’t at the same time. This wasn't the man who only a couple years earlier went home early to his wife and his well-ordered life. This was someone else entirely, someone divorced for the past seven years and desperate and just a little bit broken. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to smooth it, trying to smooth away the memory of a hand gripping his thigh, of a breathless whisper and a laugh like broken glass.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Evan.
[11:56 p.m] Evan – Biology dpt.
where tf are you?
remus left and you ditched???
are u n lupin fucking or smthing?
at least invite me if u are
James swallowed a laugh, he had to get rid of the guilt very quickly. He turned towards the main room, the thumping bass of the music hitting him again, like a physical blow. The lights flashed, strobing over a sea of dancing bodies, but James's eyes were searching, scanning the faces, looking for a flash of silver chain, for damp, curly hair and a cruel little smirk.
He didn't see him. Of course he didn't. Regulus was gone just like he promised he’d be, vanished as easily as he had appeared.
He found Evan by the bar, talking animatedly to a girl with long black hair. Remus, true to form, was nowhere to be found.
“There you are!” Evan clapped him on the shoulder, his grin wide and unconcerned. “I was starting to think you’d left me here too.”
“Something like that,” James muttered, reaching for a glass of water on the bar. His hand shook as he lifted it to his lips, and he had to grip it with both hands to keep it from rattling. “Where’s the guy you were talking to?”
“No clue, his other friend, the small one with big the gray eyes, came back over here a minute ago, grabbed him by the arm and vanished,” Evan said, his smile dimming slightly as he looked closer at James’s face. “Did you say something wrong to him? I thought you two had clicked but… Well, at least Barty gave me his number. I’ll see if I can hit it during the week, I’m not in a rush, I can take my time with that little freak.”
James forced a tight smile. “No mate, sorry, I was out alone. Having a smoke.”
“Oh well, no biggie. Guess they just wanted dumb old men buying them drinks,” Evan let it go, turning back to the girl with the long black hair. James stood there, feeling like an alien in his own skin, the thumping bass a counterpoint to the wild drumming of his heart. He felt a hand on his arm and flinched, turning to see the girl Evan had been talking to, a tall, graceful girl with sharp cheekbones and a curious look in her eyes.
"You're James, right?" she asked, her voice calm and a little breathless. "Evan's been talking about you since I sat here. I'm Emmeline."
Her gaze lingered on his, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "I was just thinking... you guys seem like a fun duo. You and Evan. Two's company, but three's a party, you know?" She let her eyes drift over his body without an ounce of shame, from his disheveled hair down to his damp shirt, and the smile widened just a fraction.
James's gut twisted. He had a sudden, terrifying image of Emmeline's smile blurring into Regulus's smirk. He felt a desperate urge to run, to put as much distance between himself and this place as possible. "I... I appreciate the offer, you’re beautiful, really. But I have to be going home," he said, the words coming out more sharply than he intended, a hurried excuse that felt flimsy even to his own ears. "My son has a school thing in the morning. Early start."
He felt a pang of guilt as the smile on her face faltered, replaced by a look of understanding that was almost worse than her initial proposition. "Oh, you’re a dad? Okay. Well, another time, maybe?"
He gave a small, apologetic shrug, already turning away. "Yeah. Maybe." He didn't wait for her to reply, just made a beeline for the exit.
Evan, sensing the shift, ran right after him. "Right, right, you've got to get home, dad of the year award. Let me walk you out." He threw a supportive arm around James's shoulder, steering him towards the exit. Outside, the cool night air hit James like a slap oon his cheeks. Evan swatted his arm playfully, "you owe me for that, mate. You just killed my vibe."
James laughed, a genuine, if slightly tired, sound. "Sure Rosier, when have you and I ever vibed like this together?"
“We’ve done a lot of things together, besides, I like first times,” Evan just shook his head, a wry grin on his face. "I’ll think about you when I vibe inside that girl later." He lowered his voice, knocking his forehead against James’ gently. "Send a hug to Harry and Lily for me tomorrow?"
“You’re absolutely disgusting, honestly.”
“You can taste disgusting whenever you want, Potter! One chance, I beg you!” Evan laughed, but he was already turning back to the club.
He drove to his new house on autopilot, the city lights blurring into streaks of color. The place was still a little on the sterile side, a couple of boxes of unassembled furniture piled against each other on the living room that he’d had no time to make his own since moving to the new neighborhood. He let himself in, the quiet click of the lock a final sound in a long night. He didn't bother to turn on the light, letting the faint glow from the streetlights filter through the window as he stepped into the shower.
He turned the water on, scalding hot, hoping to burn away the memory of the night. It felt good, the heat on his skin, but it couldn't wash away the feeling of the Regulus’ mouth on him. He scrubbed at his skin until it was red and raw, but it didn't help. Finally, exhausted, he turned off the water, wrapped a towel around his waist, and fell into bed, sleep claiming him immediately, but all his dreams had those big gray eyes.
xxx
James jolted awake with sunlight slicing through the blinds of his bedroom, the glare stabbing at his pounding head. The clock on his nightstand blinked 9:47 a.m., shit, he’d overslept. Harry’s game was starting in twenty minutes, and the field was a half-hour drive across town. His throat felt raw, memories of last night coming forward everytime he blinked. Regulus, the stall, that wicked smirk, all clinging to him like the sweat still damp on his skin. He shoved the thoughts down, scrambling out of bed, nearly tripping over a box with his books.
He threw on a crumpled shirt and jeans, splashing cold water on his face to shake off the haze. The mirror reflected bloodshot eyes and graying stubble. There was no time for a shower. He grabbed his keys, phone buzzing with a text from Lily: “Where tf are you? they’re warming up!” James swore under his breath, the guilt of last night mixing with the panic of being a bad dad.
The drive was a blur of honking horns and red lights, James’s knuckles white on the steering wheel as he wove through traffic. He cranked the radio to drown out his thoughts, but the bass only thrummed like his pulse had in that grimy stall. By the time he pulled into the crowded lot by the field, his heart was racing for all the wrong reasons.
Harry was already on the field, helmet in hand, sweat matting his dark hair as he finished drills with his teammates. Spotting his dad, he jogged over, a grin splitting his face. “Dad!” he called, voice bright with mock accusation. “You’re late! Thought you were gonna ditch. You’re lucky they’re having a problem with the field!”
“Sorry buddy! Traffic was… brutal,” James said, grinning despite the scratchy hoarseness in his voice. “You know how it is. I’d never ditch a game day. Is your mom around?”
“Uh-huh.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Yeah, she and aunt Marley had to head back to the car because they forgot sissy’s sippy cup or something like that, anyways, let me head back.”
“Break a leg, buddy!”
A familiar voice cut through the crowd’s hum. “Hey, Potter!” James turned around quickly to find Remus.
Remus waved, grinning, a tall man with long dark hair was leaning casually beside him while pointing to something at the field. “James, this is Sirius. Sirius, this is the guy I told you about last night, my best friend, the father of my godson.” He said to James, blushing gently when Sirius’s hand slipped into his. “We met at the bar yesterday, his brother is also on the team.”
James blinked. Sirius. Something about the eyes snagged at him, unsettlingly familiar, but he pushed the thought aside.
“You’re kidding me,” James muttered, opening a bright smile and offering a hand. “Small world, huh?”
“Exactly what I said!” Remus replied, slapping him on the shoulder.
“I’ve never seen you around before, I thought I had already met all the parents on the team… Or brothers, in your case.”
Sirius grinned, leaning on the railing. “We just moved down from Florida a couple months ago. Lucky timing, too because the little bastard got an early offer for Hogwarts on the same day he turned eighteen. Literature program.” His smile softened, pride sneaking into his tone. “Best birthday present he could’ve asked for. Saved me from having to buy the little bastard anything.”
James huffed a laugh, he knew exactly what it was like to feel pride of his kid’s achievements. “Oh that’s so cool! I just got accepted into their PhD program, actually. If he sticks with it, I might end up teaching him at some point.”
“That’d be something,” Sirius said warmly. “He was at the bar with me last night, him and his best friend, shame we didn’t get to meet... Me and Rem got busy.” He blushed and both men laughed, but James didn’t pry or try to think what they were busy doing. “I think my brother and this friend are more like boyfriends, honestly, but… They’re not ready to come out, and I’m sure as hell not gonna be the one dragging them out of the closet.”
“Oh yeah, I know exactly what you mean, I have a situation like that going on at my house too,” James’s smile widened for a split second. “Go on, show me which one’s yours.”
Sirius only hummed politely, and James’ eyes followed his gesture out to the field. His gaze landed on the kicker, small and wiry, adjusting the strap of his helmet before sending the ball soaring clean through the uprights. The motion was sharp, graceful, practiced.
“Malfoy’s kid?” James asked, frowning slightly. “That’s my home situation, Remus, was my fucking kid at the bar last night? He’s seventeen!” His voice came high pitched because the thought of Harry coming inside the bathroom at any time made him want to puke, die, be swallowed by the Earth. “I also didn’t know he had a brother.”
Sirius laughed. “Malfoy, really? But no, that’s my cousin. Blond little prick. He’s out sick today, so my brother’s filling in. He was the kicker back on his old team, so it worked out.” Sirius’s smile softened, fond. “My brother’s called Regulus.”
James froze. The name hit like a body blow. His stomach lurched, breath catching in his throat as his eyes locked onto the boy on the field.
Regulus.
Fuck.