It's nice out. Late spring, the sun has set, the breeze cool but not cold. James closes his eyes for a minute and breathes in, letting the night fill his lungs, stars just starting to wink themselves into view.
"What about that one," he's on his back in the Quidditch stands, pointing up at the sky.
"Which one?" Regulus asks beside him.
"The group there, to the left of the moon."
"Oh to the left of the moon, well that clears it right up," Regulus says dryly and James elbows him.
"Those ones there you prat, the group that looks like a turtle."
Regulus lets out a juvenile snort that makes something warm pool in James's stomach. He turns his head to look at the other boy who's also lying on his back.
"I don't know what's so funny, it does look like a turtle," James says, shuffling just close enough that his words ghost over Regulus's neck. He grins as he sees the other boy shiver, eyes fluttering closed.
"I promise you it doesn't," Regulus says, a little breathlessly, and James likes that so much that he leans forward and plants a kiss just behind his ear, staying there for a few seconds before pulling back to look at the sky again.
"Oh, it totally does, look, right there," he uses his finger to connect the dots, "that's the shell and there's the neck and the head."
Regulus squints up at the sky. "You—oh Jesus Christ, Ophiuchus? You think Ophiuchus is a turtle? You really are an uncultured heathen aren't you?"
"Pfft, sorry I wasn't named after a bloody constellation."
"Regulus isn't a constellation, it's a star, thank you very much."
"If anything that's more embarrassing."
Regulus glares at him. "You know, I don't know where you get off mocking my name when you're the one named after the gay king. Bit on the nose don't you think? Overkill, even."
James blinks, looking over at him. "Wait. Really?"
Regulus rolls his eyes. "You don't know astronomy or history? Tell me, why do people think you're so smart again?"
"Was there really a gay king? Of England?"
Regulus lets out an exasperated sigh but James can tell that he's enjoying this. "James I of England and the VI of Scotland—had a string of young, very pretty, male lovers."
"No shit."
Regulus snorts. "Eloquent as always James."
"Please, call me your majesty."
"I definitely am not going to do that."
James grins wickedly, "Aw come on Reg," he tickles his side.
"Don't—James—" he's already giggling.
"Come here pretty male lover," he pulls a squirming Regulus on top of him, Regulus pitching forward, hands landing on either side of James's face. Their eyes meet and hold, the world no bigger than this—this moment between them, this breath, this look.
James reaches his hand up, fingers running through Regulus's hair, swooping down to cup his face.
"Will you bow to me Regulus?" he asks cheekily.
"Mm," Regulus turns and kisses the inside of his palm. "I could, but I'd rather get on my knees for you."
James almost chokes on his next inhale, Regulus smiling as he drops his head and brings their mouthes together. So much in James's life is a mess right now, but this, this has felt so right recently. This has been all good days. And James is grateful, because he's not sure how he'd be managing without it.
