friday - jegulus - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 408

Regulus could handle himself. He’d been telling overly-confident, macho men to fuck off for years, thanks, and he was very capable of doing so on his own. 

But he couldn’t deny that he was a bit relieved when, after five-or-so minutes of trying to let down Mister Let-Me-Treat-You-Right that evening, James Potter walked up to them, stony-faced and determined.

“Reg!” James called, immediately putting an arm around his waist, pulling him tighter to him than they’d ever been before, causing him to shiver. “Hi, baby! Sorry I’m late! You know how Fridays are at work.”

Regulus knew what James was doing. Clearly, he’d been out with some friends and picked up on Regulus’s obvious signs of annoyance and distress from across the bar, so he’d decided to help. This wasn’t real–this wasn’t real.

The man who had been trying to pick him up glared. “You have a boyfriend?” he demanded, like Regulus had personally offended him.

He tried to stay calm. “I’ve been trying to tell you I’m not interested,” he said flatly, leaning into James like it was something he did every day.

“Liar,” the man spat.

Regulus was tempted to tell him exactly where he could shove his dick but instead, James just chuckled lowly. “C’mon, love. Let’s leave him to sulk and go dance.”

And so he found himself dragged onto the dancefloor, pulled close to James’s body.

“Is this okay?” the taller man murmured into his ear as he turned Regulus away from him and pressed his back to his chest, making Regulus inhale sharply. “I just saw you over there and–”

“Yes.” He wasn’t sure if he was answering James’s question or reacting to the lips ghosting over his earlobe, but either way, he was so good. Allowing James to guide his hips to the music, he quickly forgot about the man at the bar, focused only on the man behind him.

Until James muttered. “He’s still looking. Can I–”

“Whatever you want,” he answered, dazed head full of ideas of what James could be doing.

A hand turned Regulus’s face, James leaned slowly over, and…their lips connected. 

And yes, maybe it had started for show. But as their tongues tangled and their hips swayed, Regulus’s mind went hazy and his fingers moved to tangle with James’s hands that were splayed over his ribs. He melted, completely forgetting everything but the other man behind him.

Maybe this was a little bit real.

Friday - Rosekiller - @taylorswiftmicrofic - 300 words - AO3

Barty groans as he flops onto his bed. “I’m so glad it’s Friday. Do you know who invented school? I want to steal a time turner and kill them before they do.” 

“There is not one single person who invented school, but Horace Mann is often regarded as the person responsible for the modern school system,” Evan replies as if that is a basic fact everyone knows. 

“Wanna go kill him with me, Rosie?” 

He looks up at him, smirking. “Best date ever.” 

Barty jumps onto the other’s bed, seizing his lips with his own. 

“Bee, you’re crumpling my homework,” he mutters. 

“Since when did you care about homework? Besides, we’re going to kill that fucker and then there’ll be no more school.” 

“I care about homework because you’re always doing better than me in tests without studying at all and it drives me crazy.” 

“You know what drives me crazy?” Evan raises an eyebrow, and Barty leans in, gazing into his eyes as their lips are a breadth width away from each other. “You sitting there looking so perfect and not being allowed to sink my teeth into your neck.” 

He is silent for a moment before moving his head to better expose his neck, and Barty doesn’t need to be told twice, biting every inch of skin he can. “Fuck, you’re so gorgeous,” he murmurs between each bite. “Utterly breathtaking. Perfect. Just as fucked up as me.” 

Eventually, he pulls away to marvel at the teeth marks, and he cannot wait to see them all bruised tomorrow. 

“Come here,” Evan says, wrapping a hand around his neck and pulling him into a desperate kiss. Barty thinks he can suffer through school for the rest of his life if this is his reward for making it through each day. 

“Your boy, Rozanov, is causing quite a stir out there,” JJ chuckles from where he’s looking down at his phone, sitting a few cubby’s down from Shane.

“Is he getting ambushed?” Shane laughs, trying to mask his nervousness. He and Ilya have only been out for a few months, and after so many years of hiding, he can’t help the part of him that instinctively panics at any mention of them being together.

It’s not often that a MLH player makes an appearance at a game that is not their own, but when Ilya had told Shane he would be coming to his Friday night game along with his parents – a rare occurrence where their schedules had allowed it – they had both braced for this sort of reaction.

“Something like that,” JJ says, holding his phone up for Shane to see.

On the screen is a post on Instagram; two men in their Metros jerseys posing for a photo with Ilya in the stands. But as it turns out, it isn’t just Ilya’s presence that seems to be causing chaos, it’s the Metros jersey he’s wearing.

Pulling out his own phone, he texts Ilya: Since when do you have a Metros jersey???

Since twenty minutes ago, comes his reply, along with a photo that’s clearly been taken in the arena foyer in front of a floor to ceiling poster of Shane.

His back is to the camera, showing off the 24 on his back and the Hollander across his shoulders, which is doing things for Shane that he will be revisiting when they get home tonight. But it’s the way Ilya’s looking over his shoulder at the camera with the biggest grin on his face that has blood rushing into Shane’s cheeks, his lips tugging up into an equally smitten smile of his own.