AN: For Amber (Cheeky Slytherin Lass)
Thank you to Anna (SnarkyAndProudHufflepuff) for the lovely challenge to help me get this written down :) (Even though I'm horribly late!)
Chapter Titles Challenge: #92 – You can't go home again / Greek Mythology Category Competition - Aphrodite
Anything from the trolley? (inspiration challenge) - Shock-o-choc: "I want to live before I die. It's the only thing that makes sense."
Slang (thank you, Anna!):
Doll – An attractive woman, carry a torch – have a crush on someone, earful - enough
Warnings: Sexually suggestive dialogue, but nothing explicit :)
You Can't Go Home Again
Prosperity. It's in the air that's reverberating with the sound of jazz and clinking beads on flapper dresses. Regulus takes a deep breath of it, somehow hoping that he can preserve the feeling of this moment in his chest.
The meeting he had exited moments before had been a success—recently, everything seems to be.
After inheriting your father's business aged only eighteen, you seemed to have surprised everyone with your negotiating skills and instinctually good business decisions.
Regulus enters the street he lives in; it's a classy area. As he strides over to his garden gate, Regulus smiles sadly at the peeling paint on the planks of wood. He's going to have to call a painter round. There's nobody else to do it.
Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Regulus enters the neatly trimmed garden and unlocks the front door, entering a house of silence.
Ever since Sirius left, the house hasn't been the same. Then Father passed away… and your mother fell ill to an illness that claimed her life.
Regulus shakes his head, loosening his tie as he walks up the un-creaking stairs to his room. Rodolphus and Rabastan, the two brothers whose company he just scored a deal with, want to take him out to some new club tonight. It won't do to dwell on the past when he's meant to be having a good time.
Sirius is out there having a good time—living; sometimes, word gets back to him about his older brother's antics. His mother and father were the opposite, and Regulus shudders slightly at the thought of how it would feel to waste a life conforming to other peoples' expectations.
You want to live before you die. It's the only thing that makes sense.
Right on time, at half-past seven, Regulus hears a knock on his door. When he answers it, he's immediately pulled out, by the hand, onto his quiet street by Rabastan and Rodolphus.
"Come on! I've been waiting for this club to open for the past two months," whines Rabastan, already rushing down the road.
"Give me a second to recover myself, at least!" exclaims Regulus and Rodolphus chuckles.
"It's one of them new jazz clubs; Rab's been obsessed with them recently," he says, not noticing Regulus' uncertain expression. He's only heard whispers about the clubs. His neighbours think they're immoral—young girls shouldn't be parading around with so much makeup on…
Then again, his neighbours are quite old.
He doesn't have time to think any longer though, as Rabastan has rushed back and is pulling him by the hand again.
They're two streets away from the club; Regulus has no way of knowing this, but from the drunken shouts that sound uncomfortably close already, Regulus knows they're nearing it.
Running his tongue over his lips, he asks, "Are you sure this is a respectable establishment?"
His voice comes out as a croak, and Regulus wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole when he hears Rabastan snort. Of course, he keeps his face straight and his chin remains stubbornly in the air.
Rodolphus is nicer about it. "It's just a regular jazz club. It's liable to be a bit rowdy tonight since it's opening night!"
The trouble is, Regulus doesn't know what a 'regular jazz club' is like; however, there's no mistaking the flush of excitement over the brothers' faces… perhaps this won't be so bad?
As they round the corner of the last street, Regulus gasps in horror. There's a huge line of people, all of them laughing raucously or kicking bits of glass away from them moodily. "Surely we're not waiting in that line!"
"Of course we aren't," says Rabastan, and Regulus lets out a sigh of relief. "We know the owner; he's called Barty—an old friend."
As Rabastan turns round again, Rodolphus leans in conspiratorially. "His father's a big businessman—wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this. Somehow, Crouch Sr., Barty's dad, found out and they got into a huge argument. He's managed to keep this place a shameful secret from his snobby friends, but for precaution, Barty's been disowned."
Regulus' eyes widen at the casual, slightly amused tone Rodolphus is using. In his mind, being disowned is the height of shame—then he feels a twinge of guilt, because Sirius was disowned, and Regulus knows that he would never be ashamed of his brother, despite their differences.
Any thoughts Regulus had about excusing himself are gone now as the three men are ushered in through the entrance without having to wait. Those who are still queueing look at them jealously, eyeing their expensive, 'casual, smart' attire with hungry eyes.
The sound of a saxophone weaves its way towards Regulus and he can't help but smile at the sound of laughter coming from somewhere nearby.
"You look like you're already enjoying yourself," says Rabastan, and Regulus can hear the smug grin in his voice.
It's a good job that he can, because the corridor they're stood in is dimly lit.
"Let's go into the actual club first," says Rodolphus, swinging open a door, and just like magic, all the sounds are amplified and light falls on the three men.
Rabastan doesn't even wait, diving headfirst into the crowd. Rodolphus smiles and hurries after him, without any sort of advice as to what Regulus should do.
It doesn't look like they needed to, as a woman wearing a dress his mother would pass out upon the sight of, approaches him and wraps her arm around him.
So forward.
"Hey, Doll?" she says, snapping her fingers in his face, and Regulus does his best to suppress the irritation that comes from being addressed as 'doll' and the rudeness of having fingers snapped in his face.
"Yes?" he responds coldly, but the woman only laughs.
"You look a bit lost. Have you been to a jazz club before?" she asks, and Regulus raises his eyebrows. Is it that obvious that he's never frequented such an establishment before? "Shall I show you around?"
Regulus thinks on it for a moment, sizing up the woman with distaste. She's far too forward, and her wandering eyes make him uncomfortable. "I'd rather you showed me to the bar," he says, finally.
She nods, and turns round, disappearing into the crowd. Regulus follows as quickly as he can, glancing at the huge, floor-to-ceiling curtains before he's swallowed into the mass of people.
It's like he's entered another universe. Red-painted nails reach for him as he pushes through the densely packed dancefloor, some managing to grab his hand, others missing by mere inches. He's sweating and thoroughly discomfited by the time he breaks free of the pressing bodies. His guide is waiting with her hands on her hips, and smirks as she sizes him up once more with lustful eyes.
In the awkward moment of silence, between the two of them, the club is still full with the music coming from the band onstage, Regulus cringes as a lock of his thick dark hair falls in front of his eyes. Just how dishevelled does he look?
"Here's the bar," she says, and struts off.
He almost wants to call her back, not wanting to be alone in this strange place, but he doesn't. As he turns around to the bar, his grey eyes lock with a pair of chocolate brown ones. Maybe he'll get some help from the bartender?
He flicks the hair from his face and struts over, the picture of confidence in this foreign place. Of course, it's easy to act for Regulus; he's had to do it a lot in his life.
You were fine with Sirius leaving. You didn't need an irresponsible older brother, right?
"Could I order a drink?" asks Regulus, raising his voice above the music. He's still making eye contact with the blond bartender—it never broke.
The other man's eyes rake up and down Regulus' dishevelled form, and quite suddenly, he has to suppress a shiver.
"What would you like?" asks the bartender, his tongue darting out from between his lips to run over them. Regulus' gaze is drawn to the muscle. He's slightly mesmerised.
"The best drink you do," says Regulus, gulping and levelling his gaze at the bartender.
He's smirking—like he knows just the effect his previous action is having on Regulus.
Why is it even having an effect? This place is putting him out of sorts—yes, that's what it is!
But when the bartender lifts up an emerald green bottle with a silver snake curled around it and his pale, slender fingers run down the scales, Regulus can't hold back his shiver and finds his mouth quite dry.
"Have you tried this drink before?" asks the bartender, sounding amused.
Regulus is snapped from his daze and stutters out, "N—no." The moment the word comes out of his mouth, Regulus wishes he can take it back, compose himself, and try again. But, of course, he can't.
"It's the most expensive item on the menu… and for good reason." As the bartender pours the liquid out into an irregularly shaped glass, he continues, "What's your name?"
Regulus is surprised by the question, but he doesn't show it. "My name is Regulus. Regulus Black."
He smirks at the way the bartender's eyebrows raise. "Owner of the big business, right?"
"The one and only." Now, this is what he's used to. "What's your name?"
A grin appears on the bartender's face, and only after he's said his name does Regulus register just how wicked it is. "Barty. Barty Crouch Jr."
It's Regulus' turn to raise his eyebrows, but his reply is cut off by five, giggling girls who ask for water. They've had enough alcohol for tonight, they say whilst batting their long eyelashes at Barty.
It's the first time he's seen the man uncomfortable.
Rabastan's voice sounds next to his ear, making him jump and Barty's attention is drawn to them. He looks just in time to see Regulus' cheeks flush and lets out a bark of laughter.
Honestly, you're surprised they weren't red before—the heat in the club is almost stifling.
Then, as Regulus is about to take the first sip from his drink, Rodolphus appears and pulls him out of his seat.
"You've been sat here for too long!" he exclaims. "Come on the dancefloor."
And Regulus doesn't even get to open his mouth in protest before he's plunged headfirst into the boisterous crowd. Everyone looks like they're moving to the music, but Regulus doesn't know quite what to do… the last dance he remembers attending is a ball.
"You know, Barty, you could have tried a little bit harder to conceal what you were thinking," says Rabastan, leaning over the bar, sporting a cheeky grin.
Barty downs the drink intended for Regulus. It wouldn't do to waste it. "I don't know what you're talking about," he murmurs, but Rabastan can hear him.
"I'm not entirely inconsiderate—I was keeping an eye on him and what did I see? You trying your best to make the poor guy flustered."
Barty's eyes widen at the statement, and Rabastan knows his suspicions are correct.
But Barty isn't one to be ashamed of his feelings, and Rabastan is glad to see his cocky grin return as soon as it disappeared. "So what if I was? It was fun."
Rabastan narrows his eyes. "Ah, but you see… I can tell exactly what you're thinking still."
"And what is that?" asks Barty, rolling his eyes.
"I can tell that your teasing wasn't quite enough fun for you."
"What are you suggesting?"
"You want more."
Nobody seems content with just leaving him be on the dancefloor. Regulus has been unable to bat off all the hands that pull him in for a quick dance and then let him go just as suddenly, leaving him quite disorientated.
Somebody pats him on the back, and he's about to turn around and tell them to leave him, when they speak, close to his ear—and he recognises the voice. Barty.
"Would you like to dance?" he repeats, once Regulus is facing him.
What would Mother say?
The thought almost makes him reject the other man's offer, but then: You want to live before you die, don't you?
It's what gives him the courage to smile and place his hand in Barty's outstretched palm. Barty immediately begins moving to the music, but he doesn't let go… and soon enough, Regulus loosens up and begins to move in his own way, not copying his partner like he had been previously.
The music changes, from melodic and smooth to fast and energetic and Regulus finds himself pulled into a clumsy sort of Charleston, including the people around him and Barty.
Halfway through the song, he's pushed out of the crowd with Barty stumbling after him. It's the other man's smirk that makes Regulus realise that it was him that pushed him.
Barty strides forward, dragging a confused Regulus along, and pulls him behind one of the long curtains he was admiring before.
"What are you doing?" he breathes, unsure but quite certain about what is coming.
"How do you like the club?" asks Barty. Regulus can see his flushed cheeks, even in the shadow of their cover. Regulus feels his heart drop in disappointment, and Barty laughs.
When he looks up to see just what is so amusing, a pair of hands grab his waist and pull him close. "You know exactly what I'm doing," says Barty, in a voice so low, it's almost a growl.
Everything about the man seems to make a shiver run through him, and his voice is no exception.
"I don't know whether you do that on purpose," murmurs Barty, and Regulus is about to say that he doesn't when he continues, "but Doll, you have no idea what it does to me."
And then Regulus is pulled flush against the owner of the club, and their lips meet in a heady mix of the alcohol consumed earlier, sweat from the dancing and their own, natural tastes. Both men's oxygen supply are cut off; they're taking what they need from each other and Regulus has no consciousness of how much time has passed since he entered this club, but his mind is screaming one thing:
You can't go home again—not as the man you were before. You're addicted to this place already.
Why doesn't he mind being called 'Doll' by this man? Why is he so wickedly irresistible?
When the sound of other people slipping behind the curtain meet their ears, the two of them jump apart, only to hear familiar laughter.
"I told you he was carrying a torch!"
"You win, Rab."
"I'll take my money once we're out of here."
Regulus is mortified beyond belief, but when he hears Barty laugh, he relaxes slightly.
"It's time to go home, Reggie," says Rabastan, and Regulus meets his daring glare in the darkness of the curtain.
"Oh, we're going home," says Barty, moving closer to Regulus as he gasps at the forwardness.
Rodolphus snorts. "And I've had an earful."
The four gentlemen laugh, concealed behind the curtain. Regulus is still a bit embarrassed, but when Barty's arm snakes around his waist, he grins.
He'll be visiting jazz clubs more often.