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residentrookie · 1 month ago

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karma coming back around for seconds

summary: regulus survived a car accident just for his injuries to result in crippling sciatic nerve pain. james, his physical therapist and husband, helps him through it; 1998 words, married jegulus hurt/comfort, physical therapist/patient // part 2! & part 3!

“James?”

It takes a moment for his husband to respond. “Yeah?” he calls, his voice is muffled and far off sounding. He must be in the basement.

“It’s happening again!”

Regulus’ eyes are squeezed shut but he hears the heavy thud of fast footsteps racing up the stairs. The sound changes once he hits the hardwood of their kitchen and Regulus breathes a little easier knowing he’s close. That he can help or at the very least be with him while his body turns against him so completely.

“Where?” James demands, coming up behind him, his hands settling on Regulus’ shoulders. His touch is familiar as always, but his tone is professional— he’s got his work voice on, the one that Regulus used to think was attractive until he became one of James’ patients himself and stopped finding it quite so charming.

Still, James’ voice will never not be a sound he doesn’t love.

“My— hip,” Regulus gasps as the pain amps up another degree. “The right one.”

James’ hand travels to the area, squeezing lightly. “Here?”

Regulus can only bite his lip and nod.

“When did it start?” James asks and his fingers sink deeper into flesh just beneath his hip bone, making him wince.

“It, um. It hurt when I woke up this morning. I think I slept in the same position for too long, I don’t know. It was just sore at first, but now—” he can’t help the muffled cry that leaves his lips. Only pain can lower his defenses like this. He fucking hates it. He hates how weak this has made him.

James, all business, makes no comment on his slip. “Would you describe the pain as a low, dull throb or white hot stabs?”

“White hot,” Regulus hisses, leaning further over the sink as his fingers grip the edges. “Poker. Stabbing me.”

And then James’ fingers dig into the muscle so deeply Regulus actually yells out loud. He slaps a hand on the granite counter, turning on James. “Whatever the fuck you’re doing hurts worse, you dick!” he seethes at his husband, who to his credit, doesn’t even flinch.

Throughout this process, Regulus has called him much worse.

But it’s not fair, really, that this job should fall on James at all. Initially, Regulus wanted a different physical therapist— one he wasn’t married to and didn’t sleep with and didn’t love with his whole fucking heart. But James couldn’t exactly help that he was the best at his job. And in addition to that, he had the advantage of knowing Regulus’ body intimately. If anyone was going to help him heal physically, it was the same person who’d helped him heal in every other aspect long before the accident.

“I’m sorry,” Regulus pants, turning back around and hanging his head tiredly. “I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t mean it. It just fucking hurts.”

James’ lips press softly against his neck, just below his hairline. “I know. I know it does.”

After Regulus’ car was hit from behind by a drunk driver doing 90 in a 45, all he knew for the longest time was pain in varying degrees. The sting of needles constantly going in and out of his arms. The ache in his lower back, dulled by drugs so strong they robbed him of most of his faculties for weeks. The sharp stabbing pains from the surgery scars that pulled every time he moved.

The look on his husband’s face every time he saw him, knowing there wasn’t a single thing he could do to make all that pain go away.

Regulus had healed— slowly, but surely. The pain became more palatable. Treatable. He started walking again, managing longer distances than the length of the hospital hallways. When the doctors deemed him ready, he started physical therapy with his husband, as wary as he was by that prospect. James was a doting, affectionate and loving husband, but hard, ruthless bastard of a physical therapist. Still, he was damn good at his job. And for a time, things started to get better. They started to get so good, so close to even a semblance of normal, that Regulus made the mistake of letting down his guard.

The sciatic nerve pain that started a few weeks ago was a kind of pain Regulus didn’t feel he deserved. As if the car accident wasn’t enough. As if karma was coming back around for seconds.

The doctors had the audacity to tell him that this sort of thing was normal for lower back injury cases like his. They informed him that pain like this sometimes developed over time, and in some cases, never went away. And the best thing about sciatic nerve pain? If the case was critical enough, if the nerves were damaged enough, there was no known cure for it.

Regulus’ case was deemed critical.

“Can you rate it for me, please?” James murmurs softly. “The pain?”

So far, Regulus has experienced sciatica as low as a 2 and as high as an 8. But this…

“Nine,” he whines. Another wave of pain hits and for a moment he sees white behind his closed lids. “James, I can’t stand up anymore. I can’t, it hurts—”

His legs give out as the pain shoots from his hip and burns its way down the back of his thigh. James catches him before he hits the ground, pulling him up and back against him, taking his pain-riddled body and holding it close.

“I’ve got you,” James tells him. It’s an unnecessary reassurance. Regulus has always known that much.

When Regulus had come home from the hospital, they’d made the decision to relocate their bedroom from the master upstairs to the guest room on the main floor. As James carries him towards their room, Regulus has the brief reassurance that at least James doesn’t have to haul him all the way up the stairs. If James was carrying anyone up the stairs, Regulus didn’t want it to be him— he’d much rather prefer standing contentedly at the bottom of the steps, enjoying the view.

James lays him down gently on their bed before vanishing from the room again. Moaning, Regulus turns on his good side.

“Can you bring me my pills, please?” Regulus shouts. He hates taking them, but he keeps them around for times like these where the pain is too intense for him to care.

“What have you had to eat today?” James asks as he comes back in, carrying a few items that Regulus can’t quite decipher in the dim light.

When he doesn’t immediately answer, James presses him again. “Reg? Have you eaten?”

“I was making breakfast when…” he sucks in a breath. “No. I haven’t eaten.”

“Do you feel like eating now?”

Regulus opens his eyes to glare up at him. “Do you feel like cleaning vomit off the floor?”

“Not particularly,” James responds mildly, which makes Regulus feel instantly guilty. “If you haven’t eaten I can’t give you painkillers that strong. This will have to do for now.” He grabs Regulus’ hand and deposits two Advils in his palm, then holds a glass of water in front of his face. Regulus pops them in his mouth and takes a gulp before settling back down with a groan. “You can take more in a few hours.”

“‘S not gonna do shit,” Regulus grumbles petulantly. James ignores him.

“I’m gonna flip you on your stomach. Ready?” Regulus doesn’t get the chance to respond before he does so, which briefly makes him wonder why James even asked in the first place. The movement doesn’t make him hurt any worse, so he decides to let it go.

“I need access to the pain point, so I’ll have to slide off your shorts and underwear, okay?”

“Is my husband seriously asking my permission to take off my pants?” Regulus snarks into the pillows.

“Consent is a beautiful thing, dickhead,” James snarks back, for the first time sounding like his real, non-professional self. “Plus, it’s habit. I’m used to talking this way with my patients.”

“Of which I am one,” Regulus points out. “But you don’t do a lot of home visits asking to take off your patient’s pants, I’m guessing.”

“Only my favorites,” James replies easily and Regulus almost laughs. He feels his shorts disappear first and then his underwear.

There’s nothing sexual about James’ capable touch, but the warm hands roving over his hips still makes him shiver.

“Is it still just your right hip?” James asks him, exploring the area gently.

“Mm it’s migrating down. The whole back of my leg now.”

“Alright.” James’ hands disappear briefly and Regulus hears a bottle cap open nearby before closing again. “This is going to feel cold, but try not to tense up,” James warns him before his hands return, this time coated in a cool sort of gel.

Despite James’ warning, he does tense at the chill and is rewarded with a sharp stab of pain shooting down his leg. But as James’ fingers return to the pain point, as he’d called it earlier, Regulus feels his heart rate spike with fear.

“James, I’m serious. Whatever you did in the kitchen really did hurt, so please don’t—”

“Regulus, listen to me. A deep tissue massage will ease the pain, I promise you. I wouldn’t put you through this if I didn’t know what I was talking about.”

Ridiculously, Regulus feels hot tears fill his eyes. The rational part of his brain knows that James is the expert here. He knows that James would never, ever do anything to hurt him that wasn’t going to help him in the long run. But right now, all Regulus can think about is his own pain. And the thought of James being the one to deliver it makes him frantic in a way that isn’t rational at all.

“I just want it to stop,” Regulus says miserably, choking on the words.

James leans down, placing a kiss on his hot, wet cheek. “I’ll make it go away, baby. Trust me,” James pleads softly. “Just trust me.”

Regulus would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt. It hurt like a motherfucker. It hurt so bad, Regulus screamed and begged and cried for breaks. But between each one, he felt the stabbing sensation dull to a low, pulsing ache. James’ strong hands were no match for the pain that lived just beneath the surface of his skin.

By the time James is through, he feels almost boneless, limbs sagging from exhaustion and relief. James had turned him on his side and shoved a pillow between his knees, claiming the position was best for sciatica.

Distantly, he hears the water running in their sink— likely James getting off the remaining traces of Icy-Hot from his fingers. Regulus doesn’t bother opening his eyes as he walks back in, so close to falling asleep now, there’s no point in fighting it.

“James?” he slurs tiredly. “Come to bed.”

It doesn’t matter that it’s morning still and they technically have no right to be napping so soon after waking up.

“In a second,” James promises. “I have to strap an ice pack to your ass first and then I’ll be right there.”

“So presumptuous of you,” Regulus tuts. “Talking to your patients like that.”

“I thought my husband wanted me to be less professional.”

“Your husband wants you to come cuddle him after you tortured him for thirty straight minutes,” Regulus replies. Then, feeling guilty for being so harsh, tacks on, “Also he loves you very much.”

James huffs a laugh and Regulus cracks open an eye to see him approach, his eyes warm and familiar and belonging entirely to the man he married. “I love you too.”

“Enough to leave off strapping the freezing cold ice pack to my ass?” Regulus asks hopefully.

James, damn him, just shakes his head regretfully. “Afraid not, husband.”

#i really ended up falling in love with these two while writing this 😭😭😭😭#hurt/comfort being the trope of all time just DOES IT FOR ME IDK #and as someone with sciatic nerve pain (no where NEAR as bad but still) this story does resonate w/ me #physical therapist james does something to me. also.#jegulus #jegulus microfic #jeggy #james potter #regulus black #james potter x regulus black #mauraders #hurt/comfort

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