Angel ⟡ Regulus Black.

IX. The Devil's Lips Are Divine

             Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore's speeches, as much as they were intriguingly ambiguous, were starting to feel like a bore. The man with an enviously long beard and twinkling blue eyes (ones that held more than Maya could ever comprehend) that hid behind half—moon glasses stood at the front of the sea of crimson reds, emerald greens, sapphire blues and topaz yellows as he reinstated the basic rules for every school year.

     "...Now, before we disperse, I must talk about the world beyond these four walls. Times are troubled, and though the fear displaced is one of complete understanding, we must strive to stand together in order to face it, for our true allies lie in the ones we believe in. Have faith in those allies and trust that the dark will evade. For our victory lies everywhere, in the deepest crevices of darkness, but only if we learn to trust those around us. Now, off to bed, chop, chop."

     At those last words, Maya jumped up from her seat, the Head Boy's motions mirroring her own as the two assisted the rest of the prefects to help out the curious first years.

"Nikolai! We did it!" cheered Maya goofily, laughing when her partner let out a groan. Nikolai Johansen, or more commonly known as Kol, was the other half of the head of the student body, with tantalising whiskey-brown eyes and a head of soft and messy brunet hair.

"For the thousandth time, it's Kol! When will you get that?"
"Maybe someday, most likely never. You should have figured that by now."
"God, you're a pain in the arse."
"You signed up for a whole year of this, remember?" Kol rolled his eyes.
"Oh, how I regret that now."

Although the two had known each other since the beginning of their academic lives, they'd only officially become immediate friends upon meeting in the train that morning.

     "Do you want to maybe head to the kitchens?" asked Maya, smiling up at the tall boy who nodded eagerly.

     Under the pretence of taking rounds, the two headed down to the dungeons, chatting with great admiration about anything their trains of thought led to.

      The two were just about to enter when they heard a rustling sound behind them, coming from one of the rooms. Looking down the girl who signalled for the boy to leave even after his multiple attempts of saying they could go together, she headed towards the source of the noise, only to let out a scoff. It was who she suspected it to be.

She could smell money... the very distinct smell of wood, spice and vanilla.

"Reginald Black, to what do I know the pleasure?"

Simply smirking at the girl, Regulus stalked towards her in long strokes, appreciating the girl's shortened school skirt as well as the knee-high white stockings and black-heeled boots, making the girls hips sway ever the slightest more sensually when she stepped forward, arms still crossed as she watched the grey-eyed boy.

"Not even a few hours and you can't seem to get enough of me," he whispered, now within distance that he'd be able to touch her, but waited until she let him to do so. Once she nodded in consent, he moved his right hand that was hovering to caress her cheek gently.

"Are you sure it's not the other way around? You've always known I come to the dungeons every first day."

It was true, she'd noticed the boy tucked away into the dark crevices of the stone walls whenever she and her loud group of friends marched to the kitchens every first night.

"You didn't deny it."
"Neither did you."

Shuffling to stand closer, Regulus pulled the girl to stand chest to chest with a smooth grab of her waist, the stumbling girl steadying herself by holding onto his arms.

There was an intense need for Regulus to draw himself as close to the girl as possible, an undeniable desire of being one with the girl as hazel, doe-like eyes looked up into his own grey ones that were so overpowered by the feeling that they'd grown dark, hooded.

Surging forward, the boy connected his lips with the soft, plump ones of the Gryffindor in his arms as her own hands slid up his arms, hooking around his neck at the intensity he'd sprung upon her.

Shuffling with Regulus' steps, Maya felt her the coolness of the stone walls as Regulus pressed his body flush against her own, tongue swiping her bottom lip, gaining access with ease.

Pulling apart, Maya followed Regulus' command, hooking her legs around his waist as he held her up, hands working feverishly to loosen the silver and green tie around the Black heir's neck while he busied himself with creating an artwork of his own upon the expanse of mocha-coloured skin.

"Angel," Regulus groaned, hips moving in accord with the girl as agile hands moved up the girl's untucked shirt. Maya abandoned her attempt at unknotting the boy's tie as she tugged at his belt buckle, head resting in the crook of Regulus' neck who was shamelessly engraving the patterns of the Head Girl's body into his mind.

"Oh, fuck— Reg, wait," she panted upon hearing the soft pattering of feet, one too light to be thaf of a human. It was an elf. She was about to give into the Black's skilled ministrations that had her keening in his touch when she remembered the brown-eyed boy she'd left at the kitchens. "Shit, Kol!"

Pushing off the boy who was taken by surprise at the girl's sudden exclamation, the girl worked swiftly to button up her shirt and tuck it back into her skirt as she smoothened the creases, running a hand through her hair.

"Is it okay?"
"Kol? Who the fuck is Kol?" asked Regulus, discreetly trying to adjust himself as the girl started heading for the door.

"The Head Boy. And you would've known that of the only thing you were thinking of during our meeting on the train was fucking me."

"Can you blame me? Look at you!" Regulus exclaimed, eyes once again trailing from the girl's disheveled hair, the perfectly reddish-purple splotches on her neck that trailed down her shirt, the tie hanging loosely around her neck, and the way her hips moved so gracefully as she walked towards the kitchens.

Maya Chekhov would be the death of him.