- ʀᴇɢᴜʟᴜs ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ
"You. Me. Hogsmeade. Tomorrow" Romie demands, leaving no room for objection.
Regulus slowly lifts his head from his book, briefly wondering if he's managed to land himself into a similar alternate dimension,
"Come again...
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Warning: Mature Chapter
𝕽egulus' lips quirk dopily, arm winding around the girl rolling into his left side.
Romie neglected to leave for her own dorm, half asleep by the time they finished up in the relaxing hot bubble bath Regulus had drawn them after the treasuring. His care didn't finish after she corporeally had, if anything, enhanced and stayed at that high level right up until the moment he dozed off, Romie tucked against him, long in the land of nod.
The lazy strokes and distrait pattern tracing his fingers have taken up on her bare back are brought to a fleeting hiatus, for, in the middle of a yawn he shouldn't find nearly as attractive as he does, Romie announces,
"You're an early riser"
A low hum of confirmation thrums through his dry throat, finding no reason to object or lie, even if that means he's a man found out, exposed of his past deeds. Intentional and deliberate deeds posed as work of the subconscious. Especially when she shifts slightly, chin perching down on his sternum, providing a glimpse of the impishness defining her features. Much better than the day before's patent distress. Hands down.
Hands up, coasting the knobbly track of her spine, running the unruly strands of bed head hair shimmering ethereally in the morning light between his fingers. He'll never get used to this. He'll never tire of this. Waking up with her, to her, engaging with the precious grogginess long gone by the time others are around. Spoken for. This Romie is spoken for. All Romie's are spoken for.
He counts the freckles beginning to fade from the changing season, channelling his disappointment into hope that the next time they're back in all their glory, prominent and thriving in the sunshine, they might be more than what they are now. No hints of doubt they're any less than together, whatever that will look like, wherever that may be.
The quirk of his lips enriches and Romie traces the resulting creases, traces the moving shape of his mouth when he says, voice raspy and rough from sleep,
"Bonjour, mon doux volcan"
Romie's undecided whether it's the free-flowing sexy French or the devastatingly attractive morning voice it's spoken in, but it does it for her. She inches forward into the short distance separating them, rallying up enough restraint to tease the corners first. Lightweight, barely anything pecks to each, purposely avoiding the tongue slipping out to moisten the jewel in the crown.
Content, she sighs, murmuring, "You were saying last night, about gravity. I think these are mine"
Regulus' eyes flutter shut, expecting the moving progress to be long and high. His curls. He expects the allusion to be his tousled array of curls, already aware of the compulsion they hold on her. Surprise floods him when the polar opposite is the subject of her affection, caressing lips remaining low. Remaining around the mouth region.
