- 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 collapses onto the love seat and sighs.
It's quite the dramatic action, creating a struggle for Romie to restrain the twitches in her lips. It's times like this it really shows he and Sirius are related, sharing their fancy pure blood, sharing the odd trait. Though Sirius is a considerably more extroverted with his flair for dramatics, unlike Regulus, who prefers to save it for his close circle of friends. Save it for Romie.
Determinedly, she pours over the thorough and precise set of Potions notes she had been drafting while he worked his muscles to exhaustion, willing her tempted heart not to react so early to his appeal. It proves to be difficult, a punishment of sorts when he ups his attention seeking efforts, slinking himself onto her lap. She tries not to think about the deliciousness of the pressure of his chest, flat and fully exerted against her thighs, how his long, slick fingers proficient at everything, including touching her, are idly caressing her exposed ankle from where his limp arm hangs over the edge of the seat.
She tries very, very hard. It's difficult, it's a punishment she tells herself is going to be worth it. Her palm presses to his spine as she leans over him to jot down the rest of her sentence, biting her lip at the huge, hot puff of breath clogging up the fabric of her school skirt she hasn't bothered to change out of yet. Keeping the anticipation and intensity to a minimum in her tone, she simply asks,
"Good practise, love?"
"Hard. So very hard. I don't think I'll ever be able to move again" Regulus mumbles into her thigh, the clogging up developing to a dampening to the skin underneath from the heat of his breath.
It's as intentional and deliberate as his words, hoping the uncomfortable stickiness will lead to bidding the nun skirt so rudely withholding him her naturalness, good night. At this rate, it might happen anyway with the way he's flopped over her, quidditch uniform sticking to both his sweat beaded skin and her. It's a bloody good job this is where he and Sirius divide in traits, the latter often told his sweaty scent contains the distinct and unpleasant extract of wet dog.
Regulus, on the other hand, still smells good, attractive even when he's spent hours outdoors, exposed to fresh air and the gusty winds that also include a fine, dishevelled finishing look in their experience. Romie blames pheromones and their influences that simply can't be resisted. Briefly, she twists her fingers through the dark roots at the nape of his neck until rising goosebumps enter her vision, then dragging them out and murmuring,
"Slytherin are so lucky to have you as their Captain"
The light grasp on her ankle turns to a grip for a fleeting second, soaking in the praise he hasn't had any of in a while. His parents never truly sang his praises, but the days of them acknowledging his achievements, even if they were to cruelly humble Sirius, are a thing of the past. It's his own fault, recent defying and being his own person with his own beliefs and values damaging their relationship. If they had one in the first place.
