The Chain|Regulus Black

Pumped up Kicks

⚠️⚠️⚠️

"Have you got your broom?" Delilah fussed as they marched onto the Quidditch pitch.

"No Delilah, I thought you know what? This match I'll try to play without a broom." Trying to clip him round the ear, Regulus's height (and familiarity with Delilah's actions) bought him an advantage and he swiftly dodged.

"Keep up that tone and you'll find your broomstick somewhere unpleasant." The snarky remark reminded him exactly why he got on so well with Delilah. Neither was afraid to actually speak their mind, bold enough and tumultuous enough to deal with the repercussions later. Obviously, it wasn't just that. When Regulus returned to his house the other night, he kept thinking about Delilah's words, teasing against his balmy skin.

The more he thought about it, the more it titillated him, remembering the feeling of her against him, the span of her hips, cushioned against his protruding pelvis, bones met warm flesh. Because that's all Regulus was bones. Skeletal. But Delilah? She was comfort, supple and alive.

Casting Muffliato and dipped his hand into his boxers. Huffs of relief at the easing, he can pretend it's her hand around him, her hands coaxing him into a state of pure delirium. Her purple fingernails dragging down his back-

Sinking into his pillow, Regulus's head rolls to the side swallowing back his groans when his hips rise in time with his fist.

Little did he know, Delilah was doing the same only a few floors above. Dipping into her lust, splurging when her lips almost call his name.

When they were finished, they laid there and thought about the other. Regulus remarked how much he enjoyed the way she commanded people's attention, yet Delilah simply fell in admiration for the way in which Regulus didn't care for people's opinion, except hers. Perhaps this is what had his name so close on her lips, Regulus never faltered to make it known she was his priority, as little as it made sense, her blood was his worst enemy, but her smile-

That was crafted by angels. That was his earthly damnation.

Delilah boiled it down to one simple thing. Time. They'd grown to know each other so well that they knew what the other was going to do before they even knew, time makes the heart grow fonder and boy did Delilah's heart swell that night at the thought of Regulus.

The Slytherin, however, found it impossible to pinpoint one exact reason as to why his Ravenclaw made him feel the way she did. Appearance didn't really matter all too much, admitting to himself that there were prettier girls than her, he still couldn't stop comparing them to her when they poorly attempted to flirt with him.

Comparing everything they did to Delilah's rambunctious manner when their dainty hands rested over his, he found himself longing for the sturdy handshake Delilah first greeted him with. The way her fingers slid into his palm, tracing up to his fingertips, holding her hand was like holding something diaphanous.

Something Regulus tried to resist the urge to break. It's odd, people often had impulses to crush something, to smash a glass they were holding, Regulus wanted to crash Delilah into the ground, to smother her.

Feelings were a difficult thing for anyone to understand, let alone a seventeen-year-old boy who was planning a revolution, one in which he had to hide from his best friend. Embodying everything he was being taught to fight against, he couldn't exactly share this part of his life with her.

The Slytherin team went over their game strategy a couple more times, Delilah interjecting her own opinions as Evan Rosier rolled his eyes, wrapping an arm around her as her teeth began to chatter.