The Storm | Regulus Black

Does Fancy or does not Fancy; that is the Question

TW: slight sexual content

Agatha moaned loudly as tears poured from her eyes and seeped into the pillow. Her body was moving up and down on the bed and her eyes rolled back into her head. He frowned as he watched her, laid on her stomach, arse up in the air. She cried out when he thrusted in from another angle.

"Fuck! Black!" she screamed. "So— ah!"

"So what?" asked he, his sentence ending in a pleasured groan.

"Good." She grabbed onto the sheets, squeezing tightly.

"Yeah?"

The curve in her stomach was more defined when her back was arched and he was going absolutely mental, a mass of blonde hair fell over it, messy and a bit tangled.

Her high pitched moan filled the room when she clenched around him, holding on to the sheets even more tightly as she came. Her back arched and her body spasmed a bit. His groan was guttural at the feeling of her sudden tightness, his head fell back and his eyes shut, holding on to her hips so tight that he was afraid he'd cause bruises.

"Can we go again, please?" she asked, panting.

Regulus Black woke up with a start. His eyes were wide and he sat up, alarmed. He looked down at the sheets with a frown, Agatha had just been laid on them, moaning. He shut his eyes, fell back on his pillow roughly and took his face in his hands frustratedly.

Fuck, he thought. What the fuck is wrong with me? Get over it Reg. She's just another bitch. Get over it.

He groaned in immense exasperation. He had gotten hard. He glanced down on his wristwatch and noticed he had just enough time to deal with it so he promptly stood up and got into the shower.

Breakfast that day was nothing but a pain for Regulus. As soon as he sat down opposite of Agatha he almost got a bit pink, terribly embarrassed of the fact that he had just wanked off in the shower due to a dream he'd had about her. And she didn't even know about it. He felt disgusting. Therefore he did not look at her for the rest of the affair.

But then there was Potions, and after their constant and quite persistent attempts to get Professor Slughorn to reassign their seats he had not budged. So now Regulus was sat next to Agatha in the Dungeons, writing down vast amounts of notes in his neat, slanted, cursive writing. Almost everything that Slughorn said—except for his inconvenient, reminiscent rambling—was written down. Therefore Regulus didn't even have any time to glance at Agatha.

"Very well, set down your quills, set down your quills," smiled Slughorn, hands clasped around his plump belly. "There is a potion that I want you to brew, the reasoning for this potion brewing so late into the class is because it—ironically enough once you've heard the name—needs to sit for a night. Desperately tricky to make, but as N.E.W.T students, I believe you will be just fine. You are going to brew a Potion for Dreamless Sleep today. You will find the recipe at page 23 of your books."

Regulus' ears perked up instantly. He wanted the potion to himself so he would not go through anything as painful as he had that morning ever again. Agatha seemed much more alert as well now, having straightened her back and leaned forward in interest. Had she had the same type of dream as well? Surely not.

"Will you get the ingredients if I'll go through the process?" asked she, already skimming through her book to page 23.

"Sure," said he.