- 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
𝕳is breath catches in his throat, his heart and lungs catching fire.
The same principle stands, the trick he swears longtime by, catch and never let go. That's what he does with the pure golden admission dancing grandly in the air around them, grasping hold and clutching tight to his core, withstanding the collision of fire and ice and the end product. Steam. The thick, hot, hazy kind that makes coherent thoughts an impracticality.
Regulus doesn't need to think, thinking right now would be a crime, an abuse of time. What he needs to do is ensure the delicate streak of uncertainty doesn't evolve into an abyss full of doubt. Full of regret.
Romie's knees buckle, stumbling backwards and struggling to regain her footing again by virtue of the sheer velocity of his doing. The wobble's over in a heartbeat, her temporary lost confidence returning in full swing, easily achieving a firm balance. Because him rushing toward, not away from her, like his whole life depends on it wasn't exactly the definition of fucking up beyond repair.
She willingly surrenders to his profound kiss, powerless to resist, avoid. Romie's never been able to avoid him for long, she pins the blame on him being impossible. Impossible to deal with in the beginning, impossible to stay away from in the now. It's more than a lure, an attraction of a magnet, something inherent, something deep-seated into both their troubled souls.
His throaty groan in response to the blatant reciprocation commands her hands up to his suited collar, craving to commit the rumble of the low vibrations to memory. The fabric of his school shirt prevents fulfilling the craving fully, a frustration she doesn't have to worry about for too much longer. Because feet are on the move again, this time, Regulus joining and leading the entwined waltz to a near destination more befitting.
Romie slides her tongue against his before departing from his mouth to glide lower, smirking at his trembling syllables and awkward fumbling of the lock to stiff, alder door. Whilst the harsh hair tug is supposed to be a form of punishment, it has the opposite effect, tipping back her head and encouraging the hot drag of her wet lower lip up the carven angles of his jaw.
"Romie"
His gruff voice mumbling her first name has her in a state of delirium, practically yanking him into the mysterious classroom by the stripy blade of his tie. She hadn't the chance to appreciate the first time, a mistake she wouldn't make again in the rest of her existence. Not when he says it like it's a secret language only they're fluent in, distinct from the rest.
Her fingers graze the hem of his school sweater, his mouth back on hers instantly the lift over his head, blindly tossing it somewhere in the room. It's only moments later Romie's joins its lonely company, shirts and ties for now on the waiting list. She can't even think about wrangling with knots, fiddling with buttons when he presses his lips to her throat, sucking and licking and kissing like there's no tomorrow.
