eyeliner — @jegulus-microfic — word count: 836.
(and i find myself running home to your sweet nothings)
The mist from the shower escapes behind him as James exits the bathroom, and he blinks at the blurry figure of Regulus leaning over the dresser mirror. With affection tightening in his stomach and terribly nearsighted eyes, James approaches.
His fingers loosen the towel around the back of his neck and he narrows his eyes before moving forward and sliding his arms around the pearly waist. James traces with his thumb the J he knows is tattooed on his hipbone, and his lips find their way home to the crook between Regulus' shoulder and neck.
“Hello,” He says, his voice just a faint murmur. The skin under his fingers tingles and James smiles. “What are you doing, hm?”
However, his back remains relaxed, no hint of rigidity attached to his shoulders. He keeps bending over doing James doesn't know what in his face, because he's not wearing his glasses and frankly he's too happy only enjoying the scent of sandalwood on Regulus' skin.
"Makeup,” He responds, and seems focused. James hums, his nose on Regulus’ black curls. His fingers squeeze the flesh of his hips. “Don't you dare.”
James leaves a kiss on the back of his neck. “To do what, angel?”
Regulus flinches at the nickname, pleased and as embarrassed as James knows he always is when he calls him that.
His fingers easily find the waistband of Regulus' pants, and he rests his cheek on his bony shoulder. “I'm just offering moral support for whatever you're doing.”
“Makeup,” Regulus replies again, and James knows his ears are red. He doesn't wear his glasses, but when he leans in to get a better, closer look at Regulus' face, he blinks. “We're going out today because we promised Dora, and we're not going to lie in that bed until we get back.”
James' fingers pause, but his smile doesn't falter. He is particularly interested now in the moles that furrow Regulus' left cheek, a decidedly large one on his jaw that he is accustomed to worshiping as a believer in the Faith.
“But we don't need to lie down so I—”
“You didn't even let me finish.” James snorts.
It’s only when Regulus shifts slightly in his embrace to leave what James thinks now is a black pencil because of the shape on the dresser that they embrace face to face.
James blinks several times and inhales. “Oh.”
He can see Regulus' framed face.
The pale skin and the mole under his shiny and sticky lips, probably from the gloss. His grayish eyes have longer lash windows than before, and are surrounded by a soft black line.
Regulus hums. “I know what you meant,” And despite his verbal refusal, he wraps the back of James' neck with warm touch. “Because you’re touching me like you want to eat me.”
The blood in his veins warms pleasantly and his mouth goes dry.
“You're beautiful,” James blurts out quickly. Lost in thought, he finds home again in his waist. He adds, amazement underscoring the fervor, longing and desire: “And I want to eat you.”
The blush dusting Regulus' cheeks makes him want to bite him. Bite it on the cheeks, bite it on the neck, bite it on the chest, arms, stomach and along the legs. Bite to show his love, to show that he belongs to James; his to kiss, his to adore, his to protect.
That’s it, love. Stay here between my mouth and my arms, where I can have you and protect you, his heart seems to sing.
“James,” Regulus whines, his voice almost pleading and his gaze as soft as butter, despite the dark, sexy contrast of the eyeliner. “Jamie.”
Oh, and how much James loves the honey that drips from his mouth when he calls him like that.
“We have to go.” Regulus gasps a little, his chin craning to meet James' mouth in a hungry kiss.
Any part of James' body that Regulus touches with dancing fingers burns.
He sighs, nibbling on his lip.
Regulus tastes like a strawberry and has lipstick smudged in the corners. He doesn't dislike that. He finds it certainly endearing. “Yeah, sure, we are leaving now. Just let me tell you how beautiful you are tonight, hm? Black looks so good on your eyes.”
A chill runs down Regulus' spine.
James' hair is slightly wetting both of their clothes, but neither of them seem to care at all about that detail.
“…Thank you.” It's just an affectionate murmur, but it warms James' soul from the inside out.
Well, it's common knowledge that James Potter is screwed; destroyed and united at the same time under the feet of Regulus. An unspoken agreement between lovers; the earth dependent on the moon and the stars to exhale all the air from its lungs daily.
He's in love and wants to rip his boyfriend off of those damn tight pants and to kiss his eyeliner until the next day.
“Any time, love,” His hand playfully pats Regulus' ass. “By the way, have you seen my glasses?”
The sound of Regulus' laughter echoes in his chest.
