write
James has a very specific happy place.
If you asked him, he would tell you he could write sonnets about it. Wax poetic in a fashion that would make Shakespeare jealous. He thinks about it always, every second of the day—and maybe that isn’t healthy, maybe it’s a little insane, but he doesn’t care.
He can’t bring himself to care, if he’s honest.
Not when Regulus’ thighs are shaking, quivering, clenching around his head, squeezing so tight he thinks they might crack his skull like a watermelon. He wouldn’t complain, though.
Right here between Regulus’ thighs is a lovely way to die.
He came home from work exhausted. Found Regulus on the couch with his knees pulled up to his chest in nothing but James’ old uni hoodie and boxers. It was an unspoken conversation between them—and Regulus knew to wiggle out of his boxers, spread his legs, and let James settle in between.
It went something like this: James running his tongue through Regulus’ folds in lazy, long strokes. No rush, just a need to taste. This relaxed the tension in his spine, the knot in his lower back. Then it was an assault on Regulus’ clit with his mouth, pushing two fingers in the sweet wetness dripping from Regulus’ entrance.
James has a rule: no less than three orgasms with his mouth and fingers. Today, he felt like more. Regulus coming apart until he was a puddle in the cushions was a need.
Once he was loose-limbed and mumbling incoherent, overstimulated and flushed all over, James crawled over him, kissed every available inch of him like a man starved, and pushed into tight heat with a broken groan.
He watched Regulus break under him again and again, murmuring sweet nothings, good boy, and one more, baby, I know you can do it. Kissing salty tears off Regulus’ cheeks, mouths sliding past each other and tongues a mess.
And once James shattered, he dropped to his knees again, put slender thighs on his shoulders, and ran his tongue through soft folds. Grinned like mad when his own spend hit his tongue, all mixed up with Regulus’.
He pushes his glasses up into his hair now, irritated they’re in his way. Keeping him from his prize. He looks at Regulus from under his lashes, hands curved around soft thighs and mouth pressed to the juncture of his hip and leg. “Again, love?”
“Again.”