Written for Sing-Me-A-Rare Volume 3 (FB Group: The Fairest of the Rare)
Song Prompt: I Don't Belong To You by MILCK - Listen to it guys, it's a powerful one. =)
Yes, this is indeed a very rare gem.
Enjoy! =)
Letting the Lion Loose
Regulus Black was a proud man. He liked being dressed well. He liked being admired. He liked being a Black.
He loved his life and he loved his girl.
He would never have thought he'd get to be with someone he was in love with. Someone who was so far removed from what his parents had expected him to court, that he was sure if they were still around they'd have mounted his severed head right beside the house elves on the wall.
His girlfriend was everything he wasn't supposed to love. She was a Gryffindor with all the annoying traits they prided themselves in. But she was also cunning, ambitious and vengeful…sometimes downright scary.
The changes had started subtly. Her suggestions becoming slightly more demanding and her reactions if he ignored them a little more worrying.
Still, it had been nothing to linger on because it never lasted. It always went back to the way it was before.
It had taken him a long time to notice the sneaking consequences. It had felt like everything had shifted an inch and now it looked off.
His own reactions had become worrying, too. He sometimes didn't even recognize himself.
It seemed like they didn't fit anymore.
They used to fit perfectly. He was the cold to her warmth. She was the strength to his weakness.
Now, it seemed like everything about her was cold. Everything about her was... weak.
He missed her temper.
He loved that side of her. It matched his own. The fiery temper she had naturally, was a beautiful sight to behold.
His own temper had never scared her. Instead, they had found a connection in it.
He still remembered the first time he had encountered hers like it was yesterday.
... ... ...
Paris, five years ago
He was walking out of his hotel with no particular destination in mind. He had been staying in Paris for three weeks now and he had visited most of the sights the muggles were so fond of.
Since he had travelled to France many times before when he was younger, he was fluent in the language and had seen most of the Wizarding streets and places throughout the years. But because his family was who they were, he hadn't been allowed anywhere near the muggles.
Now, he could go wherever he so pleased and he had decided to take a stroll through the Saint-Honoré fashion district.
He had been here before and had been fascinated by the muggles' 'window shopping'. Such a thing didn't exist in pureblood society. You didn't just stroll along the storefronts looking inside through the window. You had contacts who told you which items to get where. Everything worth knowing was spread by word of mouth. You knew which stores to buy from and you ordered what you wanted to be made and delivered.
He found it refreshing how muggles did things. It had never been possible for him to study them as he did now.
He had just passed a store called Givenchy and had his eyes peeled to the other side where it read Valentino when he heard snippets of English and automatically paid closer attention.
She had the most intriguing voice. It had a slightly husky note almost as if she'd inhaled too much smoke. It also travelled straight to his pants.
That feeling compelled him to pay closer attention to what she was actually telling her friend. They were walking in front of him, their heels clicking rhythmically.
It was quite warm today and he was grateful for it because she was wearing a short dress that fluttered around her hips teasingly. Almost as if promising to show more after just the next step.
He forced himself to look up from her arse and saw the wild curls on top of her head. He immediately had the urge to bury his hands in them.
Her wild hair in comparison to her slight frame made her look elegant and untamed at the same time. A contrast which tempted him to learn more about her. He got the feeling that she had been raised in the pureblood customs because of how she moved.
He caught the tail end of her friend's comment.
"…and why do you keep coming here, Romilda? It's positively crawling with muggles."
Well, that was one whiny voice. But he did learn her name and that his guess had been right. She was a witch.
Romilda.
"Stop being racist, Vicky. Besides, you're just as addicted to the clothes as I am. And do I need to remind you that it was your idea to come here today? You wanted to have another look at the new Prada collection."
He liked her teasing tone. He could imagine her using it on him in a completely different setting.
Her friend just gave her the finger and sped up her steps.
Romilda hadn't seen any of that. She hadn't looked at her friend while she said that last thing. She had stopped at a storefront and hadn't noticed yet that her friend wasn't next to her anymore.
Instead, it was he who was standing there, now. He took the opportunity to admire her profile.
Her skin was so beautiful. Smooth and dark. She had an adorable button nose and full lips.
"Vicky? Don't you think I would look hot in that?" She suggested and turned around, almost crashing into him.
Her eyes widened when she saw Regulus towering over her.
He was a head taller than her so she was face to chest and had to look up to meet his eyes. Hers were incredibly dark.
"Oh! I am so sorry. I thought you were my friend. She was just here." She had switched to perfect French thinking he was a local.
She looked around searchingly before meeting his eyes again.
He was wearing a smile because he was enjoying her flushed state. He also got the feeling she found him just as intriguing as he found her.
She was truly gorgeous.
He noticed the different shades of dark brown in her hair and the slight crease between her brows. Her tongue darted out wetting her lips.
He took the time to look at the clothes in the store window for the first time and had to bite back a laugh. She had been staring at lingerie. Very hot, green lace lingerie.
If that wasn't a sign.
"I know this will sound impudent but I completely agree. You would look sexy as hell in that." He told her when he met her eyes again.
Now she was definitely flushed.
"You're British?…I-…What?" She blinked twice looking between the window and him.
He could see she was starting to gear up for a fight having processed his comment.
So he decided to tease her even more.
"Green is my favourite colour, you know?"
... ... ...
Her temper had been mesmerizing. She had laid him a new one right there in the middle of the street not caring who heard her. The more she had said the more he'd wanted her.
He had asked her out on the spot.
... ... ...
"Go out with me."
"You can't just-…What?" She was halted in her tirade. "Are you serious, right now?!"
"I am. Go out with me." He said again.
"What makes you think you have any right to-…" her words were said in irritation but her eyes were admiring him.
"You're amazing." He interrupted her. "Your temper is fascinating. I'd like to get to know you better. Be honest with yourself. Despite your apparent anger, you're interested, too. Let me take you out tonight."
"Unbelievable." She murmured looking thrown.
She was biting her lip now.
He knew it was a gamble. He knew it was bold but he was hoping she would say yes anyway.
"Fine."
Now it was his turn to look surprised.
"Seriously?"
"Yes, but you better pull out all the stops."
... ... ...
And he had.
He had taken her to one of the best Wizarding restaurants in Paris.
He couldn't remember ever having had so much fun on a first date. It wasn't fair to call someone perfect but she had been just that.
They had argued, they had laughed, they had flirted. This date had surpassed every expectation he could have had. Their first kiss when he had walked her back had felt like something clicking in place. A promise of more.
She had often told him about that day and laughed about his stupid look when she recalled taking him up on his invitation. He had been right that day. She had been just as attracted to him as he had been to her which was why instead of declining and walking away…or maybe even hitting him, she had accepted.
He wanted that back. What they had started five years ago. What they had still had even two years ago.
It had been easy, being with her. It had felt so right, so comfortable. She had been attentive and warm and passionate.
He didn't know where it had all gone wrong.
He didn't know how to talk to her anymore. Nothing seemed to come out right and everything felt like the start of a disagreement.
It didn't feel like pulling in the same direction. It felt like pulling something apart but in slow motion. It hurt.
It usually helped when he recalled their moments. The moments he would remember forever.
How they had met was one of them. Their second date was another.
After their first one in Paris, she was due to travel back home to Britain. He had decided to do the same.
So they had returned home and gone on another date.
... ... ...
London, five years ago
This had not gone as planned. Not in the least.
He had thought of everything! Got her favourite flowers, which he sneakily found out from her horrible friend, Vicky. Merlin, he really did not like that woman.
He had actually, for the first time in his life, packed a freaking picnic basket. With all the essentials. He had thought of napkins and sandwiches and finger food and everything.
He had put a lot of thought in this second date and he had been sure he'd impressed her. She'd seemed to enjoy herself until all hell broke loose.
He hadn't thought of fucking rain. Though truthfully, it was more like a monsoon.
They were completely drenched because neither of them had whipped out their wands fast enough. When they had managed to use them, pack everything up and conjure an umbrella they were already wet as dogs.
It was fairly easy to dry themselves…superficially at least. He could still feel his wet socks and underwear, however. It was extremely uncomfortable.
Also, the rain had thoroughly screwed up the mood.
"What are we doing now?" She asked him smiling.
Or maybe it hadn't.
"What do you want to do? My planning capabilities seem to have left me hanging."
"Don't be ridiculous. Your planning was perfect. But honestly? I want new underwear! " She said with a loud laugh. "Mine are completely soaked." She wiggled her eyebrows.
He couldn't suppress the laugh. She was amazing.
"Then let's get us some new ones." He smirked at her implication and took her hand.
"Are you kid-…? No…no, you aren't kidding." She looked at him bemused.
"Hold on tight, Miss Vane." He murmured and pulled her close.
"With pleasure, Mr Black." She embraced him gripping his shirt.
He apparated them away.
... ... ...
He remembered that day longingly. The pull between them had been building and building. Their gazes meeting. Flirtatious smiles between them. Innuendos.
When he had brought her to the store they had had so much fun and somehow ended up in the same dressing room. The close space had kicked the almost electric tension between them up a notch.
The only thing that had kept him from taking her against the wall right there had been the shop assistant breaking the moment.
Romilda had been just as disappointed but had taken him home with her directly after vacating the store.
That had been one memorable afternoon…and night.
... ... ...
"Harder." She groaned into the pillow.
"Are you sure?" His breath came out slightly strained.
"Definitely."
So he obeyed.
He had been at it for almost fifteen minutes massaging her back. His hands were tired but she felt so delicious under him. Her muscles reacted to his ministrations and the sounds she made…almost as hot as the ones she had made when he'd been inside her an hour earlier.
She had been amazing. So responsive. So hot. So tight. And that sinful voice.
He moved his hands down her spine almost to the swell of her arse and back up again. Kneading her muscles along her sides until his fingers reached her neck. He pressed them into her skin. Then proceeded to bury them in her thick curls.
They felt so soft and silky. The sounds she made went straight to his groin…and she felt it, seeing as he was right above her arse.
She wiggled underneath him and he gave her a little more room to move. She turned around slightly to be able to look at him.
Her eyes locked with his before they drifted down to between his legs.
He had put on some shorts after their first round and they weren't hiding his excitement right now. She was wearing his shirt and looked positively delectable.
"Ready for round two?" She purred with a smirk.
... ... ...
She had been so enticing.
Thinking back to their second date he knew his feelings for her had started then, very likely even before that.
Looking at her now across the table he tried to remember again. The feelings were still there otherwise he would've left already, wouldn't he?
He had even planned to ask her to marry him. He had gone and picked out a ring almost a year ago, now.
A year. Walking around with a ring in his pocket.
He loved her, didn't he? Why had he waited this long?
... ... ...
Knockturn Alley, one year ago
"Are you sure you want to do this, mate?" Antonin asked him sceptically.
Regulus threw him an annoyed look. They had had this conversation a couple of times now in the past few weeks…and twice in the last hour.
"I am."
The more he had to say it, though, the less sure he felt. Antonin had a knack for sniffing out bad people…according to him. And his friend was convinced Romilda was one of them. He didn't trust her. Never had.
"Anton, I'm doing this. I'm here now and you're going to help me pick it out." He wanted this.
She was perfect.
Antonin held up his hands placatingly.
"Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you…and stop calling me Anton, dipshit." Regulus waved him off.
They were standing in front of the display case inside Bǎo the only Jeweler in Knockturn Alley. He was known for his beautiful work with gemstones and jewels.
Not many people took advantage of the mesmerizing products though, because they avoided the alley thanks to the bad reputation surrounding it.
He wanted to ask her soon but he hadn't been able to find the right ring, yet. He was hoping today would be more successful.
The proprietor had left Regulus about five minutes ago after helping him pick out his top three choices. Now, it was on him and Antonin to find the perfect engagement ring for Romilda.
"Why did you even bring me? I mean, I don't like her. She doesn't like me. I think it's a mistake to marry her and I have no fucking clue about rings. You should've asked Malfoy. He's better at this, the ponce." Antonin said while leaning against one of the display cases.
"You're my best mate and will hopefully be my best man. I know you'll support me in this. And trust me, I would never, ever, in a million years, be caught dead with that blonde peacock." Regulus retorted while staring at his three options. "Just tell me which one you'd pick."
"Well, since I hate her…the smallest, ugliest one."
Regulus punched his shoulder.
"Ooh, touchy." Antonin teased him rubbing his arm in mock hurt. "Fine, princess."
He actually took a look at the options this time.
"How about this one?"
He pointed to the middle one. It was indeed the smallest stone but it had a beautiful bright blue shade.
"You know…," he contemplated it. "I actually think this is the one."
Antonin clapped his hands together. "Great. That was faster than I thought. Pay for it and let's get out of here. I'm bloody starving."
Outside the shop, Antonin pulled him into a dark corner.
"Anton, you know I don't feel that way about you. Maybe try one of the ladies further down for a quickie against the wall."
Antonin screwed up his face in disgust.
"Shut up, fuckwit. This is important. I'm telling you, right now…She'll be what's preventing you to be happy."
"Harsh, Anton." Regulus retorted with a lopsided grin.
"I'm serious, Regulus."
"You never call me Regulus."
"Yeah…that should tell you something."
... ... ...
He had ignored Antonin's warnings, of course. There had been moments where he had questioned his desire to marry her but something had always convinced him that it was indeed the right choice.
Why hadn't he asked her yet?
Her voice pulled him out of his thoughts.
"The fundraiser is tonight. I expect you to accompany me. Like you promised."
He raised his eyebrows. He couldn't remember such a promise. But then again she always dragged up things he couldn't remember having said. So he didn't question her. He just nodded and told her, "Yes, babe."
"I'll be back in time to get ready."
And with that, she stood up and left him alone at the table. Again. He was alone more often than not.
There had been a time when she used to tell him what she was doing or drag him along with her. It had become even easier when she'd moved in with him four years ago. He loved to watch her work so it wasn't so much dragging as it was an unspoken rule for them to leave together.
It had always been his decision though. Accompanying her. He split his time between her and his friends. Sometimes she joined them after work. It felt reassuring to know she wanted to be with him and vice versa.
They left each other the freedom to decide to be together.
Now, his life wasn't his own anymore. He felt caged in. He felt alone. He felt controlled. He didn't even feel like a man any more or a partner. Not equal to her.
He usually felt useless and bored. He didn't want to call it estrangement but unfortunately the more time passed the more it felt like that.
He knew ignoring it didn't help but it somehow made it more bearable…for now.
So, he spent his time reading or writing.
He was a Black so he didn't have to work. But the boredom of being caged in his own house had him looking for anything else to do. So, he had started writing. First, just for the fun of it. Taking things he had learned throughout the years and putting them together. Thanks to the Black Family legacy and the vast library at his disposal as a child there was a lot of material.
Then he had decided to send it to a research journal and it had just taken off from there. The fact that sharing small family secrets would give his late mother a conniption was an added bonus.
He felt free when he was writing. He could channel all his feelings into it. Although he mostly kept to the theory of it, he always added some personal tidbit about where he had learned that particular information. It was usually something about his childhood whether it was from his time at home or at Hogwarts.
He used a pseudonym as an author which of course had been a condition from Romilda.
She had…allowed it. After a week-long discussion which had consisted of her trying to get her own way and of him trying to compromise like his life depended on it…which it felt like it did.
It had been a much-needed victory when she'd given her permission, albeit reluctantly.
He liked to think that on some level she was aware of how he had started to feel, being alone all the time. So she had agreed…with a lot of stipulations and requirements. One had been that she wanted to proofread everything before he sent it in.
At first, he'd thought she was interested in the magical theory, but he had quickly realized she just didn't want to be painted badly in it. In case he wrote about her.
He had no trouble agreeing to her reading it after that. She wasn't mentioned at all. It was his own thing. Something that she wouldn't be a part of. He kept her out of it.
What's more, she had no business being in these articles. Magical theory wasn't her area of expertise and clearly something she wasn't interested in.
Her interests lay in clothing. She was a very successful designer for witches' formal wear. Her company had taken off about two years ago and it had been explosive. She was now the owner of a vast empire with branches in all of Europe.
He had been immensely proud of her and they had celebrated quite a bit.
Thinking back on it now he was pretty sure that had been one of the last genuine outings they had had together.
All the other ones after that had felt more and more…wrong. She had put on a show for everyone. Just like she would be doing at the fundraiser tonight.
He didn't know what to do anymore. He was at a loss.
Fundraiser, last night
"You look beautiful, babe." He told her because it was true. He gave her a kiss on the cheek.
She had her public smile plastered on. He hated it. He missed the real smile she used to give him. Her face faltered slightly when she took a disapproving look at him and quickly checked if anyone paid them any attention before she spoke to him.
"Why aren't you wearing the dark blue robes? They were on your side of the bed. I would have thought that it was obvious you were supposed to wear them tonight."
Her face was the perfect picture of happiness. Her voice, however, was cold and laced with a hint of anger. He knew that tone well by now.
"You are representing me. I can't have my boyfriend looking like he doesn't know how to dress properly."
"Babe, these are the exact same ones, just in green. And we still match…I mean, you're wearing black." He tried to reassure her.
She brushed her hand over his chest as if to clear the fabric of lint. He was sure it looked caring.
"I almost wore rose-coloured robes. We would have clashed and I would have been embarrassed. You know that I'm being scrutinized for everything I wear and subsequently what you wear. You would have disappointed me very much."
He felt the familiar tendrils of guilt pool in his stomach. She was right. He hadn't thought about that. He had only thought about the fact that letting her choose what to wear would have been another thing she had control over and in a bout of defiance he had decided to wear his favourite colour.
"You need to talk to me more. Communication is key. I always tell you when I have a problem or we need to decide something." She continued.
She was caressing the side of his face. He was sure it looked quite tender but her hand was cold. Her eyes hard.
The use of the word 'we' struck him as funny since she was the one always making all the decisions. And he couldn't even remember the last time they had had a discussion because he had wanted something from her. That just didn't happen.
Suddenly, the guilt was no longer there. Instead, he felt something he hadn't experienced in a long time.
Anger.
Rage, even. He couldn't explain why. It wasn't even a huge issue. It was just bloody clothes but something had cracked inside him. For good.
... ... ...
He didn't know what to do.
The love of his life had changed and he was scared of the future. Because he did not want to continue on like this.
He lay awake beside her, still feeling angry. Her breathing was quiet and regular.
They didn't touch. Not anymore. He couldn't remember the last time they'd touched…just to touch. Not with an agenda or with lust. Just holding each other, being close to each other.
That was gone.
She controlled everything, now…and he let her.
They'd visit her friends. At least, when she wanted him to accompany her. They'd eat where she wanted to eat. At least, when she wanted to be seen in public with him. They'd go to places she wanted to see. At least, when she needed an outing…to keep up appearances mostly.
He didn't see his friends anymore. She didn't allow it.
He was always at home or got dragged to something she needed him to attend with her. To play the perfect partner. He was always doing the things she wanted him to do.
They'd spend time together when she craved it. Which wasn't that often anymore.
They'd sleep together when she wanted it. And it was always quick and silent.
He hated the silence.
She used to be vocal and active. She'd always been dominant in the bedroom but there had been a balance between them.
Now, she was cold and detached. The act was silent except for his own sounds and her occasional commands.
He still wanted her. She was as beautiful as she'd been when they'd met. Maybe even more so. He would be lying if he said he wasn't attracted to her anymore or that he didn't want to sleep with her because he did and he wanted to.
He just wasn't sure how he felt about it. It felt wrong because it wasn't the same anymore and they weren't happy. It felt like taking advantage of her although she decided when they had sex.
He didn't feel good after the act. Sometimes he felt guilty and sometimes he felt dirty. The silence just made him feel worse.
This was no way to be in a relationship.
But he took it because he loved her still, …didn't he?
He remembered the times the sex had still been mind blowing and frequent. His favourite moments were the ones right after an argument, sometimes even in the middle of one.
Because of their tempers, they were very quick to explode at each other. And it had always made for exciting conversations…and passionate sex.
... ... ...
Bali, three years ago
He couldn't help it. The laugh just broke out of him and he knew he had a huge problem when she turned her furious eyes on him.
"Don't laugh at me! This isn't funny! It's just like your inappropriate comment back when we first met! You have no filter in public!"
"What do you mean, I have no filter? You were the one yelling at me in broad daylight on the busiest street in Paris. And now, you're doing it again!"
"We are in the middle of nowhere! And I'm not yelling! You're yelling! And laughing while yelling? Why the hell are you laughing?!"
She stomped her foot. She actually stomped her foot.
He loved that woman. Every day with her was an adventure.
He stepped close to her not saying anything and trying really hard to control his laughter.
"What the-? What are you doing? Don't think just because you-…"
He shut her up with a demanding kiss. She remained motionless for about three seconds before her lips moved against his and she started to devour him with equal passion. Her hands in his hair pulling painfully.
Oh, she was still furious but she wanted him just as much.
He moved them swiftly towards the canopied deck of their water villa. The Black money could get you anything. Even a luxurious house on the water with all the privacy one could wish for.
He sat down and wanted to pull her with him but she was faster. She broke the kiss and dropped down to her knees in front of him. Her eyes promising mischief while looking up from between his legs.
He was already half hard and the anticipation made him even harder. He helped her pull down his trunks and she immediately took him in hand. She made eye contact with him and gave him a few strokes. Then she leaned down and slowly engulfed him in her wet heat. Her tongue swirled around his head and he groaned. She took him even deeper and hollowed her cheeks out, all the while keeping eye contact.
The feeling was exquisite. He hit the back of her throat and she covered the rest of his length with her hand. She quickly found a rhythm and he watched as he disappeared inside her hot mouth over and over again.
Her other hand started playing with his balls and he was sure he was in heaven. His head dropped back and he grabbed her hair trying desperately not to control her pace. He hissed every time he felt her teeth on him. It was so very good. If she continued on like this it would be over far sooner than he wanted to.
"Babe…," his grip tightened on her hair when she swallowed around him. Bloody hell that was close. "Babe, stop. I want to be inside you when I come," he panted and couldn't suppress a moan.
But she backed off with a smirk playing around her reddened lips.
She licked them and stood up pulling on the string holding her bikini top together. Then she did the same for the bottom.
"Salazar, you are so freaking hot." He groaned and reached for her.
She straddled him and immediately moved to cover his lips with hers in a bruising kiss. Her hot wet centre was right above his throbbing cock and she moved one hand to grasp him and position him at her entrance.
His hands were massaging her breasts and he pinched her nipples when she slowly sank down onto him. She let her head fall back and emitted a loud high pitched moan which almost drowned out his own groan.
She was so ready. He would never get used to the feeling of being buried inside her.
She started moving. Her thigh muscles working to lift her up and down on his length.
She looked so gorgeous above him. His cock disappearing completely inside her. Her breasts moving right in front of his face.
He dug his fingers into her hips and pulled her down harder. She was moaning without restraint, her hands buried in his hair again.
She was already close. He could feel her walls around him tightening and his own orgasm ready to explode. With one hand he found her clit and pressed down hard, sending her over the edge. She threw her head back again and he could feel his own release pulsing through his cock and shooting into her.
They both had matching smirks on their faces when they looked at each other.
... ... ...
They would discuss, debate and argue. Throw things around, yell and scream at each other and always…always makeup with the best sex anyone could ever have.
Now, they didn't even bother to fight anymore. Most of the time because she seemed to know what to say and especially how to say it to take the wind out of his sails.
He didn't remember her ever being this manipulative.
He also didn't remember himself being this…timid. He wanted his own temper back. If he couldn't get hers he wanted his own back. Maybe with that, he would recognize a part of himself again.
He still remembered their last fight. The last time his temper had surfaced. It had been almost a year ago to the day.
... ... ...
London, eleven months ago
"You're delusional!"
"Oh, now I'm the one who doesn't have all her marbles, right? Sure, I'm the woman. Of course, I must be crazy." She said it lazily and he knew she was annoyed.
She wasn't listening to him. She was just turning his words around.
"You know that's not what I meant! This is about something that is important to me and you want to control it, too! Why? It has nothing to do with you!" He didn't care how furious he sounded.
"I'm not trying to control anything. You're just attacking me for making suggestions. Suggestions that you know will help us." She replied without raising her own voice.
"Suggestions? You mean restrictions, conditions, and commands! And don't kid yourself. This has nothing to do with us!"
"I would never order you around. I just think that you should consider how you spend your time and with whom. I mean, I'm not trying to interfere. These were just ideas and you blow them a little out of proportion, don't you think?" Her voice sounded patronizing laced with a hint of anger.
It aggravated him even more. He wanted a reaction from her that wasn't so…so controlled.
"A little out of proportion?! You're forbidding me to meet friends!... Actually meeting anyone that isn't directly associated with you! You won't even let me leave the house without making me feel guilty! Why? You always do this! You manipulate me into thinking it was my idea or that the things you say don't have a hidden meaning. They always do! You always do! I don't even know how to talk to you most of the time. We don't even fight anymore!"
"You actually want to fight? We are fighting now if you haven't noticed." She rolled her eyes.
"This…," he motioned to her. "This is not fighting. You aren't fighting. I am yelling and you're trying to manipulate me!"
"That's completely absurd, love. I only want what's best for us."
He balled his hands into fists until his knuckles turned white.
He hadn't been this furious in a long time. It had been building up. He had taken every comment, every…suggestion from her and just didn't notice his anger accumulating. Now, it had exploded out of him…and she wasn't even reacting.
What was more, she made him feel like a little child throwing a temper tantrum. It was humiliating.
"I am just trying to help, Regulus, but you're not making much sense, right now. I think we need to calm down a little and then talk about it again. Think about how much easier our life would be if you delegate your time to other things. You know, for us."
She winked at him and left him standing in their bedroom.
... ... ...
Maybe that had been the start of the end back then because their last fight had been intense but it had lacked the usual tension…the usual passion. It had also lacked the making up part. It couldn't even be called a fight.
Instead, it had been tiring in a completely new way. He had felt drained.
He had also noticed that he had felt like this for quite some time without realizing it. This discussion had just intensified it. It felt like something important was gone.
Like all the rage had left him and there was just emptiness now.
Not to mention the fact that he hadn't seen Antonin…or any of his friends since then. Another thing she had managed to take from him. He had received letters the first few months but they had soon stopped. Now, only Antonin would write occasionally, although Regulus never replied, wanting to avoid another discussion with her. He was just tired.
Before this, there had been cracks and small tears in their relationship but they were still connected.
This? This had felt like a break.
They were having breakfast together. He had been lying awake almost the entire night.
He couldn't hold it in any longer.
"It hurts to love you." He stated out of nowhere.
She looked up from her plate but stayed silent. Just looking at him with those deep eyes he fell in love with once.
"I want to love you but it hurts because you won't let me. What is wrong with you that you just won't let me? When did it change? What happened? When did you change?"
Still, she remained silent.
"This isn't a relationship anymore. This is toxic. It's bad for me and it's bad for you. Do you feel happy? Because I don't. I don't even feel like a man anymore."
No reaction.
"You're caging me in," his voice rose in volume. "You're controlling everything I do, who I see, who I bloody talk to. Even my work, which I took up because you wouldn't let me outside anymore. Do you know how ridiculous that sounds saying it out loud?!"
She had put her cutlery down but still didn't make a sound. He took a breath and lowered his voice again.
"It's partly my fault because I let you do this to me…to us. I don't know why I put up with this for so long. I stayed silent for too long. Too long, my back has been breaking under all your obligations and restrictions. I've been so accommodating to your manipulations. I know it took me a while but I had a revelation. This is not how love should be. I finally know that my freedom was never yours to give to me. I have nothing to prove to you. No more needing your permission for anything. I'm no puppet on a string and I'm certainly no slave to your bed. I have my own life, and it's high time I live it because I don't belong to you."
He had risen out of his chair and his hands were gripping the edge of the table. His last few words had finally gained him a reaction from her.
A tear. There was a tear trailing down her cheek towards her lips.
He didn't trust her. She had more than once used crying to convince him to listen to her and it had always worked.
He felt himself reacting to it, now too. He had always hated it when she cried.
He wouldn't fall for it. Not this time. He had had enough.
He still loved her but he was in a place where he finally knew that loving someone, did not mean coming to hate the person that you turned into because of it.
"You know, I wanted to marry you," he told her quietly, pulling the ring out of the hidden pocket inside his robes. "I've been carrying this around for a year now. I've been waiting for the right moment but something always held me back."
Her eyes had widened and she was staring with honest disbelief at the ring in his hand.
Maybe picking that stone back then had been a sign. He hadn't said anything to Antonin about what the shop keeper had explained to him about the meaning of the stone. Tanzanite.
Tanzanite was said to shift negative emotions to positive ones. It changed colour depending on the angle you looked at it. Therefore, it was also said to bring awareness to how one lived and how one could choose to live differently.
Maybe it had helped him come to this revelation.
"I really thought I would spend the rest of my life with you. That you were the one. I am devastated that you turned yourself into someone I despise."
She was crying openly now and something told him that these were real tears. She didn't know how to handle this.
He expected her to explode any second now. But she didn't. She had taken his speech without protest. That more than anything showed him how much she had changed. He had known that. Now, however, it became glaringly obvious with her missing temper how different everything truly was.
He had hoped this would give her the incentive to find herself again. It was the first time in almost a year that he had been this direct and provoking.
That thought was painful…and her lack of reaction just made it even more so.
She cleared her throat and rose up, too. There were still tears running down her cheeks.
"I will get my stuff." Her voice sounded shaky. She turned toward the door and left the dining room.
He was frozen to the spot. He realized he hadn't really thought this through.
Because imagining himself without her right now didn't seem possible. Even though they hadn't been a proper couple in…well, more than a year. He hadn't really thought she would leave. Even though he had told her he despised her, he still didn't want her to actually leave him.
He had expected a fight. He had expected her to say something…anything. He had expected her to…change. To at least try to change. He had expected her to want to try.
He had expected her to still want him.
He didn't know how long he had been standing there but it couldn't have been long because he could hear her coming down the stairs again.
She was already halfway to the front door when he caught up with her. He took her wrist and spun her around to him.
He registered the few boxes she'd put in the hallway. He couldn't help but recall the day she moved in with him. They had been standing just as close back then.
... ... ...
London, four years ago
"How many more boxes do you have?" He stared at her with wide eyes when she came in levitating another three. He threw a quick glance to his previously very empty hallway. Now, there was almost no getting through.
"What? I have a lot of stuff." She shrugged and built up the wall of boxes even higher.
He threw a stabilizing charm on it just to be sure.
"I know…but seriously how many more?"
He approached her and snaked his arms around her. She put her head on his chest and her arms around his waist breathing him in.
"Eight or nine more."
"Mhmm…you haven't even brought your furniture yet, have you?" He put his chin on her head, her hair tickling his nose.
"It's shrunken down in three or four boxes, I think."
"Babe…" he groaned into her hair.
"Shush." She pulled her head back and looked at him. Then she rose up on her tiptoes and he met her for a sweet kiss.
His hands drifted down to her arse and he squeezed it playfully. She pulled back and smacked him on his chest with a laugh.
Their eyes locked and suddenly the mood shifted. She looked wild with her hair loose and the laugh playing around her lips.
She grabbed his neck and pulled him down into a searing kiss. He pushed her back until she was pressed against the front door. He responded to her kiss with equal passion, claiming her mouth. Fighting her tongue for dominance.
Her hands were pulling on his shirt, now. His were dragging down her pants and knickers. He had his hand between her legs before she had his shirt completely off and she moaned into his mouth at the touch.
She was already wet but he manipulated her clit to get her ready for his size. Her hands had managed to strip him of his shirt and had moved on to his pants. They were off much faster and his erection was freed. She immediately took him in hand and gave him a few tight pumps.
She moved one leg up his waist in silent invitation and he immediately picked her up and pressed her against the door with him between her thighs.
"Ready?" He growled and moved his hips against hers.
"Yes!" She moaned when his cock hit her clit.
He didn't need to be told twice. With a little adjusting, he was pressed against her opening and pushed inside.
They both groaned. She was so tight. She hadn't been completely ready but she wasn't complaining. In fact, she enjoyed the slight sting of his intrusion.
He immediately set a quick pace, snapping his hips against hers. Her fingernails burying into his skin and she moaned with every powerful thrust.
They were chest to chest. She was still wearing her shirt but he didn't care. This was going to be quick and dirty.
"Harder!" She hissed and he complied.
He was close, already. Her voice in his ear and her hot tightness around his cock pushed him towards his climax very fast. He could only hope she was right there with him.
He needn't have worried.
He slammed into her with four more erratic thrusts and came with a loud groan.
He could feel her walls fluttering around his pulsing member and she threw her head back against the door following him off the cliff with a guttural moan. She was trembling in his arms, breathing fast.
They stayed pressed against each other for another minute before he slowly pulled out and let her down gently.
She looked up at him with the afterglow still brightening her eyes and pulled his face back to her for a long kiss.
"That was perfect," she murmured against his lips.
He just nodded.
"Let's get back to me moving in, though." She stuck out her tongue and he laughed.
... ... ...
He wanted that back.
"You're not going to say anything? You don't want to fight for this? For us?" He didn't like how desperate he sounded.
He was searching her face.
She smiled at him. Her actual honest smile. The one he had missed for so so long.
She reached up and cradled his face in her hands mimicking the gesture from the fundraiser the night before. This time her caress was warm and her eyes held the shadow of feeling he knew had been there once.
"You deserve better than this. I won't stand in the way of your happiness any longer."
He stared at her.
"I will get the rest of my things later," she whispered.
Then she rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the lips. It was sweet and short and heartbreaking.
"Please, take care of yourself," she murmured.
And with that, she took a step back, summoned the few boxes and walked out.
The sound of the door falling shut behind her felt like a punch in the gut. Not only was she just taking what he had thrown at her without a fight, but she was also actually walking out on him. Leaving him alone in the house.
It was liberating. That was how love should be. The decisions he would be making from now on, they wouldn't be hers to make for him.
This was freedom. And it felt like a weight had been lifted off of him.
This was freedom. And it hurt.
He couldn't even describe how much. Standing in the dim hallway, in the house, they had lived and loved and fought in, he felt himself breaking.
Could he even survive this kind of pain? Losing love was like organ damage. It was like dying. The only difference was…death ended.
This?
It could go on forever.