Prompt: window

Also for Amber's Slash-tastic Drabble-athon with the prompt: "There's a lit cigarette in the hand of my new angel." – Evans Blue, "Beg"


It's a full moon tonight. It's the perfect lighting to observe your lover as he poses. Oh, yes, he is posing. Always doing his best to impress, always aware of your admiring stare. He's used to it. He lives for it.

He leans against the window frame, casts a shadow larger than life or so it seems. The moonlight shines through green curtains, painting patterns across pale skin, emerald waves crashing against his jawline. The ash from the end of his cigarette floats gently down around his knees like snow, like fireflies burning out.

Dying shouldn't be that beautiful, you think. Everything about him is wrong, and yet the smoke creates a halo about his head. You don't understand.

"See something you like, Regulus?"

You recognize a rhetorical question when you're asked one. You know you've petted his ego enough for one night, but you answer anyway. That's the thing about Barty. You just can't resist.

"Yes," you say. You boldly step forward, stealing the cigarette from between his fingers as you press your lips to his. You can taste his satisfied smirk, and as cocky as he is, you take pride in the fact that you are the one who put it there. "Yes, I daresay I do."