A/N: Prompt: (Trope) Murder Spouses / (Dialogue) "All that blood looks good on you." / (Genre) Crime
Warnings: This was written for Murder March, so it's a little darker than what I usually write. Please don't read if murder isn't your cup of tea, or if violence and blood make you uncomfortable.
"All that blood looks good on you."
The bedroom was a riot of colour. Vibrant, glossy swathes of blood tracked along the walls and stained the thick curtains, dousing the windowsill in a sheen of red. Against the pale cream of his shirt, it looked particularly striking. Regulus plucked at his shirtsleeves, rolled up to keep them away from the messy leather of his gloves, and arched an eyebrow at the doorway.
"I'm serious," James said. "You should wear red more often."
One shoulder pressed against the dark wood of the frame, one ankle kicked behind the other; he was the picture of indulgence, patience, as though he had nowhere better to be. There was a single smear of blood tucked under his chin. The rest of him was clean, pure, untouched by the filth of Regulus's world.
Truthfully, James was more vicious than he was sometimes, driven by things like love and loyalty. But the world didn't know that, and Regulus was happy to take the fall for him if it ever came to that.
"You know I prefer my wardrobe as neutral as possible," Regulus said. "Don't you have somewhere to be? What are you doing here?"
"Couldn't let you have all the fun, could I?" James stepped over a limb on his way to Regulus's outstretched arms, kissing him deeply. "I thought we were going to deal with this lot next weekend."
"Things changed. I was going to tell you, but you were stressed about the dinner later, and this didn't take long."
"This would have been the perfect way to destress," James said, scanning the bloody room with keen, regretful eyes. But he didn't seem genuinely upset, just a bit put out, so Regulus simply hummed and stroked his hip. He saw the moment when James registered the touch, prising his eyes away from splayed bodies and all that red to fix him with a grin of sheer delight.
"I'm not sure what I did to deserve being looked at like that," Regulus murmured, a little white lie.
"Besides existing?"
Regulus huffed a reluctant laugh, rolling his eyes. James flashed him a cheesy wink before wrestling their hands together, bringing them up to examine the fine leather moulded to his fingertips. The glove was pitch black and softer than butter. They were comfortable, and they didn't restrict his movement. That was important, when you were holding a knife.
"You wore the gloves I got you." James's delighted expression softened. "You like them?"
"I love them," Regulus said. "I didn't want to get blood on my rings."
Our rings.
James's gaze turned to liquid heat, scorching, and Regulus smiled at him. Any reference to their marriage turned James into a puddle of possessive goo. That was more than fine with him. He moved to kiss James again, but he was beaten to the punch; his hand was twisted gently until James could press a chaste, gentle kiss to the bloody leather over his knuckles, an unspoken promise.
[Word Count: 500]
