cave

every clatter gives him goosebumps and a flinch

slapping his ass, grabbing it, biting it, sinking his nails in it until he's sporting crescent moons

“Stay still, please,” Regulus says. 

“My butt hurts from sitting on this bloody stool for hours,” Remus exclaims. 

“It hasn’t been hours, you baby.” 

“Reg, darling, look out the window.” 

He turns to look outside, eyes widening slightly as he sees colours blending together in the darkening sky. Just how long has he been painting his boyfriend, lost in perfecting the shade of his eyes and the freckles and scars across his face? 

“I’m sorry,” Regulus murmurs, placing his paintbrush down. “We can continue this tomorrow, unless you got too bored. I’m sure I can do the rest from memory. I see your face every day, there’s no way I haven’t got it memorised by now.” 

Remus stands up, seemingly every bone in his body cracking at once, and steps towards him, gently cupping his cheeks and gazing into his eyes. Regulus looks between him and the painting, smiling slightly at getting the colour right. Perfect even. “I love being your muse, and love repaying the favour with how many of my poems you have inspired.” 

“But you’re literally just sitting there, it must get boring.” 

“I get to watch you work and not be told I’m weird or distracting, what’s boring about that?” 

Regulus rolls his eyes and softly connects their lips. “What do you want for dinner then?” 

Pushing him back to the armchair in the corner of the studio, Remus breathes, “You. I want you.”