Chapter Text
\|/
Flower (n): 1a the specialized part of an angiospermous plant that occurs singly or in clusters, possesses whorls of often colorful petals or sepals, and bears the reproductive structures (such as stamens or pistils) involved in the development of seeds and fruit; BLOSSOM.
The meadow stretched out around them as far as the eye could see. Hundreds of wildflowers swayed in the gentle breeze blowing through the clearing. Regulus felt all the stress from the week drain away bit by bit the longer he and James stayed. The air tasted crisp and clean on his tongue, pure in a way the air surrounding Grimmauld Place simply could never be.
James seemed content to imitate an overly large cat by laying with his head resting in Regulus’ lap. James’ mane of thick black curls had been styled in neat twists for the week, kept neater by a line of hair care potions his ancestors made to help hairstyles retain their integrity until they got taken down for Wash Day™️. He hummed low in his throat every time Regulus took a moment to stroke a finger across his cheek. Above James, Regulus steadily wove a flower crown for him, nimble fingers twining stems together with gentle twists.
No one would bother them this far out in the country. Only the weather concerned them, and that day had dawned bright and sunny. The pleasant weight of James in his lap always brought Regulus peace. The silk of his cheek when he paused in his weaving filled him with warmth. The little puffs of air as his breath tickled his wrist set his heart aflutter. His husband looked so perfect as he lay there basking in the sun without a care in the world other than being close to Regulus.
Regulus adored him. He adored his laugh, his eyes, his cheesy jokes, his voice, the calluses on his hands. He loved the curve of his lips and the light dusting of freckles on his cheeks. He loved the violet shadow cast on his throat by his jaw, and the perfect coils of his hair that tumbled past his shoulders. He loved his scent, his taste, and the little whine he made when Regulus stopped kissing him. He loved the way James held him, as if he was the most precious thing in the world.
Regulus loved that James melted when he touched their noses together. He loved the sheer audacity the other man radiated, that he would stand up to anyone for something or someone in which he believed. He loved his passion, and his determination, and the fact that he tolerated all of Bastard’s shenanigans. Not that James was any better, really. Hellions, both of them.
He loved that James had a sweet side. He loved that James would plan a day trip to cheer him up on his worst days. He loved that James painstakingly transplanted some of his mother’s flowers himself by hand when they both knew how much James hated Walburga. (And honestly, the feeling was mutual.) He loved that James bought out an entire bakery when it was going under just so Regulus wouldn’t lose access to their bakers.
Regulus Black loved James Potter with a bone-deep, heart-stopping, breath-stealing, soul-shaking, earth-shattering intensity.