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Summary
They were close enough to touch. As if the path had been paved—the ocean has been split and all Regulus has to do is lean in ever so slightly, and they would—
“I’ve killed a man before.” James confesses, tone eerily calm.
Regulus feels his mouth fucking water. He swallows. “What?”
Or, As the late preacher’s son, Regulus Black has spent years running from religion’s pruning fingers. But Father James Potter, with his big, warm hands unafraid to hold him, makes it difficult to keep running—and Regulus can’t help but find himself finding faith in him.
Well, that and the fact that he really, really wants to fuck him.