Just Existing In Each Other's Orbit Is A Form Of Love

just existing in each other's orbit is a form of love

coz they were a secret

and at the end of the day James couldn’t even mourn him publicly.

Reg calling James “Jamie” is my equivalent of cocain

What if I said Jegulus? My loves! 🫶

Constellation | @jegulus-microfic | word count: 439

Regulus wakes up to James’ watchful gaze. Slow and bleary-eyed, he moves to face him. James is looking down at him, arm propped up, and cheek pressed against the palm of his hand.

There’s something about that look. Regulus is slow to realize the weight of it, but once it settles, he goes still. 

“What is it?” He almost wants to cover James’ eyes and tell him to stop looking at him like that.

“Nothing,” comes James’ response and his voice is infinitely clearer than Regulus’, bearing no trace of sleep. Exposing him.

James has been up for a while, watching Regulus sleep.

It’s early morning. The birds are chirping their song and the sun is slanting through the blinds, painting the walls of their bedroom and bringing its warmth into their bed.

James runs a hand through Regulus’ locks, softly, reverently, moving an errant lock from his face and behind his ear. It’s futile work, as it falls right back where it was. Regulus blows air at it in response, and James smiles.

He moves, running his hands through Regulus’ hair, past the nape of his neck and settles on the vast expanse of his exposed back.

James traces the spots and freckles scattered across Regulus’ back with a careful finger, barely touching as he moves it along. 

“Even here,” he breathes, “there are constellations.” It’s barely a whisper, entirely to himself, as he continues to thread the marks together along his path.

Regulus leaves him to it, suppresses the where else in me do you see stars? that burst through the tingling in his stomach at James’ ministrations.

After a while, James starts tracing a familiar pattern, less soft now, covetous rather than reverent.

J F P

“Stop that,” Regulus says, failing to keep a reprimanding tone.

“Stop what?”

“Marking me.”

“I’m not marking you. I’m connecting the stars.”

J…F…P

“How awfully convenient that the freckles on my back spell out your initials.”

“It’s not all freckles; there are a few pimples here.”

Aaaand the show is over. Regulus rolls onto his back and pushes James down onto his pillow. He goes without a fight, a stupid grin on his face.

“Good morning to you, too.” 

“I hate you.”

“You should tone down the sappiness, it’s getting to be too much even for me.” And before Regulus decides to chuck his pillow at him: “Breakfast?”

“Pancakes.”

James snorts. “Not if you’re making them.”

Regulus helps him off the bed with a push of his foot on James’ ass, and cocoons himself.

“You burn them one time,” he grumbles to himself, burrowing into the pillow that smells like James.

starchaser doodles