XCVII. The Life of Christian Thibodeaux

                                    

                                          
Chapter Notes: all italicized dialogue is being spoken in French
                          
Christian Thibodeaux, in all honesty, had had no intentions of ever writing to Regulus. 
                          
Sure, he was a nice boy and all. However, Christian had absolutely no intentions of keeping anything going long distance. So, he had assured Regulus that they would write to one another to ease the sad look in the boy's eyes, and he had proceeded with his life as normal. He spent time with his friends, slept, explored the vast French countryside - all things that every teenager dreams of doing.
                          
One odd addition to his life, however, had been his near-constant thoughts of Regulus Black. The beautiful British boy who had warmed up to Christian within seconds. The boy with that beautiful accent and those captivating eyes that had drawn Christian in and left him oh-so odd feeling. The boy who refused to leave his mind. 
                          
Sometimes, at night, Christian would feel the ghost of Regulus's lips on his own, or Regulus's fingers laced with his, or those soft black locks tangled between his fingers. He would groan, and he would bury his face in the pillow as though that would help to be rid of those feelings. He would spend hours tossing and turning, trying to forget about the sharp, bewitching, and alluring features of Regulus Black. 
                          
Nothing worked. He would still remember him. He was even dreaming about him, for Christ's sake!
                          
The dreams were always the same. He would be sitting in that same clearing with Regulus, their fingers tangled together. Christian would be staring into the stormy grey, ensnaring eyes that belonged to Regulus Black, feeling the hot breath of the other boy tickling his lips. And then, they would be kissing. And then, they would be doing so, so much more. 
                          
And Christian would wake up, drenched in sweat, the feelings from his dream fading away slowly as sleep released him and reality grabbed hold. He would groan, and he would bury his face in his hands, trying to forget the shameful dreams that he was having about a boy who didn't even live in his country. 
                          
They did not stop. 
                          
Of course, Christian had never actually seen what Regulus's body looked like. So, that part was all up to the imagination. However, to Christian at least, that was not the best part of these dreams. The best part of them was always Regulus's face - the beguiling face of the boy as it contorted to different levels of euphoria and pleasure. The way that Regulus's mouth moved when he would sigh Christian's name. 
                          
Yes, that was the best part. Not the feeling of it, not the gratification of seeing stars, no. It was always the way that Regulus's face looked. 
                          
Christian could stare at the face of Regulus Black for hours upon hours and never, ever get bored. And that was something that he learned over these few weeks that he spent not writing to Regulus. 
                          
As time went on, Christian's dreams evolved. They became much less about the touching and the sex, and more about the conversations. The two would hold these conversations for what felt like hours in his dreams. Christian would admire the way that Regulus looked when he spoke - the little mannerisms that Christian had picked up from the short amount of time that he had spent with Regulus. He would admire the way his jaw moved and tensed when he talked, the way he would absently brush curly strands of hair from his eyes, the way he would move his hands as he spoke. He would take note of the fluctuations in Regulus's voice as he spoke, taking in the wonderful and entrapping tone that would overtake his words when you got him going about something he genuinely enjoyed speaking about. Christian was captivated by Regulus, even in his dreams. 
                          
He had gone into this state of ignoring the nagging feeling to write him thinking that it would go away with time. The dreams would die out, his thoughts of Regulus would dwindle, and he would forget about him.