Lip Service || REGULUS

It was well past midnight and Rodolphus was in the Slytherin common room thinking about Joram Mortelle. Rod had been putting off the thought of the Hufflepuff boy for quite some time, but two weeks after their rendez-vous in the Slytherlin dormitory, Rod found he couldn't avoid the subject any longer. Joram Mortelle. Best friend. Dealer. Vampire – a recently discovered phenomena on Rodolphus' part. And apparently, lover. Well actually, that last label had yet to be determined. Rod sat alone on the black leather couch, the only one out about about as the rest of the Slytherins slumbered peacefully in their beds. The common room was silent save for the gentle crackling of the fireplace. Rod stared intently into the flames, watching their orange-yellow arms dance back and forth, licking the air and filling the common room with its warmth. Rod could lose himself in its embers if he wasn't careful.

At first, Rod had rationalized that it all had transpired because he was pissed drunk. And depressed. Which he was. He had gotten himself right schnockered due to his recent misery about having to escort Bellatrix Black to the upcoming formal. Considering the circumstances, Rodolphus couldn't really be blamed for anything. It was the inevitable effects of misery and significant amounts of alcohol. But after a week had passed, Rod would find himself momentarily fixed on the memory of Joram's lips on his. The feeling of his body beneath him. His stare. His fangs boring deep into his neck. Outwardly, Rod flinched, nearly trembling at the vividness of the memory. He was beginning to come to the conclusion that it hadn't just been the alcohol or Bellatrix's madness. Something else had brought him to that place with Joram. But it was something he couldn't even name.

Taking a sip from the drink in his hand, he looked down at the liquid. Firewhisky and straight from the stores of one Joram Mortelle. A part of Rod had thought that if he drank from one of Joram's products, it might help him get his priorities order, get the wheels in his head turning. But so far, Rod found he was at an absolute blank. Alternatively, he would've just gone to bed in silent defeat, but he knew he would only spend the night tossing and turning. There was no point. Growing impatient with himself, Rod stood from the couch, beginning to pace back and forth in front of the fire. Head cast downward, Rod cursed under his breath. What was the matter with him? Why did he have to crawl into bed with Joram like that? If he hadn't, things wouldn't be so confusing for him now. It would be easier if he knew what Joram was thinking about all this. After all, they'd been friends for the longest time, and even Rod knew it was generally a bad idea to mix sex with friendship. He found he couldn't even look at Joram anymore and had been actively avoiding him ever since their... entanglement.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, Rod leaned his body forward and rested his hand on the mantelpiece. He stared down into the fire once more, as if hoping that he looked at his hard and long enough, the answer might rise to him from the smoke. It was then that he sound of quiet footsteps caught his attention. He closed his eyes, disappointed that his reverie had been intruded on. Generally speaking, Rod wasn't one to dismiss company. He thrived on other people and was physically exhausted when he was alone. He couldn't stand being alone. But now, all he really longed for was some time to himself, something he rarely got. Without looking at the new arrival, Rod murmured dryly, “Get back to bed, Dracula. You're not wanted here.”