Who: Rufus & Amelia What: Smexy times When: 19 October 1979 Rating: PG Status: Complete
Since she'd gotten home after work - something which she felt almost guilty for after what had happened - Amelia had set to work cleaning her flat (something that she had also neglected over the weekend) and trying a new recipe for a light meal. She had a feeling that Rufus would be hungry when he arrived. She was putting the finishing touches - the garnishes of questionably edible greenery and fruit that seemed far too fancy for the meal itself - when she realised that she was still in her work robes.
Leaving the kitchen in a hurry, she went to the bedroom to don something a bit more casual and try to make herself look nicer in the meantime. All the while, she felt slightly guilty for indulging in such practices in light of the far more important things going on. Once she was sure that she didn't look like a complete mess, she wandered back out in to the kitchen, hoping that Rufus would arrive before the meal grew cold.
And right on cue there came a knock at the door - behind which was a respectably dressed Rufus Scrimgeour (who had clearly even bothered to go home and put fresh clothes on) bearing a bottle of wine. A large bottle of wine. It wasn't fancy wine that Jo'd given him for a special occasion, but the man down the store said it was decent and Rufus, having no clue about which wines tasted like what, believed him.
When Amelia answered the door, Rufus's smile was genuine but weary. It had been a hell of a week and he was looking forward to spending some time alone with his -- whatever she was. Lady friend person. Thing. "I brought you some wine." He pointed out rather obviously, holding it out as though he needed a peace offering to get through the door.
"Thank you," Amelia took the wine with one hand, barely even glancing at it before stepping forward to give him a hug. She had lately found it hard not to blush every time she saw him or become overly giddy or something just as embarrassing. For both their sakes, she tried not to give in to acting like a teenage girl and gently pulled him into the flat so she could close the door.
"I cooked," she said, glancing out into the kitchen. "I apologise in advance if it's awful."
Rufus curled his (now free) arms around her and let himself be pulled inward; the flat was warmer than the hallway, and after he pressed a kiss upon Amelia's forehead (yes, he admitted it, he wasn't quite sure yet how alright it was to give her real kisses yet - since he wasn't quite sure if they were, you know. You know. Sniffing the air, he shrugged loose of his over-robes and hung them upon the nearest convenient thing. "I doubt it could possibly be worse than when I tried to give you food poisoning," he offered cheerfully, side stepping into the kitchen to peer at the pots and pans - precisely the sorts of things his mother would have smacked him for thirty years ago. Ugh, he was old.
"Oh, I don't know," she said with a laugh, following him into the kitchen to give him his plate of food. "It's not something I've ever made before, so there's a very real possibility that it will be bad." Of course, she wasn't foolish enough to give him something without tasting it first herself (at least, not after they'd both almost had a culinary disaster with their last meal together), so she knew that it was decent - or at least edible, but she was hoping that her modesty would somehow impress him more once he finally had his own chance to taste it.
Taking two wine glasses under one arm, the bottle under the other and the two plates in hand, she brought everything out to the table. She quietly cursed at having forgotten candles or something a bit more romantic.
If Rufus was able to read minds - an inability for which everyone was grateful - he would have assured her that he had no desire for candles or romance or any of that frilly girl stuff. He just wanted to spend some time with her, get appropriately loaded, and then fall down someplace - preferably with cushy Amelia parts as a pillow (well he probably wouldn't have told her that part).
Looking around for something to carry and help with, Rufus realised that Amelia had this whole entertaining thing down better than he did and happily, empty-handedly, putzed over to the table, where he sat and reached for the bottle to decork. "I'm not really sure if this goes with whatever you made," he admitted.
She watched him uncork the wine and slowly sat down. It was only then that she took a deep breath and let herself slouch some in her chair. "It doesn't matter," she said, reaching for her glass once it was full and taking a longer sip than she normally would have. After a few moments, she set her glass down and licked the excess off her lips. "Not bad."
Well that was cheering! Rufus helped himself to some wine before pondering dinner. It had been distressingly long since he'd last eaten, and the wine hit his stomach with a fuzzy sort of presence that he blinked away. Conversation over dinner was always a bit awkward for him. So we got an eyeball sent to the office wasn't the best route to go when having a nice dinner with your lady whatsit, and so Rufus stalled by stuffing food into his mouth instead. It had a nice side effect of calming his stomach, though he unhelpfully swallowed down another portion of wine with his mouthful.
Amelia also fell silent as they began to eat. She wasn't have any easier a time thinking of something to say, so she decided just to try and be positive about something that had been worrying her. She took another sip of wine before leaning onto the table. "So, how are you around pregnant women?" In hindsight, it was probably an awkward way to start a conversation.
Worst question to ask a man while drinking wine. Ever. Rufus spluttered suddenly, wine burning the insides of his lungs as he attempted desperately to cough them out, along with a bit of pea that was lingering in his pipes. Sweet merciful Merlin was she pregnant? They hadn't even. Was she -- no, the idea of loose couldn't even cross his mind while Amelia was in there, but what the hell was she talking about? "What?" He wheezed, clutching the tablecloth for support.
She raised her eyebrows at his reaction and reached for her wine glass. "I take it you..." She took a sip of wine and considered him. "I was going to ask if you wanted to go with me to Sarah's thing - for her baby - when she eventually has it. You don't have to if you don't want to, of course. And it won't be for a while anyway."
"No, no," Rufus rasped - reaching across the table for more wine to try and wash down the previously mis-inhaled liquid. "Sounds like -ahem- fun." He gave a weak smile, trying to ignore the intense burning that was searing the tops of his ears and the back of his neck, and shoved more food in his mouth in an effort to stall a few long seconds. "Do um. Men usually go to those sorts of things?"
"No, probably not," she said, taking a bite of food. "But I don't think anyone would mind." She tried not to grin too obviously at his expression, even though she was painfully oblivious to its cause. "Besides, you could get in touch with your feminine side."
At this he found himself sulking, and, given that he was in the midst of stuffing his face, gestured with his fork at her as if it might help him make his point. "Don't you get any ideas about my feminine side, Amelia Susan Bones." He would have air quoted, but that might have distracted him from putting things into his belly - a pursuit in which he was quite preoccupied.
"What sort of ideas are you worried that I might get?" She grinned at him from behind her wine glass and leaned back in her chair. She hadn't completely finished her meal, but she also hadn't been very hungry the last few days and she was far more interested in Rufus than some experimental concoction.
Rufus however, was highly interested in his food, and before he answered he made sure to polish off the rest of his plate; it was almost embarrassing how quickly he ate - but if he was at all uncomfortable with his pace, it certainly didn't show. "Well." He admitted, there weren't any specific ideas she'd likely get about him and feminine things, and he took a moment to pour himself another glass of wine and mull over the issue. "Wouldn't want you to start dressing me in frocks or any such nonsense." The corners of his lips curled into that typical, boyish smile that seemed so out of place on the typically no-nonsense auror. He was feeling a bit better about life. All it had taken was a glass and a half of wine and an Amelia.
"I really can't imagine you in a frock," she said with a laugh. Likewise, Amelia was feeling better. She'd been trying to put the events of the last few days out of her mind and that was proving to be much easier with Rufus around to distract her. Her eyes fell to his clean plate and she grinned to herself, pleased that he seemed to have enjoyed it, or that at the very least, it had been edible. "Do you want more? There's some left over."
"Yes!" A little too enthusiastic, but Rufus had a reputation as being a black hole of the ministry for a reason, and it wasn't because he was emo. Happily pouring her a glass while more food was retrieved, he considered this. Her. Them. It almost made him sad that he'd waited so long to ask her on a date sort of thing, but before everything had gone to hell in a hand-basket he'd been quite certain he was too old for her. He still was, though it seemed to matter less in light of the destruction rampant around them. It made companionship more important somehow, and these hang-ups less so. "I'm glad you can cook better than I can," he admitted.
"I wouldn't mind if you made that soup again someday," she said, calling from the kitchen. She reappeared a moment later and set his plate back down in front of him. "I guess the only bad thing about having House Elves to do most of the work growing up is not learning how to do this for later." She ate a forkful of her meal, looking thoughtful. Age hadn't occurred to her as a problem before - it had always been more a matter of her thinking that Rufus was too busy and too dedicated to his work to deal with trifles of romance (and rightfully so!). But she was pleasantly surprised by how normal it all felt, even if she occasionally had to fend off a lingering sense of guilt over taking him away from more important things.
Rufus gave a smile around one of his bites. "We didn't have house elves, but mum wasn't the sort of woman who let men into her kitchen." Oh nostalgia - he really wished he had more time to indulge in those memories, though he supposed it wouldn't hurt if he sent an owl home once in a while. "I'm fantastic at doing my chores, though," he teased. Not that he stayed long enough at Amelia's place to require chores, but one never knew.
Half a glass of wine later, Rufus was starting to feel incredibly content - and... maybe a little wobbly. "Almost done?" He prompted, sounding chipper.
As he spoke, Amelia finished what was left in her own glass, gingerly wiping her mouth afterward on the back of her hand. "Yes," she answered, her voice wavering slightly due to the effect of the wine. She rose slowly to her feet, leaning generously on the edge of the table as she did so. She took the plates and brought them to the kitchen, finding that walking required just a bit more thought than usual. "That was strong wine," she commented as she came back into the room.
"Still is," came his quip, and Rufus collected the wine bottle from the table, and his glass, and lumbered off toward the fireside sofa, upon which he sat, very heavily, and considered ... well, things. Amelia mostly. With a dash of more wine and mmm warm fire. Scrunching over so Amelia had room to sit, he sprawled with a heavy sigh. What a week. One of the worst he could remember. Usually he nursed away these sorts of things with lots of work or scotch, but this was a decent replacement.
Amelia followed him to the couch and flopped heavily next to him. She looked drowsily at the fire for a few minutes before turning to grin at Rufus. "I've been thinking about getting a telly for the room." She pointed to a clear area on one of the walls. "Right there. And that way you won't have to drag yours up every time you come over."
Rufus changed wineglass hands and then draped the free one around Amelia's shoulders. He was feeling a bit silly, actually, though he didn't say anything to that effect. Frowning thoughtfully, he pondered the gap on the wall and took another large sip of his wine. "I think a telly would look right respectable right there." He turned back to Amelia and grinned as well. "Though I don't mind dragging things around for you." Just to clarify!
"I know," she said with a little laugh, leaning into his shoulder while reaching up to hold the hand draped over hers. "But you shouldn't have to. I'm independent and whatnot." She smirked a little at that in spite of herself and gave his leg a gentle pat.
Rufus peered down at her patting hand and then back up at Amelia, stupid expression still twisted into his cheeks. Amelia Bones was patting his leg. He wasn't sure what that meant, but he sort of really like that. Nestling in closer, he leaned in conspiratorially, and murmured "oh yes, very independent" before pressing a firm sort of kiss on her upper jaw.
Turning her head to look at him, she raised her eyebrows slightly. "Are you saying that I'm not independent, Rufus?" She smelled the wine heavily on their mixed breaths but resisted the urge to pull away. Pulling away did not fit into her attempts to be coy.
"No!" He protested. "No I mean you're independent. But not too independent." Thinking wasn't really his strong suit right now, and he hoped that whatever it was he was trying to say was coming out coherently. Too much wine. Oh but mmm he was comfortable and she was toasty and squishy in all the right places. He leaned back a little, another kiss aimed at her neck, or somewhere not quite covered in hair.
Amelia laughed and half-closed her eyes. "You're drunk," she assessed. Not that she wasn't feeling the effects of the wine herself. She was warm, both from the fire, the alcohol and her close proximity to Rufus. She hoped her cheeks weren't unusually flushed, still girlishly self-conscious being so near to him. Without giving it much thought, she moved her hand down his leg to his knee and back, feeling the course tweed beneath her fingertips.
"No you." He retorted. Or it would have been a retort if his face wasn't buried in her hair and all tone was lost in his nibbling of her hair. With an amazing sort of intoxicated radar system, he managed to set his wine glass down on the coffee table in front of them without extracting himself from her hair and applied that hand to her shoulder, and down her arm, and around her side. It gave him some sort of leverage as he kissed back down behind her ear and across her neck. Probably he should have considered being embarrassed or awkward... but he was busy.
She also should have considered being embarrassed or awkward but was too caught up in feeling relaxed, save for the tickling sensation where Rufus was paying her neck attention. Removing her hand from her, she raised it, clumsily trying for his cheek. She settled for his neck, where it would be less obtrusive, and ran her fingers up through his hair.
She was happy there for a few moments but eventually shifted, turning so that she could more easily face him. And with the hand that was on his neck, she tilted his chin toward her until it was at the appropriate level for her to lean forward and kiss him firmly on the lips.
Kiss initiated, Rufus took that as a reasonable sign of interest - nay, permission - and let his hands slip down past her shoulders and sides to encircle her lower back. Pulling Amelia tight up against him, his mouth pressed into hers with renewed interest, the mingling scents of wine and whatever dinner had been, he couldn't remember, across their tongues and on their lips. Warm palms swept dangerously close to the curve of her rear, but he wasn't quite thinking about how this was more than just a step for them in the right direction - more like a pole vault. He just knew his heart was pounding and she was arousing in about four different ways and soft and things and he was going to kiss her until - well - he stopped.