Title: Veela In Furs
Author: ldymusyc
Characters/Pairings: Bill Weasley/Fleur Weasley
Rating: NC17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: Hyphephilia
Other Warnings: None.
Word Count: 2200
Summary/Description: "Desire followed the glance, pleasure followed desire." On a chilly night, a fur-wrapped Fleur takes note of her husband's desire and indulges in pleasure on a wolf's pelt by the fire.
Author's Notes: I've been carrying this title around in my head for over a month now! Sadly, this piece turned out much shorter than I wanted it to be, but the writing time I planned to spend on vacation turned into "holy hell, Fifth Avenue has a lot of expensive stores HELLO MEN IN SUITS". >.> I attempted to give Fleur the flavor of a French accent without Rowlingizing it; please forgive if my attempt was not quite successful. Summary quote by Leopold Von Sacher-Masoch. Also, congratulations, DD, this is the first time I have ever voluntarily written Weasleys in smut. :D



It had been her deep, throaty laugh that first attracted Bill to the young French woman at the championships at Hogwarts. Her slim frame didn't seem as though it had enough room to hold a laugh like that, and he wanted to find out where she hid it all. The second thing that attracted him was her loyalty to her sister, her solid love for her family. Her protective instinct for her young sibling was something he understood. It was the same thing he felt whenever he looked at his brothers and his fierce little sister. Third on his list was Fleur's hair, that blond curtain that fell around him when she laid her head on his shoulder at the end of their first date. It carried the scent of apples and nutmeg, and made him feel as warm as a mug of cider. Fourth was the way she arched and writhed under him, crouched on all fours before him, stretched her arms up to shake out her hair when she rode him. She was creative, experimental, and flexible, and Bill thought he'd had an education in the ways of women before he'd met her. He'd been so very, very wrong, and was grateful for it.

Five years after they married, Bill discovered, above all the other reasons, the number one thing about Fleur that made his heart race. They were in the Highlands, with an unexpected chill blowing against the walls of their hired cottage. As the windows frosted over in patterns of lace and ferns, Bill knelt at the hearth and built up the fire. Fleur went to put on warmer clothes. His skin was heated from the flames when he heard her cough behind him, and when he turned to face her, his blood warmed so quickly he thought it might boil. From blond head to slender ankles, Fleur was surrounded by thick, lush, silvery fur.

Bill had long known he'd give a second, and third, glance to any woman in the luxury of a fur coat. There was something about the sensuality of it, a touch of a lure of the wild. That certain je ne sais quoi, as Fleur had patiently taught him to pronounce. That indefinable quality he could never resist was surrounding his wife, and Bill gave her a second glance. And a third. Fourth, fifth, and more. He stood and stared at his wife, eyes wide and jaw dropped. It wasn't until she spoke that he realized he'd been silent for well over a minute.

"You are staring, 'usband. Do you not like my furs?" She pulled the collar of the ankle-length coat up tight around her slender neck. "They are warm, so if you do not like them, quel dommage. I wear them despite you."

"What? No." Bill held both hands out to his wife, firelight gilding his skin and hiding the numerous scars on his knuckles from his years working with dangerous, cursed objects and artifacts. It couldn't hide the ones Greyback had left across his face, but they didn't bother him. Fleur would kiss each one at night, her fingers and lips tracing love over his memories. Her eyes always shone when she brushed her nails against those scars, and she laughed, that rolling and carefree laugh, when she left her own marks in his shoulders. "No, Fleur, no. I'm not staring because I don't like it. I like it. Loads."

She pouted and turned a shoulder into his touch, that Gallic shrug she always pulled off with so little effort. Bill stroked the thick fur, his fingers sinking into the pelt. "I really like this," he murmured, his voice almost as soft as the fur against his palm. He circled behind Fleur, his fingers running through her hair and dragging through the fur. Silver-blond hair and silver-tipped pelt mingled, and he gave into the temptation to lay his cheek on her shoulder. Apples, nutmeg, and a hint of smoky musk -- he took a deep breath and let it out with a shudder. "What is this?"

"Wolf," she said as she turned her head to give him a considering look. "Grand-père, he catch this wolf near his home in Lyon. It was injured and could not hunt. He - how you say? - he put it out of its mercy."

"Misery. He put it out of its misery. Using mercy." Fleur never objected when he corrected her English. She said it was a good way to learn, and he was generous with his rewards.

"Ah, oui. Merci." She turned to put her arms around his neck. "It was large, this wolf, and he make the pelt even larger with magic. Then he have it made into a coat for grand-mère. It has been well treated." With a soft growl in her throat, she tightened her grip around him and smiled so deeply that lines formed around her mouth. "You like it, yes? Perhaps you wish to touch? Treat me well also?"

Fleur rose up on her toes, the fur pressed into his torso. She bit the curve of his ear, sharp teeth digging lightly into his flesh. "Open my coat, 'usband. I have a surprise for you."

Bill raised his brows in surprise and anticipation, then reached up to gently pull Fleur's arms from around his neck. He stroked the coat sleeves from wrists to shoulders, then down Fleur's torso and over her hips. He was enjoying himself enough while just touching the coat that he got lost in the deep silver pelt. He almost forgot Fleur's quiet command until she quite pointedly cleared her throat and he felt one dainty foot tap the top of his dragonhide boot. He muttered a quick apology, then pushed the sides of her coat apart.

Beneath the fur, she was nude, gloriously naked, completely bare, save for a pair of pale stockings that matched the color of her skin to perfection. They stretched from thin ankles up rounded thighs, and the tops of each were bordered with pure white fur. "Wolf?" he asked, tracing the top of one stocking.

"Oui. From the ... the word. This." She circled her navel with the nail of her pinky. "From here. It is the softest part of the skin, do you think?" At his nod, she pursed her lips.

Bill took the hint.

He lowered to his knees and slipped his arms around her waist. Fleur's stomach muscles fluttered and tightened under his lips as he kissed a circle around her navel. His hands slid to her thighs, palms riding on the bands of fur that topped those stockings. Fleur made a soft sound of pleasure and draped the sides of her coat over his shoulders. She placed her hand against the back of his head, her fingers stroking through his hair to tug at the ends.

She stepped back and Bill shuffled forward on his knees, until Fleur fetched up against the sofa in front of the fireplace. She threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled. Her stance widened, legs spreading, and Bill trailed kisses across the cradle of her hips before working down into her own fur. Fleur kept her hair trimmed as a courtesy to him, but other than an experiment several years before, refused to take it further than that. She muttered something in French too fast for him to understand the first few times, then threatened to shave his bollocks in his sleep if he mentioned it once more. Fair play, he decided.

Bill stripped off his shirt and settled the coat more firmly around his shoulders, letting the fur tickle his spine. He spread Fleur's labia with both thumbs, and set to work. Her clit swelled against his tongue as her cunt slickened from his efforts. Bill stroked her, licked her, reached two fingers into her and pressed on the spot that made her screech like a hawk. Her hips writhed, trapped between his mouth and the sofa, and her fingers clawed at his shoulders, dug into the thick pelt of the fur.

"More," she demanded, hips canted to push her clit against his lips. "More, 'usband."

Bill answered without speaking. He kissed her thighs, the fur bands of her stockings brushing his cheeks and jaw. He sucked on her clit, the fur coat rubbing his arms and back. He reached into the heat of her cunt, the muscles of her body squeezing and pulsing around his fingers. Bill looked up the length of her body, past her pointed breasts as they heaved with her rapid breathing, past the long column of her throat as she swallowed. Her lips trembled and Bill smiled into her folds as he recognized the signs of her approaching orgasm.

He clung to her when she dug her nails into his shoulders, the points felt through even the thick fur. Fleur sang out when she came, her voice rising and falling in a ripple of sound. Until she slumped on the sofa, her thighs quivering in aftershocks, he kept up his work. She hated it when he stopped before she'd finished, and he'd learned that lesson early in their relationship. When she gripped the back of his head and pulled him away from her body, he wiped his chin and licked her taste from his lips. "Hope you're not done," he said as he sat back on his heels. "I've plenty more for you."

"Ooh la la," she teased. "Perhaps you intend to show me your wand?" She moved one foot and prodded at his groin, her toes dancing along the length of his stiff cock. "Reasonably springy, firm texture. Length, though, we may discover on our own, n'est-ce pas?"

She flicked the coat away from his shoulders and stood with her hands on her hips, back arched and breasts prominent. Bill stood to kiss her, to press his palms against her breasts and rub her nipples in small circles. "Think we're discovering quite a few things tonight," he murmured before tugging on her lower lip. "Didn't know I liked fur this much." His hips rocked into her, cock pressed hard to her stomach.

Fleur made a soft sound of pleasure and pushed her hands into his hair. "More," she said again. "More and more and more. Treat me well, mon cher. You know what I enjoy."

Bill growled and yanked her hips against him, then stepped away. He pushed the coffee table to the wall, took the coat from Fleur, and spread it over the floor in front of the fireplace. Fleur strutted past him, her round, pert arse swaying as she walked. It swayed even more when she lowered to all fours and stretched out her arms until her breasts brushed the silver fur. "This is how wolves mate, oui? The pack leader, he claim his female, and they howl at the moon. Come, 'usband." She shifted her hips to twitch her arse, the folds of her cunt flashing between her thighs. "Claim me."

He kicked his boots across the room to smack into the wall and shucked his trousers as quickly as if he'd Banished them from his body. He dropped to his knees behind his wife, the fur coat softening the impact. Fleur made a growling sound and tossed her hair before sinking further to the floor. Bill didn't waste time. He gripped her hip with one hand and his cock with the other. Once he'd lined up, he drove in.

Fleur howled. With pleasure, with need, with another demand for more. With each thrust, she howled again. Bill picked up speed, picked up power. Rather than make love to his wife, he fucked her. He drove deep into her and fucked her, the fur coat cushioning his legs, the fur bands on Fleur's stockings tickling his thighs and bollocks. Instead of a distraction, it was an encouragement, an enhancement. The fur was nearly as warm and soft as the feel of his wife's body enveloping him, and if it weren't for the folds of her cunt only slicking his cock, he could almost imagine that he was entirely surrounded by her.

It drove him mad. Drove him to the brink. Then, with a deep groan that rattled from what felt like the depths of his soul, it drove him over the edge. Bill gripped Fleur's hips and dropped his head back. A cry escaped from him, distending his throat, as his bollocks drew up against his body and emptied. He howled as he came, and Fleur shrieked in triumph. When he finished, with a last grunt and spasm, he withdrew from her body and collapsed onto his heels. "Mmngh. Mmrph. Gng. God."

"Oui." Fleur rolled onto her side, legs pressed together and arse angled over the bare floor to keep his semen from dripping onto the coat. "Well treated indeed, 'usband." She put an arm over him when he stretched out beside her. "And that is just one coat. Grand-mère took a chill with ease. There is an entire wardrobe in Lyon."

She laughed. "Next time, I think the rabbit fur coat. For the making of love like hares?"

Bill pushed up on his elbow and smiled at his wife. "Fuck like bunnies."

"Ah, oui. Merci, my wolf."