fleur delacour (maquis) wrote in disorderic, @ 2017-10-29 15:13:00 |
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Entry tags: | bill weasley, fleur delacour |
and you are the wolf / and i am the moon
WHO: Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour.
WHAT: Fleur likes to keep an eye on Bill during the full moon.
WHEN: Backdated to the evening of October 5th.
WHERE: Shell Cottage, just outside Tinworth.
WARNINGS: Schmoop, undercooked meat.
Bill wasn't expecting anyone to be home, but the lights were on and the wards undisturbed as he slowed to a walk on the first stretch of the pebbled path leading up to the cottage. At this hour, the sun was already low in the sky, temperamental clouds sucking the warmth from the remains of the day, but it wasn't so late yet that the working day was done. He himself had taken some personal time -- because today was that day, and he was running hot, which never went down well where goblins were involved -- but he hadn't been expecting Fleur for another couple of hours. The wards were intact, however, and he had enough faith in his handiwork that he trusted that it was, indeed, Fleur. Any minute shift in the intricate spellwork, however, and he would have been thundering at that door; as it was, the remnants of his jog was still doing a number on his heart, and his breath rattled hot in his throat as he jiggled open the front door. With all gone mad in the world around them, Fleur felt it important to make their sanctuary in Tinworth as peaceful and soothing as possible. She was not much of a homemaker, but she was a romantic, and she could manage to pretty things up and get food on the table even if it wasn't food she'd cooked herself. Meat, mostly, because she knew how Bill would be on a night like tonight. She greeted him at the door still in her work robes, standing on tip-toe to kiss his pensive mouth. "Bonsoir, mon trésor." It was still something akin to a cultural shock to get back inside and find domesticity being played out -- Bill's mouth was very pensive indeed as he toed the front door shut, an immensity of effort going into ignoring the yank of his stomach as he smelled the meat in the air (on her). He wasn't sure he liked the idea of her coming home early just for him, and he fixed her with a quizzical look even as his hands found the familiar narrow lines of her waist beneath the folds of her robes, holding her close. "You're home early, babe." Beat. And then, quickly: "Is that venison?" "Oui," Fleur said. "Yes. It is, yes. You like this, yes?" She seemed concerned suddenly, the slightest knit of worry at her typically serene brow. She'd recalled Bill saying he liked venison, though she'd always found it a bit gamey herself. "I went to ze butcher on my way 'ome." Where she now was, obviously, at least three hours before she'd normally be expected. "I was t'inking maybe you are wanting to eat now, before ze sunset." She raised a hand, delicate, to the hard line of his jaw. "You know I do not like to be leaving you alone on zis night." Her eyes found his, and she smiled. "So I am... 'ow you say." A beat. "Clocking out." Despite himself, a grin lit across his features. "Someone's loss is my gain," he said, tugging her closer, the thought of meat now giving way to the prospect of savouring that particular slant of her smile. All his -- yeah, it was better that she was here, even if there was still a very loudly rational part of him that decried such a streak of territoriality. "... but you really don't have to look after me," he managed to tack on. Fleur frowned, pressing another quick kiss to his lips. "I am not looking after you, Bill," she demurred, "like you are some pet, to be checked upon." Her arms looped easily about his neck, her thumb teasing at the ginger curls tucked just behind his ear. "I am keeping you company." Another peck, this one to the corner of his mouth. "Because it pleases me." "Good," firmly now. "Just so we're clear. Thanks for making that distinction for me." Because playing the role of an infirm, needing care -- they were not about that (notwithstanding the irony of how he actually felt a thousand times stronger during this phase of the moon). "Anyway." And a rakish glint was suddenly in his eyes, equally roguish energy darting through his fingers as they pulled on the folds of her work robes (sensible on anyone else; on Fleur, they were approaching glamorous). "It's being thought of as sick that bothers me, not being your pet." "Oh?" Fleur tilted her head to one side, smirking. She pushed her shoulders back, letting him tease at the fold and catch of her robes. "Per'aps you must be disciplined, zen." She raised her free hand to straighten his collar, humming a little under her breath. "But you need to eat, first. You are starving, I t'ink." The full moon, she well knew, made the animal curse in his blood run hot and voracious, whether or not his body visibly changed. There were, possibly, changes -- but the moon wasn't even up yet, and Fleur, as ever, was right. He was starving. A harsh sigh rattled out from between his teeth as he relinquished his grip on her robes, giving her slim, pale wrists a brush with his fingers before his arms settled loosely across his chest. "Can't let that venison go to waste." A nod. "That butcher is going to start getting ideas soon enough, huh? That all beautiful French women are dedicated carnivores." "I do like to 'ave a bit of ze mystery," Fleur trilled airily, tossing her hair over her shoulder and posing like an enigmatic femme fatale. "But come, come. Sit and eat." She led him to the table and pulled out his chair -- not one for old chivalric nonsense -- and gestured at it impatiently. "I am eating lunch late, so I am still fine right now." She ate like a bird, anyway, as Bill often teased her. Bill sat without further protest, the expectant jibe about her eating habits dying before it really had a chance to surface as he was greeted with the sight and smell of the carefully procured venison, a generous cut of rump that gleamed a deep ruby red. "I love you," he blurted, throat suddenly tight with hunger. Fleur laughed, bright and high like a bell, and bent to kiss his cheek, right at the top of one of his scars. "I love you too, mon trésor." Her hands found his shoulders, then, squeezing at tense muscle. "I will leave you to it, yes? Join me when you are finishing. I will take a shower now." A kiss to the top of his head, and then she was sauntering away. Which was probably for the best, Bill thought, and wrapped his hands around the cutlery. He found her reclined on the divan in the living room, her work robes exchanged for a simple silk robe more comfortable for lounging, a copy of the new issue of muggle Vogue in her hands. She looked up at his approach, and smiled, the lights around her somehow brightening to accentuate her pleased reaction. "Are you feeling better, now? You are looking less pale." "Yeah." Judging by how much venison he'd left on the plate, it'd gone down bloody well, the strong hint of ferric salt scratching an itch Bill was still learning to contend with. Greyback had let him off easy, but the learning curve was still steep, and navigating the highs of his own temper and his sudden strong like of raw -- or near enough -- meat would have been a pain in the arse if not for the very precious partnership he had with Fleur. He padded across the room, beelining for the divan, where he could drop himself right by her feet. "Much better. It's woken me up." He drummed his fingers against her ankle. "Are you going to read that all night?" Fleur tossed the magazine onto the coffee table, turning a bit to look down her body to where her husband sat. "Non, I was only occupying myself." She was loath to interrupt him when he was eating on a full moon, lest she interrupt whatever primal process was going on in his brain. Better that he go through the whole of it and find himself calmed, rather than stop and start and stop and start. "But I am feeling very awake as well," she granted. "What would you like to do?" The first thing that came to mind was almost too childishly embarrassing to admit, even to someone who did not tend to laugh at the way need and desire could sometimes manifest; even to Fleur, who knew most of his secrets, and then some. But I want to lie here and smell you was too fucking weird, even for them, so Bill quashed the impulse lurking in the centre of his skull and tightened his grip on her ankle instead. "C'mere," he said in a short preamble before he pulled, the movement both to disrupt her casual poise and draw her near, and to drag himself beneath the long line of her legs. With a bright giggle, Fleur let herself be pulled into his lap. She looped her arms about his neck, leaning close to press a kiss to his cheek, right where he had been scratched so cruelly. He was not the only animal present; there was no scholarship on the matter, at least that she could find, but under the full moon she sometimes felt a phantom itch at her shoulderblades. Feathers, waiting, just beneath her skin. Never breaking through, nearly-human as she was. Maybe it helped her understand. "And 'ere I am," she proclaimed, settling there atop him. "Mon loup." |