thecoolone | (no subject)

(no subject)

The thing that takes him by surprise, he realises, is how exquisite Fleur's movements are. Whether or not she tries -- whether or not the effort is conscious -- she's so graceful. Like a dancer, like a feather, like a wisp of smoke, and her silvery tresses span out over the pillow like spun flax.

Even when she sleeps, she's full of poise.

Bill lies by her side, watching: it's a fabulous temptation to reach over and stroke her skin but he doesn't. He doesn't want to disturb her because she looks to be dreaming. Her brow furrows slightly, then smooths out and in her sleep she smiles quietly and lets out the tiniest of giggles.

It's a precious moment for him, and he's so very happy that she's here by his side.

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*Fleur murmurs in her sleep. She is dreaming of Paris again, and her cousin has just tripped the tadpole bucket trap on her own head. Squirmy squirmy things!*

*And she rolls herself onto her stomach, arm thrown over Bill's hips.*

Lucky thing he's not too ticklish, otherwise her hand resting where it is...

In turn he moves just a bit closer and allows himself the luxury of sweeping her hair away. It feels like silk in his hands.

Then he reaches to the bedside table for his wand. Pointing to different areas in the room, he says the spell so quietly; wherever he points, flowers appear. When she wakes up, it will be as if they're in the centre of a bouquet.

Fleur might like that.

*Fleur lets out an unladylike snort and wakes herself up.*

Wha--? Z'sky falling?

*She manages to rise herself on her hands, and hovers there a moment, blinking. The poor thing is not really awake yet.*

He rests his hand on her shoulder, kisses her sleepy eyes so gently.

"Good morning, love. Good morning."

Waking slowly is a good thing and really, he's in no hurry to start the day any differently. If this place is a haven or a respite, he might as well treat it as such.

Bill's never been one to harp on the past or on what he thinks he deserves. But a small piece of him is so very grateful for having ended up here after his stint with the Death Eaters: it's forced him to slow down, to regroup, to take time to think and breathe and just to be.

If it weren't for this place, he wouldn't be with Fleur.

With. It's a concept; there's no ownership to it, but there is partnership. He's rather fond of that.

*Fleur smiles slowly, and the world makes a little more sense.*

Mmmm...morning.

*After she deliveries a lazy good morning kiss, she lets herself plop down against his chest. That is when she finally registers the flowers covering the room.*

You have been busy thiz morning.

"Just a small token." Resting his head back on the pillow, Bill's eyes close, the feel of her lips lingering against his. For a brief moment the thought am I enough for you? crosses his mind, but he lets it go. He was a bit fatalistic about this relationship through necessity the first time around: it's as though he and Fleur were working out the necessary steps and doing it painfully.

This time -- the second time -- is different. He knows they fell into it unbidden and happily so.

Her head rises and falls with each of his breaths and he wraps his arms around her.

If every step of fate were up to him, he'd surround her always with beauty.

*Fleur closes her eyes and breaths with him. And listens to his heart beat.*

You are thinking again. Lotz of thinking in the morning.

"Lots of thinking always." He plays with a strand of her hair. "It's what I do."

For a few minutes there's only breathing, the soft up-and-down of his chest rising, her body nestled close against him, her long eyelashes brushing against his skin.

Another in his place might take this time to make promises, to make requests. He won't do that, though. This time around, he will be attentive to what Fleur needs. Not at the expense of his own well-being, but he will care for and cherish this woman at his side.

He lets his hand run over her long hair, down her back, over her hip.

Warm.

Mmm, that and look magnifique in dragonhide.

*And lays a kiss on his shoulder. One turns into another. Kiss. Kiss. A line of kisses traced over his shoulder, across his collarbone, and to the hollow of his throat.*

Bill smiles outwardly at her words and inwardly at her actions. He lets his eyes close, breathing in her scent. His hands draw slow circles on the small of her back.

"What piece of luck fell my way so that I might be graced by you?"

He doesn't even mean to ask the question aloud, but once stated he has no intention of revoking it. He would show her the world.

Or at least the bits of it at his disposal.

There is more he could say, but he opts not to. Instead, he kisses her on the forehead; it's where his lips meet her. There's some small urgency to his laziness, or will be soon if she keeps doing what she's doing.

"I adore you so."

Now that, Monsieur Weasley, iz a silly question.

*She tips her head up, eyes on his lips.*

Je t'aime.

*And she steals a kiss.*

He has no complaints about any of that.

"Every day with you is like the first day all over again." He pulls her closer and steals his own kiss back, followed by another.

And a third and a fourth.

And then he stops counting.

*Fleur is giggling madly because he's rubbing right across her hip. Her greatest weakness. Her most ticklish spot!*

*So, being a sweet, helpful girl, she kindly informs Bill. By tickling madly under his ribs!*

Anyone listening by the door would hear laughter.

(Anyone listening by the door would deserve whatever earful they got.)

"What a pair." Bill grins, his hands still running up and down Fleur's body unapologetically.

Then he shifts and kisses that ticklish spot on her hip. She's so sweet.

*She is giggling to herself now. Today is a smiley, giggly day. When Bill shifts, she reaches down to play with his long hair.*

Mmmm, what are you up to?

*A little tug on an long strand.*

"Kissing my way from here..." He kisses the spot on her hip again, then moves to the spot just below her belly button. "...to here..." He works his way up her middle, pausing every now and then between kisses to watch her face.

"...to here." He rests his head on her shoulder. One arm brushes over her chest and he holds her for a moment, not protectively but gladly, contentedly. Then he reaches across for one of the flowers he conjured earlier -- an iris, vibrant and purple -- and sets it down on her stomach.

And tickles her again.

*Fleur is humming and content and ooooh kissing...*

Aie!

*She giggles and tries to escape tickling hands.*

I give! I give!

*Curling about him, Fleur distracts him with another kiss.*

*panting*
Truce?

"The toll for truce is one more kiss."

He's easily distracted; she's already wrapped around him and he's very willing to stop all the tickling. But he loves the sound of her laughter. It reminds him of things from his past, things he can't quite describe in full but things that nonetheless remind him of simple times, of happy times, of gentle times. A distant ship's horn in the night, perhaps, or songbirds gathered in the yard, or...

"Fleur." His eyes meet hers, full of longing.

*Still smiling and kissing him again. 'Lie back' whispered against lips, but Fleur is already in motion, rolling Bill onto his back and settling over his hips.*

Let me.

There is something to marvel about when one considers the different qualities of touch: it can be harsh or reassuring, hard or soft, sweet or evil. The simple act of touch can take people to places they've never been or to places they wish they'd never been.

Or to places they can't get enough of and yearn to return to time and time again.

Bill lies back, eyes closed, and it's all about touch. The sense of touch. That soft, reassuring, sweet kind that makes his breath catch in his throat.

Ameera. Imra'a kaamil.

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