thecoolone | (no subject)

(no subject)

It isn't the heat that catches Bill's attention first: it's the lights. Everywhere they look, there are lights. Blinking, stagnating, moving, forming patterns, forming designs, and he knows deserts: this is not any Egyptian desert he's ever had the privilege to visit. Holding Fleur tightly by the hand, they step out into the bright-light-blinking-darkness and the hot hot hot that tells him this town being built where it is has to be some miracle of modern technology.

Up and down the street he looks, and then something catches his eye. Well, something beyond the crowds and the noise and the heat and the lights. He nods. "Look, love. Is that supposed to be the Eiffel Tower?"

Were they to turn around, they would see a pyramid with a jet of blue cascading up into the night sky.

"What is this place?"

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"It is time." With a nod to the two men and a promise from the photographer to have pictures delivered to their room the next day, they gather up their belongings and Bill is highly amused that non-wedding clothes take up so much less space than wedding clothes.

Not that Fleur ever wears much, anyway.

As surreptitiously as possible he shrinks their other clothes so they have less to carry. She's serenely beautiful in that dress with that tiara, and he twists the ring on his finger once, twice, thrice: an old good luck charm from someone in his family a long time ago; it's supposed to seal in luck.

Bill escorts his bride back down the elevator, through not-Paris, and out to the street where, thanks to a last-minute bit of planning, a limousine awaits them. Inside they have Godiva chocolates and Cristal champagne, and the driver takes them round the city on Bill's orders, out into the surrounding desert, and back again, just because it's all possible.

In the back of the limo he toasts Fleur with the champagne. "Happy marriages begin when we marry the one we love, and they blossom when we love the one we married. I love you, I love you, I love you."

*She laughs because he is nuzzling as he 'I love you's. Her legs are thrown over Bill's lap, and he has a hand resting comfortably on her thigh after they both did a bit of search under the long train.*

I am going to spill my champagne! Bill--!

*Tickle spot! And she laughs even harder.*

Merde! We are bloody married and what are you up to? Are you trying to steal my knickerz in front of our driver? *She pretends to look very innocent and not at all encouraging.*

He leans closer. "How can I when you're not wearing any?"

She's fun to tease; he takes her champagne and sets it down and kisses her very, very thoroughly, quite certain the driver's seen far worse.

He doesn't even care.

"Personally, I can't wait to steal your knickers. It will be my first prize as your husband, and I'll frame them and keep them on the wall of the little flat we're going to get in whatever town you choose, and we'll live happily ever after with that on our wall. How does that sound, my love?"

For the first time he's ready to start to plan for the future. It's a bit overwhelming.

"I do love you so very much." Now it's time for the champagne. The view out the window is desert, but the moon rises low and bright, illuminating the skies and he thinks that perhaps -- just perhaps -- they're two of the luckiest people in this or any universe.

Oui but he doez not know that--! *And she is laughing as Bill kisses her again. And again and again and again.*

*They settle back together, lazy and comfortable.*

*a happy little sigh*

J t'aime, you 'orrible British oof. And do make sure it iz my good g-string. If company can not see me naked, they must see my best under thingz.

*And she knocks their foreheads togther.*

That soundz magnifique...mon mari. *She blushes and giggles* I can say that now! Mon mari!

*She kisses him again and tries not to spill champagne all over the both of them.*

He's almost giddy. She's laughing enough for the two of them and he doesn't mind at all. Suddenly it hits:

"Fleur. We're married."

We're married.

And it's perfect.

"I can't wait to tell the world. But... the world can wait." The car turns round, the driver entirely silent behind the privacy window, heading back towards the city.

Tonight is for them. For celebrating this moment, this feeling, this most amazing night, this love that they have. As the city lights grow closer, Bill settles his arm around Fleur contentedly and kisses her.

And again.

And he loves her so much, and he knows that what he feels will never die, will never lessen. How could it: she's magic.

Magic.

*When they finally arrive back at the hotel, they almost spill out on the pavement when the driver opens the door for them. He pretends not to notice.*

*Fleur laughs again, and she and Bill drag themselves and their assortments into the hotel. There is only a little foreplay in the elevator. Later, Fleur swears she never hit the stop button on purpose. Destiny made her do it. He told her.*

*Finally, they are back at their room. Fleur starts to open the door, but Bill stops her.*

"Wait." He holds his hand up and opens the door, but then he picks her up in his arms and carries her in, straight over to the bed where he sets her down gently, her tiara still gleaming, her face glowing with an utter radiance from deep inside.

"Call me old-fashioned, but there are some things that simply must be done the traditional way." With a grin he sits next to her, stroking her back. "Here we are, love. Here we are."

We did it.

Oui.

*She slides a hand up into his hair.*

As your wife, I order you to kiss me. Again. Until I am satisfied.

*And she tips his head down and kisses him herself.*

Bill can't remember ever wanting to do anything more.

As his lips meet hers their clothing fairly flies off them: gown and tuxedo and garters and veil and dress shirt and vest and tie and trousers fold themselves neatly on a corner chair. Her bouquet settles into a vase, but neither of them really pays any mind to any of this.

Fleur wants satisfied; he'll make certain she's satisfied.

(He's good at that.)

With a flick of his hand the lights dim.

And everything else... there is no everything else. There's only Fleur.

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