Title: The Morning After Dark (1/1)
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Characters: Bill Weasley/Fleur Delacour
Word Count: 1,369
Summary: There was no tenderness in his touch. After all they'd lived through the night before, they wanted to feel something -- if only to remind them that they'd survived.
Author’s Notes: Written as a gift for fiery_flamingo as part of hp_humpdrabbles' Humpfest 2013.
It was mid-morning by the time Bill and Fleur returned to Shell Cottage, clothes torn, skin bruised and bloodied, hair singed from the previous night's battle. The sight of their little home was a comfort to Fleur; in all that had changed over the night, Shell Cottage was still the same. Small, homey, peaceful. Home. She wanted nothing more than to take a long shower and wash the grime from her skin, scour herself clean from sins committed in order to protect her family.
That would have to wait.
Her back was against the wall, and Bill's lips were rough against hers before they'd taken more than two steps into the house. Her body responded instinctively overriding the need for rest and recovery with the find edge of wantneed that burned through her veins in the aftermath of survival.
His fingers gripped her hips hard, sure to leave more bruises in a half-ring on her pale skin, when he pulled her against him. Her legs wrapped tight around his waist as she slid her hands into his matted hair, jerking at tangles. The tinge of pain made him growl and push her tighter against the wall.
The kiss broke. Immediately, Bill's lips moved to her slender neck, forgoing gentle kisses and nibbles for rough bites. Fleur gasped, instinctively arching his neck and exposing more skin for his teeth. In the back of her mind, she could recognize the way her movements presented her to him: submission.
She opened her eyes, gaze flickering to his face. His eyes were half-closed, intent on the task of marking her in as many ways as possible, but she could see the dried tear tracks on his face. There had barely been any time to grieve. Between learning of his brother's desk and the final duel, Bill had hardly had any time to face the reality of their changed world.
Fleur knew what this was. This wasn't grieving -- there would be time for that, time later. This was a need to feel alive in the aftermath of the night's horrors. A chance to drive home the fact that the sun had risen, their world was still there, and the constant threat of death had been lifted.
Her chest burned with emotions; a cacophony of feelings tumbled together and whirling around in her heart. Hate, anger, pain, fury, grief, need, want, desire, love. Above all things, that last burned the brightest.
Fingers tightening, she jerked Bill's head back, forcing him to open his eyes and look at her. Wild blue eyes met her own. She could see something in those depths, an untamed force that hadn't once been there -- a side-effect of his run-in with Greyback. Something nearly feral lurked in her husband's psyche, rarely making its presence known. But it was there now, riding on the edge of his emotions and taking hold of his actions.
She held his gaze. He wasn't the only one with something other running through his veins. There was wild magic in her, a gift from her mother and grandmother. It was easy to forget that Fleur was more than just a pretty face, to forget that she wasn't entirely human.
Something in his gaze shifted; pupils dilating as a low growl rumbled from his chest. The fury inside recognized its mate in her.
Their lips met in another hard kiss as Bill shifted her against the wall. Even through their battle-torn clothes, she could feel he was ready for her; the evidence pushing against her lower belly. Using his hips to hold her against the wall, his hands went to her shirt and jerked it over her head. Her bra was dispatched after a moment's struggle with the clasp, Bill settling to rip it away from her body.
Hands went to trousers simultaneously, both of them pushing at the others' fastenings in a frantic way. It was easier for her to push his down after undoing his belt, causing him to hiss in frustration when he couldn't manage to pull her trousers and knickers down without unwrapping her legs from around his waist.
Finally, he managed; wedging her denims halfway down her thighs. There was barely a moment's reprieve before he was inside of her.
Fleur moaned, tipping her head back as he filled her. Mon dieu, oui.
Already his hips were thrusting against hers, withdrawing almost to the point where he completely slipped from her body before he moved deep inside of her once more. Bill's hands were rough and demanding and everywhere, moving from her breasts to her side to her hips before sliding back up to her shoulders and around to her back. she would have bruises all over, her thighs would be black and blue, and there would be little rivulets of blood running down his back from her nails, but she could have cared less. The only thing she could think about was her husband moving inside of her and how fucking amazing it felt.
As quickly as it had began, it was over. Bill's back arched and his head tipped back when he climaxed, a guttural groan calling her name. He thrust into her once, twice more before his hips stilled.
Bill's body sagged as if weighed down with sudden exhaustion, leaning against her and caging her back against the wall. Slowly, her legs still tight around him and his arms around her, he slid her down the wall until they were in a heap of entangled limbs and clothes on the floor. They kept moving until he was on his back, Fleur half-draped on top of him. She made a soft whimper of protest when he slipped free from her body.
"You," he started softly, clearing his throat, "you didn't come."
"Chérie, c'est bien," she said, shaking her head. She reached up and placed the tip of one finger on his lips. "I do not need to."
The earlier fury was gone. Bill's lips pressed a kiss to that finger. "Please, love, I want you to."
He traced one hand down her back, lingering over the round curve of her arse before it slipped around to her front. He maneuvered it between their entangled bodies until he could press two fingers in her wet sex. As aroused as she was, it only took a few strokes of his fingers until she came; shuddering as she moaned his name, the heavy weight of desire finally sluicing out through her veins as her toes curled in pleasure.
They lay there for a long while, his hand inside of her and her head against his chest; neither one wanting to break the spell that had descended over them. The sun's rays cast light over their bodies, chasing away the shadows -- an appropriate metaphor for the past twenty-four hours.
She lifted her head to peer up at Bill. His eyes were firmly closed. When she reached up to cup his cheek, she could feel the fresh tears against her palm. "Bill."
He opened his eyes and more tears slipped out, rolling down the side of his face. "Fred's gone," he whispered. "Remus. Tonks. They're all gone."
Fleur's heart clenched at the raw pain on her husband's face. It was as if a dam had burst with his verbal admission of what they both knew; his brother was dead. One of his oldest school friends and her husband were dead. They were all of them broken, forever changed by that night. The tears started to fall more heavily until great, shaking sobs wracked his body, causing Bill to curl around Fleur as if he were a child.
Sliding up from her position, she wrapped her arms tight around Bill and brought his head to her chest, letting him rest against her as he cried out his grief. They would cry, they would grieve, they would rebuild. They would make love to one another and keep living. They would remember the dead and honor them -- in time. They would pick themselves off the floor and move on.
For now, they would hold one another and cry together -- because at the end of it all, they had survived.
It was enough.