The Last One Out (PG-13; Tonks/Charlie)
Title: The Last One Out
Challenge: Feb. 2 "until I"m the last one left" at 30_hath and 10 - Ash at my_tonks
Characters: Tonks/Charlie
Rating: PG-13
Tonks loved spending time at the pub on the corner. On the weekends she didn’t have to work, she spent all Friday night with a pint in one hand and a dart in the other. The morning sun would rise in the ash gray sky and she’d stagger her way back to the lonely flat, alone but still fizzing from the interaction with people who didn’t expect anything from her but a good score and the willingness to buy a round or two.
This ash gray morning was further along than she’d expected when she’d left the pub, waving at the woman who came to wash the floors every morning. Two long days stretched on before her, empty but for the few errands she needed to run and the laundry she swore to herself she’d do the Muggle way instead of expecting her wand to get the mustard stains off the shirt the way soap and water could. She was tired of wearing the shirts inside out, hoping she could bluff her way out of admitting that they just weren’t as clean as they should have been.
The lump on her couch rolled over and a flash of red hair caught the remaining streaks of sunrise coming through her window as she opened the door to her flat. “Where have you been?” Charlie asked from inside a yawn.
She didn’t answer, throwing herself on top of the rumpled man before he could adequately open his eyes. Even though they had seen each other a month ago, it hadn’t been a meeting that allowed for things like kissing and tasting that spot on his throat that always reminded her of caramel.
“I’ve got six hours,” he told her as they came up for air. “How’s training been?”
“We’re on a strict time limit and you ask me about work? Do you see me asking you about the dragons?”
When he smiled, she wished she’d thought to ask him about the beloved animals he was dedicating his life to. While she wanted to blame the alcohol coursing through her system, she knew that her denial was due to the anger she still held onto as if it was a security blanket keeping out the darkness. Charlie always could shame her with that smile. It told her that he knew she could do better.
For six hours, she tried to be the girl he wanted her to be. This wasn’t the hard part of the relationship for her, though. He’d always given her full marks in kissing. It was because, he told her once, she put everything she had into a kiss. The rest of the time, the part reserved for making a relationship to enclose the kissing, was where she fell short.
“Be safe,” she whispered as she kissed him goodbye. “I’ll write every day.”
Charlie quirked his eyebrow up. “Every day?”
She took a deep breath and shrugged, knowing he would see through every lie she tried to hide behind. “Every Saturday. I’ll write every Saturday.”
“That sounds better. If you write every Saturday, I’ll write every Sunday.”
Challenge: Feb. 2 "until I"m the last one left" at 30_hath and 10 - Ash at my_tonks
Characters: Tonks/Charlie
Rating: PG-13
Tonks loved spending time at the pub on the corner. On the weekends she didn’t have to work, she spent all Friday night with a pint in one hand and a dart in the other. The morning sun would rise in the ash gray sky and she’d stagger her way back to the lonely flat, alone but still fizzing from the interaction with people who didn’t expect anything from her but a good score and the willingness to buy a round or two.
This ash gray morning was further along than she’d expected when she’d left the pub, waving at the woman who came to wash the floors every morning. Two long days stretched on before her, empty but for the few errands she needed to run and the laundry she swore to herself she’d do the Muggle way instead of expecting her wand to get the mustard stains off the shirt the way soap and water could. She was tired of wearing the shirts inside out, hoping she could bluff her way out of admitting that they just weren’t as clean as they should have been.
The lump on her couch rolled over and a flash of red hair caught the remaining streaks of sunrise coming through her window as she opened the door to her flat. “Where have you been?” Charlie asked from inside a yawn.
She didn’t answer, throwing herself on top of the rumpled man before he could adequately open his eyes. Even though they had seen each other a month ago, it hadn’t been a meeting that allowed for things like kissing and tasting that spot on his throat that always reminded her of caramel.
“I’ve got six hours,” he told her as they came up for air. “How’s training been?”
“We’re on a strict time limit and you ask me about work? Do you see me asking you about the dragons?”
When he smiled, she wished she’d thought to ask him about the beloved animals he was dedicating his life to. While she wanted to blame the alcohol coursing through her system, she knew that her denial was due to the anger she still held onto as if it was a security blanket keeping out the darkness. Charlie always could shame her with that smile. It told her that he knew she could do better.
For six hours, she tried to be the girl he wanted her to be. This wasn’t the hard part of the relationship for her, though. He’d always given her full marks in kissing. It was because, he told her once, she put everything she had into a kiss. The rest of the time, the part reserved for making a relationship to enclose the kissing, was where she fell short.
“Be safe,” she whispered as she kissed him goodbye. “I’ll write every day.”
Charlie quirked his eyebrow up. “Every day?”
She took a deep breath and shrugged, knowing he would see through every lie she tried to hide behind. “Every Saturday. I’ll write every Saturday.”
“That sounds better. If you write every Saturday, I’ll write every Sunday.”