Leigh!fic | Sunday Morning (1/1) | George Weasley/Gabrielle Delacour
Title: Sunday Morning (1/1)
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Characters: George Weasley/Gabrielle Delacour
Rating: R
Word Count: 500
Summary: George is a man of simple tastes, but there is one thing he loves best above all.
Author's Notes: Written for hp_humpdrabbles. The prompt used was Sunday morning delights.
George Weasley was a man of simple tastes. He liked a cold pint at the end of a long day, his mum's shepherd's pie at Sunday dinner, and listening to the Catapults on the wireless. He liked chasing Victoire and Dominique around the Burrow, creating controlled chaos at the shop, and watching Audrey deftly manipulate Percy into catering to her every whim.
But above all, there was nothing he loved more than waking up on Sunday morning with the naked woman currently in his bed.
His lips curled as he watched her slowly stir into wakefulness, the pale morning sunlight casting rays of light across her bare back. The faint imprint of his fingertips littered the pale skin, evidence of the night before. He could feel the reciprocation on his own skin; long red trails left by perfectly manicured nails.
She rolled over and slowly blinked open her deep blue eyes, smiling as she met his gaze.
"Morning," he offered softly.
Yawning, Gabrielle reached up to cover her mouth. "Bon matin," she murmured sleepily, curling into his side and pressing the length of her naked body against him. "'ow did you sleep, mon coeur?"
"Not well at all. Some little minx kept me up all night."
Gabrielle snorted softly. "Who is she? I will 'ex 'er for you."
He chuckled softly and ducked his head down to press his lips against hers, one hand running over her long blonde hair and down her back. "Now don't do that, love," he murmured, pulling back slightly. "I'd hate for you to maim yourself."
"But eet ees alright eef I maim you, non?"
George didn't have time to reply before she moved, pushing him down to his back and straddling his waist. Sunday mornings like this were amazing. Every morning like this was amazing, really, but on Sundays, they could take their time, slow down and savor one another.
He didn't deserve her. She was lightness and beauty and fire, and he was dark and moody and depressed. But he sure as hell wasn't complaining.
Her lips traced a line over his chest and up his neck, dragging her tongue over a thin scar-- a byproduct of experimentations for the shop. Unwilling to keep still, his hands slid over her skin, one moving over her back and the other around front to cup a pert breast.
"Gabrielle, I-" his train of thought was cut off and a low groan pulled from his lips when she shifted, letting him slide into her welcoming heat.
Words were lost as their bodies moved together, his touch and kisses drawing breathy moans from her pink lips. She moved above him without abandon, holding nothing back. The expressions on her face-- pleasure, desire, excitement, love-- were plainly written in her clear gaze, and he knew the look in his own matched.
And he knew, after years of searching, he'd finally found something-- or someone-- worth living for.
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Characters: George Weasley/Gabrielle Delacour
Rating: R
Word Count: 500
Summary: George is a man of simple tastes, but there is one thing he loves best above all.
Author's Notes: Written for hp_humpdrabbles. The prompt used was Sunday morning delights.
George Weasley was a man of simple tastes. He liked a cold pint at the end of a long day, his mum's shepherd's pie at Sunday dinner, and listening to the Catapults on the wireless. He liked chasing Victoire and Dominique around the Burrow, creating controlled chaos at the shop, and watching Audrey deftly manipulate Percy into catering to her every whim.
But above all, there was nothing he loved more than waking up on Sunday morning with the naked woman currently in his bed.
His lips curled as he watched her slowly stir into wakefulness, the pale morning sunlight casting rays of light across her bare back. The faint imprint of his fingertips littered the pale skin, evidence of the night before. He could feel the reciprocation on his own skin; long red trails left by perfectly manicured nails.
She rolled over and slowly blinked open her deep blue eyes, smiling as she met his gaze.
"Morning," he offered softly.
Yawning, Gabrielle reached up to cover her mouth. "Bon matin," she murmured sleepily, curling into his side and pressing the length of her naked body against him. "'ow did you sleep, mon coeur?"
"Not well at all. Some little minx kept me up all night."
Gabrielle snorted softly. "Who is she? I will 'ex 'er for you."
He chuckled softly and ducked his head down to press his lips against hers, one hand running over her long blonde hair and down her back. "Now don't do that, love," he murmured, pulling back slightly. "I'd hate for you to maim yourself."
"But eet ees alright eef I maim you, non?"
George didn't have time to reply before she moved, pushing him down to his back and straddling his waist. Sunday mornings like this were amazing. Every morning like this was amazing, really, but on Sundays, they could take their time, slow down and savor one another.
He didn't deserve her. She was lightness and beauty and fire, and he was dark and moody and depressed. But he sure as hell wasn't complaining.
Her lips traced a line over his chest and up his neck, dragging her tongue over a thin scar-- a byproduct of experimentations for the shop. Unwilling to keep still, his hands slid over her skin, one moving over her back and the other around front to cup a pert breast.
"Gabrielle, I-" his train of thought was cut off and a low groan pulled from his lips when she shifted, letting him slide into her welcoming heat.
Words were lost as their bodies moved together, his touch and kisses drawing breathy moans from her pink lips. She moved above him without abandon, holding nothing back. The expressions on her face-- pleasure, desire, excitement, love-- were plainly written in her clear gaze, and he knew the look in his own matched.
And he knew, after years of searching, he'd finally found something-- or someone-- worth living for.