Leigh!fic | Paris, Je t'aime (1/1) | Bill Weasley/Fleur Delacour
Title: Paris, Je t'aime (1/1)
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Characters: Bill Weasley/Fleur Delacour
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 465
Summary: He should have proposed in Paris.
Author’s Notes: Written for hp_humpdrabbles.
He should have proposed in Paris.
In hindsight, asking Fleur to be his wife was a moment frozen in his mind’s eye for eternity. It hadn’t been particularly elegant -- over breakfast, the morning after Sirius’s death -- and the heartfelt words he’d prepared had sat idle on his tongue in favor of blurting out, “Marry me.”
The ring would have stayed the same. The results, he wouldn’t have changed for the world. But ultimately, he wished he’d had the chance to propose in Paris.
She didn’t care. She’d told him countless times that she would have said yes no matter where he’d asked. With the rising tide of Voldemort, a weekend jaunt across the Channel just wasn’t possible -- and she understood. For as high maintenance as Fleur could be, she was surprisingly practical.
His wife was beautiful all the time. Even on the darkest and gloomiest of London days, she shone. Some said it was her Veela nature; others said it was just the way she was. Bill felt like he'd won the Wife Sweepstakes with his bride. Fearless, intelligent, and beautiful, with an arse he could bounce a Galleon off of.
But something about Paris made her even more alluring.
He could see it in her eyes when they visited. There was an extra sparkle about her when they meandered the Pont des Arts hand in hand, stopping to fasten an inscribed padlock amongst the other lovers' tokens. Traffic seemed to stop for her around the Place de la Concorde, and for as right as she looked at home at Shell Cottage, she fit in perfectly at the high-end boutiques lining the Avenue Montaigne.
Something about the city brought out the exhibitionist in her. After a late dinner in the Quartier Latin, she pulled him into a side street -- almost an alley, really. He pressed her against the worn stone wall, hips fitted tightly against her their hands roamed freely. When he pulled her dress up to find her already wet and ready, he nearly spent himself in his trousers. Fleur was wanton and bold in her desire. She had never shied away from sex, not even on the first date. One cut of those deep blue eyes was all it took, and he knew.
It was over far too quickly for either of their liking; ragged thrusts, twin moans, and a gasping cry at the end. They could hear the noises from pedestrians, merely a stone's throw away, but they paid them no heed. When he pressed his lips to hers in a soft, almost chase kiss, and felt her sigh of pleasure, it was all worth it.
Bill loved England. But for as long as it brought Fleur such unbridled joy, Paris would hold the key to his heart.
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Characters: Bill Weasley/Fleur Delacour
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 465
Summary: He should have proposed in Paris.
Author’s Notes: Written for hp_humpdrabbles.
He should have proposed in Paris.
In hindsight, asking Fleur to be his wife was a moment frozen in his mind’s eye for eternity. It hadn’t been particularly elegant -- over breakfast, the morning after Sirius’s death -- and the heartfelt words he’d prepared had sat idle on his tongue in favor of blurting out, “Marry me.”
The ring would have stayed the same. The results, he wouldn’t have changed for the world. But ultimately, he wished he’d had the chance to propose in Paris.
She didn’t care. She’d told him countless times that she would have said yes no matter where he’d asked. With the rising tide of Voldemort, a weekend jaunt across the Channel just wasn’t possible -- and she understood. For as high maintenance as Fleur could be, she was surprisingly practical.
His wife was beautiful all the time. Even on the darkest and gloomiest of London days, she shone. Some said it was her Veela nature; others said it was just the way she was. Bill felt like he'd won the Wife Sweepstakes with his bride. Fearless, intelligent, and beautiful, with an arse he could bounce a Galleon off of.
But something about Paris made her even more alluring.
He could see it in her eyes when they visited. There was an extra sparkle about her when they meandered the Pont des Arts hand in hand, stopping to fasten an inscribed padlock amongst the other lovers' tokens. Traffic seemed to stop for her around the Place de la Concorde, and for as right as she looked at home at Shell Cottage, she fit in perfectly at the high-end boutiques lining the Avenue Montaigne.
Something about the city brought out the exhibitionist in her. After a late dinner in the Quartier Latin, she pulled him into a side street -- almost an alley, really. He pressed her against the worn stone wall, hips fitted tightly against her their hands roamed freely. When he pulled her dress up to find her already wet and ready, he nearly spent himself in his trousers. Fleur was wanton and bold in her desire. She had never shied away from sex, not even on the first date. One cut of those deep blue eyes was all it took, and he knew.
It was over far too quickly for either of their liking; ragged thrusts, twin moans, and a gasping cry at the end. They could hear the noises from pedestrians, merely a stone's throw away, but they paid them no heed. When he pressed his lips to hers in a soft, almost chase kiss, and felt her sigh of pleasure, it was all worth it.
Bill loved England. But for as long as it brought Fleur such unbridled joy, Paris would hold the key to his heart.