FIC: Want, Fear and Misunderstanding
Author's note: Once more, part of my drabble123 sex series on livejournal. This one totally ran away from me (i.e. it was supposed to be a drabble) but in a really good way :) The prompt, by the way, was "want".
Also, looks like NextGen is my new comfort zone when it comes to Harry Potter. Wow, and I used to be a TrioGen purist, lol. Anyway, hope you guys like, and don't slip on the saliva on your way to reviewing ;) Just kidding.
When jealousy and feelings of inadequacy war with frustration, look out: here she comes, even more resentful than you are.
WANT, FEAR & MISUNDERSTANDING
She slipped her hand shyly through the taller boy’s, ducking her head as a deep flush rose high over her cheeks when he bent down to whisper into her ear.
Goddamn, he was probably telling her how much he wanted to be alone with her. Soon he’d even tell her all the ways he’d fuck her to Friday. Only he’d say make love, wouldn’t he? Just because, statistically, it was the quickest way under a girl’s perfectly pleated plaid skirt. Hers revealed shapely porcelain legs that went on forever.
Teddy Lupin could barely remember their silkiness, or the peach and vanilla smell of her hair, or the clear depth of her pale eyes. It seemed impossible - he’d known her practically forever. They’d spent years hanging out together as children. He’d touched and smelled and seen his fill. Even more so until last year. It hadn’t been nearly enough.
Victoire smiled up at Whosit’s face, pure joy written in there, and-
- Enough! Groaning his disgust, Teddy shoved his barely touched plate away and jerked up from his seat, needing to get the fuck away from… from… them.
From her. His gut twisted anew at the thought of the lecherous asshole pawing her.
And you have no right to say a damned word, his mind reprimanded him sternly, unnervingly like Uncle Harry’s voice. You gave up that right when you let her go.
It hadn’t worked out, it was as simple as that. Too many differences. She’d agreed with no small amount of reluctance and clinging to an era - carefree days - gone by. They would soon enter adulthood. In fact, he was already an adult by magical law. Serious futures were at hand. It was time to let childhood go by.
She was sweet, a bloody gorgeous rainbow on a rainy day; he was a freak show with the piercings to go with the general allure. So why this… jealousy? Christ, fuck and Merlin, what the hell? He should be over her.
Nearly running away from the sickening spectacle before his eyes, Teddy made his way out of the Hall and up the moving staircases, paying very little attention to where he was heading but counting on seven years’ rote to take him where he wanted. Only, next thing he knew, he heard the patter of Mary Janes on the stone steps behind him. He knew who they belonged to without even turning around.
“Go away.”
That would have been too easy, wouldn’t it? “Teddy,” she puffed, struggling to keep up with his long-legged stride and minute advance. “Just… would you wait?” she demanded, her Weasley roots ingrained enough that she sounded uncannily like Aunt Ginny. Usually the resemblance made his smile but there was nothing to be smiling about at the moment. He had to get away.
But rolling his eyes, Teddy stopped and whirled on her, watching in detached interest as she reeled back so she wouldn’t slam into him. “What?” he growled, annoyed at the interruption. Now what? She’d gush and wax poetic about Whosit whom he could never hope to come close to?
Victoire huffed and glared impatiently, pushing away a lock of blond hair that had fallen into her face. “What is your problem?” she demanded sharply with a small hint of a French accent that, inevitably, always indicated exactly how furious she was.
“Nothing, princess. Go back to Prince Charming. You make a charming couple.” Oh, Merlin, he couldn’t kill the bitter venom from his voice. “Pretty and perfect and excuse me if I vomit. Now, are we done?”
Apparently they weren’t. Eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, Victoire hissed, “You have some nerve.”
“What?”
Her nostrils flared as she stepped closer. “You have some nerve, Ted,” she repeated,” throwing me away and then getting jealous when I move on.”
“I didn’t throw you away,” Teddy clarified tartly.
Her voice rose an octave. “Did you or did you not say we were not meant for each other?”
“You agreed,” he accused, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He hated the clamminess of his hands.
Victoire gave a bark of dark laughter. “I decided to cut my losses, Teddy. Move on. You know?” She bit her lip, suddenly deflating right before his eyes. “There’s a difference.”
Teddy swallowed with difficulty, scrounging up his next words though he hated to see her so defeated. “That guy,” he gestured to where she’d come from, “he’s not g-”
“You don’t get to decide,” she fired off shortly, eyes ablaze. “You don’t own me.”
Teddy crossed his arms over his chest, conscious of the image of male strength he projected. “I know,” he retorted blandly, as though she’d lost her marbles.
But she merely stared at him, eyes darting searchingly over his face, and doubt settled deep into him in a whiplash moment. “Do you really?” she asked.
And that was when he began to sweat in earnest. Metaphorically and not. His speech was utterly robbed from him.
“Teddy,” Victoire whispered sadly, and the quiet sound resounded in the stairs. She reached up, cradling his face with the gentle touch he remembered, and he knew a moment of weakness as he enjoyed the soft pads of her fingertips. “Why now?” she asked brokenly.
Teddy tore away from her hold on him, resuming his ascension up the stairs. “I don’t know what you mean,” he shot over his shoulder, avoiding eye contact so he wouldn’t see… whatever he would find in there. Disappointment, probably.
She wasn’t far behind, however, he realised as he heard her Mary Janes tapping along in his wake. “I’m sure that you do,” she challenged hotly.
He whirled again before he could stop himself. It was stupid to play in her net! “What do you want me to say?” he cried, throwing his hands into the air.
Victoire blinked a beat, then two, gaping at him as though it should have been obvious. “The truth!”
“About what?”
“You, me, why you always stare holes into Damien’s head,” she listed defyingly.
So that was the bastard’s name. “Because he’s playing you, Victoire!”
Closing the gap between them angrily, she got up into his face, a woman who would not stand down till she got what she wanted: answers, and damned good ones. “Why do you care?” she spat. “You don’t even know him.”
“I know the way he looks at you,” Teddy growled, his gaze dipping meaningfully to the barest hint of bra peeking through her prim blouse. She drew in a sharp breath, goose flesh raising over her skin and her nipples aching against their lace restraints at the hot look in his eyes. Raising his face again, he fixed her with a stormy black gaze to go with the black of his hair. His eyebrow ring glinted in sharp contrast along with the ear studs that he’d punched into his skin the summer that had recently gone by. The tribal tattoo crawling up his wrist, also acquired in the summer, seemed to throb along to the beat of a heart… his.
Her throat went dry as she snatched her gaze back up to his face. “How… how does he look at me?” she breathed, and it was hardly any sound at all.
She saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “Like he wants to devour you… and then leave you high and dry,” he finished with a hardening of his jaw.
Like you? she wanted to ask, if only to provoke him. Only, he’d only done it metaphorically, never sexually. Victoire looked away, unshackling herself from the intense magnetism of her ex. “I know what I’m doing,” she mumbled. “I don’t need saving.” At his mocking snort, she looked up at him again, what most people called her veela-Weasley temper surfacing again. “You also gave up that right when you broke up with me. Now kindly let me live my life in peace. Rien à faire, moi, des mecs beaux parleurs sans couilles ni tête de queue!”
Whuh, too fast. “What did you just call me?”
She had the grace to blush a deep pink and to stammer. “I said… I said…” But she squared her shoulders at last. “I have no use for sweet talkers like you.”
“No, no, sans couilles.” If he wasn’t mistaken, couilles meant… “Balls?” She said nothing, betraying no expression. “You called me ball-less and dick-less?” He didn’t know whether to be amused or scandalised. The French certainly had a colourful way with language, he’d learned from summers spent with Victoire’s family. “Wow. I thought we’d established I didn’t lack any of these things…”
She curled her lips in feminine distaste, huffing. “You’re disgusting.”
Teddy shrugged, unperturbed. He’d been called worse, though once upon a time she hadn’t been disgusted at all. “So’s Whosit.”
“Damien. It will do me some good to have sex with someone other than you. Which was a year ago, I'll remind you. Right before you broke up with me.”
An eyebrow shot into his hairline and he whistled low. “Sex as a commodity. Exhibit A.” Then he sobered. “Victoire, you’re so much better than that.”
Snorting, she rolled her eyes and mimicked him. “Caveman syndrome. Exhibit A.” Then she also sobered. “Tell me one good reason why I shouldn’t, and ‘I don’t want you to’ is not good enough.”
The challenge in her eyes iced him to the core. So much so, in fact, that he couldn’t speak for a moment, could only work his jaw while nothing travelled through his brain.
The challenge melted from her eyes, replaced by utter dejection. She seemed to sag under a heavy weight. “You said it best last year: ‘too good to be true’,” she mumbled, slowly pulling away toward the Gryffindor Tower.
That gave Teddy pause. Shouldn’t she head back downstairs to Whosit’s side? “Hey,” he called, jogging to catch up, “aren’t you due by, uh, Damien’s side for dessert?” Where you'll be dessert.
“I’m tired. Pas faim,” she murmured in reply. Not hungry.
“Are you okay?” he asked, concerned, reaching out and catching himself an inch from her skin. Teddy berated himself viciously. She’s not yours to worry about.
Victoire pulled away sharply. The Fat Lady portrait loomed ahead. “What do you care?”
The answer was easy. “I do care, Victoire,” he found himself replying grudgingly. “You can’t ask me not to. I always have.”
Victoire pressed her eyes shut as though hearing him say the words gave her a headache. “Stop. Stop lying to me. You wouldn’t have…” Trailing off in alarm, she forged on ahead.
Teddy pressed on, galvanised by the mystery of unspoken words. “I wouldn’t have what?”
“Fairy wings,” Victoire mumbled to the Fat Lady, nearly racing through the gaping hole that was revealed as it swung open.
But Teddy grabbed her around the waist before she could escape up the blasted girls’ staircase from hell. “Tell me,” he exhorted.
Recognising that she’d trapped herself, Victoire inched her chin up defiantly, twisting away from him but - at least - not bolting. “You wouldn’t have broke up with me if you had cared about me,” she enunciated clearly. Do you deny it? her eyes seemed to taunt in no uncertain terms.
Another shocker. “What?” Teddy gaped wordlessly, trying to process her accusation. “I wouldn’t have… what?” he repeated, still flabbergasted. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Merlin, Victoire. I never… I did it because I cared for you.” Too much, in fact.
She huffed her disdain. “Oh, sure. That makes perfect sense, Teddy. Thanks. I’m stupid.”
“No,” he said, brushing a lock of her radiant hair back, conscious of her flinch. “I am. I did care.” He assumed a wistful expression. “You’re beautiful, Victoire, and I’m…” Struggling with words, Teddy showed her. His nose lengthened, he rose taller, his skin burnished, thickened, and soon a travesty of Damien with piercings and the wrist tattoo he’d deliberately left there stood in front of her.
Victoire didn’t blink, staring into the black eyes Teddy had kept of himself. “Go back,” she demanded curtly.
Teddy reversed his transformation, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
She scrutinised him. “You’ve never cared about that before. So what, Teddy? I grew up with you. You think I care? Cared?” she quickly amended, biting her tongue.
A haunted look crossed his features. “You deserve better.”
She swore viciously. “You let me decided that for myself, you bloody grand connard.” Great arse. She really had a sailor mouth. “You’re a Metamorphmagus, Teddy. It’s who you are.” She’d always preferred his natural state - amber eyes, dark brown hair - but had never balked at his eccentricities and he’d even stayed up late in the Common Room entertaining her with uncanny imitations of people they knew many a sleepless night. She stared up at him now. “I’ve never been ashamed of being seen with you, if that’s what you’re implying.”
Such affection shone in her eyes that… Merlin help him… he closed what little distance stood between them and kissed her as though he hadn’t drunk in a lifetime and she was his font. Resisting at first, the hand pushing him away soon melted, grasping his shirt for support from his onslaught. She pressed herself against him, closer, so much closer, her breasts flattened against his chest and her hips seeking his. Teddy angled his head, deepening the kiss as a roar rose inside of him - victory, need, satisfaction. Fingertips sought skin, and they both fought for breath after a moment, panting, through they ceaselessly came back for more of the same.
“Teddy,” she murmured, humming when he put his mouth to her neck. “Teddy…”
Again that hint of French. It penetrated him, rousing every nerve ending in his body so that he was so alive, drinking so much more. She arched into him, giving better access to her neck, and he held her delicately within the circle of his arms. “Tell me you want me,” he urged, pulling back to see her glazed eyes, contented smile and rosy cheeks.
She raked her fingers up his neck, delicious tingles running through his, and smiled, twin twinkles of joy sparkling in her eyes. “I never stopped,” she admitted softly, then giggle when he lifted her off her feet, marching toward the boys’ staircase. Victoire wrapped her legs around him, pure mirth upon her face as he made his heavy way up. Behind them, a merry fire crackled on as they left the cozy warmth of the Common Room.
Luckily his dormitory was not too high up the tower. Kicking the door open, Teddy stumbled over to his four-poster, landing face first into Victoire’s hair as she laughed infectiously underneath him. Raising his head, Teddy smiled, then dipped down, capturing her lips. “Tell me you want me,” he repeated as he came up for air, needing to hear her say it again.
“Je te veux, Teddy.” Oh, Circe. She reached up, tugging the buttons of her blouse loose, and soon her creamy breasts, swelling over pale lilac lace cups, were revealed. She arched up as he bent to lick first one, then the other, her nipples tautening under his tongue through the fine material. Wordless whimpers tore out of her throat, so maddening. Christ, and to think that asshole would have used her so carelessly and then left her like so many before her. In a way, though, he realised he had done just that, too, when he had broken up with her.
“Did you really cut your losses?” he demanded as she worked his dress shirt off his shoulders.
As she avoided his gaze and the fire died from her eyes, he knew. No. Confirming his guess, she shook her head infinitesimally. “I wanted to make you realise…”
“You wanted to make me jealous,” he summed. She shrugged. “It worked,” he admitted. “Fuck, you drove me mad.”
She gazed up at him. “You really thought I could forget so easily?” she asked, sounding… accusing, almost.
“I didn’t know what to think, Victoire.” He was vaguely aware of the defeat in his voice.
She stared, then reached up, cradling his cheek like before. There was steel in her eyes this time. “Damien,” she began, spitting his name like it was a vile word, “is the most disgusting fils de pute I’ve ever met.”
Teddy smirked as she called him a son of a bitch.
“He thinks he’s a sex god but really he’s just a manwhore whose sole goal is to fuck every girl at Hogwarts. You really think I enjoyed being the unattainable possession while I waited for you to do something?”
Reining himself in, he sounded somewhat civil when he asked, quietly, “Did he… touch you? Hurt you?” He’d kill the SOB with his bare hands if he had to.
“No!” she cried. “God, no.” She seemed thoroughly disgusted even by the concept.
“Good,” he grunted.
A grin fought its way to her mouth. She bit her lip. “You were jealous?”
Ted leaned in. “Yeah,” he replied before unsnapping her bra and closing his mouth on a straining breast. “I don’t like to share. Killed me.”
“Mm,” she hummed, “you know what to do, then.”
He did. He really did, but shit, it was scary. And totally crazy. Teddy pretended he hadn’t heard as, inside, while he bit and sucked and licked her, his brain went on overdrive. He shouldn’t. She deserved… Christ, she deserved more than a freak show in her future.
“Ted,” she implored, and he had no clue whether she meant more or say it or something else entirely. But she parted her legs wider, moaning as his erection rubbed snugly against her core, and then wrapped her legs once more around him, keeping him in place.
There went his brain and the caution that came with it. “Be my girlfriend again,” he panted at last.
Triumph shone in her eyes as she reached up, kissing him for all she was worth. “Yes.” She beamed, then began tugging down his trousers as he, likewise, did the same with her skirt and knickers.
Teddy wasted no time worshipping her - Merlin he’d missed it - perfect body. Down and down he trailed, enjoying the jumping of her muscles as he did so, until he reached his destination and kissed her in earnest, earning himself a throaty moan and a fist in his hair. He licked and gently bit, surprised when her orgasm hit so quickly, though her juices tasted just as he remembered. Teddy covered her, unsurprised this time when her hand dipped south to wrap around him - sneaky thing. Though, holy shit, her small hand around him was ten times better than his! “Fuck,” he hissed through his teeth, totally at her mercy.
Victoire grinned, working her hand vigorously over him. “Me,” she finished cheekily, teasing herself with the tip of his cock.
God, he’d nearly forgotten her playfulness in bed. It all rushed back to him. Grinning, straining, Teddy tugged her hands over her head, lacing his fingers through hers so she was pinned, helpless. But she wasn’t, not really. “With pleasure,” he whispered, capturing her lips again as he sank into her.
She moaned into his mouth, demanding more with her body as she arched, wrapped, squeezed all over him.
Christ, he wouldn’t last long. Not with her so hot and wet and fighting for more, more, more underneath him. “Beautiful,” he breathed, reverent of the Grecian beauty beneath him.
Her eyes opening, she smile, breaking out of his loose hold on her hands to crawl them down his skin, only to come back and settle at his nape. Her eyes lit over his face, taking in the metal at his brow and ears and his sharp features. “Gorgeous,” she retorted. “True,” she insisted as he stilled, panting and bewildered. Gorgeous?
And then she rolled over and sat astride him, still sheathing him, and began a slow thrust that had her breasts swaying gently with every movement. She kept eye contact as he cradled them, then ran her hands lovingly down his defined chest. “Change. Show me blue hair like last week.”
He’d been making a bold “fuck you” statement to the world, and it had worked its magic: no one had dared approach the moody freak. Of course Victoire would have recognised it as such. Seven years ago she’d watched his hair change from Platform 9 ¾ as he left for his first day of school: Hello, his hair seemed to scream, this is me! It had dared anyone to defy what he was. He still did it on a daily basis, pushing the limits, but Victoire… she was too beautiful for… this.
His black hair reluctantly melted into electric blue before her eyes. Smiling, she ran a hand through the short strands. “Thank you.”
Teddy shrugged, not knowing what to respond with. People always talk.
She caught on to his sullenness. “I mean what I said,” she murmured, stroking her hand down his cheek. “I don’t care. I even…” Grinning, she leaned down to his ear in confidence. “I even think it’s a little sexy.” All this while she took up her previous slow, torturous rhythm over his. Then she sat back up, winking like a little pixie as Teddy lay there, struck completely dumb, and…
He growled, flipping them over once more, and surged between her legs as she purred at the attention he laved on her neck. “God, I really don’t deserve you.”
“Shut up and make love to me.”
Teddy barely withheld the laughter bubbling up inside him and did as he was told. “Yes, princess,” he chuckled, and there was no more coherent talk.
Author's note: Let's credit where credit is due.
“Tell me one good reason why I shouldn’t, and ‘I don’t want you to’ is not good enough.” -- that line was so shamelessly lifted (and edited a tad to fit this fic) from Gossip Girl episode 2x01. Blair's begging Chuck in a roundabout way to tell her he loves her after the White Party, but he chokes on her and she leaves him high and dry. Later, he just drowns in alcohol. Those two are very Old Hollywood and I just loff my bbs :D
I'm French (Canadian). All the French lines are as good as they come. My theory is that all the Weasleys (and Weasleys by association, meaning Teddy as well) learned a bit of French with Fleur and Fleur and Bill's brood (at least, I should hope Fleur taught her kids French) and as the kids all hung out together they all learned bits here and there. Seeing as I think Teddy and Victoire were inseperable from a young age, I think he learned enough to at least understand most of what she says, if not speak it too. Though I believe Victoire and the others are more fluent in English than their mother, since they do live in England after all (or don't they? Anyway, my story, my rules ;P) By the way, tête de queue usually means first in line, but I twisted the meaning around so it means tip of the cock here. Cheers!