comfortably numb

His face was buried against her, the sounds and the movements she gave forth feeding a fire in him. He stayed that way, skilled mouth bringing her closer and closer to that edge, drawing her in until he could feel her getting close, and he backed off. Panting, he broke away from her enough to get some air. He brushed kisses over her thighs, up her hips and across her belly. The movement was more like worship than anything else, loving and devoted and passionate. When he reached them, he closed his lips around the peak of her nipple again, nibbling and sucking before he moved on to come up. 

The same vicious man who finally broke off from where he had been at work between her left and swiftly climbed his way up her body, his stops along the way a mix of oh-Merlin-fucking-yes-please and get-it-in-you-bloody-git. All good things, really. When she found him at eye-level suddenly though, some of that fog cleared and Val became very, very aware of just how vulnerable she was right then. It was impossible to hide the pleasure he caused, to conceal just how wrecked she was for him, but she loathed the feeling of helplessness that came over her when he looked at her like that. When he asked things like that. That helplessness was the reason she left Fred—it was the reason he scared the living daylights out of her.

A long groan accompanied her grip on him, the long strokes and the gentle touch of her hand on his cheek. He kissed her hard and long, keeping their lips sealed and their tongues twining until he had to let go to catch his breath, the combined headiness of her and her touch and her actions all making him too dizzy to continue. Slowly, his kisses moved downward, lips leaving a wet trail behind them, down her neck, her chest, her stomach, until he was kneeling at the side of the bed, kissing down further until his lips met hers. 

Valkyrie had always been responsive, and this time was no different. As his mouth journeyed down her body, he left her arching up into him, his groan mixing with the gasping moan tearing from her throat as his lips touched her cunt. The blonde's hands fisted in the bedsheets, her toes curling when her eyes met his. Val's lips parted and she automatically splayed her thighs wider to allow him more room.

He nearly stumbled when she withdrew her legs from him, pressed a kiss to his lips that made him dizzy and breathless and all the things that only she had ever been able to make him do. Merlin, he loved her. He wasn’t letting her go again. It had been a mistake before and he was not prepared to relive it. He could not let those wounds be slashed open again. He couldn’t handle it. 

She never got tired of kissing him. Not against the wall or going double-time anymore, she had plenty of time to appreciate that. Her palms slid over the skin of his arms, his well-built shoulders, his defined torso, everywhere as she kissed him back slowly, plenty of heat and absolutely no rush. No one had touched her like this in five years and she wanted to savour every moment of his touch now. Val walked backwards until the back of her knees hit the mattress and then fell back, pulling him down on top of her and immediately arching up into his body.

He let out a soft laugh as the shirt was ripped open, a kind of light chuckle that only Fred Weasley could fit into sex and still make it seem right. It was followed quickly by a low groan, the friction she was creating against him bringing forth the noise. He pulled her closer, pressed her harder against the wall so that he could angle her and make sure she felt exactly what she was doing with that grind. “Just like them,yeah” he breathed, head tilting to the side as she kissed along his neck. He dipped again, turning to catch her lips and kiss her hard, returning every ounce of that serious, devastating passion to her.

His laugh made a different kind of warmth – one that didn’t have a direct relation to the arousal flooding her senses – pool in the pit of her stomach. It made her heart stop for a moment before he made it race when their lips collided once more. It helped that they moved like experts together. He knew her, knew exactly what she liked and how she liked it. His deftness at undoing the buttons of her deep purple blouse didn’t surprise her since it wasn’t even close to the first time they had done this. Her robes were a useless weight still hanging off her shoulders as a raw moan tore from her the moment he pushed aside her obstacle of a bra and his mouth latched around her nipple. Arching up into him as he continued his journey down her body, she made quick work of shrugging both robes and blouse off of where they’d been stuck on her shoulders. It took the simple snap of a hook of her bra before the lacy black garment was sent flying in a random direction. “Fuck,” she hissed, her black skirt inconsequential when it came to being much of a barrier concerning the bulge she felt him grinding in return against her.

The shutter click didn’t register at first, not until she pulled away from the kiss. He blinked a couple of times, turning to look at the man and taking another to moment to register that it mattered that he was seen kissing her. He was somebody, he was a heartthrob of sorts, and he was likely supposed to be worried about scandals. Of course, he wasn’t, but he was supposed to be. “Do you want me to get that taken care of?” he murmured, face earnest, but eyes glinting with that hint of danger he held, a warning that when he was angry and had something to protect, he could be ruthless. A slight reminder that it was her he was going to be ruthless for, that she was the one he wanted to protect. It wasn’t him he was concerned after. It was her.

His question was a moment too late. She was on her feet, pulling him behind her, and just before they apparated away, he shot a look at the camera man, one that was stern and dangerous and aloof the way he was before a game, not in a bar. His arm was still protective around her and as the shutter clicked again and they disappeared with a pop he wondered if it was going to be the kiss or the game face that would be in the papers. Would his scandal be about the girl he was bedding or the girl he was serious about? 

As he reeled her in and pressed her against the wall -- with support she was grateful for in case her knees decided to give out -- she didn't want to stop. She wanted him- hell, she was past want, she needed him, this, tonight. All the training she had been doing since she had walked away from this very same man holding her right now paid off now, because it took no struggle at all to wrap her other leg around him easily, her calf muscle flexing against his hip as her ankles crossed just over his arse.

"I know," he mumbled. "I know, I’m sorry, I just- Val?" He had reached up after her, ready to try and pull her back and this time he wasn’t sure he would have the willpower to let her walk away again, but she was next to him and her hand was pulling him closer and god, he was whole. She fit against him like a puzzle piece that finished him out. He was painfully aware of the rest of the bar, the place he frequented so much, and the fact that he was never so uncouth as to kiss a lady while they were still there. He always took them home first. This was Val, though, and she wasn’t just a lady, she was his leggy, beautiful, blonde snake and his arms were around her and he was pushing back from the table enough to turn and tug her nearly into his lap. 

It was the sound of a shutter clicking that broke the spell next, though. Val’s head snapped up immediately to catch the man who took the picture – grinning like Christmas had come early, the smarmy bastard – and leaned her forehead against Fred’s, catching her breath. “That’s probably going to make the paper- I forgot you got famous, Mister Quidditch Player Stud,” the blonde witch muttered wryly. She got up off his lap and stepped out of the booth. Her eyes never left Fred’s as she tugged him up and shrugged slightly. I am so going to regret this later, she thought as she apparated them back to her flat.

Fuck, was she leaning in? She was leaning in. The soft tone of her thanks reverberated in his chest, shivered down his spine, the color of her lipstick against her skin and her tongue burning into his eyes, the shake of her hair sending a wave of shampoo scent over the odor of the bar. 

Her eyes widened for a moment before they fell shut; all the noise of the bar, every other person in existence, they all faded away. The only thing that was there -- the only thing that mattered even a little -- was that Fred was kissing her and it felt like the last few years hadn't happened. But they had, hadn't they? And she missed him so much. It shouldn't have felt like a part of her fell back into place, but it did. His tug on her lower lip drew a soft moan from her slightly parted lips and she tilted her head back, eyes still shut. She couldn't look at him or she would run as far away from his as she could. The ringing alarms in her head sounded far away as she murmured, "You shouldn't have done that, Fred."

Still in that bad-decision-making, instinct-driven mode, he leaned forward, his other hand closing over hers and thumb brushing over the knuckles. “I know that you have always been good at faking that you’re fine.” His easy grin was still there, now looking almost tempting, almost alluring, and to anyone in the bar, it probably seemed like the look in his eyes and the hushed tones meant he was trying to draw her back to his place already. “No, I didn’t know that, and I don’t doubt you’re the best there is, but I also know that no, you don’t take care of yourself, not like you ought to, and that’s the only reason anyone else in the world has got a fighting chance. You’re a fucking force of nature, Valkyrie Challiet, and you always have been.”

Her eyes momentarily fell shut and she breathed out softly, evidently affected. When she opened them, she licked along her bottom lip, knowing her fire-engine red lipstick wouldn't fade with it, and raised her eyebrows while she heard him. "Who said I was faking at being fine?" Valkyrie asked, and this trick tended to work on everyone: just answer with a question. Involuntarily scrunching her nose up at his concern, Val shook her head, blonde waves shaking with it. "I know my mother is dead, love, but that doesn't mean you get to play the role. I'm not only fine, I'm great. And my job is my life. I just have a lot of time to do it- doesn't mean I am working too much," she added, the first part a bold-faced lie that neither of them believed for a second. Then, as an afterthought, she said, "But thanks." The words were quiet but that hushed, warm appreciation was something she knew he would be able to understand for what it was. That was an advantage of him knowing her.

His smile flickered for a moment at her statement, heart doing some strange, painful number. Should have chased her, mate. Chaser all your life and you tossed that game? He hitched it back into place in no time, though, barely a moment of unrest on him. Finally, his eyes lifted again and there was a sort of jesting condescension in them. “Val, babes, that’s a joke, right? Like he doesn’t care about you anyway? Doesn’t matter what your last name is. You work for him, you’re a priority.” Not to mention I told him I’d never speak to him or Aunt Ginny again if he let anything happen to you. He left that bit out. She didn’t have to know. 

With a heavy sigh, he brushed a hand over the top of his head, then laid his hair back flat in place. “That’s not how it works either. Your body needs eight hours in a day, but four hours at a time to reach the proper depth and rest. Four and four is best for your body and mind. You can’t get into the proper sleeping position in your desk and sleeping that way will damage your spine and possibly shoulders. Not leaving your office even for sleep creates a mental space that doesn’t allow for release and that makes you stir crazy - and that makes an unstable auror, which he can’t have.” He raised a brow, a dare for her to challenge him. “And we both know you’ve been overworking yourself.” He didn’t have to have seen her in years, he didn’t have to know how much she’d changed. He didn’t even have to know what the mission was. If Harry Potter told her to take a break, she was overdoing it. That was just it. 

What the problem was- well, fuck it, it was that she didn’t know what part of her was which – which one that was right and needing – because if it was the one that wanted to just touch him because it felt like he wasn’t real, then she was so beyond screwed she might as well burst into hysterical laughter.

Realizing that she zoned out a little and that her reply was a little delayed, she bit her lip hard before smiling at him, just slightly. “Good. I’ll let you live then,” she replied, a corner of her mouth perking up. Thankfully, she had zoned back in to hear his response to the latter part of their conversation. The babes he added made her want to grab his hand and drag him back to her too-big, too-empty flat and kiss him until she was breathless, and then keep bloody kissing him.

If the endearment wasn’t enough, the way he challenged her was. He was always so fucking hot with that. She knew this part of Fred- the smart part. The one that could give her a run for her money and match her too-fast steps every step of the way. This was why they had worked so well together. This, right here. That challenge in his eyes made her hand inch towards his and curl her fingers against him, daring him back with her eyes to pull away from her. She needed him to need him back, and she didn’t even know it. “Babe, if you saw me on the field, you would know that I am anything but unstable. I don’t know if you know it or not, but I am so damn good that I got out of training and became a full-fledged Auror a year into training. It’s supposed to be two, in case you didn’t know,” there was a teasing lilt to her tone that didn’t let any condescension drip from her tone the way it might have with someone else. “And honestly, you should be the last person to question my sensibilities when it comes to myself and my life; you do know what happens to those who do.” She hadn’t meant for the term of endearment that was only his to roll off her tongue the way it had, or the words after it that hinted at the history they had together. He shouldn’t know anything. Words she said shouldn’t have been dragging memories of the many times they had battled wits just like this. But it didn’t change that he knew her or that her words did just that.

He nodded, laughing lightly and shaking his head. “You’re still such a piece of bloody work, Val,” he laughed, waving his hand to the waitress again to signal for another drink. He had breezed through this one in a way he rarely did. Nerves, most likely. It was hard to talk to her again, almost as hard as it was easy. Words just flowed, came quick and simple, and that might be what made it so hard. It was hard not to pick up where they left off. Well, maybe not exactly where they left off. Not back at the blind-siding, but a week before that. When he could reach out and take her hand while they talked, where he could steal a kiss to occupy his lips instead of taking a sip, when he could get irritated with the noise around them and suggest they move somewhere quieter without seeming like he was trying to pick her up. 

Their relationship had been… well, it had certainly been something. It had been enough of an experience for her to be certain that Fred Weasley was the real thing. It had been because of him being ‘the real thing’ that she had been scared and had run from him. If losing family hurt so much, how badly could Fred be capable of hurting her? What if the scars he left weren’t the sort that healed? She couldn’t take that risk. At the end of the day, the only person there was a guarantee on was herself; she had to protect that.

However, it didn’t make sitting here next to him any easier on her. She had made her choice and she had only ever slightly regretted it, and only ever with that small part of her that didn’t fade even after the ordeal with Daniel’s leaving. You’re still such a piece of bloody work, Val, his words echoed in her head, and she managed to smirk wider at him. “Sounds like a compliment,” she retorted. She refused to acknowledge how easy it was to sink back into the way they talked. Just as she refused to acknowledge lines like coming home and as easy as breathing and I’m still so terribly in love with you that her brain spouted at her.

The blonde bit down on the urge to take the glass from his hand and to twine their fingers together, to just curl her fingers against his collar and to tug him into a kiss that would be ‘as easy as breathing’. The same way it had always been. It didn’t make her lose her composure though, that urge, because if nothing else, she had gotten damn good at living with the consequences of pushing him out of her life. That painful pang she always got after such an urge with the realization that she didn’t have the privilege to do any of it anymore went to bed with her and walked beside her in the day. It was nothing new. The way there was hidden emotion in both of them now was, though. They’d never had to resort to it before. She didn’t know this version of herself that held herself back when she wanted to kiss Fred Weasley. She didn’t like this version of herself. Yet, somehow, she was stuck living with it.

"I always did have a way with words," he said, grinning and scrunching his nose for a beat. He leaned back further, tipping the chair gently and rocking back on the the legs for a moment. When he stopped and it balanced, it was hard to tell if it was magic or if he was just that good and no one would ever get him to tell. He laughed as well, shaking his head. "Well, shit, don’t tell me then. I have to go back on the pitch next season and all." 

She knew that he knew that she wasn't okay, not really. But she loved that he carried on being the same easy-going, funny person that everyone fell for. "Smart choice," she replied, tone all teasing and light in a way that it wasn't with anyone anymore, unless they were Esme, but Esme was always an exception. Clearly, so was Fred. Oh well, she figured, at least he couldn't know that.

For all the simple, sweet flirts with the staff, the wink he had literally just tossed to a waitress who now looked utterly flustered, once his eyes were on the blonde in front of him it was like no one else was in the room at all. If it had been apparent when they were in school that he had no interest aside from her, his body language practically screamed it now. 

"May be a free country, but if you don’t want me at your table, I won’t be here. You should know that." After all, it was only because she had urged him to leave that he had left her alone. Fred Weasley was never one who would push himself on a girl, always backing away when he was asked. Until Val, he had never looked back, either, simply moved on when he was no longer wanted. These days he didn’t even give them a chance to stop wanting him. 

She really didn't like Fred Weasley for so many reasons; it was a really long list, really. To begin with, he managed to sound so goddamn sincere when he talked. She had seen him flirt and seduce -- had even been the person it was directed at, once upon a time -- but there was an evident difference between the charming way he had purred at the slag waiteress upon showing up and the way he spoke to her. No bullshit, all straightforward. She didn't like him because he made it so hard not to love the person he was. Next, it was those fucking eyes of his. He looked at her and it felt like he could see past every single wall of hers that had been so carefully constructed over a long time. Another addition to the list was him making her laugh, which he did. It was unexpected, too, because she hadn't really laughed since Daniel had vanished.

For a moment, he just looked her over. She looked different when he was this close. The years had been good to her, bringing her from the beautiful teenager she had been to a gorgeous woman, filled out, defined, matured in the right ways. Of course she had managed to outdo herself. He should have known. 

In return, she let her own eyes wander, too. He was the same in so many ways, and in some others, he was a different person; there were parts of him she had missed out on learning about. Maybe she didn't know the person standing before her at all, not anymore. The thought made her lips purse and she lit a fresh cigarette, taking a deep drag from it.

It was hard to choose a seat today. Everything seemed wrong. It either had Val in the line of sight or it didn’t and both options were absolutely unacceptable. Finally, he chose a place where he could turn away, but could still see her without having to look and he stayed there for a few drinks. He grinned and charmed as he always did, flattering the waitresses and gently rebuffing any girl who came onto him, keeping one eye on the blonde who had tucked herself away - and getting her tab transferred to his, of course, as he kept drinks flowing her way. 

A group taking up residence at her table, chatting her up without letting her tell them to leave, had him crossing the room, though. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t really had time to insist or rebuff properly, or that it wasn’t his job to take care of her, or that he didn’t need to. There were four men near the woman he still loved, and damned if he was going to let a chance to be nearer pass by. 

The flattery began as it always did, their eyes stuck to her legs if not unabashedly ogling her breasts. Val didn't really care about it because her expression was -- as it now often was -- one of complete and absolute disinterest. She just blinked, a smirk on her lips, and drank the fresh drink one of the blokes hurried to get her.

It hadn't really mattered how much time had passed, obviously. Because even now, she counted the beats in her head until Fred stormed over. It shocked her when she found herself fighting a smile when he finally did, right on cue, and instead just looked at him, eyebrows raised. The men scrambled away, of course. If his family wasn't big enough for him to be known -- and it was -- he was certainly successful enough on his own that Val knew the blokes knew he wasn't someone to mess with. He was too impulsive, still, same as he had always been, it appeared. She had fallen in love with that. Hell, she was still in love with that.

The problem with becoming famous was that it made it harder to do things. Fred knew he could have it much worse. His aunts and uncles had regaled him with tales of Viktor Krum the Bulgarian Bon Bon once he started playing professionally, especially when he started playing games against his cousin. There was a lot of quidditch in the family, what with a Weasley and two Potters all going professional.

At any rate, off seasons were getting more and more difficult the better he did - and he was doing better. The Wanderers were killing it lately (Maybe not the best phrasing for the team with the blood red robes and the meat cleaver insignia, but still.) and it was garnering more and more attention. He had been able to spend only ten minutes with his father in the shop before the place was flooded with quidditch enthusiasts, Wanderers fans, and gaggles of girls and boys who were actually just interested in him. It had taken another fifteen minutes for him to get too overwhelmed to keep giving them attention and then a last five for his father to bundle him into a closet so that he could apparate away without any hitchhikers. 

He reappeared, slightly disheveled, in a small cafe, one that was wise enough to keep his appearances there to themselves if they wanted to keep his business. Shrugging his robes back into place, he turned, ready to head toward his favorite booth and finding first a head of long blonde hair. His heart skipped a bit, then clenched tightly. It had been too long since he’d seen her, anything of her but pictures anyway. They were nothing in comparison. He stood and stared for too long, one of the waitresses finding him and clapping him on the shoulder. 

The occasional drink, however, helped things along nicely. Val had long since given up her drinking habit when she had given up casual sex, too. It had been a mixture of two men that she did that -- neither in her life anymore, of course -- and she only allowed herself drinks in small portions now. Giving up on the casual sex part had been simply because she didn't like the thought of the last boy she kissed not being the last boy she kissed anymore. It didn't really matter that it had been her who left him. It had been the right choice- the safe choice.

The blonde-haired witch now sat away from her past, though. Giving up being a lush who slept around had allowed her room to pick up another bad habit, which was that she now compulsively smoked. She'd thought that it had been a myth that it calmed people down, but it actually worked for her. And Merlin only knew that she needed any sort of release she could get. Val took small sips of her gin and tonic -- easy on the tonic, please -- and smoked long drags from her cigarette, ignoring the amount of blokes checking her out. She was a little bit lost in her head, contemplating how she could get Auror Potter to let her go on another mission. She didn't like taking this break, it gave too much time to fester in all the things she didn't care to fester in.