#jane granger

Summary:

One afternoon in the summer of 1996, Javier Granger has had enough of his daughter's silence. She's wound up tight and shrinking before his very eyes, and the truth is, he doesn't know how to help her in this moment, but he loves her and that's all that matters.

His little butterfly will fly again, he knows that.

‘Blaise slides his grip down her arm, gingerly curling his fingers around hers. “I really like Tavi, Gus; she’s an amazing kidlet, and I’m going to do everything I can to be a positive, supportive, and dependable friend to her…. to all of you. So that’s all I wanted to say – you needn’t worry I’ll grow bored, or find excuses to fade out of her life. I won’t be a disappointment to either of you, I swear.”  

His boyish earnestness is difficult to resist; Gus unconsciously sidles closer, hopelessly entranced. She bestows him with an impulsive, heartfelt grin.

“Sweet baby dragons, Gus… you shouldn’t smile at me like that,” Blaise gulps. “Your smile… it could light the darkest of winter nights. You’re so beautiful, Gussie.”

Gus withdraws as quickly as she’d advanced, yanking loose her hand from his gentle clasp. “I don’t need you to tell me pretty lies, Blaise Zabini. I know I’m not beautiful; I’d rather be strong, and loyal, and smart, in any case. Step aside, please; I want to re-join the party,” she stiffly instructs.

“Hey – you are all those things – they are part and parcel of your beauty, of course – and you’re a stunningly comely woman, to boot,” Blaise frowns. “Do you not believe me because you think I’m an incorrigible flirt, or is there a deeper issue at play here?” he blocks her exit with his tall, broad frame.  

Lips twisted bitterly, Gus replies, “I’m six feet tall, built like a brick shithouse, with zero interest in (or knowledge of) feminine prettification, or fashion. I’m well aware that the men who pursue me see me as an oddity, a freak – hence, ‘the Arctic Amazon’ moniker. I’d rather live with the plain truth than believe in a lie.”

Blaise’s furious snarl of dissent is the last reaction she’d expected; Gus is startled when he jerks his head closer, until their mouths are almost touching. His warm breath puffs against her lips.

“Tell me the names of these fucking fools, and I’ll make them wish they were born without their lying, scurrilous tongues,” he rasps. “You’re a goddess, Augusta Meredith Gilmont. Kiss me – judge for yourself whether I truly find you attractive – I won’t touch you, except with my mouth. Go on,” he invites, tucking his hands securely behind his back and staring fiercely into her shocked eyes.

“No – you’re being ridiculous– ” Gus growls.  

“Ah – you’re scared. That’s a shame,” Blaise taunts.

Later, Gus decides that the faint ‘tsk’ the cunning man made is what finally tipped her into accepting his challenge. He played me like a freaking fiddle… but Gods, what a tune.

She hurtles into him, her body pushing his back to the door as her hands find purchase on his corded neck. The first touch of her mouth to his is a revelation of competing sensations: warmth, firmness, softness, the smell of apple juice, and the taste of rhubarb and sweet cream. Their noses bump before Gus finds the right angle; she sinks into him with a deep groan, pressing them together from chest to knees.  

Blaise’s initial passivity vanishes when Gus boldly licks her tongue around his. He moans, his breath shallow and irregular, as he switches the angle of the kiss to robustly nip, and plunge his tongue deeper. A savage flare of pure yearning engulfs Gus, as she scrapes her breasts against his pectorals, her hands moving down his shoulders and burly arms, circling and squeezing.

He’s so sexy, so thrilling… so extra, Gus thinks. Like rich chocolate mudcake, or a Thai tom yum gai soup… multi-flavoured and deliciously complex. She applies herself to thoroughly exploring the delights of his silky mouth once more, her fingers stroking urgently down Blaise’s sinewy sides. He nudges his hips against her groin in tight, inflaming motions; the two layers of denim do little to mask his swelling hardness.

The whimper Blaise emits when Gus wedges his thigh between her legs is thrilling, inspiring her to slide up and down in tiny increments. She grabs at his buttocks, revelling in their taut muscularity, as their kiss impossibly deepens.  

“Gussie – la mia bella guerriera – my beautiful warrior – more, I need more –” Blaise pants, between their swollen lips. “Please –”