HP: Panem et Circenses

Younger versions of Professor Slughorn beamed down at him from within the frames lining the walls of the office; he posed for the camera, surrounded by smiling witches and wizards, congratulating Quidditch players, shaking hands with smartly-dressed politicians, and clinking glasses with renowned potioneers and innovators.

'Aunt Lily made it on here.' Tristan's gaze caught on Aunt Lily's huge smile and the potions award she clutched in both hands. 'But not my parents.' He smothered a flash of wry humor. 'And why should they? They don't owe him, so Slughorn can't collect any favors from them.'

"All my favorites from over seven decades of teaching." A soft sigh came behind him. "Impressive, no?"

"Very," Tristan murmured, tearing his gaze away from a second photograph of Aunt Lily waving next to a greasy-haired, hooked-nose wizard in Slytherin robes. "Where do I find the Triwizard champions, sir?"

"Hah! As cheeky as always." Slughorn's laughter boomed through the office. "But you're right, my boy; I am indeed missing one."

Tristan turned around. "How about an international dueling champion then?"

The light died in Slughorn's pale green eyes and the smile froze. "There used to be one," he whispered. "But I'm afraid you won't find any dueling champions on here either."

'It can't be Father.' Tristan watched those shadows rise and darken, drowning all the cheer like a candle swallowed in the storm. 'Tom Riddle then...'

"Shall I get a camera and kill two birds with one stone, Professor?"

Slughorn shook his head. "No need for that, my boy. If you continue visiting my little get-together as you have for the last few weeks, you'll find yourself in our end-of-the-year picture." He waddled to a section of the wall covered in group photos. "Most of my favorites are twice somewhere on here; once from their time at Hogwarts and then again when they just started their respective careers."

'To remind them of just who they have to thank for getting them to where they are.' Tristan fixed that well-practiced smile back onto his face. "Your club has actually grown on me, sir. I intend to keep visiting for as long as I can, and not just for dessert."

Slughorn's face lit up like a light bulb. "I am very glad to hear so, my boy, very glad indeed. We did not get the chance to talk about it last Saturday, but have you decided on what you'd like to do after you graduate this summer? With the talent you've shown in Stockholm, perhaps a career in the dueling world?"

"I'm not certain yet," Tristan hummed. "Stockholm was just me testing the waters a bit. But there's something else that has... inspired me."

"Inspired, mhm?" A sly gleam dwelled in Slughorn's eyes. "Through a few associates from Paris, I recently learned that Philippe Delacour's oldest daughter interned in the Bureau D'Enigma earlier this year. Does that sound inspirational?"

"Astute as ever, Professor." Tristan dipped his head and offered him the full force of that roguish grin. "And correct of course."

Slughorn chuckled, holding his belly. "The Department of Mysteries then, yes? That is a very ambitious goal, my boy, very ambitious indeed." He took a long sip from his drink. "Although you do stand a much better chance now that you've almost graduated."

"My parents and Lily Potter were offered internships the summer before they graduated, sir."

"Well, yes." Slughorn fidgeted with the buttons of his waistcoat. "That is true, or at least it used to be true..."

"Ah." The galleon dropped like a domino. "It's a matter of knowing the right person then, no? Who helped my parents get their internship, Professor?"

Shuffling a little further along the wall, Slughorn pointed at a picture of himself and a young dark-haired wizard. "This is Albert Croaker, one of my former students. After graduating with eleven NEWTs - all Outstandings, naturally - he joined the Unspeakables. It was him who offered the internships to your parents and Lily."

Tristan studied Croaker's thin smile and sharp blue eyes. "Surely he can be convinced to give me a chance, too?"

Slughorn's face fell. "Albert does not work for the Unspeakables any longer."

"Why not?"

"There was an... accident of sorts."

"An accident?" A little suspicious whisper snaked through Tristan's thoughts. "A recent accident?"

"Oh no." Slughorn shook his head, sending his chins wobbling. "It was almost twenty years ago."

'Right around the time my parents did their internship.' Tristan processed that. "What happened, sir?"

"No one knows, my boy. Everyone involved was sworn to secrecy and whatever truly happened down there was never made public; the Ministry swept it all under the carpet despite several Unspeakables never being heard from again since that day." A faint wrinkle creased Slughorn's bold forehead. "My best guess is they experimented with magicks they did not want the public to be aware of and it all went terribly wrong."

'No.' That faint suspicion grew. 'A bunch of Unspeakables don't just vanish coincidentally when my parents have their internship.' Tristan ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. "Croaker died in the accident, too then?"

"No, actually, he did not, but he was still stationed at Janus Thickey Ward in Saint Mungo's last time I visited him." Slughorn poured himself a drink from the stands with apéritifes. "Unfortunately, even after nineteen years of treatment, he's not very responsive and still has no recollection of who he is."

'A strong memory charm perhaps?' Tristan's frown deepened. 'Why would Mother and Father spare him?'

Slughorn patted Tristan's shoulder. "Don't let that news dull you too much, my boy. Luckily, I still know a fair few people with the right connections to the Unspeakables; I'll do my best to orchestrate a meeting."

"Thank you, Professor," Tristan murmured. "I'd owe you quite a lot for that."

"Nonsense, my boy." Slughorn waved him off with a wink, but that sly gleam crept back into his eyes. "Consider it a favor between friends. Now then, I doubt schmoozing me into securing you an internship was the only reason you visited me this afternoon?"

"I was hoping you'd let me use your floo, sir."

Slughorn shot a fugitive glance at the heading of his newspaper, then waggled his bushy eyebrows like a walrus. "Do you have a date on Beltane, my boy?"

A small, fond smile tugged at Tristan's lips. "Yes, and she's rather impatient."

Chuckling to himself, Slughorn led him to the fireplace in the back of the office. "Don't want to keep a lady waiting, Tristan, especially not if she's French." He offered a small box of floo powder. "Give my best to the lovely Miss Delacour and feel free to return via my fireplace tomorrow should you stay the night in France; just say Professor Slughorn's Office to return."

"I appreciate it, sir." Tristan took a handful of powder and stepped into the flames. "The Leaky Cauldron!"

The office vanished in a flash of roaring green flames, spitting him back out in the pub. Tristan hopped out of the fireplace and wrenched the world back past him.

A salty breeze billowed through waist-high grass along a gentle slope, sending ripples of green from where he stood to the edge of the cliff. Sea and sky kissed as the sun sunk into the distant horizon, painting the heavens in hues of gold and orange and pink.

In the deep shade of the lone oak tree, Fleur sat on her swing, her feet dipping through blades of grass as if they were water; all her blonde hair was woven into slim braids, sprinkled with flowers of every spring color, catching the breeze from the sea, and flowing wild and fey as a river above her bare shoulders.

A host of butterflies swirled through Tristan's stomach as he stared at her, drinking her in, mesmerized by how her dress - a deep, rich green blossoming with life like the twisting oak branches above her - stuck to her without straps, clinging to the swell of her breasts with each swing forth and riding up her bare thigh as she swung back.

'She's so beautiful.' Tristan's heart somersaulted in his chest and he swallowed hard. 'Absolutely perfect.'

"Mon Coeur." Fleur hopped off the swing and drifted towards him, her fingers playing in the long blades of grass on either side of her. "You are staring again."

Her hair and all the bangles and bracelets adorning her fair skin gleamed like spun silver in the sunset, but the gentle smile gracing her red lips shone warmer still, as warm as her heart shining in soft blue eyes.

Jerking out of his daze, Tristan crossed the distance between them in swift steps, sweeping her up into his arms, burying his face in her soft hair, and breathing in the familiar scent of sharp sweet vanilla.

"Bonsoir, mon Coeur." Fleur hooked her legs around him and clung to him tight, catching his lips in a soft, long kiss. "How come that despite making me wait for so long," she leaned back and spared a pointed look down his front, "-you are still not dressed for the occasion?"

"Maybe I wanted to make sure we'd match?" He lowered her to the ground and pecked the tip of her nose, grinning at the sharp edge in her eyes. "Désolé. I'll change right now."

"Non." Fleur's hand lowered his wand with gentle pressure. "As the one with far superior taste in fashion, I will transfigure an appropriate outfit for you, mon Coeur."

"Do your worst, petite Fleur."

She pulled the slim rosewood wand from her cleavage.

Tristan snorted. "I vividly remember you telling me that is not where you carry your wand, yet I keep catching you storing it there..."

"Hush, mon Coeur." Stealing back a step, Fleur gave her wand a swish and a flick.

Tristan's oxford shirt loosened into a short-sleeve tunic, as rich a green as Fleur's dress, tugging itself into the pair of black satin pants held on his hips by a leather belt of interwoven Celtic knots.

"Mhmm." Fleur bit her lower lip and cocked her head, spilling blonde braids down her slender shoulder. "Something is still missing, non?"

"Not my underwear, I hope," Tristan murmured, sticking his wand through the belt, and tucking away his amulet and Fleur's locket beneath the tunic.

"I left your underwear on." She painted a few Gaelic runes onto his forearms and neck, and conjured a wreath sprouting with the same flowers that crowned her hair. "My underwear, however..." A playful little gleam crept into her eyes as she rose onto her tiptoes to place the wreath on top of his head, brushing a curl off his forehead. "Well... this dress works better the less you wear beneath it..."

He drew her close and rested his hands on the curve of her butt, giving her a gentle squeeze. "Don't tempt me too much, petite Fleur; it's been weeks since I've last seen you in person," Tristan took a deliberate peek down her cleavage but caught no hint of a bra, "-and you do look very good in that dress."

"Good enough that it should stay on." Fleur pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips and took his hand with a smirk. "Allons-y, mon Coeur. The festivities are in full swing and I promised mes parents we would not be absent for too long."

Beyond the slope of the hill, Delacour manor rose from within lofty, trimmed hedges, its white square bricks glowing pink in the sunset. A huge fire burned at the center of the courtyard; throngs of guests mingled abound the tongues of flame, chatting and laughing and dancing to the tune of harps and flutes as the last rays of the sun dipped beyond the horizon.

"Are you as nervous as last year?" Fleur asked.

"Not really," Tristan murmured. "I've grown more used to parties, and this is the first one in weeks that I've actually looked forward to attending. Mostly because of how much I missed you."

A small smile spread across her lips, lifting his heart on wings of hot emotion, and she gave him a chaste kiss. "You are very sweet, mon Coeur." Fleur slipped her arm through his, her warmth seeping through the tunic like rays of summer sunshine as she led him toward the hedges. "Let us find my family first. It will leave a good impression for you to greet them."

He snorted. "Bit late for that, no?"

She rolled her eyes. "If Gabrielle adored you any more, I might worry she would try something to steal you away, and Maman approved of you the moment she noticed the change in my allure." Fleur paused, biting her lip. "Now, Papa..."

"Hates me, yeah, I know."

"Papa does not hate you, Tristan," she murmured and led him through the crowd, greeting guests left and right. "He is very protective and does not deem any boy good enough for me. I doubt your father will be any different once your sisters start dating boys."

"Father will be the least of their worries compared to me." Tristan chuckled to himself. "I don't even want to imagine what I'd be like with my own daughters."

Fleur nestled a little closer to his side, her sweet vanilla fragrance stirring in his nostril. "Now you are tempting me, mon Coeur," she whispered into his ear. "Because I really like imagining what you will be like with our daughters."

'Our daughters.' A spark of longing flared in Tristan's breast, blooming with it the sound of bright, clear children's laughter, huge blue eyes, and silver-blonde curls.

"If they're as pretty as their mother, I'll probably end up interrogating future suitors the very same way your father interrogated me last year." His mood slumbered, washing the euphoria away. "For their sake, I hope they have better answers than I did."

Fleur tugged him to a stop, snatching two glasses off a table with apéritifes. "You do have a much better answer now, mon Coeur; just look around you."

Tristan raised his glass to his lips and took a few sips of elven wine, letting his gaze roam over the courtyard; more than a dozen guests averted their eyes, busying themselves with their drinks or partners, but a fair few kept staring, whispering to themselves.

"They stare like they always do around you." He shrugged. "So what?"

"They stare at you, mon Coeur, not at me," Fleur murmured. "Do you have any idea how many guests inquired if I was still dating you and if you were going to attend tonight?"

Tristan blinked. "They really do that? Why?"

"Because within the last twelve months, you have won the Triwizard tournament and the dueling tournament in Stockholm. Your name is in everyone's mouth, mon Coeur." She pressed a gentle kiss to his jaw and placed both their glasses back onto the table. "If Papa asks you again what you intend to do after Hogwarts, you tell him every possible door stands wide open for you."

'The door might be open, but there's someone in the way.' An emblem of crossed golden rapiers burned bright as the sun before his mind's eye. 'But once I've wiped them all away, I can think about what I'd like to do with my life.'

"Do not fret too much, mon Coeur." Fleur slipped her arm back through his, leading him up the short flat of steps and into the manor. "Let us find my family and just enjoy our evening together."

Fleur's family chatted with a handful of guests in the foyer.

"Tristan!" Gabby skipped across the marble tiles and wrapped him in a tight hug, plastering both his cheeks with kisses. "You're finally here." She drew back him with a mischievous grin, letting her hand linger on his chest. "And you're matching my dress! How romantic."

"Shoo off, Gabrielle." Fleur slapped her sister's hand away and wiped Tristan's cheeks with her thumb. "Tristan is matching my dress, not yours."

"We wear the same dress, Fleur." Gabby giggled and batted her eyelashes. "Hopefully Tristan doesn't mix us up tonight. Not that I would mind too much..."

"I think I would mind." Philippe strolled over with Appoline on his arm, both dressed in darker shades of green than their daughters. "Bonsoir, Tristan."

"Good evening." Tristan exchanged kisses to each cheek with Appoline, then shook Philippe's hand, holding his sharp blue eyes. "And thank you very much for the invitation."

"You are very welcome," Philippe's smile was as bright as it was sharp. "I am looking forward to spending some time with you again-"

"Papa." Fleur shot him a pointed look.

"-after my little flower has had her turn, of course."

"Tristan? As in Tristan Peverell?" One of the guests Fleur's parents had chatted with, a tall brown-haired wizard in blue robes, joined them. "Ah yes, there he is."

"Tristan, this is Sebastian Albon," Philippe introduced. "We used to work on a few cases together back when I was an Auror, but then Sebastian chose a much more exciting career path."

"The level of excitement depends on the day." Monsieur Albon chuckled. "But I cannot say the last few years were boring."

'Is he a French Unspeakable?' Tristan schooled his expression. "And what career would that be?"

"I work for the ICW, which - very coincidentally - already brings me to why I approached you, Mr. Peverell," Monsieur Albon said. "Philippe, my friend, is there perhaps somewhere private I could talk with Mr. Peverell for a few minutes?"

Fleur's fingers tensed on Tristan's arm.

"I have not seen my girlfriend in weeks, Monsieur Albon," Tristan drew Fleur's a tad closer by her waist. "I'm afraid I cannot let anyone steal me away that easily. Not even for a few minutes."

Monsieur Albon laughed. "Oh, as a married man, I know better than to step between young lovers. Ms. Delacour is of course welcome to join us, as is anyone else you wish."

"Papa will join," Fleur murmured. "Oui, Papa?"

"Of course, my flower." Philippe pressed a kiss to Appoline's cheek. "Could you entertain our guests for a bit, mon Amour? This should not take long."

"Bien sûr." She nodded. "Suis-moi, Gabrielle."

"No fair!" Gabby crossed her arms over her chest and pouted. "Why can't I join them too?"

"Because I need your help at the buffet." Appoline said, taking steering her daughter back out into the courtyard. "Now come along, Gabrielle."

Phillippe watched them leave with a fond smile, then gestured down the hallway with his arm. "Please, follow me to the living room."

Tristan lingered a few meters behind and lowered his voice. "Do you know anything about this guy?"

"Non," Fleur whispered. "But I know Papa has not met him over the last year, so he should not be involved with your break-in." Her eyes darkened as they latched onto Monsieur Albon's back. "I do not like this, Tristan."

"He'd be a fool to try anything around you and your father so let's just hear what he has to say." Tristan joined the two men in the living room and closed the door behind Fleur.

"Well, Sebastian-" Philippe picked up four glasses from the counter and led them to the sofas by the fireplace, "-I'm sure we are all very curious about what you have to say."

"It's somewhat of a proposition, to be completely honest." Monsieur Albon crossed his legs and accepted his glass with a small nod. "You'll graduate from Hogwarts this year, correct, Mr. Peverell?"

"Yes," Tristan admitted, sitting down across from him.

"And do you have any plans for what you'll do after?"

"Nothing's set in stone yet," he said. "But I thought about interning in the British Department of Mysteries, or maybe participating in a couple of dueling tournaments."

Monsieur Albon sipped on his drink. "The tournament in Stockholm was where you first caught my eye, Mr. Peverell. I watched almost all of your duels, and I don't doubt for a second that you will have a lot of success as a duelist." He sat his glass down onto the table. "However, perhaps I have a third, even more exciting, opportunity; one where you work with me."

'Not an Unspeakable then.' Tristan tried to crush the nagging feeling of disquiet. "That depends on what you actually do."

"Ah yes, I admit my previous answer was rather cryptic." Monsieur Albon smiled a thin, sharp smile. "I'm the head of a relatively new department in the ICW. So new, we in fact do not have a name for it yet."

Fleur covered a little snort with a cough. "And yet you are already recruiting?"

"Fleur." Philippe shot her a stern look. "Perhaps, Sebastian, it is best if you just share what exactly you do, yes?"

"You're right of course, Philippe." Monsieur Albon inclined his head. "Let's put it like this; whenever there's a threat an ICW member country's aurors aren't sufficiently equipped to deal with, we come into play."

'Like the ICW's Aurors'. A flutter of nervousness trembled in Tristan's stomach. 'The ones Father slaughtered in Switzerland last year.'

"I thought the ICW already had its task force?" Fleur asked.

"And you would be right, Ms. Delacour," Monsieur Albon admitted. "But do you also know what happened to the ICW's precious task force when they encountered Gellert Grindelwald in 1939?"

She shook her head, a faint wrinkle creasing between her slim blonde brows.

"They died," Philippe murmured. "Every last one of them."

"Exactly," Monsieur Albon said. "And history would've repeated itself had they faced Voldemort twenty years ago."

Fleur glanced from him to Tristan and back, her lips pressed into a very thin line. "And what makes your department different?"

"My department, Ms. Delacour, will have someone of equal strength working for our side when the next Grindelwald or Voldemort rises to power."

Tristan snorted. "You could've spared us all some time by just admitting that you're looking for the next Dumbledore."

A muscle twitched along Monsieur Albon's jaw. "Albus Dumbledore hid behind Hogwarts' walls for over two decades while the entire magical world begged him to face Gellert Grindelwald. And as for Voldemort; it was your parents, Mr. Peverell, who dealt the critical blows against his forces and your father who finished the job, not Albus Dumbledore."

Fleur stiffened. "What does Tristan have to do with your department?"

"My department is looking for someone who doesn't need begging like Albus Dumbledore did. Someone with a little more... drive." He met Tristan's eye with a thin smile. "Do you have that, Tristan Peverell?"

"You said you've watched all my duels," he murmured.

"Indeed, I have." Albon nodded. "And to say that I was impressed would be an understatement."

"Then you already know the answer to your question."

Fleur's grip on his arm tightened.

"Very good." A little spark of triumph flared to life in Monsieur Albon's eyes. "I take it you are interested then?"

"How would it actually work?" Tristan asked.

"To the details already, huh?" Monsieur Albon grinned. "Very well. Anytime there's a dark wizard or witch on the rise in one of our member states, threatening the stability of the Statue of Secrecy, we send you to eliminate them."

He raised an eyebrow. "Eliminate?"

"Yes. Certain witches or wizards are too powerful for imprisonment. It is safer to take them out in the field. You would mostly operate by yourself to preserve your stealth. You're free to choose your methods of operation and will be given full immunity before the law, as long as you do not break the Statute of Secrecy yourself of course." Monsieur Albon inclined his head with a grin. "It goes without saying that your compensation will reflect the value of your service to the magical world. So what do you say, Mr. Peverell?"

Tristan tipped his head back and finished his drink. "I say that I will keep your offer in the back of my mind while finishing these last few months of school."

"That is all I could ask for." Monsieur Albon rose from the sofa and offered his hand. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Peverell. If you have any further questions, Philippe knows best how to reach me."

"The pleasure was mine," Tristan replied, standing up and shaking the offered limb.

"I wish you a pleasant evening," Monsieur Albon's smile shone sharp as a razorblade. "Bonsoir, Philippe." He inclined his head. "Ms. Delacour." Grabbing a handful of floo-powder, he vanished through the fireplace.

"Papa," Fleur murmured. "Could you give us a minute, s'il te plaît?"

Philippe glanced between them for a long moment, then nodded and rose. "Of course, my flower."

The door fell shut behind him.

Fleur gnawed at her lip, twisting the soft pink beneath her white teeth. "I do not trust that man, Tristan."

"I know. Neither do I."

"Bon." She slipped sideways into his lap and cupped his jaw, peering deep into his eye. "You are not thinking about entertaining his silly proposal, oui?"

Tristan let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair. "He said himself it was my father who defeated Voldemort, yet they still approached me? Why would they do that?"

"I do not know," Fleur huffed, her blue eyes full of frustration. "And it does not matter, mon Coeur. Let us forget about this and go back to enjoying our evening, oui?"

"But it does matter," Tristan murmured. "And the easiest way to find out what they truly want is by working with them, not against them." He stared over Fleur's slender shoulder into the cackling coals of the fireplace, a touch of ambition blossoming in his chest. "Besides..."

Her eyes narrowed. "Besides what?"

Tristan measured the sharp gleam in their darkening depth and shook his head. "Nah, forget it."

"Non," Fleur hissed. "We promised to be better than this, remember? You promised me no more secrets!"

"Fine." He sighed. "I'll have to do something, don't I?"

The darkness drained from her eyes and that faint wrinkle reappeared between her slim blonde brows. "What do you mean, mon Coeur?"

Tristan shot her a flat look. "If I don't work for the bloody Unspeakables or move from one dueling tournament to the next or push papers in some mundane Ministry job, then the gold I've saved up will eventually run out. That's usually how it works when you don't have a job…"

"Not for us. You do not have to work," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his lips. "I can earn more than enough for both of us."

A bubble of bitter humor burst from his lips in a snort. "And what will I do in the meantime? Sit all day in the house you'll have paid for and watch you excel in life? No." He shook his head. "You know, I can't do that, I-" a fierce twist of need seized him. "I need to do something bigger, something greater."

'Like I was meant to.'

"Risking your life is not something great, mon Coeur." Fleur breathed. "You have fought so much already. You can stop fighting once the Musketeers are defeated. I do not understand why you-" she froze still as ice on his lap, studying him, and that faint wrinkle deepened into a frown. "You like the idea, non?"

"What idea?"

"Of proving yourself against some great foe, of defeating that next challenger. Whoever it might be."

Awe and fear shone in the thousands and thousands of eyes of the spectators, bright as the crest of crossed golden rapiers against the Musketeers' plain black robes.

Tristan crushed the memory. "No, I don't."

"You are lying to me, mon Coeur." Shadow crept into Fleur's eyes, darkening them until they bled black as night. "I saw you after you won those duels, you relished in the way everyone was staring. You want to be great and you want to show it, again and again and again, until one day you do not come back to me."

"That will never happen." Tristan took her hands, wincing at the sting of heat. "You are much more important than all that. I will always come back to you."

"Prove it."

He stared at her. "How am I meant-"

The living room vanished and they tumbled into soft sheets, her warm weight pressing onto his lap.

"Fleur, you parents-"

"I do not care." She silenced him with a kiss, flicking her wand at her bedroom door and tossing it over her shoulder. "They can all wait." Locking her arms around his neck, Fleur crushed herself flush against him and claimed his mouth, slipping her tongue past his lips to tangle with his. "I have been looking forward to this for weeks, mon Coeur," she whispered between heated, hungry kisses. "I want to try something new."

A spark of excitement twisted in Tristan's breast. He cupped her face with one hand and let the other slide along her slim waist, resting it on the curve of her butt and giving her a gentle squeeze through the dress. "Something new?"

"Oui," she breathed, blushing from the valley between her breasts to her cheeks, desire smoldering in her bright blue eyes. "Close your eyes and raise your arms." Fleur slipped off his lap. "And no peeking."

Tristan squeezed his eyes shut tight, fighting that temptress whisper. "Peeking at you is what I enjoy the most."

The mattress dipped beside him and the sheets rustled.

"Je sais." Fleur's warm breath ghosted across his cheek. "But if you play along nicely, mon Coeur-" she pulled his shirt over his head, "-I promise to make it worth your while."

Cool air whispered across his bare skin and Fleur's nails grazed little trails of fire from his chest over his abs and lower.

Tristan kicked off his shoes as Fleur unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants.

"You are so hard for me, mon Coeur," she whispered, cupping him where he strained against his briefs and coaxing the spark of lust into a greedy flame with each stroke. "But there is something I need first."

"Anything," he hissed.

The bed shifted again.

Beyond his closed eyelids, the room darkened as warm skin brushed either side of his head.

Tristan's heart raced as he drew in a deep breath laced with familiar, sweet musk, and he tilted his head upward, touching his lips to something as silken smooth as velvet, but wet and sweet as nectar.

"Yesss." The faint hitch of Fleur's breath washed across his bare stomach. "Keep doing that."

Bringing both arms up and around her legs, Tristan pulled her hips flush against his face and spread her thighs, flicking his tongue through the slick heat and savoring her sweet arousal on his lips. "You taste so fucking amazing."

"Stop talking, mon Coeur." Fleur gasped, her fingers toying with the hem of his briefs. "And keep your eyes closed." She drew him out into the cool air, twisting her wrist in long, smooth strokes. "Or I will stop doing this."

Warm lips wrapped about the tip of him, sucking softly, then slid down inch by inch until they touched his base and he twitched against the back of her throat.

Tristan stifled a groan, drawing gentle circles over her with the tip of his tongue, spurned by each soft needy noise he coaxed out of her, and fighting the fire racing through his veins as she bobbed her head and took all of him again and again.

He spread her open with two fingers, curling them deeper into her until Fleur's thighs started trembling and her breath quickened around his length, then he pressed the flat of his tongue to the small bundle of nerves.

Fleur shuddered and her thighs clamped shut tight about him as she let go with a low moan, her arousal soaking his lips.

Tristan's hips buckled and he burst on her warm tongue, spending himself inside her mouth in a rush of pure, white burning bliss.

She swallowed with a quiet gulp and let him slip from her lips, pressing a line of little kisses from the base to the tip of him. Shifting around and straddling his waist, Fleur brushed the damp hair off his forehead with gentle fingers. "You can open your eyes now, mon Coeur."

Tristan blinked through the dizzying lightness and the white spots dancing in his vision; Fleur sat upright on his lap and licked her lips, her cheeks flushed pink and her bright blue eyes still full of craving.

Reaching down with both hands, she gathered the skirt of her dress and lifted it over her head, tossing it aside. "All yours, mon Coeur."

A thin film of sweat glistened on the fair skin of her bare breasts. The slim braids of her silver-blonde hair - sprinkled with wildflowers - fluttered at the stiff, rose-pink buds of her nipples with each breath she took.

"You're so beautiful." The fire stirred back to life in his veins as he cupped both her breasts, marveling at their soft weight, circling her hard nipples with the edge of his thumb. "So unbelievably beautiful." He swallowed hard. "You take my breath away."

Fleur rolled her hips over him, smirking as he hardened. "You best start breathing, mon Coeur." She caught his eye and lined him up, her lips parting in a soft moan and her eyelids fluttering as she sank down on him. "Because I want more."

Tristan groaned as he slipped into her tight warmth, resting one hand on the curve of her hips and watching her take all of him in a smooth, swift rhythm. He drew her closer, pressing kisses to her lips, her collarbone, her breasts, and every inch of skin in reach as Fleur rode him faster and faster, her breath hitching in his ear.

The heat pooled in his belly, threatening to burst with each roll of her hips. "Fleur," he whispered, fighting the feeling. "I'm close."

"I want to feel it." She clutched his head between her warm breasts, little shivers rippling through her. "Go on, mon Coeur. Do it inside me."

Tristan exploded in a dizzying rush of ecstasy, spurting into her with a low groan as Fleur clenched tight about him and shuddered on his lap.

He hugged her tight and flopped back into the cool pillows, keeping himself sheathed inside her. His heart hammered in his ears and Fleur's thumped against his chest as they chased ragged breaths.

She pressed a gentle kiss to his lips and leaned back, raising her hips just enough to let his softening length slip from within her.

"Look at me, mon Coeur." Fleur spread herself open with two fingers; white trickled from her flushed, bright pink sex, running down her thighs and dripping onto his crotch. "Did I make it worth your while?"

"You always do." He smothered a stab of lust. "Is it a risky day?"

She caught a fresh little gush of white on her finger. "Once the Musketeers are gone, there will be no more risky days, mon Coeur." Fleur held his eye and licked her finger clean with the tip of her tongue. "And putting a baby in me is much more fun than risking your life, non?"