HP: Panem et Circenses

August 15th, 1996

Tristan sliced the thick tart into four neat squares with the edge of his fork and impaled one piece on the tines. He slipped it past his lips, letting the sweet taste of cherries melt on his tongue. "Mhmmm..."

Aurelia's wide, pleading blue eyes and huge pout met him from across the breakfast table; her gaze flickered down to the remaining pieces and back up.

"Oh no." Tristan tugged the plate closer to himself and waggled his fork at her. "You've already had a bigger slice than me, you greedy little thief, and this is my birthday tart."

"Just one more piece." Her lower lip crept out further and she batted her eyelashes. "Please."

"How's anyone meant to resist that?"An indulgent smile spread over Tristan's lips. "Fine. You can have one more." He stabbed the largest bit and leaned over the table. "Here you-"

Aurelia snatched it from his fork with her small fingers and shoved it into her mouth, munching away with a huge grin.

"Don't eat with your hands, young lady!" their mother chided from the head of the table. "And you-" her narrowed eyes landed on Tristan as Aurelia shrank back into herself, "-stop provoking your siblings and just finish your leftover tart. I already regret letting you have it for breakfast."

Tristan washed down another piece with a sip of rich hot chocolate. "Are you sure my siblings are the ones feeling provoked right now?" He speared the last square and hovered it before his open lips. "I might share if you ask me nicely, Mother."

The piece of tart zipped over loaded dishes to the other end of the table, sticking itself onto his mother's fork.

"Now that's blatant cheating," Tristan scoffed, folding his arms. "What happened to Magic's forbidden at the dining table?"

"Tough luck, son," their father laughed, patting the curve of his wife's belly as she chewed away with a smug expression and licked her lips. "Some rules don't apply when you're pregnant."

Dobby bustled into the dining room, carrying a stack of letters in his open arms. "Dobby has the mail for Masters and Mistresses." His large ears circled the tabletop and he handed the letters out one by one, then vanished with a pop.

"Wait, Dobby!" Aurelia screwed her face up. "Where's my letter?"

"It's from Hogwarts, silly." Valeria tore her envelope open with her knife. "You'll have to wait four more years until-"

Something silver slipped out of the envelope and thudded onto the table.

The chatter and clatter of cutlery died; all eyes fixed on Valeria as she picked up a small badge between her forefinger and thumb, gaping down at it.

"Is that-" Galahad rubbed his eyes and blinked, "-is that a Prefect's badge?!"

Their mother cleared her throat, bumping her husband's side with her elbow. "Congratulations, sweetie!"

"Yes, this calls for a toast." Their father raised his cup of orange juice. "Very well done, Valeria!"

"I don't get it," Valeria muttered, balancing the badge on her open palm. "We all thought it was going to be Daphne since she's Slughorn's favorite and he's so close with her family. Why choose me all of a sudden?"

"Why in Morgana's name not?" Their mother waddled around the table, one hand on her belly, and hugged Valeria from behind, pressing a kiss on top of her golden hair. "You're among the best students in your year, and unlike your dear brother-" she shot Tristan a pointed look, "-you don't get yourself into nearly as much trouble. You deserve this, sweetheart. We're very proud of you."

"May I?" Tristan asked.

Valeria tossed him the badge and pried the letter out of the envelope. "Dear Ms. Peverell, for your exemplary conduct, we're honored to offer you the position of Slytherin Prefect. On September first, please wear your badge visibly on your uniform and find yourself in the Headstudents' compartment for a briefing on your duties and responsibilities. Sincerely, Professor Horace E. F. Slughorn."

'Prefect, huh?' Tristan traced the metallic P laid over a green-highlighted serpent with the edge of his thumb. "Congrats, baby sister." He tossed it back to her with a grin. "You're finally moving up in the world."

Valeria caught the badge and rolled her eyes. "Thanks for winning that tournament." She snorted. "First he invites us to the Slug-Club and now he appoints me Prefect; looks like Slughorn's trying extra hard to make up for not appointing you, now that our family is no longer a complete outcast."

Galahad and Aurelia shot perplexed looks at their parents.

Their mother fixed a lock of golden hair behind Valeria's ear. "You were appointed because you're well-suited for the position, daughter. There are no other reasons." Her tone carried an unmistakable edge and faint sharpness brightened her smile. "But your father was right; this calls for celebration. Is there anything you'd like as a present? How about a pretty new dress?"

"I have an entire wardrobe full of dresses already, Mother," Valeria moaned, prying her mother's fingers out of her hair. "Just because you got one for making Prefect, doesn't mean I'd want the same."

"Wait, mum was a Prefect?" Galahad frowned.

Their parents exchanged a silent glance.

"Yep, she was," Aurelia chirped. "I found out from Aunt Lily, but she didn't want to tell me why Mother dropped the position in seventh year."

Their mother turned to Tristan, a faint shadow passing through her cool blue eyes. "You knew as well?"

Tristan nodded. 'Of course I did.'

"Since when?"

"First year," he replied. "Filch made me clean the trophy room without magic for detention. Your name and... position was mentioned on an award for Special Services to the School. Father had one as well..."

'Those must've been for the Hogsmeade trip. At least I doubt they would've gotten one for defending the Castle during the Battle of Hogwarts...'

"You could've shared that with us earlier, Tristan." Their mother let out a long breath through her nose. "But yes, I was a Prefect, and I turned my badge in during my final year because I had more important things on my mind than docking house points from my peers."

'Like fighting a war.' Tristan sipped on his hot chocolate, hiding a small smile behind the mug. 'Killing Death Eaters is more effective than putting them in detention.'

"And for your information, my dear daughter-" their mother straightened the straps of Valeria's dress, "-I didn't get any reward for making Prefect; my parents expected as much of me, which is why you should be a tad more grateful, don't you think?"

Valeria squirmed in her seat, a little guilt flickered through her green eyes. "Maybe not another dress then, but how about a new wand holster? A really nice one, like Tristan's."

"Mhmm, perhaps that can be arranged." Their mother mused with the ghost of a smile, waddling back around the table. "We'll all have to visit Diagon Alley soon anyway to get your uniforms altered at Twilfitt and Tattings." She paused behind Tristan. "That goes for you too, dear."

He coughed into his hot chocolate. "Me?"

Valeria snickered. "Yeah, you've gotten fat over the summer, big brother."

His siblings giggled behind their hands.

Tristan scolded. "I'm just a bit bloated from my birthday tart." He patted his stomach over his shirt. "There's no fat here."

"Just ignore them." Their mother carefully lowered herself back into her chair at the head of the table. "You'll need your uniform adjusted because you've grown a couple more inches and all that physical exercise Fleur made you do filled you out quite nicely around the shoulders and chest."

"You hear that, Valeria?" Tristan waggled his eyebrows. "My chest filled out nicely; what about yours?"

"You're a jerk!" She cried, flushing beet red and flattening her arms over her neckline. "They don't just grow overnight!"

"Alright, that's quite enough, children." Their father stifled a chuckle. "Any surprises in your letter, Galahad?"

"No surprises, just a bunch of new books," Galahad yawned, shuffling through the parchments. "But at least I'm a second year now, so I can finally bring my own broom and try out for the quidditch team."

"How about you, Tristan?"

"Shouldn't be anything new." Tristan tore open his envelope and unfolded the letter, skimming over its contents. "I take it back; apparently I enrolled in a new class." He blinked. "What the hell is Wizarding Decorum and why do they make us read a book called A Return To Tradition?"

"Wait, I've got that one as well." Valeria frowned at her letter.

"Me too," Galahad threw his head back with a groan. "Urgh, that means even more time in classes."

"Do they mention the author?" Their father asked.

Valeria snorted. "Some guy called Wilbert Slinkhard."

Faint wrinkles creased on his father's forehead and his eyes flickered to his wife.

'They know something we don't. Again...' Tristan raised an eyebrow. "Does the name ring a bell?"

Their parents each shook their head. "No. We've never heard of him."

'Another secret then.' Tristan bit back his frustration. 'Fine.'

"I suppose we'll find out what Slinkhard's got to say when we buy his book soon. But it won't be today." A flare of longing rose in his breast and he finished the rest of his hot chocolate in one big gulp. "Today I'm visiting Fleur."

"Ouh! Can I come with you?" Aurelia pleaded. "Pleaseee."

Valeria sniggered, mischief flashing in her green eyes. "Our big brother hasn't seen his lovely French veela girlfriend in three weeks; that kind of reunion isn't meant for someone your age, Aurelia."

Heat crept onto Tristan's cheeks.

"Really Valeria?" Their mother pinched the bridge of her nose with a long sigh. "We've already talked about these kinds of jokes, and you'd really like that new wand holster, don't you?"

"Yes, please. I'll be good!" Valeria pressed her lips together, her eyes flashing with silent laughter.

Tristan wrestled his flush back down and stood. "I better get going before our mature new Prefect slips up again."

"Give Fleur our best, dear," his mother called over his shoulder as he drifted toward the hallway. "And let her know we'd love to have her over for dinner again before school starts soon."

Tristan took the stairs three at a time up to his room, his stomach fluttering as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He skidded to a halt, patting his hair one way and the other while freshening up his mouth with a few charms.

"No need to be so nervous." Tristan applied two generous squirts of the expensive muggle perfume Uncle Sirius had gifted him. "It's just Fleur. Valeria's right; she's already my girlfriend..."

'But she's not visited me in three weeks, not even for my birthday.' He took a deep shaky breath, tangerine and sandalwood tingling in his nostrils, and swallowed the unease. "Because she's been busy with her internship at Gringotts..."

A little doubt slithered back up. 'But was she really?'

"I suppose I'll find out where we stand." Tristan wrenched the world back past him, apparating twice from towering white cliffs to lush flower fields.

Fleur sat on her swing in the shade of the oak tree's thickest branch, staring out into the calm Mediterranean sea. Braids of silver hair billowed down the white fabric of her dress to the small of her back and her bare toes grazed the blades of grass with each swing.

A swarm of butterflies swirled through Tristan's stomach, stirring like a storm, and his heart lurched in his breast.

Fleur glanced over her slim shoulder; she vanished into thin air and reappeared before him, seizing him by the collar of his shirt and crushing her lips up against his.

The butterflies burst in a roar of bright triumph. A sweet thrill rushed through Tristan's veins and he seized her by the hips, drawing her flush against him until he felt every warm soft curve of hers through the thin fabric of her dress.

A soft moan broke from Fleur and her fingers fisted in his hair. The tip of her tongue traced over his lower lip, then slipping right past; she tasted sweeter than honey or birthday tart, hotter than fire whiskey, and greater than any victory.

The need for air had Tristan draw back and suck in a deep breath, his lips tingling and his heart pounding through his rib cage. He opened his eyes and stared down at her, past stray strands of platinum blonde framing her face and the flatter of long lashes into the familiar warmth of summer-sky blue.

'She's so beautiful. So absolutely perfect.' Words blurted from his lips before he could stop himself. "I've missed you."

Her soft smile lifted his heart. "Moi aussi." She rose on her tiptoes, pecking his lips. "Happy birthday, mon Coeur. I'm sorry I couldn't make it."

Tristan swallowed the hot knot of feelings and attempted a grin. "You've missed out on some great birthday tart. Although my mother and sisters would've probably fought you over it."

Fleur laughed, high and soft, nestling her head against his shoulder. "You're wearing a new perfume." Her fingers curled into his shirt. "I like it."

"Uncle Sirius will be pleased to hear that." Tristan held her tight by the waist and ran his fingers through her blonde hair, breathing in familiar sweet vanilla. "How's the internship going?"

"Good, but exhausting." A long sigh escaped Fleur's lips and she shifted some of her weight onto him. "The goblins recognized my potential early, pairing me with their most elite team of enchanters, but it also means I have to work much longer hours."

A little guilt niggled in Tristan's stomach. 'So it really was just the internship.' He cupped her cheek and tilted her chin up, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead and another to the tip of her nose. "Let me apparate you back to your room so you can relax a bit. I could message your neck again or maybe you can just catch up on some sleep?"

A shadow flickered through Fleur's blue eyes. "Non. I don't want to be home right now."

Tristan stilled. "Why, what's going on?"

Fleur squirmed in his arms.

'She's hiding something from me.' An awful thought rose from the back of his mind. "Fleur...?"

"My parents are having a guest over." She glanced back up, a little frustration flashing in her dark blue eyes. "It's William."

Tristan swallowed. "William Weasley, huh?" Sharp thorns closed in around his heart. "Has he been over often?"

"Once or twice a week," Fleur admitted. "He and mon papa are working together on a project."

'It's been over five months now.' He stared over at the distant sea, a chill creeping down his spine. 'How far have they gotten?'

"Non." Fleur drew his head back down to hers. "Let's not bother with him right now," she whispered, pressing soft kisses from his lips down his jaw, "and just enjoy our time together."

"Is that really all there is to it?" Tristan murmured.

Fleur leaned back, the gleam of frustration brightening in her eyes and her chest heaving with a deep breath. "I also see him at work sometimes." She clutched his hands with warm fingers. "But only because I was assigned to one of the projects he oversees. C'est ça. Je te le promets. I love only you, Tristan."

'But you're working with him...' Weasley's roguish laughter and the dragon-fang earring flashed through Tristan's thoughts. 'And what else does that involve? Having lunch together? Sharing a drink after work? Is that why you were so busy lately?' He dragged the niggling doubts back down into the dark. 'But I mustn't make a scene; that's what Weasley would want. Fleur says she loves me. I have to trust her.'

"Je suis désolée, mon Coeur." Fleur buried her head in the crook of his neck with a frustrated little sigh. "I didn't tell you because I didn't wish to spoil the little time we have left before we're both back in school."

'Maybe she knows how far they've gotten?' Tristan hunted for the right words. "I love you, I don't distrust you. It's just... from what you've told me about your father's work, I somewhat struggle to see why he'd require help from some British curse breaker."

"Je sais," Fleur murmured, intertwining their fingers. "Papa's never been that uptight about his projects before."

Tristan offered her a wry grin. "But naturally my brilliant French veela girlfriend still knows what it's about, no?"

Soft laughter burst from Fleur's lips and a little pride flashed in her eyes. "I know it's important enough for our Ministre de la Magie to be involved." She caught his lips in a long kiss and rose on her tiptoes, whispering in his ear. "I also know it's connected to something that happened in the ICW six months ago..."

Tristan tensed, a cold shock washing through him. "The ICW?"

"Oui." Fleur trailed a path of soft kisses from the corner of his lips down his jaw. "There are rumors that someone broke into the ICW Headquarters in Switzerland."

"How?"

"Je ne sais pas." She shrugged her slim shoulders, drawing his hands back down to the thin white fabric above her hips. "But barely a week later, the ICW suddenly recruited almost two dozen new Aurors."

Tristan wrestled his expression into one of surprise. "And why would they suddenly need that many...?"

Fleur snuggled tight against his chest; her dress stretched along the curve of her breasts, exposing smooth pale skin. "To fill empty positions, non?"

Tristan tugged his gaze back up, snuffing out the faint flutters of heat. "Yeah, but two dozen ICW Aurors?"

Fleur's smirk widened. "Perhaps not all of them had to be refilled." A little gleam brightened her blue eyes. "But it would already take a wizard of exceptional skill to defeat a few of them, non?"

'Someone like Father... or perhaps someone like me ...' Anxiety writhed in his gut. 'But Fleur can't possibly know that. No one does. Father made sure of it.' Tristan buried the unease underneath an easy grin and tapped Fleur on the tip of her nose. "There's a fair few exceptionally skilled witches too."

"Merci, mon Coeur," Fleur smirked, drawing him back down into another heated kiss. "But if it was neither me nor you, then it most likely was them, non?"

'Them.' Tristan stilled against her lips, a cool shiver crawling down the nape of his neck. "You think it was the Musketeers? Why?"

"It fits into the timeline," Fleur whispered between kisses. "And mon papa was consulted only a few days after you first encountered them."

"When they murdered, Dorea." Tristan drew back an inch, swallowing a tangle of guilt heavy as lead, dragging down his heart. "But why does your father think the ICW incident is connected to whatever he's working on with Weasley?"

Fleur wriggled out of his embrace and crossed her arms over her chest. "You seem awfully interested in everything but your girlfriend you haven't seen in three weeks." She cocked her head, spilling platinum blonde hair down her shoulder, and stared up at him with huge darkening eyes. "This almost feels like an interrogation..."

'Fuck.' Tristan froze. "I..."

"C'est bien." Her expression softened. "I understand why you'd ask questions if the Musketeers might be involved." She drew her wand from the slim leather belt around her waist. "There's something I wish to show you."

Tristan allowed himself a small sigh of relief and grinned. "Could it be your progress with that spell they use? The golden fog?"

Fleur's delicate eyebrows rose. "Tu savais?"

"That you'd spent considerate effort figuring out a spell you don't recognize." He kissed her upturned lips with a chuckle. "Yeah, I guessed as much."

"Bien," she murmured, spinning the rosewood in slow circular motions. "Regarde moi, mon Coeur."

Faint fog spewed from her wand like smoke blown from a dying candle. It fused into thin tendrils, then split like blossoms forming a flower, ever finer, cocooning her in a brilliant glimmering shroud of silver.

"Impressive." Tristan slipped his wand from his sleeve and poked the tip into the mist, closing his eyes and spreading out his magic.

A fierce, proud resistance washed his magic back at him like water splashing off a spoon. "It's not golden yet, but silver's more your color anyway, no?"

"Exactement." Fleur's lips curved into a small smirk. "Now go ahead and throw some curses at it."

Tristan hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"We need to test its strength, non?"

"Fine." He stepped down into the oak tree's shade and brought his wand up, firing a half-hearted tickling hex at the fog's center.

His charm fizzled out in the haze of silver magic and Fleur's eyes narrowed, darkening a hue. "Encore. And this time like you mean it, mon Coeur..."

'She's usually right when she's that confident.' Tristan ignored the tiny nibble of doubt and flexed his fingers around the smooth elder. 'But just in case I do land a hit...'

He hurled a volley of hiccupping hexes at her, blurring the wand motions of a dozen courtyard jinxes together, and watched as the bright beams faded upon impacting the fog.

"Bon," Fleur nodded, twirling through the long grass on her bare feet and coiling the silvery haze of magic back tight around herself. "Now try your own magic... The black one."

Before his mind's eye, ragged lances of dark magic lurched for Fleur, clawing at her fair smooth skin with razor-sharp, curved thorns. A white tomb rose as the ebony mist faded, familiar words carved in cold dead marble.

"No." Tristan blinked the image away and lowered his wand. "Never."

Fleur's huge dark eyes bored into him. "Their magic counters yours; if we understand how, we might beat them. And you know exactly how I feel about you holding back on me, mon Coeur."

"I can't, Fleur." A horrible cold sickness crept below his ribs, knotting in his stomach. "I don't ever want to use that magic against you again. It's way too dangerous."

Fleur frowned at him, her lips pressed into a thin stubborn line. "William would do it," she muttered under her breath.

A cold jolt of ice gutted out the ugly sickness.

"What did you say?" Tristan whispered.

"I said William would do it for me," she repeated, raising her chin a little. "He always chats about curse-breaking and wards and all his dangerous exhibitions."

Tristan shook his head. "Stop it, Fleur. I know what you're trying to do," he murmured. "This isn't funny."

Fleur's gaze over her shoulder up the hill. "Maybe I should go back to the chateau and ask him to do it, non?" She cocked her head. "Or perhaps I'll just take him up on one of his offers to have drinks after work. Bill says he knows plenty of nice places."

An ugly heat twisted beneath Tristan's rips; it burned as bright as the flames of the Beltane fire, casting deep twisting shadows of Fleur dancing with a tall, red-haired stranger.

"So it's Bill now, is it?" Ice slipped onto his tongue. The coldness bit deeper, trickling from his sleeves and swirling through the fingers clutched tight around his wand. "Since when is that?"

Fleur shrugged and toyed the tip of her wand under the thin strap of her white dress. "In the beginning he was annoying, staring down my décolleté and at my derriere all the time. But Bill's got much better self-control now." The white fabric slipped down her cleavage by an inch and a little heat smoldered in her eyes. "Of course, he still wants to touch me. I can see it in his eyes... I can feel it when he stands next to me..."

The storm howled in Tristan's breast, cold rage whispering through his veins. "Enough, Fleur." His magic tugged at him, bubbling in his veins like a potion and seeping from his skin like thick dark blood.

"Then show me, mon Coeur," Fleur whispered, raising the rosewood wand through a haze of silver magic, holding his gaze with blazing blue eyes. "Show me what you'll do to him if touches me like you do."

Before his mind's eye, a stranger's calloused hands roamed over Fleur's smooth pale curves. Dark spots swirled in Tristan's vision and the rage ebbed over, breaking free; ink-black mist shredded his sleeves to tatters and lurched, scattering grass and flowers like a scythe in a howl of fierce whispers.

His fury smashed into Fleur's shield and she staggered back, wide-eyed. The magic ripped and scratched and screeched like nails dragged down glass, tearing out chunks of silver fog. It reared back and coiled into thinner snake-like tendrils, piercing through the dense mist and closing in around Fleur like a cage of thorns.

"No!" Tristan's heart sank and he clawed for every last drop of his magic, hauling the ebony mist back in tight around himself and burying the bubbling fury beneath a layer of ice.

Dark and silver mist withered like smoke in the breeze and Fleur's outline bled back into view, her chest heaving with ragged breaths, staring at him with wide blue eyes.

"What the fuck was that, Fleur?!" Tristan sagged back against the oak's trunk from a wave of exhaustion. "What were you thinking? I could've-"

Fleur apparated and threw her arms around his neck, crushing her lips against his and pushing him against the bark. She pressed her warm breasts into his chest and hooked one bare leg around his waist, slipping her tongue into his mouth and coating his taste buds with a sweet soft tang.

Tristan drew back for a gulp of air and cupped her face, a little heat mixing with the last lingers of rage swirling through his veins. "What's gotten into you?"

She stared up at him, her cheeks flushed pink and her eyes holding a bright, bold gleam of need. "Désolé, mon Coeur, I just couldn't help myself," Fleur whispered, taking his bottom lip between her teeth with a playful smirk and biting down.

Tristan broke their kiss with a sigh. "I don't like what you tried back there, Fleur. That could've gone horribly wrong."

"Je sais." She drew him into another much softer kiss, pouring herself into him. "But seeing how powerful you are and how much you care about me, how much you love me… it just steers something deep inside me." She guided his right hand down the pale curve of her throat and over her soft breast, brushing over one stiff nipple poking through her thin white dress, resting his palm on her lower belly just between her legs. "I feel it right here, mon Coeur."

Tristan stared at where her short white dress hitched up her pale thighs, a whisper of temptation stirring in his breast as the heat trickled south. "I don't know if-"

"C'est bien, let me show you." Fleur pressed small kisses down his neck and sank to her knees, cupping him through his jeans. "Let me make it all up to you."

Tristan glimpsed over her blonde hair up the flower field. "We're out in the open, Fleur." He sucked in a sharp breath as she loosened his belt and drew him out, curling warm fingers around his hardening length. "Someone could see us…"

Fleur trailed a path of searing kisses up the underside of him with a bold smirk. "I don't care." He twitched in her fingers as the pink tip of her tongue darted out, flicking beads of glistering white from his tip. "Let them all see that I'm yours."

She sealed her hot lips around him, twisting her wrist in long smooth strokes from the base to the tip.

"Fuck," Tristan sacked back against the oak's trunk with a groan. He wrapped his fingers around a fistful of blonde braids, admiring how her mouth slid lower inch by inch until she held all of him and his tip touched the back of her throat.

Fleur drew back up with a gasp, staring up at him with burning blue eyes. "Let me make the view even better for you, mon Coeur." She shrugged off the straps of her dress and the white fabric skimmed down the swell of her bare breasts, catching on her stiff pink nipples before sliding all the way down. "You deserve to see all of me, non?"

"I do." Tristan stared at her, burning the image into his mind. "You're beautiful." A soft groan escaped him as she brought her lips back to his tip, sucking gently and giving him long smooth strokes with her warm hand, her smirk widening with each hitch of his breath. "So fucking beautiful."

He tugged on her silken braids, easing himself back into the heat of her mouth, and cupped her warm breast in his palm, flicking his thumb over her stiff nipple. Fleur moaned around him and stared up, taking a deep breath through her nose as her lips reached his base and he twitched in her soft wet depth.

Tristan pulled her back off his length as slow as he managed, the flame in his belly stirring as she swirled her tongue along the underside of him.

"You can be a little rougher with me, mon Coeur," she inhaled, catching a glistering string of saliva from his tip and sucking her finger clean. "I can take it. And I am yours, non?"

"Yes." Tristan forced himself to the back of her throat in one smooth motion, holding her face as she spluttered around his length. "You're mine."

Fleur took deep breaths through her nose as he sped up, driving himself past her lips to the drum of his heart, her breasts bouncing with each thrust.

Strands of spit drooled from her red lips, trickling down her cleavage. She stared up at him, the bold gleam in her watery blue eyes spurring him on until the heat in his stomach clenched tight.

A soft groan escaped him as her nose brushed his naval. "Fleur," he hissed, fighting the feeling. "I'm close..."

She pushed back against his thighs with both hands; Tristan pulled her off of him, admiring her flushed cheeks and the threads of spit connecting his glistering length to her lips.

"Let me have all of you, s'il te plait. I want to feel it," Fleur whispered and stuck out her pink tongue, resting his tip on it and stroking him fast and tight. "Make me yours, mon Coeur."

He burst with a groan in a dizzying flood of bright bliss, sending streaks of white across her lips and face. Fleur's summer-sky blue eyes swam with the stars in his vision and her warm gentle fingers coaxed him up and down, drawing out every last spurt.

Tristan blinked his eyes open as his peak subsided.

Thick white trickled down Fleur's forehead and caught on her long lashes as she drew a line of fire with her tongue up the underside of him from base to tip. His release dripped from her lips and jaw, running through the valley between her breasts.

"How do I look, mon Coeur?" She brought him back into her mouth, sucking off the glistering sticky beads of white with a small smirk.

"Like you're mine," Tristan murmured, stifling a stab of lust and twitching on her tongue. "And I like that a lot…"

Fleur pulled back, letting him catch a glimpse of white pooling on her tongue. "We're going to take a bath together and you'll help me clean up." She raised her chin, holding his eye as she swallowed. "And after that, mon Coeur, you're going to show me why you're mine too."