“They can’t just arrest you, right? I mean, they don’t have proof or anything.”

“If it’s true that I’ve made everyone on the police force feel a certain way, they’d love to see me behind bars. They don’t need proof.”

Once they arrive in front of the apartment complex, Sherlock leaves even before the cab pulls over. They reach the elevator with a few people in it. Sherlock pressed the third floor button multiple times, hands resting on the metal bars while his foot taps the ground.

John can feel how worried he is, and it becomes more evident once the doors slide open and Sherlock pushes past the people, running down the hallway and slamming his palm against the surface of the door.

“Jocelyn!” Sherlock raises his deep voice, slamming his fist against the door repeatedly. “Jocelyn, open the door!” When no one answers the door, Sherlock breathes out. “We have to kick the door down.”

“What if she’s still at the Yard?”

“No. When we arrived back at the precinct to interview the little girl, she wasn’t there.”

“We… didn’t even go to the lab, how would you even know that?”

“Because every five in the afternoon, she leaves the lab to get coffee. She never did that today. I must have noticed without… noticing.”

“She never leaves early…”

“Precisely. She left early for your birthday, not for anything else. Something is wrong.”

If this was Moriarty’s idea to burn him, he might be doing much worse to Sherlock.

John nods at him as well, looking at the door again. Sherlock raises his foot and braces himself. As if on cue, the elevator doors slide open and a clueless Jocelyn steps out, carrying her sling bag over her shoulder while she pushes her hair out of her line of sight. Once she looks up, her eyes widen.

“What are you doing!?” Jocelyn shrieks.

At the sound of her voice, both heads snap towards her. John sighs in relief, eyes relaxing as he glances at Sherlock lowering his foot. However, the consulting detective only has his eyes trained on her.

Jocelyn jogs towards them with an annoyed expression, arms wide open. “Were you just going to kick—”

She was cut off by the impact of Sherlock wrapping his arms around her in a frantic manner, eyes still wide as if he couldn’t believe that she’s fine.

“You’re… fine. You’re alright.” Sherlock mumbles in a questioning tone mostly to himself, hands shaking as they brushed through her brown hair to hold her head to his chest.

Jocelyn is surprised by his gesture. For the past few months, all he’s been was neutral to her, treating her like he treats everyone else. Now, he was holding her so tight as if she would just disappear all of a sudden.

“I’m okay, Sherlock,” she mumbles into his chest, listening to how rapid his heart rate is.

Sherlock sighs out and for a moment, he didn’t care that John was watching them.

Although, that doesn’t mean he’s been comfortable with himself. Once he realizes what he did, he immediately pulls away and just watches Jocelyn as though he was a deer caught in headlights.

He stammers for a second and she just looks a bit worried. “John.”

“On it,” he immediately directs her to the elevator after taking her keys and giving them to Sherlock.

The detective glances down at her purse, brows knotting. As John walks her, Jocelyn keeps looking back with worry. The detective unlocks the door and pushes it open to disappear inside.

“What’s going on?”

“We’ll explain at home.” John leads her outside the building.

Later, Sherlock steps out, carrying a bag. A few people begin to leave the building with fear in their eyes, and the number increases by the minute.

Jocelyn’s mouth opens, realizing it’s the emergency bag she keeps in case she needs to leave immediately. “How did you—”

“What’s in your purse?”

“…what do you mean?”

“I mean, what do you have in your bag?”

“Sherlock…”

He steps forward and grabs the sling bag, pushing Jocelyn’s carry-on into John’s arms. He has his eyes on Jocelyn the entire time as he slides the zipper of her sling bag, pulling out the handgun she brought with her. She crosses her arms anxiously.

“Jesus, bloody hell—” John stares at the gun.

She gulps. “I can explain that.”

“Please do, before you give John a heart attack.”

Jocelyn bites down on her lip. “Moriarty forced me to meet him. I went to tell him to fuck off.”

“Sorry, did you just say that you went face to face with that psychopath?” John asks with wide eyes.

“Why would you not tell anyone? More importantly, why did you go alone? Do you realize how idiotic your actions were?”

“He threatened my aunt, I had no choice!” She snaps at him. “Plus, you and I weren’t exactly on speaking terms.”

Sherlock steps forward so their faces are mere inches apart. “Speaking terms or not, you contact me as soon as your life is in danger, do you understand?” His eyes twitch. “Where did he meet you?”

Jocelyn stays silent, not wanting to answer him anymore as she gives him a stubborn expression. This only makes Sherlock reach into her bag to pull out the paper and unfold it.

He looks at Jocelyn in alarm. “What was he doing in our old flat?”

“He… recreated our flat. Everything looked the same as it did before. Everything.”

Sherlock stares into space, thinking to himself.

“He said that he knows about how we met… but I doubt anyone’s memory is sharp enough to randomly remember us.”

“What else did he tell you?”

“He offered me a deal, but that doesn’t matter because I didn’t take it. He wants something from me, but he didn’t say what it was. He said that only I could be the one who can do it. I don’t know what he meant.”

“Why didn’t you ask? Considering you two are now acquaintances.” Sherlock glowers before walking past her.

John clears his throat, giving her a disappointed look before following after Sherlock. She briefly closes her eyes, turning to walk up to them as they wave down a cab.

After a tense cab ride, they arrive an hour later and Sherlock proceeds to the flat without another word, as well as John.

They seem to be annoyed at Jocelyn for not telling them of Moriarty’s visit, but Jocelyn can’t exactly be sorry, no matter how wrong she felt her actions were.

John answers a phone call from Lestrade, saying that they’re on their way to Baker Street. Both men appear to be troubled looking, she can tell by the tone of John’s voice.

As Sherlock removes his coat and scarf, Mrs. Hudson enters the flat, holding an envelope that she was planning to give to them earlier. John opens the envelope and pulls out something dusty; an overly baked gingerbread man.

Jocelyn’s attention is caught when she hears police sirens nearing the streets. The doorbell rings and Mrs. Hudson fetches it. The rapid knocking on the door fills their ears.

“What the hell is going on?” Jocelyn asks in horror.

“Are we supposed to give you an explanation after you refuse to give one?” Sherlock barks out.

“I told you, you moron. I was protecting my aunt.”

“By also putting yourself in danger. It’s Moriarty, he could have killed you and your aunt. Along with the whole building. You weren’t thinking!”

“I had no choice!”

“You always have another choice,” he snaps. “You could have died tonight. He could have murdered you in that flat. Or held you hostage! How foolish—”

Donovan’s loud voice booms through the hallway outside. Mrs. Hudson scolds them. Everything is happening simultaneously and Jocelyn can barely keep up. It causes her uneven breathing.

John follows after Mrs. Hudson, mentioning something about a warrant and the word makes Jocelyn freeze.

Sherlock calmly puts on his coat and scarf again, preparing himself.

Greg crosses his arms once he sees Jocelyn. “I was wondering where you went. Ready to tell me why you were looking through the security footage?”

At the mention of security footage, Sherlock glimpsed at her with a slight glare, figuring out that she was looking for the person who put the note in her lab.

“Sherlock Holmes, I’m arresting you on suspicion on abduction and kidnapping,”

“Greg, what—” Jocelyn gapes.

“He’s not resisting, you can’t just cuff him.”

“It’s alright, John.” Sherlock mutters, not wanting the situation to worsen.

“No! It’s not all right. This is ridiculous!”

“Jocelyn, stay in this flat. Do not leave.” Sherlock calmly tells her.

“But—”

Greg orders his officers to take him and they aggressively push Sherlock outside.

“Don’t hurt him!” Jocelyn steps in, but Greg gently grabs her arm to stop her. She glares at him. “Are you serious?! Abduct and kidnap?”

“You don’t even have a warrant.” John reminds.

“Don’t try to interfere, or I’ll arrest you two.” Greg points out, looking as dismayed as the both of them before he leaves.

Donovan walks in with a smug look on her face, and John just shakes his head at her. “I said it, solving crimes won’t be enough. One day he’ll cross the line. Now, ask yourself. What sort of man would kidnap those children just so he can impress us all by finding them?”

“Sherlock would never do that,” Jocelyn immediately says.

“Of course, you’d say that. What, with being the only woman that Sherlock has ever dated.” Jocelyn freezes in her place. Donovan snorts. “It’s all over the papers, Grant. You and Sherlock shacking up back in the day.”

Jocelyn’s jaw drops, looking at John. He just shakes his head, indicating that he had no idea.

“What does that have to do with how you are all arresting the wrong man?”

“Well, you weren’t there. And since you’re practically his ex, you’re letting your personal feelings cloud your judgment. He found those kids with just a footprint as evidence, no one can do that.”

“That’s how he is. He’s intelligent. Too intelligent for your lot, which is why all of you consult him.” She persistently says, stepping forward to near her enraged face to Donovan’s. “You are repulsive.”

Donovan has nothing else to say and it was the exact same time their boss walks in.

He looks at Jocelyn. “Dr. Grant, what are you doing here in the middle of an arrest?”

She walks to him. “You are making a big mistake. Sherlock Holmes is innocent, you have to let him go,”

“Dr. Grant, don’t tell me you’ve also been consulting this man and letting him into the lab to view evidence.”

She huffs. “He—”

“Donovan, that our man?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Looked a bit of a weirdo, if you ask me. Often are, these vigilante types.” He comments, and it might have pushed John over the edge.

Jocelyn gasps when John swings at the Chief Superintendent, successfully giving him a bloodied nose. “John! John, don’t,” she goes to his side and pulls him back as he tries to pull away from her hold to assault their boss even more.

Officers came in and grab John, pulling him downstairs. John quietly apologizes to Jocelyn for his display of violence. Jocelyn can only watch, feeling powerless as her two friends are arrested.

Jocelyn follows behind. “Greg, you have to believe me. Sherlock didn’t do anything, you know he wouldn’t!”

Greg grabs her arm, pulling them away from the officers hearing range. “I know he wouldn’t, but I can’t do anything about it, alright? We have the Chief involved in this!” He sharply tells her. “I told you before that I confide in Mycroft Holmes, but now it’s out of my hands, there’s nothing we can do.”

“It’s Moriarty, this was what he was planning, don’t you see?”

“He walked free after the trial, which means that I can’t drag his name into this. The media made sure of that.” Lestrade reaches into the nearest police car he could find, pulling out the newspaper and giving it to Jocelyn. “They’re telling Sherlock’s life story, like an exposé. You were mentioned in the preview of it.”

The article introduces her as Sherlock’s sole romance before she was introduced as a prestigious scientist. It even mentions how they knew each other during their sophomore years for five months, which is oddly specific.

“There is no way that any random civilian just cared about mine and Sherlock’s lives enough to even remember any of this.”

Before Lestrade could reply, groans from other officers can be heard. They look at one another before jogging back to where everything was happening. Jocelyn feels like her heart would stop at the sight of Sherlock pointing a gun at everyone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, would you all please get on your knees?” Sherlock backs away with John cuffed to him. Everyone watches in shock.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?!” Jocelyn yells.

In response, Sherlock points the gun to the sky, firing it and letting it be known that he is armed.

“Now would be good!”

“Do what he says!” Greg orders, already lowering himself to his knees and everyone copies his actions. Jocelyn kneels down, still watching them with concern.

Jocelyn’s hands are shaking, watching the two men back away and begin running. The moment they turned, everyone was on their feet looking exasperated. Jocelyn clenches her fists and hails a cab.

***

“No one trusts the voice at the end of a telephone. A man turns up with a Holy Grail in his pocket. What were his credentials?”

Kitty doesn’t answer him, which leads him to set rage inside himself, but he tries not to let it show on his face.

“You had no permission from her for you to publish your ridiculous articles. Dr. Grant has been in your place, scouring up every opportunity she could find in order to make a name for herself and here you are, slapping the label ex-lover into her entire identity. Now, people who read the papers will begin to view her solely because she was apparently involved with me and not because she gained three PhDs in her lifetime.” Sherlock bottles up his anger. John gapes at the anger on Sherlock’s face. The detective inhales calmly again. “I will ask again. Who is Rich Brook?”

The door opens from behind them and Sherlock turns to see who it is, and to Sherlock’s horror, it was none other than Jim Moriarty.

However, Moriarty is not acting his usual self as he watches the two men with fear, arms raised in defense while backing away.

On the other hand, Jocelyn storms into Mycroft’s office, eyes filled with betrayal and disappointment.

“We are in the middle of—”

“I don’t care, get out.”

Mycroft sighs. “Miss Grant—”

“I said, get out.” Jocelyn looks towards the man and woman sitting opposite of Mycroft’s desk with a murderous glint in her eyes.

He contemplates, but nods at them wordlessly. Jocelyn doesn’t take her eyes off Mycroft for one second while the two people leave the room, closing the door behind themselves.

“What the hell did you do?”

“Pardon?”

Jocelyn messily throws the newspaper into his desk.

“Miss Grant—”

She snaps. “Don’t fucking Miss Grant me! What… did you do?”

Mycroft is speechless, even avoiding to look her in the eyes. He couldn’t say anything to her about the plan, which leads to Jocelyn scoffing at him with total betrayal.

“You told me that I should never doubt you when it comes to Sherlock’s safety and you do this? How could you? He’s your brother and you, what, went on story mode over coffee with Moriarty?”

“Miss Grant, you have to understand that it was never my intention to hurt him, and it will never be my intention.”

“He can use that to ruin him, do you see what you’ve done?” She couldn’t help but let a tear escape her eye in front of him, the Iceman.

“Jocelyn, you don’t understand. I never intended for this to happen,” he lifts up the newspaper.

“I don’t care if they smear my name. His whole life story will be revealed and I never thought for a single moment that it could be you who would do such a thing.”

He just sighs. “I’m sorry.”

She almost dryly laughs at him, but refrains. Jocelyn gives him one last look before leaving his office with a heavy chest.

***

“Well, here we are at last. You and me, Sherlock. And our problem, the final problem.”

Sherlock is cautious enough to look at his surroundings as he walks towards him.

“Did Jocelyn tell you about what I did to your little flat? It was so fun trying to identify objects in photos using a magnifying glass,” he chuckles, circling around him and seeing Sherlock mimicking the tapping. “Good, you got that, too.”

“Beats like digits. A keycode that can break into any system.”

“Told all my clients. Last one to Sherlock is a sissy.”

“Yes, but now, I can use it to alter the records. I can kill Rich Brook and bring back Jim Moriarty.”

“No, no, no, this is too easy, this is too easy, there is no code! Doofus!” The insanity flashes across his face as he screams into Sherlock’s smug face, wiping it off at the instant. “I’m disappointed in you, ordinary Sherlock.”

“But the rhythm...”

“Partita No. 1! Thank you, Johann Sebastian Bach. Your significant other managed to play it really well. I knew you’d fall for it, that’s your weakness. You always want everything to be clever. Now, shall we finish the game? One final act. Glad you chose a tall building. Nice way to do it.”

“Do what?” It dawns over him, turning to look at the edge of the rooftop. “Yes, of course… my suicide.”

“Genius detective proved to be a fraud. I read it in the paper, so it must be true. I love newspapers. Fairy tales, and pretty grim ones, too.”

He turns to Moriarty. “I can still prove that you created an entirely false identity.”

“Oh, just kill yourself. It’s a lot less effort.”

Sherlock breathes out, looking around the rooftop and the view.

“Go on, for me. Pleaaaaase?”

The detective grabs Moriarty by the collar and balances him over the edge, staring at him with a murderous glare.

“You’re insane.”

Moriarty appears amused. “Okay, let me give you a little extra incentive. Your friends will die if you don’t.”

Sherlock’s face softens. “John?”

“Not just John. Everyone.”

“Mrs. Hudson?”

“Everyone.”

“Lestrade?”

“Everyone, Sherly.”

Once Sherlock quiets down, his eye twitches, thinking of everyone’s lives.

Moriarty grins. “Forgetting a name?”

“Jocelyn,” Sherlock says under his breath.

“Three bullets, three gunmen, three victims. There’s no stopping them now.”

Sherlock narrows his eyes. “Three?”

“Oh, I’m not going to shoot Jocelyn. No, no. Bullets are reserved for the ordinary people.”

Sherlock tightens his grip around him. The mere mention of Jocelyn’s name was enough for Sherlock to want to throw Moriarty of the building.

“I have someone who’s going to take her and make her suffer. She will hate herself and you wouldn’t be able to do anything. She will hate her life until she begs them to kill her.” He taunts, and Sherlock’s heavy breathing begins to shake.

“I’ll make her do things you can’t even imagine. So many possibilities with the good scientist. I can make her as my right hand, or I can make her feel all the different types of pain, or I can make her the biggest criminal master in the whole world,” he smirks, watching the confusion in Sherlock’s eyes.

“You might think I’m reaching, but she really has the potential, believe me. If she doesn’t accept, they’ll throw her into terrorist cells.” He casually says, and Sherlock pulls him off the edge. “You can do whatever you want with me, but nothing’s going to stop them from pulling the trigger, and kidnapping little Josie from your bedroom. Your only four friends in the world will die, unless…”

“Unless I kill myself. Complete your story.”

Moriarty chuckles. “You’ve got to admit, that’s sexier.”

“And… I die in disgrace.”

“That’s the whole point? Off you pop, go on. I told you how this ends, your death is the only thing that’s going to call off the killers. I’m certainly not going to do it.

And from that, Sherlock figures out that Moriarty can call it off, and now, the two are challenging each other again.

“Nah, you talk big. You’re ordinary, you’re on the side of the angels.”

“Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don’t think for one second that I am one of them.”

Moriarty just stares at him, slowly coming to realization. “No, you’re not.” He slowly smiles at him. “I see. You’re not ordinary, no. You’re me. You’re me! Thank you, Sherlock Holmes.” He offers his right hand for Sherlock to shake.

He reluctantly reaches for it, shaking his hand.

Moriarty grows emotional, nodding continuously at him as he thanks him. “As long as I’m alive, you can save your friends. You’ve got a way out.” He nods in understanding. “Well, good luck with that!” He chirps, widening his mouth into an ‘O’ before pulling out a gun from his coat.

Before Sherlock could react, Moriarty puts the gun into his mouth and pulls the trigger, sending Sherlock to gasp out and take a step back, watching Moriarty’s body fall into the floor.

Moriarty’s eyes were wide and lifeless as blood pools around his head, Sherlock’s heart was beating rapidly as he groans at the sight, feeling lightheaded as he tried to think of what to do.

He looks over his shoulder, slowly making his way back to the edge. Sherlock starts panting, his hands are shaking. He steps on it and looks down, pulling out his phone to send a specific text to his brother.

He had no other choice, he knows what’s coming.

Sherlock scrolls through his contact list and searches for a name. He dials them and holds the phone to his ear.

A yawn sounds from the phone. “What?”

“Jocelyn.”

At the sound of his voice, she sounds more awake. “Sherlock, oh, my God. Where are you? I’ve left you like a thousand messages! Are you okay? Where’s John? Are you hurt?”

Her many questions laced with concern only makes one corner of Sherlock’s lips to twitch upwards into a smile.

“Hello? Sherlock?”

The sound of her voice snaps him out of his daze. “I need you to listen to me very carefully.”

“Can’t you just tell me where you are? I can come to you.”

“No, I can do this over the phone.”

“Alright, what is it?”

“I… want you to know that I understand why you did what you did.”

She silences, and by the sound of it, she seems surprised.

“You wanted to give me my best chance. You thought that you were hurting me by being around me. My past self would disagree, but I understand from your point of view.”

“Sherlock, what’s going on?”

He shakes his head, looking down at his shoes and observing the way the tips of his pair are hanging from the edge. “Jocelyn, I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused you in the past, and in the coming future. I apologize for being so angry while not knowing the full story. On the bright side of things, if you hadn’t left, I never would have met John or Mrs. Hudson.”

“Where are you right now?” Sherlock can hear her begin to walk.

“No, no! Don’t leave the flat—do not leave.” He quickly tells her in a slightly aggressive tone that he cannot hold back.

“Sherlock...”

“Please. Stay where you are. I need to tell you more.”

“I swear to God—”

“Everything they’ve been saying in the papers, everything you’ve read, everything you will read. It’s all true.” He cuts her off with a calmer tone.

“What? That you’re a fraud?” Jocelyn laughs, thinking it’s a joke. “Okay, I’m going to call John and—”

“Jocelyn, please. I am not trying to be amusing at the moment.”

“Why are you saying this? Did Moriarty put you up to this?”

Sherlock can feel Moriarty’s lifeless body just bleeding out behind him. “No, of course not. This is all me.”

“You don’t seriously think I’d believe the papers, do you?”

“Oh, but you must. It’s all true, Jocelyn. I am a fake.”

“This has to be a joke—you and I met during University! You knew who I was the moment I opened the door.”

Sherlock swallows, peering over the edge and calculating how high it is. “All of your information was enlisted on the university papers.”

“You knew about my mother.”

“You kept a photo of her by your bedside table.”

“You found her diamond ring in under a few days!”

“My brother knew of a pawnshop owner who knew how to assemble jewelry. I was trying to impress you.”

“I-I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Sherlock briefly closes his eyes. “I lied to you.”

A sniffle coming from the phone against his ear only sent a pang through his body, and now he cannot stop picturing Jocelyn with tears running down her face. “Why are you lying to me now?”

“I’m not lying now, this is the truth. I’m a good researcher, but I was never a good detective. I created Moriarty’s identity,” he tells her, but she only scoffs in disbelief. “I needed him to stand as an arch nemesis.”

“Oh, so you were the one who put me inside that freezer, then? Is that what you’re telling me? You were the cause of one of my worst traumas?  None of this makes any sense!”

“That is what happened.”

“Do you even hear yourself right now?  You would never hurt me.”

“I took it too far that afternoon, Jocelyn. It was my mistake. You were not supposed to experience mild hypothermia.”

“Shut up, stop lying to me.” She pleads him. “Come to Baker Street, Sherlock. I swear to God, if you’re not here in less than half an hour, I’ll hunt you down myself.”

His heart feels as though it stopped beating. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her that he was going to die. That would only make her come running to St. Barts and plead him to come down. He wouldn’t want her to see him that way.

“Jocelyn, don’t—”

She hangs up and slips the phone into her pocket, scoffing to herself as she walks downstairs with her wallet, seeing Mrs. Hudson. “What’s going on?”

“You’re awake!” Mrs. Hudson smiles at her. “John came by.”

“He was here?”

“He seemed to be in a hurry.”

“Did he say why he came here? Or where he was going?”

“No, he was a bit shaken up, I think. He didn’t even stop by for five minutes.”

“Did you see which road he was headed?”

Meanwhile, once Jocelyn hung up, Sherlock glares at his phone, unable to prevent his eyes getting watery from dejection. Even near death, she still manages to piss him off.

He tries to dial her again, but as soon as he sees a cab pulling over in front of the hospital, his face softens. At least he got to hold Jocelyn and talk to her even just for a moment, which was enough for now.

Sherlock calls another number and watches as John sprints out of the cab and into the hospital while answering his own phone. He speaks to John and watches the panic in his friend the moment he sees him on the rooftop.

Flashes of Jocelyn’s smiles, laughter and words were playing before his eyes. All the times that Jocelyn was most happy, it doesn’t surprise him that most of the images are not from the this year.

But he does remember when he paid her a visit, they drank together, and shared memories. His words brought a smile to her face and laughter rumble from her chest that night, and the satisfaction of doing that was unfathomable.

John shakes his head, not even believing him for one second. “Stop it, now,” he begins to walk to the entrance, but Sherlock lifts his arm to stop him.

“Keep your eyes fixed on me, will you do this for me?”

“Do what?”

“This phone call, it’s my note,” he sniffles. “It’s what people do, don’t they? Leave a note?”

John presses his lips together, not believing what’s happening before him. “Leave a note when?”

Sherlock watches his best friend, not wanting to do this to him or to anyone, but he has no other choice. “Goodbye, John.”

“No, don’t.”

The consulting detective throws his phone to the ground, bracing himself at the edge. Sherlock takes a deep breath, looking at the ground and seeing everyone get to work.

“Sherlock!”

He stretches his arms to his side, relaxing his body before slowly unbalancing himself, leaning forward to let himself fall.

John watches in horror and everything is a blur for him. Something hits him, sends him to the ground, he pushes himself up, pulling himself together as he makes his way to the growing crowd, a body, blood, the smell of blood, his hand reaches for the body’s wrist, no pulse, his vision darkens. John could barely hear the ear-piercing scream from behind him, the hurried steps and the shaky breath coming from one woman.

Just a few moments earlier, the young scientist walks casually to the entrance of the hospital. She huffs out in annoyance, thinking back to how the detective was clearly lying to her. She kept thinking about how she’ll help her two friends get out of this mess; but it wasn’t until she catches a crowd from the corner of her eye. She furrows her brows, seeing between the gaps of the crowd that there is someone lying on the ground.

Her heart pounds as she makes her way towards the crowd. Everything inside her overflowed the moment she recognizes the familiar coat and scarf… and she screams. She screams until her she can barely feel her throat. The screams were deep and painful, horrific and haunting. Sobs tore her chest open as she runs towards the body to push between the crowd.

She wails the man’s name, hands getting covered in blood as she tries to reach out for him. Pairs of arms held her back, but she fights back, watching the paramedics lift the body into a stretcher. Her whole world falls apart, her entire body feels like it’s no longer attached to her as she slowly sinks into the floor, eyes droopy with her energy draining, and everything goes dark.


It was actually kind of nice to sleep on that couch, but it took Finn awhile after Poe nodded off to fall asleep himself. Though his Prince woke up again in about three hours time, it was probably the best night's sleep either of them had in days.

Poe seemed to be of a better mind after the short nap. He seemed more collected, more sure of himself, that much more ready to face all of this. But he reminded Finn of his promise to go back to bed, so there was nothing else the guard could do until at least daylight.

Once morning broke, he followed Poe around like a puppy as plans and tactics flowed in like water. Every General had something to say about invading the Capital, and his Prince listened to everyone's suggestions, both stupid and wise alike. It was clear – terribly clear – that this attack shouldn't happen for at least another week. The primary factor of the First Order's military support was still horribly unclear which put a massive void in most plans. However, due to the circumstances, they agreed to move forward at dawn the next day.

Finn never wanted to speak up more in his life. Tomorrow? And Poe planned to be the first one there? Secretly, he had hoped his Prince would have thought otherwise about going if Finn went, too, but that didn't seem to be the case. It didn't change his mind, but the rapidly approaching moment to strike was putting everything in a stronger perspective. Finn was more than okay with himself going, but Poe? The mere thought went against his every grain. He lived and breathed to protect his Prince, and now the man wanted to run into war.

But that's just the thing. It's war. If the invasion failed, nothing for the country would end well. Ben would decimate everything, that much everyone was sure of. It was all or nothing... and Poe was a great pilot, a great leader. And he had to be there. He had to. Finn understood that. That didn't mean he couldn't hate it.

So Finn excused himself from Poe's side halfway into the day, feeling certain that his Prince was in no danger while under Lando's roof. His first order of business was to visit with some of the others that planned to lead the ground troops. Finn would be in charge of every unit on the ground, but these people would practically be his rights hands through the whole thing. When he spoke to and shook hands with Karé Kun and Iolo Arana, he tried hard to not think of Muran and Antilles.

His second step was to visit with the pilots that would be flying by Poe's side. However, he found out that all of their air squadrons would be following him, and the only two people he trusted to act as right hands were still not within Finn's realm of contact: Jess and Snap. Once he realized who Poe would be flying with, though, he realized that he didn't need to speak to them after all. Those two would never let anything happen to him.

So he talked with Karé and Iolo for hours, dividing their military units into sectors, deciding which way to enter the city and take the palace back. The city was the easy part. The contacts they had within the limits, not to mention the news and social media that managed to leak out, every millimeter closer to the palace was more and more guarded and deadly. The First Order was afraid of an assault. Maybe they wouldn't have all of the surprise that Finn had previously hoped for, but they could still work with this.

Just as dusk set in, Leia ordered everyone to rest. What wasn't planned already would never get planned by this point, she claimed. They needed the rest for tomorrow.

Poe wasn't going to rest. He wasn't going to sleep at all, the moron. But Finn vowed to find him later, to give them both a moment of space, as he went back to the room they had given him, the same medically sterile thing he had woken up in. He just... needed a minute. To think, to collect his thoughts, to make sure he wasn't doing something absolutely stupid.

He stared at the blank pad of paper in front of him from his perch on the bed, having already torn away any notes or plans he had made earlier during the endless meetings. So all he could do was just... stare. Writing came easy to him. It was a form of freedom and adventure and creation and expression. Writing was beautiful. Except for right now. Right now, he wanted every written word imaginable to burn as he wracked his brain. The hardest part is starting, he said to himself, so he started.

Then promptly tore it out and started again. He wrote more this time, taking up half the page, going back every now and then to scratch out words or entire sentences. When he drew a big 'X' through the entire second paragraph, he tore that sheet out and started again. This one was short, to the point, and not at all good enough, so he tore that out, too. The fourth attempt was more of an homage to the second, making it long winded sans the mistakes he had marked out before. When he was at the end of the page, writing as small as he could to fit everything he needed, he stopped and took a look at it. Too long. He tore it out.

On the twelfth draft, he finally knew what actually needed to be written. It took two more times after that to write it. It wasn't perfect – it wasn't going to ever be perfect – but it was good enough. He threw away the mound of rough drafts, then gently tore out the final copy. He folded it and stuffed it in an envelope that he had also lifted from the meetings and stared at it. It wasn't perfect, but it should be; it deserved to be.

He was about to take it out and start all over again when there was a knock, the door opened, and Poe walked in. Finn smirked. “And here I thought I'd have to run you to bed tonight.” But it was flattering that he came here.

Still, Poe looked dead on his feet, as expected, dressed again in something more casual. He didn't get any rest after their nap on that couch. Miraculously, his Prince smiled back. “Wouldn't have to ask me twice to go to bed with you,” he chuckled, moving forward and pointing to the envelope. “What's that?”

Finn looked back to it again, grimacing, and resolved that this was as perfect as it'll ever get. “Just something for Leia. For tomorrow,” he sighed, turning to place it and the paper on the table next to his bed. “Speaking of, I'm thinking we all have about five hours worth of sleep right now?”

“Give or take,” Poe answered, climbing into the bed beside him, sitting against the headboard and resting their shoulders together. “You should have been asleep hours ago.”

“Me? How much did you sleep last night?”

“You're wounded,” the Prince said playfully with a tiny smirk, shoving his shoulder against him. Finn shoved back, delighting in this new mood right before everything turned somber again. Poe frowned down at his feet, serious again, looking years older than he ever should. “I really wish you wouldn't go tomorrow.” Finn didn't answer. He was going. That wasn't up for argument. “I could order you not to go.”

Okay, that was up for argument. “I outrank you.”

Poe raised an eyebrow. “I'm sorry?”

“I'm in charge of your safety,” Finn nodded, “and when I think something isn't safe for you, even if it's an idea of your own, I can do anything and everything that I must to protect you. Therefore... I could order you to not go.”

His Prince leaned his head back against the wall. “Then why haven't you?”

“I want to,” he answered. “Why haven't you?”

“I'm thinking about it.” And for a moment, Poe seemed to do just that, then let out a heavy breath, shaking his head. “I almost lost you at the palace-”

“But you didn't,” Finn interrupted, not wanting that train of thought to continue. Instead, he reached over and grabbed Poe's hand, lacing their fingers together. Touches like this were still new, but it didn't really feel like it. So he just watched his Prince, studying the profile of his face like he didn't always have opportunities like this.

It seemed like an eternity before Poe gave in and turned to face him. But he wasn't really seeing him... There was turmoil just behind the dark eyes, heavy with thought. It took tim for him to finally come up with, “You're stubborn.” Finn gave him a small smile that wasn't returned. Then, softer, “You don't have to do this. Not like I do.”

“I have to.”

“Why?” Those lovely eyes darkened more as a frown pierced his handsome face. “For me? Don't go because of me, Finn.”

It was for Poe, if he wanted to be completely honest. After all, he was injured and had been in a grand total of two combat situations in the past. But- “I have to go for everything,” he said instead, squeezing his hand, “Everything I know. Everything I care about.”

“If I stayed here, would you still go?”

Don't do this. Finn frowned, too, but didn't let up on the grip of their hands. “My place is with you.”

Poe seemed to mull that over for a moment, glancing at his eyes and lips and forehead and torso, lost in thought but looking him over to take him all in at the same time. Eventually, like it was uncontrollable twitch, a deeper frown came over him, scrunching up his face. “It's not, though,” he finally said, blinking a few times before their eyes met again. “I'm not royalty, you know that. Nothing's going to change if something happens to me. I'm the son of soldiers... You shouldn't even be here. You were working your way up, remember? All of this was a case of being at the right place at the right time. You took it because you were bored and it offered more money. Remember? You're not obligated to do anything. You've done so much already. You have nothing to-”

“Poe.” His voice was soft, but the other man shut his mouth all the same when Finn shifted and moved closer. “I told you,” he whispered just low enough to hear, foreheads brushing together, “I'm here to protect you. You are my Prince... by blood or not. Okay?” There was no answer, as Poe's shining eyes moved up from his lips, facing him again. He was shuddering, hand gripping his hard, so full of emotion that he could burst again. So Finn asked once more, just to be sure. “Okay?”

The sound of a reply was nothing more than a terrified breath against his neck, “Don't die for me.”

No. Those thoughts were supposed to be gone. “I'm going to survive for you. If I die-”

Poe's breathing hitched, hand practically flying to the side of Finn's face. But it was gentle and soft and... shaking. He was shaking. “Finn, don't- Just don't. Just- You don't have to. It's okay. I'll be okay. I don't want you to- I don't want you even thinking about-”

“I'm going with you.” It was a whisper, a mutter of breath between them, but firm enough to feel the seriousness in the statement. “Poe, I'm going with you.”

“No, I- I-” His Prince stared down at his cheek, eyes shining bright. His breathing pattern was all over the place, shaking like a leaf, mouth moving in silence. “Finn...” His name said like that felt like an oath, and all he could think about was kissing him. They had only kissed twice, but- Poe tightened his grip on him, frowning with a furrowed brow, looking like a frustrated child. “I-” Their eyes finally met again, the Prince's full of fear and hope and warmth, his voice so low that it could barely be heard. “Finn, I-... I lo-”

He looked terrified... Finn leaned forward, somehow understanding the broken words through a connection he didn't dare second guess, and swallowed the meaning between them, gently pressing his lips against his Prince's.

Poe tensed instantly, gripping hard at Finn's jaw and neck, and he didn't move at all for a moment. Until, suddenly, he pressed back hard, pushing against Finn. There was shuffling, a moment where Poe readjusted himself to face him head on, a second where the guard was sure he was about to be straddled but didn't. Instead, he felt Poe leaning over him, gliding his tongue along his lips, and Finn let him in without a thought.

He reached higher above him, grabbing the back of his Prince's shirt and tugging him further down, all the more closer. But while Poe's tongue was making him weak, he felt resistance there. He pulled away for a brief moment, one where he continued the kissing between the words. “I won't break.”

“Don't wanna-...” Poe paused in the words to kiss him deep again, making Finn lean off of the bed to get closer to him, before they broke apart again. “Don't wanna hurt you...”

Didn't want to hurt him... They were walking into a war in a few hours, and Poe was worried about hurting him right now. Finn grabbed him at the ribs, pulling his Prince away and, all at once, picking him up and flipping them both over, putting him on top and pressing down without any thought to dignity. And... well, yeah, okay, it kind of hurt a good bit, but it was worth seeing Poe beneath him, wide eyes dark, breath catching and hands scrambling- Finn attacked the pulse point on his neck, biting down and sucking however way he wanted. Beneath him, Poe tilted his head to give more room, hand gripping up his back, and an amazing moan escaping him. “Finn.”

He arched beneath him, and Finn groaned when he realized that Poe was hard. Oh Christ, to continue this, to see where they would end up- But his wounds felt like they were on fire. It wasn't a big deal – he'd feel much worse tomorrow – but he didn't want to pull a stitch just to make Poe think it was his fault. But it felt too good to stop now. The noises Poe was making as he rocked back into him. They couldn't just stop now.

“Can I-?” Finn mumbled against his neck, hand gently going beneath Poe's shirt to trace the skin of his hips. “Can I-?”

“Yes,” the other nearly sobbed against him, one leg already wrapping around him. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes-”

Finn nipped at his adam's apple, effectively hushing him for the moment, hands deftly working to unbutton his pants. Meanwhile, Poe bucked and wiggled beneath him, scrambling to get his shirt off. Finn paused in his mission, leaning off of him for just a second to get rid of the offending piece of clothing – and oh, those days of sparing had paid off – but Poe gripped his bicep before he could go back. “Wait. Wait.”

He froze, worried for just a moment, until he realized what was about to be asked of him. His shirt. Oh hell. He didn't think that far. An excuse was on his tongue, literally anything that came to mind first, but Poe was already moving beneath him, leaning up until they carefully flipped over again. This time he was definitely being straddled. Poe was breathing heavy, eyes blown huge, and this was probably the best thing that had happened in a long, long time.

Poe's hand carefully moved beneath his own shirt, staying at the waistline like a question... Dammit. Finn bit his lip, but arched gently beneath him to take the shirt off. Hands moved, and Poe was suddenly helping him. It took a second just because they were going so slow with it, but the thing came off and fell on the floor, revealing every one of Finn's bandages that he hadn't wanted Poe to see.

For a moment, his Prince just stared and took it in, eyes flicking to every spot covered in gauze and wraps. If Finn could have gotten away with covering himself up, he would have. It wasn't that he was self-conscious about it, but he knew Poe's way of thinking. He didn't want to share these wounds. But, slowly, Poe leaned forward to kiss his collarbone with much more patience than a moment ago, moving down his chest and lightly brushing his lips over the bandage at his heart. But he hardly stopped there. Poe kept moving down, following the line of his hard-earned abs. “Can I?” he repeated.

Finn could have melted off of the bed. “Yeah,” he managed to breathe, like that was anywhere near as good as Poe's enthusiasm to the question a moment ago, but it was all that his mind could come up with right now.

It didn't deter his Prince any, apparently. Poe's hands moved against him again like he had known this body for years, sucking at a spot beside Finn's navel that made everything in him tense and run hot, quickly managing to get his pants unbuttoned. Finn groaned in relief, hardly aware of the sound until it left him, while Poe's hands swiftly drove him insane by running down his hips like that.

Goddammit, was this a dream?

Those thoughts silenced when Poe finally released his cock and turned his sharp eyes on him. Oh God, this could not be happening right now. Finn, breathing hard, gave a small nod of approval. He could have sworn that there was a smirk there, before Poe opened his mouth and slid his tongue over the head, keeping his eyes on his. Finn gasped, shuddering, but didn't look away. Not until Poe took him in, eyes fluttering shut before swallowing to the hilt.

Then he looked away. There was no other choice. “Fuck, Poe.” His eyes screwed shut, head tilting back, bucking once and managing to stop himself with the hardest bite to his lip he'd ever had to do. He had wanted this to last. He had wanted to think about anything except what was happening right now, but that wasn't about to happen. Poe felt so good, bobbing up and down on him, and Finn's hand automatically found his soft hair.

He opened his eyes, entirely against every logical piece left in his mind. “Poe-” Those dark eyes found him again, full of wild lust, the man over him suddenly grinding against the bed, and- “Poe, God-” He was quickly losing the situation. “Poe, I'm- Poe-”

The lover above him, his Prince, moaned into him, and that was it. Finn arched with a whine, gripping at the soft curls in his hand, coming hard down his throat. There was a beat that Poe stayed, practically milking him dry, before pulling off with a little pop.

If Finn could physically melt into a puddle right now- Poe was kissing his jaw, chin- He moved his head at an angle, taking his lips in his, hardly able to lean up and kiss him as deep as before. Damn if his body hadn't decided to give out.

But, no, not yet. Finn pulled back. “Now, you.”

“I'm okay.”

“Oh, don't start that-”

“You're tired-”

Finn grabbed his hip, pulling him close. “Just tell me how you want it.”

Doubtless, a hundred different scenarios suddenly crossed Poe's mind if the way his eyes flicked down and his tongue licked his lips was any indication. “I just-” he began, then stopped and looked into his eyes again, leaning back in. “So long as you're doing it, I don't care.”

Finn smiled, pushing up to meet him halfway and return the kiss. He would never get enough of kissing Poe. Ever. And maybe this wasn't nearly as good as the stellar blowjob that just wiped him out, but Finn pressed the heel of his hand to Poe's cock anyway, pleased when the man bucked above him.

He broke the kiss, making quick work of the pants. “So hard,” he muttered, finding that spot again on Poe's neck, his free arm wrapping over his Prince's back to press them together. To make it as good as he could, he pushed his hips up, grinding against Poe while his hand did the harder work.

Judging by Poe's, “Oh God,” moan against him, it was working. Before he knew it, Poe was grinding down hard, thrusting into his hand, practically growling against his ear, and Finn bit down, ushering him closer.

It didn't take long before Poe gasped over him, body tensing and letting out a long moan, a beautiful heat spilling against the guard's torso. “Finn, oh... Finn...” For a moment, he nearly collapsed on top of him in a heaving mess of pleasure, before managing to roll off and onto his back.

Finn watched him try to catch his breath... As far as first times go, that was pretty great. “Was it good?” If it wasn't, he was more than willing (if not exhausted) to try again, even as he wiped away the come to his torso with the edge of a sheet.

But Poe huffed a laugh, opening his bright eyes again to look at him. “Well, that was-... That was pretty fucking great, Finn.”

It still hurt to laugh, but there was a strong sense of peace now, especially with that light back in his Prince's eyes. God, he'd done that. A pride surged through him, a protectiveness, a love- He turned on his side, moving closer.

Poe got the hint quickly, turning to where his back was facing Finn so that the other man could wrap him in his arms and pull him close. All thoughts of tomorrow were for tomorrow, but for now a calm flowed through him, claiming them both.

He was already falling asleep in the haze when he heard Poe mutter, “I wish we'd done this sooner.”

Finn opened his eyes to the room, with the lights still on and the door unlocked, making sure that he heard right. After a breath, he placed a light kiss on the back of Poe's neck. “Me, too.”


As expected, Eric made it home well before you. He met your car as it pulled in and opened your door. Immediately, he pulled you into his arms and kissed the top of your head. You relaxed into his hold. You’d been separated for several hours and you’d missed him. Finally, you pulled away to stretch your back. You hated long car rides.

Eric glanced at the group around you. “Where’s your father?”

“He rode separately so he could make a call.” The reminder annoyed you. It wasn’t as if you got to see your father on a daily basis any more. You thought he’d want to spend the car ride without your mate catching up on business and personal things he wasn’t comfortable discussing around Eric yet. Instead, he hadn’t even ridden in the same vehicle. Gods, he could be frustrating at times.

Your mate arched a brow. “It appears as if all the cars are here, yet your father is not.”

You frowned as you glanced around to find he was correct. You even went so far as to open the door to inspect the interior of the car he rode in.

The driver stepped up to you. “He had us drop him off at the hotel, ma’am. He asked me to proceed to your residence to convey his apologies. He will be unable to speak to you until tomorrow.”

You clenched your teeth and worked the muscle in your jaw. What the fuck was your father up to? You loved him dearly, but you didn’t trust him for a moment. With your life? Yes. Everything else? Not so much. “Alonso,” you called.

The man in question was in the process of getting back into the car. He stopped and glanced at you with an arched brow.

“What is he up to?”

There was a pause before he said, “I’m sure I don’t know. Perhaps you should ask him.”

Oh, you fully intended to do just that. You watched Alonso leave and pulled out your phone. You’d start with a text and escalate from there. You could be pretty damned annoying when you wished to be.

***

Eric’s phone rang just after sunset the following night. He was still in bed when he took the call. He listened for a moment while you frowned at him. He kept the volume down on his phone and you were having trouble picking up the other side of the conversation. Eric sat up, swinging his legs off the bed.

“Yes, sir,” he said after several minutes. He glanced over his shoulder at you. The look on his face had you shifting uneasily. “I understand, sir.”

With that, he ended the call. He licked his lips and shifted his weight on the bed so he could see you more easily. You moved closer but kept some distance between the two of you. You had a feeling you weren’t going to like whatever he had to say.

“That was your father,” he informed you.

You arched a brow. Why did he call Eric instead of you? You grabbed your phone and checked your notifications. Nothing.

Eric took the phone from your hand and laid it beside his on the nightstand. Nerves made you nauseous. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you stared at your mate waiting for him to speak.

He licked his lips again, a nervous habit he’d never lost. “I’ve been summoned to appear before the Magister, the Guardian and other representatives of the Authority.”

“Why?” You forced the word out through clenched teeth as you willed the tears that suddenly flooded your eyes not to fall. You didn’t even know what was going on yet, so why did you feel like crying? And what the hell was your father up to?

“To answer for Sophie-Anne’s death.”

Fear and anger shot through you in equal measure. “You mean the execution you carried out at the Guardian’s command?”

Eric said nothing. It was then that you realized what Roman had done. He had set your mate up to take the fall for the death of a queen. The only punishment that could possibly fit the crime was the true death. He wanted Eric out of your life and this was how he intended to accomplish it. “If he thinks I’m going to sit here and do nothing he’s sorely mistaken.”

“I am to attend the hearing alone. Anyone accompanying me risks being punished for interfering in Authority matters.” His voice was deadpan, emotionless. He was already shutting down. Distancing himself. Preparing for what he felt was inevitable.

“Well, that’s a risk I’ll just have to take,” you argued.

“I agree,” came a voice from behind you and you turned to find Godric in the doorway.

He hadn’t been here when you arrived the night before and this was the first you’d seen of him since your trip. You gestured for him to join the two of you on the bed and let him pull you into his arms when he did. You leaned against his chest, seeking his comfort.

“I will not risk either of you. You will remain here.” Eric’s face was hard. It was the look he wore when he’d made up his mind and he was determined no one would change it. You rolled your eyes.

“I wasn’t asking for permission, Eric. Frankly, I don’t really give a shit what your thoughts are on the matter. You are entirely too self-sacrificing when it comes to the two of us.” Godric gave you a little squeeze at your words. Apparently, he agreed.

Your phone buzzed with a notification before Eric could state his argument. You held out a hand and he passed you the phone. You scanned the text and frowned. “When is your meeting?”

“One hour.”

“At the hotel? Room 336?” You glanced up to see Eric wearing a frown to match your own.

He grabbed the phone from your hand and read the message from your father.

Meeting. One hour. Rm 336. You are to attend as a guest of the Authority. Bring your boyfriend if you wish.

“Why was he so adamant you not attend with me if he was going to invite you anyway?” Eric tossed the phone on the bed and raked a hand through his hair. He glanced between you and Godric. “I’m sorry, alskling, but I am not overly fond of my in-laws.”

You laid your hand on his knee. “At the moment, I’m not overly fond of him either.”

***

Despite the uncertainty you held concerning your father’s actions at the moment, you knew he seldom did things without reason. So, while Eric flew to the meeting on his own, Godric ran you there. Your mate was already in the room when you arrived to several familiar faces. Your father was nowhere to be seen.

Godric moved to Eric’s side which would only be expected of him as his sire. You, however, kept your distance other than a brief nod of greeting. You made your way around the room saying hello to those you knew. When Roman entered, his gaze immediately found you with a smile. He came to your side and kissed your cheek. “I’m so happy you made it, sweetheart.”

Your eyes searched his. The coldness you’d expect if he was planning to betray you was absent. All you saw was that spark he got when he was scheming. “And why exactly was I invited to…whatever this is?”

He didn’t miss the warning in your tone and the corner of his mouth curled in a smile. “I thought you might enjoy seeing some faces you hadn’t in awhile. And your boyfriend should be particularly interested in tonight’s proceedings. As you were both near, I thought ‘why not’.”

Before you could prod him further, he clapped his hands together and turned to the room in general. “Welcome everyone. Let’s get started shall we?”


There was nothing Ian Gallagher loved more than his boyfriend, Mickey Milkovich. There was so many things Ian could tell you he loved about him, from his bright blue eyes, to his inky black hair, to his cold persona he put on for everyone but once he was with Ian he turned into a ball of mush right before everyone’s eyes. The love the two boys held could not be broken by anything, not homophonic dads, beatings, and especially not by a horny sixteen year old girl currently occupying the seat across from him at the kitchen table.

Ian first noticed Holly’s crush on him the first time he had met her. He was twenty at the time and she was only fifteen. Holly had stared so hard and so long at him, Ian’s surprised her eyes didn’t dry out and her drool didn’t flood the whole house. Ian knew Holly was being very obvious on purpose, as if that would make him fuck her. He knew she tried to get with Lip in the past, way back when Mickey was still in juvie for the Kash-n-Grab shoplifting, and she had fooled around with Carl for a little while when his leg was still busted. Ian usually ignored her advances and focused on his boyfriend, but tonight he couldn’t help but notice Holly was on a mission to get into his pants. He would have laughed if she hadn’t been so persistent.

Ian and Mickey had taken their seats at the kitchen table and Holly was quicker than Carl or Debbie at picking a seat, making sure she got the seat directly across from Ian. Ian was uncomfortable, sure, but he just clung tightly to Mickey’s hand and enjoyed the feel of Mickey pressing their legs together under the table. As Ian shoveled the burnt chicken into his mouth, he felt Mickey tense up beside him. Ian started rubbing circles on the back of Mickey’s hand with his thumb, hoping to calm him down a bit. He saw the look Mickey gave Holly but chose to ignore it, just focusing on relieving the sudden tension in his boyfriend.

Mickey got tense once again before glaring again at Holly. “Do you fuckin’ mind not molesting my leg under the table?” Mickey huffed angrily. Holly looked confused and Ian tried so hard to control his laughter. He knew she didn’t know he and Mickey were together and figured he could have some fun with it and see just how far she’d go with it before realizing. He figured she’d give up before the movie even started. When Holly “dropped” her fork and went to investigate, Ian almost lost it. Too fucking funny. Ian turned to an aggravated Mickey and started whispering lowly to him.

“Thank you for coming tonight, baby. I know you would much rather be in our bed while I abuse that perfect ass. Maybe before the movie starts I can take you upstairs so I can fuck your amazing ass real quick. I would love to get on you tonight, baby. Definitely.” Ian whispered hotly in Mickey’s ear, making the dark haired boy blush a deep crimson. Ian knew Mickey didn’t want to be here tonight and he wanted to make up for the too horny sixteen-year-old unknowingly making a fool of herself.

Ian kept his eyes on Mickey even after Holly resurfaced. He watched as Mickey’s facial expression turned from irritation to majorly possessive, and Ian would be lying if he said it didn’t majorly turn him on. Fuck. He had the hottest boyfriend ever. And he was all his.

If you’d have asked Ian a few years ago if he ever thought Mickey would be like he is today, you’d get a big fat hell no. Ian didn’t think Mickey was ever going to come around and be the amazing boyfriend he was today. The Mickey back then wouldn’t let him kiss him, hold him, or really be affectionate at all. Now, Mickey would cling to him any chance he got and he was honestly surprised that the Mickey he used to know is the same one that is holding his hand where everybody can see.

Except Holly, apparently.

When Ian sat on the couch after dinner, he wasn’t surprised to see Mickey scrambling to get the seat next to him before Holly had a chance to. It was cute, and Ian was grateful that not only did he not have to sit next to Holly, but he got to be close to his boyfriend which was always nice. Ian leaned in close to Mickey and put his arm behind Mickey on the couch, enjoying the way Mickey blushed at the closeness. Goddamn, his boyfriend was adorable.

“So, I need to go up to my room to get blankets and shit for the movie.” Ian said, with a mischievous glint in his eyes and before Mickey could even respond, Holly was booking it up the stairs. Mickey was staring after her and Ian couldn’t help but roll his eyes. This girl is sixteen years old. Mickey has absolutely nothing to worry about! Ian just goes along with it when Mickey takes his hand and drags him up the stairs, sending Debs a look over his shoulder that he hoped said control your friend before my boyfriend kills her.

When the boys walk by the upstairs bathroom, Ian sees Mickey peak in and then immediately covers his eyes. “Ah! Fucking Christ! Close the fuckin’ door next time!” Mickey yelled. In the split second between that and Mickey closing the door, he caught a glimpse of a very naked teenaged ass and he immediately busted out laughing. This girl was extremely desperate, wasn’t she? Mickey just continued to drag him to his bedroom, clearly trying to distance himself from Holly and get closer to Ian as fast as possible.

When Ian finally was in his room, he was still laughing as he shut the door. Pretty soon after they were both laughing and Ian kept it going to hear the beautiful sound that was his boyfriend’s laughter.

“Fucking dick. I’m a gay man for Christ’s sakes. I don’t need an eyeful of teenage girl ass. I need an eyeful of Ian ass.” Mickey laughed, and Ian couldn’t help but remember a time where Mickey would never admit to being gay, even with a nine inch dick up his ass. Ian was still lost in thought when he sat on the bed, but smiled when Mickey’s immediate reaction was to straddle him.

When Mickey slotted their lips together, Ian just leaned back on the bed, ready to do every dirty thing he could think of in the little time they had.

**

When Ian and Mickey finally finished doing the do, the movie was already fifteen minutes in. Ian didn’t care if it was obvious they just had sex, they were sweaty, breathing kind of heavy, and Mickey even had a bit of a limp. Ian couldn’t help but smirk at that one, just because he was a cocky son-of-a-bitch. Ian plopped down on the middle of the couch beside Holly and smiled a bit when he felt Mickey wedge himself between Ian and the arm of the couch, not minding the closeness one bit.

When Holly draped the blanket over the three of them, Mickey immediately grabbed onto his hand and rested his head on his shoulder. Ian smiled at this, to himself since he was out of view from both people currently occupying the couch and Debbie, who had taken refuge on the recliner. Ian briefly wondered where Carl had fucked off to, but he shrugged it off to him going to kill a cat or something else Carl does.

Ian smiled whenever a cheesy line came on the rom-com they were watching. Ian leaned over and gave Mickey a kiss whenever they said one, and by the tenth time Mickey expected it and just smiled sleepily and blushed like a tomato when Ian did it. Ian couldn’t help but love when his boyfriend was sleepy, he got even clingier and more often than not would wrap himself around Ian like a koala because he apparently can’t sleep without Ian holding him. Who knew Mickey Milkovich was so fucking cute?

Ian felt Holly place her head on his shoulder and under any normal circumstance he would have gently pushed her off and probably excused himself from the couch.  But tonight, Mickey was just barely awake and there was no way he was going to disturb his boyfriend. Five minutes later, he felt a small hand grab his dick through his sweatpants. He barely noted the domino effect as he sprung out of his seat, anger burning in his eyes.

Mickey and Holly had both tumbled off the couch when Ian got up and Mickey was glancing up at him slightly annoyed at being jolted awake and shoved to the ground. Ian would have thought his confused expression was cute if he wasn’t so pissed at Holly. Ian turned to Holly, the anger in his eyes still blazing.

“What the fuck were you doing just then?” Ian yelled angrily. Mickey just looked between the two, confused for a moment before Ian continued on. “Why the fuck were you grabbing at my dick?” Ian didn’t know how she hadn’t caught on to Ian and Mickey yet. They were very obvious. Ian knew she liked him but he didn’t think she would go this far!

“She did what?” Mickey asked angrily. Ian looked at his boyfriend and he looked as though he was reconsidering all his morals on hitting a girl. Ian watched along as Mickey and Holly had some weird little staring contest before Holly’s face grew smug and Ian knew whatever she was saying was going to be stupid.

“Don’t get mad just because I’m not interested in you, Mickey. Don’t ruin this for your friend, I mean, if I were you I wouldn’t hold him back from getting the best piece of ass around.” Holly was spewing bullshit at this point, and Ian would have laughed if he wasn’t so pissed she’d grabbed his dick in front of Mickey. That was real fucking uncalled for.

Turns out Ian can’t control his laughter after all and does end up laughing. He walked over to Mickey and slung an arm over his clearly worked up boyfriend. Ian leaned down and left a soft kiss against Mickey’s cheek as his anger disappears and he begins to feel bad for the girl. Ian turns to Holly and looks at her with an apologetic look and she just looks like she’s ready to piss herself.

“Actually, Holly, the best piece of ass I’ve ever gotten is Mickey.” Ian had never said something so true in his life. Mickey was the best and Mickey was his. Mickey took Ian by surprise by grabbing his face suddenly and crushing their lips together. Mickey always poured so much emotion in his kisses and Ian wasn’t surprised when this kiss was full of love while still being passionate. Exactly like Mickey. By the time he turned back, Holly’s jaw was on the floor and Ian would have laughed if it was the right moment.

Mickey wrapped an arm around Ian’s waist and Ian felt the warmth radiating off of the arm. Ian smiled as Mickey pulled out his big boy threats for Holly. “If you ever touch my man’s dick in my presence again I will personally break all of your knuckles.” Mickey threatened with barely any emotion. Holly noticeably paled and Ian briefly wondered if they’d gone too far. But Ian knew Mickey wasn’t going to do anything to her so he let it go.

“I- I’m sorry.” Holly mumbled as she plopped back down on the couch, dejectedly. Ian saw her get lost in thought, probably about something that happened tonight, not that he could blame her. The girl was probably humiliated. Ian honestly hadn’t meant to humiliate her but who the fuck thinks it’s a good idea to grab someone’s dick in a room full of people? Not to mention that he was five years older than her and didn’t want to deal with that mess.

Ian just threw himself down in Mickey’s previous position near the arm of the couch, clearly trying to put space between him and Holly. Ian knew Mickey wasn’t going to want to sit next to Holly and very much knew what Mickey’s favorite seat was, and that it was available.

So, when Ian felt Mickey plop down onto his lap sideways, barely able to keep his eyes open as he kept his head buried in the crook of Ian’s neck, he just smiled. He felt the kisses there and his heart fluttered with love for this amazing boy. The amazing boy that was all his and nobody could come between them.

And if Ian just held Mickey as he slept through the rest of the movie? Well that’s nobody’s business.


Hermione joined Ron for lunch in the atrium of the Ministry. The Australian contingent had requested a meeting with her after they finished with the Minister. Since she’d be at the Ministry anyway, Hermione decided to catch up with Ron, who was now working there. After the fall of Carding, Ron and quit his job as an auror to start afresh. Ron had followed his brother’s path into Curse-breaking and had finally achieved the enviable combination of working hard at something he loved. He still, Hermione decided with affectionate exasperation, ate like a pig.

The atrium’s roof soared high above them, Hermione used to love looking up at the fractal scattered pattern of the roof panels reaching up to the glazing above. She wasn’t exactly sure whether the light that streamed in was natural or magical but it was beautiful all the same. It was probably the only part of the Ministry she had missed.

Working on Draco’s project had re-energised Hermione after the devastation of discovering her years of pushing for equality for all magical beings had been a complete write-off. This time she was starting smaller, and focusing all her energy on breaking down stereotypes in the younger generations. But she hadn’t given up on her other dreams. She’d just shelved them temporarily until an opportunity presented itself.

“Bloody Merlin’s beard ‘Mione, that all sounds completely horrible,” was Ron’s first comment after she blurted out a watered down version of what she’d seen in Severus’ memories.

She had desperately wanted to talk to someone about it, but obviously couldn’t burden Severus, and Harry still had a lot of his own demons from that time yet to be exorcised.

“I actually can’t believe some of the things he did,” Hermione said.

“Or some of things he didn’t do, more to the point,” Ron added, ripping apart a bread roll.

“Yes, that too,” she sighed.

“I’ll tell you something I’ve never told anyone outside the family,” Ron said hesitantly.

Hermione put down her own sandwich, as if holding the bread would interfere with her ability to listen. “What?” She asked.

“The Ministry called Ginny in a few years ago for questioning,”

“Questioning? What about?”

“About what Snape did while he was Headmaster,” Ron answered quietly.

“What, besides saving everyone’s bloody life?” Hermione said angrily and Ron made a shushing motion. She clamped down on her annoyance.

“Obviously they weren’t the biggest fans of him, you know, because of the whole double-agent business remember?” Ron reminded her.

Hermione blushed. She’d lately been noticing her lack of rationality on topics involving Severus. She felt such an overwhelming desire for him to be happy that somehow got mixed up into feelings of overprotectiveness. She worried constantly that she would scare him off. She wasn’t under any false impressions of her charms, and definitely thought she was hexing above her weight with him. She felt every day could potentially be the day he found out he could actually have any witch he wanted, and didn’t have to settle for her. His reaction in Minerva’s office had frightened her. Was it really that easy for him to decide they shouldn’t be together?

“Sorry,” she said.

“They got Dad to head up an investigation to bring a prosecution case against him; for charges relating to administration of the Cruciatus on underage wizards and witches,”

“Oh,” Hermione breathed. She couldn’t believe it. Or actually, she could believe it. She’d seen it in the Pensieve after all. She could still see the drawn, desperate face he’d worn that horrible year when she closed her eyes at night. It never ended, never, never.

“Dad wasn’t entirely sure on why it was necessary to prosecute a dead man, and even why they transferred him to the section to do it, but he decided that if he ran it, then he could at least make sure it was done properly,”

“Go Mr Weasley!” Hermione whispered.

“Well obviously he needed witnesses right? Luna, Cho, Neville.....”

“Ginny,” Hermione guessed.

Ron nodded. “Except what did Dad find out? Every single memory was fabricated. The Ministry was fuming, they couldn’t prosecute him for a a crime he didn’t commit. However there was one he did commit—“

“The Memory Charms,” said Hermione sadly.

“Yes. It took a long time for Ministry experts to unpick the false implants and remove them without damaging their minds,” Ron explained as Hermione listened, transfixed.

“There is residue in there, Ginny’s told me. She said they removed almost everything, except she says it’s like a whispery dream. But with the removal they took the false and left the real. So they all have Snape’s real memory of being tortured,” Ron finished.

“Oh shit,” Hermione said.

Ron shrugged.“Yep. Ginny said it’s weird, like being in a Pensieve almost. They all signed a secrecy agreement, but Ginny said the Ministry was a bunch of misogynistic twats and she couldn’t give a shit what she signed,” he smiled at the fist-pump of solidarity Hermione had given upon hearing Ginny’s opinion on the previous Ministry.

“Is that why Ginny left?” Hermione asked.

“Mostly,” Ron said. “It was her dream to play Quidditch, but she also wanted to get away. I mean, Riddle’s diary forced Voldemort into her head, then Snape got in there as well.”

“Understandable,” Hermione said.

“She loved Harry, but she said she was too mixed up to be with anyone....needed to sort herself out,” Ron said.

“I adore Ginny,” said Hermione. “That’s so sensible.”

Ron nodded, then looked nervous. “Have you, um, maybe, um thought Snape is perhaps too mixed up?” He asked, the blush that overtook his face seemed to signal even his body couldn’t believe what he’d had the courage to say.

“Too mixed up to be with me?” Hermione asked, hurt.

“No, you’re amazing. Terrifying, sure, but amazing,” Ron said seriously. “I mean.... with anyone. I mean, no one can live through what he did and be, you know, normal,”

“You lived with him!” Hermione protested.

“Yeah, but...well...he’s obviously perfected putting on a fake front right? Look,” he said hurriedly obviously worried Hermione was going to cry or explode or crysplode, “I’m your best mate aren’t I?”

She nodded.

“Well that means I get to be all protective and threatening,” he said. “Although don’t actually tell Snape that as I’m fairly sure he could completely destroy me with minimal effort.”

Hermione smiled. “I love you, you stupid idiot,” she said. He grinned.

“But—and don’t vomit—I love Severus too. I really do,” Hermione said. “If he’s a bit broken well, then, it’s not as if he doesn’t know it. And I’m certainly not in a position to throw rocks,” she added, placing a hand over her shirt-buttons that covered the raised scar on her sternum.

“No one is,” agreed Ron. He grinned. “Well I’ve done my brotherly duty for this week, can you please pass me that bread roll?”

Hermione laughed. She understood his concern, she really did. After all, she worried a little about Ron sometimes. Harry had told Hermione that Ron had been somewhat introspective after she’d moved out. They’d both jokingly agreed that such a condition was probably a novel experience for Ron, and he would certainly need their support to work through it. Hermione had thought, in a way, it had signalled the end of something.

After all, they’d been together, in their little trio, since they were eleven. They’d moved in together straight after school and spent the years afterwards thicker than proverbial thieves. She’d been the one to break this when she moved into Spinner’s End. Harry had let it slip that Ron had fretted for days and at one point even resorted to asked Kreacher if Hermione was happy where she was. Ron, Harry had decided with the hubris of someone who didn’t spend a great deal of time concerned with the feelings of others, missed Hermione. Family was a particular trigger point for him after Nagini’s attack on his father; Ginny’s possession, Fred’s death and the latest unsuccessful Death Eaters versus Molly Weasley dramatic showdown. Ron didn’t want to lose anyone else.

Hermione understood, and she had made an effort to go back to Grimmauld Place more regularly since the boys were too terrified to visit Spinner’s End. Hermione had thought....hoped?...Severus might have got a bit jealous when she started being away more. But he didn’t. While she decided that was definitely a good thing, a very silly, immature part of her wished he’d perhaps show a tiny but of interest in who she met with. But that, Hermione had decided, was insecurity talking. And she was not insecure, at all, being the strong, independent witch that she was.

That she definitely was.

Right?

But there was perhaps a slight, small, or maybe even insignificant issue she hadn’t quite dealt with.

Hermione imagined Severus’ mind would be like a well-organised gallery or showroom, with everything neatly laid out, labelled and alphabetical. Perhaps in there would be a ‘One True Love’ plaque underneath a too-beautiful for words Lily Potter statue, Hermione thought glumly. And in some dimly lit corridor she’d find a ‘She’ll do’ statue of her, complete with unmanageable hair and problematic teeth. If there even was a statue. Maybe she’d be relegated only to a bust, or perhaps a card, filed away with an appropriate Dewey reference. Hermione sighed to herself. Maybe she was overthinking things. After all, he travelled to Australia, fixed her parents with no concern to the implications for himself....sorted out Skeeter. He wasn’t a man of romantic words, she decided, he was more a ‘demonstrate through actions’ type of wizard.

“Hello,” said a voice and Hermione both looked up. It was one of the Australian men, Chris.

“Oh hello!” Said Hermione.

“Gough is working out something with the Minister and Severus,” he said. “I’ve been left to my own devices. Which is always a dangerous idea.”

“Would you like to join us?” Hermione asked. “Oh, and this is my friend Ron. Ron, this is Chris.”

“Yes, I recognised him,” Chris said shaking a bemused Ron’s hand and sitting down.

“Nice to meet you,” Ron said. “And good timing as I’ve got to go which means you can keep Hermione company. I’m meeting up with the Antiquities Section on a particularly tricky little amulet that’s giving spikes to everyone within a two feet radius.”

“Sounds useful but potentially unsightly,” commented Chris.

“Exactly,” laughed Ron, pushing back his chair to stand up. He gave Hermione a peck on the cheek and walked off towards the lifts.

“I wanted to talk to you without Gough anyway,” said Chris. “So this is serendipitous.”

“Intriguing,” smiled Hermione, “go on.”

“Basila had a lot of friends in the military, and we did quite a bit of fund raising. So, we think what we could use it for is an exchange,” Chris explained.

“Exchange?” Asked Hermione.

“Yeah,” Chris said, “between Hogwarts and our school. A semester.”

“That sounds great!” Hermione exclaimed.

“We also had an idea about your group,”

After the Pensieve viewing spectacular where Severus had.....er......needed a bit of space, Hermione had spent some time talking with Chris. She’d been really interested in the differences between the two countries, as had he, and she’d ended up giving him a potted history of her and Draco’s pet project. Until Severus, Hermione was used to males who half-listened to her, smiled vacantly and who were obviously thinking about Quidditch...or themselves...or themselves playing Quidditch...about two minutes into anything she tried to tell them. Chris, however, was cut from Severus cloth. He listened, asked questions and contributed meaningfully. Hermione had been in windbag heaven.

“We were also thinking of something involving your group as well. We have a lot of areas where we’ve combined muggle and magical. It would fit in well with your excursions. Plus, I mean, we could hold it in your winter so extra bonus for the kids right?” He grinned at her.

Hermione grinned back. “Yes! That would be fantastic.”

“Gough also has another surprise for you,” Chris continued with the air of a man on a Good News binge.

“Yes?”

“He got Severus’ entry ban overturned. We’ve decided to let him come back. Provided of course he keeps out of people’s minds.”

Hermione crowed ecstatically. “Brilliant! Brilliant!” She could hardly restrain herself and pummeled the table in excitement.

Severus, walking to the left of Gough, could see a very excited Hermione talking to Chris. She was waving her hands around erratically, which generally meant she was thoroughly engaged in a conversation. Typically, he tended to be the other participant in the aforementioned conversation. She never seem to get as animated talking to Potter and Weasley, but who could blame her really.

Severus decided it was odd to see her in full flight talking to someone else. He felt funny about it, although he wasn’t quite sure what was wrong, beyond an uneasy feeling that he wanted to be the one that made her laugh and knock cups over with her flailing arms. Not a handsome, blonde Australian with disturbingly thick biceps. As he neared their table, Chris obviously said something amusing as Hermione roared with laughter and immediately spilt her drink. He frowned. At that moment Hermione looked around and saw him. Her smile broadened and she pushed out her chair and practically bounced over to him. Severus felt himself relax slightly. That was his smile, the one she saved for him.

“Hello!” Hermione said looking up at him. “All done?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Are you going to Hogwarts now?”

“Yes,” he said a little uncomfortably.

Hermione reached out and grasped his right hand, squeezing it gently. “I hope everything goes all right, and going back there isn’t too, you know, awful,”

“I anticipate it being very awful,” Severus answered. “But I do have to go back there.”

“I’ve just owled Draco to meet me here to discuss a great idea that Chris has just outlined to me. It’s really exciting, I’ll tell you about it later,” Hermione told him cheerily and he attempted an encouraging smile.

Severus decided he must not have passed the correct message to his facial messages as she looked a bit crestfallen at his expression.

“Oh, um, if you are coming back home that is. I mean, if it is going to be really bad, do you need some space? I can go visit the boys if you’d like,” Hermione babbled at him.

You are an idiot, Severus admonished himself. He obviously couldn’t trust his face to do anything helpful in the current situation. His hands, however. He lifted them and drew her towards him.

 “I’ll be fine,” he lied. “I’ll see you at home later.”

 In direct contradiction to his years of wrathfully stripping House points from miscreants indulging in public displays of affection, and right in the middle of the busy atrium he bent down and kissed her. She wriggled delightfully closer to him, and sighed a small, soft sigh as she responded very agreeably to his lips. He lifted his head from hers, noting she’d turned quite a fetching shade across her cheeks. Severus allowed himself a smug smile.

 “Yes. Later,” Hermione repeated, and she was smiling again.

 Severus held that smile in his mind as he arrived at the gates of the familiar castle. A dark oppressive malaise threatened to creep up on him but he pushed it away. He watched the figure of Filius approaching down the path. Severus could feel the wards wouldn’t deny him entry, but instead he waited for the escort. Hogwarts wasn’t going anywhere.


Chapter 51July 1st, 1993France

Harry slowly woke up and found a warm weight on his chest belonging to his naked girlfriend.  Fleur was curled around him, her arms around him with her legs locked around one of his legs.  He had to laugh at the position she put herself in because he knew that they didn’t go to sleep like that.He placed small kisses on the side of her neck and stroked up and down her back to rouse her from her sleep, making the sleeping girl squirm.“Wake up, dear,” Harry whispered to his girlfriend.  Said girlfriend half opened her eyes and looked up at him which made her look very cute.She smiled back before snuggling more into his chest.“I don’t wanna wake up,” Fleur mumbled, gripping Harry tighter.Harry laughed before unhooking her arms that were around him“But you have to,” Harry said to which Fleur let out a little grunt of frustration.  She pouted at him with her arms under her chest, causing certain features to stand out.  Harry stared at her body, marveling at her beauty.  Fleur saw him looking at her and gave him a sexy smile.“Coming?” she said as she got up and walked towards the bathroom, swaying her hips.  Harry smirked as he got up and followed her.He smiled as he remembered how great it was to be in a relationship with Fleur and how their first time had been---------------------------------------------Lemon SceneNo one underage may viewYou have been warnedHarry sleepily woke up as he felt something press into his erection. He opened his eyes to see Fleur rubbing her bum back against him as they were spooned up together. They had apparently switched positions in the night, and Harry was hugging her back to his chest as they lay in bed.Raising his head up a bit to look at her face, he could tell that she was still asleep, but probably having a very nice dream if her actions were anything to go by.The young man started to kiss the back of her neck, making her moan in her sleep. Harry saw her eyes flutter open and stiffen from the contact. She relaxed though when she saw that it was Harry.“Morning Fleur,” Harry whispered into her ear. He let one of his hands drift down until it came into contact with the band of her knickers.“You can go ahead,” Fleur whispered. Harry moved his hand down the rest of the way and cupped her sex. He gently slipped one finger around the elastic on the band and slowly rubbed down her bald slit, making her moan. His finger found her tight hole and slowly slipped its way in.“Mmmmm,” Fleur moaned out, as Harry continued to kiss her neck, ears, and turned her head so that he could nibble on her lips. Slowly and tenderly, he loosened her up enough to add another finger. After a few minutes, he felt her inner muscles clench on his fingers as she went through an orgasm. As her orgasm ended, Fleur rolled them over so that she was on top of Harry.She shimmied her body down his and under the covers until Harry could feel her pull down the band of his sleeping pants; her hot moist breath on his manhood.“So big Harry,” Fleur said before licking up the side of his manhood. He couldn’t help the moan that escaped his mouth as he then felt Fleur engulf him.“Bloody Hell! That feels so good Fleur,” Harry gasped out. Due to his relative newness at this he couldn’t very well take the warmth and suction of Fleur’s actions, so after a few minutes, he came into Fleur’s mouth with a grunt. She swallowed his cum as it spurted out of his cock. Fleur took the time to remove his boxers completely. She stood up with her back to Harry. The girl bent over and slipped her knickers fully down her legs. Harry groaned at the sight as she turned around and bit her lip.“I don’t want to wait, Harry,” Fleur purred huskily. Harry nodded his head and she climbed into his lap. She used her wand to cast the Contraceptive Charm on herself before throwing her wand to the side. Fleur grasped his cock and lined it up with her wet opening. She slowly sank onto him until he bumped into her hymen which made her wince. After taking a deep breath, she plunged down until all of Harry’s cock was in her.“Please don’t move,” Fleur whispered. She knew it was supposed to hurt but this was still a surprise for her first time. “I think we should have loosened me up more before doing this.” A few tears leaked out of her eyes. Harry wiped them away before kissing her tenderly.“Relax love,” Harry whispered. “I won’t move until you tell me to.” Fleur hesitantly moved her hips slightly. After she discerned the pain was lessening, she started to slowly rock her hips back and forth.Fleur purred her approval while squeezing at his organ with the muscles in her rectum. They both felt the intimacy of this moment. Fleur surrendered herself fully to her man and Harry gladly took the offer plunging into her with unstopping rhythm and focus. It was all about his beautiful girl pressed on top of him for Harry. For Fleur, her mind was focused solely on the pleasure of the moment, her body on fire with need and arousal. Her juices leaked from her slit along her thighs in ever increasing amounts. Fleur’s butt muscles continually squeezed and released his organ as it pushed and pulled through her sphincter. Fleur’s mind came back to awareness of the outside world as she felt her pussy feeling that it was going to explode. She rubbed her flower as she began to feel the Harrys prick picking up speed. Her belly muscles tightened while her thigh muscles flexed to rock her hips back and forth. She was actively driving her rear up into the thrusts of her man. “I’m going to cum,” Fleur gasped out as she plunged herself down onto Harry’s cock as far as it would go. Harry’s eyes almost popped out of his head when he felt the pleasure of Fleur’s inner muscles gripping and fluttering around him. With a grunt, he forcibly came into her and a primal scream of ecstasy escaped Fleurs throat as she threw her hips back one last time and began to orgasm... Both pulled each other tightly to their chests, lips locked in ecstasy.After a few minutes where their actions and lip lock slowed, they both breathed heavily as they tried to catch their breath from the intensity of the experience.“That was amazing,” Fleur said. Harry nodded in agreement. They relaxed until Harry felt himself harden inside of her again.Here we go again.Lemon EndYou may read again if underage“That was amazing,” Harry whispered to her“Oui,” Fleur whispered back.---------------------------------------------------------The Next MorningFleur sat down at the breakfast table carefully as she was still sore from last night.“I knew you two wouldn’t be able to wait,” Fleur heard Appoline say in her ear as she laid food on the table. Fleur blushed as her mama sat down at the table muttering something about horny teens.“So, how was it?” Apolline asked.“It was painful at first but after about thirty seconds, the pain started to go away and it started to feel better,” Fleur said truthfully.“And just how long did you two go at it?” Apolline asked with a small smile.“I’m not sure,” Fleur answered as she tried to focus her sleep-deprived brain.“Morning Flower,” Harry said coming up and kissing her.“Harry” Fleur squeaked before hugging her boyfriend.“I missed you too Fleur,” Harry chuckled amused.  He whispered the next part, “But can you get off me? Your body is making certain areas grow.”Fleur shot up off of him blushing as she remembered that they had other people watching.  Harry chuckled as he stood up and wrapped her in a tight hug.He massaged her neck making her almost purr.“Harry, you’ve gone sappy on me,” a voice was heard, making Harry and Fleur break apart.  The voice belonged to his mentor Isaac Patterson.“Okay, maybe I'm a little sappy,” Harry admitted. “But Fleur is worth being a little sappy.”“Way to make a girl feel loved,” Fleur muttered with a huge blush on her face.They all laughed.Author Note I know this chapter was mostly a lemon scene and I don't intend to have this be every chapter but at least a bit.