FIC: Synesthesia (Bill/Fleur)
To: karasu_hime
From: Your Secret Santa

Title: Synesthesia
Author: violet_quill
Pairing: Bill/Fleur
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Ashamed of his scars, Bill insists on darkness when he and Fleur make love, but Fleur does not appreciate being robbed of her sight.
Author's Notes: Happy holidays, Karasu! I hope that you enjoy this. Consider this more based on the feelings evoked by synesthesia than the actual definition; it's just such a lovely word.


They are making love in the dark again.

Bill's hands are on Fleur's skin, the familiar weight of them, the texture of a rough palm cupping her breast. She gasps when his lips tough her neck, she cries out when he plunges a finger inside her, she whimpers when he shifts and his erection brushes across her upper thigh.

She cannot see his hands, his lips, his fingers, his cock.

She misses his body, the way it looks. She used to walk into the bedroom and admire the lines and curves. She used to lock her gaze on his eyes. She used to watch his lips as they formed words. They used to make love in the daytime, with the lights on.

Now there are Scars that have changed everything, that have made Bill afraid to show his face in the light, to feel that he is somehow less, no matter what she says, no matter how many times she tells him that he is still beautiful to her. He flinches when she touches his face. She cannot touch, she cannot see, she feels punished.

She knows that he loves her, and he says so now as he slides another finger inside her, as his mouth moves over the hollow of her throat, that spot that drives her crazy, the flick of his tongue that she loves. Usually this would make her cry out, gasp his name…

Fleur is silent.

Bill does it again, deft movements with fingers and mouth, and though her body reacts, Fleur bites her lip to keep any sound from escaping.

"Is everything all right?" he asks.

She starts to answer, but the silence grows even weightier in her head, and it develops meaning, and purpose. She stretches out her arm and grabs her wand from the bedside table. She flicks her wrist, writes in the air, and words form in fiery lines in the air above their bed.

Turn on the light.

She can almost imagine the quizzical look on Bill's face, though of course she cannot see it.

"What? Fleur, talk to me. What's wrong?"

If I am blind, then you are deaf.

"Fleur. Come on, baby, this is just silly." He climbs on top of her, and she allows him to, spreading her legs so that he can settle between them. "You don't have to see me to feel how good we are together. Trust me, it's better this way."

She stretches her arm a bit so that the writing in the air goes off to the side where he can still see it.

You don't have to hear me moan to feel how good we are together.

She smiles smugly, even though she knows he can't see it.

"Fleur." His voice has an edge of frustration to it now, and Fleur imagines the shape of the sound in the air, hard and pointy. "You're being ridiculous. You don't want to see…" His voice trails off.

She reaches up, groping blindly in the dark for his face, and runs her thumb gently over the scars. He flinches. Her wand flits in the air again.

You know I don't care about that.

"You might not, but I do."

How many times have they had this same argument? These same words, over and over, until they're just sounds, just meaningless sounds. It is bad enough, the way Bill hides his face in a shadow, behind his hair, during the day when they're alone together. Worse that he cannot stand for her to see him at all when they make love.

It has been weeks now since he completely healed. Since they have had a chance to be whole again, to plan their wedding, to get on with their lives together. But how can she marry a man she cannot see?

It might seem an equitable situation at first blush - she unable to see him, but he also unable to see her. However, the marks from Fenrir, while not turning him into a werewolf, have left some side effects. A craving for red meat, particularly in the days nearing a full moon. Slightly increased strength. A minor allergic reaction to silver. And better eyesight, that went so far as giving him some amount of night vision.

Even now, she can almost feel Bill's eyes raking over the lines of her body. Testing the theory, she slips a hand between her legs, fingers dipping in the darkness.

Bill groans. Fleur's wand dances furiously in her free hand.

See how important sight can be?

"Please, baby…" Bill's voice has gone hoarse, and Fleur feels his erection pressing insistently against her inner thigh. She has to admire his restraint.

Her point is not to punish him, so in a clean, practiced movement, she urges him onto his back and straddles him. It is only because this is so familiar that she hardly needs sight at all. She knows his body as well with her hands as with her eyes, and when she sinks down onto him, it is the familiar depth and form that fills her.

"Oh god oh sweet…" Bill groans, his hips canting up, pushing himself deeper. "Fleur, I love you so much, you know that, don't you?"

She nods, knowing that he can see her. It feels amazing, and she wishes she knew a proper muting spell, because she's not sure if she actually can keep herself from moaning, from sighing, from whimpering, from making the round, slippery sounds that usually colour their lovemaking.

When his hands find her breasts, and practiced fingers flick over her nipples, she bites her tongue so hard it nearly bleeds.

"Come on, baby, don't do this… you know how I love the sounds you make, you know I love it when you talk…" Bill pleads with her as his hands trail down her sides, over her hips.

You do like it when I talk.

"Not that stupid writing again…" Bill groans.

You like it when I moan, when I whimper, when I scream.

"You know I do, baby. Please, Fleur…"

You like it when I whisper naughty things in French, you love it when I tell you how you're making me feel, how much I want you.

Fleur starts to ride him faster, and the one thing she can't control is how her breathing is becoming more laboured. She concentrates on the movements of her wand.

You like it when I talk about your big, hard cock, when I tell you how wet I am, when I beg for you to take me.

Bill makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, and Fleur imagines his eyes wide, transfixed, staring at the letters forming above them.

You want to hear quiet sighs and strangled cries and uninhibited whimpers, you want to hear fuck me, fuck me, you want to hear your name, you want to hear me scream when I come.

She's moving faster now, small gasps escaping her lips, and she's not sure that she can concentrate enough to use the spell to form words anymore. But it doesn't matter, because Bill stops her.

His hands hold her still at her hips, quell her movement.

"You are so beautiful," he says. "I don't want to spoil this. I don't want you to have to pretend that I'm what I once was."

"But you are," she swears, voice soft and filled with conviction as she leans down and kisses his cheek. "You are Bill Weasley, and I love you, and zees scars are nothing to zat. You theenk I care? You think you are not beautiful to me? I love you and no one else and I weesh to see you! Eet eez not fair, to deny me zat. Pleez, my love, turn on the light."

There is a moment of stillness, until Bill reaches up and takes her wand from her, and uses it to light the room. Then he grips her solidly around the waist and flips her over onto her back, sliding insider her again and then looking down at her.

Fleur smiles, and pushes the hair away from his face. "Oh, Bill."

"I love you," he promises. "I only want to make you happy."

"And now you 'ave." She arches her back, rolling her hips slightly, encouraging him to move. When he begins to thrust, she moans.

"Oh god yes, Fleur, that's what I like to hear."

"Only you can do zees for me," she gasps, and barely even blinks as she looks into his face, her body shuddering as she comes. She cries out from the force of it, and the look on his face is nearly as amazing as the feeling that rips through her body. She no longer has to feel his eyes or hear his movements, she can see it all.

She watches him come.

She sees his mouth form a familiar 'o', the mouth that kisses her, the mouth she loves.

She hears him gasp, then a strangled cry that sounds like her name.

She smells the soft, mingled scents of sweat and sex and linen and her perfume.

She tastes his lips, sweet and wet, when he leans down to kiss her fiercely.

She feels him spill inside her, feels the warmth fill her, his body shudder around her.

When he collapses beside her on the bed, she immediately curls up to him, one leg hooked over his waist, her head in the crook of his neck, an arm resting across his chest. "I love you," she whispers.

"You know, sometimes you make me see stars," Bill murmurs.

The light stays on until they both fall asleep, and in that darkness, Fleur can always see Bill's face.