FIVE TIMES KISSED
FIVE TIMES KISSED.
@prctettcre // BILL WEASLEY // always selectively accepting !
i.
So it isn’t his most graceful moment in the world when he yelps and nearly topples right off his seat, but that’s just what happens when someone pops up when you’re half-dozing, which he’d been plenty guilty of. Bill hardly notices, swings himself right onto the bench to face Remy, straddling the wood as he details his latest escapade.
Remy’s groggy brain finally catches up, realizes it’s the boy he’s spoken to a few times, can tentatively call a friend even if it’s only been a couple of weeks since he’d arrived. And maybe it’s the sunshine keeping him drowsy enough to forget that not everyone follows the customs he’d grown up with, or maybe it’s the vague need to make Bill stop and slow down so he can actually comprehend the elaborate scenario being laid out for him, but -
He leans in, fingers curling around Bill’s shoulder, and brushes his lips to one freckled cheek and then the other, the chatter cutting off abruptly.
“Bisous,” he offers belatedly once he pulls back and sees the look of frank astonishment on Bill’s face as he stares at him. It’s only then he realizes that maybe this doesn’t carry over for Brits, he isn’t quite sure - and that even if it did he probably should have done bises and not bisous for a new friend, but he’s always been affectionate - but it doesn’t seem to matter, because Bill just grins at the way Remy’s going pink all down his throat and starts his story over.
Remy decides later that day that he rather wants to keep Bill Weasley and that he’s quite fun, mostly spurred on by the fact that they construct a very elaborate prank to play on one of the snobbier Slytherins over dinner, and maybe also because when Bill next bounds up to him, he stops to give Remy bisous.
ii.
When Bill had offered Remy a place to come for winter holiday, he hadn’t been sure exactly what he’d expected, but the reality of it was much better. The Weasleys make everything feel like home, which is rather odd because he already has one, but he doesn’t bother questioning it.
Neither does Jean-Luc, who’s mostly just pleased his son has made friends, though Henri is the practical one that gives Remy an extra deposit to stay in England instead of coming back between their father’s scattered cheers and enthusiasm.
Instead, he lets himself get swept off in the humdrum whirlwind of activity that is life at the Burrow, sure to stick cold finger and toes on Bill’s ankles and cheeks every morning and laugh out a good morning one each to Molly and Arthur. He also makes sure that Ron gets a liberal amount of tummy tickles, and he learns not to protest very much when Bill is put in charge of dressing him the once they venture into Ottery St. Catchpole, because as it turns out Remy is wonderfully good at wizard fashion and a disaster at the ordinary kind.
It’s easy to settle into a scratchy sweater and kick his friend half out of his place until they can scrunch in together on the couch. It’s easy to yelp when the twins latch onto his legs in a coordinated attack and bring him tumbling down.
It’s easy to kiss Bill properly for the first time when they’re back on Hogwarts grounds with snow stuck to their hair and scarves, easy as breathing to wrap his arms around the other boy’s neck and just steal his lips without an ounce of hesitation.
Later he wonders what he’d been thinking, because he could have ruined everything, but it doesn’t matter so much then either because he’s got his fingers laced through Bill’s and his head on his shoulder, and it all fits pretty nice.
iii.
He’s panicking. That’s the first thing his very helpful brain tells him, which really makes everything worse, but there isn’t a whole lot he can do about it because he’s on one knee and ow the gravel drive is really taking its vengeance out on him, but he’s staying put, damn it.
Served him right for being to chicken to go according to plan, anyway. If he had, he would’ve dropped down an hour ago before they headed home from the Muggle concert he’d gotten them tickets for (which was, as usual, some band that Bill very much liked and Remy thought was nice but had no brain space to remember the name of).
“Uh,” he starts, very eloquently, and cracks open the ring box - it’s simple enough, really, just a gold band inlaid with tiny, complex patterns that shifted and changed with movement, but that sudden sinking weight of what if he doesn’t like it settles deep in his belly anyway. “I thought, um - since the world is going to shit, and you know I love you, and I meant to do it a little while ago but I got nervous. And, um, uh, if it doesn’t fit or you don’t like it, that’s totally fine, I don’t know if it will fit anyway, I tried to guess the size just holding your hand and this was a horrible idea, I am so sorry - ”
Bill is just staring, mouth half-open and jaw working wordlessly as he stutters something incomprehensible, and suddenly Remy is that much more anxious because oh no, he sees more ginger heads peeking just barely out of the Burrow and this was the worst idea, absolutely terrible, he’s about to get dumped in front of the whole Weasley tribe and suddenly he can’t tell if he’s speaking in English or French but he would bet it was the latter and -
That’s about when Bill decides to slap a gentle palm over Remy’s mouth and haul him up to his feet. “Yes, I will happily marry you,” he tells him, and then he kisses the absolute hell out of his stupid French fiancé, who very nearly faints on the spot in absolute relief, not that he would ever admit it.
It’s alright, though, because they’re equally embarrassed when they make it back into the house and have enthusiastic questions and congratulations peppered off of them, and it’s quite enough that Remy’s hair (though not the rest of him because angry is the last thing he is at the moment) catches fire in half a minute, and that’s a whole fiasco in and of itself.
iv.
His hands are sooty and stained, bloody too, when they go back to looking like his own hands and not twisted with claws. They’re also shaking, all the noise and clamor lost in the way his ears are ringing but he does hear one thing, and he recognizes Jean-Luc’s face hovering before his, warm eyes anxious as he brushes hair flaking ashy remnants of dye away from his son’s face.
“You hear that, boy? He’s alive. Go. Je l’ai.” And really, what did it say that they’d put up shields, hidden him in the middle of a dying battlefield for losing his temper in all that rage and grief and oh, no, he’d done it, hadn’t he? Remy’s eyes dart to Charlie’s face, and he swallows hard, but he’s already reaching for the younger boy’s outstretched hand.
After all, his father was good at memory spells. If even one person left remembering what they’d seen, it would be strange - and there was time to worry later.
Alive. Alive. Alive.
He keeps turning the word over in his head, a half-prayer as they stumble off and make their way to the infirmary. It’s the only word that matters when unsteady fingers drift over the gashes on Bill’s face, not touching for fear of infection - it’s the only thing he thinks when he looks up to see Molly staring at him with some kind of wariness on her face, like she’s expecting something bad from him; he doesn’t have anything else in his head, can’t process what that means.
“He’s going to be okay,” he rasps, and it comes out like a question, more hopeful than maybe is allowed and god, he’s fucking terrified. He’s so small all of a sudden, or he feels it, squashed with the weight of all that fear and fuck, just fuck, but the next thing he knows he’s getting swept into a big warm hug (the Weasley specialty, innit) and they’re both crying all over each other but that’s alright too.
Remy loses track of how long it takes for Bill to wake up - days, probably - but when he does, it’s with a whole lot of anxious family hovering over him, and the first thing he says is “My face hurts,” sounding vaguely indignant. It’s enough to earn him several eye rolls and sighs of oh, he’s fine - Remy opts for bursting into tears of relief. He hadn’t meant to, but he does, and Bill looks awfully startled, but he can’t help it.
It takes a while longer for everyone else to filter out, but they eventually do, leaving Bill to rest and Remy to settle back into the chair at his side. Before he does, he leans in, brushes careful lips over the corner of his fiancé’s mouth, fingers curled under his jaw so soft he thinks he can pick up the ache from all the torn flesh above.
“You’re an idiot,” he tells him, tart, and Bill shakes a little with a laugh he can’t quite get out without it hurting. “You picked me. Who’s the idiot now?”
v.
Ras Abu Gali is very much off the beaten path for Muggles, let alone wizards, and the local Bedouin are friendly enough that they stay there awhile; they are strange no matter what they do, so Remy doesn’t bother to dye his hair and lets it hang to his waist like moonlight though he does cover it most days.
It’s comfortable, he thinks, the way he can roll over under heavy travelling blankets to kiss Bill awake, weave long fingers through red hair and press a scarred cheek to his collarbone and fall back asleep. It’s nice, actually, that he dresses in stupid loud colors and glaringly mismatched patterns and no one cares at all even if Bill rolls his eyes at the worst combinations.
He ducks his head down, bites soft at his husband’s ear with a low hum, a chuckle slipping from him at the answering grumble of protest. Bill tugs the cover up over their sleep-rumpled heads to block out the light, and Remy kisses him, still smiling.
“Vite-vite, wake up,” he murmurs, and pinches Bill’s side gentle, rolling them until he’s resting atop him with chin settled nice and neat on his hands. “We need to pack. We’re going back to visit today, remember?”
Bill sighs, and Remy presses warm lips to the underside of his half-sweaty jaw, thumbs tracing warm circles over his ribs until he finally shifts, toppling Remy onto his back instead and pinning him there.
“Five more minutes,” he sighs against Remy’s skin, and with a snort Remy gives in, wrapping his arms tight around him like he really minds at all. Five more minutes.
And then if he didn’t get up, Remy would shove ice down his pants.
