Fleur Delacour wields seduction almost subconciously. A week into their relationship, the desire to capture her lips in his own and pull her body to close as humanly possible is impossible to resist.
And. well. Fleur Delacour never refuses a good make out session.
Sometimes it's Harry begging off food in favor of figuring out how she tastes of strawberries. Other moments, Fleur wraps her body so securely around him that Harry wonders if they've actually become a single being.
"Fleur."
"Oui"
Harry looked up from the hands he'd been subconsciously playing with and over to his right to look at her. A week into the world they'd created, seeing this beautiful woman in a sheer silk gown with the hint of her breasts shining through, a single, endlessly long leg peeking through a slit, and hair tousled from their last bout of lovemaking, this vision still took his breath away and fired up his libido.
Fighting through the desire to pull her to him took gargantuan effort.
"I need to know. Is this--you--I--we? The sex. Is this all it is?"
"You theenk I fuck men for a week regularly!?" The smile on her face seemed teasing but the obvious in the beginnings of char on her gown made her brewing anger clear.
"No! I--No. Of course not Fleur. That's not what I meant." Harry backtracked with surprise at the direction Fleur believed him to be taking this conversation.
"I'm...worried."
At these words, all of the anger brewing within Fleur melted away. Harry's face was open book, the anxiety and worry clear.
She grabbed Harry's fiddling hands and brought them into her own. At this act, Harry eyes dropped down to look at their hands, seemingly incapable of making eye contact again. With incredible patience, she released his right hand to gently cup his cheek, guiding Harry to look at her again.
"Whatever eet iz, we will make eet work."
At these words, the tension Harry hadn't even noticed drained from his shoulders. He'll figure out another day if he'll ever be able to say no to Fleur Delacour.