Who: Grayson Wilkes and Ophelia Llewellyn
What: Surprises and... more surprises. :O
When: December 31st 1977, evening
Where: Llewellyn Estate
She was in the second floor sitting room, finishing her holiday homework, when he found her. Curled up in a chair in front of the fireplace, around a roll of parchment that was shaping out to be her Potions essay, she was working diligently even though she didn't see the use in it. After all, she wasn't going to be working after she left Hogwarts--no, Merlin forbid, her mother said. No proper pureblooded wife disgraced themselves by working. It would be a horrible disrespect to their husband to have something to distract them from their duties of being a good wife.
Ophelia wondered; if she just stopped trying and failed all her classes now and royally screwed over the N.E.W.T.s... would it make any difference?
Of course not. Of course not. Yet something kept her going... damn that Ravenclaw sensibility. It actually bothered her when she left a piece of homework unfinished. Damnit.
As the door to the sitting room clicked open, Lia craned her neck slightly around the side of the chair to see Grayson, offering him a small smile. "Good evening, Mister Wilkes."
At least she was smiling, that was always a good sign. He wandered over a few moments later with ... a suspicious looking stack of magazines that he'd gotten from her mother. He looked a little worse for the wear, but she'd gotten him up so bloody early to ask him about wedding plans, and before he'd known what was what, she'd been telling him it was in February?
Grayson had a feeling that Ophelia wasn't going to take this very well, but he disliked the thought of keeping it from her. He set the magazines calmly on the table next to the fireplace and nodded his head. "Good evening, Miss Ophelia. You might call me Grayson, if you desire." 'Mister Wilkes' suddenly seemed a bit too formal for them.
"Your mother has informed me that the wedding is ... rather sooner than I might have imagined. She'd like you to pick some things."
The left side of her lips quirked upwards for a moment. "I meant Mister Wilkes in a more informal, playful way," she informed him. "However, yes, if you would like... Grayson it is."
Lia spun around in her chair and set down her quill and parchment besides the magazines she was supposed to be looking at. "Sooner than imagined?" she asked, picking up the one off the top and turning to him with a quizzical expression. "How much sooner than expected?"
It pleased him for some reason that she didn't mind calling him Grayson. He pursed his lips and then glanced at the magazines - they were far too ... female for him to consider. "It appears that it will be sometime in February, if your mother has her way."
And since Grayson was not going to protest to the woman, she probably would. He slipped down in the chair across from her and regarded her with some curiosity - he couldn't imagine her taking the news well.
That was an understatement.
Ophelia nearly dropped the magazine she was holding and her eyes widened quite a bit. "February!?" she exclaimed in something like alarm. "You're kidding, that's--so soon and--there's hardly time!" And she hadn't even gotten time to know the man and she definitely hadn't had enough time to figure out if she was going to be able to love him enough to be his wife (not that that mattered), but she wasn't going to say that out loud.
Lia looked away in disbelief, pursing her lips. Merlin... "That's insane..."
He noted the reaction and furrowed his brows. Alarmed .. she really did seem alarmed. He shifted from his chair to hesitantly rest a hand on her shoulder, eyes shifting to the magazines again.
"It is quite a tight schedule, I will admit." He was agreeing with her again, mostly. A longer engagement period would have allowed for more time to get to know Ophelia and perhaps decreased the chances of the marriage not working ... in his opinion.
Noticing the seeming indifference in his attitude towards this subject sent the girl's head almost spinning. It was unfathomable--this was such a big thing and he didn't seem affected by it at all... He was agreeing with her, but he seemed like overall it didn't really bother him... at least not like she thought it ought to and--just--how did he do that?
It was good for one thing, however, and that was for forcing her to calm down a little. Ophelia took a deep breath and gazed down at the stack of wedding magazines. "What... what exactly is she wanting me to pick out?"
Well ... there was the problem. Grayson had found himself unable to pay attention to the chattering that the woman had been doing in his ear while shoving the magazines into his arms - but he had gotten the gist, perhaps. "Colours, flowers ... that sort of thing, I would imagine."
Nevermind that he'd already gotten the dress for her upon her mother's insistence - Oh, she had said, With your lovely taste, of course he would be the one to pick out the dress. Wonderful.
"Oh. Of course," Ophelia said, feeling a little silly for asking. Though... truthfully, she had been expecting her mother to pick out all that stuff. She seemed so good already at making her daughter's decisions for her. It was a wonder that Caitlin had even gotten to choose her own bridesmaids for she and Ioan's wedding.
"Are you intending on helping?" she asked, turning her head up to look at him. "Not that it seems like something you'd be interested in, but it is your wedding too."
Grayson gave her a nod. "I'm not terribly picky, despite all outward appearances otherwise." He arches a brow at her and then pauses. "I would inform you if I thought you were doing the wrong thing, I'm sure."
And he would, but he didn't think that he fashion sense could be ... that bad.
She bit her lip. "Right. I'll... I'll look at them later, then." Right now would probably not be a good time. She needed at least a bit of time to think on this before she could even consider picking out flowers for this wedding that she hadn't been expecting to happen so soon.
"Um... so how was your day?" she asked, doing a decent job of replicating that smile she had given him when he came in. This wasn't his fault, after all, she shouldn't be cross with him. She wasn't cross with him, truthfully--but she did know it could come across that way. "I haven't seen you around."
He couldn't blame her for being cross in general, but he didn't mind so much. At least she was reacting inwardly and not in some sort of abnoxious teenaged way. Grayson nodded to her - better for her to start picking things when she wasn't quite so flustered.
Grayson ... slid his hand from her shoulder down her arm, settling next to her for the moment. "I have been keeping ... occupied." He wasn't about to share information with her, but. "And I am ashamed to say, attempting to avoid your darling mother." His voice remained indifferent.
She laughed a little, already feeling more at ease with the wedding planning out of the way... even if only for the moment. "Join the club. Although after seventeen years, I might call it a profession or an art," she joked. She certainly didn't blame Grayson for wanting to avoid her mother--Merlin, the woman was unbearable... She often wondered why her father wanted to arrange her marriage when that was what he had ended up with from his. She hoped she never got to be that unbearable.
Grayson certainly hoped that she didn't get to be that unbearable too. He gave what might've passed for a smile if someone knew him well enough and watched her joke. "If it is any consolation, you seem to have inherited minimal traits from her."
Merlin, was that a compliment? And a sincere one, to boot.
Her smile widened noticably. After all, that was a very nice thing to say. "You don't know what an extreme compliment that is," she said.
With only a small amount of hesitation, Ophelia rose from her chair and went to sit down by him, on the ottoman by his feet. She leaned against the front of his chair and--a bit more tentatively than before--rested her head against his leg. Well, she'd kissed him, this couldn't be that affectionate compared to that, right? Silence reigned as she waited to see what he did.
"Don't I?" He arched a brow at her and when she got up, wondering if she would leave. When she settled on the ottoman by his feet and laid her head on his lip, he almost looked startled for a moment. Not because he minded it, but because she hadn't done something like that before.
He removed his gloves.
One of his hands curled down to stroke over the back of her neck, knuckles brushing against her skin.
He had never removed his gloves in her presence before.
She almost felt--she almost felt--well, she was certainly amazed by this, but she... what was it she felt? Did she feel pleased about it? Happy?
Yes, that was it. She felt happy, extremely happy at this revelation. What it meant she didn't know, she just knew that he never took off his gloves that she had seen and it felt like something she should be glad at.
She closed her eyes and almost shivered at the feeling of his actual skin against hers, instead of the leather. His hands were not at all cold like she expected them to be. No, they were almost--they were warm, their touch was nice.
He didn't remove his gloves in the presence of people that he didn't much want to come into contact with. The gloves acted as a physical barrier to reinforce the mental one - and his ... experience as a young man with blood underneath his nails and on his hands had left him with little desire to repeat the experience.
One of his hands was a little ... off. A few light scars in irregular spots, like he'd closed it in something. And he had, really.
She noticed it, of course, and without meaning to, stared for a moment. Reaching out, she took that hand in hers and looked up at him with a question written on her face. "What did you do?" she asked, although her look wasn't judgemental due to the lack of vanity the hand showed. Really, she was just rather curious. Was that why he wore the gloves? "If it's... not to much to ask, I mean. I don't want to pry."
"When I was younger..." He doesn't mind that she's taking the hand in hers, oddly - her skin is soft and warm. His eyes flick shut for a moment and he thinks of how best to word this. "I shut it in a drawer." The tone of his voice suggests that it might not have been entirely accidental, but he wasn't going to tell her why he had done it. It was one of the reasons he wore the gloves, aside from his blood-to-skin aversion.
"Looks like it must have hurt."
Of course it had, but it was better than hissing or something of the sort, which could easily come off as repulsion. She was not repulsed, nor did she really care about the scars--which was more than she could say would have been the reaction of some other people she knew. Bowing her head down, she pressed her lips softly to the knuckles of his hand, allowing them to linger there a moment before letting it go and resting her head back on his leg.
"Not all that bad," he admits, "Considering." He'd been far more concerned with his sister's injuries at the time, and although it was irrational and impulsive... looking back on it, he'd have done the exact same thing. It was the easiest way to get her to the hospital without her fussing.
Grayson's eyes slid shut at the lips on his knuckles, resting his hand on the back of her neck once she had dropped her head back to his leg. Perhaps he could get the wedding pushed forward if he told Ophelia's mother that the dress wouldn't be ready until later...
Ophelia really didn't want to know what that 'considering' was supposed to entail. She had already assumed from things that her mother and father had said regarding him that he was one of 'them'--Death Eaters were not spoken of completely freely in the house, just as it was with Muggles and mudbloods... really, that didn't bother her; she just didn't want to know too much about it. Which was good, as she assumed he would probably lose patience with her quite quickly if she was so openly curious as she could have been. She was brought up in solid indifference of the whole ordeal and it was neither her place nor desire to change that now
"I'm going to be honest with you, Grayson," she said after a moment of silence, the name rolling off her tongue with surprising ease. "You are not as terrible as I originally thought." The statement held no tone to suggest she thought he was terrible at all, in fact. Quite the opposite.
Probably best that she didn't ask - he was pleased she hadn't, really. He assumed she knew, which meant he didn't need to glamour the Dark Mark out of the way. Grayson listened to her again, not at all surprised at the tone and the words.
"That would appear to be a mutual statement, Ophelia." Not miss Ophelia. At least ... not for the moment.
"I'm pleased to hear that," she replied, sincerely. She did notice the lack of honorific he had used with her name, and that was also quite pleasing--she had been trying to get him to use her name, without unneeded formality, for a good time now. "I did hope that after our original introduction I could at least attempt to come off less... immature. I still apologize for the way I acted at my brother's wedding."
"Under the circumstances, it was not quite so bad." It certainly could have been worse... and he had sprung the ring on her awfully quickly. He had never been good with subtlty when it was in social situations.
He smiled, brushing a hand over her jaw.
She was surprised at his smile, and had no choice but to smile back at him, possibly a tad impishly.
"You've removed your gloves, you're smiling at me... what can I attribute this good mood to?" she asked with a small laugh, raising up a bit to sit instead on the arm of the chair. She was at eye level with him, if not just a bit higher.
Impishly? Oh, well... how to respond to that? He wrapped his arm around her waist without quite thinking about it, pausing. "You," he replied honestly, for once. Mostly her, at any rate. He had seen Amycus lately, which was a nice treat - the boy had proved himself to be a good potential.
He'd removed his gloves because he had wanted to touch her - skin on skin - and because he had deemed her sufficiently hygienic.
That definitely deserved a smirk rather than a smile, and that's what it got. She extended her arm to snake behind his neck in what as an almost adoring manner--Merlin, she was falling under his charms again... at least she didn't have a boyfriend to feel guilty about anymore (not that she was still certain that was a good thing)--and trailed her fingers across his shoulder lightly.
"That's always a good answer," she said quietly.
"I do try." Even if it was a little dry, it was still more emotional than he usually let through. The hand running across his shoulder did feel rather good, he would admit. And it was a good sign that she was touching him, wasn't it?
Things like this seemed to get easier each time he saw her.
Things did get easier, they most definitely got easier. Of course, his being nice and her trying to be less closed minded about this whole marriage thing helped quite a bit.
"Imagining how disgustingly pleased my mother would be at seeing us getting along like this almost makes me want to just stop--but I'll have you know that you make it very difficult to when you act like this."
"We could stage something," He mused, running his fingers over her hair and almost laughing when she spoke. "Some sort of awful bickering fight. That might be too much."
Not that he thought it was too much, but he wondered if she might think so.
She chuckled shortly. "I don't know, if I got enough into it, you might see a side of me that would be less than pleasant," Lia admitted with a smirk. "I'm a rather stubborn girl and don't concede to even faked losses now."
"Besides... " She put her head down softly on his shoulder and spoke into his neck, no hesitation this time in her movements. "It is nearly my last day here and I enjoy not bickering with you far too much to have that ruin my last impression of you before I leave."
"That is true, isn't it?" He had expected the days to drag on more than they had. Grayson tipped his head down to rest his nose against her temple and inhaled. "I would have to agree with you."
One of his hands rested at the small of her back, enjoying the closeness. It wasn't something that he indulged in often with anyone other than Daniella...even the encounters with Fiona had not been quite so intimate.
It was somewhat funny; she hadn't even gotten this close with Smeth.. and although by normal standards, she and Grayson were moving quite quickly (did they really have a choice?), she had actually liked Smeth before she had begun to go out with him...
Still, what was even more perplexing was that this didn't feel in the least bit bad. This felt good, and that sort of scared her... could anything feel good like this without being wrong? Ugh, that was another one of those thoughts she'd have to banish. She had to get close to Grayson (not that she didn't like it, obviously), she couldn't let anything stand in the way of that. That's why she'd broken up with Smeth; guilty consciences were walls that had to be toppled, and they had been.
What she was guilty about with Smeth was how she'd hurt him, not that she was doing it for her future husband--whom she realized she'd been sitting in lack of sound and movement for quite a while... To rectify that, she kissed his neck softly and brought her other arm around so that she was hugging him.
Grayson let the hand rested in the middle of her back press just a little so that she was closer against him. He hadn't minded the silence so much - it had given him a little time to think about his own situation. It was terribly odd to think that his fiancee was going back to school in the next few days, and he felt a bit foolish for not remembering. Not that he'd admit it to anyone.
He let his head tip back just a little when he felt her lips on his throat, a hand sliding up into her hair to fist very lightly. Despite his rather ... cold and rough demeanor, he had always been sure to be gentle with lovers or .. whatever it was that Ophelia and himself were. Her hair was softer than he'd have expected it to be, even after colouring.
It was mildly surprising to notice how gentle he was, but she really shouldn't have been. He had been showing a lot of his gentler side lately. His gentler side made him all the more attractive, she thought; it was a wonder to imagine all the people he would appeal to if that was how he was all the time.
... she didn't know if it was alright or not, or what he'd think of her for it... but hells, he was--it was the moment and--he was being so freaking attractive, it was hard to help herself and--Ophelia slid off the side of the chair slowly, and into his lap, capturing his mouth in a deep kiss. Her arms tightened around him quite noticably.
Very much unexpected. He would have said something about it being very forward, but he didn't mind it, and now that she had given him the 'clear', he allowed himself to run his hand up across her side to rest on her hip. The hand in her hair tightened minutely and he pressed into the deeper kiss, preferring to take control. It wasn't forced, however, just ... a little dominant.
He'd always be a little dominant.
She liked that, this little bit of dominance he was exercising--it wasn't too much to make her feel uncomfortable and it was just enough to be exciting. Her fingers ran across the back of his neck and her other trailed down his back, taking a light grip on his robes and--Merlin, she must have been crazy for doing this. She knew she was a little reckless with men, but she had never moved this fast before.
Maybe that's why it was so exciting.
"Forgive this," she mumbled into his mouth as an afterthought.
"Forgiven," he managed in return, running the hand from her hip up over the middle of her stomach and between her breasts, barely brushing before settling the hand on her shoulder to draw her closer.
Grayson was no stranger to going faster than most people might consider proper, but then again - he had never been particularly attached to the women. Well-to-do pureblooded women, mostly. Lonely ones.
That touch, Merlin, he had touched there and it had sent a shock through her body she hadn't imagined anyone could have given her. Guh, this was so bad, so bad, but why couldn't that thought stop her? It was like that night at the park--he was too much to resist.
She made a small sound against his lips before continuing to kiss him and nngh--he shouldn't be allowed to do this to her, he really shouldn't. It almost made her hope that these feelings weren't a passing fancy like she'd had so many times before... because if she could feel like this; well, she might not mind marrying him so much.
He liked to think that she wasn't entirely experienced with this sort of thing no matter how lovely a kiss she had. His hand curled at the back of her neck and then dropped his head to kiss along the edge of her throat, unhurried and surprisingly patient. For all his spontaneity when killing was involved, he liked to savor ... romantic entanglements. They didn't come along very often.
And even if she was going to be his wife ... well, being married didn't guarantee a steady supply of satisfaction.
Truthfully, while she had experience to boast with making out, she had never gone further (which many people found difficult to believe)--which might or might not happen--and so possibly with only minimal noticing of it on her part, she was slowly beginning to act a little more vulnerable and submissive to his whim. Not as daring as she had been before, but not drawing away back into herself.
Her hand on his neck went to his hair, fingers running through it just a bit less than gently as she sighed at the feel of his lips on her neck. Guhh this man..
..was experienced with his mouth. He grazed his lips over the curve where her shoulder and throat met, bringing his hand to brush over the same spot on the other side. Skin, warm and soft skin beneath his fingers.
Far more intoxicating than was fair, really. The hand in his hair almost made him smirk.
"Merlin," she breathed. He was unfathomably experienced with his mouth. Oddly enough, however, it did not make her wonder how many women he had done this to before her--there were much more important things to care about at the moment. She was the one that was going to be his wife, anyway, right? Ugggh, forget that thought too--he was so good.
He let his hand slide through her hair again and drew back, lust-darkened eyes watching her face. The curve of her lips, the shape of her eyes... she really was beautiful. Grayson was not one to get so out of control of himself that he might start to pant, but his heartrate was certainly faster than normal.
Ophelia was shocked by the look in his eyes, but hell if it didn't hit her somewhere deep down as being the sexiest look a man had ever given her. Maybe because it wasn't just the lust that was there, there was something else... she couldn't quite place it, but it added all the depth possible and more.
It was as a result that her eyes, even without her willing them to, shined back something quite similar--she breathed in and out deeply a few times and rested her forehead against his. She had never felt like this before, sweet Merlin, who was he to make her feel this way? A man she had only known a week... a week...
Grayson hadn't expected such a similar look, and it brought an odd sensation up in his chest. Very strange indeed. Some anxious part of him wanted to take her to bed now, but somehow he thought that she might not be altogether pleased with the thought. But perhaps ...
"Stay with me tonight. Nothing improper..." Despite what he might've liked to happen. It wasn't quite a request and not quite a demand - something in between.
Despite the completely aroused way that she was feeling over him, some deeper part of herself was extremely pleased at what he had said. Nothing improper. That--it proved a lot and it meant a lot more. The reason she had been attracted to Smeth was because he seemed to be one of the few men that didn't (at least in admittance) care what she looked like and was more concerned about her than what he could get out of her. At that moment, her heart completely soared--because Grayson could, maybe just possibly be one of those men.
"Of course. I wouldn't have it any other way," Lia replied, and the sincerity and gratefulness was evident in her voice. "Thank you."
He wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, honestly. He wrapped his arm around her waist a little more securely and then slid his other arm underneath the back of her knees to lift her up.
Yes, it was a display of strength ... but he felt the need to do so. "Of course." He was more concerned about rushing her and making her spook and leave than being a gentleman, but he did respect women he thought deserved it.
"Ha!"
Lia couldn't help but giggle as he lifted her off her feet, smirking at him. That was cute, although she would never call him that aloud. That deserved at least a--she kissed him quite soundly on the cheek, then grinned against his skin. "Hallways, watch them. Let's avoid my mother if at all possible, or she'll get ideas into her head."
"That would be tragic." Her mother would probably say something about propriety. And Grayson - Grayson could do sneaky quite well when he wanted to. He didn't grin as easily as she did, but he at least thought about it.
He carried her easily enough - she was light.
