Summary: Remus seeks to maintain the status quo while Tonks insists upon rocking the boat. Written for the Lover's Moon Fic Jumble at the MetamorficMoon community at LiveJournal (prompt—Will you?).
After checking to see that all of the children were asleep, Tonks made her way down the stairs as quietly as she could—meaning, of course, with a minimal of one stubbed toe and a near trip down face-first. She could hear her cousin and his best mate already at the firewhiskey as they spoke in subdued but animated tones.
"Enough for me?" she asked, plopping herself on the floor next to Remus' feet. He was sitting back in the overstuffed chair, looking tired but happy as he tilted his glass back. Sirius was sprawled out on the settee directly across from them, the shadows and light from the flames of the fire playing tricks across his face.
"Always," Remus smiled, passing a glass that had already been reserved for her.
And the night passed on as it normally did, with Sirius entertaining the two with tales—mostly made up, they knew, but they weren't about to begrudge the man of his honor nor themselves of such readily-available mirth—as the bottle mysteriously refilled itself over and over again, the majority of its contents disappearing within Sirius' own glass.
Then the night ended as it normally did, with Tonks and Remus asking each other with their eyes if their friend would need help up the stairs, make it on his own, or simply crash out on the settee.
The settee won this time. At his first snore, Tonks looked up and shrugged. "At least there's no question of him falling tonight."
Remus nodded in agreement. "Though the best case scenario would have, of course, been his ability to walk up the stairs on his own."
Tonks toyed with her glass, swirling the amber fluid so it sparkled in the dying firelight. "There is, of course, the matter of another question."
Remus gave a soft sigh, rubbing his hand over his face. "Nympha--"
"Tonks," she corrected automatically.
"Tonks, then," he went on. "You know I'm flattered—I really am, and you mustn't doubt that I don't return the sentiment--"
"How could I," she smiled at him coyly, "when this side of yesterday your ever-doubting mouth was plastered across mine?"
Remus laughed shakily, running a hand through his hair. "Yes, well, I thought I explained last night that it really couldn't go any further, didn't I?"
She turned to face him squarely, crossing her arms. "Yes, and I told you that it wasn't even remotely near being the end of it."
He stared at the floor for a moment. "It isn't as simple as you think, Tonks. Being who we are, and what we are… This could become very complicated."
She gave a short laugh. "I think if anyone in the Order is up for dealing with complicated matters, Remus, it would be the two of us."
He pursed his lips. Indeed. "But this is something that we can choose to avoid—just because we can doesn't mean that we should."
Tonks arched an eyebrow at him. "You mean to tell me that you can choose not to feel the way you do? Did you choose to fancy me, then?"
Blushing, Remus rasped, "Of course not!"
Her eyes were bright and big and they swallowed him whole as she whispered, "Will you just admit that you really like me? Would it be so bad to just try it out, one day at a time, to see what would come of it?"
"I--" Rems licked his lips, mirroring the movement of her own, and he stared, fascinated, as her mouth shone, so moist and pink and there.
He wondered how his face suddenly was so near to hers once more, but couldn't doubt that the proximity was rather delightful; nor could he doubt that its existence was due to his own movement, since Tonks was still sprawled on the floor. And then something soft and pink and wonderful was whispering across his cheek, and a trembling pressure drew across his neck, and he heard her words rasped again—"Will you?"—as husky as his own voice but so much sweeter—before he hazily muttered an affirmative before closing the gap between them.