Ahoy, my dears! Welcome back to another chapter! Thank you so much for your reviews and faves, I was really happy to see how well-liked this story is :D

Now please enjoy the next chapter :3

Third Chapter

Living together with a Veela, or at least with François, was not that easy, Matthew discovered when the days passed by. Although he healed quite well and made himself rather comfortable at Matthew's house, there were still some things they needed to work out.

For example the issue of food- if Matthew hadn't noticed that François never touched any of the meat coming with his meals, he would have probably never found out that the Veela wasn't used to eat meat, or, to say it with François' own words, "only the very young ones, the untouched, mon cher". It made things more difficult since finding vegetables and all the likes was a bit impossible when everything was frozen and snow-covered and he couldn't possibly shoot only "the untouched, mon cher" and he wasn't keen on killing pups either. So the only way out to feed François was Matthew's vegetable garden, fortunately graced with several spells and a construct made of glass and wood he had once seen in the garden of a Muggle couple and found quite impressing to keep him from being harmed by snowfall and cold, the soil as fertile as it was in the other seasons. It was nice to spend some time with François in the garden since it turned out that the Half-breed was quite good with plants, even though he complained every time he had to work his hands through the soft, brown earth since the dirt naturally tended to get stuck under his claws. A bit guilty about this fact, even if he didn't know why exactly he felt guilty, Matthew made it up to him by picking out every single crumb of dirt and filing the claws while obediently listening to François' complaining, mostly enjoying the eloquent, highly intelligent speeches François gave him, talking on and on and on about philosophy, art and everything else he considered worthy to be talked about. He marveled at how shiny and milky his claws were and didn't even mind that he had to file them every day since they were rapidly growing again because it gave him an excuse to stare at François' beautiful hands, imagining how they would feel on his skin, gliding over his body. Most of the time he had to excuse himself after those File-And-Talk-Sessions, as Matthew so eloquently had named them, to calm down by busying himself with some other tasks. Or showering. Cold.

Then there was Pierre. François cooed at him since he showed up on Matthew's window, tapping against it and apparently searching for François. It was beyond Matthew how Pierre had been able to find them, but he did. The only thing that saved Pierre from being thrown out was the fact that he was a snow-white, fuzzy bird so small that he fitted into François' hand without any problems and Matthew was embarrassingly jealous. He was jealous of the way Pierre sat on François' shoulder and got caressed and kissed all the fucking time while contentedly snuggling himself into François' shirts and laughing mockingly at Matthew. True, he was a bird and even though he was a clever bird, Pierre couldn't be blamed for making Matthew jealous. Still, he couldn't avoid gazing at them longingly whenever he found François and his pet snuggling on the couch. More nights than not he spent staring at the ceiling and thought about how it would be to be in Pierre's place. Would François hold him the same, kiss him and let his beautiful, long hands wander over his body? Matthew ached for the chance to pin him down on his bed and just touch him everywhere he wanted to. This surprised him somewhat; he knew that he liked men more than women- in fact, this was one of the reasons he fled from his home as soon as he was able to-, even though he had had an occasional fling with a girl every now and then, but never in his life had he wanted, desired someone as much as François. Maybe it was because he was a Veela and did that pheromones-thing to lure him into his arms, maybe it was because he was naturally charming and Matthew had spent too much time all alone, he didn't know.

What he did know, however, was that he liked François. A Lot. And not only because of his body. He had learned to appreciate his humor and flowery language he always fell into when he was excited. He admired the vibrant liveliness François possessed, the way he always moved as if he was dancing after his wounds had healed up enough to allow him to do so, and how he always did everything with passion, as if it was the only thing he wanted to do right at that moment. François never seemed to have problems with flirting with Matthew, to wink and smile at him until he felt too embarrassed to stay any longer with him in a room without losing everything he had been taught and just press him against the couch and lick, kiss, suck at that wonderful, pale throat. Still, even though François seemed so inviting, Matthew couldn't bring himself to approach him any further than throwing hesitant smiles at him. Who was he to be sure that François didn't only want do be nice since he had helped him and let him stay in his house? So he didn't react in any way; instead he bit his lip until it started to bleed (and François scolded him for treating his lips so badly)and had some very nice encounters with his right hand at night.


François had never stopped being cold and therefore was looking for every source of warmth he could get. Still, to say Matthew was surprised when he heard the door to his bedroom opening with a creaking sound at one night where an extremely nasty snow-storm captured them into the house was a bit of an understatement. He was even more startled when he felt the mattress dipping under added weight before someone nestled into his back, sighing contentedly. Matthew entirely stopped breathing, until a long, slender finger poked into his ribs.

"Mathieu?" François murmured; his breath ghosted over Matthew's neck and caused him to raise hackles. "Since you stopped breathing, I assume you're not asleep? Or are you dead? Mathieu?"

"No," Matthew answered and wondered how he could will away the instant boner François' visit had willed to life. His lungs were happy about breathing again, though. "What are you doing in my bed?"

"I'm cold," François said and huddled even closer with a soft whimper. "The fireplace is not enough to warm me up when there is such a storm in front of the house!"

Matthew wanted to point out that this was not really logical since the strong built of the house protected them effectively, but something prevented him from doing so. His breath hitched when François laid a leg over his hips and scooted even closer to him, burying his face between his shoulder blades. Matthew didn't know what to do, so he tried to lay as still as possible and not even twitch one muscle. Of course, his nose started to itch, so he carefully scratched it. Then his thigh did the same. He cursed inwardly and hesitantly tried to reach down without letting François know. A chuckle stilled him.

"Ah, chéri, I know that move very well," François whispered in his ear, "Do you find me so attractive or are you thinking of someone else? If it is the latter, I am very hurt!"

Matthew instantly flushed deep red and tried to sink into the mattress and just die. "No, I-I didn't-you've got that all wrong, I only tried to scratch my thigh!"

"Ah, of course you did," François said mockingly and chuckled lightly. Matthew felt his smile burning against his neck and swallowed lightly. "Don't you like me, Mathieu?"

"I do like you!" Matthew immediately protested, feeling guilty for leaving François wondering whether he liked him or not. "You're—you're really nice, François," He said lamely and kept silent about all the things he really wanted to say. This was insane. He had known the man for a couple of days- way too little to fall as head over heels with someone as Matthew apparently seemed to be. However, he had not that much of experience with love, so how was he supposed to know? He only knew that he felt anxious and fluttery whenever François was near, his stomach twisting and his hormones very interested in getting François into his bed. Now that he actually was in his bed, though, he was completely hopeless considering the content sigh escaping the Veela who was snuggled against his back and he found himself turning around and wrapping his arms around him, his erection fortunately gone for the moment, and pulling him against his chest, hoping to be warm enough to actually keep his guest from being cold.

"Ah, much better," François sighed, put his head against the place where Matthew's heart was rapidly beating, and smiled a little before he closed his eyes, his long, light eyelashes resting on his cheeks, almost invisible in the faint light coming from the slightly glowing ball of light Matthew had summoned to find his way to the bathroom when he needed to. Matthew swallowed again, his throat suddenly being too tight, and watched the back of his head, watched long, blonde hair fanning out on the cushion. There were silvery streaks in it, almost glinting in the pale light, and Matthew stretched out a hand and touched them oh so carefully. It was the most beautiful thing he had seen in his entire life, this Veela laying beside him and breathing softly and evenly.

He fell asleep with his fingers entangled in liquid gold and missed the soft smile François pressed against his chest.