What Really Happened in Tahiti

A/N: Here's a smutty bit o' fluff that fills in a gap for "George & Annie: an Unofficial Biography." I left this part out of the novel, worried that readers might get tired of yet another tropical island sex romp. Well, fair warning: here's another.

What Really Happened in Tahiti

June 2004

Annie moved calmly and efficiently through the market, filling her shopping cart. She knew exactly where everything she needed was located and could write out her list from memory in the order she passed things in each aisle.

...Oatmeal, sugar, flour, eggs, orange juice....

She relished the early morning quiet of the empty market. She purposefully chose Saturdays at dawn to do her shopping for precisely this reason. It was the furthest thing from hectic and a welcome, if brief, respite from the chaos of her life.

Not that the chaos was unwelcome, precisely. She wouldn't want her life any other way, in fact. Nor could she imagine it so, at this point. Surrounding oneself with happy, active children all day long - the oldest of whom was six - never left time for boredom.

Still, what it lacked in ennui it made up for in exhaustion, she reckoned. A few moments of peace, even in a grocery store, helped strengthen her for the next onslaught of motherhood or teaching to come.

Good lord! Teddy is six already! She groaned inwardly at the thought as she inspected bunches of grapes, then tossed three in her cart. Which means the twins aren't far behind....

She headed next toward the dairy case, stocking up on milk, cheese, and several cans of her newest weapon in potty training: aerosol whipped cream. Somehow, Merrie had learned that her older brothers, whom she idolized, did not sit down on a toilet to wee. Annie had been unable to find any logical argument or other bribe to counteract her usually compliant daughter's insistence on standing for the job as well. Only the promise of a dollop of cream squirted directly into her mouth could lately convince Merrie to perch her bottom on the toilet seat.

"There she is," the friendly clerk at the register exclaimed in greeting as Annie began emptying her cart onto the conveyor belt. "Here for our Saturday morning rendezvous. You know, Old Bob and me've got a wager on you, m'dear."

Annie giggled. "You do?"

"Old Bob says you must feed an army with all this, every week," she chuckled, rapidly scanning Annie's items as the dozens of bangle bracelets on her arms tinkled. The balding, toothless old gent named Bob deftly bagged each item as it left the clerk's hand, but otherwise made acknowledgement of the women or their conversation.

"And what do you think?" Annie asked with a smile.

The woman's lips pressed together in a thoughtful expression. "Me mum always said I had a bit of the second sight, see. Very intuitive, yeah? You give off a very motherly, nurturing vibe," she mused without skipping a beat with her scanning.

Old Bob rolled his rheumy eyes and harrumphed.

The woman ignored his interruption. "And everything you buy is quite healthy. But you're far too young to have enough kids of your own to polish all this off in a week, so I'm going with a home daycare."

Annie laughed out loud. Second sight, eh? "You're both right," she said. "And I might be older than you think," she added with a wink.

As she packed her bags into the back of the Toyota, she pondered the cashier's comments. It was funny how magic popped up at odd intervals and in such strange places in her dealings with the muggle world. Funny how some people went to extravagant lengths to deny the existence anything mystical or paranormal, while others grasped at what might be the most profoundly mundane thing, insisting it was supernatural. And both of them were so very wrong.

Who am I to say she didn't really sense something intuitively? Annie argued with herself. I do have a day care, of sorts. She wouldn't be the first person to refer to the Weasley family as an army - and a hungry one, at that.

It was highly doubtful the woman was a witch - Annie was reasonably confident she could identify every magical resident of southwestern England, having socialized with nearly all of them. But George had explained to her long ago how magical ability manifested itself as a range of strengths. Magic could be prominent in some people - her own sons, for example - and piddlingly weak in others, like squibs.

Once the car was loaded, she drove home with the windows down, for the June morning was sparkling bright and warm. As the countryside flew by, she made a mental list of everything she still needed to accomplish today. Strip the beds, wash the sheets, weed the garden, shell the peas.... If there were no major sibling squabbles or medical emergencies, she reckoned she might get it all done by lunch time. Then she could spend the afternoon working in the school: windows, toilets, sink and counters all need disinfecting.... Tomorrow, she'd do some online research, collecting and downloading the next week's lessons for the school.

She pulled the Toyota up to the door closest to the kitchen. She was slightly surprised that none of the children had come to greet her. They were usually excited to see what sort of things she brought home and would fall upon her like a hoarde, begging for treats.

"About time you got here," George greeted her impatiently, striding out the door. His long legs closed the distance between the car and the house in a trice.

"Am I late?" she giggled. He was smiling, so she reckoned nothing could be seriously wrong.

"Very," he retorted.

Suddenly, all the marketing bags, including the ones already in her arms, began levitating. In an orderly fashion, they floated themselves into the house.

"George, what's all this?" she cried, following after them as he led the parade. It was a house rule that they never did this sort of thing - replace a simple task with magic - especially in front of the children.

She watched in surprise as the bags began emptying themselves. Items flew into the pantry and refrigerator, whose doors opened wide to receive them. So bewildered was she by the display that it took several moments before the silence of the house finally struck her as odd.

"Where are they?" she asked, looking out the windows, scanning the meadow but seeing no sign of their children.

"Identify 'they,'" he replied as all the doors closed on their own.

"The fruit of your loins, git," she snapped playfully.

George smiled fiendishly, and her insides clenched. That look usually meant a prank of epic proportions had just been set into motion. And since she'd had no prior warning, she was likely the target. Oh, shit.

"Relax. They are safely distributed amongst entrusted family and friends," he assured her. Then he slung a small backpack onto his shoulders.

"What are you up to?" she demanded, planting her feet and setting her hands on her hips defiantly, determined to meet whatever it was head on.

George slid his hand around her waist, pressed her body against his, and lifted her chin to face him. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good," he said with another smile.

This particular smile made her stomach do a little flip. But not out of anxiety, this time.

He bent to kiss her - the sort of kiss he saved for when the kids were asleep and they were alone. "Trust me?" he asked.

"About as far as I can throw you," she retorted, slightly breathless.

"It'll take too long to explain," he countered, fishing through his pocket. He pulled out a bottle opener that was beginning to glow with silvery-blue light. "Suffice it to say... we need a vacation."

The next thing she knew, she was hurtling through some unknown cosmic dimension.

Over the next two hours of real time, George and Annie traveled by a complicated series of side-along apparations and portkeys. They barely stayed in one place long enough to do anything but catch their breaths, adjust their clothing, and let the dizziness in her brain begin to subside. It was not wholly different from the time they'd gone to Hawaii a few years ago, and Annie wondered if he'd decided to return there.

If so, however, he was taking a rather circuitous route - perhaps to throw me off the scent? Last time, at every way station they'd stopped, traipsing across North America, everyone spoke English. This time, people babbled in tongues she couldn't understand, wore strange clothing, and had exotic features.

During their seventh jump, she decided she'd scold him when they rematerialized. This was far too tiresome a distance to go just to keep something a surprise, and he was being silly, refusing to tell her where they were going.

They fell back into reality a few moments later. Annie felt soft, warm sand under her feet. It was dark, possibly the middle of the night, without a cloud or moon in the sky. Just a breathtaking infinity of stars.

"George, where are we?" she whispered.

"We're here," he sighed, letting the backpack slip from his shoulders onto the sand.

"Where is here, exactly?" she pressed.

He began digging through the backpack. "Dunno, exactly. Somewhere in the middle of the South Pacific, I think."

"It doesn't have a name?" she asked, taking in the scene around her.

For all she could see through the darkness, they were on an abandoned, isolated beach. The only thing she could hear was the soft shushing of the waves against the shore. The only thing she could feel - besides nearly crushing exhaustion - was warm sand and a warm breeze.

"If it does, I don't remember it," he replied. He'd just managed to wrestle their tent out of the backpack.

"Here, let me help," she insisted, taking a few steps toward him.

"Absolutely not," he commanded her. "You'll not lift a finger for the next five days, if I can help it. Your job is to relax and let me take care of things my way." Drawing his wand from his pocket, with several dramatic yet weary flourishes, he magically erected the tent several yards in front of them, just within a small circle of palm trees.

Shouldering the backpack once more, he held his hand out to her, beckoning her to join him.

"I am not going anywhere until you explain what the hell is going on here," she said, tired and confused. The trip had been as mentally and physically draining as a full day of work.

He sighed tiredly, his shoulders sagging as if admitting defeat. Then, suddenly, he scooped her up in his arms when she least expected it. His smirk conveyed how satisfied he was with his deviousness.

As he carried her over the sand to the tent, he explained, "This is an island not far from Tahiti, Miss Nosy Knickers, owned by a business colleague of mine. He's lent it to us for the week as repayment for a small favor."

"A small favor?"

"A small kindness done, yes, but in a most opportune moment, I'll admit."

"Authorities were involved, I presume?" she asked, knowing the likely answer already. Her husband had a penchant for thumbing his nose at the Ministry's MLE, even though his own bloody brother was an auror.

"I'd rather not say, love," he replied with a smug smile. "No reason for you to be implicated, after all."

"And this colleague of yours owns a private island?" she cried in disbelief. "Is he here?"

"Nope. Just us."

"I'm waiting for the punch line," she teased, unwilling to believe the incredible circumstances, yet forced to admit that as long as George was involved, the story was actually plausible.

"Why don't you ever believe I'm serious about anything?" he chuckled.

He stepped inside the tent and set her down on the now familiar oriental carpet in the main room. The backpack floated itself away toward the bedroom. He spelled all the tent flaps to roll themselves open, allowing the sea breezes to flutter through the entire tent.

Next, he conjured an enormous cast iron clawfoot tub in the middle room, right where the little stove usually stood. As he filled the bath, she noticed bubbles began to rise from the water, drifting through the tent rather than popping.

He turned back around to face her. The look in his eyes made her breath hitch in her throat.

"Are you hungry? Shall I make us something?" she asked softly as he stalked toward her.

His only response was to begin undressing her. His movements were calm and unhurried as he lifted her shirt, unfastened her bra, unbuttoned her jeans, and slid her knickers off. All the while, he kissed her gently - tenderly rather than passionately. He lifted her into his arms once again, carried her to the tub, then set her inside.

Annie luxuriated in the perfectly warm water. Evanescent bubbles tickled her skin as they formed on the bottom of the tub, then floated to the surface. Every time a new bubble reached the surface, another one launched itself into the air.

It's like bathing in warm champagne. For an instant, she wondered.... Surreptitiously, she dipped her fingers in the water, then brought them to her tongue. Ha! Only water, after all!

"This is lovely, George!" she hummed in contentment, sinking lower into the water by propping her feet up on the far rim. "I can't remember the last time I've had a proper bath." Another ocean breeze wafted through the tent, stirring the drifting bubbles within. The scent and the sound of the waves were hypnotic. She could almost make out the shadows of them as they rolled to shore.

Annie watched curiously as George busied himself in the kitchen nearby. He filled two glasses with what looked like a thick, yellow juice and a rather generous amount of rum. A knife nearby was cutting up fruit.

"What are you doing?" she asked lazily.

"None of your concern," he replied.

Annie felt a nervous little niggle on the back of her neck. She shifted her position to lean against the side of the tub, arms dangling to the floor. The sound of the water swirling as she moved was a delightful music all its own. "It never fails to concern me when you start evasive action."

George garnished the glasses with the fruit and spun around to face her. "Check your suspicious little brain at the door - or flap, as the case may be - my love," he said as he carried the two glasses to her, then presented her one with a flourish. "Cheers."

Annie took the glass, and they clinked them together. The vessel was tall and icy, and the fruit had been cunningly carved into a rampant lion that pranced along the lip. She took a sniff and decided it smelled fruity, rummy, and very appetizing.

"This smells good," she said, sounding slightly surprised. "What is it?"

George smiled and winked, then drained his own glass. "A strong dose of sustenance, with a little dash of relaxation," he told her, setting his empty glass next to the tub.

Annie took a long pull from her drink. The fruit-lion rubbed its head against her lip like an amorous kitten as she did. The sweet, tart flavor of the juice mingled perfectly with the spicy rum. As the drink - or, more likely, the potion, she was beginning to realize - spread through her body, taking effect, she felt strangely invigorated yet peaceful.

"I could get used to having a valet," she teased him. She took several more gulps of the delicious concoction.

George wore his patented smirk/smile, beaming down at her from his position standing next to the tub. He kicked his shoes off.

Annie held her breath. Shirt next, love, she silently encouraged him, lustily anticipating watching him strip for her.

Without a warning, he suddenly leaped into the bath, fully dressed. Water gushed all about, pouring over the sides of the tub, knocking over the glass on the floor.

Annie sputtered in shock, crying out in protest, "George! Oh, you've ruined it!" With her free hand, she swatted him about the head and shoulders as he laughed wickedly.

Her heart sunk at the sight of a huge flood of puddles on the floor. "Look at this mess!"

"Clearly, you've forgotten who you're married to," he scolded her. With a dismissive flick of his wrist, the water on floor instantly vanished.

"Oh," she said softly, humbled by the reminder.

He took her nearly empty drink glass from her and set it on the floor. Then he reached for her hand and pressed his lips against her palm.

"Would've been far sexier if you'd properly mopped it up," she teased him with mock aggravation.

Setting her hand back in the warm water, George braced one hand against the edge of the tub; the other he slid under her backside. He lifted her up to press against his body, water gushing around them. "You're sure about that, love?"

Annie wrapped her legs around his waist as he kissed her neck. She could feel his burgeoning wet jeans against her. "In my janitorial fantasy, you're not wearing any silly shirt, of course," she murmured as she pulled off his shirt. It flopped wetly to the floor beside them.

George paused in the middle of his kiss. "That is your fantasy? We're alone on a beach on a private island in the middle of the goddamn southern Pacific, and you want to see me mop?"

"What can I say?" she giggled. "I've got a dirty mind, I suppose."

He bent once more to her neck, began nuzzling her ear. "You're teasing me."

"Ditto," she sighed, vining her fingers in his hair.

"Get used to it," he warned her, then fell on her lips with a passionate kiss.

"Mmhmm," she mumbled her assent.

The next morning, the teasing began again in earnest nearly the moment she awoke. They made love as the sun rose over the horizon behind them, then George treated her to breakfast in bed. He stood naked in the kitchen, directing toast and eggs to cook themselves, then sent a parade of plates, fruit, and coffee her way.

"Are you contemplating becoming a nudist?" she asked teasingly as he stood at the sink afterward, washing the dishes magically.

"That's a rather tempting thought, actually," he chuckled in response.

"You'll lose your fortune, spending every Galleon you've ever made on sunscreen," she countered.

"Worth every sickle," he laughed as he walked toward the bed.

"Seriously, George! As much as I enjoy the view, let's get dressed. I'd like to see more of this place today."

With a strangely smug expression on his face, he summoned the backpack. He made a show of rummaging around for a few moments, hemming and hawing.

"Huh. Imagine that," he finally marveled aloud. "I could've sworn...."

"George..." she said warningly. All signs pointed to another prank. She scanned the tent, looking for any sign of the clothes they'd worn yesterday and failing to find any.

She was right. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, the devilish grin appeared on George's face. "I seem to have forgotten to pack any clothing, love!"

"Not amusing, George!" Annie cried, snatching the backpack away from him. She peered into the cavernous darkness within it, seeing nothing. "What the bloody hell is in this thing?" she demanded to know, her voice echoing inside the magically-expanded backpack.

"Oh, drat! No fancy dinners. No tourist activities," he mock-lamented.

"George!" she whined.

He continued on like she hadn't spoken. "No pajamas even! Whatever will we do? However will we fill the time?"

"What if we get cold?" she cried.

"This is a tropical island, git," he retorted. "It doesn't get cold."

"The sun, then! We'll fry!"

He reached into the bag, pulled out a bottle of sunscreen, and tossed it to her. "I'm not an idiot."

"That remains to be seen, and I'm not leaving this bed until you find something for us to wear," she threatened, realizing too late how empty the threat would seem to him.

"That was the plan, love," he growled quietly, confirming her suspicion as he tossed the backpack to the floor with a loud clank, then crawled like a predatory cat across the mattress toward her.

She shoved him firmly backwards. "And you're not entering this bed until I am fully clothed. Naked Day is one thing, George, but I am not spending the next five days naked!"

George looked shocked. "B-but..."

"I don't care how you do it. Apparate to the nearest store. Conjure something out of thin air. Transfigure the palm fronds. But get... me... dressed."

George huffed in indignation. Muttering something along the lines of, "Tropical bloody island..." and, "This is the thanks I get?" he reached into the backpack, felt around inside for a moment, then produced a single swimsuit for each of them.

"This is it?" she asked, barely suppressing a giggle as she examined the little green bikini. It really was quite pretty, she decided, decorated as it was with tiny paisley designs. She was rather impressed with him that he'd bought it for her without her knowledge.

"It's a good as you're gonna get, you ungrateful cow," he grumbled, shoving his legs into a pair of swim trunks. He sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her, pouting.

She laced her arms around his waist, pressing her naked body against his bare back. She kissed the back of his neck just below the hairline. "Thank you, love. For everything. It's beautiful."

George harrumphed, unwilling to give in so easily. But she could feel from the relaxed set of his shoulders that she was forgiven, if indeed she'd ever really made him cross in the first place.

"Maybe a spot of surfing would improve your sour mood," she coaxed him, brushing his hair behind his lone ear with her fingertips.

"Maybe..." he reluctantly conceded.

They spent the next several hours playing in the surf. George had, of course, remembered to pack their surfboards, as well as some new snorkeling gear. The crystal blue water was teeming with colorful fish, and he informed her of his plan to recreate it on the ceiling of the boy's room when they returned home.

He and Annie now lay on the beach in the shade of a palm thicket, she on her stomach, he on his back. A blanket was beneath them, and the soft, warm sand made a particularly relaxing bed.

"It really is silly of us to be wearing anything at all," he insisted, fingering the knot at the back of her neck. "We are the only two human beings on this island."

"Let's spare the wildlife, then," Annie giggled, feeling the tension in the string suddenly disappear.

George tugged on the string in the middle of her back. "Let's not and say we did."

She rolled onto her side. It was no surprise her bikini top did not travel with her. "Playing Adam and Eve, are we?" she teased him as she watched him wriggle out of his trunks.

"Tarzan and Jane, rather?" he chuckled, beating his chest and grunting like an ape. Then he lay back down next to her.

During the quiet pause that followed, she lay down on her back, and he laid his head on her chest, drawing lazy circles around her navel with his fingers.

"I want another," he said softly. Testing.

Annie stroked his soft hair with her fingertips. "I figured as much."

The night of their arrival had been dark with the approach of the new moon. She had strongly suspected that while his intent for her to enjoy a relaxing vacation was genuine, the timing was impeccably convenient for the purposes of conception. Janie was eighteen months old now, just as the twins and Merrie had been when their next-younger siblings had been conceived.

George lifted his head to look in her eyes. "That wasn't a yes."

"It wasn't a no, either," she countered coyly.

He picked up on the slightly teasing note in her voice. "Why am I the one who always has to ask?" he cried with mock petulance.

Annie smiled. He'd been the one to propose the idea twice before, in Tenerife and Kauai. "Because I love it when you beg?" she teased him.

George roughly pressed his whole body on top of her in punishment for her cheek. "Just once, I want to hear you ask me."

"To roll your bloody arse off me?" Annie grunted, pretending ignorance. She weakly tried to push him away.

George ground himself against her, crushing her against the sand and pinning her arms down beside her head. "Not a chance, git."

"I'm not one to cry uncle, George," she warned him.

He smiled. "I know exactly how bloody stubborn you are," he chuckled.

Then he lifted his weight off her, releasing her wrists. Now hovering above her with a very serious, intense look in his eyes, he said, "And that's not what I mean."

Annie laced her fingers around his neck and pulled him down to her. She began kissing him lightly on the lips, cheeks, jaw - anywhere she could reach. "You want me to ask you to make love to me?" she whispered.

"Almost right," he replied, his smoldering gaze lighting a fire within her.

"Make a baby with me, George," she purred.

Annie guided his hands to the strings at her hips. "Right now," she murmured as he untied them. "I want you to get me pregnant."

She cooperatively lifted her hips as the final remnant of her bikini was being pulled away and could feel his urgency increasing with every kiss.

"Love me and make me conceive," she coaxed him, positioning herself to receive him. "Give me another baby."

And she meant it with all her heart. Nothing would make her happier than to give him everything he wanted, and a new baby was what she wanted as well. Their family would grow once more, all because they loved each other.

George moaned his agreement, a tiny yet blissful smile gracing his face as they began to move together.

Annie thanked her lucky stars for the sand-repelling charm he'd cast - ironically, they'd discovered it in one of Molly's old child-rearing tomes in a section addressing how to keep children clean and tidy at the shore. Considering how much she loved the beach, and how often he wanted to love her whilst they were there, the simple little spell had proven itself a godsend.

He rolled onto his back, pulling her along to be above him. His hands caressed from her shoulders to her breasts to her belly and hips as she rocked. "I love to watch you swell. I love that light that glows in your eyes when you're pregnant."

She knew exactly what he meant. It was such a precious time: the anticipation of a baby to come. She loved that special smile he always wore when she was expecting, smug with his secret satisfaction. I did that....

Close to her orgasm now, she threw her head back, thrusting her hips, encouraging him. "George... baby..."

He took her hips in his hands, arching his back and driving himself deeper. "Annie!" he called out, then shuddered.

The week passed in a languorous, indulgent manner. They denied themselves nothing. When they were hungry, George summoned food and they ate. When they were tired, he conjured a blanket or a hammock wherever they were and they slept. When they were hot, they swam in the refreshing water or sat in the shade, allowing the breeze to cool them. They entertained themselves with the sea or each other. And never once did the outside world intrude upon their paradise.

As they watched the sun set for the final time and prepared themselves for their last night on the island, George pulled out something from the backpack. He laid it down on the bed between them, then sat silently, waiting for her to make the next move.

It was a book; she could see that much. Annie pulled it closer until she could read the title. It was called "Los Amantes Encantados."

The Enchanted Lovers? she mused, translating the title in her head.

After opening it up to the first page, she read that it was a compendium of charms, potions, and etcetera, all devised to enhance the act of love. It had been translated into English a few centuries ago by someone calling himself Philo Perpetuo and now lay open on the bed between them.

She flipped through a few pages in casual curiosity, amused by what were likely once considered vivid descriptions of the effects of the racy spells. Small sketches of Rubenesque women swooning as their foppish lovers brandished wands nearly made her giggle out loud.

"You have no need for any of these endurance charms," she teased him as she theatrically made a show of flipping past that particular section.

George chuckled. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, love!"

He leaned closer as he reached out toward the book. He turned to a page that had been dog-eared, then pointed to an entry.

"This fuego tentador looks tempting..." he suggested, his voice slightly tentative.

It became clear to Annie in that moment that this was not the first he had seen of the book. That he had possibly studied it for a bit before showing it to her. That he had not shared it with her for the sake of amusement, but rather....

She smiled to let him know she was open to a little experimentation. "It means, 'tantalizing fire,'" she offered, dusting off her secondary school Spanish skills.

George grinned eagerly, pleased she'd accepted his invitation to play. He pointed his wand at his other hand which was turned with the palm facing up, as if to catch the magic. "Arda!" he said, using his commanding, sorcerer's voice.

As soon as he uttered the word, a strange red fire appeared in his palm. They both looked at it for a few moments, watching as it behaved just like any normal fire would. Then, with his wand, he drew the flame from his hand. He took her hand in his and gently stretched out her arm.

Annie watched in amazement as little tongues of fire flickered, burning on her skin wherever his wand touched her. There was no discomfort whatsoever: instead, she felt a warm, tingling sensation that slowly penetrated her skin down to the muscles below wherever the fire burned.

He directed her to lie on her stomach, and he painted a trail of flames along her spine, the back of her knees, and the palms of her hands, just as the diagram in the book had showed them. Annie lay facedown on the bed, relishing the sensations the aptly named fire delivered.

"Do you like it?" he asked softly.

"Yes," she whispered back.

Then she shifted her position slightly and brought a hand to her face, wanting to watch the fire as it worked. She discovered she could direct it all by herself by moving slowly; it would roll about her skin, always finding the highest point from which to burn.

She summoned George closer to her with a flaming finger, then gingerly touched his lips with it. A trail of even smaller flames was left behind on his mouth, yet he smiled.

Emboldened, Annie slowly ran the fingers of her hand down his neck to his chest. Down to encircle his navel. Down...

George's head knocked back against the headboard. He hummed with pleasure as she caressed him intimately.

The effect didn't last much longer. The flames began to sputter and die, leaving a physical sense of warm contentment behind. They smiled at each other and chuckled when the last one finally vanished.

Immediately, George turned back to the book. He flipped through a few more pages until he reached another dog-eared one. Annie wondered absently for just how long he'd had this book.

"This one looks like a bit of fun," he announced. Pointing his wand at his mouth, he said, "Viento invernal."

Nothing happened that Annie could see, but George grinned broadly. "Cool!" he cried. Then he leaned closer, puckered his lips, and blew frosty air across her body, eliciting goose flesh.

Annie giggled, shivering. Winter wind, indeed.

He teased her further with a deep kiss. His tongue was still soft and yielding, yet it felt as cold as an ice cube in her mouth. Annie giggled when he released her, then gasped when he bent to take a nipple into his mouth. She shuddered as he played with it, nipping it slightly with lips that were not as frigid as his tongue, but still quite cold.

Then he began to kiss his way down her belly.

"George!" she whimpered, writhing in response to the torturous, wonderful sensations of his glacial mouth against searing flesh. It was too intense - she pulled away, then pulled his face up to meet hers again, falling on his lips with her own.

Once again, the spell wasn't permanent. His tongue began to warm as they kissed passionately.

"Want to try another?" he murmured when the cold had completely dissipated.

Annie cocked an eyebrow at him. "Are you working from some sort of script? How long have you been studying this book?"

George chuckled. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," he insisted playfully. He summoned a bunch of grapes from the kitchen, anyway. He plucked one and held it between his thumb and forefinger.

"Abbey-jore-oh," he said, his tongue slightly tripping over the word.

Nothing happened. George wore a look of consternation.

"Let me see that," she requested.

He slid the book toward her, then pointed to the word in question.

Abejorro. The bumblebee.

"Pronounce the J like it was an H, love," she instructed him. "And you must roll the double R. Ah-bay-horrr-oh," she demonstrated, rolling the R rather impressively, in her opinion.

He repeated the word just as she done, mimicking her perfectly, and as a result, charmed the single grape to buzzingly vibrate. He popped it into her waiting mouth.

She held it against the roof of her mouth with her tongue for a few moments, laughing as it tickled slightly. The effect halted the moment she bit into it, releasing fizzy juice that tasted like champagne.

"Try one!" she encouraged him.

He charmed another one, then tossed it into his mouth. He chuckled, then smiled lasciviously. An instant later, he flicked his wrist toward a small basket of zucchini, cucumbers and carrots on the counter of the kitchen, all of which began noisily vibrating.

Annie laughed. "Drawing the line at that one, George!"

With a small smirk of mock disappointment, he flicked his wrist and the produce was quiet once more. Then she pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around him and draping her leg over his, and kissed him.

"This is all very entertaining, darling," she purred. "But... you do know that you don't need any of this rubbish, don't you? You know that you, and you alone, drive me mad. That you always have and always will continue to do so?"

"It's nice to hear you say it," he said softly, nuzzling her ear for a few moments before pulling back a little.

Annie's next breath was arrested by the lusty, anticipatory smile on his face as he summoned something from the backpack. A strange orb she'd never seen before floated toward them, and he plucked it like an apple from the air. With his mouth open, he breathed on it, almost as if it was made of glass and he was going to polish it.

Light flickered from within the sphere.

"Now you," he said, holding the orb in his palm before her.

She repeated his action, huffing onto the ball, and it began to glow softly, steadily red. He rolled it off the tips of his fingers, but instead of plummeting to the bed, it floated upward a few feet, then struck a stationary position, levitating above their heads. It then began pulsating with light, casting warm colors on the wall.

"It's lovely, George. But what is it? Mood lighting?" she asked with a small giggle. There was something strangely hypnotic about the way the colors flickered, moving gradually from red to orange to a fluttering yellow.

"This is a very delicate instrument," he whispered as he began to kiss her neck once more, sending chills down her body. "It was designed to measure passion.... The colors change depending on your state of arousal."

He chuckled smugly as the orb began glowing steadily green. "You're nearly halfway there, love."

Annie drew him closer, matching each of his kisses and caresses with one of her own. "You don't need a ruddy disco ball to tell you that," she countered.

George hummed contentedly, trailing kisses along her collarbone, positioning himself between her legs. "It was invented by Cleopatra... to train her harem of pleasure boys."

"Clever girl," Annie mumbled, taking hold of his hips and attempting to drive him, impatient to leave the history lesson behind and get on with a more satisfactory activity. Something that involved a good deal more friction.

"It delivers a psychosomatic reward to both partners when it begins to glow with white light, just before an orgasm," George continued. "The longer you can hold it off... while remaining on the brink... the more intense the eventual dividend."

Annie was barely listening to him at that point. "George!" she moaned. "Please!"

The orb rapidly flickered from turquoise to deep blue to plum to lavender, then began fading in color altogether.

"You're making it... very difficult... for me to... concentrate," George muttered through clenched teeth.

"I don't care about... any stupid... light trick!" Annie whined. "Just... please!"

"If you'll... hush.... I think... I might... be able...."

A nearly blinding white light burst forth into the cloudless, starry night, lasting nearly half a minute. A palm forest full of startled birds took wing, squawking in alarm. A passing ocean liner radioed the nearest harbor to report such a strange phenomenon.