city of stars, are you shining just for me [volker]

14 february 2002

She was now, officially, in front of everyone she knew and even those she didn't, Émilie Blauvelt. She had been using the name rather secretly since their first wedding in Monte Carlo at New Year's, but now, after the civil ceremony yesterday for their muggle relatives and the much more exciting ceremony they had just a few hours ago, it was very, very official. And so very, very perfect.

The day had been perfect, too, which was saying a lot considering this was now their third wedding. They had kept the Monte Carlo wedding for themselves but had quickly hit a roadblock when trying to plan their public one. They each had a muggle parent, which meant muggle grandparents and extended family (why this hadn't been considered when she was planning that other wedding years previous, she had no idea). They didn't want to exclude anyone, of course, wanting to take full advantage of their families' gift giving abilities. They didn't need to have a civil service -- considering they were already legally married -- but it had been the only solution to keep the muggle and magical parties separate. That had been the day before their most recent ceremony, which was considerably more extravagant.

Her childhood home had become the hub for a large proportion of the magical travelers, being the only fireplace in town connected to the floo network. Lavaveix-les-Mines was was a small town in the middle of France, and nothing spectacular -- except when it snowed. There had been a late season dusting the night before, and the land surrounding the church matched the white of her dress. She had chosen white and light pink flowers which didn't need a proper season because magic was such a wonderful thing. The ceremony had gone off without a hitch: they had both looked spectacular and Émilie remembered her vows. Now, a few hours into the reception, plates and tables had been cleared, replaced by cake (ice cream -- her one concession to Volker's wishes besides allowing [member=17741]Zoé Deveaux[/member] to attend) and glasses of pink champagne (which matched beautifully the macarons [member=11204]Madeline Fletcher[/member] had supplied).

They had spent the better part of the past hour mingling and thanking people for coming (though honestly, who would be daft enough to miss this?), but they thankfully seemed to be in a mingling-and-thanking lull. The champagne she had with dinner had worn off by now, and there were simply too many Germans to say hello to while sober. Émilie leaned towards Volker to rest her head on his shoulder, their clasped hands resting in her lap, her shoes kicked off and lost somewhere under the table. The excitement of watching their guests interact had lost some of the appeal it had earlier, and Émilie sighed as she squeezed her husband's hand.

"Do you think anyone will notice if we snuck out?" She straightened up in her chair to look properly at him. "Not forever, just to have a break?" The lull could only last so long, especially at a party that was sure to go well past midnight. "There's a little gazebo out back." She raised both eyebrows suggestively, tilting her head towards the almost unnoticeable wooden door towards the back of the room. "I'll get my coat if you get the champagne." She needed to prepare herself for more new-family interactions, of course. "I'm more conspicuous," she nodded, smiling almost smugly at her use of such a big word, offering her reasoning for them splitting up before leaning in and planting a light kiss on his lips.

They had not one, not two, but three weddings.

Aside from the secret one in Monte Carlo, they had to hold a public civil ceremony yesterday for their muggle relatives, and today, they held yet another ceremony for their wizarding families, and extended relatives. They were now at the reception, and he was more than grateful that they had saved their witches and wizards relatives and friends for last. Everything was much easier than the day before; magic was easier. At least, they didn’t have to focus on each and every detail going well, and his hair had never looked more perfect.

However, doing rounds of greeting and thanking guests for coming was exhausting, particularly when being pressured into outshining everyone. Not that he didn’t outshine people on a normal basis, but now, as the groom, he had to make sure he was doing it. Generally, it came naturally for Volker, being the centre of attention. But today, he had to make sure he was always in the spotlight, second only to Émilie. Ah, Émilie. Émilie Blauvelt. She was now publicly known as his wife and yet, in the past two days, he could count the times he’d seen her up close on one hand.

Volker sighed playfully, as he was entertaining Alexander, his father, and Nina, Émilie’s mother. Being the only two muggles at this reception, the two of them talked most of the night, and Volker had decided to check if they were in need of anything. However, it ended up being a mistake, as both parents were simply commenting on how wonderful magic was. It was indeed a lively discussion, however, Volker wasn’t really in the mood for being astonished by magic, having spent the past hour or so talking to guests. In addition, everyone did attend. Volker had no doubt that they would attend, since this was obviously the event of the year, however, that meant more work for them, having to talk to everyone. Surely, however, this would pay up under the form of their gifts.

He excused himself from Alexander and Nina, and went to his own table, arranging his jacket, upon taking a seat. Volker then put out the candle in front of him; it was enough that this space was filled with people and it was too warm for him to function, he definitely didn’t need an extra source of warmth, despite its refined elegance. Volker then picked up a glass of champagne, icy cold, and elegantly took a sip, spending a bit of time watching the guests interacting. His seating chart had definitely been quite the work of art.

He suddenly stopped drinking just as he downed a bit of pink champagne, feeling a very familiar and actually pleasant warmth on his free hand. “Émilie.” He turned towards her instantly, smile more charming than ever, especially for that evening. She was stunning; it took Volker quite some time to realise that she had said something that needed a reply. “Oh.” He nodded in approval, unsure what the question was.

“Oh.” The ice elemental repeated, catching the mention of a break. “Nobody will mind, I’m sure. Although, should they not notice your beauty and perfection missing, they’re probably blind.” He leaned in, to continue in a whisper. “I mean, I’m pretty sure you blinded most today, you’re shining brighter than the sun.” He squeezed her hand back, later on just nodding in approval, that he will meet her in the gazebo, and bring champagne. “Conspicuous? Of course you are.” He winked in her direction, allowing Émilie to leave first, before getting up from the table himself, and picking up a bottle of champagne and two glasses, and sneaking out himself.

As soon as he stepped outside, Volker took a deep breath. Fresh air, cold, actual space – it was the best. Not that their party wasn’t, but it’s been an overexposure to their families for days now, and Volker wasn’t as hypocritical as to not openly admit that he was simply exhausted. However, all of his tiredness instantly disappeared as he reached the gazebo. He didn’t step inside, but remained a few steps away, stopping on the path that led to it. Volker took another deep breath, his eyes widening as they fell on Émilie’s figure. For the first time since the ceremony, he could properly look at her.

She was beautiful. No, she was gorgeous. No. She was perfect.

In fact, Émilie was so breath taking that Volker wouldn’t mind a fourth wedding. “Madame Blauvelt.” The ice elemental spoke up, relieved that he could finally openly, publicly, nonchalantly call her that way. Now, in everyone’s eyes, she was his, and he was hers. Now, finally, he felt fully completed, he was complete, and everyone knew. The fifteen year old boy inside of him still couldn’t believe that they were finally together forever. But they were. Forever together.

Volker stepped up in the gazebo, and with his free hand, arranged one of his wife’s stray curls behind her ear. “May I kiss you, or would that ruin your make-up?” He inquired playfully, positive that even when make-up was involved, Émilie wouldn’t deny her husband a kiss.

She almost wished Volker wouldn’t agree to her plan, not wanting to spend any more time apart from him now that they were together again. But it would be worth the sacrificial few minutes, she was sure; once he called her beautiful and perfect, she was ready for more words, those that shouldn’t be said in the presence of their guests. She left, reluctantly, and slipped out of the room in search of her coat, only having to dodge two guests trying to intercept her in the process.

Slipping her coat on, Émilie rearranged her hair after a quick glance in a mirror, wanting to make sure she still looked picture perfect for her love. But she didn’t want to keep him waiting; she tore herself away from her reflection and made it successfully outside, following the path toward the gazebo. Her smile faltered when she realized she was the first one there, pulling her coat tighter around her as she refocused her concentrations into not slipping on the short walk.

It was, thankfully, deserted, and even the iciest of elementals inside hadn’t made the escape to the outdoors. She didn’t sit, wasn’t really sure what her plan was for once they were out there, not thinking further ahead than being alone.

She turned at the sound of someone approaching, her smile firmly re-affixed on her face at the sight of her husband. It was much more official now, to be married a third time to the same perfect man. The six weeks or so that they had hidden what had happened in Monte Carlo had been a bit exciting, being the only two privy to their matrimonial bliss. These second and third weddings had been amazing, of course, had been what she was planning for years, but it made her miss the privacy they once had. Not that she minded being known as Volker’s wife -- that part was her favorite.

Despite the cold, she could have melted at his words. “Monsieur Blauvelt,” knowing that the title wasn’t as exciting as her new one was, but enjoying it all the same. It seemed to take him forever to join her in the gazebo, time slowing to a stop every time they were apart.

Their height difference wasn’t quite as pronounced with her heels on, but it was still enough to make her smile as he drew close, his fingers brushing against her cheek as they moved her hair for her. She was already smiling before he posed his question, but she made her best attempt to smile just a bit wider as she heard it. Truthfully, her makeup wouldn’t budge without the help of a very strong makeup-removal potion, but even if that wasn’t the case, she could never deny her husband a kiss.

“I’m certainly willing to take the risk,” she managed to offer before leaning up and in to complete the answer. There had been plenty of kisses that day, but Émilie was fully prepared to take full advantage of the distance between them and the next person. She pulled him close, careful to not let her hands stray to his hair, not wanting to leave any sort of indication toward what they had been up to once they returned indoors. She finished with a quick succession of light kisses before she took a small step back, ready to help relieve him of the burden he was carrying: the champagne.

She motioned to the bottle and glasses, holding out her hands to take the glasses, handing one back after Volker had poured them out full portions. Émilie took a slow sip, the bubbles tickling her nose, before thinking better of their severely-restricted time together and finishing the glass in a few larger swallows.

Perhaps kissing hadn’t been the greatest idea, considering the circumstances. As Émilie pulled him close, he mirrored her gesture, pulling her closer to him as well, by the waist. A calculated move, so he would sure that her make-up and hair would still be intact. He was certain Émilie, just like him, had used potions and other enchantments to make sure her outfit and appearance would remain intact regardless of the weather conditions, however, he would take the safer approach. As safe as it could be, as Volker found his hand already trailing up Émilie’s back, just as she put an end to the kiss. The succession of light kisses thankfully distracted him, making the ice elemental slightly giggle at his wife’s playfulness. Honestly, he wanted nothing else but to kidnap her at that point.

But it would be better for him to control himself, obviously just until their actual wedding night would properly start. He took a deep breath as she took a step backwards, already regretting the distance between them. Volker couldn’t really understand where Émilie found this powerful self-control within herself; Merlin knew that if she lacked it, their little escapade in the gazebo would’ve gone completely differently, if it were only up to him.

She then held out her hands to take the glasses he’s brought, that way also reminding Volker that he was actually still holding the bottle of champagne. Her beauty and utter and complete perfection captured his attention to such an extent, that he’d forgotten he had brought the bottle and the glasses with him. Truthfully, the ice elemental was slightly glad he hadn’t dropped them during their kiss. Volker handed her the two glasses, and poured some champagne in them both, later on placing the bottle on the wide edge of the pagoda.

Volker took a generous sip out of his glass, finishing half of it in one go. He definitely couldn’t stay completely sober if he was going to suffer this way, be around Émilie and yet not close enough. Definitely not close enough to his taste. He then took her free hand into his own, fingers entwining, as the ice elemental smiled in her direction. “Can you believe we’re finally officially married, and everyone knows it?” The German took a deep breath, relieved. “My fifteen year old self wouldn’t even believe this.” He laughed, remembering how he’d been worried at first that Émilie wouldn’t like him. By age sixteen though, Volker was already calling her ‘Madame Blauvelt’ in his mind, so this was really a dream come true. “You’re stuck with me forever now.” He teased, his shoulder gently poking hers. “No escape.”

Émilie glanced down at their hands, admiring how they looked together, her small hand in his much larger one. She rubbed her thumb back and forth across the back of his hand in between giving his hand little squeezes and taking larger sips of champagne. “Finally and officially, mon superman.” She giggled. It had only taken them three weddings to make it official. They were never a pair to do things simply, though. It fit them perfectly.

She took another sip of her drink, considering his word ‘everyone’. He wasn’t wrong; they had invited literally everyone they knew. Even Chantal Garnier was inside -- she chose to forget that she owed her anything for saving her life -- and Émilie positively loathed her. Most of the time. Last she had seen she had been talking to Volker’s sister, which really just served her right. She wasn’t sure what she was getting at with her train of thought, beside that it was such a miracle that she and Volker were finally getting a moment alone.

“My fifteen-year-old self would. Guess she was smarter than you.” It was impossible to say such an absurd thing with a straight face, and she buried her giggles in her glass. She wasn’t wrong when she said she would believe it though -- she had been convinced for so long that they would be getting married. It just made sense.

“Forever and ever and ever and ever and ever.” She leaned into his shoulder with her own, only stopping her ‘and ever’s when she took another large drink. She nearly inhaled her champagne, and not in the fun way. Coughing, she brought her glass away from her lips, nearly choking on the absurd thing Volker had said. “As if I’d want to escape.” Smiling, Émilie leaned in for another kiss, pausing just shy of Volker’s lips to say, “‘Til death do us part.” They had written their own vows, but she knew her husband was smart enough to know that line from the traditional ones.

She gave his hand a firm squeeze before releasing it, leaning over him to grab the bottle of champagne and pour herself a refill. “I don’t know if one bottle was enough,” she said as she leaned across him one more time to replace the bottle on the ledge.

Volker smirked at her using the appellative superman. He tried to hide his satisfaction as he also drank out of his glass, let it be significantly less and much slower than his wife. He arched an eyebrow upon noticing her thirst; the German found himself wishing she were thirsty for something else other than champagne. But it was the middle of their wedding party and neither his desire to escape, nor her thirst for champagne were particularly good, especially since they were the main event.

“Really?” He asked, quite surprised. What Émilie said had double meaning; firstly, it meant that she’d loved him so much ever since they’ve started socialising more, that she’d always dreamed of marrying him. Secondly, it meant she was also especially sure of his own love for her. Volker was slightly disappointed for a moment, thinking that Émilie never experienced jealousy as he had – Merlin knew he didn’t like any specimen of the male gender next to her. But then he recalled Zoé. He and Émilie, they were the same – soul mates, forever. “And of course you were.” He smirked, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Mon sucre d’orge.”

Volker felt a pang of pain in his chest as she mentioned the traditional vow; he didn’t show it to her though. Instead, simply sketching a soft smile, the ice elemental repeated her own words “’Til death do us part.” It hurt saying them, reason why Volker had insisted – very subtly – for them to write their own vows. It had been much easier, and he’d expected to avoid those exact words. They weren’t untrue, but they’d have been truer if Émilie would have listened to him and agreed to do an Unbreakable Vow. It pained him still that she didn’t agree to it.

What she said after that, Volker didn’t hear, nor understand. It aggrieved him to even think that their timelines were so different, that time in itself meant so different for each of them.

He wasn’t going to bring it up now. Actually, Volker didn’t know how or when to bring up this issue. And rather than him living more than her, Émilie would be surely more torn about the fact that he wouldn’t age like her, at the same rate and speed. Most likely he’ll remain around this age for much longer than her too. He wasn’t sure; Volker did not know the so-called benefits of his second affinity, enough so he could predict how this will go. How could he even explain it to Émilie if he himself did not know what was going on? Volker was torn, and yet managed to cover up his façade, lovingly looking at his wife.

But no. It was their day. This was going to be the happiest day of both their lives, so Volker decided against dwelling on this for any longer. Today had to be happy. It had to be perfect. As perfect as Émilie.

As she poured herself more champagne, Volker took a sip himself, as upon her leaning back to replace the bottle, the ice elemental wrapped his free arm around her waist and pulled her closer, giving Émilie a kiss. He ended it gently, and smoothly took her glass out of her hand, as he licked his lips. “How about you drink champagne that way?” He giggled and later on smirked suggestively, hinting at how he’d passed on champagne to her through their kiss. If anything, since Émilie was going continue with this and drink more of the champagne, he might as well have fun too.

“What do you say?” He arched his left eyebrow, taking a slow sip out of her own champagne glass.

“Really.” Of course, Émilie had thought they’d be getting married just a little bit sooner, first with the pregnancy scare but then with the actual, honest-to-god proposal, but having three perfect weddings now more than made up for her having to wait. She giggled as he agreed that she was smarter than him, not bothering to point out his mistakes now. She had the rest of forever to remind him that he was much smarter than her.

Forever, ‘til death -- everything finally seemed real. She poured herself some more champagne, but her thoughts weren’t in the gazebo anymore. The future of forever was so close now; nothing of the past two and a half years mattered except for their reunion. Their biggest issue now would be where to live -- she was so attached to Paris but he insisted she would love Berlin -- or perhaps how many cats she decide to give a home to. She had learned how to spell ‘Blauvelt’; they had both survived each others’ families; there would eventually be pregnancies no without the ‘scare’.

‘Perfect’ was such an understatement.

Volker pulled her closer, stopping her from straightening back up, but she didn’t mind at all. Of course, she’d prefer to be closer, to reverse their height differences a bit by climbing onto his lap, but she knew from experience -- their first wedding night -- that it was an impossible maneuver in her dress. She tilted her chin up and leaned into his kiss; it was gentle and calming and made her forget all the stressful feelings she had built up throughout the day -- dealing with logistics and mothers -- and through the reception -- dealing with the whole of Germany, apparently -- and she wasn’t sure how she could ever be happier than in that moment.

He certainly knew how to make her unhappier, however; he stopped kissing her and took her champagne glass, and she wasn’t sure which thing was worse. But he didn’t give her too much time to think -- that would have taken forever, anyway -- before proposing a solution to the problem. Émilie raised her eyebrows, her lips curling up at the edges as she slowly came to understand what he was hinting at. Her gaze dropped to his lips and lingered for a few seconds before she brought it back up.

She smirked too and shrugged one shoulder. “Fine, but only because I want more champagne,” she lied, closing the space between them before he had a chance to clear his mouth and respond. She wasn’t as graceful as she would have liked to be, but they had certainly had enough practice kissing each other that even the addition of champagne didn’t throw either of them off. There were bubbles, lots of bubbles, too many bubbles -- she peeled herself away, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with the tips of her fingers, wiping away any stray drips.

“Too much champagne and not enough Volker, I think,” she said rather seriously. The expression lasted only a couple of seconds before she smiled and leaned in again to kiss him properly. He was thoroughly distracting, and she wasn’t sure how long she kissed him -- it felt both like an eternity and an instant -- but she was absolutely sure that her hands were restless and she couldn’t mess up his hair but that it’d be a lot easier to redress than to fix his hair and -- Émilie pulled back as soon as she realized her hands were on his belt buckle; she slowly pulled her hands away with a small “Oops,” and a bigger sigh.

He let out a soft laugh at her remark, enjoying the manner in which she teased him – for the sake of the champagne, Émilie would go through the great effort of kissing him. Volker did his best not to comment as her actions spoke against her words, and had been even stopped from doing so by Émilie herself. The kiss had been less than he’d expected – less of Émilie. It had been thrilling in its own way, the bubbles adding some sort of playful feeling. But it didn’t taste like her, and that had made it less pleasing than originally thought.

Volker backed away half a step, tapping the corner of his mouth with the tips of his fingers, perfectly matching her own reaction, meaning the manner in which Émilie wiped away any stray drops of champagne. The similarity made a smile appear on his face. Her words, once more, confirmed they were simply perfect for each other; always having the same thoughts, the same feelings. They were soul-mates, and nobody could deny it. “Really?” Volker inquired, an eyebrow arching. Her serious expression lasted for only a few moments before Émilie leaned in for another kiss. A kiss which tasted like her. He’d enjoyed it much, much more.

As she retrieved, Volker was a bit disappointed by the fact that their kiss had ended so abruptly. Then again, he’d felt her hands going lower and lower, and Volker was almost positive they had touched his belt. Her reaction confirmed it once more. “Oops.” He immediately repeated on a playful tone, and took her hand into his, entwining their fingers in the process. “I suppose we can save that for later.” Volker placed the bottle of champagne on the edge of the gazebo, and made his way out of the pagoda, gently encouraging his wife to follow.

“I suppose we must return to the party.” He sighed as well, definitely not enjoying the thought of putting an end to their current ‘activity’, nonetheless, it was obviously for the best. “I shall correctly assume that all our guests are becoming rather bored without us two there.” Volker added, with yet another especially dramatic sigh. “The tragedy of them being deprived of our divine presence, it’s perplexing. I suppose some of them are actually crying too.” He let out with a laugh, but Volker supposed someone somewhere at their party was definitely crying due to their exquisite seating plans.

“We will continue what we started though.” Volker emphasised on his earlier remark with a wink, as he helped Émilie step out of the gazebo. Then, he arranged one of her stray curls behind her ear again, repeating his earlier gesture. It wasn’t rebellious, really, for her hair was always just perfect in every possible way, but he’d enjoyed touching her once more. As soon as he was sure that Émilie was ready, and that his own attire was impeccable – as it should always be – the two slowly made their way back to their wedding’s reception.

[[out]]

“Oops,” she said again, though her expression was far from apologetic. She didn’t protest as he took her hand, glancing down for a second or two and smiling at the look of their fingers intertwined. She pouted as he spoke again; how much later was later going to be? They couldn’t very well leave their own wedding reception before it was over, could they? And this -- the outside activities -- were clearly a bad idea.

Émilie returned his sigh as she followed him back to the church, her free hand gathering the hem of her dress and clearing it from her path. “I suppose we must.” She was still sad that her mind -- why had it chosen now to suddenly become reasonable -- had interrupted her hands’ plans, but one glance at Volker was enough to put a smile back on her face. She giggled at the prospect of all their bored guests; he was right, after all. “Crying because their seats are so good,” she finished his thought with another smile, her eyes on the path in front of her, thankful she wasn’t having to make the trek a second time without her husband to support her and her heels-wearing lack of balance.

She didn’t say anything else, could only smirk -- the champagne wasn’t doing her any favors for being any quicker on her feet with her words -- but she returned Volker’s wink and she knew that he was perfectly aware that she was agreeing: yes, they would be continuing things later. This was the ‘official’ wedding night, after all, best of three.

It was near torture having Volker so close to her yet only touching him in the most innocent of ways. Her hand was still in his as he brushed a bit of hair behind her ear; she tilted her head and closed her eyes, leaning into his hand for the few brief seconds he left it there near her cheek. She returned the favor after another second -- straightening his already straight tie because his hair was perfect and she figured he knew it -- and with one more final dramatic sigh, she let him lead the way back indoors.

[[ thread ]]