They fade in an instant as she looks up at him and realizes what the end of the war means. She'll still see him. She'll still work with him. But never again will it be like this. There will never again be this level of intensity, this absolute trust in and from the man who doesn't trust anyone.

And just like that, Nymphadora Tonks begins to cry.

Moody huffs out a disgusted sigh as he sits next to her, his wand still held loosely in his hand. They had been making their way to the next rendezvous point when the news resounded through the air with a singsong pitch of weariness and disbelief and hope. Now they were warriors without a battle to fight and partners without a cause.

"It's just…"

He hands her his flask in lieu of reply and she opens it, taking a deep swallow. She coughs at the bitter taste then hands it back, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. He takes it from her and wipes the mouthpiece as well before taking a swig of his own.

The war is over. She's an Auror whose main task is now complete, most likely done by a boy with no training and no hair on his chest and she feels like a poseur, an imposter, a girl in Auror's clothing. She turns to him, her distress and confusion in her eyes, which widen as they meet his just in the instant before he kisses her.

He doesn't use his tongue and he wipes his mouth when he pulls away. Before she can think, his hands are stripping her, shucking her clothes in quick, efficient movements that leave her gasping from the cool, smoky air of the battlefield and the heat and desire building within her.

He strips her breasts and takes one in his mouth without pause, licking and sucking at the hard tip. She moans, burying the sound in her arm as she uses her other hand to hold Moody's head against her. It feels so good and wicked all at once as he moves to the other breast, massaging the one he's just left with deft and skillful fingers, rolling the tip against the firm wood of his wand.

She writhes beneath him, unable to do anything else as he trails kisses down her stomach as he strips off her slacks - serviceable and completely unattractive, though the shocking purple silk panties beneath give her some measure of comfort as he laughs beneath his breath and guides them off of her too.

His fingers are calloused and rough but gentle as they stroke her flesh apart, teasing her labia and the hood of her clitoris as he unbuttoned his shirt with his free hand. There are scars on his body that he discloses without thought, badges of pride and honor no Ministry ever gave him. He finds her clit as he unbuttons his pants, sliding the zipper down far enough to expose his cock. She feels helpless and vulnerable as his thumb circles her clit then presses against it, the sudden shock sending a ripple of pleasure through her body, directly to her groin. Heat pools at his fingertips as he pushes them inside her, shedding his clothes as best he can with one hand.

She knows better to pull a wand on him, so she mutters the spell that Lupin taught her, delighting in the pure shock on his face as he realizes he's naked. She doesn't have time to enjoy it though as he's pushing inside her, his fingers parting her flesh for his cock. She bites her lip to keep from moaning, the thick hardness edging deeper inside her. He's like nothing she's had before and she wonders what she'll do without him once he's gone.

He braces himself above her and moves with ease of motion. His hips rock and pivot and thrust and she feels every inch of him. She's panting and begging without words as her legs lock around his and pull him deeper, the movement making his arms shake on either side of her head.

He lowers his head to her breast again and suckles them, trading off the attention of his tongue as he continues moving inside her. Her heels are digging into the dirt and grass as she thrusts up into him, colliding harder and faster. She moans and the world explodes around her and, for a moment, she thinks it's an unforgivable until she realizes it only feels like she's dying.

He doesn't kiss her, doesn't taste her. He offers her the flask again and dresses as she drinks. The taste is better the second time, but it's not tinged with the flavor of him and she reminds herself that it's really not wise to fall in love with a paranoid man, especially when people really are out to get him.

She dresses as well, watching him from the corner of her eye. She doesn't think about her hair or her face, relaxed and sated enough not to care, though her training is fighting to take control again and she knows by the time the flask is settled back at his hip and her shirt is done up, she'll be back to who she was before this all started, though she'll never be the same again.