Lover ; George Weasley

Twenty-seven

Mature content

"Can I ask you a question?"

George looked at me as he licked the spoon clean while maintaining eye contact with me.

Inez had insisted on me spending the afternoon with George and get a break after work while her and Dove picked up the girls.

At the same time, George's parents looked after his children.

Right now, we were sitting in the grass on a field outside of London somewhere, sharing a tub of ice cream.

"Sure." He smiled cheekily. "Go ahead, ask me your question."

"You've lived... nearly a century longer than me—"

He scoffed, watching me as a smirk spread on my lips.

"You really think you're funny, huh?" He asked. "Joking about my age... I'm not that old, y'know."

"Babe—" I chuckled, reaching out to dig into the ice cream with my spoon. "...you're in your thirties. You're old enough to have a son who starts Hogwarts in what— two or three years?"

"Three." He nodded. "He's born in September."

I nodded.

"He'll be ten in September?"

George hummed.

"Wow." I muttered. "Double digits. I remember being that age and being overly excited about reaching double digits."

I ate the ice cream on my spoon, looking up at the sky as I did.

"And while you turned ten, I turned..." I looked at George as he spoke, chuckling at his expression. "...seventeen."

He looked at me and then smiled.

"But now... you're twenty-six. You're a big girl."

I gulped.

Why did that sentence turn me on?

His smile grew.

"You called me babe."

"No I didn't." I scoffed, frowning.

"Yeah you did... before... you said, babe, you're in your thirties." He said. "You called me babe. You haven't done that before."

I got to my knees before making my way closer to him, then sat down again.

"I can call you other things, if you'd like." I commented as I licked my spoon clean, seeing the way his eyes focused on my mouth.

"And what would that be?"

I shrugged, forcing the spoon into the ice cream. I grabbed his spoon and did the same thing before putting the tub in the grass.

I placed my hands on his shoulders, throwing a leg over his thighs to straddle him.

"Not any pleasant names." I said, running my hands down his chest. "Dickhead... prat."

I'm not very good at this.

George laughed, letting his hands slide under the material of my shirt, resting against the bare skin of my waist.

"That's your insults?"

I made a face.

"I used to be good at insulting people, but then I had kids." I said, tilting my head slightly. "I've got kids..."

"Yeah you do." he laughed. "You're only realising now? Bit late, don't you think?"

I shrugged, running my finger over the belt in his trousers.