If You'll Have Me | George Weasley

Chapter 15

THEY HAD WAITED AN HOUR, and then two, before deciding to get ready for dinner. Before putting an end to the serenity of lying with one another, and the entwining of her hands with his. His hands which so delicately drew figures upon her back, her shoulders, and the back of her neck.

It only took that morning for her to realize that George was... Calmer when he was with her. Less sporadic than when he was with his twin. More inclined to melt into the spread of linen beneath them and to hold onto her a bit tighter, as if his embrace would prevent them from having to move.

Earlier, he had claimed that he'd prefer to continue lying there as opposed to going to an overpriced dinner, but reluctantly, he rises from the bed anyways, and Eleanor watches as he swaps the t-shirt he had been wearing for one that was brighter in color. One that complimented the brightness of his hair and his eyes. Purple; She was beginning to notice that it was his color.

"You sure we can't just say here?" She asks of him, watching his reflection through the mirror that hung on the wall.

For a moment, she indulges in the sight of him as he stands before her; Back turned, fidgeting with a few short strands of hair that hung just above his forehead, and completely oblivious to the way that she had been looking at him. Not even she realized it; The way that she watched him in such awe.

"I'm pretty sure someone will notice if we're the only two who don't show up for dinner." He turns in one swift motion, and not so subtly looks her up and down as she sits at the edge of the bed; With one leg crossed over the other and with her hair pulled to the side of her neck.

He watches her closely, and she liked to think that despite the hunger in his eyes, that he was simply admiring what she was wearing. Not the way that her jeans accentuated her hips. Not the way that the low cut of her top exposed her chest.

She had been wearing a pair of jeans and a tank top—Nothing that she considered special—Just comfortable enough to bear the summer heat and the chill that came with the night. But his hand finds it's way to her face, and then his thumb grazes across her bottom lip before falling to her chin.

George's touch was always soft, and familiar. And even now, it ignited a small fire inside of her just as it had the night that they danced in the living room, when she burned and burned as he moved her across the floor, one hand bracing her back, the other trailing the hem of her shirt.

It humored her to think of how petrified she was then. Afraid to get too close, afraid that his touch would sting and linger. But now, he was holding her chin between his fingers, beckoning her to look up at him from where she sat on the bed. And as he stares down at her with a smile, he leans down, and lifts her head a bit to press a tender kiss against her lips.

She should have been used to this by now; The sensation that rushed through her veins any time that he pressed his lips against hers, or caressed her tongue with his own. But as he kisses her, that feeling renews. Pulsates through her again, and again, until she becomes nothing more than liquid slipping past his fingers. A heavy chin in his palm.

He kisses her deeper, and just before she could pick up the pace, he pulls away, tugging her bottom lip gently between his teeth before releasing it. Eleanor could nearly feel herself crumbling already. The steady quickening of her heartbeat.

"I know... I know." He murmurs, and traces his thumb back to her bottom lip. Torturous, selfish. "C'mon. Hermione's gonna have both of our asses if we don't get downstairs."

"I'm sure she's learnt patience from being with Ron." Eleanor says instead of pleading with him, knowing full well that was exactly what he wanted; For her to beg for one more second of his time, for more of those lips to be on hers, for more of those hands to touch her here and there and all of the other parts that ached for him. But Eleanor was stubborn, and George enjoyed the game too much that he only chuckles as he heads for the door. She reluctantly follows in his footsteps.