Lemon Grass and Sleep

WE SURVIVED!

"I'm-" I stammered, looking in my cup, "I'm fine, why do you ask?"

"Because I'm worried about you, of course," he mumbled, "You asked me, didn't you?"

"Uh, yeah," I couldn't pinpoint why his question bothered me so much, so I decided to just drink my tea.

"It sounds like you and Glinda had a little trouble, why were you so late?" Fred's question was innocent, and his touches here comforting. The feeling of his back pressed against me as his hands rested on my waist were familiar, so why did I feel so cornered?

"Well, we sort of fell off her broom," I mumbled.

"What?" He whispered.

"Yeah, we, well--fell is a little bit of an understatement. It was more like we tumbled off and plummeted toward the ground. It's alright though, we got the portkey in time."

"That still seems more than stressful, and it didn't bother you?"

"No," I said smally, trying my best to avoid his questions.

"If you insist," he muttered. It was easy to tell he didn't believe me, then again I couldn't really tell if I believed myself. I felt fine, the jitters were slowly going away as the tea warmed my hands through the mug. With Fred's body heat and his chest against my back I should feel protected.

"Can we go to bed?" I asked quietly, staring at the counter.

"Sure, want to check on George first?"

"I feel like Glinda will kill us for stepping into the room."

"Well, he'll still be there in the morning," Fred mumbled, glancing into the room as we passed it anyways. "You two good?"

"We're fine," Glinda replied before hunching over and going back to her muttering. There was no way to discern what they were talking about, but it was comforting to me that Glinda seemed dedicated to staying by George's side--even if he didn't look like he was replying all that much.

Fred and I meandered up the spiraling stairs of the freshly rebuilt Burrow, still unpainted and half-finished in some areas. Fred and George's room was roughly back to normal, despite all of their belongings noticeably missing. There were no quidditch posters or prototypes for tricks and candies laid about. All that was left was two newly bought beds with bedding neither of them had chosen.

"Are you still sad?" I whispered as we sat on the edge of the bed, "About losing everything?"

"Most of the important stuff was at the shop by then," he shook his head, "Everything here was meaningless childhood stuff."

We sat silently, I could tell Fred wanted to ask again if I was okay. Would I say I was again, or would I have a different answer? I guess there was some sort of odd numbness that I could feel settling into my limbs, weighing me down. Was this how shock felt? Was I in shock?

"What are you thinking about?" Fred said in familiar Fred fashion, edging closer to me and gripping my free hand as I leaned over to leave my mug on the nightstand.

"I'm trying to decide if I'm okay or not," I admitted, still looking at the ground.

"A wise man once told me it's okay to not be okay," Fred smiled, turning my face toward him with the tip of his finger.

"Oh, wonder who that bright chap is," I mumbled, feeling a grin tug at my lips despite my best efforts. Fred climbed over to the side of the bed pressed against the wall, laying on his back before looking at me expectantly.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes as he patted his chest, gesturing for me to come lay on top of him. Of course, it's not like I was about to turn down such an offer. Fred's chest was always so soft, despite his lean frame. Honestly, I could lay on him forever and just drift off into the realm between consciousness and sleep.

"Are you ready to talk yet?" His chest rumbled against my cheek as he spoke, and echo of base rattling around in my skull.

"I just keep feeling numb afterward," I mumbled, "Like after the battle, after the chase...I just feel empty. Like I've lost some part of myself in the middle of combat."

"That's normal," he comforted, his hands feeling heavy on my back. "You're just processing it, a lot has been happening lately."

"I know, I just feel like if something were wrong I'd feel it. If I was actually affected, wouldn't I be crying or shaking or something? Like I've been before?"

"Not necessarily," Fred kissed the top of my head, "Everyone's different every time, it doesn't have a method to it."

"When did you get so mature?" I propped myself up to scrutinize him, searching his face for signs of secret aging nobody had told me about. "Who told you all this?"

"I'm an older brother," he replied bluntly, "You learn these things whether you want to or not."

Fred looked at me softly, like I was made of glass or something. Even his touches were slow and gentle, making sure not to startle me or set off some unseen tripwire. I was kissing him before I thought about it, and my eyes fluttered shut as he moved underneath me.

"Fuck," I whimpered, suddenly feeling a jolt rip through my body. Fred's legs had slowly moved apart to leave his knee pressed between mine, slowly edging upward.

"You know," Fred murmured, pressed a chaste kiss against my neck as my body slowly slid upward, "Bill's wedding is soon, we'll be here until then."

"Yeah, and?" I bit out, eyes once again closing as Fred pressed his lips against mine.

"George'll be sleeping downstairs until Mum thinks he's well enough to sleep on his own," he gave me a mischevious look, "Which means we're all alone in here."

"Were you always this horny?" I breathed out.

"Always have been," he muttered giving me a quick peck on the lips, "Always will be."

"Mm," I hummed, feeling Fred's hand slide down my back toward the hem of my trousers. "I don't feel like doing much."

"Anything's enough," he breathed out, hands roaming over my clothes gently.

I felt a shiver run down my spine as he said that, something about Fred's care made me feel like I was going to melt at any moment. His fingers experimentally slipped under my shirt--I suddenly remembered I'd been left in 'Harry's' clothes. The already tight fitting shirt felt like it was going to suffocate me as the fabric stretched over Fred's moving hand.

"Shit, off," I cursed, sitting up and struggling to pull the small clothes off me. How had I not realized how ill fitting these were?

"Merlin, that doesn't get old," Fred said under his breath, hands gliding over my exposed stomach as I pulled the shirt and jacket over my head and tossed them on the floor. It was cold in the room, but Fred's fingers left a burning hot trail along my skin.

"We need to go to sleep," I mumbled before leaning back down to kiss him, reveling in how soft his jumper felt against my skin.

"We do," he replied simply, not bothering to even pretend he was stopping.

Then again, I didn't really want to.