Outnumbered // Weasley Twins x Reader

Nightcap

Weeks passed and your classes started. It was a good thing that Sylvia promoted you to being one of the center stage closing dancers, as it provided you just enough money to only work on weekends.

Of course, it was at least partially thanks to the Weasleys that your bills were already paid up for the next few months.

"YN, you've got a private dance booked in room three!" The hostess called out as soon as you emerged from the dressing room early one September night.

"Already? I haven't even done my rounds yet?" You asked.

She shrugged, "Bloke came in and immediately asked for you."

It wasn't odd to be booked early in the night, especially with an established clientele. You fluffed your hair a bit and started toward room three. The lightbulb above it was illuminated red, meaning that it was occupied. Only a few were glowing green, which meant that they were empty.

You opened the door and at the back of the dimly lit room was a black leather couch. On it sat George Weasley, with his gentle red waves and dark, piercing eyes. He sat against the furniture with a cigarette smoldering in one hand and a lowball of whiskey in the other. Suddenly you felt as if you'd been caught in the room of requirement after curfew with Adrian Pucey all over again.

"Lock the door behind you." George said, and his voice lacked any of the mischievous immaturity that it'd once held. You stepped into the room and locked the door behind you, just as you'd been instructed.

A familiar smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. George Weasley then uttered something that made your insides turn to nothing more than gelatin.

"Good girl."

Your chest immediately burned with embarrassment as you realized your body was betraying you. "What are you doing here, Weasley?" You asked, sounding incredibly timid.

"I own this room, love." He took another long drag from the cigarette. "Was in the area and needed a bit of attention. I figured, why not get it from the best?"

He sipped from the glass as you approached him, rich liquid shimmering on his lips while he pulled it away and extended his hand in your direction. You accepted the small ceasefire and took a few gulps of your own.

"No touching," You mentioned, and he moved to the edge of the couch to get comfortable.

"Yes, I remember."

Never had you felt so embarrassed than when you were pressing your ass against George Weasley's crotch. You straddled his lap, draping your arms over his shoulders and moving your body against his just as you were expected to. All the while, he obeyed his own rules. Not once did he lift a finger to stroke your burning skin or try to lean in for a kiss.

"We left you our phone number," his eyes were staring hard into yours as he spoke. "Why haven't you called?"

It dawned on you then that perhaps they were searching for other forms of entertainment. As if pranking you for your entire childhood and watching you dance half naked in public wasn't enough, maybe they were searching for something a bit more intimate.

"I don't offer those sorts of services." You said.

George laughed, "And we don't pay for them." He sat up from his slouched position abruptly, causing you to tighten your thighs against either side of his legs just to not be knocked off. "Every dancer got a hefty tip at the end of that night – we know our mates are a rowdy bunch. You just happened to get our phone number, as well."

"Why?" All of your motions had stopped. You sat on top of him with his rough slacks pressed against your barely covered core, hungry eyes burning through your head as his gaze refused to break.