Fic: The Long Way Home, Part 2 of 2
Title: The Long Way Home, Part 2 of 2
George,
The mole is the same colour.
Come home and I might let you touch it again.
-Lee
He was underneath Probably-Jon, his legs wrapped around that firm, black body, and the bed was shaking and he felt so good, or at least he really wanted to be feeling so good, that he wasn't just moaning, he was screaming, and he ran his hand over Jon's smooth head once, twice, and on the third pass, it wasn't smooth at all, but covered in thick, tight ropes of dreadlocked hair…
"Georgie, what are you doing?"
The voice sounded exasperated and sickeningly familiar. George's eyes popped open, and in an instant, the weight of the other body lifted off of him and he was no longer lying on his back, but rather sitting up in his childhood bed. He was wearing a set of pyjamas that he'd long since outgrown. He looked around; he was home, at The Burrow, in his and Fred's old room. And there was Fred's bed across the room from his. But Fred wasn't in it. Because Fred was sitting right next to him.
Fred smiled softly and wiggled his toes beneath the covers they were sharing. "What're you looking at, eh?"
George shook his head. "Dunno. A dream? A ghost, maybe?"
"Maybe, yeah." Fred sighed and put his head back against the headboard. He was also wearing a set of pyjamas that had magically grown to fit his adult body. George also noticed that the sheets were children's sheets he and Fred had inherited from Charlie; they had moving pictures of cartoon dragons all over them. The room was lit by the soft, comforting glow of lamplight and filled with their old toys.
"So, who was that bloke then?" asked Fred.
"What? Oh. That was Jon. I think."
Fred glanced at him. "Was he any good?"
George frowned at him. "Yeah, I guess… Not sure we should be talking about that just now."
"Why not?"
"We're in our childhood room with all the toys and things from when we were kids."
"So? We're not kids anymore."
"Then why are we dressed like kids?"
"Hell if I know. It's your dream, innit? I'm just visiting. So, this Jon character; he as good as Lee?"
George smiled and shrugged. "I dunno."
Fred grinned too. "Sure you do. I remember the noises Lee made come out of you. If I hadn't known better, I'd've said he was murdering you instead of fucking you. Not sure I heard noises like that this time round. You don't make noise like that for anyone else."
George felt himself blushing. "Fred."
"Nah," said Fred, still grinning as he watched George turn pink. "He ain't as good as Lee. I can tell."
"I haven't been with Lee like that in ages."
"So, pick up where you left off. What, you think he won't have you?"
"Well…" George looked down and shrugged, instinctively tilting his head a bit as though trying to hide the hole on the side of it.
"Oh, don't be daft!" said Fred with a frown. "He doesn't give a shit about your ear. And do you really think people like Jim will never ask?"
"Jon."
"Whatever."
"Or… maybe it was Jules …"
"It doesn't matter. What are you running from anyway? Your past? Yourself? Me?" Fred shook his head. "Not on, Georgie. Firstly, you're gonna be there no matter where you go, right? Second, your past is gonna follow you, 'cause what do you think people you meet are gonna ask you about? The bloody weather? Where you got that spiffy cap you've been sporting? I don't think so. And third, well, I think it's obvious that I'm not gonna leave you alone."
George looked at him and found Fred was grinning again. "Have you been slipping into my dreams on purpose?"
"I go where I'm needed," Fred said simply. "And hey, we've spent our lives together. Why shouldn't we spend my death together?"
George winced and looked away. "Don't say that."
"What? Death?"
"Yeah, that."
Fred sighed. "Georgie, I'm dead. Fact of life - er, of death. Whatever."
George looked up into his eyes, looked right into them, as though searching them. "Fred… I don't know how to be without you."
"Mm," Fred nodded, brow furrowing. "I know. I've been watching. It's pitiful, really."
"You're telling me? I keep waiting for you to talk. I keep waiting to hear my cue to jump in."
Fred looked sorrowful, a subtle sadness melting into his eyes. "You got the biggest bloody cue you could possibly get, Georgie," he whispered. He turned his body more toward his twin's, sitting on his hip and curling his legs up, one shoulder to the headboard. George did the same, a mirror-image of Fred. He reached out and Fred took his hand.
George closed his eyes, afraid he might start crying. He didn't want that. He felt a hand on the back of his head, pulling his face forward, and soon he felt Fred's forehead press against his.
"I don't know… I don't know how to be."
"You'll work it out," Fred whispered. "You've got the shop, and a good man who loves you, and a family who'll skin you alive if you don't get your arse back home."
George grinned and chuckled and realised there were tears on his face. He sniffled and reached out to grip Fred's shoulder. Fred's hand stroked slowly down the side of his face, over the hole at the side, and George didn't flinch. "You're the only one who can touch me there."
"For now, yes. That'll change."
"No, it won't," George insisted with all the certainty of a pouting child. "No, it won't."
Fred's hand then went down to rest against George's neck where it lightly massaged, and George sighed and tried to stay just in this moment, to be content at least for a little while. But that didn't last long. Soon he was frowning, going over some of Fred's words in his head.
"Wait," he said. "A man who loves me? Who's that?"
"Aw, quit being so dense, will you? I taught you better than that."
"No, Fred, I really don't know. Who do you mean?"
But Fred didn't answer this time. George could still feel him, but he was afraid to open his eyes. He could feel the familiar quiet of their private world slipping away. The soft, warm glow of the lamp on the bedside table was receding. George felt cold. He held onto Fred more tightly.
"Who do you mean, Fred?"
The light was gone; George could feel the dark emptiness it had left in its wake, feel it pressing in around him. The dream was over, he just hadn't woken up. He was still clutching someone, something, but Fred wouldn't, or couldn't, answer him. George was too afraid to open his eyes.
Lee,
Ever think about Fred?
-George
George woke and blinked at the ceiling. He lay there for a long while, trying to think of nothing, and then tentatively letting himself think about his dream to see if he'd start crying. The sky was growing lighter outside the living room window and light was seeping through the gauzy, ghost-like, rather pointless curtains. He got up and trudged through the living room, manoeuvring around the rickety coffee table, the fading velour ottoman that he hadn't once seen sitting before the armchair it was meant for (not enough room between the chair and the coffee table for it), past the mysterious cardboard boxes that mostly blocked the narrow path between the wall and the sun-bleached loveseat, and finally into the kitchen to have a look at the wall clock that he couldn't properly see from across the room.
5:30. He hadn't been asleep for very long and he was certain he wasn't going to find sleep again any time soon. Ru had probably only just gotten to sleep a little while ago as well. Mai would be waking up for work in a couple of hours.
He turned and glanced around the tiny, cluttered flat. It looked almost cosy in the soft wash of morning light, almost quaint and inviting. But George wasn't fooled; he could already see the darkness of it in the dim, yet somehow harsh, artificial lights that would be turned on later in the evening when the sun began to set, the way it would highlight the dingy walls and sadly faded upholstery, making everything turn from quaint to cheap, from cosy to way too damn small, and he couldn't help but notice how he was already far too accustomed to the maze-like set-up of the space, how he moved through it effortlessly and without thinking, without even looking. Like he belonged there.
This bothered him greatly. It was time to leave.
He was quick and efficient, casting cleaning charms on the sheets and dishes he'd used, putting the dishes away and folding his sheets and leaving them in a neat pile on the sofa. He made sure the toilet seat was down and that the picture of Rutana and Ratana was face-up once more. He even managed to turn Mai's computer back on without pressing the wrong thing. When he was finished, he stuffed his feet into his shoes, slapped his cap on his head and went for the door. But as he opened it, he found he couldn't quite step out into the corridor. Something wasn't right.
He glanced back into the flat and recounted his steps. He'd done everything he'd felt he needed to… No, something was missing. He hadn't said any kind of goodbye, he realised. Or even any real thank-you. He supposed cleaning up after himself, that was a type of thank-you, but not really; cleaning up after himself was the very least he could've done. His chest twisted with guilt at the thought of taking off without a word.
He quietly shut the door and hurried out of the building. He jaywalked across the street to the convenience store. He nodded at the clerk - a tired-looking little balding man wearing glasses and a deeply penetrating scowl that made George feel terribly and unfairly suspicious - and began searching the aisles. He quickly found what he was looking for, paid for it with remaining Muggle money from Probably-Jon's gracious cab fare offering, and quickly took his leave.
He was relieved to find the flat still completely silent when he returned. He left his gift behind without making a fuss; he wrapped the plastic convenience store bag tightly around the four boxes of coated stick-biscuit snacks (he'd found there were more flavours than just chocolate and so had bought an assortment; chocolate, milk and honey, strawberry, and green tea), found a large, black marker on Mai's desk and wrote "Thanks for everything - Fake Lee/Real George" on the thin, white plastic. He left the package on the kitchen table, the marker beside it, and exited the flat, this time for good.
George,
Remember The Night of the Five-Hour Marathon? You were an animal, mate. Wonder if you can still last that long.
-Lee
George stared at the lights. It was amazing to him, how lit up the city was at night. It was so bright, neon and glowing, that it practically blocked out the darkness. It was the best part of Tokyo, it kept the darkness at bay by sheer will. It appealed to him more than he let on.
He wandered around the lighted city, stopping at all the stands that lined the sides of the streets. Fresh sushi and warm sake melted Thailand off his body and eased away the thoughts of anyone else, any thing else but the fast speaking strangers and humidity of the Tokyo air.
The city hummed with life. It was not long ago that George would have resented Tokyo because of it. But something had shifted inside of him and he would expect it had something to do with Ru. It was if she had burrowed inside of him and picked out all that had spoiled in his heart.
He bit into his mochi ball, the sweet taste reminding him of home. He gave the rest of the sweets to a few passing children, but he finished the one in his hand.
Then he walked on.
Ron,
Quit cursing so much, Mum would have a heart attack if she knew the filth coming out of your mouth. Speaking of your addled brains, have you finally convinced Hermione to shag you yet?
-George
Tokyo settled well against George's back, it fit. So he left.
But the peace followed him to the bamboo forests and into the Hiroshima ruins. It was in him and it was making him itch. It made him find men to please, if only to keep the peace from sticking to him, from eating him alive. When he was fucking, the sounds saturating his mind, it was easier to block out the silence.
But he couldn't get rid of it. No matter how many men he slept with, so he left the island. Maybe there was something about Japan, the dying suns and deep traditions melting together with progress for progress, which screamed peace.
He wondered if an old leper colony would stifle the silence and rip whatever Tokyo out of him.
George,
My mother set me up on a blind date last night.
Yeah, I slept with her. The date, not my mother.
I regret to say that during the proceedings, I accidentally called out your name.
Surprisingly, I don't think she minded.
Then again, I'm not sure I'm all that regretful.
I miss you, idiot.
-Lee
George sat beneath a gum tree with his arms around his knees, staring out over the terracotta-brown slopes that rose above him on all sides. He could still see about half of the sun as it set behind the mountain range. The day was coming to an end. He felt like time was catching up to him. He wondered where he should go next.
The sun grew narrower in his periphery, and for one crazy moment it felt to him that the sun wasn't setting at all, but rather the mountain range was growing, rising up higher and closing in at the top, ready to blot out the sun and the sky and any possibility he had left of getting out and getting away. For a moment, his heart beat faster and his breathing quickened. For a moment he feared for his safety and his sanity. Keep running was his only instinct.
He forced himself to stay still, to watch the mountain range and reassure himself that the world was not closing in on him. He licked his chapped lips and knocked his head back against the trunk of the gum tree again and again.
"Well, that's not very smart."
He was up and on his feet and holding his wand at the ready faster than even he would've thought possible, as tired as he was. Charlie didn't even flinch. He sighed as he pulled out his own wand. He didn't train it on George, however; instead he let both his arms dangle at his sides as he approached.
"Persistent bugger, ain't ya?" said George.
"Did you really think I'd give up?"
"No. And stop moving."
To George's surprise, Charlie obeyed. He stopped about fifteen feet away, shoved his free hand into his pocket and looked out over the landscape. "Nice view."
George hazarded a glance up at the mountain tops; he could only see a quarter of the sun now. "Yeah." He looked quickly back at Charlie to ensure he hadn't moved any closer. He hadn't. He was watching George again, however.
"Come home, George," he said.
"Why? You've moved on, Bill's moved on. What's wrong with me doing a bit of travelling?"
"Nothing… if that was what you were doing."
"I'm not travelling? I haven't actually left home, then, is that it? Ooh, don't tell me! I'm still in my bed and the war never happened and Fred's still alive and I'm just dreaming, right?"
"This isn't a joke, this is your life. And you know it's pointless bullshit. You're not going to find any kind of peace out here that you wouldn't eventually find at home."
George looked away, just enough to not be looking directly at Charlie, but not so much that he couldn't still make out any subtle movements if Charlie happened to make any. He stared across the river that wound through the vast gorge. The sun was merely a sliver in his periphery now. Everything went away in the end.
"Fred would kick your arse for pulling this kind of stunt now, you know that?"
George clenched his teeth as anger prickled at his insides. "Shut it, Charlie," he said in a low voice. "Don't."
"Don't what? Say his name? He was my brother too, George."
"Don't tell me what he'd do." George looked at him again. "You don't think I know what he'd do?"
"I think you're being short-sighted-" Charlie began to say gently, but George cut him off.
"You don't think I know exactly what Fred would do every second of every fucking day? You don't think I've been thinking about what Fred would do in this situation, what he'd say, how he's say it?" His voice was rising and he could feel his face heating up and his eyes stinging with tears and his limbs quivering. "You honestly don't think that I see his face every fucking day, every fucking night, inside my head, in every fucking reflective surface?" There was moisture on his face now and his voice was shaking terribly and fuck the stupid ball cap; he tore it off his head and threw it to the ground as violently as the soft fabric would allow. The soft slap it made against the dirt was wholly unsatisfying. "Can you honestly stand there and tell me you know what Fred would've done better than I do? Can you honestly fucking stand there and look at my face and tell me that I don't know him enough to know what he'd do?"
George felt like a thousand pieces of shattered glass, splintered and sharp but broken. Anger burned white hot behind his eyelids and his hand gripped tightly around his wand. He felt out of control and dangerously clear minded, like he was on the brink of something really important or inanely destructive.
But Charlie stood firm, didn't move, barely blinked, and the increasing look of pity in his eyes only angered George more.
"Stop looking at me like that!" George screamed, his voice echoing through the gorge.
Charlie took a breath, licked his lips, and seemed to be choosing his words. Finally he said, "What've you found out here, George?" in a voice so soft, George wanted to slap him.
George wanted to keep screaming. He wanted to tell Charlie to fuck off. Instead, he blinked tearfully up into the sky, his chin trembling. He wiped furiously at his cheeks with his sleeve. The sun was almost gone.
"Nothing," he said quietly, so quietly he was certain Charlie couldn't have heard him properly.
"What was that?"
He couldn't stop his chin from trembling or the tears from coming but they came silently. Through clenched teeth, he repeated, "Nothing."
"That's what I thought."
George shook his head for several seconds, trying to get his voice to work right. "No," he finally said. "You don't get it. That's what I was looking for. No… funeral, no family looking at me like they think they know, like our pain is the same." He glared at Charlie for a moment, but quickly turned away again. "No shop to run, no… nothing."
"You have to start feeling something sometime. It'll only catch up to you in the end."
George's chin trembled at the sliver of sun as it shrank further. "It already has," his voice low and raw in its emotion but he didn't look away from the dying light of the sun.
"Georgie?"
The trembling got worse at the sound of his nickname and George couldn't stop his face from scrunching up in anguish. He suddenly realised that he'd lowered his wand, but he also realised how silly it was to care; this was his brother, not an enemy. This was Charlie.
He looked at the ground and shook his head, tears dripping into the dirt.
"George." Charlie took a step toward him, extending a hand. Something shifted around him and the world came back into focus, and George was alert again, eyes up and focused on his brother, wand trained on him.
"Don't!" he said sharply, wiping his face again. "Stay back!"
Charlie stopped, sighed, and his shoulders slumped. He put his wand away inside his jacket and held his hands out to show he was no longer armed. "I'm begging here, George. Come home. We need you back. You just have to let yourself feel it, yeah?"
Something in the corner of George vision disappeared. He looked up and to the left and saw that the sun had gone, dropped behind the mountains completely. He felt like something was catching up to him. Not just Charlie, not just time, but something else. The darkness was closing in. He had to open his eyes. And keep going.
He looked at Charlie again, eyes sad and watery and tired. He let his wand arm drop like dead weight to his side. "I have to go."
"No. George, please. This is ridiculous." Charlie's voice was showing the slightest hint of panic now. George felt bad about that. "You can't keep running."
George sniffled and looked up to where the sun had been. "The light's gone," he said.
"What?" Charlie's gaze followed George's, his face scrunched up in confusion. "George…"
But there was a sudden crack and George was gone, and he was sorry for the worry he'd left in his brother's eyes, but he wouldn't be taken. Not on anyone's terms but his own.
Hey Dum-Dum,
Thanks for putting the seat down.
We'd never tried the green tea flavour before. I love it. Mai hates it. She grumbles at it and thinks of you.
I hope you find what you're looking for.
It was nice to meet you, George.
-Ru
George smiled to himself, folded up the letter and put it in his pocket as he strolled into Diagon Alley. He kept his head down, watching his feet on the cobblestone. He walked without purpose, letting his feet carry him where they wanted to. The glare of his store front window was familiar and reflective. When he looked back up at the store window, he jumped; Lee was standing right there, watching him, his face blank.
George's stomach dropped a bit. Despite the light, flirtatious tone of Lee's correspondences, George wasn't sure what to expect. He lowered his face and stepped over to the door just as Lee did. He stood there staring at the ground as the locks clicked and the door opened. He swallowed hard and slowly raised his eyes to his friend's face. Lee's expression hadn't changed. George didn't know what to think or say.
"Well, as you can plainly see, I haven't burned the place down or anything," Lee finally said.
George nodded. "Good man."
"You look dreadful."
"Thank you."
"Your hair's gotten longer."
"Yes, hair does that."
"And you're all tan."
"That would be from the sun."
"I hate tans."
"Look who's talking."
Lee gave him a withering look. "Being black ain't the same thing, is it?"
"No, I suppose not."
Lee stepped aside to allow George in. George stepped inside and looked around. A few displays had been moved around, but otherwise everything was as he'd left it. He heard the door close and lock behind him and heard Lee walk across the shop, back behind the counter, where he perched on his stool and continued writing. George stared at him.
"Don't I get a hug?"
"You're lucky I don't punch you on the nose, wanker," Lee replied, but his tone was far from harsh. George smiled.
"Your letters were rather interesting."
"Were they?"
"Yeah." George approached the counter, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Sentimental-like, and, um… kinda sexy."
Lee snorted.
"Well, sexy for you anyway." George stopped at the counter, watched Lee write for a moment and then looked up at his face. "I missed you too, you know."
Lee stopped writing and met his eyes, face blank again. "You didn't come back for me."
"How do you know?"
"I know Charlie's been following you all this time. Must've caught up with you and threatened you with bodily harm if you didn't haul arse and get back here."
"No - well, yes, actually, he basically did do that, but that's not why I'm here."
"Why are you here then? Worried about the shop?"
"Yeah. But no." Lee waited quietly for George's answer. George took a breath and finally replied, "Fred. He told me to come back."
Lee blinked at him.
"I… dreamt of him. Yeah, I know it's stupid."
"No, it's not," Lee said gently, but he didn't say anything else. George got the impression he didn't know what to say and had perhaps felt obligated to disagree with the idea that George having conversations with his dead twin was preposterous.
"You don't have to say that. I know it's mad."
"Well… what did he say that made you come back?"
"Amongst the various insults, he said something that made me stop and think." George hesitated, staring up into Lee's deep, brown eyes. "Before I tell you what he said, let me ask you something about your letters."
"Yes?" Lee asked warily.
George narrowed his eyes at him as though studying him. "You were just trying to lure me back here with vague promises of hot sex, right? You were just appealing to my perverted side, weren't you? I mean, that wasn't… Well, what was that exactly?"
Lee looked down sheepishly and went back to what he was writing. "I told you, George… I missed you, that's all. And the shop needs you, of course."
There was nothing but the scratching of Lee's quill across the paper as George tried to decide whether or not to continue. Lee waited patiently and didn't look up once.
"Fred said to me," George finally went on, "that I've got a good man here who loves me. He said that's one of the things that will help me get through all this."
"A man. Here?" asked Lee without looking up.
"Yeah. Well, no, he didn't say here specifically, but the other things he mentioned were things that are here, so I assume the guy is too."
"Anybody I know?"
"You tell me."
Lee stopped writing and looked at him again. "Well, of course I love you, George, you're my best mate." When he started writing again, George was quick to reach out and stop him, laying a hand on top of the hand holding the quill. The scratching instantly stopped and brown eyes met brown eyes.
"I don't think that's what he meant," said George. Without breaking eye contact, George removed the quill from Lee's hand and set it down. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"George, come on, you know why."
"No, I really don't."
Lee sighed and lowered his gaze. "You were already in the most important relationship you were ever going to have."
George frowned. "Who with?"
Lee looked at him again. "You know who."
George cocked his head. "Are we talking about Fred here?"
Lee remained silent, but he held George's gaze.
"Seriously? My brother?"
"He was the most important person in your life, George."
"Yeah, but my brother?"
"Oh, don't get defensive. I'm not suggesting there was anything incesty going on."
George snorted.
"Not like I'd be the first to suggest it, though."
"No, but you should certainly be the very last person to ever do so."
Lee nodded. "Yeah. Well, there wasn't room for anyone else in your life. Not really. And now I feel like right git for saying that, because he was your twin. Of course he was the most important person in the world to you. And he was my best mate. I felt like I was being selfish. So I never said anything."
George shook his head. "You shouldn't have felt that way. I think… I think he wants us to be together. I think he did when he was alive too."
Lee gave him that uncertain look again. George broke the gaze, shuffled his feet and cleared his throat.
"Well, anyway," Lee went on, looking at the counter. "I knew you could never really be with me. I mean, there was the sex, and that was pretty amazing-"
"Well, I do what I can," George said with a grin.
"-but a relationship?" Lee shook his head. "And what am I saying? Who's to say I was ready for a relationship anyway?"
"What about now?"
Lee looked at him, stared at him for a moment. "I don't know. Everything's different now."
George nodded. He thought of all the people who were lucky to be alive, including himself and Lee. "We've been given another chance. So, maybe we shouldn't waste it."
"Maybe."
"I need you to do something for me."
"What?"
George turned his face to the side, reached up and swept his hair back, uncovering the ear-sized scar on the side of his head. He saw Lee fidget out of the corner of his eye. "Touch it."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Please? I need to check something."
"This isn't some kind of weird fetish for you now, is it?"
George chuckled and he wanted to kiss Lee full on the mouth just for making that joke. "No, sicko. Just… If it's too weird for you, I understa-"
"No, no, no, don't be silly. It's not weird. Well, yeah, it's a little odd, but… Are you going to explain to me why you want me to touch it?"
"No."
Lee sighed. "Fine. Hold still."
George could see Lee's hand approaching in his periphery and he turned his face back to him a bit so he could look at him as the hand drew nearer. He studied Lee's face, watched it closely. Would he look disgusted? Nervous? Would he flinch? George swallowed hard and felt a bit sick to his stomach at the thought of his best mate and former lover not wanting to touch a part of his body.
But Lee looked neither disgusted, nor nervous. He wasn't afraid and he didn't flinch when his fingers grazed the scar. His fingertips glided over it, and all George could see on his face was mild curiosity. There wasn't even a hint of pity there.
And all at once, George realised that he, himself, hadn't flinched at the touch. And in the very next moment he noticed how he was even leaning into it.
Neither of them spoke for a long while. Soon, Lee's large hand was cradling the side of George's head while his thumb caressed over the empty space. George just stood there and let it happen, let his eyes close, let his breathing slow, let his body relax against the counter. He finally, almost unconsciously, brought his hand up and cupped it over Lee's hand, caressed it, slide his hand down Lee's arm, stroking down over the elbow and then back up to the wrist.
"I love you, George," he heard Lee whisper. He opened his eyes and looked at him. He took hold of Lee's hand and removed it from his head, held onto it as he came around the counter and joined Lee behind it, eyes glued to his face the entire way. He slipped his free hand around Lee's waist, pulled him close and clutched the hand he was holding to his chest. He let his eyes trace every inch of Lee's face.
They kissed once, briefly, softly, tilting their faces up to avoid a nose collision, eyes dropping shut for that short moment. And then they stared at each other, as though checking to see that everything was still okay, was still real. George inhaled slowly. His breathing grew shaky and there was the slightest hint of tears in the sound of his sigh.
"Shhhh," Lee hushed him, and he tilted his face, shut his eyes and pressed his mouth to George's once again, this time for much, much longer. Flashes of memory went off in George's brain; yes, these were Lee's lips, impossibly full and soft and pillowy. And this was Lee's smell, clean and sweet and slightly spicy. George remembered this, how it felt, how Lee felt, and he fell right back into it as though it had never stopped.
George felt Lee reach into his own robes and opened George eyes only long enough to watch Lee extinguish the one light above the counter that had still been burning. The shop dimmed further, street lights from the now darkened street weaving through the shop displays and casting odd shadows on the walls. By the time Lee reached over to set the wand on the counter, George had already shut his eyes again and had plunged his tongue into Lee's mouth. The way Lee sucked it, those impossibly full lips encircling it and drawing it in further, brought the blooming erection in George's jeans to its full capacity. And then Lee's hands were on George's shoulders, pushing his jacket off. George shrugged it off and let it fall and helped Lee out of his robes.
The sounds of their breathing were magnified by the stillness of the empty shop. George pushed Lee back against the wall, knocking over a small rubbish bin in the process. Neither of them paid it any mind. George pressed into him and moaned at the feeling of the hardness between Lee's legs. There was suddenly a hand cradling the back of George's head and neck and George received an answering push, and another and another, from Lee's needy hips.
Lee's lips moved down and caressed George's neck, and George's head lolled to the side and finally fell right back. He opened his mouth and inhaled deeply, his chest expanding and body arching into Lee's, and as he let that breath out in the softest sigh, he opened his eyes and blinked slowly at the ceiling.
His breath caught in his throat. The shop's ceiling was the flat's floor, he thought. His flat. His and Fred's flat.
Fred.
He felt Lee's exploration of his neck come to a halt. He lowered his face, but didn't meet Lee's eyes. He stared at Lee's neck and collar instead.
"What's wrong?" Lee whispered.
"What? Nothing."
"You tensed up."
George didn't know how to respond. Fred's dead, he thought. Body's probably not even cold yet and here you are about to shag his best mate in his shop.
"George?" Lee rubbed gently at the back of George's head and then brought his hand around to glide softly over the earless side. Once again, George didn't flinch, didn't even consider it. He finally met Lee's eyes.
"George, what is it?" Lee asked, and George thought Lee must be seeing sadness, or perhaps worry, in his eyes just then.
George hesitated, swallowed, and then whispered, "Do you believe in an afterlife?"
Lee nodded in an "ah, I see" kind of way and let his hand go down to rest on George's shoulder. "Yes, I think so."
"Yeah?"
"Sure."
George licked his lips. "But… don't you think it's awfully convenient?"
Lee cocked his head. "How so?"
"Well, isn't it convenient to be able to tell yourself that someone you loved who died isn't really gone, but is just… somewhere else, waiting for you? I mean, it seems more like a nice little explanation to help the living cope with the idea of death, rather than something that actually happens."
Lee considered that for a moment. "Maybe. But, well, where's the harm in it? I mean, if it helps people and isn't hurting anyone, you know? And what about ghosts? They're proof of an afterlife, aren't they?"
"Sort of, I guess. But not everyone becomes a ghost. Some of them just… cease to exists." Like Fred, he thought, and he had to look away for a moment. "Ghosts are just dead people who have unfinished business. What happens once their business is finished?" George met Lee's eyes again. "Where do they go?"
Lee shook his head. "I don't know."
George nodded. "You looked at me funny when I said Fred spoke to me in my dreams."
"Oh, George," Lee sighed. "I'm so sorry." He wrapped his arms around George's neck and pulled him in for a hug. George embraced him around his middle and put his head down on Lee's shoulder. "I didn't mean to imply that that couldn't possibly happen, I just… I just…"
"It's okay," George whispered. "It's crazy, I know."
"No." Lee kissed the side of George's head, George's hair the only thing separating Lee's mouth from the earless space. "It's not crazy. It's nice. Of course he'd come to see you."
Lee's whisper wafted warm breath over George's scarred skin. George shut his eyes and let out a shaky breath. "He said… Fred said that you made me make noises I don't make with anyone else."
"What?"
"When we'd have sex."
"Oh, he said that, did he?" George could hear the smile in Lee's voice. He smiled too.
"Yes. He said it sounded like you were murdering me."
Lee chuckled. George felt Lee's chest shake as he laughed and Lee squeezed him tighter and turned his face into George's to nuzzle at the side of his head, his nose nestling against the hole. George squeezed his eyes shut and clung to Lee and thought of Fred's words, and how wrong Jon's hand on the side of his head had felt, and Ru's dead twin sister, and the countless bars and strangers and dingy hostels and the running, the constant running. He thought about fear of the silence finally catching up with him and swallowing him whole, darkness and all.
"Lee?" he whispered.
"Yes, George."
"You know… you're the only one who can touch me there now."
They loosened their embrace and George pulled back slowly to look at Lee. He leaned in and pressed his mouth to Lee's, softly, delicately, and he reached up and took one of Lee's hands and gripped it as he pulled back again. He couldn't stop a smile from spreading across his face as he began to lead Lee away from the counter, to the back of the store.
"Where are we going?"
"Back. Can't shag up here in front of the window, can we?"
"Prude."
George scanned the shop for items that might come in handy. His eyes landed on a large bin filled with square throw pillows in deeply saturated jewel colours. He stopped next to the bin. "These been selling alright?" he asked as he selected a deep purple one.
"Oh, yeah, they're a hit."
George moved to the very back of the store. The entire back wall was a shelving unit filled with sweets arranged according to colour. It was like a rainbow sweeping from floor to ceiling, from one side of the store to the other. This entire section was raised slightly, a couple of steps up from the rest of the shop.
George dropped the pillow onto the black-and-white checkered floor before the massive sweets wall. He aimed his wand at it and whispered, "Engorgio," and the pillow began to expand. George continued to adjust it until it was just the right size for two grown men, and rectangular rather than square, and he ensured that the Tickle Charm was disabled. Lee came up beside him, took his hand and nodded his approval.
There were no words as they undressed each other, only appraising looks, appreciative smiles and finally laughter as they fell together onto the pillow, their arms around each other. They each sat on a hip, bodies turned toward each other. Lee pulled the ponytail holder from his hair and sat up tall, arching his back a bit as he tossed his head and let his mane fall down around his face and over his broad shoulders, the dreads long and smooth. George eyed his body as he did this, admiring the way the street lights from the front window reflected softly off his dark skin. He swept Lee's dreads off one shoulder and let his hand trail down Lee's bicep, across to his smooth chest, down his flat belly and into the carpet of tight little black curls at his crotch.
Lee sat still for him while he did this, and he spread his legs when George's hand found its way down between them. He looked down to watch as George's fingers began a slow journey up his erection, and they both let out soft breaths, George not even realising he'd been holding his, as George's hand finally wrapped around the warm, silken length.
They kissed deeply, and Lee's cock jerked in George's hand. George began to slowly stroke it, causing Lee to squirm and nestle closer. Finally, Lee broke the kiss, got up on his knees, swung a leg over George and straddled him.
Their eyes locked as Lee gripped George's shoulders and gently guided him down onto his back. George's hands found Lee's waist and held on as Lee hovered over him, bringing his face down close to his, his hair cascading down to surround both their faces.
"You're nervous," Lee whispered.
George swallowed. "Stupidly enough, yeah, I think I am."
Lee nodded and stroked George's hair. "I can tell. I can see it in your eyes."
George opened his mouth to respond, but Lee softly shushed him, brushing his lips against George's and finally taking his mouth once again in a deep, moist kiss. George thought he was being ridiculous. Why should he be nervous with Lee? He'd never been nervous with him before. They'd been mates forever, lovers on and off for years, and he certainly hadn't been nervous with the strangers he'd given himself to recently.
But all of that worry was soon pushed right out of his head as Lee's hips began to rock and he felt Lee's cock slipping back and forth against his. George pushed up against him and soon they were lost in an increasing and almost agonising pleasure.
George's hands cupped Lee's arse and kneaded and rubbed there, encouraging Lee's rocking hips. He couldn't remember when they'd stopped kissing, but now Lee's forehead was pressed to his and they were panting into each other's mouth. Soon the soft backbeat of heavy breathing was joined by moans that flew without permission from George's throat.
"I love you," George declared breathily. He heard Lee chuckle even as Lee continued to pant.
"Doesn't count if you say it when you're about to toss your load, mate," Lee murmured shakily.
George couldn't help but chuckle too. "That rule… only applies if - oh, fucking hell - if my dick is inside you."
"Says you - oh, shit, oh, George…"
George felt moisture drip onto his lower belly. Pre-come. He wondered which one of them it belonged to.
"Whoever comes first has to work my shift tomorrow," said Lee.
George smiled. "Fuck off."
They rubbed faster, skin now moist and hot, dignity forgotten. George pushed his head back into the pillow, arching his neck, fingertips digging into Lee's cheeks, prying them open a bit, a finger venturing down between them to prod at his hole. Lee closed his eyes and emitted a quivering moan. Soon their rubbing became frantic and desperate, their noises harder and louder, their hands needy.
"Lee?"
"Uh-huh?"
"I don't… think we can… sell this pillow now - oh, fucking fuck-shit-YES!" George cried out, body arching and writhing out of control as he spilled his seed onto his belly, pushing roughly up against Lee.
"You lose, Weasley," Lee groaned, and he too began to come.
George's hands had lost their focus and went roaming around wildly as though searching Lee's back for something. Lee latched his mouth onto George's neck and sucked hard, and George wrapped his arms around him and held onto him for dear life as they both rode out the waves of pleasure.
Their noises died away and their bodies finally gave out and Lee managed to muster enough strength to push himself off of George and fall onto the pillow at his side. When George opened his eyes and looked over at him, he found Lee was watching him.
"I think we need to locate ourselves a proper bed for the night," Lee panted. "Verity said she'd quit if she came in here and found me naked one more time."
George laughed. "I'm going to assume you're joking."
"Hey, that's the kind of thing that happens when you're gone too long."
George gazed at him quietly for a moment, the smile leaving his face completely. "I can't go upstairs yet," he whispered.
"I know," Lee replied immediately. He laid a hand on George's chest. "I know. And George?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you too."
George frowned at him. "Too?"
Lee snorted. "Told you it didn't count."
George,
What the fuck?
-Charlie
"You shagged in the shop."
"We didn't shag. We just… rubbed a bit."
"You filthy bugger. Oh, hey, tell Lee his missing-ear fetish joke was killer!"
The twins both had a good laugh and a smile spread across George's sleeping face.
Ginny,
Quit getting in fights in pubs over Harry. The pictures in the Prophet aren’t very becoming, little sis. Plus, he can't be that good in bed anyway.
Maybe we can catch a pint or two. I may be in the area.
-George
"Lee?"
"Hm?"
"You know my nervousness back at the shop when we were about to…"
"Yeah?"
"That wasn't about you, you know."
"What was it about?"
"Lots of things, I guess. The war's over and everything's different and… it's complicated, I guess. But the thing is… it's weird, but I wasn't nervous with other people I've been with recently."
"Why's that?"
George raised his face from Lee's chest to look at him. "Because they didn't matter."
Lee smiled lazily at him and stroked his hair. "That's good to know. But you've never been nervous with me before."
"True. But last night was kind of huge, I think."
"Because we finally found the bollocks to tell each other how we feel?"
"Exactly."
Lee sighed. "Well, this has been nice. But your mother is going to be beating down our door in about 20 minutes, tops. And I would like to be clothed for your horrid death at the hands of your loving family."
George groaned, rested his head on Lee's chest again and nestled more snugly against him. "Oh, I would hope they'd be decent enough not to murder me in front of my friends."
"Your dad maybe. But your mother… ?"
George winced. "We'd better get dressed soon."
"Indeed."
"Not just yet, though. Just a few more minutes, yeah?" George blinked groggily at the morning light pouring in through Lee's bedroom window. Mere days ago, yesterday even, he would have been offended by such a bright and cheery intrusion. But not today. "I kept dreaming about you, you know."
"When?"
"While I was gone."
"What kinds of dreams?"
George grinned. "The dirty kind." He couldn't see Lee's face, but he knew Lee was grinning too. "But Fred…"
"Fred was there too?"
"No. Well, yes. He kept interrupting us. Don't get your hopes up; it wasn't a threesome situation."
"Hmph. Well, that clinches it."
"What clinches what?"
"I am now fully convinced that Fred is visiting you in your dreams. Because interrupting us during sex is definitely something he'd do. Has done. On purpose. Repeatedly."
George laughed. "Good point… He said to tell you good job on the missing-ear fetish joke last night."
Lee's chest shook with soft laughter. He gave George a squeeze. "Tell him I said 'hi'," he murmured.
"I will."
END
Part 1
George,
The mole is the same colour.
Come home and I might let you touch it again.
-Lee
He was underneath Probably-Jon, his legs wrapped around that firm, black body, and the bed was shaking and he felt so good, or at least he really wanted to be feeling so good, that he wasn't just moaning, he was screaming, and he ran his hand over Jon's smooth head once, twice, and on the third pass, it wasn't smooth at all, but covered in thick, tight ropes of dreadlocked hair…
"Georgie, what are you doing?"
The voice sounded exasperated and sickeningly familiar. George's eyes popped open, and in an instant, the weight of the other body lifted off of him and he was no longer lying on his back, but rather sitting up in his childhood bed. He was wearing a set of pyjamas that he'd long since outgrown. He looked around; he was home, at The Burrow, in his and Fred's old room. And there was Fred's bed across the room from his. But Fred wasn't in it. Because Fred was sitting right next to him.
Fred smiled softly and wiggled his toes beneath the covers they were sharing. "What're you looking at, eh?"
George shook his head. "Dunno. A dream? A ghost, maybe?"
"Maybe, yeah." Fred sighed and put his head back against the headboard. He was also wearing a set of pyjamas that had magically grown to fit his adult body. George also noticed that the sheets were children's sheets he and Fred had inherited from Charlie; they had moving pictures of cartoon dragons all over them. The room was lit by the soft, comforting glow of lamplight and filled with their old toys.
"So, who was that bloke then?" asked Fred.
"What? Oh. That was Jon. I think."
Fred glanced at him. "Was he any good?"
George frowned at him. "Yeah, I guess… Not sure we should be talking about that just now."
"Why not?"
"We're in our childhood room with all the toys and things from when we were kids."
"So? We're not kids anymore."
"Then why are we dressed like kids?"
"Hell if I know. It's your dream, innit? I'm just visiting. So, this Jon character; he as good as Lee?"
George smiled and shrugged. "I dunno."
Fred grinned too. "Sure you do. I remember the noises Lee made come out of you. If I hadn't known better, I'd've said he was murdering you instead of fucking you. Not sure I heard noises like that this time round. You don't make noise like that for anyone else."
George felt himself blushing. "Fred."
"Nah," said Fred, still grinning as he watched George turn pink. "He ain't as good as Lee. I can tell."
"I haven't been with Lee like that in ages."
"So, pick up where you left off. What, you think he won't have you?"
"Well…" George looked down and shrugged, instinctively tilting his head a bit as though trying to hide the hole on the side of it.
"Oh, don't be daft!" said Fred with a frown. "He doesn't give a shit about your ear. And do you really think people like Jim will never ask?"
"Jon."
"Whatever."
"Or… maybe it was Jules …"
"It doesn't matter. What are you running from anyway? Your past? Yourself? Me?" Fred shook his head. "Not on, Georgie. Firstly, you're gonna be there no matter where you go, right? Second, your past is gonna follow you, 'cause what do you think people you meet are gonna ask you about? The bloody weather? Where you got that spiffy cap you've been sporting? I don't think so. And third, well, I think it's obvious that I'm not gonna leave you alone."
George looked at him and found Fred was grinning again. "Have you been slipping into my dreams on purpose?"
"I go where I'm needed," Fred said simply. "And hey, we've spent our lives together. Why shouldn't we spend my death together?"
George winced and looked away. "Don't say that."
"What? Death?"
"Yeah, that."
Fred sighed. "Georgie, I'm dead. Fact of life - er, of death. Whatever."
George looked up into his eyes, looked right into them, as though searching them. "Fred… I don't know how to be without you."
"Mm," Fred nodded, brow furrowing. "I know. I've been watching. It's pitiful, really."
"You're telling me? I keep waiting for you to talk. I keep waiting to hear my cue to jump in."
Fred looked sorrowful, a subtle sadness melting into his eyes. "You got the biggest bloody cue you could possibly get, Georgie," he whispered. He turned his body more toward his twin's, sitting on his hip and curling his legs up, one shoulder to the headboard. George did the same, a mirror-image of Fred. He reached out and Fred took his hand.
George closed his eyes, afraid he might start crying. He didn't want that. He felt a hand on the back of his head, pulling his face forward, and soon he felt Fred's forehead press against his.
"I don't know… I don't know how to be."
"You'll work it out," Fred whispered. "You've got the shop, and a good man who loves you, and a family who'll skin you alive if you don't get your arse back home."
George grinned and chuckled and realised there were tears on his face. He sniffled and reached out to grip Fred's shoulder. Fred's hand stroked slowly down the side of his face, over the hole at the side, and George didn't flinch. "You're the only one who can touch me there."
"For now, yes. That'll change."
"No, it won't," George insisted with all the certainty of a pouting child. "No, it won't."
Fred's hand then went down to rest against George's neck where it lightly massaged, and George sighed and tried to stay just in this moment, to be content at least for a little while. But that didn't last long. Soon he was frowning, going over some of Fred's words in his head.
"Wait," he said. "A man who loves me? Who's that?"
"Aw, quit being so dense, will you? I taught you better than that."
"No, Fred, I really don't know. Who do you mean?"
But Fred didn't answer this time. George could still feel him, but he was afraid to open his eyes. He could feel the familiar quiet of their private world slipping away. The soft, warm glow of the lamp on the bedside table was receding. George felt cold. He held onto Fred more tightly.
"Who do you mean, Fred?"
The light was gone; George could feel the dark emptiness it had left in its wake, feel it pressing in around him. The dream was over, he just hadn't woken up. He was still clutching someone, something, but Fred wouldn't, or couldn't, answer him. George was too afraid to open his eyes.
Lee,
Ever think about Fred?
-George
George woke and blinked at the ceiling. He lay there for a long while, trying to think of nothing, and then tentatively letting himself think about his dream to see if he'd start crying. The sky was growing lighter outside the living room window and light was seeping through the gauzy, ghost-like, rather pointless curtains. He got up and trudged through the living room, manoeuvring around the rickety coffee table, the fading velour ottoman that he hadn't once seen sitting before the armchair it was meant for (not enough room between the chair and the coffee table for it), past the mysterious cardboard boxes that mostly blocked the narrow path between the wall and the sun-bleached loveseat, and finally into the kitchen to have a look at the wall clock that he couldn't properly see from across the room.
5:30. He hadn't been asleep for very long and he was certain he wasn't going to find sleep again any time soon. Ru had probably only just gotten to sleep a little while ago as well. Mai would be waking up for work in a couple of hours.
He turned and glanced around the tiny, cluttered flat. It looked almost cosy in the soft wash of morning light, almost quaint and inviting. But George wasn't fooled; he could already see the darkness of it in the dim, yet somehow harsh, artificial lights that would be turned on later in the evening when the sun began to set, the way it would highlight the dingy walls and sadly faded upholstery, making everything turn from quaint to cheap, from cosy to way too damn small, and he couldn't help but notice how he was already far too accustomed to the maze-like set-up of the space, how he moved through it effortlessly and without thinking, without even looking. Like he belonged there.
This bothered him greatly. It was time to leave.
He was quick and efficient, casting cleaning charms on the sheets and dishes he'd used, putting the dishes away and folding his sheets and leaving them in a neat pile on the sofa. He made sure the toilet seat was down and that the picture of Rutana and Ratana was face-up once more. He even managed to turn Mai's computer back on without pressing the wrong thing. When he was finished, he stuffed his feet into his shoes, slapped his cap on his head and went for the door. But as he opened it, he found he couldn't quite step out into the corridor. Something wasn't right.
He glanced back into the flat and recounted his steps. He'd done everything he'd felt he needed to… No, something was missing. He hadn't said any kind of goodbye, he realised. Or even any real thank-you. He supposed cleaning up after himself, that was a type of thank-you, but not really; cleaning up after himself was the very least he could've done. His chest twisted with guilt at the thought of taking off without a word.
He quietly shut the door and hurried out of the building. He jaywalked across the street to the convenience store. He nodded at the clerk - a tired-looking little balding man wearing glasses and a deeply penetrating scowl that made George feel terribly and unfairly suspicious - and began searching the aisles. He quickly found what he was looking for, paid for it with remaining Muggle money from Probably-Jon's gracious cab fare offering, and quickly took his leave.
He was relieved to find the flat still completely silent when he returned. He left his gift behind without making a fuss; he wrapped the plastic convenience store bag tightly around the four boxes of coated stick-biscuit snacks (he'd found there were more flavours than just chocolate and so had bought an assortment; chocolate, milk and honey, strawberry, and green tea), found a large, black marker on Mai's desk and wrote "Thanks for everything - Fake Lee/Real George" on the thin, white plastic. He left the package on the kitchen table, the marker beside it, and exited the flat, this time for good.
George,
Remember The Night of the Five-Hour Marathon? You were an animal, mate. Wonder if you can still last that long.
-Lee
George stared at the lights. It was amazing to him, how lit up the city was at night. It was so bright, neon and glowing, that it practically blocked out the darkness. It was the best part of Tokyo, it kept the darkness at bay by sheer will. It appealed to him more than he let on.
He wandered around the lighted city, stopping at all the stands that lined the sides of the streets. Fresh sushi and warm sake melted Thailand off his body and eased away the thoughts of anyone else, any thing else but the fast speaking strangers and humidity of the Tokyo air.
The city hummed with life. It was not long ago that George would have resented Tokyo because of it. But something had shifted inside of him and he would expect it had something to do with Ru. It was if she had burrowed inside of him and picked out all that had spoiled in his heart.
He bit into his mochi ball, the sweet taste reminding him of home. He gave the rest of the sweets to a few passing children, but he finished the one in his hand.
Then he walked on.
Ron,
Quit cursing so much, Mum would have a heart attack if she knew the filth coming out of your mouth. Speaking of your addled brains, have you finally convinced Hermione to shag you yet?
-George
Tokyo settled well against George's back, it fit. So he left.
But the peace followed him to the bamboo forests and into the Hiroshima ruins. It was in him and it was making him itch. It made him find men to please, if only to keep the peace from sticking to him, from eating him alive. When he was fucking, the sounds saturating his mind, it was easier to block out the silence.
But he couldn't get rid of it. No matter how many men he slept with, so he left the island. Maybe there was something about Japan, the dying suns and deep traditions melting together with progress for progress, which screamed peace.
He wondered if an old leper colony would stifle the silence and rip whatever Tokyo out of him.
George,
My mother set me up on a blind date last night.
Yeah, I slept with her. The date, not my mother.
I regret to say that during the proceedings, I accidentally called out your name.
Surprisingly, I don't think she minded.
Then again, I'm not sure I'm all that regretful.
I miss you, idiot.
-Lee
George sat beneath a gum tree with his arms around his knees, staring out over the terracotta-brown slopes that rose above him on all sides. He could still see about half of the sun as it set behind the mountain range. The day was coming to an end. He felt like time was catching up to him. He wondered where he should go next.
The sun grew narrower in his periphery, and for one crazy moment it felt to him that the sun wasn't setting at all, but rather the mountain range was growing, rising up higher and closing in at the top, ready to blot out the sun and the sky and any possibility he had left of getting out and getting away. For a moment, his heart beat faster and his breathing quickened. For a moment he feared for his safety and his sanity. Keep running was his only instinct.
He forced himself to stay still, to watch the mountain range and reassure himself that the world was not closing in on him. He licked his chapped lips and knocked his head back against the trunk of the gum tree again and again.
"Well, that's not very smart."
He was up and on his feet and holding his wand at the ready faster than even he would've thought possible, as tired as he was. Charlie didn't even flinch. He sighed as he pulled out his own wand. He didn't train it on George, however; instead he let both his arms dangle at his sides as he approached.
"Persistent bugger, ain't ya?" said George.
"Did you really think I'd give up?"
"No. And stop moving."
To George's surprise, Charlie obeyed. He stopped about fifteen feet away, shoved his free hand into his pocket and looked out over the landscape. "Nice view."
George hazarded a glance up at the mountain tops; he could only see a quarter of the sun now. "Yeah." He looked quickly back at Charlie to ensure he hadn't moved any closer. He hadn't. He was watching George again, however.
"Come home, George," he said.
"Why? You've moved on, Bill's moved on. What's wrong with me doing a bit of travelling?"
"Nothing… if that was what you were doing."
"I'm not travelling? I haven't actually left home, then, is that it? Ooh, don't tell me! I'm still in my bed and the war never happened and Fred's still alive and I'm just dreaming, right?"
"This isn't a joke, this is your life. And you know it's pointless bullshit. You're not going to find any kind of peace out here that you wouldn't eventually find at home."
George looked away, just enough to not be looking directly at Charlie, but not so much that he couldn't still make out any subtle movements if Charlie happened to make any. He stared across the river that wound through the vast gorge. The sun was merely a sliver in his periphery now. Everything went away in the end.
"Fred would kick your arse for pulling this kind of stunt now, you know that?"
George clenched his teeth as anger prickled at his insides. "Shut it, Charlie," he said in a low voice. "Don't."
"Don't what? Say his name? He was my brother too, George."
"Don't tell me what he'd do." George looked at him again. "You don't think I know what he'd do?"
"I think you're being short-sighted-" Charlie began to say gently, but George cut him off.
"You don't think I know exactly what Fred would do every second of every fucking day? You don't think I've been thinking about what Fred would do in this situation, what he'd say, how he's say it?" His voice was rising and he could feel his face heating up and his eyes stinging with tears and his limbs quivering. "You honestly don't think that I see his face every fucking day, every fucking night, inside my head, in every fucking reflective surface?" There was moisture on his face now and his voice was shaking terribly and fuck the stupid ball cap; he tore it off his head and threw it to the ground as violently as the soft fabric would allow. The soft slap it made against the dirt was wholly unsatisfying. "Can you honestly stand there and tell me you know what Fred would've done better than I do? Can you honestly fucking stand there and look at my face and tell me that I don't know him enough to know what he'd do?"
George felt like a thousand pieces of shattered glass, splintered and sharp but broken. Anger burned white hot behind his eyelids and his hand gripped tightly around his wand. He felt out of control and dangerously clear minded, like he was on the brink of something really important or inanely destructive.
But Charlie stood firm, didn't move, barely blinked, and the increasing look of pity in his eyes only angered George more.
"Stop looking at me like that!" George screamed, his voice echoing through the gorge.
Charlie took a breath, licked his lips, and seemed to be choosing his words. Finally he said, "What've you found out here, George?" in a voice so soft, George wanted to slap him.
George wanted to keep screaming. He wanted to tell Charlie to fuck off. Instead, he blinked tearfully up into the sky, his chin trembling. He wiped furiously at his cheeks with his sleeve. The sun was almost gone.
"Nothing," he said quietly, so quietly he was certain Charlie couldn't have heard him properly.
"What was that?"
He couldn't stop his chin from trembling or the tears from coming but they came silently. Through clenched teeth, he repeated, "Nothing."
"That's what I thought."
George shook his head for several seconds, trying to get his voice to work right. "No," he finally said. "You don't get it. That's what I was looking for. No… funeral, no family looking at me like they think they know, like our pain is the same." He glared at Charlie for a moment, but quickly turned away again. "No shop to run, no… nothing."
"You have to start feeling something sometime. It'll only catch up to you in the end."
George's chin trembled at the sliver of sun as it shrank further. "It already has," his voice low and raw in its emotion but he didn't look away from the dying light of the sun.
"Georgie?"
The trembling got worse at the sound of his nickname and George couldn't stop his face from scrunching up in anguish. He suddenly realised that he'd lowered his wand, but he also realised how silly it was to care; this was his brother, not an enemy. This was Charlie.
He looked at the ground and shook his head, tears dripping into the dirt.
"George." Charlie took a step toward him, extending a hand. Something shifted around him and the world came back into focus, and George was alert again, eyes up and focused on his brother, wand trained on him.
"Don't!" he said sharply, wiping his face again. "Stay back!"
Charlie stopped, sighed, and his shoulders slumped. He put his wand away inside his jacket and held his hands out to show he was no longer armed. "I'm begging here, George. Come home. We need you back. You just have to let yourself feel it, yeah?"
Something in the corner of George vision disappeared. He looked up and to the left and saw that the sun had gone, dropped behind the mountains completely. He felt like something was catching up to him. Not just Charlie, not just time, but something else. The darkness was closing in. He had to open his eyes. And keep going.
He looked at Charlie again, eyes sad and watery and tired. He let his wand arm drop like dead weight to his side. "I have to go."
"No. George, please. This is ridiculous." Charlie's voice was showing the slightest hint of panic now. George felt bad about that. "You can't keep running."
George sniffled and looked up to where the sun had been. "The light's gone," he said.
"What?" Charlie's gaze followed George's, his face scrunched up in confusion. "George…"
But there was a sudden crack and George was gone, and he was sorry for the worry he'd left in his brother's eyes, but he wouldn't be taken. Not on anyone's terms but his own.
Hey Dum-Dum,
Thanks for putting the seat down.
We'd never tried the green tea flavour before. I love it. Mai hates it. She grumbles at it and thinks of you.
I hope you find what you're looking for.
It was nice to meet you, George.
-Ru
George smiled to himself, folded up the letter and put it in his pocket as he strolled into Diagon Alley. He kept his head down, watching his feet on the cobblestone. He walked without purpose, letting his feet carry him where they wanted to. The glare of his store front window was familiar and reflective. When he looked back up at the store window, he jumped; Lee was standing right there, watching him, his face blank.
George's stomach dropped a bit. Despite the light, flirtatious tone of Lee's correspondences, George wasn't sure what to expect. He lowered his face and stepped over to the door just as Lee did. He stood there staring at the ground as the locks clicked and the door opened. He swallowed hard and slowly raised his eyes to his friend's face. Lee's expression hadn't changed. George didn't know what to think or say.
"Well, as you can plainly see, I haven't burned the place down or anything," Lee finally said.
George nodded. "Good man."
"You look dreadful."
"Thank you."
"Your hair's gotten longer."
"Yes, hair does that."
"And you're all tan."
"That would be from the sun."
"I hate tans."
"Look who's talking."
Lee gave him a withering look. "Being black ain't the same thing, is it?"
"No, I suppose not."
Lee stepped aside to allow George in. George stepped inside and looked around. A few displays had been moved around, but otherwise everything was as he'd left it. He heard the door close and lock behind him and heard Lee walk across the shop, back behind the counter, where he perched on his stool and continued writing. George stared at him.
"Don't I get a hug?"
"You're lucky I don't punch you on the nose, wanker," Lee replied, but his tone was far from harsh. George smiled.
"Your letters were rather interesting."
"Were they?"
"Yeah." George approached the counter, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Sentimental-like, and, um… kinda sexy."
Lee snorted.
"Well, sexy for you anyway." George stopped at the counter, watched Lee write for a moment and then looked up at his face. "I missed you too, you know."
Lee stopped writing and met his eyes, face blank again. "You didn't come back for me."
"How do you know?"
"I know Charlie's been following you all this time. Must've caught up with you and threatened you with bodily harm if you didn't haul arse and get back here."
"No - well, yes, actually, he basically did do that, but that's not why I'm here."
"Why are you here then? Worried about the shop?"
"Yeah. But no." Lee waited quietly for George's answer. George took a breath and finally replied, "Fred. He told me to come back."
Lee blinked at him.
"I… dreamt of him. Yeah, I know it's stupid."
"No, it's not," Lee said gently, but he didn't say anything else. George got the impression he didn't know what to say and had perhaps felt obligated to disagree with the idea that George having conversations with his dead twin was preposterous.
"You don't have to say that. I know it's mad."
"Well… what did he say that made you come back?"
"Amongst the various insults, he said something that made me stop and think." George hesitated, staring up into Lee's deep, brown eyes. "Before I tell you what he said, let me ask you something about your letters."
"Yes?" Lee asked warily.
George narrowed his eyes at him as though studying him. "You were just trying to lure me back here with vague promises of hot sex, right? You were just appealing to my perverted side, weren't you? I mean, that wasn't… Well, what was that exactly?"
Lee looked down sheepishly and went back to what he was writing. "I told you, George… I missed you, that's all. And the shop needs you, of course."
There was nothing but the scratching of Lee's quill across the paper as George tried to decide whether or not to continue. Lee waited patiently and didn't look up once.
"Fred said to me," George finally went on, "that I've got a good man here who loves me. He said that's one of the things that will help me get through all this."
"A man. Here?" asked Lee without looking up.
"Yeah. Well, no, he didn't say here specifically, but the other things he mentioned were things that are here, so I assume the guy is too."
"Anybody I know?"
"You tell me."
Lee stopped writing and looked at him again. "Well, of course I love you, George, you're my best mate." When he started writing again, George was quick to reach out and stop him, laying a hand on top of the hand holding the quill. The scratching instantly stopped and brown eyes met brown eyes.
"I don't think that's what he meant," said George. Without breaking eye contact, George removed the quill from Lee's hand and set it down. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"George, come on, you know why."
"No, I really don't."
Lee sighed and lowered his gaze. "You were already in the most important relationship you were ever going to have."
George frowned. "Who with?"
Lee looked at him again. "You know who."
George cocked his head. "Are we talking about Fred here?"
Lee remained silent, but he held George's gaze.
"Seriously? My brother?"
"He was the most important person in your life, George."
"Yeah, but my brother?"
"Oh, don't get defensive. I'm not suggesting there was anything incesty going on."
George snorted.
"Not like I'd be the first to suggest it, though."
"No, but you should certainly be the very last person to ever do so."
Lee nodded. "Yeah. Well, there wasn't room for anyone else in your life. Not really. And now I feel like right git for saying that, because he was your twin. Of course he was the most important person in the world to you. And he was my best mate. I felt like I was being selfish. So I never said anything."
George shook his head. "You shouldn't have felt that way. I think… I think he wants us to be together. I think he did when he was alive too."
Lee gave him that uncertain look again. George broke the gaze, shuffled his feet and cleared his throat.
"Well, anyway," Lee went on, looking at the counter. "I knew you could never really be with me. I mean, there was the sex, and that was pretty amazing-"
"Well, I do what I can," George said with a grin.
"-but a relationship?" Lee shook his head. "And what am I saying? Who's to say I was ready for a relationship anyway?"
"What about now?"
Lee looked at him, stared at him for a moment. "I don't know. Everything's different now."
George nodded. He thought of all the people who were lucky to be alive, including himself and Lee. "We've been given another chance. So, maybe we shouldn't waste it."
"Maybe."
"I need you to do something for me."
"What?"
George turned his face to the side, reached up and swept his hair back, uncovering the ear-sized scar on the side of his head. He saw Lee fidget out of the corner of his eye. "Touch it."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Please? I need to check something."
"This isn't some kind of weird fetish for you now, is it?"
George chuckled and he wanted to kiss Lee full on the mouth just for making that joke. "No, sicko. Just… If it's too weird for you, I understa-"
"No, no, no, don't be silly. It's not weird. Well, yeah, it's a little odd, but… Are you going to explain to me why you want me to touch it?"
"No."
Lee sighed. "Fine. Hold still."
George could see Lee's hand approaching in his periphery and he turned his face back to him a bit so he could look at him as the hand drew nearer. He studied Lee's face, watched it closely. Would he look disgusted? Nervous? Would he flinch? George swallowed hard and felt a bit sick to his stomach at the thought of his best mate and former lover not wanting to touch a part of his body.
But Lee looked neither disgusted, nor nervous. He wasn't afraid and he didn't flinch when his fingers grazed the scar. His fingertips glided over it, and all George could see on his face was mild curiosity. There wasn't even a hint of pity there.
And all at once, George realised that he, himself, hadn't flinched at the touch. And in the very next moment he noticed how he was even leaning into it.
Neither of them spoke for a long while. Soon, Lee's large hand was cradling the side of George's head while his thumb caressed over the empty space. George just stood there and let it happen, let his eyes close, let his breathing slow, let his body relax against the counter. He finally, almost unconsciously, brought his hand up and cupped it over Lee's hand, caressed it, slide his hand down Lee's arm, stroking down over the elbow and then back up to the wrist.
"I love you, George," he heard Lee whisper. He opened his eyes and looked at him. He took hold of Lee's hand and removed it from his head, held onto it as he came around the counter and joined Lee behind it, eyes glued to his face the entire way. He slipped his free hand around Lee's waist, pulled him close and clutched the hand he was holding to his chest. He let his eyes trace every inch of Lee's face.
They kissed once, briefly, softly, tilting their faces up to avoid a nose collision, eyes dropping shut for that short moment. And then they stared at each other, as though checking to see that everything was still okay, was still real. George inhaled slowly. His breathing grew shaky and there was the slightest hint of tears in the sound of his sigh.
"Shhhh," Lee hushed him, and he tilted his face, shut his eyes and pressed his mouth to George's once again, this time for much, much longer. Flashes of memory went off in George's brain; yes, these were Lee's lips, impossibly full and soft and pillowy. And this was Lee's smell, clean and sweet and slightly spicy. George remembered this, how it felt, how Lee felt, and he fell right back into it as though it had never stopped.
George felt Lee reach into his own robes and opened George eyes only long enough to watch Lee extinguish the one light above the counter that had still been burning. The shop dimmed further, street lights from the now darkened street weaving through the shop displays and casting odd shadows on the walls. By the time Lee reached over to set the wand on the counter, George had already shut his eyes again and had plunged his tongue into Lee's mouth. The way Lee sucked it, those impossibly full lips encircling it and drawing it in further, brought the blooming erection in George's jeans to its full capacity. And then Lee's hands were on George's shoulders, pushing his jacket off. George shrugged it off and let it fall and helped Lee out of his robes.
The sounds of their breathing were magnified by the stillness of the empty shop. George pushed Lee back against the wall, knocking over a small rubbish bin in the process. Neither of them paid it any mind. George pressed into him and moaned at the feeling of the hardness between Lee's legs. There was suddenly a hand cradling the back of George's head and neck and George received an answering push, and another and another, from Lee's needy hips.
Lee's lips moved down and caressed George's neck, and George's head lolled to the side and finally fell right back. He opened his mouth and inhaled deeply, his chest expanding and body arching into Lee's, and as he let that breath out in the softest sigh, he opened his eyes and blinked slowly at the ceiling.
His breath caught in his throat. The shop's ceiling was the flat's floor, he thought. His flat. His and Fred's flat.
Fred.
He felt Lee's exploration of his neck come to a halt. He lowered his face, but didn't meet Lee's eyes. He stared at Lee's neck and collar instead.
"What's wrong?" Lee whispered.
"What? Nothing."
"You tensed up."
George didn't know how to respond. Fred's dead, he thought. Body's probably not even cold yet and here you are about to shag his best mate in his shop.
"George?" Lee rubbed gently at the back of George's head and then brought his hand around to glide softly over the earless side. Once again, George didn't flinch, didn't even consider it. He finally met Lee's eyes.
"George, what is it?" Lee asked, and George thought Lee must be seeing sadness, or perhaps worry, in his eyes just then.
George hesitated, swallowed, and then whispered, "Do you believe in an afterlife?"
Lee nodded in an "ah, I see" kind of way and let his hand go down to rest on George's shoulder. "Yes, I think so."
"Yeah?"
"Sure."
George licked his lips. "But… don't you think it's awfully convenient?"
Lee cocked his head. "How so?"
"Well, isn't it convenient to be able to tell yourself that someone you loved who died isn't really gone, but is just… somewhere else, waiting for you? I mean, it seems more like a nice little explanation to help the living cope with the idea of death, rather than something that actually happens."
Lee considered that for a moment. "Maybe. But, well, where's the harm in it? I mean, if it helps people and isn't hurting anyone, you know? And what about ghosts? They're proof of an afterlife, aren't they?"
"Sort of, I guess. But not everyone becomes a ghost. Some of them just… cease to exists." Like Fred, he thought, and he had to look away for a moment. "Ghosts are just dead people who have unfinished business. What happens once their business is finished?" George met Lee's eyes again. "Where do they go?"
Lee shook his head. "I don't know."
George nodded. "You looked at me funny when I said Fred spoke to me in my dreams."
"Oh, George," Lee sighed. "I'm so sorry." He wrapped his arms around George's neck and pulled him in for a hug. George embraced him around his middle and put his head down on Lee's shoulder. "I didn't mean to imply that that couldn't possibly happen, I just… I just…"
"It's okay," George whispered. "It's crazy, I know."
"No." Lee kissed the side of George's head, George's hair the only thing separating Lee's mouth from the earless space. "It's not crazy. It's nice. Of course he'd come to see you."
Lee's whisper wafted warm breath over George's scarred skin. George shut his eyes and let out a shaky breath. "He said… Fred said that you made me make noises I don't make with anyone else."
"What?"
"When we'd have sex."
"Oh, he said that, did he?" George could hear the smile in Lee's voice. He smiled too.
"Yes. He said it sounded like you were murdering me."
Lee chuckled. George felt Lee's chest shake as he laughed and Lee squeezed him tighter and turned his face into George's to nuzzle at the side of his head, his nose nestling against the hole. George squeezed his eyes shut and clung to Lee and thought of Fred's words, and how wrong Jon's hand on the side of his head had felt, and Ru's dead twin sister, and the countless bars and strangers and dingy hostels and the running, the constant running. He thought about fear of the silence finally catching up with him and swallowing him whole, darkness and all.
"Lee?" he whispered.
"Yes, George."
"You know… you're the only one who can touch me there now."
They loosened their embrace and George pulled back slowly to look at Lee. He leaned in and pressed his mouth to Lee's, softly, delicately, and he reached up and took one of Lee's hands and gripped it as he pulled back again. He couldn't stop a smile from spreading across his face as he began to lead Lee away from the counter, to the back of the store.
"Where are we going?"
"Back. Can't shag up here in front of the window, can we?"
"Prude."
George scanned the shop for items that might come in handy. His eyes landed on a large bin filled with square throw pillows in deeply saturated jewel colours. He stopped next to the bin. "These been selling alright?" he asked as he selected a deep purple one.
"Oh, yeah, they're a hit."
George moved to the very back of the store. The entire back wall was a shelving unit filled with sweets arranged according to colour. It was like a rainbow sweeping from floor to ceiling, from one side of the store to the other. This entire section was raised slightly, a couple of steps up from the rest of the shop.
George dropped the pillow onto the black-and-white checkered floor before the massive sweets wall. He aimed his wand at it and whispered, "Engorgio," and the pillow began to expand. George continued to adjust it until it was just the right size for two grown men, and rectangular rather than square, and he ensured that the Tickle Charm was disabled. Lee came up beside him, took his hand and nodded his approval.
There were no words as they undressed each other, only appraising looks, appreciative smiles and finally laughter as they fell together onto the pillow, their arms around each other. They each sat on a hip, bodies turned toward each other. Lee pulled the ponytail holder from his hair and sat up tall, arching his back a bit as he tossed his head and let his mane fall down around his face and over his broad shoulders, the dreads long and smooth. George eyed his body as he did this, admiring the way the street lights from the front window reflected softly off his dark skin. He swept Lee's dreads off one shoulder and let his hand trail down Lee's bicep, across to his smooth chest, down his flat belly and into the carpet of tight little black curls at his crotch.
Lee sat still for him while he did this, and he spread his legs when George's hand found its way down between them. He looked down to watch as George's fingers began a slow journey up his erection, and they both let out soft breaths, George not even realising he'd been holding his, as George's hand finally wrapped around the warm, silken length.
They kissed deeply, and Lee's cock jerked in George's hand. George began to slowly stroke it, causing Lee to squirm and nestle closer. Finally, Lee broke the kiss, got up on his knees, swung a leg over George and straddled him.
Their eyes locked as Lee gripped George's shoulders and gently guided him down onto his back. George's hands found Lee's waist and held on as Lee hovered over him, bringing his face down close to his, his hair cascading down to surround both their faces.
"You're nervous," Lee whispered.
George swallowed. "Stupidly enough, yeah, I think I am."
Lee nodded and stroked George's hair. "I can tell. I can see it in your eyes."
George opened his mouth to respond, but Lee softly shushed him, brushing his lips against George's and finally taking his mouth once again in a deep, moist kiss. George thought he was being ridiculous. Why should he be nervous with Lee? He'd never been nervous with him before. They'd been mates forever, lovers on and off for years, and he certainly hadn't been nervous with the strangers he'd given himself to recently.
But all of that worry was soon pushed right out of his head as Lee's hips began to rock and he felt Lee's cock slipping back and forth against his. George pushed up against him and soon they were lost in an increasing and almost agonising pleasure.
George's hands cupped Lee's arse and kneaded and rubbed there, encouraging Lee's rocking hips. He couldn't remember when they'd stopped kissing, but now Lee's forehead was pressed to his and they were panting into each other's mouth. Soon the soft backbeat of heavy breathing was joined by moans that flew without permission from George's throat.
"I love you," George declared breathily. He heard Lee chuckle even as Lee continued to pant.
"Doesn't count if you say it when you're about to toss your load, mate," Lee murmured shakily.
George couldn't help but chuckle too. "That rule… only applies if - oh, fucking hell - if my dick is inside you."
"Says you - oh, shit, oh, George…"
George felt moisture drip onto his lower belly. Pre-come. He wondered which one of them it belonged to.
"Whoever comes first has to work my shift tomorrow," said Lee.
George smiled. "Fuck off."
They rubbed faster, skin now moist and hot, dignity forgotten. George pushed his head back into the pillow, arching his neck, fingertips digging into Lee's cheeks, prying them open a bit, a finger venturing down between them to prod at his hole. Lee closed his eyes and emitted a quivering moan. Soon their rubbing became frantic and desperate, their noises harder and louder, their hands needy.
"Lee?"
"Uh-huh?"
"I don't… think we can… sell this pillow now - oh, fucking fuck-shit-YES!" George cried out, body arching and writhing out of control as he spilled his seed onto his belly, pushing roughly up against Lee.
"You lose, Weasley," Lee groaned, and he too began to come.
George's hands had lost their focus and went roaming around wildly as though searching Lee's back for something. Lee latched his mouth onto George's neck and sucked hard, and George wrapped his arms around him and held onto him for dear life as they both rode out the waves of pleasure.
Their noises died away and their bodies finally gave out and Lee managed to muster enough strength to push himself off of George and fall onto the pillow at his side. When George opened his eyes and looked over at him, he found Lee was watching him.
"I think we need to locate ourselves a proper bed for the night," Lee panted. "Verity said she'd quit if she came in here and found me naked one more time."
George laughed. "I'm going to assume you're joking."
"Hey, that's the kind of thing that happens when you're gone too long."
George gazed at him quietly for a moment, the smile leaving his face completely. "I can't go upstairs yet," he whispered.
"I know," Lee replied immediately. He laid a hand on George's chest. "I know. And George?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you too."
George frowned at him. "Too?"
Lee snorted. "Told you it didn't count."
George,
What the fuck?
-Charlie
"You shagged in the shop."
"We didn't shag. We just… rubbed a bit."
"You filthy bugger. Oh, hey, tell Lee his missing-ear fetish joke was killer!"
The twins both had a good laugh and a smile spread across George's sleeping face.
Ginny,
Quit getting in fights in pubs over Harry. The pictures in the Prophet aren’t very becoming, little sis. Plus, he can't be that good in bed anyway.
Maybe we can catch a pint or two. I may be in the area.
-George
"Lee?"
"Hm?"
"You know my nervousness back at the shop when we were about to…"
"Yeah?"
"That wasn't about you, you know."
"What was it about?"
"Lots of things, I guess. The war's over and everything's different and… it's complicated, I guess. But the thing is… it's weird, but I wasn't nervous with other people I've been with recently."
"Why's that?"
George raised his face from Lee's chest to look at him. "Because they didn't matter."
Lee smiled lazily at him and stroked his hair. "That's good to know. But you've never been nervous with me before."
"True. But last night was kind of huge, I think."
"Because we finally found the bollocks to tell each other how we feel?"
"Exactly."
Lee sighed. "Well, this has been nice. But your mother is going to be beating down our door in about 20 minutes, tops. And I would like to be clothed for your horrid death at the hands of your loving family."
George groaned, rested his head on Lee's chest again and nestled more snugly against him. "Oh, I would hope they'd be decent enough not to murder me in front of my friends."
"Your dad maybe. But your mother… ?"
George winced. "We'd better get dressed soon."
"Indeed."
"Not just yet, though. Just a few more minutes, yeah?" George blinked groggily at the morning light pouring in through Lee's bedroom window. Mere days ago, yesterday even, he would have been offended by such a bright and cheery intrusion. But not today. "I kept dreaming about you, you know."
"When?"
"While I was gone."
"What kinds of dreams?"
George grinned. "The dirty kind." He couldn't see Lee's face, but he knew Lee was grinning too. "But Fred…"
"Fred was there too?"
"No. Well, yes. He kept interrupting us. Don't get your hopes up; it wasn't a threesome situation."
"Hmph. Well, that clinches it."
"What clinches what?"
"I am now fully convinced that Fred is visiting you in your dreams. Because interrupting us during sex is definitely something he'd do. Has done. On purpose. Repeatedly."
George laughed. "Good point… He said to tell you good job on the missing-ear fetish joke last night."
Lee's chest shook with soft laughter. He gave George a squeeze. "Tell him I said 'hi'," he murmured.
"I will."
END
Part 1