Dancing with Ghosts
Ron wasn't entirely sure how he should take their mum's suggestion that he move in with George and help with the shop. Sure, it really was a brilliant suggestion, but at the same time, he wasn't sure if she was just sick of having him mope around the Burrow. He wasn't like Harry, Hermione, even Ginny, with their jobs at the Ministry, and playing ( Read more... )
"I never lose," George manages, voice low and full of promise where Ron's hardly exists for the breathless growl of it. He realizes too late that Ron's coming for his wrists, and twists them to push him off, but then he stops trying too hard because he wants to feel the strength in his younger brother's body, in his arms and hands, wants to know just how tightly he can hold him down before George turns the tables on all of this.
"And I don't ask nice," he adds. It can be noted that he didn't object to being called a cheat, because it's true, he is one. "You better hope you've got a good hold on my hands, because once I get 'em back, you're gonna pay…"
He curls his hands into fists and twists his wrists, trying to throw Ron off, but really just barely. He's more focused on getting his legs wrapped around Ron's, to gain a little leverage, distract him from the various ways he's pinning him so that he can steal back the upper hand. He succeeds in wrapping one leg around Ron's, upsetting the solid stance he'd had and effectively pressing them more tightly together as he rocks and writhes back and forth, trying to throw Ron off so he can flip them over.
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He catches George's wrists, pinning them easily when George stop resisting quite so hard. His lips quirk as his brother refuses that playful offer that if he just asked nicely he'd let him go. He swallows at the threat that follows, and it prepares him for the way George tries to throw him, and he manages to keep his grasp.
What he doesn't manage to do is keep George from getting wrapped around him, and he gasps, sudden and sharp and wide-eyed like he hadn't quite expected it when George writhes against him. His hips jerking, and he's trying to hold on, but he can't help how his grip starts to loosen; he's so overwhelmed and shaking with the pleasure. It's so good, and nothing has ever been this good before. There's a soft whine, so entirely different from last night, pupils devouring the blue of his eyes as he looks down at George like he's drunk with it.
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He watches the way Ron's reacting, how his lips quirk, almost cocky, and then the swallow, his throat drawing George's attention, and he wants to taste his skin, wants to follow how his adam's apple moves with his tongue and his lips… but he can't let himself be distracted because Ron is finally letting down his guard, he's finally not expecting what's next, and George manages to throw him over.
Suddenly it's a mad rush of twisting and squirming hips, legs wound together as George uses his weight and fights hard, using every last scrap of experience earned from growing up with a twin who was equally skilled as you were, when every fight ended in desperate and dirty tactics. There's a point, just as he's moving to press Ron down flat on his back, that he feels himself starting to lose the upper hand again, and he kisses him hard to startle him out of any plans he has, any course of action he's putting into play.
He falls easily then, down against the sofa, and George's hands find Ron's wrists and maybe he's not so much pinning him as he is seeing if he likes the way it feels to be pinned. George's fingertips caress pulse points, and they're pressed together tight at the hips as George uses his body to hold Ron down.
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Hands find his wrists, and he's pressed on his back into the couch. The way fingers drag over the pulse in his wrists is sensual, and he's not really fighting to try and take back what he's lost. He's wide-eyed, breathless and trembling as he arches into the contact, the way their bodies are pressed close, hip to hip, and Ron's achingly hard in his denims.
He wants this. He really only vaguely knows what it is, but it feels so good. New and unexpected, pleasure that sparks in his veins and over his skin, and he leans up a little to stubbornly try and catch George's lips in another kiss.
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"I warned you that you'd pay," he practically coos into Ron's throat as he leans down, evading the kiss but lavishing attention on pulse points, guided by experience but searching out places specific to Ron, trying to learn what he liked, what he craved, what made the ache in his jeans throb with need to be touched and stripped bare.
He's going to push, because that's what he does, what he's always done. He and Fred, and now just him, taking things too far, ensuring all bets are honored and all losses are thoroughly punished. He'll push, he'll threaten to take, he'll give a taste of what he craves and what Ron barely realizes that he wants, but then he'll stop and ask, talk and be sure it's alright, that it isn't too far, that Ron's comfortable with being pushed past his comfort zone.
Right now pushing comes in the form of one hand fishing its way down between their bodies. With one less arm to hold himself up, he's half-laying heavily atop Ron, nuzzling at his neck and inhaling his warm scent as that hand slips down and cups against his crotch through his jeans. There's no mistaking what he means now. Even if there was before, it's explicit in the slow squeeze of his hand as he palms his younger brother through his clothes, thumb tracing his cock to get a feel for the size of it, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't imagining it in his mouth, to distract him as he prepared to fuck him.
His threat, the coo of retribution is gone as he breathes against the soft, freckled skin of Ron's neck, "I want you…"
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He groans softly at that whisper of retribution that somehow comes out as alluring and sexual as it's whispered against his throat. He squirms, not trying to escape, but simply unable to help himself as attention presses against pulse points, against new, sensitive spots Ron was entirely unaware of. He shivers, shaking, his breath coming in gasps as his head falls back against the arm of the couch.
When George's hand slides down between their bodies, Ron shudders, forgets to breathe, because it's so hot. The way that his brother nuzzles into skin as he cups against Ron's erection through his jeans. There's a soft keening sound from his throat as fingers trace the shape of it through fabric that now feels impossibly tight. That whisper makes him shake, dampens his lashes.
"I want you too," he breathes, hot and shaky as his free hand comes up to catch at the side of George's face. "Is this okay?" He's never been quite as pushy as the twins, and he needs to know, to make sure.
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Ron's squirming, and in a way it reminds him of how things were at the beginning, with Fred, but then Fred had been doing it mostly intentionally, trying to wear away any control he still had. Ron, he can tell, isn't doing that. He's overwhelmed, he's shaking, gasping for air like he can't quite catch his breath from this. There's a sound he makes that shoots right through him, and for a moment he's not sure if he wants to fuck Ron or hold him and tell him it will all be okay.
But then he echoes his words, and asks if that's alright, and he turns to look into those pretty blue eyes, and he nods, "Yeah, it is… if you really want it… I don't want to push it if you don't… or if you're not ready…"
It's quite a thing to have said with his hand still groping at the front of his pants, still feeling the solidity of his erection and giving some serious thought to how easy it would be to unzip him. He tries to be fair, draws his hand back and gives Ron the space - or tries to - to resist, if he needs to.
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