Fic for tania_sings
Author: lauryne78
Recipient: tania_sings
Title: Kiss me once…and kiss me twice…
Pairing: George/Gabrielle
Rating: PG-13/Light R (to be safe)
Word Count: 1,926 (nothing like cutting it close!!)
Summary: Gabrielle and George find that the course of true love really doesn’t run smoothly….but it gets there in the end.
Author's Notes: Thank you so much to my beta, L, for your hard work! And thanks so much to the mods for running such a great exchange. Tania, I was thrilled to be able to write something for you, my dear, and I hope this makes you smile!! Just a quick note on character ages - my Gabby is 7 years and about ten months younger than my George. This only matters to the timeline in the second and third sections, but I’m anal-retentive about details like that!! (Also, I didn’t try to write in Fleur’s and Gabby’s accents because I didn’t think I could do them justice and didn’t want to interrupt the flow…so you’ll have to imagine them!!)
The first time they’d kissed, it had been an accident.
She’d been just seventeen, celebrating her graduation from Beauxbatons with a month-long vacation, all on her own. It had been a gift from Fleur. “Go,” her sister had said, “and make sure you enjoy yourself. You have hard work behind and before you. Live a little for once.” Gabrielle hadn’t needed telling twice. She’d leapt at the chance, spending the first three days in Paris, using up far too much of the graduation money she’d received from her parents. The money was supposed to go towards supplies she’d need for her further training as a cursebreaker.
Gabrielle hadn’t been able to help it if Madame Isadore’s had the most fabulous and irresistible shoes, now could she?
She’d bumped into George in a bar the night before she’d left the city for a week in Ireland’s west country. She’d recognized the flash of his hair in the low light as he bent over his drink - whiskey, at first glance.
They’d talked for an hour or so; he was in Paris on business, he’d said. She’d told him about her vacation plans - a week each in Ireland, Moscow, and Portugal, before ending with a few days at Shell Cottage. He’d been charming and flattering and Gabrielle was more than a little bit smitten. But she knew through the Weasley grapevine that he had had an on-again, off-again girlfriend for the past three-plus years and that right then, at least according to her sister, they were most definitely on.
So she hadn’t thought too much of it when she’d bidden him goodnight and he’d hugged her, planting a sloppy parting kiss on her cheek…a touch too close to her mouth to be considered strictly friendly. Instead, she’d chalked it up to the whiskey and the romance of Paris, and moved on to Ireland with giddy step and a light heart.
But on more than one night over the course of the next month, she’d found herself dreaming of dancing blue eyes, soft lips near a stubbled chin, and hands dotted with small scars amidst a plethora of freckles.
~*~
The second time they’d kissed, it had been as far from accidental as it could get.
She’d been twenty-one, and living in Fustat, the older section of Cairo where the magical community tended to gravitate. She’d been there for six months, having completed her cursebreaker training a full year earlier. She’d then served six months at a post-training internship at Gringott’s before getting what Bill had called “itchy feet.” He’d helped her get a position with one of his former colleagues who was still kicking around the Cairo area and she’d been packed and completely ready to go in less than a week. She had been eager to get out and see more of the world - and equally keen to put the messy breakup with her fiancé, Euan Abercrombie, behind her.
She loved Egypt. Cairo and Fustat were magnificent - the sights, the sounds, the rich exotic smells. And she loved her work. The past six months had been the most rewarding of her life.
So when George tumbled across her path again - quite literally, stumbling out of a restaurant in downtown Cairo and right into her - it hadn’t taken too much effort to convince herself that inviting him back to her place for a drink was a good idea. And it had taken even less effort to remember that they were both single at the moment, after her disaster with Euan and his final, permanent parting with Angelina that had caused such an uproar in the family eight months ago.
And it had taken no effort at all to set down the glass of local spiced wine she’d been drinking and lean into him, winding her fingers into his flame-bright hair and capturing his mouth with hers. His warm weight had pressed her back into her worn sofa cushions, feeling surprisingly comforting and right, and after that Gabrielle had stopped thinking.
When she’d awoken before dawn the next morning, she’d fully expected to find him gone, but he’d still been there, curled around her. That had startled her…more than a bit. Her head had been pounding and her stomach roiling - she’d forgotten how that spiced wine always affected her - and her hangover had nearly made her sick before she’d found her wand and muttered a sobering charm. Throughout it all, George had never woken, and as she dressed quickly and put together her pack, she’d thought perhaps that was for the best. To save the inevitably awkward conversation that would have surely followed when he awoke, Gabrielle scribbled a short note and Apparated to her friend Renee’s doorstep. They’d been scheduled to be part of a team leading a three-week dig at newly discovered Wizarding tombs near Saqqara anyway, and Gabrielle had tried to convince herself that there was nothing wrong with getting a bit of a head start.
But as she and Renee had made their way down the street to a small café for breakfast, a lingering sense of guilt had tugged at Gabrielle. A sense that she was running away from something that she couldn’t quite fully grasp…something important, and scary, and huge. But she’d listened to the small voice inside that told her it was too soon after Euan to be feeling such things, and kept going.
She’d soon stuffed down her confusion and concentrated on the dig, losing herself in the familiar and beloved intricacies of unraveling ancient curses and hexes. When she’d returned to her apartment three weeks later, all traces of George had been gone, along with the note she’d written him that morning.
It was like he’d never been there.
~*~
The third time they’d kissed, they’d both been angry, and Gabrielle had been tipsy on champagne.
She’d just stormed into Shell Cottage’s kitchen, a pile of china and cutlery in her hands, too twisted with emotions that she was afraid to name to remember to levitate the dishes. It had been only a few months after their encounter in Fustat, and Gabby had been loathe to go back to England, but there had been no way she could refuse. The Weasley family had been throwing a huge party to celebrate Bill and Fleur’s tenth wedding anniversary, and there was no way she was going to miss celebrating with her sister.
But she’d been so afraid of inevitably running into George. She’d known that she’d have no idea what to say to him, and felt ashamed every time she remembered how she’d practically run out of her own apartment earlier that summer, leaving the cozy cocoon they’d created in her bed. In a fit of utter cowardice she’d brought a date to the party, a handsome archaeology professor named Philip who she’d met a few times at events at Cairo University. But when they’d arrived, she’d discovered that she wasn’t the only one to have thought along those lines. She’d locked eyes with George almost immediately upon entering the cottage’s backyard; he’d gazed back at her with an unreadable expression from over the head of a dreamy-looking blonde witch with wide blue eyes whose arm was linked through his.
She’d managed to put on a good front, not sure even then of what exactly she was feeling about George…just knowing that it seemed like she wouldn’t have a chance to explore it further if that other witch never left his side. She’d petulantly ignored the fact that she’d done just the same thing he’d done by bringing Philip, and downed more champagne than she probably should have over the course of the afternoon. Finally the festivities had been drawing to a close, and she’d sought escape from the seemingly ever-present sight of George and his companion by bringing some of the dinner dishes into the kitchen.
Only to find the very object of her thoughts standing at the sink, staring out the window into the backyard. She’d tried to simply put down the dishes and leave as quickly as possible, but he’d made some remark about her running away from him again and before she’d known quite what was happening, she’d found herself yelling at him and he’d been shouting back at her, and then they were fused together, grappling to get closer to each other. He’d pushed her up against the door to the pantry and pressed the full length of his body against hers. Unlike that night in Fustat, he surged against her with such energy…with intent…and Gabrielle found that, far from being afraid, her body thrilled to it.
He’d backed away after a few intense moments, and left the kitchen without a word, merely a scorching backward glance. Left alone, Gabby had slid down the pantry door until she was sitting on Fleur’s kitchen floor and touched her fingers to her throbbing lips.
She’d been more confused than ever.
~*~
The following April found Gabrielle back in Paris, spending a week’s vacation catching up with family, friends, and shopping. She was just stepping out of Madame Isadore’s, a bulging bag slung over her arm, when she saw him. He was standing across the street, under the awning of a small brasserie, watching her with a wry smile on his face. Against her better judgment, she stayed put as he crossed the street to where she stood.
“I’d hoped I might find you here,” he murmured, smiling down at her.
Gabrielle blinked. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but that had not been it. She hated to sound stupid, but she couldn’t do anything other than blurt out, “you did?”
“Mm,” he stepped closer, and his distinctive scent - peppermint and rainwater - wafted towards her. “I’ve come here every bloody day for the past week, waiting.”
“You…wait. What?” She spoke more sharply, snapping herself out of the reverie she’d almost allowed herself to fall into. “George…” she trailed off, unsure of what she wanted to say.
“You see,” he gently took her free hand in his. “I’ve got this problem. There’s this witch I fancy like mad, but we seem to keep getting our signals crossed.”
“Oh?” she quirked a small but sly smile at him now. “I’m not sure I can help you with that…this mysterious witch…perhaps she can help you with your problem.” She pulled back and pretended to take a step down the street. George, who hadn’t ever let go over her hand, quickly pulled her back, hard enough that she nearly fell into his arms. He made a small pained sound when they collided, but steadied them both, wrapping his arms around her waist.
“Gabby…” he stared down at her intently, and though he didn’t immediately say anything further, she could almost hear his unspoken words in the intensity of his gaze. Let’s stop playing games…stop running…be with me… “Er…would you like to have dinner with me? Y’know, try a proper date this time?”
She nodded and his face lit up with a smile. She pushed herself up on her tiptoes and looped her free arm around his neck. Just before his lips found hers, she thought she heard him breathe a single word.
“…Wicked…”
And as they kissed for the fourth time, sweet and slow and perfect, they were suddenly doused with rain as a spring storm kicked up, but neither of them seemed to care very much, or indeed to even notice at all.
~*~
Many years later, Gabrielle Weasley is pleased to say that she’s lost count of how many times she and her husband have kissed.
~*Fin*~
Recipient: tania_sings
Title: Kiss me once…and kiss me twice…
Pairing: George/Gabrielle
Rating: PG-13/Light R (to be safe)
Word Count: 1,926 (nothing like cutting it close!!)
Summary: Gabrielle and George find that the course of true love really doesn’t run smoothly….but it gets there in the end.
Author's Notes: Thank you so much to my beta, L, for your hard work! And thanks so much to the mods for running such a great exchange. Tania, I was thrilled to be able to write something for you, my dear, and I hope this makes you smile!! Just a quick note on character ages - my Gabby is 7 years and about ten months younger than my George. This only matters to the timeline in the second and third sections, but I’m anal-retentive about details like that!! (Also, I didn’t try to write in Fleur’s and Gabby’s accents because I didn’t think I could do them justice and didn’t want to interrupt the flow…so you’ll have to imagine them!!)
The first time they’d kissed, it had been an accident.
She’d been just seventeen, celebrating her graduation from Beauxbatons with a month-long vacation, all on her own. It had been a gift from Fleur. “Go,” her sister had said, “and make sure you enjoy yourself. You have hard work behind and before you. Live a little for once.” Gabrielle hadn’t needed telling twice. She’d leapt at the chance, spending the first three days in Paris, using up far too much of the graduation money she’d received from her parents. The money was supposed to go towards supplies she’d need for her further training as a cursebreaker.
Gabrielle hadn’t been able to help it if Madame Isadore’s had the most fabulous and irresistible shoes, now could she?
She’d bumped into George in a bar the night before she’d left the city for a week in Ireland’s west country. She’d recognized the flash of his hair in the low light as he bent over his drink - whiskey, at first glance.
They’d talked for an hour or so; he was in Paris on business, he’d said. She’d told him about her vacation plans - a week each in Ireland, Moscow, and Portugal, before ending with a few days at Shell Cottage. He’d been charming and flattering and Gabrielle was more than a little bit smitten. But she knew through the Weasley grapevine that he had had an on-again, off-again girlfriend for the past three-plus years and that right then, at least according to her sister, they were most definitely on.
So she hadn’t thought too much of it when she’d bidden him goodnight and he’d hugged her, planting a sloppy parting kiss on her cheek…a touch too close to her mouth to be considered strictly friendly. Instead, she’d chalked it up to the whiskey and the romance of Paris, and moved on to Ireland with giddy step and a light heart.
But on more than one night over the course of the next month, she’d found herself dreaming of dancing blue eyes, soft lips near a stubbled chin, and hands dotted with small scars amidst a plethora of freckles.
~*~
The second time they’d kissed, it had been as far from accidental as it could get.
She’d been twenty-one, and living in Fustat, the older section of Cairo where the magical community tended to gravitate. She’d been there for six months, having completed her cursebreaker training a full year earlier. She’d then served six months at a post-training internship at Gringott’s before getting what Bill had called “itchy feet.” He’d helped her get a position with one of his former colleagues who was still kicking around the Cairo area and she’d been packed and completely ready to go in less than a week. She had been eager to get out and see more of the world - and equally keen to put the messy breakup with her fiancé, Euan Abercrombie, behind her.
She loved Egypt. Cairo and Fustat were magnificent - the sights, the sounds, the rich exotic smells. And she loved her work. The past six months had been the most rewarding of her life.
So when George tumbled across her path again - quite literally, stumbling out of a restaurant in downtown Cairo and right into her - it hadn’t taken too much effort to convince herself that inviting him back to her place for a drink was a good idea. And it had taken even less effort to remember that they were both single at the moment, after her disaster with Euan and his final, permanent parting with Angelina that had caused such an uproar in the family eight months ago.
And it had taken no effort at all to set down the glass of local spiced wine she’d been drinking and lean into him, winding her fingers into his flame-bright hair and capturing his mouth with hers. His warm weight had pressed her back into her worn sofa cushions, feeling surprisingly comforting and right, and after that Gabrielle had stopped thinking.
When she’d awoken before dawn the next morning, she’d fully expected to find him gone, but he’d still been there, curled around her. That had startled her…more than a bit. Her head had been pounding and her stomach roiling - she’d forgotten how that spiced wine always affected her - and her hangover had nearly made her sick before she’d found her wand and muttered a sobering charm. Throughout it all, George had never woken, and as she dressed quickly and put together her pack, she’d thought perhaps that was for the best. To save the inevitably awkward conversation that would have surely followed when he awoke, Gabrielle scribbled a short note and Apparated to her friend Renee’s doorstep. They’d been scheduled to be part of a team leading a three-week dig at newly discovered Wizarding tombs near Saqqara anyway, and Gabrielle had tried to convince herself that there was nothing wrong with getting a bit of a head start.
But as she and Renee had made their way down the street to a small café for breakfast, a lingering sense of guilt had tugged at Gabrielle. A sense that she was running away from something that she couldn’t quite fully grasp…something important, and scary, and huge. But she’d listened to the small voice inside that told her it was too soon after Euan to be feeling such things, and kept going.
She’d soon stuffed down her confusion and concentrated on the dig, losing herself in the familiar and beloved intricacies of unraveling ancient curses and hexes. When she’d returned to her apartment three weeks later, all traces of George had been gone, along with the note she’d written him that morning.
It was like he’d never been there.
~*~
The third time they’d kissed, they’d both been angry, and Gabrielle had been tipsy on champagne.
She’d just stormed into Shell Cottage’s kitchen, a pile of china and cutlery in her hands, too twisted with emotions that she was afraid to name to remember to levitate the dishes. It had been only a few months after their encounter in Fustat, and Gabby had been loathe to go back to England, but there had been no way she could refuse. The Weasley family had been throwing a huge party to celebrate Bill and Fleur’s tenth wedding anniversary, and there was no way she was going to miss celebrating with her sister.
But she’d been so afraid of inevitably running into George. She’d known that she’d have no idea what to say to him, and felt ashamed every time she remembered how she’d practically run out of her own apartment earlier that summer, leaving the cozy cocoon they’d created in her bed. In a fit of utter cowardice she’d brought a date to the party, a handsome archaeology professor named Philip who she’d met a few times at events at Cairo University. But when they’d arrived, she’d discovered that she wasn’t the only one to have thought along those lines. She’d locked eyes with George almost immediately upon entering the cottage’s backyard; he’d gazed back at her with an unreadable expression from over the head of a dreamy-looking blonde witch with wide blue eyes whose arm was linked through his.
She’d managed to put on a good front, not sure even then of what exactly she was feeling about George…just knowing that it seemed like she wouldn’t have a chance to explore it further if that other witch never left his side. She’d petulantly ignored the fact that she’d done just the same thing he’d done by bringing Philip, and downed more champagne than she probably should have over the course of the afternoon. Finally the festivities had been drawing to a close, and she’d sought escape from the seemingly ever-present sight of George and his companion by bringing some of the dinner dishes into the kitchen.
Only to find the very object of her thoughts standing at the sink, staring out the window into the backyard. She’d tried to simply put down the dishes and leave as quickly as possible, but he’d made some remark about her running away from him again and before she’d known quite what was happening, she’d found herself yelling at him and he’d been shouting back at her, and then they were fused together, grappling to get closer to each other. He’d pushed her up against the door to the pantry and pressed the full length of his body against hers. Unlike that night in Fustat, he surged against her with such energy…with intent…and Gabrielle found that, far from being afraid, her body thrilled to it.
He’d backed away after a few intense moments, and left the kitchen without a word, merely a scorching backward glance. Left alone, Gabby had slid down the pantry door until she was sitting on Fleur’s kitchen floor and touched her fingers to her throbbing lips.
She’d been more confused than ever.
~*~
The following April found Gabrielle back in Paris, spending a week’s vacation catching up with family, friends, and shopping. She was just stepping out of Madame Isadore’s, a bulging bag slung over her arm, when she saw him. He was standing across the street, under the awning of a small brasserie, watching her with a wry smile on his face. Against her better judgment, she stayed put as he crossed the street to where she stood.
“I’d hoped I might find you here,” he murmured, smiling down at her.
Gabrielle blinked. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but that had not been it. She hated to sound stupid, but she couldn’t do anything other than blurt out, “you did?”
“Mm,” he stepped closer, and his distinctive scent - peppermint and rainwater - wafted towards her. “I’ve come here every bloody day for the past week, waiting.”
“You…wait. What?” She spoke more sharply, snapping herself out of the reverie she’d almost allowed herself to fall into. “George…” she trailed off, unsure of what she wanted to say.
“You see,” he gently took her free hand in his. “I’ve got this problem. There’s this witch I fancy like mad, but we seem to keep getting our signals crossed.”
“Oh?” she quirked a small but sly smile at him now. “I’m not sure I can help you with that…this mysterious witch…perhaps she can help you with your problem.” She pulled back and pretended to take a step down the street. George, who hadn’t ever let go over her hand, quickly pulled her back, hard enough that she nearly fell into his arms. He made a small pained sound when they collided, but steadied them both, wrapping his arms around her waist.
“Gabby…” he stared down at her intently, and though he didn’t immediately say anything further, she could almost hear his unspoken words in the intensity of his gaze. Let’s stop playing games…stop running…be with me… “Er…would you like to have dinner with me? Y’know, try a proper date this time?”
She nodded and his face lit up with a smile. She pushed herself up on her tiptoes and looped her free arm around his neck. Just before his lips found hers, she thought she heard him breathe a single word.
“…Wicked…”
And as they kissed for the fourth time, sweet and slow and perfect, they were suddenly doused with rain as a spring storm kicked up, but neither of them seemed to care very much, or indeed to even notice at all.
~*~
Many years later, Gabrielle Weasley is pleased to say that she’s lost count of how many times she and her husband have kissed.
~*Fin*~