Leigh!fic | Sigh No More (1/1) | George Weasley/Luna Lovegood
Title: Sigh No More (1/1)
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Pairing: George Weasley/Luna Lovegood
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 5,200.
Summary A therapy assignment leads to much more than George had ever expected.
Author's notes: This was written for downjune for the 2011 wizard_love fic exchange. Many, many thanks to my wonderful beta, fiery_flamingo. You're the best little tyrant beta a girl could ask for, and I have some serious love for you. I hope y'all enjoy!
A faint buzzing sound echoed around the room, a byproduct of the old fan that was spinning round and round on the ceiling. Its steady rhythm was comforting, in an odd sort of way. It was like no matter what was said in the room, whatever sins and secrets were revealed, the fan would keep on turning. It never wavered, never faltered in its automated task.
"George."
Not for the first time, he noticed the slight imperfections in the white ceiling tiles. Some of the holes were larger than others, and they formed a pattern across the rectangular sheets of thin plaster. The first time he'd seen them, he'd thought that it looked like a snitch with its wings outstretched. Today, the marks looked more like Wigtown Wanderer's logo.
"George."
George started and glanced back to his left toward the large oak desk. It was almost too big and seemed to dwarf the petite woman sitting behind it. Said woman was looking at him over her glasses, her green eyes infinitely patient as she waited for him to say something.
"Sorry, what was that last?" he asked, blinking in confusion. Had she asked him a question?
Dr. Ostorff gave a small chuckle and scribbled something down on her notepad. "I asked how your sister-in-law was, Fleur. You mentioned she was going to have a baby soon?"
"Oh. Right. She's doing well, I think. Bill's the one about to drive us all mental, 'bout started to build a stone wall in the back garden. You know, so the baby can't crawl out to the beach or anything. Fleur nearly hit him over the head with a bottle of absinthe." He wasn't sure what had set her off more; the fact that Bill was hovering incessantly, destined to be one of thoseparents, or the fact that, in her condition, she couldn't drink the absinthe.
"So, he's taking it all in stride then."
George snorted softly. "If you say so."
"And what do you think Fred would say about that?"
Immediately, it was as if the room temperature plummeted by ten degrees. George's mouth was set in a hard line, and his focus went back to the ceiling tiles. "I don't want to talk about him."
The doctor sighed and pushed her glasses back up her nose, settling them into place. "George," she said softly, sympathetically, "you're going to have to talk about him soon."
"I don't want to talk about him," he repeated, his tone firm.
"I know you're still hurting, but we've discussed your father, your mother, Bill and Fleur, Charlie, Percy, Ron, and Ginny. We've even talked about Lee, Angelina, Katie, and Alicia. You're going to have to talk about Fred soon, you know."
"Not now." His words were clipped and decisive.
Dr. Ostorff was smart enough to let the subject go, though George had a feeling that would not be the last time the woman mentioned his twin. He didn't want to be here, lying on his back and spilling his soul out to some strange Muggle-- Percy had recommended her; his brother had heard of this doctor-- a psychiatrist-- through some of his Ministry contacts.
"Maybe it'll help if he talks to someone who doesn't know us," he'd heard Percy tell their Mum after Sunday tea. "But we've got to do something."
And so here he was, two months and eight sessions later, and he was still no closer to telling this woman about his other half than he had been when he'd started. All he said was that he'd died in an accident; a car crash the week after he'd sat for his A-levels.
"When was the last time you went on a date?"
His head snapped to the left, eyebrows arched in surprise. "What?"
"I said, when was the last time you went on a date?"
George blinked. "I don't know. A while ago?"
"Can you be more specific?" Again, that pen was out and scratching across her notepad-- Merlin, but George would pay good money to see what the bloody hell she was writing. "Have you dated at all since the accident?"
"Define 'date.'" He wasn't sure if he could define what he and Angelina had shared as 'dating.' It was more fucking than anything else, really. They were both emotional wrecks, and it had seemed natural to try and cope with the loneliness together. But the entire time, it had just felt wrong.
"Well, traditionally a date is when a man asks a woman to go do something. Societal norms dictate that the activity usually ranges from things like going to the cinema to having dinner together, though not everyone enjoys such things."
If George didn't know any better, he'd have sworn she was being sarcastic. That might have been his imagination at work, though. Everything about the good doctor screamed professionalism, from her perfectly-arranged chignon to the tips of her patent leather shoes.
"Then no, I haven't been on a date recently," he replied, looking back up at the ceiling. Maybe that wasn't the Wanderers logo... now that he was staring, it looked more like Tutshill's.
"Have you taken a lover, then?" she asked frankly, peering at him through those cats eye glasses of hers.
"I don't see how that's any of your business."
"George, we're both adults, and sex isn't meant to be embarrassing," she replied patiently. "What I'm trying to ask is, is there anyone who you've opened yourself to, either emotionally or physically?"
He thought about lying. He really didn't want to talk about Angelina; she was-- had been-- Fred's girl, and he could only imagine how fucked up it all sounded. Sleeping with his dead twin's girlfriend. Now that was an psychological gold mine for Dr. Ostorff to delve into.
In the end, he came clean. "One. But it's over now."
"And what happened to end the liaison?"
"She was Fred's girl." Angelina had wanted the illusion for the night, and he'd wanted someone to hold him. In the end, they'd both been disappointed. He wasn't his twin, and he never would be.
That obviously hadn't been what she'd expected to hear, though she did a good job masking her surprise by jotting a few notes down. A pen sounded different from a quill, he noticed. It didn't scratch the same, familiar way. It was quieter, though, and didn't interfere with the constant hum of the ceiling fan.
After a long pause, Dr. Ostorff said, "George, I have an assignment for you."
He snorted. "No one said you got homework in therapy."
"Yes, well, consider this an out-of-session session. I want you to go on a date."
George shifted on the leather sofa, craning his neck to look at her with confusion. "Come again?"
"I'm going to postpone our next session until the twentieth, so that's two weeks from today. In the meantime, I want you to ask a woman-- or a man, if you're so inclined-- out on a date. It doesn't have to be anything extraordinarily romantic, but I think that an hour or two with someone who isn't a member of your family would be good."
"How in the bloody hell is going on a date supposed to help me get over all this?"
The doctor simply smiled at him. "You'll see. And I'll see you in two weeks."
*~*~*~*~*~*
Never again. George was never going to go to Ginny for help again, and that was that. This was... this was... utter and complete madness. Letting his baby sister play matchmaker? Agreeing to a blind date just to get his therapist off his back?
He was officially going mad. There was nothing left to do but lock him away at Mungo's with Lockhart and the other loonies.
The Blue Owl was packed, as was the norm on a Friday night. It didn't feel right to George. He didn't want to be here, surrounded by other witches and wizards as they ate and drank and were generally happy. It just felt off.
A copy of A Farewell to Arms sat on the table, ignored. Ginny had pushed it into his hands and said, "That's how she'll know it's you," then grinned and pushed him into the green Floo flames. He'd thought about burning the book-- if his 'date' couldn't find him, then maybe he could save himself from the embarrassment of this farce, but he'd eventually decided against it. The last thing he needed was his sister coming after him, wand drawn, for standing up her friend.
There was a chilled bottle of Riesling in a bucket next to him, waiting for his date to arrive. If she arrived. He'd been told that the reservation was for half past seven, and it was nearly eight. Maybe-- just maybe-- he could tell Dr. Ostorff that his date had stood him up. Would she still give him points for trying?
"Hello, George Weasley."
He glanced up, startled out of his reverie by the sound of a dreamy voice. His blue eyes blinked, and he was momentarily taken aback by the woman in front of him. "Looney- er, Luna?"
"I'm sorry that I'm late," she said, settling down in the seat across from him. "Papa and I were going over some photos of a Blibbering Humdinger spotted outside Norwich, and I lost track of the time. You didn't have to bring the book, you know. I remember what you look like."
George was still in a state of speechlessness, but that didn't seem to bother Luna. "Though I've always thought A Farewell to Arms was rather bleak and depressing. I much prefer The Sun Also Rises."
He blinked. "Luna?"
She smiled serenely. "Yes, George?"
"Sorry, I just... I didn't expect to see you."
"Ginny said that you needed a date," she replied, blinking her big blue eyes at him. "If you like, I can go."
"No, that's alright," he said hurriedly, shaking his head. If she was here, they might as well have dinner. Then he wouldn't have to lie to his therapist about his stupid assignment. "Stay, please."
She smiled and tilted her head at him. "Alright."
For the first time, he took a moment to look her over. Her hair was down, still styled in the gentle waves she'd worn at school, and she was wearing a red silk dress with a Chinese collar. Golden flowers were embroidered down the side, and... "Are those dragons on your ears?"
"Do you like them?" she asked. One hand reached up to hold her finger out, and the model dragon dangling from her right earlobe perched itself on the proffered digit. It circled around for a moment, fixing George with its tiny beady stare before letting out a belt of miniature fire.
"They look... dangerous," he said after a moment. He hadn't seen a dragon model like that since Harry had shown him his after the Triwizard Tournament's first task. "Is it safe to wear them as earrings?"
"Well, they do tend to singe my hair sometimes, and that doesn't smell very good, but they're really quite affectionate. This one is Ming," she said, glancing towards the dragon on her finger, "and the other one is Yao."
"You named your earrings?"
"Oh, they're more than just earrings," she said matter-of-factly, letting the little Chinese Fireball dangle from her lobe where, apparently, he was meant to be. "They're my friends."
"Right." It was official. This woman was nutters. What the bloody hell had Ginny been thinking, setting him up with this basket case?
She probably didn't think you'd mind, considering you didn't want to go on this date in the first place, his mind supplied unhelpfully.
Luckily, George was saved from further accessory commentary by the arrival of their waiter, who helpfully poured them a glass of wine each, then listed off the evening's specials. They ordered-- roasted pheasant for her, braised lamb shank for him-- and were left to enjoy each other's company.
The only problem was, George had no bloody idea what to say.
That didn't seem to bother Luna. She was a natural conversationalist, and she jumped from topic to topic as if he had actual input to add. She talked about her work at The Quibbler-- "Papa and I are going on an expedition to Mongolia soon. There's supposed to be a herd of Long-Haired Re'em in the Gobi Desert"-- and the latest finds in the field of cryptozoology. For his part, George just nodded and pretended he understood what she was talking about.
When their food arrived, the one-sided conversation died down, and the only sounds from their table were the scraping of knives and forks against china. Their wine glasses were refilled, and George was starting to feel pleasantly warmed from the dry beverage. Of course, that had nothing to do with how pretty-- and normal, if he ignored the dragons-- Luna looked. The candles on the table cast flickering light onto her pale face, and her cheeks were tinged a pleasant shade of pink.
Over dessert-- poached pears and cinnamon ice cream-- Luna looked up at him, a question plainly written in her blue eyes. "George, may I ask you something?"
One red brow shot up. "Sure. Go ahead."
"You don't seem like you're having fun," she said, blonde eyelashes flashing as she blinked at him. "Did I say something strange?"
He wanted to reply that every single thing she'd said that night had been strange, but his Mum had taught him better than that. "No, no," he assured her, shaking his head. "It's not you, Luna, I promise."
"Is it the food? Were there nargles in your arugula?"
"What are-- never mind. No, it's not you or nargles, I promise. It's just... it's me." He set his spoon against the desert plate and leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry, I'm not a very good date, am I?"
She smiled softly and shook her head, swallowing a bite of pear before she answered. "No, I think you're a very good date. Most men don't listen to me, but you're a very good listener. And you don't laugh at me."
"I don't laugh at much anything anymore," he muttered under his breath.
Luna cocked her head to the side. "I'm sorry?"
George shook his head, reaching up to run one hand through his hair. It was getting a bit long and would need a cut soon, he noticed idly. "It's... my therapist."
"What's a therapist?"
"Um, she's a sort of Muggle healer. She... well, I'm supposed to talk about my problems, and she listens." He wasn't sure himself what seeing Dr. Ostorff was supposed to accomplish; the idea of a strange Muggle getting him to talk about his dead twin was ludicrous.
Luna accepted the explanation without comment. "Your therapist is what's wrong?" she asked. "What did she do?"
"No, she's not what's wrong. I've been seeing her for a few months now-- Mum and Dad thought it might help, you know, to talk about..." he couldn't bring himself to say Fred's name. "About what happened. And she gave me homework."
"A therapist assigned you homework?" The look Luna was giving him made him feel like some sort of specimen she wanted to examine. Her blue eyes were inquisitive, and they made him feel a bit uncomfortable. With that look, it was as if she could see inside of him, see the demons that he carried around with him.
"Well... yeah." He sighed. Merlin, he sounded like a total cock-up. "She thinks I need social interaction outside my family. She said... well, she said that my assignment was to go on a date."
The blonde was silent for a few moments, and George fervently wished she'd say something. He didn't like the silence that hung in the air. It made him feel like a freak.
"And I'm your therapy homework?"
George swallowed hard. "I guess that's one way to put it. Look, I'm sorry about this. When Ginny gets an idea in her head-"
"It's just best you let her go with it," Luna finished for him. She smiled softly at him, a hint of laughter in her blue gaze. "It's okay, George. I don't mind. I've never been someone's homework before."
He wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole. The last time he'd been on a real date, this had not been the topic of conversation. Of course, the last time he'd been on a date, Fred had been alive.
The thought sobered him instantly.
The remnants of dessert passed without mention of his therapist and her assignment, a fact for which George was thankful for. He paid the bill and helped Luna out of her chair, his hand at the small of her back to guide her out of the restaurant. What the bloody hell was he supposed to do now? Take her back to her flat? Invite her to his-- no.
He settled for saying, "Thanks for, you know, letting Ginny bully you into this. I'm sorry I wasn't a better date."
"I had fun," she said, her smile bright. "Thank you for being you. You're very shiny, and I had quite a good time."
George wasn't sure he wanted to know what she meant by calling him 'shiny,' so he didn't mention it. "Er, should I walk you home?"
"That'd be a pretty far walk," she noted with wide eyes. "Can you walk all the way to North Yorkshire?"
"Not tonight," George coughed. "Probably not ever."
"I didn't think so," she said kindly. "But thank you for the offer. You're very chivalrous."
"Um, thanks." He shuffled his feet and tried for a crooked smile. "So, I guess I'll see you later?"
Luna nodded, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "I'll see you later, George Weasley."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Kicking off his shoes and undoing the buttons at his cuffs, George settled onto the overstuffed sofa in his living room. The evening had been... bizarre. Luna had been an unexpected surprise, but she hadn't been an unpleasant one. Yes, her topics of conversation were often completely off the pitch, and she wore bloody dragons on her ear, but she'd grown into an attractive woman.
Insane, but attractive nonetheless.
But he'd done what he'd been assigned to do. He'd gone on the bloody date, so he could report back to Dr. Ostorff that he'd completed his homework. Most days, he didn't understand why he even bothered with therapy. It didn't feel as if he were healing. The loss of Fred... it still felt like half his soul was gone. There were times that he spoke and then waited, letting the silence fill the air as he imagined his twin's response.
A knock sounded at the door.
What the hell? It was nearly midnight, and no one ever called that late. Once upon a time, he would have said it was probably Angelina, drunk off her arse, but she'd long since stopped coming round.
She couldn't stand the sight of him anymore.
George opened the door and stared. "Luna?"
Luna smiled that eerie smile at him. "Hello again," she said.
"Um, not to be rude or anything, but what are you doing here?" He ran his hand over the back of his neck, disrupting the hairs back there as he looked down at her.
"Well, I said I'd see you later. This is later," she reminded him, her tone as serene as it always was.
"Yeah, but I meant later as in a few days later," he said.
"Oh. But we..." she trailed off, falling silent for a moment. "May I come in?"
He stepped aside and watched as she entered his flat, her ballet-slipper clad feet treading lightly on the hardwood floor. This was... rather unexpected. He honestly had no idea what the hell she was doing here.
"Luna, what-?"
She turned, and George was momentarily stunned to see the top two buttons of her dress undone. She was by no means undressed or even indecent, but the tantalizing glimpse of her pale throat made him gulp.
"We didn't finish our date," she said.
"Um, I thought we did?" he said, taking a step back as she stepped towards him. "What do you mean-"
"Fourth years finish dates at Madame Puddifoot's like that," she said, undoing another button. More smooth skin met his eye, and it was a fight to keep his gaze on her face instead... other places.
"I-I-I-"
Her hand stilled at her collar. "Do you find me attractive, George?"
The sound of his heart startled him. It was beating wildly, and he was half surprised she couldn't hear it. It sounded like a drum-- thump, thump, thump-- loud and steady in its constant rhythm.
He swallowed and nodded. "Yes," he managed to squeak out, sounding entirely like the fourth year she'd just mentioned. "You're... you're very attractive."
She smiled. "Oh good, I was hoping you thought I was." Her hand resumed its slow journey, flicking open buttons until the top part of her dress was loose, the silk material hanging in place just above her chest. One shoulder was bare, and it was the most arousing glipmse of skin he could remember seeing.
Luna extended her hand to him. She didn't say anything, but she didn't have to. The invitation was written clearly in her gaze. Her blue eyes were darker than normal, and the faintest hint of a smile danced at her lips.
It took but half a thought before he placed his hand in hers. Her fingers, slender and delicate, laced through his, and she exerted the gentlest bit of pressure as she led him back through the corridor and to his bedroom. Had he been thinking clearly, he would have wondered how she knew where his bedroom was, but that was a different thought for a different time.
For now, there was a beautiful, willing woman in his flat. Anything more cerebral than basic instinct-- desire, sex, want-- would have to wait.
Soft hands pushed him down to sit on the bed, and George could only watch as the same hands went to the buttons on his shirt.
Pop.
Pop.
Pop.
One by one, she undid the buttons, smiling when her task was complete. She pushed the shirt off his shoulders, leaving him in a simple white tee and his trousers. But Luna's hands were not idle, and they immediately drifted to his trouser fastenings.
And then her hand was in his boxers and wrapped around him and oh, he couldn't think.
Her free hand slid up to his chest and pushed, exerting the tiniest bit of pressure as she moved him to lay on the bed. Long fingers stroked at him, coaxing him into full hardness as her other hand tugged his boxers down to free his erection.
Rolling her eyes up to him, Luna smiled serenely as she ducked her head and took him into her mouth.
He wanted to stop her, at least get her to take her fire-breathing earrings off, but the moment he felt her tongue on him, he lost the ability to think. All he could do was close his eyes and reach down, fisting one hand in her long blonde hair in a vain effort to control her movements. The feel of her hot, wet mouth and wicked tongue surrounding him, sucking at him as if her life depended on it, was almost too much. The muscles of his thighs tightened, trying to hold back from thrusting up into pretty pink lips.
"Fuck, Luna..."
She pulled back, drawing a frustrated moan from him. "Not yet," she answered calmly, running one finger up and down his pulsating length, "but we will." Giving him that serene smile of hers, she resumed her task, hot mouth surrounding him once more.
No, no no. It was all going to be over too soon if she kept doing that. It felt amazing, watching her move between his legs, but he wanted more.
The hand in her hair tugged again, pulling her away from him. Blue eyes blinked in surprise, and she cocked her head to the side. "Did you not like that?"
"Did I not-- bloody hell, Luna," he said, his tone strangled. "Of course I did." He pushed himself in a sitting position and slid his hands around her waist, tugging her up to lay on the bed with him.
"But now," he said, hands pushing her skirt up around her waist, "I want more." His fingers curled in the sides of her knickers, and jerking. The lace came apart with a loud rip!, and George's eyes darkened at the sight of Luna bare beneath him. It'd been a while since...
He didn't think her name. It wasn't the time. He wanted to savor the pale beauty in his bed, to touch her and take her until they both were breathless. One hand slipped between her legs, fingertips ghosting over her wetness. He could feel the heat radiating off of her, and it was too much. He slipped one long finger into her tight passage, letting out a ragged groan when he felt her inner muscles clench at him.
"Oh George," she sighed, hips rolling the slightest bit. "That feels lovely."
His lips curled in satisfaction, and he pressed his thumb to the swollen bundle of nerves between her legs. She gasped softly, jerking her hips in response, and he felt a rush of wetness coat his finger. He had to have her, and he had to have her now.
Withdrawing his hand, he pushed himself up and jerked off his tee, hands moving to push at his trousers. As he did, he watched as Luna's hands found the side zip of her dress-- thank Merlin, he'd never have been able to find it himself. Inch by inch, second by second, clothes hit the floor until finally, finally, they were both naked.
Fitting his hips between hers, he let the tip of his erection rub up against her, teasing her and amazing himself with his self control. The sight of her pale hair spread out across his bed, her pink-tipped breasts straining towards him when she arched her back-- it was all too much.
It took a few awkward moments to find a rhythm. Shallow thrusts of his hips did little to ease the want between them; Luna's hands grasped at him, her lips and teeth sliding over his neck, and one hand slid between their bodies to grab at his length.
George groaned, dropping his head to her shoulder. "Luna..."
She didn't respond, thighs further parting to open herself to him. Puling her head back, her blue eyes were dark with want as she guided him in deep. A little whimper slipped from her lips when he filled her, and she sighed in pleasure. "There."
After another momentary fumble, they settled into a rhythm. George's hands were everywhere, caressing her breasts, sliding over her smooth stomach, and carding through her hair as their hips met, time and time again. Luna's soft cries grew louder in volume as their mutual pleasure grew, and it morphed from wordless sounds to his name.
"George." His name, moaned like a prayer, fell from her lips, and her nails pressed little half-moons into his back as she clung to him. His lips slid over her neck, tongue darting out to taste the salty skin there. She was so responsive, so hot, wet, tight, and he could already feel the tightening in his hips, indicating his oncoming release.
And suddenly she was there, careening over the edge as her orgasm crashed over her. George had never seen such an erotic site as Luna coming. She didn't hold back, moaning his name as tremors wrecked her body. In that moment, she was beautiful, debauched and his.
The sight of her climax, the feeling of her body pulsating around him, was too much, and George buried his face in her shoulder as he came with a ragged cry.
For a long moment, he stayed there, unmoving as he caught his breath. His heart was still pounding wildly in his chest, and sweat coated his body, mixing with the perspiration that coated Luna's skin. The smell of sex hung in the air, filling his lungs every time he inhaled. Merlin, but he'd almost forgotten.
Rolling to the side, George reluctantly slipped out of her and flopped onto his back. "That was..."
"Beautiful," she answered in her dreamy voice, her tone slightly breathier than normal. Shifting on the bed, she rolled onto her side and pressed her naked body against his. One slender arm slid over his waist, and he felt her lips brush over his shoulder. He was tired, so tired, but he needed to say something.
"Will you stay?" he asked drowsily, glancing over at her. "The whole night?"
Luna smiled and nodded. "I won't go anywhere. I promise."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"So, George, I trust you had ample time to complete your assignment?" Dr. Ostorff quirked one dark brow at him as she watched him from across the desk. There was something different about him, and it wasn't hard to place. For the first time since they'd commenced these sessions, George had come into her office with an actual smile.
George nodded. "I almost didn't," he admitted. "I didn't want to."
"Dating isn't easy," she said, nodding for extra emphasis. "But you seem different today. You look happier."
"You'll have to thank Ginny for that," he said, lips twitching as he continued his weekly examination of the ceiling tiles. "She set me up on a blind date with one of her old friends from school."
"And how did that make you feel?"
He snorted. "Being set up on a blind date by my baby sister? Was humiliating, that's what. But I think it turned out alright."
"What's her name?"
"Luna," George answered. "Her name is Luna."
"That's an unusual name," the brunette noted, scratching away at her notes. "Did you have a good time?"
"Surprisingly, yeah. It was..." he trailed off, lost in thought. He had to push down memories of just how much fun they'd had. It wouldn't do to get a stiffy at therapy, and he really didn't want to delve into that with Dr. Ostorff.
"We had fun," he settled for saying instead.
"That's good," she said encouragingly. A comfortable silence fell between them, only broken up by the gentle sound of the ceiling fan. "So, let's talk about something new today, shall we? Whatever you want to talk about, we can talk about it."
Was it time? Was this some psychoanalytical way of trying to get him to talk about Fred? George closed his eyes and waited for the familiar pain to well up, for his mind-- and heart-- to protest no, that he didn't want to talk about his lost twin, that he'd rather battle a chimera than talk to a stranger about his best friend.
But it didn't happen. There was still pain there, but he knew there would always be some pain. Fred had been half of him, his better half, but he had to deal with the pain and live. It was what his brother would have wanted for him-- he didn't have to hear his twin say so, he just knew.
George took a deep breath, then exhaled. It was time.
"Fred was two minutes older than I was," he said, "and he never let me forget it..."
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Pairing: George Weasley/Luna Lovegood
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 5,200.
Summary A therapy assignment leads to much more than George had ever expected.
Author's notes: This was written for downjune for the 2011 wizard_love fic exchange. Many, many thanks to my wonderful beta, fiery_flamingo. You're the best little tyrant beta a girl could ask for, and I have some serious love for you. I hope y'all enjoy!
A faint buzzing sound echoed around the room, a byproduct of the old fan that was spinning round and round on the ceiling. Its steady rhythm was comforting, in an odd sort of way. It was like no matter what was said in the room, whatever sins and secrets were revealed, the fan would keep on turning. It never wavered, never faltered in its automated task.
"George."
Not for the first time, he noticed the slight imperfections in the white ceiling tiles. Some of the holes were larger than others, and they formed a pattern across the rectangular sheets of thin plaster. The first time he'd seen them, he'd thought that it looked like a snitch with its wings outstretched. Today, the marks looked more like Wigtown Wanderer's logo.
"George."
George started and glanced back to his left toward the large oak desk. It was almost too big and seemed to dwarf the petite woman sitting behind it. Said woman was looking at him over her glasses, her green eyes infinitely patient as she waited for him to say something.
"Sorry, what was that last?" he asked, blinking in confusion. Had she asked him a question?
Dr. Ostorff gave a small chuckle and scribbled something down on her notepad. "I asked how your sister-in-law was, Fleur. You mentioned she was going to have a baby soon?"
"Oh. Right. She's doing well, I think. Bill's the one about to drive us all mental, 'bout started to build a stone wall in the back garden. You know, so the baby can't crawl out to the beach or anything. Fleur nearly hit him over the head with a bottle of absinthe." He wasn't sure what had set her off more; the fact that Bill was hovering incessantly, destined to be one of thoseparents, or the fact that, in her condition, she couldn't drink the absinthe.
"So, he's taking it all in stride then."
George snorted softly. "If you say so."
"And what do you think Fred would say about that?"
Immediately, it was as if the room temperature plummeted by ten degrees. George's mouth was set in a hard line, and his focus went back to the ceiling tiles. "I don't want to talk about him."
The doctor sighed and pushed her glasses back up her nose, settling them into place. "George," she said softly, sympathetically, "you're going to have to talk about him soon."
"I don't want to talk about him," he repeated, his tone firm.
"I know you're still hurting, but we've discussed your father, your mother, Bill and Fleur, Charlie, Percy, Ron, and Ginny. We've even talked about Lee, Angelina, Katie, and Alicia. You're going to have to talk about Fred soon, you know."
"Not now." His words were clipped and decisive.
Dr. Ostorff was smart enough to let the subject go, though George had a feeling that would not be the last time the woman mentioned his twin. He didn't want to be here, lying on his back and spilling his soul out to some strange Muggle-- Percy had recommended her; his brother had heard of this doctor-- a psychiatrist-- through some of his Ministry contacts.
"Maybe it'll help if he talks to someone who doesn't know us," he'd heard Percy tell their Mum after Sunday tea. "But we've got to do something."
And so here he was, two months and eight sessions later, and he was still no closer to telling this woman about his other half than he had been when he'd started. All he said was that he'd died in an accident; a car crash the week after he'd sat for his A-levels.
"When was the last time you went on a date?"
His head snapped to the left, eyebrows arched in surprise. "What?"
"I said, when was the last time you went on a date?"
George blinked. "I don't know. A while ago?"
"Can you be more specific?" Again, that pen was out and scratching across her notepad-- Merlin, but George would pay good money to see what the bloody hell she was writing. "Have you dated at all since the accident?"
"Define 'date.'" He wasn't sure if he could define what he and Angelina had shared as 'dating.' It was more fucking than anything else, really. They were both emotional wrecks, and it had seemed natural to try and cope with the loneliness together. But the entire time, it had just felt wrong.
"Well, traditionally a date is when a man asks a woman to go do something. Societal norms dictate that the activity usually ranges from things like going to the cinema to having dinner together, though not everyone enjoys such things."
If George didn't know any better, he'd have sworn she was being sarcastic. That might have been his imagination at work, though. Everything about the good doctor screamed professionalism, from her perfectly-arranged chignon to the tips of her patent leather shoes.
"Then no, I haven't been on a date recently," he replied, looking back up at the ceiling. Maybe that wasn't the Wanderers logo... now that he was staring, it looked more like Tutshill's.
"Have you taken a lover, then?" she asked frankly, peering at him through those cats eye glasses of hers.
"I don't see how that's any of your business."
"George, we're both adults, and sex isn't meant to be embarrassing," she replied patiently. "What I'm trying to ask is, is there anyone who you've opened yourself to, either emotionally or physically?"
He thought about lying. He really didn't want to talk about Angelina; she was-- had been-- Fred's girl, and he could only imagine how fucked up it all sounded. Sleeping with his dead twin's girlfriend. Now that was an psychological gold mine for Dr. Ostorff to delve into.
In the end, he came clean. "One. But it's over now."
"And what happened to end the liaison?"
"She was Fred's girl." Angelina had wanted the illusion for the night, and he'd wanted someone to hold him. In the end, they'd both been disappointed. He wasn't his twin, and he never would be.
That obviously hadn't been what she'd expected to hear, though she did a good job masking her surprise by jotting a few notes down. A pen sounded different from a quill, he noticed. It didn't scratch the same, familiar way. It was quieter, though, and didn't interfere with the constant hum of the ceiling fan.
After a long pause, Dr. Ostorff said, "George, I have an assignment for you."
He snorted. "No one said you got homework in therapy."
"Yes, well, consider this an out-of-session session. I want you to go on a date."
George shifted on the leather sofa, craning his neck to look at her with confusion. "Come again?"
"I'm going to postpone our next session until the twentieth, so that's two weeks from today. In the meantime, I want you to ask a woman-- or a man, if you're so inclined-- out on a date. It doesn't have to be anything extraordinarily romantic, but I think that an hour or two with someone who isn't a member of your family would be good."
"How in the bloody hell is going on a date supposed to help me get over all this?"
The doctor simply smiled at him. "You'll see. And I'll see you in two weeks."
*~*~*~*~*~*
Never again. George was never going to go to Ginny for help again, and that was that. This was... this was... utter and complete madness. Letting his baby sister play matchmaker? Agreeing to a blind date just to get his therapist off his back?
He was officially going mad. There was nothing left to do but lock him away at Mungo's with Lockhart and the other loonies.
The Blue Owl was packed, as was the norm on a Friday night. It didn't feel right to George. He didn't want to be here, surrounded by other witches and wizards as they ate and drank and were generally happy. It just felt off.
A copy of A Farewell to Arms sat on the table, ignored. Ginny had pushed it into his hands and said, "That's how she'll know it's you," then grinned and pushed him into the green Floo flames. He'd thought about burning the book-- if his 'date' couldn't find him, then maybe he could save himself from the embarrassment of this farce, but he'd eventually decided against it. The last thing he needed was his sister coming after him, wand drawn, for standing up her friend.
There was a chilled bottle of Riesling in a bucket next to him, waiting for his date to arrive. If she arrived. He'd been told that the reservation was for half past seven, and it was nearly eight. Maybe-- just maybe-- he could tell Dr. Ostorff that his date had stood him up. Would she still give him points for trying?
"Hello, George Weasley."
He glanced up, startled out of his reverie by the sound of a dreamy voice. His blue eyes blinked, and he was momentarily taken aback by the woman in front of him. "Looney- er, Luna?"
"I'm sorry that I'm late," she said, settling down in the seat across from him. "Papa and I were going over some photos of a Blibbering Humdinger spotted outside Norwich, and I lost track of the time. You didn't have to bring the book, you know. I remember what you look like."
George was still in a state of speechlessness, but that didn't seem to bother Luna. "Though I've always thought A Farewell to Arms was rather bleak and depressing. I much prefer The Sun Also Rises."
He blinked. "Luna?"
She smiled serenely. "Yes, George?"
"Sorry, I just... I didn't expect to see you."
"Ginny said that you needed a date," she replied, blinking her big blue eyes at him. "If you like, I can go."
"No, that's alright," he said hurriedly, shaking his head. If she was here, they might as well have dinner. Then he wouldn't have to lie to his therapist about his stupid assignment. "Stay, please."
She smiled and tilted her head at him. "Alright."
For the first time, he took a moment to look her over. Her hair was down, still styled in the gentle waves she'd worn at school, and she was wearing a red silk dress with a Chinese collar. Golden flowers were embroidered down the side, and... "Are those dragons on your ears?"
"Do you like them?" she asked. One hand reached up to hold her finger out, and the model dragon dangling from her right earlobe perched itself on the proffered digit. It circled around for a moment, fixing George with its tiny beady stare before letting out a belt of miniature fire.
"They look... dangerous," he said after a moment. He hadn't seen a dragon model like that since Harry had shown him his after the Triwizard Tournament's first task. "Is it safe to wear them as earrings?"
"Well, they do tend to singe my hair sometimes, and that doesn't smell very good, but they're really quite affectionate. This one is Ming," she said, glancing towards the dragon on her finger, "and the other one is Yao."
"You named your earrings?"
"Oh, they're more than just earrings," she said matter-of-factly, letting the little Chinese Fireball dangle from her lobe where, apparently, he was meant to be. "They're my friends."
"Right." It was official. This woman was nutters. What the bloody hell had Ginny been thinking, setting him up with this basket case?
She probably didn't think you'd mind, considering you didn't want to go on this date in the first place, his mind supplied unhelpfully.
Luckily, George was saved from further accessory commentary by the arrival of their waiter, who helpfully poured them a glass of wine each, then listed off the evening's specials. They ordered-- roasted pheasant for her, braised lamb shank for him-- and were left to enjoy each other's company.
The only problem was, George had no bloody idea what to say.
That didn't seem to bother Luna. She was a natural conversationalist, and she jumped from topic to topic as if he had actual input to add. She talked about her work at The Quibbler-- "Papa and I are going on an expedition to Mongolia soon. There's supposed to be a herd of Long-Haired Re'em in the Gobi Desert"-- and the latest finds in the field of cryptozoology. For his part, George just nodded and pretended he understood what she was talking about.
When their food arrived, the one-sided conversation died down, and the only sounds from their table were the scraping of knives and forks against china. Their wine glasses were refilled, and George was starting to feel pleasantly warmed from the dry beverage. Of course, that had nothing to do with how pretty-- and normal, if he ignored the dragons-- Luna looked. The candles on the table cast flickering light onto her pale face, and her cheeks were tinged a pleasant shade of pink.
Over dessert-- poached pears and cinnamon ice cream-- Luna looked up at him, a question plainly written in her blue eyes. "George, may I ask you something?"
One red brow shot up. "Sure. Go ahead."
"You don't seem like you're having fun," she said, blonde eyelashes flashing as she blinked at him. "Did I say something strange?"
He wanted to reply that every single thing she'd said that night had been strange, but his Mum had taught him better than that. "No, no," he assured her, shaking his head. "It's not you, Luna, I promise."
"Is it the food? Were there nargles in your arugula?"
"What are-- never mind. No, it's not you or nargles, I promise. It's just... it's me." He set his spoon against the desert plate and leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry, I'm not a very good date, am I?"
She smiled softly and shook her head, swallowing a bite of pear before she answered. "No, I think you're a very good date. Most men don't listen to me, but you're a very good listener. And you don't laugh at me."
"I don't laugh at much anything anymore," he muttered under his breath.
Luna cocked her head to the side. "I'm sorry?"
George shook his head, reaching up to run one hand through his hair. It was getting a bit long and would need a cut soon, he noticed idly. "It's... my therapist."
"What's a therapist?"
"Um, she's a sort of Muggle healer. She... well, I'm supposed to talk about my problems, and she listens." He wasn't sure himself what seeing Dr. Ostorff was supposed to accomplish; the idea of a strange Muggle getting him to talk about his dead twin was ludicrous.
Luna accepted the explanation without comment. "Your therapist is what's wrong?" she asked. "What did she do?"
"No, she's not what's wrong. I've been seeing her for a few months now-- Mum and Dad thought it might help, you know, to talk about..." he couldn't bring himself to say Fred's name. "About what happened. And she gave me homework."
"A therapist assigned you homework?" The look Luna was giving him made him feel like some sort of specimen she wanted to examine. Her blue eyes were inquisitive, and they made him feel a bit uncomfortable. With that look, it was as if she could see inside of him, see the demons that he carried around with him.
"Well... yeah." He sighed. Merlin, he sounded like a total cock-up. "She thinks I need social interaction outside my family. She said... well, she said that my assignment was to go on a date."
The blonde was silent for a few moments, and George fervently wished she'd say something. He didn't like the silence that hung in the air. It made him feel like a freak.
"And I'm your therapy homework?"
George swallowed hard. "I guess that's one way to put it. Look, I'm sorry about this. When Ginny gets an idea in her head-"
"It's just best you let her go with it," Luna finished for him. She smiled softly at him, a hint of laughter in her blue gaze. "It's okay, George. I don't mind. I've never been someone's homework before."
He wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole. The last time he'd been on a real date, this had not been the topic of conversation. Of course, the last time he'd been on a date, Fred had been alive.
The thought sobered him instantly.
The remnants of dessert passed without mention of his therapist and her assignment, a fact for which George was thankful for. He paid the bill and helped Luna out of her chair, his hand at the small of her back to guide her out of the restaurant. What the bloody hell was he supposed to do now? Take her back to her flat? Invite her to his-- no.
He settled for saying, "Thanks for, you know, letting Ginny bully you into this. I'm sorry I wasn't a better date."
"I had fun," she said, her smile bright. "Thank you for being you. You're very shiny, and I had quite a good time."
George wasn't sure he wanted to know what she meant by calling him 'shiny,' so he didn't mention it. "Er, should I walk you home?"
"That'd be a pretty far walk," she noted with wide eyes. "Can you walk all the way to North Yorkshire?"
"Not tonight," George coughed. "Probably not ever."
"I didn't think so," she said kindly. "But thank you for the offer. You're very chivalrous."
"Um, thanks." He shuffled his feet and tried for a crooked smile. "So, I guess I'll see you later?"
Luna nodded, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "I'll see you later, George Weasley."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Kicking off his shoes and undoing the buttons at his cuffs, George settled onto the overstuffed sofa in his living room. The evening had been... bizarre. Luna had been an unexpected surprise, but she hadn't been an unpleasant one. Yes, her topics of conversation were often completely off the pitch, and she wore bloody dragons on her ear, but she'd grown into an attractive woman.
Insane, but attractive nonetheless.
But he'd done what he'd been assigned to do. He'd gone on the bloody date, so he could report back to Dr. Ostorff that he'd completed his homework. Most days, he didn't understand why he even bothered with therapy. It didn't feel as if he were healing. The loss of Fred... it still felt like half his soul was gone. There were times that he spoke and then waited, letting the silence fill the air as he imagined his twin's response.
A knock sounded at the door.
What the hell? It was nearly midnight, and no one ever called that late. Once upon a time, he would have said it was probably Angelina, drunk off her arse, but she'd long since stopped coming round.
She couldn't stand the sight of him anymore.
George opened the door and stared. "Luna?"
Luna smiled that eerie smile at him. "Hello again," she said.
"Um, not to be rude or anything, but what are you doing here?" He ran his hand over the back of his neck, disrupting the hairs back there as he looked down at her.
"Well, I said I'd see you later. This is later," she reminded him, her tone as serene as it always was.
"Yeah, but I meant later as in a few days later," he said.
"Oh. But we..." she trailed off, falling silent for a moment. "May I come in?"
He stepped aside and watched as she entered his flat, her ballet-slipper clad feet treading lightly on the hardwood floor. This was... rather unexpected. He honestly had no idea what the hell she was doing here.
"Luna, what-?"
She turned, and George was momentarily stunned to see the top two buttons of her dress undone. She was by no means undressed or even indecent, but the tantalizing glimpse of her pale throat made him gulp.
"We didn't finish our date," she said.
"Um, I thought we did?" he said, taking a step back as she stepped towards him. "What do you mean-"
"Fourth years finish dates at Madame Puddifoot's like that," she said, undoing another button. More smooth skin met his eye, and it was a fight to keep his gaze on her face instead... other places.
"I-I-I-"
Her hand stilled at her collar. "Do you find me attractive, George?"
The sound of his heart startled him. It was beating wildly, and he was half surprised she couldn't hear it. It sounded like a drum-- thump, thump, thump-- loud and steady in its constant rhythm.
He swallowed and nodded. "Yes," he managed to squeak out, sounding entirely like the fourth year she'd just mentioned. "You're... you're very attractive."
She smiled. "Oh good, I was hoping you thought I was." Her hand resumed its slow journey, flicking open buttons until the top part of her dress was loose, the silk material hanging in place just above her chest. One shoulder was bare, and it was the most arousing glipmse of skin he could remember seeing.
Luna extended her hand to him. She didn't say anything, but she didn't have to. The invitation was written clearly in her gaze. Her blue eyes were darker than normal, and the faintest hint of a smile danced at her lips.
It took but half a thought before he placed his hand in hers. Her fingers, slender and delicate, laced through his, and she exerted the gentlest bit of pressure as she led him back through the corridor and to his bedroom. Had he been thinking clearly, he would have wondered how she knew where his bedroom was, but that was a different thought for a different time.
For now, there was a beautiful, willing woman in his flat. Anything more cerebral than basic instinct-- desire, sex, want-- would have to wait.
Soft hands pushed him down to sit on the bed, and George could only watch as the same hands went to the buttons on his shirt.
Pop.
Pop.
Pop.
One by one, she undid the buttons, smiling when her task was complete. She pushed the shirt off his shoulders, leaving him in a simple white tee and his trousers. But Luna's hands were not idle, and they immediately drifted to his trouser fastenings.
And then her hand was in his boxers and wrapped around him and oh, he couldn't think.
Her free hand slid up to his chest and pushed, exerting the tiniest bit of pressure as she moved him to lay on the bed. Long fingers stroked at him, coaxing him into full hardness as her other hand tugged his boxers down to free his erection.
Rolling her eyes up to him, Luna smiled serenely as she ducked her head and took him into her mouth.
He wanted to stop her, at least get her to take her fire-breathing earrings off, but the moment he felt her tongue on him, he lost the ability to think. All he could do was close his eyes and reach down, fisting one hand in her long blonde hair in a vain effort to control her movements. The feel of her hot, wet mouth and wicked tongue surrounding him, sucking at him as if her life depended on it, was almost too much. The muscles of his thighs tightened, trying to hold back from thrusting up into pretty pink lips.
"Fuck, Luna..."
She pulled back, drawing a frustrated moan from him. "Not yet," she answered calmly, running one finger up and down his pulsating length, "but we will." Giving him that serene smile of hers, she resumed her task, hot mouth surrounding him once more.
No, no no. It was all going to be over too soon if she kept doing that. It felt amazing, watching her move between his legs, but he wanted more.
The hand in her hair tugged again, pulling her away from him. Blue eyes blinked in surprise, and she cocked her head to the side. "Did you not like that?"
"Did I not-- bloody hell, Luna," he said, his tone strangled. "Of course I did." He pushed himself in a sitting position and slid his hands around her waist, tugging her up to lay on the bed with him.
"But now," he said, hands pushing her skirt up around her waist, "I want more." His fingers curled in the sides of her knickers, and jerking. The lace came apart with a loud rip!, and George's eyes darkened at the sight of Luna bare beneath him. It'd been a while since...
He didn't think her name. It wasn't the time. He wanted to savor the pale beauty in his bed, to touch her and take her until they both were breathless. One hand slipped between her legs, fingertips ghosting over her wetness. He could feel the heat radiating off of her, and it was too much. He slipped one long finger into her tight passage, letting out a ragged groan when he felt her inner muscles clench at him.
"Oh George," she sighed, hips rolling the slightest bit. "That feels lovely."
His lips curled in satisfaction, and he pressed his thumb to the swollen bundle of nerves between her legs. She gasped softly, jerking her hips in response, and he felt a rush of wetness coat his finger. He had to have her, and he had to have her now.
Withdrawing his hand, he pushed himself up and jerked off his tee, hands moving to push at his trousers. As he did, he watched as Luna's hands found the side zip of her dress-- thank Merlin, he'd never have been able to find it himself. Inch by inch, second by second, clothes hit the floor until finally, finally, they were both naked.
Fitting his hips between hers, he let the tip of his erection rub up against her, teasing her and amazing himself with his self control. The sight of her pale hair spread out across his bed, her pink-tipped breasts straining towards him when she arched her back-- it was all too much.
It took a few awkward moments to find a rhythm. Shallow thrusts of his hips did little to ease the want between them; Luna's hands grasped at him, her lips and teeth sliding over his neck, and one hand slid between their bodies to grab at his length.
George groaned, dropping his head to her shoulder. "Luna..."
She didn't respond, thighs further parting to open herself to him. Puling her head back, her blue eyes were dark with want as she guided him in deep. A little whimper slipped from her lips when he filled her, and she sighed in pleasure. "There."
After another momentary fumble, they settled into a rhythm. George's hands were everywhere, caressing her breasts, sliding over her smooth stomach, and carding through her hair as their hips met, time and time again. Luna's soft cries grew louder in volume as their mutual pleasure grew, and it morphed from wordless sounds to his name.
"George." His name, moaned like a prayer, fell from her lips, and her nails pressed little half-moons into his back as she clung to him. His lips slid over her neck, tongue darting out to taste the salty skin there. She was so responsive, so hot, wet, tight, and he could already feel the tightening in his hips, indicating his oncoming release.
And suddenly she was there, careening over the edge as her orgasm crashed over her. George had never seen such an erotic site as Luna coming. She didn't hold back, moaning his name as tremors wrecked her body. In that moment, she was beautiful, debauched and his.
The sight of her climax, the feeling of her body pulsating around him, was too much, and George buried his face in her shoulder as he came with a ragged cry.
For a long moment, he stayed there, unmoving as he caught his breath. His heart was still pounding wildly in his chest, and sweat coated his body, mixing with the perspiration that coated Luna's skin. The smell of sex hung in the air, filling his lungs every time he inhaled. Merlin, but he'd almost forgotten.
Rolling to the side, George reluctantly slipped out of her and flopped onto his back. "That was..."
"Beautiful," she answered in her dreamy voice, her tone slightly breathier than normal. Shifting on the bed, she rolled onto her side and pressed her naked body against his. One slender arm slid over his waist, and he felt her lips brush over his shoulder. He was tired, so tired, but he needed to say something.
"Will you stay?" he asked drowsily, glancing over at her. "The whole night?"
Luna smiled and nodded. "I won't go anywhere. I promise."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"So, George, I trust you had ample time to complete your assignment?" Dr. Ostorff quirked one dark brow at him as she watched him from across the desk. There was something different about him, and it wasn't hard to place. For the first time since they'd commenced these sessions, George had come into her office with an actual smile.
George nodded. "I almost didn't," he admitted. "I didn't want to."
"Dating isn't easy," she said, nodding for extra emphasis. "But you seem different today. You look happier."
"You'll have to thank Ginny for that," he said, lips twitching as he continued his weekly examination of the ceiling tiles. "She set me up on a blind date with one of her old friends from school."
"And how did that make you feel?"
He snorted. "Being set up on a blind date by my baby sister? Was humiliating, that's what. But I think it turned out alright."
"What's her name?"
"Luna," George answered. "Her name is Luna."
"That's an unusual name," the brunette noted, scratching away at her notes. "Did you have a good time?"
"Surprisingly, yeah. It was..." he trailed off, lost in thought. He had to push down memories of just how much fun they'd had. It wouldn't do to get a stiffy at therapy, and he really didn't want to delve into that with Dr. Ostorff.
"We had fun," he settled for saying instead.
"That's good," she said encouragingly. A comfortable silence fell between them, only broken up by the gentle sound of the ceiling fan. "So, let's talk about something new today, shall we? Whatever you want to talk about, we can talk about it."
Was it time? Was this some psychoanalytical way of trying to get him to talk about Fred? George closed his eyes and waited for the familiar pain to well up, for his mind-- and heart-- to protest no, that he didn't want to talk about his lost twin, that he'd rather battle a chimera than talk to a stranger about his best friend.
But it didn't happen. There was still pain there, but he knew there would always be some pain. Fred had been half of him, his better half, but he had to deal with the pain and live. It was what his brother would have wanted for him-- he didn't have to hear his twin say so, he just knew.
George took a deep breath, then exhaled. It was time.
"Fred was two minutes older than I was," he said, "and he never let me forget it..."