FIC: Testing by irisgirl12000
Title: Testing
Author: irisgirl12000
Rating: R
Warning(s): incest, of course
Disclaimer: Totally not my property.
Prompt:petquality requested Fred and George need to test their new line of ready-made glamour potions on human subjects. The results of seeing each other looking not-so-identical anymore has interesting results...
A/N: Thanks to lilyeyes for telling me the plot was understandable. All mistakes? Mine. This is not the story I meant to write, but it's what came out after I deleted my first effort.
"Oi, Fred, come help me with these!"
George pushed at the door with his hip, struggling with the boxes in his arms. Normally he'd have levitated them to their appropriated places in the workroom, but these particular ingredients were extremely sensitive to ambient magic, and he didn't want to ruin a valuable shipment of potions stores.
"Fred!"
Cursing his lay-about brother, George juggled the packages until he had one hand free. He found his wand and carefully pointed away from himself and his burden.
"Alohomora." The door swung open to reveal an empty lab, surprising George. Fred was supposed to be working on some of their test products this afternoon, Noxious Nightmares (Dose your worst enemy!) and Pleasanter Than Polyjuice Glamour Potion, while he handled the haggling over supplies. Slug and Jigger's had raised their prices, but George had found their wholesale supplier. Madam Agora had been willing to make a deal in return for a guaranteed minimum monthly purchase.
Setting his parcels down on the worktable, he glanced around. The distinct scent of orange zest and almond extract lingered on the air. Near the empty, upended cauldron by the sink there was a note.
G-
Finished without any explosions or problems. The vials are labeled and filled. Ask Verity to stock them after we've tested the product.
Lee called - he begged off tonight. I told Towler I'd have supper with him and Katie tonight, but I'll meet you at Dorian's later.
F
Fred was going to meet him at Dorian's instead of Lee? George's mind boggled. Did Fred realize what sort of place Dorian's was? He was aware of George's preferences-hard to miss, after walking in on him giving Wood a blowjob in the Quidditch changing room-but they'd never discussed what he and Lee did on their nights out, or where they went. George had felt a vague sense of disapproval from Fred, but whatever Fred thought, he normally kept to himself. In fact, since that embarrassing moment at the end of their fifth year, Fred had gone out of his way not to acknowledge George as a sexual being. It had gotten worse lately. The pair had fallen asleep together on the sofa listening to the WWN broadcast of the Caerphilly-Portree match. When George woke, it was to a pair of lips on the nape of his neck and an erection pressing rhythmically to the small of his back. He'd waved off Fred's stammered excuses with a smile, knowing that morning wood was always unpredictable, but Fred hadn't be amused. He'd gone out with Angelina that night and returned just in time to open the shop the next morning, looking shagged out but unhappy. George had put his own dissatisfaction and unease out of his mind, and they had gone back to ignoring each other's personal lives.
No, there was no way Fred realized that Dorian's was a gay bar. Well. At least he hadn't arranged to meet Lee next door at the Manticore's Tail. The club catered to a rougher crowd, mostly men looking to score, preferably without leaving the premises.
Shaking his head in a combination of amusement and dismay-this couldn't end well-George busied himself putting away his purchases. It took longer, doing it by himself, but when everything was neatly stowed, he felt a satisfaction and sense of responsibility he'd never admit to anyone else. Except maybe Fred, who understood: the tidily stocked shelves, the pristine work benches, the uniform rows of bottled potions and brightly-wrapped packages were the fulfillment of a dream they'd thought unattainable. Harry had made it possible, first with his Galleons and then with his death, and George never forgot that.
After closing the shop and clearing up paperwork, George headed upstairs to heat some leftovers for supper - their mum still cooked as if she had seven children at home, and their dad had fiddled a microwave oven to run on Muggle batteries. Even though Fred's note had said otherwise, he half expected and half hoped his twin would pop back in, so he delayed getting ready to go out, paging through the most recent issue of Quidditch Monthly. Finally George showered and changed; thinking he'd not be pulling with Fred along, he put aside his normal clubbing clothes and found a robe he thought would look respectable enough without being boring. With a glance at the clock - it indicated that Fred was traveling - he grabbed his wand and Apparated, knowing Fred would be uncomfortable alone in the crowd at Dorian's.
Two hours and three pints later - George was well on his way through the list of Muggle brews the manager, Robbie, kept on hand; of the set he'd tried tonight, all made by an outfit called Shepherd Neame, he'd particularly enjoyed the Spitfire - he was still waiting for Fred to arrive. Annoyed with Fred for being inconsiderate and himself for putting up with it so long he drained his glass and set it back on the bar. Half-decided to ditch his robes and head next door, he was about to stand when Oscar slid another pint glass in front of him.
He raised an eyebrow in question.
"Fuller's. You'll like it. Compliments of the bloke at the end of the bar." Oscar tipped his head toward the back of the room and headed to his next customer.
A dozen filled barstools separated George from his benefactor. In the dim light, he could see a brunet wearing traditional robes in a dull blue color. The man's pale eyes - George couldn't tell their precise color from that distance - were fixed on him, and his smile carried a mixture of indecision and anxiety. He raised his glass.
Why not? It's what he and Lee were aiming for when they came here. George lifted his glass to mirror the stranger's gesture and took a deep drink, enjoying the hoppy flavor of the bitter. When he sits his beer back down, the brunet was up, abandoning his place and approaching. He slid into the space between George and his nearest neighbor and set his pint-glass down on the bar.
"Cheers… what should I call you, mate?"
"I'm Fr-frank." He stumbled a bit over his introduction, and George's eyes were drawn down to his adam's apple, which bobbed with a nervous swallow.
"Cheers, Frank." He took another sip from his glass and his new acquaintance eagerly did the same. He seemed even more nervous now, his eyes darting from George to his beer to the reflections in the mirror behind the bar.
Taking pity on him, George tried to put him at ease. "Haven't seen you here before. First time?"
Frank blushed. "Yeah. Obvious, is it?"
"A bit-Look, there's a table free. You want to take it?"
Frank hesitated for a second, then nodded. He followed George to the newly vacated corner booth. The redhead continued without pausing, "And anyway, I don't recognize you as part of the Knockturn or Mercuric Alley crowd."
Relaxing slightly, Frank took another, smaller sip of his pint. "I rarely come to London. My work keeps me in Holyhead, mostly."
"Oh? What's that, then?"
"Erm, I'm a potions apprentice. Usually I can get our supplies from Liverpool or Manchester, but I needed some stuff special ordered from Slug and Jigger's."
"Oh, were you there this afternoon? I must have just missed you."
With the ice broken, conversation flowed more easily. Frank had never received his invitation to Hogwarts; his parents, both Muggleborn, had deliberately stopped interacting with the wizarding world during the Dark Lord's first reign of terror. It was only by chance that his interest in becoming a chemist had led Frank to the apothecary's shop in Holyhead, which served both Muggle and wizard customers. He seemed to have gained enough confidence and experience with the magical world to navigate Diagon Alley without trouble. He did not, however, seem quite as comfortable with Dorian's. Every so often, his words would slow, and George would follow his gaze to a couple on the dance floor, or a pair stumbling down the hallway back toward the bogs. The blush that spread across his cheeks when he realized he'd been caught staring charmed George. Testing the waters, he'd shifted a tiny bit closer to Frank. The brunet had not moved away.
Conversation had swung from schooling to brewing - Frank mentioned something about a bacca-something in science, rather than getting his NEWT in Potions - to Quidditch. (The poor bloke was stuck with the Harpies nearby, when he was a solid Puddlemere fan.) With every change of topic, the pair moved closer together, until their thighs rested next to each other and their shoulders brushed with each movement. George, for all that he still held some post-war wariness of strangers, felt more comfortable flirting now than he had in any of his and Lee's most recent outings. Something about Frank calmed every nerve that was normally alert when he was alone in a crowd, or even with Lee. A couple of times, as they talked, Frank would do something, curl his lip, grin an odd half-smirk, or move to push his fringe out of his eyes, that caused in George the strangest sense of déjà vu.
So when he felt a hand slide onto his thigh, he wasn't surprised. In fact, nothing could have felt more natural. He didn't acknowledge it at first; it could have been accidental. But even when the waitress brought them new pints, the hand didn't leave its spot. If anything, it flexed and tightened. More talking, more flirting (both subtle and otherwise), and a few beers later, and that hand had moved higher. George now had his arm across the back of the bench, brushing Frank's shoulders. When he turned his head and found Frank, only inches away, staring at him with the same fascination he had exhibited for the dancers earlier, he couldn't resist; he closed the space between them and kissed him.
Chapped lips were half-open, because Frank'd been mid-sentence when it started. George brushed against them tentatively, and when they opened wider, he pressed his advantage. Frank tasted like the beer he'd been drinking - malt and hops - and beneath that, there was a layer of citrus. George savored the flavors and textures, deepening the kiss. Frank pressed closer, twisting so that their torsos were aligned, and threaded a hand into the long hair at the nape of George's neck.
The slow rise of arousal he'd been feeling got a big jolt when he heard and felt Frank whisper his name against his lips on a puff of breath. That jolt was magnified when he slid a hand up Frank's thigh to his groin and verified that the desire was mutual. Their snogging and groping continued - Dorian's staff and regulars were pretty relaxed, and they had their corner to themselves - until George's trousers felt uncomfortable and their seats at the table didn't allow the contact he wanted.
George drew back slightly. "Are you staying in London tonight?"
"No, I didn't take a room, I was going to Apparate home tonight."
"Oh." Disappointed, George let his head fall back against high back of the booth. Then, "I'm sorry we can't go to my place-I have a roommate at home. Do you want…?" He gestured toward the hall that led to the loo.
Frank took a deep breath and stood. "Lay on, MacDuff."
That earned an odd look. The short walk felt like it took forever, and the move from the dimly lit bar and hallway to the bright fluorescence of the lavatory was jarring. No one else was there, when they arrived, and the two men just looked at each for a moment. George couldn't tell what Frank was thinking, if he was still turned on, or if he was going to turn around and head straight back down the hall and out the front doors. Frank solved that dilemma by sliding two hands around the base of George's neck and plunging right back in. Only when the door swung open again did they part; then George tugged Frank into the end stall and locked the flimsy door, ensuring no further interruptions.
They were crowded into that small space to snog and touch and possibly shag, with only the thinnest veneer of privacy. The idea was impossibly dirty and awkward and sexy all at once, and the thought of it made his cock harden even more. With a growl he backed Frank against the closed door, bracing himself with his forearms against the cool metal. He bypassed the face that was lifted for his kiss, aiming instead for the long, pale neck, attaching his lips to point where it met the jaw and biting gently. He heard the dull thud of Frank's head falling back limply, but he was distracted when hips pressed forward, allowing his erection contact with a similar heat and hardness. He rubbed against it reflexively and Frank moaned; George smiled at the vibrations the sound made against his lips. He dropped a trail of light, wet kisses down the long neck, nipping at the Adam's apple and then nosing the robe's collar aside. Inhaling a deep breath of orange and almond and something else vaguely familiar, he clamped his teeth onto the point where neck met shoulder bit down hard before soothing the hurt with a swipe of tongue.
A hand gripped the back of his neck, and another was squeezing his hip, and their erections were grinding together now. George had to force himself to back away enough to slide his own hand between the open panels of blue robes. It went directly to his goal: the hardness pressing against Muggle-style jeans. Without pausing for permission, he pulled the zipper down and had a handful of warm, hard cock. A strangled moan and reflexive push of hips forward indicated that Frank was perfectly happy with this development. The hand on his neck twisted into the hair there and tugged, hard. Obediently, George lifted his head, and was immediately absorbed in a greedy, tongue-twisting kiss.
He squeezed and stroked, and the fist in his hair tightened. He pushed closer, leaving barely enough room for his hand to move, and lost himself in the rhythm and the textures and sound of the man in his arms. With astounding speed, Frank was clinging to George, groaning into his mouth and stiffening in his arms as he came in his hand.
George kept touching, kept kissing, not quite ready to finish himself. He could tell when Frank realized what he had done; he could practically feel the heat wave of embarrassment that colored his cheeks, and he turned his head. He didn't try to push George away though. In fact, the hand on his hip released its death grip and moved to rest on George's chest.
"S-" His voice cracked, and he had to clear his throat. "I'm sorry about that." He didn't meet George's eyes again, but he nuzzled against his throat. A puff of warm, humid breath skated across the sensitive skin there, making George shudder. His hand moved lower and touched George's, which was still curled around his cock, and then turned to cup George through his robe and trousers.
The fumbling with his zipper shouldn't have been such a turn-on. When a smooth hand drew his erection out of his shorts and past the metal teeth, then curled around him and stroked, George bucked into it in a grateful welcome. The petting and pulling that followed felt strangely awkward; if George thought about it, though, he wasn't surprised - hadn't Frank said he hadn't been here before. Likely he wasn't out back in Holyhead, and he hadn't had years spent living in a boys' dormitory; maybe this was the first time he'd done this to another bloke. George made every effort to be encouraging, not that it took much. Frank seemed to know what touches would make him harder, faster, and what would make him groan in pleasure.
"Yeah, like that."
He was not holding back, making lots of noise, more than Frank had when he'd come, and footsteps and a low chuckle let him know that they weren't alone. The lavatory door creaked, but he wasn't sure if someone was entering or leaving. Apparently the idea of someone listening appealed to Frank, because his prick, which had only partially softened, twitched against the back of George's hand. Inspired, George wriggled and nudged until he could grip them both, stroking them together, using the slippery wetness of Frank's come to slide and squeeze more easily. Frank clutched George's hips now, cradling him as close against his pelvis as he could without hampering George's rhythm, and it wasn't long they were both coming, pulsing into George's hand and onto their bellies and shirts, groaning into each other's mouths.
George stayed where he was, holding them upright against the stall's door, while their hearts' pounding gradually slowed. Eventually he untangled their hands and found his wand to clean them both. When they were fit to be seen publicly, they opened the door and peered out. Nobody was using the urinals or sinks, so they sidled out of their stall and shared sheepish, satisfied grins. They left the loo, pausing in the dark hallway while their eyes adjusted.
"You heading home?"
"Not yet. But you go. You've got work in the morning, and a longer trip tonight."
George kissed Frank again gently, as goodbye. He could taste the orange still, under the saltier flavor that he recognized as his own skin. The familiar scent was stronger now, more easily identified-it was laundry soap, underlined with almond oil.
"Have a safe trip back. Don't splinch yourself."
"No worries. I'll use the public Apparation point over at the Leaky Cauldron." Frank smiled at George, and leaned closer to brush a light kiss across his lips before turning to the door.
George stayed where he was and watched him leave. When the brunet was lost in the crowd, he headed to bar and ordered a shot of firewhisky. He needed it.
Fred was at home, stretched out on the sofa, when George arrived. George went to the loo and washed up, tossing his shirt and trousers into the pile for the house-elf laundry service. On his way back out to the sitting room, he took a quick detour into Fred's. The wardrobe door was open, a swatch of blue fabric poking out. He nodded to himself as pieces of a puzzle he hadn't even realized he was assembling fell together.
"Have a good time tonight, Fred?"
"Sorry I never made it to Dorian's. I ran into-"
"No. No excuses." Fred's mouth closed and he blinked uncertainly, his cheeks reddening. "But next time - if you want to do that again - just ask. No glamour potion necessary."
Author: irisgirl12000
Rating: R
Warning(s): incest, of course
Disclaimer: Totally not my property.
Prompt:petquality requested Fred and George need to test their new line of ready-made glamour potions on human subjects. The results of seeing each other looking not-so-identical anymore has interesting results...
A/N: Thanks to lilyeyes for telling me the plot was understandable. All mistakes? Mine. This is not the story I meant to write, but it's what came out after I deleted my first effort.
"Oi, Fred, come help me with these!"
George pushed at the door with his hip, struggling with the boxes in his arms. Normally he'd have levitated them to their appropriated places in the workroom, but these particular ingredients were extremely sensitive to ambient magic, and he didn't want to ruin a valuable shipment of potions stores.
"Fred!"
Cursing his lay-about brother, George juggled the packages until he had one hand free. He found his wand and carefully pointed away from himself and his burden.
"Alohomora." The door swung open to reveal an empty lab, surprising George. Fred was supposed to be working on some of their test products this afternoon, Noxious Nightmares (Dose your worst enemy!) and Pleasanter Than Polyjuice Glamour Potion, while he handled the haggling over supplies. Slug and Jigger's had raised their prices, but George had found their wholesale supplier. Madam Agora had been willing to make a deal in return for a guaranteed minimum monthly purchase.
Setting his parcels down on the worktable, he glanced around. The distinct scent of orange zest and almond extract lingered on the air. Near the empty, upended cauldron by the sink there was a note.
G-
Finished without any explosions or problems. The vials are labeled and filled. Ask Verity to stock them after we've tested the product.
Lee called - he begged off tonight. I told Towler I'd have supper with him and Katie tonight, but I'll meet you at Dorian's later.
F
Fred was going to meet him at Dorian's instead of Lee? George's mind boggled. Did Fred realize what sort of place Dorian's was? He was aware of George's preferences-hard to miss, after walking in on him giving Wood a blowjob in the Quidditch changing room-but they'd never discussed what he and Lee did on their nights out, or where they went. George had felt a vague sense of disapproval from Fred, but whatever Fred thought, he normally kept to himself. In fact, since that embarrassing moment at the end of their fifth year, Fred had gone out of his way not to acknowledge George as a sexual being. It had gotten worse lately. The pair had fallen asleep together on the sofa listening to the WWN broadcast of the Caerphilly-Portree match. When George woke, it was to a pair of lips on the nape of his neck and an erection pressing rhythmically to the small of his back. He'd waved off Fred's stammered excuses with a smile, knowing that morning wood was always unpredictable, but Fred hadn't be amused. He'd gone out with Angelina that night and returned just in time to open the shop the next morning, looking shagged out but unhappy. George had put his own dissatisfaction and unease out of his mind, and they had gone back to ignoring each other's personal lives.
No, there was no way Fred realized that Dorian's was a gay bar. Well. At least he hadn't arranged to meet Lee next door at the Manticore's Tail. The club catered to a rougher crowd, mostly men looking to score, preferably without leaving the premises.
Shaking his head in a combination of amusement and dismay-this couldn't end well-George busied himself putting away his purchases. It took longer, doing it by himself, but when everything was neatly stowed, he felt a satisfaction and sense of responsibility he'd never admit to anyone else. Except maybe Fred, who understood: the tidily stocked shelves, the pristine work benches, the uniform rows of bottled potions and brightly-wrapped packages were the fulfillment of a dream they'd thought unattainable. Harry had made it possible, first with his Galleons and then with his death, and George never forgot that.
After closing the shop and clearing up paperwork, George headed upstairs to heat some leftovers for supper - their mum still cooked as if she had seven children at home, and their dad had fiddled a microwave oven to run on Muggle batteries. Even though Fred's note had said otherwise, he half expected and half hoped his twin would pop back in, so he delayed getting ready to go out, paging through the most recent issue of Quidditch Monthly. Finally George showered and changed; thinking he'd not be pulling with Fred along, he put aside his normal clubbing clothes and found a robe he thought would look respectable enough without being boring. With a glance at the clock - it indicated that Fred was traveling - he grabbed his wand and Apparated, knowing Fred would be uncomfortable alone in the crowd at Dorian's.
Two hours and three pints later - George was well on his way through the list of Muggle brews the manager, Robbie, kept on hand; of the set he'd tried tonight, all made by an outfit called Shepherd Neame, he'd particularly enjoyed the Spitfire - he was still waiting for Fred to arrive. Annoyed with Fred for being inconsiderate and himself for putting up with it so long he drained his glass and set it back on the bar. Half-decided to ditch his robes and head next door, he was about to stand when Oscar slid another pint glass in front of him.
He raised an eyebrow in question.
"Fuller's. You'll like it. Compliments of the bloke at the end of the bar." Oscar tipped his head toward the back of the room and headed to his next customer.
A dozen filled barstools separated George from his benefactor. In the dim light, he could see a brunet wearing traditional robes in a dull blue color. The man's pale eyes - George couldn't tell their precise color from that distance - were fixed on him, and his smile carried a mixture of indecision and anxiety. He raised his glass.
Why not? It's what he and Lee were aiming for when they came here. George lifted his glass to mirror the stranger's gesture and took a deep drink, enjoying the hoppy flavor of the bitter. When he sits his beer back down, the brunet was up, abandoning his place and approaching. He slid into the space between George and his nearest neighbor and set his pint-glass down on the bar.
"Cheers… what should I call you, mate?"
"I'm Fr-frank." He stumbled a bit over his introduction, and George's eyes were drawn down to his adam's apple, which bobbed with a nervous swallow.
"Cheers, Frank." He took another sip from his glass and his new acquaintance eagerly did the same. He seemed even more nervous now, his eyes darting from George to his beer to the reflections in the mirror behind the bar.
Taking pity on him, George tried to put him at ease. "Haven't seen you here before. First time?"
Frank blushed. "Yeah. Obvious, is it?"
"A bit-Look, there's a table free. You want to take it?"
Frank hesitated for a second, then nodded. He followed George to the newly vacated corner booth. The redhead continued without pausing, "And anyway, I don't recognize you as part of the Knockturn or Mercuric Alley crowd."
Relaxing slightly, Frank took another, smaller sip of his pint. "I rarely come to London. My work keeps me in Holyhead, mostly."
"Oh? What's that, then?"
"Erm, I'm a potions apprentice. Usually I can get our supplies from Liverpool or Manchester, but I needed some stuff special ordered from Slug and Jigger's."
"Oh, were you there this afternoon? I must have just missed you."
With the ice broken, conversation flowed more easily. Frank had never received his invitation to Hogwarts; his parents, both Muggleborn, had deliberately stopped interacting with the wizarding world during the Dark Lord's first reign of terror. It was only by chance that his interest in becoming a chemist had led Frank to the apothecary's shop in Holyhead, which served both Muggle and wizard customers. He seemed to have gained enough confidence and experience with the magical world to navigate Diagon Alley without trouble. He did not, however, seem quite as comfortable with Dorian's. Every so often, his words would slow, and George would follow his gaze to a couple on the dance floor, or a pair stumbling down the hallway back toward the bogs. The blush that spread across his cheeks when he realized he'd been caught staring charmed George. Testing the waters, he'd shifted a tiny bit closer to Frank. The brunet had not moved away.
Conversation had swung from schooling to brewing - Frank mentioned something about a bacca-something in science, rather than getting his NEWT in Potions - to Quidditch. (The poor bloke was stuck with the Harpies nearby, when he was a solid Puddlemere fan.) With every change of topic, the pair moved closer together, until their thighs rested next to each other and their shoulders brushed with each movement. George, for all that he still held some post-war wariness of strangers, felt more comfortable flirting now than he had in any of his and Lee's most recent outings. Something about Frank calmed every nerve that was normally alert when he was alone in a crowd, or even with Lee. A couple of times, as they talked, Frank would do something, curl his lip, grin an odd half-smirk, or move to push his fringe out of his eyes, that caused in George the strangest sense of déjà vu.
So when he felt a hand slide onto his thigh, he wasn't surprised. In fact, nothing could have felt more natural. He didn't acknowledge it at first; it could have been accidental. But even when the waitress brought them new pints, the hand didn't leave its spot. If anything, it flexed and tightened. More talking, more flirting (both subtle and otherwise), and a few beers later, and that hand had moved higher. George now had his arm across the back of the bench, brushing Frank's shoulders. When he turned his head and found Frank, only inches away, staring at him with the same fascination he had exhibited for the dancers earlier, he couldn't resist; he closed the space between them and kissed him.
Chapped lips were half-open, because Frank'd been mid-sentence when it started. George brushed against them tentatively, and when they opened wider, he pressed his advantage. Frank tasted like the beer he'd been drinking - malt and hops - and beneath that, there was a layer of citrus. George savored the flavors and textures, deepening the kiss. Frank pressed closer, twisting so that their torsos were aligned, and threaded a hand into the long hair at the nape of George's neck.
The slow rise of arousal he'd been feeling got a big jolt when he heard and felt Frank whisper his name against his lips on a puff of breath. That jolt was magnified when he slid a hand up Frank's thigh to his groin and verified that the desire was mutual. Their snogging and groping continued - Dorian's staff and regulars were pretty relaxed, and they had their corner to themselves - until George's trousers felt uncomfortable and their seats at the table didn't allow the contact he wanted.
George drew back slightly. "Are you staying in London tonight?"
"No, I didn't take a room, I was going to Apparate home tonight."
"Oh." Disappointed, George let his head fall back against high back of the booth. Then, "I'm sorry we can't go to my place-I have a roommate at home. Do you want…?" He gestured toward the hall that led to the loo.
Frank took a deep breath and stood. "Lay on, MacDuff."
That earned an odd look. The short walk felt like it took forever, and the move from the dimly lit bar and hallway to the bright fluorescence of the lavatory was jarring. No one else was there, when they arrived, and the two men just looked at each for a moment. George couldn't tell what Frank was thinking, if he was still turned on, or if he was going to turn around and head straight back down the hall and out the front doors. Frank solved that dilemma by sliding two hands around the base of George's neck and plunging right back in. Only when the door swung open again did they part; then George tugged Frank into the end stall and locked the flimsy door, ensuring no further interruptions.
They were crowded into that small space to snog and touch and possibly shag, with only the thinnest veneer of privacy. The idea was impossibly dirty and awkward and sexy all at once, and the thought of it made his cock harden even more. With a growl he backed Frank against the closed door, bracing himself with his forearms against the cool metal. He bypassed the face that was lifted for his kiss, aiming instead for the long, pale neck, attaching his lips to point where it met the jaw and biting gently. He heard the dull thud of Frank's head falling back limply, but he was distracted when hips pressed forward, allowing his erection contact with a similar heat and hardness. He rubbed against it reflexively and Frank moaned; George smiled at the vibrations the sound made against his lips. He dropped a trail of light, wet kisses down the long neck, nipping at the Adam's apple and then nosing the robe's collar aside. Inhaling a deep breath of orange and almond and something else vaguely familiar, he clamped his teeth onto the point where neck met shoulder bit down hard before soothing the hurt with a swipe of tongue.
A hand gripped the back of his neck, and another was squeezing his hip, and their erections were grinding together now. George had to force himself to back away enough to slide his own hand between the open panels of blue robes. It went directly to his goal: the hardness pressing against Muggle-style jeans. Without pausing for permission, he pulled the zipper down and had a handful of warm, hard cock. A strangled moan and reflexive push of hips forward indicated that Frank was perfectly happy with this development. The hand on his neck twisted into the hair there and tugged, hard. Obediently, George lifted his head, and was immediately absorbed in a greedy, tongue-twisting kiss.
He squeezed and stroked, and the fist in his hair tightened. He pushed closer, leaving barely enough room for his hand to move, and lost himself in the rhythm and the textures and sound of the man in his arms. With astounding speed, Frank was clinging to George, groaning into his mouth and stiffening in his arms as he came in his hand.
George kept touching, kept kissing, not quite ready to finish himself. He could tell when Frank realized what he had done; he could practically feel the heat wave of embarrassment that colored his cheeks, and he turned his head. He didn't try to push George away though. In fact, the hand on his hip released its death grip and moved to rest on George's chest.
"S-" His voice cracked, and he had to clear his throat. "I'm sorry about that." He didn't meet George's eyes again, but he nuzzled against his throat. A puff of warm, humid breath skated across the sensitive skin there, making George shudder. His hand moved lower and touched George's, which was still curled around his cock, and then turned to cup George through his robe and trousers.
The fumbling with his zipper shouldn't have been such a turn-on. When a smooth hand drew his erection out of his shorts and past the metal teeth, then curled around him and stroked, George bucked into it in a grateful welcome. The petting and pulling that followed felt strangely awkward; if George thought about it, though, he wasn't surprised - hadn't Frank said he hadn't been here before. Likely he wasn't out back in Holyhead, and he hadn't had years spent living in a boys' dormitory; maybe this was the first time he'd done this to another bloke. George made every effort to be encouraging, not that it took much. Frank seemed to know what touches would make him harder, faster, and what would make him groan in pleasure.
"Yeah, like that."
He was not holding back, making lots of noise, more than Frank had when he'd come, and footsteps and a low chuckle let him know that they weren't alone. The lavatory door creaked, but he wasn't sure if someone was entering or leaving. Apparently the idea of someone listening appealed to Frank, because his prick, which had only partially softened, twitched against the back of George's hand. Inspired, George wriggled and nudged until he could grip them both, stroking them together, using the slippery wetness of Frank's come to slide and squeeze more easily. Frank clutched George's hips now, cradling him as close against his pelvis as he could without hampering George's rhythm, and it wasn't long they were both coming, pulsing into George's hand and onto their bellies and shirts, groaning into each other's mouths.
George stayed where he was, holding them upright against the stall's door, while their hearts' pounding gradually slowed. Eventually he untangled their hands and found his wand to clean them both. When they were fit to be seen publicly, they opened the door and peered out. Nobody was using the urinals or sinks, so they sidled out of their stall and shared sheepish, satisfied grins. They left the loo, pausing in the dark hallway while their eyes adjusted.
"You heading home?"
"Not yet. But you go. You've got work in the morning, and a longer trip tonight."
George kissed Frank again gently, as goodbye. He could taste the orange still, under the saltier flavor that he recognized as his own skin. The familiar scent was stronger now, more easily identified-it was laundry soap, underlined with almond oil.
"Have a safe trip back. Don't splinch yourself."
"No worries. I'll use the public Apparation point over at the Leaky Cauldron." Frank smiled at George, and leaned closer to brush a light kiss across his lips before turning to the door.
George stayed where he was and watched him leave. When the brunet was lost in the crowd, he headed to bar and ordered a shot of firewhisky. He needed it.
Fred was at home, stretched out on the sofa, when George arrived. George went to the loo and washed up, tossing his shirt and trousers into the pile for the house-elf laundry service. On his way back out to the sitting room, he took a quick detour into Fred's. The wardrobe door was open, a swatch of blue fabric poking out. He nodded to himself as pieces of a puzzle he hadn't even realized he was assembling fell together.
"Have a good time tonight, Fred?"
"Sorry I never made it to Dorian's. I ran into-"
"No. No excuses." Fred's mouth closed and he blinked uncertainly, his cheeks reddening. "But next time - if you want to do that again - just ask. No glamour potion necessary."