Author: Thevina
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: George/Remus
***
Rather than several weeks, it was only a few days before George saw Lupin again. He came by Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes ostensibly to buy a birthday gift for yet another young and distant relative.
"I didn't know you came from a large family, too," George said, wrapping a box of double-headed coins, vaguely noticing Zap's admonishments to some unsupervised children in a corner of the shop.
"I didn't. But my father did. I have several cousins, and they have children now. I'm an only child." He seemed about to say something, then censored himself.
"D'you want to go get a coffee or something?" George asked, wishing that his mouth wouldn't insist on acting independently of his brain. "If you have time, that is."
Lupin looked pleased. "Seeing as how the term hasn't started, and I've actually made some progress on my syllabi, I'd be happy to."
"I'll just go tell Zap I'm going out." He stopped by the coat rack to get his coat and scarf before entrusting the store to Zap for a bit, then the two men went out into Hogsmeade.
"Bloody cold, it is," George said, blowing on his hands. Ever since his mother had charmed mittens onto Fred and him when they were young, he had had an aversion to any kind of handcovering, even in the dead of winter.
"Indeed," Lupin affirmed, pulling his scarf up his neck. They walked through the cobbled streets in a companionable silence, occasionally ducking to avoid the few charmed post-Christmas sales flyers that tried to divebomb their heads. They stopped at Tripe and Toadstools, a place where George grabbed sandwiches on occasion, and was known to have coffee strong enough to singe the eyebrows. After ordering, they sat at a table away from the windows, and talked about Hogwarts, brooms (Lupin was stupendously knowledgeable about the newest Skyrunner models, to George's surprise), wizard history, and socializing. Or lack thereof.
"Well," Lupin said, finishing his corned beef on rye, "I suspect that you have a rather full social calendar, being who you are."
"Who I am?" George coughed over the crumbly remnants of his tuna salad. "I may be self-made, but I must admit, aside from seeing Lee Jordan on occasion, bless him, and Towler, our old roommate, I spend most of my time at the shop. Or tinkering with prototypes."
"Nice looking young man like yourself?" Lupin said incredulously. "I'd have imagined there would be witches lined up at your door." He took a sip of coffee.
"No, nothing like that," George said hastily. "Besides, it's Bill and Charlie who have the looks. Well, Bill did, anyway. And Ginny, I suppose- but she's my sister. She could be Witch Beauty of the year and I wouldn't recognize it."
George studied Lupin's face, judging his reaction. He thought he saw a flicker of intrigue, and decided that since they were in a secluded part of the caf� and he was tired of second-guessing Lupin's intents, he would go ahead and be completely honest. They had both finished their sandwiches; if things turned horrifically awkward they had no reason to linger.
"And, well, I'm not sure that it's women I'd want lined up at my door anyway."
He picked up his coffee cup, realized it was empty, and put it down on its saucer with a clatter.
"Really." Lupin stretched out the syllables and gave George a provocative look, raising one eyebrow. "So are there wizards lining up at your door, then?"
"Not last time I checked," George said, admiring the other's man's long fingers as they held his cup. "Like I said, there doesn't seem to be a rush of ladies or gents interested in red-haired joke shop owners. Bit of a shame, really!"
What the hell, he thought. Go out with gusto.
"Yes, it is," Lupin agreed.
George thought back to his fantasy from a few nights prior and threw any remaining caution to the wind. Lupin had only been his instructor for one year, after all, and that was several years ago. They were now both adults. "Are you interested," he paused, and settled on the man's more personal name, "Remus?"
"Most certainly."
There was an undercurrent of a growl in the reply that made George's pulse race and his cock respond with enthusiasm. Merlin's beard.
"The term doesn't start until next week," Lupin went on. "Would you care to meet me at the Selkie's Swim for drinks tomorrow? That is," he smiled salaciously, "if you don't already have plans."
Even if I did, I'd chuck them, George thought to himself. The tightness in his groin increased. Down, you impossible bastard.
"That'd be brilliant."
"Eight o'clock, then? And you know where it is?"
"Yeah. Been there once or twice with Ron and his team."
Lupin nodded. "I should be getting back to Hogwarts, but I'm very much looking forward to tomorrow."
They both rose from their chairs. George was half a head shorter than Lupin; aside from Ginny, and their mum, he was the shortest Weasley in the line. Lupin extended his arms to clasp George's hand in a warm and lingering hold.
"Me too," George said, grateful that he had chosen to wear a pair of loose robes. He watched as Lupin gracefully put on his overcoat, gathered his briefcase and the gift, and went out into the cold afternoon.
This has got to be one of the oddest winter holidays on record, George contemplated. But potentially very pleasant. Oh, who did he think he was kidding? He hadn't had a shag in a couple of years, much less even a good snog. And now he was being pursued by an older man, and a handsome one at that. And experienced, he was sure.
George willed his thoughts away to those of a far more mundane nature. He had the afternoon to get through, after all, and Zap would ask questions if he spent it with a ridiculous grin on his face. He was good-natured, but not that good-natured. He put a few coins on the table, shrugged on his wool jacket, and left the caf�.
***
"Oh! This is a new, all-time low," Fred scowled from the portrait the next evening. "Lupin? Drinks? Are you mad?"
George pointedly ignored him as he entered the bathroom and cast a sharpening charm on his razor.
"Desperate, more likely," Fred went on, his voice carrying through the room. "Surely Lee could have set you up with someone more� more�"
"More what, exactly?" George smirked into the mirror, shaving around the cleft in his chin.
"More appropriate, you bastard," came from the bedroom. "He's as old as Dad. And what's wrong with girls, anyway?" Fred continued.
George methodically removed the coppery stubble from his face, imagining Fred pacing within the confines of the frame. If his twin hadn't badgered him so much about who he was getting dressed up for, he wouldn't be dealing with these questions now. Even beyond the grave, however, he and Fred kept no secrets. Would that they could.
"He's not that old!" George yelled from the sink, dabbing a bit more shaving cream on his neck, scraping the razor down his freckled flesh. "And there's nothing wrong with girls. Just don't fancy them. Like that. Much."
There was a disgusted sound from the bedroom as George took a washcloth and ran it under the enchanted hot tap. He held the steaming cloth to his face, inhaling the moisture, until he heard another oddly familiar voice enter the fray, and he stepped out of the bathroom, puzzled.
The portrait-George and portrait-Fred were arguing. George stood staring at the two with a warped fascination, seeing his picture-self defending whatever honour he might have had to his brother, who would have none of it. They were so busy telling each other off that he was able to get dressed and ready to leave without interacting with them.
"I'm leaving, lads," he said pointedly, pausing in front of the large frame.
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Really," Fred said sourly. "Or if you do, don't do it here."
"'C'mon," George pleaded, moving in to rest his hands on the chest of drawers. "We never fought for long - just call me the list of names you have in mind and be done with it. And anyway, aren't you working on the answer spells for the fortune-telling frogs?"
"Yes," Fred mumbled, looking sullen, but the more usual devious glint in his eyes had returned.
"Oy! George! Get back here!"
George started, then realized that Fred was talking to his portrait-self. "You haven't let me down on those permutations using Lotho's Laws of Least-Likelihood, have you?"
"No," the portrait-George replied, and George knew that things would soon be back to normal, or at least as normal as they ever were.
"Right. Well, don't wait up," he said to the painting.
Fred rolled his eyes, but made a shooing motion. "Go on, have fun, but do remember if you're found spewing your guts up in some alley somewhere, I can't come rescue you."
George winced, and felt a brief wave of melancholy wash over him. "I'll remember that," he replied.
***
He was early. George sat at the bar, having finished around a quarter of his pint when Lupin arrived. The other man looked around the pub, then his gaze settled on George. The silver in his hair caught the light as he nodded his head in acknowledgement, a smile quirking at the corner of his mouth.
George smiled as Lupin approached.
"George," Lupin said fondly. "Already started, I see." He eyed George's glass.
"I was early, for once," George explained as Lupin pulled off his coat and rested it in the crook of his arm.
"Would you care to sit at a booth?"
"Sure." George slid off of his stool. "What'd you like? I'll shout the first round," he went on, trying not to stare at the hollow of Lupin's neck, framed by the collar of his shirt which was a rich chocolate brown.
"No. This was my idea, I'll get it," Lupin insisted.
"I'm the successful businessman, remember?" George challenged, placing his hand on Lupin's upper arm. Suede! his brain registered. Lupin obviously hasn't been doing too badly for himself, either.
"All right," Lupin acquiesced, turning to the bartender and murmuring his order. George dropped three sickles on the bar to pay for his lager. The older man inclined his head toward a quieter part of the pub and George began walking in that direction. He found himself gently steered through the throng, a very warm hand placed on his upper back.
Quite nice feeling, that, George thought to himself, then wavered uncertainly at the table where they stopped. Damn. He didn't want to be across the table from those comforting fingers, but he didn't want to shove in next to Lupin - Remus - like a sodding schoolgirl, either. He opted for distance, hoping that there would be a chance to rectify that later.
A waiter showed up moments later with a tray and two small tumblers. George had just downed a bit more of his Skullsplitter and found himself under the expectant gaze of the server. "That'll be four galleons," he said.
George's eyes widened as he looked at Lupin, who rewarded him with a conniving smile. George paid, and the waiter left.
"What's in these?" he asked as Lupin chuckled. "Gold?"
Despite thinking that Lupin had bought the most expensive beverages in the pub because George had offered to pay, he was glad that the other man had had the balls enough to do so. George had come to look forward to hearing Lupin speak, or make those pleasant rumbly noises in his throat. There was something in Lupin's voice, especially when he laughed, that had a slight rasp to it that belied an element of the untamed which contradicted his orderly appearance. After growing up in a household of people who were earnest to a fault, except, perhaps, for Fred, George was intrigued by the element of carefulness to Lupin. Far more complicated emotions seemed to find harbour beneath his composure, complexities that George was sure he had been far too sidetracked to notice in school.
"It's Laphroaig. Single malt Scotch. If this doesn't warm you up, well, you're past saving."
George took his glass and raised it to Lupin.
"To new discoveries. And being warm," he toasted.
"To new discoveries," Lupin echoed. "And men of fire."
George almost blushed, but willed the heat of the attention he received further down his body. It settled rather unnecessarily between his legs, where it was not needed, but what the hell. He was too old to blush.
"Wow, that's�"
"Potent. Far more so than firewhiskey." Lupin took another sip. "Muggles may be woefully underserved in many aspects of life, but in the distillation of spirits, I believe they have the upper hand."
"Dad, as you know, is fascinated," George said, returning to his beer.
From there the conversation meandered from Muggle artifacts to some of the headlines in the Daily Prophet to the travels they had made. Over another couple of rounds they discussed the high and low points of Nova Scotia, where they had both visited at different times, then delved off into a philosophical analysis of some of the magical elements of laughter.
George was flushed and his thoughts were flying in a hundred directions when a lull in the conversation blanketed him. Lupin raised his arm to attract their server's attention.
"Two waters, please," George heard, and he smiled in gratitude. That Scotch had been wicked. He watched Lupin absently lick his lower lip then bite down on it, and in that instant, he decided it was time to go. He was astonishingly comfortable with Remus, and wanted to know what it would feel like to run his tongue across those inviting lips.
After the waters were presented they drank in silence, George studying Lupin's throat as he swallowed.
"Well," Lupin said, leaning back into the cushion of his seat. "It's not so late. Care for a coffee at my place? The Laphroaig is rather strong."
"No kidding," George smiled, then he thought about traipsing around Hogwarts and the possibility of running into McGonagall, or Snape, and his desire waned. "Where are you�"
"No, not at my school quarters. I should have specified - I meant my house. We'll have to apparate together." Lupin seemed as ready as George to get out of the stuffy pub and to a more isolated location. "Again," he added, smiling.
"I think I'll manage."
George only hoped that he didn't sound as eager as he felt. He was no naive virgin, but he was definitely out of practice in everything. But oh god! he had just been given an open invitation to press up close to Lupin again. 'To men of fire,' he had said. George stretched an arm across the table and grasped Lupin's hand. He brought the elegant fingers to his mouth and kissed the pad of each digit, one by one, then released him. Without taking his eyes off of George, Lupin traced his mouth with his newly-kissed fingers. When his pink tongue darted out to lick between two of his fingers, looking pointedly at George, he knew definitely that it was really, truly time to leave.
As he followed the older man and they made their way outside, George apprised Lupin's narrow hips, the way the fabric of his trousers seemed to cling to his slightly squarish backside, and� Oh, bloody hell. He'd show him a man of fire all right.
They walked a discreet distance around the corner of the Selkie's Swim and Lupin opened his coat, looking down slightly at George with a decidedly hungry gaze. George stepped closer, this time placing his hands firmly on Lupin's arse, and found a hardness that mirrored his own pressed up high into his hip and abdomen. He tried not to grind into him there in the alley, instead taking a deep sniff of Lupin's neck, closed his eyes, and they apparated.
***
George paused only long enough to make sure that they were on solid ground before pulling his hands somewhat reluctantly from Lupin's arse and out of his coat to nestle them in his wavy hair. Lupin must have had similar intentions because he leaned his head down while drawing his hands up George's back to splay them on his neck, cradling his chin with his thumbs.
"May I?" Lupin asked, the words breathed onto George's open mouth.
George's reply was moaned into Lupin's lips as they kissed. He held onto Lupin's head, his own shameless mouth not even bothering to close, his tongue seeking the other man's, surprised at the fervor with which Lupin plundered him. He tasted the lingering flavour of Scotch as he ran his tongue behind Lupin's teeth, then licked at his bottom lip as Lupin himself had done in the pub, and nipped it with his own teeth for good measure. His mouth seemed to be directly linked to his aching cock. He'd never been this turned on by kissing before, and could only imagine what anything else would do to him. Probably spontaneously combust in a blaze of satisfied glory. One could hope.
Lupin abandoned his mouth and George made a disappointed noise, rubbing his very hard erection into Lupin's thigh. Hot breath filled his ear, and a deft tongue traced his earlobe, then forayed further. George tried not to, but he laughed, and saw a cloud of vapor fill the cold air.
"Something funny?" Lupin murmured, biting his earlobe.
"No," George said, running his hands down Lupin's back to pull him closer by the hips. "Just a bit ticklish, but you feel aaaahhhmmmmm."
He lost the capability for speech as Lupin breathed into his ear again and insinuated his hand down George's torso to his groin, where he caressed the hard bulge there.
"Mmmmm," Lupin said, breathing into his ear again. "The house is far warmer than out here on the grass. Inside?"
George turned Lupin's face to him, fascinated by his prominent cheekbones, worn scars and slightly swollen lips. He pressed his mouth to the other man's again, and it opened for him. George savoured the feeling of his tongue sliding on Lupin's as Lupin continued to stroke him, then he leaned back, catching his breath.
"Yes. Let's."
George hated to step away from Lupin, and did so only grudgingly. When he turned to look at the house, he exclaimed in shock, "Bloody hell! That's lot of wards."
Lupin turned back to George and pressed his hands on George's hips. "You do know what I am, don't you?"
George, still panting slightly, was surprised to see a flicker of worry in the other man's eyes.
"Werewolf, right?"
Lupin nodded, obviously relieved.
"It was pretty much common knowledge after fifth year. It's not�" his voice trailed off and he glanced upward. Cloudy. Figures.
"No. Four days past new moon, if you're worried," Lupin said, moving in closer. He pulled George's wayward hair back from his forehead and with his tongue traced a hot, slick line from his forehead down the side of his face and agonizingly, back to his sensitive ear. "I don't bite," he said, and George felt as much as heard the wanton lust in the words.
"I just might," he replied.
***
Lupin had a thing for music.
George practically attacked him once they were inside, the two men having dropped their coats in an untidy heap by the door. Lupin had escaped for a few precious minutes to place some small silver, circular disc thing in some mechanism that George was sure his dad would have given at least one finger to see in action. George didn't care, as moments later, after shucking off his unique boots and socks, he was straddling the man, on a rather unobtrusive - but very comfortable - bed.
Ambient music that he had never heard, obviously Muggle, permeated the room. He tried not to stare at his own ridiculous freckled fingers as he unbuttoned Lupin's luxurious shirt so he could remove it as quickly as possible. Hair, exquisite tawny curls were everywhere. All over Lupin's chest. Down his thin abdomen, unlike George's own more muscled one. Encircling the taut nipples on which George lavished an inordinate amount of attention, enjoying nothing so much as the open-mouthed panting and whimpers that Lupin made when he bit at them, feeling Lupin's nails in his scalp where his fingers had taken hold. Then he saw the tattoo. With his tongue he laved at the faded, unobtrusive grey set of numbers below Lupin's collarbone, then raised himself up so he could breathe the question into the older man's mouth.
"What're the numbers for?" he asked.
Hooded golden eyes looked at him, and George suddenly felt very young.
"Werewolf registry."
"Oh."
George sat back, running his fingers down Lupin's ribs to his waist, surreptitiously rocking against the other man.
"If you play with fire, you should expect to get burned," George warned through shreds of his pride. Was he too young? Bollocks. He might not be the most experienced wizard around, but he was determined to make this an evening that Lupin did not soon forget.
"And if you run with the wolves, you should expect to howl."
Lupin gave him a scorching gaze, and George felt any inadequacies vanish like smoke. He breathed on Lupin's prominent erection through the cloth, then, after being momentarily satisfied with the noises that he heard, George pulled the pants down.
Shite. Shoes.
George scooted backward off of the bed to untie Lupin's shoes. He dropped them to the floor, tugged off Lupin's unexpectedly colourful argyle socks, then removed his pants and boxers. He glanced up at Lupin's thick cock. Mine, he thought as he got back up on the bed, kissing the inside of Lupin's thighs as he slowly made his way up his lithe form.
Suddenly George found himself pulled up Remus' body and turned on his back. Lupin, though thin, had unexpected speed and strength. George groaned with pleasure while Remus tormented his chest and abdomen with biting kisses and those fingers - oh god - fingers that should surely be housed in some guarded cell - undid his shirt and then pulled open his pants, delving greedily for his cock, which surged in response.
"Merlin!" George exclaimed as Remus made an appreciative noise, leaning down to lick the head.
I am going to die, tormented into a pile of blissful ash, George thought, moaning as Lupin's talented tongue circled his prick, teasing it. His petulant cock twitched, greedy for the attention.
"You're wearing far too many clothes," Remus murmured, edging back just far enough to snake his fingers under the elastic of George's boxers. George was only too happy to help rid himself of his jeans, drawers and shirt, finally lying naked on the bed.
"Even more vibrant than I imagined," Remus said, his voice husky. "A living fire."
"You've imagined this?" George gasped as Remus rubbed their cocks together.
"Since Kilmartin."
Astonished, and almost painfully aroused, George whispered, "Me too."
With arms strong from Quidditch, he pulled Lupin to him then rolled him over, pinning him down to pillage his neck, to lick across a lifetime of scars. George grinned inwardly when Lupin growled, the other man's fingers raking down his back as George introduced his lips to new hipbones, to strong and narrow thighs, to a bouncy erection that begged without words to be ravaged, which George did with no mercy and all kindness. He registered hearing adulations and curses as he suckled and teased, again inhaling that inexplicable scent which wafted up now from between Remus' thighs, until all at once he sensed the other man was going to come. George's hair was grasped painfully, and using muscles long out of use, he kept his lips at their task as Lupin thrust into his mouth. Salty, otherwise inexplicably bland fluid coated George's tongue, and pulsed down his throat. He swallowed a few times, then crawled up Lupin's chest to kiss him deeply.
Remus clutched at George's shoulders, the younger man trying unsuccessfully not to writhe against him. George moved away from Remus' mouth, darting out his tongue to catch a stray drop of sweat which meandered into the hollow of his neck. Inspired, George sucked hard on the spot, then drew back to blow gently on the reddening skin.
"You. Are. Dangerously. Erotic." Remus' long fingers lauded George's heated skin, reverently running up through the sweaty hair sticking to George's neck. "And shamefully unsatisfied." George felt his breath hitch as Remus lifted the hair behind his ear. "You aren't howling yet," Remus admonished, licking his earlobe and reaching out his arm for something on a side table.
"Not yet," George admitted, though the ache in his cock was about to push him to such an unlikely outburst.
"Yet."
George was turned over and his body deliciously ransacked. Remus took one of George's nipples into his mouth and ground his teeth lightly around it at the same time that he grasped George's cock in his hand.
"Ahhhhh! Merlin! Fuck!" Incapable of regular speech, George incanted incoherent exultations of bliss into the room. His cock was plunged into a drenching, hot mouth, his balls massaged in a pliant caress. Trying not to explode right then and there, he concentrated on a new sensation. A slickened finger slid across his fevered skin toward his arse, which was his undoing. George had only just felt himself tenderly invaded when he felt the unmistakable shudder of release and tried to warn the other man, but all he could do was jut his hips upward in primal gratitude.
"Remus!" he pleaded, surging under the relentless attention until he sagged back onto the covers, spent and exhausted.
Remus took his time cleaning George with his tongue, then drew himself up to join George on the pillows.
"You're amazing," George exhaled, running his thumb over the other man's lips. "Don't know why you've looked at me twice, but you're bloody incredible."
"You don't?" Lupin asked, the words barely a murmur. "You, a cheery, handsome gent, and irrepressibly clever?"
George grunted. "Sounds like me in school." He gave Lupin a hard look. "You didn't fancy me in school, did you?"
Lupin chuckled, running a hand down George's back. "No. You and Fred were striking, but I certainly never thought of you like this," he leaned over and kissed George tenderly, "back then. I must admit to succumbing to your adult charms only very recently. You obviously don't realize how attractive you are."
George certainly didn't. Stocky, covered head to toe in freckles, well-endowed, as far as those things went, but otherwise just George: joke shop owner, occasional pick-up Quidditch player, dutiful son and brother, loyal friend. But attractive?
"Don't reckon so," he answered.
"Will you still come to the game next month?"
George shifted, beginning to feel awkward. This was obviously his clue to leave. "Definitely. Wouldn't miss watching Ginny for anything." He started to pull away from Lupin, but found he was held in the muscled arm.
"Where are you going?" Remus looked slightly insulted. "Do you have other plans for the evening?"
"Oh. No." George contentedly slid back down, placing his head on the furred chest, his left hand reaching up to trace the faded numbers below Remus' clavicle. "Thought you were being diplomatic about asking me to go."
"Only if you are uncomfortable about staying."
George turned his face toward Remus, evaluating the scars, the small creases around his eyes. "No. But I should warn you; Fred always said that I snored. You may be kicking yourself for asking me over when you haven't gotten a wink of sleep."
Remus smiled, his teeth gleaming in the dim room. "I'll take that risk."
"Brave man." George kissed the side of his neck where he had left a mark. "Don't say you weren't warned. Um, toilet?"
"There's a bathroom down the hall on the left," Remus said, running his fingers through George's mussed red hair.
George got up and rummaged through the chaotic pile of clothes on the floor until he found his boxers and pulled them on. There was another appreciative "hmmmm"ing sound from the bed.
"You really are a vision," Remus said, as George sensed the other man's gaze taking him in from head to foot. "For a Gryffindor, you look extraordinary in what is almost Slytherin green."
George looked at his cotton boxers, then affected a Quidditch calendar pin-up pose. "Well, there's no accounting for taste, but I was approached by Witch's Weekly a year ago. Seems as though I'd made it to the top 50 Most Eligible Bachelors under 30."
Remus quirked an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Yes," George leaned back down over the clothes to retrieve his shirt. Away from Remus' body heat, the house was quite cold. "Must try to find those poor deluded sods who voted for me. There must've been money involved."
He winked at Remus then went off to the toilet. Once there he realized he was missing an integral and dearly-needed item: a toothbrush. He walked back through the kitchen to retrieve his wand out of his coat, which was now inexplicably hanging up on a chair, then returned to the bathroom. It was fairly austere, but he was able to find a comb that looked fairly clean, and after a few seconds of thought, he aimed his wand. Dentia lava. He was brushing with gusto when Remus appeared in the doorway a few minutes later.
"Do you need a- Oh. That's quite. Colourful."
George rinsed his mouth and the temporarily transfigured toothbrush.
"May I see it?"
"Sure." He handed the toothbrush to Remus, who turned it around in his hand, smiling.
"G.K. Shouldn't it be G.W.? And this fascination with the colour green. I'm really beginning to wonder."
George shrugged, leaning across the sink. "Green Knights. The team Ron's the assistant coach of. I was always really good at Transfigurations; McGonagall has never forgiven me for leaving before taking my N.E.W.T. in it."
"I believe you." He placed the toothbrush into a small stand, then pulled George to him. "Come to bed. You must be freezing."
"Not any more," George sighed in satisfaction as they went back to Remus' bedroom.
***End of part 2***