Fiction: The Invisible Wall (George/Lee, NC17)

[seedee]

Title: The Invisible Wall
Rating: NC17
Characters: George/Lee with a side note of Ron, Harry, Seamus and Dean
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. All characters engaging in sexual activity are 16 years or older.
Summary: How a wall prevented a prank simply by not being there, scarring a young man beyond the hope of recovery through the terrible and destructive forces of love, sex and Irish commentary.
Warnings: Graphic sex, light bondage
Word Count: 7,400
Author's Notes: Written for ozma_katiebell and hp_yule_balls. Big squishy hugs for anise_anise, tree00faery and tania_sings for their help. Even more hugs to ridicu_liz for cheering and handholding and wet kisses when I needed them.
 
Originally posted here.
The Invisible Wall
 
There was a big box on the staircase that led from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes up to the flat above the shop. The box didn't belong to George Weasley - shop owner, joke inventor and resident of Diagon Alley - nor was its usual place on the staircase. It had been brought in through the front door of the shop by four men. These men were pushing, pulling and shoving the foreign object up the stairs with their bare hands so as not to disturb the sensitive magic that was contained within.
 
"This is going to bite us in the arse," Harry Potter said. His dark hair was unruly, partially covering a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. His words were muffled by the effort it took not to let the heavy box fall.
 
"Shut up, Potter," Seamus Finnigan answered. He was the smallest of the group with sandy brown hair, funny crinkles at the corners of his eyes and a few stray freckles dusted across his cheeks.
 
Compared to Seamus, Dean Thomas was tall; he tried to bend his knees to level the box. "I actually agree," he said, his voice darker and sounding forced from straining against the weight of their burden. "We didn't think this through."
 
The last one of the group was George's little brother Ron. He had very distinct features - fiery red hair, freckled skin and long limbs. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but gasped instead as he lost his concentration for a moment and the box almost slipped.
 
"Hold it, Ron, for fuck's sake," Seamus cursed, the wiry muscles in his arms bulging and trembling. "What are we? A bunch of Hufflepuffs?"
 
"Dead," Harry muttered. "We're dead."
 
Ron gave the box a hard shove from behind. "Come off it. This isn't Voldemort. It's my brother."
 
Another shove, another pull and push, some cursing and moaning and several manly grunts later, the box was finally on top of the narrow stairs. They put it down and leaned against it, catching their breath and panting.
 
"Maybe we won’t be dead," Harry admitted. "But we’ll sure as hell pay for it."
 
"We already did pay for it." Seamus gave Harry an affectionate shove that looked as if it was going to leave a bruise. "That’s the whole point."
 
"I hate to say it," Dean said and did it anyway. "But Seamus is right."
 
Ron dismissed it with a wave of his hand and opened the door to the flat, disabling the wards long enough for all of them to slip through. "It’s too late now. We made our move, and I’m not going to bring that monster back down the stairs."
 
Everyone had a weak spot. George Weasley’s was – unbeknownst to him – that he'd never changed the setting of his wards after Ron had stopped working for Wheezes some months prior to the conquering of the stairs by a herd of Gryffindors carrying a big box.
 
The flat was quiet and empty. Harry let out a breath and muttered a few relieved words about the difference between seeing and believing and that he really was too young to die – again.
 
While they had completed the task of transporting the box from a dubious, dark cellar in a shady part of Hogsmeade into the flat above one of the most popular shops in Diagon Alley, they hadn’t yet reached their goal.
 
Heavy cursing preceded the renewed lifting of the box – four men on four corners, lopsided. Nevertheless, the joint effort paid off, and soon they were making their slow but steady way down the hall, staggering toward a second door. Behind this door, one of George Weasley’s best kept secrets could be observed in regular intervals.

While George was a dedicated prankster and resourceful inventor, he was also a businessman. Early on, when he’d started the shop with his brother, Fred, he had realised that he not only had a knack for bookkeeping and paperwork, but that he also enjoyed doing it. Recognising a threat to their notorious reputation when they saw one, Fred and George had always kept that fact between the two of them like a Celestina Warbeck recording of the famous 1973 Athens concert.
 
The room behind the second door was George’s little office. It was the place where he kept his paperwork in neat stacks and labelled folders, where he worked every Thursday night and sometimes Fridays as well, depending on the time of month, current marketing strategy and number of annoying customers downstairs. It was soundproof to let him concentrate, no matter whether Lee Jordan – who lived in the flat as well and needed his daily dose of obnoxious, loud music – was there or not.
 
The room was the ideal base for their project for two reasons. For one thing, it was very rare that George went in there on a Sunday. If George worked on Sundays, it was to invent or to brew or to come up with a new idea. He didn’t go to the paperwork room; the plan depended on that. The second and even more important reason was that the office shared a wall with the living room.
 
Avoiding the unfortunate chain reaction a spell could cause, they carried the box through the door to its final destination. Ron flicked on the lights, bathing the room in a pleasant and bright light. A big desk dominated the room and looked gigantic, compared to a dwarfish filing cabinet. "Bottomless," Ron explained, reacting to an arched eyebrow. Ron and Harry had been best friends for a long time; some gestures were as clear as a vocalised question.
 
Dean closed the door behind them with a soft thud. According to their plan, they had enough time to adjust the box and disappear before George and Lee returned from their dinner at the Weasleys.
 
So far, the plan was going well. While the four friends adjusted the box at exactly the right angle and distance to the wall, a few hundred miles away in Devon, at a table set for six, George Weasley suffered through dessert. It wasn’t the pudding’s fault, of course; dinner’s sweet afterthought was delicious. The conversation, though, was suffocating. George couldn't remember if he hardly ever went to the Burrow because they were always talking about the same things, or if they were always talking about the same things because he hardly ever went to the Burrow.

The root of the problem, according to Molly Weasley, who loved her son dearly and wanted only the best for him, was the sad lack of a future bride. She liked to discuss strategies, approaches and requirements in great detail.

Lee was quieter than usual, eating his meal almost in silence, listening to the conversation, but not butting in and distracting George's mother like he normally did. And that was where the plan went wrong. Instead of having a second helping of pudding, then moving to the living room for some conversation and finally drinking a glass of mead, George raised one eyebrow, got an imperceptible shake of the head in return and nodded in answer. Then Lee faked a headache and talked about sick colleagues, George coughed once, and Molly decided that it would be better for both of them to return home, take a bath and go to bed early.

So when Seamus in Diagon Alley grinned from ear to ear, tapped the lid of the box with his wand, indicating that they were ready to go back the way they'd come in without leaving any traces but the heavy object, George and Lee in Devon hugged and kissed their good-byes and apparated before Molly even had the chance to wrap up some leftovers for the next day.
 
"Oh fuck, they're here," Ron whispered. He hadn't heard them - the room was soundproof - but he'd felt it when they'd come through the wards.

Everyone froze. They strained to listen what was going on – useless in a room that wouldn't let any sound through the charmed walls.

"Don't panic," Ron said. "Hang on." He searched his pockets.

While they couldn't use direct magic when in the same room as the box, they could use indirect magic, such as the little Wheeze Ron now pulled out of his pocket. He held it up for them to see.

"How's that going to help us?" Seamus asked. He knew the small device. The thing was supposed to be thrown at a wall and would render it invisible for them - not for the other side, though. "It won't make George and Lee disappear."

"If you have a better idea, you're welcome to tell us," Ron said. "We'll at least be able to see what they're doing."

The irony of using one of George's most popular inventions to spy on him escaped none of the co-conspirators, as Ron tossed the small object at the wall, which disappeared at once.

There was silence, at first, as none of the men behind the invisible wall dared to speak. They were almost waiting to be discovered by George and Lee who were just a few yards away from them. The noises of George pulling off his coat and Lee kicking off his shoes were clearly audible.

Harry, Seamus and Dean jumped when Ron said without trying to be quiet, "'s okay. Soundproof, remember? The charm only affects this side of the wall. We can see and hear them, but all they can see is the solid wall of the living room." He knocked on the wall to demonstrate that it was still there.
 
"Brilliant," Harry whispered, not trusting the charm enough to say it out loud.

George and Lee, though, despite being so close, took no notice of the four friends and the suspicious giant box.

Harry, Seamus and Dean jumped again when George started to talk. "How bad is it?" he asked. Lee had seemed subdued and quiet since he'd come back from his Sunday shift at the radio.
 
"On what scale?" Lee asked back.

George considered the question, fussing with his coat and finally throwing it into a corner. "Let's say from Puking Pastille to Whizbang."
 
Lee shrugged. "Like a double Nosebleed Nougat without the antidote during a Quidditch match."
 
"Oh," George said. "That sucks." He pulled off his jumper, making a face at the scratchy piece of clothing. "I'll be back in a second," he said and turned to leave the room.

Lee sat down heavily on the sofa that had been charmed a garish orange colour and was very comfortable. There were squishy cushions and seats that were so big that one couldn't sit back all the way and still plant their feet comfortably on the floor. Lee looked miserable as he leaned back, arms hanging at his side. 

"What are we going to do now?" Seamus whispered.

"I don't know," Dean whispered back. "Maybe they'll leave again. Or we'll have to wait until they go to bed."

Ron nodded. "It's still early," he said loud and clear, making the other three jump yet again. "Maybe they'll go to the pub or something."

Dean experimentally raised his voice as well. "Whose idea was this again?"

"George's," Seamus said. "You remember when he hexed all of your paintings so they would flash their bits at your guests during the opening of your gallery? Your mother cried, my mother screamed and three people reported you to the Ministry. You said you'd get back at him, and then he said you're welcome to try if you dare. George's idea all along."

Harry opened his mouth, but Seamus didn't let him talk. "Your wedding. He projected the sounds from the toilet for all at the reception to hear. And no, I'll never forgive him for taking away my innocence. It's one thing to stop believing in Santa Claus, but something else entirely to discover that Veelas fart. It's something no man should ever be forced to go through."

Harry closed his mouth.
 
George came back - now in old holey denims and a t-shirt that had seen better days. He walked up behind Lee and the sofa, and put his hands on Lee's shoulders. "Want a drink?" he asked.
 
Lee sank further into the cushions and let his head rest on the back of the sofa, looking up at George. "We still have rules."
 
"What's going on there?" Ron asked; no one answered.

"But that's not your rule," George meanwhile said.

"Still applies. And we had that discussion before. Don't argue with me, Weasley."

"All right, Mum," George said, good humour obvious in his voice. "So if you're only allowed to drink for fun and not to make you feel better because it's my coping mechanism, does that mean I'm not allowed to clean the bathroom?"
 
Lee frowned up at him. "Cleaning the bathroom isn't my coping mechanism."

"I know. I just wish it was. Not eating and mouthing off at people who are twice your size to pick a fight aren't nearly as fun."
 
"You think cleaning the bathroom is fun? What’s wrong with you?"
 
"Nothing’s wrong with me. I think not cleaning the bathroom is fun."

"Your logic is flawed," Lee said. "No one's ever cleaning the bathroom around here."

"That's true." There was a long pause. George crouched down behind the sofa so that his head was level with Lee's. He wrapped his arms around Lee's shoulders from behind. "Distraction's not working, is it?"

Lee shook his head, still looking miserable.

Behind the wall, four men were watching in silence until Ron asked again, "What is going on there?" He sounded confused, as if trying to figure out a puzzle when some of the pieces were missing.

"They're having some kind of serious conversation," Dean answered, always the reasonable and sensible one of the group - in relative terms that were not a fair representation of the general population.

"No, they are not." Ron met the eyes of his friends. "It's George. He doesn't do serious conversations. He's the guy who gave me a spider phobia and burnt a hole in my tongue. A day before our first date, he told Hermione that I have a complex because my prick is too small. She bought me a book." 

Seamus snickered and guffawed; the other two looked at the floor in an effort to keep their composure. "You have to admit it was one of his finest moments," Seamus said.
 
And yet, back in the living room, Lee didn't doubt George's ability to be serious. He squeezed one of George's hands, exhaling slowly and controlled. "Give me a minute and I'll be right as rain."

"If you go back to shining, I'll even give you two."

Ron motioned at the scene in front of him. "What the fuck is going on there? What are they doing? Are they snuggling?" He pointed an accusing finger at the two men - Lee on the sofa, George crouching behind him, arms wrapped around his shoulders in a gesture that looked tender as much as it looked protective.

Ron didn't see the way Dean looked at him sideways, then stuffed his hands into his pockets. He didn't see either that Harry scratched the back of his neck, contemplating how best to voice what was going through his head. He heard Seamus say, "That's slow, even for you, Weasley." Ron ignored him. 

Unaffected by the growing doubts and unease among the people standing around a big wooden box, the conversation that took place in George Weasley's living room continued. "Tell me?" he asked, letting go of Lee's shoulders with one arm and using the tips of his fingers to rub away the deep frown between Lee's eyebrows.

"It's one of those days." There was a reason why Lee Jordan was working for a radio station, earning money with the sound of his voice. He could get away with more cursing, less preparation and far more improvisation than most of his colleagues; there was something in his voice that made people want to listen. It was something dark and soft and soothing. "Had a show this morning; talked with people about grief. I hate this shit. Did you listen?"

George, who had been in Ireland, trying to negotiate with a Leprechaun and finally hexing the stubborn creature that had tried to use its magic to design a less than fair contract, shook his head. "Why do they always make you do those things?"

"I've no idea." Lee's face relaxed slowly beneath George's fingers. "Someone flooed and told me about his best friend dying in a Quidditch accident. That chaser boy that died in Scotland a couple of months ago; you remember? The guy who flooed should have been on that broom but wasn't. He was sick - so the reserve kicked in. Now he feels guilty because he didn't die and sad because his best friend died and lonely because no one understands and more guilty because chaser boy had a girlfriend who's off worse. He thinks he should help her instead of feeling sorry for himself."

"What did you say?" George asked.

Lee looked at George, his head still resting on the back of the couch. "The usual. He couldn't have done anything; shouldn't feel guilty; time to grieve; less responsibility; more sleep, talk, meet people; no drink, sulk, destroy. You know the drill."

George kissed the tip of Lee's nose. Ron groaned. Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"We're not supposed to see this," Dean whispered.

"You believe that, right?" George asked.

Lee shrugged and averted his eyes. "'Course I do," he muttered.

"One of those days, huh," George said, wrapping both arms back around Lee. "And then there was my mum talking about girlfriends, Percy bitching about his job, and dad asking about your parents." George's voice was soft, and Ron said something about polyjuice and an imposter.

Lee shrugged again.

"Hey, you." George said, nudging Lee's cheek with his nose. "Don't stop talking. It's creeping me out. Every time you go quiet, one of us either did or is about to do something really stupid."

The moment stretched between the two of them - and without them knowing also for their observers - until Lee said, "I was just thinking of cleaning the bathroom."

The smile that appeared on George's face was bright and honest. "Oh dear. There must be something I can do to prevent that."

The smile on Lee's face wasn't as bright, but it was there, and it was growing. "How far are you willing to go, Weasley?"

George sighed. "As far as it takes."

Ron watched as the last inch of distance between George and Lee slowly disappeared. "They're not going to-"

Their lips met before Ron could finish the sentence. Over the back of the sofa they kissed, at first just pressing their lips together in a gesture of reassurance and support. When George broke the kiss to judge Lee's reaction, Lee grinned. "That all you got?"

"See, that's your problem." George was so close that his lips brushed Lee's when he talked. "You never know when to talk and when to shut your mouth."

Lee dropped his gaze from George's eyes to his lips. "You don't want me to shut my mouth." He didn't shut it, but he stopped talking after that. The kiss was slow and sensual, their lips meeting and parting before it deepened. Lee was smiling as George kissed the corners of his mouth, then nibbled on his upper lip. Gradually, it became more intimate. Lee's nose brushed George's cheek, and his hand came up to caress the back of George's neck. They moved slowly, and when they broke the kiss, they laughed quietly.
 
The silence behind the wall was deafening - and then Seamus gleefully said, "Longbottom owes me five Galleons."

"We are not supposed to see this," Dean said again, louder this time.

Ron watched through the wall that wasn't there how his brother kissed his oldest friend with infinite tenderness. It was unexpected and new for him to accept the reason why his brother didn't have a girlfriend. Ron could come to terms with that, though. They'd all been relieved when George had reinvented himself slowly but steadily after a hard and dirty post-war time. If that had something to do with snogging Lee, Ron was happy for him. 

Something else was deeply unsettling for Ron. It was the whole feel of what was going on. It was the way George was worried and sensitive and cared. Ron knew that George had a big heart - buried somewhere deep within, under many troublesome layers. George stepped up without question whenever someone needed real support. He'd given Ron a job ("Move your lazy arse already and get behind the counter, layabout."); he'd supported Ginny when she'd wanted to live alone for a while after her NEWTs and her first job hardly covered expenses for food ("But you better come over and do my laundry, young lady."); he'd sent their parents on a holiday ("Thank you for participating in our annual Christmas lottery.").

But George's love was always tough and far too often painful. Ron knew him as an insensitive, loud-mouthed arsehole, who was never, ever compassionate. It was the reason why they were there in the first place.

"Ron? You're all right?" Harry put a hand on his shoulder.

Ron shrugged it off. He was still looking at his brother who, in turn, was looking at Lee, tugging at the top button of Lee's shirt. He opened it and slid his hand inside. Lee's eyelids fluttered, and he initiated another kiss. George's hand moved down Lee's chest, caressing it visibly under the shirt in slow strokes.

"We have to go," Dean said. "We need to leave now."

Seamus turned his head. "Why? It's just getting interesting. And what about the box?"

"I don't care. But this is going too far."

Harry winced when Lee groaned on the sofa, arching his back into George's touch.

"We can't go," Ron said.
 
"Why not?" Dean asked. "Let's apparate. We'll be gone and the box will go off some time tonight."
 
"But how?" Ron looked away from the wall at Dean, snapping out of his stupor. He made a circular gesture with his hand above his head. "George is inside the wards now. He'll notice when someone goes through. The moment I apparate the first of you out, he'll come looking. And we won't be able to apparate all at once - I have to side-along all of you."

"Not to mention that we can't apparate so close to this," Harry motioned toward the box, "without setting it off."

Dean groaned. "Then at least make that wall solid. We shouldn't see and hear this."
 
"Can't." Ron sounded pained. "It'll stay like that for two hours. And we can't use magic to put something else in place."
 
Harry let out a half desperate, half hysterical giggle. "Well, they can't do that for two hours, right?"
 
Three pairs of eyes - blue, green and brown - looked at Harry.
 
"Right?"

Meanwhile, on the sofa, George opened another button, then another, until he could fold back the shirt. Lee shivered, both from cooler air hitting his chest and from George's fingers toying with his nipples. "How am I doing?" George asked.

"Not too badly. You're getting the hang of it."

George pinched a nipple and chuckled when there was a gasp in response. "Don't get too cheeky." George kissed him again, before asking, "Wanna move?"

Ron sat up straight from where he'd sunk to the floor next to the box. "Yes! Bedroom. Go to the bedroom. Go to the bloody bedroom. Go now. Go, go, go," he chanted.

"Nah," Lee said. "Let's stay." He sucked in a sharp breath when George's hand found his belt and opened it, then cupped the growing bulge through the thick fabric of his jeans.

"No!" Ron called. "You sick bastards. Go to your bloody bedroom." He slapped a hand in front of his eyes and whimpered when George's hand disappeared inside Lee's trousers after opening them as well. "I'm your little brother. You can't make me watch."

"Well," Harry said. "Technically it's not his fault."

Ron glared at him, a hint of hurt and betrayal in his eyes.

Seamus clapped his hands and bounced on the balls of his feet. "All right, lads. If we're too chicken shit to set this off or leave, we should get comfortable. This will take a while." He hopped up on the box, claiming the spot with the best view. To his surprise, Dean joined him on the box, while Ron sat down behind it, using it to block the living room from view. Harry sat down beside Ron, showing loyalty, but still able to watch the scene, albeit from a less ideal angle.

"A minute ago you wanted to leave. How come you're watching now?" Seamus asked Dean, nudging him with his elbow.

"We can't leave, and if they find us here, we're dead no matter if we watch or not. I might as well enjoy the show. It's called pragmatism."

There came an incredulous snort from behind the box. "You're enjoying this?" Ron asked. "I know you're the artistic and tolerant guy among us. And I know that you have a special," he made air quotes, "relationship with Luna, so you're very much in tune with the weird side of life. But in what universe can a bloke enjoy this?" 

Dean shrugged. "Why not? Look at them."

George got up, and from a standing position, he put both of his hands on either side of Lee's head. Then he bent down to kiss him once more before he walked around the sofa, pulling his T-shirt off as he did so.

"Nice," Lee said, already looking thoroughly debauched, lounging on the sofa with his shirt and trousers open, his eyes heavy-lidded, his dreadlocks a tangled mess and still a trace of sadness on his face.

"Not bad either." George knelt down in front of Lee between his thighs. He pushed the shirt off Lee's shoulders, then ran his thumbs down Lee's chest before he hooked them into the waistband of Lee's trousers and pants. He hesitated. "We can have hot chocolate and talk for a bit instead. It won't kill me to stop."

Lee smiled at him fondly, cupped George's face, running his fingers through soft red hair. "It might kill me, though."

"Thank Merlin," George said and pulled down Lee's trousers and pants in one go, getting rid of the socks as well, leaving him naked on the couch.

On the other side of the wall, three people drew in a sharp breath. "Well," Seamus said, tilting his head. "Maybe what George said about your dick wasn't a prank, Ron. Could have been an honest mistake. His reference material is not exactly average."

"I can't hear you," Ron called back.

"I said," Seamus said, loud and slow, "Lee's dick is bigger than yours."

"Shut up, Shay," Harry said from the floor. His voice sounded suspiciously as if he was suppressing a snicker.

George was nuzzling the offending body part, mouthing along the length of it. He curled his tongue around it, savouring it with his hands high on Lee's thighs, thumbs teasing tight balls. He took the head into his mouth slowly, pushing his lips over the sensitive area and shaping them into a tight ring. Lee writhed, unable to jerk his hips as George kept them in place, putting his weight behind the hands that pushed Lee back against the sofa.

George took him in deeper, hollowed his cheeks and sucked, his tongue gliding over, around, into the slit and lapping up a steady dribble of salty fluid. Lee regained enough control of his arms to put his hands in George's hair, and George, realising what Lee wanted, let go of his hips, moving his hands around to put them on Lee's arse instead.

He pulled off for a second and blinked up through his lashes. "Go on then, but don't finish yet."

Lee petted George's hair, then slid his hands lower, cradled George's head before he tightened his grip and started to move his hips, sliding in, between George's wet lips. The movement soon gained speed and purpose. He pulled out and pushed in deeper, repeating and repeating, and after a while, saliva ran down George's chin. He was breathing as heavily as Lee did.

There was something so decadent and erotic about the scene, that Seamus whispered breathlessly, "Look at that. Damn. I wish Lavender could see that."

When Lee's movements became erratic, George pushed him back, then crawled up to straddle him and kiss him hard, pulling his head back at the tightly knotted strands, pressing their groins together through his layers of clothing. Lee fumbled to open the belt, but his hands were pushed out of the way.

"Relax," George said, licking a path down Lee's exposed neck. He sucked hard at the base of his throat, reaching down to wrap his fingers around the hard cock that was still damp from his mouth.

Lee pushed into George's fist. 

"How am I doing now?" George asked, brushing his thumb over the head.

Lee made a sound that came close to keening. "I'm still thinking-" Lee interrupted himself and cursed as George stroked him from base to tip. "'bout cleaning the bathroom."

George leaned forward and licked Lee's ear. "You're a liar."

He kissed Lee, open-mouthed and messy, before he got up and opened his own jeans. "Get comfortable," he said, his eyes dark and hungry as he looked up and down Lee's naked, sweaty body.

Lee stretched out on the sofa; the seat wide enough to comfortably lie down. George stepped out of his clothes, kicking them to the side, and Lee hummed, bent one leg at the knee and let it fall to the side to rest against the back of the sofa, displaying himself without a trace of embarrassment.

George whistled; so did Dean.

Ron groaned. "Is everyone in this room gay?"

"No," Harry and Seamus said at the same time. 

"Not really," Dean added after a pause.

"That wasn't convincing," Harry said.

Dean shrugged, unconcerned. Maybe it took a war to stop caring about other people's sexuality, or what other people thought about one's own. Or maybe it was that the wizarding world was more accepting - what with mermaids shagging centaurs, werewolves marrying veelas and every other imaginable combination. Dean didn't know; but he appreciated that he'd never felt the need to lie to his friends.

"They're hot. Think what you want about that," he said.

Ron let his head fall back against the box. "Can you use more general terms? Discussing the hotness of my brother makes me want to throw up."

Dean grinned. "I can do that. I think it's hot when a black, tall man is having sex with a good-looking freckled bloke."

"What?" Seamus looked mildly alarmed; Dean smacked the back of his head.

"And Luna?" Harry asked.

"Luna?" Dean looked puzzled for a moment, then the grin crept back on his face. "I know for a fact that she'd find it hot as well."

"How do you..." Harry started, but stopped when he saw the dazzling smile on Dean's face. "Never mind. I don't want to know."

Seamus looked at Dean. "I'm starting to have a whole new kind of respect for you, man."

Their attention was pulled back to the scene in the living room, where George was again kneeling between Lee's spread thighs. This time it was on the sofa, and one of Lee's legs was draped over the back of it. George leaned forward and took a nipple between his teeth, tugging at the taut nub, making Lee arch his back and put his hands on George's head.

George pulled Lee's hands away. "Relax," he said again. "Let me."

Lee huffed and moaned at the same time. "You can't ask me not to touch you."

George propped his chin up on Lee's chest and blew cold air on his wet nipple. "I didn't ask you." He grabbed his wand from the coffee table and ran the tip down the centre of Lee's chest. "Put your hands above your head."

Lee's eyebrows went up. "You're whipping out the dirty tricks." His voice betrayed him; it wasn't nearly as unaffected as the words would suggest. He complied and lifted his arms, bracing himself against the armrest of the sofa.

George smirked at him, and with a flick of his wand, Lee's hands were bound to the sofa. "I don't know how to play not dirty."

Ron barked out a laugh. He hadn't seen it, but he heard well enough. "Tell me Lee isn't letting George do what I think he's letting him do."

"Yeah," Seamus said. "He's letting him do it. And I don’t think he’s unhappy."

"He's bloody well insane, that's what he is. Both of them," Ron mumbled.

George ran his hands from Lee's knees up the inside of his thighs. Lee watched him, his nostrils flared, his chest moving up and down rapidly. The hands stroked over his hipbones, across his belly, up his chest. The palms rubbed circles over his nipples, before they went down again. Lee twisted his hips to get the hands to touch him where he wanted it the most, but they skipped it and went back to his thighs.

Lee tugged at the invisible bindings. "You just going to look at me?" he asked.

George followed the lines of Lee's lean torso with his eyes and came to rest on his erection. "The view doesn't get old." He cradled Lee's balls in one hand and massaged the spot behind them with the other. "But no, I'm not just going to look."

"Too dirty," Lee ground out, trying to push himself into the touch of those hands.

"Me?" George circled the base of Lee's cock with his fingers and squeezed as he bent down to nibble at the smooth skin stretching thinly over Lee's hip bone. "Haven't heard that complaint from you before."

"Not you. The bathroom," Lee said. His breath was coming in shudders.

George chuckled and summoned something slippery and scented, poured it into his hands and went back to touching Lee's cock and his balls, sliding two fingers into him without warning.

"God." Lee lifted his hips off the couch. "Would you just do it already?"

George used the opportunity to slide his own knees between Lee's arse and the sofa, arranging him so that he was resting on George's thighs, one leg still hooked over the back of the couch, the other draped over George's shoulder. He spent more time touching him inside and outside, rubbed the relaxing muscles, reducing Lee to babbling.

Eventually he coated himself with the scented oil and dragged the tip of his hard cock from Lee's balls down to his hole, teasing him without pushing inside. He did it again, and once more - until Lee went from impatient and demanding to desperate and pleading.

Seamus swallowed and cleared his throat. "Well. I reckon he's doing something right. I've never seen anyone that desperate for a fuck."

Ron had his hands pressed over his ears and sang loudly; Dean was watching the scene, while Harry stared intently at his fingernails.

"I mean," Seamus said again. "Look at him. If George doesn't put that thing into his arse soon, he'll explode or something. I think we can all learn a thing or two here."

Ron stopped singing. "I learned to listen to what my brother tells me. Especially when he says that I'd regret betraying his trust. Merlin knows I do."

Lee moaned when George finally breached him. It happened in one smooth thrust and Lee felt the burning sensation move up his spine, sharp enough to take his breath away before it morphed into the feeling of being filled that he'd craved from the moment George had kissed him.

He strained against the bonds, wanted to touch George and hold onto him. But there was freedom in not being able to move, in taking and accepting without responsibility.

George gave him time to adjust, stroked his belly, toyed with his sac, held him steady with his hands on his waist. The position allowed him to be deep inside, his own balls pressing against the heated skin of Lee's arse, his cock buried to the base, caught in a tight sheath that was gripping and clenching with every gasping breath Lee took.

The muscles in Lee's thighs and belly were taut under his skin, and he still tried to get closer to George, to make him move. But George was waiting and stroking and watching. He circled a nipple, his slick hands adding a new sensuality to the touch. Lee groaned and stretched his head back, the cords in his neck standing out.

And then there was the first experimental thrust, shallow but not without force. Lee made a choking noise, spreading his legs wider. "More of that," he whispered.

George did it again, and Lee moaned, toes curling, holding himself open as best as he could without using his hands.

The time for teasing was over, and George gave into the urge to move. He dominated the pace and strength, sliding in and out with almost hypnotic movements, breathing deeply and evenly, looking at Lee with something akin to awe.
 
Lee was panting softly, his eyes closed and his mouth half open. Whenever George took one of his hands off Lee's hips and wrapped his fingers around the hard cock resting against Lee's stomach, Lee gasped and arched his back, balled his hands into fists, tugged at the bindings and used the leverage to lift his hips.

The men in the small office had gone quiet; even Ron stopped complaining. They couldn't make out all the words that were said on the couch, but they saw that George and Lee were talking to each other. It was a low murmur of words; Harry could hear encouragement and curses, words of endearment and some filthy things that made his ears go red.

Sweat was gathering between George's shoulder blades and ran down his back in small rivulets. His movements became less steady. He was trembling, leaning down to catch Lee's lips and push his tongue inside Lee's mouth, mirroring the motion of his hips.

Lee opened his eyes. He saw George's control slip, met his lover's thrusts, pushing up against him. "Come on, George," he whispered into George's ear. "You can do harder."

George exhaled with a quiet laugh and bit Lee's lower lip before he sat back up. He gripped Lee's hips, his fingers digging into the skin. As requested, he moved not faster, but hard and deep without pausing. He stopped censoring his thrusts, let his body take over and his mind float in the beauty of the moment, in the push and pull and the way Lee's body welcomed him, clenched around him, sucked him in.

"Yes," Lee said, his palms pressed against the armrest, pushing himself down onto George, meeting him, eager to see him lose the remains of his careful guard.

"Come on," he ground out, his own erection hard and leaking on his belly. If George had touched him at that moment, just a simple touch with his open palm, Lee would have come. But George didn't; he held onto Lee's hips, pulled him down again and again, parting and entering with smacking, wet sounds.

"Yes," Lee said again, clenching around George who shuddered and moaned, pushed in so deep that it was almost painful. And he stopped there – deep enough for Lee to feel coarse hair pressing against his arse.

Lee struggled; he wanted him to fucking move and keep going, he was so bloody close, but George held him in an iron grip as his whole body shook with the force of orgasm.

Between the bonds and George's hands, Lee couldn't move. His breathing was loud in the otherwise silent room. He moaned when George pulled out of him, trembling at the feel of emptiness and need.

Lee was a mess. Thoroughly fucked, kiss bruised lips, a wet spot on his belly from his painfully hard cock. He made an undignified sound when George gently cupped his balls.

"George, please," he said, pulling hard with his hands, but the magical robes didn't budge. "Please."

George pushed two of his fingers back into Lee's slick hole, looking for - and finding - the sensitive spot that built something inside Lee that was too big for words. He pressed his fingers against it, rubbing in tiny circles, his own come dribbling out of Lee's arse.  Lee keened, and while sensation was building up, it wasn't enough to pull him over the edge. George's fingers kept him there, suspended in mid air, unable to fall and unable to do anything but submit.

"Please," he said again.

George bent down and took Lee's cock back into his mouth, played his tongue lightly over the head, then slid down and sucked hard.

George's name spilled from Lee's lips as he came violently, bucking up into that sweet, maddening mouth. George hummed as he swallowed around him, pulled back slowly and lapped up the last drops of Lee's release. He sat there for a moment, watching Lee catch his breath before he ended the charm and wrapped his arms around Lee who was still shaking.

"Wow," Dean said, watching the two men embrace and comfort each other in the aftermath of their lovemaking. "That was hot." The statement was matter of fact.

"Was not," came from behind the box. "It was a nightmare. And I will have nightmares. Probably for the rest of my life."

"Speaking of nightmares," Harry chimed in. "They look as if they're about to take a nap. Can we sneak back into the hall when they're asleep and apparate from there?"

Ron nodded. "I think so. The tug of the wards isn't strong enough to wake him up." The next words were muttered quietly. "I'm going to drink myself into a coma tonight. And tomorrow I'm going to tell George that he forgot to take me off the wards."

"You really think he forgot?" Dean asked.

Ron shrugged. "Obviously. Or we couldn't have come in. He has no reason to give me access anymore."

Meanwhile, on the couch, where George had covered them in a fluffy pink blanket, the conversation turned to the same topic.

"Remind me to renew the wards tomorrow. They felt funny when we came in earlier," George said.

Lee nudged him. "You won't kick me off the list, yeah?"

"I thought about it. I could keep you here and never let you leave. I wouldn't allow you to wear clothes and you'd be my willing slave for the rest of my life." George sighed wistfully. "I'd like that."

"I am your willing slave. With the added benefits of earning money, buying groceries and getting you to Quidditch matches for free."

"Yeah. That's what I thought, too. So it'll stay you and me and Ron and Ginny."

"Ron and Ginny?"

George chuckled. "'Course. Did you see the spouses of those poor kids? Especially now that Hermione is pregnant. No, really. I want them to have a safe place where they can go to in case they need some time off. They know they can come here; the wards will let them in whether I'm here or not."

"And still you're the black sheep of the family."

George grinned smugly. "I know how to sell myself. It helped that I didn't use those exact words when I let them know."

"So, the wards. Does that mean someone could come in tonight?"

"I shut them down earlier, when I changed. Until I reset them tomorrow morning, no one can come in or leave without my permission. Not even you, or Ron, or Ginny." George rolled them until he was on top, grinning down at Lee. "You're all mine."

Lee stuck out his tongue and licked George's lips. "Whatever shall I do now?"

There was a box in George Weasley's flat that didn't belong to him. It had been brought in through the front door of the joke shop, hauled up the stairs and carried into the office by four men. These men were grouped around the box and stared in horror and disbelief through an invisible wall at a happy couple, wondering what had gone wrong with a perfect plan.

*

The End