![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Ficlet: Moving On 11/13 (George/Lee)
Title: Moving On
Pairing: George/Lee
Prompt: 11/13: tinkering
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1040
Summary: In which George and Lee try to talk.
Link to Prompt Table: here
previous: 10. pontification
During the events of New Year's Eve, most likely while running, the radio transmitter must have been damaged. Lee remembered that he'd stumbled at one point. Maybe the bag had hit the ground too hard, or maybe it had happened during the side-along apparition. Lee didn't know. He knew, though, that it wasn't working and that he wanted to start broadcasting as soon as possible. That's why he was trying to repair it.
His back was still stiff and hurting. Mrs. Weasley had said that at St. Mungo's, they'd be able to treat it properly. Unfortunately it was too dangerous to go there, it would have to wait until this mess called war was over. Until then, Lee would have to live with the pain and the stiffness. But at least he was out of bed. After almost two weeks, the first one completely on his stomach, the second one mostly, Lee had feared for his sanity.
Now he was sitting on the small but cozy sofa in the guest room. The transmitter was on the coffee table and Lee glared at it. So far he hadn't found a solution for the problem. He didn't even know what exactly the problem was. His wand was in his hand, but none of the diagnosis charms had been effective.
"What are you doing?" George asked. He was standing in the door-frame and looked tousled. Lee guessed he'd been flying.
"Trying to repair the transmitter. I don't know what's wrong with it," Lee answered.
George came inside and closed the door behind himself. He seemed to hesitate for a moment but then sat down beside Lee.
"Is it broken?"
Lee put his wand on the table. "I have no idea. It's not working."
George nodded but didn't say anything.
Lee looked at his friend and raised an eyebrow. "What's up?"
"The usual. Been flying, invented something, had a sandwich. Fred suggested that I could talk to you while he's working on his charm-work - to give him some space, you know how he gets sometimes when he wants to be all alone and mysterious..."
Lee had been watching George's face and it was just a bit too casual. He nudged George's knee with his own and interrupted his rambling. "Stop pussyfooting."
George looked at Lee and the corners of his mouth formed that infuriating smirk Lee wanted to lick. Kind of. "His exact words were, 'Pull your stubborn head out of your freckled arse, George, and stop being an embarrassing moron."
Lee snorted and shook his head. It sounded like Fred.
George didn't look away and the silence grew heavy. Eventually Lee broke eye-contact. He was trying to think of something to say. Their shoulders and thighs were touching and he kept looking at a particularly ugly painting on the opposite wall.
"So," Lee said, but didn't know how to continue. He jumped when George tugged at one of his dreads.
"He's right," George said. "It's embarrassing."
"I'm not sure what we're talking about," Lee said carefully. Granted, George was probably talking about the fact that Lee had thought about shagging him every single day (hour? minute?) in the last couple of years - not that Lee was about to share that particular detail - but feigning ignorance might buy him some time.
"I'm not blind, you know?" George's voice was quiet and had a soft quality he only rarely used. "I see the way you look at me."
Lee nodded slowly. He wasn't surprised that George had finally caught on, but he didn't want to have that conversation. He knew that they needed it, though. Lee needed it. Maybe he could finally move on afterwards. Forever wanting someone he couldn't have was as depressing as it was pathetic.
"I never saw you looking at Fred like that. It made me think," George continued and gave Lee a pointed look, daring him to jump at the opening. Lee wasn't in the mood for joking, though. He didn't think he'd ever felt less like it. "Freddie says there's more to it, and as much as I know that he has a colourful imagination, rainbow-coloured even, ..."
"Don't!" Lee interrupted George again. He wished George would stop playing with his hair. It was too gentle, felt too good.
"Don't what?" George asked with a frown.
Lee rubbed his eyes and resisted the urge to bang his head against the nearest wall. He was tired. "I know it's pathetic, all right? I know I shouldn't and I know it's pointless and ...." Lee's voice trailed away. It was so many things. "I can't help it, yeah? It's there and it will go away and everything will be fine." Lee felt ultimately vulnerable. He'd not so much hit, as slammed into rock bottom headfirst. "It's not funny, though. Don't make fun of me."
"You think I would?" George asked and stopped twisting Lee's dreads. Lee missed it instantly.
"Yes. No. I don't know." It wasn't fair, Lee knew it. He forced himself to look up and ordered his mouth to smile. "I'll get over it. We'll still be friends, yeah?"
George looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. Lee looked back down again.
George poked him. "Would you stop being dramatic?"
"I'm not dramatic."
"Are you pouting? You're adorable." George was making fun of him.
"You're an arse."
The familiar banter had taken some of the tension away and the hand that had been in Lee's hair just moments earlier, was now on the back of his neck. It was warm and George's fingers dug into Lee's skin, kneading softly. Lee leaned into the touch, but pulled back as soon as he realised what he was doing.
George chuckled. Lee barely heard it, but he felt him shake where his body touched George's. Then the hand was moving. George's thumb was following Lee's jawbone, slid across his chin and made him turn his head. George was grinning at him confidently and Lee again raised his eyebrows. His hands were sweaty and his heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest.
George moved slowly, came closer, tilted his head. Lee mirrored the movement and stopped breathing, mainly because he couldn't remember how to do it.
next: I'll be your... something-or-other
Pairing: George/Lee
Prompt: 11/13: tinkering
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1040
Summary: In which George and Lee try to talk.
Link to Prompt Table: here
previous: 10. pontification
During the events of New Year's Eve, most likely while running, the radio transmitter must have been damaged. Lee remembered that he'd stumbled at one point. Maybe the bag had hit the ground too hard, or maybe it had happened during the side-along apparition. Lee didn't know. He knew, though, that it wasn't working and that he wanted to start broadcasting as soon as possible. That's why he was trying to repair it.
His back was still stiff and hurting. Mrs. Weasley had said that at St. Mungo's, they'd be able to treat it properly. Unfortunately it was too dangerous to go there, it would have to wait until this mess called war was over. Until then, Lee would have to live with the pain and the stiffness. But at least he was out of bed. After almost two weeks, the first one completely on his stomach, the second one mostly, Lee had feared for his sanity.
Now he was sitting on the small but cozy sofa in the guest room. The transmitter was on the coffee table and Lee glared at it. So far he hadn't found a solution for the problem. He didn't even know what exactly the problem was. His wand was in his hand, but none of the diagnosis charms had been effective.
"What are you doing?" George asked. He was standing in the door-frame and looked tousled. Lee guessed he'd been flying.
"Trying to repair the transmitter. I don't know what's wrong with it," Lee answered.
George came inside and closed the door behind himself. He seemed to hesitate for a moment but then sat down beside Lee.
"Is it broken?"
Lee put his wand on the table. "I have no idea. It's not working."
George nodded but didn't say anything.
Lee looked at his friend and raised an eyebrow. "What's up?"
"The usual. Been flying, invented something, had a sandwich. Fred suggested that I could talk to you while he's working on his charm-work - to give him some space, you know how he gets sometimes when he wants to be all alone and mysterious..."
Lee had been watching George's face and it was just a bit too casual. He nudged George's knee with his own and interrupted his rambling. "Stop pussyfooting."
George looked at Lee and the corners of his mouth formed that infuriating smirk Lee wanted to lick. Kind of. "His exact words were, 'Pull your stubborn head out of your freckled arse, George, and stop being an embarrassing moron."
Lee snorted and shook his head. It sounded like Fred.
George didn't look away and the silence grew heavy. Eventually Lee broke eye-contact. He was trying to think of something to say. Their shoulders and thighs were touching and he kept looking at a particularly ugly painting on the opposite wall.
"So," Lee said, but didn't know how to continue. He jumped when George tugged at one of his dreads.
"He's right," George said. "It's embarrassing."
"I'm not sure what we're talking about," Lee said carefully. Granted, George was probably talking about the fact that Lee had thought about shagging him every single day (hour? minute?) in the last couple of years - not that Lee was about to share that particular detail - but feigning ignorance might buy him some time.
"I'm not blind, you know?" George's voice was quiet and had a soft quality he only rarely used. "I see the way you look at me."
Lee nodded slowly. He wasn't surprised that George had finally caught on, but he didn't want to have that conversation. He knew that they needed it, though. Lee needed it. Maybe he could finally move on afterwards. Forever wanting someone he couldn't have was as depressing as it was pathetic.
"I never saw you looking at Fred like that. It made me think," George continued and gave Lee a pointed look, daring him to jump at the opening. Lee wasn't in the mood for joking, though. He didn't think he'd ever felt less like it. "Freddie says there's more to it, and as much as I know that he has a colourful imagination, rainbow-coloured even, ..."
"Don't!" Lee interrupted George again. He wished George would stop playing with his hair. It was too gentle, felt too good.
"Don't what?" George asked with a frown.
Lee rubbed his eyes and resisted the urge to bang his head against the nearest wall. He was tired. "I know it's pathetic, all right? I know I shouldn't and I know it's pointless and ...." Lee's voice trailed away. It was so many things. "I can't help it, yeah? It's there and it will go away and everything will be fine." Lee felt ultimately vulnerable. He'd not so much hit, as slammed into rock bottom headfirst. "It's not funny, though. Don't make fun of me."
"You think I would?" George asked and stopped twisting Lee's dreads. Lee missed it instantly.
"Yes. No. I don't know." It wasn't fair, Lee knew it. He forced himself to look up and ordered his mouth to smile. "I'll get over it. We'll still be friends, yeah?"
George looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. Lee looked back down again.
George poked him. "Would you stop being dramatic?"
"I'm not dramatic."
"Are you pouting? You're adorable." George was making fun of him.
"You're an arse."
The familiar banter had taken some of the tension away and the hand that had been in Lee's hair just moments earlier, was now on the back of his neck. It was warm and George's fingers dug into Lee's skin, kneading softly. Lee leaned into the touch, but pulled back as soon as he realised what he was doing.
George chuckled. Lee barely heard it, but he felt him shake where his body touched George's. Then the hand was moving. George's thumb was following Lee's jawbone, slid across his chin and made him turn his head. George was grinning at him confidently and Lee again raised his eyebrows. His hands were sweaty and his heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest.
George moved slowly, came closer, tilted his head. Lee mirrored the movement and stopped breathing, mainly because he couldn't remember how to do it.
next: I'll be your... something-or-other