Forget Me Not || George Weasley

Chapter 45

{{Thank you for being so patient!! The end of the school year is approaching quickly which of course means my professors like to assign double the amount of work. I hope everyone is well and that they enjoy <3 much love to you all!}}

Olive bites down on the fleshy part of her palm to keep from laughing.

George is sifting through his carefully organized clothes, lifting sweaters and jumpers before tucking them away with a shake of his head or a grunt. He'd been at it for nearly twenty minutes.

"George," She mumbles around her hand, "I really can just run home—"

"No," He insists over his shoulder with an impatient huff, "I'll find something." She feels her cheeks aching from her smile. He seems set on her not leaving, so she leans back and watches as he stares shrewdly at his clothes. He finally pauses, grabbing onto something and turning to face her. Olive eyes the sweater in his hands, quirking a brow at the yellow 'G' knitted amongst green. He hesitates, muttering, "I can't find anything more colorful—"

"I like it," Olive says warmly, heart thumping erratically when his lips lift at the corners and his cheeks turn pink. He shrugs a little, "Mum always forgot who liked green." His voice sounds strained, but she was grateful he was sharing, guilty that she hadn't shared her secrets in return. She shakes off the idea, standing to grab the sweater from his hands and pull it on over the tee shirt he'd lent her. He steps closer, rolling up the sleeves with a wry expression. He snickers when he kneels down to roll the ankles of the sweatpants he'd thrown at her earlier after bemoaning the temptation of her arse.

She nudges him with her knee, he catches it with his hand and shoots a warning look up at her. Her lungs just stop working when he presses a kiss just above her knee. She shouldn't feel the heat of it through the pants. She shouldn't feel like she may pass out.

She does.

George stands and tugs on her sleeve, saying reluctantly, "We'll floo."

Her brows raise in surprise. She hadn't known that his flat was connected to the Burrow. George doesn't answer her unspoken question and Olive doesn't voice her confusion. She decides to let it go, shoving her feet into her trainers before following him out of his room and towards the fireplace on the opposite side of the couch. She frowns at the seat that mocks her, ignoring George's twitching cheek. He grabs floo powder from a statue without a head, again conjuring more questions. He turns to her after stepping into the fireplace, asking nervously, "You'll be right behind me?"

"Right behind you, George." She smiles and pats him on the arm. "I promise." He stands there, looking at her. Just looking. But the glint in his eyes is heated, mischievous. He still looks like he's getting used to smiling, his left corner of his mouth straining slightly and forming a smirk she hadn't really seen before. Something warm settles in her lower belly, her heart stuttering as undeniable desire pools in her veins. She huffs, "Go, George."

"Yes, Ollie," He finally says, mirth latent in his tone, and she steps back while he throws down the powder and disappears from sight with a flash of green. She hurriedly grabs the powder from the odd statue, clambering into the fireplace and saying firmly, "The Burrow."

She doesn't have time to even wipe the soot from her nose when lips descend on hers, a muffled complaint leaving her, "George!"

"Relax," He mumbles, snaking his arms around her and pulling her free from the Weasley's fireplace. He palms the back of her neck, pressing firmly and gliding his mouth over hers in a way that has her quickly forgetting why they left his bed...and why they had agreed to take things slow. George slides his mouth lower, drags his tongue across her throat before rasping, "Mum's out in the garden. I wanted a kiss."