OOC: Even though the thread starts at the school, it will end up off campus.

Grace's Outfit

Grace had been looking forward to Spring Break for weeks, practically ever since the new year had started considering how much she had been struggling to keep her focus of late. Most of the vacation would be spent back in Cornwall visiting with her mother, who she had learned through recent letters had been struggling more with her health recently.

It wasn't that Grace was planning to not go home because of that, but she'd be lying if she said she didn't want to put off getting there for a bit. For weeks, she and George had been talking about the upcoming quidditch match between the Montrose Magpies and the Falmouth Falcons. In between studying and extracurriculars, Grace had been working feverishly to score tickets to it and finally she had managed to do so by the Wednesday before. One of the by products of that effort was that it took her mind off her mother's condition.

The plan was that Grace was going to stay at the castle for the first weekend of the break and then return home for the remainder. Even if she wasn't able to get the tickets, she had planned to hang out with some others at the school to listen to the match. Luckily, the tickets came through and it had her excited from the wee hours of the match day.

Around lunch time, as most of the remaining Gryffindors headed out of the dorms and common room to the Great Hall, Grace hung back. She migrated towards the 7th year boys dorm and once there, she cautiously started to creep up the stairs, hissing as she went, “George!”

George would have bet he was as excited as Grace. And since Laney played for the Magpies… well, he decided the least he could do was support her team. It was the best way to start a week of partying anyway; some of the kids staying at Hogwarts could go to Hogsmeade, so he decided to stick around. He’d get to see his parents soon enough, after all. Besides, his mum was doing a charity event over the weekend, and his father and brother were off doing work.

It would have been very quiet, with no one to entertain him. His parents were probably ecstatic, come to think of it; their gadgets were safe from dismantle another short while.

He had special ordered the new body paint; black and white were not usual colors he put on himself. Black because it was a hard color to scrub off, and white because… his house team was red and gold. Still, the paint was a bit thick, being new, and he was spending more time cleaning himself up than making a mess of himself. His hair was all ready done, at least, stuck up in odd directions with the occasional black spot (he hadn’t watched when he attempted to run his fingers through his hair in frustration).

Hearing her voice made him smirk. “I’m here, come on.” He had gotten almost everywhere but this one spot on his back… Standing in his boxers, he was attempting to slap his palm to where it was, splattering black paint as he went. “Mind helping me out?” His legs were as pale as he usually was, but his whole torso and arms were black, and his face was black and white. Now, if he could just finish his back…

Well, then he could finish getting dressed.

Grace squeezed her eyes shut and slowly started to walk up the stars after George's voice commanded her to come up. She didn't make a habit of spending time in the boys dorms, even though she considered herself to be one of the guys. She was still a girl and part of her quaked at the thought of seeing some of her male classmates—even George—in less than full garb.

She opened her eyes and stepped into his room only to be presented with George in his boxers and plenty of body paint on bare flesh. Grace quickly covered her eyes and squeaked, “George! Why didn't you tell me you were only wearing underwear? I would have happily waited downstairs!”

Then, George asked her to help him finish his paint job and Grace reluctantly lowered her hands over her eyes and stepped closer to him. She tried to ignore how embarrassed she felt to see him like that. Granted, he was her best friend and if it had been anyone else, she likely wouldn't be able to stand there at all, much less get up the nerve to actually touch them, even in a plutonic way such as applying paint.

“Uh....sure.” Her voice came out as a nervous murmur and the Gryffindor prefect ducked her head as she squirted some of the black paint into the palm of her hand and then reached out to rub it into his back. As she ran her fingers over her friend's skin, she tried to divert attention away from how awkward she felt. She quipped, “At least black is a flattering color on you. Imagine if you were rooting for the Falcons? Gray would not be a good fit...”

Her raised voice (which sounded like some seriously surprised scolding) made George jump a little, black paint flickering across his mate’s bed linen. Oops… Wincing, he gave Grace an attempt at an innocent-caught-in-the-act grin. Then he realized what she said and he fake-pouted at her as he glanced down at his underwear. “What, you don’t like them?” Turning half one way and half the other, he shrugged.

“And why are you closing your eyes? I wouldn’t if it were reversed.” George was just being honest. Who could fault him for that? Grinning, he slipped a thumb just inside the elastic of his boxers, about to pull it aside, his mouth opening for an inappropriate comment. Then he reminded himself who was in front of him and he quickly let them snap back, shoulders slumped in slight defeat. It wasn’t Laney, who might have all ready offered to help him paint that area and go commando, and it wasn’t… anyone else. It was Grace.

The cold on his back forced a shiver down from the top of his head to his toes. Grinning, he relaxed under her fingertips and glanced at his arms. “Why would I root for the Falcons? The Magpies have the pretty team to stare at… Laney, Juno, Ian. All their girls are favorites. If only they played for the Harpies…”

After that daydream ended, he glanced over his shoulder, grinning. It always felt weird to have his hair over-gelled, and it sometimes pulled oddly at his scalp and face and neck. Still, he knew he’d look pretty awesome in the stands. “Do you want some warrior paint to… help with your nerdy outfit?” He grinned wide and stuck his tongue out at her, flicking his fingers at her, the dried paint not moving off his digits. “Or we could paint your legs and you can go in a pair of my boxers.”

Despite her embarrassment—which seemed to immediately take the form of flushed cheeks and a sheepish smile—Grace found it hard to look away from her friend's semi-naked frame. Surely George knew that this was awkward for her and he insisted on teasing her.

She chewed on her lower lip. “For a pair of boxers, they'll do.” She was about to make another amused quip when George started to toy with his waistband. She held up her hands and protested, “No! Stop that, George!” And she squeezed her eyes shut again. Her brow furrowed as her lids were still closed, but when he said he wouldn't do the same in a reversed situation, she slowly opened them again. She looked confused when she asked, “You wouldn't?”
 
What did he mean by that, exactly? Grace turned her nervous energy into massaging the paint into his skin. At his comments about the Magpies players, “Are you calling Cuddyer a girl? That wouldn't be because he has better hair that you, is it?” Then she added, “And if you're basing their ability on their looks, then what about that chaser for the Falcons? Or are you not into blond ice queens?”

Grace quirked a grin as he made jabs at her outfit. “Nerdy? What would you have me do? Wear practically nothing like you?” She paused and was thoughtful for a moment. “Although next to you, I am going to look too overdressed. Maybe I could handle just boxers and a tshirt even if the weather is still a bit chilly....”

Her embarrassment was adorable. Perhaps because of it, he enjoyed furthering it; the blushing cheeks, the way she covered her eyes and yelled at him. It was… very Grace-like. Grinning, George rolled his eyes at her. “Of course not. If you want to get half naked in front of me, then I’m not going to hide behind my fingers.” He was just being honest…

Feigning shock, he shook his head in disbelief. “I was thinking it was those big girly eyes of his. He dreams of hair like mine.” Grinning, he enjoyed the massage while it lasted. “I never said I was basing abilities on looks… just that I like to have something to look at when their fan cards come out.” Shrugging at her, he laughed. “I don’t mind ice queens at all; I’m just not cheering on the Falcons, you know?” Motioning to his body, he glanced over his shoulder at her—they had all ready addressed his choice of colors.

George nodded to her question. “I’m not going to be wearing practically nothing.” He just was right then. At her agreement (whether it was sarcasm or not), George hopped on a foot and made a quick dash over to his trunk, tossing her a pair of boxers. “They’re clean.” Socks and boxers, best things to always make sure you had a clean pair of. Smirking, he picked up the black trousers he had on the bed, shaking them out before stepping into them.

He hadn’t painted his legs for a reason. It was going to be chilly in the stands! “Is anyone else coming along? Wonder why Quinn hasn’t been biting at the bits to go…” Or maybe she had, and he’d been busy with something else. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he started to pull on some socks, biting his lower lip as he focused on his activity, glancing up at her while his socked toes found their way into the start of one shoe, tugging it on.

After Grace overcame her reluctance to come out from behind the shield of her fingers and the heat on her cheeks had cooled, she focused on putting the paint on his skin and she was glad that he was facing away from her. She knew that George was just teasing her like often did and usually she could tease him back with as much gusto. But lately, she had been feeling just a little more out of place with her male friends and her confidence was a little shaken with all the work she had been doing lately with her attempts at being more ladylike. How did that affect her place as “one of the guys”?

Instead of figuring out what to say in response to his comment about not looking away, Grace focused on their banter about quidditch players. She found his jabs at Cuddyer interesting and wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that they both played the same position and George somehow felt threatened or intimidated by the pro player. Her brows knitted together and she was tempted to voice such an opinion but eventually thought better of it. Instead she let him go on about ice queens and his emphatic claim that he could not root for the Falcons.

“You're speaking to the choir,” she told him with a grin and a nod. She stepped away from him and searched for something to wipe the remaining paint off her fingers. Grace looked up just as the boxers sailed her way and she caught them. She held them up, inspecting them for a moment even after he claimed they were clean and then put them to her own waist to see how they might look.

She absently responded to his question about others attending. “Hmm....well, I'm not sure anyone else could afford the tickets or didn't get summoned home for the break. I mean, I almost didn't get our tickets....so....

Glancing up, Grace watched as he finished dressing. She seemed to ponder something for a moment and then she twirled her index finger in the space between them and commanded, “Turn around, please.” After a beat, she added, “And don't watch.”

Perhaps unknown to Grace, the ‘guys’ had known Grace was a girl when they all hit puberty. For George, having been a year ahead, he’d noticed earlier, but since she was younger… well, it just took some time. She still wanted to be ‘one of the guys’ however, and George liked having her around to take the mick out of. She was like a sister. Or a sister-like-cousin, like Lou. He could mess with her, play around, have a good time, and it felt ok in his head.

George wondered what Laney might do if he did root for the Falcons… it was almost worth changing the body paint. He’d spent too much time, though, and he really did like their colors better. He glanced to her face as she inspected his boxers; he wasn’t sure if he was offended or not. He had said they were clean… and he’d glanced them over himself before tossing them. Merlin forbid there was a hole that shouldn’t be there.

He’d just have to rub it in Quinn’s face after they got back, then. She would no doubt be listening to it by the wireless. “Thank Merlin you did.” He winked at her as he messed with his clothes. Once he was on to his shoes, he was focused on her more, grinning cheekily. It fell rather quickly when she told him to turn around. “But…” Don’t watch?! Making a face, he finished tugging his other shoe on, tying it quickly as he glanced around at his bed. “Can’t I just close my eyes real tight like you did?”

Smirking, he stood up slowly, stretched (it was always an odd feeling, drying paint on your skin), and rolled his eyes as he turned slowly, shoulder slumped. Maybe he should have waited until after she’d changed to tell her he wouldn’t close his eyes if it were reversed. Resting his hands on his hips, he glanced to the ceiling. “Not like there’d be much to watch anyway. You probably have another pair of trousers on underneath there.”

Grace was proud of herself for being able to get the tickets. She had scoured for them for weeks on top of all her studying. And when they finally managed to come through, she was ecstatic. And even though she regretted that others weren't coming with them on the little excursion, Grace was silently grateful for the chance to spend a little one-on-one time with George. It had been a long time since they had been able to hang out without others being around. For weeks she had been wanting to pick his brain about what had happened between himself and Waker and just to see how he was doing in general. And maybe also subconsciously, part of her wanted to be able to talk to him about what was going on with her, but she really thought it was because she knew George wasn't the type to dwell on the negative and wouldn't let her do that either.

His teasing of her was evidence of that. “Just please turn around and don't look,” she pleaded, even as she knew that she couldn't very well enforce her own command. If George wanted to look he was going to but the idea that he or any other guy from their year wanted to still flustered her. Yes, the seemingly unflappable Grace Eddy had a weakness: the unexpected attention of male classmates that could be classified as anything but platonic in nature. She could handle sexually charged jokes and innuendos with the best of “guys” but the moment it was directed at her she became tongue tied and awkward.

So she did her best to try and not think about that sort of thing. “Another pair of trousers? It's not going to be that cold!” she protested. She saw that he was turned and quickly slipped her jeans off so that she could start to pull George's boxers up over her modest but very feminine underwear. Once that was done, she started to put her pants back on. “But you know....leggings wouldn't have been a bad idea...”

“Hope not.” He didn’t fancy being that cold. Especially when he got his shirt off. Which, come to think of it—he turned slightly, grabbing his white tank top. He paused as he lifted it, glancing over her, grinning to himself. As soon as she started to turn her attention back to him, he stood up and fussed with the shirt, pulling it on over his head.

“Leggings?” Making a face, he turned around and faced her. Then he let out a groan. “How are you going to show off the boxers now?” Smirking, he stepped forward, lifting the paint and shaking it menacingly. George didn’t plan on being the only one out of the two of them with paint on their body…

___

[At the game]

Standing behind Grace, nearly dead even with her (he refused to say she might have been taller), George wrapped his arms around her mid section, pressed up against her back. “At least we’re not in nose bleed section…” Maybe a couple rows off. Either way, it was still the match! Grinning, he pulled back long enough to hoot and holler, his Quidditch goggles pushed up on his front hair line. Unzipping his jacket and discarding his shirt, he felt a cool shiver run up his spine.

As the hair on his arms attempted to stand up (paint had a way of keeping them down), he once again wrapped his arms around Grace. Nipping at her ear, he laughed and squeezed her tight. “Want me to help you out of your trousers?” His hands slipped down to her waist, teasing her in as close a proximity as he possibly could. He wanted her to show off her lovely legs.

Part of Grace was eventually relieved to be out of George's dorm room and out in a public venue. But she had naively believed that being in public would somehow curb George's incessant desire to embarrass and tease her because he knew just how to make her blush.

She remained still in his arms, trying to focus more of her energies on the game than on how it felt against him. And for a girl who was as into Quidditch as Grace, that worked for a little while. But the fact was that Grace was a girl—complete with warm blood rushing through her veins—and so it was difficult to be completely unaffected by his actions.

In fact, she was probably more affected than others might be (or pretend to be) because Grace was so inexperienced with her male counterparts as a whole. It was rare that she was in situations like these—physically close to them in a less than innocent way.

She glanced over her shoulder at George when he mentioned where they were sitting and she yelled, “Oh these seats aren't that bad, are they?”

Truth was, she wouldn't have cared anyway. She was at a professional match watching professional players that she had spent hours upon hours pouring over, collecting posters and memorabilia, compiling stats and just generally being a die hard fan. Even though Grace had her favorite teams to root for, even she would admit to following teams like the Falcons just because she claimed to be a knowledgeable fan. She made it her business to know as much as she could. Often, she admitted to being obsessive about it.

Grace wriggled in his arms when she felt the nip to her ear, but be was already holding her tight enough where an attempt to extricate herself would expose the discomfort she had been trying to hide. But as soon as George's hands made their way to her waist, Grace tensed. She brought her hands down over his to stop any further movement (anywhere) and tried to twist around to completely face him, or at least be standing more next to him. She tried to smile as she said, “I...uh....think it's still a bit too cold for me to be in only boxers...”

George felt full of energy. He felt like he could have run around the pitch, up and down the stairs, and looped the hoops all at once. Or… maybe that was a bit ambitious. He shook his head in agreement. Any seat would’ve been great, he was just poking fun at where they were. Or where they weren’t, maybe. Either way, it was exciting and adrenaline pumping.

Though he loved Quidditch, he would be the first to admit to preferring actually being part of the game than watching it (though, obviously, he didn’t mind tuning in on the wireless or catching recaps in the prophet). He just wasn’t quite to Grace’s level. But he’d always thought that was something that set her apart from the other girls. She would know a favorite player’s choice defense pattern, which George found incredibly useful (but not useful enough to pick that sort of thing up himself).

She was dedicated. Or insane. Either way, it really meant the same thing, didn’t it?

Grace surely wasn’t innocent enough to realize all that moving in such tight quarters was stimulating… heat. George gave a little distance with his legs; he was teasing her, not pushing every boundary she had.

Or should he?

Feeling her hands on his, he paused in his teasing to raise an eyebrow, glancing at her face. He allowed her to twist around, one arm wrapping lightly around her waist and toying with the top of her trousers. “Too cold?! It’s just going to get colder.” Letting out a disappointed groan, he glanced around, watching people selling items in the stands.

And then he had it. They were legal adults! Grinning, he dove into his pockets for a few knuts. It wasn’t long before he’d procured some beer. Talk about setting the edge off (both the chilly night and Grace’s stiff back). Cheering her, he kept his free arm around her, enjoying his glass, taking a gulp now and again before cheering loudly for every good pass the Magpies did and a boo for every time the Falcon’s somehow got hold of the quaffle.

Since he played Keeper, he found the professional teams an excellent source of ideas. Things he hadn’t tried before. Different set ups and defense positions. Sometimes they were good enough to offer decent offensive position.

After his drink was halfway gone, George pulled Grace against him, grinning wide. “How about now? Should be warming up. And I’ll help keep you warm.” Motioning to himself, he raised an eyebrow. A sort of challenge was coming forth. “I mean, I’m only wearing trousers. It’s not like I expect you to go topless.” Grace wouldn't have allowed George to help paint there, so he hadn't even brought it up as a joke.

It was true that Grace was dedicated (or insane) when it came to her Quidditch fandom, often moreso than a good majority of her male counterparts. Some could see this as an endearing trait and others could see it as an annoying one. But she never worried that George would think she was odd. He was the one who introduced her to the sport, afterall. So he shouldn't have been surprised that he created a monster out of her.

Grace chewed her lower lip thoughtfully, not wanting to be a killjoy for George's efforts to have fun. There was a part of her that was trying desperately hard to try and be a lady in all of her actions. But it was still often overshadowed by the part of her that still wanted to be just one of the guys. Part of persona included partying like them. And George was pretty much the king of partying in their year and if one wanted to keep up with him, this is what was required.

She still doubted whether she should drink even though they were on break, but finally she did agree and she waited for him to return with their beverages.

Grace cupped the mug to her and tentatively sipped from it, letting the feel of the liquid get acquainted with her tastebuds. Then she took a larger gulp and relaxed against George, barely even feeling his arms around her anymore. Or rather, she felt them, but now didn't feel the awkwardness that always seemed to surface when she was this close to a guy—any guy, really and not just George.

Every now and then as they watched and sipped, Grace would point out a move that one of the teams did and commentate on how it could be used for their matches. But then George put her on the spot again about dropping her pants. She could feel a deep flush on her face and she avoided his eyes. “You're not going to stop asking me until I do, huh?” As if he had posed a dare, Grace lifted her chin a bit and bravely declared, “Alright, fine!”

She handed him her drink and reached down to untie the drawstring to the pants she was wearing. She left them fall to her feet so that her boxer clad bottom was exposed and then bent down to pick the discarded clothing up. She balled them up and hurled them into the stands below them. “Go Magpies!”

Turning to George she flashed him a sheepish grin, “You didn't really need those back, did you?”

George enjoyed the game more as Grace seemed to relax. She even settled against him, which was nice in an unexpected way. Grinning at her enthusiasm for plays, he spoke back against her ear on his opinion of one over another. He was always up for improving the Gryffindor team against the others… George did want to win the Quidditch House Cup. Seeing teams play through plays, versus just drawing them out from a playbook, helped more than he anticipated.

All good games come to an end, though, and George was annoying enough to keep bugging her about the trousers. She had brought along his boxers, after all… Smirking, he merely shrugged, feeling rather smug about the whole thing. Accepting her drink, he took a sip of it as well, standing back a little while she got to work on her trousers.

The people around them gave them enough space that he could back up enough to appreciate the view. Laughing as she hurled the trousers out into no-turning-back space, he lifted both drinks in the air and shouted after her. “Go Magpies!”

Stepping back up against her, he chuckled and handed her her glass back, taking another gulp of his beer. “Mm… weren’t those your trousers, love?” Giving her a kiss on the cheek, he laughed a little more, feeling more loose compared to before this drink. “I never needed those on in the first place.” His free arm snaked around her as he pulled her in close. “Was that so hard, then?”