Continuation of this post

[...] Being here made her want to be the other Waker again, the one who wasn’t so easily reduced to pathetic displays of emotion. The one who could control things. Just for a little while. “Let’s just...”

She could do this, she could be his friend... the one he kissed without expectation. Without consequence. She’d put herself here. “Do you want to go somewhere else?” Her palmed pressed more firmly, but gently, into his stomach. She wasn’t pushing him away. It was an invitation. She looked down at their near-tangle of feet, and was loathe to pull back, to break the warmth. But she did. Her eyes searched George’s, but she decided, before he could answer, that she would make this decision. She tugged his hand and pulled him away toward where the ground grew dryer, where trees grew denser.

...

Waker stopped at a tree that seemed sturdy and wise in its age; it looked like the sort of tree which would keep their secrets... though she wasn’t always the sort of girl to see a tree as anything but an animate (albeit, technically, living) thing. But trees, like trophies, and the world under the water, begged a certain perspective when George was around. He looked at things differently: nature, adventure, the very moment in which they breathed. He was, she realized not for the first time, contagious.

She peeled her eyes away from the gently rustling leaves overhead and looked back at George. Pressed into the bark, feet carefully positioned around knobby roots, she pulled him to her, her fingers brushed over his torso and hooked into the top of his trousers. Continuing the kiss he’d initiated in the lake, she moved her arms to his neck, dropping them there, lanky as they were, and doubled her efforts; this was her less timid side, a more insistent longing. Whatever fear there had been, whatever anxiety or imagined regret, she kept at bay. This is what she wanted right now, and what George seemed to want, too.

George listened to her and nodded slowly in comprehension. He could just... And right then, with her hand suddenly warming up his stomach (and being a little closer to his daydreams) and making his thoughts jumbled and confusing. He opened his mouth to respond when her hand grasped his and suddenly he was following after like a dutiful puppy about to get a treat.

He watched her hips sway, the way she swung her arm while she walked, the way her skirt framed her... hips.

George nearly walked into her, and then she would’ve had a fair idea what he was thinking about. Luckily he was able to stop himself in time, glancing back up to her face as she turned around. Biting his lower lip, he gave her a half grin, feeling out-of-place shy.

The trouser hook, however, helped to wash away that unexpected feeling. Suddenly he was there, against her, hands feeling bark and then skin, pushing aside material in the way of his exploring, lips pressing insistently. Hands moved down to hold her hips. To pull her against him. He wasn’t as cold as he had been, and it seemed the problem he’d been persistent with was keeping at bay. Wouldn’t Laney turn a shade...

Down his lips moved, over her chin, hungrily meeting her neck, burying himself there. Even her smell he’d missed. What had she turned him into?

The nod, the easy way he followed her, and George’s shy smile were enough encouragement (as if everything else hadn’t been). If she were faltering in her logic, she was now willing to suspend reality-- and its consequences-- to indulge in what they both wanted, what they both had missed. What Waker had certainly missed with increasingly painful heartbeats and real (but sometimes faded or far-away) dreams.

She stared at him, almond-shaped eyes ever interpretative. But she was reading different things now, more rash and in-and-the-moment details, and not just the questions that lay in both of them. George’s lips, and George’s wet hair, and George’s strong arms pressed behind her, pinning her quite welcomingly between the tree and himself (and she had helped, she had insisted.)

Said eyes closed. Her mouth opened, receptive to his matching, heated kisses, and taking little breaths where she could find them. She glowed but did not blush to feel his desire. His hands moved to her hips and hers brushed the base of his neck before she untangled one to return it to his abdomen. She slipped it beneath his shirt this time, almost shivering at the feel of his bare flesh against her own, that little bit of intimacy. It was an anchor to the world, the only thing that made her feel... well, anything that wasn’t worry or misery or expectation of the future. Or the future’s expectations of Waker.

Her breath caught in her throat more times than once, but it felt easier to breathe now-- more wonderful, somehow-- than had in such a long time. She recalled mornings when she’d run past these trees, and how rewarding the very same air had been. She had missed George, and she would miss Hogwarts, but this seemed somehow a sweet moment with both.

A moment, exactly. Though she thought the words, I love you, she did not say them. They didn’t need to be said, or they couldn’t be said. This wasn’t the past or the future, though it held elements of both.

But standing there, outside of time, she came to the realization that clocks were still moving elsewhere.

She stopped him, tugged away gently, paused for a moment. Taking him again, she didn't know whether to frown or smile, and felt a stubborn determination to do neither, or perhaps a basic need. She waited for something-- for some confirmation or otherwise... Finally, her heart calmed down long enough, and Waker tangled herself in his comfort again. Lifting his shirt off, she brushed against him, leaving little kisses where she could. “Sorry, I know you just put it back on...” And she couldn't help but laugh a little, grin nervously against his skin as if they were back in the Potions dungeon, kissing for the first time. Her hands slid over his arms, soft, cautious, but thrilled.

George would have liked to say that he was immune from simple touches. That they were common place enough that he didn’t want to jump at every little touch.

But Waker was making his stomach twist and turn, his hair stand on end, and things happening that he was more relieved than embarrassed about. Wouldn’t Laney--No. If he thought of her, he would remember their last time together. Even the faint memory made him momentarily cringe, if only inside. It was Waker’s hands on his stomach. Waker’s lips melting into his. Her tongue he was tasting.

Yes. He’d missed her. His hands pulled her in tight. He’d missed her a hell of a lot, it seemed. All George wanted to do was hold her against him and not let go. To reassure himself that this wasn’t the most lucid dream he’d experienced. That she was really kissing him back, as if the last few months had been involuntary in their distance, and they were reunited.

The stopping reminded him of where they were. The fresh smell of trees blooming, birds chirping, kids laughing in the distance. Blinking and glancing over her, he started to move into her again, leaning in for more. If he stopped for too long, he was afraid she would leave him. Or they’d realize what a mistake this was. Or... that he’d lose what he had back.

Lifting his arms in sudden, renewed energy, George felt like they couldn’t get his shirt off  quick enough. Licking his lips, fingertips moved over her arms, laughing with her. This was what he was missing... Nodding in agreement, he took in a slow breath. He slipped a hand under either side of her little jacket. George helped it down either arm, leaning in and pressing into her lips once more.

And suddenly clumsy fingers found the end of her shirt, moving over the front of the material to the buttons, undoing them, fumbling as he did. He kissed her, then did it again. For good measure, he did it once more before pulling back, feeling breathless as the shirt was discarded. “Are you-” He pressed against her lips again before breathing in enough for another question. “Do you want...” Fingertips continued to do their work, tugging and unsnapping here and there. “Are you sure?”

Allowing her time to respond, he moved once again to her neck. He loved the outdoors.

The clingy cotton cardigan came off, and Waker let it fall into the sparse grass and packed earth that comprised a bed for the knobby-kneed roots of aged trees. She didn’t think about the things she would normally think about, the clean, girly garment meeting the ground, sure to be dirty and a little wrinkled. It was a casualty of lust, one she didn’t mind. Perfect hair and prefect pins and and softly pleated skirts were minuscule to this.

This. It was them. Or wasn’t it? Not them in the official sense, but them in the truest sense. And after, if they sat in the grass, her head against his shoulder, and closed their eyes, maybe nothing would have to be struck by reality’s cruel hand, a clock’s more practical one.

The summery cropped blouse came next, and it was Waker’s nearly-bare skin against George’s. The warmth was thoroughly contagious.

“Are you- Do you want... Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Very. Surer than she’d ever been, despite her momentary pause. That was part of why she’d stopped, the surety of it was overwhelming. But she wasn’t going to mess things up this time, she wasn’t going to let them swallow her. Or if they did, it might be... alright. She kissed him back hurriedly. “I want it... I want... you.” She lifted her fingers to his lips, pressing them there as if to quiet him. “Are you?” She asked, pausing again, but only barely. Her hands where still on him, fingers lingering in place while they waited to resume discarding the impractical barriers that were made of cloth. His lips on her neck were the most wonderful thing nature had made.

Her arms tangled around him again, closer in their exposure. Her ankles were enmeshed in tree roots and George’s own legs, her body pressed to him as if she were hiding herself, and only he could see her.

Well, she certainly sounded certain. Slightly shocked, if only by her eagerness, George grinned like an overeager school boy. Which he was, still. For another couple weeks, anyhow.

She was only encouraging his bad behavior, which he wasn’t going to fight. His heart was hammering and his brain was slowing and speeding. Thoughts were more fragmented. Actions more pronounced. She said what he could show. It was obvious how he was feeling, or he thought. So when she asked, he quickly nodded, taking a moment to catch his breath. “Yes.” His muffled reply came from her neck, the skin soft under his lips.

Fingers moved around her waist to the small of her back, suddenly pulling her in, pressing her against him, enjoying how soft she could feel. And as quickly as he could, he used the roots around his feet to help keep his balance, lifting her a little, moving the skirt up and out of his way as he did. But then there was the hard bark, and like silly teenagers trying to hide in a philosophical broom cupboard, George helped her down on to the softer and more forgiving ground.

He pressed into her, his eagerness and sudden desire making it more heated lust than thought out and careful. The movement was practiced and foreign. George held her close, rhythmic motion feeling more natural than walking.

After, feeling knackered, George slipped to her side, arm staying around her, somehow trying to tell her he needed her close without saying anything. Breathing slowly returned to normal and he closed his eyes in contentment. It was a feeling of accomplishment and of relief and everything else he could have thought about at that moment.

Why, then, he felt like spewing truth--it was beyond him. “I tried to move on.” And before he knew it, he was confessing to her as if he was in trouble, as if he should be shamed. As if it was his fault they were at this point. So he stumbled over Laney, softly confessed his attempt with Grace (that failed miserably), and stuttered onwards to Quinn. Glancing down between them, fingers raked through his hair at the thought of the crazy and amazing Gryffindor.

George pressed his lips to her shoulder, softly attempting to think of how to put his relationship with Quinn. “She encouraged me to...” Do this? Try again? The boy who normally burst forth with his sins and accomplishments alike seemed to hold back. He wasn’t sure what Waker would be apt to hearing, or how much she really wanted to hear. Maybe she was just trying it on for size again, to see if she had been missing anything.

“Well, she encouraged you.”

Pinned to the bark, rough and scratchy on one side, reassuring on the other with George dipping into her, pulling her close, Waker didn’t protest their location. She was, as she had let him know, quite sure. Still, she was thankful when he brought her to the ground. It was just one of those little things, those little details that endeared her to him, that made her heart hurt and her head spin with want, and for the terrible thing she done to him.

She would have stayed right there against the tree if he’d wanted. They were a tangle, and she helped him keep her skirt up by grabbing bunched fistfuls the material and then pressing her hands into his muscles, tugging him toward her and moving her lanky legs to either side of him to keep the garment pinned. Like the bark of the tree or the fact they were outdoors, the skirt was something she could forget now that she had George. He knew exactly how to make her forget the world, and at no time was that more true than now, after so many painful months of not being able to touch him, to be close, to be together.

The climax was sweet and bleary, and she found she could hardly breathe in the best way. Air rushed at them from all around, cold and stinging as it had been when she’d come out of the water.

She turned toward him, cheek near the ground, eyes on George.

“I tried to move on.”

It seemed to come from nowhere, but it was almost as if... a part of her expected it. She wanted to turn away for a moment, to catch her breath, but she didn’t. She needed to listen, and she suspected he needed her to listen. Her lips might have been a pout, or content in their silence, or completely expressionless, or wanting his again. Her heart jumped even when it had only just settled.

The lips on her shoulder made her nestle toward him uncertainly, pressing her forehead to his. Her reached down blindly, finding his.

“Well, she encouraged you.”

She avoided Quinn McAvoy, usually, and now she knew that she decidedly did not like the girl. But how could she say that when George was confessing what he needn’t even confess? And if, in a strange way, she sort of owed the Gryffindor.

“Why would she do that?” She asked, feeling a little confused. She smiled, a sad, bashful smile that was somehow also happy. She was vulnerable, defenseless from their encounter, and there was nothing that George could not know about her now. She squeezed his hand and bumped her face softly against his, eyes closing. She was glad George had made the decision initiate what had inevitably become this. “I don’t know if was stupid or brilliant. I can’t tell you. I wish I could. But it was very Gryffindor.”

She kissed his cheek and slid an arm across his toned abs, hugging herself to him. She felt safe; it was easier to breathe now than it had been even before their... this. “I love you.”

She took it all in stride, it seemed. Laney, Grace, and Quinn. Not that there was much to any of them, least of all Grace. He hoped she was doing ok. Sometimes things got messed up too easily.

But in some cases, they seemed to fit back together just fine. A half hearted shrug answered her question, small smile slipping on to his lips. How did he explain what she meant to him, even after everything? And that it transcended other relationships he would have tried to have...

George wasn’t yet feeling that vulnerable and open with Waker. Not quite. He still needed time to process what he was doing. Shifting a little closer, he laughed and nodded slowly, pushing thoughts of Quinn aside as he focused on Waker’s... well, she was right in front of him. Glancing up from her chest, an arm found its way around her, lightly tickling her side with his fingertips. “Very Gryffindor... I’ll take that.” He couldn’t keep the grin away, and it trickled into his voice.

Easing himself against her more, George rested his cheek against the top of her head. Thankfully, because when the next three words left her mouth, his face was dealing with the turmoil that remark caused. A deep intake of breath followed and he paused, arms pulling her closer still. He couldn’t fathom a response, simple or not, and so he just kissed the top of her head and settled into her. I love you, after all this time... yes, he did. He just couldn’t find the breath for it.