This takes place after Marty has returned to the future. I couldn't help but wonder if George and Lorraine's relationship had a little more problems than just 'will he ask her out or not?'. I feel like Lorraine is rather needy and George might not have completely changed yet, just from hitting Biff once. Maybe he needs to hit Biff again...

Please leave a review, your thoughts/suggestions mean a lot! :)

"Oh George…"

"I'm sorry, Lorraine, but I can't…"

Lorraine took his hand, which had been resting on his notebook of ideas for his novel, and kissed it. Her brown eyes locked in his, she kissed each knuckle of each long, delicate finger, and then pressed the hand against her breast. Immediately his eyes darted away and he took a protesting breath.

"Please?" she whispered, blinking up at the taller boy. His palm pressed hotly against her breast. "Don't you want to?"

"I- I don't know, Lorraine, c-can't we do something else?"

He was sweating in his cotton button-down shirt, little lines of moisture running down his neck and disappearing beneath his collar. They were sitting in her parents living room. It was just weeks before summer vacation started and the temperature had already risen to the nineties. The metal fan on the coffee-table merely stirred the hot air around.

"Aren't you curious?" she asked, leaning closer. She could smell the Brylcreme he used to comb his hair back. The perfume she'd borrowed from her mother's vanity table hung in the stuffy air, cloyingly sweet.

"Y-yes…" he admitted, grey eyes still looking anywhere but her.

"Then why not?"

"I don't know, I don't think it's right…we're supposed to- to wait until- well, we're not supposed to do anything until we're married, Lorraine." He managed, ducking his head.

"Don't be such a prude! Everyone who's anyone is doing it nowadays." She insisted. Why did George have to be so old-fashioned? Why couldn't he just be cool? She'd been asking herself this a lot lately. Asking herself why he wore those silly plaid cotton shirts, buttoned up to the neck. Why his clothes never fit. Why he was perfectly satisfied to ride a bicycle when the cool boys drove automobiles, and he didn't like to listen to records. She had to tell him to do everything.

She took his other hand and guided it to her lap. Pressed those tapered fingers to the point between her legs, that slight bump beneath her olive-drab skirt that pulsed with her heart and sent a jolt throughout her entire body when his fingertips brushed against it. McFly sucked in his breath, but he didn't draw his hand away.

This is it. She thought headily. Finally.

Lorraine moved closer to him on the faded couch, her heart beginning to beat almost painfully. George swallowed and his pale grey eyes flicked to hers. She smiled encouragingly.

The hand on her breast squeezed gently, almost timidly, and then released. A burst of warmth flooded from between her legs to her fingertips, and her head buzzed. She fumbled to untuck her blouse and lead his quivering hand to touch her brassiere. His thumb rested on top of the faint beginning of cleavage. His other hand gently stroked her through her skirt.

"George…" she whispered thickly.

"What's that, Lorraine…?" his grey eyes flicked up to hers. They were both breathing shallowly, prickling all over with heat.

"George, please, make love to me."

It was as if a spell had been broken. McFly jerked his hands away as if burned and staggered to his feet. Lorraine's mouth fell open in dismay.

"George! What's wrong?" she cried, completely surprised. McFly bent, gathering his notebooks and homework from the coffee table, his dark hair flopping into his pretty face. He crammed his things into his bag and faced her, the familiar apologetic hunch in his narrow shoulders.

"I'm sorry- " he began, then stopped, tried again, and fled.

Lorraine watched him go from the living room window. She watched, her eyes filled with angry tears, as his blurry figure pedaled down the black in old grey jacket.

They had been going steady since the Enchantment Under the Sea dance, after he had rescued her from Biff. That was when they'd had their first kiss. It had been so romantic…even though he wasn't exactly the Hollywood hunk material she'd always dreamed of.

George McFly had a strange charm. He had gentle grey eyes, and that dramatic, angular profile that reminded her of the old silent film stars. Especially his jutting cheekbones. Her friends teased her about the geek, but they had never noticed his thin, passionate mouth, clear eyes, or straight, pointed nose. The awkward way he moved, with that swinging gait, disguised his attractiveness. He held himself with a faint air of humiliation, as if expecting to be picked on, and that made it easy to mock him.

George was a dreamer, an eccentric, and yet also somehow a dashing hero. Before what had almost happened with Biff, she never would have noticed him. Lorraine had dreamed of those dangerous boys in muscle shirts and fast cars, like in the movies.

But after Biff, she'd just wanted someone safe. The only problem now was George seemed a little too safe. He would kiss her, but it seemed chaste, and he never wanted to smoke or drink. And most frustratingly, since she wanted him so much, he wouldn't make love to her. This was the closest they'd ever come and she'd been sure it was going to happen…

Now she stood in the sweltering living room, which wasn't quite as comfortable now that George wasn't sitting next to her, with nothing but a dull ache beneath her skirt.

To be continued!