Throwing Biscuits - George/Angelina
A/N: Day 1054 and I'm still not JK Rowling and I still don't own the copyright of Harry Potter. But I did get a tin of Hobnobs today as a treat. - DG
"George, get out here!"
Angelina stood tapping her foot in the kitchen, waiting for George to appear. She loved her partner, he was a good provider, a better love, and a hilarious prankster, but he had no head for numbers or how to manage the money they had coming in. Seconds passed and he wasn't obeying her.
"George Fabian Weasley, you get your scrawny arse out here now!"
George walking in, toweling off from his shower. She appreciated those lean hips, those long enough arms, those reasonably large hands, and much more. But now wasn't the time for her to appreciate his form, but to handle business. Business before pleasure, at least today.
"What are you yelling about, Angie? We don't open the shop for another hour."
"Did you bother to read the notice from Gringotts yesterday? The owl posting that talked about the payment for the shop's rent being due today? Did you even think to pay it when you made the deposit yesterday?"
He blushed, from his ears to his bright nips on his chest.
"So while I was there, paying the rent on the shop and our flat, I asked to see their books on our vault, and we're close to being broke. What the hell George?"
George stood there shocked then realized what was going on. Bloody hell!
"Bloody Hell, George, Answer me!"
"No."
"Excuse me? Did you just tell me no about business, the one you built from the ground up with your brother? Do you even give a care about that business that you are Fred dreamt of?"
Angie knew she stepped in it when his face went white, and his eyes took on the look of a dragon – preternaturally fierce, impossibly dark, glowing in anger.
"You fuckin' leave Fred out of it!"
Angie took a step back in shock. George rarely raised his voice to her. He would get quiet, or sulk, or ignore her for days, but he rarely yelled.
"But George, - "
George picked up the plate of biscuits, and threw them. The plate shattered on the wall, scattering the chocolate biscuits she picked up yesterday from the bakery. He slung the dishes off of the table, letting his rage dissipate. "Just shut it!"
Angie stepped forward, willing to face his uncharacteristic anger. She hadn't seen him that irrational since they day she walked back into his life – the day after Luna left him for South America and her first adventure, away from him. He was a mess and it took some time for him to come back from the abyss.
"George, talk to me please."
He looked up, blinking back rage from his face, slowly returning to his sedate self. A flush crept up his features, looking at the disaster his unbridled anger unleashed. Two hands sliding into his, still clinched in anger, broke the emotional hold on him.
George stepped forward, bringing her to sit down at their modest table he received from his parents. George sat there a second, looking at his hands and hers, looking at the distinct differences between them: mocha hands, lighter than her face from playing too much Quidditch, specky ginger and white for him. Up her arm was the tattoo, the same one he had, circling the wrist with Fred's full name.
"I'm sick of this place. It's been years, and I want to get out of here."
"Where do you want to go?"
George looked up, finding those obsidian eyes he learned to love, completely opposite to the ocean blues that captivated him two years prior.
"That's why the account is almost empty. I bought us a cottage up in Worchester, away from everyone else – and we're moving in next month."
"And you didn't bother to ask me if I wanted this? You didn't ask me if I wanted to live closer to my family, especially Mum. Why?"
"I need away from here. I'm haunted by both of them and I want to give you everything I need."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"I wanted to surprise you next week, on our anniversary."
"Anniversary?"
George frowned, getting up from his seat and going to the cooling cabinet for a bottle of butterbeer. "Obviously it wasn't as important to you as it was to me."
"What are you on about?"
George stood in front of Angelina, who was still sitting in the chair. "Nothing. It's not important. I'll call Gringotts today can see if I can cancel the contract."
"George!"
He turned back around, letting her pull him close to her. She saw the hurt on his face, the pain in his eyes, and was sure that the raw emotion was from what she was missing.
"Talk to me. Why are you so upset today?"
George stood there, working his mouth like he wanted to talk with her, but held back.
"Do I need to loosen your tongue for you to talk to me? Is that what you need? Do I need to make it all better today?"
Angelina ran her hands up and down his slacks, watching his heartbeat tick in time in his trousers. She kept looking up while working the buckle of his belt. She smiled at him when his frown twitched.
"There's the man I love. You just stand there and hold on, and I'll make it a better day."
Angelina turned her attention to the zipper in front of her, pulling it down gently. Watching his physical excitement grow in those seconds told her it wouldn't take long. Once the zipper was down, and she could find him inside, she gently removed his appendage from his pants, finding him more than ready.
Square cut nails worked her way further into the boxers, finding the rest of his bits waiting for her. She didn't need to look up, since he was always amenable to what she was about to do.
A quick lolly-like lick, and she took him in her mouth. His hands fell on her shoulders, supporting himself. He groaned, appreciating her ministrations. She went further, using her hands to tease him quickly to a rousing finish. Not much longer now.
He moaned, cursing like Ron. He threaded a hand into her braids, and gripped her shoulder hard. He froze before groaning out variations of her name and nearly collapsing in relief.
Angie pulled her wand from her pocket, and summoned the chair for George to collapse into.
She waited, patiently listening to his heavy breathing. Sure enough, he opened his eyes, and looked like George again. "You ready to talk now?"
He nodded, finding the words he couldn't choke out earlier. "It's the anniversary you saved my life."
She sat there, still puzzled at his words. "George, I don't follow you. What are you on about?"
He smiled, flashing the charisma he used in the store. "Two years ago, you convinced me to get help, after Luna left. It wasn't yelling, or thrown biscuits that did it, but the look on your face that made me realize I needed help. You pitied me, and I hated it. That was the day we went to St. Mungo's after I asked for help. You might not think it's important, but I certainly do."
George took a deep breath before sitting up straight in the chair. He leaned forward, taking her hands into his, and squeezing them firmly. "You bet me a weekend's worth of my fantasy if I'd go every other day for a year. You challenged me to do it, saying you'd stay with me as long as I was getting help. I didn't do it. But it's been two years now, and my healer said I can cut back to once a week now from twice a week. I might have lost our bet, but I won in the long run."
Angelina grinned while realizing that George was finally coming out of his shell, years after his life was torn asunder. "You went to the healer because of our Bet?"
"What can I say?" He nodded, smiling again. "I never could refuse pleasure from the weaker sex."
Angelina threw a biscuit back at George, hitting him on the nose. "You wanker!"
His grin was even larger. "Not since you started shagging me! But I am still a tosser."
She leaned in further, capturing his face in her hands. "You are a tosser but you're my tosser. And don't you forget it." She sealed their deal with a searing kiss.
