"Doesn't it hurt?" she blurted, breaking the silence awkwardly.
"Hmm?" George looked up from his papers with a frustratingly unconcerned look on his face at her suddenly barging into his office.
All day she had been at work, Hermione had been rolling over the events of the night before.
George Weasley had a penchant for… well, she didn't know the word for it, exactly. But she had also had some thoughts and questions that needed answering now, because she always needed to know the inner workings of everything. The main question being -
"Doesn't it hurt?" she repeated.
George didn't answer right away, choosing instead to lay his quill down and regard her with a hesitant look.
Even sitting, it was clear he was a tall man. His desk sat a good bit higher than desks usually did, presumably to accommodate his long legs. And on top of that, the solid wood of it was dark and stately, commanding and dominating the room.
George rose, his neutral facade cracking as he raised a hand to rub the back of his neck slowly, pondering. For a moment, she thought she saw his cheeks darken a shade in embarrassment, but she dismissed the thought.
"No, not really. It stings. But I think for some people, it's a... good kind of sting," he offered, waiting a beat before meeting her eyes again. "It can hurt. But I don't hit harder than I'm allowed to."
A numbing frisson started to spread down her legs.
"What's it for, precisely?" she asked then, referring to the paddle and hoping he was following.
Between every exchange, there seemed to be a protracted moment of silence, as if each party was weighing their potential responses to the other very carefully before playing the hand they chose.
"What do you think it's for?" George tarried.
"I mean, what do you do with it?" Hermione huffed, displeased with his deflection.
"What do you think I do with it?" George pressed with a self-satisfied smirk.
"I don't know. That's why I'm asking," she said slowly. She saw the corner of his mouth twitch.
They regarded one another from opposite sides of the large desk, the air between them heavy with potential - both good and bad. This could go horribly wrong or horribly right.
"Would you like me to show you?" He paused to observe her reaction. "You like learning, and isn't a hands-on method usually the most instructional?"
Her lungs froze. She really didn't think he would let it go this far, to the actual suggestion of sex - or something she rather thought was related. They had been close friends for a few years and not once in her memory had there ever been a time where one or the other had taken a fancy and things had never been this searing. George's eyes were dark and intent on her, and it made her want.
Hermione didn't trust her voice not to crack or rasp, so she settled for a nod.
"Go get it. It's right where you left it." George's voice was exactly the same as she recalled it being at every other point in her life, and yet there was something distinctly different she couldn't place her finger on. It wasn't an invitation. It was an order, and Hermione didn't know if she was more ticked that he was telling her what to do, or that she seemed to be okay with it for the time being.
Hermione skirted through the shop and back upstairs, stopping at the second floor as opposed to continuing on up to the third. Pushing the front door open, she was greeted immediately with the object of her recent contemplation.
Made of wood stained a dark, dimensional brown, the paddle was light and slender, not really what she might have imagined just from the word. "Paddle" sounded heavy, but this was far from it. She could see why she had mistaken it for a muggle paint stick; it shared a striking resemblance to one in its dimensions.
Was she honestly going to let him show her how he used it? Did she trust him enough to… do whatever it was he was going to do?
And she hadn't - oh god she hadn't shaved in over a month. That needed to be remedied, and fast. If he touched her leg, she might -
The thought of whatever situation with George that might or might not be in her near future made her shiver.
Grabbing the wooden implement, she dashed upstairs to her own flat, tugging her work clothes off in a hurry. Hurriedly recalling the wand movements Ginny had shown her ages ago, Hermione magicked the hair from her legs and hesitantly contemplated other areas.
"I thought you'd changed your mind," George said as she came back into the office, the instrument she'd fetched tucked up her sleeve.
After shaving magically and running around in a bit of a panic, changing into non-work clothes, and panicking some more, Hermione had descended into the shop again and made her way back to George with her blood rushing in her ears.
What if this whole thing flopped and they ruined their friendship? Would she have to move? She liked it here. What if he got one look at her without various pieces of clothing on and didn't like what he saw?
"No, I…" she trailed off, not sure what to do with the thing in her hand.
"Nevermind," he offered, face largely unreadable. George stood from his seat and came around to face Hermione. She inhaled as he stepped up to her, being so close under his gaze. She was immediately aware of the weave of his shirt, the smell of his skin, and the worn scuff of his sneakers as he moved.
George held out his hand, and Hermione hesitated a split second before raising her own and depositing the paddle. He caught her wrist in his free hand as she pulled away, and her gaze flew up to his.
"Do you really want this? Because it's okay if you tell me to stop."
Looking into his eyes, she searched for any indication of hesitance, or pleasure, or anything else that might give her an indication of his feelings on the matter at hand. Hermione found nothing there, and her inner logical protestations faded to silence.
When exactly would she ever get another chance to experience something so… So out of her comfort zone of reassured knowledge?
Her heart raced under the cage of her ribs, her blood thrumming and humming along in her veins, colour flushing her cheeks warmly. It felt as if every nerve ending was alert. This was George - her ex's older brother, a long time acquaintance and tentative friend, and her landlord no less - but here he was making her knees weak with merely a suggestion.
Hermione was passionate about a great many things, most of which could easily raise her blood pressure during a heated discussion. She was used to dealing with that sort of intellectual provocation that had her mind shaking in anticipation but never had a man managed to create that response in the rest of her body.
And God Save the Queen -
It was glorious.
Was she really willing to let the opportunity to see something like this through to the end go?
And so she nodded. Yes, she did want this.
It could go horribly wrong.
George released his hold on her wrist and held his own hand out to her patiently. Hermione accepted it.
"Turn around," he requested after leading her around to his side of the desk.
Horribly right.
Her heart was beating out of her chest - whatever was about to happen would likely not easily be forgotten - and what if things went downhill and someone got hurt? She would feel terrible if… No.
"Bend over."
Hermione had heard George's voice say many things over their years of acquaintance-turned-friendship, but nothing quite prepared her for the wanton strumming of her libido and the delirious lightheadedness she experienced when he uttered those words.
And what was more, she obeyed.