How. Long. Until.
And that is why George has knocked down the only boundary that had stood between them and let his twin show him what it is like to cross it.
George wakes up in his arms.
He lets out a shaky sigh, and stretches ever so slightly to loosen his muscles. They ache a little.
Because Fred has him ensconced.
And last night, he had lain under him and let him make love to him until they both forgot all the right and wrong, all the implications.
George shivers wherever his skin touches Fred's. He shudders out an involuntary breath.
Fred opens his eyes to his twin twined intimately with him. Bare, sleep warmed skin, and the scent of last night.
George watches him; Fred is sleepy eyed and tousle haired, with a certain air of sadness about him; of hesitation, of apprehension. George can feel how his muscles have tensed.
"George.. I.."
"It's okay.." George smiles softly at him, reaching a hand and gently petting his hair, undoing the tightly coiled tension and dissipating the heaviness in an instant. "I missed you."
"I missed you too."
Such an understatement. They both know it. No need to mention it.
"You'd..you'd cried.." Fred states timidly.
George smiles languidly, blinking lazily at him. "And you'd cried too." he murmurs.
Fred traces a delicate pattern along his ear, his jaw, as he looks at him tenderly. He is radiant in the morning light; eyes a liquid brown, hair a spill of fiery red silk. "Why did you cry?"
"Why did you cry?" George counters, smiling calmly.
"I.." Fred falters. He closes his eyes for a moment, opens them again to look at his face. His bearing is sweet, gentle; something that makes Fred love this person who looks like him, yet isn't him...
"Because I love you so much," he whispers it, like it's something sacred, something so pure, so delicate, that it must only be uttered in the softest of tones.
Because I've always loved you. Because I saw it's deep depths and was shattered by its magnitude.
What was it for you, George?
"Did I hurt you?" Fred asks, desperate to know the meaning behind the tears his twin had shed, yet shying away from asking it directly a second time.
"No," George whispers, still smiling that soft smile. "You were gentle. As though I'm something fragile." he ends in a playful chuckle, and Fred smiles sheepishly.
Look at them, lying wrapped inseparably together and whispering like lovers...
But what is this for you, George?
Fred takes a short breath, wanting to ask it aloud, but falters.
So anxious and jittery before the person whom he has known since the moment of his creation.
"Your heart is hammering," George murmurs. "I can feel it.." he places a palm over his chest, wedged between their twined bodies. "Relax.." George whispers it like honey dripping, and Fred is intoxicated by the scent, the sound...
George traps his lips softly between his.
He forgets how George has avoided giving his reason for the tears.
The quiet lull of the morning after wasn't to stay for long, though.
Because Fred would be reminded of it soon.
He would be reminded of it again and again.
The way George had closed his eyes, pressed his head sideways to the pillow, and let the tears flow...
Because the ebb and flow of each other's thoughts cannot be blocked from their intimately connected minds. Every little nuance is picked up.
Fred loves him in the nights with a passion that alternates between mild and violent.
Sometimes, George would turn his back and curl with the blankets drawn high, trying to drown in the sheer heat that fills his body, the blush that flames his skin.
Its shame. No matter how hard he tries to deny it. How hard he tries to quell it. How hard he tries to reason:
This is necessary.
And then he would feel Fred's lips over his neck, his jaw. Fred's hand skim gently over the smooth insides of his thighs, and when he moves those long fingers along a slow trail until he reached there, George would be burning up, consumed entirely by the sheer heat..
Fred always turns him around to face him. It's always with him above, dominating him. Gently, like their first, most of the times.
But sometimes, when George doesn't shut his eyes against the sheer heat, he would stare straight into Fred's. Those eyes never seem lost. They're always on him, narrowed and dilated.
That's when Fred sees his soul and recognizes the shame, and that's when he goes from mild to violent.
Bitter and cheated.
When this happens, Fred asks him a lot of things he normally wouldn't.
If he likes doing it with him, if he likes it when he fucks him hard, if he has ever been fucked like this, if he has ever fucked anyone else. George doesn't respond the first few times as he turns his head stubbornly and closes his eyes, jaws setting hard and teeth grinding against the pain. But soon, he forgoes his pride, as love wins out.
George looks at him and moans the words Fred wants to hear through tearful eyes, the distress in them stoked into a fire as angry as Fred's...
Fred drives into him with a rhythm that builds to a shrill crescendo, until he empties himself, all his anger, all his bitterness...
Despite everything, George accepts him, with his alternating moods, with his deep, dark depths and his limitless love, his embitterment and blind faith, his dominance and powerlessness...
When Fred relaxes his taut muscles and collapses down, pressing him down into the mattress, George would only stroke his back, pet his damp hair, kiss softly along his ear, and reiterate in a gentler voice that he loves him.
No matter how hard Fred makes it for him.
But what Fred really wants to ask is:
Do you love me the way I love you?