Chapter 3
There was something pressing against the top of Fred’s head, and though he had been awake for twenty minutes he had yet to do anything about it. His position was comfortable and his limbs heavy with sleep, the bright sunlight feeling much more bearable as an orange glow behind his eyelids than it did unadulterated. But now his neck was starting to itch and his mouth was dry. He would have to get up.
Reluctantly, he freed an arm from where it was curled beneath his body to push the weight off his head, rolling his wrist. Said arm was asleep and this was not a pleasant time for such a thing, but maybe if he just moved it to get the blood flowing again—
He froze. His hand had just connected with someone else’s. He slipped his fingers up the smooth, warm skin, finding the bump of a knuckle and the ridge of an old scar and the curve of a wrist and a vein and… wait. He backtracked. Back over the wrist and the vein, to the scar. A scar that was twelve years old, a product of an older sister’s overenthusiastic dueling roleplay. A scar that had been worn down through the years, turning pale and dry and barely noticeable, but had never quite gone away. This was Lee’s hand.
Bloody hell, Lee’s hand. In his hair. Rather abruptly Fred dropped his arm again, holding as still as he could manage—which was suddenly a lot harder now that he was concentrating on it. Why on earth was Lee Jordan’s hand in his hair? What had they been doing last night? Maybe he didn’t want to know. Or he did, desperately. Where was George? George would know. George would laugh his arse off about it, too. Fred winced, then remembered he should be playing statues. Okay, get a hold of yourself. Don’t move or you’ll ruin it. Never mind the thirst or the itch. He shut his eyes once more and tried to memorize the sensation of his best friend’s touch, just in case he might never get it again.
This was comedic; if he’d been watching from the outside he would’ve dissolved into roaring hysterics several minutes previous. But every spot Lee’s fingers came in contact with his scalp tingled and the energy coursing down all the way to his toes made him feel slightly breathless, like his heart was hovering at the top of his ribcage. Merlin, Fred, get a hold of yourself. You aren’t usually this much of a disaster. And yet he also wasn’t usually lying on the floor with Lee’s hand in his hair, sharing a blanket. Heck, at this point they were practically sleeping togeth—get a grip. And hold still, for all that is good and green on this earth, or he’ll wake up and it’ll be over.
He did his best to find reason. It wasn’t like they hadn’t slept together before—dozing off side by side in the common room or in the dormitories late at night wasn’t new. But then again, it had never been like this. It had never felt like this, ‘cause it hadn’t happened since—well. Well. No point in skimping around the fact now. It hadn’t happened since Fred had realized last summer that he was hopelessly gay, and hopelessly in love with his best friend. Lee Jordan. Everything about him was wonderful and exhilarating and—
Okay, this was not helping. There was no reason to be found here, and he would have to move.
“G’morning,” Lee yawned, and Fred opened his eyes to see half his face tilting off the sofa. His voice was rough with sleep.
“Morning,” he managed, forcing his heart back to its normal position. Lee grinned at him and then slowly brought his arm back up to the cushions, sliding his fingers across Fred’s skull and ghosting over his ear in the process. Goosebumps broke out on Fred’s chest.
“Your hair looks a sight.”
“And you’re saying it’s my fault?”
He laughed and leaned back down to push the red strays out of Fred’s face, now letting his hand trail over Fred’s neck. “You happy?”
More goosebumps and Fred was grinning back, not entirely of his own accord. “Yeah.”
Lee was still looking straight at him, and he sat up quickly. His face was hot; this was getting really awkward really fast. He should change the subject, and then again Lee had just brushed his hair out of his face—was that flirting? They’d always been physical people, so maybe he was reading too far into things, but—
“We’ve gotta clean up, I reckon,” Lee pushed the blanket to the side, making no comment about how they’d been sharing it, and pointed across the table. “George won.”
Fred blinked. Oh, the sneaky bastard. And there was his note: went to the library to study Herbology. Fred would eat a bezoar raw if that was true… but maybe he shouldn’t complain.
“I could do the butterbeers and the floor, you do the cards?”
“On it,” glad of the distraction he began to scoop them up, keeping his eyes and thoughts fixed firmly on the table while he sorted them into piles. Such a thing could’ve been done magically in a heartbeat, but he needed something to do with his hands.
Lee by contrast had no qualms about wandwork, and with a tinkling of glass all the bottles were banished to the recycling bin, spill stains nowhere to be found. The room was warm and empty, dust motes hanging in the light of the window. Glowing embers were the only thing in the hearth now, and the muffled clicks of the music machine and footsteps of students above their heads made everything feel hushed. This was far too much space for Fred’s mind to wander in. He needed to find a new subject, fast. “You’ve got your rehash with McGonagall today, right?”
Lee Jordan had been commentating on Hogwarts Quidditch matches since second year. He had a knack for it, and nobody would admit it but he was the only one who could always tell the Gryffindor beaters apart (though he did occasionally switch them just for fun). Despite his lack of objectivity and proper language while following the game, McGonagall had grown quite fond of him, and invited him over for tea and biscuits after every match for a slightly raucous play-by-play Slytherin-insult-fest—this side of her no one else saw, but half of the Gryffindor house knew of it through Lee’s spirited rehashes of the rehashes.
“Indeed, indeed,” Lee was teetering precariously on a box to reach the dustpan hanging in the closet, which clanged against the wall every time he tried to grab it, the strain comically audible in his voice. “Won’t be too frenzied this time though, Hufflepuff wasn’t dirty.”
“Oi, Samuels nearly took my eye out with his bat!”
“Alicia knocked him off his broom, he was flailing!” The box creaked, and Lee swayed dangerously.
“Defending the Hufflepuffs now, what a betrayal.” Fred grinned, watching his acrobatics.
“Alright, alright, well—oh, bollocks!” There was a loud crack! and the box caved in. Lee fell over backwards into the dark and the dustpan was yanked off the hook, clattering deafeningly against the floor. Fred burst out laughing and leapt over the coffee table to help.
“Fred, you bloody arse,” Lee groaned from inside the closet. “I’ve probably broken a rib or something, and you laugh!”
He was starfished on a collapsed stack of rags with his right foot stuck through the broken box, one forearm thrown dramatically across his face. His jumper had ridden all the way up to show that the ribs had been left intact, faint outlines against the dark skin. Smooth muscle gave way to tummy and then his hip bones pushed in, guiding Fred’s gaze down the triangle that disappeared into his waistband. He didn’t realize he was staring until Lee took his arm off his face and craned his neck to look at him. His jumper slid back down.
“Uh,” Fred was feeling very intelligent. His ears burned. “Here—” he reached down to grasp Lee’s wrist and suddenly their faces were feeling rather close together in the dark, Lee using a shelf to sit up further, dark eyes wide. Fred’s heart was throbbing in his chest and the place where his palm connected with Lee’s skin felt fuzzy and shockingly cold. What would happen if he just leaned down, right now, and kissed him? How would it feel? What would Lee—Get a hold of yourself, Merlin’s beard! Lee gave a huff of barely intentional laughter and pushed himself back to standing, grabbing Fred’s sleeve and then his waist for support, and Fred leaned dangerously towards him.
But alas, they had forgotten the box. It was still hooked over Lee’s ankle, and when he tried to put weight on it everything went south. With a scraping noise the box slid out from under him, across the stone floor, and into Fred’s legs. Fred promptly fell forward, grabbing the shelf to avoid putting a dent in his head and grabbing Lee around the ribcage. his forehead was pressed against Lee’s cheek, and he was inhaling the scent of sweet sweat and grass. Lee slipped back down to the floor with some colorful phrases, fingers digging into Fred’s waist. There was more clattering when Fred stuck one foot back and connected with the dustpan, effectively kicking it into the door hinges. He landed with half his legs across Lee’s, still holding himself up on the shelf, but when his grip finally failed and he went pinwheeling backwards Lee caught him under the shoulders, panting—
And before Fred could stop himself he had leaned forward and kissed him.
Light was pulsing behind his eyelids and Lee’s face was hot against his skin, lips warm and soft. Lee was pressing back now, and oh, no, oh fuck, this was bad—
Fred broke away, gasping, heart thundering in his chest. “Lee, Lee, I’m sorry, I didn’t, I, I didn’t ask—”
But the other boy’s startled stare was melting into a grin, mouth slightly open, chest heaving. He grabbed Fred’s arm and pulled him back in, voice low. “Can—can we do that again?”
All the air left Fred’s body. “Yes.”
So Lee tilted forward, turning his head to the side so that their noses wouldn’t bump, and their mouths met once more. He was gripping the seams of Fred’s jumper and Fred gave in, pressing him against the shelf so that their chests touched. The back of Lee’s neck was damp with sweat where he cupped it and though Fred had him pinned he was returning the kiss fiercely, arms wrapped around Fred’s shoulders. The tip of his tongue was slipping over Fred’s bottom lip, and he shivered. When Lee pulled away, breathing hard, Fred sat back, feeling hot all over. Blood was roaring in his ears, and his lips and fingers were tingling where they’d made contact with Lee’s body.
“Blimey,” Lee ran his knuckles under his jaw, failing to hide a smile.
Fred couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, I’ll say.”
His legs were still splayed over Lee’s and he pulled them back towards his chest now, letting his head rest against the cool wood of the shelf. “Was that… was that good?”
Lee sat forward, staring. “Are you kidding? That was great, I mean, I—did you like it?”
“Yeah.” The smile in Fred’s voice was audible. “Yeah, I did.”