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“Hey, babe. I heard the new acoustic song you and the boys put up yesterday.”
George greeted his curly-haired boyfriend with a soft, chaste kiss and an affectionate nuzzle against his shoulder before returning to the pot of mac and cheese he was busy with at the stove. “Oh, yeah? D’you like it?”
“Well, yeah, but.”
“But?” George paused, looking back over at the other boy with a slightly worried crease settling on his brow.
Harry wound his long arms around George’s waist, nestling himself against the gentle curve of his boyfriend’s back as he adoringly rubbed his cheek against his soft blue T-shirt, reminding George of a kitten. “Your voice broke a bit. I got sort of worried about you. Were you sick? You know I don’t think you should be singing when you’re sick, Georgie.”
And George’s face immediately burned at the mention of his previously sore throat, mind flashing with memories of why it was like that. “I-I wasn’t... Sick, Haz. Th-That was because... ’Cause we... Um... Th-The night before...”
When Harry wasn’t seeming to quite get it, George huffed adorably (in Harry’s opinion, anyway), turned his head to the side to look straight at Harry, and pantomimed sucking on something, a vulgar gesture that involved George shoving his tongue obscenely up against the inside of his cheek and bringing his hand up to lazily pump the empty air near his mouth.
And he may have tacked on a cheeky little smile afterwards.
And without much warning at all, Harry had spun his sweet-faced (make that red-faced) boyfriend all the way around to face him, still holding the brown-eyed boy securely in his arms, if not even closer and tighter, because oh, yeah, he remembered now.
He remembered, alright, but he suddenly wanted to re-enact the events from that night, just to be sure.