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Gentle lingering touches and soft caresses defined the delicate way George Weasley loved you. His lips never pressed against yours with much force, but rather in a tender fashion with passion behind every movement, the boy you dearly loved acting as though every kiss he shared with you was the last. Never did he dare to proud along your lips in a demanding manner, his indulgence pushed to the side as your hands moved along the freckled skin of his arms, the hairs standing up as they moved. Underneath your touch, his muscles felt almost mushy, and every thought in his brain squashed the moment your body made contact with his.
Your forehead was pressed against his, both of you taking a breath, and your chests rising in sync. The breath falling from your lips caressed his, sparking his yearning before he surged forward to capture them in another kiss just as gentle as the one before. Almost simultaneously, your hands moved to entangle in the soft strands of his ginger hair, your pointer fingers moving to play around with the hint of curls sitting atop his head. Careful not to leave any marks, your nails moved along his scalp, George sighing as his lips detached from yours for a short moment.
“I love you.” He mouthed against your lips, his eyes opening to admire how yours lit up at the words.
A giggle escaped you as you breathed in. “I love you too.”
Without giving him the chance to reply, you moved forward to capture his lips in yet another kiss, determined not to let him go anytime soon. Just as fervently he responded, pulling your body impossibly close, two puzzle pieces meant for one another meeting. It didn’t matter that you could barely get a breath in, because as long as you could stay this close to him, indulging in the delicate way he loved you, you didn’t need anything else.