Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ The Worst George Weasley CrossOver Plus Anime ❯ Dating Game edited ( Chapter 2 )

George and Fletcher…why?

 

Fletcher is just an innocent little boy. George…isn't. Somehow, by strange circumstances they both ended up on a dating game show. Who knew? Anyway, the two hotties…I mean, boys, have no idea they're to sit next to each other on stage. They have met, and this is how it went…

 

*fades in*

 

Fletcher sat in the green room, picking his nose…I mean, minding his own business. The food made him sick. The water made him sick. Everything about this godda-ng room made him sick. `Why the heck am I here?'

 

“I'm not girly, darn it!!” Fletcher says aloud to no one in particular. The people in the corner giggle lightly, but continue talking about Fletcher's `girly status' anyway.

 

He pouts a little. Stares around the room. And groans. `This stinks.'

 

The door bursts open, light shines through and blinds everyone for a moment. Well, it blinds Fletcher. A good looking man with red hair steps through. He surveys the room, piercing through Fletcher momentarily. Fletcher feels stunned by this…god. Anyway, a God has appeared before Fletcher. His mouth drops and his throat dries. His pants…well, lets not go there. His heart races. If only he would speak….

 

George spies the snack bar and grins. “You happen to have any Canary Creams?” He says in a perfect English accent. Fletcher sighs. The accents always get to him.

 

Noticing the soft sigh, George narrows his eyes and takes a step towards the cute little blonde boy.

 

“Do you like…candy?” George pulls from his pockets, which are unusually deep, an assortment of treats, wrapped in colorful wrappers.

 

Fletcher closes his gaping mouth and nods, finding something to say, he mutters “What-what are Canary Creams?” He turns red and looks away.

 

George grins toothily. “Wanna find out?” Fletcher fish mouths a little then shakes his head.

 

“No? Are you sure? You'll be the life of the party.” More grinning.

 

“Dates, get on set!” A voice over the P.A. system calls.

 

George crams the goodies back in his pocket. Abnormally large pockets. What the heck is he hiding in there anyway? “Maybe later?” He asks, a small glint in his eye.

 

Fletcher manages a small smile before heading out the door.

 

*fades out*

 

The stage is dark. The stool is cold and metal and very, very uncomfortable.

 

“Hey,” A voice says in the darkness, just as the man by the camera begins his countdown. “Why the hell are these bloody chairs so uncomfortable? Couldn't you sods get nice ones?”

 

Fletcher squeaks, but can't help agree. “Um….yeah.”

 

Finding support, George continues on his rant. “They're cold and hard and if I have to spend a bleeding hour here, I want my bum to be comfy!” He says loudly. “I mean, aren't you blokes' rich or what?” He scoffs.

 

“Well…um…” Fletcher begins to feel he's supporting a lunatic.

 

The man next to the camera rolls his eyes. “Gentlemen, please. Can I start the film? We're wasting money.” George clears his throat and Fletcher looks to the ground. A lighter is struck and smoke fills the small area.

 

The man groans. “Sir, you can't smoke while you're on stage.”

 

The third man sighs, and puts out the cigarette, mumbling under his breath. “Damn brat. Stupid bastard. I'm having it when we get back to the green room, punk.”

 

George grins. “Having what?”

 

The man stomps his foot. “Gentleman!”

 

The third man chuckles softly. Fletcher wants out. Like now.

 

The lights come on. Fletcher blinks as spots appear before his eyes. George smiles sweetly, waving at random members of the audience. A few of the girls swoon, desperate that he doesn't get chosen by the wrench wielding wench…

 

The mysterious third man glares. He glares a lot. Get used to it.

 

Glaring ensues as the announcer, a crazy mechanic bent on making a sex change potion, charges the stage. He flashes a smile and winks at the wrench wielding….girl. “Welcome ladies and gentleman to Three Gay Men and a lost little Girl! Erm….” He laughs and shakes his head. “Kidding. That's on later tonight when all the little girls and boys are tucked away, safe and sound.” He laughs again, only to the director's displeasure. The announcer winks at the director and continues rambling on.

 

“Yes, on tonight's episode, we have the charming young lady of R….well, we can't tell you that!” He chuckles and pats the blonde's shoulder. “So, tell us a bit about yourself!” He shoves the microphone in her face.

 

The blonde girl smiles and pushes the microphone away. “Well…I grew up in a small place in the country. My grandma and I-,”

 

“Tell me about your grandma! Is she hot?” George catcalls.

 

“Ew! Gross!” She wrinkles her nose.

 

The announcer takes the microphone back. “Now, now, mystery date number 1, we can't ask such vulgar questions.”

 

“I am not number 1! I am not urine!” George pouts and crosses his arms.

 

The mystery man sighs. “Shut up, brat. I have better things to be doing than this.”

 

George laughs. “Right. Then why are you here in the first place?”

 

The announcer waves his hands. “Hello boys! We have a cute-,” winks at the director, who face/palms and turns away, “-girl over here who wants to ask you some questions. Kindly give her your attention.”

 

George smiles and crosses his legs. “Go ahead, doll.”

 

The girl opens her mouth to speak, but George interrupts. Again. “No, not you!” She blinks. “Excuse me?”

 

“Mystery date number 2. We haven't heard anything from you since we started!” George leans towards the wall and knocks. “You still alive over there?”

 

Fletcher opens his mouth to reply, but squeaks. Wrench-girl fills in the silence. “Now wait just a minute! I'm supposed to get the date here!” She stands and stomps her foot.

 

George rolls his eyes. “Fine. But mystery date number 2, I'm chatting with you later.” He winks and makes a `caching' noise.

 

Wrench girl takes her seat and pulls out a handful of index cards. “Okay….So um, mystery date number 3, what is your worst habit?”

 

“That's lame. Next question.”

 

The crazy scientist of an announcer sighs. “Now, now, answer her question.”

 

“Smoking?”

 

“Oh gross. Why would you do that to yourself?” Wrench girl wrinkles her nose.

 

Mystery date 3 mutters. “You don't live with….”

 

“Next question. Mystery date number 1, what is your favorite food?”

 

“Cherries.”

 

“Hm….Okay.” Wrench girl flips through her index cards. “If you were an animal, date number 2, what would you be?”

 

Fletcher thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “Um…” He squeaks.

 

“A mouse. You do a lot of squeaking date number 2.” George laughs again. “I would call myself a rabbit, if you catch my drift.”

 

The third man rolls his eyes. “I'm having a cigarette.” He lights one up against the director's orders.

 

The announcer chuckles at nothing in particular. “You sound like fun!”

 

Fletcher squeaks again. “A mouse?”

 

“Commercial break!” The director yells, eyes drawn in and mouth tight. The announcer hops off the stage with a grin. “Yes sir!”

 

“And I thought you would be my biggest problem,” the director says as he follows the announcer out of the studio.

 

“Nope. I'm behaving!” The announcer giggles.

 

Mystery man finishes his cigarette just as his cell phone rings. “What?” He stands and walks to the back of the stage. “You set me up here. Well maybe I am enjoying myself. What do you have to say to that?” He holds his phone back as the person on the other end begins to wail.

 

George reaches into his pocket and pulls out a random piece of candy and throws it over the wall towards the `second mystery date'. “Want some candy?”

 

“Um…” Fletcher watches as it falls in his lap and squeaks a thank you.

 

“So what's your name?” George says, standing and stretching, rubbing his sore bum. “I've gotta know your name at least.” `Before I sleep with you….' He chuckles at his private thoughts, worrying Fletcher.

 

“Fletcher.” He squeaks.

 

“Fletcher?” George repeats it as he pulls out a piece of candy. “How old are ya, Fletcher?”

 

“Um, 16.”

 

George laughs, remembering his days as a 16 year-old. “How ya liking that candy, Fletcher?”

 

“Um, I haven't tried it yet.” Fletcher squeaks as he toys with the wrapping.

 

“That's rude. Break a man's heart, Fletcher.” George sobs. “I spent a lot of time making that candy. Wrapping it up.”

 

Fletcher blushes and quickly opens the candy and pops it in his mouth. “Mm…”

 

George waits for a reaction with a grin. Fletcher remains silent, kinda wanting more candy.

 

“So...Fletcher…”

 

“Could I have more?”

 

George chuckles. “Maybe later.” The doors open and the director walks in, storms in is more like it, followed by a skipping star-struck announcer.

 

Mysterious date number 3 ends his call and takes his seat. Wrench girl enters from stage right…when did she leave? No body knows. Fletcher fidgets around, trying to get comfortable, but finding it difficult.

 

The announcer smiles warmly. “Welcome back! Each of our mystery dates has been asked one random question. Let's see how they handle the emotional, personal, nitty-gritty subject matter!”

 

Wrench girl blinks a few times in surprise. She never really thought of questions that personal. “Um…well….”

 

George saves the day. “Where's the strangest place you ever had sex?” He says with a grin.

 

Mystery man 3 shrugs. “Elevator.”

 

Fletcher wriggles around. Something weird was happening. Indeed, his pants were strangely tight and his heart was pumping at a fast rate. But that orange haired god was…no…where….His eyes widen. He's sitting next to him! The man with beautiful hair and freckled skin whom he thought of as a god had the mouth of a sailor! What in the world!

 

George chuckles. “What about you, Fl…mouse?”

 

Fletcher squeaks and shakes his head, cheeks burning red with embarrassment.

 

“Sorry, what was that?” George asks, grinning, knowing that it must be awkward for the poor guy.

 

“Now wait just a moment!” Wrench girl yells. “That's not emotional! That's not even appropriate! I don't want to know where you had…I don't wanna know!”

 

George sighs. “Fine then. Take it away.” He crosses his arms.

 

Wrench girl takes a breath and rifles through those index cards. “Um…Mystery date number 2, what's your favorite type of wrench?”

 

The announcer snorts. The mysterious third date rolls his eyes. George laughs. “What kind of question is that?”

 

“Who's supposed to be asking the questions here? Me! Who's supposed to be getting the date-“

 

“Me.” George says with a smirk. “I'm trying very hard to get a date, thanks.”

 

Fletcher fidgets around his attention and concentration totally on his pants and how to hide a bulge.

 

“WHAT?” Wrench girl jumps up. “Like I'd pick you! You're arrogant and rude and dirty minded too! Who would ever want to go out with you?”

 

George smirks and stands up, peeking around the division wall. “Would you?”

 

The director had left the room several minutes ago. The cameras were stopped and the audience was asked to leave, but several remained. The announcer remained on stage, watching the hilarity ensue.

 

Fletcher blushes crimson, pulling his legs up, shirt down to cover his lap. He had been out for a while now. He left that proverbial closet several months ago.

 

Wrench girl pulls off her shoe and chucks it. “Oh my god!” She then storms off, shoulders squared.

 

Mystery man lights up another cigarette, wishing for a cold beer. He stands and pulls out his cell phone as he heads for the exit. “Hey Shui, want to meet me at the elevators?”

 

Noticing that his precious director had left, the announcer squeals. “Tatsumi-kun! Come back my love muffin!” He jumps off the stage and dashes to the exit.

 

George grins and takes a step forward. “Well, Fletcher? Are you going to leave a man hanging?” He tilts his head to the side with a small smile.

 

“I…I dunno what you did to me!” Fletcher squeaks.

 

“Aw…Fletcher, I had no idea you felt so strongly about me.” He takes another step forward.

 

“I-I don't!” Fletcher yells, his ears burning red.

“Ouch.”

 

“Not like that…I mean, there was something in that candy and now…” His bravery falters. His mouth dries. It had to be the hair. The pretty red hair and freckles.

 

“Oh, yeah,” George chuckles and reaches into his pocket, pulling out the candy. “What color was the wrapper, Fletcher?”

 

“Um….Blue.” Fletcher squeaks, pulling at his shirt, trying to keep himself covered.

 

“Ah. So I thought.” George nods. “My bad.” He smiles and stuffs the candy away then checks his watch. “Oh, sorry, Fletcher, look at the time! I'm actually late for a date.”

 

“Huh? What about…” Fletcher stutters and stops, looking down. “My problem?”

 

“That'll go away soon enough.” George says, thinking just how cute Fletcher looked when he was all pathetic.

 

“I want it to go away now!” Fletcher says. “Can't you make it go away? Now? Please?” He adds quickly.

 

George smirks. “I don't have a miracle pill, Fletcher. You can jerk off in the bathroom or,” He chuckles.

 

“Or?” Fletcher says, looking desperate.

 

George smirks and leans over to whisper in Fletcher's ear. “Sex.”

 

Fletcher's eyes widen and he squeaks, nearly falling off of the stool. Cold metal stool. “You're really gay?”

 

“I could be,” George says, looking down at Fletcher. He chuckles lightly after a few moments. “You have a phone right?”

Fletcher nods.

 

“Alrighty then. Give me your number, Fletcher and I'll give you a call.” He said, handing Fletcher a pen and paper.

 

He nods again, speech obviously failing him. He scratches his number down and hands it back.

 

“See ya, Fletcher.” He winks and pockets the paper and pen, heading off the stage. As the door closes behind George, he disapperates.

 

Blinking, Fletcher stands up, heading for the door, then pauses. “Wait…what's his name?”

 

 

Zee End.