How can somthing so wrong feel this good?

Fred Weasley awoke with a start, breathless and drenched in a cold sweat. His bed covers were bunched up at the bottom of the bed, and his pillow was on the floor. This had become a habit as of late, it had been weeks since he had slept through the night.

He rolled over onto one side and picked up his pillow off the floor. On the other side of the room, in an identical twin bed, he saw his identical twin brother, George, who was fast asleep. Enough moonlight came through the window to illuminate his pale, freckled face and the fine red hair spilling onto the pillow, giving him an angelic look. He had just a hint of a twisted grin, even in his sleep.

They had never been apart from each other for more than a few minutes. They shared their bedrooms, their clothes, their school supplies. They even finished each other’s sentences. They excelled at the same things, liked the same people, and had the same ambitions. Even their own family had trouble telling them apart.

Surprisingly, they stayed close and never fought, aside from minor squabbling, which was always short-lived. One would expect the twins to be angry that everyone saw them as the same person, to lash out at each other, to want more privacy, as most twins do. But to them, being together was like being alone. They really were that alike.

A cool breeze blew through the window and George shivered in his sleep. Sickly aroused, Fred thought about the dream he had been having. It was the same every night. Him and George together. Kissing and groping at each other desperately. The dreams were always from a third-person perspective, so Fred could see what they looked like together; limbs entangled, both covered with light red hair and sprinkled with freckles. It was truly beautiful, two mirror images, down to the very last freckle, each knowing exactly what the other wants, and giving it so selflessly.

Fred tried to drive the thoughts from his head. He shouldn’t be thinking about his brother that way. He knew it was wrong. But the dream wouldn’t go away. And strangely enough, his arousal didn’t go away when he was awake.

It had become hard to act normal around George since the dreams started. He felt embarrassed, as if George could read his thoughts (which sometimes happened). Fred was so scared that he would find out and their relationship would be forever changed.

Fred stared at his sleeping brother, feeling torn between his conscience and a growing lust. His dream had left him with a massive erection, and it was starting to throb. He knew if he didn’t take care of it now, it would just hurt more.

He guiltily slipped a hand inside his pyjama flannels and grasped his tumescent cock. As he stroked himself, slowly at first, Fred was determined not to think about George, anyone else would do, just not George.

He shut his eyes tight and tried to picture Angelina Johnson, naked except for her Quidditch gear. One time in their third year, he and George had borrowed
Harry’s invisibility cloak and snuck into the girls’ locker room after practice and watched her undress. That had been great wank-off material for years. But now, no matter how hard Fred concentrated, the image kept fading into George in nothing but Quidditch gear. Dammit, couldn’t it be anyone else? His mind catalogued through every girl he knew, and even a few boys, but George kept coming back.

Frustrated beyond belief, Fred finally gave in to his undying lust and opened his eyes to gaze upon his oblivious sleeping brother. His twin, the object of his lust. As wrong as it seemed, he could no longer deny what he was feeling, he had to go with it.

His right hand pumped vigorously while he cupped his balls with his left. It was hard for him not to cry out in ecstasy. It felt so good, and George was so beautiful lying there, curled up and hugging the blankets in close, looking so much more innocent than he could ever look awake.

It was easy to imagine that George was the one stroking him, as they had the same hands and probably masturbated the same way. They would know exactly what to do to each other. They could practically read each other’s minds, so he could imagine, sex would be absolutely amazing. But Fred could never risk telling George his feelings; it could ruin everything. It would be much worse than ruining the best of friendships. This was his twin.

As he neared orgasm, he pumped faster and gripped his sac tighter. His release was forceful, spilling all over his tight abdomen.

He lay there breathing heavily, staring at his brother the whole time, and hating himself for giving in yet again. It was never going to stop if he kept allowing these nighttime weaknesses. He was risking everything. Why did it have to be his brother?

When the afterglow wore off, Fred grabbed his wand from the nightstand and whispered a cleaning spell. When he tucked himself back into bed, he faced himself away from George. He couldn’t stand to think about what he had just done. It took awhile, but eventually he fell asleep again.

When his brother finally let out a snore, George opened his eyes. He quietly slipped out from under the covers and walked over to Fred’s bed, sitting on the edge to stroke his brother’s silky red hair. He knew his brother was a heavy sleeper and wouldn’t wake. “That was some show you just gave me little brother,” he whispered and leaned down to kiss Fred’s forehead. “Next time, wake me up.”