Change

Series: Love: A Chronicle
Title: Change
Author: lingering_nomad
Pairing: Fred/George
Rating: NC-17ish (just to be on the safe side).
Word Count: 3 884
Warnings: Twincest and underage... uh, touching I guess, no real sex as yet.
A/N: So, um, yeah. I’ve read a lot of ficcage making reference to the twins “playing” with each other since they were little and well, this here is my take on how that might’ve come about. It’s sweet and cute and hopefully a couple of y’all will like it. So yeah, read on! Next in the series: Different, Consummation, OWLs, Haunted: Ghosts (posted at DW), Morning Musings.


~CHANGE~


“Freddie? ... Fred? ... Fred? ... Freddie? ...” pleaded the thin voice of an anxious child; each address punctuated by an insistent poke at the lump curled beneath a faded sky-and-racing-broom duvet, currently on its fourth rotation on the hand-me-down circuit.

“Hmm?” the lump mumbled drowsily, squirming a little as if to burrow into the mattress.

“Freddie, please wake up. Please?” the small voice implored, the somewhat desperate note to it making the lump on the bed stir and turn over before sitting up. The duvet fell back, revealing pale skin, freckles and mussed copper hair sticking up at odd angles.

“Wussa matter Georgie?” Fred asked groggily, rubbing at his eyes. One look at the hazy shadows in the room told him that it was quite early still, the sun not even properly up yet.

His hovering mirror image blushed darkly. “I... IthinkIwetthebed,” George mumbled in a tone that no one but his twin could’ve caught, averting his gaze and biting his bottom lip hard to keep it from trembling.

Fred’s tawny eyes, the exact same shade as his brother’s, widened at the revelation. “You—” he broke off to yawn hugely, “think?” He didn’t quite fathom how one could “think” they’d wet the bed. It didn’t seem like the sort of scenario that would leave much room for interpretation after all. The bed was either wet or it wasn’t.

George merely nodded, looking like he was fighting hard to keep his ignominy from worsening by adding tears to the mix and Fred understood only too well. They’d been eleven for a whole three months now. They’d be going off to Hogwarts with Charlie and Percy come autumn. Wetting the bed at this stage... well, it would be devastating.

Fred studied his twin’s features, noting the utter mortification in them, and felt his heart constrict. Born fourth and fifth out of seven children, their parents’ time and energy spread predictably thin, turning to each other when they needed a bit of coddling had long been second nature for them. They trusted each other implicitly and Fred knew full well that George’s reluctance to cry had far more to do with his own self-censure than any anticipated criticism from Fred. George was his twin. His brother and best mate all rolled into one. Rattling him was no easy feat, but if something did, then it was Fred’s job to make it better, just as George did for him when the tables were turned.

Scratching absently at the lines his pillow had left on his cheek, Fred smiled a fond little smile. “It’s okay Georgie. I’ll help you clean up.” It was too bad they weren’t allowed to have wands yet or a good old Tergeo could’ve taken care of it. For now though, they’d have to get by with skulking about and manual labour.

With a plan of action in mind, Fred pulled himself from the comfort of his bed and stood up. Putting first things first, he wrapped his arms around his distraught brother, hoping to console the poor lad a little before they set to work. Pressed close as they were, chest to chest, crotch to crotch, both dressed in nothing but undies and Muggle style tee-shirts in an attempt to stay cool in the summer’s heat, the wetness staining George’s pants was impossible to miss.

Diplomacy died a quick death as Fred grimaced and took a hasty step back, his eyes darting to his brother’s groin where the view of George’s privates was practically unobscured by a thin layer of wet white cotton, all but sheer and clinging obscenely.

George’s blush darkened and then he was hooking his fingers in his soiled pants and pulling them off, tossing them forcefully into a corner of the room. Nudity in front of his brother wasn’t an issue – what he had Fred had – but standing there, wearing the evidence of what any eleven year old boy would consider a lethal blow to their “young man” status was another matter altogether.

They hadn’t been allowed to bathe together since they were nine – young men washed on their own, their father had said – but they still dressed and undressed in each other’s presence all the time. The sight of George’s lolling cock was nothing new, yet Fred couldn’t help but take a moment to appreciate the smattering of jasper-hued curls recently sprouted around the base of it. The similarity of their bodies was something they’d always taken for granted and it was quite fascinating to track the new resemblances as they embarked on the journey into manhood.

“Don’t stare,” George sulked, slipping into the nervous habit of squirming in place, moving his hips from side to side and inadvertently making the plump tube of flesh pendulum from one thigh to the other.

Looking up, Fred winced at the crestfallen look on his brother’s face. “Sorry Georgie,” he apologised sincerely and pulled his twin in for another tight hug, placing a soft kiss on his cheek to reassure him. That was yet another thing “young men” weren’t supposed to do according to Dad – kissing each other – so doing so now, Fred reasoned, would prove to his brother that he wasn’t being mocked for the slip.

Melting instantly at the gentle attention, George wrapped his arms around Fred’s shoulders and buried his face against his neck, stifling a sniffle.

“Shh. There now,” Fred cooed rubbing George’s back in soothing circles.

They stayed like that for a lengthy moment – Fred caressing, George nuzzling – and then the former was tightening his arms in a fortifying squeeze and backing up a little to catch the latter’s eyes. Even with the lack of moisture against his shirt, Fred was still relieved to see the absence of actual tears. He would never mock his brother for crying true enough, but tears, even George’s, always made him feel like he was about to sit down for a test he hadn’t studied for.

“We’d best get to it, hmm? Before anyone else wakes up,” he suggested as kindly as he could, keeping a hand on George’s upper arm and rubbing encouragingly.

George nodded, still looking embarrassed, but not quite as ashamed as before and Fred smiled, giving his twin’s arm a last little squeeze, before turning to the task at hand.

They moved to the bed, George pulling away the top sheet along with his own crimson-and-golden-snitch covered duvet, while Fred set about un-tucking the bottom sheet from the mattress. He paused mid-reach, frowning in surprise as he caught sight of the actual stain. He turned his head this way and that, regarding the spot askance. It certainly wasn’t the watery, yellowish splodge he’d been expecting.

Not even close.

“This doesn’t look like wee,” he announced, staring at the small puddle of cloudy, slightly viscous fluid with perplexity dominating his features.

“Huh?” George queried, looking up from the task of rummaging for a fresh pair of pants. The hint of apprehension he’d heard in Fred’s tone took quick precedence over modesty and the bedclothes ended up in the corner with his sodden y-fronts as he promptly sidled up to his twin. Eyes wide, George scrutinised the peculiar stain anew, his sense of chagrin not quite as blinding as it had been when he’d first woken up to the feel of soggy nether bits. Trepidation was rising quickly in its stead as he too came up at a loss for identifying the gummy-looking mess.

Noticing his brother’s rising alarm, Fred bent forward a tad and sniffed delicately, not daring to bring his nose too close. “Doesn’t smell like wee, either.” What it did smell like Fred couldn’t really say, but... he almost... sort of... liked it.

“What d’you reckon it is?” George asked, his voice getting reedy again.

“Dunno.” Fred scratched at his head. “D’you feel ill?” he asked, bringing his hand up to his brother’s forehead with features pinched in concentration. George felt a little warm but he couldn’t tell whether he actually had a temperature or not.

“Not really,” George said after a moment’s consideration. “Is there something wrong with me, you think?”

Fred shrugged and sat on the bed (a good ways away from the mystery stain) and pulled George down beside him. George snuggled in close, resting his head on Fred’s shoulder as Fred wrapped a consolidating arm around his back, quietly puzzling over the conundrum with all the erudition of their combined eleven years.

The proverbial light bulb came on for Fred first and his expression was almost smug as he turned his gilded regard upon his twin.

“Hey, you remember over Christmas break when Perce got all flustered about Mum changing his linens? And she got all weepy ‘cause of her ‘baby growing up so fast’?”

“Mhmm” George confirmed, a small divot forming between his eyes as he cottoned on to his brother’s train of thought, “and Charlie said we weren’t allowed to harry him, ‘cause it’s man stuff and we’d know what it’s like soon enough...”

“... and then you asked what laundry had to do with ‘man stuff...’”

“... and he said when wizards get ready to make babies they get these dodgy dreams...”

“... that’ll make you wet the bed...”

“... but it’s not really wetting the bed,” George finished, turning expectant eyes toward his twin.

Fred nodded sagely and then tilted his head a little as he considered his brother, “Did you have a dodgy dream?”

George’s expression grew pensive as he thought it over, trying to recall details that had since sunk back into the murk of his subconscious. “I might’ve,” he said, uncertainly, “I don’t remember exactly, but I felt rather... odd when I woke up I s’pose.”

“Odd how?”

“Like... I dunno... like warm all over. And a bit shivery. And... and... well... you know that feeling you get when you wash your willie and you rub the cloth over it, but... like... a dozen rubs at once?” George met Fred’s gaze again, his honey-coloured eyes willing his twin to understand what he meant.

Fred did. Sort of.

“I tried that, you know. On our birthday,” he declared, a smidge of bravado colouring his tone as it became his turn to prove that he wasn’t lagging in the march to maturity, “the rubbing I mean.” He held his brother’s intrigued gaze a moment and then, pouting a little, he added, “Nothing came out though.”

“Well, what if you tried it now?” George asked, sounding adamant. As much as Fred didn’t want to feel left behind, George didn’t want to feel like he was outpacing his twin either.

Fred bit his lip as butterflies erupted in his tummy. What if he tried it and still nothing came out?

“It’d be alright, Freddie... you know if... if nothing happens, but maybe we can just see, yeah?” George asked hopefully, practically reading Fred’s thoughts.

Fred drank in his brother’s bolstering smile and countered with a slightly nervous one of his own. Taking a deep breath, he screwed up his courage. “Um... okay then,” he agreed, and promptly set about untangling himself from his twin. Once both his arms were his own again, he used them to brace himself and lifted his hips by unspoken consensus, allowing George to snag his pants and pull them down to his shins from where he could simply kick them off.

They sat side by side then, both naked from the waist down with a puddle of George’s cooled ejaculate not two feet away.

The puddle notwithstanding, being naked with his twin like this was far from a novel experience, yet Fred found himself acutely aware of a swirling anticipation in his belly, not unlike waking up on Christmas morning or setting off a new type of firecracker for the first time. Strangely curious, he looked over, letting his eyes traverse the view of his brother’s genitals peeking out from under the hem of his shirt.

George, for his part, was doing the same with Fred’s, each cataloguing his twin’s identical anatomy with a deliberateness that had never been there before.

They saw each other nude often enough sure, but this was different.

This was important.

This was... exciting.

On impulse, George reached over and lightly carded his fingers through the hair above Fred’s cock.

The digits barely had a chance to register the weirdly familiar contrast between springy curls and satiny skin when a sibilant intake of breath split the air. Startled, George quickly yanked his hand away. “Sorry,” he apologised, wide-eyed; worried that he’d hurt his bother somehow.

“’S alright,” Fred assured, albeit a tad gruffly, closing his eyes and squirming a bit as goosebumps broke over his skin, “Just—just felt a mite weird is all.”

George giggled then and when Fred opened his eyes and followed his twin’s gaze he realised that his brother’s touch had made more than just the tiny hairs on his arms stand on end. His eyes widened and he couldn’t help but blush. He looked off to the side, not quite sure what to make of all this.

“Aw Freddie don’t be shy,” George wheedled, and Fred felt a petal soft brush against his cheek as his twin kissed him lightly. Far from being soothing though, the small gesture seemed to go right to his belly, intensifying the swirling there.

“Mine’s the same, check it,” George proclaimed amidst a fresh bout of giggles, shimmying his hips on the bed to make his stiffened penis wag from side to side in a rather obscene parody of waving hello.

Catching a peripheral glance of his twin’s antics, Fred looked over once more and grinned as his mischievous streak took an interest. With a snicker of his own he reached over and cupped his brother, squeezing ever so slightly as if giving a handshake.

George stopped giggling instantaneously. His breath hitched and his hips jerked, pressing his engorged genitals tighter against his brother’s palm. Fred began to pull away, but George grabbed hold of his wrist and kept his hand still. “Do it again,” he said breathily, a bright flush blossoming on his cheeks and chest, meeting in the middle.

“George?” Fred questioned with a renewed edge of confusion, not sure what this reaction meant when all he’d intended to do was joke about with his brother.

“It feels... so nice, Freddie,” George tried to explain, breath hitching as he rocked his hips against his twin’s trapped hand. Noticing the growing bewilderment in Fred’s expression he reached over with his free hand and gently took hold of his brother’s half-mast tumescence, attempting to clarify his meaning with a demonstration instead.

Fred’s first reaction to the intimate contact was a startled little jolt, but then George began fondling tenderly, petting Fred’s bollocks the same way he might a kitten; squeezing his cock like a small tube of toothpaste and that was all it took to have Fred’s pelvis rolling upward of its own accord.

“Oh—oh my,” he husked, the hand on George’s cock beginning to stroke and knead more deliberately, mimicking the nimble fingers working between Fred’s own legs.

It wasn’t long before Fred shivered and the first spurt of chalky goo came bursting over George’s hand, followed by four more in quick succession. Fred’s grip tightened as he came and that sent George over the edge as well, coating Fred’s fingers in a pearly white glaze.

They both slumped a little, feeling dazed and panting shallowly.

A minute passed and as the dreamy head-spinning feeling started to ebb, Fred brought his gooey fingers up to his face and fanned them open and closed, watching the sticky fluid thread between them like spiders’ silk.

It sort of reminded him of Mum’s meringue before it was cooked.

Fred rather liked meringue.

He sniffed at it, bringing his hand right up close to his face this time. It smelled like... George, but... concentrated?

Extract of George.

Fred grinned at the idea.

Thoroughly intrigued, he brought a finger to his mouth and stuck out his tongue to take a lick. It tasted... He couldn’t decide, so he licked it again... and again, until the digit was all but clean.

“What’s it taste like?” George asked idly from beside him. Fred’d felt the bed shift as his brother lay back and when he turned to look at him, he found his twin with his shirt bundled under his chin, painting doodles around his coral-tipped nipples using his wet fingers – painting his skin with Fred’s leavings.

The sight set off a new rush of warmth within Fred, igniting in his belly; one half shooting down into his still tingling bollocks and the other upward, settling behind his sternum. He swallowed, feeling a little overwhelmed, albeit not in a threatening way. Nothing he shared with George could ever be threatening. “I dunno,” he said honestly, bringing his still glistening fingers down to George’s face, giving him the chance to decide for himself.

George arched a brow at him, but he took hold of Fred’s wrist anyway and pulled a finger between his lips, making lightening dance along Fred’s arm as he sucked at it like he might a Sugar-spun Quill. He pulled back after a moment, crinkling his nose. “I dunno,” he repeated Fred’s assessment. “It’s not pumpkin juice, but... it’s not foul either.”

He brought his own hand up, the one he’d caught Fred’s juices in, and licked at that too. “Yours is about that same,” he said, stretching his hand up toward Fred’s mouth. Fred lapped at the digit, snickering knowingly as George’s breath hitched at the contact. “Yeah,” he agreed. “This has our genies in it, though. It should be the same,” he added a little imperiously, remembering something their teacher had said about everyone having different “genies” except for them, on account of their being identical twins.

“It’s ‘genes,’ ya plonker,” George corrected with a giggle, looking up at Fred with rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, his hands now lying still across his solar plexus.

Fred stared at him. The way George looked right then made a floaty, bubbly feeling spread out from his chest all the way to the ends of his fingers and the tips of his toes and the roots of his hair. On a whim he leaned over and kissed George on the lips – the way Dad kissed Mum when she looked particularly pretty or made something special for dinner. George let another giggle escape as their lips touched, the sound vibrating between them, but then he seemed to sober and pursed his lips a little, kissing Fred back.

He sighed contentedly when Fred pulled away, reaching up with his dry hand and pressing his fingertips against Fred’s cheek, the gesture no less soulful than the stolen kisses they’d shared.
Fred smiled softly, letting his eyelids droop as he leaned into the caress.

“I don’t reckon you wee-ed in the bed, Georgie,” he concluded when his brother’s hand retracted, reminding of the dilemma that had started it all.

“Mhmm,” George agreed dismissively, Fred’s languid smile copied on his lips.

Secure in the deduction that his twin’s distress had been allayed, it took but an instant for Fred’s grin to turn impish. “I made more ’en you,” he challenged, eyes dancing as he looked down at the streaks of white lining George’s upper torso, reaching over and making a game of connecting the freckles dotting the moist, silky-soft skin.

“Nu-uuh!” George denied vehemently, swatting at his twin’s wandering hand as the fingers found a nipple and prodded playfully. “I’ve already had a go, haven’t I? And there was loads the first time. My pants were soaked!”

Fred merely giggled as he pulled his hand to safety, rolling onto his back next to his twin.

“That was rather fun,” George mused after a beat, turning to Fred with an odd amalgamation of glee and awe and pride in his eyes.

Fred gazed back, smiling and blushing a little. “Uh-huh,” he agreed, feeling rather chuffed himself. He very rarely wondered at the dynamics of being a single sibling, but it seemed a terribly lonely existence to him right then, what with having to sort through so much newness and strangeness all by oneself.

No wonder Percy had gotten flustered!

Yeah alright, so Perce got flustered at the drop of a hat, but Fred couldn’t blame him this time ‘round. He could only imagine how disconcerting all this would’ve been without a mirror image there to turn to, to talk to, to touch...

The thought was unpleasant and he shied from it, fingers absently trailing through the moisture on his belly as he stared up at the ceiling; thoughts turning to his body and the loose, warm feeling washing through his limbs.

They lay in silence for a while then, absently touching and petting in a way that an unbiased observer might’ve described as “enjoying the afterglow.” At length, Fred sighed, turning his head to peer at his brother. “Oi Forge? You sleepy?” he queried, a bit of restlessness creeping into his tone.

“No Gred,” was the unequivocal response.

The ghoul clunked in the attic and both of them heaved the exact same sigh as boredom began to set in.

“D’you s’pose we’re gonna have to start shaving soon?” George asked, eyes trailing the scorch marks high on the far wall where a Dr. Filibuster’s all-weather Catharine Wheel had been deflected after going off by accident.

Fred shrugged in answer, countering with a question of his own that would’ve seemed entirely non sequitur in a conventional discussion. “Have you noticed how Charlie tends to rub at his face just before he wakes up?”

The logic being applied here, though, was anything but conventional.

In perfect synchronisation the two boys’ heads turned toward each other as identical wicked grins stole across their faces.

“I’ll get the shaving cream!” they chimed in unison.

~FIN~

End A/N: Okay, so I realise the boys might seem kinda naive, but bear in mind, they grew up in a place called “Ottery St. Catchpole” – sans Google and M-TV. Also, these people have a thousand children and with the twins being more independent than the rest, some things are bound to slip through the cracks. Suggestions/constructive criticism is always appreciated. Remember, feedback is what plot bunnies feed on.