OWLs

Series: Love: A Chronicle
Title: OWLs
Author: lingering_nomad
Pairing: Fred/George
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 8 921
Warnings: If it’s dirty and you can do it with your mouth then it’s in here: snogging, fellatio, dirty talk, rimming. Oh yeah, and the whole twincest thing. Maybe underage (the boys are 16 in this one).
A/N: List of prequels: Change, Different. This is set at the end of their fifth year, which places it after the sex, but before the little epilogue in Consummation.Follow-ups: Haunted: Ghosts (posted at DW), Morning Musings.


~OWLS~


Fred winced, moving his head from side to side in an attempt to work the crick out of his neck. His four-poster was not the most accommodating of places for such arduous academic pursuits as he was currently engaged in, but then, this was hardly the first time Fred or his doppelganger, whose wand-light pierced the hangings of the bed opposite, had been made to endure the pitfalls of an all-nighter ensconced by scarlet velvet after the Library had closed for the night.

Ordinary Wizarding Levels, or “The Scourge of Fifth Year” as Fred like to think of it, was upon them, the first examination, Potions, set for the day after next.

All in all it wasn’t such a bad thing really, getting the worst over with early. Half a decade of Snape swooping down on every little mistake like a ravenous vulture had a way of cultivating good (survival) instincts when it came to brewing and both he and George were quite at ease with the practical aspect.

Having something mildly informative to write when they put quill to parchment for the theoretical test – now that’s where the challenge came in.

They’d been so preoccupied with trying to stabilise the transfiguration spells on their range of trick wands that they’d exercised a bit of “selective awareness” about the sheer amount of studying they needed to get done if they didn’t fancy Lee being the only sixth year boy in Gryffindor next term. While lesser men might’ve panicked at the realisation of just how great the discrepancy was between the amount of work they had to slog through and the amount of time they had to do it in, Fred and George Weasley were nothing if not resourceful and true to form, they had a brilliant plan at the ready to fall back on: cram until their eyes crossed and hope to Hades for luck.

It was a strategy that had served them splendidly in the past; honed through years of minimal studying in favour of more productive pursuits. Like Quidditch and pranking.

Never let it be said that the Weasley twins didn’t know how to prioritise.

Bringing his arms down from a spine-popping stretch, Fred’s left hand settled on the small of his back while his right went to his shoulder, kneading the lumps of rock his muscles had become. A glance at the scowling visage of Ectorius Fairfield, glaring sternly up at him from the open pages of his potions text (where the old Master was painstakingly demonstrating the variations in technique for distilling the three types of Charisma Concentrate) had him flipping the cover closed with a grimace.

It felt as though his skull was filled to capacity with a viscous roil of quantities and properties and rules and exceptions and any effort to add more at this stage would result in the entire concoction running together in a muddled muck of confusion.

In short, he needed a break.

And he had an inkling that his partner in crime was in need of one too.

After a final squeeze of his overtaxed tendons, Fred reached forward and parted the hangings, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress. With the glow of a Lumos shedding light on his path, he rose quietly to his feet. It was well passed the witching hour and both he and George had silencers cast ‘round their beds, lest their paging and scribbling disturb their soundly slumbering roommate; the magic of it whispering along Fred’s skin as he passed through the spell’s perimeter. Tightening his grip on his luminescent wand, he concentrated, dissipating the now-redundant ward with a silent Finite Incantatum, and made his way quietly toward his twin’s bedside.

Nonverbal casting was a skill the pair of them were quite chuffed to be the only ones in their year to have mastered. And yet, perversely, they’d still ended up with the lowest Charms marks of all the fifth year Gryffindors – just because the milk he and Georgie had conjured for the tea party they’d been instructed to cater out of thin air had been lavender and turquoise respectively. Though he did suspect his brother of bollixing it up on purpose, just so Fred wouldn’t be the only one.

Either way, it was simply more proof that if not for Quidditch and mates, school would be utterly pointless. The sodding stuff had tasted just fine and besides, who’d made the decree that milk had to be white anyway?

Reaching George’s bed, Fred’s hand came up, intent on parting the drapes, when a loud snore from the other side of the room split the silence, followed by some mumbling about a flying pony, followed in turn by the rustling of bedclothes as limbs were rearranged.

Fred froze in place, arm still extended, listening carefully.

Seconds stretched, filled with nothing but the sound of Lee’s even breathing, before a mild bout of vertigo alerted him to the fact that he hadn’t exhaled in nearly half a minute. As he let the air flow slowly through parted lips, he found himself once again thanking the Fates that he and George only had the one roommate, making for far easier sneaking about than the four his little brother had to contend with, even if Harry didn’t really count.

It was no secret that the Weasley twins were close, petting and touching and giving the general impression of being joined-at-the-hip, both at home and at school without raising too many eyebrows. At Hogwarts, people were either too self-absorbed to notice their antics, admired them enough to avoid causing offence or feared their reputation as pranksters enough to keep their noses out of their business.

Their family and those few whom they counted as friends had found their own ways of compartmentalising the intimacy he and George couldn’t hide if their lives depended on it, usually writing off their hugs and arms-around-shoulders and sitting-too-close as “twins being twinny.”

The lines were thin though, and Fred truly couldn’t predict how anyone would react to finding one of them sneaking into the other’s bed during the wee hours. Even if Lee wouldn’t automatically jump to the most lascivious conclusion, it was bound to earn them a ribbing; maybe a few cockeyed stares if word got out and while they didn’t mind public scrutiny when it came to their jokes, the inner workings of their rapport was a different cauldron of newts altogether.

Finally satisfied that he wasn’t about to be sprung, Fred eased the hangings back, feeling the feint buzz of George’s Silencio tickle the fine hairs at his nape as he poked his head inside. He found his brother sitting with his legs crossed Indian-style, hunched over with his elbows on his knees.

Shaggy swathes of copper hair hid George’s face, if not the fingers rubbing circles against his temples in what Fred imagined to be a rather ineffectual attempt at warding off a migraine. They each had a habit of gnashing their teeth when they became stressed, but Georgie, being the bigger fusspot out of the pair of them, was worse, making him prone to nasty tension headaches if left unchecked for too long.

“Hey,” Fred greeted quietly, keeping the decibels down for his twin’s benefit this time rather than Lee’s. George looked up and smiled wearily, making Fred’s heart clench just a little in sympathy at the sight of the dark circles underneath his brother’s eyes.

Poor lad looked positively done in.

“Swear we’ll never do this again,” George said, voice ragged from stress and lack of sleep.

Fred shrugged. “Not ‘till next time, at least,” he replied, smiling wryly and received a resigned huff in return. They both knew it was true. Each time they had one of these gruelling cram sessions they made a vow to study timeously for their next big test, only to conveniently forget any such oaths the moment the trial was behind them.

“Catch forty?” Fred questioned, a knee already on the mattress.

“You read my mind,” George replied around a yawn. His back arched as he stretched (flashing the thin line of vermillion curls between his bellybutton and the edge of his pyjama bottoms as his shirt drew up) before scooting over and shifting his notes and textbooks aside to make room for Fred’s lanky bulk.

After drawing his eyes away from his brother’s midsection, Fred made his way inside the cocoon of magic and heavy drapery, watching his exhausted twin lay down on his side. George’s still-lit wand was shoved beneath his pillow while his free hand patted a spot in front of him in a wordless request for Fred to lay down, apparently hoping for a bit of spooning while they relaxed.

Fred crawled over to his brother, but didn’t lay down immediately. Reaching over George and around the drapes, he found the alarm clock on the nightstand by feel and pulled it into the confines of the silencing spell. He tapped the contraption once with his wand, whispering “Triciplico” under his breath to set it for half an hour, before taking up his twin’s invitation. Instead of lying with his back to George as his twin had expected him to, he lay facing him, cupping the back of his brother’s neck and pulling him close until George’s head was tucked under his chin.

“Nox,” they murmured together and Fred felt his twin’s free hand glide along his arm to curl ‘round his wand, gently taking it from him to be stowed under the pillow with his own.

Doused in darkness, Fred felt George nuzzling at his throat and sighed softly, stroking behind his twin’s ear with a thumb. It felt so good to be holding his brother like this. All solid and cosy and comforting and safe and... just George – the collective term for fairly all things pleasant in Fred’s mind. OWLs and Potions faded from his thoughts, replaced by the warmth of his brother and the languid cadence of George’s ribcage expanding and contracting in time with Fred’s own...

... He didn’t realise that he’d dozed off until a little squirm and contented hum from beside him had him drifting back to awareness like a feather on a breeze.

Eyes closed, Fred smiled to himself. He could feel George’s lips mashed half against his collarbone, half against the neckline of his tank top, breathing rhythmically through his nose. Puffs of air swirled against his skin and he tilted his head back a little, exposing more of his throat to the phantom caresses. Thinking George was asleep, he hadn’t intended the move as enticement per se, but he was hardly disappointed when he felt his brother’s mouth gain purpose, moving to brush across his clavicle.

Mind lulled and body stirring, he arched closer, wordlessly encouraging, feeling George’s lips part against his neck, soft and moist, followed by the sound of open-mouthed kisses and the feel of gentle suction against sensitive skin.

A low moan reverberated from Fred’s throat and he tightened his grip in his twin’s hair, urging George’s head up from the spot he was laving just below the curve of Fred’s jaw. It took three insistent tugs before George finally looked up with a huff of reluctance; his face too shadowed for Fred to gauge his expression. He inched forward regardless, aligning his lips with his brother’s by feel and opened for him, sucking George’s waiting tongue into his mouth.

The ensuing kiss was fast and rough. Wet and messy, full of tongue and teeth, slick saliva and throaty groans.

God, it was perfect.

It had been far too long since they’d had a moment to connect with each other like this. What with product development and Quidditch practice and studying and bloody Dementors – a.k.a. Wandering Woodie Wilters – swarming all over the place! They’d never been so bold as to do this in the dormitory before, but right here, right now, Fred couldn’t remember why that was.

His cock was heavy and pulsing when they came up for air and George’s was likewise enflamed if the phallic tautness digging into Fred’s hip was any indication. They were both breathing hard. George’s dark-amber eyes gleamed in the dimness and Fred felt the need for sex rise in him like the tide.

Of course, as the Devil would have it, it was at that precise moment that the sound of throat-clearing noises began issuing from the clock, registering on Fred’s senses like needles stabbing into his ears.

Of all the dreadful timing...

As swiftly as he could, Fred groped for his wand and reached behind his twin to tap the gadget once, silencing the alarm before it could start nagging at them to “rise and shine.” There was a telling lack of movement beside him as he re-stowed the slim Alder shaft and Fred’s increasingly hopeful prick twitched in anticipation.

With a push to the shoulder, George was coaxed onto his back and Fred immediately began nibbling and licking at his mouth as he settled in between his splayed thighs. Bearing his weight on his knees, arse in the air, he placed his hands on George’s lower belly and started a slow trek upward, exploring his brother’s torso through the thin fabric of his shirt with deliberate caresses, intended to entice and enthral.

With their mouths open wide and tongues lapping deeply, Fred’s wandering hands found the slight swells of his twin’s pectorals and lingered there, kneading firmly, rubbing his palms in small circles until tight little points rose up beneath the material. George cooed into his mouth, tongue surging against Fred’s as his hips gave an involuntary buck – proof that his attempt at seduction was working.

Pleased with himself, Fred broke the kiss in increments, licking at George’s tongue even as he drew his lips away. Watching his brother avidly, drinking in as much detail as he could in the gloom, Fred switched from palms to pads of thumbs, flicking lightly over the tiny bumps, not unlike little bull’s-eyes, beneath the worn cotton.

George sucked air in through clenched teeth at the more focussed stimulation, clutching at the eiderdown, rolling his head from side to side against his pillow as he squirmed. His tousled mane slid across his face, creating patterns against his increasingly sweaty skin; his mouth slack as he panted softly.

Fred was driving him batty and the great prat knew exactly what he was doing too. Sensitive nipples was just one more trait they had in common and many a lazy summer afternoon had been whiled away in their room at the Burrow, tweaking and flicking and tickling and suckling until the barest pressure on their cocks would be enough to set them off.

This was not the time for such languid games, of course. Merlin knew, they ought to be studying.

And they would. Soon.

Just five more minutes. Five more minutes of Fred and pleasure and something other than corrosive venoms and odious fungi and powdered entrails of animals, centuries extinct.

Just five more minutes of this and then he’d sit up and—

George lost his train of thought as his twin’s teeth closed upon his bottom lip, tugging gently in a non-too-subtle entreaty for him to open up. He obeyed and a tongue came thrusting into his mouth once more; Fred’s weight shifting atop him, bringing their groins flush with each other’s – all in one move.

Rolling his hips and groaning down his brother’s throat, George was vaguely aware of those maddening hands straying from his chest to the hem of his shirt, pushing the material upward until it was bundled under his chin. Those wicked fingers immediately flitted downward again, seeking out his very erect nipples by feel. George gasped into the mouth covering his, thrusting his chest upward as the little nubs were teased and tickled with barely-there pressure, more exquisite than any rough twisting or pinching would’ve been.

He was so fucking hard.

His headache had faded to a dull fuzziness at the back of his skull, overpowered by the scent and touch and taste of his twin. Releasing the eiderdown to delve fingers into Fred’s hair, George lapped at the roof of his brother’s mouth, feeling the heat of Fred’s engorged genitals radiate through the thin material of their pyjama bottoms as their pelvises undulated together.

He was quite capable of coming this way...

... and had every intention of doing so, until a slight change of Fred’s posture and the presence of a hand at the waistband of his trousers informed him that his twin had a somewhat more indulgent modus operandi in mind.

A latent thread of responsibility tugged at George and he made himself heed it, bracing one hand against his brother’s shoulder while the other reached back over his head and under the pillow in search of his wand. Fred’s lips left a wet smear along his cheek as he turned his head to free his mouth. “Lumos,” he rasped, flooding the space with illumination as thirteen-and-a-quarter inches of Cherry wood was pulled from under the pillow.

He pushed up on his elbows then, forcing Fred to straighten as well.

Blinking away the spots on his retinas, George started at his twin, worrying his already bruised bottom lip between his teeth. Fred was squinting back at him with his nose scrunched up; confusion plain on his face. The hand that had been tormenting George’s chest was splayed against his sternum now, helping Fred keep his balance while the other remained resolutely tucked into the waist of George’s pyjamas, still intent on pulling down.

A combination of intuition and experience ensured that George knew exactly where his brother was going with this, and knowing Fred and his penchant for drawing things out, they really, really didn’t have time.

He’d sat up with every intention of telling Fred to stop; that they should simply toss off and be done with it, but the words just wouldn’t form. His eyes lighted on the stack of tomes and parchment relegated to the end of the bed before flitting back to the much, much more enticing sight of his twin kneeling between his legs.

The Lumos had obviously been a mistake. He could see Fred all too clearly now. What with his rosy skin and blown pupils; the little divot between his brows as he waited for George to explain what he was on about. His chest heaving like that, pouty lips parted to accommodate his laboured breathing, all plump and swollen and glistening red.

George could practically hear the crackle as the last of his resistance crumbled to dust.

It wasn’t like an Outstanding in Potions had been in the cards for them to begin with, he reminded himself, appeasing his conscience a little. But an O in Fred’s mouth on the other hand...

George let his bottom lip slip from between his teeth as he grinned, as much at the corniness of his pun as at the prospect of seeing it through. Dropping his wand beside him on the bed, he snagged the hem of his tee and pulled it over his head, flinging it in the general direction of the study supplies. Naked from the waist up, he reclined on his elbows and drew his knees up a bit, letting his legs fall open as wide as they’d go.

Where were we, then? was asked with the quirk of a brow.

The relief that flitted over Fred’s face would’ve tugged at the heartstrings if it hadn’t been so quickly replaced by a smirk.

A mite randy, are we? Fred’s eyes teased with equal eloquence, his tongue sweeping across his teeth in a salacious display that had George’s prick throbbing in demand and his hands shooting up to Fred’s shoulders, pressing downward none-too-gently.

Fred sniggered, but did as bade, slithering down George’s body like the serpent of Eden. He snagged the offending pyjama bottoms as he went, and pulled them off, leaving them in a bundle by the books and discarded shirt.

Kneeling once more between his twin’s parted thighs, Fred’s breath caught at the sight laid out before him. The bluish-white glow of the wand-light played off the slopes and angles of his brother’s sinewy form. George’s wide, Quidditch-toned shoulders and smooth, freckle-dusted chest gave way to the creamy planes of his belly and the sharp jut of bone at his hips. The ginger hair covering his thighs gleamed silver; his pubic thatch, growing from that enticing trail just below his navel, shadowed to become the darkest burgundy.

Not for the first time, Fred found himself stunned by how breathtakingly beautiful his brother was. It was a strange observation perhaps, because identical as they were, the sight of his own features in a mirror had never caused his throat to close just a little in awe – nor had anyone else’s for that matter, and he wondered about it sometimes.

But not now.

Not when there were more important things to concentrate on. Like George’s tumescent shaft, fat and flushed and glistening at the tip as a pearlescent bead splashed onto his belly.

Fred’s mouth watered and he had to swallow to keep from drooling. He probably shouldn’t enjoy performing this particular act as much as he did, but then, “should” rarely played a part in what he and Georgie got up to together.

Tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, Fred opened his mouth and leaned forward. The moment his lips closed on the head of his brother’s prick all the tension bled from his body: the last of the knots between his shoulder blades loosened; all the hollow places in his belly filled up. Even the tiny threads of musculature between his ribs relaxed, allowing him to truly breathe for the first time in days.

He couldn’t help but take advantage, drawing a deep breath in through his nose, filling his lungs with the medley of aromas his mind had long ago catalogued as “the smell of sex.” He exhaled slowly, casting his eyes up to watch his brother’s irises glitter in the wand-light as his breath whispered over his groin.

Serenity. That’s what this was. Arousal was almost a secondary concern.

He kept George’s cockhead on his tongue, savouring the taste and texture of him for as long as his twin’s patience held out. At last George whined softly, nudging his pelvis upward in a clear demand for Fred to get on with it, already!

Fred’s response was to let the head slip from his mouth, earning another frustrated sound from his twin. His shoulders shook with stifled laughter, eyes bright as he met his brother’s half-lidded gaze through his fringe. He rested the back of his hand just below George’s navel, cradling the vertical cock in his palm and licked a broad stripe from root to tip.

George sighed and swallowed thickly, urging Fred on with another small roll of his hips.

Giddy mischief mixing with the arousal coursing through his veins, Fred tried his twin’s restraint a moment longer, laving his way downward next. A tender kiss was pressed to each auburn-furred testicle, accompanied by the stroke of a thumb over the curve of dripping glans. George grunted, lashes fluttering and Fred’s eyes danced as he angled his brother’s prick to his lips and stuck out his tongue, moulding the pliant muscle to the shaft’s underside and promptly sucked half of it in.

A choked gurgle of appreciation met his ears as he set to work, one hand on George’s hip to keep him from bucking and one curled around the base of his twin’s cock, massaging and stroking the inches he couldn’t quite fit down his throat. His jaw was stretched uncomfortably far to accommodate his brother’s girth as it was, but he paid it no mind, finding a distorted pleasure in the slight ache below his ears and in his temples.

He bobbed up and down, flexing his tongue and pursing his lips, varying the suction with a combination of stroking and licking. George watched him intently, crooning and swearing – “Mmh, yeah... Fuck... Ungh... So gorgeous like this” – and Fred held that heated stare for as long as he could before the intensity overwhelmed him and he had to look away. His eyes drifted closed then, allowing the silky feel of pulsating warmth, the salty-sweet taste of pre-ejaculate and the rasp of his brother’s filthy-lovely encouragements to wash over his senses.

Fred’s own cock was heavy and hot in his trousers, and as often happened between them, the desire to reach down and cup himself had barely taken shape in his mind when his twin’s voice addressed it aloud.

“Touch yourself, Freddie,” he heard from above, causing a whimper to leak ‘round the cock in his mouth as a flush of pure lust bust over his skin.

Shifting to keep his balance, Fred released George’s hip and reached down, tucking his pyjamas under his balls with fingers made clumsy in their eagerness. The night air was cool against his overheated flesh and he shivered as he gripped himself, squeezing loosely, applying just enough pressure to tantalise, but not to distract from the uniquely gratifying task of pleasuring his twin.

He looked up again, watching his brother’s face as best he could through the veil of his hair, seeing George’s eyes dart from the sight of his cock stretching Fred’s mouth to the small movement of Fred’s arm as he stroked himself. He tightened his lips and slid another impossible centimetre of George’s dick into his mouth, flexing his tongue forcefully against the underside, squeezing himself in time with the undulating muscle.

“That’s it. Suck me, Freddie. Just like that,” George praised breathlessly, thighs trembling on either side of Fred’s head as he fought the need to thrust.

Fred chocked on a moan at the words, his cock surging in a way that had nothing to do with the maddeningly gentle pressure of his own hand. He rolled his hips in an exaggerated motion, his slackened grip ensuring that it was all for his brother’s benefit; the knowledge that George was watching him – seeing him... overcome like this – seeing and enjoying it, causing a powerful cocktail of emotion to blend in Fred’s chest.

He let up for a moment, gulping in air.

“Talk to me, Georgie,” he husked, voice thick and ravenous, holding his twin’s gaze as he lowered his mouth back to the straining length of his cock.

The tiny grin that flitted over George’s face seemed positively wicked in the half-light. “That’s it,” he all but growled, voice scraping over Fred’s senses like raw silk on crushed velvet, rough and luxurious, both at once. “Take it deep. Want the cream, don’t you, Freddie? Tell me, Fred. Is that what you want?”

Fred made a noise around George’s prick that felt like a curse word, flexing his tongue and sucking harder, making George grunt an obscenity of his own at the deluge of sensations engulfing his body.

“’Course you do,” he gasped, leering at his twin as his panting grew heavier. “Dirty thing, so hungry for spunk. Can’t get enough can you? Wanna feel it splash in your mouth, choke you a little. Feel it spill passed those pretty lips. Leaking down your chin even as it’s flooding down your throat. Would you like that, Freddie hmm? Me pumping such a big load in you that you’re dripping with it?”

George’s reward was another fervent sound of approval, Fred’s hips bucking harshly into the tunnel of his own hand.

George wanted to say more, but his train of thought was lost as Fred suckled his glans like a nursing infant, tickling the spot just beneath the ridge with the tip of his tongue while a hand squeezed his shaft, ensuring that not one inch of him was left unattended.

Blessed Mother of Mordred, Freddie could suck cock for England! George concluded yet again as his eyes threatened to roll back, slits of amber flickering in and out of focus, in time with the jolts of pleasure shooting through him from that oh-so-talented mouth.

Spreading his legs just that much further, he sat up a bit and reached down, petting Fred’s face along his cheeks to feel them hollow as they sucked him; along his lips to feel them stretched around his hardness before moving to Fred’s hair, stroking his fringe back from his forehead before letting his hand delve into the flame-coloured locks and closing his fist, close to the scalp so as not to pull too hard, but tight enough to take control of his brother’s movements.

Fred mewled softly, submitting keenly to his twin’s direction; the motion of his own hand on his prick adjusting at once to the rhythm George was setting for Fred’s mouth on his cock with the grip on his hair. The combination of thorough foreplay, Fred’s adroit tongue and the dizzying waves of passion inundating George as he essentially fucked his brother’s mouth coalesced, and it was less than a minute later that Fred felt the twitch of seed ducts against his bottom lip. Salty warmth burst over his tongue and down his throat as his twin arched and cried out.

... Loudly enough to cause a ripple in the silencing spell.

George bit his lip hard, body jerking as he rode out his orgasm, fingers fisting painfully tight in Fred’s hair. Fred, for his part, had stopped masturbating the moment the cry had left his brother’s lips, his eyes wide and watering as he concentrated on swallowing while trying to listen over the rush of blood in his ears, stomach lurching as the sound of a muffled snore cut like a stray bullet through their carnal haze.

Ah yes, they had a roommate, didn’t they. Fred remembered now.

That’s why they never fooled around in the dorms.

George finished coming at last, his spent cock slipping from Fred’s mouth as they both stilled, breathing shallowly, listening for the sound of hangings parting; a call of either of their names...

Neither came and it wasn’t long before the throbbing organ sticking up from Fred’s trousers reminded him of the fact that he was very hard, and very much in need of release. He stood up on his knees and began shimmying his pyjamas down his thighs, earning an incredulous gawp from his flushed and naked brother who was still straining his ears, trying to discern if Lee was asleep.

“Stop worrying, ya berk!” Fred sniped, pulling off his tank top and throwing it at George’s head in a fit of hormone-driven impatience.

George was scowling when he pulled the material away. He drew in a quick breath, lips parting to speak, but Fred cut him off with a hand slapped over his mouth.

George’s eyes flashed.

He hated it when Fred did that.

Fred however, refused to be fazed as he met that blazing gaze head-on. “He’s asleep, Georgie,” he half insisted, half implored, his tone disconcertingly similar to what he’d used on Mum when they were six and trying to convince her that they were indeed old enough to play Quidditch with “the big boys.” Hand still on George’s mouth, he leaned over and rummaged for his wand with the other, before casting a Silencio of his own. “Happy now?” he asked, quirking a brow at George as he tossed the implement aside.

George wasn’t sure if recasting the same spell twice actually doubled the effects or not, but he couldn’t deny that his nerves were eased a bit, knowing that his brother’s magic was reinforcing his own. Fred was the undisputed king of silencing charms. And, well... watching Freddie reach up to that wicked mouth of his with his free hand, swiping casually at the predicted spillage and licking it up, he had to admit that there was something deliciously naughty about doing this with his twin while their roommate slept, totally oblivious, a scant couple of yards away.

With a puckish glint dispelling the doubt in his eyes, George relaxed and let a leer unfurl behind his brother’s palm, earning a dazzling grin in return and the withdrawal of Fred’s hand from his mouth. Wasting no time, Fred practically tore his half discarded pyjama bottoms off, adding them to the pile at the end of the bed, before returning his focus to George.

“Now then, brother o’mine,” he husked, straddling George’s torso and scooting upward until his knees were tucked into his armpits, the tip of Fred’s erection all but bumping his nose, “hows about a little quid pro quo?” He grasped his cock as he spoke, running the dripping slit over George’s bottom lip, making it shine.

Eyes on Fred’s, George let his tongue peek out, tasting arousal and Fred. His hands came up, grasping palms-full of round, milky-pale arse and pulled slowly forward as he parted his lips, letting his twin feed him the thick rod, inch by inch, until he held as much of its length as he could on his tongue. He tightened his hands then, squeezing his brother’s bottom and sealing his lips as he began to suck.

Almost at once, sighs and mewls began cascading from above, interspersed with a “Fuck yes” here and an “Oh God, Georgie” there. George’s eyes took over the task of smiling in his mouth’s stead as he gazed up, watching Fred’s fingers play with his own hard little nipples; his twin’s head tilted back, the smooth expanse of his throat tantalisingly on display. The slight bump of Fred’s Adams Apple bobbed as he swallowed, the tendons in his neck flexing with the luscious little noises that dripped from his lips, and George’s spent cock tingled in appreciation.

He continued fondling his twin’s posterior as he blew him, finding special delight in feeling the muscles bunch and relax beneath the smooth skin as Fred’s body responded to the pleasure emanating from his groin.

Merlin knew, if he ever had to pick a favourite part of his brother’s anatomy—

An idea struck him then, and George eased his mouth back from his twin’s straining penis, letting his fingers delve deeper between Freddie’s arse cheeks to compensate. He found the puckered ring of Fred’s opening and circled it with an index finger, smirking knowingly when Fred sucked in a breath and tilted his bottom backward in what had become a rather instinctive reaction after months of ardent buggery.

“I want to lick you,” George gasped out, voice not quite as a commanding as he’d intended. “Here,” he forged on nonetheless, letting the tip of his finger breach his twin, feeling the little maw convulse around the unlubricated entry. He bit his lip, looking up into Fred’s glazed eyes, seeing a myriad of reactions swirling in the butterscotch pools.

George felt himself blushing. He didn’t remove his finger from Fred’s hole, but he kept it still as he waited for his brother to settle on a response.

There was a name for what he was proposing. “Rimming” he thought it was called. The word, printed in bold glossy red on the cover of a magazine, had caught his eye amidst a haphazard assortment of quarterlies and monthlies in a shop in Muggle London last summer, just before the family’s big trip to Egypt. Charlie had offered to take Ginny bargain hunting and he and Fred had tagged along, hoping to escape their mother’s incessant gushing about the Perfect Prefect and his new status as, drum roll please... Head Boy. As if.

Having grown up in the Wizarding World where the selection of printed media on offer was pretty much limited to a Ministry-approved mainstream and a couple of crackpot independents that most reputable news vendors were loathe to distribute, the notion that any magazine sold in broad daylight on an urban street would detail the act of locking lips with someone else’s arsehole, had struck both George and his doppelganger as something of a revelation.

It wasn’t that Wizardom was devoid of pornography. It was more a matter of attitudes toward such things being somewhat repressed compared to the Muggle outlook, not least due to the taboos associated with Connubialis Venefica, or Sex Magic in the common tongue, and obtaining a bit of “unmentionable reading” as their parents called it, tended to be a fairly clandestine endeavour. The few Wizarding magazines that had made the rounds in the boys’ dormitories at Hogwarts, containing little more than topless witches smiling coyly and fluttering their lashes, had seemed downright prim compared to the sight, stationary or not, of a man with his buttocks splayed wide as a woman’s tongue delved between.

Shocked nearly out of his knickers, George had thrust the magazine back onto the shelf while Fred choked on his own spit beside him, both blushing furiously and glancing around to ensure that no one had seen them looking. They’d had a chat about it in their room that evening, making a couple of crude jokes to cover their earlier fluster, before agreeing that it had seemed “gross” and that had been that.

Until the fucking started.

Ever since Christmas, the idea of putting his mouth there, where he’d had both his fingers and his cock – the only place on Fred’s body he hadn’t yet kissed – had been steadily evolving from iffy to intriguing and now, with the time and location of their impromptu romp buffeting his inhibitions, George found that he needed no further incentive. He could only imagine how things would feel on Freddie’s end, but knowing how good a mouth felt on his cock and a finger felt up arse, it ought to be bloody fantastic.

Fred was looking down at him, eyes big and boyish. He swallowed, and George could feel the uncertainty radiating off him in waves. They were generally not shy about trying new things with each other, but having someone else’s face buried back there... It was a strange concept at best and George found it hard to imagine what he would’ve done if Fred had suggested it first.

His answer to his twin’s unspoken qualms was a lopsided smile. Trust me, he begged with his gaze, running the palm of his free hand up and down Fred’s bottom, cupping and squeezing, while the finger in his hole nudged gently, reminding of the pleasure to be wrought from that secret place. He leaned forward, watching Fred’s face as he placed a pouty-lipped kiss against the tip of his cock, swirling his invading fingertip just inside the rim of Fred’s anus, making him close his eyes and grunt.

The teasing worked.

Keeping his eyes shut, Fred gave a single jerky nod and George had to swallow to keep a nervously excited giggle from bubbling up.

“Lie on your front for me?” he coaxed hoarsely, removing his finger from Fred’s hole.

It took a moment for Freddie’s addled brain to process the fact that he was actually required to move and his motions were slow and a tad laboured when he did, as though each muscle needed individual instruction. George did let a laugh escape then, earning a rude gesture from Fred as he swung a leg over to shift his weight off of George and onto the bed beside him. He rolled onto his side and George sat up to make room, letting Fred flop onto his stomach.

George manoeuvred himself down beside his twin’s knees then, and grasped Fred’s nearest calf, giving it a little pull to the side while his other hand bestowed a gentle pat to his brother’s hip, wordlessly urging him to spread. Fred’s head was on the pillow, one hand tucked underneath while the other clutched at the corner near his face, looking about one step away from sucking his thumb. The eye peeking over his shoulder and through his hair watched George intently as he obeyed.

George smiled fondly and squeezed Fred’s calf in reassurance as he climbed into the newly created vee of space between his brother’s legs. His lit wand was lying flat on the quilt near the edge of the bed, leaving Fred’s bottom mostly in shadow. He reached over, finding the luminescent-tipped wood before groping behind him for a book, using it to prop the wand close to Fred’s hip. With the full benefit of the Lumos casting light on his task, George stared at his twin’s rear. Mouth dry, he swallowed thickly and brought his hands up, cupping a taut buttock in each and pulled the cheeks apart, revealing the furled orifice nestled between.

He’d caught glimpses of the little furrow before of course, as he was lining up to shove his prick inside, but he’d never really taken the time to... well, “admire” was a word that came to mind.

Tiny and rosy and clenching a little with his twin’s anticipation it was... sort of... cute. Which was a rather queer thought to be having about someone’s arsehole and Freddie would certainly thwack him if he voiced it, but there it was. The little whorl was quite a pretty colour too, really – almost the exact same shade of pink Fred’s lips became when they’d been snogging for a long time.

George bit his lip, feeling a mite silly for what he considered a perfectly ridiculous observation, but even so, the idea of kissing this part of his brother really didn’t seem odd at all anymore.

Were they identical here as everywhere else?

Was this what Fred would see if – when – their roles were reversed?

George felt his own anus twitch at the thought.

He brought his right hand up to his face, keeping Fred’s bottom splayed with the left and stuck two fingers in his mouth, coating them thoroughly with saliva. Once satisfied with the amount of lubricant, he reached down, fingers trembling ever so slightly, and pressed the tips to the centre of the puckered skin. Fred’s breath stuttered and George watched as the little ring of muscle contracted and released. He massaged it gently, rubbing in a circle ‘round the rim, exactly as he did when he was preparing his twin for a buggering.

Fred was lying so very still though – as if he were afraid to move – and George’s eyes narrowed in concern. “Alright there, Freddie?” he murmured, releasing Fred’s buttock to caress a milky flank with one hand; the fingers of the other slowing in their tender petting of his brother’s hole.

“Mhmm,” Fred replied, lifting his bottom a little in encouragement. He sounded equal parts nervous and eager and George’s confidence grew, bolstered at hearing his own sentiments echoed in his brother’s tone. Moving both hands to cup Freddie’s cheeks, he massaged the pliant flesh in a circle, drawing a shuddery breath as he splayed them wide. And leaned in...

Fred’s breath hitched, the muscles in his thighs and arse tensing as he felt his twin’s nose bump against his tailbone. George’s breath was hot and sultry as it swirled along his crack and Fred felt his face heat with more than arousal. He felt vulnerable, exposed, and a little bit dirty in a way he never had before – a combination of sentiments that was not unexciting – but there was a hint of self-consciousness there as well.

Dear God, he hoped he smelled okay back there.

And what would it taste like?

He felt George’s lips press against the place his nose had bumped, stroking along the edge of his cleft with his thumbs. He shivered and let his eyes drift closed for a moment as goosebumps rippled over his skin. Every little touch, every puff of air seemed amplified ten-fold with anticipation, which despite his petty concerns, was indeed the overriding emotion he felt – fuelled by the hard tube of flesh trapped beneath his belly and the knowledge that the person behind him was George.

His other half, in body and soul.

There was no risk here. Not of rejection. Not of embarrassment. Not of anything truly distasteful.

There wasn’t a facet of life they hadn’t explored together and when they didn’t get something right the first time, they simply laughed it off and tried ag—

Fred’s thoughts stopped dead as he felt a rush of air brush his bottom and his eyes widened, staring blindly at the hangings as he realised that his brother was bloody well breathing him in!

“You smell so good, Freddie,” came the gravelly whisper from below, allaying the misgivings no doubt sensed through the workings of their bond, and then, without so much as a pause, there was the moist pressure of a tongue sliding over Fred’s hole.

Surprised at the odd sensation, he gasped and shuddered, fingers tightening around George’s pillow as the tip of that tongue nudged forward, wriggling a bit. And probed inside.

“Oh my God!” he choked out, squeezing his eyes shut and arching his back, cock throbbing at both the thought and feel of what was happening to him. His brother’s tongue flicked at the inner edges of his anus, swirling around and then, as quickly as it had appeared it withdrew.

“Tastes fucking amazing,” was growled in that silk-on-velvet voice, punctuated with a nip to the curve of an arse cheek and then the tongue was back on his hole, drowning out the sting of teeth by tickling and flicking in a way that Fred couldn’t have imagined if he’d ever thought to try.

“Georgie... Georgie...” he chanted the pet name like a mantra, writhing under his twin’s ministrations as a vortex of sensations churned inside him, pulling him in and dragging him under.

This felt... Oh Lord, this felt incredible! Fred managed to think as he squirmed, spreading his legs as wide as he could, hips thrusting into the mattress, seeking a rhythm between the quilt on his erection and the sinuous invasion piercing hole. Coils of heat were winding in his belly, making his balls ache and his already over-filled cock twitch and throb as what had to be the last of the blood in his body set a course due south.

His arsehole was clenching against the intrusion of his brother’s tongue, burning to be opened and stretched. Fucking hell, he’d swear he could even feel his prostate throbbing in time with his cock, swollen and begging to be stroked.

“Put—put your fingers in me, Georgie,” he gasped out, the urgency in his tone leaving the request in limbo between a demand and a plea. “I need... I need...” he babbled, bending his knees and raising his bottom higher, showcasing his angry-red cock and the plump sac of his tightly-drawn scrotum, dangling beneath.

George sat back on his haunches as Fred shifted about, as much to admire the view as catch his breath in preparation for the homestretch. Because if Fred’s flushed skin and near incoherence didn’t prove how close he was to the edge, then the state of his bollocks most certainly did.

Fred settled in place and the tips of George’s index and middle fingers went up to his wet and loosened ring. The digits circled once in a token test of resistance before driving forward, making Fred groan into the pillow and reach a hand down to palm his bobbing cock as he was breached.

George began to move his hand, feeling the sultry sheath of Fred’s rectum ripple along the insertion. He leaned in once more, sodomising his twin with one hand, splaying Fred’s cleft with the other and latched his mouth onto the spasming muscles guarding his brother’s entrance, forcing the little orifice open between his fingers and pressed his tongue inside as deep as it would go.

Fred’s whimper of delight, muffled in the pillow as it was, sounded close to a sob, wringing a moan from George as he tried to picture for himself the image they presented: Fred in a supplicant’s pose with his bottom in the air, legs spread wide as George’s fingers worked on milking his prostate, his tongue licking at his inner walls...

His twin’s hips jerked then, driving Freddie’s cock sharply into the constriction his own fist and George knew what was coming.

“G-gonna—” Fred stammered redundantly at the same moment as George’s hand closed around his own on his cock, angling the trembling organ downward and sealing his mouth over the crown as the first searing-hot jet of semen pulsed from the slit. The salty liquid rushed over his palette, hitting the back of his throat in a torrent and George swallowed fast, holding his breath to keep from choking.

Some spillage was inevitable as his brother jerked with the shocks of release, but he managed well enough, saving them the trouble of having to bother with Tergeos when it was all over and done with. Cleaning charms were fine and well for clothes and furniture, but they always left a hint of tackiness behind on the skin that only soap and water could truly get rid of, lending a bit of practicality to the intimate act of swallowing each other down.

When Fred’s cock stopped spurting, George laved it carefully, mindful of the oversensitivity after orgasm as he cleaned up and down the shaft; pressing the gentlest of kisses to the softening head in a parting gesture before sitting back on his heels.

Freddie rolled over, flopping almost bonelessly onto his side. George wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, watching Fred watch him as he licked it clean, following his twin’s example of how to deal with spill-over.

He held Fred’s gaze when he was done, smiling almost shyly.

“Well,” Fred remarked as his eyes lighted on George’s prick for a moment, taking in the half-recovered tumescence with a grin as if pleased at seeing the evidence of their mutual enjoyment, “that was certainly better than Potions.”

George’s eyes widened, smile turning wan at the reminder. Oh that’s right. They had a test day after tomorrow. For which they were supposed to be studying.

Fuck.

For a while there he’d actually forgotten.

Taking in Fred’s Cheshire grin, George rolled his eyes. “If we fail Potions I’m blaming you,” he groused, even as he reached out to his twin’s nearest foot, stroking over the arch and around to the ankle, needing to touch as they were both want to do in the afterglow.

Fred merely chuckled and sat up, seizing George by the shoulders and manhandling him until he was laying back on the pillow with Fred hovering over him, mussed copper hair falling rakishly over one eye.

“Deal,” he agreed rather cheekily, before dipping down to steal a kiss, letting his tongue slip out to appease his curiosity over the flavours clinging to his brother’s lips. He lingered a moment, distinguishing seed and George and a taste that was new but hardly repulsive, before pulling back and carrying on as if no interruption had taken place. “Sod OWLs, Georgie. Academics and test scores are for aspiring Ministry drones. Like Bighead Boy.” His eyes dipped down, indicating the seventh years’ dormitory downstairs where their older brother would be sleeping.

“As for you and me...” Gentle fingers rose to brush a sweat-soaked swathe of hair from George’s brow.

“Trust me, mate. What we need to know’s not gonna be part of any Hogwarts school-board-approved curriculum. Nothing that’s worth it ever comes wrapped up in a neat little packages like that, I guarantee you,” he stated earnestly, using that odd brand of Fred Wisdom that George had never quite learned how to counter.

“And for the record,” he added, retrieving George’s wand from the end of the bed and handing it to him, “I’d be happy to take the blame for failing Muggle Studies and History of Magic as well, if you happened to be so inclined.” The statement was punctuated with a leer kissed onto the curve of George’s shoulder as Fred cuddled up to his side.

Watching his brother nuzzling him, Freddie’s naked body warm and pliant in sated bliss, George couldn’t help but smile anew.

He reached over and tapped the alarm with his wand, murmuring “Quinqio,” before casting a “Nox,” enveloping them in shadow. He dropped his wand then, wrapping an arm around his twin.

Just five more minutes, he promised himself as he dipped his head, seeking Fred’s lips in the dark with his own.


~FIN~


End A/N: Three guesses what I should’ve been doing when I came up with this. Just hope it didn’t drag on too long *frets* I usually believe in shorter being sweeter when it comes to smut, but once these two got going they just wouldn’t quit... Mmm, guess they really do hate studying XD