Up to No Good

"Oi, jackpot, Fred!" I whisper, pointing to the pot of quills on the desk across the room. I can feel his body heat behind me as we creep stealthily through the door and he shuts it with a low click.

On the wall, kittens are snoozing contentedly in their plates, their tiny snores rustling the bows around their necks. "I reckon we ought to quiet those buggers," I say, gesturing with my wand.

"Right. I reckon we ought to quiet this whole room, actually." Fred flicks his wand lazily, casting a silencing charm across Headmistress Umbridge's office, this monstrosity of feminine horror.

"Let's get to it, yeah?" I say, padding across the carpet, my bare toes sinking in.

Fred is close at my heels, his fingers leaping excitedly across my back, mad and gleeful. His enthusiasm broadens my own smile, which is already tugging my cheeks apart. I know this mood of his, filled to overflowing with mischief and naughtiness. It makes warmth spread through my belly and flush my face.

I stop to let him step ahead of me and start rummaging through the contents of the desk. He yanks all of the quills out of her pot, spreading them across its surface, counting. I watch his long, pale fingers work, quick and graceful, but cautious. He touches each one gingerly before he sets his grip around it, prepared for it to suddenly become vicious. "Six," he says. "All of them tame. Definitely hers. Think we can manage?" He glances sidelong at me, his eyes brilliant in the dimness.

"Absolutely." My heart is skipping around in my ribcage. I imagine Umbridge tucked into her (no doubt large, frilly, and rather pink) bed, flapping and snorting away, and I can't help chuckling. "She's not the only one around here capable of turning a little quill into a weapon."

"George, you sadist," grins Fred, his gaze growing brighter. "Get up here, let's get to work."

I'm just finishing a hex on one of the quills (from hereon out, it will cease to write anything other than Umbridge is a great ugly twat) when Fred grips my arm with one hand and points with his wand with the other. There's a leaf of paper lying across the desk, half written-upon. "Whassit?" he asks. "Grab that."

I snatch the paper up, and Fred lights the end of his wand. "Hogwarts High Inquisitor Educational..." he begins.

I finish. "Decree number twenty-nine..."

It was unfinished. Our eyes lock. I tap at Umbridge's desk with my wand,annoyed. Fred taps across mine with his, and it falls from my fingers and clatters among the quills. "No need to worry, big brother," he says, a wicked smile spreading over his freckles. "I think I know what to do with this."

"Shove it up her great fat arse," I respond. "Vile beast."

But Fred isn't listening. His wand is boucing from hand to hand. I can hear his breathing quickening a bit. I can see in the wandlight that his cheeks are growing a familiar shade of pink. The muscles in my belly start to jump reflexively. My heart batters my chest a bit harder. "Fred, you're not...."

"Thinking of doing this?" He steps quickly into place behind me and clutches a hand about my hip. His fingers are hard and possessive. "I am, actually." I can feel him stirring underneath his pyjama bottoms, pressed up against my backside. My stomach muscles jerk wildly. Suddenly, he drags the tip of his wand up my spine and pulls it across my scalp, through my hair. I feel him twisting a bit, til he's got a bit of my hair wrapped around it, and he tugs gently back. A shot of electricity hits all of my nerves at once, and I feel my knees buckle slightly. "And you're not?"

"Well, don't you reckon..." my voice shakes. I feel my cock stiffening.

"That we might get found out?" He slips the wand out of my hair. "Yes, I reckon we might, and..."

"That's the part you like the most, you filthy wanker." In spite of myself, I can feel my own grin widening.

His lips brush my ear as he leans into me and reaches around to pluck my wand off of Umbridge's desk and toss it to the floor behind him. "No brilliant ideas, Georgie love," he whispers, despite the silencing charm. He's trying to sound menacing, but it just makes me want to bite his snarly little lips. My balls are aching. I feel him take his own wand, press it to the bare skin of my shoulders again, and start to swirl it lazily across my back, sending sparks along my skin, and I can't discern whether they're coming from me or the wand.

"Careful with that thing," I tease, mildly alarmed. "State you're in, you're likely to..."

"Make you explode?" He presses the wand between my shoulder blades. My back arches. "That was the idea, really," he says, letting it slide back down. "Don't get your knickers in a bunch." He pulls back the elastic waist of my pyjama pants and makes a show of peering down them. My fingers grip the desk so hard they turn white. "Oh, nevermind," he says. "I forgot. No knickers."

I can feel his cock throbbing through two layers of fabric, hard and insistent against me. Mine is trapped uncomfortably between my belly and the edge of the desk, twitching. My heart has migrated north to my throat, beating my breath out of me through my lips.

"Let me see if you open up for me like that brilliant map," he says, leaning into me further, making me gasp a bit. He bites at the flesh behind my ear, speaks directly against the shell from the other side. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

I lean my head back against his shoulder and nip at the freckles along his jaw. His skin is hot. "Always up to no good, you are," I say, my voice sounding hoarse and thick.

"Mmhmm. And you're a right Saint. So did it work?" His hands grip the waistband of my pyjamas and yank them down over my hips. I wriggle to help him slide them off. I feel my cock leaking onto my belly.

He grabs my arse roughly with both hands, squeezes, lets his thumbs creep into the cleft. I feel his wand pressed hard against my right side, trapped under his hand. Sweat is rolling down my back now. His body is a furnace.

"No, didn't work. Guess we'll need to help it along. What do you say, George?"

"Brilliant idea," I say, my voice bordering on a moan. My brain has gone fuzzy. It's buzzing with white noise, like the broken Muggle television set our father keeps on the kitchen counter. It's searing hot.

I feel Fred fumble to grip his wand. His hands are shaking. No matter how many times he does this, his hands always shake, like he's afraid he's going to muck it up, or break me, or like he's so worked up his nerves are misfiring. I tip my head back. My hair falls into his, and I can't tell who is who, and he leans into my lips. This is our ritual. I burn. He shakes. We kiss. My tongue traces the inside of his mouth. You won't hurt me. His teeth grip my bottom lip and tug. It's all right.

I feel the tip of his wand bump against his thumb, still pressed against me. He lets go of my mouth, takes a breath to speak, then rushes back in, like he forgot something between my lips. His tongue is insistent, hungry, in-bloody-credible. I open up for him again, let him all the way in, feel his moans echoing off of my teeth into my skull.

Then he pulls away and draws another breath. It comes out of him like he's shivering. He braces his forehead against the back of my neck and mutters down at his wand. I feel myself grow warm and slick. His thumb edges over to judge his success, and, finding it satisfactory, his wand hits the carpet with a soft thud. I feel it brush my calf on the way down.

He makes swift work of his own pyjamas, dropping them into a puddle on the floor, and his bare body leans into mine, pressing hard, urgent, demanding. He grabs his cock, sliding it up my body, wetting it. I reach behind me with one hand to grip him hard in my fist, pumping a few times just to hear him say my name. He does, leaning to press his face into my hair. I guide him toward me, then grab at the desk to steady myself.

His narrow chest heaves against my back. His voice against the silence sounds wrecked. "Tell me when."

"Right bloody now," I say, pulling the voice out of my belly. I'm already trembling, half afraid of being walked in upon, half hoping we are, all of me needing him inside, needing him to fill all of my empty places.

And he does. Slowly, he slides his cock into me, pausing to let me breathe and stretch and beg. When I feel like he's almost all the way through my body, pressing against my stomach from the inside, he reaches around and takes my cock in his hand. I'm bracing us both against Umbridge's ugly desk, and he's tugging at my cock, and I can feel him start to thrust. At first he's slow, finding his rhythm, but soon he's pounding at me, shoving the head of his prick into that fantastic spot inside me over and over, and his hand is working my cock furiously.

His other hand wraps around me, finds my mouth as I'm opening wide to groan, like he means to cover it, but he just slips three of his fingertips inside and I bite down as he's fucking me, glad to have some purchase. His breath is hot against my neck, and he's grunting and swearing and rutting, and our bodies are sticking to each other with sweat, and I can feel everything in my body go rigid, pull up, get taut like an elastic band.

"Oh, Gods, Freddie," I choke out. "I'm..."

"I know it," he practically snarls into my shoulder. He jerks his hand out of my mouth and grabs at my hip, pulling me back against him as he comes forward again. His other hand presses my cock down against the top of the desk, and he slides his palm over the head, letting it draw circles into his skin. When I start to come, he pulls his hand away, letting me spill everything all over the desk in hot spurts, covering the quills, the quaint little doilies, Educational Decree Number Twenty-Nine.

His chin is up on my shoulder, watching, and the sight of me losing my wad makes him buck into me and lose his own, coming hot and hard inside of me. I feel him once, twice, three times, and I lose count at five, lolling my head back against him, eyes up in my head, loose and spent with hot, delicious mischief in my blood.

Fred presses kisses into my shoulder blades, his mouth in a slack and satisfied smile. I don't have to see him to picture the look on his face. "Bloody brilliant," he slurs into my skin, his tongue licking at the sweat there.

Our bodies reluctantly part from each other, and I feel, for a moment, some sort of vague loneliness that quickly settles down into normal. Fred retrieves his wand from the floor and casts a cleaning charm over me as I bend to pull my pyjamas on.

"Don't..."

"Clean up her desk. I know, Georgie," he grins.

"That was the point, wasn't it?" I say, my face flushing anew, this time with mirth.

"One of them." He picks my wand off the floor and presses it into my hand. "I expect she won't much want to finish that up," he says, and nods toward the paper on Umbridge's desk.

Our hands clasped over our mouths to keep from bursting with laughter, we slip out of the door and off to bed.