Morning Musings

Series: Love: A Chronicle
Title: Morning Musings
Author: lingering_nomad
Pairing: Fred/George
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4 148
Warnings: Twincest of course. And some rough-but-sweet kitchen sex.
A/N: Written for Weasley Fest 2009 as a gift to jeezjenna, but it fit so well into this little storyverse that I figured what-the-hell. The twins are finally 18 in this one! List of prequels: Change, Different, Consummation, OWLs, Haunted: Ghosts (posted at DW).


~MORNING MUSINGS~


The thing George liked best about having their own flat, he decided on the first morning waking up at number 93 Diagon Alley, was that he and Fred could sleep in, as late as they wanted, without worrying about getting caught in bed together.

His twin was fast asleep, using George’s chest for a pillow, complete with drool. It was hardly a new occurrence, having Freddie slavering all over him as they slept, and George truly didn’t mind. In fact, experiencing it now, well after sunrise and still cosily cuddled up beneath the eiderdown, it made a silly grin spread over his face as he reached up to card his fingers through his brother’s hair.

This was their life now, wasn’t it? Just the pair of them. Together. In their own little family of two. Not much had changed really, and yet it felt as though the world had been flipped on its head.

Was this what it was like to be on honeymoon? George wondered absently, even as he rolled his eyes at his own sentimentality. But the feeling was undeniable. Lying with Freddie like this, he felt sort of like a kid waking up on the morning of his birthday, knowing his parents had gotten him the best racing broom ever and that he’d finally be allowed to fly it. He’d known this time would come, had dreamt of it, had anticipated it for years and now that it had finally arrived...

Snippets of the previous day danced before his eyes, tugging his lips into an even broader smile.

Sighing, he let himself sink into the reverie of recent memories, content for the moment to bask in the glow of a dream in the process of coming true.

~*~

“Merlin Georgie! Did you see her face?!” his mirror image wheezed through another bout of breathless giggles, throwing both arms around George and moulding to him like a limpet as he shook with raucous delight. George, for his part, swore mightily between sniggers of his own as the key he’d been trying to jam into the misaligned keyhole of the apartment above the shop – their shop – leapt from fingers already trembling with adrenaline and euphoria.

“Gerroff you git!” he scolded, the demand losing all conviction in the fit of hysteria that seized him. He doubled over, clutching the stitch in his side, his free arm bracing against the door as his knees threatened to give out beneath the combined weight of his twin and his own inundating mirth. “Gerroff!” he gasped at last, shrugging a shoulder for emphasis, only to burst out laughing again along with his brother as Fred’s hold on him tightened, dragging him down into a quivering, heaving heap on the dusty landing.

Fred’s hand was in his hair then, fingers tangling in the fiery stands. His breath whispered along George’s lips as he leaned closer, swallowing in a futile attempt to quell his laughter.

George, however, didn’t have the patience to wait for Fred’s giddiness to subside. He was lunging before his mind had properly formed the decision to move, mashing his mouth to his brother’s with near brutal force. The kiss was clumsy, filled with the sting of butting teeth, overzealous tongues and the sounds of uncontainable glee. It wasn’t long before the need for oxygen wrenched them apart, still chocking on chuckles as they clung to each other, breathing in the scents of dust and sweat and the light essence of leather that permeated all items of clothing stowed in a school trunk for too long.

Said trunks were still en route – shrunk and sent via owl post early that morning. Their brooms had been abandoned in the foyer of the shop when they’d first surged through the doors, finally allowing the exuberance they’d been forced to subdue while collecting the keys from their new landlord, to bubble over. Surely their names would make The Prophet; perhaps even the next edition of Hogwarts: A History in a chapter on Most Memorable Graduations or something of the like.

Yeah alright, so they hadn’t officially graduated, but still...

They’d closed a chapter of their lives today. In a fashion worthy of legend! And it was time for the next phase to be ushered in.

Plucking the all-but-forgotten key from the floor, George hauled himself up to his knees. The angle afforded him a better view of what he was doing and at last the lock clicked as the key slid in place. With a crow of triumph, he turned it, sending the wood swinging forward in a swirl of dust motes and the creak of rusty hinges.

“C’mon!” Fred urged from beside him. Having already risen to his feet, he yanked George up with a rough tug on his gray uniform jumper, nearly crushing his foot as he shoved passed to bound over the threshold.

“Watch it,” George admonished as he followed, cuffing the back of Fred’s head in retaliation for his bruised toes.

That his brother offered no retort was a testament to his awe.

They’d had a chance to view the shop when they’d Apparated in to sign the lease a few weeks earlier, but the flat, as they’d been told at the time, had just been fumigated for Bogles and was therefore off limits. With the scarceness of property in Diagon, the premises had been a true gift horse (offered to them on a word from ol’ Dung) and choosing to trust their instincts, they hadn’t looked it in the mouth.

At first glance the little abode didn’t seem worthy of such open admiration. It was old and musty and spartan; the kitchen, living room and sleeping quarters all contained in one open space with a closet-sized enclosure off to the right for a washroom. What furniture there was had been draped in sheets, undoubtedly to protect it from the pesticide as well as the ample dust.

It wasn’t much, true enough. But it was theirs.

Feeling oddly entranced himself, George wandered over to the little nook that constituted the kitchen, finding an antique cole stove for heating and cooking and a sink that was in as much need of a good scrubbing as anything else the apartment held. He turned one of the taps, listening to the pipes groan a moment before pale amber liquid sputtered out, creating streaks in the grimy basin. An auburn brow went up as he watched the water turn from amber to clear, nothing that the plumbing at least was more-or-less in order.

A flutter of cloth sounded from behind him, followed by three sneezes in quick succession as even more dust thickened the air. With his own sinuses prickling, George turned, watching Fred toss a sheet aside with a grin and watery eyes as a steel framed double bed with a surprisingly comfy-looking mattress was revealed.

Together they moved about the room, falling easily into the simpatico that was second nature for them. Whipping off the sheets one by one, they made good use of the dust-repelling charms no child of Molly Weasley’s could’ve avoided learning, all the while adding to their mental to-do list of what was needed to make the place liveable. They continued to laugh as they worked, making jokes, stopping for ever less fleeting caresses and meetings of lips, spurred by the slowly solidifying notion that this was their domain.

They could snog to their hearts’ content on the dilapidated couch; nuzzle lazily while waiting for the kettle to boil. Hell, they could come up to bed in the middle of the day and shag like rabbits if the mood took them, all without having to keep an ear out for teachers or parents or roommates or nosy siblings and their friends.

The freedom of it was intoxicating and it was in the kitchen that they finally collided, George dropping into the lone chair with Fred straddling his lap, thrusting the hardness tenting his school trousers against the identical bulge in George’s. Some quick thinking saw the chair reinforced with a stabilising charm, just to be sure, but that was their sole nod to precaution before the nerves and excitement and plain joie de vivre of a well executed prank culminated in a near frantic need for celebration sex.

They hardly bothered to undress. The zip of George’s trousers was simply undone and his underpants pushed down to free his erection while Fred shimmied out of his own impeding garments. A shoe ended up caught in the leg of his trousers, causing him to hop up and down inelegantly, hard cock bouncing obscenely as he worked to free himself.

A few choice expletives and a scathing look in response to George’s commentary later, Fred had his shoes, pants and trousers banished to a corner by the stove. With only the necessary bits bared, as had so often been the case during their romps at school, he turned his back to George, bending over with a hand braced on what would be their dining table, and clasped a buttock in the other to present his opening. Flipping his fringe out of his eyes, he cast a look over his shoulder at George, wordlessly imploring him to work the needed magic so they could to get down to business.

An unexpected twinge of nostalgia had George hesitating. As of forty minutes ago, they weren’t school boys anymore after all and the white shirt and gray knee socks weren’t likely to make an appearance again. Not authentically at any rate, and he took a moment to soak in the sight, one last time, before the demands of his own libido got the better of him.

Thoroughly seduced, he placed a hand on the arse cheek Fred wasn’t holding and pulled it to the side as well, leaving his brother utterly exposed. Unable to resist, he kneaded the warm flesh as he groped blindly in his pockets for his wand, earning a sigh and the arching of Freddie’s back for his effort. He found the slim rod on the second attempt and pulled it free, aiming the tip right above Fred’s hole. In a voice rough with need and harsh with impatience he incanted the lubrication spell, feeling the spark of magic a moment before a stream of moonlight-coloured fluid flowed from the wood, oozing over and around his twin’s anus and dripping down his perineum. A few droplets caught in the dusting of bright red curls decking his scrotum; most of the excess splashing onto the floor.

Shoving his wand back into a pocket, George brought his index and middle finger up, settling the digits just behind Fred’s oiled testicles and dragged them upward along his perineum, slicking his fingers as he went. When he reached Fred’s arsehole, he paused, drawing a circle around the little orifice for no other reason than to see it wink, before driving his middle finger inside. Fred groaned softly and pushed back against the all-too-familiar intrusion, his breath stuttering out of him.

George’s own breaths were coming fast and heavy, jolts of lightening shooting from his arm and lodging in his bollocks as Fred’s inner walls squeezed his finger like a living vice. His jealous erection wouldn’t allow much time to linger on preparation and it was after only a couple of quick thrusts that he forced his index finger in as well, scissoring the digits insistently in a dual effort to stretch his twin and coax the lubricant inside him.

“Oh— oh shite, Georgie! Now!” Fred moaned as George grazed his prostate half by accident, not even giving him the chance to fully extract his fingers before straightening up. George’s hand came free as Fred turned to face him; his brother’s rigid prick pressing into the worn wool of his jumper, feeling hot against his belly even through the layers of clothing as his thighs were straddled once more. A forearm snaked ‘round his neck for balance, sweat trickling down his temple as a hand as familiar as his own closed around his cock. Squatting a little, Fred lined the pulsing shaft up to his hole without preamble and bore down, taking George into his body in a single heart-stopping plunge.

In one helpless instant George’s world narrowed to the dual sensations of velvety heat spasming around his cock and strong fingers biting into his shoulders. His own hands fisted in the shirt draping the hips he’d seized on instinct, waves of gooseflesh rippling over his skin. The need to thrust was overwhelming but he kept it at bay, panting through gritted teeth as he watched his twin with blurry vision, checking for distress; waiting for approval.

Seconds stretched as Fred’s insides adjusted to George’s presence within him, until his eyes, tightly clenched throughout his impalement, finally fluttered open, dark and liquid as wild honey. His face was flushed, sweaty hair curling about his jaw, mouth slack as he sucked in air in shallow little gasps. George could only stare up at him through half-mast lids, feeling his own features contorting into a rictus of lust as Fred slowly pulled upward before sinking back down, repeating the motion as he sought and found a rhythm.

George made a strangled noise as his control snapped. “Love... you,” he choked out as he cupped handfuls of Freddie’s arse and squeezed, prying him open. His hips bucked upward at the same moment as his brother sank down, adding an almost violent urgency to the cadence of their fucking.

A hoarse grunt tore from Fred’s throat and then he was swooping down, latching onto George’s mouth with his own and forcing his tongue inside with the same ferocity of George’s thrusts into his rectum. The up-and-down motion of Fred’s riding was replaced with sharp little rolls of his hips as he pressed into the kiss, clenching his inner muscles in a way that had George’s eyes rolling up into his skull.

Sweet God, he was so close.

Love you so fucking much!

The words echoed in his mind, independent of his own thoughts, and that was as much as he could stand. With an aborted cry into Fred’s mouth, George’s balls drew up and semen gushed along the length of cock to explode into his brother’s arse, coating the slick walls and his own flesh as he continued to thrust.

The end came rather abruptly with Fred clambering off him as soon as George’s prick stopped twitching. A trembling hand curled ‘round the back of his neck, urging him forward, and as George’s eyes fluttered open his vision was filled with the sight of a purple erection held at an unmistakable angle toward his face. Even reeling from his own orgasm, his twin’s need tugged at him like a tangible thing and his eyes drifted closed as he allowed himself to be guided. The swollen head touched his lips, smearing salty fluid along the seam and he opened up; a sob of his name sounding from above as the throbbing shaft sank into the hot confines of his mouth.

This close to the end, Fred didn’t require much by way of technique and George simply pursed his lips as best he could and held still, allowing his twin to thrust his way toward his own release. When the telltale pulse of seed ducts twitched against his tongue, he relaxed his throat, preparing to swallow, only to find his mouth suddenly devoid of cock as Fred pulled out. The first heated spurt blasted over his lips; the second splattering his cheek and catching in his lashes. Having cottoned on, he arched his throat as the third and fourth jets came, baring his neck to the creamy fluid and feeling it drip down into the collar of his shirt.

The grip fell away from his neck as Fred finished coming, letting George collapse back in the chair to catch his breath. Pleasantly boneless, his tongue peeked out to clean the thick glaze of spunk from his lips, savouring the well-known taste along with the afterglow as he reached up with a heavy hand to wipe the milky goo from his eyes.

When his vision was more or less cleared, George brushed back long tendrils of wayward hair and looked up to find his twin slumped against the table, using both arms to prop himself up. Fred stood there with his lips parted and chest heaving rhythmically, head canted to rest on a shoulder as he studied George with sleepy eyes.

And Merlin knew, it was no great feat to imagine what he was seeing. What with George’s hair all tousled; his tingling lips probably swollen and dark red with globs of spunk dripping down his flushed and sweaty face. Somewhere in the proceedings, his tie had come untucked from his jumper and was pointing straight at his crotch like some lascivious signpost, drawing the eye to the wet cock lolling sloppily through the open placard at the juncture of his sprawled thighs.

Although, if he were the picture of debauchery...

... then Fred had to be the embodiment of it, standing in the middle of their new kitchen with trails of George’s semen meandering down his thighs, pearling here and there as droplets caught on the ginger hair sprinkling his legs. His glistening cock was still red and semi-hard, peeking between the partings of his school shirt as he slouched there, pert bottom resting on the edge of the table as he bore the brunt of his weight on his hands. Said shirt was stained with sweat and spunk and every bit as rumpled as George’s jumper; his loose tie working to the same salacious effect. And his expression...

Dear God, that look on Fred’s face, with that cheeky grin and leering awareness in his eyes—

“Kiss me,” George breathed, too spent to get up himself.

Fred’s grin softened then and he leaned down, cupping the back of George’s head and bringing their lips together with all the tenderness their brisk rutting had lacked. They kissed deeply, sweetly, for a long moment and then Fred’s legs were on either side of George’s again as he settled back into his lap, albeit far more gingerly than his earlier mounting. Arms settled ‘round George’s neck as his own wound around Fred’s waist and hugged him close, burying his face in the shallow valley between pectorals and pressing a kiss there, feeling the thud of his brother’s heartbeat through the damp material of his shirt.

“We did it, Georgie,” Fred rasped from above, his voice uncannily serious, and George understood only too well.

They had done it.

Against all odds, they’d carved a little niche for themselves in a world wherein they didn’t quite belong. With a little help and a lot of luck, to be sure. Amidst setbacks and hardships and so much doubt – other people’s as well as their own – but they’d done it!

And more than that, they’d done it on their terms. Without compromise. Without apology.

And with bragging rights to a spectacular two-fingers at “the establishment” as a bonus.

Life was good.

~*~

With the topsy-turvy emotions of the previous day guiding his limbs, George wrapped his arms around his sleeping twin and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. He lingered a moment, nuzzling gently, breathing in the scents of Herbal Hair Potion and the musk that was uniquely Fred.

Even after a day devoted to such terribly grownup things as ordering a sign for their business and shopping for bedding, that quick tryst in the kitchen had done little to sate the needs of young, virile bodies with a sudden abundance of privacy on their hands (the barrage of Howlers from their mother not withstanding) and come nightfall, George had taken proper advantage, licking and stroking and tormenting his twin into a writhing, begging, crying mess before fucking two more orgasms out of him. He would pop into the apothecary later and get some readymade Pain Reliever Potion for his brother’s overused arse, but for now he didn’t want to intrude on his rest.

He sighed again, watching his twin’s peaceful visage, sweet as an angel in repose. It was almost disconcerting, really; seeing Freddie like that after what George had been doing to him by torchlight only a few scant hours earlier. Fred was always so careful when he topped, and George was too for the most part. But last night... he couldn’t deny that last night he’d succumbed to his slightly twisted fascination with seeing just how hard he could pound into his twin-turned-lover before Freddie would beg for him to stop. They hadn’t quite reached that point, but George was sure they’d come close.

As if responding to his thoughts, a low groan tickled his sternum, followed by some squirming and then George was looking down into a set of ochre eyes, blinking away sleep. Fred licked his lips, bringing up a hand to wipe away a trickle of saliva running down the side of his mouth. With his hair dishevelled like that, lashes crusted with sleep and that slightly gormless not-entirely-awake-yet softness to his features, his brother somehow managed to look achingly young and thoroughly ravaged both at once.

Chuckling softly, George brought his hand down from his twin’s hair to stroke his face. “Morning Sleeping Beauty,” he said, only half-teasing.

“G’morning,” Fred husked in his sleep-roughened voice, nuzzling into George’s palm like an affectionate kitten might do.

Merlin knew, his brother could be so disgustingly cute when he wasn’t even trying.

Fred began to push up on his elbows, but winched sharply, teeth clenched and bared in a grimace when he was about half-way there, setting a divot of concern between George’s brows. “Alright there, mate?” he cooed, stroking a sympathetic thumb along Freddie’s lightly stubbled jaw.

“Yeah,” Fred replied after sucking in a slow breath and letting it out through pursed lips. “Just, um... a mite tender, you know?” he confessed, the slight rouge on his cheeks speaking volumes about the scenes replaying behind his eyes right then.

“Well it’s... that is, I... um...” George pulled his hand from his brother’s face to cover his mouth as he cleared his throat, gaze darting at his uncharacteristic show of ineloquence.

Not once in the years since this secret had become a part of their rapport had they ever had the opportunity to bugger each other raw. More often than not, their explorations had been hushed and rushed, allowing only one of them to find release before the risk of discovery became too great, let alone both of them thrice over.

Not that it’s anything to be proud of, you sod! he scolded himself.

Freddie was hurting. He should feel like an arse!

And yet...

He felt Fred’s eyes on his face, studying him. “You’re not the least bit sorry, are you,” he more stated than asked, an edge of amusement colouring his tone.

Biting his lip, George’s gaze flicked to his brother’s, regarding Fred askance as he tried and failed to keep the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth from turning into a leer. “Not really,” he admitted, even as he reached out to stroke soothing circles along the smooth skin of Fred’s back. “But you can lie in if you want,” he went on, a tad more seriously now. “I’ll pop next door and get you a potion when I go down for the paper.”

Fred grinned at that. “Make us a cuppa while you’re up?” he requested, batting his lashes theatrically and pursing his lips in an exaggerated pout. George laughed and rolled his eyes before shifting out from under his twin and swinging his feet over the side of the bed to get up.

“And some toast too, please. With that marmalade I like.”

Having pulled a pair of blue jeans form his yet-to-be-unpacked Hogwarts trunk by the foot of the bed, George looked over his shoulder at Fred who was quite shamelessly snuggling into the pillows he himself had just vacated. “Course, princess,” he replied dryly, “would her ladyship be wanting the crusts cut off her bread as well?”

He snickered as he dodged the pillow flung at his head, pulling on the denim before ambling into the kitchen to see about filling his brother’s order.


~FIN~