Christmas Past And Sunday Present
Title: Christmas Past And Sunday Present
Pairing: Fred/George
Author: anal_cram_ink
Length: 4244 words
Disclaimer: The words are mine, everything else is owned by JKR and her affiliates, all of whom are far richer than I'll ever be. I'm just lending them a little while so the poor boys can get laid.
Rating: R for language, adult themes, sexual situations, consensual adult m/m incest, and a potion that obviously contains ergot derivative.
Author's Note: Written for twinspiration's inaugural Twin-Stuff Fest. The prompt came from irisgirl12000 and it was "Fred and George + Patented Daydream Charm = ??? How did they come up with the idea? How did they test it before marketing it?" Sorry for being such a prick-tease on this one, love! ;) Thank-you, f13tch3r for the beta.
Extra Author's Note: In 2006, at his 100th birthday celebrations, Dr Albert Hofmann said of LSD "It is a tool to turn us into what we are supposed to be." Gods rest you, Dr Hofmann!
Summary: It's George's turn to test the new product. He should've known it'd involve that.
'Uh - a little privacy, Fred?'
Fred gave his brother the sort of look that suggested he didn't know the meaning of this strange word "privacy". 'For what?'
George rolled his eyes. 'Well, for this, of course.' He waved a stout piece of card in the air. 'We don't know exactly what sort of daydream it's gonna give me, do we? Could be, y'know. A personal one.'
'Personal!' Fred scoffed. 'All the more reason for me to stay, then! Besides, this is research, mate - no point doing the experiment unless there's an observer, is there?' He swatted at George's hand. 'Come on! Get on with it.'
Sighing a bit, George got comfy on the couch, nestling himself securely into a corner and sitting up cross-legged there with Fred in the armchair opposite. 'Right.' He looked down at the little card he held. It was the size of a business card, the perfect dose-size. Well, they hoped it was the perfect dose-size; they'd been through a few false starts. Nursing Fred through an altogether too big a dose two weeks ago had been exhausting, both physically and emotionally. This new size seemed like it should be just the thing though. George picked at the card's top right-hand corner. The front was covered with a transparent film, designed to be peeled away when the charm was ready to be taken. It was the best packaging they'd come up with yet - perfect for keeping the charm fresh, while avoiding the unfortunate possibility of "taking" it by accident, simply by touching it.
'Happy thoughts, bro,' Fred grinned at him.
'Yeah, right.' George held the card firmly between thumb and forefinger, touching only the bottom corner, where it was safe to do so, and finished peeling the transparent film away. One last glance over at Fred, and George pressed the card's surface to his forehead, allowing the potion that permeated the card to soak into his skin and work its magic.
The colour saturation in the room started to flare up almost immediately, and the pattern on the couch cushions swam a little sickeningly. George felt his eyes get wide. 'Don't leave me,' he slurred at his twin, suddenly very thankful that Fred had refused his request for privacy.
'Wouldn't dream of it,' Fred assured him. Fred's voice sounded… different, more like how he sounded when he sang. He stood up from the chair and came to sit next to George on the couch, gingerly taking the charmed card out of George's lax hand and banishing it to their workroom for later examination, should such be needed. 'Close your eyes now,' he cooed soothingly, stroking his hand over George's head once. 'Your daydream's in there somewhere.'
George didn't want to close his eyes, it was too nice watching Fred's mouth as he spoke, the way his lips moved to form words.
Fred noticed him staring intently at his mouth and laughed softly. 'Seriously, George - eyes closed. If you don't, you'll just get all wrapped up in a crack on the ceiling or a thread on your jumper or something and this experiment'll be wasted. And I'm not taking any of this stuff ever again. Not after the other week.' He shuddered a little and George lazily watched red sparks fly from his eyes.
Wasn't there something he had to do? Oh, yeah… George let his eyelids flutter down and he sighed contentedly. A voice coming at him from all sides simultaneously told him he was a good boy and to enjoy his daydream. Daydream? Ah!
He and Fred were running. Good running. Happy running. Running for the sake of it, to feel the wind in your hair and your body working properly, feeling powerful and healthy and giddy. Running with Fred along cobblestoned streets and through parks, both of them laughing and grinning and not even getting out of breath.
Were they racing? George didn't know if he was supposed to be trying to beat his brother or not. Not that there was ever much point anyway. Nothing really separated them. 'Where are we going?' he shouted to Fred.
'We're here,' Fred shouted back and stopped suddenly, leaning his hands on his knees and taking several deep breaths, smiling up at George through the hair that fell over his eyes.
They were outside an impressive stone building with large pillars. George knew this place, didn't he? Had he been here before? Fred grabbed his hand and led him in through the tall doors. Yes, George had been here; the Muggles' big art gallery in Trafalgar Square. He and Fred had wandered in there one day and spent almost as much time watching the Muggles as they had looking at the artworks. They strolled through the impressive halls now with the place to themselves, chatting about this thing and that one. It seemed like a pretty silly way to spend the day, really, until Fred pulled George to a halt in front of an enormous painting of… them!
'What are we doing in here?' George asked.
'Looking at art,' Fred said breezily.
'No, I mean - what are WE doing in HERE?' George motioned at the painting in front of them to emphasise which version of "them" he was meaning.
Fred looked up at the painting and shrugged. 'We're art.'
'We're naked.'
'That too,' Fred nodded.
Sure enough, the Fred and George in the painting were wearing nothing but smiles. Not only that, but their pale, freckled bodies were wrapped around each other sensuously, painted in the act of sharing a most forbidden and intimate pleasure.
'Fred?'
'Yeah?'
'Which one of us is which, do you reckon?'
Fred slid an arm around George's waist and rested their hipbones lightly together. 'Which one would you like to be?' he asked in a husky whisper.
'Don't joke about that,' George admonished, eyes still fixed to the painting.
'Who says I'm joking?'
'Don't joke about not joking either.'
'Joking's serious business,' Fred said dryly. 'I wouldn't dream of it.'
George frowned a little as his brain reasoned out what his brother was saying. 'Hang on - '
'I think I'm the one on top,' Fred announced.
'Using what evidence?'
'Well… obvious, innit?'
'Here!' another voice cut in on them. 'How'd you two do that?'
In unison, Fred and George turned their heads to the left. A blue-uniformed security guard was standing beside them, looking up at "their" painting.
'Erm,' said George, 'how'd we do what, exactly?'
'That!' the guard nodded at the painting. 'That bloody picture!'
'We didn't do it,' they said together. 'We're just visiting,' Fred added.
The guard shot them a disbelieving look. 'We've been warned about the infamous Weasley twins, we have,' he told them. 'There's nothin' you two can't do. Probably the best of yer kind in t'whole world. "Just visiting"! Hmph! My arse!'
Fred and George looked at each other, both of them obviously thinking the same thing - none of this made the slightest bit of sense.
'C'mon, George.' Fred took a step away, pulling George's arm gently. 'Let's get out of here.'
George cast a long last look at the erotic clinch on the wall as he let Fred drag him away. 'Completely barmy,' Fred was muttering as they strode down a corridor. 'Completely… fucking… barmy.'
They re-emerged into Trafalgar Square and blinked in the strong sunshine. 'Don't know what all that was about,' George murmured as they strolled by the pillars of St. Martin-in-the-Fields.
'Nice, being told we're the best, though!' Fred's grin was wide, his eyes shining. 'Duck in here,' he suddenly instructed and gave George a push down a few steps to a doorway.
'This is the crypt of the church!' George half-protested.
'I know. Get in there.'
It was possibly the most beautiful crypt in the whole world. Then again, George hadn't exactly been inside a whole lot of them, so maybe he wasn't the best person to judge. Vaulted ceilings, candle lighting, wrought iron and masonry and tiny hand-made bricks…
'What are we doing in here? Fred?' George looked around for his brother. 'Fred? Quit arsing around! Where are you?'
'Right where you want me.' The words were whispered against the back of his neck, Fred's lips actually brushing George's skin as he spoke. 'I saw the way you looked at that painting.'
'You saw nothing!'
'I know what you were thinking about.' Fred's arms were around him now, holding him firm against Fred's chest.
'You're lying,' George tried, rather unconvincingly.
'You were thinking about Christmas.' Fred nuzzled at the side of George's neck and wetly licked his earlobe. 'Christmas when we were sixteen. Special presents.'
'Fred - '
'That was the best present anyone's ever given me - '
'Fred!'
'It's okay, it's okay. Breathe, Georgie. I've got you. It's okay.'
Loungeroom. Couches. Swirling pattern on the cushions. Red sparks flying out of Fred's concerned eyes. George took a deep, shuddering breath and looked around. He was sitting cross-legged on the couch, with Fred beside him.
'Are you here?' Fred asked, his voice sounding like he should be singing. 'Dose still not right?'
'I'm… yeah, yeah I'm here…' George ran his hands through his hair and closed his eyes again for a moment. There was a burlesque of dancing colours behind his eyelids, but the crypt of St. Martin's had dissolved. He opened them again and looked at Fred. 'I'm here,' he repeated. 'Need some water.'
Fred smiled and a glass of water popped into George's hand. 'Cheers,' George thanked him and took a grateful drink, the cool liquid feeling heavenly on his dry tongue. 'How long did it last?'
'About fourteen minutes,' Fred informed him. 'Anything good?'
George swallowed. 'What d'you mean, "good"?'
Fred cleared his throat lightly and flicked a quick glance at George's lap. George looked down and blushed. He hadn't even realised he was hard, his erection creating a most conspicuous bulge in his trousers. 'That's, um…'
'Don't worry about it,' Fred said quickly. 'Just a physiological reaction. Happens, eh?'
'Yeah. S'pose.'
'Feel up to writing it all down in the experiment book?'
'Erm…'
'George?'
George met Fred's gaze briefly. 'Later. Please.'
'Something's up.' Fred gave him a level look. 'I can tell.'
'It's nothing. Honest. Just stupid things.'
'Stupid things give you a hard-on?'
'Can we not talk about it, please?'
'Why?' Fred edged a bit closer and slung an arm around George's shoulders, giving him a squeeze. 'You know, if you daydreamed you were shagging Verity, we might have to let her go. Get an uglier assistant, maybe, so you'll be able to keep your mind on your work.'
'It wasn't Verity.'
'Oh, so you daydreamed of shagging SOMEbody, then?'
'No! Gods!' George pushed Fred's arm from his shoulders and stood up abruptly. He wobbled a bit, due to a fleeting head-spin, and Fred stood up quickly at his side, steadying him with strong arms so he wouldn't fall.
'Steady on, pet,' Fred warned. 'No sudden movements for a while. Remember how I was two weeks ago.'
'You were curled up in a foetal position for most of it!'
Fred grinned at him. 'Yeah, well. So where've you just been in this daydream of yours, then? If I'm allowed to ask that much, at least?'
George exhaled heavily, making his fringe puff up off his forehead before resettling. 'Running at first. Then we went to an art gallery. Then a church.'
'We? I was with you?'
'Course you were.' George made sure not to meet Fred's eyes. 'You're always following me about.' He took a few unsteady steps away from the couch, his head getting clearer by the moment.
'Going to church doesn't sound like much of a daydream,' Fred mumbled. 'Certainly not to get you into that sort of state…'
'It wasn't a service or anything.' George shrugged. 'We were just - there,' he finished lamely.
'So why don't you want to talk about it?'
'I just don't, okay?'
Fred acted like he hadn't even heard him. 'I mean, visiting a church with me… why would that get you hard? That's what I can't understand - '
'Fred!'
'What?'
'Shut the fuck up, will you?'
Fred blinked at him. 'We're supposed to be researching this. This is work, George! You can shut me out any other time if you want, but not when we're working! Be fair.'
Having Fred sound disappointed in him felt worse to George than if his brother had hit him. He bowed his head and contemplated his feet for a moment, trying to work out which shame might be the easier one to live with afterwards - knowing that he'd upset Fred by refusing to talk about it, or having to actually say the words.
Fred's warm, naked body in his bed, all hard and silky and supposedly forbidden, but there he was nonetheless… all that rough snogging… giggles that gave way first to dirty, knowing chuckles and then to no sounds of amusement at all, because this was fucking serious… both of them kneeling up, rubbing their dicks together, eyeing each other lasciviously, seeing each other in a totally new and horrifyingly different way… taking Fred's cock between his lips… letting Fred fuck his mouth… tasting… swallowing… greedily taking the compliments he knew Fred had intended, or at least hoped, to be giving to Angelina, but that was just never gonna happen… then stretching out over Fred's body and… moving on him like that… the closest thing to shagging he'd ever done, 'til that point… kissing and humping and spurting come between them… marking Fred as his… falling asleep all wrapped around one another for the first time since they were little kids…
'You were talking about Christmas when we were sixteen.'
'In church?' Fred asked slyly, smirking a little.
'We were in the crypt, not in the proper church part.'
'Ah. Well, then.' Fred slouched a bit and hooked his thumbs into the back pockets of his jeans.
'I hadn't thought about that for ages,' George said vaguely, not being entirely truthful.
Fred quirked an eyebrow. 'Your brain obviously wanted to though.'
'What's that supposed to mean?'
'Daydream charm pulls up something that's on your mind.' Fred shrugged a bit. 'A current crush or a holiday you're planning or a new job you're hoping to get - '
'But it wasn't on my mind! That's what I'm trying to say. I really hadn't thought about… that. Not for ages.'
'Shit, you know how to flatter a bloke, George!'
'Don't be stupid.'
Fred's smile faded and he contemplated George for an extended moment. 'Can't say I'm entirely prepared to believe you on that though. Not saying you're lying, necessarily. But you do seem to be protesting a bit much.' He quirked that same eyebrow again. 'Sure you haven't thought about it? Not even t'other week, when you held me for hours on end?'
'I didn't do anything inappropriate! I didn't touch you wrong while you were out of it, I swear!'
The look Fred was giving him turned incredulous. 'Well, of course you fucking didn't! As if you would! You don't seriously think I thought that you did?! For gods' sake…'
'I just, I don't want you to think badly of me. That's all.'
Fred stepped up close to him and lightly took hold of his chin, tilting his head up and looking deep into his eyes. 'Ya daft bugger,' he whispered, his voice affectionate and no longer song-like. George figured the last of the charm's effects had now dissipated. 'Do you really mean to say,' Fred stroked the pad of his thumb along the curve of George's bottom lip as he spoke, 'that you've spent the last two and a half years, constantly worrying that I'm thinking you're gonna molest me?'
'Well…' George tried to look off to the side nonchalantly, but his gaze kept being pulled back to his brother's face.
'George.' Fred shook his head at him in mild bemusement. 'It was me, remember? I got into your bed. You shouldn't feel guilty about it.'
'I'm not - !'
'You're acting like you are.' Fred gazed at him a moment longer, then abruptly let go of his chin and stepped away toward the fireplace. 'We were sixteen. We were too horny for our own good. We were still all revved up after the Yule Ball. Oh, and did I mention the bit about being too horny for our own good? We didn't hurt anybody. What's there to feel guilty about?'
'Uh, what about the part where we COMMITTED BLOODY INCEST?'
Fred shrugged. 'So we broke some stupid rule. Big deal! That's what we DO, brother dearest! That's who we are!' He stopped and looked up at George with a piercing look. 'So that's why you asked for some privacy today! You suspected the daydream might actually be something like what you got! Hah.' Fred's look was one of triumph, momentarily, having caught George out on this issue. Then his eyes seemed to darken a little and his gaze swept quickly down George's body before returning to his face. 'This physiological reaction of yours…' He licked his top lip slowly. 'It was for me.'
'Fred - '
'Why didn't you ever say?'
George frowned slightly. 'Say what?'
'That you wanted to do any of that stuff again, of course! You never mentioned it. Not once. Never let me know. Never gave me any indication…'
'Neither did you,' George mumbled a tad miserably.
Waking up on Boxing Day morning… limbs tangled around each other… Fred's head resting on George's chest… not minding having been drooled on… almost forgetting to lift the sound proofing charms and the sleeping spell they'd thrown at Lee… last, furtive looks at each other before dressing… dressing leading to breakfast, to friends and younger siblings, to festive pranks, to latenight out-of-bounds with Lee and Alicia, to hangovers next morning, to friends again and holiday, to start of term, to school schedules, to routine and so on… with never a "right moment" presenting itself to bring the subject up… with the time spent not acknowledging what they'd done that Christmas stretching longer and longer… until now… until Fred comes up with the bright idea of a patented daydream charm and George's brain is all set to give him precisely the sort of daydream he'd been trying NOT to have for two and a half years…
Fred sighed heavily. 'Well. We're a right couple of idiots, then, aren't we?'
George took a deep breath and cast about for something, anything, that would make this awkward moment go away. He needed to think about all this. He needed, maybe, a bit of time alone. He glanced over at his brother. Fred was standing at the mantelpiece, one hand running through red hair, broad shoulders slightly slumped, obviously assaulted by approximately the same thousand or so thoughts as George was right now. George cleared his throat and decided what to do.
'I'm, er, I'm gonna go write all this up in the log book. While it's still fresh, like. Might take me a while.' He took a few steps toward the door. 'You probably shouldn't bother waiting up for me to finish. Um. G'night.'
He was already two or three steps down the staircase before Fred could call "Goodnight" back.
George spent Saturday night writing and wrote clear into Sunday. He wrote in the log book in which they kept details of all their experiments, ideas, product trials and disasters. He wrote an involved description of the daydream charm he'd experienced - as long and as detailed and as honest as he could. When he found there was still more he wanted to write, he scrounged up as much spare parchment as could be found in their workshop and kept on writing. He wrote about growing up with Fred, what it was like having a brother like Fred, a twin like Fred. He wrote about sharing everything from a placenta to a bathroom. He wrote about Christmas when they were sixteen. He wrote about them starting up their business together and moving out of home together. He wrote about nursing Fred through his bad trip two weeks ago, how appallingly responsible and alone that had made him feel, how cut-adrift from his twin's thoughts and internal experiences, even as he cradled Fred in his arms and stroked his hair tenderly. He wrote about Fred standing at the mantelpiece, running a hand through his hair, and how desperately the look of him had made George want to get out of the room and spend the night writing - because, otherwise, had he not got out of there right then, he would've been pulling Fred into his arms roughly and kissing him over and over and over and…
George woke up with his left cheek squashed against the last piece of parchment on the workshop desk and hastily spelled clean the puddle of ink that had been knocked over in his sleep. His neck ached from the unnatural sleeping position and his right hand ached from all the writing. He even had a dent pressed into his third finger from gripping the quill all night.
He gathered the various bits of parchment together, shuffling the pages into correct order and placing them all in a neat, precise stack on the desk. Beside them, he left the log book open at the page where his daydream charm description began. He cleared away the ink and quill, fussed a little more with the placement of everything on the desktop, then grabbed a jacket and slipped out of the store for an early morning walk. As he left, George made sure to rattle the bell over the door more than was strictly necessary, and let the door bang shut loudly behind him. If Fred wasn't already awake, he would be now.
Diagon Alley was barely even up and running yet, it was that early. But the Sunday morning was crisp and the sun had still to get to its "uncomfortable glare" stage, so George stepped out happily, feeling like he'd got a whole lot of everything off his mind and onto the page last night. It was a bit of a risk, he supposed, to have laid it all out like that for his brother, but it was done now. Fred would probably be in the workshop already, probably already reading up on George's daydream. And Fred was a fast reader, too, so George figured he most likely wouldn't have to be out much longer than an hour for Fred to get through all those pages. He'd stay out for two though, just in case. A lot of the stuff he'd written might be heavy going, after all, and might require a second read-through to make Fred absolutely certain of what George was telling him. George left Diagon Alley and strolled into Muggle London. From time to time, he even hummed as he went.
When George returned to the shop around half-eight, a paper bag of fresh croissants from a Muggle bakery swinging in one hand, it was to find Fred sitting at the table in their tiny kitchen. On the table before him was a seemingly forgotten cup of lukewarm tea and all of the loose parchment pages George had penned during the night. There was also a pot of ink and a quill.
'I, er, hope you don't mind…' Fred mumbled.
George took a closer look at the topmost sheet of parchment. It was one of the pages he'd written about Christmas when they were sixteen. Now, in addition to what George wrote, there was also Fred's handwriting squashed in between each line of pre-existing description.
'Um,' Fred mumbled again, not meeting George's eyes yet. 'Needed to add a few bits. Here and there.'
George frowned slightly and put the croissants down on the table, simultaneously picking up the amended parchment with his other hand. It was the page upon which he'd described being stretched out on top of Fred, thrusting against him in an approximation of sex until he came.
You have no idea how determined and happy you looked, Fred had written in between George's words. You suddenly seemed older than me. And I don't just mean by a few minutes, like usual. I mean you seemed more grown-up and skilled and experienced (even though I knew you weren't) than me. More commanding, I guess. In control. Sexy, George. Riding me like that, bracing yourself over my body, taking care not to squash me (yeah, I could tell!) but still managing to be all sorta dominant and powerful. Fuck! I wanted you to come on me like that. I wanted to know that you were excited and horny and out of control over me. I fucking cherished the bruises your hips left on me, bro. Never wanted them to fade. Wish I still had them. I'd thought watching you suck me off had been the best thing ever (well, it WAS my first blowjob, so it totally WAS the best thing ever up to that point!), but when you came, the way your body went tense, the way you moaned my name when you spurted all over me -
There was more, but George couldn't read another word suddenly. He let go of the parchment and reached across the table, took hold of two fistfuls of Fred's clothes, and hauled his brother to his feet.
Their first snog in two and a half years was worth every long minute of the wait.
~fin~
Pairing: Fred/George
Author: anal_cram_ink
Length: 4244 words
Disclaimer: The words are mine, everything else is owned by JKR and her affiliates, all of whom are far richer than I'll ever be. I'm just lending them a little while so the poor boys can get laid.
Rating: R for language, adult themes, sexual situations, consensual adult m/m incest, and a potion that obviously contains ergot derivative.
Author's Note: Written for twinspiration's inaugural Twin-Stuff Fest. The prompt came from irisgirl12000 and it was "Fred and George + Patented Daydream Charm = ??? How did they come up with the idea? How did they test it before marketing it?" Sorry for being such a prick-tease on this one, love! ;) Thank-you, f13tch3r for the beta.
Extra Author's Note: In 2006, at his 100th birthday celebrations, Dr Albert Hofmann said of LSD "It is a tool to turn us into what we are supposed to be." Gods rest you, Dr Hofmann!
Summary: It's George's turn to test the new product. He should've known it'd involve that.
'Uh - a little privacy, Fred?'
Fred gave his brother the sort of look that suggested he didn't know the meaning of this strange word "privacy". 'For what?'
George rolled his eyes. 'Well, for this, of course.' He waved a stout piece of card in the air. 'We don't know exactly what sort of daydream it's gonna give me, do we? Could be, y'know. A personal one.'
'Personal!' Fred scoffed. 'All the more reason for me to stay, then! Besides, this is research, mate - no point doing the experiment unless there's an observer, is there?' He swatted at George's hand. 'Come on! Get on with it.'
Sighing a bit, George got comfy on the couch, nestling himself securely into a corner and sitting up cross-legged there with Fred in the armchair opposite. 'Right.' He looked down at the little card he held. It was the size of a business card, the perfect dose-size. Well, they hoped it was the perfect dose-size; they'd been through a few false starts. Nursing Fred through an altogether too big a dose two weeks ago had been exhausting, both physically and emotionally. This new size seemed like it should be just the thing though. George picked at the card's top right-hand corner. The front was covered with a transparent film, designed to be peeled away when the charm was ready to be taken. It was the best packaging they'd come up with yet - perfect for keeping the charm fresh, while avoiding the unfortunate possibility of "taking" it by accident, simply by touching it.
'Happy thoughts, bro,' Fred grinned at him.
'Yeah, right.' George held the card firmly between thumb and forefinger, touching only the bottom corner, where it was safe to do so, and finished peeling the transparent film away. One last glance over at Fred, and George pressed the card's surface to his forehead, allowing the potion that permeated the card to soak into his skin and work its magic.
The colour saturation in the room started to flare up almost immediately, and the pattern on the couch cushions swam a little sickeningly. George felt his eyes get wide. 'Don't leave me,' he slurred at his twin, suddenly very thankful that Fred had refused his request for privacy.
'Wouldn't dream of it,' Fred assured him. Fred's voice sounded… different, more like how he sounded when he sang. He stood up from the chair and came to sit next to George on the couch, gingerly taking the charmed card out of George's lax hand and banishing it to their workroom for later examination, should such be needed. 'Close your eyes now,' he cooed soothingly, stroking his hand over George's head once. 'Your daydream's in there somewhere.'
George didn't want to close his eyes, it was too nice watching Fred's mouth as he spoke, the way his lips moved to form words.
Fred noticed him staring intently at his mouth and laughed softly. 'Seriously, George - eyes closed. If you don't, you'll just get all wrapped up in a crack on the ceiling or a thread on your jumper or something and this experiment'll be wasted. And I'm not taking any of this stuff ever again. Not after the other week.' He shuddered a little and George lazily watched red sparks fly from his eyes.
Wasn't there something he had to do? Oh, yeah… George let his eyelids flutter down and he sighed contentedly. A voice coming at him from all sides simultaneously told him he was a good boy and to enjoy his daydream. Daydream? Ah!
He and Fred were running. Good running. Happy running. Running for the sake of it, to feel the wind in your hair and your body working properly, feeling powerful and healthy and giddy. Running with Fred along cobblestoned streets and through parks, both of them laughing and grinning and not even getting out of breath.
Were they racing? George didn't know if he was supposed to be trying to beat his brother or not. Not that there was ever much point anyway. Nothing really separated them. 'Where are we going?' he shouted to Fred.
'We're here,' Fred shouted back and stopped suddenly, leaning his hands on his knees and taking several deep breaths, smiling up at George through the hair that fell over his eyes.
They were outside an impressive stone building with large pillars. George knew this place, didn't he? Had he been here before? Fred grabbed his hand and led him in through the tall doors. Yes, George had been here; the Muggles' big art gallery in Trafalgar Square. He and Fred had wandered in there one day and spent almost as much time watching the Muggles as they had looking at the artworks. They strolled through the impressive halls now with the place to themselves, chatting about this thing and that one. It seemed like a pretty silly way to spend the day, really, until Fred pulled George to a halt in front of an enormous painting of… them!
'What are we doing in here?' George asked.
'Looking at art,' Fred said breezily.
'No, I mean - what are WE doing in HERE?' George motioned at the painting in front of them to emphasise which version of "them" he was meaning.
Fred looked up at the painting and shrugged. 'We're art.'
'We're naked.'
'That too,' Fred nodded.
Sure enough, the Fred and George in the painting were wearing nothing but smiles. Not only that, but their pale, freckled bodies were wrapped around each other sensuously, painted in the act of sharing a most forbidden and intimate pleasure.
'Fred?'
'Yeah?'
'Which one of us is which, do you reckon?'
Fred slid an arm around George's waist and rested their hipbones lightly together. 'Which one would you like to be?' he asked in a husky whisper.
'Don't joke about that,' George admonished, eyes still fixed to the painting.
'Who says I'm joking?'
'Don't joke about not joking either.'
'Joking's serious business,' Fred said dryly. 'I wouldn't dream of it.'
George frowned a little as his brain reasoned out what his brother was saying. 'Hang on - '
'I think I'm the one on top,' Fred announced.
'Using what evidence?'
'Well… obvious, innit?'
'Here!' another voice cut in on them. 'How'd you two do that?'
In unison, Fred and George turned their heads to the left. A blue-uniformed security guard was standing beside them, looking up at "their" painting.
'Erm,' said George, 'how'd we do what, exactly?'
'That!' the guard nodded at the painting. 'That bloody picture!'
'We didn't do it,' they said together. 'We're just visiting,' Fred added.
The guard shot them a disbelieving look. 'We've been warned about the infamous Weasley twins, we have,' he told them. 'There's nothin' you two can't do. Probably the best of yer kind in t'whole world. "Just visiting"! Hmph! My arse!'
Fred and George looked at each other, both of them obviously thinking the same thing - none of this made the slightest bit of sense.
'C'mon, George.' Fred took a step away, pulling George's arm gently. 'Let's get out of here.'
George cast a long last look at the erotic clinch on the wall as he let Fred drag him away. 'Completely barmy,' Fred was muttering as they strode down a corridor. 'Completely… fucking… barmy.'
They re-emerged into Trafalgar Square and blinked in the strong sunshine. 'Don't know what all that was about,' George murmured as they strolled by the pillars of St. Martin-in-the-Fields.
'Nice, being told we're the best, though!' Fred's grin was wide, his eyes shining. 'Duck in here,' he suddenly instructed and gave George a push down a few steps to a doorway.
'This is the crypt of the church!' George half-protested.
'I know. Get in there.'
It was possibly the most beautiful crypt in the whole world. Then again, George hadn't exactly been inside a whole lot of them, so maybe he wasn't the best person to judge. Vaulted ceilings, candle lighting, wrought iron and masonry and tiny hand-made bricks…
'What are we doing in here? Fred?' George looked around for his brother. 'Fred? Quit arsing around! Where are you?'
'Right where you want me.' The words were whispered against the back of his neck, Fred's lips actually brushing George's skin as he spoke. 'I saw the way you looked at that painting.'
'You saw nothing!'
'I know what you were thinking about.' Fred's arms were around him now, holding him firm against Fred's chest.
'You're lying,' George tried, rather unconvincingly.
'You were thinking about Christmas.' Fred nuzzled at the side of George's neck and wetly licked his earlobe. 'Christmas when we were sixteen. Special presents.'
'Fred - '
'That was the best present anyone's ever given me - '
'Fred!'
'It's okay, it's okay. Breathe, Georgie. I've got you. It's okay.'
Loungeroom. Couches. Swirling pattern on the cushions. Red sparks flying out of Fred's concerned eyes. George took a deep, shuddering breath and looked around. He was sitting cross-legged on the couch, with Fred beside him.
'Are you here?' Fred asked, his voice sounding like he should be singing. 'Dose still not right?'
'I'm… yeah, yeah I'm here…' George ran his hands through his hair and closed his eyes again for a moment. There was a burlesque of dancing colours behind his eyelids, but the crypt of St. Martin's had dissolved. He opened them again and looked at Fred. 'I'm here,' he repeated. 'Need some water.'
Fred smiled and a glass of water popped into George's hand. 'Cheers,' George thanked him and took a grateful drink, the cool liquid feeling heavenly on his dry tongue. 'How long did it last?'
'About fourteen minutes,' Fred informed him. 'Anything good?'
George swallowed. 'What d'you mean, "good"?'
Fred cleared his throat lightly and flicked a quick glance at George's lap. George looked down and blushed. He hadn't even realised he was hard, his erection creating a most conspicuous bulge in his trousers. 'That's, um…'
'Don't worry about it,' Fred said quickly. 'Just a physiological reaction. Happens, eh?'
'Yeah. S'pose.'
'Feel up to writing it all down in the experiment book?'
'Erm…'
'George?'
George met Fred's gaze briefly. 'Later. Please.'
'Something's up.' Fred gave him a level look. 'I can tell.'
'It's nothing. Honest. Just stupid things.'
'Stupid things give you a hard-on?'
'Can we not talk about it, please?'
'Why?' Fred edged a bit closer and slung an arm around George's shoulders, giving him a squeeze. 'You know, if you daydreamed you were shagging Verity, we might have to let her go. Get an uglier assistant, maybe, so you'll be able to keep your mind on your work.'
'It wasn't Verity.'
'Oh, so you daydreamed of shagging SOMEbody, then?'
'No! Gods!' George pushed Fred's arm from his shoulders and stood up abruptly. He wobbled a bit, due to a fleeting head-spin, and Fred stood up quickly at his side, steadying him with strong arms so he wouldn't fall.
'Steady on, pet,' Fred warned. 'No sudden movements for a while. Remember how I was two weeks ago.'
'You were curled up in a foetal position for most of it!'
Fred grinned at him. 'Yeah, well. So where've you just been in this daydream of yours, then? If I'm allowed to ask that much, at least?'
George exhaled heavily, making his fringe puff up off his forehead before resettling. 'Running at first. Then we went to an art gallery. Then a church.'
'We? I was with you?'
'Course you were.' George made sure not to meet Fred's eyes. 'You're always following me about.' He took a few unsteady steps away from the couch, his head getting clearer by the moment.
'Going to church doesn't sound like much of a daydream,' Fred mumbled. 'Certainly not to get you into that sort of state…'
'It wasn't a service or anything.' George shrugged. 'We were just - there,' he finished lamely.
'So why don't you want to talk about it?'
'I just don't, okay?'
Fred acted like he hadn't even heard him. 'I mean, visiting a church with me… why would that get you hard? That's what I can't understand - '
'Fred!'
'What?'
'Shut the fuck up, will you?'
Fred blinked at him. 'We're supposed to be researching this. This is work, George! You can shut me out any other time if you want, but not when we're working! Be fair.'
Having Fred sound disappointed in him felt worse to George than if his brother had hit him. He bowed his head and contemplated his feet for a moment, trying to work out which shame might be the easier one to live with afterwards - knowing that he'd upset Fred by refusing to talk about it, or having to actually say the words.
Fred's warm, naked body in his bed, all hard and silky and supposedly forbidden, but there he was nonetheless… all that rough snogging… giggles that gave way first to dirty, knowing chuckles and then to no sounds of amusement at all, because this was fucking serious… both of them kneeling up, rubbing their dicks together, eyeing each other lasciviously, seeing each other in a totally new and horrifyingly different way… taking Fred's cock between his lips… letting Fred fuck his mouth… tasting… swallowing… greedily taking the compliments he knew Fred had intended, or at least hoped, to be giving to Angelina, but that was just never gonna happen… then stretching out over Fred's body and… moving on him like that… the closest thing to shagging he'd ever done, 'til that point… kissing and humping and spurting come between them… marking Fred as his… falling asleep all wrapped around one another for the first time since they were little kids…
'You were talking about Christmas when we were sixteen.'
'In church?' Fred asked slyly, smirking a little.
'We were in the crypt, not in the proper church part.'
'Ah. Well, then.' Fred slouched a bit and hooked his thumbs into the back pockets of his jeans.
'I hadn't thought about that for ages,' George said vaguely, not being entirely truthful.
Fred quirked an eyebrow. 'Your brain obviously wanted to though.'
'What's that supposed to mean?'
'Daydream charm pulls up something that's on your mind.' Fred shrugged a bit. 'A current crush or a holiday you're planning or a new job you're hoping to get - '
'But it wasn't on my mind! That's what I'm trying to say. I really hadn't thought about… that. Not for ages.'
'Shit, you know how to flatter a bloke, George!'
'Don't be stupid.'
Fred's smile faded and he contemplated George for an extended moment. 'Can't say I'm entirely prepared to believe you on that though. Not saying you're lying, necessarily. But you do seem to be protesting a bit much.' He quirked that same eyebrow again. 'Sure you haven't thought about it? Not even t'other week, when you held me for hours on end?'
'I didn't do anything inappropriate! I didn't touch you wrong while you were out of it, I swear!'
The look Fred was giving him turned incredulous. 'Well, of course you fucking didn't! As if you would! You don't seriously think I thought that you did?! For gods' sake…'
'I just, I don't want you to think badly of me. That's all.'
Fred stepped up close to him and lightly took hold of his chin, tilting his head up and looking deep into his eyes. 'Ya daft bugger,' he whispered, his voice affectionate and no longer song-like. George figured the last of the charm's effects had now dissipated. 'Do you really mean to say,' Fred stroked the pad of his thumb along the curve of George's bottom lip as he spoke, 'that you've spent the last two and a half years, constantly worrying that I'm thinking you're gonna molest me?'
'Well…' George tried to look off to the side nonchalantly, but his gaze kept being pulled back to his brother's face.
'George.' Fred shook his head at him in mild bemusement. 'It was me, remember? I got into your bed. You shouldn't feel guilty about it.'
'I'm not - !'
'You're acting like you are.' Fred gazed at him a moment longer, then abruptly let go of his chin and stepped away toward the fireplace. 'We were sixteen. We were too horny for our own good. We were still all revved up after the Yule Ball. Oh, and did I mention the bit about being too horny for our own good? We didn't hurt anybody. What's there to feel guilty about?'
'Uh, what about the part where we COMMITTED BLOODY INCEST?'
Fred shrugged. 'So we broke some stupid rule. Big deal! That's what we DO, brother dearest! That's who we are!' He stopped and looked up at George with a piercing look. 'So that's why you asked for some privacy today! You suspected the daydream might actually be something like what you got! Hah.' Fred's look was one of triumph, momentarily, having caught George out on this issue. Then his eyes seemed to darken a little and his gaze swept quickly down George's body before returning to his face. 'This physiological reaction of yours…' He licked his top lip slowly. 'It was for me.'
'Fred - '
'Why didn't you ever say?'
George frowned slightly. 'Say what?'
'That you wanted to do any of that stuff again, of course! You never mentioned it. Not once. Never let me know. Never gave me any indication…'
'Neither did you,' George mumbled a tad miserably.
Waking up on Boxing Day morning… limbs tangled around each other… Fred's head resting on George's chest… not minding having been drooled on… almost forgetting to lift the sound proofing charms and the sleeping spell they'd thrown at Lee… last, furtive looks at each other before dressing… dressing leading to breakfast, to friends and younger siblings, to festive pranks, to latenight out-of-bounds with Lee and Alicia, to hangovers next morning, to friends again and holiday, to start of term, to school schedules, to routine and so on… with never a "right moment" presenting itself to bring the subject up… with the time spent not acknowledging what they'd done that Christmas stretching longer and longer… until now… until Fred comes up with the bright idea of a patented daydream charm and George's brain is all set to give him precisely the sort of daydream he'd been trying NOT to have for two and a half years…
Fred sighed heavily. 'Well. We're a right couple of idiots, then, aren't we?'
George took a deep breath and cast about for something, anything, that would make this awkward moment go away. He needed to think about all this. He needed, maybe, a bit of time alone. He glanced over at his brother. Fred was standing at the mantelpiece, one hand running through red hair, broad shoulders slightly slumped, obviously assaulted by approximately the same thousand or so thoughts as George was right now. George cleared his throat and decided what to do.
'I'm, er, I'm gonna go write all this up in the log book. While it's still fresh, like. Might take me a while.' He took a few steps toward the door. 'You probably shouldn't bother waiting up for me to finish. Um. G'night.'
He was already two or three steps down the staircase before Fred could call "Goodnight" back.
George spent Saturday night writing and wrote clear into Sunday. He wrote in the log book in which they kept details of all their experiments, ideas, product trials and disasters. He wrote an involved description of the daydream charm he'd experienced - as long and as detailed and as honest as he could. When he found there was still more he wanted to write, he scrounged up as much spare parchment as could be found in their workshop and kept on writing. He wrote about growing up with Fred, what it was like having a brother like Fred, a twin like Fred. He wrote about sharing everything from a placenta to a bathroom. He wrote about Christmas when they were sixteen. He wrote about them starting up their business together and moving out of home together. He wrote about nursing Fred through his bad trip two weeks ago, how appallingly responsible and alone that had made him feel, how cut-adrift from his twin's thoughts and internal experiences, even as he cradled Fred in his arms and stroked his hair tenderly. He wrote about Fred standing at the mantelpiece, running a hand through his hair, and how desperately the look of him had made George want to get out of the room and spend the night writing - because, otherwise, had he not got out of there right then, he would've been pulling Fred into his arms roughly and kissing him over and over and over and…
George woke up with his left cheek squashed against the last piece of parchment on the workshop desk and hastily spelled clean the puddle of ink that had been knocked over in his sleep. His neck ached from the unnatural sleeping position and his right hand ached from all the writing. He even had a dent pressed into his third finger from gripping the quill all night.
He gathered the various bits of parchment together, shuffling the pages into correct order and placing them all in a neat, precise stack on the desk. Beside them, he left the log book open at the page where his daydream charm description began. He cleared away the ink and quill, fussed a little more with the placement of everything on the desktop, then grabbed a jacket and slipped out of the store for an early morning walk. As he left, George made sure to rattle the bell over the door more than was strictly necessary, and let the door bang shut loudly behind him. If Fred wasn't already awake, he would be now.
Diagon Alley was barely even up and running yet, it was that early. But the Sunday morning was crisp and the sun had still to get to its "uncomfortable glare" stage, so George stepped out happily, feeling like he'd got a whole lot of everything off his mind and onto the page last night. It was a bit of a risk, he supposed, to have laid it all out like that for his brother, but it was done now. Fred would probably be in the workshop already, probably already reading up on George's daydream. And Fred was a fast reader, too, so George figured he most likely wouldn't have to be out much longer than an hour for Fred to get through all those pages. He'd stay out for two though, just in case. A lot of the stuff he'd written might be heavy going, after all, and might require a second read-through to make Fred absolutely certain of what George was telling him. George left Diagon Alley and strolled into Muggle London. From time to time, he even hummed as he went.
When George returned to the shop around half-eight, a paper bag of fresh croissants from a Muggle bakery swinging in one hand, it was to find Fred sitting at the table in their tiny kitchen. On the table before him was a seemingly forgotten cup of lukewarm tea and all of the loose parchment pages George had penned during the night. There was also a pot of ink and a quill.
'I, er, hope you don't mind…' Fred mumbled.
George took a closer look at the topmost sheet of parchment. It was one of the pages he'd written about Christmas when they were sixteen. Now, in addition to what George wrote, there was also Fred's handwriting squashed in between each line of pre-existing description.
'Um,' Fred mumbled again, not meeting George's eyes yet. 'Needed to add a few bits. Here and there.'
George frowned slightly and put the croissants down on the table, simultaneously picking up the amended parchment with his other hand. It was the page upon which he'd described being stretched out on top of Fred, thrusting against him in an approximation of sex until he came.
You have no idea how determined and happy you looked, Fred had written in between George's words. You suddenly seemed older than me. And I don't just mean by a few minutes, like usual. I mean you seemed more grown-up and skilled and experienced (even though I knew you weren't) than me. More commanding, I guess. In control. Sexy, George. Riding me like that, bracing yourself over my body, taking care not to squash me (yeah, I could tell!) but still managing to be all sorta dominant and powerful. Fuck! I wanted you to come on me like that. I wanted to know that you were excited and horny and out of control over me. I fucking cherished the bruises your hips left on me, bro. Never wanted them to fade. Wish I still had them. I'd thought watching you suck me off had been the best thing ever (well, it WAS my first blowjob, so it totally WAS the best thing ever up to that point!), but when you came, the way your body went tense, the way you moaned my name when you spurted all over me -
There was more, but George couldn't read another word suddenly. He let go of the parchment and reached across the table, took hold of two fistfuls of Fred's clothes, and hauled his brother to his feet.
Their first snog in two and a half years was worth every long minute of the wait.
~fin~