Gooey
Title: Gooey
Pairing(s): Fred/George
Prompt(s): it's all gooey
Rating: PG13?
Wordcount: 786
Summary: "It's all gooey!" Ha.
Warnings: Chan/underage (like whoah... 11ish), but not explicit. And a terrible title.
Notes: I sort of played with one of the scenarios in Supposed to Stop. Because, uh, that's where my mind went with this prompt? *goes to hell* This was written for the Twincestabration at hp_cestfest, of course! ♥
"Ow! Prat," George muttered, blinking sleepily into the dark and reaching behind him to swat Fred's insistent hand away. It took a few seconds of swishing through empty space for him to remember that he was at Hogwarts now, and alone in the bed, and the shaking was coming from his other side.
The realisation brought him immediately to attention. He sat up quickly and looked up into his brother's face, which, even in the gloomy grey of the room, he could tell was not right. "What's the matter?"
Fred leaned in close, his warm breath brushing George's cheek as he whispered. "Something's wrong with me!"
Normally, George would have responded with a snort and an of course there's something wrong with you, but he could feel Fred's anxiety in his own chest, constricting and tight. "What?"
"I pissed myself."
"You what?"
"Pissed myself," Fred hissed, his fingers clawing at George's duvet. "I pissed the stupid bed. But..."
George knit his eyebrows in concentration and bit his lip, forcing himself not to burst out laughing. The muscles in his belly heaved silently as he tilted his head, waiting for the rest.
"But... it's all gooey."
George made a noise somewhere between hilarity and alarm, and only the hurt look on his brother's face stopped a full-on fit of laughter. "It's gooey?" he finally managed, pushing his bedclothes further back and turning to swing his legs over the bed. "Like... toffee gooey?"
"No! More like... glue gooey. And..."
"What?"
"Nothing. Just come look."
"Ew! I don't want to..."
"Please?"
"Fine."
George slid to the floor and padded over to Fred's bed. Fred pulled back the hangings and pointed. In the dark, George couldn't see anything. Before he could protest, Fred grabbed him by the wrist and jammed his hand down onto the crumpled pyjama bottoms puddled there. They were, in fact, gooey.
George pulled his hand back with a start, and then quickly brought it up to his nose. "That's not pee."
"Then...?"
"Did you have a dream?" George asked, suddenly remembering something Charlie had told him over the summer.
Fred nodded.
"What was it?"
Fred shrugged, but he was fidgeting with the elastic of his clean pyjamas, and George knew he was lying.
"What was it?" George asked again, suddenly intrigued. "If you tell me, I'll tell you what happened."
"You know what's wrong with me?"
"Mmmhmm. Charlie told us. Remember?"
Fred suddenly looked up, his eyebrows flying into his fringe. "Oh! It's... do you think...?"
"Reckon so," George said. "Tell me what you dreamed." Even in the dark, George could see the colour rush up into his brother's face, a shadow there where it hadn't been a moment ago. Now he really wanted to know. He tugged at Fred's hand roughly. "Please?"
"It was nothing. It was just... you were in it."
"Me?"
Fred nodded.
George could feel colour coming to his own cheeks now. "What was I doing?"
Fred shrugged again.
"Tell me!"
Fred shook his head.
"...Show me?"
Fred looked up. "Show you?"
"Do you remember enough?"
Fred hesitated for a minute, staring into George's face like he was looking for something there. Finally, he nodded. "Yeah."
"So show me. I promise I won't laugh."
"If you do, I'll hex your bollocks off."
"Promise."
"Okay." Fred took a deep breath. He reached behind himself to shove his dirty pyjamas under the pillow, then leaned back onto the bed, drawing his knees up. "Come 'ere."
George crawled up beside his brother and yanked the hangings closed.
"Ready?" Fred asked.
George nodded, his heart suddenly pounding inside of his chest, feeling entirely too big.
"You can't laugh. And you can't bloody tell. Not even Charlie."
George couldn't make the words come out, so he just shook his head. His whole body felt like it was on fire, sparking and crazy.
"Okay." Fred held his breath for a second and then let it out in a long, shaky sort of way. "It was... you were doing this." He reached one hand out and took hold of George's hip, scooting closer. With his other, he pulled back the elastic of George's pyjamas and slid tentatively underneath.
_______________
"See?" George murmured quietly, his fingers wound tightly through Fred's t-shirt, their sweaty foreheads pressed together. "It's fine. You didn't pee."
Fred nodded against him, breathless and wide-eyed. "Okay," he whispered, wiping his hands across the front of George's now-gooey pyjamas. "Okay. It's okay. You're right. It's okay."
They paused for a moment, just looking at one another, before George wriggled out of his bottoms and slid under the covers. "Don't worry," he said, his voice soft and fragile in the silence. "They can't tell us apart. I can stay."
Pairing(s): Fred/George
Prompt(s): it's all gooey
Rating: PG13?
Wordcount: 786
Summary: "It's all gooey!" Ha.
Warnings: Chan/underage (like whoah... 11ish), but not explicit. And a terrible title.
Notes: I sort of played with one of the scenarios in Supposed to Stop. Because, uh, that's where my mind went with this prompt? *goes to hell* This was written for the Twincestabration at hp_cestfest, of course! ♥
"Ow! Prat," George muttered, blinking sleepily into the dark and reaching behind him to swat Fred's insistent hand away. It took a few seconds of swishing through empty space for him to remember that he was at Hogwarts now, and alone in the bed, and the shaking was coming from his other side.
The realisation brought him immediately to attention. He sat up quickly and looked up into his brother's face, which, even in the gloomy grey of the room, he could tell was not right. "What's the matter?"
Fred leaned in close, his warm breath brushing George's cheek as he whispered. "Something's wrong with me!"
Normally, George would have responded with a snort and an of course there's something wrong with you, but he could feel Fred's anxiety in his own chest, constricting and tight. "What?"
"I pissed myself."
"You what?"
"Pissed myself," Fred hissed, his fingers clawing at George's duvet. "I pissed the stupid bed. But..."
George knit his eyebrows in concentration and bit his lip, forcing himself not to burst out laughing. The muscles in his belly heaved silently as he tilted his head, waiting for the rest.
"But... it's all gooey."
George made a noise somewhere between hilarity and alarm, and only the hurt look on his brother's face stopped a full-on fit of laughter. "It's gooey?" he finally managed, pushing his bedclothes further back and turning to swing his legs over the bed. "Like... toffee gooey?"
"No! More like... glue gooey. And..."
"What?"
"Nothing. Just come look."
"Ew! I don't want to..."
"Please?"
"Fine."
George slid to the floor and padded over to Fred's bed. Fred pulled back the hangings and pointed. In the dark, George couldn't see anything. Before he could protest, Fred grabbed him by the wrist and jammed his hand down onto the crumpled pyjama bottoms puddled there. They were, in fact, gooey.
George pulled his hand back with a start, and then quickly brought it up to his nose. "That's not pee."
"Then...?"
"Did you have a dream?" George asked, suddenly remembering something Charlie had told him over the summer.
Fred nodded.
"What was it?"
Fred shrugged, but he was fidgeting with the elastic of his clean pyjamas, and George knew he was lying.
"What was it?" George asked again, suddenly intrigued. "If you tell me, I'll tell you what happened."
"You know what's wrong with me?"
"Mmmhmm. Charlie told us. Remember?"
Fred suddenly looked up, his eyebrows flying into his fringe. "Oh! It's... do you think...?"
"Reckon so," George said. "Tell me what you dreamed." Even in the dark, George could see the colour rush up into his brother's face, a shadow there where it hadn't been a moment ago. Now he really wanted to know. He tugged at Fred's hand roughly. "Please?"
"It was nothing. It was just... you were in it."
"Me?"
Fred nodded.
George could feel colour coming to his own cheeks now. "What was I doing?"
Fred shrugged again.
"Tell me!"
Fred shook his head.
"...Show me?"
Fred looked up. "Show you?"
"Do you remember enough?"
Fred hesitated for a minute, staring into George's face like he was looking for something there. Finally, he nodded. "Yeah."
"So show me. I promise I won't laugh."
"If you do, I'll hex your bollocks off."
"Promise."
"Okay." Fred took a deep breath. He reached behind himself to shove his dirty pyjamas under the pillow, then leaned back onto the bed, drawing his knees up. "Come 'ere."
George crawled up beside his brother and yanked the hangings closed.
"Ready?" Fred asked.
George nodded, his heart suddenly pounding inside of his chest, feeling entirely too big.
"You can't laugh. And you can't bloody tell. Not even Charlie."
George couldn't make the words come out, so he just shook his head. His whole body felt like it was on fire, sparking and crazy.
"Okay." Fred held his breath for a second and then let it out in a long, shaky sort of way. "It was... you were doing this." He reached one hand out and took hold of George's hip, scooting closer. With his other, he pulled back the elastic of George's pyjamas and slid tentatively underneath.
_______________
"See?" George murmured quietly, his fingers wound tightly through Fred's t-shirt, their sweaty foreheads pressed together. "It's fine. You didn't pee."
Fred nodded against him, breathless and wide-eyed. "Okay," he whispered, wiping his hands across the front of George's now-gooey pyjamas. "Okay. It's okay. You're right. It's okay."
They paused for a moment, just looking at one another, before George wriggled out of his bottoms and slid under the covers. "Don't worry," he said, his voice soft and fragile in the silence. "They can't tell us apart. I can stay."