TRADE SECRETS (R) BY IAMSHADOW
Title: Trade Secrets
Author: iamshadow
Ship: Fred/George/Ron
Word Count: 1,222
Rating: R
Warnings: AU. Twincest and Weasleycest. Boytouching. You have been warned!
Summary: After six miserable months working for the twins, a sequence of events leads to an unexpected perk.
A/N: Happy Birthday matildabishop!
When I asked you for prompts, you seemed kind of eager to see what I could do with Ron and another Weasley boy. Well, you're in luck, because apparently, just for today, you get two for the price of one. :)
It seemed to happen in slow motion.
One moment, the workroom was relatively orderly. Busy, yes, frantically so, but things were ticking, boiling and bubbling away as they should have been.
And then… then it all went to hell.
It was over seven months since Ron had left Hogwarts. He’d tried, he really had tried, but his marks just weren’t good enough for the Auror Department. He’d moped at home for a month, until the hints from his parents about ‘other suitable careers’ got too much to bear, and he took Fred and George up on their offer of a position at Wheezes. After all, as much as he loved his Dad, he didn’t think he could work for longer than a week in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office without dying of mind-numbing boredom.
Right at this moment in time, mid-stumble, he was wishing he’d told the twins to stuff their job and gone to spend his days fixing Vomiting Toilets.
It was three days until Valentine’s Day. If he’d thought the lead-up to Christmas was bad, Valentine’s Day was proving to be infinitely worse. The days were hectic, and the nights spent mass-producing stock were miserable. Fred and George were more exacting taskmasters than he’d ever thought possible, and apparently they were feeling the pinch, too, because all too often, if something went wrong, or wasn’t done in a timely enough fashion, the person who copped it was Ron. He’d just about had enough.
He was walking past the big worktable, carrying a stack of completed WonderWitch products by hand (because the twins refused to allow unnecessary magic to be used in the vicinity during the production process) when he misjudged where the table leg was, and caught it with his boot. Down he tumbled, scattering boxes everywhere, Fred and George’s shouts ringing in his ears.
He finally came to rest on the stone floor, covered in pink powder, but fortunately not cut by the broken glass of the phials that had held it. He froze, waiting for the tirade to begin. Instead, to his surprise, the twins began to giggle a little hysterically.
“Oh, Ronnie, you’re so dead,” chortled Fred.
“Big, big, trouble,” tittered George.
“Going to be some very… firm discipline, I think,” Fred said, a little breathlessly.
Ron took the risk of climbing back onto his feet, and was hit by a sudden wave of dizziness. The whole room seemed to do a complete rotation, before settling to a gentle up and down swaying. Through his slight disorientation, Ron became aware of several things. Firstly, that the fine powder from the boxes seemed to have coated everything in the workroom, which would take hours to properly clean. Secondly, when he’d kicked the table, it had slopped a good portion of the Love Potion the twins had been carefully brewing all over the work surface. It was shimmering and swirling in opalescent puddles that were sprinkled liberally with pink powder, and emitting a soft green mist.
Something in the back of his brain registered that that the accidental combination and vaporisation of products was probably a very bad thing.
That something also observed that said mixing and misting was probably the reason the twins had given up on the standard approach of shouting and threatening to fire him, and were instead touching each other in a way that wasn’t generally acceptable for two men so closely related.
“So dead, Ronnie,” Fred clarified, with a lazy smile, as George nuzzled his neck.
Ron swallowed hard, and added to his mental list the fact that moaning softly and reaching down to rub himself through his trousers probably wasn’t the generally accepted response to seeing your twin brothers groping each other, either. He was sure there should have been more declarations of revulsion, and perhaps a Floocall to the MLE, but he just couldn’t help himself. Not when Fred’s hand was busy unbuttoning George’s shirt, and George was nibbling on Fred’s earlobe; worrying it ever-so-gently between his teeth.
“Should probably... air the room out,” Ron gasped, trying to hold on to a thread of control.
“Yeah,” said George unconcernedly, sliding his hand down slowly to cup Fred through his trousers.
“Good idea,” agreed Fred, his eyes fluttering closed, his head falling back exposing an enticing column of throat. “Maybe in a while, yeah?” Fred’s hips were rocking gently, pushing the noticeable bulge of his erection firmly against George’s palm. George gave a light squeeze, and Fred moaned.
Without being aware of his actions, Ron had moved closer. Close enough to reach out and touch them. It was harder to breathe over here, Ron realised. The slightly cloying scent of the pale green vapour enveloped him completely, and the last vestiges of his inhibition fell away.
Ron’s free hand stretched out and brushed George’s cheek. George turned his head, and suddenly, Ron’s fingers were enveloped in soft, wet heat, being teased by tongue and maddening suction. Ron’s breath hitched, and he was pinned by the hot, determined stares of both his brothers.
“You’ve been a naughty boy, Ronnie,” Fred purred.
“Cost us a lot of money,” George agreed, releasing Ron’s fingers. Ron trailed them down George’s chest to pinch and tweak his nipples. George jumped, and arched his chest into the exquisite torture, biting his lip.
“Might have to take it out of your pay check,” Fred murmured. Fred was still moving against George’s hand, but he’d slipped an arm around Ron’s waist, now, and was sliding his fingers up under Ron’s faded Cannons t-shirt to trace patterns on the small of Ron’s back.
“Or you could pay us back now,” George suggested, his voice heavy with innuendo.
“Seeing as we seem to be in a bit of a situation, here,” Fred added.
“Going to be doing it soon anyway,” George confirmed.
“Might as well... work out... the...”
“...dynamics...”
“...now...”
Fred’s face was contorting, and his breath was coming in short, sharp pants. George’s hand started rubbing harder, and Fred’s fingers bit into Ron’s flesh. “Want you,” Fred said, staring straight at Ron as though he wanted to devour him. It unnerved and aroused Ron in equal measure.
“Will you let us?” George asked, before reaching over, covering Ron’s moving hand with his own and pressing firmly.
Ron heard a cry echo up from deep in his throat, heard the twins moan in unison. He must have nodded agreement, because two pairs of hands fluttered over him, unbuttoning his clothes, stripping him with a startling efficiency.
“You won’t make fun of me?” he asked blurrily. “I’ve... I’ve never...”
“Prankster’s honour,” George assured him.
“For what it’s worth,” Fred added.
“What happens in the workroom, stays in the workroom,” George said, in what he obviously intended to be a solemn tone, but emerged somewhat distorted by Ron’s nipple in his mouth.
“You’ve done this before,” Ron realised.
“There have been accidents,” Fred admitted.
“...incidents...”
“...prototypes that went a little awry...”
“Trial and error, you understand,” George said, calmly nuzzling his way down Ron’s torso.
“You’re in safe hands,” Fred assured Ron, which coming from Fred was anything but comforting.
However, a moment later, George’s lips wrapped around Ron’s cock, and Fred’s mouth latched onto his, and he did what had always been safest when it came to the twins. He gave in.
Author: iamshadow
Ship: Fred/George/Ron
Word Count: 1,222
Rating: R
Warnings: AU. Twincest and Weasleycest. Boytouching. You have been warned!
Summary: After six miserable months working for the twins, a sequence of events leads to an unexpected perk.
A/N: Happy Birthday matildabishop!
When I asked you for prompts, you seemed kind of eager to see what I could do with Ron and another Weasley boy. Well, you're in luck, because apparently, just for today, you get two for the price of one. :)
It seemed to happen in slow motion.
One moment, the workroom was relatively orderly. Busy, yes, frantically so, but things were ticking, boiling and bubbling away as they should have been.
And then… then it all went to hell.
It was over seven months since Ron had left Hogwarts. He’d tried, he really had tried, but his marks just weren’t good enough for the Auror Department. He’d moped at home for a month, until the hints from his parents about ‘other suitable careers’ got too much to bear, and he took Fred and George up on their offer of a position at Wheezes. After all, as much as he loved his Dad, he didn’t think he could work for longer than a week in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office without dying of mind-numbing boredom.
Right at this moment in time, mid-stumble, he was wishing he’d told the twins to stuff their job and gone to spend his days fixing Vomiting Toilets.
It was three days until Valentine’s Day. If he’d thought the lead-up to Christmas was bad, Valentine’s Day was proving to be infinitely worse. The days were hectic, and the nights spent mass-producing stock were miserable. Fred and George were more exacting taskmasters than he’d ever thought possible, and apparently they were feeling the pinch, too, because all too often, if something went wrong, or wasn’t done in a timely enough fashion, the person who copped it was Ron. He’d just about had enough.
He was walking past the big worktable, carrying a stack of completed WonderWitch products by hand (because the twins refused to allow unnecessary magic to be used in the vicinity during the production process) when he misjudged where the table leg was, and caught it with his boot. Down he tumbled, scattering boxes everywhere, Fred and George’s shouts ringing in his ears.
He finally came to rest on the stone floor, covered in pink powder, but fortunately not cut by the broken glass of the phials that had held it. He froze, waiting for the tirade to begin. Instead, to his surprise, the twins began to giggle a little hysterically.
“Oh, Ronnie, you’re so dead,” chortled Fred.
“Big, big, trouble,” tittered George.
“Going to be some very… firm discipline, I think,” Fred said, a little breathlessly.
Ron took the risk of climbing back onto his feet, and was hit by a sudden wave of dizziness. The whole room seemed to do a complete rotation, before settling to a gentle up and down swaying. Through his slight disorientation, Ron became aware of several things. Firstly, that the fine powder from the boxes seemed to have coated everything in the workroom, which would take hours to properly clean. Secondly, when he’d kicked the table, it had slopped a good portion of the Love Potion the twins had been carefully brewing all over the work surface. It was shimmering and swirling in opalescent puddles that were sprinkled liberally with pink powder, and emitting a soft green mist.
Something in the back of his brain registered that that the accidental combination and vaporisation of products was probably a very bad thing.
That something also observed that said mixing and misting was probably the reason the twins had given up on the standard approach of shouting and threatening to fire him, and were instead touching each other in a way that wasn’t generally acceptable for two men so closely related.
“So dead, Ronnie,” Fred clarified, with a lazy smile, as George nuzzled his neck.
Ron swallowed hard, and added to his mental list the fact that moaning softly and reaching down to rub himself through his trousers probably wasn’t the generally accepted response to seeing your twin brothers groping each other, either. He was sure there should have been more declarations of revulsion, and perhaps a Floocall to the MLE, but he just couldn’t help himself. Not when Fred’s hand was busy unbuttoning George’s shirt, and George was nibbling on Fred’s earlobe; worrying it ever-so-gently between his teeth.
“Should probably... air the room out,” Ron gasped, trying to hold on to a thread of control.
“Yeah,” said George unconcernedly, sliding his hand down slowly to cup Fred through his trousers.
“Good idea,” agreed Fred, his eyes fluttering closed, his head falling back exposing an enticing column of throat. “Maybe in a while, yeah?” Fred’s hips were rocking gently, pushing the noticeable bulge of his erection firmly against George’s palm. George gave a light squeeze, and Fred moaned.
Without being aware of his actions, Ron had moved closer. Close enough to reach out and touch them. It was harder to breathe over here, Ron realised. The slightly cloying scent of the pale green vapour enveloped him completely, and the last vestiges of his inhibition fell away.
Ron’s free hand stretched out and brushed George’s cheek. George turned his head, and suddenly, Ron’s fingers were enveloped in soft, wet heat, being teased by tongue and maddening suction. Ron’s breath hitched, and he was pinned by the hot, determined stares of both his brothers.
“You’ve been a naughty boy, Ronnie,” Fred purred.
“Cost us a lot of money,” George agreed, releasing Ron’s fingers. Ron trailed them down George’s chest to pinch and tweak his nipples. George jumped, and arched his chest into the exquisite torture, biting his lip.
“Might have to take it out of your pay check,” Fred murmured. Fred was still moving against George’s hand, but he’d slipped an arm around Ron’s waist, now, and was sliding his fingers up under Ron’s faded Cannons t-shirt to trace patterns on the small of Ron’s back.
“Or you could pay us back now,” George suggested, his voice heavy with innuendo.
“Seeing as we seem to be in a bit of a situation, here,” Fred added.
“Going to be doing it soon anyway,” George confirmed.
“Might as well... work out... the...”
“...dynamics...”
“...now...”
Fred’s face was contorting, and his breath was coming in short, sharp pants. George’s hand started rubbing harder, and Fred’s fingers bit into Ron’s flesh. “Want you,” Fred said, staring straight at Ron as though he wanted to devour him. It unnerved and aroused Ron in equal measure.
“Will you let us?” George asked, before reaching over, covering Ron’s moving hand with his own and pressing firmly.
Ron heard a cry echo up from deep in his throat, heard the twins moan in unison. He must have nodded agreement, because two pairs of hands fluttered over him, unbuttoning his clothes, stripping him with a startling efficiency.
“You won’t make fun of me?” he asked blurrily. “I’ve... I’ve never...”
“Prankster’s honour,” George assured him.
“For what it’s worth,” Fred added.
“What happens in the workroom, stays in the workroom,” George said, in what he obviously intended to be a solemn tone, but emerged somewhat distorted by Ron’s nipple in his mouth.
“You’ve done this before,” Ron realised.
“There have been accidents,” Fred admitted.
“...incidents...”
“...prototypes that went a little awry...”
“Trial and error, you understand,” George said, calmly nuzzling his way down Ron’s torso.
“You’re in safe hands,” Fred assured Ron, which coming from Fred was anything but comforting.
However, a moment later, George’s lips wrapped around Ron’s cock, and Fred’s mouth latched onto his, and he did what had always been safest when it came to the twins. He gave in.