Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/266627.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_RPF, British_Actor_RPF
  Relationship:
      James_Phelps/Oliver_Phelps
  Character:
      James_Phelps, Oliver_Phelps
  Additional Tags:
      Bloodplay, Twincest, RPF
  Stats:
      Published: 2006-02-07 Words: 4261
****** Crimson & Cream ******
by MaxWrite
Summary
     The boys make a promise to each other that becomes something much
     more.
The screen door banged loudly as James stormed into the house. Oliver trailed
sullenly after him, several feet behind, football under his arm. His mother
opened the screen door for him.
“Ollie?”
“It wasn’t our fault this time,” he cut in, turning to face her. “Anthony said
-”
“Oliver!” she gasped, taking hold of his face. “He … did that boy hit you?”
“It’s not that big a deal,” groaned Ollie, trying to wrench his face away.
“Your eye is completely purple!”
“He was going for James. I got in the way.”
“What do you mean you got in the way?”
Ollie shrugged. “I was protecting him.”
She stopped, swallowing whatever retort she was about to spout at him. Her
features softened, as did her grip on her son’s jaw.
“Oh, Ollie,” she said, cupping his face and smiling at him. He blinked at her
confusedly. Next thing he knew, he’d been drawn into a crushing embrace, his
arms pinned to his sides. The ball dropped and rolled away. He looked around
just in time to see James descend the stairs, looking calmer, but no less
upset. He frowned at Ollie, his eyes asking a silent question. “What the fuck?”
is what they seemed to say. Ollie did his best to shrug within their mother’s
embrace. James shook his head in a “she’s mental” sort of way and proceeded to
the kitchen.
“Mum?” said Ollie. “Mum, please …”
She released him, smiled at him and sniffled.
“Why are you crying?” he asked, exasperated.
“I just love you, sweety.”
“Well, I love you too, and you don’t see me leaking all over the place.”
She backed away, resisting the urge to hug him again. “You have your father’s
wit.”
“His what?”
“His sense of humour. Did James get hurt too?”
“Nah. Might’ve scraped a knee or something, but nothing major.”
She sighed. “Well, come on then, we’ll get some ice on that.”
“I can get it.”
James had already left by the time he reached the kitchen. He got a small bag
of frozen peas from the freezer, slapped it over his eye, and trudged upstairs.
He found James in their room, on his bed, back to the wall, knees drawn up to
his chest. He didn’t look around when Oliver entered. Ollie closed the door and
approached the bed.
“She’s not coming up here to hug me, is she?” said James, still staring
straight ahead.
“Nah. Reckon she’s blubbering all over our ball at the moment.”
“What was that about anyway?”
Ollie shrugged. “I said I got hit protecting you, and she went all weird on
me.”
At that, James glared up at him. “Why’d you have to do that, eh?”
“You’re welcome.”
“Oh, come off it!” snapped James, scooting to the edge of the bed and standing
up. “Now they all think I’m some big baby!”
“They thought that anyway, didn’t they?”
James’s gaze turned venomous, and he began to stalk off. Ollie dropped his
peas, reached out and grabbed James’s arms.
“Wait, wait, wait, I was joking, Jay. Remember joking? It’s supposed to be
fun.”
James didn’t care for the grin on Ollie’s face, but to his dismay, it was
rather contagious. It usually was.
“And anyway, you running away the way you did probably didn’t help your image
much.”
At that, the smile struggling for control of James’s face broke out in full.
“You’re a wanker, you know that?” he said. His smile faded a little as he
noticed Ollie’s bruised eye. “That’s quite a shiner, eh?”
“Yeah. Jealous?”
“Oh, shut up,” James laughed, punching him in the arm.
“Seriously, James, you have to be careful. I won’t always be there, you know.”
James looked at his feet. “I know.”
“I’ll always protect you if I can, though. You know that, right?”
James slowly raised his face to meet Ollie’s gaze. He wanted to say he didn’t
need protecting. He wanted to say he could take care of himself. But he
couldn’t say either of those things. Not while Ollie was looking at him like
that. Because, truth was, he wanted his twin at his side, and he couldn’t lie
to his face.
“I’d do the same for you,” James finally said. “Ya know, if … if …”
“If it wasn’t always you who needed protecting?”
“Er, yeah.” They both giggled softly. “Does it hurt?”
“Nah. Just a bit sore.”
James shuffled his feet. “Thank you.”
“Forget it.”
“You know what we should do?” asked James with sudden enthusiasm. “We should
make a pact.”
“For what?”
“A promise, you know, that we’ll always stand up for each other.”
Ollie watched James scurry from hiding place to hiding place, searching for
something.
“But -”
“A blood brothers bond or something.”
“But we’re already twins, James. Our DNA’s exactly the same, you don’t get much
closer than that.”
James ignored him as he felt around at the back of his underwear drawer.
“Your – James! Listen! Your blood’s just like mine, we’re already -”
“Then mixing it won’t hurt, will it? Ah-ha!”
There was a ripping sound, as of tape being torn off a surface, and James’s
arms came out with a little red, cylindrical object clutched in his hand. He
removed the tape, crumpled it and dropped it to the floor.
“Is that the Swiss Army knife Uncle John gave you?”
“Yep.”
“That’s supposed to be hidden somewhere.”
“Locked in a drawer in the liquor cabinet, I know. That’s where I found it.”
“James.”
“Oh, don’t worry. It’s only mum who wants it locked up, Dad thinks I should
have it.”
“Mum’s gonna let you have it when she finds out.”
“Maybe. I think she’ll be more upset about the beers I nicked.”
“James!”
“What? I got one for you, too. Come here.”
James dragged him back over to his bed and sat down.
“Sit. Gimmie your right hand.”
“What? No!”
James rolled his eyes. “Want me to do myself first?”
“You’re barking.”
“Fine.” Taking the knife awkwardly in his left hand, James held his right
before himself, palm up. Breathing deeply and evenly, he placed the blade above
his palm and moved it closer in tiny increments. His and Ollie’s faces moved
closer as well in unison with each other and the blade.
But as the blade touched the skin, it stopped. They stared in silence for
several seconds.
“We should get the rubbing alcohol,” said Ollie softly.
James looked around at him slowly. “For what?”
“For disinfecting, of course.”
“Disinfecting? It’s a blood bond, Ol, not open-heart surgery.”
“Still … Well, do it if you’re doing it.”
“All right!”
With a deep breath, James pressed blade into his skin and slowly dragged it
back, toward himself. He watched the skin part, revealing pale pink flesh
within. He took the blade away, leaving a three quarter-inch slit, and he just
stared at it.
“Does it hurt?” asked Ollie.
“Stings a bit.”
And then the blood came, rising to the surface and oozing out slowly. They
watched it pool in the slit, and then dribble down as James tilted his hand.
“Do you want to do it yourself, or shall I?” he asked. Ollie thought for a
moment, then thrust his hand at James, palm up. With a mischievous grin, James
licked the blood from his palm and took the knife in his right hand, gripping
Ollie’s wrist with his left. “Stop shaking,” he demanded through clenched
teeth.
“I’m sorry.”
He looked into Ollie eyes. “Do you trust me?”
Oliver swallowed and nodded. James lowered his gaze again and went to work.
But as soon as the cool metal touched his skin, Ollie flinched and pulled away.
James sat back and sighed.
“You’re pathetic, you know that?”
“Sorry.”
“Maybe you should do it.”
“Nah, I’ll never be able to.”
“Would a countdown help?”
“Maybe.”
“Right, then, on the count of three, yeah?” James took his hand again. “Count
with me. One …”
Ollie squeezed his eyes shut.
“… two …”
James bit his lip and sliced a one-inch slit dead center of Ollie’s palm. Ollie
yelped and jerked away from him, examining his hand, then glaring at James.
“That wasn’t a three count, you liar!”
James chuckled. “Well, of course it wasn’t. You’d have pulled away on three,
wouldn’t you?”
Ollie looked down at his cut. “Sneaky bastard,” he mumbled.
“Got the job done, didn’t I? Let’s see it. Is it bleeding yet?”
It was. The deep, rich liquid glistened on Ollie’s palm. James’s cut was also
leaking again.
“Come on. Let’s press ’em together.”
They carefully placed their palms together, cut to cut, mashing them tightly,
fingers curling over the tops behind the thumbs while the thumbs linked round
each other. They looked into each others’ eyes.
“Should we say something?” asked Ollie.
“Erm … how ’bout this:” James cleared his throat, “do you, Oliver Martyn John,
pledge yourself to me forever and ever?”
“I do.”
“Even after we’re both six feet under being eaten by worms?”
Ollie grinned. “Yes, I do. And do you, James Andrew Eric, pledge yourself to
forever and ever, even after we’re both rotting away someplace underneath
somebody’s tulips?”
“I do. That’s it then. We’re both bonded forever now.”
“I still say we already were.”
“Shush.”
They gave each other’s hands a final squeeze and let go. Little rivers of blood
slid down the insides of their wrists, down along their arms. Oliver watched
it, fascinated, while James promptly licked his up. Oliver glanced at him.
“You’ve got a little, er …” he said. He reached out and wiped a droplet from
James’s mouth with his thumb, sucked the thumb clean.
“How do I taste?” asked James.
“Bloody, of course.” Ollie went back to examining his cut. He put a finger next
to it and pressed, causing himself a little pain and forcing more blood out. He
hissed softly through his teeth.
“Why’d you do that?” asked James, watching his brother.
“Dunno.”
He did it again, harder this time, causing sharper pain. Blood pooled around
his pressing finger.
James reached over and took Ollie’s left hand, brought the bloody finger to his
mouth and sucked it clean. Ollie’s eyes darted from James’s sucking, to the
crimson splotch on his palm and the rivers running down his arm. His attention
went back and forth from the pulsing pain in his hand, to the warm, wet
interior of his brother’s mouth. There was movement between his legs as he
watched James sucking his finger and concentrated on the pain. He squeezed his
hand shut, digging his nails into his palm.
James pulled the finger out of his mouth just in time to see Oliver opening his
hand again, this time with blood all over his fingertips. James was practically
salivating.
“We should go over to your bed,” he said. “Red sheets.”
“Right,” agreed Ollie.
They transferred themselves to Ollie’s bed, where Ollie, who couldn’t help but
notice James eyeing his bloody hand, offered his hand to James. James took it
and started licking in the middle of the forearm, where the blood had dribbled
to a halt. He licked his way up to the palm, then took each bloody finger, one
by one, suckling rather enthusiastically until they were all clean. He cleaned
round the cut, the tip of his tongue dancing and flitting round it carefully.
Then he pulled back.
Ollie’s heart was pounding. Both he and James were contemplating what was about
to happen. He’d begun trembling again. “Lick it,” he whispered.
James licked his lips, clearing away some of the blood that had been smeared
there. He stared at the oozing cut, admiring the way it glistened like liquid
plastic. He lowered his face to it extending his tongue …
The initial contact sent a shock wave straight to Ollie’s groin, and he
squirmed as James’s tongue gently probed the little opening. James noticed his
fidgeting and stopped licking.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
“Yes,” Ollie whispered.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Lick me, James,” Ollie begged, his voice shaky.
James's gaze went from worried to hungry as he stared into his brother’s eyes.
This was the first time he’d seen Ollie’s desire, and he liked it. Without
breaking eye contact, he gave Ollie’s palm a hard lick, right over the cut,
pressing against it firmly, the entire width of his tongue coming in contact
with skin. Oliver gasped, but didn’t flinch or pull away. James placed his lips
around the cut and began to suck. Ollie hissed through his teeth, his upper lip
curling in a way James had seen before, but for the first time found very sexy.
He sucked harder, causing Ollie to arch a bit and let his head fall back just a
little, his half-lidded eyes still watching his twin. That is, until they
rolled up into his head. He closed his eyes then and turned his face away.
James, having thoroughly cleaned the cut and hand, raised his head. He reached
out to touch Ollie’s chin, turned his face back. “You like the pain,” he said.
Ollie nodded, breathing slightly hard.
“I want more,” he whispered. James nodded then, eager to provide more of
anything that was giving his twin such pleasure.
“We should do it in a place mum and dad won’t see … Take off your pants. And
your knickers.”
James went back to his bed and got the Swiss Army knife. When he turned back,
Ollie was lowering his underwear. He straightened up again, and James knew he
should meet Ollie’s eyes, but he was having a difficult time taking his eyes
off his brother’s lower half.
“Shall I take off my shirt too?”
“Er, yeah,” stuttered James. Ollie obliged, pulling his shirt off over his
head. Then he sat, laid himself down on his bed, on his back, and waited.
Now James was shaking as he approached, his eyes traveling up and down his
twin’s naked body. He put the knife down and unbuttoned his jeans. He removed
them, kept everything else on, and crawled onto the bed.
Sitting on his knees, he spread Ollie’s legs wide, his own prick twitching at
the sight of his twin all spread out that way. He hunched over his brother’s
crotch, positioned the knife just below the left hipbone and made the first cut
along the crease where thigh met groin. Ollie clawed at the sheets on either
side of himself, curled his toes tightly, but otherwise, didn’t move, knowing
that would be dangerous. He stared at the ceiling as another cut was made below
the first.
“James,” he whispered desperately. He raised his left hand to James’s head,
touched his face and neck. James thought Ollie wanted to tell him something,
but no; he’d only wanted to say James’s name, to touch him. A lump rose in
James’s throat. He placed the knife on the bedside table. The cuts were already
starting to leak. James put a finger to the first, pressed into it, ran the
finger down along it.
The blade gone, Ollie was free to move. His body reacted quite favourably to
the pain, his cock leaking onto his belly, his skin tingling electrically.
“Suck it, James,” he begged.
Those bright red gashes oozing that deep crimson, contrasting so completely
against that palest peach skin; it was calling to James. He gave his brother
what he wanted and dove in, lying down and clamping his mouth over the cuts and
licking and sucking, causing Ollie to thrust up against his mouth, grab his
hair and produce the most wonderful noises of ecstasy in the back of his
throat.
These cuts, deeper than the ones on their palms, yielded even more liquid. It
was warm and tangy on James’s tongue. And it was Ollie’s blood, so much better
than his own. How many times had he licked his own cuts? He’d always known he
liked the taste a lot more than most people did. It had never occurred to him
to lick his brother’s cuts.
No, that wasn’t true, he admitted to himself. It had occurred to him, of course
it had. It had never occurred to him to actually do it, though. It never
occurred to him that Ollie might enjoy it too.
Ollie’s fist had begun pumping his shaft right next to James’s face, and James
was mesmerised by it, by the gently rolling of Ollie’s narrow boy-hips. He
placed his hands on either side of Ollie’s little waist as he sucked and
licked, caressing up and down his brother’s undulating midsection.
But then James stopped sucking, and Ollie noticed. He looked down, saw the way
James was staring, and angled the head of his prick toward his brother,
offering it to him.
James hesitated, waited, moving in slowly. Finally, Ollie could feel James’s
breath on the head. James was poised to take a lick, to swipe that lovely
little bead of pre-cum form the slit. He poked his tongue out and did just
that. One lick lead to another and another, until James’s tongue was swirling
with surprising grace round and round the head of his brother’s dick. Finally,
he took it in his mouth and began to suck.
Ollie was very appreciative. And the more vocal he became, the more eagerly
James sucked, until James had to stop, had to slink up his brother’s body and
attempt to silence him with a kiss. It was their first kiss, but they were both
too excited to feel awkward. Ollie was still groaning quite loudly as James’s
tongue licked slowly and sensually around the interior of Ollie’s mouth. In
fact, James finally realised, kissing Ollie wasn’t silencing him at all; it was
turning him on so much, it was making his noises worse.
The kiss ended suddenly with a smack.
“Shh,” said James. “Mummy’ll hear you.”
“Give me more,” Ollie whispered. “Cut me again.”
James looked torn. “You sure? We could get in so much trouble.”
“We bonded. We said the words, didn’t we?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I need you now.”
Ollie was holding his gaze with an intense stare. James couldn’t look away.
“Jamie, please …” Ollie whispered, and it was so soft, it was almost deafening.
James sat up, still looking into Ollie’s eyes, and he nodded slowly. He reached
for the knife, held his own right hand open, and made a pass along the cut,
making it bleed again. He switched hands then, giving his left hand the same
treatment, and when he was done, he had thin trickles of blood making their way
down his arm and off the side of his hands. He stared at his hands, exhilarated
and a little frightened at what he’d just done. He was breathing quickly, eyes
darting from one hand to the other. A droplet fell from his right hand, landed
on Ollie’s belly.
Ollie watched the droplet’s descent. It slid to the edge of James’s hand,
became a tiny little bulb dangling, just hanging in space, growing larger and
larger, until it finally let go, floated, in what seemed like slow motion,
down, down, down, landing softly just above Ollie’s navel. He gasped ever so
slightly as it landed, smiled just a little at the feeling. His eyes darted up
to James’s face.
“Hold out your hands,” James demanded, and Ollie barely recognised his voice.
It was quiet and deep and lusty and authoritative. Ollie obeyed, holding his
hands out to James, and James slit Ollie’s palms, making the right one bleed
again and making the left one match.
James tossed the knife aside. It landed on the carpet with a dull thud. He took
hold of Ollie’s wrists, watched the blood emerge, gave each palm a kiss,
smearing Ollie’s blood on his lips.
“Ever tried on mum’s lipstick?” asked Ollie, his voice low and shaky.
James grinned grotesquely at him. “No.”
“You should. Red looks good on you.”
“You, too, I’ll bet.” And James leaned forward and kissed him again. Ollie
licked eagerly at James’s lips, the coppery metal tang of his own blood meeting
his tongue. He lapped it up like honey, grinding up against James desperately.
He spread his legs even wider, and James began to grind back, feeling his
brother’s hardness through his underwear. Their dicks were touching, and yet
they weren’t. It was strange and new and maddeningly exciting.
He gave his palm a lick, coating his tongue with his own blood, the plunged his
tongue back into Ollie’s mouth. He clasped hands with Ollie, linked fingers,
pressed the cuts, mixed the blood once more, pinned Ollie’s hands to the
mattress on either side of his head and rubbed against him faster. They
squeezed each other’s hands so tight, they displaced the blood within, causing
pale white patches beneath their fingertips.
There was a knock at the door. They both stopped dead.
“Boys?”
“We’re busy!” James called, trying to sound normal.
“Well, lunch is almost ready,” said their mother’s voice.
“We’ll be down in …” James trailed off, looked to Ollie for help, whispered,
“How long’s this s’posed to take?”
“Er, give us five – no! Ten minutes!” Ollie called.
“All right. Ten minutes, then I’m coming in after you.”
They lay completely still for several seconds, listening for her fading
footsteps, for some audible sign that they were safe. Finally, deciding she was
gone, James began to grind against Ollie again.
“Make me come, Jamie,” Ollie begged breathily.
James knew they had to hurry. They’d need enough time to clean themselves up
afterward before heading downstairs. “You really like pain?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“It turns you on?”
“I know it’s weird.”
“It’s okay. It’s kinda cool.” James stopped grinding and grinned down at his
twin. “It’s really cool, actually.”
Ollie felt his cheeks heat up. He was turning violently pink, he knew it.
“Really?” he said softly.
“Yeah. You’re, like, all tough, ya know?” James gazed into his eyes, rubbed
against him just a little, whispered, “It’s really neat.”
Ollie could see the admiration in James’s eyes, could hear it in his voice, and
it touched him. “Jamie …”
“Shh. I’m gonna make you come.” James unclasped their fingers, took hold of
Ollie’s hands, placing his thumbs directly over the cuts on Ollie’s palms.
“Ready?” he asked. Ollie nodded “One … two … three!” And James pressed down
hard with his thumbs, beginning to grind again as well. Ollie gasped and
squeezed his eyes shut. James made tight little circular movements firmly
against Ollie’s cuts, causing them to ooze, causing Ollie pain. And when
Ollie’s groaning grew too loud, James plugged Ollie’s mouth with his tongue
again, opening his own mouth wide enough to swallow his brother’s passion.
And Ollie was coming, and he wrenched his hands out of James’s grasp, wrapped
his arms and legs around his twin’s body, held him tight, sucked his tongue,
writhed against him. When his body finally began to relax, he lowered his legs,
but kept his arms wrapped tightly around James’s torso, moaned softly and
contentedly into James’s mouth, then into James’s ear, a warm, blissful feeling
washing over him. He grinned against James’s neck and gave a quiet little
giggle.
James lifted up onto his elbows to look at him. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing’s funny,” Ollie replied in a sleepy voice. “I’m just happy. You made
me come, James.”
James grinned back shyly. “Yeah, well …”
“Aren’t you going to come too?”
James broke away from him, got up on his knees and pulled out his dick. He
licked his palm and went to work on himself, staring at his twin’s body, naked
and laid out before him, the cuts he’d made at Ollie’s pelvis now clotted, but
still beautifully bright against Ollie’s milky skin.
“Show me your hands,” said James. “Put them up by your head.”
Ollie raised his arms and rested his hands, palms up, on the pillow on either
side of his head, showing James the red gashes. He could see how much James
loved to look at him. He grinned a naughty little grin, licked his lips, spread
his legs wider and arched and rolled his hips. James increased the speed of his
stroking.
And Ollie was more than happy to let James come all over him, James’s cream
joining his own on his belly, the droplet of James’s blood that had landed
above his navel having long since mixed with cum, turning from deep crimson to
light, creamy pink. He smiled up at his brother and let him fall back into his
arms after his orgasm had subsided. James panted into Ollie’s neck for a bit,
then pushed up to look at him. They smiled at each other.
“I think we really belong to each other now,” said James.
Ollie nodded. “Forever.”
James nodded too. “Yeah.”
They proceeded to lick each other’s mouths clean, lapping at each other,
cleaning smeared blood from each other’s faces, kissing intermittently. But
they didn’t have time to bask in the afterglow for long. They had to get up and
get clean quickly.
“You go get in the shower,” said James. “I’ll bring your clothes in to you. I
have to change my shirt, I think.”
“Okay.” Ollie, wrapped in a bathrobe, went for the door. He stopped before it,
turned back to James. “You will come in with me, right?”
James, pressing tissues to his left palm, stopped and looked up. Ollie was
looking at him with his wide, innocent stare. James smiled and nodded again.
“Yeah. I’ll come in with you.”
Ollie smiled back. “Hurry.” And he left the room. James quickly dabbed at his
cuts and rushed to follow.
END
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