Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/364445.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Fred_Weasley/George_Weasley
  Character:
      Fred_Weasley, George_Weasley, C._Warrington, Ron_Weasley
  Additional Tags:
      Incest, Sibling_Incest, Sibling_Love, Twincest, Twins
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-03-18 Words: 690
****** Mischief Managed ******
by mandatorily
Summary
     George plays a game of chance.
Notes
     Prompt: Written for http://sortinghatdrabs.livejournal.com/, Week
     #136's prompt: Mischief Managed.
     Notes: This is set during their sixth year at Hogwarts. Unbeta'd
     because those were the rules, so if you find any mistakes, let me
     know.
Fred’s alone in the 6th years’ dormitory when he hears laughter -- deep,
masculine laughter -- coming through the open window. He figures it’s one of
the many couples who use the smattering of bushes beside Gryffindor Tower as a
snogging spot. It’s dusk and the sun is sinking fast, sure to mask whatever
anyone would like to hide. He pays the amorous couple no mind, is really so
used to these sorts of sounds by now that he wouldn’t have even heard them had
he not been staring into space rehashing the argument he’d had with George. The
same argument they’d been having for the past--
“God, George, do that again,” comes through the window this time, on a gust of
wind that’s just a bit too gusty considering the trees aren’t moving at all.
Fred thinks he imagined it, conjured George’s name out of thin air with his
thoughts, but then he hears the unmistakable sound of his brother’s laughter
and he’s out of his chair and at the window in a flash.
It is George and he’s kneeling in front of that nasty bloke from Slytherin,
Warrington. George’s eyes meet Fred’s as he leans forward, sliding his mouth
around Warrington’s cock and it takes everything in Fred not to leap out the
window -- to Hell with the fact that he can’t, in actuality, fly -- and rip the
boys apart.
He growls, a feral sound from somewhere in his soul and storms out of the
dormitory, flying down the stairs as fast as his feet will allow. Barging
through the Common Room he plows straight into Ron, knocking his younger
brother on his arse. Ron calls him a wanker and hits him in the back with a
book, but Fred barely notices. He slams out the side door, grabs Warrington by
the robes and shoves him away from George. “Get the fuck out of here,
Warrington! And if I ever see you near my brother again, I’ll kill you.”
The Slytherin boy’s eyes go round as saucers, but he doesn’t say a word. He’s
much taller than Fred, two stone heavier and always looking for a fight -- just
like any stinking Slytherin -- but he simply straightens his clothes and runs
away. Fred almost laughs, wondering just how frightening he must look to scare
the pants back on a Slytherin.
When he turns round, George’s clothes have been straightened, too, but not
enough that Fred can’t see the red marks of Warrington’s love bites along his
brother’s collarbone. Before he can stop himself, he raises his wand, points it
at his brother and casts a cleaning charm, enjoying the look of horror on
George’s face as suds start foaming out of his stupid mouth.
By the time the suds have receded, they’re both glaring at each other, fists
clenched, chests heaving with repressed anger. Finally, Fred can’t stand it any
longer and breaks the silence. “I warned you, George. Told you to quit playing
these idiotic games.”
“I told you I would, you oblivious prat -- as soon as you admit you have
feelings for me.”
Fred’s stomach drops to his feet, the same way it always does whenever George
says things like that. “George . . .” he says, trailing off, not sure if it’s
an admonishment or a benediction.
George closes the space between them, the dying light of the day setting his
hair on fire and Fred tries, but can’t move away. He’s caught, feels like he’s
been stunned and in a way he has been, stunned by the things he sees in his
brother’s eyes. George licks his lips and Fred feels all the blood leave his
head, fights the urge to faint like some first year Hufflepuff girl and instead
does the one thing he’s wanted to do for as long as he can remember. Leaning
forward, he runs his tongue along his brother’s bottom lip, shocked, but turned
on too, by how similar it feels to his own. George moans against his mouth,
deepens the kiss and Fred feels his anger ebbing away.
Fred pulls back, says, “No more games, George.”
George smiles, replies, “No need, Fred; mischief managed.”
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