Title: Seven Wanks for Seven Weasleys
Author: ragdoll
Characters/Pairings: Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred & George (and Fred/George), Ron, Ginny with reference to Bill/OFCs, Charlie/Tonks, Percy/Penelope, Fred/Angelina, George/OFCs, Ron/Hermione, Ron/Lavender, Lavender/Hermione, Ginny/Harry, Ginny/Dean, Ginny/Michael, and Ginny/Neville
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: Masturbation x 7
Other Warnings: twincest, circle jerks
Word Count: 3020
Summary/Description: The love of wanking is genetic. The preferred means of achieving it isn't.
Author's Notes: It took nine months to get this written as it was supposed to be for May since that's National Masturbation Month. Hopefully, it was worth the wait. The scenes are vaguely canon-ish and set some nebulous time during each respective character's sixteenth year. There is no Weasleycest here other than Fred/George, and the mention of Bill and Charlie previously tossing off together.

Thanks to r_grayjoy who forced me to keep it short n sweet, and gave me pushes when I needed 'em, coffee_n_cocoa for the support and on the go betaing, and luvscharlie for looking over the final version.



1. Bill:

Bill Weasley is sixteen years old. And he loves to wank. His favourite place is alone in the shower, the hot water beating down upon him, the slickness of soapy lather against his skin as he fists his cock slowly and steadily. He enjoys the solitude of the shower; he discovered the wonders of wanking for the first time there, at the age of eleven.

The bathroom was the only spot in the entire Burrow that afforded him privacy, the only place he could touch himself or alleviate the painfully embarrassing erections that seemed to plague his adolescent body round the clock. Away from the prying eyes of his mother and his younger brothers, he is free to have one off at leisure.

Free to run his palms slowly down his chest, over his stomach and then his thighs, and caress his balls a few times before he grabs for his cock. He's older now and not in such a hurry as he was at eleven. His fingers curl around his cock, tightening against the rigid flesh before sliding up again. He finds the perfect rhythm: not too fast, not too slow, just right -- something his girlfriends never quite seem to manage -- his hips beginning to buck as he pumps into his soap-slicked hand.
A variety of fantasies rush through his mind unbidden: beautiful naked girls of all sizes and all colours to lick and bite and suck and fuck, all for his use and his use alone. He's no virgin, but sex at Hogwarts isn't an easy prospect. Even a prefect's privileges only go so far. A slow intense wank is preferable to a hasty knee trembler up in the Astronomy Tower or a dusty alcove with the fear of being caught always hanging over his head.

Bill throws his head back, eyes squeezed shut, wet hair plastered to his forehead as his moans are muffled by the roar of the shower. His free hand circles the head of his cock, applying gentle pressure as his strokes increase in intensity. He feels his balls tightening, his entire body taut with arousal. A few more strokes and he's coming, his nerves exploding in a climactic crescendo. He chokes back a loud moan, hot gouts of spunk splattering his fingers and his belly as the water washes them away.

He savours the last few minutes of solitude before rinsing off and heading out of the bathroom.

2. Charlie:

Charlie is sixteen, and wanking is one of his favourite past times. It's as brilliant as playing Quidditch or reading about dragons, perhaps even better. He first learned how to toss off when he was eleven, nearly twelve, just before he went off to Hogwarts. His older brother Bill showed him, cryptically saying Charlie would thank him later for teaching him the most effective way to deal with embarrassing stiffies in school.

Charlie was eternally grateful for the knowledge.

He and Bill spent most of the summer before he left for school practising in their room, and later, he shares his expertise with his own dorm mates. Charlie finds he prefers not to do it alone if he can help it. He likes hearing the voices of other blokes, the sound of their moans and the 'slap slap slap' of flesh against flesh as he strokes himself into a frenzy.

He's not fussy about where he does it. Anywhere will do: his dorm room, the Quidditch changing room, under the stands of the Pitch, the bathroom, or even a deserted corner of the library. He's not quite a virgin -- there are plenty of girls who want a piece of the Captain of the Gryffindor team, including Nymphadora Tonks who's taught him the wonders of blow jobs, with the promise of more to come -- but it's difficult to see any of them, and his right hand is so much more accommodating.

"Catriona McCormack!" Charlie shouts. Every night he and his mates play this game; they lie in bed and take turns naming women they'd all like to shag, wanking in unison. Charlie always chooses fit birds, especially professional Quidditch players, imagining them still wearing dragon-hide bracers and boots while they commit unspeakable acts upon his person. He tried to explain it to Bill once, but his older brother just thought he was mad. Charlie thinks Bill's taste in women is pants though -- vapid dolly birds with perfect bodies and over-large tits are not Charlie's cup of tea.

Dragging his thoughts back to the sexy Captain of the Pride of Portree, Charlie spits into his palm, then goes back to fisting his cock, strokes growing ever harder. It feels best when it's rough, when it hurts just a little. It doesn't take him long to get off, coming hard as the mingled cries and groans of his dorm mates fill the air.

Lazily, he charms away the mess and catches his breath, knowing it won't be long before he's ready for the next round. If he's very lucky, he'll manage to continue on for most of the night.

3. Percy:

At sixteen, Percy hates wanking with a passion. It's a filthy habit, and he abhors the way his body betrays him time and time again, humiliating him and forcing him to touch himself at the most inopportune moments. It's been happening since he was twelve, and he's never quite gotten over the ordeal.

Percy is still a virgin, although he does have a girlfriend. Penelope Clearwater is a nice girl who wants to wait until she gets married, and Percy's in no hurray to have sex either, even though he does get aroused being around her. There are more important things in life for him. Unfortunately, his traitorous body doesn't always agree and he needs to seek relief.

He knows his older brothers go at it with regularity. It was no mystery why Bill took forever in the bath, and Charlie...well, he was more than willing to show the mortified Percy the hows and whys at the drop of a hat when Charlie still lived at home. But Percy never wanted to do it with them. In fact, he never really wanted to do it at all.

Uncle Bilius once warned him that that self-abuse led to blindness, which had terrified the young Percy out of his wits given the state of his eyesight. However, he is now certain he doesn't do it more than any of his brothers do -- in fact, probably far less -- so it's entirely unfair that he is the one who ended up wearing glasses. If there was any justice in the world, Charlie would be the one who needed a seeing-eye crup.

Still, Percy cannot go without entirely. At an early age, he mastered vanishing charms to remove any evidence of his shame, from his sheets, from his body, and from his clothes. Dirt is Percy's enemy; erections and the inevitable need to wank make him feel like he's wallowing in filth, and so as soon as he finishes, everything must be cleansed.

When he does wank, it's in the dark, preferably under the covers, and always in a clean, lavender scented handkerchief reserved for just such purposes. Tonight, he uses a neutral smelling lotion to lubricate himself, slathering it on his skin before wrapping his throbbing penis in the cloth, then begins to stroke. The motion reminds him of polishing his wand, and somehow, that makes him feel so much better. The vulgar pun sends a thrill up his spine; as much as Percy loathes feeling dirty, he also gets a strange sense of excitement from it.

He gets excited by thoughts of his future, too. Being named Head Boy, leaving school for a cushy and important job at the Ministry, having someone like Cornelius Fudge realise the value his contributions -- these are the things which make Percy pant and gasp and shudder into the handkerchief. Sometimes he wonders what other boys think about when they masturbate -- Merlin knows Charlie has tried to tell him, but he refused to listen because they were so disgusting. However, Percy suspects most boys' fantasies are nothing like his own.

As soon as he's finished, he makes sure to Scourgify and Vanish everything he's touched. Even when he's home, it's worth the risk to break the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery to keep from being unclean.

4. & 5. Fred and George

Wanking is the highlight of the day (and night) for Fred and George. At sixteen, they've become expert wankers, having practised at it both together and solo for the past four years. It was Charlie who instructed them in the fine art of masturbation after they'd confided in him about their wet dreams and uncomfortable erections. And they were fast learners, soon surpassing their older brother in frequency and creativity.

They spend all their free time finding newer and more exciting ways to toss off, daring each other to see who can do it the most in the shortest amount of time, who can spurt the most or the farthest, or in the most exotic location, or who can be the quietest. There are contests to see who can get off with the least amount of stimulation, or without using either hand, or with the most unusual implement.

They are still virgins, but barely. Fred knows that Angelina Johnson is gagging for it -- or more precisely him, and George has had several offers from girls at school, including several of the dishy French girls from Beauxbatons. It's just been difficult to find the time or opportunity to do anything when Hogwarts is bustling with so many students, chaperones, visitors and dignitaries. Still, it will happen soon.

Today, they're in the broom shed at the Burrow, the door barred from the inside to prevent any nosy siblings or parents from barging in. Using a bottle of perfumed oil liberated from Aunt Muriel's luggage the last time she came to visit, they coat their palms and their erections with it until their skin is glistening and slick with oil.

They snigger and giggle, pretending to duel with their cocks, warm, hard, slippery flesh smacking against warm, hard, slippery flesh, before settling down to business. Fred reaches for George's rampant cock, wrapping his fingers firmly around the shaft as George does the same to him.

Fred bites at his lower lip, his eyes locked on his twin's. George is his mirror image; identical moves, identical expressions. Their hands stroke each other in tandem as their hips pump in the same staccato rhythm. Fred's fingers tighten around George's length as his twin increases his pace and the pressure on Fred's own cock, causing Fred to move faster too. His breathing grows harsh and erratic, and soon they're both groaning and convulsing in each other's grasp. Thankfully the shed has been covered with Imperturbables to muffle the sound.

George catches Fred's eye again and they both start to laugh. Unable to stop, they collapse onto the floor in a giddy heap, bare arses bouncing on worn wood. It isn't long before they're both ready for another round.

6. Ron

Wanking, for Ron, is a mixture of pleasure and pain. He loves to get himself off, but the thoughts that fill his head while he's doing it make him feel guilty and odd afterwards. He has been doing it since he turned twelve or so. Sharing a dorm with Seamus Finnigan means that it's obligatory entertainment morning, noon and night.

When he was younger, Ron tossed off to the anonymous women in the dirty mags provided by both Seamus and Dean (Wizarding and Muggle respectively), but now that he's sixteen and has a girlfriend, the nameless, often faceless women seem to morph into the likeness Lavender Brown, and worse, sometimes Hermione Granger. Hermione is not Ron's girlfriend -- these days, she's not even his friend. So to think about her while he's doing that gives Ron an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Even worse is when he thinks of Lavender and Hermione together like the women in some of Seamus's mags: kissing, licking, touching, caressing... that makes him hard almost immediately. Lavender has said she would do anything to make Ron happy, but somehow he suspects that asking her to mess about with Hermione for his amusement would be right out. He doesn't even want to imagine what Hermione would have to say about the idea.

Lying on his bed, curtains drawn, Ron brushes his fingers down the curve of his cock, cupping his balls and tugging lightly. He pulls his knees up, using one hand to play with his balls, the other to grasp his cock at the base, encircling it with his long fingers. Rolling onto his stomach, he settles against the mattress, his throbbing erection caught between his bunched up duvet and his palm.

He pushes forward, thrusting into his hand, already damp with sweat, the bed creaking as he moves. Cheeks heating, ears burning, he tries again, cursing himself for not mastering the Muffliato spell just yet. Keeping his movements shallow, Ron continues to thrust, thoughts of Lavender's face buried between Hermione's legs distracting him from anything but the need for release. A few more frantic strokes and he's coming, choking back moans as he jerks and shudders against the bed.

Closing his eyes, Ron rests his cheek against his pillow, fighting for breath. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Lavender and Hermione relax in each other's embrace and glare at him, their combined expressions a mixture of anger and disgust. If they were real, Ron knows he'd already be a pile of smoking ash in his bed.

Perhaps next time, he'll let them punish him for his transgressions.

7. Ginny

It's not easy being a sixteen year old girl, Ginny thinks. Especially in the middle of a war when your ex-boyfriend is considered a saviour by some, a destroyer of worlds by others. Life has been extremely difficult this year, with Death Eaters running the school, Harry, Hermione and her brother Ron somewhere on the run, and her entire family under surveillance, considered blood traitors and worse.

Wanking is one of her few escapes from the world at large. Dating is no longer an option -- she still loves Harry (even if the rat bastard broke it off with her at the end of last year), and no other boy she knows will go near her for fear of his wrath. Anyone else is suspect as she cannot trust strangers who chat her up or seem interested; Voldemort and his spies are everywhere.

Down deep, she knows she doesn't really need a bloke at all, but she misses Harry all the same. Perhaps it's because she knows, in actuality, he needs her.

She is hiding in the Room of Requirement tonight; she managed to hack off a seventh year Slytherin by defending a second year Gryffindor whose only transgression was mouthing off to the Slytherin who'd demanded her locket. Ginny knows that once word gets back to the Carrows, they'll be after her immediately.

The Room is warm and cozy, providing a large, soft bed, a roaring fireplace and plenty of food and drink at her disposal. No one will be able to find her until she's ready to come out -- if she doesn't decide to be like Neville and live here indefinitely. It's a comforting thought.

She stretches out on the bed, closing her eyes and imagining what it would be like to have Harry here with her, safe and warm and solid. It's been months since she's heard from him, but she has to believe he's okay, that if he wasn't, someone would have gotten the word out already.

Sighing, she runs her hands over her body, over the swell of her breasts, the nipples hardening at her touch. She strokes her belly, then unfastens her trousers, letting her fingers trail over her hips and down between her legs. The crotch of her knickers is already wet as she rubs her hand over it, arching her back up as she does, then pushes the fabric aside. With light strokes, she touches herself, spreading the wetness all around.

Her clit is already a hard nub as she slides her fingertip across it, moving in slow, careful circles. Ginny moans as she thinks of Harry, wishing it was his hand down there, rather than her own. Withdrawing her hand, she sits up and quickly strips off her trousers and panties, before rising to her knees. She grabs one of the bed's plump pillows and shoves it between her thighs, bearing down and wriggling until it hits just the right spot.

Eyes closed, she begins to undulate against the pillow, the clean cotton rough against her skin, imagining what it would be like to do this to a solid, male body instead, a hard, firm cock deep inside her. Despite the rumours, Ginny is still a virgin, but she has a very vivid imagination. Her fantasies have never been quite the same since she found a very helpful book in the Restricted Section of the Library. One that's now hidden on the shelves of her current sanctuary.

Her breasts bounce as she continues to ride the pillow, moving faster and faster as she grows closer to climax. The face and form of her imaginary lover changes from Harry to Dean to Michael Corner to Neville... anyone to keep her from feeling so alone right now. Her entire body is tingling and her breath is coming in harsh pants as her movements grow frenzied, her hands clutching at the pillow. The orgasm washes over her, wave after wave, sending her spiralling out of control.

Finally, Ginny falls forward onto the bed, slack and sated. Curling up against the mattress, she pulls a blanket over herself, allowing herself to be pulled into relaxation and sleep. She'll worry about the Carrows and the War -- and Harry -- tomorrow. For now, it's just enough to dream.