Kristmas Wish Fulfilled for: wallflowergirl
From: unbroken_halo

Title: Perfect Storms
Characters/Pairings: Fred/George
Rating:R
Kinks/Themes Included: handholding, kissing, non-verbal magic, light hurt/comfort
Other Warnings/Content: incest, mutual handjobs
Word Count:1,067
Summary/Description: Fred loves storms and George hates them. It's the one thing they can't agree on.
Author's Notes: Happy Kinky Kristmas, wallflowergirl! I hope you enjoy the fic! Thanks to my beta for the most excellent work. Any mistakes you find are my own since I had to adjust it one last time.



Fred loves storms and George hates them. It's the one thing they can't agree on. But Fred likes to try and convince George to change his mind. He's always been like this and can't imagine it never happening.

While in school, the rain sounded strange on the castle's stone ceilings. And he's not certain he liked it. Not like he enjoyed the sound at home. Nothing could compare with the resonance of a storm like their room at the Burrow. Here at home, the roof is slanted and fixed with magic to force the sound to come through almost louder than the ghoul in the attic. And when it thunders, he can almost feel the energy of the storm racing across his skin.

Restlessness stirs his blood and drives him out into the weather, forcing him to bring all of himself out into the rain. And that means George, too.

It's old and ancient magic that ripples with the power of the Earth and Her elements. Sorcery, he's almost certain that's what causes him to take George's hand. Their fingers twine and he squeezes, reassuring and firm. Even though his brother hates the noise, the crack of the lightning and the boom of the thunder, it magnetizes Fred.

He can't recall how many times he's dragged George outside during a storm. It's freeing and George holds on to him like a limpet. The wetness stings his skin as it falls from the skies and Fred leans his head back, allowing the heavens' tears to rain down on him. George huddles at his back and the contrast of the warmth of his skin against the downfall is almost obscene.

He shouldn't feel like this for George but he does and the way George clings to him reminds him of why he's out here in the rain. Privacy and possibilities. Changing George's mind.

George breathes hot and fast against his neck and he moans. "Please, Fred," he whispers. "Take me back."

Fred shivers. "Soon, George, soon. Can't you feel the power?"

He wraps George's arm about his waist then moves toward the orchard. He wants to hide them in the shadow of the trees and expose them for the entire world to see. He can't decide which he wants more. He tugs George across the lawn, their feet splashing and soaking their clothing and he dances in the freedom of it all. George's moans escape and become whimpers with each crash of the thunderclouds. Though he'd never admit, these sounds egg him on to be bolder and more daring out in the storm. The noises George makes should be illegal and he's almost certain that they are, especially because of what they do to him.

The both know that and he can feel George beginning to revel in the energy from the storm despite his fears.

Finally, finally George gives in and laughs, and Fred grins. "That's it," he whispers as he brings George close again. And now he knows; now he feels that not all the shivers are because of George's fear or the cold.

Because he has to do this with George. It's always about George, since they were old enough to reach out and touch, even since they left Hogwarts. The shop, the war, none of it matters as long as his other half, his better self is there with him.

George's tongue slips out and adds to the dampness sinking into his skin. Fred closes his eyes and gives himself to George. The spark that lights through him as George's tongue slides along his lips is almost as energizing as the rain. He presses their mouths together and groans at the contact. Gentle bites, nips, lips lay against one another, kisses, touching and being touched.

He opens and swallows down George's laughter. His hands roam over George's chilled skin, pulling at the clinging clothing that impedes his progress. And that's when George really comes alive.

It's almost as if the squall is the catalyst. A little wave of George's hand and Fred is undone by the wash of magic that brushes across his skin. It's as thrilling as the storm to feel that rush of sensation, and despite the weather, George's palms are warm.

With a growl, Fred presses against George, his own hand shoving down into George's pants and wrapping around his cock. And then they are in time, in tune with one another again. Stroke after stroke is raked across sensitive skin aided and impeded by the rain. It's rough and yet soothing. It's as cathartic as the storm that rages on around them, inside them and it wants to be set free. Fred's always been about freedom and he rides the lightning and takes George along with him.

It's always been their way and nothing; nothing will ever change that between them.

He hurries but it seems to take forever and his mouth never, never leaves George's. Their hands are entangling again, the left ones in their clothing, around their cocks and the right hands pressed together. They anchor one another through the new storm brewing between them. They tug in tandem, brushing and rubbing back and forth against one another.

A flash of lightning and Fred feels George's eyes on him, He looks and they watch, together, as the water flows over them. It pools and then cascades away with each upward stroke, and then Fred's head falls back and he's coming.

George's eyes are still on him as George takes him through his torrent and Fred knows that there is no way this feeling will ever leave him. He rocks and shudders waiting on George and then it happens, heat sears against their hands, sliding down over their fingers and washing away the semen they've mixed with their rubs.

And then the storm is over. Just as fast as it came on, it's gone and the moon shines through. He's shivering now in his damp clothes and resting his head against George's. This time it's George that takes him in hand and he's drawn back into the warmth of the house.

George's silent strength leads Fred back to the comfort of their rooms.

He's no longer restless and he sighs as George presses a soft kiss to his forehead. Their whispers are soft and he's dried with a charm before being tucked away to await the next storm that's coming.