Bedknobs and Broomsticks, for knightmare_shad Mod note: My apologies for not posting yesterday! I have no excuse other than my own stupidity! *sheepish* I hope y'all can forgive me. Don't forget to read and review all the lovely stories! ♥ Eey
Title: Bedknobs and Broomsticks Author: *unknown* Recipient:knightmare_shad Pairing: Fred/George, Sirius/Harry, and a special guest. Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 4783 Warnings/Kinks: Dirty talk, voyeurism, semi-public sex, spanking, rimming Summary: It didn’t occur to them that this might not be the best idea they’d ever had, but it usually never did. After all, they had a long history of bad ideas behind them, and somehow they’d all worked out in the end. Author’s Notes: Dearest knightmare, I do hope that I’ve done justice to your request. Thank you to you and you for beta’ing.
“Mum’s gonna kill you.”
Fred stared down at the broken remnants of his broomstick, lying on the sidewalk some thirty feet below. “S’not my fault! I told you the Accelero Powder hadn’t been tested enough,” he replied indignantly.
George shifted behind him, and the broomstick upon which they were both perched gave a mighty wobble. “All’s the same,” he said mournfully. “Mum’ll kill us twice if we tell her how it got broken.”
“Twenty three and still afraid of Mummy?” Fred snorted, holding tight as the broom swayed beneath their combined weight.
“Wanker,” George replied, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. “You’re the one who’ll be crying like a girl when Mum finds out you wrecked your birthday gift.”
“Shut up and hand me the glass,” Fred huffed, shifting his weight until he was fitted snugly up against his brother’s body. It was freezing, especially for early summer, and he shivered a bit in his thin jumper.
“Aww, is ickle Freddy cold?” George teased as he dug through the bag at his side and produced the spyglass.
“Git,” Fred muttered, more interested in testing their newest creation than bantering with his brother.
The bronze cylinder was five centimeters long, with charmed crystal lenses at both ends. Using a combination of magic and Muggle technology, it would- hopefully- allow them to observe goings-on from more than five hundred yards away. They had poured hours of research into its development after Snape’s All Seeing Eye charm had been detected by Voldemort’s merry band of murderers, and the Order had been forced to rescue their potions professor cum spy.
Of course, the war was over now, but if tonight’s trial run proved successful, they’d soon be providing the Ministry of Magic with a discreet spying tool that would finally take operatives out of direct danger. It was the least they could do for Snape, after all he’d risked for the Order, George had said. Fred had silently agreed.
“See anything?” George prompted as Fred lifted the spyglass to his eye and held it in place by squinting around it.
“Nah, not yet,” he replied as he waited for the lens to focus. When it did, he yelped, and the broom shook from how quickly he jerked his gaze away from the horrifying scene he’d just witnessed.
“Tosser, you’ll knock us both off,” George grumbled. “What’s got your knickers in a twist?”
“Old bint down the way,” Fred said with a shudder. “Shouldn’t leave her curtains open when she’s fixing for a shower.”
“Ew,” his brother replied with an echoing shiver. “You’re s’posed to be watching the house anyway.”
“Hard to tell which direction I’m looking,” Fred huffed defensively, shifting against his brother to get more comfortable. Leaning forward put his back at an awkward angle, and his arms were stiff from holding his weight, so he finally gave up and leaned back against George, maintaining a light grip on the broomstick between his legs.
“Oh!” George exclaimed suddenly. “Light in Harry’s room just came on.”
Fred swept his gaze from side to side, looking for the telltale glow of a window and absentmindedly making a note to include night vision in their next prototype. The whitewashed façade of Number Twelve came into focus, and he lifted his gaze ever so slightly until he was staring straight into Harry’s bedroom.
“What’s he doing?” George prompted, nudging Fred’s thigh with his own.
“Uh, looks like him and Sirius are talking,” Fred replied, watching as the two men in question paused in the doorway. Harry was gesturing with his hands, grinning like a loon, and Sirius threw his head back with laughter. After a few moments of more subdued conversation, the younger of the two stepped back to allow his godfather to enter the room.
“What’re they doing now?” George asked, pressing himself against his brother’s back like he could somehow see through the spyglass too, if he got close enough.
“They’re closing the door, and Sirius is saying something,” Fred narrated obediently. “Oh, and Harry’s getting something out of the closet- whiskey, looks like.”
“Not fair,” his twin whined. “They’re getting pissed and we’re out here in the cold.”
“Your idea to test it tonight,” Fred reminded him, grinning when George pinched his arm. “Oh, wait a tick, now Harry’s putting the bottle away and Sirius looks like he’s upset about something.”
Inside Number Twelve, Harry had set the bottle down on his nightstand, and was watching his godfather make his way around the end of the bed. Fred couldn’t see the younger man’s face, since his back was turned to the window, but Sirius looked irritated about something.
“Maybe we shouldn’t be watching if they’re gonna row,” Fred said, feeling a little guilty.
“They haven’t had a row since the night Sirius came back,” George pointed out. “Least not that I’ve ever seen.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Fred replied, unconvinced, and turned his attention back to the window.
Sirius advanced on Harry, coming to a halt less than a foot away. The older man said something, to which Harry shook his head, and then smiled a lopsided, mischievous sort of grin that made Fred’s heart give a strange little flutter in his chest. With morbid fascination, he watched as Sirius reached out and knotted his fingers in the front of his godson’s shirt, pulling him into a haphazard looking embrace.
“They’re uhm- hugging now?” Fred stated dubiously.
George shifted behind him and rested his chin on his brother’s shoulder. “What’s goin’ on?” he asked, sounding concerned. “You don’t sound too sure.”
“Well, it’s just-“ Fred began as he watched Sirius stroke the side of Harry’s face with a fingertip. “It’s not-“
“Not what?” his twin prompted impatiently. “Are they fighting, or what?”
“No, no,” Fred assured him quickly. “They’re not fighting, they’re-“
‘Kissing,’ he realized, his eyes going so wide the spyglass nearly fell. ‘Sirius is kissing Harry, and Harry’s letting him, and oh fuck, was that his tongue?’
“Fred!” George pressed, slipping into a whine. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“They’re, uhm,” Fred began, and paused to clear his suddenly dry throat, “Kissing.”
There was a beat of silence, and then a warm rush of breath over the side of his neck as George exhaled slowly. Neither of them spoke for a moment, and Fred was sure his brother felt just as stunned as he did, but the proof was right there in front of them: Harry’s head was tilted back, and his hands were clutching at his godfather’s shirt while Sirius swept his tongue into the younger man’s mouth and buried his fingers in messy black hair.
“You sure?” George asked quietly.
Fred watched as the older man backed Harry up against one of the bedposts, grinding their hips together in slow circles. “Er, yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Oh,” his brother said softly.
“Ehm,” Fred put in distractedly as he watched the two wizards tug at one another’s clothing, “D’you think we should stop watching now?”
“Dunno,” George replied hesitantly, “D’you?”
“Probably,” Fred admitted, but didn’t make any move to pull the spyglass away from his eye.
Inside, Harry’s face was turned toward the window as Sirius pressed tiny kisses to the side of his neck, and Fred could almost hear the younger man’s ragged sighs. The older man’s fingernails left dark welts on Harry’s chest as he slowly sank to his knees on the floor, tongue tracing the lines of a well-defined stomach.
“What are they doing?” George asked in a whisper.
Fred shivered lightly as his brother’s arms crept around his waist, and he told himself it was from the chilly night air. “Sirius is uhm- he’s on his knees,” he muttered, “And he’s unbuttoning Harry’s trousers.”
“Oh,” George replied quietly. “What else?”
“Er- now he’s-“ Fred trailed off, finding himself at a loss for words to describe what the older man was doing.
“What’s he doing, Fred?” George prompted, sounding as breathless as Fred felt.
“He’s tugging at Harry’s trousers,” Fred tried again. “Harry’s saying something, and Sirius is li- uhm- he’s uh- he’s licking Harry’s- Harry’s-“
“Cock?” George supplied in a whisper against his ear.
Pulling his lower lip between his teeth, Fred nodded silently, and swallowed heavily as his twin’s hand slid down his stomach to the waistband of his denims. Wishing he could close his eyes without moving the spyglass, he breathed a silent prayer that his brother wouldn’t venture any lower, wouldn’t find the undeniable evidence of how the scene being played out inside Number Twelve was affecting him.
Of course George, being the absolute git that he was, did.
A hot flush crept across Fred’s cheeks as his brother’s hand closed around his trapped erection, twin grips tightening for a moment as George shifted against his back. Something hard was pressed against his arse through the thick fabric of his denims, and Fred inhaled sharply.
“C’mon, Fred,” George admonished him softly. “Tell me.”
“Uhm,” Fred replied, swallowing heavily as his brother’s lips brushed his earlobe. “Sirius has Harry’s prick in his mouth now, and Harry’s tugging on his hair- oh, do that again.”
Laughing quietly, George obediently traced the shell of his twin’s ear with the tip of his tongue.
Emboldened by the rush of hovering thirty feet in the air, with his brother’s hand pressed against his cock while they watched Harry having it off with his godfather inside, Fred pushed back against George with a subdued groan.
“Yeah,” George breathed against that place just behind his ear, “Feels good.”
“Mph,” Fred agreed. “Now Sirius is turning Harry around, and Harry’s holding onto the bedpost- yeah, use your teeth- Sirius is saying something, and- and- oh, fuck.”
“What?” his twin whispered impatiently, rocking against him from behind.
Fred could only grip the broomstick as it swayed in time with George’s gentle thrusts, and watch with fascination as Sirius parted his godson’s arsecheeks with his thumbs and bowed his head to lick a trail from Harry’s bollocks to the base of his spine. The younger man’s head fell forward, glasses slipping down his nose and falling to the floor, and he pushed back against his godfather’s tongue.
“Sirius is licking Harry’s arsehole, fucking him with his tongue,” Fred groaned, surprised at the filth coming out of his mouth. George had always been the crass one, but it looked like he’d finally rubbed off on his more reserved twin.
Or rather, it looked like he was about to rub his more reserved twin off, if the fingers tugging at the front of Fred’s denims were any indication.
Inside, the older man pulled away from his godson long enough to raise a hand and bring it down on Harry’s arse with a sharp slap that Fred swore he could hear all the way outside. Harry’s head snapped up, and his eyes were gleaming with uncharacteristic ferocity as he glanced over his shoulder at his godfather. Sirius smirked, and Harry’s body jerked when another blow landed, leaving a bright red handprint on pale skin.
“Sirius is spanking him,” Fred whispered urgently, wishing he could spread his thighs as his brother’s hand closed around his cock. Whining in the back of his throat, he let his head fall back onto George’s shoulder as the cold evening air ghosted over his too warm flesh, leaving a faint chill at the tip of his prick, where a bead of precome had formed.
“Yeah? D’you like it?” George murmured, still pushing against him in short, teasing thrusts.
“Yeah,” Fred breathed, relinquishing his grip on the broomstick with one hand to squeeze his twin’s knee.
Harry was trembling now, head bowed and legs spread, his arse glowing dark pink in the dim light of the bedroom. Sirius had unbuttoned his own trousers and taken his flushed, swollen cock in hand. Stroking himself, he leaned down to say something to Harry, who shook his head, before straightening and landing another slap on his godson’s upper thigh.
“Want me to spank you?” George asked in a heated whisper, wrapping his fingers around his brother’s prick and giving it a light squeeze. “You could do me after.”
“Fuck,” Fred whined, his grip tightening on the broomstick as it wobbled from the force of the shudder that ran through him. “Yeah, want you to spank me.”
On the second floor of Number Twelve, however, Sirius seemed to have decided that his godson had finally had enough, because he was back on his knees behind Harry. Fred groaned as his brother swept a thumb over the head of his cock, and whimpered when, inside, the older man took the reddened flesh of Harry’s arse between his teeth.
“Keep talking,” George urged. “Like hearing you tell me about all the nasty things I’m gonna do to you later.”
“Shit, George,” Fred gasped, wriggling his arse against his twin’s clothed erection. The fingers around his prick tensed, and began to stroke in time with his brother’s thrusts. “Sirius is- ah god- Harry with his tongue again- so fucking hot- Harry’s arse is all red, handprints all over his thighs- wanna suck him while you fuck him from behind like- mph- like Sirius.”
“Are they fucking now?” George prompted with a groan. “Sirius pushing into him, holding his hips maybe, biting the side of his neck?”
Sirius had thrown Harry across the bed, and Fred was treated to a perfect view of the older man’s swollen prick sinking into his godson’s body from behind. Fingers twisted in the sheets, Harry arched his back and bowed his head, body shaking with every gasping breath and lips moving in silent pleas for more and now and so fucking good.
“Yeah,” Fred whimpered, and he wasn’t sure if he was answering the question or praising the marvelous things his brother’s fingers were doing to the head of his cock. Every nerve in his body from his knees to his navel was burning, and he swore he’d burst into flames if he didn’t come soon.
“Wanna fuck you ‘til you cry,” George whispered with a heated conviction he rarely bestowed on anything, and inside, Harry’s body tensed on a violent shudder.
“Yeah, fuck me,” Fred whined, and Sirius slid home again with a brutal thrust of hips.
“I’m going to,” George groaned as Harry’s cock pulsed strand after strand of come across the rumpled sheets. “Gonna fuck you until you can’t remember whether you’re me or you.”
“Fuck,” Fred cursed as Sirius landed another sharp blow on Harry’s arse and gripped the younger man’s hips, throwing his head back so far that the ends of his black hair brushed the hollow of his arched back. “Fuck, George, fuck.”
Three things happened simultaneously: every muscle in Fred’s body tensed as the slow burn in his stomach and thighs raced to his cock, forcing his release out of him with a strangled cry, and he came in bursts of agonizing ecstasy over his brother’s fingers; the spyglass slipped as his eyes widened from the force of his orgasm, and it fell to the sidewalk below with a sickening crunch; and the broom, which had been precariously balanced at best, gave a final convulsive lurch and sent them plummeting toward the ground.
Beater reflexes immediately reacting to the sudden fall, they both gripped the broomstick as it spiraled downward. Cushioning charms were on their lips just a fraction of a second before the broom collided with the broken remains of its twin, and they landed atop one another with quiet grunts.
Before he’d even had time to catch his breath, Fred was standing over George, jerking his twin up off the sidewalk by the front of his jumper and shoving him backwards across the front lawn of the house that faced Number Twelve.
“Wha?” George choked out as he stumbled.
By way of reply, Fred pushed him again, through the low hedge that ringed the exterior wall of the house, and up against the brick. Twisting his fingers in the front of his brother’s shirt, he held George in place as he leaned in and captured his twin’s gasping lips in a kiss.
George took the hint immediately, groaning into his brother’s mouth and burying his fingers in Fred’s hair. Their bodies were pressed so close together that Fred swore he could feel their hearts beating the same rhythm as he swept his tongue over the lips that parted beneath his. George whimpered quietly when their tongues met, and they both exhaled sharply into one another’s mouths as their hips ground together.
“Suck me,” George pleaded in a whine, throwing his head back against the rough brick and staring at his brother through lowered lashes. “Please, Fred, wanna come so fucking bad.”
“Yeah,” Fred groaned, tugging the button of his brother’s denims open with one hand as he slid to his knees. George wasn’t wearing anything underneath, and the shock of having his brother’s flushed and swollen cock in his hand made Fred pause to catch his breath.
George whimpered impatiently as Fred stroked two fingers up the length of his brother’s shaft, but Fred wasn’t having it. It was high time for his twin to learn a bit of patience, and he refused to rush the process of learning the feel of his brother’s prick for the first time.
If he’d thought about it, Fred would have expected George’s cock to look exactly like his, identical as they were in every other way, but it wasn’t. While his curved to the right, his brother’s curved to the left, and where Fred’s was a tad longer, George’s was thicker by at least a quarter of an inch. It was the little details that made them unique, Mum had always told them.
Well, Mum probably hadn’t meant these little details.
Tentatively, Fred leaned in and flicked his tongue through the bead of precome at the slit, and above him, George exhaled in a low hiss. It was slightly bitter, but warm, and he sealed his lips around his brother’s cock, sucking lightly, wondering if he could coax more of it with his fingers wrapped around the base of the shaft.
“Yeah, like that,” George moaned quietly, fingers sliding through Fred’s hair and tugging softly. “Just like that.”
Fred glanced up at his brother, who was staring down at him with something like awe on his face, and grinned around the cock in his mouth. Shifting into a more comfortable position and grabbing George by the hips, he slowly pulled his brother forward until he could feel the head of his twin’s prick pressed against the back of his throat.
“Fuck,” George cursed, withdrawing as far as Fred’s hands on his hips would allow, before thrusting forward again with a quiet keening sound.
Satisfied that he was giving his brother what he needed, Fred let his eyes flutter closed and concentrated on the feel of the smooth flesh gliding over his tongue. Impossibly, his cock gave a twitch of interest, but he resolutely ignored it in favor of listening to the soft moans and gasps his brother was making. George was trembling beneath his hands, and he tightened his grip on his brother’s hips to direct their movement.
“Fred,” George sobbed quietly, “Don’t- ah- stop- so close-“
Fred had absolutely no intention of stopping, of course; not with the heat of his brother’s prick driving into his mouth again and again, and the weight of the hands on the back of his head guiding him, directing him just like George always had. It didn’t matter that the branches of the hedge were scratching him through his jumper, or that the knees of his denims were damp from kneeling in the dirt; didn’t matter that he could hear someone walking around in the house just on the other side of the wall his brother was writhing against, or that anyone in a passing car would see them just as plainly as if they were in the middle of the street.
Nothing had ever really mattered to Fred as long as George was nearby, and for as many times as that principle had gotten them into a world of trouble, it was also the only thing that had kept them going through some of the darkest points in their lives. Everything they’d survived, they’d survived together: homework and tests, failed relationships and the deaths of friends, war and life itself.
George tensed, and Fred’s eyes flew open to meet his brother’s gaze. Neither of them looked away as Fred gripped his twin’s hips to still them and the cock in his mouth pulsed down his throat, filling him with heat and desperate, clinging love.
“Love you,” George panted, as if reading his mind- which, Fred suspected, he could.
“Love you too,” Fred replied, sitting back on his heels and wiping his lips with the back of his hand. The fingers in his hair tugged him up off his knees and into his brother’s arms, and he buried his face in the side of George’s neck with a muttered, “Love you so much.”
The rumble of a Muggle car on a nearby street made them both jump, and break apart with embarrassed laughter. They didn’t speak as they tucked themselves back into their trousers and straightened their jumpers, and although Fred knew that it should probably be an uncomfortable silence, it wasn’t. When they were finished, they both thrust their hands into their pockets and stared at one another for a moment.
“Say, Fred,” George began, glancing over his brother’s shoulder, but not seeming to look at anything in particular, “You don’t feel like I took advantage of you or anything, right?”
Unable to help himself, Fred snorted, which quickly dissolved into outright laughter when his brother glared at him. “I’m not a bloody girl, George,” he gasped, clutching his sides. “You’re such a ponce sometimes.”
“Twat,” George admonished, punching him lightly on the arm. “You sodding well sounded like a girl up there.”
“Did not!” Fred cried indignantly.
“Did so!” George shot back before affecting a high-pitched whine. “Oh fuck yeah, George, fuck me, fuck me hard you big brute of a man.”
“You’re a complete git, y’know?” Fred growled, but he could feel the corners of his lips twitching upward.
“Oh mercy, you’re so big!” George cooed at him, fluttering his eyelashes.
“What the devil is going on out here?” an irritated sounding voice snapped as the screen door of the house creaked open and the front porch light flickered to life. A moment later, the voice was followed by the man himself, sallow and greasy as ever, and looking decidedly unamused.
“Er,” Fred offered.
“Nothing, Professor Snape,” George said with a grin. “Just making sure your hedge is clear of boggarts.”
“Making sure my hedge is clear of boggarts,” Snape repeated in a monotone. “And I suppose these boggarts, which you are so valiantly attempting to protect me from, respond to the moaning and groaning of two aggravating twits who have taken to skulking around my lawn at almost one o’clock in the morning?”
For his part, Fred had absolutely no response for that. There was no doubt in his mind that Snape knew exactly ‘what the devil’ had been going on in his hedge, so he settled for bowing his head to conceal the warmth that was creeping its way across his cheeks.
“Oh yeah,” George went on in a breezy tone that was sure to annoy the stuffing out of Snape, “Boggarts respond to all sorts of things: moaning and groaning, opera music, car bombs-“
“Mister Weasley,” Snape cut in, “Had I known that purchasing this house would entail, among other woes, interrupting two hormonal imbeciles trysting in my hedge, I assure you that I would have maintained the deed to Spinner’s End and let the lot of you expire from the sheer force of your bumbling savior’s stupidity; now kindly remove yourselves from my lawn before I give the both of you a very hands on demonstration of the killing curse.”
“Right then,” George said after the requisite moment of very uncomfortable silence had passed, “We’ll just be off, shall we?”
“Hmph,” Snape huffed, and moved back into the sanctuary of his shadowy front hall.
“Wait!” Fred cried just before the door closed, and Snape peered out at him with glittering black eyes, his face a pale mask hovering in darkness. “You’re uh- you’re not gonna tell Mum about this, right?”
Snape seemed to consider the request for a moment, and just as Fred was steeling himself for fresh onslaught of insults, those hateful lips turned up in a smirk, and the former potions professor said, “No, I believe your mother has quite enough to worry about as it is, just having the two of you as offspring; now get out of my hedge.”
The echo of the door slamming broke the otherwise quiet night, and Fred released the breath he’d been holding with a long sigh. “Interrupting two hormonal imbeciles trysting in my hedge,” he muttered, mimicking Snape’s sour expression. “Not our fault he decided he needed to keep an eye on Harry.”
George laughed and slapped him lightly on the back. “C’mon, let’s get back before Mum has a fit,” he said. “I swear, much as I miss her, sometimes I really regret moving back to the Burrow.”
“She’ll have a fit anyway when she finds out we’ve wrecked our brooms,” Fred replied with a grin that quickly faded when he saw the remains of what had once been two very high quality broomsticks.
“Bugger,” George said, coming to a halt beside him. “Spyglass is wrecked too.”
Fred nodded solemnly, staring down at the now useless brass tube that was lying amidst the glittering shards of shattered crystal. Six months of work, backed up by years of research, and all it took was one admittedly spectacular orgasm to ruin it.
“S’alright,” he said at last. “Now we know how to make ‘em, shouldn’t be too hard to make another. Besides, I think I’ve come up with a few extras that I’d really like to add in before we present it to the Ministry.”
“Like what?” George asked, his lips already curling up into a grin.
“Night vision,” Fred said with a nonchalant shrug that wasn’t very nonchalant at all. “Maybe modify a sonorous and add some listening capabilities.”
“Brilliant, Fred,” his brother praised him.
“Thanks, George,” Fred replied, nudging his twin’s shoulder with his own.
“Either way, though, looks like we’re apparating home tonight,” George went on mournfully. “I hate apparating; s’like having your bits squeezed through a tube.”
Fred began to nod, but stopped when he saw the light in the sitting room of Number Twelve flicker to life. Slowly, he turned to face his brother, a little thrill of mischief racing through his body. “Bloody shame to apparate home when we haven’t given Harry a proper visit in a few months, don’t’cha think, George?” he asked, unable to conceal his grin.
George looked confused for a moment until his blue eyes lit with understanding and he met his brother’s devilish smile with one of his own. “Right you are, Fred,” he replied with a decisive nod. “Need to see how Sirius is doing too, don’t we?”
“Think they’ll mind if we show up on their doorstep this late?” Fred asked as he bent to scoop the broken pieces of one broomstick into his arms. “Might have to explain what we’re doing, just passing through the neighborhood at one o’clock in the morning.”
“Something tells me they’re still wide awake,” George assured him with a wink as he collected the remnants of the other broomstick. “Besides, Harry did tell us to let him know how our first test of the spyglass worked out.”
Laughing, Fred followed his brother across the street and up the front steps of Number Twelve. It didn’t occur to him that this might not be the best idea they’d ever had, but it usually never did. After all, they had a long history of bad ideas behind them, and somehow they’d all worked out in the end.
Besides, Fred had always followed George, just as George had always followed him. They’d chased each other’s closet monsters away with shadow puppets at midnight, and fought back to back on smoke-filled battlefields with nothing but wands and determination.
George turned to him with a grin dancing in his blue eyes, and reached out with his free hand to grasp Fred’s.
Hands clasped, twin grins, two forefingers pressed the doorbell in unison; and somewhere in the shadows of the house across the street, someone laughed quietly and shut the curtains.