Prompt(s): Echo, promise, silver
Warnings: Slash, twincest, dark, angst, hurt/comfort, smut, post-OotP but before DH (so possibly underage too)
A/N: I wanted to quickly point out here that I tend to picture George as the more... sensitive one. Not a crybaby or anything, just the one to feel more deeply about things.
Don't Tell Me Not to Cry
Moonlight spills into a room painted in shades of ebony and navy, illuminating the already pale and freckled limbs of arms intertwined together, making them ghostly in the light of the moon. One twitches, shifts as it's owner groans in his sleep and turns over; fingers stretch and flex over the identical flesh it lays on. George watches all this with mute fascination as Fred continues to sleep uninterrupted and ignorant of his brother's eyes on him.
Drumming the fingers of his trapped arm - trapped because he wants it to be, George tells himself - against the green and white striped bedcover as he thinks. He doesn't think of how Fred's half of the blanket is bunched up around his waist and between his legs, revealing naked skin that George had been pressed against sometime ago. Nor does he think of the repercussions of their actions; taboos broken and remolded by their hands to better suit their lives.
George thinks of the future. Of life beyond the war. Things were fine now because they were the foolish ones; the troublemakers and rebels who loved to joke and prank. Their joke shop was a huge success, even bigger than they had thought possible, and possibly, they owed some of their success to this impending war because the wizarding world needed to smile a little, else they succumb to hopelessness in the face of a bleak future. Yet it's this same war that worries George because while it might help business some, it doesn't promise a future for either one of them. The Weasleys as a whole were deeply involved in the rebellion against the Dark Lord and if asked, or if need be, they would throw down their own lives to protect their friends, family, and each other. Especially each other.
Sliding his arm out from under his brother's grasp, George runs his fingers through Fred's tousled hair and realizes for the first time that he's silently crying. Retracting his hand, George wipes his tears, but cannot stop the trembles that rise from his chest as he suddenly shakes with the effort of trying not to sob loudly. He's scared. Not for himself, but his brother. His friend. His lover. His twin.
Fred awakes because of his brother's trembles and though he's half-asleep at first, his eyes widen when he sees the glimmer of tears sliding down George's face. In a panic, he sits up and hugs his brother to him, where George proceeds to cling to him and sob loudly into the crook of his neck. Confused and scared by his brother's actions, Fred can only wait it out and wonder if he did something to hurt his twin.
"What is it?" Fred asks when George finally quiets down.
"Promise me you won't leave my side."
"But what if I have to use the loo?"
Surprised by the tone of George's voice, Fred nodded his head in agreement. "I promise."
"I swear on the green and silver blood that runs through Slytherin scum."
George kisses Fred then, taking some solstice in his brother's words. Forcing Fred down onto his back, George's lips explore flesh he knows all too well, losing himself in the smell, taste, and sounds of his twin. By the time he reaches Fred's navel, his twin is hard against his body and George is more than happy to take the erect flesh in his mouth, sucking and licking until Fred forces himself to pull away. There is passion and love in Fred's eyes as he kisses his brother and forces him to bend over, ass in the air, and takes him without preparation. George wheezes in shock, but their earlier ministrations seemed to help in Fred not hurting George as he fucks him. As they rose to the edge together, George tried to put the dark thoughts of the future out of his mind. Still, tears rolled down his cheeks as he moaned louder and louder, his voice echoing Fred's pants.
A cloud passes over the moon as the twins come, freezing them in the moment as Fred droops over his brother's back, both remaining in that position until they catch their breath. When the cloud passes, they are lying in each other's arms, staring up at the ceiling. Exhausted now, George closes his eyes for sleep.
"I swear," Fred whispers before George falls completely asleep.