![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
asimplechordTitle: Closing time (part 2)
Rating: R
Pairing: Harry/twins
Words: ~2700
Disclaimer: Not mine. As if. Wouldn't it be lovely if things really did work out like this for Harry, though?
A/N: This is the sequel to Closing time, told from Harry's point of view. It will fit into the Seven Deadly Sins Series, between pride and wrath, when those ficlets are finally posted. Entirely unbeta'd - I haven't even re-read it all the way through - so feel free to point out errors. I know there are some misplaced commas and words, but I'm suffering from cannot-see-my-own-mistake-itis just now. And you can thank![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bar_bar_ella for the lovely twinsmut and Phelps pics that fomented this little ficlet. :)
The shop front was closed, but no matter. Harry had a key. He was the twins’ primary investor and partner, after all.
He let himself in, leaving the shrunken box of goods Molly had sent on the counter before heading to the back. He knew that business was going well, and that Fred and George had planned on brewing some refills and working on the manufacture of some new prank potions in the next couple of days. He had promised delivery of a few specialty items tomorrow morning; luckily, the Reptile House at the London Zoo had been quiet, and he’d been able to procure their ingredients more quickly than expected. He had the shed skin of a Burmese python and the newest poison dart frog's sweat stowed safely in the pack slung over his shoulder.
Harry had been quite happy to spend time away from the Wheezes. Lately, he’d felt awkward around the twins, something that had never happened before. He knew exactly when it had started: two weeks ago, when he’d woken from a dream featuring a Weasley redhead, in which his ex-girlfriend had not held the starring role. Harry’s first, horrible fear was that the Weasley in question had been Ron, and the very thought had made him ill. Covert inspection of his best friend had led to the conclusion that his dream had been an aberration, and that there was no possible way that he was attracted to him.
The following night Harry had dreamed again, only this time of two identical redheads, and he had woken to sticky shorts and sweaty sheets. He’d been unable to look George or Fred in the eye the next morning, and had avoided prolonged time in their presence while he tried to figure out what, if anything, his dreams meant.
Certainly, he had no reason to expect that the twins were bent, or that they’d be interested in him. Hadn’t they dated Angelina and Alicia while they were at Hogwarts? Hmm, he had wondered about some of their play with Oliver in the Quidditch changing rooms, though. In any case, from the way the pair worked and lived together, Harry knew that no matter what else happened their primary focus would always be each other.
Sighing, Harry let his backpack slide down off his shoulder so he held the strap in one hand, and pushed open the door with the other.
At first Harry thought Fred was alone in the lab. He could see his back; he was facing the workbench. Then he realized that a pair of legs flanked Fred’s. Fred was leaning against someone, kissing them, and there was a hand resting possessively on his hip. Harry recognized that hand; he’d watched it gripping a Beater’s bat, seen it tossing gnomes, dreamt of it skimming along his own skin. George.
George was holding Fred. George was kissing Fred. And not just a brotherly peck either. And... were his trousers loose? They were bunched oddly around his buttocks, not quite hanging properly. They were; Fred’s pants were down far enough that Harry knew what had to be exposed, what had to be pressed against George. Fred and George were snogging and touching and - ohgods - wanking and Harry didn’t think he’d ever been so turned on so fast in his entire life.
He should leave. He really really should. But just as that thought crossed his mind, Fred and George turned, and Harry could see what they were doing. Every neuron in his body revolted, and he was unable to move, unable to do anything but stare avidly at the mirrored perfection in front of him.
Even as he watched, impatient hands pushed trousers out of the way. Black wool gave way, revealing pale skin with more freckles. That taken care of, their hips pressed back together briefly, allowing Fred’s hard cock to press against George’s. They shifted, moving apart just enough for each twin to wrap a hand around the other’s shaft.
Harry couldn’t decide where to look. Obviously, the two erections, red and leaking, deserved his attention. They drew his interest in a way no furtive locker room glimpses ever had. But the hands doing the stroking were gorgeous in and of themselves. And the twins hadn’t stopped kissing, hadn’t changed their focus on each other. Hips bumped, erections pressed against each other, the heads touching then separating as tightened grips moved back and forth, and still Fred’s lips never left George’s for more than a breath.
Beautiful, that was the only word for it. The utterly intent look on Fred’s face and the absorbed pleasure on George’s were beautiful.
The stroking increased in speed, and Harry could only imagine enviously the feel of those hands on his own cock, which was now pressing painfully against the front placket of his trousers. Unconsciously, one hand moved to press against it. Even that touch was nearly too much; he had to choke back a moan, and forced himself to move his hand away.
As he watched, George moved, whispering something into Fred’s ear. Whatever he said was a catalyst, because Fred’s hips bucked and his cock jerked, spraying semen over their bellies and prompting an identical response from George. Harry watched, wide-eyed, as George lifted Fred’s hand and licked it clean, obviously savoring the taste of his skin and their semen mixed together.
Harry had never tasted anyone’s come, not even his own, but that—that— The idea of doing that for the twins, of them doing it to him, made Harry groan aloud. He stumbled back a step, allowing his weight to rest on the doorjamb while he tried to control his breathing, and the backpack in his hand fell to the floor with a thud.
Oh, no. That had been loud enough for them to hear. Harry had a moment to hope that the frog's poison was still safely stowed, and then George’s head was turning in his direction.
He had no idea what to say, how to apologize for intruding. He opened his mouth with absolutely no clue what words were going to come out, but George spoke first. “Is there something we can help you with, Harry?”
Surely George couldn’t be implying what Harry thought. It was his own prurient imagination that was turning George’s question into an invitation. Wasn’t it?
Harry swallowed, hoping to ease the roughness in his throat enough that it wouldn’t give him away. Hopefully they hadn’t noticed the state of his erection, and he’d get out of here and take care of it on his own.
But Fred languidly pushed himself away from George and crossed the room to stand in front of Harry, then lifted a hand. At first Harry thought he was reaching directly for his cock, and it twitched in anticipation, leaking into the growing wet spot in his pants. Instead, he watched as Fred’s hand rose to settle on his shoulder. It only stayed there a moment before sliding down his arm to his hand, which had, Harry realized, drifted back to his cock seemingly of its own volition. Fred gently lifted Harry’s hand above his head and pressed it against the doorframe, lifting the other from its resting spot to join it, crossing at the wrists. He held them there, looking at Harry commandingly, telling him without words to leave them there.
With his arms over his head, Harry felt a bit vulnerable. He looked up at Fred, who positively loomed over him, invading his personal space in a way that no one, not even Ginny, had ever done. He wondered for a moment what on earth he thought he was doing. But then Fred’s hands slid from his wrists down his arms and torso to rest atop his hipbones, and he decided that whatever it was, it would be worth it. He nodded, and let his eyes fall closed.
He waited, nearly quivering in his eagerness to feel what Fred did next. Without vision, his hearing and sense of smell were enhanced. He heard the rustle of Fred’s shirt, of his hand brushing his belt, then felt the buckle loosen. Fred must have bent his head to see what he was doing, because Harry got a strong whiff of the same shampoo he’d been using, shampoo Mrs. Weasley made in cauldron-sized batches. Before the thought of Mrs. Weasley and her opinion of these goings-on could dampen his ardor, the hiss of a lowering zipper distracted him, refocusing his attention on the matter at hand. So to speak.
Ah, relief. Harry’s cock, which he thought might now have an imprint of his zip on the underside, poked through his pants the instant there was room, and he sighed at the wash of cool air against hot skin. Then a warm, callused hand wrapped around it. Ohgods, that was so different from the feel of his own hand; the exact same motion that he made during a morning wank was magnified by the touch of another. He opened his eyes and looked down to see that hand, pale, with its coppery freckles standing out in the fading daylight, larger than his, stroking and squeezing and—ohgods, he had to close his eyes and think of something else—anything else—or he’d come right now.
Harry breathed shallowly, trying to subdue his unexpectedly intense response. When he thought he could control himself, he opened his eyes again. Fred’s attention was on Harry. Beyond him, Harry could see George leaning back against the workbench, watching them with as much attention as Harry had paid to the twins earlier.
He’s going to watch. He’s going to watch Fred get me off. He’s going to watch me come. The idea made Harry’s heart beat just a little bit faster. His eyelids drooped until his eyes were barely open, just enough to see what Fred was doing through his eyelashes, and his head fell back against the wall with a thud.
The hand on his cock continued stroking, the fist tightening and releasing on the upstroke and then squeezing downward again. Fred paused in his ministrations long enough to extract Harry from his shorts entirely, and to push them and his trousers down. Harry couldn't move with the fabric bunched on his lower thighs, but somehow that was even better, forcing him to surrender to the sensations he was experiencing. Fred's other hand moved to cradle his newly freed balls. They drew up closer to his body in response, and Harry felt a gentle tug on them and some slight relief from the building pressure. Still, he didn't think he would be able to control himself with the next provocation.
The hand retreated to his hip, then slid around to his rear, where it rested on one cheek before roaming restlessly up and down his back. Finally it dropped again, settling on the crease with the middle finger just pressing into it, urging Harry ever closer. Stifling a moan in his throat, he tilted himself forward obligingly.
"Z'at okay?"
"Brilliant."
Harry canted his hips toward Fred, silently asking for more. At the same time, he turned his head. When his cheek brushed another stubbled cheek, he rubbed it, enjoying the sensation, a new one for him. He drew back enough to look Fred in the eye, to give him time to move away if that was his choice, and then he tilted his head upward and stood on his toes to press their lips together.
Unlike his first kiss with Ginny, there was nothing tentative about this. Mouths opened immediately and tongues clashed, while teeth nipped and then lips soothed. For all that, it was brief. When Fred sucked Harry's tongue further into his mouth, it made Harry's dick throb. Fred collected the gathering moisture in his palm, rubbing across the head, using it as a lubricant when he tightened his fist again. Harry ripped his mouth away from Fred's and moaned. At the same time, he let his hands fall from above his head, allowing gravity to pull them down until his arms came to rest around Fred's neck.
Fred shifted away, and Harry was bereft without the warmth of his body holding him close. Instead of moving backwards, though, Fred slid down, dropping to his knees so that Harry's hands rested on his shoulders quite comfortably. When he was at eye level with the swollen, leaking cock that was the center of Harry's world, he leaned forward slowly.
Fred wasn't going to...? Ohgods, he was! Harry felt a tickle of warm breath stir his pubic hair, making his overheated flesh prickle, and then the swipe of a hot, wet tongue up the side of his prick and ohmyfuckinggods Fred's mouth opened further and sucked the head of his cock into it. Harry's eyes closed and hands clenched and it was all he could do not to shove himself all the way into the hotwetsuckinglicking mouth.
Harry had no idea how much time passed. Every bit of his attention contracted, focused on the inches of flesh being worshipped by Fred's mouth and hands. He gradually became aware of someone standing at his side, and he opened his eyes—it was so hard to keep them open, they kept wanting to close so he could luxuriate in the input communicated by his other senses—to see George propped with one arm against the wall, his hand resting next to Harry's head. The other reached out to cradle his cheek and slide into hair at nape of his neck, and then George kissed him. In a lip-lock with one of them, one of them giving him the best blow job of his short life, this was like the best parts of his dream! He reached out tentatively and put a hand on George's waist, leaving the other on Fred's shoulder, and threw himself into the kiss, mimicking Fred's actions below to George's mouth above.
George moved Harry's hand to the front of his trousers. Now he had a mouth full of Weasley tongue, a hand full of Weasley cock, and his own was being expertly manipulated. The rhythmic clasp and release at the base combined with the sucking and licking had Harry's hips jerking, pushing forward. Oh fuck, the pressure in his balls was unrelenting now, and he was going to come soon, he knew it. His hand slid to Fred's neck, and he had to restrain himself from forcing Fred's head closer, pushing himself deeper into that mouth. Fred drew back, suckling on head. He paused in his stroking and released his tight grip. Harry mourned the loss for a second, but then the hand lifted so that Fred was holding tight to the curve of his hip and Fred's mouth slid down down down. Harry watched in fascination as his cock disappeared into that cavern, felt the faint brush of teeth against the sides of his cock, felt when the head pushed into the back of Fred's throat. Then Fred spoke, or tried to speak, (he would realize later that it might have just been a gag reflex) and the thrum of vibration and the hard press of Fred's tongue against the vein on the back of his cock for its entire length was too much.
Lights bloomed behind his eyes, which had closed reflexively. Harry's grip on George went painfully tight, then slack, and his fist knotted in Fred's hair as he came. If his mouth hadn't been completely occupied, he might have made more noise. As it was, his shout was swallowed by George's lips and tongue, drowned out by George's own groan.
At the first jet of come, Fred jerked back, collecting it in his mouth, swallowing all but the last, weak spurt. When Harry collapsed back against the doorjamb, Fred lifted his trousers and rose, turning slightly so the three of them were pressed together. His lips sought theirs.
Harry was lost, trying to decide which mouth to pursue, but George pulled back. He watched as Fred kissed Harry, watched as lips met and tongues danced, and Harry licked and tasted, searching out the flavor and texture of himself in Fred. The bitterness of himself on Fred's breath; the knowledge that George was still standing there, still watching; the idea of what they had just done; the thought of returning the favor for George or Fred or both of them; all of that was enough to make his spent prick twitch in renewed interest.
George smirked, and rolled his hips against Harry's hand.
With a nod toward the door, he asked, "Shall we take this upstairs?"
Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.
Follow the boys upstairs.
Rating: R
Pairing: Harry/twins
Words: ~2700
Disclaimer: Not mine. As if. Wouldn't it be lovely if things really did work out like this for Harry, though?
A/N: This is the sequel to Closing time, told from Harry's point of view. It will fit into the Seven Deadly Sins Series, between pride and wrath, when those ficlets are finally posted. Entirely unbeta'd - I haven't even re-read it all the way through - so feel free to point out errors. I know there are some misplaced commas and words, but I'm suffering from cannot-see-my-own-mistake-itis just now. And you can thank
bar_bar_ella for the lovely twinsmut and Phelps pics that fomented this little ficlet. :)The shop front was closed, but no matter. Harry had a key. He was the twins’ primary investor and partner, after all.
He let himself in, leaving the shrunken box of goods Molly had sent on the counter before heading to the back. He knew that business was going well, and that Fred and George had planned on brewing some refills and working on the manufacture of some new prank potions in the next couple of days. He had promised delivery of a few specialty items tomorrow morning; luckily, the Reptile House at the London Zoo had been quiet, and he’d been able to procure their ingredients more quickly than expected. He had the shed skin of a Burmese python and the newest poison dart frog's sweat stowed safely in the pack slung over his shoulder.
Harry had been quite happy to spend time away from the Wheezes. Lately, he’d felt awkward around the twins, something that had never happened before. He knew exactly when it had started: two weeks ago, when he’d woken from a dream featuring a Weasley redhead, in which his ex-girlfriend had not held the starring role. Harry’s first, horrible fear was that the Weasley in question had been Ron, and the very thought had made him ill. Covert inspection of his best friend had led to the conclusion that his dream had been an aberration, and that there was no possible way that he was attracted to him.
The following night Harry had dreamed again, only this time of two identical redheads, and he had woken to sticky shorts and sweaty sheets. He’d been unable to look George or Fred in the eye the next morning, and had avoided prolonged time in their presence while he tried to figure out what, if anything, his dreams meant.
Certainly, he had no reason to expect that the twins were bent, or that they’d be interested in him. Hadn’t they dated Angelina and Alicia while they were at Hogwarts? Hmm, he had wondered about some of their play with Oliver in the Quidditch changing rooms, though. In any case, from the way the pair worked and lived together, Harry knew that no matter what else happened their primary focus would always be each other.
Sighing, Harry let his backpack slide down off his shoulder so he held the strap in one hand, and pushed open the door with the other.
At first Harry thought Fred was alone in the lab. He could see his back; he was facing the workbench. Then he realized that a pair of legs flanked Fred’s. Fred was leaning against someone, kissing them, and there was a hand resting possessively on his hip. Harry recognized that hand; he’d watched it gripping a Beater’s bat, seen it tossing gnomes, dreamt of it skimming along his own skin. George.
George was holding Fred. George was kissing Fred. And not just a brotherly peck either. And... were his trousers loose? They were bunched oddly around his buttocks, not quite hanging properly. They were; Fred’s pants were down far enough that Harry knew what had to be exposed, what had to be pressed against George. Fred and George were snogging and touching and - ohgods - wanking and Harry didn’t think he’d ever been so turned on so fast in his entire life.
He should leave. He really really should. But just as that thought crossed his mind, Fred and George turned, and Harry could see what they were doing. Every neuron in his body revolted, and he was unable to move, unable to do anything but stare avidly at the mirrored perfection in front of him.
Even as he watched, impatient hands pushed trousers out of the way. Black wool gave way, revealing pale skin with more freckles. That taken care of, their hips pressed back together briefly, allowing Fred’s hard cock to press against George’s. They shifted, moving apart just enough for each twin to wrap a hand around the other’s shaft.
Harry couldn’t decide where to look. Obviously, the two erections, red and leaking, deserved his attention. They drew his interest in a way no furtive locker room glimpses ever had. But the hands doing the stroking were gorgeous in and of themselves. And the twins hadn’t stopped kissing, hadn’t changed their focus on each other. Hips bumped, erections pressed against each other, the heads touching then separating as tightened grips moved back and forth, and still Fred’s lips never left George’s for more than a breath.
Beautiful, that was the only word for it. The utterly intent look on Fred’s face and the absorbed pleasure on George’s were beautiful.
The stroking increased in speed, and Harry could only imagine enviously the feel of those hands on his own cock, which was now pressing painfully against the front placket of his trousers. Unconsciously, one hand moved to press against it. Even that touch was nearly too much; he had to choke back a moan, and forced himself to move his hand away.
As he watched, George moved, whispering something into Fred’s ear. Whatever he said was a catalyst, because Fred’s hips bucked and his cock jerked, spraying semen over their bellies and prompting an identical response from George. Harry watched, wide-eyed, as George lifted Fred’s hand and licked it clean, obviously savoring the taste of his skin and their semen mixed together.
Harry had never tasted anyone’s come, not even his own, but that—that— The idea of doing that for the twins, of them doing it to him, made Harry groan aloud. He stumbled back a step, allowing his weight to rest on the doorjamb while he tried to control his breathing, and the backpack in his hand fell to the floor with a thud.
Oh, no. That had been loud enough for them to hear. Harry had a moment to hope that the frog's poison was still safely stowed, and then George’s head was turning in his direction.
He had no idea what to say, how to apologize for intruding. He opened his mouth with absolutely no clue what words were going to come out, but George spoke first. “Is there something we can help you with, Harry?”
Surely George couldn’t be implying what Harry thought. It was his own prurient imagination that was turning George’s question into an invitation. Wasn’t it?
Harry swallowed, hoping to ease the roughness in his throat enough that it wouldn’t give him away. Hopefully they hadn’t noticed the state of his erection, and he’d get out of here and take care of it on his own.
But Fred languidly pushed himself away from George and crossed the room to stand in front of Harry, then lifted a hand. At first Harry thought he was reaching directly for his cock, and it twitched in anticipation, leaking into the growing wet spot in his pants. Instead, he watched as Fred’s hand rose to settle on his shoulder. It only stayed there a moment before sliding down his arm to his hand, which had, Harry realized, drifted back to his cock seemingly of its own volition. Fred gently lifted Harry’s hand above his head and pressed it against the doorframe, lifting the other from its resting spot to join it, crossing at the wrists. He held them there, looking at Harry commandingly, telling him without words to leave them there.
With his arms over his head, Harry felt a bit vulnerable. He looked up at Fred, who positively loomed over him, invading his personal space in a way that no one, not even Ginny, had ever done. He wondered for a moment what on earth he thought he was doing. But then Fred’s hands slid from his wrists down his arms and torso to rest atop his hipbones, and he decided that whatever it was, it would be worth it. He nodded, and let his eyes fall closed.
He waited, nearly quivering in his eagerness to feel what Fred did next. Without vision, his hearing and sense of smell were enhanced. He heard the rustle of Fred’s shirt, of his hand brushing his belt, then felt the buckle loosen. Fred must have bent his head to see what he was doing, because Harry got a strong whiff of the same shampoo he’d been using, shampoo Mrs. Weasley made in cauldron-sized batches. Before the thought of Mrs. Weasley and her opinion of these goings-on could dampen his ardor, the hiss of a lowering zipper distracted him, refocusing his attention on the matter at hand. So to speak.
Ah, relief. Harry’s cock, which he thought might now have an imprint of his zip on the underside, poked through his pants the instant there was room, and he sighed at the wash of cool air against hot skin. Then a warm, callused hand wrapped around it. Ohgods, that was so different from the feel of his own hand; the exact same motion that he made during a morning wank was magnified by the touch of another. He opened his eyes and looked down to see that hand, pale, with its coppery freckles standing out in the fading daylight, larger than his, stroking and squeezing and—ohgods, he had to close his eyes and think of something else—anything else—or he’d come right now.
Harry breathed shallowly, trying to subdue his unexpectedly intense response. When he thought he could control himself, he opened his eyes again. Fred’s attention was on Harry. Beyond him, Harry could see George leaning back against the workbench, watching them with as much attention as Harry had paid to the twins earlier.
He’s going to watch. He’s going to watch Fred get me off. He’s going to watch me come. The idea made Harry’s heart beat just a little bit faster. His eyelids drooped until his eyes were barely open, just enough to see what Fred was doing through his eyelashes, and his head fell back against the wall with a thud.
The hand on his cock continued stroking, the fist tightening and releasing on the upstroke and then squeezing downward again. Fred paused in his ministrations long enough to extract Harry from his shorts entirely, and to push them and his trousers down. Harry couldn't move with the fabric bunched on his lower thighs, but somehow that was even better, forcing him to surrender to the sensations he was experiencing. Fred's other hand moved to cradle his newly freed balls. They drew up closer to his body in response, and Harry felt a gentle tug on them and some slight relief from the building pressure. Still, he didn't think he would be able to control himself with the next provocation.
The hand retreated to his hip, then slid around to his rear, where it rested on one cheek before roaming restlessly up and down his back. Finally it dropped again, settling on the crease with the middle finger just pressing into it, urging Harry ever closer. Stifling a moan in his throat, he tilted himself forward obligingly.
"Z'at okay?"
"Brilliant."
Harry canted his hips toward Fred, silently asking for more. At the same time, he turned his head. When his cheek brushed another stubbled cheek, he rubbed it, enjoying the sensation, a new one for him. He drew back enough to look Fred in the eye, to give him time to move away if that was his choice, and then he tilted his head upward and stood on his toes to press their lips together.
Unlike his first kiss with Ginny, there was nothing tentative about this. Mouths opened immediately and tongues clashed, while teeth nipped and then lips soothed. For all that, it was brief. When Fred sucked Harry's tongue further into his mouth, it made Harry's dick throb. Fred collected the gathering moisture in his palm, rubbing across the head, using it as a lubricant when he tightened his fist again. Harry ripped his mouth away from Fred's and moaned. At the same time, he let his hands fall from above his head, allowing gravity to pull them down until his arms came to rest around Fred's neck.
Fred shifted away, and Harry was bereft without the warmth of his body holding him close. Instead of moving backwards, though, Fred slid down, dropping to his knees so that Harry's hands rested on his shoulders quite comfortably. When he was at eye level with the swollen, leaking cock that was the center of Harry's world, he leaned forward slowly.
Fred wasn't going to...? Ohgods, he was! Harry felt a tickle of warm breath stir his pubic hair, making his overheated flesh prickle, and then the swipe of a hot, wet tongue up the side of his prick and ohmyfuckinggods Fred's mouth opened further and sucked the head of his cock into it. Harry's eyes closed and hands clenched and it was all he could do not to shove himself all the way into the hotwetsuckinglicking mouth.
Harry had no idea how much time passed. Every bit of his attention contracted, focused on the inches of flesh being worshipped by Fred's mouth and hands. He gradually became aware of someone standing at his side, and he opened his eyes—it was so hard to keep them open, they kept wanting to close so he could luxuriate in the input communicated by his other senses—to see George propped with one arm against the wall, his hand resting next to Harry's head. The other reached out to cradle his cheek and slide into hair at nape of his neck, and then George kissed him. In a lip-lock with one of them, one of them giving him the best blow job of his short life, this was like the best parts of his dream! He reached out tentatively and put a hand on George's waist, leaving the other on Fred's shoulder, and threw himself into the kiss, mimicking Fred's actions below to George's mouth above.
George moved Harry's hand to the front of his trousers. Now he had a mouth full of Weasley tongue, a hand full of Weasley cock, and his own was being expertly manipulated. The rhythmic clasp and release at the base combined with the sucking and licking had Harry's hips jerking, pushing forward. Oh fuck, the pressure in his balls was unrelenting now, and he was going to come soon, he knew it. His hand slid to Fred's neck, and he had to restrain himself from forcing Fred's head closer, pushing himself deeper into that mouth. Fred drew back, suckling on head. He paused in his stroking and released his tight grip. Harry mourned the loss for a second, but then the hand lifted so that Fred was holding tight to the curve of his hip and Fred's mouth slid down down down. Harry watched in fascination as his cock disappeared into that cavern, felt the faint brush of teeth against the sides of his cock, felt when the head pushed into the back of Fred's throat. Then Fred spoke, or tried to speak, (he would realize later that it might have just been a gag reflex) and the thrum of vibration and the hard press of Fred's tongue against the vein on the back of his cock for its entire length was too much.
Lights bloomed behind his eyes, which had closed reflexively. Harry's grip on George went painfully tight, then slack, and his fist knotted in Fred's hair as he came. If his mouth hadn't been completely occupied, he might have made more noise. As it was, his shout was swallowed by George's lips and tongue, drowned out by George's own groan.
At the first jet of come, Fred jerked back, collecting it in his mouth, swallowing all but the last, weak spurt. When Harry collapsed back against the doorjamb, Fred lifted his trousers and rose, turning slightly so the three of them were pressed together. His lips sought theirs.
Harry was lost, trying to decide which mouth to pursue, but George pulled back. He watched as Fred kissed Harry, watched as lips met and tongues danced, and Harry licked and tasted, searching out the flavor and texture of himself in Fred. The bitterness of himself on Fred's breath; the knowledge that George was still standing there, still watching; the idea of what they had just done; the thought of returning the favor for George or Fred or both of them; all of that was enough to make his spent prick twitch in renewed interest.
George smirked, and rolled his hips against Harry's hand.
With a nod toward the door, he asked, "Shall we take this upstairs?"
Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.
Follow the boys upstairs.
