Warnings: AU in that Fred survived. Mild reference to canon deaths. Incest. Frotting. Lack of sexual climax. Alcohol use.

Disclaimer: This creation is based on characters and/or situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made, no copyright or trademark infringement, or offense is intended. All characters depicted in sexual situations are above the age of consent.

Notes: Many thanks to R for the quick beta. Written for the lj "hptwinsmut" '12 Days of Twinmas' mini fest.

Their mum was disappointed that they weren't staying at The Burrow for Christmas night but – frankly – she didn't have the room for them anyway. Christmas dinner was good, but after that things dragged a bit. Percy had made a point of wearing his home-knitted sweater to try to make up for having returned the last one. There was a toast to absent friends and a few jokes about how much better everything was without Voldie around. Generally, though, it was as though the war had never happened and family gatherings were back to being an exercise in tediousness.

Luckily, Fred and George had come prepared. Fred had a hip flask full of sloe vodka; George's flask contained elderflower brandy. Fred seemed determined to match George sip for sip. He was probably planning to claim that his vodka was stronger, but, in truth, he had been in St Mungo's for most of the year and his tolerance levels were down. He was never going to admit to having become a light weight, but George could see his twin's eyelids lowering and his centre of gravity slipping.

Fleur sloped off to bed early. She hadn't drunk anything alcoholic at all and her skin was greyish green. Their mum looked chuffed, but said she would wait until Bill was ready to announce it officially – whatever that meant. When Fleur left, George took the opportunity to get Fred back home to bed before he spewed, passed out, picked a fight or broke something.

"All the little darlings will be crowding into the shop tomorrow morning, desperate to be parted from their Christmas money," George explained, with an overly avaricious chuckle for comic effect. "Come on Fred –" but Fred was already swaying in front of the fireplace and snatching up a handful of Floo Powder.

George jogged over to him, got grabbed by the waist and was pulled into the fire as Fred called out, "Doub you doub you, hmmm, double you."

George opened his mouth, but it was filled with soot as they sped along. They were thrown out into darkness and landed on a cold, hard floor. George choked up the soot. When he could speak again, he said: "That's not our Floo address. They wouldn't give us WWW, remember? Said it was too similar to something."

" Limnos !" Fred shouted. Of course, nothing happened.

"Let me—" George began.

"Nonsense! I'm perfectly capable. Loo Ross ! Aha!"

But it was not light, it was a piece of tissue paper which had shot from his wand. It hit George in the face. By now he was adjusting to the lack of light and he was absolutely certain that they had not wound up in their own shop.

" Lumos !" Fred succeeded.

The room which was illuminated was sizeable and high-ceilinged. It contained two other fireplaces, no furniture, and a large, framed poster of Celestina Warbeck.

"WWN. That's what it sounded too similar to," George recalled.

"Makes sense," Fred conceded. "So what is our Floo address?"

"Weasley Wheezes Shop."

"Right. So we'd better get out of the radio station, then." Fred put a hand confidently up onto the mantelpiece to grab some Floo Powder.

"Let me say it next time," George suggested.

Fred went up onto his tip toes and looked along the mantelpiece. No powder. Without discussion, they each went to one of the other fireplaces, then turned expectantly to the other.

"Stingy bastards," complained George. "They expect their staff to bring their own Floo Powder?

"Never mind, we'll just go and find someone and explain what happened," Fred said with drunken optimism.

"On Christmas day?"

"The radio's always on. Must be someone about." Fred headed for the only door. "And we can always Apparate home if not."

George followed him. "I'm plenty pissed enough to splinch myself, there's no way I'm letting you try it in your state."

The door wasn't locked. It led to a staircase, which they climbed up to another room, which contained an unmanned reception desk and three glass panelled doors. Fred and George peered through separate doors. George couldn't see anything in his.

"Uh oh," Fred said.

George went over to him. The room beyond was lit but unoccupied. A gramophone player on a desk was spinning a record which played into a large funnel. Beside it on one side was another gramophone player, on the other side was a pile of records. The disk on the top of the pile was floating and vibrating. It shook off its sleeve and dropped that beside another one which was already on the desk. The newly naked record floated over to the second player and settled onto its turntable, which began to spin. The needle moved over the vinyl and dropped down just as the needle on the other gramophone lifted.

"Looks like nobody fancied coming in on Christmas day. They've charmed the music to play itself," Fred said.

"I can see that."

For lack of anything else to do they watched the record which had just finished playing itself float off the turntable, sliding back into its cover and flying to file itself away on the shelf.

"Someone'll come in and check on things eventually. When's Lee next on?"

"Doesn't he do the early morning slot before the Breakfast Show?" George asked.

"Oh yeah." Fred smiled. "He used to cheer me up when they were dishing out my wake-up meds." He looked thoughtful. "I couldn't even manage a Lumos first go. You're right, Apparition wouldn't be a smart move. If I splinch myself I'll end up back in Mungo's, won't I?" He shuddered. "Shall we just settle down for a few hours and wait?"

They both took out their hip flasks and knocked back the last of their drinks. They watched the next change of record in silence. Then George sat himself down on the rug. Fred's Lumos had gone out. The only light came from the soundproofed studio where the records played themselves. It cast an eerie beam over the two men and glinted off more framed posters of musicians and singers and one Quidditch player.

"Did you hate it in hospital?" George asked. He didn't look at Fred, because that was easier.

"I –" Fred started, but he choked. He tried again: "I… um… I missed you. That was the worst thing."

"I visited every day!"

"I know. Thanks. But it's not the same."

"I know it's not the same." George felt Fred slide down the wall to sit beside him, but he still didn't look at him. After a period of comfortable silence he said, "You know we all thought you were dead. Your body got laid out in the Great Hall with all the other dead." He paused again. "I thought you were dead." He heard his voice crack.

Fred's arm went round George's shoulder and George allowed himself to lean against his twin. "You don't get away that easy," Fred said and it was clearly meant to be a joke, but his voice was too thick to make it funny.

"It was days before Pomfrey revived you. I thought—I thought—I thought I was going to have to live without—"

"I'm here," was all Fred said. It was all he needed to say. After a while he added, "So sleepy."

"So sleep," George replied.

Fred lay down and shuffled his head into George's lap. George didn't stop him. Fred lay curled up with his face away from George.

"I would have killed myself," Fred said suddenly when George was sure he was asleep.

If they had been normal people then George might have asked Fred what he was talking about, but their relationship had never been like other people's relationships. He knew exactly what Fred was talking about and it would have been daft to pretend otherwise.

"I thought about it. It was my first thought."

"I couldn't live without you."

"But I had to watch Mum and Dad and everyone else so upset about losing one of us. I couldn't put them through that twice."

Fred made a thoughtful little humming noise before saying, "Fair enough." He took a deep breath. "So what were your plans? For living without me? Keep the business or sell it? Get a girlfriend? Have kids?"

"I didn't make plans. I couldn't see a future. If you'd stayed dead for a year – less than that, a few months – then I would have had to make some. Or kill myself. But luckily it didn't come to that. " George looked around the walls for a change of conversation topic. This was making him uncomfortable.

"I can't imagine being married," Fred said.

"Nor can I."

"But it will happen. We're Weasleys. That's what Weasleys do. We breed."

"Not us."

"Why not us?"

George said, "You know."

"No, Georgie-boy, I don't know. I mean, I know just what you mean, but I don't know why."

George thought for a moment. He rested his head back against the wall. The booze and the tiredness slowed his thoughts. "It wouldn't be fair," he said eventually. "To marry someone. It wouldn't be fair on them because I'll never be as close to anyone else as I am to you."

"Yeah."

George could hear the smile in Fred's voice, but he looked down anyway, to see it too. Fred was looking up right into his eyes. "I love you, George," he said.

"Yeah, I know."

"I don't think you do. I mean I love you. Like being in – Listen, Georgio, I had a lot of time lying around last year with nothing to do but think. There's nobody else for me but you."

"Right. Like two halves of the same person."

"More than that."

George looked away. He tried not to think about this. They never talked about it. This wasn't fair, why was Fred doing this?

And, as though there were real telepathy between them, Fred answered his thought: "I died, George. And one day one of us will be dead for keeps, and if we've never—if we keep on pretending then that would be – it would be very sad. A shame. A tragedy."

George wanted to say that he wasn't pretending and he didn't know what Fred was talking about, but he couldn't lie to Fred so he said nothing.

Eventually it was Fred who broke the silence again. "Sorry. I'm a bit pissed. I'll shut up, we'll go to sleep, we don't have to talk about it again." He sounded sad.

George thought about that: about a future in which they pretended that their love was entirely brotherly, in which they probably would take wives and have babies, and in which they never spoke of this conversation again. That made him feel sad, too.

"Don't die again!" was what he said. "Let's agree to not die." He paused. "But what's the point if we don't live?"

"That's what I ended up thinking."

George looked down into his lap. Fred was still looking up into his eyes. Here was the moment, all ready to be seized. George waited for Fred to seize it. When he didn't, he decided to seize it himself. He leaned down towards Fred.

Fred must have thought the exact same thing at the same moment. They smashed noses and both turned away, crying out. They both burst into laughter at the same time. The synchronicity made them laugh harder. Fred sat up. He swore and shook his head, then grabbed George by the chops and gave him a comically noisy smackeroo of a kiss on the lips. He let go and they looked at each other, breathing heavily and in time with one another.

George shook his head. "Not like that," he said. He tilted his head and moved it gently towards his twin's. Their lips met. Immediately, it was almost too much to cope with, but George took hold of Fred's shoulders and moved his lips own softly. Fred responded. Their lips worked against each other's, their breaths deepened and slowed. George's eyelids closed. His stomach clenched against the impossible joy of it all. He felt Fred's hands at his waist. Fred's tongue flicked out onto George's lip. George opened his mouth. The rest of the world disappeared. It was just their two mouths and their two tongues working together and against each other.

They had both done this with girls. They had done it together with a girl each in the same room. They had taken turns with the same girl. They had watched each other working. It had never felt like this. It was as though the hard edges of life had dissolved. It was truth and home and goodness and all the things all people always strive for.

They lay down on the rug, side by side. Moving made George aware of his erection. Fred shifted closer and George found that he was hard, too. They lay pressed chest to chest, groin to groin, their arms tight around each other, their legs wrapping between each other. George was short of breath, but he had no intention of breaking the kiss. Fred's hips jerked upwards, rubbing their erections together.

A sound from somewhere else. But only the two of them mattered in that moment. George ran his hand down Fred's back to grab the flesh of his arse, which was softer than George's now because of the months without exercise in St Mungo's.

Footstep. It broke in on both of their thoughts at once. That other sound had been someone arriving by Floo below them. The footstep was on the stairs. They sprang apart and stood up. More footsteps and the door opened.

"What the hell are you two up to?" Lee demanded.

George sprang guiltily further away from his brother.

"You nearly gave me a heart attack! I didn't think there was anyone here." Lee took a calming breath. Then he laughed.

"I've got a security tip for you, mate," Fred said. George could hardly believe how casual he sounded. But then he remembered how often they'd been caught up to no good and had had to lie their way out of it. "When the building's empty, block the Floo."

Lee laughed. "No can do. That needs official paperwork, and I'm meant to be here playing records all night. Did you see my charmed gramophones?"

"Yeah. Nice work," George said. His voice didn't waver. He was impressed with himself.

Lee wandered over to admire his spellwork, looking through the glass at the pile of records and the two gramophones. "So what are you two doing here?"

"Well…" George began. "The resurrected one here can't take his drink anymore—"

"My vodka was stronger than your brandy! Elderflower brandy's a girl's drink—"

"…so he forgot his own Floo address," George completed as though Fred hadn't interrupted.

"WWW and WWN. Yeah, I wondered when that would happen," Lee mused. He rubbed his hands. "So, what about a cup of coffee 'n' rum, Jordan-stylie? It's dead boring here on my own. We can hang out after I've read the news."

"Sounds good, but…" Fred shrugged. "We just need Floo powder really. It's been a long night. We need to get to bed before it's time to open up the shop."

"Light-weight," Lee muttered, but he handed Fred a handful of Floo powder out of his pocket.

"Thanks, mate. Happy Christmas. See you soon," George said, backing towards the stairs. "It's just that we've got things to do."

They bounded down the stairs as Fred whispered in his ear, "And we need to do them in our own bedroom!"