Disclaimer: As usual, I cannot take any credit for the characters I could never have created (damn it). The only thing I own is the plot, and I can hardly get away with that...

A/n: this is a one-shot because I need to distract myself from the writer's block I'm having on "Alone." I hope that if anyone who is following that story (thanx fer the reviews, by the way) is reading this little ficlet, they will appreciate it and that it will hold them over. Because you guys deserve the rest of that story, even though I can't provide right now. Thanx.

(Currently listening to "Good Day Sunshine" by the Beatles)

Screw Down So You Don't Screw Up

Ron sighed despondently, his back aching a little from lying on it for so long – it was about time he found a nicer bed, maybe. I suck. He thought. At everything. He added, just to be sure that he had it covered. Maybe I'm not meant to have sex. Some people are meant to be good singers, some people are excellent at magic, and maybe I'm just meant to be total crap at sex.

This was not a cheerful thought. He'd already determined that he didn't like sex with girls as much – he enjoyed it, sure, but it was more like an elective: falling somewhere between Quidditch and Wizard's Chess. So eventually, coming to his senses he decided that he would try it out with guys. And he did. And he was still awful. Then again, he'd only done it twice…but god, it was embarrassing!

These thoughts were all just starting to round themselves up for one last dejected trip down on his mental rollercoaster (which only seemed to be getting lower and fucking lower) when he started: "creak." Ron sat up, suddenly very alert despite the late (or was it early?) hour.

He looked around, swishing his head from side to side multiple times, searching for signs of an intruder. Nothing. After repeating this exercise a few more times, he lay slowly back down, not willing to relent in his vigilance just yet. But as he began contemplating his apparently talent-lacking fuck, his mind going in circles – which were becoming dizzier ten-fold every time he went around – he heard the door creak again.

He didn't sit up this time, but out of the corner of his eye, he searched from the doorframe to the very darkest corners of his dark attic room. And still…nothing. He sighed, half relieved, half disappointed: was it obvious, he wondered, just by his depression? Could his siblings possibly have guessed at his condition? Eww. He thought. I don't want to think about that.

As the night (or was it morning? He just couldn't tell) wore on, he learned to ignore the new and sometimes annoying habit of all the creaking wood: the door, the floorboards, the window frame under the wind, his bed frame…wait. My bed frame? Why –

"Hiya' Ron!" Two sets of big, beautiful blue eyes shined in front of him.

"AAHH!!" Ron, in a daring and rather endearing attempt at escape from this sudden infringement upon his personal space, wriggled backwards too rapidly, and banged his head on the headboard of his bead with a residual "CRACK" that vibrated all the way down to his toes.

He blinked a few times.

"Excitable, our little brother." George drawled.

"Agreed." Fred sniffed.

"Wha – what are you…? Why are you…? How come –" but he never got a chance to finish his sentence.

"Was that you making all that sighing up here?" asked George.

"Yeah." Ron arched an eyebrow – the question oddly amused him.

"Oh." Fred relocated himself to sit on the edge of the squeaky bed. "Thought we heard your misery." He smirked.

"Oh shove off!" Ron turned his back on his older brother, facing the window like a rejected puppy…he even pouted a tiny bit.

"Well then, if you don't want our condolences –"

"And our help…." Both twins stood and made for the door. Ron couldn't see it, but as they were walking, George was counting down on his fingers, whispering to Fred: "Three…two…one –"

"Wait!...I'm sorry." It sounded as though Ron was somewhere between incredibly unhappy at feeling the need to apologize, wanting company, and being extremely happy for the chance to talk with somebody – anybody.

The twins turned to face him, pulling serious, sullen faces. They were definitely laughing their asses off on the inside, though.

"I…" Ron faltered for a moment: he was seriously starting to lean toward resenting his apology to the twins. "I didn't mean to…offend you."

The serious faces broke, and the two of them burst into laughter. "Offend?" George chuckled.

"Perish the thought!" Fred feigned an air of illustriousness, waving his hand in a way that could easily have been considered dainty. Ron privately thought that Fred was one of the only guys he knew who wouldn't be gang-beaten for doing something like that.

"Look," continued George, "We heard about your little…ah…mishap." It wasn't so much a smirk on his face as a look of pity…and that just made Ron wish sooooo much it was a smirk.

"Oh." He was more embarrassed than ever now. They knew. They – fucking – knew. "Oh." He said again, this time trying not to make it sound so forlorn. Maybe, if they thought it didn't bother him as much as it really did, they'd leave him alone about it.

"Oh?" Fred imitated mockingly…he just couldn't help himself.

"Fred, cut the crap." George elbowed him. "We came to help him, not make fun of him." Ron looked up.

"Um, excuse me but, help? I know I don't really need to ask, but should I be scared?"

"Why Ron, we're surprised! Don't you want to know how to go about it the right way next time?" Fred looked rather menacing, standing there in his doorframe, illuminated from behind by the dim hall light…slowly licking his bottom lip. Menacing indeed.

"You're too much of a catch to suck at sex little brother." George jumped on the train of thought, and suddenly, Ron doubted that a train of thought was the only thing he wanted to jump on.

Oh boy, here it comes, he thought.

He couldn't help but feel intimidated as the twins began advancing on him as they explained. Somehow, it became virtually impossible to concentrate on – or even understand – what they were telling him. He just kept backing up, until finally…

"THUD" he hit the thread-bear rug that stood between his bed and the floor.

"Shhh!" they hushed him in unison; the effect was twice as reprimanding.

"You'll wake the whole house Ron, and then we'll never get to it."

"G-get to what, now?" Ron felt very, very scared.

"Haven't we just explained to you?" Fred pulled Ron back up onto the bed, refusing to let go of his hands once he was up. Ron pulled and pulled and pulled, but try as he might, Fred refused to let go. And then, there was wet. Fred had leaned in so quickly, that Ron hadn't had time to react. He just sat there, letting Fred lick his bottom lip as he attempted to kiss his younger brother. "Ah, that's your first issue, Ronnie: you can't kiss worth shit." Fred looked mildly amused; his younger brother bemused.

Then, the aftershock wore off: "HEY!" Ron twisted around, crossed his arms, and spat, "It wasn't exactly something I was expecting! You are my brother!"

"Oh, and that's such a problem!" Fred turned to George and said, "We don't let it get in the way, do we Georgie?"

Ron turned around, his mouth hanging open slightly, his clear blue eyes widening; the ginger hairs on the back of his neck stood on end: Fred and George were entangled in a passionate – yet not sloppy – kiss, all tongues and tangled limbs, and a soft sigh just for good measure on Fred's part. "God Fred, you're the bitch, aren't you." It was more of a statement than anything.

"You're smarter than you look, Ronniekins!" said George brightly, but Fred scowled.

"Hey now! Not all the time!" He looked a little annoyed, somewhat resembling Ginny when she missed out on some inside joke…or perhaps the always quickly-disappearing lunch.

"Totally beside the point, love." George let go of his twin, and meandered over to Ron, who was still a little shocked…not to mention – as much as he didn't want to admit it – more than a little turned-on. Taking advantage of Ron's state of amazement, he gently lay himself down upon Ron's lap, stretching leisurely as though this were as normal as going to sleep in his own bed. "Ron, what we've been trying to say is –"

"We want to help you –"

"Get better at sex, so that the next time –"

"You don't botch it –"

"So –"

"Incredibly –"

"Bad."

Now Ron began to lose track of one or the other. Fred was leaning on his shoulder.

"We think that it's in everybody's best interest –"

"For us to lead you onward into a world of better fucks –"

"Because honestly –"

"Who's better?" They finished together.

At this point, Ron was dizzy from their back-and-forth banter, and to add to this burgeoning vertigo, he couldn't help but notice the ever-growing bulge in his tartan pajama pants. Traitor, he thought.

"Starting to get used to us?" George asked, and Ron's attention was snapped back out of its hiding, down to the hand that was inching upward to his chest, back down over his navel, and then…

"Whoa! Hey…d-don't you th-think this is taking it a bit…oh…" That had been an involuntary sigh, "…fast?" he gulped, barely believing in his own words of warning.

George stopped. Fred leaned away from him. And then he…he…

Aw fuck it. And he took George's hand, placing it on his clothed cock, simultaneously leaning into Fred's chest.

"That's more like it." Fred whispered into his ear. Ron flinched a little: he hadn't known just where Fred had been exactly.

"Careful now," George warned his twin, squeezing lightly, a twitch coming from somewhere underneath the wave of soft fabric. "We don't wanna' scare him off now." He smiled.

"At least I'm not all talk…" Fred muttered under his breath, just loud enough to send Ron into a momentary giggle fit – that is until Fred decided it wasn't meant to be funny anymore. He let both arms come forward, crossing at Ron's chest, a single finger coming up to trace over his collarbone. The other swept low beneath his bellybutton to softly caress the skin there. Ron – despite all his misgivings about this thing – allowed himself to be lulled.

And then he jumped: cold – no, hot – no, kind of hot and wet…or maybe that was just…no, but it was still dry and, "What the –"

George waved at Ron from between his knees, who gasped a little at seeing himself exposed so unexpectedly. George's breath was warm and damp, but the surrounding air was cool and dry. That explained the sensory confusion. George licked up and down Ron's length slowly, upholding eye-contact the entire time.

Fred watched tentatively from his little perch behind Ron, and then said, "Wait." Ron's whimpers went overlooked for the moment; he didn't like this sudden withdrawal of attention. "Let's not rush things, Georgie." He got up on his knees behind Ron so that he could lean down a little more, uncrossing his arms and using both hands to cradle Ron's cock. George watched the glint of amusement in his twin's eyes at Ron's almost-agonized moan.

Ron was a moaning, groaning, sighing wreck: he cuddled back into Fred's chest, allowing himself to be given what he wanted, when George's voice registered in his ears.

"Lesson two: don't let yourself fall into a pattern of being the receiver." He sounded surprisingly serious, as though watching this wasn't affecting him. "Kiss him or something. Do stuff back."

Ron tried to take this into account; it seemed like a bit of a pain though, having to remember to do something back while you're having something done to you. Nonetheless, he made an attempt at a wet kiss to Fred's chest…a little slipshod perhaps, but it still had a good effect: Fred's throat hummed above him as he purred his contentment.

"Good." Said George in an approving way, as though he had just taught Ron how to manage his own laundry.

Ron continued to make advances of varying degrees to his brother, and it became easier with every ministration applied. He noticed that the more Fred gave him, the more he seemed to give Fred, which resulted in a very nice continuous circle. Then, a particularly long, slow, and constricting pump made him bite down on Fred's skin.

Fred made a short noise of pain, which melted into a moan of surprised pleasure. "I think he has kinks, George."

"That gives us something to work with." The comment reminded Ron strangely of someone selling property, as though he was a piece of work rather than a person. It should have offended him. Normally it would have. But instead, he laughed.

His laugh was drowned however, by a mouth. He couldn't tell for a moment whose it was, but he figured out quick enough that it was Fred. Meanwhile, George took it as his turn: he laved at the head of Ron's cock pointedly, making Ron shudder and feed Fred more moans.

Ron –expecting it this time – kissed back. His tongue slid wetly into Fred's mouth, fitting nicely. Not perfectly, but nicely. Ron assumed that perfect was reserved for George. Out of sheer nerve and impulse, he gently bit Fred's lip, sucking on it a little, eliciting a little grunt from the older redhead. "Ok," Fred broke the kiss, "So maybe you're not that bad at kissing." He laughed when Ron just threw himself back into the kiss.

A few lazy moments went by: Ron making out with Fred, George playing with Ron's cock, licking, sucking, and even biting ever-so-gently. And then, a thought came to Ron. Everyone's getting some…except George. "George," he was about to expand on this thought.

"Hmm?" came from around his cock. The vibrations made him stutter before he could continue.

"You should move. Fred, let me lie down. George, sit closer to me on the bed." Ron indicated the spot he had in mind. It was low enough for George to still blow him, but close enough so that Ron could…well, he'd know when it happened.

George sat on the bed now, leaning down impossibly to suck harder on the throbbing member that was Ron's. Then there was a hand inching lower and lower around his waistband. George obliged, pulling the pants down so that they rested easily around his thighs. Ron began mimicking all that he could remember from the hand-job. It wasn't bad either, so had thought George.

"You're getting better." George breathed around him. Vibration and hot breath: that had been the catalyst needed to send Ron spinning into a loud, messy orgasm. George, taken by surprise by the abrupt release, instinctively moved his head back, but kept his mouth open to catch the cum.

"Sorry, that wasn't…uh, I didn't mean to do that."

Fred and George laughed heartily. "It's a complement." They chorused.

"Yeah." Ron agreed, "a messy one."

A few moments went by, and the twins silently concluded that they had put Ron through enough schooling for one night. They'd go back to their own room and…finish things off.

Ron was already half-way asleep when they each said goodnight to him, immersed in beginnings of dreams that would take him farther than this….

An hour or two later…

Ron awoke because of a rather loud clattering somewhere down the stairs. He looked up: his door was shut, and no twins were to be found. He shook his head slowly, yawned, and lowered his head back down onto his pillow…"Fred! Right – fucking – there!" Ron blinked.

"Who's the bitch now?" sarcasm. Another blink.

A looooooooooong moan that quite possibly had Fred's name sandwiched in it somewhere. And then nothing.

"Oi." Ron whispered softly into the dark, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

Roll the Credits