Title: Fool

A/N: I'm in a nasty angst mood at the moment, I seem to be chucking all this Fred/George angst out into the world, hopefully I'll get back to writing my happy Twincest story soon.

Sometimes I swear my heart would stop as he'd smile at me and wink.

"Just another Weasley Twin Prank" He said.

And I'd blush and grin so hard I was sure my face would split in two.

I loved the pranks, the times when we would spend all our free time crushed in either's bed giggling and generally keeping our dorm mates up, or in a comfy chair in front of the roaring fire, red meshing with red as we'd lean as close as possible so nobody could overhear.

I don't think he looked on our time the same as I did, sure he liked spending time with me; I'm his twin, you wouldn't expect anything else, but I don't think his heart stopped beating when I smiled. I don't think his palms got sweaty when I leaned into so close that he would have been able to smell my shampoo.

Sometimes I think I'm unnatural.

And I know its wrong; there wouldn't be so many Wizarding Laws against it if it weren't fundamentally bad for something or someone.

But I can't stop myself.

I don't want to stop myself.

I want him and knowing that I can't have him is killing me.

I don't think I can go on.

I just want this pain to stop, I don't want to be able to see him, touch him, smell him, watch him laugh, joke, giggle, and know, just know, that he will never be mine.

Nobody will ever be able to measure up to him.

I'm a fool, a fool in sickly, desperate, and unimaginable love.

I'm a fool in love with his own flesh and blood, with his own reflection which makes this so much worse as I lie in bed, alone, stretched out beneath the red and gold canopy as my hand would travel slowly down my body.

Sometimes I would watch, as I'd trace my ribs, stomach, hips, until finally I'd grasp my cock and slowly pump imagining it was his hand all the time.

And when I'd come I'd bite my lip so hard trying not to scream his name that the soft skin would split and bleed, my tongue snaking out to taste my own blood; and spilt tears that would fall over golden lashes and splash down my freckled cheeks.

He'd always ask me in the morning what I'd done to my lip, and I'd blush and lie while desperately trying to think of something that he wouldn't be able to see through.

In the end I'd just say it was a girl.

And he'd grin that grin and chuckle, and my god I wanted to hurt him in that moment, wanted to scream out that it was him that I lusted after, him that I wanted in my bed.

But I never would, I couldn't bear to loose him.

So I'm stuck in this life of half lived dreams.

Until I have the strength to free myself from it.

I hope I have that strength soon.