Early Halloween afternoon, George was so bored he was debating whether or not to find Hermione and ask her for some light muggle reading.
He scratched his lice-ridden, fire-red hair and coughed a couple times. Tonight was halloween, and he didn't have anything to do. He rolled out of bed, nude, crotch on fire something crazy.
"Oh GOD" he moaned, fingers tangling in the peppery tangle of hair above his corpulent lovestick. Maybe if he actually HAD a god his venereal disease-infested body would... not be so venereal disease-infested. He considered this like a drunk puppy laden with steriods: very seriously.
He shook his head, clearing it of any thoughts. After staring at the wall dumbly for thirty minutes, he suddenly remembered: He was supposed to meet his twin at the library at noon! They were to sneak around and pull practical jokes and do pranks and punks and generally be little turds. Throwing on a baby pink bra, and two deep chocolate brown man-thongs, he walked briskly to the library in the cool fall air.
He stared at Hannah Abbot as she burst into tears upon setting eyes upon his bare behind, ginger ass hair dragging behind him like a bride's piss train. He jumped suddenly into the library, a gazelle in the wild with a paint-covered sock. His identical twin was there waiting for him, a perfect mirror of beauty.
They kissed eachother on the cheek in greeting and sniffed eachothers burning-bright hair. They sat to begin studying. Fred coughed, and George's eyes widened.
"What?" Fred asked. "What are you looking at me like that for?"
"What's that black robe-like thing you're wearing over your thongs?"
George asked pejoratively. Fred fingered the tweedy midnight fabric
in his ham-like fingers, gently stroking his clavicle until it
twitched in creamy orgasm. George licked his lips hungrily.
"Anyway, I was just wondering if you could help me believe... in any
god. I'm afraid that I'll be plagued by these sexual infections
forever and Sybil- erm, I mean Professor Trelawny might never let me
put my he-ham in her ear again." He groaned loudly enough to shatter
the glass encasing the erotic tomes in the Restricted Section. Most
of the volumes were covered in the results of chafing the weasel.
"What the hell are you talking about? You hate God!" Fred laughed. George reached his hand over and covered Fred's perfectly identical phalanges with his own. A visible orange spark connected the two. They jumped, surprised.
George toppled over backwards in his chair, smacking his cranium on the cobblestone floor, causing a slight amount of blood to spurt several feet onto the Young Adult fiction books, including The Princess Diaries and Twelve Ways to Make Your Teacher Orgasm. The twinspark hadn't happened for fourteen years! He wondered what could have possibly caused it to happen this time. Maybe it was the yellow peas he'd put into his urethra an hour before.
Fred rushed towards his brother with napkin in hand, dabbing the spurting blood from George's forehead. "Twinspark, Georgie. Do you know what this means?"
"That God really does exist?" George asked like a cracked-out half-retarded brontosaurus. Fred smacked him across his purple sandpaper face. "You're like a fucking cokehead five-sixths-retarded bracheosaurus, moron," he retorted suddenly amicably.
"No. Twinspark." Hermione had been passing by and poked her fugly face through their talking air with a know-it-all look her her filthy mug. "Twinspark? Did I hear Twinspark? Oh my, oh my.. this hasn't happened for three, four hundred years!" she rubbed her hands together in weasely delight.
"Yes, twinspark," Fred said irritably, his face scrunching up like a pug, annoyed that someone who looked so much like a duck would dare to speak to him. "We've done it before. It's not that big a deal," George was practically vomiting at the scent of her sweaty, shit-covered loofa of a head of hair.
"No guys. This is big. Come on." she took hold of one of each of their ears and dragged them the whole way to Dumbledore's office. "Ah. I see, Hermoine," Dumbledore said after she had explained the story to him. "Fred, George? Could you please... demonstrate your powers?" His eyes twinkled creamily like a corpulent cream.
Fred and George glanced from Dumbledore to each other before their eyes were magnetically drawn to the train wreck of Hermione's dental situation. Was that fuzz? Forcing their eyes away from her, George turned to unzip Fred's tight khaki dockers, extracting his yogurt hose and letting it flop around of its own will in front of the camel-toe of his baby nuggets. Fred sensuously cut the strings of George's thongs with his four-inch long coke nail, letting them fall to the ground and exposing his twin's stately wrinklebeast.
"Mmmmm..." moaned Dumbledore in appreciation. They finished undressing, pink party dresses falling to the floor in neglect, and stalked toward each other like malnourished models on a cat walk, lacing hands around each others pale, delicious backs and into each others tossled ginger-red hair. They frenched in wanton abandon. Orange sparks and energy were pouring from them in all directions.
Unfortunately these sparks set the muddy tangle of weeds Hermione called hair on fire. Nobody noticed, and nobody would've cared even if they had noticed. Fred and George were too tangled in the lotion of energy bathing them as they slid their winky-like tongues down into each other's stomachs, and Dumbledore had taken his sugar stick of love out of its velvety prison in his robes and was hitting it hard against the edge of his desk. Fawkes was crying pitifully, but no one cared about that either.
just send me a link?
George took Fred's sputtering spelunker in his brawny man-hand and began pumping, much like how Harry had pumped gasoline into his batmobile earlier today. Fred whimpered and waves of lightning bolted out of his tender, creamy mouth. Dumbledore rose, erection in hand, walking over to the boys. He began rubbing and massaging George's corpulent asscheeks.
Shaking his tight skin money-maker over George's crack, Dumbeldore couldn't help but moan a soft tribal beat, remembering the times he was in Africa, making love to sand holes. He remembered a lion who had been particularly enamoured with him. How little George reminded him on this lion, but how much Hermione did!
As he laced his fingers through George's ass-hair, he recalled the honey-wheat golden strands of the lion's mane and growled like a torpedoing penguin flying into the woods.
"Very good, my boys" Dumbeldore praised the ginger twins. They grunted like wildebeest in reply. All of a sudden, the energy pouring off of their creamy white freckled young virgin sexy ginger virile bodies multiplied in strength and intensity; Hermione shrieked, anticipating what she was about to witness. Dumbledore retrieved his hands from the depths of Fred's and George's lesion-thicketed colons and retreated a safe distance from the erotic pair of sexyboys.
Fred's right brawny man-arm suddenly expanded to the size of a horse-cock, flying in the breeze. He linked arms with his brother, that mirror of perfect brawny, creamy corpulence. He felt a surge go through his elbow.
"Intense!" he shouted masochistically. "It goes there!"
Their identical girlish boy-bodies began to elevate off the filthy, cum-covered linoleum castle floor. Dumbledore's office was a shithole, yet in many ways, the most elegant room of the castle. The twins made out with nasty fervor. Hermione's hair caught on fire again; the flames engulfed her face. She was permanently disfigured. Go twinspark! Nobody would notice a difference, anyway.
Dumbledore gazed on in awesome awe as the true power of twinspark was ignited by the mutual, gooey orgasm of the flying, floating, fluttering, flaming auburn boy-whores of the sky. Fred and George sprouted wings.
"Are we going to fly with the angels, Fred?" George asked, his infantile innocence glowing in his blue-green-yellow-orange eye-orbs. Fred grinned, before kicking his brother in the cream-spitter. They finished spurting tapioca and fell to the ground, exhausted, but both blessed with the spotted brown wings of a glorious American bald eagle. Dumbledore clapped like an autistic child, before his own cannon exploded yogurt upon his sparking half-moon glasses, and Hermione's burning body, finally dousing the fire from her form. Dumbledore gave a slight kick to Hermione's charred corpse before shrugged noncommitally and turning again to our boys.
"Five hundred ho-jillion points to Gryffindor!" he exclaimed, his cummy arms outstretched. "this is the best display of twinspark I have ever witnessed. Beautiful wings, my beautiful Weasleys, and most of all, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful cocks of joy." He finished, patting them squarely on the back, causing Fred to throw up a little bit of George's semen in his mouth. "Now come lick daddy's pokey-stick, and everything will be alright!"
Fred and George crawled between Dumbly's legs submissively, licking away to a better tomorrow.