Mind the Gap
For no readily apparent reason, Fred and George had decided that sharing a bottle of rum was a good idea. Of course, their mum couldn't know about it, so they'd had to wait until the faithful day where (for once) no one was home at all. Not only was that a very strange feeling, what with so much trouble to cause and so little time, but it was also quite the breath of fresh air. It was, in short, rather nice.
The rum, however, was not.
It tasted awful, and they soon agreed that they both wished they had thought about mixing it with something, but oh well, everything had to be tried out in this world, and they really just wanted to get drunk. After all, you can't say you're a proper 16-year-old if you haven't been drunk on rum with your twin brother (if you have a twin brother, that is).
In a matter of not very long, though, George had his tongue sticking out of his mouth, fanning it with his hand as if it was on fire. His twin was still fighting hard to keep the booze inside his mouth and not just spit it out and stain the carpet.
"Whaffabou'watah?" asked the still vigorously fanning one of them. That only earned him a disbelieving gaze from his brother. Words were not really needed to point out the obvious.
"I would recommend a very well recorded documentary on the exciting life of the bongo!"
"Gee, can't thin out rum with that! Shadup, Miguel," replied Fred, attempting to throw a pillow at their Muggler Magic Box of Living Pictures. Like paintings, only did the entire motive change now and then, and the pictures were quite rude for ignoring whichever family member spoke to them.
After having chucked a pillow unsuccessfully at their Muggle-Box, Fred stared at the blasted bottle, now on his list of sworn enemies, and thought long and hard about what to thin it up with. Pumpkin-juice might be an idea, and he informed his brother of this, only to be told that they had, in fact, no such thing. ("Wha' kinda' family is this?", he asked, appalled and outraged.)
He took another swig of the bottle, making a face as he forced the horrid liquid to stay down. He shivered with the effort and felt like a true hero when he didn't immediately vomit up his dinner. He should be nominated as an Auror just for that, seeing as how rum was the nastiest thing he ever tasted and he decided that it had to have something to do with the Dark Arts.
"Now then!" he said, rather loudly to be sure that he'd get his brother's attention, "Suggestions! Water and pumpkin-juice are ruled out. O'course, there is the possibility of thinning it up with more rum." All of this was said in a kind of slurred way, but it was only fair that Fred got to talk weirdly now that he had been heroic enough to force down more.
There was no need for deepening out the expression on George's face.
"Brah, ye drunk yet?" he asked, looking like Fred had just decided to smear his face with the lovely alcoholic liquid, they were sharing. Obviously, the suggested mix didn't seem attracting to George. Then again, if Fred could swallow this essence of Voldemort – alternatively Percy's ass, same thing – so could his twin brother!
George snagged the bottle away from Fred with a determined biceps. Sadly, said biceps got wiggly once his mouth had been filled again.
"Did ya swallow a frog?" grinned Fred.
A series of mumbled sounds later had his brother his mouth free to speak again. Or rather, his mouth was free to gag. And swear on his mother's grave that he seriously hated rum.
During the flow of not-so-pretty words coming from George's mouth, his speaking started turning more slurred too, making him flap his arms in hateful determination.
Laughing, Fred almost wanted to point out that George sounded just a little drunk too, but it was against all rules of funny to state the obvious, unless of course it made it funny and/or funnier. In this case, it wouldn't, and so Fred refrained from doing so. Instead, he put his hand on his brother's thigh, laughed a little more, and said in what might once have been an imitation of something: "Oh, dear brother of mine, thou art indeed a silly creature." Then he laughed even harder and doubled over, still with his hand on George's thigh. He finally managed to strangle the almost insane cackling and looked up at George, breathlessly asking "was it good for you, too?"
Then he frowned, thinking how nice it would be to have some music with a nice, fast beat, because people only ever seemed to be drunk when there was too loud music with crummy lyrics and come-dance-with-me-like beats. It was almost obligatory, he found himself thinking, and his mind wandered to strange places and ended with something about Bulgarians doing the ballet. He shrugged the mental images away and grinned at George.
Resembling a Chihuahua, George stared at Fred, immobilised by the laughing fit he'd just been throwing. And seemingly untouched by the ballet-dancing Bulgarians, but who knew. He could've sworn somebody had pushed Fred's psycho button; and the mental image made him giggle too, and lean against his brother, rubbing his face against his shoulder.
"Oh yes, it was good for me too," he replied, snickering. Then he held up his right hand to spread his fingers and look at them in bored fascination, a dull smile on his face.
Slight pause.
"You're not drunk enough."
The damned bottle of rum was passed on to Fred, George grinning intelligently at him. Fred's hand on his thigh was rather pleasantly warm.
Fred's hand was sweaty. Ew. He took it away from George's thigh to keep both hands on the bottle (rather like a little child) and took a big gulp, since he had just been informed that he was not drunk enough. He agreed and tried to drink as much as possible. Disgusting, it was, and some of it ran down his chin.
He grinned. "Wanna lick it off?"
George seemed to think about this for just about three seconds and then leaned in and actually licked it off. It was icky and left a lot of drool on Fred's chin. He wept it off with the back of his hand, the one not preoccupied with holding the bottle, and snort-laughed, feeling very amused indeed.
"Gettin' any drunker?" asked George, and Fred responded with a chuckle and a nod. "Yes," he said, "but I think you'll 'ave to lick my face more; I quite liked it." George merely laughed at this, but leaned in again to drag his tongue all the way up from Fred's jaw, along his cheek, to where his hairline started. "ARGH! EW!" he yelled, but laughed as he wept that off too, telling his brother that he'd get his revenge soon enough.
George froze with his tongue half-way out his mouth. Then he frantically started rubbing it with the back of his hand, pulling himself away from Fred.
"EW! You taste like Percy without a shower in reach!" he exclaimed, trying to get the taste away from his tongue. Then he decided that their shared bottle would be a better way to get the taste of Fred's cheek out of his mouth. Alas, the stealthy hero stole the rum and took a great swig. It crossed his mind that this way, they were actually passively snogging. Or something equally gay.
"When the hell did ya taste Percy?"
George spat out the rum still in his mouth, creating an explanation problem on the floor for both of them later on. A small awkward silence followed.
George looked away resolutely, blood rushing to his face.
George was blushing. This was... Less than reassuring.
"Seriously, you haven't been licking Percy, have ya? Am I not enough for you anymore?" Fred asked, ignoring the fact that he had just been told that he didn't taste very good at all. (This would be because he hadn't showered for two days). He did his best to keep a straight face as he attempted to sound as outraged as possible and pulled the bottle out of his brother's hand, most likely looking as shocked as he sounded. George laughed and would probably have spat out rum again, hadn't Fred saved it from the terrible hands of the Rum-Out-Spitter. What a waste, now that he thought about it, and promptly, he accidentally poured some of the contents of the poor bottle onto his shirt, as if making a statement all on its own. How annoying.
So Fred took off his shirt without much thought; after all, he and George were twin brothers and had seen each other undressed plenty of times. Things like that happen when you have a twin brother, and it wasn't really all that unnatural.
That is, it wasn't until Fred noticed George ogling him.
George raised his hand, moved it towards Fred's chest as if it worked on him like a piece of sugar attracts a fly. Finally, his fingertips touched Fred's skin.
And he poked a rather sore zit.
"Brah, have you been eating chocolate and not showering again?" he slurred, giggling as he poked the zit again. Fred twitched, seeing as the thing quite hurt when George's finger bothered it.
George, on the other hand, was very amused, expressed that with a snort, and poked the zit again. Out of sudden, his eyes turned afire as he stared up at Fred like an excited child on Christmas Eve.
"Heeeeeey, let's dance!" he said happily, abandoning his half-naked brother as he stood up, swaggered a little on his feet and threw his hips to the side.
Fred raised both his eyebrows in confusion.
Taking that as an excellent answer, George laughed again, swaying slightly. In an illogical fashion, he got himself to stand on both his feet, then he started swaying his hips from side to side to a calm beat in his own head. He closed his eyes, smiled and moved his hands down to the rim of his already untucked shirt. While still swaying his hips, he started inelegantly trying to pull it over his head.
Fred stared at his brother, a smile growing on his face. "Awesome."
While blood had rushed to George's face a few minutes ago, it was certainly rushing somewhere else in Fred's body now. He didn't really know why, but that didn't matter much.
He got up and joined George in The Dance, fumbling a little for the button on his pants, but finding it and swaying his hips as well as he pulled his trousers down and all the way off, stripping himself down to nothing but underpants and socks. George seemed to like this idea and did the same, struggling a little to get the pants all the way off, but he succeeded nonetheless.
They looked at each other and both started laughing quite hard, but then Fred grabbed George's wrists and swung him around in a clumsy parody of a tango while singing (not very well) something that sounded like "LA LA LAAA!"
He was drunk enough to not notice how weird it sounded, and it was great fun when George joined in on the singing, matching neither the 'melody' nor the 'words', singing what was probably something along the lines of "WRAAAAAH".
It was all very funny indeed, especially considering that a certain part of Fred's body was having fun as well.
Laughing, George grabbed Fred's shoulders as he halfway through their dancing lost his balance. Sadly, Fred was intoxicated by the obvious, and thus he was not a proper choice for support. In one way or another, the twins ended up on the floor.
Once George had adjusted to the sudden change of position, he found out that their lips were close enough to taste the other twin's breath. Strangely, said taste was of rum.
"Dude... This is too cliché. Surely we can kiss, but not like this." Fred complained, wriggling underneath the weight of George's body. His drunk brother agreed in his mind and rolled off, hitting something hard with his hip in the process.
"Awh, but I liked dancing..!" whined George, covering his face with his arms. He felt rather hot all of sudden and wriggled his toes. "Ya know... IT'S A WONDERFUL WORLD FILLED WITH CHEESE POPS AND DANCING ONIONS WHEN I SNIFF THAT DOG'S TOOTHPASTE~!" he suddenly burst out singing. Not quite pretty.
Fred, being used to George's random singing (he did this whenever he was feeling particularly weird), just stared with a sort of vacant expression on his face. He slowly reached out a finger, brought it closer to his brother's face, and touched his eyebrow in drunken fascination.
"Hey... You have bigger eyebrows than me," he slurred and had an epiphany. "That's not fair! I wan' big ol' eyebrows like yours!"
George just stared, looking like he was thinking about something else entirely. "I wish I had boobs!" he exclaimed, proving to Fred that yes, his mind was elsewhere.
"... I wish you had boobs too. That'd be... Sexy?"
George nodded, and they continued their very heterosexual straight-guy talk about female anatomy for a few minutes before Fred casually added "I think I'm kinda horny, man," sat up (at last) and took a large drink from the bottle. George seemed rather confused at this, but drank too once the bottle was passed onto him. Now that the subject was already on sex, Fred found it incredibly appropriate to ask "when was the last time you got laid anyway?"
A thoughtful expression appeared on George's face as he looked at the ceiling (seeing as he was still lying on his back/the floor) and after three seconds he replied "I don't know, man."
He held up his hand again, stared at his fingers, folded them in and unfolded them as if he was counting candy bars. "Do you remember the last person I did? Or did they do me? Gawr..."
"Percy."
Fred's face was completely serious except for a tight line where his lips usually were. A short snort escaped his nose.
George looked at him with his bigger eyebrows raised in question. "Percy? Ya trollin'?" he asked, a question mark in his voice. Then he shrugged. Then he got offended and in his elegantly drunk fashion tried to kick Fred's foot.
"Just kidding; I know I'm the only one who gets ya'off," said Fred with an over-the-top arrogant smile on his face. He earned another unsuccessful kick in the general direction of his foot and laughed. A strange thought occurred to him, but he forced it away, because he wasn't drunk enough to find it perfectly normal.
Yet.
So, he decided, he apparently wasn't drunk enough in general, violently took the bottle and downed as much rum as he could. Which was not much, because even though he had long ago stopped being able to taste the bloody stuff, it still burned his throat and stomach. But it was still something and the thought seemed less odd now.
"I have an idea," he said, eagerly. "Wanna make out?"
The reply to that proposal was a large drink from the bottle on George's side again. It resulted in rum on his cheeks due to him still lying down on the floor. He smacked the abused bottle onto the floor and sat up to level with Fred, swaggering slightly as he tried to make his twin have only one head again.
"Make out?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "Which kinda faggot are ya?"
Then he blinked and mumbled to himself, informing his I that he was not drunk enough. He thus tipped the bottle to his lips again, downing another burning sip of the cursed booze.
"... On the other hand, brah. Let's make out," he said, looking at his brother. For once, none of them were laughing or grinning.
Fred almost wanted to laugh, that's how absurd it was. But he didn't, and instead half-way attacked George's mouth with his own (ouch; teeth) and they both almost fell over. Luckily, they didn't, and they were able to keep kissing without getting into too much physical contact with each other. That would've been slightly uncomfortable. But just making out was nice enough, even if it was a tad... Unusual.
Fred decided that it wasn't the worst snog he'd ever gotten. Then again, he'd gotten some pretty awful ones back in the day.
Although he had to admit that his own brother's tongue against his own did feel less familiar than he'd thought. He had kissed people like this before, and George was his twin. The only difference between them, it seemed, was their eyebrows. Why did it feel so weird? Oh well.
It was all fun and games.
And then Fred had to break away for air.
This caused the both of the twins to be able to see each other again. And once George had gotten his eyes opened and focused through the fogs of kissing and the booze, he looked at Fred. Who looked back at him with an equally fogged (turned on) gaze.
And they both started spitting, coughing and laughing as if there was no tomorrow, Fred doubling over George as he laughed too much to keep himself straight.
"Duuuuuuuuuuuude!" one of the twins half-coughed, half-yelled while rolling over to hit the floor repeatedly in laughing cramps. "We're so fucked up!"
Through the laughter, George reached for the bottle again, finding it surprisingly light. When the hell did they manage to get that much down? That would mean... That would mean that in a very short time, they would probably be too drunk to even notice what the hell they were doing.
Awesome.
Cheers to that.
Sip.
"Have some, faggot," he laughed, drying his mouth as he handed the bottle with the very last of the rum to Fred. "Down it."
Fred shrugged and, as ordered, he downed, still giggling a little. At least he couldn't taste it anymore.
"Whoa, ya do realise that we just emptied this thing, right?" He asked, and they both raised their eyebrows in surprise.
"How're ya holding up?" asked George and Fred promptly answered: "I feel like a puppy that got raped by a bludger... And I like it!" They laughed again.
"Well," stated George, quite king-like, "I can, in fact, no longer feel my brain."
"I didn't even know you had one!" Cue fake surprise and a smack to the back of his head for giving in to the horrible, obvious joke. "Sorry, obligatory."
Fred made a mental note to be proud of himself for being able to say 'obligatory' while being as wasted as he was.
An urge struck him, and he took the empty bottle, placed it on his head, and tried to balance it there while not holding on to it. It fell to the floor with a hollow 'thunk' after a few moments.
And George, feeling rather unimpressed by this stunt, simply looked at his brother, who again seemed to have three eyes. For himself, it was not easy sitting still anymore, and it took him a while before pointing out that the bottle could break. He blinked slowly and licked his lips.
"Hey... I like the taste of your tongue..." he slurred thoughtfully, grinning as if somebody just told him a perverted joke. Then he looked at Fred's crotch region, raising an eyebrow like only an intoxicated person can. And he pointed at it.
"Zat's yer dick..." he stated, looking quite proud of himself. God, when did he get that drunk?.. "... Hey... Are we completely the same?" he asked, a strange light in his eyes.
"Of course not," said Fred. "Ya 'ave bigger eyebrows!"
George laughed, and Fred didn't, as he didn't see what was so funny about it. He was actually quite jealous. But then he realized something and exclaimed intelligently: "Hey! That's yer dick too!"
He pointed in a similar fashion.
"I wanna see," slurred George. Fred just stared and said "Then I wanna see too!"
This was accepted, and so they counted to three and pulled at each other's underpants in order to see. And lo and behold, they did seem to be completely the same! How amazingly eerie.
Finally, something seemed to get through George's head and into his brain. Fred seemed rather... happy. At least, a smile was tugging at his face, and George admitted to himself that his own mood was rather good too.
"Hey..." he poked Fred's exposed part. "... Hey... HEY! We're both horny!" he finally shouted, amused to no end, it seemed. Fred, on the other hand, looked as if he could have hit George with the empty bottle on the floor.
"I told you I was horny, ya dimwit."
George frowned, his fingertip still touching Fred. Abruptly, he seemed to ask mini-Fred if it knew when George had gotten horny, 'cause he himself had no idea. Then he pointed intelligently at Fred with the same finger.
"We made out! That was rather hot..."
And he smiled happily, looking at Fred with eyes turning even more adoring. He felt like he could fly.
"'Twas... Wanna do it again?" asked Fred. He received a nod at this, and they brought their faces together in yet another slightly painful collision to let their tongues explore the other for a little while. Then Fred had a brilliant idea. He moved away from his brother and put his hand into said brother's underpants.
"Does this count as masturbating?" he asked curiously, touching away and having generally a great time.
George shrugged and moved himself to feel more comfortable on the floor, eyes still too unfocused to see Fred's face too clearly.
"I don't know," he said thoughtfully, one hand on Fred's neck."But hey, that feels rather nice, I'm not complaining~"
And he closed his eyes, smiling happily as he agreed with himself that Fred knew what to do. Somewhat. Hey, that actually didn't feel good. George twisted a little, making a sound of displeasure. "Don't do that, I don't like it!"
On the other hand, he decided that he'd like to try touching Fred too, and wormed his hand down to press his palm against Fred. It hurt his muscles, and he pulled his arm away, trying to wriggle himself into a more comfortable situation.
Then he noticed Fred touching him again.
And decided that he rather liked it that way.
Fred could feel himself cramping up already, but he refused to acknowledge it so soon. His hand/arm would have to live. George was probably cramping up as well, because this whole touching-thing had been going on for several minutes. It didn't feel bad at all; it fact, it felt very good indeed, and Fred couldn't help but smile and sigh happily, closing his eyes as well.
He wanted to say something, but he didn't want to risk moaning. That'd still be too embarrassing, even considering how incredibly drunk they both were.
But he just couldn't help it.
"'Ey," he said. "You done soon? I'm starting to get cramps..."
Really, it would be very nice if George would just finish already. Not that it didn't feel good, but it was getting too much. Plus, they were both probably better at doing this to themselves.
George, though, let out a huff of air that refused to become moan and wriggled his head in a quite drunk way of saying no. On the other hand, he'd wish Fred would do something that actually felt like it would make him finish. He made a mental note to ask Fred to do it again when none of them were drunk, but that note was lost in his fogged up mind as he grabbed Fred's wrist and tried to control his hand movements in the same fashion as George did to himself at night. It was weird that they seemed to prefer it different ways – and apparently, none of them had noticed how the other one did it.
"Mn, you're doing it wrong..." George complained, finding it impossible to control Fred's hand. The presence of underwear didn't make it easier.
Then he looked up at Fred... And they stared at each other.
Then Fred made a sound like a balloon that has been halfway popped and the air's running out of it.
Then they both laughed like hell and pulled away from each other.
It was hard to breathe, but Fred managed. Somewhat. Okay, yes, when he tried to breathe through the laughter, he sounded like some kind of mandrake, but that was beside the point! Because George was laughing in the exact same way, sounding just as stupid.
"Y'know," said Fred, after another fit of giggling. "The only other time I've ever felt this good was the last time I snuck in and bit Percy's ears while he was sleeping..."
That particular mental image cured The Downstairs Happiness.
George, however, stood up, posed with his hand in the air and said in a very melodramatic fashion: "OH, PERCY. JUST THE MERE MENTION OF HIS NAME MAKES ME EJACULATE IN MY TROUSERS!"
"I KNOW," answered Fred in an equally dramatic fashion, standing up next to him, "YOU ARE NOT ALONE, MY DEAR. YOU ARE NOT ALONE!"
And then they hugged, dancing in a circle around each other, each of them yelling about how much they ejaculated at the thought of Percy's ears.
And in the midst of their dancing, George suddenly decided that he'd like to kiss his twin brother again. Emphasis on twin. Percy was, despite being wank material, not someone, George would like to kiss. Fred, on the other hand (despite his teeth, ouch) was a rather (painful) pleasing person to kiss. Even if it felt a bit weird to kiss what would be his spitting image.
Fred still tasted nice.
Though George really felt like the world was starting to turn around, and he let go of his twin again, making a groaning sound.
"BrahIwannaschleep," George groaned, flapping his arms, but moving his face back to Fred's as if he wanted to kiss him again. But instead, George resolutely fell on top of Fred, causing Fred's head to collide with the floor. A snore escaped George's lips.
"Brah?" asked Fred, trying to pat George on his hair, but failing miserably. Oh well. He couldn't really...
Move...
Snore.
The next morning, they both woke up on the floor, each with a nasty headache. The bottle was still on the floor, they were both very naked (when did that happen?) and there were spots of rum on the floor. Downstairs they could hear their mum (and someone else, but it wasn't certain who), who would—No, who most likely had had a whole little freakout all on her own.
Dear, sweet Merlin, it would be hard to explain to her. Fred could practically hear her screaming already. Insert shiver.
George, it seemed, had been awake for a while and seemingly tried to block out all things real with his hands in front of his face, going "uuuuwrh".
They had moved during the night (apparently to take off their underwear) and could now look at each other. And once George had moved his hands, they did.
They laughed harder than ever.
A/N: Written over a day or two as a collab between my best friend and I. She wrote George, and me as Fred. It was quite funny. Well, we just needed a good laugh and we have decided to become Harry Potter fans. YAY. (Is this where all my usual readers hunt me down with torches and pitchforks...?)
We felt like there was not nearly enough FredxGeorge on the intarwebs and definitely not enough drunken humour-stuff either!
Hope you enjoyed and please review.
Kudos to Don Giovanni as background noise. Truly entertaining. (HOLD MY BANJO ALREADY!)