WARNING: Slash ahead, and that means boy/boy action. To make things more
controversial, besides the homo-erotica, they're wizards and brothers to
boot! All hail magic and twincest.
DISCLAIMER: As much as I beg, they're still not mine. These boys belong
to
J.K. and also to each other.
DISTRIBUTION: Ask. I'll say yes, I just want to know where it's going.
A/N: This is pure fluff with blatant confectionery use (abuse?)
FEEDBACK: Is ambrosia.
DEDICATION: To vanilla ice cream, which I was enjoying when I began this
ficlet, and for Laikea, who wants to eat the other half of this dedication.
Guess everyone likes vanilla ice cream . . .
VERY VANILLA
"I'm sorry," the vender said to Fred, as he handed George the last vanilla
cone, "Can I get you another flavour, chocolate perhaps?"
Fred looked at his twin, took in the creamy skin, the smooth, white curve
of
his neck, compared it to the rich cone and looked woefully at the vender.
" I really want vanilla." and, with a smile, walked off leaving the rather
affected, flushed George to hurry after him. Only once George had caught up
with Fred did he pause to take in his surroundings. A little abandoned
alleyway just large enough for two adults to stand side by side.
"Fred, where in Hades name are you leading us?"
Fred stopped at the sound of his brother's voice close behind him. He
turned around, "Nowhere further than here." He shrugged unassumingly.
"May I ask why?" George was suspicious and his mistrust was evident in his
tone.
Fred flashed him a crooked little-boy grin, "I just thought maybe you want
to share your ice cream with me." His voice was low and husky; the
innocent
act had been officially abandoned.
Knowing where this was heading, but unsure of how his twin's game was going
to get them there, George rather meekly handed his cone to his bother.
Fred
accepted and very slowly swept his tongue suggestively up the vanilla
whirl,
his eyes fixed on George all the while.
George swallowed reflexively, his mouth suddenly dry and his blood humming
loudly in his ears. He reached out with an unsteady hand to accept the
cone
his brother handed back to him. Fred smirked as George licked at the cone,
hesitantly at first, then with more force, utterly the wrong thing to do,
as
the rather soggy mountain of vanilla slid right off the cone and onto the
ground (and the tip of his shoe). It was George's turn to look woeful that
morning. He stared forlornly at the ground and looked back up at Fred.
" It's gone." He said, stating the obvious.
"Truly a pity," countered Fred, sweeping his gaze over his brother, "'cause
once you taste it, you've got to have more."
George nodded; he liked this game, now that they seemed to be talking more
about him and less about ice cream.
"But you know," began Fred again, in a suspiciously conversational voice,
"you've still got a bit on your lips."
George slowly raised his hands to his mouth, "Where?"
His brother snagged his wrist before he touched his lips.
"Right here." whispered Fred, bending down to lick it off for him. George
tasted sweet, his mouth cool from the ice cream, his tongue the texture of
velvet as it slid against his brother's.
Fred smiled against his brother's lips, very vanilla indeed.