Disclaimer: Sadly, I own nothing. Everything belongs to Joanne Kathleen Rowling.
Author's Notes: I have no idea why, but everytime I write a story that I like enough to submit here it's angst. Most of the time I write humour. Anyway, this is a Fred/George story, so if you don't like Weasleycest/slash/incest, please don't read this. I wanted to write a story with this pairing for such a long time! It's hot like melting lava. Oh, and by the way, excuse me for any mistakes; English isn't my first language. Believe me, I'm putting much effort into my stories.
"Reflections", by Mae.
Treading his fingers thought his crimson hair, he let him brush his delicate lips on the surface of his neck. Like a drop of blistering lava it had burned through his skin, flowing down, down his lean chest.
"...Don't be ashamed Fred, touching me is like touching yourself, we're the same after all..."
His long, velvety fingers brushed past the sensitive area of his inner hips, and the boy sighed, arching his back to come closer, and merge with his body. The same, but different, completing, matching... Like some twisted yin and yang, crimson and copper...
"...You know, if it's really like that, then fucking you was the most egoistic thing I've ever done in my whole life..."
With a moan he came to the conclusion that going out with all those girls was completely ridiculous.. Only one person knew how to touch him like that; himself and him.
"...Sssh, Fred, or mum will hear us-- oh shit, Percy, this really isn't what it looks like..."
His body slithers around him, and at times like this he likes to think that he's crawling under his skin, sliding over his bones... it's the same blood, he's flowing in his veins. And blood is important. Blood is life; he is his life, his whole life.
"...If he won't forget about what he has seen yesterday night, I swear I'm going to ruin his life. It can't come out..."
Crimson letters on the walls around him remind him of his helpless position. He's on the other side, but yet he still feels a part of him in his veins... half of his blood, like pure poison, doesn't let him forget that it's also his, the beautiful rotting corpse's six feet under.
"...Remember, if you'll ever feel lonely, just go and kiss your reflection... I'll know. Goodbye, dear brother..."
His last thoughts were hurried, yet even deeper than his luscious mouth. What will others think when they'll find him like this? Words of blood, words of despair, words of craving, love and longing, carved into his sensitive skin, splattered on the walls...
I'm coming, brother.
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