Summary:
George felt a mixture of emotions when he suddenly realized that he was being kept in the dark. He swallowed his saliva, and a lot of gravel must have slid into his throat with this action, making his body heavy and slow. Fortunately, Fred fell asleep, so he didn't have to hide his tangled emotions.
A voice in his heart mocked him: Aren't you the same? You also have a secret to hide from him.
The setting is the same as "I Want to Tell You Loudly"
"I will never write a job posting unless the profit is enough to cover the salary of one more person!"
Fred collapsed on the bed as he said this, and his tone was just like those fussy goblins in Gringotts.
In order to open the business before the summer vacation, the two of them have been busy day and night for more than half a month. Since renting the store, they have been doing everything themselves, from design and decoration to ordering and production - otherwise who else can they rely on? Their mother is angry at home because of the two dropping out of school, and the official members of the Phoenix Order also have their own jobs.
Harry's sponsorship played a significant role, but that also meant that they needed to cherish the opportunity doubly and make sure that the joke shop would be a hit, so Fred and George made a unanimous decision to spend every Natt wisely. That's why the twins didn't hire anyone and would rather work themselves to death.
"The rent accounts for too large a proportion. The purchase price of raw materials has dropped slightly compared to before because we need more. So if we calculate it this way, there will definitely be a profit, as long as our sales this month can reach..."
George tried hard to keep his eyelids open and look at the numbers recorded in the notebook, but all the letters he wrote seemed to be dancing, and he couldn't put together a valid conclusion in his mind.
"After we finish the NETWs exams, we'll all graduate. Maybe we can find someone who's unemployed to help us." Fred said in a voice close to a whisper, "Lee Jordan is a good guy..."
"He won't work for you for nothing," George reminded, putting down his half-finished notebook. Their commentator friend would always settle the sales share first before discussing anything else.
"Then we still have Angelina. She needs to contact a few teams, and she will definitely be free before the contract is negotiated--" The boy's mumbling became lower and lower, giving way to a strong sleepiness.
"Good idea," muttered the man who was still sober. "If we let it out, we can get a Lee Jordan for free."
George didn't know if the twins heard the joke. He threw away the notebook, but his slow brain sounded an alarm at this moment, and he turned his head:
"How do you know her recent arrangements—"
There was no need to ask more questions, because Fred had fallen asleep, his cheeks slightly crooked from the pillow he was hugging, his mouth slightly open, as if he was surprised by George's question.
The obvious answer, of course, was that they had been in touch and Fred had not shown George the letters.
Fred and Angelina must have dated for a while after the sixth-year dance. But too much happened. In the seventh year, Umbridge and her student council stirred up all kinds of trouble. They were busy fighting those people at school, and they had to fight for every opportunity to attend the Order of the Phoenix meetings during the holidays (either by attending or eavesdropping). Even Fred, who was energetic, couldn't have the time to talk to girls, not to mention that Angelina was even busier than them. So the little interaction between the Quidditch captain and the banned player disappeared in their busy days.
At least that's what Fred told him at the time.
George felt a mixture of emotions when he suddenly realized that he was being kept in the dark. He swallowed, and a lot of gravel must have slid into his throat with this action, making his body heavy and slow. Fortunately, Fred fell asleep, so he didn't have to hide his tangled emotions.
A voice in his heart mocked him: Isn't it the same for you? You are hiding a secret from him too.
That's different! He retorted, I promised, and I must do it.
Otherwise…
Otherwise, illicit love will bring a curse?
The voice itself turned into a black snake, laughing strangely from the depths of his memory.
Since you've already rejected his advances, what's there to be dissatisfied about? Fred no longer loves you, which is what you wanted all along.
The black snake twisted itself in a comfortable way, its eyes glowing, and it continued to speak in a seductive voice: Look at that lovely face. See clearly what you have given up.
George licked his lips unconsciously.
He was very familiar with Fred's sleeping face. There were still freckles on his 18-year-old cheeks. His eyebrows and eyes lost their sharpness during the day, replaced by innocence and childishness. He couldn't help but look down, and finally stopped at the other's moist lips and lingered.
They had kissed.
He still remembered the thrilling night a few years ago when Fred's affectionate confession ended in a tunnel collapse, which left George with a lingering fear.
A few years passed in the blink of an eye, his brother had made some unknown progress with the girl, and the curse no longer gave any warning. Everything was developing in the direction his parents expected, but only George himself knew that he was still stuck in the same place, willingly staying in the only time he had been intimate when he was fourteen years old.
He found himself getting closer, the face that looked so similar to him was so close that he could hear her breathing. It took a lot of willpower to resist the urge to kiss her, and his heartbeat became more and more irregular.
They were adults now, and George would occasionally indulge himself in wild fantasies (such as in the locked bathroom), wondering how far Fred's immature kissing skills had improved. And now those absurd thoughts filled his body again, catalyzing the potion that ignited desire, causing his body temperature to rise and his mind to feel dizzy...
George opened his eyes. A ray of moonlight shone into the room through the undrawn curtains. He was sleeping on the bed in the Burrow. The person behind him was close to him, holding him in his arms.
The dull pain in his left ear, which no longer existed, made him more conscious.
He remembered that it was already nineteen ninety-seven, and three days ago they had just gone through a thrilling escort operation, in which Harry was successfully transferred to the Burrow, but they had also paid a huge price - Mad-Eye died, and he himself had one ear cut off by dark magic forever.
This was most likely another warning from the curse.
George was a little depressed at first, because he was no longer the same as Fred, but he soon realized that he was the only one injured this time, and Fred's safety made all his disguises meaningful.
It was just an ear. If this was the only price to pay for concealing one's feelings, he felt he could totally afford it.
George started joking as soon as he woke up, and Fred immediately joined in, and the two of them laughed heartily, making everyone believe that neither of them took such a minor injury seriously.
But he knew that Fred was not as easy to accept as it seemed.
For two days in a row, when the painkillers wore off, George would wake up in the middle of the night to find that Fred had squeezed onto his bed at some point and was hugging him tightly from behind as if he were a giant pillow, as if this was the only way he could fall asleep peacefully.
The first day George thought he was dreaming, but the dull pain from the wound made him realize that it was not just his imagination, and he did need a little extra painkiller.
Every morning Fred would get up a little earlier and pretend he knew nothing about the affectionate behavior of the previous night, and George would do the same tacitly without saying a word.
From the moment they received the news of Mad-Eye's death, they truly stepped into the cruel world of adults.
The sudden and real death accompanied them like a ghost, lingering. Unlike the loss of Dumbledore, Mad-Eye was separated from the others for only a few hours. Just when they were celebrating their escape from death, the most experienced Auror of the Order of the Phoenix died, which was undoubtedly the greatest mockery of their blind self-confidence.
He knew Fred must be scared. George had felt the same fear when he first truly believed in the curse, and he knew what it felt like to have no one to talk to.
But today, things are about to go off track. He woke up from the beautiful dream, the throbbing still in his body, but he found that the body temperature of the object of his sexual fantasy was coming from behind through his pajamas. Any normal person would not be able to continue sleeping at this time as if nothing had happened.
Why hadn't he thought of putting a little coma marshmallow under his pillow?
George lay there for a while longer. The only sounds in the room were Fred's breathing and his heartbeat, which had been magnified countless times. He bit his lower lip, trying to suppress his abnormal restlessness. He was obviously overworked, so he shouldn't react so easily, but the heat still gathered in his lower abdomen.
He applied a little more force, and a little bloody taste oozed from under his teeth. He licked it, and somehow, perhaps because of the similar darkness and touch, a dusty door was pushed open, and Fred in his memory said with a smile in his voice that had not yet passed the voice change period: "I'm sure no one's confession can be so thrilling."
That's right, he was the first person Fred confessed to. If it weren't for the damn curse, he would have been so lucky. But it was a pity that he couldn't do anything - couldn't respond, couldn't express his feelings, couldn't show the slightest inclination, only in this way would they be safe.
The night was very quiet. During the day, he helped to build the big tent for Bill's wedding, and he was too tired to control his emotions. Fred was very close to him. If he was brave enough, he could even turn around and look at the face that looked like him...
He should go to the bathroom and fix this problem before his desire completely overwhelms his brain! Now!
George called out to Fred in a low voice, but the guy behind him remained unmoved, so he gently lifted the arm that was pressing on him and decided to move to the bed by himself.
This time Fred finally reacted. He grabbed George's waist with his long arms and brought him back. Not only that, his fluffy short hair arched onto George's neck.
"Gosh," George was a little depressed, the burning sensation in his lower abdomen tended to turn into anger, "Fred, if you wake up, let me get up."
Fred made no reply, but after a moment he mumbled "Georgie."
"Georgie," he called again, this time more clearly, his arms tightening a little.
Normally they didn't call each other by nicknames, those were names that belonged to twins when they were little, when they had no secrets or hidden things from each other. But when he saw George lying on the sofa covered in blood that day, Fred did call him by that name.
This word was like some kind of magic, which weakened the surging flames. Fred's warm breath sprayed on the back of his neck, very close to his lost ear. A tide of emotions spread up, sweeping over every inch of his skin, and made George's eyes red for no reason.
He curled up stiffly, his knees weak, his throat spasming, knowing that he couldn't leave this embrace now. He couldn't wake Fred up because he couldn't make up a convincing lie unless he wanted people to believe that he was tortured by the wound.
The cool air stirs up fine particles on exposed skin.
This is not allowed, he closed his eyes and said to himself. But deceiving Fred was already the limit, he pushed himself like a taut bow, unable to go any further. Maybe he should change his memory of that day, including what he was doing now, and forget everything.
He masturbated himself in despair, knowing deep down that the above was pure self-deception.
A little clear liquid soon spit out from the top of the column. The rapid rhythm made the flesh make a sticky sound in his palm, the pulsation of blood vessels hit his chest, and a tingling sensation came from his lips.
He indulged his consciousness, the red-haired boy kept saying "I love you" in his mind, and the passionate and wild bites suffocated George. The intense pleasure approaching the climax made him unable to pay attention to anything else, and he almost ignored the movements of the person behind him.
But Fred, who was right behind him, moved a little.
George braked suddenly.
His heart pounded wildly, nearly jumping out of his throat, and he prayed that Fred wasn't awake, but a hand reached over and covered the one that was holding him.
He was stuck at the end of the road, and the object that was trembling just now shrank pitifully in fear. Fred's palm wrapped around it and began to move from slow to fast. George was like someone suddenly read a full body binding spell. He couldn't pull his fingers away, and he couldn't understand how things turned out like this.
What happened next was absurd and out of control.
Quidditch training requires them to hold the bat for a long time, so thin calluses are left on the fingertips and bases. At this time, those calluses gently scraped the round top of the column, rubbing his sensitive points, and elicited unbearable gasps.
The bed continued to creak. He bit his tongue in panic and tensed his body.
The Delacours had already moved into the Burrow and were sleeping in the Weasleys' room, which meant their parents were sleeping in the living room today, and he couldn't count on Molly not coming downstairs and knocking on the door if she heard something was wrong.
Fred moved on his own, reigniting the fire that was burning him. George lost control so quickly that he could only gasp for air in a daze, letting Fred pull him up above the clouds, not caring if he was about to fall to pieces.
A few minutes later, he reached the top of the mountain in bewilderment. The first thought that flashed through Kongbai's mind was that he must have gotten more than just his hands dirty.
George breathed quietly for a while, turned over, blinked his somewhat unfocused eyes, and made out Fred's outline in the dim light.
His brother's handsome, tall nose was not far above him. Fred was half leaning forward, and his unsteady breathing hit George's face.
The one who had just experienced an orgasm had a sense of relief. If Fred had kissed him directly at this moment, or said he loved him again, George didn't think he could respond properly.
He looked at his brother with a residual desire, waiting for his next move, but the emotions in his eyes were complicated and difficult to read. For a moment, George felt that he was looking at himself in the mirror. It was difficult for people to see the struggle and hesitation on Fred's face, although that expression flashed for a moment.
The ending was lingering, and the longer it dragged on, the weirder the atmosphere in the bedroom became. An ancient curse lurked out of the shadows like a snake, reminding him of the consequences of a moment of indulgence.
The absent rationality finally woke up, and began to condemn him together with apology and guilt, while frantically looking for clues to make everything reasonable. The feeling of being in conflict was more uncomfortable than losing an ear. George slowly got up and leaned against the head of the bed, and even began to pray that Fred would raise his chin in the next second, make a face and say you're welcome, and by the way suggest that he might as well take a few more steps next time. After all, the bathroom was not very far away.
"Bill has promised that there will be many beautiful girls at the wedding tomorrow," the other party finally said, "it seems that someone can't wait even one night."
In fact, George hadn't thought of what to say, but his tongue almost automatically made a rebuttal for him: "Because in comparison, I definitely look more like a hero who has fought bravely."
He crossed his arms calmly, letting his nails dig into his upper arms discreetly. The pain helped him regain a steady voice: "If someone is worried about being ignored, I can still hold back a little bit of my charm."
Fred's frowned eyebrows relaxed, and he put on his usual playful expression: "As a thank you for what happened just now?"
He wiped his hands on the bed sheet nonchalantly. "Poor George, have you ever thought that girls would be scared away by the echo coming from your ear holes? Anyway, I'm not worried about that at all."
"Then let's give it a try." George tried to sound relaxed. "It all depends on your ability. See whose story the girls want to hear more. Maybe we can both meet our soulmates."
His arm was almost pinched to the point of losing consciousness.
"With your broken French?" Fred glanced at his disheveled clothes.
"It would be better to just tell them what they're going to miss. Trust me, no one can refuse." He gave her a pointed smile, "Good night."
Then he showed a bad boy's prank on others, and jumped off the bed without looking back, pulled the quilt on the other bed and crawled in, covering his red hair with only the top of his head.
George was finally able to release his miserable arm and get the painkiller on the bedside.
He recalled his performance just now, making sure that he had not exposed any emotions that should not be exposed. This time it was indeed a bit too much, a bit absurd, but as long as he did not cross that line, at least he could try to keep Fred safe.
The only wound that needed the potion to work was carved in an invisible place. George drank the potion dry and waited for the sharp pain to disappear from his heart.
He still needs to play his role at tomorrow's wedding, so he must cheer up.
END