Harry Potter Fred/George (as I said. Squick warning.) R
"George!" Fred banged on the door between their living quarters and the shop. "The supplies are here!"
"I'm busy! You take care of it."
Fred looked through the opening. Oh, yeah. George was busy. He was chatting up a pretty customer -- a Hufflepuff from the year ahead of theirs with black hair and blue eyes. One who'd never given either of them a second look back in school.
Yet now, he was flirting back. Probably hoping Fred would give him a discount, while his idiot twin was either hoping for a bigger sale or a quick shag.
Sighing, Fred went to the trade entrance and paid off the delivery wizard. When George took deliveries, he got young blonds, slim in Muggle jeans. Fred got their dads with bellies pushing out their stained robes. And this one pinched his cheek anyway.
He gave Dad a bit of a wink and a Galleon, and the two of them levitated the supplies into the store-room. He endured another arse-pinch and waved Dad on his way.
The shop bell rang just as he'd noted the last item. He went to check. George was nowhere to be seen - and the two lads who walked in - second or third years - had a very familiar look in their eyes.
Would have been no time before they'd nicked half the stock. George was dead.
The two Ravenclaws had a billion questions on how each gag worked. George and Mr. Pretty emerged before Fred was half-way finished, their lips red and swollen and their clothes mussed. The boys were too involved in Canary Creams to notice.
George just grinned at Fred's glare and rang up an enormous sale.
Fred refused to talk to George for the rest of the day, which only made his brother grin more.
Customers came and went all day - mostly young, mostly male. Some were even cute, and George flirted with half of them. Fred glared and dished out Skiving Snackboxes to 12 year olds.
"You going to be angry at me all night, too?" George swept the shop floor after the last customer left, clutching a sack of fireworks.
Fred wiped down the candy counter. "Don't know, do I?"
"Reg said he might come by tonight, and we'd go drinking. He could get a friend for you." He moved to straighten the stock on the shelves and see what was short.
"Didn't you get enough of him this morning?"
"Why, Fred, I do believe you are jealous." Fred wanted to slap the smirk off his twin's face.
"Of that git? Honestly! He's just pretty, he is. I could pick up a better shag any time I want." Fred locked the shop door with a gesture of his wand.
George caught him by the shoulders just as he turned away. "Not of that git - who is, I may add, quite a fine shag - " Fred clenched his fists. "but another git entirely."
"Who else?" But Fred knew the answer. He'd known it since there was anything to know - since he'd figured out he was a poof. And George knew it, too. Fred could see it in his eyes, and in his sweet smile.
He leaned forward, not wanting to stop himself. His brother met him partway.
George's lips were soft but rough, and they felt good against his - right like no one else's had ever felt.
Now he knew why he'd rarely done more than flirt and why no one seemed to satisfy - not even that brief fling with Harry last summer - and Harry was all but a brother.
But he wasn't George.
Fred burrowed his tongue between those lips, tasting a mouth that was like and unlike his own, feeling a body like and unlike his own press against him. He broke the kiss to nibble at George's neck, so he could hear his brother moan and whimper.
And then he took his twin by the hand, leading upstairs to where they would transfigure two beds into one and then do the same, more symbolically, with two bodies.
But first, they would kiss a lot more.