by Jain

"Fred? George?" Harry called, rapping on their door and walking in--only to pull up short, blushing even before his eyes could make sense of what he was seeing.

The twins were a tangle of pale skin and flame-colored hair on the bedclothes, curled naked into each other. The twin on top lifted his head, startled, from between his brother's thighs.

He and Harry gazed at each other in mutual shock, and then his face slowly relaxed. "Close the door, please, Harry," George said, his voice oddly hoarse--because he'd been sucking Fred's cock, Harry realized, and the abrupt wash of blood to his face made him sway dizzily.

George smiled, half-proud, half-tentative. "You can stay if you like, just shut the bloody door before someone else comes by. You might lock it, too." His last few words were no more than a gasp, and when Harry tilted his head to one side he could see Fred still straining upwards to lick and nuzzle at George's cock, apparently indifferent to Harry's presence.

Harry nodded vaguely and didn't move.

"The door," George repeated and thrust shallowly into Fred's mouth.

Harry jumped, then slammed the door hard enough to make himself flinch. He hit the lock with the strongest fastening charm he knew and leaned back against the door, gasping. He watched the pair on the bed unblinkingly all the while.

The soft, wet sounds they made were soon interwoven with breathless moans and half-insensible murmurs. The twins gleamed as they undulated against each other in the dim light.

Fred turned his head towards Harry with a sudden effort, George's cock sliding wetly along his cheek. Harry whimpered, and Fred grinned at him. "Come here," he invited, patting the bed beside their entwined bodies.

Harry pushed himself away from the door and stumbled to the bed on shaky legs. This close, the interplay of shadow on creamy flesh resolved itself into a generous scattering of tawny freckles and a lighter dusting of red and gold hair. Harry trembled as he watched the continuous shift of muscle beneath smooth skin.

"You can touch," Fred said, and Harry jerked away reflexively. "Here." He picked up Harry's hand in his own and placed it on the curve of George's ribcage. Harry's fingers twitched involuntarily, and George quivered with laughter even as he pressed back against Harry's open palm.

Fred sighed, a brief sound of contentment, and softly kissed the tip of George's cock before opening his mouth to let it slip inside.

Harry's hand skated across warm, silky skin and the soft prickle of hair. It skimmed along one twin's side, the other's thigh, a hip, shoulder, back, ass...tracing the Möbius strip of their entangled limbs.

Blood pounded in the veins at his temples and wrists and beat a painful rhythm in his cock, but his own body seemed supremely unimportant at this moment. His hand crept to the place where Fred and George joined together, briefly cupping George's balls before encircling his cock with shaking fingers.

Fred's mouth made love to George's erection and Harry's fingers indiscriminately. After a moment, Harry reached his other hand around to grip the base of Fred's cock, to be wetted and tasted by George's tongue. Closed circuit.

Harry shut his eyes. His hands were overly sensitized: electrified by the rub of velvet skin and tongue, the salty flow of precome. He himself was too receptive to in any way prepare for the shock as first one twin, then the other, shuddered to orgasm in his two-fisted grasp.

Their moans shivered into nothingness as they collapsed in upon each other. They panted damply over Harry's palms.

When at last they pulled away, Harry curled his bereft hands into fists and tried to ignore the pulsing urgency of his erection. He wasn't sure he was even capable of walking out the door without disgracing himself utterly.

"Harry?" George said cautiously.

He opened his eyes. Both twins were sitting cross-legged on the bed in front of him, naked skin flushed and luminescent.

"Maybe you should take off your robes."

The sound of the ocean filled his ears, and his cock swelled impossibly further. Distantly, Harry could feel the tug of clever fingers stripping off his clothes and pulling him down onto the bed.

He goosebumped upon contact with the cool billows of comforter and suppressed a shiver, but then Fred and George pressed closer, one on either side of him, their damp bodies glowing with warmth. Harry felt a kiss on his bare shoulder and looked down, startled, into Fred's bright brown eyes.

Fred smiled and then leaned forward very deliberately to lick Harry's nipple. Harry gasped, a shock of pleasure running directly to his cock.

As though the sound were a signal, the twins began to run an impossible number of hands over Harry's body, stroking and caressing his arms, stomach, sides, thighs, leaving tingles of sensation in their wake. An adventurous hand traced the line of Harry's hipbone almost to his cock, and he tensed with anticipated pleasure and release, but it pulled away at the last moment. Harry let out a strangled sob.

One of the twins plucked delicately at his nipple--George, Harry saw, focusing desire-drugged eyes--and he arched into the touch. Smiling, George bent his mouth to Harry chest and, taking Harry's erect nipple between his lips, flicked it with his tongue repeatedly while Harry tried to quiet his own moans.

Finally, when Harry felt himself teetering on the edge of begging, or tears--anything that might force Fred and George to stop torturing him and let him come--they nudged him up to sit propped against the headboard, and he stared dazedly down at the two russet heads sucking at his nipples and, below that, two hands stroking his cock in tandem.

He felt an almost unbearable wave of tenderness for them, comprised of gratitude and pleasure and the desire to cling limpet-like to the both of them as they had earlier cleaved to each other, to suck the bitter saltiness of semen from their cocks. His eyes prickled sharply, but the relentless tug on his cock soon dispelled all other considerations, and he came in a quick series of pulses that drew his focus inexorably as the tide.

Harry swam slowly back to awareness and a sickening sense of uncertainty. He had slid back down to a lying position, and Fred and George were still close enough to touch. They were both watching him intently; Harry forced his face to remain blank. Were they expecting him to leave immediately, or was he supposed to get dressed and visit for a while? Would they want him to keep his distance until everything felt normal between them? Was it even possible to return to normality after what had happened? His stomach knotted in on itself.

Just then the comforter was pulled up over him, cocooning the three of them in its soft folds. "Are you warm enough?" Fred asked.

Harry blinked. "Er, yes."

"All right, then. Goodnight, Harry." Fred leaned down to press a kiss to his lips.

A moment later, George did the same, and then Harry watched in bemusement as the twins exchanged a rather more involved kiss across Harry's body. Bewildered, but increasingly tired, Harry let himself drift to sleep.

He woke only once in the night, still surrounded by the twins' embrace, George leaning partway over him to talk quietly in Fred's ear. At Harry's questioning murmur, Fred rubbed a soothing hand along his side.

"Go back to sleep, Harry," George said softly.

Harry did.

The next morning, Harry blinked awake in the yellow light that streamed through the large, square window over the twins' bed. The covers were a distant tangle down about his ankles. His left side was pressed snugly against a warm body, whose arm was draped across Harry's waist; his other side lay comparatively chilled in the open air; and the room was filled with the smell of currant scones.

"Don't move," George whispered in his ear, "or he'll make you help with breakfast."

"I'm cold," Harry whispered back.

George let out a long-suffering sigh. "Oh, fine. If you insist." He got out of bed and tugged the blankets back up around Harry's shoulders. Then he leaned down to kiss him gently on the cheek and walked, still naked, through the open doorway into the flat's tiny kitchen.

"I thought that would wake you up." Fred's voice brimmed with satisfaction. There was the sound of a brief kiss. "There're some oranges to juice on the counter."

"Hmm," George answered. "You're just lucky Harry can sleep through you absconding with the covers. A fine wake-up that would have been, his first morning sleeping over."

Harry hid a smile in his pillow, even as his stomach clenched with nervousness at being the subject of discussion.

"If Harry's not used to us by now..." Fred said, unrepentant. "Anyway, I'm baking scones for him, aren't I?"

"Bak-ing? You mean they're not done yet?"

"They're in the oven; they'll be done in just another couple of minutes. And if you're that impatient for breakfast, you could have helped me earlier."

"You could have baked them in half a minute magically. It's not my fault if you choose to cook like a Muggle."

"Actually, it is, since you're the one who burnt our copy of The Bachelor Wizard's Cookbook and Survival Guide to a crisp."

"I thought we'd agreed not to talk about that," George said, his indignant tone compromised by his own muffled laughter. "Though I'd like to see you try to mix up a hangover remedy with Lockhart smirking obnoxiously at you, and not do anything a teensy bit drastic."

"The 'teensy bit' being the part where you incinerated Lockhart, I take it, and not the part where the curtains caught flame and the entire flat nearly went up in smoke."

"I'm pretty sure we've enough flame-retardant spells in place that that's not a concern," George said dryly. "And your scones are burning."

"Liar. I've got them on the timer."

"So I see. Did you mean to set that for twelve hours, then?"

Fred made an inarticulate noise, and the oven door banged open with enough force Harry could hear it in the other room. "No, it's all right," Fred said a moment later. "It's only the ones on the bottom rack that're a little brown."

"I'll just put those aside for you, shall I?"

"Well, at twelve scones per rack, and only two racks in the oven--and not forgetting that Harry's our guest and deserves his fair share of eight scones--I think that sounds rather marvelous, actually."

"Oh, shut up. It's too early in the morning to be clever."

"But I'm clever all the time."

"Fine, then it's too early in the morning for mathematics. I'm going to go wake up Harry. You can set the table."

The quiet sound of menial spell-casting carried into the bedroom as Harry sat up and scrubbed his fingers through his hair.

George grinned. "Good morning, Harry. Breakfast's ready, if you didn't already hear. We're usually rather informal here, but do get dressed if it would make you more comfortable." He ducked back into the kitchen without waiting to observe Harry's decision.

Harry hesitated in bed for a long moment, and finally got up and pulled on his shorts, but left his robes off. And then felt embarrassingly prudish when he walked through the doorway and saw Fred and George sitting at the kitchen table in the nude.

They both smiled at him as though there were nothing unusual, though, and he knew himself well enough to be certain that his embarrassment would be ten times worse if he were actually naked.

"Pull up a chair, Harry," Fred said, indicating the empty seat that had apparently been transfigured from a thyme plant, if the scattering of leaves carved on its legs were any indication.

Harry sat down and took a hasty sip of juice in an attempt to cool his blush. He was uncomfortably aware of the twins' eyes on him.

George passed him the plate of scones, and he chose one and buttered it with slightly nervous fingers.

"Um, these are really good," Harry said a moment later around a mouthful of scone.

"Thanks," George said modestly.

Fred smacked him on the arm. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"You just made the batter," George pointed out. "I'm the one who kept it from becoming charcoal."

"In contrast with your usual modus operandi," Fred muttered, and then said aloud, "By that argument, a security guard ought to get more credit for Leonardo da Vinci's work than the man himself."

"You know who Leonardo da Vinci is?" Harry interrupted, startled out of his baffled contemplation of how ordinary Fred and George were acting, even now that he was in the same room with them--and then dropped his half-eaten scone clumsily when they both turned to stare at him. It clattered noisily onto his plate, and he hid a wince.

"Of course," Fred said, looking surprised. "He's probably the most famous squib in history. Bit of an odd bugger. He was always flinging himself off high places in these flying contraptions--didn't like the fact that everyone else could whip around on their broomsticks while he was stuck on the ground--but none of them actually flew."

"He wouldn't let anyone animate his paintings, either," George added, "so they're all rather frightfully primitive, but his anatomical sketches are brilliant."

Fred noticed Harry's involuntary blush and tried to hide his grin, unsuccessfully. "Not like that. They're pictures of how the muscles and bones go together, mostly, and Leonardo didn't mind if those were animated--rather liked it, in fact. There are masses of them in the Museum of Natural and Unnatural History. Some of them are still used as illustrations for the mediwizard texts."

"We'll take you to see them sometime, if you want," George said.

Harry nodded uncertainly. He wasn't sure what he'd expected to happen in the wake of what the three of them had done, but discussing Renaissance artists over currant scones--naked, his mind interjected helpfully, as Fred got up to fetch more butter--definitely wasn't it. Much less could he have imagined being invited to a museum, or being gently teased about his error concerning the subject matter of Leonardo's sketches.

Fred kissed the top of George's head on his return, and Harry tensed suddenly. The twins might be content to act as though eating breakfast together with the friend they'd invited into their bed the night before were an everyday occurrence--and for all he knew, it might be--but Harry couldn't simply leave it at that. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing pulse. "Are we not going to talk about it, then?" His voice cracked on the last word, and he squirmed inwardly.

The twins turned identically kind eyes on him. "We can talk about anything you like, Harry," Fred said. "What was it that you wanted to say?"

Harry flushed. He couldn't ask about Fred and George's relationship, since that would be rude and invasive, but maybe it would be all right to ask about himself. "Okay. Well, said I could stay, last'd you know? That I wanted to, I mean."

"We didn't," Fred said, and George shook his head in concurrence. "But you'd seen us together, and we figured you'd be a hell of a lot less likely to tell anyone if we could get you to join in."

Harry felt the words like a slap. "You mean you slept with me as blackmail?"

George answered, "Well, that and the fact that we've thought you were dead sexy since...fifth year, Fred?"

"End of fourth, I'd say."

"Yeah, all right...that's our fourth year, by the way, not yours." His voice softened, losing all trace of sarcasm. "You know we love you, Harry. We just never thought we'd be lucky enough to love you like this."

"oh." Harry ate another scone in silence, thinking that over, and the twins were uncharacteristically quiet, as well. "So, does that mean you might want to do it again, sometime?"

Fred and George grinned. "As long, often, and hard as you like," Fred promised. "How's after breakfast sound to you?"

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