Title: It's All In The Kneepads [Harry/Fred/George]
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating/Warnings: NC-17 for Quidditchsmut and twincest.
Summary: Harry knows the sounds of Weasleys plotting when he hears it.
A/N: Written as an example for Sociofemme's Freud slash paper. Plus,
you know, twincest.
Harry was standing happily beneath the spray of steaming hot water,
letting it massage the mud of the Quidditch pitch out of his hair and
off his body, when suddenly it wasn’t so steaming anymore.
Harry leapt out of the shower, cursing Angelina Johnson at the top of
his lungs, because it was entirely her fault for keeping Harry late
after practice to yell at him for missing the practice before and that
was why he was the last to shower as usual, meaning he got all the
lovely cold water at the end.
Clutching his towel around his waist, Harry stumbled blindly out of the
showers, still cursing, and groped for the bench in front of his locker
where his glasses were sitting. As he was sliding them on to his face,
he heard the unmistakable whisper of plotting Weasleys behind him in
the next locker row.
Harry hadn’t spent five years in Gryffindor Tower without learning when
the twins were up to something, and since he was the only other person
in the locker room, he decided that he’d better head whatever mischief
was brewing off at the pass.
Getting a firm grip on his towel, Harry stomped to the end of the row
of lockers and turned the corner, then nearly dropped his towel in
surprise.
George (Harry knew it was George because George’d taken a Bludger to
the face during practice and hadn’t gotten the bruise fixed yet) was
pressed against the lockers, head thrown back and eyes closed, while
Fred was on his knees and clearly giving his twin one hell of a
blowjob.
Dizzily, Harry took in the details of the scene. Fred had apparently
been undressing before the onset of the fellatio, as he was stripped to
the waist, although he was putting his Quidditch greaves and kneepads
to good use. George hadn’t gotten nearly as far; his Quidditch robes
were merely pushed to the side at the waist, and his trousers shoved
down a few inches, out of the way.
Although Harry was not himself a connoisseur of blowjobs, Fred seemed
to know exactly what he was doing if George’s harsh breaths were any
indication.
Should not be watching, Harry
thought weakly. Should not be
enjoying…must…not…wank…
Harry nearly fainted when he saw one of Fred’s hands slip around behind
George, and a moment later George arched and moaned sharply, eyes
flying open, which is of course when he saw Harry.
Locking gazes with Harry, George proceeded to thrust into his twin’s
mouth and have an incredibly loud orgasm.
Harry hadn’t meant to moan, it just sort of slipped out, which is
exactly what happened to George when Fred turned his head sharply at
the noise. George, slumped against the lockers, didn’t seem to care
much.
Still looking at Harry, Fred climbed to his feet and leaned his mouth
near George’s ear.
“Say, Forge,” he stage-whispered, winking at Harry, “d’you think Harry
might want to play too?”
“Why, Gred,” his twin replied, “it looks very much like he does.”
George dropped a significant glance down to Harry’s groin.
Face burning, Harry looked down to see he had clenched the towel very
tightly indeed, which was doing nothing to hide the fact that Harry’s
little Firebolt wanted to play, even if Harry didn’t.
“No need to be shy, Harry,” Fred said, beckoning Harry with a finger.
Harry drifted over before any rational thought could get in the way of
his Firebolt’s fun.
George tugged Harry in front of him, still leaning against the lockers,
and turned him to face Fred, curling warmly along Harry’s back, chilled
from the shower water. Fred stepped in front of Harry, running
broom-calloused fingertips down Harry’s torso until they stopped at the
top of the towel.
“No need for this,” Fred announced, tugging the towel out of Harry’s
unresisting fingers and letting it drop to the floor behind them. He
leaned into Harry for a kiss, pressing him back into George, who had
lifted his hands to stroke Harry’s sides and bent his head to lick
Harry’s collarbone.
Harry would have moaned if Fred hadn’t been sucking all the air out of
his lungs right along with his tongue. He was wondering if it was
possible to be any more turned on than this and not have the top of
your head blow off when George snaked his hands between Harry and Fred
to undo Fred’s trousers, the backs of his hands rubbing Harry
not-so-inadvertently.
Fred broke off the kiss with a gasp as George stroked him firmly, and
Harry sucked in ragged breaths as Fred’s head bumped his stomach. Harry
grabbed Fred’s arse and pulled him closer, craving more friction
between both their cocks and George’s hands, and George’s half-hardness
rubbing against his own arse wasn’t half-bad either.
“Harry,” Fred murmured, “You a virgin?”
“In what…huuuuunh…sense?” Harry asked, several brain cells bursting
almost audibly as they tried to form words with so little blood as
fuel.
“You been shagged before, he means,” George purred in Harry’s ear
before tugging at Harry’s earlobe with his teeth.
“Course I have,” Harry said, working up just enough sentience to be
indignant. “I’m a Gryffindor, aren’t I?”
“Wonderful,” Fred said, kissing Harry again briefly before pushing and
tugging him around to face George, whose lips cut off any protests
Harry was about to make. Harry pushed at George’s Quidditch robes,
fumbling with them blindly until he could slip hands inside them and
run his hands over George’s warm skin.
Harry felt Fred take a step away and heard him fumble with something,
then felt a hand slide easily into the cleft of his arse.
“That had better not be a Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes product he’s
using,” Harry breathed into George’s mouth. George trailed kisses
across Harry’s cheek and down his neck as he snuck a look over Harry’s
shoulder.
“Muscle liniment,” he reported, and Harry grunted his acquiescence
before seizing George’s mouth again. There was another moment before
Harry felt Fred’s probing fingers replaced by the blunt head of his
cock.
“Be a lad and distract him for a moment, can’t you?” Fred’s voice
brushed over Harry’s shoulder and George gave a vague ‘mm hmm’ in
reply. Taking hold of Harry’s forearms, George pulled them out of his
robes and pressed Harry’s hands against the lockers behind them.
“Brace yourself,” George admonished, before sliding down the lockers to
his knees and nuzzling Harry’s erection.
Harry barely had time to draw in a full breath before George stopped
fooling around and slipped his mouth over Harry. After a few gauging
head bobs, George began to suck him off in earnest and Harry Fred’s
presence was related to the back of Harry’s mind.
That changed a moment later when Fred pushed into him suddenly, and
Harry froze, unsure whether to rock back or forth.
“All right, Harry?” Fred breathed against his ear, reaching one hand up
to twiddle with one of Harry’s nipples. George kept on sucking, and
Fred pulled out a little and pushed back into Harry slowly, smoothly,
and Harry tried to answer but only a low moan came out and Fred
apparently decided that was good enough and picked up the pace a little.
Harry felt like he couldn’t draw near enough air into his lungs as his
world narrowed to the cold lockers pressing grooves into his palms and
Fred’s cock pushing him into George’s mouth and George’s tongue
swirling around him.
Harry swore raggedly when he came, and dimly felt George swallowing
around him, but Fred never paused, still thrusting into Harry
rhythmically. Harry’s arms had begun to shake from supporting him when
George climbed back to his feet and kissed him soundly, and Harry let
himself be pushed into George’s arms with relief.
George leaned his mouth down to Harry’s ear and began whispering the
most incredibly dirty things Harry had ever heard, and after living in
a dorm with four other teenage boys for as long as Harry had been, that
took some doing. Harry had no idea whether the sweet-talking was for
his benefit or for Fred’s, but several moments later Fred gave one last
good thrust and then collapsed against Harry who was collapsed into
George, whose back would have been digging painfully into the lockers
if it weren’t for the Quidditch robes he had somehow managed to keep on
during all of this.
“Holy shit,” Harry gasped when he could breathe again.
“The trick,” Fred mumbled into his hair, “is to keep the kneepads on,
no matter what.”
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