"Oi!" George stomped in the door of their flat and shouldered the door shut against the howling wind with a bang. "You were supposed to meet me outside the Three Broomsticks an hour ago!"

"On Wednesday," Fred replied, leaning back further into the sofa and wiggling his toes inside his nice qarm socks, propped up on the coffee table next to his nice warm cocoa.

"It IS Wednesday!" George exclaimed, yanking off his gloves. Clumps of melting snow were beginning to drop off his shoulders to the floor with little splotch noises.

"S'not." Fred waved casually at the Men of Quidditch calendar that hung on the back of the closet door. The
calendar was actually years old, made during the half-season when Charlie had played for the Bats, but seeing Charlie's face whenever he visited and noticed himself blushing and caressing his broomstick just never got old, so they kept it and just recharmed the dates every year.

"It IS!" George insisted, marching over to the calendar, leaving a trail of half-melted puddles behind him. He jabbed a finger at the date, and Charlie scuttled out of the way. "See right here! It's..." he paused and peered closer at the day his finger was creasing, "...Tuesday."

"Told you." Fred shrugged, taking a sip of his cocoa to hide his relieved smirk. He'd only remembered it
was Wednesday ten minutes before George had stormed in the door, and the calendar had gotten a bit truculent about all the re-charming.

"I have something to show you," George announced, stripping off his coat and boots and leaving them in a sodden heap in the middle of the floor. Their coat rack creaked in a way that was definitely a sigh as it shuffled over to scoop the items up, but both twins ignored it as George threw a leg over Fred's lap and settled on his thighs.

"Seen it before," Fred said, running fingers just under the hem of George's jumper. George slapped his hand away.

"No, you arse." George rolled his eyes as he started rooting through his pockets. He pulled out a little metal box that had originally held Experi-Mints, and flipped it open with his thumb to reveal...mints.

Fred raised an eyebrow. "Is that some sort of hint? I didn't climb into your lap, you know."

George narrowed his eyes, but picked up one of the mints and popped it into Fred's mouth. Fred sucked on it a few moments, rolling the mint experimentally from one side of his mouth to the other as George snapped the box shut and set it behind him on the coffee table.

"Not too bad," he said at last, eyebrow still raised. George leaned closer, shifting his weight to settle more firmly in Fred's lap. Fred set down his mug so that he could rest his hands on George's waist, thumbs sneaking up under his jumper to press against still-chilled skin. "Bit sharp. What's the trick? Blows your tongue off or something?"

"Mmn," George shook his head slightly, shivering just a little when Fred used the word 'blow.' "I'm calling them Sweet Talkers. Anyone close enough to smell your breath will find anything you say utterly charming, no matter what kind of rubbish you're spouting."

"Really?" Fred crunched the mint a little, thoughtfully, then leaned forward as well, fingers curling into George's belt loops. He met George's gaze and smirked some more. "You know, it really is Wednesday."

"Plank," George murmured fondly, bending down kiss Fred. He swept the remains of the mint away from Fred's tongue with his own, then leaned back to bite down on it, grimacing a little himself at the sharpness.
"Have to see if we can tone it down at all without disrupting the charm."

"Guess they work then," Fred said, eyes a little glazed as he peeled George's jumper and T-shirt up, and George held his arms up compliantly so Fred could strip the whole pile off and toss it aside.

"Much better than that disaster with the plumping lip gloss last week," George said lightly.

"They were awful, weren't they?" Fred replied, and George's eyes lit up in triumph. The lip gloss had been Fred's big project for the holidays that he simply couldn't perfect, and any mention of the stuff for the last few weeks had sent him into an immediate and violent fit of temper.

Fred looked puzzled by his agreement, but just as that puzzlement shifted to suspicion, George kissed him again, pressing him back against the couch and sneaking his hand underneath Fred's jumper.

"Ah!" Fred jumped, hands tightening against George's back. "Your hands are freezing!"

"You love it," George murmured, reaching higher to tweak Fred's nipple tightly and making him jerk again. "Just like that time with the unmeltable popsicle, you perverted, twisted, masochist..."

"Too bad it wasn't unstaining," Fred swallowed a moan and teased back, dropping one hand to undo the button of George's jeans and arching up as George pinched him harder. "I guess that's what happens when you have such a half-witted inventor for a partner."

"Unlike some people," George rocked against Fred's erection, breath catching in his throat, "who are too pig-headed to know when to quit when something, I got my holiday project finished. Plus any moron would know that your attempts to fix the swelling problem with Bubotuber extract was absolute idiocy."

"Are you calling me an idiot, you simpleton?" Fred purred, tugging George's cock free and rubbing his thumb over the tip.

"An idiot and an incestuous freak," George groaned, bending to suck the tendon in Fred's neck as he thrust into Fred's warm, tight hand. "God, insult me again."

"Obsessive compulsive mental case," Fred hissed into George's ear. "Bubotuber extract in low doses would have worked just fine, you potions reject, unlike your asinine suggestion that cost me a week of research at least." He squeezed George's cock just a little too hard, and George moaned and bit down harder.

"Worked just fine for me," George replied, fumbling Fred's sweater up higher so he could twist both of Fred's nipples. "Just because you're too fucking dense to know the different between a pinch and a dash, you numb-skulled hanger-on."

"You stole your idea from me in the first place!" Fred howled, although it was a toss-up between whether it
was because of indignation or because George needed to cut his nails. "So fuck you, you hack!"

"Oh god, please," George begged, dropping one hand to Fred's lap to yank his zipper down roughly.

"Merlin, watch the goods, you clumsy arse!" Fred shuddered as George tugged his cock out, whining a little in his throat as zipper teeth caught lightly against sensitive skin. "And I can hardly do it when your jeans are still on, you half-brained slut."

"You're an impatient twit," George informed him, pulling reluctantly away to stand and shove his jeans from his hips. The material was heavy and stiff from the melted snow, and it took him a minute to peel it from his skin, which goose-pimpled as soon as the air hit it.

By the time his he managed to kick the jeans off his ankles, he turned to find Fred without his sweater at last, twirling his wand in one hand and crunching another mint.

"God, these taste awful," he commented, reaching out to snatch at George's wrist with his free hand and yank him down into his lap. George had been about to snap something back, but as soon as he came within kissing range, the urge to do anything besides thrust his cock against Fred's faded.

"You're shameless," Fred murmured in between slick kisses, passing the mint over to George for a few moments before snatching it back with a curl of his tongue. "Just begging for a good fuck, aren't you? Fucking desperate for me to give it to you?"

"Only 'cause I'm never sure how long you'll last," George replied sweetly, rocking harder against Fred until he moaned. "Any chance of you doing something useful with either one of those wands, or do you need me to show you how it works for the hundredth time?"

"You tart." Fred reached around with the wand and slid the tip a few slow inches into George, murmuring
the lubrication charm against George's mouth.

"You, fuckwit, I want you," George demanded, wriggling so that the wand slid in deeper. "Quit
fooling around!"

"You called me an impatient twit," Fred reminded silkily, twisting the wand in slow circles until George's curses felt like they were sliding down his spine in fat drops.

Or maybe that was the last of the snow melting out of George's hair, but Fred hardly cared as he drew his wand back out of George and let it drop to the floor.

"Bloody hell, about time!" George wasted no time in reaching in between them and holding Fred's cock steady as he slid down onto it, whimpering a little at the sting of it.

"Such a fucking rush, you slag," Fred admonished, punctuating his statement with nips to George's collarbone, only a few of which would leave marks. Probably. George tipped his head back and groaned, circling his hips. "Feel better now, hmm? Feels good with my cock deep in your arse, yeah? Feels so..."

"Will you kindly," George growled, bending forward to cut off Fred's ridiculous, second-rate porno monologue with a sharp nip to his lower lip, "shut the hell up and fuck me?"

"Mint wear off?" Fred inquired, then yelped when George reached down to twist a nipple hard.

"Right now!"

"Yeah, okay." Fred grinned, then shoved George off his lap, tumbling him on his back onto the couch cushions beside him. He crawled over George, sinking his teeth into an unmarked patch of skin at George's
throat as he pushed back inside, hooking one of George's knees with his elbow to rock him into the right angle. "Touch yourself," he ordered.

Unclenching the fingers of one hand from the couch cushions, George closed it around his own cock and squeezed, fisting himself out of rhythm with Fred's thrusts.

"Tsk," Fred gasped unsteadily, curving his forearm in, around George's knee, to wrap a hand over George's and force his grip to match his thrusts. "This is why...why I have to be in charge!"

"Merlin, fuck," George panted, arching against Fred, "just shut up, can't you?"

Fred's next retort was cut off by a long moan as George tightened around him in just the right way, and his orgasm crashed over him. Dimly, he registered the heat of George spilling over their hands, and George's other hand coming up to crush bruises into the skin of his lower back.

After a few moments that stretched like Unbreakable Taffy, Fred collapsed on top of George, their chests catching stickily at each other as both twins gasped for air. Fred's wrist was pinned between them in a way that was sure to hurt like fuck when they moved, but that was not on Fred's list of immediate concerns.


"I thought the mints worked pretty well," he yawned into George's neck. "We should give 'em to Ron for Christmas, keep Hermione busy during the holidays."

"They aren't sex mints, twit," George commented lazily, palm resting between Fred's shoulder blades. "Just because any excuse will work well enough for you..."

"Hmm," Fred sighed, wondering if perhaps George's half of the mint hadn't quite worn off yet, given the warmth seeping through all his limbs and the pleasant fuzziness of his thoughts. George shifted a little, and Fred was about to lodge a sleepy protest when he cracked one eye open and realized George was just reaching for his abandoned cocoa mug.

"Fuck!" George coughed after a sip, nearly sloshing the contents over both of them. "Why don't you put some cocoa in with your brandy next time, you utter alcoholic!"

Okay, maybe it wasn't just the mint.