Archive of Our Own

“Little git’s back again,” Fred mutters. It’s almost quiet enough to be under his breath, but of course George picks up on it anyway and huffs his own laugh.

“Leave him be,” he replies and nudges Fred with his hip before he brushes past.

Five years. It’s been five years since the war. Since the final battle, at least, because Fred doesn’t believe for a second that the war is truly over. Sure, there are some good people in high places and they’re saying nice things, but—

Well, Malfoy’s standing right there, isn’t he? He’s just slipped in the doorway of their shop, cheeks and nose and the top of his ears flushed pink from the cold outside, and, now that Fred’s looking, he notices there’s pink crawling up the back of his neck, too.

It’s not that he’s here, precisely, that’s the problem. Fred’s asked Ron. Malfoy didn’t cause even an ounce of trouble in their so-called eighth year; in fact, while he and Harry don’t have what anyone under any circumstances would call a friendship, Ron says that Harry jumped to Malfoy’s defence more than once.

Fred gets it. Not that he’d do the same. No. He gets why Harry does it. Dying for people means you have to believe there’s good in them, right? Or, at least, you have to have enough goodness in yourself to believe they’re worth saving even if they’re bad.

Malfoy isn’t looking at him. He’s pretending to browse the same shelves he’s browsed every other night for the past week and a half, and all the while, he’s shooting not at all furtive looks at George.

Fred follows Malfoy’s gaze, takes in his twin as he smiles at a customer and she blushes, scurrying away.

Yeah, he supposes he can get why Harry does it, even if Fred could only imagine going that far for one person, himself.

***

Later, Fred climbs into bed behind George, and their cold feet tangle together under the blanket. It’s something they don’t talk about. Something nobody talks about. Anyone who’s visited has seen there’s only one double bed, and originally Fred had excuses ready—the flat above the shop really is small, and it’s not like one of them could be here and one back at home, and apparating in and out of Diagon Alley every day would be such a pain, and, and, and—

No one asked. Hardly anyone batted an eyelid.

“You really let him get to you,” George murmurs. He’s half asleep already, though he shivers when Fred strokes over his stomach.

“I do not.”

“You do. Why?”

He knows why, the little shit. Fred’s sure of that. If he’s not missed a trick with Malfoy, then neither has George.

“He’s always looking at you.”

George hums. He wriggles around, and his arse fits perfectly into the curve of Fred’s pelvis. Fred lets out a panting breath.

“You know,” George says, conversationally, “he looks at you, too.”

***

Draco doesn’t know why he keeps going back to that fucking shop. Doesn’t know why he wanders Diagon Alley at all.

Hogwarts is behind him. Would be a distant speck if not for the mark branded on his arm, the mark no one—and nothing—can remove.

He would know. He’s spent enough time in Knockturn Alley, with enough shady people, to be certain it’s etched under his skin forever.

Once, just once, Draco wondered what might happen if he cut the entire arm off. It would be gone then, wouldn’t it? His father’s failure. His own failure.

Still, part of him is certain that wouldn’t work. That the dark magic of it has already crept under his skin, absorbed into every organ, every cell of his body.

It’s corrupting him; that’s the only explanation for… this.

This being his visit to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Again.

This being the Weasley twins, and Draco pretending to look over shelf after shelf of frivolous, garish wares, and knowing, the entire time, that they know that he’s there, too.

How could they not?

George meets his gaze each and every time. His smile is easy, lighting up his eyes. It’s almost like he’s glad to see Draco, but Draco knows that cannot be true.

Not even his parents are glad to see him anymore.

Fred glowers. That heats Draco’s blood almost as much as George’s smile, as does the fact that he knows Draco’s there, but never seems to be looking when Draco dares to glance in his direction. No, Draco feels the heat of his glare but never manages to meet it.

This time, when he goes in, the shop is empty, and Draco swears under his breath. Usually, there’s at least one other person—one other customer—in here, and if that person looks as though they’re about to leave, then Draco ducks out before he can be stranded.

He turns in a slow circle. Even the Weasley twins aren’t here.

Except—

He hears a sound in the corner and notices that the door that leads into the back is slightly open.

Draco creeps closer, wincing at the faint sound of his soles on the wooden floor. There’s a light down a narrow hallway, and he braces himself against the doorframe, peering down…

George is leaning back against the wall, his body language open and easy as he looks up at his twin. Draco’s heart hammers against his ribs. It’s loud enough in his ears that he’s certain they must hear it. Neither of them looks his way.

No. Instead, Fred takes hold of George’s chin, tipping his head further back and making George let out a—small, yet audible—gasp.

Draco swallows hard. Heat pools in his belly, and he thinks distantly that he should be repulsed, scandalised, but he isn’t.

He feels disappointment, though, even if he can’t quite articulate why.

If they have each other, why would they ever want him?

Draco turns on his heel, ignoring the way his shoe squeaks on the floor, this time, as he heads for the door.

He doesn’t want that.

He doesn’t want anything from them.

***

George doesn’t know what he wants to do about this. Draco was here. Draco saw them if George is right, and he thinks he is because he thinks Fred set things up that way.

“Are you being cruel to him because you want him, or because you don’t?” he asks that night when Fred curls in behind him and wraps an arm around his waist.

His twin goes still, then lets out a breath in an angry rush. “There’s nothing I want from Malfoy,” he says, and his voice is flat, cold.

George thinks his next words over for several seconds. Thinks about the way Draco has changed over the years, his scrawny build turning slender, face filling out, ever so slightly, emphasising his pale grey eyes and his pretty mouth.

“I want him,” he says, and Fred’s fingers dig into his stomach.

“Have him, then.” He’s feigning indifference. He doesn’t let go.

“He wants both of us.” George knows it. He knows it. “He’s just not sure about it yet.”

***

Draco doesn’t return for a week, and concern simmers in George’s belly the entire time. Of course, he could simply have been disgusted by what he saw—not that he saw anything, not really—or chosen not to come back for a myriad of reasons, but George worries for him.

Things are not, truly, settled, no matter what his parents and their friends and all his former professors say. They all already lived through a false peacetime once. George doesn’t trust their instincts.

He trusts Fred, and Fred hides his distrust behind an easy smile and the quips that roll off his tongue with charming ease. It’s there, though. Does anyone else see it?

Hermione, maybe. Too perceptive by half, that one. Fleur as well, in fact. Maybe that’s why George likes them both so much.

But no. Draco returns. He doesn’t look to have a scratch on him, either, and something inside George unclenches at the sight of him, even as anger rises in his throat.

Why would he avoid them? Why would he leave them alone?

Fred is in the back because they’ve got heads for business, they’re good at it, so it’s his month to do an inventory check. The shop’s been quiet today, what with all the kids at school, and it’s a wet February day besides.

Draco’s eyes flare wide when he realises he and George are alone in the shop, but he doesn’t bolt for the door like George is expecting. No. He swallows hard and then turns his back, looking for all the world as though he’s truly browsing the shelves.

George remembers hating him. Sometimes the feeling is so visceral it threatens to choke him. He remembers jumping off his broom, of Draco crying out under his fists, but now—

It feels so distant. Another time. Another life.

And he wants his hands on Draco partly to dig in and bruise and pay him back for some of that, but mostly just because… that’s what he wants.

George props his chin on one hand, eyes wandering brazenly over Draco’s form. He’s wearing muggle clothes—has done every time he’s popped in, in fact. His jeans are snug, cupping his arse deliciously, and he’s all bundled up in a coat and scarf, but George doesn’t mind that at all. Draco’ll be pretty beneath. George can be patient. He can slowly unpeel each layer…

Draco darts a look back, flushing when their eyes meet, and George finally lets the question he’s barely dared look at form in his mind.

Has anyone ever touched Draco at all?

After all, it’s not like he got around in school—he was a little young for anything too serious by the time he’d taken the mark, and after, well… Who’d touch him?

Maybe another Slytherin. Maybe furtive handies in the dorm rooms, or a pretty girl willing to let Draco touch her up out by the forest or the Shrieking Shack or something like that. Of course, he’s been out of school four years.

Maybe a muggle? That seems more likely. Draco’s about as infamous as Harry is famous in their world, but a muggle wouldn’t know him at all.

George shakes his head. He doesn’t want to think about that at all, anymore. Not with Draco so close, the two of them basically alone.

He steps silently out from behind the counter, weaving his way across the room. Draco doesn’t react, and his shoulders are no tenser than they were before.

“Find what you’re after?”

Draco jumps, and when he whirls around, his eyes are wide, expression panicked. “You—I—"

“Anything I can help you with?” George lets his smile twist into something closer to a smirk, eyes drifting lazily over Draco’s form.

Draco swallows hard. Oh, he’s got it bad. More than George thought, before this, but the realisation doesn’t put him off.

No. Why would it? He’s always been ready for something intense, something desperate and needy and far too codependent and—

“What’s going on?”

George glances back over his shoulder, unsurprised to see Fred leaning in the doorway that leads to the back of the shop. To the stairs, which lead up to the little flat, to their bed…

“Just making sure we keep up our reputation for stellar customer service.”

Fred snorts. His gaze slides past George, jaw tensing when it lands on Draco. “Was there something you wanted?”

George is surprised at that. He expected Fred to be blunter. He turns back to Draco, shaking the feeling off.

“I—” Draco says. There’s an edge of panic to his voice, but the fear is… not for his life, at least. Scared of getting all he wants? Maybe. Scared that they’re just teasing him? Seems just as likely, and George can’t blame him for that.

“You know, we have even more in the back,” George says, pitching his voice a little lower. He’s pushing too hard, too fast. He knows that. But he needs Draco to understand, too. “We’d be happy to give you a hands-on tour.”

Colour creeps up Draco’s neck, flushing his cheeks a delightful shade of pink. “No, I—I should go. S-Sorry.”

He stumbles over to the door, and disappointment clenches George’s stomach.

It fades a second later, when Draco pauses, hand on the doorknob, and looks back at both of them. His eyes are far too wide, chest rising and falling with the force of his breaths, but that expression—

There’s desire, underneath all that fear.

The moment stretches, and breaks, and Draco all but runs out into the drizzle, shoulders bunched around his shoulders as he stalks away.

Fred comes up behind George, far too close, and puts one hand on his hip. “He’s too scared,” he says, almost spitting the words. “Cowardly. He won’t give you what you want.”

“He’s giving me what I want,” George replies and smirks at Fred’s little sigh. “From him. You give me the rest.”

Fred’s fingers dig in, bruising even through the thick fabric of George’s jeans. A promise. A warning.

“Of course I do.”

***

Malfoy avoids the shop for another week, though Fred spots him skulking around outside every other day. He eyes George through the window and clearly debates coming inside.

Fred doesn’t know if he wants him to come in or not. If he does, then he’s ready to take George up on his offer, and Fred doesn’t know what that means.

He knows he is, naturally, intrinsically involved in this, whether Malfoy wants it or not. George says he does, but Fred doesn’t believe it. Honestly, he doesn’t know why Malfoy is stalking either of them at all. Fred always figured he had a thing for Harry, what with how fucking obsessed he was, but that doesn’t seem to have panned out.

But George? Him? They didn’t interact with Malfoy except to tease him—or try and beat the shit out of him, at least that one time—and Fred’s barely even thought about him since the Battle of Hogwarts. Why would he? He was too caught up in his own family, all of them beating the odds, all of them making it, and the notoriety that came with being, however indirectly, a part of Harry Potter’s orbit.

Fred drums his fingers on the counter. It’s only half an hour until they close, and he’s usually much more energetic than this. The chance for a final few sales as night creeps in—but his heart hasn’t been in it for a week or more.

George comes over to the counter, placing a small case of potions on top of it. He’s supposed to be stocking up, but he leans in close. “He’s here.”

“He’s been here all week.”

His twin harrumphs and moves away, taking the case with him. Fred sighs again. Tonight he’ll do his best to make them both forget Malfoy ever existed. Fuck him. Can’t be arsed to even come in the door, to give them a yes or a no, to—

The bell above the door tinkles as Malfoy steps inside.

George can’t see him from the angle he’s at, and besides, he’s engrossed in his task now, but Fred meets Malfoy’s gaze across the shop. Malfoy swallows hard like he did the other night, and some dark heat simmers low in Fred’s belly. It ignites when Malfoy not only holds his gaze but tilts his head back in that arrogant way he affected back at school.

Fred wants him on his knees. He wants to grab him by the chin, force his jaw open, shove in deep—

Malfoy sucks in a gasp and he’s gone pink again, breaths coming fast. Fred jerks his head, indicating for him to come closer, and smirks a little when Malfoy does.

“You want that tour?” Fred asks in a low voice. There’s one other customer left in the store, a homely witch who’s probably shopping for her grandkids. She’s far enough away that George doesn’t think she’ll overhear.

“I—” Malfoy swallows, again, at Fred’s glare. “Yes.”

It’s not a question, and Fred appreciates that. “All right. Wait over there until we’ve locked up.”

He points at a stool in the corner. It’s for kids to sit on, so it’s low, and small, and won’t be at all comfortable for Malfoy to wait on.

Again, he doesn’t hesitate, though his cheeks flame a second time. He goes, and he sits, knees pressed together, looking too gangly and posh and out of place…

Fred likes it. Likes it more than he could have anticipated.

“Good boy,” he mutters under his breath and ignores the way Malfoy jerks at the words.

Fred doesn’t look at Malfoy as he serves the witch—she doesn’t seem to notice him at all, actually, too busy gushing over the birthday presents she’s found—or as he locks the door, then returns to his place around the counter. No matter what they’re planning after, there are still things that need to be done now, so he meticulously counts out each coin in the till and does not watch the way Malfoy squirms.

George drops the empty box on the counter and catches sight of Malfoy out of the corner of his eye. “Oh.” He looks back at Fred. “He…”

If anything, Malfoy turns even redder now he’s being ignored. It’s not a terrible shade on him, Fred has to admit. “He came in,” Fred says. “He wants to take you up on that offer you made.”

George looks at Malfoy again. “Take us up on it,” he says.

“Well. Whatever.” Fred sweeps the coins he’s been counting into a bag, pulling the strings tight. There’s a safe in the back, and he’ll keep it there until they can make it to the bank tomorrow.

“I’ve still got to put everything away in the back,” George says. It’s not quite a question, but Fred nods all the same.

“Need to take care of this,” he replies, hefting the bag, “and check on some things upstairs. Malfoy will wait. Won’t you?”

He cuts his gaze to Malfoy, who jumps as though it’s a physical touch. “Y-Yes. I’ll wait.”

George’s lips part on a faint gasp and despite it all, Fred understands. He does. It’s an enormous amount of trust Malfoy is placing in their hands—that they’ll come back for him, that they’ll give him what he clearly wants and not humiliate him instead.

Well, not humiliate him in any way he won’t like.

“All right,” Fred says. “We’ll come get you when we’re done.”

***

Draco sits on the stool and waits. Fred dimmed the lights before he left the front of the shop, so he doesn’t feel as exposed to the outside world now—not that many people are wandering around this part of Diagon Alley once all the shops are shut. He clasps his hands in front of him and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees.

What is he doing here? It’s the only thought repeating over and over in his head. Why would the Weasley twins give him what he wants? How would they possibly even know what he wants?

After all, Draco himself isn’t that sure.

He just knows that he came back to Diagon Alley one day because his mother asked him to pick something up and though he’s certain his parents don’t like him—he knows they never have—he knows she loves him in her own way. So, he’ll do things for her, little things, not the big, nebulous things she’s hinting at, about marriage and moving on and making something different of himself.

No. But errands. He can do errands.

When he came out of the shop, the one where he’d been served with a sneer but no dark words, this time, he’d found his feet propelling him towards the gaudy shop on the corner, the one he’d never been inside before.

Draco knows Harry Potter will never hurt him, not as helpless as he now appears, but his friends and family aren’t always so lenient. Draco can’t blame them. Well, not all of them.

Then he saw George through the glass and—

Well—

They’re both taller than they were back at school, though Draco knows he has an inch or two on them. He doesn’t feel like he does, not with the sheer breadth of their shoulders, or the way their personalities expand to fill a room.

And maybe it should be overwhelming. Maybe Draco should shrink back from that, too, except he likes that no one looks at him when they’re close by.

He likes that they look at him.

He swallows hard and watches the door the twins vanished through. A tour… He wants more than that, and he’s almost certain George does too—or at least that he seems more amenable to the idea, and if Draco has completely misread this situation he might let him down gently—but he’s still not sure about Fred.

Draco bites his lower lip. Fidgets. He wants them both, and it’s because of how different they are. He can see it. He’s always been able to see it, he realises, though that realisation will do nothing to help him now. He wants George’s gentle mischief, and he wants Fred’s intense commands, and he wants—

“Come on,” Fred says from the doorway, and Draco stands on aching, faintly trembling legs. He must look like some newborn bird, some frail, useless thing, and for a second, something in Fred’s eyes softens, head tipping to one side so red hair falls across his forehead.

“Come here, Malfoy,” he says more firmly, just a bite of an order in his voice.

Draco obeys, stopping only a few steps away. Fred reaches out, and when he takes hold of Draco’s chin, Draco’s mouth parts on something close to a gasp.

Fred searches his eyes. “You know what we’re going to do to you back there, don’t you?”

“I-Not really.”

“But you have an idea?” Fred says, not exasperated at all. His gaze is heated when it roams over Draco, and Draco shivers.

“Yes. I have an idea.”

“And that’s what you want?”

“Yes.” No hesitation this time. Draco will have them any way they’ll let him—even if that means he gets nothing at all.

“Good,” Fred says, and he lets go of Draco’s chin, taking hold of his wrist instead. “Come on, then. George is waiting for us.”

***

George stands by the bed and waits. Nerves flutter in his stomach, and he works hard to keep the expression on his face even.

Draco will be nervous. Fred too, though his twin will give away nothing at all.

He hears footsteps on the stairs, slow and steady, and perches on the edge of the bed when he can’t work out what to do with his hands. He wanted to be the one to fetch Draco, but Fred took one look at him and told him to stay here. Wait for us. George doesn’t have Draco’s trust issues; how could he? He knows Fred will always return to him.

They appear in the doorway, then. Draco first, pushed ahead of Fred, even though George is certain Fred led him through their little flat. He hardly meets George’s gaze, breath coming in short little gasps. Behind him, Fred looks cocky, confident.

“Well, go on then,” he says, and his voice is dripping with disdain. “Show George what you want.”

Draco sucks in a deep breath, eyes glittering, and then takes a determined step forward, which brings him between George’s spread legs.

He drops to his knees, hands resting on his thighs. Fred meets George’s astonished expression with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

“Draco,” George says, then, when Draco doesn’t look up, “Draco.”

It takes a lot of effort for Draco to meet his gaze, to hold it.

“What do you want?” George asks. He can’t force all the words out. What do you need? What can I give you? Why are you here at all?

“Use me,” Draco says, the words ringing clear and plain.

George’s next breath shudders out of him. He’s half-hard, has been since he spotted Draco all scrunched up on that stool, and his cock throbs at the thought of shoving inside Draco’s plush, willing mouth.

Fred is still standing by the doorway. George tilts his head, and he shuts the door, takes a step closer. He sits only when George pats the spot on the bed to his right, and George tips his head to the side again, resting it against Fred’s shoulder.

“Go on then,” George says, careful to keep his tone soft. Draco needs some of that.

He needs some of Fred’s meanness, too. They’ll get to that.

Draco makes a wounded little sound and then his hands scrabble at the fastenings of George’s jeans. He’s clumsy, nothing sleek and refined about him as he shoves the button open, all but tearing the zip down in his haste. Fred’s arm comes around George, hand resting on his lower back. It burns even through his T-shirt.

Draco gets George’s jeans unfastened, and George lifts his hips so Draco can tug them and his briefs down. They pool around his ankles and Draco takes a deep breath, stopping only when he realises he’s face-to-face with George’s cock.

Fred shoves his hand up under George’s T-shirt. His lips press to George’s forehead. Draco’s watching them, now, and no, there’s nothing disgusted about his expression.

“Suck his cock, Malfoy,” Fred says. “Surely you’ve had men use that filthy fucking mouth of yours before?”

Spots of pink appear high on Draco’s cheeks, but he doesn’t argue. He ducks his head, instead, and his tongue licks a stripe up the underside of George’s length.

George groans, head rolling back from even that simple touch. Fred latches onto his throat, teeth digging in, and George is certain he hears Draco moan before his cock is suddenly engulfed in tight, wet heat.

He stares up at the ceiling, unwilling to look down, because he knows the sight of Draco’s lips stretched wide around his cock will be the end of him. Fred doesn’t seem to be having the same problem. He lifts his head from George’s throat and huffs.

“Take him deeper.”

Is Draco glaring up at him? George can imagine it. He takes more of George’s length, though, obedient as can be, and George clutches at Fred’s hand.

“Fuck,” he hisses, and Fred laughs faintly.

“It’s a good look on him,” he says, then grabs George’s chin and turns his head so they’re looking at each other.

George’s heart thuds in his ears. Draco has to know… But this might send him running. George wouldn’t blame him.

Still, it doesn’t stop his lips parting on a faint moan when Draco sucks hard, and Fred takes the opportunity to lean in and capture his mouth. He possesses George, tongue sliding along his own, and George shudders when Draco moans around his cock, fingers digging into George’s bare thighs.

George tears his mouth away to stare, wide-eyed, down at him. Draco stares defiantly back, and there’s drool running from the corners of his mouth, tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

“That what you want to see, you little slut?” Fred coos. He tugs George’s T-shirt up, and when he strokes over his belly, muscles jump beneath his touch. Draco’s eyes narrow into a glare. He pulls off, but his lips still graze the head of George’s cock, hand gripping his base hard.

“Draco,” George whines.

When Draco’s gaze darts back to him, his eyes soften. Fred kisses down the side of George’s throat.

“Malfoy…”

Draco’s tongue darts out. George shivers when he licks into his slit, lapping up every drop of pre-cum. Fred threads his fingers through Draco’s hair, messing it terribly, and then shoves his head down, forcing his mouth back onto George’s cock.

George moans again, guiltily, when Draco gags. He doesn’t look panicked, though. Doesn’t look like he wants to get away. No. His eyes flutter shut, and when he opens them again, blinking up at them, they’re hazy with lust.

“Oh fuck, Georgie, he likes it.” Fred shoves Draco down again, holds him there, his nose pressed against George’s pelvis. George whimpers. His cock hits the back of Draco’s throat, muscles constricting around him.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—”

Fred kisses him again, almost feral in the way he takes his mouth, and George hears Draco suck in a desperate breath before his cock is surrounded by tight, wet heat all over again.

His orgasm isn’t a surprise—how could it be—but he comes hard, and Fred holds Draco in place even as he whimpers and sputters. George opens his eyes just as Fred lets go, and Draco lifts his head, cum and spit running from his mouth, over his chin.

“Fuck,” George mutters. He collapses back onto the bed with half a laugh, breathing hard.

***

Fred eyes Malfoy, who’s still kneeling on the floor between George’s legs. It’s been a long, long time since George has come so hard, and his grin is blissful and lazy as he stares up at the ceiling again.

“Talented mouth on you at least,” Fred says, and Draco’s eyes cut to him. He’s defiant, almost angry, but there’s an edge of concern in his gaze.

He doesn’t know what to expect from Fred. That’s easy enough to read. Easy enough to read, too, that he expects George to keep Fred in check.

He should know better than that. Not that Fred will hurt him. No.

He’ll fucking ruin him, though.

“Get up. Strip.”

Malfoy hesitates. He gets to his feet just fine, taking a step back, and blushes when George lifts his head to watch him. But he hesitates before he shrugs off his jacket, and then again before he begins to unbutton his shirt.

He goes slowly, but Fred doesn’t mind that so much. And as much as he wants to watch every inch of skin be revealed, he doesn’t want Malfoy to clam up so much that he’ll want to leave. So, he turns his attention to George instead, kissing the corner of his mouth before he helps him get his T-shirt off.

Fred tosses the garment in Malfoy’s direction, noting almost absently that he’s shirtless now, and a little too skinny for his adult frame. Pretty, though. Rosy little nipples that Fred wants to bite until he cries.

George arches into Fred’s touch, and Fred realises he’s digging his fingers in. He meets his twin’s smug gaze. You want him. They’re not telepathic—who is—but he can read that in George’s expression.

Yes.

George can read him just as well. He sits up, and puts one hand on Fred’s cheek, drawing him in for a slower, more sensual kiss. Malfoy’s breath stutters when George pulls back a little way and he can see the way their tongues tangle together.

Fred growls and bites George’s lower lip until George trembles against him. He ends the kiss and looks in Malfoy’s direction. He’s entirely undressed, except for his briefs, and he flushes when Fred glares.

“This a problem?” he asks.

Malfoy is breathless when he replies, “N-no.”

“Then why aren’t you doing what I tell you?”

Malfoy sucks in a heavy breath, lets it out all in a rush. Fred watches, transfixed, as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs and shoves them down, stepping out of them.

He is pretty, under all those muggle clothes, and his cock is too. It’s nicely proportioned, red and leaking, his balls heavy between his legs. Fred bites the inside of his mouth. He wants to suck him, wants to stroke him and tease him, make him beg…

George reaches between his legs and strokes him gently. “Fuck him,” he murmurs in Fred’s ear. “Make him scream for you.”

It’s a tempting thought. But George…

Fred looks at George and smirks. George doesn’t question him, though he can’t know what Fred’s thinking. He smirks right back.

“Get over here.”

Malfoy almost trips over his own feet in a hurry to obey, though he hesitates when he’s a step or two away. Fred looks him over slowly. They’re both sitting, so Malfoy is standing over them, but there’s no pretending he has the power here.

No pretending he even wants it.

“Here,” Fred says, more firmly, and Malfoy moves closer, standing between Fred’s legs the same way he stood between George’s earlier. George leans into Fred’s side, taking his own opportunity to touch, and Fred lets him. His twin’s fingers smooth over his stomach and ribs, but he doesn’t let his reactions show on his face.

“You’ve been fucked before.” It’s not really a question, but Malfoy nods all the same. Good. Fred can be cruel, but not that cruel. He wouldn’t let this be Malfoy’s first time.

“You going to fuck him, Fred?” George murmurs. He kisses just below Fred’s ear. A fleeting touch, but one that makes Fred shiver.

“No. You are.” When Fred turns his head to look at George, George is frowning. “And I’m going to fuck you.”

Malfoy lets out a little gasp. George grins, understanding.

“Strip,” Fred says, far warmer than he said it to Malfoy, and George laughs before he gets to his feet.

Malfoy doesn’t move. He’s surprisingly obedient. Fred knows he needs this—it’s more a craving than a simple want—but he still expected some pushback.

“Undress me,” he says, and there’s a flicker of contempt that passes through Malfoy’s expression before he bends at the middle and reaches for the button on Fred’s jeans.

Fred’s cock jerks. Oh, that he likes. He’d like to fuck all the disdain out of him, have him mewling and begging on the end of his dick…

There’s time for that. For now, Malfoy can pretend it’s George giving it to him, taking him slowly and carefully, when Fred will be the one setting the pace.

The sound of his zip is loud in the quiet bedroom. George is naked already and snatches up lube from the bedside table before he settles against the headboard. Malfoy’s eyes flicker to him when he spreads his legs, pretty hole on full display.

Fred grasps Malfoy’s chin, fingers digging in tight enough to bruise. “Focus, Malfoy,” he snaps. “I told you what to do.”

He swallows hard, and Fred lifts his hips so Malfoy can tug his jeans off and away. Malfoy goes for the hem of his T-shirt next, and Fred swallows a laugh. He’s avoiding his underwear, despite the fact his eyes linger on the wet patch at the front, the bulge tenting the fabric.

George sinks one finger inside himself and moans. It’s loud, far showier than when it’s just the two of them, but Fred doesn’t mind that. He makes his own sound, a quiet rumble in his chest, and Malfoy’s breath hitches.

“You’ll be louder than that when I finger you open,” he says, and Malfoy’s gaze jerks to his. “I’m gonna make you scream before you even take a cock.”

His fingers tremble as he drags Fred’s T-shirt up and off. He kneels to remove his socks—George is up to two fingers now—and then he looks at Fred’s crotch, hesitating.

“Malfoy…”

“I know.” It’s the first thing he’s said in a while, and his voice is lower than Fred has ever heard it. There’s no contempt in it, though. No. He sounds almost lost.

“Take them off.”

Malfoy tugs Fred’s underwear down and Fred shifts, lets him, watches as he tosses them aside as he has done with everything he’s removed so far.

He’s still on his knees. His mouth is all pretty and swollen from sucking George already, lips damp and parted as he sucks in hurried breaths. Fred’s cock, hot and hard, strains up toward him.

But… no. Fred curls his fingers into the duvet. He knows what he wants. What he’s planned.

“Stand up and turn around.”

Malfoy shoots him a wary glance but does as he’s told. George passes Fred the lube before he can even ask for it.

“Bend over. You’re flexible, I bet. Touch your toes.”

Malfoy bends over. He wraps his hands around his ankles, and there’s not a hint of strain on his face. George lets out another faint moan. Fred glances at him; he’s open and ready, idly thrusting his fingers in and out.

Fred slicks up three fingers and spreads Malfoy’s cheeks, revelling in his quiet gasp. His hole is pretty and pink and, when Fred presses against it, quite unyielding. “Relax, Malfoy. You’re going to enjoy this.”

Whether you want to or not.

He doesn’t say it. They all know he wants it.

Malfoy whimpers when he pushes the first finger inside, all the way to the second knuckle. He’s clearly trying to keep his noises to himself, so Fred pushes in deeper and slaps him on the arse when he doesn’t make a sound.

“We want to hear you.”

George forgets about himself and moves closer. He watches, fascinated, as Fred slides that finger in and out, and strokes his own cock when Fred adds another.

Malfoy moans at that. He cuts the sound off abruptly but cries out when Fred slaps him again. It’s not a pained sound. Not entirely. His cock drips pre-cum onto the floor.

“That’s it,” George murmurs and Fred feels Malfoy relax around him. “Fuck, that’s pretty.”

“Not prettier than you,” Fred says, and George snorts, but kisses him anyway.

He goes to add a third finger, but George beats him to it, reaching past him to shove his forefinger into Malfoy’s ass. Malfoy whines, clenching around them, rocking minutely back. Oh, he’s going to be a delight on George’s cock, the little git. Fred might even have a go himself.

“Such a slutty little hole,” Fred murmurs when George adds a second finger. “Bet you could take so much. Bet you’d like it.”

Malfoy’s next moan sounds like a sob. He doesn’t stop rocking against them, though. Doesn’t get up or ask them to stop. He clenches around them again, then trembles.

“P-please…”

The plea is so faint, Fred almost doesn’t hear it. When he realises what he’s heard, he shoves his fingers deeper, just to make Malfoy cry out again.

He does, and now he’s shaking so much he’s in danger of toppling over.

George pulls his fingers out first, then Fred. “Stand up.”

Malfoy does. He’s flushed, eyes wet, lips trembling, and he sways toward Fred when Fred stands. Fred moves in close, close enough his breath fans over Malfoy’s mouth. Malfoy strains toward him as though begging for a kiss. All that contempt, all that disdain…

It’s gone.

Fred is firmly in charge now. He digs his teeth into Malfoy’s lower lip and Malfoy just trembles and takes it.

“Get on the bed,” he says once he’s pulled away. “On your back. Knees up toward your chest.”

Malfoy looks at him like he’s seeing him for the first time, but it’s only for a second, and then he rushes to do as he’s been told. George moves closer, ghosting his lips over Fred’s and, on the bed, Malfoy sucks in a harsh breath.

“Told you he likes what he sees,” George says, smug. He presses up against Fred, sets his teeth to his throat.

George is never quite as feral as Fred is, never quite as quick to hold on tight and leave dark bruises behind. Even now, his teeth skim rather than digging in, but the faint touch is still enough to make Fred shiver.

“Georgie…”

George pouts when Fred leans slightly away, but Fred takes hold of George’s chin in response, brushing their lips together. “You ready to fuck him?”

Malfoy makes a low, strangled sound but neither of them looks at him. George grins and kisses Fred more firmly. “Fuck, yes.”

“Get inside him, then.”

George snorts and climbs onto the bed. Malfoy stares up at him, utterly adoring, as George settles between his legs. He’s pulled them back against his chest, just as Fred told him to, and his slick hole is on full display. Fred’s mouth waters. Maybe he should have licked him open. Speared him with his tongue, sucked hard until Malfoy squirmed and tried to get away.

George lines his cock up with Malfoy’s hole and Malfoy sucks in a sharp breath. Fred plants one knee on the bed behind George, content to watch for now.

And watch he does. He watches the way Malfoy trembles when George’s cock presses against his hole. He watches how George clenches his jaw, clearly holding back as he pushes the head of his cock inside.

He watches the way they move together. They’ve never done this before—never shared what they have with anyone else, and the fact that it’s Malfoy, of all people, in their bed, is something Fred can’t focus on right now—but still, Fred thinks no one would look quite as perfect as this.

Malfoy’s chest rises and falls with each heaving breath as George slowly fucks him open. He won’t look away from George’s face, utterly enamoured. Fred searches for envy but comes up empty. He looks at George just like that, doesn’t he?

But then—

George thrusts a little harder, hips slapping against Malfoy’s plush arse, and Malfoy yelps, and moans, gaze searching…

For him. For Fred. Their eyes meet and Malfoy’s mouth falls open, helpless as George fucks him harder.

“Fuck,” Fred mutters. He grabs George’s hips, and George slows but doesn’t still. “I need to… Let me…”

He digs his teeth into George’s shoulder as he presses up against him. George groans, tipping his head back, and Malfoy moans too then lets out a little whimper when George’s hips jerk forward.

“Relax for me,” Fred says, though he’s hardly conscious of the words.

George releases a breathless laugh. “Fuck, Fred. I’m close.”

He is. His legs shake when he finally tries to hold himself still, and his fingers are digging into Malfoy’s hips far too tightly. Fred kisses the side of George’s throat the second before he pushes inside. George is tight and hot around him, and Fred stares down at Malfoy as his cock fills George’s hole.

“Merlin,” George hisses through clenched teeth. Malfoy wriggles, wanting friction—wanting attention—and Fred reaches past George to take hold of his pretty cock.

Malfoy stills immediately, and with his head tilted back like this, Fred can see the way his pulse rabbits at the base of his throat.

“Behave,” he growls, and Malfoy’s eyes go all hazy as he nods. Fred’s mouth waters. He wants to sink his teeth into every inch of pale skin he can reach.

He can’t, so he bites George’s shoulder again, instead, and George grunts, pushing back against him. “Fuck me,” he says, the words all challenge.

Oh, he wants it hard. Fred is more than happy to oblige. Secretly, he thinks George knows the truth: he can’t do anything else. He thrusts in hard, sending George rocking into Malfoy. He’ll cum like this—they all will. But he’ll have Malfoy himself, too. He has to.

***

Sweat makes Draco’s hands clammy, but he’s sure if he loosens his hold on his thighs, one or both of them might stop. Merlin, but they look incredible like this. Both hovering above him, George groaning and pushing forward with the force of Fred’s thrusts.

He’s in charge. Fred. He stares down at Draco as he fucks his twin, and for a second, Draco’s sure it’s Fred inside him, taking him hard and fast, ruining him...

His mouth goes dry, and his cock kicks in Fred’s hand. He hasn’t let go. Draco doesn’t want him to. He wants to cum without Fred stroking him, without George laying gentle hands on him. He wants to cum from Fred using his twin to fuck him and then wants Fred to roll him over and call him all those filthy names as he slides inside.

He can hardly articulate, even in his mind, exactly what he wants from George. Something softer than this, though this is just about perfect. Something lazy and gentle, something that has him spread out for hours until he’s a sobbing, boneless mess.

But what if this is only one night?

George snatches up one of Draco’s arms, big hand circling his wrist. Draco looks dainty in comparison, but maybe they both like the look of that. His breath catches when George threads their fingers together and pushes Draco’s hand into the pillow next to his head.

Tears prick the backs of his eyes. George kisses him, licks into his mouth and teases him into a moan, and Draco wonders if he can taste salt when he pulls back.

Does it matter? They won’t want him after this. Fred barely wants him at all—his body, sure, but the rest of him? Who wants that?

George frowns, and Draco thinks, when he lowers his head, that he’s about to kiss him again, but no. He scrapes his teeth down Draco’s jaw, making him gasp, then sucks a mark onto his throat that’s far too high to hide.

It feels… claiming. Draco’s heart is beating too hard, drumming against his ribs. George’s cock fills him, each of Fred’s sharp thrusts forcing him deeper.

Draco never wants it to end.

Fred lets go of his cock, though, with a little smirk that makes Draco’s mouth go dry. George lifts his head and then presses his thumb to the mark he’s left behind. It throbs under his touch, and Draco groans helplessly, cock jerking at the way George’s eyes go dark.

“Fuck, are you close?” Fred asks, and Draco knows he’s not the one being spoken to. George still has one hand tangled with Draco’s, and he plants the other next to his head, rolling his hips on Fred’s next thrust.

“So close,” he says and glances down at Draco’s neglected cock. “Touch yourself,” he says, but Draco doesn’t dare.

Fred chuckles even as George pouts. “Looks like he’s decided who’s in charge here.”

Draco’s face heats. He doesn’t want to disobey George, but he doesn’t want to disobey Fred, either.

“Please?” George asks, batting his eyelashes dramatically. Fred huffs a laugh and wraps his hand around George’s chest, pressing in close. George groans at the shift in his position. His mouth goes slack as Fred fucks him harder, faster.

“Fuck,” Draco mutters, and when he finally reaches for his cock, Fred smirks down at him. His thighs tremble where he’s still trying to hold them up and back, and it’s clumsy—George is holding his right hand in place—but he wraps his fingers around his cock and strokes his slick length.

His toes curl as they keep rocking into him. He’s so close; of course, after all the attention he’s paid to them all night, and they haven’t touched his cock at all… But Draco doesn’t mind that. Not here. Not now. He wants to cum, but not before they do. He doesn’t want to miss it. If this is the only time—

Fred never breaks eye contact with Draco as he bites the side of George’s throat. George’s hips stutter and Draco is certain his cock stiffens a little more before he cums. The groan he lets out has Draco moving his hand faster because he’s never heard anything sexier in his life, he’s certain. Maybe he never will.

George holds himself up with one hand, panting, face creased with pleasure. Fred kisses the back of his shoulder and pulls out—George grimaces, and Draco makes a sound of sympathy.

“Let me,” Fred says, and it’s Draco’s turn to whine as George pulls out this time, rolling over to collapse next to Draco on the bed. George curls onto his side and slides a hand over Draco’s narrow chest, then lower…

Fred grabs Draco’s thighs and shoves them apart. Draco whimpers at that, and again when he shoves inside, not hesitating one bit. Fuck. His eyes roll back as Fred fills him, and George bats Draco’s hand aside, starts stroking him with an even firmer grip.

They play him like some kind of instrument they’ve mastered, and Draco doesn’t know how it’s possible, but it is. George swallows every whine and whimper, pulling back only so Draco can breathe, and Fred fills him, fucks him, uses him just the way Draco asked for when he came in here.

Draco’s not sure which of them cums first. Fred and George are racing for it, he’s sure, and pleasure races through him as he tumbles closer and closer to that edge… But he moans and cums at the same time that Fred’s hips slap against his arse and he lets out a groan of his own.

He stays there, cock pushed in deep, and Draco knows that, logically, he can’t feel Fred cumming inside him, but for a second he thinks he can. His own cum splatters over his chest and belly and George keeps stroking him, milking out every last drop, and then goes until Draco whines and begs him to stop.

“’S too much. Please…”

George grins and kisses the corner of his mouth and lets go. Fred finally pulls out and collapses on the other side of Draco, still breathing hard.

Draco lies there for a moment, cum cooling on his skin and dripping from his arse. George hasn’t stopped touching him, but Fred isn’t touching him at all, and now that it’s over, cool air moving over their bodies, Draco is beginning to…

Not regret it.

Not exactly.

He should leave though, shouldn’t he? Should get up and dress and go home. His mother won’t notice how long he’s been gone. He can shower and go to bed and when he wakes, tomorrow, at least this might have worn him out enough that he won’t have had a nightmare.

He pushes up onto his elbows and George makes a quiet, questioning sound in the back of his throat. Fred lifts his head from the pillow, narrowing his eyes.

“Where are you going?”

“I—” Draco’s lost for words more often than not nowadays, but his voice entirely fails him for a few seconds. “I should go.”

“No,” Fred says.

Draco freezes in place like he’s just been stunned. “I… Sorry?”

“You should be,” Fred says, a spark of annoyance in his eyes. “Trying to run out on us after that.”

“I don’t—” Draco pulls at the remnants of his personality, tries to drag up that old, arrogant shield he used to inhabit. “You can’t keep me here.”

“Can’t we?” Fred asks. His smile turns lazy, but there’s a challenge in his eyes. George leans in closer, hot breath against Draco’s throat.

“We don’t have to,” he says, and Draco doesn’t look away from Fred, but it’s George’s words that have his heart beating faster. “You want to stay, don’t you? We want you to, you know. Want to keep you in this bed for as long as we can.”

He licks over the mark he left and Draco shivers. Could he simply… stay? It doesn’t seem possible.

And yet.

Who would notice?

Who would care?

Why shouldn’t he get to do something he wants?

Draco lies gingerly back down, and George immediately wraps himself around him, burying his face in the crook of Draco’s neck. Fred props himself up on one elbow, looking over the pair of them.

He looks unbearably smug, and yet Draco thinks he can bear it. He thinks he never wants Fred to look at him another way again.

“This what you want, Malfoy?” Fred asks. His fingers drift through the cum cooling on Draco’s stomach, and Draco shivers again. “You won’t be rid of us if you stay.”

Oh, that’s… That’s rather perfect, actually, even if Draco still doesn’t quite believe it.

“Yes,” he says, voice hoarse and quiet, and George kisses his neck as Fred leans in.

“You’re ours, Draco,” Fred says against his mouth. “Our pretty little toy. Only for us to share.”

He kisses Draco then, hard and demanding, and Draco moans into it, melts into it, aware of every point of contact between himself and both twins.

He’s more than a toy, he knows, from the way Fred cleans him up, then, and George helps him into bed, where they prod him to rest between them. Maybe this won’t last forever. Maybe it won’t last a week.

But Draco falls asleep with Fred and George wrapped around him, warm and comfortable, and doesn’t dream of anything at all.