Hope Dies Hard


2,316 words
January 2, 2005

Harry Potter Fan Fics

George loves his brother, in good as well as in bad times.
Warning: twincest, light BDSM, submission, angst, darkish
This was a thank you for gmth for all the work she did in organising merry_smutmas.

Book Reviews

"Fred? I'm home!" The door clicked into its lock behind him. A swish of his wand moved his broom and bag to the wall. The bag opened and his sweaty uniform floated towards the laundry basket.

George strode through the hall, purposely not looking into the mirror on his left side and entered the sitting room. The afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, plunging the room into lines of shadow and light. George kicked his shoes off, flinging them against the nearest wall. They fell to the floor with a dull thud. A shiver ran down his spine when he noticed the newspapers strewn throughout the room, half-full teacups creating rings on the books littering the floor.

He rounded the sofa, fixing a smile onto his face. "Fred. I thought you wanted to meet Lee today." He was careful his smile didn't slip when he caught sight of his brother. It had been a bad day. Fred was slouching on the sofa, his right leg dangling from it at an awkward angle. He was still in faded blue boxers and an off-white T-shirt, red stubble was covering his cheeks and chin and his eyes were bloodshot.

When George spoke, he looked up from his contemplation of the dirty floor in front of him. "You want me to go, Georgie-boy? I thought you loved me?" For a second George pitied him for sounding so hurt. Then Fred destroyed the illusion. "I've been trying to find a job." He swept his hand in front of him to indicate the newspapers strewn about. "But nobody wants a cripple."

The silence after the hated word echoed through the room, deafening George. He heard Fred laugh harshly, watched him grab a cup from one of the books stacked next to the sofa and take a deep gulp of whatever was inside. He didn't know what to say. They had had this conversation uncounted times before, and he didn't know how he could change Fred's opinion.

He still had to try and gripped Fred by his shoulders. "You're going to get better." He didn't care that whatever booze Fred was downing today, swashed over the rim of the cup, ran down Fred's hand and left an almost transparent spot on his T-shirt. Fred likely didn't even notice.

Fred stared at him for a moment, put down the cup and sucked on his fingers to get all the traces of alcohol off. Then his mouth pulled into a leer. "At least you still want me." He pushed his head forwards and caught George in a kiss.

George stiffened. This hadn't happened in weeks. He had thought Fred was perhaps over it. With a small part of his brain yelling at him to just push Fred the fuck away, he started to kiss back. He had drowned that voice out before. Fred's mouth was dry against his, the taste of alcohol burning even second-hand. His hands were still on Fred's shoulders, and he slowly withdrew them. That was usually the time Fred wanted to go to the bedroom.

He didn't now. Instead George could feel Fred's hands on his face - still damp from licking them, sliding down, towards his neck, playing with the studded collar he wore. George closed his eyes when Fred started to nip at the flesh around the collar, tried not to see the looks that almost turned him into stone, the shaking heads and cruel smiles of his team mates the first time he had turned up with this little accessory, as Fred called it. He could make himself believe he didn't hear the curt remarks and leering jokes. Of course, he still heard and felt them, even through the haze of Fred touching more of him, opening the buttons of his shirt, pushing it down his shoulders.

A shiver ran through him even with some of the warm sun rays crisscrossing his back. Fred chuckled against the nipple he was sucking. "Knew you'd come around, brother mine." He looked up and for a second almost looked young again. He gripped George's hand. "C'mon. The bed will be better for what we'll do." He winked at him. When he tried to get up, his left foot knocked against a stack of books and he almost overbalanced. George caught his arm in the last moment.

George padded after Fred, careful not to overtake him. Fred had become sensitive about his ability to walk and the lack of it. The booze didn't help. He knocked against the door frame between the sitting room and bedroom and George winced in sympathy. To have his already oversensitive leg knock against something, was usually unpleasant, to say the least.

The door banged against the wall when Fred pushed it open too forcefully. He walked towards the bed with difficulty, George still behind him. The air in the bedroom smelled of sleep and unwashed clothes. Fred probably hadn't found the 'time' to air yet.

The bed was still unmade and Fred sat down on it. He grimaced when he hit the mattress, but quickly controlled his expression again. George had stopped a few feet from the bed and now he found himself staring into Fred's eyes once more. His hand went to the collar, which suddenly felt tighter around his neck.

This had been fun before the accident that blew up their laboratory and showered Fred in a mutant of Skele-Grow. Now it only reminded George of a desperate try to get back to the time that wasn't anymore. He had tried to move on, but Fred couldn't.

"Afraid of me, brother?"

He shook his head, long hair flying in every direction. Nowadays nobody mixed them up anymore. If it wasn't Fred's leg, it would be his expression, or George's hair, or his humour. It was strange not to be the same anymore.

George closed the distance between them, staring down into the eyes of his brother. Even through the small burst blood vessels, he could still see something of the boy he used to be. And that was what made him go through with this, what made him hope that one day Fred would see what he was still worth. And it reminded him that Fred was the one hurting.

Fred's cheek was scratchy, even against his calloused fingers, but he didn't pull back. This time it was George who initiated the kiss; he opened his mouth to let Fred explore him, not push Fred, but let himself be pushed.

Fred lapped at his mouth, into his mouth, around; the taste of booze was still lingering on his tongue, and for a long moment George thought about asking Fred to brush his teeth. Then reason caught up with him. He couldn't do that. Fred would be devastated.

A moment later his world tilted to the left. He stared up into Fred's face, the creases of the duvet digging into his back. Fred leered above him. "So you're not afraid at all? I know you don't really want this." He leaned down to kiss George and George could feel small trickles of spit gathering at the corner of his mouth.

"Ngh." He tried to pull away and tell Fred that he wanted, even if it was a lie. He couldn't. Fred was holding his wrists, his body more flexible than George would have thought and especially faster than he had expected. His breath was trying to burst from his lungs. Then his mouth was free again and he drew in huge gulps of air.

"Why would you want me? I'm nothing special anymore," he laughed harshly, "not a part of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes anymore, not the more notorious twin anymore." He stared into George's eyes and George felt a shiver running down his back. Despite the amount of booze Fred's appearance told him he had had, his eyes looked deadly serious. His voice wasn't slurred. He wasn't wobbly. He looked almost inhuman. "Don't you think I know all that? Don't you think I know I'm fucked up?"

Something wet splashed onto George's face and for a moment he wondered where it came from. He pulled his hands from Fred's grip without much resistance. He framed Fred's face and pulled it closer to his own. "I do want you." His stomach had gone from queasy to fluttering wildly - not in a good way - but he ignored his body. His brother, his twin, Fred needed him.

He knew what Fred needed to feel better. He pushed his head up and caught Fred in another kiss. Fred needed to feel in control and he would give him that control. His willed his muscles to relax, give Fred the hint that he could still do whatever he wanted, that it didn't matter that he had just shown weakness, that he could still be the one controlling something, even if it wasn't his own life anymore.

For a moment nothing happened, and then George could feel Fred's shoulder muscles tightening, his hands were tugged above his head again. Fred's body was heavy against his own, his left leg weighted down with Fred's injured right. Their chests, stomachs, cocks rubbed together... suddenly all sensation vanished: the mouth, the heat. Only the wetness around his mouth was lingering. He opened his eyes, not even aware he had closed them and looked at Fred.

"If you say so." George's stomach knotted at the look he received.


Black leather cuffs were digging into his wrists. They matched his collar. Same colour, same silver buttons on them, same queasy feeling in his stomach wearing them for the first time. He tugged once, for no reason. He knew he couldn't get free, but he still felt the need to pull.

He was distracted from another fruitless attempt, though. Teeth were pulling at his collar, dipping down to nick his neck, hands were moving over his chest, pinching his nipples. There was nothing in Fred's touch that suggested he didn't have all the assurance he needed.

George knew better. He arched his back, pushing his chest against Fred's. His mouth was caught in another kiss and he finally welcomed the sensation. He may not be crazy about fucking Fred anymore, but they still had enough practice together to make it damn good when they actually went at it.

Fred's tongue drove into his mouth, his fingers pulled at George's left nipple even more harshly. Then he drove his hand down George's chest, over his stomach, through his hair, tugging at it, sending small shocks to his brain. Finally, he curled around George's cock, gave a few tugs, long, hard ones, harder than he preferred. Good.

George breathed harshly through his mouth. He could feel sweat starting to form on his prickling skin. He could forget everything high on these sensations. More tugging, then a slow slide down, to his balls, cupping, kneading, just a touch too powerful. He squeezed his eyes shut, not letting a tear escape, throwing his head back. This felt good, he knew it was supposed to feel good, he could imagine that it felt good. Lots of people liked it rougher, he could as well.

Hot breath against his face, the tugging came to a stop. He opened his eyes. Fred's eyes were still bloodshot, but he looked happier than before. "Good?"

George nodded jerkily. This felt good, he told himself. It had to feel good. "Yeah. More?"

Fred grinned. "Right away, sir!" His head disappeared and George closed his eyes again. Warmth around his cock, wet warmth. He sighed happily. This really was good. Then Fred's mouth moved further down, covering his balls, tongue licking around them. His legs feel open even further. He moaned.

Fred pushed at his legs, pushed them up to his chest, spreading him open, moved his mouth further down, and again surprising George with his dexterity. His tongue dipped into George's crack, leaving a wet trail, getting closer to his hole, finally reaching it. George whimpered when Fred licked at it, drove his tongue against the tightly closed muscle. He loved rimming and Fred knew that.

Suddenly, Fred's tongue vanished, leaving George wanting more, not wanting this to end. Then he felt slippery stuff at his hole, a finger probing into him, pushing even when he thought it wouldn't fit.

Then the finger pulled out. More slippery stuff. Fred's cock pressing against him. Into him. Filling him. Cock and pain. Pain and cock. Through the deafened haze his mind had become he heard himself calling out to Fred, saying more and faster and harder, even though his brain screamed slower and softer. Fred pushed into him in a staccato rhythm, following his own head in which speed to use. His grunts exploded into the room, piercing the haze around George.

He moved faster and faster and George held onto the headboard. His body shook with the force of the thrusts, his teeth were clenched or they would have shattered. He brazed himself. Thrust, thrust, rub, cock, pain - less, but still there. His eyes rolled back when Fred gave a last vicious thrust, stilled over him and in him. The air in the room came to a halt, sound returned. Both of them were breathing heavily.

Fred pulled out of him, rubbing the soreness once more and collapsed half on George. "Ow. That wasn't good for my leg." He smiled at George sleepily.

George only nodded, trying not to look at Fred, but having to see what he was doing. He rattled the cuffs to remind Fred about them.

Fred opened the leather buckles and looked down at George. His expression changed. "Tomorrow I'll stop." Fred looked at him, clarity in his eyes. "You know I will, don't you?"

George pulled Fred's head back down to his shoulder and nodded. "Of course." He knew what would happen tomorrow. Fred had promised before. But he still loved his brother.
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