Really, I'll just take any excuse to write twincest.
PS--I didn't really beta this myself because the boy is asking me to go to the CG, so you'll have a field day with typos no doubt.
It's All in the Kneepads
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 Fred’s presence was relegated 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.”