Author's Note: I am incredibly grateful. I don't have words. I love you for adding this on your favourites, alerts and for the reviews I got! Unfortunately, this journey ends here.
I just don't have the inspiration, nor the motivation to continue. On the other hand, I never really expected this to be multi-chaptered, I only had a vague idea in the beginning and didn't even know how to write it.
I've improved my English throughout this story, and I am incredibly thankful for the feedback and the loving words that I got! Thank you so very much.
This is definitely not my last story between these two, although there might just be a couple of one-shots in the near future, if anything at all.
Thank you for your support, and enjoy!

~George~

It wasn't fair.

George Weasley was still on his knees, on his bed and he still had soothing, reassuring and loving words on the tip of his tongue.

The one the words belonged to, the one on his knees and a slight bitter taste on his lips, slouched his shoulders and stared numbly at the wall opposite of himself, by the headboard of his bed.

The one the words were supposed to invade had left moments ago.

Forget it.

If George hadn't spent his whole life trying to suppress everything, forget and forgive himself for the desires clinging to his body, he would gladly forget it.

He would embrace ignorance immediately if necessary, if possible.

George knew it wasn't possible. Oh, yes, it was most certainly necessary, but he wouldn't let Fred slip that easily.

He couldn't.

He wouldn't.

But he probably had to.

Forget it, will you?

No, he wouldn't. But he wanted to forget, suppress and never think of it again. He wanted to put it aside almost as much as he wanted to go back a couple of minutes in time and continue the treatment he gave Fred.

His brother, his twin brother.

What wasn't fair was that Fred once again proved to be the strong, loyal and honest one.

Fred didn't want them to crackle, willed the bond they had to stay in the determined shape of the love for a brother. Even though change could be good and the love for a twin was deeper than the love they held for the other brother's (or sister) in the household.

His sharp, miserable intake of breath bounced carefully about the room, as not to disturb him in his mourning.

His whole being seemed heavy and he slumped forward, caught himself with his palms pressed against the still-warm sheets.

Fred's warmth always comforted, soothed and his solace always brought a genuine smile to George's lips.

This time, however, the smile was strained, pained and crooked. A hint of misery curling up his cheek as he exhaled; only to breathe in sharply again.

He shook his head with the bloody not-so-much smile plastered over his face, he bet he was quite the sight.

Forget it.

How he wanted to, how he wished everything could go back to normal and how he could go back to watch Fed with adoration and admiration.

But he did not know how to make it normal.

They weren't really the definition of normal.

To define them had been proven difficult, almost impossible even, and he wasn't keen to know what anyone would say if he wanted them to define his former actions.

He suddenly chuckled, it rumbled out of his chest and upwards through his throat and left the humourless sound to echo above him.

The desire was still lingering within him, roamed his senses and was slowly replaced by a smothering agony that made the walls creep closer, slowly dislodging his sense from his body.

It doesn't work.

Oh, no, it doesn't. Not when one of them refuses to talk, only seek action to then slip away in the middle of it.

Of course nothing works if it isn't discussed beforehand.

Sure, it didn't work. George could take that.

It never will.

That, on the other hand, made him shudder involuntary and lie down; only to hiss in protest when his still present (and very hard) erection came to lay awkwardly against the mattress.

While on his side, George contemplated nothing, thought of nothing and, finally, felt nothing at absolutely all.

Except that tingling little taste buzzing in his mouth, still reminding him of their doings.

"As if any doing was present."

What an innuendo.

Funny.

Really.

He tried to make the corners of his mouth twitch, but they were determinedly in their place.

Bloody hell.

Forget it, will you? It doesn't work. It never will.

George closed his eyes, trying to forget it, but to no avail. It was stubbornly etched to him, engraved to his memory and he would still be able to remember it even if someone choose to Obliviate him.

Life was a blast, really.

That strange smile crept into his mouth and he felt like he was bleeding, crying and sweating misery. The only thing he needed to do now was to wait for it to drown him.

It would come to that, eventually. He knew. No one could feel this much and not decease.

It just wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair he was the one observing the retreating back, the loud thud the door made once it closed or the silence following.

The loneliness.

He didn't deserve it but he couldn't blame Fred either. He would've freaked out, too.

He suddenly bolted up, his eyes widening impossibly and his lips forming a breathless whimper, he tried to will the desire out of him, out of his body.

He tried to throw the mere thought of Fred away (which was hard for him to succeed with, every thought he had had since he was born probably included Fred) as he lowered his feet to the floor.

He flinched when his bare flesh connected with the cold, a flash of memory from a couple of days before very present. Fred did something that day, and that something sure was wanking off, and Fred did mutter something under his breath before his movement stilled and George had the courage to retreat back into the room.

Instead of teasing his brother into oblivion, he just commented something cheesy and gay about dreams.

George shook his head again, closing his eyes.

It's not time to think of the past.

But what would he think of? The future was too complicated and the present was still coating him in agony, misery and sin.

His pulse was pounding in his ears and he felt the urge to scream at the top of his lungs.

But he didn't.

He was left dumbstruck with anguish flooding within his body, leaving him shivering with the wish to cut himself open to let it flood out.

Accompanied by my blood.

He placed his chin in his hand and his elbow on his thigh, eyes watering and stinging relentlessly while his heart shattered into pieces so small he was sure he would never be able to repair it.

Or replace it.

Forget it, will you?

He was petrified, gaze locked with the wall across the room. He would never forget it. It wasn't possible, he wasn't able to. To forget it was to deny himself.

A part of himself.

Just as Fred was.

To forget it was to deny Fred, and George would never let that happen.

Maybe it wasn't strange, nor devastating, but heartbreaking.

Extremely, utterly and totally heartbreaking and George was helpless, speechless and reckless.

I'll show him, he thought as the shower on the floor above turned on and the sprinkles of water hit flesh and tiles, I'll show him good.

George Weasley's tears spilled over and stained his cheeks, his knees trembled when he rose, gathered clean clothes and left their room.

It wasn't fair, and he was about to change it.

~Fred~

What had him caught by surprise wasn't the fact that the water was achingly cold and thrummed against him like the rain a couple of days before, it wasn't even the fact that the water seemed reluctant to even turn warm.

What had him caught by surprise wasn't the ache in his chest.

Or the stinging in his eyes.

Not even his ever present erection that had the nerve to bloody dammit stay present even when assaulted by the freezing water.

It wasn't the tears streaming down his cheeks and it definitely wasn't the fact that the water turned lukewarm and drew a relieved sigh from his throat.

Hell, he wasn't even surprised when he heard the door open and someone step inside. He just figured Ginny was up early and decided to brush her teeth. Before breakfast. Three o'clock in the morning.

In the bathroom two floors under hers.

It was extremely logical in his brain.

And that was what caught him by surprise.

That hissing denial, threatening to tear him up and consume his misery.

And what struck him dumb was that screaming in his brain that urged George's presence even closer and quieted down when rustling was heard from behind the shower curtain.

What had him caught by surprise the second time in as many minutes wasn't the fact that it definitely was George on the other side of the curtain.

Or that his twin brother just choose to push said curtain aside and join Fred.

It wasn't the fact that George actually preferred his company over the silence in their room.

Or that George was naked with an equal, ever present erection in his nether regions.

It wasn't even the pleading tone in George's word "please" or the fact that Fred reached out to cup his brother's cheek.

What had him caught by surprise the second time in as many minutes was the time he decided that placing a chaste kiss on his brother's lips was a spectacular idea.

It didn't stay chaste for long.

Once Fred decided that it might be time to pull away, to keep that chaste touch to it, his demands was muffled by desire and suddenly he had George pinned to the tiles, hissing and arching off the cold.

So much for chaste.

George's arms wound themselves around Fred's neck, drew him closer, caused their hips to slam together and caused wonderful friction that elicited equal moans from their throats.

Blimey.

Fred's hands traced small, strange patterns across his brother's chest, down towards his abdomen and stilled suddenly when they met hipbones.

He instantly craved more, yearned more friction, more responses and just, plain, more.

Urging George's lips apart with a swift sweep across his bottom lip, Fred felt his Gryffindor courage rise within and boldly direct his fingers to his brother's crotch.

The same moment he palmed the hot and heavy arousal of his brother and curled lean fingers around the length, his tongue met an identical one in a battle for dominance.

Suppressing a grin when he discovered his advantage – with George's cock in his bloody hand and all – he used his left hand to knit into the red strands of his brother's hair, changing the angle to give him full access.

Teasing strokes drew impossible sounds from George, sounds Fred never imagined would even pass those lips, let alone travel their way down his own throat and vibrate through every inch of him.

Fred broke the kiss, loosened his grip on his brother and took a stumbling step backwards.

Both of them panted, chests heaving; trying to regain control of their breathing.

George was quite the sight with his hair all tousled, wet and wispy, puffy, darkened eyes and slightly parted, red and swollen lips which panted hot, shallow puffs of air.

Water hit Fred relentlessly, trickled down his aching body and his eyes must have shone with invitation for his shower partner was suddenly close enough to make both of their breaths hitch.

Their hands roamed relentlessly, both panting incoherent, inaudible words, neither registering what the other was saying.

Not that they needed words, only acting upon feeling, sensations and emotion.

Fred once again palmed, and curled his fingers around, his brother's throbbing cock, savouring the feeling and sounds. His left hand knitted itself into red strands again and he massaged the scalp hidden beneath.

He was a man on a mission, he aimed to please his brother thoroughly.

Alas, he lost the phase of stroking when George moaned and palmed Fred's length, swirling his thumb over velvety flesh and coating it with pre-cum as he exposed the crown.

Both choked on their breaths, crushing lips together with desperate need, trying to express everything in one bruising kiss.

When they parted, still achingly aroused, tousled and panting, George's face was hosting several expressions Fred wasn't certain he had seen before.

"We–" his brother panted, then took a deep breath to start over. "We really, really need to talk."

Fred tensed, trying to back away, to put some space between them, but stilled his motion when a slender hand cupped his cheek.

"Please," he whispered. "Fred, please hear me out."

Fred tensed his jaw, his stomach churning and his mind reeling about the situation, he held his breath and waited, suddenly more aware of consequences, rejection and misery.

That hissing denial tried its damned best to break his resolve, to tear him down when he exhaled and then breathed in sharply, promptly holding it, awaiting the words with worry etched across his features.

The light, bliss-filled chuckle from George lit up his eyes and chased away some of the anguish residing within.

"Don't look like that," he murmured. "I'm not going to say anything horrible."

Fred relaxed noticeable, but stood still nonetheless.

He had a nagging thought in the back of his head, an urge to speak first and when his brother inhaled enough oxygen to tell whatever tale he needed, Fred's finger reacted on its own accord, preventing the younger twin's words from escaping.

"I want you," he murmured, locking eyes with George. "I want to be yours forever."

He smiled briefly and then let the screaming demands in his head to steer his body, once again pinning the other wizard against chilling tiles, bruising their lips with yet another kiss.

The sheer force of their hips grounding together sent him shuddering, moaning and bite down in George's innocent lips, swallowing the oncoming groan his brother made.

They were relentless in their urgent exploring of one another's bodies, tracing every patch of skin, every freckle was memorized, every possible consequence forgotten with every whispered promise of eternal love.

Every molecule in their bodies screamed, shouted and pleaded for release, even as they craved the teasing strokes, nibbling and caresses, willed the moment to last.

They fumbled at each other, the hot stream of water still plunging down their bodies, heating them even further.

The following euphoric bliss, lazy touches and sweet kisses completed them thoroughly, both spent, sticky and content.

Cleaning themselves up, smiling faintly, uncertain what to say.

Fred cleared his raw throat, voice hoarse and with a slight husky tone to it.

"I meant what I said," he watched his brother closely, trying to read the reaction.

George smiled, eyes glowing with mirth.

"Forever, brother, is the longest time," he chuckled then, closing his eyes for a brief moment and sighing. "Be careful, I might just accept that promise."

Fred returned the smile, succeeded to give his brother a chaste kiss, that didn't turn into something else entirely, pulled back and surveyed the depth in eyes so much alike his own.

"Eternity isn't long enough," he chuckled, pressing his lips to George's left clavicle, nipping at it softly, eliciting a quiet moan from his twin. "Infinity is just the mere beginning."

Side note; Once again, thank you for reading! I love you all. (Kisses)