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Rain Picnic	By : OceanCrossing Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Fred/George Views: 3592 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Rain Picnic
- 1
Disclaimer: Characters belong to J.K. Rowling, no
money is being made from this piece, etc. etc.�
Plot and writing of this fic is credited to
Jill, betaed by Ame.

Fred glared at the rain-spattered window pane with all the indignation a
four year old could muster. How he hated the rain. It always knew when to ruin
a pretty day. Every time he was having fun or every time they were going to go
out, the rain would always come along and ruin everything. Stupid
rain.

Okay, so it didn't happen every time, but still, it was raining
today, Going- to-the-Park-and-Flying Day. Why couldn't it have rained
yesterday, when it was hot and he had been all sweaty and wanted to find some
nice, sloppy mud to play in?

The rain was stupid, and it wasn't as important as the sun.
Someday, when he was bigger, he'd make it so the rain would never, ever fall
again. He'd be the best wizard there ever was, the wizard who stopped the rain.

�F'ed, wanna san'wich?�

If it had been anyone else, even his favoritest
big brother, Bill, he would have waved it away. He wasn't really in the mood
for eating. But then, he mused quietly to himself as he looked down into a pair
of smiling brown eyes so like his own, this wasn't just any brother.

George pulled himself up onto the window seat on the second try and
started unpacking a few more neatly wrapped sandwiches from his shirt pockets.
All of his shirts had a few more pockets that usual. Some of his shirts looked
like they were made out of pockets. George liked pockets.

George also liked eating weird things, like tuna-bacon-cheese sandwiches.
Fred chewed stoically, concentrating on the tart, fishy flavor.

�What else you made?� He asked, finally swallowing. Maybe -just maybe-,
his twin had come up with something palatable for a change. It could never hurt
to hope.

�Ham n' peanut butter.� the soft voice muttered, slightly muffled by a
sandwich of its own. �'N cream cheese 'n chicken.�

Never mind. Tuna-bacon-cheese was way better than either of those options.
At least he was used to it. It was the very first combination that George had
ever put together, and by now, Fred could take a bite without flinching.

Apparently, he could even space off in the middle of the bite. His elbow
was gently nudged and a hand teasingly ruffled his hair.

�Dunna worry, little brother.� Fred pouted at
the nickname, but hid it as he nibbled on his lunch. His brother scooted closer
until their shoulders brushed and George's breath was fogging across the glass.
�The rain gonna go away soon.�

�I hates the rain.� Fred grumbled, tugging at his
forelock as he leaned against his twin's comforting warmth instinctively,
knowing that he could gripe and complain as much as he wanted here in the
secret place they created. George would always be there for him, no matter
what.

�We was 'posed to go to the park today.�

�Nn.�

�We was 'posed to play Qu'dditch.�

�Nn.�

�We was 'posed to have fun.� Fred
was sniffling now and tears were brimming in his eyes even as he continued to
glare at the window. He refused to cry. Crying was for babies like Ron. He was
a big boy, Mama said so, and he would stop the rain. �I hates
the rain.�

A pair of soft, dry lips pressed against his cheekbone, kissing away a
fallen tear. Arms that held a world of soothing peace wrapped around him,
holding him so close their hair melded together, creating a wine-colored halo
that hid their faces.

�Dun worry, little brother...I'll keep the rain away for you.�

---

Fred burst into the changing rooms looking like he'd been dragged
backwards through the Great
Lake and severely
molested by the Giant Squid. A streak of lightning threw his silhouette against
the tiled floor, outlining his bedraggled form and a hairstyle gone nova.
Mercifully, no one was around to experience the heart attack his sudden
entrance could have caused. Well, no one aside from his brother.

�Practice ended an hour ago.� The familiar voice drawled. �Were you out
fighting the rain?�

'Fighting the rain'. That was a unique Weasley twin phrase, used whenever the situation warranted
it, or whenever George was in the mood to piss him off. Each time they were
asked about it, his brother would always smile in that secretive way that made
half the girls in Hogwarts fall head-over-heels in love, and say that it was
Fred...being Fred.

Quidditch gear smacked wetly against a wooden
locker, followed by a pair of mud-caked boots and a near translucent shirt, all
flopping listlessly to the floor as an irate half-naked redhead swept into the
showers.

George rolled his eyes at the diva-like attitude and finished toweling his
hair. Queen Fred could wait a bit longer for his fix. It wasn't that he minded,
per say; he was quite used to it by now. It was just that, every bloody time it
rained, it felt like the world was in the drama queen
clutches of two Draco Malfoys. He was grateful
that the size of the shower room and the sound of running water made it hard
for him to understand just what his brother was grousing about. Fred knew many, many swear words, not all of them in English, but all
of them capable of burning your ear hairs off. Sometimes they were more
effective than a real curse.

Even so, thirty minutes of non-stop mumbling was enough to drive a hermit
to genocide.

The rustle of the shower curtain went unnoticed, and then possessive brown
eyes were taking in their prize. Beads of water ran down the muscled expanse of
skin tanned a light caramel by the sun. His back and chest were a shade
lighter, imperceptible to those who had never spent hours on end just lying in
bed and gazing at chiseled perfection. The steam was making his own hair stick
to his forehead, but he ignored it in favor of following a single drop of water
as it escaped from the nape to run down the ridge of backbone and then
disappear between two perfect, firm-

�Dammit George, I'm taking a shower-�

He would probably regret it later, when he was in the locker room and his
shirt was soaked up to the shoulders and his hair was dripping wet yet again.
It had always surprised him that, no matter how foul Fred's mouth was, no
matter how truly explosive his temper was, his lips were still soft and
yielding beneath his. But not for very long.

�Dammit, George!�
I want to stay angry!

�Hurry up.� I know. �Dinner's probably half over by now. I know
you're hungry.� But I won't let you.

Fred scowled rebelliously at him from under his hair, but he just brushed
it off with another quick peck. Fred wouldn't be Fred if he didn't fight the
rain.

�Would you stop staring and get out of my cubicle already? Pervert.�

---

Cuddling with a just-showered, pajama-clad twin was way up there on
George's Favorite Things-to-Do list, and something he hadn't had the privilege
to indulge in recently. His brother was the overly-popular one, Gryffindor's Prankster King, a prot�g� after the Marauders'
own heart. Heck, he was a legend in his own right. Practically the whole school
knew about them and could probably write a five-foot essay on all of their
exploits.

Fortunately for him, the whole school also knew about Fred's quicksilver
temper and his general mind-set when the rain was pouring down in buckets,
which was basically 'Get-the-hell-out-of-my-way-before-I-xxxxxxx-you.'
So here he was with an armful of enraged, pouty
redhead, in a room so conveniently deserted by the schoolmates when his brother
'accidentally' ripped the lid off his trunk.

Fred preferred fruity kinds of shampoo as opposed to the plain lemon-mint heGeorge damp hair, breathing in the unique, refreshing
scent that was his brother while turning his head to lap up the few droplets
that were making their way down the smooth neck.

�Do I look like a picnic to you?� came the
waspish growl of the Weasley Grouch, even as an
imperceptibly shaking hand cupped the finger stroking his stomach. Don't
stop.

George had never tried to understand his twin's hatred of the rain. All he
needed to know was that whenever it did rain, Fred would seek out him,
and only him. It was enough.

It was enough to know that, for his brother, he was the only one who could
keep the rain away.
- 1
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Rain Picnic