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Draco Malfoy was having the worst day imaginable.

His potions essay. Two full feet of painstakingly researched, meticulously written work had been obliterated by an idiot Hufflepuff’s cauldron explosion. Professor Snape had barely spared him a glance before dismissing him with a curt “Rewrite it.”

Then, to make matters worse, McGonagall had given him detention for something he absolutely did not do (that bloody third-year had tripped over his own feet, thank you very much).

And then, as if the universe had personally conspired against him, Pansy had spent the entire afternoon in his ear about. Merlin, he didn’t even know what. Something about shoes, or her hair, or maybe a fight with Daphne, he hadn’t been listening, too busy clutching his quill in a death grip and resisting the urge to slam his head against the nearest surface.

By the time he stalked down the corridor near the library, his fingers were twisted in his hair, his jaw tight, his frustration practically vibrating off him in waves. He let out a sharp, exhausted groan, muttering furiously to himself.

“Absolute bollocks. Rewrite an entire bloody essay. Fucking Hufflepuffs. Fucking detention—”

He needed a break. He needed peace, silence, something. Anything.

Just as the thought passed… a meow.  

Draco froze mid step. 

A second meow followed, insistent and demanding, and when he glanced down, he was met with the sight of two orange tabby cats sitting perfectly in the middle of the corridor, their tails flicking lazily behind them. Draco blinked.

The first cat, a striking striped thing with sharp eyes, took a step forward and immediately wound around his legs, rubbing its face against his shin.

The second one, a slightly fluffier tabby, padded closer and butted its head firmly against his knee before licking the back of his hand with a rough, scratchy tongue.

Draco exhaled, something in his chest loosening just a little.

He hesitated for only a moment before crouching down, reaching out tentatively. As soon as his fingers scratched behind the first cat’s ears, it leaned into his touch enthusiastically, its purring practically vibrating against his palm. The second cat pressed closer, rubbing its cheek against his sleeve, its whiskers tickling his wrist.

“Oh, you poor neglected things,” Draco murmured, dragging his fingers through the first cat’s fur, rubbing at the base of its skull. “Has no one been giving you attention? Honestly, the standards in this school have plummeted, who could resist such charming little guys?”

The first cat, the dramatic one, clearly, flopped onto its back, stretching out luxuriously, paws curling in the air as if to say, Go on, then. Adore me.

Draco did, stroking its soft belly, his lips twitching into something dangerously close to a smile.

The second cat, apparently unsatisfied with the amount of attention it was receiving, clambered onto his bent knee and promptly pressed its face against his cheek, purring so loudly it almost sounded smug.

Draco chuckled, rubbing his fingers along the cat’s jaw. “Alright, alright. Needy little monsters, aren’t you?”

The first cat gave a pleased trill and stretched out even further, its paws batting at Draco’s wrist.

Draco smirked, scratching at its chin. “You’re both terribly handsome, you know.”

Almost immediately, both cats began enthusiastically rubbing their faces against his, pressing into him, licking at his jaw, nuzzling into his neck and cheeks like he was the single most interesting thing they’d ever encountered.

Draco huffed a startled laugh as they headbutted his face, tails flicking wildly. “Alright, you two are ridiculous.”

The cats, seemingly pleased with themselves, purred louder, winding around him, climbing onto his legs, rubbing against his chest. And Draco could feel the tension in his body draining with every warm brush of fur against his skin, every affectionate little press of their heads against his.

He sighed, letting them climb all over him, his fingers scratching behind their ears, along their backs. It was nice. Relaxing, even.

Until a sudden whoosh of  magic, the warmth against his side changed. The soft fur under his fingers disappeared.

And instead of two adorable, affectionate tabbies… he was now kneeling between Fred and George Weasley.

Draco completely froze, his mind not catching up fast enough to process the change. 

The twins were grinning, smug, and entirely too close and did not pull away.

Instead they moved closer. 

A pair of strong hands smoothed over his shoulders, trailing down his arms, fingers kneading lightly as if mapping him out. Another hand rested at the small of his back, warm and insistent, rubbing slow circles.

Draco tried to process what in Merlin’s name had just happened, but his brain wasn’t cooperating.

The twins leaned in further. Still nuzzling into his neck like this was complete normal or something. 

Draco’s hands were still resting against one of their chests. “What the hell—“

Who he assumed was George hummed, pressing a kiss against Draco’s cheek. “Y’know, you give wonderful chin scratches, Malfoy.”

Fred, he thought, tilted his head, amusement curling at his lips. “We did quite like the attention.”

The other twin, who had the audacity to still be pressing into his jaw, sighed dramatically. “It’d be a shame to stop now.”

Draco’s entire body went stiff. His hands twitched on one of their chests, but he yanked them back like he’d been burned. “What the fuck—”

He tried to shove them off, but they were solid, their warmth pressing into him from either side, and instead of retreating, they only pressed closer .

George—maybe?—tilted his head, amusement curling at his lips. “And you did call us handsome.”

Fred dragged his lips down Draco’s throat, and hummed contentedly. “Mm, yeah. Terribly handsome, I believe.”

Draco barely had time to glare before George dipped his head, inhaling slowly against the side of his neck.

His breath stuttered. Something hot curled in his stomach.

“Merlin, he smells good.”

Draco’s hands twitched, his entire body locked up, every instinct screaming to shove them off. They were loud, they were annoying, they were Weasleys. He’d spent years rolling his eyes at them, sneering at them, dismissing them. And now—

Fred, definitely Fred, pressed a teasing kiss just beneath his ear, then lower, skimming along the sharp line of his jaw. His tongue darted out to sample the soft skin, slow, deliberate.

“Mmm,” he hummed, lips brushing Draco’s throat. “Smells good, tastes even better.”

Draco sputtered, wrenching his head back. “Fuck off—”

A low chuckle against his pulse. “Now, now, darling, no need for such language,” Fred murmured, breath warm against his throat.

George’s lips ghosted over his cheek, his voice rich with amusement. “Yeah, we were just giving our affectionate little pet owner a proper thank you. ”

Draco was on fire. His thoughts scrambled, tripping over themselves in an effort to stay coherent. Push them off. Shove them away. His body, traitorous and aching, did no such thing.

“Merlin, he’s soft,” Fred rasped against his jaw, punctuating the statement with a teasing nip. His teeth scraped barely-there over sensitive skin, and Draco gasped.

George made a pleased sound, nosing against his neck before murmuring, “And pretty.”

Draco choked out a noise, half protest, half something else entirely.

This is ridiculous. This is absurd. This is—

“That’s it,” Fred purred, hands smoothing down Draco’s sides. “There’s our good boy.”

Draco twitched. Not theirs. But his tongue felt heavy in his mouth, his body arching slightly into their touch despite himself.

“I am not—”

George grasped his jaw, firm yet teasing, and turned him to face Fred, whose lazy grin widened as his thumb brushed over Draco’s parted lips.

“Oh yeah, Georgie,” he drawled, voice thick with amusement. “Look at those eyes.”

Draco barely had time to process before Fred turned his chin again, forcing him to meet George’s gaze. The redhead had pulled away from his throat, now watching him with something wicked curling at the edges of his smirk.

“How gorgeous,” George murmured.

Draco’s breath caught. His bad day? Forgotten. His mind ? Blank.

Fred and George were everywhere. Their hands smoothing over his back, his sides, his abdomen, tracing the tops of his thighs, their lips pressing into his throat, his jaw, his skin. His mind screamed at him to do something , to sneer, to demand space, but their voices, soft, smooth, deep with a hint of rasp… sank into his bones.

And their hands. Fuck, their hands. They mapped over him like they could , like they should . George’s grip was firm, insistent, fingers pressing into him like he wanted to leave a mark. Fred’s touch was slower, teasing, fingertips gliding with an almost reverent pressure that made Draco’s stomach coil tight.

He hadn’t realized how much he needed this. How long it had been. How fucking touch-starved he was.

Fred was still smirking at him, eyes flickering down to his lips. Draco barely had a second to react before that same smirk disappeared against his mouth.

The kiss was steady, confident, utterly consuming. Fred tasted faintly of something sweet, his lips warm and firm, and Draco, against every ounce of his better judgment, melted into it.

A low, wrecked sound slipped from his throat.

“Merlin,” he breathed when Fred pulled back, but then George was there, catching his chin, tilting his head and claiming his lips with more urgency. George kissed like he wanted to own the moment, like he wanted to draw every sound out of Draco, to leave him wrecked and panting.

And it was working.

Draco groaned into it, his fingers twitching before they found purchase, grabbing, gripping, sliding up one of their throats, tilting them in return. He didn’t even care who.

Fred hummed approvingly as Draco’s nails scraped lightly along his jaw, his lips quirking as he nipped teasingly at the corner of Draco’s mouth.

George, on the other hand, groaned outright, his hands tightening around Draco’s waist, dragging him impossibly closer. “Fuck, Freddie, he’s eager now. ”

Draco would’ve scowled, would’ve shot back something sharp and biting, but Fred’s teeth caught his bottom lip and tugged, and ohhh—

His mind was slipping, slipping, slipping—

And the worst part?

He didn’t want it back.

“Merlin, you melted quick, didn’t you?” George murmured, his voice low and pleased, like this was all some grand experiment he’d just proven correct. His fingers toyed at the buttons of Draco’s shirt, skimming over his chest with the lightest pressure, enough to make Draco’s breath hitch. “So pliable.”

Draco shivered, lips parting, his head tipping slightly. C hasing, craving, before he caught himself. “I—I am not—”

But he was barely given a moment to breathe before his chin was caught and turned, and then ohh, he was being kissed again.

Georges lips left him, only for Fred to take his place, tilting Draco’s head up with teasing fingers to claim his mouth. His kiss was different. Deeper, slower, demanding. A contrast to Georges steady heat, and Draco’s thoughts fractured .

Why did they feel so good? So warm? Why did their touches, their voices, make his mind go so blissfully blank?

And Merlin, their cologne, it was everywhere. Wrapping around him, seeping into his skin, their scent mixing into something intoxicating.

One of them. Fred? George? Skimmed a hand down his ribs, down to the curve of his waist, fingers pressing just enough to make him arch.

“Feels even better than he looks, doesn’t he, Georgie?”

George, still mouthing at his jaw, hummed in agreement, his hand slipping into Draco’s hair, curling at the roots. “Mmm. And sounds even prettier.”

Draco barely had time to register the words before teeth sank into his shoulders on both sides.

He gasped, a sharp, broken sound ripping from his throat, his entire body jerking in response. At the same time fingers tangled in his hair and pulled. The mix of sensation sent a full-body shudder through him, pleasure sparking at the base of his spine.

“Ohhh, listen to that,” Fred purred against his ear, his breath warm, teasing. “So sweet.”

Draco let out another sound, something desperate, something he couldn’t hold back if he tried.

He was lost. Drowning in them.Their hands, their lips, their voices. It was all too much. Overwhelming. Overstimulating. Perfect.

His world was slipping further away, reality blurring at the edges.

He wasn’t sure who was touching him anymore, who was kissing him, who was speaking. He could barely breathe between them. His body felt impossibly warm, heat curling low in his stomach, his limbs loose and uncooperative as hands. Merlin, so many hands, dragged him closer, caressed his sides, traced over his ribs, his waist, pulling him in until he was settled on someone’s lap.

Draco wasn’t sure whose lap, not at first. His head was too fogged, his thoughts too tangled, his body boneless between them until he was kissed. Slow, deep, careful and tender.

Fred. It had to be Fred.

Draco gasped against his mouth, his fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater, desperate for something to hold onto as his head was tilted further, forced to receive it. Fred’s hands were so warm, sliding over his back, grounding him, anchoring him in a way that made his stomach twist.

“Draco,” Fred murmured against his lips, voice soft, reverent.

It made something in Draco crack open.

George moved behind him, steady and solid, his body a firm weight at Draco’s back. His lips were insistent against the side of Draco’s throat, teeth scraping, biting, tongue soothing.

His hands were firm, gripping Draco’s hips, holding him there, pressing him further into Fred’s lap with a pleased hum.

Oh fuck.

Draco whined, a sound he didn’t even recognize coming from him.

“Making such gorgeous noises,” George mused, his voice a slow, wicked thing, dragging his lips up to Draco’s ear. “You hear him, Freddie?”

Fred hummed in agreement, his hands sliding down Draco’s sides, skimming his thighs, giving them an appreciative squeeze.

“Oh yeah, Georgie.” Fred’s voice was rich with approval, thick with amusement. “He sounds lovely. ”

And Draco… Draco just melted.

Fully, entirely. No resistance left.

Their voices blended together, harmonizing in that distinct way of theirs, one smooth and slow, the other rasping, teasing. It wrapped around him, pulled him under, settled into his skin.

Draco made a helpless, shuddering sound, heat pooling low in his stomach, his head tilting back against George’s shoulder before he even realized he was doing it. Their hands, their lips relentless. His skin tingled under their touch, his mind drowning in the sheer persistence of it all.

Then George caught his chin, fingers curling firm against his jaw as he tugged Draco’s head to the side, forcing him to meet his sharp, knowing gaze.

“Ohhh, would you look at that,” he murmured, dragging his thumb along Draco’s cheek, voice dripping with satisfaction. “Completely dazed already.”

Fred wasn’t far behind, tilting Draco’s face back toward him, his lips hovering just over Draco’s, close enough that their breaths mingled.

“Such a sight, aren’t you, Draco?” he mused, his voice smooth, laced with amusement.

Draco burned. His whole body felt electric, every nerve ending alight, every sensation heightened by the way they kept talking, about him, to him, their voices blending, filling every inch of space around him. Dragging him deeper, wrapping around him like silk.

He struggled to think, to keep up, to sort through their teasing questions, but his own mind was too full—of heat and touch and scent. Every response, every tiny noise he made, only encouraged them.

George chuckled against his throat, the vibration of it sinking into Draco’s skin. “Oh, he’s struggling. Look at him, Fred.”

“Absolutely wrecked,” Fred agreed, his hands caressing Draco’s waist, tracing slow, grounding circles. His touch was steady, almost soothing like he was taming him. “And so warm.”

George pressed impossibly closer, the heat of his body against Draco’s back a heady contrast to the cool tease of his breath against his jaw.

“Bet he’s even warmer inside. ”

Draco let out an indignant noise, snapping back to reality just enough to scowl.

“Oh, fuck off— ”

But Fred caught his lips before he could say anything more, swallowing the words right out of his mouth. The kiss was slow and lazy, purposeful. Fred was savoring him, teasing him, making it perfectly clear that every little protest was utterly useless.

When he pulled back, he did it with a smug, knowing hum, running his tongue briefly over his lower lip like he was tasting Draco.

“Mmm. Sweet little thing, isn’t he?”

George grinned, pressing a lingering, indulgent kiss to the side of Draco’s throat. “Lucky us .”

Draco groaned, slumping further against them, his resolve crumbling like sand slipping through his fingers.

Heat wrapped around him from all sides, their hands keeping him exactly where they wanted him guiding, teasing, possessing. His thoughts were unraveling, his mind reduced to nothing but sensation. Warm fingers tracing patterns over his hips, a slow caress up his sides, a teasing graze of nails along the back of his neck.

And the talking.

Merlin the talking.

“He’s trembling ,” Fred murmured against his jaw, lips brushing the skin with every syllable.

“He is, isn’t he?” George hummed from behind him, his chest a steady, solid weight against Draco’s back. “Poor thing. We must be overwhelming him.”

Fred caught his chin again, tilting his face up as if inspecting him, his eyes dark with satisfaction.

“Mmm. Do you think we should stop, Georgie?”

Draco barely had time to process the question before George laughed low and husky, the sound slinking down Draco’s spine like warm honey, his breath ghosting over the sensitive shell of his ear.

“Oh, absolutely not .”

Draco gasped as George’s teeth sank into his neck, hard enough to make him jolt. The sudden spark of sensation sent a shockwave through his body, a desperate, embarrassing noise spilling from his throat before he could choke it down.

And of course they grinned.

“There we go,” Fred praised, thumbing at Draco’s jaw, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “That’s it, darling.”

Darling. 

Draco groaned , his face burning as he tried to turn his head away, only for Fred’s grip to tighten, forcing him to look.

“Ah, ah,” Fred tutted, smirking, his fingers tightening just enough to keep Draco from turning away. “Let’s see those eyes, love.”

Draco tried, really tried to summon a glare, to snap back with something sharp, something biting. But then George’s hands dragged lower, smoothing down his sides, over his ribs, down, down. Until he was palming his cock through his trousers, his touch firm, knowing, devastating.

Draco’s entire body jolted, breath punching out of him. “F -fuck ,” he gasped, shuddering.

Fred grinned. “See, that’s what we like to hear.”

George chuckled against his cheek, his lips warm, teasing, still moving, mouthing at the sensitive skin there as his fingers continued to roam. “Mmm. Maybe we should see what else he has to say, huh?”

Before Draco could even catch his breath, he was moved, tilted, pulled, his head yanked back as his lips were caught in a deep, commanding kiss. It stole the air from his lungs, made his pulse stutter, made his fingers tighten in Fred’s sweater like it was the only thing tethering him to reality

George kissed like he owned Draco’s breath, like he was laying claim to every little noise, every tiny shiver, every second of hesitation. Like he wanted to leave Draco so wrecked that there would be nothing left of him but this.

Draco whimpered into his mouth, helpless, ruined, gone. The sound had both twins purring in approval.

“So good for us,” Fred murmured, his lips brushing against Draco’s jaw, pressing slow, soft kisses there.

“So good,” George echoed, his fingers threading into Draco’s hair, giving it a delicious little tug before deepening the kiss, pulling Draco closer, closer. “How lucky are we?”

Draco’s entire body thrummed, every nerve ending focused on where they were touching him, pressing against him, where their lips were and where they weren’t. He wanted more. Needed more.

Fred smirked, his voice thick with amusement, with pleasure. “We’re lucky, aren’t we, baby?”

Draco only pressed his cock forward into George’s hand, another wrecked little whine leaving him, but he didn’t respond. Didn’t trust his voice. 

Fred clicked his tongue. “Answer us, love.”

George’s fingers stilled . Pulled away.

Draco let out a sharp, desperate noise in protest, the sudden loss like a punch to the gut.

“With your words,” George murmured, the demand deceptively soft.

Draco’s breath left in sharp, shallow gasps. He barely had the strength to think, let alone speak, but the second George’s touch returned, featherlight, teasing, dragging along the inside of his thigh, he jerked forward, head spinning.

“y-yes—lucky,” he gasped.

George hummed approvingly, dragging his teeth over Draco’s lower lip before pulling back, just slightly, just enough to watch him chase after the kiss.

“Mmm, Freddie,” he mused, satisfaction dripping from every word. “Think we can make him melt a little more ?”

“Oh, no doubt,” Fred smirked, his hands sliding up the insides of Draco’s thighs, barely touching, teasing . “He’s already halfway there.”

Draco shuddered, overwhelmed, overstimulated, heat pooling deep in his stomach as their touches grew lazier, their voices more satisfied—like they knew they had him exactly where they wanted him.

His world had been reduced to hands, mouths, heat. His breath stolen between teasing kisses, his skin burning, his mind frayed.

“Oh, he’s gorgeous like this,” Fred murmured, dragging his lips along Draco’s cheek, nipping playfully before slotting their mouths together slow, deep, like he had all the time in the world.

George exhaled a pleased sound, his hands slipping beneath Draco’s shirt, fingertips ghosting over his stomach, tracing slow, lazy patterns. “Feels like he was made for this,” he murmured, voice thick with hunger, with certainty, as he kissed along Draco’s skin.

Like he knew it to be true.

Draco whimpered loudly.

Fred purred, his grin practically audible. “Oh, we like that one.”

“We do,” George agreed, his hands sliding up Draco’s sides, reveling in the way he shivered beneath his touch.

Draco groaned, tried to scowl, tried to muster something sharp, but it was useless his body betrayed him, his resolve crumbling, his hips twitching forward on instinct, seeking them out even as his lips parted on a breathless, half-hearted—

“Piss off .”

Fred laughed, tucking his face against Draco’s neck, his lips curving right over his pulse, smug and settled. “Why would we do that, pretty boy?”

“When we’re having such a lovely time?” George added, tipping Draco’s chin up, brushing their noses together, close enough that their breaths tangled.

Draco swallowed hard, his heart hammering against his ribs. “ You’re both terrible. ”

George smirked, his fingers dragging slow and deliberate up the back of Draco’s neck, leaving a wake of shivering skin. “And you,” he murmured, voice thick with something dangerous, “feel delicious .”

Fred moved from Draco’s throat to his lips, his breath warm, his mouth hovering just close enough to make Draco ache with anticipation.

“Mmm,” Fred hummed, the sound a slow, satisfied purr. “Wonder how sweet he can be.”

Then he caught Draco’s bottom lip between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to make Draco gasp, a sharp little sound that Fred swallowed as he surged forward, kissing him deep, sliding his tongue into Draco’s mouth.

He didn’t rush it. No, he took his time, tasting him, mapping out every inch, dragging his tongue along Draco’s own, pressing into him like he wanted to leave something permanent behind.

Draco barely had a brain cell left to process it, his thoughts wiped clean by the sharp sting, the heat of it, the dizzying shift from pain to pleasure as Fred’s tongue traced over the same spot he’d bitten.

Fred’s lips lingered, teasing, grazing over Draco’s in a way that left him moving after it, wanting more.

Then, as if savoring the moment, Fred flicked his tongue out, dragging it deliberately across Draco’s bottom lip, slow and indulgent. “Oh, yeah,” he murmured, voice a low drawl of satisfaction. “Definitely sweet.”

“Mmm,” George hummed, his lips trailing along Dracos skin, his tone deep, savoring. “Heavenly, even.”

Draco’s face burned, breath catching, his body betraying him further as he melted deeper into their hold. Fred’s hands ghosted over his aching, throbbing cock through his trousers, barely touching, barely giving him what he needed. Draco nearly said please, the word trembling on the edge of his tongue. But instead, he pressed his hips forward, chasing the touch, silently asking.

George smirked. “You like this.”

Fred hummed, fingers teasing just over the damp fabric. “Loves it, actually.”

Draco wanted to argue. Wanted to fight. Wanted to claw back some semblance of control.

But then George’s fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to tip his head back.

At the same time, Fred pressed his thumb against the leaking tip of Draco’s cock, feeling the wet spot through his trousers, dragging the pad of his finger over it just to make him whine softly.

Fred groaned, voice thick with approval. “Oh, that was a real pretty one.”

George grinned, his voice dipping lower, silk and sin. “We do love pretty things.” He tilted Draco’s face toward Fred, their lips barely brushing. “Go on, then.”

Fred kissed him. Slow and deep, his tongue tracing along the seam of Draco’s mouth, coaxing, teasing, waiting for him to break.

And Merlin help him, Draco did.

His hands fisted in Fred’s jumper, yanking him closer, his body arching into them, into their warmth, their touch, their everything. He reached up, his fingers scraping along Fred’s jaw, nails trailing down his throat. 

Fred groaned into his mouth, loving the sting, deepening the kiss with a pleased little hum.

“Lucky us.”

Fred barely pulled away, just long enough to grin. “So bloody lucky.”

George claimed his mouth next. No teasing this time, no slow build, just pure, deliberate hunger. His teeth nipped at Draco’s bottom lip, his tongue sweeping in, demanding, devouring.

Draco keened, and George groaned, sucking on his tongue, taking from him, pulling him under.

Draco reached back blindly, desperate, threading his fingers into George’s hair, tugging and George shuddered, his hands tightening around Draco’s waist in response.

Draco could barely think. Could barely breathe. And he didn’t even care.

Somewhere, at some point, he had let go. 

Maybe it was when Fred had kissed him senseless. Maybe it was when George had whispered against his skin, calling him sweet and soft, his voice thick with hunger. Or maybe it was when their hands had started guiding him, pulling him closer, pressing him between them like they couldn’t bear even an inch of space.

Not that Draco could either. Not anymore.

“Switch,”  George murmured against his lips, grinning as he shifted back.

Draco barely had time to process before George hauled him into his lap, pulling him flush against his chest.

And fuck. Draco’s cock pressed right against him, and his eyes nearly rolled back at the sensation alone.

George’s grip tightened, firm and possessive, his breath warm against Draco’s ear. “My turn to feel you.”

Draco shuddered, heat licking up his spine.

Fred chuckled lowly, sliding in behind him, his hands immediately finding Draco’s waist, holding him tight , pinning him between their bodies.

“We do like to share,” Fred purred, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the back of Draco’s exposed shoulder.

And Merlin, Draco thought, exhaling a shaky breath. He was done for.

Draco let out a strangled noise as George kissed him again deeper this time, consuming him, his lips soft but firm, his tongue sweeping against Draco’s in a slow, tantalizing drag that made his stomach tighten, made heat coil through his spine. And then…

Oh.

Fred’s hands pressed firmly into his hips, strong and guiding, urging him downward, forcing him to grind against George’s lap, his aching cock dragging against George’s hip in a way that sent a violent tremor through his limbs.

Draco moaned.

A real moan.

A broken, breathy, needy thing that echoed between them, filling the space with something raw and unfiltered. It escaped before he could stop it, before he could swallow it down and fuck, fuck it felt so good.

His thighs trembled as Fred kept him moving, a slow, steady rhythm that sent shockwaves through his nerves. His fingers dug into George’s chest, nails scraping against the fabric of his jumper, searching for something to anchor him.

Fred groaned behind him, nosing at the back of his neck, inhaling like he was drunk on the moment. “Oh, pretty boy likes that.”

George smirked against his lips, his voice drenched in amusement and something darker. “Bet we’re making him feel so good.”

Draco should be mortified.

He should be pushing them away. He should be ashamed. But he wasn’t.

All he could do was move, let himself be moved, let them take from him, let them pull him into exactly what they wanted, and shit—why did he like it so much? His head was spinning, his body melting, his breath coming in sharp, erratic bursts.

He wanted more. He was on the verge of begging for it, because this wasn’t nearly enough. 

“Doing so well for us, darling,” Fred purred, his hands strong on his hips, making sure he felt every slow grind against George’s lap, every firm drag of George’s cock pressing against him. “Isn’t he?”

George’s grip on his thighs tightened, fingers digging into the muscle. “Oh, he’s absolutely perfect. Look at those hips move for us.” He moaned, quiet but deep, pressing up into the friction, his body reacting to Draco’s every shift.

“Uhh…fuck—oh gods—“ Draco moaned, his entire body burning, his skin flushed, heat pooling low in his stomach. His head was spinning, reeling. 

Fred hummed pleased, pressing in closer, his chest solid against Draco’s back, surrounding him, caging him in. Letting him feel him. Every inch.

And gods, they were big.

Towering over him, their hands encompassing him, their touch possessive and unrelenting and Merlin help him, their cocks felt thick against him, pressing into his back, into his thigh, making his breath stutter, making him ache.

Draco choked out another moan, his fingers fisting harder in George’s jumper, his entire body trembling as he ground harder against them. His breath shattered, his mind a blur of desperate, needy want.

George’s breath hitched , his grip tightening around Draco’s waist. “Oh, fuck, ” he groaned, his voice thick, his mouth right at Draco’s cheek, hot and teasing. “Listen to him.”

Fred’s fingers slid under Draco’s shirt, tracing slow circles against his stomach, featherlight but deliberate. “Bet he’d sound even prettier if we—”

“Stop talking,” Draco gasped, his face burning, but he didn’t stop, he couldn’t. Not when they were touching him like this, holding him like this, ruining him with every whispered praise, with every roll of his hips against them.

But fuck , he didn’t want them to stop talking.

Some part of him loved it.

Fred laughed against his skin, his lips dragging along the shell of Draco’s ear, voice dripping with wicked amusement. “Oh, we’re not stopping.”

George smirked, his hands dragging lower, kneading at Draco’s thighs. “Not when you’re being such a good boy for us.”

Draco moaned at that.

He twitched, his body reacting before he could stop it.

George kissed him again harder this time, more forceful, teeth catching on his lower lip, making him shudder, making him feel owned, claimed. George bit down, tugging just enough to sting before licking into his mouth, kissing him with a hunger that seemed endless.

Fred exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening on Draco’s hips. “ Merlin, you’re dangerous, darling.”

George groaned, his hands sliding up Draco’s ribs, holding him steady . “Absolutely intoxicating.”

Fred grinned against his shoulder, voice thick with amusement. “He’d look even prettier if we made him cum just like this.”

Draco preened under the words. His breath left him, his hips rolling desperately, eagerly. He wanted it.

George growled softly, his grip on Draco’s thighs tightening, his thumbs rubbing teasing, maddening circles over the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. It made Draco dizzy. “Oh, he would. Just like this, all desperate and loud—”

Draco’s face burned , his body aching, but fuck they were right.

And the twins knew it.

They could feel it.

“—all over himself.”

Fred hummed, rolling his hips against Draco’s back, forcing him forward into George, trapping him between them. Making him feel both of them. How bad they wanted him.

“You like it, don’t you, darling?”

George’s breath was hot against his ear, his hands sliding down Draco’s sides, teasing him. “So needy for us.”

Draco whined, his body shuddering as George’s fingers dug into his waist, holding him there while Fred kept him moving slow, steady, unrelenting.

“Right, pretty baby?”

Draco nodded, frantic, the friction on his nearly weeping cock enough to drive him mad.

“Say it.”

George pressed in closer, voice a taunt. “Tell us how needy you are.”

Draco keened, his hands grabbing at anything, their arms, their chests, his nails clawing at them, desperate.

“Fuck— so needy, want it so bad— ” The confession fell from his lips before he could stop it, before he could even think to hold it back.

Fred groaned, nosing at Draco’s throat, his teeth grazing before biting down, harder this time, leaving a mark. “Oh, fucking hell, darling.” His voice was thick with praise, dripping with approval. “Making the filthiest noises. All for us.”

Draco gasped, his hands tightening around George’s shoulders. “Shut up.”

George laughed, his grip firm, rocking up into Draco, adding just enough pressure to make him writhe. “Make us.”

Draco couldn’t.

Fred’s fingers tangled into his hair, yanking his head back. H is tongue dragged down the column of Draco’s neck, slow and teasing, the heat of his breath leaving a shiver in its wake.

“That’s it,” Fred whispered, pleased , his voice thick with heat, his body pressing against Draco’s back, making sure he knew. He was theirs. “You’re shaking, love,” he murmured, his voice drenched in pleasure, pressing in closer, his body solid and inescapably. Surrounding Draco. Engulfing him.

Draco was shaking. His breath came in sharp, uneven pants, his skin burning, his body helplessly following their lead.

And then he moaned loud and broken, because he couldn’t stop himself. Not when they were touching him like this, not when their hands were on him everywhere.

And he wanted more.

His hips rolled on their own, pressing down against George, rocking back against Fred, deliberately dragging himself over the thick, hard lengths pressing into him from both sides.

Fuck.

Their groans tangled together, a filthy, needy sound that sent a bolt of pure pleasure down Draco’s spine. Their voices so similar, yet so different, both of them reacting to him.

“Oh, Merlin,” George exhaled, his fingers digging into Draco’s waist, his pupils blown wide, wild with hunger. “He’s taking it. Just look at him, Freddie.”

Fred’s grip tightened around Draco’s hips, firm but permissive not stopping him. Letting him take. Letting him move the way he wanted, needed. But still there. Guiding. Keeping him steady.

Draco moved faster, harder, his nails clawing at anything he could grab.

And then it was Draco who kissed them.

He yanked George in by the jaw, a fierce grip that had George inhaling sharply before Draco crashed their lips together. He moaned into George’s mouth, licked into it, his desperation bleeding into every frantic movement.

One hand tight around George’s jaw, the other reached blindly behind him, curling around Fred’s neck, dragging him in. The moment he tore himself from George, he turned, kissing Fred just as hungrily, his lips swollen, spit-slick, already ruined but needing more.

Fred moaned against his mouth, his hands flexing on Draco’s waist, grounding him as their tongues tangled, as their breaths mixed, as Draco let himself drown in them.

When he pulled back, his head fell forward, pleasure threatening to consume him whole. His mind was a haze, his body humming, his skin burning from the heat of them. All of them, tangled together, their bodies pressed close, scorching against his own.

“That’s it, darling,” Fred murmured, dragging his lips along Draco’s throat, kissing, biting. Claiming. “Go on. Take what you need.”

Draco’s breath hitched.

Gods. That was dangerous.

George groaned, his hands slipping under Draco’s shirt, fingers tracing up his ribs, palms dragging over his chest, covering him, possessing him. “Shit, he’s tiny.” His thumbs swiped over Draco’s nipples, making him shudder. “You feel that, Freddie? He’s so delicate.”

Fred growled at that, his hands spanning Draco’s waist, holding him still. “Small and soft,” he agreed, nosing at Draco’s collarbone. Then, lower, dragging his teeth over the sensitive skin, sinking them in just enough to make Draco gasp. “Bet we’d be able to see ourselves in his fucking stomach.”

Draco’s head spun. His face burned, his body burned. Merlin save him, he wanted them to take more. He rolled his hips harder.

Fred gasped, pressing hard against him from behind, grinding into him as his fingers tightened around Draco’s waist. “You like feeling us, don’t you?”

George’s grip turned bruising.  “Oh, fuck. He does. Just look at him, grinding against us like he can’t get enough.”

Draco whined, unable to stop himself, unable to even care anymore.

He could feel them.

Thick. Full. Hot and hard against him, pressing into him, making his stomach twist with need, making his pulse pound.

His thoughts blurred. His mind raced ahead, hazy, frantic.

What would they feel like inside him?

Stretching him open. Filling him. Would they reach his stomach? Bulge under his palm if he pressed down?

What would they feel like on his tongue? Heavy. Throbbing. His lips stretched wide around them. A needy, broken sound fell from his lips before he could stop it.

Fred chuckled, his hands flexing on Draco’s hips as he pressed him down harder against George. “So desperate and fucking greedy. Look at you, our pretty boy, just using us.”

”Lucky fucking us,” George smirked, tilting Draco’s chin up, pressing a slow, deep kiss to his lips before murmuring against them, “Needy and desperate, just how we want you.” 

Draco shuddered, his fingers curling around George’s jumper, clinging as their hands roamed him, as their touches grew rougher, more urgent.

Tingles started at the base of his spine, rippling outward, burning, twisting, curling tight inside him and… 

Oh.

A sharp, dizzying realization slammed into him all at once. He was going to cum.

Like this.

Just from this.

Loud, unintelligible sounds tore from Draco’s lips. He didn’t care how loud he was. Didn’t care that they were technically out in the open.

All he could think about was how fucking good he felt.

And how close he was.

He moved frantically now, chasing it, chasing them, his body a live wire of sensation, every touch, every word, every fucking breath tipping him further into oblivion.

“Oh, that’s what’s happening,” George breathed, his grin turning wicked.

Fred grinned, his fingers tightening around Draco’s hips, controlling his movements, dragging him through it. “Oh, darling.” His voice was thick with amusement, with pride “You’re gonna cum for us, aren’t you?”

Draco’s breath hitched , his entire body trembling . “I—I—”

George grinned, his hands sliding back down Draco’s spine, tracing every trembling inch. “He is.”

Fred’s voice dropped lower, his lips brushing against Draco’s ear. “That’s it, pretty baby. Just let go. Let us have you.”

George smirked, dragging his nails down Draco’s back, his breath hot, taunting . “Be good for us, love.”

Draco whimpered, the sound punched out of him, his body locking up as pleasure crashed over him, as heat ripped through his limbs, searing, overwhelming, unstoppable.

“Fucking hell,” George groaned, his grip turning bruising as Draco fell apart.

His world shattered. His eyes fluttered shut, his lips parting around a wrecked, broken moan, his spine bowing as his body twitched with each pulse of pleasure surging through him.

His breath came in ragged gasps, desperate little sounds spilling from his lips, helpless, uncontrollable. Ruined. 

And then he felt it. The sticky warmth coating him, spilling over himself in slow waves.

He cried out, his fingers curling tight into George’s jumper, his body going taut before collapsing bonelessly against George’s chest, his muscles trembling, his lungs pulling in sharp, uneven breaths.

Fred groaned, his hands sliding down Draco’s sides, steadying him, his voice thick with praise. “Fuck, that was so pretty.”

George’s a grin was slow, satisfied, his lips dragging over Draco’s temple, his grip still firm on Draco’s waist, still holding him, still keeping him. “Told you,” he murmured, his voice dark with something wicked, something pleased. “Knew he’d be fucking gorgeous like this.”

Fred exhaled, running his fingers up Draco’s spine, over the nape of his neck, grounding him with slow, reverent strokes. “All wrecked for us.”

Draco shivered at the words, his body still trembling, his breath coming in shallow, uneven pants. He was floating. His mind blissfully blank, his limbs heavy, useless.

And yet… The twins didn’t move away.

They didn’t leave him wanting. They didn’t take anything for themselves.

This had been for him. 

Hands warm, steady moved over his body in slow, soothing passes. Smoothed over his waist, his ribs, up to his chest, a silent reassurance. A kiss pressed to his temple. Another brushed along his cheek. A murmur, deep and low, curling through his bones like smoke.

“So, so good for us, darling.”

Fred reached for Draco’s wand, murmuring a soft spell, the magic sweeping over his skin, cleaning him up, tucking it away before his fingers were back in Draco’s hair, combing through it, twirling strands between his fingers.

Draco went boneless as they began moving, shifting, pulling him with them.

The twins settled against the wall, sitting side by side, their arms wrapping around him, guiding him onto their laps, half on one, half on the other, held between them, tucked into them.

Draco melted into the embrace, boneless, pliant, soft.

“You were incredible, ” Fred whispered against his jaw, his fingers tracing delicate, lazy circles over Draco’s hip. “So perfect.”

George hummed , dragging his knuckles down Draco’s cheek, voice smooth, deep. “Sounded perfect, too.”

Fred’s lips ghosted over Draco’s temple, his other hand threading through his hair, playing with it, twisting strands lazily around his fingers. “So pretty for us, love.”

A small, contented noise slipped from Draco’s throat, unbidden, his head lolling against George’s shoulder as soft, reverent touches held him in the haze of pleasure.

Fingertips trailed along his jaw. Knuckles rubbed at the base of his neck. Thumbs smoothed over his ribs, slipping just beneath his shirt, soothing. 

George exhaled, dragging his lips along the shell of Draco’s ear, his voice barely a whisper.

“Still with us, baby?”

Draco sighed, slow and heavy, the sound dreamy, a quiet surrender. He nuzzled closer without thinking. “Mhm.”

Fred chuckled, his hand sliding lower, brushing over Draco’s throat, stroking lightly. “That’s it. Just let us take care of you.”

Draco didn’t fight it. Didn’t argue. Didn’t resist. He let them have him.

Let himself sink into their warmth, their praise, their care.

Every quiet whisper. Every soft touch. Everything they offered. 

His eyelids grew heavy. His body sagged into theirs.

He barely noticed when his breathing slowed, when his thoughts faded, drifting, floating. Didn’t even realize he’d slipped under until the last thing he felt was—

George pressing a final, lingering kiss to his cheek.

And Fred murmuring something low, something sweet, something unchallenged against his ear.

“Ours.”

Chapter Text

Draco woke up slowly, his mind fogged with sleep, his body sinking into the warmth of his blankets. For a moment, nothing registered. His limbs felt heavy, his thoughts sluggish as he blinked at the dim light filtering through the curtains of his dormitory.

He frowned. How had he gotten here?

His fingers curled into the sheets, trying to chase some lingering memory. Something just out of reach, but all he found was confusion. He looked around, disoriented, as if expecting to see something, someone.

And then, suddenly, he chuckled.

It had all been a dream. Hadn’t it?

Of course, it had. What other explanation was there? How else would he have ended up back in his own bed, tucked away safely in the Slytherin dorms?

The absurdity of it made him laugh despite himself. As if anything like that would ever happen. As if he would ever…

Draco ran a hand over his face, groaning, before pushing himself upright. His body ached faintly, his skin tingling with a phantom heat that made something in his stomach twist. He needed to shake this off.

Get up. Get moving. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, stretching as he made his way toward the bathroom, still smirking to himself about the ridiculous fantasy his subconscious had concocted.

But then…

He looked in the mirror.

And everything stopped.

His breath caught in his throat.

Dark marks. Everywhere.

His hands trembled as they reached up, ghosting over the bruises blooming along his neck and collarbone. He swallowed thickly, gripping the hem of his shirt with unsteady fingers and yanking it down.

More.

His chest, his ribs evidence of lips, of teeth, of hands that had touched and taken and worshipped.

His pulse pounded in his ears, his mind racing.

No, no, no. 

It wasn’t a dream.

Draco staggered back a step, his fingers pressing into the sink as if it could ground him, keep him from unraveling entirely. His heart was hammering, his stomach flipping violently. 

Then he remembered.

Their voices. Their laughter. The way they praised him.

The warmth of their hands, their lips, their bodies pressed so close.

Draco shuddered, his breath leaving in a shaky exhale as heat unfurled in his chest, winding through his limbs. His skin still burned where they had touched him. His mind spun with the way they had kissed him. Merlin, the way they kissed. The way they tasted, different but equally intoxicating. The way they looked, their faces sharp and mischievous and handsome and—

His stomach lurched.

Fuck.

His hands clenched the edge of the sink as the realization crashed over him, drowning him in its weight, its certainty.

He liked them.

The Weasley twins.

He liked the fucking Weasley twins.

                         *    *    *

Draco is unraveling. He’s a fucking mess.

It starts with little things. The way his skin burns at the memory of their hands, their lips, their weight pressing against him. The ghost of their voices, warm and teasing, echoing in his mind when he least expects it. His body remembers them in a way he can’t ignore, like they left something behind, some invisible thread tying him to them.

And it’s infuriating.

He keeps absently brushing his fingers over the concealed marks on his throat, his chest, feeling the phantom press of their mouths. He swears he can still feel the shape of their hands on his hips, their bodies caging him in, their cocks heavy against him and fuck, he’s going to lose it.

He avoids them. Has to.

He throws himself into schoolwork, into his usual routine, determined to pretend it never happened. But it’s impossible when they won’t let him.

Fred and George know exactly what they’re doing.

They don’t chase him, don’t call him out outright. They don’t need to. They just… watch him.

Every time Draco walks into a room, their eyes are already on him, unreadable and sharp, lips curled into something dangerous. They don’t even need to say anything… just existing is enough to unravel him.

But of course, they do say things.

Fred passes by him in the corridor, close enough that his breath ghosts against Draco’s ear as he murmurs, “Missed you at breakfast, pretty boy.”

George brushes a hand over his lower back in the hall. Just a touch, fleeting before walking off like nothing happened.

They sit near him in class, close enough that their cologne lingers, the scent intoxicating, familiar, making Draco’s stomach flip. He catches himself inhaling too deeply, chasing it before he realizes what he’s doing and nearly slams his head on the desk in frustration.

And then the evidence starts appearing.

A note in his robe pocket, folded neatly, written in Fred’s unmistakable scrawl:

“Sweet dreams, love? Hope we left an impression.”

A whisper of their scent on his robes.

And the worst… 

A single line written at the bottom of his Potions notes, in George’s messy writing:

“Still feeling us, pretty baby?”

Draco drops his quill.

Because yes. He is. And fuck them for knowing.

His resolve is crumbling. They’re driving him to the edge, slowly, methodically.

And then, when Draco is teetering. Practically trembling with frustration, confusion and want.

They make their move.

                               *    *    *

The library is quiet. Too quiet.

Draco’s breath is uneven as he skims his fingers along the spines of the books, pretending to be engrossed in something, anything, other than the war raging in his own damn head.

But the second he hears footsteps, slow and deliberate, the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

He knows it’s them before he even turns.

Fred steps into view first, his grin slow, wicked, eyes gleaming with amusement. George comes in behind him, close, too close, heat radiating from his body like a second skin.

Draco straightens, forcing his spine into something stiff and unyielding, even though his fucking body betrays him. His breath already hitching, his heart already pounding.

“Running from us, love?” Fred drawls, tipping his head, lips curled in that infuriating, knowing smirk.

Draco scowls, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

George hums behind him, his voice a smooth, velvety thing that snakes down Draco’s spine. “Don’t you?”

And then his hands. Warm, firm, fingers dragging up Draco’s sides with deliberate slowness, thumb grazing the dip of his waist.

Draco jerks, slapping at George’s wrists, trying to twist out of reach, but Fred is already stepping closer, bracketing him in from the front, his body solid and unyielding.

“Oh, you do, darling,” Fred murmurs, brushing his knuckles along Draco’s jaw, tilting his chin up just slightly. “You know exactly what we’re talking about.”

Draco tries to breathe, tries to think, but then George’s lips ghost over the shell of his ear, his voice dropping low.

“Been thinking about you, pretty baby,” George breathes, his fingers flexing on Draco’s hips, hard and possessive. “Thinking about the way you sounded for us. The way you melted, the way you begged without even realizing it.”

Draco shudders.

“The way you came apart,” Fred adds, leaning in, brushing his lips over Draco’s cheek, his breath warm. “So pretty for us. So perfect.”

Draco clenches his teeth, tilting his chin up defiantly. “Fuck off,” he hisses, willing himself to remember his own resolve. “This—whatever the hell this is—it was nothing. A mistake. I was—”

“Dreaming?” George supplies, his voice smug, knowing. His fingers dig into Draco’s hips as he rocks forward, his body pressing firm and heavy against Draco’s back. “Then why do you flinch every time we’re close? Why do you avoid looking at us? Why do you keep—”

Draco exhales sharply, jerking away only to have Fred’s hands find his waist, steadying him, pinning him.

“Shut up,” Draco grits out.

Fred tuts, dragging his fingers down Draco’s stomach, grazing just over the hem of his trousers. “No, I don’t think we will, love.”

And then, fuck, George lifts his wand.

Draco stiffens. “Don’t—”

But it’s too late. With a whispered spell, the concealment charm dissipates, and Fred whistles lowly, his fingers brushing along Draco’s throat, tracing the now visible marks. The bruises, the evidence of their mouths, their teeth, their hands.

“Would you look at that?” Fred smirks, tilting Draco’s chin to get a better look. “Wore our marks so well, didn’t you, love? Covered them up, but… you still felt them, didn’t you?”

Draco hates the way his stomach clenches, the way his skin burns under their touch, the way his breath comes in ragged little gasps.

“Shut up,” he snaps again, but his voice wavers, his thoughts scattering like smoke when Fred drags his thumb along one of the darker bruises, pressing down just enough to make Draco gasp.

“Oh, he did feel them,” George muses, lips curving against Draco’s ear. “Still does.”

“I don’t—” Draco tries, but then Fred’s lips are pressing against his exposed shoulder, kissing, biting, licking, and Draco’s words die in his throat.

His knees nearly buckle.

“Such a stubborn little thing,” Fred murmurs, his voice full of amusement as he soothes the bite with his tongue. “Fighting so hard. But look at you, love—” His hands slide lower, over Draco’s waist, gripping him just enough to feel it. “—melting all the same.”

“That’s what we love about you, baby,” George purrs, his palm dragging slow and deliberate down Draco’s stomach. “Always so proud. So sharp. But for us?”

Fred smirks, pressing closer, lips brushing over Draco’s jaw. “For us, you soften, don’t you?”

Draco’s head spins.

His body is on fire, his breath coming in ragged little pants, his mind an absolute mess because fuck. They’re right.

They press in closer, surrounding him, their warmth suffocating, devastating, and Draco feels himself slipping. His control, his restraint vanishing. 

He wants to shove them away. He should. He needs to.

But instead, his fingers twitch, hesitate before fisting into Fred’s jumper, pulling just slightly, his body already betraying him.

Fred grins against his cheek. “That’s it, love,” he murmurs, a kiss pressed to the corner of Draco’s mouth. “Let us in.”

And shit.

Draco thinks he just might.

Draco knows he’s unraveling beneath their hands, knows he’s being played like a finely tuned instrument, knows he’s utterly fucked. But fuck if he can do anything about it.

Still, he tries.

“Why?” he breathes, barely able to force the word out between gasps. “Why me?”

Fred hums, dragging his nails lightly down the small of Draco’s back, pressing just hard enough to make Draco shudder. “Why not you?”

“Fuck off.” His voice is weak, strained, breathy. Not even a fraction of its usual bite. “I’m serious.”

George chuckles darkly. “So rude, sweetheart. And after all we’ve done for you?” His hands slide from Draco’s hips to the tops of his thighs, kneading into the muscle, his touch firm, deliberate, possessive.

Draco bites back a moan. Barely.

Fred grins, clearly sensing the effort it took, his lips skimming up the curve of Draco’s jaw. “You’re so pretty, look at you.” He scrapes his teeth over Draco’s skin, pressing closer, letting Draco feel every inch of him. “We like you like this, you know? All breathless and desperate. Letting us touch you. Letting us hear you.”

George’s mouth is at the back of Draco’s neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there, and fuck fuck fuck. Draco swears he nearly loses his footing.

“Still waiting for an answer,” he forces out, but the effect is ruined when George kneads at his thighs again, making his knees weak.

“An answer?” George smirks against his neck. “To what, love?”

“To why the fuck you keep touching me—”

“Mmm, because we can?” Fred teases, fingers tracing slow, agonizing patterns against the small of Draco’s back, making his skin burn.

“Because we want to,” George adds, biting down just hard enough to make Draco jolt, to make his fingers curl into Fred’s jumper again.

“Because you like it,” Fred purrs, pressing his thigh between Draco’s, making him tremble.

Draco clenches his jaw. “I don’t—”

“Oh, but you do,” George murmurs, smug and knowing. “You love it, don’t you?”

Draco shakes, his mind a mess, his body betraying him at every turn.

Fred’s hands tighten on his waist, sliding up and down, feeling every curve, every twitch, every shiver. “Merlin, love, you should see yourself,” he murmurs, voice drenched in amusement and something darker. “Falling apart just from our hands. Our voices.”

“So gorgeous like this,” George agrees, dragging his lips along the nape of Draco’s neck. “All flushed and needy. You make the sweetest little noises.”

Draco growls, frustrated, but the sound is swallowed by a sharp gasp as they both press in closer rocking their hips against him, letting him feel them, the firm, undeniable evidence of just how much they want him.

His stomach plummets.

“Oh fuck,” he rasps, vision hazing, body going boneless.

Fred groans, dragging his lips down Draco’s throat. “You feel that, love?”

“Feel how hard we are for you?” George breathes against his ear, fingers digging into his thighs. “Been thinking about you, sweetheart. About how you taste. About how you sound when you fall apart for us.”

“How fucking devastating you look when you cum,” Fred mutters, sucking a fresh mark into Draco’s throat. “And you will, won’t you, darling? You’ll let us have you. Let us feel you. Let us ruin you.”

Draco’s head spins.

His breath is shattered, his skin is burning, his cock is throbbing, and gods, he wants them. Wants to give them whatever they ask for. Whatever they take.

But they haven’t taken.

They’ve given.

Draco’s mind fries at the realization. At the fact that they could’ve demanded anything from him, could’ve claimed him completely last night, could’ve had him sobbing in their arms and they hadn’t.

They had focused on him. They had made him feel wanted. Worshiped. Like they enjoyed giving him pleasure, watching him fall apart.

It makes his stomach twist with something worse than lust. Something more dangerous. Something that makes his heart pound.

His fingers tremble as they fist tighter into Fred’s jumper.

“Why?” he breathes again, and this time, his voice breaks.

Fred smiles against his skin. “Oh, darling,” he murmurs, his hands trailing back up, slow, warm, devastating. “Isn’t it obvious?”

George grins, pressing a kiss to the back of Draco’s neck. “We like you, love.”

Fuck his whole life.

Draco whimpers, his resolve crumbling, body betraying him with every shiver, every gasp, every slow roll of his hips against Fred’s muscled thigh.

“Because you’re beautiful, Draco,” Fred breathes against his throat, his voice like honey, warm and thick. His hands wander under Draco’s shirt, gliding over his ribs, up to his chest, his thumbs barely teasing over Draco’s nipples before dragging his nails down again, just to feel the way Draco twitches beneath him.

“Bloody breathtaking,” George agrees, his lips pressing just behind Draco’s ear, his teeth grazing the skin as he speaks. “That sexy little smirk you always wear, all sharp and cutting—”

“Until you’re like this,” Fred murmurs, purring against Draco’s jaw, his knee sliding further between Draco’s thighs, pressing up. Draco moans, his hips jerking forward on instinct, rubbing himself against the friction, against the heat of Fred’s thigh, desperate for more.

George laughs, his hands gripping Draco’s waist, urging him to move. “There we go, baby. Look at you, pressing into it like you need it.”

Draco does. Fuck, he does. His hands clutch at Fred’s shoulders, gripping tight, grounding himself as he rocks down, chasing the pressure, the pleasure.

“You like us too, darling, don’t you?”

Draco shakes his head, desperate to deny it, but the way he moans when Fred’s knee presses up again completely betrays him.

Fred hums, dragging his tongue along the curve of Draco’s jaw, then licking a long, slow stripe up the column of his throat, relishing the way Draco’s breath hitches, the way his body trembles. “Be honest, Draco.”

“You were distracted all day,” George adds, teasing, scraping his nails lightly down Draco’s sides, grinning at the way Draco shudders. “Flushing every time you looked in our direction.”

“Isn’t that true, love?” Fred murmurs, his lips curling as he dips his head, his teeth scraping so lightly over Draco’s sensitive throat before biting down just enough to make him arch. “You’ve been thinking about us?”

Draco squeezes his eyes shut, panting, trying to fight it, trying to deny them, but they’re everywhere. Their hands, their mouths, the way they press against him, surrounding him, consuming him.

Fred’s fingers twist into his hair, tugging just enough to make him tilt his head back, exposing more of his throat as George smirks against his skin.

“Come on, pretty baby,” George croons, his thumbs circling over Draco’s hips, dipping just beneath the waistband of his trousers. “Say it. Tell us how much you want us.”

Draco’s lips part, but the words won’t come.

Not when Fred’s knee shifts again, pressing into him, not when George drags his nails over Draco’s nipples again, not when their hands and heat are everywhere, driving him insane.

He lets out a broken, desperate sound instead. And Fred and George grin.

Draco is ruined. His body hums with heat, skin burning beneath their touch, every nerve ending alight. His mind is a mess of sensation. Hands, mouths, teasing words dripping like honey into his ears. He should be resisting. He should be demanding answers, clawing back control. But all he can do is feel.

Fred and George know it.

They see it.

They smirk as Draco trembles between them, pliant, breathless, his resolve long since shattered.

Then Fred asks again, voice softer now, but no less commanding. “You want this, love?”

Draco swallows hard, his head spinning, his body aching for more. He forces himself to find his voice, to say the words aloud to make this real.

“Yes.” His breath stutters, but the certainty is there. “Want it.”

George hums his approval, pressing a kiss to Draco’s throat. Fred tightens his grip in Draco’s hair, tilting his head back just a little further.

“That’s it, love,” Fred purrs, fingers tightening in Draco’s hair, “You’re ours now.”

Draco shudders, barely holding in the whimper that threatens to spill out of him.

“Ours,” George echoes, his lips brushing against Draco’s ear, his voice drenched in satisfaction. “Now that we’ve had a taste, we won’t be able to get enough.”

Draco’s breath catches, his fingers curling against Fred’s chest, gripping, trying to ground himself.

“How long?” Draco rasps, his voice wrecked, his mind spinning. “How long have you wanted this?”

Fred chuckles, low and pleased. “Bloody years, darling.”

Draco jerks back slightly, lips parting, his foggy mind barely able to comprehend the weight of those words. Years?

“Since fourth year, at least,” George murmurs, hands sliding down Draco’s sides, over the curve of his hips, gripping tight before releasing, only to do it again. “Always thought you were gorgeous. But watching you get all flustered? All riled up? Merlin, we needed you.”

“Knew we’d have you one day,” Fred smirks, licking along the curve of Draco’s jaw before nipping at the skin, pleased at the way Draco’s fingers tighten in his shirt. “You were made for us, weren’t you?”

“And just like that,” George coos, his fingers dragging down the front of Draco’s shirt, slow, deliberate, teasing over the fabric as he pops the first button open. “You’re getting all melty for us.”

Draco shakes, his breath shuddering, his knees threatening to give out.

Then George shifts, moving from behind him, stepping to his side and suddenly, they’re both in front of him now.

And Draco is trapped.

Pressed against the bookshelves, the cold wood a stark contrast to the heat radiating from them.

They crowd him, both of them, so close, so scorching, their hands everywhere. Smoothing down his sides, over his thighs, gripping, kneading, claiming.

Fred’s fingers skim his waist, dragging over his belt, teasing the buckle but not undoing it yet, and George, fuck, George palms his ass, squeezing, pulling him forward, pressing against him, and Draco gasps.

Then they’re kissing him. 

One after the other, lips pressing, brushing, devouring.

Fred licks into his mouth, tasting, drinking him in, only to pull away and let George replace him, his kiss just as deep, just as hungry.

“Merlin, baby, you taste divine,” George murmurs against his lips, his hands working on the buttons of Draco’s shirt, working together with Fred, popping them open one by one.

“You’ve been hiding all this from us?” Fred hums, his fingers sliding beneath the fabric, spreading over Draco’s bare chest, nails scraping just so over his nipples, making Draco gasp against George’s mouth. “Unacceptable.”

George laughs, amused, pleased, tugging at Draco’s tie, loosening it. “We’ll just have to make up for lost time, won’t we?”

He wraps the tie around his hand, using it to pull Draco forward, pressing their lips together again, stealing whatever breath Draco had left.

And Draco, Merlin, he lets them.

Their hands are demanding, possessive, claiming him as theirs. And fuck, Draco likes it.

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. He should be protesting, pushing them away, regaining the upper hand. But instead, he lets them take. Lets them press against him, lets them touch him, lets them see him like this. Needy, breathless, theirs.

And then their voices shift.

Deeper. Darker.

A commanding edge slipping into their words, coaxing, testing like they’re seeing just how far they can push him, just how much he’ll let them have.

“Let’s see what else you’ll give us, love,” George murmurs, his fingers deftly working at the waistband of Draco’s trousers, Fred’s hands helping, their movements coordinated, perfectly in sync.

Draco watches, breath heaving, his chest rising and falling with every shaky inhale as the button pops open, as the zipper slides down. Fuck. Their faces are right there, both of them, twin gazes locked on him, their expressions unreadable, but intense, so intense.

George is the first to move, gripping his jaw, tilting his face up, his thumb dragging along Draco’s bottom lip slow, deliberate, testing.

“Open,” George says, voice a low command, his eyes heavy-lidded, his thumb pressing slightly, just enough pressure to see if Draco will listen.

Draco wasn’t going to. He thought so anyway.

But before he can stop himself, before his mind can catch up his lips part.

And George smirks. “Good boy.”

Heat pools in Draco’s stomach at the words, at the quiet rasp of George’s voice, at the way Fred hums in approval, his grip tightening on Draco’s waist.

Then George pushes his thumb into Draco’s mouth, pressing down on his tongue.

And Draco… well, fuck it.

His confidence flares, burning through the haze of overwhelming sensation. They wanted him? They had wanted him for years? That meant he could take too. He could play back. He could test them, push them just as much.

So he sucks.

Lashes fluttering, he closes his lips around George’s thumb, tongue flicking, teasing, watching as George’s smirk falters, as his breath catches, as Fred curses under his breath.

Draco hums, dragging his teeth lightly over the pad of George’s thumb as he pulls back slightly, before sinking down on it again, his cheeks hollowing, his tongue swirling around it—

And oh.

That earns him a sound from both of them. A wrecked, needy noise from George, a sharp inhale from Fred. It sends a thrill through Draco’s spine, a surge of pleasure curling in his gut.

He does it again.

A little harder this time, a little slower, locking eyes with George, watching him unravel.

“Shit,” Fred groans, his grip on Draco’s waist tightening, his nails digging in. “Look at him, Georgie. Look how fucking pretty he is like this.”

George’s eyes darkend, his free hand gripping Draco’s chin now, tilting his face up further, like he needs to see every single flick of Draco’s tongue, every tiny movement, every little gasp.

“Such a fucking tease,” he murmurs, voice husky, wrecked, but still edged with command. “You like playing with us, don’t you?”

Draco releases his thumb with a soft pop, licking his lips, smirking now, his confidence thrumming through him. “Maybe.”

Fred laughs, low and wicked, his fingers skimming under Draco’s chest now, dragging over bare skin, teasing over his ribs, his nails scraping down his stomach, and Draco gasps, arching slightly into the touch.

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” George says, voice nothing but promise, his thumb trailing down Draco’s throat now, pressing lightly, feeling the way Draco swallows.

Fred leans in, mouth brushing against Draco’s ear. “You’re ours now, darling. No more running.”

George nods, lips hovering just over Draco’s, his breath warm. “Now that we’ve got you, we’re never letting go.”

And Draco doesn’t fucking want them to.

Their breaths stutter.

Draco can feel the way they tense, their bodies going rigid as his hands trail down their chests, slow, deliberate, his nails scraping down their ribs, over their stomachs, all the way to their waistbands. He lets his fingers dip just beneath, pulling. A teasing little tug, enough to make them inhale sharply, enough to feel their muscles clench beneath his fingertips.

And oh. They like that.

He smirks, tilting his chin up, letting the confidence radiate from him, drinking in the way their grips tighten. Bruising now, fingers digging into his sides, their breaths uneven.

Then he presses one finger down the length of each of them through their trousers, a teasing little drag. barely any pressure, just enough to feel the heat of them, the hard lines of their cocks straining beneath the fabric.

Both of them curse, their hips jerking forward seeking more, demanding more.

“I think he wants to be used, Freddie, don’t you?” George’s voice is dark, pleased, his eyes gleaming as he watches Draco’s utterly wrecked expression.

“Oh, you’re right.” Fred’s fingers tangle into Draco’s hair, gripping it tight and then he yanks. Hard.

Draco moans, sharp and sudden, pleasure crackling through his skull at the sting, his body twitching at the sheer force of it.

Fred chuckles, low and wicked, his lips curling as he tilts Draco’s head back further, forcing Draco to look up at them.

“Look at that pretty fucking mouth,” he murmurs, mocking, thumb dragging over Draco’s bottom lip. “Just begging to be stuffed full.”

And fuck, Draco’s reaction is instant.

A sharp, wrecked noise spills from him, his body tensing, his thighs clenching together.

Gods, yes. He wants that. He needs that. He hasn’t stopped thinking about it.

They see it.

They fucking know.

“Oh, he wants it, Georgie,” Fred purrs, nails scraping against Draco’s scalp before pushing his head forward just slightly. Testing him. Watching him. “Pretty boy just begging to be ruined.”

“Then he should get on his knees for us, shouldn’t he?” George’s voice is pure sin, a command wrapped in silk.

Draco goes.

No hesitation. No shame.

Just desperation. His body moving before his mind even catches up, sinking to his knees gracefully, deliberately, keeping his gaze locked on theirs as he slides down, hands trailing along their bodies, nails scratching against fabric, dragging slowly, his touch lingering.

And the twins… fuck.

They growl, their hands tightening in his hair, on his shoulders, their bodies shuddering with restraint as he settles between them.

“Unreal,” George groans, his fingers threading through Draco’s hair, gripping tight, like he needs to hold on to something. “So fucking incredible like this.”

“So willing.” Fred’s hand cups Draco’s jaw, his thumb pressing at his lip again, but this time just barely. Not pushing, not forcing, just teasing. Testing. Waiting.

Draco waits for it. For the press of fingers past his lips, for the command to open up, but it doesn’t come.

Fred’s hand falls.

And oh.

Draco might be the one on his knees, but he has the power now.

So he leans in.

His smirk is wicked, deliberate, as he tilts forward, parting his lips just slightly, enough for his breath to ghost over Fred’s cock through his trousers, enough to feel the way Fred shudders, his grip tightening in Draco’s hair, his body jerking forward just slightly.

Draco laps at him.

A slow, teasing drag of his tongue over the outline of Fred’s cock, pressing into him through the fabric, tasting nothing but heat and the faintest hint of salt, feeling the way Fred twitches beneath his mouth.

Fred curses, a ragged, broken noise ripping from his throat as his hips buck into the touch, his fingers twisting harshly in Draco’s hair.

“Fuck, Georgie, do you see him?” Fred grits out, voice wrecked, his head tipping back as Draco presses another open-mouthed kiss against him, his tongue flicking, teasing.

“Oh, I’m watching.”

Draco barely has time to process the husky promise in George’s voice before hands are suddenly pulling at him. Moving him, guiding him away from Fred, redirecting him.

George’s hand cups the back of his neck, firm, tilting his face upward, forcing Draco to look at him.

“Be a good boy and do that to me, too.”

Draco shudders but he obeys.

George’s grip tightens just slightly, not demanding but expectant—anticipating.

Draco’s lips part, a breath catching in his throat. 

He leans in, slow, dragging his tongue over the heated skin of George’s cock through the fabric, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the tip before working his way down the length. George’s breath hitches, his fingers tightening in Draco’s hair

Merlin, they were going to ruin him.

And he was going to let them.

Draco smirks. They’re entranced. Silent for the first time since this all began, their hands frozen in his hair, their breath uneven. Watching. Waiting.

For him.

And fuck that sends a thrill down his spine, a heady, intoxicating kind of power pooling in his gut as he cocks his head at them, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip. Taunting.

“What, no talking?” he murmurs, voice silky, deliberate. His fingers tighten on their thighs, nails digging in, and they twitch beneath him.

Still, no response.

“Got nothing else to say?” He presses on, moving to drag down their zippers achingly slow, his knuckles brushing against the heat of them, teasing, hovering.

Fred hisses.

George shudders.

They’re waiting. Restrained, barely, hands twitching, grips tightening.

Draco grins.

“Huh. That’s new,” he muses, tilting his head just slightly as he finally pushes the fabric aside, freeing them from their confines.

And holy fuck, he should’ve known. Of course they’d be big. Fucking massive if he’s honest.

His fingers ghost over them, barely touching, just enough to feel the pulse beneath his fingertips, the weight, the heat.

Draco licks his lips again, slow, purposeful, watching their expressions shift, watching their patience wear thin.

“Cat got your tongues?” he taunts, his voice practically dripping with amusement as he finally wraps his fingers around them, stroking slow, teasing.

Fred growls.

George curses.

And then suddenly, hands jerk at him, harsh, desperate.

“You’re dangerous, darling,” Fred grits out, his voice wrecked, fingers twisting in Draco’s hair.

“Oh, I don’t think he cares, Fred,” George breathes, tilting Draco’s chin up, forcing their gazes to lock. His pupils are blown wide, dark with heat, and that look alone nearly makes Draco fall apart.

“You want us to ruin you, don’t you, pretty boy?” Fred murmurs, his grip tightening, his other hand cupping Draco’s jaw, thumb pressing at his bottom lip again. “Wanna feel us fill your throat?” 

Draco moans, sharp and desperate, body thrumming at the command laced in their voices. 

“Say it.” George’s voice is low, firm.

Draco’s breath shudders.

“Yes.”

George grips his jaw, tilting his face up, their eyes locking.

“Stick your tongue out.”

Draco’s stomach plummets, a rush of heat rolling through him as his lips part, tongue sliding out without hesitation.

And then—holy fuck.

At the same time, they both press against him, the thick, heavy tips of their cocks dragging slow over the wet heat of his tongue. Draco’s eyes nearly roll back at the sensation, at the weight of them, at the way their hips press forward like they can’t help themselves.

“Ohh, what a sight he is, George,” Fred groans, voice thick with praise, one hand slipping into Draco’s hair, the other tracing the delicate lines of his throat. “Pretty thing so fucking eager to take us.”

“So desperate,” George agrees, his grip tightening as he rubs the swollen head of his cock against Draco’s tongue again, dragging slick over it.

Draco whimpers, his breath coming shaky through his nose as he lets them use him, lets them take from him. He’d been with others before—girls, guys, but never like this. Never two at once, never two men at once. Gods, he loved it.

Loved the sheer size of them, how thick and heavy they were against his tongue. Loved how they tasted, how the warmth of them made his whole body tremble.

They slide against him again, slow and teasing, and Draco moans, his nails biting into their thighs as their hips roll forward, as if drawn in by some undeniable force.

“Fuck, he looks hot like this,” George murmurs, voice wrecked.

“Prettiest little mouth we’ve ever seen, isn’t it?” Fred agrees, his voice thick, rasping, as his thumb presses against Draco’s jaw, feeling the way it moves under his touch. He watches, entranced, as Draco parts his lips further, as his tongue flattens just right, teasing, offering.

Draco feels their gazes like heat licking at his skin, the way they drink him in, the way they look at him like they might never get enough. It sends something sharp and wicked through him, something fierce and bold.

So he leans in, slow, deliberate, lips wrapping around them both, just the tips at first. He sucks, gentle and teasing, his tongue swirling, slick and lazy, dragging over them in slow strokes.

And then—oh.

The sensation changes.

His teeth, just barely there. The velvet press of his tongue separating them, the wet heat of his mouth soft and pliant, but beneath it, the slight scrape, the subtle drag of his teeth along the sensitive skin. It’s not painful, but fuck—it could be. That hint of danger, that teasing edge of pressure, makes their breaths stutter, their bodies tense.

Fred curses low under his breath, a ragged, broken sound. George groans, head tilting back, his hips twitching forward instinctively, like he can’t help himself.

And Draco can feel them shudder.

“Shit, Draco,” Fred gasps, his fingers tightening in Draco’s hair, tugging at the roots, his other hand slamming against the shelf behind him, bracing himself.

George lets out a wrecked moan, his grip firming against Draco’s jaw, fingers flexing. “I think he can take more—you can take more, can’t you, baby?”

Draco whimpers, nodding, needy, desperate. He drags his hands up their hips, pressing his fingers into their skin, urging them closer, pressing himself deeper into them. Yes, he can take more. He wants more. He wants to see just how far he can go, how much of them he can handle.

His lips stretch wider, obscene, as he sinks down further, just a tiny bit more of each of them. His jaw aches, but he doesn’t pull back. He fights against the strain, his throat working, saliva pooling, his eyes burning with heat.

“Oh, fuck,” George hisses, his fingers pressing harder against Draco’s face, his body tense, shaking with restraint. “Taking us so well—our perfect little pet.”

Fred lets out a wrecked laugh, breathless, his head dropping forward. “What a little slut you are, Draco,” he murmurs, voice dripping with approval, with something dark and reverent. His whole body shudders, his cock twitching against Draco’s tongue.

Draco moans, the words shooting straight to his cock, his body burning with needy, desperate heat as he gives himself over to them completely.

Draco’s mind is hazy, drowning in the heat of them, in the way they fill his mouth, in the way they sound. Ragged breaths and wrecked groans, curses muttered under their breath as their hands dig into his hair, holding him there, controlling his pace.

“Filthy,” Fred murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction, “so desperate to please, yeah? Such a pretty little baby for us.”

Draco whimpers, his lashes fluttering as a shiver rolls down his spine. Fuck. That does things to him, the way they talk, the way they look at him like he’s the best fucking thing they’ve ever had.

George grins, his other hand trailing slow down Draco’s jaw, his throat, before skimming the collar of his half-open shirt. “Think he likes that, Fred.”

“Oh, I know he does,” Fred hums, tugging gently at Draco’s hair to make him look up at them. His pupils are blown, his lips stretched around their cocks, his cheeks hollowed out in effort and they both groan at the sight of him, at how fucking perfect he looks between them.

Draco knows he’s got them now. Knows by the way they twitch against his tongue, by the way their muscles tense every time he moans around them.

So he pushes, plays. Scrapes his nails up their thighs, digs his fingers into the firm muscle, raking them up under their shirts to drag over their abs. He hollows his cheeks, flicks his tongue over the sensitive heads. He loves the sounds he pulls from them.

“Fuck, he’s just taking it,” George pants, his thumb stroking over Draco’s cheek almost affectionately.

“Yeah?” Fred breathes, his grip tightening. “Show us just how much you want it, darling.”

Draco does.

He presses forward, taking them deeper, messier, letting himself drool, letting the wet, filthy sounds fill the space around them. The stretch of his lips, the burn in his jaw, the way their thighs tense under his hands… it’s too much, it’s not enough, and he wants more.

He moans around them, sending vibrations up their spines, and Fred swears, his head tilting back as he shudders.

“That mouth—fuck,” George grits out, his fingers twitching against Draco’s skin.

Fred groans, his other hand cupping Draco’s jaw, his thumb swiping at the wetness smeared across his lips. “Shit, you’re gonna wreck us, aren’t you?”

Draco pulls back just slightly, his smirk wicked, his lips slick and swollen as he blinks up at them. His breath is heavy, his chest rising and falling as he drags his hands down their bodies again, teasing, taunting.

“That’s the idea,” he purrs.

And fuck, that does it.

The twins share a glance, something unspoken, something electric. And then George is gripping Draco’s hair, yanking his head back, tilting his face up with a sharp tug. He fists his cock and drags it across Draco’s parted lips, smearing the wetness already there, watching how Draco’s tongue flicks out to taste him.

Draco doesn’t hesitate. He opens up, mouth stretching obediently, and George slides in slow, savoring every second of the heat, the tightness, the perfect suction as Draco swallows him down.

“Ohhh gods,” George groans, head tilting back as he sinks deeper, as Draco lets him, as his throat flexes, struggling, adjusting. Draco makes a broken noise around him, jaw slack, eyes fluttering closed as he gives in completely. “That’s it, baby.”

Fred’s fingers drag down the delicate column of Draco’s throat, feeling the bulge of George’s cock pressing against his skin. He groans, pressing down, feeling the way it twitches, the way Draco struggles to breathe but doesn’t pull away. He’d never pull away. Not from this. Not from them.

“Cheeky little thing,” Fred murmurs, voice dark, teasing, his grip tightening just slightly. “Think he needs a lesson in what happens when he teases us, yeah?”

George pulls back just enough to let Draco gasp for air before thrusting back in, slow and deep, groaning as Draco moans around him. “Look at you, pretty baby. Taking me so fucking well.”

Fred’s hand slides to Draco’s chin, thumb brushing over his spit-wet lips, prying them further apart as he watches George’s cock slide in and out, slick with Draco’s drool.

“So pretty like this,” Fred murmurs, voice low, reverent, watching Draco’s throat flex as he swallows. “Completely at our mercy. Completely Ours.”

George pulls out completely, and Draco whines, blinking up at them, needy, ruined. Fred chuckles darkly, stroking his thumb along Draco’s jaw before guiding his cock to those swollen lips.

Draco doesn’t wait for instruction. He parts his lips, eyes locked onto Fred’s, and lets him slide in with ease.

“Thats it, what a good little pet,” Fred purrs, groaning as Draco wraps those perfect lips around him, taking him deep, sucking greedily, fingers clutching at his thighs for balance.

Draco moans around him, lashes fluttering, throat working as Fred thrusts in slow and deep. George watches, chest rising and falling heavily, fingers threading into Draco’s hair, tightening in warning.

“You like being used, don’t you?” George taunts, his other hand stroking his cheek tenderly.

Draco makes a muffled noise of agreement, swallowing around Fred, his throat fluttering, his hands tightening in his trousers.

Fred groans, brushing his thumb over the bulge in Draco’s throat, feeling himself there. “I can feel your throat clenching—relax, love.”

They switch again, trading places fluidly, their hands keeping Draco exactly where they want him. His mouth is wet and ruined, lips swollen, his jaw aching, his own cock throbbing where it hangs between his thighs, untouched, leaking steadily.

George fists Draco’s hair tighter and tilts his head back, forcing his gaze up. “Your lips are all swollen—so fucking red and used.”

Draco’s eyes are watering now, tears clinging to his lashes, a glossy sheen of spit and lust coating his flushed skin. He’s wrecked, completely fucked-out, but he still manages to smirk around George’s cock, blinking up at them like he knows exactly what he’s doing to them.

George growls, his grip tightening, and suddenly Draco is being pulled forward instead of them thrusting in. George makes him take it, holding him when he reaches the base, savoring the way Draco gags, the way his throat convulses.

“I love the way you whimper when I hold you down,” George groans, keeping him there for a second longer before finally easing up, letting him breathe.

Draco pulls back, panting, spit and precum shining on his lips as he licks at the mess, blinking up at them with a teasing gleam in his ruined, half-lidded eyes.

“What?” he rasps, voice hoarse, smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It’s one at a time now?”

Fred and George exchange another look before they’re on him again. Fred grips Draco’s jaw, fingers digging in, forcing his mouth open wider.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” Fred growls.

George smirks, pressing his cock against Draco’s lips, alongside Fred’s, sliding them both in at the same time, pushing as far as Draco can take without it hurting. Which isn’t much past the tips, but it’s something.

Draco’s eyes flutter closed for a brief moment, the stretch overwhelming, the fullness making his head spin. He whimpers around them, but his tongue flicks between them, teasing, desperate.

“Your mouth is so fucking perfect wrapped around us,” George groans, fingers tangling in Draco’s hair, guiding him exactly how they want. “Like it was made for us.”

Fred watches, grinning wickedly. “Gods, Draco. You’re such a slut—one’s just not enough for you, is it?”

Draco hums around them, shaking his head as best as he can with his mouth so full, eyes filled with arousal.

They groan in unison, the sounds shooting straight through Draco, making him tremble, making his untouched cock throb painfully.

“We should keep you like this,” George muses, his voice thick, rough, his fingers tightening.

“Yeah,” Fred agrees, smirking down at Draco, pushing deeper, relishing the way he chokes, the way he fights to take them both. “Keep you stuffed full of our cocks, making sure you know exactly who you fucking belong to.”

Draco garbles, sucking harder, his tongue flicking along both of them, his hands curling around their bases where he can’t fit them in his mouth, stroking them in quick, steady pulls.

The sounds they make are obscene, moans and curses spilling freely, their breath coming quicker, their thrusts stuttering, their grip tightening.

They praise him endlessly, telling him how perfect he is, how incredible, how fucking good he feels, their words a filthy, tangled mess in his head.

They’re going to cover him, claim him, ruin him.

And fuck, Draco wants nothing more.

They don’t let up. They thrust into his mouth, slow and deliberate, relishing every choked gasp, every strangled moan that vibrates around them. Their voices are a relentless murmur of filth, winding through Draco’s already fogged mind, sinking deep into his bones.

“Messy little thing,” one of them murmurs, voice dark with amusement. A thumb swipes along the corner of Draco’s mouth, gathering the slick mess of spit and pre-cum before pressing against his lips. “Drooling all over yourself.”

Draco whines, swallowing around them, eyes fluttering as his entire body trembles. He can feel the wetness on his chin, the way it drips down his throat, marking his skin, making everything feel hot and messy.

“Fucking devastating,” another voice croons, rough with arousal. Fingers press against his cheeks, tilting his face up. “Soaking our cocks with that pretty mouth.”

A shudder rolls through Draco at the praise, and he forces himself to look up, meeting their heated gazes. His vision is blurred with tears, his lips swollen and slick, but he doesn’t dare look away.

“Such a good boy taking what he’s given,” Fred whispers, voice thick and coaxing, as if Draco needs any convincing.

He groans, fingers tightening around the thick shafts he can’t fit into his mouth, stroking them in time with the movements of his tongue. He’s desperate to please, desperate for more. More sounds, more touches, more words murmured into his hair.

“You can’t stop making those filthy little noises, can you?” A sharp tug on his hair forces his head back slightly, just enough to watch the way his throat works, the way he struggles to take them deeper. “Fuck, we love watching you struggle to take us.”

Draco mewls, his entire body burning. He can feel himself dripping, soaked and untouched, his arousal a hot pulse between his legs. He wants more, needs more. He lets out a desperate, muffled moan around them, pleading without words.

“Pathetic little thing,” George breathes, the words sinking into Draco’s fogged mind, wrapping around him like a tether. “Aren’t you?”

He nods, overwhelmed, utterly gone, and yet he never wants them to stop.

Draco’s lashes flutter as he tries to keep up, his throat burning, his lips stretched wide around them.

Fred, always the gentler of the two, strokes his cheek with a thumb, grounding him, his touch a stark contrast to the filth spilling from his lips. “You’re doing so good for us, darling. Taking it so fucking perfectly.”

George, rougher, hungrier, grips Draco’s hair tight, tilting his head just the way he wants. “Merlin, you love this, don’t you? Letting us use you, letting us fuck your mouth like it’s ours.”

Draco whimpers around them, his fingers twitching, his jaw aching, but fuck, he relishes it. The way they touch him, the way they speak to him, the way they make him feel owned.

Their thrusts falter, breath hitching, muscles tightening. They’re close.

George lets out a ragged groan, his voice strained with need. “Oh, fuck—gonna cum all over you, baby. Let us mark you up, yeah? Let us claim you?”

Fred’s voice is softer but no less wrecked, his grip on Draco tightening. “Claim every inch of that perfect skin, every inch of your pretty little throat.”

Draco moans, his own arousal a pulsing, unbearable ache between his legs. He nods as best he can, eyes fluttering closed as tears streak steadily down his flushed cheeks.

“None of that—” George pants, his fingers tightening in Draco’s hair.

“—Look at us.” Fred’s voice is rough with need, with something deeper.

Draco forces his eyes open, and the moment his gaze locks onto theirs, their control shatters.

George pulls out first, stroking himself with a shuddering groan before spilling across Draco’s face—hot, thick, marking him. It lands on his cheeks, his lips, dripping down his chin, and Draco lets out a soft, desperate noise at the feeling of it, his tongue flicking out instinctively to taste.

Fred buries himself deep with a broken moan, pressing in until Draco’s lips are flush against his skin, and then he’s spilling down Draco’s throat, his entire body trembling as he watches Draco swallow around him. Draco’s throat works, struggling to take it all, but he does—barely, swallowing greedily, his fingers tightening around Fred’s thighs.

Fred pulls out slowly, panting, his thumb brushing against Draco’s swollen lips, wiping away the mix of spit and cum. He stares down at him, at the way his face is a mess of slick and heat, his hair disheveled, his pupils blown wide.

And fuck, he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

George is already on his knees, tilting Draco’s chin up with two fingers, his gaze dark and possessive. “Gods,” he murmurs, his thumb dragging through the mess on Draco’s lips before pushing past them. “So fucking pretty like this. Our pretty little thing, all used up for us.”

Draco moans, sucking at George’s thumb greedily, the taste of them still heavy on his tongue.

Fred watches, completely mesmerized. He wipes at Draco’s cheek, collecting a streak of cum before pressing his finger in along side George’s. Draco doesn’t hesitate his lips part, his tongue darting out to lap up every bit, moaning at the taste.

They pull back from him, George groans at the sight of his covered face, his hand slipping into Draco’s hair again, tilting his head back before kissing him, deep and filthy, unbothered by the mess still smeared across Draco’s skin. He cups Draco’s jaw, his thumb stroking along his cheek, swallowing every needy sound Draco makes.

When he pulls back, Fred is already moving in, his kiss softer, slower… lingering. His fingers trace along Draco’s damp throat, his pulse fluttering fast beneath his touch.

Draco whimpers when they pull away, his entire body trembling. “Please—I need—let me—”

The twins exchange a glance before their hands start moving, gliding down Draco’s body, mapping him out like they own him.

“You wanna cum, baby?” George asks, his voice dark and teasing.

Draco nods frantically, his hips jerking forward when Fred’s fingers graze over the outline of his cock through his trousers. His voice is hoarse and broken when he speaks, “Yes—yes, wanna cum, please.”

Fred hums, his fingers deftly working Draco’s trousers down, his breath hot against Draco’s jaw. “Well, you were such a good boy for us, weren’t you?”

“Hmm—look at you.” George’s voice is full of something wicked as Fred finally frees Draco’s leaking cock. “So fucking wet for us, baby.”

Draco whines, his entire body trembling. He’s dripping steadily, his cock flushed and aching, and fuck, it hurts. His hips twitch up, desperate for anything. Fucking anything.

Fred wraps his fingers around him, spreading the slick down the length of him, and Draco keens, his back arching, his breath coming in sharp, broken gasps.

George moves lower, his fingers pressing against Draco’s thighs, easing them apart. “Sit back for us, baby. Knees up, yeah?”

Draco obeys instantly, shifting back against the shelves, kicking off his trousers, planting his feet against the floor, bending his knees.

“Listen so well for us,” Fred murmurs, massaging his thighs. “So obedient.”

“Spread ‘em, baby.” George presses a kiss against Draco’s knee.

Draco obeys, and then, fuck. Fred tightens his grip around his cock while George mutters something under his breath, and a moment later, Draco feels the slick, slow glide of George’s fingers pressing against his entrance.

The sound that rips from Draco is raw and desperate.

“Sound so fucking perfect, you know that?”

“So loud for us, and we’ve hardly touched you yet.”

George presses one finger in, slow and deep, the stretch just enough to make Draco’s breath stutter. His entire body twitches, his muscles tensing before melting into it, desperate for more, for anything they’ll give him. He pushes down, chasing the sensation, whimpering brokenly as he rocks his hips, trying to take George deeper.

Fred’s grip tightens around him, his strokes firm and precise, fingers teasing at the head, pressing just right, just enough to make Draco keen. And then George curls his finger, pressing against that spot inside him that sends white-hot pleasure bursting behind his eyelids.

Draco sobs, high and desperate. “Fuck, fuck—feels so good—please, more—”

“Listen to him beg all nice and sweet for us,” Fred murmurs, voice dark with satisfaction.

Draco barely hears it, his mind too fogged with pleasure, too consumed by the overwhelming need clawing at him. He squirms between them, panting, wrecked, hands grasping at their arms, their clothes, anything he can hold onto.

“Such a pretty boy,” George breathes, adding a second finger, the stretch burning for a moment before melting into something unbearably good. He presses deeper, running slow, incessant circles against Draco’s prostate, making his entire body tremble. “Our pretty baby.”

Draco moans, his head falling back against the shelves, thighs twitching as pleasure sparks up his spine, electric and consuming. His body moves instinctively, rocking forward into Fred’s touch, then back onto George’s fingers, mindless in his desperation.

“Don’t close your eyes, baby. Keep them on us.”

Draco forces them open just as George crooks his fingers again, pressing against that perfect spot, sending another bolt of pleasure tearing through him. He nearly sobs, vision hazy, lips parted as he gasps for breath.

Fred speeds up, his strokes quick and unforgiving, his grip tightening just enough to make Draco shudder. George matches the pace, fucking his fingers into him deeper, relentless, determined to push him further. Draco is unraveling, completely undone, his mind blank, nothing left but the blinding pleasure consuming him.

The edge is so close, he feels it creeping up, threatening to take him under, and he clings to them, hands tangling in their hair, clawing at their shirts, pulling them closer. His back arches off the shelves, his body chasing the feeling, desperate for release.

“That’s it, baby. Gonna come all pretty for us?”

Draco nods frantically, his voice breaking on a choked moan. “Yes—fucking yes.”

“Wanna see it, love,” Fred whispers darkly against his jaw, his breath hot on Draco’s flushed skin. “Let us have it—please.”

George thrusts deeper, fingers pressing just right. Fred strokes faster, his touch merciless.

And Draco shatters.

“Fred—George—fuck, oh fuck—”

His orgasm crashes through him, blinding and overwhelming, his entire body wracked with pleasure. He convulses, gasping, sobbing as the waves tear through him, leaving him trembling and wrecked. His cum coats Fred’s fingers, his own stomach, but he doesn’t care. He can’t care, not when his body is still trembling, still pulsing with aftershocks as they work him through it.

They don’t stop touching him, don’t stop murmuring soft praises against his overheated skin.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” George murmurs, pressing his lips to Draco’s temple.

Fred strokes his cheek, brushing damp hair from his forehead. “Look at you,” he says, voice dripping with warmth. “All fucked out and pliant.”

“Amazing,” George echoes, nuzzling into his neck. “So amazing. Made such a mess for us.”

Draco barely has the strength to lift his head, but when Fred lifts his messy fingers to his lips, he knows what they want.

“Clean me up, baby,” Fred murmurs, voice soft but firm. “This is your mess.”

Draco’s tongue flicks out, licking at Fred’s fingers, his mouth slow and lazy as he sucks them clean. The taste is warm, familiar, and it sends another shudder down his spine. When he finally lets them go, he collapses against the shelves, utterly spent.

A spell washes over them, cleaning the mess, and then Fred and George are pressing in close, one on either side of him, their bodies warm, grounding. They nuzzle into him, dragging their noses along his jaw and throat, pressing kisses wherever they can reach. Helping him redress with careful hands. 

Soft murmurs, soothing and possessive, brush against his skin.

“All ours.”

They gather around him, holding him close, kissing his skin, whispering soft words as Draco melts between them, safe and sated.

Draco doesn’t realize he’s leaning into them until he’s already sinking, melting into the warmth of their embrace. His body feels boneless, loose-limbed and pliant, exhaustion tugging at him in the best way. Fred’s shoulder is solid beneath his cheek, his scent familiar now. Warm spice and something uniquely him. Draco sighs deeply, letting himself be held, letting himself be touched. 

Gentle hands run over his back, tracing slow, soothing circles. George presses in from behind, his chin resting lightly against Draco’s shoulder, his breath warm against his neck. There’s no urgency in their touches now, just quiet care, the steady press of their bodies keeping him grounded.

It’s strange. This feeling blooming in his chest. This sense of safety, of being wanted. He’s never been held like this before, never been touched like he matters outside of what he can give. But here, with them, he feels it. He feels cherished.

A soft sound escapes him, something between a sigh and a hum, and he burrows in closer, his fingers curling into Fred’s shirt. He doesn’t think, just lets the words slip, quiet and drowsy, barely more than a mumble.

“I like you.”

Everything stills.

Fred’s breath catches, and George’s grip on his waist tightens just slightly, like he’s trying to hold the moment in place.

George is the first to break the silence, his voice impossibly soft, full of warmth. “Yeah?”

Draco swallows, feeling his face heat. He almost pulls back, almost takes it back. But then Fred’s fingers stroke through his hair, gentle and careful, and George noses at the side of his neck, pressing a soft kiss to the skin there.

Fred’s lips brush against his temple, lingering. “Took you long enough,” he murmurs, amusement threading through the warmth in his tone.

Draco huffs, but it’s weak at best, his lips twitching in something dangerously close to a smile.

They don’t push for more, don’t make him say it again. They just hold him, pressing closer, surrounding him with their warmth, their touch.

Fred tilts Draco’s chin up, catching his lips in a slow, lingering kiss, nothing hurried or demanding, just soft and real. When he pulls back, George is there, pressing their foreheads together for a moment before kissing him too, just as gentle.

Draco sighs, heavy-limbed and drowsy, and lets his eyes flutter shut.

They stay like that, curled together on the floor of the library, warm and content, their breathing slow and steady around him.

As sleep tugs at him, Draco barely manages to mumble one last thing, quiet and certain, meant only for them.

“Yours.”

He doesn’t see their matching grins, doesn’t feel the way their arms tighten around him, holding him impossibly closer. But he feels their warmth, their affection, wrapping around him like something solid and real.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Draco lets himself believe it.