"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Fred looked on as George tapped the map once, squarely, his eyes bright with anticipation. As the dark ink spread from the point of wand contact, one by one the locations of the residents of Hogwarts came into view. It was a pleasant October Saturday afternoon and almost everyone had congregated on the grounds outside near the lake. Consequently, there were very few dots moving about inside the castle, which was all right by Fred. While he and George were truly spectacular at sneaking off together under the noses of interfering faculty and gossiping classmates alike, it did not hurt to plan on an inconspicuous time for a rendezvous once in awhile.

Fred noted with satisfaction that their timing seemed impeccable. According to the map, Dumbledore, whose dot stood stock still in the middle of a second floor corridor, was conversing with a house-elf called Knobby. Filch was sleeping in his office while Mrs. Norris prowled the marshy grounds on the eastern shore of the lake. Lee Jordan was spying on a group of seventh-year Slytherin girls in the library. Down by the Quidditch pitch Ron was riding Harry's Nimbus Two Thousand while Hermione and Harry looked on. Colin Creevey was in the bushes near the pitch. Fred pointed to Colin's dot and George snickered, but not unkindly. He and George had spent a fair amount of time in those same bushes.

While Fred grinned at Colin's spying dot, George opened the map to show the lower levels of the North Tower. One of the dungeon rooms on that side was rumored to be a storage cupboard for spare dormitory furniture, including mattresses. Fred had overheard a conversation between house-elves the last time he and George had been to the kitchen to nick treacle tarts, and they had been dying to find the cupboard since.

"Here," George said, nudging the map with his wand. "Must be this room. Should only take ten minutes to get there, give or take a few shortcuts. If we go this way," he indicated a path that doubled back upon itself no less than three times, "we should be able to go undetected."

Fred grinned. "I'll grab the supplies."

::

It was cold in the dungeon hallways under the North Tower, but the twins had anticipated it would be. Fred had enchanted his book bag so that while it remained in appearance a normal schoolbag, it actually held two blankets, a set of threadbare green paisley sheets, four bottles of butterbeer, a candelabra which looked eerily like the Whomping Willow, three thick candles, a bottle of Madame Anika's Best Sandalwood Oil, and a couple of magical firecrackers. George had raised an eyebrow when Fred tossed those to him for their supply kit, but Fred had explained, "For atmosphere," and George had grinned. That was the best part about being a twin, Fred thought; George automatically understood how something like a firecracker could be an aphrodisiac.

Outside the door to the supposed supply cupboard, Fred peered over George's shoulder at the map once more. No one else was in the North Tower at all. Brilliant. Fred grinned as George poked the map with his wand and said, "Mischief managed," and the map wiped itself clean.

"You know, I always want to contradict you when you say that," Fred teased as George stowed the map in one of the pockets of his robes. "We always manage to create more mischief. I, in fact, have quite a bit more mischief planned for the afternoon, though"—he paused dramatically—"it seems a shame now to prove you a liar."

George laughed. "If it would make you feel better we could always go through the whole 'I solemnly swear' bit again...?"

Fred dropped his voice to an overdone sultry whisper. "Maybe when we're inside. I do love seeing our dots moving on top of each other."

George rolled his eyes, but he gave Fred a quick kiss on the cheek as he magically unlocked the cupboard door. "Maybe if you're good."

They pushed the door open together, and it swung silently inward on its hinges. A musty but not unpleasant scent greeted them. It was rather like an attic, and Fred was powerfully reminded of the bedroom he and George had shared at the Burrow. His cock stirred at the sense memory associated with the smell, and he felt George step a bit closer, clearly spurred by the same thought. Fred smiled and lit his wand.

As the wandlight diffused the darkness, Fred broke into delighted laughter. The room was entirely filled with piles of mattresses: feather ticks, box springs with ornately patterned cloth covers, straw pallets, and tiny cushions that looked like they might be beds for pets, along with piles and piles of what Fred had always thought of as standard-issue Hogwarts mattresses. "Maybe we should ask for one of these feather sets to replace my bed in our dormitory?" George suggested, sitting down on one. A puff of feathers and dust swirled into the air, and George sneezed.

"Or we could bewitch one of the straw ones and make it be Flint's bed in the Slytherin dungeon!" Fred offered, and George cocked an eyebrow, cottoning on.

"Right before the next Quidditch match, and late enough so that he'll either have to sleep with one of his mates or itch all night. Bloody brilliant, Fred. Let's do!"

They laughed together until George's face suddenly turned serious. Turning to Fred, he said in what Fred thought to be a rather coy fashion, "So which one shall we try first?"

Fred deferred to George for the choice, and George made a great show of deliberation, but, in the end, and just as Fred had known he would, he choose a particularly soft-looking three-foot-high pile of standard-issues mattresses. Fred fetched the sheet set and blankets from his schoolbag and, after telling George to "Quit clowning around with those feathers and light the candles, please!" he set about preparing their bed for the afternoon, tucking in and smoothing down the sheets with far greater care than he ever showed for his own bed in Gryffindor Tower.

Fred was rather ostentatiously turning down the top blanket when he felt a slight tickling behind his left ear. A feather. He brushed it away and returned to the task of smoothing down the top blanket once more. Then he felt something brush the inside of his right wrist. Fred snatched at the second offending feather, but, as soon as he held it tightly in his grasp, a hundred more swarmed around him. The enchanted feathers seemed to know exactly in which embarrassing places Fred was most ticklish, and they were proving quite adept at sneaking into those places.

As a fourth feather flew up Fred's trouser leg, he decided it was time for action. "Reflecto!" he shouted, grabbing for his wand. The feathers ignored him, so he tried again, this time with the proper accompanying wand flick. "Reflecto!"

The feathers zoomed away from Fred, and George, who had unwisely left his wand near their pile of supplies, had only accomplished a desperate crawl halfway across the newly made bed when the feathers swarmed him. George began to plead with Fred to "Please please make them stop!" almost immediately, but Fred merely began to calmly undress.

"Fred, please!"

Fred ignored him and slipped out of his robes.

"Seriously, make them—ooh eee hee—stop!"

Fred pulled off his jumper.

"Heh heh hiccup nooooo!"

Fred untucked and unbuttoned his white shirt. Turning his back on George, who was now completely sprawled across their makeshift bed, Fred slid the shirt off his shoulders.

"Fred, please, I ... Hee! Oh ho! Hee! Pleeeeease!"

Fred turned around, wand in hand. George lay there, panting and squirming, eyes bright, face flushed, feathers sticking out of his ginger hair at an assortment of angles. Fred, already half hard from listening to all the pleading, did not feel like teasing any longer. "Finite Incantatum." The feathers fluttered to rest.

Fred clambered up onto the bed and aligned himself carefully over George's body, propping himself up with his hands and knees set wide enough to allow George a bit of movement underneath him. Lifting one hand to push George's hair back from his forehead and to pluck out a few feathers, Fred leaned in and kissed George, who kissed back with such a ferocity that Fred immediately needed both hands on the bed to steady himself. Wanting to feel a semblance of control again, Fred changed the angle of the kiss, nudging George with his nose and nibbling along George's bottom lip. George, however, seemed determined to lead. As Fred pulled back to take a breath and perhaps make some sort of witty comment, George chose that vulnerable moment to flip Fred over onto his back.

Fred lay there, surprised and grinning, and George, eyes still overly bright as he knelt over his twin, grinned back. Fred slid his hands up George's thighs, which were near Fred's hips and nicely within reach. "Why are you still wearing your robes?" he asked, attempting to disguise the needy roughness—and breathlessness—in his voice with an innocent tone.

"No one's yet offered to divest me of them."

"I'll volunteer for that."

"Well you'd better get to it, then."

George rocked back on his heels to allow him up, and Fred struggled to his knees on the soft pile of mattresses. George snickered as Fred wobbled crawling over to him, but Fred silenced the snickering with another searing kiss. With his tongue in George's mouth once more, Fred pushed George's robes off his shoulders before sneaking his hands under George's jumper to unbutton his shirt underneath. As Fred undid the last button, George pulled out of their kiss to pull his jumper over his head and toss it somewhere towards the door. His rumpled white shirt followed shortly thereafter, and Fred found himself looking once again into a mirror, down to the smirk on his twin's face. Both were still wearing undershirts and their school trousers, both were without shoes or socks. While Fred always found George—and, consequently, himself—intensely attractive, he also appreciated when there were little differences between them. Grinning, Fred pulled George's last shirt off, bent his head, and began to mark the skin above George's collarbones.

As Fred was creating the fourth little red mark, George let slip a wee moan, and Fred, without thinking about it at all, slid his hands down to George's arse, squeezing him and pulling him close. Kneeling on the mattress pile they were now cock-to-cock but for two pairs of trousers. As Fred rubbed himself against George, still marking George's skin with his mouth, he thought they could probably do without the trousers. Fred was pleased to find George thinking similarly when George slid his hands between their bodies and began undoing the trousers' buttons and zips, his own with his left hand and Fred's with his right. Fred smiled against George's neck as he felt his twin's familiar hand slide into his pants and grip his cock with firm certainty. George drew out both of their cocks and, pulling back only far enough to give the palm of each of his hands a few good licks, he cupped both Fred's and his own erection between both of his hands, creating a pocket of deliciously hot friction. Fred left his own hands on George's arse and thrust into George's hands with abandon.

The whimpers and moans Fred now heard were his own, echoed in pants by George, who was sloppily covering Fred's face with kisses. "Been... too... long..." Fred stuttered out before giving a little wail and coming all over George's hands and belly. George, though not quite there yet, let go of his own cock and gently stroked Fred through the aftershocks. Fred, unable to speak, continued to shudder against his twin. When Fred was completely spent, he pulled back and his eyes met George's. The sparkle there was a mixture of love and lust and ... mischief. Fred recognized all of these in an instant—this was why he loved his brother so fiercely.

He leaned in to kiss George again but his twin dodged out of the way. "Little help here?" George teased through Fred's reverie. Fred looked down at George's cock, still hard and slick now with traces of Fred's own climax. Fred ran his finger up its underside and smiled as it jumped a bit. Then he bent his head down and licked along the marks he'd left earlier along George's collarbone. George moaned when Fred closed his fist around him, and Fred sat up and gave his twin a feral grin. He gave George a few quick pumps, then slid his free hand into George's trousers and cupped his balls, massaging them gently while cupping his other hand around the head of George's cock. George thrust into Fred's hand, whimpering, and Fred coaxed him toward climax as expertly as if he were coaxing himself.

When they'd first done this together, Fred had thought it would be exactly the same, making George come, as it was wanking himself. He'd quickly learned, though, that being with George was different. George was more tactile, more vocal, more likely to bite at the moment of climax than Fred was. George liked a quick build up and then a quick backing off before pounding to release, while Fred preferred a steady climb. As Fred eased off a bit, ready to follow George's lead and bring him off, Fred could feel the trembling in George's body that he knew signaled imminent release. As George came, Fred made sure to keep himself out of biting range. George panted out Fred's name and Fred clung to him, panting as well.

They knelt there on the mattress pile awhile, heads resting on each other's shoulders, holding each other, each of them catching his breath. When the cold began to creep in and chill their damp and exposed skin, Fred picked up his wand and spelled their clothing and bodies clean. George took off his trousers at last and motioned for to Fred to do the same. When Fred went to drop his trousers and undershirt onto the pile by the door, he reached into George's robes and pulled out the map.

He climbed back up onto the bed and under the covers, and George spooned himself up close behind Fred. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," Fred whispered, tapping the map with his wand.

"When is that not true?" George asked, and Fred squirmed away from him in protest. George did not let him get far before he spooned in close again. As George tucked his chin into Fred's shoulder, Fred looked down at the map. The first dots to appear were labeled Fred and George Weasley, and they were close enough to almost appear as one dot in a room now labeled "The Twins' New Love Nest."

George snickered and took the map and Fred's wand. "Mischief managed," he said, stifling a yawn.

"This time I think you're right," Fred whispered as he turned to kiss George again.

"Oh no," George answered sleepily mid-kiss, "there is always more mischief to be had."

"Can we have it after a quick nap?" Fred asked thickly, eyes already closed.

"Mmm mmm mmm," George answered, or at least that is what Fred thought George said, but that could have been because he was mostly already asleep. With George tucked in safe and close behind him, Fred slipped off into dreams of what they could do on a pile of pet-bed cushions. George was right; they could always do with a bit more mischief.
 

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