Title: Stolen Kiss
Author: Syringe
Rating: R
Pairing: Fred/George
Sturgeon General's Warning: A large fish in military garb comes out on stage, clears his throat, then speaks: Ahem. This story contains SLASH, SEMI NON-CON, TWINCEST, CHARACTER SUICIDE, AND GENERAL DARKNESS. If any of the above doesn't appeal to you, don't read this story. Leave now. If you go ahead and read it anyway and get scarred for life, don't get pissy at me, because you have been warned.
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns all the characters. Which is good, because if they were mine I'd probably kill them all on a whim someday when I was in a bad mood.
A/N: Hoo boy, this is a depressing one. I have absolutely no idea where this storyline came from. Props to my muses: Galexia, for all the angstyness; Aldree for the depression and death; and Jackson for the first-person present tense which was a pain. Also, my sis Beautiful Willow, for the title. This is the first fic I've written in ages, and it was definitely a challenge. By the way, I do love the twinsies, honest. I don't mean to torture them like this, but my muses made me do it!
I am awoken from sleep by a noise in the room. I open my eyes and sit up. The red-haired woman is there. "Oh hello dear, you're awake. Rise and shine!" I do not understand this 'rise and shine,' so I merely stay where I am, watching the woman watch me. The corners of her mouth turn down. "Why don't you get up and make the bed, then come downstairs?" I swing my legs off the bed, stand up, and begin straightening the sheets. The woman leaves the room at a fast pace. When I finish tidying up, I vacate the room and descend to the lower level. The redheaded woman is there, arguing loudly with the younger woman, whose hair is also red.

"It's hopeless, Mum. He's gone and he's not coming back."

"He has to come back, Ginny. He must and he will! Now that we've destroyed them all, he'll find his way back to us."

The younger woman laughs shortly. "He's dead, mother. The sooner you accept that fact and move on with your life, the better off you'll be. And George too--the longer you insist on lying to yourself and him, the more you're killing him inside! It's his twin, mum, and it's tearing him up. You can't let him continue with this impossible hope of Fred returning. You're torturing him, mum, do you know that?!"

"Ginerva Elizabeth Weasley Potter! How can you say such a thing? I would never hurt your brother! Fred will return to us now that it's over and it'll be alright again!" The older woman's cheeks are now wet with moisture from her eyes.

She looks up then and notices me standing at the foot of the stairs. She smiles widely, but the moisture on her cheeks seems to increase. "Hello love. Sit down, won't you, and I'll serve you some breakfast." I silently sit down at the table, while the older woman wipes her cheeks and serves me a full plate of food. As I begin to eat, she says, "Anyway dear, I was hoping you could de-gnome the lawn for me this morning. You could use the fresh air."

"He doesn't need air," pipes up the younger, "he needs to go to St. Mungo's."

"Virginia!" the elder shrieks, but the younger woman has already gone storming upstairs. I continue to eat. When I am done, I stand and move to go out to the garden, but the red-haired woman stops me. "Why don't you go up to your room instead and rest a bit? I'll take care of those gnomes." I nod in acquiescence, turn, and climb to the room I stay in.

I close the door and sit on the bed. Some interminable amount of time passes before there is a knock at the door. Before I can answer it, the door opens and a man slips in, closing and locking the door behind him. He crosses the room to where I sit, grabs my head, and kisses me forcefully. "I need you now," he murmurs, "this is the end of it all--please, just this once, be with me." His tongue delves into my mouth, tangling with mine, demanding my surrender. His hands run through my hair, around my neck, and down my chest. He unbuttons my shirt hurriedly, his mouth moving down my body, exploring each new expanse of skin as it is revealed. He undoes my pants and pushes them down, leaving me bare before him. He reaches up and unfastens the clasps of his robe, letting it fall away from his body. He gently pushes me back on the bed with a softly muttered "relax." I do so, and a cold, slick finger enters my rectum as he reclines behind me. The finger stretches me with great care, then another finger joins it, then another. Then the fingers are gone, only to be replaced by his large, hard penis. "You're heaven, my love," he whispers, before he begins to move within me. His smooth rhythm soon degenerates into rougher, deeper thrusts, until he peaks with a short cry he tries to muffle by biting into my shoulder.

He lies still for a few minutes, absently nuzzling my neck, before he pulls out and turns me around to face him. His cheeks glisten with moisture. He produces two letters from the pockets of his robe from its place on the floor and hands them to me. "I want you to read both of these," he says hoarsely. "First this one," he indicates the one he is referring to, "then this one. Don't turn around until you've read them both. Destroy the second one once you've read it. I'll be with you soon." He strokes my cheek, kisses my forehead gently, and positions me so that I'm standing right in front of the door, facing away from the rest of the room. He then moves back into the room behind me, as I unroll the first parchment and begin to read.

To my dear family,

I'm sorry, I never meant to hurt you, but I can't take the pain anymore. No matter what anyone says, Fred is gone forever. I know this now. And I also know that without Fred, I am nothing. To my mother and father, you've been wonderful parents to all of us, and I'm proud that you were mine. To Percy, you've been a wonderful brother, even if you are a prat. Give my love to Penelope as well. Ronald, you're far more precious than you estimate yourself to be. Take care of Hermione. Ginerva, Ginny, you've grown to be a beautiful and intelligent witch; Harry is a lucky man. Charles, Bill, Lee--we gave it our all, I know. But it wasn't enough. Thank you for everything. I've suffered enough, so now I must go to be with Fred. Remember us both fondly, back when we were happy.

I love you all,
George

P.S.- Send him to St. Mungo's. Keeping him here will only prolong the heartache. We're happy now--you deserve to be too.

The second letter was labeled on the outside, "Fred." I unrolled it and read.

To my Fred,

I miss you so much. You are a constant pain in my heart, never leaving, never lessening. I'm going to kill myself now, because most of me died with you. I love you, you see. In a more-than-brotherly way. You were the other half of my soul. With you, I was complete. And so when your soul ceased to be, mine did as well.
I'm so sorry, my love, that I never got to tell you how I feel. I should have acted as soon as I realized my feelings. But foolishly, I thought we had all the time in the world. My soul died that day, when you received your first kiss. You had always pretended to be far ahead in that sort of stuff, but I knew the truth. You'd never been kissed before then. My sweet innocent Fred-you of all people deserved the perfect first kiss, romantic and tender. Anything but the dementor. I was fighting off Death Eaters and couldn't get to you in time. My life ended when I helplessly watched the dementor suck out your soul.
I wanted so badly to believe that there was something, anything, that I could do to restore you. There aren't any dementors anymore. We destroyed them all, Bill and Charlie and Lee and I. We'd had the idea that maybe if all the dementors were destroyed, the sucked souls might be free to return to their bodies. But the dementors are gone now, and you haven't returned to me. So I'm going to join you. Perhaps in the afterlife, I'll hold you in my arms the way I always wanted to in this one.

Forever yours,
George

By the time I finish reading the letter, the room behind me is perfectly silent--not even the sound of breathing. I turn and face the room. The man is perfectly still on the bed, a knife in his hand. The flow of red from the gaping wound in his neck forms a puddle around his still form, tingeing his copper colored hair a darker shade of garnet. I walk over to the desk, remove a lighter from the drawer, and catch the second letter on fire. When the flames have utterly destroyed the paper, I let the ashes fall to the floor. I sit naked at the foot of the bed heedless of the red and white fluids mixed on the sheets. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror mounted on the wall. Pale skin, freckles, and red hair...a perfect copy of the motionless man on the bed with me. I feel a strange sensation on my face. The fingers I lift to feel my cheeks come away wet with clear liquid. How strange. I remain where I am, sitting, and wait for someone to come and tell me what to do.