Froople and Bilch

A/N:

Thanks as always to my wonderful beta and Britpicker, RedSkyAtNight, who engaged in a lengthy discussion with me regarding famous Freds before I just tore off on my own and went with Mertz.

Reviews are greatly appreciated. 50 points to the House of the first reader to figure out the origin of the name of Manchester chemists Froople and Bilch.

It was unusual for two men to request the simultaneous services of one girl...although Zelda thought, looking at these two fresh-faced redheads, that it would be a stretch, really, to refer to them as "men." Not that she was worried about the possibility of their being actually underage: the periphery of the Wayward Wand was scrupulously protected by an Age Line.

She was seated at a small writing table in the sitting-room with two blank parchment cards before her. "Let me see," she said, pushing her rhinestone-studded reading glasses up on her nose, "Mr...ah...Mertz, and Mr Costanza, is that correct?"

Her voice, conditioned by years of professional discretion, betrayed not an iota of her certainty that those were not their true names. If nothing else, they were as alike as if they had drunk from the same flask of Polyjuice Potion; it was simply not possible that they were not related by blood, and closely, too. They were wearing identical clothes, as well: red and yellow knitted scarves, and bulky hand-knitted jumpers against the late December cold, one with a large letter F, and one with a G.

But that was none of her business...after all, aliases were hardly a rarity in her line of work...and she wrote their names at the top of the cards in her careful script as if there were nothing at all unusual in a pair of identical twin brothers turning up with different surnames.

"Anything in particular you prefer?" she asked.

"A blonde, with serious hooters," said one, while the other said, at exactly the same moment, "Asian. I do fancy Asian."

She peered at them over the tops of her glasses. "Why don't I just have several girls come out and you can agree on which one you'd like, hm?"

"All right," they said in unison.

She wondered why they were intent on sharing a girl if they didn't even have the same tastes; since they were obviously brothers, she doubted that they were planning any interaction with each other. Rather the opposite, she imagined. But again, none of her business.

"We do require payment up-front from first-time clients," she said, smiling apologetically. And then the mystery was solved, for they brought forth between them a pile of coins and bills in small denominations.

Christmas money, she thought. They've pooled their Christmas money to buy a whore.

It was sweet, really. She gave a little sigh of nostalgia for her own lost youth and innocence, and wrote out their receipt and gave it to George.

"You'll also have to hand over your wands to Hastings, here. Only temporarily, of course...you'll get them back when you leave."

"Our wands?" said Fred in alarm. "We have to give up our wands?"

"You did read the House Policies and Procedures, did you not, Mr Mertz? Was there some reason in particular you wanted to keep your wand?" Her tone had grown slightly cooler.

"It's just..." said George, "...we've never been without them. Since we were eleven."

"Well," she said with a small smile, "I expect there are other things you've never done before that you'd like to try out here as well."

The two boys exchanged glances.

"Right," said Fred, pulling his wand from underneath his jumper and placing it into Hastings' outstretched hand. "Here you are then."

George followed suit, and Zelda rose from her chair and gathered up the parchment cards.

"I'll just be a moment," she said.

In the end, they compromised on an olive-skinned brunette named Jasmine wearing a short black leather skirt, red satin blouse, and high, shiny black boots with stiletto heels. As the three of them were leaving the sitting room, she turned around and flashed eight fingers at Zelda, who grinned, shook her head, and flashed ten and then another five.

Jasmine led Fred and George into a dimly-lit room, and gestured toward the enormous bed at the center. "Make yourselves comfortable, boys," she said in a throaty contralto.

They plopped themselves down obediently on the end of the bed, and she stood facing them and began slowly to unbutton her blouse, swaying slightly and gazing smokily at them from beneath thick dark lashes.

"Oh, bloody hell," breathed George. "Happy Christmas to us."

"Happy fucking Christmas is right," said Fred in a strangled voice, as the blouse came off to reveal the skimpiest of brassieres, filled to overflowing with a pair of luscious, full, perfect breasts whose dark nipples could just barely be seen peeking above the curves of black lace.

She propped one foot on a chair, the brief skirt hiking up tantalizingly to reveal a flash of black silk knickers, and unzipped one boot and removed it. Then the other came off, and she turned her back to them, bending over and sliding the skirt up her hips to give them a good look at her rounded arse and the satiny black crotch of her knickers.

"Oh, Merlin," said Fred, awe-stricken, "this is the best Christmas ever."

She stepped out of the leather skirt, leaving it in a little puddle on the floor, and unhooked the front clasp of the bra and shrugged it off behind her. Her nipples pointed slightly upward, large and dark brown.

"Tits," said George in a hushed voice. "Fuck me, tits."

"Two of them," said Fred.

Hooking her thumbs in the elastic of her knickers, she lowered the scrap of silk slowly, ever so slowly, until it, too, was on the floor, and she was standing before them wearing nothing but a diamond stud in her navel and a small dragon tattoo over her left hipbone.

"Cat got your tongue, boys?" she asked finally.

"You're just...well, you haven't got any clothes on, is the thing," said George.

"Don't tell me you've never seen a woman naked before, a good-looking pair of lads like yourselves."

"Seen, yes, but not, you know, to look at and all," said Fred. "It's a bit, er, crowded where we live."

"Yeah, and you'd have to be mad to try and sneak a girl upstairs past our m...ouch!" George rubbed his side where Fred had elbowed him.

"Well, look all you want, boys," she purred, coming closer. "And you know, you're allowed to touch, too."

Fred reached out and tentatively took one breast in his hand, hefting its weight gently and brushing the nipple with his thumb.

"Fuck me," he said reverently, "there is a God."

"So," she said, "were you planning to keep your clothes on the whole time, or would you like to get a bit more comfortable?"

"No! Yes!" They jumped to their feet and began hastily unbuttoning and unbuckling. George tried to yank his trousers off without first taking off his shoes, and fell backwards onto the bed; Fred hopped about first on one foot and then the other, trying to remove everything one side at a time. Within a few seconds, their clothes lay in two heaps on the floor.

They were exactly alike, with a scattering of freckles over the pale skin of their shoulders; lean, nearly hairless bodies; and two almost vertical erections sprouting from identical patches of dark ginger hair.

"Ah, it's grand to be young," said Jasmine, taking a cock in either hand. "Now, who's going to go first?"

"First?" said Fred, and the two looked at each other.

"Toss a coin?" said George.

"What, and one of us take seconds? That's disgusting."

Clearly they had neglected to talk this through beforehand.

"Tell you what," said Jasmine, "I usually charge extra for this, but seeing as you're new clients I could make an exception. I'll do you both at the same time."

"Erm . . . how would that work exactly?" said George.

"No crossing of swords!" said Fred. "We agreed, remember! There must be absolutely no crossing of swords!"

She laughed. "Settle down," she said. "It's simple, I'll show you. You," she said to George. "Lie back on the bed, here."

She took a bottle from the bedside table and poured a thin stream of liquid over his erect cock, then spread it with her fingertips.

"Oh, holy shit," he said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "What is that? That feels bloody marvelous, it's like, hot and cold at the same time."

She straddled him, and eased down onto his cock. "Oh, god," he said. "Oh my fucking god."

Twisting round, she handed the bottle to Fred. "Now you," she said. "Get on your knees, and come in the back door. Easy does it, and don't spare the lube."

"The back door?" he cried. "Why have I got to be the one to come in the back door?"

"Fred, for Christ's sake, will you just fuck the woman?"

"Not in the arse, I won't! I mean, does that even count?"

"Oh, Merlin's wrinkled foreskin," said George, rolling his eyes. "Get down here. If you won't come in the back door, I will. Excuse us, miss."

They changed places, and Fred settled in underneath Jasmine with a blissful sigh. On his knees behind her, George examined the little bottle of fluid.

"I've got to find out where this comes from," he said. "This is the most amazing fucking stuff I've ever had on my dick."

Now it was Fred's turn to be exasperated. "For fuck's sake, George, can you worry about that later?"

Ignoring him, George peered at the label. "Froople and Bilch, Chemists, Manchester," he said bemusedly. "Never heard of them."

"George!"

"Oh. Right." Splashing a liberal amount of the liquid about, he eased himself into her anus and gave a long groaning sigh.

"Now," she said, "you two hold still and let me do the work, else you'll bollocks up the rhythm." She began moving forward and back, slowly at first, and then faster and faster.

"Oh, fuck fuck fuck FUCK!" said Fred, arching up beneath her. George gave a choked cry and thrust forward one last time, collapsing on top of her.

"Get off, man!" said Fred. "Or at least prop yourself up, a bloke can't breathe under here!"

Sandwiched in between them, Jasmine sneaked a glance at the clock on the bedside table. Eleven minutes all told. "Split the difference, Zel," she said with a little smile, but neither of the boys was listening.

Out on the street, Fred turned to George and said, "No need to do that again, I think."

"Mmm," George agreed. He was examining the label of the little bottle.

"Don't tell me you nicked the lube!"

"Not nicked it, exactly, just swapped it. Besides, it's almost empty."

"Swapped it? For what? You brought lube with you?"

George grinned. "I always come prepared."

"You don't think they'll know it's not the same stuff?"

"Oh, they'll know. Let's just say that the next bloke who uses that room will have a whole new answer to the question, 'Do you smoke after sex?'"