Shamelessly
Disclaimer: If Charlie Weasely belonged to me I would be a Ruby/Charlie shipper, not a Hermione/Charlie shipper.
A/N: Had a hankering for some flirt.
Shamelessly:
Chapter 1, Meeting Matches
The first time Charlie realized she was a woman he realized she was all woman. Some girls take time, sprout up a bit, grow out their hair, start wearing make-up. But Hermione Granger had gone from a little girl, albeit, a smart-as-hell little girl, to a woman, seemingly overnight.
Nursing a rather nasty dragon wound Charlie Weasley had come home from Romania for a break. He hadn't particularly wanted to, the haranguing of his mother to settle down with a good girl and a non-life-threatening career, was something he felt like avoiding. He liked working with dragons; it was why he had done it in the first place, giving up a very good position as the Chudley Cannons Quiddich team seeker to pursue a life of more solitude. Charlie Weasley wasn't the celebrity type.
But he was home now, trying to pretend that his body didn't ache every time he tried to bend or reach. The burn itself hadn't been too bad, but his body's attempt to recover from it had left him sore and tired. He knew he wouldn't have been much help on the Reserve, in the state he was in.
And that's how he had come to discover that Hermione Granger, know it all bookworm of the Golden Trio variety, had fully and completely transformed into someone who was absolutely not the good girl his mother wanted him to settle down with. In fact, as he found himself staring at those legs, he realized all he could think were very bad thoughts.
"Ice pop?" She broke him from his reverie. The house had been excruciatingly hot all day, and, even with the use of cooling charms his muscles ached. Charlie would swear he had just come down looking for the salve for the burn on his back. He had assumed that the rest of the house would be asleep, as they should have been; it was nearly two in the morning.
And yet, then there she was. It should have been illegal to wear such indecent clothing, especially with the number of hormonal teenage boys running around the house. Charlie had no doubt that Fred and George would cause a scene if they had known she dressed like that.
"Charlie, did the burn affect your hearing? Do you want an ice pop?" Only now did he look up. If he had thought those short shorts were bad he was in no shape to face the tank top that now seemed mock him. It would have been more decent if she hadn't been wearing anything at all, the way the outline of her breasts rested heavy in the flimsy material and the tip of her nipples just barely peaked through. He thanked Merlin for cooling charms.
"What are you doing up so late?" He asked, finally regaining his coherency. He had been known, out in the boondocks of Eastern Europe, for being quite the lady-killer. But the way he was acting now, slobbering and juvenile as his youngest brother, Ron, someone, he had no doubt in his mind, who would be incapable of treating this girl, no woman, the way she truly deserved, was hardly reminiscent of that fact.
He pulled himself up on the counter, beside her, and took the aforementioned ice pop, sliding it into his mouth, hoping for an escape from the oppressive heat. He realized she was staring.
"You alright there, Miss Granger," he asked. They were on a first name basis mainly because she was with the rest of his family, because she had been coming to their Christmas parties for years, because she had been sleeping his bed while he was away at the Reserve. Suddenly images of her in his bed jumped to Charlie's mind and he let a small groan slip.
"I'm not sure if you're the right person to be asking that," she replied, letting her lips wrap around the ice pop. Charlie did everything in his control to not let his eyeballs pop from his head.
"From what I hear," she continued, oblivious to the way he was responding to her ministrations, "We almost lost you last week."
"Just a burn," Charlie replied, "Nothing too exciting." She eyeballed him.
"Let's see it then," she told him. He raised his eyebrows but did ask she asked, pulling his thin t-shirt from his body, the rush of cool air sent welcome shivers through his spine. It was too damn hot for its own good.
He turned, maneuvering his arm to point out the scar, as if he had to. He heard her gasp, then reach out her hand, as if to touch it.
"Go ahead," he said, "it's not too bad." She rubbed her hand on it, felt the rough pattern of crisscrossed skin. He winced and she pulled back, leaning against the counter, sucking the remnants of her ice pop from the stick, then tossing it into the sink.
Charlie got a bit of a wicked idea. She may not have known what she was doing, all fresh out of Hogwarts and inexperienced with the men in her life, but he knew how to make her wild. He would play.
He reached around her, to the drawer behind her back, but she couldn't have known that and her body reacted to the closeness of his, the bare skin against the tank top that seemed to be riding up her stomach.
"Salve," he explained, with a wink, pulling out the drawer and holding the tube in his hands. "That's what I came down here for in the first place, though the view isn't something to complain about." She scoffed, but smiled.
"I'm assuming you're going to ask for my help," she replied, and he just raised an eyebrow.
"If you wouldn't mind, that is," Charlie replied.
He would immediately regret it. The second her hands, covered in the lotion for his burn, touched his bare back, Charlie realized he was doomed. The fabric of his pajama bottoms was as thin as the material in her tank top, and it wouldn't take very long for her to realize the effect she was having on him. And so he stopped it, before he lost all semblance of self-control and did something embarrassing.
"I'm off to bed," he told her, not looking her in the eye, or god forbid, at her perky little tits. "But thank you for your help, Miss Granger." He could hear her smile,
"Good night, Charlie Weasley," she replied. And he knew, with images like that in his mind, it would be.