Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.
AN - This is a repost. It was previously in a collection called The Shippers Dictionary.
Fresh Fix
He enters the bar with his hood up, covering his easily recognisable hair. In many bars this would be considered suspicious, but in the Hogs Head, the fact that nobody cared was something he was willing to take advantage of.
He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be doing this.
As he handed the Galleons to Aberforth, silently accepting the room key in return, he knew he shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be doing any of this. It was so many kinds of wrong. Hell, he wasn't even supposed to be in the country at the moment, never mind in this bar, taking a key to a room that he shouldn't have any use for.
He shouldn't be here. It was wrong. It was the worst betrayal imaginable.
Slipping up the stairs, he didn't remove his cloak until he was safely ensconced in the room with the door firmly shut behind him. He should leave, before she arrived. He shouldn't be here in the first place, but he could make it better by leaving before anything actually happened. With a sigh, he took his cloak off, draping it over the wooden desk chair.
He shouldn't be here. He needed to leave. He needed to forget about all of this.
She would arrive soon he knew, but as Charlie ran a hand through his already messy hair, he almost wished she wouldn't turn up. That she would have the presence of mind not to come here, not to commit the worst wrong they could. Part of him wanted her to leave him here in the room alone, but part of him was already waiting for her with anticipation, waiting to be able to run his hands through her perfect hair.
He shouldn't be here. He can't stop himself. He can't make himself leave.
She arrived as he knew she would even when he was hoping she wouldn't. As soon as she closed the door he was pulling her towards him, his hands moving down to rest on her hips as their lips fused together in a searing kiss. Clothes were flung away with disregard for where they would land, each piece of revealed flesh being thoroughly explored before the next item was discarded. Even as they lost themselves to the passion of the moment, they both knew what they were doing was wrong, but they couldn't stop it.
He shouldn't be here. She filled his mind until she was all he could think of, but even then, he knew it was wrong.
They moved to the bed, his body above hers as they came together as one in a dance as old as time. It was frantic, filled with passion, and fear, and guilt, but it was her and it was him and they couldn't have stopped if they'd tried.
xxxx
Afterwards, they lay side by side, naked bodies cooling in the aftermath of the heat fuelled sex they'd shared. Awkwardness shifted to silent tension as they each sat up, looking at the destruction of the room as they searched for the clothes they'd thrown aside.
"Zis cannot 'appen again, Charlie," Fleur said, running her hand through her silky blonde hair. She bit her still swollen lip as she looked at him, both looking away when their eyes met.
"I know," he replied gruffly as he shrugged his t-shirt back on. Guilt was already filling him up, warring in his stomach leaving him with a solid need to throw up. His own brother's wife. He was the lowest of the low and he knew it.
"Au revoir, Charlie," she whispered, sliding gracefully from the room.
Charlie stayed where he was, leaning against the window frame. He had nowhere to be, nothing to do until his portkey back to Romania activated. The sickly feeling subsided enough for him to take a deep breath. The guilt would linger, he knew. It was a constant part of him now, spiking whenever he saw Fleur, or the few times he saw Bill.
As much guilt as he carried, he knew that, in a few weeks, when she summoned him again, he would come. He always did. Again and again.
Addictions are terrible things. All powerful. All consuming need. She was his worst addiction, and he would never refuse a fresh fix.