Up next!
Return of Spindleshaft! Feelings! Resolution! Sex!
"Come on Harry." Ron yelled over his shoulder. "We're all going for drinks at the Leaky. You're coming with us, no whining!"
Looking over a bundle of Auror paperwork, Harry crooked a grin at his best friend. "Soon as I get this to Shacklebolt."
"Twenty minutes! Also, 'Mione is meeting us there, so if you don't, I'm setting her on you." About to walk away, Ron turned around suddenly, "Oh yeah, Mum says that you're invited to the Burrow this weekend for Bill's birthday. She's been planning it for a month, and she'll be gutted if you don't show."
Waving a lazy hand, Harry nodded. "I'll be there, I've got the whole weekend off, so barring any world-shaking emergencies."
"Great!" Ron gave Harry the double thumbs up. "See you in twenty!"
Calmly gathering the bundle of papers into his arms, Harry made his way towards Kingsley Shacklebolt's office. The man was in his second year as Minister for Magic, having been re-elected by democratic vote after post-war term spent rebuilding from the ashes (quite literally in some places).
Walking swiftly and avoiding crowds, reporters and tourists, Harry pulled up an air of 'busy, do not disturb' that managed to dissuade all but the most determined of people from bothering him. He was seriously looking forward to having a relaxed drink at the Leaky and not thinking about work until tomorrow.
Knocking on the door to the waiting room of Kingsley's office, Harry smiled at Janet Coppelburr, Kingsley's scarily competent secretary.
"Hi Janet."
Janet looked up with a smile from her busily scratching quill, "Mr. Potter. You do realise that there are other people who's job is to actually take the reports to Minister Shacklebolt?"
"But then I would miss talking to you, and you would miss my face." Harry replied with a grin, totally unafraid of Janet taking his banter for anything other than what it was.
"Fair enough Mr. Potter." Janet laughed, her Adam's apple bobbing, and deep laugh rumbling from her chest. "Aside from witty banter, is there anything else I can do for you?"
"Nah," Harry said, placing the reports on Janet's desk. "Just make sure Kingsley see's these before the next ministry meeting."
Janet nodded at him, moving the reports to the appropriate pile with a small flick of their wand. "Shall do Mr. Potter. Have a good afternoon."
Grinning, Harry said his goodbye's and made his way towards the apparition point eagerly. He was seriously looking forward to that drink.
That night, just on the edge of drunk, He, Ron, and Hermione spilled out of the Leaky giggling and laughing. They seemed utterly carefree, happy despite the long sleeves that Hermione refused to pull up in public, the fact that Ron would always have to scope out every entrance and exit, and the slightest hint of a headache left Harry on edge and over vigilant. It had been a year and a half; some wounds just took longer to heal.
"Hey Harry!" Ron said, one arm slung over his girlfriend's shoulder. "I never did ask. That tattoo of yours, where'd you get it?"
They both knew of the badger patronus; Hermione from when Harry had left Privet Drive for the last time, and Ron from the months of camping where privacy was a scarce thing.
"Your brother took me there." Harry said, and the words were easy to say, the regret did not spill up behind his lips as it sometimes did at strange times in commonplace moments. "I'll show you. Come on."
Then he grabbed Hermione and Ron's hands, pulled them into a side-along apparition that he was very good at by now. With a pop, they landed on the sidewalk of a main road, just outside the entrance to the twisty maze of lanes and alleys that would eventually lead to Spindleshaft.
"Hopefully the lane will let you in." Harry told them over his shoulders as he strode into the lanes, not watching where he was going or what turns he was taking. If the lane wanted them in, they'd be there, and if not, they'd find themselves back where they started.
That sweet tingle of magic grew under his skin, and Harry grinned, moving faster now in relief.
"Harry, where are we going?" Hermione laughed breathlessly as she and Ron hurried after, their joined hands swinging as they walked.
"Spindleshaft Lane." Harry called back, playfully. The memory of a small first year running down corridors and dusty halls lightened his steps to something just shy of a skip.
The first signs were the small firelights that hovered, glowing gold, calling into mind the floating O'clocks from a dandelion or the milkweed thistle seeds that drifted gently in the air. They were sparse at first, but soon gathered in number so large it was like walking through a gently glowing cloud.
Harry grinned, could feel his two friends looking around in wonder.
I love magic.
Then there was music, strains of it floating faint and distant. Soon both Ron and Hermione were plunging forward with Harry, the irrepressible spirit of childhood adventure and wonder making them grin and giggle too, until they spilled out onto Spindleshaft lane where Harry had to restrain the urge to throw his hands wide and spin around like a showman.
He had missed this place.
It was just as Charlie promised, just as Harry remembered. The place buzzed with magic and life. Lanterns were strung overhead, and magical fires floated in jars that moved whenever people came near.
The roses that Harry had seen last time, growing over the walls of a shop front, glittered iridescently in the ambient light. The gold edges glowed lightly to, sending sparks of light and colour scattering over the mixed groups of people walking past. Cafe's, open until late, were busy and buzzing despite the weekday hour. People sat and talked and laughed, they lived. Grinning at the fountain that had a couple, obviously out on a date, sitting in it and utterly unconcerned about their surroundings, Harry turned to his friends.
"So, What do you think?"
Ron and Hermione's matching smiles were all the answer that Harry needed.
Of course, groaning and clutching his head the next morning, he seriously regretted the amount that he had drunk. On the plus side, he remembered everything and none of what he remembered involved anything that would make Molly Weasley want to whack him with a spoon.
Stumbling, he groped his way to the potion cabinet where he kept the few muggle aspirins and the larger amount of potions. With relief, his hand closed around a hangover cure and he downed it without thinking about how vile the taste was, or how the burning effect wanted to make him spew. Then he stumbled back to bed to moan in self-pity for twenty minutes until the potion finished working.
He was not late. Although did he almost miss his, Hermione's and Ron's usual stop for coffee just before work. Ron looked a little better than he did; if only because Hermione always kept a stock of her muggle homemade cure she had 'tinkered with a bit'. Hermione, the git, looked daisy fresh, even if she winced a little in bright light.
They all stumbled through the day more or less intact, even though by the end of the working day they were all collectively 13 coffee's down and counting.
Packing up at the end of the day, a process that mostly involved shoving files into a carry bag to read before Monday, Ron looked over to Harry from his cubicle.
"I've just got a note from Dad; Mum's having a pre-birthday dinner at the Burrow tonight, close family only."
"Okay," Harry said, shoving more flies in to his bag. "I guess I'll see everyone tomorrow."
"Harry." Ron's voice was a little amused, "I'm telling you because you are invited. As far as we are concerned, you are family."
"Oh."
Someday he would not question that he was invited, would take it as a sweet given, would never doubt that the offer of family had been rescinded. As it was now when he was told that the Weasley's counted his as family, he felt that shy spreading warmth sating a small child in a cupboard and still questioned why they would count him as such.
"Yeah. Go home, get changed, come at 6, stay the night at ours. Dad added an extension on; there's enough room."
Harry could not supress the blinding grin that spread across his face, "Okay."
It was okay, it was much more than okay.
Of course, he had counted without Charlie.
He had arrived at six, dressed in a pair of decent jeans and a good button down. They were sitting outside, long tables fluttering with tablecloths as the Weasley family imbibed the warm summer air. Ron and Hermione were already there, talking to Ginny as she bounced Fluer and Bill's three-month-old daughter in her arms. Bill was talking to Arthur, one arm curled around Fleur who shone with animated radiance. Shifting a little in place, and looking a little uncomfortable, but happy to be there, happy to be included, was Percy. He was talking to George, who smiled half a crooked grin when he saw Harry.
Harry, who had placed Ginny's present of a broom kit and a bottle of Three Broomstick's mead on the table, said 'Happy Birthday' to Ginny and hello to everyone else, before he joined Ron and Hermione.
"Mum's just inside, getting the cake." Ron said when Harry asked him where Molly was.
"We're starting with cake?" Harry asked.
Ginny shrugged. "I like cake." She smiled down at her niece in her arms. "Yes I do!" She cooed, "I like lots and lots of cake! So I can eat it all up like a big bad wolf!" Snapping her jaws in a parody, she burrowed down to her giggling niece to bestow a noisy blown raspberry on her pale skin.
She looked up at Hermione and Ron. "So when are you two getting married?" She asked bluntly. "George and I have a bet on it."
Hermione blushed a light pink while Ron, midway through his drink choked and spluttered, turning a bright red.
"You've been dating for what, a year now?" Ginny said, completely unconcerned about the way her brother was now wheezing for air. Harry helpfully whacked him on the back. Ron nodded gratefully as the red faded from his face and air allowed to travel unimpeded to his lungs.
"A year and a half actually. – Our anniversary is coming up in two weeks." Ron said, while Hermione turned a pleased, embarrassed pink and shot an adoring look at her boyfriend. Harry reading that look knew she was planning to drag Ron off to the closest dark corner to lock lips as soon as possible.
Harry was about to open his mouth to hastily change the subject, they were interrupted when Molly Weasley came out of the Burrow levitating a massive chocolate cake before her as the whole family launched into a eager, if off key, rendition of happy birthday.
Singing along, Harry faltered when he saw the broad figure following Mrs Weasley.
Charlie.
It was Charlie, standing there with all his impossibility, and Harry did not know what he felt at that moment.
Harry had forgotten how broad Charlie's shoulders were, how his easy laugh rested on them and the way his smile lingered in his eyes.
He had forgotten how the light would glint in his hair, bronzing the reddish copper, highlighting the red strands.
Seeing Charlie now brought all of it back in one glorious hateful rush of blood.
Now Charlie's eyes met Harry's, his smile shuttered: pained. In a single swooping moment, Harry could see where Charlie strengthened his spine, set his shoulders, bruised smile shadowing into place. The kicker of all that was the fact that it was Harry who had set that bruise there. Harry who had cut him off as if months of writing and touching, of breaths shared in the dark could be so easily put aside.
All because Harry had let himself grow so attached, so goddamn in love with a man who he knew only thought they were friends; albeit friends who shared kisses and touches like others shared jeans and hugs. It hadn't been right of Harry to cut it off the way he did, simply because if Harry could not have Charlie's heart, Charlie could not even have his friendship.
And this is what it had come to; a bruised smile on a man who did not know what crime he had committed, a crime committed only by the treacherous foibles of Harry's heart.
Swallowing heavily, Harry offered the same smile back, stronger for a year and a half of distance, but whispering all the same.
The pair managed to avoid each other very neatly even when they were in the same room. Charlie's eyes would only linger on the laughing curve of Harry's cheek when Harry's shoulders were angled away, and Charlie was sure not to be found out. In turn, Harry would only glance at Charlie, at the broad line of his back and the sure muscles of his skin, when Charlie was intent on conversation and would not turn around.
Again in the morning, it was much the same; the same unspoken acknowledgement of the fluid distance and unease, and a determination to not make it worse. And above all, to not let anyone else know either.
What they did not share was their desire to speak, to touch, ask 'how are you'; awkwardness and a history of to much self-inflicted hurt prevented it.
Late morning on that Saturday, Harry helped Mrs Weasley with the frankly stupid amounts of cooking she was preparing. Ginny and Flur had attempted to lend a hand, but were quickly shooed out for being 'not helpful' and 'too helpful' respectively. Flur then wafted out to 'help charm the garden' to something of respectability. Ginny too had sulked out, presumably to join George re-charming Flur's work into something – else.
"How have you been dear?" Mrs Weasley asked as she chirpily set pans of cake batter whizzing into the oven while simultaneously chopping potatoes from a busily self-scrubbing pile.
"Uh, busy I guess." Harry said. "A lot of reports, arranging and coordinating security and port-keys for the United Kingdom's quidditch cup."
"Cannon's got through the pre-lims Harry!" Mr Weasley said as he breezed through the kitchen, plopping a kiss on his wife and a mug on the counter. "Sadly knocked out by the Hertfordshire Hexes. Still, we'll get them next time."
"That's what you said last year Dad! You know, when they beat us!" Charlie's yell echoed from upstairs. Sound, evidently, still carried well in this house.
Mr Weasley laughed at this while Harry looked down at the mucky mixing bowl and scrubbed at it intently.
"I'm off clear the field and set up the tables and lantern poles with Charlie," Mr Weasley offered, "care to join Harry? Get your elbows out of dishwater?"
Harry was just able to contain his reflexive look of panicked unease before it splashed itself over his face in a telling display. "I'd better stay until the dishes are done. Shouldn't leave a job unfinished, you know?" The smile on his face felt cracked and half-baked, but it was enough to fool Mr Weasley who was already halfway out the kitchen.
"Promise you'll join us for a game of pick up quidditch later though!" He called back over his shoulder.
"Sure will Mr Weasley!" Harry replied as he turned and continued to scrub intently.
The party that night was vibrant and cheerful; humming with that particular glow of good vibes that only came from the combination of friends and family.
Unlike Bill and Flur's wedding, the pale undertone of fear was missing and Harry had forgone a disguise as a Weasley cousin. He was himself, which meant occasionally dealing with a star struck well-wisher. However, he found that by drifting from group to group and sticking with people whom he knew personally, he could avoid most of it with relative ease. If there was something that he was insistent on, it was not to let his fame interrupt the special events of the people he considered family.
Smiling gracefully, Harry extracted himself out of an intent conversation between Ginny and one of Bill's curse breaker friends. At any other time, he would've been interested in a conversation about quidditch, but they were debating about obscure points of rule. Even as quidditch captain, Harry never had time for semantics.
Almost empty drink in hand, he went in search of the refreshments table.
Broad shoulders and head of choppy red hair made him falter. He'd been studiously avoiding Charlie, even as his gaze had been drawn to the men like a lodestone. Wherever Charlie was, Harry was not. Still, his hyper-awareness of Charlie's presence would not settle. Harry knew when Charlie spoke: when his shoulders, lifted with laughter, stretched his robes taut. Unseen tattoos were most certainly wandering over his skin, and Harry knew exactly how they'd be moving. Charlie's tattooed dragon wings would be shifting ungainly, the phoenix on his hip blooming and sparking ink fire.
Harry had run his fingers over those tattoos, traced them with lips and watched them shadowed in the dark.
Knowing all this, Harry observed Charlie at the drinks table hesitating as to whether he should wait until Charlie left, or if he should go over anyway.
The empty glass in his hand made the decision for him. Four bottles of sweet-cider and a few glasses of alcoholic punch probably went somewhat towards his decision as he stepped up beside Charlie and then proceeded to open his mouth and speak.
"Uh, Hey Charlie." He muttered, all the alcohol running through his veins blissfully knocking his executive functioning right out of the ballpark. What could he say? Cider had obviously mellowed him enough that he could look at Charlie, even converse, without want-sorrow-discomfort battering down his throat.
Charlie startled a little bit, a slightly tentative smile edging its way across his face. "Harry. Hey." He roughed the words out, and smiled anyway, despite old hurt.
Because Harry was stupid, or crazy, or foolhardy, (or even all three), he continued with small talk. "Some party, huh?" he said as he reached for the punch bowl ladle.
"I wouldn't if I were you." Charlie warned. "George spiked it with something a couple of minutes ago."
Warily, Harry edged away from the bright blue and pink punch, and reached for a much safer bottle of sweet-cider.
To their right, Ron gave a rooster screech and, as all heads turned to watch in amusement, proceeded to speak for a full half-minute in flawless gobbledegook. Bill and his work friends, the only ones actually capable of understanding the goblin language, all turned bright red at the stream of inflammatory sentences. Ron's protesting cry of "George!" was lost amid his bright red face and the guffaws of laughter from the party goers.
Smile fading a little, Harry turned back to Charlie and against his better judgement, asked softly, "How've you been Charlie?"
"uh." Charlie choked down a couple of words, squashed a few others. At the behest of the lingering swell in his chest and the whiskey-rounded emotions, he said, "I've been good. New dragons. Eggs have hatched." He paused to glance around the noisy hubbub of the party. Too much Fire-Whiskey mugged his lungs, and he was increasingly desperate to catch some fresh air.
"Do you want to talk somewhere a little quieter?" Charlie asked.
And because Harry had never been sensible when it came to Charlie, lest of all when drunk, he tipped his bottle forward in a clumsy salute. "Sure."
He followed Charlie away the brightly lit garden area to the dark soft shadows near the pond.
The night was quieter here, punctuated by the crick of cicada's and occasional cry from the loons that nested in the marshy fields behind the Burrow. The party was nothing but a distant burble of light and laughter. Here, the warm darkness was a living thing twining comfortably around them, rather than the weight it had been moments before.
Harry frowned as he drew his wand and managed to conjure a rather rickety looking wooden garden chair. It creaked slightly when he tested it with one hand but otherwise held when he sank gratefully onto it. Charlie hesitated a moment before he sat down too, the roughened wood pricking his calloused hands slightly.
Scant centimetres separated them, a gulf that crackled with the promise of touch.
Charlie bulled through the moment of fresh awkwardness with reckless hope.
"How are you Harry?" He asked, leaning back and looking at Harry over the curve of o freckled cheek. Fingertips tangled loosely together as Charlie nursed this fledgling easiness and willed it to grow.
"I've been okay." Harry said, staring at the staring at the yellow moon as it hung a reflection in the still pond water. "Mostly been working a couple of baby Auror cases, paperwork, training." He wedged a smile, "I took Hermione and Ron to Spindle Shaft on Thursday." He caught a breath, regretting the words already. Was it too soon? Too close to regret? And yet… He tonged anxiously at his front teeth and watched in relief as Charlie smiled.
"Oh yeah?" Charlie said, blue eyes crinkling at the edges with his smile, "They like it?"
An answering smile grew on Harry's face as he recalled the looks on their faces.
"They did." He said, almost taken a back at how suddenly easy this was, "They really did."
Harry turned to Charlie to say something, but Charlie's gaze diverted him. Warm eyes lingered in a shared embrace, before the tension grew too much and they broke away. Hastily, Harry swallowed some cider, swigging it out the bottle to cover his blush.
Caught out in staring, Charlie huffed in self-amusement as he turned his gaze to the pond.
An easy silence settled over the pair as, aided by the quiet darkness and the loose buoyancy of imbibed alcohol. They were able to talk, or not talk, to each other in a way the daylight could not let be.
Snuck glances curled at each other and adrenaline fluttered under their skin. Fluted opportunity made Harry's heart stutter and Charlie's trembling finger tips clasp tighter to each other.
"I've missed you." Harry said. The words brushed high in his throat, snatching air from his lungs.
Charlie looked at him, the hope of a promise edging his voice. "I've missed you too." He said. "I've, really, missed you too." It was a confession of sorts, told in the catch in his voice and Harry looked at him sharply.
There was a moment of silence, then, "Oh." Harry said softly. Not even a word, just a small noise of realisation.
Then his hands were sweeping up into Charlie's hair, fingers pushing at red locks as they kissed. Their mouths fumbled at each other in cider-softened movements. Charlie tasted like the after-burn of fire whiskey, and their tongues ran against each other, pushing and curling.
Harry twisted a little awkwardly, torso stretched to reach Charlie's height. Knees pressed together and Charlie's broad warm hands came to rest on Harry's waist. His fingers were steady, and he could feel Harry's pulse beating a solid tattoo against them.
The world was in slow motion, drawing them out into this singular moment until they broke apart, reddened lips salaciously glossy.
Charlie couldn't contain his dopey smile and Harry mirrored back at him.
"Hey." Charlie whispered, one complete sentence of both statement and so soliloquy.
"Hey yourself." Harry replied before he paused and leaned back, frowning. "Um. Sorry. I shouldn't have done that."
"No. No." Charlie shook his head frantically, "It's okay. You're fine, there's no problem. None." All the same, he let his hand fall from Harry's shoulders to his hips. "But we should probably talk, hey."
Sighing, Harry let his hands rest on Charlie's arms, cupping rough elbows where heat and cold wind had taken their toll.
"Yeah." Harry nodded slowly.
Silence again.
All Harry wanted to do was reach up and kiss Charlie again, feel that fission of heat and energy. But he didn't reach, let his hands drop, and felt old nagging doubts coupled with a newfound sense of self.
To his end, Charlie drank the sight of Harry in, eyes roving over new wrinkles and scars, and saw the building question in Harry's eyes.
"If," Harry started slowly. "if we do this," 'this' indicated by a mentioning forefinger, "what will it be? What will it make us?"
The 'whatever you want it to be' sat glibly on Charlie's lips, truthful but trite; a handout he'd tossed one too many times.
"Truthfully," Charlie began, eyes flickering here and there in thought, "I want whatever you can give me. I will take whatever you're willing to share." A speech made of heartbreak and hope rolled-and-ran hurly burly out of him. Desperation showed only in the intensity of his gaze and the intent keenness of his tone. "I really missed you Harry. Your letters were my favourite part of the week and – I've really, really missed you this past year. These past years. I don't know if you feel the same but-" and here the words tripped over theirselves, tumbling out in candid haste, "I will take anything you care to give me, be it a relationship or your heart, or your bed, or just tonight. I know that it probably wouldn't be appropriate, or wise for us to be in a relationship ship. I mean, you're the saviour of the wizarding world, and I'm a damned Dragon Keeper, but you're the only person I've ever -" 'Loved' he didn't say, but the silence shouted it just the same and now Charlie faltered, finishing with a mumbled, "stayed with before."
Any more words escaped him as he swept his eyes over the changing shades of Harry's face.
"But… don't you have a girlfriend?" Harry said the first stupid thing that popped into his head.
"Girlfriend? No, I've not seen anyone else since before I was here for the wedding, or after."
"But she was there at the battle…" Harry trailed off as Charlie shook his head.
"Kata?" Charlie asked, "Blonde?"
At Harry's nod, Charlie said, "No, merlin, no. Kata's just a friend. I recruited her for the order. No. No."
"I thought…" Harry said, stopped, tried to start again, stopped. Unfortunately, Charlie could fill in the blanks.
"That I'd found someone else?" Charlie said. "Merlin Harry. Was that why you came to me in the garden? Because you thought I'd found someone else?"
"Well Yeah." Harry said, with shrug of his shoulders, palms upturned to the night sky. "I mean, I'm so much younger, and basically made you write to me. – I was gone for so long and I thought you'd found someone else because well," He shrugged again, that same defeted up-down of shoulders, "We were just fucking and I just got myself too involved. It wasn't like we were dating, or lovers, or anything." A bitter laugh, an other shrug, and Charlie bled.
"Gods Harry." Charlie pressed the heels of his palms down hard on his cheeks bones,, covering his eyes in shame. "I'm so, so sorry." A slight hysterical laugh jumped from him, bitter and remorseful all at once. "And here I thought that was all you wanted from me. I thought you'd broke it off because you'd gotten bored. That you wanted someone better. Morgana's bones."
The irony stung, it shrieked and blared into an otherwise calm night.
"Oh." Harry said into the force of Charlie's revelation.
Silence held court for long moments; once again, glances were slid to one another considering, debating, wondering.
"So…" Charlie began slowly, cautiously. "If I was to say that I really wanted to kissed you now… What would you say?"
Harry looked up at him, an impish hopeful smile growing in the corners of his mouth. "I'd say, take me on a date?"
Grinning recklessly, Charlie pulled Harry closer to him, cupping one large hand behind Harry's neck.
"Good." He murmured fiercely, "Good."
Again, their lips met. Warm lips moved against each other in a hot and dirty kiss. Nipping at Harry's bottom lip, Charlie grinned against the other man's mouth at the gasp that followed.
"Fuck Charlie." Harry said, leaning into Charlie. Broad greedy hands pulled him closer into Charlie's lap. Harry moved easily with Charlie, straddling the man's lap with his knees tucked up to take his own weight.
Groaning deeply, Charlie relished the heat and friction on the tight stretch of his dress pants. One arm wrapped around Harry's back and he dropped the other to the curve of Harry's arse, gripping and rolling the firm muscle in intent movements.
It was hard to say when shifting hips turned into rolling thrusts but soon half-hard on's were stiff and begging for more friction as they ground their hips together, gasping and biting into each other's mouths.
Harry's voice was a husk of want. "Come back to my room." He offered, "Fuck, Charlie. Come to my room."
"Yes. Merlin. Yes. Plea- ah! –se." Charlie growled-and-groaned it, pulling-pushing Harry closer into him.
"Come on." Harry said, wriggling off Charlie, tugging the man up-and-away with one hand clasped in Charlie's calloused own.
They ducked around the side of the party, stopping occasionally to kiss furiously hands pushing under clothing and into hair.
"My bedroom." Charlie said in the cheerily lit confines of the burrow as they somehow managed to navigate the stairs while undoing buttons and loosening ties. They barely managed to shut and ward Charlie's door for privacy before their hands were grasping for each other, mouths tasting skin and hands removing belts and shirts. Skin against skin, muscle bent against muscle, teeth nipping and mouths sucking possessive bruises, the pair tumbled onto the bed. Only then did Charlie pull back to slow the moment down, to look at Harry with a hot fevered gaze, to re-learn old scars and find new ones.
It wasn't the fumbling of new lovers, nor the tired knowledge of old. Their hands wandered re-mapping and remembering sensitive spots, recalling the language of each other in brazen lust.
Despite the heady instant tugging of desire or the wanton way in which their hands clasped and lips moved, they lingered in each moment. Charlie took his time with Harry, laying him out flat to the bed, teasing and tantalising luxuriously. As if his hands carried prayers as his fingers fucked into Harry, Charlie stretched Harry out almost reverently, his eyes intent and unwavering.
Unfettered moans filled the room; Charlie's guttural groans as he finally, finally, slid into Harry resonated deep in his chest.
He panted over Harry, limbs trembling and hips stuttering lightly, bent forehead to forehead as Harry's hands ran over Charlie, shoulder blade to flank, desperate and incessant.
The pair fell into their old easy rhythm, slow deliberate hips rolling in-and-away, building to a fast searing heat that consumed all thought and all motion until they were groaning and panting fiercely into each other. Charlie babbled nonsense: snatches of words and swears, Harry's name mixed in with fervent stop and start endearments. Cursing, Harry said Charlie's name, "-fuck Charlie. Jesus, yes, Charlie, missed you so much, Charlie, Charlie" in between groans and burbling noises that spilled, animalistic, from him.
Harry came first, quick and dirty pants trailing into a sighing groan of pleasure, his limbs turning to dead weight, his spine rolling like liquid under him. Overstimulated pleasure bordered on the edge of pain as Charlie continued to thrust frantically, chasing the edge that was so close. Finally, hips stuttering and teeth gripping onto Harry's neck, Charlie came. He collapsed, full bodied onto the bed, fumbling with heavy lead-hands to pull Harry to him, murmuring sleepy endearments as he stroked up and down Harry's spine lazily. Their stuttering pants slowed and softened, and the sweat dewing their bodies dissipated. Kissing lazily, they murmured nonsense in sighed out breathes until sleep drew them away.
Together they slept until at sometime in the early hours of the morning, when the whole house seemed to breathe quietly and they stirred to sleepy wakefulness. The seashore sounds of each other's lungs were strange enough that once semi-awake, they couldn't quite go back to sleep. Instead, Charlie and Harry shared hazy kisses, quiet murmurs of affection in a silvered dream world where time hung suspended between midnight and dawn.
Resting his head on Charlie's chest, twining fingers between his own, Harry said softly, "So what happens now?"
Charlie hummed thoughtfully to himself, "Well, you have promised me a date that I intend to collect on."
Smiling dopily, Harry twisted around to kiss Charlie, "I know that." He said, in between nips and long lazy kisses, "But, this. How are we going to work?"
"That I'm not quite sure." Charlie said, chasing Harry's ribs with his fingers. "But there's weekends and public holidays. International Floo, if somehow we can wrangle it, and lots of sex. We can have all day tomorrow to talk it over."
"Yeah?" Harry said, the word tilting upwards in hope.
"Yeah." Charlie affirmed, leaning down to kiss Harry, "But for now, I really want to make out with you until we fall back asleep. Or have more sex. Which ever comes first." He added with a shit-taking grin. Harry snorted at the terrible innuendo, but rolled over in Charlie's arms to loose himself in the pleasure of the moment.
They would have tomorrow to talk about it. And perhaps, even hopefully, the next day and the next week, and the next month, (and even, just maybe, the next year).
Wait for the epilogue guys (Up next! EPILOUGE!)
Shoot me a review, they make my day and I always love it - let me know what you liked, what you didn't, if you want more smut, if you wanted the angst to drag on- ya know.
