Title: When You Whiff Upon a Star
Author: lee_west
Characters: Oliver/Charlie; Charlie/Tonks
Rating: R
Summary: Oliver has a keepsake from his hero that he treasures – and uses for his nefarious purposes. Until one day the unlikeliest of heroes catches him in the act.
Warnings: Use and abuse of a stinky, sweaty sweatshirt. I think that's it. There's no intercourse between anyone under 18, but there is a lot of under-18 solo wanking. I think that under-18 boys are masters at that, anyway, and, since they're doing it solo, I don't think it qualifies as chan. Please correct me if I'm wrong.
Kinks chosen: Relics
Word Count: ~3,700
Author's notes: Thanks to sabethea/iamisaac for the beta-at-the-last-minute.

Apologies for the horrible pun in the title. We all know where the idea came from, no? In case someone has never seen Pinocchio, well, it comes from there.




***

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Oliver Wood, eleven years old, grinned with teeth that were too big for his mouth and stepped off the bench, walking quickly to the table where his housemates were clapping.

His housemates! That was an exciting thought. Oliver had come to Hogwarts hoping to be sorted into Gryffindor, but really scared that the Sorting Hat would send him to any of the other houses. He hated Slytherins, because his parents did; he didn't want to be in Hufflepuff because they were pitiful sods, as his older brother had told him. And Oliver didn't really want to study too much like the Ravenclaws.

All he wanted, really, was to play Quidditch, and for the Wood family, there was no better way to do it than for Gryffindor. Oliver now could make his parents proud. He planned to try for the team as soon as it was allowed – his older brother had told him he could possibly try out in his second year if he was very good.

Oliver had spent the whole summer before starting Hogwarts practicing as a Keeper, and he was feeling pretty good about it. He knew he would have to wait for a whole year, but it was great to know that he could have a chance.

As he approached the table, he saw three red-haired boys sitting together: the youngest one had been sorted right before him. Oliver didn't recall his name, because he'd been too preoccupied with his own sorting to pay attention. The boy was eating primly in silence, while the two older boys were talking animatedly to each other and to several of their housemates. They looked like brothers – Oliver noticed the red hair and the freckles – but they were ignoring the younger one. It was probably because he was only eleven, Oliver thought. His older brother, had he still been at Hogwarts, wouldn't talk to him in the presence of his classmates either.

There was an empty seat next to the shorter of the two older red-haired boys, but Oliver wouldn't dare to sit there. To his surprise, though, the boy scooted over a little on the bench as Oliver came near, in an obvious gesture of invitation.

"Welcome to the best house of all," the boy said, extending his hand. "Name's Charlie Weasley. This here's my big brother Bill and that," he indicated with a dismissive jutting of his chin, "is my younger brother Percy."

"I'm Oliver Wood," Oliver said, shaking Charlie's hand timidly.

"Wood? Are you Matthew's brother?" Charlie asked with a huge smile.

Oliver nodded. "You know Matthew, then?"

"Of course," Charlie answered. "He was a great Keeper."

Less shyly, Oliver grinned. "I'm a good Keeper, too."

"Seriously?" Charlie grinned, too. Unfortunately, he was munching on his dinner and some of it flew onto Oliver's hand. "Oops, sorry about that," Charlie muttered. He pulled his robes' sleeve up and wiped Oliver's hand with the sleeve of his red sweatshirt.

"Hope you wash this shirt now, Charlie," Bill said. "Mum would go mental if she knew you were wearing it."

"Fuck off, Bill. It's my lucky shirt."

"You're not playing now. Why're you wearing this stinky shirt?"

"It's not stinky. Mum washed it-"

"Last week, I think. And you've played Quidditch with it since then."

"And my team won, every time."

"Right," Bill snorted. "With Percy there as Keeper for my team..."

"Sour grapes," Charlie answered cheekily, winced when Bill's elbow made contact with his ribs, and turned back to Oliver. "I played with your brother for two years. I was sorry to see him go." He lowered his voice. "There'll be try-outs for Keeper this year to take Matthew's place. They're all horrible, but McGonagall won't let you play in your first year. But, if you practice hard enough, maybe you can be Keeper next year. If you're anything like your brother, you'll be the Gryffindor Keeper."

Oliver's eyes glinted with sheer adoration.

***

When Oliver got the Keeper position, in his second year, Charlie handed him his red sweatshirt. "Here, Ol, take it. It doesn't fit me any more. I asked my mother to use a Stretching Charm, but I guess I got too big around the shoulders. She couldn't fix it any more." He flexed his biceps for show, and Oliver had to agree that the shirt would never fit that. "And sorry, I didn't let her wash it, but the House Elves can do it for you."

Oliver rushed to his dorm to try the sweatshirt on, coughing a little when he pulled it over his head and a strong smell hit his nose. But he didn't care: it was Charlie Weasley's shirt. It was still too big for him, but he figured he could keep it for later: it would be his lucky shirt, too.

That night he bundled the sweatshirt and slept hugging it, its pungent smell lulling him to sleep. He woke up in the middle of the night, though, after having a very weird dream.

In it, Charlie was on all his fours, clad only in the red sweatshirt. Besides that very unsettling image, all that Oliver could remember was that his dream self was staring at Charlie's arse. He woke up when dream-Oliver stepped out of his pajama bottoms and, fisting his cock, approached Charlie's behind.

Panting on his bed, Oliver had no idea what had caused such a dream. And then he felt something strange, wet between his legs. At first he thought, with shame, that he had peed in his pants, but there was no puddle on the bed. And that wetness certainly did not look like pee.

Wondering what was wrong with him, Oliver decided to ask Madam Pomfrey the next morning if she had a potion for that specific, strange kind of pee.

***

He left the infirmary with a mortified face, but much more enlightened than he was before. He also thanked her silently for not wanting to know what kind of dream had caused the wetness. He could never tell anyone it was the vision of Charlie's bare arse.

***

All through that year he slept with Charlie's sweatshirt. The smell had abated considerably, but it was still Charlie's shirt. It bothered him that it was a male bare arse that he dreamt about. Madam Pomfrey had mentioned to him that it was normal for boys' penises to get hard when they thought about girls. She had also, at his request, explained to him the rudiments of sexual intercourse, but they all had to do with a boy and a girl.

He didn't know what to do with Charlie's bare arse, but he learned that touching his hard cock while visualizing Charlie on all fours with his red shirt felt very good. Increasingly good, until the not-quite-pee liquid, which he now knew was called ejaculation, spurted from the tip of his penis.

He always slept soundly after that, sometimes using Charlie's shirt to clean himself.

***

Being home for the summer proved to be very educational. His brother Matthew took upon himself to explain all about the birds and the bees to Oliver. It was more interesting than the conversation Oliver had had with Pomfrey – for starters, he learned that only old biddies referred to the pee-like liquid as 'ejaculation.' The name used by everyone, according to Matt, was 'come.' "Because you come, you know?" Oliver didn't. He was not 'coming' from any place, but he accepted it. It was possible that Matt was pulling his leg, but he would use the word carefully at first and, if nobody laughed at him, then he would know that his brother wasn't taking the mickey.

The only problem with the conversation is that, again, it referred to boys and girls. That summer Oliver learnt about all the ways to make a bird go crazy under – or over – him. Matt spared no details, stopping only short of taking Oliver to town for a practical lesson. He had actually planned for it, but remembered that his little brother was only thirteen. And that their parents would kill him if they knew that he had taken Oliver to be laid.

"Maybe next year, old buddy."

Oliver nodded a little uncertainly. He didn't feel like doing it to any girl, but it was possible that he would change his mind when he turned fourteen. In any event, he had a full year to think about it.

What he really wanted to know was what Charlie's arse had to do with it. Why in the world it was that arse that made him hard and made him...come? Something was telling him, though, not to mention that little detail to Matt. So he asked, with an innocent face, "This bloke in my dorm told me he got hard when he dreamt about another bloke's bare arse and-"

"What? Who told you that?" Matt asked, horrified.

Taken aback by the tone of Matt's voice, Oliver answered with the first name he could remember. "Percy Weasley." Of course he had no idea if Percy ever had any such dream – he hardly talked to Percy at all – but he had to find someone to pin the dream on.

"Weasley? Not Bill and Charlie's brother?"

Oliver nodded. "He is."

"By Merlin's balls! They have a bent brother?"

"A what?" Percy was definitely not bent. He actually walked as if he had a rod stuck to his spine. "He's not-"

"Bent, idiot. Bent. A shirtlifter. A...a...He's fucking gay!"

That was certainly something else Percy was not. He wasn't quite surly, but not overly happy, either. Oliver looked at Matt questioningly, and his brother, sighing deeply, explained, "Gay, Ollie, gay. A man who likes to take it up the arse. Get it?"

"Take what up the arse?"

Rolling his eyes, Matt mumbled something about clueless. "Another man's cock. Like, what I told you to do with a girl, you know, stick your cock in her? Well, some men like to stick their cocks up another man's arse, and some men like to have a cock up their arse."

Oliver hissed. "It must hurt."

"I think so. I wouldn't know. But I can tell you a few things: one, it's wrong for a bloke to want to do it to another bloke; two, you stay away from this Percy; and three, if Bill and Charlie know that their brother is a pervert..."

"You're not going to tell, are you?" Oliver asked worriedly. He couldn't even imagine what would happen if Charlie confronted Percy with the fact; Percy would, of course, deny he'd ever said anything to Oliver and Oliver would be unmasked.

"None of my business, as long as he stays away from my little brother," Matt said, affectionately ruffling Oliver's hair. "But if he mentions any more weird dreams to you, let me know at once. I see Bill often, now that he's also a Cursebreaker, and I'll tell him to straighten up his brother."

***

It didn't take Oliver much longer after the beginning of his third year to figure out that he was in lust with Charlie Weasley. His dreams – and his fantasies – after his conversation with Matt had taken a different twist. Now he knew what to do with the arse that was so invitingly staring at him, and he noticed that he was coming a little faster and much harder.

It didn't matter if Matt said it was wrong or not. As long as he didn't actually do it, then he was not bent and everything was fine.

***

Oliver didn't lose his virginity the summer before his fourth year due to a technicality: Matt was assigned to a site in the Yucatan Peninsula and, although he had some time off, he preferred to spend those days with a Mexican witch he'd met in Mexico City. He did send an owl to Oliver telling him that next summer he'd get laid. For sure.

***

Fourth year was a bittersweet time. On the plus side, Oliver's fame as a great Keeper was set in stone. He was also the first choice to become the Gryffindor captain the following year, after Charlie left school.

And that was part of the downside. He wouldn't be seeing Charlie any more. He had hoped that Charlie would, at least, join a Quidditch team – he was that good, and not only in Oliver's eyes. This way, he would stay in Britain and Oliver could see some of his matches.

But Charlie had proudly announced that he had been accepted as a dragon handler trainee in Romania, and he was leaving right after school was over.

That was not, however, all of it. The announcement had also brought to the surface something else that Oliver had never noticed: that Charlie had a girlfriend. She was a Hufflepuff with pink hair, and Oliver remembered seeing her a lot around Charlie, but he didn't know they were boy-and girlfriend until the whole school took sides. The girls claimed that Charlie shouldn't go and leave the girl – Tonks was her name – in Britain, while the boys thought that Charlie was too young to marry.

Nobody seemed interested in what Charlie and Tonks thought: she had been accepted in the Auror training program and seemed quite satisfied with it. Very satisfied indeed, as Oliver found out one evening, when he was looking for Charlie under the pretense of going over a Quidditch strategy. Turning a corner, he saw, half-hidden from view, Charlie with his pants down and Tonks, with her robes open in the front, her naked legs wrapped around Charlie's waist and what looked like the skimpiest lace knickers ever dangling from one of her ankles.

As Charlie pumped into her, his arse cheeks contracted with the movement, and Oliver felt his cock harden with the view. Without thinking about it, he put his hand inside his pants and fisted his cock, his eyes fixed on Charlie's buttocks, until he came at the same time Charlie did, inside Tonks.

He was glad she came, too, and was quite vocal about it, because her noises muffled his gasps of pleasure. He was scurrying away as the pair before him was straightening out, and Oliver heard a sloppy kiss that felt like a barb in his heart and then her voice. "Good one, mate. Gotta make the best of the time we have left."

"I'll come to London to see you," Charlie answered in a strained voice. "And I could stay, you know-"

"No way, Charlie. I want to concentrate on my training."

"I love you, Tonks," Charlie said, his voice sounding a little sad.

"I know, but we need to get our careers going first. You go to Romania and we'll meet whenever we can. We can't get married now, you know that."

Oliver thought about it during the way back to his dorm. He didn't like any of that. Tonks was a bitch for not wanting Charlie to stay. It'd be grand if Charlie decided for a job in Britain.

But, if Charlie stayed, he would get married to Tonks. He told her he loved her.

Her. He loved a girl. He would never say that to him, Oliver. He didn't like boys.

***

That night Oliver cried, hugging the red sweatshirt. Not even the memory of actually seeing Charlie's bare buttocks made him happy.

Oliver Wood was in love. With someone who would never love him.

***

That summer Oliver lied to Matt: he said he had already got laid in school and he actually liked the girl a lot, so much that he didn't want to fool around that summer. He told Matt her name was Alicia Spinnet, and she was a Quidditch player, too.

Matt whooped and tried to pump him for details. Oliver described the sex scene between Charlie and Tonks, as if it had been he and Alicia. Matt seemed to especially like the fact that her skimpy lace knickers were hanging from her ankles.

***

Oliver was making strides to becoming a professional Quidditch player, and, although he didn't forget Charlie and still jerked off thinking about him, he had no hopes of ever having a relationship with him. So he concentrated on having the best team he could, especially because they had an amazing Seeker.

He had no interest in any other boy. To his family, he invented girls - a lot of them, and none of them serious enough to bring home. He told them he was too young for that.

One night in his seventh year, he dragged his feet into his dorm, his mouth open in a huge yawn. It was very late, because he'd been going through Quidditch strategies with his team, until they were all glassy-eyed. All his roommates should be sleeping already, so he tiptoed past the beds until he reached his own. He undressed and, mechanically, reached for his trunk, removing the red sweatshirt. He sniffed it deeply: it didn't smell like Charlie any more, but Oliver couldn't have cared less. He curled in bed with it, forgetting, in his fatigue, to draw the curtains around him.

He was almost asleep when he sensed he was being watched. He opened his eyes and found himself face-to-face with Percy.

Throughout the years he and Percy had become friends, as much as two completely different personalities could be. They had started talking more after the first Gryffindor victory with Oliver as Keeper – apparently Percy had made a bet with someone that Gryffindor would win, and he had come to Oliver to congratulate and thank him. He complimented Oliver on his athletic performance, Oliver reciprocated by telling Percy that he was the cleverest wizard in their class and, from then, a friendship of sorts was formed. Oliver kept winning and Percy helped him with his homework. Oliver had also felt a pang of guilt when he saw that Percy was dating Penelope Clearwater – the white lie he'd told Matt all those years before coming full force to hit him in the face. He was glad that Matt had kept his promise not to tell Bill or Charlie.

But, friends or not, Oliver had been pulled from that blissful almost-asleep state and he asked, annoyed,"What do you want, Weasley?" He was naked, but didn't make any movement to cover himself.

"That's my brother's shirt, isn't it?"

Oliver grabbed the shirt possessively. "Yeah. Why?"

"Why do you sleep with it?"

Oliver had no answer for that – not an answer that Percy could hear, at least, so he shrugged.

"Do you like him?" Percy sat on Oliver's bed.

That was unusual. Percy was usually very stand-offish about personal relationships, but, in any event, Oliver scooted over a little to give Percy more space on the bed. "Of course. I have no reason to dislike him," Oliver answered noncommittally.

"I don't mean like that. I meant like as in wanting to have him."

"Are you out of your mind, Weasley?"

"Why? I think it's so obvious."

"What's obvious?"

Percy rolled his eyes. "Even without seeing you hugging his old shirt, I could see that you have the hots for him."

Percy didn't seem too perturbed by the idea. And, after all, he had hit bull's eye. Throwing all caution to the wind, Oliver sat up and nodded. "Yes, I do. But it's useless, isn't it?"

"Why so?" Percy asked, with a frown.

"Because I don't think your brother likes blokes, that's why," Oliver answered a little flippantly.

"And how do you know that?"

"Well, I saw him and Tonks fucking one night. And he was definitely enjoying it."

"Ah, Oliver, Oliver," Percy answered, patting Oliver's naked thigh casually. "Life's not black and white. Some blokes like girls, some like blokes and some like both. Ah, and, of course, some girls like other girls or both, too."

"Both?" Oliver had never thought about it.

Percy nodded.

"Do you..."

Percy shook his head. "No. I like girls only. Bill and Fred do, too. I'm sure George only likes blokes, though. Ron is too young, but I think he's a girls-only."

With his heart beating quickly, Oliver asked, "And Charlie?"

With a mysterious smile, Percy said, "You'll have to find that out yourself." He yawned loudly and stood up. "Ah, I can tell you that his infatuation with Tonks is over. He doesn't have anyone now."

***

Oliver smiled when he saw Charlie coming his way at the Quidditch World Cup. Romania agreed with the man, definitely. He was looking even better than before. Oliver extended his hand to his former captain, but was engulfed into a bear hug that sent a tickle up his spine.

"Looking good, Ol. And congratulations on joining Puddlemere." Charlie broke the hug, but didn't put any distance between them.

"Well, I hope to make the starting team soon," Oliver said as matter-of-factly as he could, trying hard to resist jumping Charlie right there.

"You will. Just wear my lucky shirt. I heard you still have it." Charlie smirk was the sexiest thing Oliver had ever seen.

"I do, but it doesn't fit me any more," he answered, biting his lips, his eyes fixed on Charlie's face. Damn if Charlie wasn't coming on to him.

"Tsk. I'd love to see you in a red sweatshirt," Charlie took a step back and looked at Oliver's body slowly, up and down, with open appreciation.

"And nothing else?" Oliver blurted, not regretting it at all. If he was reading Charlie's signals wrong, he'd deal with it later.

"Exactly," Charlie said.

"We can buy it after the World Cup is over."

"Deal," Charlie answered, squeezing Oliver's arm.

***

The Death Eater attack during the World Cup was a snag, but they managed to meet in London afterwards. It was easy to find two red sweatshirts – Charlie was bulkier around the shoulders – and from then they booked a room in a Muggle hotel whose owner asked no questions.

After a while, they had to take the sweatshirts off, as it was getting too hot in the room. But they agreed there would be times, in the Romanian or British wintertime, when they could make full use of the sweatshirts. As long as that was all they were wearing.