Title: Long Distance
Author: westernredcedar
Characters: Viktor/Charlie, OCs
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: open relationship, multiple partners, rimming, an owl named Tammy Wynette
Themes/kinks chosen: Pornography
Word Count: ~2000
Summary: Being apart for a long Quidditch road trip poses problems, but Charlie is nothing if not creative.
Author's notes: Thanks to dear blpaintchart for the beta/Brit work. I've surely messed it up with my fussing since then, and those mistakes are all mine.


In Kiev:
Ukraine 120 Bulgaria 250

Viktor groaned as he rolled onto his back. Yan, the team masseur, cast warming charms over his broad chest and firm, oiled hands continued their painful ministrations. Viktor's eyes focused on a small stain marring the cream-colored ceiling of the hotel room. What the fuck could have stained the ceiling? he thought, and then involuntarily groaned again as Yan dug into his sore pectoral muscle.

His body was a mass of aching knots. The match should have been an easy victory: dull back and forth with the Quaffle, a few moments of defensive brilliance, and an easy feint and catch for Viktor to win the game. But the weather had been brutal, and his arms and thighs were feeling the strain of almost three hours fighting against the wind. Yan's expert hands were providing some relief, and an extended soak in a steaming bath would take care of the rest. If only an empty bed were not waiting for him after that, but this National Team road trip was too public and too long for…companionship.

Then again, there was always Yan, who was more than willing…

"An owl, Mr. Krum." Yan's voice startled Viktor from his thoughts.

He twisted his head until he could see the large tawny owl tapping at the hotel window. It was hard to be certain upside-down, but it looked like Tammy. Viktor's pulse increased a notch. Charlie.

"Retrieve the owl," Viktor ordered, and Yan wiped his hands on a towel and allowed Tammy ("Wynette, Krum. Tammy Wynette? "Stand By Your Man"? Fuck, what kind of a poof are you anyway?") to enter. With effort, Viktor pulled himself up on the table and swung his bare legs over the side. Yan's massage towel slid to the floor, but Viktor didn't care. Yan had seen it all before.

Tammy was carrying a large envelope and a small roll of parchment. Viktor opened the note first.

"Krum, You'll want to be alone when you open this. Charlie"

Viktor's cock twitched.

Yan returned to the table, his green eyes roaming over Viktor's body, one eyebrow crooked appealingly. "Do you wish me to continue as usual, sir?" He moved closer and allowed his hand to come to rest between Viktor's legs.

Viktor rolled his hips against Yan's hand. It was with only a tinge of regret that he replied, "No. I require no more tonight. I must respond to this letter." Yan was a very convenient lay, but tonight Viktor wanted whatever it was Charlie was offering, even long distance.

There was sex, and then there was Charlie, and given the choice, there was no contest.

Viktor stood and pulled on a robe, wincing as his sore arms resisted the movement. Yan packed up his table and oils, giving Viktor's sore arse a firm squeeze before leaving him alone with the tantalizing envelope.

Running his thumb under the seal, Viktor's cock firmed up nicely just imagining what Charlie might have sent. He pulled out the first few sheets of paper.

They were photographs.

Dirty photographs.

Of Charlie.

Fucking someone.

Else.

Page after page: tanned skin and hard muscle and sweat beads and matted red hair and gripping fingers and hard, thrusting…

Viktor's knees, already doing a passable imitation of jelly due to the match, threatened to melt away under him, and his awakening dick swelled to full attention. He sat down on the end of the bed, staring at one shot of Charlie's cock (he'd know it anywhere, of course, even though he couldn't see the men's faces in the photograph) disappearing and reappearing over and over again, slamming into a pert little red-cheeked arse.

Fuck. Fuck. Casual sex outside of their relationship was something they both accepted as a necessary ingredient of their commitment; Viktor couldn't give up his boys on the road, and Charlie simply needed the variety. Even better, sometime in their first year together Charlie learned that whispering filthy details about his other men could make Viktor come, untouched.

But this…this?

Viktor collapsed back onto the bed, wrapped his warm hand around his cock, and came all over his stomach before he'd completed one stroke.

This was the best idea Charlie had ever had.


In Prague:
Czech Republic 370 Bulgaria 500

Viktor was drunk. On Becherovka and cheap beer. And victory.

The Bulgarians hadn't played in such a close match for over a decade, and the pure adrenaline and fun of it was not fading, even hours later. By the fifth hour, the score had never been more that 10 points apart. Then, tied at 350, the hot new Czech chaser had slammed home two goals in one minute, her aggressive showboating rousing the stadium into a frenzy. In the chaos, Viktor had noticed the golden glint of the snitch just below him, and in a fit of patience and good acting, allowed himself to slowly sink on his broom until he was feet from the hovering orb, no one watching him, all eyes on the star chaser. He'd simply reached out and grabbed the shivering sphere, calmly perched on his broom, keeping it clutched in his palm for a full minute, reveling in the secret victory. Then, with a giddy sneer, he'd taken off at full speed, blasting through the celebrating Czech players, flaunting the snitch victoriously over his head.

It hadn't been better than sex, but it had been damn close. He'd wanted to fuck, right then, his whole body aroused by the win, but truth be told, he only really wanted to fuck Charlie when he felt this good, and Charlie was far away. So he drank instead. And now he was drunk.

Staggering back to the hotel, one arm draped firmly over Zograf's shoulders, Viktor was barely able to keep his feet. The pavement had started rolling like the sea about a block from the bar.

"You…you are the greatestht fuck..." Viktor slurred.

"Am I?" Zo asked, his tone amused.

Viktor frowned. His tongue was not cooperating. "...greatest fucking keeper in the world," Viktor started, poking a finger into Zo's chest. "That shot by No...Novak..."

Blinding pain interrupted his rambling.

"Gah!" Krum grabbed at his shoulder. "What the hell?"

"There is an owl on you, Krum," Zo noted with surprise.

Flailing backwards, trying to knock the digging talons out of his skin, Viktor fell hard onto the swells of pavement surrounding him. He could hear Zo's laughter echo inside his skull, and then...nothing.

Sometime later, he came to in his hotel room bed, fully dressed. An ice pack was charmed onto the back of his head, and a cup of what smelled like Pepper-up was sitting on the bedside table. He drained the goblet and rubbed at his head, trying to clear his muddy brain. The potion helped. He looked around the room to assess the damage he had done.

Startling, inhuman eyes met his across the room. Viktor stared back and felt a twinge in his shoulder, remembering pain. The owl. Tammy.

She had a large envelope in her beak. Just like last week in Kiev.

His mind cleared, and his body was suddenly alert and alive. Screw being hung-over. The elation of the victory swept over him again, along with a hint of arousal. Gods, he missed Charlie.

This time, the photographs that slid out of the envelope and onto the bed had been bound like a book. Viktor kneeled on the bed, peeling off his stinking, sweaty shirt, leering at the cover photo of Charlie, naked on an open mountainside, facing away from the camera. Charlie's defined back and tight arse, elaborate tattoo at the small of his back, slowly flexed, just subtly enough to get Viktor's blood pumping.

He shed his trousers and underpants as he opened the book of photographs, ignoring the pounding in his head. His own hand around his soft prick was a poor substitute for the expert, rough hand of Charlie Weasley, but the moving photographs filled in where his imagination fell short.

Inside the "book", another man, a meaty slab of a man, joined Charlie in the scene, and Viktor's hand sped its lazy pace. Then, turning the page, a slight blonde with endless legs appeared as well. Oh fuck, two of them. Flipping pages with rising urgency, Viktor watched Charlie bend the first man unceremoniously over a rock and pound into him. Then the blonde strode up behind Charlie's perfect arse, kneeled down, and pressed his probing tongue between Charlie's solid cheeks.

Despite the alcohol and the head injury, Viktor didn't even make it to the end of the book before he was coming hard, releasing the ecstasy of the day's victory all over Charlie's filthy pictures.

However, as he collapsed on the bed and allowed his abused body to recover from the climax, he couldn't help feeling that there was something missing.

That something? Was Charlie.


In Grodzisk
Poland 2230 Bulgaria 240

After twenty hours and thirteen minutes of blinding, miserable humiliation, Viktor had finally wrapped his sweaty fist around the snitch and rescued his miserable teammates from the longest, most uneven match in team history. If Poland didn't win the Cup this year, something was very, very wrong. They were simply brilliant, defense like a brick wall, chasers who moved like a single body. Their skill was a thing of beauty, unless you were playing against them. Then it was agony.

Exhausted, the Bulgarian team members retreated to their solitary hotel rooms to nurse their wounds, mental and physical. Viktor collapsed into the bath, soaking his pride in bubbles and water jets.

He'd been away from home, away from Charlie, for almost three weeks, and the extended loneliness was as grueling as the match had been. Charlie's pornographic care packages had been arriving on a regular schedule, every few days; the most recent addition to Viktor's collection had been nothing less than a full orgy, Charlie amidst a sea of writhing skin, hair, cocks, and sweat. Though Viktor had managed to bring himself off to the images several times, he noted with surprise that the entire enterprise was growing tired. Or maybe it was just that he was growing tired? Perhaps he should call in Yan? Perhaps, he pondered, he should floo Charlie?

Viktor allowed his head to fall back against the cool porcelain of the tub, and closed his eyes.

Tammy must have found an open window this time, as she appeared at the edge of the tub, golden eyes staring skeptically at the burly man ensconsed in pink foam. Hearing the tap of her talons on the edge of the tub, Viktor's eyes opened.

"What have you for me today?" he asked her sat up and wiped his sudsy hands in order to remove the large envelope the owl carried.

Viktor shook the envelope, and a single, small photograph slid out. Surprised, Viktor turned it over.

The picture was Charlie, fully clothed, hands casually pressed into his jeans pockets, shoulders hunched, a sly smile on his tan face. Viktor watched the photograph for a full minute. No other men appeared. Charlie did not suddenly start removing his clothes. No one was being fucked. It was just Charlie.

Viktor turned the photo over, then looked again in the envelope. Nothing else.

Brows pulled together in confusion, Viktor studied the photograph more closely. It took his several minutes to figure it out, but when he did, he leaped from the bath, the exhaustion of the day washed away.

In the photograph, Charlie was standing outside of a hotel. The doorman Viktor had spoken with only an hour previous was clearly visible in the background.

Charlie was here. In Grodzisk. Now. At Viktor's hotel.

After almost a month of pornography, this was the most erotic image Viktor had ever seen.

When the knock on the door came a moment later, Viktor strode to answer it before he'd even wrapped a towel around himself.