Title: Honey To The Bee
Author: ragdoll
Characters: Bill Weasley/Neville Longbottom
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: frottage, drunk!sex (sort of), slash, a bit of Fleur-bashing
Themes/kinks chosen: costumes, frottage, slash
Word Count: 2275
Summary: When Neville was forced to attend the Ministry's Fancy Dress ball, the last thing he expected was to end being pulled by another man, least of all Ron Weasley's eldest brother. After all; who'd ever want to snog a grown man dressed as a daisy?
Author's notes: Thanks to r_grayjoy for the support, the betaing and the inspiration for the story in the first place.



"I feel like a total prat," thought Neville for what was probably the one hundredth time in the past hour. He pulled at the petaled collar of his tunic; it chaffed his neck and itched something awful. Why had he come to the Ministry Fancy Dress Ball dressed as a daisy? Why had he listened to Hermione and Luna at all? They'd thought it would be cute for him to come as a flower given his penchant for Herbology, but now that Neville was in the midst of things, he wished he'd just stayed home.

Of course, he couldn't have done that either. Minister Shacklebolt had insisted that all Ministry staff attend in order to show solidarity and camaraderie. Not that Neville felt like he was a part of the proceedings anyway. He was working part time with Harry and Ron in the Aurors' office, but they'd disappeared with their respective girlfriends at the first opportunity, leaving him to stand alone by the hor d'oeurves table, looking like a total fool. It was only slightly worse than playing gooseberry when the two couples were around.

"Pardon me, mate, but you're blocking the beer." A slurred voice broke Neville out of his reverie.

He looked up to see a very tall man dressed as a bee looming over him. It took Neville a few moments before he realised just who the bee-bloke was — Bill Weasley, Ron's oldest brother. There were strands of bright ginger hair sticking out under the yellow and black striped cap on Bill's head, his scarred face partially obscured. "Erm. Oh. Sorry," Neville muttered, stepping away and somehow managing to upset a plate of crudités in the process. They went flying to the floor in a messy heap, making Neville blush. "Sorry!"

"Nevermind. That's easily sorted." Bill flicked his wand at the pile of cut vegetables, which immediately flew up and rearranged themselves on the plate. The plate then settled itself neatly back where it had been before. "See?"

"That's impressive," Neville blurted.

"Ah, it's nothing, really." Bill peered down at him. Neville could see his eyes were very blue, and also very bloodshot, as if he'd been drinking heavily. He also smelled slightly boozy. "I know you, don't I?"

"Yeah. I'm Nev—"

"Neville Longbottom," Bill finished for him. "Ron's mate. The one who killed You-Know-Who's snake with Godric's sword!"

Neville felt himself blushing. "Erm, yeah."

"And you were impressed by me?" Bill let out a low whistle. "Nice to see you again, Neville. So, what have you been doing with yourself since then?"

"W-working for the Aurors office," Neville explained. "With Harry and Ron. The Minister asked us to help out in cleaning up after all the Death Eaters...I'm not quite sure why he thought I'd be any good though."

Bill rolled his eyes. "Blimey, you're a bloody great hero. That's why."

"Well, so are you. You fought with that horrid Greyback and—," Neville started.

"Lived to fight another day, married the beautiful Veela princess, et cetera." Bill let out a snort, then reached for a cold bottle of beer. He tapped the cap with the tip of his wand, opened it, and then took a long quaff before continuing. "Except, of course, that I wound up looking like this," he indicated his ruined face, "and the beautiful princess buggered off and left me for another man."

"I'm sorry."

"What for? You weren't to know," Bill said quietly. He took another swig of his beer, then shrugged. "This is what I get for introducing her to my mate, Kirley Duke. Women cannot fucking resist rock stars. It's fucking impossible."

Neville nodded. He knew the charismatic lead singer for the Weird Sisters appealed to a lot of women. Unlike Neville himself.

Bill drained his beer bottle in a few short swallows, and then grabbed another. Neville opened his mouth to say something, then promptly closed it again, deciding it wasn't his place to comment on someone else's alcohol consumption.

"Sod all women anyway," Bill continued, wiping foam off his mouth with the back of his hand. "Life's better without 'em."

"Well, I don't know—"

"Of course you do," Bill said with a scowl. "Blokes like us would do better with our right hands or even another bloke for that matter. Much less complicated, I say. Women, who needs 'em?"

"Erm, if you say so." Neville had no answer for that question either. He rather liked women, but he was hardly in a position to either agree or disagree with Bill. He looked over at the taller man, desperately wanting to change the subject. "So...why are you dressed like that anyway?"

"Why am I a bee? Because bee is for Bill," he said with a laugh. "Or possibly because my ex-wife only saw me as a drone — good for shagging and very little else. Drone bees are supposed to fertilize the queen, then go off and die like good little soldiers." He tossed the now empty bottle into a bin, wincing as it landed with a noisy clatter, then helped himself to a third. "And why are you a flower, Longbottom?"

Neville felt himself blushing, his round cheeks burning. "It was Hermione's idea."

Bill raised an eyebrow. "Ron's Hermione?"

"Y-yeah. She reckoned it would be funny since Herbology is my specialty and all."

"Did you want to dress like that? You don't look too pleased, if you ask me."

Neville shrugged, then said almost inaudibly "Well, no. Not really."

"The problem with you, Longbottom," Bill prodded Neville in the chest with his index finger, "is that you let women push you around. You shouldn't you know. If you don't want to be a bloody daisy, you oughtn't be one."

"It's all right, really. I don't mind."

"But, see, you should. You're a bloke. You've gotta mind of your own, mate." Bill was very close to Neville now, his breath warm against Neville's face. "You just gotta do what feels right."

Bill's proximity was making Neville feel quite odd, a shiver running up the length of his spine as Bill continued to hover over him. To Neville's surprise, Bill reached up, brushing his knuckles along the line of Neville's jaw.

Neville glanced around nervously, wondering if anybody else at the party had noticed Bill's strange behaviour. No one seemed to even be looking in their direction, but if they had, Neville would have just explained that Ron's eldest brother was very, very drunk and clearly out of his head. And it was true.

Bill pulled back to take another pull off his beer bottle. He tilted his head back; Neville watched the taller man's throat in fascination as he swallowed down the remainder. Bill smirked as he caught Neville's eye, then threw the bottle into the rubbish bin with a quick flick of his wrist. He went to grab yet another. Without thinking, Neville grabbed Bill's arm, and shook his head.

"You've had enough." He surprised even himself with his vehemence.

Bill's eyes widened, his expression hardening ever-so-slightly. "And who's going to stop me, mate?"

Neville gulped, then took a deep breath. "Me." If he could take on Voldemort and his bloody snake, he could take on Bill Weasley too.

"Oh? And how d'you reckon you'll manage that?"

"Getting you out of here for a start." Neville stuck his free hand into one long, dagged sleeve, searching around for his wand, intent on Apparating them somewhere less conspicuous and somewhere less crowded.

"I thought you'd never ask," Bill said with a leer. Before Neville could stop him, he'd pulled Neville in close, their bodies as flush as possible given the ridiculous costumes they were wearing. There was a familiar sensation of being jerked hard somewhere behind his navel...

And then they were in front of a strange house Neville had never seen before. He thought he could hear the sound of the ocean somewhere in the distance.

"W-where are we?" asked Neville. Bill's arm was still around his waist; Neville could feel the other man swaying slightly.

"Shell Cottage. My place." Bill peered up at the stucco cottage, a melancholy note in his voice. "It's where I lived with her."

A rush of cold, salt-scented air blew over them, making Neville shiver again. "We...we ought to go indoors," Neville said practically before leading Bill over to the front door. "Have you got the key?"

"Wand," Bill muttered, raising his wand and waving it about wildly. A spark shot out of the tip, hitting the doorknob, and the door swung open, revealing a darkened interior. "See?"

"Come on, then," Neville sighed, trying to keep his balance while Bill leaned against him in the dark. Bill stumbled as they crossed the threshold, knocking Neville flat against the wall. He could feel Bill's solid weight pressing against him, pinning him in place, his grip amazingly strong, and then Bill's mouth was hard against his.

Neville moaned in protest as Bill began to kiss him, Bill's tongue darting between Neville's parted lips. Neville's trousers suddenly felt uncomfortably tight, his cock twitching in response to the kiss. He tore his lips away, panting heavily. "Wait...we can't do this. We just can't."

"Why not?" Bill murmured, pressing himself harder against Neville, his hips shifting up and then down again.

"Well, 'cos you're pissed for a start!"

Bill raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curling up into a smirk. "Oh, am I, then?" He suddenly sounded a great deal more sober, his words barely slurred at all.

"But—" Neville started in confusion.

"And is that the only reason?"

"No. I don't fancy men either."

"Hmmmm." Bill continued to smirk, giving Neville an appraising stare. "Could've fooled me."

"Well, I don't. I've never—" Neville's protest was cut off as Bill kissed him again. It occurred to Neville that he wasn't going to win this argument, no matter how hard he tried. Bill was bigger and stronger and more determined to get his way, and in spite of his reluctance, Neville liked the way it felt.

Bill's hands were in his hair, caressing and stroking, his scarred skin rough with stubble as it rubbed against Neville's own. He tasted like beer and whiskey with a faint trace of tobacco as they continued to kiss. Neville had never experienced anything like it before.

He wound his arms around Bill's waist, pulling the other man tighter against him. It was difficult given that Bill was wearing a costume which turned his normally lanky figure into something more rounded and well padded. Still, Neville could feel Bill's hips flush against his, the hard curve of Bill's erection straining against the smooth fabric as it rubbed against his own. The sensation caused Neville to wriggle against Bill, grinding his hips clumsily. It felt unbelievably good.

Bill groaned against Neville's lips, his kisses growing in urgency as his breath turned to long, ragged gasps. They fell into an frantic, awkward rhythm, rubbing against one another, and in the back of Neville's brain, he hoped he was doing this correctly. He thought he might have moaned, but couldn't tell for certain because all he could truly hear was the sound of his heart pounding into his ears.

He could feel Bill's grip tightening, long fingers digging into his neck as Bill began to shudder, his breath hot and strong against Neville's face. Neville moaned again, his own body wracking and thrashing as he let go. He came in violent spasms, the hot spunk leaving a sticky mess in his pants.

Embarrassed, Neville tried to pull away, but Bill's hold was still too strong.

The other man's face was red and damp with exertion. He raked a hand through his hair, pushing a limp strand off his face. "Brilliant."

"Was it?"

"You liked it, didn't you?"

Neville gazed down at his toes, barely managing a slight nod.

Bill just chuckled. "Normally, this the moment where I'd be an extremely considerate lover and provide cleaning charms for both of us, but I suspect neither one of us will ever want to wear these costumes again."

"No, not at all." In spite of his discomfort, Neville found himself smiling at Bill's words, the other man's laidback attitude somehow reassuring. "I, erm, I should probably be getting home."

"Ah." Neville thought he heard a hint of disappointment in Bill's voice. "You don't have to leave just yet, you know."

"I-I know." He wriggled out of Bill's grasp, making a desperate attempt to straighten out his clothing, trying to maintain some dignity. It was dead difficult when he was dressed as a daisy. "I just think I should." He started towards the door, a thousand and one conflicting thoughts already running through his mind.

"Neville—" Bill called. Neville turned back to look at him. "You know, I went to that party hoping to find someone — anyone, really — to take home so I could forget my problems for a little while. I certainly never would have expected it to be you..." Bill flashed him a charming grin. "But, I'm really glad it was. And if you ever want to do it again, well, you know where to find me, don't you?"

Drawing in a deep breath, Neville smiled back. "Yeah, I do."

"So, does this mean you might actually fancy men, then?"

"Dunno. Might have to try again and see."

The comment caused Bill to throw his head back and laugh. Neville decided he liked the sound of it. He gave him a shy wave, then turned to go. As he walked away, there was a spring in his step. Perhaps it hadn't been such an awful evening after all.