Title: Absolutely Scorching
Author: luvscharlie
Characters/Pairings: Bill/Harry, Charlie
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: pyrophilia
Other Warnings: sex magic, hints at incest, infidelity, hand job, somnophilia
Word Count: 2,424
Summary/Description: Bill knows just the thing to turn Charlie on.
Author's Notes: This was totally inspired by emzlovesharry's piece of art Charlie's More Interested in Dragons. She was kind enough to agree to let me attempt to write it, and this was how it turned out. I hope you like it, honey! And thank you ragdoll for allowing me to use your own day of posting when I missed mine and this rabid bunny bit my arse. You're a fabulous mod, and I appreciate all you do over here for your little deviants. Thank you to drcjsnider for the super speedy beta



There were times that living at the Burrow still had the ability to unnerve Harry… like when he walked in on things unexpected. Oh, he certainly loved it there. No question about that. It was far and away the happiest he'd ever been… but after the war things were different at the Burrow. Charlie had come home from Romania, and his presence had forced Harry to confront the fact that Ginny wasn't the only Weasley he had eyes for… and maybe the attraction he once had for Ginny had died during his time away from her.

Charlie was a presence that filled any space. He wasn't overly talkative, and didn't go out of his way to be noticed. It was simply impossible not to notice when Charlie walked in to the room. There was something about him that drew Harry's eyes. And for the record, he'd noticed that Bill seemed as taken with his younger brother as Harry did. Bill visited a lot in the days after the war, checking on how his parents were coping… or so he said. Harry suspected that Bill came just as often to see Charlie… and he rarely brought Fleur with him.

Charlie had taken up residence in his and Bill's old room, while Harry shared a room with Ron in the attic. Ginny was off with the Harpies most of the time, so it kept the awkwardness to a minimum. She hadn't even made it home for Percy's wedding, as the Harpies had made it to a championship game for the first time in many years. For the most part, Harry was happy. He had a family—a family that was glad to have him in return. He only wished Ron was as content. Ron and Hermione simply could not get things together. They'd had a bad falling out, and they were both now "seeing other people." Harry suspected that this was more of an 'I can date someone better than you can date' kind of competition that would eventually resolve itself, but still, it was hard to watch his friends torment each other, and he wished they'd simply admit they were in love and move past this bit of foolishness. In spite of Ron and Hermione’s troubles, for the first time in his entire life, Harry was living in a place where he belonged and was wanted… and that was utter bliss.

Today had been Percy and Audrey's wedding, and the bedlam was just starting to settle down. The happy couple had taken a Portkey to destinations unknown, and a good many of the guests, led by a very drunk Hagrid, were currently singing a rendition of some wizarding song that they seemed to be making the words up to as they went along—the words became less and less intelligible the more Firewhisky they drank, but Harry was certain he'd heard something about a cock and an arse at one point, and that's when Molly had finally had enough and shoo'd them all home, giving Hagrid a look that Harry had seen before… and he was glad not to be on the receiving end of it.

The party was wrapping up and everyone was tired when they finally made their way back into the Burrow’s kitchen.

"Mrs. Weasley, may I help you clean up the kitchen? I'd be happy to—" Hermione started.

"Oh no, dear. It's very sweet of you to offer, but I'll be fine. You head on home before it gets too late. I don't want your parents to worry about you being out." She let the words die there. It was no secret that Hermione's parents, since coming back from Australia, had adopted a protective stance when it came to their daughter, and there was no need to push them any farther than was necessary. "And dear," Mrs. Weasley started, "that young man you brought with you tonight was quite a… what is it that you kids say? Quite a dish?" She looked pointedly at her youngest son. "A lovely girl like you, well, any boy with half a brain would be a fool to let you get away."

Hermione smiled at the compliment, and Harry noted that her face reddened with a blush. Ron turned and stomped upstairs muttering under his breath.

"Yes, where did that 'dish' go?" Charlie asked, looking back out into the garden through the window.

"Charlie Weasley," Hermione said, "I swear if you go anywhere near one more of my dates, I'll—"

Charlie clucked his disapproval. "Tsk, Tsk, Hermione, still sore about that last bloke I took home with me?" He shook his head at her and chuckled. "Really, Hermione, I thought you'd be over that by now."

"Over that?" Hermione's voice elevated. "You Apparated away with my date right in the middle of George and Angelina's wedding. That Apparation made a loud pop just as the officiant was asking if there were any objections. Everyone turned to look. Do you want to know how many old women shook their heads at me in sympathy because a man had run off with my date? I was humiliated. I'm warning you, Charlie, if you take one step towards another of my dates, I will hex you so thoroughly that your own mother won't recognise you!"

Charlie held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. Calm down. I swear, this is why I prefer blokes—Birds never forget anything, and they sure as hell never let you forget it. One little indiscretion and then—boom—you're the world's worst person."

And on that note, Hermione left in a huff and Charlie went up to bed. Mrs. Weasley simply shook her head with fatigue, too tired to attempt to intercede or make sense out of the conversation between her second son and Hermione. She turned toward her sink full of dishes.

"Go to bed, Mum. I'll clean up here," Bill said.

"I'll help you," Harry volunteered, and with only a few minor protests from Mrs. Weasley about them not knowing where everything went and how they were certain to wreak havoc on her well-organised kitchen, the remaining Weasleys shuffled off to bed, Fleur took her sleeping baby daughter home to Shell Cottage, and Harry and Bill started cleaning.

***

When the last dish was finally washed, Harry picked up the drying towel, but Bill took it away from him. "You go on up. I've got this."

"But don't you have to get home?" Harry replied through a yawn.

Bill shook his head, and his knuckles whitened around his grip on the towel. His smile was more of a grimace than anything, and his scars twisted his face into a masque of what might have appeared as feigned indifference on a normal person, but on him—it was rather scary. "No, I'm—I think I'll stick around for a while, maybe stay over, you know, and spend some time with my family."

Spend some time with Charlie, he means. Harry knew exactly the family with which Bill was interested in spending time. But, Harry couldn't blame him. Charlie was… magnetic.

Bill coughed to clear his throat, and Harry thought it was best not to press him further. He took his leave from the kitchen by thanking Bill for finishing up and wondering just what was going on between Bill and Fleur, and where Charlie fit into the picture.

***

Harry climbed the stairs slowly; the day had been long and he was quite tired. There was nothing like a Weasley Wedding to wear a bloke out. He got to the second floor and couldn't help but notice that the door to Bill and Charlie's old room was slightly ajar.

Harry wasn't sure what drew him to the door. Ron was probably waiting for him upstairs, ready to rehash the evening and all the rotten things Hermione had done by bringing that bloke here to parade under his nose, and on and on and on it would go. And Harry really should hurry upstairs because the longer Ron was kept waiting, the longer it would be before Harry could get to sleep. But then again, Ron had imbibed a good deal at the reception and maybe he wasn't waiting for Harry at all. Ron was probably snoring contentedly by now…

So what would it hurt to have a look?

Harry slid his head through the door's opening and adjusted his glasses, pushing them farther up the bridge of his nose, bringing the room into focus… and then Harry drew in a deep breath. There lying on one of the cots was Charlie in all his naked glory. He was stretched out with his wand beside him (after the war, old habits died hard—never let your wand out of your reach, as you never knew when you might need it) and his arms thrown over his head. The head of the Chinese Fireball tattoo that curled around his side drew Harry's eyes to it.

He was so entranced by the beauty that was Charlie, that he nearly jumped out of his skin when Bill pressed in behind him and breathed into his ear. "Gorgeous, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is—No—What? I mean, no. I mean I wasn't watching him. Not—"

"Shhh!" Bill said, his arm circling around Harry to press a finger to Harry's lips. "It'd be a shame to wake him." Bill pushed the door a bit wider and said, "Watch this." He flicked his wand at Charlie's sleeping form and whispered a word, possibly Egyptian, that Harry had never heard before. The wand beside Charlie on the bed began to stir and a strange yellow flame began to curl around the sleeping wizard.

Charlie let out a groan in his sleep, and the odd flame continued its movement over Charlie's sleeping form.

"What is that?" Harry whispered, noting the way Charlie's flaccid cock was beginning to twitch and stir as the fire ghosted over his skin.

"Fuck fire."

Harry cocked a sceptical eyebrow and Bill chuckled. "Well not really, but that's what I like to call it—it's certainly what it makes Charlie want to do."

"Really?" Harry asked as Charlie's hips rose off the bed, head thrown back in ecstasy, and hands beginning to grasp at the pillow for purchase.

"It's always been about the fire for Charlie. The heat on his skin, the flicker of the flames. Nothing turns Charlie on like fire." Bill's hand rested on the small of Harry's back. "Watch him," Bill whispered, leaning in so that his mouth was almost touching Harry's ear. "He's beautiful like this, no?"

"I should—" Harry thumbed in the direction of the stairs. "Ron's probably waiting. I should—" But he never moved. He couldn't. It was like his feet were rooted to that spot, and his eyes were glued on Charlie's writhing form, still lost in an erotic dream-filled slumber. "Will he wake up?" Harry asked.

"Maybe. Sometimes he does. Sort of half the fun, isn't it? Knowing that he might catch you watching him. Feels dangerous, reckless, and sensuous all at once."

"I—I guess," Harry stammered. His cock was straining to be freed from his trousers. Charlie Weasley was, without a doubt, the most amazing thing his eyes had ever feasted upon. Harry simply could not look away.

Harry felt Bill press more firmly against him. Bill was tall and Harry was fairly certain that it was Bill's cock he felt poking against the centre of his back. But surely not. Bill was married after all, and married blokes didn't… reach around and unbutton their little brother's best friend's trousers, like Bill was doing right this very instant.

"What are you—" The rest of Harry's words came out in a hiss as Bill's hand slid into his pants and wrapped around Harry's aching cock.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Bill whispered. He didn't wait for Harry to reply. "Look at Charlie. At how good Charlie looks. See the way the fire's starting to tease at his cock? Watch his hips. They'll start bucking any minute now; they always do."

"Does—does it hurt him—the fire?" Harry stammered.

"Watch and see," Bill said, and his hand began to move slowly up and down Harry's shaft. Harry's eyes closed in ecstasy, and Bill nipped his ear with his teeth. "Nuh-uh, don't want to miss it. Watch, Harry. Open your eyes. Charlie's not one for holding back. Blink and you'll miss all the good stuff."

The fire licked its way around the tip of Charlie's cock, and Charlie's mouth opened to release a sound of feral desire. Charlie's hips began to thrust, just as Bill had predicted they would, and Harry was surprised to find that his own hips were matching Charlie's rhythm as he thrust into Bill's accommodating hand.

"Not long now," Bill whispered. "Charlie can't take the feel of the flames licking at his skin. It pushes him over the edge. He's going to come hard." Bill's hand wrapped more firmly around Harry's cock. "He's going to come fast." Bill's hand stroked Harry with greater speed, and as Charlie cried out on the bed, the Fireball tattooed on Charlie's skin shot its own stream of fire directly in the path of the come spilling over Charlie's stomach. Charlie's eyes were still closed in slumber, and his face held a look of solemn contentment as he stretched and lowered his hips back down onto the cot. It was the sound of Charlie's final sigh mixed with the speed of Bill's strokes that caused Harry to spill over Bill's hand.

Harry slumped back against the wall in the hallway when Bill stepped into the room he and Charlie had shared as boys. He gave Harry a wink before closing the door with a final, "G'night, Harry."

Harry stumbled up the stairs, still wondering what exactly had happened … and thinking that he certainly wouldn't mind if it happened again.

***

The next morning at breakfast, Harry was already halfway through his eggs when Charlie wandered into the kitchen, lured there, no doubt, by the smell of bacon frying. Harry felt somewhat guilty for watching the unwitting show that Charlie had put on the night before, and he choked on his pumpkin juice when Charlie turned to Molly and said, "Mum, I think there's something wrong with the Cooling Charm on our room. It was bloody hot in there last night."

Bill came in and patted Charlie on the shoulder. "Absolutely scorching, little brother."