Title: Chasing Charlie
Author: woldy 
Pairings: Harry/Charlie
Rating: R
Kinks/Themes Chosen: Celibacy
Other Warnings: none
Word Count: ~3,900 words
Summary: If giving up wanking for a few days was the price of beating Charlie at Quidditch, then it was a price worth paying.
Author's Notes: The idea of Harry sulking about Charlie beating him at Quidditch originated in one of my Pansy/Ginny fics and then grew... Many thanks to the lovely la_dissonance  and lokifan  for betaing. Any remaining mistakes are of course my own.



"I'm almost starting to feel sorry for Malfoy."

Ron choked with his mouth full, and beer spurted out of his nose. There was a lot of coughing and spluttering before Ron settled back on the bench, his face red.

"If that was deliberate, then you're a git," said Ron. He took a cautious sip of beer.

"I mean it," said Harry, taking a swig of his own beer. "Quidditch isn't much fun when you're always losing."

"Oh, and Malfoy's the only one who'd know about that," Ron said, and Harry knew he was remembering the early months of sixth year, when Weasley Is Our King had been the Slytherin anthem.

"You were always a good keeper, just short of confidence. This is..."

Harry trailed off, looking across the garden to where Charlie sat. He was laughing at one of Lee's jokes and looked happy, relaxed, a beer in one hand and the other resting on the back of Lee's chair.

The Weasleys were the closest thing Harry had to family, and until now he'd liked each and every one of them, except when Percy was being a prat. Charlie had been a distant figure in Romania, briefly glimpsed at the Triwizard tournament, and Harry had assumed that if Charlie ever moved back to England they'd get on. Now that Charlie was home and kept winning at Quidditch, he was rapidly becoming Harry's least favourite Weasley.

He'd noticed a pattern the third time Charlie beat him to the Snitch. Today, their fourth game against each other, Charlie made the catch after barely half an hour of play — Harry hadn't even seen the Snitch until it was glittering in Charlie's hand.

"It's not that bad," Ron said, tossing Harry another beer, which he caught with one hand. "See? Your catch is as good as ever."

"I've lost all four games since Charlie came back."

Ron hesitated. "Well, that's no reflection on you, mate. Charlie could've played for England."

Harry sighed morosely, and then something bounced off the side of his head.

"The point of these games is to cheer people up," George said from behind him. "Are you going to be cheerful, or do I have to break out the Wheezes?"

"All right," Harry said, raising his hands in surrender. "I'm cheerful."

He fielded another flying bread roll, opened the beer Ron had thrown him, and tried to put all thoughts of Quidditch and Charlie out of his head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week later, Charlie caught the Snitch midway through a flashy loop-the-loop, which Harry felt was adding insult to injury.

He dived for the ground, landing harder than intended, and had barely swung his leg over the broom when Charlie landed beside him.

"Good game," Charlie said with a grin, and clapped Harry on the back.

"Yeah," Harry said, trying to keep his voice neutral. "Congratulations."

Harry wasn’t fast enough, or competitive enough, or strong enough, or something. Whatever it was, every generous action of Charlie's — a smile, a handshake, a back clap — made it worse.

He stomped off towards the post-match picnic, where Luna and Hermione sat with a jug of sangria, and vowed that his losing streak was going to change.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Why are you asking me?" asked Ron, when Harry went to him for advice. "You've always flown better than me, and you were Quidditch captain."

"You've been a Cannons fan for over a decade," Harry pointed out.

"Yeah, and you could write everything the Cannons know about winning Quidditch matches on the tip of a unicorn's horn," Ron said derisively. "Trust me, the last thing you want to do is take tips from the Cannons."

"There must be something," Harry pursued. "What about all those Quidditch magazines in your room? Surely they have advice from players and stuff?"

"Weeeell..." Ron screwed up his forehead in concentration. "They sometimes mention the right sort of diet — not too many pies and chips. Most of the coaches insist players don't get pissed before big matches. Sometimes they even ban people from shagging in case it, y'know, wears them out."

"They give up sex?"

"Not just sex," said Ron, looking awkward. "I think they want people to stop—" Ron made a hand gesture, "—entirely."

"Does it help?"

"I dunno, do I? Never got that far with Lavender, and I'm not gonna try it now that things are finally sorted with Hermione. I don't like Quidditch that much."

Ron was obviously alarmed by the look on Harry's face, because he said, "Look mate, don't worry about it. I bet next week you'll be back to form. You were the youngest seeker ever."

Harry thought about the past five matches, and remembered Ron saying, "Charlie could've played for England." It clearly wasn't just a phase. If giving up wanking for a few days was the price of beating Charlie at Quidditch, then it was a price worth paying.

"Yeah," Harry said, his mind racing. "I'll, er, figure something out."

Harry skipped his usual bedtime wank that night, and woke up with a raging hard-on. Sunshine was streaming through the window, the birds were singing, and for a moment all was well in the world. His hand was at the waistband of his pyjamas when Harry remembered the sight of Charlie catching the Snitch upside-down, and he snatched his hand away.

Harry dragged himself out of bed, had a bitterly cold shower and went to work in a bad mood. There would be no wanking this week, and he hoped his body would get used to it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a week of cold showers Harry had almost persuaded himself that the celibacy was working: that his mind was clearer, and his senses were more acute. Then Charlie won their sixth match anyway, a blur of copper against the sky, faster than Harry by miles. It was almost enough to make Harry hate him.

Charlie's skin was gleaming with sweat and his hair was damp, but he looked as relaxed as ever. When he reached out for a congratulatory back-thump, Harry couldn't stop himself lashing out.

"How d'you do it?" he demanded.

Charlie's hand froze an inch from Harry's shoulder. "What?"

"How d'you always beat me? Is there some kind of secret?"

Charlie dropped his hand and gave Harry a slow, considering look.

"I learned from a pro," he said eventually. "The secret is to watch your opponent's hips. It's easy to fake someone out with your upper body, but the hips’ll tell you where their broom is really going."

Harry stared.

"Try it," Charlie said, flashing him a smile, then swung the broom over his shoulder and walked away. There was an unmistakable swagger in his step.

Harry drowned his sorrows in five beers before Flooing unsteadily home and having an achingly cold shower. There was something almost pitiful about how his dick seemed cower beneath the freezing water.

"Sorry, about this," Harry said, looking down at it. "As soon I win a game we'll be back to normal."

His dick shrivelled a bit more, banishing any prospect of a wank tonight, and Harry turned off the shower. Next week, he vowed, grabbing the towel and wrapping it around himself to stem the shivers. Next week I'll beat him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

From the moment they took flight, Harry's attention was divided between searching for the Snitch and watching Charlie.

In their informal games nobody wore the bulky Quidditch robes they'd had at school, and Charlie flew in breeches and a loose shirt. The breeches clung to Charlie's body, revealing slim hips and the muscular curve of his arse, and Harry could see Charlie's thigh muscles flex as he steered the broom. Every time Charlie turned sharply his shirt rode up, and Harry glimpsed a line of taut freckled skin.

Harry's eyes moved back and forth constantly between the sky and Charlie's body, watching every muscle. Charlie flew well, flew fast, but Harry thought he was reading those movements better now, and they dived and turned together.

He swerved to avoid a Bludger, and saw it whistle past Charlie's head, missing by inches. Charlie wasn't looking at the Bludger, though, and Harry followed his gaze and saw a glint of gold — the Snitch!

Charlie leaned right, but Harry ignored the feint and pulled his broom up and left, towards the flash of gold. He was almost there, hand reaching for the Snitch, when Charlie soared up from beneath him and snatched it from the air, the golden wings fluttering vainly in his fist.

Harry hovered for a moment, bitterly disappointed, and Charlie caught his gaze.

"You're getting better."

"Not good enough," Harry said, hearing the anger in his voice. "Your tip didn't help."

"Course not," Charlie said, grinning. "Otherwise I wouldn’t’ve told you. You can't expect me to share my best tricks."

Charlie steered his broom towards the ground, and Harry took a deep breath, stifling the urge to hex him.

During their post-match dinner, Ginny plonked herself down in the chair beside him.

"Charlie says you're sulking because he keeps beating you," she said bluntly.

Harry scowled at her.

"It's true, then?" Ginny said, tossing her long red hair over her shoulder and fixing him with a fierce look. "Y'know, Harry, I thought you had more sense. The point of these games is to have fun. How are people supposed to enjoy themselves if you look like you'll explode at the slightest provocation? Don't play if you don't enjoy it."

"I do enjoy it!" Harry protested. "I love Quidditch! I just want to win."

Ginny's face softened.

"I understand that," she said, "but sulking isn't going to help. Gwennog always says the most important thing about a game is your attitude — if you go out on the pitch expecting to lose, then you will. I can teach you the visualisation exercise she's got us doing. You just need to think back to when you were playing well and channel it."

"Oh," Harry said, feeling like an idiot for not talking to her sooner. "Yeah, thanks, I'd appreciate that."

Ginny smiled at him. "If I'd known you took it this seriously, I'd have pestered you more about playing professionally. The Magpies would've signed you in an instant."

"I'm happy as an Auror," Harry said, heading off that line of inquiry. "I just want to win a game against him. Losing all the time is..."

"Depressing," said Ginny, giving him a sympathetic look. "Believe me, I get it."

That night, after his now-customary cold shower, Harry lay in bed and tried to clear his mind as Ginny had instructed. He visualised the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts, with the forbidden forest on one side and the castle on the other. He imagined the goal hoops and keeper, the dark blur of the whizzing Bludgers, and fixed all his attention on finding the Golden Snitch in the wide blue sky.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After two weeks without a wank, cold showers were no longer enough to terrify his dick into submission. Harry was getting increasingly distracted at work and the smallest things were enough to make him think of sex: the glimpse of someone's bra strap, a bead of sweat running down a colleague's neck during physical training. He was half-hard a lot of the time, and every night in bed he struggled to focus his mind on Quidditch.

Harry fell asleep to thoughts of flying, but even his dreams were haunted by images of Charlie. The Snitch always seemed to be just out of sight, and Harry grew more and more frustrated as he flew, senses straining for any hint of it. At last he saw a flash of gold and dived, hand closing around it, but Harry found his fingers wrapped not around the Snitch, but on a handful of Charlie's copper hair.

He woke with a start, his fist clutching the pillow, and swore loudly. He was achingly hard and it took ten minutes under a punishingly cold shower before his erection subsided. This, Harry thought, has stopped being even the slightest bit funny.

On Sunday he arrived at the Burrow for their weekly game and found Charlie leaning casually against the broomshed, as though he was just wasting a lazy afternoon and not some kind of a Quidditch nemesis.

Harry played more aggressively than he'd ever done before, forcing Charlie's broom off course and dominating the game. He wasn't aware of anything except Charlie and the need to find the Snitch, not even bothering to look for Bludgers. At last he saw a bright glint of light at the far end of the pitch, and then Charlie moved beside him.

His eyes were unerringly drawn back to Charlie's hips, and Harry saw him stretch, revealing inches of lean, muscular stomach, his skin pale above the usual line of his shirt. Harry was only distracted for an instant, but in that second Charlie was gone — whirling away towards a speck of gold.

Harry urged his broom on, whipping under Dean's broom so fast that he heard a gasp, swerving around Susan as though he was flying for his life. He threw himself forward on the broom, fingers outstretched, but Charlie was already there and Harry's hand closed around his wrist. The sick, heavy sense of disappointment settled in his stomach.

Charlie grinned and said, "You can’t afford to get distracted."

Harry opened his mouth, paused and then the realisation hit him like a Bludger to the head — Charlie’s movement had been deliberate.

"Did you just cheat?"

"I think the real question," Charlie replied, looking Harry straight in the eye, "is what it says about you that my ploy worked."

Charlie dipped the broom, heading for the watchers and the picnic below, and Harry was left hanging in the air with his mouth open.

Harry thought about what Charlie had said. He barely heard the conversation over dinner and drinks, his gaze flickering back to Charlie every few minutes. As the sun sank lower in the sky, Charlie’s hair was almost incandescent, gleaming in all different shades: copper, auburn, blood red, and hints of blonde.

Eventually Charlie excused himself from the conversation and headed indoors to the loo, and Harry followed. It was easy to walk softly and duck into the shadows, and when Charlie emerged from the bathroom Harry blocked his path with an outstretched arm.

"Well?" Charlie said, raising an eyebrow.

"Here’s another question,” said Harry, heart hammering. “What does it say about you that you tried?"

"It means I like you chasing me.”

"I’m a seeker," Harry told him, suddenly full of the same clarity of purpose that he got when the Snitch was glittering in front of him. "I prefer the catch."

Charlie caught Harry's shoulder as he stepped in, and then they were kissing, stubble scraping his cheek and Charlie’s body hard against him. This was completely unlike any of the girls he'd kissed, but Harry couldn't focus on that, couldn't focus on anything except getting more.

Harry pressed forward until their whole bodies were touching and Charlie arched against him, his cock brushing Harry’s hip. That one movement was enough to make Harry instantly hard.

"Fuck," he said, pulling back from the kiss. Their panting breaths seemed to echo in the silent house.

"Harry? You alright?"

"Yeah," Harry said, forcing himself to look up. "I’m just…"

"It's ok," Charlie said immediately, taking a step back. "Don’t do anything that you don’t want to. We can forget all about this."

"You’re giving me the older brother talk," Harry said, meeting his eyes. "I'm old enough to know what I'm doing."

"Sorry," Charlie said, looking it. He raked a hand through his hair, looking awkward. "I’ve made it weird now, haven’t I?"

"It was a bit weird anyway," Harry said, fairly. He took a deep breath and tried to muster his thoughts, but all his brain seemed able to focus on was Charlie — the feel of his body, his smell, how his arse looked in those tight breeches...

"Look," Harry said, "can we just start again? It shouldn't be this complicated. Didn't you tell me to watch your hips?"

Harry's gaze dropped, and he slid his hand under Charlie's shirt to brush his fingers along the waistband of Charlie’s breeches. Charlie's skin was hot, and Harry felt him shudder a little at the contact.

"Maybe not in the hallway," Charlie said, voice low.

"Then where?" Harry asked, and saw Charlie's eyes darken.

“You want to?” Charlie asked, and Harry could read his expression now: a mixture of uncertainty and desire.

“I’ve been flying after you for months. You've no idea how frustrating it is. Fuck, I've been dreaming about you."

"Really?" said Charlie, and there was a new, dirty note in his voice. "Does this have anything to do with the sex ban Ron mentioned? He thought it was just a joke, but after seeing the way you watch me I'm not so sure."

"It wasn't a joke," Harry admitted, and Charlie pushed him back against the wall.

"So you haven't been touched like this—" his hand cupped Harry's cock, and Harry groaned, thrusting involuntarily against him, "in three weeks?"

"No," Harry said breathlessly.

"Well, then," Charlie said, his voice almost a growl, and tugged Harry into the nearest bedroom.

Harry barely had time to breathe, and then Charlie slammed him up against the wall and his hands were roaming all over Harry's body. Charlie's fingers pinched his nipple and Harry swore and bucked against him, hands tearing at Charlie's shirt.

It was clumsy, desperate, and Charlie fumbled open his fly and then — oh god! — and his hand wrapped around Harry's cock.

"I can't—" Harry choked out, as Charlie's grip tightened, fingers twisting around the head of his cock, and then he was coming uncontrollably over Charlie's hand.

Harry closed his eyes, leaning his head against Charlie's shoulder, and felt warm breath against his ear.

"Seems like you really needed that," Charlie said, his voice teasing. "Want to do it again?"

"Give me...five minutes."

"Well, in the meantime," Charlie said, shifting his weight, and Harry felt fabric brush against his stomach.

Harry opened his eyes, and Charlie caught his chin and tilted his mouth for a kiss. After a moment, Charlie guided Harry's hand down to his cock, clearly outlined through the tight breeches. When Harry rubbed it through the fabric Charlie made a low noise, half purr and half growl, and pressed into his hand.

Fuck, he'd been chasing Charlie for weeks. He'd never imagined doing this, but Charlie was hot and hard against him, and Harry wasn't going to let go. He'd learned every line of Charlie's body from watching him fly, and now he ran his hands over those muscles, memorising how they felt. Harry slid his hands over Charlie's arse, grinding against him, and Charlie groaned.

Harry tugged open the buttons of Charlie's breeches and his cock sprang out, the tip already damp. It was warm and soft under his hand, and Harry slid his palm slowly down the length of Charlie's cock. Charlie's hips bucked forwards, and Harry grabbed a hipbone to steady him.

"Your turn," Harry said, steering Charlie round so his back was against the wall. He wrapped his hand around Charlie cock and started to stroke it, feeling the weight of it in his hand and watching Charlie's reactions to the changes in his speed and grip.

His own cock was already hardening, and Harry couldn't resist pushing his hips forward so that it rubbed against Charlie's cock.

Charlie's hand tightened against Harry's back, hard enough to bruise.

"You like that?" Harry asked, not expecting an answer, and moved his hips again.

Charlie's breath was ragged, but he widened his stance for Harry to step between his legs, and Harry kissed him again and then, on a sudden inspiration, raised his hand to Charlie's mouth.

Charlie grinned and licked his hand thoroughly, laving Harry's palm and then sucking each finger into his mouth. The gleam in Charlie's eyes as he curled his tongue around Harry's thumb, sucking it deep and then sliding his mouth slowly back up, was the sexiest thing Harry'd ever seen and left him in no doubt of Charlie's feelings about oral pursuits.

When Harry stroked his wet hand over both their cocks Charlie bucked against him, and Harry leaned in harder, and then there was just the silky slide of their cocks against each other, endless skin and heat.

Harry felt the pressure building at the base of his spine, and Charlie's movements grew more frantic. The friction of Charlie's cock against was delicious, addictive, and Charlie pulled him into an urgent, bruising kiss moments before he came, moaning against Harry's cheek.

Harry rocked his own hips, once, twice against Charlie's stomach, now slicked with come, and then came again. For an instant he saw stars, and then almost fell against Charlie, catching himself with one hand against the wall.

"You know," Charlie said, voice muffled because his face was pressed against Harry's neck, "you seem to enjoy this a lot more than Quidditch."

"Well, I'm not losing, am I?"

Harry debated whether cuddling would be weird after what was basically spontaneous mutual wanking against a wall. He risked it, and slid an arm round Charlie's back. Charlie grunted and pulled him closer.

"So you've stopped sulking at me?"

"I still want to beat you!" said Harry. After a moment's thought, he added, "But the wanking ban wasn't really helping."

"I'd say it had some positive consequences," said Charlie, and Harry felt him grin. Then Charlie nipped at his neck, and Harry tilted his head to give him better access.

"This doesn't mean I'm going to let you win," Charlie muttered.

"Good," Harry said, his breath catching as Charlie bit his earlobe. "I want to beat you fair and square."

Charlie licked a hot line down the sensitive skin of his neck, and then pulled Harry's t-shirt aside to bite just above his collarbone.

"I look forward to it," he said, the words ghosting over Harry's skin. "Maybe we can go for a private flight sometime? "

"Do you actually mean a flight?" Harry asked, and Charlie laughed.

"Either way, the offer's open."

Harry tangled a hand in Charlie's hair and tugged at it, pulling him into a kiss. "Either way," he said, against Charlie's mouth, "I think the answer's yes."