Title: Four Times Charlie Had Authority Over Draco and One Time He Didn't
Author: snegurochka_lee
Pairing: Charlie/Draco. Brief implied past Charlie/Kingsley.
Rating: NC-17
Theme Chosen: Authority figure role-play... which blurs the line between playing and actual. (It is not D/s, though).
Other Warnings: EWE for Draco
Word Count: ~8,500
Summary: It started the week after the final battle, in a Ministry holding cell with a fake Auror and a suspect who was used to doing as he was told.
Notes: Bah, I'm not even supposed to be posting this month, but this pairing and this theme? I couldn't exactly resist. Unimaginative title and structure are just that, I know. Huge thanks to marguerite_26 for the quick beta work, although any parts you don't like are probably the ones she didn't get to see, la. And thanks again to our help_japan donors for this awesome pairing and theme!



Four Times Charlie Had Authority Over Draco and One Time He Didn't

by Snegurochka

*

i. the auror


The room was cold, damp and pathetic looking, but even at this many feet underground and stripped of all cheer or colour, it still beat the rag doll appearance of the kid in front of him.

Charlie sighed and rose, tired of sitting. He kicked his chair back in so he could move behind it without scraping his back on the cement wall, and the kid looked up sharply at the noise.

"Relax." He leaned against the wall, wishing he had a cigarette to pass the time. "Bit of metal on concrete, not a bomb going off."

The kid looked away, tightening his jaw. His blond hair was tousled and curled around his ears; his pretty mouth was turned down; and his already pale face had started to go a bit ashy out of any direct light. He was Ron's age, Charlie reminded himself, Ron and Harry and Hermione's. Not a kid anymore.

"You're not even an Auror," Malfoy snapped at him. "You can't keep me here."

Charlie folded his arms across his chest, nudging his thumbs under his biceps to help the bulging a bit more than necessary. He held in a smile at the way Malfoy's eyes zeroed in on his arms and widened a little bit. "I'm the hired muscle," he said. "Shacklebolt's got more than enough of you little bastards to deal with this week, so I'm lending a hand."

"Lending a hand," repeated Malfoy, dropping back against his chair in a dramatic slouch. "Merlin help us all. Weasleys are in charge of the Ministry."

Charlie rolled his eyes but prepared to let that go, until Malfoy looked up at him with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Or is it just that Weasleys are sucking the Minister's cock?"

Charlie held his cool. This was a stupid kid. No idea how to behave except to lash out. He squared his shoulders. "You don't think a man in that position deserves a bit of pleasure now and again?"

That hadn't been the answer Malfoy expected. His eyes widened again, and his gaze dropped down Charlie's body. "You are!"

For the first time in years, Charlie wondered if he might have made a decent Auror himself. He had the physical strength and stamina for it, and down at the compound, he did awfully like giving orders to the newer handlers and making sure everyone did their part to keep the place running smoothly. Malfoy was reminding him why it wouldn't suit him, though: one, suspects in a Ministry holding cell weren't exactly the same type as fresh-faced youth delighted to be out of their parents' house and willing to do anything you asked of them in order to stay there; and two, suspects in a Ministry holding cell didn't know how to take a bloody joke.

Still, it was worth riling Malfoy up just a little bit. Kingsley had said the kid was more pathetic than criminal, that he might react more favourably to Charlie's brand of authority with a friendly face than any official Ministry interrogation. It was true that Malfoy had already had enough of untrustworthy adults, to say the least, intimidating the shit out of him.

And Charlie did owe Kingsley a favour or two after that weekend he'd spent on his back in Nice, after all, champagne licked from his navel and sheets that probably cost more than his yearly salary bunched around his thighs. But Malfoy didn't need to know about that.

Charlie strolled across the cell towards Malfoy, his boots clacking loudly. When he reached him, he leaned over Malfoy, letting his mouth come just a bit too close to the kid's ear. "Why don't you just close your eyes and think about that image for a minute, Malfoy?"

Malfoy scoffed and looked away, but Charlie caught the way the fabric of his robes shifted between his legs. He smiled.

"Shouldn't be long now," he added, stepping back. "The Minister will want to question you himself. My advice would be, don't get smart with him or give him any talk, all right? It'll go much better for you if you shut the fuck up and at least pretend to be sorry."

"I didn't do anything!"

Charlie turned back to him in a flash, his fingers digging into Malfoy's shoulder as he spun him around, the chair screeching like sawed metal against the floor. "You fought on the wrong side in the war that killed my brother," he said quietly, his lips barely moving as he tried to keep his sudden anger in check. "So when the Minister comes in, you will shut your fucking mouth, and say you're fucking sorry, and gladly accept whatever fucking punishment he decides to give you. Is that clear?"

Malfoy's chest rose and fell rapidly. "It wasn't my fault, Weasley. You don't know what it was like to–"

"I didn't ask you to make excuses or talk back to me," growled Charlie. So much for the friendly face. He folded his arms again, looming over Malfoy. "I asked you if what I said was fucking clear."

Malfoy pressed his lips together, glaring at Charlie but not speaking. After a long moment, he dropped his gaze.

"What you want to do in this situation," said Charlie slowly, "is give me a yes, or a no. And just so you know, I might not be allowed to use my wand on you in here, but..." He unfolded his arms and quietly cracked his knuckles, widening his stance to make sure Malfoy couldn't miss the steel toes on his boots. Christ. He hadn't been in a fistfight since he was six and Bill had stolen the tadpole Charlie had carefully captured from the pond in the backyard. But Malfoy didn't need to know about that, either.

Malfoy's lips parted and his eyes stayed glued to the floor. Slowly, he nodded.

Charlie let the tension in the room linger a little bit longer then begin to fade away, before he sighed, pulling out a different chair for himself across from Malfoy and dropping into it. "Kingsley's the fairest, most reasonable man you'll ever meet," he ventured, drumming his fingers on the table. "He's not going to lock you up for no reason, all right? So don't give him one."

Malfoy nodded again, inhaling and sighing dramatically. "All right," he said softly. He leaned back in his chair and regarded Charlie sideways. "You are sucking his cock, though, aren't you?"

Charlie laughed through his surprise. "You do like that idea, don't you?" he shot back.

Malfoy hid a grin. "Who wouldn't?"

Charlie balled up the bit of parchment from his pocket he'd been fiddling with and lobbed it at him.

Malfoy ducked, but then settled back into his chair, his smile fading. After a long pause, he cleared his throat. "Weasley."

Charlie glanced up.

"I am sorry."

The sudden lump in his chest stole Charlie's breath for a moment. Maybe there was hope for Malfoy after all. "Yeah," he said at last, running a hand through his hair. "I know you are, kid."

***

ii. the older brother


"Grab those extra pillows off the top shelf," said Bill, throwing a stack of blankets at Charlie. "They're not feather, but the little princess can Transfigure them himself if he wants to complain."

Charlie snorted, catching the blankets with one arm and reaching for the pillows with the other.

"You sure this is a good idea?" pressed Bill. "I know you think you owe Kingsley a favour–"

Charlie shot him a warning look.

"–but you've heard what Ron and them say about him. That Malfoy kid might not be the right cause to get on board with here. Not to mention that Mum and Dad would kick you out of the family if they knew you were doing this."

"What, exactly, am I doing?" Charlie bit out, exasperated. He spread his arms as wide as he could while not dropping the linens. "I'm not bringing him home to marry. Christ. He's young and bored and needs a bit of work discipline. I work at a compound that specialises in employing exactly that kind of princess. Okay?"

Bill didn't look convinced. "You weren't that kind of princess."

"Sure I was." Grinning, Charlie elbowed him. "Look, it was either I take him on and make him shovel dragon shit for a year, or Kingsley puts him in the mail room at the Ministry where he's likely to get an eyeful of Bubotuber pus thrown at him every day."

"When you tell him he's sleeping on the floor, he'll probably vote for the pus."

Charlie's elbow hit Bill square in the ribs that time. Bill reciprocated with a solid kick to Charlie's shins, leading to the blankets and pillows flying through the air as they tackled each other and both tried to achieve an award-winning headlock.

"Oh, you idiots." Fleur appeared in the hallway with Malfoy behind her. She pulled out her wand and levitated the bedding to Charlie's room, shaking her head at Charlie and Bill but pausing long enough to accept Bill's kiss on her cheek. "Come along, Draco," she said, glancing back at Charlie with a look at once appraising, amused, and exasperated. He grinned.

Malfoy shot them both a very strange look as he passed. Bill just gave him a mock salute, while Charlie bowed like a butler. When he disappeared after Fleur into the room, Charlie started to laugh.

"He's never had a brother, the poor sod."

"I don't trust only children," grumbled Bill.

"I heard that!"

"Ignore them, darling," they heard Fleur say to Malfoy. "They're Neanderthals."

Sharing a glance with Bill, Charlie made an ape gesture, scratching his armpits and then galloping down the hall as if on his knuckles.

"She's right; you are an idiot," Bill called after him before heading in the other direction.

*

By the next day, Charlie was already starting to regret his great idea.

"Pick up your damn socks. Christ." He stood in the doorway of the room he was sharing with Malfoy and wrinkled his nose, surveying the mess.

Malfoy lowered his magazine. "I'm not your house-elf."

"I didn't say pick up mine," Charlie shot back. "And what is that – Quidditch?" He strode into the room and tore the magazine out of Malfoy's hands. "Are you finished your homework?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I'll do it later. Memorising the lineage of every Ukrainian Ironbelly in captivity isn't exactly my idea of a fun evening."

"You'll do it now," Charlie growled, Summoning the book he'd left out and suspending it at the appropriate pages in front of Malfoy's face. "We ship out on Friday, and if you can't tell a Ridgeback from a Horntail from your first minute on that soil, you'll end up harvesting the poisonous scales and leaving the most valuable claw shavings in the dung heap."

"I told you I don't want to do it now," Malfoy whinged, "and anyway, it's not like you can make me." He lifted his chin and batted the book away. He pushed himself up off the fairly lush, feathery bed he'd made himself on the floor in the far corner of Charlie's room and walked over to meet him, grey eyes filled with much more attitude and confidence than Charlie had encountered in the Ministry holding cell the month before.

"Oh, I can make you," said Charlie, dropping his voice to a menacing whisper. He twirled his wand in his fingers, considering. Which spell... which spell... ah. Got it. This one had always worked nicely on Percy. He'd never needed incentive to do his homework, mind, but this one had worked wonders convincing him to help Bill and Charlie de-gnome the garden in summer.

"Go ahead and try," Malfoy taunted.

Charlie cocked his head to the side. "Yeah?"

Shaking his head, Malfoy just gave him a disbelieving look. "Yeah, Weasley." He turned away again to snatch his magazine from Charlie's bed.

"Okay," murmured Charlie, raising his wand and uttering the spell he and Bill had perfected when he was fourteen. It had never ceased to keep the younger kids in line. Well, except Ginny. They wouldn't dare use it on her.

As Malfoy straightened and began flipping through the magazine again, a pinched look crossed his face. He glanced back at Charlie, now smugly leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. Malfoy's lips parted in a surprised gasp, and he reached out to grasp at the wall for support.

"Oh. Oh. What– What did you do?" He was a bit too breathless for Charlie's liking – and not doing nearly enough outraged shrieking.

Charlie twisted his wand another fraction to the right.

A pained groan left Malfoy's mouth. He sagged against the wall, one hand flying down to his crotch to try to adjust his bits and, Charlie imagined, relieve the pressure. He glanced back at Charlie, his brow a furious line. "Wedgie spell?" he gasped. "Are you nine?"

Charlie ignored him. "Now. You're gonna read that book, front to back, and take notes on it, and answer any questions I put to you, and you're gonna do it feeling like you've got floss wrapped around your balls."

Malfoy's fingers curled against the wall. "That's– not what it feels like," he ground out. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and his whole body shuddered. "You used this on your brothers?" he added, choking back a laugh. "Let me guess: they did exactly what you wanted, every time."

"Well, yeah."

"Which one started to ask for it?" A spot of colour had broken out on Malfoy's face. His breath was coming quickly, but he still eyed Charlie with a kind of impish delight. "I'd wager – ah – it was Ronald."

"Percy, actually, but what are you talking ab–" Ah. Charlie aimed his wand and twisted a little bit more, watching Malfoy carefully.

A deep moan tore from his throat, several shades lower than his usual voice, and Charlie's lips parted at the sound. Malfoy's flushed cheeks and tense body held his attention, as did the slight dampness darkening the blond hair at Malfoy's temples.

"Do your goddamn homework," muttered Charlie, holding Malfoy's gaze.

Malfoy wet his lips, breathing deeply through his mouth. "Is this my reward if I do?"

Oh, the son of a bitch. "You don't need a reward, you spoilt brat. This is your job now, and you'll damn well do as I say." He released the spell with a flick of his wrist, shoving his wand in the back pocket of his jeans and turning away from the sight of Malfoy's thrumming body clutching at the windowsill.

"You didn't have to stop," whinged Malfoy, punching the wall. "You are a complete brute, you know that?"

"So I've been told. Hey, where are you–"

"I'm having a shower, you idiot," said Malfoy as he brushed by him at the bedroom door. "Not even you could do dragon homework in this state." He gave Charlie a pointed look, gesturing at his trousers, before striding down the hall and slamming the door of the loo.

Charlie glanced down at his wand. Well, then. He had always wondered why Percy had been so uncharacteristically ill-behaved back in the day whenever Charlie was on babysitting duty.

***

iii. the dragon boss


"Come on, Connie, look alive out there!" shouted Charlie, his voice blocked by the heavy winds. "The right claw, Damian, you idiot. She's going to step on your head if you go under her like that. Magda, get in there and help him. Malfoy, get a new set of gauntlets for her. What did you say?" Charlie spun around, momentarily forgetting the action in front of him.

"I said I don't have any left," muttered Malfoy. "They've used them all, so I'd have to go back to the storage room for more if they want–"

Charlie stalked towards him, stopping well within Malfoy's personal space and glaring at him. "Then go back to the storage room for more," he bit out. "What part of this job don't you fucking understand? If you don't want to be in the pens, that's fine, but you'd better make yourself the best fucking equipment brat we've got."

Shooting Charlie a death glare over his shoulder, Malfoy stomped back towards the compound.

*

"Christ, Weasley, that kid you brought over sure is more trouble than he's worth, isn't he?"

"I've yet to see him do what he's told on first go."

"I can't believe his natural expression is to pout."

Charlie sighed and threw a couple more coins in the middle of the table, taking a long drag on his beer. "Yeah, well, I never said he'd be the dragon whisperer. But you lot were fucking arseholes when you first got here, too," he added, ducking a punch to the shoulder from his right.

"You gonna whip this one into shape, then, Weasley?"

"Merlin, I know what I'd do to keep that mouth of his busy."

"Oh, we all know what you'd do, Mac."

"Well, if you're all wondering what Weasley was thinking, there's your answer."

Charlie glared before glancing back down at his cards. Pair of twos and a seven. Christ. He dropped them to the table. "Fold. And shut the fuck up."

"Ooh, hit a nerve, did we?"

"Look, if Weasley don't want him, I like mine mouthy and blond."

"So does half the compound, Dax. Christ. I've already caught that kid on his knees in the shower room more times than I can count."

Charlie's head snapped up. "What?"

"Oho, that got his attention."

"Jealous, Weasley? Why don't you just bend him over and get it over with? The rest of us are sick of having to watch the way he looks at you."

"The way Weasley looks at him, more like."

Charlie scrubbed at his face. "Pass me a fucking cigarette," he muttered, catching it with one hand when one sailed across the table at him. He lit it as the conversation moved to the size of the tits on that barmaid down the road, inhaling deeply and waiting for Dax to deal the new hand. Mouthy and blond. The smoky room blurred in front of him.

Fuck.

*

Three months later, Malfoy had actually managed to learn the name of every dragon, the precise balance of their diets, their health profiles and daily needs, and could generally be trusted to keep the equipment ordered and stocked without bollixing it up too badly.

He was still a mouthy little brat most of the time, but at least he got the job done.

"Good work, Malfoy," said Charlie, trudging up the hill with him after a long afternoon mending the bottom of the Horntail observation deck.

Malfoy glanced over at him, his brows raised in surprise. "Who are you, and what have you done with Weasley?"

Charlie nudged him with his shoulder. "What? You're not going to get any praise for being a fuck-up, but today you did good, all right? So I'm telling you."

"I'm not a fuck-up." Malfoy pouted, his bottom lip full and pink, and Charlie nearly stumbled in a root on the ground from staring at it for too many seconds.

"You have been," he said gruffly, his eyes straight ahead, "but today you weren't. Okay? Christ. Quit arguing with every fucking thing I say."

"I don't!"

They reached the equipment shed and Charlie paused with his hand on the door, giving him a look.

"I meant that I always do what you bloody say, don't I? So why do you always have to be so... oh..."

Charlie had already wandered inside, pulled his greasy t-shirt over his head and balled it into his fist. He threw it in the laundry bin before running his hands through his hair to clear the sweat off his brow. He turned then at Malfoy's stumble. "So what?"

Malfoy had slumped against the wall as if in defeat, staring openly at Charlie.

Oh. Well, why not. Charlie sauntered towards him. "Why do I have to be so what?" he said, hooking his thumbs into the back pockets of his jeans.

Malfoy made an indistinct noise in his throat as Charlie came closer, crowding Malfoy up against the wall but purposefully not touching him. Not yet, at least. Malfoy's eyes were roving over his chest and arms, taking in the swirling colours of ink on his shoulders and biceps and probably the Snitch over his heart, or maybe it was the single hoop of silver through his left nipple that held Malfoy's attention. He wondered if Malfoy had ever had one between his teeth before, seen just how completely a man could melt underneath you with just one tug to his nipple ring before he came. Better yet, he wondered if Malfoy had ever been the one underneath, pliant and submissive as a bigger man – an older man – pressed him down and spread him open.

"If you have a problem working under me," he said quietly, "we can clear that up right now."

"No, sir," breathed Malfoy, his face flushed. As if catching himself, though, he immediately closed his eyes and winced.

"Sir?" Charlie grinned, but rather than backing away, he leaned closer. "Careful," he whispered, two days' growth of beard brushing Malfoy's smooth cheek. "I might start to like that." He did lift himself away at that, walking back to the door and leaving before he did something really stupid, like kiss Malfoy until he couldn't breathe, or slide a hand into his scuffed work trousers and roll his balls between callused fingers until Malfoy sobbed into his shoulder for more.

He went to sleep that night with images of Malfoy's heavy gaze on him seared into his mind.

*

A few weeks after that, the pair of them having kept whatever was going on between them to a simmer, Malfoy stormed into Charlie's cabin one night without knocking, slamming the door behind him and pointing an accusing finger at Charlie before Charlie could even process what was happening.

"That's my shift, you fucking wanker, and you can't just give it to Magda without telling me, and I had to hear it from Dax of all people that you'd pushed me out, and fuck you, because I've always done every fucking thing you say, and I don't even complain anymore, so why would you want to work with stupid Magda, why won't you work with me anymore, why are you... why are you just... such a fucking prick?"

Charlie blinked at him, holding the towel around his neck with both fists at either end. When Malfoy finished his tirade and angrily crossed his arms, glaring, Charlie went back to ruffling the towel through his hair and then down his chest, mopping up the stray drops and watching the way Malfoy's gaze followed his every move. His other towel sat snug around his hips – snug for a few reasons, it turned out, because Merlin, an angry Malfoy was a thing of beauty. "You'll take the shifts I tell you to take," he said evenly. "Dax needs help with the extraction lab. You're good with a claw. Seemed like an easy match."

"Oh, like you and Magda?"

"Magda's not afraid to throw the boar hearts into the Fireball pens, not like some people, so I need her with me on feeding this week. It's not personal, Malfoy." That was a lie; it was entirely personal. Charlie was going to get his face melted off one of these days from staring at Malfoy's – Draco's – stubbled jaw or lean arms or sun-flushed skin a bit too long.

"Why not?"

Charlie paused at the question. Draco himself seemed surprised he'd asked it. He clamped his mouth shut and turned his face away, his chest still heaving with anger. "Why isn't it personal?" Charlie took a step towards him. "You tell me."

Draco raised his eyes again, openly taking in Charlie's bare chest and bath towel. He pulled his bottom lip under his teeth for a second. "I want to work for you," he murmured. "Is that so much to ask?"

Charlie took another few steps forward, bringing himself within Draco's reach. Taking the opportunity, Draco lifted his hand to Charlie's chest, his fingertips skating lightly over it before his index finger caught gently in Charlie's nipple ring. He hesitated, raising his eyes to Charlie's, and then gave it a soft tug. Charlie clenched his jaw, even as his resistance crumbled. "I don't fuck my employees," he grumbled, but he was already breathless.

A slow grin curved Draco's lips. "You do so. I work with them all, remember? I know exactly which ones you've fucked."

Charlie paused. "Well. I shouldn't fuck my employees."

"Not an employee." Draco lowered his hand and stepped back, as if to put the ball squarely in Charlie's court to pursue things. "You wankers refuse to pay me."

Grinning, Charlie moved towards him, planting one hand firmly on the wall beside Draco's head. "You think you know what you're doing, barging into my cabin with your whinging precisely eighteen minutes after my shift ends, when you know I'll be wet and naked by now?"

Draco's chest heaved. He had the good sense to flush, but he still nodded rather than deny it.

"You think you're ready to play with the big boys?"

His lips parted. "Just one."

Charlie locked his arm, leaning into the wall and openly appraising Draco. "You could be terrible," he goaded. "Young, inexperienced, probably selfish as fuck." He tilted Draco's chin up. "You think you can satisfy me?"

If he'd expected Draco to crumble at that, to shudder and buckle and collapse into his arms, he was wrong. Draco only sucked in a sharp breath, lifted his chin, and curled his fingers into the waist of Charlie's towel. He leaned in close to Charlie's ear, pausing to let Charlie hear how breathless he was, then he murmured, "Yes," in a slow slide of sound.

That did it. Charlie had him on his back in under two minutes, naked and already hard. His knees fell to the side as Charlie stripped his towel off and threw it to the floor, crawling on the bed after Draco and settling his heavy weight over top of him. He held himself up on one arm and cupped Draco's face with his other hand, kissing him fiercely and drinking in every moan Draco made.

The level of passion between them surprised him, although in retrospect, Charlie realised it shouldn't have. All he knew was that Draco wouldn't stop clawing at him, and he couldn't get enough of Draco's teeth on his skin, or his hands on every part he could touch. Draco held him close, his fingers bruising the flesh of Charlie's arse; he was already bucking up against Charlie and breathing his name. Draco's dick pressed up into his as Charlie ground him down into the mattress, sticky-damp from the shower and Draco's heated skin.

Charlie made to move onto his knees, to pull Draco up with him or flip him over or do anything else to help get Charlie inside him, but Draco nearly screeched at the loss of contact. "No," he begged. "Pin me down." He sought Charlie's gaze, shy but determined all at once. "I don't know why, but I just…"

"Okay." Christ, Charlie was done for here, he already knew it. "On your stomach, then," he whispered. "Easier to keep you down." Draco moaned, low and breathless, as Charlie moved off him just enough for Draco to turn over. He pressed his cheek into the pillow and pulled one knee up the bed beside his hip, spreading himself open, and Charlie fell on top of him again. His teeth skimmed the smooth expanse of Draco's back, while his big hands slid down his sides to his hips.

Charlie let his dick settle into Draco's cleft while he kept biting up his back, the hot weight of it, the promise of more, making Draco squirm underneath him in delicious ways.

"You know what this feels like, baby," he murmured, rolling his hips a little bit, "having a dick inside you?" He wasn't really one for debauching virgins. Took too much time and a patience Charlie rarely had when he was hard and aching and ready to fuck. But he couldn't imagine when a kid like Draco would have found time to practice during the war, so he figured he'd just have to keep himself in check and go slow.

Although, Christ. Pin me down. That was a request from someone who knew exactly what he wanted.

Glancing back over his shoulder with a lock of hair tousled over his brow, Draco only nodded at him, a smile ghosting his lips. "Yeah," he murmured. "Dorms. But no one like you."

Oh. Hell. That'd do just fine, then. Visions swam in Charlie's head of other men – only boys, really – laying Draco out like this and pushing inside him, shaking the curtains around those skinny beds with their teenage humping. Time to show him something more.

He murmured the lubrication spell and sat back on his heels, shushing Draco when he tried to protest the loss of Charlie's chest tight against his back. Working his thumbs into Draco's cleft, he pressed inside, groaning at how the gesture made Draco bury his face in the pillow even as he pushed back for more. He moved up to his knees without Charlie needing to ask, keeping his chest flat to the bed. "Charlie," he begged. God, he was shameless like this, open and desperate and begging for it.

Charlie's cock ached. He spread Draco even wider with his thumbs before pushing his cock inside. As he slowly, steadily pushed in, he also fell forward, shoving Draco back down to the bed. "You good?" he breathed, deciding Draco's moan was good enough an answer.

Hs chest closed over Draco's back as he began to thrust, steadily grinding their hips together and covering Draco's body from head to toe. His hands curled around Draco's wrists while his mouth bit at Draco's neck. Blond hair caught in his teeth, and Charlie breathed in the scent of the work day on him and the smell of sex already fogging the room. The hair low on his belly scratched at Draco's lower back, his hips tight against Draco's arse, as Charlie pinned him down and thrust inside.

"Like that?" he managed, his breath hot at Draco's ear.

"God. Fuck," moaned Draco, his hips rolling with Charlie's and taking in each push inside. He felt fucking incredible, hot and wet, his passage clinging to Charlie's cock like a glove. Charlie lifted his chest up a little bit, but at Draco's questioning glance over his shoulder, he planted his palm flat between Draco's shoulder blades, not too hard but enough to make a point. The choked sob that tore from Draco's throat nearly undid him.

"Stay down," he whispered, his fingertips curling into Draco's back. "I'm not done with you yet."

"Charlie." Draco's body was trembling now, his expression a beautiful mess of sensation.

Charlie's orgasm built deep inside him, fuelled by this thing of beauty writhing underneath him and begging for more, but also from the memory of every incarnation of this man he'd ever met – the vulnerable kid at the Ministry and even the petulant brat at Shell Cottage. He should have recognised it back then, this desire to take the kid under his wing, protect him and guide him but also show him exactly how good he could be with a man like Charlie at his side, exactly what a man with a bit of confidence and authority, and maybe even a bit of dominance, could do for someone who'd never been allowed to have much of that himself before.

He didn't always get off on pinning down slender blond things like this and fucking them breathless, but Draco wasn't just anyone. He knew what he wanted now and asked for it. Charlie had a thing for men like that. Okay, and he also had a thing for the way Draco could beg so prettily when he was frustrated. "Harder," he complained now. "Come on Charlie, fuck."

Charlie lifted himself up and locked his arms, his chest a few inches off Draco's back, and pistoned his hips forcefully. His cock squeezed between Draco's cheeks and into his hole, tight and hot and so fucking perfect. "Stay down," he murmured again. "Even if you come."

Draco whimpered but did as he was told, and that alone made Charlie shudder and pause, his dick buried deep as he began to come. With a grunt, he curled his fingers into Draco's shoulders and hauled himself forward one last time, exploding inside him and grinding his hips down hard to make Draco take every drop of it. He was barely done when Draco pushed back and dislodged him, a fury of passion as he kissed Charlie fiercely. Charlie saw Draco's hand flying on his cock and slapped it away, pushing him down again, on his back this time, and swallowing his cock. It burst on his tongue almost immediately, a bitter rush that he swallowed hungrily, holding Draco's hips down.

Finally, he rolled to the side and collapsed on his back, a huge grin covering his face. They were silent for a moment, panting together, before Charlie spoke. "Jesus, Malfoy." He glanced sideways at him. "Could have warned a bloke you fuck like a wildcat."

Draco's face was flushed, but its usual pinch was gone. He looked relaxed and carefree, the most beautiful thing Charlie had ever seen. "And you thought I couldn't satisfy you."

"Brat. Proven wrong, I'll give you that."

Draco tucked one arm under his head, his usual smirk melting into a genuine smile.

"All right." Charlie swung his legs over the bed and padded across the room for his jeans. "Don't you fucking move," he ordered. "I'm getting us some beer and some chicken, and then we're going to do that again. And again. And then again, if you can get it up."

"If you can, old man."

"Oh." Charlie zipped his jeans and crawled back onto the bed for a moment, leaning down for a gentle but determined kiss. "I can. Never worry about that."

*

"So, Weasley. Your boy's gone from hearts in his eyes to a limp when he walks. Don't suppose you'd know anything about that? And I call, Annie. This flush won't get any better no matter how many more cards you shove at me."

Four other hands of cards fell to the table with a whinge and some curses.

"Eh, I don't know about that," said Charlie, scratching his jaw before throwing another couple of coins in. "I'd say the hearts are still there."

"Why are either of you pretending you're lookin' at his eyes when he walks by?"

"Hey, hands off," grumbled Charlie. "I've staked my claim."

"Yeah, and you mind doing your staking out of view of the fucking observation decks? I'm trying to make sure Jasmine's eggs are lookin' right, and I've got Weasley's hairy arse up against the fence, Malfoy pinned there like he's a–"

Six hands flew up. "I'll take your shift, man."

Charlie grinned. "I'm confiscating your fucking binoculars, then."

"Fuck in your own cabin like a normal person, is all I'm saying. And Christ, go easy on the kid, would you? That limp isn't even a joke."

Wetting his bottom lip, Charlie ignored them in favour of fanning his cards out on the table. "Read 'em and weep, folks." He sat back and folded his hands behind his head. "Royal flush."

***

iv. the guy who's already been there, done that and has an awful lot of advice


The orange slats of sunlight didn't stream so much as just peek through the windows this early in the morning, but it was still Charlie's favourite time. The air was crisp and the light seemed pure somehow. He'd take the yawning rust of it over that silly, happy yellow of three p.m. any day.

Out of habit, he reached his hand out until he encountered a warm body. He usually didn't have too far to go – two years of waking up with Draco curled up beside him or twisted half on top of him had taught him that – although this morning, he'd woken sprawled on his stomach with his cheek jammed into a pillow spilling off the bed. He rolled over and wiped his jaw, blinking blearily at Draco lying on his back a foot away. The sheets rested comfortably just below Draco's navel, and one of his sinewy arms was propped behind his head. He was gazing up at the ceiling, dust particles swimming in the morning light crashing in narrow slits over his bare chest.

He turned as Charlie stretched out beside him, absently reaching his free hand out to run up Charlie's chest.

"Hey," said Charlie, his voice still low and sleepy. "You shouldn't be awake for a couple more hours."

Draco gave him a faint smile. "Big day," he said, rolling his eyes. "Couldn't sleep."

His feigned amusement with the situation didn't carry, though. "You'll feel better when it's done," said Charlie. "Trust me."

"Oh, certainly. Whenever have you steered me wrong before?" He shook his head, hiding a smile. "Was it the, you should move to Romania with me part, or the, you should be my younger male lover while you're here?"

"You've lost me." Charlie inched closer, cocking his head to the side. "There's some part of younger male lover in Romania that strikes you as 'wrong'?"

His bigger hand smoothed gently over Draco's stomach and chest, but Draco swatted him away. "Yes," he said with a laugh. "All of it! At least, that's what my father will think."

"I'll be right there with you, remember, and I know how to look brawny and menacing. I dare him to be a dick to you just so I can have the pleasure of slugging him right across the–"

"Yes, yes, you're a brute who fights with brass knuckles and tears meat off the bone with your teeth. I know." Draco rolled over and pushed himself up on one elbow, giving Charlie an amused look. "We met, you might recall, because you felt the need to threaten me with your big, bad muscles in an Auror holding cell." He leaned over and bit at Charlie's neck. "That's not going to work on my father, though."

"Well, I hope not, because I don't exactly want to fuck your father."

"Oh, thank you. That's fantastic news." Draco lifted his head. "You wanted to fuck me that night?"

Charlie sighed. "No. Maybe. I don't know. Probably not consciously." He pushed a lock of hair off Draco's forehead. "You were awfully pathetic back then."

Draco glared at him.

"And young," continued Charlie. "And really fucking mouthy." He grinned at Draco's squawk of protest. "But you were just as pretty." His fingers slid down to Draco's mouth, tracing it before landing on his chest and absorbing the beats of his heart. "Not to mention, you wouldn't stop talking about cocksucking."

Draco sighed, curling into Charlie's side and letting his hands drift. "It's still my favourite topic."

"I know." He wrapped Draco up with one big arm around his shoulders and drew him close, kissing his hair.

"My family isn't like yours," Draco said after a long pause. "They're not going to like this."

"Who ever said my family liked it?"

"They're Weasleys." Draco waved his hand. "They like everything."

Charlie laughed. "Well, my mother didn't like it when I told her this was my job, for good, and I wasn't coming back. And yeah, she loves me no matter what and everything, but it's been almost eight years since I came out to her, and she still makes comments about how not having a wife and children has doomed me to misery, or something."

"And the job?" Draco bit at his lower lip.

Charlie shrugged. "A man's got to make his own way in the world. Surely even your father has to agree with that? Besides, what did they think a guy like me was going to do – head the Wizengamot?" He grinned, nudging Draco's shoulder. "It was either Quidditch or creatures. But you, I mean, you really can do anything you want. You just have to be firm with them."

"I most certainly can't do anything I want. This dragon thing is punishment, you know, and worse than a year in Azkaban to hear my father tell it. They'll go spare to hear I want to stay, and even worse, medical school? They'll think I've gone mad. The only acceptable Malfoy careers are something shady in finance, something shady in the Ministry, or lounging about on an inheritance." He sighed. "I can just hear my mother now. 'Darling, have you ever been to St Mungo's? It's filthy.'"

"'And now you not only want to suck men's cocks,'" Charlie chimed in, his faux Madame Malfoy voice high and bright, "'but you wish to administer potions to plebes, is that it? You are no son of mine!'" He laughed, draping one arm over his forehead, but Draco's mouth became a thin line.

"She's not going to say that, is she? Fuck." Draco rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling again.

"Hey. Hey. Not funny, sorry. I was just– look at me." Charlie sat up, touching Draco's arm and drawing his gaze. "You're not a kid anymore, baby," he murmured, his fingers light over Draco's bicep. "You don't have to do what anyone else tells you to do. Not your parents, not any teachers, not even..." He paused, wetting his lips. This one was a bit harder, but only out of force of habit. He made sure Draco was listening. "Not even me," he said quietly.

Draco's lips parted and he blinked up at Charlie with a light flush on his face. But he quickly tried to mask it, settling his mouth into a sneer. "You've been telling me what to do for the past two years," he scoffed.

Charlie grasped his wrists. He fell back to the bed and dragged Draco on top of him. With a surprised moan, Draco settled over him, straddling Charlie's hips, and gazed down at him curiously. Charlie let his arms fall back above his head, exposing himself completely. "You can shut me up anytime," he murmured, his voice low. "You know how."

That earned him a slow smile, curving the edges of Draco's pretty mouth as he leaned down to kiss Charlie. "Yeah," Draco whispered against his lips. "I do."

***

v. the patient


Motherfucker, did that ever hurt.

Charlie opened his eyes and shifted up in the narrow bed, rotating his shoulder and poking at the damp bandage wrapped around his arm and half his chest. Fucking Matilda. Nine years as her best human friend, sharing a laugh and shaving her scales without her having a care in the world, until the day she decides to turn around for no fucking reason and light him up like a Christmas tree.

"Don't touch that, for Merlin's sake," a voice muttered from the doorway. "Honestly, you're worse than a little kid, lifting up bandages and sniffing all the potions. I've already had to put you out once just to keep you still." Draco folded his arms across his chest and glared.

Charlie dropped his eyes, smiling. "Sorry. Old habits die hard."

"Yes, well, you're going to do the same if you don't get your bloody head on straight." He strode into the room. "Nearly forty years old, and he wanders right into an Ironbelly pen alone, without gauntlets or a coat." He stopped beside Charlie's bed, the sunlight glinting off his white robes. Despite his tone, though, his face was drawn with concern.

"Thirty-six, you arse, and I do that every week." He felt himself pouting. "Matilda likes me."

"Matilda is a wild fucking dragon. She'd eat you alive if given the chance."

"Draco."

He sighed, gripping the railing of Charlie's infirmary bed. "What?" he said wearily.

"I'm fine." He angled up for a kiss.

Draco indulged him for a moment, leaning down, but he stopped an inch from Charlie's mouth. "You're not fine, and moreover, you're not in charge here." He narrowed his eyes. "See this?" He straightened up and waved a piece of parchment. "You have to stay in this bed until I sign it."

Charlie found himself huffing in annoyance before he could stop it. Draco raised an eyebrow.

"You hate that. I know."

The bastard looked far too amused for Charlie's liking. "I know my own body," he grumbled. "Arm hurts a bit, sure, but it's not going to fall off. I've got livers to dice and an apprentice schedule to sort." He made to sit up, but, fuck, he used the bad arm for leverage instead of the good one.

Draco just watched him wince and fall back to the bed, his arms folded over his chest and that same look of placid amusement on his face.

"Oh, shut up," muttered Charlie.

Draco reached out to brush Charlie's hair off his forehead, lingering with the backs of his fingers trailing down Charlie's cheek. "Don't scare me like that," he said softly.

"I'm fine."

Draco cupped his jaw more firmly, directing his gaze. "That was an order, Weasley."

Charlie bit his lower lip, holding back a grin. "All right. Sorry, Healer Malfoy. I won't do it again."

Draco loosened his grip, letting his thumb slide up over Charlie's lips. Parting them, Charlie licked at him lightly with the tip of his tongue. "Remember when I first got here, and you wanted to fuck me but didn't think it was proper since you were my boss?"

Charlie grinned, sucking Draco's thumb into his mouth, swiping his tongue over it, and releasing it. "Well, I wasn't all that concerned about being proper, obviously, since I did fuck you."

"Yes," said Draco impatiently, waving his hand, "but it took you awhile."

"Hm. I suppose. What's your point?"

"My point, you impossible idiot, is that it certainly isn't proper for a Healer to fuck his patients."

"I see." Charlie reached out and tugged at Draco's robes, but a searing pain up his arm stopped him. "Ah. Fuck," he muttered.

"I was going to make an exception," Draco said, his concern etched on his face again, "but–"

"No. It's all good. Make an exception. I definitely need an exception, Healer."

Draco leaned down and kissed him. "You're going to need that arm in better shape to fuck me like I want," he whispered against Charlie's mouth. "Holding yourself up and pinning me to the mattress. Pressing that big hand between my shoulder blades and keeping me down."

Charlie groaned. His dick sure wasn't injured.

"But you just can't do that when you insist on walking into dragon pens unprepared," said Draco sadly, standing up again and backing away.

"All right," grumbled Charlie. "Point made. Now come on. My arm's buggered, so the least you can do is help a bloke out after that little performance." He gestured down at the tented hospital sheet.

Draco only gave him an innocent look. "I don't think I know any cures for that one. Sorry."

"Draco."

"Hm. Well, maybe this?" Draco dropped into the chair beside the bed and held out his wand. With a slight twist and a familiar muttered word – albeit one Charlie hadn't heard in years – a spell hit Charlie between the legs and made him gasp.

"I– oh. Fuck. What are you…?" His back arched of its own accord, and he had to struggle to keep his hips still. It felt like a hundred silk butterflies were slowly circling his balls and nudging at his hole.

Draco crossed his legs and rested his cheek in one fist, the other hand lazily directing his wand to keep Charlie on edge.

"Are you–" Charlie moaned again and grinned. "God, are you nine?"

Draco twisted his wand even further, and what felt like a rope of pure satin slid between his legs and glided up his cock. "I caught Bill teaching it to Ron last time we were home, which meant it was going to get passed down to Hugo, so I'm afraid I had to spill the beans." He angled his wand again, and Charlie lifted his hips at the feathery sensation slipping over his balls. "Reminded me that we never did put it to its proper use."

"This is… ah… terribly unethical, Healer."

"Isn't it just?" Draco gave him a sly smile, then apparently doubled the strength of the spell with one flourish.

"Oh, Christ. Draco. Fuck." The pain in his arm ceased to matter as Charlie's lower body caught fire in an entirely different way. The silky sensation swept up his cock, maddeningly gentle and slow but intense, as if Draco were stroking him with the world's softest flannel. It dipped down over his balls and then back up his shaft, a loop that gradually increased its pace until Charlie was glaring at Draco's smirking face and gripping the sheets.

With another flick, Draco pulled the sheets off so he could watch Charlie come. Still untouched by anything visible, his cock stiffened and began to pulse as the sensations became too much, an explosion of magical touch that made him gasp and thrust his hips up. His dick spurted up onto his belly, and when he opened his eyes again, he found Draco flushed and slack-jawed, gazing at his bits before meeting Charlie's eyes.

Draco stood and strode back to the edge of Charlie's bed, lowering his wand hand and pressing his fingers briefly to his groin, swallowing as if trying to control himself. The kiss he gave Charlie was rough and desperate, searing with white hot intensity even if only for a few seconds. His fingers dug into the back of Charlie's neck and his thumb pressed into Charlie's jaw, and when he pulled back a fraction, he dragged the tip of his tongue over Charlie's lower lip, panting.

"Now. Let's see how well you follow orders, hm?" he murmured against Charlie's mouth. "Get plenty of rest, and drink plenty of fluids, and keep your fucking arm out of the way of the dragons."

"Yes, sir," breathed Charlie, straining up to nip at Draco's lips again. "I promise, sir."

"If you do," said Draco, "then maybe I'll be back later to check on you. And maybe I'll tell Katrina to do her restocking elsewhere. And maybe you'll get another reward for being such a good patient." He tried not to grin against Charlie's mouth but failed.

Laughing, Charlie hauled him down with his good arm around Draco's shoulder, kissing him breathless.



-fin-



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