Birthday Wish Fulfilled for: tryslora
From: A Magical Member

Title: Reset
Characters/Pairings: Charlie/Neville, Draco/Neville (with references to past relationship)
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Included: D/s (on the light side), orgasm delay
Other Warnings/Content: hints at praise kink and bondage
Word Count: ~8,650
Summary/Description: Charlie’s always been the more dominant one. He never had reason to question it – never, that is, until he agreed to meet up with Neville.
Author's Notes: I hope you enjoy this and it hits some of your buttons! Thanks to the mods for keeping the lights on and for being generally fabulous, patient, and wonderful. Thanks to my dear beta for being awesome, kind, and filthy, and for making the ending make sense. Happy birthday Daily Deviant!



“Does your brother know what he’s getting into with Longbottom?” Draco asks, arching one eyebrow and tearing his gaze away from the spectacle in the corner.

“And I suppose you do?” Ron shoots back. Draco gets a little jolt of satisfaction that he can put Ron on edge with one comment, and one where he’s fairly certain Ron doesn’t really know what he meant.

Draco hums, smoothing his trousers under the table, going for casually bored, even as he feels his cock hardening in his pants. His palms are clammy and he pushes himself away from the table and heads to the loo. Weaving his way through the smoky pub, he takes a moment to consider what steps he’s taken in his life that have brought him to this point – in a crowded pub of a Saturday evening, drinking house red wine that could strip the enamel off his teeth, surrounded by Weasleys. All right, to be fair, there are two Weasleys, but still.

Alarmingly, the air in the loo seems fresh compared to the pub. Some good soul has flung open the window. Draco splashes cool water on his face and looks in the mirror. Even without closing his eyes, he can see the way Neville leaned in to Charlie, invading his space and pinning him with his gaze. Charlie, all brawn and fierce brown eyes, smiled and tried to keep his cool. As if he could challenge Neville. Draco draws in a ragged breath, remembering what it was like to be under Neville’s control, wrapped in his spell.

He lets his eyes fall shut, and gripping the sides of the sink. If he tries, sometimes at night, he can feel again the mix of relief and anticipation of letting himself submit. With Neville just in the next room, beginning to work on Charlie, who has no idea what’s coming, it tingles through every one of his nerve endings and he bows his head, averting his eyes from his own gaze as his erection pushes harder against his trousers.

Neville would never let him touch himself, never let him come, until he was trembling and on the verge of sobbing – far past begging – and sometimes, not even then. Draco braces himself as his knees threaten to buckle.

“It’s over for a reason,” Draco says aloud, even as he slides his hand over the front of his pants, squeezing his erection. “And he’s not fucking here now,” he adds to his reflection in the mirror.

He is not in control. Draco can come whenever he likes. Taking a breath, a little thrill passes through Draco as he realizes his former lover is so very close, chatting up Charlie Weasley. He can easily imagine what they’ll look like together, imagine Charlie’s thick, muscular arms straining against Neville’s iron will. He can imagine Charlie begging, his handsome, weathered face creased in desperation, his deep voice pleading while Neville barely deigns to answer.

“Fuck,” he mutters as he slips his hand inside his pants. His cock is hard and aching and Neville would have pulled his hands away, tied them back, if he’d dared to touch himself so early in the game.

There were a hundred reasons they didn’t fit, a hundred reasons to end it, but the sex was not one of them, and sometimes Draco worries that he will never find someone who can handle him, who can anticipate his needs, like Neville had.

“It’s better this way,” he tells himself. The images in his head shift from Charlie on his back, pleading with Neville to fuck him, to Draco, spread wide, hands and feet bound to the bed. A shiver runs through his body and he grips his cock harder, remembering how he trembled as Neville teased and pushed him to the edge again and again, only to pull back and make him wait.

He’s close and he almost wants to draw it out, make himself wait. He even considers walking back out without coming, taking a seat at the table across from Neville and Charlie, watching Neville reel in his prey, hard and desperate. He considers making himself wait like Neville would have and the thought brings him closer.

He closes his eyes and bites his lip as someone raps on the door. “Out in a minute,” he calls.

The door opens anyway, and Neville steps inside. “I thought I might find you here,” he says, locking the door behind him. “I thought I saw that look in your eye, watching me.”

“I don’t want you back,” Draco says. He stills his hand on his cock, squeezing, drawing out the sensation.

“I know,” says Neville, quietly. His presence fills the room and Draco wants to fall to his knees and let him take over. “You don’t need to want me back to remember that I know just what you need.”

Neville takes a step closer and Draco has to force his hand to stay where it is, wrapped around his cock. He looks Neville in the eye. It feels brazen and risky. It doesn't make sense. It never did. Draco was always more controlling in every other way, and always, in the past, the one who took control – until that night two years ago when Neville pushed him to his knees for the first time.

“Go on. So pretty when you finally come,” Neville says. His voice is still quiet, but it’s edged with steel.

“I don’t need your permission,” Draco snaps, even as his hand begins to move on his cock again at Neville’s slight nod.

“No, you don’t,” says Neville. He crosses his arms across his chest and leans back against the sink, watching.

Draco can see that Neville is hard, and that pushes Draco closer, seeing that little loss of control that Neville can’t hide.

“Fuck, Neville,” Draco says, speeding his hand on his cock. It’s slick now and his balls draw up. His vision goes white around the edges.

“I used to love to make you wait,” Neville says, another small admission of loss of control that goes right to Draco’s centre.

“Yes, yes, so good,” Draco groans out. His cock throbs and he fucks into his hand as he paints the floor with stripes of come. A tiny bit gets on Neville’s shoes and Draco finds himself unaccountably pleased. He presses his forehead to the cool glass of the mirror avoiding his eyes, and Neville’s behind him.

“It’s always good to see you Draco,” Neville says. “I don’t know if you’d be interested, but I have an idea about something that might interest you,” he adds, unlocking the door and slipping out and back to his table and Charlie.

Draco washes his hands and rights his clothes. He meets his eyes in the mirror and he knows for the first time since he ended it with Neville that he’s just fine.

That’s not to say he’s not curious about Neville’s idea.

******

Neville weaves his way through the crowded pub, around tables and people carefully balancing over-full goblets and tankards.

There’s something about him tonight. Charlie can’t quite put his finger on it, but whatever that something is seems to have been ratcheted up a notch in the past ten minutes. His cheeks are flushed and he puts one foot in front of the other as if he’s daring anyone to challenge him. It’s all very un-Neville-like, and Charlie takes a long drink from his whisky doing his best to look like he's not staring.

Charlie moves over, leaving the spot next to him empty. Neville takes the seat, as if it were his all along, as if he never questioned that’s where he’d sit. Charlie bites his lip and looks around the table. His brother and his friends are chatting. They don’t seem to be compelled to stare at Neville. They don’t even seem to notice that the man who relieved Voldemort’s snake of her head with Gryffindor’s sword is commanding the attention of the room.

“Oi, Neville,” Ron calls across the table. “Charlie,” he adds. “You two should talk. About the thingy. The egg thingy.”

“The what?” asks Neville, and Charlie senses him shed the powerful persona like shrugging off a cloak. He turns in his seat to look at Charlie, eyebrows raised, and he’s affable, sweet-faced, Neville again.

“It’s a long story,” Charlie says, gesturing his hand at the packed room. “Too noisy.”

Neville nods and looks almost disappointed. Charlie needs to know what gave him that air of something else, something he’d never noticed before.

“Come outside. The alley – it’s quiet there,” Charlie says, leaning in close to Neville. The obvious reason is so Neville can hear him, the real reason is clear in the way Charlie feels Neville’s attitude shift.

The air outside is cool and there’s a breeze that ruffles Charlie’s hair. Neville steps out after him.

“What’s this about a dragon?” Neville asks. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“She’s egg bound,” Charlie says. “We’ve tried everything we know. She’s hardly eating and I don’t think she has long.”

“What herbs have you tried?”

“Feverfew, chamomile, Witch’s Slipper, Unicorn root,” Charlie says, ticking off the list. “Separately and together.”

“Tincture or dried?” Neville asks. He’s pacing and Charlie can feel the energy, a slight agitation, rolling off him.

“Dried,” Charlie says. “I don’t have anyone who can make a proper tincture, or at least not one that’s potent enough to dose a dragon.”

“You need the freshest plants to do it right. I think you also need to add in Passion Flower to stimulate contractions.” Neville’s brow wrinkles and he purses his lips. “It should be Unicorn root, Passion Flower, and Feverfew. The order will matter. The Feverfew needs to come at the end to calm her, but they all need to be handled so their properties are maintained.”

“I like watching you work,” Charlie says, realising as the words come out of his mouth that he’s saying it aloud.

“Oh. Thanks,” says Neville. He smiles, a little self-consciously, and the contrast between the powerful man of a few minutes ago and this gentle, unassuming Herbologist is mesmerising.

Charlie reaches out and draws his finger down Neville’s arm, from his shoulder to the back of his hand. “Earlier, inside, I thought,” Charlie says, and he’s tongue-tied in a way he never is. He curls his little finger around Neville’s. “Am I mistaken?”

“Oh,” Neville says again. He moves his hand, sliding his fingers across Charlie’s palm until he’s intertwined all of their fingers. His hands feel larger, stronger than Charlie had expected. “No, no you aren’t.”

“Good,” says Charlie as he leans in and pauses just before their lips touch. Neville closes the rest of the distance presses his mouth to Charlie’s.

Neville hums against Charlie’s lips as he presses in further and Charlie finds himself backing up, opening, yielding to Neville even as Neville hasn’t actually pushed him. Charlie’s back hits the wall and Neville’s hands come to cup his face. Neville draws back, his tongue sliding along Charlie’s and sending shivers up and down his spine. “Nice,” says Neville.

“Yeah,” Charlie says. He can’t find other words. The kiss was amazing, and Charlie’s cock is thickening in his pants. It was delicious and unsettling at the same time.

“If you’re agreeable,” Neville says, smoothing his robes. Charlie forces himself not to look down and see if Neville was affected by the kiss the same way he was. “We can meet at the Three Broomsticks next weekend. It’s still early enough that spring blooms should be in full flush in Scotland and we can get what we need for this tincture.”

“Yeah,” Charlie says again. “Yeah, that’s good,” he adds, regaining some of his composure. “That’s right decent of you to take the time, and I’m always happy to see Rosmerta.”

“I hope she’s not the only one you’ll be happy to see,” Neville says. His lips curve into a smile and Charlie can almost feel the kiss.

“No, no I don’t think she will be,” Charlie says, smiling back.

“It’s settled, then. Saturday next, lunch time.”


******

Shell Cottage is almost unreal in its beauty and tranquility. As the saying goes, it's lovely to visit. It is lovely to visit and it holds the only two people to whom Charlie can talk about his…not quite dilemma…queries.

Fleur sweeps into the sunbathed front room, carrying a tea tray. Bill follows her with a plate of cakes that look like they were just flown in from a Parisian patisserie. They probably were.

“And what is it brings you this lovely afternoon?” Fleur asks, setting the tea tray on the table.

"I need a reason?” Charlie asks.

“According to me, you do not, but it seems that today you do,” she answers. She pours tea into cup and adds sugar to one, which she hands to Charlie.

Bill frowns at Charlie and asks, “Do we need something a bit stronger than tea?”

Charlie considers this rather sensible offer. It’s not going to get any easier, dragging it out, and he’s not going to be able to talk with them about anything else until he does.

"Right, well, I’d like your opinion,” Charlie says. He lifts the delicate tea cup and examines the birds that ring the cup – some in flight and some seeming stuck in perpetual limbo, about to take off.

“This is about Neville, is it not?” Fleur asks and Charlie chokes on his tea.

Bill shrugs and says apologetically, “Ron may have mentioned something.”

“It was that obvious,” Charlie says. “No use beating around the bush then – given that you two may move in some of the same circles, well, I was wondering…”

“Neville, he has a certain…reputation,” Fleur says, rolling the word reputation around on her tongue like a ripe strawberry.

“A good one?” Charlie asks.

“A good one,” Bill repeats.

“God, have you two ever – ”

“No,” says Bill at the same time as Fleur says, “We have not had the pleasure. However –”

“However, what?” asks Charlie. Something in the smirk on Fleur’s face lets him know there’s more he needs to hear.

“Well, what I know, I learned from one of his ex-lovers. Very beautiful man,” she says, moving her hand in the air as if she is painting. “What a sight we made, your brother, with me at one side and another almost as fair on the other.”

“Anyway,” interrupts Bill. “You never know what you like until you try it. If it doesn’t work, end it. Neville’s a good bloke.”

Charlie laughs. “I guess that’s it then. Time for something stronger?” Charlie says, lifting his tea cup.

“I’d say so,” Bill says. “I think it’s time to change the subject. I’m stopping at giving my little brother sex advice, or sharing stories about adventures with Malfoy.”

Bill turns to grab a golden bottle of Ogden’s Old and a gorgeous, tawny owl taps on the window sill. Fleur opens the window and says, “It’s for you.”

Charlie takes the scroll and reads, I want to be clear that we do not have to do this...together. I could send instructions. The task doesn’t need to be by my hand. Only come if you want what I can offer.

“It’s from Neville,” Charlie says.

Bill tips a healthy measure of fire whisky into Charlie’s cup. “Not sure I’d tell him no, were he offering me, mate.”

“Can I borrow a quill?”

Charlie takes the quill and pens a quick message, I’ll see you there.

“You’d better give me some more of the Ogden’s,” he says.


******

Charlie feels his nervous system begin to reset, standing on the hilltop, cool breeze on his face. The heather is in bloom and carpets of purple spread out before him. Being home at the Burrow is good, great even, but he realises standing here how much he’s missed the quiet and space of wilderness.

He hears a footstep, a crack of a twig, behind him. Neville is experienced enough that the tell was intentional – he’s not trying to put Charlie on uneven footing.

“You came,” Neville says, as he walks up behind Charlie.

“I wanted to,” says Charlie.

Neville’s gaze rakes over him. Charlie feels an uncomfortable urge to look at his feet. He resists it. Neville smiles. “Well then, let’s get to it. Shall we?”

The sun is warm on Charlie’s back and a cool breeze stirs his hair. Clouds dot a startlingly blue sky, so picture perfect it almost doesn’t look real. The steep hills north of Hogsmeade are covered with the blooms of spring. Charlie’s heart beats hard in his chest as he strides up one side and down the other. Neville matches him stride for stride.

A flash of silver catches his eye. He bends to examine the lovely plant. A long, curving conical bloom of tiny, silver flowers arranged in tight rows sparkles in the sun. From a distance, it looks like a horn made of pure silver. “Neville,” Charlie calls. “Is this – ”

Charlie stops as he feels Neville come up behind him, he can feel Neville’s eyes on his body. Neville pauses, placing a hand on Charlie’s back as he bend over to look down at the flower. “It’s Unicorn Root,” he says. “Well done, really well done, Charlie.”

As uncomfortable as his impulse to look away from Neville’s gaze can is, the little thrill he feels at Neville’s praise is even more so.

"Feverfew and Passion Flower," Charlie says.

“At this rate, we’ll be back at the tent by nightfall,” says Neville, clapping Charlie on the shoulder.

In the shade of a boulder the size of a troll’s head Charlie sees a patch of flowers, yellow centres with feathery, white flowers all around. “Feverfew?” He calls to Neville and he shakes his head as he realises he’s waiting – hoping – to hear Neville’s approval.

"Well done again, then,” Neville calls from a few yards away. “Come on here. You’ll want to see this.”

Charlie jogs over to him, enjoying the scrunch, scrunch, scrunch of the rocky ground under his boots. “What is it?”

“Look at this,” says Neville. He reaches out his hand and deftly, delicately, touches the flower. It has purple petals, a wild purple fringe splaying out in all directions. Neville somehow manages to caress the petals without disturbing them. Charlie can’t look away from his hands. Neville’s finger traces the thick, curling stamen in the middle of the blossom. His finger runs from the base to the tip and Charlie can’t help but make the leap to imagining that hand, that finger, on him. “Passion flower,” says Neville.

“Let’s take a few,” says Charlie.

*

Charlie stands at the wash basin, looking out the window over Hogsmeade. They had a delicious meal and a chat with Rosmerta, and she hardly raised an eyebrow when they only asked for one key.

Neville is at work on the other side of the room, preserving and preparing the plants they collected today. Charlie is aware of his presence the same way he’d be aware of a thunderstorm about to begin. Charlie rinses the soap from his hands and he hears the clack of Neville’s boots across the wood floor. Charlie stops, his hands on the edge of the basin.

“We should talk,” Neville says. He’s right behind Charlie and for some reason, Charlie doesn’t turn, doesn’t move.

“Yeah,” Charlie says.

“Good,” says Neville.

Charlie nearly shivers at the sound of his voice. It’s sure and commanding and so, so not what he ever expected from Neville – any more than the effect Neville seems to be having on him is what he ever expected from himself. He finds himself frozen, waiting for instruction, and the only time he ever remembers doing that, in his entire life, is the first time he approached a dragon.

“Turn around,” Neville says. “I need to see your face.”

Charlie turns and asks, “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” says Neville. He doesn’t move closer. He stands straight and still. He’s a little taller than Charlie and Charlie leans forward and stretches up.

Neville’s lips are still at first. Charlie presses closer, moving his mouth over Neville’s. He can’t quite remember the last time someone didn’t melt at his kiss. “Come on,” Charlie whispers on Neville’s lips. He traces his tongue along Neville’s bottom lip.

Neville smiles into the kiss and presses back. Charlie feels the edge of the basin dig into his back and heat flood him as Neville’s tongue touches his.

“Before we go any further,” Neville says. “We have to talk.”

“Right,” says Charlie. “Talk.” His cock is less than interested in talk, but the part of his brain that’s still functioning remembers the conversation with Bill and Fleur, so he nods.

“I want to be clear. I want you,” Neville says. “I want to have you anyway I want you.”

“God, yes,” Charlie says. He leans in again, runs his hand down Neville’s chest, intent on kissing him again.

“Wait,” Neville commands and Charlie drops his hand and holds his breath. “You have to hear me. I can go slow, but I think you know by now, I only do things one way. My way. If that’s not for you, tell me now. I will not do anything you don’t want.”

Charlie feels dizzy with want. He didn’t know he wants this, to not be in control, to have the freedom to let go. He’s never wanted anything more. He takes a breath. He feels wrong-footed in a way he never does in these situations. He doesn't know what to say, so he drops to his knees in front of Neville. He inclines his head so that his forehead nearly touches Neville’s thigh. “Tell me what to do. Please,” he says.

“Get up,” Neville says. “Get up and strip off. I want to see what I get.”

Charlie stands and takes a step back.

“Another step,” Neville says. “I want to see all of you.”

Charlie takes another step back and pulls off his socks, sheds his jumper and shirt, gingerly pulls his trousers over his throbbing cock. He pauses, standing in just his pants, his erection straining the fabric. He resists the urge to cross his arms, just for something to do with his hands other than grab Neville and throw him on the bed.

“You are so beautiful,” says Neville. “You should see yourself. I can’t wait to see you begging for me – so strong and so broken, all for me.”

Charlie moans softly and bites his lip.

“You’re doing very well,” Neville says. “You’re doing just as I ask. Very good. Now get on the bed.”

Charlie walks over to the cot, aware with ever step that Neville is staring at his arse as he walks. He lies back on the cot. A dim flame from a lamp casts a golden glow. His skin is prickly hot, despite a chill in the air.

“Hands above your head,” says Neville.

Charlie’s hands move, fingers curling around the top of the bed.

“Good. That’s very good.”

Neville is standing in a shadow across the room. Charlie can’t see exactly where he is, but he can hear him removing his clothes. He grips the headboard, grips it hard, making his muscles clench. Neville steps into the circle of light and devours him with his eyes, and Charlie has never felt so bare.

“You do look delicious. All that hard work certainly shows,” says Neville. He steps closer and traces his finger along the scar that bisects Charlie’s stomach and then over his first tattoo – somewhat embarrassingly, a Gryffindor lion. “Something we have in common,” he says, running his hand over the lion’s mane.

“We have more than that in common,” Charlie says.

“Oh, now,” says Neville, withdrawing his hand. “I didn’t say you should speak.”

“I’m sorry,” Charlie says, desperate to get Neville’s hand back on him, desperate to feel the flush of his approval again.

Neville swings himself onto the bed, straddling Charlie. His hard cock stands at a perfect right angle to his body. Charlie rolls his hips, involuntarily. It’s been a long time since he’s been fucked, and he doesn’t always want to do it, but it’s feeling clearer and clearer that there’s one way this evening will end and he finds himself aching for it.

“Let us be clear. You will do as I tell you,” he says. Charlie sighs. He tests it out, tries on imagining not doing as Neville tells him. It’s not that he really thinks he’s under an Imperious curse, or that Neville would ever do that, but he’s never wanted to submit before. He imagines rising up and pushing Neville back onto the cot, covering him with his body, and rocking into him, frotting against him until they both come. He likes the picture that makes in his mind. He likes it well enough, but also not enough.

“Yes,” Charlie says softly. “Sir.”

“Well done,” says Neville and Charlie’s cock twitches. “You will do everything I tell you, as long as you want to. If you don’t want it, tell me what you will say.”

Charlie’s mind goes blank. He’s always been the dominant one and he’s realising that he was not really a dominant…he was just dominant. He’s never been the one to consider asking for things to stop before, never needed a safe word.

“Stop,” says Charlie. “I’ll just say stop.”

“See that you say it if you ever need to. Otherwise, you will speak when spoken to.”

Neville moves until his knees are on either side of Charlie’s chest. He leans forward, pressing his hands against Charlie’s. The pressure on his fingers, Neville’s full weight trapping his hands against the headboard, is almost painful. Neville rocks his hips down so his cock pushes against Charlie’s cheek. Charlie turns his head and mouths the side of it.

Neville pulls back immediately. “I did not tell you could do that.”

Charlie bites back a moan. He is not used to waiting to be told. He is used to asking permission. “May I?” He turns his head again, so that the warmth of his breath brushes across Neville’s cock.

Neville shifts again, this time pressing the head of his cock to Charlie’s lips. Charlie kisses the silky skin and licks around the head. He’s very good at this, he knows he is, but Neville doesn’t make a sound. Charlie does it again.

“Suck it,” says Neville, only the barest flush on his chest giving away the effect Charlie’s having on him.

Charlie draws him in, sucking on the head and working the underside with his tongue. He sucks and pulls and licks until Neville starts to thrust, shallow and sharp, into his mouth. Charlie aches to bring his hands around to Neville’s arse and pull him in tighter, run his hands down Neville’s crack, and make him come. He doesn’t dare release his grip on the headboard. He doesn’t dare move. He may as well be tied to it, and the thought that he’s as helpless as if he were, makes him want to break the imaginary bonds even more, and the conflicting desires build on each other, making his pulse race and blood pound through his body.

“You have a very dirty mouth, don’t you?” Neville says. “Very good, so good and so filthy for me.”

He rocks his hips and Charlie tastes him, feels him tense. Neville pulls back. He sits back, his arse inches from Charlie’s cock. He slides his hand over his spit-slick cock and closes his eyes, an expression of pure bliss on his face.

“Fuck, please,” Charlie says. He’s aching and hard and he needs to do something, anything.

“Are you asking me for something?” Neville says. “Because I don’t recall telling you to speak.”

Charlie bites his lip. He doesn’t want to do or say anything that will make Neville stop. “Please. Anything.”

Neville traces Charlie’s lips with a finger. “Open,” he says. Charlie does as he’s told. He feels his nervous system reset. All the uncertainty and tension, all the worry about dragons or family or what's next, eases just as it did when he was first standing on the hilltop, no sounds but the breeze rustling the heather.

Neville slides his index finger into Charlie’s mouth. Charlie curls his tongue around it and sucks.

“Good,” says Neville. He adds another finger and another until four are wet with saliva. “Look at me,” he says.

Neville moves his hand behind himself. He just touches Charlie’s erection as he does and Charlie whimpers, biting off the plea that’s on his lips.

“One to start,” Neville says. His eyes flutter shut and Charlie can tell that he’s worked one slick finger into himself. His erection flags a tiny bit and Charlie licks his lips, wanting to feel it on his tongue again, sucking it back to hardness.

“Mm,” Neville hums. “Two.” He wraps his other hand around his cock and strokes slowly. He’s rocking back a bit. He nudges Charlie’s cock as he does and Charlie can imagine what his fingers look like fucking into his arse. Neville’s chest is flushed and he looks nearly out of himself, straddling Charlie and wanking while he fucks himself with his fingers. It’s all Charlie can do not to rise up, pull him down, and fuck him senseless.

A wave a desire rushes through his body as he realises that he won’t do that — that he will wait and do precisely as Neville tells him.

“Two is so good,” Neville says, looking down at Charlie. “Can you imagine how good your fat cock will feel? You want to fuck me,” he says, not a question. He writhes and pushes back on his own hand. “But you won’t. Not yet.”

Neville rocks back again, straining a bit and he must be working in another finger.

“Can I ask…” Charlie stammers, knowing if he can speak.

“Mm,” Neville moans. “Ask anything you want. You’re being so good.” He looks down at Charlie, his face a mask of pleasure as he moves on his hand.

“How does that feel?” Charlie says. His hips thrust up against the air. He’s so desperate for contact, he thinks he might lose his mind.

“It feels fucking fantastic,” Neville says, rocking back harder on his hand, so hard that his arse bumps against Charlie’s cock. “But it only makes me want more, makes me want to fuck you, fuck myself on your cock.”

“Please,” moans Charlie. His cock is leaking and he can’t stop writhing.

“Ahh,” gasps Neville. His chest is flushed red and his breath is short and sharp. “Ah, you seem to be under the impression that you get more tonight, that you might get to come. You’re mistaken. You haven’t earned it quite yet.”

Charlie nearly comes at the words. He bites down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from crying out. Neville’s hand strokes his cock harder. Charlie looks up at him, moaning every time Neville’s hand or his arse makes the slightest contact with his cock. He tenses every muscle in his body, feeling the ripples in his chest and stomach, just to relieve the intense want rolling through him, even just a tiny bit.

“You look perfect,” Neville says, his words ending in a moan. “So hard for me.” Neville’s face crumples with bliss. His eyes roll back and his mouth falls open. He lets out a long, low groan. Charlie can hardly bear to look. He’s nearly mad with the need to come. He groans along with Neville as Neville comes, warm stripes painting Charlie’s torso.

Neville falls forward, his hands on either side of Charlie’s head. “I cannot wait to have you,” he says, collapsing on the cot beside Charlie and closing his eyes.

Charlie can’t speak. All he can think is that he has a very early Portkey back to Romania in the morning and there is no, absolutely no, way he is going to be able to sleep like this.

“One more thing,” Neville says, whispering in Charlie’s ear. “I’ll need to keep an eye on the herbs. They are too delicate to travel until they’re completely dry. I will see you at yours in four days with the herbs and we can make the tincture there. In the meantime, don’t come. Don’t let anyone else touch you. I’ll tell everyone I’m coming because you need help with the tinctures. The real reason is that I know you need someone to check up on you, see if you did as you were told. Don’t even touch yourself,” Neville says, his lips touching the shell of Charlie’s ear. “I'll know.”

******

Charlie hadn’t slept at all that night. Neville lay, snoring softly, next to him and no one was more surprised than Charlie that he actually followed Neville’s instructions. His erection finally wilted about fifteen minutes before his Portkey arrived, which at least allowed him to fasten his trousers.

The first day, he follows Neville’s instructions. He feels like he’s fifteen – unable to think about anything other than getting off. He gets hard in the shower, cold or not. He gets hard during a meeting about plans for the dragon’s mating season, which is really not particularly sexy. He gets hard when the bloody wind shifts.

The nights are worse. His dreams are filled with Neville. He wakes up aching and wishing he’d had a wet dream like a kid just to ease the pressure. No such luck.

On the second day, Charlie takes his eighth cold shower. He lets the icy water run down his body. He tries to think about work. Visions of Neville straddling him, teasing him, pinning him down with his will alone, run through Charlie’s head. Visions of what’s to come when Neville arrives threaten to make him slip to the floor. He can’t stop thinking about it and his hand is on his cock before he knows it. It wasn’t a conscious thought and he considers pulling away, but his hand keeps moving and it feels so good and it’s hot despite the cold water. He’s harder than he’s ever been, aching and thrusting into his hand, wishing he had a warm body to press against. “Neville,” he moans and he comes in a rush. He keeps his hand on his cock and watches the water wash away the evidence. He’s gripped by a momentary, inexplicable wave of guilt and panic. “Stupid,” he mumbles and grabs his towel.

The third day, he considers kneeling in the corner of his room, just waiting for Neville, head inclined in apology.

******

“What’s up your arse?” Kate asks. She stabs the spade she’s wielding into the ground of the pen they’re readying for the hatchlings who will need a safe nest in the next couple of days.

Charlie stops. He’s been pacing, without realising it. What’s up his arse is nothing lately, and balls bluer than a Malfoy’s blood.

“Just worried about the Chinese Fireball – the one who’s egg bound,” he manages without too much strain.

“Well you’ve been a right pillock all day. Take a break and have a drink before I run you through,” Kate says, shaking the spade, only slightly menacingly, at him.

“Right enough,” Charlie says. He’s on his own last nerve, so he can admit he must have been a pain in the arse to be around.

The kitchens are always an orderly, calm place. Tony would accept nothing less, and Charlie thinks he might just be able to think there. Tony has a huge pot of stew simmering and jacket potatoes roasting in the oven. The smells are almost enough to distract Charlie.

“You here to help?” Tony asks. “Because if not, there are other places you could hold up a wall.”

“I’m here to help,” Charlie says, grateful for something to do.

*

By 9 o’clock, Charlie is back in his cottage and he’s sure Neville’s not coming. He doesn’t know whether to feel angry, relieved, desperate, disappointed, or randy. He pours his second tumbler of Firewhisky to help his decision process along and is just sitting down when there’s a knock at the door.

Charlie rises from his chair and walks to the door. People don’t often knock around here, so he’s pretty sure he’ll see Neville when he opens the door.

Neville is of a height with the top of the doorframe. He fills it, in his traveling cloak, the light wind tousling his hair. “You came,” he says.

“You’re looking well,” Neville says.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Charlie says. “I thought you weren’t coming,” Charlie says, not half horrified by the way the needy words tumble out of his mouth. “Merlin Neville, what have you done to me?”

"Very little, yet. Can I come in?"

Charlie steps to the side and gestures Neville in.

As soon as the door swings shut with a light thud, Neville turns and Charlie finds himself the subject of that gaze that makes him feel completely bare.

“Do you want a drink?” Charlie asks.

Neville shakes his head and takes a step closer to Charlie. “Maybe later. Come here.”

Charlie takes that one step closer. He can see each of Neville’s individual eyelashes. His eyes are the colour of chestnuts, warm and intense.

“You’ve been good, so good for me,” Neville says. He slides his hand down the front of Charlie’s trousers and smiles when his palm cups Charlie’s already half-hard cock. “I know you have.”

Charlie looks looks down, desperate to keep Neville’s hand on his body.

“What’s the matter?” Neville asks. He moves his hand to Charlie’s chin, tipping his face up so Charlie is forced to look him in the eyes again. “You weren’t good, were you?”

“Once,” Charlie says, averting his eyes from Neville’s stare. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it – it was too much.”

“Tell me,” Neville says. “Tell me what happened.”

“It was in the shower,” Charlie says. “I was thinking about you and hoping that we could do more, tonight, and I was touching myself before I knew it and it felt so good.”

“Hm,” Neville says, appraising Charlie as if he’s deciding his fate. “I was planning to let you touch me. I was planning to let you come, but now I'll think have to think about it.”

“Please,” says Charlie. He can’t stand the thought that he might have lost this chance. Part of him doesn’t understand what’s going on. He could walk out of here and find half a dozen people who’d let him fuck them in a moment.

“We’ll see, but you have to earn it.”

And that's it. Charlie wants to earn it, wants to let Neville take over and use him however he sees fit. He doesn’t want to be the one in control.

“I’ll do anything you want,” Charlie says. “Anything.”

“Yes, you will,” says Neville. “Strip.”

Just like before, Charlie steps back and takes off each piece of his clothing. Neville watches him and Charlie can almost feel his gaze on his skin. Charlie’s comfortable naked, confident in how he looks, but something in the way Neville watches makes him feel exposed. It makes his skin tingle and prickle.

“Very nice,” says Neville. He steps closer and touches Charlie’s shoulder. His hand is warm. He runs his hand down Charlie’s arms, over his chest and stomach, and along his hips. It’s all Charlie can do to hold back his moans and not lean into Neville’s hands. “So strong. So beautiful. You could break bonds, resist any pressure you wanted to. But you won’t. That makes this so, so much better.”

Charlie’s throat goes dry. Neville’s still fully clothed and Charlie’s standing here, hard and naked, and shivering as he waits for direction. It’s like the anticipation of Christmas morning when he was six, but times a thousand.

“Hm,” Neville says, rubbing his long fingers across his chin. “Where do I want you?”

“Anywhere you say,” Charlie says. He remembers at the last second to look down.

“That goes without saying,” Neville says firmly, and Charlie senses he’s very nearly blown it, or at least delayed what he wants desperately. He exhales slowly when Neville says, “That chair.” He points to the oversized arm chair in front of the fire. It’s wide and has a tall back and curving arms. “That will do nicely.”

Charlie sits and grips the arms of the chair. Neville touches each of Charlie’s wrists with his wand and he can’t see anything different, but can feel that his arms are bound to he chair. Neville touches his wand to Charlie’s chest and he feels his back press hard against the cushion behind him, fixed in place.

“Please, if I may ask,” Charlie says. His voice is steadier than he feels. “What do you want? What should I do?”

"You can’t do anything. You will stay where you are and I will do as I want.”

Charlie bites back a groan. He bites his bottom lip. He won’t cry out, he won’t ask for a thing. His entire body buzzes with anticipation. He has no decisions to make, no angle to work, no ability to nudge this situation in any direction. He closes his eyes and lets the fact that he is completely out of control wash over him.

“Yeah,” says Neville. “Let go. Now, open your eyes.”

Charlie opens his eyes. Neville is unbuttoning his shirt. His skin is pale, bathed in the golden light of the fire. He’s not brawny or willowy or any of the types that Charlie usually fancies. He’s fairly average, nice smooth chest, arms strong from working, but there’s that something about his presence that makes Charlie want to keep looking. He drops his trousers. Charlie can’t look away from his cock. It’s thick and long and hard, and just as good as the memories he’s replayed these past few days. .

Neville walks over to Charlie on the chair and stands so his legs are on either side of Charlie’s knees.

“Do you want to touch?” He asks, as he wraps his hand around his cock and strokes slowly. Charlie can see the way Neville’s cock turns a deeper red, the way pearls of fluid pool at the tip, as Neville’s hand moves along it.

Charlie strains against the invisible bonds. He can’t move. He wants to touch more than he’s ever wanted anything.

“You can answer,” says Neville.

“Fuck, yes,” Charlie groans.

Neville moves closer, so he’s almost sitting on Charlie’s lap. The tip of his cock presses against Charlie’s chest and Neville’s hand caresses Charlie’s skin as Neville continues to work his cock. “Maybe next time,” says Neville. “This time, I want you to sit there while I use you.”

Neville bends and presses his lips against Charlie’s. He angles his hips carefully so that no part of his body makes contact with Charlie’s cock. His tongue sweeps inside Charlie’s mouth and Charlie’s head is anchored against the back of the chair. His body thrums with want as Neville tastes every bit of his mouth, and he’s utterly consumed by it.

Neville pulls back and smiles. Charlie’s chest heaves and Neville runs his hands over Charlie’s body. Charlie wants to ask what’s next, plead for more. He’s ready to beg to serve Neville.

“You want to say something,” Neville says. “Go ahead.”

“I want to please you. Do you want to fuck me?” Charlie asks, breathless.

“Oh yes,” says Neville. “But not this time.”

Neville moves back and away from Charlie and Charlie can’t help but let out a noise that sounds like he’s just stubbed his toe. He bites the inside of his cheek to stop from crying out that Neville’s gone in entirely the wrong direction.

“What,” Charlie starts to say, and Neville turns around, his back to Charlie.

Neville reaches around behind himself and runs his hands over his own arse. His works fingers into his cleft and makes a small sound when he slips one finger inside. It slides in so easily, he must already be slick. “I’m going to fuck myself on your cock. I’m going to use you and you won’t come until I say,” says Neville.

Charlie watches, mesmerised, as Neville adds a second finger. It’s just like the night in Hogsmeade, except that Charlie can see his fingers disappearing inside his body, and he desperately hopes that it won’t end the same way.

“Ready,” says Neville. He pulls his fingers from his body. He bends at the waist and Charlie curls his toes at the sight. Neville backs up one step and slowly sits back until he’s almost in Charlie’s lap. Charlie’s cock strains toward Neville’s arse. The fact that he can’t touch, can’t move, makes all of his sensation center in his cock. Neville reaches around and wraps his fingers around Charlie’s cock. Charlie groans low and long.

Neville moves again sitting back until Charlie’s cock presses against his arse. The first touch of the head of his cock to Neville’s skin makes Charlie gasp. He swallows, terrified that Neville will stop.

"It’s all right,” says Neville. “I want to hear you.”

Neville pushes back another inch and Charlie’s cock slides into his crack. Charlie groan again.

“Good,” Neville says, rocking back and forth so that Charlie’s cock slips along his crack. “So good,” he says, guttural and low. Charlie’s cock is slick from pre-come and the lube Neville’s already worked into himself and it feels like burning silk as Neville works it.

“Oh fuck,” Charlie moans as his cock rubs over Neville’s hole.

Neville angles his hips so that the head of Charlie’s cock presses just inside. He pulls up again, sliding Charlie’s cock along his crack, pushing it just inside on the way back. Charlie can see everything from this angle, can watch as Neville uses his cock like a dildo. He’s being used like a toy, and the thought makes him impossibly harder.

"You want me to put it in?” Neville asks.

Charlie freezes. This is uncharted territory for him. Fuck yes he wants to put it inside. If this were how it usually goes, he’d be saying want me to fuck you? and I’ll make it so good for you, but this isn’t the usual. Charlie has no idea what the right answer is here, what the thing to do to make Neville fuck himself on his cock, right fucking now. So, he moans.

“You’re a fast learner,” Neville says, rolling his hips so that his hole massages around the tip of Charlie’s cock. “You have permission to speak. I want to know what you want.”

“Please, fuck please, I want to be inside you, I want to make you feel good, please,” Charlie babbles.

“Yes,” Neville says, and he slowly pushes back. Charlie watches as his cock breaches Neville’s body. “Yes,” Neville breathes again as he works himself all the way down, until his arse is firmly in Charlie’s lap. “I said you could speak.”

“Oh fuck, Neville. Thank you,” Charlie groans.

“You are doing so well,” Neville says. He rocks his hips, small flexes of muscle. “So good. I’m going to move now, and you are not going to come.”

Neville pulls up, leveraging himself with his hands on the arms of the chair, pressing into Charlie’s arms. Charlie can feel the tight pull of Neville on him like liquid heat. Neville moves until Charlie’s cock nearly slips out and Charlie can see Neville’s hole stretched around his length. Charlie tries to rock his hips, he’s desperate to thrust. The chair, and Neville’s weight on him, don’t allow him to move. His hands grip the arms of the chair as he waits.

“Please,” Charlie begs.

“This?” Asks Neville. He slides back down until Charlie’s cock is deep inside him again.

“Yes, please.”

“And this?” Neville asks again as he moves up again, his arse squeezing Charlie’s cock.

Charlie is beyond words. He wants more, but he wants exactly this. He needs to come, but he has to hold on.

Neville rocks back down and, letting out a deep groan, starts to move faster, up and down, rolling his hips, angling his body so that Charlie’s cock hits him just where he wants. Charlie digs his foot into the sharp leg of the chair to stop himself from coming.

Neville moves one hand from the arm of the chair. He leans back against Charlie’s chest. Charlie wants to hold him, wrap one arm around his chest and the other hand around his cock as he thrusts up into him. That he can’t, that he has to sit trapped in the chair and feel Neville’s hot, tight body move around his cock just as Neville pleases, makes what he can feel so, so much better.

Charlie can feel when Neville starts to stroke his own cock. He can feel the shift in the tension of Neville’s body, building toward his climax.

“Tell me how it feels,” Neville grinds out between clenched teeth.

"Oh god,” says Charlie. “Like fire, so perfect, so good, have to come, please, please,” he says, losing track of his words.

“Not yet,” says Neville. “Not yet.” He grinds down hard into Charlie’s lap and rolls his hips again. Charlie can hear his hand flying on his cock. His body starts to tense around Charlie. His movements are jerky and he somehow manages to command in a clear, steady voice, “Come. Now.”

Charlie’s orgasm crashes over him. His thigh and hip muscles work as if he’s thrusting, even though he can’t, making each jolt of pleasure even more intense. He feels Neville’s body contract around him and warm, wet come hit his knees, and at almost the same time, he comes deep inside Neville’s body. Neville keeps moving, slower now, and even slicker with Charlie’s come slippery inside him.

Neville collapses back against Charlie, sitting boneless in his lap. Neville doesn’t say a word, but Charlie feels the bonds slip away. He wraps his arms around Neville, his cock softening inside his body.

After a few moments of quiet, Neville stands slowly. He grabs his wand and cleans them both. Charlie still sits, still waiting for instruction, but Neville is different again. The commanding presence is gone. Charlie stands.

“Come to bed,” he says, holding out his hand.

Neville takes his hand, and once they are settled under Charlie’s warm blankets, Charlie risks asking, “One of these time, are you going to fuck me?”

“Next time. Soon,” Neville says, curling his body, warm skin-against-skin, into Charlie’s. “But, not me. I’d rather a repeat of tonight, if I’m being honest. I do think it would be lovely to watch you being fucked.”

“Oh really,” Charlie says. “Do you have someone in mind?”

“I do, an ex. He’s very good at it, but you don’t have to take my word for it. Ask your brother.”