wanking_mods (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} wanking_mods) wrote in ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} hp_wankfest,@ 2008-05-09 12:00:00 |
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Viktor Krum at Durmstrang with a Weasley Jumper
Title: Taking the Chill Off
Author:westernredcedar
Character: Viktor Krum
Location: Durmstrang
Object: A Weasley jumper
Other Characters: Charlie Weasley
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Word Count: ~2,100
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and I make no money from this.
Author's Notes: Thank you to my beta, who saved the day!
Durmstrang was a cold place at any time, but in his years away Viktor had forgotten how miserable the winters could be. As a teacher, he was allowed an extra share of wood each week, but it was considered poor form to actually use it, and damned if he was going to face the judgmental glares of his colleagues for the sake of a mildly warmer fire. He had enough trouble defending himself against glowering, resentful professors who felt he had been appointed for his fame, rather than his skill as an instructor.
Every day he bundled up in layers, put on his best scowl, and suppressed his shivers.
This afternoon’s Quidditch practice had been almost unbearable, an icy mix of rain and snow pounding down on them for two hours. Now the gruel-like stew that passed for supper was sitting like a lead weight in his stomach, his face was numb, and Viktor was left wondering what the hell he was doing here. The offer of coaching Quidditch and teaching Transfiguration had been so flattering, especially after the humiliation of his injury, that he had not considered trifling matters such as weather or bitter colleagues. He’d forgotten that he was getting older, that his wounded back ached in the cold, that he’d grown to appreciate the sun. The ascetic lifestyle of the Durmstrang student was no longer his ideal, as it had been in his younger days.
Mostly, he missed Charlie.
Alone in his rooms, Viktor piled on as many layers of wool and fur as he could find, pulled his hat down low, and moved his chair close to the miniscule fire he allowed himself. His breath was a solid fog.
He drew on fingerless gloves so that he could remove his hands from his pockets long enough to write a note.
Charlie,
It is fucking cold.
Come here now.
Viktor
He sent the note off with his owl, Carlos (Charlie had named her), who hooted angrily and ruffled her feathers when she stepped out into the cold night air and took flight. Viktor installed himself in the chair before the fire and drifted to sleep.
Carlos returned later that night, tapping aggressively at the window. Viktor dislodged himself from his nest of blankets, ran to window, and cracked the ridge of ice that had sealed the window shut. The owl fell into the room accompanied by a blast of cold air that hit Viktor’s bare skin like a shower of needles.
Slamming the window closed, he ran back to his chair and wrapped back up, scowling at himself for his weakness.
Carlos was clutching a note and parcel. The fact that she was not carrying Charlie in her talons meant Viktor was already disappointed. He unrolled the note.
Viktor,
Can’t get away until weekend. Bloody nestlings.
Sounds as if you need a hot body to warm you up. My hot body just happens to be trapped in fucking Romania tonight.
As I can’t come myself, here is something to replace me until I get there.
Charlie
P.S. Just reread this note and need to clarify—I can come of course, I will tonight, more than once, thinking of you. I just cannot come there. Yet.
C
Viktor rolled his eyes. He opened the parcel attached to his owl’s leg. A worn maroon jumper fell onto his lap. Charlie’s favorite jumper, the one with the gold “C” knitted into it. As he unfolded it, it released a musky, earthy, body smell. Viktor closed his eyes and breathed in, deep. Charlie. It smelled of Charlie.
Viktor pulled the coarse wool across his face and inhaled again.
Fuck, he missed Charlie. At least while thinking about him, blood had increased its flow through his body, and he felt ever so slightly warmer.
Viktor was overwhelmed with the desire to feel the comforting, warm scratch of Charlie’s jumper up against his skin. Tenting his thick furs over his head to trap as much heat as possible, Viktor eased out of his upper layers of clothing. He pulled the old wool on, his nose briefly flooded with Charlie’s scent as the jumper passed over his head. It was a snug fit. Charlie’s body was smaller and more compact than Viktor’s, and the jumper clung to him. The rough knit grated on his skin, but it was not unlike coarse body hair pressed against him, or the rasp of facial hair against his skin as an eager mouth moved down his body. Viktor felt his prick stir under the layers of insulation.
Damn those fucking dragon nestlings.
Viktor eyed the enormous stack of wood he had stockpiled by not allowing himself to be comfortable for the past five months. Surely his nosey colleagues would not notice one more night of indulgence. They hadn’t noticed the first time.
Draping himself in blankets, Viktor made his way to the woodpile and grabbed five logs. In his cocoon of wool and fur, he knelt before his tiny fire and placed the three largest logs on the flames. The wasteful defiance made him feel warmer immediately.
Curling back in his chair, he waited for the logs to catch. The fire grew and the spreading warmth drifted over him like a layer of down, shielding him from the miserable night. Viktor started shedding layers one-by-one as the flames rose higher, the orange glow of the fire reminding him hopelessly of the last time Charlie had visited him here.
Charlie had insisted on building an enormous fire, against Viktor’s bullish resistance, and the small rooms had heated into an inferno.
“That is more like it!” Charlie had patted his hands clean, and turned with a proud grin towards Viktor. Viktor could only see his broad shape silhouetted against the flames.
“Satisfying for you only. I am who must explain the extra wood I have burned,” replied Viktor, sulking in his chair.
“Trust me, your moodiness, this will be worth what ever ribbing you get. I didn’t come all this way to have to keep ten layers of sodding clothes on,” said Charlie, stalking towards Viktor and dropping more of said layers in a rugged striptease as he approached. “If we cannot both be naked and sweating, I hardly see the point of my visit.” At this last comment, Charlie had wriggled his way between Viktor’s legs and cupped his crotch. Viktor had refused to look at that damned cocky face, even as his stiff prick proclaimed his true feelings on the matter.
The same way his prick was responding to the memory and the jumper and the flood of smoky warmth right now.
Viktor moved his chair closer to the fire. If he was going to indulge, he was going to do it right. He removed the cushion from his chair and set it directly in front of the fireplace on the stone hearth. The room was warm enough now, so he stripped off his trousers and his pants so that all he was wearing was Charlie’s jumper and his fur hat.
Viktor had to take a moment to appreciate his own prick. It jutted, long and dark and gloriously hard, out from below the tattered edge of the jumper. He ran his thick fingers along its familiar length, wishing they were Charlie’s.
”Don’t pout, you wanker. You know you want it hot in here. You know you want me stripped down and slicked and laid out across your floor like a cheap slut.” Charlie could be very convincing. Viktor had burned eight logs that night. And come three times.
Now he situated himself on the hearth, sitting on the cushion, facing the fireplace, leaning back against his chair to support his sore back. He propped one foot on either side of the fireplace, legs spread, so that his cock and balls would catch the most intense heat from the flames. The fire was really going now.
Viktor closed his eyes, indulging in the burning warmth of the fire on his body. Under the jumper he was starting to sweat, his own deep musk mingling with Charlie’s scent. He held the palm of his hand up to the flames to warm it, then spat on it and started a slow pull, running his hand from the base of his cock to the tip, teasing his tight foreskin up and down the hard shaft, his other hand creeping down to tug at his balls.
He groaned. The logs crackled.
The heat from the fire was intense. Viktor slid down a bit further, his body relaxing into the blaze, into the growing urgency of his movements. He probed at his own arse, using a thumb to gently press against the sensitive skin there. Eyes still closed, he arched back, head balanced on the chair, his feet pressing into the warm stones surrounding the fireplace. His fist sped its steady pumping, each movement of his arm rasping the heavy wool of Charlie’s jumper against his skin. He was dripping with sweat.
You want me to think you are a shit-kicking hard man, don’t you, Krum?” Charlie had teased. “But all you really want is to be warm and snuggly in front of the fire talking about love, with a fat cock up your arse. You fucking romantic.” Charlie had licked the back of Viktor’s neck and pressed into Viktor with one easy thrust.
Prick ready to burst, the heat of the flames searing his skin, Viktor pumped hard, one, two, three times, matching his fist with the thrusts of his thumb up his hole. Then, he was coming, coming, coming, thick spunk exploding onto Molly Weasley’s untidy knitting, memories of Charlie’s sweat streaked body flowing through him. Viktor let the spasms take hold, jolting with the electric currents of it. Eyes closed, he let his body roll and rock with the rhythm of sensations.
He collapsed back against the chair. Fuck, he was hot.
Slowly allowing his breathing to return to normal, Viktor pulled his feet down and grabbed his undershirt to wipe at the sticky globs that were spattered on Charlie’s jumper.
“You had better get that clean, you nobhead.”
Viktor jumped up, still clad in nothing but the jumper, his body still tingling with release.
“Who…?”
There in the fireplace was Charlie’s head, grinning madly.
“That was the best fucking show I’ve ever seen. If I’d known, I’d have flooed earlier.”
“Charlie!” Viktor scowled. “How long have you been there?”
“I’d say exactly one fucking glorious wank long,” replied the head in the flames. “You could not have given me a better view if I had asked.”
Viktor maintained his frown. “I informed you of the cold. Do not be acting so surprised at my use of the fire. I needed warm. You could not come here, cock-sucker.”
“Cock-sucker? You wish. And I’m not complaining,” said Charlie. “In fact, this might be the start of a whole new era in our relationship. Floo voyeurism. This has real potential,” Charlie said. “I suggest you floo me in my quarters tomorrow night at nine. I have my break then. Wear your Quidditch goggles, just in case. You never know what you might catch me doing." Charlie waggled his eyebrows.
Viktor could feign ambivalence with almost anyone, it was what made him such a stellar competitor, but Charlie could always crack his facade. His lips twitched into a grin.
“Hmm. Perhaps,” Viktor said, leaning in towards the fire. “Thank you for the jumper. I like it.”
“So I gather.”
“You will come on the weekend?” Viktor asked.
“Many, many times,” said Charlie.
“Your joke is now old,” Viktor said.
“But still true.” Charlie’s freckled face lit up with a smile in the golden flames. "I can't let you have all the fun alone." He winked once before he withdrew from the fire.
Viktor sat on the hearth for a moment, staring into the fire, his body still tingling. During their conversation, the logs had burned low and a chill was starting to creep back into his quarters. He decided not to add more wood. Durmstrang was a cold place at any time, and he had been wasteful enough. Besides, it was surprising how much warmth could be generated by a tattered Weasley jumper, a good wank, and Charlie's face in the fire.
Fuck Durmstrang. Viktor pulled on a few of the layers of clothing scattered about the room, rolled into his bed, buried himself under blankets, and dropped, spent, to sleep.
Title: Taking the Chill Off
Author:
westernredcedarCharacter: Viktor Krum
Location: Durmstrang
Object: A Weasley jumper
Other Characters: Charlie Weasley
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Word Count: ~2,100
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and I make no money from this.
Author's Notes: Thank you to my beta, who saved the day!
Durmstrang was a cold place at any time, but in his years away Viktor had forgotten how miserable the winters could be. As a teacher, he was allowed an extra share of wood each week, but it was considered poor form to actually use it, and damned if he was going to face the judgmental glares of his colleagues for the sake of a mildly warmer fire. He had enough trouble defending himself against glowering, resentful professors who felt he had been appointed for his fame, rather than his skill as an instructor.
Every day he bundled up in layers, put on his best scowl, and suppressed his shivers.
This afternoon’s Quidditch practice had been almost unbearable, an icy mix of rain and snow pounding down on them for two hours. Now the gruel-like stew that passed for supper was sitting like a lead weight in his stomach, his face was numb, and Viktor was left wondering what the hell he was doing here. The offer of coaching Quidditch and teaching Transfiguration had been so flattering, especially after the humiliation of his injury, that he had not considered trifling matters such as weather or bitter colleagues. He’d forgotten that he was getting older, that his wounded back ached in the cold, that he’d grown to appreciate the sun. The ascetic lifestyle of the Durmstrang student was no longer his ideal, as it had been in his younger days.
Mostly, he missed Charlie.
Alone in his rooms, Viktor piled on as many layers of wool and fur as he could find, pulled his hat down low, and moved his chair close to the miniscule fire he allowed himself. His breath was a solid fog.
He drew on fingerless gloves so that he could remove his hands from his pockets long enough to write a note.
Charlie,
It is fucking cold.
Come here now.
Viktor
He sent the note off with his owl, Carlos (Charlie had named her), who hooted angrily and ruffled her feathers when she stepped out into the cold night air and took flight. Viktor installed himself in the chair before the fire and drifted to sleep.
Carlos returned later that night, tapping aggressively at the window. Viktor dislodged himself from his nest of blankets, ran to window, and cracked the ridge of ice that had sealed the window shut. The owl fell into the room accompanied by a blast of cold air that hit Viktor’s bare skin like a shower of needles.
Slamming the window closed, he ran back to his chair and wrapped back up, scowling at himself for his weakness.
Carlos was clutching a note and parcel. The fact that she was not carrying Charlie in her talons meant Viktor was already disappointed. He unrolled the note.
Viktor,
Can’t get away until weekend. Bloody nestlings.
Sounds as if you need a hot body to warm you up. My hot body just happens to be trapped in fucking Romania tonight.
As I can’t come myself, here is something to replace me until I get there.
Charlie
P.S. Just reread this note and need to clarify—I can come of course, I will tonight, more than once, thinking of you. I just cannot come there. Yet.
C
Viktor rolled his eyes. He opened the parcel attached to his owl’s leg. A worn maroon jumper fell onto his lap. Charlie’s favorite jumper, the one with the gold “C” knitted into it. As he unfolded it, it released a musky, earthy, body smell. Viktor closed his eyes and breathed in, deep. Charlie. It smelled of Charlie.
Viktor pulled the coarse wool across his face and inhaled again.
Fuck, he missed Charlie. At least while thinking about him, blood had increased its flow through his body, and he felt ever so slightly warmer.
Viktor was overwhelmed with the desire to feel the comforting, warm scratch of Charlie’s jumper up against his skin. Tenting his thick furs over his head to trap as much heat as possible, Viktor eased out of his upper layers of clothing. He pulled the old wool on, his nose briefly flooded with Charlie’s scent as the jumper passed over his head. It was a snug fit. Charlie’s body was smaller and more compact than Viktor’s, and the jumper clung to him. The rough knit grated on his skin, but it was not unlike coarse body hair pressed against him, or the rasp of facial hair against his skin as an eager mouth moved down his body. Viktor felt his prick stir under the layers of insulation.
Damn those fucking dragon nestlings.
Viktor eyed the enormous stack of wood he had stockpiled by not allowing himself to be comfortable for the past five months. Surely his nosey colleagues would not notice one more night of indulgence. They hadn’t noticed the first time.
Draping himself in blankets, Viktor made his way to the woodpile and grabbed five logs. In his cocoon of wool and fur, he knelt before his tiny fire and placed the three largest logs on the flames. The wasteful defiance made him feel warmer immediately.
Curling back in his chair, he waited for the logs to catch. The fire grew and the spreading warmth drifted over him like a layer of down, shielding him from the miserable night. Viktor started shedding layers one-by-one as the flames rose higher, the orange glow of the fire reminding him hopelessly of the last time Charlie had visited him here.
Charlie had insisted on building an enormous fire, against Viktor’s bullish resistance, and the small rooms had heated into an inferno.
“That is more like it!” Charlie had patted his hands clean, and turned with a proud grin towards Viktor. Viktor could only see his broad shape silhouetted against the flames.
“Satisfying for you only. I am who must explain the extra wood I have burned,” replied Viktor, sulking in his chair.
“Trust me, your moodiness, this will be worth what ever ribbing you get. I didn’t come all this way to have to keep ten layers of sodding clothes on,” said Charlie, stalking towards Viktor and dropping more of said layers in a rugged striptease as he approached. “If we cannot both be naked and sweating, I hardly see the point of my visit.” At this last comment, Charlie had wriggled his way between Viktor’s legs and cupped his crotch. Viktor had refused to look at that damned cocky face, even as his stiff prick proclaimed his true feelings on the matter.
The same way his prick was responding to the memory and the jumper and the flood of smoky warmth right now.
Viktor moved his chair closer to the fire. If he was going to indulge, he was going to do it right. He removed the cushion from his chair and set it directly in front of the fireplace on the stone hearth. The room was warm enough now, so he stripped off his trousers and his pants so that all he was wearing was Charlie’s jumper and his fur hat.
Viktor had to take a moment to appreciate his own prick. It jutted, long and dark and gloriously hard, out from below the tattered edge of the jumper. He ran his thick fingers along its familiar length, wishing they were Charlie’s.
”Don’t pout, you wanker. You know you want it hot in here. You know you want me stripped down and slicked and laid out across your floor like a cheap slut.” Charlie could be very convincing. Viktor had burned eight logs that night. And come three times.
Now he situated himself on the hearth, sitting on the cushion, facing the fireplace, leaning back against his chair to support his sore back. He propped one foot on either side of the fireplace, legs spread, so that his cock and balls would catch the most intense heat from the flames. The fire was really going now.
Viktor closed his eyes, indulging in the burning warmth of the fire on his body. Under the jumper he was starting to sweat, his own deep musk mingling with Charlie’s scent. He held the palm of his hand up to the flames to warm it, then spat on it and started a slow pull, running his hand from the base of his cock to the tip, teasing his tight foreskin up and down the hard shaft, his other hand creeping down to tug at his balls.
He groaned. The logs crackled.
The heat from the fire was intense. Viktor slid down a bit further, his body relaxing into the blaze, into the growing urgency of his movements. He probed at his own arse, using a thumb to gently press against the sensitive skin there. Eyes still closed, he arched back, head balanced on the chair, his feet pressing into the warm stones surrounding the fireplace. His fist sped its steady pumping, each movement of his arm rasping the heavy wool of Charlie’s jumper against his skin. He was dripping with sweat.
You want me to think you are a shit-kicking hard man, don’t you, Krum?” Charlie had teased. “But all you really want is to be warm and snuggly in front of the fire talking about love, with a fat cock up your arse. You fucking romantic.” Charlie had licked the back of Viktor’s neck and pressed into Viktor with one easy thrust.
Prick ready to burst, the heat of the flames searing his skin, Viktor pumped hard, one, two, three times, matching his fist with the thrusts of his thumb up his hole. Then, he was coming, coming, coming, thick spunk exploding onto Molly Weasley’s untidy knitting, memories of Charlie’s sweat streaked body flowing through him. Viktor let the spasms take hold, jolting with the electric currents of it. Eyes closed, he let his body roll and rock with the rhythm of sensations.
He collapsed back against the chair. Fuck, he was hot.
Slowly allowing his breathing to return to normal, Viktor pulled his feet down and grabbed his undershirt to wipe at the sticky globs that were spattered on Charlie’s jumper.
“You had better get that clean, you nobhead.”
Viktor jumped up, still clad in nothing but the jumper, his body still tingling with release.
“Who…?”
There in the fireplace was Charlie’s head, grinning madly.
“That was the best fucking show I’ve ever seen. If I’d known, I’d have flooed earlier.”
“Charlie!” Viktor scowled. “How long have you been there?”
“I’d say exactly one fucking glorious wank long,” replied the head in the flames. “You could not have given me a better view if I had asked.”
Viktor maintained his frown. “I informed you of the cold. Do not be acting so surprised at my use of the fire. I needed warm. You could not come here, cock-sucker.”
“Cock-sucker? You wish. And I’m not complaining,” said Charlie. “In fact, this might be the start of a whole new era in our relationship. Floo voyeurism. This has real potential,” Charlie said. “I suggest you floo me in my quarters tomorrow night at nine. I have my break then. Wear your Quidditch goggles, just in case. You never know what you might catch me doing." Charlie waggled his eyebrows.
Viktor could feign ambivalence with almost anyone, it was what made him such a stellar competitor, but Charlie could always crack his facade. His lips twitched into a grin.
“Hmm. Perhaps,” Viktor said, leaning in towards the fire. “Thank you for the jumper. I like it.”
“So I gather.”
“You will come on the weekend?” Viktor asked.
“Many, many times,” said Charlie.
“Your joke is now old,” Viktor said.
“But still true.” Charlie’s freckled face lit up with a smile in the golden flames. "I can't let you have all the fun alone." He winked once before he withdrew from the fire.
Viktor sat on the hearth for a moment, staring into the fire, his body still tingling. During their conversation, the logs had burned low and a chill was starting to creep back into his quarters. He decided not to add more wood. Durmstrang was a cold place at any time, and he had been wasteful enough. Besides, it was surprising how much warmth could be generated by a tattered Weasley jumper, a good wank, and Charlie's face in the fire.
Fuck Durmstrang. Viktor pulled on a few of the layers of clothing scattered about the room, rolled into his bed, buried himself under blankets, and dropped, spent, to sleep.
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