yule_balls_mod (yule_balls_mod) wrote in hp_yule_balls, @ 2008-12-27 12:41:00 |
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Entry tags: | 2008, character: charlie weasley, character: draco malfoy, fic, pairing: charlie/draco |
Fic: Almost Crimes, 3/3 (Charlie/Draco, NC-17) for the community
Author: magnus_leo
Recipient: The Community
Title: Almost Crimes
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Charlie/Draco, Charlie/OMC, Charlie/Fleur
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. All characters engaging in sexual activity are 16 years or older.
Summary: The war is over and Charlie is left languishing in Romania. Like every good veteran he's haunted by the things he's left behind, the people whose shapes are filled with the ruddy flesh of escapism. Just as the spiral reaches its end, Charlie stumbles on a half-familiar face from home. A story with too much vodka.
Warnings: mild D/s, spanking, rimming, orgasm denial, power play, racial slurs, lots of swearing, heavy alcohol use, dark themes, the palest whiff of incest, self-pity.
Word Count: 28,035
Author's Notes: I really hope you like this fic. I was really walking on thin ice with this one. For reference's sake, major inspiration came from Chabon's The Yiddish Policeman's Union and Sondheim's Company. A million and a half thanks to T for guiding me through this one when I thought it would eat me whole. You are a very good muse, it must be said.
Charlie rang the doorbell.
It was an intolerably warm spring night, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up into a bunch. It was a black and white French sailor's shirt, round-necked, like Picasso's famous fashion. His jeans were rolled, like Huckleberry Finn, to the calf, and he had unlaced red and white Converse on his feet. He carried a huge box in his arms.
Fleur opened the door. She smiled. "A housewarming?"
Charlie nodded. "Is Bill home?"
"He will be," Fleur said. "Come in, mon beau."
Shell Cottage was still filled with cardboard boxes, plastic wrap, tissue paper, the detritus of their recent move. The house smelled of onions and chicken, and sawdust and paint.
Fleur led the way into the kitchen. She was in a floaty kind of summer dress, pale yellow and wonderfully low cut. Bare feet. Her small breasts shone with the pale freckles of sunshine and gardening. A large, lidded pot sat on the stove over a low-burning blue flame.
"Coq au vin," Fleur replied. "The only thing I know. Bill does most of the cooking." She touched the back of Charlie's neck, drew him in for a hug and a kiss at each cheek. And then a chaste peck on the lips. "What did you bring, Chuck?" The word, an American pronoun of great love, still sounded strange on her tongue after all these years, though was more pleasant for it.
Charlie put the box on the table. He lifted the flaps. Inside, arranged in a neat five-by-five grid, were twenty-five bottles of red wine. He removed one of the bottles. "I don't know what it's called but I'm assured it's good."
Fleur grabbed the bottle and read the label. "Clos Saint-Denis! Chuck, it is too much, much too much." She grinned and held the bottle to her chest like an infant. "Burgundy. I'm from Burgundy, you know."
"I know," Charlie said, exchanging grins. "Let's toast."
Fleur couldn't find her bottle opener, so she twisted the tip of her wand into the mouth of the bottle, disgorging the swollen cork and pouring them two glasses of blood-red wine. "Don't tell Bill," she said. "He hates when I use the wand to open bottles. He says it alters the taste of the wine."
They clinked glasses.
"To Shell Cottage," Charlie said.
"You are sweet," Fleur said. "Santé."
"Santé," Charlie agreed.
They drank.
"So how do you like it?"
"It's – it is new," Fleur said of the new digs, waving her hand about the spacious kitchen. "I did not think I would like England, but here, in – how is it?"
"Cornwall," Charlie said.
"Yes, Cornwall. It is very much like France. Like Bretagne, Brittany." She drank deeply from her wine, and spilled some down her front. "Fuck!"
Charlie smiled. "Bill's rubbing off on you."
"Or you," she said, still cursing lightly, grabbing a kitchen towel to dab at her chest, the soft stretch of skin between her breasts. "You are both very foul of mouth." She dabbed at the blood stain that blossomed through the taffeta of her dress. "I must apologize, I am very jumpy, the wedding is so close."
"Two days," Charlie murmured.
"Yes, yes." She took Charlie's hand. "I am so glad you could come, Chuck. It means so much to Bill."
"To Bill."
Fleur flushed, an unusual colour to her normally flawless skin. "And myself."
Charlie nodded, stared down into the depths of his wine. "I missed you."
"Romania is a long way from here," Fleur said. "We knew of this."
"I wasn't talking about – that." Charlie swallowed a great mouthful of wine, leaned back against the kitchen counter. "I just miss you."
The sound of a chimney engaging, the hurricane-breath of wind rushed into life as the Floo system spat Bill out of its green-fire and swirling magic. They heard him utter a string of familiar curses.
"Bill," Fleur called out. "We are in the kitchen."
"We?"
Bill's heavy footsteps echoed through the quiet house, ever nearer, until he appeared, a red-haired apparition from the dark of Shell Cottage.
"Chuck," he said, face splitting into an earnest grin. "Fuck, Chuck." He swept forward and caught his brother in a furious, wanting hug. Bill's large hands tucked in at the back of Charlie's head, at the hollow between his shoulders. They laughed into each other's necks, and Bill kissed his brother once on the cheek, again at the corner of the mouth. "Fuck it's good to see you." He pulled away, though his hands still lingered, Bill watching Charlie with growing sweetness. "Fuck it's good to see you. Is that wine?"
"Burgundy," Fleur said, taking another glass out from their packed box and filling it with wine. She handed it to Bill and kissed him wetly on the lips. "He has come to give us a housewarming."
"And the wedding, right?" Bill asked. "My best man."
"Always," Charlie said, grinning and stuffing his hands in the front pockets of his jeans.
Bill grinned again. "Fuck. Fuuuuuck." He savoured the word, drawing it out several times its usual length. He curled it all the way around him in two or three big loops and cosied to its luxuriant shawl. "God, I can't believe it's only two days."
"Two days," Fleur repeated. "Have you seen your mother's house? It is very beautiful, all decorated."
Bill nodded. "We'll head over tomorrow." Then he smiled again. "But now we drink."
They sat on the porch under the large orbit of an electric light and the scattered planets of burning torches. The sea was loud and welcome, the rush of salty waves and sea breeze like a pale unguent to sooth their minds. They drank through four bottles of wine before Fleur remembered dinner. She served the warm and sticky stew in a bowl, succulent pieces of chicken swimming in a broth of onions, mushrooms, lardons, caramelised garlic, and wine-gravy. They ate with juice dripping down their chins, laughing, handing napkins around, sharing Fleur's cigarettes and basking in the brightness of alcohol.
"Tell me," Bill said, collecting the dishes and placing them on the back step, next to the door, "tell me about when you guys dated."
Charlie glanced at Fleur, his smile faltering, and she shared his glance.
"What would you like to know?" Fleur asked.
"Just – I dunno, what was it all like?" Bill sat back and refilled his wine. "Just tell me how you met. What it was like."
Charlie looked at Fleur, and then spoke: "Well, we met during the Triwizard Tournament. You knew that."
"Yeah, yeah," Bill said, "but what did you – think of each other?"
"Well, I saw her during the challenge. She was – God, just the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen." Charlie paused and smiled at the recollection. "I didn't really think much of it. I don't think I even met her. Then I came back for the second task and we –" Charlie blushed. "We met then. We talked."
"We made love," Fleur clarified.
Charlie blushed. "I dunno. It just kind of happened. It wasn't a conscious – decision. But she told me to come back for the third task and – well, I did."
"I thought," Fleur said, "I thought when I saw him, here is a boy. Here is an interesting boy. I don't know, but he was a very beautiful boy." She suppressed a smile, taking a long sip of wine. "He is still a very beautiful boy. I am thinking it was love at first sight."
"I came back to Hogwarts a bunch of times to see her. I shouldn't have. But, cause dad knew a bloke – you know, Greene, whatever his name was – I got free Portkeys. I think for a couple months I came to see her every weekend. First we just fucked, but we got to talking." Charlie paused to take a drink of wine. "And I just – I don't know. I fell in love," he finished in a small voice.
Fleur looked into her glass, not quite able to meet either her fiancée or his brother. "I think I did as well. When – when Cedric was killed –"
"We got drunk on brandy. We hid in the greenhouses and slept in there." He paused, looking slightly ashamed. "Poor fucking Harry. I just didn't know what to do, Fleur was so –"
"He was there for me," Fleur said with finality. "He is never here, but when you need Chuck, he is always there."
Bill nodded. "And then?"
"And then I went back, and had to stay back," Charlie said. "We were starting a new breeding operation, in Romania. We had a couple of Longhorns we wanted to mix with our old Opaleye. I needed to go back. That was May."
"And then summer," Fleur said, taking a deep sigh. "And then I take a job at Gringotts for my English, and to wait for Charlie to come back from Romania."
"And then –" Charlie paused.
"And then," Bill said quietly, with noticeable shame. "I met her."
There was a heavy silence, punctuated only by their soft tasting of wine, the gurgle from the bottle as they refilled their glasses.
"How is my cousin?" Fleur asked suddenly.
"Your cousin?"
"Théo," Fleur said. "He is training in Romania, I thought."
"Oh, yeah," Charlie said. "I've flown with him before. He's a good kid."
Fleur smiled. "He is settling well?"
Charlie shrugged. "Sure. It's a tight group, we get along."
"You will look out for him, yes?" Fleur asked. "Mon petit Théo?"
"Course," Charlie said.
"You are sweet," Fleur replied, cupping his cheek. "So sweet, my Chuck."
They finished another bottle of wine before stumbling inside (Bill tripping over their dirty dishes) and upstairs. It was only when Charlie was saying goodnight that Fleur realised she hadn't made up the guest bedroom, the boxes still tightly packed and sealed with shiny tape.
"It's all right," Bill slurred, interrupting Fleur's flow of curse words. "He can sleep with us."
Fleur laughed her bright, fluttering, girlish laugh and agreed.
Charlie shrugged.
The master bedroom was scarcely better made. The bed was dressed in sheets, blankets, and an avalanche of pillows, but the room was a blank canvas, the corners dusted with cobwebs of closed boxes. Bill stumbled over to the oriel window and lifted the sash, pushed open the windows to the great rush of salt and sea air. Backlit by the moon, Bill pulled off his open-neck cotton shirt and then his jeans. He stood in his plaid boxers and yawned, his skin made ghoulish blue. Fleur beckoned Charlie to unbutton the clasp at the back of her dress. It parted under his fingers, the loose front falling from her chest like the thinnest sheet of artisan's gold leaf. Her breasts were as he remembered them, small and perfect, the tip of her nipple like a rosy bead. She let the dress fall to the floor and stepped out of it, straightening her pink boyshorts over her shapely arse.
She moved in to kiss Bill. Charlie avoided watching, turned and pulled off his striped Picasso shirt, loosed the belt buckle and top button of his –
Hands interrupted. Fleur's hands took over the job, loosening the copper clasp of Charlie's jeans and peeling open the zipper. She tucked her fingers into the waistband of his jeans and helped him tug them off, stripping him down to his jockeys, his pure white briefs concealing a not-insignificant erection.
Charlie glanced up, at once shocked and darkly pleased. Bill gave him an easy smile and shrug (swaying on the spot) as if washing his hands of Fleur's tease, the perpetual tease of her Veela roots and small sun-freckled breasts.
Bill slid around Fleur, tracing her hips with his hand, and sat on the bed, leaned back on his hands and tossed his head back. He watched Fleur's slow progress, her inevitable draw to Charlie like some undeniable gravity.
"Chuck," she said, leaning in to press a lingering kiss, sour with wine, on his lips. "My love – my first love, my great love – my great love, my Valentino – my funny valentino," she murmured, the last of her words coalescing into the tune of the song. "Chuck," she said again, and kissed him deeper, trapping his hand and guiding it to her breast, to cup it, down her smooth stomach, the slight curve of her belly, trusting his fingers down the front of her knickers and into the short web of her pubic hair, the wet, warm cleft of her cunt.
"Fleur," he breathed, acutely aware of Bill's glance, his hard glance bearing down at them from the bed.
"It's okay," she breathed. "It's okay."
She kissed him with a driving force, pushing him back ever gently against the bed, his knees hit Bill – the backs of his knees folded on the edge of the mattress and he found himself sitting in Bill's lap. Hands wrapped around Charlie's waist, not a bear hug, not a grappling restriction or dubious entrapment, but a warm hug, a comforting embrace.
Bill kissed the side of Charlie's neck. "It's okay, Chuck."
Somehow Chuck let himself get swept away in the words, the awful comforting words of familiar voices as Fleur knelt before the brothers, and with Bill's help stripped Charlie's briefs from his hips, rolling them down the milk-pale skin and the hard-press of his cock.
She sucked, or used her hands, or did something fucking good, Charlie couldn't be sure as his eyes were tight closed. He could hear Bill's breath warm on his ear, could taste the wine still heavy on his lips. Bill kissed his neck and Charlie could hear the slow suck of Fleur's lips and tongue, could feel the warmth of Bill's hands wrapped along the round of his ribs.
Fleur stepped away, and Charlie opened his eyes. He was so hard, so embarrassed, and he stuttered to stand, off of Bill's warm body and the eventuality of where this would lead (the bed, Bill's mouth, Fleur's cunt, their hands linked, he could picture it a thousand different ways in a thousand different angled hieroglyphics.)
"Charlie," Fleur said.
"Chuck," Bill repeated, kissing the back of Charlie's head, touching a hand to his brother's bare hip. "Stay with us."
Charlie took a hesitant step away. He looked between them. The fear was ripe in his eyes, and Fleur was fast to identify it, the fight or flight that began pumping through his veins like a bad drug.
"It's okay, Charlie," she said calmly. "We love you."
"No," Charlie said.
"Bill and I –"
"Bill and you?" Charlie said, appealing to Fleur. "I love you."
"I love Bill," she said. "And – you. We want you here. Please." Her words were the palest horse whispers, appeasing her startled colt, coaxing him out of his rigid paranoia.
Charlie shook his head. It was a clutter of wine and broken promises, his admiration of Bill mixing with the grim reality of Fleur's abandonment. It sucked. "No."
"No?" Bill asked, sounding somehow hurt.
"No," Charlie said again. "Fuck you – fuck, this is all mind games. It's always mind games."
Fleur's eyes opened wider, softened. "No – no, we simply – we need you, Charlie. You are still my life."
"Then why marry Bill?" Charlie choked. It was like a strong nausea, building on itself, a snowball rolling down a hill just picking up weight until it was all Charlie could think, all he could say. "This is wrong –"
"Chuck, calm down," Bill said, flicking on the bedside lamp and putting a hand on Charlie's shoulder. "I know you love her. I know you love me. We can work this out somehow, I want you two to work."
"And are we gonna fuck?" Charlie asked, wheeling around to him, slapping the hand from his shoulder.
"No – no," Bill said. "Of course not. But I don't mind seeing you happy. I want to see you happy." Bill touched Charlie's hair, his cheek. "And if that means – and if that means you and Fleur find love together, that's okay. That's okay. You're my brother," he said quietly. "That's all I want."
"You're sick. You're sick to have her and throw it away," Charlie spat. "I wouldn't do that to anyone. Not her, not you. You're sick." He didn't mean it, he didn't know what he meant to be honest, but it was all he could do to answer the questions that rose in his chest like heavy bubbles of champagne. "You're such a – honestly, sharing? You fucking stole her," Charlie said, grabbing his briefs and pulling them on. "I'm your brother – you fucking stole her," he said again, pulling on his Picasso shirt.
"Charlie, he didn't steal, I love him – I love you both," she said. "Romania was so far away."
"And you'd share him?" Charlie asked, turning on Fleur. "You'd share your husband."
"Share?" Fleur asked, sounding genuinely surprised. "He is already yours. He has been for a long time, Charlie."
Charlie didn't want to listen. He pulled on his jeans. His Converse were downstairs. He turned on Bill and Fleur, the both of them still standing together, mostly naked and back lit by the bedside lamp. They had a pleading, appeasing look in their eyes, a slow shock at how this easy love had gone so quickly wrong.
Charlie turned without saying anything else. He never did find his Converse sneakers, lost somewhere on the outside patio. He squinted his eyes tight, gripped his wand, and Apparated to the Burrow, landing just outside its sphere of magic protection. He was drunk, and it was three in the morning, so he tossed rocks at Ron's bedroom window until his brother poked his head out, seven stories away.
"Let me in," Charlie yelled.
Ron was dressed only in boxers, plaid boxers Charlie knew once belonged to Bill. He was pale and worried, and Charlie grabbed him for a tight hug. "Sorry, I'm smashed."
"It's okay," Ron said, patting Charlie's back softly.
"I think I'm crying."
"It's okay," Ron said again, grasping Charlie's hand for a moment. "Come on. Bill's room is empty, he's still at their new house."
"Yeah," Charlie said. "Thanks."