Entry tags:

angelina, bill, charlie, fic, tonks

Special delivery for spinneresque
Title: Scorch
Author/Artist: green_amber
Recipient's LJ name: spinneresque
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Charlie/Angelina, and a brief mention of Bill/Tonks
Word Count: ~1800
Warnings (if any): None, except that Angelina is 17, which is an adult in the wizarding world, but may or may not be an adult where you live.
Summary: He's back at Hogwarts to care for the Triwizard dragons; she's sick of the Tournament hype. It's a gorgeous evening. Smut ensues.
Author's notes: For spinneresque, who wanted fun! Hope this fits the bill. Thanks to ragdoll for being awesome, and to C for the uber-quick beta.



I've always had a thing for Weasleys.

I don't know if it's just the red hair and freckles, or if it's the way they always seem stuffed full of twice as much life as everyone else. I'm not the only one, though. I drank a few rounds with Nymphadora Tonks back in ninety-seven, and let me tell you, that was a woman who'd had a few Weasley jumpers wadded up on her floor.

She said Bill was the pick of the lot, but he was a little before my time. I never really knew him till after the war, and by that point he was very, very married. Charlie, though...

I've been married to George for years now, but when Charlie drops in for a visit, I still feel a familiar heat spreading across my cheeks. I'm glad I'm not much of a blusher.

***

I'd just turned seventeen. It was one of those perfect September nights, no longer summer, not yet autumn, and I was taking advantage of the great weather and putting in some solo practice at the pitch. It kept me in trim, and it helped me work off some of my frustration.

I was hugely, royally pissed off at the Triwizard Tournament.

My next-to-last year at Hogwarts, and they'd canceled Quidditch entirely. I'd been hoping this would be a banner year for our side. My seventh year would be even more important, of course, but I wanted two good years as captain. Scouts would want to see consistency.

But they'd cancelled it, and replaced it with this bloody tournament, and then I found out that the whole bloody damned thing was taking place on three days scattered throughout the year. There was no reason, to my mind, that they couldn't have had both. None at all.

I'd put my name in, of course. Why not? There was nothing else to do that year, and besides, there was no way I was letting Cedric Diggory bring home the glory if I could help it, no matter how fit he was. The rest, of course, is wizarding history, and everyone knows the hat picked Diggory instead, along with Potter, and that was how I found myself practicing Quidditch alone that night.

Or maybe not so alone. I'd just come out of a Llewellyn Loop when I noticed I had a spectator. Even from up here, I could make out the shock of flaming hair, and at first I thought one of the twins had come here for the same reason I had. As I descended, though, I saw I'd been mistaken.

I felt my lips and eyes form a smile before I had a chance to think about it. "Charlie."

He'd been my first crush. I'd been twelve and the new reserve Chaser. He'd been in his seventh year, and the star of the Gryffindor team. He had ruffled my braids once, and I'd spent weeks daydreaming about it.

I tried to play it cool, to not come off like I was still twelve, because I most certainly was not. He'd towered over me back then, and I was surprised to find he wasn't as tall as I'd remembered. In fact, I was taller now than he was. There was something bizarre about that.

He grinned as his eyes looked me up and down, taking in some of the other ways I'd grown. (That's something else about Weasleys. They wear everything on their sleeve--including lust.)

"The braids are the same," he said finally, with a wink. "Good to see you, Angie."

He'd changed too. In the gloomy climate of Scotland, his hair had been a vivid red, his skin milky pale with a smattering of freckles. The Romanian sun had kissed him eagerly; his hair was streaked with pale gold, and his freckles had flowed together to dominate his face. He looked stronger, too, more muscled, though I wasn't sure how well I remembered his physique from all those years ago.

He looked incredible.

"Good to see you, too," I said, after waiting in vain for something clever to bubble to the surface of my mind. "What brings you here?"

I noticed then that he smelled of smoke. Not cigarette smoke, but not the woodsmoke of a hearthfire, either. "Dragons," I breathed, answering my own question. "For the tournament." Dumbledore had said the tasks would be dangerous. It made sense.

"Bright girl," said Charlie. He sat down on the lowest riser of the stands and patted the spot next to him. "Can't say any more--it's top secret." He winked. "But what's this I hear we finally won the Cup?"

"We did," I said, sitting down next to him. "It was brilliant. Even McGonagall was blubbing." I told him all about it, every play, every maneuver. The great thing about talking to other Quidditch players is that their eyes don't glaze over when you talk about Quidditch. Charlie's eyes weren't glazed over at all; in fact, he was looking at me with an odd sort of intensity.

Then I realized his arm was around my shoulders.

"Anyone ever tell you how gorgeous you are when you're all fired up?" he asked.

There's always a moment when you know what's about to happen, but it hasn't happened yet. It's the moment when you could, theoretically, listen to that little voice in your head that says You barely know this bloke, really, or Anyone could walk right onto the pitch right now and see everything. Or you could listen to the voice that says Yes, which is what I did.

We kissed, both of us moving to cross the space between our bodies. His tongue was a flame licking at my mouth. His hair was soft between my fingers. His hands moved down my sides, thumbs brushing my breasts, and then he pulled away.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.

"I've got a tent out in the Forest. Come on."

He wrapped me in his protective dragonhide robes, and we set out for the forest, all very cloak and dagger. Neither of us spoke.

Charlie had pitched his tent in an isolated clearing. I could hear the bellowing of dragons from a distance; it was a sound that both chilled and stirred me, a sound that sang of adventure. As Charlie meticulously set soundproofing charms around his tent, I watched him in silence, smiling. Dragons were among the most deadly magical creatures in existence. This man worked with them for a living, and loved it. He was even more fascinating than I'd thought he was when I was twelve.

"Now, where were we?" Charlie drew me into the tent and kissed me again. His hands were busy at my robes--his robes--peeling them away, then doing the same to the Quidditch practice robes I'd been wearing. So much clothing. I wanted it all off me, and now.

He cupped my breasts through my thin T-shirt, fingers circling my nipples slowly, softly, too softly. I leaned in, pressing myself against his hands, running my own hands up his back and pulling his T-shirt up and off him. We had to disentangle a bit to get it over his head, and both of us laughed.

Then he pulled my top off, throwing it into a dark corner of the tent, and reached around my back for the clasp of my bra. After a few tries, he got it right, and I felt the tension of the band release. I hooked my thumbs in the straps to pull it off, and as soon as I bared my skin to him, his lips were on one breast, his fingers stroking the other nipple. I moaned.

Charlie eased me back onto the tent floor and lay down next to me, and I could feel his erection nudging at my thigh. He pushed my shorts down my hips and slipped his fingers between my thighs. "So wet," he whispered.

"See what you do to me?"

"I love it."

His fingers slid easily over my clit, rubbing in lazy circles, then dipped lower to thrust in and out of me. I moved my hips in rhythm. "I love that," I said.

Charlie returned to my clit then, and I was so wet it was actually slowing things down, denying me the friction I craved. I writhed harder, whimpering. I felt Charlie's breath hot against my ear. "Baby," he said. "Angie. Come for me, baby."

Yes, right there, Merlin, and then I came, heat flooding my skin from head to toe as if I'd been bathed in liquid fire. I gave him a smile that must have been loopy as hell.

He was out of his jeans in a heartbeat, and covering my body with his own. His cock pushed at my thighs, at my clit. I wanted...

I gave Charlie my best evil grin. "Who says you get to be on top, Weasley?" I rolled under him, then over him, climbing on top.

He grinned back. "You going to have your wicked way with me?"

"Absolutely." I positioned myself over his cock and sheathed him inside me. It felt amazing. I rode him hard but slow, drawing it out.

"Beautiful," he said, running his hands up and down my waist. I moved faster as his breathing grew heavier.

"Yeah, like that," he groaned. "God..."

Then his eyes did glaze over. I felt him explode inside me.

We lay there in a sweaty tangle for a while, after. I had to get up in the morning for class, though, and he needed to get some sleep before his next shift with the dragons. It's dangerous, being sleep-deprived around dragons. Charlie walked me back to the castle, and kissed me one more time before I went in.

***

I still see him a few times a year, when he comes to England for the holidays. He always smells of dragonfire, and it takes me right back.

And once in a while when no one's looking, he'll give me a little wink, and I know we're remembering the same thing.