Title: An Affair (the one that you imagine, the one that makes it real)
Author: snegurochka_lee
Characters: Charlie/Fleur, implied Charlie/Bill
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Themes chosen: Everything old is new again: zelophilia: arousal by own jealousy (from May 2006); incest (from June 2006); and a bit of branding (from March 2006), which in this case is tattoos. Also, adultery (from January 2007), although I used that one in a story here before, so technically it's ineligible. But it's still in here. :)
Word Count: ~3,500
Summary: Bill didn't know if they knew that he knew. He didn't know how it started, and he didn't want to know. He could imagine it all well enough, after all.
Author's notes: Written for the amazing piece of art I received in smutty_claus this past year: An Affair by cork (NWS). The art has zero incestuous insinuations, so I hope the artist is not offended that my brain decided to add those in all of its own accord. :/ Mostly, this was because many comments on the art seemed to convey great pity for Bill in the situation, and I mischievously decided that the blame should be extended a bit to include all three parties. *nods* This also goes out to secretsolitaire on the occasion of her birthday today, because I basically blame credit her for influencing my brain to think of just those incestuous insinuations when presented with Weasley brothers. :D Also, the child got aged up a bit from the art, which will explain her ability to speak. And walk. :)



An Affair
(the one that you imagine, the one that makes it real)

by Snegurochka

*


"Papa?"

"Hm? I'm coming, love. Don't get too far ahead."

"Butterflies! Regarde, papa! Pretty butterflies!"

"Yes, I see them, baby. They're very pretty. Come here – take papa's hand."

"Je veux les papillons! Je les veux, papa! Viens ici!"

Bill trudged up the hill and frowned, bending low behind Victoire to pick her up and swing her around. Sometimes he hated to hear the sound of French coming out of his daughter's mouth. It wasn't her fault, really; she just picked up whatever she heard, and Fleur spoke French to her most of the time, but it still grated on him – especially now, knowing what he did about his daughter's mother.

He glanced back at the house behind them and pressed his lips together, images assaulting him of just what was going on in that house right now, who was in his bedroom, whose cock was lodged deep inside his wife's body.

Or whose cunt was clenching over his brother's cock.

It was difficult to figure out which image bothered him more, and which one aroused him more. Both his wife and his brother used to belong to him, after all. In a way, they still did.

"Papa! Put me down!" He laughed and swung his daughter over his shoulder and let her pound her tiny fists into him, squealing with delight. "Down! Down! I can walk."

"Can you? Are you a big girl?"

"I'm big!" she declared, wrapping her arms around his neck and burrowing her little head into his neck.

"Sure, you are," he agreed, but he didn't put her down. They walked together for some time, away from the house that shook with thrusts and groaned with pleasure, and he held her as tightly as he could, knowing all too well what happened the last time he let go of someone he loved.

*

He didn't know if they knew that he knew. He didn't know how it started, and he didn't want to know. He could imagine it all well enough, after all. Like this:

*

"That is one ugly fucking baby."

The bottle cap hit the kitchen counter with a plonk, and the beer started rushing down Charlie's throat before he'd even finished talking. He wiped his mouth and leaned back into the crisp tiles.

"No, I mean, seriously. Her mum's a fucking Veela, and, I mean, you're all right on a good day–" he paused, his eyes dropping down Bill's body and his mouth twisting into a smirk – "but that baby's got to be part Ridgeback and part Flobberworm, yeah?" He laughed and shook his head, lifting the bottle to his lips again. His tongue slipped out to taste the drops gathered at the rim, just as his eyes met Bill's. With a quick lick and a wink, he lifted the bottle the rest of the way and took a long swallow.

"I remember you as a baby, and you were no prince, either," said Bill, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning into the opposite counter.

"You don't fucking remember me!" said Charlie, eyes wide. "You were, like, a year old."

"Closer to two, and I do remember, because you wouldn't shut the fuck up for the next twenty-five years."

Charlie grinned.

"What are you doing here, anyway?"

The grin faded. "Can't a bloke stop by to see his new niece?"

Bill held his gaze. "You saw her last week."

Charlie didn't look away. "She grows fast."

"Not that fast."

That devilish smile of Charlie's sneaked out and twisted his lips. "You think they'll sleep awhile longer?"

"Ah. That's it, then, is it?" Bill finally dropped his eyes. "Yeah. I reckon they will." He paused. "Why?"

Charlie set the beer on the counter and began moving towards Bill, each step too loud on the tile floor. He leaned in without preamble and bit at Bill's earlobe, tugging none too gently. "You know why," he murmured.

The rush of heat through Bill's body caught him off guard, and he reached wanting fingers out to Charlie's waist to steady himself. Taking it for an invitation, Charlie leaned in and pressed him hard against the counter, hips tilting and teeth still biting at Bill's ear. "God," he breathed, curling the fingers of one hand into Charlie's shirt while the other flew up to the back of Charlie's head, pushing his mouth in harder against Bill's skin.

"Yeah," breathed Charlie, and Bill almost let him do it, almost let him get a hand all the way down his trousers, all the way around his traitorous dick before he gathered his strength and shoved him off, wiping at his mouth.

Charlie stumbled backwards and stared at him, his tongue sweeping over his bottom lip and one hand dropping to his own groin to make a few not-so-subtle adjustments. His face darkened. "Right," he drawled. "You're married now, aren't you? Can't do this." He gestured between them and grinned, but his eyes stayed quiet.

"You should get out of here," said Bill softly, after a long, dark moment of staring at each other across the kitchen.

"Yeah, okay. I mean, but– no, wait." Charlie's face shifted from resignation to confusion to hope in the space of a few seconds. "Let me stay for dinner. No, don't look like that. I'll be good, I promise. Fleur's tired, and you're in a shite mood, so I'll make dinner and sit around with the baby and everything."

Bill eyed him. "What's your angle?"

"Oh, nice. I need an angle. Just trying to help out my family, you know, and you have to go and be a dickhead about it." He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Fine. I'll go home. Aidan's in from Budapest, did I tell you? Just for a few weeks, to help with the new Fireballs. Few weeks is all I need, anyway."

"And you're telling me this... why?" Bill narrowed his eyes and tried to push down the splash of rage and jealousy in his stomach, and tried to push down even further the way his cock was thickening at the thought of Charlie and Aidan together – the way Charlie looked with a man bending him over a bench; the way he squeezed his eyes shut and groaned as a cock breached him; the way his face flushed and his back muscles rippled in orgasm. Bill swallowed and refocused on the kitchen around him, blocking out all those other thoughts.

"Because you just wouldn't be you without a bit of jealousy behind your balls, would you?"

Bill stared at him, his mouth falling open a little bit. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Charlie shrugged, moving closer to him again. "Just that as soon as I said that, I knew what you were thinking." He brushed a hand over Bill's groin and let his lips hover over Bill's cheek. "You've met Aidan – you can picture me with him, can't you? What I'd look like with him coming inside me?" Charlie's hand pressed in harder, and Bill fought down a moan as his dick swelled. "Now you can go upstairs and shag your wife tonight with that image in your head, yeah?"

The sound of a crying infant sailed down from the second floor at that moment, and Charlie moved away again as though he'd never touched Bill at all.

"I'll make dinner," he promised again over his shoulder as he left the kitchen. "You should take the kid out for a walk or something. Leave Fleur to sleep. Hey, and Bill?" he added from the doorway.

Bill glanced over.

"Quit worrying about me." He grinned. "If I can't have you, I'll just have to find someone else, won't I? Don't get jealous, now." He laughed as he left the room, and Bill ran a hand through his hair.

Fucking tosser.

It wasn't until later that afternoon, when he took Victoire out to the yard to chase butterflies, that he figured out what Charlie had meant. The walls were thin, after all, and Charlie never had been a quiet fuck. He cast a Silencing charm on the baby, crept back inside, and stood in the corridor with wide eyes.

"You're so fucking gorgeous, you know that?" Charlie was murmuring, breathing heavy over Fleur's quiet moans. "Come on, love. Yeah, like that. Lift up for me."

Bill's lips parted as he pictured the whole thing in his head: Fleur's lithe body would be pinned against the wall, her legs wrapped around Charlie's waist and her fingernails scraping down his back with each thrust; Charlie would be holding her up like she weighed nothing, fucking her into that wall and whispering filth into her ear. If he closed his yes, he could even see the Welsh Green that he knew bled down Charlie's back, and the inked flame he'd seen a million times over Charlie's right bicep, rippling with each thrust.

That Green was for him, Bill knew; he'd been there when Charlie got it. The bastard had been lying naked on his stomach – not strictly required, of course, but Charlie had never been one to turn down a request to take off even half his clothing – and he'd pushed himself up on his elbows while the attendant was off sterilising the needles, smirking at Bill from the table and murmuring, "When it's healed, you know you're going to have to come all over it, right?"

A sharp cry from the bedroom brought Bill back, and from the quiet gasps of breath that followed, he knew that Fleur had come over his brother's cock, convulsing over him and wrapping her arms around him tightly as she shuddered. He pushed down his own arousal, focusing on the baby in his arms and fiercely ignoring the completely inappropriate reaction his body was experiencing to the sounds in the bedroom. He went back downstairs, not waiting to hear the sounds Charlie would make when he followed Fleur to orgasm, shoving her hard into that wall and spilling inside her.

He hugged Victoire and smoothed her hair down as they made their way to the kitchen, lifting the spell and soothing her when she began to cry.

*

No. Like this:

*

"She is so beautiful! Look! Her hair! It will be blonde, just like mine."

"What's wrong with red hair?"

Fleur straightened, the baby's eyes following her from the bassinette. She smiled, her lips curving in a way that lit her whole face. "Nothing," she purred, sauntering over to her husband. "You know I have a thing for red hair." She wrapped her arms around his waist, her eyelashes fluttering as he pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes.

"Yeah?" he murmured, and she nodded, biting her lower lip.

"It is a good colour for hair," she agreed. "On men, of course. Blonde is better for women."

"Mm. So I should worry about all the other red-haired men out there, stealing your affections?"

"Yes," she said simply, stepping back and tossing her hair off her shoulders. "You should." She smiled again and glanced back at the baby. "But you have proof now, that I am yours. I have your baby."

"I never needed proof."

"Oh!" Fleur laughed. "But you did! Look at me," she said, her lips wet and her eyes downcast, appraising her own body. "You know what I can do to men. You think I do it to all of them, that to be with you is not enough."

"I don't think that."

She smiled, shaking her head and approaching him again to twirl her arms around his neck. "You are lying to me," she whispered, her breath hot against his ear. "You think I am unfaithful, that this gives you a reason to also do what you wish to do, with–" she paused, then let her tongue swipe lightly at his earlobe – "others."

His heart slowed to a stop for a long second, before speeding to catch up again. "There's just you," he lied, his hands sliding from her waist up to her breasts, thumbs running lightly over her nipples. She gasped, trailing her lips over his neck.

"Ah, okay," she murmured. "I see." Her hands moved down slowly, slipping under his t-shirt and brushing over the hair low on his belly. "Shall I get branded, then, the way you like?" She kissed up his jaw. "I can have a dragon over my hip, maybe, or inside my thighs? That way you will know where it is you should go?" Her voice hardened, and her fingernails began to dig into his skin. "I think sometimes you need directions," she snapped, "like the tail of a dragon pointing down his spine, towards his–"

"Why are you doing this?" he bit out, pushing her away from him.

But she didn't answer. She only smoothed her hair back with one porcelain hand, schooled her perfect features back in place, and leaned down to brush her fingertips over the baby's cheek. "Do you love me?" she asked quietly, her eyes on the baby.

"Of course I love you," he said wearily, his hand wiping over his face.

"No matter what?"

He paused. "That's what I promised when I married you, yes."

"How... clinical." She looked up at last, her eyes sad. She moved towards him again and took his face in her hands, reaching up to kiss him softly on the lips. He let his hands slide down her waist and his tongue gently tangle with hers, and he moaned with genuine arousal when she let out a soft sigh against his mouth. She broke away and smiled, lifting her hand to run her thumb over her bottom lip. "Promise me you love me, no matter what?" she whispered, and he nodded.

"Yeah. Of course I do."

She smiled and left the room, and it wasn't until three days later that he figured out what she meant.

The baby was asleep, and Charlie had shown up with freshly picked apples (mangoes?), wearing a smile and a faded pair of jeans, and Bill had gone to the store for some beer and crisps, the staples of Charlie's diet. He didn't need to wonder what they were doing upstairs together when he got back, and he didn't figure there was much point in interrupting them to tell them he was back.

"Show me how you fuck my husband," Fleur was saying, her voice low and sharp and punctuated by gasps of anger and pleasure. It sounded like the wall, it had to be the wall – God, didn't Charlie ever fuck on a bed like a normal person? – and Bill could hear every shaking thrust.

"It's not about you," Charlie murmured, his voice thick and muffled by her hair. "It's just something we do, not about you at all, yeah? God, just, lift up a bit... fuck, yeah, like that."

Their moans washed over him, and he slumped against the wall of the stairwell, digging in his trousers for his cock. There was nothing for it. The image of his wife and his brother shagging each other boneless in his own sodding bedroom shot straight to his balls and up his prick, the anger and jealousy and confusion swirling through his veins and making every part of his body down to his fingertips spark. He wondered if Fleur had been serious about the tattoo. He pictured a glowing Snitch on the inside of her thigh, the way she would hike her leg up and point at it, smooth fingers tracing the branded skin and then pulling Charlie's cock over it. She'd pause, working her fingers over him until the ink was marred with precome, and then she'd pull his cock up to her cunt and take him inside, letting him lift her off the floor as his cock held her up.

He pictured Charlie's back flexing with each thrust, the Welsh Green flying high over his muscles and flesh. His arse would clench and his hands would push at her breasts, shoving into her too hard and too fast. He pictured stealing into the room and moving up behind them, pushing his own cock into the cleft of Charlie's arse and coming between his thighs, just as Charlie stiffened and came inside Bill's wife. He pictured Fleur's eyes as he bit down on Charlie's shoulder, the soft moan she would make as she saw them together at last, confirming all her fears and fantasies, the Weasley brothers covered in come and writhing against her.

He doubled over and came silently, biting his lower lip and squeezing his eyes closed, as his fingers clenched around his cock and his entire body shook.

*

No. Like this:

*

"God, I wish I'd seen you first."

"No, shh. Don't say things like that. Bill will be back soon with Victoire. We cannot–"

"Oh, yeah, we fucking can. Come on, baby. He doesn't have to know."

"No, Charlie. My God. You are his broth– Oh. Oh. Okay, like that. Do that again."

"He doesn't do this, does he? He doesn't know what you like."

"No, he does. He's just... busy, lately. Oh my God, your mouth..."

"Busy. Yeah, right. I would never let you out of bed, I swear to God. You are so gorgeous. Come on, Fleur. Come on..."

*

No. Like this:

*

"You have never been with a Veela woman before? Then you do not know what sex is truly like."

"Look. No, okay, God. I want to, you know. I want to, so fucking bad. But– no. Bill and the baby'll be back soon, yeah? This is just– no. I can't."

"Ah. The famous Charlie Weasley: so virtuous, it seems! I have heard the stories from Europe, you know. Oh yes, you are famous! French girls like to kiss and tell, you know, and some of the boys, too. I have heard about you, the way you like sex so much. My husband does not like it anymore. I am bigger now, maybe. From the baby. He does not want this. But you... I know you never turn a beautiful woman down."

"I– well, no. I generally don't. And God, you're beautiful. I would fuck you into that wall in a heartbeat, love. Does he– does he really say you're big? What the fuck?"

"Shh, do not get angry. Just come with me. Quickly. He does not need to know. He would not understand... Come, Charlie. Come on..."

*

"Papa! Put me down!"

"What? Oh. Sorry, sweetheart. Here."

"I want mama!"

"No, shh, mama's... busy. Let's stay outside a bit longer."

"Je ne veux pas!"

Bill ran a hand over his face and sighed, pulling himself back to the present as he followed his daughter back towards the house. Well, they should hear the door bang open, at least, and know enough to put their clothes back on.

"Uncle Charlie!" squealed Victoire as she reached the door, and Bill glanced up, lagging behind her on the lawn.

"Hey, princess." Charlie opened the door and picked her up, smiling as she wrapped her arms around him and gave him a hug of the magnitude of which only small children were capable. "Did you have fun with papa?"

She nodded, wiping her nose. "Did you and mama have fun, too?" she asked innocently, and Bill paused in his step, closing his eyes.

Charlie laughed, a surprised, horrified little laugh. "Uh, yeah," he told her, raising his gaze to Bill as he finally reached the step. "We did." His eyes searched Bill for a long moment, and Bill couldn't quite tell if it was concern or amusement that coloured them.

"Tell Uncle Charlie about the butterflies we saw," said Bill at last, breaking the spell and reaching out to take Victoire in his arms. As he did, he let Charlie's fingers slide over his arm and down his waist, burning through his shirt and nearly making him moan aloud. Even after the child was settled with Bill again, Charlie didn't move away, his hand moving in slow circles over the small of Bill's back as he stood too close, smiling at Victoire.

"Butterflies!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide to indulge her, and Victoire nodded vigorously.

"Ils sont trop grands!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

Bill smiled at her and let his eyes linger on Charlie, who eventually dropped his hand from Bill's back. "Let's go in," he said. "She can tell you all about it."

Charlie nodded, his face breaking into a relieved grin as he turned to hold the door for them.

There was no sense in making a scene of it and ruining all their lives, Bill figured. He didn't know if they knew that he knew, and he didn't much care. He had his own secrets, and if Charlie needed something else – someone else – to even the score a bit, there wasn't much Bill could do about that. It had all started somehow, it continued now, and he didn't want to know any more than that. He could imagine it all well enough, after all.



-fin-



Feedback is always appreciated. You can leave a comment on Livejournal if you don't have an IJ account. :)