Title: Product Testing
Pairing: Mostly Charlie/Blow-up doll. What? Het, if one can describe it as such.
Words: 2400
Rating: NC17
Summary: George requires assistance. He tells Charlie, I expect Perce'd have a coronary. And Bill's married.
Themes: Fornicatory dolls, for one thing.
A/N: I remembered oh, 12 hours ago that this was my day. Having been stuck on everything else for a couple of weeks, I was slightly concerned. And then this happened.

---

Product Testing

George scowled and looked at the experiment again, then turned away. Damn it.

He was going to need some help.

And between the general need to keep these things in the family and the, ah, adult nature of this particular product, he'd intended to do the testing himself this time for sure, but clearly, it wasn't going to work.

There was only one possibility. He got out a quill and jotted a note, then waited. Thankfully, it probably wouldn’t be long.

--

"George?" Charlie stepped out of the Floo and looked around, brushing off soot that had clung to the damp hairs of his forearm. "Oi, Where's the fire?"

George poked his head around the doorframe and nodded. "Thanks for coming, bro."

"What's so urgent?"

"Did I say urgent?"

Charlie dug the note out of the back pocket of his jeans. "Charlie--got a problem with the new product line, urgently need a hand, you're the only one I can call, desperately yours, George. Yeah, you did use the word."

"You could have put on a shirt first. Doesn't matter, though." George disappeared again for a moment, then came back wiping off his hands on a rather smudged white towel. "It's just, all right, I usually do most of the testing myself, right?"

"Yes; this is widely considered to explain quite a lot," Charlie said. "Though I'm old enough I remember the old days. You've always fallen just that side of the deranged line. Anyway, why'd you have to have me?"

"Simple. It's for the new line. I can't test it, and it's not exactly safe for children. Well. Safe, I suppose, but inappropriate. And I expect Perce'd have a coronary. And Bill's married."

"You need. Wait. Not appropriate for children, and related to marriage and something that'd send Percy around the… What the fuck, man, you want me to test a sex toy?"

"Always said those rumors about the intellect it takes to poke a pissed-off dragon are exaggerated."

Charlie sighed. "What d'you want me to do?"

George shrugged. "Come see." He turned on his heel and went back into the shop. Charlie shook his head and followed.

And stopped in the door. "Um. Look, I'm a really flexible bloke, but I… George, what the hell?"

George shrugged. "I just wanted to explain why I couldn’t do the testing myself. It's a blank, and then it becomes who you wish for."

"And you wish for, um." Charlie cleared his throat. "Look, I don't mean to judge--"

"What? Oh, fuck, no. It's not exactly anything like that. It's just that I can't bring that kind of want closer to the surface than, you know, missing him, which is I guess maybe more primal or something. But that's why the sex, for me, uh, no. Let me just put that somewhere." He picked up the life-size doll with a face just like his and flipped it over, squeezing the air out, looking anywhere other than at it. "Anyway, this was the third time I tried. I swear, I was wishing for something really not at all like that in any conceivable way. But I really want to get the new catalog out, and, yeah, you're flexible. I figured you'd fuck a doll once, for my sake."

"Our family is fucked up," Charlie said. "Hey, bro, come fuck a doll for me!"

"I wouldn’t have put it exactly like that!"

"Close enough. Christ. Fine. I'm here anyway, and now I'm fucking curious and there had better not be someone waiting to photograph me making an idiot of myself."

"Nah."

"That's reassuring."

"I wouldn’t do that to my own brother!" George crushed the rest of the air out of the doll. "What d'you take me for?"

"You absolutely would, but, yeah, fine, all right. Give me the thing and I'll see what I can do."

George crumpled up the image of Fred and chucked it into a box across the room, then picked up a much smaller box with a shimmering rubbery material visible in the little window. This box, he tossed at Charlie. "Here. Self-inflating, becomes who you want--either sex, and let me tell you, that was a bit of a trick--soon as you set it on a flat surface. Uh. I kind of need notes, and I have a Quick-Quotes Quill, so you can either do it here, or take the parchment and quill back with you."

"I'm still staying with Mum."

"Oh. Right. That's probably… How about if I go out for a bit? Maybe, how long you need?"

"How the hell would I know? I've never had to resort to a bloody blow-up doll! What's it going to feel like?"

"Hopefully, really good. This is why I need you to make sure. Look. I mean, the prototypes felt pretty fucking good. Before the whole adding of the appearance matrix. So, what, you think half an hour?"

"Sure. Uh. Knock before you come in. Just in case."

George shrugged. "Whatever." He pointed out the parchment on which he'd been making notes. "Just, you know, any actual problems, anything you find pleasantly surprising, anything completely perverse I can use as blackmail material later…"

"Fuck off," Charlie said. "I'm the one doing you the damn favor."

George gave a little nod and one of the half-smiles that were the best he ever did, any more, and went out the door, leaving Charlie alone in the room.

Charlie went to the door to close it, and then slapped two different locking charms on it. One of them in Croatian for good measure.

He stared at the box for a long moment, hands on his hips, then cursed. It would do what it wanted, and it wasn't going to hurt anything, right?

Bugger.

He pried open the flap against his belly, pursed his lips, and dumped it out onto the tabletop. He squeezed his eyes shut, not at all sure he shouldn't just tell George it had been, uh, fine, then started when a firm pressure floated up against the outside of his thigh.

The slight hissing sound of inflation ceased, and he waited another beat, then told himself he was being ridiculous and opened his eyes.

Christ. The image of Fred had been, well, disturbing, given everything, but this was …it was possibly even more disturbing how effective the illusion was. It looked real.

And naked.

And soft.

And real.

Shit. He watched the doll blink its brown eyes and tilt her--its!--head at him quizzically, and groaned.

Then he slid down the zip of his jeans and settled the surprisingly heavy doll--not heavy, but not air-light--into something like an appropriate position.

She hooked her ankles around his back and arched.

Jesus. George was thorough.

He wondered for a moment whether George had left anything useful like lube around, the gasped as the doll rocked up, pressing steamy-damp entirely non-rubbery flesh against his cock. "Fuck."

The doll, evidently, thought this was an instruction. She rocked again, and Charlie stopped wondering about lube, leaning forward to set his hands on the table as he slid into a hole that wasn't quite right, but was definitely, completely, absolutely not wrong.

Except for how looking down at her, at her small breasts and wide hips and wild curly hair, at her slender waist and arched ribs and open panting lips, was definitely, completely, absolutely wrong.

He shifted his weight and picked up one hand to brush a thumb across a nipple that should have felt like rubber and instead felt velvety-soft over hard. That felt like a nipple. God.

He tried to figure out how the fuck he was supposed to take notes that were in any way coherent, then decided he was just going to have to give his report orally because there was no way he was going to stop moving to collect his thoughts.

It did cross his mind that George was going to make an enormous profit on this, especially if it was reusable--maybe not indefinitely, since that wouldn't be good for business, but--the doll rocked faster, and Charlie's attention was forced back to her, and then she--it!--was contracting around him, arching and thrashing for all the world like she was coming.

Christ. George was a bloody genius.

Charlie bit down hard in his lip and waited until the doll slowed, wondering what would happen next, then groaned when after a moment, it did it all over again. He didn't bother trying to hold back, fucking the doll faster, grasping its eminently grippable hips and spilling into her in thick, slick waves. He grunted, dropping down onto his elbows and threading his fingers into her hair, wondering how the hell he was ever going to face Ron again, much less Hermione.

As the last spasm faded, he wiped dripping sweat off his forehead and stood, pulling free. The doll obediently unhooked her feet and stilled.

And continued to lie there.

Charlie waited, wondering at what point she'd revert to rubber, eventually reaching to touch the soft skin at the fold of her thigh, running a fingernail up toward her ribs.

She quivered as though ticklish--fuck, George should be awarded some sort of special service medal for this--and slid toward him. She couldn’t actually stand, but when her feet hit the floor, she folded to effectively kneel before him, her lips forming an O as she remained there before his cock, his fingers tangled in her hair--when had he caught her like that, and why hadn't she reverted, and oh hell, it was a permanent transfiguration, wasn't it?

Shit. He had no idea how he was going to face anyone at all. Hermione was Ron's girlfriend, and this was pathetic. And right now something that looked like her, that he could easily imagine felt like her, was nuzzling his cock and blinking up at him, and fuck.

He might as well take what he could get. He was going to have to go to Central and ask for a transfer to somewhere in the South China bloody Sea once George got back.

Which, as he let himself slide between lips that again didn't quite feel like real lips but felt obscenely good regardless, even if it was too soon, even if he cringed at himself, fucking the mouth of his baby brother's girlfriend, even if he wasn't sure he could remain standing if it did things with its tongue like it had its squeezing cunt, had better not be quite yet.

It let him slide in deeper and squeezed, like a swallow, and Charlie groaned and sank down onto a nearby chair, not letting go his grip on her hair as he pulled her back and forth. He let his legs fall as wide as the jeans still around his calves would let him and reached down, grasping his balls, gripping and tugging in time to the swallowing squeezing suction of her throat.

She looked up again, brown eyes wide, mouth stretched open, nostrils flared, and he shook his head and let go, grasping her under the arms and hauling her into his lap, fitting her legs to either side of his and sliding back into the slick hole between then.

She immediately arched again, returning to the porn-star coming act, which was no less effective for the repetition.

He unloaded into her again and sat there, panting.

When George came back in, apparently more competent with Croatian locking charms than Charlie would have credited, he was still holding her against his chest, her "coming" for him again around two fingers he'd slid into her by reaching between them.

George chuckled. "Guess it worked as well as I'd hoped."

"Fuck off. Go away. You didn't tell me it was going to keep looking like her." Charlie pulled his fingers free and set the doll aside, then frowned and transfigured a cover to drape over her.

"You probably better shrink her to take home," George said. "Mum'd think something was off--"

"Fuck. You. Clearly I can't keep her, and equally clearly, the real thing is--"

George stepped closer and leaned down. "--currently sitting in the Leaky Cauldron, grumbling at that blonde Ravenclaw that works in the British Library about how much men suck."

"What? She and Ron--"

"Broke up two months ago. And evidently two blind dates this week have been dreadfully forward and horrible."

"Two months… how did I not know this?"

George shrugged. "No idea, unless you've been avoiding her because she makes you hard."

Charlie blushed and busied himself fastening his jeans.

"So, I imagine if you were to get cleaned up you could run into her…"

"Right. I should fuck a simulacrum of her until my brains leak out my ears, and then--"

"And then go court her, with the edge taken off, no pressure, listening ear…"

Charlie frowned. "Seems wrong."

"Tell her, if you want. I mean, wait until the time seems right--don't run down there and tell her right now. But anyway, she won't hear it from me." George licked his lips. "You know now you have to know. How it compares."

Charlie shook his head. "I am never helping you with product testing again."

George shrugged amiably. "If you want to come back and use her again, get it out of your system, she's probably good for another six or eight goes."

Charlie set his hands on his hips and looked at the staring doll under the cover for a long, long moment. Finally, he shook his head. "Fuck me. Can I use your shower?"

George offered another odd half-smile and pointed silently.

--

"Hermione?"

"Charlie." Hermione's eyes had the slightly unfocused look of someone who'd had three glasses of wine, and the blonde had left a few minutes earlier, just as Charlie came in.

"Mind if I sit?"

"Not if you promise not to try to get in my pants," Hermione said.

Charlie shrugged and blushed. "Not today, in any case."

She looked up sharply. "What?"

"I reserve the right to make such an attempt someday," Charlie said, setting down a tumbler of juice for her, and a firewhisky for him and sitting opposite. "But not today. You look like you could use a friend, first."

She lifted a brow. "Yes, that's because men suck."

"Sure, if you ask nicely."

Hermione blushed back at him, and sipped at her juice. "What, exactly, would this entail?"