Title: Live a little first
Name: Winter wishes per sassy_cissa's request. Happy holidays!
Characters: Charlie Weasley / Draco Malfoy
Rating: R
Kink: Wall sex
Location: The Burrow at Christmas
Authors' notes: Thank you, Kit and Elf. It's appreciated.



Sometimes he missed the roar of dragons, even when magic hadn't been able to dim the noise of their angry cries. The cacophony of sound they made was still less than the Weasley home with all the family present.

Considering it was December twenty-third, every member was present; including Angelina, Harry, and Hermione. Even little Teddy was there, pulling Ginny's long hair while he drooled on her pretty dress. Bill brought pregnant Fleur with him, his hands straying to her belly every eight seconds or so while she smiled and didn't complain once about the food. It seemed that carrying a Weasley in her gullet made her like English dinners suddenly.

Mum and Dad were in the middle of the room, currently fussing over Percy and… what was her name again? Charlie couldn't remember. All that seemed important to Molly was that everyone (alive) was there and with a Significant Other.

Except Charlie.

He sat on the broken brown settee in the corner of the room, sipping cider Ron had spiked an hour ago with Firewhiskey. Charlie had to admit it made their father's favourite drink tolerable. Fleur had grimaced when Bill brought her a cup, but upon tasting it, she grinned, winking at Charlie of all people, as if he'd thought to do it. And he might have, if he had any Firewhiskey.

He'd traded that over the summer for wine of all things. But that wasn't Charlie's fault. Technically.

He let his mind drift back to the summer, ignoring Ron and Harry's babble about Auror training and how tough Shacklebolt was to the recruits. As long as Charlie looked attentive, Molly would leave him alone and not ask about any birds he might have met in Romania. Usually Charlie would make up someone, giving his Mum an age and name – as long as she didn't work with him. Molly didn't approve of the women who worked and camped in the preserve, living amongst all those men freely.

However, neither did Charlie.

* * *

The summer following the end of the war dawned bright, as if hope somehow made the skies clearer. Except for some people, like George who couldn't cope with the loss of his twin. So Charlie had dragged him away from Britain to France. The preserve owned a small chateau for recovering burn victims that currently wasn't being used. Charlie had claimed it for the two of them, not realizing that it was situated right next to one of the Malfoy's residences.

George had known that and had invited Draco over for dinner one night. Whatever excuse he'd used must have worked, because Charlie hadn't expected Malfoy to agree. To Charlie's surprise the three of them got along swimmingly after the awkward introductions. Maybe the Firewhiskey helped. Who knew? Draco fretted about their loss of stature, George fretted about the loss of Fred, and Charlie drank to forget some of the horrors that people in war pushed upon each other. Suitably morbid topics for the aftermath of what felt like a worldwide party now that Voldemort was dead.

Firewhiskey had disappeared that first week; Draco had stood up, in his pompous but adorable way, declaring it too lowbrow for them and had drained every bottle with the flick of his wand. Only to replace them with red, white, sweet and dry wines that meant nothing to Charlie. At the time.

Clearly, Malfoy had been a terrible influence on Charlie. When he returned to work three weeks later, Charlie ate every meal wondering which wine Draco would have suggested, if he'd been there.

* * *

"Charlie," someone said, but he ignored it, still lost in thought, wondering why Draco hadn't replied to his owl. He'd been back in England for three days now without a single post.

"Charlie will get it," George said, smirking.

"Get what?"

"There's an eagle owl at the window, Charlie. I suggest you retrieve the message."

Oh. He glanced at the dirty panes to see a large black owl resting on the narrow ledge, wings extended for balance. Finally.

He pointed toward the back door and launched himself out of the chair just as Ron said, "That looks like one of the Malfoy's birds…"

"Must be mistaken," George said. "We saw all those in France. They didn't own any black ones."

"You spent time with Malfoy…" Charlie ignored Harry's words as he picked up an owl treat from the small dish along the way.

C -
Stop drinking the Firewhiskey. On my way, need suitable distraction.
D

"I’m going to get more cider," Charlie said and Ron grinned at him, eyes bright from too much Firewhiskey. He never did hold alcohol well.

Most of the cider was kept in the shed in the backyard. Charlie left the house, whistling loudly. With some luck, Draco would arrive quickly enough…

A pop of Apparition and Charlie nodded to himself, still whistling the latest Weird Sisters tune. Something about a tribute to war and he was pretty sure the Weasleys were mentioned in the song, even though the Malfoys were not.

"How can a person whistle off tune?"

"Still better than your singing voice.

"It's been three days, Malfoy. It's not like you've been working." Charlie flinched in the darkness, damn if he didn't sound like a bird, scolding Draco.

"Why, darling, did you miss me?" That patronizing tone made Charlie flip him two fingers, not that Draco could see it in the dark.

"At least you held my missing the dragons at bay for me while we where there."

It took Draco a moment to figure it out, but then he must have recalled Charlie's comment about how Draco had been properly named, that he whined as much as the dragons did. The female ones – during labor. Charlie grinned when he heard Draco smack his wand against his leather gloves, obviously irritated.

"I returned home to find my life being lived for me, Weasley. It took some doing to catch up to what I'd missed."

"Thought you were going to talk to your parents about that?"

"And I thought you were going back to the preserve."

He nodded this time, and kept nodding as he pushed the door to the shed open, lighting his wand so he could find the cider amongst the clutter his father kept.

"It's been one thing after another here. Bill's going to be a father, Hermione doesn't understand why Auror training is still three years long, Ginny wants a career and to not marry right away…" He knew Draco would enjoy that and laughed right along with him, watching Draco throw his head back, the cords in his neck moving, making Charlie's mouth go dry. The git might have worn gloves and cloak, but no scarf. He seemed to realize that Charlie stared at his throat a little too often.

"Your father asked you to stay longer, didn't he?"

"Yes," Charlie said, the word followed immediately by a sigh. He closed his eyes and hoped that Draco hadn't caught him staring – again. "I couldn't say no to him, Mum is still distraught about losing Fred."

"And what about your horror from the war?"

Charlie didn't answer right away. Draco had learned about his desire to leave all humans behind after witnessing so much murder. He wanted nothing more than to go back to his dragons. But his family… It was hurting him to stay and the thought of leaving hurt as well. Charlie didn't want to think about that, however. "What does your father want you to do?"

"Get married."

"What?" That, as far as Charlie surmised, would be a bad choice for Draco. "I thought…" he bit the words back, swallowing them even though they tasted like bile. He'd thought Draco more like him and had never taken Malfoy for the marrying type.

"You thought what, Weasley?"

Bitter disappointment then; it wasn't the first time Charlie had guessed wrong about another man's choice. At least this time he hadn't tried kissing Draco before figuring out the truth. Charlie rubbed his nose, glad for magic being able to fix things that were once broken.

"Answer me, Charlie." His tone of voice had changed; fading to something Charlie associated with Draco being drunk. Not quite friendly, yet… irresistible.

"I didn't think you were interested in marrying. Is that why they're choosing for you?"

"The Greengrass family is an old one and father was particularly impressed with the way Astoria's father weas… wormed his way out of a sentence in Azkaban. He assumes, therefore, that his children must be as smart."

"And your mother?"

"Don't miss much, do you Weasley? She thinks that Astoria is more willing to… turn a blind eye, shall we say."

Oh yes, Charlie did understand that. "When's the announcement?"

"Tomorrow."

'Which is why you're here tonight, isn't it?"

Draco folded his arms across his chest, leaning against a black barrel. There was the cider. "Possibly."

Finally on familiar territory, Charlie pulled off his leather gloves and dropped them onto the dusty planks. Draco raised one eyebrow, watching him.

"Did you want to tell me in person then?"

"I do consider you a friend, Weasley. And I've spent most of the day telling the ones I have left about it already."

"Saved me for last then?" Charlie loosened the red and gold scarf – his mother's idea of a good present – next. Draco smirked.

"I had some ideas about that, yes."

"Did they involve doing things that would make you a poor husband?"

Draco paled (how was that even possible?). "Not funny, Weasley."

So Charlie hadn't been wrong. How ironic that he'd done nothing about that while in France and usually alone with Draco. But the two of them had been broken in many ways and Charlie hadn't been interested in another body to repair then.

Maybe he was only interested now because Draco wouldn't be his, wouldn't force him out… he didn't finish that thought. Charlie, who was teased by family, dragon handler and friend alike that he'd only ever love dragons.

He touched the first glove, his bare fingers sliding against leather, gliding it off Draco's hand. "What are you doing?" Draco asked, swallowing, his throat bobbing up and down. Charlie grinned.

"Something I should have done in France, but didn't."

"Didn't think you were interested in me," Draco admitted, pushing himself back on the barrel, legs straddling it, letting Charlie do the work.

"Wasn't ready to be," Charlie admitted with a shrug. He felt better about himself after all that time there. And back home. Family soothed his anger from the war now the way wine had done there.

Draco didn't comment as the cold air touched his wrist, watching Charlie remove the first glove, then the second, slowly exposing skin.

"Figures you'd want to hit on me here in a shed when we could have been in a house there."

Charlie laughed. "Live a little, Malfoy."

"I’m still here, aren't I?"

Nor would Charlie tell him he felt more comfortable here, in the shed then all the trappings of the Malfoy's home in France. No way.

The gloves removed, Charlie held Draco's hands up to his face, warm air from his breath brushing against palms until he licked one. Draco smiled at him and Charlie couldn't help but wrap those pale hands around his darker skin, sliding closer.

He waited a moment; wanting to make sure he had permission, but Draco didn't move, let Charlie do the work for him.

"Git," Charlie said and Draco grinned, leaning his forehead against Charlie's.

"Just kiss me already, Weasley."

A command he wanted to hear. Charlie leaned forward, snorting softly when they bumped noses and stilled, waiting for Draco to tilt his head the other way. Lips against each other, one pair chapped and the other soft. Breath mingled and Charlie licked, barely pushing his tongue between Dracos' lips, asking for permission. He lowered his hands, pressed them to Draco's neck, feeling his pulse speed up. Moved his tongue more, gliding against teeth and tongue, fingertips feeling the story of Draco's arousal.

Moved his hands again, kneading through the thick coat, working his way down to slim hips to get them closer. Stepped forward, his legs spread to let Draco between them until his cock rubbed against Draco's body.



Charlie reached for the buttons and Draco shook his head, "It's cold."

"I'll keep you warm."

He undid buttons on both coats and tucked Draco's arms beneath his. Romania was colder than Britain and Charlie didn't mind a little less warmth in exchange for Draco's heat.

"What do you want?"

Draco grinned; Charlie couldn't see it, but felt the muscles against his chest, where Draco had buried his face, licking skin. He sighed, shivering from the touch.

"Your mouth," he said and Charlie nodded. Hell yes.

Without another word, he stepped back and dropped to his knees. So what if it was dirty, he didn't care. His hands cupped over Draco's groin, Charlie fumbled to get to skin, wasting no time wrapping lips around cock and Draco hissed.

"More," he said and Charlie complied, more than willing. Cock pulled away from foreskin and Charlie licked the head, sucking in as he slid down the length, taking as much as possible. Not noticing when Draco grabbed his short hair, finally feeling it as Draco shoved, making Charlie's eyes water.

He yanked his head back and Draco let him, smirking and Charlie only rolled his eyes, changing the angle to look up. He couldn't quite see Draco, but knew Draco could see him. With teeth pressed lightly to tender skin, he slid down the length, sucking him in.

"Yes," Draco said, his voice hitching over a single syllable.

He licked the skin, loving Draco's taste on his lips, in his mouth and finally, as Draco's breath became more labored, pulled away, yanking Draco to his feet.

"What are you doing?"

"Want more," Charlie replied, pushing Draco back, around the barrel of cider and boxes littering the floor. Against the wall. "Help me," Charlie said, tilting his hips forward and Draco nodded, agreeing.

Clothes open, Charlie took both of Draco's hands and held them up, Draco's strength no match, even with one hand. His other hand he wrapped around their cocks, pumping them together. Draco threw his head back and Charlie surrendered, licking the defined muscles in his throat. He pressed lips to collarbone, making Draco shudder, but he shook his head. "No marks, Weasley."

Charlie chuckled, but agreed, a loose shirt would have given that away.

Draco nipped at his cheek and Charlie drew away, returning lips to lips for another kiss. The heat between them made both of them forget the cold night. Too warm even and Charlie yanked away from lips, groaning, his voice urgent. Desperate. "So close."

Draco's head thudded against the shed wall briefly before he leaned in and bit Charlie, burying teeth into shoulder muscle and sucking.

"Hey," Charlie said, weak and shuddering from his orgasm.

Draco didn't let go until he spilled over Charlie's hand and the tremors stopped.

"What?"

"I thought you said no marks."

"On me, that will blend right in with the freckles on you."

"Git," Charlie said again, shaking his head at him.

They'd been outside a long time and Charlie glanced at the door, a little worried, but not willing to move quite yet. Hopefully, George would cover for him in this. Though his hesitation had to be noticeable by Draco.

His clothing skewered by Charlie's hands, Draco took a deep breath. "Of course, we could always go inside."

"To my family's holiday party? Are you barking mad?"

"I did tell you, in France, I wanted to live my own life." Draco pressed his hand against Charlie's throat.

"That would be considered walking into the closet, I believe is the Muggle term."

"Are you suggesting this isn't worth it?"

Charlie sputtered, tried to speak and didn't know what to say. Instead of being offended, Draco laughed and wiggled his other hand free from Charlie's grip. "Look, my fingernails are dirty and I'm wearing last year's robes. I'd fit right into a Weasley function, don't you think?"

It took Charlie several moments to realize this was Draco's form of begging. That maybe he didn't want to marry anyone, even a young woman willing to turn a blind eye to her husband's activities.

"How old is Astoria?"

A change in conversation, but Draco kept up quick enough. "A year or two younger than myself."

"So she's not old enough to marry immediately?"

"No, she needs to finish attending Hogwarts first."

"Why don't we make an agreement?"

"Not a Vow?" Draco said, his sarcasm firmly in place again.

"No, thank you. Why don't we continue this while she's away next year at Hogwarts and see what happens?"

"After I'm officially engaged?"

"Yes, and before you're officially married."

"Your family's not so bad, Weasley." Even as Draco said it, he was straightening up his clothes and fastening buttons. Neither of them was quite willing to flout their fathers; Draco was an only son and Fred hadn't been dead long enough.

Charlie shook his head; sure the orgasm must have left Draco with addled wits. "You've only spent time with George, Draco. Right now, the whole lot of them is inside – including Hermione, Ginny and Harry."

"So I didn't wash my hands for nothing?"

Charlie grinned, "You did it for the best reason possible, Draco."

"And what is that?"

"To show me just how committed you were to the idea."

They both paused a moment, then laughed, delighted with each other and the fact they'd managed to not get caught quite yet.

"Charlie…"

He shut Draco up with one more kiss. There was no gnashing of teeth this time, only parted lips and gentle swipes of tongue against tongue. Charlie pressed his hands flat against Draco's chest, still in his right mind enough to not clench and wrinkle the fabric.

"We should make plans to see each other again."

Charlie stepped away, taking a deep breath. He wasn't a young boy any longer, but he could feel his cock twitching once again. Damn Malfoy.

"Next week," Charlie said, nodding his head.

They both hesitated, but neither of them moved toward the other again. Charlie picked up his wand and pointed at the barrel of cider, casting the necessary spell to take it inside.

His mind was lost in a foggy haze of doubt that would only clear once he couldn't see Draco, who remained inside the shed until Charlie was gone. They had next week after all and months before the wedding. It was the correct choice to not cancel Draco's engagement just for a romp in the shed.

But Charlie, who had always managed to avoid any sort of long-term relationships, looked forward to more encounters. He adjusted his clothes one more time, hoping that his flushed expression would be mistaken for the cold. A pop of apparition and he waved, even though Draco was gone. Maybe next year would be the more appropriate time to invite Draco to The Burrow.