Title: Black Light
Author: silvernatasha
Characters/Pairings: Charlie Weasley/Seamus Finnigan
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: Exhibitionism, mirrors
Other Warnings: Voyeurism?
Word Count: ~1,200
Summary/Description: There's a club in Knockturn Alley where anything goes.
Author's Notes: Thanks to bloodrunner666 @ lj for beta-ing this for me last-minute.

"I know your heart belongs to the dragons," is Molly Weasley's acceptance that George's little Roxanne with her springy brown curls and massive dark eyes will most likely be her last grandchild unless Bill and Fleur follow through with their threats of a fourth.

Charlie accepts her acceptance. It's good enough for him and it's true. He loves dragons and has devoted his life and mind to them.

Charlie also loves cocks.

Every size, every shape, every colour. Circumcised, uncircumcised. Pierced. Even, in one case, tattooed.

His current favourite belongs to a sandy-haired blond with an accent that makes him hard as a rock when Seamus whispers filth in his ear under the throb of bass-heavy music. He closes his eyes as Seamus tells him precisely what he's going to do to Charlie's cock, the lights of the club flashing blue and purple on his eyelids.

Seamus' hand creeps up his thigh, tongue darting out to caress the shell of his ear. It isn't simply the heat of the firewhiskey that brings colour to his freckled complexion and he lets out an approving and shaky breath. Opening his eyes, he turns his head to look at Seamus. The Irishman's shaggy hair falls in his eyes just so. Beyond him, a couple of taut and toned young wizards watch them with keen interest. He could bounce a sickle off their arses, but Charlie would rather have someone with a little experience. Seamus has experience in spades.

When Seamus smirks, Charlie kisses him fiercely, plunging his fingers into that thick thatch of blond hair and pulling Seamus closer in the booth. He can feel a moan go through Seamus more than he can hear it, his fingers teasing the hair at his nape before they trickle down his lean back and over the thin white t-shirt that leaves nothing to the imagination. Sometimes, the lights make it glow as they flash over the entwined pair, drawing a few more lascivious eyes in their direction.

Charlie knows that beneath the t-shirt lies skin far more tanned than his own, tattoos of intricate Irish knots curling over his shoulders and ribs that just beg his tongue to follow their lines. Tempting, but Seamus' promises already have him hard and breathless. His teeth nip at Seamus' lower lip and Seamus gasps an affectionate, "Fuck."

"Get those lips around my cock," Charlie growls, their foreheads pressed together. Seamus nods and Charlie swings one leg up onto the curved leather-covered seat of the booth, reaching for his glass and the last swallow of firewhiskey as Seamus unfastens his jeans and slips to his knees, careful not to bump his head on the table.

Charlie watches Seamus out of the corner of his eye while finishing the drink, his free hand reaching over to stroke over Seamus' hair. Following orders, Seamus' mouth quickly engulfs Charlie's cock, a hot, wet heat that loosens his hand on the glass for a moment until he puts it aside.

As he expels a breath, Charlie's eyes light on the mirrors that surround them. No small wonder Seamus had been sitting here waiting for him. Glancing down, Charlie sees Seamus' gaze turned up, watching both of them from as many angles as Charlie is. Seamus' nipples are pebbled against his t-shirt and Charlie knows that his cock is just as hard. He has a few ideas what to do with that later, but none of them stick in his mind as Seamus curls his tongue around the head of Charlie's cock, teasing and flicking back and forth.

Charlie licks his lips, thighs shifting further apart. For a moment, his gaze shifts away. One of the young wizards is jerking the other off, his hand a brilliant white around the other's thick length, but both of them are watching Charlie and Seamus. Charlie smirks, fingers threading through Seamus' hair and pulling just a little.

Seamus' groan vibrates down Charlie's cock and he slowly slides his lips up and down the length until he pulls away with a wet noise. As he rests his hands on Charlie's legss, Seamus can feel a slight tremor in the muscular thighs. Charlie's hips press towards him, but Seamus presses right back, ducking his head and turning his attention to Charlie's balls.

The movements of Seamus' head as it dips and bobs seem to follow the rhythm of the music that pounds through the club. Hypnotised, Charlie watches through half-closed eyes, his breathing growing heavier and cock starting to feel lonely. "I said suck my cock," he demands with another tug at Seamus' hair; Seamus' fingers curl into his thighs.

Seamus spares a moment for a cheeky grin before taking Charlie's heavy cock into his mouth again. Charlie can't hold back his groans, swearing with increasing volume and creativity until he comes with a grunt in Seamus' mouth. Spots of Charlie's release shine white on his chin as a black light spins over their booth and then backs away to the dance floor.

Charlie relaxes back against the booth, thick thighs relaxing under Seamus' touch. The Irishman wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, looking like the cat that got the cream.

"Gonna give me a hand now?" Seamus asks, eyes crinkling with amusement. Standing, the bulge of his cock against his tight trousers is just about at Charlie's eye level.

"Course," Charlie murmurs, beckoning. Seamus already has his cock half out as he sits down beside Charlie. Charlie smiles greedily, body buzzing from whiskey and climax, and brushes Seamus' hand aside, replacing it with his own firm grip around the hard length. Seizing the opportunity, Seamus kisses his neck, mouth as hot and eager as it was on Charlie's cock, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

Charlie loves the feel of a cock in his hand, the warm weight of it submitting to his touches. He knows Seamus' intimately, knows what makes it react. He knows what makes Seamus react, really, and how if he strokes his thumb just like that Seamus will purr obscenities against his skin.

Hearing a perfectly valid accusation of, "Cocksucker," rumble against his throat, Charlie smiles to himself. Later, he'll live up to that name. Now, he wants to make Seamus come and reduce him to what he knows will be a blathering heap of Irishman next to him. His thumb strokes again and Seamus twitches in his hand, gasping.

Seamus' words lose their coherence and between kisses he pants cock and feck and then, finally, a whining Charlie as he spills his load over Charlie's hand.

Charlie lets out a deep, contented breath and he looks to the mirror above them. Seamus leans against him, pressing suckling kisses to his neck and ever lithe line of his body relaxed. Slowly, Charlie gives Seamus' cock a last few gentle strokes, relishing every last moment of contact.

For a long moment, neither says anything. Then, Charlie shrugs, sitting up straighter. His gives Seamus a nudge. "Another drink? It's my round."