Title: Write It
Author: mindabbles
Characters/Pairings: Charlie/Draco, Pansy
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: Body writing
Other Warnings: EWE for Draco
Word Count: 4,500
Summary/Description: Draco operates a holiday tour company that seems to keep taking tours to Romania. Pansy is suspicious until she finds out that Charlie has excellent penmanship.
Author's Notes: Both the theme and the pairing are for help_japan winners. Thank you for bidding and I hope you enjoy! Thank you so much to woldy and elizassecret for the excellent beta work. ♥♥ Thank you to the mods for accommodating my posting fail. ♥♥




Pansy

Draco can't admit why he flits about the world. He's a clever man and it boggles the mind, frankly. When will he learn that you can't run from yourself – that wherever you go, you take your same self with you? He's been running since just after the war. In another time, this would have been his right, his gap year before fulfilling his responsibilities to the realm.

He barely said "kiss my arse" and he left. I tried to find him at first, but he went none of the obvious places, nowhere so mundane as Paris or Milan. He'd seen those places. They were part of what he was leaving, I suppose. Seeing where he does go, I've often wondered if he's touring the misunderstood. Draco Malfoy, heir of several inbred houses, runs holiday tours of out-of-the-way places. The concept alternately makes me giggle and reach for the vodka, especially when I imagine Lucius' face.

I know he'll put up a fuss about my coming along this time, but he won't talk me out of it. There's something he's found while he was off chasing dragons – something that's put the first real smile on his face I've seen in years, and I want to know what it is.


Draco

"Wasn't I a sight?" The enduringly enthusiastic Tilly shouts over the din of chatter and clattering of crockery. "I was close enough to touch her."

The conversation goes on around her and Draco feels vaguely sorry for her pathetic attempt to impress the others – some of them in search of adventure, some trying to shake themselves out of a rut, and some collecting memories for the sake of it. Tilly wants friends and what she doesn't know is that tours are temporary. None of them will ever see each other again. That's why they do it.

"Too close for my comfort," Charlie says, levelling her with his commanding, brown-eyed stare. He still has on the leather jacket and breeches that are the tools of his trade, the rich brown leather scorched in some places, just like his heavily freckled, muscular arms.

She flushes and Draco recognizes that look. He's seen enough tour-hounds look at Charlie that way. She smiles at Charlie, thrilled that he noticed her daring. Charlie smiles back and Draco can see that Tilly hopes it means he'd like to witness such daring in other venues.

Draco bristles at the thought and there's suddenly a hand on his knee, squeezing. Pansy leans in, her painted lips nearly touching his ear. "Calme-toi, chéri. Charlie Weasley is as gay as your outfit."

He shoots Pansy a withering look. She always has known him too well for his own good.


Charlie

Charlie can't imagine what depths of insanity he'd sunk to when he agreed to these tours, and particularly when he agreed to host them monthly during the summer. There's a warm bed and a bottle of whisky in his room that would do nicely after a long day in the keep. He also has a new burn on the back of his thigh, courtesy of the idiot woman that Malfoy's dragged along with him.

Malfoy leans back in his chair, his well bred sense of entitlement making him able to seem much more at ease than he really is – to the untrained eye that is. Usually on these tours, Malfoy ends up the last in the dining room and Charlie offers him a drink and a chat. He's found to his considerable surprise, that Malfoy's company is pleasant enough. That woman, Pansy, who hangs on Draco's every movement isn't the type for this tour, and Charlie finds himself unaccountably irritated. She should be in Milan and Charlie wonders if he's completely wrong about Malfoy and she's fucking him. The thought makes Charlie long for his bottle of whisky all the more. He likes watching Malfoy and he'd quite like to do it without the constant flash of coiffed brown hair and the twisted little red smile.

The woman who helped him to acquire his newest set of scars is going on at his elbow. He nods and scans the faces at the table. He is the host, after all. His eyes light again on Malfoy. He really is a beautiful man, all smooth lines and long, lanky frame. He's taller than Charlie, but probably a stone lighter. He'd fit neatly in Charlie's lap.


Draco

Charlie sits at the head of the table; the chieftain holding court. Draco lifts his goblet to his lips. The cool, golden wine is bright on his tongue and he feels the alcohol settling in the back of his skull.

Charlie is in animated conversation with Tilly. She looks as if she is going to burst with pleasure, but Draco sees now what Pansy meant. There's no spark of interest on Charlie's handsome face. He polite and obliging, but what Tilly hopes to see is nowhere in sight.

Draco's charges all seem content here. He's heard rumblings that some are not so keen to move on to the city and the historic sights there. Perhaps for people from Kent, a hearty meal at a rustic table after a day dodging dragon fire (or that's what they'll tell the neighbours) makes a linen tablecloth after a day of tramping about in the heat pale in comparison.

"I think we'll see about adding a day or two here," Draco says, more to himself than Pansy, but of course she has a ready answer.

"Adding a day or two, Baden Powell? When did you become so rugged?"

Charlie rises from the table. He smiles at everyone he passes, and Draco can see that he makes them all feel special. From what he's seen of Charlie on his increasingly frequent visits, the man doesn't have an unkind bone in his body. And yet, he has just enough ruthlessness when necessary to stop him being utterly sickening. The combination makes Draco want to climb in to his lap and kiss him senseless.

"Shut up," he hisses. "There's no sense in dragging them off if they don't want to go. They've paid and that's the problem with these tours – never get to know one place well, just a taste here and there."

"Darling, shall I point out that you make a handsome living providing these tastes? I might also mention that I could use the more refined tastes of Bucharest before all this hearty food takes up permanent residence on my hips."

"You might mention that, but then I might remind you that you're the only guest here who hasn't paid."


Charlie

Charlie stops behind Malfoy's chair on his way to the kitchens. Malfoy and his friend, Pansy, have been clucking at each other like a pair of hens. She's annoying him, that's plain to see, and the irritation brings a nice flush to his cheeks. Charlie feels a flare of resentment – unjustified, he knows – that the presence of this school chum means that Draco will not be looking for company on this trip.

"Did I hear that you're thinking of adding more time to this leg of your tour?" Charlie asks before realising that this gives away the fact that he was watching Draco's mouth from across the room.

"Yes," Draco says, and he seems slightly on-edge. "I've gathered that some in the group would like more time here with your and your fellows' rustic charms."

Draco glances up at Charlie with his striking pale grey eyes.

Charlie leans over a bit, his face closer to Draco's. "Some in the group, is it?"

"Why else?" Draco asks. Although his gaze is steady, Charlie sees a flicker of something that stirs in his belly.

"Why else indeed," Charlie says. He smiles and continues on to the kitchens, rolling his wand between his fingers.


Draco

Weasley is watching him.

Draco sips his wine, aware of the way the warm eyes follow his lips. Pansy is still talking in his ear, something about Blaise and his latest fling. Draco nods and looks at her, looks pointedly anywhere but back at Charlie, pretending indifference.

He feels the prickle of certainty that if he were to meet Charlie's gaze and smile, inclining his head toward the door in invitation as he stood the leave the room, Charlie would follow him. He wants this so badly he can feel it in his fingertips. But he’s not sure that he wants the delicious, toe curling tension that keeps his heart racing whenever he is here among the dragons to melt away. He thinks of his mother telling him that very often anticipation of something is better than the thing itself.

Draco feels warmth on the inside of his wrist, as if he'd pressed up against a warming charm, or the mouth of a lover. He runs his fingers over the sensitive skin and turns his hand, palm up, to look at this wrist. Glowing, faint but golden, is the word Beautiful.

Draco manages to conceal his gasp with a cough and Pansy keeps talking. He looks down and the word is gone. He can still feel the memory of it on his skin.

His eyes immediately dart to the head of the table. Charlie is in animated conversation with Tilly and Uther, the recently widowed man from Ulster.

"Pansy—" he begins and he feels as if warm fingers are tracing patterns on the inside of his other wrist.

I'm going glows in tiny but absolutely discernible letters.

He forces himself to keep his eyes on Pansy. She's frowning at his interruption and the way his gaze keeps drifting over her shoulder. Charlie looks utterly cool and calm, absorbed in his duties as host. Draco has a moment of panic that Isaac, the mousey little fellow from Cornwall, is coming on to him. Then he realises that the likelihood of Isaac being able to pull off such a complex spell is slim at best.

He lifts his goblet and takes a deep drink of his wine. He desperately wants to know the end of that sentence. Pansy talks on as if Draco's pulse isn't quickening and fluttering in his stomach.

His palm warms. He opens his hand and the letters t...o...m...a...k...e...y...o...u slowly appear, as if someone is holding a quill and teasing, drawing them out on his skin.

Draco closes his eyes and his fist. Pansy's voice falters and he knows that anyone who looks his way will see him falling apart, but he can't care about that as he feels the final word of this message drawn out on the heel of his hand. He knows what it is before he unfurls his fingers to look.

come.

"Are you ill?" Pansy asks as Draco swallows hard.

"A little warm," he says, pulling at his collar to prove his point.

"You're behaving as if you're deranged."

"Hush," he says as he finally caves and glances up. Charlie's eyes meet his. This time Draco sees it, a tiny movement in Charlie's shoulder, the barest flex of muscle as he moves his wand under the table. Draco inclines his head, not quite a nod but enough to show interest.

The pleasant, warm sensation tickles across his ankle and Draco's breath catches. This is so like the touch of a lover and Draco realises how long it has been since someone touched him with what feels like affection.

Draco lifts his foot and rests his ankle on the opposite knee. He slips his trouser cuff up and slides his sock down, holding his breath.

Follow me.

Draco will. He's lost. He accepts this, gives up without a fight, before he even lets his trousers settle back around his shoe.

Charlie rises from the table and says something to the group – Draco can't hear what for the pounding of his blood in his ears. He watches Charlie take his leave and he feels as if he's fifteen and just been told that Adrian Pucey fancies him, too.

Charlie walks away with a quick backward glance at Draco, and Draco counts to ten. He takes a deep breath and turns to tell Pansy he's away for the night, and looks directly into Pansy's glaring eyes.

"If you're going to ignore me, you could at least have the decency to share the juicy details."

Draco's heart is racing. He leans close and whispers into Pansy's ear, "I think I'm about to be fucked within an inch of my life and I do so need it."

"You do that, darling," Pansy mutters. "Details tomorrow," she calls after him as he follows Charlie.

Charlie's cottage is halfway up the hill on the eastern edge of the compound. It's rough but well-kept, like Charlie. Draco stands on the doorstep, trying to decide if he should barge in or knock. For someone who is used to planning out every detail of every day for a dozen other people, Draco has made remarkably few decisions other than to follow Charlie's lead.

Draco raises his hand to knock and as he hesitates, Come in appears on the back of his hand. He pushes open the door.

Charlie leans against the doorway between his tiny front room and cupboard of a kitchen. His arms are crossed over his chest, his wand dangling loosely from one hand, and he's watching Draco as if he's not the one who's been making all the first moves.

"You made a grand claim earlier," Draco says. He crosses the room and draws his fingers along Charlie's wand. "Are you a man of your word?"

Charlie smiles, a sexy, open grin, and Merlin, Draco's cock strains the front of his trousers. "I wasn't sure you'd really come. I'm glad you did," Charlie says.

Draco blinks at the lack of guile, the ease with which Charlie drops his pursuer role and is just – himself.

"I thought you were pretty persuasive."

"Really," Charlie says and Draco just stops himself from jumping as the warm, caressing sensation spreads across the front of his shoulder. Charlie reaches out a hand and Draco's breath catches in his throat as his robes and the collar of his shirt are pushed aside. Clothes off is written on his skin.

"You watch," Draco says, stepping back. "And write," he adds, nodding at Charlie's wand.

Charlie smiles and twirls his wand in his fingers.

Draco slips his robes off his shoulders and unbuttons his shirt. The moment his shirt is open, hanging to frame his chest and stomach, he feels the letters caressing his stomach.

Exquisite.

He pulls off his shirt and drops it onto the pile of robes at his feet. Draco pauses and looks at Charlie through the curtain of hair that has fallen over half of his face. He purses his lips and then smiles slowly.

Belt.

"You do it," Draco says.

Charlie laughs and hooks one finger behind Draco's belt buckle. He pulls and Draco is forced to take a halting step closer. His belt joins the rest of his clothes on the floor, and he lowers his trousers until they pool around his ankles.

Charlie raises his wand and touches the tip to Draco's bare thigh. Draco touches Charlie's arm, light trails with his fingers on Charlie's curved bicep. Charlie moves his wand and I want to taste you appears slowly on Draco's thigh, each word tingling on his skin and making him harder.

"Want to get on with it then?" Draco says, trying to keep the needy whine out of his voice.

Charlie places his hand on Draco's chest and Draco feels his nipple harden under Charlie's palm. He feels Charlie's wand on his other thigh and looks down to see In a heartbeat, scrawled up his leg, the bottom of the t curling under his pants.

"This first," Charlie says. His voice is husky and soft and Draco leans to meet him. Charlie presses his lips to Draco's and Draco sighs as he parts his lips to tease the tip of Charlie's tongue with his. Charlie turns them, pressing Draco against the wall. They kiss until Draco is rubbing himself against Charlie's hard, fully clothed body, completely beyond caring about anything other than getting more – more of Charlie's mouth, his hands, his delicious words.

Now glows on Draco's bicep and Charlie falls to his knees. "Watch," Charlie says. He pulls Draco's cock free from his pants, taking Draco in one hand, his other still clutching his wand.

"Now," Draco repeats and he gasps when Charlie licks the tip of his cock.

Delicious is written across Draco's chest. The s curls teasingly around his nipple.

Draco threads his fingers through Charlie's thick hair, urging him on. Charlie yields to the pressure and opens his mouth. Draco lets his eyes fall closed until he feels the now familiar warmth on the other side of his chest, sending a jolt of pleasure through his body as Watch unfurls over his nipple. Draco looks down to watch his achingly hard cock slide between Charlie's kiss-swollen lips. It's clear in seconds that Charlie is an expert at more than dragons. Draco clenches his fingers in Charlie's hair, more to keep himself from sliding to the floor than anything else, as Charlie massages the underside of his cock with his tongue and sucks with ever building pressure.

"Oh, yes," Draco moans and Charlie answers with so hard, so good along the line of hair on Draco's abdomen.

How Charlie can still spell, can even think, Draco can't begin to imagine. The world could turn upside down and all Draco would care about is the hot slide of Charlie's mouth on his cock.

He rocks his hips, thrusting into Charlie's mouth, the head of his cock nudging the back of Charlie's throat. He doesn't back off, doesn't slow, and Draco feels his cock stiffening, his belly tightening. Charlie's suction is unbearably deep and Draco is desperate to come.

"Ngh, I –" he moans.

Charlie angles his head to take Draco deeper even as Draco feels the warm touch of Charlie's writing on the inside of his wrist, on the precise spot where Charlie had first written, hours ago. He turns his wrists and looks, eyes blurry with his impending orgasm.

Come it says.

Draco presses the word, still warm, to his cheek and he comes hard in Charlie's mouth. Charlie presses a hand into Draco's stomach, steadying him and taking over as he works Draco's pulsing cock until Draco can't stand it anymore. Draco shudders and then stills, still holding Charlie's head with one hand.

"You'll have to teach me that charm," Draco says, leaning heavily against the wall.

"This first," Charlie insists. He rises from the floor, takes Draco's hand, and presses the palm against his cloth-covered erection.


Charlie

That it is morning slowly seeps into Charlie's consciousness. Red light filters in through his eyelids. Warm skin touches his at his thighs and chest. Soft hair is under his cheek and across his pillow.

Draco's body moves almost imperceptibly with his light breathing. His skin is like silk under Charlie's fingers. Charlie runs his hand over Draco's chest; he feels Draco's nipple harden under his touch.

Charlie reaches for his wand. He leans up on one elbow and lets his gaze wander slowly down Draco's long, slim body. He flourishes his wand, tracing the words, Good morning in the air. He watches them glow into existence on Draco's hip. Draco's cock stirs. Soon, it won't matter what he writes, Draco will respond to the feel of the spell on his skin.

He moves his wand again and want you appears in smooth script, coiling around Draco's stiffening cock.

Draco's slim body is close against his and Charlie wraps his arm around Draco's waist. Draco opens his mouth in a barely audible gasp as Charlie presses forward, his cock pushing against the softness of Draco's arse. Draco arches his back and there is luscious friction on Charlie's cock.

Draco is flushed, his pale hair falling over his skin. He blinks his eyes open, unfocussed and already heated with want. After seeing him so perfectly composed in public, Charlie would never have guessed how beautifully Draco unravels. Ever since the first time he watched the man strut across the compound Charlie's been surprised by how badly he wants Draco, and having him seems to have only increased his desire.

Charlie grips his wand and, pressing his lips to Draco's ear, he slowly, slowly mouths the plea, Can I fuck you? even as he makes them appear on Draco's thigh. Draco bends his knee to read the words as they're breathed into his ear and Charlie moans when the movement opens Draco to him just enough so his cock slides between Draco's arse cheeks.

Charlie slides his hand between their bodies and slips his fingers into Draco's cleft. They've been asleep a short enough time that his finger meets warm slickness when it traces the rim of Draco's hole. Charlie's cock aches at the memory of what they did last night.

"Oh," Draco sighs. He pushes back and the tip of Charlie's finger slips inside. For someone who's never at a loss for words at any other time, Draco doesn't waste his breath talking during sex. He gasps, he sighs, he moans, but his words are sparse, making each one all the more poignant.

Charlie slides his finger deeper into Draco's hot body as he presses his open mouth to the back of Draco's neck. When Draco gasps, "Yes," he slips a second finger alongside the first and works them in and out.

His chest is pressed tightly against Draco's back. Charlie utters a spell and slicks his cock. He nudges Draco's hole with the head of his cock, rolling his hips to press past the tight muscle. He can feel Draco tighten around him as he pushes in. Charlie rocks his hips back and forth. Draco's cock is hard as stone in his hand.

Draco melts against Charlie, his head back on Charlie's shoulder, his leg thrown over Charlie's thigh. Charlie is rolled almost onto his back, with Draco on top of him, meeting him thrust for thrust, his back pushing against Charlie's chest and pressing him into the mattress.

"Harder," Draco moans, reaching back to grip Charlie's hip.

Charlie digs his heels into the bed and fucks Draco harder, squeezing his fingers around the head of Draco's gorgeous, long cock. He bites down hard on his lip to stop himself from coming. Charlie wants Draco's body to tense around him, his orgasm massaging Charlie's cock in waves when he comes, and if he yields to the feeling of Draco's hot body around his cock, to the pressure of his soft skin and firm muscles pressing against his stomach as Draco fucks himself on Charlie's cock, he won't get to feel that – at least for a little while.

"Come on," Charlie groans desperately. "Come, fuck, I want you to come."

Draco tosses his head from side to side, panting. "Please, please," he gasps. He rocks back onto Charlie's cock in short, sharp, frantic bursts.

Charlie tastes blood from his own lip, the pain the only reason he hasn't already come, spilling into Draco's stunning body. "What do you—"

"Write it," Draco keens, circling his hips and grinding down against Charlie.

"Merlin, oh, okay," Charlie gasps, trying to remember where he's put his wand. He's pants at wandless magic, but he's about to give it a go when a wand is shoved at him. It's Draco's wand and it feels alive in his hand.

Charlie can feel Draco holding his breath and Charlie slows down, languidly rolling his hips. He can feel his cock pushing in and sliding out of Draco's body, inch by inch. He grabs Draco's wrist and holds his arm out, palm up.

Draco, come. Now. he writes in large letters from Draco's inner elbow to the pulse point at his wrist.

Draco groans loudly and reaches to stroke his own cock, circling his hips so his arse pushes down into Charlie's abdomen. Charlie closes his eyes to feel it. Draco's body clenches on his and Charlie comes, his own cock pulsing in long, intense waves. He splays his hand on Draco's stomach, holding him there, keeping the weight of Draco's body on him, until they've both stopped shuddering and their ragged breathing slows.

"That was unbelievable," Charlie says.

"You have excellent penmanship," Draco answers. He rolls off Charlie and settles back into the precise position he occupied when Charlie awoke.

The birds have yet to stir and Charlie lets himself drift back to sleep, his arm draped loosely around Draco's waist.


Pansy

The first hints of dawn paint the sky, the deep blue of that time when it's so late that it's early giving way to swaths of pink and grey. I open the door and step out into the morning. The air is cool and moist, but even at this in-between hour I feel the heat of the day threatening. I tug my silk dressing gown closed and consider waking Draco for a walk before breakfast, and where on earth did that thought come from in my head that, in London, rarely leaves the pillow before ten.

The silence of the early morning is so complete that I hear a door open across the compound. Charlie steps from his cottage. He's laughing. I can't hear the deep, rumbling sound, but I see his body shake with it and the broad smile on his face. He reaches into the door with one arm and pulls someone from his tiny home. Draco trips gracefully across the threshold and is folded into Charlie's muscular embrace. Draco's nearly a head taller and he leans down to kiss Charlie, just a peck at first, and then it deepens and I imagine I hear them both sigh even from this distance. I almost want to turn away, it seems so private. I don't.

Charlie's broad hands splay on Draco's back and he pulls back from the kiss, his mouth moving around words that I can't hear. His raised, waiting eyebrows tell me that it was a question. They have been dancing around each other for months. Poor Draco has never been good at this, at answering these sleepy-sweet, morning after questions in ways that don't convince him and any would-be lover that he's better off turning tail and running. I'm one to talk, collector of pretty, ephemeral things that I am.

Draco's lips move and I wait for Charlie's face to fall and Draco to stalk off, straight to me to announce that we are off to Bucharest where we'll don our finest and the pretty young things won't know what's hit them.

Charlie's handsome face breaks into a genuine smile and he threads his fingers through Draco's hair, pulling him into a long, slow kiss. On clichéd cue, the first bird of the morning opens its throat in song.

Draco looks happy. Perhaps he'll learn to not mind so much taking himself along with him when he runs. Perhaps he'll even stop running. Perhaps there's hope for me yet.