Entry tags:

beholder_2011, charlie weasley, fic, rating:nc17, slash, viktor krum, viktor/charlie

FIC: "Woman in a Green Dress" for icarusinwax
Recipient: icarusinwax
Author/Artist: westernredcedar
Title: Woman in a Green Dress
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Viktor Krum/Charlie Weasley
Word Count: ~3600
Warnings/Content Information (Highlight to View): *Very minor issues of consent, sort of, in a way*.
Summary: Late in the war, two informants rendezvous in Bucharest.
Author's/Artist's Notes: icarusinwax, I hope you enjoy this small glimpse into Viktor's wild life.
Also, though the National Museum of Art of Romania is a real place, I have entirely invented my descriptions of it, including most of the art it houses and when it was opened (it would not have really existed at the time of this story, because it was damaged and closed in 1989). Apologies to those who know the real place.
Also also, huge thank yous to bethbethbeth for her patience, kindness, and modly skills!

---

Viktor Krum was late.

No, that was not accurate. He was late for the appointed time of the rendezvous, but that was his plan. So in truth, he was arriving precisely on time.

He'd learned that it was to his advantage to arrive later than his contact. He was too easily recognized, even in a seemingly safe Muggle location such as this one. There was no point in arriving so early that he would have to stand around waiting. Besides, before his death, his father had passed along this piece of wisdom: "If they have to wait for you, Viktor, they are already in your power." Viktor had come to appreciate that advice more than he cared to admit in the last few months.

The museum was pleasantly lit with a mixture of natural light and artificial Muggle electricity. Located in a former palace, the National Museum of Art of Romania was in itself a piece of art. Viktor took his time in the first two rooms, admiring the ceilings and the intricate parquet floors, not to mention the masterpieces on the walls. Following the glossy map he'd been supplied at the entrance, he slunk his way towards the modern wing, adjusting his cap and scarf over his face on the off-chance a rabid Quidditch fan happened to also be interested in the works of Caravaggio and Rubens.

There were more people in the modern rooms, silently strolling by cubists and
impressionists, audio tour wands plastered to their ear. Viktor slowed his pace to blend in with the crowd, looking like just another local out to appreciate art on a cool spring day, or so he hoped. He hunched down further.

Viktor spotted his contact immediately, standing just where he was meant to, in front of a large Monet of a woman in a green dress. He was hard to miss, with his shock of red hair and wide, freckled face. Viktor took in his broad shoulders, clearly defined beneath his shirt, his deeply filthy boots, entirely out of place in the museum. The fellow's eyes fluttered, and Viktor realized it was possible he was going to fall over asleep if he had to pretend to look at the woman in the painting for one moment more.

Viktor grinned into his scarf, then took a deep breath and sauntered to the man's side, eyes fixed on the Monet.

"This painting. It reminds me of the works of Dumbledore," Viktor said under his breath.

He felt the eyes of his companion turn to him for just a moment before the man answered. "No, I sense the influence of Potter in this one."

"Ah, yes," said Viktor. "Now I see."

Contact established, they slowly moved off together through the room.

"Thank fuck you arrived. I despise the sodding impressionists," said the red haired man. "What have you got for me?"

Viktor had been working as an informant for Dumbledore for the past seven months. He'd been approached while in England playing an exhibition game. Dumbledore had learned he was being courted by the Death Eaters, and had proposed this arrangement. When he considered it from Dumbledore's perspective, Viktor could see that he was uniquely suited to the job of informant and spy: world-traveler, too well-known to be suspicious, and famed for his silence. He'd accepted the offer with a curt nod.

Viktor was pleased to be able to pass along any information he learned about the Dark Lord's plans. He had seen the look of terror in Karkaroff's eyes before he fled, and revenge would be bittersweet.

Viktor cleared his throat. "What is your name?"

"Charlie. What's yours?"

Viktor kept his eyes firmly on the Courbet in front of them. "What do you like?" he asked.

"What?" Blue eyes flicked towards Viktor, then lingered a moment.

"You do not enjoy impressionists. What art do you enjoy?" Viktor could feel the other man's gaze still on him.

"Chatting me up, eh?" asked Charlie, and Viktor could see a hint of his broad grin. "Or is that the secret message I'm meant to pass on?"

"I am fond of the Asian art in this museum. We will go there." Suddenly hot in the face, Viktor sped up his stride, but was not surprised when Charlie matched him, step for step, his filthy boots clomping carelessly across the intricate woodwork on the floor.

In the quiet corridors of the Asian art exhibit, Viktor slowed his pace and took up gazing at each object again, even though the only person who had given them a moment's notice was the bored security guard at the door.

"Isn't it a bit warm in here for that hat and scarf?" Charlie asked as they stared at a display of vases.

"Why?"

"We're just having a chat," The wry smile was back, and Viktor found himself staring at Charlie's full lips for a moment too long.

"It is a disguise," Viktor said, averting his eyes. "For safety."

Charlie laughed. "Safety? Blimey! From who? Me? That security guard?" He laughed
again.

"Perhaps," Viktor said, but he nonetheless slowly unwound the scarf and pulled off his cap. He was hot, and there really was no reason to hide in here.

"You could have brewed a polyjuice. If I'd known I was supposed to come in a disguise, I would have asked my brothers to..." Charlie's voice trailed off.

Viktor held his breath. He knew what was coming.

"Bloody hell, you're Viktor Krum!" his companion blurted, and the security guard startled from his reverie and turned their way.

"Lower your voice." Why did this part always play out the same way every time, Viktor wondered.

"Bloody, bleeding hell! Put that hat back on! Someone will see you," Charlie said through his teeth, grabbing the hat from Viktor and jamming it back on his head.

"Your actions are drawing attention to us," Viktor said firmly, tucking his hat under his arm and pulling Charlie to a bench out of the line of sight of the security guard.

Charlie was still staring at him, his blue eyes impossibly wide. "Un-bloody-believable. Viktor Krum," he whispered. After a short silence, he added, "I was there for the Tri-Wizard tournament."

Viktor remembered. "It is not important, the past. We are now colleagues in secrecy." Charlie's pale, star-struck gaze was getting under his skin in ways he did not expect.

"Why the hell are you even here in Bucharest?" Charlie asked. "Shouldn't you be off somewhere on an exotic Quidditch tour?"

"I am," Viktor replied.

"Oh. Right." Color was starting to come back into Charlie's cheeks.

"I compete in a match tomorrow." Viktor turned back towards the vases in front of them. "No one will think it odd that I am here."

Charlie shook his head and seemed to have recovered himself. "You don't exactly keep the low-profile of a secret agent, Krum."

"No," Viktor replied. "It is what makes me...unexpected."

Charlie snorted. "Well, Dumbledore must trust you or I wouldn't be here."

"That is accurate."

"Viktor Krum. Un-fucking-believeable," Charlie shook his head. "So then, what's the message, your Seeker-ness?"

There was something in the good-humored crinkles around Charlie's eyes that made
Viktor pause for a moment before he decided he would continue on with his plan.

"What I have for you must be given," Viktor said. "It is at my hotel room."

"Your hotel room? Careful, Krum, or I'll think you're coming on to me," Charlie said with a wink. "Let's go," and he stood and strode away towards the exit, boots clomping.

Viktor took a long, steadying breath before he rose to follow him.

***

Viktor's hotel room was a mess. After the match he would gather up his laundry to take home to his sisters, but for now filthy Quidditch gear was draped over every surface in the room, and a pile of clothes was heaped in one corner. Viktor watched Charlie take it all in from the doorway before he stepped across the threshold.

"Have a seat," Viktor said as he draped his coat over the night stand and dropped his hat and scarf to the floor.

"So, you're a slob, eh Krum?" Charlie said, throwing himself carelessly into a chair, despite the fact that the chair was already occupied by Viktor's mud-covered jerseys.

Viktor's pulse thumped at the casual way Charlie was addressing him. "How long have you been working for the Order?" Viktor asked, steadying his voice.

"Since the start. There's not too much going on in Romania, so I've only been needed for a couple of jobs," Charlie replied. "What about you?"

"Also several months. I am busier than you, I think."

Charlie kicked his legs out, his toned body on tantalizing display for Viktor. Viktor swallowed.

"I'm bloody glad to have you as a new contact," Charlie said. "The last time I went to a rendezvous, I got knocked out and woke up an hour later in a completely different part of the city." Viktor held his breath as Charlie spoke. "Told Dumbledore, and he said he would take care of it. He must have decided to reassign you."

"He must," Viktor said. "Were you injured?"

"Nah, I'm not sure what happened," Charlie said. "When I woke up, I had a message for Dumbledore in my pocket. I passed that along when I went home for Dad's birthday. Apparently the information was good." Charlie shook his head. "Fucking bizarre is what it was."

"Yes," said Viktor. "I am sorry."

"Don't concern yourself. Didn't have anything to do with you, mate," Charlie said. "So, who is the match against tomorrow?"

"It is a preliminary for the World Cup. Versus Romanian team," Viktor said, relieved. "We will win. We are much superior."

Charlie's left eyebrow flew up. "I'm not rising to that bait, Krum," he said with a smirk, and Viktor's heart sped up once again.

"It is not bait. It is truth," he replied.

Charlie looked for a moment as if he was going to jump to the defense of his national team, but then he sighed and fell back into his chair. "It slaughters me to admit it, but the Romanians are a pathetic joke this year. You'll crush them."

"I shall," Viktor said.

"Ah. You personally?"

"I could."

"Shall I issue a challenge? Krum versus Romania?"

Charlie's genial, inquiring gaze lasted a moment too long, and Viktor's body twitched at the intensity of it. He had to look away.

"We should complete our business," he said suddenly.

"Oh. All right." Was it his imagination, or did Charlie sound disappointed? "What've you got for me?"

Viktor rummaged through his luggage until he produced a small vial of silvery liquid. "It is memories of the most recent meeting of Death Eaters in Sofia."

Charlie took the vial carefully and held it up to sparkle in the light. "That's quality espionage, Krum. I'm impressed." He tucked the vial into his hip pocket and cast a quick spell sealing the pocket closed.

Just then, a loud knock at the door interrupted them. They both started.

"Krum! Viktor Krum!" A nasal, female voice shouted through the door. "Te iubesc,
Krum! Krum!!"

"Shit," Viktor muttered.

Charlie turned his wide eyes back to Viktor. "What did she say? She loves you? Your fan club, I presume?"

"Damn, I do not know how they find," Viktor replied, backing away from the door.

Bellows of "Krum!" continued for a moment, and then other angry voices could be heard followed by a couple of thumps and a humiliated scream. The sounds faded away down the corridor.

Viktor and Charlie's eyes met, and then Charlie grinned.

"Good security at this place," Charlie said. "Although perhaps you wanted to let her in? A quick afternoon shag?" Shaking his head mockingly, he added, "Ah, the life of a Quidditch star."

Viktor did want a quick afternoon shag, but the object of his lust was not the crazed female fan in the corridor.

He cleared his throat. "I do not do that," he said. Charlie looked at him askance so he added, "...often."

"You don't?" Charlie asked.

As Charlie returned to his seat, he laid a rough hand on the back of Viktor's neck. The touch was meant to be casual, brotherly, Viktor thought, but his hand stayed in place just a moment too long and then their eyes met, and Charlie pulled his hand away quickly. The touch lingered like a presence in the room.

"I am not attractive, except being a famous Seeker. I know this. Still, they want to be with me." Viktor met Charlie's eyes. "But I want more than this now."

"Quite the romantic attitude, Krum," said Charlie, smiling.

"Yes," Viktor replied, heart racing.

Charlie slung one arm up to rub the back of his own neck. As he did, a small sliver of belly skin was revealed, just above the top of his jeans.

"Attractive is bollocks, Krum. People fuck who they fuck for a thousand reasons," Charlie said. "So you get laid for your talent instead of your movie-star good looks. Who the hell cares? You get all the birds you want, so quit complaining."

Viktor swallowed hard and decided it was time. "I prefer cock," Viktor said, and sat back to watch the blush creep up to Charlie's ears.

"Christ, Krum." Charlie said, uncomfortable laughter in his voice. He sat up and adjusted in his chair. "What?"

"Did I say wrong? Sometimes my English..." Viktor started innocently, but Charlie
interrupted.

"No no. I understood." Charlie shut his eyes and ran a hand through his own hair.

"You do as well, yes?" Viktor asked, keeping his voice steady.

Charlie's eyebrows shot upwards, then pulled together in consternation. "I do what?"

"Prefer cock."

Viktor held his breath. Charlie's blush was now a deep, rich red. "I...don't..."

"If I am incorrect, I apologize," Viktor said, standing up and turning away from Charlie, fighting his pounding heart and his swelling prick.

"Are you propositioning me, Krum?"

"If you like." Viktor yanked off his long-sleeved jersey as casually as he could, flinging it onto the pile of laundry. Underneath, he wore only a black v-neck shirt.

Viktor turned back to Charlie, whose intense gaze moved slowly up from the floor to his uscular arms and then to the visible triangle of his chest.

"Oh," Charlie said under his breath. "Oh. Hairy."

Viktor swallowed hard and feigned innocence. "Harry? What about him?"

"No. Not him."

Viktor looked down at his own chest, coarse dark hair like a thick mat. "Oh. Hairy. Yes. You like?"

Charlie stood up. "You're not wrong about me," he whispered.

Viktor smiled. He loved this part. "Come."

Charlie stood and walked slowly towards him. "This is bollocks, you know. You're
Viktor fucking Krum."

"I am," replied Viktor, and when Charlie was close enough, Viktor leaned in and pressed his lips onto the soft skin just behind Charlie's ear, gently nipping and sucking. He felt the other man melt against him.

"Bloody hell, Krum. How do you know to do that?" Charlie gasped, hands grappling at Viktor's shirt, pulling it up, and grabbing two fist-fulls of Viktor's coarse body hair.

That was all the encouragement Viktor needed.

They tumbled together onto the bed, raking at each other's clothes, a tangle of muscles and tongues and hair. Viktor pulled his own shirt off and then managed to free Charlie from his as well. There was an awkward moment when Charlie's jeans caught up around his boots.

"Leave 'em," Charlie said, hauling Viktor back up into a deep kiss that he could feel in his bones. Charlie pulled and scratched at the hair covering Viktor's shoulders. "Christ, Krum. I fucking love hairy men."

Viktor felt his face flush. Using all his strength, he shoved Charlie down and pinned him there with a hand against his chest. He'd wanted this moment since first catching sight of Charlie in the museum.

Charlie's cock was firm and long and gorgeous, lying in a crop of red hair. Viktor gripped it with his free hand and gave it a firm tug. Charlie moaned and his body twitched in approval.

Viktor eased his way down the bed until he could comfortably wrap his arms around
Charlie's waist and suck the thick head of his cock into his mouth.

"Bloody hell, Krum," Charlie moaned as Viktor's mouth moved along the shaft and his fingers maneuvered downwards towards the cleft of his ass.

They built up a steady pace, Charlie's hips thrusting against Viktor's iron grip, Viktor's finger's probing and teasing, his mouth hot and moist on Charlie's cock. Viktor worked his tongue and teeth, gently nipping, which made Charlie growl and thrust harder. Charlie's moans escalated and Viktor could feel Charlie's cock swell between his lips. He pressed hard into Charlie's ass with one finger, and that did it. Charlie came all over Viktor's lips, chin and chest, the stickiness dripping down and matting his thick chest hair.

Viktor collapsed onto Charlie for only a moment before he was rudely shoved off.

"No time for a nap. It's your turn, your Seeker-ness," Charlie said, effortlessly flipping Viktor onto his back and straddling his hips, an enormous grin across his freckled face.

As Charlie slid down Viktor's body, eagerly tugging at the thick hair on his belly, marking any bare skin with his tongue, a painful pressure started to build in Viktor's chest. It was like a lead weight pulling on his heart, telling him, "Wrong, all wrong," over and over again.

As Charlie's lips encircled Viktor's aching cock, the growing pressure in his chest exploded outwards. He jerked upright and shoved Charlie away. Charlie fell backwards onto the bed.

"I cannot!" Viktor said.

"What the hell are you doing?" Charlie shouted, jumping up and confronting Viktor with blazing blue eyes. "Christ, Krum!" He was breathing hard, and Viktor's racing mind calmed enough to appreciate the beautiful rise and fall of his chest. "Sorry to yell, but, fuck. Don't do that to a bloke."

"I cannot do again," Viktor said, still breathless.

"Do what again? You started this," Charlie said.

There was a long pause, and then Viktor said, "No. No, I did not."

Charlie's brows pulled together. "Yes, you did."

"No," Viktor said. He paused for a moment to take in the intense blue of Charlie's eyes, and then plunged ahead. "You started this. Six months ago." He let his words sink in for a moment before continuing. "The first time we met."

The silence in the room was broken only by their heaving breaths.

Finally, Charlie shook his head as if trying to wake himself up. "Wait. What?" he said.

"We have met. Many times." Viktor sat down on the edge of the bed.

"That's not possible," Charlie said, jeans still hanging around his ankles. Viktor could not possibly have felt any worse.

"I cannot have anyone know I am informant. It is dangerous," he said. "For us both."

"Just a bloody minute," Charlie said, and Viktor could almost see the wheels of his mind putting the parts and pieces together. "Are you telling me you have been Obliviating me?"

"Zabravite spell. Yes. In Bulgarian."

Charlie yanked up his jeans and started to pace the room. "How many times?" he asked at last.

Viktor breathed in deeply. "Seven."

"Seven?" Charlie repeated. "I've met you seven times?"

Viktor nodded.

"And when you said you couldn't do this again...Christ, Krum! Have we fucked before too?" Charlie's eyes were wild.

"You are a difficult man to resist."

Charlie collapsed into the jersey-covered chair again, this time looking utterly defeated. "I don't believe this. How did any of your messages get delivered to Dumbledore if you obliviated me?"

"He have someone find message in your pockets when you are home, an elf I think. Laundry," Viktor said. Hopefully Charlie wouldn't think through that fact too closely, or he'd realize that his erasing Charlie's memory was all part of Dumbledore's plan.

"Christ, Krum," Charlie said again, raking a hand through his sweaty hair.

Viktor sat up and leaned towards Charlie, desperate. "Charlie, I say I cannot do this again because...because..." He always struggled with English when he was upset. "I think, Charlie, I think I fall in you."

"What?" Charlie said, and his face was a mask of confusion.

"Love," Viktor said, "Maybe. With you."

Charlie's look of utter bafflement was too much for Viktor.

"This will not work," Viktor said aloud, and leaned over the bed to retrieve something from under his coat on the night stand.

"You're in love with me?" Charlie said, and Viktor noticed that Charlie's breathing had slowed down to a more natural pace.

"Da," Viktor said, suddenly sure. "Yes, I am. So I only must do this one last time." He unsheathed the wand he'd retrieved, and with a subtle flick, cast a silent Zabravite. A flash of light erupted towards Charlie, who fell back in the chair, dazed and glassy-eyed.

In Viktor's experience, he had about five minutes before Charlie would awaken and wonder where he was, so he quickly got to work shoving his laundry and equipment into a large team duffle that he could levitate to a new room. He left nothing behind but Charlie and Charlie's discarded clothing.

Then he paused and gazed longingly at Charlie's still form in the chair. A plan had formed in his mind in the last few minutes, one that could free him and Charlie from this miserable and endless cycle.

Viktor pulled a colorful ticket from his back pocket and placed it on the table next to Charlie. It was for the Romania vs. Bulgaria match the next day.

Somehow, Viktor would make sure they would meet there tomorrow. For the first time.

Viktor placed a soft kiss on Charlie's lips, crossed the room, and closed the door softly behind him.