Title: Just Like That
Word Count: 2135
Summary: Draco and Charlie need a little help in getting those three little words out.
Warning (Highlight to view): For an element of genderfuckery.
Disclaimer: This piece is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers, including, but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Just like that, Draco had had enough. It was the last straw, Charlie's staring down the dress of Wilhemina Watchwender while standing next to him. Draco removed his arm from his boyfriend's and stalked off through the crowd at the Ministry's Third Annual Celebration Ball, trying not to remember how often the dragon biologist had made him worry in the past.
If he thinks I'm touching his after that display, he's got another thing coming!
Oh, Draco didn't actually believe his own fears; Charlie had never cheated on him—the Commitment Draught Draco had slipped Charlie on their fourth date, and with which he'd kept dosing him, would have caused a particularly interesting and telling rash had this not been so—but Draco couldn't stand the fact that Charlie looked.
And at breasts! At anyone, with me on his arm!
He wasn't sure what to do, but Charlie's errant glances and casual flirtations had wounded Draco's pride.
What if he's losing interest in me? Draco asked himself, as he came to lean over the stone railing of a quiet balcony, situated just off the ballroom. "No, he wouldn't."
"He might," a waspish-sounding voice replied.
Draco turned to see a figure push away from the darkness by the door and step into the moonlight.
"Mrs. Zabini," she corrected, moving to stand next to him. "Lovers' spat?"
Pansy reached for Draco's arm and stopped him, saying, "I shouldn't have teased you. Don't go."
Draco stopped, but only because of Pansy's uncharacteristic near-apology. "Why shouldn't I?"
"Because I think I can help you keep the big oaf's attention."
"I don't need—"
"Of course you do. You think he's growing bored with you, isn't that right?"
No, I think he doesn't love me, Draco thought, but he wasn't about to admit as much to Pansy. Instead, he merely nodded.
"Well, after four years of marriage to someone whose mother ingrained in him the concept of the 'disposable spouse', I think I might have a useful trick or two to share."
"You have set a record, of sorts, haven't you?"
Pansy smirked. "My mother-in-law loves change. You have no idea how much I enjoy irritating her by still being alive and at her table each week for our cozy family dinners."
Draco smiled. "Well, if anyone knows how to keep a man . . . ."
Charlie wasn't surprised by Draco's abrupt departure. He was well-used to his lover's fits of unreasonable jealousy. They made him glad, as it happened, because he couldn't quite believe he'd managed to attract and keep the attention of someone as gorgeous as Draco Malfoy—even if "attention" was all it was.
Even if it isn't love.
But Charlie began to worry when he saw Draco return to the ballroom with Mrs. Pansy Zabini.
Shit. What could they have to say to each other? And why is he kiss—
"Oh, Mr. Weasley," Wilhemina sang out, gliding toward him. "You've quite convinced me, darling. Expect a donation to the preserve next week—a very generous donation."
By the time Charlie had managed to charm his way out of a more personal thanking of the witch, Draco and Pansy had gone. Disturbed, he went in search of them.
"Have you seen Draco, Dad?" he asked Arthur, who was helping Molly on with her cloak.
"I did, dear," Molly replied. "He looked feverish and said he was going home. I'll come around tomorrow with some cordial if you like."
Charlie, who wasn't sure if Draco would be "home," shook his head. "Feverish"? Fuck! "Um, I'll call you, Mum—don't just Floo in, all right?"
"I think we both know better, son," Arthur said.
Gods, I wish he wouldn't smirk at me like that, Charlie thought, smiling and wishing his parents goodnight before Disapparating. It's just . . . wrong.
The disconcertingly posh flat he shared with Draco when he wasn't at the preserve was dark and quiet when Charlie arrived, and that felt wrong, as well.
Please be asleep—alone, he thought, tip-toeing toward the bedroom.
As he reached the door and found it uncharacteristically closed, however, Charlie's long-ignored fear of Draco's unfaithfulness forced itself upon his mind.
You're being stupid, he told himself, taking deep breaths. Draco's never—
Girlish laughter filtered through the door then, stopping Charlie's self-assurances.
Here? In our bed? The bastard! he raged, slamming himself against the door in sudden anger.
The laughter stopped.
"Draco! Open this door!"
"It's not locked," a feminine voice replied.
Furious, Charlie turned the knob and threw himself into the room, fully prepared to throttle Pansy—but the sight that met his eyes confused him into stillness.
"Like what you see?" Draco asked, his fingers playing across the taut nipples of his moonlit breasts.
"I suppose that means you do, Mr. Monosyllabic. Come here," Draco ordered, laying himself back on the pillows piled against the headboard and gasping as he pinched himself. "Gods, this is so good, Charlie."
Charlie whimpered, but he didn't move. He couldn't. He could barely think before Draco's display.
"I said," Draco murmured, one hand sliding down his smooth, curvaceous torso toward his sex, "come here."
"Fuck," Charlie spat, throwing himself on the bed between Draco's legs, too enthralled by the scent of female musk to wonder where his lover's cock had gone. Knocking away Draco's clever fingers, he sucked the engorged clit before him into his mouth none too gently.
"Not so much!" Draco protested, trying to push Charlie's head away.
Charlie growled and seized Draco's hips, holding him fast while he thrust his tongue deeply inside of Draco's cunt.
"Oh, oh, OH, Charlie! Char—I can't, this isn't th' wa—oh, FUCK!"
Draco awoke from his over-powering orgasm to find himself tied spread-eagled to the bed—and blindfolded. Rough thumb pads were massaging his buzzing nipples, and cool air played over his quivering body. He knew that Charlie was kneeling between his sodden thighs, but his boyfriend was silent.
Charlie didn't respond verbally, but Draco felt his breasts being squeezed in a most delightful, speaking manner.
"Charlie, you're not . . . not angry at me, are you—oh! So good. Gods, Charlie—say something."
Suddenly, Draco felt the weight of Charlie's torso pressing into his own and a tongue pushed its itself into his mouth, muffling his needy groan. A hand stroked his left side, tickling him a bit, and he struggled out of the kiss.
"Please, tell . . . tell me you're not ma—ad!" Draco begged, as Charlie moved down his body to suck one of Draco's breasts into his mouth. "Oh, fuck. Yes, just like that!" Draco exclaimed, as he felt fingers slide into his cunt and rub over a patch of throbbing skin. "Just. Like. That!"
Charlie couldn't stop laughing. Draco was so beautiful when he came, and he'd never seen Draco more overwhelmed by pleasure.
He did this for me. He did this for me. He did this for me! Charlie inwardly exclaimed, after he'd unbound Draco, thrown his delectably well-shaped legs over his own shoulders, and begun to pound into him. "For me!" he shouted, as Draco's eyes flew open in glassy surprise.
Charlie, his hips jerking without rhythm, collapsed heavily upon him, but Draco was momentarily too helpless, as he shuddered through his own orgasm, to do anything about it. When his pleasure had subsided, he had just enough strength to push Charlie off of him and curl himself into his boyfriend's slack embrace.
"Love you, love you, love you," he gasped. "Thanks, Pans. Oh, gods, thanks," he whispered, falling soundly asleep.
He didn't feel Charlie stiffen.
Lying next to Draco, Charlie considered. She must have given him the spell. That's all. That's the only reason he'd thank her. He did this for me! he insisted to himself. Don't be jealous. You know that's all it is. . . . You know. You should know. Don't you know? "Shit."
"I don't think it was," Draco purred, stretching lazily against Charlie. I think it was brilliant."
"You said her name. You thanked her," Charlie accused. You said you loved her.
Shit. "Well, you ogled that bint!"
"Is that what all this was about?"
"'All this'?" Draco demanded, pulling away from Charlie and taking the top sheet with him as he stood up. "I thought you liked my surprise."
"Don't be like that. I just meant—"
"Sod you, Weasley. I don't know why I tried to—"
"Hold my interest?" Charlie interrupted, as he flung himself off the bed and at Draco to prevent his leaving. Please don't go. I'm sorry. I love you. I want—
"Why would I have to try to do that?" Draco demanded, as haughtily as he could manage. I love you, Charlie. I don't want you to shag strange bints because you're bored with my cock. Please— "I mean, it's not as if you're difficult to . . . amuse."
He is bored, isn't he? "You didn't seem to mind my brand of amusement, did you?"
"It's not like I had a choice, is it, Mr. 'Good-with-Knots'?"
"Oh, I see how it is," Charlie said harshly. "Afraid I bruised your perfect skin, are you?"
"You . . . you think my skin's perfect?" Draco answered.
Charlie blinked, surprised by Draco's abrupt change in attitude. "Well, of course I do. You're beautiful, Draco. . . . No one's more," he continued, taking a tentative step toward his lover. "Don't you . . . don't you know that?"
Draco snorted. Of course I do. "I . . . you don't often say it—and what am I supposed to think when you're forever flirting with everything on two legs?"
"Draco. I . . . Draco." Just say it, for Merlin's sake. Tell him you love him, Charlie ordered himself.
He can't say it. He doesn't mean it. Shit, Draco thought, as tears welled in his eyes. Horrified that he might betray himself, he turned away from Charlie. "Perhaps we should . . . just go back to bed." Please don't leave.
"I'm an idiot," Charlie whispered.
"And so are you."
"What?" Draco demanded, his tears and insecurities forgotten.
Charlie reached out and gently wiped under Draco's eyes before enfolding his rigid body into an embrace. He stroked Draco's back until the smaller wizard relaxed enough to lean into him and said, "Draco Malfoy, you have to know that I want you. The bint was just a contributor I was chatting up—that's all."
"I don't like it."
"You're the jealous sort, I know."
Pushing away, Draco said angrily, "Don't patronize me."
"I'm not. I'm trying to work up the courage to tell you that I love you, you twat."
"I am not a—oh, oh, gods," Draco said, doubling over in sudden pain. "The bitch didn't say it would hurt!"
Charlie caught Draco and picked him up, hurriedly carrying him to the bed. "What is it? Are you—oh. Oh, good. I'm so glad this was temporary!"
"Imagine how gratified that makes me, you prat! It hurts!"
"I'm sorry. Should we—should I—what should I do?" I should call Mum. "I should call—"
"No! You should not call Molly!" Draco howled, pushing himself up. "It's . . . it'll be over in a . . . minute. Just . . . just say it again."
"I love you. I love you, Draco."
The unpleasant rearranging subsiding, Draco laughed. "Of course you do."
You might say it, Charlie thought, holding Draco and worrying. "Are you all right, then?"
"'M fine, really," Draco murmured, falling asleep while thinking, Need to tell him, too. Need . . . .
When Charlie woke up, he heard Draco's thankfully masculine voice, and another, more feminine one, having a whispered conversation. He knew at once that Draco had fire-called Pansy, something he often did while cooking. The scent of bacon frying reached his nostrils, and then he opened his eyes.
The bedroom's every surface was covered in calligraphic renderings of "I love you, Charlie."
He threw back his head and laughed. Who says any of this is hard?
The sound of joy emanating from the bedroom into the kitchen caused an emphatic and masculine response from Draco, and he abruptly ended his fire-call in his eagerness to rejoin Charlie.
"I thought I'd give you something to look at," he told his boyfriend, moments later as he stood nude under the lintel.
"Perfect," Charlie replied.
Yes, Draco thought, smiling seductively. You are. "I . . . I what?"
"You love me."
Yes, Draco thought again, walking into Charlie's embrace and pushing him back onto the bed. "And now I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk." Away from me.
"Now that's an idea that will definitely keep me from looking."
"You look at anyone but me ever again and I'll—"
"I love you, Draco."
"Well, of course you do—never doubted it," Draco assured Charlie, one clever hand cupping his lover's balls.
Charlie gave himself over to the touch, saying, "Fuck, just like that—no one else knows how to touch me but you, love."
And, just like that, Draco knew that he didn't really mind Charlie looking at "other" bints.
Because he never loves anyone else but me.