Patterns

Working with dragons is a dirty business, Harry thinks idly. Not in the legal sense, but in the sense that on any given evening, a dragon-keeper might fall into bed covered with dust or soot or brimstone or worse. It isn't often that he and Charlie are as clean as they are at the moment, lying side by side, loose-limbed and relaxed, on the swimming platform they've conjured a few meters from shore.

It's hot, even for August. Their team has been working the Black Sea coastline since the previous spring, traveling and camping in the wetlands of the Danube Delta. The Delta, a popular site for Muggle birdwatchers, is also the favored nesting site for the Blue Bottle-nosed Dragon. The Romanian government pays Charlie's team handsomely to keep dragons and birders from stumbling into each other.

The rest of the team is spending their day off in town, having some well-earned drinks and restocking their supply packs. Charlie had asked if he wanted to go along, but Harry just wanted a quiet day off, and a swim. Charlie clapped him on the shoulder, said that was the best idea he'd heard in ages, so they had both stayed behind.

Lost in mundane thoughts, Harry's completely shocked when Charlie stretches, yawns, and with a sudden hard shove, pushes him into the water.

He comes up sputtering, to the sound of laughter. At that, his indignation melts away; Charlie doesn't laugh much since the war. It's a wonderful sound. He grins in reply, standing in the shoulder-deep water. With a sweep of his arm he sends a wave of cold water onto the platform. The laughter turns to a yelp of surprise, and then Charlie is leaping into the water, knees tucked up to his chest, drenching Harry again.

When Charlie surfaces, a full-scale battle engages. Splashes come harder and faster, until Charlie grabs Harry's hands in a quick swoop, a move learned from similar battles with his brothers. They're face to face, panting and laughing, then in one fluid motion Charlie's kissing Harry in a way that's not brotherly at all.

Harry could blame his sudden dizziness on cold water and exertion, except nothing but Charlie's mouth ever makes him feel so lightheaded, not even flying. Charlie lets go of his wrists, wraps one hand around the back of his neck and the other under him. Harry hooks one arm around Charlie's broad shoulders and slides the other hand over his firm belly; his legs wrapping tightly around Charlie's waist as Charlie lifts him off his feet.

Charlie's mouth moves away, tracing Harry's jaw with nibbling kisses. Harry can't suppress a gasp when Charlie's tongue flicks away a bead of water in the hollow of his throat. Their hips move together in a practiced rhythm. Charlie's mouth traces a path back to his ear. He whispers, "Harry," and it's a question; Harry says "Yes, god yes," and opens his mouth to another wet kiss.

Sometimes he wonders what Charlie wants from him. This is not one of those times. Harry knows exactly what Charlie wants, and he wants it too, badly.

They come to shore in a hurried tangle of limbs and fall on the soft grass, startling a Dice snake, who slides into the water with an offended hiss. Harry would apologize if he had breath enough left to speak Parseltongue, but he quickly forgets the bystander when Charlie hooks his thumbs in the waistband of Harry's swim trunks and tugs them down, the wet fabric unresisting. Harry reaches down too but his hands are intercepted and drawn back above his head. He's stretched out in the sun.

"No," Charlie says. "We haven't been alone in weeks. I want to enjoy you like this for as long as I can."

"It won't take that long," Harry murmurs. Charlie laughs, his eyes a deeper blue than the summer sky above, dancing with mischief and something else entirely that sends a thrill down Harry's spine.

Charlie goes to work on Harry's neck, chest, and belly with skillful fingers and even more skillful mouth, until Harry's pushing himself up off the ground in a desperate plea for more, making sounds that he's only ever made for Charlie, little moans and whimpers. But Charlie is obstinate, teasing with nibbles and light touches until Harry is ready to beg, sob, turn himself inside out if that's what it takes. He tries a few times to touch Charlie, wrap his fingers in damp red hair and draw them across sun-warmed freckled skin, but every time he moves his hands from above his head the touching stops until he puts them back. Finally he gives up trying, and surrenders.

Charlie is there to catch him when he finally collapses into a shaking, boneless heap on the grass. The warm weight of Charlie's body covers his as he kisses back up over Harry's stomach, across his chest, claiming his mouth again, wrapping strong arms around him.

"I think you broke me," Harry says.

"Don't worry," Charlie whispers against his lips. "I'll always put you right again." The kiss overwhelms him, and Harry lets himself drown.