Lessons Well Learned

Romania was not always the most comforting of places, as Charlie Weasley found out over the span of time that he had lived there. The weather was perfect; the view extraordinary, the job fantastic, the friends were hilarious. However, what they did not realize was that no matter how many people he was surrounded by, Charlie always felt alone. No longer did the vodka and the self-service policy satiate his hunger; he wanted more human contact than what he had with his left hand.

It had been years since he'd had a girlfriend, if you could call any of them that. A few short dates that were followed by a quick tangle in the bed sheets, and then a lack of communication. An extended one night stand, as he had once fondly thought of them. But that was once and certainly wasn't of the now. He almost regretted never sticking around afterwards; never staying committed, sometimes screwing two or three girls in one night. Charlie, the nymphomaniac. His mother would have had a heart attack if she had heard even half of his bed-hopping escapades. Thankfully, his mother had never heard a word of it from the only other person who knew. Charlie would always appreciate his brother for that much. And that was where it began and seemed to end. With Bill Weasley.

Sitting at home, with only his thoughts to keep him company, Charlie was re-thinking all the decisions he had made; accepting Norbert, who turned out to be a bit more of a hassle than had been originally thought, leaving home, his last girlfriend, his days at Hogwarts, and the first time he had sex.

It's a stormy night, and not long after leaving Hogwarts for the final time, Charlie is sitting on his bed, wondering what's to become of him now that he no longer has school to contend with. Earlier that afternoon, he received two owls - one from a friend in Romania, asking if he had thought about the position that was being offered to him; informing him that if he truly wishes to work with dragons, that an immediate meeting is necessary to overlook his application. The second letter is from his girlfriend of nearly two years.

Charlie,

It's been almost two years since I fell in love with you, with your eyes, your smile, your charms. And in that time, we've had a lot of fun; childish fun. Quick kisses before Quidditch games and quaint dates to Hogsmeade. But we are no longer children, and though I know we were committed then, I need to know that we are committed now. I'm a woman now, Charlie, and you a man. I think it's time we do something about it.

I can't stay stagnant forever, and making love to you is something I've wanted to do for the longest time. I'm ready now. Ready for this, ready for your answer. I've reserved a room at the Leaky Cauldron for the 24th. If you do show up, I'll know you want to further this relationship. If not, then I shall accept my aunt's invitation and leave for France the next morning without looking back.

Remember, I truly love you. But I can't wait any longer. This is the way it must be.

Lovingly,

Ingrid

The paper has already been crumpled many times over, folded and unfolded, the words no longer needing to be read, running through his mind at a steady pace. He is scared, not wanting to lose her, but afraid of what might happen if he agrees to her proposition. With little to no experience, he doesn't want the possible awkwardness of the situation to drive her away. Shedding a tear or two for his breaking heart and the difficult decision that faces him, he falls back upon his pillow, clutching the now tattered paper close to his heart. This is how Bill finds him.

Hearing Bill enter the room, Charlie hides the page quickly, not wanting to let his brother know what is racing through his mind, not wanting to share this dilemma with anyone. "Besides," he thinks, "It's not like he will understand anyway." Bill cocks a fiery eyebrow at his brother's sudden movement, the look of anguish on the younger sibling's face vanishing so quickly that Bill doubts whether it was there in the first place.

"Charlie... um..." he stumbles to deliver the message ordered by his mother, as he sees a single tear creep out the corner of Charlie's smoky eye.

"Are you alright, little bro?"

Charlie quickly wipes the gathering moisture from his eye and looks up, trying to look dignified as always, trying to look as if he is the strong child when he knows perfectly well that he can't hold up the façade much longer.

"I'm nearly certain that's not what you came upstairs to talk to me about," he spews, the anger tinting his voice more than he expected it to, shocking both brothers. He keeps his dignified demeanor, his eyes stalking Bills awkward movements.

"Well, no," began Bill, quickly disguising his surprise for a more cynical flair "Mum wanted her darling boy downstairs for his victory celebration. She made spotted dick for you, y'know. So stop mourning or wanking off or whatever it is you're doing 'cause Mum'll flay me alive if I don't have you downstairs faster than you can say 'Apparate'."

Charlie glares at his brother, muttering that he will be downstairs soon and for him not to get his panties in a knot.

"I'm not Percy," Bill half-snarls as he leaves the room, the tension thick enough to be cut with a knife.

All Charlie wants is to be left alone as he makes his way downstairs to the party spread out just for him, to be left alone to ponder, to love, to mourn. It's times like these that Charlie despises having won the Quidditch Cup. He hates having to go downstairs and he shoots a hidden look of anger at his mother for forcing him to partake in the family celebration. He doesn't even know why she bothers anymore. He knows he's nothing special like Bill. Bill was HeadBoy. Charlie played Quidditch. He doesn't see how the two equal each other, nor does he care, as he sits begrudgingly at the rickety wooden table already surrounded by at least six others with matching dancing heads of flame.

Charlie loathes his hair, he always has. Hates the soft spray of freckles that are barely evident on his subtly chiseled features. He hates the fact that his family is poor and sometimes even curses the fact that he was even conceived. But nobody knows that their dear hero is filled with nothing but angst.

He thanks his mother half-heartedly for the party, accepting the gifts and the cake that he knows they can't afford, just wanting to be upstairs in his room, wanting to know how to tell Ingrid. What to tell Ingrid. With imminent relationship disaster leering overhead, everything he sees reminds him of their relationship. The cake reminds him of the time he spent all night attempting to persuade the house elves to let him bake her birthday cake, only appearing to her with his masterpiece when sufficiently covered in batter and frosting. She had loved it.

Finally, when he can take no more, Charlie trudges back to his room, and lets the door fall closed behind the footsteps that echoed with sorrow. Forcing the laughter from the halls to turn into complete silence, he throws himself on the bed and retrieves the letter from underneath his shabby pillow to read yet again.

France.

Not believing that these are his only options, Charlie sits there, wishing that Ingrid understood his fear of sex. He knows he is being childish, that there is really nothing to be afraid of.

"Can't you just go the fuck away?" Charlie barely lifts his head, as he voices his desire of the expulsion of his brother from his room.

"Or you could lock your door," comes Bill's reply.

"We're too poor to have locks, Mr. Fucking Perfect. Why don't you go bother someone else closer to your status? Maybe if you're lucky Percy will let you watch him wank off. You can teach him some of your very fine skills," Charlie laughs scathingly, the words intending to be as bitter as they sound.

"I don't want to upset you, Charlie," Bill starts, stepping gingerly around the situation. "I know something's wrong. You can tell me, I'm older, and I've been through things. And I'm not Mr. Perfect..." he finished lamely.

"We've ALL been through things, you twat. And that's a lame excuse to dig up dirt to feed your boring infatuation with being a know-it-all." Charlie spits out; throwing a book that nearly hits Bill in the head. "Get out. Get out. GET OUT!" he shouts, crumpling back into his pillow, tears cascading down his pallid face.

Bill closes the door, slowly moving towards the bed and sits down. Upon finding the note that was quickly tossed upon the makeshift bed table, he takes in every word and lets it fall to the ground. Charlie's eyes follow the fluttering parchment and he leaves it untouched as it hits the floorboards. Bill begins stroking Charlie's hair, shorter and coarser than his own, but just as radiant.

"It's alright, Charlie. Maybe I can help. Tell me what's on your mind?" Bill says, as mock-psychiatrist as he can, hoping to get at least a chuckle from the boy sprawled across the bed.

"What's the matter?" Charlie chokes through tears, obviously annoyed with the stupidity of the question. "You read the damn letter. You tell me, oh great guru. What's the matter? What the hell could possibly be wrong?"

Bill drops the clown act, realizing that laughter just isn't the best medicine this time around. He lifts Charlie's chin, wiping the streaks of saltwater from his soft skin with his other hand, and leading him gently, brings him up to rest in his lean arms. He brushes the few strands of hair off of his younger brother's sorrowful, tear splattered face.

"Things happen for a reason. Whether we know that reason or not has little impact on what consequences follow. If she really loves you, she'll understand. It's not about inadequacy; it's about commitment, to her at least. I know you love her; it's obvious that you'd do anything to please her. If she leaves, then it must mean that you deserve better. If she leaves, you will heal over time until one day you find someone better, someone new. Someone who - "

"I'm sorry," Charlie blurts out, raising his head slightly off of his brother's comforting chest.

Bill looks down, the hand that has been running through Charlie's hair suddenly stilling. "It's alright. You're going through something far more important than trading a few sarcastic barbs. Just remember, I'll always be there for you, no matter what it is you - "

Bill is silenced once more, this time by the soft caress of the shorter boy's lips upon his own. His lips lingering for only a moment, Charlie sits back and looks at the expression on Bill's face, one of shock and bewilderment. But not disgust.

"Charlie, what was that? What are you doing?" he manages to ask, thoughts now racing furiously inside his head, though they seem almost non-existent.

Charlie slides his body closer to Bill's, leaning in close enough to be heard, close enough to be understood.

"Please, Bill. Show me, teach me. I trust you," he whispers almost inaudibly.

Bill does a double take, but by that time, Charlie has fallen back on the bed and his slender, yet muscular arm is reaching out to bring Bill down with him. In slow motion, he is dragged down atop the toned torso that lay beneath him, his face hovering just above Charlie's, the slightly shallow breathing, the rhythmic beating of his heart stirring emotions in him that he knows shouldn't exist. And the prelude to a kiss. Suddenly, his lips drop, a slight rush of uncertainty, but the ones beneath him are soft, yet firm to the touch. An unsure kiss, sweet and though seeming of innocence, feels anything but.

Bill has given up thinking, giving up telling himself how wrong this is, and as he runs his hand through Charlie's fiery locks, he casts a locking spell on the door, just in case. Within moments a strong hand has pulled him back down, but this time, Bill is ready for him, flipping Charlie on top of him so he kneels over Bill's lean body. He runs his hand along his sibling's taut thighs and along the side of his torso, playing with the edge of his plain blue T-shirt, slipping his hand underneath to feel burning skin.

Charlie gasps, as the hand creeping along every muscle in his chest is like ice and a chill runs through his body. He gasps again when Bill pulls him into a fierce kiss, crushing their lips together, his tongue demanding entrance into his mouth, his nipples being teased by determined thumbs. Bill's mouth tastes of something completely new to him, a passion hidden by a mask of youth. He moans into Bill's mouth, arching his back and the fingers bite down on skin. Bill flips Charlie off of him, pulling him sideways and tugging the T-shirt over his head.

He takes a moment to admire his brothers beautiful body; his hands sprawled on his chest, caressing every muscle before he swoops in and slowly kisses his neck, once, twice, three times. Charlie's senses are clouding and as he begins to unbutton the shirt clinging to Bill's lithe frame he struggles to suppress a moan. Bill leaves a mark as he bites down on Charlie's thick neck and out of the corner of his eye he can see his white shirt being flung to the floor.

"More," the ex-Quidditch captain gasps.

Bill obliges, moving up to nibble on the lower lip of his athletic sibling, letting his hand slide slyly underneath the waistband of Charlie's jeans. He is shocked to find that Charlie is commando.

"Mum hasn't given back my laundry yet," he moans, leaning into the foreign touch. It feels nothing like his own hand, he notices.

Bill strips him of his jeans and he lies on the bed completely nude. Before any insecurities or inhibitions are able to catch up with him, he in encompassed in a hot, wet mouth.

"Holy fuck."

A soft tongue runs along the base of Charlie's dick and as soon as it hits the top again, his entire length is taken into Bill's mouth. He grasps his hips tightly, as if to steady both of them and moves down slowly, applying a good amount of suction. Charlie bucks slightly and quivers when Bill digs his nails into his hips. "Shh..."

Bill moves his tongue swiftly, teasing the slit at the tip of Charlie's cock, swirling and suckling the head and Charlie grips the bedsheets, slowly moving upwards. The impact of the explosion leaves his body shaking and Bill moves toward his face for a sweet and simple kiss, to comfort the boy.

"How far do you want this to go?" Bill wonders out loud.

"I need to get it over with. I want you to love me, make love to me. Fuck me slowly and then fuck me into the bedsheets and kiss away my problems."

Bill nods, his throat suddenly dry and he lets Charlie fumble with his trousers, letting him remove both them and his silk boxers.

"Are you sure?"

"I don't want to die a virgin. Now fuck me already."

Charlie smirked, remembering the night vividly, as if it were just yesterday, his hands on his own cock, pumping steadily as the memory took over his mind.

A single finger slips inside his tight body, curling upwards. A second is quickly added, scissoring to ready him for what is to come. Bill grabs hold of his hips and flips him over, forcing his ass to be exposed and his face to lie crushed against the mattress. On instinct, Charlie braces himself holding onto the headboard as Bill slowly eases himself into the tight hole.

Oh, how he remembered it all; the taste, the smell, the sensation. He could feel it heightening and he stroked harder, determined to bring himself to peak.

Charlie winces as Bill pushes himself into his brother's firm ass as far as possible, slowly bringing himself back out, trying so hard to control himself and fuck the short body clueless right there. He pushes in once more, a little easier the second time, and pulls almost completely out once more. Suddenly, Charlie forces himself back further, taking more than either man thought possible and he arches falling flat on his stomach as Bill hits the tender prostate.

"Oh, God!" he gasps, throwing himself back again and again, forcing Bill to push harder and faster until, finally, both reach a shattering orgasm. Spent, Bill falls atop of the other man, their legs becoming intertwined.

He picked himself up from his favorite chair, reaching for a towel to wipe himself clean of a five-year-old memory. He smiled, exhausted... still longing for more than what he had, but satisfied, nevertheless.

He remembered what had happened after the encounter. Bill had flown off to Egypt and Charlie met Ingrid at the Inn.

"Charlie!" Ingrid exclaims, excited to see he has arrived. She throws her arms around him and brings him into a kiss that doesn't even come close to the one he shared with Bill two nights before.

"Ingrid. Ingrid. I'm not staying, Ingrid. I love you, but we just aren't meant to be. I came to say goodbye."

Charlie looks around the room, looking for anything to look at except her breaking heart.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she spits icily, gathering her bags and starting towards the door. "And here I thought you knew what it means to be a man."

"I do," he whispers. "I do."

He would never see Ingrid again. Never know her touch, never hear her laughter. But that was alright. He had his memories. He had his loved ones.

Charlie picked up the phone and dialed.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

"Hello, Bill?"