merrycontrary & bksncleverness
Title: No Victory March
Author: merrycontrary
Challenge: I've seen your flag on the marble arch/But love is not a victory march/It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah - Leonard Cohen, Hallelujah
Pairing: Bill/Charlie
"You win."
Charlie sits up in bed, peers into the darkness, sees
nothing. A sigh. A form moves slowly into a patch of
moonlight left by open shutters. Pale skin drained of
any color, even freckles lost in the shadowy light.
"She's gone."
Bill's hair should be seen by daylight, he thinks.
Cascades of vibrant reds. By night, it is just a
darker shade of gray in his hands. He closes his
eyes, calls upon memory to color his world.
"You win."
Words whispered against his lips before a kiss presses
against them, opens them. He answers with a moan.
Words could never define this feeling anyhow. His
brother's weight forces him back, holds him steady as
the world spins.
"I love you."
All the color drained from his brother's appearance
has been channeled into his skin. His brother's hands
scald him, draw gasps and cries. His brother's
release galvanizes his insides. Fireworks fill his
mind. He has triumphed at last, the world is his.
"You win."
His brother's tears fall upon his own flushed skin,
evaporate with a hiss. He opens his eyes again, and
finally sees. He shares his bed with a man of ash.
Title: You Win
Author: bksncleverness
Warning: incest, slash, snowballing
Rating: NC-17
Bill apparates just outside the kitchen door of the Burrow. He looks down at himself. He looks messy and he knows it. His dragon hide boots are scuffed and dirty, his faded jeans torn at the knees, his t-shirt tight and frayed, his shoulder-length red hair unkempt. His fang tooth earring hangs once again from his left ear, his watch with the large black dragon hide band sits on his left wrist, on his right there is a small black rubber band for his hair.
Fleur would hate this outfit.
“Fuck her,” he thinks. “Fuck her right in that sweet Veela arse she’d never let me get near,” he thinks and sneers.
He stands there for a moment, outside the door, listening to the noises within. He can hear Mum making dinner and his father’s voice. Bill breathes in the smell of Mum’s cooking, the scent of the flowers she has planted in the patch of garden by the door, the fresh air. As the gentle breeze blows through his hair, Bill relishes the last moment of peace. He will have to tell them now. He will have to admit to them that his life is a fucking mess. He’s not sure how he wants his parents to react to the news about Fleur, which only means that any way they react will seem somehow wrong. Bill sighs and reaches for the doorknob.
“Bill!” Molly shouts when he enters, “Arthur! Look who’s here!”
“Well, I’ll be,” Arthur says as he gets up to clap Bill on the shoulder after Molly hugs him.
“To what do we owe this great honor?” Molly says brightly, her eyes expectant.
“Mum, Fleur left me,” he says quietly, calmly.
Her smile vanishes, “What? What happened? When?”
“Er, today. Right now, in fact. She’s moving out as we speak.”
“But why?”
“I don’t really want to talk about it right now. I just needed to get out of there, but don’t think I can handle the third degree right now, Mum. All right?”
Molly fusses for a moment more. She casts around for something to say and settles on, “well, if you’re going to eat, at least get your hair out of your face.” She reaches up and brushes a stray tendril behind his ear.
As Bill moves towards the table he pulls the rubber band off of his wrist and begins smoothing back his hair into a pony tail. Arthur sits down across from him and waits until Bill has finished wrapping the rubber band around his hair before asking, “So, did you hear the match on Saturday?”
“No Dad,” Bill answers, grabbing a roll off of a plate on the table and buttering it.
“Oh, it was brilliant!”
Arthur spends most of the meal talking about the Quidditch match and about goings on at the Ministry and Bill pretends to be interested and Molly pretends she’s not worried. Still, he is glad to be at the Burrow and not in his flat in Hogsmeade where he’d feel Fleur’s absence more. It wasn’t because he was going to miss her. Well, not entirely that. It was what she said when she left that disturbed him so. And he wanted to get away from her saying it; he wanted to forget that part had ever happened.
“She doesn’t know me. She never knew me. She’s wrong,” he thinks. And he can taste the bitterness he feels towards her even through his mother’s cooking.
Being at the Burrow is like being in a magical picture, Bill muses. You can move around and wave, but setting always remains the same. For him, the Burrow has been frozen in time to when Bill was 18. For that reason, he always feels uneasy spending a lot of time there. But today, this is what he wants: to feel frozen in a time before Fleur, before Egypt, before his real life.
Bill excuses himself after dinner and goes up to his old room. He takes off his boots and lies down on his bed. He watches the sky get darker and the moon slowly rise. He hears voices downstairs and assumes that his Mum and Dad are trying to figure out why Bill and Fleur have broken up. He bristles, wondering if he will ever be able to tell them the truth. He knows he will have to give them some explanation some time, and he dreads that day.
He hears footsteps on the stairs and turns on his side, away from the door, ready to feign sleep if Mum wants to talk. But when the door creaks open, the shadow thrown against the wall is large and imposing.
“I know you’re not asleep,” the voice says.
Bill turns and faces the door, “Charlie?”
Without a word, Charlie closes the door behind him, whips out his wand and whispers a silencing charm. He goes to the bed where Bill lies. He sits on the bed, facing Bill and when Bill does nothing, says nothing, makes no move at all, Charlie leans down and enfolds his older brother in a fierce hug.
Bill pushes him away. “Charlie, don’t.”
“What’s wrong?” Charlie says as Bill lies back down and looks at the ceiling. Bill says nothing.
“Merlin, Bill. What happened?”
“What are you doing here Charlie?” Bill says, sounding exasperated.
“Mom called me by Floo. She’s worried about you.”
“Yeah, well…” Bill says.
“Well, what?”
“Nothing,” Bill says as he looks everywhere but at Charlie.
They sit in silence for a moment. “She’s gone?”
Bill looks at his watch and shrugs.
“You don’t care, do you?” Charlie asks.
“Of course I do,” says Bill, a little too quickly.
“You can’t lie to me. You’re glad she’s gone. Hell, you’re relieved. She saved you the trouble.”
“What are you talking about, Charlie?”
Charlie leans down and kisses Bill. He forces his tongue between Bill’s lips. After a moment, Bill starts to kiss back. Then he stops and pushes Charlie away.
“Gods, Charlie,” he says, wiping his mouth.
“You want this,” Charlie says quietly, but fiercely.
“No. You’re both wrong about me,” Bill says and turns on his side away from Charlie.
“Oh, so that’s what it is, eh? She figured you out. I never pegged Fleur as the observant type. Looks like you’re the last to know,” Charlie says.
“No,” Bill whispers.
“You’re the cool one, Bill. The earring, the dragon-hide boots, the long hair, the tattoos. You’re the rebel, right? But is it all just an act? Do you really want to live differently? Or are you Wild Bill on the outside and Percy on the inside?”
“This is me, Charlie. Through and through.”
“Then stop lying to yourself,” Charlie says as he lies down behind Bill. “Let me show you who you are,” he says and moves the pony tail off of Bill’s neck. Slowly and gently he places small kisses on the back of Bill’s neck. The room is so dark, everything seems to be in black and white. Bill’s hair looks like a dark gray instead of its vibrant red. “Don’t. Fight. It.” He says between kisses.
Bill shudders at the contact. “Charlie, stop it,” he says, but does not move.
Charlie, tracing circles on Bill’s back with his fingers, and whispers, “Think about what you want most in the world, Bill.”
Bill jumps up off the bed and faces Charlie. “I can’t, Charlie. You don’t understand.”
“Like hell, I don’t. Remember who you’re talking to, for fuck’s sake. Forget about who you’re supposed to be. Forget about what Mom and Dad think you are. Forget about your image and what everyone else assumes about you. Fuck all that. What do *you* want, Bill?”
“I don’t know,” he says and sits on the windowsill. Bill and Charlie sit there in the dark for some time, in silence. Bill’s tears drip onto his ripped jeans. He passes a hand across his wet cheeks.
And then, quickly, as if he’s made a decision, he crosses to the bed.
Bill takes Charlie’s face in his hands and hungrily devours the full, sweet lips of his younger brother. They kiss until their jaws hurt, until both of their faces are red from the friction. Charlie begins kissing along Bill’s jawline, breathing hotly into his ear, and leaving marks on the skin as he works his way down his neck.
“You win,” Bill whispers as Charlie sucks on the flesh just above his collarbone.
Charlie lifts Bill’s t-shirt over his head and then removes his own shirt. Charlie is thick with muscles, freckles covering every inch of his skin. So many burns on his arms, in all different stages of healing. Some are shiny and new, some are fading, some are scabbed over. Bill runs his hands up and down Charlie’s arms, exploring by touch the rough terrain of his brother’s skin.
Bill is thinner, toned but not cut. He is taller than Charlie by two inches. His freckles are not as dense and, in the moonlight, it almost seems to Charlie as if his freckles have faded away, that Bill is pure white. Charlie runs his fingers over the tattoo Bill has on his right shoulder. It is a cartouche of Bill’s name. Charlie can almost feel the outline of the image. Bill’s heart races and the ink seems to rise and become distinct under Charlie’s hand. He is reading it in the dark like a blind man.
Charlie crushes Bill in his arms. They are both hot. They are both sweating.
“You are mine,” Charlie whispers into Bill’s ear.
“I love you,” Bill answers.
Charlie moves his hands down to the waist of Bill’s jeans. He can already feel that Bill is rock hard, his cock straining against his tight jeans. He opens the button at the top and pulls down the zipper and slips a hand inside.
For a moment Bill tenses as Charlie’s strong hand wraps around him.
“Don’t fight it anymore. Give in to what you want,” Charlie whispers and Bill relaxes into his touch.
Bill moans Charlie’s name over and over like a mantra.
Bill helps Charlie out of his trousers and then removes his own.
They throw their clothes everywhere. The mess they are making might be comical but they are both serious, concentrated.
Charlie pushes Bill down and quickly kisses a path down his chest. He looks at Bill in the moonlight like this, almost white, the beautiful, perfect cock reaching up, a single drop suspended at the tip.
“You are perfect,” Charlie whispers and engulfs Bill’s cock with his mouth.
Bill grabs a handful of sheets in each fist and cries out when he feels Charlie’s silky warmth. He is grateful for the silencing charm.
Charlie works expertly, alternating short, tantalizing licks with deep penetration. He takes Bill’s cock in as far as he can. Bill’s skin is hot like fire.
There is nothing Bill can do. Charlie has control.
“Charlie…I can’t…Charlie…I’m going to…”
Bill moans as he comes, the sheets twisted furiously in his grasp. Charlie swallows almost every drop of the warm opalescent liquid.
Charlie crawls back up and Bill opens his mouth ready to kiss Charlie again, but instead, Charlie lets the last drops of Bill’s come drip from his tongue into Bill’s mouth. Bill’s mind explodes from the sensation. His own taste, his own spunk. He’s never tasted it before. He kisses Charlie passionately, sucking his tongue to get every drop he can.
After a moment, Bill rolls Charlie over onto his back, determined to return the favor, wanting to see if his brother tastes the same. Needing to know if Charlie would like the same things.
As he moves slowly down Charlie’s body, he remembers Fleur telling him how talented his tongue is. He hopes he will be good at this.
Bill’s mouth waters in anticipation but instead of taking Charlie in his mouth right away, he lets Charlie’s cock rub against his cheek, feeling the elastic skin unlike anything else. He buries his face in Charlie’s red curls, breathing in the smell of soap and musk. He licks from base to tip once, then twice. On the third time, he takes Charlie in his mouth and feels his brother’s large hands grip his shoulders.
Bills works slowly, determined to please Charlie, so satisfied when he hears his brother’s moans. He can feel himself getting hard again as Charlie pulls the rubber band out of Bill’s hair and tangles his hand in the soft hair that falls, like a halo, around Bill’s face.
Bill looks up at Charlie. Their gazes lock for a moment and everything in Bill’s world seems to click into place. Charlie begins to pull Bill up and he resists. He wants to finish, to make Charlie come.
“Bill,” Charlie says as he urges his brother up. “I want to feel you.”
“I want to taste you,” moans Bill.
“You will. I promise.”
Charlie takes Bills hand and licks his fingers. Then he leads them to his arse.
Bill works one wet finger in and then two. Charlie growls and arches his back.
Slowly, Bill slides in a third finger in. Charlie looks at him and nods.
Bill pumps his cock a few times, covering it with his own precome.
Bill pushes in slowly, incredulous at Charlie’s tightness, his mind swimming as he can feel the ring of muscle gradually relax and grant him entry.
Neither of them moves for a moment. Bill’s hands are holding Charlie’s hips. Charlie’s left hand grasps the side of the bed and his right is placed on Bill’s stomach, ready to guide the speed of Bill’s entry. Bill feels for a moment that he is being squeezed to death, but then he begins to move and Charlie moves with him.
The rhythm is slow at first. Bill cannot believe the warmth, the friction. He knows he won’t be able to last long like this.
As the movements become faster, Charlie strokes his own cock which is painfully hard.
Watching his brother’s rough, calloused hand move expertly up and down his own shaft is almost too much for Bill to take. He is very close now, the friction driving him insane.
“Charlie,” Bill says by way of warning.
“Yes. Now,” Charlie says and Bill’s thrusts get more erratic and then he explodes, filling Charlie up, galvanizing his insides, crying out his brother’s name.
And as he does, Charlie comes, the warm liquid spurting all over his chest.
Bill’s thrusts get slower and slower until he feels that he will collapse from exhaustion.
A thought intrudes on Bill’s mind: “There is no going back now.”
Bill feels that his life has split into two parts, before this night and after this night. A single hot tear, unbidden, falls down his cheek and onto Charlie’s chest, mingling with the thick spunk there.
Charlie looks up at him, questioningly, as if to ask, what does this mean?
But no more tears come. Bill smiles slightly and leans down, and he licks up his own tear and tastes Charlie’s come. It is salty-sweet. He wants to have every drop of it, not wasting an ounce. But Charlie pulls him up and kisses him. And the two brothers look at each other, as if for the first time.
“The world is mine, Bill.”
“You win, Charlie.”
Author: merrycontrary
Challenge: I've seen your flag on the marble arch/But love is not a victory march/It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah - Leonard Cohen, Hallelujah
Pairing: Bill/Charlie
"You win."
Charlie sits up in bed, peers into the darkness, sees
nothing. A sigh. A form moves slowly into a patch of
moonlight left by open shutters. Pale skin drained of
any color, even freckles lost in the shadowy light.
"She's gone."
Bill's hair should be seen by daylight, he thinks.
Cascades of vibrant reds. By night, it is just a
darker shade of gray in his hands. He closes his
eyes, calls upon memory to color his world.
"You win."
Words whispered against his lips before a kiss presses
against them, opens them. He answers with a moan.
Words could never define this feeling anyhow. His
brother's weight forces him back, holds him steady as
the world spins.
"I love you."
All the color drained from his brother's appearance
has been channeled into his skin. His brother's hands
scald him, draw gasps and cries. His brother's
release galvanizes his insides. Fireworks fill his
mind. He has triumphed at last, the world is his.
"You win."
His brother's tears fall upon his own flushed skin,
evaporate with a hiss. He opens his eyes again, and
finally sees. He shares his bed with a man of ash.
Title: You Win
Author: bksncleverness
Warning: incest, slash, snowballing
Rating: NC-17
Bill apparates just outside the kitchen door of the Burrow. He looks down at himself. He looks messy and he knows it. His dragon hide boots are scuffed and dirty, his faded jeans torn at the knees, his t-shirt tight and frayed, his shoulder-length red hair unkempt. His fang tooth earring hangs once again from his left ear, his watch with the large black dragon hide band sits on his left wrist, on his right there is a small black rubber band for his hair.
Fleur would hate this outfit.
“Fuck her,” he thinks. “Fuck her right in that sweet Veela arse she’d never let me get near,” he thinks and sneers.
He stands there for a moment, outside the door, listening to the noises within. He can hear Mum making dinner and his father’s voice. Bill breathes in the smell of Mum’s cooking, the scent of the flowers she has planted in the patch of garden by the door, the fresh air. As the gentle breeze blows through his hair, Bill relishes the last moment of peace. He will have to tell them now. He will have to admit to them that his life is a fucking mess. He’s not sure how he wants his parents to react to the news about Fleur, which only means that any way they react will seem somehow wrong. Bill sighs and reaches for the doorknob.
“Bill!” Molly shouts when he enters, “Arthur! Look who’s here!”
“Well, I’ll be,” Arthur says as he gets up to clap Bill on the shoulder after Molly hugs him.
“To what do we owe this great honor?” Molly says brightly, her eyes expectant.
“Mum, Fleur left me,” he says quietly, calmly.
Her smile vanishes, “What? What happened? When?”
“Er, today. Right now, in fact. She’s moving out as we speak.”
“But why?”
“I don’t really want to talk about it right now. I just needed to get out of there, but don’t think I can handle the third degree right now, Mum. All right?”
Molly fusses for a moment more. She casts around for something to say and settles on, “well, if you’re going to eat, at least get your hair out of your face.” She reaches up and brushes a stray tendril behind his ear.
As Bill moves towards the table he pulls the rubber band off of his wrist and begins smoothing back his hair into a pony tail. Arthur sits down across from him and waits until Bill has finished wrapping the rubber band around his hair before asking, “So, did you hear the match on Saturday?”
“No Dad,” Bill answers, grabbing a roll off of a plate on the table and buttering it.
“Oh, it was brilliant!”
Arthur spends most of the meal talking about the Quidditch match and about goings on at the Ministry and Bill pretends to be interested and Molly pretends she’s not worried. Still, he is glad to be at the Burrow and not in his flat in Hogsmeade where he’d feel Fleur’s absence more. It wasn’t because he was going to miss her. Well, not entirely that. It was what she said when she left that disturbed him so. And he wanted to get away from her saying it; he wanted to forget that part had ever happened.
“She doesn’t know me. She never knew me. She’s wrong,” he thinks. And he can taste the bitterness he feels towards her even through his mother’s cooking.
Being at the Burrow is like being in a magical picture, Bill muses. You can move around and wave, but setting always remains the same. For him, the Burrow has been frozen in time to when Bill was 18. For that reason, he always feels uneasy spending a lot of time there. But today, this is what he wants: to feel frozen in a time before Fleur, before Egypt, before his real life.
Bill excuses himself after dinner and goes up to his old room. He takes off his boots and lies down on his bed. He watches the sky get darker and the moon slowly rise. He hears voices downstairs and assumes that his Mum and Dad are trying to figure out why Bill and Fleur have broken up. He bristles, wondering if he will ever be able to tell them the truth. He knows he will have to give them some explanation some time, and he dreads that day.
He hears footsteps on the stairs and turns on his side, away from the door, ready to feign sleep if Mum wants to talk. But when the door creaks open, the shadow thrown against the wall is large and imposing.
“I know you’re not asleep,” the voice says.
Bill turns and faces the door, “Charlie?”
Without a word, Charlie closes the door behind him, whips out his wand and whispers a silencing charm. He goes to the bed where Bill lies. He sits on the bed, facing Bill and when Bill does nothing, says nothing, makes no move at all, Charlie leans down and enfolds his older brother in a fierce hug.
Bill pushes him away. “Charlie, don’t.”
“What’s wrong?” Charlie says as Bill lies back down and looks at the ceiling. Bill says nothing.
“Merlin, Bill. What happened?”
“What are you doing here Charlie?” Bill says, sounding exasperated.
“Mom called me by Floo. She’s worried about you.”
“Yeah, well…” Bill says.
“Well, what?”
“Nothing,” Bill says as he looks everywhere but at Charlie.
They sit in silence for a moment. “She’s gone?”
Bill looks at his watch and shrugs.
“You don’t care, do you?” Charlie asks.
“Of course I do,” says Bill, a little too quickly.
“You can’t lie to me. You’re glad she’s gone. Hell, you’re relieved. She saved you the trouble.”
“What are you talking about, Charlie?”
Charlie leans down and kisses Bill. He forces his tongue between Bill’s lips. After a moment, Bill starts to kiss back. Then he stops and pushes Charlie away.
“Gods, Charlie,” he says, wiping his mouth.
“You want this,” Charlie says quietly, but fiercely.
“No. You’re both wrong about me,” Bill says and turns on his side away from Charlie.
“Oh, so that’s what it is, eh? She figured you out. I never pegged Fleur as the observant type. Looks like you’re the last to know,” Charlie says.
“No,” Bill whispers.
“You’re the cool one, Bill. The earring, the dragon-hide boots, the long hair, the tattoos. You’re the rebel, right? But is it all just an act? Do you really want to live differently? Or are you Wild Bill on the outside and Percy on the inside?”
“This is me, Charlie. Through and through.”
“Then stop lying to yourself,” Charlie says as he lies down behind Bill. “Let me show you who you are,” he says and moves the pony tail off of Bill’s neck. Slowly and gently he places small kisses on the back of Bill’s neck. The room is so dark, everything seems to be in black and white. Bill’s hair looks like a dark gray instead of its vibrant red. “Don’t. Fight. It.” He says between kisses.
Bill shudders at the contact. “Charlie, stop it,” he says, but does not move.
Charlie, tracing circles on Bill’s back with his fingers, and whispers, “Think about what you want most in the world, Bill.”
Bill jumps up off the bed and faces Charlie. “I can’t, Charlie. You don’t understand.”
“Like hell, I don’t. Remember who you’re talking to, for fuck’s sake. Forget about who you’re supposed to be. Forget about what Mom and Dad think you are. Forget about your image and what everyone else assumes about you. Fuck all that. What do *you* want, Bill?”
“I don’t know,” he says and sits on the windowsill. Bill and Charlie sit there in the dark for some time, in silence. Bill’s tears drip onto his ripped jeans. He passes a hand across his wet cheeks.
And then, quickly, as if he’s made a decision, he crosses to the bed.
Bill takes Charlie’s face in his hands and hungrily devours the full, sweet lips of his younger brother. They kiss until their jaws hurt, until both of their faces are red from the friction. Charlie begins kissing along Bill’s jawline, breathing hotly into his ear, and leaving marks on the skin as he works his way down his neck.
“You win,” Bill whispers as Charlie sucks on the flesh just above his collarbone.
Charlie lifts Bill’s t-shirt over his head and then removes his own shirt. Charlie is thick with muscles, freckles covering every inch of his skin. So many burns on his arms, in all different stages of healing. Some are shiny and new, some are fading, some are scabbed over. Bill runs his hands up and down Charlie’s arms, exploring by touch the rough terrain of his brother’s skin.
Bill is thinner, toned but not cut. He is taller than Charlie by two inches. His freckles are not as dense and, in the moonlight, it almost seems to Charlie as if his freckles have faded away, that Bill is pure white. Charlie runs his fingers over the tattoo Bill has on his right shoulder. It is a cartouche of Bill’s name. Charlie can almost feel the outline of the image. Bill’s heart races and the ink seems to rise and become distinct under Charlie’s hand. He is reading it in the dark like a blind man.
Charlie crushes Bill in his arms. They are both hot. They are both sweating.
“You are mine,” Charlie whispers into Bill’s ear.
“I love you,” Bill answers.
Charlie moves his hands down to the waist of Bill’s jeans. He can already feel that Bill is rock hard, his cock straining against his tight jeans. He opens the button at the top and pulls down the zipper and slips a hand inside.
For a moment Bill tenses as Charlie’s strong hand wraps around him.
“Don’t fight it anymore. Give in to what you want,” Charlie whispers and Bill relaxes into his touch.
Bill moans Charlie’s name over and over like a mantra.
Bill helps Charlie out of his trousers and then removes his own.
They throw their clothes everywhere. The mess they are making might be comical but they are both serious, concentrated.
Charlie pushes Bill down and quickly kisses a path down his chest. He looks at Bill in the moonlight like this, almost white, the beautiful, perfect cock reaching up, a single drop suspended at the tip.
“You are perfect,” Charlie whispers and engulfs Bill’s cock with his mouth.
Bill grabs a handful of sheets in each fist and cries out when he feels Charlie’s silky warmth. He is grateful for the silencing charm.
Charlie works expertly, alternating short, tantalizing licks with deep penetration. He takes Bill’s cock in as far as he can. Bill’s skin is hot like fire.
There is nothing Bill can do. Charlie has control.
“Charlie…I can’t…Charlie…I’m going to…”
Bill moans as he comes, the sheets twisted furiously in his grasp. Charlie swallows almost every drop of the warm opalescent liquid.
Charlie crawls back up and Bill opens his mouth ready to kiss Charlie again, but instead, Charlie lets the last drops of Bill’s come drip from his tongue into Bill’s mouth. Bill’s mind explodes from the sensation. His own taste, his own spunk. He’s never tasted it before. He kisses Charlie passionately, sucking his tongue to get every drop he can.
After a moment, Bill rolls Charlie over onto his back, determined to return the favor, wanting to see if his brother tastes the same. Needing to know if Charlie would like the same things.
As he moves slowly down Charlie’s body, he remembers Fleur telling him how talented his tongue is. He hopes he will be good at this.
Bill’s mouth waters in anticipation but instead of taking Charlie in his mouth right away, he lets Charlie’s cock rub against his cheek, feeling the elastic skin unlike anything else. He buries his face in Charlie’s red curls, breathing in the smell of soap and musk. He licks from base to tip once, then twice. On the third time, he takes Charlie in his mouth and feels his brother’s large hands grip his shoulders.
Bills works slowly, determined to please Charlie, so satisfied when he hears his brother’s moans. He can feel himself getting hard again as Charlie pulls the rubber band out of Bill’s hair and tangles his hand in the soft hair that falls, like a halo, around Bill’s face.
Bill looks up at Charlie. Their gazes lock for a moment and everything in Bill’s world seems to click into place. Charlie begins to pull Bill up and he resists. He wants to finish, to make Charlie come.
“Bill,” Charlie says as he urges his brother up. “I want to feel you.”
“I want to taste you,” moans Bill.
“You will. I promise.”
Charlie takes Bills hand and licks his fingers. Then he leads them to his arse.
Bill works one wet finger in and then two. Charlie growls and arches his back.
Slowly, Bill slides in a third finger in. Charlie looks at him and nods.
Bill pumps his cock a few times, covering it with his own precome.
Bill pushes in slowly, incredulous at Charlie’s tightness, his mind swimming as he can feel the ring of muscle gradually relax and grant him entry.
Neither of them moves for a moment. Bill’s hands are holding Charlie’s hips. Charlie’s left hand grasps the side of the bed and his right is placed on Bill’s stomach, ready to guide the speed of Bill’s entry. Bill feels for a moment that he is being squeezed to death, but then he begins to move and Charlie moves with him.
The rhythm is slow at first. Bill cannot believe the warmth, the friction. He knows he won’t be able to last long like this.
As the movements become faster, Charlie strokes his own cock which is painfully hard.
Watching his brother’s rough, calloused hand move expertly up and down his own shaft is almost too much for Bill to take. He is very close now, the friction driving him insane.
“Charlie,” Bill says by way of warning.
“Yes. Now,” Charlie says and Bill’s thrusts get more erratic and then he explodes, filling Charlie up, galvanizing his insides, crying out his brother’s name.
And as he does, Charlie comes, the warm liquid spurting all over his chest.
Bill’s thrusts get slower and slower until he feels that he will collapse from exhaustion.
A thought intrudes on Bill’s mind: “There is no going back now.”
Bill feels that his life has split into two parts, before this night and after this night. A single hot tear, unbidden, falls down his cheek and onto Charlie’s chest, mingling with the thick spunk there.
Charlie looks up at him, questioningly, as if to ask, what does this mean?
But no more tears come. Bill smiles slightly and leans down, and he licks up his own tear and tastes Charlie’s come. It is salty-sweet. He wants to have every drop of it, not wasting an ounce. But Charlie pulls him up and kisses him. And the two brothers look at each other, as if for the first time.
“The world is mine, Bill.”
“You win, Charlie.”