(no subject)
Title: Bargain
Pairing: Charlie/Lavender
Rating: PG
Word Count 821
From a prompt from luvscharlie, who wanted Charlie and Lavender and "is that ll you've got?"
Charlie Weasley didn’t know much about jewelry, but he knew what he liked, and knew how to spot a rare gem. “Forty Galleons? Is that the best you can do? No, look at that, the stone has very little fire, I’ve seen better in a Bucharest back alley. I’ll give you twenty five and I’d be doing you a favour.”
Lavender Brown, on the other hand, knew quite a lot about jewelry, and what is more, she knew how to size up people and manipulate them into spending more than they planned. However, this particular customer had her flustered, and it wasn’t just his slight resemblance to her first boyfriend. When he fixed those eyes on her (she’d always been a sucker for blue eyes, hadn’t she?) she was having trouble remembering her own name. And that wasn’t even getting into that lovely angular jaw, and the thick red hair with the slight curl on the ends, and the fascinating green tail that waved back and forth on his bicep, disappearing under the sleeve of a tee shirt that left little to the imagination. And she had a rather vivid imagination, actually. “Excuse me?”
“Twenty five Galleons with tax. And I’d like it wrapped, please.”
“Mr. W- Er, sir, the price is set,” she said lamely.
Charlie grinned, “Nothing’s ever set in stone. Except that thing, I mean, and set badly at that. She’ll wear it once and the garnet will roll off into the gutter. Twenty five is twice what it’s worth.”
“Can I be more clear? The price is set. I don’t know where you think you are, but we’re British. We don’t haggle, thank you very much.” She laid her very best imitation of McGonagall on him--the one that always got suppliers to give in to her demands--but she found to her dismay that he seemed immune, or maybe she’d lost her touch.
“Now see, you don’t know what you’re missing then. The bargaining, that’s the best part; the give and take, the game. Sort of like sex, you know? Getting there’s half the fun.”
Lavender pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. “I’d tell you that was a ludicrous comparison if I wasn’t all too familiar with your family’s courting techniques. Getting there wasn’t half the fun, it was all the fun.
Charlie threw back his head and laughed. “Clearly, Miss, er..” He looked at her name tag. “Miss Brown, is it? Clearly you’ve been messing with the wrong Weasleys. Or you picked them too green. Tell you what...thirty and I’ll throw in a nice dinner on top of it. And I promise you’ll wake up tomorrow with a different opinion of Weasleys, among other things.”
Lavender huffed and snatched the pendant away from Charlie’s hands. "Is that the best you can do? Forty, Mister Weasley. The price is set. And I’d suggest the next time you set out to change a girl’s opinions of you and your family’s eligibility, you don’t do it whilst buying presents for bimbos.”
Charlie grinned. “Forty it is, then, and you’ll have to tell me which of my brothers to beat up on tomorrow night. Have my suspicions, though. You’ll wrap it?”
He took one of the gift cards of the counter and scrawled; ‘Happy Fiftieth, Mum. You’re still my best girl. Love Charlie,’ across it.
Naturally, Lavender couldn’t help but read it, she was dreadfully nosy after all, and curious about him. As soon as she saw the word ‘Mum,’ though, she did a double take and read the whole damn thing, and her eyes flew back to his in horror. She bit her lip, and as she tried to form an apology, he leaned with one elbow on the glass worktop, grinning and waiting.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” She held up her hands helplessly.
“Is that the best you can do?” His voice was authoritative, but he was still grinning, enjoying himself immensely.
“Excuse me?” she said.
“You called my mum a bimbo,” he pointed out.
“Did not,” she said, “I just assumed...”
He nodded, waiting for her to continue, but she didn’t, instead making a big fuss of polishing the stone before she put the pendant into its velvet case.
“Offer’s still open.”
“What offer?”
“Dinner. And whatever else happens after.”
Her eyes widened and she felt her cheeks heat up. “I really don’t think...”
“Come on, love, take a chance. Anyway, you owe me for impugning my motives.”
“Do I?”
“Or I owe you for my idiot brother.”
She laughed at that, looking up at him through lowered lashes. “I suppose you might at that.”
“Right, then,” he said, and leaned over the display to kiss her cheek, and the scarred one at that. She reached up to touch it, wondering why she could still feel his lips there. As he was leaving he called out over his shoulder, “Pick you up at eight?”
Sleeping Arrangements
Charlie/Tonks
Rating: Pg 13
Word Count: 823
Written from a drabble prompt by ragdoll, who asked for Bill/Tonks or Charlie/Tonks or Bill/Tonks/Charlie, candlelight and laughter.
“Aw, Charlie, You didn’t have to go to all this fuss.”
He shrugged. “ S’no trouble. I mean...I thought...It’s just a ruddy candle, all right? Nicked it from Snape’s office while I was doing detention yesterday. Reckoned he owed you something after what he said about your hair.”
Tonks thought that was sort of convoluted logic considering he’d earned his detention by saying what he’d said about Snape’s hair in return, making the entire class titter uncomfortably as he went on about about Snape’s wardrobe choices, that nose of his and his apparent distaste for personal hygiene in general. But she’d been secretly pleased that Charlie had come to her defense, so she decided to drop it. “Just a candle, right--but butterbeer and sweets, too, and almost a proper bed, and...I mean, if what Sophie says is true, it’s only going to last for three minutes, right?”
Charlie scowled. “I think I can do better than that.”
Tonks snickered at that. “Can you, now? Well, anyway, I’m touched. Just promise me that you won’t get all mushy after, all right? I mean, we’re mates, and we agreed. Just to get it over with, right? No fuss, no strings, just....”
“Sex,” he said, and swallowed visibly.
“Right,” she said, and plopped ungracefully on the stack of Gryffindor-coloured blankets, tugging her robes over her head.
Charlie stood watching her for a moment, biting his lip, his hands thrust in his pockets, his eyes wide.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I..er sort of wanted to do that myself, actually.”
“Oh, she said, dropping the robes by the side of the bed and tugging her shirt back down around her waist. Where the modesty was coming from, she didn’t know, but her cheeks were heating up for some strange reason. “All right, then, you can do the rest.” And suddenly, in spite of the chill in the air in the drafty, dusty room, something in his all-too-familiar eyes had warmth spreading out from her chest, warming her fingers and toes and the tip of her nose, somehow gathering back into an area just below her stomach and lingering for a bit. Perhaps this was what the those books she’d nicked from Sprout’s bookshelf were talking about, but she hoped that she wasn’t in any danger of swooning from desire or crying out in ecstasy or being pierced by his throbbing sword of manhood, or some such rubbish like that.
Still, when he sat down next to her, at the first touch of his hands on her skin, she could feel her heart thudding in her ears, and somehow--though he’d touched her about a hundred times before, whether stopping her from taking a tumble down the stairs or slapping her arse as he raced behind the hoops or punching her shoulder when she was having a good laugh--this was different.
His fingers on the buttons of her shirt were clumsy. He seemed to be even shaking a bit, but she doubted she could have done better, with his face suddenly so close, and his lips right there, and why hadn’t she noticed before how beautiful his mouth was? And as she was noticing that, it occurred to her that he smelled really nice, and not just because apparently he’d just taken the trouble to brush his teeth, and his hair was still damp which probably meant that he’d just taken a shower in spite of the fact that she already knew that he smelled like a thestral’s backside after a rough game and she always hugged him anyway.
She reached out to touch his jaw, noticing that it was uncharacteristically smooth and smelled just slightly of Lockhart’s ‘Locks of Love’ shaving potion. Didn’t the stupid sod know she’d got it for him as a gag?
Charlie froze at the touch of her fingers, his eyes dropping to her mouth, his thumb still touching the bit of bare skin between column of buttons on her shirt and the lace of her bra.
“You all right then?” he asked, his thumb moving ever so slightly, making her skin erupt in goose bumps that had very little to do with the temperature of the room. It was just a tit, right? How could being touched there feel so different than being touched on--say--your right elbow? Though, admittedly, now that she thought about it, her right elbow was feeling that same almost electric buzz that the rest of her body was feeling, and if he was to touch that, she might just jump out of her skin. And when had his voice gone so deep, anyway?
“Yeah, lovely” she said, and her own voice sounded breathy and girlish and stupid even to her own ears. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned back against the pillows, closing her eyes and sighing just as his lips closed over hers. Maybe those novels weren’t complete rubbish after all.
Pairing: Charlie/Lavender
Rating: PG
Word Count 821
From a prompt from luvscharlie, who wanted Charlie and Lavender and "is that ll you've got?"
Charlie Weasley didn’t know much about jewelry, but he knew what he liked, and knew how to spot a rare gem. “Forty Galleons? Is that the best you can do? No, look at that, the stone has very little fire, I’ve seen better in a Bucharest back alley. I’ll give you twenty five and I’d be doing you a favour.”
Lavender Brown, on the other hand, knew quite a lot about jewelry, and what is more, she knew how to size up people and manipulate them into spending more than they planned. However, this particular customer had her flustered, and it wasn’t just his slight resemblance to her first boyfriend. When he fixed those eyes on her (she’d always been a sucker for blue eyes, hadn’t she?) she was having trouble remembering her own name. And that wasn’t even getting into that lovely angular jaw, and the thick red hair with the slight curl on the ends, and the fascinating green tail that waved back and forth on his bicep, disappearing under the sleeve of a tee shirt that left little to the imagination. And she had a rather vivid imagination, actually. “Excuse me?”
“Twenty five Galleons with tax. And I’d like it wrapped, please.”
“Mr. W- Er, sir, the price is set,” she said lamely.
Charlie grinned, “Nothing’s ever set in stone. Except that thing, I mean, and set badly at that. She’ll wear it once and the garnet will roll off into the gutter. Twenty five is twice what it’s worth.”
“Can I be more clear? The price is set. I don’t know where you think you are, but we’re British. We don’t haggle, thank you very much.” She laid her very best imitation of McGonagall on him--the one that always got suppliers to give in to her demands--but she found to her dismay that he seemed immune, or maybe she’d lost her touch.
“Now see, you don’t know what you’re missing then. The bargaining, that’s the best part; the give and take, the game. Sort of like sex, you know? Getting there’s half the fun.”
Lavender pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. “I’d tell you that was a ludicrous comparison if I wasn’t all too familiar with your family’s courting techniques. Getting there wasn’t half the fun, it was all the fun.
Charlie threw back his head and laughed. “Clearly, Miss, er..” He looked at her name tag. “Miss Brown, is it? Clearly you’ve been messing with the wrong Weasleys. Or you picked them too green. Tell you what...thirty and I’ll throw in a nice dinner on top of it. And I promise you’ll wake up tomorrow with a different opinion of Weasleys, among other things.”
Lavender huffed and snatched the pendant away from Charlie’s hands. "Is that the best you can do? Forty, Mister Weasley. The price is set. And I’d suggest the next time you set out to change a girl’s opinions of you and your family’s eligibility, you don’t do it whilst buying presents for bimbos.”
Charlie grinned. “Forty it is, then, and you’ll have to tell me which of my brothers to beat up on tomorrow night. Have my suspicions, though. You’ll wrap it?”
He took one of the gift cards of the counter and scrawled; ‘Happy Fiftieth, Mum. You’re still my best girl. Love Charlie,’ across it.
Naturally, Lavender couldn’t help but read it, she was dreadfully nosy after all, and curious about him. As soon as she saw the word ‘Mum,’ though, she did a double take and read the whole damn thing, and her eyes flew back to his in horror. She bit her lip, and as she tried to form an apology, he leaned with one elbow on the glass worktop, grinning and waiting.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” She held up her hands helplessly.
“Is that the best you can do?” His voice was authoritative, but he was still grinning, enjoying himself immensely.
“Excuse me?” she said.
“You called my mum a bimbo,” he pointed out.
“Did not,” she said, “I just assumed...”
He nodded, waiting for her to continue, but she didn’t, instead making a big fuss of polishing the stone before she put the pendant into its velvet case.
“Offer’s still open.”
“What offer?”
“Dinner. And whatever else happens after.”
Her eyes widened and she felt her cheeks heat up. “I really don’t think...”
“Come on, love, take a chance. Anyway, you owe me for impugning my motives.”
“Do I?”
“Or I owe you for my idiot brother.”
She laughed at that, looking up at him through lowered lashes. “I suppose you might at that.”
“Right, then,” he said, and leaned over the display to kiss her cheek, and the scarred one at that. She reached up to touch it, wondering why she could still feel his lips there. As he was leaving he called out over his shoulder, “Pick you up at eight?”
Sleeping Arrangements
Charlie/Tonks
Rating: Pg 13
Word Count: 823
Written from a drabble prompt by ragdoll, who asked for Bill/Tonks or Charlie/Tonks or Bill/Tonks/Charlie, candlelight and laughter.
“Aw, Charlie, You didn’t have to go to all this fuss.”
He shrugged. “ S’no trouble. I mean...I thought...It’s just a ruddy candle, all right? Nicked it from Snape’s office while I was doing detention yesterday. Reckoned he owed you something after what he said about your hair.”
Tonks thought that was sort of convoluted logic considering he’d earned his detention by saying what he’d said about Snape’s hair in return, making the entire class titter uncomfortably as he went on about about Snape’s wardrobe choices, that nose of his and his apparent distaste for personal hygiene in general. But she’d been secretly pleased that Charlie had come to her defense, so she decided to drop it. “Just a candle, right--but butterbeer and sweets, too, and almost a proper bed, and...I mean, if what Sophie says is true, it’s only going to last for three minutes, right?”
Charlie scowled. “I think I can do better than that.”
Tonks snickered at that. “Can you, now? Well, anyway, I’m touched. Just promise me that you won’t get all mushy after, all right? I mean, we’re mates, and we agreed. Just to get it over with, right? No fuss, no strings, just....”
“Sex,” he said, and swallowed visibly.
“Right,” she said, and plopped ungracefully on the stack of Gryffindor-coloured blankets, tugging her robes over her head.
Charlie stood watching her for a moment, biting his lip, his hands thrust in his pockets, his eyes wide.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I..er sort of wanted to do that myself, actually.”
“Oh, she said, dropping the robes by the side of the bed and tugging her shirt back down around her waist. Where the modesty was coming from, she didn’t know, but her cheeks were heating up for some strange reason. “All right, then, you can do the rest.” And suddenly, in spite of the chill in the air in the drafty, dusty room, something in his all-too-familiar eyes had warmth spreading out from her chest, warming her fingers and toes and the tip of her nose, somehow gathering back into an area just below her stomach and lingering for a bit. Perhaps this was what the those books she’d nicked from Sprout’s bookshelf were talking about, but she hoped that she wasn’t in any danger of swooning from desire or crying out in ecstasy or being pierced by his throbbing sword of manhood, or some such rubbish like that.
Still, when he sat down next to her, at the first touch of his hands on her skin, she could feel her heart thudding in her ears, and somehow--though he’d touched her about a hundred times before, whether stopping her from taking a tumble down the stairs or slapping her arse as he raced behind the hoops or punching her shoulder when she was having a good laugh--this was different.
His fingers on the buttons of her shirt were clumsy. He seemed to be even shaking a bit, but she doubted she could have done better, with his face suddenly so close, and his lips right there, and why hadn’t she noticed before how beautiful his mouth was? And as she was noticing that, it occurred to her that he smelled really nice, and not just because apparently he’d just taken the trouble to brush his teeth, and his hair was still damp which probably meant that he’d just taken a shower in spite of the fact that she already knew that he smelled like a thestral’s backside after a rough game and she always hugged him anyway.
She reached out to touch his jaw, noticing that it was uncharacteristically smooth and smelled just slightly of Lockhart’s ‘Locks of Love’ shaving potion. Didn’t the stupid sod know she’d got it for him as a gag?
Charlie froze at the touch of her fingers, his eyes dropping to her mouth, his thumb still touching the bit of bare skin between column of buttons on her shirt and the lace of her bra.
“You all right then?” he asked, his thumb moving ever so slightly, making her skin erupt in goose bumps that had very little to do with the temperature of the room. It was just a tit, right? How could being touched there feel so different than being touched on--say--your right elbow? Though, admittedly, now that she thought about it, her right elbow was feeling that same almost electric buzz that the rest of her body was feeling, and if he was to touch that, she might just jump out of her skin. And when had his voice gone so deep, anyway?
“Yeah, lovely” she said, and her own voice sounded breathy and girlish and stupid even to her own ears. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned back against the pillows, closing her eyes and sighing just as his lips closed over hers. Maybe those novels weren’t complete rubbish after all.