Quietus
Around five years ago, a tremendously talented woman called Kay Taylor began a series of stories about Bill and Charlie Weasley. The first is I Will Buy You A New Life and the second is Quietus.
A month or so ago I wrote to Kay and asked if I could pick up where she had left off, since it seemed she didn't intend to continue the story line. She graciously gave me her permission. Since then I've had the fun of writing in the Quietus world and exploring its fascinating ideas. It's an addictive place: I have 4 other pieces in various stages of completion. For me, that's a whirlwind pace, especially since I've done two fest fics in the same time.
This is my first posted story in the Quietus world. I strongly recommend you read Kay's work first: in addition to being great stories, they form the background for this piece and it won't make much sense without that background.
This story takes place just after the end of Kay Taylor’s “Quietus”, in the interval between the Death Eater rampage at the Quidditch World Cup and Bill and Charlie’s departures for their homes.
Quietus: Gamblers
“Claustrophobia,” Bill tells Molly.” The Burrow is packed with visitors.”
“Too many of us,” Charlie adds, and the two of them slip outside and walk across the fields as they did when they were children. They walk until they reach a favorite place, sheltered by old oaks and hedged by blackberry brambles. It is very peaceful and very private and very small for two grown men, but Charlie pulls Bill almost on top of him as they stretch out. They look at one another, each seeing a mirror of his own fears, before Bill lowers his mouth to Charlie’s and the world outside vanishes in their long heated kisses.
“Want you so much,” Bill murmurs against Charlie’s throat. “The house is hell.”
Charlie hums agreement, nibbling the shell of Bill’s ear to feel him shiver. Charlie feels his own tremors of response, and gets lost in a world of sympathetic vibration and his lover’s sweet mouth.
“So hard to see you every day and not touch,” whispers Charlie. “So hard to keep my hands off you.” He pulls the leather thong from Bill’s ponytail and cards his hands through the fall of copper hair. Bill makes a contented sound and rests his forehead briefly on his lover’s shoulder. “I can’t even touch your hair.”
“Waiting to get you alone for a week,” Bill complains. Charlie smiles against Bill’s throat and presses up against him, feeling him choke back a moan at the roll of Charlie’s hips. They’re both aching with desire denied. Charlie gasps, seeing stars as Bill presses down.
“Silencing charm?” he asks, breathless.
Bill’s reply is an indrawn rasp of air: “We can’t. Twins.” A silencing charm would draw their curious brothers as honey draws flies.
“Fuck,” whispers Charlie, all his frustrations compressed into the whisper that wants to be a scream. “We have to get out of here.”
“Ah, Char, I know, I know,” Bill replies. His movements still as he raises himself on his elbows to look down at Charlie, flushed and breathless and beautiful against the dark greens and browns beneath him, blue-green eyes hazy with lust and so filled with love that Bill’s chest tightens and suddenly he wants to cry. Charlie feels the change in Bill’s mood almost as soon as Bill does, reaching up to run callused fingertips gently across Bill’s cheek.
“Don’t think about it,” Charlie pleads. “Don’t. We gambled and we lost. Nobody knows but us. We’ll find other chances. We’ll make them.”
“He knows,” Bill says. “The Mark in the sky…,” Bill starts, chokes up but forces the words out anyway… “All I could think of was you.”
“I know,” Charlie replies. “And you found me.” He rakes his fingers through Bill’s sleek hair. “You always find me.”
Fury flashes through Bill’s eyes, fury born of desperation. “He lied to us, Char. We risked our lives for him and he threw us away. We were so close, almost free, almost safe, and then nothing. Nothing!”
Charlie pulls Bill down into a desperate kiss, unwilling to waste precious minutes on old anger, hoping his body will calm Bill where his words have failed before. He turns them onto their sides and unbuttons Bill’s shirt, feeling Bill shudder when Charlie’s teeth tug gently at his nipple, sliding his hand down Bill’s side to push their groins together. He wants Bill, needs him like he needs air or water. Especially now, when two years of dreams of a life together seem to be fading away.
Love and need and fear make a dangerous brew of lust and carelessness. Bill’s fingers, long delicate strong fingers, slip to the flies on Charlie’s jeans. Charlie moans into Bill’s mouth, wild to have him and knowing Bill knows it.
“We have to be quiet,” Bill smiles. “Think you can manage that?”
“No chance,” Charlie says, running his fingers down Bill’s bare chest so he can feel Bill’s breath catch when his fingers reach below the waist of his jeans to brush the head of his cock, already wet with pre-come.
They’ve been shoulder to shoulder for two weeks but this feels like coming together after a long time apart: fast, hot, rough and exactly what they need. They’re taking a huge risk. They’re too close to the house and have to be quiet or they’ll be caught by their family. Charlie does his best to be silent but he’s half crazy with repressed desire; Bill does better until Charlie’s cock hits that perfect spot inside him, the one that shoots sparks up his spine and makes him arch off the grass with a strangled shout. Charlie wouldn’t be Charlie if he didn’t slam that spot again and again and again, so that Bill is seeing brilliant white light behind his eyes when he finally comes, biting his own forearm to keep quiet, shooting come over them both and dragging Charlie over the edge with him. Charlie presses his face hard against Bill’s shoulder and clenches his teeth, quieting his moans in to strangled sobs that sound almost like tears.
Later, Charlie combs Bill’s hair out and ties it back neatly. They’re very careful when they dress to remove the grass stains and occasional squashed blackberry from their clothes, knowing their mother’s sharp eye for dirt. Their walk home is slow and quiet, wrapped in the same afterglow and thinking the same thoughts.
“Bill?” Charlie asks as they come over the last stile to the house. “What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know, Char,” There’s something perilously close to despair in his voice that makes Charlie wish he hadn’t asked. “No matter what happens, we’re marked. If it really is him, we aren’t going to be able to hide in the woods forever.”
Charlie thinks on that until they’re nearing the permanent Quidditch match in the back yard. Ron and Harry have split the twins to cut down on the advantage they have: from the shouting it sounds like Ron is accusing the pair of switching teams while Harry flies lazy loops over and around all three. He sees Bill and Charlie first, shouting and waving hello. Their siblings glance over at the two of them and return to their argument: brothers don’t rate much excitement around here.
Charlie’s sideways glance shows Bill chewing his lip. “Don’t worry, Bill,” he whispers. “We might still be able to hide.”
“How?” Bill asks.
“It’s only half an idea,” Charlie says. “Let me think a little. I can’t explain it yet.”
“Think quickly,” Bill urges. “We may not have much time.”
Please comment, if only to say that you read the story.
Thank you,
Cass
A month or so ago I wrote to Kay and asked if I could pick up where she had left off, since it seemed she didn't intend to continue the story line. She graciously gave me her permission. Since then I've had the fun of writing in the Quietus world and exploring its fascinating ideas. It's an addictive place: I have 4 other pieces in various stages of completion. For me, that's a whirlwind pace, especially since I've done two fest fics in the same time.
This is my first posted story in the Quietus world. I strongly recommend you read Kay's work first: in addition to being great stories, they form the background for this piece and it won't make much sense without that background.
This story takes place just after the end of Kay Taylor’s “Quietus”, in the interval between the Death Eater rampage at the Quidditch World Cup and Bill and Charlie’s departures for their homes.
Quietus: Gamblers
“Claustrophobia,” Bill tells Molly.” The Burrow is packed with visitors.”
“Too many of us,” Charlie adds, and the two of them slip outside and walk across the fields as they did when they were children. They walk until they reach a favorite place, sheltered by old oaks and hedged by blackberry brambles. It is very peaceful and very private and very small for two grown men, but Charlie pulls Bill almost on top of him as they stretch out. They look at one another, each seeing a mirror of his own fears, before Bill lowers his mouth to Charlie’s and the world outside vanishes in their long heated kisses.
“Want you so much,” Bill murmurs against Charlie’s throat. “The house is hell.”
Charlie hums agreement, nibbling the shell of Bill’s ear to feel him shiver. Charlie feels his own tremors of response, and gets lost in a world of sympathetic vibration and his lover’s sweet mouth.
“So hard to see you every day and not touch,” whispers Charlie. “So hard to keep my hands off you.” He pulls the leather thong from Bill’s ponytail and cards his hands through the fall of copper hair. Bill makes a contented sound and rests his forehead briefly on his lover’s shoulder. “I can’t even touch your hair.”
“Waiting to get you alone for a week,” Bill complains. Charlie smiles against Bill’s throat and presses up against him, feeling him choke back a moan at the roll of Charlie’s hips. They’re both aching with desire denied. Charlie gasps, seeing stars as Bill presses down.
“Silencing charm?” he asks, breathless.
Bill’s reply is an indrawn rasp of air: “We can’t. Twins.” A silencing charm would draw their curious brothers as honey draws flies.
“Fuck,” whispers Charlie, all his frustrations compressed into the whisper that wants to be a scream. “We have to get out of here.”
“Ah, Char, I know, I know,” Bill replies. His movements still as he raises himself on his elbows to look down at Charlie, flushed and breathless and beautiful against the dark greens and browns beneath him, blue-green eyes hazy with lust and so filled with love that Bill’s chest tightens and suddenly he wants to cry. Charlie feels the change in Bill’s mood almost as soon as Bill does, reaching up to run callused fingertips gently across Bill’s cheek.
“Don’t think about it,” Charlie pleads. “Don’t. We gambled and we lost. Nobody knows but us. We’ll find other chances. We’ll make them.”
“He knows,” Bill says. “The Mark in the sky…,” Bill starts, chokes up but forces the words out anyway… “All I could think of was you.”
“I know,” Charlie replies. “And you found me.” He rakes his fingers through Bill’s sleek hair. “You always find me.”
Fury flashes through Bill’s eyes, fury born of desperation. “He lied to us, Char. We risked our lives for him and he threw us away. We were so close, almost free, almost safe, and then nothing. Nothing!”
Charlie pulls Bill down into a desperate kiss, unwilling to waste precious minutes on old anger, hoping his body will calm Bill where his words have failed before. He turns them onto their sides and unbuttons Bill’s shirt, feeling Bill shudder when Charlie’s teeth tug gently at his nipple, sliding his hand down Bill’s side to push their groins together. He wants Bill, needs him like he needs air or water. Especially now, when two years of dreams of a life together seem to be fading away.
Love and need and fear make a dangerous brew of lust and carelessness. Bill’s fingers, long delicate strong fingers, slip to the flies on Charlie’s jeans. Charlie moans into Bill’s mouth, wild to have him and knowing Bill knows it.
“We have to be quiet,” Bill smiles. “Think you can manage that?”
“No chance,” Charlie says, running his fingers down Bill’s bare chest so he can feel Bill’s breath catch when his fingers reach below the waist of his jeans to brush the head of his cock, already wet with pre-come.
They’ve been shoulder to shoulder for two weeks but this feels like coming together after a long time apart: fast, hot, rough and exactly what they need. They’re taking a huge risk. They’re too close to the house and have to be quiet or they’ll be caught by their family. Charlie does his best to be silent but he’s half crazy with repressed desire; Bill does better until Charlie’s cock hits that perfect spot inside him, the one that shoots sparks up his spine and makes him arch off the grass with a strangled shout. Charlie wouldn’t be Charlie if he didn’t slam that spot again and again and again, so that Bill is seeing brilliant white light behind his eyes when he finally comes, biting his own forearm to keep quiet, shooting come over them both and dragging Charlie over the edge with him. Charlie presses his face hard against Bill’s shoulder and clenches his teeth, quieting his moans in to strangled sobs that sound almost like tears.
Later, Charlie combs Bill’s hair out and ties it back neatly. They’re very careful when they dress to remove the grass stains and occasional squashed blackberry from their clothes, knowing their mother’s sharp eye for dirt. Their walk home is slow and quiet, wrapped in the same afterglow and thinking the same thoughts.
“Bill?” Charlie asks as they come over the last stile to the house. “What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know, Char,” There’s something perilously close to despair in his voice that makes Charlie wish he hadn’t asked. “No matter what happens, we’re marked. If it really is him, we aren’t going to be able to hide in the woods forever.”
Charlie thinks on that until they’re nearing the permanent Quidditch match in the back yard. Ron and Harry have split the twins to cut down on the advantage they have: from the shouting it sounds like Ron is accusing the pair of switching teams while Harry flies lazy loops over and around all three. He sees Bill and Charlie first, shouting and waving hello. Their siblings glance over at the two of them and return to their argument: brothers don’t rate much excitement around here.
Charlie’s sideways glance shows Bill chewing his lip. “Don’t worry, Bill,” he whispers. “We might still be able to hide.”
“How?” Bill asks.
“It’s only half an idea,” Charlie says. “Let me think a little. I can’t explain it yet.”
“Think quickly,” Bill urges. “We may not have much time.”
Please comment, if only to say that you read the story.
Thank you,
Cass