Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1114885.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Bill_Weasley/Charlie_Weasley
  Additional Tags:
      Come_Eating, Sibling_Incest, Masturbation
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-12-23 Words: 2925
****** Sweet Ideas ******
by lq_traintracks_(lumosed_quill), traintracks
Summary
     Charlie needs help from Bill to learn how to play a very important
     game.
"I want to learn," I say softly, because I've devised how to work Bill over the
years, and he likes to see himself as my teacher.
He taught me how to play Quidditch and would play me often when I was younger -
- until I got better than him and suddenly he had more important things to do
with his time than lose spectacularly to his little brother.
Bill is not good at losing. It's how he's become a Prefect.
It's why he never has to lick the plate. Or so I'm told.
And it's Lick the Plate that I want to learn how to play.
Sort of.
Merlin, I should have been Sorted into Slytherin. Would have been except that I
figured out how to work the Hat, too.
Bill is still panting and looking awkward and whatnot. I walked in just as it
was over, his mates all finding reasons to be elsewhere all at once. And I can
see him trying to decide if he's going to play dumb.
He won't. He's way too honest. And nobody plays dumb like me, I have to say.
"No, you don't, Charlie," he sighs. "Don't you want to get going? It's the last
Hogsmeade trip of the year."
I rock up onto the balls of my feet then back onto my heels, biting my lip. My
nervousness isn't feigned. My stomach twists in knots, and I'd just go to
Hogsmeade like he thinks I should, except that this is my big chance and I
don't know when I'm going to get another one.
"I have to play it tonight," I tell him. Like it's some great sacrifice. What a
joke. I lick my lips. "It's just that... I've never actually..."
His eyebrows rise, and he wipes the sweat from his upper lip. I can't help but
look there. I swallow hard. 'I've never...' Are you kidding? I've only been
wanking since before I can remember. Frankly, I'm shocked Bill isn't perfectly
aware of this sordid fact about me.
Nobody in this family wanks like me.
Nobody in Hogwarts.
Nobody in England.
Nothing was coming out until about two years ago, but since then...well, let's
just say if you want me to aim for a cauldron across the room, just tell me how
high you want it to arc on the way there.
But I blink at Bill and widen my eyes to up the innocence factor.
"Never?" he asks, looking me up and down in a way that has me wanting to
squirm.
I shake my head. "I don't want to look stupid," I tell him.
He throws himself into a chair and loosens his tie, letting it hang open around
his neck. "What do you expect me to do?" It's one big put-out sigh.
"Um..." I hedge. My heart has leapt into my throat. Bill unbuttons two buttons
on his starched, white shirt, scratching at a place on his collar bone. "Teach
me?" I implore.
He frowns.
"You're not going to Hogsmeade, are you?" I ask. I know he's not. He told Clive
Jeffries he was going to study instead. He's working on becoming Head Boy after
all.
I'm just working on him.
And before you turn your nose up in disgust at me, let's get one thing
straight. Because have you seen my brother? His hair's got long, and he's fit
and smart and good, and he's going to be a curse-breaker some day. He's only
been my hero (in everything except Quidditch) my entire life. I was wanking
over him before I knew it was wrong. So don't get in a snit about this, all
right? He's only everything I've ever wanted. What would you do, huh?
He sighs again, not quite as long-suffering. "I have to study for my exams."
I inch forward. I start kicking at the leg of his chair a little. "Just thirty
minutes? Please?"
He blinks at me. Maybe he wants to and maybe he doesn't. I can't tell. I only
know that he's never let an opportunity to teach me something pass him by.
I only know I want this bad enough to manipulate the shit out of him to get it.
"What do you want me to do?" he says again, and now he's wavering. Something
like magic ignites throughout my body.
"Just...show me?" I ask.
"You know the point of the game, right?" he tests me.
I nod vigorously.
"Last one to come on the plate...?"
"Licks it off," I manage to say without drooling. I might actually look
slightly appalled to him, I don't know. "Have you...ever lost?" I venture.
At this, he smiles and his eyes twinkle. God, I've just almost got him. "No,"
he says. He clears his throat. "You do realize, I'd be at a distinct
disadvantage right now, though."
"Because you just...did it?" I ask. And shit, my cock is starting to get hard
talking about it. Picturing it. Bill's strong hand stroking one off.
"Yeah, Charlie. And no offense, but I expect you're going to be a natural at
this," he scoffs.
Oh, Bill. You'd think, wouldn't you?
I bite my lip. "Please?" I say. And I watch the magic word work its magic on my
brother.
He sighs. He's blushing. Oh Merlin, he's standing up.
"Are you sure?" he asks.
I pretend to think about it. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure," I say. I am, after all, a
brave boy. (As if.)
He pulls his wand and locks the door.
I've got him. It's like catching the Snitch.
I take a deep breath and fight the urge to squeeze myself all the way erect
through my trousers.
Bill picks up the newly cleaned plate from his desk. He looks at me once -
- thinking, judging, deciding -- and then he puts the plate on the ground
between us and starts to unzip.
"Go on," he says, nodding to my tenting trousers. He smirks. "Happens over
nothing, doesn't it?"
I laugh little. "Yeah." Except that it's not over nothing. It's always been
over something very specific actually.
He swallows. Then he tells me, "Take it out."
I fumble with my flies. My fingers are trembling. I bring my hard cock out
while Bill watches. His eyes flick to the door once, and I see that his breath
has quickened. Then he's looking at me. At my cock. He blinks a few times, then
he nods, frowning, says, "Good," in a weirdly changed voice, and looks down.
I try -- I really, really do -- not to lick my lips when he pulls out his long,
mostly flaccid dick. What I wouldn't give... I'm practically drooling. I've
fantasied about sucking it since I was a first year and I heard from a
particularly learned Nathan Abbott that sometimes girls liked to put it in
their mouths.
"Are you ready?" he asks.
I nod. "What do you do?"
"What do you think?" he replies silkily.
I start to stroke myself. Way too hard and way too fast. It's ridiculous.
Thankfully, he stops me before I can chafe.
"Whoa," he laughs. He touches my elbow reflexively. His laugh dies, and he
wrenches his hand away. "Not so fast," he explains. "I mean, I know it seems
like the correct course of action," (oh, my big brother, the professor), "but
you'll end up at Madam Pomfrey's or something, going at it like that."
His hand casually wraps around his girth, and he's just sort of fondling
himself.
Fuck, Bill, way to be pornographic.
And now surely you see my predicament? Why I am the way I am.
Look at him.
I nod, too turned on for speech, and slow my strokes.
"Here," Bill advises. "Spit in your hand. Like this." He does it and then pulls
slowly down his shaft. It gets bigger and longer and God I want him in my
mouth, but...
"Like this?" I ask, mimicking him.
He swallows. "Yeah. Uh, yeah." But he looks away from it quickly.
"What do you think about?" I ask him. Dangerous territory. If he's going to
lie, it's going to be about this. I know my brother's proclivities, and they
run just as much to strapping young blokes as busty birds.
"You can think of a girl you like," he tries. 'You.' Nice save, Bill. "You can
think of whatever. So long as it does the trick in time."
"Oh yeah," I can't help but almost-moan. He can't possibly not realize that I'm
blatantly staring at his cock. It's turning dark and rearing up into his touch.
He slides his hand all the way down and up, and I'm loving the way the head
pushes through his fist each time, springy and fat.
I slow my own until it's painful.
"You'll...want...to up the pace...a little now," he advises me.
"But it feels good like this," I whine.
His lashes flutter a little. I guess whining is good. "But you don't want to
lose, do you?" he asks.
Fucking son of a bitch, hell YES I DO!
I shake my head no and pick up the pace. Just not enough to matter. I know my
limits.
Bill's hand is making a slapping sound now. I step in a little closer. I
pretend I'm just getting a better aim at the plate. He does the same. We both
angle down at it and surreptitiously look at one another's cocks. We're
breathing hard, in concert.
"Bill?" I practically keen his name.
"Shit," he hisses. "What?"
"Am I doing it right?" I swipe my thumb over the slit, gathering the pre-come
with each calculated pass.
He watches me. His mouth drops open. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, that's good." His
gaze lifts and meets mine.
"It feels too good to stop," I confess.
He licks his lips. "Wanna know a secret?" he asks me.
I look down at his cock, the head red and moist now, and I nod.
Then he says, "Sometimes...when I want to keep it going, but I don't want to
lose...I squeeze it like this," and then he wraps his hand around the base,
tight, like I learned, I don't know, years ago, "and it holds it off a little.
You know. So you can be second to last."
"Like...this?" I ask. And I do it wrong.
"Not like that. Like this." His strong hand gripped around the thick base, in
the wiry red hair, his bollocks twice the size of mine.
"Like this?" There are only so many fucked up ways a bloke can squeeze his cock
wrong, and I'm running out of them.
He makes an exasperated sound, and before he probably even knows what he's
doing, he slaps my hand away and squeezes tight and sure around the base of my
cock. "Like that," he tells me. Then his gaze shoots to mine, and I'm so
shocked all I can do is stare at one of his eyes and then the other with his
warm fist around me until he lets go quickly, and not coming is the hardest
thing I've ever done.
"Nngghh," I cry out at the loss -- his hot hand so strong on me.
I'm close to begging him to do it again.
I think we both might know it, too.
Bill watches the plate and the plate only and beats himself fast. His blush is
crazy hot. I want to fall to my knees right now, the game be damned.
I want him to break.
"I don't want to have to lick it," I whimper pathetically.
Bill grits his teeth.
"Bill," I gasp. "I don't want to eat it."
All that comes out now in answer is a rough growl.
"Bill," I whisper. "Bill, I need to come."
And fuck, that's the truth. I could shoot any time. But I hold it back.
My words are working on him. I see it. I don't care if he's trying to think of
that Patricia Corning he dated for a while or Madam Sprout or bloody Albus
Dumbledore for that matter. He's listening to me. He can't help lifting his
guilty gaze to watch my hand flying over my dick. He's standing close to me.
Bill touched me.
And so help me Merlin, he's going to come because of me, too.
"Bill, I need it," I groan.
"Jesus," he grunts and starts coming in hard splatters on the plate. "Jesus
fucking...God, Charlie."
And that is more than enough. I throw my head back and shoot.
It's ironic that he let himself say my name, because I'm too damned good at
keeping his behind my teeth, and I just groan and bite my lip and suffer
through the most powerful orgasm I've ever had.
Then, before he can tell me to do it or not do it (because he might just take
pity on me, Merlin forbid), I drop down to the floor. I look up at him once,
panting above me, frowning. And then I lower my mouth to the plate, and I start
licking it up before I even go soft. My dick twinges hard at the first taste of
him crossing my lips.
I knew it would.
I don't know what he thinks of this, because right now I'm in bloody heaven,
because it's sort of disgusting, all cool and stuff, but it's Bill's and I
don't leave one drop, so when I finish and look up at him and see his shocked
face, his speechlessness -- I'm almost sorry. Because I just dashed whatever
sweet ideas he had about his little brother all to hell. I just demolished
myself in front of his disbelieving eyes.
"Charlie?" he finally whispers as I stand up and dust off my trousers.
He wants to ask if I'm gay. He wants to ask if I liked it. He wants to know why
I ate my own brother's spunk off a plate like it was wonderful.
But he doesn't want to, too. And I don't blame him. I only hope not knowing
might make it okay to do again sometime.
Maybe we can both pretend it isn't what it is. That it's a game rather than
life.
But I should have known better. Because Bill isn't a pretender like me. Bill is
genuine and fine and lovely.
So he actually starts to step forward, a look of deep concern and confusion on
his face.
I act fast and laugh it off. "Guess I need more practice," I say, tucking my
prick away and backing up.
"Charlie," he says, voice deep and commanding.
I look up at him, my face flaming now, still tasting him. Now that I've done
it, he knows. I thought I had everything under control. I don't. I just bloody
don't. My ears are hot as embers.
He reaches out and wraps a big hand around the back of my neck. His thumb moves
up into my hair, making me shiver. "It's okay," he tells me.
I duck out from under his touch, the mirthless laughter bubbling up past the
quick onset of childish tears. He doesn't let me retreat. He takes my face in
both hands now and makes me look up at him.
"It's okay," he says again.
I blink up at him, at the impossible compassion I see in his eyes. I'm
fourteen, not some baby. I'm the star of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I've
pulled more Snitches than Bill has girls. I've fallen off my broom from fifty
feet, broken bones, got into fights with the Slytherin players and won even
outnumbered by two. And still I haven't cried. But goddamn it, my brother's
going to break me.
He must see that, because he saves me in the next instant, letting me go and
shrugging. "You'll get better with practice," he assures me almost jovially.
Though there is still that message in his eyes -- that inexpressible
understanding.
"I'll make sure to keep it to myself from now on," I tell him, staring at my
feet. Wouldn't you know it, there's spunk on my shoe.
"No," he says quickly.
I look up at him, and he's just staring at me. He's just staring at me and...
"Is there Quidditch practice tomorrow night?" he asks out of the blue.
"No."
"Not for anyone?"
"No, not tomorrow." I frown at him, completely perplexed.
Until he says, "Under the stands, Gryffindor side. Eight o'clock." His jaw
tightens in that way that dares me to contradict him.
I stare vacantly, so he prompts me, "Charlie," his voice hard.
I nod. "Okay."
"I really have to study," he says curtly. I don't know who he's saving here,
himself or me, but he turns, donning his glasses again and rummaging around on
his desk for something or nothing -- his dignity or mine.
"O-okay," I croak out. I turn and drag heavy, sated legs to the door, where I
stop. I don't know what I want to say. Maybe I want to apologize for being a
slag for his come. For stealing away the boy he thought was his little brother
and showing him my true, abominable colors. Maybe I want to thank him. Because
apparently we're going to do it again. My heart thrills to the idea, and I can
barely breathe. "Bill?"
"Shut it," he says. "I told you it's okay."
I nod at his back. He stacks parchments, one on another. The plate lays there
in the middle of the floor. I lick my lips. And I walk out.
What would you do, huh?
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!