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hp_goldenage2014-12-29 07:47 pm
elmyraemilie.livejournal.com) wrote in hp_goldenage2014-12-29 07:47 pm
FIC: Surely It Would Be Wiser
Title: Surely It Would Be Wiser
Characters/Pairings: Charlie Weasley, OMCs
Rating: Any Age
Summary: Habit is a subtle master.
Word Count: 1579
Author Notes: Unbeta'd. Please let me know if you see errors.
Bathilda Bagshot’s Bingo prompt: Limit
When Pete got back, everyone in the Zarnesti lab gathered in the big meeting room to welcome him, and to see if he had the items they'd requested from England. Charlie went too, of course, though some cowardly part of him whispered that he should find something to do in the dragon pens instead.
Seeing Pete gave him a peculiar lurch in his belly. The little equanimity he'd scraped together shriveled to a scrap in the light of the smile Pete gave him, and charred to ashes when that smile dropped quickly from Pete's face and he turned away. Charlie wondered why; what had Pete seen in his face? Once the cake they'd all chipped in for was distributed, Charlie slipped out and went back to work.
That evening, Charlie took the long way home, walking along the river past the first bridge and turning to cross at the second. He knew it was all on him, this trouble between him and Pete. They needed to talk. No, Charlie needed to talk and he had to do it soon. If he felt the way he did about Pete—that feeling he wouldn't name—then he owed it to them both to be honest and let Pete know what was going on.
At the intersection just past the grocery store, Charlie paused; if he took the left fork, he was on his way home. The right fork was the way to Pete's place. He hesitated; he wavered. Did he have to do this tonight? Pete must be tired from the travel and getting back on track at the lab. But putting it off only prolonged the strain on their friendship. Still, wasn't Charlie himself worthy of some consideration here? He didn't know what he was going to say; he had no plan, no speech, nothing. Surely it would be wiser to wait until he had his thoughts in order.
He stepped to the curb and waited for a few cars to pass so he could cross and get home. Two women came out of the deli across the street, arguing. One of them stopped on the sidewalk and stomped her foot while the other stared at her, offended. In rapid Romanian, the stomper shouted, “I told you, if you're going to do it, just do it!”
Charlie blinked; he sighed. He returned to the sidewalk and took the right fork, headed for Pete's house.
XOXOX
Pete opened the door to his knock. “Hey, Charlie! Come on in.” There was nothing different in his words, but his tone was guarded. The sitting room was a bigger mess than usual, littered with dirty laundry; a tottering tower of tea boxes sat on the side table. He saw Charlie looking at them and said, “You know how I hate the tea here. I wanted to stock up.”
Charlie did know that. He knew a lot of things about Pete: they had a running joke about ketchup versus brown sauce, and one about Celestina Warbeck as well. “That should last you at least a week,” Charlie said. “How was the wedding?”
“Oh, good. It was good. Mum cried, but she always does. We like Davey, so it was a pretty happy time all 'round.”
“Glad to hear it. My mum cries at weddings, too.” Then he couldn't think of anything else to say. Pete fussed around with the dirty clothing, picking things up and moving them to different piles. When Charlie couldn't stand it any longer, he began, “Listen, Pete, I--” but Pete started at the same time with “Charlie, I want--”
They stopped and looked at each other. Pete rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Sweet Merlin, this is awkward. Come on out to the kitchen, let me make us a cuppa. I need something to do with my hands.”
Somehow it was better in the kitchen. Pete boiled the kettle with that little flourish of his wand that Charlie had become so accustomed to. As Pete filled their mugs, Charlie took a deep breath and dove in. “All right. I want you to hear me out without interrupting me. Just let me spit it out, because I've never said this to anyone before. Right?”
Pete squinted at him with a frown, but nodded. “All right. Say your piece.”
“Um, that day before you left. I don't...I haven't...” He stopped and ran his hand through his hair. “It's been since Hogwarts that I hugged someone who wasn't a family member. I was pretty certain it was impossible, the whole falling...falling for someone thing. See, I ah...”
He paused. He could feel his face flaming as red as his hair. Pete pushed the mug toward him and he took a sip. No way around it except to blurt it out. “I don't like sex. I mean, I don't hate it, I'm not a prude or anything, but I don't enjoy it. Personally. And so I don't think you should be kissing me, because I'm not going to be able to go anywhere with that. Do you see?”
Pete sat back in his chair. “Hunh. I never heard of that. I mean, growing up, everyone I knew was after sex, to one degree or another. I can't say much has changed as we've gotten older, except that we're a little more selective. Are you, um...have you ever had sex at all?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Charlie said. Where did that fake hearty tone of voice come from? He tried again. “Yeah, I'm not a virgin, not with boys or girls. Remember, I told you that story about Selena Withnall in the broom shed? I didn't make that up. When everyone was trying it out, I did too, in my teens.”
“There's nothing wrong, is there? I mean, it doesn't hurt you or anything, does it?”
“No, nothing like that. I can have sex, but I don't want to. I guess it just seems like a lot of trouble over nothing. I never understood the big deal the other guys made about it.” There was an ache in his chest. “So, no pairing up for me. No matter how I feel about someone...hell, especially if I feel something...I don't want to get physical with them. It would be like a lie, and if I care about a person, that would be wrong.” He took another drink and said, “So there you are. It's not you, or anything you did. It's me.”
Pete got up to refill the kettle and dump his spent tea leaves in the bin. “There's something here that I'm missing. You're saying that because you don't have sex, you can't be with someone, like a love partnership thing. I don't see why that has to be true.”
“Circe's sake, Pete. Have you not noticed that people get married or take partners because they're having sex?”
“Well, yeah, but I don't see why you have to set limits on it that way. I mean, if one partner was honest, and the other partner was willing, why wouldn't it work?” He turned and looked Charlie right in the eyes. “Tell me, Charlie, why wouldn't that work?”
Charlie's voice rose. “Because sooner or later the willing partner would want real sex, and the honest partner would have to go on being honest, and that would be the end of it.”
“So do you think I'm out banging all the hot guys in Zarnesti in my spare time, Charlie? I haven't had sex in years, not unless you count having one off at the wrist in the privacy of my own tatty apartment. How would this be different? Except that maybe we'd be able to be comfortable together, and I could admit how I feel about you, and things like that.”
“You're saying...” Hands in his hair, Charlie sat back. “You're saying you want to do this. You want to, I don't know, date or something? I don't even know how to address that.”
In response, Pete stretched his hand across the table, palm up. “Give me your hand.” When Charlie hesitated, Pete snorted. “We're not bonding, mate, I just want you to give me your hand.”
Slowly, carefully, Charlie settled his hand in Pete's, and felt Pete's fingers curl around his. “Now listen to me,” Pete said, leaning forward. “I don't want anything you don't want. Understand? If this is as far as we ever get, then that's fine. But I do love you, you great redheaded idiot. I'm willing, and you're honest. Can you think about it for a little while and let me know?”
Charlie looked down at their hands, his freckled and Pete's pale, their fingers loose-woven together. His heart was back to hammering at his chest again. He took risks every day for a living, but this warmth of skin on skin was more frightening than a raging drake. This was a chance he thought he'd never have. Pete was a good man, and Charlie had missed him badly when he was gone. Was that what love was? What was the worst that could happen?
“All right. I'll think about it. I'll let you know.”
Pete squeezed his hand and let it go. “Wow. I'm glad that's over with. Let me clear up that laundry, and I'll tell you about the band at the wedding reception. They butchered Broom Jockey.”
And just like that, they were almost back to normal. But Charlie kept that conversation in the back of his mind, and turned it over and over again, wondering.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Characters/Pairings: Charlie Weasley, OMCs
Rating: Any Age
Summary: Habit is a subtle master.
Word Count: 1579
Author Notes: Unbeta'd. Please let me know if you see errors.
Bathilda Bagshot’s Bingo prompt: Limit
When Pete got back, everyone in the Zarnesti lab gathered in the big meeting room to welcome him, and to see if he had the items they'd requested from England. Charlie went too, of course, though some cowardly part of him whispered that he should find something to do in the dragon pens instead.
Seeing Pete gave him a peculiar lurch in his belly. The little equanimity he'd scraped together shriveled to a scrap in the light of the smile Pete gave him, and charred to ashes when that smile dropped quickly from Pete's face and he turned away. Charlie wondered why; what had Pete seen in his face? Once the cake they'd all chipped in for was distributed, Charlie slipped out and went back to work.
That evening, Charlie took the long way home, walking along the river past the first bridge and turning to cross at the second. He knew it was all on him, this trouble between him and Pete. They needed to talk. No, Charlie needed to talk and he had to do it soon. If he felt the way he did about Pete—that feeling he wouldn't name—then he owed it to them both to be honest and let Pete know what was going on.
At the intersection just past the grocery store, Charlie paused; if he took the left fork, he was on his way home. The right fork was the way to Pete's place. He hesitated; he wavered. Did he have to do this tonight? Pete must be tired from the travel and getting back on track at the lab. But putting it off only prolonged the strain on their friendship. Still, wasn't Charlie himself worthy of some consideration here? He didn't know what he was going to say; he had no plan, no speech, nothing. Surely it would be wiser to wait until he had his thoughts in order.
He stepped to the curb and waited for a few cars to pass so he could cross and get home. Two women came out of the deli across the street, arguing. One of them stopped on the sidewalk and stomped her foot while the other stared at her, offended. In rapid Romanian, the stomper shouted, “I told you, if you're going to do it, just do it!”
Charlie blinked; he sighed. He returned to the sidewalk and took the right fork, headed for Pete's house.
XOXOX
Pete opened the door to his knock. “Hey, Charlie! Come on in.” There was nothing different in his words, but his tone was guarded. The sitting room was a bigger mess than usual, littered with dirty laundry; a tottering tower of tea boxes sat on the side table. He saw Charlie looking at them and said, “You know how I hate the tea here. I wanted to stock up.”
Charlie did know that. He knew a lot of things about Pete: they had a running joke about ketchup versus brown sauce, and one about Celestina Warbeck as well. “That should last you at least a week,” Charlie said. “How was the wedding?”
“Oh, good. It was good. Mum cried, but she always does. We like Davey, so it was a pretty happy time all 'round.”
“Glad to hear it. My mum cries at weddings, too.” Then he couldn't think of anything else to say. Pete fussed around with the dirty clothing, picking things up and moving them to different piles. When Charlie couldn't stand it any longer, he began, “Listen, Pete, I--” but Pete started at the same time with “Charlie, I want--”
They stopped and looked at each other. Pete rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Sweet Merlin, this is awkward. Come on out to the kitchen, let me make us a cuppa. I need something to do with my hands.”
Somehow it was better in the kitchen. Pete boiled the kettle with that little flourish of his wand that Charlie had become so accustomed to. As Pete filled their mugs, Charlie took a deep breath and dove in. “All right. I want you to hear me out without interrupting me. Just let me spit it out, because I've never said this to anyone before. Right?”
Pete squinted at him with a frown, but nodded. “All right. Say your piece.”
“Um, that day before you left. I don't...I haven't...” He stopped and ran his hand through his hair. “It's been since Hogwarts that I hugged someone who wasn't a family member. I was pretty certain it was impossible, the whole falling...falling for someone thing. See, I ah...”
He paused. He could feel his face flaming as red as his hair. Pete pushed the mug toward him and he took a sip. No way around it except to blurt it out. “I don't like sex. I mean, I don't hate it, I'm not a prude or anything, but I don't enjoy it. Personally. And so I don't think you should be kissing me, because I'm not going to be able to go anywhere with that. Do you see?”
Pete sat back in his chair. “Hunh. I never heard of that. I mean, growing up, everyone I knew was after sex, to one degree or another. I can't say much has changed as we've gotten older, except that we're a little more selective. Are you, um...have you ever had sex at all?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Charlie said. Where did that fake hearty tone of voice come from? He tried again. “Yeah, I'm not a virgin, not with boys or girls. Remember, I told you that story about Selena Withnall in the broom shed? I didn't make that up. When everyone was trying it out, I did too, in my teens.”
“There's nothing wrong, is there? I mean, it doesn't hurt you or anything, does it?”
“No, nothing like that. I can have sex, but I don't want to. I guess it just seems like a lot of trouble over nothing. I never understood the big deal the other guys made about it.” There was an ache in his chest. “So, no pairing up for me. No matter how I feel about someone...hell, especially if I feel something...I don't want to get physical with them. It would be like a lie, and if I care about a person, that would be wrong.” He took another drink and said, “So there you are. It's not you, or anything you did. It's me.”
Pete got up to refill the kettle and dump his spent tea leaves in the bin. “There's something here that I'm missing. You're saying that because you don't have sex, you can't be with someone, like a love partnership thing. I don't see why that has to be true.”
“Circe's sake, Pete. Have you not noticed that people get married or take partners because they're having sex?”
“Well, yeah, but I don't see why you have to set limits on it that way. I mean, if one partner was honest, and the other partner was willing, why wouldn't it work?” He turned and looked Charlie right in the eyes. “Tell me, Charlie, why wouldn't that work?”
Charlie's voice rose. “Because sooner or later the willing partner would want real sex, and the honest partner would have to go on being honest, and that would be the end of it.”
“So do you think I'm out banging all the hot guys in Zarnesti in my spare time, Charlie? I haven't had sex in years, not unless you count having one off at the wrist in the privacy of my own tatty apartment. How would this be different? Except that maybe we'd be able to be comfortable together, and I could admit how I feel about you, and things like that.”
“You're saying...” Hands in his hair, Charlie sat back. “You're saying you want to do this. You want to, I don't know, date or something? I don't even know how to address that.”
In response, Pete stretched his hand across the table, palm up. “Give me your hand.” When Charlie hesitated, Pete snorted. “We're not bonding, mate, I just want you to give me your hand.”
Slowly, carefully, Charlie settled his hand in Pete's, and felt Pete's fingers curl around his. “Now listen to me,” Pete said, leaning forward. “I don't want anything you don't want. Understand? If this is as far as we ever get, then that's fine. But I do love you, you great redheaded idiot. I'm willing, and you're honest. Can you think about it for a little while and let me know?”
Charlie looked down at their hands, his freckled and Pete's pale, their fingers loose-woven together. His heart was back to hammering at his chest again. He took risks every day for a living, but this warmth of skin on skin was more frightening than a raging drake. This was a chance he thought he'd never have. Pete was a good man, and Charlie had missed him badly when he was gone. Was that what love was? What was the worst that could happen?
“All right. I'll think about it. I'll let you know.”
Pete squeezed his hand and let it go. “Wow. I'm glad that's over with. Let me clear up that laundry, and I'll tell you about the band at the wedding reception. They butchered Broom Jockey.”
And just like that, they were almost back to normal. But Charlie kept that conversation in the back of his mind, and turned it over and over again, wondering.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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