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Tepid	By : KohakuShadow Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2621 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I'd obviously have done it the way I wanted it the first time. That's what makes it FANfiction. And as it is a fanfic--written by the fans, for the fans--it is also obvious that it's not helping me pay any bills.

Chapter List
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III.
Shell Cottage

(The
Journal of William Arthur Weasley, undated entry #2)

So,
I'm writing in this thing Percy gave me again. Guess he was right
about one thing--I do need some kind of outlet for my feelings
before I explode. Thing is, he thought he meant my feelings about
the separation with Fleur. I haven't thought about her much,
honestly. Thought about Victoire a few times. And well, I guess
that makes me think of Fleur a little--like if she's getting enough
sleep. I guess her parents are probably helping with the baby now.
I keep finding myself waking up at 2:15 in the morning, expecting to
get up to take care of a crying infant. I know Victoire is crying
somewhere, but someone else is up with her, bouncing her and making
goofy faces at her to calm her. Someone else is sitting up with her
and a smoke in the living room. Me, I'm sitting at the kitchen table
with a smoke and a journal, because I've somehow been trained to be
up at this hour, because the 2:15 shift always fell to my turn.
Victoire would settle after about an hour, and then around 5:30 she'd
wake up crying again. Fleur would get her and I'd roll over to sleep
for another thirty minutes.

You'd
think being rid of a crying baby would get your life back to normal,
but its been months and I still wake up every morning and make it
halfway to the nursery before I realize the only thing up and about
in Shell Cottage is me and this dull ache in my face that everyone
keeps telling me will fade with time. Or maybe I'll just get so used
to it that I'll stop noticing.

Didn't
really mean to get on talking about this kind of stuff though.
Viktor's been staying with me for three weeks now. I don't see much
of him. He says on his previous trips to England he wasn't really
able to see the sights, so he sleeps in, goes wandering after I've
already left for work, and comes in again around dinner. We don't
talk much. I tried some small, but it always falls flat. Small
talk's not his thing, I guess. That's fine. He snores, you know.
It's not obnoxious or anything, kind of this soft little snorting
sound. When I'm wandering about in the middle of the night I can
hear it when I pass the door of the guest bedroom. I've noticed
lately that I'll stop and listen for a minute. Having someone else in
the house, someone I can hear when I wake up, seems to make my
scars ache less. That doesn't make much sense does it? I guess
that's why I'm sitting here writing about it.

I
can tell something's bothering him. That's why he's here. Not here
in my house, but here in England. I might be wrong but it seems
similar to how I am, somehow--like the way I can't fall in love.
There's something very basic and fundamental missing. I wonder what
it is he thinks he'll be able to find here that he can't find in
Bulgaria. I guess wandering around the UK to all the best tourist
spots is kind of like going on a pilgrimage for him. It must be
tough. At night he comes back, and he'll sit on the couch with a
book that he opens, I think, just to have something to stare at so we
don't have to talk. Sometimes I find myself watching him. I don't
think he notices, though.

I've
decided to give Shell Cottage to Ron and Hermione when they come back
from their honeymoon. I told dad about it today. He asked if I was
going to come back to the Burrow. Well he actually said 'home' not
'the Burrow' but I haven't lived there in so long I don't think I can
think of the Burrow as home anymore. I told him I was going to see
if I could get my old job back in
Egypt. There's not really any reason for me to stay here now. I
came back to England for the Order of the Phoenix. I stayed for
Fleur. Now that both are gone, there's really no reason to linger.
For a desk job? I'm not that old yet. Sure charm-breaking isn't
always easy work. I've experienced more hexes up close and personal
than I'd care to think about, but at least something is actually
happening,
you know?

*

Bill
heard footsteps in the doorway and slammed the journal shut abruptly,
cussing as the ash from his cigarette burned the back of his hand.
He dropped it abruptly into the ashtray and shook it off. "What
are you doing up?" he asked as Viktor opened the fridge. He was
barefoot, standing there staring a bit blankly in his sweats and
t-shirt for a long few minutes before reaching for a bottle of water
and seating himself across from the red-head with a yawn.

"Bathroom,"
Viktor answered, uncapping the bottle. "I saw the kitchen light
vas on. You do not sleep vell?"

"Oh,
I sleep well enough," Bill answered.

"It
is nearly three in the morning. You normally are up at this hour
vhen you have to vork in the morning?"

"Yeah,
what can I say? I never got much into the nine to five habit."

"Fleur
told me you used to be a charm-breaker."

"Probably
always will be, deep down," Bill answered. There was no way
around Fleur. She was their common ground, so the fact that she came
up in conversation all the time couldn't be helped. "How's the
pilgrimage going?"

"The
vhat?"

Bill
shook his head and leaned forward with a little grin. "All
these pamphlets you've got lying about. Stonehenge, Edinburgh
Castle, Westminster Abbey...is running around with muggles really
helping you find whatever it is you're looking for?"

"Is
sitting up alone at two in the morning helping you avoid finding it?"
Viktor retorted. "Ve are not the same. You may be fine vith
having lost your passion in life, but for me, living vithout it is
much more painful. I do not think sitting here vatching you stare
off into space vhen you think I am not going to notice vill be of any
help."

Bill
laughed. Viktor had such an innocence to him, a certain naivete that
was really rather charming. Lost? "What if I told you I never
had any real 'passion' in the first place? I've had my fun, mind.
But maybe I'm just too laid back to let things get me all riled up.
Have you thought of that? Love that burns you to the core and steals
your very identity--maybe not everybody wants that. Maybe not
everyone needs it. I'm just not that type of guy. I thought you
were the same."

Not
that type of guy. If only it were that simple. No, there was
something much more discreet hidden here. Viktor was beginning to
think that maybe if he helped Bill somehow, maybe that would be like
helping himself. If he could figure out what was missing from Bill
that made him this way, Viktor thought maybe he would then understand
what he was missing as well. "These things you say, how do you
expect to convince other people of them vhen you don't even believe
them yourself?" Viktor answered.

Bill
shrugged with a flippant little smirk and glanced at the clock. 3:05.
"I'm going back to bed," he said and went back upstairs
before Viktor could get another word out. He locked his bedroom
door, burrowed under the covers, and swallowed a lump in his throat,
opening the journal again.

He
started a new paragraph.

(The
Journal of William Arthur Weasley. entry date: 11/28.)

There's
got to be something seriously wrong with me. I was just downstairs
talking to Viktor. It wasn't really the most pleasant conversation,
but I couldn't help finding myself watching him. I was listening,
really I was, but I was also watching the way the dim light I'd left
on in the kitchen cast shadows across his skin and his big, square
hands. He accused me of being a liar--which is justified, because I
kind of am--and at that moment I just came to this sort of
realization. Viktor, you know, he's hot. I don't know why
I'm just noticing it now. He's got these big dark eyes and these
pouty lips...and he has this way of looking at you that just cuts
straight through your entire body. He's really, seriously handsome.
I sort of panicked and ran out in the middle of the conversation when
I realized my mind wasn't the only part of me that had noticed.

I
mean, I can't believe it. I actually just got an erection from
staring at another man. I've never gotten an erection just
from looking at someone before. Never. What am I doing writing in
this stupid thing now? I need to get some sleep.

*

Bill
put the journal away and flopped onto his back. He rolled to one
side, then the other. He tried to think of tedious, boring
things—like de-gnoming the garden, and peeling potatoes the
muggle way. When that didn't work, he tried for things he found
completely grotesque—pustules, and Mr. Filch and even Mr. Filch
in an evening gown. Hideous, but not helping. His mind kept straying
back to Viktor's pouty lips and dark eyes and large hands and broad
shoulders. He bit his lip. Merlin, he was hard. He tossed and
turned for another twenty minutes. When his groin accidentally rubbed
against the mattress, he moaned softly and bit down on his lip.

'Oh
for pity's sake, I give up,' Bill thought. If he didn't deal with
his problem, he was never going to get back to sleep tonight. A cold
shower? Too obvious at this time of night. Viktor would definitely
know that something was up—between Bill's thighs. They were
both men. Midnight showers only ever really meant one thing. No,
he'd have to deal with his problem the more entertaining way.

Bill
kicked the blankets to the bottom of the bed and slid his pants down,
hissing as they brushed over his tense member. The cool air on his
heated flesh made him shiver and arch into a shard of moonlight that
played across his pale skin. He didn't delay in wrapping his fingers
around the tense shaft—he wanted to finish this quickly—and
began jerking on it languidly at first.

“Mmn...”
he moaned softly. Come to think of it, it had been ages since he'd
had a good wank. His lips parted and his eyes drifted close, forming
fantasies. At first, he tried women—not Fleur, that was still
a sore subject, but other beautiful women he'd known, or celebrities,
but his arousal was slow to build and his mind kept wandering back to
Viktor's dark eyes boring into him. Viktor straddling his hips and
pulling off his shirt. Viktor grinding their hips together...

Bill
bit his lip hard as he found his sexual interest spiraling more
quickly out of his control then he could ever remember it doing
before. He jerked his flesh harder, ran his thumb roughly over the
head, which was already dripping with need. His other hand came to
palm his balls. He panted hoarsely. In his mind, Viktor was naked
now. He shoved his erection at Bill's face. Bill's arousal
intensified in spite of his shock at being so turned on by such a
thing. He fantasized about taking the Quidditch player's cock in his
mouth, sliding his fingers into Viktor's arsehole, sucking and
thrusting and spreading—Viktor moaning and rocking slightly
between his fingers and face. It disturbed him that the fantasy had
turned this way—that the thought of sucking another man's cock
turned him into such a hormonal mess, but this didn't stop him from
thrusting eagerly up into his own hand and earnestly enjoying his
fantasy. He imagined Viktor sliding back, highly aroused. He
imagined positioning his own turgid length at the younger man's
puckered entrance...

...and
he bit his cheek, barely able to hold back the lusty scream that
wanted to tear from his throat as he climaxed before he was even able
to enter Viktor in his fantasy. His seed spewed all over his hand
and abdomen. He rocked and gasped with his thick release, and could
only lay there panting for a long few moments before reaching for his
wand to cast a cleansing spell on his spent member and the
surrounding area that he'd sullied.

He
sighed, pulled his pants up, and burrowed into the blankets. He
certainly hoped he hadn't been loud enough to be heard across the
hall. Even if he had, he doubted Viktor was the type to call him on
it.

'What
the hell was that all about?' Bill wondered. 'Another man? That's
new.' He shook his head. His hormones were just making use of
whatever was available, he decided for now, if only to placate
himself into sleeping—he hadn't gotten any in a while was all.

But
when he dreamed, he still dreamed of Viktor Krum. And he woke with a
sinking feeling that something fundamental had changed--something he
wasn't ready for.
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