Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Radio	By : KohakuShadow Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1886 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and am not earning any money off of it.

Chapter List
- 1-Radio
- 1
A/N: gift for the awesome starstruck1986. Songs used in the making of this unbelievably long one-shot:

Starship – Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now - 1987

ABBA- The Winner Takes it All -1980

Haddaway – What is Love - 1993

Wham! - Wake me up before you go go – 1984

Yes, I have a mailing list. See my profile for details.

Charlie – Dec 12, 1972 (started Hogwarts 1984-1991) (left at summer – would be a matter of months before Ron started school)

Ron – Mar 1, 1980 (Hogwarts 1991-1998)

Radio

(inspired by 'Radio' – The Corrs)

(for starstruck1986)

Getting splinched sucked. No one had ever doubted that, but it bore repeating. If the pain wasn't bad enough – and, for the record, it was – being able to do nothing but lie about and think was even worse. And then, there was the radio. That bloody radio. He didn't know whether to love it or hate it. It was nice to hear those familiar voices and their silly code names, horrific to hear the long list of dead, and he always listened, always, for names he knew, wondering when the luck of his family and friends was going to run out. And, he wondered when they were ever going to bloody get somewhere on this half-arsed quest for horcruxes. He could just lie there and listen. What he heard most clearly was that Harry didn't even have half a plan. They were getting nowhere, had nothing to show for their efforts, and meanwhile all of their friends were fighting, and dying, and all he could do was listen to the radio, fiddle with the dials until he heard the voices of the people he loved, and worry, and wonder why he was even here, if the only purpose he had in life revolved around a radio, and the one voice he really wanted to hear was half a world away, flirting with vampires. If he could just hear that one voice, he felt like it would give him the strength to plod along through the dismal landscape of war, and find his place in it. So he listened for it, knowing he might never hear that cheerful voice again, knowing that even if that person died, the voices on the radio might not know for a very long time. He didn't know whether it was better to know and grieve, or to not know, and hold onto hope, but the way things were going, he didn't have much of the latter left.

He drifted in and out of consciousness. Harry and Hermione seemed content to pretend he wasn't there, anyway.

***

1986.

The radio. Charlie had always loved it, even if it was more hassle than it was worth. Ron knew why: it had been a gift from Bill. A half-arsed, busted up old muggle radio that would malfunction if you breathed on it wrong, but their father had given Charlie free reign of his workshop – he rather loved muggle things, after all, and was happy to spoil his children when they showed an interest – and with some creative use of spellotape and a few spare bits of yarn he'd begged off of their mother, Charlie had managed to get the thing in one piece. He'd spent most the summer locked up, repairing the damn thing, and Ron had spent it hovering in the doorway.

Charlie used to play with him all summer long. He would toss him about, and give him flying lessons, and read him stories. Bill would play sometimes, too, but it wasn't the same. All Bill ever thought about was girls. When Charlie played with him, he made Ron feel like he was the most important thing in the world. Bill was fun, but he got distracted, and Ron – even at the tender age of six – had a feeling that when Bill brought him to Diagon Alley and let him explore the joke shop, and bought him candy, he might have had ulterior motives. They always ended up going for ice cream with a witch in high heels and a short skirt. Ron didn't know what the two things had to do with one another, but he was pretty sure there was a connection.

When Charlie brought him to the Alley, he greeted his friends when he saw them, but always excused himself before very long, claiming it was 'brother time'. He would say, "He's too little for Hogwarts yet, so I don't get to play with him often, and I see you blokes in school all year."

So, with Charlie spending all summer locked up fixing the radio Bill gave him, Ron felt lonely. It seemed impossible to feel lonely with so many bodies in the same house, but his favorite brother had a hobby. Ron would hover outside of the door, waiting to be invited in, or for Charlie to come out and play with him. Now, the night before his return to Hogwarts, with Bill already gone off to Egypt a month ago, Charlie spent most of his time alone with that stupid radio. Ron was too young to understand the two things might be related. He missed Bill too, of course, but not like Charlie did.

Ron chewed his lip at the door. Charlie was staring down at the radio, tools back in their little pouch, but he was just staring. He dragged his palm down over his face.

"Prat," he muttered under his breath. "Like a radio is enough to make me forgive you for leaving – and a bloody busted one at that."

Out in his father's workroom, away from the house, Charlie turned the radio on, fiddled with the tape deck, and inserted the only casette he had at the time – a muggle single album. He cranked the riotously cheerful song so loud that Ron, hiding at the door, had to cover his ears for a moment until he could get used to the volume.

'You put the boom boom into my heart

You send my soul sky high when your lovin starts

Jitterbug into my brain

Goes a bang-bang-bang till my feet do the same...'

Ron noticed his brother's shoulders shaking. Charlie buried his face in his hands. He couldn't hear it over the music, but Ron realized, for the first time, that Charlie – happy, cheerful, good-natured Charlie, his favorite brother who was always ready with a warm laugh and a big hug...

'But something's buggin' you

something ain't right

my best friend told me what you did last night.

Left me sleeping in my bed

I was dreaming,

but I should have been with you instead.'

...also knew how to cry. He bit his lip and sneaked into the room, walked carefully through the wreckage of broken gadgets to his brother's side, and put his hand on his knee.

Charlie startled, his eyes puffy and red, tears streaming down his cheeks, and did the only thing he could. He pulled Ron up into his lap without a word, choked back the tears as best he could, and carded his fingers through his baby brother's hair before pulling him into a tight hug, shuddering sobs and all.

'Wake me up before you go go

Don't leave me hangin on like a yo-yo

Wake me up before you go go

I don't wanna miss it when you hit that high

Wake me up before you go go

because I'm not planning on going solo

Wake me up before you go go

take me dancing tonight.

I wanna hit that high...'

Ron cried too, because, even at the tender age of six, he understood why Charlie was crying, if only in the most rudimentary way – because Bill was gone. And Bill, Ron realized, was Charlie's favorite, not him, which was also something young Ron thought worthy of crying over.

***

More than a decade later, Ron still hated that song. It only reminded him of Charlie's crying eyes, and that there was something bigger than a radio that Bill left broken behind him. Charlie never showed it, no, not for an instant, but Ron knew, and Charlie knew that Ron knew, and that was just enough to keep them close, but not close enough to make Charlie stay.

***

1991.

'...we can build this dream together

standing strong forever

Nothing's gonna stop us now.

And if this world runs out of lovers

we'll still have each other

Nothing's gonna stop us

Nothing's gonna stop us now...'

The radio was on in Charlie's room. It always was. Ron figured it was his way of blocking out the world when he wasn't ready to face it, and to Ron, the constant blare of muggle hits was as much a barrier as the closed door.

'...all that I need is you

you're all that I'll ever need...'

But, no matter how much he needed his big brother, Charlie was still leaving. He was headed off to Romania to get burnt to cinders by a menstrual dragon, or some shit. On the one hand, Ron was proud of Charlie. Both of his oldest brothers had grown up to be so awesome! Even at 11, he couldn't help but feel that pressure. How would he ever live up to a curse breaker and a dragonologist? He wondered if it was worse for Percy, but that was a passing thought. Percy was a prat, anyway, and Charlie was leaving in a matter of hours.

In a very Charlie-ish fashion, he'd put off packing until the last possible moment. Ron raised his hand to knock on the door, but before he got the chance, Charlie opened it rather suddenly. He blinked down at Ron. "Uh...sorry Ron, go on in. Be right back." He spat the sentence out in one long breath before taking off like a shot down the hall toward the bathroom. Ron thought nothing of it – when you've got to go, you've got to go! And, if you were Charlie, whoever was in the loo at the time had better hurry up and bugger off – not like Ron, who had to pace outside the door, on the verge of tears, because Fred and George were trying to blow things up (or something) without getting caught by their Mum.

Ron looked around the room that Charlie had been locked up in for the past several hours. He was still only barely packed, but the room had a very distinct smell about it – the same smell the house got when their mum scourgified the shite out of it before company arrived, especially their Great Aunt, who never had anything nice to say about anyone but Bill. Ron blinked. The floor actually sparkled, it was so clean, and the linens looked positively fluffy, like they'd just been drying out in the sun four hours. It was nice, but for Charlie, it was more than a bit weird. He wasn't a slob or any such thing, at least Ron was sure he was a fair bit tidier than he was, at least, but he'd never been one of the tidiest members of the family, either. He kept his living space 'lived in', which Ron rather thought was the best way for it to be. He could remember when he was little (because at the grand old age of 11, he was certainly not little now) Bill hollering up the hall about not being a maid and bellowing downstairs for Charlie to 'put your pants in the basket, you git! Don't just leave them on the floor!' while Charlie was scurrying about with a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth and trying to get dressed and out the door in time for whatever he was late for that particular morning. Their mum was always hollering at him about tracking mud into the house, too, even now that he wasn't a sloppy young teenager who left dirty clothes scattered all over the house.

Charlie was an adult now. Old enough to go get killed by a dragon, so, Ron figured, old enough to leave his pants on the floor if he wanted to. That's what made it really sink in – the room was so clean. Charlie was really, seriously leaving! Ron felt a dead cold seep into his bones and shivered. He sat on the cold floor because the bed looked too pristine to even breathe on. Weird, really, that the bed was all cleaned and made up, when Charlie was supposedly taking the sheets with him. Ron didn't know why he'd bother tidying up the bed, if he was just going to stuff half of it in a suitcase. He looked about the room and noticed a familiar shoebox an arm's length away. Ron remembered that box. Charlie called it his box of happy thoughts. It's where he kept all his photographs. Ron didn't see any harm in poking around in it while he waited, and flipped back the lid. It was nearly all family anyway, and they were his family too. As he skimmed through them, Ron couldn't help but notice that Charlie had a lot of pictures of Bill. Like, tons. There were tons of pictures in general, but there were definitely more pictures of Bill than anyone else. Bill wasn't even conscious in near half of them. Ron made his eleven year old brain try to figure out what was so strange about that. After all, Charlie and Bill shared a room, so it made sense. He'd bet that Fred and George had more photos of each other than anyone else, too. Still, there was something about it that rubbed Ron the wrong way.

Charlie re-entered the room, and seeing what Ron was up to, looked, for a fleeting moment, like he'd been caught in the middle of something bad. Ron didn't quite understand what it was that was wrong about that box of 'happy thoughts', and Charlie dashed away the awkward moment with a cheerful grin. "Did you come to help me pack?" he joked. "Because taking things out of boxes is a teensy bit counter-productive."

Ron blinked at him, and smiled, because he had to smile when Charlie smiled – it was compulsory. But, over the radio, he didn't have half a clue as to what his brother had just said. Apparently, Charlie had enchanted Starship to play on repeat. This had to be at least the third time the song had started over again.

'And if this world runs out of lovers,

we'll still have each other.

Nothing's gonna stop us,

Nothing's gonna stop us now...'

Charlie laughed, though Ron could only tell because of the way his mouth opened and his hand came to his slightly jiggly belly. The elder brother pointed his wand at the radio and stopped the tape. "Sorry," he said. "I hope I haven't blown your eardrums out yet," he apologized to Ron.

"I like that song," Ron answered because he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Me too, well, obviously," Charlie answered, flopping down beside his baby brother and shuffling the photos back into the box. "So, looking forward to starting Hogwarts next month?"

Ron shrugged. "Looking forward to getting eaten by a dragon by Friday?" he countered.

"You know it!" Charlie grinned, hugging around Ron's shoulders and nuzzling his hair as if he were a big, fluffy dog. "I know it's far, but this is going to be the coolest job ever, Ron. Seriously. And, just between you and me, I've kind of outgrown the whole living at home thing." He put his finger to his lips and winked at Ron, like it was a big secret they had to keep from their mother, because she would be sad. "Of course, I'm going to miss my favorite baby brother," which he enunciated with a noogie, "but I'm looking forward to having my own place. It's just a couple of puny rooms, but they'll be all mine, you know? Some time on my own'll be good for me. And I promise to send plenty of owls, and I'll still visit on holidays – the big ones, at least."

That much, Ron could understand. Sharing living space with so many siblings could be such a disaster sometimes. He sometimes thought being alone sounded brilliant, too. But, he was still going to miss Charlie so much.

"Bill said the same thing, but it looks like you're the only one he writes to all that often."

Charlie turned an odd shade of red. "What makes you say that?"

"All the pictures," he gestured in the box. "A bunch of them are from Egypt, but he's only sent Mum two or three. She's always whinging about it when he comes by, remember?"

"Ah, well, there are a few more, I guess," Charlie said, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's different with me n' Bill is all. He can say stuff to me he can't say to mum, 'cause she'll worry." He waved his hands. "It's really nothing, but, you know, I have all these awesome little brothers, but only one big brother. It was just us for a while, you know? I was still little when Percy was born, but not so little that I don't remember watching our little family become a huge family." He laughed. "Mum was determined to get herself a girl, I guess. So, I mean, what I mean is sort of, you know, Bill and I bonded before we knew we were going to be part of this huge family, you know? So, it makes sense that he'd want to tell me some things that he might not want to end up in the family gossip, or some shit like that."

Charlie probably shouldn't have cussed in front of Ron, but he was a realist. He knew Ron was plenty big enough now that a little cussing wasn't going to hurt him any.

"You don't need to go on and on explaining," Ron sulked. "I get it. You and Bill shared a room for a billion years, so of course you know stuff about him that the rest of us don't have a clue about. "I just mean, don't say you're going to write, and not write. If you're not going to, just own up to it. Bill is better at bullshit than you."

"Rooon," Charlie whined. "I'm going to write. That's a promise. I'll write you so much, you'll get sick of me."

"You can't. Your hand would fall off if you wrote that much," Ron said. "And you have to work."

Charlie laughed and ruffled Ron's hair again. "Still, I'll write a lot. And, try not to be so hard on Bill. He works really long hours sometimes. Afterward, writing the lot of you is probably the last thing on his mind. He's tired, you know?"

"He still has time to write you."

"Well, yeah, because I'm just that awesome," Charlie joked. "He just likes to tease me. It's how he relieves stress, I guess."

"Like giving you a broken radio?" Ron asked.

Charlie looked over his shoulder at that radio. He'd spent so long working on it that now he could barely remember life without it. He sat back, leaning against the bed. "That was probably to distract me," he mused. "Hey, do you want it, Ron?" he asked on second thought. It seemed only right. Bill had given him that busted hunk of crap to distract him from how much he'd missed him that summer. He knew Ron was going to miss him, so he should extend the courtesy. Besides, he was going to have a job. He could buy himself a new radio, but Ron...

"It won't distract me," Ron complained. It would be nice to have a radio, but he didn't want Charlie's. It would only make him think of Charlie all the time, and how he wasn't there, and how, wherever he was, he was probably thinking about Bill. He still didn't quite get why that was a problem.

"I guess you're right," Charlie answered. "Hey, let's go to the Alley. I'll buy you one of your own, as a going away present."

"Isn't that supposed to be the other way around?" Ron asked, but his stomach flopped with the thought of a trip to Diagon Alley with Charlie. When would he get to go again?

"You can owe me one," Charlie laughed, ruffling Ron's hair again. "Go on, get your trainers on, while I finish packing. Won't take but a minute. I'll just toss it all in and get it sorted when I unpack."

In spite of himself, Ron all but skipped up the hall to get his shoes, and maybe tidy up his hair a bit, put on a fresh shirt...

He hated that Charlie was leaving, but he loved going to the Alley with his big brother. Through the complicated mash-up of feelings he was experiencing and just a bit too young and a bit too thick to properly understand, the song that had been blaring on Charlie's radio all day repeated inside his head on a constant loop.

'And we can build this dream together

standing strong forever

Nothing's gonna stop us now.

And if this world runs out of lovers

we'll still have each other...'

Ron paused, pursing his lips thoughtfully as he picked up his shirt, stuck on that word a moment, thinking of Bill's letters to Charlie, thinking of Charlie's box of happy thoughts so near the bed, the too-clean scent clinging to the room, and the way his brother darted up the hallway when he was about to knock, and took several minutes to return. Lovers? 'Pfft. Yeah right, Ron. As if that would ever happen,' he thought, laughing at his own overactive imagination as he crawled under his bed, fumbling about for his misplaced shoe. He didn't want to keep Charlie waiting. He'd only invite the others along, and Ron selfishly wanted his big brother to himself, at least for an afternoon.

***

1996.

As it turned out, the first time Ron fell in love was a lie. It wasn't the first time. It wasn't even love. He'd actually been in denial about being in love with a girl he wasn't in love with, because he was denying being in love with someone else he really oughtn't be in love with at all. Now, if you want to talk about being mental, Ron figured, that had to be it. And, to make matters worse, that someone else was in love with Bill, who is the most emotionally distant wizard to ever walk the Earth! - which, of course, Ron thought in the most loving way possible. Bill was his second-favorite brother, after all. He was great for quidditch, and gave brilliant advice when you wanted it, and was really the best when it came to not judging you too harshly when you fucked up, and well, he was just generally all-around awesome. Bill was perfect; it wasn't a wonder, really, that half the wizarding world had fallen for him – save maybe Ron himself and Rita Skeeter. Even Harry got a little starstruck around Bill, which was ridiculous, being the most famous wizard in the world short of Dumbledore and You-Know-Who!

Ron didn't deny Bill had a natural suave that he was envious of. He just wished that special someone wasn't drawn to it like paper to a sticking charm. And, well, there was one other problem – which was not the least at all, in spite of it being the last...

"Ron! Did mum finish the pies yet? Think I can sneak one without her noticing?"

"Ack!" Ron answered as his burly older brother sneaked up on him and scared the wits out of him.

"Not if you value your life, Char," Bill spoke up from the nearby armchair, where he held out a chipped mug. "Have some more eggnog."

"Don't encourage him," Ron complained as Charlie let him go.

"Ooo. Yes! Brilliant! Eggnog!" Charlie had had a bit too much eggnog as it was, as evidenced by a fresh stain on the carpet by the tree. His last cup hadn't quite made it all the way down his throat before he lost half of it.

"Oh, let him have his fun. It's only once a year," Bill laughed. "Besides, I'm the one who's got to listen to him snore all night if he overdoes it."

'Yeah, yeah. You and Charlie sharing a room, just like old times. I'm sure you're both thrilled about that,' Ron thought a little bitterly. He wasn't so thick that he didn't know he felt jealous, but could he really be in love with his brother? It was a bit twisted, wasn't it?

"Hey, hey? Did I play my new song for you, Ron?" he asked, head peering over the arm of Bill's chair. "Where's your radio?"

"I'll get it," Ron said. He didn't trust a man who couldn't even hold onto a mug of eggnog to mess with his most precious possession, even if Charlie was the one who bought it for him.

"It's in my bag," Charlie said, before changing his entire line of thought and rambling at Bill again. "Hey, hey, Bill? Remember when..."

'What is love!

Oh baby don't hurt me,

don't hurt me, no more...'

Ron may have turned the radio up a bit too high before hitting play, to drown out whatever came out of Charlie's mouth after that.

"That doesn't sound like Christmas music out there!" Molly scolded sweetly from the kitchen.

"Just the one song, mum," Ron called back. "Charlie's been trying to get me to listen to it all day."

Molly appeared in the doorway with a sweet smile in her spoon and a wooden spoon in hand. "Oh fine, fine," she said, rolling her eyes in that maternal sort of way. "You boys and your music.. but after that, come in to dinner, the lot of you."

'Oh, I don't know why you're not there

I give you my love, but you don't care...'

Ron watched Charlie get up and sway his hips to the beat. He found himself, for a moment, entranced by the sight, but as he pulled his eyes away, he noticed that Bill didn't look quite as amused as the rest of the family. And Charlie? It was so very subtle, but Ron thought he looked just a little sad. He stopped the song halfway through. "Let's go eat," he said. "I'll listen to the rest later."

Charlie was distracted by the thought of a home cooked meal, and was quick to agree that it was dinner time, and that he was half-starved to death, or so he claimed.

Arthur rescued the tree from wearing another eggnog as Charlie stumbled...right into Bill's arms.

Something passed between the two oldest Weasley boys, a sad sort of understanding that Ron was pretty sure no one noticed but him, and it murdered his appetite.

***

"Hmn?"

"Soup," Harry said. "Tastes like piss, but it's better than nothing. C'mon mate, sit up."

"Oh, so I exist today?" Ron answered. The second the words passed his lips he regretted them. He was just feeling sick and lonely and worried. His dreams had been haunting him. The radio had been haunting him. The bloody horcrux weighed more than any locket had a right to.

"You always exist," Harry said. "And it's my turn to wear it," he said, gesturing at the locket. "You've had it on a while now."

Ron sat and sipped at the lukewarm soup. "You're right," he said. "It does taste like piss."

Harry grinned. Ron gave him a weak smile back. It was all he could muster, under the circumstances.

"Let me have it, then," Harry gestured for the locket, and Ron was glad to hand it over. "We'll move along in the morning. How's your arm?"

"Looks like hell," Ron answered. "Feels a bit better, though. Is there anywhere to wash?" A wash would feel bloody brilliant about now.

"Merlin, a wash would be brilliant," Harry complained. It was the first moment Ron could remember everything feeling normal in ages, and it was quickly shattered by Fred's voice on the radio, ready to list the day's dead.

***

1997.

Charlie kept eying the cake. He would do it, and then wink at Ron, so Ron knew he wasn't really the ravenous glutton he was pretending to be in his 'mmm! Cake!' act. His heart just wasn't in it, but he was doing it to make their mum fuss at him. Charlie Weasley if you ruin your brother's wedding cake, so help me!

To which he would reply, 'just a taste, mum!' without skipping a beat and a bright grin before she chased all the menfolk out of the kitchen. He gave Ron a shrug and ruffled his hair. "Well, I'd best go get our emotionally detached groom dressed the part. A best man never sleeps!" he joked and took the steps two at a time on the way up.

Ron tried to flatten out his hair and watched him kind of blandly. Never sleeps, huh? It looked it, too. Charlie looked like he could use a pepper-up potion. He hid it brilliantly, but Ron liked to think he knew him pretty well after six years of letters about dragons, music, and quidditch – Charlie's favorite subjects. There was something in his eyes that said he hadn't slept in days, and it was near noon, but he'd not even bothered himself to shave.

Ron went upstairs to shower and see if he could get Hermione to remind him what that ironing spell was again for his new robes, which he'd not even taken out of the box yet. He was rather grateful to Bill for buying them for him, of course, but he couldn't help but have mixed feelings about it all. He knew, without being told, that it was a little cruel to make Charlie his best man. Bill was his biggest brother, and he was perfectly cool, and friendly, and never gave him grief, but there was also a part of him that thought, Bill must know. After all the years, all those stolen glances, the looks he and Charlie sometimes exchanged, he must know how Charlie felt about him. Even with Bill getting married, somehow, Ron couldn't help but still feel jealous of him, and a little angry at him, and it had not a thing to do with Fleur.

That aside, Ron had bigger worries. They were leaving after the wedding, sneaking off, away from his family, who he loved more than...well, he couldn't think of anything that compared, really. And, this war, when would he see them again, should he see them at all? He felt this pressing urge to confess to Charlie, to tell him he'd been hot for him at least half his life, just to finally say it, but if this was the last time they saw each other, was that really where he wanted to leave things?

It was an hour later when he walked into his room in just his trousers with a towel over his head to dry his hair.

'I don't wanna talk

About the things we've gone through

Though it's hurting me

Now it's history

I've played all my cards

And that's what you've done too

Nothing more to say

No more ace to play...'

'Did I leave the radio on?' Ron was sure he'd turned it off, and dropped the towel back off his shoulders.

"Isn't ABBA a little too old for you?"

"I like it," Ron said, in half a daze.

'The winner takes it all

The loser's standing small

Beside the victory

That's a destiny..'

"Me too," Charlie answered.

"No kidding, you're the one who owled it to me," Ron smirked a little.

"Ah, so I did," Charlie answered.

Ron sat down on the bed next to him, heart pounding. Charlie had shaved, but not done much more. They still had some time.

"What are you doing in here?" Ron asked at last.

"Bill's in our old room, being all cute and nervous. I left him with a bottle of firewhiskey to calm himself down. Just wanted a bit of time away from all the chaos. You don't mind, right?"

Ron tried to tame his pounding heart. His throat was dry. Mind? The sexiest man he'd ever laid eyes on or probably ever would sitting on his bed? As if! "Not really," Ron said, and dared to go on. "But you don't have to lie about why. I've known for a while."

Charlie's expression dropped. Ron knew?! Ron could tell he was thinking that, and was horrified by it. He also knew if he didn't tell Charlie now, he probably never would. He leaned forward suddenly and planted a quick kiss on Charlie's cheek. It was stupid and childish, and he felt stupid and childish when he blushed and looked away to avoid the shocked expression his brother was wearing. It was insane. Even if they weren't brothers, Charlie loved someone else, and they had a good relationship that he had to go and ruin, but what was he to do? He was so very in love, and he might not get a chance better than this one to tell Charlie so. He might not get another chance at all, the way the war had been going, but he hated to think like that.

"Ron, what...?"

"You're not the only bloke who's ever felt something he shouldn't, that's all."

The song played on, ignorant of the abrupt change in atmosphere.

But tell me does she kiss

Like I used to kiss you?

Does it feel the same

When she calls your name?

Somewhere deep inside

You must know I miss you

But what can I say

Rules must be obeyed

Rules must be obeyed. That's when Charlie broke. His shoulders drooped, his head fell into his hands, and he let go of a long, shaky breath. Several moments passed before he could bear to look up at Ron again, still a bit pink and damp from his recent shower.

It was the first time Charlie had ever really looked at Ron. Oh, he looked at him often enough, but he never really paused, stopped to take it all in. There was never a reason to, though, Ron would have liked it if Charlie noticed he wasn't a podgy little kid anymore without any prompting. Still, the way Charlie's eyes grazed over his bare torso made Ron bite the inside if his cheek. Thinking. Appraising.

The song started over. Charlie had a habit of picking a song and playing it to death. Ron had noticed that a while back, but apparently it didn't just apply to Starship.

'I don't want to talk

about the things we've gone through

though it's hurting me

now it's history...'

"You've gotten tall," Charlie said at after a long pause.

"A bit," Ron answered, because how should you answer when your brother is eying you, trying to find a way to let you down easy. How else could this possibly go?

"Those are Bill's old trousers, aren't they?"

Ron made a face. Of course it always came back to Bill. He knew it, but Charlie's one track mind stung a bit. "Only ones that fit," he answered, still hating how he lived off of everyone's hand me downs. He had this fantasy where one day he suddenly struck it rich. The first thing he would do is go buy an entirely new wardrobe and throw out everything he owned, just so he would have clothes that started with him and not as a hastily knitted Christmas gift. He didn't have the foggiest idea what he'd do with the rest of it, honestly. The fantasy didn't wander much past the new wardrobe.

"How long?" Charlie asked. It was a non-sequiter, but as bizarre as their situation was, somehow made perfect sense.

"Dunno," Ron shrugged. "Probably always. Didn't have it figured until a few years ago."

Another silence passed between them, with only ABBA to fill the void.

'The game is on again

a lover or a friend

a big thing or a small

the winner takes it all...'

Charlie pulled the towel off of Ron's shoulders and dropped it aside, ran his beefy hand over his shoulder. "Tall and thin, just my type, really," he mused aloud.

"Charlie, you don't have to..."

"...say that?" Charlie gave him an adorable smirk. "But it's true, if you stop to think about it. It's the opposite of me – not much muscle, long and gangly, and look at you, Ron, not an ounce of podge to speak of."

"Nothing wrong with a bit of podge," Ron defended Charlie's belly, since he wouldn't defend it himself.

"More to love?" Charlie asked with a playfully quirked brow.

"Sure, why not?" Ron retorted.

"You're just saying that because you want me," Charlie quipped, poking Ron's pale, freckled belly.

Ron turned several shades of red.

"It's okay, Ron. It's sort of nice, being wanted by you. Been doing all the wanting so long, sort of forgot what it feels like. C'mon. Lie back with me a while, and lock the door so they'll have to work at it if they want to make us rejoin the pre-party chaos, yeah?"

Ron wasn't sure about this, but as Charlie stretched out across his twin bed, any doubts dashed right out of his head. He cast a quick locking charm, and on second thought, a mufflatio, too – house was full of nosy bastards, especially when Fred and George were home. He sat on the edge of the bed, uncomfortably at first, but when Charlie pulled him down to rest against his broad chest, he did so without the least bit resistance. His heart pounded.

It was several minutes before he dared to breathe again. When he did, he felt Charlie shift uncomfortably beneath him. He thought the worst and started to panic. "It's too small for both of us. I-I'll get up," he said, but when he started to move, Charlie's strong arms held him fast. That firm grip rippled down his spine and made his thighs quiver. He hoped Charlie didn't notice at first, but – by some miracle, Charlie turned to his side, pulling him close. Ron felt the stirrings of an erection pressed against his thigh as Charlie buried his face in Ron's hair.

"You smell good," Charlie said frankly.

Ron couldn't answer right away. Was Charlie really going to ignore the hard length that was definitely too blunt to be the tip of a wand pressed against his hip?

"I...uhm...just showered..." Ron sputtered. He didn't know what to say or do in this situation. In his dreams, he told Charlie he loved him, and the next second they were shagging. He knew reality wasn't so kind, but he had no dreamed up dialogue to tell him how to deal with 'you smell good'.

Charlie lifted his head, looked hard into Ron's eyes, hard enough to knock the breath clean out of his lungs, his own need bulging against Charlie's thigh. Even that. Even that, was so indescribably good. He shivered in Charlie's arms, and then suddenly, they were kissing. He didn't know who started it, but it was passionate and greedy and utterly brilliant. It was Charlie's hot tongue in his mouth, his strong arms holding tight around him, his – oh for the love of Merlin! - his hard cock brushing up accidentally against Ron's as he fumbled for dominance on the bed that really was far too small for both of them.

It was several minutes before the kiss broke. Ron didn't remember moving much, but as he blinked up at Charlie he realized he was quite well pinned beneath his beautiful brother, their cocks pressed together through several layers of cotton and denim. Charlie was breathing harshly, as was he, from their fevered kisses. His pupils were dilated.

"I have a dilemma," Charlie stated quite frankly. "I want to fuck you."

Oh Merlin. Yes, please! "...I'm not stopping you," Ron exhaled. Oh, how desperately he wanted that!

"...but, I'm probably rebounding. You deserve better than that," Charlie finished.

"It doesn't matter," Ron answered, surprised by his own frankness over the subject. Yeah, Charlie loved Bill. Charlie was probably only doing this because it eased some of the pain of Bill getting married and whatever it was they'd been up to until now coming to an abrupt halt, if there was even anything to halt. That much, Ron figured, was none of his business.

"Of course it matters!" Charlie protested.

"It doesn't," Ron countered. "Think a second, Charlie. If it was you lying here, and you were Bill, what would you say?"

'The winner takes it all

the loser has to fall...'

Charlie looked a little sad, like he'd been exactly in Ron's position hundreds of times. Just being used. "I'd say it doesn't matter," he answered. "Just like I've said a billion times, but it would still be a lie. Ron, it matters. You have no idea. It matters so much, especially after. We have to stop."

Ron felt cold panic grip his gut. He gripped Charlie's shirt and pulled him him in close, forcing a kiss on him that Charlie wanted, but didn't want to take. "Don't stop," he begged, hating himself for it. "Please don't stop."

"Ron, you'll regret it," Charlie answered. He looked torn – like he was disgusted with himself for upsetting Ron, but at the same time, kind of turned on by the tears welling in his pretty eyes.

"I won't!" Ron said adamantly. "Don't you get it? This is my only chance. Right now, right this instant, you want me. You'll probably never feel that way again, even if we somehow all survive this shit – You-Know-Who and all that – if one time with you is all I get, then it's enough, alright? So please make your bloody high morals shut up and shag me before you come to your senses."

Charlie had no apparent argument for that. He stared down at Ron for a long moment before pulling his shirt off. Ron was struck breathless. He knew Charlie had tattoos. At least, he remembered Bill mentioning them once, and Charlie making a frantic shushing gesture because their mum didn't know. Molly had just made a face and ranted a little about Bill's piercings and ponytail, and Charlie's tattoos and shaggy-dog haircut, and moved on with an 'honestly, I'm your mother. You think I don't know what my own sons are up to?' So, Ron knew Charlie had tattoos, but he'd never seen them. A Welsh Green wrapped it's tail around his left bicep and curled it's body sleepily over his shoulder, smoke puffed out of it's nostrils occasionally very near Charlie's throat. He could see the tip of a Chinese fireball's tail wrapped over the other shoulder, flicking back and forth just over Charlie's nipple, making Ron really want to suck it. The size of the tail told him the dragon on Charlie's back was huge. A griffin paced in and out of a red and gold shield on his right bicep. "Last chance to change your mind, Ron."

"Not in a million years," Ron exhaled. He'd loved Charlie for so long, but he'd never realized, not in his wildest dreams, that his tattoo-covered torso would be this sexy. Charlie got up just long enough to all but tear Ron's trousers and pants off, and cast away his own.

Ron forgot to breathe. A Hungarian horntail shifted on Charlie's thigh, tail wrapped up over his hip and twisted around his hard shaft, which was just as stocky as the rest of him. Charlie rubbed a spot on the back of the tattoo's neck, and the tail settled to wrap around the base of his heavy need. "He gets a little restless," Charlie joked.

"D-do you feel it when they move like that?" Ron stuttered. He was a little ignorant about tattoos.

"Nah, it's just pretty, really," Charlie answered. "And sexy, and kind of fun, but, I'd rather you look at me than the dragons," he said as he climbed over Ron again, wand in hand, spreading his pale thighs.

"Like there's a difference," Ron scoffed, "when you've purposely gotten them in the sexiest possible places."

"Well," Charlie grinned. "I don't have one on my bum yet. Thought about it once, but it was vetoed." He pressed his wand tip against Ron's entrance, and Ron arched up off the mattress as he felt the liquid heat of Charlie's preparation spell burn through him. Everyone's was a little different – or so he'd heard – and Charlie's was...well, sufficed to say it was a far more daft hand than his own and set him on fire from the inside as it stretched him open and prepared him for his brother's burning need. In fact, it got him so riled up, that even the fact they were brothers, that it was taboo, felt like a turn on, though he'd always loved Charlie in spite of their relationship, not because of it.

He managed to calm himself once the spell slowed a bit, though his hips jerked involuntarily under the thrall of Charlie's magic. "By Bill, no doubt," he answered.

Charlie inclined his head. Touche. "He said he didn't want anything playing with my arsehole but him. That...it was a long time ago."

"Well, I'll gladly play with your arsehole whenever you want, just to stick it to him," Ron answered. When they were this worked up, it didn't feel as forbidden to talk about Bill. He was obviously an idiot. It was the only thing that explained how he could walk away from such a perfect body attached to such a cheerful, friendly disposition. Over what? A half-veela? Okay, Ron had had a teensy, barely existent fancy for Fleur once, but just for an instant, and it was just a natural response of a teenage boy to meeting his first half-veela. That was all. After all, he'd been in love with Charlie already then, he just hadn't quite realized it yet.

Charlie stopped his mind from wandering by lifting his hips, pressing forward. Ron's mouth opened in a silent cry as his older brother's thick cock pressed deep into him. "Fuck!"

"Working on it," Charlie teased.

Ron panted. He'd never imagined...! He'd toyed with himself a few times – a few fingers, a dildo, his wand... – but he couldn't have, in a million years, imagined that a real cock would feel this good. He shuddered, gripped the duvet hard, and tried to remember to breathe, his head tossing a bit as he tried not to look too much the idiot in front of Charlie.

"Ron, this isn't...your first time?" Charlie asked at his brother's initial shock.

Ron's flushed face turned even redder. "...only with a real one..." he answered, as if that would sound any less pathetic. "I...I didn't realize..."

"How hot it would be?" Charlie asked, remembering being floored by that his first time.

"It's pulsing," Ron gasped, like it was alive, like, if only for a time, a piece of Charlie was living inside of his body. It was wonderful. He was going to make a fool of himself and come too soon. It was times like this he was glad to be a wizard. Since muggles didn't have spells, he heard it sometimes hurt the first time, or if they weren't careful, but Charlie stretched him wider and went in deeper than he'd ever had before, and every inch of it was brilliant.

"It's about to do more than that," Charlie answered, looking flushed just to watch Ron in the throes of pleasure, like he was surprised to want him as badly as he did. He pulled back slow, pushed in deep, moaned when Ron, inexperienced as he was, wrapped his long legs around his waist and locked his ankles.

Ron was utterly lost in the pleasure. Charlie's pupils were dilated, and he moaned. Oh, how freely he moaned! He must have noticed that sound deadening spell Ron had cast, or simply wasn't able to hold in his pleasure. Ron forced his white-knuckled digits to release the duvet and lifted them to wrap around Charlie's broad shoulders. His brother's thrusts became more eager, more forceful, and he could do nothing but arch and cry out beneath him. He didn't even know what he was saying, but all manner of filthy things spilled from his insensible lips as he begged Charlie for more, faster, harder, crying out his name over and over again, body shaking violently as Charlie repeatedly found and abused his prostate. When his big, square hand wrapped around Ron's prick, Ron was lost. A stroke or two was all it took, Charlie's face buried into the crook of his neck, before he shuddered violently and came with a sharp cry.

When he heard Charlie cry out his name – his, not Bill's, HIS – and felt the hot flow of seed pour into him, it only intensified his orgasm to the point he thought he must have gone blind. Hot, white sparks were the only thing he could see. Charlie's voice washed over him, and in an instant that felt like an eternity, but still not nearly long enough, his entire body went limp and his vision returned. The first thing he saw was Charlie, looking a little sweaty but altogether content. He bit his lip and pulled out, careful not to crush Ron as he collapsed onto his side and pulled his baby brother – not so much a baby anymore – against him. It took him a minute to get around to scourgifying the mess they'd made.

"I should get up," Charlie said. "I haven't even showered yet."

"Yeah," Ron answered. He felt almost like he should shower all over again after that.

"...in a few more minutes," Charlie decided, cuddling Ron as if he were a particularly huggable teddy bear.

Ron was not about to argue. He wanted his time with Charlie like this to last as long as possible.

He was amazed, really, when he felt his brother's lips on his ear, his jaw, his mouth. "You really are cute, Ron," he said. "And a brilliant shag, for the record."

"But," Ron answered. There was always a but.

"But Bill's getting married today, and I've been in love with him a really long time. I need a little while to get over that before I think too hard about us." He sat up. He really had been gone way too long, and someone was bound to come looking for them soon.

Ron pushed himself to a seated position as well. "Is there an us?" he asked.

Charlie pulled him close for a one-armed hug that was more brotherly than anything else in spite of their current state of sated nudity. "Shit, Ron. Always. I don't know about this," he gestured clumsily at the bed, as if it encompassed all of Ron's confession, and his now confusing feelings about his brother, and his equally muddled feelings about the one getting married, and the entire fucked up situation, "but there's always going to be us. That's not going to change just because you have an incredibly fuckable arse." He hesitated a moment, fidgeted a bit, but leaned in to kiss Ron, as if they needed the finality of a kiss. There was another instant's hesitation before he opened his mouth and slipped his tongue past Ron's lips, and no hesitation at all as he ran his hand over Ron's thigh before he pulled away and got up, getting dressed quickly. Ron thought he looked like he was hurrying so he didn't end up falling back into bed again.

Charlie might not know if he loved Ron as more than a brother yet, but he felt a warmth in his stomach to know that at least he wanted him. It refreshed his spirit – he hadn't lost yet – not the battle for Charlie's heart, and not against Voldemort.

'The winner takes it all, huh?' he thought. Thing was, there was no winner. Not just yet. Ron felt, just for that one, nearly perfect moment, that he still had a chance.

***

But, after months of trekking about the greater part of Britain, he wasn't so sure. Maybe he should have stayed home. He would be fighting for his life, if not already dead, but at least he'd be making some use of himself. Here, he was overcome by a listless sense of purpose and nothing to aim it at. Harry and Hermione didn't need him. He was just extra weight. He could scarcely remember the last time he'd had a conversation with either that lasted longer than three sentences, but he sure spent plenty of time listening to them talk to each other as if he wasn't there.

That final row was inevitable. He just needed some space. They all did, but when he tried to find them again, they were gone. He looked for hours, even though it had become quickly obvious that wherever they'd gone, it was a long way off. They could be anywhere by now. They'd been traveling the muggle way because of his injury, which yeah, totally sucked, but he thought at this stage wasn't all as bad as they made it out to be. It was mostly just a scar now, a little sore. Okay, so apparating after that didn't sound all that appealing – he couldn't be afraid of getting splinched again forever. Besides, it happened to tons of people.

The question became then, what was he supposed to do? He didn't have the slightest clue where Harry and Hermione might have gone, they'd have used concealment spells, so even if he landed nearby he wouldn't really have half a clue they were there, and he couldn't very well go home. He'd just get lectured at and frowned at

and be the butt of several disappointed looks. He just needed somewhere to sleep tonight. In the morning, he could start with a fresh head, figure it all out. That sounded more and more appealing. So, reluctantly, he went the only place he could: Shell Cottage.

It was raining when he got there. By the time he reached the doorstep, he was sopping. It was a long while between when he knocked and when his brother opened the door. He didn't think he'd be glad to see Bill, after all that happened with Charlie, but he'd never been happier to see anyone in his life. He had half a mind to hug him, but he probably smelled about as appealing as a shoe locker.

Bill stepped aside and said, "Well, come in, then. Fleur's just making dinner, be about an hour before it's done. Go on upstairs, pull something clean out of my wardrobe, and take a good wash."

That was it. He didn't ask why he was there, or what happened. There was no stare-down over Charlie, or any disappointed expression on his face. All Bill told him, really, without outright saying it, was 'you look like shit.'

Ron hadn't realized how much he missed showers until he was under the hot spray. He soaked, scrubbed, shampooed. It was the most brilliant feeling. The hot water scorched the knots out of his shoulders and back, eased the crick in his neck. He'd nearly forgotten how hair felt when it wasn't caked in grime. A quick wash in a lake felt good after days of not bathing, but you went in brief and came out half-frozen. It had nothing on the clean a good wizarding soap and a hot spray of water on your skin could do.

He ended up in a pair of Bill's jeans, an undershirt, and a jumper. Fleur chattered her way through dinner, but managed to avoid the obvious question of why he was here. Ron could imagine Bill talking to her while he was in the shower and begging her not to mention it. The thought of Bill begging sent some long-abandoned humor rumbling through him and he started laughing for no apparent reason. His hosts obviously thought he'd cracked, because Bill said, "I'll take care of the dishes, Fleur. You were going to give your mum a firecall tonight, weren't you?"

"Yes, yes," Fleur answered. "I will get out of ze way so ze brozers can have zeir little talk." She pat Bill on the cheek. "And wash ze filthy clothes up in the laundry bin, yes?"

"That would be great," Bill said with a warm chuckle.

It was the first time, Ron realized, that he had given much thought to it, but all the grief he put up with from their mum and Ginny over Fleur, and that little sparkle in his eye... Ron didn't know why he was surprised when he realized that Bill was honestly madly in love with the witch, but it really did come as a shock. Somehow, Ron had imagined that he'd married her out of some sense of propriety, that his desire not to cause their family undue trouble is what pulled him out of Charlie's bed. What other possible reason could a person have for walking away from that much perfection? At least, that's how Ron thought of Charlie, so naturally, everyone else must feel exactly the same about him.

"Don't forget to give Ron heez letters!" Fleur called over her shoulder from the stairwell.

"Letters?" Ron asked. "What letters?"

So much for figuring out what was going on without asking directly. Bill had that sort of look on his face. "So be it," he said. "Your letters first, then." He got up, and Ron realized he seemed a bit lethargic.

"Long day?" Ron asked as Bill reached for a shoebox on the top of the cupboard. Even with his height, he had to strain just a bit to reach it. That told Ron whatever these letters were, it wasn't something Bill wanted anyone stumbling across by accident.

"No, you want your letters," Bill said, rewarding Ron with a slight smirk. "So, it'll be that first, and we can talk about the rest tomorrow."

Ron considered a moment. He did want to know what was happening, terribly, but his curiosity about Bill's shoebox won out. Okay, it was actually a boot box, the side scrawl reading 'genuine dragonhide'. He imagined that Charlie must hate those boots as a matter of principle, but Bill was a pragmatist – if the dragon was already dead, it wasn't going to miss it's hide, or something. He could imagine that being exactly the sort of thing Bill would reply if Charlie got on him about it.

He pulled back the lid, and found the box all but bursting. "All of these, are for me?" he asked, awed.

"He didn't know where to send them once the lot of you ran off. I told him he could send them here, and I'd pass them on when I saw you."

"He..." Ron nearly asked, but his eyes fell on the handwriting, and if the wild scrawl of his name wasn't enough of a hint, the Romanian postmark said the rest.

"Didn't know when I said that he'd send the bloody things every week, sometimes two or three at a time." Bill rolled his eyes.

Ron smiled. He forgot his face knew how to make that expression, but from the look of things, Bill and Charlie had, by some miracle, managed to patch up the drama between them. Maybe Charlie's letters would tell him that their drama was alright, too.

"Go on up to the guest room. I'm sure you want to be left to read in peace," Bill said. "It'll take you half the night to get through all of that, at least."

"Yeah, thanks," Ron said, dazed, putting the lid back on the box of letters and lifting it. It was heavier than one would think parchment ought to be, but there were quite a lot of them. A hum of excitement flitted about in his stomach. He'd missed Charlie's letters terribly.

"Ron."

"Yeah?"

"Charlie tells me you're more observant than anyone gave you credit for."

Ron blushed a little. "I, uh..." He knew exactly what Bill was saying – Charlie told him that Ron knew what had gone on between his two oldest siblings.

"Charlie never wrote me that many letters. What do you suppose that means?"

Ron turned a deeper shade of red. He knew exactly what Bill was hinting at – that what was between him and Charlie was never that sort of love, not for either of them, but Charlie didn't understand that. "I s'pose I'll find out when I read them," he stumbled.

"Will you tell me if I turn out to be right?" Bill asked, a little sparkle of humor in his eyes.

"Not on your bloody life," Ron quipped. "That's private."

Bill shrugged a bit and sat back down at the table with his half finished coffee. "All of the best things in life are," he answered.

***

Charlie's first letter was angry. He raged on and on for pages about how Ron had just 'run off' and used several lines of very colorful language to describe, in intimate detail, how many ways he was going to beat Ron silly when he saw him again, 'for worrying Mum.' Ron knew that was bollocks. Charlie was the one who was worried. Well, their mum was probably a bit worried too, at first. Then she would have realized Hermione (who he wagered she was set on having as a daughter-in-law, the way she gushed over how smart and put-together she was) was along, and probably stopped worrying altogether.

But, Charlie worried. In his second and third letter he was still fussing about how worried their mum was, even though he was back in Romania long since then and really had no idea what their mum was feeling about it all. Ron liked that Charlie worried about him.

By the fourth letter his worry tamed – not in intensity, but at least in language. He stopped threatening to beat Ron up, and by the seventh, he started bringing up other things entirely – he couldn't talk about 'you know what' (and Ron did, his work as regarded the Order), but did say that it was 'going surprisingly well, all things considered'. That sounded promising, but then again, Charlie had always been terribly optimistic by nature. But, he did mention some things about work. He rambled on for two pages about a Ukranian Ironbelly they'd rescued, and how it just laid eggs. He rambled endlessly about how exciting it was, since they were nearly extinct, and everyone was pulling 'insane shifts' – to which he added several exclamation points – to make sure everything went well. 'She's absolutely adorable!' he gushed, 'but her eggs are bigger than I am!'

Ron found himself laughing as the letters progressed. He got the entire report on the Ukranian Ironbelly, how he'd joked about naming her Molly, since she'd laid 6 eggs in all (he wagered that Fred and George only counted for one) and the others had been calling her such ever since. And a few letters later, he wrote -obviously quite upset – that they'd lost three of the lot and another 'isn't looking so good'. He'd written 'it may be a while before I can write again', but the next letter was only postmarked six days later, and much more cheerful. 'He pulled right through, like a proper Weasley,' he joked. But, by the end of the letter he'd grown serious and ended again on, 'where in the bloody hell are you, Ron?'

It was the tenth letter when Charlie finally wrote, 'I've been dreaming about the day Bill got married for a while.' Ron had to put the letter aside for a moment and stop to breathe. Was he finally going to answer? What would that answer be? Ron didn't know if he was emotionally prepared for it either way. He thought about it a moment. If Charlie didn't love him, how would things change? And if he did? Ron shook his head; he didn't dare even hope.

He returned to the letter. 'I've been dreaming about the day Bill got married for a while.' He took a deep breath, so had he – Charlie strong arms, his savory lips, those delicious tattoos, his throbbing cock and his meaty hands and...oh Merlin, now was the worst possible time to be thinking about that. You couldn't wank in someone else's house! It was rude! Right? It seemed awfully rude, but the memory of Charlie's naked body made his mind swim and his hormones rage. He forced himself, with quivering hands, to continue reading.

'I've been thinking it was a good thing he did, because if he didn't, who knows how long I'd have been stuck in this stupid daydream, you know? And then, maybe I never would have noticed. Shit, I'm bad at this. How cute you are, I mean. I probably never would have noticed that, if Bill didn't tell me to shove off. This is retarded. I should be saying this to your face, not in some stupid letter. Where the fuck are you, Ron? Do you have any idea how worried I've been about you? When I think about you, I can't decide whether to wank or cry.'

Ron put the letter aside with shaking fingers. Was that it? Was Charlie...did he mean...oh, he had no fucking idea what it was supposed to mean, besides that Charlie wanted him, and he'd determined that much from the mad shag they'd had right before Bill got married. But those last words! 'When I think about you, I can't decide whether to wank or cry.' Ron shivered. He wanted to do both. They were just words on a page, but they were Charlie's words and they cut straight into the pit of his stomach. Wank or cry. Why did that sound stupidly romantic? He rolled his eyes at his own thought, and that was the only thing stopping him from doing both on the spot.

Towards the end of the pile though, Ron relented. He caved. He gave up. Charlie was more and more open about his various dreams about them, and while some of them told Ron very clearly of his worries, while Charlie's quill had quivered and faltered at the thought of a world without Ron in it, of imagining standing over his grave, others were so pornographic he could scarcely believe Charlie had set them to the page...and the way Charlie described them made him want to try them all – from the candle wax down to the frozen banana, and back up to the wrist shackles and blindfold. His own fantasies were far less experienced and equally simple, but Charlie's dirty mind put to paper kept him up half the night.

It wasn't just the fantasies. It was the passion with which he described them. Freed from uncertainty, knowing how Ron felt about him, and having come to terms with the end of his infatuation with the eldest of their brood, he spared not a thought for decency. Oh, he still wrote about other things. He still fussed about the nature of Ron's adventures and if he was well, and rambled about his precious dragons, but there was also a sort of liberated sense of abandon as he told Ron about all the things he wanted to do to him when they were finally reunited. And, he ended the last several letters, 'Love, Charlie.'

The first time he wrote those words, Ron thought the four letters seemed too neat, like every one of them required more thought, like he kept stopping to try and think of another word to redeem himself with, but by the last letter, written just three days ago, it was a huge scrawl, with the gayest little sparkly heart sticker added to the page for emphasis.

Ron woke late the next morning even more exhausted than he'd been the last several nights – his arm ached from sleeping in a bad position, and he realized that was because he'd fallen asleep with his hand down his pants. '...Bill's pants, actually,' he realized belatedly. It was too late for it to matter now. He'd spent the night reading those letters, and dreaming about Charlie, about the wilderness of Romania – which his brother also described in such astounding detail that Ron felt like he'd been there himself, and fallen in love with the country just as much as his brother had – and he'd been dreaming about all of the obvious things as well, about his brother's lips and his hands and his voice crying out Ron's own name.

After a shower (which included a very necessary wank and maybe just a bit of self-fingering after last night's fantastical dreams), he put his own clothes on again – clean and fresh for the first time in ages – and went down to the kitchen. No one said much through breakfast, and when Ron was battling with his latent manners and his desire for the last scone, Bill just plopped it right onto Ron's plate among the remnants of his hash and took the platter to the sink for a wash. "Have at it," Bill said.

Around his ravenous mouthful, Ron mumbled something that might have been a thank you, followed by several incoherent mumblings.

"Swallow first, then speak," Bill laughed, returning the table with a fresh cup of coffee.

Ron swallowed the lump of scone forcefully. "D'you have some parchment and a quill about? Couldn't find any in the guest room."

"In the drawer there," Bill answered. It was the last attention Ron paid his ponytailed brother for the next two hours.

Ron wasn't one for writing letters, but he owed Charlie a hell of one, as many as he'd written, as worried as he was. He didn't know where to start, so he started from the beginning. He explained how he'd gone off with Harry and Hermione to find horcruxes, and how it wasn't going so well, and he ranted for a while about how much getting splinched hurt. 'If the bloody brains weren't bad enough, now I've got a splinch scar over the better part of my arm. I hope you don't mind damaged goods.' That last bit was daring on his part, but after the things Charlie had written to him, he thought his own flirtation rather tame. Still, it felt good, to say what he felt and not have to worry about the implications. Charlie wanted him. Charlie loved him. Charlie was alive, and well enough to write a ridiculous quantity of letters to him, and Bill was really in no position to judge. He confessed to how he'd thrown a fit and stormed off and was currently at Bill's place. 'Only for the moment,' he wrote. 'I'm going to get right back to figuring where they went off to as soon as I finish writing this letter.' He felt rather awkward about confessing, 'I miss you' but thought Charlie deserved to see the words, and after five pages of insensible rambling, he found himself staring down at his signature, and added in a P.S. - 'Enough with the gay little hearts.'

No sooner had he sent it off with the owl than Bill called him in the sitting room. With a smirk, Bill said, "Call just came in for you," and gestured at the fireplace.

"You git, you didn't!" Ron protested, only to hear a hearty laugh over the crackling of the fire.

Ron knelt on the hearth rug.

"It's good to hear your voice," Charlie said.

Ron would do anything to have him here now, to hug him. He'd missed him so much.

"...yeah," he answered dumbly. "I just owled you," he said awkwardly. "If I'd known..."

"That Bill was going to call me and then run away LIKE A SCARED LITTLE GIRL," Charlie hollered just to get on Bill about something, "then you'd not have bothered."

"Yeah..." Ron answered shortly. What should he say? He'd already told everything to Charlie in the letter. If he said it now, there'd be nothing interesting in that huge roll of parchment he'd sent off. Besides which, he'd just finished explaining it all, he didn't want to go through the entire story again right now.

"So, you're on at the cottage for a bit."

"Just today, probably," he said. "Then I've got to be off again."

There was an awkward silence, because they couldn't say any of the things they wanted to with Fleur in the house. "I got a new tattoo," Charlie said.

"Oh yeah, where?" Not what, he realized. He should have said what, but he asked where, and was glad that blushing didn't translate well in firecalls.

"I think you'll like it," Charlie grinned. "But for now, you'll have to guess. It'll give you something to look forward to."

"...yeah..." Ron answered awkwardly. He hadn't the foggiest idea of what to say. He wanted to be amazing, to say just the right thing, but he could scarcely say anything at all. If he said too much, he felt like he'd get all weepy and emotional like some dumb girl. Just hearing Charlie's voice did more for him than a thousand letters.

"I want to stay like this with you all day," Charlie said. "But I'm on duty in fifteen minutes, and I've not shaved or dressed. I'm in a bloody towel."

Ron turned a brighter shade of red, and tried to will his cock to behave. It didn't listen very well. "You're full of shite."

"I'm not," Charlie laughed. "I'm a lazy sod, you know I am. Bill called when I was just fumbling out of the shower. He told me you were about, so I'm sitting here on the rug with my bollocks hanging out." He laughed.

Ron cleared his throat, trying to wipe from his mind the image of Charlie in an indecently small towel that didn't cover anything that mattered. Oh, how he wanted to be there to see it! He'd bend right down, open his mouth...

Ron shook himself out of the fantasy. He'd never sucked a cock in his life, never thought he wanted to, but Charlie's? He would do it in a heartbeat. "Uh, right then," he sputtered. "I, uh, I'll let you go."

"Ron."

"Yeah?"

"We alone?"

Ron peered over his shoulder and about the room. "Yeah," he answered.

Charlie smiled at him through the fire. "A call's not nearly enough, yeah?"

"Yeah," Ron answered. "But...it's nice, all the same, to hear your voice and whatnot."

"I love you," Charlie said seriously. "Okay? You understand why I made you wait to hear me say so, right?"

Ron's stomach bubbled. Hearing the words aloud was even better than seeing them written out. "Yeah," he said, unable to stop the grin that crossed his face. "S'pose it wouldn't have meant much really, for you to say it right then, anyway."

"So, don't go meeting up with any girls you might want to fall in love with and marry, right?"

Ron laughed. "You've got nothing to worry about. I'm not Bill."

"And thank Merlin for that. You don't tease me about my podge," he joked.

"I like your podge," Ron replied without a moment's hesitation.

"I seriously have to go get dressed," Charlie sighed, turning his head and – Ron guessed – making note of the time. "Listen, Ron. Be careful, alright? If anything were to happen to you..."

"You too," Ron said. "I..." he checked over his shoulder again to make sure they were quite alone. "I love you, Charlie. You take care of yourself."

"Always do," Charlie answered. "Just have a better reason to, now."

The firecall ended with Ron blushing and sputtering, his stomach tangled up in knots. Talking to Charlie, even only so briefly, made the world look like a bright, happy place again. He didn't realize that Bill hung in the doorway, until he broke through Ron's gushy silence.

"So, what are you going to do now?" he asked seriously.

Ron startled. "Bill, I...that, it's..."

Bill waved it off and moved back into the room to sit in the armchair. "Everyone has secrets, Ron. What matters is whether or not you can live with them. Anyone else's opinion is bullocks. Besides that, I know very well how difficult to resist he is."

"But, you're married."

"And madly in love, and not judging," Bill conceded. "You can worry about all of that later. You have a more immediate problem, right?"

Harry and Hermione. "Stop reading my mind," Ron sulked, absently fiddling nervously with his inherited deluminator. "I'm trying to figure that out. I don't know how to find them."

Bill leaned forward in his seat and squeezed Ron's shoulder. "Stop worrying so much. Once you stop and think, I'm sure it'll come to you. There's no one in the world who knows them better than you do, right?"

Ron's eyes widened. He'd actually never thought about that. "Yeah," he said, a mountain of worry relieved and some optimism seeping in in spite of the current state of things. "Yeah, I know them better than anybody."

"Well, there you have it, then."

It was because of Bill's words that when the deluminator showed him the way back to where he belonged, he wasn't really all that surprised.

***

1998.

Ron didn't think he'd ever run out of tears to shed over Fred's body. He couldn't even begin to imagine how George must feel. But, after the funeral, when Charlie pulled him aside and held him against his broad chest, just held him there, concealed in the shadow of a great old oak tree, all the strength simply left his body. Was it all finally over? Really? And, shit. Fred was really gone. He'd managed to deny it a bit, until the funeral, like it was all just a bad dream. In spite of Charlie's return, he spent a good deal of his time with Harry and Hermione because he didn't have to think about it when he was about them. A dash of red hair was really all it took to make him think of their lost sibling.

Now that all was said and done, lying against Charlie's chest was the only thing he could bear to do.

"C'mon, Ron," Charlie said at last. "It's been a long day. You're just tired. I'll take you home." He didn't have the energy to argue either, as Charlie went to make a few excuses to get him out of here. Bill just tossed them a look and mouthed 'go'. No sooner had Ron realized that Bill was always going to be there to cover for them than he was back in the Burrow, having his shoes pulled off, his tie and jacket cast over the desk chair, and his collar loosened. He laid back against the pillows. He couldn't remember ever feeling so exhausted.

Charlie sat on the edge of the bed beside him, brushed some hair from his eyes.

"Lie down," Ron said, scooting himself as close to the wall as possible.

"Did you forget this bed isn't big enough for both of us?" Charlie asked with a soft smile.

"Maybe it's just the right size," Ron retorted.

Charlie shook his head. "Just get some rest. You've had a rough go of it."

"Everyone has."

"Well, yeah, but I only care about you," Charlie answered. That wasn't entirely true, Ron thought, but it was nice to hear. He sat up to lean into Charlie's shoulder, since the other was so insistent on not lying down with him.

It didn't take long from there for Charlie's resistance to falter, his soft lips to ghost over the shell of Ron's ear.

"Turn the radio on," Ron said. "They'll be back before long, for food and such."

"Ron, we shouldn't," Charlie said. "It's kind of inappropriate, yeah?"

"Everything about us is inappropriate," Ron countered. "Doesn't make it wrong, right?"

Charlie couldn't seem to argue that logic. He hesitated, but relented, flicking his wand toward the radio. "Well, I s'pose a bit of snogging couldn't hurt," he conceded with a little smirk. "You do look rather like a proper snogging may be just what the doctor ordered."

The radio came to life, blaring, startling them both. Charlie laughed. "You're too young to be stuck in the 80s, Ron."

'Like a warrior that fights

and wins the battle

I know the taste of victory...'

"You like the eighties," Ron answered.

"Yeah, but I'm old," Charlie joked. He didn't feel old, but by comparison, they really were children of two completely different decades.

"I like the eighties," Ron retorted.

"Do you even remember the eighties?" Charlie quipped, pressing Ron down against the too small mattress. It still felt just the right size to Ron – at least when Charlie was hovering over him like this.

"I like that you like the eighties, then," Ron quipped.

'When the river was deep I didn't falter

When the mountain was high I still believed

When the valley was low it didn't stop me, no no

I knew you were waiting

I knew you were waiting for me.'

"You don't know how to change the station on that radio, do you?" Charlie answered with a laugh.

"...the dial is stuck," Ron conceded. "But leave it, it's not a bad song, all said."

'With an endless desire I kept on searching

sure in time our eyes would meet

like the bridge is on fire

the hurt is over, one touch and you set me free...'

"Well..." Charlie hedged between kisses. "It's no ABBA, but it'll do."

Ron wrapped his arms around Charlie's shoulders, opened his mouth to his brother's prodding tongue, and felt every syllable of the song etch itself into his soul and his memory of this moment where he, somewhat bittersweetly, made love to his brother for the second time. Several hours later, after a few drinks that George insisted were 'celebratory – that's how Fred would have wanted it', and a few gag candies thrown into the dish when no one was looking, Ron found himself in much better spirits.

Half the house had passed out in the living room, and Charlie was hanging his head over the kitchen sink to try to wash out the neon pink and gold streaks that – through a fit of laughter – George assured him should come out with just a bit of water. Ron pushed himself up to sit on the nearby counter top as he watched the bubblegum colored sludge circle down the drain. "Bill said Percy put them in the dish. He saw him do it, but Percy is denying he has a sense of humor as usual. Probably trying to cheer George up."

Charlie lifted his sopping wet head. "Not that I mind, really, but why did it have to be pink?" he laughed. "Did I get it all?"

"Bit by the temple," Ron answered. Rather abruptly, he realized something from their earlier encounter. "Your new tattoo. I didn't see it."

Charlie grinned playfully at him, and glanced about before sneaking a quick kiss. "Then you've got something to look forward to for next time."

***

1998.

"Mum, stop crying. I'll be back for the holidays. You know I will," Ron complained as Molly held about him in a tearful farewell. "And that's only three months away."

"You sure about this, Ron? You're going to abandon me to run the shop all alone, completely at mercy to Angelina's constant nagging?"

Angelina elbowed George in the ribs. He smirked at her. Fred was gone, and that was horrible, but life went on, and George was living proof of that. He was sad, of course he was, but he still went out of his way to find reasons to laugh, things worth laughing about. It was as though he was making up for Fred's absence by cracking enough snide jokes and pulling enough silly pranks for both of them. They weren't quite as mean-spirited as Fred's sometimes were, but that was probably for the best.

Ron finally wiggled free of Molly's grip. "A little nagging would do you good."

Hermione suddenly slapped him on the chest.

"Hey!"

"You'd better write!" she insisted stubbornly.

"Why should I? You're going to be pestering me all the time. You're moving to Bulgaria after the holidays anyway," he whined at her. "To be near Viikktooorrr," he teased because it was really the only thing he had on her that he could tease her about. Weird, how some things changed, and other things came full circle, really.

Harry pulled Ron into his best man-hug. "Well, I'm not moving to Europe, so I expect letters, at least every now and again."

"As if you'll have time to read them, now that you're going to be a big shot Auror."

"Won't be the same without you."

"Can't be any different, since I was never there," Ron retorted.

Ginny gave him a look. "I can't believe you've decided to be a medizoologist. You used to be afraid of spiders and cats."

"I wasn't afraid of cats," Ron frowned. "Crookshanks was just out to get me." He didn't deny the spiders. They were still creepy.

He was going to miss his friends and family. He was! Terribly, but he was excited.

"He wasn't out to get you. It was Scabbers, who turned out to be evil anyway," Hermione complained.

"Well, you know, as he was in my hands at least half the time, I didn't much care for being an unfortunate bystander," Ron groused in return. Yes, his rat had been evil, but damn it, he hadn't known that at the time! "Any case, I've got a train to catch, so you lot get off my back. It's a long bloody way to Romania."

He would pretend he just really wanted to spend his days dealing with puking dragons, even though it sounded like sick dragons would be harder to handle than a house full of sick Weasleys, but he knew he had ulterior motives. When the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary put out that ad for an 'assistant medizoologist', even if the pay was a bit on the shite side, and he didn't speak the language, he had O.W.L.s in all the right subjects, and with Charlie there...well, the latter really was at the center of his decision to uproot his life. He wanted to be with Charlie – firecalls and filthy letters didn't come even close to being enough.

Bill was the last to see him off. He gave Ron a big bear hug that really wasn't at all like his suave oldest brother, and said, "Good Luck, Ron. Take care of yourself." And then on second thought smiled and added, "And put Charlie on a diet, would you?"

Ron laughed. "Well, I'll promise the first, at least, but the second is impossible," he replied as he stepped onto the platform. "Go on, get out of here already. I don't need you all moping at me through the window as I go," he complained, as if that would stop them from doing it just to spite him.

***

When Ron finally arrived at the sanctuary, settled his trunk, ran about on a quick tour of the facilities, got introduced to more people than he thought he would ever likely remember the names of, and showed to the small hut where he would be working with two other assistants and the head magizoologist, told he would spend most of his time collecting ingredients and stirring a cauldron at first, he was actually kind of relieved. He didn't know why potions had been one of his better subjects, but it had, and he was relieved to know he wouldn't be expected to run off after massive fire-breathers with pox from the start.

He wanted to see Charlie right away, but it had been a day, and once he got back to his new home, he could scarcely do more than take a quick shower and collapse in bed. He didn't even get dressed first, he just flopped there in his towel, meaning to only take a moment to recover. His eyes drooped. He told himself – just a quick nap, then he would go see the man he'd moved to a foreign country for, but it was a full eight hours later when he woke. He wouldn't be starting work officially for two more days, which would give him some time to settle in, they said, and get to know the area. He didn't know what they expected him to see. It was trees and grass and burnt patches of earth as far as the eye could see. They told him there was a village about an hour's broom ride west, but he wasn't in any rush to check it out straightaway.

When he woke again, it was evening. It took him a minute to acclimate before he remembered where he was. He glanced at the clock. "Ah, bollocks!" he exclaimed. He'd told Charlie he'd arrive hours ago, and Charlie had told him that he was only to work the morning that day, having pulled a double the day before, and would be waiting for him to arrive. He'd told Charlie he should likely be there for a late lunch. It was nearly seven in the evening. He scrambled to his feet, bumped his head on a bedpost he wasn't accustomed to, and blinked at a loud burst of guffawing laughter.

"Morning sleeping beauty."

"Charlie!" He barely caught his towel, though realized belatedly it wasn't as though Charlie hadn't already had quite a good look at him. "How long have you...when did you?" Ron sputtered.

Charlie took two steps forward and pulled Ron against his chest, kissing him passionately. "Shut up, Ron."

"Sorry," Ron mumbled between kisses. "Dozed off..."

"Good," Charlie answered. "Then you're well-rested." He snapped Ron's towel away and pushed him back against the bed. His eyes roved hungrily over Ron's body, making his cock twitch.

Charlie smirked. "You got me a present. How sweet," he said, dropping to his knees. He kissed Ron's hip, where Ron had a wavy bar of musical notes tattooed, and dragged his tongue over the black ink.

Ron shuddered. He'd hoped Charlie would like it. He'd wanted one, after seeing Charlie's covered body, and the only thing that came to mind as meaningful – while not outright saying 'I'm shagging my brother' was the radio. That tongue wandered over the wiggling lines of music, which danced under the touch and expanded around his hip, up his back, down the inside of his thigh and wrapped around his knee until an entire song was etched out on his skin. Charlie chased the notes with his tongue and his teeth. Ron panted helplessly under the playful exploration, his cock quite hard by the time his brother had pushed his leg up in the air and was tracing the final notes along the back of his knee.

"What song is this?" Charlie asked.

"Guess," Ron rasped.

Charlie traced the notes back up his brother's thigh before veering off course, dragging his hot tongue over his balls, up the sensitive shaft, and swallowing Ron's organ.

Ron moaned and arched under Charlie's talented tongue, so overwhelmed by Charlie's touch that he didn't notice Charlie shifting his bulky body and working out of his jeans.

Charlie released his member with a soft pop and stood, pulling his shirt overhead and casting it aside.

Ron propped himself up on his elbows, taking in the body he so adored, and that's when he finally spotted Charlie's newest tattoo. He couldn't quite make out what it was. It looked like a bunch of symbols arching over Charlie's hard cock. He had no idea what it said, but Charlie had been right – he did like it. A tattoo right there, over the dragon's tail, just seemed to say (regardless of whatever it actually said) 'suck my cock'. Ron licked his lips.

Charlie leaned over and stole his lips in a passionate kiss. When they stopped for breath, Ron barely managed to gasp out, "What does that say, you're tattoo?"

"Do you want a closer look?" Charlie returned.

"Fuck yes," Ron blurted, and blushed at his own eagerness.

Charlie kissed him greedily.

"Should we turn on the radio?" Ron asked, very clear on just where this was going and how loud they could be.

"No reason to be shy, love," Charlie purred against his jaw. "It's just us, here. For once, let me hear you scream, hm?"

"B-but, the other dragonologists and such..."

Charlie pet his cheek. "Aren't going to judge, Ron. We're out here, miles from any kind of civilization. Plenty of things happen between the blokes on the reserve that you wouldn't exactly write home about. Just about everybody's shagging someone they oughtn't be. It's fine. Now, do you want a better look at that tattoo or not?"

Ron's lust overcame his better judgment and he nodded dumbly.

One more kiss, and Charlie shifted that sexy, meaty, muscular body of his so that his thighs were spread on either side of poor Ron's head. The horntail tattoo was wandering over his perfect cock again. Charlie rubbed the back of the dragon's neck to keep Ron from getting too distracted from the view, and the tail nestled back to it's natural state, wrapped around the base of his thick cock. The new tattoo arched above it – a pattern of zig-zags and lines. Or, so Ron thought, but Wizarding tattoos aren't always as they seem. His own was like that – small and innocuous enough, until someone touched it.

Charlie pressed the silky flesh of his head against Ron's lips. The instant Ron opened his mouth enough to let the flesh slide into it, the tattoo started to shift and change. The lines moved about. Ron gasped around Charlie's cock, watching the bars move over and slide under one another until they formed five very clear words: The Winner Takes it All'.

Charlie chuckled at Ron's expression as he tried not to laugh. It was rather impossible anyway, with a cock in his mouth. Charlie pulled his hips back just for a moment. "Feeling like a winner, Ron?" he joked.

Ron had to pull away from the hot flesh for a moment to reply. "Feeling like we think too much alike," Ron laughed.

Charlie grinned. "Ah, so that's the song. I thought it might be."

Ron watched as the letters reverted back to their illegible form. "How does it work?" he asked, tracing his fingers over the ink.

"When something's wrapped about it, you can read it," he said. "Was considering 'Property of Ron Weasley', and didn't want anyone to be able to read it but you, but thought I'd be a little more subtle, in the end, and save that one for my ass. Thought maybe you'd be inspired to get one to match," he joked. "Seems you're not against marking up your pretty skin with a little bit of ink, eh?"

Ron rolled his eyes a little at Charlie's silly sense of humor. He loved it though, and he had to admit, he was definitely Charlie's 'property', whether he had a permanent marker saying so or not. He shut his brother up by wrapping his lips back around his fat cock, dragging his tongue along it, and watching the lines become letters once again. The Winner Takes it All, huh? He'd never sucked a cock before, and he could only pray he was doing it right, but he very much planned to be a winner tonight, and every night that came after this one.

As long as Charlie loved him, he didn't see how he could possibly lose.

~The End~
- 1
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Radio