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Stray	By : KohakuShadow Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 8043 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own harry potter, nor am I making any money off of it, If i did, it would have been a MUCH gayer series.

Chapter List
- 1-Stray
- 2-Ch. 2
- 3-Ch. 3
- 4-Ch. 4
- 5-Ch. 5
- 1
- 2
Pairing: Charlie/Severus, Charlie/Ron, Severus/Ron, Charlie/Ron/Severus, Ron/???, with mention of other (past) pairings

Warnings: incest, anal, oral, threesome, fingering, mating potion, mention of tattoos and piercings, and it's all quite gay. If I should include any additional warnings that I haven't, please remind me. I tried to remember everything, but there was a lot of sex, dammit, and I can't remember every last detail.

A/N: This was supposed to be a simple Charlie/Severus fic, but somehow Ron just insisted on getting involved, and I thought, 'well, why the hell not? The birthday girl loves Ron!' Things got out of hand from there...

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Stray

I.

Charlie had always had a bad habit of adopting strays.

A bowl of cereal went flying over the back of the sofa to crash against a framed photo Charlie kept on the wall of a family trip to Egypt. That photo – several years old now – tilted, hung on for dear life just a moment, and crashed to the ground.

Now that he was grown, the strays had only gotten bigger.

From the kitchen, Charlie winced. He added, 'new picture frame' to his mental shopping list, right beneath 2 kitchen chairs, 14 plates, 3 teacups, 2 pairs of trousers, and a fireplace poker. He still held out hope that the ottoman could be repaired.

"Something wrong, dear?" Molly Weasley asked from the other side of the firecall, which she'd bullied him into making every week. It wasn't that he didn't love his mum. He loved her to bits, but there were only but so many things to say.

...and he was still trying to hide them from his parents.

"No, nothing!" he declared with his biggest, hopefully most innocent, grin he could muster.

He could sense her maternal radar even through the crackling and cinders. She knew he was up to something. Damn the woman! Why did mothers always know?! She didn't have to say anything. She wilted him with her sweet smile, and attentive stare until he broke.

"It's just a stray," he blurted. She'd never leave him be if he didn't give her a confession that satisfied her matronly henning.

"Charlie Weasley, you're going to go broke if you keep picking up every stray animal you stumble across!" she huffed at him.

He knew she was right, to a fashion. He'd had this habit his entire life, and it must have driven her mad when he was a small boy. Back then, he would bring all manner of odd creatures into the house. When he was five, not knowing any better, he tried to adopt a goblin. Bill had apologized for him and called him a complete idiot. The house rule, after that, was 'no pets that can talk back'. He'd done well with that...for a while. Though, honestly, he thought his current adoptee might raise hell at being called a 'pet'.

He had to tell his mother something, though. "I know I know, mum, but he really needed my help! I couldn't leave him to die, and it's just...." And this is where he decided to make something up, as a fork flew just past his head and embedded itself into the cupboard.

"…a cat." Brilliant! A cat! It was little, and could be vicious, but overall a very inexpensive house guest. "A mangy sort of tomcat. It was so badly injured, mum. I couldn't just abandon it there." He ran with the fib. "But it's a bit feral, you see. Once he gets used to the place, I'm sure it'll be fine to visit, but for now, I think it's best to keep your distance, until he's well again, and got comfortable, calmed down, and such.”

Molly let out a motherly little huff. "Oh fine, I suppose, as long as it's just a cat," she answered skeptically. "But, do try to keep that massive beast of a dog you've got away from the poor thing. It's the size of a bloody bear. The poor dear will be scared witless."

"I will, mum." Charlie grinned and said his goodbyes.

This stray, in particular, his mother absolutely could not find out about...

He sank back on his knees and let out a deep breath. Could she have possibly called at a worse time? In any case, that was at least one disaster averted. A visit! Was she mad?! He glanced over at the sofabed and grimaced. What in the bloody hell had he gotten himself into?

Charlie hauled himself up off the floor and cast a shield charm in front of himself. Various objects, from papers to empty beer bottles bounced off of it and clattered to the floor. He stepped around them and made his way to the sofa. He was accustomed to it at this point – the constant state of upheaval that his life and home had gone through since he pulled a certain famous (and equally infamous) wizard half-dead from the shrieking shack and fought like hell to keep him alive. Charlie thought it was the only secret he'd ever truly kept in his life. Not even Bill knew that Snape was here with him, or that he had been for the past several months. Healing, or trying to.

Some days were better than others.

Severus sat rigid on the floor with his knees pulled tightly to his chest, his head hanging so a curtain of hair covered his features, his fingers dug into the carpet beside his bare feet, and his back rose and fell with obvious effort, as he tried to breathe, to calm the magic he had been so proud of his entire life, which now refused to properly bend to his will, and instead chose to bend to his rampaging emotions. He still managed to keep his expression neutral most of the time – he was most skilled at that, but it felt somehow pointless to keep his featured unmoved, when every other bloody thing in the house was flying about the place as if it had been grasped by a twister. Charlie thought Snape's pride probably wouldn't allow him to release control of the one thing he still had a handle on, even if his stoic facade didn't really hide how he was suffering. He wondered sometimes, if saving the man's life, to put him through all of this, was maybe more cruel than letting him die, but the latter, to Charlie, had never been an option. He watched Snape try to control himself. The man wanted to stop this magical insanity. He wished he could He had all the magical power he'd accumulated in life. Unfortunately, just for the moment, he couldn't control a lick of it. He knew why. Charlie knew why. It was mortifying, which only made Hurricane Snape all the worse. If he could only calm down and free himself of some of this restless energy the magical whirlwind would calm, but he couldn't, not without Charlie's assistance. That was quite a blow to his pride, too – that this was something he couldn't get through on his own.

He wanted to, but he couldn't. It was impossible.

"Sorry," he said. "I'm here. Bloody wench never shuts up," he joked affectionately about his mother, daring to lower the shield charm and carefully tucking his wand into the back of his trousers before kneeling down beside the older man. He gently pushed Snape's hair away from his injured throat. The wounds had healed over quite a while ago, but there would probably always be a scar. To be honest, Charlie didn't suppose that mattered one way or the other. After the war, they all had their share of scars. Keeping company with dragons, he'd had his fair share of them before it. It was nothing to make a fuss over, between friends. He wasn't concerned with the scars, nor particularly interested in them. He leaned, instead, toward the shell of Severus' ear, and dragged his tongue along it lightly, sucked it between his teeth, and pleasured in the very apparent shudder that wracked through the older man's body.

"A cat, am I?" Severus finally managed to exhale, but his brow glistened with sweat from the effort, and Charlie's heart sank to see how Voldemort's cruel will had reduced him to a shadow of the prideful Slytherin he remembered from his childhood. The words seemed so minute. A cat – but small things were never as small as they seemed, with the way Severus always read into the tiniest undertone of every bloody thing that came out of his mouth. Sometimes, he was dead on, other times, he was just being paranoid. Either way, whatever was running through the older man's mind at being misnamed a feline, Charlie could feel the swell of rampant magic beginning to calm and feel just a hair less oppressive. He knew those small words weren't enough, but at least the worst was over.

"You're certainly catty enough," Charlie quipped against the moist flesh, nudging at Severus' pajama clad knees.

Severus offered no protests, lowering his long legs. The blue plaid sleeping trousers bunched and wrinkled – they were Charlie's so far too large for his slender frame, and the drawstring only barely held them onto his hips. A dusting of dark hair peeked out past the waistband, dancing up toward his navel. What really caught Charlie's attention, though, was the obviously bulging erection pressing out against the fabric. Severus groaned as Charlie pressed his big, square hand against it, rolling the firm weight comfortably, and skillfully unfastening the drawstring.

He could offer not a fraction further resistance, in spite of any protests on the grounds of dignity, and curled his fingers roughly into Charlie's tangled red mane, pulling him into a deep kiss.

Charlie purred into it, sweeping his tongue into the older man's mouth. He'd quickly come to love the way Snape kissed. The way he moaned, too. And, the way he writhed, like he was doing now, as Charlie pulled the pajamas away from his already dripping need and gripped his former professor's shaft, was the best of all. Around them, flying furniture and miscellaneous odds and ends clattered to the floor. It was just the raucous sound that Charlie had come to associate with shagging Severus Snape. He called them 'friends' because it was the only word he could possibly use to explain the complex relationship he'd tangled them into, if he had to explain it at all. Thankfully, the only person Charlie had to explain it to was himself. After all, his mum thought Severus was a feral cat, thanks to a bit of quick thinking he was still patting himself on the back over.

Severus never demanded much of an explanation anyway. Charlie assumed the reason for that was that asking for one would mean they had to talk about it. That was something Charlie was smart enough to know Severus did not want to do, so they just didn't do it.

Instead, he pulled Snape to straddle his lap. The blue trousers were so loose that they were scarcely any inconvenience at all. Charlie had picked them for that very reason. He decided not to tell Snape as much, but had a feeling the older man knew. Snape had always had a way of knowing things.

Eager as he was, Severus pulled down the back of the loose garment himself. Charlie wondered if he knew just how incredibly fucking hot it was when he silently begged for it like this. He didn't make the man wait. He pulled back from the kiss, and pressed his fingers against Severus' moist lips. His breath caught in his throat as those abysmal black eyes pinned him in place, and the older man licked and sucked at the digits that he knew, very soon, would claim some of the agony clinging to the very marrow of his bones, a lust so intense as to be excruciating.

Charlie groaned. It didn't take much for Severus to get him riled. He pulled the fingers away and kissed him passionately again, pushing them mercilessly up the older man's hole, as his other hand continued to work his swollen cock. He supposed that would've hurt a bit, if not for the fact they'd only had at it before lunch. There was also the fact that Charlie knew well that the side effects of the potion that had saved Snape's life were far more painful for the man than any rough foreplay ever could be.

Charlie supposed that was his fault, too. He just couldn't let the man die, not when he found him well on his way to the other side, and he liked the idea of a world without Severus Snape even less now that he'd been shagging him senseless for months. He just knew that the thought of Snape dying made him feel like he'd taken a bludger to the gut right after a Weasley-style holiday feast. It made him feel nauseous. It awakened him with cold sweats in the middle of the night. He would do anything to keep Severus alive, even if the man might rather die. That might be selfish, but so be it. Severus could hate him as much as he wanted for bringing him back from the edge of that abyss, as long as he was alive to do the hating.

Their tongues tangle desperately again. Charlie's greedy kisses wandered clumsily over Snape's throat, then further down his torso.

Severus's legs were spread wide and eager as he bucked himself back and forth between Charlie's hands. He hated himself for this, for this weakness. But, he needed it. He had to have it. He couldn't resist it. He hated himself for that. He wanted to blame it wholly on the potion, which made his libido go as wild as his magic. At first, he could lie to himself and say that was all it was, but it was growing harder and harder to convince himself that he wasn't, on some level, enjoying the attention, enjoying being wanted, enjoying – especially – being wanted by a handsome and kindhearted younger man who was, quite conveniently, an incredible lover.

Charlie's tongue dragged over a knot-work tattoo on the older man's chest that set Snape's very soul aflame. It was a dark mark of another kind – another mark that bound him to another man. The edges of the black ink were still fresh and pink, marring his otherwise ghostly pale flesh.

Then Charlie bit his nipple. Hard. Just the way Snape liked it.

He cried out and came violently, his seed splattering across the face of an indigo-colored dragon wrapped about Charlie's ribcage, and, a matching knot-work tattoo, just as fresh, over the center of Charlie's chest. The marks flickered gold and silver, glowed, burned a bit, left both men breathless, and then the last fragments of rampaging magical energy settled.

Severus took a few long moments to breathe, letting Charlie's kisses dance across his burning flesh, and when he could will his limbs to move, turned himself about, so his back was facing the sexy, tattooed redhead.

Charlie wasted no time in pulling open the fly of his oppressive jeans, and moaned loudly as he watched Snape lower himself over the engorged length. Snape rested his hands between Charlie's scarcely spread thighs, and wasted no time, either, in beginning to rock his hips.

After the cacophony, silence always fell. It was a deafening sort of silence, where even the slightest sound seemed thunderous. So it was with each little pant that escaped Snape's lips, Charlie's own labored breathing, the filthy sound of their flesh sliding together as Charlie watched the perfect view Severus had given him of his thick cock disappearing between the pale cheeks of that charmingly flat arse. He knew why Severus always did it this way; he knew how much Charlie enjoyed the view. He always became utterly entranced by that tight hole swallowing him over and over again. He never got tired of it, and by all rights, trying to keep up with Snape's currently haywire hormones, he really ought to. There was, of course, another reason that they didn't talk about: Severus was ashamed, and couldn't bear to look Charlie in the eye. Charlie knew it. Mostly, that was fine; he really did love this view, but he also longed for the day that Snape looked him in the eye when they were making love. More than the indecent slide of cock and arse together, he wanted to look into Snape's deep black eyes and see what his face looked like when his mask of stoicism finally cracked. He wanted to see the face Severus made when it wasn't facing the fireplace, or buried against his shoulder, or hidden behind a curtain of hair – the expression the man wore when he came. He wanted Severus to trust him enough to show him that face.

'What are you thinking, you git. It's not 'making love', Charlie. You're thinking like a bloody girl. It's just shagging – gobs and loads of shagging. Because he needs it, because of the medicine.' Still, after spending the summer without his pants, Charlie, if only to himself, could admit he wished there was a bit more to it than that. He wanted to believe Snape fancied him, at least a little.

On the other hand, just for the moment, the only thing he could fancy in particular was the soft roll of those hips, the firm backward thrust. Over and over again, as Snape let his hormones control his body. And, oh! The way those shoulders quivered, and the spine shuddered when Severus let his desires take over his well-kept control. How Charlie wished to look into his eyes, and see his expression, too, come undone!

He wouldn't force that on Severus though; it had to be on his terms, or the man really would hate him. Mad with lust, Charlie pulled Snape off of him and shoved his face into the floor.

Snape moaned, knowing what was coming next. He loved it when Charlie was rough with him. He always felt like he was raping the dragon keeper, foisting his physical needs upon him like this, and Charlie was just too darn nice to turn him down. It was only in moments like this, when Charlie forced him to the floor, pulled his hips up, spread his thighs, and rammed full throttle into him, drove him into the carpet, gripped his hips and threw long strings of curses interspersed with his name at the heavens as he pounded into his prostate over and over again that Severus could assuage his sense of guilt over using Charlie and his gorgeous body, all decorated with tattoos, and that delightfully pierced nipple...

It was just at moments like this, with Charlie taking his obvious pleasure out on Snape's body, when Severus could feel like a wizard again. He would feel tears edge at his eyes. His throat would become parched with screaming his pleasure back over his shoulder senselessly at the delectable man who had been nothing but kind to him, and then, as Charlie released himself deep within the core of his body, he soiled the carpet. Their matching, magical tattoos shimmered again, as they did with each coupling since Charlie had forced the mark onto him, and they would collapse, spent, in the mess they'd made.

Charlie, as he always did at times like this, kissed the back of Snape's shoulders tenderly. "Alright?" he asked, as he always asked.

And, as always, the lust sated for a few moments, the pain of his passion briefly calmed, the need of physical contact eased, self-loathing sank back into the pit of Snape's stomach, coiled into the root of his soul, and he loathed himself anew, for living long enough to be found, and for making a man like Charlie take pity on him, hide him, try to save him, when he knew he was not worth saving.

"You should have let me die," Severus rasped wearily.

Charlie kissed his throat. "Not if my life depended on it," he said firmly, as he always said, like he really meant it.

Severus wished he could believe him.
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Stray