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Edge of the Sea	By : tlb69 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2905 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Edge of the Sea
- 1
The fog lifted slowly in the cold, damp air of the tiny seaside community. The seamen tied off, or attempted to tie off, the small ship, a feat to be sure as the waves rocked it from side to side. They had to manoeuvre around barrels on the deck filled with some such or another as they fought the waves before they crashed the ancient ship into the docks. It was rare to see such a ship in these times; one, for the times, and two, because most magical sailing ships had been destroyed in the War.
A smile spread over his face as he recalled the image of his father giving him a model of just such a ship when he was very young.
He'd loved it more than all his other toys.
“A cravat? No that’s a scarf. A... caravel, yes.”

It was comical watching the seamen as they finally managed to get the gangplank firmly onto the docks, twice having dropped it into the churning waters. He was about to dissolve into an inner corner of his rented flat when a splash of ginger rose from below decks. His interest peaked, he filled his glass from the bottle on the window sill, smiling at the stinging in his hand. When he was younger he loathed the fog... but these days he craved it. He watched as the ginger-haired man lumbered around the cluttered main deck of the ship, nearly falling into the quaking sea several times as he descended the bucking plank.
Finally on firm ground, the handsome burly bearded ginger looked up and down the dock, waves crashing over the boards and soaking his legs. He keenly looked at each building in turn as he buttoned up his red and blue wool coat.
A second-hand coat by the look of it, if his instincts were correct.

“What are you looking for, Red?” he wondered.

He took a sip from his glass, as Red wrapped his arms around his midsection and walked briskly up the boardwalk. Once he reached the cobblestone street, he pulled a small piece of parchment from his pocket and held it up to the brightly coloured buildings of Portree.

“He has a map.”
He adored the way Red turned the map over a few times, lining up something on the street to his piece of parchment. Red worked his mouth left and right, then smiled. He took the narrow alley between the fishing tackle shop and the small diner, which was currently cooking... boiled langoustine.
He was surprised the fishermen managed to catch any today with the tip of the storm hitting the countryside like it was.
No matter, as Red had moved out of sight and down the alleyway.

In the quick fluidic movements of his kind, he moved to the loo, pushing open the window, it's creaking hinges causing him to growl.
The alley formed a 'T' shape to the street.
With a cautious glance over the edge of the sill, he watched Red stand at the apex of the alley.
To his left, he held up the map he carried. When he turned to the right his frown turned to a euphoric grin, and he crumbled his map, returning it to the inner confines of his pocket. He walked briskly down the alley to the end, where if you held your breath and contoured your head, you could just squeeze through to the next alley that ran to High Street. Red attempted the feat, and even made it with several loud grunts, only to return a minute or two later.

He smiled again at the confused expression on Red's face.
With a frustrated audible exhale, he slumped against the back of the diner. The back of the diner was a wall of square cut stone to its neighbour, Aife's Sewing.
As trite as it was, he found the shop amusing.
An ancient warrior wielding her knitting needles.
The shop reminded him of an acquaintance of a friend of his he'd once met in the Americas. An incredibly smart, slim, vivacious red-haired woman of magnificent creations and talents. He sipped from his glass and smiled, allowing himself the slight indulgence of bringing her to the surface of his consciousness for a moment.
It was nearly too long as he very nearly lost sight of his ginger-haired interest.

“Americans are so...sweet,” he mused aloud. “I should drop by and see her. She had a great smile.”

Leaning out into the alley, he peered down and found Red again, leaning against the wall just beside the door to his favourite, Aife's Sewing.
He smiled devilishly as it came to him now what he was looking for.

“How delicious,” he murmured.

The loud, slow creaking of rusty hinges drew his and Red's attention through the damp, fish laden early night air.

“Can I help you luv?” a female voice asked.

“Oh, ah...yeah. Perhaps you can help me.” Red pulled out his tiny, crumpled parchment and looked at a name printed on the bottom. “I...I was looking for...Lady...Bruce?” he muttered.

“Well you found her, sweety,” she said in a classic Scottish brogue. Perhaps a hint of a smoker's gravel thrown in.
Ah, these people and their bad habits, he thought.

“Of course,” Red murmured.

He leaned back as Red looked around the alley and now stood on the tips of his toes while peering just over the ledge to see the Lady Bruce along with Red, below.
“If it weren't for your vices... ”

“Who told you to seek me out?”

“I...I have this name,” Red answered, turning his parchment over, then offering it to her, looking up and down the alley for onlookers.

He couldn't see her, as she stood in the doorway of her business, but he could taste through the air, her excitement and that wretched perfume she wore.

“Are you sure?” she asked, finally stepping into the alley proper, a hand bent at her hip.

He could see her now, looking up and down the alley, listening to the drops of rain as they began hitting the corrugated aluminium that covered the back of her establishment.

“What did you say your name was?”

“I didn't, but it's Charlie.”

His smile could be heard dancing up on the rain drops.
This one was going to prove to be quite...filling!

“Well then, you'd better come in out of the rain, it's likely to spill on us at any moment.”

Charlie disappeared quickly from the alley and through the door. He just saw Lady Bruce for a moment before she shut the door forcefully behind her. The rain chose that particular time to surge and water poured down in waves, soaking the floor.
He pulled the loo windows shut and moved quickly to the back door of his flat that wound down to the back of the shops. He loved that Lady Bruce had several hidden passageways around her shop, the one he now traversed took up a good portion of the diner's kitchen.

Although he found it distasteful to peer at people through a faux air duct, it did help the process along nicely.
He paused at the ninth step.
Even with his light steps, the tenth board still creaked loudly in the narrow passage, even from a mere mouse's step.
Fortunately, Lady Bruce cackled one of her trademark cackles, allowing him to step on the board unnoticed by Charlie.

He slid the splines fully open, to hear better, then stood before the rear of his two-sided mirror. His eyes adjusted to accommodate the new obstacles, but they had their uses.
As Lady Bruce lit more candles around the small room, she spoke to Charlie, every word the two uttered vibrating through his private enclave.

“Who sent you again?”

“His name is Professor Snape,” Charlie replied nervously, looking around the small, dark room.

“I have to be sure, mind!” she said tartly. “One never knows who lurks about, what with the War only just over. Death Eaters behind every fish it seems, fleeing the offlanders.”

“Let me assure you. I. Am. No. Death Eater.”

He and Lady Bruce both heard the impatience in this ginger-haired Charlie.
“Don't take that tone with me, or I'll shove you out straight away... ”

“I'm sorry,” Charlie grumbled holding up his hands. “I didn't mean to offend. It's just—” He breathed deeply, hanging his head. “I was led to believe that someone here could make a special present for a... friend.”

“Do you love him?” she asked brazenly.

“What business is it of yours?” he replied hotly.

She shrugged non-committally and gestured to the wall, opening a door. “You may take your coat off and hang it on the hook. Someone will be with you in a moment.”

She left Charlie standing in the room, speechless. “This is why people don't visit Scotland, the abysmal welcoming committee,” he grumbled after her. He turned around holding in his breath, as he unbuttoned his coat, then let the breath out slowly, giving him an odd, fat fishlike face.

“How sweet.”

He watched the young man circle the room looking for something to train his eyes on, but with nothing but a stool in the centre of the room, Charlie just walked in circles.
He waited, listening to the ticks of the clock from up above in his flat, wondering how long it would take for the man... this Charlie, to sit on the stool. He played this one-sided game with all his clients and it amazed him how different types nearly always sat in exact intervals. Many used the mirror to dislodge unwanted pustules from their face or chests, without even the forethought to clean the mirror of their disgusting fluids.

Charlie though, was fascinating.
He watched as Charlie upended the stool and sat it down on it's seat. Clucking his tongue to a song only heard in his own head, he wrapped his fingers over one of the rungs, and swung his legs into the air, balancing himself with one hand out and legs splayed, with the grace of a bird.

“Impressive.”

When Charlie was done with his leg exercises, which took all of a minute, he righted himself and the stool but did not sit.

He slid the door open quietly and stepped into the room. “Good evening.”

“Oh, hi,” Charlie yelped. He flushed slightly, holding out his hand. “I'm Charlie.”

He took the offered hand, giving it a firm shake. “I am called, Seisyll. Now that the uncomfortable part is out of the way, what brings you to me?”

Charlie brushed the front of his shirt, and with a quick glance to the stool, sat down. “Well an old professor of mine— no— a friend,” he amended before continuing. “He told me that you were the best in the business to... who created... that is to say—”

“I am,” Seisyll said smoothly.

“Well that’s a relief, I thought it may take me a while to find you from the crude map I was given.”

His smile was infectious. “Let's start at the beginning shall we? What do you want?”

Charlie swallowed deeply, rubbing the palms of his hands over his leather trousers. “Just jump right in there, yeah?” A nervous laugh followed as the man looked around the dark room.

Seisyll waited.

“Sorry, a little nervous now that I'm here.”

Seisyll waited.

Charlie took a deep breath. “I'd like to make, no create a unique present for someone very special to me.”

“Did this professor friend of yours have a name?”

“Huh, oh yeah sure. Snape. Severus Snape.”

A low growl followed. “Then you know what my price is. Are you still intent on this type of gift?”

“Yes,” Charlie blurted out. “Sorry. I expect I'm a bit nervous.”

“So you’ve said.”
Seisyll stood, straight and tall, his hands clasped behind his back. “To further help in the course of action, what do you do for a living?”

“I'm a dragon handler.”

A note of pride.
“Odd for a dragon handler to be so nervous, yes?”
He didn't wait for Charlie to answer.
With his hand raised, silencing further prattle from Charlie, he walked around the room observing Charlie from different angles. The best vantage point in front of the mirror was key to his trade or it would be just another raw attempt at art from some rank amateur.
Seisyll could have bespelled a newer mirror, one without all the silver flecks, the crack in the side or the wormwood frame now coming apart in a few places. However, it had been his father’s, so he kept it for his works.
“Take your shirt off.”

“Now?”

“Yes now,” he said around a smirk. “Come on, I don't bite.”

Charlie let out a guffaw, pointing at Seisyll. “You've got a sense of humour. You'd like my brothers.” He draped the shirt on the stool, smacking his hands against his legs.

“Get dressed,” Seisyll ordered.

“Is something wrong?” Charlie asked, eyes wide as he pulled on his shirt.

“Sit on the stool and look into the mirror.” Seisyll ignored Charlie's question. “Look right in the center of the mirror. That's it. Now, very clearly state your intentions and whether you were put up to this.”

“Right, I remember hearing about this. Okay.” Charlie took a deep breath, held it then let it out. “I am Charlie Weasley—”

“A Weasley!” Seisyll growled distastefully. “Continue if you must.”

“Right,” Charlie said, his brow furrowed. “I'm Charlie Weasley and I'm here to make a personal, mobile image for someone who shall remain private,” he added firmly.

“Noted. Continue.”

“No one has put me up to this, I know what the price is and still I come to Mr. Seisyll to help me make my gift. I know the sole use of the one image will be my own property, with a backup,” Charlie swallowed audibly then continued. “Held for a time of one year on the off chance I want a second copy of this session. D-does that cover all the angles?”

“Sufficiently,” Seisyll said, waving his hand in a half circle, the thick wave of his spell pushing through the room. “I shall extract my fee when the time is right, not before or after. Understood?”

“Quite.”

“I'll be just back here. When you're ready say the word, count to five and then, looking straight into the mirror, begin.”

“The mirror? That’s how you record my—”

“Yes. When you’re ready the mirror will capture it all.”

“Is there enough light in here?” Charlie asked, wiping his hands on his trousers again.

“I adjusted it when you had your shirt off. I assure you there is ample lighting for your fair skin.”

“And,” Charlie turned to look at Seisyll. “There's no one back there? It's just you and me in here, right?”

“Exactly,” Seisyll drawled. “Be as explicit as possible, perhaps what you'd like to see in such a product. When you are about to shoot, it has been my experience that you point your cock directly at the mirror and do so. It tends to draw the recipient into the fantasy, as they say. The use of spit on your member is a good beginning, or placing a finger inside your arse...”
“Merlin's tits, I don't want filth,” Charlie chirped, blushing at the high pitched sound of his voice.
“Just a few ideas to help make it the best it can be. Use your instincts,” Seisyll replied, hand raised high.
“Spit, I like that though. Which might look better, spitting on my hand, or directly on my cock?” Charlie asked.
“I'm sure you'll know that when the time comes. Now just look into the mirror, take a deep breath and begin at your leisure.”

Charlie cleared his throat. “Right, so I wanted to make something special for your exceptional day and I came up with this. I hope you like it.”

He sat down on the stool with one foot on the floor and the other hooked on a rung of the stool. Using three fingers from both hands, Charlie crossed his arms and slowly pulled his shirt up off his body. With his arms still raised Charlie dropped the shirt. His head turned to his right arm and he inhaled deeply, his tongue pushing out between his lips to leave a wet line along the edge of his arm pit.

Charlie smiled at the mirror brightly, draping his arm over his shoulder while his left hand flipping the button of his trousers. His finger mapped a trial up to his pecs where he pinched the left one, a slight gasp of pain escaping his mouth. He began breathing heavily as he gave the same treatment to the other pec. He gave the mirror a smirk and then sucked on his fingers in the most perverse manner possible for some minutes before letting his finger trail down his well toned chest to his abs, where he scribed a circle on each well-defined muscle.
He then licked his lips as his hand trailed down past the top of his trousers and cupped his cock and bollocks.

He toed off his boots while he rolled his bollocks in his hand several times before he stood up. Without a word, he turned his arse to the mirror and he slowly leaned over and pulled his trousers down, stepping out of them, ungracefully, but without falling. Charlie stood and stretched his arms over his head, completely starkers save for his bright white socks, his left one pushed down to his ankle. He arched his back into a large curve, his cock the only part of his body not arching.
He then sat back down on the stool.

With his right leg again bent on a rung, Charlie stretched out his left leg as far as he could and still maintain his balance. He wrapped his hand around his bollocks and pulled his shaft down with it, his balls painfully tight. Charlie inhaled deeply, and with his other hand twisted around, began stroking his cock, his face a mixture of pain and pleasure.

Having enough of that position, Charlie alternated hands every couple of minutes, shifting his legs too. A little better than average cock size, Charlie grabbed his shaft with both hands and started stroking with urgency, his right hand only covering half of his crown.

Seisyll walked around, careful to stay out of the mirror's reflection and stood in the corning watching Charlie.
Nice, but could be better. Odd, I wouldn’t have though wearing naught but socks would be sexy.
Seisyll motioned for Charlie to spread his legs, and he dutifully complied.

Charlie stopped stroking when a large bead of precome oozed out of his slit. Holding his shaft, he squeezed tightly around the base and stroked slowly from base to the crown, pulling out every drop of precome, scooping it up with his middle finger. He stuck out his tongue and let the clear liquid slowly drop from his finger to his tongue. Keeping a firm grip on his shaft he then sucked the finger dry.

Charlie returned to stroking his cock with both hands, his arse making the stool rock on its four legs. His mouth opened slightly and a line of spit trickled down from the corner of his mouth.

“Too soon?” Charlie breathed heavily.

“How close?”

“A minute or two,” Charlie answered.

“Continue,” Seisyll replied, moving to stand behind Charlie. “Stop and grip the stool, look at the mirror not me.”

“S-sorry.” Charlie's cock twitched with need, his chest rising and falling with excitement.
Seisyll stood over him, watching, before suddenly pulling Charlie's head to the side. Looking directly into the mirror Seisyll bit down, his razor-sharp fangs puncturing Chalie's main artery. Seisyll's mouth flooded with Charlie's sexually charged blood that sent an erotic sensation straight to his own long, thick cock.
In the mirror two puncture marks formed from nowhere on the side of Charlie's neck and two lines of blood slowly trickled down his chest, circling his nipple before outlining his abs in red. Seisyll quickly wrapped his arm around Charlie's waist and pushed his cock straight out at the mirror seconds before blood circled around it and down around his bollocks. His cock erupted sending pearly strands of glistening come out over the floor in six, seven, eight large spurts.

Charlie's body rocked from the intense orgasm, and Seisyll had to hold him to the stool. It was always the same, after he'd taken his fee, they’d shoot their load and lose all sense of balance. He lapped at the wounds until they clotted, watching Charlie’s lone image of bliss filling the mirror. Charlie had the most adorable smile on his face, and Seisyll came close to envying the recipient of this gift.

With a whisper to his ear: “Leave the blood and make your grand stand.”

Charlie took a deep breath his eyes fluttering, and stood up. He looked down his naked body, the rivulets of blood cascaded down his chest, around his cock and onto his socks. He ran a finger into the cooling blood, and painted his finger with it. He looked at the mirror with a smile, and painted a red line to the tip of his cock and added a large glob of come that was threatening the long fall to the floor and then sucked his finger clean. He finished with his hands on his hips, cock still pointing out, and blew a kiss to the mirror.

“In the words of my kind... that is a take.”

Charlie let out a laugh, looking at the mess he'd made of the stool and floor. “Don't think I've shot that much in my life.”

“That was quite... entertaining, if you don't mind my saying so,” Seisyll said, moving over to the door he'd entered through. With many loud mechanical clicks and clanks and a few puffs of smoke, a silver coin bearing the moving image of this Charlie Weasley dropped from the bottom of the magical recorder.

He watched through the mirror as Charlie walked over to his coat to pull out his wand. With a few flicks, the blood and spunk vanished from his skin and the floor. As for the blood on his socks, he'd need a good bleach.

“Was that all, your fee I mean?” Charlie asked breathlessly, stepping into his leather trousers.

“I wouldn't move around too quickly, as I've taken quite a bit from you,” Seisyll uttered, standing next to Charlie on the off, but good, chance that he might fall.

“Woo, I do feel a little light headed.” He took the offered hand and sat again on the stool, his cock sticking straight out of his opened leathers.

“Your bill is paid in full.” Seisyll handed Charlie the large silver coin. “When alone, or together, one only needs to break the coin and the spell will engulf them.”

Charlie took the present and looked down at his cock. “Say, how long before this goes down?”

“It may take several hours. Suffice to say, you’ll be the envy of the town for a while. You should stop at the diner and eat something to help replenish your lost blood.”

He was about to thank Seisyll, but the man and all but two of the candles vanished and the door to the alley was opened to the torrents of rain.
Charlie rubbed his neatly trimmed beard with his finger and thumb.

“And tell Fred and George they'll be hearing from my solicitor!”

<center>~ ~ CW ~ ~</center>

“Charlie? We thought you weren't coming, or I'd have waited for the cake,” Molly greeted him, over the loud carousel of noise in her normal bear hugging way. “Why didn't you send an owl? I can't imagine the dragons have eaten them all.”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “They didn't, Mum, I was just delayed. I'm here now, and I've got a card for him too,” he said, holding up the obscenely orange envelope. “Made it myself.”

“Charlie! You’ve made it. Good to see you, Son,” Arthur greeted, shaking Charlie’s hand vigorously. “So sorry we sang happy birthday without you. We thought the reserve had you under tail or tooth. Come in, come in. There is cake,” his father said, handing him a slice and then a leg of turkey. “Here, sit and eat. You look parched. Did you Apparate?”

“Oh now stop with the fussing, Arthur, you’re getting as bad as me,” Molly said, taking the cake from Charlie. “Now you go in and sit next to Harry and eat your turkey. You can have cake after you’ve eaten a proper meal.”

Ron beamed from behind a pile of presents, laughing at something Bill had said. He was greeted with a chorus of “Charlie!” as he rounded it and dropped next to Harry on the arm of his chair.

“Happy Birthday, Ron. I hope you like it.” Charlie dropped his card in Ron's lap and winked.

Ron's eyes went wide when the words – Open When You're Alone In Bed, vanished off the envelope.

“What is it?” Fred and George asked in unison.

“Mine next, interlopers to the back of the line,” Percy chastised.

Ron seemed grateful as he placed the card down beside his chair.
<center>~ ~ fin ~ ~</center>
- 1
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Edge of the Sea