"You're him." The dark-haired young man in the doorway nodded. "You're really him, aren't you?"

"Depends, mate." He leaned back in his chair, propping his thick boots on the table in desk in front of him as his visitor walked into the room, his eyes wide with awe. "Who exactly do you think I am?"

"Charlie Weasley. Gryffindor Seeker and Captain." The young man stuck out his hand. "Oliver Wood."

Charlie nodded and dropped his feet to the floor, standing up to shake Oliver's hand. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Well…" A hot blush stained Oliver's face and he shook his head. "I…well."

"What brings you to Romania, Oliver?"

"Well, I'm here with the team, aren't I?" He nodded. "Mind you, not in a major position. Back-up, but that's about all we start out as, though I'm sure Potter won't. And even your brothers, were they to go on, which who knows why they're not. Best Beaters Hogwarts has ever had, I'd say."

"Well, Fred and George seem a bit more interested in other pursuits."

Oliver shook his head and sank down into the chair opposite Charlie. "If they'd have only thought about the game more…" he shrugged. "They told me you were here. I hope it's all right that I dropped by."

"It's fine, actually." Charlie grabbed the stack of parchment in front of him and rolled it together. "Although, I was just about to take off. Head home for a drink. You're welcome to come."

"I shouldn't." Oliver got to his feet. "We've a charity match the day after tomorrow and I'd hate to be…"

"Sure," Charlie nodded, sticking his hand out to shake Oliver's again. "Just thought we could talk about Quidditch and the good old days of Hogwarts over a pint or two."

"I…you think you could tell me how you developed that rolling move that you did back in your last year? The one that won you the cup?"

"Well, that wasn't all that won it," Charlie grinned, "but I imagine I could work it into the conversation."

"I could…" Oliver paused, his brow furrowing. "I've got to be back at the training grounds before curfew."

"When's curfew?"

"Tomorrow at four."

"We'll be fine then," Charlie assured him, using his powerful grip to turn Oliver toward the door. "I've got to feed the dragons at two."

"And then," Oliver slurred the words slightly, "we're caught in a hail storm and they want to quit." He shook his head and stared down into his drink. "And we were only losing by two hundred points. Hell, a few goals and the snitch and we'd have had them."

"True," Charlie nodded and took another sip from his glass, a sly and indulgent smile on his lips. "Though I imagine catching the Snitch would have been something of a problem."

"Well, yeah," Oliver's brow wrinkled. "I suppose. But not if you were looking hard for it. I mean, it's gold, isn't it? And hail's white. Should have stuck out like a sore thumb. But instead, they decide that it's not safe - safe, mind you - for the players. As if safe's ever figured into it."

"Professional sports isn't quite what school was, is it?"

"Bloody right about that, mate. Hell, Potter nearly got himself killed at least twice a year and that was just for the House Cup. 'Course, meant something to us, more than galleons and the like." He frowned into his pint. "What's this I'm drinking?"

"Witches' Brew."

"Is quite good." He lifted his head slowly, fighting for focus. "Not alcoholic, is it?"

"No," Charlie assured him with a smile. "Not at all. You want another round?"

"Is quite good." Oliver nodded. "What're you drinking?"

"The same."

"Lovely stuff. Warm. What was I saying?"

"House cup."

"Cor, I tell you. Never seen matches more brutal than those. I mean, sure, the World Cup gets a bit dicey, doesn't it? But not the way the Slytherins play. I think Marcus Flint spent more time up my arse than in class."

Charlie coughed, nearly choking on his drink.

"You all right, mate?"

He nodded, glancing at Oliver. There was a hot, red flush on his cheeks and his eyes were bright with the haze of alcohol. "Fine."

"What's that in the little glass?"

"Dragon's Breath Brandy."

"Hmmm." Oliver picked up the glass and lifted one eyebrow before bringing it to his lips and licking the rim before downing the entire contents. He held still for a moment then a shiver ran down the length of his body. "That's…" He paused and coughed, his whole body racked with the violent jerks. "Good."

Charlie nodded and refilled the glass Oliver still held. Taking it from him, Charlie met the younger man's gaze and smiled, swallowing the full glassful in one graceful motion. "That it is."

"We should talk more about Quidditch," Oliver suggested.

"We should get naked," Charlie counter offered.

"Right," Oliver nodded. "That's what I said."

Charlie pushed through the curtain separating his makeshift bedroom from the rest of the tent, watching Oliver as he stumbled toward the bed. "This your room then?"

Charlie nodded, unbuttoning the dark suede shirt he wore. His fingers moved rhythmically, flipping the button through the hole then spreading the fabric slightly. Oliver watched him, swaying slightly, held captive by the movement. "Taming dragons is a lot like Quidditch."

"It is?" His gaze shot up then dropped back down as Charlie shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it onto a chair. Charlie's hands moved to his belt and Oliver studied every movement like it was a Quidditch match as his arms flexed and moved, working the leather of his belt free from his worn jeans. It slid free and Charlie snapped it in the air, smiling as Oliver jumped and moaned, swaying forward.

"Quite." He walked forward and Oliver backed away, stopping as his knees hit the cot. "You ride a lot, get chased, get hurt from time to time." Oliver's eyes dropped to the vivid red scar on Charlie's arm then he looked up to find him waiting for his gaze. "You sweat."

"Dragons are magnificent beasts," Oliver whispered.

Charlie caught Oliver's chin and held it for a long moment before smiling, lowering his lips to catch the younger man's gasp. "So am I."

Charlie slid his tongue into the shocked heat of Oliver's mouth, tasting the ephemera of liquor on his tongue, sucking hard at it as Oliver's body jerked against his. His cock pressed against Charlie's thigh, his lithe, lean body quivering with sensation.

Oliver pulled back and gasped for air, his eyes wide. "I…"

Charlie shook his head and grabbed Oliver's hand, guiding it down to his erection. "Concentrate, Wood." His voice was honey-thick. "It's all about the goal, isn't it?"

Oliver groaned, his hand stroking Charlie's cock through his faded jeans. "Focus."

"Focus."

Oliver nodded and sat down on the edge of the cot, unfastening Charlie's flies. He eased the fabric over Charlie's cock, watching the skin constrict as the cool air touched it. He simply stared for a long moment, closing his eyes as Charlie's hand settled on the nape of his neck, caressing slightly before applying pressure. Without a word, Oliver's mouth wrapped around Charlie's shaft, bathing it in heat.

Charlie's body stiffened, the hard muscles of his legs tightening as Oliver's mouth moved over him, as his hands roamed up and down the back of his thighs. Large hands splayed in Oliver's dark hair, tangling in the short strands. "Concentrate."

Oliver moaned, his hands moving up to Charlie's arse and squeezing the taut flesh. Charlie's hips rocked forward, thrusting his cock deeper into Oliver's willing and waiting mouth. His lips tightened as he pulled back, circling the slick head as his tongue slid along the slit. His hand replaced his mouth, sliding along the length of Charlie's erection as he looked up at the older man. "Keep my mind in the game?"

Oliver's breathless voice caused Charlie to smile, the quick curve of his lips dissolving into a low, rumbling groan as Oliver bent his head again, his mouth moving in tandem with his hand as he sped up his strokes. "Mind on the game," Charlie nodded in agreement. "And your eyes on the quaf…" he paused and sucked in air as Oliver's free hand wrapped around his balls, "fle."

Oliver nodded slightly, the movement sending a shot of heat down Charlie's spine. His hands constricted in Oliver's hair and he jerked at the strands, pulling Oliver's head back. "Yes. If you want to keep the other team from scoring." He pulled Oliver to his feet and grabbed his shirt, stripping it off of him and tossing it aside. With quick, skilled movements, he shed the rest of Oliver's clothes as well, his hand covering Oliver's cock, fingers squeezing lightly at the hard flesh. "That's not what you do if you want to win."

"How…" Oliver groaned and grabbed at Charlie's upper arms, steadying himself as the older man stroked his cock with quick, hard jerks. "How d'you win?"

"You need a good," his hand slid along Oliver's cock with slow, steady precision, "strong," his other hand sliding down to cup Oliver's balls, "hard," he bit at Oliver's lip and sucked it hard into his mouth for a moment before releasing him completely, "bat."

Oliver's knees trembled and he stumbled, his fall halted by Charlie's hands grasping his upper arms and turning him around. He caught his breath as Charlie's cock pressed against his arse. He swallowed hard twice then managed a brief nod. "Right."

Charlie stroked Oliver's arms with his calloused fingertips for a long time, watching the younger man shiver with sensation before moving the soft touches to Oliver's back, every sweep of the expanse applying a bit more pressure until Oliver was bent over, his hands braced on the cot, his legs spread, Charlie's cock sliding along the crevice of his arse. "But the bat doesn't do any good." Charlie continued, pulling away just enough to reach into the small table beside the cot. He pulled out a small vial and uncorked it, upending it into his hands. He rubbed his hands together, standing away from Oliver so that he could watch him. Oliver's eyes were glued to Charlie's hands, his rapt gaze sliding down to Charlie's cock as the hands did as well. "Not if you don't oil it up, treat it right."

Oliver's knees nearly gave way as Charlie began stroking his own cock, watching Oliver watch him slather the hard shaft with the silvery oil. Oliver licked his lips and swallowed, opening his mouth to speak, stopped as Charlie moved behind him.

"But even the oil doesn't do any good," he traced the outline of Oliver's muscle, coating the tight aperture with oil before easing one finger inside. "No matter how much you use," he slid another finger in, pausing every time Oliver moaned, waiting until Oliver squirmed with need before stroking again, "if you don't have a good, solid," he pushed a third finger inside, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper as Oliver let out a rough groan, "swing."

Oliver's arms collapsed and he buried his face on the bed, bracing himself as he held his arse in the air, thrusting back against Charlie's fingers. The sheets muffled his moans as his hand slipped down and grasped his own cock, stroking it quickly as Charlie's fingers fucked him.

"And then," Charlie's comments were conversational, though his voice quavered with anticipation, "even that doesn't do you any good unless…" he removed his fingers, savoring Oliver's protest and used his other hand to guide his cock to Oliver's arse, sliding the wet tip along the length of the crevice.

Oliver turned his head, his hand still working at his cock, his breath erratic and harsh. "Unless what?"

"Unless," Charlie's cock pressed at Oliver's arse, the tip penetrating the opening, "Unless you know how to handle the keeper."

Oliver shuddered as Charlie's cock filled him, his whole body trembling uncontrollably. Oliver's hand faltered at his cock as his body shook; his breath gasping out of him as Charlie stopped, his hips hard against Oliver's arse. "Oh…fuck."

Charlie's eyebrow lifted, his smile stretching at the suggestion. "That's one way." He drew almost completely free of Oliver's body then rolled his hips forward, starting a slow and steady thrusting. Oliver groaned again, his hand scrambling back to his cock, matching his rhythm with Charlie's. "Keepers control the game," Charlie's tone had lost its conversationality, thrumming instead with heat. "You've got to learn how to," he pulled his hips back and thrust forward quick and hard, sucking in air as Oliver's body tightened around him, "distract them."

Oliver came with a silent cry, his hand working furiously at his cock. Charlie stopped speaking, his hands tightening on Oliver's hips, jerking him backward as he thrust into him. Oliver released his cock and fought for support, burying his hands in the pile of blankets on the cot, following the insistent demands of Charlie's hands as he continued driving inside him.

Charlie stilled suddenly and Oliver raised his head, gasping as the heat of Charlie's orgasm filled him. The low, hungry growl echoed through the room as Charlie thrust again, burying himself deeper. Oliver panted hard and fast as sensation shot through him, rising up on his toes and burying his face in the blankets as his cock jerked one last time.

Charlie pulled away slowly, rubbing the back of his hand over his lips as he watched Oliver sink to his knees on the floor, turning his head to the side and closing his eyes. Charlie nodded once and reached for his jeans, digging his wand free of the pocket.

Oliver panted, his voice stopping Charlie's movements. "Was never like that in the Quidditch locker rooms."

"Considering you were in them with my brothers, I'm pleased to hear it."

Oliver looked him straight in the eye. "Never said I didn't fuck your brothers." He glanced at the wand in Charlie's hand. "Don't."

"Don't?" He drawled the word slowly, dropping his jeans back to the planks of wood that served as his floor. "Don't what?"

Oliver turned over and pulled himself up, wincing slightly as he sat on the edge of the cot for a moment before leaning back against the pile of blankets and spreading his legs, naked body sprawled on the thin bed. "Clean up." He began stroking his cock, his eyes languid and warm. "Stop." He grinned. "Just stand there."

"You tell me you fucked the twins and then expect me to fuck you again?"

Oliver looked directly at Charlie's cock. "Unless you're not man enough."

"I raise dragons for a living," Charlie purred dangerously as he dropped his wand atop his jeans. "I just fucked you until you couldn't stand and you're questioning my manhood, are you?"

"Just thought perhaps age had taken away a bit of that prowess you showed on the Quidditch field."

Charlie approached the cot and knelt between Oliver's splayed legs. "Is that what you were thinking?"

Oliver's heels slid over Charlie's calves and he pulled himself down until the hard press of Charlie's cock was against his arse again. "You going to prove me wrong?"

Charlie disentangled himself from Oliver, savoring the sharp bite of protest in his voice. He leaned back against the other end of the cot and murmured a soft spell, his cock clean save for the hint of moisture at the tip. He sat up and grabbed Oliver by the neck and pulled him closer, biting his lower lip before guiding him down toward his cock and leaning back. "What time's your curfew, Wood?"

"Doesn't matter. You have to feed the dragons first."

"They get very angry when they're not fed."

Oliver licked the head of Charlie's cock then wrapped his lips around the tip, letting the hard shaft slide along his tongue. He pulled back and met Charlie's narrowed gaze with his own. "They're dangerous when they don't get what they want."

Oliver bent his head once more, pausing above the sleek head just long enough to hear Charlie's soft laugh, his husky voice. "So am I, Oliver." He stopped as Oliver's mouth engulfed him once more. "So'm I."