Title: With The Best Of Intentions
Author: Magic of Isis
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Charlie/Oliver
Warnings: Plot! Flying veal?
Disclaimer: Sadly, it all belongs to JKR and other corporate entities.
Summary: Oliver's Valentine's date with Charlie doesn't go quite as planned.
Author notes: Written for Florahart as part of HPValensmut. Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Kate, who knows how much I adore her. Happy Valentine's Day!
*~*~*
Oliver Wood bounded up the stairs to his flat early one February evening, practically bursting with enthusiasm over his great news. He was, without a doubt, the luckiest bastard on the face of the planet today. He'd just scored dinner reservations at Le Gavroche on Valentine's Day. Le Gavroche! Gerard Packard, his Puddlemere teammate, had made reservations weeks ago, but unfortunately, the waiting list lasted longer than his relationship did. He'd all but forgotten about them, until Oliver started asking for suggestions of where to take Charlie for Valentine's Day.
Poor Charlie – he'd been down in the dumps forever, it seemed. A nice evening out with his lover, no doubt followed by some mind-blowing sex, would be just the ticket for cheering him up. Well, it couldn't hurt, anyway.
He let the door shut behind him as he stepped into the darkened living room. Strange – Charlie should have been home by now. Oliver lazily pointed his wand at the sconces on the wall and lit the candles. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, and when they did, he almost wished that he'd left it dark.
Charlie was sprawled out in the overstuffed armchair, staring at the ceiling. He held a bottle of firewhiskey in his hand, but upon close scrutiny, Oliver didn't think Charlie was drunk yet. Oliver's good mood vanished nearly as quickly as it had arrived.
Taking a few tentative steps towards Charlie, he asked, "Rough day?"
Charlie seemed not to hear him at first, and Oliver wasn't sure what to do. He bent down and kissed Charlie's forehead. "Do you want to talk about it?"
The sigh coming from Charlie probably could have been heard as far away as the Burrow. "At least six months. Maybe more."
God – did he have a terminal illness or something? No, because then he would have said 'no more than six months'. What the bloody hell was wrong? Oliver waited for an explanation, but none was forthcoming.
"Er, six months for what?"
Charlie stared at him, almost as if realizing for the first time that Oliver had come in the room. "We finally got the word from Romania. Seems they won't be re-opening the Colony for at least another six months."
Oliver leaned over and captured Charlie into a hug. He was relieved and disheartened at the same time. Dragons meant the world to Charlie, but at least he wasn't dying or anything. "I'm so sorry. What happened? I thought they were going to reintroduce the dragons last week."
Charlie let out a discouraged half-laugh. "Oh, they reintroduced the dragons all right. To the brand new facility that was brilliantly located fifty feet from the edge of a frickin' forest." He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. "It doesn't matter how good your concealment charms are when your dragons set the whole damn forest ablaze. Idiots."
"So what are you going to do? Stay at the Ministry?"
"I don't know, Ollie. I have serious doubts that the Romanian Dragon Council is going to be able to get that Colony up and running anytime soon, if ever. But I can't stand being cooped up in an office all day."
Charlie pulled Oliver on top of him, held him tight, and said, "I'm sorry, I must be horrible company these days. But it's so awful. I just sit there all day long – the only one in the Dragon Research and Restraint Bureau who has ever actually worked with dragons. By the time I finally get home, I'm bored to tears."
"I think I know how we could work off some of that boredom," smirked Oliver.
Charlie finally allowed a smile to play at the corners of his mouth. "My dad has been working at a desk for almost thirty years." He shuddered. "Don't know how he does it."
"Sort of explains the seven children, though."
Charlie chuckled. "I'm surprised it was only seven."
Oliver shifted his weight and slowly worked his tongue to the base of Charlie's neck. He never did a very good job at talking about feelings and such, but sex was something he did quite well, and it always seemed to make Charlie feel better. Plus, there were obvious benefits to himself, too.
"Let's move to the bedroom," Oliver whispered into Charlie's ear. He slid off of Charlie's lap and offered him a hand up. Then he grabbed the front of Charlie's shirt and pulled him towards the bedroom, trying to unfasten the buttons as he walked. By the time they reached the bed, Charlie's shirt was off and Oliver had made good progress on his trousers as well.
"I want to help you forget about those morons in Romania. Tell me what you want, Charlie," growled Oliver in a husky voice. "I'm yours, tonight. All yours."
Charlie removed Oliver's t-shirt in one smooth motion and immediately lowered his head to press needy, open-mouthed kisses into Oliver's neck and chest. Charlie's thumbs worried Oliver's nipples as he licked his way across taut, Quidditch-toned muscles.
"Mmmm, so difficult to decide," Charlie finally answered. "There are so many things I want to do to you." He pushed Oliver back on the bed and quickly divested him of his boxers. He stepped out of his trousers and draped his body across Oliver's, so that their erections were rubbing together.
"Charlie…" Oliver felt a surge of pleasure as Charlie rocked his hips slightly. Charlie bent his head down to kiss him, letting his tongue play on Oliver's lips.
"I just want to turn my brain off and fuck you into the mattress. Is that okay, Ollie?"
Oliver had reached around Charlie, cupping his arse and pulling him as close as possible. Upon hearing his lover's words, he let out a guttural moan. "God, please."
A quickly muttered spell and a short stretch later, Charlie was pushing into him, muttering, "yes," and "so good," and "need you so much." Oliver encouraged him to move, and Charlie closed his eyes, gradually picking up the pace of his movements.
Oliver began to whimper as Charlie wrapped a hand around his cock, while at the same time, managing to find his prostate on nearly every thrust. He was much less vocal than usual, but what he lacked in volume, he made up for in intensity. Oliver watched the tension build in his face as Charlie's movements became more frantic. He knew Charlie was close, which was a good thing because there was no way he could last much longer…
"Ollie!" cried Charlie as he came, and Oliver followed seconds later. They laid together in a warm embrace and fell asleep fully sated.
*~*~*
One night of comfort sex had not been enough to pull Charlie out of his funk, and he hadn't let Oliver near him since. A week had passed; Oliver had tried everything he could think of to put Charlie in an amorous mood, but it didn't seem to be doing any good. His patience had worn thin, and it wasn't fair that Charlie's ill temper was affecting him.
It was Valentine's Day – their first one together – and Oliver didn't want anything to ruin it. He realized he was being very soppy, but Charlie was special. Before Charlie had returned to England, Oliver had bounced from one meaningless encounter to the next, sometimes never even bothering to find out their names. Then he'd sat next to Charlie at Percy's wedding reception, and two hours passed before either of them realized the bride and groom had long since left the party. They'd been together ever since. Oliver had never really believed that people fell in love until it happened to him. He'd fallen for Charlie so hard, his arse was still not quite recovered. The problem was that Charlie wasn't acting like the brave, funny, cheerful, sexy man who had, until recently, lived a charmed life. He was wallowing in self-pity instead of doing something constructive. Oliver was going to put a stop to the brooding – today.
He found Charlie reading his copy of Quidditch Monthly in the living room. Oliver called to him, "I need to go to Gringott's before it closes, but you should probably get ready to go while I'm out. There won't be much time before we have to leave once I come back."
"Going? Where are we going?"
Oliver sighed. "Remember, I told you we had dinner reservations for tonight."
"Oh, yeah. You know, I don't really feel like going out tonight. Couldn't we just get some takeaway and stay in? We can go out later in the week if you want."
Oliver was stunned. He'd been looking forward to a romantic evening out with Charlie all week, and takeaway just wasn't going to cut it. He'd have to reveal some of the surprise.
"We can't go later in the week. Our reservations are for tonight…at Le Gavroche." Oliver shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot, waiting for a reaction from Charlie.
"You mean that posh Muggle place in London? Good Lord, Oliver, they must be paying you well now that you're starting Keeper. Are we celebrating something?"
Oliver rolled his eyes. Charlie was winding him up, and that was a good sign. "Yeah. We're celebrating the fact that I got reservations. It pays to know people." Oliver pulled on his cloak and kissed Charlie goodbye. "See you soon."
Oliver hurried through his errands: exchanging galleons for Muggle currency, stopping in for a haircut, and one last trip to Flourish and Blotts. When he finally arrived back home, he still had an hour to shower and dress before they needed to leave for Muggle London.
Charlie was just tying his necktie when Oliver emerged from the bath. He had only seen Charlie dressed up in a Muggle suit once before, when they'd gone to his Muggle cousin's wedding. He looked very handsome and extremely uncomfortable.
"Well, we're already going to attract a fair amount of attention being one of the few same-sex couples dining there this evening, so you have to wear the suit. But I promise you won't have to wear it a second longer than necessary," said Oliver, grinning. "In fact, I'll insist that you remove it the instant we get home."
Charlie looked down at his feet. "This isn't really necessary, you know. I don't need a fancy dinner in an expensive restaurant. I've never really seen the point of spending all that money on food."
"I know, but I wanted our first Valentine's Day together to be something you'd never forget." Oliver couldn't miss the stunned look on Charlie's face. Was he upset that Oliver was being so sentimental?
Charlie rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Oliver, I'm so sorry. I completely forgot it was Valentine's Day. I, um, didn't plan anything."
Although he was disappointed, Oliver was determined not to let it show. Charlie had been distracted by things, and given how he'd been forgetting just about everything during the past week, it didn't surprise Oliver that he would have forgotten Valentine's Day, too. He quipped, "That's all right. I'm sure you'll find some way to make it up to me," and he winced when it sounded a little nastier than he intended.
*~*~*
As planned, the taxi was waiting for them outside the record store on the Muggle side of the Leaky Cauldron. The driver picked his way through the London traffic, keeping up a running monologue of all sorts of uninteresting tidbits of useless information the whole way there. Oliver thought it was just as well; Charlie was hardly speaking to him. He supposed that Charlie felt a little guilty about forgetting Valentine's Day, and part of Oliver felt that was only right. Still, it was going to be a long night if they didn't talk to each other.
A short while later, the cab pulled up to Le Gavroche. They hurried into the restaurant to avoid the pouring rain, grateful for the doorman who waved them inside. The maitre d' glared at Oliver suspiciously as he gave Packard's name for the reservation, barely hiding his disapproval that one of his coveted tables on Valentine's Day would be occupied by two males. Nonetheless, he seated them and announced that their waiter would be along soon.
Charlie opened his menu right away and gasped. "This is all in French! How the hell am I supposed to order?"
"Keep your voice down," hissed Oliver. Tell me what you want, and I'll see if I can find it on the menu."
Charlie snorted. "I don't suppose they have pizza... How about something with meat?"
"Well, beef is 'boeuf', spelled B-O-E-U-F, and veal is 'veau', spelled V-E-A-U. But be careful that it doesn't also say 'foie', that's F-O-I-E, unless you actually want liver. I did that once, expecting tender veal cutlets only to get over-cooked shoe leather posing as liver instead." Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he reached over and caressed the back of Charlie's hand. "Or we could just ask the waiter for recommendations. That might be the easiest."
"Yeah, let's do that."
They negotiated food and drink orders with the waiter and were relieved when he finally brought them some wine. Hell, if they couldn't talk, at least they could get drunk together.
Oliver made several attempts at small talk through the first two courses. The food was delicious, as he knew it would be, and Charlie must have thought so as well since very little was left on his plate. But by the time their main entrées arrived, Oliver was feeling quite put out by Charlie's monosyllabic responses.
It was obvious that Charlie wasn't comfortable here, and he wasn't even trying to cover it up. Damn him. Couldn't he just stop brooding for one night? He might actually have fun if he'd allow himself.
"Charlie, exactly what is your problem?" Oliver asked quietly, hardly masking his irritation. "I'm doing everything I can think of to cheer you up, and you insist on ignoring me. Is it asking so much for you to let go of whatever is bothering you for one night?"
"I'm sorry," Charlie snapped back, sounding anything but sorry. "I tried to tell you at home that I didn't think I'd be very good company this evening, but you seemed insistent that we do this anyway."
"Well, forgive me for trying to get your mind off your troubles. You could talk to me about them, you know. Then maybe I'd understand what's wrong, and we could figure out how to fix it together."
Charlie stabbed a large piece of veal with his fork before looking up angrily at Oliver. "Okay, I'll tell you what's wrong. They're going to take away my dragon colony. Working with dragons is the only thing I've ever wanted to do in my whole life, and now I can't. Imagine how you'd feel if you couldn't play Quidditch for some reason and they stuck you in some desk job in the front office."
Oliver sighed. "I'd be miserable, just like you are. But I wouldn't take it out on you. It wouldn't be your fault, just like the closing of that dragon colony isn't my fault."
"I guess I'm just not as perfect as you are, then. You have the perfect career, the perfect family, the perfect list of restaurants you frequent where you can wear your perfect clothes on your perfect body—"
"You forgot that I have the 'perfect lover'," interrupted Oliver with amusement.
Charlie was not amused, though, and he ignored Oliver's interruption. "You have all of these things, and what have I got? A stupid boring desk job that pays next to nothing. I've got a family full of lunatics and—"
"And me. You have me, Charlie, and just because you're going through a rough time right now doesn't mean I'm going to throw you out the door. Give me a little more credit than that. Of course, if I threw you out, I could get a flat mate who actually paid rent…" he finished, trying to make a joke out of his comment. Certainly Charlie had to see that he was being utterly ridiculous.
He knew right away that he shouldn't have said anything. His attempt at a joke made Charlie so angry that he was flushed up to his ears. "Fine," muttered Charlie. "Perhaps I'd be better off dead, and then you could auction off my few belongings, too."
Oh, this was getting absurd. "Yeah, Charlie. I've been wanting to get my hands on those dragonhide boots for ages. Go ahead and die, why don't you."
Oliver stared at his plate, not wanting to see Charlie's reaction to his latest quip. He knew he should have laid off the sarcasm, but he couldn't help it. He suddenly noticed a commotion from Charlie's side of the table and looked up. Dear God, Charlie was gasping for air, apparently choking.
Before Oliver could get over the shock enough to move, their waiter arrived, having observed Charlie's distress before Oliver had noticed. The waiter quickly wrapped his arms around Charlie from behind and performed the Heimlich maneuver. As he pressed against Charlie's stomach, the piece of meat that had been lodged in Charlie's throat was ejected with such force that it nailed a balding man square in the back of the head. The bald man turned around quickly to see what had happened, but managed to stick his elbow right into a tray of drinks which was being carried by another passing waiter. Said tray went crashing to the floor, spilling liquid every which way.
Oliver couldn't stop himself – he laughed. Not a loud guffaw, just a small snicker that escaped before he remembered the gravity of the situation. Unfortunately, Charlie saw it.
Still gasping for breath, Charlie fumed, "You bastard. How can you just sit there and pretend you care?" He got up from his seat. "I'm going home. I'll have my things out of your flat in a few hours."
"No, Charlie, wait!" Oliver called after him. He scrambled to his feet, but Charlie was already a good ways ahead of him. Everyone in the restaurant was staring at them, but Oliver didn't notice as he hurried to catch Charlie. He arrived in the lobby just in time to see Charlie walk out the front door.
"Be right back," Oliver called to the surprised maitre d'.
He ran out the door and stopped at the bottom of the stairs, looking right and left. To the right, a hedge moved, and Oliver figured that Charlie was looking for a spot from which he could Apparate. He drew his wand; he'd stupefy Charlie if he had to, but he couldn't let him leave when he was this angry.
Oliver moved quickly down the damp sidewalk and parted the hedge. He saw Charlie turn around to see him coming. Oliver was about to stun him when he tripped on the curb; falling forward, the point of his wand sunk into the soggy ground and the wand snapped cleanly in two. Almost at the same time, Oliver could hear the familiar sound of someone Disapparating. He looked up to see that Charlie was gone.
"Fuck!" he shouted. Oliver pulled the point of his wand from the dirt. It was clearly beyond repair, as the thestral hair was dangling quite visibly from the large end. He knew enough about the unpredictability of broken wands from the time Charlie's brother, Ron, used a broken wand for a whole school year. There was no way he was going to try Apparating. Getting splinched was painful and embarrassing; he had no idea what would happen if he tried it with a broken wand.
He shoved the pieces of his wand into his inside pocket and headed back to the restaurant. Oliver was a mess. He was muddy all down his front, and positively soaked from the light rain and the wet hedge. On some level, he knew he should be embarrassed about the scene he'd just caused and the state of his clothing, but with Charlie on the verge of leaving him, he didn't much care.
"If you could please ask the waiter to bring me the check, I'll pay you and take my disturbance elsewhere," he said to the maitre d'. "I'm terribly sorry."
"Not at all, sir. I'll have it tallied right away. Perhaps you'd like to wash up while you're waiting," he said, pointing to the restroom.
Several minutes later, Oliver walked out of the restaurant. His hands were clean, but the mud was ground into the knees of his trousers, and he was wet all the way through. He started to walk toward the tube station. If he could just get to The Leaky Cauldron, he'd be able to floo home from there, hopefully in time to stop Charlie from taking any drastic actions.
A mini-cab pulled up along side him and rolled his window down. It was starting to rain harder, and the idea of taking a taxi instead of the underground had a certain appeal. He climbed in and directed the driver to Charing Cross Road.
Oliver was grateful that this driver didn't feel the need to talk to him. He leaned back and shut his eyes, wondering how things with Charlie had gotten so far out of hand. This was supposed to be the romantic dinner of a lifetime; something truly special that would show Charlie exactly how much he meant to Oliver. He couldn't believe Charlie had just upped and left him. What was he going to say when he got home? Would Charlie still be there? God, he hoped so.
Ten minutes passed, and Oliver realized that they should have arrived at The Leaky Cauldron by now. Gazing out the window, it appeared that they were driving through a residential neighborhood that he didn't recognize. He surreptitiously searched the cab for evidence of a license, but there was none displayed.
"Where are we?" he asked the driver.
"Not far from Charing Cross Road. We just need to stop and pick up another fare. He's nearby and going to the same place. I didn't think you'd mind."
Oliver frowned. "Actually, I do mind. I'm in a bit of a hurry. So if you could please just take me there…"
The driver interrupted him. "Ah, there he is – waiting on the corner just like he said. It's all right if we pick him up?"
Oliver hadn't ridden in taxis very often, and he had no idea whether this was a usual and customary practice, but seeing as though they were already at the spot where the stranger needed to be picked up, he didn't think it would delay him too much at this point. "Okay."
Oliver moved over to the other side of the cab when the stranger got in. The driver immediately pulled away from the curb, and sped down the street. Oliver was pleased that the driver seemed to understand that he was in a hurry.
Five minutes passed and they were still in an unfamiliar area. Both the stranger and the driver were silent, but seemed to be quite relaxed. Oliver, however, was extremely agitated.
"How much longer until we get there?" he asked nervously.
"Oh, I think this is far enough. Don't you think so, Raoul?"
The stranger smiled maniacally, and Oliver saw, for the first time, his rotted teeth. Shit, shit, shit! thought Oliver. He tried not to show his fear as the driver pulled over to the side of the road.
The driver looked at him from the rearview mirror. "Hand Raoul your money and we won't have to hurt you."
Oliver looked from the mirror to Raoul and seriously doubted that he was going to get out of this situation alive. Still, it seemed best to try to cooperate, at least for now. He put his hand into his jacket to retrieve his wallet. Remembering at the last second that his broken wand was there, he quickly slid the biggest piece up his sleeve. He tossed his wallet at Raoul who grabbed it and looked inside.
"No credit cards? That is unusual. But there is not much money here," sneered Raoul. "Perhaps you keep the rest hidden elsewhere on your person?"
"No!" exclaimed Oliver. "That's all I have. I just spent most of my money at the restaurant." He tried again not to panic when he saw that Raoul was now brandishing a knife.
Oliver slipped the wand piece into his hand. As quickly as he could, he shoved Raoul away from him, cast a Protego charm and opened the lever to the door of the cab with his other hand. Raoul came after him with the knife, but the point could not penetrate Oliver's skin, and he managed to throw himself out of the taxi and take off running the other way. After he'd gone about fifty feet, he was pleased to see the taxi take off in the opposite direction.
Oliver sighed deeply as he tried to keep his wits about him. He had no idea where he was, but knew he must be miles away from Charing Cross Road and The Leaky Cauldron. Except now he had no money, and he was walking in the driving rain. And far away in his flat, Charlie was packing up his things to leave, probably believing that Oliver was too stubborn to come after him. He'd never felt so bad in his entire life.
He hadn't gone too far when he came to a petrol station that was located at the intersection of two busy streets. Knowing he must look slightly insane, he went inside and found out that he was about eight miles north of Charing Cross station. Eight miles was a long way to walk in the rain, but he'd played Quidditch in worse conditions, and he was in fairly good shape. He reckoned he could be there in an hour or two.
*~*~*
It was past midnight when Oliver finally emerged from his fireplace. He was completely soaked from head to toe, truly a pathetic sight. He looked around cautiously and heaved a sigh of relief when he saw that Charlie's collection of dragon photographs were still on the wall. There's no way Charlie would have left them behind.
"Ollie?" called Charlie's voice from down the hall.
"Yeah, it's me."
Seconds later, Charlie was racing towards him. He caught Oliver in a huge hug, not seeming to care how wet he was. "Thank God, you're safe!" he said.
Charlie stepped back to look at Oliver, his face twisted with concern. "What the hell happened to you?"
"Oh, you know… just decided to take an eight mile walk in the rain, that's all." Oliver started to remove his wet clothing. Each item made a squelching sound as it hit the floor. When his jacket came off, he reached into the pocket and pulled out the two pieces of his wand, handing them to Charlie. "Didn't dare Apparate with half a wand."
"I went back there, you know," said Charlie, running his hands up and down Oliver's cold, damp skin. "They said you'd left in a taxi and that you were pretty upset. I came back here to wait for you, and then when you didn't show… Well, let's just say I've been a bit frantic."
Charlie took Oliver's hand, guiding him to the bathroom. "What you need is a nice warm shower, and then we're going to talk."
Oliver arched an eyebrow. "You're not still angry, then? I was worried that you'd have moved out by the time I made it back home."
Charlie turned on the water for the shower. "No, I'm not angry. I think I may have over-reacted a tiny bit. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that if I'd watched you spew veal at some bald guy and cause a chain reaction of broken dishware, I'd probably have laughed too."
Oliver smiled shyly. "I didn't mean to laugh. I was really scared that you were choking, and I think the laughter was just relief." He paused to pull Charlie's t-shirt off. "Except, well, it was sort of funny." Oliver unzipped Charlie's flies. "Join me in the shower?"
"Of course, if you'll have me."
"I had in mind that you'd have me," purred Oliver, before he captured Charlie's lips into a searing kiss.
He stepped into the shower and basked under the warm water while Charlie finished undressing. By the time Charlie joined him, Oliver's skin had turned from white to blotchy red, and he thought it possible that sometime in the future, he might be warm again.
Charlie's hands were all over Oliver, rubbing a sore muscle here, tweaking a nipple there, and every so often, lightly brushing the tip of his very stiff cock. "Fuck, Charlie," he moaned.
"Yes, well, we'll get to that. First, I need to show you just how sorry I am that I left the restaurant. You see, I didn't get quite enough to eat, having rudely left in the middle of the main course. So I was thinking I could snack on you for a while." Charlie knelt down in the tub, his mouth level with Oliver's prick.
Oliver moaned indecently as Charlie swallowed most of his length in one go. He bobbed up and down for a few strokes before breaking away, saying, "God, Oliver, you taste fantastic. I could suck you all day."
"Mmm, sounds delightful. But I expect we'd run out of hot water after a while, and then you'd have to start all over warming me up." Charlie's movements sped up, and Oliver moaned loudly again. Barely coherent, he watched as Charlie slicked up his fingers and groaned as first one, and then two digits breached his hole.
"Fuck! I need you soon, Charlie. I can't wait much longer."
With his two fingers still pumping into Oliver, Charlie stood up and pressed up behind him. He kissed the back of Oliver's neck and then whispered in his ear, "Eager thing, aren't you?" Charlie's other arm explored Oliver's chest, moving between his nipples and pinching each of them gently. "Brace yourself, Ollie. You've got me so excited, my cock is like iron."
Oliver swallowed, lost in the sensations of Charlie's erection digging into his thigh, Charlie's gifted fingers rubbing his prostate on nearly every thrust, Charlie's hand roaming freely across his front and warm water pulsing on the backs of his legs. "Please," he pleaded.
He groaned as Charlie removed his fingers, only to have them replaced by the head of Charlie's cock. "If you insist," Charlie said as he steadily sheathed himself inside Oliver. "Holy hell, you feel so good, so tight." Oliver felt a burn as Charlie pushed inside, like he was going to split in two. Charlie hadn't been joking; it truly felt like he had a steel rod jammed up his arse. But then Charlie began to move, and he was no longer capable of thought. Each thrust by Charlie sent a wanton moan through his lips. God, he was so close already.
"Gonna come soon," cried Oliver. "Need to. Fuck!"
Charlie wrapped his finger and thumb around the base of Oliver's cock to keep him from coming. "Not without me, you're not!" He sped up his pace, now fucking Oliver with abandon. When he felt his own sac tightening, Charlie knew he was close, so he pumped Oliver's cock with the same jagged rhythm as his fucking. Oliver came, screaming, just as Charlie spent himself deep inside him.
Charlie slouched onto Oliver for a moment before pulling out. They silently held each other, swaying slightly under the shower spray. "Love you," Charlie said simply.
"I love you, too," replied Oliver. "That was bloody brilliant, but my legs are going to be damn sore tomorrow."
Charlie reached over to turn off the water. After drying themselves off, Oliver led the way to the bedroom. When he opened the door, he was met with an astonishing sight: dozens of red roses in vases placed on every flat surface in the room. The heavily perfumed air smelled like spring. Oliver beamed.
"I hope you don't think I'm too soppy," Charlie said, wrapping his arms around Oliver again. "After you didn't come home right away, I got to thinking how selfish I've been and how lost I'd be without you."
"I–I don't know what to say. Er, thanks."
Charlie winked. "You could say, 'Gee, Charlie, that's great. Now let's have sex again.'"
Oliver passionately kissed Charlie, briefly mapping the inside of his mouth before pausing to suck on his tongue. Finally breaking away, he said, "More sex…yeah, that would be good."
Oliver kissed Charlie again before pushing him to a sitting position on the bed. "But since we're doing gifts now, I have one for you." He disappeared behind the wardrobe and emerged with a wrapped package. "Here."
Charlie could tell right away that it was a book. He quickly ripped the paper off to reveal the title: So You Want To Be A Dragon Tamer: 35 Careers for Dragon Lovers.
"Thirty-five careers? Wow, that's amazing." He grinned at Oliver. "So is this your way of saying that I need to get over Romania and find something else?"
"Could be. But mostly I wanted you to realize that the time for sulking is past. You and I, we're doers, not thinkers, and you've been thinking entirely too much. It's time for you to figure out what you want and just go do it."
Charlie pulled Oliver onto the bed next to him and rolled them to the middle. "I know what I want right now. So are you going to let me do it?"
Oliver's tongue traced the hollow of Charlie's neck. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't. Happy Valentine's Day, Charlie."
finis