Quite Unlike Anything Else
1.
It was only after the fourth time that Oliver realized that kissing Charlie was quite unlike kissing anyone else. He would've realized it earlier, only Charlie had a nasty habit of snogging him at the most inappropriate of times, like in the kitchen at Grimmuald Place or when they were hiding in a ditch, mud soaked and on edge.
No, being kissed by Charlie was different than when he kissed Iphigenia Eider during his second year at Hogwarts. She had thick braids and glasses, and was a wicked talent at Exploding Snap. He'd leaned over one sunny day by the lake and tentatively laid his lips on hers. Or near hers. Thinking back, he was only sure he had made contact with some area between Iphigenia's cheek and her lips. Needless to say, Iphigenia didn't let Oliver kiss her again. Ever. And she repeatedly beat him so badly in Exploding Snap that he finally gave up the game for good in utter defeat.
Being kissed by Charlie was worlds apart from kissing that Hufflepuff bloke in the gardens during the Yule Ball fifth year. Those were urgent kisses, ones that made Oliver's heart feel like it was going to leap out of his chest, leaving behind a bloody, gaping hole and broken ribs. He'd been so afraid of being discovered with a bloke, but that was only a small concern compared with being discovered away from the ball. At that age he hadn't started to take the chances that have since become a part of his life; for the most part he was still playing by the rules. But that night, with the snow falling around them, getting in their hair and sticking to their faces for an instant before melting, he and that boy (he doesn't even remember his name now) had kissed and touched, grabbed and rocked until they both found release. Even for all of it's dramatic elements, Oliver found the experience a bit too messy and cold for his taste. Shagging against walls was all well and good, but ultimately one had to abide by the weather.
2.
The first timed he'd actually kissed Charlie, Oliver was too overcome by excitement, fear, and hero worship to process much of what was going on. He'd just narrowly escaped capture and a rather untimely dip in the Channel. Needless to say that the adrenaline was coursing through his veins like quicksilver, and then Charlie was the first person he saw when he returned to make his report. Years of worshiping Charlie as his own personal Quidditch god came down to that moment, his god standing there barefoot and bewildered waiting for Oliver to stop blinking stupidly and say something of worth. Only he didn't say something of worth; instead, he jumped to Charlie, grabbed his arms and planted a sloppy, wet, but joyous kiss square on his lips. He was happy to be alive (even if he did smell like halibut), he could worry about the consequences of what he'd just done later.
Oliver had spent much of the next three weeks thinking that he'd sullied his perfect image of Charlie Weasley, his very own personal idol, with that kiss. Charlie was the one he'd blindly looked up to at school, the one that made him want to obsess about Quidditch as a full time occupation, ignoring all other, less honorable, pursuits. But all of his thinking came down to one very simple question -- Could you shag your hero and still keep the image intact? Personally, Oliver was inclined to say no, but oh, how he wanted to find out if he could have the best of both worlds.
Charlie, without knowing anything of Oliver's internal debate, seemed like he wanted to help the decision process along.
First, there was that time in a Gloucestershire wood when they were supposed to be watching for a shipment of black market tarrow root. Charlie snuck up on Oliver, scaring him half to death, then proceeeded to chat him up, despite the seriousness of the situation. Oliver happily basked in Charlie's company, finding out more and more about the man he'd always admired from afar. It was right after Charlie told him the story of how George once trapped himself inside a jam jar that Charlie leaned over and kissed him. Oliver had been laughing at the time, and Charlie's hand curled around his neck, fingers threading into his hair, was a surprise. He wanted to yelp, but Charlie's gentle insistence calmed his nerves. Oliver leaned into the kiss just as Charlie suddenly pulled back with a start.
The tarrow root had arrived, ferried by three grim looking wizards. All thoughts of warm, yielding lips were abandoned; it was time to go to work.
3.
Charlie's second attack came several days later deep within the stacks at Flourish & Botts. Oliver was in the back room where all the unpopular books had been banished. He'd spent the afternoon combing through dusty volumes of leather bound novels looking for a particular edition of a high Gothic romance. Miranda had been nattering on to him about it at length in her letters, and as her birthday was fast approaching, Oliver decided it would make an ideal gift. Doubly so, as it would spare him, for a time at least, her incessant blathering concerning the life threatening boredom of her aunt’s house in Arnside. He'd just found the 3rd Edition of Deeply Haunted Subterranean Excess when a large, roughly callused hand closed over his shoulder.
Oliver tensed when warm breath hit his ear. "Something for the girlfriend?"
He was beginning to learn that Charlie had the most inconvenient timing.
Oliver turned, smiling. He held up the moldy blue volume to show Charlie the title. "A present for Miranda, to satisfy one of her more eccentric hobbies."
Hearing Miranda's name, Charlie's face brightened. "Ah, Miranda." He leaned in, pressing Oliver back against the books. "Not a girlfriend, then?" Charlie grinned sharply.
"Decidedly not." And you know she's not, he wanted to say. But Oliver never got to finish because Charlie was there again, against him and all around him like he'd always been there. Reaching his hands up to cup the back of Charlie's neck, angling his head so the kiss would go deeper, Oliver was exceedingly glad that this time it looked like they might not be immediately interrupted.
He thought too soon.
"Oh my!"
Oliver and Charlie broke apart even faster than they had that night in the wood. They both turned to see a very demure and ancient witch standing at the far end of the stacks. She looked like she might fall down any moment and form a sea of purple robes on the floor, but her eyes twinkled and she had a self-satisfied look on her weathered face. "Don't mind me." She flicked her hand, motioning for them to continue. "Desperate times call for desperate measures, eh boys?" She winked, then giggling to herself, tottered off down the room leaving them alone.
Oliver was deeply embarrassed. Not only had his defenses broken down at Charlie's slightest touch, but he'd also managed to shock some poor old bird half to death.
"What is it, Oliver?" Charlie asked softly. He gently brushed some hair off Oliver's face, then let his hand linger there. "You're very pale, and you're not breathing properly."
"That poor woman!"
"What? That one?" he pointed to the retreating purple figure. "She was almost bloody leering at us. If there's any offended morals here, they're ours!"
Thinking it over for a moment, Oliver smiled weakly. "I guess you do have a point."
"Thank you. Now what do you say, the next time we do this, we make it somewhere a little less public?"
"Smashing idea, Charlie." There was a note of sarcasm in his reply. "Have a place in mind then, do we?"
If Charlie was five years old, Oliver felt sure he'd be jumping up and down with restrained excitement. "Just the one."
4.
Four weeks, a hurried trip to Romania and several bottles of Tzuica later, Charlie and Oliver were deeply involved in their fourth kiss. Strictly speaking, it might have been their tenth or twelfth, but both men had lost count long ago.
It was about the time that Oliver was able to pin Charlie against the wall, quickly divesting him of any remaining jackets and/or shirts with quick fingers, that Oliver realized that kissing Charlie was quite unlike kissing anyone else. When he kissed Charlie he could taste the pumpkin juice of his youth, the plum brandy they'd been enjoying only a short time before...And, and he could taste something else as he kissed Charlie deeper. There, that was it.
When he kissed Charlie, Oliver realized, he was tasting their past, their present and their future. They had a future, which meant that they all had a future.
It was a glorious revelation.
Later, as Charlie drew absent minded patterns on the skin of his back, Charlie asked what had changed Oliver's mind.
Scooting closer to Charlie in bed, kissing any exposed skin as he went, Oliver considered what to say. As he looked at Charlie and prepared to kiss him for the fifth time, the answer finally came. "I found something better than hero worship."