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The stadium was packed. Huge crowds had turned out for the championship game, its winner heading to the World Cup the following summer. And Charlie stood in the Minister’s Box with a white knuckled grip on the railing, his eyes not once leaving the Falmouth Falcons Seeker.
Sleek muscles clothed in a uniform Charlie couldn’t wait to rip off him later. Hands wrapped confidently around a broom handle just like they’d be wrapped around his cock later. A smile that could send even the most righteous of men to his knees. Eyes that lit up every room he stepped into.
Coming back to England after ten years in Romania had, at the time, seemed like a failure. Whether it had been the white wine Ginny stuffed him full of before their night out, or good old fashioned Malfoy charm, Charlie still wasn’t sure. Six months on and he didn’t think he cared, too wrapped up in the way Draco tasted and the way they fit together like a pair of puzzle pieces.
“The dragon and the dragon tamer,” Draco had whispered in his ear that first night, his body slotted beneath Charlie’s perfectly. “Who would have thought?”
Charlie sure wouldn’t have. But, then again, this kind of thing only happened once every few lifetimes – the kind of chemical reaction alchemists had searched for across the centuries, trying to turn silver into gold. They’d done it in a matter of weeks, transforming each other so completely that they would never be the same.
Magnetic. Thrilling. Lovely – these were the only words Charlie had for the love of his life, something he’d thought he’d never find. And then Draco had walked into that pub, all legs and a smirk that shot straight below Charlie’s belt.
“It’s lucky we’d never crossed paths at Hogwarts,” Draco admitted after two drinks and a tentative apology. “I might have failed all my classes thinking about you the entire time.”
Forgiving Draco had been easy. Forgiving himself for staying away for so long, chasing dragons instead of his self-doubt, had been harder. But there Draco was at the end of each day, by owl or in person, saying Charlie was the real prize.
He watched the match, helpless, as Draco raced around the pitch, his teammates scoring point after point while he battled for the Snitch. Not that it was much of a battle. Anyone who’d doubted the Falcons, from the Daily Prophet to Charlie’s own mum, surely hadn’t taken into account Draco’s skill or determination.
The moment Draco locked onto the Snitch, leaning forward on his broom and shooting forward, the stands erupted. Charlie screamed so loud he thought he might lose his voice – his heart raced, and his sweaty palms slipped from the railing. Close. Draco was so damn close –
“Falmouth wins!” The announcer’s voice rang through the arena. People were chanting, shouting, and stomping their feet hard enough that the stadium shook. People clapped their hands on his back, and George tried to hug him. “They’re heading to the World Cup!”
But Charlie wasn’t paying attention to any of them. No, his eyes were focused on the broom and its Seeker darting through the air right toward him, hand held high with the Snitch in his grasp and Charlie’s name on his lips.
That was what Charlie loved the most, he thought as Draco swooped down to the Minister’s Box and slowed his broom with just enough force that he didn’t fly off into the box. He made it appear easy, lining himself up with the iron railing and pulling Charlie’s mouth to his, the hand not holding the Snitch threading its fingers through Charlie’s hair.
“You were magnificent,” Charlie got out between kisses, now holding onto Draco’s uniform to keep himself from floating away.
“I’m just a man,” Draco laughed, his grey eyes sparkling in the arena lighting.
“A man who’s headed to the World Cup,” Charlie reminded him.
“I won the day you were waiting for me in that pub,” Draco leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Everything else is little more than a bonus.”
The stadium was filled with the sound of Draco’s name, and he was eventually pulled away by his teammates – but not after he made Charlie promise to be waiting for him in the locker room. He didn’t want to give a single interview without Charlie in it, Draco insisted.
And Charlie agreed, taking the steps down to the locker rooms two steps at a time despite the warning shouted after him from Harry. He didn’t care about falling. He’d fallen for Draco already, and there would never be a moment where Draco wasn’t there to catch him.