Work Text:
Supercrush
Ricky Jamaraz
0:50 —-●------------------------------- 3:03
I don’t wanna concentrate
It’s so hard to demonstrate
My attraction with just words
Neville sat on the kitchen counter of Grimmauld Place rambling to Charlie Weasley about his greenhouse; looking off into the distance, and mumbling little blurbs of his partially drunken thoughts. "So the back could be widened a bit..."
"Mmm?" Was Charlie’s reply. He stood looking up at him (also slightly drunk), elbow on the counter, leaning his head against his hand. Eyes lidded, a small smile on his lips.
"And I want to have Luna help me find some more exotic plants..."
"Oh yeah...?"
"...Are you sure you want to hear about all this...?" Neville asked slowly, slightly flushed.
"Of course. Keep talking..." If it was up to Charlie, he’d have Neville never stop talking. And Neville, oblivious to the fact that the red head was actively falling head over heels for him, was just glad to have someone who actually wanted to listen to him.
Pleased, the brunette continued his slow train of thoughts. Branching off and adding little snippets of facts. ‘...Apparently, Beetle-backed Jerrywaggers burrow under Mimbulus Mimbletonia and try to eat it from the inside out, and…’ Which the Weasley would provoke a new branch off of with a question like, ‘What’s a Mimbulus Mimbletonia?’ and Neville would go off on a new energetic route.
Charlie realized, suddenly, that the warmth settling in his stomach was not from the alcohol. It was from the oh-so entertaining eighteen year old babbling on in front of him. His eyes ran over the boy. Longbottom was nothing like himself. Neville’s hands—while callusing from his garden work—were softer, nicer, unlike Charlie’s which were scarred and rough. He wanted to hold those hands. His eyes were gorgeous (Could eyes be gorgeous?), though he was looking off into his own world, it seemed as if his eyes held the answers to all of Charlie’s internal challenges. Honestly, his face all together was stunning. The way he bit his lip when he was thinking. How his nose scrunched when Charlie asked about a plant he didn’t like. How he ran a hand through his hair when he laughed—Merlin his laugh. Charlie wanted to hear that sound constantly. Forever. How did this… this practically kid make big tough Charlie fold instantly? Without even trying, for Godric’s sake! He dealt with dragons. Great, fire breathing, spikey dragons. Yet he couldn’t work up the courage to ask this boy—no, man—out. He just didn’t want him to stop talking—
“Charlie?” The object of the man’s thoughts asked, finally looking at him.
“Hm?” The Weasley's face turned almost as red as his hair, having been caught. “Yeah?”
“Am I talking too much?”
“No–” He yelped, almost. “No, please; keep talking.”
“You just seem sort of bored… I don’t want to be a nuisance…”
“Neville,” Charlie suddenly put a large hand on his knee, standing up straight, making the boy swallow. “You are not a nuisance. If you knew how–” The red head blinked, and stopped himself.
“If I knew what…?” Neville seemed to lean closer.
“If… if you knew how much I love to listen to your voice…”
“You…” The boy’s eyes widened a fraction, and Charlie hung his head.
“I’m sorry. Really, I– I shouldn’t–” He was cut off with a surge of confidence from Longbottom who, quickly, tilted the larger’s head up and crashed his lips into the other’s. That was when Charles Weasley truly melted. When his hands slid to Neville’s waist and up his back. When he pulled the boy dangerously close to the edge of the counter, and pressed himself closer. When Neville slid his hands into his blazing red curls. That was when he melted.
When the kiss broke, Neville’s lips chased the Weasley’s.
Charlie panted, their breaths intermingling. “D-did you mean to do that?”
Neville stared down at Charlie’s mouth. “Yeah…” He breathed. His hands had come back down out of those red locks, and planted themselves on the counter edge.
“You really–”
“Yes.” He confirmed.
“Actually–”
“Yes.”
“You’re serious–”
“Merlin! Yes! Yes, I really, really, want to kiss you! Yes I actually like you! Yes I’m serious! Yes, Yes, Yes!”
Charlie let out a breath. The next one was a huff. Then they turned into breathy laughs, which turned into giggles (Charlie! Giggling!). He cupped Neville’s face and kissed him all over, before pecking his lips.
“You done, hot stuff?” Neville smiled.
“Hot stuff?” He snorted. “Yes, I’m done.”
“Lovely.” Neville caught his lips in a fiery kiss once again.
Eventually, the counter just was not close enough, and they each silently agreed to find a room. One that didn’t have suggestive groans coming from right inside the door. They found one eventually—”Jesus, this house has a lot of rooms.”—that seemed well enough. Not so well that it was Harry’s room (He’d kill them.), but well enough.
Charlie had about bursted before they could even do anything. The love rolling off of him was almost tangible. Insane. They were both gone for each other by the end; curling together, and falling fast asleep.
The next morning they were woken up to banging on the door and Harry demanding they(whoever was inside) be decent. Neville—the clingy thing—refused to get up, nor allow his source of heat to leave. He wouldn’t stop stroking his hand over the beautiful freckles on the other man’s shoulder or stop twirling that red hair or untangle their legs. Nothing persuaded him. Until Charlie brushed a thumb over his cheek and kissed him. Sweet? Or passionate? It was hard to tell. But Neville groaned, and ground himself against the red head.
“Eager… aren’t you…” Charlie hissed softly. “Harry wants us to leave…”
“C’mon…” Longbottom insisted, pouting.
“How about…” The Weasley drifted his fingers lightly up the brunette’s bare sides; making him shiver. “We go back to mine… and we can do this...” his hips twitched. “All over again…” he whispered.
Neville’s eyes were unfocused as he nodded quickly. And somehow, in some amount of time, they made it into their clothes and downstairs. They passed Fred and Blaise being reprimanded by Draco Malfoy for their part in the mess, and apologized to Harry for leaving him to clean up—”Even though we didn’t do anything–”—by leaving five Galleons on his mantle before Flooing away.
As soon as they were out of Charlie’s Floo, they were on each other again. Neville didn’t know how passionate Charlie could be, and Charlie didn’t know Neville was so good at topping—”merlin!”.
And thus became Charlie and Neville. Together. Soulmates.
Soulmates.