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The room is dark and smells of them. Moonlight slants through a crack in the thin, dingy curtains. It cuts across a bed of messy, off-white sheets. The mattress is old, with coiled springs that make an awful lot of noise whenever they move. Which, considering the last hour or so, meant they needed to blanket the room in several layers of muffling spells. Termites ate away at the wooden headboard before someone salvaged it. The light in the bathroom flickers, if it works at all.
Felix sits at the end of the bed with his head in his hands. His blonde curls stick to his sweat-slicked temples, and his breath comes in uneven, shaky pants.
Their clothes lie scattered all over the uneven floorboards—a check shirt in shades of blue; a pile of Curse-Breaker robes in dashing midnight purple; two pairs of jeans, one dark denim and the other light blue with holes in the knees; two leather belts; one set of socks that match and one set that don’t; worn brown boots discarded by the door beside a pair of polished black ones.
Two wands lie crossed on top of each other on the bedside table—one made of ash wood for Felix, and one of cedar for Charlie.
Everything in pairs. Everything peeled away.
“Sweetheart,” mumbles Charlie, his sleep-thick voice cutting through the quiet. “Come here.”
“I hate this,” Felix says instead. He runs a shaky hand through his curls. They’re due for a trim. He’ll have to go for one when he’s back in London—which is a thought that makes his blood run cold.
There isn’t enough time. There’s never enough time.
He twists around to regard Charlie with a mixture of unease and grim acceptance. Is this really all they’ll ever be, these paths that cross in fleeting hours before they’re ripped apart again? Charlie watches him from underneath long, ginger lashes that are just thick enough to hide the sadness in his ice blue eyes. His face is angular, startlingly handsome. Russet hair fans out across the thin, off-white pillow underneath his head.
“I hate this,” Felix says again, his voice little more than a whisper. Even in the cut of moonlight across their bed, his olive skin maintains its deep warmth. His gaze catches on the inside of his wrist; there’s a mole there that Charlie never misses when he surveys the landscape of Felix’s body. His tongue always finds the small blemish and makes Felix glad that it’s there at all.
Charlie pushes up on his elbows. Scars crisscross his chest. One nipple is pierced—the left one, to mirror the earring that dangles from his right ear. “Your Portkey doesn’t leave for another three hours,” he reminds Felix gently. “We have time. Come here.”
“But I—”
Without warning, Charlie lurches forward to cage Felix’s wrist with his fingers. He covers the mole, tugging, urging Felix to come closer, to come here, and with no excuse not to, Felix goes.
He allows Charlie to pull him forward until he straddles narrow hips between his knees. He’s taller than Charlie by several inches, his own muscular build lost somewhere between broad and lithe. But Charlie is thick everywhere—his shoulders, his chest, his thighs, his biceps—except for this key part of him. This part is slender, cut with taut muscles that create a V-shaped divot leading below his navel. Felix sets his hands to the curve of Charlie’s waist. He presses his thumbs over the smattering of darker freckles dashed just there, the messy constellations like beacons made for the shape of Felix’s fingers.
The laugh that bubbles out of him is beyond his control. It comes when Charlie pulls the threadbare sheet over their bodies, ensconcing them in a world all their own. No dimly lit room they bought for the few hours that they have. No termite-ruined headboard. No moonlight.
Just them.
Charlie’s eyes glow bright in the dark. The ice blue of his irises is as vibrant as ever when Felix draws close to him, their noses grazing and their breaths mixing as their faces tilt in a familiar, well-worn pattern. Charlie cradles Felix’s cheeks between his palms as they come together, the kiss slow and tender. Unhurried, despite the dwindling hours.
“I hate that my missions don’t bring me back to you more often,” Felix whispers into the narrow space between their lips when they part. His voice cracks. He presses his forehead against Charlie’s, one hand braced against the mattress while the other disappears between their bodies. “I hate that I’m only allowed to have hours when what I want is days, and weeks, and years.”
A sharp intake of breath pulls Felix back to Charlie’s lips. This kiss is open-mouthed, more heated than the last. Felix has Charlie in hand; he fattens in the ring of Felix’s fingers, and his back bows off the bed at the first delicate twist of a wrist.
“Bloody hell,” he breathes, calloused fingers sliding into Felix’s curls to grip them none-too-gently. “You’re a marvel.”
“Again?” Felix asks coyly.
“Again.”
This kiss is a vine that winds around Felix’s ribs, squeezing until his heart seizes inside his chest. Charlie licks into his mouth, moaning when Felix sucks on his tongue. He’s desperate to memorise this taste the same way he always is. It will be days, weeks, months before he sees Charlie again. Maybe longer, if fate decides to be cruel.
And she usually does.
Firm but gentle hands slide down Felix’s back, notching in the divot of his waist while he slowly works Charlie’s cock between their bodies. Eventually, he adjusts to add his own to the tight clutch of his hand. The friction is mind numbingly good; it relieves the build-up of pressure behind his teeth. He swallows the withered sound that crawls out of Charlie’s throat, eager to take as much as he can in these last hours they have.
He doesn’t protest when Charlie’s hands slide further down his body to grip his arse, spreading him open for a thick middle finger to press against his hole. It gives easily under the slight pressure, pulling Charlie inside like his body knows this is where Charlie belongs.
“Merlin, love, you’re still so wet,” he whispers against the underside of Felix’s jaw. And he’s right; Felix’s rim is slick with Charlie’s spit and spend, the muscle well-fucked and loosened.
This isn’t their first go, nor will it be their last. It never is when their time is limited.
Charlie drags his lips across the cut of Felix’s jaw to the hinge, then traces the shell of Felix’s ear with the tip of his tongue, chuckling when the touch elicits a violent shudder. “I’m going to fuck you so stupid that you miss that damn Portkey,” Charlie says lowly. “The Ministry can’t have you back. You’re mine.”
It sounds lovely, like everything Felix has wanted for such a long time.
But he hears his own broken voice protest, “I can’t miss the Portkey. You know I can’t.” He moans when a second finger slips inside beside the first, the easy slide made slicker by how much of himself Charlie left inside Felix earlier. “D-Don’t let it—fuck. Don’t let any spill.”
“Never.” Charlie sucks on the lobe of Felix’s ear, twisting his wrist to slide his middle and ring finger inside up to the last knuckle. His low, delighted laugh reverberates through his chest; Felix shakes in his arms, growing more desperate by the second. This intrusion is nothing compared to Charlie’s cock, which lies thick and heavy against his stomach.
Felix rolls his hips so his own cock slides over the taut plane of Charlie’s abdomen. The tip dribbles, leaves a sticky trail through the dash of wiry red hair below Charlie’s navel. He whimpers when Charlie’s fingertips run through the small pool, then come up to push past his parted lips. Wanton and desperate, delirious with his need for more, Felix sucks on the fingers in his mouth and fucks himself back on the ones buried in his arse.
“There you go,” Charlie whispers, his eyes wide and unblinking as he drinks the sight of Felix in. The air trapped beneath the sheet is humid; damp with the heat of their mixed breaths, thick with the smell of sweat clinging to their skin. “Bloody hell, you’re beautiful.”
Immediately, Felix’s cheeks heat.
“I wish I had a Pensieve just so I could rewatch this moment again and again. You absolute fucking marvel.” Charlie curls his fingers behind Felix’s teeth to draw him close and kiss him. Then, despite Felix’s whining protests at the loss, he slips his fingers from Felix’s arse to take himself in hand, notching the head of his cock to Felix’s stretched rim with a soft, contented sigh.
Felix reaches up to curl his fingers around the top edge of the headboard. His other hand splays over Charlie’s heart to hold his weight. “Fuck,” he breathes when Charlie breaches him, the fullness immediate and missed.
So missed he nearly spears himself, but Charlie’s grip on his waist is merciless.
“Take it slow, love,” Charlie says, even though he says the words through gritted teeth. His body tenses with restraint. He shudders when Felix’s fingers curl into his chest, blunt nails carving red crescents into pale, freckled skin. “You feel so fucking good. You’re always tight. You don’t let anyone else fuck you like I do, do you?”
“N-No,” Felix gasps, easing down on the thick girth of Charlie’s cock inch by torturous inch. It’s easier now than it was earlier, but it’s still a trial. “You know I don’t.”
“I know, but it’s nice to hear you say it.”
Felix’s eyes roll back. His top lip curls. “And you? Are you fucking other people the way you fuck me?”
“I’d rather die, actually,” Charlie says, his tone almost matter of fact. He laughs when a sly grin cuts across Felix’s face. “Ah, you possessive bastard. That’s exactly what you wanted to hear.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Sweat collects in the hollow of Felix’s throat. Beads at his temples. Trails down the valley of his spine. Everything is too hot under the sheet, but he doesn’t care. His arse comes flush with the tops of Charlie’s thighs, and he drops down on his elbows to kiss Charlie full on the mouth while he moves.
It’s soft at first. Tender. He’s sore from the rest of the night, and it takes time for the dull ache to ebb. Charlie’s hands are everywhere—running up and down his sides, over his back, under his thighs. They move together in an easy, familiar rhythm, breathing into each other when the angle is just right, right there, and Felix coils tight as a spring.
“Not yet,” Charlie mumbles against his mouth, looping an arm around his waist to roll them over. He settles between Felix’s thighs, arms hooked under his knees, and the slow drag of his cock has Felix scrambling for purchase.
The sheet tangles, but Charlie manages to keep it pulled over their heads. A thin sheen of sweat covers their skin, pooling in the valleys of their bodies. It trails down the column of Felix’s throat, and he moans when Charlie laps at him, licking from the hollow divot of his collarbone to the hinge of his jaw—over, and over, until Felix pants, begs for a bruise, and Charlie gives it to him without protest.
“Come inside me again,” Felix gasps, his ankles digging into Charlie’s back. Forcing him closer, forcing him deeper. “I want you to keep filling me until I—Oh.”
Charlie laughs, his face buried in Felix’s throat. He sucks a mark into the delicate skin, then another just below it. His hips roll forward, the head of his cock brushing directly against the spot that sends stars bursting behind Felix’s eyes. “What was that, sweetheart?”
“I-I can’t—” Felix’s fingers scrape down Charlie’s back. Their skin is too sweat-slicked for there to be any purchase. His toes curl, and his knees squeeze Charlie’s sides. “Harder,” he gasps, arching up into Charlie as vines of pleasure wrap around his spine. “I need—”
“Sometimes,” Charlie says, hips rolling forward again as his lips move against Felix’s ear, “I wish I could put a baby inside you.”
Felix’s eyes fly open, widening as the words settle. “You—What? You—You can’t. I’m not—”
“I know. I know, darling, I know,” Charlie murmurs. “It’s not about whether or not I can. Just that I want to. I said that I wish I could. We’ve been fucking on and off for hours, and I’ve come inside you twice already. Technically—” He drops his forehead against Felix’s, hips slowing as each thrust turns long and languid, “—if I do it again, then who’s to say the third time isn’t the charm?”
“Er, biology?” Felix says, equal parts dumbfounded and unsurprised that he’s this turned on. To have Charlie that much a part of him… It would make the stretch of waiting worth it. But then again, the waiting of it all is the whole problem, isn’t it? He wriggles, digging his heels into the swell of Charlie’s arse. “And even if you could, you couldn’t. Not really. We only see each other a few times a year.”
Charlie kisses him then, sighing with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Shut up, love, and let me fuck you full again.”
This, at least, Felix will allow.
He wraps his arms around Charlie’s neck, fingers lost in those long, russet strands, and gives himself over to the waves of pleasure that roll through him as Charlie moves. It doesn’t take long for the tension in his spine to shatter; it draws tight as a rubber band, then releases with a harsh, violent snap that has him clawing at Charlie in desperation.
“Come for me,” he begs nonsensically, kissing every inch of Charlie that he can reach. “Come in me. Fuck, yeah, maybe third time is the charm.” He’s babbling; there’s white noise between his ears. He isn’t in control of his tongue. The bridge between his brain and mouth shattered when he came. It’s not his first, second, third, or even fourth time; his cock barely has anything left to give, spurting weakly across his stomach in a pathetic attempt. Charlie wrung him dry ages ago. “Please,” he gasps, and this is enough.
Charlie buries himself to the hilt, then stills. He pulses, shuddering in time with his release, and Felix moans as warmth coats his insides anew. He wraps all of his limbs around Charlie to hold him inside; don’t go, don’t go, we still have time.
They don’t. Not really.
But Felix is too wrapped up in the way Charlie curls around him, not daring to separate their bodies for even a second, to really think about it. He’s just happy to have Charlie hold him this close.
“I think,” Charlie whispers after a few minutes of comfortable silence, “that the dragon breeding got to my head.”
Felix barks a soft but sharp laugh. “You think?”
“Don’t act like you didn’t like it. You always beg me to come inside you multiple times. There’s a reason for that, and it’s not just because you like the way it feels.”
Rather than admit that yes, he did like it, and yes, he knows exactly why he asks for Charlie to come inside him every time they meet, Felix turns his face to catch Charlie’s mouth with his own. The kiss is sweet, all things considered. Felix nibbles on Charlie’s bottom lip, sinking his teeth into the plush, kiss bruised skin with a soft, delighted giggle.
And when Charlie tries to ease out of him, he clings tighter. “Not yet,” he murmurs, kissing Charlie senseless again. This time, it’s Felix who rolls them over. He keeps the sheet over their heads, his hands lost in the long, sweat-soaked strands of Charlie’s hair. “I want a little more time.”
“We can have all the time in the world if you come back with me,” Charlie says softly. He tucks a stray curl behind Felix’s ear. As stubborn as he is, the strand bounces back to stick to his temple. “You love the dragons. You hate the Ministry. Come home with me, love. Stay.”
“I can’t. My whole life is in London.”
“Who? Your parents?” Charlie wrinkles his nose. “They’re awful. You hate them.”
Felix chews on his bottom lip, searching Charlie’s eyes and begging him to understand. “I know, but Evan is in London, too. We just started talking again. I want to know my half-brother, Charlie, and I can’t do that if I run away with you to Romania.”
“Yes, you can. Evan can come visit.”
“The way I can?” Felix can’t help the bite in his tone. Bitterness settles behind his teeth. It fuses to the bone, venom dripping onto every word. “If I go to Romania, then I’ll never really leave. You said it yourself that the reserve swallows people whole. You lose track of time. Nowhere else matters. Nothing matters except those dragons.”
Charlie shakes his head slowly. “That’s not true,” he whispers, reaching up to tuck that same curl behind Felix’s ear. It stays this time. “You matter. You matter to me more than anyone. More than the dragons.”
“I really wish I could believe you.”
Wincing slightly, Felix eases up on his knees. Charlie slips out of him, and he collapses on his back. The bedsprings creak. With an irritated huff, Felix kicks the sheet down, gulping cool air into his lungs. The sweat on his skin begins to dry, as does the sticky mess between his cheeks and on his stomach. He throws an arm over his eyes. His breath comes in unsteady inhales and exhales.
“Someday our paths will cross and stay crossed,” Charlie says, his voice little more than a whisper. “Whether it’s in London or Romania, we’ll be together.”
“Yeah. Yeah, maybe.”
Felix pushes up on his elbows, then scoots to sit on the edge of the bed. He’s exactly where he was before: with his head in his hands, skin covered in his and Charlie’s sweat, and his breathing uneven. He wants so badly to believe in what Charlie says.
Mostly, he hates that he fell in love with someone he can’t really have.
“I should get dressed,” he says, but he doesn’t stand.
The bed creaks again. Charlie’s front presses against his back. Soft, familiar lips tickle the shell of his ear. “When is your next mission? And where?”
“Three weeks from now. Transylvania.”
“Convenient, that.”
Felix snorts. “Haven’t you noticed lately that I always make sure they send me on missions near you?”
“And here I thought the Ministry was just being nice to us.”
“Very funny,” Felix remarks drily. Charlie’s arms come around his neck, and he turns his face to kiss the swell of Charlie’s bicep. “I’m gonna take a shower. You coming with?”
Charlie chuckles warmly. “Again? I might need a few more minutes.”
“S’alright. I just want you there. We don’t have to have sex. Our time is running out, anyway.”
“We still have at least two more hours.”
Felix turns to push Charlie on his back, looming over him with a crooked smile. His heart hurts, and the thought of limited time makes him want to burn this entire dilapidated inn to the ground, but he’ll take what he can get. He always does. “And then we only have to wait three weeks.”
“That’s not so bad,” Charlie says. He cradles the shape of Felix’s skull and draws him close, their breaths mixing in the space between their lips. “We waited three years once.”
“Oh, I fucking hated that.”
“Yeah, so did I. But the time we have to wait is getting smaller. This last time was only two months.”
“Fucking hated that, too.”
“You hate most things, darling,” Charlie murmurs, kissing Felix softly. “Except for me.”
Felix rolls his eyes. “And what a mystery that still is.”
But he lets Charlie pull him back down to bed, their kisses slow and unhurried. Even though they’re running out of time, there’s no urgency. No rush. They lose track of time in kissing and talking and fucking and laughing. Charlie runs his fingertips from mole to mole on Felix’s body, and Felix draws pictures in the sea of Charlie’s freckles. Their shower goes on long enough the water turns cold, but Charlie simply lays a hand on the exposed pipe to warm it again. He’s buried in Felix, dropping heated kisses all over his shoulders, and there’s simply no time to stop this for a little bit of cold water.
In the end—when their clothes are back on, and the sheets have been freshened with several charms—Felix stands with his head bent, forehead pressed against Charlie’s, and closes his eyes. “Three weeks,” he says quietly. “Transylvania.”
“Three weeks isn’t very long.”
“It’s long enough.”
“When’s the mission after that?”
Felix shakes his head. “I don’t know. They haven’t told me.”
“Then three weeks. Transylvania.”
The Portkey in Felix’s palm heats; calling him back to London, calling him away from home. He kisses Charlie once, thinks I love you but doesn’t say it, then takes a step back. He gazes into ice blue eyes until the Portkey vibrates its last warning, the hook behind his navel pulling, and he’s whisked away within seconds—leaving Charlie behind in Romania, just as he always does.