A Charlie Weasley/ Oliver Wood fic

A/N: Okay. I actually don't like this pairing, but I was challenged to write it by my good friend Psycho Hippy, so here it is! In return, I challenged her with writing Dumbledore/Grindelwald as a mini competition between us, so please read hers, too, and let us know how much you liked/loathed them, k?

NO FLAMES, PLEASE! Any I receive will, as some of you already know, will be fed to Nigel the rabid Niffler of Nottingham. Just so you know.

Enjoy!

"Alright team, back to the changing rooms. Excellent practise, all of you." Charlie Weasley said to his team as they huddled around him in an attempt to ward off the cold wind that blew gustily around the goal hoops on the quidditch pitch.

Grumbling about the cold, the red and gold clad figures made there way back towards the changing rooms, heads bowed against the raw chill of the wind, hoping for nothing more than a hot shower, dinner and bed as the skies around them darkened, giving way to the bitter November night.

Last to leave the pitch was Charlie Weasley and a slightly taller boy of perhaps sixteen. Neither seemed to be as affected by the blustery weather as they stood silently, taking in the beauty of the pitch as the sun went down.

"C'mon, Wood. Shower, then supper and bed. Must be nearly six by now." Charlie sighed, reluctantly turning away to walk back towards the shower block, tugging on Oliver Wood's arm as he brushed past.

As soon as the heavy wooden door shut behind the two boys, they stripped themselves of robes and padding, heading as fast as they could for the promise of a hot shower. Looking around, it was clear they were alone; obviously Charlie's twin brothers were in a hurry to eat, though that didn't surprise him.

Grabbing towels from hooks, the boys made their way over to the shower stalls, not bothering to cover up. They were teammates after all, and neither felt the need to act modest around the other. They stood side by side for a while, soaking in the warm water, concentrating on getting clean.

Oliver found himself glancing shyly over to the boy scrubbing himself in the shower to the right of him, whose tuneless whistling reverberated cheerfully around the little tiled room. Charlie had his back to him as he washed…well, Oliver could guess what he was washing. That wasn't the issue- it was the way he was washing himself that drew his attention.

His arm movements were fast and rhythmical, and Oliver could see individual muscle groups in his shoulders and back tensing and relaxing repeatedly with each movement of his arms and hands. The whistling stopped abruptly, replaced by curiously breathy moans. Oliver almost laughed out loud, oh yes; he knew what Charlie was doing. But did he have to do it so close to him?

Charlie didn't know what made him do what he was doing- Merlin, he was standing feet from another boy in another shower…Oliver. Charlie smiled to himself and his hands sped up as he thought of the young, eager quidditch star. And a star he was. Oliver Wood was the best damn keeper Charlie Weasley had ever known, and he felt a weird sort of affection for him.

Yep. That's all it is. And this 'affection' has nothing to do with your little washroom activities, I suppose?A voice in his head asked - its tone oddly similar to those of Fred and George.

Great. His subconscious was an immature, attention seeking trouble maker.

I'm hurt. Really I am.

Oh, fantastic. It talks back, too.

I'm only pointing out the obvious. Methinks you have a bit of a thing for your keeper, huh, stud?

What are you, a sixties throwback? Who says stud?

Hey don't knock me; I'm your inner voice- your subconscious, merely voicing your own innermost thoughts and emotions…And right now, I can tell you that you fancy Oliver Wood.

But he's…Oliver isn't a girl!

Oh, well done, captain obvious! Oh… his inner voice chuckled in mock sympathy, and you said that out loud by the way. Enjoy, stud.

"Erm…Charlie?" Oliver's croaky voice called over the rushing of warm water, clearly confused and a bit worried about his captain's health.

Bugger.

"Yeah, Oliver?" Now try an octave lower, and with less of the breathy stuff, perhaps? the voice chided.

"Erm, I mean, Yes, Wood?"

"Thanks for…um…letting me know I am, in fact, not a girl. I was so worried there for a moment."

Wait. Oliver wasn't mad? He was teasing him?

Oliver turned sharply, almost losing his balance on the now thoroughly soap-sudded floor, but found a strong arm propping him up against the wall. He looked up into Oliver's face. And then down.

Oh. Oh my.

"Definitely…definitely not a girl, Oliver! I-I mean…Oh, Merlin."

Oliver's face blushed, but Charlie was relieved, and a little scared, when he didn't make any attempt to back away, or even move his protective hand from his elbow. His other hand did however reach up to stroke Charlie's jaw line with a single finger.

Charlie breathed in deep, trying to regain some sort of self control, but knew it was fruitless. He was standing in a shower, breathing in some amazing scents, touching and seeing amazing things. And, on a more primal level, he hadn't gotten any in months. He needed this, and now.

All at once, the two adolescents leaned inwards, their lips, and, it must be said, several other areas of their bodies, connecting as the space between them grew narrower and vanished. They were just two hormonal, teenage boys alone in a shower, with a raw sexual energy surrounding them as they struggled, splashing haphazardly around in the hot water, groans, moans and the occasional scream (very manly, of course) being emitted at various intervals from the shower block of the Gryffindor changing rooms …as you do.

FLASH!

Fred handed over the moving Polaroid to the rather embarrassed, now fully-clothed, twenty-something red-headed dragon keeper with a look of glee mirrored only in the face of his twin.

"And that, Charlie, is how we know why you have yet to bring a girl home for Christmas…"

A/N: Hope you like! Clicky the blue button if you feel an urge…any urge…any at all – just go for it!