Charlie watched from the corner as Harry gritted his teeth against the sting, the dark lines mottled with red across his muscled shoulders and down the thin skin on his spine. Harry looked up at Charlie once the tattoo artist completed the wings, which were both feathery and bold with shapes and runes and little details that could only be seen in the right light. Harry watched Charlie watch him through the messy fringe of his hair, green eyes tight with the edgy pain throbbing through his back. When he got up he looked sensuous, though, high on endorphins with no hurt showing as Charlie paid for the present.

"You did well," Charlie mumured when he helped Harry into his coat. The winters in Romania were harsher than England's so Charlie always made sure to keep Harry warm enough-hat, scarf, gloves, dragon hide boots, whatever it took-as they walked through the streets of the little town on the edge of the dragon reserve.

Harry just looked at him, lips parted, and demanded to go home.

Charlie had many tattoos-clean black bars, poetry, runes, names, dates, Celtic knots and dragon scales imprinted forever along his arms and the sides of his ribs, but this picture splashed across Harry's back like it carried Harry everywhere-held him up. It was something else.

Harry'd come up with it quickly: a black phoenix in stark bold, reinforced with protective runes and centered by a twilight lily in the phoenix's belly, whose flamelike petals faded like a ghost into his skin.

Home meant a warm bed, meant Harry spread against the sheets as Charlie pushed into him. He fucked him from behind this time, to get a good look at the magically healed skin, watch the phoenix fly as he held Harry's wrists against his lower back and rolled against him like waves. Harry was so impatient, eager to come-to make him come-but Charlie would take his time.

"That good, Harry?"

"God-hngh!" Harry spread his legs wider and demanded, "Faster, Charlie."

Charlie smiled, picking up the pace only when he added,

"Please..."

"You're beautiful. Look at you," he rasped, and then it was all downhill from there. He was a talker after all, and Harry liked that even if he was often clammed up with the need to be under control. That was why Charlie worked hard to make him fall apart.

"That feel good?" He slammed against Harry's prostate. "You gonna come for me, darlin'?"

"Fuck!"

"Yeah, that's it-Merlin, your arse." He ran a hand from the face of the phoenix all the way down Harry's spine, letting go of his hands to let Harry push onto him, to fuck onto his cock like he wanted. "C'mon, Harry."

Harry came untouched, hips juddering and hands fisted in the pillows.

Charlie followed, grunting a choked, "Love you," before thrusting one last time. He traced the tattoo afterward, infatuated with the whispy lines that made feathers from Harry's shoulder blades to his shoulders. "What a wonderful Christmas present to come home to," he murmured, smirking when Harry looked up at him from his spot nestled into the pillows.

"That's tomorrow morning," Harry said quietly, to which Charlie frowned. "And it's a much more permanent present than a romp in the sheets."

In the silence after, Charlie kissed Harry and felt like he'd grown wings, too.