nny | Charlie/Oliver- What happened monday night. (Reply)

There was a crash from the living room.

Oliver switched off his computer hurriedly and stood up, stepping toward the door and switching off the bedroom light. Muffled swearing, now. He grabbed Cahill's bat from behind the door and raised it above his head as he silently opened the door and stepped into the living room.

"Right...!" he stopped. The light he had flicked on had revealed exactly what it was that had made the noise, and he was torn between vague annoyance, nervousness, and laughter. It was the latter that won.

"Ow." Charlie's voice was muffled. He had evidently flooed into the fireplace, stepped out into the dark living room, got caught on the coffee table, and collapsed face forward onto the sofa.

"You alright there, mate?"

"Shutup." Charlie turned his head toward Oliver, his face flushed and grinning, and his hair sticking up all over the place. He looked thoroughly drunk, and thoroughly debauched. Oliver looked away for a second, chucking the bat to one side, then extended a friendly hand.

"You need a hand up?"

Charlie looked up at him for a moment, the smile in his eyes changed to something else, then he nodded decisively, grabbing Oliver's hand. He staggered to his feet, with Oliver's help, and collapsed against him, breathing warm air laden with Firewhisky fumes against his neck.

"Bloody hell, Charlie. You shouldn't be travelling in this condition. You should be in bed!"

Charlie- there was really no other word for it- *nuzzled* against him, rubbing his hair against Oliver's neck and making Oliver shiver slightly.

"Exactly what *I* was thinking."

Oliver froze. Now what?

"Um... Charlie? How much have you had to drink?"

Charlie muttered something into his neck, his chapped lips scritching slightly and making Oliver gulp.

"Charlie?"

"I *said*, I wanted this before I was drunk. Just had a bit of whisky to gimme the courage. Dutch courage. 'Sall good." He could feel the shorter man smile against his neck, and it was all he could do to stay upright when all he wanted was to shove him back onto the sofa and find out if Charlie's neck was as sensitive as his.

He restrained himself.

Barely.

"Seriously, Charlie. What are you doing here?"

Charlie pushed himself away from Oliver a little way; not far enough to lose the support he obviously needed, but enough that he could regard Oliver gravely.

"You taste like ginger."

Oliver was nonplussed.

"I what?"

"I kissed you, and you tasted like ginger. I want to know if that was the punch, or if it was you." He grinned. "I like ginger."

Then Charlie was leaning forward, and he missed by a little on his first try, because he was drunk and Oliver was too surprised to help... but not too surprised to lean into the soft contact the second time, to open his mouth a little and get a hint of Charlie's flavour again. Only three days since he had tasted it last, but he'd already forgotten how intoxicating it was.

Then Charlie's tongue swept across his lower lip, and flavour was forgotten in the rush of sensation. He opened his mouth a little more, involuntarily, and Charlie's tongue pushed inside, stroking against his own briefly before retreating. Charlie pulled away and licked his lips, a slight smirk on his face.

"Mmm, ginger."

Oliver couldn't stop himself from returning the grin.

"Yes, quite."

"You have a thing for redheads?"

Oliver smiled a little.

"You have a thing for *me?*"

Charlie was drunk enough that he wouldn't rememeber this. Oliver took a deep breath.

"Since first year, when I saw you fly for the first time. Since second year, when you picked me for the team, when you spoke to me. Since third year, when I realised that girls didn't really interest me, after all. That *you* interested me."

There was silence for a moment.

"Blimey."

Oliver almost laughed, a shaky exhalation that shook Charlie's head where it rested on his shoulder. Charlie moved a little, then said, casually, "you want to shag, then?"

Oliver grinned, and lifted one hand to run gently through messy ginger hair.

"Will you think less of me if I don't?" He knew he was right when he felt more than heard the sigh of relief.

"I'm bloody knackered. I need sleep."

Charlie leaned heavily on him, and attempted to push himself upright. "I'd better go."

"Why?"

"...Oh. Right." Charlie smiled up at him. "I warn you, I snore..."

"Couldn't care less. But I get the left side."

They walked into the bedroom, together.

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A little ficlet, a short explanation of events. Unbeta'd. Starring