Title: Wrong

Category: Harry Potter

Pairing: Charlie/Hermione

Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me.

Rating: 18+

Summary: Charlie knows it's wrong.

Notes: This is my first attempt at this pairing, even if it is particularly one sided, so please, let me know what you guys think of it. Don't have a beta, so I'll apologise now for any errors.

Word Count: 1003

Part (1/1)

It was wrong.

So wrong on so many bloody levels but he couldn't help it because she was always fucking there in those jeans that shouldn't have been sexy but were because they were on her. His jaw clenched as she laughed, the sound shooting chills down his spine. Fighting against the shudder, he watched her, eyes hungrily focused on her lips. Perfect lips that he would kill to taste, to have on his body, to have on him. He felt a stirring in his groin at the thought and frowned.

Oh. Bad Charlie. It was wrong, remember?

He closed his eyes, inhaling sharply. The disgust slid through him in a long liquid pull that made him think of the fact that she was only a year older than his baby sister, and Ginny was only seventeen, which made Hermione eighteen and he was almost fucking thirty. He risked opening his eyes and saw Harry watching him with an odd look.

Ohgodohgodohgod.

He knew. He knew. Oh god, he fucking knew. His mother would kill him. Ron would kill him. He bit his lip, looking away from Harry and at the others sitting around the dining table. In his panicked state, he imagined furious and disgusted faces glaring at him. Eyes wide, he scanned the table, looking for something, anything to tell him if they knew.

"Charlie, are you okay?" Startled, he looked at Ginny to find her staring up at him with a look of concern.

"Yeah… yeah, I'm fine." He swallowed thickly and looked away quickly, eyes falling on the brunette witch automatically. He felt the pull of disgust again and thought about looking away before the want slammed into him, the glorious want that burnt the disgust away and it was only him and her and the desire that was hotter than any thing he had felt before.

Oh Merlin, but he was insane. There was no other possible explanation as to why he was feeling jealous of a piece of toast. Toast, for fuck's sake. His eyes focused on her lips as she took another bite, tongue darting out to lick the crumbs off her lips.

Gods. Her tongue. So pink and wet, and he could almost feel it licking at his cock, stroking while her mouth enveloped him in moist heat. He watched her chew slowly and choked back the groan when she swallowed because now he was wondering if she would swallow when he came.

A lock of curly brown hair fell across her face and while she was brushing it away impatiently, he thought of how it would feel tangled around his hand while he fucked her, hard and fast because she would be so fucking tight and wet around him because she would want him as much as he did her.

He tore his eyes away from her and stared determinedly at the wall behind her. It was wrong. The words ran through his head in a mantra in time with his laboured breathing. It occurred to him vaguely that it was probably a good thing that he'd worn robes over his clothes because he could feel his cock, hard and throbbing for attention.

Chewing at his lip, he desperately tried to think of something other than the young witch in front of him. Young. Merlin, she probably thought of him as an older brother. Quidditch. Yeah. He'd think about Quidditch. There was nothing sexy about Quidditch. He began running through various manoeuvres in his head, his body slowly relaxing enough for him to chance another glance at her.

Merlin. She had cleavage. His body tensed again as he stared at the shadow between the creamy swell of her breasts. Hermione Granger was not supposed to have fucking cleavage. He blinked when she sat back, having grabbed another slice of toast. He tried to tell himself that it was a good thing he could no longer see said cleavage, but his traitorous mind began working again.

Gods, but he could almost feel the weight in his hands, could see the pale skin with rosy nipples that he just wanted to lick and bite, if only to see if she tasted of the cinnamon she smelled of. He closed his eyes and lost himself in his thoughts, feeling her writhing under him, hearing her voice begging him to touch her, to taste her, to fuck her, because she was so fucking wet and she wanted him. Surprising him by moaning when he whispered to her hotly because who knew that talking dirty would turn the prissy little know-it-all on so much? Mewling when he sunk into her wet heat, so fucking deep, but not deep enough, not fucking close enough because she still wasn't his.

"Charlie?"

His eyes flew open, colour suffusing his cheeks in a hot blush as Harry said his name, looking pointedly around at the now empty table.

"Yeah?" His voice was rougher than usual, his throat impossibly dry. He scowled at the knowing look that the younger man gave him.

"Breakfast is over."

"I see that."

"You didn't eat anything."

He thought about protesting because, fuck it all, he could still taste her on his lips, a sweet, musky tang that had him craving more, a feeling he didn't understand because he'd never tasted her, never slicked his tongue over her while she moved under him.

Harry, I'm going insane. I'm lusting after your best friend. Don't kill me. "I know."

Harry nodded, green eyes glinting in a way that made him instantly wary because it reminded him somewhat of the twins.

"You should tell her."

He blinked. Harry waited and then stood up, walking to the door. Charlie bit his lip, hoping that his voice would be steady.

"Tell her what?"

"That you want to shag her senseless."

He blinked again. Harry snorted impatiently before walking out. Charlie watched him go, wondering if he should take his advice. Sighing, he resigned himself to his fate.

Eighteen.

It was wrong, you see.

Fin