How to Pull Birds (Instructions by Charlie Weasley, Bird-Puller Extraordinaire—No really, just ask him!) by Luvscharlie

Warnings: Incest, frottage, semi-public sexy times, light blood play, drunk!sexy times

A/N: Originally written for paddynmoon at the 2011 hpvalensmut on Live Journal who asked for very light blood play, trying to keep it secret, semi-public desperate!sex, incest, long hair (on Bill anyway), freckles, frottage, witty banter, knowing each other inside-out, real closeness and my two favourite Weasley boys. Thank you to Leela_cat for the beta work.

This takes place during the Summer before Prisoner of Azkaban right after the Weasleys have gone back to England from visiting Bill in Egypt.

"Are you ever going to stop complaining?" Bill asked, giving his younger brother a frown, as they walked the darkened streets of Egypt, heading back towards Bill's flat in downtown Cairo.

"Hey, I got sand in places that sand should never be. Cut me some slack, yeah?" Charlie replied, tugging at his trousers and pulling a face. "How do you fucking stand this place?"

"You know, for the record, I never asked you to stay over after Mum, Dad and the others went back."

"You should be thanking me. Do you seriously think you would have had even a chance of pulling that bird in the club tonight if I hadn't been there as your trusty wing man?"

Bill cleared his throat and made a great show of looking all about. "Has it somehow escaped your attention, Charlie-boy, that we're going home alone?"

"First of all, I resent that. You are not going home alone. You're going home with me, and I'm far prettier than she was. Secondly, don't blame me because you can't complete the job when I snag a bird for you."

"That's what you call snagging a bird? Meet my brother, he hasn't been laid in ages. Your words were slurred, you stank of whatever the hell you'd been doing in that back room"—Bill held up his hands—"I do not want to know! And then you just ran off after spilling your drink in her lap. Charming. Just charming."

Charlie shook his head in abject sympathy, tutting all the while. "You far underestimate the value of the sympathy play, mate. And if she's wearing my drink, then chances are much more likely that you'll get her out of her clothes. It's sad really, the state of your love life."

"Oh, says the professional bird-puller, who I would again point out, is also going home without a bird."

Charlie spun around, two steps ahead of him, as they walked on, arms outstretched, and almost falling over in his inebriation. "It would be disrespectful to bring a girl home to your flat, when you have none. Mum didn't raise me without manners."

"No, but she did raise you without a brain," Bill supplied.

"That's just rude."

Charlie made it to the flat, though Bill couldn't help but giggle a bit when Charlie stood looking at the doorknob with a queer expression upon his face. He turned his head to one side, then the other, and then looked over at Bill, perplexed.

"When did you get three doorknobs? And what're those other two for?" Charlie gasped as Bill tried to shove around him and insert the key into the lock. Charlie's words were beginning to slur. "Do those lead to secret places? If they're top secret, I'll cover my eyes." Charlie put his hands over his eyes, but Bill couldn't help chuckling at the way Charlie was peeking through his fingers.

"You are so wasted." Bill shoved open the door and had to make a quick save when Charlie stumbled into his favourite vase, recovered from the first tomb that he'd successfully lifted the curse from himself. Not that the vase had come free, mind you. No, Gringotts didn't exactly work that way. He'd had to pay a pretty Sickle to be allowed to keep it, and his little brother had nearly smashed it to bits. He'd have to be more careful in the future. Living alone gave him a false sense of security. Maybe he should invest in glass to cover his more valued possessions, or put up some wards to protect them. One forgot about those things when they no longer lived in a house with numerous clumsy siblings to smash things to bits. Bill caught the vase two inches from the floor, stood, and Charlie crashed into him again, taking them both down to the floor and sending the vase to its ultimate destruction.

"When we gonna stop doing this?" Charlie asked, looking at Bill from his position, heaped on top of Bill.

"Stop doing what?" Bill asked, trying without success to shove Charlie over.

"You know, pretending we like birds—pretending we're not feeling all the shit we're feeling. Kind of exhausting. The whole lot of it."

Bill tried to protest after finally succeeding in shoving Charlie over, thankfully onto the side where there were no vase bits to bite into his skin. To his frustration, however, Bill's "I have no idea what the fuck you're talking about," was met with snores from a passed out Charlie.

Bill tossed a blanket over his brother after sweeping up the remains of his souvenir, considered waking Charlie up to protest his heterosexuality again, and then sighed in resignation. What was the use? Lying to Charlie had never been easy, and now Charlie had confirmed that his many years of acting had all been in vain. Charlie had known all along.

Bill sighed deeply and walked to his bedroom, followed by what felt like a taunting snore from Charlie at his back. It was only when he was down to his pants and pulling back the covers on his bed that it hit him what Charlie had said—and it hit him hard and fast, his head going all swimmy with the realisation. Charlie had said "pretending we like birds," not that Bill was pretending. Charlie had said we. Charlie was—Nah, not Charlie. Charlie could pick up birds most anywhere he went. Charlie was legend with the ladies. Charlie was—Charlie was—Maybe—just maybe, Charlie was living a lie, too.

And Bill went to sleep with that thought tugging at his mind… and heart. It would be nice not to be alone in his secret. And there had always been something between him and Charlie that they simply didn't share with anyone else.

Bill awoke to the smell of coffee and the sound of whistling, and for a moment he couldn't place where he was. The bed felt like his, but the coffee didn't typically make itself and he was fairly certain that he hadn't left the wireless on the previous night.

"Merlin, are you ever going to wake up?"

Bill cocked open an eye to see his younger brother, standing in his bedroom doorway, a towel wrapped around his stocky hips, his short hair still damp from the shower and his tattoos dancing across his chest and stomach.

"That's a new one," Bill said, yawning as he pointed at the red dragon blowing fire across Charlie's flat stomach.

"Matilda. She's my favourite. Got her when I was out one night in Cugir with this bird I wanted to impress. Bird's name was Matilda too, of course. Guess I was a bit pissed, but I'm not sorry. I do like my ink… far better than I liked that bird, if memory serves me correctly. May not, though. I don't really recall much about that night." Charlie took a sip from the steaming mug in his hand.

So this was where things stood this morning. Bill wasn't sure whether he'd misheard Charlie last night, and this was the true Charlie, or if the charade had begun anew. He felt his way along carefully. "Matilda, huh? Doesn't sound like your type? Don't you usually hold out for the Roxannes or the Gretchens or something equally sexy sounding."

"I live in the Romanian wilderness, brother. It's not like a bloke can be too picky. If she has less chest hair than I do, then all systems are go. You know what I mean?" Charlie continued on before Bill could reply. "You probably don't. Not living out here with all of these Egyptian goddesses running about and—you know, if it wasn't for all the bloody sand, I could even learn to like this place, and—"

It was now or never. As Charlie prattled on, Bill put it all out there on the line. "I prefer the gods to the goddesses, myself, and from what you were saying last night, you don't mind a bit of chest hair. Not in the least." The moment the words were out and Bill saw the look that crossed Charlie's face, Bill wished he could have them back. Charlie was staring at him, mouth agape, and Bill thought he should have continued to play along with the farce that had become so natural between them.

"How pissed was I last night?" Charlie asked. His ears matched his hair and the flush was creeping up his chest, so that his chest hair and complexion mingled to become one colour. Only his freckles stood out.

Bill rolled himself out from beneath the covers and stood, giving his brother a wary glance. "Pissed enough that you owe me a priceless piece of art."

"Yeah, I think I have a piece of your precious vase stuck in my arse. You could have at least levitated me to the sofa, you know? Use that wand of yours. Prove you're a wizard after all. Save me from the misery of having tiny glass slivers in my sexy arse."

Bill had started his journey down this road towards openness with at least one member of his family, and he was unwilling to pull back now. He hated being alone. He wanted some sort of comrade in this world that he was navigating where bedding wizards, not witches, was the goal of the day. He was tired of pretending and he wasn't letting Charlie wriggle out of this, even if he'd be sorry later. "So, is this how it's going to be? Back to pretending? Back to hiding who we are? I'm so bloody tired of it all."

"Whoa, mate. Speak for yourself. I don't know what you're talking about and—"

"Just shut it, why don't you? Do I have to get you drunk in order to get you to speak the truth? You're so used to lying to everybody else about who you are, I think you may be starting to believe it yourself—No, no, I don't believe that. I saw the real you last night, and he's under there. And he's lonely. And—and—and—and I think, maybe, he's just like me. I mean uglier, obviously. You always were an ugly little bastard, and some things never change. But you and me, we're alike. And we shouldn't be ashamed of who we are." Bill sighed. He was so tired of holding together an image of who everyone else thought he should be. He needed someone to open up to. And Charlie—Charlie was that someone.

"Projecting much there, mate?"

Or, perhaps, there were better options than Charlie.

Bill shut the door to his room and dressed for work with a resigned sigh.

Bill arrived back at his flat to find his little brother pacing eagerly about. Charlie accosted him the moment Bill turned the key in the door.

"So, are we going yet?" Charlie asked.

"Going where?" Bill asked still trying to get through the door and around Charlie, who was pushing him back out.

"To the Pervy Pyramid, to pull birds, of course," Charlie said, closing the door to Bill's flat and locking it with his wand before Bill could get inside.

"I'm not going tonight."

"What! You have to go."

"I don't, and I'm not." Bill pushed his way around Charlie and attempted to wand open his door. It wouldn't budge. When you're a curse breaker, it's rather embarrassing to be unable to open the door to your own flat.

"You have to go," Charlie insisted.

"I'm fairly certain that I don't." Bill wasn't sure what had happened to him over the past day, but it had felt good to stop lying, both to himself and everyone else—well, he still wasn't exactly out in the open with his family, but at least where Charlie was concerned, he wasn't going to lie anymore.

Charlie crossed his arms and stomped his foot, much like he had when he was four and Bill was six, and Bill wouldn't let him in the broom shed to take a midnight flight on Dad's new broom. "If you don't go, I'm telling Mum."

"Telling Mum what? I won't go with you to pull birds?" Bill fumbled at the door some more and finally got it open. He pointed over towards the fireplace. "I'd like to watch the Floo call. Help yourself. This might be the best fun I've had all day." Bill sat down on his couch and propped his feet up on the nearby sofa table.

Charlie looked at him with a smirk. "No, I'll tell her that you magicked out the threads where she sewed your name in all your pants."

"First of all, I don't need my name in my underpants. I'm not five. And secondly, how do you even know that?"

"I haven't done laundry since I've been here, Bill. Whose shorts do you think I'm wearing?" Charlie pulled a face that probably meant he thought Bill was mad for thinking he might do his own laundry.

"I hardly think that my nameless shorts will bring Mum back to Egypt." Okay, he wasn't certain, but it was a reasonable deduction.

"I'm not finished. I'll also tell her how her poor Billykins has cockroaches in his kitchen now that the twins have come to visit and they left chocolate all about the cupboards, and her sweet boy is just too embarrassed to ask for her help."

Damn, she'd believe that. She'd enjoy it, even.

"And with her babies all off to Hogwarts in a few weeks, now just what will Mum have to do with her time?" Charlie put his hand up and scratched his chin as though he was thinking this through. "Oh, I know! Why she'll just have to come on over to Egypt to take care of her ickle boy and gosh, that might take two weeks even to get all sorted out and—"

"Fine, fine, fine." Bill waved his hands about in surrender. The last thing he wanted was two weeks alone with his mum to "help him". "You win," Bill conceded.

The music at the Pervy Pyramid was deafening. Bill could feel the base thumping in rhythm with the throbbing of the headache that was taking up residence in his skull. He sat at a table, tossing back another Firewhisky. Between drinks, Charlie, whirled about the dance floor with one bird or another and seemed to be having the time of his life. Only Bill thought he seemed to be trying far too hard to prove something. They'd been there for hours, and though Bill tried once to sneak out, Charlie threatened again to use the Floo and get him a good two weeks worth of maternal bonding time, so Bill was there until closing, as was Charlie.

Bill's head was throbbing, and Charlie was falling over his own feet when they left the club.

"Have fun there, Charlie-boy?" Bill asked, doing his best to keep Charlie vertical as they trudged toward the nearest Apparation point, an alley in the back, two buildings down.

Charlie sighed, and in his intoxicated state, Bill could tell that his defences were down. "Nope. Gosh, this is all so—" Charlie seemed to lose his train of thought as they reached their destination, or at least he lost his spirit.

Bill provided some choices. "Tedious? Tiresome? A fucking sham?"

"Yep, all those things." Charlie sighed again.

"No need to lie anymore, you know. At least not to me." Bill gave a grunt as Charlie suddenly shoved him back against the brick wall of the nearest building, the darkness of the alleyway hiding his face, so Bill could not read his intentions. Though Charlie's intentions were rather clear when his lips crashed down on Bill's and his rough hands grabbed Bill's ponytail and yanked hard, twisting it through his fingers.

Their tongues warred for dominance, but Bill conceded when Charlie ground his hips up against him. No lies were between them now. No secrets. Only raw emotions and desperate longing… well, and two raging hard-ons searching for some release.

"Not supposed to be this way," Charlie said between kisses, biting Bill's lip, drawing blood and then licking it away.

"Says who?" Bill gasped back. "Nobody has to know. Just you and me, we're the only ones here. Besides, I'm fucking tired of worrying about what everybody else thinks. Aren't you?" Bill sunk his fingers into Charlie's denim-clad bum and pulled him closer, shifting so that hard body met hard body, and Bill's backside hit the rough brick of the wall with more force than he'd imagined when Charlie came to him with unexpected eagerness.

"Fuck," Charlie swore when Bill reached for the button on Charlie's denims, and slid down the zipper.

"Want me to stop?" Bill asked. "You're not too drunk for—"

"You fucking stop now and I will black your eye, big brother or not. It's been too long since I pulled a bloke."

Bill grabbed the waistband of Charlie's jeans and pushed them down to his thighs. "Fuck all, Charlie, those are my favourite curse-breaking pants you nicked, the red ones with the little pyramids on them."

Charlie, who seemed to have sobered up considerably so that Bill wondered how drunk he really was to begin with, sighed loudly. "We are not really going to stand in an alley and talk about your lucky pants, are we?"

"For your information, I never said they were lucky. I said they were my favourites," Bill retorted, in his best I'm-better-than-you voice. "You probably gave them the lurgee, so now you can just keep them."

"Good, I like these," Charlie replied, "but right now, I'd like them better if they were around my knees. Less talking, more—this." Charlie waved his hand in the general direction of his cock.

Bill took direction well. "Like this?" he asked, running his hand over the distorted pants—his favourite pants, no less, which were tented with his brother's cock.

"Amateur," Charlie spit back, and took out his wand and vanished Bill's jeans, pants and—well everything except his socks and shoes.

"We are in the middle of an alley. Anyone could come along at any time. And my wand. My fucking wand was in my pocket, you pillock!"

"Relax. Your wand and your clothes are on your sofa at home. Nicely folded, even. Mum would be so proud. It's a shame, really, how limited your magic is. They teach us the important things in Romania, clearly. Besides, this was your idea," Charlie said with a shrug. "Go big or go home, right?" He gave Bill's cock an appraising look and shrugged. "You know, as big as you can go with your limited equipment."

Bill snorted. "You only wish you had my equipment."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, brother." Charlie jerked down his (okay, technically Bill's, but you get the idea) pants and his cock sprung free, and he stepped in close, kissing Bill as their cocks bumped lightly together.

Bill would have returned the favour and rid Charlie of his own pesky clothes, but unfortunately, without his wand, that wasn't possible. So there he was, naked and wandless, with only his socks and shoes and the dragon fang earring that swung from his earlobe. He was certain he made a sight and only hoped there was no one else coming along to see it.

He had little time to think of his state of undress, when Charlie rubbed their cocks together, bending his knees, rocking up and down, frotting against him, and creating such delicious friction that Bill's pulse was thrumming in anticipation of what came next.

"Guess, from what you said, you've done this before?" he asked Charlie.

"'course. You?"

"Well, not in an alley and not with a prat, but yeah, I'm no blushing virgin."

"Reckon, how come we never knew about each other?" Charlie pondered aloud.

"Guess you must have known something," Bill replied.

"I guess. No surprise really that you didn't figure it out. You're sort of thick and all." Charlie shrugged and grasped both of their cocks in his warm hand and began to stroke them. Bill closed his hand over Charlie's and together they stroked, squeezing lightly, then a bit harder, gasping in time with the delicious sensations. Just the right pressure, just the right friction, just the right everything. Charlie was working fast, Bill's hand following along. Charlie tweaked Bill's nipple, Bill cupped Charlie's balls. Both moaned into a heated kiss and their hands grew frantic, they lost any semblance of rhythm, Charlie came first, shooting into Bill's hand and covering his own stomach. Bill followed close behind, finishing himself off, his come joining Charlie's over the inked flat planes of Charlie's abdomen.

"Could have at least got yourself. Where the hell'd you learn to aim?" Charlie said, pulling up his denims and wiping his come-covered stomach with the inside of his shirt. He looked at his dripping hand and then glanced around as if he was unsure what to do. He settled for scraping his fingers over the bricks of the building that Bill was still leaning against.

"That was—" Bill started.

"Amazing," Charlie finished. "But then, I always am. A little more practise and you'll get there… you know, eventually." Charlie winked, and even in the dim light of the alley, Bill saw his brother's smirk.

"You think you might get us out of here, since I'm starkers?" Bill pointed at his socks and shoes, his only attire.

Charlie drew his wand from his pocket. "Yeah, I could do that." He turned on his heel and Bill attempted to grab hold, missed, and just caught the remainder of Charlie's words as he Disapparated away. "But I won't."

Bill was left standing in the alleyway with only his socks, his shoes and his temper. "I hope the bloody prat splinched his pissed self," he spat out as he started the long walk home. At least he could be thankful for the warmth of the climate—though that gave him little comfort when he passed a group of young girls giggling and pointing so that he put his hand over his crotch and ran away, humiliated.

Charlie was fucking dead when he got home.

Two weeks later

Bill was just settling down on his sofa after a hard day of curse-breaking when Charlie's head popped out of his fireplace.

"You are so fucking dead. When I get approval for an International Portkey I am so coming to Egypt and beating all hell out of you."

"Well, someone has his pants in a wad." Bill chuckled. "I hear International Portkeys are hard to come by these days."

"Well, guess who fucking got one?" the Charlie-head in the fireplace demanded.

"Oh, I just can't imagine." Bill's sarcastic tone made the face of the Charlie-head turn more fierce with anger.

"Let me enlighten you, brother. Some scrawny-arsed amateur curse-breaker Owled Mum and told her that when I visited him in Egypt, I was complaining about how my cabin here at the Reserve was lacking in a maternal touch and that my cupboards were bare and that my linens were bug infested and I didn't have proper cups for tea and—"

"Really? I just can't imagine who would have told Mum such rubbish. Got a Portkey, did she? That woman. She is dead resourceful. Especially when one of her babies needs her."

"Now, she's taking the first two weeks after the others have gone off to Hogwarts to come over here and sort me out. Ginny says she hasn't stopped cooking and packing up food since she got the owl. And she's bringing me new curtains. With flowers on them."

"Awww, how sweet. They'll remind you of the garden back home." Bill's sniggers got the better of him. "All that food though. Gosh, you'll get even chubbier than you are. Never gonna catch a man like that. I mean, not that you'd be able to bring him home with Mum there washing your pants and all, but, well, I'm just saying."

"You're fucking dead, Bill! So fucking dead. I'm going to kill you and then I'm going to fucking revive you, just so I can kill you all over again."

Bill was still chuckling when Charlie's head disappeared from the flames.

Revenge, it truly was sweet.