Warnings: I suppose this is post DH, as it is, in a way, compatible. There's drinking involved and sexual themes, and gayness. It's SLASH. It's rated M, for suggestive themes.

Also, I do not own the HP-universe in any way.

I wrote this ages and ages ago and posted it on my lj. Then I thought other people might want to read, it, too, so here it is. Enjoy.

"Oooh," Harry said, eyes wide behind his glasses – that Ron personally thought were horribly askew, "Why didn't you ever tell me about Charlie?"

"Whaddya mean, Harry?" Ron narrowed his eyes and drunkenly tried to stand straighter. Harry looked practically debauched as he slouched in the armchair, a leg thrown over the armrest and his, once pristine, white shirt halfway unbuttoned and horribly wrinkled. "I told you he tamed those dragons and all."

"Mmmm," Harry hummed. "But he's—Oliver!" he cried, and Ron blinked. Then the armchair was empty; Harry was gone. Just like that.

The younger wizard darted up to Oliver, who clapped Harry on the shoulder, a huge grin on his face. "Harry! Guess—"

"I know; Angelina told me. Congratulations!" Harry impulsively hugged him. "It's brilliant, mate."

"Skills, mate. Pure skills." Harry rolled his eyes. Oliver placed an arm around Harry's shoulders and steered him off. "You know, last we properly talked you were practically kid—"

"You kissed me," Harry interrupted but Oliver didn't appear to hear, as he went on,

"—and certain rules had to be followed." Oliver winked.

"What?"

"Would you like a drink?"

"Beer," Harry said and Oliver thumped him on the back.

"Good choice, good choice."

'An Impromptu Garden Party', George had called it. To relieve tension and allowing oneself to feel properly alive now that the pressure of staying alive and out of harm's way was finally gone for good. Harry couldn't agree more. He hadn't felt this relaxed since…he couldn't remember since, and the last time he'd had this kind of 'couldn't care fucking less about anything' attitude had been way before he knew about Hogwarts. Which was probably why he didn't give a fig about the fact that half of everyone who came up to hug him — or flirt with him, or try to sneak a kiss, or anything, really — were just as male as he was, and even Harry could see that most of them were reasonably attractive as well. What it had done, though, was spike a curiosity and an interest he had thought himself long over.

"Hey, Oliver?"

"Yeah?"

Harry grinned lazily and pointed at Charlie. "How fussy is he?"

Oliver blinked. "How fu—" Harry winked and Oliver promptly burst out laughing. "Merlin, Harry. Charlie!" he called and Harry started slightly at the abrupt change in volume. Charlie looked up, a slight frown on his face. "Beer!" The freckled face split up in a wide grin and Harry's stomach did a strange flip.

"It's the…relief," he told Oliver, who rolled his eyes at him. "No, really. I've never been—"

"What colour are my eyes?" Oliver asked, his head turned away as he waved to someone at the far end of the garden.

"Brown," Harry promptly answered. "Chocolate."

"And Alicia's? Charlie's?"

Harry blinked. "Alicia's? Eh…I…I don't know. Charlie's are sort of green, I think. You know, like pistachio, I think. Aren't they?"

Oliver shrugged, and when Charlie arrived, three bottles of beer in his hands, Oliver simply reached over and grabbed the man by his chin and stared down into his eyes. Charlie raised an eyebrow. "You broke it off, mate," he said, "in favour of that wannabe Chaser."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Just checking something."

"Hey—!" Harry protested, but Oliver waved him off.

"I'm proving a point! And it just so happens that, yeah, Charlie has greenish eyes."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"I dunno. But you were right, though." Oliver grabbed two of the bottles in Charlie's hands and pressed one of them into Harry's hand. "Here." Then he was gone, much like Harry had vanished from Ron's side earlier.

Harry looked at Charlie. Charlie gazed back and Harry looked away. He took a long drink from the brown bottle in his hand. "Harry?"

"Hmmm?" Harry blinked, turning his head back to meet Charlie's eye.

"How did you know I've got green eyes?"

Harry shrugged and took another, longer, pull from his bottle. "I just notice stuff like that," he mumbled.

"Ah."

Charlie cleared his throat.

"Are you gay?" Harry blurted. "It's just, Oliver said—"

Eyes twinkling, Charlie shook his head. He reached out and strong fingers curled around Harry's wrist. "Come here," he muttered and tugged Harry after him as he made for the door and the inside of the Burrow. "Oliver's a prat, you know? He says all kinds of things."

Harry pretended not to notice how his stomach began fluttering when Charlie grabbed onto him like that, and he tried to quell the more…the other signs his interest began showing. "But—"

"I don't know what he told you," Charlie continued as he shut the door behind him, "but he likely got it all wrong – Hey, Ron." Charlie nodded at his brother, who looked sort of stricken and shaken, Harry thought, what with his mouth agape and his eyes wide like that. Harry waved and stumbled over a rug. Harry couldn't imagine why he looked like that, though. "He's a lovable wanker, you know?"

"Oliver? Yeah. Lovable but mental, I say." Harry took care not to stumble again as they ascended the stairs. Charlie had one fine arse, though, and that made the not stumbling part even harder as it proved to be quite the distraction.

Charlie laughed. "You endured him as a captain, too, right?"

"Mental!"

"Won the Cup though, didn't you?"

Harry nodded. He frowned slightly as he took note of their surroundings. They were on the top floor and Charlie was leading him inside a small room. "Charlie—" The door closed behind them. Harry swallowed.

Charlie crossed his arms and levelled Harry with a frank, amused and…burning gaze. "Did I get that right?" Harry blinked and somehow managed to produce a questioning sound in the back of his throat. Charlie stepped closer. "Do you want to get fucked?"

Green eyes widened comically and Harry gaped. "I…I was just curious!" he defended himself. "I didn't mean—" and then Harry shut up, because Charlie was sort of, kind of, kissing him. And that slight, annoying flutter had exploded and Harry's insides were warm and burning and, yeah, he might possibly actually want to get…fucked. By Charlie. Harry squirmed and pushed the older man off him. "You!" he protested, eyes narrowed and lips swollen.

"Oh, shut up." Charlie rolled his eyes. He grabbed Harry again — by his shoulders this time — and steered him around. Backed him up against the bed. Leaned in and Harry pressed his hand over Charlie's mouth.

"Now, see here, I'm straight—"

Charlie nodded. "'Course you are."

"Okay," Harry agreed, "just so we're clear on that." Then he ran his hands through Charlie's thick hair and pulled him back in for a longer, hotter kiss that ended with them sprawled on the bed and shifted the focus completely from mere curiosity to something raw and sexual, and Harry found that even if a small part of him had wanted to back out initially, that tiny, small part was swiftly crushed and destroyed, converted and transformed into that new, raw, sexual need.

/ END