I need your help, Percy had said, and Charlie was a good brother, wasn’t he? Percy wanted to do things the right and proper way, bless him, the way witches and wizards had done things for hundreds of years. Lucy was engaged now, and that meant she needed chaperones. No (more) shagging until the wedding night.
“Aw, Perce,” Charlie had complained into the Floo. “I know you want everything right for your baby, she’s engaged now so we’ve got to do the thing properly yada yada yada - ”
“We do,” Percy insisted. “His family’s pureblood, they’re very invested in this sort of thing, and I - I want to get this right. You wouldn’t have to do anything, just bring a couple of Quidditch magazines and hang about while they’re together, make sure she’s not getting up to any hanky-panky before they’re married.”
Hanky-panky. Only Percy. Charlie grinned. “All right, all right, I’ll do it. Uncle Charlie to the rescue. When d’you want me over there?”
So now he was sitting with Witch Weekly - he’d forgotten to get anything himself -- not paying attention while Lucy chatted away with her fiance about wedding things. Charlie had instantly forgotten the fiance’s name, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about that. The milquetoast little bastard couldn’t have been less interesting; he was barely responding to Lucy, who was giggling and charming and full of verve. Charlie sat there in a reverie, thinking about the dragon nest he’d take over when he headed back to the reserve, and the cleaning he needed to get done that weekend, and if he should owl Sebastian Young from school about getting a beer.
Charlie’s thoughts were tugged again and again from this mundane stream by Lucy. By the way she tossed her red curls about when she laughed, by the curve of her thigh under her short ruffled skirt, by the shadow between her breasts exposed by her thin, low-cut top. He didn’t speak, simply sat silent at the table while the two of them chatted, and let his gaze slip over her freckled skin, the line of her throat, the swell of her breasts, the slight roundness of her tummy. She’d changed since he saw her last -- it had been at least three years. And Charlie rarely saw her for very long - Lucy was always just a glimpse of long legs and red hair amidst a family Christmas. Even when the last time --
“Goodbye, Mr Weasley,” the fiance said. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.” Charlie blinked then shook the proffered hand.
“Oh Tim,” Lucy scolded playfully. “Call him Charlie!”
They went to the front door together. Charlie sat still, listening to the laughing burble of Lucy’s voice becoming a low murmur. Then she came back into the little living room and flopped onto one of the floral sofas with a happy sigh. “Isn’t he wonderful?”
“Sure,” said Charlie gruffly. Lucy’s eyes dimmed a little at his tone. He supposed she’d wanted more excitement from him. He’d no idea what she expected, given… everything.
But given everything --
“Wonderful, is he?” Charlie said. “Why d’you think that then, my girl? You were out of my view for a good couple of minutes, saying goodbye to him.” Charlie let the words saying goodbye drip with all the sleaze he could give them.
Lucy’s pretty face clouded over. “Uncle Charlie, it was only a minute. You could’ve stopped us -- ”
Charlie stood up. “Did you kiss him? Did he kiss you?” He let his voice go grim.
“Just a goodbye peck, it wasn’t anything -- ”
Charlie moved to stand in front of her. He might not have been the tallest of men, but in this position he towered over her. Lucy stared up at him from the sofa. He could see down her top a little from here.
Merlin, he really was a dirty old man. It was why Lucy had always been his favourite niece.
“It wasn’t anything?” Charlie repeated. “I’ll be the judge of that, Lucy-girl. I’m the chaperone. I’ll have to check.”
Her confused blue eyes widened in understanding as Charlie brushed her hair back over her shoulders. Charlie made a show of examining her neck for marks, stroking her red locks out of the way. Lucy’s mouth worked a little, but she said nothing.
He put one broad hand round the base of her neck briefly. Not tightly, just enough to hold her still while he nudged the straps of her bra and top aside and examined the pale skin for evidence of kisses. Lucy swallowed against the weight of his hand.
Charlie moved it then, leaving the base of her neck in favour of putting the fingers of his hand against the underside of her chin, tipping her face towards his. Charlie didn’t meet her eyes. Instead he looked over her jaw and the pale skin of her throat. Lucy said nothing, held still and suspended in silence by Charlie’s hands and eyes.
He used his other hand to pull her top down, just by an inch or so.
Lucy made a protesting sound, like she was about to speak. Charlie let go of her chin and dropped into a crouch in front of her. She looked down at him with wide blue eyes. Her hands, limp on the sofa cushions on either side of her, were clenching then releasing. She had no idea how to respond.
That was good. That was so, so good. All he needed to do was to sweep her along on the tide of him being an authority figure, friendly Uncle Charlie trying to do his job properly, and anything inappropriate here all on her side.
His cock was pressing against the zip of his jeans.
“Did he touch you here? Kiss you here?” Charlie asked sternly. “Maybe you two were careful. You must both know your skin’s easy to mark.”
“We didn’t -- we wouldn’t -- ”
“Lucy, I can’t just take your word for it, sweetheart. Your dad would have my head.”
Charlie began unbuttoning her top. The buttons were tiny and fiddly, not really meant to be used. But it was glorious to slowly uncover her, to expose her bra and then some of her stomach. Her stomach tightened a little as his hands moved down it. Charlie kept his eyes on his work, his expression as neutral as he could make it.
Her bra was white and plain, with a little lace. Like a young girl’s; like a bride’s.
“Okay, there we go,” Charlie said.
He smoothed his fingertips over the curve of her breasts above the bra. Goosebumps sprung up along her skin as he stroked her. Charlie’s touch was a caress even as he kept his gaze cool, methodical. Lucy’s breasts hitched up under his hands as she sucked in a breath.
No lovebites, no fading marks. Charlie cupped her breasts through the bra, lifting them a little, ostentatiously examining her torso. Lucy gasped like she was drowning, but Charlie didn’t react, didn’t look at her face. He permitted himself a quick squeeze of her firm young breasts, then let go.
Charlie shifted from a crouch to kneeling in front of her. He might as well get comfortable.
The only sound was their increasingly harsh breathing.
“Okay, darling. I’m gonna have to take a look under the bra.” Charlie kept his tone soothing; it was the same one he used with his dragons. But he didn’t wait an instant before he pulled the bra down. Lucy had no chance to protest before her breasts were hanging out, bared in the cool quiet sitting room with its flowery sofas and little shepherdesses. Her nipples were hard.
Charlie glanced up at her face then, unable to help himself. Lucy was blushing furiously, her face tipped up so she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes.
She was quivering a little though, like a spooked horse. The flush had spread from her face down to her chest, almost reaching the swollen nipples. Lucy was young, though, and so was her silly fiance; maybe she didn’t realise how obvious her response was to him.
Charlie brushed one thumb over a nipple, his rough skin catching a little on hers, and then he pulled back.
“All right, good girl. Very good girl. We’re nearly done. Now I just need you to spread your thighs.”
“Uncle Charlie,” Lucy said, the words suddenly rushing out of her, “I can’t -- not here -- ”
“He’s not back for another hour. No one is. And I need to check over your thighs. Stubbleburn, bitemarks, any evidence that he touched you. It’s what I promised your dad I would do.”
“He didn’t -- ”
“I can’t take your word for that, darling, however good you’re being for me. Now, hold this.”
Charlie held up the hem of her skirt. It stayed there while he waited, unblinking, looking into her face. His cock ached.
Finally, her fingers still clenching and curling against her palms, Lucy took hold of the hem of her skirt, holding it up for him to see everything underneath. Her knees were still together like a good girl’s should be, but Charlie parted them and they went easily. He could see her pale inner thighs, the white cotton between them. The shadow of red curls.
He glanced up. Her nipples were harder than before, mouthwatering little peaks. He wanted to take them in his mouth, to suck and bite until she was crying out and writhing, but that would be way over the weird, tenuous line he’d constructed for himself.
Charlie stroked his hands up Lucy’s fleshy inner thighs, leaning in to take a closer look. She gasped as his head went between her knees. This close, he swore he could smell her musk. He was still stroking her inner thighs, gently keeping her open and exposed.
He pinched her, and she gave a gratifying squeal. “Yeah, you’re easy to mark, aren’t you?” Charlie murmured. “He hasn’t been here. Good girl.”
“I haven’t - not anyone -- ”
“Good,” he crooned again, though he didn’t believe that for a moment. He swept his thumbs over her flesh over and over, like stroking a horse. “Last thing, then we’re done. I need to check he didn’t get you wet.”
“What?” Her voice was sharp now, not soft and breathless. He’d have to tread carefully.
“Come on, Lucy, don’t play innocent. It’s a big part of being a chaperone, keeping track of if he got you slick. If he knew you were wet for him. If you want we can ask your dad about this whole process -- ”
“No!” Panic tinged her voice now. Charlie glanced up in time to see her look down, to see how she looked - bare tits out, spread-legged with his head between her thighs - and register horror at the idea of explaining this to her father.
“Well then. This’ll only take a few more minutes, and then we’ll be finished. Okay?”
He took a delicate grip of her knickers, deliberately only touching the hem. He wanted to rip them off her, but masculine posing would only frighten her. And Lucy was his sweet niece, after all. He didn’t want her to be worried.
He slowly drew them down her thighs and let the cotton drop around her ankles. Then he leant in, unable to hide his eagerness, pressing at Lucy’s thighs harder. Her cunt was slick and swollen, he could see it from here. Could smell it from here.
“He didn’t -- it wasn’t -- ”
Charlie knew she meant he wasn’t the one who got me wet but he pretended not to. “He did know, Lucy. Men can smell it on you.” He leant in until his face was mouthwatering inches from her cunt, and took a crudely loud sniff. He lifted his head again to see Lucy’s eyes, wet with shame. “They can taste your want in the air.”
He abandoned the last remnants of proprietry and of giving a fuck what she told anyone, and pressed two fingertips against her cunt. Her mouth opened on a silent gasp as he stroked her gently. Just his two fingertips against her hot flesh had them both sweating.
He slipped them inside her, and felt her clench around him, a heartpoundingly tight clench of shock and arousal. Charlie found her swollen clit with his thumb, and she clenched again.
God, she was gorgeous. How he wanted to put her through her paces.
But her pureblood fiance and his family who wanted the thing done properly -- they’d have spells on the girl like as not. Charlie pumped his fingers inside Lucy meditatively as he considered the problem, getting deeper inside her with every push. She was staring down at him with shocked eyes, her hands still clenched round the hem of her skirt like disobeying him by letting it go would bring the world crashing down. Sweat dampened her temples and her chest.
Charlie’s cock throbbed painfully. Her thighs clenched rhythmically as he fingered her. He’d never come back to this little room with its china and insipid scent of flowers without remembering kneeling on its magnolia carpet with his fingers inside Lucy.
“Un -- Uncle Charlie,” she stuttered. “I swear he didn’t know.”
“Really?” Charlie raised an expressive eyebrow at her, let his eyes trail over her breasts. They shifted with every movement, every shuddering breath. He kept one hand at her clit, keeping her warmed up -- it was like with dragons, you couldn’t let up or you were sunk. He slid his fingers from inside her, and put his slick index finger against her mouth.
Lucy didn’t move, staring at him. He refused to back down, meeting her eyes.
He rubbed her clit a little harder and a little moan pushed past her closed lips.
Lucy gave in, then. She opened her pink little mouth like a good girl, parting her lips enough so he could push his finger inside. He watched her taste her own desire.
“You really think he didn’t know?” Charlie asked her. He pulled away from her newly slick lips, pumped two fingers back into her. “It’s why he’s marrying you, Lucy-girl.” His other hand went to her breast: squeezing it, pinching her nipple, watching the shame and lust cloud her gaze. “He knows what you’re like.” She cried out, loud and hopeless and wanting, as Charlie worked her clit and felt her slickness. “Just like I do.”
“Don’t -- I can’t -- if anyone -- ”
Charlie made a tsking noise at her. “I’m not going to mess this up for you, darling. I’d never.” He wasn’t going to come in her, or even in the same room as her. Not when the boy’s family might be tracking such things.
Not today, at least.
He pushed at her thighs, bringing them up. She collapsed backwards against the back of the sofa with a little cry, losing her grip on her skirt. It didn’t matter. Charlie flipped it back up and dived in.
Her taste as he licked her, her heat, her cry. It was amazing. Lucy squirmed, her cry half-protest, but Charlie simply held her thighs open and went to work. He licked his way up her pussy, sending a squeal tumbling past her lips; she was hot and swollen and begging for it. She wriggled about on the sofa, her thigh muscles spasming as she scooted backwards. Charlie simply followed, relentless, and held her open.
He was ruthless, fucking her with his fingers and melting her with his mouth, winding her up and up, sucking her clit until her cries were on the edge of pain. She wasn’t squirming away any more, but pushing forward against his face, helplessly rutting like a bitch in heat. She was scorching hot inside, her cunt clenching rhythmically round him as Charlie ate her out. She’d never known anything like this, Charlie was sure. A girl like this, her blood running hot, needed to be introduced to what a right and proper man could do for her.
Her orgasm was gorgeous: her body half-racked by sobs as she rode his fingers, every muscle straining until she went limp. Charlie kept fucking her with his fingers, rubbing her clit with one broad thumb. He watched her twitch and shudder with a smirk, until she managed to bat him away.
Charlie went with good grace and levered himself back to his feet. Lucy stayed slumped on the sofa, her slick red cunt exposed, her scarlet hair tossed about, her face and bare chest scarlet and damp with exertion. This was a sight to savour.
She wasn’t looking at him, though. Charlie sucked her wetness off his fingers with a deliberately crude slick noise and watched her cringe, her legs closing a little in embarrassment.
Charlie imagined her fiance finding her like this and smirked.
“Well, that’s my bit done,” he told her. “You’d better clean yourself up, your Uncle Bill’s gonna be here in a bit to chaperone you for the evening. See you at the wedding.”
He pinched one nipple in avuncular fashion, as another man might pinch her cheek, and Apparated out.
He appeared in his room and pulled down his jeans and boxers in one moment. Charlie collapsed onto his bed, already pulling furiously at his cock. The sheer relief of touch had him groaning aloud, everything else falling away. He jerked at his cock, his mind full of images real and imagined: Lucy’s lush tits bouncing as she rode him, her wails as he forced her into orgasm, her shamed flush as he’d unbuttoned her top. He imagined groping her breasts as they spilled out of a wedding dress, making her walk the aisle wet from him, remembered her cunt clutching at his fingers like she couldn’t get enough. The smell of her, the taste of her -- she’d been so responsive, must have been yearning for someone to put her through her paces properly. She was going to scream the first time he pulled her red hair and fucked her open --
He hadn’t come so fast in -- he couldn’t remember how long. Charlie lay in a post-orgasm haze, grinning at the ceiling. He’d got the girl trained now; a meaningful smile at the next event, and she’d be blushing and uncomfortable and wet.
He’d have to go and see her after the wedding. She owed him one now, after all.