Pairing(s): Charlie Weasley/Morag MacDougal
Prompt or Summary: for slytherinesq who asked to see:
Charlie finally meets his match. Morag is dark, with anger control issues from uncaring parents. A Scottish-sensual-vixen... tamed by THE dragon tamer. Points for bdsm, burns, D/s and s&m. But also romantic as well.
A/N: This was definitely a challenge for me since the Charlie-in-my-head tends to be a vanilla, just-get-in-there-and-do-it kind of boy. However, I think I pulled it off and managed to fulfill all of the requests -- although the burns refused to be anything but unsexy and dragon-inflicted. Thanks to katesque for several very good ideas and help when I was stuck, to Jedi Master sneaky8 who beta’d, taught me to “embrace the cheese” and pushed me to make this a better story and to kabal42 who served as both beta and as trusty technical advisor.
Title courtesy Mick & Keefer, who probably wrote the book on putting uppity girlies in their place. Assorted Scottish curses courtesy of this place.
And points to anyone who gets the Healer Ishay joke.
Warnings: Dubious consent, bondage, dominance & submission, and spanking. If symptoms persist for more than four hours, please consult a Healer.
Word count: 3600 (give or take a few)
Charlie Weasley had always thought of himself as a reasonable man. He was fair, considerate and worked well with others. He rarely lost his temper with anyone, let alone his staff at the Garboave Dragon Reserve in Romania – and when he did, he knew it was justified. That was, he thought that was the case until Morag MacDougal had come to work for him.
The little Scottish witch was just impossible to deal with, a force of nature who seemed to generate discord without even trying. She was unpleasant, unreasonable and arrogant, managing to row with nearly all the staff from the first moment she’d arrived. But, unfortunately for Charlie, she was also a noted authority on the Hebridean Black dragon ---rumour had it that she was closely related to the McFusty clan, guardians of the Hebridean Black--, and the Reserve was in definite need of someone with those skills.
So, he was stuck with her. Despite the problems, despite the arguments, despite the pleas of his other staff to sack the Ravenclaw bitch and throw her out on her pert little arse.
Ah, that arse…well, it was one of her few saving graces, along with the rest of her delectable body. She was a very pretty bird even though she was aas prickly and unapproachable as Scottish heather. Charlie had tried on several occasions to get past her cold, fractious exterior to no avail-- something which vexed him greatly considering his normal ability to charm even dragons into submission. Just when he thought he’d caught a glimpse of something softer underneath, she’d go back to her old ways, leaving him baffled. Of course, he wasn’t certain he’d like her any better even if she hadn’t.
He’d often observed her at work, admiring her curvaceous form, pondering whether it would be worth the tongue-lashing he’d receive just to get his hands on her. Unfortunately, the general consensus amongst the men who worked at Garboave (not to mention several of the women) was that the only enjoyable way to have MacDougal would be if she were gagged and bound. Somehow, that image didn’t really turn off Charlie’s interest in her that way. In fact, it sounded rather fun.
Still, she did her job and did it well, so he had no real grounds to dismiss her.
At least he hadn’t until all hell broke loose on the Reserve one cool September afternoon. One minute, everything was peaceful and running as it should and, the next minute, there was noise and fire and screams coming from the Ukrainian Ironbelly pens. Charlie ran to the window and saw the flames and smoke, people running everywhere. He tore out of his office to try to assess the situation, and was nearly knocked over by one of his lower level keepers.
“Alexandru, what the bloody fuck is going on here?” Charlie roared, fighting to keep his balance. He put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder to steady him.
“Ironbellies. Gone mad,” the younger Dragon Keeper panted. He was covered with still-bleeding cuts and scratches, his clothes singed and smoky. “Some…debil mintal let one of the sick ones in with the healthy ones. They…” he coughed, still gasping for breath, “didn’t like it. Completely panicked. Tried to tear him apart. Clarice and Roxana were in there, tried to get him out…”
Charlie scowled, his face growing as red as his hair. “Get yourself to the Healer’s, mate. We’ll get this sorted.”
Alexandru nodded, heading off in the direction of the Healer’s shack.
In the end, the two Dragon Keepers Alexandru had mentioned were badly injured. Clarice, one of the new recruits from London, had been burned from head to toe, and poor Roxana had had her arm bitten off. The situation looked bad, but Healer Ishay expected both would make a full, albeit scarred, recovery. A number of others had sustained minor burns and cuts in the fray, but several of their precious draconian charges were in worse shape. Thankfully, they were also expected to recover.
Charlie looked at the cluster of underlings, all in various states of disarray, pushing his hair off his sweat-slicked forehead. The air was still filled with acrid smoke, dragonfire and the coppery tang of blood mixed with the distinct ozone scent of Stunning spells. “Who…” he ground out, barely able to control his temper. “who the fuck is responsible for this?”
There was no response, the assorted keepers, Healers and handlers all looking at one another as if they hoped to root out the culprit.
“I. Want. To. Know. Who. Is. Responsible,” he repeated, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t think I won’t resort to Veritaserum and Truth Spells if I have to.”
Another awkward pause followed his words and then, finally, there was a polite cough from somewhere in the crowd.
Female voice, Scottish burr.
He should have known. No one else could have created this amount of chaos in such a short period of time except for her. His eyes found her, standing on the edge of the group, as bold as brass. “Right. My office. Now.”
She opened her mouth as if to say something, but he never gave her the chance.
“Don’t even think about arguing. Everyone else, go get yourselves Healed and cleaned up.” Charlie turned his heel and marched to the small wooden shack that served as both his office and his living quarters, not even bothering to look behind him to see if she was following.
As he hit his office, he let out a groan of frustration. What the hell had the insubordinate little bitch done this time? He paced behind his desk as he waited until she came into the small, cramped room, his hands gripping the edge of his desk to keep himself from wrapping them around Morag’s throat and throttling her.
She looked over at him, her expression unreadable although her dark eyes met his own in challenge. Tossing back her mane of hair, she stood there, implacable, one slim hip cocked, a balled fist resting upon it. Whatever had gone out there had not seemed to have fazed her in the least
“What in seven hells were you playing at?” Charlie growled, her seemingly indifferent stance making him even angrier. “Do you even know what happened?”
Morag blinked, her lips pursed in thought. Finally, she spoke. “I was working on a cure for Dragon Flu.”
“You were working a cure for Dragon Flu,” Charlie echoed in disbelief. “So, that’s why you put a ill dragon amongst healthy ones, panicked the entire pack and then nearly killed two of my best Keepers in the process—all without my knowledge?”
“Well, not a cure so much as a preventative,” Morag replied, tersely. “It’s like a Muggle vaccine, if you know what that is. I’ve developed a potion which was added to their feed and ought to protect them from the virus. I had to place a sick one in with them in order to prove the remedy would work. I’ve been working on this for weeks.”
He stared at her, stunned by her utter cheek. “And who authorized you to do this? Any of it? Certainly not me!”
Morag’s expression darkened. “It was a side project along with my other duties! I didn’t take any time out of my regular work—but Dragon Flu’s been decimating the wild dragon populations in a number of areas. It was too important to…”
“So important that you nearly got two people killed, not to mention who knows how many bloody dragons? Merlin’s Balls, woman, I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to have more sense than that. I thought you had more sense than that!” Charlie spat, throwing up his hands in disgust. He leaned forward, catching her gaze in his. “But, obviously, I overestimated your ability to understand what we do here. Let me explain it plainly -- we work with dragons here, girl. Big dragons. Too big to let a little Scottish witch with a broomstick up her arse make any sort of decisions on her own. Or tell me what’s fucking important and what isn’t."
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that,” Morag demanded, her cheeks burning with anger.
Charlie could see her fist tightening. He felt a perverse sense of accomplishment at making her react at all, glad to crack her cool exterior. “Don’t tell me how to treat you, MacDougal. You lost all rights to that as soon as you pulled this bloody stupid stunt without permission.”
“It wasn’t a stupid stunt!” she countered with a sneer. “It was valid research! And I refuse to be spoken to as if I was some sort of petulant child!”
“Then stop behaving like one!” he roared. “It’s about time you learned who’s in charge around here.”
“You just try and make me!”
Charlie saw her reach for her wand, hi Quidditch-honed instincts causing him to automatically react in self-defence. He whipped out his own and with a quick “Expelliarmus,” he’d disarmed her, clutching her wand tightly in his hand.
“Och, give it back! Now!” The next thing he knew, Morag had launched herself at him, hissing like an angry cat, scratching and slapping at him in desperation, attempting to gain repossession of her wand.
Her fierce response took him aback. He’d be raised never to hurt a girl for any reason, but clearly, this was a matter of self-preservation. Merlin, she was worse than an anxious she-dragon!
He grabbed her wrists in one hand, staving her off with the other. It took him a few moments for him to regain his composure, drawing in several deep breaths as he continued to hold her off. “You aregille-tòin</i>!”
He had no idea what that meant, but somehow, he doubted it was a compliment. It earned the squirming Morag several more swats. “You need to learn to hold your tongue too, pet.”
“Thalla gu taigh na Galla!”
Charlie sighed and shook his head. “You’re clearly not taking me seriously, MacDougal. Looks like I’m going to have to take stronger measures.” He pulled his wand out again, flicked it lazily and intoned, “Incarcerous.” Silver ropes shot from the end, neatly binding her hands together. He secured them to the handle of a desk drawer in short order, relishing the sight of her squirming form stretched out before him.
There was a mewl of protest as she fought to push him off, kicking at him as his hands worked the clasp of her trousers, unzipping them and pulling them down over her hips. His fingers skimmed along her inner thighs, and then against the crotch of her knickers, which to his surprise – and delight – was damp, very damp. So, she wasn’t as impassive as she liked to pretend after all.
Coming up behind her, he put his arms around her waist, rubbing himself against the cleft of her buttocks, burying his face in her thick hair. “You’re really a stubborn little witch, aren’t you?” he whispered in her ear. He felt her grind back against him although she remained tensed in his arms.
Taking that as an invitation to go further, Charlie moved back again, shoving her trousers down her legs to pool around her ankles. He brushed his hands back over her arse before yanking her knickers down as well. Her arse was just as he imagined; soft, pale and firm. He spread her legs apart, admiring the hint of glistening pink flesh between them. “Mmmmm,” he said appreciatively, letting his fingers dip between her cheeks, sliding down to graze the slick folds of her pussy, and smirking as she let out a gasp and twitched at his touch. “Lovely.”
“Bastard! Cocksucker! Druisire! Ow!”
This time, he didn’t hold back, his broad palm coming into swift contact with her bottom with a satisfying “crack”. A bright red handprint was left in its wake. Morag whimpered “You’re not going anywhere until you prove you can behave properly, petal.”
Her only response was to turn her head and spit at him.
Calmly, Charlie wiped the spittle from his cheek, putting a restraining hand on the small of her back. Without another word, he began to spank her in earnest, each blow to her well-rounded bottom causing him to get harder and harder. He was relentless, continuing to punish her until he felt her stop struggling and heard her sobbing softly against his desk.
“Had enough?” he asked.
Morag shook her dark head, turning to look at him. Her face was tear-streaked, her lower lip swollen from where she’d clearly bitten it rather than cry out. “I-I’m sorry.”
He leaned over her prone body, pushing her hair away to kiss her, his mouth finding hers. It was even sweeter than he’d expected. He was pleased that she didn’t pull away, letting him deepen the kiss, his tongue flitting against her inviting lower lip. “Are you?” Charlie slipped his fingers between her legs, touching, probing gently. There was a hiss of pleasure as he did. “Do you have any idea what you did today? Someone could have been killed.”
“I only wanted to Heal the dragons,” she said quietly, all the bite gone out of her voice now. “I never meant for—“
“But, you admit it was a foolish thing for you to have done?”
“Yes,” she replied, miserably. “I never expected anyone to get hurt.” Her breath hitched as Charlie slid one finger inside her; she ground against his hand. “Truly I didn’t.”
“You’re supposed to be an expert in draconian behaviour. You never knew that healthy dragons panic if a sick one is in their midst?”
“Of course I did! What kind of fool do you take me for? I put something in the curative to keep them calm but it obviously wasn’t strong enough. Do ye think I wanted that to happen?”
“So, what am I do with you, Morag MacDougal?” He thrust his finger inside her, moving it in and out slowly before adding a second one. “Do I give you the sack and send you back to Scotland? Or do I keep you on here in spite of it all? It seems you might have some uses.”
Morag moaned, arching her back, pressing her arse up like a cat in heat. “Don’t send me away,” she breathed.
“No? And why not?” He scissored his fingers inside her, twisting and pushing them in deeply, watching her hips buck against his desk in response.
“B-because you want me.”
“You have since I first got here. I-I’ve seen the way you look at me, Charlie Weasley. I’m not blind.” She moaned again, it turned into a frustrated cry as he promptly removed his fingers. “What…?”
Charlie loomed over her. “The first rule around here is that I’m in charge of things. You don’t presume to tell me anything, including how I feel about things. The correct answer is ‘because I want you’. Presuming you do, of course.”
“I d-do!” There was a hint of humiliation in her voice, her cheeks now enflamed with embarrassment rather than anger.
“Then you need to tell me.”
“B-because I w-want you,” she stammered.
He chuckled, his fingers now drawing idle patterns against her inner thighs, smearing her juices along her soft skin. “That’s a good girl. Now tell me, how you want me?”
Charlie continued to tease her, letting his thumb brush across her clit. “Tell me what I should do to you. And if you do it nicely, and politely, you just might get what you want. If not, I’ll just leave you here and use you at my leisure, like it or not.”
He wasn’t sure if he could honestly follow through on that thread but it sounded convincing enough to make her whimper and pull at her bonds, as if testing their strength.
Without her wand, she wasn’t going anywhere, and they both knew it. She swallowed hard, and then in a harsh whisper said, “I want you to lick me and kiss me all o-over, th-then take me until I scream with p-pleasure.”
There was another loud crack as he spanked her again. “You forgot to say please.”
“Please, sir.” Charlie bit back a smirk. If he was going to train her to be more polite, then he might as well go all the way.
“Good girl.” He flipped her over on her back, settling her against the desk, her arms taut above her head. He used his wand to Vanish the rest of her clothes, not wanting to waste any more time undressing her, his need as great as her own.
Setting to work to do everything she’d asked for, he began to cover her fine white skin with heated kisses, using his mouth, teeth and tongue on every inch of her he could reach. He started with her mouth, those full red lips begging for attention, then moved to her chin, her neck and her shoulders. His lips roamed to her lush breasts, lavishing attention on each of them in turn, teasing and tugging at the hard points of her nipples and the soft mounds beneath them, nipping and soothing with his tongue. He then drew a line down to her belly through the coarse thatch of black curls to the damp heat between her thighs. He sucked on her clit until she was moaning with need again, then moved back up, drawn to her sultry mouth.
He kissed her hungrily, fumbling with his jeans, freeing his cock which throbbed with a desperate ache and settled between her sticky thighs. With a swift move, he’d guided himself inside of her, burying himself up to the hilt. Charlie groaned against her lips as she clenched around him and marveled at how tight and warm she was.
Morag wrapped her legs around his hips, her breath warm against his ear as she whimpered and cried with each hard, deliberate thrust. His self-control was short-lived; it felt too good to move and soon he was taking her with an urgency he’d never experienced before. It wasn’t long before they both were crying out, shuddering against one another as release overtook them. Charlie spilled inside her as she keened his name, peppering his face with kisses, begging him not to stop until, finally, they both collapsed, damp and sated.
She lay against the hard wood of the desk, limp, while Charlie kissed her lazily, brushing her thick mane of hair off her face.
“Think I should let you up?” he asked, smiling, tracing the curve of her jaw with rough fingertips.
“Please, sir?” Morag looked up at him, her voice plaintive.
He nodded, pleased with her change in attitude, undoing her bonds and helping her to sit up before he pulled her into a tight embrace. To his delight, she wound her arms around him, burying her fingers in his close cropped hair. He’d half-expected her to take another swing at him, despite what had just taken place.
“Still thinking of sending me packing?” she asked, rubbing her cheek against his.
He pretended to ponder the idea for a moment before responding. “Hmmm. Depends. Do you think you’ve learned your lesson yet?”
Morag blinked at him, and then shook her head slyly. “Hmmm. Probably not. I’ve never been very good at controlling my temper.”
“Well, then, I’d never be able to live with myself if I unleashed you upon an unsuspecting public, would I?” Charlie chuckled, then kissed her again. “I think I’ll have to keep you here. For the good of the country, of course. Until I teach you how to comport yourself.”
She nodded in assent. “It could take years.”
“I’m up for the challenge, as long as you are.”
“You don’t know who you’re dealing with, Charlie Weasley,” Morag replied stubbornly. “I live for challenges.”
“Funny enough, so do I. I’m more than up for this one,” Charlie said, raising his eyebrows, his mouth quirking up into a grin.
That elicited a genuine laugh. It was good to hear. “I expect you’ll do your worst.”
“Oh, I intend to, petal. Believe me.” Charlie growled at her playfully, poking her in the ribs. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with either.”
Morag laughed, kissed him soundly and then replied, “And I can’t wait to find out.”