Taste

"You really shouldn't be drinking that, Charlie Weasley," Hermione chastised, as she stood in front of Charlie, tapping her foot. Charlie was sitting in his study, reading a book of some sort, while casually sipping from a bottle of firewhisky.

He looked up at Hermione, marking a page in his book and grinned lazily. The sort of grin which made Hermione doubt her position.

"Oh really?" he queried, smirking insufferably. Insufferably sexily. Hermione nodded seriously.

"Really," she was deadpan, but Charlie appeared not to be taking her seriously. He was grinning up at her, relaxed lazily in his chair. Before her eyes he took a gulp of Firewhisky.

Hermione gasped. That was one step too far.

"Are you trying to annoy me?" she asked with forced calmness, watching his drink. Drink sexily. Is it possible for someone to drink sexily? Wait no! Bad Hermione!

"Yes, actually, is it working?" he offered her the drink, a red eyebrow raised in silent challenge.

"Thirsty?"

Hermione turned her nose up and tutted, "It's not good for you and it tastes horrible."

"Horrible?" he gasped patronizingly, "but I beg to differ!"

"Oh you do? Do you know what happened the last time someone differed with me?" Hermione was sure it was a threat, but Charlie seemed unconcerned.

"Yeah, Fred and George still haven't recovered. But this is me, you like me," he was all too cocky for his on good, Hermione thought.

"I like you?" she asked, tapping her foot, watching him swivel slightly in his chair.

"Yes," he paused his spinning and stared at her with a calculating look, "You do."

Hermione blushed ever so slightly; this was going in a slightly different direction. A slightly wrong one.

"Explain, please how I 'Like you,'" Hermione asked, unfolding her arms, trying not to look him in the eye.

Charlie grinned knowingly, "You fancy me."

"Oh I do, do I?" Hermione asked walking towards him, smiling in what she hoped was a sexy, non-constipated sort of way. "And what would give you that idea, Mr Weasley?"

Charlie smiled up at her as she drew in front of her, hands on her hips. "Well," he whispered as they leaned closer. "You are my wife."

The space was closed, the tension gone and their lips were together, moving working, and,

Quite abruptly Hermione pulled away.

"You're wrong," she said simply. Charlie frowned.

"Firewhisky really is horrible."

A/N: For a challenge entitled "Firewhisky" at Inell's LJ comm booksfreckles. A 15 minute pocrastination from Dinner Party.