One-Shot: Don't Bogart the Bottle

[hellusbellus]

Hurrah for finished work!

Title: Don't Bogart the Bottle
Author: Hellus Bellus
Pairing: Oliver/Percy
Rating: R (Maybe PG-13. Swearing, mostly. No sex, but plenty of talk about it.)
Word Count: ~4900, one-shot
Warnings: Unbeta'd, a bit crack-y, dubious Brit-speak, slight AU (basically, screw Penny), it tastes like fluff sometimes
Disclaimer: I have absolutely nothing to do with Harry Potter or JK Rowling and plan to make absolutely no money from this story.
Summary:
It's Christmas, and to celebrate the season, Oliver is getting drunk with a friend. Percy catches them. Much to everyone's shock, he joins in.



((Posted to weasleys_wood .))

+*+*+*+

“Don't hog it, you bastard,” said Allan, grabbing the bottle out of Oliver's hands. The vodka splashed, stinging Oliver's wind-chapped lips.

“Don't grab, Allan.” Oliver pushed his friend's shoulder, making both Allan and the bottle slosh. “Honestly, who raised you?”

“Me mum.” Allan took a swig. “And she taught me not to hog the bottle. Also, not to shove people. Prat.”

“Who're you calling a prat?” Oliver shoved him again. Allan sputtered, spilling a little vodka down his front.

“Bloody hell, Oliver.”

Oliver laughed. “You're the one wastin' resources.” He poked at the wet spot on Allan's t-shirt. “C'mon then, my turn.” He gestured. Shaking his head, Allan handed over the bottle.

“We're going to smell, you know,” said Allan. The truth was, they already did. They both smelled like the sharp, poor-grade vodka.

“So? Classes are over. We'll be fine by tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.” Allan groaned. “The hangover's gonna be ungodly. Maybe we shouldn't finish that.” He nodded at the bottle.

“Oh, I'm finishing it, with or without you.”

“Prat.”

Oliver shrugged, and took another drink.

“Oi, that's my swig.”

Oliver passed it back.

“So where did you get this, anyway?”

“Know a bloke in Hogsmeade. Said he'd do it as a Christmas treat.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah.” Allan closed his eyes and leaned back on the headboard. It was the first day of the Christmas holidays and their roommates had all left. It was unnaturally quiet. That's probably why they were huddled on his bed, Oliver thought. After being constantly surrounded by your peers day and night, suddenly having them all gone made one feel a bit hollow.

“You'd think they'd have wards against stuff like this,” said Oliver.

“You'd think so.”

“Maybe it's Hogwarts,” Oliver grinned, “maybe it's giving us a little Christmas treat, too.”

Allan snorted. “Yeah, that's it...Prat.”

Oliver shot him a nasty look and was about to retort (rather wittily, his drunken brain thought), when the door to their dormitory crashed open. Both he and Allan jumped a few inches off the bed.

Percy Weasley walked into the room. Oliver noticed that while he and Allan were dressed casually in jeans and t-shirts, Percy was still wearing his uniform- shiny Prefect badge pinned to the front pocket. Prat, Oliver thought. Then he realized what the badge meant. He wondered if he'd ever get to play Quidditch again.

“Percy,” said Allan, aghast, hand wrapped around the bottle of Vodka, color rapidly draining from his face. “We, ah,” Allan glanced around like he was looking for a place to stash the booze, “we thought you went home this year.”

Percy's eyes settled on the bottle in Allan's hand. His lips thinned.

“Fuck.” said Oliver.

“Excuse me?” said Percy.

“Uh,” said Allan.

But Oliver had drunk quite a bit more vodka than Allan had, and Percy's perfectly creased tie was annoying him. “I said, 'Fuck.' And I said it, 'cause we were havin' a bloody good time so far, and now you're here.”

Percy's ears reddened.

“So, I figure we're about to get lectured, detention'd, and whatever else you can think of, just 'cause we blew off some steam during the bloody holidays. God, Percy. You know? You really- you really...” Oliver trailed off; his brain had caught up with his mouth.

“Is that what you think, then?”

Oliver felt his face heat up, but he forced himself to hold Percy's gaze. He was a Gryffindor, damn it. “Yeah, that's what I think.”

“Well.” Percy frowned. “Well, you're wrong.”

Allan arched an eyebrow.

“I am?” said Oliver.

“Yes. You're wrong.” Percy straightened his posture, and looked down his nose. “Shocking, I know, but sometimes even the great Oliver Wood can be wrong.”

Oliver blinked.

“What?” said Allan, obviously as confused as Oliver.

Percy sniffed. “I'll have you know that I'm not just,” he huffed, “not just a badge. Unlike some people, I understand that I am a role model for others. I carry a very great responsibility, being a Prefect. It's a lot of work. I know that not everyone understands why I care so much about the rules, but it's crucial that-”

At this point, Allan and Oliver exchanged glances, and Oliver rolled his eyes.

“Don't do that!”

Oliver and Allan jumped again.

“Do what?” said Allan.

“That!” said Percy, fists clenched at his side. “Roll your eyes at me! Like I'm not in the fucking room!”

Oliver blinked. He was fairly drunk, but he was also fairly certain that Percy Weasley had just dropped the f-bomb.

“S-sorry?” said Allan.

“Are you?” Percy spat the words. He stomped towards them, and Allan's eyes widened.

Percy thrust out his hand. “Give me that bloody bottle.”

“Um,” said Allan as he held out the vodka. Grimacing, Percy snatched it from Allan's hand.

Oliver waited for the words, 'And come with me,' but actually, Percy didn't seem to be interested in them anymore. In fact, Percy had turned his back on both of them, striding across the room to his own bed, loosening his tie as he went.

Then, to Oliver's horror, Percy took a great big gulp of vodka, and coughed.

“Oi!” Oliver said without thinking.

Percy just rolled his eyes. He toed off his shoes, set the bottle on his nightstand, and began unbuttoning his cuffs.

“Percy?” said Allan.

Percy collapsed onto his bed, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Then he picked up the bottle and took another swig.

“What in the bloody hell are you doing?”

“Getting pissed!” Percy barked.

Allan and Oliver stared at eachother. Allan's mouth had actually dropped open like a cartoon character's, and Oliver's eyes were open so wide, he figured they might roll right out of his head.

“B-but,” said Allan, “that's...ours.”

Percy laughed. Actually laughed. “Not anymore. I confiscated it. We role models get to do things like that.”

And then, stranger still, Oliver began to laugh, too. Once he started, he couldn't stop. He wrapped his arms around himself, shaking. Allan stared.

“Oliver?”

“Y-yes?” Oliver managed, gasping for air.

“What's wrong with you? God, what's wrong with everyone?”

This made Oliver laugh harder. “I,” Oliver wheezed, “I really don't know. It's just, well, it's just-” He gestured towards Percy, who was now sitting up and glaring. “What is he? Like, nine stone?” Oliver's smile was wide. “So, wait five minutes, he'll pass out, and we can finish it.”

“Hey!” said Percy.

Allan grinned. “You may have a point, there.”

“Excuse me?” said Percy, slinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“Well, we're buggered anyway, might as well bring out the rest,” said Allan.

“The rest?” said Percy.

Oliver and Allan never glanced at him, but they exchanged knowing grins, and Allan bounded over to his own bed, pulling a faded denim messenger bag out from under the bed-skirt. Oliver heard it clink as Allan walked back.

“How many bottles did you buy?” Percy squeaked, now on his feet, striding towards the two.

Allan turned towards him, blinking in mock-surprise. “Why, two or three, if you must know.” He reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of amber liquid- the label had been removed.

“I figure you can't very well squeal on us still smelling like a still, so you'll have to wait 'til morning. In the mean time, I plan on getting right drunk.” He turned to Oliver. “You in, mate?”

“So fucking in.” Oliver grinned.

Percy sputtered.

“So, how 'bout it? You in, Perce?” said Allan, turning back to him.

Oliver scoffed. “C'mon, Allan, Percy's not in. He needs to get to bed. Percy's got responsibilities. Patrols. Studying. He's a role model, you know.” He glanced towards the redhead, whose mouth was now hanging open. “Besides, he'd never make it.”

“I would so!”

Allan and Oliver stared up at Percy's face.

“I mean- Well...” Percy's free hand flailed.

“Yes?” Allan asked.

“Okay,” Percy muttered.

“Okay, what?” said Oliver, blinking innocently.

Percy's face was scarlet. “I'm in,” he said.

“Well then!” Allan gestured with the bottle. “Sit down, Prefect. We've drinking to do.”

Percy didn't make eye contact as he slid onto the bed next to Oliver. There wasn't a lot of room, so Oliver ended up smashed against Percy's side, their shoulders and thighs touching. It wouldn't have been so bad, but Percy was still flushed, and his skin was giving off an incredible amount of heat. Oliver gave him a sidelong glance. He'd been mostly joking before, but Percy really was very slender. No doubt a light-weight. He didn't want to be cleaning up Prefect Percy's puke by the end of the night. Is this such a good idea?

+*+*+*+

“And then, and then,” Percy gasped, grinning from ear to ear, “with a straight bloody face he looks up at me, and says, 'Strategizing.'”

Oliver, Allan, and Percy all burst into laughter.

“'Strategizing.' That little prick,” said Oliver.

“Right?” Percy gestured with his hands spread far apart, palms up.

Percy was actually slouching for once, which Oliver thought was somehow pleasant. What was also pleasant was the way Percy's neck, both white and pink, arched out of his collar; and the way his tie was crumpled and loose. Most of all, Oliver liked the smell of him- warm cotton, soap, and sweat. Oliver could catch the scent when he leaned to the right, or if he breathed deeply. All of it was pretty nice, and all of it danced around in his mind the way his thoughts did, sloshing through the alcohol.

“And I used to feel so sorry for you, too- 'Oh, poor Percy! Those late night patrols!'” Allan grinned. “Now I want to come!”

Oliver slung an arm over Percy's shoulders. “Too right!”

“Really? I hate them.” Percy shook his head. “Every night. Every single bloody night- it's like, really? Really? Can't you shag in the broom-shed like everybody else?” He sipped from the bottle he was holding. “Honestly, first-years can get past that lock.”

“Oh? And how would you know?” Oliver hunched; his arm tugged the taller boy down by the neck, bringing their faces close. “Care to share with the class, Mr. Weasley?”

“Oh, get off, you perv,” Percy pushed at Oliver's chest, shrugging off his arm.

“Ooooh!” Allan laughed. “He's definitely done it!” He kicked at Percy's crossed legs. The bed shook. “C'mon, don't hold out. Tell us.”

“Yeah, who was it?” said Oliver, putting his arm back around Percy's shoulders.

Percy was already flushed, cheeks pink from drinking, but he blushed darker at their words. His skin still felt like a brick in the sun, but somehow Oliver didn't mind so much. Oliver felt good where their thighs touched, and where his arm rested on Percy's shoulders.

Percy looked down at his lap. “Shouldn't tell you,” he mumbled.

“Of course you shouldn't,” said Allan, leaning forward, “but you know you want to. C'mon, I won't speak a word. Oliver won't either, right? Right?”

“'Course not!” Oliver winked.

“See? What you say here, stays here. 'Sides,” Allan grinned a crooked grin, “we probably won't remember, anyway.”

“True,” said Oliver.

“Well,” said Percy, and now he was staring at his hands. “Well, ah. There was... Penny.”

“Penny? As in, Clearwater?” said Allan.

“Yeah,” Percy mumbled.

Allan howled. “Oh, Percy, that's brilliant! Brilliant arse, that girl. Brilliant. Blimey. But she's so stuffy- how'd you ever convince her?”

“Well, um,” Percy's gave a shaky grin. “Actually, she sort of convinced me.”

Oliver and Allan roared with laughter. Percy blushed very, very hard.

“I can see it now,” said Oliver, and he leaned close to Percy's ear, gesturing grandly with his free hand. “Yes, one late night after patrols, you walk into the Prefect's lounge. She takes your arm. 'Percy?'” His falsetto was shrieky and sounded nothing at all like Penny's voice, but nobody cared.

“Yes, Penny?” said Allan in a mock-baritone.

“Oh, Percy, I do love you.” Oliver fluttered his eyelashes at Percy, gently touching his wrist. “You know that, don't you?”

“Why, Penny, that is-” Allan slipped a finger under the collar of his t-shirt, giving it an exaggerated tug like he couldn't breath. “I mean, of course I know how you feel for me.”

“Oh, Percy, I do love you. And sometimes- oh Lord, I can't believe I'm saying this!” Oliver ducked his head, looking up at Percy through his lashes. “Well, I think I'm, you know, ready.”

“Ready, my dear?” Allan arched an eyebrow.

“Yes, Percy, ready.” Oliver ran his fingers up Percy's forearm.

“Whatever do you mean?”

Oliver opened his eyes wide, blinking slowly. “I want you, Percy. Right now. Right here.”

“Penny! I never-”

“Oh please, Percy? Please shag me? I need it. I-”

“Shut up!” said Percy, wrenching his arm away from Oliver and shoving the other arm off his shoulders.

Oliver and Allan laughed for a long time.

Finally, Allan recovered enough to ask, “So, how was it?”

“Come on, don't be crude,” said Percy, looking off to the side.

“That bad, huh?”

“It was fine.” Percy ran a hand up the back of his neck. “It was, y'know...good.”

Oliver whistled softly. “You're doing it wrong, mate.”

“Yeah. 'Good.' Ouch.”

“I do it fine!” Percy snapped. “Better than you lot of virgins! And anyway, all of them, y'know, with the moaning, and...tightening...y'know...” Percy trailed off. Oliver and Allan goggled.

“'All'?” said Allan.

“'Y'know'?” said Oliver.

Percy covered his face with his hands.

“Precisely how many is, 'All'?” Allan asked.

“And who says we're virgins?” Oliver added.

Percy mumbled something they couldn't hear.

Oliver tugged on Percy's wrists. “Percy.”

Percy swatted at Oliver's hands, almost falling off the side of the bed in the process. “Three! Alright? Three.”

Allan and Oliver goggled some more. Percy looked at the ceiling.

“Who?”

Shaking his head slowly, giving up on ever changing the subject, Percy listed them: “Penny, Marie Harmon, and Hannah Gribbet. But I didn't really do, er, anything, with...Hannah. I just sort of...used my, y'know, fingers, and she just sort of...” Percy gestured vaguely. “Y'know. With her...mouth.”

Allan and Oliver allowed a moment of reverential silence for this pronouncement.

When Oliver spoke, all the hilarity was gone from his voice. “Y'know what, Allan?”

“What?”

“I think I need more to drink.”

“That's not a good idea, Oliver, you are quite gone already.” Allan took a swig from Percy's bottle to punctuate his words.

“No, you don't understand.” Oliver smoothed a hand over his forehead. “Percy Weasley gets more play than I do. I need alcohol.”

“Oi!” said Percy.

“Don't despair, Oliver.” Allan reached across the bed and patted his hand. “There's time yet, and you're fair fit, for a bloke. Quidditch captain, you know.”

“I suppose.” Oliver sniffed. “Yes, I suppose you're right. There's time.”

“You two think you're pretty bloody funny, don't you?”

“Who's joking?” said Oliver, but his grin betrayed the lie.

“It is rather fucking depressing for the rest of us,” Allan insisted. “After all, you are, you know, you.”

Percy scoffed.

“Well, come on, you're a bit...” Oliver's smile was pained; he moved his head from side to side, looking for the words.

“Stuffy,” supplied Allan.

“Stiff,” argued Oliver.

“Bossy.”

“Pretentious.”

“Gangly.”

“Freckled.”

“Boring.”

“Fuck off, the both of you!”

Allan shrugged.

“So how'd you manage it?” said Oliver, turning to face Percy more easily. He wobbled, almost fell off the narrow bed, but managed to steady himself by grabbing Percy's knees. Immediately, Percy brushed his hands away. Oliver thought that was rather silly, since their knees were now pressed firmly together, anyway.

“What, you want an anatomical drawing?”

Oliver paused for a moment and wondered how it was that Percy could still say, 'anatomical,' but his drunken thoughts quickly spilled past that obstacle.

“Not tab A into slot B, crap. C'mon,” Oliver grinned, “you gotta have some sort of game. So tell us. You amazing at snogging or something?”

“Yeah, Perce, don't be greedy.” Allan scooted forward as well. “Tell us.”

Cornered, and feeling over-warm, Percy tried not to make eye-contact with either of them.

“There's nothing to tell,” he insisted, opening his hands and offering them up like a supplicant. “We were always just sort of snogging, and then they sort of, y'know, touched me, or whatever, and it...sort of...happened.” Percy's voice got softer and softer as he spoke, and Oliver and Allan leaned further and further forward in order to hear him.

“So you didn't do anything?” said Allan, disbelief written in his tone.

Percy shrugged, one hand fiddling with the fingers of the other.

“Bollocks,” said Oliver.

“What?” said Percy, looking up from his hands.

“No way you did 'nothing special' and bonked three girls.”

“I told you! It just-” Percy gestured helplessly. “It just happened.”

“Yeah, and I said, 'Bollocks,'” Oliver grabbed one of Percy's hands out of his lap. Eyes wide, Percy tried to snatch it back, but Oliver's grip only tightened. “Show me.”

“What?” Percy's voice was higher than it normally was.

“Show me,” Oliver insisted, and he placed Percy's hand on on his waist. “What did you do, exactly?”

“You're completely arseholed.” Percy tried to snatch his hand back, but Oliver caught his wrist.

“Show me, or you're a fucking liar.”

“I'm not lying!” Percy's mouth was trembling.

“So prove it.”

“I don't have to prove anything- Let go!” But Oliver didn't let go.

“Show me.”

“You. Are. Pissed.”

And then Oliver's mouth descended on Percy's, and Percy was too shocked to punch him. It was like being dunked in warm water, especially when Oliver was leaning into him like that, their chests almost touching. Percy's eyes were very wide, and as they were still open, he got a good look at Oliver's face. Ol's lashes were long and dark, Percy noticed. How had he not noticed that before? Oliver's eyelashes were so long. His lips were also very soft and sort of tingly as they moved against his. It felt... Percy's eyes fluttered closed. His hand slipped from Oliver's waist to his back.

He flinched when Oliver pulled back, and didn't open his eyes.

“Liar,” said Oliver.

Percy set his jaw. “Fine.” He grabbed the back of Oliver's neck, pulling his head up.

One of his hands glided gently, steadily, on Oliver's back, pressing their bodies even closer, pulling Oliver practically onto his lap; the other hand buried in the back of Oliver's hair, holding his head in place. At first, he kissed Oliver softly- dry, brief presses. Then the presses became longer. Slowly, slowly, he brushed their lips together. He stroked Oliver's hair, gliding his fingers gently over the back of Oliver's neck before running back up through the tawny strands.

Oliver made a noise in the back of his throat, hands tightening on Percy's shoulders. Percy's lips lifted from Oliver's to place soft kisses on his jaw. Percy's hand smoothed its way from the back of Oliver's neck, gently pulling his head to the side, exposing his throat. Oliver swallowed. One, two, kisses on his neck. Breath ghosted over that sensitive spot behind Oliver's ear, and he felt Percy's tongue trace the edge. Dip inside. Teeth nipped lightly at his earlobe, making his breath hitch. Then there was wet heat on his throat. Then there was sucking- oh, God - on Oliver's pulse, and pressure on his back. Moving. Oliver was pretty sure he was in Percy's lap now, but all the skin seemed connected, all the same, and his eyes were closed. Whispering lips on his neck. Down. Percy opened his mouth, sucking and lapping at the place were Oliver's shoulder met his neck. He bit down, making Oliver's hands twitch.

Oliver knew his breathing had gotten very loud. Everything was liquid, and he felt feverish. Except his lips- his lips felt cold, and Oliver opened his mouth, gasping, eyes still shut, entranced by feeling of Percy's lips, and tongue, and teeth.

Then Oliver felt the thumb from his jaw brush against his bottom lip in a tangy swipe, and Percy's mouth returned. Percy's tongue was touching his tongue. This kiss wasn't dry, or light- it was hungry. Silk. Heat. Pressure. They tasted like vodka. Percy sucked on his lower lip, and it stung, like the alcohol had stung, but sweeter, hotter, and somehow tighter. Every nerve in Oliver's body buzzed, swam, yearned. More. He didn't think about anything at all.

With a soft, slick noise, Percy pulled away. Oliver's eyes fluttered opened. Percy collected his hands from Oliver's body. They shook slightly as he folded them in his lap. Both boys panted. Oliver stared at Percy. Percy stared at the bed.

They'd forgotten all about Allan, until the other boy cleared his throat.

“So,” said Allan. “Would you shag him?”

Nobody spoke for a minute. Percy could feel Oliver's eyes on him, but he refused to look up from the duvet. Their knees were still pressed together.

“Aye,” Oliver said finally. “Aye, I probably would.”

Allan's laughter was tinny. Percy cleared his throat.

“I'm tired,” he said, and got off the bed. Oliver's knees felt cold.

“Yeah.” said Oliver. “Me too.”

Allan shrugged, and slid off Oliver's pillows, padding to his own four-poster.

“G'night,” he said.

“G'night,” said Percy.

“'Night.” said Oliver.

They burrowed into their blankets, and slept the way only the thoroughly drunk can.

+*+*+*

Percy's chest rose and fell beneath the blankets; his hands gently curled, arms splayed above his head on the pillow; his glasses sat askew on his face. Every once in a while, his pale eyelashes would flutter against his freckled cheeks.

Watching him sleep made Oliver feel really, really creepy.

“Percy,” he said softly, and reached out to touch the other boy's shoulder.
Percy slept on.

Clearing his throat, Oliver gave Percy's shoulder a gentle shake. “Perce, wake up.”

“Mmm.” Percy's brow furrowed, and he batted clumsily at Oliver's hand, trying to turn over.

Oliver took a deep breath. “Percy Weasley!”

Percy jerked awake, panting, head swiveling to find the emergency.

“Honestly, Ol, wha- Oh. Oooooh...” He laid his head back down on the pillow, both hands going over his eyes.

“Welcome to Hell,” said Oliver. “Please, please, please tell me you know a hangover spell.”

Percy mumbled something, and then must've realized Oliver couldn't hear him, because he nodded his head instead.

“Oh, thank God.” Oliver sighed. “Please. Now.”

Percy nodded again, and gestured towards his night-stand. Oliver obediently fetched the wand, delivering it to Percy's outstretched palm.

Percy drew a breath in through his nose, and squinted. He cleared his throat. “Sobrietus,” he said, rolling the 'r' very properly, and swishing his wand in a quick figure-eight.

They waited.

“I don't feel better,” said Oliver.

“Nor I,” said Percy, and he looked down at his wand.

“I thought you knew the spell.”

“I do know the spell.” Percy glared. “If I didn't know the spell, I wouldn't have said that I knew the spell.”

“Fine, then would you do the buggering spell?”

Percy sighed, and raised his wand again. “Sobrietus.”

They waited.

“Bugger it, Percy, this is important.”

“Then you bloody well do it, Wood!”

They both winced.

“No shouting, okay?”

“Agreed,” said Percy.

The dormitory door swung open- it was Allan. There were dark blue circles beneath his eyes. Oliver rushed over to him.

“Did you find a spell?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Why aren't you smiling?” said Percy, pushing back his blankets.

Allan flumped onto the nearest bed. “Because I have a headache.”

Oliver and Percy stared at him with blank expressions.

“Yeah. I tried a couple cures, and they didn't work,” said Allan, “so I got sort of a hunch, and I took a look at, Hogwarts: A History.”

Groaning, Percy's head dropped into his hands.

“Yeah,” said Allan.

Oliver looked back and forth between them. “What?”

“I'm so sorry,” said Percy, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I should've remembered. God, I should have remembered.”

“No, it was my brilliant idea in the first place.” Allan sighed.

“Hello?” said Oliver.

“No shouting,” Percy reminded him.

“Yes, please, no shouting,” said Allan.

Oliver gestured impatiently, and Allan sighed again. “So it's perfectly fine to bring alcohol into Hogwarts, right? We found out that much. Plus, they keep it in the kitchens and the professors drink. Obviously. Don't know why we didn't think of that in the first place...” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“And?” Oliver prompted.

“And, Hogwarts doesn't bother with underage drinking, 'cause, well, there was no such thing as underage when Hogwarts was built. But.” Allan shrugged. “But the founders were all a bit stuffy and morally superior, turns out, 'cause they put a restriction on hangover spells, except as administered by a mediwitch or wizard. Oh, and they cursed us.”

Oliver sat down on the nearest bed. “What?”

“Yeah. So, like, you can't cast hangover cures, and, if you drink enough, you're guaranteed a rhinoceros of a hangover for...” Allan's brow wrinkled.

“Twelve hours,” Percy supplied, rubbing his forehead.

“Fuck,” said Oliver.

“Pretty much,” Percy agreed.

Allan stood up. “I don't know about you blokes, but I'm going to go eat something. Then I plan on sleeping. A lot.”

They both nodded miserably, and Allan left the room, being sure to close the door with a soft click.

Oliver and Percy stewed in silence, listening to the tiny men hit hammers against the insides of their skulls. Oliver's stomach felt very uneasy- he was somehow both nauseous and starving. Vomit, or eat? He thought sitting still for a while might help him decide.

Percy sighed. “Well, no help for it. Want to get breakfast?” Moving lethargically, Percy slipped his feet onto the floor, stood up, and stretched- arms over his head, back arched.

Oliver's eyes flickered towards him, fastening on the bare slit of stomach that appeared above Percy's pants. And he remembered the night before.

Warmth rushed through his body, pooling in his groin. He blushed, and closed his eyes.

“Ol? You in there?”

“Uh, yeah. Breakfast.” Oliver directed his gaze at the floor. “Okay.”

Percy took a minute to straighten his clothing and run his hands through his hair. Oliver rolled his eyes when Percy adjusted the Prefect badge until it was perfectly parallel with the seam of his pocket.

“My mouth tastes like a dustbin.” Percy grimaced. “And you smell awful. So I must smell awful.”

No, it tastes like vodka, Oliver thought, running a shaky hand through his own hair. They did smell awful, though. “Thanks for sharing.”

“Sorry. You're right. That was rude. Should we take showers first, you think?”

Oliver shrugged.

“I am awfully hungry.” And chatty, Oliver silently added, thinking it was unusual, discomforted by the fact that his body seemed to be acutely aware of every movement that Percy made.

“Ready?” Percy clapped a hand on Oliver's shoulder.

Oliver flinched, and jerked away.

Percy blinked, hand still hovering in the air, then he tucked his hands in his pockets. “Are you alright?”

“No. My head bloody hurts.”

“Well, yes. However...” Percy frowned. “Is something else the matter?”

Oliver shook his head.

“Er, so, why don't you look at me?”

Oliver smoothed a hand over his face, wincing when he felt how hot his cheeks were. He swallowed. “Do you...” He glanced towards Percy's face. “Do you remember last night?”

Percy shifted, rolling his shoulders in an awkward shrug. “Mostly.”

Oliver nodded, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you remember...” He sighed. “Oh, bloody hell.” He looked at the floor. “Do you remember right before we went to bed?”

He saw Percy shuffle his feet.

“Well...yes. Yes, I think I do.”

Oliver glanced at Percy, but Percy was looking at the ceiling, a blush coloring his ears and face.

“So,” said Oliver.

“Indeed,” said Percy.

Oliver took a deep breath, concentrated on gazing at Percy's face, and said, “So, I thought it was alright. Y'know. The kissing.”

Percy's eyes flicked down from the ceiling. “You did?”

“Yeah.” Oliver didn't know how much hotter his face could get without bursting into flame.

“I...” Percy shifted his weight. “Yeah. It was alright.”

Percy's gaze felt very heavy on Oliver's face, but Oliver was determined not to look away. “I wouldn't mind, y'know...” Oliver licked his lips. “Y'know, doing it again. Or whatever. Or-Or not, if you don't...Whatever.”

Percy's blush got darker. “Um. Yeah, I think so. I mean...” He rubbed a hand against his trouser leg. Oliver found that unaccountably distracting. “Yes. I'd like to.”

“Okay.” Oliver let out the breath he'd been holding- huff.

Percy smiled. “Okay.”

“Not right now, obviously,” Oliver said in rush.

“Oh, no. Definitely not now.” Percy sort of squeaked, but Oliver figured it was a laugh. “But...yes. Again. Soon.”

“Very soon.”

Percy glanced away from Oliver's gaze for a second, grinning. That seemed to make Oliver's stomach feel less queasy, and a lot warmer. Everything seemed warmer with Percy, Oliver thought.

There was a comfortable silence.

“I did sort of lie, though.”

Oliver's head jerked up. “What?”

Percy grinned crookedly. “Sorry. I mean, about Hannah. I sort of lied...his name was Henry.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, so...okay.” Oliver looked at his hands for a long minute, trying not to picture that scene, aware that if he did, he'd be in need of a shower before breakfast no matter how hungry Percy happened to be. He claimed a shaky control over his thoughts, then looked back up at Percy. “Boys then, huh?”

“And girls.”

“Tart,” Oliver accused.

“Virgin,” Percy shot back, shocking a surprised laugh out of Oliver.

After a second more of staring, Oliver shook his head and laughed again. “Yeah, alright, you should be like this. More often, I mean. It's good.”

Percy made eye-contact with his shoes, and twisted his hands in his trouser pockets. Then he shrugged. “With you,” he said simply.

That made Oliver's chest even warmer, and they both stayed quiet for a moment. It was somehow easier to ignore their headaches.

Oliver stood up. “So, breakfast?”

“Breakfast,” Percy agreed.

Down the stairs, Percy went first, and Oliver watched the back of his head, especially the little cowlick that Percy hadn't managed to smooth out. In the common room, Percy held open the portrait hole, and watched Oliver's bottom as he climbed through. As they walked down the corridors, the backs of their hands brushed.

Neither one looked at the other, but they both smiled.

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