One-Shot, PWP: Accio Buttons
Title: Accio Buttons
Author: Hellus Bellus
Pairing: Oliver/Percy
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 5032, one-shot
Warnings: Unbeta'd, PWP, slight AU (Quidditch may not match up with books), italics addiction, angst
Disclaimer: I have absolutely nothing to do with Harry Potter or JK Rowling and plan to make absolutely no money from this story.
Summary:
Percy bit his lip and swallowed a groan. It would not do to be found. No. What Percy would do is just sit here quietly, waiting for Oliver to be, ah, done, and hopefully, well, leave. Then he could pretend none of this ever happened. Yes.
Notes:
Written as a response to a gryff_boys_kink prompt. The prompt included this, finger-lickin'-good, inspiration picture: (http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/192289843/). Check it out: (http://gryff-boys-kink.livejournal.com/1519.html?page=2#comments). I actually wrote two responses to this prompt, but my first one, well, it was certainly porn, but it just wasn't very kinky. Mayhap I'll post it later.
-
On principle, Percy abhorred dawdling, but he had a very special hatred for it after Quidditch matches. Honestly, Percy thought to himself as he shoved through the milling crowds, we won. It's over. Do your damn homework.
He normally arrived back in his dormitory a good five to ten minutes before the other students left the pitch. It worked out well for him. He had the chance to ensconce himself in something much more important that hormone-fueled self-congratulations, and everyone else was left wondering how they always managed to avoid him at the after-party. Percy and the Twins, who were unofficially in charge of entertainment for Gryffindor tower, had a silent agreement about Quidditch victories: as long as nobody got hurt and there weren't any fires, Percy would find himself conveniently away from the common room when Gryffindor won.
Normally, Percy rushed to the dormitory, grabbed his schoolwork, and disappeared into the library for several hours. This time, he'd been hopelessly waylaid on his way back to the castle, obligated to separate the two fourth-year boys he'd seen arguing. Five brothers had made him rather adept at spotting the arguments which would stay arguments, and the arguments which were going to devolve into fistfights. This had been one of the latter.
Once he'd put the fear of God into the fourth years- or at least sent them packing in opposite directions- Percy was only just ahead of the milling crowd. He hurried back to the dormitory, refusing to bruise his dignity by running.
-
I should have ran, Percy mourned, staring at his bed-curtains and listening to the raucous crowd spill into the common room below. He sighed, knowing there was no way he could justify walking right through a celebration that, while he was sure was ever-so-entertaining, was undoubtedly breaking fifteen school rules, and perhaps a law or two. Maybe even sixteen, if there's snogging.
Resigned to his fate, Percy tossed his book-bag onto his bed, crawled in after it, and shut the curtains. Normally, he preferred studying in the sunshine to the dark of his bed, but he also knew that his bed curtains made the perfect coccoon for a muffling charm, something he'd be grateful for as he slogged through a four-foot essay on the properties of monkshood. Bad enough that he was forced to do such rudimentary analysis, he doubted it would hold his attention at all with the odd thumps and shouts bursting up from the common room.
“Tranquis. Lumos,” Percy whispered, tucking his wand into the collar of his shirt and beginning to sort out his quills and ink. He could barely hear anything except for the shuffling of papers and the odd calls of birds flying very close to the dormitory windows.
The dormitory door burst open, hitting the wall hard enough to rebound onto the intruder. Percy jumped.
“Bloody door,” said someone with a Scottish accent.
Oliver? Surely the Quidditch Captain would be at the head of the celebration downstairs, drunk on smuggled spirits and victory? Apparently not, Percy thought, listening to Oliver shove the troublesome door closed and begin bumping around the room, no doubt stowing his Quidditch gear. Percy and Oliver had never had much to talk about, but Percy respected the boy's determination, and his tidiness. He'd never seen a single piece of Oliver's Quidditch gear left dirty or out-of-place. However, the Scot was making an awful lot of noise, even muffled by the tranquis.
Percy was about to shove aside his curtains and tell Oliver that if he wanted to be loud, he could go right back downstairs, but Oliver must have finished putting his gear away because there was a thump and a then a, “Yes.”
Percy's brow furrowed. That sounded oddly...satisfied. He stilled the hand reaching for the curtains, instead reaching for his wand and murmuring a banishment on the muffling charm.
Oh. Oh dear.
Without the muffling charm, it was fairly obvious what that, 'Yes,' had been about. Percy felt a blush creeping down from his ears and across his face. His neck already felt hot enough to set his robes aflame. Oliver was sighing and mumbling. There was the rhythmic papery sound of flesh sliding on flesh. Percy felt his heart speed up, and he tried to quiet his breathing. Oliver gasped, moaned, and something sharp and warm twisted in Percy's groin.
Holy mother of God, Percy prayed, though not entirely sure what Mary was going to do about this particular situation. Obviously, Oliver was oblivious to Percy's presence. There was a certain amount of willful blindness in the boy's dormitory concerning long showers and strange noises in the middle of the night, but one didn't normally do, well, that, in the middle of day.
Oh God, this was making him hard.
Percy closed his eyes, refusing to acknowledge his very obvious arousal. He was sixteen, after all, and pretty much everything made him think about sex. It wasn't his fault. It had only been a year or so since particularly large melons and well-placed chess pieces gave him hard-ons. It was to be expected, what with Oliver out there, making those noises, no doubt spread out on his bed, eyes closed, hand wrapped firmly around his cock, head thrown back to reveal that long column of tanned throat, lips open-
Percy bit his lip and swallowed a groan. It would not do to be found. No. What Percy would do is just sit here quietly, waiting for Oliver to be, ah, done, and hopefully, well, leave. Then he could pretend none of this ever happened. Yes.
Percy moved the flat of his hand to his crotch, pressing hard.
The pace of Oliver's breathing had increased dramatically. He panted and groaned. The skin-sounds had grown frantic. Maybe...maybe just a little look? Get a hold of yourself, Percy admonished, ripping a hand through his hair, trying to take deep, quiet breaths.
“Oh, God,” Oliver moaned.
Goddamn, but he was going to do it. The reasonable part of him (seemingly getting smaller by the second) screamed that this was a very, very bad idea. But the rest of him was not going to miss this opportunity. Percy plucked the edge of the curtain facing Oliver's bed and drew it back the tiniest, tiniest sliver.
Oh. Fuck.
Oliver was propped up against his headboard, stripped down to bare chest, his trousers and underwear around his ankles. He even had his socks on, ridiculous red things covered in snitches. Percy's eyes ran down the muscular chest and across round, bulky shoulders. Oliver's head was indeed thrown back, resting on the tall headboard; short, dark hair was sweaty and mussed; eyes were squeezed closed and muscles worked in his throat. Percy opened the curtain just the tiniest bit more, allowing him a view around Oliver's knees.
Oliver had large, callused hands, perfect for catching Quaffles and, Percy now knew, wrapping around a rather thick, uncut cock. Percy licked his lips, pressing more firmly against his groin. Oliver stroked himself quickly, fist tight. Oliver's other hand cupped his sack, squeezed the base of his cock, trailed over his abs and ran up over his chest, tweaking a nipple until it was pointed and hard. Oliver moaned, and Percy had to swallow hard not to answer with a moan of his own.
“Yes,” Oliver gasped, his hand moving faster now. He licked his lips over and over again, biting down and releasing. “Fuck me,” Oliver whispered, and Percy shivered. Oliver's free hand rested on his chest and moved upwards now, slipping two fingers into his mouth. Oliver moaned around his hand, hips jerking off the bed, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked.
Percy couldn't help it, he gasped. He swiftly closed the curtain, his cock throbbing under his hand.
A few seconds more and he heard Oliver cry out. Then there was only the sound of Oliver's panting. Percy tried very hard to be quiet, breathing through his wide-open mouth, shuddering as he tried not to make a sound.
What was probably only a couple of minutes later, though it felt like a burning eternity to Percy, Oliver's bed squeaked slightly and there was the familiar sound of clothing sliding over skin. Oliver sighed, cracked a joint, and shut the door behind him.
Percy lay back on his bed, sucking in air. He thought he might have knocked over an inkwell, but really couldn't have cared at the moment. A book dug into his shoulder.
“Oh, Goddamn it,” he whispered, ripping open his belt buckle and shoving his trousers and underthings down to his knees. He wrapped his hand around his cock, shoved two fingers in his mouth, and stroked.
___
As a general rule, Percy hated dawdling. He tried to convince himself of this as he broke up arguments that didn't need breaking up, hurried along students that were well on their way, and generally made a nuisance of himself. Percy glanced over his shoulder, judging the flow of students to now be fairly heavy. Oh dear, if he stayed any longer, he'd have no choice but to stay in his dormitory again.
Percy strolled back to the tower, but sprinted up the dormitory stairs. He'd only just settled himself in his bed, shut his curtains, and cast a lumos, when he heard the mob break into the common room below.
His breathing quickened, and Percy coughed, trying to ignore the reaction. He reached down for a book and opened it to his previously marked page. Homework. Yes. That's why he was here. Homework. Why else would he have closed the curtains? But didn't cast the muffling spell, a sly voice reminded him. Percy shrugged. Of course, the muffling spell. He'd just forgotten. He'd do that in a second.
Any second now.
Percy groaned. There was absolutely no reason for this at all. There wasn't even a guarantee that Oliver would be here. And if he did happen to come upstairs and put his Quidditch gear away (Percy really did admire that boy's nattiness), that didn't mean Percy would be subject to a, well, a repeat performance.
Not that he was hoping for one.
Percy whimpered and attempted to concentrate on the paragraph in front of him. He reread the same sentence at least four times before realizing that he had no idea what book he was reading. He heard footsteps on the stairs. His hands curled around the edges of his book.
Oliver burst into the room with a bang and a muttered, “Bloody door.” The troublemaker was slammed shut in the next second.
Percy listened to the other boy move around the room, realizing that Oliver was, really and truly, putting his Quidditch things away. Percy wasn't terribly surprised. It was game day, and he knew from experience that Oliver would spend several hours that evening polishing and re-polishing his broomstick. Polishing his broomstick. Percy's mouth quirked.
There was shuffling, the jangle of a belt buckle, and then the creak of a bed.
“Yes,” Oliver sighed, and Percy swallowed.
Percy's hand moved to his groin as he heard Oliver's hand move over his cock. He rubbed himself through the cloth, biting his lip. A silencing spell would be good, he thought, but he hadn't yet reached for his wand.
“Mm, yes,” he heard Oliver mumble, and Percy's mouth formed the shape of the word: yes.
“It's okay.” Oliver gasped. “C'mon. Yes. It's okay. You're okay.”
Percy's hand quickened as he realized these sounds were new. Was Oliver...talking to someone?
“C'mon. C'mon. Oh God, no, won't tell. Please. Please.” Oliver whimpered.
Yes, Percy realized, he was talking to someone. This was a fantasy. Percy gulped. His cock twitched, but something grimy rose up in Percy's throat. His stomach turned. Suddenly, his actions seemed creepy and dirty. He wasn't supposed to hear this, Percy knew. This was private. This belonged to Oliver.
“Yes, yes, suck me, oh God. Yes.”
Percy's hand left his crotch, though he felt himself rising against the fabric of his trousers. His hands clenched into fists, then smoothed over his face. He wished he could just sink into the bed. Maybe die.
Oliver moaned. Percy groaned internally, hands buried in his hair and yanking, trying to distract himself from the trills of pleasure running through his limbs.
“So. Good. Yes. Yes.”
Percy formed the word again, almost against his will, whispering it to his wrists: “Yes.”
“Oh God. Oh God. I'm- oh God-” Oliver's breathing was ragged. “C'mon. Oooh, Percy.”
Percy heard every nerve in his body scream.
“Perce-” Oliver moaned, and Percy heard the bed creak, knew Oliver was cumming. Cumming with Percy's name on his lips. Percy felt his heartbeat in his teeth.
The noises stopped. Oliver panted. Percy tried to breath through his shudders, and realized too late that he'd forgotten to be quiet.
“Hullo?” said Oliver, his voice rough. Well, Percy would be a little annoyed, too. Percy almost laughed at that. Almost.
“Seriously, hullo? I can hear you.” Footsteps on the floor.
Percy was biting his fist, other hand buried in his hair, when Oliver ripped back the bed-hangings.
They stared at each other.
-
Percy smiled, carefully folding his glasses and placing them on his bedside table. Merlin, but he'd made that mistake before. Leaving them on was never a good idea. Plus, Percy thought, Oliver hated them. Said they hid his eyes. Warmth spread in Percy's chest at the thought, and he couldn't contain the goofy grin that broke across his face. It was difficult not to grin when he thought of Oliver. When I'm not moaning. Or when he's not moaning. Percy bit his lip.
Something banged and hooted down in the common room. Laughter, cheering, shouts- the crowd from the pitch was back, no doubt hauling with them freshly showered and flushed Quidditch heroes. Right now, his brothers would be presiding over the room, probably toting contraband and making jokes about Draco Malfoy's sexual preferences. Percy knew he should go to the common room. He should admonish them all for their noisy, destructive behavior. He should confiscate the alcohol George, no doubt, had on his person, and take away anything that had to do with fire. He should definitely do that.
Percy unpinned the Head Boy badge from the front of robes, setting it carefully on the table beside his glasses. He took his Head Boy duties very seriously. Very, very seriously. But not when Gryffindor won. When Gryffindor won... Percy shuddered and shrugged out of his robes.
The sounds of celebration were not abating, but Percy closed his eyes, listening for the tell-tale thump of feet on the boys' staircase. There they were. Percy's breath hitched in his throat. His cock twitched. There were footsteps in the hall. Percy sat down on the bed. Then stood up. Then sat back down, toeing off his shoes.
The door opened, and Percy froze.
“We won,” said a low, Scottish voice.
“I know,” said Percy.
Oliver quickly came into focus, dumping his armfuls of Quidditch gear on the floor, literally kicking the door closed behind him. He stalked towards Percy with a look that Percy might have once misunderstood. But this was far from the first time. Percy tried not to think it would be the last.
Oliver's hands closed on Percy's shoulders, wrenching him to his feet and crushing the slender boy to Oliver's chest, mouth descending on his in a rush of heat and tongue. The scent of soap, sweat, and fresh air, Percy thought, knowing the combination, breathing it into himself and savoring it, enveloped in it.
Percy pushed at Oliver's robes, their mouths briefly separating as Oliver shrugged off his robe and pulled his shirt over his head. Percy smiled, running his hands beneath the thin undershirt, drawing patterns on that perfect, tan skin, writing Percy with his fingertips, gently petting the trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath Oliver's belt. Oliver groaned, so low and deep that it was more of a growl, and crushed his lips back onto Percy's, tangling one hand in red curls, the other working impatiently at Percy's tie. Percy assisted with the tie, both of their fingers brushing it aside, but when Oliver's fingers stumbled over his shirt buttons, Percy wasn't fast enough. Oliver gripped the collar in both hands and ripped the garment down the front, buttons flying in every direction, hands diving in to caress pale, freckled skin. Percy gasped, but couldn't summon the will to care, too busy with the play of Oliver's tongue on his own and the trails of fire Oliver was painting on his skin.
With a gasp and a growl, Oliver released Percy's lips and shoved the lighter boy backwards. Percy's knees hit the baseboard and he collapsed back on the bed, barely hitting the mattress before Oliver was bent over him, undoing his belt and shucking the trousers off his legs. Percy was gasping for air, but there was a grin on his face. He met Oliver's eyes and grabbed for his wand, muttering a spell they were both well acquainted with now, hissing when he felt the chill of lubrication there.
Oliver smirked at him, that lazy half-smile that drove Percy mad wanting to kiss it off his lips. Percy's eyes narrowed, and he lunged forward at the same time that Oliver descended on him, both somehow avoiding knocking into each other. Oh God, Oliver's hands were everywhere, everywhere. Lips caressed, teeth nipped, hands gripped shoulders, smoothed over chests, grabbed hips. Oliver cupped Percy's ass, squeezing and pushing their erections together. Percy all but suffocated, unwilling to relinquish Oliver's kiss and too flustered to remember how to breathe through his nose. He made a small noise and ripped away, burying his head in Oliver's neck for a second, both of them breaking apart just long enough to breathe.
Percy scrambled up towards the pillows, felt the dip of the bed as Oliver crawled after him, laughed breathlessly when Oliver grabbed his hips, yanking him back. He hummed at the feeling of Oliver's chest pressed against his back, Oliver's cock heavy and hot, even through the cloth of his trousers. He never grew tired of how strong Oliver was, moving him around as easily as he ripped off his clothes, always pressing just enough, never taking what he wasn't willing to give. Oliver ran one hand through red curls, over Percy's shoulder and ribs, kissing down his spine, both hands fastening on freckled hips and flipping him over.
Percy stared up into Oliver's hooded eyes, hands grabbing at the sheets on his sides. Oliver ran his hands over Percy's thighs, never breaking eye-contact, slowly moving forward until Percy's knees were slung over his shoulders. Honey-brown eyes crawled over his skin, taking in the flush, the hands fisted in the sheets, Percy's eyes dark and his chest heaving.
“God, you're beautiful,” Oliver muttered, leaning down, hand going to the back of Percy's neck, mouth planting soft kisses on Percy's throat. Percy moaned, hips moving, looking for friction, his bottom brushing against Oliver's trousers, erection stiff and obvious. Oliver' s hand tightened on Percy's neck, and for a second, Percy wondered at the reaction, but then Oliver was rubbing at the sensitive fold where his legs met his hips, and Percy forgot anything but the salty taste of skin.
The hand left Percy's neck and planted beside his waist; Percy felt Oliver's weight shift. Oliver's hips rubbed his covered erection against Percy- slow, slow- a pace that Percy knew Oliver couldn't hold. A callused hand closed over Percy's erection, pulling him in long, firm strokes. Percy moaned, bucking, falling into the same slow, slow rhythm.
“C'mon,” Percy rasped, another moan rising in his throat, looking for the frantic pace they'd had a moment ago.
“Mm,” Oliver's eyes were closed. His hand was still stroking. “Slow,” he whispered.
“No,” Percy groaned, and pulled at Oliver's hips, grinding against him.
Oliver bit his lip, hand leaving off his stroking, running down the length of Percy's shaft, cupping his sack before brushing over Percy's slick hole.
Percy's hand went to his erection, squeezing lightly on the head.
Oliver pushed one finger inside, and Percy moaned, hand squeezing in time with the slow thrusts of Oliver's finger.
“More,” he gasped.
Oliver slipped another finger in- curling, scissoring. Percy's back arched, hands scrabbling when Oliver hit that spot.
“More.”
Three fingers, curling and thrusting, rhythm speeding. Oliver found the angle, and Percy felt heat rush over him, again, and again, and again, barely able to focus on Oliver's face. The keeper's eyes were dark, watching his own fingers move in and out of Percy, lips slack, swollen, and moist. Their breath mingled, faces so close. Oliver's eyes squeezed shut, and he moaned.
“More.”
Oliver nodded, leaning back for a minute, fumbling with his belt and shoving his trousers and pants down to his knees. He leaned back in, pressing Percy's thighs close to his chest, one hand holding his weight as he guided his cock to Percy's stretched entrance.
Their eyes held each other. They always did. They always held, as Oliver slowly pushed himself inside. Their moans echoed.
“Yes,” Oliver hissed, hips rolling. His hand reclaimed the back of Percy's neck, grabbing the collar of Percy's ruined shirt. Percy's raised a hand to his shoulder, but Oliver grabbed it, pinning his wrist to the bed. Percy whimpered and Oliver grunted in response, the pace of his thrusts speeding up.
Percy cried out, and Oliver adjusted his angle, his look hungry. Percy felt his heart thunder in his mouth, his breathing too fast, awash in tingles and heat. His head thrashed with every thrust of Oliver's hips, his own hips jerking to meet them. His erection pushed into his stomach as Oliver's thrusts grew faster and faster.
“Oh, c'mon, c'mon, fuck,” Percy muttered, feeling the sweet heat build at the base of his spine, muttering incoherent obscenities as Oliver's hips snapped, balls slapping against him. Percy felt Oliver's grasp tighten on his wrist, and if his thoughts had been beyond friction, he might've wondered at the bruises he'd have in a moment.
“Yes,” he felt Oliver say, words rushing over his lips in a cloud of warm breath. “Yes, God. So. Tight. Yes.” And Percy leaned up to kiss him, their lips barely brushing, tongues barely touching.
“Perce,” Oliver groaned, and thrust hard. Percy felt him cum, sticky wetness spilling in him, Oliver's hips bucking instinctively, his rhythm forgotten. Percy watched it happen, Oliver's eyes fluttering, his mouth open, gasping, and Percy whimpered, darted his hand between their bodies and stroked himself. More, more, until he felt the tension break, pleasure rippling through him in broad, steady waves. Sticky strings of semen spouted on his chest and painted Oliver's stomach.
They lay still for long moments, eyes eventually fluttering open. They breathed each other's air, and held each other's gazes. Then Oliver leaned down and kissed Percy's cheek, releasing his grasp on his wrist. Percy's knees were wobbly when Oliver let them slip off his shoulders, scooting back as best he could, taking a second to completely remove his shoes and trousers.
Percy concentrated on breathing, using the corner of his shirt to clean the semen off his chest and stomach. He felt the wetness in him, a little leaking down his thigh, but he didn't bother with it. Maybe even relished it.
“Come here,” he whispered, and crawled to Oliver, wiping down his stomach with the corner of his shirt. Oliver watched his face while he did it, expression unreadable.
After a moment, Percy couldn't pretend there was anything left to clean, and he rested his hand on Oliver's hard stomach. Oliver threaded an arm under his, hugging Percy's back to his chest. He laid down, bearing them both to their sides, arms locked around Percy's shoulders, Percy's curls under his chin.
For another long moment, they only breathed.
“You were...quiet.” Percy finally said, and he realized it was true as he said it. Oliver was not usually quiet. Oliver was the reason Percy had to cast silencing charms on their dormitory. But Oliver...Oliver was quiet, that time.
Oliver didn't respond right away. “I guess,” he said, arms tightening slightly around Percy's shoulders. It made it harder for Percy to breathe, but somehow, he liked it that way.
“You were,” said Percy. “Something...I don't know. Something you're thinking about?”
“Would you rather I scream?” Oliver sounded vaguely amused.
“Never mind, then,” he said, but he didn't forget the question. He covered one of Oliver's hands with his own. “Congratulations, by the way.”
He swore he could feel Oliver smile against his hair. “Thanks.”
“Quidditch cup. Wow. That's...That's really wonderful.”
“Yeah.”
“And that save- that last one, y'know? Looked like you only had a toe on the broom for a minute there. Thought I was gonna be out of luck.” Percy put on his best Head Boy voice, “Oh really, wonderful, he won the bloody cup, but he's in the Hospital Wing again- how will I ever get my shag with Pomfrey around?”
Oliver laughed into Percy's ear- it was too loud, but Percy smiled.
“What am I gonna do without you?” said Oliver, face buried in Percy's curls. He said it softly, casually, but Percy could hear the squeak in his voice. Worry.
Percy felt himself stiffen. This was it. This was why Oliver was quiet, Percy suddenly knew. Could it be that Oliver was...afraid? This was their last year. This was, and Percy finally allowed himself to think it, this was the last match. The last victory. The last time he'd ever rush back to the dormitory and start peeling off his clothes. The last time he'd catch Oliver staring at him while he was supposed to be guarding the goalposts. The last time Oliver'd come bursting through the dormitory door, blood up and Hell in his eyes. The last.
Only poofs cry, Percy reminded himself and took a couple of deep breaths.
“Percy?” Oliver asked, his voice thick.
“Hm?” Percy tried not to sound like he was holding in tears.
“Percy, this is really it, isn't it?”
“I-” Percy took a breath, closing his eyes. “Yes. This is it.”
Oliver's arms squeezed even tighter, and Percy really thought the embrace might get dangerous, but all his body wanted was for Oliver to keep on tightening, to keep on pressing closer. Close enough, and maybe they'd just fuse and nobody, including themselves, would ever tear them apart again.
“Couldn't we...I don't know. Maybe you could- or, or we could...” Oliver trailed off.
“What? What, Oliver?” Percy winced, hearing that edge of pomposity slip into his voice, the same edge he used on his brothers when he felt threatened.
“Maybe we wouldn't have to...stop.”
Percy turned as much as he could in Oliver's grasp. “Oh? And how would that work, huh?”
“I...I don't know.”
“Am I just supposed to trail after you? Give up on the Ministry? Make myself available after victories and invisible the rest of the time?”
“No!” and now Oliver's voice held the edge. “That's not what I meant! I just- I just thought, somehow. Somehow, we could...”
“Do you want me to be your boyfriend, Oliver? Is that what you want?” Percy turned completely around in Oliver's arms and grabbed the Keeper's hand, threading their fingers together. He pointedly did not look into Oliver's eyes. “Because you didn't want it, here. You didn't want me when all we had to face were my brothers and their stupid jokes-” Percy's breath caught, but he continued, knowing he probably shouldn't, knowing he better shut his mouth before he broke something. “B-But you want me out there? Out there, with the press? And the interviews? And the- the eyes? Do you ever want to make first-string anything, anywhere, Oliver?” And Percy couldn't help that he sounded like a git, or that his voice was shaking, or that his eyes were welling up. Because he was a poof, and he knew it, and he was trying to convince them both that it would be better if he wasn't.
Oliver didn't speak, but his hand tightened on Percy's hand, and his eyes searched Percy's face. His other hand rose to stroke Percy's cheek, gently placing his fingertips on freckles he'd counted too many times.
“Tell me, Oliver, because I don't think you do. I don't think you want me. I d-don't th-think you-” Oliver put his hand over Percy's mouth.
“Shush,” he said, and his voice was heavy, because he was a poof, too, but he refused to cry, even when he could see the tears squeezed out of Percy's stubborn eyes, rolling down his freckled cheeks and soaking Oliver's hand. Percy was slowly turning cherry, from ears to chest, redder than the glow he usually held after sex, redder than when he shouted at Oliver for doing something unforgivably stupid, again. Oliver wished he didn't have to see it.
“Shush,” he said again, and buried his hand in Percy's hair, pulling his face up. And Oliver didn't want to cry, so he let Percy do it for both of them. Instead, he kissed him. He kissed him slow, and he kissed him angry, and he kissed him sad. He lingered over Percy's mouth like he'd never taste him again, because he wouldn't. He pressed his forehead against Percy's forehead like he'd never be that close again, because he wouldn't. He almost whispered, 'I love you,' to Percy's mouth, but he didn't, just like he didn't last time, like now he wouldn't ever.
“Slow, this time,” Percy whispered, so close he could feel his lips catch on Oliver's as he spoke.
“Slow,” Oliver agreed.
Author: Hellus Bellus
Pairing: Oliver/Percy
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 5032, one-shot
Warnings: Unbeta'd, PWP, slight AU (Quidditch may not match up with books), italics addiction, angst
Disclaimer: I have absolutely nothing to do with Harry Potter or JK Rowling and plan to make absolutely no money from this story.
Summary:
Percy bit his lip and swallowed a groan. It would not do to be found. No. What Percy would do is just sit here quietly, waiting for Oliver to be, ah, done, and hopefully, well, leave. Then he could pretend none of this ever happened. Yes.
Notes:
Written as a response to a gryff_boys_kink prompt. The prompt included this, finger-lickin'-good, inspiration picture: (http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/192289843/). Check it out: (http://gryff-boys-kink.livejournal.com/1519.html?page=2#comments). I actually wrote two responses to this prompt, but my first one, well, it was certainly porn, but it just wasn't very kinky. Mayhap I'll post it later.
-
On principle, Percy abhorred dawdling, but he had a very special hatred for it after Quidditch matches. Honestly, Percy thought to himself as he shoved through the milling crowds, we won. It's over. Do your damn homework.
He normally arrived back in his dormitory a good five to ten minutes before the other students left the pitch. It worked out well for him. He had the chance to ensconce himself in something much more important that hormone-fueled self-congratulations, and everyone else was left wondering how they always managed to avoid him at the after-party. Percy and the Twins, who were unofficially in charge of entertainment for Gryffindor tower, had a silent agreement about Quidditch victories: as long as nobody got hurt and there weren't any fires, Percy would find himself conveniently away from the common room when Gryffindor won.
Normally, Percy rushed to the dormitory, grabbed his schoolwork, and disappeared into the library for several hours. This time, he'd been hopelessly waylaid on his way back to the castle, obligated to separate the two fourth-year boys he'd seen arguing. Five brothers had made him rather adept at spotting the arguments which would stay arguments, and the arguments which were going to devolve into fistfights. This had been one of the latter.
Once he'd put the fear of God into the fourth years- or at least sent them packing in opposite directions- Percy was only just ahead of the milling crowd. He hurried back to the dormitory, refusing to bruise his dignity by running.
-
I should have ran, Percy mourned, staring at his bed-curtains and listening to the raucous crowd spill into the common room below. He sighed, knowing there was no way he could justify walking right through a celebration that, while he was sure was ever-so-entertaining, was undoubtedly breaking fifteen school rules, and perhaps a law or two. Maybe even sixteen, if there's snogging.
Resigned to his fate, Percy tossed his book-bag onto his bed, crawled in after it, and shut the curtains. Normally, he preferred studying in the sunshine to the dark of his bed, but he also knew that his bed curtains made the perfect coccoon for a muffling charm, something he'd be grateful for as he slogged through a four-foot essay on the properties of monkshood. Bad enough that he was forced to do such rudimentary analysis, he doubted it would hold his attention at all with the odd thumps and shouts bursting up from the common room.
“Tranquis. Lumos,” Percy whispered, tucking his wand into the collar of his shirt and beginning to sort out his quills and ink. He could barely hear anything except for the shuffling of papers and the odd calls of birds flying very close to the dormitory windows.
The dormitory door burst open, hitting the wall hard enough to rebound onto the intruder. Percy jumped.
“Bloody door,” said someone with a Scottish accent.
Oliver? Surely the Quidditch Captain would be at the head of the celebration downstairs, drunk on smuggled spirits and victory? Apparently not, Percy thought, listening to Oliver shove the troublesome door closed and begin bumping around the room, no doubt stowing his Quidditch gear. Percy and Oliver had never had much to talk about, but Percy respected the boy's determination, and his tidiness. He'd never seen a single piece of Oliver's Quidditch gear left dirty or out-of-place. However, the Scot was making an awful lot of noise, even muffled by the tranquis.
Percy was about to shove aside his curtains and tell Oliver that if he wanted to be loud, he could go right back downstairs, but Oliver must have finished putting his gear away because there was a thump and a then a, “Yes.”
Percy's brow furrowed. That sounded oddly...satisfied. He stilled the hand reaching for the curtains, instead reaching for his wand and murmuring a banishment on the muffling charm.
Oh. Oh dear.
Without the muffling charm, it was fairly obvious what that, 'Yes,' had been about. Percy felt a blush creeping down from his ears and across his face. His neck already felt hot enough to set his robes aflame. Oliver was sighing and mumbling. There was the rhythmic papery sound of flesh sliding on flesh. Percy felt his heart speed up, and he tried to quiet his breathing. Oliver gasped, moaned, and something sharp and warm twisted in Percy's groin.
Holy mother of God, Percy prayed, though not entirely sure what Mary was going to do about this particular situation. Obviously, Oliver was oblivious to Percy's presence. There was a certain amount of willful blindness in the boy's dormitory concerning long showers and strange noises in the middle of the night, but one didn't normally do, well, that, in the middle of day.
Oh God, this was making him hard.
Percy closed his eyes, refusing to acknowledge his very obvious arousal. He was sixteen, after all, and pretty much everything made him think about sex. It wasn't his fault. It had only been a year or so since particularly large melons and well-placed chess pieces gave him hard-ons. It was to be expected, what with Oliver out there, making those noises, no doubt spread out on his bed, eyes closed, hand wrapped firmly around his cock, head thrown back to reveal that long column of tanned throat, lips open-
Percy bit his lip and swallowed a groan. It would not do to be found. No. What Percy would do is just sit here quietly, waiting for Oliver to be, ah, done, and hopefully, well, leave. Then he could pretend none of this ever happened. Yes.
Percy moved the flat of his hand to his crotch, pressing hard.
The pace of Oliver's breathing had increased dramatically. He panted and groaned. The skin-sounds had grown frantic. Maybe...maybe just a little look? Get a hold of yourself, Percy admonished, ripping a hand through his hair, trying to take deep, quiet breaths.
“Oh, God,” Oliver moaned.
Goddamn, but he was going to do it. The reasonable part of him (seemingly getting smaller by the second) screamed that this was a very, very bad idea. But the rest of him was not going to miss this opportunity. Percy plucked the edge of the curtain facing Oliver's bed and drew it back the tiniest, tiniest sliver.
Oh. Fuck.
Oliver was propped up against his headboard, stripped down to bare chest, his trousers and underwear around his ankles. He even had his socks on, ridiculous red things covered in snitches. Percy's eyes ran down the muscular chest and across round, bulky shoulders. Oliver's head was indeed thrown back, resting on the tall headboard; short, dark hair was sweaty and mussed; eyes were squeezed closed and muscles worked in his throat. Percy opened the curtain just the tiniest bit more, allowing him a view around Oliver's knees.
Oliver had large, callused hands, perfect for catching Quaffles and, Percy now knew, wrapping around a rather thick, uncut cock. Percy licked his lips, pressing more firmly against his groin. Oliver stroked himself quickly, fist tight. Oliver's other hand cupped his sack, squeezed the base of his cock, trailed over his abs and ran up over his chest, tweaking a nipple until it was pointed and hard. Oliver moaned, and Percy had to swallow hard not to answer with a moan of his own.
“Yes,” Oliver gasped, his hand moving faster now. He licked his lips over and over again, biting down and releasing. “Fuck me,” Oliver whispered, and Percy shivered. Oliver's free hand rested on his chest and moved upwards now, slipping two fingers into his mouth. Oliver moaned around his hand, hips jerking off the bed, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked.
Percy couldn't help it, he gasped. He swiftly closed the curtain, his cock throbbing under his hand.
A few seconds more and he heard Oliver cry out. Then there was only the sound of Oliver's panting. Percy tried very hard to be quiet, breathing through his wide-open mouth, shuddering as he tried not to make a sound.
What was probably only a couple of minutes later, though it felt like a burning eternity to Percy, Oliver's bed squeaked slightly and there was the familiar sound of clothing sliding over skin. Oliver sighed, cracked a joint, and shut the door behind him.
Percy lay back on his bed, sucking in air. He thought he might have knocked over an inkwell, but really couldn't have cared at the moment. A book dug into his shoulder.
“Oh, Goddamn it,” he whispered, ripping open his belt buckle and shoving his trousers and underthings down to his knees. He wrapped his hand around his cock, shoved two fingers in his mouth, and stroked.
___
As a general rule, Percy hated dawdling. He tried to convince himself of this as he broke up arguments that didn't need breaking up, hurried along students that were well on their way, and generally made a nuisance of himself. Percy glanced over his shoulder, judging the flow of students to now be fairly heavy. Oh dear, if he stayed any longer, he'd have no choice but to stay in his dormitory again.
Percy strolled back to the tower, but sprinted up the dormitory stairs. He'd only just settled himself in his bed, shut his curtains, and cast a lumos, when he heard the mob break into the common room below.
His breathing quickened, and Percy coughed, trying to ignore the reaction. He reached down for a book and opened it to his previously marked page. Homework. Yes. That's why he was here. Homework. Why else would he have closed the curtains? But didn't cast the muffling spell, a sly voice reminded him. Percy shrugged. Of course, the muffling spell. He'd just forgotten. He'd do that in a second.
Any second now.
Percy groaned. There was absolutely no reason for this at all. There wasn't even a guarantee that Oliver would be here. And if he did happen to come upstairs and put his Quidditch gear away (Percy really did admire that boy's nattiness), that didn't mean Percy would be subject to a, well, a repeat performance.
Not that he was hoping for one.
Percy whimpered and attempted to concentrate on the paragraph in front of him. He reread the same sentence at least four times before realizing that he had no idea what book he was reading. He heard footsteps on the stairs. His hands curled around the edges of his book.
Oliver burst into the room with a bang and a muttered, “Bloody door.” The troublemaker was slammed shut in the next second.
Percy listened to the other boy move around the room, realizing that Oliver was, really and truly, putting his Quidditch things away. Percy wasn't terribly surprised. It was game day, and he knew from experience that Oliver would spend several hours that evening polishing and re-polishing his broomstick. Polishing his broomstick. Percy's mouth quirked.
There was shuffling, the jangle of a belt buckle, and then the creak of a bed.
“Yes,” Oliver sighed, and Percy swallowed.
Percy's hand moved to his groin as he heard Oliver's hand move over his cock. He rubbed himself through the cloth, biting his lip. A silencing spell would be good, he thought, but he hadn't yet reached for his wand.
“Mm, yes,” he heard Oliver mumble, and Percy's mouth formed the shape of the word: yes.
“It's okay.” Oliver gasped. “C'mon. Yes. It's okay. You're okay.”
Percy's hand quickened as he realized these sounds were new. Was Oliver...talking to someone?
“C'mon. C'mon. Oh God, no, won't tell. Please. Please.” Oliver whimpered.
Yes, Percy realized, he was talking to someone. This was a fantasy. Percy gulped. His cock twitched, but something grimy rose up in Percy's throat. His stomach turned. Suddenly, his actions seemed creepy and dirty. He wasn't supposed to hear this, Percy knew. This was private. This belonged to Oliver.
“Yes, yes, suck me, oh God. Yes.”
Percy's hand left his crotch, though he felt himself rising against the fabric of his trousers. His hands clenched into fists, then smoothed over his face. He wished he could just sink into the bed. Maybe die.
Oliver moaned. Percy groaned internally, hands buried in his hair and yanking, trying to distract himself from the trills of pleasure running through his limbs.
“So. Good. Yes. Yes.”
Percy formed the word again, almost against his will, whispering it to his wrists: “Yes.”
“Oh God. Oh God. I'm- oh God-” Oliver's breathing was ragged. “C'mon. Oooh, Percy.”
Percy heard every nerve in his body scream.
“Perce-” Oliver moaned, and Percy heard the bed creak, knew Oliver was cumming. Cumming with Percy's name on his lips. Percy felt his heartbeat in his teeth.
The noises stopped. Oliver panted. Percy tried to breath through his shudders, and realized too late that he'd forgotten to be quiet.
“Hullo?” said Oliver, his voice rough. Well, Percy would be a little annoyed, too. Percy almost laughed at that. Almost.
“Seriously, hullo? I can hear you.” Footsteps on the floor.
Percy was biting his fist, other hand buried in his hair, when Oliver ripped back the bed-hangings.
They stared at each other.
-
Percy smiled, carefully folding his glasses and placing them on his bedside table. Merlin, but he'd made that mistake before. Leaving them on was never a good idea. Plus, Percy thought, Oliver hated them. Said they hid his eyes. Warmth spread in Percy's chest at the thought, and he couldn't contain the goofy grin that broke across his face. It was difficult not to grin when he thought of Oliver. When I'm not moaning. Or when he's not moaning. Percy bit his lip.
Something banged and hooted down in the common room. Laughter, cheering, shouts- the crowd from the pitch was back, no doubt hauling with them freshly showered and flushed Quidditch heroes. Right now, his brothers would be presiding over the room, probably toting contraband and making jokes about Draco Malfoy's sexual preferences. Percy knew he should go to the common room. He should admonish them all for their noisy, destructive behavior. He should confiscate the alcohol George, no doubt, had on his person, and take away anything that had to do with fire. He should definitely do that.
Percy unpinned the Head Boy badge from the front of robes, setting it carefully on the table beside his glasses. He took his Head Boy duties very seriously. Very, very seriously. But not when Gryffindor won. When Gryffindor won... Percy shuddered and shrugged out of his robes.
The sounds of celebration were not abating, but Percy closed his eyes, listening for the tell-tale thump of feet on the boys' staircase. There they were. Percy's breath hitched in his throat. His cock twitched. There were footsteps in the hall. Percy sat down on the bed. Then stood up. Then sat back down, toeing off his shoes.
The door opened, and Percy froze.
“We won,” said a low, Scottish voice.
“I know,” said Percy.
Oliver quickly came into focus, dumping his armfuls of Quidditch gear on the floor, literally kicking the door closed behind him. He stalked towards Percy with a look that Percy might have once misunderstood. But this was far from the first time. Percy tried not to think it would be the last.
Oliver's hands closed on Percy's shoulders, wrenching him to his feet and crushing the slender boy to Oliver's chest, mouth descending on his in a rush of heat and tongue. The scent of soap, sweat, and fresh air, Percy thought, knowing the combination, breathing it into himself and savoring it, enveloped in it.
Percy pushed at Oliver's robes, their mouths briefly separating as Oliver shrugged off his robe and pulled his shirt over his head. Percy smiled, running his hands beneath the thin undershirt, drawing patterns on that perfect, tan skin, writing Percy with his fingertips, gently petting the trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath Oliver's belt. Oliver groaned, so low and deep that it was more of a growl, and crushed his lips back onto Percy's, tangling one hand in red curls, the other working impatiently at Percy's tie. Percy assisted with the tie, both of their fingers brushing it aside, but when Oliver's fingers stumbled over his shirt buttons, Percy wasn't fast enough. Oliver gripped the collar in both hands and ripped the garment down the front, buttons flying in every direction, hands diving in to caress pale, freckled skin. Percy gasped, but couldn't summon the will to care, too busy with the play of Oliver's tongue on his own and the trails of fire Oliver was painting on his skin.
With a gasp and a growl, Oliver released Percy's lips and shoved the lighter boy backwards. Percy's knees hit the baseboard and he collapsed back on the bed, barely hitting the mattress before Oliver was bent over him, undoing his belt and shucking the trousers off his legs. Percy was gasping for air, but there was a grin on his face. He met Oliver's eyes and grabbed for his wand, muttering a spell they were both well acquainted with now, hissing when he felt the chill of lubrication there.
Oliver smirked at him, that lazy half-smile that drove Percy mad wanting to kiss it off his lips. Percy's eyes narrowed, and he lunged forward at the same time that Oliver descended on him, both somehow avoiding knocking into each other. Oh God, Oliver's hands were everywhere, everywhere. Lips caressed, teeth nipped, hands gripped shoulders, smoothed over chests, grabbed hips. Oliver cupped Percy's ass, squeezing and pushing their erections together. Percy all but suffocated, unwilling to relinquish Oliver's kiss and too flustered to remember how to breathe through his nose. He made a small noise and ripped away, burying his head in Oliver's neck for a second, both of them breaking apart just long enough to breathe.
Percy scrambled up towards the pillows, felt the dip of the bed as Oliver crawled after him, laughed breathlessly when Oliver grabbed his hips, yanking him back. He hummed at the feeling of Oliver's chest pressed against his back, Oliver's cock heavy and hot, even through the cloth of his trousers. He never grew tired of how strong Oliver was, moving him around as easily as he ripped off his clothes, always pressing just enough, never taking what he wasn't willing to give. Oliver ran one hand through red curls, over Percy's shoulder and ribs, kissing down his spine, both hands fastening on freckled hips and flipping him over.
Percy stared up into Oliver's hooded eyes, hands grabbing at the sheets on his sides. Oliver ran his hands over Percy's thighs, never breaking eye-contact, slowly moving forward until Percy's knees were slung over his shoulders. Honey-brown eyes crawled over his skin, taking in the flush, the hands fisted in the sheets, Percy's eyes dark and his chest heaving.
“God, you're beautiful,” Oliver muttered, leaning down, hand going to the back of Percy's neck, mouth planting soft kisses on Percy's throat. Percy moaned, hips moving, looking for friction, his bottom brushing against Oliver's trousers, erection stiff and obvious. Oliver' s hand tightened on Percy's neck, and for a second, Percy wondered at the reaction, but then Oliver was rubbing at the sensitive fold where his legs met his hips, and Percy forgot anything but the salty taste of skin.
The hand left Percy's neck and planted beside his waist; Percy felt Oliver's weight shift. Oliver's hips rubbed his covered erection against Percy- slow, slow- a pace that Percy knew Oliver couldn't hold. A callused hand closed over Percy's erection, pulling him in long, firm strokes. Percy moaned, bucking, falling into the same slow, slow rhythm.
“C'mon,” Percy rasped, another moan rising in his throat, looking for the frantic pace they'd had a moment ago.
“Mm,” Oliver's eyes were closed. His hand was still stroking. “Slow,” he whispered.
“No,” Percy groaned, and pulled at Oliver's hips, grinding against him.
Oliver bit his lip, hand leaving off his stroking, running down the length of Percy's shaft, cupping his sack before brushing over Percy's slick hole.
Percy's hand went to his erection, squeezing lightly on the head.
Oliver pushed one finger inside, and Percy moaned, hand squeezing in time with the slow thrusts of Oliver's finger.
“More,” he gasped.
Oliver slipped another finger in- curling, scissoring. Percy's back arched, hands scrabbling when Oliver hit that spot.
“More.”
Three fingers, curling and thrusting, rhythm speeding. Oliver found the angle, and Percy felt heat rush over him, again, and again, and again, barely able to focus on Oliver's face. The keeper's eyes were dark, watching his own fingers move in and out of Percy, lips slack, swollen, and moist. Their breath mingled, faces so close. Oliver's eyes squeezed shut, and he moaned.
“More.”
Oliver nodded, leaning back for a minute, fumbling with his belt and shoving his trousers and pants down to his knees. He leaned back in, pressing Percy's thighs close to his chest, one hand holding his weight as he guided his cock to Percy's stretched entrance.
Their eyes held each other. They always did. They always held, as Oliver slowly pushed himself inside. Their moans echoed.
“Yes,” Oliver hissed, hips rolling. His hand reclaimed the back of Percy's neck, grabbing the collar of Percy's ruined shirt. Percy's raised a hand to his shoulder, but Oliver grabbed it, pinning his wrist to the bed. Percy whimpered and Oliver grunted in response, the pace of his thrusts speeding up.
Percy cried out, and Oliver adjusted his angle, his look hungry. Percy felt his heart thunder in his mouth, his breathing too fast, awash in tingles and heat. His head thrashed with every thrust of Oliver's hips, his own hips jerking to meet them. His erection pushed into his stomach as Oliver's thrusts grew faster and faster.
“Oh, c'mon, c'mon, fuck,” Percy muttered, feeling the sweet heat build at the base of his spine, muttering incoherent obscenities as Oliver's hips snapped, balls slapping against him. Percy felt Oliver's grasp tighten on his wrist, and if his thoughts had been beyond friction, he might've wondered at the bruises he'd have in a moment.
“Yes,” he felt Oliver say, words rushing over his lips in a cloud of warm breath. “Yes, God. So. Tight. Yes.” And Percy leaned up to kiss him, their lips barely brushing, tongues barely touching.
“Perce,” Oliver groaned, and thrust hard. Percy felt him cum, sticky wetness spilling in him, Oliver's hips bucking instinctively, his rhythm forgotten. Percy watched it happen, Oliver's eyes fluttering, his mouth open, gasping, and Percy whimpered, darted his hand between their bodies and stroked himself. More, more, until he felt the tension break, pleasure rippling through him in broad, steady waves. Sticky strings of semen spouted on his chest and painted Oliver's stomach.
They lay still for long moments, eyes eventually fluttering open. They breathed each other's air, and held each other's gazes. Then Oliver leaned down and kissed Percy's cheek, releasing his grasp on his wrist. Percy's knees were wobbly when Oliver let them slip off his shoulders, scooting back as best he could, taking a second to completely remove his shoes and trousers.
Percy concentrated on breathing, using the corner of his shirt to clean the semen off his chest and stomach. He felt the wetness in him, a little leaking down his thigh, but he didn't bother with it. Maybe even relished it.
“Come here,” he whispered, and crawled to Oliver, wiping down his stomach with the corner of his shirt. Oliver watched his face while he did it, expression unreadable.
After a moment, Percy couldn't pretend there was anything left to clean, and he rested his hand on Oliver's hard stomach. Oliver threaded an arm under his, hugging Percy's back to his chest. He laid down, bearing them both to their sides, arms locked around Percy's shoulders, Percy's curls under his chin.
For another long moment, they only breathed.
“You were...quiet.” Percy finally said, and he realized it was true as he said it. Oliver was not usually quiet. Oliver was the reason Percy had to cast silencing charms on their dormitory. But Oliver...Oliver was quiet, that time.
Oliver didn't respond right away. “I guess,” he said, arms tightening slightly around Percy's shoulders. It made it harder for Percy to breathe, but somehow, he liked it that way.
“You were,” said Percy. “Something...I don't know. Something you're thinking about?”
“Would you rather I scream?” Oliver sounded vaguely amused.
“Never mind, then,” he said, but he didn't forget the question. He covered one of Oliver's hands with his own. “Congratulations, by the way.”
He swore he could feel Oliver smile against his hair. “Thanks.”
“Quidditch cup. Wow. That's...That's really wonderful.”
“Yeah.”
“And that save- that last one, y'know? Looked like you only had a toe on the broom for a minute there. Thought I was gonna be out of luck.” Percy put on his best Head Boy voice, “Oh really, wonderful, he won the bloody cup, but he's in the Hospital Wing again- how will I ever get my shag with Pomfrey around?”
Oliver laughed into Percy's ear- it was too loud, but Percy smiled.
“What am I gonna do without you?” said Oliver, face buried in Percy's curls. He said it softly, casually, but Percy could hear the squeak in his voice. Worry.
Percy felt himself stiffen. This was it. This was why Oliver was quiet, Percy suddenly knew. Could it be that Oliver was...afraid? This was their last year. This was, and Percy finally allowed himself to think it, this was the last match. The last victory. The last time he'd ever rush back to the dormitory and start peeling off his clothes. The last time he'd catch Oliver staring at him while he was supposed to be guarding the goalposts. The last time Oliver'd come bursting through the dormitory door, blood up and Hell in his eyes. The last.
Only poofs cry, Percy reminded himself and took a couple of deep breaths.
“Percy?” Oliver asked, his voice thick.
“Hm?” Percy tried not to sound like he was holding in tears.
“Percy, this is really it, isn't it?”
“I-” Percy took a breath, closing his eyes. “Yes. This is it.”
Oliver's arms squeezed even tighter, and Percy really thought the embrace might get dangerous, but all his body wanted was for Oliver to keep on tightening, to keep on pressing closer. Close enough, and maybe they'd just fuse and nobody, including themselves, would ever tear them apart again.
“Couldn't we...I don't know. Maybe you could- or, or we could...” Oliver trailed off.
“What? What, Oliver?” Percy winced, hearing that edge of pomposity slip into his voice, the same edge he used on his brothers when he felt threatened.
“Maybe we wouldn't have to...stop.”
Percy turned as much as he could in Oliver's grasp. “Oh? And how would that work, huh?”
“I...I don't know.”
“Am I just supposed to trail after you? Give up on the Ministry? Make myself available after victories and invisible the rest of the time?”
“No!” and now Oliver's voice held the edge. “That's not what I meant! I just- I just thought, somehow. Somehow, we could...”
“Do you want me to be your boyfriend, Oliver? Is that what you want?” Percy turned completely around in Oliver's arms and grabbed the Keeper's hand, threading their fingers together. He pointedly did not look into Oliver's eyes. “Because you didn't want it, here. You didn't want me when all we had to face were my brothers and their stupid jokes-” Percy's breath caught, but he continued, knowing he probably shouldn't, knowing he better shut his mouth before he broke something. “B-But you want me out there? Out there, with the press? And the interviews? And the- the eyes? Do you ever want to make first-string anything, anywhere, Oliver?” And Percy couldn't help that he sounded like a git, or that his voice was shaking, or that his eyes were welling up. Because he was a poof, and he knew it, and he was trying to convince them both that it would be better if he wasn't.
Oliver didn't speak, but his hand tightened on Percy's hand, and his eyes searched Percy's face. His other hand rose to stroke Percy's cheek, gently placing his fingertips on freckles he'd counted too many times.
“Tell me, Oliver, because I don't think you do. I don't think you want me. I d-don't th-think you-” Oliver put his hand over Percy's mouth.
“Shush,” he said, and his voice was heavy, because he was a poof, too, but he refused to cry, even when he could see the tears squeezed out of Percy's stubborn eyes, rolling down his freckled cheeks and soaking Oliver's hand. Percy was slowly turning cherry, from ears to chest, redder than the glow he usually held after sex, redder than when he shouted at Oliver for doing something unforgivably stupid, again. Oliver wished he didn't have to see it.
“Shush,” he said again, and buried his hand in Percy's hair, pulling his face up. And Oliver didn't want to cry, so he let Percy do it for both of them. Instead, he kissed him. He kissed him slow, and he kissed him angry, and he kissed him sad. He lingered over Percy's mouth like he'd never taste him again, because he wouldn't. He pressed his forehead against Percy's forehead like he'd never be that close again, because he wouldn't. He almost whispered, 'I love you,' to Percy's mouth, but he didn't, just like he didn't last time, like now he wouldn't ever.
“Slow, this time,” Percy whispered, so close he could feel his lips catch on Oliver's as he spoke.
“Slow,” Oliver agreed.