New fic: What Happens in Bulgaria... , Tonks/Percy, NC17.
Title: What Happens in Bulgaria...
Author:
ozma_katiebell
Recipient: alexandripearl
Pairing: Tonks/Percy
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~6978
Warnings: None, other than a second of male impersonation
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Could there be a worse assignment than being stuck in Bulgaria with a pair of pompous pricks?
Author's Notes: Written for hp_summersmut , and these two nearly killed me with the constant talking
Percy Weasley is definitely not my type.
No, definitely not. Skinny and uptight, and he dresses like a banker-not the goblins, mind you, the Muggle sort-and he looks as though if he ever deigned to participate in anything so undignified as fucking he'd be all about the missionary position and checking his pocket watch the entire time.
Now his brother...well, brothers really, but I'm talking Charlie in particular-that's definitely my type. Rough around the edges and muscles on top of muscles and you just know that he's the sort who could take you or leave you. You don't expect roses and poetry from that sort of a boy, but you do expect that you'll walk away with a smile on your face (and possibly walking funny).
So naturally, when I joined the Aurors, I expected to be positively surrounded by those types. And I was. There was Johnson, who couldn't even wait until we got inside my flat but instead took me against my front door. And Voorhees, who had me hanging off one of the shower heads in the Auror changing rooms, and Kowalsky, who quite literally fucked me into the mattress. Even Scrimgeour, who had the roundest and firmest and juiciest arse I've ever seen on anyone, let alone a man who was pushing fifty (not that I fucked him, but I did catch him in the shower) and Shacklebolt, who I also never got a chance at (lovely snog under the mistletoe notwithstanding) but whose velvet voice sometimes sent me home with soaked knickers and a desperate search for Bernard, my trusty talking toy (a Weasley special, come to think of it).
Sexy, sexy gents, every one of them.
Only trouble is that they aren't much good outside the sack. Well, that's not true. They're damn fine Aurors, and I'd happily trust any one of them with my life (all except Dawlish-there's something fishy about that one, there is). I just don't think I'd trust any of them with my heart. Or at least, I don't think I'd want them around for the day to day. I'd never understood the appeal of a sensitive bloke until I'd had to practically live in the pockets of a bunch of insensitive ones, day in and day out. And school doesn't count, either. Hufflepuff boys can be thick, but they're ever so helpful and considerate most of the time.
Not so, my fellow Aurors. And while I wasn't looking to be coddled at work-in fact. it was vitally important to me that they understood I wasn't expecting special treatment because I was a female-but on a date, one generally hopes that one’s partner might do more to acknowledge you're a girl than fondle your tits.
I'm not talking about holding doors open and pulling out chairs and paying for the date. I can do all that myself. I just expect more from a date than "Oi, Tonks, you wanna get a drink?" followed an hour or so later by, "So, do you wanna fuck, or what?"
Is that asking too much? I don't think so.
Anyway, back to Percy. Who is definitely not my type.
Or at least that's what I kept grumbling to myself when I found out that I was going to be stuck with him in bloody Sofia while his boss made arrangements with their Minister to get his team to England for the World Cup. Me and two stiffs in a practically third-world country. I had visions of a dreary, dismal, practically medieval (or industrial) hell thanks to my dad's Uncle Peter, who thought that anything east of Switzerland was full of commie scum and peasants. We'd really hoped it was going to be Australia, up until the very last minute, at least. Let me tell you, I was really looking forward to seeing Sydney, (not to mention those lovely rowdy Aussie boys) but in the end, Viktor Bloody Krum caught the Snitch right out of Spinelli's fingers and dashed that dream to pieces. Some day I will get to Sydney.
Really.
Anyway, Sofia it was, and it would have been ever so much better to have gone with Bagman; it made more sense to me, anyway, since at least he could have talked Quidditch, not only to me, but to the Bulgarians. Honestly, I didn't know what the meeting (or the fuss) was supposed to be about. England had been the safest Wizarding country in the world for a decade at least, and it wasn't as though Quidditch players needed all that much protection. Nor were we expected to set them up in posh hotel rooms, because everybody on the field would be sleeping in a tent, right?
I’m still not entirely sure what they felt was so delicate, it needed to be negotiated in person. Press coverage, maybe, or food. The Portkeys were simple enough and I doubted the Bulgarians planned to stay on in England after their inevitable loss. (I was for Ireland, of course-I'd been a Lynch fan for ages) But there I found myself, practically holding hands with the pair of pompous pricks over an empty can of shaving cream.
I was already annoyed with Percy for the way he'd looked at my hair and tightened his lips when I first arrived. Well, to be honest, I didn't mind that so much as I minded the implication-it was clear from his face that he thought I was bound to make a bad impression on foreign diplomats or, worse yet, that I wasn't up to the job of protecting him and his boss, whom he clearly idolized.
I'm used to it-hell, I'd got enough of it from my mother's mad relatives (and some of my father's, for that matter) to last a lifetime. But don't ever imply that I can't do my job, which is what he did in a whispered conversation with his boss a few minutes later when he thought I couldn't hear him.
He shut up in a hurry when I morphed into a damn near perfect version of his second brother, only taller. Hell, I'd spent long enough gazing longingly at the boy throughout school to know his face by memory, hadn't I? Still the look of horror on his face as my features formed back into my own was enough to ruin my mood. Yeah, I'm a freak, I thought. Better that than someone who walks round like he's got his wand up his bum.
Now, I knew better than to make a bad impression on foreign dignitaries, don't get me wrong. Which is why I chose to look like a more athletic version of my mum for the meeting, during which I stood back quietly and did my best to mimic her ‘you are in a world of trouble, young lady’ look. Which could be bloody fucking terrifying, let me tell you-especially when you consider that she's related to a raving psychopath with a penchant for torture.
The meeting went well, though technically, I wasn't supposed to be listening. We just had to make sure that the Bulgarian team had plenty of Rakia for after the match.
After a painfully dull ‘celebratory dinner,’ we went back to our hotel, where Mr. Crouch assured me that he'd be all right alone in his room alone so long as I set up the proper protections spells. Once I'd done that (with Weasley looking over my shoulder the entire time) and once Crouch wished us both goodnight (calling Weasley by the wrong name) and shut the door, I turned to Percy and said, "So, shall I do you next?"
I swear, the boy turned positively purple, and sputtered, "No thank you, I'm just...going to bed. Alone, I mean."
I couldn't help but giggle. "Don't worry, Weatherby,” I said. “I haven't got designs on you-I just meant I'd do your room-"
And how did one do a room, anyway, I wondered. I'd have bet there were 'do' able rooms at Hogwarts-ones that gave you a perfectly lovely orgasm if you stroked the walls or floorboards in just the right way. It occurred to me then (and not for the first time) that I not only had a filthy mind, but it was far better suited to a twelve-year-old. However, considering that Percy had got even redder, maybe he was thinking along the same lines. And then it occurred to me that Percy Weasley was sort of-well, appealing when he blushed, though not in a sexy way. Well, maybe a bit sexy, if you liked that sort of boy, which I most certainly didn't. "You're just going to go to bed, then? Not even going to see the city?"
"Oh. Well, er, I have this report..."
"Which you can do later, can't you? I mean, how many times do you get to go to Bulgaria, anyway? Besides, it's ever so much prettier than I imagined."
"But it's night."
"Even better. Old buildings and dark alleys and gorgeous dark boys to meet..."
"Boys?"
"Girls, then. Come on, Weatherby, let see what sort of mischief we can get into."
"I don't do mischief," he said irritably, making the last word sound like the nastiest swear word he'd ever heard and puffing his chest out like an annoyed owl.
"Well, there's your problem," I said and gave him my most irresistable grin. Why I was pushing the matter, I didn't know, but he really was sort of fun to tease.
"Meet you back here in ten minutes. Wear something fun," I said over my shoulder as I made my way down the hall to my room, not giving him a chance to object.
I knocked on the door eleven minutes later, and he opened it with, "You're late."
"Never mind that," I said, looking him up and down and scowling at him. "What the hell are you wearing? We're never going to get you laid in that get up."
"Get me laid?" he sputtered. "I don't want..."
"Course you do," I said, pushing him back in the room. "It's painfully obvious--you really, really need to get laid."
"I beg your pardon-" he said, but I was already in his closet, pulling out one set of perfectly pressed, perfectly boring work robes after another. He did have denims, however, and though they were the stiff, new-looking sort, I thought they might just do.
"Throw these on," I said. "I've got a shirt that'll probably fit you.
"I can't-" he said. "I couldn't possibly wear your clothes. You're...a girl."
"Glad you noticed. Not mine, though," I said, bounding toward the door. "Old boyfriend's. I sleep in it."
I left him there gaping after me, but when I returned, he'd obediently put the denims on along with a gray button-down shirt I'd considered briefly before the 'Never mind the bollocks...' shirt popped into my mind
I held it up for his approval.
"I don't think so...
"Yes," I said in a tone that brooked no argument thrusting it in his hands.
"In that, you're an accountant, dull as dirt. In this, you're an edgy nerd, and trust me, there is a huge difference."
"No," he said, more firmly.
"When's the last date you had, Weatherby?"
"I'm very busy...
"And you still live with your parents, I suppose."
"Well, yes, but-"
"Trust me, I'm a girl. Wear the damn shirt."
He sighed but went into the loo to change. I had to laugh at his modesty. As if I hadn't seen it before, but maybe he was being considerate on account of his near-blinding whiteness. Still, it got me wondering what he was hiding under his perfectly pressed robes, and when he came out, looking decidedly uncomfortable, I had to admit I was impressed. Charlie, he wasn't-but he'd do.
"Have you made a reservation?" he asked
"Nope," I said and cast a wickedly effective charm of my own making on his door as I closed it behind us. "We're just going to go where the night takes us."
"Are you sure? We could get lost in an unfamiliar city and all--or mugged, or worse-"
"You're with an Auror, love. I’ll protect you."
He was muttering under his breath, but he still trotted along at my side.
The first bar was a disaster-not many people under fifty years old there. The second bar wasn't much better-Quidditch fans, but the hooligan sort. Even I knew the place had an air of danger, and not the good kind. The third was more promising (lots of fit gents snogging each other) but Percy wasn't too keen on staying, especially after his arse got pinched the third time. The fourth was a winner, I thought. The music was loud but not enough to prevent conversation and the people seemed friendly. Well, between my hair and his, we were bound to attract some attention, but still, it had a good vibe.
He went to get us both a drink, and I went off to 'look for a table', though I had no intention of sitting down much and in reality was scoping out a promising girl for Weasley. With a drink in each hand, he found me on the edge of the dance floor, swaying on my feet and admiring the scenery.
I tossed back my drink, which I'd only ordered because I found the idea that he'd have to approach the bartender and ask for a ‘Blow Job’ amusing. He did the same thing, which was probably more impressive on his end because it smelt like mostly firewhisky. Apparently he'd made a good impression on one of the nearby girls, who had jet black hair, blood red lipstick and had the longest eyelashes I'd ever seen. She waited around a bit, clearly trying to get his attention, but he was oblivious. Finally, she approached him and whispered in his ear. He looked at me questioningly, I gave him a big thumbs up, and off he went, looking back at me over his shoulder.
This, apparently, made me fair game to the blokes around me, and it wasn't long before I was chatting up a tall, dark, and dishy sort of bloke who claimed to be a professional Beater, though I hadn't seen his name on the roster for the national team. Still, his eyes were rather startlingly green, and his shoulders were impressively broad, and when he offered his hand, I took it willingly and followed him into the gyrating throng.
Turned out, my partner was a pincher, and I was back on a stool before the song ended. The next one to approach was fair-haired, on holiday from Russia, and hardly spoke any English. He was fit enough, but stepped on my toes more than once, and I reckoned that having two clumsy people on a dance floor was really tempting fate.
The third one led me back to the dance floor before I'd had a chance to sit back down.
Once settled, I began to lose myself in the music. This partner was ever so much nicer, with gorgeous dark eyes and lovely biceps (and a tattoo) peeking out from under his shirt. He knew how to move, too, and when he pulled me by the waist to settle me between his thighs, I wasn't about to object. By the time we got to the third song, he was nuzzling my neck, and I was pondering the merits of 'foreign country sex.' I mean, it was all right for Weasley, (clearly it was just what he needed) but I did like to know the person a bit at least. Towards the beginning of the fourth song, though, my partner abruptly left, and when I turned to ask him why, I was confronted with Weasley, who took his place with an oddly determined look in his eyes.
"Where's your girl?" I asked, and he gestured vaguely off to the side in response, not really answering. "We'll find you another one," I said, and he just gave this funny sort of laugh, dancing closer to me. Apparently whatever he'd said to my former partner had scared him off or something.
I looked around, but really, I wasn't all that chuffed. Actually, Weasley wasn't a half-bad dancer, and as he spun me and then pulled me close, it occurred to me that he was stronger than he looked. When the tempo changed and he pulled me even closer still, it occurred to me that he really smelled nice-sweaty, of course, but sort of woodsy and clean, too.
What hadn't occurred to me is that he would try to kiss me-so when he leaned forward, I assumed he was trying to talk to me and I helpfully turned my ear toward him. However, instead of speaking into my ear, I felt his lips brushing the sensitive skin beneath it, and I was so startled, I turned and bumped my chin right into his nose.
He swore into my ear, and when I stepped back to look at him, he was wincing and straightening out his glasses. His nose was red and his eyes were watering from the apparent blow I'd given him. I let out a horrified giggle. At this point, it struck me that he must have been trying to kiss me, and just as I was beginning to wrap my mind around that bit of preposterousness, he went and did it again. Only this time, he'd reached up to touch my cheek and he sort of held me there in place as his mouth moved toward mine. I was so startled (still, in spite of everything) that I completely forgot to object.
Once his lips made contact, there were a lot of other things I forgot-like the fact that Percy Weasley was definitely not my type, and that speccy, skinny boys who lived with their parents and were probably virgins generally didn't kiss like that, or maybe I'd been misjudging them all along. Or maybe it was just this one.
You know how some blokes just sort of grab you and kiss you so hard your toes curl? Well, this wasn't that sort of thing. Not at all. Maybe it was the haze of shock, but as he cupped my face before he kissed me, it seemed one of those moments where the world slows down. He looked first into my eyes, then down to my lips, finally closing his eyes just a second before his lips touched mine. And when they did, it seemed I'd been waiting for it forever, in spite of the fact that it only lasted a second and the contact was almost undetectable.
Almost.
But when he pressed forward again, and again and again, finally taking my other cheek in his other hand, holding my face steady as he carefully but determinedly coaxed my mouth open-well, toe curling doesn't even begin to describe it. I couldn't have told you what the people around us were doing or whether the music had changed or even if we were still in Bulgaria. All that mattered were his lips and tongue and teeth and the heat of his fingers on my cheeks, stroking my jaw, my neck, my earlobes. I could have gone on doing it for hours. And maybe I did, come to think of it.
It took someone stepping on my toe to snap me out of the trance I seemed to be in, and when I opened my eyes, Percy seemed to be just as startled by what had happened as I'd been. But then his features settled into something that looked a little too much like smugness for my comfort. Had he been making a joke? Proving a point that he didn't need help getting a date? Was it payback for my implying he liked boys?
"All right, Weatherby," I said. "I'll give you credit for initiative, but seducing me wasn't on the agenda for this evening. Or attempting to seduce me, rather," I hastily added. No need to let him know that my hands were still shaking, and that I really would have liked nothing better than to jump his skinny bones right there on the dance floor, right?
He looked confused for a moment, and I felt even more confused. He was definitely not my type. Prickly, uptight, and apparently utterly lacking in imagination. And yet, he seemed so adorably earnest...
"I didn't mean to offend you, Miss Tonks."
"Just Tonks, Weatherby. No need for formality once you've stuck your tongue down my throat, is there?"
"Well, no, but...what is your first name, anyway?"
"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."
For a moment, he looked as if I'd slapped him.
"That's a joke. Surely you've heard of those?"
He frowned. "Yes, I'm rather painfully familiar with the concept."
He abruptly took my hand and led me off the dance floor, and for some reason, I just meekly followed him. Well, he had actually looked down my neckline and licked his lips, and I confess that the motion of his tongue had me remembering how it felt to have him licking my lips, so it hardly occurred to me to wonder where he was taking me. So much for constant vigilance, yeah?
He looked round the club toward the nearest exit, which happened to take us out to a dingy alley. I had my hand (the one that wasn't holding his) on my wand, and apparently, he was doing the same thing.
"Romantic spot you've found," I joked, and my voice sounded ridiculously loud after the noise of the club.
"Must you joke about everything?"
"What can I say?" I said. "Life's too short not to laugh whenever you can."
"You sound like my brother," he said, irritably. "Brothers."
"Yeah," I said, looking closely at him. "Seems to me that you got short shifted in the humor department, compared to the rest of your-"
He cut me off. "And it seems to me that you use humor to avoid thinking about anything that matters."
"Like what?" I demanded, offended that he seemed to be insulting my professionalism. "And don't you dare imply that I've done a crap job of protecting your boss. If anything's happened to him..."
"That's not what I meant," he replied and stepped closer to me.
"What the fuck is your problem, then, Weasley?"
"I kissed you," he said, looking down at my lips again.
"I know."
"And you liked it."
"I- " I very nearly repeated myself but caught on in time. "Says you. So what?"
"So, plenty," he said and kissed me again, harder this time, slanting his head to the side and sending every bit of blood in my body rushing between my legs.
"Wasn't trying to seduce you," he said, leaning his forehead against mine so that my lips were just millimeters away from his but not quite close enough to touch, damn him. "But if I had been, it seemed to be working."
"When did your head get so big?" I muttered, refusing to close the distance between us.
"Do. You. Ever. Shut. Up?” he growled, punctuating each word with a nip of my lip or a slide of his tongue.
"Is that stick up your arse a permanent fixture? Do you enjoy having it there?" I asked, and I was really getting breathless at this point because he was nibbling his way down my jaw, and as much as I fucking hate the word ‘nibble,’ I had to admit it felt bloody brilliant.
"Haven't got anything up my arse," he said, and he'd made it to my ear at that point, and the heat of his breath nearly made me soak my knickers.
"Yes, you have," I insisted. "Rectum, prostate, colon, lower intestines..."
"If that's your version of dirty talk, you've got no right to complain about my choice of a dingy alley," he said, and I could only moan in response, because his hand was on my left tit at that point, and it was fairly clear that not only had he touched one before, but he really, really knew what to do with them.
"Still, a bed would be more practical-" I said, and before I'd even had a chance to finish the sentence, I found myself in the hallway outside his room. I was feeling rather warm because he'd taken us a little too close to the wards and they were beginning to warn us off.
"Hang on," I said, and pushed him further down the hallway as I went to work undoing them. By the time I was done, even without looking in a mirror I could tell that my face was red and my hair was sticking to my forehead in a most unbecoming manner. Percy tried to look anywhere but at my face.
"Bollocks," I said and screwed my eyes shut, concentrating on the way my hair and face had looked in the mirror that morning. There really was something to be said for never having to put up with a bad hair day, right? But the look on his face as he watched me change had me feeling a bit uncomfortable. Either he was fascinated, which might have promised a night of him demanding to be entertained by me making every funny face I could think of-which seemed unlikely given his apparent lack of a sense of humor-or he was utterly disgusted. Or perhaps he was thrilled by the concept and was trying to pluck up the courage to ask me to turn into Brenda Bazooms, the most popular dancer at the Wanton Witch, or his first girlfriend or his aunt Mildred, or god forbid, the same version of his brother I'd done earlier.
I waited for the inevitable curiosity, bracing myself for the worst. "Does it hurt?" he finally asked, and honestly, no one had ever thought to ask that.
"No, not really. Bit disorienting, sometimes, especially when I make big changes in a hurry-you know like how I did in the Portkey waiting area. Sorry about that-I was trying to think of someone who might impress you. Sometimes it takes a while to get used to the shift in body parts and I lose my equilibrium, but no, not painful. Except when it makes me clumsy."
"I imagine it would," he said, and let me tell you, there is really something sexy about someone who listens, let alone actually thinks about what you said to them.
"Why the pink hair, then?"
"Because I like it. It makes me happy."
He sort of rolled his eyes at that and said, "Of course it would."
"Why does it bother you so much?"
"Bother? I don't think I'd use that word," he said. "It suits you, actually. It's just...so vivid, I suppose. Feminine, only not, especially with those ridiculous boots of yours. It's just sort of...absurd."
"And your hair is dignity personified, I suppose," I snapped.
"Well, no, I don't suppose it is. I used to wish..."
"What?"
"Never mind."
"So you want me to let you inside my body but asking about your hair is too personal?"
"No! It's just...well, they see me coming, and they automatically start judging me based on my dad or my brother or my uncles. It's a lot of baggage to carry around, I suppose."
I couldn't think of anything to say in response, because I didn't want to admit he'd hit a nerve.
"You wouldn't understand," he muttered, and I snorted in response. When he looked up, I explained.
"I could go black, but then everyone would tell me I look like my mum, who's fucking perfect-graceful, elegant-everything I'm not. Or worse yet, my aunt, who is a raving lunatic. Or I could go blond and look like my other aunt, the pureblood snob, who would prefer that both me and my dad never existed and that my mum had died before shaming the family. I could always use my dad's colour-sort of a light brown-which is probably close to what I was born with, but it's hard to tell, because I was morphing almost from the beginning. I don't mind looking like my dad, honestly, but the colour looks like shit on me-I look as if I haven't slept for days. Which leaves me ginger, and I wouldn't want to be mistaken for one of those dreadful Weasleys, would I?" He looked up suddenly, and when he realized I was teasing, he started laughing. It was a really lovely belly laugh, not to mention a startlingly beautiful smile. Smiling, he looked like an entirely different person. In fact, he damn near took my breath away.
"There, that's done with the stick up your arse, I think. Of course-if you're really into that sort of thing, I might be able to manage a serviceable cock-"
He laughed even harder then, though he looked and sounded sort of horrified. "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind, but..."
"But what?"
He took a step forward, gathering my face in his hands again, touching the edges of my hair with his fingers. "I think I'd prefer you stay as you are. It really does suit you," he repeated, and in order to minimise the risk of him asking if the carpet matched the curtains, I kissed him, wrapping my arms around his waist and drawing him close.
"And Weasley red suits you," I replied, and it occurred to me that I'd never actually seen a naked ginger up close before and really, it seemed well past time I remedied that lapse in my education.
"Are you trying to seduce me, Miss Tonks?" he said, and for a minute, I considered him, wondering if there was any possible way he knew enough to quote that film my dad was so fond of, but while he looked adorably earnest, I could see a twinkle in his eye, and I had to guess that it was just his way of throwing back my own words at me.
"Is it working?" I asked.
His brow furrowed as he pretended to consider. "I'd say so," he replied, and this time as he pulled me even closer, I could feel his body stirring against mine.
"Inside," I said and stepped backwards toward the door, pulling him along with me as I nipped at his chin. My back bumped against the door and he pressed me even closer to it, fumbling in the general area of my hip for the knob. Once he found it, he jiggled it a bit, having completely forgot that I locked it magically. I grabbed my wand from my sleeve and it opened so suddenly that I fell backwards, dragging Percy with me, the pair of us landing in a tangle of limbs, still snogging madly.
I have to admit, the weight of him on me was sheer heaven, and I wrapped one of my legs around his bum, pressing him even harder into me-hard being the operative word-and he made this lovely sort of whimper at the contact, and I pulled him down by his ears to kiss him even harder. In the process, I sent his glasses somewhat askew and I thought, what the hell, and went to pull them off. "Don't,” he said in this fabulously authoritative, growly voice that I never in a million years would have suspected could have come out of his body. “I want to see."
I giggled nervously and added, "And apparently you want everyone else on our floor to see," gesturing at the open door.
"Damn," he said, and scrambled to his feet. After pulling me to my feet impatiently, he kicked the door shut and dragged me to bed with all the finesse of a caveman. Not that I minded-to think that the prissy man I'd met that morning had been so transfigured by lust, and for me, of all people-was certainly a thrill.
I climbed onto the bed and sat up on my knees, gesturing for him to join me. He shook his head, kicking off his shoes. Considering the way the rest of them were perfectly aligned in his closet, I thought the fact that he just kicked them to the side was a bit of a compliment. I went to take off mine, but again, he said, "Don't," and when I looked up, he said, "Leave them."
Apparently he wanted me to leave the boots he had just referred to as ‘ridiculous’ on, which I didn't mind, but I pointed toward my tights and said, "Going to make fucking a bit difficult, isn't it?"
He raised an eyebrow, apparently considering. And what was it about watching his brain in action that was such a turn on, anyway? "Evanesco," he said and as I felt the cool air of the hotel room on my legs, I cried out, “Those were the only tights I had left, you prat!"
But Percy was already climbing up on the bed, kissing his way up my bare legs, so I really wasn't going to do too much objecting. "I’ll get you another pair," he said, settling down to kiss the inside of my thigh.
"Keep on where you're going and we'll call it even," I said, shivering as he began to suck on one of the more wobbly bits of my thighs, probably leaving a mark.
“I think this might be worth more than a pair of stockings,” Percy said, letting his fingers slide further up my thigh to almost but not quite touch my knickers. Thank goodness I'd put on a decent pair, I thought.
"Bit cocky, yeah?” I asked. “Well, you might want to put your money where your mouth is, then. Or rather, your mouth where...oh, fuck."
And then I didn't say anything more, because he was pulling down my knickers and opening my legs. I closed my eyes, waiting for the big payoff and…nothing. Nothing except one measly finger making tortuously light and slow circles on the very top of my thighs. However, it was well worth opening my eyes for then, because he was looking at me, really studying me, as though he was memorising my bits for a quiz, except he was sort of hungry-looking too, and holy shit, the intensity in his eyes just about made me come on the spot.
He caught me looking at him, and his cheeks got a bit of colour in them, and he smiled. It was this funny, little crooked smile I hadn't seen yet-one that sort of made him look like a kid. I wondered what sort of kid he'd been, then. Well, I supposed I'd seen him as a kid-in fact, I must have watched him being sorted and I'd have likely thought 'Oh, Charlie's got another brother, then.‘ Still, it seemed to me that he'd always struck me as being older than he probably was in reality.
"What?" I said, and his grin widened. "Pink," he replied and got even redder.
"Please don't tell me I'm the first girl you've seen naked,” I groaned, covering up my eyes and fighting the urge to close my legs.
"What? Oh, of course not. But...I wondered if it would be the same as your hair, but I didn't think that was the sort of thing you'd ask over dinner."
"You were thinking of my pubes over dinner?"
"Oh...no! Well, possibly, but only in an academic sense."
"Weasley?"
"Oh, sorry, right, erm-"
"If you don't shut up and do something better with your mouth within thirty seconds I'm going to hex you into next week."
You know what? Apparently, Percy Weasley likes being told what to do.
And that's not a bad thing, considering that I can be right bossy sometimes.
And you know what else? Percy Weasley is a detail man.
Lots and lots of details. No detail left unattended.
Or untouched.
Or unlicked.
Or un...
Well, you get the idea.
And that was all before he'd even got most of my clothes off. Or any of his, for that matter. Which he did, eventually, but by that time, I was pretty much a sweaty, shivering, whimpering bundle of nerves. And Percy? Well, he was beginning to look smug at this point, but his glasses were no longer straight on his nose and what was better, he didn't seem to be all that bothered by it. His denims had fallen into a crumpled pile on the floor and the shirt I'd lent him was hanging off a lamp and Percy's hair was looking (rightly so) as if somebody had been tugging on it for the better part of an hour and his lips were all swollen and his eyes had gone dark and I wondered how on earth I had been thick enough to write him off as a nerd.
Or maybe it was because I'd dismissed him as a nerd. Seems to me those Weasleys had always been driven, not to mention competitive and completely, maddeningly stubborn.
Sounds familiar, yeah?
Like looking in a mirror, only...not.
Anyway, I couldn't let him be the one with all the power, could I? Not if I had even a bit of Black in me.
So somehow, I managed to scrape together the strength to turn the tables on him. I knocked him onto his back and moved over him, breathing softly but hardly letting my tongue touch his skin. I let my fingers ghost over him, just enough to make all the fine hairs covering his body stand on end and set his nerves to dancing. I put my mouth over his cock while he was still wearing his boxers, letting my tongue slip inside the gap just long enough to make him swear out loud. Then I tugged down his pants and just looked, giving him the same treatment he gave me, making him gnash his teeth in frustration. I scraped my fingernails down his inner thighs and made him yelp just before I licked up the length of his cock and made him moan.
Then I took him all the way inside my mouth and discovered that he had a vocabulary that might have made the boys in the Auror changing rooms blush.
I let it go on, sometimes taking him all the way in, sometimes using my fingers to slide up and down his shaft and toy with his bollocks. Just when he'd really begun grasping at my hair and bucking into my mouth, I let him go. Ignoring his groan of protest, I grinned and began to crawl slowly up his body, feeling predatory, almost feline, and deliciously powerful. He could see it in my eyes, too, and I'll be damned if he didn't absolutely love it. I moved his arms up over his head and held him by the wrists as I teased him with my tits, never letting him latch on for more than a couple of seconds. I sat on his cock, grinding down, absolutely soaking him, but I didn't let him in. I nipped at his neck, whispering the dirtiest things I could think of in his ear, watching him blush, not sure whether to be horrified or utterly turned on. I suspect it was more of the latter, actually.
And then finally, when I didn't think either one of us could stand it a moment longer, I sank down on him, and the man howled. Or maybe I did. Or maybe we both did, but it was fucking brilliant.
Well, you know what they say about the quiet ones, but I'd never have believed it. Or maybe it was all that tension he carried around with him. When he finally let it go, he was a fucking wild man, his fingers digging into my arse, bucking up towards me so hard I thought the bed was going to bounce off the floor. And that's not even mentioning what happened to the hotel rooms' electricity. Well, Mum always said it was the most powerful magic in the world-love. Not that it was love, but…you get the idea.
Anyway, I'm surprised they didn't kick us out. I know that Mr. Crouch was having trouble meeting our eyes the next day, but given the fact that this was right around the time he was reportedly put under a curse by his own son, I might have been imagining things. Besides, I wasn't imagining the fact that Percy had trouble meeting his boss' eyes, not to mention mine. Your average girl might have let that sort of thing put her off, but I'm not your average girl, am I?
I ran into him again at the World Cup. I was off duty, he was sort of on, but still, we had a lovely couple of hours alone in my borrowed tent. Well, I'm sure you know what happened later that night, and we Aurors were kept pretty busy after that. Percy seemed increasingly overworked as the year went on, but we managed to steal some time together every few weeks. However, we started fighting when I asked too many questions about his boss' mental health. When I went to the first Order of the Phoenix meeting and saw that he was one of the only Weasleys not in attendance, I knew it was over.
I mean, a relationship can survive opposite personalities and it can probably survive a lack of time spent together and it can sometimes even survive political differences. But the way I see it, there is right and there is wrong, and if someone is unwilling to stand up for right, how can you trust them with your heart?
Hopefully someday he'll get his head back on straight. Until then...who knows? That tweedy friend of Sirius' is sort of a dish, isn't he? And you know what they say about the quiet ones...