Author: loony4lupin
Recipient: rosivan
Title: The Subtle Art of List Making
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Oliver/Percy, Oliver/OMC
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Falling in love wasn't in Oliver Wood's plan. But he was very good at making plans when the situation called.
Warnings: Slash, oral, frottage, and general silliness.
Word Count: 12, 500
Author's Notes: Wow. This morphed into something I couldn't have even imagined. A big, huge thanks to my beta S, without whom I wouldn't be writing. Enjoy!
Falling in love wasn't part of his plan.
Not that he had much of a plan. But, he had a vague sense of what he wanted the plan to be, if there ever were to be a plan. It mostly involved Quidditch, booze and money for the rest of his life — in that particular order. He never had been a very complicated lad. His mother had taught him that good things didn't always come to good people, so if something good came to him, then he should hang onto it or so help her God, she would make sure his ungrateful self was buried in his best kilt. She was the strong type.
So, when Oliver Wood fell in love, he took it as a good thing and put love in front of Quidditch.
The problem wasn't that Oliver didn't prioritise. Nope. It was that he fell in love with the most complicated, logical and emotionally disabled boy in the whole of the UK. No, really. Percy Weasley was the epitome of frustrating. It wasn't past Oliver. In fact, when he first realized that he fancied Percy, he wanted to make it go away as quickly as possible. The problem was, it appeared that fancying Percy was more of a permanent affliction.
And so, Oliver planned.
Because he was an exceptional planner. His strategies for Quidditch were ace, and so he was determined that his plans for making Percy fall in love with him had to be as good. Yet, it seemed that Percy was not one to follow other people's plans. Who knew?
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The first thing Oliver did, was try and think like Percy. If you get into the mind of your opponent, then there is a greater chance of knowing where their next step may be, and then you can strike or pounce or tackle or whatever blokes did when they fancied other blokes and made plans. Thinking like Percy was bloody exhausting. But Oliver pressed on. To be honest, it was mostly the image of Percy's freckled skin against Oliver's green sheets that made thinking like Percy tolerable. It also made him hard.
So, Oliver did what Percy did when he was making a plan.
Make a list.
Things Percy Enjoys
1. Studying
2. Rules
3. Socks
4. Peppermint sticks
5. Milk with his tea
6. Cock Having a lie in on Saturdays
The plan was to work through the list. To infiltrate Percy's life until Percy had no choice but to realise how charming and wonderful Oliver was and jump into bed with him. The plan sounded a lot better in his head than it did when explaining it to Katie Bell.
"You fancy Percy?"
Oliver sighed. "Yes, Katie. I told you that at the beginning of this conversation. Haven't you been listening for the past twenty minutes while I explained to you my plan?"
"Well, I'm still having trouble wrapping my mind about the concept."
"For fuck's sake, Katie, I came to you for help."
"Wait, this plan is because you fancy Percy Weasley? Like Percy Weasley, the red-haired git that always seems like he has a wand up his— Oh, well I guess that makes much more sense now..."
"Oh bugger off."
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Item One of Oliver’s list, well it was more Percy’s, but never the less, studying was easy to infiltrate.
Oliver figured it would be helpful if he wasn't all sweaty and mud-covered, as Percy didn’t much seem the type to appreciate mud or sweat, or dirt of any kind really. So, Oliver showered and slipped on his most presentable jumper that was clean. His most presentable jumper was dirty because he had worn it when he was making lists and planning. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Percy was in a quiet nook in the common room when Oliver finally descended the stairs. It was hard to notice him, the way he was tucked up in the over-stuffed chair looking pleasantly flushed from the fire and oddly comfortable. Yet, Oliver was more drawn to Percy than he was by the rambunctious game of Exploding Snap, or Hermione Granger laying into Ron Weasley about not doing his homework. It seemed odd to Oliver, but he enjoyed the way Percy pushed his glasses up by the tip of the frames, and how he sighed when he finished a chapter.
Oliver came to two conclusions; one was that he had become a creepy stalker the moment he decided he fancied Percy, and the second was that Percy made him hard just by reading. Oliver was strangely comfortable with both of these realisations. This worried him, but did not deter him from his task: infiltrating item number one, studying. He could freak out about his stalker status later… after Quidditch and the actual stalking he was doing. Bugger.
Oliver made his way over to Percy, casually brushing off anyone who wanted to carry on a conversation with him as he went by. He was almost derailed by Fred Weasley, but in his own defence, Fred had ideas for Quidditch. Oliver had stayed strong though, and only listened for ten minutes instead of forty-five. He was getting better at prioritising, but it didn't mean he was made of steel. A man had his limits, and he was proud to say he had stretched his today.
Oliver perched himself as casually as possible on the chair Percy was engulfed in. Percy did not look up from his book. Oliver huffed and turned a bit towards Percy. Still nothing.
"Perce."
"Hmm."
It wasn't even a fucking question. Oliver felt himself become a bit irritated… and hard. Fuck.
"I need a favour, mate."
"Hmm."
"With important Cup games up and 'round the corner, I thought maybe I could get some of your help with Transfiguration."
"Sure."
"Really?" Oliver wondered if Percy was paying attention. It certainly made it easier when he wasn't. That, and at least Percy couldn't notice the way Oliver was drooling over the curve of Percy's ear if he wasn't paying attention.
"Yeah. Sure."
"Wonderful. I'll let you to your book then. I'll just come round after practice, yeah?"
"Hmmhmm."
Oliver smiled and walked awkwardly away. He needed a wank. It was starting to worry him that he would have a permanent hard on for the rest of his life if he always fancied Percy. The thought made him cringe, until he was alone and found some lube. Then he wasn't cringing at all. He imagined stroking Percy's knee caps underneath the table at the library, and the way Percy's voice would catch and hitch when Oliver slid underneath the table, pulled Percy's cock out of the confines of his trousers and sucked him off. Just the thought of Percy's length against his tongue and the ability to trace those freckles with his tongue, to taste Percy as he flooded his mouth, had Oliver coming embarrassingly quickly. All over his trunk. Damn.
Oliver wondered, holding his spent cock in his hand, if he wasn't in just a tad bit over his head.
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Oliver spent a good day worrying about Quidditch and badgering Harry Potter without thinking about Percy, and that calmed his nerves. That is until he went to settle into bed and found Percy, curled up on top of his own bed, completely asleep and obviously still in his day clothes. Oliver then had a problem getting the image out of his mind.
He took a tentative step towards Percy's bed, tracing the deep red duvet with the tips of his fingers, and hoping that it wouldn't wake Percy, although, that was his purpose in being over here in the first place. Oliver rolled his eyes at his own ability to be a nancy, and took the opportunity to watch Percy's chest rise and fall in his sleep. All Oliver could think of doing was running his hands through the curls at the base of Percy's neck. He, thankfully, resisted because, blimey, wouldn't that have been embarrassing for Percy to wake up to.
"Perce," Oliver said as he shook Percy's form slightly. He tried to whisper, but his voice always came out just a little too loud ,and he cursed his inability to do mundane tasks with Percy around. "Perce, wake up and get undressed, mate, so you can go to bed proper."
Percy seemed to stir, stretching his long legs out from underneath him. Oliver filed the movement in his memory, the way Percy's thigh muscles twitched beneath the stiff cloth of his trousers and how his toes curled exceptionally hard at the end of the stretch. It was enough for Oliver to cast aside his stupid plan with his stupid list and attack Percy, hoping all would go well.
"Ollie?" Percy's voice was gravelly with sleep and Oliver swallowed. As if he wasn't always hard enough, Percy had to go around making those delicious noises while saying his name.
"Yeah, just going to bed. It's past one."
Percy nodded, but seemed still asleep as he stripped off his shirt and trousers with a lazy grace. Oliver couldn't move. It was the most he'd seen of Percy since first year, when Oliver had helped him get undressed after being attacked by a sputtering cauliflower and ruining all of his clothes. Oliver concluded that Percy had certainly grown since first year. He was still thin. God, Percy was thin as ever with his hip bones protruding from his pants, and the way his ribs seemed to be visible at every angle. And the freckles—fuck, the freckles were everywhere. Oliver watched as Percy stretched once again before rolling on to his stomach and falling back to sleep. Oliver tried not to drool over the endless, sinewy plains of Percy's back or the way his arse looked good enough to eat.
Oliver shook his head. He picked up a blanket at the bottom of the bed and carefully draped it over Percy before beating a hasty retreat to his own bed, wiping the drool from his mouth and trying to smother himself with his pillow.
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Number two on the list was rules.
Oliver didn't even bother trying to bond with Percy over rules. Rules were Percy's thing, and Oliver didn't want to get between Percy and his rules. Oliver had seen what Mrs. Weasley had done to Fred and George when Percy had snapped and wrote to her. Oliver didn't want anything to do with that. Nothing. So, he bought Percy twelve volumes on Muggle and Magical Law and left them on his bed.
It was for the best.
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"Oliver?"
"Yes, Perce?"
"Why are there twelve volumes of law on my bed?"
"Oh, those?"
"Yes, those."
"Oh well. My great aunt's uncle's cousin's foster child from Austria gave them to me, for um, for All Saint's Day! And I didn't need them, so I figured you'd need them, or rather want them because it's not like you don't already know or anything. Oh, I think I'm late for the pitch — see you!"
"....."
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For number three, socks, Oliver had to get creative. He had let Percy alone for two days, only occasionally asking if the volume of law he was reading was any good, and then trying like hell to pay attention to Percy's answer without getting hard. It was difficult, but if he wanted to stay focused then he would need to train his cock to behave in Percy's presence. So far, he wasn't having very much luck. But, Oliver knew there were going to be a few losses in this battle if he really wanted to win the cup— or erm, Percy. Whatever.
Bonding over socks wasn't something he could just do. Percy loved his socks. Especially the few knitted pairs he had from his mum. Oliver couldn't just go out and buy him socks; he had done that with the rule bit and it was kind of a cheat's thing to do. Oliver was not a cheat. So he did the most logical thing he could think of.
He cut holes in every pair of socks he owned (except his game socks because that was just blatant blasphemy, even for love).
Then he went to bed, wanked twice, and slept in anticipation of morning.
It was a bright and cold morning, and he could hear Percy getting ready as quietly as possible around the room. The way Percy's bare feet sounded on the wood floor had Oliver up and out of his bed with a smile. He strolled over to his dresser, watching Percy out of the corner of his eye.
"Blast!"
"What's that? Everything all right?"
"No. My last sock has gone and done in with a hole."
"Your last sock? All your other socks have holes in them?"
"Yeah, it seems so."
Percy walked over to where Oliver was standing at his dresser, and Oliver discreetly breathed in deeply as Percy reached around him to rifle through his sock drawer, his finger expertly finding the hole in each sock. Oliver pretended that he was hard because of his morning wood, not because Percy's fingers looked so pale and pretty next to the blackness of his socks. He was not turned on by Percy's hand on his socks. No, not turned on at all. Absolutely not.
"Oliver, are you sure someone didn't pull a prank on you?"
"Why's that?"
Percy pressed closer to him until their sides were smashed together from hip to shoulder. Oliver shivered and blamed it on the draft of the room.
"Because all of these socks seem to have a hole in the same place."
Oliver peered at the sock Percy had speared with his incredibly long, freckly and probably tasty finger.
"Hmm, I dunno, Perce. Just seems like shoddy craftsmanship," Oliver said, and held Percy's gaze until he stopped narrowing his eyes behind his glasses and focused on Oliver. His eyes looked piercingly blue in the morning. Oliver had the distinct impression that they would look even bluer when first opened.
"Can I borrow a pair?" Oliver watched as Percy's eyes widened, and he nodded. Oliver smiled back.
"Here."
"Thanks," Oliver said as he took the offered socks. "These are really nice, Percy."
"Oh, well. I never knew you to take such a fine interest in socks, Oliver."
"You must be rubbing off on me then," Oliver said. He tried not to leer. And failed. The blush bloomed pretty and bright on Percy's strong cheek bones, and he murmured his agreement. Oliver watched him move about the room getting ready for the day until Oliver was practically late for class, his erection still strong and his feet still lacking socks. But Oliver decided it was worth it. Percy was certainly worth it.
The first thing he did when he had a spare moment was to write home for more socks.
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Oliver decided to combine the fourth item on the list, peppermint sticks, with the first. It was his first study date with Percy. Not that Percy had knowledge of the date part of the studying, but Oliver was going to make sure of it. If he didn't, his cock would probably be ashamed of him forever, and he could just forget about ever being with Percy.
They were set to meet in the library at seven on Saturday night. Oliver had picked this night for several reasons; one, it was a Saturday and it would show Percy he meant business; two, the library would be practically deserted; and three, Quidditch practice was early Sunday, and if he wasn't careful he'd spend too much time drinking butterbeer with Katie than focusing on Percy or Quidditch, and end up sleepy or grumpy for practice. No one appreciated a grouchy Captain. He remembered as much from Charlie's days as Captain.
Oliver was very obedient for the first hour, actually getting some work done with Percy's help. They went over his problem spots, mostly just the writing and theory. Practically, he was doing fine in the class but, honestly, his essays needed work. This way, he wasn't actually lying to Percy to get into the studying. He was not a cheat.
But after an hour and a half, Percy loosened his tie and unbuttoned his cuff links, leaving a larger expanse of creamy, freckled skin to drool over, and Oliver got distracted. Percy's hands were splotchy with ink, and Oliver was having distinct visions of Percy tracing his hands over Oliver's body, writing spells in thick, finger-painted ink over his skin. It was enough of an image for Oliver to groan slightly and readjust his trousers. He should have worn sweats.
"All right?"
Oliver looked up from his mind-molestation of Percy's hands and tried to smile, but it felt tight across his teeth. He nodded instead, and Percy gave the barest hint of a smile before dipping his head back to reviewing his notes. Oliver thought he could catch a glimpse of Percy's chest in the few buttons that were undone if he just contorted his body slightly to the left.
"Ollie, are sure you're all right?"
Oliver stopped trying to get a glance at a nipple and just nodded again, shifting in his seat. The friction of his trousers against his pants wasn't really helping with his erection, and Percy was getting steadily prettier the longer they sat in the library, which was going to become a problem when Oliver inevitably snapped and threw himself over the table and shagged him. The thought of shagging Percy made Oliver's cock throb and he wanted to beat his head against his Transfiguration book.
Percy turned the page of his own book.
Oliver abandoned trying to get any work done and watched Percy, whose cheeks had flushed in the warmth of the library and whose glasses had slid to the end of his nose. His sleeves were rolled up neatly, not like Oliver's own that were pushed up to his elbows unevenly. No, Percy's were rolled at exactly three and a half rolls. Not that Oliver counted. But Merlin's beard, Percy was hot when he was studying. It was when Percy was at his prime, being all studious and delicious. Half of Oliver's fantasies involved studying at some point. But ever since he had gotten the study date, and it was a fucking date as his cock kept reminding him, all Oliver could wank to was his library fantasies; of Percy crawling underneath the long table to suck and lick on Oliver's cock, or feeling the hard press of the bookshelves into his chest as Percy pressed his long, ink stained fingers inside Oliver and fucked him with his tongue until Oliver came all over the books in front of him with three of Percy's fingers up his arse and a promise of more.
Oliver felt his brain sort of explode.
"Ollie," Percy said in a soft voice. Oliver looked up from the spot he was staring at, Percy's collarbone, and swallowed. "Are you certain you're all right?"
"Um, yeah, I'm fine. Why?"
"It's just," Percy said, his voice stopping mid-sentence and looking around. Oliver watched the blush creep up his neck and flush the rest of his cheeks. It made him want to die of blue balls. "It's just that— You keep making noises."
It was Oliver's turn to blush. Had he really been making noises? Probably. He was terribly desperate, and watching Percy study might not have been the best idea Oliver had ever had. But he was here and so was Percy, so he might as well attempt to make some progress. Oliver had appealed to Percy's sensibilities. It was now time to see if Percy was attracted to him. It was something that hadn't really occurred to Oliver when he was planning. What if Percy didn't like boys? This was something that he spent a minute or two on in the beginning, but had decided to ignore it because he was going to ignore fancying Percy. Unfortunately, he decided to un-ignore that fancying Percy part, and now he was buggered all to hell because he forgot to check to see if Percy was interested in cock.
It turned out seducing someone was a hell of a lot harder than planning the complete annihilation of Slytherin in Quidditch. Who knew? Then again, Oliver had once thought that getting laid and Quidditch went well together. Now he was wondering if he was going to get out of this in love with Percy business alive, let alone getting off. Goodness, he was such a fool. But a randy fool, so he thought he deserved some points for not becoming a complete and total nance when he started pursuing Percy. If he could actually get his shit together and stop being kind to him. Who ever got any with being kind? It wasn't a freaking seduction technique; it was a manners guide.
"Did you finish the question on human Transfiguration theory?"
Oliver had, in fact, finished the question, but he was pretty sure all that was written was, "I want to suck Percy's cock." Which, although painfully true, was not the correct, or even an appropriate answer.
"Nah, mind givin' me a hand?" Or a mouth…on my cock?
"Sure."
Oliver watched with mixed delight and horror as Percy slid out of his seat and walked around the table to stand beside him. Oliver inhaled deeply as Percy leaned over him and started ranting and pointing to a very complicated looking diagram. Not that Oliver could see very well with his vision turning blurry at Percy's proximity. Fuck. He smelled fantastic, like ink and parchment and peaches. And Oliver loved peaches. Percy was practically purring into his ear as he rambled on about human Transfiguration, and all Oliver could do was stare at the way the muscles and veins in Percy's forearm moved as he pointed and flexed his hands around. Oliver was pretty sure he was going to come in his pants if he didn't do something.
Oliver felt for a fleeting moment like all of his senses were out of his control, like his own body was betraying him. All he could understand was Percy. And the closeness of Percy, of everything he ever wanted. And his body just reacted without his consent, without thinking about what after the act being completed would lead to... really about anything at all. All Oliver could think about was the soft stubble of Percy's freckled cheek as he pressed his lips to it.
He was kissing Percy on the cheek.
And it seemed like it was lasting for days.
Which would have been fine, if Oliver didn't actually have anything invested in Percy, but he did, so kissing him on the cheek for what felt like days was a bit weird and awkward, but he couldn't seem to pull his lips away. In fact, all Oliver could think about was if it would be too strange if he snuck in a bit of a taste, because his tongue was literally millimeters away from Percy's skin and you couldn't honestly ask him not to taste it, could you?
Luckily, Percy pulled away and Oliver didn't have to decide if putting his tongue on Percy's cheek was inappropriate in a weird sort of way. Not that the initial kissing of the cheek wasn't inappropriate, because it was, but that wasn't Oliver's fault. It was Percy's. Yeah. Um. Yeah.
"Oliver?"
Oliver opened his eyes, wondering at which point he closed them and if that fact was going to make him look a wee bit desperate. Not that he wasn't because he completely and totally was.
"Did you just—"
"Erm— Well..."
Oliver focused on the entirety of Percy's face, not just the tiny cluster of freckles where his lips had just been. Percy's eyes were wide, blue and blinking rapidly, but his face was otherwise blank. He looked surprised and not revolted, which at this point seemed like good news. Oliver cleared his throat but he found he had nothing to say. I wish I would have tasted you when I had the chance felt like the wrong thing to say, but it was all Oliver was thinking.
Instead, Oliver pulled a peppermint stick out of his pocket and offered it to Percy, who, bless him, was still very close to him, enough that Oliver's shoulder jostled into Percy's when he pulled out the warm peppermint stick and offered it to him. The air between them felt thick and warm as Oliver looked at the candy and then back to Percy, whose brow was furrowed in confusion, like he didn't understand the correlation between Oliver unable to control the urges of his lips and the peppermint stick. Frankly, neither did Oliver, but it was certainly a better idea than actually talking about the kiss on the cheek that lasted for days.
"Peppermint stick?" Oliver offered, cringing as his voice hiccupped and broke at the end, making him sound like a 13-year-old boy. Percy nodded and went to take the stick with slightly shaking hands. Oliver watched, their fingertips brushing as they made the exchange. Percy bit his lip, and Oliver tried his damnedest not to whimper and to control the urge to kiss Percy's lips, which was not something that Oliver could explain away with a peppermint stick. He wasn't even sure he was going to get away with the kiss on the cheek, as glorious and life-altering as it may have been.
"Thanks," Percy whispered. He looked from Oliver to the candy, and Oliver tried to smile but it felt as if he was just opening his eyes really wide and moving his lips around wildly. He was a fucking disaster. But it was okay because then Percy was pocketing the candy and clearing his throat, and going on about Transfiguration, and Oliver could breathe again.
Only a part of Oliver was disappointed when Percy didn't eat the peppermint stick in front of him. The other part was thankful. Oliver wasn't sure that he could take watching Percy's mouth sucking on anything resembling a cock. He had a hard enough time when he had to listen to Percy talk. They studied for only thirty minutes more before Percy left to do rounds, and Oliver sat replaying the events over in his mind, trying to see if there was any indication that the night had been a success.
He watched Percy gather his books and say goodnight, slipping out of the library silently with a nod to Madam Pince. He could have sworn he saw Percy touch his fingers to his cheek, but Oliver couldn't be sure.
He spent the rest of the night dreaming about Percy, peppermint sticks and McGonagall yelling at him in full tartan. Oliver decided the night was, indeed, a tactical success, despite the fact that he still woke up with sticky sheets again, even though he dreamed about McGonagall. Oliver knew when to pick his battles —even with himself.
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Life got busy after Oliver's first attempt at a study date, which was perfectly fine with him considering he had promised himself and his cock that he wouldn't move on to the next item on the list until he had officially kissed Percy. He didn't have a plan for that yet, so he allowed life to get busy to keep his mind off of Percy and the kiss.
There was Quidditch and Harry's ability to jeopardise the entire season without thinking and, of course, the twins, who were a blessing and a curse. Not to mention that Roger Davies kept randomly groping Oliver on the way to the pitch, and Oliver was starting to freak out, looking over his shoulder every twenty seconds to make sure Davies wasn't swooping in for a feel, and then a second look around when Davies managed one, to make sure Percy wasn't around. Oliver flailed once and hit Davies with a broom, but he didn't seem to get the point. Oliver was too busy to care.
"Give up on the ol' Weasley yet?"
Oliver looked up from his playbook and frowned at Katie as she plopped herself down in his lap.
"What?"
"I saw Davies taking your clothes off with his eyes at dinner. Have you been beatin' his broom stick?"
"Ew, Katie! And I thought hitting him with the broom would have done the trick," Oliver said, making a mark on the parchment around Katie's elbow as she giggled about him being "kinky". She shifted in his lap until she was comfortable, her knees finding a way to jab him in the spleen as she settled.
"Not into him then, eh? Still going on about Percy?"
Oliver tightened his hand around the quill. "Would you keep your fucking gob shut? It's not like I want the whole world to know I fancy Percy before he does."
Katie giggled, and Oliver remembered why he liked blokes.
"I mean it, Katie. I don't want to bugger this up."
She burst into laughter, "Bugger it up! That's what he said!"
"You are a useless friend. Why did I even tell you in the first place?" Oliver said, scowling. He tried to shove her off his lap, but she seemed glued to him like an ugly, giggling, good for nothing barnacle. "It's not funny."
"Oh, Ollie," Katie said, petting his hair in what he supposed was a comforting way. It kind of made him want to hit her with a beater's bat. "You're so angst-ridden for a gay."
"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response."
"S'okay, I don't listen to a word you say anyway. I make up my own answers."
"That's helpful." Oliver made a frustrated mark with his quill, almost splitting the parchment on the down stroke.
Katie sighed. "I'm just taking the piss out of ya, Ollie. I have it on good authority that everything will work out."
Oliver didn't even have time to process her words before she kissed him on the cheek and bounded out of the common room like some sort of hyperactive kneazle. Good authority? He sat for a few more moments trying to process the only useful thing Katie had said in days before he leapt out of his chair and hurdled after her, knocking firsties to the ground on his way.
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Oliver concluded that the entire world was against him. There was some sort of conspiracy plotted against him so that he would suffer long and hard before he finally broke, because there was no way he deserved any of this.
Percy had changed his schedule because he had added a morning study session, and he could no longer take a shower in the morning before Oliver woke up, instead showering in the evening. In the evening when Oliver was around and watching or salivating or dreaming, or however you could classify his new nightly routine. It was pure, unadulterated torture. There were water droplets trailing everywhere! And all Oliver could think about was chasing them down Percy's body with his tongue, dipping the tip into Percy belly button and pulling the soft, white cotton away from Percy's sharp hip bones and—
Oliver groaned and rolled over in his bed, hitting the pillows rather dramatically with his fist.
"Was there a match today?"
Oliver rolled to his side, but didn't turn over because his stiffy was a bit prominent. Percy was standing next to his bureau in nothing but a towel, looking for pants. Oliver pretended he couldn't see the dips in Percy's spine from across the room, and he pretended he could focus on Percy's voice and not want to run his tongue down every divot until he reached the small of Percy's back, where there were dimples and the full, round—
"Oliver?"
"Hmm, what?" Oliver said as he startled out of his stupor and focused on Percy's face, which was concerned. Always concerned. Oliver wanted any sort of reaction except concerned from Percy. Anything.
"I said, was there a match today."
"No," Oliver said. looking confused. It was a Friday. Plus, Percy always seemed to make it to the matches, and Gryffindor didn't have one until next weekend. He always knew when the matches were. Although, he always said it was because he needed to keep an extra eye out for minions of evil. Or something equally cute, er, dramatic. Bollocks. "No. It's Friday."
Percy shook his head and gathered his sleep clothes. "You just looked upset is all. And I've hardly ever seen you frustrated over anything but Quidditch."
"S'not true, frustrated over you."
It slipped out before Oliver could help it, and Percy turned slowly around from his path towards the bathroom.
"Excuse me?"
Oliver cleared his throat. He could feel the blush rise up his neck, and his palms felt sweaty as they clenched the pillow underneath him.
"Nothin! Just that you see me get frustrated over Transfiguration all the time."
Oliver could barely look Percy in the eye, concentrating on his chin instead and not on the hard pebbles of Percy's rosy nipples, not on them at all.
"Oh. Well, yeah…" Percy mumbled, nodding, and disappeared into the bathroom. Oliver collapsed back onto his bed and muffled his scream with his pillow.
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"Ollllliiieeee."
Oliver turned over and buried himself deeper into the covers.
"Olllliiieeeeeeeeeeeeee."
He tried to grasp the remnants of his dream, of Percy's soft lips against his own and the trail of his fingertips—
"Fuck, Oliver, get the hell up!"
Oliver opened his eyes and grasped the duvet tightly, making sure he and his hard on were covered. Katie cocked a hip at him.
"What could you possibly want right now?"
"Oliver, you pissed and moaned the day away over toast and tea, then you slipped up here for a nap, which turned out to be a five hour long one. It's half nine!"
"Honest? Nine? Already?"
Katie sat down on the edge of his bed. "Yeah! Now go have a shower because you stink like boy."
Oliver shook his head. "No need, I'll just cast a Cleansing Charm and then go back to bed." He hadn't had the energy to do much of anything today, and he didn't really feel like trying to talk to Percy again. The bath towel incident was a little too close the night before.
"Bollocks."
"Wha?"
"Bollocks."
Katie leant over and pinched him so hard on the arm he thought he was going to bleed.
"Fuck you! You can't go around pinching blokes in their own bloody beds, Katie."
"Can too. Now, shower. Because you've been a sod all week and you need to cheer up. This whole Percy business is making you moody and no fun."
"And what exactly are we going to do?"
Katie tilted her head and looked at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"You're pining over someone who you think will never notice you or take you seriously..."
Oliver scowled. Katie always did have a way with words, that smarmy twat.
"So! The best solution is to get sloshed out of your mind because you always have better ideas when you can't feel your face."
In Oliver's sleep addled mind, it seemed like good reason enough to shower.
<3<3<3<3<3
Oliver was singing a song he didn't know, with people whose names he couldn't remember, but he was sure the bloke on his left was called Tom. Tom, who liked a football team, which had something to do with feet and an oddly checked ball in some sort of stadium. Oliver wasn't clear on the details, but Tom's team was called United, and it was a catchy tune because Oliver didn't even have to know the words for his mouth to follow. Tom was cute, and they were chanting some song that Tom seemed to really like, and Oliver just focused on Tom's lips because they were pretty and wet and, wait— where was he?
Oliver looked up at the ceiling.
He was not in a pub. With a second glance around, he noticed that the walls were a shade of grey stone and the hangings on the wall looked very familiar.
Tom.
Pesky memories. Tom was the Head Boy and he was a Hufflepuff and he liked… some Muggle sport or another and they were singing a song. Right.
"I'm forever blowin' bubbles! Pretty bubbles in the air— They fly so high—"
Why was he here again? Singing a song about bubbles? Fuck. The last lager had really got to him... Oh yes, some bloke's home brew he brought with him on the train. Yes. It all seemed to be coming back to him, well not all of it, but the important parts. Like Tom, who smelt good and had pretty lips. And who was rubbing circles on his waist. Oh. Oh.
"Pretty bubbles in the air! UNITED! UNITED!"
Oliver laughed against Tom's neck, scraping his teeth against the soft flesh there. Tom tasted like sweat and, oddly, walnuts. Oliver had a strange urge for Tom, pretty singing Tom, to taste like peaches, but he didn't, so Oliver laughed again and tried to take in the room around him. There were people scattered everywhere. Some of them didn't look like they were Hogwarts students, but that seemed impossible, so they were probably just people Oliver didn't know. Because Tom, Tom was a Hufflepuff and Tom, Tom was Hhheeeaddd Bbboyyyy.
Oliver giggled. He'd just said 'head' in his head and then wondered if Tom, Tom the Head Boy, gave head. Head. With the Head Boy. Oliver giggled again.
"Oi!"
Oliver swivelled his head away from Tom's neck, who seemed to be singing again, to stare at the three Katies... When had she grown so many heads?
"I didn't grow heads, Oliver Wood, you're just tossed out of your mind."
"Seems so. How'd that happen?"
Katie laughed and leaned against him. Oliver tried to take most of her weight but imagined that Tom, singing Tom, was taking most of both him and Katie's weight together.
"It happened when we did shots of Firewhisky to get your mind off—" Katie paused and dropped her voice to a whisper. "To get your mind off the infidel named Percy."
"INFIDEL!"
Katie giggled and Oliver leaned back against Tom, who was still singing, but also stroking Oliver's thigh. The sensation buzzed warm against his trousers, and he rocked into each stroke.
"And then we had that bloke's lager."
"Good lager."
"Oliver, it tasted like piss. But I'm pretty sure I'm drunk."
Oliver giggled.
"I imagine that I'm drunk too."
Katie sighed, and Oliver tried to pay attention to the top of her head and not the hand roaming around his trousers, or the length of Tom's cock pressing into his arse. Tom gave a jovial shout and placed a sloppy kiss on the back of Oliver's neck. Oliver tried not to moan, but he was pretty sure he made some sort of strangled noise.
"Oliver, mm'tired."
Pretty singing Tom's hand was on his crotch, rubbing his erection.
"Let's go back."
Oliver couldn't think. Something about Katie was trying to process through his mind, but all he could think was Tom and fuck and harder. Tom's trousers felt warm against the palm of Oliver's tingling hand.
"Hey, we'll walk you back to the tower, Katie."
Oliver blinked his eyes open. Katie was looking at him with a sleepy grin. Oliver blushed and adjusted his trousers, idly wondering why Tom had removed his hand.
"Thanks, Tom!"
"Not really a problem. Wouldn't want you gettin' caught by a Prefect. This way, I'll be your excuse."
Oliver felt himself nodding. Tom's hand had somehow found its way up the back of his shirt and was tracing really fabulous patterns. Tom moved forward, and Oliver followed Tom's soft hand and Katie's bouncing ponytail.
If it wasn't for the group effort, Oliver was quite certain that they would have never made it back to the tower. There was much more groping than there was walking, and Katie finally got fed up with it and walked to the tower without their help. Oliver couldn't really remember how they got there, but it wasn't long before pretty singing Tom had Oliver pressed up against a stone wall with his trousers around his ankles.
It seemed that the Head Boy did, in fact, give head.
Oliver threaded his hands through Tom's blond hair as he sucked and bobbed. It was a glorious feeling, the wet heat of Tom's mouth and the stone of the wall behind him. He moaned and pressed his cock farther past Tom's pretty lips. Oliver gripped Tom's head and tried to remember that they were in public, but the thought just wouldn't resonate. All he could think was that Tom was really very good at this, and oh fucking Merlin—
Oliver's eyes flew open to meet Tom's deep blue eyes. Tom hallowed his cheeks and Oliver felt his cock hit the back of Tom's throat.
"Fuckin' hell—"
Tom seemed to grin around Oliver's cock — which Oliver thought to be very impressive considering the circumstances — and then Tom's pretty hands left the base of Oliver's cock and palmed his balls, making Oliver arch and fuck Tom's face a bit faster. He seemed to take it gracefully, even encouraging it, and Oliver just stopped thinking after Tom's pretty finger found Oliver's needy hole. It wasn't long before Tom was swallowing around Oliver's cock with two fingers up his arse, and Oliver was practically screaming.
Oliver calculated about three seconds to his orgasm as Tom's cheeks hallowed again, and his fingers found his prostate…just as Percy came around the corner and yelped his surprise. Oliver opened his eyes, and he came hard, his back arching off the cold stone of the wall, Tom milking his prostate and swallowing everything down his throat as Oliver locked eyes with Percy.
"Fuck! Perrrcceeeee."
Oliver slouched against the wall and suddenly felt very drunk.
Head Boy Tom, on the other hand, grinned naughtily, wiped his mouth and walked over to talk to Percy. Oliver could barely hear their raised voices. His legs felt heavy, and all he could remember was the feeling of absolute bliss and the way Percy's eyes had looked, staring at him when he came. For some reason, Oliver was having a hard time remembering Tom at all, only the flush on Percy's cheeks and, wait—
"Oliver?"
He opened his eyes to see Tom grinning. Oliver tucked his cock back inside his trousers.
"Looks like Weasley is going to let us off the hook."
Oliver could only nod.
"I promised to put in a good word for him when nominations for next year's Head Boy came round."
Oliver nodded again, not really hearing him. He had just been sucked off by the Head Boy. Head from the Head Boy. Head. Oliver actually giggled aloud.
"Well, I'll see you around, Oliver."
Oliver nodded again, which seemed the only movement he was capable of making. Tom grinned and kissed him sloppily. Oliver sighed into the kiss, tasting himself on Tom's sweeping tongue before it was gone, and Oliver was left boneless, spent, very drunk, and alone in the corridor with Percy.
For some reason, Oliver thought he should be worried, but then Percy was there and all Oliver could think about was how lovely Percy looked as he carried Oliver down the hall to the tower.
"Perce, always so pretty."
Oliver tried to stare down his nose at his own mouth. It seemed to be speaking without his permission. That was okay though, because Percy really was always pretty. Oliver raised his eyes and watched more of Percy's freckles bloom.
"Dammit, Oliver."
Percy was mad. Oh no.
"Don' be maaaaaad, Perce. Please— don' be mad." Oliver tightened his grip on Percy and buried his nose into Percy's neck. Oliver whimpered when he smelled sweet peaches, and only restrained himself from tasting because Percy was talking and Oliver wasn't sure he could taste and listen at the same time. And Oliver always listened to Percy.
"Oliver, I am not having any sort of conversation with you about your absurd behaviour because I'm certain that you will not remember it in the morning."
Oliver took a deep breath of Percy's neck before he withdrew. They had made it into the tower and were walking up the stairs. Percy was such a quick boy— no, man. Percy was a man.
"Yes, Oliver. I am aware of my gender. Now, can we please just go to bed?"
Did he say that aloud?
Oliver felt himself being dropped onto his bed. He tried to get back up, but his legs had suddenly turned to pudding.
"Perce," Oliver said as he reached out and blindly fumbled for any piece of Percy left. His eyes felt too heavy to open, but his mouth wasn't done disobeying him yet. He clutched at the piece of cloth in his hand.
"Don't go, Perce. M'sorry. Just missed you…missed you..."
Oliver felt a blanket on his skin as sleep finally captured him, and he drifted into unconsciousness with the smell of peaches in his nose and the nagging feeling that the morning would not bring good tidings.
<3<3<3<3<3
Oliver understood two things when he blinked into consciousness. One; that something had gone and died inside his mouth, and two; the sun was literally accosting him, which was not in any shape or form, calming the angry herd of hippogriffs that had taken residence in his head. He was vaguely concerned that he'd been letting the things take control of his body whilst he was asleep, but the only panic he could muster was in the form of a moan as he rolled over.
Why, in Merlin's name, did his body feel like he had been run over the by the Knight Bus? Twice?
"For a while, I couldn't decide if I was going to help you, even with Katie's pleading to take pity on your possibly senseless soul. But seeing you now is just too pathetic."
Oliver tried to look up, but for some reason his eyes had started searing with the sun, and his stomach was threatening to upturn. He just moaned. His only fleeting thought was that Percy's voice was soft, certainly not helping his head, but not hindering it and that, of course, his aversion to light was a sign of vampirism.
"You are not a vampire. Although your friend Tom might be, from what I could see of his abilities—"
Oliver tried to focus on Percy's words, but he felt the bed dip and suddenly there was a warm body pressed up against his back. He wanted desperately to turn around and bury himself in the warmth and safety that was Percy, but he thought moving would upset his stomach and then there would be sick up on Percy, and Oliver was pretty sure throwing up on someone was not a sign of affection. So instead, he pushed his head back slowly until he found Percy's hand and then waited.
It had been so long since Percy had been in Oliver's bed. When they were in their younger years at Hogwarts, Oliver would always find a way to get Percy to study or nap in his bed. Some days, it had felt like Oliver had to drag Percy there, but Percy would always run his hands through Oliver's hair until he fell asleep, listening to Percy talk about everything from his family to his preference of quills. And it had been nice. It had been innocent and nice and fabulous. Naturally, Oliver had ruined it when he realized he fancied boys and that maybe Percy didn't fancy boys, and then, of course, freaked out when he realized he fancied Percy. Then the cuddling, which frankly was exactly what it was, was off-limits because cuddling and freaking out about sexual identity did not go well together.
Oliver had no idea who Tom was, but Percy's hand carding through his hair felt like it was calming the angry hippogriffs.
"Here, drink this."
Oliver recoiled further up against Percy's thigh. Whatever Percy was offering possibly smelled worse than Oliver's breath, and he didn't think that was possible.
"Ollie, just drink the hangover potion."
And then suddenly there was potion in his mouth, and Oliver was swallowing because that was just the polite thing to do, even though he felt like the liquid was eviscerating his soul. Merlin, it was foul and it was rolling around in his stomach even more violently. Oliver was pretty sure he was going to vomit everywhere.
"Drink this."
Then there was cool and refreshing iced tea chasing away the awful potion and calming the sea of his stomach. Oliver couldn't have been more grateful. He gulped down the tea until there was only droplets left, ignoring Percy's soft laughter. Oliver felt insanely better as he relaxed against the pillows and Percy's hand.
"Katie did say you were a child when it came to hangovers and it really shouldn't surprise—"
Wait just one damn minute.
And then it was all coming back at a mind blowing pace, and oh fucking hell! Oliver shot up so fast the room was spinning dangerously, and his limbs were moving quite uncontrollably.
"I got head from the Head Boy."
Percy's jaw dropped.
"Oh fuck, and you were there!"
Percy blushed.
"You fucking know I'm a poofter."
Percy, jaw still dropped, nodded.
"Oh my God. Oh my fucking God. I've ruined my life. This wasn't in the plan. This wasn't anywhere near the fucking plan."
Oliver dropped his head in his hands because suddenly, everything about anything was just a little bit too fucking much.
Beside him, Percy coughed uncomfortably and said, "And here I thought we weren't going to talk about it."
Oliver huffed and lifted his hands, gesturing almost frantically. "How can we not fucking talk about it! I've been courting you for fucking months and I go and get blown by the Head Boy in a CORRIDOR. Not to mention the fact that I was coming down…" Oliver paused, trying to remember the Head Boy's name. Pretty lips didn't seem appropriate for his freak out. Footie...United...Blondie...Tom! "…down Tom's throat from the sight of you, and now you're probably freaked out and you're still helping me and my list-making was all for nothing!"
It was word vomit. There was no other way to describe how the words just flowed out of his mouth without any respect for his dignity. It was awful. And all Oliver could do was be still, and hope that Percy would get the hint and just go away for a while so they could not talk about this moment ever again, and live the rest of their Hogwarts careers in complete, awkward silences. Oliver had never been in a bigger disaster in his life, except for maybe the first day of Keeper try-outs his first year, which still held that title. But at least Katie wasn't around to witness the Great Percy Debacle, which is what he planned to call this in his head for the next fifty years as he mourned the loss of his first love, and probably lived the rest of his life with Katie and her breeder family, hiding in their basement. Oh for fuck's sake, he was doomed.
"You made a list?"
Oliver looked up from where he was trying to smother himself with his hands. Percy was still blushing, very prettily if Oliver's cock had anything to say about it, and it was saying something, which was terribly inconvenient since Oliver was trying to FOCUS, and this was certainly a CRISIS, and he shouldn't be HARD for fuck's sake.
Oliver shook his head, focusing on Percy's face and not on his freckles and fantastically pink skin. He looked confused but not horrified, which seemed like a good thing…or at least, not a bad thing.
"Yes, a list."
"What kind of list?"
It was Oliver's turn to blush because saying it out loud to someone other than Katie made him feel like a huge nancy. Not that he wasn't a huge nancy, but suddenly saying, "A list about all the things that you loved, so I could worm my way into your life because I hopelessly and desperately fancy you, so much so that even now, while I'm having the biggest queen-out in the history of queer-kind, I am still hard at the sight of you and want nothing more than to hold your hand" didn't seem like the best option. So obviously, he said it aloud anyway.
Oliver felt his jaw drop as his voice trailed off. It was like he had lost complete control of his mouth, like his heart had just hijacked his body. It was disturbing and oddly liberating.
Oliver stared at Percy. Percy, who, bless his heart, looked to be taking in each of Oliver's outbursts sentence by sentence. Oliver felt like fleeing, which considering the turn of the conversation, he was quite proud that he was only now considering just running and never looking back. It wasn't as if he couldn't be a professional Quidditch player without N.E.W.T.s, and although it would be pretty hard to avoid every single Weasley in the entire world — that family alone could populate a small country — Oliver was pretty sure there was some sort of spell out there that could help him avoid all redheaded men for the rest of his natural born life.
"So," Percy said, tilting his head and looking as if Oliver was a very complicated Arithmancy problem. "You're gay?"
Leave it to Percy to boil it down to the essential facts.
"Yes," Oliver whispered. It was strange hearing it said out loud. Not that Katie wasn't fucking loud, but she didn't count because she thought everybody was secretly gay.
"And you fancy me?"
"Yes."
"So you made a list?"
"Yes."
"And the getting drunk and erm, sexual favours from Tom was just an accident?"
"Emotional disruption due to alcohol and patheticness."
"Ah."
Oliver stared at Percy. What the hell was he thinking? Why wasn't Percy running for the hills? Why was he still just sitting on the bed as if they weren't discussing Oliver's entire life?
"All right. I'll think about it then."
And then Percy squeezed his hand. Oliver felt like his life was full of dramatic moments and very anticlimactic climaxes, and wondered if he should be worried about what that said about the rest of his life, his sexual life in particular.
"What?"
Percy shifted back against the headboard until his long limbs were stretched out and his back was cradled by Oliver's pillow. He looked comfortable. Oliver felt confused and he expressed this.
"What?"
"I said I'll think about it."
"Think about what?"
"About you," Percy said, and Oliver swore there was a hint of a smile on his face.
"About me?"
"Yeah, about you making lists."
Oliver nodded. Percy patted his leg, and Oliver decided that he was done thinking for the time being. He didn't fucking care what Katie would say later after he regurgitated this whole story to her, because he was certainly still confused and was going to need a great deal of counselling on this whole thinking business of Percy's. But for the time being, he was just going to sleep off his hangover with his head in Percy's lap, Percy's hand in his hair, and Percy's voice talking about school and rules and tea.
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"So, just so we're on the same really gay — and when I say gay I mean flaming queen — page. You professed your undying love for Percy Weasley. He said he would think about it. And then you two just cuddled and fell asleep."
Oliver looked at Katie and felt the need to just tackle her and beat the living daylights out of her because she was the most annoying best friend in the entire world. And she was right. He was really gay.
"Yes, you little shit."
"Huh."
"Yeah."
"Have you talked about it since?"
"It's been a day, Katie. Percy isn't like you. He doesn't need to insert himself into every situation the exact moment it happens."
"How am I not supposed to make an arse joke when you say things like insert?"
"Please refrain and focus on what the hell I'm supposed to do about this."
"Maybe you should read up."
"Read up on what?"
"Gay lifestyle and such."
"Lifestyle?"
"Sex, mostly in public, from what I gather from the back covers of all those trashy homoerotic novels Angelina swears she doesn't read. I think I read one with a stalker," she said contemplatively. "I think they lived happily ever after in Blow Job Land eventually. Maybe it'll work for you, too."
"I'm not a stalker and I'm pretty sure I've had enough of the public sex."
Oliver wished he had better control of his mouth. Katie looked like the cat that had demolished the canary with alarming speed.
"I've been meaning to speak with you about the head by the Head Boy thing."
"Katie," Oliver said. "I can make the head and the Head Boy joke all by myself."
"Isn't that a pity? He really is a babe. Did you see that blond hair? Hot damn."
"I'm leaving now."
"Do you think Tom and Percy would do a threesome with you? And could I watch?"
Oliver choked on his tongue.
"You know how much I've always wanted to shag a Weasley!"
"Not this one!"
"I'm joking, Oliver."
"Christ."
<3<3<3<3<3
It turned out that Oliver hadn't needed to worry about the thinking that Percy had been doing. Oliver was on his way to the pitch when he was pulled into a linen cupboard and snogged. There were a few moments when Oliver had panicked, thinking that Roger Davies had finally caught him and was dragging him to his secret lair. But Oliver felt the press of glasses against his cheek, and Percy's long fingers around his wrists. It was the most blissful forty-five seconds of Oliver's life thus far.
Percy's mouth was tentative but desperate against his, lips pressing firmly with small licks that had Oliver gasping and clutching at Percy's thin shoulders. And then Percy's tongue was pressed up against his, and Oliver was moaning because this was exactly what he had been imagining since he'd figured out he liked cock.
Percy pressed against him until Oliver could feel his whole body against the wall of the cupboard. His practice uniform was itchy in the cloth areas, but the leather felt like a second skin as Oliver writhed against Percy. He was so warm, and he smelled like the library and peaches. It was intoxicating, the way he smelled, his mouth open and demanding against Oliver's. Making out with Percy was so much better than getting blown by Tom. It was hard to explain, but when Oliver felt Percy's cock pressing through his trousers and against his own aching cock, Oliver felt like a thousand blow jobs by Tom wouldn't hold a candle to just kissing Percy. So much so, that Oliver actually felt like he was on the edge of coming the moment their hips connected, and he moaned into Percy's mouth, clutching at Percy's back until Percy gasped and broke their kiss.
They didn't move apart, but Oliver didn't move in for a second kiss. He felt like he was ultra sensitive at every point where his body was connected to Percy, as if his entire body had been waiting to be touched by Percy. Percy was panting against his cheek, and Oliver could barely make out the rim of his glasses down around his nose. Oliver pushed them back into place and Percy sighed.
"Gods, Perce," Oliver whispered as his hips seemed to move in tiny circles without his consent, but it felt so bloody fantastic. And Percy was panting. Panting!
Percy leaned forward, pushing their cocks together and causing Oliver to make a dramatic little whimpering noise.
"Have a good practice, Ollie."
And then he was gone, and Oliver was coming in his pants.
After pulling himself together and cleaning the inside of his underwear and practice uniform, Oliver walked to the pitch with a spring in his step, filing away three things to tell Katie later.
One, that Percy was a fantastic kisser. Second, he was not as stuffy as she always accused him of being because he had pulled Oliver into the linen cupboard, not the other way around.
And third, that Percy's cock was huge if the bulge in his trousers was anything to go on.
<3<3<3<3<3
Oliver didn't see Percy in the day after the impromptu snogging. It wasn't that Percy was avoiding him. At least Oliver didn't think that was what was going on, because Percy had smiled at him and blushed in the morning when Oliver had woken up to an almost-dressed Percy writing him a note. Oliver hadn't been very coherent, but Percy had bid him a good practice and said that he wouldn't be back to the dorms because he had a meeting with the Prefects and a tutoring group afterwards, and he was supposed to meet with McGonagall, too. Oliver had nodded, and drifted back to sleep before Percy had even left his bedside.
Despite the fact that the note only said, Ollie, it was still in Percy's handwriting, and so Oliver kept it. If that made Katie call him a sentimental queen, then so be it.
Unfortunately, after such a promising morning, his day slowly turned to shit. He didn't have any classes with Percy that day, and when he did see him, it was from a distance and it was only the top of his head as he moved through the crowded halls. Oliver had Divination first, which always gave him a headache from the smell, and he was tired of the prediction that he was going to fall tragically from his broom in mid-air and splatter all across the ground in a gruesome death. As entertaining as it had been the first thirty times Trelawny foretold it, the fortune had become tiresome and only made him irritated today. Katie called him bitchy. It did not improve his mood.
Care of Magical Creatures was usually one of Oliver's favourite classes because it was out of doors. Unfortunately, today was not his day. Twenty minutes into class, he was attacked by some hybrid animal that Kettleburn had been showing them in an example of the dangerous temptations of meddling with the cross-breeding of species. Katie had laughed hysterically while Oliver beat the thing off as it squawked and flailed, and dug its talons and fangs into Oliver's ribs. Kettleburn had been lamenting about the damage Oliver had done to the thing as Katie had helped him to the infirmary. She had stopped laughing so hard when she realized he was bleeding so much, but she still grinned when Madam Pomfrey had tutted over him and asked him if it was a hate crime.
Seriously? Oliver had wanted to laugh, but Katie had been so hysterical about the whole event that he just stuck with sulking, and told Madam Pomfrey that the only hate involved was his own for magical creatures. She looked on disbelievingly and wrote him a note for the rest of the day off due to 'emotional distress'. She had no idea.
He had wanted to spend the rest of the day sleeping, but he had completely forgotten to write the rest of his History of Magic essay, and he still had practice that evening. By the time he was dashing off to practice, ink still covering his hands from where the ink well had dumped over everything, Oliver was in a wretched mood. He was bitchy, and there was a good chance that practice wasn't going to go well with his sore ribs and bad attitude.
It was worse than he could have imagined.
The weather had turned even more wretched than his mood — a near-on hurricane — which normally wouldn't have been too bad, because they had played in hurricane weather before and a little practice in it wouldn't hurt. Only the twins had picked that practice to show up high, which also wouldn't have been much of a problem because honestly, they flew better when high. But the weather made it so that they needed to have their wits about them. After the fifth bludger took out a player, Oliver wasn't happy. When the eighth bludger hit his sore ribs, causing them to bleed again, Oliver was livid and in considerable pain. Katie tried to help but it was no use, and after two hours of rogue bludgers, awful weather, and a lot of yelling on his part, Oliver packed it in and went to go drown himself in the showers. He was cold and upset, and needed some time to just be unreasonable.
The team left the locker room without even a backward glance. Oliver felt there was some decency in the world when the twins looked slightly guilty, but it wasn't enough to cheer him up. Plus, the shower drowning would have been better executed if the water hadn't burned like a mother fucker, and he hadn't slipped on the soap and fallen on his arse.
It just wasn't his day.
Oliver practically crawled to the dorm. His side was aching and he was pretty sure there was still some soap in his arse to top it all off. Again, not his day. But the dorm room was exceptionally warm, and there were a few candles still lit, which meant that Percy was likely still up. Oliver idly wondered what time it was, but he was so exhausted he barely had the energy to get his kit off before he extinguished the light beside his bed and collapsed.
On top of someone.
Naturally, Oliver panicked a bit because he was still afraid Davies was going to come out of nowhere, and this was the sort of creeper thing that Davies would do, but when the body that Oliver had landed on squeaked instead of grunted, Oliver was surprised and pleased. He rolled off of the lump that was presumably Percy, and the covers lifted up.
"'lo."
"Hi."
Oliver was grinning so wide that he was afraid he was going to break something, but there wasn't a better ending to a completely shit day than Percy in his bed. Fuck, just the smell of Percy in his bed, clean and parchment and peaches, was enough to make the tragedy of the day melt away. The thought, probably actually made him grow a twat, but Oliver was too far gone to care. He just kept grinning.
"I've had a complete shit day."
His voice felt too loud in the dorm, but he could see Percy smiling in the sliver of moonlight, his glasses gone from his face. And then his hand was around Percy's wrist, and Percy was pulling him closer. Percy shifted, and Oliver slid up into a spot against Percy's neck that Oliver had only daydreamed about, his nose pressed against the soft skin of Percy's throat. The rest of their limbs just seem to tangle together, and Oliver didn't even think about how fucking perfect it all was. He did notice the warmth of Percy's chest, and the way Percy's legs were much longer than his own. Percy's hands roamed around until he found the bandage across Oliver's ribs and stopped. Oliver mewed at the lack of caress against his skin.
"What happened?" Percy asked in a sleepy voice that would have turned Oliver on if he wasn't so tired. Instead, it felt comfortable and gave him a feeling like pixies were in his stomach.
"'S nothin'."
Percy doesn't argue, and Oliver is grateful for the silence. It wasn't long before Oliver could actually feel Percy's breaths deepen and even out. Percy's hands had ended up in very Percy places; his right was tangled in Oliver's hair, and his left was tucked into the back of Oliver's pants in such a way that had Oliver more on top of him than next to him. It was bloody fantastic.
Oliver just hung on for dear life and prayed that morning would never come, which was a distinctly different opinion of the day than he'd had before.
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Oliver woke up with his head pressed into his pillow and Percy's erection pressed against his arse.
He wasn't sure if there had ever been a better morning in the history of boarding school gays.
His own morning wood was present but that wasn’t not much of a surprise. The clock on the wall read just half six, which was entirely too early for anything but sleep in Oliver's opinion, but just then there were lips against the back of his neck and Oliver moaned. He felt Percy chuckling before he heard it, and it made him arch his back, pushing his arse against Percy's erection and his neck against Percy's open mouthed kisses. There was a quiet confidence about Percy that Oliver had always admired, and it certainly seemed to shine through when it came to Oliver and sex. Between the linen cupboard and finding Percy in his bed when he got back the night before, it seemed Percy was done thinking. Oliver thought thinking was over-rated anyway. He thought Katie might agree.
And then, all thoughts of Katie were gone because Percy's fingers had slipped beneath the waist of Oliver's pants, and holy god. The same hand that held quills and flourished wands with confidence was wrapped around his prick, and Oliver was pretty sure he was never going to be able to look at Percy without coming in his pants for the rest of his life.
"Fuck, Percy."
He didn't comment, just moved his hand tightly up and down Oliver's cock, and Oliver's mind felt like it would explode. Percy was rocking with each tug on Oliver's cock, pressing his own against Oliver's arse. Oliver ground back as Percy's other hand wandered to Oliver's nipples, and Oliver's own hands alternated from tugging on Percy's hair to pulling at Percy's pants. Percy pinched a nipple, and Oliver whimpered, and suddenly the pants just had to go.
"Perce, pants—" Oliver didn't have the mind to finish his sentence before he was twisting around to kiss Percy while he simultaneously tried to rid Percy of his pants. The idea was there, but the execution needed a little work, which sounded strangely like his practice schedule. But Percy, ever prepared Percy, was there to help him yank down Percy's and then his own without breaking their sloppy kiss. Oliver wanted to care about Percy's morning breath and the fact that Percy's toenail was digging into his calf, but he just couldn't. They were naked and touching. Oliver was happy to have any mental function at all.
Their cocks were rubbing against each other and the friction was maddening, but not enough, and Oliver wanted, needed more. The position on their sides was awkward, but Oliver was beyond caring as he wrapped his hand around both of their cocks as they thrust together, pre-come bubbling up from both of theirs slits as Oliver stroked them in time to the rocking of their hips. How many times had Oliver imagined them here? God, but reality was so much better. For one, Percy's cock was so much bigger and more freckled, and all Oliver could think about was next time. Next time, he'd get to suck Percy's orgasm out of him, or the next time, when he'd let Percy stretch him out with ink-stained fingers and his tongue until Percy could fit his cock up there, and then—
Oliver moaned and tightened his grip on their cocks, faster, harder, more.
"God, Ollie," Percy said in a breathy tone that had Oliver moaning and pressing his face against Percy's neck and sucking. Percy's hand joined Oliver's around their cocks, his long fingers pulling and tugging with the snap of their hips. Oliver's leg had managed to crawl up to curl around Percy's lower back, and they seemed maddeningly close. Oliver had to kiss him. It was sloppy and desperate, and Oliver could practically taste tea and sleep on Percy's tongue. Percy pulled away, and Oliver opened his eyes to find Percy looking, blue eyes wide with lust, from where they were stroking together into Oliver's face. He leaned his forehead against Percy's and watched the way they thrust against each other, cocks red and swollen.
"Perce, I'm so close."
Percy sped up their hands, and Oliver hadn't even noticed that Percy's other hand had left the nape of his neck until he felt a finger pressing into his entrance. The small tingle of his orgasm that had started in his spine just seemed to erupt out of him in a moan as he buried his face in Percy's neck and bit down. God, he was coming so hard he was shaking. He felt Percy continue stroking him through his orgasm, and then Percy was coming too, his head thrown back and his come splashing against Oliver's stomach.
"Fuck."
Oliver laughed. It was one of the only times he had ever heard Percy curse and it was fantastic. Oliver looked up, caressing the angry mark he had made on Percy's shoulder when he had come. Oliver smiled, and he saw Percy blush.
"You're blushing now?"
"You bit me!"
"You cursed! And you jumped into my bed last night and took advantage of my fragile state!"
"I did not jump or take advantage," Percy said with his cheeks flushed. Oliver grinned and pulled Percy close until their foreheads were touching once more. He felt high, like when they won the House Cup, or when Charlie had handed him the Quidditch Cup and the Captaincy. It was like that, except better. A million times better.
"So, I guess this means you're done thinking."
"It certainly does."
This time, Oliver kissed Percy, and it was soft and a little bit sexy and all sorts of right. He thought, maybe he wasn't as bad at seducing as he'd thought, and that maybe love and Quidditch had just as much in common as sex and Quidditch.
<3<3<3<3<3
Years later, Oliver would realize that he hadn't been in love with Percy at Hogwarts. He'd been falling, surely, but after spending the rest of this life getting to know the anal retentive bastard, Oliver realized there was much more to love, and that Oliver had barely unwrapped the mystery that was Percy Weasley until after three break-ups, two Lubrication Spell accidents, one war and several drunken nights later.
But, he was certainly glad that he had made a list, ignored most of what Katie had ever said, and taken to Percy like he'd taken to a broom.
In the end, they all got what they wanted, Oliver supposed. Oliver got Percy. Percy got Oliver.
And Katie finally got to shag a Weasley. Which one? Well, that's another story.
