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HP: Percy/Oliver: How Percy Was Made to Love Quidditch
X-posted to titic on IJ.

Erm, this ate my brain. fanlay is such an amazing artist there are no words to describe the emotions her pieces stir.

Literally. I have an exam in seven hours and I haven't revised because it wouldn't leave me alone.

So. Without further ado.

Title: How Percy Was Made to Love Quidditch
Dedicated to: fanlay and her most magnificent Percy/Oliver illustration that was so hot I had to write for it. Credit goes to her for the title as well.
Pairing: Percy/Oliver
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Light dub con (is there such a thing as ‘light’ dub con? Oh well.)
Word Count: 4,588
Author's Notes: Set when the boys are seventeen and graduating.
Disclaimer: Never mine. Or everyone would be too busy doing this in the book and Voldemort would have a hissy fit.


It wasn’t his duty to be there -- but it always was better for the Head Boy to attend Quidditch games, especially if their own house was playing. Percy sighed. Harry had been given detention by Professor Snape, and Creevy was swirling instead in the air looking for the snitch, while Hufflepuff was trying to score against Oliver and failing spectacularly.

People on brooms trying to not get knocked over by what amounted to flying rocks and other people on brooms; Percy failed to see the appeal. Especially considering the whole game rested on the eyes of some poor bloke who had to look for a dash of gold that could easily fly away from the pitch.

Percy just hoped Dennis caught the snitch so he could go back and revise, because his History of Magic notes were a mess, if he did say so himself. While he was sorting through his scrolls mentally, trying to determine the ones he would need so he’d waste less time when he finally got back to his dormitory, the nearby stands suddenly erupted in cheers and the people around Percy shouted and grumbled.

Oh. Hufflepuff had won, then. Oliver would not be pleased. Well, next time they’d have Harry playing and all would be well. Shrugging his shoulders and visualising his different bottles of ink, Percy quickly made his way to the Gryffindor Tower; he got to the room he shared with Oliver and angled his desk away from the wall so he’d catch the last of the light as the sun set. Rummaging for his scrolls and some blank parchments, he settled himself at the table and started working, pushing all thoughts of Oliver and the Quidditch game away.

He was humming under his breath when the door slammed and a furious Oliver strode in.

“I can’t believe-- Who does Snape think he is? That git, making us lose the game--” Oliver flopped on his bed then stood up again and paced, stomping like a pack of hippogriffs.

He either had to talk this out, or Percy had to wait for tomorrow to get his History of Magic notes up to date.

“Oliver, you lost the game because Creevy didn’t catch the snitch. It has nothing to do with Professor Snape.”

“You dare defend him! Percy, where does your loyalty lie?” Oliver was fuming, eyes glaring daggers at Percy’s back.

Well, that was faster than usual. Maybe Oliver had been riled up before coming back up. He must have been, what with the twins on the team…

“It’s only one match, in any case,” Percy frowned. “I don’t understand why everyone finds Quidditch so fascinating anyways. You’re making far too big of a fuss, Oliver.”

“Far too big of a fuss, Percy? Is that so? ” Oliver stalked towards Gryffindor’s Head Boy who was currently frowning as he was pouring over his N.E.W.T’s notes. Really, Professor Binn’s lectures definitely did not contain the required information: far too much of it concerned only the Goblin Rebellion, when there was Voldemort’s uprising to be covered as well. Maybe he could ask his father...

Percy stopped writing as a shadow loomed over his parchment. “Oliver, you’re blocking the light. Could you please--”

A hand in his hair strangled the rest of his sentence as his head was snapped back forcefully. “Too big of a fuss?” Oliver growled, nose to nose with Percy.

“O-Oliver. Please let my hair go.” Oh yes, the twins had definitely riled Oliver up, and Percy had to bear the brunt of it now. His eyes were tearing up, his neck in pain at being bent at an unnatural angle. The hand in his curls tightened, and really, who was idiot who said hair had no sensation anyways, because this hurt. “Oliver…”

The other boy tutted, forcing Percy’s head backwards even more, examining the first tear that rolled from the corner of Percy's glazed eye to his temple like one examines a particularly curious specimen. “Percy, Percy. What would your brothers think of you now, to know you desecrate all their efforts? Really, after they pour their hearts into making you proud,” Oliver said, his body sprawled across the desk and creasing Percy’s revision notes, one hand in the auburn curls and the other on the chair, trapping the other boy effectively.

“They don’t care a-about me,” Percy snarled, his arms trying to loosen Oliver’s hold. What were the twins thinking, what had they told him before sending him back up? Percy struggled but the other boy was strong and bulky, layers of muscle Percy’s skinny frame could do nothing against. “Let me go, you’re hurting me!”

“Ah, but Quidditch is all about pleasure, Percy.” Oliver’s fingers relaxed against Percy’s skull, working and kneading instead and Percy’s eyes rolled to the back of his head because there had been pain but it was gone and Merlin, Oliver’s fingers were hard but this was so good.

“You have to let me show you how good it can be, Percy,” Oliver hissed and yes, Oliver’s hand had found the nape of his neck, the area where Percy always bent his head so he was closer to the book he was reading. He couldn’t help the moan that escaped as strong fingers pulled and pushed at the sensitive skin, didn’t realize another large hand was at the stretched collar of his robes (they had belonged to Bill, and Charlie after that) cleverly popping the mismatched buttons (Charlie had apparently had many fans after him.)

The hand that slipped through his shirt electrified him, rough and calloused and so much heavier than his own as it ran on the small part of his collarbone that the gaping top of his robes gave access to. Both Oliver’s hands were caressing him now, but that definitely wasn’t the right word for it because they were aggressive, working his skin almost to a bruise. His head was thrown so far away back it was a wonder his neck didn’t snap as he arched into Oliver’s touch, his own hands balled into fists and twisting in the filthy Gryffindor jumper Oliver was still wearing after the match. Heat roiled in his stomach and headed lower, Oliver’s hands on his skin and his own fists in Oliver’s jumper forming a closed-circuit and god, this concept from Muggle Studies shouldn’t be affecting him that much, it shouldn’t be arousing him even more.

This was completely inappropriate. He had to get away, he had to make it stop. But Oliver’s breath was on his throat now, moist and warm as Percy was pinned to the uncomfortable wooden chair, raising goosebumps. Merlin, this was insane, he had to stop this, why on earth was he harder than when Penny let him palm her breasts through her blouse?

“O-Oliver, Oliver stop this,” he gasped, alarmed, index clawing and catching in a loose thread of the other boy’s jumper. “Please.”

Percy realised his tactical error too late.

He shouldn’t plead; ever. He was setting himself up to be gutted, hadn’t he learnt anything from being the twins’ despised brother for fifteen years? But then, Oliver wasn’t his brother, maybe he’d understand Percy was exposing himself, that this was serious and he wasn’t asking for a favour, that it would hurt Perfect Prefect Percy where nothing else had if Oliver didn’t listen.

“No, unless you want me to tell the twins I saw you fucking Penny in the Transfigurations classroom.”

So much for understanding, Percy thought hysterically as he tensed in between Oliver’s hands. His cock showed no sign of returning to his flaccid state and he was at the mercy of someone who spent too much time in the twins’ company. It wouldn’t matter that not an ounce of the rumour was true, Fred and George would lap it up and twist it and shape it so that it couldn’t be anything less than appalling and mocking and denigrating towards Penny. But more specifically towards Percy.

There was no way out: he couldn’t cast Obliviate on Oliver, not only did he not know the spell but he didn’t want weeks of his housemate’s memory to go missing; he couldn’t fight back, his wand was on his nightstand and nowehere near him; he had no way out.

Swallowing the bile that rose up in his throat, Percy rasped, “What do you want?” His eyes shone brightly and prickled, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, he thought viciously as he felt Oliver’s hand tighten at the back of his neck, pushing him forwards and up.

“Why Perce, to show you Quidditch is an absolute pleasure, contrary to what you may think,” Oliver smirked as he jerked the skinny boy around, prompting him to start walking. “I know you despise it, but every cloud has a silver lining, and it’s time for you to see it so you can remind me of it.”

Percy prayed someone saw them, stopped them for some ridiculous reason as they ambled on through the corridors and out to the pitch but the hallways were deserted, Gryffindors holed up in their rooms and ruminating on their loss. He could feel Oliver’s wand at his back, hard at his thigh as he was forced forward, a tanned hand at the back of neck and another clamped on his wrist. Maybe when they stopped he could Accio the other’s wand… Yes, that would do. If he was close enough it would be possible, but he had to turn around first and see the wand; he had to wait until they stopped.

Percy stumbled as they crossed the Quidditch pitch. It was coal-black and he couldn’t see anything although Oliver seemed to know exactly where their feet were taking them. It wasn’t until he heard the gruff voice order, “Open it!” that he recognized the Gryffindor Quidditch shed.

“I’ve had enough of you and your opinions, Percy,” Oliver barked as he pushed Percy onto one of the wooden benches lining the walls. It smelled heavily of sweat and leather and cotton, nothing like the library Percy had grown so fond of in his years at Hogwarts. This smelled too much like his family’s summers where he couldn’t even finish a good book without having it drenched or torn apart of blown away by one of the twins’ antics, in between their broom flying and joke making. “Strip.”

Percy’s eyes widened. “No,” he choked, staring at Oliver as if he were seeing him for the first time. The brown eyes were blazing, boring into him from under the filthy brown fringe, large hands clenching and unclenching at his burly sides. He couldn’t see the wand he had felt anywhere, and Oliver wasn’t wearing his robes. “I’m Head Boy, Oliver, you can’t--”

“Do you want poor Penny to be laughed at, when everyone will hear you can only get it up in a classroom?” Oliver sneered, stalking towards Percy until his face was a mere inch away. Their breaths mingled, Oliver tasting of anger and Percy of fear.

“As a captain, I don’t repeat myself. Ever. Do you understand, Percy?” Oliver growled, fingers pinching Percy’s ear painfully. “Now do it.”

Percy’s hands trembled as they undid the buttons of his shabby robe, untucked his thin shirt from his trousers and started unbuttoning it as well. Oliver just waited, a hand span away, critically overlooking the proceedings.

Percy’s heart was beating a mile a minute. What on earth was Oliver going to do? Madam Pomfrey hated students that came to her at night; he hoped Oliver wasn’t going to hurt him too badly. Maybe the other boy just wanted to aim correctly so it would hurt more and bruise longer. Maybe this time, he wouldn’t end up with broken bones like last summer, when he had said something or the other and the twins and Ron had descended on him in a flurry of fists. Only Mum had known he’d needed Skele-Gro.

“Don’t just stand there,” Oliver snapped, “get rid of those too.” He gestured vaguely at Charlie’s denims that barely hung on Percy’s sharp hips. Percy liked those trousers. They were buttery soft with too many washes; there was no way he would ever grow into their width, although he did undo the bottom hem two months ago. It was considerate of Oliver to have him put his clothing away so he wouldn’t need to wash them after the beating.

He slid the denims off without even unbuckling them, heedless of Oliver’s raised eyebrow, and folded the trousers on top of his neat pile of clothing. He remained facing the wall, head bent and arms braced, waiting for the first blow. Oliver was so strong it was going to be like being struck by Charlie, all muscles and fists and unrestrained power.

He heard leather straps creak and Merlin, who would have thought Oliver would get off on skinny boys being whipped, Percy raved as he bunched up his shoulders in anticipation. Shows how much you know after spending seven years sharing the same quarters, you daft sod, his mind screamed at him as he heard Oliver’s heavy steps coming towards him.

The situation hit him like the bludgers the twins aimed at him every summer: he was in his grey underwear and mended socks, his back to a wall of muscle carrying what was most likely to be a lash, if he took an educated guess. His eyes prickled again and he could feel his skin crawl over his rigid body and oh how he hated Quidditch then, hated it with all his being.

“Perce?” Oliver’s voice was low but less angry. Percy started as moist palms came to rest on his shoulder blades, caressing them in small circles. Oliver’s hand then slipped further down, warming his bony spine and the small of his back as he felt the other boy’s breath hitch. As for himself, Percy was biting his lip and bracing himself still, because he didn’t want the pain to take him by surprise; the twins had taught him that, at least.

But all this gentle stroking wasn’t helping his cock in the least: his bloody organ had made up its mind, and was growing hard again under the warm kneading Percy’s shoulders were subjected to. Thankfully, it wasn’t too obvious because Percy was wearing Charlie’s hand-me downs and even his brother's underwear was too large. Now if Oliver could get to the part where it hurt, everything would be fine again.

It wasn’t until Oliver’s hands ran down his side and up his stomach, brushing against his boxers in the process, that the tenting fabric became too hard to ignore. Percy was breathing heavily through his nose by now, his heart banging against his ribcage and his bottom lip worried and bloody, and would Oliver just get on with the pain, damn it all!

But the rough fingers just went on to flutter across his chest and pull at his nipples and that was anything but soft, Oliver tweaking the nubs hard and rolling them between his calloused fingers till they pebbled. Heat shot up Percy’s stomach, searing, and his knees went weak. He inhaled sharply through his parched throat and clawed fruitlessly at the wall, trying to stay upright but failing miserably.

Merlin, this was so much worse than any beating Oliver could have given him. “W-why?” he panted, as Oliver’s arms steadied him and he felt a hardness poke his skinny thigh.

Oh.

That wasn’t Oliver’s wand.

Percy’s mind was in a haze as Oliver sat him on one of the benches and grasped at his chin. “I told you, Percy,” the stronger boy said gruffly, “you’re going to enjoy Quidditch.” Percy just shook his head but Oliver grabbed his throat and steadied him, powerful thighs encasing his long legs. His other hand plunged into the box Percy hadn’t seen him open. Oh Merlin, the bludgers, Percy thought, thrashing uselessly but then a fist came up to his panicked face and there were wings.

Delicate, golden wings that tickled his damp cheeks, which was when Percy realised he had been crying.

“Do you see how beautiful this is?” Oliver whispered as his fist brushed Percy’s reddened throat, the wings flapping faster because the snitch wasn’t being released into the air. Percy’s skin tingled, the pleasurable sensation foreign. Oliver ran the golden orb on his sharp collarbone, finding the hollow that Percy hid because it made him shiver; his breath hitched and his stomach trembled when Oliver pressed the snitch right there where he’d always batted Penny’s hands away, because he’d found out it made him come when he wanked.

“O-Oliver, Oliver stop, I can see,” Percy babbled, the flutter in that hollow making him go cross-eyed. He tried to move away but Oliver’s hand was still at his throat, and his legs were still trapped between strong thighs.

“No, Perce, I don’t think you do,” Oliver growled as he pressed the warm metal to Percy’s nipple, so close that the wings were more like pinpricks against the sensitive skin. Percy’s eyes widened and his mouth opened in a silent cry, hips jerking upwards at the sensation. Oliver’s large palm slid down his collarbone as he loomed over Percy, blunt nails grazing the flat chest and the ribs on his pale side. He worked the ivory skin, grabbing and pulling what little flesh he could find, warming Percy’s body beneath him, the snitch now firmly pressed against Percy’s navel. The taller boy squirmed and thrashed, a healthy flush on his too pale cheeks that swallowed the freckles even down to his shoulders. He was whimpering, low sounds he tried to stifle by biting his already bloody lip, and Oliver had never seen anything so beautiful.

Percy would kill him if Oliver ever said.

“It makes you feel good, doesn’t it,” he asked, both hands inching downwards. “I’ll show you how good, Percy.” And with that, Oliver slipped Percy’s old underwear down his thighs and let it pool to his ankles to reveal a pink cock, already hard and leaking. Percy was looking away, cheeks burning, as Oliver kneeled and nudged those milky thighs apart. “Now, now, Perce,” he soothed, heedless of the newer tear tracks he could make out, “you’re almost as beautiful as Quidditch.”

And with that Oliver ran the snitch up and down Percy’s hard length, rolling the little ball over and over the pulsing vein and Percy cried out, Oliver’s arm barely keeping him in place as his hips surged up. The small wings batted his tightening bollocks when Oliver deigned run the snitch at the base of his cock, a maddening rhythm that had him panting, hips jerking and arms tensed as he went to touch himself.

But Oliver barked “No! When I tell you and not before!” And Percy wheezed and sobbed because it was too much, too much and yes, the snitch was perfect and Quidditch was extraordinary but he wanted to come, he needed to come--

And then it stopped and Percy whimpered before opening his eyes and seeing the snitch right in front of his lips, and Oliver kneeling in-between his spread legs and saying, “Lick it.”

The brown eyes were almost black and Percy could barely see Oliver’s irises as he extended his tongue and lapped shyly, once, twice, at the golden ball.

“Properly, Percy,” Oliver snapped, every inch Gryffindor’s Quidditch Captain and Percy exhaled sharply, wetting his lips as he licked and licked the snitch until it was dripping, wounding his tongue at the same time around Oliver’s fingertips and feeling Oliver’s hand tighten on his thigh until the dark eyes were stormy and Oliver’s face was as flushed as his.

“Gods, Perce,” he thought he heard Oliver mumble as the winged sphere was snatched away. He hissed as Oliver nestled the wet ball underneath his bollocks, the wings making them tingle and tighten and he tried rocking his hips down to get more of the metallic and fluttery feeling that drove him out of his mind. He didn’t care anymore, he just wanted to touch his cock and make it end when suddenly, Oliver rolled the dripping sphere from under his balls to his tight arsehole and watched the ring of muscle flicker as Percy tensed all over, hand flying to his leaking cock.

“Shh, Perce,” Oliver whispered as Percy whimpered, frantic wings flicking at his opening and he panted as Oliver’s hand caressed his thigh comfortingly. Oliver rolled the snitch over and over his twitching entrance and the wings batted his pale arse cheeks as Percy stroked himself hard and fast. His balls were drawn up and tight and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from a flushed Oliver holding his thighs apart and rolling the snitch between his legs, the tiny flutters causing his hips to jolt and his muscles to spasm.

And then Oliver’s fingers pushed and a wing fluttered in him and Percy arched back with a cry as the small ball vibrated inside him, Oliver holding the other wing firmly so as to avoid explaining to Madam Hooch why her snitch went missing. And the wing inside him flapped and palpitated and then it hit a spot that had Percy’s hips twitch and his cock leak, then his body writhed altogether as the wing hit that spot again and again and Percy arched off the bench, taut as an arrow. His arse clenched and pulsed and Oliver had to pull the snitch towards him as Percy convulsed and came all over his stomach and Oliver’s jumper with a sharp cry that sounded like a sob.

Percy’s body was still trembling when Oliver silently spelled the snitch immobile and slowly pulled the limp ball out. He let it fall to the floor as he caressed the white thighs still spread out wantonly before him, and realised he had already come; it had to have been sometime between Percy licking the snitch and anytime afterward. “Percy…”

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” A rough voice interrupted him. Percy’s come-stained hand had gone up to shield his face, which was turned away. “To teach me to ‘enjoy’ Quidditch,” he tried to spat but failed, tired. “Was that what my brothers should have done? Made me come with some vibrating ball up my arse? And they would have done it too, just because it’d give them blackmail material till I die. Not that they need it,” he sighed, and Oliver spied new tears making their way on the sharp jawbone. “But then, I suppose anything coming from their Captain is just as good as if they did it themselves,” he shuddered, repulsed, as his nails started to scratch at his arms.

Oliver’s eyes had widened throughout this tirade as his overwrought brain told him this was not the way things were meant to unfold. He had been angry, yes, but what had just happened had nothing to do with revenge, and everything to do with the lithe body he was still touching and the way both things he loved had come together in the best way possible. And not figuratively, either.

Had he just said love?

“Percy. Perc--”

“Just leave.”

“No. No, Percy, look --”

“Leave!” Percy yelled but his voice choked and Oliver realised the other boy was crying. He got up to his feet, pushing Percy’s hand away and cupping the reddened face before licking at the bottom lip where blood had already crusted.

“I’m sorry, Perce, I’m so sorry--” He peppered kisses along an unresponsive jaw then over damp cheeks and swollen eyes before caressing Percy’s temples. “Percy, listen--”

“Oliver, you already took everything. I have nothing left; what more do you want?” Percy rasped, weary, avoiding Oliver’s eyes. The dark lashes masked blank pupils, and Oliver was scared the piercing blue eyes would never see him again.

They would look at him, yes, but never see him.

“Percy, you’re beautiful. So much more beautiful than the snitch.” Oliver had no idea where he was going with this. “And I just wanted to show you that Quidditch was beautiful, but of course you ended up being so much better, and I had the feeling you thought I was going to beat you to a pulp, but--”

“Well that’s how other people deal with me!” Percy interrupted with a shout. “Fred and George and Flint and the others, they don’t--” his breath hitched as he looked at himself and Oliver’s come-splattered jumper, “--they just…”

“Yes well, I’m glad I’m the only one,” Oliver whispered against Percy’s mouth. “Please don’t say you want me to leave. Please let me stay.”

This was Percy's chance; Oliver was pleading. Percy knew what happened when people pleaded: they were vulnerable, and that was the moment when one must strike to go straight for the jugular.

But then you had to know if you wanted to gut the other person now, didn’t you? And Percy didn’t know what to do.

He settled for pushing the question away; he had to deal with more pressing manners at the moment. “I’m naked,” he mumbled. “And filthy.”

“Well yes,” replied Oliver, and his eyes were laughing. “But we have showers in here, and I dare say I’d like to join you, for one.”

Percy frowned, the hand caressing his cheek scattering his thoughts. Penny never touched him for no reason at all, and this was a little bit unnerving. “Why would you need to bathe? Your jumper was the unfortunate recipient of, er… yes,” Percy trailed off vaguely, finally finding enough strength to straighten his spine and sit instead of sprawl.

Oliver couldn’t get enough of all the soft Weasley expanse that was on display. His hands had a mind of their own, rubbing Percy’s cheek and caressing his jaw, flitting over marks on the white neck he was sure would bruise in finger patterns. His fingers. “It’s because I came too, Perce. Just by watching you,” Oliver whispered wetly in Percy’s ear, teeth grazing the delicate whorl. Percy started and flushed, hands coming up to push Oliver away but ending up tangled in his soiled jumper instead.

“I must apologise about your gear, Oliver,” he murmured. Percy didn’t know if it was strange that Oliver made him feel warm when he was so often cold, or that his heart seemed to have abandoned the rhythm it had favoured for the past seventeen years, without a thought, to drum madly when Oliver was near.

He wasn't certain if these symptoms were new.

“No. Percy, I don’t even know what came over me. I'm so sorry about what I said about Penny, that was just--” so petty, Oliver’s mind supplied. You saw him leave when you lost and he didn’t even care. You wanted to make him care. Care about Quidditch. Care about you. “You still fancy that shower, Perce?”

Percy looked up at Oliver who was busy stripping out of his sweaty gear, not even awaiting his answer. He felt as if he couldn't grasp the extent of the events that had just unfolded, and he was so utterly mystified Binn's notes appeared to be a bottomless well of organised information in comparison.

But currently, Oliver was still struggling with the lacings of his uniform. “Here, let me help,” Percy said on an impulse, fingers deftly running through most laces on the shirt and heavy trousers that protected the players, untying them expertly. “I usually do that at home when we play a proper game.”