The bass beat through the soles of Percy’s shoes the moment he set foot on the sticky floor of “Prime Dance Lance”. He tried to make out human shapes through the hazy mix of real and smoke machine smoke but it was useless. A person bumped into his left side, coming out of nowhere, and before Percy could say anything, they were gone, swallowed by the haze. Purple strobe lights were the only thing enabling any visibility and they hurt Percy’s eyes as he tried to scan the room once again. No, it was impossible to make out anything but shadows. His brain was starting to pound at the same frequency as the bass and he considered simply just leaving right then.
But he couldn't.
After the war, he had not only made a promise to his family, but to himself too, to be more present. To come to family gatherings, spend more time with his parents and siblings. To listen to them and be there when they were in trouble. To give family priority for once.
Admittedly, that was quite a goal, especially for someone like Percy who loved work more than most things and especially more than other people. But if attending Ginny’s crazy bachelorette party was going to give him some points in this field, he’d do it. Not that he had made that decision easily. There had been much begging on Ginny’s side and many assurances from his current boss at the ministry that yes, Mr. Weasley, we can afford to not have you come in on a single Saturday this year if it will make your sister stop sending us owls.
Of course, she had only mentioned last minute that the bachelorette party would happen at a muggle club. She had apparently entirely forgotten to mention the fact that this innocent muggle club she had given him the address to was not some innocent pub or even a club, but a male strip club. Again, he reconsidered the need for his presence here. But he reminded himself of his promise and strutted on. He knew that Ginny had reserved a table, table 13, for their party. As of now, Percy had no idea who exactly that would consist of. He knew she had many friends. She was popular and well-liked in the professional Quidditch community from what he heard and got along with most of the women on her team. But he hadn’t asked exactly how big the circle she was inviting would be. In retrospect, he now realized he should've asked a lot more questions after finally agreeing.
He walked around for a couple of minutes until finally pumping into a woman he recognized to be one of Ginny’s friends who came over to the Burrow often. Luna Lovegood, he recalled. She was identifiable by the mass of cotton candy hair flowing down her shoulders. Her eyes were closed and she looked like she was dancing what looked like a folk dance with elements of waltz and foxtrot alone to the rapid electronic music blasting from the speakers. He guessed she didn’t know where the dance floor was. Trying to avoid the arms she was slowly circling around her as part of her dance, he tapped her lightly on the shoulder.
Her eyes flew open and she stared at him.
After a moment of awkwardness, she seemed to recognize him without him having to say anything and her face split into a polite smile. “Percy Weasley,” she identified with a voice that was barely enough to be heard over the noise. She continued to stare at him.
Confused, Percy coughed and began speaking. “Yes, exactly. I am here for my sister Ginny’s bachelorette party. I was hoping you were here for the same reason and you could perhaps lead me to the reserved table.”
She nodded serenely. And then, with a sudden more serious tone, said, “We’ve been awaiting you.” before turning around and drifting quickly to Percy’s left. Sighing, he followed.
The group of laughing, apparently already slightly drunk women he found surrounding Ginny was neither surprising, nor particularly familiar to Percy. Most of them were rather muscular girls in their early twenties. Percy recognized them from Quidditch magazine covers or the pictures Ginny had shown him. Then there were some girls he recognized from the younger grades in Hogwarts. Namely he could only really identify Hermione and Luna, but Ginny definitely seemed to be having fun, bent over, holding her stomach while laughing so loud that he could hear it over the pounding music.
“Percyyyy!” She had spotted him. She was also clearly drunk.
He straightened the muggle suit jacket he was wearing and donned his best smile before walking over and shaking her hand across the table. Anyone who knew him knew he was uncomfortable with close contact and he was glad she didn’t try to hug him. Not that it would’ve been easy with the way she was sitting in the middle of the booth on the other side of the table. Twenty pairs of eyes turned his direction.
“You must be Percy Weasley!” The woman nearest to him exclaimed. She had dark skin and impressive red lipstick along with matching eyeliner.
“Martha-” Ginny interjected, but her friend kept going.
She held out a hand. “Martha MacDonald, pleasure to meet you.”
Slightly taken aback, Percy shook it. “The pleasure is all mine.”
“Here,” She gestured, “Sit, I have something to discuss with you, actually.” And just like that he was pulled into a conversation with this woman he barely knew. While Martha somehow got hold of a waiter through the all-consuming strobe light fog, Percy sent a quizzical look to Ginny who was watching them with a slightly amused expression. She nodded reassuringly, though Percy wasn’t sure how much he should rely on it; It wouldn’t be unlike Ginny to use an awkward situation for him for her own amusement.
But Martha had already turned around once again along with a waiter on her side. Percy had to take a moment. The noise, the light, the group of girls. All of those things had made him almost forget the fact that he was in a strip club. But right here was a reminder that he definitely was. The man was dressed in nothing but a suit collar, cuffs, and very tiny, violently pink shorts that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. He had smooth dark skin and nails painted pink. Despite his own aversion to sports and the maintaining of his too awkwardly skinny physique for all his life, Percy had always been attracted to muscular men. And this guy beside him definitely qualified as one.
“Ladies, sir,” the waiter said in a flirtatious tone. He winked at the group, including Percy. He felt himself flushing. “Any wishes for now?” Martha ordered ten shots and Percy ordered water. “Smart man,” the waiter said, winking again. Percy did not register him leaving.
“So,” Martha said, taking a sip out of the fruity cocktail in front of her, “You know how there’s a rule about the amount of metal attachments on officially registered broomsticks?”
Gathering what was left of his wits, he returned to the conversation with Martha. “Yes, section seventy-”
“Yes, exactly. But I was thinking, hey, why shouldn’t we be able to circumvent that law by simply putting a lightening charm on the metal before attaching it?” She gestured in the air, neon nails flashing. “Of course putting it on while on the broom is illegal because it could be broken randomly and that would be extremely dangerous for the traveler. But this way, we’d simply but a security charm on the lightening charm, which we of course couldn’t do with a broom, and that way, the weight wouldn’t be a risk and we could add much more accessories to the broom.”
Percy nodded, in thought. It was an interesting idea. They continued their conversation on the topic for a while. He ended up proving her wrong on the first idea, but the second two, one about warming charms on brooms during Quidditch matches, were quite genius and he even found himself enjoying himself. Martha MacDonald, though he wouldn’t have thought so when he had first taken a look at her, had a welcoming, calming presence. She almost made him laugh and didn’t pressure him into drinking. It was more than he could’ve hoped for tonight.
She was just making an argument about the small danger of combining heat charms and wood (“I don’t care how bad those whiny bitches burn their balls off, I’m not getting another UTI just because of men and their fucking egos”), when it happened.
Somehow, through the thick haze, Percy’s eyes stuck on another pair of eyes just over the curve of one of Ginny’s friends’ shoulders. A flash of chocolate bear brown, encompassed by thick eyebrows, a strong jaw, and slightly pouty lips. He was immediately sent back. Sent back to watching Quidditch matches for a single player, watching across the common room as he traced complicated flight patterns on his parchment, watching the way he drew those eyebrows together when he thought of losing, watching the sparkle in them when he talked about winning.
They’d been friendly, yes, could have even considered friends by loose definitions. But Percy had been reluctant to take it any further. He had known only how disappointing and hurtful being closer to the other boy would be. Indeed, he knew that his feelings were more than platonic. The last clue he needed to confirm these suspicions was his lack of reaction to the veelas at the 1994 Quidditch World Cup. Not that it had been very surprising. And not that this had meant that he’d done anything about it. He hadn’t seen Oliver Wood since the World Cup.
Of course he heard his name sometimes. You had to live under a rock not to hear of Oliver Wood, Puddlemere United’s Quidditch Keeper Sensation! And every time it provoked one of these flashbacks. Percy desperately wanted to rid himself of them. Not that he wanted to get over Oliver to get under anyone else - knowing and accepting who he was didn’t mean that he had to tell or be with anyone, for Merlin’s sake, thank you very much - but it still hurt. And it in turn hurt when the name of a person he knew on a friendly basis seven years ago could have such an effect on him.
“Percy? Hey, Percy, you good there?” Martha was tugging on his sleeve, a concerned look on her face. It took him a moment to remember that they had been in the middle of a conversation.
He turned to her. “Yeah, I'm alright.” Her eyes flicked to a spot above his head and he knew what was coming before she had said anything.
“Olli!” It was Ginny who screamed, even drunker now than half an hour ago.
After taking a deep breath, he turned to the man behind him. He was not prepared.
He could have handled Oliver Wood. Could have handled soft brown hair and soft brown eyes and passion and dedication and sweaters and quidditch. But this? He could not handle this.
Because Oliver wasn’t wearing a sweater. In fact, he wasn’t wearing anything but a suit collar, cuffs, and red leather pants that, despite being more covering than the other waiter’s shorts, left nothing much to the imagination. Percy was sure that, would Oliver be wearing any less, he would have been having a heart attack. This way, he simply stopped breathing for a little while.
Oliver was still fit. Very, very fit. All broad shoulders and pecs that were the perfect amount of defined. Quidditch had left him with scars all over his body and Percy found that he wanted to kiss every single one of them. Explore them with his tongue. Rest his cheek on the skin they littered. His eyes finally moved up to Oliver’s face and found a smile already directed at him there. He had no idea what it meant but for just another moment, silence surrounded them, interrupted only by the hammering of Percy’s heart.
The noise returned as Martha gestured Oliver over to them, whooping over the music. “Hey, Olli! Sit down! We’re discussing heating charms on brooms.” Oliver pulled up another chair and sat on Percy’s right, across from Martha. He set the tray in his hands onto the table and leaned onto his knees so that he was even closer to Percy.
When Martha started to explain, he laughed. Percy felt a spark in his heart at the old familiar sound. “Merlin, yes, I‘d love to see that done before this winter.” He turned to Percy, and he couldn’t help but think that the purple lights refracted in his eyes looked like stars in the night sky. “Last winter I almost burned my balls off trying to cast a heating charm on them, it was so bloody cold.” He grinned and Percy couldn’t hold back a snort.
“Either way, good to see you Perce. Feel like we haven’t talked since Hogwarts.” He clapped Percy on the back in a brotherly sort of manner.
“Yeah,” Percy replied. “I’ve been busy, work and all that.”
“Oh, yes, heard about you from my dad from time to time.” He then screwed up his face, puffed out his chest, and raised his finger in what was apparently supposed to be an impression of Mr. Wood. “See, Oliver, there’s someone who’s doing something with their life. Youngest head of a ministry department in five centuries and you graduated together!”
Percy felt guilt rising up in him. Of course it would be so like him to unintentionally torment the boy he once loved.
He didn’t know if it was the look on his face, Oliver’s general kindness, or, Merlin, he was getting his hopes up far too high, the fact that Oliver still knew him so well, but the next second Oliver was speaking again, his tone apologetic. “Hey, not that that’s your fault of course. My dad’s just a dick. And you’re just being yourself, smart and dedicated and all that,” he declared, as though it wouldn’t make Percy’s heart beat a mile a minute. When exactly during this night had he become a teenager again? “And my mom’s still great of course,” Oliver continued
"So how come you work here?" Percy asked.
"Oh, true, this must be rather surprising to you," Oliver said, chuckling. "Helping out a friend."
“Friend?” Martha chimed in at that. Percy jumped. He had forgotten she was there.
Oliver’s eyes flicked to Percy’s for a moment before returning to Martha. “Yes, friend, Martha. I’m not doing this thing again where you guys ask me to get with anyone I’m slightly close with,” He said to Martha. Percy felt a small pain somewhere in his chest area and took a sip of the nearest glass. It contained vodka.
She groaned, rolling her eyes. “This isn’t anyone! This is Jesse,” she declared, “You guys have major chemistry and you’re both totally into each other!”
Oliver simply waved a hand into her direction and turned back to Percy. “Either way, the club needed some help and I was there. It’s not always this crazy, you know. Normally, it’s a totally normal strip club but the last Friday of every month is club night and it gets like this. Not that there aren’t any of the normal services available,” he added with a wink. Percy, once again red in the face, concentrated on the glass in his hand.
“Oi,” Martha interjected, “You’re making Percy here uncomfortable. Poor boy’s probably never even been in a female strip club, much less a male one.” She patted him on the shoulder in a faux-concerned manner.
“I’ve been to a strip club,” Percy retorted. This night was going from bad to good to worse.
“Sure you have, babe.” She raised an eyebrow. “Which one?”
“Merlin, whatever.” He huffed and turned his eyes back to the table. Maybe he hadn’t been to a strip club. But how was that Martha’s business? And why was she even talking to him if she thought he was such a prude? He huffed again. Martha shrugged and started going on about brooms again. Goddamn brooms and goddamn quidditch players. In Percy’s opinion they could all shove those fucking brooms down their fucking throats and stop bothering him for once.
He went to check his watch but his eyes caught on Oliver’s muscle ridden arms with which he was gesticulating wildly. Merlin.
“Whaddaya say, Perce?” It was Oliver.
“Hm?”
“Shots?” He then followed the line of Oliver’s pointed finger and found ten shots on the table before him.
“I don’t know…” He glanced at Martha’s raised eyebrow.
“Of course you don’t have to,” Oliver shot in. “We’re just all getting sloshed tonight because we have about two nights a year where our coaches let us do that. Quidditch players are desperate for a party when they can get one. Just don’t feel like you have to do anything just because the others are doing it.”
Percy didn’t laugh. Of course Oliver was being nice about it. But he also felt desperate to prove that he could let loose once in a while. Jessie was probably nice and easy-going. Jessie probably did shots whenever she pleased. He grabbed a shot glass and knocked the insides down his throats. It burned. It felt good.
“Is that enough of an answer?” He asked Oliver. He couldn’t discern the look in his eyes but they stared each other down until the other man looked away.
“Do what you want.”
Percy nodded as though satisfied and took another glass, throwing its contents down his throat to join the previous ones.
Martha picked one up with her mouth and emptied it before returning it to the table, somehow all without spilling a drop or dropping the glass. Oliver was officially working which meant he wasn’t allowed to drink but he watched her with an amused expression. And so the night continued.
-
Thirty minutes and two more shots along, Percy was starting to feel slightly light-headed even where he was sitting in between Martha and Oliver. But that was the problem wasn’t it? He was sitting right there, squished between a person he barely knew and one he had known what seemed like a very long time ago. Squished between two people who inexplicably seemed to be getting closer. He could feel the press of Oliver’s leather-pant-clad thigh through his pants. Merlin, they were truly very close.
He was just considering moving his thigh a centimetre towards Oliver’s to increase their touch when Martha said “Percy, what do you think?”
Shaking himself out of his train of lazy, alcohol-infused thought, Percy looked up.
“Sorry?”
Martha giggled in a charming way and batted her eyelashes. “About Oliver, babe.”
Percy flicked his eyes first into the other man’s direction and then, quite involuntarily, down his bare torso.
He looked back at Martha. “What ‘bout Oliver?”
She giggled again. “Shouldn’t he go and find Jesse soon? Poor man hasn’t had a lay in weeks. Doesn’t he deserve a little fun with all that hard work he does. Have a little fun.” Martha’s eyes were no longer on Oliver but glued to Percy’s. He got the impression that she was no longer talking about Oliver. This suspicion was strengthened by the next thing she said. “A little risk.” Nothing much was clear in his head but he knew distinctly that he disliked this. “Whaddaya say, Percy?” She laid her too soft hand on the back of his.
Percy stood up abruptly. He almost knocked over his chair and still stood squished between his two neighbors, but he couldn’t have cared less. Currently his heart was much too busy doing its best to beat a hole into his chest, right through his rib cage. He managed a hastily muttered “Excuse me.” before clambering out of their corner along with his lanky limbs and hurrying away.
Somehow, he managed to find a door. Outside on the street, he caught his first free breath in hours.
This in no means meant that his breathing was doing well. In fact, he felt like his chest was about to explode from how quickly he was breathing in and out.
Merlin. Mer-fucking-lin. Merlin. Merlin’s fucking underpants on a fucking pole. Fuck.
Now they’d all know. They’d all know and Oliver would never want to see or talk to him again. He’d know every single dirty and romantic and hopeless thought Percy had ever had about him. He’d know them all and he’d be disgusted and if he ever looked at Percy again it would only be with contempt or fear or revulsion or loathing. Percy would never see him smile like that again. Would never see the crinkles by his eyes, the sparkle in them when he talked about that abhorrent sport. They were probably talking about him right now. Oliver was probably talking about how he felt revolted and couldn’t believe he shared with a- with someone like Percy for their whole childhood.
The pavement before his eyes turned into a blurry gray mess as he staggered against the wall behind him. He found a rough, dirty surface and immediately retracted his hand. Shivering, he curled his arms around himself.
He didn’t know how long he stood there. It could’ve been ten minutes or ten seconds. All he knew was that after an uncertain amount of time, someone was calling his name.
Oliver.
Shit, he had come to tell him he hated him now and never wanted to see him again.
“Percy,” he said, now a mere few metres away. Percy shook his head. He should just apparate away before Oliver could give word to all that rightful disgust he was undeniably feeling right now. Percy knew it was cowardly but then, he’d never known why he'd been put into Gryffindor of all houses.
“Hey, Perce,” the voice said, almost right next to Percy now. He felt frozen to the spot. “You kinda disappeared there, everything alright?” It must’ve been a rhetorical question, Percy decided. There was no way he looked at all like he was currently doing alright. “Hey, Percy. Breathe with me okay?” Percy couldn’t respond. “Just- just copy me. Here, In. Out.”
In. Out.
“In. Out.”
In. Out.
“In. Out.”
Gradually, Percy felt air that he hadn’t truly noticed was missing fill his lungs once again. He became aware of the ally he was standing in as well as the warm pair of brown air locked with his, something similar to concern evident in the creases around them. Oliver’s rough, warm hand was a grounding weight on his shoulder. After a while, he seemed to notice that Percy seemed to be doing better.
“Why don’t we sit down,” he muttered, gesturing towards the pavement before them.
Percy managed to shake his head. “No. Dirt.”
“Mhm.” Oliver pondered this for a moment before shaking off the jacket around his shoulders and laying it on the curb. “Sit on this, Ginny told me to take it but tonight’s too warm anyway.”
Percy simply nodded slightly before settling down, his knees bending forward at an awkward angle. He watched Oliver sit down beside him out of the corner of his eyes. This was good, wasn’t it? He had no idea what to expect. Oliver had a natural instinct to protect, Percy had learned as much during all that time they spent together, all that time he’d spent in love with him. But now that Percy was okay, what would he do? Now that he was no longer panicking, Percy knew well enough that even with all this possible hurt and disgust, Oliver would never be intentionally cruel. Or would he? Perhaps he’d find out he’d known Oliver as little as Oliver had just found out that he’d known Percy.
His thought process was interrupted by Oliver clearing his throat. He saw the way he turned his broad, bare chest toward him. He couldn’t bring himself to do the same. “Percy,” he said, tone confident, brittle, and soft all at the same time. “Could we talk about what just happened in there? I know you’re not great with crowds, noises, lights, and all that. But, well, you seemed to be doing fine? Like, we were making good conversation and then you just jumped up out of nowhere. Well,” he chuckled. It didn’t seem very genuine to Percy. “It wasn’t really out of nowhere, was it? Martha’ll get over it though. She never lingers for long on a single guy.” Shit. Martha. Percy hadn’t paid a single thought to whether or not his rather radical rejection would have hurt her feelings. Oliver had evidently noticed the sudden look of concern on Percy’s face. “Hey, Perce.” he went to lay a hand on Percy’s shoulder. He flinched away before they could touch. A moment of silence filled the air between them, suspended just like Oliver’s hand.
“Okay. So,” the man breathed, “What’s up? Because there’s obviously something you’re not telling me right now.”
Percy couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t take all the lying anymore. Yes, he’d forever care about Oliver’s opinion. But he was also exhausted.
“I’m gay.”
Another moment of silence spread between them, interrupted only by a whispered “oh” from Oliver. After a while, Percy looked up to find the other man looking at him, smiling kindly. Taken aback, Percy simply stared back.
“Is that all?” Oliver’s rough voice broke the silence. Percy nodded, not knowing what to do. What was going one? Why was Oliver being so calm? “Percy, I’m completely fine with you being gay. You’re Percy Weasley. You’re smart and dedicated and, when you think no one’s watching, you’re quite funny. Nothing will ever change that. You’re beautiful. We’ve spent the last few years apart but I treasure you so much, no matter who you love. Oh, Perce, c’mere.” Hot tears flooded down his cheeks as he leaned into Oliver’s warm chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried like this. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried at all. It was probably partly due to the alcohol. Yet he couldn’t deny the effect that Oliver’s words had on him. It had never occurred to him that the people around him would think the same of him once they knew. How could someone like Oliver, someone who now knew who he’d had for a roommate for seven years, hug him like this, stroke his back and rock him slightly as though he wanted to comfort him. As though it didn’t matter. Percy felt warm, heavy things bloom in his chest. It was going to be alright.
After a while, the heavy flow of Percy’s tears diluted to a slight hiccup. Still, he stayed in Oliver’s arms. It was warm here, safe. Oliver made no inclination that this bothered him. His arms were strong around Percy’s waist and he felt a pull to never leave this bubble of closeness they had created. For the first time in much longer than he could remember, Percy felt accepted. Right there, under the light polluted night sky of London, drunkards roaring their laughter on neighboring streets, on a jacket that was becoming soaked with grime and day-old rain water, Percy felt comfort. He listened to Oliver’s heart beat in harmony with his and smiled. They sat there for longer than Percy cared to take count of.
Then Percy remembered a detail about the night that thrust a dagger into their bubble faster than he could bat it away. He cursed the elusive character of his drunk thoughts that he couldn't simply cage it away again in a far-off part of his mind somewhere far to the back.
Finally, he couldn’t resist them anymore.
“Oliver?”
“Mhm?”
“Who’s this Jessie girl?”
“Jessie girl?” Oliver asked, confused. Then he started laughing. “Oh, Jesse! No, he’s actually just a friend. I was into him a little for a short while but he’s got a boyfriend now and that wasn’t ever gonna work out anyway.”
From one second to the next, the whole world around Percy seemed to have died. He heard his voice echo through the space between them. “He?”
Oliver glanced at him, clearly unsure.
“Yes, ‘he’. I’m into girls. But I’m into guys too, Perce.”
Percy took a moment to process that and watched as it hung in the air, coated by their awaiting breaths. Then,
“Can I kiss you?” He hoped he hadn’t imagined the hitch in the other man’s voice. It certainly hadn’t sounded bad.
“What?”
“I’d like to kiss you,” Percy whispered.
“Look, maybe this isn’t a conversation we should be having right now, alright?” There was a note of regret in Oliver’s tone that Percy took as a hint that this whole feeling thing wasn’t completely limited to him.
“When else, then?” He whined. “I didn’t even know this was a conversation we could have until now. What if we never see each other again and we never get to have this conversation? But I’ll always know that Oliver fucking Wood was sitting right in front of me, looking like that, seriously the audacity.” Oliver chuckled. “And didn’t want to kiss me, nor have a conversation about committing the previously mentioned act. And I’ll just forever sit in the knowledge of having passed by that opportunity. It’s not fair.” He knew he was seriously pouting now, which was rather unusual for him, but he’d had quite a lot to drink.
Oliver’s voice pulled his eyes away from the pavement. “I know it may not seem fair at the moment,” he said in his gentle, slightly amused tone. “But it has to be like this right now. I don’t want our first kiss to be while you’re clearly still very drunk.” His eyes were soft and it took Percy a moment to understand what he was being told here.
“But you want there to be a first kiss?”
“Yes, Percy, I’ve wanted to kiss you since we were fifthteen and you were always sucking on that goddamn quill while doing your homework, always leaving a tiny strip of ink on the left side of your upper lip. Merlin, I’ve wanted to kiss you forever, Perce.”
“Oh.”
Oliver chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, pretty much sums it up.”
Percy was too drunk and suddenly becoming too tired to grasp the full meaning of this conversation. So, instead of attempting to continue it, he simply settled against Oliver’s chest again. The beating of the other man’s heart gradually swayed him into a gentle snooze.
-
“Hey, Perce.” A familiar voice wafted through the fog of Percy’s brain in a gentle way. “Let’s get you home alright?”
Percy nodded, but simply snuggled more into the chest he was leaning against. The skin was soft and smelled good. He wanted to stay here forever, draped in sleep and a light breeze and the presence of this body beside him. He felt completely at peace and he wasn’t about to give that up. Images of the Hogwarts grounds glided along his inner eye and he willingly let the dreams take him again.
“Oi, Perce, don’t sleep here. I wanna get you to bed first, well I mean- you know what I mean.”
“No,” he slurred. “Wanna stay with you.”
“Perce, you can’t. I’m sorry, but you have to sleep in your bed.”
“Staying. With. You.” He repeated. He punctuated each word with a stab of his finger in the guy’s chest, though he wasn’t sure if the man noticed as none of his fingers seemed to be responding to his brain.
“Merlin, you’re drunk,” he said and Percy felt the statement against his head as the man chuckled, along with the fondness with which it was laced. He seemed to be thinking for a moment. “Fine. I’ll let you sleep at mine then. You’ll sleep on the couch, though, alright? And don’t complain tomorrow about a sore back or anything, I know my couch is shit but this was your decision.
-
When Percy Weasley woke up the morning after his sister’s bachelorette party, he found himself in a very unusual position. Firstly, he had an excruciating headache. Secondly, he’d woken up on a couch he didn’t recognize. In a living room he didn’t recognize. In an apartment he didn’t recognize. The headache he could explain. He’d drank more than he had in a while at Ginny’s party. He was also no longer a twenty year-old. The apartment was harder to explain. He heard someone puttering about in the kitchen. They were singing along to whatever song was playing on the radio in a deep, hushed voice. That’s when it came back to Percy.
The club. Martha and Oliver. Oliver. His panic attack. Oliver calming him down. Both of them coming out to each other. The confessions…
He looked around the living room and found traces of Oliver everywhere. Medals and cups. Quidditch gear magazines. Drawings of maneuvers on parchment. The old miniature quidditch field he’d used to study for hours in the common room. Photos of quidditch players, as a team, huddled together, flying around in the air.
Just as he was studying one particular one of what seemed to be the Puddlemere United quidditch team at a beach retreat, including Oliver waving at the camera naked except for a pair of tight blue swimming trunks, who could blame him really, the man himself came into the living room, still quietly humming to himself. When his eyes fell onto freshly awoken Percy, they crinkled as he grinned. Percy felt his insides erupt into metaphorical butterflies.
“Here,” Oliver said, handing Percy a fresh cup of tea. He was using that sweet tone he’d always used at Hogwarts after Percy had spent a long night studying. Percy thanked him while he sat on the end of the couch, right next to where Percy’s feet were warm under the blanket. The presence of Oliver right next to them seemed only to amplify it.
They sat in comfortable silence for a short while, each sipping their teas.
A volley of feelings and thoughts was gushing through Percy’s chest. Appreciation. Embarrassment. Regret. Thankfulness. Love. Pain. Yeah, through his memories of last night and the idea of Oliver reciprocating his feelings, he was constantly reminded of his alcohol intake of the previous night by a pounding headache at the front of his head.
“Oliver?” Percy felt his voice seemed rather brittle, but Oliver looked up. “Would you perhaps own something to relieve a headache or such?”
Oliver grinned. “Yeah, c’mere,” he said, beckoning with his wand. The moment he saw the way Percy was eyeing the wand pointed at his face, he broke out in laughter. “I won’t curse you, Perce, promise. ‘S just a hangover spell.”
Reluctantly, Percy nodded and sat up.
Suddenly, their faces were mere centimeters apart, legs pressed flush against each other. Percy could feel Oliver’s breath on his face. The other man, without breaking eye contact, raised his wand to Percy’s temple and muttered a spell that only Percy could hear. He was convinced that he could feel the air between them thicken with tension by the second.
They did not move apart even after the thumping inside Percy’s head had eased. It was only replaced by the thumping of his heart.
“Percy,” Oliver began, “Do you still remember what we talked about late last night?”
“I remember you telling me you wouldn’t want our first kiss to be while I was drunk,” Percy whispered. How were they even closer than just seconds earlier?
Oliver visibly blushed. “And would you perhaps still be interested in-”
Percy leaped forward and crashed their lips together. Oliver responded with the same urgent immediacy. Their lips moved in a harmonious push and tug and Percy absent-mindedly thought that his fourteen year old self could never have imagined anything this good. Oliver tasted like morning breath and coffee and apples and pancakes. He smelled like sweat and aftershave and broomstick garnish. Percy let himself go to his senses.
He let himself dissolve in Oliver Wood.