Carol (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} amusingly_fics) wrote,@ 2006-08-19 18:53:00 |
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HOW IT'S DONE, 1/1
Title: HOW IT’S DONE, 1/1
Completed September 30, 2006; Word Count 1583, give or take 10.
Pairing: Percy/Oliver
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Humour. The usual complaints.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Co. are the property of JK Rowling and Warner Bros. No infringement on their copyright is intended.
Summary: Oliver knows he’ll be with Percy someday. Just not how he’ll get there.
This is as close to one-shot as it gets (for me). I’m so far gone off trifle right now it’s not funny. Chocolate trifle, no more explanation needed, right? The pointing out of boo-boos is always appreciated.
HOW IT’S DONE
Oliver wants Percy. Wants him in every way imaginable, physically and emotionally, as a friend and lover and all those roles in between, like confidante and partner and, sure, sex enthusiast. But it's been six full years at Hogwarts, five that've been spent pondering how he might convey this aloud to Percy, and he's starting to feel impatient.
Starting to in an I-Might-Nail-Marcus-Flint-Just-To-Get-Pe
But, no. Ew.
Really, it should be easy to imagine a plausible start to their relationship. His first urge, interestingly enough, is to ask someone for help. That someone being Percy, because who else does he ask for anything? Percy seems to know all the answers to things Oliver finds completely mind-boggling. Except when he provides Oliver with the (negative) probable outcome of his future matches. Then Percy doesn’t know squat, and statistics be damned.
Eliminating the possibility of actual candour, Oliver starts to fantasize. It’s fairly easy at first. He figures all he has to do is corner Percy and forcefully declare, “You’re mine. Get undressed.” But that’s stupid, he realizes, even after entertaining such a fantasy for months. Because Oliver doesn’t want Percy right then and there, and definitely not naked. Yet.
Oliver wants everything. Romance, flowers, serenades, kissie faces and widdle cutesy-wutsy talk. Sappiness in its splendour, with all the accompanying embarrassment. He can take it, he’s a thick-skinned Scot, and there’s no way he’ll allow Percy to ever question his commitment or affection. Once they are together, that is.
And they will be together. Eventually. Just the small matter of getting there that’s throwing him off. A minor detail.
--
A take on his initial idea, Oliver thinks that their relationship might start at a more natural point. Percy can walk in on him after a game. A game he’ll win, of course, and spectacularly so.
A pristine white towel will be wrapped loosely around his waist, low enough to show off the faint trail of glistening hair that went below the towel. Percy will appreciate a tease; he’s an observant guy, nothing gets by those glasses of his. Besides, Oliver knows he looks good – hell, hot girls and guys chase him even when he loses games, and not even Marcus can say that.
Marcus. Ew.
But, see, there’s the whole nakedness of the situation that Oliver can’t get past. Because what if Percy laughs? Or runs away? Or laughs and runs away and tells people? Or… Well, that’s Oliver’s main concern. Laughter can't bode well for a good sex life.
Oliver isn’t looking to blind Percy with his animal magnetism. He will not have relationship that’s rooted in sex, and he will not get to Percy like that. He’ll just have to smother his sex appeal.
It’ll take real effort.
--
Percy is dramatic and, Oliver knows, sometimes the best approach is to speak as one is spoken to. He’s seen enough muggle movies to know that love doesn’t come easy, not until the very end when the starring characters come together in a breathtaking climax.
The other sort of climax, he reminds himself.
Oliver does stupid things, and says stupid things, and it certainly will not be seen as unusual for him to let out his feelings in a stupid way. He can practically see it coming:
“I’m a failure! I’m ruined! I’ve nothing to live for!” Percy will wail, eyes closed tight, a clenched fist to his forehead.
“Oh, Perce,” Oliver will say, his heart breaking, arms reaching out.
“No. No, Oliver! I don’t want your pity!” Percy will sob, exasperated.
“I don’t feel sorry for you,” Oliver will reply, emotion bubbling inside. “I feel for you.”
And Oliver will shoot himself. Because, really, there’s no way he will ever again feel an ounce of self-worth after that spiel.
--
So Oliver reassesses the situation. He’s off about the drama bit, sure, but his carrot-top is also of the sensitive sort, and hides a lot of personal anguish. His brothers tease him mercilessly and he takes it all in, even now after all these years, maintaining a demeanour that’s all business where they’re concerned. Oliver likes that. Even with Quidditch games he doesn’t play in, he’s never that distant. Win or lose, there’s a reaction (usually jubilation or anger, with some sugary indulgence).
With every passing day, Percy appears more distant. Sometimes Oliver lies in bed at night, completely silent, hoping to hear him cry. Sniffle. Upset. Anything, really. He wants an excuse to pitter-patter to the other side of the room and whisper to Percy to push over, so that he can crawl under the sheets and provide some comfort. Just talking, because Oliver has already dismissed the naked fantasy.
And Percy will be grateful, and Oliver will say, “Anytime, Perce. I’d do this for you anytime, but for no one else.” And Percy will smile shyly, lying nose-to-nose with him, blue eyes sparkling with emotion. And Oliver will know that Percy understands exactly what those words imply.
Simple. But the fact that this idea seems close to right makes the fantasy even more improbable. Too simple. Too easy.
Damn it.
--
Oliver’s getting desperate, thinking that perhaps sex is the way to go after all. Perhaps he’ll have Percy catch him with a man. People want what they can’t have, he reasons. He certainly does.
Percy has a conscious. If Oliver were with someone like Marcus Flint, he’ll feel obligated to say something. Out of courtesy and friendship and duty. And because he’ll want Oliver all for himself, obviously.
Unless Percy is so disgusted that Oliver puts his… where Marcus puts his…
Ew. No. Just… no.
--
Oliver's running out of ideas when it dons on him that he can gradually approach the situation through apology. If he has to make things up to Percy after hurting him somehow. He can insult Percy and beg for forgiveness afterwards, and who doesn’t like people who grovel in public? Or he can accidentally whack a Quaffle his way during the next game. Or he might try to chat him up in class and receive a reprimand, and have to apologize profusely (and perhaps later, nakedly) for such ignorance.
Except… no. Percy might forgive him for a near Quaffle decapitation, but talking in class? Even if Percy sees pass that, what if they start a relationship and he finds out the truth at some future time? Percy holds a grudge. Oliver remembers that every day, just by looking at the bent feather on Percy's quill. Because every time someone comments on it, Percy throws Oliver a stern look and proceeds to talk, in his theatrically delivered style, about his first week at Hogwarts, when Oliver borrowed the quill.
Oliver loves the bent feather. He has fantasies – ones that actually work out – about the bent feather. Loves to watch it bob back and forth, busy writing down Very Important Things during class. He thinks there might be a little something sexual in his connecting the feather to Percy and him, but that involves thinking much more deeply than he’s willing to. Besides, when they get together, Percy can do that sort of thinking for him.
Sometimes he pretends Percy must already truly love him, because he keeps the feather. Unless he does so out of spite, to keep reminding Oliver of how much he screwed up just a few days into their friendship.
And, yeah, Percy will do that sort of thing.
Another fantasy in ruins, Oliver decides he definitely cannot hurt Percy. At least, not intentionally. When they finally get together, he’ll have plenty of chances to do that, just by being himself.
--
One day, Oliver stops fantasizing. It’s getting too frustrating, and tiring, and while he knows he and Percy will be together someday, he can’t see any possible way of getting there. He goes to class and plays Quidditch, and spends his spare time in the stands sizing up the other teams during practice. No fantasies whatsoever.
So Oliver knows its real when one of Percy’s insanely cold hands rests on his forearm, and he turns to see those calculating blue eyes size him up. Oliver hears his breath catch, unsure if it’s the sight of that inviting blue or the brisk autumn air, or maybe just the chill of Percy’s hands going through him. He wonders how long he’s been sitting next to him in the stands, watching the practice, and feels his cheeks flush with warmth now, almost giddy as he knows Percy is only there to be with him.
“Good players,” Oliver says awkwardly, unsure of what to do. He nods towards the Hufflepuffs practicing on the pitch, and Percy makes a noise. It’s a disagreement of sorts, and Oliver chuckles, because yeah, Percy knows bullshit when he hears it. Oliver could have beaten the entire Hufflepuff House at Quidditch, alone, without even a broom. Sure.
Long fingers move – no, tickle down his arm, finally grasping at his fingers. They’re gentle, not at all firm, and Oliver relaxes. He wraps both of his warm hands around Percy’s and leaves them there, being brave for both of them. Because he’s finally found the right way to tell Percy how he feels, even when he hadn’t counted on Percy being the one to tell him first.
--
The End
--
Title: HOW IT’S DONE, 1/1
Completed September 30, 2006; Word Count 1583, give or take 10.
Pairing: Percy/Oliver
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Humour. The usual complaints.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Co. are the property of JK Rowling and Warner Bros. No infringement on their copyright is intended.
Summary: Oliver knows he’ll be with Percy someday. Just not how he’ll get there.
This is as close to one-shot as it gets (for me). I’m so far gone off trifle right now it’s not funny. Chocolate trifle, no more explanation needed, right? The pointing out of boo-boos is always appreciated.
Oliver wants Percy. Wants him in every way imaginable, physically and emotionally, as a friend and lover and all those roles in between, like confidante and partner and, sure, sex enthusiast. But it's been six full years at Hogwarts, five that've been spent pondering how he might convey this aloud to Percy, and he's starting to feel impatient.
Starting to in an I-Might-Nail-Marcus-Flint-Just-To-Get-Pe
But, no. Ew.
Really, it should be easy to imagine a plausible start to their relationship. His first urge, interestingly enough, is to ask someone for help. That someone being Percy, because who else does he ask for anything? Percy seems to know all the answers to things Oliver finds completely mind-boggling. Except when he provides Oliver with the (negative) probable outcome of his future matches. Then Percy doesn’t know squat, and statistics be damned.
Eliminating the possibility of actual candour, Oliver starts to fantasize. It’s fairly easy at first. He figures all he has to do is corner Percy and forcefully declare, “You’re mine. Get undressed.” But that’s stupid, he realizes, even after entertaining such a fantasy for months. Because Oliver doesn’t want Percy right then and there, and definitely not naked. Yet.
Oliver wants everything. Romance, flowers, serenades, kissie faces and widdle cutesy-wutsy talk. Sappiness in its splendour, with all the accompanying embarrassment. He can take it, he’s a thick-skinned Scot, and there’s no way he’ll allow Percy to ever question his commitment or affection. Once they are together, that is.
And they will be together. Eventually. Just the small matter of getting there that’s throwing him off. A minor detail.
--
A take on his initial idea, Oliver thinks that their relationship might start at a more natural point. Percy can walk in on him after a game. A game he’ll win, of course, and spectacularly so.
A pristine white towel will be wrapped loosely around his waist, low enough to show off the faint trail of glistening hair that went below the towel. Percy will appreciate a tease; he’s an observant guy, nothing gets by those glasses of his. Besides, Oliver knows he looks good – hell, hot girls and guys chase him even when he loses games, and not even Marcus can say that.
Marcus. Ew.
But, see, there’s the whole nakedness of the situation that Oliver can’t get past. Because what if Percy laughs? Or runs away? Or laughs and runs away and tells people? Or… Well, that’s Oliver’s main concern. Laughter can't bode well for a good sex life.
Oliver isn’t looking to blind Percy with his animal magnetism. He will not have relationship that’s rooted in sex, and he will not get to Percy like that. He’ll just have to smother his sex appeal.
It’ll take real effort.
--
Percy is dramatic and, Oliver knows, sometimes the best approach is to speak as one is spoken to. He’s seen enough muggle movies to know that love doesn’t come easy, not until the very end when the starring characters come together in a breathtaking climax.
The other sort of climax, he reminds himself.
Oliver does stupid things, and says stupid things, and it certainly will not be seen as unusual for him to let out his feelings in a stupid way. He can practically see it coming:
“I’m a failure! I’m ruined! I’ve nothing to live for!” Percy will wail, eyes closed tight, a clenched fist to his forehead.
“Oh, Perce,” Oliver will say, his heart breaking, arms reaching out.
“No. No, Oliver! I don’t want your pity!” Percy will sob, exasperated.
“I don’t feel sorry for you,” Oliver will reply, emotion bubbling inside. “I feel for you.”
And Oliver will shoot himself. Because, really, there’s no way he will ever again feel an ounce of self-worth after that spiel.
--
So Oliver reassesses the situation. He’s off about the drama bit, sure, but his carrot-top is also of the sensitive sort, and hides a lot of personal anguish. His brothers tease him mercilessly and he takes it all in, even now after all these years, maintaining a demeanour that’s all business where they’re concerned. Oliver likes that. Even with Quidditch games he doesn’t play in, he’s never that distant. Win or lose, there’s a reaction (usually jubilation or anger, with some sugary indulgence).
With every passing day, Percy appears more distant. Sometimes Oliver lies in bed at night, completely silent, hoping to hear him cry. Sniffle. Upset. Anything, really. He wants an excuse to pitter-patter to the other side of the room and whisper to Percy to push over, so that he can crawl under the sheets and provide some comfort. Just talking, because Oliver has already dismissed the naked fantasy.
And Percy will be grateful, and Oliver will say, “Anytime, Perce. I’d do this for you anytime, but for no one else.” And Percy will smile shyly, lying nose-to-nose with him, blue eyes sparkling with emotion. And Oliver will know that Percy understands exactly what those words imply.
Simple. But the fact that this idea seems close to right makes the fantasy even more improbable. Too simple. Too easy.
Damn it.
--
Oliver’s getting desperate, thinking that perhaps sex is the way to go after all. Perhaps he’ll have Percy catch him with a man. People want what they can’t have, he reasons. He certainly does.
Percy has a conscious. If Oliver were with someone like Marcus Flint, he’ll feel obligated to say something. Out of courtesy and friendship and duty. And because he’ll want Oliver all for himself, obviously.
Unless Percy is so disgusted that Oliver puts his… where Marcus puts his…
Ew. No. Just… no.
--
Oliver's running out of ideas when it dons on him that he can gradually approach the situation through apology. If he has to make things up to Percy after hurting him somehow. He can insult Percy and beg for forgiveness afterwards, and who doesn’t like people who grovel in public? Or he can accidentally whack a Quaffle his way during the next game. Or he might try to chat him up in class and receive a reprimand, and have to apologize profusely (and perhaps later, nakedly) for such ignorance.
Except… no. Percy might forgive him for a near Quaffle decapitation, but talking in class? Even if Percy sees pass that, what if they start a relationship and he finds out the truth at some future time? Percy holds a grudge. Oliver remembers that every day, just by looking at the bent feather on Percy's quill. Because every time someone comments on it, Percy throws Oliver a stern look and proceeds to talk, in his theatrically delivered style, about his first week at Hogwarts, when Oliver borrowed the quill.
Oliver loves the bent feather. He has fantasies – ones that actually work out – about the bent feather. Loves to watch it bob back and forth, busy writing down Very Important Things during class. He thinks there might be a little something sexual in his connecting the feather to Percy and him, but that involves thinking much more deeply than he’s willing to. Besides, when they get together, Percy can do that sort of thinking for him.
Sometimes he pretends Percy must already truly love him, because he keeps the feather. Unless he does so out of spite, to keep reminding Oliver of how much he screwed up just a few days into their friendship.
And, yeah, Percy will do that sort of thing.
Another fantasy in ruins, Oliver decides he definitely cannot hurt Percy. At least, not intentionally. When they finally get together, he’ll have plenty of chances to do that, just by being himself.
--
One day, Oliver stops fantasizing. It’s getting too frustrating, and tiring, and while he knows he and Percy will be together someday, he can’t see any possible way of getting there. He goes to class and plays Quidditch, and spends his spare time in the stands sizing up the other teams during practice. No fantasies whatsoever.
So Oliver knows its real when one of Percy’s insanely cold hands rests on his forearm, and he turns to see those calculating blue eyes size him up. Oliver hears his breath catch, unsure if it’s the sight of that inviting blue or the brisk autumn air, or maybe just the chill of Percy’s hands going through him. He wonders how long he’s been sitting next to him in the stands, watching the practice, and feels his cheeks flush with warmth now, almost giddy as he knows Percy is only there to be with him.
“Good players,” Oliver says awkwardly, unsure of what to do. He nods towards the Hufflepuffs practicing on the pitch, and Percy makes a noise. It’s a disagreement of sorts, and Oliver chuckles, because yeah, Percy knows bullshit when he hears it. Oliver could have beaten the entire Hufflepuff House at Quidditch, alone, without even a broom. Sure.
Long fingers move – no, tickle down his arm, finally grasping at his fingers. They’re gentle, not at all firm, and Oliver relaxes. He wraps both of his warm hands around Percy’s and leaves them there, being brave for both of them. Because he’s finally found the right way to tell Percy how he feels, even when he hadn’t counted on Percy being the one to tell him first.
--
The End
--
