Harry Potter, Pulling the Wool Over His Eyes

Title: Pulling the Wool Over His Eyes [Percy/Oliver]
Rating/Warnings: As NC-17 as a blowjob can be, i spose. Oral sex, ‘bondage’, quidditch (well, the way Oliver is about it, it should have a warning)
Summary: Oliver apparently needs some assistance undressing.
AN: for the September Fantasy Fest, ___haldirlives requested: Oliver/Percy, bondage.

Pulling the Wool Over His Eyes

Oliver lingered on the Quidditch pitch after the rest of the team had gone in, packing up the balls and various bits of gear with a sense of supreme accomplishment. He’d just won his first Quidditch game as Captain, that Potter kid was working out after all, McGonagall had congratulated him as Captain, but the best thing was definitely the look on Marcus Flint’s face. Except for being Captain.

“Need some help?”

Glancing over his shoulder, Oliver turned the full force of his grin on his roommate, who was leaning against the Gryffindor stands with his arms crossed.

“Nah, almost done!” he called back, straightening up with the ball case. He managed to balance his broom under one arm while lugging the unwieldy case, and was trucking along just fine until the broom slipped a little and caught at the ground, tripping him. Only Percy’s outstretched arm saved him from pitching forward right onto his nose.

“Careful,” Percy admonished, righting him, hand lingering just a second too long on Oliver’s shoulder. He scooped Oliver’s broom off the ground and raised an eyebrow. “How about I hold this, hm?”

“Thanks.” Oliver shifted his grip on the case so he could start moving again. “Although I think you ought to be aware, Weasley, that I don’t let just anybody handle my broom.”

“I have it on good authority,” Percy kept in step right beside him on the way into the locker room, “that you would be hard-pressed to find a person at Hogwarts who has not handled your broom. Wood.”

Oliver guffawed loudly, even as a blush crept over his nose at the lingering intonation Percy had given his surname. He set the ball case down gladly inside the locker room and rubbed tired biceps as he walked back to his own locker. Percy followed him, setting Oliver’s broom against a neighboring locker, before settling on the bench in front of the lockers.

“Wood, if you smile any wider, you’re going to put out an eye,” he said. Wood laughed again and began undoing the laces on his Quidditch robes. Rather than looking away, Percy’s gaze became, if anything, more focused.

“It’s just…” he paused to think a moment, laces tangled about his fingers, “it was a great game, wasn’t it?”

“Brilliant game,” Percy murmured in agreement. “My compliments to the Captain.”

Flushing even darker under Percy’s watchful gaze, Oliver tossed his robes over the bench next to Percy, then tried to tug his jumper over his head quickly. Unfortunately for his dignity, Oliver’s gangly arms got tangled in the sleeves behind him somehow, and twist his neck though he might, he couldn’t see the knot.

Attempting to straighten out the tangle, Oliver stretched his trapped arms over his head, but only succeeded in pulling the jumper over his face so that he couldn’t see anything. Grunting in irritation, he tried to put his arms back down, only to discover that something was holding them up.

And then warm fingers were brushing over the bare skin above his waistband where the T-shirt under his jumper had ridden up. Oliver gasped in surprise, getting a mouthful of wool.

“Percy?” he tried to ask, but the sound was muffled even to his ears, tangled in thick cloth as much as he was. And then the fingers moved lower and began undoing his flies with efficiency before tugging them out of the way. When his hardening cock was exposed to the cool air of the locker room, a shiver ran through Oliver that banged his shoulder blades into the metal of his locker with a muted thump.

Oliver was finding it hard to draw a full breath through the his jumper, especially as the moisture from his breath weighed the wool down against his mouth and nose. The problem doubled when a hot tongue flickered against the head of Oliver’s cock, making him moan halves of Percy’s name.

He proceeded to full incoherence when lips slid over his shaft, wet heat surrounding his cock. Oliver let his head fall back against his locker, feeling light-headed from the lack of oxygen, and thrust mindlessly into Percy’s mouth. Strong hands caught at his hips to hold him still, the bare skin of his arse chilled by the locker metal. With a woolly exclamation, Oliver came over the rough tongue stroking him.

Slumped and entangled against the locker, Oliver gulped air greedily when Percy freed him from his scratchy cocoon by tugging the jumper the up over his head. The air felt chill against the sweat on Oliver’s scalp and his flushed face.

“Do you, uh, like bondage?” Oliver managed, giving Percy an uncertain half-smile. Percy raised a questioning eyebrow, and Oliver jiggled his still-caught arms in demonstration just as his oxygen-starved brain woozily worked out that Percy could not hold Oliver’s arms over his head and suck him off at the same time.

Percy reached up deliberately and twisted something above Oliver’s head, allowing his arms to fall down suddenly, tingling from sleep.

“You were caught on a nail,” Percy informed him, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “So I suppose the real question here is ‘do you like bondage’.”

“Hand me your tie,” Oliver replied, heady from orgasm and lack of oxygen, “and I’ll show you exactly what I think about it.”

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