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The Weight of Living	By : percyplusoliver Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Percy/Oliver Views: 4738 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: This can also be found at AO3. I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters. I am not making any money from this story. I just do this for kicks :) Note: This begins around HBP-era

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
The few weeks were a delirious blur. Percy went to work as usual, slogged through mountains of paperwork, and dealt with snippy colleagues, but it didn’t bother him – he knew he would be seeing Oliver as soon as the day ended. He had never felt so happy before. Not when he had been made prefect or Head Boy, or even when he had gotten his job at the Ministry. All of those achievements paled in comparison to the happiness he felt now. Sometimes when he was at his desk, Percy would drift off into dreamland, daydreaming about Oliver and what could have been, if he had pulled his head from his arse sooner.
In school, they had been so different. Oliver had spent almost all of his time on the Quidditch pitch, while Percy spent his time studying or patrolling the halls, first as a prefect, then Head Boy. Percy had had to discipline – not in the way he would have liked to, mind – Oliver several times for “forgetting” curfew or breaking various school rules, almost always for Quidditch-related reasons. Once or twice it had been because he was caught fumbling in dark corners with other students in their year, regardless of house. Percy had always been jealous of the random students. He had had Penelope, of course, but now that he thought about it, theirs had been a relationship of convenience. They had both been prefects; both top students in their houses; of course it would make sense that they dated. He had tried to play the part of dutiful boyfriend, but his heart hadn’t been in it, and eventually Penelope had seen that and split up with him. He had been more relieved than anything else. Finally the charade was over. He didn’t have to pretend anymore.
Of course, he hadn’t displayed his true feelings for anyone in the interim, especially not for Oliver. All he had done was work, work, and more work. Typical Percy. He had tried dating women again after Penelope; maybe it had just been her, but it wasn’t. It was him. There had been dalliances, albeit brief, with strangers met at the Three Broomsticks or the Hog’s Head, but nothing substantial. Just brief fumbles in the alley after a few too many drinks.
“Weasley!” barked a loud voice, startling Percy from his daydream. It was Percy’s boss, Gideon Parkinson, the father of Pansy Parkinson. “Wake up!”
Percy sat up straight and looked toward his door. “Yes, sir?”
“Have you finished those reports yet?”
“Not yet, sir,” Percy answered sheepishly. His daydreaming had delayed his work, and for that he was embarrassed. “Very nearly finished. I’ll have them to you within the hour.”
“Make sure that you do. I don’t pay you to daydream!” With that, his boss turned and walked purposefully out the door, slamming it in the process.
Working with renewed focus, Percy dipped his quill in his inkwell and began writing. He had been nearly finished, and he would finish the reports within twenty minutes. He would rather give his boss the reports early and impress him – especially after having been caught daydreaming – than be late.
***
Oliver’s days were filled with Quidditch, takeaway, and, of course, Percy. His three favourite things. He had thought his life couldn’t get any better: he was playing professional Quidditch, something he had always wanted to do. He had a decent flat and answered to no one. He was financially stable. But then he had run into Percy at that dive bar and his life had been turned upside down – but pleasantly. Of course, Oliver had had male lovers before – not boyfriends; they hadn’t stayed around long enough to earn that title – before, but Percy was different. They had a history. And a future, Oliver often thought with a smile.
He found that he was more focused at Quidditch practise. His teammates noticed and complimented his seemingly newfound concentration skills. Thank Percy, he thought. His save percentage had increased by a large margin, earning him kudos from the team captain as well as a spot on the starting roster for the upcoming match. He was excited to share the news with Percy; surely he would come and support Oliver.
Oliver had never felt this way about anyone. He was treading in unfamiliar territory, and it both frightened and delighted him. He wasn’t used to having someone care for him, someone who wanted to know every detail of his day, who would take care of him without being asked. Someone he could talk to or just sit in silence with; either was perfectly comfortable. Someone he could be silly with or, preferably, intimate with.
Tonight he was meeting Percy at Percy’s flat. Percy had promised to cook, for which Oliver was excited. He rarely ate anything but takeaway. He had asked if he could bring anything, but was told only to bring himself. That was easy. After Quidditch practise, he went home and showered in his relatively tidy bathroom – there were no more empty bottles littering the counters or the shower, and all of the towels were hung on the rack. The rest of the flat looked like a hurricane had hit: Hurricane Oliver. He hadn’t really had time for tidying; only Quidditch and Percy, and that was fine with him.
***
Percy hurried home from work at 6:30, impatient to start cooking. He was going to make manicotti; something he was quite good at, but took a long time. When he walked through his front door, he hung his jacket on the nearby hook, loosened his tie, and removed his shoes, placing them on the rack next to the door. Everything had a proper spot in Percy’s flat, and nothing was ever out of place.
In the kitchen, he assembled the necessary ingredients. He preferred to cook without magic; he thought it was more personal that way. As he prepared the pasta to go into the oven, he looked at the clock. 7:15. Oliver would be arriving in 45 minutes. Percy had time to take a shower and brush his teeth before he arrived. Once the manicotti was in the oven, Percy waved his wand to clean the kitchen and headed to the bathroom to shower.
His bathroom was the polar opposite of Oliver’s. The walls were blindingly white and bare. There were two light blue towels hanging on a rack attached to the shower door, folded with precision. The counters were empty of products aside from a soap dispenser on the edge of the sink. The medicine cabinet on the wall held a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, several haircare products, and cologne. Percy was low-maintenance. He didn’t require many grooming products or much time to shower, and it showed in his bathroom. His shower was equally empty. The shower caddy, white plastic, had only a bottle of combined shampoo and conditioner, a razor, and soap.
There was a knock at the door a little before 8:00. Percy had just finished dressing and his hair was still slightly damp. Dinner wasn’t quite ready, so Oliver would have to wait. He still had to make a salad, too. Oliver could do that, he thought. Maybe. With enough instruction. Percy left his bedroom and walked down the hall to open the front door. There stood Oliver, looking so good that Percy could have ravished him on the spot. He was wearing a perfectly fitted sky-blue button-up shirt that showcased his broad shoulders and muscular arms and slim-fit trousers that, when he turned around, would show off his toned arse.
Percy felt his breath catch in his throat. Merlin, Oliver looked good tonight. Did they really have to eat? Couldn’t dinner wait?
“Cat got your tongue?” Oliver teased, leaning forward to kiss Percy lightly. “Smells amazing. I can’t wait to taste it.” And you, he thought.
“It should be ready soon,” Percy said with a grin. “But we still need to make a salad. Maybe you can do that?” He raised an eyebrow as if to issue a challenge.
“As long as nothing has to actually be cooked,” Oliver said. “I’m crap with cooking. Chopping and mixing, I’m great. But cooking...” he trailed off, remembering past disasters.
“No,” Percy laughed. “Just greens and veg.” He gestured to the kitchen with his right arm. “Come with me and we’ll get started.”
Oliver followed dutifully, taking in every detail as he followed Percy. The flat wasn’t very inviting; not many personal details at all. But Percy probably didn’t spend much time there, to be honest. Most of his time had to be spent at work, Oliver thought. It’s exactly like when we were in school: a place for everything and everything in its place.
Percy summoned the vegetables out of the fridge and set down two chopping boards. “Here,” he said to Oliver, handing him a knife. “Get started. Try not to cut off your fingers.” He smiled and started chopping tomatoes.
***
After dinner, the two were sat on the sofa with drinks – Percy a tea and Oliver a beer.
“That was fantastic,” Oliver said. “You should cook for me more often.” He kissed Percy’s nose.
“Anytime you want,” Percy replied, returning the kiss.
“Anytime? So I could come over here at two in the morning and demand a souffle?”
“Assuming you weren’t already here,” Percy said with a wink. Since their discussion a week ago, Percy was feeling more confident with Oliver. He could (mostly) say what he was thinking, even when he was clothed! It was a huge step for him. “Maybe I’ll even teach you how to cook.”
“Nah,” Oliver said. “I’d rather you just cook for me. Besides, you don’t want to get food poisoning.” He made a face. He had had too many negative experiences with cooking and people who had told him to ‘just try it’.
“That bad, hmm?” Percy joked. “Maybe it’s better I cook, then.” He set his tea on the table in front of them and leaned into Oliver’s chest. He smelled good. Percy could really get used to this, settling on the couch after dinner, just cuddling.
“Oh!” Oliver said suddenly. “I nearly forgot!” It was true – he had nearly forgotten to tell Percy his big news. He had forgotten just about everything as soon as he’d walked through the door. “I was added to the first team roster for our Quidditch match on Saturday! You’ll come, right?” He looked hopeful.
“Of course! I’m so proud of you!” Percy said excitedly. “Where can I get tickets?”
Oliver felt foolish for a moment; he had forgotten to take care of that. But then he remembered: he could speak to the ticket office manager and put Percy on the approved guest list. “I’ll put you on the guest list; all you have to do is go to the ticket office and tell them who you are,” Oliver said with a smile.
“Dating a professional Quidditch player certainly has its advantages,” Percy joked. “If I get to go to Quidditch matches for free, I might just keep you around.” Of course you’ll keep him around, he thought. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you. Don’t mess this up, Percy.
“Well,” Oliver said with a smirk, “don’t think you can get in for free. You can still do something for me.” He pulled Percy close and kissed him deeply. “You know what I mean?”
“If that’s the kind of payment you demand,” Percy murmured, “take as much as you want.”
That was what Oliver wanted to hear. He had been thinking about this all day. He couldn’t get enough of Percy. His scent, his kisses, his touch – it was like a drug to Oliver. A wonderful, magical drug. While kissing Percy, he pulled the other man’s shirt free of his trousers and slid his hands up the back. His skin was soft and warm in comparison to Oliver’s cold, rough hands.
Percy shivered. “Your hands are so cold!” he complained. He pulled away from Oliver, forcing Oliver to move his hands to Percy’s front. Percy took Oliver’s hands in his own and began rubbing them together to warm them up. “Let me help you.” He interlaced their fingers and leaned forward, kissing Oliver again. He, too, couldn’t get enough of Oliver. He felt so fortunate to have run into him, to have been able to verbalise his feelings and have them reciprocated, and especially to have Oliver sitting across from him on his couch.
“You smell good,” Oliver said, leaning forward to kiss Percy again. “I love it.”
Percy felt his heartbeat speeding up and he let go of Oliver’s hands, instead wrapping his arms around the other man’s body. He loved the feel of Oliver’s athletic back, loved tracing the muscular map with his fingertips. The fitted shirt Oliver was wearing made it very easy to feel Oliver’s taut skin and firm muscles, but Percy wanted more. He always wanted more.
“Come with me,” Percy commanded, standing up and offering his hand to Oliver.
Oliver looked through half-lidded eyes at the redhead. He would do anything Percy asked him to. He took the proffered hand and stood up, allowing himself to be led through the flat. Momentarily he found himself in Percy’s bedroom, where he had never been before. It was spartan: just a bed, a dresser, and a nightstand. The windows – there were two of them – had plain white linen curtains framing them. The walls were the same stark white as the rest of the flat.
Percy pushed Oliver backwards onto his bed. “How do you want me to pay for my ticket?” he asked in a low voice.
Oliver shuddered in anticipation. “Surprise me,” he whispered. Whatever Percy wanted to do, Oliver was sure he would enjoy it.
Percy smirked. Brilliant, he thought. He thought about this almost constantly. He hadn’t known something could make him feel so good, or that he would want to please someone else so much. He leaned forward and kissed Oliver hungrily, tasting a combination of pasta sauce and salad dressing on his lips. He had to have him. He had to have him now, and he couldn’t wait. He kissed Oliver more ferociously, trying to communicate his desire, his wanton lust, pressing his erection against Oliver’s groin, feeling the same heat emanating from his partner.
“Trousers,” Percy breathed. “Off. Now.”
Authoritative Percy was one of Oliver’s favourites. He wouldn’t admit it, but he enjoyed being told what to do in erotic situations. He had never allowed himself to take direction; he had always given it. Now that he was allowing himself to relinquish control, he found that he quite enjoyed it. He complied immediately, unfastening his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers, and removing them hastily, throwing them carelessly on the floor. Percy’s hand found his erection through his pants, rubbing it roughly. Oliver gasped. The roughness of his touch was unexpected. Usually Percy was gentle and soft; taking care not to overstimulate. But this...this was...not unwanted. He pushed his hips upwards, silently begging for more. He locked eyes with Percy, imploring him to continue.
“No,” Percy said sharply. “Not until you’ve earned it.”
Oliver made a whimpering noise, disappointed. He wanted this, needed it, had to have it now. Working for it was not in his plans. He pulled Percy down and kissed him, hard, to show him how much he needed him. “Fuck me,” Oliver growled. “I don’t want to earn it; I want you to fuck me, to fill me, hurt me, make me beg for more.”
Percy’s cock twitched hearing Oliver’s husky growl. He wanted to follow through on his order, but gods, Oliver was so sexy with his flushed cheeks, forehead beaded with sweat, buttons straining on his shirt...Percy wanted to take him at his word and fuck him until he couldn’t move. Percy unbuttoned Oliver’s shirt slowly, keeping intense eye contact as he did so. He pushed Oliver’s shirt open with the back of his hand, brushing over one of his nipples lightly. He felt Oliver’s heart racing in his chest. Percy couldn’t wait. He knew if he waited, he would come in his trousers and the night would be over too soon.
“Nightstand,” he mumbled. Oliver reached over and opened the drawer, pulling out a packet of condoms and a bottle of lube. Percy had visited a Muggle pharmacy earlier in the week and, extremely embarrassed, purchased both of these on the assumption that Oliver would be at his flat. He waited half a second, expecting Oliver to hand them to him, and when he didn’t, Percy quirked an eyebrow at his partner.
“Can’t believe you went out and bought these,” Oliver said thoughtfully. “Good boy.” He sat up partially and kissed Percy. “Thank you,” he added almost as an afterthought, “for humouring me.”
Percy shrugged. It didn’t matter to him. Anything for him, he thought. “Can we get back to it?” he said with a smile.
“Let me help you,” Oliver offered, reaching out to pull Percy’s shirt over his head. “You’re still entirely too clothed for my liking.”

Percy allowed Oliver to undress him, enjoying the attention lavished upon him. He watched as Oliver tossed his shirt onto the floor, adding to the growing pile of clothing. He stood up and removed his trousers quickly, dropping them where he stood, now just in his pants. No matter how many times he had stood unclothed before Oliver (27 – he had counted), he still felt awkward. He had never felt comfortable in his own skin, and now he was on display again. A flush crept up his cheeks and he settled on the edge of the bed.
“I love it when you blush,” Oliver said in a low voice. “Feel.” He placed Percy’s hand on his groin.
Percy flushed deeper at the compliment but didn’t say anything. It seemed that Oliver had gotten even harder – Percy would have to do something about that. Not that he was complaining, of course. He was internally celebrating. “Pants,” he said to Oliver, who obeyed immediately, removing his pants and dropping them on the clothes mountain. Percy grasped Oliver’s hard cock and began to stroke it, hearing an immediate positive reaction from Oliver. A moment later, he bent down and engulfed Oliver’s cock in his mouth, taking as much as he could without choking. Oliver let out a surprised squeak and then a low moan. This continued for several minutes, until Percy decided that Oliver was ready. He held out his hand for a condom and the bottle of lube.
“Help me?” Percy asked huskily.
Oliver couldn’t possibly turn him down. He ripped open the condom packaging and rolled it down over Percy’s erection, teasing his lover as he did so. “Give me the lube,” Oliver ordered, and Percy complied. He squeezed out a small amount and began rubbing it up and down Percy’s cock, enjoying the sounds the other man was making. “You like that?” Oliver said with a wink.
“You know I do,” Percy groaned. “But now...now it’s...it’s your turn.” With that, he turned to face Oliver and positioned himself between Oliver’s legs. He wasn’t going to warn Oliver before he entered him; Oliver had told him to fuck him, to hurt him, to fill him, so that was what Percy was going to do. A second later, Percy was inside Oliver. Merlin, it felt good. Every time was like the first time again. It was still unbelievable to him that he, the awkward, skinny, bespectacled Weasley, was fucking a muscular professional Quidditch player.
“Oh!” Oliver gasped as Percy pushed inside him. He, too, was still in disbelief that he was getting fucked by Percy Weasley. But he wasn’t complaining – it was amazing every single time.
Percy grabbed Oliver’s hips for balance and fell into an easy rhythm, locking eyes with Oliver every few minutes, feeling his heart swell with what he thought might be love. One hand migrated to Oliver’s cock, rubbing it roughly. “Fuck, you feel so good,” Percy moaned. “I love - “ You, he thought, but didn’t say it. “ - fucking you,” he finished.
“Don’t fucking stop, then,” Oliver moaned. “Make me come.” Make me yours, he added silently.
Percy rotated his hips, searching for Oliver’s prostate. He knew that as soon as he found it, Oliver wouldn’t last much longer. It took him a moment, but then he found that small spongy spot, and he hammered it over and over while wanking Oliver off.
“Not...gonna...last much...longer,” gasped Oliver, and a few seconds later, he felt himself lost in the throes of a mind-blowing orgasm. “Fuck me, Perce, fucking come, give it to me.”
That was all Percy needed to push him over the edge. He lost control and came for what seemed like hours. His eyes rolled back in his head and his breathing was shallow. This. Was. Amazing.
After they both came down, Percy pulled out and removed the used condom. “Gotta toss this in the bathroom trash,” he said apologetically. “Be right back.” He stood and walked quickly into the bathroom as Oliver watched him lustfully. I can never let him go, Oliver thought. He’s perfect.
A second later, Percy climbed back into his bed with Oliver and nuzzled up against his chest. “That was amazing,” he said.
“You’re amazing,” Oliver replied with a smile. “I never want to let you go.” He pulled Percy close, their sweaty bodies sticking together, neither of them minding.
“Then don’t,” Percy whispered. “Stay with me forever.” I love you, he thought. I love you, I love you, I love you.
Oliver kissed Percy’s forehead. Should he say it? Now seemed like the right time… Fuck it, he was going to. Maybe it was the afterglow of his orgasm; maybe it was the way Percy looked, all sweaty and flushed; maybe it was really how he felt; but Oliver just couldn’t hold it in. “I...I love you, Percy,” Oliver mumbled. He blushed maroon and looked away.
Wait. What was that? Oliver loved him? How could he be so lucky? Percy took Oliver’s head in his hands and looked at his lover. “I love you, Oliver,” he said seriously. “I always have.”
“Well then,” Oliver said happily, the tightness in his chest dissipating, “that’s good.”
- 9
- 10
- 11
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The Weight of Living