chiraldream (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lesyeuxverts) wrote2008-07-22 09:20 am
lesyeuxverts) wrote2008-07-22 09:20 am
Entry tags:
Courtship of the Blind
Title: Courtship of the Blind
Author:![[insanejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/ij-userinfo.gif)
lesyeuxverts
Beta:nqdonne, who_la_hoop, and angela_snape - thank you!
Word Count: 5200ish (5205, to be precise, Percy says)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Percy/Harry
Warnings: wanking, snogging, happily-ever-after-ing
Disclaimer: Not mine.
AN: Written foranalretentive in the ![[insanejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/ij-community.gif)
percy_ficathon
The Aurors had caught the Murderer of Manchester (just a Muggle, but he'd killed twenty people with his great-aunt Bertha's old wand, a revolver, and delusions of grandeur). It was Harry Potter's first big case – it made every headline, and rumours went around the Ministry like Fiendfyre when he brought in the suspect.
Percy had stayed late to finish drafting a memo for the Minister. He had just settled into the peace of the late-night Ministry, the quiet of the empty corridors and the routine of his work, when Harry stumbled out of the Floo, covered in soot and coughing. He whacked at his clothing, beating the soot out of his robes, and then he looked up, straight at Percy.
Harry's glasses were askew – just there, crooked on the bridge of his nose. Percy took a sharp breath.
Percy's hands were full of scrolls, and his feet were slow to move. He wanted to take a step forward and reach out to adjust Harry's glasses. He wanted to brush the soot from Harry's robes, smoothing out the wrinkles as he touched him.
He didn't move. Clearing his throat and clutching his scrolls, Percy said, "I think that you've Flooed to the wrong fireplace again, Mr. Potter. The Aurors are up on the fifth floor, in the round conference room."
"R-right," Harry said, scuffing his feet on the floor to shake off the ashes. His face was flushed from the fire, and the tips of his ears had turned pink. "I'm still pants at Flooing, I suppose … never been able to get the hang of it."
"I'm sure that you'll improve with practice," Percy said.
It was still there – the skew of Harry's glasses on his nose, and Percy's strange desire to straighten them. He itched to do it. Before he could take a step forward and come close to touching Harry, he took a step back.
He wouldn't do it. He couldn't.
Harry was still staring at him, still fidgeting with his clothing and sending tiny showers of soot to the floor, and Percy held his scrolls up like a shield. "I've got to get these filed for the Minister. He has a very busy day tomorrow," Percy said. "You'll be wanting to help the other Aurors question the Murderer, I presume? Fifth floor, round conference room."
"Right," Harry said again, shuffling his feet as he headed for the door. "Right, thanks."
He turned back to look at Percy, opened his mouth as if to say something – and then he closed his mouth, letting himself out of the office. The door closed behind him with a soft snick, and the scrolls in Percy's hands fell like jackstraws, scattering on the floor.
The room seemed cold, with the Floo closed and the fire dead. Percy flexed his fingers – they were numb, and he chafed them together to bring the feeling back into them before bending down to gather up his scrolls.
Harry shouldn't have been there. He should have been upstairs all along, questioning the Murderer. It was one of his own cases, after all – he'd been in charge of the investigation, he'd been the one to solve the case. Every headline, every rumour – none of it explained why he would have been in Percy's office at a quarter past ten in the evening, shaking soot onto Percy's clean floor and standing there with his glasses askew. None of it explained why he had smiled at Percy.
Percy shoved the scrolls into his in-tray and grabbed his cloak off the peg by the door. He'd have a drink at the Leaky Cauldron before he went home – that would wipe the image of Harry's crooked glasses out of his mind.
-----
The Prophet rustled as Percy unfolded it, paging back to the international news – and if his eyes had lingered on the front page, if he had scanned the headlines to see if there was any mention of Harry, there was no one there to see him do it.
"Hello, Percy."
Percy jumped, his paper falling to the floor. His hands shook as he knelt to retrieve it – it was open to the front page, Harry and his grin and his damnable crooked glasses looking straight at him. He winked at Percy.
"Hello, Harry." Percy smoothed the paper out and looked up at last. "I was just reading the international news. It pays to keep up with what's happening in the world, after all. I see that you made the front page again."
Harry came closer, stopping just next to Percy's desk – close enough to reach out and touch him. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I suppose I did. D'you want some coffee, Percy?"
His glasses were askew again. Percy's fingers still twitched with the urge to straighten them – he never saw Harry with his glasses balanced properly on his nose. Perhaps they were broken. A simple spell to fix them–
"Cream and sugar? You take both, don't you?" Harry offered the cup to Percy, handle first.
Percy took the cup from him, curling both hands around the warm porcelain. "I – yes, I do, actually, but why–"
"We had extra, upstairs, and I didn't want it to go to waste." Harry leaned against Percy's desk, one hip resting against the wood and jostling Percy's in-tray. A scroll fell to the floor.
Harry leaned harder against the desk, bending down to pick up the fallen scroll. More scrolls fell, and the previous Prophet was revealed at the bottom of the tray. "Harry Potter Questions the Murderer of Manchester, Investigation Stalled."
"I –" Percy scrambled to cover it, thrusting scrolls into the tray. Photo-Harry's smile disappeared under the pile of parchment, and Percy stopped fumbling with the scrolls. He couldn't look up at Harry.
"I don't know how that got there," he said. "Must have misfiled it – well. No filing system is perfect, is it? As you can see, I've got a lot to do today."
"Percy, I–"
Setting down his coffee, Percy took the first scroll from the pile. He didn't look up at Harry as he unrolled it – there was nothing to see, just Harry. Just Harry, just a friend, and that was all he would ever be to Percy.
The figures on the scroll blurred together, and Percy said, "Thanks for the coffee."
"You're welcome." Harry's fingers brushed against Percy's as he leaned over, trying to straighten the pile of scrolls. "Sorry about making such a mess of your filing system."
"It's fine – no, just leave it. Please."
"Right, sure." Harry hesitated still, lingering in Percy's office. Percy looked up at him at last – Harry, his hands shoved in his pockets, was standing near the door and watching him. Percy blinked.
"Was there something–"
"There's more coffee upstairs, if you want some. We always have too much."
Percy dipped a quill in his inkwell and then set it down before the ink could drip and blotch the parchment. "I – yes," he said. "I might do that, thank you. Good luck with your investigation."
"Thanks." Harry pushed his glasses up his nose and gave Percy a bright smile. "I'll be seeing you around, then."
-----
Dinner at the Burrow was never awkward when Harry was there, filling the empty place at the table and helping them to work their way through the lingering silences. It seemed natural, when Harry was there – Percy was perfectly reconciled, and Fred had gone on to a better place. It was easier to be sure of that when Harry was there.
Percy came late that Sunday, sliding into his place at the table between Charlie and Harry.
"Percy, you're always–"
It happened again – the pause, George looking to his side, the family looking away. None of them could fill his loss, but when there was no Fred to finish George's sentences, Harry stepped in, giving George a quick pat on the shoulder and passing the mashed potatoes to Percy. "We put a warming spell over the food for you, Percy."
Percy swallowed. Nothing more needed to be said, when Harry was there – he didn't take Fred's place, but he stepped in and his every word, his every heartbeat reminded them that there was a world beyond this. He'd been there for them after the last battle, he'd found Percy by the lake and brought him back to his family, and he was still there, still mending their family.
Ginny reached across the table and shoved Harry's glasses up his nose, settling them so that they lay straight. "I'll be glad when you're rid of these wretched things," she said.
"Ginny, I–"
"Never dressed to please me or any other girl." She finished his sentence and then gave him a smile that looked forced. "I know that now."
Percy's heart was thudding. He took a helping of mashed potatoes and made himself set the spoon back in the bowl without a sound, his fingers steady and not shaking. "What?"
Harry looked over at him and started pushing other bowls in his direction. "Come on, Percy, eat – you'll make your mother worry, as thin as you are."
"What are you talking about?"
Ladling spoonfuls of green beans onto Percy's plate, Harry hesitated before answering. "The Ministry – Kingsley wants me to go through the new eye-corrective spells that they've developed at St. Mungo's. My glasses are a hazard, for an Auror."
"That's right," George said. "An Auror doesn't need an O in Potions, but –"
"The one thing that an Auror needs is perfect eyesight," Harry finished for him.
"You caught the Murderer of Manchester without perfect eyesight." Percy stabbed one of his green beans and started to slice it into smaller pieces, spacing the cuts evenly. He would not show a reaction in front of Harry and his family. He wouldn't. "It's not fair of them to require this of you."
"The Minister knows best, Percy," Arthur said. "Don't forget that Kingsley was an Auror all those years, himself. He knows what the job is like and he's trying to keep Harry safe."
Trying to keep Harry safe, Harry who had kept all of them safe – taking away Harry's adorable, crooked glasses – Percy ate all of his beans, slice by slice, and he didn't look at Harry again during the meal.
-----
The Murderer of Manchester had confessed, and the details were on the back page – Percy paged through the paper, but stopped at the photograph of Harry. Blinking at Percy and giving him a shy little wave, Harry looked like he was on the verge of straightening his glasses. Then his hand went down to straighten his collar and the glasses were still crooked.
Percy didn't read the article about Harry's impending stay at St. Mungo's and the new advanced eye correction spells that would be used to heal the boy hero. The Prophet's prose was overblown, as always, and there was no use–
It would happen, no matter what Percy thought or what he wanted. It didn't matter.
The picture of Harry gave him one last wave as Percy went on to the back page. The Murderer of Manchester might be only a Muggle, but it was Harry's first successful case. At any rate, the way that a Muggle had managed to kill so many people, witches and wizards among them…
The Floo flared green just as Percy smoothed out the crease in the paper, making it lie flat on his desk. Harry stumbled out of the fireplace, shaking soot all over the floor. He blushed, not looking at the floor and avoiding Percy's gaze. "Sorry," he said. "Can't seem to Floo to the right place … it's funny, isn't it, how much Ministry Aurors sounds like Minister's Accounting."
"This isn't the Minister's Accounting office, that's two floors down and in the office through the fishbowl," Percy said. "Tap your wand twice on the castle before you jump in, otherwise there's a nasty trap in the fake seaweed – Fudge was quite paranoid about Accounting, didn't want anyone snooping around there."
Harry had come closer to Percy while he was talking, and put his hand on Percy's, tracing the lines of print in the Prophet. "You'll get ink on your fingers," Percy said automatically. They used poor quality ink at the Prophet, and it always smeared.
The touch of Harry's fingers, the warmth of his hand – he was standing right next to Percy, close enough to touch. Percy could reach over to touch him now, could straighten the collar of his robes or run a hand through his hair, making it lie flat.
He wouldn't. He shifted, moving further away from Harry. "Was there something–"
"You – your hand was – I – inkstains," Harry said.
"Ah," Percy said. "Thank you." He drew his wand and cast a quick cleaning charm on his hand, not looking up at Harry. He couldn't look at Harry – Harry was too close, so close that Percy almost felt the warmth radiating from his body.
He imagined Harry standing even closer, their bodies pressed together and sharing heat. Their noses bumped together as they kissed, Harry leaned into the kiss even further, and–
No, Percy was not having inappropriate thoughts at work. He was not thinking about the way his sister's ex would look naked, how his lips would taste, how he – no, Percy wasn't thinking about it. Harry was his friend, the only person who had understood him after the war, and Percy couldn't think about him like that.
He cleared his throat. "How is your investigation coming?"
"Pretty well, thanks." Harry smiled, pushing his glasses up his nose. "The Murderer's being brought up for trial next Monday."
"You've all the evidence and such?"
"Yeah," Harry said, casually leaning against Percy's desk. He rolled his shoulders and cocked his head to one side, looking down at Percy. "I can't really talk about it at work though, we're just down the hall from the MLE and you never know who might be listening. D'you want to meet for lunch sometime?"
The ink was gone from Percy's hands, but Harry had reached to touch him again – had trailed his fingers over the back of Percy's hand, moving up to touch his wrist and lingering on the bump of the bone that protruded there.
"You're so thin," Harry said. "Molly thinks that you must be skipping meals."
"I –" Percy cleared his throat. "I'm not skipping meals, no, but I'd love to have lunch with you sometime."
"Great." Harry's hand continued upward, tracing the length of Percy's arm and landing on his shoulder with a pat. "See you at noon, then?"
Percy was not having inappropriate thoughts at work, and the feather-light touch of Harry's fingers had not given him a very inappropriate erection. He shook his head to clear it. "Yes, that would be fine."
-----
Harry left his glasses on the table during lunch. He blinked at Percy, and Percy wished that he'd taken the time to duck into the loo for an (extremely inappropriate) wank.
"I'm sorry," Harry said. "I've just had the first course of the spells, and it'll take another go before my vision's entirely fixed. Can't see perfectly without my glasses, but everything's too blurry with them on."
"That's fine," Percy said, pushing his chair closer to the table. His fingers were a hair's-breadth away from Harry's glasses – he was close enough to touch them.
On the other hand, he was close enough to touch Harry. Harry, damn him, was just as adorable and rumpled without his crooked glasses. His top buttons had come undone, his cuffs were uneven, and there was a smudge of ink on his forefinger. A grey-black blotch on his pale skin – Percy reached out and touched it. He traced the edges of the inkstain, and then he took out his wand, pointing it at Harry's hand and casting a cleansing spell.
"You had a spot of ink," Percy said when Harry gave him a look. "Just there."
"Oh," Harry said, looking at his hand. He touched the spot and then smiled at Percy. "Thanks."
Percy cleared his throat, looking down at his empty plate. He'd never had a hard time looking at Harry before, but without his glasses … his eyes were such a bright green, and he'd licked his lips when he smiled, just a hint of his pink tongue visible. Percy fidgeted with the silverware and then took a deep breath, composing himself. He would not touch Harry (in a public restaurant, during working hours). He wouldn't.
"So, the ah … um … the Murderer of Manchester," Percy said. He adjusted the silverware until the knife and spoon lay exactly parallel to each other. "You wanted to tell me more about the case?"
"That's right," Harry said. He slouched in his chair, sprawling until his foot touched Percy's under the table. He didn't stop there – instead of moving away, as anyone would do under normal circumstances, he pressed his foot against Percy's, rubbing back and forth along Percy's instep.
It felt good – better than it had any right to feel – and Percy shifted in his chair, trying to adjust himself without being too obvious. Harry probably thought that he'd bumped his foot against the table leg, he'd no idea that his innocent motions were giving Percy an entirely inappropriate erection. Twice in one day.
"Just a Muggle, so he wouldn't normally fall under our jurisdiction," Harry was saying, "but he'd got his great-aunt's old wand and he'd managed to kill wizards and witches as well as Muggles, so the Ministry put me on the case."
"He couldn't use the wand, though, could he?"
"No, but there were some…" Harry paused as the waitress came with their food, and his fingers brushed against Percy's when they reached for the salt at the same time. It had to have been Percy's imagination, but it felt like Harry prolonged the touch, almost like he had caressed Percy's fingers.
"There were some violations of the statute of secrecy, at some point or another – or else he had his great-aunt's books from Hogwarts as well as her wand, we don't know. But he knew the words to the Killing Curse, and used that to distract his victims while he … with the revolver, you know."
"Right," Percy said, as if he knew about gory murders and talked about them over lunch every day.
Harry shifted in his chair again, his foot sliding against Percy's instep. He moved his foot up, then, rubbing it against Percy's ankle and then along his calf. He'd slipped his foot out of his shoe at some point, and when he slipped under Percy's robe, his bare foot against Percy's skin, Percy nearly whimpered.
"I, ah –"
"It's so nice to talk to someone who really listens," Harry said, his bright tone giving no indication that he was fondling Percy under the table. "Usually when I start talking about work, it seems like everyone stops paying attention to me … but not you, Percy. You're different than the others."
"I – no, no more than anyone would do, Harry."
"It is more," Harry insisted.
"No, really." Percy tried to pull away, tried to take a deep breath. He'd misjudged the situation badly – somehow, in his imagination, he thought that Harry was trying to flirt with him. Perhaps he was coming down with something. He felt rather hot, almost feverish in fact, and he was imagining things…
Percy took a huge gulp of water and swallowed hard. He had to pretend that he wasn't imagining these things, that he didn't have a vivid mental picture of Harry spread out in his bed, legs parted…
"No, really, it's the same as I'd do for any of my brothers, you know. I always–"
Harry had been rubbing circles on Percy's calf, but he stopped abruptly and stared at him. "For any of your brothers?"
"Yes, you know, Mum has always considered you an honorary Weasley, and I–"
"Right, of course." Harry pulled his foot away from Percy and shifted, sitting up straighter. "I – a brother, of course, yes. I –"
He opened and closed his mouth a few times, and then gave Percy a weak-looking smile. "If you'll excuse me, I need to use the loo. Back in just a minute."
A brother, yes. Percy had to think of Harry as his brother, as his friend, not as–
It was impossible to think of Harry as his brother. Impossible not to think of Harry licking the sweat beaded on his upper lip, Harry touching Percy's fingers, Harry's foot rubbing Percy's leg. Impossible.
Percy's hand crept to the table and, before Harry could return, he snatched Harry's glasses and slipped them into his pocket, Transfiguring a table knife into an identical pair. A bit of fussy wandwork, there, but Percy had always had a knack for Transfiguration. He frowned, twisting the spell to make the frames a little darker, the edges more rounded, until they looked just like Harry's.
Concentrating on the spell helped dampen his arousal, and Percy focused on that, not on the weight of Harry's glasses in his pocket, the metal warm against his thigh. He was still holding the new pair when Harry came back to the table. He blushed when Harry looked at him, and fumbled for an excuse.
Harry was staring at him, his green eyes unblinking, and the frames of his glasses slipped in Percy's sweaty fingers. He brought his wand up, tapping it against the lenses, and handed the glasses back to Harry.
"I thought – just weakening the prescription, so that you could use your glasses until you've had the second corrective spell," Percy said. "I … didn't want you to get a headache from eye strain."
"Thanks." Harry put his glasses back on, blinked, and then smiled at Percy. "That's lots better, thanks."
-----
Harry's glasses were a comforting, maddening weight in Percy's pocket all afternoon. He had something of Harry's – he couldn't wait to touch it. He traced the outline of the glasses through his robes until finally, he gave in.
Percy locked his office with the strongest spells he knew, and pushed back his chair, giving himself plenty of room. (It was against Ministry regulation 11.578, subsection F69, the clause about inappropriate conduct. Percy didn't care.)
He slid his hand into his pocket, taking out the glasses. The metal frames were warm from Percy's body heat, not from Harry anymore – but Harry had touched them, Harry had worn them, Harry had pushed them up his face and left them crooked and given Percy his adorable lopsided grin. Percy pressed them to his face, running the hard metal over his cheeks and down his throat.
He imagined that it was Harry – Harry kissing him, Harry pressing against him at awkward angles, their glasses bumping together, Harry trailing kisses down his body. Percy sucked in a sharp breath and started unbuttoning his robes. He touched the glasses to each inch of skin as it was bared and pretended that it was Harry, touching him.
Too slow – it was much too slow. Percy removed his clothing with a flick of his wand, sending it all to a neat pile on his desk. He leaned back in his chair and touched Harry's glasses to his skin, running them down his chest. Collarbone, sternum, navel, the soft skin of his belly – Harry kissing him there, kissing him everywhere – Harry kneeling in front of Percy's desk, touching him, looking up at him – Percy took a deep breath.
He'd touch Harry, he'd bend him over the desk and make his way down Harry's spine, kissing each vertebra. He'd spread Harry's legs, taking him here, fucking him hard until Harry came all over Percy's desk, ruining his work. He'd kiss Harry, swallowing each moan, making him break away from the kisses to beg for more. More, harder, faster–
Percy swallowed. His breath came in fast thready gulps as he moved his hand lower, touching Harry's glasses to his aching prick. He'd wanted this since lunch, since he'd felt Harry's foot on his leg, since Harry had smiled at him. It was wrong and it was good and it was glorious, the feeling of Harry's glasses against his cock. He'd have Harry here, on his knees, sucking Percy's prick and looking up at him with those huge green eyes, eyelashes fluttering – Percy spread his legs wider, putting his feet up on his desk – he stroked himself slowly, teasing himself with the glasses until he could no longer bear it.
He'd settled into a rhythm, one hand on his prick and the other using Harry's glasses to touch his nipples, working them into hard peaks – and then the Floo flared green and Harry tumbled out of it, landing on his arse with a loud thump.
"Percy!"
"Harry, I –"
Percy's wand had rolled away and his clothes were in a pile on his in-tray, and he scrambled to cover himself but Harry got there first, standing between Percy and his desk.
"I – this isn't what it looks like," Percy said. He slammed his feet down, trying to cover himself with his hands, and fumbled for an excuse, some sort of plausible explanation, but Harry only took a step closer, grinning at Percy.
"I think it's exactly what it looks like." He plucked the glasses out of Percy's fingers and reached back to set them on the desk, still grinning. "At least, I hope so."
"I – no, I – Harry, don't–"
Harry touched Percy's knee, stroking the skin in soft circles and bending down to kiss it. "I love your freckles … want to count them all and kiss them all and–"
He stopped, looking up at Percy. His eyes were huge behind his glasses and he reached up to straighten them, and then he reached out to touch Percy's glasses, his fingers trailing down to touch Percy's lips. "That is, if it's all right with you?"
"Harry, you can't … I … there's–"
"Before you come up with a million bloody rational reasons why we shouldn't do this," Harry said, and then he was leaning in to kiss Percy. His lips were soft, and his hands cradled Percy's face, and he was gentle, so gentle, and Percy felt a little less naked and exposed, a little less humiliated by the whole situation. Caught wanking by Harry, of all people…
Harry nibbled on Percy's lower lip and then pulled back to look at him. "I've wanted to do this for months now," he said. "You've no idea."
He didn't give Percy a chance to respond, kissing him again instead. He traced lines on Percy's bare chest, circled around his nipples, teasing before touching, and then moved down to kiss his neck, his lips warm against Percy's skin.
"Harry–"
Harry kissed him. "Don't, Percy. Just … let's keep it simple, all right? I want you and you want me."
Percy pulled him down for a kiss then, rougher than the tentative, gentle kisses that Harry had given him. Harry wanted him, out of all the people that he could want, Harry had come here for him, Harry was his.
Their glasses bumped as they kissed, and Percy reached up to trace the lines of Harry's, pressing the imprint of the metal frames into his fingers. Harry was his.
A flick of Harry's wand sent his clothing flying over to join Percy's, and he knelt between Percy's legs, looking up at him. He hesitated. "Do you … what do you…"
Percy reached for him then, pulling him back up and smoothing away his insecurities with soft touches. Harry's skin against his, Harry's lips against his – Percy had never felt anything so wonderful.
"Let's keep it simple," he said, echoing Harry's words. There was nothing simple about this, the thud of his heartbeat against his skin, the rush of breath through his body, the intoxication of having Harry here, pressed against him, touching him – there was nothing simple about it, and anything more complicated would make Percy come undone.
He wrapped his fingers around Harry's cock, stroking until he found a rhythm that made Harry arch his back, moaning. Harry copied his movements and Percy held him closer, their foreheads pressed together and their lips a breath apart.
Harry bit his lower lip. "What were you thinking about when I came in?"
"You." Harry's face lit up when Percy said it, and it was worth the embarrassment. It was worth everything, with Harry here in his arms.
Percy shifted, wrapping his legs around Harry and pulling him closer – Harry moaned, thrusting against Percy, and it felt better than anything Percy had imagined, Harry's lips vibrating against his skin, Harry's hands on him, Harry's cock against his. Percy stretched his hand, stroking the two of them together, and he was so close, he needed Harry like nothing else, he sucked in great gasping breaths and clung to Harry and touched him and kissed him and fuck.
Harry touched him afterwards, his fingers gentle on Percy's face as though Percy was a precious treasure. He pressed a kiss to each of Percy's lenses, smudging them a little, and turned around, collapsing bonelessly into Percy's lap.
They were sweaty and sticky and splattered with come, and it was entirely inappropriate for the office, and Percy couldn't bring himself to care. He tightened his arms around Harry and kissed the back of his neck. Harry felt perfect in his arms.
"I've got to go," Harry said, after the sweat had cooled and dried and their heart rates returned to normal. He wriggled in Percy's lap, twisting around to kiss him. "Got to bring the Murderer to trial … but I should have a bit of leave before my next case, you know. We could take a quick holiday together … somewhere with a bed. Or maybe an office, I like your desk."
"It's not…"
"That simple?" Harry's glasses were crooked, and he held still as Percy reached up to adjust them. He grinned and gave Percy a sloppy kiss. "Sure it is."
Percy held him close for a minute longer and then let him go. "I've got to get back to work myself."
Harry caressed Percy as he dressed, trying to kiss each inch of skin before it disappeared under his robes. "You taste good." He kissed Percy's lips last. "Mmm … want to do dinner together tonight?"
"You're just…"
"Moving into your carefully ordered and structured life as though I've been pining for you since after the war, and will leap at any chance I can get? Yeah, I am." Harry stopped, his hands on Percy's shoulders, and gave him a long look. "Am I moving too fast?"
Harry's glasses were knocked askew when Percy kissed him hard, and Percy reached to straighten them, his fingers lingering on Harry's skin.
It wasn't too fast, not after the way they'd danced around each other for months, too blind to see what the other really wanted. With Harry here, with Harry in his arms, it was perfect. Still touching Harry, holding his glasses straight, Percy kissed him again.
Author:
lesyeuxvertsBeta:
nqdonne, who_la_hoop, and angela_snape - thank you!Word Count: 5200ish (5205, to be precise, Percy says)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Percy/Harry
Warnings: wanking, snogging, happily-ever-after-ing
Disclaimer: Not mine.
AN: Written for
analretentive in the percy_ficathonThe Aurors had caught the Murderer of Manchester (just a Muggle, but he'd killed twenty people with his great-aunt Bertha's old wand, a revolver, and delusions of grandeur). It was Harry Potter's first big case – it made every headline, and rumours went around the Ministry like Fiendfyre when he brought in the suspect.
Percy had stayed late to finish drafting a memo for the Minister. He had just settled into the peace of the late-night Ministry, the quiet of the empty corridors and the routine of his work, when Harry stumbled out of the Floo, covered in soot and coughing. He whacked at his clothing, beating the soot out of his robes, and then he looked up, straight at Percy.
Harry's glasses were askew – just there, crooked on the bridge of his nose. Percy took a sharp breath.
Percy's hands were full of scrolls, and his feet were slow to move. He wanted to take a step forward and reach out to adjust Harry's glasses. He wanted to brush the soot from Harry's robes, smoothing out the wrinkles as he touched him.
He didn't move. Clearing his throat and clutching his scrolls, Percy said, "I think that you've Flooed to the wrong fireplace again, Mr. Potter. The Aurors are up on the fifth floor, in the round conference room."
"R-right," Harry said, scuffing his feet on the floor to shake off the ashes. His face was flushed from the fire, and the tips of his ears had turned pink. "I'm still pants at Flooing, I suppose … never been able to get the hang of it."
"I'm sure that you'll improve with practice," Percy said.
It was still there – the skew of Harry's glasses on his nose, and Percy's strange desire to straighten them. He itched to do it. Before he could take a step forward and come close to touching Harry, he took a step back.
He wouldn't do it. He couldn't.
Harry was still staring at him, still fidgeting with his clothing and sending tiny showers of soot to the floor, and Percy held his scrolls up like a shield. "I've got to get these filed for the Minister. He has a very busy day tomorrow," Percy said. "You'll be wanting to help the other Aurors question the Murderer, I presume? Fifth floor, round conference room."
"Right," Harry said again, shuffling his feet as he headed for the door. "Right, thanks."
He turned back to look at Percy, opened his mouth as if to say something – and then he closed his mouth, letting himself out of the office. The door closed behind him with a soft snick, and the scrolls in Percy's hands fell like jackstraws, scattering on the floor.
The room seemed cold, with the Floo closed and the fire dead. Percy flexed his fingers – they were numb, and he chafed them together to bring the feeling back into them before bending down to gather up his scrolls.
Harry shouldn't have been there. He should have been upstairs all along, questioning the Murderer. It was one of his own cases, after all – he'd been in charge of the investigation, he'd been the one to solve the case. Every headline, every rumour – none of it explained why he would have been in Percy's office at a quarter past ten in the evening, shaking soot onto Percy's clean floor and standing there with his glasses askew. None of it explained why he had smiled at Percy.
Percy shoved the scrolls into his in-tray and grabbed his cloak off the peg by the door. He'd have a drink at the Leaky Cauldron before he went home – that would wipe the image of Harry's crooked glasses out of his mind.
The Prophet rustled as Percy unfolded it, paging back to the international news – and if his eyes had lingered on the front page, if he had scanned the headlines to see if there was any mention of Harry, there was no one there to see him do it.
"Hello, Percy."
Percy jumped, his paper falling to the floor. His hands shook as he knelt to retrieve it – it was open to the front page, Harry and his grin and his damnable crooked glasses looking straight at him. He winked at Percy.
"Hello, Harry." Percy smoothed the paper out and looked up at last. "I was just reading the international news. It pays to keep up with what's happening in the world, after all. I see that you made the front page again."
Harry came closer, stopping just next to Percy's desk – close enough to reach out and touch him. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I suppose I did. D'you want some coffee, Percy?"
His glasses were askew again. Percy's fingers still twitched with the urge to straighten them – he never saw Harry with his glasses balanced properly on his nose. Perhaps they were broken. A simple spell to fix them–
"Cream and sugar? You take both, don't you?" Harry offered the cup to Percy, handle first.
Percy took the cup from him, curling both hands around the warm porcelain. "I – yes, I do, actually, but why–"
"We had extra, upstairs, and I didn't want it to go to waste." Harry leaned against Percy's desk, one hip resting against the wood and jostling Percy's in-tray. A scroll fell to the floor.
Harry leaned harder against the desk, bending down to pick up the fallen scroll. More scrolls fell, and the previous Prophet was revealed at the bottom of the tray. "Harry Potter Questions the Murderer of Manchester, Investigation Stalled."
"I –" Percy scrambled to cover it, thrusting scrolls into the tray. Photo-Harry's smile disappeared under the pile of parchment, and Percy stopped fumbling with the scrolls. He couldn't look up at Harry.
"I don't know how that got there," he said. "Must have misfiled it – well. No filing system is perfect, is it? As you can see, I've got a lot to do today."
"Percy, I–"
Setting down his coffee, Percy took the first scroll from the pile. He didn't look up at Harry as he unrolled it – there was nothing to see, just Harry. Just Harry, just a friend, and that was all he would ever be to Percy.
The figures on the scroll blurred together, and Percy said, "Thanks for the coffee."
"You're welcome." Harry's fingers brushed against Percy's as he leaned over, trying to straighten the pile of scrolls. "Sorry about making such a mess of your filing system."
"It's fine – no, just leave it. Please."
"Right, sure." Harry hesitated still, lingering in Percy's office. Percy looked up at him at last – Harry, his hands shoved in his pockets, was standing near the door and watching him. Percy blinked.
"Was there something–"
"There's more coffee upstairs, if you want some. We always have too much."
Percy dipped a quill in his inkwell and then set it down before the ink could drip and blotch the parchment. "I – yes," he said. "I might do that, thank you. Good luck with your investigation."
"Thanks." Harry pushed his glasses up his nose and gave Percy a bright smile. "I'll be seeing you around, then."
Dinner at the Burrow was never awkward when Harry was there, filling the empty place at the table and helping them to work their way through the lingering silences. It seemed natural, when Harry was there – Percy was perfectly reconciled, and Fred had gone on to a better place. It was easier to be sure of that when Harry was there.
Percy came late that Sunday, sliding into his place at the table between Charlie and Harry.
"Percy, you're always–"
It happened again – the pause, George looking to his side, the family looking away. None of them could fill his loss, but when there was no Fred to finish George's sentences, Harry stepped in, giving George a quick pat on the shoulder and passing the mashed potatoes to Percy. "We put a warming spell over the food for you, Percy."
Percy swallowed. Nothing more needed to be said, when Harry was there – he didn't take Fred's place, but he stepped in and his every word, his every heartbeat reminded them that there was a world beyond this. He'd been there for them after the last battle, he'd found Percy by the lake and brought him back to his family, and he was still there, still mending their family.
Ginny reached across the table and shoved Harry's glasses up his nose, settling them so that they lay straight. "I'll be glad when you're rid of these wretched things," she said.
"Ginny, I–"
"Never dressed to please me or any other girl." She finished his sentence and then gave him a smile that looked forced. "I know that now."
Percy's heart was thudding. He took a helping of mashed potatoes and made himself set the spoon back in the bowl without a sound, his fingers steady and not shaking. "What?"
Harry looked over at him and started pushing other bowls in his direction. "Come on, Percy, eat – you'll make your mother worry, as thin as you are."
"What are you talking about?"
Ladling spoonfuls of green beans onto Percy's plate, Harry hesitated before answering. "The Ministry – Kingsley wants me to go through the new eye-corrective spells that they've developed at St. Mungo's. My glasses are a hazard, for an Auror."
"That's right," George said. "An Auror doesn't need an O in Potions, but –"
"The one thing that an Auror needs is perfect eyesight," Harry finished for him.
"You caught the Murderer of Manchester without perfect eyesight." Percy stabbed one of his green beans and started to slice it into smaller pieces, spacing the cuts evenly. He would not show a reaction in front of Harry and his family. He wouldn't. "It's not fair of them to require this of you."
"The Minister knows best, Percy," Arthur said. "Don't forget that Kingsley was an Auror all those years, himself. He knows what the job is like and he's trying to keep Harry safe."
Trying to keep Harry safe, Harry who had kept all of them safe – taking away Harry's adorable, crooked glasses – Percy ate all of his beans, slice by slice, and he didn't look at Harry again during the meal.
The Murderer of Manchester had confessed, and the details were on the back page – Percy paged through the paper, but stopped at the photograph of Harry. Blinking at Percy and giving him a shy little wave, Harry looked like he was on the verge of straightening his glasses. Then his hand went down to straighten his collar and the glasses were still crooked.
Percy didn't read the article about Harry's impending stay at St. Mungo's and the new advanced eye correction spells that would be used to heal the boy hero. The Prophet's prose was overblown, as always, and there was no use–
It would happen, no matter what Percy thought or what he wanted. It didn't matter.
The picture of Harry gave him one last wave as Percy went on to the back page. The Murderer of Manchester might be only a Muggle, but it was Harry's first successful case. At any rate, the way that a Muggle had managed to kill so many people, witches and wizards among them…
The Floo flared green just as Percy smoothed out the crease in the paper, making it lie flat on his desk. Harry stumbled out of the fireplace, shaking soot all over the floor. He blushed, not looking at the floor and avoiding Percy's gaze. "Sorry," he said. "Can't seem to Floo to the right place … it's funny, isn't it, how much Ministry Aurors sounds like Minister's Accounting."
"This isn't the Minister's Accounting office, that's two floors down and in the office through the fishbowl," Percy said. "Tap your wand twice on the castle before you jump in, otherwise there's a nasty trap in the fake seaweed – Fudge was quite paranoid about Accounting, didn't want anyone snooping around there."
Harry had come closer to Percy while he was talking, and put his hand on Percy's, tracing the lines of print in the Prophet. "You'll get ink on your fingers," Percy said automatically. They used poor quality ink at the Prophet, and it always smeared.
The touch of Harry's fingers, the warmth of his hand – he was standing right next to Percy, close enough to touch. Percy could reach over to touch him now, could straighten the collar of his robes or run a hand through his hair, making it lie flat.
He wouldn't. He shifted, moving further away from Harry. "Was there something–"
"You – your hand was – I – inkstains," Harry said.
"Ah," Percy said. "Thank you." He drew his wand and cast a quick cleaning charm on his hand, not looking up at Harry. He couldn't look at Harry – Harry was too close, so close that Percy almost felt the warmth radiating from his body.
He imagined Harry standing even closer, their bodies pressed together and sharing heat. Their noses bumped together as they kissed, Harry leaned into the kiss even further, and–
No, Percy was not having inappropriate thoughts at work. He was not thinking about the way his sister's ex would look naked, how his lips would taste, how he – no, Percy wasn't thinking about it. Harry was his friend, the only person who had understood him after the war, and Percy couldn't think about him like that.
He cleared his throat. "How is your investigation coming?"
"Pretty well, thanks." Harry smiled, pushing his glasses up his nose. "The Murderer's being brought up for trial next Monday."
"You've all the evidence and such?"
"Yeah," Harry said, casually leaning against Percy's desk. He rolled his shoulders and cocked his head to one side, looking down at Percy. "I can't really talk about it at work though, we're just down the hall from the MLE and you never know who might be listening. D'you want to meet for lunch sometime?"
The ink was gone from Percy's hands, but Harry had reached to touch him again – had trailed his fingers over the back of Percy's hand, moving up to touch his wrist and lingering on the bump of the bone that protruded there.
"You're so thin," Harry said. "Molly thinks that you must be skipping meals."
"I –" Percy cleared his throat. "I'm not skipping meals, no, but I'd love to have lunch with you sometime."
"Great." Harry's hand continued upward, tracing the length of Percy's arm and landing on his shoulder with a pat. "See you at noon, then?"
Percy was not having inappropriate thoughts at work, and the feather-light touch of Harry's fingers had not given him a very inappropriate erection. He shook his head to clear it. "Yes, that would be fine."
Harry left his glasses on the table during lunch. He blinked at Percy, and Percy wished that he'd taken the time to duck into the loo for an (extremely inappropriate) wank.
"I'm sorry," Harry said. "I've just had the first course of the spells, and it'll take another go before my vision's entirely fixed. Can't see perfectly without my glasses, but everything's too blurry with them on."
"That's fine," Percy said, pushing his chair closer to the table. His fingers were a hair's-breadth away from Harry's glasses – he was close enough to touch them.
On the other hand, he was close enough to touch Harry. Harry, damn him, was just as adorable and rumpled without his crooked glasses. His top buttons had come undone, his cuffs were uneven, and there was a smudge of ink on his forefinger. A grey-black blotch on his pale skin – Percy reached out and touched it. He traced the edges of the inkstain, and then he took out his wand, pointing it at Harry's hand and casting a cleansing spell.
"You had a spot of ink," Percy said when Harry gave him a look. "Just there."
"Oh," Harry said, looking at his hand. He touched the spot and then smiled at Percy. "Thanks."
Percy cleared his throat, looking down at his empty plate. He'd never had a hard time looking at Harry before, but without his glasses … his eyes were such a bright green, and he'd licked his lips when he smiled, just a hint of his pink tongue visible. Percy fidgeted with the silverware and then took a deep breath, composing himself. He would not touch Harry (in a public restaurant, during working hours). He wouldn't.
"So, the ah … um … the Murderer of Manchester," Percy said. He adjusted the silverware until the knife and spoon lay exactly parallel to each other. "You wanted to tell me more about the case?"
"That's right," Harry said. He slouched in his chair, sprawling until his foot touched Percy's under the table. He didn't stop there – instead of moving away, as anyone would do under normal circumstances, he pressed his foot against Percy's, rubbing back and forth along Percy's instep.
It felt good – better than it had any right to feel – and Percy shifted in his chair, trying to adjust himself without being too obvious. Harry probably thought that he'd bumped his foot against the table leg, he'd no idea that his innocent motions were giving Percy an entirely inappropriate erection. Twice in one day.
"Just a Muggle, so he wouldn't normally fall under our jurisdiction," Harry was saying, "but he'd got his great-aunt's old wand and he'd managed to kill wizards and witches as well as Muggles, so the Ministry put me on the case."
"He couldn't use the wand, though, could he?"
"No, but there were some…" Harry paused as the waitress came with their food, and his fingers brushed against Percy's when they reached for the salt at the same time. It had to have been Percy's imagination, but it felt like Harry prolonged the touch, almost like he had caressed Percy's fingers.
"There were some violations of the statute of secrecy, at some point or another – or else he had his great-aunt's books from Hogwarts as well as her wand, we don't know. But he knew the words to the Killing Curse, and used that to distract his victims while he … with the revolver, you know."
"Right," Percy said, as if he knew about gory murders and talked about them over lunch every day.
Harry shifted in his chair again, his foot sliding against Percy's instep. He moved his foot up, then, rubbing it against Percy's ankle and then along his calf. He'd slipped his foot out of his shoe at some point, and when he slipped under Percy's robe, his bare foot against Percy's skin, Percy nearly whimpered.
"I, ah –"
"It's so nice to talk to someone who really listens," Harry said, his bright tone giving no indication that he was fondling Percy under the table. "Usually when I start talking about work, it seems like everyone stops paying attention to me … but not you, Percy. You're different than the others."
"I – no, no more than anyone would do, Harry."
"It is more," Harry insisted.
"No, really." Percy tried to pull away, tried to take a deep breath. He'd misjudged the situation badly – somehow, in his imagination, he thought that Harry was trying to flirt with him. Perhaps he was coming down with something. He felt rather hot, almost feverish in fact, and he was imagining things…
Percy took a huge gulp of water and swallowed hard. He had to pretend that he wasn't imagining these things, that he didn't have a vivid mental picture of Harry spread out in his bed, legs parted…
"No, really, it's the same as I'd do for any of my brothers, you know. I always–"
Harry had been rubbing circles on Percy's calf, but he stopped abruptly and stared at him. "For any of your brothers?"
"Yes, you know, Mum has always considered you an honorary Weasley, and I–"
"Right, of course." Harry pulled his foot away from Percy and shifted, sitting up straighter. "I – a brother, of course, yes. I –"
He opened and closed his mouth a few times, and then gave Percy a weak-looking smile. "If you'll excuse me, I need to use the loo. Back in just a minute."
A brother, yes. Percy had to think of Harry as his brother, as his friend, not as–
It was impossible to think of Harry as his brother. Impossible not to think of Harry licking the sweat beaded on his upper lip, Harry touching Percy's fingers, Harry's foot rubbing Percy's leg. Impossible.
Percy's hand crept to the table and, before Harry could return, he snatched Harry's glasses and slipped them into his pocket, Transfiguring a table knife into an identical pair. A bit of fussy wandwork, there, but Percy had always had a knack for Transfiguration. He frowned, twisting the spell to make the frames a little darker, the edges more rounded, until they looked just like Harry's.
Concentrating on the spell helped dampen his arousal, and Percy focused on that, not on the weight of Harry's glasses in his pocket, the metal warm against his thigh. He was still holding the new pair when Harry came back to the table. He blushed when Harry looked at him, and fumbled for an excuse.
Harry was staring at him, his green eyes unblinking, and the frames of his glasses slipped in Percy's sweaty fingers. He brought his wand up, tapping it against the lenses, and handed the glasses back to Harry.
"I thought – just weakening the prescription, so that you could use your glasses until you've had the second corrective spell," Percy said. "I … didn't want you to get a headache from eye strain."
"Thanks." Harry put his glasses back on, blinked, and then smiled at Percy. "That's lots better, thanks."
Harry's glasses were a comforting, maddening weight in Percy's pocket all afternoon. He had something of Harry's – he couldn't wait to touch it. He traced the outline of the glasses through his robes until finally, he gave in.
Percy locked his office with the strongest spells he knew, and pushed back his chair, giving himself plenty of room. (It was against Ministry regulation 11.578, subsection F69, the clause about inappropriate conduct. Percy didn't care.)
He slid his hand into his pocket, taking out the glasses. The metal frames were warm from Percy's body heat, not from Harry anymore – but Harry had touched them, Harry had worn them, Harry had pushed them up his face and left them crooked and given Percy his adorable lopsided grin. Percy pressed them to his face, running the hard metal over his cheeks and down his throat.
He imagined that it was Harry – Harry kissing him, Harry pressing against him at awkward angles, their glasses bumping together, Harry trailing kisses down his body. Percy sucked in a sharp breath and started unbuttoning his robes. He touched the glasses to each inch of skin as it was bared and pretended that it was Harry, touching him.
Too slow – it was much too slow. Percy removed his clothing with a flick of his wand, sending it all to a neat pile on his desk. He leaned back in his chair and touched Harry's glasses to his skin, running them down his chest. Collarbone, sternum, navel, the soft skin of his belly – Harry kissing him there, kissing him everywhere – Harry kneeling in front of Percy's desk, touching him, looking up at him – Percy took a deep breath.
He'd touch Harry, he'd bend him over the desk and make his way down Harry's spine, kissing each vertebra. He'd spread Harry's legs, taking him here, fucking him hard until Harry came all over Percy's desk, ruining his work. He'd kiss Harry, swallowing each moan, making him break away from the kisses to beg for more. More, harder, faster–
Percy swallowed. His breath came in fast thready gulps as he moved his hand lower, touching Harry's glasses to his aching prick. He'd wanted this since lunch, since he'd felt Harry's foot on his leg, since Harry had smiled at him. It was wrong and it was good and it was glorious, the feeling of Harry's glasses against his cock. He'd have Harry here, on his knees, sucking Percy's prick and looking up at him with those huge green eyes, eyelashes fluttering – Percy spread his legs wider, putting his feet up on his desk – he stroked himself slowly, teasing himself with the glasses until he could no longer bear it.
He'd settled into a rhythm, one hand on his prick and the other using Harry's glasses to touch his nipples, working them into hard peaks – and then the Floo flared green and Harry tumbled out of it, landing on his arse with a loud thump.
"Percy!"
"Harry, I –"
Percy's wand had rolled away and his clothes were in a pile on his in-tray, and he scrambled to cover himself but Harry got there first, standing between Percy and his desk.
"I – this isn't what it looks like," Percy said. He slammed his feet down, trying to cover himself with his hands, and fumbled for an excuse, some sort of plausible explanation, but Harry only took a step closer, grinning at Percy.
"I think it's exactly what it looks like." He plucked the glasses out of Percy's fingers and reached back to set them on the desk, still grinning. "At least, I hope so."
"I – no, I – Harry, don't–"
Harry touched Percy's knee, stroking the skin in soft circles and bending down to kiss it. "I love your freckles … want to count them all and kiss them all and–"
He stopped, looking up at Percy. His eyes were huge behind his glasses and he reached up to straighten them, and then he reached out to touch Percy's glasses, his fingers trailing down to touch Percy's lips. "That is, if it's all right with you?"
"Harry, you can't … I … there's–"
"Before you come up with a million bloody rational reasons why we shouldn't do this," Harry said, and then he was leaning in to kiss Percy. His lips were soft, and his hands cradled Percy's face, and he was gentle, so gentle, and Percy felt a little less naked and exposed, a little less humiliated by the whole situation. Caught wanking by Harry, of all people…
Harry nibbled on Percy's lower lip and then pulled back to look at him. "I've wanted to do this for months now," he said. "You've no idea."
He didn't give Percy a chance to respond, kissing him again instead. He traced lines on Percy's bare chest, circled around his nipples, teasing before touching, and then moved down to kiss his neck, his lips warm against Percy's skin.
"Harry–"
Harry kissed him. "Don't, Percy. Just … let's keep it simple, all right? I want you and you want me."
Percy pulled him down for a kiss then, rougher than the tentative, gentle kisses that Harry had given him. Harry wanted him, out of all the people that he could want, Harry had come here for him, Harry was his.
Their glasses bumped as they kissed, and Percy reached up to trace the lines of Harry's, pressing the imprint of the metal frames into his fingers. Harry was his.
A flick of Harry's wand sent his clothing flying over to join Percy's, and he knelt between Percy's legs, looking up at him. He hesitated. "Do you … what do you…"
Percy reached for him then, pulling him back up and smoothing away his insecurities with soft touches. Harry's skin against his, Harry's lips against his – Percy had never felt anything so wonderful.
"Let's keep it simple," he said, echoing Harry's words. There was nothing simple about this, the thud of his heartbeat against his skin, the rush of breath through his body, the intoxication of having Harry here, pressed against him, touching him – there was nothing simple about it, and anything more complicated would make Percy come undone.
He wrapped his fingers around Harry's cock, stroking until he found a rhythm that made Harry arch his back, moaning. Harry copied his movements and Percy held him closer, their foreheads pressed together and their lips a breath apart.
Harry bit his lower lip. "What were you thinking about when I came in?"
"You." Harry's face lit up when Percy said it, and it was worth the embarrassment. It was worth everything, with Harry here in his arms.
Percy shifted, wrapping his legs around Harry and pulling him closer – Harry moaned, thrusting against Percy, and it felt better than anything Percy had imagined, Harry's lips vibrating against his skin, Harry's hands on him, Harry's cock against his. Percy stretched his hand, stroking the two of them together, and he was so close, he needed Harry like nothing else, he sucked in great gasping breaths and clung to Harry and touched him and kissed him and fuck.
Harry touched him afterwards, his fingers gentle on Percy's face as though Percy was a precious treasure. He pressed a kiss to each of Percy's lenses, smudging them a little, and turned around, collapsing bonelessly into Percy's lap.
They were sweaty and sticky and splattered with come, and it was entirely inappropriate for the office, and Percy couldn't bring himself to care. He tightened his arms around Harry and kissed the back of his neck. Harry felt perfect in his arms.
"I've got to go," Harry said, after the sweat had cooled and dried and their heart rates returned to normal. He wriggled in Percy's lap, twisting around to kiss him. "Got to bring the Murderer to trial … but I should have a bit of leave before my next case, you know. We could take a quick holiday together … somewhere with a bed. Or maybe an office, I like your desk."
"It's not…"
"That simple?" Harry's glasses were crooked, and he held still as Percy reached up to adjust them. He grinned and gave Percy a sloppy kiss. "Sure it is."
Percy held him close for a minute longer and then let him go. "I've got to get back to work myself."
Harry caressed Percy as he dressed, trying to kiss each inch of skin before it disappeared under his robes. "You taste good." He kissed Percy's lips last. "Mmm … want to do dinner together tonight?"
"You're just…"
"Moving into your carefully ordered and structured life as though I've been pining for you since after the war, and will leap at any chance I can get? Yeah, I am." Harry stopped, his hands on Percy's shoulders, and gave him a long look. "Am I moving too fast?"
Harry's glasses were knocked askew when Percy kissed him hard, and Percy reached to straighten them, his fingers lingering on Harry's skin.
It wasn't too fast, not after the way they'd danced around each other for months, too blind to see what the other really wanted. With Harry here, with Harry in his arms, it was perfect. Still touching Harry, holding his glasses straight, Percy kissed him again.