InsaneJournal

Thunderstorm (Percy, NC-17)
Title: Thunderstorm
Character: Percy
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 787
Warnings: None.
Diclaimer: Not mine. JKR's.
Summary: By the time Percy is seventeen, he knows what each of his brothers sounds like during orgasm.
Notes: Originally posted on 6/27/07 at LJ. A teenyfic gift from florahart to nqdonne with the prompts of "Percy wanking" and "thunderstorm".


By the time Percy is seventeen, he knows what each of his brothers sounds like during orgasm.

It's a bothersome thing to know, really, and Percy hopes he's been discreet enough himself that none of them can say the same.

But he's got urges just like any of his brothers have got, hasn't he, and there are times when he just has to lock the bathroom door and make it quick, biting his lip and praying, his eyes squeezed shut and his fist flying.

It's not ideal, but the situation will suffice in a pinch. Percy always emerges from the bathroom red-faced (despite the cool water he splashes on), half from exertion and half from the utter embarrassment of the possibility of being heard interfering with himself.

He's thankful he's never had to share a bedroom, at least, even in the overcrowded Burrow, but the walls are thin and it hardly makes a difference that he's solitary when he can hear his brothers through them, talking and laughing and doing…that.

And "alone" is a foreign concept to the rest of Percy's family, who seem to like to do things in pairs or in packs, and who seem to take particular enjoyment in knocking on the door to entice him to play chess or Quidditch or come down to dinner or any number of things that are not exactly conducive to a nice, restful, solitary wank session.

Not that that's all Percy ever thinks about, of course, it's just that it's hard to think about anything else when one's hand is in one's pants and one's brother comes knocking on the door looking for a bloody chess partner.

Percy's thankful not only for his solitary bedroom, but also for the fact that his brothers are all outdoorsy types. He can manage a wank in the afternoon sometimes when they think he's writing up reports on international cauldron bottom thicknesses or polishing his Head Boy badge or whatever they think he does up there. Percy doesn't actually care what they think, just as long as they don't guess what he's actually doing.

Of course there's always the danger of his mum tramping up the stairs to attempt to coax him out into the sunlight with his siblings, and Percy would almost rather be caught by Fred and George than by his mother, who would probably want to sit down and have a talk.

And so the best time—the very best time, because everyone's in bed or at least in their rooms, and because certain of his siblings are afraid of thunder, the idiots—is during a storm.

No one can hear anything with the thunder rolling all around them, with the rain sheeting against the house, with the wind howling and whipping and banging the shutters, and with the ghoul in the attic joining in with his own moans and howls. It's impossible to carry on a shouted conversation in the hallway on a stormy night, let alone hear anyone doing anything through the walls. Fred and George can bang away all they want (and, ew, Percy catches himself in the accidental double entendre and mentally smacks himself) and Percy can't hear them.

Percy loves storms.

Loves to lie on his bed, the window cracked open just enough for a little rain to get in, gusts of air spraying a fine mist over his body, naked but for his spectacles, as he strokes himself to full erection, allowing the moans to escape when they will, not censoring himself at all. Loves to comb his fingers through the coarse red hair that surrounds his cock, teasing down to his balls and back up again. Loves to collect the fluid that glistens at the tip of his cock and spread it over himself, touching the finger to his lips when it's dry, licking up raindrops that collect where—if Percy was bolder—smeared come would be. Loves to imagine the raindrops are something else—someone else's—!—and that's what does it, that's what causes the loudest groans of all, concealed by a clap of thunder, that's when Percy spurts and splatters up, all over himself, pearls of come mingling with drops of rain, a mess of release coating his stomach, and oh but he's glad he's of age and can clean himself with a spell instead of with a tissue, but he thinks he'll wait just a moment longer before he does, for the storm is dying outside, and Percy wants to collect a last few drops of rain on his skin before the last clap of thunder sounds.