With Apologies to Mr Klein, It's Not Really an Option (Percy/Angelina, R)
Title: With Apologies to Mr Klein, It's Not Really An Option
Pairing: Percy/Angelina
Rating: R
Word Count: 3322
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Not mine. JKR's.
Summary: Percy makes an unexpected friend, and she has a most unexpected idea.
Notes: This little fic is a long time coming. It was originally inspired by stephanometra and is therefore dedicated to her. It's an odd little story, but it insisted on being written this way. Also, bryonyraven owes me Percy/Neville now! Hooray! Unbetaed—feel free to point out any typos or anything that doesn't make sense. It all makes sense in my head, but than I'm a bit odd that way. Also, yeah, my Percy is pretty much canonically gay, and that hasn't changed here. Does Gay People Having Straight Sex count as a warning? …Nah. The title is a reference to Fritz Klein. Though Percy's probably not too familiar with Muggle sex researchers, but as I said, I'm crap at titles.

Originally posted to LJ on 5/13/07


"Have you ever done this before? With a girl, I mean."

Angelina asks the question so matter-of-factly that Percy can't help but appreciate her tone, though he resents the question.

"Of course I have," he replies, and if he says it a bit too quickly Angelina doesn't seem to mind.

"All right, then" Angelina says, and she closes the door and crosses the room and they both stare for a moment and Percy wonders if she could possibly be as nervous as he is.

***

It was just that spending the weekend at the Burrow had been torment enough, with Bill's and Fleur's brats running about and all his siblings home and his dad with a wretched head cold that he'd probably spread to the rest of the family, and then the twins had shown up in the middle of dinner, bringing Oliver Wood with them.

And after dinner, when parents from two generations dropped off to sleep or flooed home with their babies and the youngest (who were younger and older after so much wine) made a den of the sitting room with low lamps and rugs wrapped around knees and everyone sitting too close, Percy sat alone in the high-backed armchair by the fire, far enough from the centre that he thought they might forget him.

They didn't, of course, and he couldn't escape home, and he was pulled down by wide hands into the circle and encouraged to be young with them while he still could and—all right. Percy smiled and took a bit more wine.

And Percy mostly listened, but after a while he laughed, and loosened the tie he suspected the others were silently making fun of him for wearing, and when the conversation turned sexual, as with this group it tended to do, he listened still and laughed still, but he didn't tell stories of his own.

Because his stories were his own.

And Percy rather believed no one would be interested in them anyway.

As it turned out, though, Fred and George and Oliver had enough stories to keep the room entertained for the night, and they roared when they all discovered they'd been shot down by the same girl. She was a Quidditch player, apparently, though Percy didn't really remember her from school. He remembered a dark girl, quiet and intense, but that was all. Apparently Fred had taken her to the Yule Ball, and had been the first to be denied access into what George proclaimed the girl's Cave Of Pleasure.

Percy rolled his eyes at George and thought that that was a particularly bad euphemism—Penny had hardly been possessed of such a cave, more of a shallow indentation that Percy had struggled to find until she guided him into it and—well, all right, eventually it had got pleasurable. But the experience, on the whole, had been more terrifying than anything else, and he'd never stopped wishing he had told Penny he thought he was probably gay before they'd had intercourse rather than after.

Probably a mistake.

She didn't seem to hate him for it—she'd been as understanding as always, but when conversations turned to sex, Percy supposed it was natural for every man in the room to flash back upon his own first time. He only wondered if every man in the room cringed inwardly as much as he did.

***

Angelina's dark all over in the dim room, everywhere but the whites of her eyes that flash at him, catching the light from the crack in the curtains, and her teeth when she grins at him. He's standing, just standing, not doing anything, and then he realises that that's what she's grinning at.

At least she's not laughing.

He wants to speak, to say something appropriate to what is an utterly bizarre situation at best, but his fingers are fumbling with his tie and then she steps close and with unshaking hands undoes it for him and she smells bloody wonderful, not flowery or anything girlish but just nice, like a clean person, and Percy suddenly doesn't need to speak anymore.

***

Fred and George and Oliver couldn't let the matter go, and Angelina became a regular topic of conversation whenever they were together. And since Oliver was apparently now invited to the Weasley family Sunday dinners (Percy never was certain how exactly that happened—of course his mum never could resist adding another to her brood, it was probably just as well rather than the prospect of Fleur becoming pregnant again, or worse, Ginny), Percy soon grew tired of the subject.

A month or so after the conversation that had originated the trend, Oliver announced (at the table, no less, and Percy knitted his brows together and wished Oliver could maybe have saved the topic for later, for the time of young people and low lamps and rugs wrapped around knees) that he'd run into Angelina Johnson that very morning. She was looking fine, he said, and Fred and George both waggled their eyebrows at Oliver in a way that probably meant something like Details Later Please, and Oliver waggled his back at them in a way that probably meant You Can Bet On It.

And he did give details later, and George and Fred were mock-horrified (Percy couldn't believe it was true horror, not when they'd cornered him that time and told him they were all right with his being bent when he hadn't even told them he was) when Oliver said he'd asked after the Special Man In Her Life and she'd replied that there wasn't one but that was hardly surprising since she preferred women anyway. And then all three of them howled with laughter and slapped each other on the back in that blokey way Percy had never quite got the hang of, and Percy smothered his laugh at first but let it out when Oliver caught his eye and nodded.

And Oliver and Fred and George all reclaimed their masculinity and said that of course she'd shot them down, and of course they'd all known all along and were just waiting for Angie to realise it. And Percy smirked at them and rolled his eyes at them and Oliver included him in the blokey back-slaps the next time they went around and Percy knew that the three of them were as full of bravado as anyone ever was, and he wondered idly if any of them were jealous of the women who'd slept with Angelina.

***

Angelina's tugging off his tie and Percy finally unfreezes, takes it from her, undoes the buttons of the shirt that was crisp this morning but which now hangs on him, damp with unease. He tries not to look at Angelina's body as she makes herself comfortable on the hotel bed (a hotel's really the only proper place for this sort of thing, he'd said, and she hadn't pushed the matter), instead focussing on laying his clothes just so over the back of the chair so they won't be wrinkled later. The air in the room is frigid and false, and Percy shivers and wonders why Muggles like their air conditioning so well as he sits on the edge of the bed, wearing only his pants, biting his lip, summoning Gryffindor courage.

***

Eventually—inevitably—Angelina was invited to dinner, and she accepted, though from Fred's retelling she'd denied that she had a Special Lady that she would be bringing. Oliver—he was practically a part of the family now, what was he doing at the Burrow again?—and the twins seemed disheartened at this, but not for long—they soon found something else to distract them and Percy wandered into the kitchen to see if his mum needed help with anything before dinner.

Percy was setting out silverware when Angelina arrived by floo. Oliver and Fred and George promptly besieged her, shepherding her out the door for a bit of a fly before dinner. One of the twins made hasty introductions as they moved through the kitchen, and Percy raised his hand, but too late; they were already gone.

At dinner, Angelina fit right in with the clan. Percy could see why his brothers liked her so well, even if it wasn't as a potential paramour. She was lively, she was witty, and she was smart, and Percy smiled at her and introduced himself when everyone's mouths were full of food (not that that stopped them from talking).

She said she remembered who he was, of course, he'd been Head Boy her fifth year. Percy raised an appraising eyebrow and thought that anyone who appreciated Head Boy status enough to remember it nearly a decade later was a bit of all right.

Angelina stayed late, joined the young people in the time of low lamps and rugs wrapped around knees, not hesitating but sitting right down with them, blending effortlessly into the widened circle. That she was a member of the Blokey Back-Slaps Club was a given, and Percy was honestly fascinated how a person could bridge the gap between himself and his brothers so easily.

Oliver had had a bit too much to drink and he snuggled up to Angelina as the hour turned small, and he made a melodramatic confession about how he'd pined for her all these many years, and did she never crave a Man's Touch? And Angelina only laughed and shoved him off and said that if she ever had that craving she'd find a real man, thank you.

Percy's laugh turned into a yawn and he stood and stretched and said his goodbyes, and Angelina seemed genuinely disappointed that he was going. But George and Fred said that it was no good for a single girl to be alone in the city so much and that their mum hadn't minded at all, in fact she thought Angelina was lovely, and that if Angie knew what was good for her she'd come every Sunday.

***

Angelina's touch is more certain than Percy's own, though he's done this before and she hasn't—well, not with a man. She drags her fingers up his bare arm and they bring their faces together and they kiss, tentatively, until Angelina takes his face between her hands and opens her mouth, and Percy slips into the natural rhythm of kissing.

When Angelina guides his hand to her bare breast, Percy gives it a tentative squeeze, then finds the nub of her nipple and rolls it gently between his thumb and forefinger. Angelina moans a little and breaks the kiss and looks down between their bodies and murmurs low that it's finally time for her to see what all the fuss is about.

***

Angelina made it to dinner most Sundays. Percy had been wrong in his first impression of her—she wasn't just smart, she was brilliant, and while she could talk Quidditch all night with the others, she could also give Percy a run for his money on nearly any subject he proposed. Their debates became the stuff of legend—post-dinner entertainment that even Percy's dad sometimes stayed up to witness. Percy and Angelina, though none may ever have supposed it, were becoming friends, and Percy honestly thought that was a bit of all right, really.

He even intervened one night when Oliver wouldn't drop the subject of Angelina's need to discover the Wonders of Heterosexual Coupling, and Angelina smiled and told Percy thanks anyway but she could probably break Oliver's arm if she needed to. And Percy settled back in and didn't say that he'd only told Oliver to stop because Percy himself had had enough of people telling him the same thing—Find Yourself A Nice Girl And Settle Down, and those sorts of things.

Later, when everyone was taking their leave, Angelina caught Percy as he was putting on his cloak and murmured her thanks—she understood his intentions and she appreciated them. And then she said that they should just have it off with each other and get those three off their backs for once and for all.

It took Percy a moment to realise she was joking, because there was such a serious edge to her voice. She smiled up at him and her eyes crinkled at the corners and then Percy wasn't sure she'd been joking at all and he fussed with the buttons on his cloak to stall for time.

And Oliver came over to fetch her because they were going to floo to his flat together first so she could borrow a Quidditch magazine from him, and Angelina waved and told Percy to owl her and they'd get together later in the week.

Percy didn't know what to think.

***

Percy's half-hard already, and his cock twitches when Angelina puts her hand in his pants and wraps her fingers around the shaft. He leans back on his hands after a long, still moment, and Angelina continues her exploration, smoothing a fingertip over his balls, raking her nails over his thighs and causing all the hair there to stand on end. Percy shudders and sits forward again, slipping his thumbs under the elastic at the waist of his pants. Angelina tugs them off him and drops them by the bed and Percy leans against the headboard, forcing a casualness that isn't quite there, but then Angelina bends forward to study Percy's erection and he moans—he can't help it—when she swipes her tongue over the tip.

At his moan, Angelina looks up and smiles at Percy and nods, and Percy nods back and pushes his specs up his nose and forgets to smile, and somewhere in the back of his mind he realises the room isn't nearly as chilly anymore.

***

Percy never did owl Angelina, and eventually she sent an owl to him asking why he hadn't. Honestly, he'd thought it a courtesy invitation, just a thing people say to be polite, but Angelina assured him that that wasn't the case and were they friends or weren't they and was eight o'clock next Tuesday night good for him?

It was, and as Percy stepped into the unfamiliar pub, he was greeted by Angelina, who was waving from a corner booth. She had a pint in front of her, and she called Percy fussy when he ordered a whisky, rocks, but she smiled and cocked her head to the side when she said it and Percy found himself smiling back.

So they really were friends, and Percy marvelled at that. Not that he hadn't any friends, it was just that Angelina's friendship was so unexpected, and so easy. They talked about the news and they talked about their families and Angelina went on for a while about the Holyhead Harpies until Percy kindly made it clear he couldn't possibly be less interested. And Percy bored Angelina talking about work, then, and then the barman started shooting glances their way as he put chairs up on tables, and they realised how very late it was.

Percy said he'd walk Angelina home and she thanked him but said it wasn't far, and she indicated the building two down from the pub. Percy told Angelina it was unfortunate for her, then, that he'd been raised a gentleman, and he insisted on walking her that far anyway, and Angelina assented. At her door, she paused, and Percy waited.

And she said she'd been thinking about what she'd said the other night, did Percy remember, when they were all leaving, just before Oliver came over? And yes, Percy did remember, of course he remembered; one doesn't forget something like that, he said, and that was when Angelina asked Percy if he'd like to get one up on his brothers and Oliver.

***

Angelina's wet, and of course she is—Percy's not unaware of the physics of female anatomy, just unused to the differences. And she's not too different from a bloke, except that she is, and in too many ways to name. She arches under him and he can feel her heels digging into the ridge of his spine and she keeps letting out that breathy sort of moan that Percy wouldn't have expected a girl of her sort to make, only then he reckons sex is sex and if he makes the same sorts of noises that other men do then why shouldn't Angelina make the same sorts of noises that other girls—well, that Penny had?

And he's thinking too much, and he's slowed, lost his rhythm, and Angelina curves her fingertips just so on his arms and thrusts, thrusts, until Percy is brought back from his abstractions and he pushes deeper into her and she smiles up at him, her white white teeth flashing in the dark.

***

When they met at the hotel, Percy shifted from foot to foot, feeling ridiculous for only bringing Wizarding currency as Angelina paid the desk clerk with Muggle money. She didn't seem to mind, though, only turned and took his arm as if they were actually the holidaying couple they pretended to be, grinning up at him and calling him Percy Darling. He flushed at that, somehow certain that the desk clerk, who had turned back to the telly as soon as they'd turned away, could see through their flimsy ruse.

But no one stopped them, no one accosted them, no one prevented them from entering the room they'd been assigned, and after they'd deadbolted the door and stared at each other for a moment, Percy almost wished someone had.

***

The room's not too cold anymore—if anything, it's too warm, Percy's skin flushed pink and splotchy, the steam from the shower billowing out from the bright bathroom. Angelina hums to herself in the shower, and Percy thinks it sounds like some sort of Quidditch fight song, something he's caught snatches of off the WWN when his brothers are all gathered round the wireless. But Angelina's song stops abruptly as the taps screech off, and Percy hurries to finish dressing, smoothing on his shirt and running fingers through his hair, cross at himself for not realising he should've brought a comb.

When Angelina exits the bathroom, fully dressed, she flips on the electric lights and Percy squints, unprepared for the sudden bright assault, and fumbles with the knot of his tie, which isn't co-operating.

She surveys him for a long moment, hands on her hips, a satisfied smile crossing her face, and then she crosses the room and Percy's even less prepared for the hug she gives him. He extricates his fingers from the hopeless mass of silk round his neck and hugs her back tentatively.

"Thanks," Angelina says finally, letting him go, and Percy nods, pauses, and after a moment they move apart and gather the few personal possessions scattered round the room.

As they're on their way downstairs, the elevator humming, the rest of the hotel silent in that particular middle-of-the-night, hotellish sort of way, Angelina laughs suddenly, and Percy looks over at her, quizzical.

"What do you think, then," she asks, "Do we wait to tell them, or do we owl them tonight?"

Her eyes are dancing with mirth and Percy can feel a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Better to wait, I think," he says, "For just the right moment. Catch them off guard." He breaks into a full smile, picturing the sitting room at the Burrow, a low fire crackling in the hearth giving glow to three shocked faces.

Angelina must be picturing the same thing, too, because she laughs again and says "Sunday?"

Percy nods, and the elevator door dings open, depositing them into the lobby, then they're through the revolving door into the night air. It's drizzling, just a fine mist hazing over the night, and Percy gives Angelina a squeeze round the shoulders before they head their separate ways.