Title: By the chimney with care
Author: emiime
Characters: Percy/Ron
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: See pairing.
Themes/kinks chosen: Glasses fetish, hair fetish (they're small, but they're in there!)
Word count: 1342
Summary: Percy and Ron give each other a bit of a happy Christmas.
Author's notes: Happy Kinky Kristmas to eeyore9990 who requested any combination of the Weasley siblings, glasses kink, hair kink, and well-hung stockings. Hope you enjoy!

Somehow, everyone still fit into the Burrow, even though "everyone" consisted of many more people than it had in past years. Percy could hear his mum and dad fussing over the little ones upstairs, then their footsteps retreated and the old house was silent once again. He knew that in the morning the Burrow would once again overflow with noise and laughter, so he thought he'd catch a few moments' quietude while he could.

A low fire still burned, and Percy poked at it, glass of cider in hand, then he stepped back and marvelled at how his father had managed to hang fourteen stockings on the creaky old mantelpiece. There were seven for Percy and his siblings, two for his parents, and all the new additions--Harry had his own stocking this year, as did Hermione, and there were two for Bill's girls and a tiny one for George's son Fred. And next year, if Percy's suspicions were correct, there would be yet another. Hermione had been glowing rather suspiciously lately, keeping one hand always fluttering near her belly.

A stair creaked, and Percy was jolted from his reverie. Down came Ron, in bare feet and his threadbare dressing gown, his hands in its pockets, a quiet smile on his face.

"What are you still doing up?" he asked, and Percy shrugged.

"Thought I'd see if the Burrow ever really got quiet. Turns out it does, but only for a moment, until little brothers come poking around." Ron made a face at Percy's pronouncement, and Percy chuckled softly. "Cider?" he asked, holding up his own glass. "I think there's a bit left in the kitchen."

Ron declined, instead taking a seat in the great armchair that was usually their father's seat, facing the fire.

Both brothers stayed silent for quite some time, until Percy coughed and turned to Ron.

"Listen," he said, "I suppose it's none of my business, but is Hermione--that is--"

Ron gave one short, sharp nod. "You're right. It's not your business. But she is."

"Oh," said Percy, and he turned back to the fire. In the past, he would have given Ron a speech urging him to do the proper thing and marry her before people began to talk and, god forbid, before their mother found out. He tried hard not to do that now, and managed to bite back most of his instructional diatribe, but couldn't help saying "Do you two have...plans?"

Ron looked up. "Plans?" His eyes were wide and blue in the firelight, and he looked younger than he was.

Percy cleared his throat. "Plans. Yes. To, ah--to marry?"

"To marry?" Ron repeated. "No. No, we definitely do not have plans to marry." He paused, worrying the dry skin on his bottom lip. "We actually split up some time ago," he said. "Just--we haven't exactly got around to telling people yet."

Percy started to speak, but Ron stood. "It's not mine," he said, his voice rough, and Percy's mouth shaped a silent oh.

"Is that why you split up?" he said after a moment's silence.

"No," said Ron, "That happened after we split. Hermione knows what she wants, and she knows what she's doing. At least, that's what she keeps telling me."

Percy nodded, and the brothers stood in silence again. Percy decided he didn't need to know the details. He raised the glass of cider to his lips and was surprised to find it empty.

"I guess I should--" he began, but Ron was right there, blocking his path to the kitchen, his path to rinsing out his glass and going up to bed. Ron raised a hand to Percy's face, cupped his cheek, and that was when Percy realised how close they were.

"Ron--" he said, the name a warning, but Ron cut him off.

"Perce, just don't talk, okay? Just--" and Ron cut himself off, then, by pressing his dry lips to Percy's.

It took a moment for Percy to kiss back, and when he did, it was only fleeting, before he pulled away.

"Not here, Ron," he said, breathless.

"You taste of cider," replied Ron.

"I've been drinking cider," Percy said dumbly, looking at Ron's lips and not into his wide blue eyes.

"Your hair's getting long again," Percy continued after a moment, drawing close to his brother. He reached to run his fingers through the ends of Ron's hair, which curled nearly halfway down his neck.

Ron nodded. "You always liked it long."

Percy inhaled. Had Ron grown his hair for that reason? "I didn't," he said. He wasn't sure if he was saying it to be contrary or to preserve what was left of his dignity. Possibly both.

"Okay," said Ron, shrugging, as if it didn't matter.

Which it didn't, because it didn't matter how Percy liked Ron's hair, or that Ron had always seemed fascinated by Percy's glasses, that he'd liked to remove them slowly and reverently, folding them and laying them ever so gently on the bedside table, or sometimes insisting that Percy leave them on when they--

But no, Percy wasn't thinking about that, about what they used to do.

"Not on Christmas, Ron," he said, still combing his fingers through Ron's locks. Ron's hair had always been impossibly soft, Percy remembered, and it still was.

"We've done worse on Christmas," Ron said his voice low, and Percy had to agree.

"But what about--"

"Shut up, Percy." And with that, Ron was upon him, and their mouths crashed together, and they fell to their knees simultaneously, there in front of the glowing coals, under the fourteen stockings hanging from the mantelpiece, heavy with sweets and toys and satsumas.

"Just give me this," said Ron, "Shut up and give me this, give me a bit of a happy Christmas, will you?" All the time he was muttering, he was undoing Percy's dressing gown and unbuttoning the top of his pyjamas and then his mouth was on a nipple and Percy moaned aloud, oh god. He was getting hard in his pants, and he tried to shift away, but Ron held him fast. Percy didn't want to admit, even to himself, that he was glad of Ron's determination, that he hadn't really wanted to shift away.

Ron was only wearing worn old pyjama pants and a t-shirt, and his ugly old robe was already open in the front, and it was but a matter of moments before both brothers were just naked enough to really do this. Percy had passed his better judgment long ago, and he had a hand in Ron's pants and Ron had a hand in his, and god, but it felt brilliant, better than it ever had.

But no, Percy wasn't thinking about what had been, because he had one hand wrapped around Ron's cock and one hand fisted in Ron's unbelievable hair, and then, before he knew what was happening, before he wanted it to happen, he was coming, spurting all over Ron's hand, making a mess of the inside of his pyjamas, and he muttered come on...come on... and sped his hand on Ron's cock and tugged hard on Ron's hair, and yes, yes, yes. Ron came, gasping in Percy's ear, and when he was done Percy let go and lowered Ron onto the hearth rug and kissed him soundly on the mouth.

After a moment, Percy sat up and reached for his wand and spelled them both clean. Ron's eyes were half-lidded, as they always were afterwards, and he mumbled sleepy nonsense.

"Come on," said Percy, big brother once again. "Come on, up. We've got to get some sleep tonight. Tomorrow will be crazy."

Ron sat up and leaned his head on Percy's shoulder.

"Just--can we sit for a minute?" Percy had never known Ron to be sentimental, but he supposed that on Christmas, it could be allowed.

"Of course," he said, and he put an arm around Ron.

"Happy Christmas," he said after a moment.

"Maybe it will be now," Ron replied.

Percy only sighed and nodded.