Kristmas Wish Fulfilled for: madeyemax
From: purplefluffycat

Title: Pinstripe Pet
Characters/Pairings: Percy Weasley/Rufus Scrimgeour
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Included: Very-willing-slave!Percy, D/s, delayed orgasm, oral, anal, come play, cuddling/petting
Word Count: about 2275
Summary/Description: In the winter of Harry's sixth year, Percy Weasley brings the Minister of Magic to the Weasley Christmas table. The mission goes badly... but what happens when Scrimgeour and his Junior Assistant return home?
Author's Notes: Merry Kristmas to the Percy-lover(s) out there - I hope this hits the spot :-) Also, many thanks to the mods for running this fest - and indeed for maintaining the community all year round!




Fred and George always said that he walked around as if he had a stick up his arse. Standing coldly before the family table that Christmas day, a single thought preoccupied Percy Weasley's mind: if only they knew.

The stiff white collar and tie he wore obscured the black leather one beneath - studded, and with a velvet leash. The plug nestling beneath his perfectly-starched pinstripe robes kept him deliciously open. Wet. Ready. Available at a mere moment's notice for the Minister.

The Minister, his Master.

Simply the man's proximity made Percy shudder - as that tall, stiff, dangerous wizard prowled about the Burrow's dining table. They were on a very important mission, central to national security and the public image of the Ministry, no less. Percy was certain that the magical world could be in no safer hands than those that were then clawing the back of a homely dining chair, silently willing the insolent Harry Potter to see sense and do his bidding. It was delicate, but Master was clever and shrewd - and once again Percy squirmed with glee to think that he had been chosen, clenching around the plug as he studiously ignored his siblings, just to revel in the fact that it marked him as slave.

Unfortunately, however, the operation did not go to plan. Harry Potter stormed back into the house alone, and Scrimgeour gestured sharply through the window for Percy to run to his side in retreat. Relieved not to have to spend a moment longer with his embarrassment of a family, Percy scooted to the Minister's heels and they walked in silence to the apparation point, the atmosphere crackling with frustration.

Master was clearly irate, mouth set in a thin line and each tawny hair bristling with angry sparks. This elicited a potent mixture of feelings in Percy: how he loved the strength and command of his Master, the power and dominance simmering beneath that taut surface, and wanted it to boil upon him. On the other hand, oh how he wished to soothe those agitated waters. To distract and perform and delight. To give his Master pleasure in every way; his words, his service, his body.

Especially his body. He was wearing a tight ring about his cock that Master had affixed that morning, and he already felt himself swelling hard within it, just at the thought of the things he might be permitted to do, to help.

They apparated sharply from the field outside the Burrow, frost-fairies playing on the homely vegetable rows and stray gnome-tussocks littering the lawn like a miniature landscape. Percy scorned such things as untidy, disorderly; lacking a proper discipline. Far preferable was the Ministerial apartment in which they then arrived - with its chequer-board tiled floor in the hall, and chesterfield sofas neatly framing the day's dispatches on a low mahogany table. Everything was neat, nothing out of place. And most wonderfully, Percy was in his place - kneeling obediently at the doorway to the lounge, waiting to be called forward.

The Minister hung his coat roughly upon its wrought iron stand and paced a few times before the bay window, gnarled fingers caught into fists, breathing ragged, with a hint of growl beneath the rasp. He poured himself a firewhiskey and downed it, paying little gentleness to the inscribed, crested, goblin-crystal decanter, then refilled his glass to hold and sip. Finally, he turned to regard Percy, expression measuring.

That look set off warning sounds in Percy's brain; he felt himself flush and concentrated on looking his best - back pleasingly straight, eyes cast down at the perfect angle. A panicked thought followed: would he be blamed for his family's failings that day? Would he fall from favour? The idea thoroughly terrified him. Coarse and common and short-sighted as they were, he felt ashamed of the fiery hair that marked him as a Weasley, and fervently wished to carry only those marks that made him Master's and Master's alone.

The silence stretched on, and Percy resisted the urge to fidget, even as the blood rose higher in his cheeks and his throat threatened to close with tightness. Finally, Scrimgeour spoke - and his tone was surprisingly fond: "You're not like them, are you, my pet?"

"No, Master!" Percy was so relieved he could have sobbed. He so wished to rush forward and kiss the tips of Master's fingers in thanks, or maybe even to lick the soles of his gleaming boots - but he knew better, and waited until he was called, the muscles of his thighs quivering in anticipation as he knelt.

"Then come and show me yourself. Give me a reason not to curse this bloody day in it's entirety." Scrimgeour's voice was gravelley but calmer, then, and he cast a notice-me-not charm upon the window to save having to draw the curtains.

Percy's heart jumped in delight and he practically sprang to his feet to shed his clothes at his Master's command. Boots were swiftly placed aside and he stowed a white sock in each, lanky toes curling upon walnut floorboards as his blood quickened. Starched robes followed next, carefully laid across the sofa-back, for Master disliked creasing just as much as he did. It was somewhat cold in the Minister's flat, and gooseflesh decorated his rangy limbs and pale torso, like fairy-lights on a strange kind of tree. He was naked, then, save for the collar and leash - which he stretched his neck to proudly display - and his preppy white underwear - tight and neat, just as the Minister preferred. He took a few steps forward, strides fluent, eyes fixed to the floor.

Scrimgeour circled his charge, still cradling a drink and watching as Percy's knees twitched and his diaphragm fluttered under such scrutiny. When Master was out of his sight and standing directly at his back, Percy felt a tug about his throat. A thrill of excitement went through him to imagine the leash he wore caught in deft Auror fingers - and then a calloused digit ran slowly down his back, from neck to shoulder-blade, around the smooth inward curve below his ribs, and hooking down inside his underwear, just at the cleft of his cheeks.

"I wish to see all of you," Master growled, just behind his left ear, and pulled smartly on the pants to reveal Percy's plugged arse and hard, constrained cock. He squeezed one of Percy's buttocks, appreciating the youth and firmness. "Very good, pet. Very pretty."

At that contact, those words, Percy was nearly beside himself; he felt desperately aroused and needing to move - to touch and be touched - but certain that he had to stand still until he received permission. Thankfully it came: "You may suck me, now."

"Thank you, Master!" he exclaimed, and fell to his knees once more, the winter sunlight playing across his chest and glinting in flaming locks. Reverently, he undid Master's robes and trousers, freeing the Minister's impressive cock from the confines of thick, expensive fabric. He opened his mouth greedily and swallowed as much of it as he was able, revelling in his Master's grunt of pleasure and the feel of rough hands tangling in his hair. Glorious practise had taught him what Master liked best: vigorous sliding of his plump, wet lips, a swirl of tongue when his head was backward, and resisting the impulse to gag when his palette caressed the whole, wonderful thing.

That continued for some minutes, Percy trying his very best and barely caring that he couldn't really breathe; he would happily turn blue if it meant he would please Master. He was desperately hoping to feel the tell-tale signs of the Minister reaching his climax - a tightening of the pressure on the back of his head, more ardent thrusting into his willing young mouth - but instead, he was gently pushed away. Even as Master's cock was still hard and angry-red! Forgetting himself, Percy looked up in distress - had he displeased Master so, after all?

Luckily, however, the expression he found upon Scrimgeour's features was not one of annoyance. No, that calculating smile that bore a hint of the sharp canines he so loved feeling upon his flesh spoke of enticement and anticipation. Scrimgeour pulled firmly upon the leash, and led Percy to the arm of one of the sofas. "Bend over for me. As far as you can go."

Percy obeyed that order with thrilled enthusiasm, blood rushing to his head as he strained to lift his arse ever higher, legs obscenely spread and caged cock crushed to the studded leather. It was not every day that Master saw fit to fuck him - this was a special treat indeed, and he felt Christmas-giddy for it. That rough finger trailed up the inside of one of his thighs, stopping to tickle the underside of his balls just a little, with an amused snort - and then Scrimgeour slowly pulled and twisted on the plug, exposing Percy's open, loosened hole to the cold office air. It felt so wonderful, being utterly exposed like that, and Percy couldn't help but rut against the sofa - just a little, and even with the full knowledge that the ring would never let him come.

"Such a wanton little pet, aren't you?" said Master, his voice both ragged and indulgent - and then a moment later, Percy felt a large slick cock sliding inside to the hilt as strong hands gripped his gracile hips and hot whiskey-breath huffed across his back. A rhythm was quickly established, at once both harsh and stoic, just like the marvellous man himself. Percy's prostate was battered unrelentingly, causing him to squirm and cry out, all the while pushing backward to deepen the connection and tightening as much as he could, to bring Master the maximum pleasure.

He was delighted that it seemed to be working. The Minister's breaths were shorter, then, and he muttered hoarse, old-fashioned curses as he pounded into Percy's flexible young arse, nails digging in to the freckled flesh. Any moment... any moment thought Percy, imaging Master stilling and emptying deep within him as if it were a gift - and only such thoughts of devotion kept him sane in the throes of his own denied-orgasm, his balls tensing and spasming fruitlessly against the confines of the ring and his cock swelling rigid and blooming burgundy as it throbbed and wept.

However, seconds later - just as Scrimgeour's thrusts had become brilliantly fast and erratic - Percy was left bereft. The heat against his legs had gone; the demanding cock within him, but a memory. No ordinary man could possibly withdraw so close to release, he thought, lust-fuzzy and confused; but then again, the Minister was no ordinary man.

Palming his own cock with one hand, Master levitated Percy with a wandless charm to land belly-up on the sofa, his legs still spread-eagled and open to Scrimgeour's sight. He drank in the picture with a lop-sided grin, and then brought himself to completion with a few expert strokes, come splashing liberally across Percy's chest, his heaving stomach and beneath his chin.

Percy felt as if he had been showered in precious stones. The heat of it was almost too erotic to bear, and he wanted to stay like that forever, bathing in the Minister's elixir as a special badge of his worthiness. He had been chosen. He had pleased Master. It was the best Christmas present he had ever received.

Yet, something else also commanded Percy's attention, and that was the matter of his own erection - pulsing so hard now it was almost painful. Luckily, Scrimgeour took pity: "You may come, now, pet," and released the ring with a wave of his hand. Percy grasped himself as if his life depended upon it, his hands slick and glistening with Master's sweet fluids as he pumped and whined.

The Percy Weasley of years past would have been aghast: so unabashed, so lewd, such a spectacle - yet as his legs thrashed and his head lolled backward upon the sofa, such thoughts could not have been further from his mind. He was nothing but a creature of sensation; servant; pet; slave; toy... and this was his reward.

Needless to say, Percy did not last long. His body arched and he came with a strangled cry, the mess on his belly a delightful mingling of Master's grand passion with his sorry own. Simply nothing could better; this is perfection, he thought, lost in a daze, barely able to keep his eyes open.

As he lie there limply, Scrimgeour cast the usual cleaning and neatening charms, then rescued his tot from a side-table. Robes once again immaculate, he settled upon the sofa just next to Percy's head and conjured a blanket, lifting one arm in a circle for Percy to burrow into his embrace. Nestled cosily in Master's lap, blanket tucked about him and delighting in the feel of those rough hands gentling curls of hair from his forehead, Percy listened dreamily to his Master talk: "... and tomorrow we shall raise the imprisonment efficiency, shan't we, pet? Thirty-nine percent of trials yield inconclusive results at the first hearing, so I'll short-cut that stage of the process and dispatch forty-five percent of candidates directly to Dementor-custody. That should raise our perceived productivity by two-fifths, enhancing public approval by two point six points on the Winburton scale..."

He drifted to sleep, the words a lullaby. Somewhere far away, a Mother sobbed over her estranged son and an innocent man cried out as he was beaten... and Percy didn't hear a thing.