Percy Weasley (sentimentalist) wrote in disorderic, @ 2018-01-05 23:51:00 |
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As much as Oliver was interested in what Percy was talking about -- and he was, he really was -- he was also very distracted. He’d found himself getting off-track more and more around Percy, caught up in watching his eyes light up as he talked about something he was passionate about, caught up in watching his lips move and not in what was being said. He felt guilty every time Percy looked at him expectantly and it took him a few seconds to figure out where they were in the conversation, but it didn’t stop. In fact, it kept getting worse. Not that it was bad, outside of feeling lost in conversation. No, it was good, or at least it felt good. His stomach often fluttered when Percy got heated about a subject and his eyes flashed with intent. Oliver wasn’t stupid; he knew that was what other boys felt for girls, even if they didn’t quite describe it like that. But he knew that what they meant when they talked about how a girl looked was how he felt when he looked at Percy. “Hey, Perce?” They were standing close to each other in a record store in Ottery St. Catchpole -- it was a bit old-fashioned, or maybe retro was a better word for it, which meant it was actually fairly popular. That day it was blissfully quiet for a change, and they’d been going through old records of musicals, which meant they were near the back, out of the way. Oliver’s stomach flipped. He’d been thinking about something very specific ever since he’d gotten to the Burrow (longer than that if he was honest with himself), and now he had a plan. Executing it was his next challenge. “ … and while the current West End cast seems to really have a handle on ‘The Farmer and the Cowmans’, I maintain that it isn’t the original Broadway recording but the cast recording from the film that’s always going to be my favourite …” Percy had been off and running for a good five minutes about the record in his hand, with the intent to take it into the listening station and see if he could talk Oliver into softly singing along with him. Trips to the record store like this were becoming more frequent and thankfully, the record store in Ottery St. Catchpole did not complain when they spent hours holed up in the listening rooms. They were usually some of the only participants, as it were. He blinked and pushed his glasses back atop his nose. “Hey Oliver.” Honestly, he could have listened to Percy talk about musicals all day. Or anything else. Anything at all, as long as he always looked that intense and excited about it. Some people -- a lot of people, Oliver knew, like Percy’s brothers -- thought he was dull but as far as Oliver was concerned, they just never bothered to actually listen to what he had to say. That or they didn’t care. Oliver cared, though. He glanced over their shoulders to see if anyone was paying attention to them, but no one was. Before he could lose his courage, he turned back around and leaned in, pressing his lips to Percy’s quickly. If he read the signs wrong -- well, Oliver didn’t quite know what he’d do if he’d gotten this wrong. Probably roll over and die, he thought, but he really didn’t think he was wrong. Oliver wasn’t as stupid as people thought he was. He paid attention to people. When he pulled back, his cheeks were bright pink. “Um. You were saying?” If anything could silence Percival Ignatius Weasley and stop him in his tracks, it was this. Could Oliver have miscalculated, meaning simply to grab the first pressing of Cabaret! behind them or perhaps he meant to turn Percy’s attention to Curly and Laurey’s proposal, that happened not too long after the barn raising. There were a hundred plausible reasons why Oliver’s incredibly warm, firm and perfect lips brushed against his own. None of them could have possibly been for romantic reasons. So he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and smiled. Percy clapped his iron will over the cacophony of questions in the back of his head and focused again. “I mean, Shirley Jones and Gordon McRae were so good, Rodgers and Hammerstein brought them back for Carousel so I don’t understand how anyone else could think they weren’t absolute perfection.” Out of all of the possible outcomes Oliver imagined, this hadn’t really been part of it. He hadn’t anticipated that Percy would take him literally and ignore what he’d done. He’d prepared himself for a rejection, but pretending like it hadn’t happened at all? That was almost worse. Oliver blinked and opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t find his words at first. His throat felt tight all of a sudden. Instead, he nodded, giving himself some more time to put his game face back on. “Right, I…” His voice cracked a little, and he kicked himself mentally. “Dunno. Think someone’s probably mental if they don’t think they were perfect. Or maybe they need to have their hearing checked.” I need to have my bloody memory checked. Did Oliver really kiss him? Was this entirely purposeful? Because Oliver’s reaction seemed a mite strange -- but he could simply be reacting based off how he didn’t mean to kiss Percy. He was probably really quite grateful that Percy could take it in stride and keep the conversation chugging. Poor Oliver. Percy even turned to hand him the pressing of Cabaret he was probably after. “I sort of wish we could get a good Wizard musical. But everybody’s stuck in the 19th century, acting like it’s all got to come via the Wireless or there’s pearls worth clutching. I bet the Americans do musicals at their school for the arts. Not that I would ever make it a practise of suggesting that the Americans do it better than we do, but they’re so liberal. Specifically after their backwards customs in the early twentieth century. Why, just the other day I was reading Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them because Scamander mildly brings up his brush with Gellert Grindelwald …” Oliver stared at the record of Cabaret that was now in his hands, and he saw his hands were trembling ever so slightly. Though he was typically composed under pressure (if just a little intense), he didn’t know if he could continue to stand there listening to Percy. The thing he enjoyed so much about it seemed so far away now. “I’m going to,” he started, interrupting Percy’s train of thought. He almost said he was going to go buy the record, but that was really just an excuse to leave. Then he almost said he should go, but Oliver knew this moment was going to eat away at him forever if he didn’t say anything else. “Are we just going to pretend nothing happened?” he asked, though he didn’t quite meet Percy’s eyes. “You could say something.” Percy stopped in his tracks, eyes wide behind his glasses. Curly and Laurey were forgotten. Liza Minelli somewhere in the past, waltzing with Newt Scamander (who he was sure would have been very supportive of wizarding theatre). Because, if he were following the train of this conversation accurately, Oliver was suggesting that his accident was no mere accident. “Oliver,” he began tentatively and then abruptly shut himself down. He steeled his nerves. “You mean the part where you accidentally kissed me because you were reaching for the record I just pulled for you? Or the part where …” it can’t be. Percy was a git, a pompous arse, a nerd. And Oliver was … well, he was Oliver Wood. “You were serious, weren’t you?” It wasn’t often Oliver wanted to crawl under a rock and hide forever. Quidditch losses made him bitter. Poor marks on an exam didn’t bother him like they did Percy, as long as they were still enough for him to pass the class at all. But this? Oliver had never put himself out there like this before. And Percy hadn’t even thought it was real? He inhaled deeply, trying to center himself again. It wasn’t working. “Yeah,” he mumbled, shrugging a shoulder, trying to make it seem like less of a big deal. “I thought you… I thought we…” His cheeks felt hot again. “I’ll just, maybe I’ll just go. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, I’ll just…” He set the record down in front of him, which wasn’t where it belonged, but he wasn’t going to reach around Percy to put it back properly. Did anywhere nearby have a Floo? he wondered. He didn’t want to go all the way back to Percy’s for that. Percy’s hand shot out, wrapping around Oliver’s wrist. They were in the back of the record store, well out of sight of anyone, but Percy wanted more privacy. Though it was unlikely he could haul Oliver anywhere he didn’t want to go, he started toward one of the listening rooms and as soon as they were both inside he shut the door. He shook his head vigorously. “Don’t be sorry. And don’t go.” “Okay.” Oliver had only let Percy drag him into the room out of curiosity, or so he told himself. He still didn’t know if it meant Percy fancied him back, or if it just meant he wasn’t angry. Or maybe he’d just taken Percy off guard? He had no idea where to start trying to analyse the kiss. “So….” Slowly, like a sudden movement might scare Percy, Oliver moved his hand so he could brush his fingertips against Percy’s. Did it mean Percy wanted him to do it again? “You’re not angry?” “ … no, I’m not. I just --” Everything was moving so quickly and Percy couldn’t interrogate his feelings or the instincts his body and his heart started kicking into overdrive. He couldn’t put words around how he wanted Oliver’s hand covering his own, or how he wanted to be kissed again. But he could take Oliver’s hand in his warm, ink-smudged palm, and pull him close. “I don’t know how this goes.” “I don’t either,” Oliver admitted, reveling in the shiver that ran down his spine as he bumped into Percy and felt the warmth of his body radiating off it, “I know it seems like… like I’ve got it all figured out.” He looked down at their hands. “But I don’t.” That much should have been obvious, he thought, by his stupid plan to sneak a kiss when Percy least expected it. He should have planned something romantic. Or asked first. He threaded their fingers together and squeezed Percy’s hand gently. “Want to figure it out together?” he asked, looking hopefully at Percy. “Maybe… it won’t seem as hard if we do it together.” That sent another eruption of nerves going through the base of Percy’s spine and he gripped Oliver tightly, stepping into the circle of his arms. He wanted to academically analyze the moment, to give great and ponderous thought to what was about to come to them. But at least he had the good sense to remain quiet, now leaning closer to Oliver while he also bumped his hip against the listening table. Etta James started playing softly. At least, Oliver thought, they had a good soundtrack for this. It could have ruined the moment. Instead, Oliver felt his stomach flip. He didn’t say anything either. He just looked at Percy for a moment longer, and then he kissed Percy again. Unlike before, he let the kiss linger. Percy’s lips were soft, and Oliver was sure he could feel both their hearts hammering away. This was what it was supposed to feel like, he thought, not the awkward, short-lived peck that barely counted and left him feeling more self-conscious than ever. This made him feel like he was soaring. Pliant, Percy leaned into the pressure from Oliver’s kiss and naturally, his hands fell at the other boy’s waist. His mind was quiet, focused only upon prolonging this moment for as long as possible. But eventually, he had to take a breath. Resting his forehead against Oliver’s, he smiled and pressed another kiss to his lips. “Uhhh … hi.” Percival Weasley, reduced to monosyllables. Oliver was all at once overwhelmed and overjoyed. He’d hoped that it would feel good to finally do what he’d been spending so much time thinking about, but hadn’t expected it to make his knees go weak. He laughed softly, holding onto Percy tightly, unwilling to let go or step back just yet. “Hi.” This must’ve been what the other boys talked about when they talked about kissing girls, this feeling. “Is that a good hi…?” “Definitely,” he muttered, steeling that same mindfulness against what instinct and desire wanted him to do next. He kissed him again but this time, his mouth made a track from Oliver’s lips to cover the length of one side of his jaw, resting briefly within the hollow of his throat. He pulled back up and smiled shyly. Whatever Percy had said about not knowing how this went seemed to be a big lie from Oliver’s perspective. He shuddered as Percy’s lips hit his jaw, digging his fingers into Percy’s hips. His skin felt cold when Percy pulled away, and Oliver wanted to beg him to keep going. “I thought you didn’t know what to do,” he teased, slightly breathless. There was a heat in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, and he pressed his body flush against Percy’s, caught up in a surge of confidence. He dragged one hand up to run through Percy’s hair before settling at the back of his neck. “You been practicing with someone else?” He was trying to be light-hearted, but deep down, it would’ve hurt to hear that there was someone else, even though he knew he had no right to any sort of claim. “ … books,” he said after a beat, willing himself to stay calm and keep his breathing steady. It wasn’t working. He gave Oliver a slightly glazed-over grin and stumbled back a pace, all flushed and dazed. “It’s just books.” He paused a beat. “Any more and we are going to get in trouble.” “What’s wrong with getting in trouble?” Oliver countered, a sly grin on his face. Between the two options of staying or leaving, he’d rather stay there and kiss Percy again, or maybe see how Percy felt if he copied his own actions. But Percy was right. If they were in there too long, someone would come knocking, and Oliver didn’t particularly want to try to cover up any mess they might make or try to explain what they were doing for so long. He did take Percy’s hand again, though, and he stepped back into Percy’s personal space. He liked seeing how flushed Percy was, knowing he was the one who caused it. “Maybe we could stay just a little longer.” |