Fic: Just His Type (Harry/Percy, NC-17) for the community Author:cedar Recipient: The Community Title: Just His Type Rating: NC-17 Pairing(s):Percy/Harry Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. All characters engaging in sexual activity are 16 years or older. Summary: Dinners and sex, all because of an antique typewriter. Warnings: Word Count: ~3000
Just His Type
For all his embracing of new discoveries in the wizarding world, Percy always had an affection for things that were old and sometimes fragile. The glasses he wore to work were new lenses set in delicate gold-plated wire, fifty years old and tarnished around the corners. Sure, he could afford the spell to correct his eyesight, but he liked the way he looked in the glasses and even more, he liked the idea that they had been around long before his birth. Living alone, he had few expenses. There was only one of him to feed and he preferred to borrow books from the local library rather than buy them. His furnishing was minimalist and the only dates he went on were group outings to concerts, maybe lectures.
That was, until the day of the typewriter.
Until the day of the typewriter, Percy would have said that his best find in terms of old items was the watch he wore. It had to be wound every day and the black leather strap was near green around the buckle. With a round bezel and simple black numbers, it could have been any watch in any shop in Diagon Alley. What set this watch apart was the design in the middle, a cartoon mouse with overlarge ears wearing short red trousers. Despite it not looking like much, the Muggle in the shop that sold it to him swore it was rare and worth more than its worn band would suggest.
Percy didn't know if the Muggle was telling the truth, but when he saw the watch it made him smile, and that made it worth every Knut (or penny, he supposed) he paid for it. Few things amused him on a daily basis, but that watch and its silly cartoon mouse was one of them. It was a smile he kept to himself, until the day of the typewriter.
On Saturdays, Percy liked to don what he called his Muggle costume and scour Muggle shops for curiosities. He kept the suit perfectly pressed, and the navy blue color was as deep now as it had been the day he bought it three years before. In his suit, he would visit shop after shop in search of vintage eye-catching items. He found ancient books, quill and ink sets in prime condition ("How anyone ever wrote with those, I'll never know," was the Muggle shopkeeper's response to his purchase), burnished rings with interesting gemstones, and once a box of flat black discs that he was told were records, but what they were records of he didn't know. Then one sunny Saturday in late November of 2004, he was standing in front of a strange iron contraption and heard a not unfamiliar voice behind him.
"It's called a typewriter."
Percy whirled around. "Excuse me, but I…"
"Muggles used to use it to write letters before the computer was invented."
"Harry Potter! It's… I haven't seen you in… How long has it been?" Since the Battle of Hogwarts Percy was on better terms with his family, but there was still the wound from his separation of three years that hadn't fully healed. He only spent Christmas with them every other year or so. Ron had long since moved into his own flat, so Potter didn't spend as much time at The Burrow.
"A little while. Erm… how are you doing?"
Looking back over his shoulder at the -- What had Potter called it? A typer? -- Percy replied, "Very well, thank you. I'm still at the Ministry, but I'm working in the Department of Magical Laws and Contracts. Not a judge yet, but I do have a very important and interesting job working on the language of the law."
Potter's smile was slight as he pushed his glasses up his nose. "I'm sure you find it very interesting. But I think the real question here is: Why are you so interested in that typewriter?"
"Typewriter," Percy repeated to himself. And how did Potter know what it was, anyway? Aloud, he said, "I just thought it… it looked intriguing. You said…what did you say it was for?"
Potter reached around Percy, pressing a few of the typewriter's buttons. Cla-chink. Cla-chink. Cla-chink. "Muggles used to put paper in it. See this round thing in the middle? The paper would wrap around it and you push the buttons in order to make words. At the end of the line you push the round thing back into place. Much faster than quill and ink."
"Faster?" This interested Percy. "Muggles did their office work on this?"
"Yes, until they got computers. I'll… I'll explain computers another time."
"Fascinating." Percy peered into the typewriter, which had the name Underwood in brass-colored letters on a black background. When he pushed the keys, corresponding levers rose to meet the black round thing that Potter said went behind the paper. The letters weren't in order and Percy had to hunt and peck his way around them to make a word as simple as his name. It smelled of chemicals and when he touched the raised surfaces where the letters would hit the paper, his fingertips came away black.
He had to have that typewriter. There was something about it that was the antithesis of magic at its most basic. The simple act of writing had been turned into patterns and iron, ink into ribbon. Percy never kept a diary but he thought having this typewriter might inspire him to do so. Just touching the smooth metal-ringed keys, he could hear the clacking around him as he sat at the desk in his bedroom, scribing the events of his days. Since it was forged but not electric, Percy reasoned, this typewriter was a bridge between the Muggle and wizarding worlds, something that took the beauty of ink on parchment and regulate it, make it readable for all, give it rules. The typewriter had to be old, at least from Grindelwald's time, if not before.
"I'll take it."
He hadn't realized he'd said that aloud until Potter said, "Fine, on one condition."
This took Percy by surprise. "What condition?"
"Some night," Potter replied as he grinned, "you have to invite me over so I can use it."
The grin on Potter's face brought heat to Percy's cheeks. He'd barely spoken three sentences to Potter in as many years, and now Potter was inviting himself over? "I… erm… sure. I'll, ah, send you an owl."
Percy liked to think that he was a man who kept his promises. Just days after his encounter with Potter, he scrawled out a letter inviting Potter to dinner at his flat. He considered a more neutral meeting place, but Percy enjoyed cooking and rarely had the chance to do it for anyone but himself. By the time Potter arrived, Percy's flat was spotless. The typewriter had a place of honor at the center of his desk. The candlesticks in the middle of the table were another find of Percy's, Victorian-era silver, and he had just finished lighting the second tall white candle when Potter climbed out of his fireplace.
The first words out of Potter's mouth were, "Damn. I was sort of hoping you'd be wearing that suit."
"What?" responded Percy, stunned and feeling stupid.
"The suit you were wearing when you bought the typewriter. I was hoping you'd be wearing it."
"Oh! Well, I suppose I could change…"
"Wear it next time."
As the evening went on, Percy couldn't decide if he was excited or unnerved by how forward Potter was. Despite this confusion, he found that he greatly enjoyed Potter's company. Potter…Harry, he supposed…had some of the same interest in antiquities and confessed to having a priceless collection of cursed ivory boxes, relics from the nineteenth century. They talked Quidditch and music and before Percy knew it, the white candles had burned down and the cartoon mouse on his watch told him it was past midnight.
"Harry, I apologize, but I have to be at work early tomorrow."
"But you haven't shown me the typewriter yet."
"You're right. Ah… Would you like to see it now?"
Harry thought on this for a moment and said, "Another time. You'll wear your suit and type a letter for me."
That had been three months ago. In those three months, Percy and Harry had kissed, laughed, fucked, and talked, but they had yet to do anything with the Underwood other than admire it in passing on their way to Percy's bed.
Tonight, Harry knocked instead of appearing through the fireplace. Percy hadn't been expecting him for another forty-five minutes and panicked. He needed a shower and he hadn't started dinner. A quick glance in the hall mirror revealed that at least he didn't have ink at the corner of his mouth the way he had last week. Upon opening the door, Percy caught the scent of grass and sweat and fresh air.
"Mind if I use your shower?" Harry asked. Percy would have been horrified at the thought of showing up at Harry's house in such a state. He still had his broom in one hand. A gym bag was slung across his body and he was in his Quidditch practice robes.
And it rather turned Percy on.
"Come in." He took Harry's bag and broom and set them in a corner next to the polished oak coat rack. Playing it cool didn't come easy to Percy. When things didn't go as he planned he often got flustered. "There are…erm… let me get you a towel. I have clean ones in the cupboard. Do you want anything in particular for dinner? I was planning on—"
He was cut off midsentence by Harry's lips on his. For a moment, Percy was annoyed. People who could live without everything thought out beforehand drove him to insanity. It wasn't that he didn't like kissing Harry, but…
Never mind that. Harry's hands were on Percy's waist, around his back, in his hair. Percy set his annoyance aside and let Harry take over. Months into their relationship it always surprised Percy a little how much he could like the simple act of kissing. Harry's mouth was soft, hot from the day of physical exertion. He slid his tongue along Percy's and Percy forgot the stress of his day. He relaxed his upper back and exhaled deeply when Harry pulled away for a second.
"Hard day at work?" whispered Harry, kneading the muscles at the top of Percy's shoulders.
"Mmhmm." Harry had strong hands and the deep, welcome pain of his touch made Percy groan.
"Shower?"
"But you're the one who's dirty."
This made Harry double over laughing. "I'm sorry, it was just the way you said it. You know, you need a hobby."
"I collect antiques!"
"Get your arse in the shower, Weasley." Taking Percy by the arm, Harry dragged him across the living room to the bathroom. There was barely enough space in there to fit one person, much less two, but Harry squeezed around Percy and turned the taps in the shower. Between testing the temperature of the water, he opened Percy's robes and pulled at his belt. "Come on. You'll feel better. I promise."
Percy smiled. "Promise?"
"Have I ever lied to you?"
"Not about this."
Tugging off Percy's trousers, Harry tossed them into the hall. He stepped into the shower, then offered his hand.
"You're dripping everywhere," Percy admonished as he allowed Harry to pull him over the side of the tub.
"Swear I'll make it up to you." Harry had barely finished his sentence when he and Percy were skin to skin with room for barely so much as a drop of water between them. Vapor curled around their bodies as the stream pounded on Percy's back.
"Hey, let me in there for a second," said Harry. He bent under the spray, slicking his hair back. "Cold out here."
"This shower isn't very comfortable for more than one person."
Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Some days I wonder about you, Percy. Turn around."
"Yes, sir." Percy obeyed. Moments later he sighed in bliss as Harry soaped his back. "Perhaps I should take orders from you more often."
"I think you should take all orders from me, all the time," replied Harry. He lifted Percy's arm, scrubbing down his side. "Wouldn't you like that? My very own prefect." Soapy hands came around Percy's front, tweaking a nipple. "I'd let you enforce a few rules, maybe bring me water during practice…" Harry slid his hands down Percy's chest to his stomach past his navel, toying with the curly hair just above Percy's cock. "And if you're good and do everything I tell you to do, you get some of this." With the length of his torso flush against Percy's back, Harry sucked at the curve where Percy's neck met his shoulder. Percy moaned. He couldn't get close enough to Harry, warm enough. Reaching backward, he pulled Harry's hips tighter to his own.
"You know," said Harry just above the sound of the pounding water, "I think I get why you're such a control freak all the time. It's because you're so damn sexy when you're not in control that no one would be able to control themselves around you."
This made Percy give a snort of laughter. "You don't have to try to get me… oh…"
Harry wouldn't let Percy finish his sentence. Instead, he wrapped his fingers around Percy's erect cock, stroking back and forth slowly. This reduced Percy's words to whimpers. "Not…fair…"
"I don't have to play fair," taunted Harry, quickening his strokes. "You don't get to boss me around."
Percy couldn't form words, but he knew what he wanted. He had to admit to himself that he'd never been good with delayed gratification in the bedroom – or the shower – and he arched back, still holding tightly to Harry's hips. He could feel Harry's cock hard against his cleft. "Please…"
"You always have such nice manners," said Harry, forming a circle with his thumb and forefinger at the base of Percy's cock and squeezing. He stepped back for a moment and said, "Bend down and put your hands on the end of the tub."
Percy did as he was told. For good measure, he bent his knees as well. He was noticeably taller than Harry and was experienced enough to know that positions like this worked best if the height difference was neutralized. No. He shouldn't be thinking about the geometry of sex in this moment. Not that he could help himself. His thoughts were just naturally organized like that.
Whatever structure Percy had to his thoughts was lost the moment Harry carefully, caringly, pressed the tip of his cock into Percy. Percy shuddered a little, curling his toes into the bath mat. Water dripped from his hair down his cheeks as Harry thrust. He was gentle at first, sliding in, breathing, sliding out. Neither one of them spoke. The small sounds of pleasure they both made were lost in the sound of the rushing shower. His rhythm and position set, Harry reached around Percy's waist and grasped his cock again, sliding his hand back and forth at a near frenetic pace. Percy was begging under his breath. Please. More. Faster. Now. Please. Oh God.
It took Harry only moments to bring Percy to coming, Percy's cry of release echoing off the tile walls. He barely noticed that Harry exploded into orgasm only seconds later, holding Percy to him as tightly as his strength would allow. As they both descended from their peaks, cheeks hot with effort, water washed away any evidence that they had shared this moment.
Harry stepped back under the spray, which was now starting to grow cold. Quickly, he washed himself and shut off the tap. Both he and Percy were still breathing hard, their knees weak.
"Here." With a light kiss on Percy's lips, Harry grabbed towels for both of them. He stepped out of the shower and wiped condensation from the gilt-frame mirror over Percy's sink, a find at the same shop where Percy had bought the watch with the cartoon mouse. Because there was barely enough room for them to move in the bathroom, Percy headed for his bedroom, wrapping himself in his terrycloth dressing gown.
"So. You going to type me that letter tonight?" Harry asked as he entered Percy's bedroom, the towel slung low around his waist. The typewriter sat in the center of Percy's desk, dust-free and gleaming.
Percy laughed, rubbing his hair with his towel. "To the head of the Department of Magical Laws and Contracts," he dictated. "Please note that effective immediately, I will be serving as Harry Potter's personal assistant and water carrier at Quidditch games. Thank you for the opportunity to work for you."
"Do you even know how to type?"
"Doesn't matter." Percy shrugged. He took off his glasses, held them up to the light, and rubbed the lenses with the hem of his robe. "I'll learn."