|percyficmod (percyficmod) wrote in percy_ficathon,|
@ 2007-09-19 14:35:00
|Entry tags:||fic, nc-17, percy/oliver, slash|
A gift for our members and watchers!
TITLE: The Office
RECIPIENT: Our members and watchers
PAIRING: Percy/Oliver Wood
WARNINGS: Crack, non-magical AU, object insertion, general weirdness
WORD COUNT: ~1750
DISCLAIMER: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property
of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement
Thursday, 8.30 A.M.
Percy Weasley liked to get to work early. For one thing, his boss
approved—"Shows initiative, Westlake, and I like that in a man," he'd
say, clapping Percy roughly on the back. For another, it allowed him
to smile smugly at his tardy co-workers as they straggled in at
half-past nine, mumbling vaguely about traffic.
But the real reason was that he liked a nice morning wank in the men's
Percy groaned around his fist and leaned back against the cool plastic
partition between stalls, trying to keep quiet but failing. It didn't
matter—at a half past eight, he was the only one in the office.
He'd shoved his briefs down just enough so that the elastic band
chafed pleasantly under his balls, and he was jerking roughly at his
cock, sliding the foreskin back and forth over the head in rhythmic
"Oliver, god," Percy grunted, tugging harder at himself and bucking
forward into his hand. "Jesus." He dropped his left hand from his
mouth to cup his balls, kneading and squeezing them in a way that
would probably be painful if he wasn't so damn turned-on.
He was getting close, and he knew he had to do it now or never; he
slowed down a bit and reached into his pocket, withdrawing the small,
hard metal object. Percy dipped his index finger into the slit at the
head of his cock and shivered as he quickly stuck the instrument into
his mouth and licked at it, getting it nice and wet.
Then a shift in position, a slightly awkward reach and it was there,
rubbing bluntly against the tight muscle of his sphincter. Groaning,
Percy squeezed his cock and shoved at the same time, feeling his arse
protest and then give in, sucking greedily at the cold intrusion. He
gasped, fingers clutching and jerking at himself, doing the best he
could to keep up a rhythm as he slid the deliciously unyielding object
in and out of himself.
He felt his orgasm approaching and reached for it, rubbing
frantically, his hand a blur on his hot flesh. "Oh, fuck me," he
muttered. "Fuck." The incredible tingling heat built in his thighs,
his arse, his balls, and finally rushed through his cock, sending
long, slippery ropes of come shuddering out of him and onto the
opposite wall. Percy gasped breathily, stroking himself through the
climax and its shivering aftershocks, leaning against the partition
for support as his knees nearly buckled.
After a moment he sighed and slid the little object out of his arse,
smiling faintly at the way his muscles gripped it like they'd rather
not let go. Percy tugged his pants and trousers back up, fumbling about for some
paper towels. He quickly wiped down the wall, glanced around, and,
satisfied that no evidence of his indiscretion remained, straightened up and left the
He took some time washing his hands and peering critically at his
reflection—he looked a bit too flushed for his liking, but it was
June, and he supposed he could always blame it on the sun being
particularly hot that morning.
Slipping the small piece of metal into his pocket, he cleared his
throat once, plastered a smug-yet-ingratiatingly-efficient smile on
his face, and left the restroom, feeling utterly pleased with himself.
Percy glanced at his watch as he strode purposefully through the
office, manoeuvring around the rows of desks, and satisfied that he
still had nearly ten minutes before even the morning janitor arrived,
paused at Oliver Wood's desk. He tore a sheet from a notepad and
pulled the little metal item out of his pocket, uncapped it.
Thanks for the use of your pen yesterday. It came in quite handy.
Percy left the pen with the note and sauntered, grinning, back to his
Friday, 4.45 P.M.
Oliver Wood glanced at the clock above his desk for the tenth time in
so many minutes. It was Friday, it was five (nearly) and he was bored.
He poked listlessly at the obscenely large stack of reports on his
desk and sighed. These can wait until Monday, he thought. No point in
starting them now. Besides, what kind of sadist assigns expense
reports on a Friday?
There wasn't really a point in asking that question either, because
Oliver knew what kind of sadist would assign his least favourite task
on an already unbearable day: Percy Weasley.
Oliver entertained himself for a few minutes by imagining a full-scale
confrontation in which he stormed into Percy's office and demanded to
know whether or not he was sniffing glue. Since that, however, would
probably cost him his job, Oliver settled for throwing scathing looks
at the back of Percy's head whenever he emerged from his office.
He briefly considered wadding up a report and throwing it at Percy,
imagined the way he would flush in annoyance, little blotches of
colour high on his pale cheeks and neck. Sometimes Oliver wondered
exactly how far down that blush went, and—
What am I doing? he thought angrily. Stop it, Wood.
Oliver didn't like Percy for two reasons. The first was largely due to
the fact that he was a sociopath and an egomaniac and just generally a
menace to society, but the second was a bit more complicated. Oliver
didn't like Percy because, well, he liked him, and that was
Oliver nearly jumped out of his seat at the sound of Percy's neatly
clipped voice so nearby.
"Y-yes," he stammered.
"Good thing you got an early start on those expense reports," Percy
said, and smiled sarcastically, "because I need you—"
Oliver mentally tape-recorded those words, and the Percy in his head
said, "I need you. I need you."
"—to finish that Davidson business."
He goggled at Percy. "I thought Cumberland was on that!"
Percy frowned, just slightly. "He's gone. Some nonsense about his
mother being in hospital."
"When do you need it by?"
"Yesterday," Percy said, and strode off.
Friday, 6.27 P.M.
Percy signed his name with a flourish and placed the completed form
neatly in the out-going mailbox. He'd had to find busy work to occupy
himself since five o'clock, because he was almost too excited to sit
still. He loved Fridays for the simple reason that he was the only one
who ever stayed late, and therefore he had the entire office to
He glanced around casually, wanting to be certain, but he was
absolutely alone. Good, he thought, and then smiled.
All of the sudden he was at Oliver's desk, with no memory of having
walking there, but his hands were on it, touching, stroking, testing
the cool wood with shaky fingers. He opened a drawer and nearly gasped
at its contents—the stapler, lean and lithe, sitting sulkily in the
bright fluorescent light, the plump little pads of paper, the sleek
pens and vulnerable pencils.
"It's okay," he murmured, running a finger along the light blonde wood
of one particularly beautiful number two. "I've got you now."
He reached down to unbutton his trousers. "Daddy's got you," he
muttered, and slid a hand into his pants.
Friday, 6.31 P.M.
The one thing Oliver had not expected to see at half-past six when he
returned to the office to retrieve forgotten file-folder was Percy
Weasley defiling his personal desk.
And apparently rather enjoying it, he thought as Percy made a sort of
strangled groaning noise. That sly dog. Maybe all that extra
managing wasn't just meant to torture me.
Percy muttered something under his breath and Oliver, straining to
hear, thought he caught the word "Daddy."
Suddenly Percy moaned. "Oliver."
"God, Oliver. Don't stop."
Percy was doing something besides the obvious that Oliver couldn't
see, rubbing something against his chest with his left hand while his
right was otherwise occupied. Despite his better judgement, Oliver
stepped forward, some part of him wanting to see even though he was
already berating himself mentally for being an enormously sleazy
It was a business card. Oliver gaped. Percy was molesting himself with
a business card, with no apparent thought to paper cuts, and at the
moment Oliver would have given good odds that it was his own.
Christ. So that's his game. Oliver swallowed and kept watching.
Percy looked decidedly debauched, what with one hand down his trousers
and the other using "Oliver Wood, Ext. 548" for undeniably
disreputable purposes. He had that flush again, and Oliver couldn't
quite quell certain reactions his body seemed to find appropriate. He
A few minutes later, as Percy was getting rather creative with a
double-sided tape dispenser, Oliver had developed a plan.
Next Friday, 6.29 P.M.
Percy shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other as he watched
the second hand on the clock. Nearly time now, he thought. He
was standing at the reception desk, tapping his fingers nervously
against its smooth wood surface (but not nearly as smooth as
his, he thought), eagerly anticipating his weekly ritual.
Just as the clock struck half-past six a phone rang and Percy jumped
as if stung. It was the phone in his office, and let it ring,
he thought, but then remembered a possible call from Central Office.
It'll just be a few minutes. I can wait. I've waited all week.
He opened the door to his office and for a moment thought he was
hallucinating (it came to him briefly that perhaps he should cut back
on the glue-sniffing), but then the room solidified and—
Oliver Wood, in the flesh, was spread out across his desk like a
calendar model, completely naked except for numerous sticky notes that
adorned his body like little road maps. His arms were above his head
and he was restrained with the phone cord, which tangled around his
smooth wrists and held him utterly captive.
Percy stepped forward, still in a daze, and plucked one of the yellow
notes off Oliver's rippling abdomen. Underneath it "lick me" was
written in black Sharpie directly on his skin, and Percy groaned.
He glanced down then, getting his first really good look at Oliver's
straining cock, which was surprisingly unadorned. His eyes travelled
down further, and then he gasped, because protruding slightly from
Oliver's arse was a little bit of silver that he well recognized as
that particularly useful pen.
Percy's eyes roved back up to Oliver's face, and Oliver grinned at
him. "Lock the door," he said, voice husky, and Percy obeyed
"Office hours are now open, Mr. Weasley."
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