A gift for our members and watchers! TITLE: The Office RECIPIENT: Our members and watchers PAIRING: Percy/Oliver Wood RATING: NC-17 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 is intended.
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 bathroom.
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. Hopefully.
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 succession.
"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 stall.
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.
Wood—
Thanks for the use of your pen yesterday. It came in quite handy.
P. Weasley
Percy left the pen with the note and sauntered, grinning, back to his own office.
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 entirely unacceptable.
"Wood."
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.
Oliver groaned.
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 himself.
He glanced around casually, wanting to be certain, but he was absolutely alone. Good, he thought, and then smiled. Excellent.
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."
Oliver froze.
"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 pervert.
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 shifted uncomfortably.
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. He sighed.
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—
Jesus.
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 instantly.