Summary: A chance encounter with Neville Longbottom leads Percy Weasley to explore a new side of himself.
Percy couldn't keep his mind on his alphabetising. Ever since Neville Longbottom had brought his magnificent arse to the Ministry that afternoon—Percy had caught a glimpse of the younger man in the Atrium and, much to his embarrassment, had followed him a bit—all he could think about was spreading those taut cheeks and sating his inconvenient appetite for what lay between them: Longbottom's screams of pleasure.
It might be arrogant, but Percy knew his own strengths, and rimming was one of his areas of expertise when it came to sex. Being discreet, it wasn't often that Percy had occasion to indulge his desires—and Longbottom was most likely straight—but that couldn't stop his mind from reeling at the thoughts he was having. Giving into them, he shocked his assistant by delegating the abecedarian task he'd been ignoring and took himself to the "out of order" loo located one floor down.
He wasn't in the stall ten seconds before his prick was in his hand and he was stroking it in time to the beat of his heart.
A long, low whistle stopped him. Alarmed, Percy looked up to see Longbottom grinning sheepishly down at him over the top of the stall.
"Sorry, Weasley, but you got going so quickly that you missed my, er, my tapping," Longbottom told him, his cheeks reddening. "Er, unless you were just ignoring my tapping?"
Don't say anything stupid, Percy told himself, his hand on his softening cock. Opportunities like this never happen to—"Longbottom, if you want a fuck, get in here," Percy demanded, feeling rather bold in the face of the other wizard's obvious nervousness.
It didn't take Longbottom long to join him, but Percy steeled himself to be firm while waiting. Heroic bloke or no, Longbottom seemed to respond well to authority.
"Kneel," Percy ordered, when Longbottom entered the stall. "Fu—oh! Very . . . very nice."
Longbottom hummed happily, and soon, rather mortifyingly so, Percy was thrusting without any kind of control into his mouth.
"Well, that was . . . er, good."
Panting, Percy stared at Longbottom's flushed face and wondered who it was that had told him about this particular loo.
Don't ask. Just assume that he'll do what—"I think that was better than 'good', and you may call upon me this evening at eight sharp if you're interested in something more," Percy said, doing up his flies and pulling a card out of one pocket before offering it to Longbottom and straightening his robes.
He took his time. He wanted to appear methodical rather than out of his depth, for he certainly felt he was. Percy had never looked for a submissive partner; he'd thought he'd preferred dominant ones until he'd seen Neville react to his demands.
Without another word, he left the stall, returned to his office, brushed aside his assistant's query, and locked his door. Glancing at the clock, he could see that he had four long hours to wait to discover whether or not he'd just made an arse out of himself.
But if the wait brings me Longbottom's arse, it'll be worth it.
When a knock sounded on the door to his flat promptly at eight, Percy almost came from the excitement of having not made an arse of himself.
"Yes!" No! "Er, be right there!" he called.
It wasn't the only thing he shouted that evening, but, by dawn, it was Neville who was hoarse—and Percy, astounded by the application of authority.