A Hasty Transition from Prim to Perfect (NC-17; Neville/Percy, Arthur; 842 words): Percy's mortification leads to a welcome release.
Ever since Percy's visit to the Preserve when he'd interrupted Charlie and Viktor Krum "teaching Harry to fly without a wand," Percy had felt . . . odd. He wasn't stupid; he understood very well that some men enjoyed . . . each other, but it was wrong, wasn't it? Most irregular, at any rate, and certainly not talked about—Percy, however, could think of nothing else. The non-standard usage of one's "wand," well, why should it be so very wrong?
Because it is, that's why. Because it's different.
Percy had no desire to be any such thing. He only wished that he could stop thinking about having his cock sucked.
Merlin, but Harry had the proper mouth for it. "No. No, stop that at once," he chastised himself, as he walked into the Burrow's kitchen.
He wasn't about to ponder anything irregular under his parents' roof.
"Hullo, Percy," Neville greeted him.
With his shirt off.
Covered in dirt.
"What? Oh, Longbottom, didn't see you there."
A queer expression crossed Neville's face. "But you were staring." Before Percy could respond, Neville continued, "It's only that I've been helping your mum with the spring garden. Her foot's better, but she needs help with the carrying."
"Is Ginny here?" Percy asked, helping himself to tea so that he wouldn't have to stare.
Only, drawing near the pot meant approaching the table, and so close to it, he could smell the exertion on Neville.
Oh, that's . . . . "Oh."
"No, she had some errands to run. Fancy helping out for a bit?" Neville asked, as if Percy's "oh" had been a perfectly normal follow-up to his question about Ginny.
"I don't do that," Percy snapped, before sipping from his cup in embarrassment.
Neville laughed. "P'raps not. Well, back to work, then."
"Damn it," Percy muttered, moving quickly towards the window so that he could watch Neville's progress. "Indecent, that's what it is."
His father's voice startled him, and what he said required no translation. "I should say so, son. Damnably indecent, the way you won't let yourself be happy."
"Father." Percy was mortified. How does he know?
"I miss the time when you'd call me dad, d'you know that?" Arthur said, helping himself to tea and a biscuit. "You were a sweet boy—and so much more happy then than now."
Percy swallowed, unable to think of anything to say.
"I could distract your mother, you know. I'm sure she'd like a bit of a rest."
"You . . . you can't seriously mean for me to . . . to—"
"I can, and I do," his father replied cheerfully, popping another biscuit into his mouth. "Honestly, Percy, do you think she doesn't know you fancy boys? Your mother's the one who told me—well, and Hermione, of course, but—"
"Oh, please, do stop talking. Yes, do. Um, do go distract Mother—and could we never, ever, speak of this again?"
Chuckling, Arthur left the way Neville had—and Percy fled back through the Floo.
He wasn't back in his flat ten minutes when Neville showed up at his door.
"All right," Neville promised.
Only he lied.
Percy was slumped against his door when a puff of ash preceded Neville's form through the Floo.
"What are you—"
"Doing here?" Neville asked, striding across the room and offering Percy his hand, which Percy took because it was expected.
He was surprised to find himself pulled up against Neville, however, and more than a little chagrined to realise that there was no hiding his erection from the other man—until he felt Neville's prick against his thigh.
"Listen, Perce," Neville said, his voice low, "I'm all out of excuses to come 'round the Burrow on your visiting day, so we've just got to go to dinner. Dinner, and then after dinner drinks, and then, perhaps, dancing, and uh, well, a walk. That would be three dates. That would be enough time to properly see each other before I could do this."
And there was Neville's tongue, sliding along Percy's and inside of his mouth as if it belonged there, as if it were the most right and regular thing in the world—and Percy groaned and came in his pants.
"That happens," Neville told him, pushing Percy into the wall before he could bolt to his bedroom. "That happens," he repeated, reaching out to fist his fingers in Percy's hair with one hand while undoing his trousers with his other.
Percy started when he realised what Neville was doing to himself in front of him, and then something snapped inside of him.
"Fuck propriety," he practically growled, sinking to his knees.
The sucking part was fairly straightforward, and it didn't take Neville long to come, himself, and then they were both slumped against the wall and each other, breathing heavily.
"Wha—at?" Percy asked, between breaths.
"The trick to you's not so difficult, I reckon."
"I don't understand."
"Just don't give you time to over-think things, and you're perfect."
With those words, what could have been the most sloppy, improper, and mortifying moment of Percy's life became one of his best.