Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/189942.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Percy_Weasley/Peter_Pettigrew
  Character:
      Percy_Weasley, Peter_Pettigrew
  Additional Tags:
      very_mild_Dom/Sub
  Stats:
      Published: 2007-08-12 Words: 9927
****** A Boy and His Rat ******
by MaxWrite
Summary
     One night, Percy, stressed and lonely, discovers exactly who he’s
     been sharing his bed with.
Percy Weasley lived in fear that someone would find out. But no one ever
questioned the plain brown packages he received once a month. Everyone was
certain that anything being delivered to him must be educational or simply
uninteresting. Percy disliked having to lie, so he never agreed with these
assumptions outright, but he did nothing to discourage them either. Charlie was
the only one who knew the truth, for he had been the one who’d helped Percy, an
underage wizard, to obtain the subscription in the first place.
Every time Percy peeled the wrapping off a new issue of Wizard Wank Monthly, he
could hear his mother’s proud voice in his head, gushing to others about how
he’d probably gotten a subscription to McLeary’s or Wizarding National or some
other political/wizarding world news publication. “He wants to be Minister for
Magic someday, you know,” she often said. If she knew what he was really
spending his money on, what Errol – the same owl who delivered their Christmas
cards to their relatives each year – was bringing to Percy every first of the
month … Well, he tried not to think about how her opinion of him would change.
On this night Percy was as careful as always about locking his bedroom door,
checking it twice, pacing nervously for several minutes between checks. From
the top of his armoire, Scabbers watched him, his grey whiskers twitching.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Percy snapped. “I feel guilty enough; I don’t
need judgement from a rat. I know no one thinks I, of all people, would give
into such … basic needs … But I have to, all right? You don’t know what it’s
like. You don’t understand the pressure I’m under.”
The rat’s beady eyes stared, unblinking, at Percy, who had to look away,
finding the tiny black gaze too penetrating, too knowing.
“This is the absolute last time, I swear,” muttered Percy, as he checked his
lock a third, and final, time. “I’m cancelling my subscription. I shouldn’t
have something like this delivered to the house with my younger siblings here,
it isn’t right. I thought I needed the, erm … assistance. But I’m sure I can
get on without it now. Just one more night …”
He stepped to the centre of the room and dropped to his knees, looking woefully
down at the small oval rug his grandmother had knitted him. He pushed it aside,
revealing the one floorboard in his room that was slightly askew. He pulled up
that floorboard and reached inside the small space it concealed. He pulled out
the unwrapped magazine, barely glancing at the small stack of back issues also
hidden in the space and then scurried to his bed and climbed in.
With the covers up just below his crotch, Percy held the magazine in one hand
and his solid length in the other. He began to stroke, trying desperately to
ignore his audience; on the night stand, Scabbers had settled in to watch,
looking on curiously.
“We’ve been through this,” Percy growled through clenched teeth, glancing
sidelong at Scabbers. “It’s bizarre when you watch. Shoo! Get lost!”
But Scabbers did not move. Percy wondered if Scabbers could possibly understand
what his master was doing. Percy, previously annoyed by the animal’s seeming
indifference to everything, would try, at these times, to take comfort in the
fact that Scabbers really didn’t seem very bright. Unfortunately, when Percy
engaged in this particular activity, Scabbers’ whiskers would twitch with
interest and he’d suddenly appear quite alert and engaged. Percy had no choice
but to dismiss this sign of intelligence as his own paranoid imagination, a
manifestation of his guilt. Thinking otherwise made it very difficult to get on
with his task.
With a heavy outward breath, Percy stopped and glared over at Scabbers. “I know
you understand me,” he growled.. “I know you know what I’m saying when I tell
you to go – away.”
But soon everything melted away, all his worries and disgust with himself
smothered by pleasure. Even his tiny audience was forgotten as his skilful
rubbing brought him to just the place he wanted to be: lost in sensation, being
caressed, in his mind, by many rugged hands. His narrow chest rose and fell
fast as his fantasy escalated, growing dirtier by the second, pleasure pulsing
between his legs, spreading, radiating out, making his thighs and buttocks
tense. The muscles in his arm began to burn with soreness due to his tireless
efforts, but his did not stop. He couldn’t. The magazine fell from his hand and
he closed his eyes, panting through his thin, pink lips.
And he exploded, sending strings of wet warmth onto his belly. Breathing fast,
trying not to moan too loudly, he milked himself as his body quivered.
But he needn’t have tried so hard not to make too much noise. The feeling faded
away all too quickly, leaving Percy lying there warm and sweaty, staring at the
ceiling, barely tired enough to feel sleepy.
“Well, that was … good,” he said, trying to convince himself of that. He was
slightly less tense than when he’d started, but it was more often than not that
his climax left him wanting more, just like this one had.
“Get out of the way, Scabbers,” he ordered, reaching over for his wand and
accidentally bumping the rat with his hand. Scabbers shifted lazily so Percy
could retrieve his wand and clean himself up, then watched as his master heaved
himself up off the bed and shuffled over to the hole in the floor to hide his
magazine.
Finally he settled back in bed, pulling the covers up over himself. He took off
his glasses and stared at the ceiling, thinking about going back to school in
the fall and having to get top marks and having to be impressive and perfect
and ensure that he made Prefect the following year and work his way up through
the Ministry and make everyone proud and show everyone that a Weasley could
indeed be a proper Ministry official.
With an exhausted sigh he muttered ‘goodnight’ to Scabbers and rolled over,
turning his back to the rat. He closed his eyes and tried to will his mind to
quiet down so he could sleep, feeling just as tense now as he had before he’d
played with himself.
Sleep didn't come quickly enough, however, and Percy could still feel Scabbers’
tiny stare trained on him. He turned slowly over to glare at the rat. Scabbers
was still situated at the edge of the night stand, eyeing Percy almost
pleadingly.
"Oh, all right!" Percy hissed, reaching over and scooping Scabbers up into his
hands. He brought Scabbers down beneath the covers and let him snuggle up to
his chest. Scabbers shifted around a bit, but finally settled down. Percy
couldn't help but feel, as he had many times before, that Scabbers had been
searching for his heartbeat to settle next to. He seemed to find it, because he
curled up right where Percy's heart was steadily beating and dropped instantly
off to sleep.
                                     * * *
That night, and not for the first time, Percy had feverish dreams of failure,
of failing every class he took, of never making Prefect, of letting down his
whole family, of being found out to be the horny little deviant that he was.
And, also not for the first time, these anxiety-ridden night terrors were
interrupted by the softest kiss, just on his cheek; a gentle pressing of lips
that seemed to diffuse the nightmare, make the scene of humiliation and
ridicule break apart and fly off in all directions, leaving only calm and a
very perplexed Percy, casting about for this mysterious stranger.
The mystery person never stayed though, and Percy would always wake from this
dream with the distinct feeling that he wasn’t alone.
That’s ridiculous, he always thought as he lay in bed, slowly waking up, eyes
still closed. It’s a silly dream. Means nothing.
A few hours after falling asleep, he awoke from that very dream with that same
feeling that someone was there with him. He blinked into the darkness,
surveying the familiar silhouettes of all his things; his desk and chair, his
coat rack which faithfully held his travelling cloak, the pictures on the
walls, the man in the chair by the window …
With a start that made him gasp and his heart leap into his throat, Percy sat
bolt upright, grabbing his wand and pointing it at the foreign shape across the
room. “Lumos!” his called into the dark, squinting against the harshness of the
bluish-white glow that instantly sprung from his wand tip. “Who are you? How
did you get in here?”
The roundish figure flinched when he saw Percy’s wand, raising his hands to
show he was unarmed, and slowly began to stand, cowering against Percy’s
curtains.
“Stay where you are!” Percy ordered with convincing authority, though his wand
hand was shaking terribly, making the spotlight that it cast quiver.
“P-please, Percy,” said the stranger with a slight squeak in his voice, staying
as still as his trembling limbs would allow. “I mean you no harm, I swear.”
“How do you know my name?” asked Percy, narrowing his eyes. He began to slide
off the bed, clutching the sheets to the lower half of his naked body, finally
standing and sidestepping away from his bed, toward his door, blocking it. With
a flick of his wand hand, the torches round his room flickered to life,
illuminating the space in a soft, warm glow.
“It’s me, Percy,” the man begged. “Peter – er, Scabbers. Your rat. Please don’t
…” He trailed off, lowering his face, partially hiding it behind one of his
small hands. Now, in the firelight, Percy could see that this man didn’t look
like much of a threat; shorter than himself with delicate features and hands.
And he was trembling worse than ever now, his hands held up around his face,
his frightened, somewhat watery little eyes peering at Percy over top of them.
Percy frowned, squinting at the man, trying to see him clearly from across the
room, having forgotten his glasses on the night stand
“Scabbers?” Percy asked confusedly, still squinting at him. “Peter who? What
are you talking about?”
“Er,” the man stuttered, looking timidly around his hand at Percy. “My name is
Peter. But you call me … S-Scabbers.”
There was silence then as the torches flickered, making their shadows dance on
the walls, and as Percy perfected his squint so that he could make out enough
of the man’s face to realise that he looked familiar.
Peter Pettigrew watched as Percy scrutinised him, and scrutinised Percy right
back, trying to discern when it might be safe to move. It was clear Percy had
gotten caught up in trying to figure out why this stranger looked so familiar
to him. Peter jumped at the chance, taking the opportunity to make a move.
“Er, your glasses,” he squeaked, small eyes darting over to the night stand
“All the better to see me with, of course?” He offered Percy a little smile,
which was not returned.
Percy blinked at him, still frowning intensely, eyes now narrowed in suspicion
rather than an attempt to bring Peter into focus. His eyes also darted over to
the night stand, but shot right back to the intruder.
“S-surely you recognise me,” said Peter. “Just a little?” He began to inch
toward the night stand, achingly slow, trembling all the way. He was hunched
low as he moved, his hands – alternately clenching into fists and wringing
themselves – up near his face as though ready to shield it at a moment’s
notice. Percy moved with him, in the opposite direction, in order to maintain
the same distance between them. He quickly reached over and tapped the doorknob
with his wand as he moved away from it; muttering under his breath a spell to
shield the lock from anyone’s touch, save for his own; now he was the only
person who could unlock the door.
“Is that wise?” asked Peter. “Locking yourself in here with me when you clearly
don’t trust me?”
“When the alternative is allowing you out into the house to do who-knows-what
to my family?” asked Percy, a steely determination hardening his gaze. “I think
it very wise, thank you … What are you doing?”
Peter had reached the night stand and was slowly, carefully, reaching down
toward it, always with one eye trained on Percy.
“What are you doing?” Percy demanded again. “Step away! I’m warning you -” But
Percy found he could not act, not even when Peter’s fingers closed on his
glasses and picked them up. It seemed a harmless enough gesture, but what was
the man up to?
Peter, still moving slowly, still trembling slightly, knowing that wand could
take him out at any second, placed the glasses on the palm of one of his hands
and held them out to Percy, taking tentative step after tentative step toward
him.
“Stay back,” instructed Percy with less conviction than before, suddenly
feeling silly threatening a man whose only wish seemed to be that he be able to
see clearly.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” said Peter, still approaching. “It’s just …
well, it isn’t like I wasn’t already here.”
When he was close enough, Percy reached out and snatched the glasses from him
with some difficulty; he had to tuck his sheets up underneath his armpit, the
same arm with his wand pointed at the intruder, and manage to somehow stay
behind the sheets while reaching for the glasses. He quickly backed up against
the wall, shoving the glasses onto his face, and then took hold of his sheets
again. Now, able to actually see all the details of Peter’s face, he could see
why this man looked so familiar.
“You,” he began, frowning in disbelief, remembering what Peter had said earlier
about Scabbers. “Are you …?”
“Your rat,” said Peter, straightening up to his full height and looking
solemnly up into Percy’s eyes. “I’m an -”
“Animagus,” breathed Percy, now goggling at him, mouth hanging open. He, too,
straightened up, leaning a bit forward, away from the wall, letting his wand
drop just a little. “This can’t be.”
“Why not?” shrugged Peter in a resigned sort of way. “Er, Master? Would you
mind terribly if I went back to my seat?”
“Master?” Percy echoed dumbly. “Oh, that’s … that’s me. I’m your … Right, well
…” He straightened up a bit, trying to look as dignified as possible with
sheets clutched to his crotch, his heart pattering uncontrollably. He jerked
his wand in the direction of the chair by the window, making Peter flinch a
bit, and replied, “Er, yes, you may.”
“Thank you.” Peter turned and went back to the chair, dropped into it
unceremoniously and gazed out at the night. “Did it never strike you as odd
that I’ve lived so long?”
“Well,” Percy began, lowering his wand completely now and stepping toward
Peter, still staring at him in disbelief. “I … just … thought … maybe you had
some hidden talent you weren’t fully showing to me. Some kind of magic keeping
you going. I don’t know!” he added defensively. “I just dismissed it.”
“Fair enough,” said Peter dejectedly. He turned his face up to look at Percy,
the torchlight flickering in his little eyes. “Would you like to sit?” he
asked, gesturing at the windowsill.
Percy looked down at his sill, then back at Peter’s face uncertainly. “Well … I
suppose if you were going to kill me -”
“I’ve had many opportunities before tonight. I sleep by your head, remember?”
“Right,” Percy said uncertainly, feeling very uncomfortable now knowing the
creature that had shared his bed all these years was a full-grown man, a
thought that caused him to remember his nakedness. He looked down at himself,
his bed sheets still clutched against his privates. “Er …” he began, but didn’t
have to finish, as Peter turned to look at him then.
“I’ve seen you naked loads of times,” he told Percy practically.
Percy cocked his head and gave him a withering look. “That really doesn’t
help.”
“All right,” said Peter quietly. “I won’t look then.” He turned away again,
staring determinedly out the window. Percy, still unsure, shuffled quickly to
the large, wooden chest at the foot of his bed where he’d discarded his
pyjamas. He dropped the sheets and dawned his pyjama pants with lightning
speed, realising too late that he’d put them on inside out. He shrugged and
donned the matching shirt, buttoning it up and finally began to approach Peter,
eyeing him with a mixture of mistrust and wonder. He perched on his windowsill,
at the opposite end from where the chair was, straight-backed, knees together,
hands resting lightly in his lap, one still clutching his wand tightly. He
pushed his glasses up with his free hand and cleared his throat.
“Why have you chosen to show yourself now?”
Peter gave another dejected little shrug. “One can only hide for so long.”
“What were you hiding from?”
“Oh, bad people,” Peter said gravely. “Terrible people. People who may even be
in connection with …” He paused, looking frightened, even trembling slightly as
he said in a squeaky whisper, “You-Know-Who.”
Percy’s eyes widened in disbelief. “No,” he said, shaking his head. He slid
away from Peter without realising it, backing right into the window-sill
corner. “Why would you say a thing like that?” he asked in a terrified whisper.
“That can’t be true.”
“But it is. I’m supposed to be dead. One of his followers was supposed to have
killed me. Nearly succeeded, too. So, I went into hiding as my Animagus form. I
couldn’t let anyone know I was still alive, or The Dark Lord’s followers
would’ve come after me again.” Peter was visibly shaken by his own words, hands
held to his chest, clutching at themselves. He hunched I his seat, almost
seeming to have folded himself up protectively.
“Why was he so keen on killing you?”
“Well, that was just the sort of thing he did. The killing. Right up his alley,
wasn’t it? But honestly, I can’t be sure. I don’t know what I did … except, of
course, side with those who were against him,” Peter added, looking sheepishly
at Percy from beneath his colourless lashes, watching for Percy’s reactions.
Percy was quiet as he took this in, still wedged into the corner of the window
sill. He let his eyes trail down and away from Peter as he thought. “Merlin,”
he finally said. “But … I’m sorry – Peter? Is that your name?”
Peter nodded, and, to Percy’s surprise, relaxed and smiled softly at him. “Yes.
No one’s called me that in ages.”
“Yes, well,” said Percy, a bit flustered and distracted by Peter’s reaction.
“Sorry about the name we gave you. I was the one who named you and, well,
suffice it to say I was a child and didn’t know any better.”
“That’s all right. I got used to it. Rather like it, actually.”
Percy arched an eyebrow. “You can’t possibly.”
“Course I do. You gave it to me and …” Peter trailed off there, something
filling his eyes, an almost sorrowful look. He glanced away quickly, back out
the window.
“Well, good then,” said Percy, sitting up a bit straighter. “I, personally, had
outgrown the name, but I couldn’t very well rename you after all these years.
But I have to ask you something: why are you only just showing yourself? He Who
… Must Not Be Named,” he said jerkily, almost unable to get the words out, “has
been gone for years now.”
“He’s gone, that’s true. But many of his followers still roam free. No one can
tell who many of them are, and though they all seem to have come back over to
our side … well, one can’t be too careful.”
“So, instead you’ve lived all this time as a rat? That doesn’t sound like a
very comfortable life.”
“It hasn’t been bad. I’ve had you as a master,” said Peter, as though that was
all the reason he would’ve needed to remain a rat.
“Well,” Percy began, finally relaxing a bit and sliding forward out of his
corner. He sat up even straighter. “That’s hardly any good reason … but thank
you.” He stared at Peter quietly for a moment, taking in the fact that he was,
and had been for some time, this man’s master.
“Is something wrong, Master?”
Percy shook his head, realising he’d been staring. Peter had referred to him as
‘master’ again, and something like electricity had collected in Percy’s
stomach. “No. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. So, um, let me ask you
something else: if you’re an Animagus, you’re obviously a wizard. You can do
magic. So, why, all these years, did you do nothing when Fred and George would
subject you to their little experiments?”
Peter smiled a broad, genuine smile that touched his eyes.
“You could’ve defended yourself in some way.”
“But I did. Didn’t you ever notice how nothing they ever did to me seemed to
work?”
Percy thought about that for a moment, thought back on all the years of his
little brothers’ mischief, all the things they’d tried to do to Scabbers. A
smile began to spread across his face, too, as he realised that Peter was
right.
“Of course,” he said. “I thought they were just rubbish at spell work.”
“No, they’re not. They’re quite good. I’m just really good at keeping myself
from getting hurt or … otherwise altered.”
Percy laughed a low, silky sort of laugh that only Peter had ever heard.
Percy’s normal laugh, the one everyone else heard, was higher, sharper, a sort
of business meeting-type chortle. This laugh was quiet, relaxed, intimate,
reserved for when Percy was alone and perhaps had read or remembered something
funny. Peter, his smile a bit softer now, watched as his master shook his head
at the thought of his little brothers’ efforts to turn his rat into something
else and failing time and time again. When Percy finally looked up at him
again, Peter quickly looked away, but Percy didn’t let it go this time.
“Why do you look at me like that?” he asked Peter.
“Like what?”
“Like … I can’t explain. It’s like …” Percy didn’t really want to say what it
was like. It was a gentle, somewhat sad look, a longing sort of look, the look
of someone on the outside who very desperately wanted to get on the inside but
knew it would never happen. “Um, it’s just odd, is all,” he said quietly.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just don’t understand …
someone as brilliant as you letting everyone disrespect him all the time.”
“What?” asked Percy with slight frown. “I don’t let anyone disrespect me.”
“No? What about the twins? They never listen to you, they say rude things about
you behind your back, and they snicker at you -”
“That’s just how they are. They’re like that with everybody.”
“More so with you than anyone else. They don’t respect you, Percy.”
“They love me. There’s no problem there.” Percy straightened up again, his
relaxed demeanour dropping away like a lead weight. “I know how it might look
to outsiders, but we’re family and we love each other. They don’t mean anything
by their friendly ribbing.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes,” he said firmly. “That’s how they show affection.”
“Maybe. It just seems like they go out of their way to poke fun at you and make
you angry. They don’t go to such lengths with anyone else.”
“Well … maybe that’s because they love me best,” said Percy in a small,
unconvincing voice, unable to hide his slight pout as he fingered the wand
still in his hands.
“Maybe it’s because they know you’ll take it. Maybe they don’t think much of
you. I’m not saying they don’t love you, of course they do, but … sometimes
it’s almost like you’re the little brother. That’s how they act anyway.” Peter
shook his head and gazed out the window again, eyes sweeping across the
Weasleys’ calm, darkened backyard. “I just can’t see them treating someone they
really respect as badly as they treat you.”
There was quiet for a while, and Peter finally looked back at Percy, who was
sitting hunched over now, elbows on his knees, frowning at the floor, his jaw
set.
“I-I didn’t mean to upset you,” said Peter, leaning forward in his chair,
looking worriedly at Percy.
“I’m not upset. I’m fine.”
Peter wasn’t convinced. He knew his master well enough to know when he was
unhappy. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I just think you ought to stand up
for yourself every now and again. That’s all.”
“And what do you know about it?” snapped Percy, sitting up straight and turning
his severely furrowed brow on Peter. “How do you know how they feel about me?
How can you possibly know about my relationship with my brothers?”
Peter recoiled a bit, cringing, his hands pulling at themselves. “W-well,
Master,” he began, his voice squeaking again, “you said something a while back
about how your relationship with the twins might appear to people outside the
family. But, well, I’m not really an outsider, Master. I’ve been here for ages,
and, if you don’t mind my saying,” he said cautiously, watching Percy with
worried eyes, “I’ve seen and heard things even you haven’t, because who’s going
to watch his tongue just because some stupid rat’s in the room?”
Percy sighed and looked away again. “No, you’re right,” he said more calmly.
“They don’t respect me. I’ve always sensed it.”
Seeing Percy’s reaction, Peter relaxed again. “They ought to. In my humble
opinion,” he said softly, staring at Percy, admiring his profile. Finally, he
let his eyes wander to the window to survey the heavily speckled sky. A moment
later, he felt Percy’s eyes on him, but he didn’t look at him, not while he
could still feel his own emotions trying to wreak havoc with his facial
expression.
“There it is again,” said Percy.
“There what is again?”
“The … oddness. But it’s in your voice this time.”
Peter only sighed in response.
“It’s like …” Percy began to explain, “well, I’m not sure, really.” He gave a
nervous little laugh that faded quickly.
“I’m sorry,” said Peter sadly, still not looking at him. “Being a rat all this
time, I haven’t really had to hide my emotions –” He stopped abruptly and cast
a furtive glance at Percy. “I mean … Never mind. Nothing.”
“Your emotions?” Percy frowned. “What do you me –” Percy stopped, his frown
dropping away as something dawned on him. “Peter?” he said quietly. “What do
you mean about your emotions?”
Peter didn’t answer. Instead he pressed himself back in his chair, trying to
turn even more away from Percy.
“Peter, I demand you look at me,” Percy ordered firmly. “What did you mean by
that?”
Peter blinked unseeingly out into the night and said voice barely above a
whisper, “I think you’re brilliant. That’s all.”
Percy looked away, eyes wide, his brain trying desperately to grasp this new
turn of events. “My rat’s fallen in love with me.”
“That’s one way to look at it. I must say, you’re not my usual type. I’m
normally drawn to a … less intellectual sort. You know the type: a bit of a
show-off, sort of … wild. Tousled-like.” Peter finally looked over at Percy
again, looked him up and down. “That’s certainly not you,” he went on
admiringly. “You’re perfectly combed and pressed even when you’ve just been
frightened out of bed at three in the morning.”
Percy looked back at him, too, and had to try to hide his smile and his
blushing cheeks. “Sounds like your type is more like Charlie.”
“Yes, normally. That was always my problem – being drawn to the flashy, showy
types. But I’ve been forced to watch you, get to know you. And … I like you. I
think it’s a shame that you’re so isolated.”
“I’m not. I have friends.”
“Such as? And don’t say Penelope Clearwater. You barely know each other yet.”
Percy huffed and frowned at the floor again.
“Why are you so alone?”
“I have acquaintances,” insisted Percy. “I’m just not close to anyone.”
“Why?”
“I’ve never found any need to be,” Percy replied, trying to sound confident.
“But you’re smart and a brilliant wizard. You’re tall and attractive. You’re
everything I never was. Makes sense I’d be alone. But not you.”
Percy felt his ears heating up and knew they were blushing, too, under this
barrage of compliments. He fidgeted and stared sheepishly at his lap. “Well,
it’s just that no one really understands me, I suppose. Er, well, I don’t
really understand anyone else either.”
“No?”
Percy shook his head. “No. I never have. I …” He sighed, setting his wand down
on the sill next to him. “I’ve always had a very clear picture in my head of
the way things ought to be. But it just seems the rest of the world is on an
entirely different page. And it almost seems as though … everyone else is on
the same page with one another.”
“Sort of like they all got some memo that you didn’t.”
“Exactly!” exclaimed Percy.
“And no one’s willing to meet you halfway.”
“Precisely, yes.” Percy looked at him again, eyes darting over his pale face.
“You understand?”
“Oh, yes. Makes perfect sense. I was part of a pretty close group of friends
there for a while, back at school. But … well, I suspect they only kept me
around because a couple of them enjoyed the fact I admired them so, and the
other just didn’t have the heart to tell me I was a lost cause and should just
shrivel up already. We had a laugh; it was fun while it lasted. But that had
never happened before. I’d never found a group of people willing to tolerate me
before I met them. Well, they’d have tired of me eventually if I hadn’t … er,
if we hadn’t been forced to go our separate ways. And I don’t think my being
accepted into a group like that would’ve happened again even if I hadn’t spent
the last several years as a rat.”
“I’m sorry you had to lose them.”
“It’s all right. I got you, after all.”
Percy smiled and continued to blush profusely. “You’re going to have to stop
complimenting me so much. I’m not accustomed to it.”
“Sure you are. You get complimented all the time.”
“Yes, about my work ethic and my grades. Not about my looks and how much fun I
am to be around.” Percy snorted at the latter. “No one’s ever said things like
that to me.”
“Me either.”
Percy looked sympathetically at him. “I like having you around.”
“Oh, yeah? Even when you’re having a wank and I won’t stop gaping at you?”
“Oh, hell. I’d forgotten about that.” Percy couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, I
guess now that I know why you enjoyed watching so much, it’s not so bad.”
“Well, you are quite … nice to look at.”
Percy’s smile slowly faded as he examined Peter. The man sitting next to him
wasn’t old by any means, but he was definitely a man, an adult, unlike himself.
He gulped as that really hit him. Peter was so small and timid, while Percy was
used to projecting confidence and authority; it hadn’t really occurred to Percy
until now that Peter was a grown up, at least ten years his senior.
“You do know how old I am, don’t you?” said Percy.
“Yes,” replied Peter, worry crossing his face. “I know I shouldn’t feel this
way about you. I know it’s wrong and strange. But you’re all I’ve known all
these years. When I wake up, you’re there. You allow me into your bed and keep
me safe, and … you cuddle me,” said Peter sheepishly. “I don’t get that from a
lot of people, not even as a rat.” He shook his head. “I never meant for my
feelings for you to come to this. I never meant … Perhaps I ought to go.” At
that, Peter stood and turned toward the door, head down, looking miserable.
“What?” Percy stood as well, quickly going to stand before him, stopping him
from leaving. “No, don’t go. I never said you had to leave.”
“My feelings for you obviously make you uncomfortable, and rightfully so.
You’re just a boy. I’m supposed to be a man. I never did work out how to do
that, to be honest.”
“Peter, don’t leave. Everyone believes you to be dead, remember? I apologise, I
didn’t mean to make you feel bad about your feelings. I just wanted to make
sure you realised my age.”
“I do. I feel terribly guilty about my feelings all the time because of it.”
“You shouldn’t. It makes sense that you might fall for someone like me.” Percy
straightened up a bit more, improving his already impeccable posture. “We
understand each other, after all.”
Peter managed a smile. “So … I can stay? Even knowing what I am, you’re going
to keep me?”
“Yes. You are still my pet.” Percy’s eyes went to the thin, pale hair on
Peter’s head, taking in how much it looked like Scabbers’ fur. Before he even
realised what he was doing, he found his right hand moving up toward it, his
fingers laying themselves on it and slowly stroking it.
Peter just stood there, trying not to tremble, eyes darting, not at all
believing what was happening. “Y-you’re touching me,” he said very softly,
feeling the need to point it out as though he thought Percy might not be aware.
“I’ve touched you before.”
“Only as a rat. This is very different.”
“You look scared,” Percy observed, still gently fingering Peter’s silky hair.
Peter hesitated, and then admitted, “I am.”
“Why?”
“I’m afraid … you’re going to stop.”
Peter’s voice broke, cracking ever so slightly, betraying the depth of emotion
that was flooding him just then. Something inside Percy seemed to melt at
Peter’s words. And, feeling compelled, as though he had no choice in the
matter, he moved forward, leaned over and pressed his mouth to Peter’s, just a
soft and chaste pressing of lips. The sensation was enough to make them both go
a bit weak in the knees. Percy disengaged only seconds later, but that kiss had
felt like it had lasted an eternity.
Peter looked very much as though he was about to start weeping. He blinked at
Percy, unable to move or speak, still terrified, just knowing it was all going
to come crashing down any second.
“You look so frightened,” observed Percy with a nervous little smile; the
butterflies in his stomach were fluttering a mile a minute.
“Well, er, obviously, um, no one’s ever k-kissed me before. Not like that. My
goodness …”
“I apologise if that was presumptuous of me. I didn’t mean to …” But the look
in Peter’s eyes as he shook his head at Percy – a frightened, yet hopeful, look
– quieted Percy, telling him he had not been presumptuous at all. “Well, er,
well then. Good, good,” he said rather stiffly. “I’ve never kissed anyone like
that before either.”
Peter looked down. “I’m sorry your first had to be me.”
“Nonsense. You seem to be a very kind man.”
Peter glanced back up, but only for a second, feeling shy and flustered at
Percy’s compliment.
“And, to be honest, I’m not certain I’ve ever really wanted to kiss anyone
before. Very odd business, kissing. Always seemed highly unappealing somehow …
until now, that is.”
Peter met Percy’s gaze again and held it this time, still looking utterly shell
shocked. “Blimey,” he whispered, not at all believing what Percy had just said.
They stared at each other for a long moment, and then Percy chuckled nervously.
“This is mad. You’re my rat. Or you were. Really, I’ve only just met you, and
I’m having all these … feelings.” Percy brought a hand to his stomach and
rubbed there, frowning slightly at the fluttery feeling inside it. “I must
admit, you’re not normally the type I go for either.”
“Mm,” Peter nodded sagely, and then jerked his head at the little rug covering
the loose floorboard. “I know.”
“Oh.” Percy’s ears began to heat up again. “Well, I meant … I mean, that’s not
exactly … Well, that’s only fantasy. Those men are completely unrealistic.”
Peter smiled, finally relaxing again as he watched Percy’s ears turn very pink.
“Well, I’m not really anyone’s type, so no need to apologise.”
“Well, that’s just rubbish!” said Percy with surprising fierceness. “That’s
only because no one’s bothered to get to know you, I expect.”
Peter made a face as though he knew that explanation was debatable. “Well, ten
years as a rat … No one’s really had the chance to know me for some time.
Though I doubt the extra years would make much difference if I could get them
back.”
“I’ve had the chance; in a way. I know that you’re … well, you’re loyal. And,
um, affectionate.” Percy smiled sheepishly, thinking of all the times Scabbers
had snuggled up to him in bed, that soft, warm little lump of silky fur against
his bare chest, gently expanding and shrinking with each quick, tiny little
breath; like a fuzzy beating heart. That small presence always a comfort, no
matter how useless he’d always proclaimed Scabbers to be.
“And now we’ve talked a bit,” he continued, “I know you were as misunderstood
as I am now.”
“And,” added Peter, “that I think you’re magnificent.”
They had another shy moment, eyes darting away and back again, and Percy was
driven to bestow another kiss upon Peter’s mouth, this one just as sweet and
chaste, yet filled with promise.
“Would you like to lie down?” asked Percy when their lips parted. They were
standing very close now and, Percy noted, the room felt a bit too warm all of a
sudden.
Peter could only nod at the question. He felt dazed and stupid. He’d never been
this close to his master while his master was so aroused. And then it hit him:
Percy was feeling genuine arousal because of him. His brain was having great
difficulty fathoming this development, but he no longer seemed to possess the
mental faculties even to be visibly shocked or flattered or shy. He seemed to
float, as though through a dream, as Percy led him to the bed. Percy’s voice
sounded distant as he softly told Peter to remove his shoes and his robes, and
then, after Peter had done so, told him to lie down. Peter got into the
familiar bed, for the first time as a man, and watched Percy cross the room to
hang the robes on the coat rack and place the shoes on the floor next to it.
With Percy’s attention averted, Peter stared, unabashedly and appreciatively,
at his master’s long, lean frame, taking note, as he had so many times before,
of his small, perfect bottom as he bent to put the shoes down.
Percy retrieved his wand from the sill and used it to dim the torches a bit. He
turned back to the bed before Peter had expected him to and caught Peter
smelling one of his pillows. Percy smiled and Peter blushed.
“Is your sense of smell stronger as a rat than as a man?” asked Percy as he
joined Peter in bed, pulling the covers over them and lying on his side, facing
Peter.
“Yes. You still smell amazing to me now, but it’s much less intense than when
I’m a rat, much harder to tell what you’re feeling now.”
“You could decipher my emotions by my smell before?”
“Sort of, yeah. For example, I could always tell when you were … well,
attracted to someone. I knew what you meant earlier when you said I wasn’t your
usual type. I know what your usual type is.” Peter averted his eyes, looked
down at the sheets.
“Oh, really?” asked Percy, his voice slightly higher than normal.
“Yeah. I know you like that Oliver Wood.”
“Oh.” Percy cleared his throat. “I’d no idea I was so obvious.”
“You weren’t. Not to anyone else but me. You can’t control your body, you see.
Your scent, heart rate, even the sound of your blood rushing through your veins
– it all changes. It’s all quite easy to catch, too, when I’m riding round in
your breast pocket.”
“Humph. I should be able to control everything about myself.” Percy smiled at
his own words to let Peter know he was only kidding, but, in truth, he was only
half-kidding. He felt it highly unfair of his own body to betray him that way.
“You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d figured out I found Oliver
attractive even before I had. It was months before I realised why I always felt
so queasy around him. I haven’t quite worked out my own signals yet, I’m
afraid. Or anyone else’s. I have a terrible time reading people.”
“Me too. I have a much easier time of it as a rat.”
“Is that why you decided to become an Animagus? Because it was easier to deal
with people as an animal?”
Peter felt a small, dull, painful little tug at his chest then, and had to take
a moment before answering.
“I’m sorry,” said Percy quickly, seeing Peter’s gaze drop. “Should I not have
said that?”
“No, no. It’s just that I’d never really thought of it that way before. I mean,
I had another very good reason for attempting the transformation, but … might
be some truth to what you just said.”
Percy watched as Peter contemplated this idea, as it caused a little line to
appear between his pale eyebrows. He reached out and touched Peter’s arm. “I’m
sorry,” he repeated softly. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t.”
Percy still felt bad. His hand gave Peter’s arm a supportive squeeze, and then
slid slowly down the length of it to grasp Peter’s hand. His heart seemed to
ache for this man as it never had for anyone before. Already lying close on the
narrow bed, he pressed his forehead to Peter’s and closed his eyes. They popped
open again straight away, however, and without a word he pushed the covers down
a bit and brought Peter’s hand up to have a closer look.
“Peter, your hand,” he said as his own fingers gingerly felt the little stump
where Peter’s index finger should have been. “Merlin … this is the toe that
Scabbers is missing, isn’t it?”
Peter didn’t flinch or yank his hand away. He only nodded grimly at Percy’s
question. He stared at Percy’s face as Percy examined his deformity. He wanted
to see it, that quick little flash of disgust he was certain was coming. But it
didn’t come. There was only curiosity in Percy’s eyes, but Peter remained
sceptical, wondering what effect the truth might have.
“I told you I faked my death,” he began flatly. “I had to leave something
behind, something that would convince everyone I was really gone.”
The wonder in Percy’s eyes increased as he looked up into Peter’s face. “You …
cut off your own –”
Peter nodded, holding Percy’s gaze, keeping his eyes open and focused, allowing
Percy to see inside, see him for what he was, give the boy one more chance to
change his mind.
“I was scared enough to mutilate myself to ensure no one would come looking.
That’s how much of a coward I am. That’s the sort of creature that’s been
sharing your bed all this time.”
“You were afraid. It is You-Know-Who, after all. Given the choice, many of us
might’ve -”
“Don’t,” Peter interrupted, finally looking away, unable to bear the
earnestness of Percy’s gaze, the obvious willingness to give him, Peter, the
benefit of the doubt. “I don’t deserve this; I don’t deserve your kindness.
This -” he wrenched his hand away and held it between them, where Percy could
plainly see it “- is a symbol of my cowardice, and … the way you’re touching it
…” A pained looked flickered across Peter’s face. “The way you’re touching me …
I don’t deserve …”
His voice faltered, just seemed to fail him. He wasn’t surprised when Percy sat
up. He’d expected this, expected Percy to recoil eventually. But to his
amazement, Percy didn’t get out of bed or ask him to go. He removed his shirt
instead and uncharacteristically dropped it to the floor instead of folding it
neatly. Shirtless, his smooth and freckled shoulders looking creamy in the soft
light; he lay back down facing Peter, and took hold of Peter’s mutilated hand
again. Blatantly, but gently, feeling the stump; rubbing it almost sensually
with his fingertips, he brought the hand to his body and laid it against his
torso, just on the side, just above the sharp bone of his hip, which was
peeking over the top of his pyjama pants.
Peter gulped and looked frightened again, didn’t dare move, barely breathed.
Finally, he whispered, “I’m damaged, you know. Beyond repair.” And he meant so
much more than his missing finger. He wondered if Percy understood.
“Imperfections can be beautiful,” Percy replied.
“Those aren’t your words. That doesn’t sound like you. That’s … that’s your
mother. That’s something she’d say.”
“Well, yes,” Percy admitted somewhat sheepishly. He cleared his throat and
continued, “Technically they might be her words, but I can certainly see the
logic in them. And, of course, one must remember that we’re all flawed in one
way or another.”
 
Peter smiled, gazing at him openly now. “You and your logic. You can justify
anything. But the truth is, if you don’t mind my saying … you’re just very
kind, Percy.”
“Kind?” Percy said incredulously, frowning a bit. “That’s not something I hear
everyday,” Percy whispered, inwardly berating himself for being flattered at
such a compliment. ‘Kind’ was not something he’d ever considered important.
‘Smart’, ‘studious’, ‘ambitious’; those were things that mattered, qualities he
knew he possessed and enjoyed hearing others say about him. But ‘kind’? He’d
always equated that with weakness. Yet, coming from Peter in such a soft,
loving way, it no longer sounded negative.
“Thank you,” Percy finally whispered.
“You’re very welcome.”
Percy hesitated for a moment, as though there were words in his throat he was
afraid would leap out. And they did just that without warning: “I think we
should kiss again,” he blurted out. He shut his mouth quickly, immediately
ashamed of the outburst.
Peter blinked. “Oh,” he said cautiously, afraid to seem too eager. “Well …”
“I mean, if you’d like. I just thought since we both seem to find it so
agreeable, perhaps … um …”
Percy trailed off as he noticed Peter admiring his mouth. And so, with a slow,
deep breath, Percy moved forward, closed his eyes, and took Peter’s mouth
again, with a bit more confidence this time, his lips parting and his tongue
sliding out to part Peter’s lips, too. He pressed his body to Peter’s, moving
his hand up to cradle and stroke Peter’s neck and hair, leaving Peter’s
trembling hand on his bare hip.
Breathing and heartbeats quickened, and the room seemed to grow even hotter, as
their inexperienced lips and tongues sucked and probed. Peter, who still didn’t
quite believe this was happening, was delighted, amazed and greatly encouraged
by any sudden noise that issued from Percy’s throat. And each noise, each
little moan grew louder and harder than the last, and Percy’s body was moving,
writhing against Peter’s now, growing increasingly more eager. Peter couldn’t
stifle the gasp he emitted when Percy finally pressed his erection to Peter’s
thigh. And to his horror, Percy pushed his own thigh in between Peter’s legs,
pushing against his erection, too. Peter’s first instinct was to flinch and
pull away. He managed to keep himself from pulling back, but Percy felt him
flinch and stopped kissing him.
“All right, Peter?” Percy asked, breathing hard, staring at Peter with lust-
dazed eyes and swollen lips.
“Y-yes. I’m fine.”
Percy gave him a knowing look. “You still don’t believe I want this.”
“Well … I’m no Oliver Wood.”
“Oh, I don’t care!” said Percy a little irritably. “I like you, Peter. And …”
Some of the old, stuffy Percy began to show through the arousal. “Well, quite
frankly, Peter, I don’t think you understand how difficult it is for me to
admit that. I can barely admit it to someone my own age.”
Peter realised Percy was right about that. This wasn’t the sort of thing Percy
normally did, going around admitting his feelings for people. He wanted to
protest, naturally, to tell Percy he didn’t know the half of what Peter was
really like, but he couldn’t get the words out, not as he lay there holding the
boy’s warm body, feeling the wonderful hardness between Percy’s legs.
Tentatively, experimentally, he gave Percy’s hard-on a little nudge with his
thigh. Percy grunted softly, his eyes glazing a bit, and he pushed back,
grinding into Peter’s thigh and nudging Peter’s erection, too.
And Peter was finally beginning to grasp what was happening: Percy truly wanted
this.
“Um,” Peter began, cautiously moving his hand down a bit, over top of Percy’s
waistband. “May I, um …?”
“Yes!” Percy said immediately, breathing the reply like a sigh of relief. And
before either of them knew what was happening, Percy had grasped Peter’s hand
again and slid it down between his legs, making Peter cup the hardness there.
It was quite different, Percy noted, the sensation of having someone else touch
him there. He was very quiet and very still for a moment, holding Peter’s hand
to his body, almost afraid to move, hearing his own uncontrolled “Yes!” echo in
his head, berating himself again for allowing the response to fly from his
mouth unchecked. He couldn’t deny, however, how eager he was to test these new
waters. “Could you perhaps move your hand just a little bit?” he asked, trying
to keep his pleasure out of his voice. “I’m just curious as to how that feels.”
With a gulp, Peter obeyed, pressing his hand against Percy more firmly and
rubbing just a little. Percy’s eyes glazed a bit. He felt the change himself,
the way his own jaw slackened, but was unable to stop it. “Oh, goodness,” he
breathed. “More … please.”
Feeling his heart jumping about madly in his chest, Peter nodded. “Yes, Master.
Oh, yes …” He obeyed the request, rubbing more, feeling the shape of Percy
through his pyjamas.
Percy let out a soft grunt; he was unsure if it was in response to the
increased pressure and friction, to being called ‘master’ in a situation like
this, or perhaps both. “Call me that again,” he whispered, sleepy eyes gazing
at Peter.
Peter stared at him uncertainly for a moment. Then, realising the only thing
Percy could possibly mean, he replied, “M-Master?” The response he received –
Percy’s soft little moan and racing breath, the way his eyelids fluttered –
astounded and encouraged Peter. Emboldened, he resumed their kiss and even
began to roll Percy over, onto his back. Percy went eagerly, naturally
spreading his long legs, opening up for Peter. Holding him close, Peter felt
his slender body arch, felt his hips push up against Peter’s touch, felt Percy
begin a slow grinding against his palm, all the while pressing his thigh
between Peter’s legs, offering a source of friction to him.
Peter broke the kiss as he slid his mutilated hand underneath Percy’s
waistband, down and over the smooth, velvety warm length hidden inside. There
seemed to be a slowly simmering tension building inside the boy as he squirmed
in Peter’s arms, as he panted softly through his parted lips, as he arched his
long neck, throwing his head back.
Peter began to stroke Percy, uncertainly at first. He’d seen Percy do this to
himself so many times, but this was very different. He didn’t really know
anything about Percy’s body, how he liked to be touched. But Percy wasn’t
holding back any secrets that night; he moaned and gasped and bit his lip
whenever Peter did something that felt right. And soon Peter was working
Percy’s shaft as though it were his own, instinct taking over, Peter connecting
the dots between what his hand was doing and the barely perceptible scents and
signals Percy’s body gave off. The part of his brain that remembered what those
scents and signals meant kicked in and soon he could tell that rubbing a
certain spot made that telltale scent of arousal spike, or that licking a
particular area of Percy’s neck made his temperature shoot up a few notches.
This seemed to work nicely, as Percy was becoming more worked up than Peter had
ever seen him.
Suddenly, Percy’s noises increased in volume, his scent spiked hard and the
tension building within him boiled to the surface, about to erupt. “I’m going
to come,” Percy gasped, his expression pained. “Say it again,” he ordered,
clutching at Peter’s shirt, gripping it tight, making his knuckles white, as
his body began to quiver. “Say it again.”
“Master,” Peter breathed. “Come for me, Master.” Percy’s body tensed and his
cock began to jerk hard in Peter’s hand “Yes, that’s it. Show me … show me …”
And Percy did, indeed, show Peter exactly what his body was capable of, coming
harder than Peter had ever seen him come before. Peter was yet again delighted
to feel Percy clinging to him, fingernails digging into him through his shirt.
Warm wetness covered Peter’s hand as it continued to stroke, encouraging as
much fluid from Percy’s body as possible. Percy writhed up against him so hard,
so passionately, his long, slender form arching and bucking so tantalisingly,
that Peter couldn’t hold back, had to dive in, bury his face in Percy’s neck
and suck and lick voraciously.
He inhaled deeply the scent of Percy’s excitement. It had never been this
strong before. It was overwhelming, driving him to the point of no return, too.
He brought his mouth up along Percy’s neck to his chin and finally brushed
against Percy’s lips, their open mouths expelling their heat into one another.
Percy had never felt as unconcerned, as uninhibited, as he did in those few
seconds. He’d never felt unconcerned or uninhibited in his life. He had an out-
of-body moment in which he was certain this couldn’t be himself, this pleasure-
filled creature who squirmed and bucked beneath the body of another man, who
clung to and clawed at that body, who, through actions and noises, was begging
for that body. Preposterous, said a disgusted little voice in the back of his
mind. He could pay that voice no mind, however; not in this moment.
Percy's desire swamped Peter’s brain, the scent seeming to fill his entire
head, and he, too, began to come, began humping Percy’s thigh roughly, groaning
against Percy’s moist neck. He felt a pop, and then another, some part of his
clothing coming loose, but he couldn’t possibly care just then as the sharpest,
sweetest orgasm he'd ever experienced arced through his body like a tidal wave.
The last thing he heard Percy say was a deeply and shakily groaned “Ohh, yeah”
as their orgasms began to subside, and, for all Peter knew, that could’ve been
ages ago. He suddenly came to; lying halfway on top of Percy, feeling like he'd
been lying there forever, but knowing it couldn’t have been more than a minute,
both of them panting and moist with sweat. Peter was almost afraid to move or
speak, so he waited patiently, listening to Percy’s body, basking in the damp,
musky heat that now emanated from his him.
Percy groaned and shifted. Peter finally raised his head from Percy’s neck to
look timidly down at him. Percy opened his eyes and looked up at him, also
looking quite timid. They both smiled shyly.
“Wow,” Percy whispered, barely able to maintain eye contact, feeling very
exposed.
“Wow?” asked Peter. “Really? That warranted a ‘wow’?”
Percy raised his eyebrows as he tried to find appropriate words to describe
what he’d just experienced. “I … have honestly … never felt anything like that
before. Certainly better than those gentlemen I've got hidden under the floor.”
Peter chuckled. “I noticed that things seemed to be a bit more intense for you
this time round. I suppose I just can’t believe it had anything to do with me.”
“A bit more intense? Peter, that was just … just wow.”
Peter smiled lovingly down at him, a sense of calm and happiness flooding
through him at the sight of his contented master. Then he remembered the
popping noises and looked down at himself. Two of his shirt buttons were
missing.
“Oh,” said Percy, clearing his throat. “I may have gotten a bit … carried away.
Sorry.”
“You did this?” Peter asked in amazement. “You –”
“– may have pulled at your shirt a bit in the throes, yes. I do apologise.
We’ll have to fix that when there’s proper light to work by.”
Peter grinned hugely at him, something like gratitude shining in his eyes. “I
never imagined anyone would ever … well …” He trailed off, feeling too
overwhelmed to continue his thought. “We’re both a mess. Do you mind if I just
…” He reached over for Percy’s wand, not letting his hand touch it until Percy
nodded at him. He took the wand and cleaned them both up, then put it back on
the night stand He then gently tucked Percy’s softening prick away, back inside
his pants, removed Percy’s glasses and laid them down next to the wand. Then,
remembering the lights, he picked up the wand again and extinguished the
torches.
Finally, Peter settled down, wrapping his arms around Percy and cuddling him
while they both relaxed.
“Thank you,” whispered Percy. “That was … phenomenal.”
“I should thank you. I do thank you … I love you.”
Percy smiled and held onto Peter, waiting for sleep to wash over him.
“Peter?” Percy mumbled.
“Yes, Master,” whispered Peter.
“It’s you who kisses my cheek when I have nightmares, isn’t it?”
Peter smiled to himself in the darkness. “Yes, Master. So you’ll know you’re
not alone.”
“Thank you,” Percy said after a moment.
Peter’s only reply was a soft kiss to Percy’s forehead and then he went quiet.
Peter was falling asleep, Percy could tell. Carefully, so as not to disturb
Peter, he rolled over in Peter’s arms until he was spooned back against him.
He felt Peter’s steady breath on the back of his neck. He closed his eyes and
remembered the feel of that breath on his collar bone, the pleasure between his
legs, the wonderful weight of another man’s body pinning him to the bed and how
ironically free that had made him feel. He winced a bit remembering the noises
he’d made, thinking of how he must have looked. And then he thought about how
relaxed he had been afterwards and how he, too, should now be drifting off,
content and anxiety-free, like his companion.
But he wasn’t and he couldn’t, and all his anxieties were seeping back into his
brain, cold and troubling like the incessant drip of a leaky faucet. And now,
on top of all his other worries, he was sharing his bed, and had shared his
body, with a man nearly twice his age.
FIN
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