Fly Down Long Fields to Me

Being Captain of the Quidditch team meant certain things.

The rules were generally unspoken, except in locker rooms listening to stories from the team Captains before. They were things that Oliver didn't pay much attention to, but knew quite well they were there. Not losing points when he got to class late. Girls willing to help him with schoolwork, and Prefects looking the other way when he returned to the dorm after hours.

Oliver tried hard not to take advantage -- he kept his focus on the game, knowing that Quidditch mattered a great deal more than anyhero-worship the other students might give him. But it was undeniable that being Team Captain meant he got almost anything he wanted, and a great deal he didn't really care if he got or not.

Which was why it was proving to be so incredibly frustrating to want something he didn't seem able to get.

Oliver tried not to watch Percy when they were in their room. Much too obvious, and if Percy decided to say no -- they still had to live together for two more school years. It was possible they could change rooms, but it would involve explaining to Professor McGonagall why.

He also tried not to watch him too much in the common room. Too many other eyes watching, seeing what might be captivating his attention. So he kept his talk on Quidditch and classes, and hung around the other members of the team instead of shadowing Percy as he might have preferred.

In the library, when they were supposed to be studying, Oliver usually had a girl beside him. Rude, and too obvious, to look at someone else when the girl -- whoever she'd be -- would be jealous enough to notice and spread gossip. Of course any time they had a game, or practise, Oliver was generally too focused on Quidditch to look at Percy. He'd sometimes catch a sidelong glance, seeing how Percy watched their playing as keenly as the other students.

Oliver sometimes tried to do something particularly spectacular during the game so he could go up to Percy and ask him "Did you see...?"

Mostly, however, Oliver watched Percy in class. In four of their classes, he'd managed to get a seat behind and beside Percy's own, so he could look over without being noticed. And as he watched, he waited for a chance to say something that, this time, might make Percy noticed how badly Oliver wanted him to see what Oliver wanted.

It never seemed to work, but Oliver persevered. He also tried other things, small, casual-seeming gifts and happening to be in the right place at the right time to strike up a conversation.

In the years Oliver had known Percy, he'd got some good ideas what Percy liked. He'd tried one after another, but every time he'd failed to get more than Percy's momentary attention. He'd borrowed books he'd thought Percy would like; he'd bought an expensive enchanted tea which helped you retain the things you read and given it to Percy on his birthday; he'd followed Wizard politics almost as avidly as he followed the professional Quidditch standings, so he could have a conversation which lasted longer than 'Hullo, Percy' 'See you later, then, Oliver.'

He thought about giving up. There were half a dozen others ready and willing to date him, girls if he wanted to be obvious about it and boys if he wanted to sneak around in private. But none of them were Percy.

Oliver couldn't have stopped trying, even if he'd wanted to. The more he couldn't get him, the more he wanted him, and the more he wanted him, the more he had to try.

It was starting to effect his game. The previous Saturday, he'd missed a perfectly simple play, muffed it and had to depend on a spectacular play by George and Fred to bail the team out. Gryffindor had won, but Oliver knew that he was still at fault.

He lay in his bed the following Friday night, and tried not to think about the practise the next day. He'd already decided to get up an hour early and head out to the field to run through drills. But tonight -- tonight he was lying in his bed, all the lights off, and he could see by the moonlight that Percy was sound asleep.

It wouldn't take much at all to tip-toe over and kiss him. Oliver hated thinking those sorts of things -- he could never seem to stop, and then he'd have to sneak off into the bathroom to relieve himself of the results. Some boys, Oliver knew, simply jerked off in their beds. You always just pretended you couldn't hear.

But Oliver had a distressingly embarrassing habit of never being able to keep silent. He'd bite his lip and muffle his face with his hand or the pillow, but every time he'd hear the beginnings of a name right before he came.

Right now Percy was lying still, face half-turned towards the window. Oliver could see him clearly, and could hear that the other boys were sound asleep. He knew he ought fall asleep soon, himself, or his plan to get up early would come to nothing.

It would be so easy to slip out of bed. Go over and crouch down, touch Percy's arm. Wake him carefully, silently, and ask him. Whisper a simple question, or just lean over and kiss him and let Percy know how
Oliver felt.

Oliver's heart was pounding. It would be so easy -- too easy, and Oliver was seized with the fear that he might just do it. He kicked the blankets off his bed and leapt up, landing as quietly as he could on the cold wooden floor. He nearly ran to the bathroom and pushed the door closed behind him.

Being Captain of the Quidditch Team meant that things were easy. Everyone wanted to be near you. They gave you breaks, and gifts, and attention, and watched your every move.

It should have been so easy. Oliver slid to sit on the floor, ignoring the touch of cold tile through his sleep pants. He was given everything he could ever want, except the one thing he wanted.

He thought about Percy, and closed his eyes. This part was easy. His body knew these thoughts, knew the way the touch of his own hand would weave together with the look on Percy's face when Oliver imagined him saying yes. His hand easily became Percy's, and with his eyes closed he knew that Percy would lean over him, his own clothes falling open, and the touch of his lips on Oliver's mouth would be dry, and hesitant.

Oliver would have to open his mouth to encourage him, flick his tongue out to tease at Percy's lips. It would embolden Percy, and his hand would grip Oliver's cock with more surety. He'd begin to stroke Oliver, up and down in a rhythm that Oliver had memorised. Oliver felt penned in by where Percy's body would be, and his legs would fall open and, trapped against the wall, he'd do nothing to try to get away. Let Percy touch him, kiss him as much as he wanted, and he'd sit there and encourage him to do more.

Oliver's hand moved faster, as Percy's would, and Oliver began panting. Percy would notice, and lean in to kiss him hard. For a moment their kiss would be more important than Oliver's cock in Percy's hand, and they would open their mouths and their tongues would slide over each other's. Then Percy would press his mouth even harder against Oliver's own, and his grip would tighten.

Unable to stop it, Oliver would cry out. He'd gasp, then as Percy continued, he would start to come. His hips would shove forward, upwards into Percy's hand, and Oliver would feel himself coming, almost there, and a moment later he would hear himself crying out Percy's name.

Oliver sat there for several minutes before he cleaned himself up. He got to his feet, steady and somewhat calm, and returned to his room. The other boys were still asleep. Oliver went to his bed and laid down.

And found a folded piece of paper on his pillow. He unfolded it, and held it up so the moonlight would illuminate the paper.


Oliver looked over at Percy's bed, and found Percy looking back at him.