For Gabby, above all else.

Note: set in a happy little world where the war never happened.

Note 2: This fic will deal with mature themes as well as a lot of dominant/submission elements. If you aren't down with that, you should probably find something else to read.

Word Count: 1649

Oliver is sore and tired when he finally gets home. Quidditch practice is all well and good, and it keeps him going, but some days, like today, it feels more draining than rewarding—not that he'll ever admit that to anyone.

He's cold and drenched. Each step he takes leaves a fresh, muddy footprint, but he doesn't care right now. All he can think about is getting in the shower and letting the hot water work its magic.

Oliver makes his way to his and Percy's bedroom, peeling away the drenched layers of Quidditch robes, shirt, jeans, and underwear and letting the drop to the floor. Water pools around it, and he makes a mental note to watch his step before opening his drawer and pulling out a set of dry clothes. A happy moan escapes his lips as he feels the warm, dry fabric against his chilled skin. He tosses them onto the bed for later. Satisfied, he hurries to the bathroom.

He turns the knob to the shower, watching the water stream. Within seconds, steam begins to fill the air, and Oliver thinks he might actually melt. He hadn't even realized exactly cold he is until now. Oliver steps into the shower at last, and the relief is instantaneous.

Hot water cascades over his body, warming him to the bone. His eyes close, and he relishes the warmth that envelops him. Slowly, the little aches and pains fade away, and he feels completely refreshed. Oliver seems to lose himself in the comfort. Even after washing his hair and scrubbing away every last trace of mud from his body, he can't bring himself to leave the shower. He stands beneath the spray long after the hot water turns warm and finally fades into cold.

With a sigh, he turns the water off and steps out, wrapping a towel around his waist and passing another towel over his wet hair. Steam swirls through the bathroom, and he chuckles. Apparently, he had enjoyed the shower more than he had expected. Whistling, completely refreshed, he opens the door, watching as the steam billows out, filling the hallway like a fog rolling off a lake.

He walks back to his room and finds himself face to face with Percy. Ordinarily, it would be a great way to end his shower—there is nothing but a towel to cover him, and it would be oh so easy to let the towel fall away and let his boyfriend enjoy himself. Today, however, Percy's expression is stern and serious. Something tells Oliver that his boyfriend is definitely not in the mood.

"You look grumpy," Oliver says, offering him a crooked smile. "Someone fall asleep during your report again."

Percy's expression doesn't soften. His lips remain pressed into a hard, thin line. Behind his glasses, his blue eyes narrow. After a few seconds of tense silence, he finally lifts his hand, pointing to pile of wet clothes at the foot of the bed. The puddle around them has increased in size, and Oliver notices that there's a streak; it's easy to guess that Percy had slipped.

"Oops?"

His boyfriend's brows raise. "Wet, dirty clothes do not belong on the floor, Oliver," he says. "Pick them up."

Oliver opens his mouth to argue—Percy isn't actually wrong, of course, but his approach isn't fair—but he quickly snaps it shut again and nods. There's something strangely enticing about the whole situation.

He can still remember how annoying Percy's bossy attitude had been when they were younger. Percy had mellowed out over the years; Oliver had helped. Percy still has his moments, but they're usually small, passing ones. This, however, feels serious.

And there's a part of Oliver that fucking loves it. He shouldn't. No one likes being told what to do. But it sends a shiver of excitement down his spine as he makes his way to the pile of wet clothes. He's all too aware that he's damn near naked except for the towel, but he doesn't care.

"Bossy bastard," he mutters under his breath as he bends down and picks up the clothes.

"What was that?" Percy asks darkly.

"Nothing," Oliver says sweetly. "Nothing at all."

…

Neither of them bring it up for the rest of the day. They eat dinner and dessert. Percy gets his shower, and both change into their pajamas and climb into bed.

Maybe it isn't even worth mentioning again, but Oliver can't help it. It's been creeping into mind all day, and he can't seem to shake it. Just thinking about Percy's stern tone, the way he had taken control so naturally, if only for a moment, makes Oliver's insides quiver.

"Perce?"

Percy looks up from the book he's reading. "Yeah, Oli?"

Why does he feel so awkward now? They've been dating for five years, after all. It's hardly the first time Oliver has brought up sexual suggestions. So far, Percy has always proven to be so eager to please, always saying yes. But how will he feel about this? How can Oliver even explain it without sounding like he's completely mental?

"Something bothering you?" Percy shifts beside him and reaches out, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I… I was thinking about earlier," Oliver admits. "About how… Well, you were a bit bossy."

When he looks up, he sees the way Percy's blush swallows up his freckles, spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. "Sorry."

"For what?"

Percy rooms his glasses, absently wiping the lenses. For several seconds, he doesn't speak. Finally, he sighs heavily. "I don't mean to be bossy," he says. "I know how I seem. So bloody abrasive, like I've got a stick up my arse. Trust me, I know." He puts his glasses back on, adjusting them anxiously before continuing. "My brothers used to tease me for it."

"I'm not criticizing you," Oliver assures him.

But Percy doesn't seem to hear him. "I'm sorry. I think I was just annoyed because I slipped, and I shouldn't have—"

"I liked it," Oliver interrupts.

Percy stares at him with wide, confused eyes. Oliver guesses it must be a bit of a shock for him. After all, he's spent most of life being picked on for being so meticulous and uptight.

"You… What?"

"It was sort of exciting." Oliver shrugs. "I dunno. There was something… I don't know the word. But I liked the way you took control. It was very dominant."

Percy's blush darkens. He sputters for several seconds before clearing his throat. "I don't think I've ever been called dominant before," he murmurs.

"Well, now you have."

Silence hangs between them. Oliver nervously taps his fingers against the mattress, searching for the right words to say next. He rests a hand on Percy's thigh, grateful that it is steady.

"I… Well, I wouldn't mind you taking control like that more often," he says. "There are people who have relationships like that, you know."

He's had to listen to one of his Chasers, Persephone, talk about how much she loves submitting to her girlfriend. At the time, he had thought she was strange. After all, why would submission factor into a relationship. But now, his mind swims, and he's curious. At the very least, Oliver wants to try.

"How do I do that?" Percy asks.

"Just be bossy," Oliver chuckles. He has no clue where to even begin. Maybe he'll ask Persephone after practice, if he can find the courage to actually approach her with this. "We'll figure out what works and what doesn't."

"Bossy," Percy echoes, amusement clear in his voice. "Like this? Strip."

Percy changes into the role so naturally. Oliver shivers. He doesn't understand how the awkward, stammering man he loves can shift so easily, but he likes it.

"Yes sir," Oliver murmurs, fingers working frantically to unbutton his pajama top.

Once the shirt is gone, he quickly pulls away his bottoms and underwear, completely baring himself for Percy. When he looks at his boyfriend, he can see how nervous Percy looks. Even if Percy's transition is so natural, he's still just as lost as Oliver is. Neither of them quite know what they're doing yet, but they're both willing to discover it.

"Good," Percy praises, gently brushing his fingertips over Oliver's thigh. "Very good."

Oliver closes his eyes with a moan. His cock twitches, but Percy refuses to give it any attention as he continues to tease.

"Do you like that?" Percy asks, fingers grazing along his inner thigh now, maddeningly close.

Oliver feels like he might lose his mind. He wants Percy to touch him more than anything, and a whine escapes his throat as he pushes his hips up, trying desperately to grind against his lover's hand. "Please…"

"Quit squirming," Percy says, pulling his hand back. "Lay down."

Oliver whines again, but he obeys, sinking back into the plush pillows. He waits. Surely Percy will continue to tease him, then he'll bend Oliver over and shag him senseless.

Instead, Percy lays down beside, extinguishing the lights with a quick flick of his wand. "Goodnight."

"But…?"

"You left a mess earlier," Percy reminds him. "Go to bed."

Oliver groans. He reaches down, gripping his cock, ready to relieve himself, but Percy grabs his wrist and pulls his hand back up.

"Bed," Percy says.

With another groan, Oliver closes his eyes, completely at a loss. He needs relief, but, somehow, he doesn't mind. It's still so enjoyable, so fun, and he loves this little game that they're playing.

"Did I do okay?" Percy asks, his grip loosening. "I wasn't a prat, was I?"

Oliver chuckles and leans in, pressing a kiss to Percy's cheek. "You were perfect. Goodnight, Perce."

He doesn't know what will come of this new adventure, or if it will work at all, but Oliver can't wait to try. Slowly, he drifts to sleep, eager for the new day.