A/N: This was fun to write! Used additional prompt "burgundy" from Lady Phoenix Fire Rose's Boot Camp 1 Hour Challenge thingy.

Prompt: 1. Please

Pairing: Percy Weasley/Oliver Wood

He's like your sweet, sweet addiction, a drug you simply cannot refuse.

You remember that first hit; 1994.

He had just won the Quidditch Cup and the whole of Gryffindor poured into the common room, eyes ablaze, cheers echoing through the tower. You looked at his smile, bigger than you've ever seen it, and watched him caress the edge of his coveted cup with all the tenderness of a lover.

The party had started before the last Gryffindor had even walked through the portrait hole. You weren't one for parties, though, and so you vowed to find Oliver, possibly the Chasers, and offer your congratulations, before retiring to bed. You would see Harry and the twins tomorrow. Besides, you had a novel on International Muggle Relations that was practically calling you up the stairs.

You found Oliver chatting to a few sixth year girls with a cheeky smile, his stance oozing confidence.

You had congratulated him between chuckles and he'd turned those bright eyes on you.

"What're you laughing at, eh, Perce? WE WON!" he'd roared in your face. "C'mon, come with me. Somebody get this man a drink!"

And before you knew it, Oliver had a casual arm around your shoulder and you both had glasses filled with a rich, sticky liquid that slid down your throat like smooth honey and made your head buzz pleasantly. You sipped your drink, watching the deep burgundy liquid slosh back on forth, slowly, sluggishly, in your glass. Your fingers held the glass maybe a little too tight, and you couldn't help but wonder why Oliver hadn't quite let you go.

"Perce," he slurred, and you had marvelled at his rapid inebriation only to find your chuckles seemed far away, and your tongue felt oddly dry and prickly. So you took another sip.

"Percy, Percy, Percy," he recited, saying your name with a gentle reverence that sounded for all the world like a poem, or a perhaps song. You felt your ears burn. "Please?"

"Please what?" you said. And, okay, maybe you were a little bit tipsy, but Oliver was flat-out drunk, and you wondered how many glasses of this burgundy mystery he had downed before you found him.

"Percy, just...please?" he said, his voice low and desperate. "Please, please, please..."

His eyes fell closed slowly but the whispers still came, please please please, and you knew it was useless to ask again. You drained the last of the dark liquid and set your glass down at your feet with a sigh.

"C'mon, Wood. Time for bed," you managed to mumble, though the words bled together more than you would have liked. You stood quickly and felt Oliver's arm drop from you like a dead weight.

You grabbed him firmly by the wrist and muttered reassurances, come on, Oliver, up you get, that may have come out as slurs and mumbles, but he knew what you meant. Slow and clumsy, he got to his feet, and you slung his arm back around your shoulder, smiling at the familiar warmth.

"Big steps now," you warned, and half-held, half-dragged him to the staircase. "Oliver. Stairs."

You watched him extend his leg blindly and search for the first step. A little shove forward and he found it. Up and up and up, you pushed him, hands firmly on his hips, watching as his feet awkwardly shuffled around for the way forward.

Finally, you reached your dormitory, and flung the door open. The bang was louder than your addled brain expected. But Oliver was suddenly at home, suddenly recognised his surroundings.

"Percy, Percy, Percy," he muttered as he propelled himself forward on unsteady legs. You stood in the doorway and watched him flop onto the nearest bed – your bed – and continue his mutterings into the soft pillow.

You walked to the bed and plopped yourself next to Oliver's prone form.

"Wood. Out of my bed."

"Percy?" he asked blearily. "Your bed?"

"Yes, my bed. Go. Shoo!"

"Percy..." he said. "Please..."

"Please what, Oliver? Stop bloody saying that."

"Percy..."

"Oliver, I will push you to the floor," you threatened, though you were unsure where your arms were, or whether or not you could actually use them.

And then he propped himself up on his elbows, looking at you curiously, an eyebrow cocked.

"You wouldn't, Percy. You wouldn't. But please," he said, and he dropped his head and kissed you right on the mouth.

At first, you didn't know how to react. But the burgundy blood in your veins told you to kiss him back, and so you did. Your lips danced and you swallowed each other's moans and sighs, and when you pulled away first, Oliver whispered, "Thank you," into your ear.

And you suddenly understood.

Minutes later you fell back into his open mouth and spent the night lying with Oliver above you, kissing bruises onto each other's skin and smiles onto your lips.

And that was the first hit.

But not the last.

It took that one night, and you were hooked.

For that last week of school, you forget who you are and who you're supposed to be. You've a week until your NEWTS and you spend it running your hands through Oliver's hair and entwining your hands in his. You silently thank Merlin that you've been studying since Christmas, and laugh when Oliver tells you you're the reason he's going to fail.

"If you've left it this late to start studying, I'm not your reason for failing," you say as you run your thumb along his jaw line.

And even when you leave school (both having passed your NEWTS wonderfully, regardless of what it was you were studying the night before) you meet regularly for a "catch-up". There's not much to catch up on when you see each other two, three, four times a week, but no one asks any questions and so you're happy.

And when you sip that sweet, honeyed liquid from a dirty glass in the corner of the Hog's Head, all it takes is a please in your ear and you've grabbed Oliver by the wrist and apparated back to his flat.

Because you're an addict, and, yet, neither of you seem to care.