Title: Pretending For Real Part 2
Author: Constant Vigilance
Status: WIP
Email: tirel@pcnuthut.com

Website: https://www.angelfire.com/tv2/firebird_ascending/
Rating: Dunno yet.
Pairing: Harry/Oliver
Spoilers: AU. Characters aged up to age of consent.
Warnings: Slash
Disclaimer: I own nothing. JKR is God.
Summary: Oliver needs a boyfriend to parade in front of his family. Harry offers to fill in.
Notes: For Cassy. Cause she’s a damn good pester-er.

Oliver stared up at Harry’s front window from the spot he’d been standing in for the last 10 minutes. A spot he was quite familiar with as he’d been standing there ever since he’d apparated for their dinner date. He forced himself to unclench his grip from around the bouquet of flowers. Granted, he hadn’t decided to present flowers to Harry yet, as it made him look utterly gay, but should he decide to give them to his Quidditch teammate, it would be nice if they hadn’t sweaty, bruised fingerprints on them. He glanced at his muggle watch and flinched.

 

Crap.

 

He made his way up to the door of the modern, muggle apartment…where he stood for another five minutes, shifting from foot to foot and transferring the bottle of wine he’d brought from one hand to the other. “Come on you bloody dobber,” he hissed at himself. “Ring the fecking bell already!”

 

Bolstered by his own animosity, he reached out and slammed his finger into the bell before he could change his mind again. He nearly bolted in the minute it took Harry to come to the door. But then he saw Harry silhouetted in the doorframe and he lost all desire to run. He smiled a stupid smile and ducked his head shyly. “Ello, Harry,” he managed.

 

Harry grinned. “Bout time, Ollie. I thought you might have forgotten.”

 

~Not bloody likely, mate~ “No, just ran into a…er…well, I…”

 

Harry looked down at the bundles in Oliver’s arms. “Those for me?” he asked softly, his eyes lighting up at the strangled flowers. Oliver nodded, words seeming to have deserted him. Harry reached out and plucked the bedraggled flora from Oliver’s sweaty palms and turned away from the door. “Come on in, I’ll get a vase and some water for these and we can use them for the centerpiece.”

 

Oliver moved into the room and carefully shut the door behind him. The room surprised him. It was an interesting mix of muggle and wizard, with both kinds of photographs on the walls, Harry’s broomstick propped in the corner and a muggle bicycle peeping through the window of the back deck. Harry came back in a moment later, flowers arranged in a vase and a pleased look on his face.

 

The younger man blushed a bit. “I know. I’m acting horribly gay. However, no one has ever given me flowers before. Would you like me to take your coat?” Oliver nodded and realized he still held the bottle of wine. Shrugging out of the coat, he held the wine out to Harry, still unable to shove two words together. Harry didn’t seem to notice. He just grinned and took the proffered bottle.

 

“Thanks, Ollie,” he said, setting the bottle on the table. “It’ll go great with dinner. Hope you like lasagna?”

 

“Yes, actually it’s one of my favorites,” Oliver managed.

 

“Good to know,” Harry replied. “We should chat about our likes and dislikes over dinner. It’ll help make everything run more smoothly with your folks.”

 

“Sounds good,” Oliver cleared his throat. “So, do you need some help in the kitchen?” Harry gave him an odd look. Oliver fidgeted. “What?” he asked rather testily, nerves threatening to overwhelm him.

 

Harry shrugged. “I just never would have imagined you as the kitchen type,” he smiled.

 

Oliver let out a small sigh. “I’m generally not. I really never learned much beyond reheating Mum’s leftovers. I always wanted to learn though,” he added wistfully.

 

Harry went back to chopping salad ingredients. “Really? What do you like so much about cooking?” he asked interestedly.

 

“I loved potions,” Oliver admitted with a smirk. “I just hated Snape. I had a secret passion for all the mixing and creating. I like even better the idea of doing it with foods that won’t eat through the floor or asphyxiate me.”

 

Harry chuckled. “So why did you never learn, then?”

 

Oliver shrugged. “Mum and my sisters always had the kitchen under control. They never wanted me underfoot.”

 

Harry snorted. “I wish it would have been like that for me.”

 

Oliver looked curious. “What do you mean?”

 

“The Dursleys, the kin that raised me, had me cook at every opportunity. I learned early on to cook well, and cook plentiful.” He paused a moment, lost in thought.

 

“Or what?” Oliver asked astutely.

 

Harry flinched slightly and looked away. “So, tell me about your family,” he changed the subject.

 

Oliver hesitated a moment and then nodded in acceptance. If Harry wasn’t comfortable with telling him about his past just yet, he supposed he’d just have to try harder to make the gorgeous seeker trust him. “Well,” he began, “there’s my mum and da, of course. Bonnie and Douglas. And my three sisters, Kyla, Maisie and Minna. And my two brothers, Ian and Logan.”

 

Harry frowned. “Cripes. You have a bigger family than the Weasleys. How come you didn’t get any crap from Malfoy?”

 

Oliver flushed. “We’re a bit better off than the Weasleys,” he said embarrassedly, then perked up a bit. “Besides, Malfoy knew I’d beat his blonde arse if he mentioned my family.”

 

Harry grinned. “Too bad that never worked for Ron.”

 

Oliver waved a hand. “Yeah, well it might have helped that by the time I went through school, all the others had gone on.”

 

Harry developed a wicked smirk. “Does this mean you’re the baby?”

 

“And let me tell you how badly that sucks,” Oliver groaned.

 

Harry snickered. “Do they pinch your cheeks and let you open all your Christmas prezzies first?”

 

Oliver stuck his tongue out, “No. It’s worse. They take every opportunity to point out what went wrong in their lives and give me free advice on how not to have it happen in mine.”

 

Harry nodded sagely. “So, not being married with a half dozen kids at the ripe old age of 26 a problem, is it?”

 

Oliver shuddered. “Beyond all belief. They hoped that when I went into the spotlight as the Puddlemere Keeper I’d attract some lovely young thing and we’d settle down with 2.5 kids, a dog and a white picket fence.”

 

“Bet your coming out as gay put a wrench in that,” Harry grimaced.

 

“Not really. My family really doesn’t hold any prejudices about homosexuality. My sister is a lesbian. She’s been married for five years to a really sweet little Hufflepuff. They have two kids,” he added. “My folks just want me to settle down. They don’t care what gender.” Harry nodded, looking impressed. “I think the idea that I keep ‘switching boyfriends’ has them a bit pissed though.”

 

Harry looked a bit confused. “Ollie, I’ve played on the same bloody team as you for three years now. I’ve never seen you with a boyfriend, much less a string of them,” he pointed out.

 

Oliver chuckled. “That’s cause I haven’t had any. It’s just been easier to say I was in a relationship with a ton of eligible guys than admit to my family that I couldn’t find anyone to be with. That way, I could always say we’d just broken up anytime my family wanted to meet him.”

 

Harry grinned. “Wow, I must be something special, then. The only guy you’ve ever brought home to your family.” He lifted the salad bowl up once he’d finished mixing it. “Hold on a sec, I’ll just run this to the table.” He headed out of the kitchen. Oliver longingly watched Harry’s gorgeous arse disappear through the door and he dropped his face into his hands.

 

“You truly are, Harry,” he whispered. “You truly are.”

_____________________________________________________________

 

Two hours later found Oliver and Harry ensconced on the love seat in Harry’s living room sharing wine and preferences. “Are you a dog person or a cat person?” Harry asked, taking a sip.

 

“Dog, definitely,” Oliver smiled. “We had this big, stupid drooling dog when I was growing up…I think it was a Newfoundland. Ah,” he leaned back with a sigh. “I loved that bloody dog. Mum never stopped yelling about it shedding and drooling on the furniture, but I rode around on that thing like a horse until I went to Hogwarts.” Harry grinned, visualizing Oliver in a cowboy hat riding on a huge black dog and lassoing pieces of furniture.

 

“So, what about you?”

 

Harry gave a shrug. “Dunno. Never had a pet. Dudley was allergic. Of course, I hated Crookshanks. You remember? Hermione’s cat?” Oliver nodded. He vaguely remembered the bushy haired girl getting a psycho cat during his last year. “After that, I figured I pretty much dislike cats. Either that or Crookshanks was the spawn of the devil.” Harry leaned over to refill Oliver’s nearly empty glass.

 

“Thanks, mate,” the older man lifted his glass in salute. “So, what’s your favorite color?”

 

Harry looked affronted. “Red, of course!”

 

Oliver snickered. “Of course. Gryffindors to the end.”

 

“Damn right!” Harry clinked his glass against Oliver’s. “What’s yours?”

 

“I actually prefer green,” he answered, ducking his head, hoping Harry didn’t notice the ridiculous girly way he was just staring into Harry’s own green eyes. “Favorite food?” he rushed to change the subject.

 

“Pizza,” Harry groaned. “Though thinking about food right now is making me hurt.”

 

“Know what you mean,” Oliver patted his own belly.

 

“How bout your favorite food?”

 

Once again, Oliver fought a blush. “I…er…well, I guess after tonight…I’d have to say lasagna,” he managed, swirling the wine around in his glass before taking a bracing drink.

 

“Thanks,” Harry returned softly. Then he grinned wickedly. “So, Ollie. Who was your first?”

 

Oliver nearly snorted the wine out of his nose. He turned to Harry wide-eyed and beet red. “Er…” he coughed slightly and then leaned back against the couch. “Crap,” he moaned, covering his eyes with his free hand. “Fine,” he groused. “I’ll tell you, but just because I know it won’t go any further…right?” he pinned Harry with a hazel glare.

 

Harry held up his pinky to swear and Oliver rolled his eyes and smacked him. “It was…oh, bloody hell, it was Marcus Flint,” the words rushed out of his mouth in a whoosh of air. “And I know…he was the Slytherin bad boy, we were rivals, he had annoying teeth, he was a mean bastard…but he was sexy as hell,” he concluded with an embarrassed grin.

 

Harry snickered. “Wow. Marcus Flint.”

 

Oliver sighed. “Guess you didn’t figure on that one, eh?”

 

Harry shrugged and took a slug out of his glass. “Dunno. My first was Draco Malfoy. Maybe you know him? He was the Slytherin bad boy, we were rivals, he had poncy hair, he was a mean bastard…but he was sexy as hell.” Harry reached over and gently shut Oliver’s mouth for him. “Careful, you’ll catch flies,” he grinned.

 

“Really?” Oliver asked. Harry nodded, sharing the grin that was beginning to creep over Oliver’s face. “Well, good on you,” Oliver slapped Harry on the back. “Bagged you a Malfoy.”

 

Harry fluttered his eyes innocently. “So, who on the Puddlemere team would you shag?” Once again, Oliver choked on his wine.

 

“Bloody hell, Harry,” he growled. “You gotta stop asking me shit like that with my mouth full.”

 

“Sorry,” Harry said unrepentantly.

 

Oliver sighed. “Well, um…” ~ Crap. Once again, Oliver, why don’t you just hold up a bloody mirror in front of his face? ~ “Actually, I wouldn’t mind getting a leg over on Joss,” he lied shamelessly. Joss Marpol, Puddlemere Beater, was bloody huge and bloody stupid. He practically had to be pointed in the direction of the bludger. “Yeah,” Oliver continued, pausing to gulp back the rest of his glass. “He’s just my type.”

 

“Oh,” Harry said, leaning forward to fill the glass up again. He tried to hide the disappointment Oliver’s words had caused to well up in his gut. “Naw, ‘fraid he doesn’t do a thing for me,” he stated with a forced smile.

 

Oliver looked at him curiously. “So, who would you shag?”

 

Harry grinned and leaned in closer to the sandy haired man. “Well,” he eyed Oliver slyly, “there’s this Keeper that’s unbelievably hot,” he purred. Oliver’s eyes shot open to full mast and Harry chuckled half-heartedly, slugging the keeper on the arm playfully. Oliver relaxed a bit and laughed with him. Harry bit his lip but kept the smile on his face.

 

“How about in sex, Ollie?” he asked out of the blue. “Are you a top or a bottom?” Harry was pretty sure he’d never get tired of seeing Oliver nearly spew his drink. It was good for hours of amusement.

 

“Bloody hell, Harry!” Oliver wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “You really did mean that we were going to get to know everything about each other!” Harry just grinned. “Er…well, I like both,” he began, cursing his fair skin, “but I suppose if I have to choose, I like top a bit better. But I started as a bottom, so I really try to use that experience to make it better for my…er, my uh, partner.”

 

He wanted to crawl under the couch. “What about you?” he tossed the ball back into Harry’s court.

 

“Years of being under Draco Malfoy has taught me to be a very receiving bottom,” Harry grinned.

 

Oliver waved his hand dismissingly. “Yes, but do you like being a bottom?” he insisted.

 

Harry scooted forward a couple of inches. Not much, just enough to cause Oliver to hitch in a tiny breath at Harry’s nearness. “Every last thing about it…Oliver,” he breathed, looking through lowered lashes. “I love feeling pinned by my lover. Being filled, being at his mercy and knowing I come only when he’s ready for me,” he let his tongue slip out and wet his lower lip.

 

Oliver watched, entranced. “I can never get enough of watching him orgasm, knowing that it’s because of me. That it’s inside of me. That even when he leaves…I’ll have a bit of him left with me.” Oliver didn’t even notice that he’d parted his lips til he heard his own small panting breathes being taken from between them. Harry sat up suddenly and grinned.

 

“So, if you weren’t on Puddlemere, which team would you choose?”