Title: Pretending For Real
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 my Cassy. Cause
she converted and cause she wrote me the best S/A fic EVER.
Dearest Oliver:
It has been so long since we’ve
had you home, son. We miss you very much. We had hoped that you might make it
down for Christmas, but the unfortunate playoff game with the Chudley Cannons
diverted those plans. I must say it wasn’t Christmas without you. As you might
remember, next week is our 30th anniversary. It would be delightful
to have all of our children here to help us celebrate this momentous occasion.
Bring your lovely boyfriend with you. We’ve heard so much about him and are
eager to welcome him to the family. We have already tidied up your old room so
you needn’t worry about finding a place to stay. I do hope that we will be
hearing from you soon, son.
Your loving parents,
Mum and Da
Oliver read the letter one more
time and then dropped the parchment into his lap. “Bloody wonderful,” he
groaned, letting his eyes close. His head fell backwards into the metal locker,
a clang echoing through the empty locker room.
“Apparently not,” an amused voice
came from his left. Oliver’s eyes shot open and he regarded the figure before
him.
“Harry,” he breathed. He realized
that he was staring like a besotted teenager again and he flushed. Hopefully,
Harry would think that the high humidity in the room had something to do with
that. “I didn’t think anyone was still here.”
Harry grinned and threw the towel
he’d been ruffling his hair with down onto the bench. “Kinda figured that,
Ollie. Everyone else took off, but you know how much I love pruning under
scalding hot water.” Another grin from the dark haired young man and Oliver was
adjusting his own towel over his lap.
~Good Christ. Did that boy have no
idea what a single smile did to a body? ~ Oliver smiled back wanly. “Yeah, I
know,” he answered. It was near legendary, the amount of time Harry spent in
the showers. He claimed just to enjoy being clean but Oliver had seen him
showering enough to know that wasn’t the whole truth. It was like a sinful
obsession.
The first time he watched Harry,
he’d hidden around the corner of the lockers. He’d come back in for his wallet
and saw the younger boy standing in the center of a ring of spouting
showerheads. After the obligatory frozen moment, the jaw drop and the wiping
away of a tiny bit of drool, Oliver found himself transfixed by Harry’s little
ritual. Harry meticulously washed every inch of his body, glistening in soap
and water, and then submerged his head into a stream.
For a long moment, Oliver thought
Harry had drowned standing upright but then the other man tossed his soaked
hair back and smiled blissfully up at the ceiling, eyes closed. Soon it became
difficult to see for the steam, but Oliver saw enough to realize that Harry was
moving from shower spray to shower spray, arms out, practically drinking the
experience in with his whole body.
Oliver had to smile right along
with Harry. He didn’t think he’d ever before seen someone enjoy something as
simple as a shower with so much abandon. After that, he did his best to chase
the other players out of the locker room quickly so that Harry could have his
‘alone time’ with the shower. Of course, that Oliver was able to watch Harry
without prying eyes noting his actions was nothing to scoff at either.
“So, what’s in the letter that’s
got you so upset?” Harry asked, startling Oliver out of his reverie. He
continued to dry off, making no effort to appear modest as he dragged the towel
on his hips off with as much ease as he had the one on his head.
Oliver swallowed hard and tried to
keep his eyes locked on Harry’s face. “Just a letter from Mum,” he croaked.
“Really?” Harry asked
interestedly, tugging on his boxers. “Letters from your mum don’t usually spur
you to cursing.”
Oliver shrugged and gave a tiny
sigh of relief as Harry’s delectable arse and cock were covered. “Usually, she
doesn’t guilt me,” he returned, the croak gone.
Harry flopped onto the bench
beside Oliver, still only clad in his boxers. “Guilt?” he grinned. “Your mum
never struck me as the guilting kind.”
Oliver eyed Harry for a moment and
then decided what the hell. “Here,” he proffered the parchment. “See for
yourself.”
Harry took the paper and skimmed
it. He grinned halfway through and then glanced up at Oliver. “Boyfriend, eh?”
he jibed. “And who is this handsome bloke? You’ve never introduced us.”
Oliver snatched the parchment away
and glared at Harry. “Good reason for that, mate,” he growled. “I don’t have
one.”
Harry frowned. “But…she says you
talk about him all the time?”
Oliver sighed and dropped the
parchment into his lap again. “I do. I talk all the time about this wonderful
guy who is rich and sweet and thoughtful and gorgeous and loves me
unconditionally.” Harry still looked confused. Oliver sat up abruptly. “I made
him up, Harry,” he bit out. “I made everything about him up because I got tired
of Mum and Da always badgering me about dying alone and never knowing
happiness.”
He slammed his head back into the
locker. “I made him up,” he repeated sadly. “And now they want to meet this
amazing Mr. Wonderful.”
Harry’s mouth moved into an ‘o’
and he fell into silence for a moment, respecting the defeated look on Oliver’s
face. Finally, he couldn’t stand the sad expression any longer.
“So, don’t go,” he offered.
Oliver snorted and looked at him
with a humorless smile. “Its my parents’ 30th anniversary, Harry.
You don’t refuse to go to your parents’ 30th anniversary.”
Harry paused a moment. Then, “So,
tell them that your boyfriend couldn’t make it.”
Oliver shook his head. “I could
tell them that, but to be honest, that’s getting kind of old. I’ve told them
that for every occasion he might have joined me at for the last 3 years.
They’re getting suspicious.”
Harry bit his lip and thought
again. He fiddled with the edge of his boxers and Oliver wanted to slap Harry’s
hands away and replace them with his own. “Could you maybe take someone who
could pretend to be your boyfriend?” Oliver glanced at Harry and was surprised
to see a flush on the bronzed skin. “I mean,” Harry continued, “If you take
someone who knows the score, who is willing to play along, it should work,
right?”
Oliver nodded. “Yeah, that would
work, I guess. But where am I going to get someone who’ll be willing to lie for
me like that? Who’ll be willing to sacrifice a whole weekend of making up
answers to the questions that my female relatives are going to barrage him
with? Who’ll be willing to act like the sun rises and sets on me?”
Harry’s flush grew deeper. His
fiddling grew worse. “Well, I could do it, if you want,” he murmured. Oliver
looked gob smacked. Harry stared at a spot directly behind Oliver’s ear. “I
mean, it’s what a friend would do for another friend, right?” he hurried on.
Oliver sat up again. “Do you have
any idea what you’re getting yourself into?” he asked. “My mother and sisters
are like ravening animals. They’ll quiz you until you start crying. And they’ll
be expecting you to really act like you’re in love with me. I mean, I poured it
on thick about how loving and thoughtful and selfless you…er, um, he
was.”
He nearly smacked himself at the
slip. Harry, however, didn’t seem to notice his slip. “I can do it, Ollie,” the
younger boy said earnestly. “You’ve been…I feel…” he cleared his throat and
swallowed. “I can do it. I want to do it. I promise, I’ll make it
convincing. You have my word.”
Harry looked so sincere, so
heartfelt, that Oliver couldn’t tell him no. “Okay, Harry,” he said grudgingly.
“If you really want to, I suppose I do need the help.”
Harry’s face erupted into a grin.
He reached over and slapped Oliver on the shoulder. “Great! Now, we have to
make sure we have our stories right before we go into battle,” he pointed out.
“What do you say to dinner at my place tonight? We can hash our cover stories
out?” Oliver nodded weakly and Harry bounced up to finish getting dressed.
Great. An entire evening in
Harry’s company. A whole evening getting to know one another, making up stories
about a life with Harry that Oliver wished he had.
And after that? A weekend with
Harry. A whole weekend reminding himself that it was only pretend, that it
would end when they got back to their normal lives.
And after that? A whole lifetime
wishing otherwise.
