Archive of Our Own ^beta

Greg frowned as he walked into the pristine office. With each heavy step, he sank into the plush, floral carpet. The walls were adorned with paintings displaying former ministers and recognizable landmarks around wizarding London. This room was designed to serve as an altar for the Ministry, or more accurately, the Minister.

The man himself was sitting behind a massive mahogany desk, head down, writing furiously with a large white feather quill. It was an intimidation tactic, making Greg wait for his attention. But if the skinny little ginger really thought he was intimidating to Greg, well, that was laughable. Technically, Percy Weasley was his boss. Greg had been working as an Auror on protective duty for the Ministry for seven years now. But Greg reported to Robards, and he’d spent the majority of his time watching over lower-level Ministers and their families, rarely interacting with the head of Wizarding England.

Greg stood perfectly still, hands behind his back, eyes forward, face neutral as he waited for Minister Weasley to deign to acknowledge him. But Greg was good at his job. He could stay like this for hours without moving an inch.

Weasley did not make him wait hours, however. About ten minutes into the silent battle, he looked up, nodded at the chair in front of him, and said, “Take a seat, Agent Goyle.”

“Thank you, Minister.” Greg sat in the chair, which was an unreasonably awkward affair with strange, looping arms that cut into his waist and a springy cushion that made him feel like he was balancing atop the thing. Despite this, Greg did his best to appear composed and steady.

“Well, Agent Goyle, I’ll get right to it.”

Greg scoffed internally, considering the long stretch of nothing he’d just endured.

“Agent Garcia is taking some time off. He was hit with some unknown curse this morning on our way into the office. He’s alive and not in critical condition, but he is in quarantine while they determine what all of the curse’s effects are. As such, you are being called up to my personal protection team. No current team member is ready to take on being the head of security, but Robards says you are.”

Greg didn’t miss the skepticism in his voice. It wasn’t a secret that Minister Weasley was against the RoCoDE program, or the Rehabilitation of the Children of Death Eaters. It was run by his Deputy Minister, Hermione Granger, and had gone a long way towards building bridges between the pureblood families and those on the other side of the war. Like it or not, Greg had graduated from the program nearly ten years prior, and he was the most qualified for this job. The only reason he hadn’t been on the Minister’s team already was because of his known distaste for people like Greg. Privately, Greg thought Minister Weasley was simply trying to avoid another disaster like he’d had back in the time of the war, of trusting the wrong people. But Greg was the right people. He had more to prove than most, and he would lay down his life to protect those now running the government. He’d seen the alternative up close and personal, and it had been ugly.

“Thank you, Minister. I’m honored.” He kept his voice neutral, no inflection at all. “I will need a full report on this morning’s incident, any related incidents, and access to the security protocols and protections Garcia had in place.”

The Minister nodded. “Yes, yes. Just give a list to Lavender, she can get you anything you need. Good day.”

It didn’t hurt exactly, the curt dismissal, not when it was exactly what he’d expected. It was more like an itch—an uncomfortable annoyance rather than actual pain.

“Hello, Agent Goyle!” Lavender greeted in her typical, overly effusive style. “Let me show you to your new desk.”

It wasn’t a far walk; he was stationed across from hers, where he could watch the door into the Minister’s office as well as the door into the small entryway where they worked.

“You and I are going to be seeing much more of each other,” she said, smiling. Her smile flickered, and he didn’t have to guess what had brought her mood down.

“I’m sorry to hear about Agent Garcia. I know you worked closely with him.”

Lavender wiped away a small tear just forming in the corner of her eye. “Thank you. I’m glad he’s stable, it’s just hard not knowing what the curse is doing.”

Greg nodded. “Yes. I understand. Speaking of, can you get me the report on this morning’s incident and on the protocols he had in place? I want to keep all of us safe.”

She brightened. “Of course, I’ll get them for you right now. We’re lucky to have you, Goyle.”

“I’m not so sure everyone shares your sentiment,” Greg mumbled.

With one perfectly manicured hand, Lavender waved away his words as if they were a bad odor. “Don’t let his demeanor get to you. He’s like that with everyone. Let me grab you those reports.” And then she was off, her hips swaying in her skirt as she walked.

Due to the morning’s attack, all meetings with outside entities were canceled for the day, and only the inner circle from the Ministry was allowed access to the Minister. This allowed Greg the time he needed to review the reports and speak with every member of the Minister’s protective detail. The team was solid: Alicia Spinnet, Zacharias Smith, Michael Corner, and Susan Bones. They were all qualified and trustworthy. Greg was surprised that Spinnet or Smith hadn’t been asked to take over leading the team, but he trusted that Robards had his reasons.

The protective plan Garcia had in place, however, was less than ideal. It was no surprise that someone had gotten a shot off at the Minister. He was allowed to walk to the office? With only one escort? That was going to be changing immediately. All public appearances would now have a minimum of three members of security. Greg marked up these changes and many, many others in red ink before sending the updated plans to Robards, Lavender, and the Minister.

“Lavender, send in Agent Goyle, please.” This came from a speaking stone on the secretary’s desk.

If Greg were less of a professional, he’d have rolled his eyes. He was five feet from Lavender’s desk; obviously, he could hear that he’d been summoned. Still, he sat patiently as Lavender click-clacked across the tile to him. “Minister Weasley would like to see you in his office.”

“Thank you, Lavender. I will head in now.” She smiled pityingly at him. This would not be good.

As soon as Greg closed the door behind himself, Weasley slammed both hands on the desk and rose to his feet. “My morning walks are just about the only time I have outside, not at my own home. You are not taking that away from me.”

Greg sat in the uncomfortable chair, tapping it with his wand to allow it to accommodate his girth before resting his ankle on his opposite knee. “It’s a predictable routine when you are exposed at the same time every day. It’s actually insane that Garcia ever let you do it.”

“Let me?” Percy was making his way around the massive desk now. “No one ‘lets me’ do anything. I am the fucking Minister, Goyle. I do what I want. When I want to.”

Greg shrugged. “Well, I’m the fucking Minister’s head of security, and you do what I want when I want you to.”

Percy swallowed. Hard. Greg liked the way his Adam’s apple bobbed and the muscles in his throat tensed. Very interesting… Did Minister Weasley like to be dommed a bit? Greg frowned the moment he had the thought. It was improper. The sort of thing that led to bad decisions and unsafe situations.

The Minister narrowed his eyes. “I’m calling Robards right now.” His voice was icy, all passion leeched away and replaced by incredible control. “You will be taken off of my detail and possibly relieved of your position altogether, depending on how generous I’m feeling.”

“Go ahead.” Greg nodded toward the speaking stone that connected the Minister to the most important offices. It was powerful magic, reserved for an elite few.

He hesitated, taking in the lack of concern on Greg’s face. “Why don’t you care?”

Greg chuckled. “Well, for one, I know I won’t be fired. We have a shortage of well-trained Aurors, and I am one of the best. Not a chance I’m let go.”

Percy’s forehead wrinkled as his eyebrows furrowed. “And your second reason?”

“I don’t really give a fuck if I’m taken off your detail. I enjoy what I do, and I would love to go back to looking after people who appreciate my services rather than protesting against basic safety rules like a child throwing their toys out of the pram. And just so we are clear, anyone, literally anyone else who is assigned to you will have the same rule. So, ya know… It's sort of like I win no matter what.”

“You don’t win if I don’t call,” Weasley replied, smirking. “Then you are stuck with me.”

“Sure. I guess. But I would also hold one of the most prestigious roles in the department. So, not too bad of an outcome.” Greg tapped his ringed fingers against his thigh. “Are we done here? Because I am still reviewing your safety protocols, and I really want to get that finished up.”

The Minister’s mouth literally gaped open. He had nice lips. A little thin, but they looked soft and pink. Greg stood. “Good talk.” He walked out without a glance behind him, his heart thundering in his chest. It was true, he wasn’t worried about losing his job, but speaking to the Head of Wizarding England like that was still pretty ballsy. He felt a rush of adrenaline and perhaps a tiny flicker of lust. But no. He’d shove that down and away. The Minister was a reedy, pompous git. Greg was better than this. No feelings. Ever. That’s how you kept people safe.

As the day passed by, Weasley stayed in his office, holding meetings and reviewing documents well past the typical five o’clock end of day. If he did end up calling Robards, no one mentioned it to Greg. It wasn’t until after the sun had set that Minister Weasley finally walked out of his office, tie loosened and several buttons undone. His hair was ruffled, and his eyes were drooping. It finally hit Greg how hard this day must have been for him. Continuing to work knowing someone had made an attempt on his life. Knowing a man was in the hospital because of him. Maybe, just possibly, Greg had been a little too hard on the man.

“Well, don’t just sit there uselessly. Walk me to the Floo.”

Right, no. He was an ass.

There was a private Floo in the Minister’s office, of course, but this was only to be used in case of emergency. It was only connected to the remote lockdown room in an undisclosed location. Instead, when unable to walk to and from the office, there was a Floo on this level only for the use of the highest members of the English Wizarding Government.

Greg stood and escorted Percy through the floor and to the Floo. As was protocol, he had another Auror, Spinnet, stay with the Minister while Greg traveled through first and cleared the room. His Manor was, of course, under 24-hour security watch and the tightest wards magic could produce, but it was protocol for a reason. People loved coming up with new and deranged ways to hurt political enemies. So Greg scanned the space magically, visually, and physically, before returning to the Floo and giving the go-ahead for the Minister to come through.

Percy walked through the fire, his height forcing him to bend severely, and for a moment, he was just a jumble of too-long limbs and too-red hair.

Percy stood, dusting the ash off his suit. He looked up, catching Greg’s smirk, and sighed. “Yes, well, that’s part of the reason I avoid Floo travel as much as possible. I’m already not a very… attractive man, and then all the stooping and stumbling… it’s not the image people expect from their Minister.”

Greg felt a guilty stab. He knew something about being judged by your appearance. He was, after all, the fat, dumb one back at Hogwarts.

“Sorry, Minister.”

Percy waved his words off. “It’s fine. I know who I am. Good night, Agent Goyle.”

“Err. Sorry, sir, but I am going to have to stay by your side. As long as the assailant is at large, I’m by your side.”

Percy scoffed. “Excuse me?”

Greg frowned. “I thought I was clear about this when we spoke this morning. I apologize for any confusion.”

“Are you going to stand in my room all night?” He looked horrified at the thought.

“No. I’ll be stationed outside your door. And Bones will take over for me around midnight. Then, I’ll be back with you when you wake up.”

Greg held out his hand, directing Percy out of the room. He’d been in the private residence before, for meetings and dinners with his previous charges, so he was well-versed in the layout.

They walked together through the hall and down to the dining room. A meal was set out on the table for him. Whipped potatoes and roast chicken, fresh salad, and a tureen of delicious-smelling bisque. It made Greg’s stomach grumble. When was the last time he’d eaten?

Percy took his seat at the head of the table. Then looked at Greg expectantly. “Sit. I know you’re hungry. Don’t deny it, I heard your stomach clear across the room.”

“Alright. I suppose I could join you for a few moments.” Greg had always had a good appetite. He was careful about what he chose to eat these days so he could be in fighting form, mostly protein and veg. But he couldn’t help but indulge just a bit. He piled chicken and salad on his plate, but he allowed himself a bowl of the soup and a scoop of the potatoes as well.

Percy had summoned yet more work from Merlin knew where and was reading through papers as he nibbled mindlessly at the chicken.

Greg ate quickly. He couldn’t let his guard down, even if they were safer here than just about anywhere else. Percy finished not long after. With a flick of his wrist, the papers were returned to wherever they’d come from. Percy made his way up the stairs, and Greg followed, stopping him when they reached the top in order to do a scan. First, he sent out his magic, feeling for any beings, any unknown magical signatures, even as his eyes scanned the space for movement, any item out of place, or any unusual smell. He nodded, and Percy walked again, throwing open the double doors to his bedroom. He stopped, knowing the drill, allowing Greg to clear the space.

It was a nice room, He’d known it would be, Percy was the Minister after all, but it wasn’t like his public spaces. Those were clearly decorated by an interior decorator, probably with the help of a PR agent. They were sterile, a mix of dark wood and light blues and greens. Political art, accolades on display. It was made to be photographed. To present an image to those who visited. This was different. Still clean; Percy Weasley was the definition of orderly. But there was no set color palette here, no planned decor style. Instead, the walls were covered in family photos, his duvet appeared to be a hand-knit blanket, stretched and oddly shaped from years of use and washing. On his bedside table sat yet more photos, a few fiction books, and keepsakes and knick-knacks that were oddly endearing.

Percy coughed. And Greg realized he’d been snooping, right in front of Percy’s face.

“Sorry, Minister. All clear. Sleep well. Oh, and remember, no silencing spells. I don’t have to stay in the same room as you, only so long as I can hear you if you need me.”

“Need you like I need another hole in my head,” Percy mumbled, clearly annoyed.

Greg chuckled. “Kinda why I’m here, Minister. To prevent precisely that.”

Greg shut the door and stationed himself outside. It was a regular part of the job, being around while others went about their lives as usual. But for some reason, Greg couldn’t tear his mind away from the fact that on just the other side of this door, the most powerful man in Wizarding England, perhaps the most powerful man in the world, was stripping off his kit and climbing into a rather cosy-looking bed. It was an inappropriate thought. He was sure it was an unwelcome one at that. Percy didn’t need him perving out over him while he tried to rest and forget the fact that someone had made an attempt on his life that morning.

Still, Greg was oddly attracted to him. He’d never noticed it before, mostly tolerating the man. But today, he’d seen a different side of him. How dedicated he was to his work, the way his lips shone pink when he licked them, and even how fun it was telling him no. That had been particularly revealing, Greg thought. Greg hadn’t played around much with power dynamics in the bedroom, but it seemed like something worth exploring in the future.

None of this mattered in the end, though. Percy was the Minister; he was as straight as an arrow. Even if he weren’t, there had been no reports of him having a single romantic entanglement since the day he was elected. He had no time for it. Greg’s mind sifted through all of these thoughts as he stood guard, alert and ready for any threats. But nothing happened. At midnight, Bones appeared to take over, and Greg apparated the short distance to his own flat to get some sleep and prepare to continue protecting the Minister for Magic again the next day.

***

Greg arrived at the Manor at seven. He was checked over by one of the agents always stationed outside the home and permitted entry. He found Percy and Bones in the bedroom. Percy was in the process of buttoning up his shirt, and Greg froze at the sight. The man was lanky. Tall and thin-limbed. But apparently, he was finely muscled under those slightly oversized button-ups. There was a light dusting of dark red hair on his defined pecs, and Greg was dying to see if his nipples were ringed by the same light fuzz.

Bones smiled, noticing Greg’s approach before Percy had. “Morning, Goyle. Did you sleep well?”

Her voice shook him out of his incredibly rude staring, and Percy quickly finished fastening the last few buttons, removing the tantalizing glimpse of him from view.

Greg nodded. “Yeah. It was a long day, conked out as soon as my head hit the pillow. You go do the same, Bones.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, barely concealing her yawn. And then she was gone. And it was just Greg and Percy again. There was a hint of pink on the high points of his cheeks and even on his ears. Was the Minister shy?

Percy cleared his throat. “Just a few more moments and then I’ll be ready to head into the office.” Greg nodded, averting his gaze to give him more privacy as he finished dressing. In his periphery, he could see him add a tie and throw on a plush-looking set of velvet robes. Robes meant press. Greg frowned.

“Where is the press conference being held?”

Without looking up from the work of fastening his robe, Percy responded. “So you were given the updated agenda for the day. Good.”

Greg hadn’t been. He just knew the Minister. That was his job, wasn’t it? Still, he didn’t bother explaining and let him continue.

“We’re having a small group in the briefing room. Just those from the major outlets invited, full scan, wands removed. Highest security protocols.”

It still made Greg uncomfortable, but it sounded like everything was being done by the book. “When was this put together? Weren’t you sleeping?”

Percy waved off this comment. “I woke hours ago. Wrote to Lavender and had her set it up. We need to show the public that I’m fine. It will help with morale.” Percy ran his hands along the pleats of his robes one final time before he nodded. “Alright, to the Ministry.”

Greg walked through the Floo first, and Percy followed shortly after. When they reached his office, Percy strode inside without a word to either of them. Greg took a moment to actually grab the day's updated agenda from Lavender and looked it over. He made some notes about security needed for some of the smaller meetings and was walking it over to Lavender’s desk when a siren began to sound.

Greg pulled his wand from its holster and had it trained on the trespasser in a flash. Percy, in a show of absolute buffoonery, poked his head out the door of his office. Without taking his eyes off the man, whom he’d now identified as Seamus Finnigan, Greg barked at Percy to get back inside.

“It’s fine, Greg. Seamus isn’t a threat.” Percy shook his head and walked closer. Without hesitating, Greg cast a full-body bind on Finnigan and turned, throwing himself on top of Percy. With the tall man protected beneath him, Greg began crawling, bringing them both back into the safety of the office. With a flick of his wand, he closed and locked the door behind them and paused to make sure the Minister was alright. He began checking over the thin but well-muscled form below him. His hands traced over thighs, along arms, over the tight pecs and bunched stomach muscles that contracted under his hands. He was searching not just for injury but for signs of dark magic, curses, hexes, tracking spells.

Percy was sputtering, squirming under his touch, and trying to break free. “This… I’m… I don’t… AGENT GOYLE STOP!”

Greg paid him no mind. He wasn’t in charge right now. Greg was. There was a threat. And Greg was going to handle it. He stood and held out his hand to Percy, helping him up. “You don’t seem to have been hit. Get in the Floo. Now.”

Percy sighed, brushing invisible dust from his robes. “There is no threat, Goyle. Seamus is… well, he’s a friend. A close friend.”

Greg shook his head. “He’s not on the approved list to be on this floor. I have no idea how he managed to get so far. He’s clearly up to something to have gotten past the previous checkpoints without clearance.”

Percy sighed, scrunched up his face, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’s been here… a lot. Used to be on the list. He was removed very recently after we, erm… we… broke up.”

Greg’s mind spun. Percy was gay. Percy had a boyfriend. Percy had broken up with his boyfriend. Percy was gay.

Lavender knocked on the door. “Minister, Agent Goyle, Seamus seems to be rather distressed over the trouble he’s caused. Can I release his binds?”

Greg looked to Percy. “You're sure?”

Percy nodded. “He’s… we… we care very much for each other. Or we did. He’s safe.”

Greg unlocked the door, and through the doorway, shot the cancelling curse on the binds. Seamus stumbled a bit as he stood, trying to get his muscles working again. Greg hid his laugh behind his fist. “Right this way,” Greg instructed, holding the door open for him now.

“Thank you, Agent Goyle,” Percy offered tightly.

Greg nodded in acknowledgment and closed the door, leaving the three of them in the small space at the front of the office.

“Erm. No.” Percy shook his head. “I meant, thank you, Agent Goyle. That’s all we need for now.”

Greg huffed out a laugh. What a prick. Dimissing him as if he were just another servant on his staff. “Oh. No. I’ll be staying. You vouching for him got him in the room. But I’m not going anywhere with an unverified guest in the room with you. You must be mad. Your assassin is on the loose still.”

Percy looked ready to go toe-to-toe, but Seamus stepped in, laying a comforting hand on Percy’s shoulder. Greg tensed, his eyes trained on the hand, looking for any intent to harm, the slightest flicker of magic. But there was nothing.

“He’s right, Perc,” Seamus whispered. “He’s keeping you safe. I shouldn’t have even tried to come and see you; I should have known I’d be taken off the security list. I was just worried. Are you ok?” His voice was low, and Greg felt like he was intruding on an intimate moment. It made his skin crawl. But he couldn’t step back, couldn't look away. It was already a risk letting him in the same room as Percy. He had to keep his eyes trained on them, him, for the Minister’s safety.

Percy pulled him into a hug. “I’ve missed you.”

Seamus hugged him back, his suit jacket straining over the bulk of his shoulders. “The news scared me near to death, Perc.”

Percy nodded, nuzzling his head into Seamus’s neck. “You know you could be back on the approved list, don’t you? You have to know that.”

Seamus’s eyes flicked over to Greg and then back to the man in his arms. “You broke up with me, Perc. Not the other way around.”

Percy stepped back. His breathing was uneven. Greg didn’t like it. “I know, but if you just let us go public…”

Finnigan shrugged.

Percy frowned. “Still think it's below you to be my First Lady then?”

Seamus ran his hand over the back of his neck. “I never said that.”

Percy pasted on a fake smile. “Not in so many words.” His face was red and his demeanor stiff.

Greg tapped his wand, prompting an alarm to tinkle from it lightly. “Minister, it’s time to prep for your interviews.”

Percy whipped around, eyes wide as if he’d forgotten Greg was there at all. “Yes. Of course. Thank you, Agent Goyle. Please see Mr. Finnigan out.”

Greg was happy to do so. Placing one meaty hand on his shoulder and steering the man out of the office, down the hall, and even walking him into the lift. Right before the doors closed, Greg left him with a parting reminder. “You are not on the cleared list of guests. See that you follow proper protocols from now on.”

Greg turned on his heel and strode back to the Minister’s office. He found Percy on his stiff-looking settee, clutching a pillow and wiping tears from his eyes. “Can… I just have a moment before we go to the press?”

Greg walked over. “I lied earlier. You have time. It’s still early. It seemed like you needed…”

“I did.” Percy grabbed Greg’s hand, small and freckled against thick and tanned. “Thank you. I’m sorry for making you sit here through all of that. I know it must have been painful. I’m rather mortified.”

Greg chuckled. “Don’t be. Last time a bloke broke my heart, I couldn’t leave my house for a month. You are doing great. Really.”

Percy’s eyes widened. “I didn’t realize you were gay? Bi?”

“Gay. And I could say the same to you, Mr. Minister. Keeping something from the voting public, eh?”

Percy rolled his eyes. “Well, yes. At first, it was just simpler not to bring it up. I wasn’t dating anyone anyway. But then Seamus came into my life. And,” Percy looked up at Greg, hovering over him. “Sit down, will you? I feel like I’m conversing with a cross professor the way you're looming.”

Greg sighed, annoyed, but complied. He took a seat on the settee, leaving some space between them.

Percy continued. “Well, I met Seamus. And I’d only known him previously as someone my younger brother had been mates with. But we connected instantly. We were both happy to keep things hush-hush at first. No need to alert the press just because I was getting shagged regularly.”

Despite himself, Greg chuckled at that.

“But then it was more. We were together for a few months, and I kept thinking he’d bring it up. Of course, I’d be the harder one to convince. I was the politician. I had so much more to lose. But he never did. And I wanted to go public. I loved him, and I didn’t want to hide that. But…” Percy’s eyes were unfocused, staring at the door Seamus had just left through. His piercing blue irises held unspoken pain.

“I see.” If Greg’s voice was rough, well, it was stifling in here, poor air circulation underground. He certainly wasn’t affected by the sob story.

“Yes. So. Pathetic little Percy. Begging for attention and love yet again. I’m such a cliche. Sorry to bother you with all of this.”

Greg wiped at the moisture gathering in the corner of his eyes. “No. I get it. I really get it.”

“You don’t have to say that. I know how pitiful I am.” Percy’s sigh was a deep, shuddering sound. And it cracked Greg open.

“I’m not just saying that.” His voice was terse, a growl. He took a breath, getting himself under control. “I’ve had boyfriends. But still no one knows I’m queer. Why do you think that is? It’s not because I’m a private person. I dated before I joined the Ministry. I dated at Hogwarts. But no one wants to admit they are dating the big, dumb oaf.”

Percy winced. “People don’t see you like that.”

The ‘anymore’ was silent, but Greg heard it anyway. “You do.”

Percy opened his mouth to deny it.

Greg stopped him. “No. Don’t. I know you do. And you did back in school, too; everyone did then. And I get it. I didn’t do myself any favors. I acted like a thug. But it fucking stung. Still stings. Draco and I were together for three years. Never told a soul. Crabbe didn’t even know. I was good enough for a secret fuck, as the only other gay bloke he knew, but he’d never tell a soul.”

Percy grabbed Greg’s hand in his. “I do not see you that way now. I won’t lie and claim I saw you for who you really are back then, but now? I see you. I know how clever you have to be to succeed in this role. How quick on your feet you are, how deft your magic is. I don’t love Hermione’s program. It’s not favored by the voting public. People see it as getting off too easy, putting risky people in the Ministry, a repeat of previous missteps. But I see the good in it. See the good in you.”

Greg felt a shiver go up his spine. Percy’s thumb was rubbing small circles on the back of his hand—it felt incredibly good. It was doing all sorts of things to his body.

He heard the jiggle of the door handle seconds before the door swung open, Lavender swanning in, clipboard in hand. Greg managed to stand, to separate from Percy before anyone—Greg included—got the wrong idea.

“Media briefing in ten, Minister. Hair and makeup need you now.” Lavender smiled at the both of them.

Percy stood. “Yes, of course. Off we go.”

Even with all of the protocols in place, Greg couldn’t relax during the meeting. Too many unknowns. Percy, however, was calm and collected. His hair shone under the lights, and his smile, while false, was still rather pretty. He answered their questions with reasonable answers, sounding like everything was under control, assuring the crowd that the perpetrator would be found any time now. You’d never know listening to him that the investigation was currently at a dead end with no leads.

“And your new head of security, we hear he’s not from your normal team. Is that wise? Can Agent Goyle keep you safe?”

It was shocking to hear his name in the mouth of the press. He was never in the spotlight. It was unnatural.

Percy smiled, a disarming look with a conspiratorial smirk as if he and the cameras were in on a private joke. “Listen, Araminta, you know as well as I do that Auror Robards is the best in the game. If he says Agent Goyle is my man, then who am I to argue?”

She nodded along, smiling as she took his words down.

Greg’s stomach was roiling. He liked that phrase too much. Goyle is my man.

Percy turned to him and shot him a wink. It was for the cameras. He knew it was. They were flashing all around them as it happened. But… it felt like more.

That evening, they made it home at a more reasonable hour. Percy sat down at his dinner table, which was groaning under the weight of the chef-prepared meal while the sun was still up. Tonight the menu was Indian—garlic naan and yogurt sauce, butter chicken, samosas, tandoori chicken, and fragrant basmati rice. It looked fantastic. His stomach growled, and without looking up from his plate, Percy flicked his wrist, and a chair slid out, a clear invitation for Greg to sit.

Quietly, Greg obeyed, sliding into the chair and scooting it up to the table before loading his plate with the food on offer. “Thanks. I’m famished.”

The corner of Percy’s mouth lifted. “Yes, I heard. Don’t think of this as an act of kindness but rather self-preservation. Can’t have my head of security passing out from starvation.”

Greg rolled his eyes. “Listen, I may be a big guy, but that’s what makes me good at my job. So make all the wasting away jokes you want, but I can take down two men at once with my bulk.” Percy choked on a forkful of rice, and Greg’s cheeks reddened as he registered his accidental double entendre. “I didn’t—”

Percy cut him off. “No, no. Don’t try to take it back. That’s quite impressive, Agent Goyle. Make sure you include that on your CV.”

Greg chuckled. “Suppose that’s one way to get myself noticed.”

“Oh, I hardly think anyone is failing to notice you,” Percy teased.

Greg frowned. “Yeah, yeah. Make fun of the big brute. So unique, Minister.”

Percy swallowed, and Greg watched the way his throat bobbed. “No, sorry,” Percy began. “I meant… well, you're easy on the eyes, aren’t you? I, erm. Never mind.”

“Oh, so compact little Irish men aren’t your only type then?” Greg was joking, but his heart was thundering in his chest. Was the Minister flirting with him? Was Greg flirting back?

The Minister took a sip of his drink and shrugged his shoulder. “Well, I mean, who doesn’t fancy being made to feel small and dainty and taken care of by a big, strong man? That’s everyone’s fantasy, isn’t it?”

Greg pursed his lips. “Not my personal cup of tea, no. But this is fascinating information about you.”

Percy’s pale, freckled cheeks pinked. He sputtered and babbled, and Greg let him hang there for a few moments before deciding to throw the man a bone. “Personally, I’m all about the praise. Love a mouthy man in bed. Telling me that I’m making him feel good or telling me exactly what he wants me to do to him. Hot as hell that is.”

He watched as Percy exhaled; his relief at having Greg share his own preferences was palpable. Greg wondered if Percy had ever had anyone to talk to about these things. Being in the closet could be so isolating. “Did your family know? About you and Seamus?”

“No.” He shook his head. “My brother Charlie knows I’m queer. Came out to him a few Christmases ago. He’s easy to talk to. Doesn’t say much but listens well.”

“Good.” Greg smiled. He was genuinely happy Percy had someone he could confide in, at least a little. It was odd, caring about Percy Weasley.

They sat at the table long after they were done eating and the dishes had vanished, just talking. Sharing dating horror stories and complaining about the extremely small queer dating pool in wizarding London. Eventually, Greg’s wand buzzed, alerting him that Bones would be arriving soon for her shift. Greg jumped up from the table. “Damn. Didn’t realize I’d kept you up so late. Sorry, Minister.”

Percy stood too, shaking his head. “No, please. This was nice. No need to apologize. And it’s Percy to anyone I’ve accidentally confessed fantasies to.”

Greg laughed, and suddenly they were standing right in front of each other, hardly a sliver of space between them. Percy was not a tiny man. But he was so much smaller than Greg, and the urge to fulfill his fantasy shot through him like a lightning bolt. His cock stirred and his body warmed, and when Percy’s eyes met his, Greg almost thought he could see the same desire he was feeling reflected there.

“Well, look at you two night owls, still up and about at this hour!” Susan sauntered in smiling, completely oblivious to the moment she’d interrupted. She patted Greg on the back. “Bet you're happy for the relief. Long day, eh?”

Greg nodded. “Yeah. Too long. Need to go get some sleep.”

She turned to Percy now. “Best you do the same Minister! Big day of being in charge of everything again tomorrow.”

Percy laughed lightly. “You’re right, as always, Bones. Goodnight, Agent Goyle.” And then he was gone, walking up the stairs with Bones. And Greg was left to go home alone and try not to obsess over whatever that had almost been.

Finnigan was visiting again. Greg was totally fine with this. It made no difference to him who the Minister spoke to. He was just there to protect him. If Percy had asked him, which of course he hadn’t, Greg might tell him that seeing your ex two days in a row wasn’t the smartest of moves. But he was supposed to keep the Minister’s heart beating, not protect it from emotional harm. So Greg said nothing when he appeared, fully cleared this time, carrying take-out and a smug little smirk. He just followed the man into the Minister’s office and stationed himself against the wall.

Finnigan, who was laying out a spread of Chinese food for them on the coffee table, looked up, his brow furrowed. He leaned in and whispered in Percy’s ear, his eyes on Greg as he spoke.

Percy shook his head. “Can’t. It’s protocol. You don’t have the clearance to be alone with me right now.”

“I was hoping we could talk, just you and me.” Seamus’s voice was still hushed, but Greg could hear his words.

Percy looked at Greg, his eyes pleading. It set off a flood of emotions. Sympathy, jealousy, protectiveness, anger, but in the end, none of that factored in. It was against protocol. That was all that mattered. Greg shook his head subtly. Percy nodded and turned back to Finnigan. “No. He stays. Just talk to me like he’s not here.”

Greg kept the wince off his face, just barely, but he did it. It stung, and that was probably the worst part. Not only was he starting to have feelings for the posh little man, but it was affecting him professionally. Of course, they should talk as if he weren’t there. That was his job; he faded into the walls. He wasn’t supposed to be noticed.

They nibbled on lo mein and orange chicken, talking small talk for a while. They were comfortable with one another. Percy could always anticipate when Seamus was about to ask for more water or another napkin, and Seamus seemed to follow Percy’s train of thought, nodding and finishing his sentences for him. They were quite the cozy pair. Greg tried to think of the last time he’d had that with someone. Had he ever? He and Draco did, in a way, as long as no one else was around. He sighed, his nostrils flaring. Percy’s eyes flicked over, a crease forming between his brows. Greg gave him another subtle headshake. He was fine. This was all fine.

Percy turned back to Seamus. “So, you said you had something important to discuss?”

Sweat beaded on Seamus’s forehead. That was the first sign. “Yeah. You know. Erm. So my father, he’s in a spot of trouble.”

Percy placed a hand on his thigh. “How can I help? You know I’d do anything for Nolan.”

His hands were shaking—visibly upset about his father. “Seems he’s been bragging to the wrong crowd about his son dating someone high up at the Ministry. And you know he’s a muggle and well… They took him, and I don’t have a choice, Perc. I’m so sorry.”

When Greg looked back on this moment, he could see the signs; they were all there, but he’d missed them. By the time it all came into focus, things were moving quickly.

Seamus had a hand wrapped around Percy’s middle, holding him in front of himself like a shield, and his wand trained on Greg. “I have to do this, Goyle. Don’t stop me. I have to, for me Da.”

In the time it took for Seamus to make his case, Greg was able to make his move. First, a tap of his wand to set off the silent alarm, putting the whole building on lockdown. He pulled his dueling wand from the holster on his chest without hesitation, lined up his shot, and took it. The bombarda shot Seamus across the room and into the wall, framed photos falling, shattering. Percy went with him, Seamus’s grip holding fast, but as Seamus’s head hit the wall, he was knocked unconscious, and his arm went limp. Greg took off in a sprint, hopping over the sofa, grabbing Percy, and slinging him over his shoulder. As he held him with one arm, Greg used his free hand to quickly cast the passcode spell that activated the emergency Floo. He didn’t breathe, didn’t dare think, just acted, relying on his training to guide him. But once they were through those emerald flames, with the Floo connection closed behind them, it all hit him at once. There had been another attack on the Minister’s life. On Percy’s life.

He hefted Percy’s body down to the ground as gently as he could and began taking stock. He was bleeding, a cut from the shattered glass on his left cheek. His heart rate and blood pressure were high. He needed him to calm down. “I’ve got you, Percy. You're safe. I’ve got you.” He wandlessly healed the cut on his cheek.

“He tried to—He was going to—” Tears streamed down Percy’s cheeks. He was sputtering, coughing violent tears. Greg grabbed him, wrapping his body around the smaller man. He applied pressure, not hard, just tight. It was a crisis technique. But it was also what his own body was screaming at him to do. He needed to feel Percy breathe, needed to feel his heart beating, needed to know he was alive. “I’m here. You're safe. I’ve got you.” An endless stream of reassuring nonsense flowed from his lips as he began to run his hands up and down Percy’s arms. “Let it out. It’s just me. Cry as much as you need.”

He wasn’t sure how much time passed as they lay together on the floor of the lockdown room. At some point, the tears dried up, but he didn’t let go, and Percy didn’t ask him to. They held onto each other, their breathing synching up. Sometime after that, Percy turned in his arms, bringing them face to face. “Thank you. Thank you. You saved me.”

Greg was going to say ‘it’s nothing’. Or ‘It’s my job’ or any of the other stoic remarks he usually doled out when something dangerous went down and he kept people safe. But instead, he said the truth. “I was so worried something was going to happen to you. Merlin, fuck, I’m so glad you’re alright.”

Percy’s eyes flicked to his lips, and Greg lost the ability to breathe all over again. Slowly, giving him plenty of time to turn away or back out, Percy leaned in, brushing his lips to Greg’s. It felt like an electric shock as their lips met. They were both flooded with adrenaline; it was a natural response to danger, but now they were safe, and Greg knew he shouldn’t let the hormones pumping through his system take control. Shouldn’t be so reckless, so unprofessional. But he really fucking wanted to. And from the way Percy leaned back in, kissing harder, rougher, it seemed like he did, too.

Greg growled, nipping back at Percy, taking over. He pinned the smaller man to the ground and grabbed him by the chin, angling his neck up so he could have more access. He licked up the elegant column, smelling the posh cologne, bergamot, and black pepper, along with the salt and sweat that was uniquely Percy. He wanted to consume him. The tension between them had been boiling under the surface for days, and now it was finally uncorked, set free to bubble over. He bit him, teeth scraping down the beautiful pale skin before he stopped and sucked on the reddened spot, marking him with his need. Percy let out a gorgeous little whine. Greg’s cock twitched at the sound, releasing a string of sticky precome.

“I’ve been imagining this for days,” Percy confessed. “Since you walked into my office so tall and big and in charge.”

Greg’s hands traveled as Percy babbled. He slid over the soft fabric of his button-up, feeling the taut plane underneath. Greg’s fingers dipped under the waistband of his trousers. Percy shivered, and some deep caveman part of Greg’s brain lit up at the sight. “That’s it, baby, give yourself over to me.”

Percy nodded. “Yes. Please. I need you.”

Without an ounce of finesse, Greg pulled at the fabric of the shirt, tugging it free from his trousers and shoving it up until he could see Percy’s pink nipples, peaked and flushed. “Who do you need?” he demanded, his voice a deep rumble.

“You, Greg. I need you. Please, touch me.” Percy lifted his hips, arching his back and putting the impressive bulge between his thighs front and center.

“Wait. Be good.”

A long, needy moan fell from Percy’s lips, but he nodded. “Yes. I can be good. So good. I promise. For you.”

He’d known, even before Percy’s little confession the night before. He’d known it would be like this with him. Perfectly matched. He brought his mouth to one jutting nipple, tugging it between his teeth. Percy’s whole body jerked, so he did it again, laughing as he whimpered and begged for more. Greg worked lower, licking the divots of his abs and dropping quick kisses. He nuzzled against the trail of hair, so light red it was almost blond.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Percy was chanting above him, his voice so thin and needy it made his cock strain against the placket of his slacks.

“Yeah?” he asked. “You want me to touch you here?” He lightly grazed Percy’s cock and reveled at his sharp intake of breath.

“Yes. Right there, I need you to touch me there. Do anything to me—everything.”

Greg tugged one of the belt loops of his trousers. “Take these off.”

Percy scrambled to comply, shucking them off quickly. He wore white Y-fronts underneath, and somehow that turned Greg on even more. He could see the outline of his cock, thick and long and pretty. There was a damp spot where his cock was leaking through the fabric. “Good boy,” he praised. “You take instruction so well.” Percy preened, smiling up at him.

He brought his hand to the straining cock and gave it a squeeze over the fabric. “You said you wanted me to touch you here?”

Percy nodded some more. “Yes. Please.”

Greg smirked and slowly moved his hand farther south. “What if I want to touch you here instead?” He gently pulsed his hand around Percy’s balls.

“Th-that’s good, too.” His voice was shaking adorably.

Traveling lower, he brought his fingers to Percy’s rim. “Or here? Can I touch you here? Can I slip my fingers inside? Would you let me?”

He pressed himself into Greg’s fingers, trying to get more, to get them inside. “Yesssss.” He hissed as the tip of Greg’s pointer finger pressed in the tiniest bit.

“You see, Percy, you should let me decide where I touch or don’t touch. It’s better that way, isn’t it? Letting me be in charge?”

He was too distracted to answer, which was fine with Greg. He just wanted to make him feel good. To make them both feel good. He placed a hand at either side of Percy’s pants and tugged them down with one swift motion.

He cast a quick cleaning and lubricating spell before bringing his thumb to the gorgeous little bud and circling it over and over. Percy squirmed and panted and moaned below him.

“You are doing so well. I’m going to give you more now, alright?” Slowly, gently, Greg slipped one finger just inside the tight ring, up to his first knuckle. Percy’s cock was leaking a steady stream of pre-come, making a pretty little mess on his belly. Greg pressed his own cock against Percy’s leg. He desperately needed pressure, friction, but not yet. He had to focus. Percy was opened by the magic, but it was his first time touching him here; he wanted to be careful, wanted it to only feel good. No pain, just pleasure. Slowly, he worked his finger in deeper, nearly all the way in. He angled his finger, searching.

Percy whimpered, and Greg knew he’d found it—the slight bulge of his prostate. He pressed into it again, circling, massaging it over and over.

“Oh fuck, Greg. Yes. Fuck.” Percy was grunting and moaning and canting his hips, helping Greg milk his prostate.

“Oh, I like it when you talk to me, Percy. Tell me more. How’s it feel? Hmm? Are you gonna come for me?”

Percy was pulled tight, his legs flexing and his head tilted back. “It’s so good. I’m close. Need more.”

“What a good boy. I wanna see you come. Make a mess of yourself for me.” Greg wrapped his free hand around the base of Percy’s throbbing cock. He pumped once, twice, and then he was coming, spurting long white ropes all over his chest and Greg’s hand. He made the most delicious sounds, high-pitched and needy as he came and came.

Greg collapsed beside him, his own breathing fast and stuttering. He hadn’t even been touched, and that was still one of his best sexual encounters. They were so good together. Too good. It made Greg nervous. He knew what happened when he caught feelings. It never ended well.

Percy grabbed Greg’s hand and began to lick his own cum from his fingers. His cock twitched in his trousers, begging for attention.

“You,” Percy whispered. “Let me take care of you.”

“You don’t have t—”

Percy ignored his protests, pulling down his zipper. “I want to. Let me.”

Greg nodded, and Percy bent down, kissing along the band of his boxers. He reached inside the opening and pulled his cock out. Percy gathered the precome from the head and spread it down his length. Greg was close. Touching Percy, getting him off, it had him right on the edge. So when Percy bent down and took his cock inside his hot, wet mouth, he nearly came right then. He had to pinch himself to keep from shooting his load so early. With little effort, Percy swallowed nearly all of Greg’s not insubstantial cock. He looked beautiful, his mouth full and his eyes staring up at him. He began to bob, moving fast and sucking, his cheeks hollowed.

“Shit. Fuck. I’m going to—”

Percy sped up even more, and Greg came, his cock pulsing over and over, as Percy swallowed every drop. He crawled back up, laying his head on Greg’s fur-covered chest.

Greg reached around blindly until he found his wand on the ground. He summoned pillows and blankets from the couch, not three steps away. He draped the blanket over them and tucked the pillow under his head.

He awoke with an ache in his back but a deep feeling of comfort, Percy’s head still resting on his chest. Greg sat up carefully and settled Percy onto the pillow. He located his pants and trousers, shoving them on but not bothering to zip them up. He walked across the room to the speaking stone, which sat on top of a desk. It was vibrating against the wood, a hum filling the room. A pang of guilt shot through him. He should have been available—should have been communicating with his team.

“Goyle here.”

“Goyle, it’s Corner. Is the Minister safe?” He sounded short of breath.

“Yes. We both made it to the safe room. He’s got some cuts and bruises, but he’s fine. What happened on your end?”

“Not too much. They sent him in alone. No coordinated attack or additional operatives. I think it was meant to be a suicide mission. Take out the Minister with no plan for getting himself out alive. We heard your alarm, rushed in, and took Finnigan into custody. He was forced into it. They had his father. Since then, we’ve been on lockdown just in case. Been sweeping sections of the Ministry one after the next, clearing them. In your absence, Bones took the lead.”

Greg nodded, despite knowing Michael couldn’t see him. “He told us about his father. I’m all too familiar with those kinds of persuasion techniques. Good job, Corner. Sounds like you all did exactly as you should. Is the Minister’s floor cleared?”

“Yes, sir. You wanna bring him through?”

“Yes. Get me a portkey to his summer cottage. It’s the safest of the properties.”

“Consider it done.”

He set the stone down and walked over to Percy. With a hand on his shoulder, he gently roused him. “Minister. We’re going to move you.”

Percy frowned as his eyes fluttered open. “Minister? Not Percy?”

Greg felt a smile tugging on his lips. “Minister, right now. I’m getting you out of here. Making sure you're safe.”

He nodded, his red hair flopping over his forehead. “Yeah. Alright.” He stood and dressed, putting himself back together. Between the attack and the… aftermath, his clothes were wrinkled and his hair was a mess. He’d never looked more disheveled. Greg liked it.

“Oh, let me-” With a tap of his wand, Greg cast a glamour on the visible love bites. “I got you pretty good.”

Percy blushed. “Yes.”

Quickly, they stepped back through the Floo and found Corner on the other side, holding a handheld mirror, presumably their portkey. “It’s ready to go when you are,” Corner informed them as he handed the cold silver mirror over to Greg.

“Do you have things under control here? Robards handling the press?” If they needed him here, he’d stay.

“Yes. Everything is covered. You just get our Minister safe. An extra unit of Aurors has already been deployed to the cottage and cleared the house and grounds.” Corner patted Greg on the back. “Good work. Go rest.”

Greg exhaled, feeling the fear that had crept in at the thought of leaving Percy slowly dissipate. He turned to face him. “I’ll activate it on your word.”

Percy nodded, looking every inch the professional, in control politician. “Then off we go.”

There was a flurry of activity upon their arrival. Magical scans from the security team, someone from the house staff guiding them inside, drinks were offered, questions were asked, and notes were taken. At some point, Greg began to notice Percy’s energy flagging. His shoulders were sagging and his eyes drooping. He needed rest.

“Enough.” His voice boomed through the sitting room, and every head turned to look at him, eyes wide. “The Minister has had a hard day. If there is nothing else pressing,” he narrowed his eyes, daring them to claim that there was, “then I will be taking him upstairs to bed. To rest, I mean.”

No one objected right away, and Greg took the opening, walking over to Percy and guiding him out of the room with a gentle hand on his back.

They walked up the stairs in silence, reaching his chambers and both stepping inside. Behind the protection of the closed doors, Greg wrapped his arms around Percy, holding him close, reassuring himself that he was fine, they both were. They’d come out unscathed. Percy sagged into him and yawned. “Why am I so tired? We napped after…”

“It’s been a traumatic day. A traumatic couple of days, really. Our brains need time to process. Lie down and rest. I’ll be just on the other side of the door. No one will hurt you. I promise.”

Percy nodded, and Greg forced himself to let go, turn around, and walk back to the double doors.

“Greg?”

He spun back around, facing Percy.

“Are you here as my security or… something more?”

“Can I say both?” His voice was shaky. He really wanted that answer to be ok.

Percy smiled. “Yes. Both is good. Can you…I know you're working, but can you just stay here with me? In here? Not on the other side of the door? I feel safer having you close.”

“Of course.”

Greg sat on the edge of the bed, and Percy joined him, and though they were both exhausted, worn thin by the day, neither seemed interested in sleep. Instead, they talked about their pasts, about the weather, about their fears, and the words ricocheting in their heads. Greg didn’t have it in him to delve into what happened between them in the safe room. So they didn’t. They just sat with each other, bearing witness to how each of them continued on.

Agent Spinnet came to relieve him of his watch. If she thought it was odd he was in the room with Percy, she didn’t say so. And if she saw the little squeeze Percy gave his hand as he stood to go, well, she didn’t bring it up.

The next day, Robards arrived at the cottage for a briefing. They all piled into one of the sitting rooms: Aurors, the Minister, and his staff.

“We’ve interrogated Finnigan. He didn’t know much, but he allowed us access to his memories. He didn’t know where he was, where they’d taken him, but one of our men recognized it as the old Avery Mansion in Cornwall. We know they are going to be relocating soon. Too risky to stay put with Finnigan in our custody. We have to act now. We’re putting a team together and heading out in the next hour. We’re going to put an end to these neo-death eaters once and for all.”

Greg stood. “Who’s on the team?”

Robards pursed his lips. “You’ve been through a lot.”

“I’ve rested. I’m recovered. Let me do this.” He didn’t dare look over at Percy.

“You don’t have to,” Robards’ tone was stern. “But I respect the urge to finish this mission out. If you’d like, you may join the team.”

“Do I get a say in this?” Percy’s voice was icy.

“I’m sorry, Minister,” Robards began, “but you don’t. This is my call. And the team can use all the help we can get.”

***
Percy chewed at his nails. He was back in his office in the Ministry. Robards had thought it best to look as though they were returning to business as usual. But Percy couldn’t read a bill, couldn’t meet with his cabinet. He could barely function knowing Greg was out there risking his life. It had only been a few days, but he’d become an integral part of his life. He was… well, they weren’t together, but he wanted them to be. He wanted the chance to see if they could be something. But none of that would matter if he got himself killed on a raid. Percy tugged too hard on the nub of his nail and winced as a red drop of blood began to pool at the corner of his cuticle. He sighed—grabbing a tissue and wiping the blood away.

He’d gone to speak to Seamus as soon as he was back in London. Robards hadn’t liked it, but he couldn’t stop him. It had been hard, seeing a man he cared for so deeply behind bars.

“Why didn’t you come to me? We could have figured something out.” Percy begged him to explain.

Seamus shook his head. “They had a tracking spell. Knew every word I said. Every place I went. I couldn’t risk it. They had my da, Perc.”

Percy nodded. “Would you have really done it? Do you think?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t want to. I’ll face whatever punishment the court doles out.”

A sardonic laugh escaped Percy’s lips. “Have you heard of RoCoDE? I think you’d be a good candidate for the program.”

Percy banged his fist against his desk. It was torture—the waiting. Greg was in the field, risking his life for Seamus’s father, for his country, for Percy. He had to be ok. It was the only option.

Someone was yelling. Percy jumped up, rushing out into the hall. There was a crowd: Ministry employees, Robards, press, and the raiding party, still in tactical gear, with dirt on their faces and tears in their robes. And right there in the middle of it all was Greg. Alive. Unharmed. So fucking beautiful.

His feet carried him forward, only stopping when they were toe-to-toe. He leaned in, ready to kiss him in front of every damned person in the Wizarding world. But then he froze. Seamus’s words echoed in his head: ‘I can’t be your first lady.’ He couldn’t do this to Greg, take his choice away. He needed to be the one to decide if he wanted the world to know, if that was a burden he was willing to carry.

Their eyes met. And without him saying a word, Greg seemed to read every thought, every fear. “Were you about to kiss me, Minister?” he whispered.

Percy sputtered and blushed, and the only word he could squeak out was “yes.”

“Well, go on then.”

As their lips met, camera bulbs flashed around them, but the world faded away when Greg spoke against his lips, “Good boy.”