>.
Right kids.
I have written Hard R/ NC-17.
Time to run for the hills.
Yes. Really.
Title: Opposition
Author: Me.
Rating: Hard R / NC-17
Warnings: Slash, Cursing
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Oliver Wood/Marcus Flint
Summary: There's a right time for everything.
Word Count: 1,000 exactly. :3
Wood stands forward carefully, blue eyes regarding the Slytherin captain with feigned disinterest.
He nods slightly, acknowledging the other boy. Flint's dark eyes clear for a brief second, and he almost smiles, but twists his mouth into a sneer to make things easier. Hesitating only for a second, Flint narrows his eyes and mutters:
"Wood."
"Ol..." Marcus manages, his breath catching as Oliver's hands clench at the backs of his thighs. All Marcus can see is the dark blonde head moving rapidly back and forth, and yet he can feel the effects shuddering up and down his body. "Fuck... O-Ollie. I'm... I'm gonna..." He swallows and thrusts involuntarily, feeling the Gryffindor's warm mouth tighten into a smirk as his teeth graze that place.
Wood bows his head slightly.
"Flint."
"Now, Gentlemen. I want a good clean match." Hooch glares at the two of them, and both Wood and Flint manage a slight snarling noise.
"I will if he will." Wood snaps, pale eyes sparkling.
Behind Flint, the Slytherin team jeer, and behind Wood the Gryffindors merely stand, uncomfortable on the ground.
"Fuck you, Wood." Flint bites out.
"Oh... Ohplease... Ol - Fuck me. Ollie... Nghh..." Marcus groans, fingers going down to tangle around the threads of Oliver's dark blonde hair. Oliver responds with a mewling noise, a muffled, desperate sigh; he wants this just as badly as the Slytherin. Oliver's hands move up slowly, leaving half moon indents in Marcus' pale skin.
"Merlin... Fuck... I love you... Ollie!" Marcus spasms and manages to yell out the Gryffindor's name in a hoarse voice.
"Please. You wish, Flint." Wood laughs, sticking out his hand, as is customary.
"Yeah, like I'd wanna fuck you. I hate you." Flint snarls, grasping Wood's hand in his own. Hooch gives them a meaningful glare.
"Like I said. A good clean game." She purses her lips in distaste, and Wood almost laughs.
Oliver eases Marcus out of his mouth, wiping his face, grinning.
"Merlin, I love you... Where the hell'd you learn to do that, Ol?" Marcus murmurs, smiling, his usually ashen face now tinged with pink.
"Oh, I don't know," Oliver winks, moving his hands down to his own groin, which is in desperate need of some attention.
"Let me. C'mere," The Slytherin laughs, pinning the Scottish boy's hands down. Oliver lets out a tiny whimper, but stays resolutely still, pinned beneath the taller boy's form.
The two of them stand, almost eye to eye, scowling, not moving the hands which are supposed to be shaking.
Slowly Wood moves his hand up, then down, then releases.
Flint rubs his hand across the thigh of his trousers, as if he's just touched something vile, and Wood mirrors the gesture with an added noise of disgust.
"Bloody Gryffindors. Feels like I just stuck my hand in shit." Flint snarls to Pucey, who is stood behind him.
"Oh, I don't know. I feel like I just lost several braincells, just touching you, Flint." Wood snaps briskly, narrowing his eyes.
"Wood by name, Wood by nature, hm, Ollie?" Marcus laughs, grazing his stubble gently across the Gryffindor Captain's length.
"Ah... L-Like I've not heard that be- Fucking... Merlin..." Oliver moans, wriggling slowly, languidly beneath the other captain, his blue eyes widening.
Marcus laughs, and pushes up, pressing his lips to Oliver's firmly, feeling sweat drip off his nose onto the other boy's.
"S-sorry." He mutters, breathing heavily.
"What're you apologising for?" Oliver laughs breathily, tilting his hips up, to get Marcus' attention to the matter at hand.
"I don't have to deal with attention seekers like you," Flint shrugs his heavy set shoulders, glaring from under an angular frown.
Wood laughs, a bark of unamused noise.
"I'm afraid you do." He remarks, tilting his head to one side, blonde hair hiding his smile.
"Well, I shouldn't have to." Flint mutters.
"Don't get all Prima Donna on me, Flint." Wood remarks coolly, placing his hands on his hips.
Marcus places his hands on Oliver's hips, grinning.
"Sorr-"
"Don't. Don't say it." The Scottish boy smiles, his face strained with need. Marcus shrugs half coy, half apologetic; moving down Oliver's body, brushing his lips across tense, tanned skin. Cautiously he pokes his tongue out, trailing it along, following the curves of the other boy's hips.
"Ah... Marcus..." Oliver moans, the sound almost incoherent between pants of breath. Kissing his way up slowly, Marcus dares to use his teeth a little, delighted at how he can make the other boy's hips spasm and buck.
"C'mon Ollie, do it for me?" The Slytherin smiles, taking both his lover and his rival into his mouth.
"Urgh. I don't need to take this from you." Flint growls at the smaller boy, pulling on his leather gloves with an arrogant toss of his head. One drops to the floor with a muffled thud and Flint raises his eyebrows ever so slightly at Wood. Both captains go for the glove at once, leaning down.
"Ollie... Did I ever say how hot you are when you hate me?" Flint smiles genuinely from beneath long black hair, then shoves Wood. "Fuck off. Don't touch my stuff." The Slytherin captain turns on his heel, beckoning the rest of his team after him. Harry offers Wood a hand up.
"Leave him. He's nothing. Not worth it. Ugly tosser." He shakes his head, and Oliver smiles secretively, leading his own team away.
"So beautiful. 'Ll never get tired of sa-aah!" Oliver's interrupted as his hips slam up violently into Marcus' waiting mouth. The Slytherin never takes his eyes off Oliver's sweaty face, heaving chest until the other boy has finished. Then, slowly and tenderly he moves, wriggling up beside the Scottish boy, pulling him into strong, pale arms, feeling Oliver roll over to face him. A languid kiss.
"Don't think this means I'll go easy in our match tomorrow." Marcus murmurs to a drowsy Oliver.
"Wouldn't want you to." The Gryffindor smirks, and yet for once, Quidditch comes second to something.
-Fin.
Again, too lazy to write my Jaws thing.
Dx
I have written Hard R/ NC-17.
Time to run for the hills.
Yes. Really.
Title: Opposition
Author: Me.
Rating: Hard R / NC-17
Warnings: Slash, Cursing
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Oliver Wood/Marcus Flint
Summary: There's a right time for everything.
Word Count: 1,000 exactly. :3
Wood stands forward carefully, blue eyes regarding the Slytherin captain with feigned disinterest.
He nods slightly, acknowledging the other boy. Flint's dark eyes clear for a brief second, and he almost smiles, but twists his mouth into a sneer to make things easier. Hesitating only for a second, Flint narrows his eyes and mutters:
"Wood."
"Ol..." Marcus manages, his breath catching as Oliver's hands clench at the backs of his thighs. All Marcus can see is the dark blonde head moving rapidly back and forth, and yet he can feel the effects shuddering up and down his body. "Fuck... O-Ollie. I'm... I'm gonna..." He swallows and thrusts involuntarily, feeling the Gryffindor's warm mouth tighten into a smirk as his teeth graze that place.
Wood bows his head slightly.
"Flint."
"Now, Gentlemen. I want a good clean match." Hooch glares at the two of them, and both Wood and Flint manage a slight snarling noise.
"I will if he will." Wood snaps, pale eyes sparkling.
Behind Flint, the Slytherin team jeer, and behind Wood the Gryffindors merely stand, uncomfortable on the ground.
"Fuck you, Wood." Flint bites out.
"Oh... Ohplease... Ol - Fuck me. Ollie... Nghh..." Marcus groans, fingers going down to tangle around the threads of Oliver's dark blonde hair. Oliver responds with a mewling noise, a muffled, desperate sigh; he wants this just as badly as the Slytherin. Oliver's hands move up slowly, leaving half moon indents in Marcus' pale skin.
"Merlin... Fuck... I love you... Ollie!" Marcus spasms and manages to yell out the Gryffindor's name in a hoarse voice.
"Please. You wish, Flint." Wood laughs, sticking out his hand, as is customary.
"Yeah, like I'd wanna fuck you. I hate you." Flint snarls, grasping Wood's hand in his own. Hooch gives them a meaningful glare.
"Like I said. A good clean game." She purses her lips in distaste, and Wood almost laughs.
Oliver eases Marcus out of his mouth, wiping his face, grinning.
"Merlin, I love you... Where the hell'd you learn to do that, Ol?" Marcus murmurs, smiling, his usually ashen face now tinged with pink.
"Oh, I don't know," Oliver winks, moving his hands down to his own groin, which is in desperate need of some attention.
"Let me. C'mere," The Slytherin laughs, pinning the Scottish boy's hands down. Oliver lets out a tiny whimper, but stays resolutely still, pinned beneath the taller boy's form.
The two of them stand, almost eye to eye, scowling, not moving the hands which are supposed to be shaking.
Slowly Wood moves his hand up, then down, then releases.
Flint rubs his hand across the thigh of his trousers, as if he's just touched something vile, and Wood mirrors the gesture with an added noise of disgust.
"Bloody Gryffindors. Feels like I just stuck my hand in shit." Flint snarls to Pucey, who is stood behind him.
"Oh, I don't know. I feel like I just lost several braincells, just touching you, Flint." Wood snaps briskly, narrowing his eyes.
"Wood by name, Wood by nature, hm, Ollie?" Marcus laughs, grazing his stubble gently across the Gryffindor Captain's length.
"Ah... L-Like I've not heard that be- Fucking... Merlin..." Oliver moans, wriggling slowly, languidly beneath the other captain, his blue eyes widening.
Marcus laughs, and pushes up, pressing his lips to Oliver's firmly, feeling sweat drip off his nose onto the other boy's.
"S-sorry." He mutters, breathing heavily.
"What're you apologising for?" Oliver laughs breathily, tilting his hips up, to get Marcus' attention to the matter at hand.
"I don't have to deal with attention seekers like you," Flint shrugs his heavy set shoulders, glaring from under an angular frown.
Wood laughs, a bark of unamused noise.
"I'm afraid you do." He remarks, tilting his head to one side, blonde hair hiding his smile.
"Well, I shouldn't have to." Flint mutters.
"Don't get all Prima Donna on me, Flint." Wood remarks coolly, placing his hands on his hips.
Marcus places his hands on Oliver's hips, grinning.
"Sorr-"
"Don't. Don't say it." The Scottish boy smiles, his face strained with need. Marcus shrugs half coy, half apologetic; moving down Oliver's body, brushing his lips across tense, tanned skin. Cautiously he pokes his tongue out, trailing it along, following the curves of the other boy's hips.
"Ah... Marcus..." Oliver moans, the sound almost incoherent between pants of breath. Kissing his way up slowly, Marcus dares to use his teeth a little, delighted at how he can make the other boy's hips spasm and buck.
"C'mon Ollie, do it for me?" The Slytherin smiles, taking both his lover and his rival into his mouth.
"Urgh. I don't need to take this from you." Flint growls at the smaller boy, pulling on his leather gloves with an arrogant toss of his head. One drops to the floor with a muffled thud and Flint raises his eyebrows ever so slightly at Wood. Both captains go for the glove at once, leaning down.
"Ollie... Did I ever say how hot you are when you hate me?" Flint smiles genuinely from beneath long black hair, then shoves Wood. "Fuck off. Don't touch my stuff." The Slytherin captain turns on his heel, beckoning the rest of his team after him. Harry offers Wood a hand up.
"Leave him. He's nothing. Not worth it. Ugly tosser." He shakes his head, and Oliver smiles secretively, leading his own team away.
"So beautiful. 'Ll never get tired of sa-aah!" Oliver's interrupted as his hips slam up violently into Marcus' waiting mouth. The Slytherin never takes his eyes off Oliver's sweaty face, heaving chest until the other boy has finished. Then, slowly and tenderly he moves, wriggling up beside the Scottish boy, pulling him into strong, pale arms, feeling Oliver roll over to face him. A languid kiss.
"Don't think this means I'll go easy in our match tomorrow." Marcus murmurs to a drowsy Oliver.
"Wouldn't want you to." The Gryffindor smirks, and yet for once, Quidditch comes second to something.
-Fin.
Again, too lazy to write my Jaws thing.
Dx