fic: a chance encounter (viktor/harry)
challenge: 56. harry and/or cedric win a prize to go backstage and meet the irish and bulgarian teams. he/they accidentally find krum alone in the showers, disappointed at having lost.
title: a chance encounter
author: mina
beta: def_poet42
summary: harry gets left behind while on tour with the irish national team.
warnings: none really
word count: 835
rating: r
His steps echo eerily as he nervously walks further into the ornate locker room. There’s no one around but he knows where he is. The Bulgarian flags, drooping sadly in their stands as if the pieces of rough cotton knew that their team had lost, are enough of a hint.
Harry takes a deep breath and sighs as he slumps against the row of lockers, ignoring the press of the cold metal through his shirt as he slides down to sit on the varnished hardwood floor. It’s cold and quiet. He loves it. After Ron had eagerly shouted that the Harry Potter had the winning ticket in the top box, he’d been bombarded by people wanting to shake his hand, get his autograph, and having a picture taken with him.
There’s been a constant pounding headache resounding through his mind ever since. He and the Weasleys went on a tour of the stadium as per the specifications of the contest. The noise of the boisterous laughter of all the Weasleys and the constant flashes of cameras had Harry sitting down at the first chance. When he’d looked up, he found silence and saw no one.
He inhales deeply and draws his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them. Harry can feel his headache dissipating already. Still and quiet make excellent remedies. He presses his burning forehead against the cool lockers.
“Vat are you doing here?”
Startled, Harry jumps up and spins around to see Viktor Krum standing in a doorway to the locker room. He’s still dressed in his match uniform with his broom in his hand, looking as if he’s just gotten off the pitch and not at least three hours ago. “I - I’m just… I’ll go.” He manages to finally to stammer out. But when he moves to step forward, his headache strikes again and vertigo hits.
Warm arms catch him and Harry finds himself pressed against Viktor. The scent of sweat, strength, and pure masculinity is strong and fills his lungs as he breathes in deep. A gentle but callused hand moves against his forehead, feeling for a fever, and Harry knows when he’s seen the scar on his forehead as the body holding him up stiffens.
Pulling away, Harry reaches up on instinct and flattens his bangs to hide his scar. Viktor watches him. The gaze is a bit unsettling; the way it never wavers from his body. “You’re Harry Potter.” It’s not a question.
Harry nods. He smiles shyly as he looks up through sooty lashes. His emerald eyes are gleaming brilliantly. “And you’re Viktor Krum.”
There’s something instantaneous and combustible that forms between them as their eyes meet. Harry gasps as he feels the rough and callused pad of Viktor’s index finger snag against the coarse lightning bolt on his skin. He feels shivers travel down the length of his spine.
Warmth. It’s the first thought that crosses his mind as he feels Viktor’s arms wrap around his waist as wonderfully soft lips cover his. His headache disappears.
*
Harry furtively glances around the gleaming marble and extravagant gold shower room as he nervously wrings his hands. “Are you sure this is alright? For me to be in here and all?” he asks as he glances around to make sure, once again, that none of the other Bulgarian players are planning to come back.
Viktor just nods. He’s only known him a short time but Harry knows that he doesn’t like speaking. He understands. Harry often feels the same.
Crimson robes are tossed onto the bench next to where Harry’s seated and he looks up to see Viktor stripping. A blush as red as the robes stains Harry’s cheeks. He refuses to look up from his hands clasped tightly in his lap. He presses down on the erection he feels forming under the denim of his jeans and soft cotton of his boxers.
A shirt lands on his hands. His fingers shake as he picks it up and finds Viktor standing in front of him wearing only his underwear.
“Shower?” Harry shakes his head at the simple question. He feels as if his face is a furnace. Viktor nods in understanding. It’s too soon for him. He’s too young, he knows, though Viktor isn’t sure of his exact age.
“You vant to vatch?” There’s a smirk on his features. It’s a nice smirk, Harry thinks. A much more pleasant smirk than Snape or Malfoy’s at least. He doesn’t answer the question though as the words get caught in his throat as Viktor’s last piece of clothing is stripped off.
He steps under the showerhead and Harry can hear him groan at the feeling of his muscles being relaxed by the hot water. Harry groans at the thought of the water going against his own skin and the sound of Viktor.
The Bulgarian has his hand on his penis, rubbing it softly as he stands under the spray of the shower.
He looks directly at Harry.
title: a chance encounter
author: mina
beta: def_poet42
summary: harry gets left behind while on tour with the irish national team.
warnings: none really
word count: 835
rating: r
His steps echo eerily as he nervously walks further into the ornate locker room. There’s no one around but he knows where he is. The Bulgarian flags, drooping sadly in their stands as if the pieces of rough cotton knew that their team had lost, are enough of a hint.
Harry takes a deep breath and sighs as he slumps against the row of lockers, ignoring the press of the cold metal through his shirt as he slides down to sit on the varnished hardwood floor. It’s cold and quiet. He loves it. After Ron had eagerly shouted that the Harry Potter had the winning ticket in the top box, he’d been bombarded by people wanting to shake his hand, get his autograph, and having a picture taken with him.
There’s been a constant pounding headache resounding through his mind ever since. He and the Weasleys went on a tour of the stadium as per the specifications of the contest. The noise of the boisterous laughter of all the Weasleys and the constant flashes of cameras had Harry sitting down at the first chance. When he’d looked up, he found silence and saw no one.
He inhales deeply and draws his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them. Harry can feel his headache dissipating already. Still and quiet make excellent remedies. He presses his burning forehead against the cool lockers.
“Vat are you doing here?”
Startled, Harry jumps up and spins around to see Viktor Krum standing in a doorway to the locker room. He’s still dressed in his match uniform with his broom in his hand, looking as if he’s just gotten off the pitch and not at least three hours ago. “I - I’m just… I’ll go.” He manages to finally to stammer out. But when he moves to step forward, his headache strikes again and vertigo hits.
Warm arms catch him and Harry finds himself pressed against Viktor. The scent of sweat, strength, and pure masculinity is strong and fills his lungs as he breathes in deep. A gentle but callused hand moves against his forehead, feeling for a fever, and Harry knows when he’s seen the scar on his forehead as the body holding him up stiffens.
Pulling away, Harry reaches up on instinct and flattens his bangs to hide his scar. Viktor watches him. The gaze is a bit unsettling; the way it never wavers from his body. “You’re Harry Potter.” It’s not a question.
Harry nods. He smiles shyly as he looks up through sooty lashes. His emerald eyes are gleaming brilliantly. “And you’re Viktor Krum.”
There’s something instantaneous and combustible that forms between them as their eyes meet. Harry gasps as he feels the rough and callused pad of Viktor’s index finger snag against the coarse lightning bolt on his skin. He feels shivers travel down the length of his spine.
Warmth. It’s the first thought that crosses his mind as he feels Viktor’s arms wrap around his waist as wonderfully soft lips cover his. His headache disappears.
*
Harry furtively glances around the gleaming marble and extravagant gold shower room as he nervously wrings his hands. “Are you sure this is alright? For me to be in here and all?” he asks as he glances around to make sure, once again, that none of the other Bulgarian players are planning to come back.
Viktor just nods. He’s only known him a short time but Harry knows that he doesn’t like speaking. He understands. Harry often feels the same.
Crimson robes are tossed onto the bench next to where Harry’s seated and he looks up to see Viktor stripping. A blush as red as the robes stains Harry’s cheeks. He refuses to look up from his hands clasped tightly in his lap. He presses down on the erection he feels forming under the denim of his jeans and soft cotton of his boxers.
A shirt lands on his hands. His fingers shake as he picks it up and finds Viktor standing in front of him wearing only his underwear.
“Shower?” Harry shakes his head at the simple question. He feels as if his face is a furnace. Viktor nods in understanding. It’s too soon for him. He’s too young, he knows, though Viktor isn’t sure of his exact age.
“You vant to vatch?” There’s a smirk on his features. It’s a nice smirk, Harry thinks. A much more pleasant smirk than Snape or Malfoy’s at least. He doesn’t answer the question though as the words get caught in his throat as Viktor’s last piece of clothing is stripped off.
He steps under the showerhead and Harry can hear him groan at the feeling of his muscles being relaxed by the hot water. Harry groans at the thought of the water going against his own skin and the sound of Viktor.
The Bulgarian has his hand on his penis, rubbing it softly as he stands under the spray of the shower.
He looks directly at Harry.