FIC: Anything to win
Title: Anything to Win
Character(s): Marcus Flint/Oliver Wood
Prompt: Betrayal
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 844
Summary: Is wining at any cost really wining?
Author's Notes: Not my boys... I only wish they were.
Oliver thought it quite odd when Flint smiled at him in the hallway. By all accounts Oliver didn’t even know that Flint could smile, he always had more of a smirk on his face than anything. Oliver had to do a double take to make sure it was Marcus who had passed him nearly running over a second year in the process. He found it even stranger when Flint brushed against him in Potions without pushing him or nearly knocking him over. After all, Flint was not what one would call graceful… in the air maybe, but never on the ground. He lumbered around more than he walked.
“Watch it Flint,” Oliver glared as he spoke.
“Sorry Wood,” Flint’s voice was sickly sweet. “Didn’t see you standing there.”
Oliver stared wide eyed and mouth gaping as Flint smiled and walked away. This was confusing and most distressing to Oliver. Had he slipped into some kind of alternative universe where Flint was nice? No, no it must be a spell… a charm of some kind. Maybe Flint messed up his potion and this was the disturbing result. Oliver violently shook his head from side to side trying to dislodge the image of Flint’s crooked smile. This failed and he was left not only with the picture of Flint’s ugly teeth in his head, but an awful headache as well.
When Oliver found Flint waiting by a tree after quidditch practice he was positive Flint had been drugged, cursed or hexed (maybe all of the above). He walked over to the other boy and stood in front of him arms folded. Flint just looked at him, returning the cold hard stare. Neither spoke, neither moved, they just looked at each other. Then something changed… it changed so quickly that if you blinked you could have missed it. Right in front of him Oliver saw Flint’s face soften. His eyes changed from cool to warm and he smiled again.
“How was practice?” Flint asked.
“Come off it Flint,” Oliver spoke with a tone of annoyance in his voice. “What are you playing it?”
Marcus leaned harder back onto the tree and frowned. “Not playing, just curious.”
Oliver was taken back by how hurt Flint looked after his allegation.
Then next day, when Oliver apologized for accusing him of being off, Marcus gabbed his shoulder and told him it was alright. Oliver felt the skin under the boy’s touch grow hot. He stood there as the heat rose up to his cheeks and prayed Marcus wouldn’t notice. But when a cool thumb brushed over his burning face Oliver couldn’t help but lean into the touch. Marcus bit at his bottom lip, “cute.” That’s all he said and it left Oliver’s ear ringing.
Later that week, when Oliver heard a knock on Gryffindor’s door to their practice room he was surprise to find Flint leaning against the doorframe.
“C-can I help you?” was all he could sputter out.
“Aye, I think you can Wood.”
And with that Marcus leaned in and kissed him. Oliver was pushed back by the shear weight that was Flint and found a warm arm wrap around him to steady him back on his feet. He knew it would take some getting used to… Flint being there to catch him rather than being the one to push him over, but he was willing to take the time to grow accustom to it.
This became common routine. Marcus meeting Oliver at the pitch, secret rendezvous in the Gryffindor locker room, the broom shed or the halls. It went on for weeks right under the noses of the other players and the whole school. Oliver likened it to a rush, just like the rush he got playing quidditch when a chaser was screaming through the air coming straight at him and Oliver knew… he knew he would stop the quaffle, maybe that’s why he allowed himself to get so sucked in.
It was a Saturday when Gryffindor played their first match against Slytherin. And when Slytherin knew all of Gryffindor’s plays, knew how to block them and counteract them, where they were weak and where they were strong Oliver’s heart dropped. He spent an extra half and hour in the shower after the match trying to wash every bit of Marcus off of him. He thought he couldn’t really miss something he never had and make a private pack with himself to never think about it again.
Oliver stepped out of the shower and walked over to Gryffindor’s schedule hanging on the wall. If he played his cards right they were still in this, they could still win the cup. He took the towel and ran it through his hair. Hufflepuff was the next match and he had to make sure his team was up for the challenge. Oliver walked back to his locker, dressed and walked to the door. He paused for a minute and glanced back at the schedule… Hufflepuff… Oliver walked out thinking about the next game and wondering how seducible Cedric Diggory was.
Character(s): Marcus Flint/Oliver Wood
Prompt: Betrayal
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 844
Summary: Is wining at any cost really wining?
Author's Notes: Not my boys... I only wish they were.
Oliver thought it quite odd when Flint smiled at him in the hallway. By all accounts Oliver didn’t even know that Flint could smile, he always had more of a smirk on his face than anything. Oliver had to do a double take to make sure it was Marcus who had passed him nearly running over a second year in the process. He found it even stranger when Flint brushed against him in Potions without pushing him or nearly knocking him over. After all, Flint was not what one would call graceful… in the air maybe, but never on the ground. He lumbered around more than he walked.
“Watch it Flint,” Oliver glared as he spoke.
“Sorry Wood,” Flint’s voice was sickly sweet. “Didn’t see you standing there.”
Oliver stared wide eyed and mouth gaping as Flint smiled and walked away. This was confusing and most distressing to Oliver. Had he slipped into some kind of alternative universe where Flint was nice? No, no it must be a spell… a charm of some kind. Maybe Flint messed up his potion and this was the disturbing result. Oliver violently shook his head from side to side trying to dislodge the image of Flint’s crooked smile. This failed and he was left not only with the picture of Flint’s ugly teeth in his head, but an awful headache as well.
When Oliver found Flint waiting by a tree after quidditch practice he was positive Flint had been drugged, cursed or hexed (maybe all of the above). He walked over to the other boy and stood in front of him arms folded. Flint just looked at him, returning the cold hard stare. Neither spoke, neither moved, they just looked at each other. Then something changed… it changed so quickly that if you blinked you could have missed it. Right in front of him Oliver saw Flint’s face soften. His eyes changed from cool to warm and he smiled again.
“How was practice?” Flint asked.
“Come off it Flint,” Oliver spoke with a tone of annoyance in his voice. “What are you playing it?”
Marcus leaned harder back onto the tree and frowned. “Not playing, just curious.”
Oliver was taken back by how hurt Flint looked after his allegation.
Then next day, when Oliver apologized for accusing him of being off, Marcus gabbed his shoulder and told him it was alright. Oliver felt the skin under the boy’s touch grow hot. He stood there as the heat rose up to his cheeks and prayed Marcus wouldn’t notice. But when a cool thumb brushed over his burning face Oliver couldn’t help but lean into the touch. Marcus bit at his bottom lip, “cute.” That’s all he said and it left Oliver’s ear ringing.
Later that week, when Oliver heard a knock on Gryffindor’s door to their practice room he was surprise to find Flint leaning against the doorframe.
“C-can I help you?” was all he could sputter out.
“Aye, I think you can Wood.”
And with that Marcus leaned in and kissed him. Oliver was pushed back by the shear weight that was Flint and found a warm arm wrap around him to steady him back on his feet. He knew it would take some getting used to… Flint being there to catch him rather than being the one to push him over, but he was willing to take the time to grow accustom to it.
This became common routine. Marcus meeting Oliver at the pitch, secret rendezvous in the Gryffindor locker room, the broom shed or the halls. It went on for weeks right under the noses of the other players and the whole school. Oliver likened it to a rush, just like the rush he got playing quidditch when a chaser was screaming through the air coming straight at him and Oliver knew… he knew he would stop the quaffle, maybe that’s why he allowed himself to get so sucked in.
It was a Saturday when Gryffindor played their first match against Slytherin. And when Slytherin knew all of Gryffindor’s plays, knew how to block them and counteract them, where they were weak and where they were strong Oliver’s heart dropped. He spent an extra half and hour in the shower after the match trying to wash every bit of Marcus off of him. He thought he couldn’t really miss something he never had and make a private pack with himself to never think about it again.
Oliver stepped out of the shower and walked over to Gryffindor’s schedule hanging on the wall. If he played his cards right they were still in this, they could still win the cup. He took the towel and ran it through his hair. Hufflepuff was the next match and he had to make sure his team was up for the challenge. Oliver walked back to his locker, dressed and walked to the door. He paused for a minute and glanced back at the schedule… Hufflepuff… Oliver walked out thinking about the next game and wondering how seducible Cedric Diggory was.