Holiday Giftfics- dramapunk
Title: One of Those Nights
For: dramapunk
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Marcus/Oliver
Rating: R/NC-17 for language and sexual situations
Summary: No one messes with quidditch… no one!
Author’s notes: You asked for neurotic Oliver and punkish Marcus- this idea jumped into my head and I had to scrap what I had started (granted it wasn’t that much at the time) and roll with this. Anyway, I do hope you like it. You have been so unbelievably amazing to work with and I truly do appreciate your help and friendship! Rock on with your bad self girl and have a happy holiday!
The door opened, shut, the sound of shuffling feet and cruse words muffled into the dark flat as Marcus attempted to make his way though the obstacle course that was the living room. The clock chimed out once… twice… as he held his breath. It was late, he was pissed and the last thing he wanted to do was wake up his flatmate and receive an earful for-
Before Marcus could finish the thought a warm hand hooked under the warn leather dog collar around his neck and pulled. His green eyes flashed with apprehension as he was dragged towards the kitchen.
“Do you ‘ave any idea what time it is?” Ya, that’s what he had been hoping to avoid.
“Uh,” Marcus attempted to crane his neck around to get a better look at his watch, an effort made infinitely more difficult given the fact that Oliver Wood still had him literally by the neck. “I think the clock chimed twice, but…” the Chaser attempted to twist away from his captor, “… it’s kinda hard to tell right now. Bloody hell, Wood. Let go of me before I make you.”
Oliver rolled his eyes and dropped his grip on the man. “It’s two in the morning, Flint.”
Marcus rubbed at his neck as he spoke, eyes murderously trained on the Keeper the entire time. “Your point?”
“My point? It’s two in the bloody mornin’, you’re just gettin’ ‘ome and we ‘ave a game tomorrow. Curfew was 11 p.m., Flint. What if Coach would ‘ave caught ya out? He would ‘ave benched your arse faster than you could say Quaffle.”
“Ya, but he didn’t.” The crooked smile proudly creeping across the man’s face reaffirmed the Keeper’s initial worry: Flint really just didn’t give a damn.
“It’s not just any game… it’s against Falmouth or don’t ya remember the last time we played them?” Marcus chose to ignore the irate Keeper by heading straight for the fridge. “The team that broke your leg in three places and put Gabe in the hospital for a week.”
The Chaser’s stomach lurched at the memory of being confined to his bed as his left femur was painfully and slowly re-grown. “Thanks for that, Wood. Really wanted to relive how much that bloody well hurt.”
Needing an outlet for his anxiety Oliver quickly began pacing between the kitchen and small living room, his hands wringing over and over again. “That is exactly why we need ta be at our best tomorrow and you goin’ out and partyin’ until the wee hours of the mornin’ isn’t goin’ ta help that!”
“Yes, Dad.” The words were mumbled to himself as Marcus rummaged around for a few minutes before coming away with only a bottle of water. “We really need to do some grocery shopping; there is nothing to eat in here.”
Exasperated Oliver gently tugged at the ends of his hair. “You don’t get it, do ya?” The blank stare he received in return was enough to confirm his suspicions. “You’re in late… meanin’ you won’t be 100% for tomorrow. I had to wait up ta find out what in the bloody ‘ell you were up ta, not to mention I would need to cover for ya if Coach had checked up on us, which means now I won’t get all of the sleep I had scheduled to get tonight so I won’t be 100% for tomorrow. Ugh, this is just awful.”
“Relax, Wood.” Marcus popped the cap open on the bottle and took a swig. His jeans slung low on his waist, heavily studded belt doing nothing to help the cause as he casually leaned against the counter. “It will all work out. Always does.”
The Keeper rolled his eyes. “I really ought ta throttle ya.”
“I’d really like to see you try.”
Oliver paused midstride, the threat more tempting than he thought it would be. His eyes slowly grazed over Marcus heavily weighing the repercussions before…fuck it. In one quick movement he had the Chaser plastered between the counter and himself, hands quickly winding their way through hair as he yanked… hard. The plain of the Chaser’s neck exposed and waiting, Oliver couldn’t help but push a thumb against the amped up pulse he found there. “Someone really should teach you a lesson,” the words mumbled somewhere into Marcus’ jaw line.
The Chaser tried to find the words to protest, but they were stuck somewhere in the back of his throat. “Wood,” it was complacent, but he couldn’t help the way his hips stuttered forward.
“Somethin’ ta say, Flint?” Oliver’s face was burred deep in Marcus’ neck, his tongue running over the subtle stubble he found there. “Well let’s ‘ear it. Speak up then.”
“F-fuck, Wood.” The word stammered out like a stutter. “What are you playin’ at?”
It was a good question. A fair decent one at that, but Oliver wasn’t sure he had an honest answer- at least not one that would make sense past the thin veil of “mine” “want” and “now”. So instead of a verbal response he simply opted for sucking the man’s bottom lip into his own mouth, gently flicking the hard metal ring he found there over and over with his tongue. “Someone really ought ta teach ya how ta behave.”
There was something about the way the words roll over the Scot’s tongue; the way they danced with heavily accented vowels and consonants that caused the Chaser to press himself closer in hopes of feeling the words form in the Keeper’s chest. “You think you can-” the words stopped just short of his lips as he felt a sharp tug at the back of his head as Oliver tightened his grip on Marcus’ hair.
“I do.” He didn’t need to hear the rest to know the answer. There was something so simple, so beautiful about the way Flint was slowly bending to him that it made his cock ache. Without hesitation he reached up and gently ran his thumb over the swipe of eyeliner clinging to the edges of Flint’s eye, the black smudging across the Chaser’s cheek before he bent over and kissed the inky trail.
Marcus whimpered, a sound he wasn’t sure he had ever made before, and reached out latching a firm grip onto the Keeper’s hip. “Either do something, or get the fuck off of me.” It was a dare. A blatantly obvious one, but damn if he wasn’t already half hard and he need to know if this was going to end with him wanking off in his bedroom or not.
Without a hint of hesitation Oliver crushed his lips against the Chaser’s. Hand roughly running up Marcus’ shirt until it was hitched up around the darker haired man’s chest. Before Flint could even relax into the touch he felt a sharp jolt rocket though him as the Keeper’s thumb ran over the cool metal bar that adorned his nipple. “F-fuck!” His hips stuttered forward as he rocked against Oliver.
“Look what I found ‘ere,” Oliver gently tugged at the stainless steel rod again, smiling as it elicited the same response from the Chaser. “Always wondered why you had these things.” The Keeper pressed a rough kiss to Marcus’ neck before replacing his fingers with his lips over the cold metal.”
“God damnit, Wood.” Marcus’ knees practically buckled under him. “Don’t be a prick.”
“Me?” Oliver gave his best mock expression of hurt as he looked up at the Chaser with lust filled eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He flicked his tongue over the metal rod again, smiling as Flint’s eyes rolled back in his head. “Mental noting that one. For future use of course.”
The dark blonde dropped his right hand to the fly on Flint’s tattered jeans. Not surprisingly the Chaser’s cocked pressed heavy against his hand as he palmed the man though the rough cloth, his mouth continuing its onslaught.
“Fuckin’ tease,” Marcus’ breath was coming in heavy pants and gasps as he writhed against the Keeper.
“Shut it,” Oliver stood back up; pushing hip lips back roughly against the other man’s. “Had enough of your shite tonight.” He let his free hand drop to the elaborate metal buckle adorning the front of Flint’s heavily studded belt. He effortlessly flipped the clip open followed by the button fly of the man’s pants.
Small needy whimpers escaped past the Chaser’s lip and, fuck it, didn’t care. Not with the way Oliver was rubbing him, hand just brushing against where his cock head poked out over his boxers. Hard, rough, needy and oh God. “Oliver, fuck… gonna make me cum if you keep that up.”
The Keeper reached over, grabbed the metal chain that was strung from the Chaser’s belt to his jeans pocket and yanked hard, grinding Marcus up against his own strained erection. He repeated the move electing a loud moan from his flatmate. “Was kind of the point, Flint.” The words whispered into the shell of Marcus’ ear as Oliver worried the lobe between his teeth.
“G-Good,” he had been nervous, for at least a few minutes, that this was some sick cruel game the Keeper was playing. Get him all worked up only to leave him hard and aching as a lesson.
“Unlike you,” Oliver shoved his hand down the front of Flint’s pants, roughly grabbing his dick and giving it jerk. “I follow through.”
“F-Fuck,” he pushed his hips up further into the blonde’s grasp. “Don’t stop, don’t you fuckin’ stop.” As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them. Oliver quickly had his free hand once again hooked into his dog collar and was bending him backwards over the kitchen counter.
“Though I told you to shut it,” he arched an eyebrow at the Chaser in an attempt to help drive his point home.
Fuck it was hot, dirty and about six shades of wrong but seeing the Keeper so worked up, so dominate and commanding had Marcus about three seconds away from creaming his pants. As it was it took every ounce of strength in him to just nod in agreement.
“Good,” in one fluid motion Oliver grabbed Flint by the belt loop, spun him around and shoved his face down into the countertop. Hands grabbed at pants and pulled them down around ankles as a hot trail of kisses were placed on Marcus’ arse and up his back. Then there was a brief pause, a moment of hesitation before, “If you don’t want ta-” the rational side of Oliver Wood cropping back up, preventing him from doing anything too stupid.
“Don’t stop, don’t fuckin’ ruin it, Wood.”
It was the only invite he needed. Grabbing the base of his cocked he guided it towards Marcus’ hole, jamming the head in.
The Chaser jumped at the intrusion, the Keeper having taken no time in preparing him. “Fuck!” It burned enough to bring tears to his eyes, but that didn’t stop him bending over further and opening himself up more to flatmate.
Oliver took it slow, rationale taking over in his brain for the first time that night. He didn’t want to hurt the man after all. In, out, in a little more, out to the tip before moving in deeper until Marcus was moaning and pushing back against him.
The next few minutes were a blur of hands and hips, mouths and moans and Oh, God so fuckin’ right until Oliver had Marcus cumming all over the kitchen cabinets. It only took a few more deep thrusts until his own hips were stuttering, drawing him over the edge with a shout.
Neither man moved until Oliver slowly pulled out, causing the Chasers to whimper and shudder. Marcus knew he was going to be feeling it for days, but he couldn’t find any energy to give a shite at the moment. “Fuckin’ hell, Wood.”
“I uh,” Oliver quickly went pink in the cheeks; the realization of what he had just done hitting him like a ton of bricks. “Sorry ‘bout that.”
“Don’t be,” Marcus reached for his pants, slowly tugging them up by the belt. “Should do it more often.”
The Keeper chuckled, a nervous reaction. “Right, long as you got the point I was tryin’ ta make.”
“Hell yes,” Marcus raked a hand through his sweat soaked hair. “Piss you off more often.”
Oliver couldn’t help the way his eyes rolled back in his head. Some people would just never learn.
For: dramapunk
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Marcus/Oliver
Rating: R/NC-17 for language and sexual situations
Summary: No one messes with quidditch… no one!
Author’s notes: You asked for neurotic Oliver and punkish Marcus- this idea jumped into my head and I had to scrap what I had started (granted it wasn’t that much at the time) and roll with this. Anyway, I do hope you like it. You have been so unbelievably amazing to work with and I truly do appreciate your help and friendship! Rock on with your bad self girl and have a happy holiday!
The door opened, shut, the sound of shuffling feet and cruse words muffled into the dark flat as Marcus attempted to make his way though the obstacle course that was the living room. The clock chimed out once… twice… as he held his breath. It was late, he was pissed and the last thing he wanted to do was wake up his flatmate and receive an earful for-
Before Marcus could finish the thought a warm hand hooked under the warn leather dog collar around his neck and pulled. His green eyes flashed with apprehension as he was dragged towards the kitchen.
“Do you ‘ave any idea what time it is?” Ya, that’s what he had been hoping to avoid.
“Uh,” Marcus attempted to crane his neck around to get a better look at his watch, an effort made infinitely more difficult given the fact that Oliver Wood still had him literally by the neck. “I think the clock chimed twice, but…” the Chaser attempted to twist away from his captor, “… it’s kinda hard to tell right now. Bloody hell, Wood. Let go of me before I make you.”
Oliver rolled his eyes and dropped his grip on the man. “It’s two in the morning, Flint.”
Marcus rubbed at his neck as he spoke, eyes murderously trained on the Keeper the entire time. “Your point?”
“My point? It’s two in the bloody mornin’, you’re just gettin’ ‘ome and we ‘ave a game tomorrow. Curfew was 11 p.m., Flint. What if Coach would ‘ave caught ya out? He would ‘ave benched your arse faster than you could say Quaffle.”
“Ya, but he didn’t.” The crooked smile proudly creeping across the man’s face reaffirmed the Keeper’s initial worry: Flint really just didn’t give a damn.
“It’s not just any game… it’s against Falmouth or don’t ya remember the last time we played them?” Marcus chose to ignore the irate Keeper by heading straight for the fridge. “The team that broke your leg in three places and put Gabe in the hospital for a week.”
The Chaser’s stomach lurched at the memory of being confined to his bed as his left femur was painfully and slowly re-grown. “Thanks for that, Wood. Really wanted to relive how much that bloody well hurt.”
Needing an outlet for his anxiety Oliver quickly began pacing between the kitchen and small living room, his hands wringing over and over again. “That is exactly why we need ta be at our best tomorrow and you goin’ out and partyin’ until the wee hours of the mornin’ isn’t goin’ ta help that!”
“Yes, Dad.” The words were mumbled to himself as Marcus rummaged around for a few minutes before coming away with only a bottle of water. “We really need to do some grocery shopping; there is nothing to eat in here.”
Exasperated Oliver gently tugged at the ends of his hair. “You don’t get it, do ya?” The blank stare he received in return was enough to confirm his suspicions. “You’re in late… meanin’ you won’t be 100% for tomorrow. I had to wait up ta find out what in the bloody ‘ell you were up ta, not to mention I would need to cover for ya if Coach had checked up on us, which means now I won’t get all of the sleep I had scheduled to get tonight so I won’t be 100% for tomorrow. Ugh, this is just awful.”
“Relax, Wood.” Marcus popped the cap open on the bottle and took a swig. His jeans slung low on his waist, heavily studded belt doing nothing to help the cause as he casually leaned against the counter. “It will all work out. Always does.”
The Keeper rolled his eyes. “I really ought ta throttle ya.”
“I’d really like to see you try.”
Oliver paused midstride, the threat more tempting than he thought it would be. His eyes slowly grazed over Marcus heavily weighing the repercussions before…fuck it. In one quick movement he had the Chaser plastered between the counter and himself, hands quickly winding their way through hair as he yanked… hard. The plain of the Chaser’s neck exposed and waiting, Oliver couldn’t help but push a thumb against the amped up pulse he found there. “Someone really should teach you a lesson,” the words mumbled somewhere into Marcus’ jaw line.
The Chaser tried to find the words to protest, but they were stuck somewhere in the back of his throat. “Wood,” it was complacent, but he couldn’t help the way his hips stuttered forward.
“Somethin’ ta say, Flint?” Oliver’s face was burred deep in Marcus’ neck, his tongue running over the subtle stubble he found there. “Well let’s ‘ear it. Speak up then.”
“F-fuck, Wood.” The word stammered out like a stutter. “What are you playin’ at?”
It was a good question. A fair decent one at that, but Oliver wasn’t sure he had an honest answer- at least not one that would make sense past the thin veil of “mine” “want” and “now”. So instead of a verbal response he simply opted for sucking the man’s bottom lip into his own mouth, gently flicking the hard metal ring he found there over and over with his tongue. “Someone really ought ta teach ya how ta behave.”
There was something about the way the words roll over the Scot’s tongue; the way they danced with heavily accented vowels and consonants that caused the Chaser to press himself closer in hopes of feeling the words form in the Keeper’s chest. “You think you can-” the words stopped just short of his lips as he felt a sharp tug at the back of his head as Oliver tightened his grip on Marcus’ hair.
“I do.” He didn’t need to hear the rest to know the answer. There was something so simple, so beautiful about the way Flint was slowly bending to him that it made his cock ache. Without hesitation he reached up and gently ran his thumb over the swipe of eyeliner clinging to the edges of Flint’s eye, the black smudging across the Chaser’s cheek before he bent over and kissed the inky trail.
Marcus whimpered, a sound he wasn’t sure he had ever made before, and reached out latching a firm grip onto the Keeper’s hip. “Either do something, or get the fuck off of me.” It was a dare. A blatantly obvious one, but damn if he wasn’t already half hard and he need to know if this was going to end with him wanking off in his bedroom or not.
Without a hint of hesitation Oliver crushed his lips against the Chaser’s. Hand roughly running up Marcus’ shirt until it was hitched up around the darker haired man’s chest. Before Flint could even relax into the touch he felt a sharp jolt rocket though him as the Keeper’s thumb ran over the cool metal bar that adorned his nipple. “F-fuck!” His hips stuttered forward as he rocked against Oliver.
“Look what I found ‘ere,” Oliver gently tugged at the stainless steel rod again, smiling as it elicited the same response from the Chaser. “Always wondered why you had these things.” The Keeper pressed a rough kiss to Marcus’ neck before replacing his fingers with his lips over the cold metal.”
“God damnit, Wood.” Marcus’ knees practically buckled under him. “Don’t be a prick.”
“Me?” Oliver gave his best mock expression of hurt as he looked up at the Chaser with lust filled eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He flicked his tongue over the metal rod again, smiling as Flint’s eyes rolled back in his head. “Mental noting that one. For future use of course.”
The dark blonde dropped his right hand to the fly on Flint’s tattered jeans. Not surprisingly the Chaser’s cocked pressed heavy against his hand as he palmed the man though the rough cloth, his mouth continuing its onslaught.
“Fuckin’ tease,” Marcus’ breath was coming in heavy pants and gasps as he writhed against the Keeper.
“Shut it,” Oliver stood back up; pushing hip lips back roughly against the other man’s. “Had enough of your shite tonight.” He let his free hand drop to the elaborate metal buckle adorning the front of Flint’s heavily studded belt. He effortlessly flipped the clip open followed by the button fly of the man’s pants.
Small needy whimpers escaped past the Chaser’s lip and, fuck it, didn’t care. Not with the way Oliver was rubbing him, hand just brushing against where his cock head poked out over his boxers. Hard, rough, needy and oh God. “Oliver, fuck… gonna make me cum if you keep that up.”
The Keeper reached over, grabbed the metal chain that was strung from the Chaser’s belt to his jeans pocket and yanked hard, grinding Marcus up against his own strained erection. He repeated the move electing a loud moan from his flatmate. “Was kind of the point, Flint.” The words whispered into the shell of Marcus’ ear as Oliver worried the lobe between his teeth.
“G-Good,” he had been nervous, for at least a few minutes, that this was some sick cruel game the Keeper was playing. Get him all worked up only to leave him hard and aching as a lesson.
“Unlike you,” Oliver shoved his hand down the front of Flint’s pants, roughly grabbing his dick and giving it jerk. “I follow through.”
“F-Fuck,” he pushed his hips up further into the blonde’s grasp. “Don’t stop, don’t you fuckin’ stop.” As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them. Oliver quickly had his free hand once again hooked into his dog collar and was bending him backwards over the kitchen counter.
“Though I told you to shut it,” he arched an eyebrow at the Chaser in an attempt to help drive his point home.
Fuck it was hot, dirty and about six shades of wrong but seeing the Keeper so worked up, so dominate and commanding had Marcus about three seconds away from creaming his pants. As it was it took every ounce of strength in him to just nod in agreement.
“Good,” in one fluid motion Oliver grabbed Flint by the belt loop, spun him around and shoved his face down into the countertop. Hands grabbed at pants and pulled them down around ankles as a hot trail of kisses were placed on Marcus’ arse and up his back. Then there was a brief pause, a moment of hesitation before, “If you don’t want ta-” the rational side of Oliver Wood cropping back up, preventing him from doing anything too stupid.
“Don’t stop, don’t fuckin’ ruin it, Wood.”
It was the only invite he needed. Grabbing the base of his cocked he guided it towards Marcus’ hole, jamming the head in.
The Chaser jumped at the intrusion, the Keeper having taken no time in preparing him. “Fuck!” It burned enough to bring tears to his eyes, but that didn’t stop him bending over further and opening himself up more to flatmate.
Oliver took it slow, rationale taking over in his brain for the first time that night. He didn’t want to hurt the man after all. In, out, in a little more, out to the tip before moving in deeper until Marcus was moaning and pushing back against him.
The next few minutes were a blur of hands and hips, mouths and moans and Oh, God so fuckin’ right until Oliver had Marcus cumming all over the kitchen cabinets. It only took a few more deep thrusts until his own hips were stuttering, drawing him over the edge with a shout.
Neither man moved until Oliver slowly pulled out, causing the Chasers to whimper and shudder. Marcus knew he was going to be feeling it for days, but he couldn’t find any energy to give a shite at the moment. “Fuckin’ hell, Wood.”
“I uh,” Oliver quickly went pink in the cheeks; the realization of what he had just done hitting him like a ton of bricks. “Sorry ‘bout that.”
“Don’t be,” Marcus reached for his pants, slowly tugging them up by the belt. “Should do it more often.”
The Keeper chuckled, a nervous reaction. “Right, long as you got the point I was tryin’ ta make.”
“Hell yes,” Marcus raked a hand through his sweat soaked hair. “Piss you off more often.”
Oliver couldn’t help the way his eyes rolled back in his head. Some people would just never learn.