...before harry & draco ...
Title: ... before Harry & Draco ...
Author: physixxx
Warning: Strong language and sexual encounter. pre-OotP
Characters: not Harry/Draco :wink:
Rating: Hard R
Summary: Before there was Harry and Draco, there was another Slythindor passion that could have been legend.
Word Count: even 600, baby!
Written for: non-challenge drabble entry.
Author's Notes: un-Beta'd. Just something I came up with on the crapper.
Marcus Flint was ugly.
And it wasn't because he was a Slytherin, or because he was on the opposing Quiddich house team. Nor was it because he had Trollish lineage in his blood (as evident by his teeth, which seemed to be fighting for space in a mouth too small to be allowed).
No, Flint was ugly because of the way they fucked.
Oliver wanted aerated sex.
Oliver wanted crushing kisses.
Bruises and bites.
Scratches and blood.
He wanted anger and bitterness and resentment and ferocity.
And Flint gave it to him, at first, with a cock destined to make girls scream and guys run in jealous flight. Oliver justified fraternizing with 'the enemy' on those lonely, cold nights in hidden corridors and unused classrooms because, when he sat down afterwards -- or tried to -- the seering penance of their trysts felt sinfully divine. He bled afterwards; so much that he thought he would pass out at times. That was the first night they fucked, at least.
The second night they fucked, Oliver tried to squirm away, because he knew Flint would be driven to take what he thought he wasn't being given. And Oliver loved being 'taken'.
The fourth time they fucked, Flint had the nerve to kiss him. It was quick and fleeting and Flint followed it by pulling his massive cock completely out of Oliver's arse and slamming it back in to the hilt until he was begging for mercy -- or more lubrication. Oliver didn't go to classes the next day. He could barely walk. Using the lav was definitely out of the question.
The sixth time they fucked, Flint whispered things in his ear: the occasional apology for any pain or asking if he was 'okay' or, horribly enough, if he could continue.
By their tenth encounter, they were fucking facing each other. Oliver was on his back with Flint looking deep into eyes. He was horrified when he kissed him; not because Flint was kissing him, rather because he was kissing back.
Oliver could tell the kisses were driving Flint mad, as if he had found something new and alien to him and never wanted to let it go. There was a new passion in each thrust of the hip. Flint even reached between them, taking Oliver's cock in his hands and squeezing and stroking him as they grind into each other. He continued even as he buried his face in the crook of Oliver's neck.
Oliver then realized, as if for the first time, that they were in the Room of Requirement; in a room with a bed and candles and soft music in the background and the smell of vanilla and rain. He heard faint sobbing; was it him or Flint? He didn't know, anymore... he didn't care, anymore.
Oliver came first.
Marcus came shortly thereafter, collapsing in a sweaty heap atop the body underneath.
His eyes closed as he took in the weight above him, adoring it and already missing what the future meant for it. Oliver would be leaving Hogwarts, soon. Marcus' grades were dismal and he was destined to be held back. He knew it was because of him -- because Marcus was spending too much time on Quiddich and Oliver.
He wrapped his arms around Marcus and pulled him closer, feeling his chest expand and compress in a rhythm that grew slower and slower. Oliver smiled as he counted each breath. Even if they didn't have a future together, at least they had this.
That was good enough...
... for now.