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vanseedee
Pairing: Oliver Wood/Marcus Flint
Rating: NC17, very.
Word Count: 1645
Summary: Baically it's porn.
Warnings: Graphic, bad language, sarcasm, complete absence of fluff.
Author's note: Yes. this is the most graphic thing I have ever written, and I feel dirty now.
Disclaimer: Don't own any characters.
"Bloody hell." How in the name of Merlin's throbbing cock do I always get myself into these situations. My head hurts, my body hurts, my arse hurts. Everything hurts and I didn't even open my eyes yet.
I can't quite remember what happened yesterday, but the pieces I have are disturbing. There was a pub – of course. There was booze – of course – a lot of it to be precise. There was – oh no, no – yes, there was Oliver Wood. Oliver fucking Wood, Puddlemere's captain, average keeper, arrogant arse. Yes. My arse hurts. Thanks for the reminder.
For some minutes I try to go back in time, back to the previous evening by sheer willpower. I know it didn't work when someone frighteningly close to me yawns loudly. And moves. And places a warm hand right on my groin.
I open my eyes slowly and carefully. One after the other. I fucking hate the sun, always have. Now it is shining right into my hangover tortured face, and I would give everything I have for some evil weapon to just evaporate the blasted thing. No weapon appears, though.
Turning my head slightly, I find my suspicions confirmed. Oliver Wood is lying next to me, looking only slightly dishevelled, smirking. Smirking! I snort with disgust.
"Remove. Your. Hand. Now." My voice is as low and dangerous as I can manage. Nothing more than a snarl.
"Aw, Flint. Are we grouchy today? Does your pretty head hurt?" The cheeriness of the keeper makes me want to retch. "You do like it, though." Wood begins to rub circles over my cock. The fact that it is half hard, is a very normal reaction after awakening and has nothing to do with the idiot's actions whatsoever.
"Stop this now, if you don't want to be found dead in a dark alley tomorrow." That should do it.
Wood complies faster than I expected and stops his ministrations. He reaches over and grabs a small vial that is standing on his nightstand. He tosses it to me.
"Here. Hangover potion. Swallow!" The prat waggles his eyebrows.
"Shut up or I'll make you." A moment too late I realise, that this sounds like a sick innuendo. Salazar, how I want to punch him. I drink the potion mainly to keep myself busy and not thinking about the alternative.
Dickhead chuckles and puts his hand back where it was before. "I thought you liked it. You were quite vocal about it, if I remember correctly."
While waiting some moments for the potion to kick in, I ponder my options. Punch him, punch him, or beat him up? Sometimes decisions aren't easy.
As soon as my head clears and I can focus, I notice just how close his hand feels. I am quite naked and the thin covers do nothing to soften the touch. I grab his wrist and force it away from my cock, which is very hard right now – common morning erection, nothing to worry about. He grins and uses his other hand to remove the cover. I've got to hand it to him, that was a clever move.
I try desperately not to notice, that he's hot as hell. Toned and tanned body, firm muscles, broad chest. It certainly doesn't help, that there are memories flashing through my mind, which show my tongue buried in various crevices of said body. Oh, now listen to me. One could think I'm easy, which I am, of course, but that's not the point at all.
My eyes travel down his chest and they might have glazed over. The Scottish fool is hard, and grinning. A Quidditch player knows when he has won, and Wood surely basks in his victory right now. The fucker. Yes. My arse hurts.
Even though he is built like a tank, he moves like a cat and my brain still hasn't caught up, when he's already busy licking my nipples, while pinning me down with his whole body. When I realise, that the thing currently rubbing over my hard cock is indeed his hard cock, I shiver and close my eyes.
He slides down my body, licking and suckling, leaving a wet path. He doesn't waste any time when he reaches his goal and envelops my cock in his mouth. I cannot help myself, grab his hair, and thrust down his throat. He chokes and splutters and I laugh. "More than you can deal with, eh?" I taunt, grab his shoulders, pull him up, shift my weight and flip us over.
He looks alarmed, when I close the gap and kiss him. Hah, I'm not playing by your rules, dumbass. It's a forceful kiss, all tongue and teeth. Not bad, though, not bad at all.
I nibble and bite my way down his chest, pinch his nipples, eliciting some ridiculously girly noises. I hold down his hips and let my tongue dance over his shaft. I suck his cock quite enthusiastically, and the twat is moaning and kicking.
"I'm not coming down your throat, Flint. You're gonna remember this." Now he's the one pulling, shifting and flipping.
He produces a tube of lube seemingly out of nowhere and lubricates his fingers. He reaches down and circles my hole slowly.
"Don't even think about it, Wood. My arse still hurts." Somehow my actions undermine my words, as I lift my hips slightly and open my legs as wide as I can.
"Come on Flint, you have always been a pain in the arse." I roll my eyes at the line. Another proof that it's not a Gryffindor thing to be witty. Without hesitation he pushes in two of his slick fingers and moves them slowly. I have a hard time keeping myself from moaning. When he presses his thumb on the spot right behind my balls, I give up. It doesn't mean I don't hate him anymore, though. He's still a prick.
He adds another finger, and oh, he knows what he's doing. Oh fuck, oh fuck he's licking again. When he removes his fingers, I can hear myself whine.
"Be a good boy and turn around now," he says, while he's coating his erection with lube.
"Good boy my arse," I growl, but turn around anyway. I can mourn my dignity some other time.
I can feel his cock between my cheeks, nudging at the ring of muscles. It's agony. "Get a move on," I hiss.
The moron chuckles. "I like you needy, Flint."
"Shut your fucking mouth and..." I forget what I wanted to say when he holds on to my hips and buries himself deep inside me with one confident thrust. I can feel his balls slapping against my skin and ooooh, he moves.
"God, I love your arse," Wood praises. I agree silently. It seems like his cock and my arse are a match made in heaven. Not that I would ever tell him.
When he begins to stroke my cock in time with the movements of his hips, I forget my name. His rhythm is without fault, but far too slow. I press back onto him and he gets the hint, picks up speed.
Thrusting, stroking, holding, thrusting, stroking, holding. My head is spinning.
After what seems like an eternity and no time at all, my balls draw in and I am ready to let go. Wood must have sensed it, because he stills the movements of his hand and grabs my cock around its base. And squeezes. The sodding tosser. Except not.
"Let. Me. Go," I pant through gritted teeth.
"Can't. Have. That," Wood pants back and continues to pound into my arse. If I were able to think coherently at the moment, I would admit that the man has stamina and knows how to use it. Under these circumstances, I just grunt, try to hold myself up on my elbows and push back desperately, silently begging for more.
His breath is coming in short gasps, his forehead is lying heavy on my shoulder. He begins to kiss his way up to my ear, licks it twice, lets go of my cock, gives it a tug, and whispers, "Now, Flint!" It's an order, and I can do nothing but obey.
He thrusts one more time violently into me, holds on to my hips and stills. I can feel his cock twitching inside me, while I explode all over the sheets. His sheets, I would remind myself, if I was able to feel or think anything beyond the raging climax that's ripping through me.
Wood collapses, still buried in me, panting heavily.
"Off, drama queen," I say and shove him. When his weight is gone I roll over and want to kick myself, because I can't keep my hand from sliding over his arse almost gently. Ew.
All I want to do now is to close my eyes and lose myself in post-orgasmic bliss. As I am not a pansy, I take some deep breaths, force my limp limbs to move, and try to think of an appropriate insult. My brain has obviously been fucked into oblivion, though, so I huff instead; in a very clever and witty way, of course.
While I dress myself, I wonder if I was possessed. It would explain why I ended up being buggered by Wood not only one but two times, one of them completely sober. I need to go home as fast as possible, take a shower, and forget what just happened. Wood's come dripping out of my arse doesn't make this easy.
"So Flint. Want to have dinner tonight?" I turn around slowly, eyes widened in shock. Now I know that I am possessed, because how else could you explain, why I see myself nodding in the bedroom mirror.
disturbing sequel
vanseedeePairing: Oliver Wood/Marcus Flint
Rating: NC17, very.
Word Count: 1645
Summary: Baically it's porn.
Warnings: Graphic, bad language, sarcasm, complete absence of fluff.
Author's note: Yes. this is the most graphic thing I have ever written, and I feel dirty now.
Disclaimer: Don't own any characters.
"Bloody hell." How in the name of Merlin's throbbing cock do I always get myself into these situations. My head hurts, my body hurts, my arse hurts. Everything hurts and I didn't even open my eyes yet.
I can't quite remember what happened yesterday, but the pieces I have are disturbing. There was a pub – of course. There was booze – of course – a lot of it to be precise. There was – oh no, no – yes, there was Oliver Wood. Oliver fucking Wood, Puddlemere's captain, average keeper, arrogant arse. Yes. My arse hurts. Thanks for the reminder.
For some minutes I try to go back in time, back to the previous evening by sheer willpower. I know it didn't work when someone frighteningly close to me yawns loudly. And moves. And places a warm hand right on my groin.
I open my eyes slowly and carefully. One after the other. I fucking hate the sun, always have. Now it is shining right into my hangover tortured face, and I would give everything I have for some evil weapon to just evaporate the blasted thing. No weapon appears, though.
Turning my head slightly, I find my suspicions confirmed. Oliver Wood is lying next to me, looking only slightly dishevelled, smirking. Smirking! I snort with disgust.
"Remove. Your. Hand. Now." My voice is as low and dangerous as I can manage. Nothing more than a snarl.
"Aw, Flint. Are we grouchy today? Does your pretty head hurt?" The cheeriness of the keeper makes me want to retch. "You do like it, though." Wood begins to rub circles over my cock. The fact that it is half hard, is a very normal reaction after awakening and has nothing to do with the idiot's actions whatsoever.
"Stop this now, if you don't want to be found dead in a dark alley tomorrow." That should do it.
Wood complies faster than I expected and stops his ministrations. He reaches over and grabs a small vial that is standing on his nightstand. He tosses it to me.
"Here. Hangover potion. Swallow!" The prat waggles his eyebrows.
"Shut up or I'll make you." A moment too late I realise, that this sounds like a sick innuendo. Salazar, how I want to punch him. I drink the potion mainly to keep myself busy and not thinking about the alternative.
Dickhead chuckles and puts his hand back where it was before. "I thought you liked it. You were quite vocal about it, if I remember correctly."
While waiting some moments for the potion to kick in, I ponder my options. Punch him, punch him, or beat him up? Sometimes decisions aren't easy.
As soon as my head clears and I can focus, I notice just how close his hand feels. I am quite naked and the thin covers do nothing to soften the touch. I grab his wrist and force it away from my cock, which is very hard right now – common morning erection, nothing to worry about. He grins and uses his other hand to remove the cover. I've got to hand it to him, that was a clever move.
I try desperately not to notice, that he's hot as hell. Toned and tanned body, firm muscles, broad chest. It certainly doesn't help, that there are memories flashing through my mind, which show my tongue buried in various crevices of said body. Oh, now listen to me. One could think I'm easy, which I am, of course, but that's not the point at all.
My eyes travel down his chest and they might have glazed over. The Scottish fool is hard, and grinning. A Quidditch player knows when he has won, and Wood surely basks in his victory right now. The fucker. Yes. My arse hurts.
Even though he is built like a tank, he moves like a cat and my brain still hasn't caught up, when he's already busy licking my nipples, while pinning me down with his whole body. When I realise, that the thing currently rubbing over my hard cock is indeed his hard cock, I shiver and close my eyes.
He slides down my body, licking and suckling, leaving a wet path. He doesn't waste any time when he reaches his goal and envelops my cock in his mouth. I cannot help myself, grab his hair, and thrust down his throat. He chokes and splutters and I laugh. "More than you can deal with, eh?" I taunt, grab his shoulders, pull him up, shift my weight and flip us over.
He looks alarmed, when I close the gap and kiss him. Hah, I'm not playing by your rules, dumbass. It's a forceful kiss, all tongue and teeth. Not bad, though, not bad at all.
I nibble and bite my way down his chest, pinch his nipples, eliciting some ridiculously girly noises. I hold down his hips and let my tongue dance over his shaft. I suck his cock quite enthusiastically, and the twat is moaning and kicking.
"I'm not coming down your throat, Flint. You're gonna remember this." Now he's the one pulling, shifting and flipping.
He produces a tube of lube seemingly out of nowhere and lubricates his fingers. He reaches down and circles my hole slowly.
"Don't even think about it, Wood. My arse still hurts." Somehow my actions undermine my words, as I lift my hips slightly and open my legs as wide as I can.
"Come on Flint, you have always been a pain in the arse." I roll my eyes at the line. Another proof that it's not a Gryffindor thing to be witty. Without hesitation he pushes in two of his slick fingers and moves them slowly. I have a hard time keeping myself from moaning. When he presses his thumb on the spot right behind my balls, I give up. It doesn't mean I don't hate him anymore, though. He's still a prick.
He adds another finger, and oh, he knows what he's doing. Oh fuck, oh fuck he's licking again. When he removes his fingers, I can hear myself whine.
"Be a good boy and turn around now," he says, while he's coating his erection with lube.
"Good boy my arse," I growl, but turn around anyway. I can mourn my dignity some other time.
I can feel his cock between my cheeks, nudging at the ring of muscles. It's agony. "Get a move on," I hiss.
The moron chuckles. "I like you needy, Flint."
"Shut your fucking mouth and..." I forget what I wanted to say when he holds on to my hips and buries himself deep inside me with one confident thrust. I can feel his balls slapping against my skin and ooooh, he moves.
"God, I love your arse," Wood praises. I agree silently. It seems like his cock and my arse are a match made in heaven. Not that I would ever tell him.
When he begins to stroke my cock in time with the movements of his hips, I forget my name. His rhythm is without fault, but far too slow. I press back onto him and he gets the hint, picks up speed.
Thrusting, stroking, holding, thrusting, stroking, holding. My head is spinning.
After what seems like an eternity and no time at all, my balls draw in and I am ready to let go. Wood must have sensed it, because he stills the movements of his hand and grabs my cock around its base. And squeezes. The sodding tosser. Except not.
"Let. Me. Go," I pant through gritted teeth.
"Can't. Have. That," Wood pants back and continues to pound into my arse. If I were able to think coherently at the moment, I would admit that the man has stamina and knows how to use it. Under these circumstances, I just grunt, try to hold myself up on my elbows and push back desperately, silently begging for more.
His breath is coming in short gasps, his forehead is lying heavy on my shoulder. He begins to kiss his way up to my ear, licks it twice, lets go of my cock, gives it a tug, and whispers, "Now, Flint!" It's an order, and I can do nothing but obey.
He thrusts one more time violently into me, holds on to my hips and stills. I can feel his cock twitching inside me, while I explode all over the sheets. His sheets, I would remind myself, if I was able to feel or think anything beyond the raging climax that's ripping through me.
Wood collapses, still buried in me, panting heavily.
"Off, drama queen," I say and shove him. When his weight is gone I roll over and want to kick myself, because I can't keep my hand from sliding over his arse almost gently. Ew.
All I want to do now is to close my eyes and lose myself in post-orgasmic bliss. As I am not a pansy, I take some deep breaths, force my limp limbs to move, and try to think of an appropriate insult. My brain has obviously been fucked into oblivion, though, so I huff instead; in a very clever and witty way, of course.
While I dress myself, I wonder if I was possessed. It would explain why I ended up being buggered by Wood not only one but two times, one of them completely sober. I need to go home as fast as possible, take a shower, and forget what just happened. Wood's come dripping out of my arse doesn't make this easy.
"So Flint. Want to have dinner tonight?" I turn around slowly, eyes widened in shock. Now I know that I am possessed, because how else could you explain, why I see myself nodding in the bedroom mirror.
disturbing sequel