A Quidditch Match to Remember
Nov. 26th, 2007 02:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seedeeAuthor: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
vanseedee
Pairing: Oliver Wood/Marcus Flint, Theodor Nott
Word Count: 776
Rating: PG13
Summary: Flint and Nott have a friendly talk.
Warnings: General weirdness, Quidditch Metaphors, talking in code.
Author's note: Can be read alone, but is meant as a Sequel to 'How I got buggered by Oliver Wood twice'.
Disclaimer: No characters are mine. And I bet they will be forever grateful for that.
"So. You and Wood?" Theo Nott is sitting opposite of me with raised eyebrows. We've been meeting for two years now. Drinks every Thursday. 9 out of 10 times we get sloshed, and mainly we talk about Quidditch, or fucking. Or both.
"What about me and Wood?" I ask, feigning ignorance.
He chuckles and says, "Done chasing the keeper, I heard. Was about bloody time. Grovelling Slytherins are an embarrassment."
"Says the man who fucks a Hufflepuff?" I can raise my eyebrows, too. Diversion has always been a good strategy. The first glass of Firewhiskey is downed and I order another round.
"She got great Quaffles." Theo says and shrugs, his eyes somewhat dreamy. And he's the one talking about embarrassment? Honestly.
"I don't care much for the Quaffles, I'm the beater's bat type of guy." Which is definitely not the best kept secret in the world. Actually it isn't kept at all. Or a secret. I sip at my whiskey.
"Still. Entirely without hoops?" Theo asks stupidly. "Anyway. How did you do it? You've been trying to blatch* him for years. Drugged him? Poisoned him? You got blackmail?"
I raise my glass and swirl the golden liquid, drinking deeply. "Perhaps the keeper wanted to save the chaser in this case."
He looks at me doubtfully, bringing his own glass to his lips. "I don't believe that, but as long as you got to play, it doesn't matter."
Nott has always been annoying, that's probably why the younger man is one of my best friends. "I scored alright." I grin. Devilishly.
"Wait." He looks up startled. "Don't tell me you got in a goal against the keeper."
I narrow my eyes, not sure if I got that reference right. "If you just insinuated, what I think you did, I'll lock your balls in a wooden crate and stock them in the broom shed."
He raises his hands in a defending gesture. "No reason to bumph** around. Just asking." He waggles his eyebrows. "Did he blow your whistle?"
"Stop it Nott, you're not playing in my team, so back off." Merlin, we're not a bunch of gossiping girls. Not all the time.
He smirks. "Just want to know, who got the snitch."
I smirk back. "Wood's definitely not built like a seeker."
"Neither are you," he says. "And I know for a fact that you like to be bludgered."
I snort, remembering an eventful night, when I drank more than I could manage, spilling more than I ever wanted. But so did Nott. We agreed never to use any of it as blackmail. Not that I wouldn't if I had to, mind you.
"Maybe it's a question of who has the bigger broomstick." With a glare that would make Minerva McGonagall proud, I dare him to say anything to this.
"Yeah, but he's the captain, he decides who's riding," Nott answers.
"Maybe my aim is better," I try again.
"Yeah, but he's better at blocking his ring," Theo says and picks up his 4th glass, which has just arrived.
I drown my drink, and think of a reply. And fuck it all. "So what," I hear me say. "The rider's in charge, not the broom."
"Don't get your kit in a twist," Theo appeases. "As long as your broom got polished, too..." He trails away and shrugs.
"You bet. It's all about acceleration."
"Right, whatever you say. Will there be a return match?" And now he sends me one of those piercing looks and I squirm.
"It wasn't just a pick-up game. We're talking about a series." This was something I haven't even confessed to myself – until now, but it doesn't make it less true.
"So. If I may offer a summary," Theo says cheekily. "You dared Wood into playing with the balls. He's the better keeper, and you didn't mind a bit of blagging***. But you didn't want to end it on the orchard, you went for the pitch. And as victory goes to the team which scores the most total points, Wood won the cup, and now you don't know if he wants you in his team. Right?"
Theo Nott had nailed it down.
Quidditch through the ages:
*blatching: applies to all players, it is when a person is flying with the intent to collide
**bumphing: applies to beaters only, it is when a Beater is hitting a Bludger towards the crowd, necessitating a halt of the game as the officials rush to protect bystanders. Sometimes used by unscrupulous players to prevent an opposing Chaser from scoring
***blagging: applies to all players, it is when a player seizes opponent's broom tail to slow or hinder
vanseedeePairing: Oliver Wood/Marcus Flint, Theodor Nott
Word Count: 776
Rating: PG13
Summary: Flint and Nott have a friendly talk.
Warnings: General weirdness, Quidditch Metaphors, talking in code.
Author's note: Can be read alone, but is meant as a Sequel to 'How I got buggered by Oliver Wood twice'.
Disclaimer: No characters are mine. And I bet they will be forever grateful for that.
"So. You and Wood?" Theo Nott is sitting opposite of me with raised eyebrows. We've been meeting for two years now. Drinks every Thursday. 9 out of 10 times we get sloshed, and mainly we talk about Quidditch, or fucking. Or both.
"What about me and Wood?" I ask, feigning ignorance.
He chuckles and says, "Done chasing the keeper, I heard. Was about bloody time. Grovelling Slytherins are an embarrassment."
"Says the man who fucks a Hufflepuff?" I can raise my eyebrows, too. Diversion has always been a good strategy. The first glass of Firewhiskey is downed and I order another round.
"She got great Quaffles." Theo says and shrugs, his eyes somewhat dreamy. And he's the one talking about embarrassment? Honestly.
"I don't care much for the Quaffles, I'm the beater's bat type of guy." Which is definitely not the best kept secret in the world. Actually it isn't kept at all. Or a secret. I sip at my whiskey.
"Still. Entirely without hoops?" Theo asks stupidly. "Anyway. How did you do it? You've been trying to blatch* him for years. Drugged him? Poisoned him? You got blackmail?"
I raise my glass and swirl the golden liquid, drinking deeply. "Perhaps the keeper wanted to save the chaser in this case."
He looks at me doubtfully, bringing his own glass to his lips. "I don't believe that, but as long as you got to play, it doesn't matter."
Nott has always been annoying, that's probably why the younger man is one of my best friends. "I scored alright." I grin. Devilishly.
"Wait." He looks up startled. "Don't tell me you got in a goal against the keeper."
I narrow my eyes, not sure if I got that reference right. "If you just insinuated, what I think you did, I'll lock your balls in a wooden crate and stock them in the broom shed."
He raises his hands in a defending gesture. "No reason to bumph** around. Just asking." He waggles his eyebrows. "Did he blow your whistle?"
"Stop it Nott, you're not playing in my team, so back off." Merlin, we're not a bunch of gossiping girls. Not all the time.
He smirks. "Just want to know, who got the snitch."
I smirk back. "Wood's definitely not built like a seeker."
"Neither are you," he says. "And I know for a fact that you like to be bludgered."
I snort, remembering an eventful night, when I drank more than I could manage, spilling more than I ever wanted. But so did Nott. We agreed never to use any of it as blackmail. Not that I wouldn't if I had to, mind you.
"Maybe it's a question of who has the bigger broomstick." With a glare that would make Minerva McGonagall proud, I dare him to say anything to this.
"Yeah, but he's the captain, he decides who's riding," Nott answers.
"Maybe my aim is better," I try again.
"Yeah, but he's better at blocking his ring," Theo says and picks up his 4th glass, which has just arrived.
I drown my drink, and think of a reply. And fuck it all. "So what," I hear me say. "The rider's in charge, not the broom."
"Don't get your kit in a twist," Theo appeases. "As long as your broom got polished, too..." He trails away and shrugs.
"You bet. It's all about acceleration."
"Right, whatever you say. Will there be a return match?" And now he sends me one of those piercing looks and I squirm.
"It wasn't just a pick-up game. We're talking about a series." This was something I haven't even confessed to myself – until now, but it doesn't make it less true.
"So. If I may offer a summary," Theo says cheekily. "You dared Wood into playing with the balls. He's the better keeper, and you didn't mind a bit of blagging***. But you didn't want to end it on the orchard, you went for the pitch. And as victory goes to the team which scores the most total points, Wood won the cup, and now you don't know if he wants you in his team. Right?"
Theo Nott had nailed it down.
Quidditch through the ages:
*blatching: applies to all players, it is when a person is flying with the intent to collide
**bumphing: applies to beaters only, it is when a Beater is hitting a Bludger towards the crowd, necessitating a halt of the game as the officials rush to protect bystanders. Sometimes used by unscrupulous players to prevent an opposing Chaser from scoring
***blagging: applies to all players, it is when a player seizes opponent's broom tail to slow or hinder