Title: Clearing His Head
Disclaimer: Not JKR. Not paid. You know the drill.
Summary: Just a look at Oliver Wood. If I say more, it'll ruin the story.
Notes: Written as a thank you for x_posed_again
Clearing His Head
Oliver Wood, in his invincible youth, had his whole glorious life ahead of him. Yet there was one thing he'd already figured out by now, his seventeenth year, about life: it wasn't about choices.
Quidditch was what he was meant to do-- he knew that. He'd known it as a little kid and he knew it now that he was facing a life after school, which meant a serious career. All he could think about, all that mattered to him was playing his best game every time and winning matches.
Well, almost nearly all. As a typical boy his age, he was also acutely aware of his sexual drive. Between it and the Quidditch, his schoolwork barely found space to occupy his mind.
Which was probably why he wound up asking one particular roommate of his yet again for help on the latest Charms assignment. "Which is why..." Percy said, running his finger along the lines of that section of the hierarchy drawn out on an enormous roll of parchment before them, "That entire family of spells must contain the long-E sound. Make sense now?"
It didn't. But this was the third time Percy had explained it to him, and he felt especially stupid for not understanding now. He could sense the Head Boy's frustration and didn't want that to get any worse. He also did not want Percy thinking he was completely stupid. They both still had mounds of homeworks left for the night and they'd never get them done if he had Percy explain again. Then again, he would never get through the work if he did not understand.
Oliver did not know what to say, but his silence spoke for itself. Percy sighed, hanging his head. "All right. One more time..." He pushed the parchment aside and reached over for Oliver's textbook to turn back to the syllable diagram. His fingers brushed against Oliver's. And Oliver, for a change, did not go on the defensive.
Shaking his head, Oliver sat back in his chair and rubbed his thumb and forefinger against his aching forehead. "Give it up, Percy. I'm hopeless." He tipped his chair back, knees catching against the desk so that he did not tip over.
But his balance faltered when Percy put a kind hand on his shoulder then tilted his head towards Oliver. Their heads bumped and Oliver felt that unmistakable rush that came from touch and caring. "You'll get this," Percy reassured him. "I know you will. You're smarter than you think you are, Oliver."
Something in Oliver's chest jumped excitedly at this. "Really?" he asked with timid modesty. There was absolutely nothing he liked more than to be complimented.
"Absolutely," Percy said, smiling. "You asked for my help, didn't you? You've got to be smart."
Naturally, Percy was likewise fond of compliments. Even those he paid to himself. He scooted his chair right up against Oliver's in order to reach over and grab a fresh quill. Without ink in it, he used it for pointing. But the action brought Percy closer and all Oliver wanted to do was get closer.
Oliver set his chair down on all fours again with a thud. If this kept up, he would definitely never get his mind around his Charms homework. Unless... well, all it would take really was a quick roll in the sheets. And maybe a game of connect-the-dots with his freckles. The beds were only a few flights of stairs above. And since he spotted their other roommates in the library as well, they would be the only two in the dormitory room. Oliver looked at Percy, hoping the man might somehow feel his heat, his desire. Even a good, strong kiss might be enough to get Oliver's mind straight. But how to get his message across to Percy...
Oliver looked up. Penelope Clearwater. Percy's girlfriend. Of all the luck!
"Hi Penny!" Percy brightened incredibly with happy eyes and great big smile. Oliver's heart sank down into his shoes. He stuck his nose in a book and tried not to watch or listen. Unfortunately, it was unavoidable.
With her long, curly hair in Percy's face, she invited her into their study session and sat down on Percy's knee. "Having trouble with Charms, are you Olly?"
Her using the nickname grated on him. He cringed inwardly, putting on a fake smile. He couldn't think of an amicable way of replying to her obvious question, and he certainly couldn't say that he was stuck somewhere between being a complete dolt and wanting to bang her boyfriend into the sheets.
Taking a deep breath, "Thanks for the help, Percy. Maybe I should just look it over on my own again?"
Percy seemed to nod, though Oliver couldn't be entirely sure because his head was obscured as Penelope craned her neck and moved in for the kiss Oliver had so desperately been wanting to plant on those gentle lips. He watched, as best he could from the seat next to them, as she kissed him. Her kisses were not blindingly powerful, but they still knocked his glasses out of place and put a flush in his cheeks. "Penny..." he whispered afterwards, and she kissed him again.
When he saw Percy's hand slide around her body to guide her impossibly closer, Oliver took it as his cue to leave. He knew they wouldn't go any further than that in the library, but he wasn't interested in sticking around to watch them continue anything. Oliver really was appreciative of the help, which Percy always dispensed so easily when he didn't have anything better to do. But Oliver needed help in more subjects than Percy Weasley could provide.
"Aye. All right. I'm out of here." He quickly collected up his books and papers. Then Oliver headed upstairs to wallow in his solitude and the fact that he still didn't have his assignment down.
There was nothing-- absolutely nothing-- so good for blowing off steam and getting his head straight as a good, hard Quidditch practice. Unfortunately, it had started raining around lunchtime and now the whole of Hogwarts was caught in an immense downpour.
Since there was hardly any lightning, Oliver had tried to convince his team that they could go out and practice anyway. He tried to every technique in the book short of using hexes to command them onto the Pitch. Once in a while, they collectively humored him in such circumstances. The Gryffindor team was excellent, but even they knew how much practice they needed if they were going to bag the trophy this year. Today, however, they refused to practice. The wind was too strong and it was really coming down out there. Even the fact that they'd probably have to play in this sort of weather didn't work.
They were all a bunch of wimps as far as Oliver was concerned. A little rain never hurt anyone.
He smiled through the rain pounding against his face as he soared through it on his broom. The effort of zigging and zagging around the hoops kept him so warm he barely noticed the fact that the rain was icy cold. He did, however, notice a wisp of yellow out of the corner of his eye. He slowed and turned his head deliberately, spotting Cedric Diggory whizzing through the air not five meters away.
Not only was Cedric just as obsessed with Quidditch as he was, and not averse to flying in this weather, but he was also dead sexy. The atypical seeker was strong, well-built, and had eyes to die for.
The two captains flew in rings around the pitch, going in opposite directions so they passed each other twice, playing with each other. He could mark and compare their speeds by where they passed each other. On each lap, their circles grew a little smaller and they came a little closer to each other. After a while, they were so close that Oliver could have reached out and touched him. But when he tried, Cedric darted quickly out of reach. Teasingly, Oliver did likewise when Cedric tried the same.
Oh, and how he wanted to do just that! He wanted to abandon his broom and jump onto the back of Cedric's. He wanted to lift up those bright yellow robes and see what was beneath. He wanted so much, and he could have sworn Cedric wanted the same, for his laughter rang out through the rain storm and his face was bright with energy and excitement as he played with Oliver.
However, what he wanted was not the issue. Oliver had one hand off his broom to reach out towards Cedric when the lightning struck. They were close to the goal hoops, which were charmed to repel lightning, so the lightning picked the targets high in the sky. The bolt came close to them, but thankfully hit neither of them. It was enough to make him lose his balance. Before he knew it, he was tumbling down to the ground in twirls and somersaults. The wind resistance slowed him down, but when he landed he heard a terrible crack.
At first, Oliver was petrified he'd broken his broom. Even if it could be repaired, the thing would never fly with the same perfection. Upon close inspection, his broom was perfectly fine. He had broken its fall.
Cedric touched down next to Oliver, looking nervous and concerned. "Are you all right?" he asked, sweeping wet bangs out of his face so he could get a better look at Oliver.
Oliver nodded. "Aye," he said. "I'm all right." He started to get up but the pain was so intense he did not more it further than a few centimeters off the ground. "I think it's just a broken leg," he said.
"Oh, only that?" Cedric squatted down and extended his hand. "Let me help you to the Hospital Wing."
Oliver definitely did not want to look like a weakling in front of Cedric, but he knew he would not be able to make it there on his own and he couldn't sit there for hours in the rain waiting for someone else to find him. Besides it meant finally touching the Hufflepuff's Captain, after all that teasing.
When he took Cedric's hand, he found it unbelievably warm. It gripped his own tightly and squeezed. Cedric pulled and Oliver unfolded upward, straightening and wincing just a little as he put a tiny bit of weight on his left leg in the process. He kept it bent as Cedric affixed himself to Oliver's side and put Oliver's arm over his shoulders. He put an arm around Cedric's waist. "It's okay," he said comfortingly. "You'll be fixed up and threatening to win the game against my team in no time."
Smiling, Oliver stuck his hand out. He barely had to mouth the word 'up' when his broom rose into his hand.
They headed back to the castle with a minimal amount of grunts. While Oliver tried not to look like it hurt as much as it was, Cedric apparently was trying to look like holding up Oliver's weight wasn't much of a task. But they were both having a tough time at it. Yet, for all the gripping and supporting and awkward walking, Cedric took great care with Oliver. His touch was gentle and reassuring, and he was attentive to Oliver's needs as far as pace.
They were both relieved when they were out of the rain. Until Oliver hopped forward and his wet shoe slipped on the marble floor. His foot slid out from under him and he had to grab onto Cedric to keep from falling. Cedric winced but held onto him with all his might until the Gryffindor has straightened up again and was steady.
"Thanks," Oliver said, gazing into the other boy's eyes. He studied Cedric's face, searching it desperately for what he hoped was there. They were so close now. If Oliver just puckered his lips a little, he would certainly touch Cedric's face. All he wanted was a sign that a thank you kiss might be all right to give.
But Cedric shrugged. "Don't mention it. Let's go slowly from now on," he advised. He turned and guided Oliver onward, and they found their rhythm again as they headed down the hallway.
"I really do appreciate this," Oliver said to him. "You're a really great guy to help me out like this." What guy didn't like being complimented? Especially when the sentiment was genuine.
"No sweat. Anyone would do the same," Cedric said with a careful shrug.
"I don't know about that," Oliver replied. His compliment hadn't gone nearly as far as he'd wanted it to. "Especially since you're on another team, from another house, I mean..."
There was silence for the next few steps. "Speaking of other house teams... have you seen that new seeker the Ravenclaws are training?"
Cho Chang. Of course. Oliver had managed to find a way to look in on a few of the other teams' practices. "Aye," he said with a nod. "She's good."
"She's hot!" Cedric said. "And I'm told she's available. I was thinking of asking her out..."
Oliver's heart, which had not long ago been soaring through the air with him, now sunk with depression. He tuned out Cedic's ramblings about the girl, which continued all the way into the hospital wing.
Madam Pomfrey helped Cedric get Oliver to the nearest cot, then helped Oliver turn and stretch his leg out on the sheet-covered mattress. When Oliver looked up to thank Cedric one last time, he found the boy had gone already. Oliver sighed deeply to himself.
Oliver felt the sneeze building in his nose, but didn't bother with his handkerchief this time. It wasn't because of fatigue, but frustration. Every bit of him was in misery, and it wasn't as though someone were there to cover his nose for. "ahhhShoo!" He groaned and lifted his hand, rubbing at his nose. Now he was inclined to agree about the insanity of practicing Quidditch in the pouring rain.
Madam Pomfrey was an excellent healer. She'd fixed his broken leg in about a minute. So, naturally, he went to her about this as well. The Pepper-up potion made steam gush from his ears for a good five minutes, until the streams fizzed out to just a few warm puffs, but that was all it did. He still had a sore throat. He still had a ticklish nose. He still had a pounding headache. She could do nothing more to help him feel better.
However, lying alone in his bed, Oliver could think of a few things to make him feel better. He could imagine Percy Weasley with a tray of items all perfectly arranged. There would be a box of tissues, a glass of good old OJ, and a leather-bound book. Percy would sit at his bedside, reading and providing moral support. And Oliver could imagine Cedric Diggory with his concerned expression and common sense. The warmth and moist air from a shared shower in the Quidditch locker room would fix him up in no time. Cedric would again touch him gently, comfortingly.
But it was painfully clear to Oliver that neither situation was an actual possibility. He wanted someone-- anyone-- to be there for him. And, given how utterly miserable his cold made him feel, he figured there was nowhere to go but up from here.
So Oliver gathered his strength and pulled himself out of bed. He headed down one flight of stairs. Then another. And another. He paused a few times to sneeze and recompose himself. And, when he got to the ground floor, he considered giving up on his plan altogether and just going back up to bed. But he found himself going down one more flight of stairs, heading towards the dungeons.
The classroom was empty when Oliver got there. His heart sank into his gut and he felt even sicker. Maybe his message hadn't been received. Or, worse yet, maybe it had and the boy just wasn't coming.
"Expecting me not to turn up, Wood?"
Oliver turned, looking pleasantly surprised to see Marcus Flint there. "The thought had crossed my mind," he replied.
"Yeah, well, I'm here, ain't I? What's the big emergency?"
"hahh-AHSchhhh!" Oliver sneezed again. He hadn't meant to, but it snuck up on him and he'd manage to hold it back a little. But it certainly was as good of an answer as anything else. His body lurching forward helplessly, his handkerchief making it up just in time, he was quite the sight, to be sure. Oliver rolled his eyes as he snuffled into his handkerchief. His words were muffled by the cloth. "That," he said.
"What?" Marcus said. He didn't have the brightest Lumos in the castle.
"That," Oliver repeated. "This." He gestured to himself. "I'm sick. I have a cold."
"Oh goody," Marcus said sarcastically. But then he shrugged. "So?"
Sniffling, "So... so I was feeling miserable" and lonely, too, but he wasn't going to tell Marcus that. "And I thought--"
That was understood. Marcus grabbed him by the collar, the large hand clenching the material of his robes in a tight fist. Marcus' head tilted and his lips seized upon Oliver's for a strong, almost violent kiss.
Instinctively, especially with the tickle still happening deep within his nose, Oliver fought against it. But he didn't have the strength to fight Marcus off, and ended up having to wait until the other man decided enough was enough. He released Oliver and stepped back, grinning that slightly-crooked, slightly-evil grin of his.
Oliver let himself catch his breath. "What'd you do that for?" he asked. "You might catch my cold."
"Like I care?" He shrugged.
Oliver Wood wasn't stupid. He knew the only reason Flint was there was because he wanted to use Oliver. But right now, Oliver didn't mind that. Right now he was using Marcus just as much. And if they were able to squeeze a bit of pleasure out of it, then at least that was something.
Marcus scratched at his front, forcing his leg in-between Oliver's legs. He pushed himself into Oliver, grinding hard. Oliver was used to such force, and he expected it. But he wasn't in the best shape to withstand it. He found himself backing up and pinned against a wall. When he felt another sneeze on the way, he struggled against Flint. But Flint would not release him.
"hahh!" Instead of reaching towards his face, his hands parted Marcus' robes and slid under the waistband. "Flint... I... ahhh...Ah!" No matter what sort of restraint he used, or how he tried to contort his face, he could not stop it. "AhhhKShoo! Ugh..."
"Ugh!" Marcus echoed. But the damp shirt collar and neck did not slow him down any. His mouth overtook Oliver's again. His kiss was wet, imprecise, fierce. Eager for it, Oliver kissed back.
Oliver had to wait until the kiss was over before dragging his wrist under his nose. His other hand was pulling at the buttons and zipper on Marcus' trousers. He sniffled and then cupped Flint's erection through the black boxers.
"Better not be expecting me to nurse you," said Marcus, thrusting and rubbing himself into Oliver's hand.
Of course Oliver did not expect it. He would have been mad to expect it from Flint. Flint wasn't like that. They weren't like that with each other.
Quickly, Flint tore Oliver's shirt in the process of getting it open. His fingers scrambled over skin, teeth pinched nipples. Likewise, Oliver shoved Flint's boxers down, feeling himself rise and throb at the sight of Marcus and the familiar, musky scent.
This was what they were like. Marcus wasn't about to take care of Oliver in one way... but there were other ways he could.
Flint took Oliver by the shoulders and bent him over a desk. Oliver coughed several times and, distracted by that, it took him almost by surprise when Flint suddenly took him. He felt the strength and power flowing into him, pounding into him. "You like that, don't you, Wood?" Oliver nodded, gripping the edge of the desk and closing his eyes. "I'm a..." Thrust. "Chaser." Thrust. "And you're..." Thrust. "A keeper." Thrust and pause. "And you keep coming back to me."
Given the choice, Oliver wasn't sure if he would.
Flint's hand reached around and found his cock. Flint probably didn't even care if Oliver got off, but touching him made Flint so hard. And when Flint was that hard, sex was the best. They would play the best game that they could.
But Oliver had learned a long time ago, that he didn't have a choice.
"That's right, Wood." Oliver stifled a moan as Flint beat him off in time to the thrusts. That grip was impossibly tight and warm. It was more than enough to take him away from his cold. If healing could not be accomplished, at least he could be distracted for a whole. That was what he needed.
And if he couldn't have what he wanted, at least he could get what he needed. Even if it was from Flint.
Grunts came, as always, when he sped up. Oliver tensed up, feeling the warm rushes spread through his whole body. His grip tightened and Flint went in deeper, harder. Weak and tired, he could hold back no longer. He lost it, biting his tongue and making no noise apart from heavy breaths. Flint, on the other hand, grunted his way through his orgasm, loudly, then pulled out the instant it was over.
For all they knew, they were the only two gay boys in all of Hogwarts.
They both dressed in silence with mutual loathing. Oliver finished dressing first, and grabbed for Marcus. He held the boy by the wrist and forearm and kissed him again, hard. His nose twitched, but the kiss overpowered the need to sneeze. Then his grip slackened and Marcus pulled away, as always. Oliver turned so he did not have to watch Flint any more. At least, not until they'd found each other again.
That they'd found each other at all was enough.
But the pleasure still filled him, and would stay for a long while yet, like a win after a good game of Quidditch. He smiled as he headed back up to his dormitory with a clear head.
He would take what he could get. Life wasn't about choices.