AN: Just a silly little one-shot I wrote for the Cards Against Humanity Challenge, using the card: Taking of your shirt. Enjoy and review please!
Disclaimer: Everything you recognize, belongs to J.K. Rowling.
Oliver Wood huffed, angrily punching his pillow, as if it was its fault that he couldn't fall asleep. As if it was the innocent pillow who had taken of his shirt, displaying a wonderfully muscled back, and then, turning around, the most delectable stomach muscles-
No! He cannot think about James Dane that way. He was a world-star Quidditch player, and even if he swung that way, which Oliver was sure he did not, a lowly reserve, like Oliver, would be the last person James would be interested in. Oh, but those muscles…..
Growling with frustration at his errant thoughts, Oliver flung back the covers, yanked on his training clothes, and grabbed his broom.
He was lucky it was almost morning, as the cleaners on night-shift were just leaving, and he managed to slip into the stadium while they searched for the key that he may or may not have levitated away.
In the locker room, he stashed his bag, which he had packed for the days training, and as he was way early, like, think five to six hours early, for practice, he didn't look around to see if anyone else's bags were there, and just made his way to the Quidditch pitch.
Breathing in the cool, nigh-time air, the sky black except for a faint tinge of grey at the horizon, Oliver swung himself onto his broom, a Nimbus 2005, and kicked off, relishing the cool air blowing into him.
After a few laps around the pitch, Oliver started doing complicated swirls and twists, speeding up until he can feel the wind whistling past him, then slowing down abruptly. He was just pulling up from a near impossible dive, when he heard clapping.
Looking up, startled, he saw, coming out of the locker room entrance, clapping hands sardonically, James Dane himself, his platinum blonde hair attractively ruffled and his training uniform sitting just that little bit too tight.
Flushing hotly, Oliver dropped down onto the pitch, discreetly trying to fix his windblown hair and rumpled clothing.
Reaching Oliver where he was desperately trying to make himself look presentable, James Dane clapped a hand to his shoulder, and smiling indulgently, said: "Oliver, what're you doing out here this early?"
Blushing even more hotly now that his crush was talking to him and touching him, Oliver mumbled: "Couldn't sleep."
"Ah, that's too bad, 'cause today's going to be a tough one," so saying, James climbed onto his broom, a Firebolt Ultra, and flew off, leaving a drooling Oliver staring after him as he warmed up in the rising sun.