Written for Arithmacy (Write about the strangest pairing you can think of: Oliver Wood/Marcus Flint)
-oOo-
They should have hated each other. Maybe they did on some level. To the outside world, they were the deepest of enemies. Opposing sides of the Quidditch pitch. Gryffindor and Slytherin. The hero and the bully. They should have cut each other's throat last night instead of hoping into bed together.
At one time, murder would have been in company with them. Yet now, well Oliver wasn't never quite sure where he and the other sat with one another, but he knew it wasn't to the level of hostility that the rest of the world thought them to have.
"What time is it?" The voice was groggy with morning sleep.
"Eight," Oliver replied, rolling over. He found a pair of hands gripping his waist, and pulling him back. He chuckled, allowing himself to be pressed against the other male. "I thought you said cuddling wasn't going to be involved."
"Fuck you, Wood," Flint grumbled.
Oliver smirked – something Flint would have loved to see on the patriotic Gryffindor. "You kind of already did."
There was a grumble from Flint, but he didn't push away. Oliver let him grumble for a few moment. The rumbling in the Slytherin's voice sent shivers down Oliver's neck. He shifted a bit, his back pressed up against Flint's front. Skin on skin, Oliver couldn't help but enjoy the contact.
"What times the game?" Flint asked.
Oliver thought for a moment before answering, "four."
"Get me breakfast," Flint said.
There was a moment of laughter on Oliver's part as he turned to face the Slytherin. Their faces were inches from one another, and both were well aware of the closeness under the sheet. "Get dressed and we'll go get food."
Flint's eyes were still closed, and he grimaced at the thought. "Not getting up. Go get me food."
"You are such a child," Oliver taunted. "Don't you have class in a few hours?"
Flint's eyes slowly creaked open. "Probably."
Oliver only shock his head. He made to rise from the bed, undoing himself from Flint's embrace. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he searched around the room for his discarded clothes. He frowned at the distance between him and his pants. The chilly air of the Room of Requirements against his bare chest was a deterrent from getting dressed.
Instead, Oliver dropped back down in bed. He looked sideways at Flint, who was still on the edge of sleep. He thought back for a moment on the first time he and Flint had shared a bed. It had been a pretty ferocious Quidditch game, largely due to a scuffle between Potter and Malfoy. The two captains, Wood and Flint, had gotten together, both agreeing that the feud between their Seekers had gotten too out of hand.
Oliver didn't remember how exactly the conversation went, all he recalled was that at one point they were arguing, the next they were tangled together among the broomsticks – pun quite intended on Oliver's part.
"I hate the morning," Flint's voice was less plagued by sleep that prior. He reached out in an attempt to draw Oliver once more to him.
The Gryffindor Keeper only chuckled. What he did remember from their first time was the shared agreement between them to keep with 'sex only'. Over the year though, somehow that sex had ingrained itself a little more into friendship.
Then again, it really shouldn't have worked out this way. As he once more pressed his back against Flint's front, wiggling his hips slightly against the other boys, Oliver couldn't help but smirk. His movement seemed to encourage Flint, who awoke fully and had his lips on Oliver's in an instance. The Gryffindor melted into the contact. He maneuvered himself so that he straddled the other boy. His hands ran over the pale boy's chest, as Flint's hands moved along his lower thigh.
Yes, Oliver thought, they really should hate each other.