A/N: Flintwood non-magical college AU. Smut ahoy! Also, I'm an American trying to write about English futbol. I apologize in advance for any strange or incorrect terms. I needed a mental break from The Killing Curse, and then this happened. I hope y'all like it!
Oliver Wood had been drinking with his intramural futbol buddies when he realized he left his cell phone in his car downstairs. Maybe it was the late hour or the alcohol he'd consumed — or both — but it made sense to Oliver at the time to head down to the elevator...without pants.
He was smiling to himself, thinking about the rowdy men he'd left in his dormitory. He'd only been at university for a couple of months, but he felt good about how he'd managed to fit in with the jocks. Coming from a small town in the English countryside, it'd been difficult as an openly gay athletic man growing up. Sure, he was built enough to keep men from physically bullying him, but being excluded might be a different kind of pain, but it hurt all the same.
Oliver managed not to see anybody as he stumbled toward his car parked in the lot, secured his phone in his pocket, and headed back inside. It wasn't until he hit the up button that he heard someone shuffling up behind him. Oliver turned his face slightly, keeping his shoulders facing forward. A blush crept up his neck as he saw the boy — tall, muscular, with dark, shaggy hair and a lopsided frown. Dark grey eyes met Oliver's as the stranger sidled up beside him as they waited for the lift. Oliver could feel the man looking him up and down, and he absentmindedly pulled the hem of his shirt further down his thighs.
Clearing his throat and attempting to clear his alcohol-fogged brain, Oliver looked back to the boy who held a pack of cheetos in his hand from the vending machine. "Nice night," the mystery man said casually as the elevator arrived with a ding and opened its doors. Oliver grunted, afraid if he spoke it would come out a mess of syllables that after being strung together made no sense. "I'm Marcus Flint," the stranger said, holding his hand out in the distance between them.
Oliver looked him up and down, his blush from earlier having only deepened in hue. "I'm — uh, do you think we could possibly have this conversation when I'm wearing pants?"
A laugh escaped Marcus' perfectly plump, pink lips, Oliver found himself unable to look away from the shapes they made around his glee. He stood awkwardly as the lift dinged, alerting them both that they'd made it to Oliver's floor. "I'll take you up on that!" Marcus exclaimed after the man who was already rushing down the hall, pulling at the bottom of his shirt.
OOO
It was less than a week later when Oliver saw the boy again. Thankfully, he was sober and fully clothed this time as he entered the laundry room in the basement, checking things off his mental to do list. He stopped cold when he saw Marcus Flint, pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it into one of the washers.
"We should really stop meeting like this, Marcus," Oliver smarted as he headed to his own washer and started taking damp clothes out.
The shirtless man looked up at Oliver and smiled. "And you've got the upper hand now; I don't even know your name."
"Oliver Wood," he said, holding his hand out for the other man to shake as he shamelessly looked over the devilish lines of Marcus' abs.
"Wood, huh?" Marcus smirked as they shook hands. Oliver felt a familiar blush creep up his face as he turned away to focus on his laundry. "You play?" Marcus continued, gesturing toward the damp futbol jersey in Oliver's hands.
"Uhm, yeah," Oliver stuttered, looking from the jersey to the still-shirtless man beside him. "We have, uh, we actually have a game tonight if you...if you might want to come."
Marcus, for the first time since they met, faltered, and it made Oliver stand up a little straighter. He wasn't the only one feeling something here. "Yeah, yeah I'd like that," Marcus stuttered, clearing his throat awkwardly.
"Great," Oliver responded, a smile brightening his face. "I'll see you then, then…," he said as he finished moving his clothes to the dryer and turned it on.
"Yeah, see ya," Marcus waved as Oliver passed him — a little too closely — and their shoulders brushed lightly.
OOO
"Ok men," the team captain said as the players convened near the door. "The other team has a new striker they're trying out. Oliver," he addressed the freshman, "do the best you can, since we don't know how he plays."
Oliver nodded, taking a deep breath before he followed his teammates out of the locker room. He watched the coin toss, trying to lean around his mates and get a glimpse of the new striker. He was unsuccessful until he walked out onto the field to take his position, and he came face to face with Marcus Flint. His heart fluttered around in his chest as he looked at the familiar man. "You," he said under his breath, and Marcus smirked.
"Me," the man responded proudly. Before Oliver could think of a reply, the game had started, and Marcus had the ball.
An hour and a half later, Oliver was sore, muddy and sweaty. He'd tried his hardest, but Marcus had the upper hand the whole game as he tried to grapple with the surprise of seeing him on the field. The teams shook hands at the end, and Marcus was smiling proudly when they reached each other. Marcus clapped him on the back, "Good game, ol' sport. Better luck next time!"
Oliver's blood boiled as he and his dejected team returned to the locker room to change. The captain announced drinks at his house, but Oliver shrugged them off, saying he was gonna take a walk to clear his head. As he left toward the parking lot, he spotted Marcus. Oliver started jogging to catch up to the man.
"Hey you!" he called as he reached him. "What the fuck? You could have told me you played, too! That you were about to play me!"
Marcus turned to the rival striker with a Cheshire cat-like grin. "But it was so fun seeing your reaction." Oliver growled and, without thinking, pushed the man's shoulder, causing him to stumble slightly. Marcus turned around sharply, coming nose to nose with his offender. "And what the fuck was that?" Marcus exclaimed, pushing Oliver on both shoulders, though the man didn't move. The two men were staring at each other, breathing deeply and sneering.
Suddenly, Marcus' hand darted out, wrapping itself around the back of Oliver's neck and twisting aggressively in his hair. Oliver groaned in shock, but Marcus captured the sound with his lips as their mouths crashed together. Pulling back, Oliver stared wild-eyed at Marcus, a question written across his face. Marcus just smirked. He grabbed Oliver's hand and pulled him toward a black car, the only one left in the lot. Marcus pulled him to the passenger side, opened the door and pushed the seat as far back as it could go. He gestured for Oliver to sit, and he did so, a little wearily but with lust-filled eyes. He watched intently as Marcus climbed in, somehow fitting himself around the curve of the dashboard as he sat on his knees in front of Oliver.
Marcus was smooth as he pulled against the waistband of Oliver's shorts. He was already half-hard as his shorts were pulled down past his cock. Marcus stared down at his member and licked his lips. Oliver felt his breath catch as he watched, in complete shock that this was suddenly happening.
Marcus' calloused yet gentle hand grasped Oliver and slid his palm up and down his shaft in determination. "Since you lost," Marcus' voice was deep and ragged, "I figure I owe you one." The dark-haired man glanced up, pointedly meeting Oliver's eyes, before he focused on Oliver's hardness and wrapped his wet lips around the tip.
Oliver groaned at the feeling of Marcus' lips sucking on him expertly. He held his hand up, hovering above Marcus' head for a moment before he slipped his fingers through the man's hair, gripping his scalp. Marcus moaned low in his throat as Oliver's cock hit the back of his throat, causing vibrations through Oliver's shaft. "Ahhh," Oliver growled as he thrust his hips. "I'm not gonna last…" he started, his breath coming in short bursts as his penis throbbed.
Marcus' eyes flashed up to his, and Oliver let go. His hot seed filled Marcus' mouth in three uncontrollable thrusts, and Oliver groaned once more as he watched Marcus swallow. "Fuck, Marcus," Oliver whispered, his voice thick from the high of his orgasm. He pulled on Marcus' hair, and winced only slightly as Marcus' own hardness brushed his stomach, and their lips danced against each other once more.
"And if I ever end up losing," Marcus said through kisses, and Oliver could still taste himself on Marcus' lips, "you can do me."
Oliver's eyes sparkled with lust as he nibbled on Marcus' lower lip, eliciting a groan from the other man. "Sounds like a post-game ritual I could get used to."