It started in the showers. Wasn't that where things always started when hormonal teenagers were involved? Honestly, whoever it was that designed Hogwarts and included the communal showers should have expected it.
Oliver had jumped with fright when a hand slipped around his waist and a warm, equally wet body pressed up against his own. He turned around, startled. "What are you doing?!" he demanded, stepping away. Then he saw who it was.
"George? Where's Fred?" Because, for Oliver, it was stranger to see one twin by himself than it was to have said twin's naked body pressing up against his own.
"He said he had a headache," George said, stepping closer. Oliver retreated another step and found his back pressed against the wall, water still cascading down around them. "He's gone up to the dorms. And everyone else is gone." He stepped forwards once more.
"What are you doing?" Oliver squeaked again.
George lifted a hand and traced it along Oliver's jawline. Oliver swallowed heavily. "I saw you looking at me," he said, his other hand moving up to rest on Oliver's chest. "While I was naked. You were checking me out."
His tone wasn't accusing. If anything, Oliver would have said it was… predatory. It made him want to confess.
"You wanted to touch me," George whispered, his hand trailing down Oliver's face. "You wanted to feel me against you."
Oliver still couldn't find the words to reply, and George seemed to take his silence as consent. Stepping forwards, he pressed their bodies together.
Oliver jerked in surprise. "You're hard," he said. This was like a dream; it felt surreal, and he expected any moment to wake up with a raging erection or soiled sheets.
"So are you," George whispered, and his hand trailed down Oliver's body until he found the evidence that proved it.
Oliver gasped, and thrust forwards into George's grip. "Do you want this?" George asked.
Oliver grabbed George's shoulders and spun them around so that their positions were reversed. "Do you even need to ask?" he growled, thrusting his hips forwards so that their erections ground against each other. George gasped at the pleasurable feelings shooting through his body.
It didn't last long, beneath the warm spray and steam. A few minutes of frenzied rutting against the shower wall was all it took before they were groaning in each other's mouths, bodies tensing as they came.
Then George was gone, and Oliver was left alone to wash the semen off his body.
It was a good thing he was already in the shower.
It didn't end there, though. Oliver had never realised how much time the twins actually spend apart George started spending every minute of it trying to make him come harder and faster than the last time. Quidditch showers, beneath the stands, broom closets… you name the place, and it was guaranteed that George had used it to ambush Oliver and do unspeakable (but amazing) things to him. How he managed to have such a limitless sex drive, Oliver didn't know.
He also wasn't sure how no one else figured out what they were up to as the month's passed. While they weren't exactly dating (there was no hand holding or gentle kissing outside of the frenzied rutting Oliver supposed counted for sex) they were still spending a lot of time together. There was a lot of groaning and moaning and biting and stroking, and other actions that proceeded orgasm. George wasn't always the most subtle person on the planet, but still the rest of the world seemed oblivious to what was going on behind closed (classroom) doors.
And that was how Oliver found himself pressed against George in the broom closet of the room adjoining the Quidditch changing rooms, wearing nothing but a shirt, with the entire team chatting away outside as they waited for him to arrive, little suspecting that he was already there.
Well, that wasn't entirely how it happened. There was a little more to the story than that.
Oliver always arrived to training early so he could draw up flight plans, decide on training techniques, and generally plan that day's practice. His team was dedicated, but they never arrived more than five minutes early, so he usually had a good half an hour to himself.
Which was why he was surprised to hear the creak of the door about twenty minutes after he arrived.
Looking up from the flight plans he was drawing, he saw the familiar sight of George, a wide grin on his face as he lounged against the doorframe, somehow managing to look carelessly attractive as he did so.
"All alone, Ol?" he asked casually. "What a perfect opportunity."
"Practice is in ten minutes, George," Oliver said, frowning. He didn't let on that, at those words, a jolt of arousal had shot through his body.
"Ten minutes is a long time," George said with a wink. "You can get a lot done in ten minutes."
He strode over to where Oliver was seated and wrapped his arms around his waist. His mouth he pressed up against Oliver's neck and began peppering light kisses over the smooth skin.
"George!" Oliver said. "Someone could come in at any moment." But he put the pen down; there was no way he was going to be able to concentrate on flight plans when he was as hard as he was.
"Come on then," George murmured against his neck. He grabbed Oliver's hand and pulled him from his seat. "Come in here." He led Oliver to the broom closet that none of the team ever used, as all of them owned their own brooms and stored them in their own dorms.
"We shouldn't…" Oliver said, even as he was following George into it.
"But you want to," George whispered slipping his hands down Oliver's pants, where the evidence of his 'want' was very conclusive indeed.
Oliver barely had the presence of mind to pull the door to as George's hand began to move.
"G-george…" Oliver gasped.
"Do you like that, Oliver?" George asked in a sultry voice. "Do you like how it feels? My hand stroking your cock. I like how it feels. Makes me really hard. Can you feel how hard I am?" He ground his erection against Oliver's thigh to prove his point.
The combination of physical and auditory sensation was making Oliver moan quietly. He didn't want it to stop, ever. He wanted George to continue stroking him until he came in his pants. But he reined his libido in and grasped George's wrist, forcing him to cease his movements.
"What's wrong?" George asked, a tone of concern tainting his voice.
Oliver smiled. "Nothing. It's just… you're always doing this for me. Touching me. Sucking me. You never ask for anything. Let me… let me do something for you."
George's expression remained unchanged, but Oliver felt the small jerk of George's hips against his thigh at the words.
"Are you sure?" George asked hesitantly. "I mean, I'd love it, but only if you want to. I know you've always been a little more reluctant-"
Oliver silenced him with a quick kiss. "I want to," he said as he pulls away.
Then he was sliding down the wall, pushing George back so that he could get on his knees in this cramped broom closet. Above him he could hear George's breath already picking up and he pressed his face against the bulge in George's pants.
He'd be lying if he said he didn't want this. Ever since George first ambushed him in the showers, he'd been thinking about it, about giving George the pleasure that George gave him. Their sexual relationship went both ways, and Oliver did his best to reciprocate during their encounters, but he was well aware of the fact that the give and take of sexual favours was far from equal. George had given him several blowjobs, but never had he asked Oliver to return the favour, and while Oliver was perfectly comfortable with the idea of getting George off in return, there had been several times when the red-head had finished himself off while Oliver was still recovering from his orgasm.
"Merlin, Oliver," George said, and Oliver had never heard a more strangled voice. He smirked against George's pants and pulled the zip down before quickly popping open the button.
He pulled George's jeans down halfway before growing impatient with the difficulty of the action in such an enclosed space and gave up, leaving them to rest just below his knees. Beneath his jeans, George was wearing tight-fitting white underpants that were now sporting a not-inconsiderable damp patch, and Oliver wrapped did his best to engulf the bulge in his mouth through the fabric.
It tasted like salt and sex and George. Above him, the Weasley groaned and threw his head back; Oliver heard the distinct sound of his head hitting the wall. Oliver's jeans suddenly felt very tight, and he shifted subtly to alleviate his discomfort.
He pulled back and pulled down George's underwear so that his erection sprung free. Then, before George could even feel the cool air on his dick, Oliver had taken it in his mouth and began sucking.
George, when the circumstances allowed, was far from a quiet lover, and this was no exception. His moans were only made louder by the lack of space inside the broom closet, and Oliver half-wished he'd start saying… things again. The other half – the half that remembered he was still wearing constricting jeans and that they were in a public place – just wished he'd stop making noise at all.
Sucking cock was a strange sensation, although not entirely unpleasant. There was certainly something to be said for the feel of such a phallic-shaped object sliding in and out of his mouth, making slurping sounds with every movement. Or maybe that was him; Oliver wasn't entirely sure.
Before George had finished, however, the boy above him suddenly went quiet and was pulling Oliver off him. Oliver wondered if it was because he was about to come, but then froze as he realised the real reason.
Outside the closet, he could hear voices.
"…Could swear I heard someone in here," he heard Katie's voice say.
To his horror, it was answered by Angelina. "Well there's clearly no one here," she said. "That's strange. I expected Oliver to be here, though. Look, here're his bloody diagrams sitting on the table."
"It doesn't look like there's too many this week," Katie said in an attempt to sound positive.
Oliver tried to stand up without making any noise. His mind was whirring; how was he going to get out of this one?
"We should start getting changed, anyway," Angelina said, and Oliver heard two sets of footsteps retreat towards the girl's changing rooms.
He pushed the closet door so that it swung open slightly, preparing to jump out into the room. Before he could do so, however, he heard more footsteps.
"Hello? Anyone here?" It was Harry. Oliver could see his slight form in the tiny gap between the door and the closet. His heart sunk even further when he realised Harry was already dressed for training.
"Is Oliver not here yet?" Alicia asked. She must have entered behind him.
"He might already be on the pitch," Harry said, sounding hopeful. "Maybe he doesn't want to lecture us in tactics today?"
"I wish," Katie said, sounding very pessimistic.
"What are we going to do?" Oliver hissed to George.
George shrugged, but in the dim light slipping through the cracks of the broom closet, Oliver could see his grin. "I guess we'll have to wait."
"We could leap out at them?" Oliver suggested desperately. "Pretend we were trying to scare them?"
"They wouldn't believe us," George said.
"Why not?"
George grinned mischievously. "Because you're not wearing any pants." And before Oliver could blink, George had pulled out his want and vanished Oliver's jeans and underpants.
"What did you do that for?!" Oliver hissed furiously. "Bring them back!"
"Shh," George told him. "You don't want them to hear you, do you?"
"Give them back!" Oliver demanded.
"Can't," George whispered. "I don't know how."
Oliver could hear Katie and Angelina emerging from the changing rooms. "Is Oliver still not here?" Angelina asked.
Oliver didn't hear the reply she got because at that moment, George wrapped his hand around Oliver's still-hard cock and began wanking it enthusiastically. Oliver felt his knees go weak as he struggled not to moan.
"Stop it," he hissed.
"Shh," was all George said, not ceasing his movements. "Someone'll hear you."
His hand sped up as Oliver attempted to control his breathing. He knew he was panting quite heavily now, and if the others hadn't been talking on the other side of the door, Oliver knew they would have heard him.
Suddenly, George's hand stopped. Oliver wasn't sure to groan with relief or disappointment. Then he remembered neither of them were an option.
But the respite didn't last long as George grabbed his own cock and pressed it against Oliver's, his hand encircling them both. Oliver's legs trembled so ferociously as George squeezed them together that he was forced to lean against George for support.
"Don't make a sound," George reminded him in a hushed whisper. And that reminder should terrify him, because the only thing between them and the Gryffindor Quidditch Team was a thin piece of wood. It did terrify him, in fact.
It also made his cock twitch in George's hand.
Said hand was moving now, rubbing their dicks together at such a pace that Oliver wasn't sure how long he could hold off for. Somewhere in the dimly lit closet, George let out a small grunt of pleasure.
Instantly, Oliver clapped his hand over his mouth. "Shh," he breathed unnecessarily. He felt George's hand slow down.
This small respite from the erotic touches George was lavishing on his cock meant that Oliver had the presence of mind to hear what was going on outside the broom closet. "I just ran into Oliver," a voice was saying – a voice that sounded a lot like George's. Fred, Oliver realised. "He said that he's running a little late and that we were to start without him."
Realisation dawned on Oliver as George's hand began to speed up again. He planned this, Oliver thought to himself. He wanted this to happen.
That was all he could think, though, as George's other hand found its way down there and began fondling his balls. Oliver almost swore; George new that they were sensitive. He knew he could have Oliver coming in minutes. And Oliver was already so aroused; he knew that, at the moment, he'd be lucky to last minutes.
He could still hear chattering in the changing room. The team hadn't left yet. He desperately tried to bite back his moans as George's hand began rubbing and fondling and… oh, Merlin, he wasn't going to last!
He leaned forwards, pressing his face into the crook of George's shoulder as the noises threatened to spill from his mouth. He was panting heavily, and practically squirming against the Weasley. The sensations… Feeling his balls tighten, he knew he was going to come.
Oliver's ears caught the glorious sound of the changing room door clicking shut. It couldn't have come a moment sooner for Oliver who came with a moan, no longer even caring that someone might hear. Stars were flashing in front of his eyes; supernovas were taking over his mind.
He hoped like hell no one was still in the room.
His cock slipped out of George's grasp and he leaned up against the wall, trying to get his breath – and his vision – back. It only took a few moments before he realised that George's hand was still moving.
"Here," he murmured, grasping the red-head's cock. "Let me." He started moving his hand up and down George's cock as the other boy's hand fell away.
He didn't get very far; after only two pumps George let out a strangled gasp and came in Oliver's hand. "Merlin, Ol," he whispered as he shuddered against him. After a few seconds he looked up and grinned apologetically. "Sorry," he said. "I was really turned on."
They both took a moment to recover. Then George was pulling up his pants and tucking his dick back into his jeans. Pushing the closet door wide open, he stepped outside.
Oliver followed him, blinking at the sudden bright light. He froze, however, when he saw a familiar figure leaning casually against the wall.
"You're welcome, by the way," Fred drawled to the pair of them. "You owe me one, though."
Oliver nodded silently, his cheeks flaming. He was suddenly very aware that he was wearing no pants and his cock was covered in come. He was also trying to look anywhere except the obvious bulge protruding from Fred's pants.
"Thanks," George said breezily, as though he did this every day. "Come on, we better get to practice before everyone starts getting suspicious.
"What about my pants?" Oliver asked. "You vanished them, remember?"
"Oh yeah," George said, with a mischievous smirk. "You'd better sort something out, I suppose." Then he and Fred marched out of the room, grinning.
If any of the Gryffindor team were curious as to why Oliver showed up five minutes later with burning-red cheeks, none of the mentioned it. Nor did they mention having seen a pair of his pants shooting from the Gryffindor tower into the changing room only moments earlier.