Title: Polar
Author: Sofie K Werkers
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairings: Marcus Flint/Terence Higgs, Marcus Flint/Oliver Wood,
Terence Higgs/Marcus Flint/Oliver Wood
Rating: NC17ish
Summary: How things were.
Status: Finished
Date: 15 July 2002 - 3 August 2002
Archive: Yes to Rareslash. All others, please ask.
Email: minerva@femgeeks.net
Feedback: If you like this story, please let me know. If you don't,
please let me know why not.
Series/sequel: No.
Web Page:
Disclaimer: JKR owns everything, quite possibly including my soul.
Profit? I see no profit here.
Warnings: Underage-ish. They're fifteen and sixteenish. I'm taking
some minor liberties with canon, here. Set in the summer of 1992, so
assume that the books are set a year later than they are, and Harry's
not yet at Hogwarts during this story.
Dedication: Thanks to Silvia, my goddess of litgeekness, and to
Mireille, my godess of Marcus/Oliver, for the betas. ^_^
Author's Notes: This was *supposed* to be my annual Summer Smut Story.
Apparently, the muse had other ideas. How I got this litgeekiness out
of these three I still don't know, but there you have it.
Cover art can be found here:
Polar
=====
by Sofie K Werkers
It's been years since that summer, but Terence still remembers.
Temperatures had been rising since late May, and by the end of the
first week of June, Hogwarts was sweltering. When the heat starts
rising to unbearable heights, he remembers walking into the broom shed
late one afternoon, and his life changing forever.
He wasn't really surprised to see Flint and Wood having sex. He wasn't
stupid, after all; he'd seen the looks they'd been shooting each other
all year. The sexual tension had been thick enough to cut, and Marcus
Flint wasn't one to deny himself sex with anyone simply because they
happened to be a Gryffindor.
So when Terence stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the two of
them, it wasn't because of the sex. He just never imagined Marcus
Flint could be that gentle with anyone, or that he'd want to. They
didn't appear to notice him, too caught up in each other, and he left
quietly, the image of Flint's fingers dancing across Wood's skin
burned into his brain.
Three days later, Flint cornered him in an empty hallway in the
dungeons, growled "Liked what you saw?", and pushed him against the
wall. There was no gentleness now, just deliberate force, pushing and
pulling Terence's hips, gripping them hard enough to leave bruises for
weeks afterwards. The dungeon wall felt cool against his back.
The training match Marcus had planned against Gryffindor was delayed
until the late afternoon to avoid the blistering heat. Terence didn't
think it helped much; he was still boiling in his robes. He
contemplated pretending to see the Snitch just to feel the wind on his
face. When he finally did spot the Snitch, he didn't have time to feel
the wind. He caught the snitch, hand raised in triumph, a chill
running down his back when he caught Marcus' eye.
Afterwards, when the rest of the team was in the showers, Marcus
pinned him down on a bench and sucked him off. It was over in less
than two minutes, and Terence headed for the showers with his teeth
imprinted in his fingers, bite marks from trying not to scream.
Marcus was late to the Slytherin victory party, and Terence knew why.
When he passed Wood in the hallway on the way to dinner, he noticed
the absence of bite marks on the other's hands.
The rest is a blur in his memory. Flashes of sensation: Marcus' hands
pinning his wrists above his head; Marcus' teeth on his shoulder,
almost breaking the skin; Marcus' predatory look during boring
classes; sweat on his back; strangled noises in the back of his
throat; sand and rocks and stones against his skin; coming hard, and
fast, and often -- these are the things he remembers when the burning
summer sun hits his face.
He doesn't remember ever wondering why, or what. Marcus was the
Captain, and Terence followed his lead, and that was how things were.
Sometimes, still, he wonders about Wood. Wood and his pretty face, his
lips, his eyes, his accent. Not hard to see why Marcus wanted him.
What Wood was getting out of this whole thing, Terence couldn't quite
figure out. Still can't quite figure out, because Wood was a
Gryffindor, and Gryffindors hated all Slytherins, and that was the way
things were supposed to be.
But they weren't, and Wood didn't, and that was why one day Terence
walked behind the Quidditch changing rooms and found them, limbs
entwined, discarded robes in a heap nearby. He froze. Wood saw him
first, invitation clear in his eyes. There was no invitation in
Marcus' eyes, just an order.
It started with a hand on Marcus' back. Slow, and slick, and sweaty,
and then Wood caught his eyes, and he leaned forward and caught Wood's
lips. For a moment, there was the tight thrill of fear, of not knowing
how either of them were going to react to this, and then Marcus' hands
joined Wood's on his thighs, and that's all he can really remember.
It ended with the clouds breaking, one of those sudden summer storms.
They ran into the changing rooms, got dressed in silence, waiting it
out without speaking.
END
Author: Sofie K Werkers
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairings: Marcus Flint/Terence Higgs, Marcus Flint/Oliver Wood,
Terence Higgs/Marcus Flint/Oliver Wood
Rating: NC17ish
Summary: How things were.
Status: Finished
Date: 15 July 2002 - 3 August 2002
Archive: Yes to Rareslash. All others, please ask.
Email: minerva@femgeeks.net
Feedback: If you like this story, please let me know. If you don't,
please let me know why not.
Series/sequel: No.
Web Page:
Disclaimer: JKR owns everything, quite possibly including my soul.
Profit? I see no profit here.
Warnings: Underage-ish. They're fifteen and sixteenish. I'm taking
some minor liberties with canon, here. Set in the summer of 1992, so
assume that the books are set a year later than they are, and Harry's
not yet at Hogwarts during this story.
Dedication: Thanks to Silvia, my goddess of litgeekness, and to
Mireille, my godess of Marcus/Oliver, for the betas. ^_^
Author's Notes: This was *supposed* to be my annual Summer Smut Story.
Apparently, the muse had other ideas. How I got this litgeekiness out
of these three I still don't know, but there you have it.
Cover art can be found here:
Polar
=====
by Sofie K Werkers
It's been years since that summer, but Terence still remembers.
Temperatures had been rising since late May, and by the end of the
first week of June, Hogwarts was sweltering. When the heat starts
rising to unbearable heights, he remembers walking into the broom shed
late one afternoon, and his life changing forever.
He wasn't really surprised to see Flint and Wood having sex. He wasn't
stupid, after all; he'd seen the looks they'd been shooting each other
all year. The sexual tension had been thick enough to cut, and Marcus
Flint wasn't one to deny himself sex with anyone simply because they
happened to be a Gryffindor.
So when Terence stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the two of
them, it wasn't because of the sex. He just never imagined Marcus
Flint could be that gentle with anyone, or that he'd want to. They
didn't appear to notice him, too caught up in each other, and he left
quietly, the image of Flint's fingers dancing across Wood's skin
burned into his brain.
Three days later, Flint cornered him in an empty hallway in the
dungeons, growled "Liked what you saw?", and pushed him against the
wall. There was no gentleness now, just deliberate force, pushing and
pulling Terence's hips, gripping them hard enough to leave bruises for
weeks afterwards. The dungeon wall felt cool against his back.
The training match Marcus had planned against Gryffindor was delayed
until the late afternoon to avoid the blistering heat. Terence didn't
think it helped much; he was still boiling in his robes. He
contemplated pretending to see the Snitch just to feel the wind on his
face. When he finally did spot the Snitch, he didn't have time to feel
the wind. He caught the snitch, hand raised in triumph, a chill
running down his back when he caught Marcus' eye.
Afterwards, when the rest of the team was in the showers, Marcus
pinned him down on a bench and sucked him off. It was over in less
than two minutes, and Terence headed for the showers with his teeth
imprinted in his fingers, bite marks from trying not to scream.
Marcus was late to the Slytherin victory party, and Terence knew why.
When he passed Wood in the hallway on the way to dinner, he noticed
the absence of bite marks on the other's hands.
The rest is a blur in his memory. Flashes of sensation: Marcus' hands
pinning his wrists above his head; Marcus' teeth on his shoulder,
almost breaking the skin; Marcus' predatory look during boring
classes; sweat on his back; strangled noises in the back of his
throat; sand and rocks and stones against his skin; coming hard, and
fast, and often -- these are the things he remembers when the burning
summer sun hits his face.
He doesn't remember ever wondering why, or what. Marcus was the
Captain, and Terence followed his lead, and that was how things were.
Sometimes, still, he wonders about Wood. Wood and his pretty face, his
lips, his eyes, his accent. Not hard to see why Marcus wanted him.
What Wood was getting out of this whole thing, Terence couldn't quite
figure out. Still can't quite figure out, because Wood was a
Gryffindor, and Gryffindors hated all Slytherins, and that was the way
things were supposed to be.
But they weren't, and Wood didn't, and that was why one day Terence
walked behind the Quidditch changing rooms and found them, limbs
entwined, discarded robes in a heap nearby. He froze. Wood saw him
first, invitation clear in his eyes. There was no invitation in
Marcus' eyes, just an order.
It started with a hand on Marcus' back. Slow, and slick, and sweaty,
and then Wood caught his eyes, and he leaned forward and caught Wood's
lips. For a moment, there was the tight thrill of fear, of not knowing
how either of them were going to react to this, and then Marcus' hands
joined Wood's on his thighs, and that's all he can really remember.
It ended with the clouds breaking, one of those sudden summer storms.
They ran into the changing rooms, got dressed in silence, waiting it
out without speaking.
END