Locker Room

Pairing: Viktevra? (Ginny Weasley x Viktor Krum)

Universe: Post-Hogwarts, EWE

Rating: M for language, sex

Summary: There was a Hot Viktor Krum-type bro in my TRX class today, and this is what happened. Plot here is minimal.

"Nice one, Weasley!"

Oliver Wood gave a loud whoop as she deftly knocked the quaffle into the hoop.

"Now, if the rest of you could kindly remove your head from your sphincters - "

Ginny emitted a prim little cough, her version of a subtle reminder for Wood to avoid being entirely unmanageable, and he collected himself soberly.

"Right, right," he muttered, waving them in. "Sorry. Huddle up, folks, please - "

The others gathered around her, many of them altogether too close. The hazards of being the first woman on the All-Star International Series, she supposed. The other chasers, two Irishmen that she regularly confused for each other, seemed uncomfortably starved for attention, and eyed her like she might be their next meal.

She flipped her long ponytail over her shoulder, smirking. You wish.

"Right - so," Wood started, facing his team. "As you all know, you're essentially rubbish - "

Ginny cleared her throat loudly, but by then, Wood had already picked up steam.

" - except, maybe - maybe - we have one and a half good chasers - "

She and one of the blonds (the better one) exchanged smug glances.

" - and of course, we do have the world's greatest seeker - nothing against you, Krum - "

Ginny looked up, squinting for him. Viktor Krum had yet to speak a word to her, or acknowledge her existence, for all she could tell; he was constantly lingering in the air above them, perched in his proverbial crow's nest. She might have expected it was a seeker's proclivity for heights, except that Harry had always been good about joining the team for little meetings like this, and so she suspected this behavior was unique to Krum. He was perhaps the quietest and least social person she'd ever encountered, and seemed content to engage as little as possible with anyone.

Which wouldn't be a problem, really, as they had no need to speak; except that he had managed to become bloody smoking since the last time she'd seen him, all arms and back and chiseled jaw and other unsettling distractions. Ginny had come to think of all seekers as having Harry's narrow, linear build, or even Draco's lean, muscled height (that being the full extent of what Hermione permitted her to consider), but Krum was herculean, powerfully built; he had grown into his professional athletic career nicely, and reached a level of fame where he was expected to let his dark waves fall broodingly into his eyes and wear custom jerseys that were designed to the specifications of his chest.

Her attraction to him was undeniable, and incredibly distressing. She had come so far to get to this point; to be the only girl on the team, and to be treated fairly for her talent - having Wood as the coach didn't hurt, which made her suspect that Kingsley, the host Minister, might have called in a favor - that she wasn't about to waste it on anything silly. She had promised herself that involvement with anyone was off limits, and couldn't afford the distraction of a silly little crush.

Which she had to remind herself now, watching Krum cross his arms over his appealingly muscular chest. Stop it, Ginevra, she scolded herself. Be mature about this.

But then she removed her helmet, smoothing her ponytail over her shoulder and pursing her lips in false interest, hoping he was watching.

He wasn't. Arsehole.

" - anyway," Wood continued. "Hit the showers, we'll be at it again early - "

She was brought back to reality as the other men around her swooped to the ground to make their way to the locker room; she hung back, dragging her feet as they all made their way in. She was always last to shower, of course; apparently the Ministry hadn't felt one woman was worth building a second "world class athletic facility" for - to be fair, the massage area was quite amazing - and so it was easiest just to wait for the sweaty men to go first.

Krum landed from his broom a few steps ahead of her, but didn't look back. Not even when she made a point to remove her jersey with a loud sigh of feigned exhaustion, leaving her in her riding trousers and sports bra.

She looked over surreptitiously; nothing.

Fuck.

She quite needed some attention, if she were being honest. She and Harry had broken up before the start of the season (timing wasn't good; he wanted to settle down, and she wanted to continue her professional career) and she felt as though she hadn't been touched in months. It was starting to drive her a bit mad, she thought, biting her lip as she wandered into the locker room, her breath catching as Krum removed his jersey.

Godric, he was lickable. It took everything she possessed not to let out a whimper at the thought.

Sighing again, she tossed her jersey into her locker and kicked off her shoes, resting her broom against the wall. The men were normally quick to get in and out; they had tried, at first, to strut around in towels, peacocking for her benefit, but noticed right away that she was not receptive, and opted instead to hit the pubs after practice. Quidditch groupies were not difficult to locate (or shag) and were considerably less effort than Ginny; the rest of the team were all at least smart enough to pick up on that.

She waited, hands on her hips, still watching Krum as he slowly and methodically arranged his things, his tawny chest gleaming under the sweat of Wood's unyielding practice drills. He was so carved and smooth that she sometimes wondered if he were even real, or just a statue come to life.

He hadn't even looked her way. He was infuriating.

After several minutes the rest of the team, including the two blond chasers, finally exited the locker room, nodding at her and Krum and chattering to each other. And then they were the only two remaining; Ginny tapped her foot impatiently, eager to get on with her day.

"Are you going to get in the shower?" she prompted, flashing him what Ron had always called her terrifying glare - 'even scarier than Mione's, I'm telling you' - and placing her hands on her hips in stern frustration.

Sexual frustration, probably, but she wasn't intellectual enough to care to make the distinction.

He looked up and let his eyes settle on hers, his heavy brow furrowed in confusion.

"Yeah, I'm kind of waiting here," she reminded him snidely, gesturing to her as-yet unshowered form. "If you could sort of, you know, get on with it, that would be great." At his blank look, she regrettably continued babbling. "I'm sure you aren't aware I'm waiting, of course, since you obviously don't seem to have any concept I exist - "

He grimaced at that.

"Well, you can give me that look all you want, but it's obviously true," Ginny remarked brusquely. "You can't seem to spare a single moment of your time to notice me, so, fine - do what you want, but I could really use a shower, so if you could just - "

"I haff noticed you," Krum interrupted, his voice prompting an instant leap in her lower belly.

She gaped at him, realizing he had never spoken to her before.

"Oh," she said finally, swallowing. "Well. Fine."

They stared at each other for a moment, and Krum's forehead creased as he continued to consider her.

"Well," Ginny attempted, trying to regain some semblance of dignity, "Like I said, if you could just - um, get on with it - "

He came to his feet, ambling his way towards her; she nearly shrank against her locker before forcibly reminding herself that she was Ginny fucking Weasley, who was never nervous or unsettled, and convinced herself to square her shoulders, not backing down.

"I haff noticed you," Krum said again, stopping just inches away from her.

Was he flirting with her?

Her heart was racing and she wondered if he could tell; even she was conscious of the way her chest seemed to rise and fall with undeterred longing, and the tremor of her breath as she took in the shape of his shoulders, the sharp curves of his stomach.

"What's your deal?" she asked suspiciously, translating her vulnerability into agitation. "You never look at me, you always ignore me - "

But the way his eyes settled on hers was distracting, and she lost track of her thoughts.

"Is it - is it because of Harry?" she ventured. "Because, I mean, we broke up, so - "

Now his darkened glance lingered on her lips, and she started fidgeting with her hands.

"Because, you know, if you're - " she paused, hesitating. "If you're interested, I - I could - "

Fucking hell, her game was entirely disrupted.

"Sorry," she whispered, realizing there was no digging herself out of this hole of humiliation. "I'll - I'll just go ahead and - "

She moved to step around him and he stepped quickly into her path, blocking her. She looked up, startled, realizing with a pang just how much taller he was, and how much she desperately wanted to untie the laces of his trousers - just to see -

And then suddenly his lips were on hers and his arms, the ones she'd been staring at for weeks, were around her, pulling her into his chest. He reached up, pulling the elastic from her ponytail to take hold of her thick red hair, tugging her head back to give him access to her neck.

"Oh," she managed, letting her hands grip onto the muscled expanse of his abs, digging her fingers into his skin. He seemed to chuckle a little - the first indication of amusement she'd ever heard from him - and even that tiny sound trilled through her, thrilled her, until she struggled to bring her arms around his neck, sighing into his mouth as he effortlessly picked her up.

"Shower?" she proposed, and he nodded very seriously, as though she had suggested a new play out on the pitch. He took instruction well, she noted, giggling as he tossed her higher, adjusting her legs over his hips, and made his way to the showers.

He set her down lightly, gently, and then in a stunning juxtaposition of moods he tore her sports bra over her head, lowering his mouth to her chest and seeming to savor the salt of her skin, letting his tongue trace around her nipple and then grazing his teeth over the underside of her breast. She gasped in response, tangling her fingers in his hair and then remembering that she, too, could contribute to the chaos, nudging his head up and fumbling for the top of his trousers. At her insistent tugging he gave her a subtle half-smile and took a step back, peeling them from his legs and kicking them to the side.

She gaped at him for a moment - bloody perfect, he was; she almost wanted to slap him for having the nerve to look like that - but he seemed as urgent as she was. He reached for her, grabbing her around the waist with one arm and tugging her trousers down with the other, and she, then, twisted in his arms, eager to remove them. By the time they were both undressed she was desperate and burning and she crashed back to him, shoving him into the shower and reaching blindly to start the water.

The pearls of water that began to form on his skin were, if anything, a unique form of torment; part of her wanted to slow down, to savor him, to store all of him for later (just in case) but the other piece of her could not wait and he, slicking his hair back and reaching forcefully for her, licking the droplets from his lips, seemed to agree; he had her pinned against the wall in seconds, his cock hard against the flat of her stomach.

She reached for him and he impatiently nudged her hand away, gripping her hips for a moment before moving his hand to her clit, sliding two fingers against it and smirking at her strangled moan.

It really had been much too long, she thought wearily, letting her head fall back against the tile of the shower stall.

He didn't let her get comfortable; she gasped as he spun her around, pressing her back against his chest and palming her breasts before letting his fingers drift back down, slipping them inside her slit. He entered her easily and she realized with a pang how badly she wanted him; the burning at her core seemed to pulse around his fingers and she pressed herself against him, reaching around behind him to run her hands over the firm smoothness of his arse. It might be nicer than hers, she thought faintly, but then he had picked her up and shut off the water, lifting her like her weight accounted for nothing at all.

He brought her to the massage tables - really, state of the art facility, she thought again, panting - and he pressed her forward onto her hands and knees, kissing down her spine as he continued to rub against her clit. His lips traveled smoothly over her skin until he nudged her knees apart, slipping his tongue inside her from behind.

She let out a loud gasp, feeling his tongue repeatedly alternate between licking against her clit and entering her, and hastily pushed him away, flipping onto her back. She wanted to see him; she wanted to catch the glimmer of want in his eye as he lowered his head back to her slit, sucking lightly on her clit as he drove into her and left her crying out, her legs shaking around his head as she came.

She might have thought she needed a minute to recover but then he had climbed onto the table and joined her and she reached desperately for his cock, wantonly lifting her hips; he slipped inside her and she cried out again, pulling him against her and wrapping her legs around him.

His stamina is impressive, she thought vaguely, as he lifted her arms over her head and braced himself against them. Top notch endurance, she added as she came a second time, biting down on his lip.

World's greatest athlete, she decided, as he yanked her from the table and shoved her against a wall, settling her legs around his hips and biting into his shoulder this time as she came again, her clit humming in satisfaction from the friction he created.

By the time he jerked against her, sated and exhausted, they were on the floor, panting and sweating and in entirely worse shape than they'd been when they started.

"Well," she said, turning to face him after several minutes of silence. "Your English has really improved."

He, predictably, only gave her a punishingly arousing half smile, reaching for her hand and brushing his lips against it.

She sighed contentedly. "Shower?" she asked, and he leapt to his feet.

World's greatest athlete, she thought again, as he picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder.

a/n: I am laughing at how Dr. Sally writes drabbles for requests whereas I, on the other hand, just write whatever nonsense occurs to me. So here's some pointless Monday smut that I hope you enjoyed. I'm going to dedicate it to oblivionbaby, because she is always demanding smut out of me.

Theomione tomorrow, promise. And check out Epistles on AO3, wherein Dr. Sally and I spent several weeks writing letters to each other as Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy respectively. It is a treasure. A TREASURE.