Disclaimer: Not mine. JKR's. And you know that.
A/N: I: Emily, you are one hell of a beta. Thanks. This one is dedicated to Hethu Meleth for two things: coming up with the title and just being a good friend. Welcome to the world of slash fan fiction :)
A/N II: Why can't I write an Oliver/Marcus fic WITHOUT Percy?
Tricks And Drinks Part I: Above The Quidditch Pitch
~~~
Percy would've sworn if swearing hadn't been such a bad and immature thing to do. He had just witnessed an awful incident; he had walked in at the wrong moment. He had seen Oliver take a sip of something and grimace afterwards at the bad taste of it; and at the same time, Marcus Flint had muttered quiet words from the corner where he had been standing in the shadows. That could only mean one thing.
A love spell.
Marcus Flint had just magically made Oliver Wood fall in love with him. Damn it. It was a fate worse than death, having to be with Marcus Flint until he got bored of you. Having to be Marcus Flint's personal... fuck-toy. The thought made Percy squirm.
There was *no* *way* Percy was letting Marcus go this time. *No* *way*. No matter how strict he appeared to be, he was actually a little bit afraid of Flint and his big body and his strength. He had let a lot of stuff just slip through his fingers in order to save himself. He didn't want to get beaten by Flint's friends or anything. But this time Flint had definitely crossed the line. Definitely. He had done something completely unforgivable. He had dared to touch Percy's best - his *only* - friend. And that was something Percy would *not* tolerate
He wondered where Flint had gotten the charm in the first place. The teachers were very strict when it came to Love Spells... They had a school full of kids, full of hormone-filled teenagers. They didn't want those kids to run around charming each other, and therefore all the books with Love Spells in them had been destroyed and no teacher was allowed to tell any pupil how to cast a Love Spell. But Marcus had found out how to do it - and worse yet, actually *done* it. And now Percy had to do something. Oliver was his best friend. The only problem was that counter curses were often very hard to cast. It might take a while to find one. And until then, Oliver was hopelessly in love with his biggest rival.
~~~
People thought Draco Malfoy was a confident asshole, who didn't need anyone's approval. Well, people thought wrong. Draco Malfoy had always been very fond of older Slytherin company, especially Flint and his friends. That was probably because Flint happened to be the Captain of the Quidditch team. Malfoy always needed to impress them, be one of the gang, hang out with them, be a big boy. And he was *very* proud of how Snape always treated him so nicely. He liked telling them how well Snape treated him all the time. Marcus had seen this as his chance.
"You're always telling us how much Snape just *loves* you..." he had begun coldly, hearing his mates chuckle at his choice of words. "Why don't you prove it, Malfoy?"
Malfoy had grinned and nodded confidently, so Marcus had continued, "Make him tell you how to make a Love Potion."
Malfoy's grin had turned into a grimace, and Marcus had been delighted, because he just loved making Malfoy uncomfortable. He had been worried, for a moment, that others would see his ultimate goal with the challenge, and had been relieved when they hadn't. They had merely laughed and told the little annoying third-year, "Yeah, that's a great idea! That'll really prove it, Malfoy!"
And so Draco Malfoy had beamed at Marcus when he had handed him the instruction to make a Love Potion a week later. And Marcus had raised an eyebrow, smiled and said, "Impressive!" and laughed with the others, making Malfoy beam even more. Then he had folded the piece of parchment carefully into his pocket and left the room.
And everything had succeeded; Oliver Wood was now drooling over him, he was sure of it. Oliver Wood was *his* now, and nothing could keep them apart. He contemplated whether he should play with him until he came to him begging for it or just take things fast and seduce him. Now. Tonight. He couldn't help but think of how Oliver's hands would feel on his skin, his mouth on his... uhm. This wasn't the time to think about that. This was *not* the time to have a hard-on. But judging by his body's reaction to even the thought of Oliver Wood made him decide: it had to happen now.
It was a cold winter night. A thick blanket of snow covered the ground, glistening in the starlight. Marcus stood near the Quidditch pitch, breathing in the crisp air and watching Oliver hover around in the air. The younger boy hadn't noticed him yet; he was too busy enjoying the silence of the night high up in the air.
Marcus tried to look like his normal grumpy self, but failed as a massive grin spread on his face. Oh. This was going to be something special. He was just about to call out for Oliver, when the younger boy suddenly saw him standing there and flew closer. Marcus had to struggle to make his face blank again.
"Flint," he said simply when he reached the ground. They were standing six feet apart, eyeing each other carefully. "If you're here to spy on our practise, you're a little late. Everyone else is gone already."
Marcus didn't say anything to Oliver. Instead, he just muttered a quiet, "Up," and the broomstick flew to his hand from the ground. He kicked off, leaving the slightly pissed Oliver behind. Marcus knew the Gryffindor had no right to actually tell him to fuck off; their practise was over and Marcus could be there if he wanted to. Oliver didn't own the fucking place, after all.
It felt so wonderful, being in the air again, that Marcus almost forgot the real reason he was there. But then he saw Oliver reluctantly kick off from the ground and remembered. Oh, right. Seduction. For a moment he avoided Oliver, knowing Oliver was also avoiding him. They were flying at the far ends of the pitch, Oliver glaring at Marcus every now and then angrily. Fifteen minutes later the Gryffindor apparently got sick of watching the other boy and flew back to the ground. He was just about to gather all his Quidditch stuff and leave when Marcus reached him.
"Wood, wait," he said to the younger of the two. He was now flying so low that his toes touched the ground. He flew slowly a circle around Oliver, who stopped walking.
Sighing, he said, "What do you want, Flint?" Because no Slytherin ever wanted the company of a Gryffindor unless there was something in it for them.
"Why don't you get back on that broom of yours, eh? I want to talk to you, and if we get up there, we can admire the view at the same time," Marcus said, smiling what he hoped was a friendly smile.
Oliver's jaw dropped at Flint's somewhat romantic words. Marcus looked at him, amused. Then he took off again, leaving it to the Gryffindor to follow. And Oliver did, though it was mainly because this was now just too weird to let go. He wanted to see more of Marcus Flint talking like this. Marcus flew around the pitch once, while Oliver stopped in the mid-air, waiting.
"So what did you want to talk about, Flint?" Oliver asked, when Marcus had come closer and stopped in the air five feet away from Oliver.
Marcus shrugged. He actually *shrugged*. Oliver looked at him questioningly. Marcus bit his lip in order to keep from blurting something stupid out. He didn't exactly know what to say; he had almost been expecting Oliver to attack him and kiss him or something, so he hadn't been prepared for witty small talk. He was glad when Oliver filled the silence after a moment, even if it was with Quidditch-related babbling.
"The... The Gryffindor versus Slytherin game is coming up, you know? I hope your Seeker's already better..." he trailed off only to start again. "I wonder who's going to be Captain next year, when we graduate... I think maybe Potter will do it. McGonagall likes him and he *is* good..."
Oliver was clearly nervous. 'He's nervous because he fancies me...' Marcus thought, and it made his stomach suddenly do flip-flops. Oliver drew a breath to keep talking about the only thing he knew anything about, keeping his eyes on the older boy. Before he could start, however, Marcus suddenly flew closer, dangerously close, and *kissed* him. In the air. Above the Quidditch pitch. In the middle of the night. And... it was good.
Marcus licked experimentally at Oliver's lips, trying to get him to open them for him. Oliver did, hesitatingly, and the kiss deepened, two tongues playing with each other. Marcus let go of his broomstick, balancing himself with only his legs around it, and cupped the younger boy's face gently. Who knew Marcus Flint could actually be gentle? He broke the kiss and looked at Oliver, who still had his eyes closed and was breathing rapidly, his lips parted. The sight was driving Marcus mad.
"What," Oliver breathed without opening his eyes, "the fuck was that?"
"A kiss," Marcus replied sarcastically. Oliver winced. He *actually* winced. Then he fought to get Marcus to let go of him. "Shit, Oliver, get a grip! If you keep that up, I'll end up falling down!" Marcus snapped. He didn't let go of Oliver and the younger boy calmed down. Oliver looked at Marcus accusingly, but kept quiet. Fuck, what was this?
"Oliver... I didn't mean it like that..." Oh, this was going nowhere. "Can I kiss you again?" Marcus asked finally.
"Are you fucking with me?" Oliver asked in return, sounding very suspicious, which had a funny effect to it, considering Marcus was still holding his face.
'No, but I wouldn't mind fucking *you*,' was the only thought Marcus had in his head for a short moment. Then he regained his senses and wrapped his arms around Oliver's shoulders, kissing him again. No matter how suspicious he was, Oliver couldn't fight him, didn't *want* to fight him, he just melted into the kiss. Marcus explored his mouth demandingly, controlling the kiss easily. He was the one to break the kiss, again.
"Don't do this to me," Oliver pleaded, his eyes closed again. He was flushed. 'Adorable,' Marcus thought before he got hold of himself again.
"Don't do what to you?" he asked nonchalantly, though he thought he had a fairly good idea of what Oliver was talking about.
"This," Oliver said and opened his deep brown eyes. "Don't tease me." Pause. "Please," he added quietly.
"Do you love me?" Marcus asked out of the blue. It was extremely easy to ask a hard question when you were positive of the answer.
"Y-... I... What?" Oliver stuttered, blinking, eyes widening.
"You do, don't you?" Marcus said fondly, caressing Oliver's back, since he still had his arms wrapped around him. Oliver, however, was still holding his broomstick. (Literally.) The younger of the two didn't answer; he just looked away. Marcus decided there was no point in pushing him, since he already knew the answer, and dropped it. Instead, he kissed that delicious-looking neck Oliver had. What surprised him was that biting on that skin gently made Oliver whimper. Marcus pulled away with a smile on his lips.
"Don't you think it's time we got down?" Marcus asked, lifting a hand to run it through Oliver's sand-brown hair.
"I guess," was Oliver's weak response. Marcus let go of his shoulders but grabbed one of his hands instead, flying towards the ground, pulling Oliver with him. They landed with a quiet thud. Marcus was still holding Oliver's hand when they walked through the garden.
When they got to the door of the castle, Marcus suddenly stopped and pulled Oliver closer. "Have you ever wanted to see what a Slytherin dormitory looks like?" He couldn't resist the temptation to lick at his ear experimentally. He was pleased when Oliver shivered.
"I... uh... not really," the Gryffindor answered unevenly, making Marcus pull away to see what was going on. Oliver was in love with him; there was no way he was going to back down now. "Because I have this big dormitory all to myself and it would be waste not to use it..."
A smile spread on Marcus's face. Of course. Percy, the Head Boy, had his own private room. "You lead," he said hoarsely in Oliver's ear, letting the younger boy pull him into the direction of the Gryffindor dormitories.
Percy watched them enter the castle and head for the Gryffindor dormitories from the shadows. He squeezed his eyes shut. Poor Oliver.
A/N: I: Emily, you are one hell of a beta. Thanks. This one is dedicated to Hethu Meleth for two things: coming up with the title and just being a good friend. Welcome to the world of slash fan fiction :)
A/N II: Why can't I write an Oliver/Marcus fic WITHOUT Percy?
Tricks And Drinks Part I: Above The Quidditch Pitch
~~~
Percy would've sworn if swearing hadn't been such a bad and immature thing to do. He had just witnessed an awful incident; he had walked in at the wrong moment. He had seen Oliver take a sip of something and grimace afterwards at the bad taste of it; and at the same time, Marcus Flint had muttered quiet words from the corner where he had been standing in the shadows. That could only mean one thing.
A love spell.
Marcus Flint had just magically made Oliver Wood fall in love with him. Damn it. It was a fate worse than death, having to be with Marcus Flint until he got bored of you. Having to be Marcus Flint's personal... fuck-toy. The thought made Percy squirm.
There was *no* *way* Percy was letting Marcus go this time. *No* *way*. No matter how strict he appeared to be, he was actually a little bit afraid of Flint and his big body and his strength. He had let a lot of stuff just slip through his fingers in order to save himself. He didn't want to get beaten by Flint's friends or anything. But this time Flint had definitely crossed the line. Definitely. He had done something completely unforgivable. He had dared to touch Percy's best - his *only* - friend. And that was something Percy would *not* tolerate
He wondered where Flint had gotten the charm in the first place. The teachers were very strict when it came to Love Spells... They had a school full of kids, full of hormone-filled teenagers. They didn't want those kids to run around charming each other, and therefore all the books with Love Spells in them had been destroyed and no teacher was allowed to tell any pupil how to cast a Love Spell. But Marcus had found out how to do it - and worse yet, actually *done* it. And now Percy had to do something. Oliver was his best friend. The only problem was that counter curses were often very hard to cast. It might take a while to find one. And until then, Oliver was hopelessly in love with his biggest rival.
~~~
People thought Draco Malfoy was a confident asshole, who didn't need anyone's approval. Well, people thought wrong. Draco Malfoy had always been very fond of older Slytherin company, especially Flint and his friends. That was probably because Flint happened to be the Captain of the Quidditch team. Malfoy always needed to impress them, be one of the gang, hang out with them, be a big boy. And he was *very* proud of how Snape always treated him so nicely. He liked telling them how well Snape treated him all the time. Marcus had seen this as his chance.
"You're always telling us how much Snape just *loves* you..." he had begun coldly, hearing his mates chuckle at his choice of words. "Why don't you prove it, Malfoy?"
Malfoy had grinned and nodded confidently, so Marcus had continued, "Make him tell you how to make a Love Potion."
Malfoy's grin had turned into a grimace, and Marcus had been delighted, because he just loved making Malfoy uncomfortable. He had been worried, for a moment, that others would see his ultimate goal with the challenge, and had been relieved when they hadn't. They had merely laughed and told the little annoying third-year, "Yeah, that's a great idea! That'll really prove it, Malfoy!"
And so Draco Malfoy had beamed at Marcus when he had handed him the instruction to make a Love Potion a week later. And Marcus had raised an eyebrow, smiled and said, "Impressive!" and laughed with the others, making Malfoy beam even more. Then he had folded the piece of parchment carefully into his pocket and left the room.
And everything had succeeded; Oliver Wood was now drooling over him, he was sure of it. Oliver Wood was *his* now, and nothing could keep them apart. He contemplated whether he should play with him until he came to him begging for it or just take things fast and seduce him. Now. Tonight. He couldn't help but think of how Oliver's hands would feel on his skin, his mouth on his... uhm. This wasn't the time to think about that. This was *not* the time to have a hard-on. But judging by his body's reaction to even the thought of Oliver Wood made him decide: it had to happen now.
It was a cold winter night. A thick blanket of snow covered the ground, glistening in the starlight. Marcus stood near the Quidditch pitch, breathing in the crisp air and watching Oliver hover around in the air. The younger boy hadn't noticed him yet; he was too busy enjoying the silence of the night high up in the air.
Marcus tried to look like his normal grumpy self, but failed as a massive grin spread on his face. Oh. This was going to be something special. He was just about to call out for Oliver, when the younger boy suddenly saw him standing there and flew closer. Marcus had to struggle to make his face blank again.
"Flint," he said simply when he reached the ground. They were standing six feet apart, eyeing each other carefully. "If you're here to spy on our practise, you're a little late. Everyone else is gone already."
Marcus didn't say anything to Oliver. Instead, he just muttered a quiet, "Up," and the broomstick flew to his hand from the ground. He kicked off, leaving the slightly pissed Oliver behind. Marcus knew the Gryffindor had no right to actually tell him to fuck off; their practise was over and Marcus could be there if he wanted to. Oliver didn't own the fucking place, after all.
It felt so wonderful, being in the air again, that Marcus almost forgot the real reason he was there. But then he saw Oliver reluctantly kick off from the ground and remembered. Oh, right. Seduction. For a moment he avoided Oliver, knowing Oliver was also avoiding him. They were flying at the far ends of the pitch, Oliver glaring at Marcus every now and then angrily. Fifteen minutes later the Gryffindor apparently got sick of watching the other boy and flew back to the ground. He was just about to gather all his Quidditch stuff and leave when Marcus reached him.
"Wood, wait," he said to the younger of the two. He was now flying so low that his toes touched the ground. He flew slowly a circle around Oliver, who stopped walking.
Sighing, he said, "What do you want, Flint?" Because no Slytherin ever wanted the company of a Gryffindor unless there was something in it for them.
"Why don't you get back on that broom of yours, eh? I want to talk to you, and if we get up there, we can admire the view at the same time," Marcus said, smiling what he hoped was a friendly smile.
Oliver's jaw dropped at Flint's somewhat romantic words. Marcus looked at him, amused. Then he took off again, leaving it to the Gryffindor to follow. And Oliver did, though it was mainly because this was now just too weird to let go. He wanted to see more of Marcus Flint talking like this. Marcus flew around the pitch once, while Oliver stopped in the mid-air, waiting.
"So what did you want to talk about, Flint?" Oliver asked, when Marcus had come closer and stopped in the air five feet away from Oliver.
Marcus shrugged. He actually *shrugged*. Oliver looked at him questioningly. Marcus bit his lip in order to keep from blurting something stupid out. He didn't exactly know what to say; he had almost been expecting Oliver to attack him and kiss him or something, so he hadn't been prepared for witty small talk. He was glad when Oliver filled the silence after a moment, even if it was with Quidditch-related babbling.
"The... The Gryffindor versus Slytherin game is coming up, you know? I hope your Seeker's already better..." he trailed off only to start again. "I wonder who's going to be Captain next year, when we graduate... I think maybe Potter will do it. McGonagall likes him and he *is* good..."
Oliver was clearly nervous. 'He's nervous because he fancies me...' Marcus thought, and it made his stomach suddenly do flip-flops. Oliver drew a breath to keep talking about the only thing he knew anything about, keeping his eyes on the older boy. Before he could start, however, Marcus suddenly flew closer, dangerously close, and *kissed* him. In the air. Above the Quidditch pitch. In the middle of the night. And... it was good.
Marcus licked experimentally at Oliver's lips, trying to get him to open them for him. Oliver did, hesitatingly, and the kiss deepened, two tongues playing with each other. Marcus let go of his broomstick, balancing himself with only his legs around it, and cupped the younger boy's face gently. Who knew Marcus Flint could actually be gentle? He broke the kiss and looked at Oliver, who still had his eyes closed and was breathing rapidly, his lips parted. The sight was driving Marcus mad.
"What," Oliver breathed without opening his eyes, "the fuck was that?"
"A kiss," Marcus replied sarcastically. Oliver winced. He *actually* winced. Then he fought to get Marcus to let go of him. "Shit, Oliver, get a grip! If you keep that up, I'll end up falling down!" Marcus snapped. He didn't let go of Oliver and the younger boy calmed down. Oliver looked at Marcus accusingly, but kept quiet. Fuck, what was this?
"Oliver... I didn't mean it like that..." Oh, this was going nowhere. "Can I kiss you again?" Marcus asked finally.
"Are you fucking with me?" Oliver asked in return, sounding very suspicious, which had a funny effect to it, considering Marcus was still holding his face.
'No, but I wouldn't mind fucking *you*,' was the only thought Marcus had in his head for a short moment. Then he regained his senses and wrapped his arms around Oliver's shoulders, kissing him again. No matter how suspicious he was, Oliver couldn't fight him, didn't *want* to fight him, he just melted into the kiss. Marcus explored his mouth demandingly, controlling the kiss easily. He was the one to break the kiss, again.
"Don't do this to me," Oliver pleaded, his eyes closed again. He was flushed. 'Adorable,' Marcus thought before he got hold of himself again.
"Don't do what to you?" he asked nonchalantly, though he thought he had a fairly good idea of what Oliver was talking about.
"This," Oliver said and opened his deep brown eyes. "Don't tease me." Pause. "Please," he added quietly.
"Do you love me?" Marcus asked out of the blue. It was extremely easy to ask a hard question when you were positive of the answer.
"Y-... I... What?" Oliver stuttered, blinking, eyes widening.
"You do, don't you?" Marcus said fondly, caressing Oliver's back, since he still had his arms wrapped around him. Oliver, however, was still holding his broomstick. (Literally.) The younger of the two didn't answer; he just looked away. Marcus decided there was no point in pushing him, since he already knew the answer, and dropped it. Instead, he kissed that delicious-looking neck Oliver had. What surprised him was that biting on that skin gently made Oliver whimper. Marcus pulled away with a smile on his lips.
"Don't you think it's time we got down?" Marcus asked, lifting a hand to run it through Oliver's sand-brown hair.
"I guess," was Oliver's weak response. Marcus let go of his shoulders but grabbed one of his hands instead, flying towards the ground, pulling Oliver with him. They landed with a quiet thud. Marcus was still holding Oliver's hand when they walked through the garden.
When they got to the door of the castle, Marcus suddenly stopped and pulled Oliver closer. "Have you ever wanted to see what a Slytherin dormitory looks like?" He couldn't resist the temptation to lick at his ear experimentally. He was pleased when Oliver shivered.
"I... uh... not really," the Gryffindor answered unevenly, making Marcus pull away to see what was going on. Oliver was in love with him; there was no way he was going to back down now. "Because I have this big dormitory all to myself and it would be waste not to use it..."
A smile spread on Marcus's face. Of course. Percy, the Head Boy, had his own private room. "You lead," he said hoarsely in Oliver's ear, letting the younger boy pull him into the direction of the Gryffindor dormitories.
Percy watched them enter the castle and head for the Gryffindor dormitories from the shadows. He squeezed his eyes shut. Poor Oliver.