Oliver Wood placed his head under the heavy stream of water; it jets forward, bouncing off of his skull as his shoulders finally relax. Quidditch plays still screaming in his brain as he reached out for the soap, hoping to somehow rid his body of the sweat he'd produced in his own harsh training tactics. He didn't even nod or look up as Harry shouted at his departure, he just stood, content, for the moment that all was calm and he could be at peace with his focused thought. He always looked forward to showering, no battles, no arguing, and, of course, no injuries.

Perfectly safe.

He winced as the water began to beat down on the, rather lovely,
piss yellow bruise that graced his left calf. The soap suds, slid
down his body, slinging to his flat stomach before giving heed to
the water and flowing in the metal drain.

He could forget now the constant hassling from Fred and George, the
narrow collides between Harry and Alicia, forget Draco Malfoy and
his fathers fancy brooms, the nagging in the back of his mind that
this will be his last year, his last chance to not fail, to not let
everyone down. again. His hands rose to his face, clearing the
water from his eyes as the two hands slowly pushed there way
together on Oliver's' bare torso, the persons chin resting gently
on his shoulder.

"Wood, I'm not quite sure I'm mounting the broom correctly, maybe
you could give me some pointers?" As the person pulls Oliver
closer, he pries their hands from off his chest, stepping from
under the water to shake his head and look at the would-be pursuer.

"Fred.erm, George?!" The tall red haired boy shrugs, resting his
hand on Woods stomach. Oliver backs away again, looking quickly for
anything to cover himself up without loosing eye contact with the
Weasley twin before him, noticing the towel hanging near the door;
he begins to back forward, a small smirk playing on the Weasley's
lips. Wrapping the towel, tightly around his hips he moves towards
the boy, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Bloody hell what are you
trying to fucking pull?"

His smirk fades as the younger boy stumbles under Oliver's
pressure. The skin around Woods hands, a brilliant white, the
freckles even fading in color.

"You need to calm down." With one last shake Oliver releases the
boy, causing him to lose his footing and stumble back a few feet.
The shorter boy rubs his hands over his pale face, pushing his
mahogany hair to stand up in damp spikes, his eyes close as his
tongue stumbles over every segmented sentence his mind can almost
form. He suddenly darts forward, his five-foot-nine frame attaching
onto the auburn haired boys. His chapped lips landing centimeters
from the younger boys nose and he began to slowly trail down to
the, now immobile, boys mouth.

Suddenly unthawed, his hands work up to the flesh just above
Olivers' towel, moving in strong, steady circles as he tries to
bring Olivers warm body closer to his own as the older boys lips
finally land on the other boys shoulder, his hands entangled in the
Weasleys' dripping hair. For the first time in years, Quidditch has
been pushed from his thoughts, his brain simply pulsating with pure
lust for this fifteen year-old boy before him, the same boy that
has caused Oliver sleepless nights with his endless gags and basic
attitude of doing absolutely nothing unless it ensured that he and
his twin would be in dire trouble because of it. He let out a low
moan as the boy pushed his back against the tiled walls, the
freezing marble just adding to the extreme pleasure of this entire
encounter. The boys taste filling every nerve ending, the feel of
his skin being instantly locked in Olivers mind.

"Who. are. you?"