Fixing to Fly
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Author's Note: Another two-month wait…. *facepalm* Oy. And I have no excuse this time. I graduated at the beginning of June, and since then, I've done nothing but work, sleep, and bum around on the computer. But here it is—I've finally finished it. However, I decided to skip writing about the Yule Ball. Since I put so much detail into the Halloween Masquerade, I figured it would seem a bit repetitive. So I skipped right to Christmas Break. I think you'll like it though. Oh yes. Almost forgot. This chapter contains more of that ever-wonderful smutty fluffy goodness, so you are forewarned. It is also likely the last chapter that will contain smutty fluffy goodness, as from here we move into more… angsty matters for our dear leading lady, Darcy. Muaha.
Before I release you into this latest installment, I would like to note that this chapter is lovingly dedicated to the wonderful author and writing goddess Heather (aka shewhodares), who just turned 18 not long ago. As promised, here is the other half of my birthday gift to you, sweety. You've been a delight and an inspiration to me through your fics, e-mails, and reviews, and I can't thank you enough. Happy (belated) birthday.
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She awoke to the gentlest of fingertips, tracing along the length of her bicep and up over her collarbone. As silken lips grazed the curve of her jaw line, she broke into a smile. She shifted closer to the exquisite being whose warm body was curled to fit hers, whose strong arms were wrapped lovingly around her waist.
Darcy sighed. This was the perfect moment. That one moment in time where the world could simply freeze, and she could live forever there, with Oliver. It was like being in another world, some heavenly place, and Oliver… there was no doubt in her mind that Oliver was a gift, sent to her by Buddha or Merlin or whatever deity it was that looked out for foolish blonde girls like herself.
Taking hold of the hand that was currently exploring the flat plain of her abdomen and twining her fingers with his, she let her eyes stay closed as she queried, "And how long have you been awake?"
She could hear the smile in Oliver's voice as he answered. "Oh, ten, fifteen minutes. I've been laying here, watching you sleep. Thinking about how beautiful you are." His free hand crept up to stroke carefully through her hair. Blinking her eyes open, she gazed up at her bed partner, who was staring contemplatively at her. He seemed to be on the same thought wave as she'd been only moments earlier as he mused, "I've decided that you are most definitely an angel."
The corner of her lips quirked up in amusement. "Oh really?"
"Mmm-hmm." He nodded, looking quite self-satisfied. "You are an angel, and you've been sent here to me, to bless my otherwise dull life."
Unable to contain a snort of soft laughter, she said, "You are out-of-this-world adorable, you know that? A little clichéd, maybe, but adorable. And while I sincerely doubt my existence as a divine being, I am, of course, flattered." She leaned forward to drop a quick kiss on the tip of his nose. "And I hardly think your life is dull."
"That's because you're here," he countered instantly.
Darcy emitted a noise that was half groan, half laugh. "Ohh, this is going to end up being one of those circular debates, isn't it?"
"Oh yeah," the Keeper chuckled. "First you'll say my life isn't dull, and then I'll say it's because you're here, and then you'll tell me again that my life isn't dull, and I'll tell you again that it's because you're here, and it'll go round and round till you get mad and start yelling about how stupid it is to argue and I tell you how cute you are when you're angry."
"Can we just skip ahead to that part, so I can giggle and tell you you're a pest but I still love you?" she queried, grinning at his spot-on description of their usual arguments—which, when she thought about it, weren't really arguments at all. What she and Kotter used to have—well, those hadn't really been arguments either, they were out-and-out fights. But she preferred not to think about Kotter who, to his credit, had done a decent job of staying out her life since their last, fateful confrontation.
"Oh wait, I think after that, it's my cue to change the topic, right?" Oliver mused, pulling her out of her thoughts.
"Right," she agreed.
"Okay then, how 'bout I change it to… Oh yeah. Happy Christmas, Darcy," he announced, and from the drawer of his nearby nightstand, he produced a small white box with red ribbon tied carefully around it.
The Quidditch captain found herself short of words as she accepted the tiny gift. "Oh Ollie… you didn't…" She tugged loose the ribbon and slipped open the case as Oliver watched her anxiously, his features frozen somewhere between apprehension and delight. When her gaze fell upon what lay inside, she felt her jaw drop. A glittering gold chain supported a miniature replica of the golden snitch, its gossamer wings eternally frozen in an outstretched pose, as if ready to flit away at any second.
"Oh my god…" the words slipped off her lips as a gasp, tears suddenly fighting to crowd upon her lower lashes.
"Do you like it okay?" he asked softly, still studying her features. "I mean, I didn't know for sure, whether to get it for you. The man in the jewelry shop said you'd like it, but… well, you know. I just hoped it'd be okay…"
Choking out a laugh, she swiped at her blurred vision as she replied, "It's more than okay, Ollie honey. It's far more than okay. This is… I've never gotten anything so beautiful… and wonderful and-and perfect. I can't even begin to find the words…"
"Then it's just right," he said with a relieved smile, as he carefully removed the necklace from the box. "Because you are beautiful…" he unlocked the chain's clasp, "…wonderful…" and drew it gently around her neck, "…and perfect…" and reconnected it, careful not to catch her hair within the tiny hooks. Then he let the exquisite gold pendent settle on her chest, resting just below the fusion of her collarbones. "There."
Darcy brushed her fingers lovingly across the tiny Snitch before throwing her arms around Oliver, burying her face in his warm, muscled chest. She felt his arms likewise encircle her, drawing her to him. "I love it," she whispered, nuzzling his neck. "Thank you so much."
He gently kissed the top of her head. "You're welcome."
For another long moment she was content to cuddle there, amazed once again that such perfect pauses in time could exist… until a slight giggle suddenly bubbled up through the girl. She could feel Oliver's mouth twitch up into a smirk as he demanded, "What?"
"I just realized I didn't get you anything half as amazing as what you got me," she admitted.
She waited for the wisecrack that was sure to be his response, startling a bit when he pulled away from her, a surprisingly sober expression on his features. "No, you've already given me something a million times better," he told her softly, and reaching again to his nightstand, he drew over an elegantly-framed portrait. From within, a girl with gold curls piled atop her head and a white silk dress flowing easily around her frame leaned graciously into the embrace of an attractive, dark-haired young man in regal black dress robes. They both waved cheerfully up from the picture before stealing a secret kiss. It was she and Oliver's Yule Ball photograph, taken a mere four days prior.
Pointing an indicative finger at her image, he announced, "See her? That beauty right there? She's mine. And there's no other gift in the world that could ever compare."
The tears were back as Darcy tried to wrap her mind around the unbelievable young man in front of her. And he thought he was the lucky one? In an effort to suppress her sudden, overwhelming urge to leap upon the boy and kiss him into his next life, she queried, "How'd you learn to be so romantic, huh? Most fourteen year old boys I know are more adept at pretending to trip so they can 'accidentally' brush against a girl's breasts than they are at charming her with their verbal skills."
He laughed. "I'm mature for my age, you know?" he teased, and after a moment's pause, added, "Which is fifteen, by the way."
Propping herself up on her elbows, she stared at him, her nose wrinkled in almost comic confusion. "No you're not. You're fourteen."
"Mmm, nope. Definitely fifteen," he said, and chuckled again at her expression as he gently lifted a lock of her blonde hair and used it to tickle the tip of her nose. "My birthday's the thirtieth of October, so it has a tendency to be forgotten in lieu of Halloween."
Confusion faded to mock annoyance as she swatted his arm and groused, "I can't believe you let me forget your birthday!"
"And I can't believe you're mad at me because you forgot my birthday!" Oliver replied in protest, though his laughter diffused whatever seriousness the comment might have had. A touch of mischief lit his eyes as he added, "Besides, if you hadn't have been so bloody intent on seducing me with that little red dress of yours, I might have actually gotten the chance to tell you it was my birthday."
She stared coolly back at him. "That's it. I'm going back to my dorm. You're opening Christmas presents on your own, buddy." But she'd only managed to escape so far as to draw back his bed curtains before he grabbed hold of her waist and pulled her to him.
"Too bad. Can't leave," he announced cheerfully to the blonde now seated in his lap.
The corners of her mouth twitched into a smirk. "Do you really want to get yourself into another rictusempra battle, Mr. Wood? Because I think we both know who won the last one."
Smiling, the fourth-year replied, "I did," and planted a light kiss upon her lips—which instantly turned to something more passionate when she coiled her arm around his neck, locking him in place. She allowed his tongue to sneak past the barrier of her teeth and tangle with her own, enjoying the silky texture and unique taste that was wholly Oliver. At last she brought the moment to an end when his hand began a slow creep up beneath her tank top.
Nimbly she slipped out of his grasp, ignoring his frustrated groan as she moved to the end of the bed, easing open the drapes so he could observe the stacks of presents awaiting him. "Hurry up, Ollie," she prompted, "and open these, so I can get to what's waiting for me in my room."
He sighed and crawled down to meet her, accepting the brightly-wrapped box she offered him with an affectionate smirk. "Some days I honestly wonder why I tolerate you."
"Hey." She leaned forward and swiftly delivered to him another quick kiss. Then, blue eyes glittering, she mused, "This isn't over yet."
* * *
The snowball nailed Oliver solidly in the back of the head, exploding in a spray of twinkling white crystals and forming a fine layer of frost over his tousled brown locks. Slowly the fourth-year turned and glared up at the smirking blonde female, posed atop a nearby snowdrift. Her triumphant voice drifted down, "I told you it wasn't over yet!"
He gaped back at her. "I thought you meant us snogging wasn't over!"
Laughing, she shook her head at him, clucking her tongue playfully as she replied, "Silly boy. And I thought I was the blonde of this operation."
"Ohh, that's it." Instantly he launched himself up the slope and charged after the girl as she let out a startled yelp, scurrying off across the snowy Hogwarts grounds. As though he was on the Quidditch Pitch tracking the Quaffle, he kept his gaze steady on the fluttering red-and-gold of her scarf, marking her progress as she ran. Lithe and speedy as Darcy was, strength was on the Keeper's side this time as he plowed easily through snow drifts that otherwise impeded the fleeing girl's passage. It wasn't long before he'd caught up with her, and with a smug grin, he leapt forward to tackle her—and immediately found himself with a face full of snow. The Seeker's swift reflexes had allowed her to dodge just in time, and now she stood a few feet away, doubled over with laughter.
Moaning his defeat, Oliver rolled onto his back, gazing up into the pale gray December sky until Darcy's features, fixed into a curious smile, drifted into his field of vision.
"All right, Ollie?" she queried.
In one swift move, he wrapped an arm around the backs of her knees and pulled her legs out from under her, knocking her onto her back into the cushion of billowy white snow. Then he rolled carefully atop her, crouching on hands and knees so he could hover over the prone blonde. "Better now," he announced cheerfully to her glaring visage.
"Sometimes there are no words for how much I despise you."
"If that were true," he replied cheekily, using one gloved fingertip to trace along the bridge of her nose, "you would've pushed me off and walked away by now."
Darcy sighed deeply, slender chest rising and falling beneath the new cream-colored, downy-filled coat her parents had sent her for Christmas. She corrected him, "No, if that were true, I would've kneed you in the crotch by now." She smirked a bit as he sucked in a nervous breath through his teeth and automatically drew his legs in to protect that most vital area.
"That would be cruel," he protested, looking suddenly wary of her.
Nodding wisely, she agreed, "Indeed it would. And not just to you, either, seeing as it's bloody impossible to seduce a man who's recently been kneed in the crotch. Especially if you're the one who's done the kneeing. And if I can't seduce you, then where am I to get my source of amusement?" She let her lips draw into a petulant pout.
Oliver couldn't help but grin. "It's always about your needs, isn't it?" he teased.
Laughing, she shot back, "You bet your ass it is. And right now, I need you to get off me so I can get up, go inside, change clothes, and get down to dinner. We're already bound to be a few minutes late as it is."
It was the Keeper's turn to pout, and he did a spectacular job as, rather than pulling away from the blonde, he leaned closer, till his body pressed along the length of hers beneath. "What about my needs?" he queried in a breathy whisper, nudging aside the fabric of her scarf so he could kiss upon the warm flesh of her neck.
She moaned softly into his ministrations, hands wandering up to tangle in his messy spray of chocolate-colored locks. She let him continue on for another long moment, torn by an infuriating mixture of stop-don't stop thoughts. When both their stomachs began a chorus of famished grumbles, she paused the scene by interjecting playfully, "I think right now what you need is some dinner."
Warm breath tickled along her collarbone as he chuckled his agreement. "I think you might be right." He hefted himself to his feet, continuing lightly, "Which is, of course, a violation of the male code for me to admit." Offering a hand, he drew the grinning Seeker easily up to a standing position. "But since there's only you and me here…" he sent a thoughtful gaze over the gentle swell of her chest, receiving a curiously raised eyebrow in return, "…and you're quite obviously not a member of the male sex, I think I'm okay for the moment."
"Are you done being insufferably macho yet?" she asked, tone unamused. "Because I'm rather cold, not to mention starving."
Oliver feigned a look of deep thought. "Mmm, suppose I am—no, wait." Before she could protest, he'd swiftly captured her in his arms and hoisted her up and over one broad shoulder, happily announcing, "Now I'd done. C'mon, love. Let's get dinner." And he gave her backside a light slap before carrying her back to Gryffindor Tower.
After both had changed for dinner, they hurried down to the Great Hall, and as Darcy had predicted, they did in fact arrive several minutes late… but no one much seemed overly concerned. Of the several hundred students and staff that regularly inhabited the castle, less than thirty had stayed for the Christmas holidays.
Darcy glanced curiously around the dining hall. Decorations from the Yule Ball of four days prior still criss-crossed the walls and ceiling, gigantic evergreens at the room's front filling the space with the intoxicating scent of pine needles. But without the crowd of elegantly-dressed young witches and wizards occupying the hall, it seemed oddly empty and bare. The Yule Ball had been held on a Friday night, the following Saturday left open for recovering and packing, and Sunday morning, the Hogwarts Express had left from Hogsmeade Station filled with excitedly chattering students. It was now Tuesday, and the vacancy of the vast castle was only yet sinking in to the Gryffindor Seeker.
As the duo entered the Great Hall, they discovered the majority of the remaining students had all gathered together for the meal, forming a group at the forward-most section of Ravenclaw tables, as it was that House from which the most students had stayed. Only a lone trio of Slytherins sat apart at their own tables, looking particularly brooding.
Dinner proved to be quite the enjoyable affair. With such a small cast to cook for, the kitchen elves had outdone themselves with four immense, delectable courses of food, with special attention paid to dessert. Spirited conversation and good cheer abounded, even prompting Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall and Sprout to leave their usual spots at the High Table and join the assembly of students. It was several hours later they all departed the Great Hall, having eaten entirely too much, but smiling nonetheless.
Oliver and Darcy made their way back to the common room along with the two other remaining Gryffindor students—a pair of third-year boys, who immediately bid goodnight to their two older House mates and stumbled off to their dorm.
Yawning widely, the blonde paced over to her favorite couch and flopped down in front of the fireplace, feeling quite contented indeed. She broke into a smile as the Keeper joined her, stretching out across the length of the sofa with his head in her lap. Affectionately, she curled her body around him, watching his eyes slide peacefully closed as she ran her fingers through his hair. Contented, he sighed.
"Did you have a good Christmas, love?" the fourth-year queried.
Automatically Darcy's hand moved to the tiny Snitch pendant resting at her neck as she answered, "Without a doubt one of the best I've had in years."
He smiled. "Good. Me too." He snuggled more comfortably into her lap, one arm curled around her knees in a half-hug. "I can't imagine a single thing that could make this day any better for me."
A stretching moment of silence followed this last comment, as the female Gryffindor studied the cherubic beauty of her partner. Her eyes roved over the defined curve of his jaw, the delicate lengths of his eyelashes, re-memorizing every last centimeter of a face she already knew by heart. As though he could feel her gaze caressing over him, Oliver emitted a gentle moan—and suddenly, a small, curious idea occurred to the girl. In a voice narrowly above a whisper, she mused, "I think I know one thing…"
Recognizing the mischievous undercurrent in her voice, the Keeper's eyes flickered open to gaze up at her, the corners of his lips curving into a smirk as he replied, "Yeah? What's tha—"
But the remainder of his words were swallowed when the blonde's mouth swept down to claim his own, with an intensity that sent pleasant shock waves along the length of his spine. He leaned eagerly into the kiss, which was generous and exotic and perfect as all their kisses were, and did not protest a single bit when the lone kiss melted into a continuing cycle, with only the occasional pause for oxygen drawing their mouths apart. Oliver was enthralled at how natural kissing Darcy seemed to him, the exactness with which their lips met… and so it took him a moment before he noticed her right hand had eased down and was sensually massaging his inner thigh.
He jerked back, more than a little surprised. "Darcy…?"
Though her eyes were half-lidded, her gaze held his unwaveringly, and the ministrations of her hand moved ever higher as she said, "I wanted to wait for the right moment for this… I wanted you—us—to be ready. So if you want… if you're ready…" Her voice adopted a shivering, breathless quality as she dropped all pretenses and moved directly to massaging his crotch, provoking a desirous mewl from the boy.
"Ready… I want to…" Oliver listened to his own voice as though it emanated from a mile away, dulled by the pounding blood rushing through his ears. He forced himself to hold her smoldering gaze as he related, "But I've never… you know. I don't know how."
Her sigh rang with a touch of regret. "I do." After all, she had been with Kotter nearly five years. Sex had been a matter of trial and error for her. Though Kotter had seemed to harbor a bit more experience than she herself, both soon proved to be fairly naïve in the ways of copulation, and the result was a decidedly boring sex life. She'd taken it upon herself to search for informative sources within the school—which came in surprising abundance, no doubt to the displeasure of the professors—and quickly she'd acquired a vast repertoire of exciting tricks and moves. Aching to try them out, she'd approached Kotter with her new knowledge—and that was the first time she had truly witnessed the depths of his illogical stubbornness. He'd made it quite clear that he was content with their current, albeit predictable, arrangement. And so sex had become nothing more than a repetitive act for the Seeker, her role being a rather passive one as Kotter always insisted on being on top. The only times she ever enjoyed their intercourse were the nights he was too tired to do all the work, and allowed her to be the uppermost partner. But those had been few and far between, and as their relationship had slipped into a downward spiral over the past year, she'd stopped allowing him to have sex with her at all…
Snapping to attention, she realized Oliver was still looking up at her, though his eyes had become slightly glazed courtesy of the generous movements of her right hand. Staring back at him, she felt an exquisite chill work its way down her body. In his gaze, there was unquestionable desire—but there was also love to be found, and open admiration, and it was these two emotions, emotions that had been unfamiliar to her for so long, that sent an immediate surge of warmth to her most intimate of areas.
Needily she drew her lips to the sensitive flesh of his neck, growing ever more desirous for the impressive organ enlarging steadily beneath her fingertips. "Want to…?" she managed to pant out between kisses, barely able to tear herself away from the glorious silk of his flesh.
"Better soon," was his groaned reply. "Too good… Won't last much longer…"
In a tangle of arms, legs, and lips, they somehow managed to make it from the common room to Oliver's dorm, leaving a path of clothing between the doorway and his bed. There was no interlude for the lovers to admire their respective naked forms; there would surely be another time for slow, sensual exploration. This moment was all rush and passion, long-nurtured desire finally coming to a head.
The Keeper soon found himself on his back, the Seeker's slender form hovering above him with anticipation. Somewhere from within his barely-functioning mind, he conjured up the thought, "Protection?"
"Don't worry," she replied breathlessly, and pointing her wand at herself, she muttered a spell he'd never before heard. It was seconds later and with little warning that he found himself suddenly inside her, surrounded by exquisite silken heat that forced a sound from his throat that barely seemed human. Through the jumbled maze that was his mind, he noticed the slight grimace playing briefly over her features.
"You okay?" he inquired immediately, passion dulling in the face of his lover's pain.
"Okay," she responded, expression easing at last. "It's been a while, is all. Plus, I do believe you're a fair deal more, erm… endowed… than my last."
Somehow the knowledge that he was bigger than Kotter proved as appealing as if she'd just whispered some gloriously erotic phrase to him. He loudly groaned out his approval as she flexed her hips against his, setting a pace that quickly progressed from swift to frenetic. Their voices were an intertwined chorus of pants and moans, reduced to the most primal of communication, barely aware of anything save the building throb of pleasure between them.
Darcy knew without question when Oliver was coming to his peak, her own body responding in kind as her fevered cries reached a crescendo and indescribable pleasure swept her to the very core. She trembled fiercely through to the very last of the seemingly-endless throws of her passion, finally collapsing down against him in a heap of sweat-slick flesh and tangled sheets. The chocolate-eyed boy appeared barely coherent.
"So good…" she murmured into his neck, grazing her lips exhaustedly along the salty skin. "So very, very good…"
"I think," he replied thickly, as consciousness made a brief return to him, "that I'm in trouble. You've ruined sex for me, Darcy Reed. I'll never be able to sleep with another girl without thinking how terrible she is in comparison to you." He smiled as her giggle sent a wave of vibration through his chest.
"Then I guess you'll just have to sleep with me for the rest of your life," she replied coyly.
The brunette smirked. "Won't hear me complaining."
Smiling complacently, she stretched out against him, her body curling with natural ease to fit his muscular frame. His arms moved automatically around her, molding to her as much as she to him. They'd both begun the gradual process of dozing off when Darcy's sleepy voice rose up for a final time.
"Merry Christmas, baby."
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Yay for Oliver/Darcy smut! Sigh. Yes, I know, it's not really smut smut. Not like that hardcore NC-17 smut you read sometimes. More like bodice-ripping romance-novel smut. But it makes me happy. ;) Know what else makes me happy? Reviews. Which you guys all do an awesome job of giving me. 255! *tears up* I love you guys so much.
~ Adele ~