A/N Inspired by the rhyme "What are Little boy's made of?" and gifted to xxDustNight88 who I know will love the imagery xx

Title: What are boy's made of?

Rating: T

Pairing: Oliver Wood x Marcus Flint

What are boy's made of?

.

Slugs and snails and puppy dog's tails.

Oliver didn't know why the rhyme was stuck in his head or where in fact it had come from. But now he came to think of it, he wasn't at all sure that was what boy's were made of. No.

Sugar and spice and all things nice.

That indeed seemed to be what girls were made of. Especially girls like Hermione Granger, who was most definitely made of cinnamon.

But boys...his mind drifted with his gaze until it they focused on the bicep of Marcus Flint as he rolled up his sleeve. Boys were made of fire and ice.

He dragged his tongue slowly, absently, along his bottom lip as he watched Flint pick up his quill, frowning at the parchment in confusion.

Seemingly aware of Wood's idle gaze, he turned his head, his frown turning into a sneer and then a smirk as a deep flush stained Oliver's cheeks.

Caught in the act.

He felt the fire in his lower abdomen as a wry grin spread across his lips. Fire. He was definitely made of fire. He allowed his gaze to travel back to Flint who was now lifting a bottle of water to his parched lips, Oliver's eyes dropping to his Adam's apple which bobbed deliciously as the cool libation worked it's way down his throat causing Oliver to shudder.

Ice.

Marcus was most definitely made of ice.

Oliver watched as Flint screwed the cap on the bottle, slowly, causing the veins in his forearm to rise as they fed his taught muscles.

Oh how much he wanted to lick along those veins and trace the contours of his muscles with his tongue.

"Like what you see?" Flint's voice broke through Oliver's reverie.

More cock sure than the first time Flint caught him looking, he threw him the same look he had thrown him countless times after stopping his shots in Quidditch.

Flint returned his look with the same casual sneer he threw back each time he saw that look across Oliver's face before gathering his books, throwing them into the leather satchel that he now tossed over his shoulder.

Stalking towards the door, he paused at Oliver's table, hooking his foot around one leg of the chair Oliver sat on, dragging it around slightly. Oliver's breath hitched in his throat, uncertainty causing his chest to tighten as Flint lunged, bracing both hands either side of Oliver, one hand gripping the edge of the desk, the other the back of his chair. His face meer millimeters from Oliver's, he sneered once more before smirking, then laughing as he straightened before leaving the classroom.

Catching his breath, Oliver regained his composure before returning his chair to it's previous position. His trembling hands reached for his quill and parchment before he noticed the crumpled piece of parchment that now sat on his desk.

Frowning, he smoothed out the piece of parchment.

Confusion turned to shock as he read the words.

Room of Requirement

11.30pm

MF x

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