STORY TITLE: Arrangements
BOOK: Harry PotterSUMMARY: "You know the deal, Flint. You lost. Now, spread your legs." [OWMF
PAIRING (S): Oliver/Marcus, (takes a while) hints of Adrian Pucey/Terence Higgs and Marcus/Chelsea Ricken [she's not an OC. Read below in the A/N.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter. In my opinion, Draco does
A/N: R&R please. Flame me… and I'll flame your house XD
Does anyone know the name of the keeper in the Philosopher/Sorcerer's stone? Because it's a girl, not a boy. I can't figure out what her name is. Someone help! There are mentions of her in this story. I named her Chelsea. Let me know if you know her real name. IT IS NOT MILES BLETCHLEY. HE'S A BOY.
Marcus Flint sat at the dining table amongst his friends in the Great Hall. He couldn't hold back a sneer when he saw the Gryffindor captain walk into the hall with his friends.
I cannot loose. If I do, I won't be able to ride my broom at practise!
"Yo, Flint. Pass the toast." Adrian's request was ignored. He frowned, but then waved a hand in front of his captain's face. "Flint?"
"What?" he asked.
"Were you daydreaming?" An eyebrow rose at the question.
Flint smirked. "Is that such a crime?" he asked, handing him the toast when the chaser requested it. "Hah. I specifically remember you telling the chasers: 'do not get distracted by anything. If you daydream, I'll knock you out of it with my fist.' Hmmm?" Adrian said, smirking triumphantly.
"That's on the pitch, Pucey," Marcus reminded, and finished off his breakfast.
"Ah yes. But you are basically the same, on the pitch or off," Adrian added. Terence sat down across from them and smiled at Adrian, but nodded at Marcus.
Pucey leaned over the table, Marcus thought he was going to pinch all the bacon again, but said friend pressed his lips to the ex-seeker's. Marcus's eyebrows nearly shot off his face.
Adrian leaned back and smiled. "Are you okay with this, Flint?"
It is a bit strange, but you know, if I said, 'Ewww… gross!' I'd be a hypocrite.
"With what?" he asked, stealing a bit of Adrian's bacon and eating it.
Adrian rolled his eyes, but guessed that his captain knew what he was talking about. "Me and Terence."
"Yes. As long as you're happy, I guess." Marcus said lamely. He was surprised when a rough arm tugged him into a friendly embrace. "Eh." He grunted into Pucey's shoulder as he wound an arm around his back. "Thanks, mate." Adrian whispered in his ear, chuckling softly.
Their hug was interrupted by a jealous Terence.
As the Slytherin's walked down towards the pitch, Marcus caught sight of Oliver's face. It was laced with the knowing smirk. Fantastic, I'll be limping down here tomorrow.
"So. Team. Today, we will participating in the semi finals, but even if we lose to Gryffindor-" Adrian interrupted. "But we won't Captain!"
"As I was saying-" he glared at Pucey, "we will still be able to play in the finals because, seriously, Hufflepuff is the easiest team to beat. How they beat Ravenclaw is beyond me."
"Captain, if I may?" Montague raised his hand, "Yes, what is it?"
"I don't think we'll win either. Our best players are off due to injury."
Marcus smirked and pats his back. "That's why we might loose. BUT! Do not slack off. If you do--"
"I'll smash you." The rest of the team chanted back at him.
Marcus sighed as he lay in the sand at the bottom of the pitch. It wasn't that bad actually. Gryffindor had won, but it was 180-150. Not too bad.
He heard the nurse come toward him. He raised a heavy hand to his head, and wiped away the water.
He looked down at his fingers. It was actually blood. And he was completely surrounded in it. Oh just my fucking luck. When I find out who did this, their balls will be fried.
He could vaguely hear Montague calling out to him. Marcus stood, and brushed off the nurse. "I'm fine."
She looked at him. "Don't be stupid, boy. You have a cracked skull and a punctured lung! Get on the stretcher!" he walked off before she could stop him, walking toward the cheering Gryffindor's.
"Flint, be serious man. You might loose too much blood. Just go to the hospital wing, mate." Montague pleaded.
Adrian grabbed his arm, "Marcus – Marcus, listen." He gently turned Marcus's face to face his own. The Gryffindor's looked their way, Oliver's eyes widened.
Marcus chuckled, rather cutely in Oliver's opinion. "I'm okay. Serious, man." He imitated Montague. He laughed again.
"Shit, look at all my blood." He smudged some of the blood on his shoulder. "I can be pretty, just like I wanted to…"
Terence shot Adrian a worried look.
Marcus patted their backs. "Don't worry 'bout me… heh…" blood dribbled down his chin. "To be honest with ya… I think I am going to pass out."
Adrian snorted, "Of course you-"
Marcus hit the ground before he could finish.
Adrian's booming laugh awoke him. Marcus rubbed his eyes and squinted – how bloody bright do they want to make it? And sighed. Chelsea smirked at him when she noticed he was awake.
"What?" he asked, glaring at her. She chuckled softly, "Well, well, well, captain. Looks like you fell off your broom and cracked your head open… and a punctured lung."
Marcus blinked. "I don't remember that."
"So you don't remember saying that you were fine, claiming that you looked 'pretty' with all your both running down your body?" Adrian piped in. Marcus glared, and said nothing.
"Can you move?" he asked. Marcus swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. "I guess, so." He took a step and staggered. Adrian caught his arm and put an arm around his waist and directed him to where his clothes were, uncertainty in his eyes. "I'm not sure you should be leaving yet."
"I'll be fine, mother." Marcus replied, snorting at the expression on Adrian and Chelsea's face. "So. Where are the others? They better be practising!"
The other two shared wary looks. "Well, Flint… we thought because you were sick or whatever, that we wouldn't have to practise." Chelsea cleared her throat.
Chelsea knew that this would not end well. Marcus will have them playing for hours as punishment. Being his ex girlfriend was often rough, but she handled it well in her opinion.
"Are you serious?! Why would you think such a stupid thing? Get the others. I'll show them!" Adrian sighed.
Marcus glared at them, "Well? I can't do it, can I? I have to get dressed. Get them on the pitch in 10 minutes."
Montague kicked the grass angrily. He knew that they had to practise – but no! They made him stay. Fucking idiots. Now they were going to die of heat exhaustion.
Flint stood in front of them. "What the hell were you thinking? Just because I'm bedridden, that's no excuse not to practise!"
Warrington raised his hand, "But captain – some of us might not obey another team member. We only listen to your orders when it comes to Quidditch."
Marcus's facial expression softened. "Fair enough. However! We shall be practising today. I think I'll have to choose a deputy or whatever whenever I'm out. Impress me."
And with that he led them out to the pitch.
Fucking stupid Gryffindor's watching them practise. What do they want? Seriously. Ever heard of Slytherin Quidditch Practise? I guess not.
When Marcus flew near the Gryffindor stand, Oliver called out, in front of his whole team! "Don't forget our arrangement, Flint! At 11, got it?"
Marcus sneered at the Scot and flew off. He threw the quaffle at the rings, Miles blocked it. "Well done. Keep it up." He stayed in the air for a bit, scanning the members of the team that were throwing the quaffle around underneath him. He noticed that Chelsea, even though she was a reserve, was sitting on the bench. Marcus sneered and flew to the ground.
He dismounted and stood in front of her. "Ricken?" she didn't reply. "Chelsea!" She sat up, startled. "Ah, sorry Captain. I haven't had much sleep."
If anyone could see through a lie, it was Marcus. He sat beside her on the wooden. "What's going on, Chelsea?"
She stared out onto the pitch, smiling as Montague hit a bludger so hard is smashed through the Gryffindor grandstand. He then yelled, "What you gonna do about it, Gryffindorks?!"
Marcus chuckled at the idiocy. "Well?"
She stared at him, before replying, "Sometimes I wonder, like… why we broke up," he sighed. "Chelsea. You know why we did. And it wasn't you. I don't know anything about girls. So yeah…"
"We went out for seven months."
He rubbed his hands together, roughed by the leather. "Yeah, and?"
She sighed and rubbed her temples. "That's a really long time, in a girls opinion."
"And? I don't understand where you are going with this…"
She looked at him strangely. And then hugged him. Not like the Quidditch hugs, a caring hug. He draped his arms around her slender shoulders and sighed. "I'm saying, that sometimes I miss this."
He held her out at arms length. "You miss hugging me?" he said with a smile.
She smiled back and then laughed. "No, idiot. The kissing, the hugging, the sex, the talks, the companionship. You know? Just the relationship in general."
His smile faltered. "No, I don't want to get back together. I just want to know something. Did you miss me when we broke up?"
"Miss me, yes."
His gaze fell to the floor. It didn't help that Oliver smiled at him as he left the pitch, and her worried eyes. "Yeah… I did… sometimes, but like – not as much anymore cause it was months ago…" his cheeks reddened without his permission, a sure sign he was telling the truth.
She smiled, kissed his cheek and helped the other players pack up the equipment.
It was 10:30.
Marcus put on a white singlet, a pale orange flannelette shirt, cargo shorts and his shoes and crept out of the dormitory. He hid in the shadows as Filch walked past. After a very difficult obstacle course, he stood in front of the Room of Requirement.
"Flint." Oliver's voice was behind him.
The door suddenly appeared. Oliver grabbed Marcus by the wrist and pulled him inside.
There was a bed, covered in red silk and petals. Candles lay on the bedside tables, a rosy smell reached Marcus's nose and he grimaced. "Rather… romantic, don't you think?"
Oliver spread his arms out and laughed, "I have to please."
Marcus smirked, but didn't move. Oliver sighed. "Being difficult today, are we?" he walked over to Marcus and undid the shirt, and let it fall, then took off his own shirt.
Marcus walked ahead and sat on the edge of the bed. He took of his shoes and socks. Oliver did the same. Tan hands gripped the white singlet, and pulled it over Marcus's head. He kissed the Slytherin's cheek softly, causing him to chuckle. He kissed the Gryffindor's in return.
He pushed Marcus down onto his back, who shifted a bit to get comfortable.
Before Marcus could blink - his pants were off, as well as his boxers, and couldn't help but to cross his legs and shrink up at the exposure. He could feel Oliver's naked leg next to his own. He could feel calloused hands trying to force his legs apart.
"You know the deal, Flint. You lost. Now, spread your legs."
Marcus sobbed a bit; he always found it hard to be dominated. No matter what the situation was, it always made him uneasy, like he was going to be used. He was scared of sex and relationships. He didn't like being vulnerable.
"Flin- Marcus… you know that I'll be gentle." Oliver's lips pressed against his ear and suckled on the lobe lightly.
Oliver's gentle hands managed to spread his legs, and he slid in between them.
Marcus rested his hands on Oliver's arms, rubbing the veins with the pad of his thumbs. His fingers dug into the flesh when he felt a finger trace his entrance. He and Oliver had only done this type of sex once, and Marcus hated every moment, except when coming. He felt so… scared and pathetic.
The finger moved around a bit, Marcus tensed when a second finger joined the first. Oliver pulled his fingers back, and thrust back in, hitting that spot.
Marcus's back arched slightly, the breath leaving his lungs. That fucking spot. Oliver added a third, and Marcus was practically writhing underneath Wood.
Oliver pulled out his fingers and spread Marcus's legs further before he could close them. There was a flicker of worry in Marcus's eyes, and rubbed a comforting hand over a hip and the abdomen. Oliver pulled some lubricant out of his pants pocket lying nearby, warmed it in his hands and spread it all over his erect cock.
He slowly slid his cock into the place his fingers had been before, pushing in deeper and deeper. Marcus pushed at Oliver's chest, in an attempt to push him away. "Marcus, it will be worth it, okay?"
Fuck, how does this fit? Marcus let out a sound of pain as Oliver's cock fully sheathed itself inside him. But when Oliver pulled back and slammed back in, Marcus realized that it was worth it. A guttural sound left his lips as Oliver repeated the action. "Faster --"
The Gryffindor lifted Marcus's legs and looped them over his shoulders, before slamming back in. Ahhh, fuck. I'd hate to admit it, but this angle is better. His thoughts were cut off as Oliver thrusted in again, a MILLION times better.
As Oliver sped up, Marcus tightened his legs around Oliver's waist; they'd fallen, due to the thrusting. The other's moaning in his ear was bad enough, but when one of the hands that had been holding his hips down grabbed his cock, he knew that he was gone. He moaned and cried out with no control – the pleasure was intense.
His muscles tensed as he felt the coil unravel in his stomach, the white liquid staining the sheets and Oliver's hand. He cried out loudly and dug his fingers into Oliver's back as the wave over pleasure ran over his body. Oliver moaned loudly in his ear, biting down on a soft part of his neck and sucking when he came to his own orgasm.
They panted in union to try and get their breath back. "If only other people could see the fearless Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint under them like I do."
Marcus glared. "Fuck you, Wood,"
"Too bad then, huh? Because I just fucked you."
The trip back to the dormitory was not pleasant. The limping made him look like a fool, and he's hair is messy, lips swollen – he looked thoroughly shagged.
Even though it was 12:30 in the morning, there were still a lot of couples hanging around near the dungeons. That stupid Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson gave him funny looks as he walked –limped by was just annoying. "Can I help you?" he snarled in their direction.
"Just wondering why you were limping," Johnson asked, whether she really knew why was unknown.
Marcus ignored her. "What are you doing around here? You're a long way from home."
Somehow, Montague slipped out from the shadows behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. He peered into his Captain's face, "Oho! Someone just had a shag," he snickered, enjoying the sneer on the other boy's face.
"Do you mind, Montague?"
The sounds of laughing cut Montague from answering. "What are you loosers doing here?"
The girls huffed and stormed off. Montague's face showed that he was confused. "Stupid girls. Anyway, I was going to ask you something…"
Marcus stopped listening, but nodded in the right places. Montague, he hated to admit, was clueless when it came to the attention of other's. He was attractive; he had perfect teeth, a pretty smile (when he did smile), nice laugh, nice face… etc. Marcus would never admit it out loud of course. It's not like he liked him or anything. Montague is the kind of guy you have a laugh with, not kiss or hug.
"What?" Marcus asked, confused.
Montague raised an eyebrow and gestured to the portrait that leads to the common room. "Ah, yeah."
A/N: I'm not sure if I should add any more chapters, so review and let me know. :)
I know it may seem like Marcus may be raped or something; but it's not going to be an angst-y time of story. Sorry.