Author's Notes: If I'm not mistaken, the prompt for this little ficlet was "So shaken as we are". Whatever the case, it's the last one of the 7, so I hope you all enjoyed it. :) I've got two more to upload (sets of 7 fics, I mean), and the pairings for those are Marcus/Cedric and Viktor/Cedric. Gabrieldarke, you might like those as well! Thank you for your reviews!

"You're such a jerk sometimes, Flint."

"At least I'm not a stuck-up puss like you, Wood."

"Whatever. I'm smarter than you'll ever be."

"You fucking wish."

"Tell me, then, how's seventh year treating you this time around?"

Marcus stalked towards Oliver and threw him against the locker. Due to the Gryffindor's size in comparison to him, it was rather easy to rough him up and throw him around. Oliver stumbled towards the wall and hit it with an oomph, his face briefly contorting into a pained expression. Before he had a chance to collect himself Marcus was on him, his larger form looming over him.

"Don't you fucking push me around, you troll!" Oliver exclaimed. He pushed at Marcus' chest and succeeded in making him fall back some.

Growling, the darker haired boy once again stalked toward the Keeper, and he reached out, grabbing a handful of his shirt at his collar. "Don't you ever call me that again." He was breathing somewhat harder now, his heartbeat having quickened. He locked his eyes on the smaller one's. They hadn't had a fight in a long time.

Oliver looked up at Marcus. Much like him, his heart was beating faster than usual, and his breathing was a bit erratic. The regular fight-or-flight response, but with Marcus, he never backed down; if he did, that would only make things worse. "Bastard," he spat out quietly.

Having been preparing to punch him, Marcus gripped Oliver's shirt collar a bit harder than before, raising his fist. Instinctively he leaned in just a bit, because he wanted to see the other's reaction better, wanted to catch the exact moment when the pain hit the other boy.

And then he hit him.

The Keeper didn't let out any sound when he was hit, save for a sharp, but quiet exhalation of breath. His head snapped back into place and he looked at Marcus, his eyes narrowing slightly. At first he made no move, but just shortly after he attempted to push Flint off of him again. Marcus, prepared for it, gripped Oliver harder and pushed himself into the younger one to keep him in place. A few moments of struggle followed, resulting in Oliver's finally resigning.

Both boys were breathing hard now, their skin, especially around their faces, warmer due to the quickened blood flow. Their faces were close enough that their noses were bumping against each other, and the few times it had happened, the two of them avoided each other's gaze. Just slightly Marcus released his grip on Oliver's shirt. He found that his nose brushed against the other boy's one more time, and he finally stopped caring, just letting it rest lightly upon the younger one's.

Their eyes finally met.

"Don't," Oliver whispered quietly, swallowing hard afterward. His voice didn't sound very convincing to either of them, especially with the somewhat ragged way he was breathing.

Slowly, Marcus brushed the side of his nose against Oliver's, moving in to kiss him afterward. It was a chaste, tentative sort of kiss, once that was broken briefly, only to be replaced by a somewhat hungrier one. Marcus lightly released the grip on Oliver's shirt, but didn't move himself away from the younger one in the slightest. Wood's hands, which were once against the wall, were now resting on the older one's hips, roughed-up fingers gripping the hem of his pants.

The two shared another rough kiss before Marcus pulled his lips away from Oliver's. He exhaled a sharp breath and attacked the tanner one's jaw line, moving down toward his neck. This elicited a strange mix of a grunt and moan from the Gryffindor, who craned his neck to the slide to allow for better touch. His own hands worked their way from Marcus' hips to his back, clutching the loose fabric of his shirt.

Marcus finally fully released Oliver's shirt and pulled back a bit, but only in order to reach in between them and let his hands explore the smaller one's front. Oliver, much like him, had a very toned body, due to years of Quidditch. Without thinking he slipped his fingers into one of the spaces between the middle buttons and tugged roughly, popping it open.

"Son of a— " Oliver began, only to swallow hard in mid-sentence and stop himself.

Marcus' fingers were warm and felt amazing against his skin. Despite the harsh treatment his neck was receiving, the touch on his chest was surprisingly gentle. The contrastingly callused surface of Marcus' fingertips on his soft skin sent a chill up his spine.

As Flint explored his chest Oliver found his hands moving down the older one's back, until they were back at the hem. But instead of leaving them there, this time they slipped up and underneath. Unlike the other's, Oliver's fingertips were cold, and caused Marcus to twitch just slightly. It didn't deter him from continuing with what he was doing.

"Fuck," Marcus murmured, sounding slightly surprised. Now he was nuzzling Oliver's neck, reveling in the feeling of the soft skin of the Keeper. His fingers brushed up and over his chest, down his flat stomach and around his navel. There, though, the skin felt different. Marcus brushed his fingertip over what felt like a thin, long scar that ran just below Oliver's bellybutton.

"Scraped by a pitchfork," Oliver explained quietly.

He wasn't going to ask. Instead he simply returned his attention to the other's neck, kissing along his jaw line once again until he met with Oliver's earlobe. He bit it, perhaps a bit rougher than he should have, causing the younger one to growl some, but then nuzzled it with his nose.

Without much thought to it, Marcus wrapped his left arm around Wood's waist, bringing their hips together for the first time. Their height difference was mostly in the torso, as Marcus' was longer than Oliver's, giving him an inch or so on the Keeper. Doing this caused both of their stomach's to do flips. Arousal had hit them long ago, and due to not being touched, they now had an awfully hard pair of erections that were extremely sensitive to touch.

Marcus pulled back from Oliver's neck and locked his eyes with the other's. Briefly Wood's arms had tightened around Flint's back, which had only heightened the sensation. Now they were holding each other, hips pressed against each other and their hearts racing. Not saying a word, the darker haired boy grinded his hips against Oliver's. Though he had managed to keep his moan to a low grunt, the younger one's came out much more vocally.

He rather liked that sound.

Marcus grinded their hips together once again, only harder, as he was intent on getting the sound to come out another time. That he managed to do, and he reveled in it. His stomach did another small flip, but he kept himself under control.


Oliver pressed his head back against the locker, meeting Marcus' grind with one in return. Whatever nails he had were now beginning to dig into the other boy's pale skin. Though neither was really quite aware that they were mostly just blatantly humping each other, it didn't matter; their grinding became more frequent, harder, their breath only becoming more and more ragged. Somewhere throughout their movements Marcus had leaned forward again, burying his face into the warm, sweet-smelling neck of the younger boy. His back was arched but their hips never left the other boy's.


It was too late. Oliver had tried to say something but it had seemed to be a waste. His stomach was making strange leaping feelings and a very warm sensation suddenly took him over. He was experiencing his orgasm. Making a few incoherent but highly aroused, higher-pitched moans than before, he dug his nails deeply into Marcus' back. Oliver finally stopped moving a few moments after panting, shaking and clinging to the larger boy.

Moments later, Marcus found himself succumbing to his orgasm as well. Though his lasted somewhat longer than Oliver's he, too, was panting and shaking afterward, holding the other against him, but weakly.