Blah

Ambrosia

Mon, 25 Aug 2008 22:21:25 GMT

Title: Ambrosia
Pairing: Will/Skandar
Rating: PG-15, light R?
Summary: He hadn’t intended to feed that night. However, when he spied the sweetest little thing in red converses he had ever seen walking down the street…he really couldn’t help himself.
Warnings: AU, Slash, VAMPIRE!WILL
Author's note: This is a request for gogothgirl on the Narnia Kink Meme. She wanted Vampire!Will and I (hopefully) delivered. This is AU, where Skandar is still an actor but no Chronicles of Narnia films have been made (because I just can't imagine Peter played by anyone else but William). In my mind, at the beginning of this Skandar has just finished a stage production. You're free to imagine anything you like.

I must say, I think this is the first Will/Skandar Vampire!fic that has ever been written. If not, please point any out to me. Also, no sequels are planned at this time. That's not to say I won't ever write a sequel to this, but at this point in time it's not on my to-do list.

“Sorry guys, I’ve got to get going now.”

“Aw, really? Good bye then!”

“Later Skandar!”

“Hey Skan, sure you don’t need a ride?”

“And trust your driving, Barnes? No thanks. Besides, it’s just a few blocks. I’ll live.”

“Well, if you’re sure. Oh, and don’t forget, auditions next Monday!”

“Right. Bye Ben!”

Skandar waved to his remaining fellow cast mates before heading off down the street. He yawned tiredly, stretching his arms above his head, before checking his watch: 2:03 A.M.

“Maybe I should have said yes to that ride after all…” he murmured to himself. Shrugging, he continued on his way. What was there to fear in the night?

~*~*~*~*~*~

He hadn’t intended to feed that night. Sure, he hadn’t had a satisfying meal in a couple weeks—just a few mouthfuls here and there from some rather flirtatious women—but there was no pressing need.

However, when he spied the sweetest little thing in red converses he had ever seen walking down the street…he really couldn’t help himself. And when he noticed several shady characters eyeing the boy interestedly from a nearby alley, he decided it was for the best anyway.

Didn’t they always say, “No dessert before dinner”? Dropping from the rooftops behind the would-be attackers, he decided to follow the rule, if only to control himself. With creamy, freckled skin and chocolate eyes, the boy could only possibly be a treat.

And he wanted to savor him.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Commotion in a nearby alley alerted him to the fact that something was afoot.

Skandar paused in his steps, curious but wary. The light of the streetlamp didn’t extend far enough for him to see anything, but it sounded like a fight was going on. Before he could react, a man came barreling out of the alley with a shout, skin white as a sheet and a dark stain on his clothes. Skandar tensed to defend himself, but the man paid him no mind, running as fast as his legs would take him down the street and out of sight.

Skandar couldn’t help but stare after him, until he noticed the silence. Turning around slowly, he eyed the now quiet alley with suspicion. While he was still incredibly curious, the more practical part of him said he should get home as soon as possible, lest he be attacked himself. He was just about to do so, when another man stumbled out of the alley and collapsed to his knees.

Skandar was running to the figure before he even registered it.

“Hey!” he said as he got closer. “You all right?”

He knelt next to the stranger, noting that his clothes were much nicer than that of the other man. While the previous man had been wearing clothes more suited to that of a mugger (perhaps he was. It would explain a few things), this man was wearing a black button-down shirt and had a blazer over his arm. Both looked well made, though the shirt had a ragged cut on the arm and, worriedly, Skandar could see blood through the tear.

“Sir? Sir, can you hear me?” Skandar said, reaching his hand out and touching the man’s shoulder. The man’s head snapped up from its bowed position, golden hair thrown back to reveal bright blue eyes, which locked on Skandar with an intensity that was both surprising and a little unnerving. “Sir?” he prompted again, hastily removing his hand.

“Sorry,” the man said, giving Skandar a somewhat shaky grin. “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? That looks like a nasty cut on your arm.” Skandar noted, but didn’t mention, that the man’s eyes appeared a little glazed and he seemed to be inhaling heavily through his nose.

“Oh…” the stranger trailed off, looking down at the cut blankly. “It’s not terrible. I think the bleeding has already stopped.” He prodded at the wound, not even wincing at what must have been a sharp sting. “One of those men must have got me when I wasn’t looking.”

“What happened exactly?” Skandar asked.

“It’s pretty much my own fault,” he said sheepishly, seeming to relax a bit. “I’m not from the area, you see. I was leaving a friend’s house and got myself lost. As I was walking I noticed these men following me, and they…they chased me through the alleys until they caught me over there,” he gestured to the alley he had emerged from.

“Well, you seem in okay condition, cut aside. What happened to the attackers?” Skandar said worriedly.

“Well,” here his tone took on a haughty air, “I’m quite tough, actually. I spent some time in New York taking boxing lessons a couple years ago. I had it sorted.”

“Obviously, since you’re not dead,” Skandar joked. His slight smile dropped, though, as his eyes landed on the cut again. “Still, do you have anyone you can call? I don’t have a car or I’d drop you off myself.”

He shrugged. “I think I dropped my phone a couple alleys back and I don’t have my friend’s number memorized either.” He looked around, frowning. “Well, if I wasn’t lost before, I definitely am now.” He looked up at Skandar helplessly.

Skandar bit his lip. On the one hand, this man was a complete stranger. On the other hand, he was injured, lost, and had nowhere to go. And is incredibly handsome…

He looked at the man again, instantly caught in bright blue eyes. He was trapped in that mesmerizing gaze, hypnotized, and before he could think he blurted out, “My flat isn’t that far away.”

The man smiled at him, and was it the lighting or did it look more like a pleased smirk?

“I mean, I couldn’t just leave you out here, all alone,” Skandar continued hastily, flustered for no apparent reason. “Why don’t we get you patched up and figure out the rest in the morning?”

The man nodded, taking the hand Skandar offered to help him to his feet. “Thank you,” he said, squeezing Skandar’s hand slightly before letting it go. Skandar shrugged, rubbing his tingling hand absentmindedly on the leg of his pants as they walked down the street.

“I’m Skandar, by the way,” he said suddenly. “Sorry, I don’t think I caught your name…”

The man grinned, showing off perfect white teeth. “William. But you can call me Will.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

He overestimated himself, he decided. He’d forgotten how much control he lost after a full feeding, so much so that he let one of the men escape as he pinned his friend to the wall, fangs sunk deep in his neck and an already drained body lying on the cement close by. He’d thought the escapee had scared away his true prey, the sound of panicked running loud in his ears. He’d thrown the body away in disgust, senses still reeling from the amount he had drunk, much more than he usually took in one setting. He’d stumbled from the alley, determined to give chase, determined to find that delectable little morsel even as his body rebelled, sending him to the ground.

That’s when he’d heard it.

“Hey!”

So the boy hadn’t run away after all. Interesting.

He had wanted to look up, wanted to respond sooner, but his senses were still too wild. He could smell the boy’s scent, keenly hear his beating heart, a quick thump-thump that echoed in his mind and made the predator in him growl. When the boy had touched him (when had he gotten so close?) he had nearly snapped then and there, unable to stop himself from staring at the younger male who was even more tantalizing up close.

Luckily he had been an actor before his death (or un-death, whatever they called it), and had managed to play up his injury (it was awkward to force his body from healing itself, but it was manageable) and helplessness enough to get what he wanted; or one step closer to what he wanted, anyway.

“Will, huh?” Skandar said. “It’s nice to meet you, um, circumstances aside that is.”

“Oh believe me, Skandar, the pleasure is mine…”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Skandar unlocked the door, stepping aside so Will could enter before him. “Just have a seat while I go find the first aid kit…um…wherever it is.”

After a quick search he managed to find it tucked behind his laundry hamper, and with a stop by the bathroom to wet a few cloths he returned to the living room to find his guest seated on the loveseat. “All right, we’ll need to roll up your sleeve so I can get a good look at that cut of yours, then we’ll get it cleaned up and bandaged.”

After a few moments with Will making no move to do as requested, Skandar realized that it would be both awkward and painful for the injured man to roll up the sleeve himself, and that he was waiting for Skandar to do it for him. With a small flush, embarrassed by his stupidity, Skandar sat down next to Will with a muttered, “Sorry, let me get that…”

He became somewhat worried when he noticed that a fair amount of blood had soaked the fabric, causing it to stick to Will’s skin nastily. But as he gently rolled the material upwards he was relieved to find that the wound appeared not to be bleeding anymore, just as Will had said. Skandar’s eyes looked to his face every time the fabric stuck, worried that he was causing pain, but he quickly looked away each time as he noticed that the man’s gaze was focused on him

It was a bit…unnerving.

The cut wasn’t so bad, he realized. It was relatively shallow, just somewhat long. After cleaning off a majority of the blood with a wet cloth, he gently applied a cream that was meant to stop infection before wrapping a bandage around it, tying it off with a small bow. Will examined his handiwork, testing the tightness of the wrap, before giving a small thanks.

Skandar nodded, cleaning up the materials he had used before going to his bedroom. There, he quickly stripped off his clothes and changed into some comfy pants and a soft, worn t-shirt. He checked his closet briefly, but resigned himself to the fact that all of his clothes would be too small on Will’s broader frame. He grabbed a spare blanket instead.

“Would you like something to drink?” he offered hospitably, unaware of the stare Will directed to his throat.

“You have no idea,” Will murmured huskily to himself, before changing his expression to something more neutral. “You wouldn’t happen to have any tea, would you?” he asked with a small grin.

“I think so, yeah.” Skandar tried very hard to ignore the way Will was sprawled out invitingly, digging around through his cabinets with a single-minded determination. “Is this good?” He held up a container for Will’s inspection.

The blond male beamed, and Skandar swore he could feel his pulse double in the wake of such an utterly charming look. “Oh excellent! My favorite!”

Skandar prepared their drinks, smiling a little to himself at Will’s enthusiastic babble about tea, which turned into a babbled questioning about Skandar’s favorite drink, which led to questions about Skandar in general, and ended with the two of them curled up comfortably in their respective seats (Will on the loveseat and Skandar on a cozy chair), swapping stories and generally just having a good time. Halfway through the conversation, Will found himself staring at Skandar’s eyes instead of his neck. Soon after that, he forgot his craving for Skandar’s blood entirely.

Really, if Skandar hadn’t leaned over to show Will the necklace he was wearing (a gift from an old cast mate in New Zealand), things might have ended quite innocently.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Strange, Will thought. How utterly, utterly strange.

How long had it been? How long since he last had a conversation with someone? Or better yet, one where he was completely absorbed and interested in what the other person was saying?

He honestly couldn’t remember.

Sitting in Skandar’s flat, talking together, laughing together, Will found himself relaxed and at peace, something that hadn’t happened in a very long time. He enjoyed talking with Skandar, liked being with him.

He liked him.

“See look, it’s greenstone,” Skandar said, holding up his necklace. “The carvings mean strength and overcoming life’s challenges. Would you like to see it?”

“Sure,” Will said, expecting Skandar to hand it to him.

He was completely unprepared for Skandar to get up from his chair, leaning over so that the neckline of his shirt slipped down enough to expose the hollow of his throat. Will froze.

“Go on, have a look,” said Skandar, oblivious.

And look he did. At the curve of Skandar’s shoulder and the dip of his throat. At his jaw line and pale pink lips. At his slightly tousled hair and deep brown eyes. At the freckles that dusted across his face, like stars sprinkled in a night sky. And when Will took a sharp breath through his nose, all he could smell was Skandar; clean and male and full of something that could only be described as life.

He couldn’t resist.

He took hold of the stone, gently pulling it (and in result, Skandar) down as though he were getting a closer look. He sniffed deeply, nearly drugged on the boy’s scent, eyeing the soft looking skin.

“Lovely,” he breathed, air puffing against Skandar’s skin, causing him to shiver. Skandar looked down sharply, right into Will’s eyes, and froze. Will knew what his eyes did to people; how ensnared they could become in his gaze. Keeping his eyes locked on Skandar’s, Will leaned up and gave the tiniest, most delicate lick to the boy’s bobbing Adam’s apple. Skandar let the breath he was holding whoosh out of him on a silent gasp.

They were moving closer together now, Skandar leaning down as Will sat up to meet him. Will could smell the stirrings of arousal in Skandar’s scent and it only fueled his own desire. Once the boy was seated in his lap he brought his hands up to run them down Skandar’s arms, trying to sooth the fine trembling that had taken hold of the boy’s body but only making it worse.

“Shh,” he hushed quietly. He brushed a lock of hair out of Skandar’s eyes, tracing the boy’s features with the tips of his fingers, before gently cupping his jaw. Will leaned in, brushing his lips across Skandar’s forehead, his cheeks, his eyelids, everywhere except his mouth. He leaned back, licking his lips to commit the taste to memory, while Skandar stared at him with wide, confused eyes. Will found himself quite endeared to the look and ran his fingers through the boy’s dark locks affectionately.

Then he kissed him.

Will could feel the tension in Skandar’s body and so kept the kiss chaste, a press of lips to lips. But when Skandar began to relax, returning the kiss instead of merely tolerating it, Will couldn’t keep it that way for long.

And really, Skandar’s surprised hum when he slipped his tongue inside his mouth didn’t sound particularly unwelcome either.

The kiss was amazingly good, much better than Will had anticipated. Skandar’s little hums of approval were deliciously sweet, and the way he twisted his tongue hinted at the mischievousness that he had heard in their earlier conversation. It was also extremely hot, but that was beside the point.

They broke apart briefly, and Skandar traced his tongue along Will’s lips before nibbling the full bottom lip delicately, a teasing but shy expression on his face as he did so. Will had just enough time to wonder when the seducer had become the seduced before his growing lust took over, causing him to clutch Skandar to him tighter, mouth pressing hard against the other boy’s and wringing a deep moan from that pale throat.

Skandar had unconsciously begun to rub himself against Will, a series of small groans vibrating against his lips. Will slid his hands up the back of Skandar’s shirt, taking his time to trace the soft skin there before running his hands back down and into the back pockets of his trousers, using the grip to press Skandar’s hips down a bit more firmly. The little whimpering moan only served to fuel his desire.

Skandar tore his lips away, head thrown back and panting for breath as his hips jerked harder against Will’s. It exposed his neck quite enticingly, the greenstone necklace a burst of color against his pale collarbone and drawing the eye’s attention. Will noted that Skandar was about as pale as he was, but seemed more so due to his dark hair and eyes. Then all such musings were forgotten in favor of the sound of Skandar’s pulse and the smell of the younger boy’s arousal.

He buried his face in Skandar’s neck, inhaling his scent deeply and licking at the skin there with swift swipes of his tongue. When Skandar arched his neck for better access, Will couldn’t help the mix of a pleased growl and moan that escaped him. He gave him a quick but thorough kiss that left the younger boy reeling before beginning to mouth at his neck again, pushing his own hips up into Skandar’s thrusts.

They were both panting now, Skandar clutching to Will desperately as Will gripped him back tightly, one hand buried in his hair and the other at the small of his back. Will was anxious now, waiting for the perfect moment, when Skandar’s arousal would be at its peak. So close. So close…

And then Will smelled a sharp increase in Skandar’s lust and felt him begin to tense, keening softly. With a snarl his fangs were out and buried in Skandar’s neck just as the boy locked in his arms, a cry escaping his lips at the sudden burst of pleasurable pain. Will groaned loudly.

So good…was all his mind could come up with, his own body tensing before relaxing as a wave of tingling pleasure washed over him. He had never tasted blood like Skandar’s before, so rich and sumptuous. Will moaned, taking several long drags before he could stop himself, infinitely grateful that he had drunk so much earlier. He would have drained Skandar completely otherwise. Even so, he still had to force himself away, moaning at the loss and licking at the puncture marks to get every last drop until they were closed.

He cradled Skandar to him, looking down fondly at the boy passed out in his arms. He felt completely sated (in several ways, he thought smugly) and wanted nothing more than to cuddle up with Skandar for a couple of hours at least, but a quick check showed that it would soon be dawn. He couldn’t risk it. Sighing, he carried Skandar to the bedroom, tucking him in and giving his forehead and lips one last kiss. Still he spent several moments just looking at the boy, tracing his features as he slept. He left as late as he could possibly risk, running through the streets to beat the rising sun. And even in the danger of being burned, all he could think was one thing.

Skandar…

~*~*~*~*~*~

Skandar woke up with an uncomfortable stickiness in his boxers and feeling as if he had had the best sleep in his life. And then he saw his clock and cursed.

“I’m so late!” he muttered to himself, taking a shower at lightening speed. He noticed a twinge to his neck when he turned it, but couldn’t find evidence of anything wrong when he checked the mirror. It was only as he was rushing through his kitchen that he remembered the previous night.

“Will?” he called, knowing in his heart that it was slightly useless. He tried to cover his confusion, hurt, and worry as he looked for something to eat, when he noticed the box of tea from the night before. A note was taped to it.

Seeming to forget about his apparent lateness, Skandar grabbed the box slowly (noticing that it seemed lighter, the thieving bastard…) and took off the note, reading the brief words over and over again with a strange mixture of apprehension and puzzlement (with a little dash of excitement) in his stomach. And then he remembered that he was supposed to be hurrying, cursing as he grabbed an apple and ran out the door, leaving the note to flutter harmlessly to the floor.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Across the city a blond haired man was snuggled in bed, dreaming of green against pale skin and honey brown eyes, anticipation curled in his belly and hope pounding in his chest where a heartbeat had long been absent.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Thanks for everything.

~Will

P.S. See you soon.

Crappy birthday and crappy birthday fic

Thu, 14 Aug 2008 23:55:32 GMT

Title: Worst Birthday Ever
Fandom: Xiaolin Showdown
Pairing: Very little hint of implied Chack
Rating: PG
Summary: Jack Spicer's birthday hasn't been the best.
Disclaimer: I do not own Xiaolin Showdown, so don't sue me
Author's note: So, apparently being ditched by a friend on your birthday is actually great incentive to write fic! I really wish I hadn't found that out...

So, point being, I wanted someone to get a happy ending to a miserable birthday, and if it's a fictional character, so what? Probably not the most original plot, but whatever.

Enjoy! (and send me cake...)

Worst. Birthday. Ever.

That’s all Jack Spicer could think as he trudged into his lab, ruined trench coat in one hand and broken heli-pack in the other. None of his birthdays had ever been incredibly good (who liked a party where other children were paid to come?), but this had to top the list in birthdays that just plain blowed.

Oh, it had started out innocently enough. Sleeping in until noon (evil geniuses need their beauty sleep!), a late breakfast of French toast with a banana smoothie, and even a staticky rendition of “Happy Birthday to you” from his robots as he’d entered the lab (which, of course, he had set into their programming years ago).

But, as with most good things in his life, it couldn’t last.

An alert had soon informed him of an activated Shen-Gong-Wu, only about 30 miles away. Happily surprised, he had quickly shouldered his heli-pack, grabbed the Monkey Staff, and was on his way with a few of his robots, determined that he couldn’t possibly lose today of all days.

Which was why it sucked spectacularly when he did.

He had gotten his ass handed to him by the monks—losing the Monkey Staff and completely tearing up his coat in the process—and had to watch as they completely destroyed his robots again. His heli-pack had malfunctioned half-way home, which he would have been able to fix if he hadn’t landed on it after plummeting through the air, meaning he had to trudge the rest of the way home. And because God seemed to hate him so much, it had started to rain.

Hard.

When he had finally made it home, shivering and wet, he had been surprised to receive a note left by his parents. After a quick, uncomprehending read, he threw it away in disgust.

Jack,

Gone to Paris. Will be gone for a month.

Also, it’s your cousin Megan’s birthday in a week. Don’t forget to send her a card.

Signed,

Mother and Father

So here he was; cold, wet, dead tired, and in pain. He had lost his favorite Wu and his best coat, had to completely rebuild his heli-pack, and could feel his eyeliner running down his face. He was miserable and alone.

And not one person had said happy birthday to him.

So, yeah.

“Worst birthday ever,” Jack murmured to himself. He dropped his things, uncaring where they landed as he rubbed his arms, trying to get the feeling back into them. He sighed, wondering what would be best: A hot drink, a hot meal, or something that could get him completely wasted.

Having decided, he was about to call for a Jack-bot when he noticed something on his work station. Cautious and more than a little irritated (what now?!), he stomped over to see what it was.

He discovered two packages. One was long and slender, wrapped in plain brown paper, while the other was a medium-sized wooden box. Nothing special, he noted, but potentially dangerous. Hesitantly unwrapping the longer item first, he couldn’t help the large smile that broke across his face nor his loud squeal of delight.

“The Monkey Staff!” he cried, cuddling the Wu close. “I thought the monks had you!” Though he wondered how it got here, he ignored the thought for the moment in the face of his happiness. Giving it one last nuzzle, he set it down, now more curious than suspicious of what the last container held. He opened it carefully.

“Oh wow,” he said in awe, eyes wide at the box’s contents.

It was a dragon statue. A fierce looking thing, carved with the most careful detail, right down to the miniscule eyes and fangs. It wasn’t particularly big, able to fit in both his hands, but the real kicker is what he suspected it was made of.

He grabbed a few tools, examined it, tested it, all results leading to support his conclusion.

“Black diamond,” he breathed.

And there was something else too, he realized. Close contact with Shen-Gong-Wu and magical beings had given him sort of a sixth sense, a way of being able to tell if something was even the least bit magic.

And right now, his senses were screaming that this thing reeked of powerful Heylin magic.

He was honestly surprised he hadn’t felt it sooner.

Still numb with shock, Jack looked back over to the open box, noticing a small scroll he hadn’t seen before. Grabbing it carefully, he opened it to find several characters in Chinese. It was simple, seemed only added as an afterthought, but it warmed Jack thoroughly and made him happier than a Shen-Gong-Wu or priceless magical statue ever could.

It said, Happy Birthday.

And in his mountain palace, Chase Young looked through his Eye-Spy orb to see Jack Spicer clutching a scroll and muttering, “Best birthday ever,” over and over, and smiled smugly.

Of Jealousy

Sun, 25 May 2008 05:34:06 GMT

Title: Of Jealousy
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Marcus Flint/Oliver Wood, surprise at the end
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Slash. Don't like, don't read.
Summary: Viktor Krum's arrival at Hogwarts sparks interest in Oliver Wood. Consequently, it also sparks jealousy in Marcus Flint.
Author's note: This is something I've been slowly scribbling over the course of a year. It's AU, with Marcus and Oliver being a year lower than they are in the books, meaning that book four is their final year in Hogwarts, not book three.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, so don't sue me

“It’s Viktor Krum!”

Oliver’s head whipped around.  “What about Krum?”

“He’s here!  Blimey, I had no idea he went to Durmstrang!  Actually, I had no idea he was still in school at all…”

Ignoring his companion, Oliver searched the faces of the Slytherin table.  He bypassed the black robes of the Hogwarts students, stopping at the young man sitting near the end of the table.

“Merlin’s beard…” Oliver breathed in awe.  He took several deep breaths, clamping down on the urge to vault himself over to the Slytherin table.  His common sense said he would embarrass himself; his Quidditch captain senses that he should get Harry (as Gryffindor’s Seeker) to do it instead.

He was about to do so when he locked eyes with Marcus Flint from across the room.  Flint smirked (gnarled, crooked teeth giving him a fiendish look), before turning to say something to none other than Viktor Krum.

Oliver burned with jealousy as Krum replied back.

Flint’s eyes continually turned to him, taunting him, and Oliver turned away to focus back on his dinner.  It didn’t work, and pictures of a smug Flint flashed through his mind.  He swore to himself then that he would talk to the international Seeker, even if it killed him.
__________________________________________________________________

For Marcus Flint, Quidditch was a stress reliever; a time where he could release some of his pent-up anger and frustration in the form of flying, hurling a Quaffle, and ordering his teammates around.  With all the trouble of school, Quidditch was the only thing that kept him from going mad.

And then Dumbledore announced that Quidditch was cancelled for the year.

In Marcus’s opinion, the whole Tri-Wizard Tournament was a waste of time.  There could be more important things going on, like Quidditch practice, reclaiming the Quidditch cup, taunting Gryffindors…

…taunting a specific Gryffindor captain.

With Quidditch cancelled, Marcus found he hardly ever saw Wood outside of class (they were in the same year now, meaning they actually had a few classes together).  Normally he would be telling Wood how he was going to slaughter him in their up-and-coming match, whispering snide remarks as they would pass each other in the halls.  It was always so fun to watch those brown eyes light up in anger, and how Wood’s lips would purse into almost a pout as he tried so hard to ignore him…

Besides, it wasn’t like he was going to enter himself into some stupid contest where he could get himself killed.  That was a Gryffindor’s job.

Still, he had to admit that having a professional Quidditch player staying at Hogwarts was interesting.  He’d even gotten to talk to Krum a couple of times (though the Bulgarian seemed to be one of few words).  Of course, he didn’t fawn over Krum.  He’d leave that to Wood.

Oh yes, Marcus had known that Wood would go nuts over Viktor Krum.  He saw the way Wood watched the man’s every move, trying to find the nerve to talk to him.  Really, Wood was like a girl with a crush for crying out loud…

…damn he wished Quidditch wasn’t cancelled.
__________________________________________________________________

Oliver sighed contently as he landed, dismounting his broom and dropping the Quaffle with the other supplies.  Just because Quidditch was cancelled for the year, it didn’t mean he couldn’t brush up on his skills every now and then.  He was just about to put the box away, when he caught sight of a figure by the stands.  The waning sunlight cast a shadow on the person’s face, hiding his or her identity.

“Who’s there?” Oliver called out.  “Look, I was just leaving, so if you want to use the pitch-”

“I vas just vatching,” said the figure, Bulgarian accent thick in his voice.

Oliver knew then that is was one of the Durmstrang students, but he nearly had a heart attack as Viktor Krum walked up to him.

“Ve do not haff a pitch at Durmstrang,” the Bulgarian commented.  “This one is a bit smaller than I am used to, but it is…how do you say…homey?  Comfortable?”  He looked around the pitch, nodding to himself in satisfaction.  “It is…nice.”

“Y-yeah,” Oliver managed to choke out.  He cleared his throat, speaking more confidently as he warmed to his favorite topic.  “The playing conditions are generally good, though you have to watch out for the weather sometimes.  I’ve played here for most of my time at Hogwarts and I’ve grown attached to it.”

“You play Keeper?”

“Yes, and I’ve been captain of the Gryffindor team since fourth year.”

Krum nodded.  “You are very passionate about Quidditch, yes?  I can hear it in your voice.”

“W-well…” Oliver stammered, blushing.

“You love it, yes?”

“Quidditch is my life,” Oliver said passionately.

“You haff the drive for it,” Krum said matter-of-factly.  “You vill do vell.”

Oliver continued to pack the equipment, face nearly glowing with pride.  Krum helped him put it away, and together they walked to Hogwarts for dinner, chatting amiably as they went.

Neither noticed Marcus Flint watching the entire time, a thunderous expression on his face.
__________________________________________________________________

“So Wood, you and Krum seem to have cozied up to each other quite nicely, huh?”

Oliver froze midstep, turning slowly towards the voice he hadn’t heard all year.

“What the hell are you talking about Flint?”

Marcus sneered.  “Oh, nothing.  Just making an observation on how you throw yourself at celebrities.  Tell me, did you used to get detention with Lockhart so you could offer to suck him off?  Or maybe you just play with Potter in the locker room showers.”

Oliver couldn’t help his mouth from opening in shock.  However, it closed in a snap, a furious expression taking up residence on his face instead.  He stormed up to the Slytherin, fists clenched as though to restrain himself from punching the still sneering face.

“What?” he said in a deadly whisper.

Marcus gave a cruel smirk to the other boy, though his eyes gleamed in suppressed fury.  “Don’t deny it.  I’ve seen how you talk with Krum, batting your eyelashes like a Knockturn Alley whore.  Did he promise to get you a spot in professional Quidditch, a recommendation perhaps?  Tut tut Wood.  I never thought you’d be one to sleep your way to the top.”

By now, Oliver was shaking with rage.  He jabbed a finger to the other boy’s chest.  “I don’t know who you think you are or where the hell you get off making up such shit.  I’ve talked to Krum what, three, four times?  So that automatically means I’m throwing myself at him?  And why are you watching me?”  The last sentence was said in more confusion than anything else.

Marcus shoved Oliver away, glaring at him.  “I’m not watching you Wood.  But I can’t exactly help noticing when you two blatantly flirt with each other in the middle of the Great Hall.”

“Merlin Flint, you almost sound like you’re jealous,” said Oliver tiredly, no longer in the mood to fight.  He rubbed his temples to stop the oncoming headache.

This time Marcus shoved him hard, sneering again.  “Don’t flatter yourself Wood.”  He walked away without another word.

Oliver stared after him, until a new voice said, “I did not mean to cause such strife.”  Viktor came around the corner, looking apologetic and a little uncomfortable.

Oliver couldn’t help the flush that covered his cheeks, whether from the slight crush he had on the Bulgarian or from what he had apparently overheard, he wasn’t sure.  “It was nothing,” Oliver muttered.  “I’m not sure what Flint was getting at anyway.”

Viktor eyed him strangely.  “Vell, who vould not be angry if they thought their lover was seeing someone behind their back?”

“L-lover?!” Oliver choked out.

Viktor was still looking at him quizzically, even more uncomfortable than he had been before.  “Yes.  You are lovers, correct?”

“No!” Oliver yelled.  “Flint hates my guts!”  Apparently, Krum has heard less of the conversation than he had thought.  “Trust me, there’s nothing between us.”

Viktor turned to leave, but Oliver heard one last muttered comment.  “I am not so sure about that.”
__________________________________________________________________

Marcus was leaning against the wall, staring out a nearby window.  He was wrapped in his cloak and scarf to fight the frosty air, but he didn’t notice the chill, so caught up in his thoughts.  When someone cleared their throat behind him, he was startled.  Turning, he found one of the few people he least desired to see.

“What do you want?” he spat.

Viktor ignored the biting words.  “You are jealous,” he stated simply.

Though he knew exactly what the other man was talking about, Marcus would never admit it.  “Jealous of what?”

Krum stared at him, and Marcus knew he didn’t believe the words either.  “We haff done nothing, and neither do we plan to.  Yet you continue to push him avay.”

“What Wood and I do is none of your business,” Marcus snarled, dropping the act.  “Just as what you and Wood do is none of mine.”

Seeing that Viktor’s eyes were no longer on him, but instead out the window, Marcus turned to see what was so interesting.

He saw two tall redheads (had to be the Weasely twins) and none other than Oliver Wood walking across the courtyard.  They were wrapped in their thickest cloaks, Gryffindor scarves around their necks.  Looking closer, Marcus saw that Wood’s lips were set in a grin and his cheeks were flushed red from the cold.  His hair looked messy, probably tossed playfully by the biting wind that blew from time to time.

He watched in amusement as Wood reached down to pack some snow, standing stealthily to pelt both Weasleys in the backs of their heads.  The redheads yelled simultaneously, before taking off after the escaping attacker.  Wood’s clear laugh could be heard even from the fourth floor window.

It wasn’t until Marcus turned around and saw Krum’s smug look that he realized that he had a small smile on his face.  It quickly changed to a scowl.

“Fuck off,” he snapped.  Surprisingly, Krum did so, though he still looked smug.  Marcus waited until he was sure the Bulgarian was gone, before chancing another look out the window.

The three boys seemed to have come to a truce, though Wood looked a little worse for the ware.  Suddenly, a boy came up to them (Lee Jordan, he thought), and he gestured for the twins to follow him.  They did so with a wave to their captain, who merely shooed them onward.  The Gryffindor stood alone, contemplating for a moment, before seating himself on a nearby bench.

Marcus wasn’t sure how long he stood there, watching Oliver Wood, but as the Keeper got up to leave, he noticed that it was much colder and darker than when he had arrived.  Shivering, Marcus left for dinner.
__________________________________________________________________

Oliver watched Viktor pull Hermione Granger from the lake with much less disappointment than he thought he would feel.  Over the last few months, his crush on the Bulgarian had dwindled down to nothing more than admiration for his Quidditch skills, and seeing what Viktor would miss most only solidified the feeling.

The crowd’s shocked reaction was priceless, especially the group of girls who normally followed Viktor everywhere.  Some looked sick, others looked furious, and a vast majority looked near tears.

Chuckling, Oliver turned away from the hysterical girls, only to notice a pair of dark eyes scrutinizing him closely.  Flint was giving him a puzzled look, eyes darting from him, to Viktor and Hermione, and back again.  Oliver grinned, knowing it would confuse the other boy even more, and turned to head back inside after making sure that Harry had made it to the surface as well.  He missed the thoughtful look that overcame the Slytherin’s face and the fire in his eyes.
__________________________________________________________________

“What’s gotten into you Marcus?” Adrian asked.  They were in the Slytherin common room, and the two boys had been playing Exploding Snap.  The only problem was that Marcus had been zoning out for nearly the entire game.

“Nothing,” he muttered, mind still elsewhere.

Adrian sighed, throwing down his cards and standing up.

“Hey, where’re you going?” Marcus asked, finally snapping out of it.

“I’m not wasting my time if you’re not going to pay attention,” he said.  With that, he left for their dorm.

Growling in frustration, Marcus stood as well.  After a few minutes thought, he decided to go flying.  That would, hopefully, take his mind off his current puzzle.

Sometime later, Marcus dove and twisted through the air.  He didn’t mind the lack of a Quaffle in his hand, content to feel the evening spring air whip by his face.  It was only as the sun began to set that he landed, though he didn’t immediately leave.  Instead, he lay down on the grass, staring up as the stars began to appear.

From his place in the stands, Oliver watched Marcus Flint.  He saw him stretch, shirt riding up to show his toned stomach, and eyed the pronounced biceps that came from being a Chaser.  He saw the pensive look on the Slytherin’s face, though the rest of his body was relaxed from fatigue.  Sweat glimmered on his brow.

Oliver trudged back to Hogwarts with a conflicted feeling on his face and in his heart.
__________________________________________________________________

“Are you sure he’s okay?” Harry asked.

“Well, now that you mention it…”George said.

“Wood has seemed a little strange,” continued Fred.

“I mean, we thought it was the lack of Quidditch-”

“-except that he practices every week anyway-”

“-masochistic nut that he is-”

“-so it can’t be that…”

“Maybe he just misses the little spats with the Slytherins!”

“Of course!” Fred said excitedly.  “He hasn’t been able to take out any aggression!”

“But what can we do to help?” asked George thoughtfully.

“Well, unless you plan on trapping him in the locker room with Marcus Flint so they can beat the tar out of each other, I don’t see what you can do,” said Harry.  “Oh, there’s Ron!  See you guys later.”

As Harry left, the twins turned to each other.  Both had mischievous smiles on their faces.
__________________________________________________________________

“What happened?!” said Oliver, looking around in dismay.

The ground of the Quidditch pitch was no longer flat and smooth.  What seemed to be vast hedges were rising from the ground, disrupting the normally perfect ground.

Oliver felt like crying.

“Oliver!” two voices called.

Said boy turned around just in time for a pair of redheads to come crashing into him, knocking him to the ground.  After the world stopped spinning, Oliver could focus on the two smiling faces above him.

“Wotcher Oliver!”

“Harry told us about the pitch-”

“-supposed to be something to do with the tournament-”

“-a maze, I think-”

“-we tried to warn you-”

“-before you had a heart attack-”

“-but it’s too late now, I guess.”

“Huh?” was all that Oliver could come up with to reply.

Both Weaselys sighed, reaching down to help their fallen captain to his feet.  As soon as he was standing, Oliver seemed to regain his wits.

“So you’re telling me that they completely destroyed our pitch for the bloody tournament?!”

“Yeah,” said George.

“Pretty much,” added Fred.

“I don’t believe this…” Oliver trailed off.

The twins exchanged a quick look, before Fred said, “Yeah, and this isn’t even the worst bit.”

“What?!  How could they possibly do worse than this?!” He gestured to the uneven ground.

“You should see what they did to the locker rooms,” George said, giving Fred a sly look.  It was completely missed by their captain, so caught up in his rage.

“The locker rooms!” Oliver gasped.  “Oh Merlin!”

“Yeah.”

“We’d describe it to you-”

“-but it’s so horrible-”

“-we can’t bear to talk about it.”

“I better go have a look then,” said Oliver, face both resigned and worried.

“Go look at the Slytherin ones first.”

“Yeah, it’s the worst out of all of them.”

“Serves the snakes right,” Oliver snorted, but changed his path to lead towards said locker room obligingly.  Reaching his destination, Oliver poked his head in through the door, scared at what he’d find.

Everything looked normal.

“What the hell kind of joke is-” Oliver began, only to be pushed completely into the room.  Even as he whirled around, Oliver heard several locking charms being placed on the door, and as he tried the knob, he knew it was too late.  He was locked in.

“Hey!  Let me out!” he yelled, banging his fists against the door.  “This isn’t funny!  Open the door!  You listening to me?”

He was greeted with silence.

Cursing devious redheads (and twins in particular), Oliver took a seat near the lockers.  Sighing, he resigned himself to waiting.

“What are they playing at?” he wondered out loud.  Normally the twins liked to cause more public mayhem, always keen on getting a laugh.  Unless they were planning to bring people all the way down to the pitch to mock Oliver, he couldn’t understand what their motive was.

Oliver pondered the issue for at least fifteen minutes, until the sound of voices broke him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah-”

“-in there.”

“This had better be-”

The door opened to reveal Marcus Flint, who was shocked at the sight of Oliver.  “Wood, what the hell-”

Behind Flint, Oliver could see two mischievously smiling faces.  “Look out!  Don’t let them-”

But it was too late.

In the space of a heartbeat the twins had shoved Marcus into the room and locked the door behind him.

“Hey!” Flint yelled, tugging on the door.  “You bastards!  Open the door!”

“It’s no use,” said Oliver, sighing.

“Like hell I’m just going to sit on my arse until they come back!  I’m getting out of here!”  He took out his wand.  “Alohomora!”

Nothing happened.

“Did you honestly expect that something as simple as alohomora would work?  Please, I may hate their guts right now, but even I’ll admit that the twins are geniuses in their own rights.”

“Would you kindly put a sock in it?  I figured I might as well test it anyway,” snapped Marcus.  He sat down across from Wood, huffing at the unfairness of it all.  “So what do we do now?” he asked.

“I don’t know.  Wait until they come back or the spells wear off, I guess,” Oliver replied.

There was a long stretch of silence between the two boys, made even more awkward by the memory of their last conversation all those months ago.  Admittedly curious, Marcus eventually ventured to ask, “So, how does it feel to be dumped for a Mudblood?  Not crying over a pair of Krum’s socks every night, are you?”

Oliver glared.  “Don’t call her that,” he snapped.  “And considering that we were never dating in the first place, I think I’m doing just fine.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow.  “Snappy little bugger, aren’t you?  Why so defensive about it if there was nothing going on?”

“Because I’m sick of you bringing it up!” Oliver finally yelled.  He stood up, placing himself directly in front of Flint.  “Why the fascination with my love life?  Why the obsession over me and Viktor Krum?  What is your problem?”

Marcus stood as well, a sneer already on his lips.  “Shut up.”

“No!”  Oliver shoved the other boy.  “Not until you tell me why you’re acting like this!”

Marcus shoved back hard, pushing Wood into the wall.  “It’s nothing.  Just drop it.”

With a snarl, Oliver drew back his fist to punch the Slytherin hard in the face.  It was caught by Flint, who threw his own punch into Wood’s stomach.  He doubled over with a wince, but recovered quickly enough to kick out at Marcus’s shin.

The fight continued until Marcus had the Keeper pinned to the wall, using his greater weight to hold him down.  Oliver was panting and had a split lip, which he licked at absentmindedly as he struggled to throw the other boy off of him.  Marcus appeared fine, if a little disheveled, but could feel the beginnings of a large bruise on his side.  Their faces were inches apart.

“You want to know why it bugs me?” Marcus finally snapped.  “Well fine then!”  There was a strange glint in his eyes, a certain kind of madness to his air that was both intimidating and captivating.  Oliver couldn’t look away.

Marcus smirked, but it was bitter and only highlighted the fury in his gaze.  “I hate Viktor Krum.  Hated him since he got here.  Hated him from the moment I saw you looking at him like he was Merlin himself.”

Oliver made to say something, but Marcus growled and gripped him harder.  He kept his mouth shut.

“Fuck it pissed me off to see you drooling like that.  But I figured, hey, let him look.  It’s not like Krum will look back.  So imagine my surprise when I go down to the pitch and there the two of you are, talking like old chums, walking together like it’s the most normal thing in the world!  Like you’ve been doing it for years!”

Marcus shivered and was silent for a moment.  His eyes spoke of countless nights tossing and turning, imagining another’s hands on the Keeper, touching what he was never allowed to touch, always craved to touch.  Of dreams kept locked away until a private moment, either behind bed curtains or beneath the warm spray of a shower.  Of countless things that would never come to be.

His eyes revealed everything that Wood could relate to.

When Flint spoke again, it was a heated whisper.

“Fuck you, Wood.  Fuck you and international Quidditch Seekers and-”

Oliver’s mouth silenced the somewhat hysterical mumbling.

With an animalistic snarl, Marcus took control, kissing Oliver as if it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.  He pried the other boy’s mouth open, tongue staking claim to every cranny.  As he switched to attacking the column of the Keeper’s throat, Marcus heard Oliver mumbling things like, “Idiot troll” and “Stupid, jealous Slytherins” and “Possessive bastard”.  He bit his cut lip to shut him up.

As they were beginning to lower themselves to the floor, there was a pronounced click that startled them into breaking apart.  Panting, they turned to the door, where the sound had come from.

“What was that?” Oliver asked.

Marcus shrugged, detaching himself from the other boy so he could walk to the door.  When he tried the handle, he discovered it to be unlocked.

“Huh.  That’s weird,” he said.  He locked around outside, but could find no trace of anyone.

“The spells must have worn off,” Oliver decided, coming to stand by Marcus.

“Yeah,” he replied.

Silently, they walked together out onto the pitch, stopping by the stands.  They faced each other awkwardly, until Marcus reached out to cup the back of Oliver’s neck, bringing him in for a quick, but thorough kiss that left them both breathless.

“So…um…yeah?” Marcus asked, though it couldn’t really be considered a question.

“Yeah,” Oliver agreed, and his smile seemed to say everything that they couldn’t bring themselves to voice.  He leaned in to peck Marcus on the lips, a way of challenging the Slytherin to try and take more, before breaking out into a run towards Hogwarts.  Marcus was stunned for a moment, before smirking and taking off after the other, never able to turn a challenge down (even if he wanted to).

As the sound of the two boys faded away, there was a shimmer as two others materialized out of no where in their place.  They grinned at each other.

“I can’t believe you were right!” said Harry.

Viktor smirked smugly.  “I told you.  Flint vas too jealous for his own good.”

Harry smiled slyly, leaning into Viktor.  “Reminds me of someone else I know.”

Viktor wrapped his arms around the younger Seeker.  “I vas not jealous.  Diggory had no good intentions towards you.  I put a stop to them.”

“At least I wasn’t the one Cedric pulled from the lake.”

“Now who is the jealous one?”

“I was not!”

“You know Herm-own-ninny vas only the one I vould miss most because she is a cover for you.  She keeps our secret, keeps you safe from unvanted attention.”

“I know, I know,” said Harry.  He smiled mischievously.  “Did I mention that Cedric asked me to Hogsmeade this weekend?”

“Oh really,” Viktor growled threateningly.

Harry’s laughter echoed around the pitch.

Testing....

Mon, 12 Nov 2007 05:16:30 GMT

1...

2...

3...

Hello! I'm obviously chippyofyonder (feel free to call me Chippy for short), and this is my livejournal! I'm normally found on fanfiction.net link and deviantart link but seeing how there are some fanfics I want to read on this site, I figured I might as well open an account here XD

Hmm...guess that's all I wanted to say for now.

*curls up to sleep*