Pairing/s: Oliver/Marcus, Hints of Fred/George, Fred/George/Lee

Warnings: Contains slash and voyeurism, donít like, donít read, donít flame.  Thx.

Disc: Donít own, donít sue

AN: Tis my first slash and my third lemon.  Iím not very good at it, but I do enjoy it, so you get to read it anyways. ^ ^Ö unless you donít want to.. then by all means donítÖ

Between Captains

By Kamikaze Mission


Itís not surprising, really. Iíll admit we probably had a chance, in fact, we had a damn good chance. But when they admitted our star seeker to the infirmary, I had pretty much thrown all hope of winning out the window. Most of the team did. Everybody except for our captain, and master of quidditch or no, heís insanely naïve when it comes to his own team.

As Iím looking over the faces of my teammates, I can see that my lack of surprise is pretty fairly unanimous. Angelina and the rest of the chasers look dead tired and disappointed like no other, but there isnít an ounce of surprise gracing their sweat covered faces. Glancing over the pitch again, my eyes fall on my twin brother and fellow beater. Fred looks like he wants to wring the necks of the other teams seeker, but he certainly doesnít look surprised.

Finally, my sight comes to rest on our captain. It will always amaze me how he can read the outcome of any quidditch match half way through and be perfectly correct, but he can never even begin to imagine that his own team might lose. Even with the most valuable player stuck in bed without a clue.

The look on Oliverís face right now is truly priceless, and if I had a camera I wouldnít hesitate to take a picture. Satan himself could come up from the ground, offer Oliver an executive position in hell and the look of shock wouldnít be half what it is this very moment.

Out in the middle of the pitch, I can see Oliver make a sluggish move to shake the Slytherin captainís hand. Flint takes the initiative and pulls Oliverís hand into what looks like a death grip. The expression on Oliverís face stays the same, as if he cant even feel his bones being crushed. Pulling hard, Flint brings him a foot closer and whispers something in Oliverís ear. Probably a threat.

I move simultaneously with Fred as we start towards the middle of the pitch, ready to back our captain up in a fight. Or in this case, fight for him. The chances of Oliver actually fighting back on his own right now are slim. Flint lets go of just as we reach them, and turns to leave. Before he does, however, he whispers one last thing to Oliver that I barely catch. "Donít forget Wood, Midnight."

"As if I would. You better be on time Flint." Oliver responds with a snarl, the first words Iíve heard him utter since we lost and the first change in emotion, too. Itís slightly unnerving, if truth be told.

Flint flashes us a smirk over his shoulder and disappears towards the Slytherinís locker room. I make a move to go after the bastard, but my brother holds me back. Instead, I turn and head towards our own locker room, with Oliver lagging behind. Whateverís happening at midnight, I know it canít be good, and I plan on finding out what it is.

"Oy, George. Letís go check on Harry after weíre done showering. If heís awake you know heíll want to know he outcome." My brother pulls me out of my Wood like reverie, and I give him a strange look.

"But Madame Pomfrey said he wouldnít be awake for at least a week. And even if he is, Harryís not dense, heíll know who won."

"You never know brother dear, you never know." Fred shoots me a wink and I catch on.

He heard Flint as well as I, and probably has the same intentions. God knows our entire house will be celebrating tonight, no matter the outcome. Gryffindors love a chance to party, and while we lost, it was a damn close match for having such a handicap. Three hundred to three hundred seventy-five. Like I said, it was damn close. Probably one of the closest in Hogwarts history. But while the Slytherins have a terrible defense, Flint being their only chaser with any real talent, and a keeper thatís nearly afraid of the quaffle, their seeker is quite excellent. Second only to Harry, really. And as hard as it is for me to admit, Draco Malfoy is quite the flyer. It was to our advantage that the snitch didnít show itself until a good while into the match, but when it did Draco was on it quicker than you can say Quidditch.

And now that the team is showered and dressed like normal students, weíre all heading back to the castle. Angelina, Katie and Alicia on their way to the Tower to receive their compliments and party, Oliver on his way to the bathroom to take another shower and probably try and drown himself before midnight, and Fred and I to the Ďhospital wingí.

Now, are we really going to the hospital wing? I doubt it, as Fred has turned the corner and is currently heading to the library instead. Good boy, no one will even think of looking for us there, and believe me, they WILL be looking for us. Whatís a party without the Weasley twins? Horrid, thatís what. But theyíll survive with just Lee for entertainment tonight, for we have much more important matters.

As we enter the library, Madame Pince gives us a strange glare. Weasleys never enter the library without an ulterior motive, and we two Weasleys in particular avoided the library even when pranking. Iím fairly sure that the only one of us sheís ever liked is Percy. In fact, I think sheís also the only one who likes Percy at all, stuck up git that he is.

All of that is off topic, however, and we make our way to the backmost table, turning our chairs to the door, incase someone who is looking for us might wander in on accident. Wouldnít want that. Think of the headlines. "Weasley twins give up partying for the studious life of older brother.í Weíd be ruined.

Fred clears his throat, and I look up to see a mischievous glint in his eyes, one that Iím sure mine have rivaled many times before. Curious, this really isnít the time for pranking, is it? Maybe Iím wrong, but Iím pretty sure weíre here to discuss Flint and Wood and an appropriate course of action. "Did you hear Flint?" he asks.

The answer is obvious, and it goes unspoken as he continues, "What do you think is going to happen?"

"Well, Fred, judging by that bone crushing handshake that Flint gave Ol, and that nasty sneer, Iíd say he planned on beating our currently submissive captain to a pulp."

"Care to place gold on that one, brother?" Fredís smirk practically reeked of the phrase ĎI know something you donít knowí, and I knew my twin well enough to realize that he is very frequently right.

"Maybe, or maybe Iíd rather know what your is currently occupying your twisted little mind." My smirk matches his now, and I lean in close, eager to hear his theory on the ĎFlint vs. Woodí case.

As he quietly tells me his theory, my eyes widened. Why hadnít I seen this before now?! Iím insulted by my own lack of observation skills. A prankster of my skill and standing needs to be aware of everything that can be used against anyone, and this is a good deal of something! Tonight, Fred and I shall put his theory to the test, and if heís rightÖ letís just say that my view on life will be eternally changed.

We stay in the library just long enough to formulate an excuse if weíre caught, which is highly unlikely, but itís best to be safe, and a plan of action incase my original theory is correct and Flint does indeed wish to turn Wood into a piece of tenderized meat. Then we head back up to the common room for a little festivity before the moment of truth.

As we enter, everyone is partying wildly, not hindered in the least by the loss of their normal entertainment. A few heads turn, and they greet us with enthusiasm, asking why weíre so late, and why we werenít her to start the party. Itís easy enough to brush off their questions, and we head over to the girls of the team. "Angelina, baby, way to ride that broomstick today." Ah, the Weasley charm, something both my brother Fred and I inherited from our older siblings.

The girls all giggle at Fredís comment, and Angelina gives him a suggestive wink, "Glad you noticed, baby." She then proceeds to punch him on the shoulder rather hard.

Fred just pouts like a little boy, causing the girls to giggle yet again. You wouldnít think they could be so feminine from watching them play quidditch. The transformation from field to common room is an amazing feat that has most male players perplexed.

We wander away to terrorize some other innocent victim and leave our teammates to their relative peace. Lee is over at a table on the far side of the room, and he hands us drinks and gives Fred a smirk. "That Angelina sure is foxy."

Fred agrees with him and they start a conversation on the female gender. Glancing down at my watch, I literally jump up from my position on the floor. Itís nearly quarter Ďtil midnight, and we still have to get the map! I race up to our room and snatch the marauders map out of my trunk. Handy little bugger it is.

Fred is waiting at the bottom of the staircase for me, and we slip away from the still raging party unnoticed. Through the portrait hole, down the hall to the left, up the second moving staircase into the fourth floor corridor, and straight down to the stairway leading to a little known tower that was occasionally used by Professor Sinister for some of her more advanced classes. That was where the little bubble on the map labeled ĎMarcus Flintí was located. Simple enough to find.

Grabbing Fred by the wrist, I start running to the moving staircases and wait for one to arrive at our destination. We shoot up it as soon as the loud ĎTHUMPí signals it in place. Fred peeks around the corner to make sure Oliver hasnít ascended the stairs, and signals to me to go on in. I sneak in and he follows my steps. As we make our way along the short corridor, the sound of metal hinges and a door shutting can be heard, and we take this as our signal to sprint. We reach the top of the stairs and Fred pulls out his wand to mutter a spell at the squeaky door.

Slowly, quietly, I open the door just enough for us to see whatís happening inside. The room is dimly lit by a torch at the far end and the dull glow of the stars outside. I can feel the stifling heat of the room wash over me, and it nearly makes me nauseous. Its hard to imagine why they picked here of all places, seeing as there are many other just as deserted and much airier rooms and towers. Hogwarts is, after all, a large place.

I can feel Fredís breath wash over my neck as he leans on me, trying to see whatís happening. Itís fast and heavy, like heís expecting something big and exciting to come of this meeting between captains. Well, yeah, I guess he is. But really, does he have to pant over it?

Inside the room, nothing has changed. Flint is still leaning against the wall by the torch, and the light playing on his face gives him an eerily demented look, complimented by a sneer. Right smack in the middle of the room is Oliver. His face isnít visible, because heís facing Flint, but judging by his posture his mood hasnít changed. Maybe Fred was wrong about this, maybe they are here to fight. Maybe not.

Fredís breathing speeds up even more. Flint has pushed himself off from the wall and is now circling Oliver like a lion. Tension is thick, thatís not hard to see. Oliverís stance has become a little straighter and a little more rigid. Heís practically shaking. From anticipation?

Flint stops in front of Oliverís face and concentrates on him, like heís looking for something. Obviously, he doesnít find it, as without any warning, he shoves Oliver with a good deal of force, and Wood falls hard. He doesnít even try and stop his descent. He just lets himself hit the hard, stone floor. That fall looked like it hurt, too.

Iím standing in an instant, but Fred just pulls me back down and lays on top of me so I canít move. "Wha-"

"Shhh!" He makes a violent gesture and I glare back.

Returning my gaze to the duo in the room, Iím shocked to see Flint pulling Oliver to his feet. My shock is amplified when I see him push the slimmer boy against the wall. His face is so close to Oliverís now that itís hard to see whatís happening. So hard, in fact, I almost miss the barely perceptible tug at Oliverís lips and slight narrowing of his eyes. Apparently, being too close to something makes it hard to see as well, because Flint doesnít notice it at all. He just shoves harder at Oliver, driving him up the wall hard enough that his feet are barely making contact with the ground.

Oliver still has no real reaction, and itís obvious Flint wants to change that. Itís like some twisted game that theyíre playing. And really it is. Oliver is no longer feeling just sorrow, thatís obvious. Well, maybe not to Flint, but to any on lookers it is.

Fred has stopped panting now. In fact, I think heís stopped breathing altogether. But I can feel his heartbeat against my back, and I donít think itís healthy for it to beat that fast. I will admit, though, this is getting pretty good.

The next thing that happens shocks me more than anything so far. Oliver gently closes the inch wide gap between him and Flint, and brushes his lips against the Slytherin Captainís. Flint is still for a minute, before leaning a little into the kiss. Then, just as abruptly as Flint had before, Oliver shoves him to the ground. Only harder. And he goes sliding a good two feet across the stone floor. Iím amazed at his strength; Oliverís really not a big guy. And, well, quite frankly, Flint is.

Following slowly, Oliver has switched the roles in the game. He is now the predator, and Flint is the little birdy about to get eaten up. I mean that in the most literal sense, too. Flint knows this, as well, but he doesnít seem to mind. Quite the contrary, actually. His sneer has turned to a feral grin, and you can almost see the lust burning in his eyes. Or that could just be the reflection of the torch. Either way itís a nice effect.

Oliver is on his hands and knees now, and heís crawling over to where Flint is laying spread eagle on the ground. He crawls on top of him and straddles his hips, placing his hands on both sides of the currently submissive Flintís head. All this is turning Fred on tremendously, and the fact that I can feel my brotherís erection pressing into my side is almost disturbing. Almost. It probably should be, but we are twins after all, and things that disturb the normal person are nothing to us. That, and the fact that I canít really blame him. This really is hot. Hello gay tendencies I never knew about!

Oliver is kissing Flint again, harder this time. Faster, with more force. He bites Flintís lip and the Slytherin opens his mouth obligingly. Who wouldnít? And Oliver shoves his tongue down Flintís throat. Flint looks like he doesnít know whether to moan or gag, but he picks the former. A muffled moan escapes his throat, and he closes his eyes. Oliver grinds him into the ground with his hips so roughly it looks painful. This time, Flint groans. Apparently he likes it rough. Go figure.

I hear a little, stifled squeak from my brother. Heís agonizingly hard right now, and I can tell heís trying not to groan himself. Thinking about my own stiffening erection, I can empathize with him. This shouldnít be turning me on, it really, truly shouldnít be. But it is.

Oh god, Oliver has him pushed up into a sitting position against the wall, and his robes are completely off. Who would have imagined that Flint looks good in a sleeveless t-shirt and jeans? Hell, who would have imagined Flint looks good at all? Oliver, obviously, and he has it in his mind that Flint would look better in nothing. Canít really argue at the moment. And it would seem that Flint has nothing against anything that Oliver is doing, because he hasnít done a thing to stop it.

Oliver has taken on an air of desperation now. Heís kissing Flint like his life depends on it, bruising his already chapped from the wind and sun lips, and a little trickle of blood is running from the corner of his mouth. But heís still not doing anything to stop Oliver. Itís like he knows how badly he needs this, how pent up his frustration is and how badly he needs to let it out.

As Oliver licks the little stream of blood off of Flints face, I can feel my brother shifting behind me. I tear my gaze away from the enthralling live porn flick in front of me, and turn to see Fred with his robes open and hand down his unbuttoned pants. "Bloody hell Fred, what are you doing?!" I whisper, more fascinated than enraged.

All I receive is a grunt for a reply and my attention is drawn in once again by the quidditch captains. Flintís eyes are now closed in intense pleasure as Oliver literally rips off his boxers while attacking his neck with his teeth. I seem to have missed the rest of Flintís clothes being removed while distracted by my twin, but judging by the pile of not-so-intact clothing itís probably safe to assume that they were removed in the same manner. I can definitely understand where Fred was coming from when he stuck his hand down his pants, and Iím hard pressed not to do the same.

There is something undeniably erotic about one partner being naked while the other is fully dressed, and now is a perfect example. Flint is slowly slipping into a laying position as Oliver attempts to lick every inch of him, and I mean EVERY inch. He reaches Flintís obviously aching hard on, licks the length, and takes the entire thing in his mouth. Thatís a good 10 inches, and I almost donít know whether to be amazed or cream my pants. I chose both.

As I completely mess up my pants without so much as touching myself, Fred shudders behind me. Obviously heís gotten off, too. Even though Iíve just had the most spontaneous orgasm Iíve gotten in at least three years, I canít help but still be captivated by the scene in front of me. Itís insane.

Apparently, Flint is getting impatient, as Oliver has stopped deep-throating him and is currently nipping at his inner thigh. An audible growl comes from Flint, and Oliver chuckles. He slides up Flintís naked, sweaty, saliva covered body and kisses his still slightly bloody mouth. As he breaks the kiss, Oliver slips one of his own fingers into his mouth and sucks hard, teasing Flint. Flint just growls again, receiving another little laugh from Oliver. He returns his mouth to Flintís, biting down hard on his lip as his hand moves between Flintís legs. Sticking his saliva-coated finger into Flintís entrance, he gets a whimper in return. Letting go of his lip, Oliver once again laps up the blood flowing freely from Flintís abused mouth and he begins to move his hand inside of him, adding another finger, this one dry.

If I had been hard before, it was nothing compared to now. That whole recovery period thing? Yeah, not there. Itís just insta-horny. I believe I can say the same for my brother.

Quickly, Oliver pulls his hand free of Flintís lower regions and pulls down his zipper. How the hell heís lasted this long is beyond me, all I can say is he must have one hell of a lot of self control, because Iím only watching and Iím already on my second go-around.

Itís quick and visibly painful as Oliver rams himself into Flint dry. Iím going to assume theyíve done this before, because he doesnít scream in pain, but Flint does utter a stream of curses and groan loud. Oliver has pushed him to his feet, back against the wall, and is ramming into him now, fast and rough. Flintís clenched eyes shoot open as Oliver starts pounding into him at a different angle, hitting something thatís giving Flint enough pleasure to make him yell out Oliverís name.

My hand is actually down my pants this time, but I barely have to do anything before I cum again. And hard. I swear I have never had a better orgasm, much less self-induced, in my life.

I can see Flint panting heavy now; heís close to getting off himself. It hits him and he sprays his junk between their two bodies, muscles clenching around Oliverís erection and forcing him over as well. With a whimper and a little shout of "Oh god, Marcus," Oliver cums inside Flint. Oliver pulls out and they slide to the ground.


Flint pulls the still fully clothed Oliver into his lap and buries his head into his shoulder. "You didnít even get your pants off." Oliver just shrugs, satiated smile on his face, and leans back into the embrace.

I jump as Fred whispers something in my ear. I had forgotten he was there, "Whoíd have thought Flint would be a bottom. Looks like I owe Lee some gold."

I looked over at him, shocked, "You knew about this?!"

"Yeah, Lee overheard them going at it in a broom closet the other day."

"Why didnít you tell me sooner?!"

He shot me a smirk, "Would you have come up here if I had?"


"Yeah, but you wouldnít have gotten so into it, now would you? Didnít think so. Címon, letís get going before those two get up, it wouldnít be a pretty meeting. That and the fact that we need to have a little chat with Lee." Fredís grin widened at my reaction to the last comment.

Indeed, we needed to have a little talk with Lee.

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