THE RULES OF QUIDDITCH

 

George Weasley and Oliver Wood
hotbed; tonguefuck; mewl

Oliver follows the rules of Quidditch almost religiously, and one of those rules is, "you do not fuck your teammates".

Okay. It’s not an official rule, but it’s still a good one. It does lead to some problems, of course. Oliver knows that boarding schools are supposed to be a hotbed of buggery and debauchery, and other things ending in -ery, but the only people he has anything in common with are his teammates, and as his life revolves around Quidditch, they're also the only people he has any real contact with. Which means he can't get involved with any of them, because the last thing he needs on the field is to be distracted by a gap in somebody's Quidditch robes. He's fallen off his broom too many times to just start inviting peril like that.

Still. It’s hard to stick by that rule when his teammate pulls him into the showers after practice and licks the inside of his mouth. Tonguefucks his mouth, in all honesty, but Oliver can't afford to think either the word 'tongue' or 'fuck' right now, let alone the word 'tonguefuck.'

Fuck. He’s thinking it. Right now.

He pushes George away with a groan. George just grins in that infuriating Weasley way of his. Disturbingly Percy-like, he is, at least in a visual sense. Oliver does his best to hold in a shudder. "What are you doing?"

"Kissing you," George says, raising a single ginger eyebrow. "Woulda thought that was obvious. Maybe you have been hit by one too many Bludgers." And then, as if that were a compliment of some sort and he expects to be welcomed with open arms, George approaches again.

Oliver can't help but notice that he's now backed against a wall. "Its against the rules," he hisses, pretending not to panic.

"Is not," George says. "I checked the handbook."

Oliver pauses. George didn't bother to learn the rules of Quidditch until he'd been on the team for two years. Oliver is still pretty sure George and Fred only know about half the rules between the two of them. "You checked the handbook."

"Yep," George says, smiling. "I checked the handbook. It didn't say anything about beaters molesting the team captain in the locker room." He's close now, his arms on either side of Oliver's body and his mouth very, very close. He's just barely breathing on Oliver's neck, and its very distracting.

"You're not playing fair," Oliver accuses.

"Its not how you play, its whether you win or lose. Right, captain?" George kisses Oliver's neck, slow and wet.

Oliver mewls softly, knowing that he's lost this round and broken the rules. But with George's tongue on his nipple, he can't quite bring himself to care.

 

END