Drowning In The Showers

A/N: So this is sort of loosely based on an Oliver/Hooch story that I’ve already written, it’s actually the original idea for the first one, only it seemed too down beat at the time so I sacked it and did something a little different. I revisited this idea after the moderators at AFF.net were gracious enough to give me all the new sub categories I asked for because I realized that there would be no way that the other Oliver/Hooch story (which is still on the site) would be ready to be moved. (I’m unhappy with it at the moment and should take it down completely, if I had a hard copy of it, that is.) So here was the original down beat piece that inspired the lighter piece, no longer an idea but a fully functioning ficlette of its own. And no, I really don't know why my last three stories have all involved shower sex, it just seems to keep happening that way. Must be missing water or something.


“Where is Wood?” said Harry, suddenly realizing he wasn’t there.

“Still in the showers,” said Fred. “We think he’s trying to drown himself.”

Harry put his face to his knees, his hands gripping his hair. Fred grabbed his shoulder and shook it roughly. But her eyes did not linger long enough to see what exactly transpired of the Weasley twin’s rough use against his friend. She’d heard all she needed and set off silently but with a quick step, heading through the castle and toward the back entrance.

It had been her duty to follow the injured up after the game, but Potter had hardly been her concern. Thick dragonhide boots made contact with the evening dew as she trod across the grass heading for the Quidditch locker rooms. She’d been eyeing him ever since he’d been flying, third year as a star pupil, but by now, seventh year, a rather lean and toned piece of eye candy that often took things too hard and blamed himself more often than he rightly deserved.

Running water greeted her ears as she entered the locker rooms and the steam curled out from under the door leading toward the Gryffindor room. She entered quietly, though she was certain that she could have been as loud and clumsy as a witch who failed auror training and still the boy wouldn’t have heard her. A stall near the back was the source of the water and the steam. It was times like these that made having Hogwarts taps never run out of hot water all too convenient.

Leaning against the shower stall door she closed her eyes, hoping that she didn’t sound ridiculous. “Drowning yourself in the showers, Mr. Wood?” There was silence for a moment and then the water stopped. She hadn’t expected him to respond so abruptly, though perhaps he hadn’t heard her at all, though her voice had been quite loud. If she looked down she could see his bare feet on the tiled shower floor and she sighed, but still he remained silent.

As she was about to ask again the lock of the shower door clicked, though the door itself did not open. Madam Hooch waited. And after what seemed like forever she gently pushed the door inward. The floor was flooded so she quickly dislodged her boots from her feet before taking a step into the massive stall. His freckled back was facing her, his head against the wall, water glistening over every inch of exposed skin. At least in so far as she could tell he was covered only in water.

As a rough woman who was often mistaken for a butch it seemed a little out of character, even to her, as she reached a hand forward and placed it on his shoulder. It wasn’t often that she provided maternal or even feminine like comfort. His body tensed beneath her touch for a moment and then his head, brown hair matted to it, turned around and his puffy red eyes faced her.

Oliver Wood gazed at her, trying hard to make himself look strong, and not look as if he’d just been crying for the last hour in the shower. Her sparkling hawk-like orbs blinked several times as she studied his face. He’d grown rather handsome over the years, and she was certain that even if they did not win the Quidditch Cup this year that he’d still be picked up by a fine Quidditch scout.

Taken quite by surprise, Madam Hooch suppressed a gasp as the young man turned completely around and threw himself against her body, burying his head into her neck. He was soaked and she could feel the water droplets seeping into her robes. He was a good deal taller than her, which wasn’t hard to do as only Poppy, Pomona, and Fillius were actually shorter than her. She stood there for a moment thinking of how perhaps Minerva would react in this situation, and tried very hard not to snort thinking about the shock that would have flitted over the old woman’s face.

“Mr. Wood,” she said softly, though her voice still carried that rough edge, and it seemed to echo against the tall walls of the shower stall. Slowly, Oliver tilted his head up from her neck and then found himself gazing down into her eyes. Her face squinched tight into a disapproving frown for a moment and then she softened her eyes and let a gentle smile cross her lips. “If you drown, you know that means I have to pick either Fred or George to replace you as team captain,” she cleared her throat. “And that is not a decision I want to be forced to have to make.”

“Go ahead,” he muttered, closing his eyes. “Maybe with one of them in charge, Gryffindor might actually win something.”

Her hand, which had gone around his back when he’d first flung himself at her, slinked up the side of his face and cupped his cheek. It was the single most feminine gesture he’d ever seen the woman do. “Mr. Wood,” her voice was even softer than before, and some of that gruff edge had taken leave as well. “You’re a fine keeper and team captain, but you can’t blame yourself for things that went wrong. It wasn’t your fault, it rarely ever is.”

“A captain is only as good as his team.”

“And you have the finest team I’ve ever seen! You couldn’t ask for better beaters, though I’d never tell them that. And the girls you have chasing that quaffle around are some of the most phenomenal women I’ve ever seen fly brooms. And Potter’s the youngest, most talented seeker Hogwarts has ever seen.” Her thumb stroked gently down, passing over his lips until she could properly tilt his chin up and gaze up into his eyes. “There’s no sense crying over one game. You’ve still got a chance for the cup, you’ll just have to work extra hard.”

Oliver stared at her, his breathing slow and deep. He didn’t speak. After several long, quiet moments he shook his head. “I’m getting you all wet, I’m sorry.”

She chuckled. “Yes, well, I suppose I did need a shower after that match anyhow.”

“How’s Potter?”

“He’s fine. I saw him up to the hospital wing, waited for Pop— Madam Pomphrey to give a prognosis, and then headed down here.”

“You came looking for me?” He asked, eyes widening a little bit.

“Yes, your beaters said they thought you were drowning yourself in the shower, and as I’ve already told you, appointing one of trouble’s finest duo to the position of captain is not something that I’d care to deal with at this point in time.”

It was the first smile she’d seen on the boy in weeks. “I’ll do my best not to leave you with that decision,” he said and then shook his head, sending water flying everywhere. “Oh, sorry.”

Hooch chuckled. “It’s fine, just reminds me a bit of a dog I had when I was about your age,” there was a wistful smile that crossed her lips before she gazed up at him again.

“You’re not going to say anything to anyone, are you?” he asked, seeming unsure of himself all the sudden, though he’d still not bothered to move back from the woman.

“About this? Are you kidding and let people think I raise sissies for captains?” her gruff edgy voice had returned, and then her face fell somber. “You have my silence and my word on the matter, Mr. Wood.”

“Thank you,” he threw his arms around the witch and gave her a tight embrace. She could feel his tight toned stomach pressing against her chest, and his thick, corded thighs, bundles of muscles lined against her lower torso and legs. He tilted his head to peck the woman politely on the cheek but she turned to say something particularly funny near his ear and their lips met and for a moment lingered there.

He pulled back slowly, a bewildered look on his face. “Huh.” Her cheeks had tinged slightly red and she found herself closing her eyes, to avoid looking into his.

“Yes, Mr. Wood?” she said when he did not step back from her.

“Erm, nothing.” He said and then his face flushed.

“You’re starting to look like a Weasley, what’s the matter?” she asked, eyes twinkling.

He hesitated, drawing in a breath and then he turned his head to the side. “It’s just you’ve much softer lips than I thought most…erm, most lady-lovers would have.”

She was silent for a moment, eyes calculating, sizing his figure from his shoulders to his forehead as if he were a delicious bit of prey for her talons to sink into, and then she burst out laughing. Oliver giggled nervously but the more she laughed the more at ease he became until he too was full out laughing. Several moments of hysterical laughter flitted between them before she wiped a tear from her eye because she’d been laughing so hard. “Dear Merlin, you’re precious,” she laughed, stepping back a half pace to clutch at her stomach, which hurt from laughing so hard.

“What?” he said with the dying trace of giggles on his words.

“You just— I mean I can’t believe you— that was just too funny for words, Wood.” The look of confusion on his face settled her down for a moment and she let out a slow deep breath before her eyes focused on his once more. “I’m not a lesbian, Wood.”

“You’re not?” he gasped in disbelief, eyes wide.

“Just because I’m a broom riding, foul-mouthed, short tempered, cropped hair, athletic witch doesn’t mean I play ball for the other team,” she said matter-of-factly, and then she let her eyes fall. It was just for the briefest of seconds that she allowed herself a glance of his well-toned stomach.

“I can’t believe it…” he trailed off, following her eyes, and then he flushed. “Erm—”

“Though I suppose I should thank you for thinking I have soft lips,” she took a step forward, closing the space between them once more. “You’re a riot, Wood,” and her hand brushed over his shoulder. She watched his skin ripple into a shiver. “What? Do I frighten you now, because suddenly I’m not a big flying butch?” there was a slight smirk on her face as she spoke.

“Madam Hooch, I had no idea…I just always assumed…” he trailed off, feeling very foolish and suddenly very aware that he was naked, drip-drying in the shower with his Quidditch coach. Her fingers were against the top of his pectoral muscles, slowly drumming there as he gazed down into her eyes once more. She was fully clothed, though she wore no shoes, and he was completely naked. “Madam Hooch…”

“Yes, Wood?” she said, taking a step forward once more, her robes swishing against his chest. When she’d held him in her arms it had felt good, but now the boy seemed nervous, and she didn’t want to frighten him. “Don’t be afraid,” and she closed her eyes, realizing she’d actually spoken the thought out loud.

Again his face flushed. “I’m not afraid,” he said and then shook his head. “I was just…that is to say…” his voice trailed off as he found himself mesmerized by her eyes. “Gosh you’ve got pretty eyes,” he said and then flushed as beet red as the Weasley twins’ hair.

She chuckled, and then moved one hand up to cup his cheek again. “Thank you.” She said, trying to make him more at ease, hoping that she hadn’t frightened him to the point of bolting straight from the shower. It seemed wrong, and she doubted that she’d get much more than a few clumsy kisses should he even attempt that, but he was the most attractive male she’d seen since Charlie Weasley eight or nine years prior.

“It’s wrong, isn’t it.” He said suddenly and took a step back, only to find himself pressed against the shower stall wall.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, a slow step bringing her against his torso once more.

“This…” he gestured his hand in a circle between them. “I mean, I shouldn’t have, or you shouldn’t have, but then I thought, but you’re not—”

“You’re not making much sense, Mr. Wood,” she said softly and pressed two fingers to his lips. “Calm down, collect your thoughts, and then say whatever it is you were trying to say just now, hmm?” her eyes twinkled.

Nodding his head, he took a deep breath and could feel his hear racing inside his chest. He was certain that being close pressed to her body meant that she could feel it too. “We accidentally kissed,” he said, and then moved his eyes to find her. “Which was ok because I thought you were playing on the other team so it didn’t mean anything, but you’re not playing on the other team, and I liked how soft your lips felt because I’ve always been a little insecure in my own sexuality, which confused me because I thought at first that I liked the lips of a lesbian woman, only to find out you weren’t, and now I feel…” his face flushed red again and he trailed off, muttering something beneath his breath. “And I’m pretty sure that I shouldn’t be standing here in the shower with you, naked like this, I don’t want to cost you your job, but I just can’t seem to make my feet move out of the stall…”

Her eyes widened at his last bit and then she chuckled, tracing a hand down his cheek. “Well that was a mouthful,” she smirked a bit and then winked at him. “Mr. Wood, how old are you?”

“Seventeen,” he said.

“And you’re a seventh year, responsible Gryffindor Quidditch captain.”

“Yes.”

“I believe you’re mature enough to make your own decisions, after all, you do make up the mind of six other players every day of the week. You’re going to make a fine professional player,” she added. “It’s very sweet of you to be concerned over my job, but let me be quite honest with you.” Standing up on her tiptoes, she brought her lips very close to his ear. “I didn’t tell anyone that I came looking for you, and everyone thinks that you’re having alone time in the showers.” She paused. “I can tell you, as I gave you my word about finding you here? I’m not going to tell.” Lowering herself flat onto her feet she gazed up at him, patiently trying to read the emotions in his eyes.

He was still red as a beet, blinking several times before saying anything. Opening his mouth to speak, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. His body arched forward and she closed her eyes feeling him against her, wishing she were s as naked as he was. Madam Hooch tilted her head slightly to the side and smiled, whispering to him. “Wood, you don’t have to—”

“I think I want to, Madam Hooch. I think I’ve always thought you were pretty, well, sexy really, pretty is too feminine a word.”

She snorted and stood up on her toes. “Wood, you’re—”

“Oliver. Please call me Oliver.”

She nodded slowly and let his name rise through the back of her throat, sounding gruff as she spoke. “Oliver, you’re quite sexy yourself, you’ve grown into a fine young man…” both hands had rested on his shoulders, and she’d felt his arms come to her sides, feeling his hands at her waist.

He blushed. He’d never been complimented so much in all his life. His eyes seemed to whirl back and forth between her silvery hair and her hawkish eyes. “You’re really quite stunning,” he said, fingers trembling at the front of her robes. “I just think this might be easier if you weren’t…well if you weren’t wearing your robes.”

She chuckled, he was nervous and it was adorable. “Well I could use a shower…I’m still sticky and dirty from the game.” It was sort of a fail safe in case he needed a reason to back out, she figured she could present him with one without actually letting him realize that’s what she was doing.

His eyes lowered and she thought she saw him lick his lips. “You’re actually very sexy when you’re flying out there like you’re one of us,” he admitted. “With sweat and dirt on your face, like you’re not afraid of the game, like it should be afraid of you.”

“You look pretty bang up sexy when you’re all covered in grass and mud from a rough practice, Oliver.” His fingers were still twitching at the front of her robes, and she lowered her gaze to his hands. “Everything alright?” she asked with a bit of a smirk.

“Yes, I just— I want to, well I want you out of these clothes.” She found it almost endearing how sweet and unsure he was, it almost made her think that he should have been sorted into Hufflepuff the way he was going on about it.

“Wood,” she said roughly and grabbed at his hands firmly. “I’m not some delicate flower. You said it yourself you thought I was a rough riding butch, so if you want to do this, don’t tremble over me like I’m some fragile little thing, I’d sooner knock you off your arse on a broom than be all dainty with you.”

It seemed to be all the encouragement he needed, his moment of weakness seeming to have slipped away. His hands were rough against her shoulders as he pushed her back against the wall, lips crushing hers and she couldn’t contain her moan. “Everyone has a soft side,” he hissed against her lips. “I think I saw yours for a minute there, Madam Hooch,” his lips parted and his tongue wriggled into her mouth, stroking her tongue, letting one hand run up to her hair. “But you like it rough, and like you said, I’m old enough and mature enough to make my own decisions.”

“I’ve seen you manhandle a broom, Oliver Wood, you’re a mighty strong man,” she panted, feeling her breath catch in her throat as his hands began to tug at her robes, pulling them open and pushing them back. “Show me that fierce courage that I see on the field when you’re shouting down the pitch to Potter,” she groaned as his lips covered hers once more.

Her thick referee robes fell to the floor at her feet, soaking up the water that had been pooling there. The material of her shirt was up and over her eyes before she could protest about her robes getting wet, but those thoughts were gone in an instant as his hand grabbed her breasts, feeling them, holding them through the thin cotton of her sports bra. “You’re practically perfect…”

“I’ve always thought them to be a bit small, myself,” she shrugged, and watched his eyes. “It’s what happens when you play Quidditch for as long as I have.” Her skin was smooth, not a wrinkle in sight. She was firm and taught over every inch of her chest and toros, and while she didn’t sport a carved washboard on her abdomen, her stomach was iron flat, and he smiled.

“Hardly,” he let his thumbs arch over her nipples, brushing them through the cotton and smiled when she hissed. He watched her eyes fall closed. “More than a handful’s a waste anyhow. Besides, these are Quidditch breasts, the chest of a powerful athletic female,” and he leaned his head against her chest, his wet hair sending shivers through her skin.

“Wood,” she found herself crying out his surname as his tongue grazed over her stiffened peak, leaving a little wet mark on her sports bra. Her fingers found their way to his hair and she stroked his damp tresses.

He pulled his head back from her chest and took a step back, and then another until he was leaning against the opposite wall of the shower stall, gazing at her. She looked thoroughly ravished, her chest heaving up and down, eyes closed, hair slightly tousled, wearing only her sports bra and riding trousers. “Do I get to take those off, or do you want to do that yourself?”

Opening one eye she tilted her head to the side and allowed herself a glance at his body. Strong muscular shoulders rested square against the wall, his chest was bare, with two firm pectorals and a carved body the rest of the way down his torso. A fine smattering of thin brown curls began just below his navel and grew thicker as her eyes fell to his crotch. He was fully erect, his long cock weeping at the tip and she smirked. “Only if that’s my reward for doing so.”

One hand covered his cock, though he didn’t do so in shame. His fingers curled around the base and slowly he stroked upward, squeezing drops of pre-cum into his palm. She licked her lips as she watched him spread his own fluid over his erection, watching his hips arch forward into his hand. “I think you’d better take your trousers off now, Madam Hooch.”

But her hands were already there, eyes never leaving his body, pulling down the zipper and shimmying out of them until they were around her ankles and she lifted one slender leg and then the other, until she stood in only her sports bra and a rather racy black g-string.

Oliver licked his lips. “You’ve got quite the taste in lingerie, Madam Hooch.”

“It’s Rolanda, or Ronnie, hell, just Hooch is fine, but all this Madam stuff is making me feel far too old to be doing this with you…”

Her legs were only slightly more muscular than his and he shuddered thinking about how tight she could clamp her thighs around him. She was like a fiery pixie only with sexy legs and no wings. The silver in her hair seemed to twinkle like the amber in her eyes and he noticed how young, lithe, and limber the woman looked. “Rolanda,” he said her name, trying it on his tongue, slowly rubbing his hand over his member, feeling it pulse and stiffen in his palm.

“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out. Unless you’re screaming it while I’m shagging you senseless,” she smirked and then crossed both arms over her chest. It was a fluid, swan-like motion as she tugged the bra up over her head in one sweep, her perky little breasts bouncing against her chest for a moment, erect nipples straining forward. Spreading her legs, she bent her knees just slightly and looped a finger on either side of her hips into the thin elastic band of the g-string.

It was like watching a strip tease, only better. His eyes were glued to her hands as she slowly tugged the garment down her thighs, revealing a thick, dark mound of chestnut curls. As she stepped out of it, her right foot pushed the pile of clothing underneath the stall door and her hand guided it completely closed, flipping the lock into place. “Come have me, Wood.” She said and let her arms fall casually to her side.

He was practically on top of her, lips crushing over hers, bruising hers, when he stepped forward at her offer. But she did not lay back like a feminine flower, her hands were tearing through his hair, one pushing on his shoulder trying to guide him back to the other wall. Oliver resisted, breaking their kiss, his lips going to suckle at her neck. “Trying to take over, Rolanda?”

“It’s like Quidditch, I intend to score first,” she smirked and dragged one hand between their bodies only to have it roughly pulled back as his lips descended to her breasts, tongue laving over the areola, teeth grazing her nipple. A squeak of surprise flew out of her lips and she shifted forward, trying to feel that delicious sting again.

His hands trailed down her body and before she could stop him he’d sunk back to his knees, pushing her thighs further apart with his strong hands. He’d never been so close to a naked woman before, especially not to a naked older woman, but much like his first attempt at Quidditch, he was eager. Her scent enthralled him as he pressed his lips against her nether lips, and felt her squirm at the contact.

Letting his tongue slip out of his mouth he ran it through her moistened folds, lapping at her sex, feeling her hands tangling in his hair once more. Both of his hands grabbed her inner thighs, fingers tapping against her skin, more to keep himself steady than anything else, but she seemed to enjoy the feeling either way. His tongue pushed further forward, feeling along her opening, and he hesitated for just the briefest of moments before he pressed the tip inside of her.

She moaned and he smiled, feeling renewed in his attempts, and pushed his tongue further into her, wriggling it in the tight, hot cavern. The sweet heady taste made him dizzy, he’d never tasted a woman before. He knew well enough the idea behind pleasuring a woman with lips, tongue and finger tips and he slowly pulled hit tongue back out, lapping again over her flesh, feeling her legs tremble.

“Not so tough now, are you?” he asked, gazing up at her. Rolanda’s eyes were closed, her head tossed back, her chest rising and falling very quickly.

She tilted her head down, eyes opening a comment ready to spill from her but his fingers had begun probing the area his tongue had just explored and just as she was about to comment, he pushed two fingers into her core and she gasped, a squeak her only other sound. Again he buried his head between her legs, eagerly licking around his fingers as they wriggled inside of her, twisting and pumping, slowly in and then out, and then in again. His cock was throbbing as his tongue laved over her tiny nub.

She shrieked, feeling a jolt of electricity shoot through her and he chuckled. “You like that?” He licked his tongue over her nub again, and it occurred to him that he’d found her pleasure spot. As he licked her again he felt a firm hand tugging at his hair and then one clutching at the wrist, which was pumping the fingers into her. “Rolanda?” he asked, letting his fingers slide out of her.

Oliver found himself on his feet faster than most saves he made at the hoops. Her lips were crushing his and she groaned into his mouth. Both of his arms wrapped around her back and then he felt the hot jet of water spraying down on him. Pulling back at once he gazed into her sparkling eyes, eyes that held a hint of mischief as she smirked at him. “I told you…” she panted with a breathlessness that he had caused. “I needed a shower…”

One leg was thrust up around his hip, and her hand gripped his erection, watching his eyes roll back in his head as he hissed. “Lift me up, I’m not heavy, and you’re very strong,” she commanded. As he did he drove her back against the far wall, slamming her body firmly against it. Her other leg came up around his waist and she held herself there, gripping his erection, holding just at her entrance.

“You’re flexible…” he said more of a question than a statement.

“What?” the water had made it that much hotter in the shower stall. “Yes, yes.”

Grabbing one leg, Oliver pulled it up and hooked it over his shoulder and then did the same to the other, she was pinned, if a bit awkwardly, with both legs hooked over his shoulders her back bent against the wall. “I heard about this from, well nevermind from who,” he said and then bucked his hips against her palm.

“You’re lucky I’m flexible,” she winked and then guided him forward arching her hips against him, coating him with her arousal. He groaned and she chuckled. If he had told her right then that he’d never had sex with a woman she never would have believed him, for he thrust into her so heartily and so deeply that she nearly cried out loud enough to wake the squid in the lake.

“Gods, Rolanda, you’re tight!”

She snorted. “I suppose all us butch women run around particularly loose then?” But he silenced her questions with a kiss. Using all of his weight to keep her pinned he began to pump into her, short quick thrusts, delving deeper and deeper, hitting that sensitive spot deep inside of her and she groaned, trying to roll her hips as best she could. Both hands cupped her breasts, flicking at her nipples, and she could feel herself clamping tight on him.

Oliver had been the first bit of physical pleasure she’d received in quite some time, so it was fairly easy for his rough thrusts in the deep pleasuring position to bring her quickly to an orgasm. Her muscles spasmed, her entire body shook and she cried out his name, almost violently, thighs gripping tightly around his torso in their awkward bent angle, her womanhood clenching like a vice down on his stroking cock.

“Rolanda! Gods! Tight! Rolanda! Rolanda!” he cried, never having felt an orgasm that didn’t come from his own hand. It was all he could do not to fall over and drop them both to the floor as her muscles contracted around him and he felt himself explode into release, his own body shuddering, eyes rolling back into his head.

Both were panting, gasping for air when she finally unhooked one of her legs from his shoulders, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to stand too much longer holding her as she was. Swinging the other leg down, she slid down the wall a moment, crouched in a squat until she’d regained her breath and then she stood, hawk eyes gazing at him, a hand coming to caress his cheek. “See? That was much better than drowning yourself,” she winked.

Oliver Wood nodded his head vigorously. “Yes, I think so, Madam Hooch.”

She rolled her eyes. “I suppose you have to call me that, well mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“You’re going to win the Quidditch cup, aren’t you?”

His knees were still shaking but he managed to remain standing, and he nodded as she pressed a much more gentle, feminine kiss to his lips. “Yes, yes I think I feel renewed toward it.” He stepped back and watched her bend to pick up her clothing. “You look fantastic all wet,” he said with a bit of a silly grin on his face.

“Thank you, Wood. Now get yourself dressed get up to the hospital wing and pay Potter a visit. You have a team to inspire and a Quidditch cup to win.”

“Thanks, Madam Hooch, I think we are going to pull through and win it. You’ve got me believing now.” He reached behind him and hit the faucet, stopping the water as she opened the stall door and stepped out.

With her back to him as she walked away she said, just loud enough for him to hear. “Good, I don’t like commiseration fucks.”