Flying Fun

Title: Flying Fun
Authors: slashpervert and nothingbutfic.
Betas: LBaum and Mini Mouse.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: ADULT
Genre: Smut
Pairing: Oliver/Seamus
Length: 2323 words
Warnings: Language, Explicit M/M eroticism, masturbation. Teacher/student.
Summary: Oliver Wood is teaching at Hogwarts when Seamus Finnigan asks him for flying lessons.
Notes: Written post-HBP, pre-DH. No spoilers.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. This is a work of parody, as defined by the Fair Use Doctrine. Any similarities, without satirical intent, to copyrighted characters, or individuals living or dead, are purely coincidental. This work has not been endorsed by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, Warner Brothers, or any of the other holding copyright or license to the Harry Potter books or movies. No connection is implied or should be inferred. This is not a commercial work. The authors receive no financial gain from its production or distribution. It is available without charge. This work is intended for adults only. Some of the content of this fiction is graphically violent and/or sexual. It is intended for readers age eighteen or over and anyone underage is prohibited from reading.

Oliver Wood flew in a few days before school opened. He took his broom because he loved to fly. A nice long trip, stopping at Wizard Inns along the way. He had time to settle in and prepare for classes. It was so different to be here as a teacher instead of a student. Sitting at the teacher's table. Using the teacher's lounge. Having his own room. It all felt very strange.

The first week had gone well. And he was looking forward to the weekend. He hoped to get some flying in before he went back to grading papers. Now if he could find Seamus, I mean, Finnigan, maybe they could work on some Quidditch moves. The younger man had been so earnest in his request that he help him improve his flying skills so he could try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

Seamus had spent most of the last hour flying high and free above the Quidditch pitch. He wasn't the world's most competent flier - not bad, surely, but he had no special appeal for it, no talent, no gut instinct. What he'd been working on was his control, his dexterity. With gritted teeth and a hard, death-grip upon the broom, he'd banked, spun, soared, dived and done loops, just trying the mechanics of flying. He wasn't even dressed in Quidditch gear, chiefly because he didn't have any - sweat pants and a loose, long sleeved t-shirt had sufficed. Even those clothes were slick with sweat after the hour long practise. His hair was plastered to his scalp, skin flushed and breathing ragged. Seemed about time to quit - or for him to collapse - when he noted someone emerging onto the Pitch beneath him. So he steeped, banked, and managed to land with only a bit of a tumble onto tired feet.

"Professor Wood!" Seamus exclaimed. This wasn't really the person he expected to see and there was Seamus, looking like a drowned rat in front of his Head of House. "Uh, sorry, Captain, I was just flyin' - and did I need to book the pitch? No one told me I had to." His words tumbled from his mouth, a curious mix of fear and defiance.

Oliver Wood's mouth went dry at the sight of the beautiful sweat-soaked boy in front of him. The image of what this young man would look like in sweaty sheets flashed into his mind and his heart sped up. He recited his new mantra in his head – I’m a teacher. He‘s a student. Keep yer mind on the game.

"Aye, Finnigan, just who I was lookin’ fer," Oliver said and smiled his usual good-natured grin. "I was hoping we could work on yer flyin’, like ye asked. I see y've already had quite the workout though."

Seamus blushed a little, still looking down at the grass. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, waiting, but no condemnation came. If anything, the Professor seemed momentarily caught off guard, but then he was grinning again, the same teacherly grin he had for everyone. Seamus wondered briefly if Oliver remembered him at all, or even bothered to try, as Head of House. All the students were probably alike. "Ah, well, I could go for a while longer," Seamus considered, scratching his neck. "Before I collapse and all, anyway."

Oliver's hand gripped his broom tighter. Seamus' words had gone straight down his spine. Oh, Gods, does this lad know how that sounds? I would love ta hear him say that in another context! Oh, yeah, teacher. Teacher. Right. Mind on the game.

"Oh," Oliver pauses, "Good, good." He smiled again at Seamus. Nae, think Finnigan. Safer. "I saw some of ye practise and have some ideas." He pulled the Puddlemere United sweatshirt over his head. It was definitely warm out here. Underneath the top he was wearing a simple white tank top and sweatpants that matched the top. Which were a little tight, but very worn and comfortable.

Seamus' eyes went a little wide for a few seconds; his blush deepened and he licked his lips, furtively. Professor - Captain - Oliver Wood had the body of a God and it was not blasphemy to say so, as the evidence was right there. "You have some ideas?" he blurted out, taking a step back as he caught himself staring. Had Oliver realised? Oh God, that was mortifying. Scoping out a teacher. "I mean, thank you. Sir." His 'sir' was appropriately kind, polite and deferential. Nothing sexual about that at all. Of course.

The look the young man gave him went right to Wood's, well, broom? Seamus did not just check him out, did he? Nae, just wishful thinking. No, not supposed to be wishing or thinking like that. Get in the game, Wood! Sigh. "Uh, let me do some stretches and then we can take off," he said to Seamus. Stretches, aye, that wuld help the tightness in his ... muscles. Aye, work it out. Let it go. That's the ticket. He laid his broom aside and began doing some leg stretches. Of course, that showed off his thick muscles in the tight sweats. And his arms were glistening with sweat in a few minutes.

Seamus settled on the grass a few feet away from him, idly pulling at the strands of green on the pitch and tossing them into the breeze. He kept stealing covert glances over at his teacher, eying the sweat, the musculature, the heavy breathing. He thought he was being subtle, but then Seamus had the subtlety of a sledgehammer - or even worse, perhaps, an inexperienced gay boy. "... I've never learned how to do stretches," he said, trying to keep it casual. "I mean, I know professional players like you do them, I've read all your interviews." He scratched behind an ear, flushing a little, but he looked straight at Oliver almost challengingly, as if daring his superior to find fault with him.

Oliver deepened his stretch, trying to use the movement to cover his own blush at the boy's words. Oh, so he has, has he? He grinned. "Well, I will have to show ye some of the warm-ups," he answered. "Of course, yer muscles are probably pretty warmed after awl the practice y've done already." He stood and picked up his broom and couldn't help but look the younger man up and down as he did. "Let's start with some basics. Let me see ye hold yer broom again." Oh, I will nae think about double meanings. I will nae. Game. Think about the game.

Seamus took the opportunity to stand as a relief, quick to his feet as one hand reached behind to dust some of the grass off the back of his clothes. He turned a little as he brushed himself down, inadvertently showing off his arse in his own sweat pants. Then he was all nods and seriousness, taking his broom in hand and getting ready to straddle it. "Like this?"

Wood tried not to, but half smirked. Seeing Seamus, ah Finnigan, astride the broom was filling his mind with very improper images. Images a teacher should nae have about a student. Nope. Not at all. "Aye, that's good," he started, then moved forward and mounted his own broom. "Except for yer hands, see how mine hold the broom firmly yet gently?"

Seamus tried to control his own snarky tendencies, but he was beginning to loosen up around Wood, even though he was a Professor, and besides, Seamus was always going to be impish no matter his audience. He ran a hand up and down his broom suggestively, before glancing over at Wood, a certain twinkle in his eye. "Firm but gentle, Professor?" he teased. "Didn't know it was goin' t'be that kind of lesson."

Gah, what a tease! Oliver had this amazing image of turning the boy over his lap and .... Nae. Student. Aye, I am a teacher. I teach. What I would like to teach him is .... Dinnae go there. Oliver Wood's eyes flickered to Seamus and then away. "Aye, right," he shook his head, ducking to cover his grin, "Ye cannae grip it so hard. Um, yer knuckles are practically white ...."

Seamus deliberately loosened his grip, before sliding his hand slow and casual up his broom, bending to follow it slightly. "Did you mean like this, sir?" he asked, all grins, the obedient tone of his voice at odds with his words. Then he was blushing, a little bashful, and decided enough play was enough. "Sorry, sir," he mumbled. "I'll behave now."

Oh. That's interesting. Nae, he cannae mean ... "Well, y'd better behave," Wood threatened, but with a grin. "So let's try this in the air." With that, he launched himself into the air.

Seamus kicked off to follow him with a "whoop!", punching the air with his fist. If he didn't exactly have technical skills, he had a certain flair and enthusiasm.

***

That had to be the most fun Oliver had had in a long time. And that was saying something, he smirked to himself. And he did not just spend most of his time in the air ogling Seamus' arse. Nae, he dinnae. Well not all of the time. He touched down lightly. He felt shagged out. Well, almost. He turned to grin at Seamus as the boy landed near him. "Well done! Let's get cleaned up and get us some lunch. I'm starv’d!"

Seamus tumbled off his broom, giddy and exultant despite the weariness of his limbs. All too unconsciously, he clapped Oliver round the back just like he would a teammate, and sauntered off towards the changing room, taking the lead.

Oliver watched as the young man took the lead. Oh, he verra much liked this view. The lad has nerve, I'll give him that. Well, I would love to give him more than that. He followed Seamus to the locker room and began to strip his sweats. He tried to be casual about it. Tried not to think about Seamus watching him. He really wasn't showing off his amazing abs and lean muscled thighs. Nae. Just gonna take a shower. And he was nae sneaking looks at .... Oh, Gods, I dinnae have the kind of self control I need ta be a teacher!

Seamus kept sneaking looks at Oliver as he bundled on out of his clothes, stuffing them in the bag that hung from a hook over one of the changing benches. If anything, Oliver's body was even better than he'd thought it was: strong and beefy and muscular. Clearing his throat, he delicately slid his briefs off and ambled into the nearby shower recess, turning the water on hot and hard so that it filled the space with steam and spray.

Oliver turned to watch just as Seamus walked to the shower. The boy's arse was perfect. Lean muscles that pulled taut as he walked. All the blood rushed to his ... well, his cheeks were probably flushed too. But he was harder in that instant than a beater's bat. He lifted his leg up turning to cover himself, showing more leg and arse in the process. He grabbed a towel and tried counting. Imagine getting knocked out by a Bludger. Imagine losing a game. Imagine anything but pushing that sweet lad up against the tiles in the shower and fucking him senseless. Or having Seamus drop to his knees in the water, sucking my cock. Gods, he could come just thinking about it. Oh, he was so bloody damned in trouble here!

Seamus glanced over at him through the spray out of the corner of his eye. Oliver seemed to hesitate at entering the showers. "Water's warm, Captain!" he called out, not getting why Oliver was taking his time. And then he realised. Oh. His cheeks coloured, and he hurriedly turned so that he faced away from the older man.

Oliver was really working on getting himself under control. He was an athlete, damn it! He prided himself on control of his body. But when Seamus called out to him, it went straight to his cock. He called him "Captain" again, in that lovely Irish baroque. He could come just from the boy's voice then. Gritting his teeth and using the towel to hide what he could he made his way to the shower and stood with his back to Seamus at the opposite shower head. The water washed over him and he tried not to imagine what it looked like flowing down the body of the younger man. Oh, fuck it!, he thought and grabbed his own cock. If he couldn't will it away, he knew a solution. He let his eyes close and imagined the boy's lips wrapped around his cock. It didn't take him long to come and he hoped the sound and steam of the shower hid it well enough.

Seamus heard the wet slap-slap of fist on cock, and that made his own arousal impossible to ignore. Leaning against the tile with one arm propping him up, his other hand fisted his cock - how did Oliver put it? Firm but gentle - until the mere thought of his Professor was enough to push him over the edge, coming with a silent cry.

Finishing his shower, Oliver Wood dressed as quickly as he could and didn't meet the other man's eyes. "Good workout, um," he grinned, "ye should try out for the team, ye know. I could keep giving ye extra practise lessons, if ye like." Oh, he dinnae just say that did he. I am doomed. This cannae be good.

"I'd like that," Seamus said as he dressed, equally awkward. "Thank you, Professor." He didn't approach him or shake his hand but there was an undercurrent between them nonetheless. Then he quickly scampered outside into day, and away from here.


[There is a sequel, Stretching the Limits. There is also a yahoo groups mailing list with updates about current and future writings by Slashpervert and co-authors. Feel free to sign up at: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/slashpervert_fiction/ .]