Torture, Lust, Lament

Oliver Wood placed his head under the heavy stream of water; it jetted forward, bouncing off of his skull as his shoulders finally relax. Quidditch plays still screaming in his brain as he reached out for the soap, hoping to somehow rid his body of the sweat he'd produced in his own harsh training tactics. He didn't even nod or look up as Harry shouted at his departure, he just stood, content, for the moment that all was calm and he could be at peace with his focused thought. He always looked forward to showering, no battles, no arguing, and, of course, no injuries.

Perfectly safe.

He winced as the water began to beat down on the, rather lovely, piss yellow bruise that graced his left calf. The soap suds, slid down his body, slinging to his flat stomach before giving heed to the water and flowing in the metal drain.

He could forget now the constant hassling from Fred and George, the narrow collides between Harry and Alicia, forget Draco Malfoy and his father fancy brooms, the nagging in the back of his mind that this will be his last year, his last chance to not fail, to not let everyone down... again. His hands rose to his face, clearing the water from his eyes as the two hands slowly pushed there way together on Oliver's' bare torso, the persons chin resting gently on his shoulder.

"Wood, I'm not quite sure I'm mounting the broom correctly, maybe you could give me some pointers?" As the person pulls Oliver closer, he pries their hands from off his chest, stepping from under the water to shake his head and look at the would-be pursuer.

"Fred...erm, George?!" The tall red haired boy shrugs, resting his hand on Woods stomach. Oliver backs away again, looking quickly for anything to cover himself up without loosing eye contact with the Weasley twin before him, noticing the towel hanging near the door; he begins to back forward, a small smirk playing in the Weasley's lips. Wrapping the towel, tightly around his hips he movies towards the boy, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Bloody hell what are you trying to fucking pull?"

He smirk fades as the younger boy stumbles under Oliver's pressure. The skin around Woods hands, a brilliant white, the freckles even fading in color.

"You need to calm down." With one last shake Oliver releases the boy, causing him to lose his footing and stumble back a few feet. The shorter boy rubs his hands over his pale face, pushing his mahogany hair to stand up in damp spikes, his eyes closers as his tongue stumbles over every segmented sentence his mind can almost form. He suddenly darts forward, his five-foot-nine frame attaching onto the auburn haired boys. His chapped lips landing centimeters from the younger boys nose and he began to slowly trail down to the, now immobile, boys mouth.

Suddenly unthawed, his hands work up to the flesh just above Olivers' towel, moving in strong, steady circles as he tries to bring Olivers warm body closer to his own as the older boys lips finally land on the other boys shoulder, his hands entangled in the Weasleys' dripping hair. For the first time in years, Quidditch has been pushed from his thoughts, his brain simply pulsating with pure lust for this fifteen year-old boy before him, the same boy that has caused Oliver sleepless nights with his endless gags and basic attitude of doing absolutely nothing unless it ensured that he and his twin would be in dire trouble because of it. He let out a low moan as the boy pushed his back against the tiled walls, the freezing marble just adding to the extreme pleasure of this entire encounter. The boys taste filling every nerve ending, the feel of his skin being instantly locked in Olivers mind.

"Who... are... you?"