Summersmut Mod (summersmutmod) wrote in hp_summersmut, @ 2009-08-09 00:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | 2009, fic |
[FIC] Fighting Off Lonely :: George/Oliver | gift for ozma_katiebell
Title: Fighting Off Lonely
Author:
Recipient: ozma_katiebell
Pairing: George/Oliver, offscreen Percy/Oliver (with bonus surprise pairing!)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1083
Warnings: Infidelity, deception, slight AU (the aliveness of certain characters is not as it should be)
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: George finally gets his man. So bloody what if it's only for one night?
Author's Notes: Thanks to E, without whom this fic would not exist.
It had taken a year's worth of flirting, of secretive looks and allegedly-accidental touches, of double entendres and jokes that weren't really jokes, to get Oliver into his bed. And it was as good as George had always imagined it would be.
No, scratch that—it was better.
"Come on, fuck me, yeah," he groaned, digging his heels into Oliver's arse, his fingernails into his back. Oliver complied, driving into him harder, making those little grunts and groans that George had heard coming from Percy's room when Percy had been visiting with his "friend". Percy didn't deserve someone like Oliver, someone muscular and so fucking hot. George had always known he and Oliver would be good together. When he'd realized Oliver and Percy were dating, he'd been disappointed—no, more than disappointed. Practically disgusted. It wasn't that George was jealous—no—he just knew that in a universe where things were fair, he'd have his ear and his twin and Oliver.
Well.
It seemed things were starting to even out.
When he'd got Oliver's owl, he'd been surprised, then grinned to himself and answered right away. Seemed Percy was out of town on some assignment for the Ministry, and Oliver was lonely.
George understood lonely. That was something he could fix.
And now, with Oliver's cock buried deep inside his arse, George was pretty convinced both of them were managing pretty well in their quest to fight off lonely.
"Fucking hell, wanted this for so long," George gasped, arching up, opening himself wider, offering as much of himself to Oliver as Oliver wanted to take.
"God, you're hot," Oliver whispered against his neck, nipping at it. George knew he would have a necklace of bruises when this was all over, from the way Oliver had been attacking his throat since they'd started. He didn't care, though. He wanted the bruises, wanted proof that this had happened, that he'd managed to seduce his brother's boyfriend and have him all to himself, even if it was just for one night.
"You're hotter," he whispered back, and he groaned. "So fucking hot. Always loved to watch you play Quidditch. I'd get distracted staring at your arse when I should have been paying attention to the game."
"Always knew your brother was a better beater than you ever were," Oliver replied between grunts, "Just never knew why." It stung, just a little, the mention of his brother, but George couldn't think about Fred right now, or about Percy, or about any of the other people who'd be disappointed or disgusted with them right now. All he cared about was Oliver, Oliver fucking him, biting him, claiming him.
"Your fault," he managed, "You always knew how bloody sexy you were. Still do. You know it." He dug his fingernails deeper into the skin of Oliver's back, wanting Oliver to be marked, too. His mind flashed on a scene of Oliver having to explain the scratches to Percy, then he forced himself back to the present. Oliver would heal himself afterwards—or, hell, maybe George would do it for him. But now, he needed to be here, in his old room with its one vacant bed, here with Oliver, who sounded like he wanted to come.
"Fuck, yeah," groaned George, reaching between their bodies and jerking at his cock. "Want you to come inside me, come on, Ollie."
Oliver sped his thrusting. "Oh, yeah," he mouthed against George's skin, his breath warm and humid, "Gonna come inside you, gonna fill you up—oh, fuck, yes, yes, there it is, fucking coming in you, George—" and Oliver broke off into babbling, his thrusts erratic, and collapsed on top of George, who still jerked his own cock, revelling in the knowledge that Oliver's come was inside him.
Oliver slipped out and rolled off George, propping himself up on his elbows and watching George get himself off.
"Gonna come for me, Georgie?" Oliver asked, and the pet name made something inside George snap, and he nodded, gasping, and came, spurting over his fingers and his belly, coming harder than he thought he'd ever come before in his life, stifling the scream that so desperately wanted to escape.
His cock was sensitive, too bloody sensitive, but still he jerked himself, wanting to milk every last drop of come from his cock, every last second of sensation out of this experience.
"Yeah," he finally said when he couldn't stand touching himself anymore, "Yeah, just for you." He panted, eyes closed, coming down from his orgasm, and he felt the mattress shift and heard the rustle of clothing. He groaned and opened one eye—yes, Oliver was dressing. Oliver was leaving him.
"I'm sorry I can't stay," said Oliver, doing up the zip on his jeans, "But this was bloody amazing. Always knew you'd be a good fuck, George." He pulled his shirt over his head and flashed a gleaming smile in George's direction. "Be good," he said, and winked—bloody winked—and slipped out the bedroom door, leaving George to process all that had just happened.
"Wow," George finally said aloud, and he laughed. So bloody what if it was never going to happen again? George had got his man, and it had been amazing. And now maybe he could move on.