Oliver Wood (die__trying) wrote in snark_n_bark, @ 2008-08-02 13:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | complete, oliver |
Been a long time
Character: Oliver Wood
Summary: What else is there after a bad night of pub crawling?
“Christ, Oliver, will you just go out and get laid? You look like someone vanished your puppy.”
Oliver scowled at the remembered words as he plodded his way through his apartment. He caught sight of his reflection in the chrome of his toaster when he passed it and scowled again. Didn’t help to discount the teasing words when she’d been dead right.
He looked like ass.
His teammates had been giving him a wide berth but, ironically enough, it’d been his Seeker – a tough little thing named Trisa – who’d been the only one to pipe up a suggestion to improve his mood. The fact his entire team had chorused the suggestion with loud whoops of agreement had helped nothing.
But her suggestion, he’d found over the last few nights of pub crawling, had been much easier said than done.
There had been no end to the available blokes in each of the pubs he’d visited, but not one of them held more than cursory interest. Sure, there were broad chests, dark hair, incredible backsides, any of which prime for his taking according to the owners of each attribute. Unfortunately, none of them had caused so much as a twitch.
Sighing in defeat, Oliver turned from the kitchen and headed back towards his room, wanting nothing more than a quick wash to rid himself of the smoke and drink smell and crash into another attempt at a restful night.
He wasn’t optimistic about that.
He stripped off while he walked, leaving a trail of clothes down the hallway and not caring about it in the slightest. After all, who was going to complain? With a tap of his wand against the water spigot, the water turned on – instantly hot enough to scald him. He stepped in and soaped up, letting the water beat at the back of his neck as he did so, trying to ease the strain away.
He wasn’t optimistic about that, either. Because he doubted there was a long enough shower in existence to ease away what ate at him day and night.
His brother was alive. Alive and happy. And just as happy to be away from him. And Harry thought him a selfish bastard who cared little for anything but drinking his nights away in a pub. And Harry was with Faelan, responsible for the happiness he’d seen in his brother’s eyes. He should be happy for him. For them. But the loss he felt was too great and happiness couldn’t find a foothold.
Eyes closed, he slicked his hands over the muscles of his chest and stomach, his mind wandering to the last time he’d felt anything remotely close to desire for anyone. A desire that also brought with it that level of happiness.
It took a moment, but John’s face floated to the forefront of his mind. Unfortunately, it was his face as desire swept over him. Also unfortunately, it was the exact second that Oliver’s fingers brushed along his cock. And his cock twitched in response.
John hadn’t been an imaginative lover, or even a close one. But they’d been good for each other while it lasted – a partner to go home with when simple human touch was needed – more out of convenience than any real lasting affection. Still, he was someone Oliver could have used right now as he stood under the heated spray, cock now at nearly full attention and libido coming awake from a long-dormant slumber.
A half-formed idea to call John was acknowledged and then dismissed. John had long since found what he’d lacked with Oliver and he was happily partnered.
“And probably shagging that partner right now while you stand wanking in the shower,” Oliver muttered to himself. “Pathetic.”
He debated just rinsing off and shutting off the water, and then filling his mind with the sorts of images guaranteed to deflate his libido in moments. His coach in drag topped that list. But he was here, he was hard, and maybe partial release was better than nothing. Even if it wasn’t his preferred method.
So instead he searched for and found mental images that would feed the growing erection rather than starve it. John’s welcoming body, his head turned to watch as Oliver slid into him; the way he’d push backwards swiftly to draw his whole cock inside quicker; the look on his face when his lips wrapped around him; the small moans of pleasure he’d make…
It was working and Oliver’s fist pumped faster over his own cock, one arm bracing against the shower wall to steady himself in light of rapidly weakening knees.
Nimble, familiar fingers worked his own flesh while his mind conjured image after image to help the fantasy along. But either due to his own preoccupation or simple exhaustion, other images kept creeping in and destroying what little progress he made. Still, though he persevered and slid his hand low, teasing his own bollocks and sliding to the skin beyond with one clever finger.
He saw Faelan smiling on the lawn while he was with Harry then screwed his eyes shut and forcibly replaced it with John’s face when he came. A soft grunt issued from his mouth when his searching finger found his own opening. He was close. He pressed against the muscle, trying to keep John’s face, the taste of John’s cock close in his mind.
But in that instant, the second his finger slid into his own soap-slick opening, he saw Harry’s fierce and blazing green eyes as he stood close that night in the pub.
And he came on a yell and a groan, nearly falling against the wall of the shower from the force of his release.
Weak and shaking, Oliver shut off the water and climbed uneasily from the tub. He dried off as best he could through the trembles and hitched the towel awkwardly around his hips. Without any further dressing than that, Oliver stumbled towards his bed – weak and very, very confused.