
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7874641.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J.K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Fred_Weasley/George_Weasley, Weasleys/Other(s)
  Character:
      Fred_Weasley, George_Weasley, Oliver_Wood
  Additional Tags:
      Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot
  Collections:
      Ink_Stained_Fingers
  Stats:
      Published: 2003-03-29 Words: 2748
****** Fleetwood’s High-Finish Handle Polish ******
by Stewart Blanchett [archived by ISF_Archivist]
Summary
     Oliver/Fred/George. Oliver POV. After Quidditch practice, the twins
     and Oliver hold an "extra practice session."
Notes
     This story was originally archived at Ink_Stained_Fingers, which was
     created in 2002 as a home for Harry Potter slash fiction. To preserve
     the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an
     Open Doors-approved project in January 2015. We e-mailed all authors
     about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached
     everyone. If you are (or know) this author or artist, please contact
     me using the e-mail address at the Ink_Stained_Fingers_collection
     profile.
     Author's notes: Jean Tarin made me post it! Have fun!
Fleetwood's High-Finish Handle Polish




  "Damn good practice, team!" Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch
  Team said as the team made its way from the pitch to the changing rooms. led
  the team through a great practice. Long, hard, and unforgiving-just the way
  he liked it to be. There was nothing Oliver loved more than Quidditch...
  Well, almost nothing.
  Oliver felt good. He was dirty, his muscles ached, and he was knackered. He
  had e loved to play. He loved to win. Oliver's motto? "Work hard. Play
  harder!"
  "All right there, Harry?" he asked.
  The small, pale 2nd year looked up and beamed back at Oliver. Harry was
  probably the only other person in the Wizarding world who loved Quidditch as
  much as Oliver did. But no one was fooled by Harry's seemingly fragile faade-
  he was the best seeker Hogwarts had ever seen.
  Yet, Oliver could never get past Harry's eyes-a dazzling shade of deep
  emerald green that glimmered like the Golden Snitch in the sun. Something
  about Harry always gave Oliver a strange but pleasant feeling in his stomach.
  Maybe it was because Harry was legendary. Maybe it was because Harry revered
  Oliver as a Captain and mentor-always ready to learn anything and everything
  he could learn from his hero. Or maybe it was Harry's unsurpassed love of
  Quidditch that connected he to Oliver.
  Whatever it was, it didn't matter; Harry was too young. After all, Oliver was
  sixteen-seventeen in a few months-and Harry only twelve.
  Oliver made his way to his own locker in the back corner. He had used this
  locker every year he was on the team-5 years now. Next year would be his
  last. Oliver quickly dismissed the thought of a possible end to his beloved
  sport, and sat down on the bench before his locker.
  Across from him stood George Weasley, a rugged yet striking 4th year
  Gryffindor beater. George's eyes met Oliver's. George smiled and threw Oliver
  a quick wink as he tossed one of his forearm guards into his locker. The
  other George tossed at Gryffindor's other beater, Fred Weasley-his twin
  brother.
  Oliver smiled as the two began bickering. Shucking his outer robe he leaned
  back into the cold metal of his locker. It was refreshing-the cold metal
  pressed against the warm, moist flesh of the back of his neck. His eyes never
  left the twins.
  They were beautiful. Both tall. Both lean. Both muscular as country boys are
  wont to be. Beautiful twin bodies. Four beautiful eyes that were always
  sparkling over mischievous grins. Red hair that shone like fire when caught
  in the sun and wind as they flew high above the ground on a broomstick. The
  twins were stunning-both on and off the pitch.
  Oliver closed his eyes. He thought of the Quidditch Cup. He thought of all
  the matches he had played. He thought of his team. But mostly he laughed at
  the irony around his Quidditch team.
  It was ironic that his team's chasers, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnett, and
  Katie Bell, were not just Chasers on the pitch. But were chasers everyday-
  chasing him, or Fred or George. But neither he nor the twins were Quaffles to
  be pursued.
  It was ironic that his team's seeker would be seeking for a few more years
  before he'd be allowed to participate in the "extra practices". There was
  just a twinge of regret that Oliver would be gone from Hogwarts by then.
  And Oliver was Gryffindor's keeper-the keeper of more than just the goals or
  the team-the keeper of secrets. Oliver kept the secrets of things that went
  on when no one was around. Things that no one...
  "Oliver," a voice said, "Oliver!"
  "Oy! He's gone and nodded off, he has," another voice answered.
  Oliver stirred and opened his eyes. He had fallen asleep. He was still in the
  changing room, still half dressed in his Quidditch uniform. But now he was
  sitting between Fred and George.
  "How long was I off?" Oliver asked.
  "Not long," answered George, "We woke you right after Harry left."
  "Poor Harry," added Fred jokingly, " He was so worried about you."
  Fred stood then crossed to the door. He latched it then muttered a charm to
  nullify the Alohamora charm. They were locked in. With one fluid movement,
  Fred turned back as his scarlet robe fluttered to the floor.
  Oliver watched transfixed as Fred walked towards him. The candlelight danced
  over Fred's naked and muscled body--casting flickering shadows and setting
  red hair ablaze. Oliver wet his lips and swallowed. Then Fred's face was
  inches from his own. Fred leaned and pressed his lips against Oliver's.
  Fred's kisses were soft, warm, and sweet. Oliver hardly noticed that a pair
  of hands had found their way underneath his sweater. He had forgotten that
  George was sitting next to him.
  How Oliver had forgotten was a mystery-perhaps temporary lapse of memory.
  Fred and George were always together. It was always the both of them. Even if
  he had one of them alone, it wasn't long before the other was there, too.
  But Oliver didn't mind at all. He liked the way the twins worked together.
  They had this... connection-this way of communicating with each other without
  speaking. It was great on the pitch-and even better here in the changing
  room.
  Fred pulled away-breaking their kiss. George pulled off Oliver's sweater and
  tossed it away as Fred set to work removing the guards still buckled around
  Oliver's legs. It was George's turn. Sliding his hand around the back of
  Oliver's neck, George pulled Oliver's mouth to his own. George's other hand
  slid around Oliver's waist as he pulled Oliver's body into his.
  One of the few ways Oliver knew to tell them apart: George's kiss was
  passionate, hard, hot, and strong. George loved to be in charge. Oliver
  pressed his body into George's. He tried to compete for dominance with
  George... it was pointless, but he couldn't resist. George would kiss him
  hard, and he'd kiss George harder. Finally, Oliver relented and let George do
  what he did best. George wrapped his arms tightly around Oliver. He could
  feel George's heavy heartbeat on his own chest. Oliver could only remember
  few occasions other than the extra practices where George was ever this
  intense.
  Oliver hardly noticed Fred working methodically at removing Oliver's guards.
  Of course, they all had done it enough times that they could do it without
  thinking. Fred's hands worked away, but his eyes never opened-which was
  useful, as Fred was more intent to adorn Oliver's hot and sweaty body with
  several salted kisses.
  But as Fred's hands worked magic below, George's hands were on Oliver's
  shoulders-working magic of their own. His fingertips worked their way deep
  into Oliver's flesh. Oliver gave a sharp intake of breath.
  "You've got a lot of tension in you shoulders," George whispered.
  "That's not the only place there's tension," followed Fred with a smile.
  Oliver, chuckling, looked down to Fred, who had managed to remove the
  remainder of Oliver's clothing.
  "Well, what are you going to do about that now?" Oliver prompted.
  Fred laughed. "You didn't really say that did you?" he asked.
  "Sorry," replied Oliver, "Too many adult Muggle videos."
  "What?" George piped in-he had returned to massaging and kissing Oliver's
  back.
  "I'll tell you all about it later." Oliver said.
  "You'd better," said George.
  With that, Oliver felt George reaching around his waist-grabbing his leg and
  leading him to sit with his legs on either side of the bench so that they now
  both sat straddling the bench, backs to fronts. Oliver now felt George, warm
  and firm, pressed against his back. George's hands and mouth never stopped.
  Fred had followed suit, and was also now sitting similarly on the bench, but
  facing Oliver. Oliver opened his eyes. They met Fred's. Again, that
  mischievous smirk, and Fred lowered his head. Oliver closed his eyes once
  more. He felt Fred on him. It was slow. It was gentle. It was wet. It was
  great.
  Oliver leaned back into George. He reached back over his head, around
  George's, and met George's mouth with his own again. He felt Fred lightly
 running his fingernails over his thighs. George almost simultaneously began
  running his fingernails over Oliver's chest and stomach. Like he always had
  known, the Weasley twins were connected somehow. Oliver let the fingers of
  his free hand run through the soft locks of Fred's hair.
  The sensation within Oliver was growing. He let his body go and he moved with
  Fred-gently gyrating opposite Fred.
  From behind him, Oliver heard a soft moan. His gentle gyrating wasn't just
  turning him on, but George as well-who now began to grind his entire body
  into Oliver's.
  Fred had gone from slow and gentle to quick and vigorous and George had done
  the same. Oliver let out a long, breathy moan. He was almost there. To that
  high point that was only matched by a good Quidditch match. Or was it? Was
  there anything better than this? Was this better than a good game of
  Quidditch? Was one even comparable to the other?
  Then without warning, everything stopped. Oliver started to open his eyes,
  but then everything started back again. Yet, it was slightly different. Then
  it came to him. They had switched places. Well, they were still sitting in
  the same place, only now, Fred was kissing him and George had taken over
  where Fred left off.
  Oliver smiled.
  "What's funny?" asked Fred.
  "You blokes are..." Oliver started.
  "We know," Fred said, "Unbelievably clever." Fred laughed and kissed Oliver
  again.
  "Bugger off." Oliver said pushing Fred back.
  Fred lay back on the bench-propping himself on his elbows. He had understood
  Oliver's intent. Oliver leaned slightly forward, minding George's head. But
  George had already moved from beneath him. Fred closed his eyes and dropped
  his head back.
  Oliver leaned forward and kissed Fred once on the navel. He ran his tongue
  down Fred's body a few inches and then paused again to lay another kiss. He
  ran his tongue down another inch and kissed Fred squarely on his sweet spot.
  Fred groaned as Oliver let the tip of his tongue lightly dance over all the
  places that drove Fred mad. He could hear Fred breathing heavily. Fred
  whispered something Oliver couldn't quite make out. Oliver brushed his lips
  down Fred and back up again. He stopped at the tip-still teasing with his
  tongue.
  Seconds later, Fred let out a small cry. Oliver smiled, opened his mouth
  slightly, and took Fred inside. Fred went barking. His body went into a
  frenzy-as if Oliver had never touched him there before. But that was okay.
  Oliver loved it when Fred was like this.
  Suddenly, there was a flash of sparks and a glitter of stars that Oliver
  could see even with closed eyes. Then there was a sharp but sweet scent
  filling the air. It was a combination of scents from oranges and wood polish.
  Polish. Fleetwood's High-Finish Handle Polish-the best kind of broomstick
  handle polish ever made. Only, Oliver knew it wasn't actually broomstick
  polish. It was a special potion the Weasley Twins had made especially for
  him-for polishing broomstick handles. Not actual broomstick handles but his
  "broomstick"-well, his and Fred's and George's. After all, Fred and George
  weren't just beaters on the pitch.
  Soon Oliver felt George's hands again. He could feel the warm, jelly-like
  potion being spread over his bum. George's fingers found their way inside.
  Oliver drew in a sharp breath, rolled his hips over and now lay on his
  stomach. The fingers worked their way deep inside, slowly out, and then right
  back in again. George knew how to work each one of his fingers in ways that
  would amaze most. He started with an index, added in a middle, switched those
  for a thumb on his opposite hand . . . Oliver ground his hips hard into the
  wooden bench--pressing himself between the bench and the weight of his body.
  His breathing increased, as did the tingling sensation spreading throughout
  his body-from the tips of his toes to the crown of his head. He had forgotten
  all about Fred, who was still standing tall lying on the bench where Oliver
  had left him.
  Fred, however, was showing how well he was capable of handling a situation
  such as this. As a matter of fact, Oliver could see that Fred was handling it
  quite nicely. He watched as Fred ran his hand up and down-pulling, tugging,
  and squeezing. He watched Fred's head roll back in ecstasy. Oliver was just
  about to reach and take over when George leaned forward and let his body
  blanket Oliver's. He dove his mouth into Oliver's neck-wildly kissing and
  licking over it.
  "You ready?" George whispered into Oliver's neck. It was almost savage, his
  voice.
  "Uh-huh," was all Oliver could breathe out.
  Oliver positioned himself a little better. Then there was the pressure of
  George beginning to slide in followed by a smarting pain as George entered
  inside. Oliver cried out. George, Oliver thought, was bigger-bigger than
  before. It wasn't a charm to summon the potion George had done earlier, but a
  charm to make himself bigger. But seconds later, Oliver didn't care. It felt
  good. George knew a kind of magic not taught here at school. George would
  start slow, then go fast, then gently, then he'd rough it up a bit. Or
  sometimes he'd do several of those things as once.
  Oliver couldn't focus anymore. George was driving him mad. He wasn't even
  aware of how loud he was getting until Fred shushed him in a very clever way.
  Fred put himself right back into Oliver's gaping mouth. George wasn't the
  only one who knew magic other than Hogwarts magic. Fred and George were both
  having their way with Oliver. The Twins had taken over. Oliver was like a
  Quaffle being fought for. And he loved it. George was still laying over him.
  He was getting Oliver in just the right spot. It wouldn't be long before...
  And everything stood still again.
  "Damn those twins," Oliver thought, eyes closed, as he lay there over the
  bench, "Always, when I'm about to..."
  And once more it all started. He felt himself lifted and up-ended. He was
  lying on his back. His legs were raised over broad shoulders and someone
  entered him. Only now it wasn't as big as before. But when someone sat across
  his chest and a hand grabbed the back of his neck and slid into Oliver's
  mouth, Oliver knew. They had switched. Oliver had to struggle to take on
  George and still manage breathing. And George, it seemed, wasn't at all
  interested in being sympathetic. He thrust himself deeply down Oliver's
  throat. As if this were not enough, Fred was an exact likeness on Oliver's
  other end. Both the twins were going at all-outs. Oliver couldn't take
  anymore.
  Oliver gripped himself tightly-pushing himself over the edge. Oliver's body
  tightened and he let out a groan muffled by George's imposition.
  "Oh, Fuck!" cried Fred.
  Fred pulled out and let himself go. His body convulsed. His head jerked back.
  Oliver ran his fingers through the warmth as Fred collapsed to the floor-
  breathing heavily.
  Before Oliver could resume, George was standing where Fred had been only
  seconds ago. He slid back into Oliver. George was going hard and strong. He
  leaned forward-locking into Oliver's kiss. George was deep inside him. Oliver
  felt it. The pressure was building quickly and strongly.
  Oliver threw himself into George's rhythms. Hard and strong. Their breathing
  heavy. Their speed growing along with the sensation of internal combustion.
  George thrust harder.
  Every muscle in Oliver's body went taut as he tried to hold back. But it was
  only a second.
  With a long audible sound of exhilaration, Oliver erupted. Blood raced
  through his veins. His head was light-as if he been drinking or flying upside
  down on his broom too long.
  Slowly, he opened his eyes. George sat in front of him . . . breathing deeply
  and smiling. Fred was sitting with his back against the lockers. None of them
  spoke. They just sat. The sounds of their heavy breaths echoing in the oh-so-
  quiet room.
  "Well," said Oliver suddenly jumping up and breaking the silence, "We should
  shower up then."
  He threw the twins a mischievous wink as he sauntered off towards the
  showers.
  Fred and George exchanged glances, smiled, and followed. Extra practices were
  one thing. But the showers afterward were another.
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