
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/142478.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Marcus_Flint/Oliver_Wood, Marcus_Flint/Terence_Higgs, Marcus_Flint/
      Terence_Higgs/Oliver_Wood
  Character:
      Marcus_Flint, Terence_Higgs, Oliver_Wood
  Additional Tags:
      Threesome_-_M/M/M
  Stats:
      Published: 2003-04-30 Chapters: 1/? Words: 700
****** Polar ******
by Sofie_K_Werkers_(femgeek)
Summary
     How things were.
Notes
     Set in the summer of 1992, so assume that the books are set a year
     later than they are, and Harry's not yet at Hogwarts during this
     story.
     This was supposed to be my annual summer smut story. Apparently, the
     muse had other ideas. How I got this litgeekiness out of these three
     I still don't know, but there you have it.
It's been years since that summer, but Terence still remembers. Temperatures
had been rising since late May, and by the end of the first week of June,
Hogwarts was sweltering. When the heat starts rising to unbearable heights, he
remembers walking into the broom shed late one afternoon, and his life changing
forever.
He wasn't really surprised to see Flint and Wood having sex. He wasn't stupid,
after all; he'd seen the looks they'd been shooting each other all year. The
sexual tension had been thick enough to cut, and Marcus Flint wasn't one to
deny himself sex with anyone simply because they happened to be a Gryffindor.
So when Terence stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the two of them, it
wasn't because of the sex. He just never imagined Marcus Flint could be that
gentle with anyone, or that he'd want to. They didn't appear to notice him, too
caught up in each other, and he left quietly, the image of Flint's fingers
dancing across Wood's skin burned into his brain.
Three days later, Flint cornered him in an empty hallway in the dungeons,
growled "Liked what you saw?", and pushed him against the wall. There was no
gentleness now, just deliberate force, pushing and pulling Terence's hips,
gripping them hard enough to leave bruises for weeks afterwards. The dungeon
wall felt cool against his back.
The training match Marcus had planned against Gryffindor was delayed until the
late afternoon to avoid the blistering heat. Terence didn't think it helped
much; he was still boiling in his robes. He contemplated pretending to see the
Snitch just to feel the wind on his face. When he finally did spot the Snitch,
he didn't have time to feel the wind. He caught the snitch, hand raised in
triumph, a chill running down his back when he caught Marcus' eye.
Afterwards, when the rest of the team was in the showers, Marcus pinned him
down on a bench and sucked him off. It was over in less than two minutes, and
Terence headed for the showers with his teeth imprinted in his fingers, bite
marks from trying not to scream.
Marcus was late to the Slytherin victory party, and Terence knew why. When he
passed Wood in the hallway on the way to dinner, he noticed the absence of bite
marks on the other's hands.
The rest is a blur in his memory. Flashes of sensation: Marcus' hands pinning
his wrists above his head; Marcus' teeth on his shoulder, almost breaking the
skin; Marcus' predatory look during boring classes; sweat on his back;
strangled noises in the back of his throat; sand and rocks and stones against
his skin; coming hard, and fast, and often — these are the things he remembers
when the burning summer sun hits his face.
He doesn't remember ever wondering why, or what. Marcus was the Captain, and
Terence followed his lead, and that was how things were.
Sometimes, still, he wonders about Wood. Wood and his pretty face, his lips,
his eyes, his accent. Not hard to see why Marcus wanted him. What Wood was
getting out of this whole thing, Terence couldn't quite figure out. Still can't
quite figure out, because Wood was a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors hated all
Slytherins, and that was the way things were supposed to be.
But they weren't, and Wood didn't, and that was why one day Terence walked
behind the Quidditch changing rooms and found them, limbs entwined, discarded
robes in a heap nearby. He froze. Wood saw him first, invitation clear in his
eyes. There was no invitation in Marcus' eyes, just an order.
It started with a hand on Marcus' back. Slow, and slick, and sweaty, and then
Wood caught his eyes, and he leaned forward and caught Wood's lips. For a
moment, there was the tight thrill of fear, of not knowing how either of them
were going to react to this, and then Marcus' hands joined Wood's on his
thighs, and that's all he can really remember.
It ended with the clouds breaking, one of those sudden summer storms. They ran
into the changing rooms, got dressed in silence, waiting it out without
speaking.
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