The sun begins to set in the sky casting hues of orange, pink and lavender as dusk settles in. It's been a long, hard day of practice and Charlie's certain the Quidditch cup is theirs this year.
"Alright team, great job today! Hit the showers and rest up tonight," Charlie commands, strapping the bludgers into their box.
The rest of the team says their farewells and heads off to the shower. Everybody but one.
"Need some help there, Captain?"
"Practice is over, Oliver," Charlie rolls his eyes, "you don't need to call me captain anymore."
"What if I want to?" Oliver all but purrs.
"Come on, you can carry the brooms," Charlie replies, ignoring Oliver's teasing.
He's always like this. Oliver's known as a bit of a flirt, and no one takes him too seriously, but Charlie seems to always get the most attention. He wouldn't mind so much if Oliver weren't so bloody good looking. All lean muscles, creamy skin and gorgeous eyes. Everyday it's some new line, some joking advance, and his attentions are becoming more difficult to ignore.
Charlie swings the broom shed open and heaves the heavy box on the ground when hears a clicking sound behind him. Oliver stands in front of the door, now closed, brooms tossed aside with a sly smile on his face.
"Oliver," Charlie warns.
"Come on, Charlie, don't spurn me now."
"I don't have time for your jokes," Charlie sighs, moving to push past him.
Oliver is lightening fast, grabbing Charlie by the shoulders and shoving him against the wall.
"Does this feel like a joke to you?” Oliver asks, pressing himself flush against Charlie.
Charlie swallows roughly as he feels Oliver’s prick against his thigh, hard and thick. His own cock twitches in response, rapidly stiffening against his will.
"Oliver, I don’t-"
“No Charlie, you do,” Oliver murmurs in his ear, rubbing himself against Charlie’s leg.
Merlin, he’s hard as a rock already, overwhelmed by the sensation as Oliver nudges his knee between Charlie’s thighs. Charlie’s head unconsciously falls on Oliver’s shoulder, inhaling deeply, the smell of grass and sweat filling his nose. It’s utterly arousing and Charlie’s resistance snaps, cast aside in favour of the lust coursing through his veins.
“Fuck,” Charlie whines as Oliver scrambles to release their aching pricks from their confines.
“Charlie,” Oliver pants as he grips both of their cocks together with one hand, “I’ve been dreaming about this, wanted you for so long.”
Charlie lets out a moan of agreement, hand covering Oliver’s as they stroke together. Oliver's prick is hot and smooth against his and Charlie’s more turned on than he's ever been in his life. He won’t last very long but, given by the guttural moans and flush on Oliver’s face, neither will he.
“Tell me you want me this too,” Oliver groans, increasing the speed of his strokes.
“Yes, yes,” Charlie whimpers in reply.
The friction is incredible, slightly slick from their combined pre-come, and when Oliver leans forward and speaks in his ear, Charlie just loses it.
“I want to see you come,” Oliver whispers.
Charlie cries out as his hips stutter and his orgasm is ripped from him. His cock throbs, spurt after spurt of come coating their interlaced hands.
“Oh fuck, Charlie, so fucking hot.”
Oliver stills his frantic strokes, arching his body as he comes, hot, sticky seed spilling over their cocks.
Charlie releases his hold on their pricks and leans his head back and against the wall, closing his eyes and willing his heartbeat to return to normal.
The broom shed is silent, the only sound their mingled panting as they catch their breath. After a moment of recovery, Charlie opens his eyes and reaches for his wand, casting a cleaning spell on both of them as he refastens his trousers.
Oliver stands in the middle of the shed, looking a little uncertain, nervously biting his lip as his eyes follow Charlie’s movements. Charlie gives him a once over before turning around and towards the door.
“Make sure you put those brooms away properly,” Charlie instructs.
“Uh, yeah... okay,” Oliver replies warily.
“Oh and Oliver?” Charlie says over his shoulder with a grin, “Meet me here, tomorrow, before practice, alone.”
Oliver’s eyes light up, his lips spreading in a slow smile.