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Mirror, Mirror

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James cocked his head and looked at himself critically in the mirror. His eyes were bright despite the early hour, his cheeks flushed and his hair mussed. He looked well shagged—felt it, too—the faint ache in his arse reminding him of the glorious fucking Oliver had given him last night after their win against the Bats. A Bludger had shattered James's hand as he'd dove to save the Quaffle from entering one of his hoops, and despite the blinding pain he'd not lost hold of the ball. The move had provided just enough distraction for their Seeker to grab the Snitch right from under the Bats' noses, giving them the win.

Oliver had been thrilled, clapping Iqbal, their Seeker, on the back before demanding James go get his hand seen to, all while giving him a look that told James they'd be celebrating on their own later. They were still keeping their relationship a secret, given James was Puddlemere's newest star Keeper, and Oliver was his coach. It wasn't explicitly against regulations, but it certainly would raise some eyebrows and perhaps start some nasty rumours about how exactly James had landed his coveted spot on the team. As much as he'd love to shout out from the rooftops that he was in a relationship with the Oliver Wood—easily the hottest bloke to ever fly in the League—he wasn't established enough yet to be sure his career would weather that kind of storm. Oliver felt that everything should be solely about Quidditch, none of this faffing about with gossip about personal lives, so thankfully he was on board to keep things hush-hush.

Sometimes James could hardly believe they were even together, that the bloke whose posters he'd wanked to as a teenager had become something like his boyfriend. When James had first joined the team he'd expected to spend some time with the coach, of course, but he'd not really anticipated the particular interest Oliver had taken in him. At first he'd been a bit resentful, thinking it was due to Oliver's friendship with James's dad, whom he still kept in irregular contact with. But it soon became clear that Oliver's interest was purely based on James's talent as a Keeper (and maybe a smidge to do with the way his arse looked in Quidditch leathers) and it wasn't long before Oliver had taken James under his wing. On top of regular training sessions Oliver had him attend special one-on-one training designed specifically to hone his skills as a Keeper, imparting the knowledge that Oliver had gained over his long and successful career. They'd got to know one another during those sessions together, and somewhere along the way the hero-worship James had always felt towards Oliver had transformed into something more, something tangible and real. Even more shocking was that his feelings had been returned, and once James had realised he wasn't the only one that wanted this, well, his Gryffindor side had urged him to make his move. He figured they could iron out all the details somewhere down the line.

That was months ago and James was blissfully happy and pointedly not thinking about the future and what it held for them. He knew he'd have to think about it eventually, but eventually hadn't arrived yet, so for now he was letting himself enjoy getting dicked down on the regular by his childhood idol, the gorgeous, funny, and thoughtful man that James could admit he was falling head over heels for.

He frowned as he ran a hand over his head, his reflection distracting him from the sappy direction his thoughts had been heading. Merlin, his undercut fade was looking a right mess. He was normally quite a stickler for ensuring everything looked crisp and sharp but James had been… preoccupied these past few weeks—months, really—and maintaining his hair had fallen by the wayside. He was long overdue for a good shave, and there was no time like the present.

His bag of toiletries was still sitting half open next to Oliver's sink, and he rummaged around until he found the Self-Adjusting Clippers for a Foolproof Fade that Albus had got for him from Dervish and Banges last Christmas. Once James had performed the complicated series of spells on the clippers to get the settings just right for his particular haircut, all he had to do was run the clippers through his hair and it would give him the perfect shave without any of the accidental trimmings he'd suffered through with his old clippers.

"What do you think you're doing?"

James startled, almost dropping his clippers as Oliver came into the bathroom dressed only in a pair of low-slung joggers. James gave him an appreciative once-over and Oliver raised an eyebrow, looking ridiculously smug as he scratched absently at a hairy pec. Sometimes James had a hard time believing that fit-as-fuck silver fox Oliver Wood was older than James's dad.

"Um, shaving?" He gestured towards his head with the clippers. "My hair's getting a bit mangy."

Oliver frowned at him, stepping forward to take the clippers from James. "Not with that hand, you're not."

James rolled his eyes. "My hand's fine! It didn't even take ten minutes for the team Healer to mend the bones."

"You know the team rules." Oliver gave him a reproving look. "I don't care if the Healer gives you a clean bill of health, no using injured body parts for twenty-four hours after healing. Magic's not perfect, no need to tempt fate."

"Good thing it wasn't my arse that got injured then, or we'd have had a tame night," James snarked, and Oliver shot him a cocky smile.

"Oh, there's plenty we could've done without involving your arse." He gave James lips a lascivious glance that made even James blush. He looked away and back into the mirror, sighing unhappily at the state of his hair. Now that he'd noticed how messy it looked he couldn't unsee it. It'd drive him mad all day.

Oliver caught his expression and looked down at the clippers he was still holding. "Just because you're not allowed, that doesn't mean I can't do it for you."

James hesitated. He'd had to rely on friends and family before to touch up his hair in a pinch and it almost never turned out right. He winced as he thought of the time he'd had Teddy do it on a family holiday in Spain a few years ago, only to have Teddy shave off half his hair when Victoire had walked past in a skimpy bikini.

"These are one of those fancy self-adjusting clippers, yeah?" Oliver said, clearly noting James's reluctance. "Don't I just run it over your head and it shaves to the right length no matter where I put it?" He looked at the clippers again, holding them up to James's face. "Says foolproof right here. I think your hair will survive."

"Yeah, all right then," James said with a sigh. "You're the one who has to look at me if you fuck it up."

Oliver snorted. "It'll take more than a bad haircut to distract from that pretty face of yours."

James pretended he wasn't preening as he turned to face the mirror, watching Oliver's reflection as he settled in behind him. James wasn't exactly a small bloke but Oliver was bigger, solid and sturdy and so fucking hot a little shiver went through James as Oliver placed the clippers at the base of James's skull.


James gave a little nod and Oliver cast the spell that would link the clippers into his magic and power them on.

Despite the fact that the foolproof clippers made it so a haircut required practically zero effort once calibrated, Oliver was deadly focused on his task. He moved the clippers in slow, precise lines across James's head, shaving away the exact amount of hair to leave James with a picture-perfect fade. James sighed happily even as prickly bits of hair began to fall down his neck, sticking to his skin in an uncomfortable layer. Oliver had indeed managed not to fuck up James's hair; it looked fantastic.

Oliver wasn't looking half-bad himself as he finished up with the shave. James loved Oliver's intensity, adored how much of himself he devoted to each and every task, even one as simple as this. That keen look in his eyes was not unlike the one he had when putting the team through their paces during training, or when he was fucking James through the mattress, all iron resolve and steely determination.

James's cock twitched, his belly wriggling with arousal, and suddenly he couldn't wait for Oliver to finish, his perfect fade be damned.

Luckily he didn't have to go so far as to sacrifice his fresh shave, as Oliver had just finished the last stroke, severing the magical connection and tossing the clippers onto the countertop. He surveyed James's head with obvious satisfaction, a cocky smile on his lips when he met James's gaze in the mirror.

"Yes, yes, you did great," James said. He meant it to be flippant but it came out a little too breathless. Oliver's eyes darkened as they darted down the mirror to take in the obvious tent in James's pants.

He pressed in close, plastering himself along James's back and nestling the hard ridge of his erection in the cleft of James's arse. James shuddered and wriggled back eagerly in blatant invitation, their eyes still locked in the mirror. Oliver leaned forward to mouth along James throat before making a face and sputtering when he got a mouthful of hair instead of smooth skin.

James burst out laughing at the betrayed look on Oliver's face before grabbing his wand and Banishing the bits of hair. Oliver was still looking extremely put out, so James arched back against him, rubbing his arse over the line of his erection until Oliver focused back on the more pleasurable task at hand.

"Does getting a shave always give you the horn?" Oliver asked as he tugged on James's pants until they slid down his legs to pool at his feet.

James laughed as he kicked his pants to the side and widened his stance, still undulating against Oliver's pants-covered prick, wanting nothing so much as to have it inside him.

"I think that's more to do with the person giving me the shave as opposed to the shave itself." He flashed Oliver a cheeky smile through the mirror. "Though I could always ask somebody else to do it for me next time and see what happens?"

Oliver growled playfully before bending James over the sink and palming James's arse. James went to brace himself against the counter, but Oliver swatted his right hand away, nearly causing James to faceplant against the sink.

"Weight off that hand!" Oliver barked. James groaned but was too turned on to argue the point. He folded his left arm along the countertop instead letting his right arm dangle free. He canted his hips back and licked his lips as he met Oliver's dark gaze.

"Fuck you're gorgeous like that," Oliver breathed as slick fingers trailed along James's cleft. He was still a bit loose from last night, and it was nothing at all for Oliver to slide two fingers right inside of him. It ached just a little but in the best kind of way, and James's breath hitched as Oliver began to thrust them in and out, twisting and curling so he nailed James's prostate every time.

Oliver leaned over James's back, mouthing at James's shoulder which was thankfully free of hair this time around. James watched it all through the mirror, taking in the way their reflections moved together. His eyes were glassy with need and pleasure and he was oddly captivated by the varying shades of pink and red blooming across their skin as they grew flushed with exertion. Oliver dragged his teeth along James's throat, his eyes locked with James's in the mirror, and James moaned at the image they made. It was better than porn, and the filthy tableau combined with Oliver's talented fingers in his arse pushed James closer and closer to the edge.

"Am I allowed to wank with my no-longer-even-a-little-bit-injured hand?" James asked, more needy than snarky. "Or is that too much strain for it to handle?"

Oliver licked James's earlobe and James whined. "Don't worry, James, I'll take care of you."

The hand not currently preoccupied with James's arse snaked around James's hip and grabbed hold of his erection, broom-calloused fingers rubbing along his shaft. Oliver moved with firm, steady strokes and it didn't take long before James was coming, spraying Oliver's fancy cabinets with his come.

Oliver milked him through it, his fist moving leisurely up and down James's shaft while his fingers kept a steady pulse on his prostate until James wriggled from over-stimulation. Oliver took that as his cue to find his own release, sliding his fingers out of James and shoving his pants down just far enough to grab hold of his cock.

James watched in the mirror, feeling sexy and a bit slutty in the aftermath of his orgasm as Oliver wanked himself furiously over James's arse. He was staring intently at it, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he worked himself over, and James flexed his arse cheeks, giving them a bit of a jiggle. Oliver groaned and came, coating James's arse with his release and looking so bloody hot James almost could have come again himself.

A few moments later and Oliver seemed to have recovered from his post-orgasm daze, reaching for his wand and cleaning the come off James, Oliver, and Oliver's poor cabinets. James smirked at him in the mirror as he straightened, stretching out the kinks from being bent over while Oliver blatantly ogled him.

"See something you like?" James asked with a quirked eyebrow.

Oliver grinned at him. "Yeah, just admiring your haircut. Bloke who did it must be good with his hands."

"He's not bad," James said, turning around and pulling Oliver in for a kiss. "Looks like I found myself a new barber."