Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Bloodplay in the CommonRoom ❯ Bloodplay in the CommonRoom ( Chapter 1 )

Title: Bloodplay in the Common Room; sequel to Bloodplay in the Dungeons

Author: Snappy Pants

Disclaimer: I own nothing, and that includes these characters. Don't try to sue me. I got nuthin.

Summary: Marcus Flint Oliver Wood. Everyone's gone for spring break!!! WOOOT!!! Hogwarts Boys Gone Wild!

Ratings: MA for Cussing, bloodplay, slash, graphic sex and violence, PWP, sap. PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU ARE UNDER AGE! IF ANY OF THE ABOVE FACTORS SQUICKS YOU, THAT IS WHAT THE BACK BUTTON IS FOR! I WILL NOT BE RESPONSIBLE IF YOU CONTINUE READING DESPITE THESE WARNINGS AND ARE OFFENDED, FLAMES DUE TO ANY OF THE ABOVE FACTORS WILL BE RIDICULED!

Note: H'okay! so it's been, like, years (seriously) since I wrote Bloodplay in the Dungeons, and I'm back by popular demand!!!!! (and by popular demand I mean the ten people who read BitD over a two year period who liked it, I did get one bad review, but the person left it anonymously!!! the little pip squeak!). So, here's the sequel, hope you like it. This one's got more sap in it than the other one because I was feeling sappy. BUT, the good news for you is already have an idea for another one that will be less sappy more violent, SO!!!! Enjoy! *commands*! p.s. I think this one is more brief than the other, but, I was having a hard time getting it to flow…puh-LEASE R&R!!!!

** is emphasis

 

Bloodplay in the Common Room

 

Spring Break. The entire school was gone again. Marcus smirked. He knew who the one other student staying for the holiday this year was. And he knew he was going to fuck him.

Hands tucked casually in the pockets of his robes, Marcus hummed a haunting tune as he waltzed out of the Slytherin common room. He made his way, casually towards the Gryffindor tower, smirk etching deeper and deeper into his face until it looked like it was carved there by some deranged sculptor.

 

The portrait of the Fat Lady giggled as he approached. “Back again, Marcus, you naughty boy,” she asked fondly. The Fat Lady was of the opinion that Marcus was the only Slytherin in the school worth anything, which was lucky for Marcus. She was also under the impression that he had some `dangerous liaison', her words, going on with one of the Gryffindor girls.

 

“Yes, ma'am. Chocolate frogs.” He chuckled as the hidden door swung open. She was half right. He was definitely having a liaison, and it was definitely dangerous, but not in the way she thought, and definitely *not* with one of the Gryffindor girls. No, Marcus had set his eyes on a higher prize. He would have Gryffindor's keeper. Oliver Wood would be his.

 

Marcus stepped over the threshold into the red and gold bedecked common room, grimacing slightly at the color scheme. A soft laugh came from the corner

 

“Don't like the color, Marcus? But you look so *good* in red.” Oliver Wood sat in the far corner of the common room, books and sheets of parchment spread out on the table in front of him. Marcus laughed at the pun.

 

“Not as good as you,” he murmured as he walked over to the other boy. He glanced down at the table and chuckled.

 

“Trying to figure out how to beat me at Quidditch?”

 

“Everyone's got to have a hobby.” Oliver was breathing slightly faster than normal as Marcus leaned over the table much more than was necessary, pressing the lines of their bodies together.

 

“Hmm…this looks decent, but I'll tell you why we always win.”(1) Marcus turned and captured Wood with his gaze, like a snake with its prey. Oliver just swallowed. “We always win,” Marcus was so close Oliver could feel his lips moving against his own, “because I know all your weaknesses.” Oliver's eyes closed as he shuddered and Marcus closed that last distance between them, capturing his prey in a searing kiss. Oliver moaned and leaned into the kiss. Yes, he thought, this was worth spending a week in a deserted school with nothing to do. This was worth it. He started to smile against Marcus' lips as he thought of what `this' was.

 

“So,” Marcus broke away, speaking in a low and husky voice, “what you have to do, is find someone to protect those weaknesses.” Oliver was shuddering again, pressing his lips together to lock in a moan. 'No fair!' his mind screamed, 'he cheated!'

 

Oh yes, Oliver had weaknesses, and this boy in front of him new exactly how to exploit them. Exactly how to….protect them… but they didn't talk about that...

 

Flint kissed him brutally again, bruising his lips and biting his tongue until the tang of blood filled their mouths. Oliver moaned, leaning into the other boy, brining his hands up around Marcus' neck and pulling him down to him. Marcus smiled cruelly against Wood's lips. He knew he had the other boy right where he wanted him.

 

Abruptly the Slytherin broke away, leaving the other boy gasping and looking lost, with blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Flint flourished his hands as he pulled his wand from his robes, and Oliver was thrown against the wall. He watched with a predatory gleam in his eye as the Gryffindor's eyes fluttered in ecstasy, his body sliding slowly to the ground. Another flick of Flint's wrists and Oliver's robes were in ribbons. Again and again and again he flicked his wrist, until the other boy lay naked before him, and shallow cuts decorated his pale body, trickling blood in streaks. Flint's trousers were becoming uncomfortably tight beneath his robes, but he was having too much fun with this game to do anything about it just yet.

 

He stalked towards the bleeding keeper, eyes riveted on the sight before him. Wood lay, crumpled at the base of the wall, so like the first time they played together, blood flowing across his beautiful body, panting with his own lust, eyes closed. His tongue flicked out to lick the blood from his own lips, savoring the taste of his subservience, a slow smile curving his lips. Flint crouched down in front of him.

 

“*This* weakness.” He hissed, “Who could possibly protect you from my assault? Who else knows that the reason you play keeper is because you love the feel of the players, and balls, and bludgers, slamming into you? Over, and over, and over again, until you collapse in the showers at the end of a game, bloodied and aroused, with no one to beat you into slaking that lust?” Wood was shuddering so hard his body was convulsing, his cock painfully erect as blood seeped into the hair at his crotch and he felt Flint's breath along his bare limbs. “Who knows that I slam into you on purpose, smiling as Madam Hooch calls foul, after foul, until I'm kicked out of the game, knowing what I'm doing to you? What only I can help you escape from?”

 

Feather light kisses along the tracks of blood were painful in their kindness, and disorienting Oliver's pain-and-lust-riddled mind. Gentleness had never before played a part in their games. A brush of lips here, another there, until Wood started to relax under this careful assault.

 

Marcus knew Oliver would be confused, and he waited, patiently tasting and drinking in the blood and sweat from the other boy, until he felt him relax beneath him. That cruel smile returned and suddenly Marcus' lips pulled back and his teeth sunk into the Gryffindor's hip, clenching until blood filled his mouth.

 

Wood's eyes flew open at the first of the bites, his body bowing up from the floor, mouth open in a silent scream, hands clenching into flexing claws, toes curing in. He started to shiver at the difference of sensation as Marcus repeatedly sunk his teeth into his thighs and stomach and hips, simultaneously skating his fingers gently up and down his dick and stomach, slipping between his thighs to tickle that spot at the juncture of groin and leg. A moan escaped his mouth.

 

Marcus eased up to observe his work, his arousal becoming almost unbearable at the erotic sight before him. Wood was flat on the ground, arms slightly bent up, face towards him, eyes closed and mouth open in a continuous whimpering moan, most of his lower body and upper legs covered in blood, the delicious patterns of slashes and bite marks making almost a tic-tac-toe game across the keeper's body. The Slytherin couldn't resist, he went down and licked the blood from Oliver's crotch, enjoying the texture of the wiry hair and the taste of his favorite liquid.

 

“Please.” It came as a rasp from the Gryffindor's throat, barely audible above the panting. “Please.” Marcus' eyes grew darker. Slowly, he stood up, almost dizzy with lust, and carefully lifting the other boy into his arms. Oliver let out breathy moans as wounds were stretched and pressed against, cradled against Flint's body.

 

Slowly, Marcus made his way to the stairs up to the boy's dormitories, walking slowly and carefully up the stairs to the very top, ending in the door to Oliver's bedroom (2). MArcus kicked the door open, and then took those last few steps to lay Oliver's broken and bleeding body on the bed.

 

Gently Flint turned the Gryffindor over onto his stomach, smirking at the stains that blackened the crimson sheets, pulling a black silk cord from his pocket. Arms and legs were stretched painfully and tied to the posts of the huge bed, and just for a moment, Marcus contained himself. He stepped back to admire his handiwork. This side of his toy is clean, creamy and pale and lacking in blood, the white scars decorating the keeper's back reminding him of past wounds and fucks.

 

Marcus stepped up to the bed, slowly stripping off his clothing. Oliver turned his head and watched, eyes still at half-mast. He was panting, lust and need written across his face as he watched his dominant(3) strip. Black robes and trousers, white shirt, Slytherin tie, all lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. Oliver knew well enough by now that Marcus never wore panties(4).

 

Completely naked Marcus climbed gracefully up onto the bed, kneeling between his lover's(5) thighs. He rested there for a moment, eyes wandering possessively over the muscled shoulders and back, hesitating at each beautiful scar, entranced by the rise and fall of the Gryffindor's panting. But finally, he could no longer deny his aching cock, and as he came back to himself he heard a faint “please” from Oliver with every breath.

 

For the first time something other than a smirk curled up the corner of Marcus' mouth, as he leaned over, nibbling and nipping his way from shoulders to buttocks, hands sliding under Wood's body to smear in blood, probing this cut, twisting that nipple, until the keeper was writhing once more, moaning louder, more urgent and frequent.

 

But then the moment was gone and the smirk was back as Oliver cried in protest. Flint had stopped his hands right above Oliver's pulsing dick, refusing to touch, to give any release. Marcus brought one hand back around, gliding blood-slick fingers over Wood's tight ass, slipping down to relentlessly poke and prod the keeper's hole, while the other hand worked up and down his own tortured dick, painting it a pulsing, vibrant red. One finger, two, Wood was pleading more than ever, almost yelling in his cries for release, and Flint lost what little patients he had. The game was up.

 

With a low moan Marcus positioned himself and shoved into Oliver in one, hard push. Oliver screamed in ecstasy as he felt the invasion, the welcome stretch and pull, unconsciously wrenching his arms and legs against his bonds as the silk cord rubbed his flesh raw. Marcus wished he could take it slow, wanted to make this last as long as possible, but the game was up and the moment was over.

 

Brutally he rammed into Wood again and again, bruising the other boy's ass with the snapping of his hips. He was panting then, more than before, finally giving in, enveloped in the sweet, blood-slick heat of his lover. Oliver clenched and finally let himself scream, trying to move his hips to the rhythm and give himself what little friction he can.

 

The Slytherin was losing control, he had drawn it out as long as he could. He leaned foreword over the other boy, still slamming hips against ass as hard as he could, and sunk his teeth into Wood's shoulder. Wood screamed with renewed intensity, bucking wildly against his restraints, coming all over the sheets and his stomach, and as the taste of blood once again filled his mouth Marcus followed him over the edge.

 

They both stayed there, frozen for a moment, enjoying the feel of the other as come mixed with blood, staining the sheets a deeper black and filling Oliver's ass.

 

Marcus rolled to the side, bringing Oliver with him, spooning, wrapping a protective arm around the other boy's chest and a leg over his hips. He nipped the keeper's ear, just a little, and could feel Oliver's over-wrought body twitch with such a little sensation. He let out a soft laugh.

 

“Wha-uh?” Oliver had gone beyond coherent speech, laying content and groggy in his lover's arms.

 

“You need black sheets.” With a Herculean effort Oliver glanced down at the bed sheets and chuckled.

 

“'S your fault,” he slurred, but he could feel his eyelids pulling shut. His breathing slowed and he slipped into sleep.

 

“I know,” whispered Marcus, knowing the other boy had fallen asleep. He gently laid a kiss on the pulse point surrounded by faint scars of his teeth marks, and laid back to sleep, pulling Oliver in closer to him.

 

 

EPILOGUE

 

Spring break was almost over, the school would be returning to its usual routine. Oliver sighed. It had been such a good week. True, he had probably doubled the number of scars on his body and had enough bruises to make any diehard proud, but he had enjoyed it, enjoyed being able to spend uninterrupted time with his lover. He sighed again and trudged up the stairs to his room, shuddering at the memory of the first night of spring break when he'd been carried up these stairs. He imagined he could see drops of his blood staining the dark wood. He opened his door and walked over to his bed, pulling off his robes and starting to change into his pajamas, when he saw a package sitting on his bed. He frowned. How had someone gotten into his room? And who would've brought him a package here? The packages came with the morning owls in the great hall. Reaching over, Wood pulled at he twine and wrapping. A smile broke out across his face. Black silk sheets.

 

For next time. - M

 

 

 

yes, I know slytherin doesn't always win. deal with it.

ok I know this probably isn't where his room is, but hey, artistic license.

I didn't think the word master fit here, so I used this instead

I really couldn't resist sticking that in there

and here the sap begins…YAY!!!