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

Bloodplay in the Dungeons-

Author: snappy pants

Rating- MA for Cussing, bloodplay, slash, graphic sex and violence, PWP, some sap at the end. 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!

Synopsis: Flint finds the only masochist in the school when everyone else is off to Hogsmead…oh the possibilities.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, so don't sue me.

Note: italics thoughts, emphasis

Marcus Flint was walking through the corridors of the dungeons, trying to gain control of himself.

He had walked in on Diggory and Oliver Wood in a deserted corridor of the dungeons. His first thought had been what were they doing still at school, since the whole of Hogwarts was at Hogsmead.

But that thought was quickly chased away as his brain processed the scene in front of him. Diggory was beating the shit out of Wood (1), and holy fucking crap was it the hottest thing he had ever seen.

His mind kept replaying the blood trickling down Wood's face, the stark contrast of that deep crimson against the tan of his face, shocking as is seeped down past the shock of blue and white that was the Griffindor keeper's eye. He could still see the way the victim's eyes rolled back in his head as Diggory repeatedly punched him in the stomach, making it impossible to tell if Wood was in pain or immense pleasure.

Flint had watched for several precious seconds as Wood's body jerked and spasmed under the rage that was in the form of Diggory.

But it wasn't so much his freshly-discovered sadistic side that was bothering Flint. Fuck, it was practically `en vogue' in the Slytherin house to be a sadist (masochism was, of course, frowned on upon in his house, because of the generally implied submission involved, of being below someone else). No, the disturbing part was that the object of his desire was Oliver Wood, his arch rival.

Flint had seen hundreds, if not thousands, of little prats being beaten and brutalized, and never felt half of what he was feeling now. No, his body was definitely trying to tell him something here, but Flint couldn't quite grasp why the fuck Wood was then one he found so damn arousing.

The Slytherin played the scene over in his head for what must be the hundredth time. The blood trickling down his face. The spasms of his body. His eyes rolling back…that was it!

The bloody fucker, who'd have guessed that pussy boy Oliver Wood was a masochist? Clever of him to have been able to hide it from the entire school for the better part of seven years. Flint shuddered in anticipation. It was almost impossible to find a true masochist in this crap-hole of a school and social environment.

Completely distracted by his thoughts, Flint didn't notice at all where his feet were taking him. He looked up suddenly, realizing that he was no longer in the freezing dungeons. He looked down the corridor to make sure there were no teachers or prefects around, since it was after curfew, when he finally realized where he was.

He was in that same corridor where he had seen Wood and Diggory. Flint stood stock still for a moment, barley daring to breathe, listening for anything that might indicate the delicious struggle was still ensuing. He listened for a moment, and heard nothing. Then, just barely above the hushed sound of his own breathing, he heard harsh breaths, coming from the door just down the corridor to the left.

The Slytherin chaser crept forward, every muscle strung tight as a bow, ready to flee should he be seen. As he got closer to the door, the breathing got louder and more ragged. What was going on?

Flint reached the doorframe and peaked his head around to see inside the room. His mouth was screaming “Open me! Open me”, but his jaw was saying, “Nuh uh! We are going to maintain some sense of pride here!” So as a compromise, his eyebrows shot to his hairline.

Sitting in the darkest corner of the room, bruised and bleeding, was Oliver Wood, with the most glorious hard on Flint had ever seen.

The Slytherin's mouth began to water as he watched Wood's eyes roll back in his head and his bloody hand (was that a broken finger?) move rapidly up and down the shaft. Damn, had he hit the jack-pot or what? It was so hott (2) that Flint was even willing to overlook the fact that Wood was his enemy, the Gryffindor keeper almost seven years.

Flint stepped into the room, not making any noise, his eyes intent upon his prey sitting in the corner, seemingly oblivious. Or at least, he had though Wood was oblivious, until the keeper swiveled his bloody head around to look at him.

“Enjoy the show?” Wood's voice sounded a little ragged, as though being dragged across rocks as it came from his throat.

The Slytherin's eyes widened in surprise for a moment, and then he said smoothly, “Fan-fucking-tastic. Tell me, how have you managed to survive almost seven years with no bloodfuck? I know I would have killed myself by now. No, by second year.”

Wood smirked, his hand still busy on his own cock. “Isn't it obvious. So much stress throughout the school year. Quidditch games, exams, break-ups, melodrama. Someone should benefit from it all.”

Flint was impressed. “You clever arse, you. Provoking the poor emotionally over-wrought teens around you for your own twisted enjoyment. Tsk tsk. Such bad behavior should be punished.”

“And who's going to punish me?” Wood's voice had dropped and octave and was getting rougher as the minutes passed.

Flint inspected his finger nails for a moment, feigning indifference. Then he flew at the Gryffindor and backhanded him against the stone wall. “I am,” he said, in a voice just as low and husky as Wood's.

The chaser watched as the other boy's eyes rolled back into his head (damn he loved it when they did that) and mouth dropped open, the corners tilted up just a little in a sort of smirk.

Wood was still on the floor against the wall, with Flint now crouched above him, bringing their faces inches apart. Wood shuddered as Flint's tongue ventured out onto his face and licked the fresh blood oozing from his hairline, letting out a small moan.

Flint drew his tongue back into his mouth, tasting the blood of this evening's entertainment (and very possibly the rest of the year's entertainment), savoring the thick, tangy taste.

He met Wood's eyes, and the keeper's eyes were smoldering, daring him, egging him on, cussing him out and calling him a pussy. Flint saw how Wood had kept his masochist self alive- he was so good at provoking.

Now it was time to see if he could really handle what a sadist had to dish out. With a movement as fast as the snake his house was known for, Flint captured Wood's mouth in a violent kiss. He forced the other boy's mouth open, choking him with his tongue.

He brought his hands up around the Gryffindor's neck and started to squeeze. Not quite hard enough to completely cut off the air, no, not yet, but hard enough to bruise. Wood moaned into his mouth as Flint bit down into tongue, letting the blood spilling into both their mouths and over-flow down their chins

Wood brought his hands up around Flint and pulled the other boy closer, until he was completely covered in the Slytherin's oppressive weight.

They broke apart from their savage kiss, panting, each staring into the other's eyes, not quite believing what they had discovered in the other.

And then Flint's teeth went to Wood's neck, leaving bruises and perfect indentations of his teeth in the lightly tanned flesh as he worked his way excruciatingly from the pulse point to the collar bone and out towards the shoulder.

So distracted by the feast of flesh beneath him, the Slytherin hadn't even noticed that Wood had been far from idol during his efforts to eat the boy alive.

Courtesy of the Gryffindor both boys were naked from the waist up, although, how he had ripped their shirts off without Flint noticing, he would never know. Flint suspected he would never be able to wear that particular shirt again, even if it was only in two pieces.

Flint growled as he re-captured the other boy's bloody mouth, taking hold of Wood's wrists in a bruising hold and brining them above their heads, pinning them to the unforgiving stone of the castle wall.

He groped in his back pocket for a moment, pulling out his wand. Breaking from the kiss for a moment to mutter a spell of his own invention, and he smirked before returning to tormenting Wood's tortured and bleeding mouth as the keeper discovered what his spell had done.

The Slytherin felt it as Wood realized that his hands were now, for all effects and purposes, glued to the tone wall above his head, and no amount of pulling would free them. The keeper's breath quickened in a gasp, allowing Flint to plunder farther down his throat.

“What, no hand cuffs?” Flint was surprised by the gasping remark, but the sarcasm dripping from the other boy's voice was unmistakable. Recovering his composure (he was suddenly losing that a lot), the sadist smirked.

“Sorry, those would be in my other robes. Well, technically they're in the top drawer of my bedside table, along with all my other toys, but obviously we're not in my bedroom. And I think someone would notice a pair of leather cuffs speeding down the hall to a supposedly deserted classroom, don't you think? Might draw unwanted attention.”

“Huh,” Wood gave him a calculating look, before a smirk stole over his catching features. Flint's right eyebrow popped up.

“What?” but he didn't have time to finish the word before Wood's whole body jerked underneath him, still slouching on the floor against the wall. “What the hell are you doing?” He noticed belatedly that Wood was jerking on the invisible restraints. “They wont loosen or come off, you might as well stop trying.”

The keeper smirked. “Oh I know they wont come off, what I want to know is will they make me bleed?”

Flint looked at Wood for a moment, “I hadn't thought of that, actually. Hmm.” Wood shuddered at the positively perfect sadistic grin spreading across the counter-part's face. Flint took out his wand one more time and muttered something. Wood looked questioningly at what was in the chaser's hands.

“Barbed wire,” said Flint, answering the question before the Gryffindor could ask it. “Stole it from the shrieking shack last holiday.”

Wood shuddered as he felt the rusted metal bite into the tender skin of his wrists as the Slytherin wrapped the wire tightly around them. Eyes closed, he felt the other boy lick his way down his arm, following the deep red path the blood was making to his shoulder, and finally dripping down onto his chest.

Flint decided they had talked long enough. He bit his way down the other boy's torso, drawing blood here, sucking hard enough to bruise there, teeth marks here, until the keeper was moaning and begging under his breath, blood flowing freely down his arms from the barbed wire he kept finding ways to dig into his skin.

Wood bucked his hips up as Flint neared his stomach, whining. The chaser brought his hands up from where they had been bruising the other boy's thighs, and quickly unzipped the keeper's pants.

He was pleasantly surprised to feel, hott throbbing flesh against his hand. I love it when they go commando. The Slytherin wasted no time in wrapping his hand around the hard cock and digging his nails into the soft flesh.

Wood's eyes rolled back into his head as he moaned and thrust harder into the pain, feeling the blunt nails cut just the littlest bit into his twitching cock.

“D-damn.” The Gryffindor stuttered slightly as the other boy squeezed in a pulsing rhythm at the base of his dick, a hot and unforgiving mouth covering the end and biting down just hard enough to make the keeper moan louder. He fought against the invisible restraints, wanting to push that delicious heat farther down.

Flint was reveling in the feel of the yielding meat between his teeth, biting as hard as he dared, until Wood's moans bore painful yelps. Flint brought his hands down to hold the other boy's shifting legs still, digging his fingers into the pale skin of inner thigh, brining an all too gratifying half-moan-half-shriek.

The chaser could feel the other boy's orgasm coming on, the tension in the hott body beneath him mounting, and right at it's breaking point, Flint backed off.

He pushed off his hands and knees and rested back on the backs of his feet, staring at the feast before him.

There was Wood, half sitting half lying at the base of the wall, hands still where they had started above his head, arms pulled almost straight. Blood flowed thick and sluggish down his arms, and Flint reached up, quickly unwrapping the barbed wire and muttered a spell under his breath as the wounds disappeared, leaving candy-apple-red coated flesh.

The Gryffindor's head was hanging to one side, eye's close, muttering over and over “oh god, please, oh fuck”. Blood was still dripping a little from his mouth, and that combined with the blood that had oozed down his arms, Wood's upper chest was streaked with red.

Flint's gaze traveled down the torso that was his playground, surveying the rest of the damage. Bruises and bite marks covered most of the pale skin, going all the way down to the tender flesh of the inner thighs, and the skin that was wrapped around the hard on staring him in the face.

Up until this point, Flint had been able to ignore what his own body was saying, preferring to focus all his attention on tormenting his companion, but looking at the battered and aroused body in front of him, there was no mistaking the message his body, more specifically his cock, was sending to his brain.

I want this. I want this right NOW.

Eyes half lidded with lust, the chaser's large, deathly pale hands came up to the blood that was still fresh and warm on the other boy's arms. At his touch, Wood looked up into his face, and that heated gaze seemed to go on forever.

Suddenly Wood's mouth shot forward and captured the Slytherin's mouth in a kiss just as heated as their gaze a moment before had been. Tearing his mouth away, Wood rasped,

“Fuck me. Fuck me hard.” One more, shorter, stare, and Flint moved his hands through the blood, slicking his hands with it.

He brought his hands down between the other boy's legs, searching and finding the small pucker he was going to fuck. One, two blood-coated fingers slipped inside, twisting and loosening the tight muscles.

Wood's head dropped back against the stole, moaning loudly at the sweet invasion. His body was quickly reaching the silver line where too much pleasure becomes all-consuming pain.

Flint used the remaining blood on his hands to smear along his aching cock. So long, he'd waited so long. He rose up on his knees a little higher and slid home, placing the other boy's legs over his shoulders.

For a moment they were both still, eyes closed with the intensity of having waited so long for release, and in the end it was the Gryffindor who broke the silence with a gut wrenching sob,

“Please, please Flint. Please” Flint growled low in his throat as he came back to life, withdrawing slowly, almost completely from Wood, and then slamming back in, as deep and hard as he could.

He bent forward to capture the keeper's mouth in a kiss, effectively folding the boy in half and letting him go deeper, at a sharper angle. Wood gasped, and Flint decided it was the sexiest thing he had ever heard.

Keeping Wood in his compromised position, Flint proceeded to fuck the boy just as hard as he had asked for. They both fell into a rhythm, Flint thrusting down, Wood rocking up, Wood's own cock caught in the friction between their stomachs.

More gasps and moans dropped from the Gryffidor's mouth, and the chaser kept making animalistic sounds.

“Almost, god, almost there,” panted Wood. No sooner had he said it than Flint bit down on his shoulder and he felt the sweet pain of teeth sinking deep into flesh as Flint thrust hard and stayed there, Wood's own muscle muffling the strangled moan that was ripped from the Slytherin's throat.

The keeper's head jerked back up against the wall, his hands still restrained, as the fresh pain and the feel of Flint coming deep inside his body sent him over the edge and he screamed.

For a few moments neither moved, just remained where they were, panting as though they had just played an entire Qudditch game. Then Flint pulled his teeth from Wood's shoulder, taking time to almost gently lick the wound clean.

Slowly, Flint pushed himself up on his hands and pulled out of Wood, and then collapsed, boneless, beside the other boy. Both were still panting, although a little less hard.

“Flint.” Wood's voice was very hoarse, almost completely gone. “FLINT.”

“Hmm? Wha?” Flint appeared to have drifted off to sleep.

“My hands.”

“Oh.” With a sigh and what looked like supreme effort, the Slytherin sat up, looking around for his pants. Lucky for him they were within reaching distance, because he didn't think he could even crawl right now.

He dug around in his pockets, finally finding his wand. He waved it in the general direction of Wood's hands. Wood didn't realize how much those restraints had been supporting him until they were going and his hands dropped to his sides and he slid a little further down the wall, until he was almost lying down completely.

Flint returned to his position next to the other boy, curling protectively around the warm body in the freezing room (when had it gotten cold?), though neither of them would ever admit to the other.

Wood shivered, “We should get out of here.” Flint made a protesting noise, curling closer to the warmth Wood's body was producing, and, burying his face in the bloody curve of his neck, he began to lick the other boy clean.

Wood shivered again, although not from the cold this time. “Come on, my dorm is deserted, my entire house went on the Hogsmead trip.” Flint sighed, realizing he was defeated, and slowly got up and began to gather his clothes.

The Gryffindor sat up slowly, slightly dizzy from blood loss, although he didn't think he'd lost enough blood to be worried about, and even if he had, it was worth it. He soon, however, discovered just how much `fun' they'd been having. He was already sore, and there were some serious doubts as to whether or not he would be able to stand, let alone walk.

He slowly tried to stand up, or atleast right himself enough to be able to pull on his pants, and no sooner had he made it too his feet than his head swam and his vision went dark for a minute. Woops. That was a bad idea.

The keeper felt another pair of hands pulling his pants up the rest of the way and wrapping his robes around his freezing body. Just as his vision began to clear, he was lifted off his feet and into a cradle hold.

His vision swam again, and when it cleared he was looking up at Flint's face as the other boy licked most of the blood off his face. Neither would ever mention the way Flint had curled around Wood in the aftermath, or the way his hands held the other boy almost gently.

Slowly Flint made his way back to the Slytherin dorms, carrying his new pet all the way.

1- I know this isn't realistic, Diggory couldn't beat the shit out of anyone even if he tried, but I couldn't think of anyone else, so, blame it on AUs.

2- hott better than just plain hot