Feint
"Fred!"
The redhead turned slowly, waving his twin brother on as he faced Angelina Johnson. Her Quidditch robes were slightly askew, her face glimmering with a faint sheen of perspiration. He let his eyes roam over her body, the faintest hint of a smile curling his lips as his glance traced curves his hands had memorized before they'd gotten slapped at the Yule Ball. "No need to rush, my dear, there's plenty of me to go 'round."
"You're an egotistical one, aren't you, Weasley?" She closed the distance between them, looking over his shoulder at George who grinned and disappeared into the locker room. "What're you up to now?"
"I was thinking a shower," his grin widened lavisciously. "Why? You want to join me?"
She rested her hand on his chest then let it slide down to the laces of his pants, resting there just above his suddenly attentive flesh. "What if I said yes?"
"I'd probably wonder who you were and what you'd done with the real Angelina." He smirked, not noticing her slight tremor. "But as you're not likely to say yes," he caught her hand and tugged her to the side of the room, turning her so her back was against the bank of lockers, "what do you say I make a few more suggestions?"
"Am I likely to say yes to any of them?"
He sighed dramatically. "Sadly, no. You seem surprisingly immune to my basest of charms. It's quite troubling, to be honest."
"I'm immune to all of your charms."
"True enough." He shrugged and stepped back, moving over to sit on one of the low benches in front of her, hanging his head sadly. "And you really have no idea how much that wounds me."
"Ah, the hangdog innocence," she clasped her hands over her heart and pretended to swoon. "How you play me, Fred."
"I do try, my lady."
"Ah, and now chivalry." She stepped closer, towering over him as he looked up at her, blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "Are there any more cards up your sleeve?"
"I could beg."
"Oh no, wouldn't want you to stoop to all that." She moved another step forward then straddled his legs, wrapping her arms loosely over his shoulders. Her breath was warm on his lips. "Wouldn't want that at all."
"You're sitting on my lap," Fred said, somewhat surprised.
"Are you complaining?" She leaned in, brushing her lips over his for just a moment. "Because I could just go in and take my shower, wash away all this sweat and dirt." She moved her leg, curving it around his back, resting her muscular calf against his ass. "If you'd prefer."
Fred shook his head, his voice lost as the heat of her arousal coursed over him, thrust hard against his aching erection. "No," he finally managed. "No, I don't think I'd prefer that. Since we've already established that it's not likely to be a group activity." He paused for a moment, watching her dark eyes. "Of course, we established that long before you were so sweetly sitting in my lap, so it may be possible that the rules have changed."
"It may be," she acquiesced.
"Shall we test my little hypothesis?" He reached up, ignoring the slight tremor in his hand as he unfastened the gold clasp that held her Quidditch robe and let it fall to the ground. She shifted slightly above him, her soft sigh tangling in his ginger hair and setting it dancing. "So far so good," he whispered in a throaty voice, thick with arousal.
Angelina nodded, inching her hips forward then back, stroking his cock with her entire body. "So far."
His hands didn't shake as he grabbed the hem of her sweater, heavy with heat and sweat, the wool warm to the touch, warm from her skin, and pulled it over her head, letting it drop to the floor from his hand. His eyes moved over the white tank top standing out so starkly against her dark skin. Her braids fell over her shoulders like arrows pointing down to her breasts, guiding him to the hard nipples that raised the fabric in high relief.
Fred sighed and leaned in, his breath bathing one nipple, tightening it. He licked his lips then licked the fabric, closing his eyes on her desperate whimper. "So good," he breathed.
Angelina's fingers tightened on his shoulders as his mouth closed over her nipple, the rough rasp of fabric stroking the sensitive skin. She stretched, her body grinding down onto his. Fred moaned around the damp material, the hard flesh.
"Fred," she pleaded softly, quiet, repetitive gasps echoing around the room as she struggled to breathe. One hand held her hip loosely as the other captured her other breast, squeezing and caressing the swollen mound.
Her leg tightened around him, her hips rocking, moving instinctively as she thrust against him, burying her whimpers in his hair as he moved his mouth to her other breast, covering the abandoned nipple with his hand, slipping it under her tank top, his palm sliding across the distended flesh.
"Fred." Her fingers raked through his hair, pulling his head back, forcing him to look at her. Without speaking, she leaned in and kissed him, her tongue dominating his, covering it, tasting it.
Fred grabbed the back of her head with both hands, holding her in the kiss until they broke apart, both breathless. He pushed her back, easing her off his lap. Her legs trembled as she stood, her body swaying forward. He caught her hips; his large hands splayed over the smooth fabric of her Quidditch pants. His thumbs rubbed determined circles on the skin just above the waistband beneath her tank top.
"So good," he assured her, his lips against her stomach, tongue tasting sweat and desire as his fingers untied the leather laces that held her pants together, the whispered hush of fabric against fabric the only sound other than their frantic breathing.
He stripped the cream colored pants down her legs, her skin lighter stretched over the muscles of her thighs, the pale satin of her panties gliding down her creamy flesh. His fingers caressed her, moving down her stomach to the dark tangle of hair between her thighs. He slipped them through the downy strands, brushing over her tight, swollen clit.
Angelina groaned hotly, shivering as she grasped at him. Fred caught her hand, trapping it behind her back, kissing the soft curve of her stomach as his fingers teased the hard nub relentlessly.
She gasped quietly as he slipped two fingers inside her, bathing them in the liquid heat as she came around them, around him. With a low moan, he stood, backing her against the lockers. She clung to him as he fumbled with the ties of his uniform, unfastening the laces and shoving his pants down. Angelina's nails dug into his shoulders and he sank back onto the bench, pulling her astride him, his hand between them, guiding his cock inside her.
His name fell from her lips with a throaty purr as her tongue traced his mouth, darting inside to play over his, stroking it, coaxing him with gentle strokes as he filled her, not moving. "So good."
"It gets better," she assured him, her knees digging into his thighs as she pressed them to the bench, rising slightly then sinking back down onto him. Fred groaned and gripped the edge of the bench, leaning back slightly to watch her eyes, almost black, as they watched him, devouring him, drowning him.
Her hands slid over his shoulders and arms, palms flat and smooth against his pale skin. She caught his hands, tangling her fingers with his and using him for leverage, increasing the speed of her steady strokes, her body glistening with heat and sweat and hunger as she bent her head, biting his lip and sucking on it, teasing the swollen flesh with the tip of her tongue.
He guided her arms behind her back and held them there, her breasts brushing against his mouth as she slid along the length of his cock. He teased the nipples with his tongue, tasting one and then the other, his head swimming with sensation as the blood rushed, pulsing, pounding like an insistent bludger through his veins.
He tilted his head back, inhaling sharply as he looked up at her. Her hair was falling in a scattered disarray around her face, tendrils clinging blackly to her skin. Her eyes were wide, locked on his, sensation surging through her as she trembled around and above him, her orgasm boiling inside her.
Heat coursed through him and around him as he released her wrists, clasping his hands around the firm flesh of her ass, squeezing it and urging her faster and harder onto him. She made a soft sound that send a bolt of pure hunger through him and he pressed his heels hard to the floor, thrusting upward. "Come on, Angelina." He growled her name, his voice deep and throaty, nearly unrecognizable. "Come on."
"Fred."
His fingers grazed the crease of her ass and she gasped, the unexpected sensation wrenching her out of her head and into the torrent of her orgasm as it ripped through her, her body clenching tight around his cock, muscle and flesh clinging to his velvet skin.
Fred slid his hands up, grasping her waist, guiding her shaking body as she continued to thrust against him. She bent her head, breathing in the scent of him, of them. He moved his hands to her thighs, holding her still, fighting the urge to lose himself, to let it all end. She bent her head and kissed him, whispering his name against his lips, begging softly for him to come inside her.
His body shuddered, everything overwhelming and unbearable all at once as his orgasm spiraled through them both, pulsing heat that left them both breathless as they fell against each other.
"You know," he managed to breathe finally, "I've not been this exhausted after Quidditch in a while."
"You're playing the wrong teams." She grinned down at him, the smile fading slowly and suddenly all at once. She was gone, somewhere else in that instant, easing her body away from his, leaving cool air in her stead. "I have to..." Grabbing her clothes off the floor, she stumbled back, eyes wide, skin seeming to fade slowly, like the sun sneaking up over the hills and slowly bathing everything in light, stealing away the darkness. He watched her go, disappearing through the door at the end of the room without a word.
He sighed and stood, his whole body aching and sore, satisfied and unfulfilled all at once. Lacing his pants loosely, he stood, tugging his sweater over the top of them. He was about to head to the showers when the main door of the locker rooms opened.
"Fred!"
He turned and stopped, nearly tripping over his own feet as everything fell into place, as Angelina and Katie walked into the room, damp with sweat and rain, dirty with mud and grass stains. "Ladies."
Angelina smiled at him, shaking her head. "Keep up the flirting, Weasley, maybe someday it'll get you somewhere."
"I thought you came in before us."
"We did, but then changed out minds and ducked out the back. Didn't want you blokes horning in on our extra practice. We all know how you and George like to show off."
"That's because we've got so much worth showing," he waggled his eyebrows at her. Katie rolled her eyes and disappeared into the girls' shower. Angelina stayed behind, her arms crossed over her chest.
"You look like you've been practicing as well."
"You could say that." He glanced at the door Katie had disappeared through. "We should practice together sometime."
"In your dreams, Weasley." She laughed and waved at him, swinging the locker room door open. He leaned against the wall, shower forgotten, his eyes locked on the door. His smile widened as it swung open slowly, the familiar, wild hair announcing her presence even before she noticed him.
"Hullo, Hermione."
"Er. Hi. Fred."
Her uniform was in disarray as if it had been thrown on hastily, the scent of sex clinging to her. "You might," he suggested in a slow drawl, "rethink that shower."
"I...pardon?"
"Because," he advanced on her, his stride purposeful, "if you walk into Gryffindor looking and," he bent his head, his tongue flickering over her neck, his breath stinging the cool trail it left, "smelling like that, even my dense brother is going to know what you've been getting up to."
"He...he is?"
"And because, if you reconsider the shower," his hand cupped her breast, thumb flickering over the nipple, "I'll show you how much better it is when it's someone I'm actually interested in."
"Someone you're...oh."
"Yes," he tugged her toward the showers with a promising smile. "Oh."