leashy_bebes | FIC: Much More Serious Than That [1/3?]

Title: Much More Serious Than That [1]
Pairing: James II/Scorpius
Rating: Hard R. Sexual activity and lots of swearing.
Summary: In which Quidditch rivalry possibly gets the better of James. Because as Bill Shankly (almost) said, "Some people think Quidditch is a matter of life and death. I assure you, it's much more serious than that."
Notes: Second (and possibly third) part to come at some point.
Words: ~2500

"Welcome players, students, staff, parents and guests to the final game of the 2021 season! We're ending the season in style with Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and the winners will take the cup. Technically Gryffindor must win by twenty points to guarantee the cup, and Slytherin by thirty, but with some great Chasing partnerships in each team, and two accomplished Seekers, such a slim margin is unlikely.

"The Gryffindor team remains largely unchanged from the side that won the cup last year. They have Captain James Potter in goal, with his outstanding record - Gryffindor haven't had a more successful keeper since Oliver Wood, back in the nineties. Outgoing Chaser Duncan O'Grady is replaced by Lucinda Sanderson, having made her impressive debut this season at the age of thirteen, while Featherstone and Malley keep their positions as left and central Chasers respectively. Roxanne Weasley and Arabella Fitzsimmons resume their fearsome partnership as Beaters, and Carl Thomas retains his position as Seeker.

"On the opposing side, however, Seeker and newly appointed Captain Scorpius Malfoy has made sweeping changes to the Slytherin team, and the changes seem to be extremely effective. Now, Malfoy's been on the house team since his first year - youngest debut since Harry Potter, of course - and seems to have learned well. The new team of Zabini in goal, Eckerson, Lewis and Decker as Chasers, and Goyle and Burleigh as Beaters have performed excellently this season, and what with Malfoy's near-impeccable Seeking record, Slytherin have an excellent chance.

"Always a lively match, today's Gryffindor versus Slytherin tie promises to deliver - Ah! The players are making their way on to the pitch now... The Captains shake hands...somewhat grudgingly, it seems, come along, boys. No? Oh, alright... Now, the Snitch is about to be released - there it goes! The players rise into the air, and - the game has begun!"

***

James presses his forehead to the cool tiles and lets the hot water pound down on the back of his head. He can hear footsteps, doors opening and closing as the rest of the team drift off in silence. They'll have to discuss the match at some point but for now they're giving him a wide berth, and James is grateful. James can't help the fact that he hates losing, and regardless of his duties as Captain, he can't quite maintain any semblance of professionalism in the face of defeat. It's something he knows he has to work on if he wants to make a career of this, but for now he's just well and truly pissed off.

Stupid sodding Quidditch.

Stupid sodding Malfoy.

Every time he closes his eyes against the stream of hot water, James can see in pin-sharp detail every single goal he let in, every single play that he hadn't adequately prepared his team to face. Games with Slytherin are always a close run thing, and this one had been no exception. They'd been level almost point for point, and James was in the midst of making what was probably the best save he's made all year when Malfoy caught the Snitch with depressing predictability, bringing the game to an abrupt halt.

Pointy blond bastard, with his dodgy fucking tactics. Well, to be fair, Malfoy's good enough that he doesn't employ the dodgy tactics himself - it's the rest of his shifty, underhanded fucking Slytherin teammates. James isn't in a mood to be fair, though, and he squeezes his eyes tight shut, turning his face up into the hot water, resisting the urge to punch the wall. No matter how pissed off he might be, he's a Keeper, he needs those hands. He deliberately uncurls his fists and runs his fingers through his soaked hair. Realising that he's been under the water so long that not just his fingers but his palms have wrinkled, James grabs a bar of soap and washes himself quickly, mechanically.

With a sigh that sounds thick and harsh even to his own ears James switches off the water and steps out of the shower, grabbing a towel and half-heartedly drying himself off as he pads through to the changing rooms. The lockers are all empty apart James's own and he indulges his bad mood, kicking the side of the door to get it to spring open and roughly dragging out his possessions. He digs out a pair of jogging bottoms and a Gryffindor t-shirt, pulling on the jogging bottoms before he spots his Quidditch robes and gloves on a hook on the wall. James knows it's ridiculous but he can't help glaring at the robes as though they've personally offended him. He grabs them off the wall and bundles them up, shoving them into his bag.

Next year, he promises himself. Next year Malfoy won't know what's hit him. None of them will.

It's not exactly a consolation though, and James sits down on the bench, dropping his head into his hands and letting out a shaky breath. Of course, he's assuming he'll retain the Captaincy next year, which is far from guaranteed. He fervently hopes he does though, because one win and one loss is not the kind of record he wants. There's no hope of a perfect set now, but he at least has to get two out of three.

He wonders if there's any way he can find out early if he's keeping the badge, give him time to work on tactics and the team over the summer. There has to be some way of stopping Malfoy from catching the Snitch, even if it means sacrificing a Beater to tail him for the whole match. The team that the stupid bastard has put together is good, but Malfoy himself is the main problem. Gryffindor could probably take Slytherin easy if they had any Seeker except Malfoy.

He's just too bloody good, that's the problem. James doesn't want to admit it because he hates the sneaky little fucker, but he is amazing. He's got a top of the range broom, which helps, but James has seen the Slytherin team practice and sometimes Malfoy has everyone ride the clapped-out school brooms. He's just as impressive on a knackered old Shooting Star as he is on his custom made Nimbus, managing to drag speeds that just shouldn't be possible out of either broom with consummate ease. Quidditch being Quidditch and Malfoy being Malfoy, James has no real concern for his welfare but some of the dives Malfoy does make James's stomach tighten just to look at them. And he always, always, always catches the stupid fucking Snitch.

"Fuck it," James mutters, getting to his feet and bundling up his towel. He'll go back to the common room, give himself half an hour to be pissed off, and then start thinking seriously about next year. Although the cup's over and done, it wouldn't hurt to have a debrief with the team anyway. They probably think he's in here plotting to murder them all and James needs them onside for next year if -

"Good game, Potter." The drawling voice is coming from the doorway and James freezes in the act of packing his things away before he mechanically forces himself to continue, zipping the bag closed but not turning to face Malfoy just yet.

"I'm not in the mood, Malfoy. Get lost," James says dryly.

"Sportsmanship is key," Malfoy says smugly, snapping James's tenuous self control. He turns around to look at Malfoy, giving him as sharp a glare as he can muster. Malfoy is utterly unscathed by the look, just shifts his shoulder a little where he's leaning against the door frame.

"What are you doing in here, anyway?" James demands. Malfoy's still wearing most of his Quidditch gear and he looks rumpled, probably from being carried on people's shoulders like Merlin's gift to the sport.

"I came to say good game, Potter," Malfoy says, as though it's obvious.

"Well you've said it now, so fuck off," James says evenly.

"Ahh," Malfoy coos, like he's talking to a child, or an idiot. "Do you not like me anymore now I'm better at Quidditch than you? That's sad."

"Shut up! I've never liked you," James snaps, and he knows it's a mistake as soon as he says it, knows exactly how Malfoy is going to twist it. One stupid mistake - biggest mistake of James's life, and he doesn't even have the excuse of having been drunk or hexed. They'd been arguing, like this, like they always do about Quidditch and then...then James temporarily took leave of his senses and ended up exchanging satisfying if weirdly angry handjobs with Scorpius bloody Malfoy, and it's put him on the back foot in every single altercation he and Malfoy have had since. Sure enough, Malfoy's lips turn upwards in a cruel little smirk, and a devilish light comes into his grey eyes.

"Really?" he asks, pushing away from the doorframe and taking a couple of steps closer. "Are you sure? Because I remember – "

"That was once! It was a mistake!" James deliberately reigns himself in, fists clenching at his sides, resisting the urge to step back, determined not to concede ground to Malfoy in any way. "And you're not better at Quidditch than me," he says, hating the sulky tone of his voice. "You won one match."

"Leaving aside your interesting choice of priorities, you're right. So get your head out of your backside," Malfoy says, and oh no. Surely not. Is he actually, sincerely trying to give James advice?

"You cheat," he points out stubbornly.

"I cheat?" Malfoy asks.

"N – but – " James falters, because honestly, he can't say that he's ever seen Malfoy do anything more dodgy than a little 'accidental' collision. "Your team cheats," James says, and hates the nagging certainty that he sounds like he's clutching at straws.

"No," Malfoy says flatly. "Everything we do is within the rules of the game, even if we sometimes neglect the spirit."

"You think?"

"I know," Malfoy frowns. "Potter, I check. I'm not an idiot, and I'm not an incompetent captain. We didn't cheat, we just played harder."

"Dirtier," James says.

"Semantics," Malfoy says, waving a hand dismissively.

"It's not fucking semantics!" James snaps. "And what are still you doing here, by the way? Angling for a repeat performance Malfoy? Because I told you, that was - "

"Is that what you think?" Malfoy laughs.

"Can't see any other reason for you to bring it up all the fucking time."

"Oh, God. Is this the real reason you hate me, Potter?" Malfoy asks with another little laugh, this one louder. "Merlin, you're just one great walking cliché, aren't you?"

"Shut – " James says, and then Malfoy takes a step forward and the words die in James's throat.

"Really, Potter, you don't have to be the living embodiment of heterosexuality to play Quidditch anymore, they changed the rules," Malfoy's tone is softer now, quieter, even less trustworthy, and James feels his hands curling into fists again.

"I hate you because you're a fucking cheat," James spits. "And I have no problem with being gay, thank you very much."

"Stop calling me a cheat," Malfoy says sharply, glaring at James. "I've never cheated and you know it."

"Cheat," James says quietly, deliberately, setting his fists on his hips and leaning forward a little, ducking his head to look Malfoy right in the eye.

"Potter - "

"Dirty fucking cheat," James says in the same deliberate tone, each word low and clipped.

"Shut your self-hating macho mouth, you pathetic little - " Malfoy starts through gritted teeth before James lunges forward and kisses him, hard and messy, biting at his lower lip, cutting off Malfoy's arrogant voice.

"I knew it," Malfoy says, as soon as James releases his lip, the words gritted out against James's mouth.

"Shut up, Malfoy! God, I hate you," James growls.

"Feels that way," Malfoy drawls, and James wants to punch him. He settles for slamming Malfoy into the wall instead, following him and kissing him hard. Malfoy tastes bitter, metallic against James's tongue, and his hair is soft like a little girl's.

"You hate me," Malfoy says against James's mouth in a mocking, sing-song voice as he rakes his fingers roughly through James's still-damp hair. "You really, really hate me."

"Shut," James grunts, shoving one of his legs between Malfoy's and pressing deliberately against the hard cock he can feel there, "your fucking," diving in to bite at Malfoy's neck, "mouth."

James feels Malfoy's long fingers sink into his hair before they curl tight, sharp little prickles of pain and he pushes him harder against the wall in retaliation, grinding against him so hard he can feel Malfoy's hipbones.

"Can't – " Malfoy says. "Can't help yourself, can you, Potter?"

James kisses him again because it seems to be the only way to get him to shut up for a few seconds. Their mouths collide with a little grunt from one or both of them and Malfoy's hand is still in his hair, his own are tight on Malfoy's waist and their hips are meeting again and again and James is so wound up and pissed off and turned on and – Malfoy slips a hand into the back of James's jogging bottoms, fingertips digging hard into his arse and that's all it takes for James to lose it, a few more ragged thrusts against Malfoy drawing out the pleasure. Although it's not like any pleasure James has ever known before because it's edged with red anger and it feels sharp and bitter.

This time it's Malfoy who kisses James, both hands on his arse now, thrusting against him with quick, even movements before his hips stutter and he lets out a little mmph into James's mouth, suddenly going slack against the wall, eyes fluttering closed and head tilted back. The sight shakes James to the core because damn it, this was exactly what he'd sworn to himself wouldn't happen again. He lets Malfoy get under his skin – metaphorically speaking – and it never leads to anywhere good.

"Fuck," James breathes shakily into the sudden silence and takes a couple of quick steps back away from Malfoy. "That wasn't supposed to happen."

"If you say so," Malfoy shrugs, and he gives James a narrow look from underneath fair eyelashes that James has seen in far too much detail, enough to know that they're darker at the root, and he shouldn't know that about Malfoy. Ugh. No one should know that about Malfoy.

"You should – " James says, and then stops, clearing his throat. "You should get out of here."

"Mm-hmm," Malfoy mutters, looking away from James and then back to him, tiny little smirk curling the corner of his mouth. "Good game, Potter."

He's gone before James can even begin to think of a reply, the door clicking quietly shut behind him.

>>part 2

Current Music: Jazzmine Sullivan - Switch

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

noeon.livejournal.com

OH. Oh. Oh. This is. Oh.

I love it.

"Good game, Potter."

he looks rumpled, probably from being carried on people's shoulders like Merlin's gift to the sport.

So... tight and crisp and achy-wrong-brilliant-wrong.

From:

doing things you hate is just the price you pay to avoid loneliness

FIC: Much More Serious Than That [1/3?]

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