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Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me

Oliver likes to fly at night.

He isn't supposed to be out past curfew, and Professor McGonagall will probably have a small fit if she catches him, but it's really the only time he can be alone. There's no classroom filled with peers and no common room filled with friends—out here, at night, it's just him and his thoughts.

His broom trembles beneath his frame as he whips through the air, going faster than he's meant to. If he goes any faster, he'll be a blur, and his broom's likely to crack under the weight. He pushes on regardless. Slowing down is wrong, not when there's always the chance to go faster.

The wind sings in his ears as he swerves around the goal posts, and he freezes with a jolt that nearly sends him crashing to the ground. A lone figure is walking across the castle grounds in the direction of the Quidditch Pitch, and it takes a few moments for Oliver to recognise the familiar mop of red hair. His heart settles. It's okay. What would all that they get up to, a Weasley Twin would never turn him in.

Oliver swoops down low as Fred or George—he's never sure which—disappears beneath the bleachers, and he pulls up beside the nearest door just in time for them to energy. Surprise glitters across the twin's eyes, and Oliver pauses, wondering if their eyes have always been this blue.

"Fancy seeing you here, Fred," says Oliver, taking a wild guess and hoping he's right.

"How'd you know it was me?" Fred sounds tired. His hands are stuffed into the pockets of his sweatshirt and he's hunched over as he stands in the cold, his breath misting out with every breath.

"Captain's skill," says Oliver. "What's up?"

"Nothing," says Fred. "Just needed a night to myself."

"Without George?" Oliver thinks he must have misheard, because the Weasley twins are a pair with no degree of separation between them. They take all their classes together, because they like all the same subjects, and they dine together at every meal. There's never a gap between Fred and George, and Oliver just doesn't know what to make of it.

Fred raises an eyebrow. "Don't you start, Wood."

"Don't start what?" \

He's genuinely confused as Fred scoffs, turning away to stomp up into the bleachers. Thinking it best to follow—because Fred really doesn't look like he shouldn't be alone right now, which is something Fred never looks like in the first place—he floats up on his broom, coming to a halt just in front of the seat he's taken.

"You going to tell me or what?"

"I said it's nothing." Fred's smile is forced, and it doesn't reach his eyes. "You going to bother me or you going to fly?"

"I can bother you while I fly, can't I?" Oliver reaches out to punch his friend in the shoulder, and he's surprised when there's so witty retort. Something heavy settles over his chest, and he dismounts, coming to take the seat beside Fred. "We're friends, right? So tell me what's got your knickers in a twist? Spill."

"Fine." Fred sighs. "I had a fight with George, okay?"

"No." Oliver shakes his head. "That's not okay, because you two never fight. Must be something big."

"You think we don't fight?" Fred chuckles, the sound dry and without mirth. "We're brothers, Oliver. Granted, we're closer than most brothers, but we fight from time to time all the same. That's just what brothers do."

"Only child," replies Oliver. "I wouldn't know about that."

"Lucky you," says Fred. "So why're you out here so late?"

"Sometimes, I like to fly when nobody's watching," he answers, as honest as he can be. "There's always someone staring during the day. Maybe it's a first year who's just heard about quidditch. Maybe it's a Slytherin trying to spy on me. It's always just me at night."

"Until now." Fred hops of his chair, running a hand through his hair. "I'll… you probably want to be alone. I'll find somewhere else to mope."

"Stay." Oliver winks as he climbs back onto his broom. "Just don't stare."

Fred chuckles before sitting back down, folding his arms behind his head. Turning his head, he stares in the direction of the Black Lake, whistling nonchalantly under his breath. Oliver rolls his eyes before taking off, and he doesn't fly. He soars. The wind's in his hair and his sleeves are fluttering as he leans forward, closing his eyes when the sting becomes too much. He doesn't need to see, though, not when he knows this pitch like the back of his hand.

Twisting his legs around the broomstick to keep himself steady, he releases his grip. He holds up his hands, his fingers splayed to keep the wind from pushing them back, and his broomstick begins to tremble as he picks up speed.

Something strikes him in the face, and he yelps as wings flutter against his cheeks. It's an owl, he thinks, but then he's falling. Knocked off balance, he twists around, hanging upside-down from his broom as he goes ever faster. It's a rush like he's never felt before as he struggles to right himself, and when he's finally balanced, he descends towards the pitch.

Fred's watching him with wide eyes, and Oliver grins as he pumps a fist into the air. It's not every day that he does something so wild that it makes a Weasley twin worry, and Fred looks so pale that he's barely himself. Striding across the pitch, Oliver takes a mock bow, holding his broom aloft as he does so.

"So," says Fred as Oliver climbs the bleachers. "You come here at night so there's nobody to scold you for doing things like that, huh?"

"I'm the captain," says Oliver, leaning back into the chair beside Fred's and folding his arms behind his head. "Who's going to scold me?"

"Angelina," says Fred, looking thoughtful. "Alicia. Katie as well, now I think about it. Minnie's like to whack you with a big stick if she ever catches you doing that."

"I doubt that Professor McGonagall has a big stick to hit people with." Oliver rolls his eyes.

"I don't know. She seems like the type, doesn't she?"

Oliver chuckles. It's fun to fly alone at night, but he thinks that company might be a little better.

Oliver is a bit of a daredevil, even if he doesn't always let it show. There's a lot of things he can do on a broom that'll give his mother a heart attack, and he wonders if anyone knows just how reckless he can be when the mood takes him. It's not something he likes to publicize, because the worry just isn't worth it. He's happier to just do his thing without needing to check in on the people that cared every fifteen minutes.

People are a bit like diamonds, he thinks to himself as he soars through the night sky. They're covered in a dozen or more facets, but most people just see the sparkle.

He closes his eyes as he slips to the side, keeping just one leg hooked around his broom as he hangs beneath it. His shirt comes loose from where he's tucked it into his jeans, and it flutters down over his head as he picks up speed. Oliver smiles. Even if he opens his eyes, he'll never be able to see the danger in front of him.

If there is any, that is.

What if there's another owl? It's Percy's voice in his head, and Oliver isn't sure when his pompous best friend turned into his inner voice of reason, but it's pretty much the same thing that anyone in their right mind would say after what happened last time. Oliver doesn't agree, though. What if there isn't? He grins as the thought flits across his mind.

Things go wrong all the time, but what happens when they don't?

He doesn't know how long he's like that, flying upside-down with just a single leg hooked around his broom, but his ears are ringing when he finally rights himself and begins to descend. A familiar face is waiting for him in the bleachers, and he grins as he flies into the stands and hops free.

"Are you mental?" asks Fred as soon as he's within earshot. "Blimey, Oliver, even I'm not daft enough to do something like that."

"You sure about that?" Oliver rolls his eyes as he sinks into the seat beside his friends. "What brings you down here this week? Another row with George?"

"I think George likes having a break from me as much as I enjoy the break from him," says Fred with a shrug. He chuckles, and the sound is oddly light. "Sometimes, it's nice to just be Fred and George rather than the Weasley Twins, you know?"

Oliver raises an eyebrow. "So, what? You come down to the quidditch pitch in the middle of the night, and what does he do? Lurk around the dormitory? How is that anything but sad."

"I don't know where he is. I like it that way." Fred shrugs. "He doesn't know that I've come down here to see you. It's good to have a few things that just belongs to me and not the both of us."

Oliver doesn't know what to make of this version of Fred. It's nothing like the facet he knows, but it's a lot deeper than a sparkle. Without his mask of jokes and japes, he's just another guy, and Oliver wants to get to know him. It'll be fun, he thinks, like meeting an old friend for the first time.

"Come by whenever you want," he says with a smile. A hint of teasing in his voice, he nudges Fred in the shoulder. "I guess this makes me your dirty little secret, doesn't it."

"You're a dork, Wood," says Fred with a roll of his eyes, though Oliver doesn't miss the flash of mirth across his eyes, nor the slight curve of his lips.

He's fire and Fred's like napalm, and they're a dangerous combination when left to their own devices.

They're hurtling through the air, their broomsticks trembling as they pick up speed. Oliver's hair whips around him as he turns to wink at Fred before releasing his grasp. He throws his hands into the air and clenches his thighs, leaning back to force his brook into a steep upwards ascent. Fred roars with laughter as he does the same, and the loop they do through the sky is nothing short of exhilarating. For a single moment, they're both upside down before their broomsticks right themselves, and then they're flying back towards the ground.

"We really need to use these moves in our next match," says Fred, breathless as he collapses onto the grass. "Ravenclaw won't know what hit them."

"And Professor McGonagall will likely ban us from ever playing again." Oliver chuckles. "You know how she is."

He collapses right beside Fred, and the grass tickles his skin. He folds his arms behind his head and grins, staring up at the stars. It's good to be alone, he thinks, but it's better to have company when he's being reckless.

"So?" he says, wondering what happens now that the night's thrill is done and they're alone with their thoughts.

"So," says Fred, and Oliver doesn't have to look to see the grin.

"What's Fred Weasley really like?" he asks. "What are the other things that are just his?"

Fred's silent for a moment, and Oliver wonders if he's gone too far. There's a line and they've been toeing it for quite a few of their clandestine meetings, but there's always been a boundary.

"Fred likes hard rock," says Fred, and there's a hint of teasing in his voice. "None of that Weird Sisters shite. We're talking Red Siren and the Hobgoblins."

"Oh?" Oliver raises an eyebrow, because that just seem like something the Fred he knows would like. This isn't that Fred, though, not really. This is Fred without George, and he's the same, but with a hundred different facets that's never been explored.

Fred's always been an open book, truth be told, but when his twin is at his side, there's a few pages folded over to hide the words within.

"He thinks divination is stupid and didn't take care of magical creatures because he's never going to admit it to most people, but he hates getting muddy," Fred continues, seemingly at ease. "He has a soft spot for potions because it's interesting since there's so many possibilities, and he likes telling jokes because it's good to hear people laugh."

"He sounds like a fun person," says Oliver with a smile. "I wonder why we don't see him that often."

"Am I ever on my own?" replies Fred. "I don't know. I ever tell you that the hat wanted to put me in Ravenclaw? Said I have a thirst for knowledge and a sense of creativity that'll really bloom there. Maybe I should have agreed. Might have been nice to have to make my own friends and break out of my shell a bit."

Oliver snorts at that. "You're Fred Weasley. You don't have a shell."

"Sure about that, Wood?" he retorts. "My boggart is an empty room, because I hate being alone even when I sometimes need to get away from everything. Contradiction? You bet. I—"

"I get it." Oliver laughs, nudging him in the side. "C'mon, it's about time we got back. We'll need at least some sleep before class tomorrow."

There are sirens ringing in his head as Oliver rises into the sky, and red lights flash in front of his eyes. This is madness. It's utterly and completely insane. The quidditch pitch is growing smaller and smaller below them, and he's never been this reckless.

It's Fred. There's something about the other boy that spurs him on from one bout of madness to another. It's strange to have a partner in crime, and it's even odder to find someone who craves the rush as much as he does. Oliver stirs the embers and Fred pours on the gasoline until the blaze is ready to melt their bones, and it's a small miracle that neither of them have broken their necks yet.

Fred's got his arms wrapped around his waist, clinging to him as they begin their descent. It's an odd position for two blokes, but Oliver doesn't mind. This stunt isn't going to work with two brooms, because the risk is already maddeningly high when they've got each other's backs.

His lips peel back as the wind rushes against him, and they're flying towards the Black Lake in an almost perfectly downward trajectory. All but falling like stones, he clings to his trembling broom, his heart racing. Behind him, Fred whoops with glee, his grip tightening as the still water rushes up at them.

If he's smart, he'll pull up now and save them both from what might well break every bone in their bodies.

They pierce the surface like a bullet, and the water slams against his chest as bubbles burst around them. The winds knocked out of them as their momentum speeds them beneath the Black Lake, and he's met with nothing but dizziness as he forces his eyes open. The air pours from his mouth as he stares, and Fred's grip is so tight that it hurts.

It's beautiful down here. The merfolk village looms in the distance, and there's so much kelp and underwater blooms surrounding them that they might as well be in the Forbidden Forest. Something swims beside them, terrifyingly huge, and Oliver's heart nearly stops as he catches sight of the Giant Squid's single yellowed eye.

Then, the squid is gone and they're starting to slow down from the friction. It doesn't matter. There's just enough momentum to push them towards the surface as he twists, forcing the broomstick back into the air.

"That was bloody mental," Oliver gasps, collapsing onto the shore. His heart feels ready to burst, and he must be insane, because he already wants to do it again.

"I so need to do that again." Fred echoes his thoughts, and Oliver bursts out laughing.

They're matches and gasoline, a firestarter and an arsonist when it comes to adrenaline, and it's kinda fucking perfect, Oliver thinks to himself as he catches his breath. Drenched nearly to the bone, they wander back to the quidditch pitch beneath the full moon. The locker rooms are never locked, and Oliver thinks he needs a hot shower after that last stunt.

It'll be relaxing, he thinks, because unless he calms himself, he's going to be a zombie in class tomorrow. Passing beneath the bleachers, he sighs. He loves the thrill and the speed, but there'll be no topping tonight. It just doesn't get wilder than what he's just done.

"Oliver?"

He freezes, because there's something different about Fred's voice. He turns around, swallowing thickly as the broomstick falls from his grasp.

Fred's a flushed mess of sodden ginger hair and freckles, and Oliver's never seen him like this. There's no barbs or witty remarks, no pranks or jokes or all that goes in wonders, idly, if this is the part where he kisses him or if it's the part where he runs away to pretend this never happened, but it's Fred that makes the choice for him in the end.

Their kiss is a rush unlike anything he's ever felt before, and Oliver's heart thunders in his ears as Fred's lips crash against his. Sweet Merlin, he thinks, but Fred's a clumsy kisser, all clicking teeth and too much tongue, but he must be mad because he doesn't mind at all.

They break apart, and Oliver's eyes are wider than saucers as Fred stands there in his arms. They're alone on the quidditch pitch, soaked to the bone, and the moon is the only light they have. It's a little romantic, Oliver thinks, but it's unexpected as well.

The best joyrides are always the unexpected roller coasters that leave you guessing what comes next, aren't they?

"Want to know something about Fred Weasley that even George doesn't know?" whispers Fred, looking up into his eyes with an almost vulnerable glimmer in his eyes.

"Yeah," murmurs Oliver.

"He likes boys."

"Kinda figured," he replies before kissing him again.

Oliver doesn't know what Fred is to him, because calling him his boyfriend seems like too much but calling him just a friend feels like far too little. They're in a strange place that's somewhere in-between, and there just isn't a name for it. It's a relationship at best, he thinks to himself, and at worst it's just two adrenaline junkies on the wildest ride of their lives.

He circles the pitch, trying to get his thoughts in order. Half of what they'd done together is mental, and the other half is batshit insane. Oliver isn't sure what's the current highlight of the whirlwind that's been their romance, because Fred's always filled with new ideas, and Oliver's always racing for the nearest thrill.

Skinny-dipping at midnight after too much stolen firewhisky isn't enough to beat out snogging atop the castle roof while watching the dawn, but it's probably above the time Fred got him to tie a bludger to the end of his broom. There's the freefall into a cushioning charm to consider, or the flight through the Forbidden Forest, or hell, what about the time they left the castle grounds altogether to explore Hogsmeade in the moonlight. Their wild ride's gone on for nearly a year now, and it shows no sign of slowing down anytime soon.

Oliver chuckles, his mind whirring. Being with Fred's like going on a new adventure on every date, and his heart is always racing by the time he's ready to say goodbye.

The thought crosses his head just as Fred's familiar face shows up on the pitch, and Oliver descends with a grin. Chucking aside his broom, he pulls his boyfriend-friend-lover-whatever into a kiss before either of them can say a single word, and Fred's chuckling as they break apart for air.

"You're in a good mood," says Fred, chuckling as he sits cross-legged on the grass.

"Was thinking about your bony arse." Oliver winks as he flops down beside him, folding his arms behind his head.

"My arse is not bony!" Fred presses a hand to his heart in faux anger, but his eyes are flickering with amusement.

"You ever tried falling asleep with your own arse stabbing you in the stomach?" Oliver raises an eyebrow, biting back the urge to laugh. "Sorry. It's a nice arse. Especially when it's in those shorts I like."

"Love ya too, Wood." Fred chuckles, and it's a brief hint of a moment before time stands still and Oliver's eyes are wider than they've ever been in his life.

His heart is in his throat and his stomach is twisting itself into knots, and there's a rushing sound in his ears. It's like he's flying with the speed of light and all his senses are on fire, because he can't have heard what he just heard.

"Really?" he asks. "Where'd that come from?"

"Just came out," says Fred with an easy shrug. "You gonna say it back or what?"

Oliver shoves himself onto Fred, knocking the other boy down into the grass. With a grin on his face, he pins Fred to the grass before pressing a kiss to his chin. Fred's laughing, and Oliver's grinning so hard that he can barely form the words he wants to say.

"I love you, Fred," he says, and Merlin, it sounds corny when he says it out loud.

It doesn't matter, because the thrill of their next kiss is all the rush he'll ever need.

-Fin-

Author's Note:

Written for The Dating Grounds Challenge on HPFC. Been a while since I've written a challenge piece for anything, so I might be a bit rusty. Prompts were Oliver Wood (Character) and The Quidditch Pitch (Setting).