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Hello, Mr. Wood	By : GwenPennington Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 4030 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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**Disclaimer: The usual spiel. JK Rowling is God. She owns all. Gwen Pennington is, however, a product of my own imagination, as are the following events. But yes, JK owns all.**
It's odd; in all the years Oliver and I have known each other, I've only been in his bedroom a dozen times. Maybe less. It somehow seems weirder for me to be in his room than he in mine, though something at the back of my head tells me it should be the other way around. His room is so private, like him. Most people don't know his personality; all they see is the Gryffindor Quidditch captain. That's all he lets them see. I know him better than anyone, but for some reason I get this thrill from being in his bedroom, like I'm closer to him. Closer to seeing his soul.
Not that there's anything extraordinary about his bedroom. I looked around at the decorations on the dark wood-paneled walls: posters of Puddlemere United, his favorite Quidditch team; Gryffindor pennants; his first broom mounted above the closet. I shook my head and laughed softly at the last. It reminded me of my eighth birthday for some reason

July 17, my birthday. Over the past 2 years, I had gotten to know Oliver better. I have half a dozen cousins or so, but they don't like me. That's why I was in my room crying.

"What's wrong?" asked a voice from the door. I turned to see Oliver, my best friend. I knew I could tell him anything.

"They still don't like me," I sobbed. "They think I'm weird because I like Muggle toys. And Muggle movies." I love Disney films. "They keep calling me Squib."

He gave me one of those brotherly hugs I had grown used to. "They're just jealous because your eyes look really cool. And it's fun to play with Muggle toys and build stuff with legos instead of using magic for everything like they do."

"Really?" I asked, wiping tears from my cheeks.

"Really. Now come on, you haven't even opened your presents or had any cake." With that he let me go and headed downstairs. I followed him outside where everyone was waiting. Some of my cousins snickered when they saw my tear-stained cheeks, but I tried my best to ignore them.

I ended up with a new toy broom, more advanced than the old one; a few books on magic for children; and various magical toys. After everyone else left, Oliver and I were still "flying" around the yard. He was already a better flier than I.
"I'm going to be a Quidditch player!" he yelled over his shoulder, me trying to catch up.

"I know!" I answered. "You say it every time we get on our brooms!"

"Do I?" he laughed. "Well... what do you want to be then?"

Then it hit me: I had no idea. Then again, I was only 8. I was about to tell him as much when he tumbled off his broom. He had been turning and his toes more than skimmed the grass, causing him to fall. I went to help him up and saw that one of his knees was scraped. I took him back up to the house and it was like a light bulb turned on in my head. "I want to be a healer."

After Mom patched him up, we sat on the couch eating leftover cake and watching Disney movies. He ended up staying the night, like he'd done a hundred times before.

Mom let us stay up late since it was my birthday, so at 11 Oliver and I headed upstairs to my room where our sleeping bags were waiting on the floor.

"Where do babies come from?" Oliver suddenly asked.

I turned to face him, startled by the question. "Well... Muggles say a stork brings a baby to a waiting mommy and daddy..." I spluttered.

"I don't believe that. I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"Wh-what? Mine and your what?" I asked.

He started pulling at his pajama bottoms, and I clapped a hand over my eyes and whirled around. "I'm going to sleep now!" With that I hastily climbed into my sleeping bag with my back to him.

He laughed and got into his own sleeping bag. "I was only joking. Just wanted to see your reaction."

I gave him an exasperated sigh. "Good night, Oliver."

I shifted to make myself more comfortable on the bed, my feet on the floor and my hands on the edge of the mattress. Still uncomfortable, I propped some pillows against the headboard, got my entire body on the bed with my back on the pillows. That's better. What's taking him so long?

As though the thought summoned him, Oliver walked in carrying a glass of lemonade in each hand. His eyes widened visibly when he saw my position on the bed, propped against the pillows with my legs stretched out in front of me. What's the big deal? I sit on my bed like this all the time.

"Took you long enough," I said with a smile. "I thought you might've fallen in."

He chuckled and shook his head. "I thought you might be thirsty," he said, offering a glass. I accepted the drink and took a sip. Ah, just the right amount of sweetness.

I was a bit disappointed when he took a seat in the lone chair across the room, near the chalkboard he uses to make Quidditch strategies. Now, however, there are party plans written all over the green surface.

"Well, Katie already told us she'll be out of the country all summer, touring the Continent with her family," I said thoughtfully. "We could keep it to Fred, George, Alicia, and Angelina." Oliver agreed and a piece of chalk flew into the air to write the names under "Guests."

"I've just had a thought," Oliver said. "Why don't we make it for your birthday?" Hmm, that is an idea. "Sweet sixteen." He grinned, but it was an innocent grin. Merlin help me, but I love to see him smile. A new thought formed in my head, and I straightened my ankle-length skirt so it at least covered my knees. Did a frown just tug at the corner of Oliver's mouth? No, it couldn't have.

"That sounds good," I responded as though half my thigh hadn't just been exposed. The chalk flew up again to write "July 17" under "Date." He seemed to give himself a small shake before asking the next question.

"Okay, now how about" he looked at the board, "food? I suppose we'll need a birthday cake now." The words were written under their proper heading.

I took a moment to think, pushing a bare-chested Oliver out of my head. Or at least to the back of it for later thought. "What qualifies as party food, exactly?"

"Umm I'm not sure," he admitted with a laugh. "We haven't been to many parties, have we?"

"No, I suppose we haven't," I said with a smile. "We'll just make a regular dinner. How about my dad's baby back ribs and 'special' potatoes?"

"Yeah, your da makes the best ribs. I guess there's nothing for it now but to wait for our parents to get home and approve the plan. Are you sure they'll go for it?"

"Oh, yeah. They've been acting very strangely lately. Almost like they plan to leave us alone together very strange." It's true; today, our dads had to work, of course, but our mom's decided to go shopping. That's the third time this week! Each of their previous trips took all day, and they came home empty-handed! I turned my head to look at the clock; it was only 1:30. We had at least another three hours until they returned.

The silence stretched on for a few minutes.

"Oliver?" I said suddenly, turning to look at him. "Come here." I took a long drink of my lemonade.

"Why?" he asked slowly.

"Because," another sip, "I can't kiss you if you're all the way over there," I said casually.

A second grin spread across his lips, this time with a hint of mischief. He stood up and crossed the room to sit on the other side of his full-size bed. He crawled toward me and placed his left hand on the far side of my body, holding himself above me, and his right hand rested gently on my cheek as he leaned in to plant a soft kiss on my lips. I tilted my head up to make the kiss a little harder, so he sat next to me, turned to the side. I brought my hands up to tangle in that wonderful brown hair. Then I felt his tongue asking entrance to my mouth, which I eagerly granted. Oh, how I love kissing him. He shifted again, now with his left knee between my legs.

He took his hand from my cheek to yank one of the pillows out from behind me and toss it aside, allowing me to lean back more and wiggle to lay flat. He followed me, now laying on top of me, but still only kissing. Intense kissing. Considering how often our parents leave us alone- something about that bothers me, but I'm not going to start complaining- we have plenty of opportunity for these "snogging sessions," as Oliver calls them. But I could already tell we were going to go a little further this time. Not all the way, no. We weren't ready for that yet, not at 15. But far enough.

As his left hand moved from the mattress to my side and started moving slowly up and down, I was reminded of that night 6 months ago. The last night before my then-boyfriend Michael left for America.

"I'm going to miss you a lot," Michael admitted quietly.

"I'm going to miss you, too." I turned sideways on the couch to face him and kiss his cheek.

He also turned, and kissed my lips. One last make-out session couldn't hurt, right? I gave in to his kisses and put my arms around his neck. There was something different, but I couldn't put my finger on it. He started to gently push me back onto the couch. I wasn't sure about this, but I just went with it. He was practically on top of me, but still only kissing, his hands on my sides.

I felt him lift up a little, and one of his hands slid down to my leg, then back up- under my skirt. I didn't think I liked this, and his kisses were getting more forceful. His hand was on my inner thigh, nearly at my crotch. I suddenly remembered what he said Halloween, something about going out with a bang. The full meaning of this hit me like a sack of bricks, and I tried to push him off.

"I don't want to do this," I gasped, pulling my lips from his.

"Shut up, Gwen. I promise you'll enjoy it; I know I will." He kissed me hard, and I couldn't help but moan as his groping hand rubbed my crotch. I could feel him smile against my lips, but I tried to push him off again to no avail. He pressed his groin against me and I could feel that he was hard. His fingers slowly crept up and started pulling back my underwear, but finally I pushed him off.

"Impedimenta!" I screamed. Luckily I still had my wand, and the sense to use it.

Unsure of what else to do, I ran up the boys' stairs to Oliver's dorm. I rushed to the bed surrounded by the most Quidditch posters and ripped back the curtains. He sat up with a start; he must not have been fully asleep yet.

"Gwen! What happened?" He grabbed my arms firmly but gently, concern furrowing his brow as I began to sob and get the main points of the story across.

"Michael- common room- nearly- rape-" I panted out. His eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as he led me down the stairs after snatching his wand off the nightstand.

The curse I threw at Michael had begun to wear off, and he was almost to the stairs.

Oliver, fueled by a sudden anger I had never seen possess him, flung out his wand and yelled "Petrificus Totalus!" He didn't stop when Michael went as stiff as a board, hexing him repeatedly. Finally, when Michael was seven shades of purple, covered in boils with tentacles sprouting all over his face, he turned to me, breathing heavily.

"Are you okay? Of course not; why would you be?" He said the last more to himself than to me. He gently steered me to a chair, pulling me into his lap as he sat down and covering us both with a blanket.

"It was horrible," I cried, burying my face in his chest.

"I know, I know," he said soothingly. "It's all right, I've got you now." He stroked my hair and made shushing noises until I fell asleep.

I must have stopped kissing Oliver because he pulled his lips away, opening his brown eyes to look into mine. Those gorgeous eyes were full of concern for me.

"Are you okay? We can stop-"

"No, I'm fine," I hurried to assure him. "It was just"

"Michael," he said flatly. "Of course, why wouldn't you be reminded of that night?" He moved as though to get up, but I put my hand on his shoulder to hold him there.

"Don't stop," I pleaded. "This is nothing like that; I want this. It's just this is the first time we've been this close. The first time I've been this close to anyone since then. Please don't stop?"

He still didn't seem quite convinced, so I grabbed the back of his head and pulled him in for a very thorough kiss. That seemed to do the trick, and he started up were he left off. His tongue explored every corner of my mouth, his hand once again rubbing my side. Slowly, that hand crept to my breast, somewhere it had never been before. At first he just let his hand feel it's way around, his thumb gently stroking my hardened nipple that protruded through shirt and bra. Then he started squeezing gently, kneading like dough, drawing a low moan from my throat. This seemed to encourage him, and he squeezed a little harder.

Judging from what I could feel pressing against my leg, a fairly large part of him wanted to go further. Much further. But I knew he wouldn't unless I told him he could. As much as I wanted it, I wasn't quite ready. We were still too young. But we could go a little farther yet.

After fondling my breast for quite some time, much to my delight, his hand started moving south. The right was content to tangle itself in my hair, as my hands were in his, but that left hand wanted to explore, and I let it. It rested on my hip momentarily, tickling me slightly until I giggled against his lips, then started moving again.

It glided slowly down my thigh, taking time to savor the curve of my leg, then down further. His fingers caught the hem of my skirt, which was just above my knees, and started pulling it up with teasing sloth. He lifted his body just enough to push it further, and I lifted my hips so he could push it up all the way. That ebullient left hand worked its way up my inner thigh, squeezing here and there, massaging. His palm, roughened by years of Quidditch, felt good against my soft skin.

Finally it reached its goal, climbing the last few inches to the crotch my cotton undies. He seemed surprised to find the beginnings of wetness under his fingertips. However, this only encouraged him to do more. His fingers walked upwards to the band of my underwear, pausing just long enough to ask silent permission before starting to pull them down. Again we lifted our hips to push the tiny garment down to my ankles, so it could no longer form a barrier between us. I kicked it off and away, not needing it now.

His fingers tentatively worked their way back up my inner thigh, then spread my pink folds ever so slightly. This alone was enough to elicit a moan, from me as well as him. I was so aroused, I could feel my clit throbbing slightly, feel the wetness. His fingers started feeling their way around the warm, slick flesh, rubbing up and down. Ever so slowly, he pressed a finger to my opening. I nodded impatiently, still keeping my lips against his, and that finger slid inside. He wiggled his finger, then started to gently slide it in and out. More moans passed from my lips to his, but that one finger wasn't enough. I felt another finger join the first, and my groans intensified. He thrust them in and out, gently at first, but steadily gaining speed. Steadily, so he wouldn't hurt me. Not that I cared at the moment.

His thumb went up to rub my clit, and I couldn't believe I called the noises I made before "moans." He rubbed it in small circles, those fingers still sliding in and out of me. No, I wasn't moaning; I was screaming with pleasure. I'd never felt these things before. Sure, I'd masturbated alone in my room or in the shower, but I could never accomplish this by myself. I'm still not sure if it was the actions themselves, or if it was the fact that Oliver was performing those actions. All I know is that I never want another man to try those things, only Oliver could ever please me like this. I never, not once, had to tell him what to do. He knew what I wanted, and he did it. And, damn, did it feel good. I was rocking my hips in time with his thrusts, bringing them up every time his fingers darted forward.

It didn't take long after that before I came, my muscles tightening around his fingers. I threw my head back, tearing my lips from his to moan long and loud. My whole body tensed, but he didn't stop, not until my muscles relaxed and I lay there panting. He was breathing hard, too.

"Oooh... Oli... Oliver..."

That's not the only thing that was hard.

He rolled over onto his back, and I could see his erection through his khakis. He tried to sit up, but seemed to be having a little trouble with that.

"I need to go take care of something," he said thickly. Meaning he need to go jerk off. Well, he already did something for me

"Show me yours," I said after I regained the ability to speak.

"What?" His eyes were a darker brown than I'd ever seen them.

"I showed you mine, now show me yours." Surely he remembered. He looked at me for a long moment, considering, then nodded.

I sat up, then leaned over him. He reached up to tuck my hair behind my ears and I bent down to kiss him. I could never get tired of kissing him. I let my right hand play along his chest, down his abdomen, moving slowly

"Gwen, please." I could hear the desperation in his voice. "I'll explode if something doesn't happen soon."

Grinning, I granted his request. My hands deftly unbuttoned his pants, pulled down the zipper. I moved to straddle his legs and he lifted his hips so I could pull them down past his waist. His boxers were the only thing in the way, then. I gripped the elastic band in my fingertips, pulled them down slowly.

And there he was, fully erect and just waiting for me to touch him. I didn't have anything to compare him to, but I supposed he was fairly large. Deserving of the name Wood by all accounts. He gave me a pleading look and I didn't want to make him wait any longer. I got off his legs to sit next to him again, reaching out with my right hand.

"Wait. In the drawer there..." I followed his gaze to the drawer of his nightstand. I crawled over to it and opened it, seeing a bottle of lotion. Smirking, I squeezed some onto the palm of my right hand, spreading it around. Then I returned to Oliver.

I closed my hand around his length gently, making him jerk slightly, then got a firmer grip. I wanted to tease him, so I slowly moved my hand up and down, up and down.

"Gwen" His voice was strained, but I knew what he wanted. I kept the slow pace for a few more moments, then started pumping my hand harder and faster, gradually increasing speed like he did for me. He managed to push himself up onto his elbows and I bent to catch his lips, never skipping a beat. Now he was moaning into my mouth, and I loved every minute of it. All I wanted to do in that moment was slide my hand up and down that shaft.

"Faster" he gasped, and I eagerly complied. I pumped so hard he sat up the rest of the way and started thrusting his hips forward, like he was fucking my hand. And I never wanted it to stop. We hadn't had sex, but I figured this was the next best thing, especially after what he did to me.

"Oh, fuck... Gwen..." He showed amazing interest in those Muggle swear words I taught him. I guess I have my dad to thank for that.

He shuddered when he came, squirting that sticky, white liquid onto my hand. I kept my hand moving until he stopped, the semen oozing out in spurts. I would have kept going even then, but he told me to stop. He said he was too sensitive to touch then. I brought my hand closer to my face in order to study the mess on my hands. His dark eyes with those dilated pupils studied me intensely, his chest heaving as he tried to calm himself.

I have to admit that I did consider licking it off, but thought better of it. My common sense returned to me and I looked at the clock. Shit, it was four. They could be home any minute. I wiped my hand on a tissue then started searching for my underwear, quickly putting them on and fixing my skirt. Oliver also regained some sense of himself, pulling his pants back up. He ran a hand through his hair.

"What do we do now?" he asked. "We can't very well let them think Oh, Merlin"

"Calm down, Oliver. There's nothing to freak out about. Come here." I sat back down on the bed and he moved closer, so I leaned over to kiss him again. Then I laid down on the pillow, on my side with my back to him. He followed suit, fitting his body against mine perfectly. I pulled his arm around and hugged it to my chest, running my thumb along the back of it until we fell asleep.

This became a regular habit, going to his room and masturbating together when our parents weren't home. Sometimes we just watched each other bring ourselves to climax, but most of the time it was like this one, fingering and rubbing and pumping until we were too tired to move. But still we didn't go further. Not yet. God must have killed a lot of kittens, but it was worth it. I never really liked cats anyway.
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Hello, Mr. Wood