Summary: Angelina and Fred relieve a little stress
A/N: Thanks to my beta, who makes me laugh and tolerates all my spelling errors.
Of all the words to describe Fred Weasley, “shy” would never be one of them. He was ambitious and funny and unafraid to take what he wanted, and he wanted Angelina Johnson.
She was tall and tough, a great chaser, and she didn’t even cry that time when Montague knocked her off her broom, the bloody git. He’d been meaning to ask her out since the beginning of the year, but things kept coming up like getting the charm right on the canary cluster creams and chasing down that fraud Bagman to get the money he owed them, so, when the Yule Ball came around quite unexpectedly, Fred jumped at the chance.
“Oi, Angelina, want to go to the ball with me?” She looked him up and down and gave him a smile that made his testicles stir.
“All right.” Phsst, as if there were any doubt.
She looked gorgeous; she had to be the tallest girl at Hogwarts, and her silver, shimmering gown showed off just how fit she was. They couldn’t believe Dumbledore had booked The Weird Sisters; Angelina, turns out, was also a rabid fan like Fred’s own self.
They didn’t sit down for one song, and, while dancing, Fred’s hand had touched her hips, the side of her breasts, and, once, her butt. Not enough to piss her off or seem intentional, but just enough to feel a little bit of what she must look like under those robes.
He kissed her good night in the common room; it was all very polite and innocent.
Polite and innocent didn’t apply right now though. She came down to the Quidditch showers because the brooms were kept in the supply room just through the changing room doors. She just wanted to check that they were all in good, working order and instead she found Fred Weasley under the shower doing… well, things to himself.
She stood there a moment, admiring, before she cleared her throat.
It was seventh year. They had sex at the end of the sixth one. It was always an awkward affair done in the privacy of a cramped dark closet.
He’d seen her couple of times over break, but her parents were always home and by the start of semester things had cooled between them, especially now, considering Dolores Umbridge and her Inquisitor Squad.
Actually, he was taking a bit of a risk having at himself with them lurking around. She liked that about him though; he was never intimated by any body.
“Well, I don’t suppose you need that arm for hitting a bludger anymore,” she said bitterly, not because of their failed relationship, but because of the pathetic state of her Quidditch team.
Fred looked through the vapory air to see Angelina smirking at him like a jackal.
If it had been Umbridge or one of her cronies sniffing about the showers, he wouldn’t be embarrassed. But something about getting caught wanking by a girl you’d been intimate with made Fred’s cheeks flame redder than his hair.
“Well… I... ah.” Not exactly the flippant response he was hoping to give. Angelina grinned broader.
The smart thing to do was probably to get out of there now. Potter was already out for life, and, if they got caught, she would be too or maybe expelled, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
Fred’s skin was steamed pink from the hot spray. He had a stout build with bulging beater’s arms. There were other parts of Fred that were bulging too, parts she had felt before but never had a proper look at. She just had to touch.
She sauntered over to him. “Need some help?” Fred nodded vigorously. He grabbed her around the waist and pressed his soaking body against hers, kissing her backwards into the shower stall. Oh well, they both knew drying spells.
“I was thinking about you,” Fred moaned while mashing their lips together and exploring her tongue.
“Liar.” Her voice was more demure and coy than it usually was. Fred’s snorting laugh proved her right.
“All right, I was thinking about the girls in my wank magazine, but God, Angelina.” Fred grabbed her hand and guided it to his cock. “You’re so much hotter.”
His cock felt thick and hard and wet in her hand. It jerked when she touched it in different places like the head and once very hard when her fingers accidentally grazed his balls.
“Bloody hell,” Fred moaned louder than before as he undid the clasps of her robes.
It was the third button down when Angelina started to think things were getting overheated. All she originally wanted was one kiss, just wanted to feel Fred once while being able to see his body at the same time.
“Fred, I think we should stop,” She said, removing her hand from his cock and pushing his fingers away from her buttons. Fred grunted in protest grabbing her wrist and promptly put it back on his penis.
“No, Angelina… Please, please don’t quit now.”
A fit of nervous laughter erupted from Angelina’s chest.
She felt ridiculous and turned on all at the same time. He was staring at her breast like they were two heaping mounds of Galleons.
“Why didn’t you ever wear these for me?” Fred asked in stuttering awe of the scalloped lacing around Angelina’s bra.
“I did, you git; there was just never enough light to see it.”
“Mmmm,” Fred hummed, taking a nipple in his mouth. “Pity, that.”
“Fred.” His lips were very warm in a way that caused a deep ache between her legs.
“What if some one comes in?”
”Let them. Let them see those perfect tits and your long legs wrapped around me so they can die with jealously that it’s me with you and not them,” growled Fred, grabbing
Angelina’s arse, pulling her forward on his leg and rocking her hips so that she was grinding down on his bare thigh.
The steam, it must have been all the steam in the air that was starting to cloud Angelina’s judgment, because what Fred just said seemed perfectly logical.
“What if I get kicked off the Quidditch team?” She asked in a last ditch effort to hold on to reason.
Fred’s head snapped upward, his eyes fixed in on her with an incredulous glare.
”Geez, Angelina, your worse than Oliver Wood. Do you know that?
Angelina blushed furiously; Fred was such a flatterer.
“I-" But Angelina didn’t get to finish her sentence, because Fred lifted her straight off the wet tiles.
For a moment there was an awkward arrangement of wet limbs. Her arms instinctively went over head to brace her self on the shower stall but she slipped a little trying to balance herself around Fred’s hips. Fred almost fell trying to keep them both from toppling over, and, in the end, she wound up with one foot braced on the tap and her ass balanced on Fred’s arm with his cock poised at her wet opening.
The over head florescent lighting wasn’t flattering. Fred was red as a lobster by now and he had a somewhat mad gleam in his eyes, but she found she wouldn’t trade it for the stuffy dark closets where neither of them could see each other.
He slid into her easily. A high pitched moan escaped her throat, and Fred’s lips clumsily crushed against hers.
“Shhh, you don’t want us to get caught braking Educational Decree Number Twenty Four, do you love?”
“Number… number twenty four?” She asked with another gasp. Bewildered Fred even bothered to memorize Educational Decrees, much less bring them up at a time like this.
“Yeah,” he said with a thrust upward that caused her to scream. “No reforming of any groups without permission of the High Inquisitor.” Fred laughed before jamming his tongue back into her mouth, making her forget about rules and more surprisingly Quidditch.