#marcus x oliver
@microficmay Day 18 - Secret
“Hes so intense.” Lee eyes Flint, who’s polishing his broom with precision. “You think he kisses with as much concentration and passion?” He laughs nudging Oliver who’s poring over some game plans.
“Oh yeah, he’s very skilled with his tongue,” Oliver blurts without a thought, freezing the next second as Lee chokes on his water.
Written for @microficmay‘s prompt hesitate.
Marcus Flint/Oliver Wood
Teen | WC: 50 | Tags: Rivals with Benefits, Feelings, UST
__He gasps when strong hands push him hard against the wall.
Grey eyes study him curiously. Carefully.
Oliver has been waiting for a moment like this. Yet, he hesitates, since this is Marcus Flint after all.
“What d’you want, Wood?” Flint grumbles under his breath.
Oliver licks his lips. “You.”
You can also read on AO3, or check out the full Flintwood microfic series under #there are no boundaries.
pairing: oliver wood & marcus flint
wordcount: 11,058 (part 3/3)
(also readable on ao3!)“Can you stop doing that?”
“Doing what?”
“Breathing.”
“Marcus!”
Oliver shot up from his position; he had been slouched pleasantly on his sofa, blanket pulled up to his chin as he pondered an article in the sports section of the Prophet about player loyalty to their Quidditch teams before Marcus had started speaking. In his abrupt movements he had sent the newspaper flying onto the floor, arms swatting the blanket to haphazardly hang half onto the floor.
“No, no. I mean, like. Breathing so heavily. It sounds like you’ve just run a mile and can’t compose yourself.” Marcus explained, taking a hesitant sip from his cup of tea.
“I’m tired. Entertaining a guest isn’t something I’ve had to do since my mother turned up one day.” Oliver shrugged, resuming his relaxed pose.
Marcus huffed, the exhale of breath causing little ripples to form on the surface of his milky drink. “You’re not entertaining me, Oliver. I’ve been here for three hours and the most you’ve done is show me your board game collection.”
He was telling the truth, to be fair, Oliver thought. After his practice had ended Oliver had done as he promised and taken Marcus on a short walking tour of Dorset; the trip turned sour quite soon as the weather turned and Marcus realised that there wasn’t much to the place apart from countryside and thatched roofs. It was nice having Marcus around, though, and Oliver had felt immensely happier and lighter in his soul the moment they said ‘hi’ to each other at the entrance to the changing room. Granted the rest of his team had cast suspicious and knowing glances in their direction as they sauntered off to the corner shop, but, apart from that, having the person who was arguably his closest friend next to him again felt like a wash of relief.
Oliver would be lying if he claimed he hadn’t began feeling rather anxious on the run up to the wedding. Owls had been coming in non-stop from almost everyone he knew, from the Weasley’s themselves clarifying the address and timings of the day down to Ginny sending him letters double-checking he was definitely sure he wanted to come to the ceremony. It was all very suffocating, being bombarded from all directions by people reiterating the point that he was planning on attending the wedding of the man who had left a few scars of heartbreak all over his body only a few months before. Oliver had ended up not even opening some of the letters, just glancing at the handwriting and discarding them the moment he recognised who the writer was. And then Marcus had arrived.
pairing:oliver wood & marcus flint
wordcount:1,860
warnings:n/a!Oliver had been in the restroom for twelve minutes and thirty-seven seconds before Marcus’ parents began to give him the look. The look: described in the dictionary of Marcus’ mind as a parent’s way of expressing disapproval or anger, often characterised by taut lips, drawn together eyebrows and an occasional shake of their head.
“Yourpartner,” Marcus’ mother paused. “Has been in the restroom for an awfully long time, Marcus.”
“Perhaps,” Marcus’s father intercepted, voice slick and cool with an essence of disappointment. “He’s forgotten how doors work? Locked himself in, or something?”
Marcus swilled his drink inside the glass, eyes trying to read the glossy surface of the wine as if it were a crystal ball that could somehow communicate to Marcus why Oliver taking so long. He had his suspicions; the atmosphere surrounding the table had been tense since the four of them sat down almost an hour ago, the penetrating gaze of Marcus’ parents meticulously tearing every piece of Oliver to shreds. They’d dished out some particularly interrogative questions, commentating the whole meal with snide remarks and sarcastic utterances that didn’t go unheard. Marcus had kept a constant hand on Oliver’s knee, rubbing soothing circles there with increasing pressure as comment after comment after comment took over the far from pleasant conversation.
pairing: oliver wood & marcus flint
wordcount:2,143
(also readable on ao3!)“I told you to take my coat before we even left the castle.”
“I don’t want your coat.”
“But you clearly need my coat.”
“No I do not,” Marcus argued, ignoring the icy shiver that filtered from his head to his toes. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you very much.”
“ForMerlin’s sake, Marcus,” suddenly the warmth of Oliver’s hand wrapped around Marcus’ own, cool fingers had gone. The gentle splash of their footsteps in the shallow puddles that had settled along the path from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade stopped as Oliver halted, only the pattering of raindrops to fill the slightly tense silence that had fallen between them. “Take my coat.”
Oliver’s arms withdrew from the sleeves of his too-big, too-warm coat, neck immediately flushing from the cool air that filtered over his bare skin. Marcus stood still, feet glued to the floor as Oliver smoothed his coat over Marcus’ shoulders. Marcus’ eyes were narrowed slightly, but the small smile spreading over his lips washed any sense of faux agitation from his face. He would never admit how cold he actually was – or, more importantly, admit that Oliver was right when he had muttered “you’re going to freeze with no coat, Marcus” before they descended the steps from the castle – but there was no denying how grateful he was to have something covering his sodden arms.
