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sapphicnile · 7 years

Text

All I Want to do Right now

Paring: Marcus Flint x Oliver Wood

Word: 24927

Summary: Marcus had told himself this so many times, he wasn't gay. He just couldn't be gay. But Oliver Wood had his attention and as much as he hated it, he did feel a way about him he shouldn't.

Marcus had tried telling himself that the tugging feeling in his stomach he got whenever he saw Wood wasn’t attraction, it wasn’t interest, and it certainly wasn’t anything gay.

It wasn’t anything gay. He wasn’t gay.

He wasn’t. He couldn’t be. Blokes like him weren’t like that. Blokes that were athletic, that looked like him, that came from families like his, weren’t like that.

The simple thought made him sick in the stomach. Just because no girl had caught his fancy and he struggled to not look at Wood that time he saw him shirtless in the showers doesn’t mean he was… he wasn’t. He just wasn’t.

“Get your arses going!” he snapped at Warrington and Montague, holding out his arm for the quaffle.

“Flint, we’ve been practicing for two hours,” Bole groaned. “Can we just call it a day?”

“Yeah,” Warrington interjected. “I feel like my arms are going to fall off.”

Marcus narrowed his eyes at them. “We’re done when I say we’re done.”

“Yeah, stop being such poofs,” Montague yelled from across the pitch.

Marcus stopped himself from flinching. “Quit your talking and get back to playing,” Marcus snapped at no one in particular.

They played for another hour, Marcus taking his anger out on the game. Bletchley seemed surprised by how vicious his shots at the goals were. He looked like he wanted to say something but decided against it. The Keeper knew better than to talk back to his captain when he was in a mood like this.

When they did eventually finish practice, Marcus went straight for the showers. The water was far hotter than it needed to be but he didn’t care, he’d always enjoyed the sting from hot water. He stood under the water, letting it his face, running it through his curly hair. It was exactly what he needed to keep his heart thumping in his chest.

He didn’t get out until he was sure the showers were empty. He stared at himself in the mirror. What he saw was the tough, brutal bloke he’d always been. He saw someone who didn’t put up with anyone’s shit. That’s who he was. Blokes like that aren’t gay. Not blokes who were strong and cold. Blokes who were gay were weak, pathetic. He wasn’t either of those things.

Maybe he should ask out some girl, that’ll help.

…

“So, Penelope’s friend likes you.”

Oliver glanced up from his playbook to Percy who was sat on his bed. “Which friend?”

“Patricia,” he replied.

He vaguely knew who that was. She was pretty, he’d admit. But he wasn’t necessarily interested in going out with her.

“Okay, what do you want me to do with that information?” he asked.

“Well, Penny thinks you two would be together,” he said. “She suggested we all go to the Three Broomsticks together this weekend, y’know?”

“Oh,” he replied. Oh. He’d been on his fair share of dates with girls, all of which never really worked out. He didn’t exactly want to do that with a friend of Percy’s girlfriend. “I don’t know. I don’t really know her.”

“I know but I think I agree, you two could work well together.”

He wasn’t sure the validity of that statement. He wouldn’t call himself picky but… no girl really did anything for him. He knew some guys didn’t really think about that but he wanted to like a girl if he dated her, not this serial dating thing he’d been doing. He hadn’t actually had a girlfriend. He’d snogged plenty of girls but that’s the most he’d done with any girl. Not that he really liked it, he just felt like he had to.

He knew Patricia enough to know he didn’t like her like that. He didn’t want to kiss her or really do anything. She just… didn’t appeal to him. And he couldn’t think of why, he knew she was smart, pretty, and funny, so why did he look at her in indifference? Hell, according to his roommates he’d been on dates with girls they’d kill to go out with.

He glanced out the window, a decent view of the Quidditch pitch. He could see the Slytherin team practicing, not well but he could see them flying.

He could see Flint flying, see him skilfully shoot goals. He was a good player; he’d never deny that. As much as he didn’t like him. He had to admit he liked watching him, he wasn’t a watcher but he sometimes caught himself watching Flint. He was passionate about Quidditch, and Oliver really liked that. He was happy to have some real competition in this whole thing. It prepared him for the real league.

“So what do you think?” Percy asked, breaking his concentration. He turned back to his friend, giving him a questioning look. “Will you go?”

He bit his lip and shrugged. “Okay, fine,” he said. “Worst thing that could happen is that we don’t go on another.”

“Yeah, maybe your picky arse will like her.”

“I’m not picky,” he argued. “I don’t know. I just find it difficult to find a girl I like. I just kinda wanna focus on Quidditch, y’know?”

Percy raised his brow at him. “You’re so fucking weird,” he said., shaking his head.

“I thought I was picky?”

“You’re both. Weird and picky.”

He picked up his pillow and threw it at him, laughing and shaking his head. He looked back out the window, and the smallest smiled came on his lips as he watched Flint fly, pumping his fist in the air after he’d scored a goal.

…

Marcus glanced around the Slytherin common room, trying to look for someone he could use for his plan. He looked at the girls in his year, who were in the middle of some conversation. He had a vague memory of Warrington saying they were really pretty. More specifically, he was lucky his year had so many hot girls.

Except he didn’t find any of them remotely appealing.

Sure, intellectually he knew they were pretty. He could see that. But he didn’t have the urge to want to date them or anything. He didn’t want to ask any of them out. He didn’t get any tugging in his stomach. The thought of snogging them didn’t pass his mind.

That didn’t make him gay. They just weren’t the right girls. He wasn’t sure exactly what he liked in girls. He couldn’t even think of a single thing.

His mind went to Wood. Burly, broad shouldered, attractive as hell.

He pushed the thought from his mind.

He wasn’t gay. He wasn’t gay. He wasn’t gay.

He couldn’t be. He really just couldn’t be. There weren’t any blokes who played Quidditch professionally that were. Yeah, there were lesbians but blokes? Of course not. Blokes who played sport were masculine, blokes who were gay weren’t.

He should just ask some girl out. Maybe someone would say yes.

He looked from the seventh year girls to some sixth years. He didn’t really know any of them but surely the Quidditch Captain title and being – two years – senior to them would be some appeal to them, right?

He saw one girl in the group and objectively, he knew she was pretty. Her hair was golden blonde and she had bright green eyes. He’d seen plenty of people practically drool over her. But nothing in his gut pulled him to her. Maybe he was going too big, he knew she wouldn’t say yes to a date.

His eyes drifted around the room again, only to be snapped out of it when Montague sat down next to him.

“You look distracted,” he noted.

He looked at him and shrugged. “Just thinking.”

Montague raised his brow at him. “Okay, whatever,” he said. “I actually came to ask you something,” he said.

“What?” Marcus asked warily.

“You know how I’ve been going out with Lexa?” Marcus nodded. “Her friend Clara fancies you, so you think you could go out with her or something?”

He stared at him for a moment. He was a little caught off guard a girl fancied him, much less a pretty girl. But… again, he had no interest. “Uh… nah,” he said before he could stop himself.

Montague’s brows furrowed. “No?”

“Nah,” he repeated.

“She’s quite fit though,” Montague said.

“Yeah but… just not interested.”

He frowned at him. “You sure,” he nodded towards her. “She’s real pretty.”

He looked across the room at her. He could see the hopeful look in her eyes as she was clearly trying to observe the results. He felt a lump in his throat. He wasn’t gay, he should find her appealing. He should have the desire to date her, especially since she liked him.

Even though there was something in his brain screaming he’d regret it, he forced himself to nod. “Okay,” he said, feeling his voice catch in his throat. “I’ll do it.”

…

“Want to go to Mada-“

“No,” Marcus cut her off, scrunching his nose. “No way.”

Clara frowned at him, probably because of his harshness. But the thought of going into Madam Puddifoot’s made his skin crawl. It wasn’t just that he had too much pride to ever step foot into it but the pressure that would involve was terrifying. Would she expect him to snog her? Did she want him to snog her? He almost gagged at the thought.

He ignored the disappointed look he got, looking down at his feet, dragging his feet alongside her with his hand stuffed in his pockets.

“Three Broomsticks, then?” she muttered. He nodded, still not looking at her. He let his hair fall in his face, licking his lips. It was still cold and his lips were getting really chapped but he didn’t mind.

They ordered two butterbeers, not sitting too far in the back. Clara was trying to make conversation but they were mostly closed questions, so he could give her grunts, shrugs, and half nods as answers. He really realised how much he didn’t want to be on this date when he got on a carriage with Pucey and Higgs. He saw Wood get in a different carriage with some Ravenclaw girl and Weasley and his muggle-born girlfriend.

He was angry with himself for forcing himself to do this.

But he was straight and she was a pretty girl. He should want this.

But when he glanced at her nothing in him was telling him to snog her. He wasn’t expecting her to be like a Veela – not that he’d ever encountered one – but surely he should at least get a tugging in his stomach. Like with those pictures of bloke players in Quidditch Weekly. Or with Wood…

Speak of the devil, he noticed Clara’s eyes drift to the door and he followed her gaze to see Wood and Weasley with the two Ravenclaw girls. He noticed Oliver sling his arm across the Ravenclaw’s shoulders when they sat. He pressed his lips together as he watched. Wood smiled at something the girl said and he laughed, throwing his head back and grinned.

There was the tugging in his stomach.

He looked back at Clara, who was drinking her butterbeer. When she set the mug down it had left a little foam on her upper lip. He swallowed and shuffled his chair a little closer to her. She looked at him curiously and he forced himself to give her a smile and slowly brought his face close to hers.

A piece of him wanted her to stop him. To say no. So he won’t have to actually do it.

But she smiled at him and he saw her eyes glow up.

So he continued to bring his face to hers, until they were actually snogging. He felt the foam on her lip, he tasted it. Her lips were soft. Really soft. With his own lips being so chapped he felt a little bad she had to snog that. Maybe she’d pull away and they could stop because of it.

But she was snoggging him and snogging him hard. Something in him wanted to see if Wood could see. He opened his eyes slightly, and looked from the corner of his eye to where Wood was sat. Wood definitely saw because there was something in his posture and he slightly nodded towards him. He exhaled through his nose and pushed his tongue into Clara’s mouth. Stupid Wood with his stupid face and the stupid way he made him feel.

He wasn’t fucking gay.

Her hands were in his hair but he didn’t want to touch her more than he had to. One hand was on the back of her chair and the other on the table. He wanted to pull away so bad. He didn’t want to do this at all. He shifted his eyes at Wood again, who now looked agitated. That was confusing. He seemed to be ranting something to Weasley and the two Ravenclaw girls clearly looked annoyed.

When the grip on his head wasn’t as strong, he pulled away. Clara looked disappointed but she didn’t try to snog him again.

…

“So was the date good?” Montague asked in the common room.

“It was fine,” Marcus grunted, not even bothering to look up from the Prophet.

“Lexa said you guys snogged.”

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

“So does that mean you’re dating?”

“No.” He barely made it through a date. He wouldn’t be able to handle a relationship. “I told you I don’t fancy her.”

“So then why’d you snog her?” There was genuine confusion in his tone. What was he meant to tell him? He felt like he had to? He wanted to spite Wood? Hell, why did he want to spite Wood? He hated the Gryffindor. Sure, they had no reason outside of the Gryffindor and Slytherin rivalry and realistically couldn’t think of a single reason to dislike him outside of that.

But uh, despite that he totally hated him. They had to, that was expected.

Maybe he was just trying to prove to himself that how he felt about Wood wasn’t attraction or a crush.

A crush. He scoffed at the simple thought. A crush on Wood. That’s something he definitely didn’t have. The feelings meant nothing. He was straight. He was an athlete. He wasn’t soft. He wasn’t gay. He wasn’t a goddamn poof.

“She was there, I guess,” he muttered. “I’m not going to go out with her again, okay?”

“I don’t get it,” Montague said. “You haven’t really dated, and when you do you’re just disinterested.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Well, I need to be ready for Montrose, don’t I? I don’t need distractions. Mostly focussed on that, is all.”

Suspicion was in his eyes. Montague was usually easy to convince or sway but he clearly didn’t believe him. Terror rushed through him. What if he had figured it out? What if he thought the lack of interest he had wasn’t because he wanted to focus on his Quidditch career?

“You know,” Montague said carefully. “If you just think she doesn’t like you as much as she says she does, I can say she really does. She talks about you a ton around me and Lexa.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat and shrugged. “Look, I really don’t care. I don’t really want to date at all.”

“But-“

“Montague,” he snapped, feeling the annoyance building up turn into rage. “Just fucking drop it, I don’t want to date her.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d yelled at him but he still looked slightly bewildered, before awkwardly nodding and walking up to the dormitories.

…

“I mean, who snogs someone in the fucking Three Broomsticks.”

“Oliver, we heard you the first time,” Percy muttered, not looking up from his essay.

“But seriously? No one wants to see him with his tongue down someone’s throat!”

“Can you shut it before we’re kicked out by Pince?” Penelope hissed at him. “We get it, Oliver. You’re obsessed with Flint.”

“I am not,” he defended, hissing back at her.

He had some sort of unease about the with Patricia. Even after a relatively okay date he didn’t really care much. Maybe he was right to think he was too focussed on his Quidditch career to be. He needed to focus on getting the team to win in the final to look good to Puddlemere. Sure, he’d dated some girls who asked him out but he wasn’t that interested. He didn’t really feel anything when he snogged them. He wouldn’t say he was exactly repulsed but… it just didn’t do it for him.

While on the date, he didn’t expect to see Flint. He’d never even seen Flint on a date. He was surprised to see anyone agree to go out with him, even another Slytherin. The oath was an arsehole. He was a twat. Yet he was very clearly snogging some fifth year in the fucking Three Broomsticks. Who does that? Who sticks their tongue down someone’s throat in the company of other people?

Even more infuriating, he had a suspicion it was something against him. When he brought this up to Percy, he told him he was being paranoid. But he saw how disinterested in the girl Flint seemed until he got there. The girl definitely seemed far more into it than Flint did.

Not that he was watching closely. But it was difficult to ignore. Mostly because Flint was so… big. In a good way. He was burly himself but Flint was bigger than him. He was easy to spot in a crowd, and hard to ignore. It benefited him in Quidditch, it added strength when he tried to make a goal.

He really should stop thinking about it. Flint can snog whoever he wanted. He didn’t care. Of course he didn’t. Flint could do whatever the fuck he wanted.

Penelope rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything back to him. His and Flint’s rivalry was infamous and no one really commented on it. It was something everyone had gotten used to. They’d always had an intense rivalry, even as far as Slytherin-Gryffindor rivalries went. They became captain of their team the same year and Oliver didn’t remember Charlie having a rivalry as intense with the old Slytherin team captain. There’d always been something between him and Flint. They were both incredibly competitive sure but they were especially competitive with each other. Even before they had their captain spots. Being a Chaser and a Keeper definitely played a role. The girls didn’t have this with Bletchley and he didn’t have that with Montague, Warrington, or even Pucey. There was just something about Flint that got him worked up. He was a pretty level headed guy but Flint knew how to stir him up, and he was always quick to anger with Flint.

But the biggest thing was that Flint clearly had something against him. He had some sort of problem with him and he had no idea what it could be. He seemed pissed off at him about something. Sure, he was used to Flint’s personality at this point but his cold attitude towards him really amped the previous year. He’d thought about confronting him about it but decided not to. He was probably simply overthinking things.

…

“So, you’re not going to ask Patricia out again?” Percy asked, sitting on his bed. Oliver glanced at him from his own bed and shrugged.

“Nah,” he said, glancing up from his copy of Quidditch Weekly. “She’s nice and all but… y’know, wasn’t too into her.”

“You’re so fucking picky,” Percy rolled his eyes.

“I’m not,” he defended. “I told you, I’m just really focussed on Quidditch.”

Percy’s brow furrowed together, clearly confused. “Still, you’ve gone out with heaps of girls and you never go one more than one date. Why’s that?”

He could only shrug in response, because honestly he didn’t know. He’d never really thought about his lack of interest in girls. It was something he realised when he was thirteen, when his friends started noticing girls and he didn’t really feel the same way. He knew they were pretty but he also knew he didn’t really have much interest in snogging girls. But it was weird because he knew girls liked him, and he wasn’t the type to say no to something he should be interested in doing.

Flipping through his copy, he smiled when he found a poster of Viktor Krum. He tugged it out on the binding and with a stick charm stuck it with his other posers on the wall at the head of his bed.

“Don’t you have enough?” Percy asked, eyeing the posters that cluttered his all. They were all male Quidditch players. He’d gotten a good amount of posters through magazines and they’d really built up over the years.

“No,” he said. “I like collecting them.”

He looked at Oliver, something flashing in his eyes. He shrugged it off, deciding he just imagined it, and waved his wand to close the curtains of his bed.

…

“Mate, you should really nearly be done with that essay by now,” Terence said, on their way to Care for Magical Creatures. He’d only written about three inches of his Defence Against the Dark Arts essay when he needed to write ten but Marcus hadn’t really been concentrating on it. He’d been working on his plays so they could be ready for their game against Ravenclaw. It was in a few days after all.

“I’m working on it, don’t worry,” he shrugged.

“You’ve seriously been distracted lately,” he said. Marcus simply shrugged. “Well, you can copy mine if you need. Lupin seems nice enough to take bad paraphrasing.”

Marcus nodded, slapping his best friend’s back gratefully. “Thanks mate.”

Terence smiled at him. “Yeah, you’re lucky I still like you after you kicked me off the team, and all because you’re easily bribed.”

He shrugged. “It’s not the worst thing.”

“Well, you kicked off Adrian too. We’ve bonded over that.”

“I’m sure he’ll be back on the team next year,” he shrugged. “But didn’t know you and Pucey were friends.”

He shrugged. “He’s alright, we kind of got to know each other when he got on the team.”

He raised his brow. “Okay,” he said. “And when exactly did you have time to form a friendship?”

“We both have more free-time without practice,” he shrugged, the smallest of smiles on his lips.

They got to their class, most of the students already there. Hagrid looked as excited as he always did. Since it was a new semester, they were told they were raising a new creature.

Hagrid brought out baby Fire Crabs and Marcus and Terence grinned in absolute delight.

A Muggle-Born Ravenclaw, Weasley’s girlfriend he remembered, looked at them curiously. “We’re gonna have to raise them?” She guessed. In fifth year they had to clean their cage and feed them for their exam but they hadn’t raised them, and Marcus couldn’t stop grinning.

Hagrid grinned a nodded. “Yep, beauts, aren’t they?”

“Do they bite?” Piped up a Hufflepuff girl. Marcus almost scoffed at the fact she forgot something they learnt years ago.

“No, but fire comes out of their arses,” Marcus said, grinning. They hadn’t spent enough time on them for their exam so clearly most people were lost on how to take care of them.

“Not really the right language, but that’s right,” Hagrid said, and begrudgingly added. “Five points to Slytherin.”

Terence gave him a quick high five, and Carrie, a Slytherin girl, turned her head to smile at him. He wasn’t really paying attention to that because he saw Wood turn his head around and look at him. He definitely looked a little surprised with his knowledge but he quickly turned back when he was elbowed by Weasley.

They had to feed them and do so without getting burned. Hagrid let them partner up, so he and Terence were able to work together.

“Didn’t know you knew anything about Fire Crabs,” Terence noted, trying to feed the baby Fire Crab.

Marcus shrugged. “What? We learnt about it years ago,” he said.

“Well, you do have an upper-hand by repeating but still.”

He shrugged. “I like the subject; I just suck at theory.”

“And maybe spent a little too much time working on plays.”

He would’ve shoved him but if he did, he knew the Fire Crab would’ve been started, resulting in burns. Instead, he shrugged. “Probably.”

…

“How did he get points when he swore?” Oliver grumbled as they left class. He didn’t get a response from Penelope or Percy. They were clearly making an effort to ignore him, holding hands as they walked a few steps ahead of him.

He huffed and glanced at Flint who was walking ahead of them with Higgs. He didn’t understand how Higgs could still be friends with him when he kicked him off the team for that Malfoy kid, even for Nimbus 2001’s.

He’d noticed a few things about Flint that year. He seemed to have decided to get his ears pierced. Two wide, black earrings in each lobe, and a matching one in each helix. It suited him, he’d admit. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had some tattoos hiding too.

He dismissed the thought. Why did he care about that? He really shouldn’t. He didn’t really notice those type of things on other people but for some reason he really noticed it on Flint. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it, he suited him. Like really suited him.

Again, he didn’t know why he cared so much. He hated Flint after all. At least... he thought he did. He was a Slytherin, it was a default thing. He didn’t even have that bad of a personality. Sure he was a grouch but he was damn good at Quidditch. If they were in the same house they’d probably play well together. Sure, he chose brute strength over skill when it came to his team but that was kind of a clever tactic. He didn’t think Flint was a bad captain, there’s a reason he was after all.

He was surprised by how interested in the class he was. Flint wasn’t one to yell out answers but he seemed to really be into Care for Magical Creatures, to the point he was still thrown off by it. Even Hagrid who always begrudgingly gave Slytherin points looked a little surprised.

“I didn’t miss those buggers after we had to do them for our O.W.LS,” Percy muttered.

“At least we didn’t get burned,” Penelope offered.

“Give me empathy, not sympathy,” he quietly snapped. “You know I hate sympathy.”

“Sorry,” she muttered, clearly annoyed. “But yeah, I hate them too.”

“Surprised Flint remembered anything about them,” Oliver said. Penelope and Percy both seemed to ignore him, continuing to discuss how horrid Fire Crabs were.

He looked back at Flint, who said something to Higgs that made him laugh. His posture was tall and his hands were in his pockets, shoulders straight and broad, even under the robes.

How come he never noticed how strong Flint was? It was clear on the pitch where he was no less than a fiend but his body reflected his strength. Even his legs were strong so he wasn’t awkwardly disproportionate. His muscles were definitely defined under his robes. Oliver himself had buckled, he needed to take exercise seriously to be ready for Puddlemere. He wasn’t the scrawny second year he was when he first joined the team. And Flint most definitely wasn’t the lanky third year with too large teeth anymore. His jaw was stronger, he could grow decent facial hair, he’d put on so much muscle.

He shook off the thought. He was overthinking about Flint again. Why? He’d always been intrigued by Flint but never necessarily like this. At least not at the forefront of his mind.

It was pretty weird actually.

…

“C’mon!” Oliver yelled out at the girls, Alicia being the one with the quaffle under her arm.

Alicia swiftly tossed it to Katie, who tossed it to Angelina, who aimed for a goal, Oliver barely saving it.

The team was a little annoyed they were practicing despite not having a game any time soon. Slytherin just had a game against Ravenclaw the other day, Slythern only winning narrowly. But Oliver wanted to make up for the game that they lost. Not only did he want to win the house cup he wanted to be up against Slytherin. He was going to beat Flint in a final if it was the last thing he did. And until their game against Hufflepuff they’d had a winning streak, only to be broken because Harry fell off of his broom. He wasn’t angry at Harry but he was frustrated they’d lost in such a ridiculous way.

“Oh no,” he heard Fred huff. “Here comes trouble.”

He looked down to the ground to see Flint walking up with his team. You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Keep practicing, I’ll be a minute.” He flew down to the ground, landing with a frustrated thud. “Not now, Flint.”

“What? We’re simply going to wait until you’re finished, is all,” Flint said, smiling innocently.

“Yeah right,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “You can get off.”

“I’m doing nothing illegal, simply waiting for my team to be able to practice.”

The team themselves look indifferent. Both of their teams were used to their spats. Some were probably waiting for it to escalate into a physical fight. Strangely enough, Oliver didn’t think that’d ever actually happen. That was… a little extreme, even for them.

“Stop being a cunt and get off the pitch,” he sneered, glaring at him.

“Language, dear Wood,” Flint said in faux horror, putting his hand over his heart. He simply rolled his eyes, Flint was nowhere near above swearing himself.

“Yeah, don’t call him that, you poofta,” sneered Warrington.

Something flashed in Flint’s eyes, and his smile stifled a little. Like it was directed towards him.

No, that was ridiculous. He was probably overthinking things again. The idea of Flint being gay was almost comical.

“Clever, Warrington,” he rolled his eyes, not even looking at him. “You just had a game, you don’t need to practice.”

He heard the sound of feet hitting the ground behind him and when he looked over his shoulder he saw Fred and George walking to his side. The girls were still practicing and Harry was still looking for the snitch. The twins looked like they were ready to defend him in case things went ugly, their Beater bats still in their hands.

“Get off the damn pitch before I rip those earrings out on your ears,” Fred barked at Flint.

“Hey, we get it, you need all the practice you can get,” Flint sneered.

“Says the one who barely won against Ravenclaw,” George growled and both he and Fred stepped forward.

Flint’s eyes shot up to the girls, and a smirk found its way on his lips. “Your Chasers are pretty shit,” he said and his gaze fixed back onto Oliver. “What? Are they only on the team for giving you certain… favours.”

It happened too fast, Fred pounced at Flint, despite being way smaller than him. He had him pinned to the ground and took out his bat and swung it against his face. Oliver sat frozen. He wasn’t completely surprised by Fred’s anger – he fancied Angelina – but the utter violence caught him off guard.

The Slytherin team was yelling, the girls and Harry were yelling, George was cheering Fred on and stopping both the Slytherins and the girls from getting Fred off of him. Flint was a bloody mess and as much of a prat he was, he didn’t want that to happen to him.

He took out his wand and tore Fred off of him, both of their bodies skidding in opposite directions. Flint was bloodied and bruised and definitely broken and Fred was still seething. Everyone’s eyes went to him and his held out wand, like they were shocked by his actions. Flint specifically was staring at him, as best he could with his swollen eyes and gagging on his own blood.

Oliver swallowed and looked at Fred. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you want to get expelled?”

Fred frowned, his brows furrowing together. Before he could reply, his eyes shot back to Flint. “Fine, we’ll get off the pitch if you want it to fucking bad.”

And he stormed off, not looking back. Not giving a chance for Flint to reply. Not even looking to see if Flint wasn’t too injured. If anything was broken, he could just go to the hospital wing.

He thought about his comment. About how the girls were only on the team for ‘favours’. Thought about how it was clealry intentionally some sort of jab. That he clearly didn’t really think the girls were only on the team was because they sucked him off. That he was just trying to stir him up again. He didn’t understand it. Didn’t understand Flint. Didn’t understand what he had against him. What even compelled him to get Fred off of him. Flint wouldn’t have done it for him. Flint just confused the fuck out of him.

…

Marcus walked out of the infirmary, Montague on one side and Terence – who came running when Bole told him what happened – his other, his broken jaw and nose fixed, his pain numb.

“The kid really did a number on you,” Terence noted, frowning. “Why the hell did he do it?”

“He implied Wood’s Chasers were only on the team because they suck him off,” Montague explained, clearly amused. “Bright side, girls like bruises. Makes you look tough.” He slapped his shoulder, grinning.

He scowled at the ground. He didn’t know why he said that. The Chasers were good, even he could admit that. Not aloud but he was impressed by their skill. Maybe it had to do with the confusing way the Keeper was making him feel.

No, it didn’t. He pushed the thought from his mind. It had nothing to do with wanting to suck him off himself. It had nothing to do with knowing Wood was clearly interested in girls, with the amount he heard he’d dated. It had nothing to do with that.

“Oh yeah, don’t one of those twins fancy Johnson?” Terence asked, Marcus simply shrugging in response.

“Surprised that Wood was the one to end it,” Montague said. “For a second I thought he was going to finish you off.”

He ignored the pair, stomping down the stairs. For a second, he thought so too. Wood even looked a little concerned at what the Beater had done. The mere thought tugged on his stomach. He heard Terence’s footsteps behind him so he was beside him again.

“You’re being a bit of a grouch,” he noted. He didn’t glance at him, turning down the stairs to the dungeons.

“Is something up, Marc?” Terence asked and he glanced at him.

“What do you mean?” he grunted.

“I know you like to stir Wood up and all but… I don’t know, there seems like there’s more too it.”

He frowned at him, and turned away, walking faster to the portrait. “Parseltounge,” he muttered, the portrait opening. Terence followed and he didn’t bother to see if Montague was behind him before slamming it closed. He went straight to the stairs to the dorms, Terence favouring to go sit with Pucey. He figured Terence wasn’t exaggerating they were better friends than he previously thought. He hadn’t actually seen them hang out or anything but they seemed to easily slip into conversation.

“Marcus?” a voice asked before he could get to the stairs. He stopped in his step to see Carrie walking up to him. She frowned at him. “What happened to you?” She reached out her hand, and he realised she was trying to touch his face.

He stepped back before she could and he saw the disappointment on her face. “Just had a small confrontation, that’s all.”

“Doesn’t look like it was small,” she said, her concern not wavering.

“I’m fine,” he grunts. “Don’t worry.”

She scratched the back of her neck. “Uh, well you like Care for Magical Creatures, right?”

“Yeah? So?”

“Was wondering if you’d help me out with some homework?”

His hard expression dropped. She was giving him a small smile as she asked, her eyes pleading. He swallowed, frozen on his spot. This was another example of how he should be excited a girl was clearly interested in him. Have the same feeling he got over would possibly being concerned about him. But nothing was jumping inside of him, he really couldn’t care less. And Marcus Flint was no softy who’d help someone just because they asked him to.

“No,” he said, his tone emotionless, cold.

Disappointment crossed her face. “No? You sure? You’re really good at the class and I’d love to be great as you are.”

There was that Slytherin ambition. She was trying to butter him up. They’d never had a real conversation, really never even spoken. She never interested him. But he knew she was one of the girls Montague would describe at the pretty girls in his year.

Still, mouth in a straight line, he said, “No.”

Before she could say anything he turned and walked up stairs.

…

A body was pressed against Marcus’s chest. A nice strong body. A body he could hold forever. His face was nuzzled into a shoulder. A hand stroking his hair. He lifted his face and saw the sweet, beautiful smile of Oliver Wood. Beautiful brown eyes staring at him. Lips sweetly kissing his own…

He woke up from his dream with his heart racing, sweat dripping down his forehead. He swallowed, trying to calm himself down.

He hadn’t just dreamt that. Couldn’t have just dreamt that.

He just stared upwards, allowing his body to the relax. But the dream was flashing in his brain. Lips on his. Body pressed against his. The thought… the mere thought was nice. The vivid image in his brain…

He had to avoid him. That was the only way these feelings would go away. He avoids Wood, only talks to him when he has to. If it went his way he’d only have to be within a few feet of him when they play against each other and have to shake hands.

A shake that was always strong, vicious, ready for a challenge, ready to win.

…

“Wow, someone did a real number on Flint’s face,” Percy said, letting out a low whistle. Oliver glanced towards across the library to where he was looking at felt a lump in his throat. Damn, Fred really did do a nasty job on his face. Even without the blood and the bones fixed, his eye was swallow shut, and his cheekbone had a purple bruise. It was a sight he wasn’t happy to see. He’d heard mutters that Flint had it coming but he still felt a certain amount of sympathy for him.

Why was Flint not leaving his mind? He shouldn’t take up as much of his mind as he was. He’d always overthought things but maybe… maybe he wasn’t overthinking. Because he had to admit, there was a certain subtle attractiveness to him. It wasn’t anything obvious, not what was conventionally attractive. But to him… he was actually nice to look at. In his opinion at least.

Could he… could he possibly be… No. Surely not. He couldn’t be… couldn’t be gay. Noticing another bloke was a little nice looking wasn’t gay.

He was a fucking athlete, athletes weren’t gay.

Words from his childhood flashed through his mind.

“So he seems really into Quidditch.”

“Yeah, won’t stop musing about it.”

“You know, it’s the best way to stop your son from being a poof, having him play sport.”

He knew those were words weren’t something that were meant to be hurtful. But having his uncle make that remark to his dad had stuck with him for years.

“What’s a poof?”

“Uh… it’s not something you need to worry about, Olls,”

The hesitance that was in his uncle’s tone had left him confused. But he knew whatever a poof was, it was a bad thing. It was something athletes weren’t. It was something he couldn’t be. He just hadn’t found the right girl yet.

Even though he didn’t really care about the posters of female Quidditch players he got.

Even though he completely understood crushes on Cedric Diggory, even though he was a bit of a pretty boy.

Even though he definitely found the sight of Flint running his hands through his hair far more attractive than he should.

He pushed the thought from his mind.

He was just overthinking again.

…

Flint was avoiding him. That was clear.

Whenever Oliver saw him, he’d walk in the other direction. There were no longer any jeers. No slamming his shoulder against his. None of that.

Flint seemed to be purposely avoiding him, purposely not looking at him. Maybe he imagined it but when he glanced at him he saw him pale, before turning the other way. Something was wrong with him and Oliver hated not knowing things. Hated people acting a certain way towards him Especially when it was Flint.

As he headed towards Care for Magical Creatures, he saw Flint walking ahead of them with Higgs, distracted by some sort of conversation. He seemed more like himself, his shoulders high and strong unlike the tense pose he’d been going in when he saw him.

He sped up his step a little and slammed his shoulder into Flint’s. He glanced back and saw Flint had gotten tense. Higgs was glancing at his friend and he noticed Percy and Penelope roll their eyes behind them.

He was going to find out what he goddamn issue could be.

…

“Carrie’s a little upset you didn’t say yes to studying,” Terence said idly from his bed.

“So?” he asked, flipping through Quidditch Through the Ages.

“Just, I don’t know. She clearly likes you.”

“Again, so?” he muttered. “I don’t think you’ve ever went out with a girl.”

Terence’s face flushed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He shrugged, looking away. “Just, y’know, none like me.”

He looked at his friend for a moment, who was clearly closing himself off. He frowned at him. “Okay, c’mon, what is it?”

Terence didn’t meet his eye as he chewed his bottom lip. “It’s nothing.”

“Mate, c’mon,” he said.

After a huff, he finally met his eye. “I think… I think I…” he glanced at the closed door before looking back at Marcus. “I think I like Adrian.”

That caught him off guard. He stared at him and Terence tore his eyes away, looking down at his lap. “Okay.”

He looked back at him. “Okay?”

Marcus shrugged. “Okay,” he repeated. “Do you think he likes you too?”

He shrugged. “No clue.”

He nodded slowly. He wasn’t sure what to say. Terence was gay and well… he knew that was fine. It was fine for him to be gay. It was fine if he and Adrian did date.

So why was it so bad for himself to be… for himself to be like that. He couldn’t describe it; he just knew it wasn’t. Not when he was an athlete. Not when it was Wood he had feelings for.

…

He needed to get out. Out of his room. Out of the castle. He just needed to get out.

Marcus walked across the Quidditch pitch after sunset. There were still a few hours until curfew, not that that would stop him most of the time.

He liked being out on the Quidditch pitch, it was calming. While it was cold outside, he didn’t mind. He just needed to be in his head.

What was he going to do? He’d been pushing his feelings for months yet they seem to only get stronger. After that dream he had he’d been avoiding Wood as best he could. The bastard definitely noticed, slamming into his shoulder the other day while they were walking to class. He’d hoped he could just leave it behind him, not have to worry about him. But Wood was stubborn and that gesture showed he didn’t like being ignored. Their entire relationship existed on spats and jeers. Not doing it was something Wood would notice.

He laid on the Quidditch pitch, just staring at the stars. He felt his nose run from the cold, his cheeks red. Sometimes that feeling was the only thing that could clear his mind.

He didn’t understand how he could feel this way about Wood. He’d denied he’s gay for so long but that dream was just… so ideal. Exactly what he wanted. The warmth, the lips, the hold. He didn’t want that with girls. He wanted that with Wood. He shouldn’t. He can’t. Not with a bloke. Not with his fucking rival. Not with someone who hated him.

He heard footsteps, and initially he was just going to glance to see who it was but when they came into the light, he shot up to his feet.

“What do you want, Wood?”

Wood frowned at him, and crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s been up with you?”

“What the fuck you talking about?” he defended, feeling his heart race. There goes trying to relax.

“You’ve been weird around me and I want to know why.” He was scowling at him and even with that look he was still so goddamn attractive. Still was so goddamn tempting. And he wasn’t exactly the best at resisting temptations.

“Why do you care?” he growled, pushing the thought of how soft his lips looked from his mind.

“I don’t,” Wood defended.

“’You don’t’?” he echoed. “You followed me out here.”

His stance faltered and his fixed glare on him moved to his feet. “Just… fuck Flint,” his brown eyes met his again. “What do you have against me? What did I do?”

He felt a lump in his throat. “Fuck off,” he growled.

“No.” His arms were across his chest. Stubborn bastard. “I know you hate me but you’ve been outright avoiding me.”

His eyes were narrowed, waiting for a response. He hated that he didn’t hate him. Hated that his heart was racing and that his adrenaline was up.

“What part of fuck off don’t you understand Wood?”

“No! I’m not going to fuck off! What did I do?”

“What?” he barked. “You want me to annoy you?”

“Does it have to do with getting Fred off of you?”

He stiffened. He still hadn’t gotten over what happened. He still had bruises from it. He could practically still smell the blood.

He didn’t even want to think about what would’ve happened if he hadn’t taken the twin off of him.

“It is, isn’t it? Maybe if you weren’t such a wanker it wouldn’t’ve happened.”

He glared at him. “Yeah, I guess it was wrong of me to assume anyone would want to suck your dick.”

His face flushed, his eyes narrowing. “You’re one to talk.”

He felt the blow. He didn’t need to be told by Wood he was unappealing. Not when he… he was thinking about Wood like this.

“You know what? Fuck you!” he yelled.

Wood stepped forward. “Fuck you too!”

He felt himself step forward so there was barely any space between them. So close he could feel his breath on his face.

“You don’t scare me Flint,” he said through gritted teeth. “I see right through you.”

“You do huh?” he raised his brow at him. “You don’t know me at all, Wood.”

“Nah, I do. You have issues that you take out on people. Some issue with me that you are too much of a coward to deal with, so you’re just using anger or avoidance.”

“Do you overthink everything?” he asked, not acknowledging he was pretty right.

“What is your issue!” he repeated. “Just fucking tell me, you’ll be a far more pleasant person.”

His impulsive nature came out, he fisted Wood’s collar and the Gryffindor tensed up, as if he thought he was going to hit him. But he didn’t, he pulled him to his lips and kissed him hard.

He didn’t move his lips, his eyes squinted shut. He loosened his grip on Wood, giving him a chance to pull away. Then he could run and continue to avoid him.

But when he let his arm fall to his side, his lips the only thing touching him, Wood’s lips moved against his. They were as soft as they looked. He felt his hands touch his face, albeit hesitantly, and his thumb gently ran across the bruise still on his cheekbone, his other hand on his shoulder. He allowed his hands to hold him by the hips, rubbing his thumb against exposed skin.

Wood’s lips left his lips, and pressed gently to the bruise on his cheekbone, and another to the bruise around his eye. When his head nodded forward, Marcus couldn’t help but press his lips to his forehead.

Their foreheads fell together, both panting lightly. It took Wood opening his eyes and staring at him with blown pupils for him to come to his senses. He stepped away, both staring at the other.

And he ran.

“Flint!” Wood called behind him immediately, and he could hear his footsteps behind him. He ran faster, not daring to look back. “Flint!” he repeated. “You are not going to avoid this!”

He still ignored him, he was almost off the pitch. Once he was off the pitch he could ignore him. At least until Wood no doubt corners him.

“Marcus! Stop!” He felt a hand grab him by his robes, and the collision made him trip forward. Wood fell down with him and they were both on the ground.

“Fuck! What was that?” Wood snapped. He was going to point out how he kissed him back but he continued. “You can’t just kiss me and run!”

He forced himself to look at him. His brown eyes were soft, genuinely confused. “Fuck, Wood, what do you want me to say?”

“You’re gay.” He didn’t say it like it was a question, more like an accusation. Of course, snogging a bloke for Merlin knew how long wasn’t something that’d convince someone you’re straight.

So he looked away and he nodded slowly. “Guess you are too,” he muttered.

He swallowed. “So, this is why you’ve been… avoiding me?”

He had to force himself to look at him. “Yeah,” he swallowed. “And… you were right. About me being a wanker to you because of… yeah.”

The smallest smile came onto his lips. “Did Marcus Flint just admit I was right?”

“I just snogged you and that’s what you cling onto?” He couldn’t help but smile. It was such an Oliver thing to say. “So what? You fancy me?”

“I guess, since it’s safe to assume you fancy me too.”

He chewed on his lips. “Yeah, maybe I do.”

It was in the air and Marcus almost wanted to pull it back in. They were both gay. They both fancied the other. If one of them were a girl the latter would’ve brought no question, confusion, or fear with that being said. And it made him furious, that this was different because they were both blokes. Because they were both athletes. For fucking stupid reasons.

“So… what does this even mean? For us?” Wood asked, hesitation in his voice, looking down at his lap.

Marcus swallowed down the lump in his throat. “We’re… we’re athletes,” he sighed.

To his surprise, Wood nodded. “Athlete’s aren’t poofs,” he said, as if reading his mind. But also as if he was repeating something he’d heard before. “I know exactly what you mean.”

“So what are we meant to do?” he grumbled.

“Flint, I literally just admitted to myself I fancy you two minutes ago,” he huffed. “I don’t know, okay?”

He swallowed. “Well, I don’t know either.”

“It’s just… I’ve dated so many girls and didn’t like a single one. I thought I just hadn’t found the right girl. Not... not this.”

Marcus nodded. “Yeah, I get it,” he sighed. “It’s just… we’re just expected to be…”

“Straight?” he finished.

“Yeah.”

Wood’s eyes had moved to his lap. “It’s fucked, right? That we’re just expected to hate each other.”

“I don’t really get what you’re saying,” he frowned, and his fingers went to stroke his hair. The smallest smile found its way on Wood’s lips as he did that. He looked back at him.

“People don’t expect either of us to hate Diggory or Davies. It’s that bullshit Slytherin and Gryffindor rivalry. We’re meant to hate each other. But the thing is I don’t hate you. Hate is the farthest thing I feel for you. I hate that we’re meant to because it couldn’t be more opposite of how I feel about you. And honestly, it scares the fuck out of me. Because I barely accept this about me.”

He fell silent, his gaze leaving Marcus. He shook his head. It was too late to be bearing feelings like this.

“You’re really good at making me want to kiss you, you know that?” he decided to say.

“Guess I do now,” Wood replied softly.

He placed his hand on his cheek, stroking his cheekbone. Wood’s Adam’s apple bobbed, still not looking at him. He pressed his lips to his temple, which seemed to be enough for him to look at him. He rested his forehead on his, feeling his eyelashes against his cheekbone. Wood pressed his lips together and this time, kissed him.

…

The night before felt like a dream but Oliver knew it wasn’t. It was the strangest, best, most euphoric, and most terrifying night of his life. Strangest because he and Marcus had a connection he’d never expect. Best because the snogging was really nice. Euphoric because he finally had clarity with Marcus. And most terrifying because it had hit him hard that he was gay and really liked Marcus.

That was too much to handle in one night.

When they did stop snogging, they ended up laying on the pitch for a little longer, opting to stargaze when they were tired out.

“Did I mention I like those earrings.”

“Got a thing for piercings I see.”

“Shut up. Do you have any tattoos?”

“You know me a little too well.”

Marcus had shown him a tattoo on his forearm, a simple snitch. He’d said he wanted to get more and Oliver couldn’t help but picture it. Picture Marcus with sleeves on both arms.

Okay, he clearly had a thing for tattoos too.

This was a big shift, something they’d need to get the hang of. And something no one can know, not right now and probably not ever.

They hadn’t talked too much about that. For now, snogging in secret was much more ideal. It’s not like they could ever be together for real. Not when it was Marcus. Not when he was a bloke. Not when they were athletes planning to make it their career…

Now was not the time to think about it, he can worry about that whole part of him later. He probably wouldn’t had faced his feelings for blokes and Marcus ever, or for a really long time. But of course Marcus had to kiss him.

At least they were on the same page. At least Marcus seemed to be going through what he was. He couldn’t stop thinking about how not a single bloke in the Quidditch pros was gay. He still wondered how he could be like this when he was so athletic. How simply looking at Marcus tugged on his stomach. That when he kissed him he realised exactly why it never worked with girls. Realised what he was feeling for him and how it felt when they kissed was everything that was meant to be for girls. That it was the exact thing that was missing.

When he got back to his room the night before he looked up at the collection of posters and it hit him how he’d clearly felt this subconsciously for as long as he could remember. He had thought of the posters at home, the ones you had to go out and buy, that covered his walls. All the male players, that he did admire but knew were attractive. That he’d justified to himself he had them because of his love for Quidditch.

They were going to have to work out something. Because in truth, he did really like Marcus. It was weird and confusing and he felt the same way back and that just made it so much harder.

On the way to Muggle Studies he saw Marcus with Higgs in the corridor, Marcus atop a window ledge. He wanted to smile over at him but he obviously couldn’t. They were planning to meet out in the Quidditch change rooms later that night so he’d have to hold out until then. As much as he didn’t want to.

He couldn’t help his eyes drift to him though. He was listening to something Higgs was saying. His eyes drifted and caught his across the corridor. It was subtle enough for people to not notice but it was definitely enough for both of them.

“Did you finish that essay?” Percy asked him, snapping him out of it.

He glanced at him. “The one on sport?”

“Yeah.”

“Almost. I’m stuck on a paragraph about football.”

“It’s due in two days.”

He waved his hand. “I’ll finish it.”

“You could’ve done it last night if you weren’t wherever you were.”

He felt a sick feeling in his stomach but he ignored it. “I said not to worry about it, okay? I’ll finish it before Care for Magical Creatures.”

“Fine,” he huffed. “But really, where were you? I thought you were in the library or something but you weren’t there.” His brow was raised as he looked at him.

“Do you think you’ll tell people you’re gay?”

“Fuck no I’m the farthest from ready.”

His response to Marcus rang true. He wasn’t going to tell people because the mere thought made him sick. He didn’t want to think about how Percy would react. Percy was an abrasive person, really only his friend out of convenience.

“I was busy with stuff,” he muttered, looking down at his feet.

“’Stuff’?” he echoed. “What stuff?”

“It’s not important,” he muttered, gripping the strap of his book tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

“Okay, fine, be like this,” he rolled his eyes and turned into the classroom.

…

They’d been sneaking around for a few months. Gryffindor won against Ravenclaw and Slytherin had thrashed Hufflepuff, meaning they were playing each other for the cup. They hadn’t seen each other as much as they would’ve liked because of that. But every night they could they met up in the change rooms by the Quidditch pitch. They went between snogging and talking and Marcus couldn’t deny it was pretty nice.

Marcus wouldn’t say he was overworking the team but they were definitely getting slightly antsy. They were practicing more than usual to be ready, sure, he liked Oliver and all but that doesn’t mean he’s going to go easy on him and he didn’t expect Oliver to either. They were naturally competitive so they probably couldn’t go easy on each other if they tried.

“Flint relax, we’re ready for the game,” Bole said, stretching his arms over his head after practice.

“Yeah, maybe Potter’ll fall off his broom again,” Malfoy laughed.

He scowled and looked at Malfoy. “You just focus on getting the snitch. And make sure you don’t let it fly near your ear without realising again.”

“That was last year!” he defended, his voice going shrill.

“Don’t care,” he grumbled, still looking back at him. “Watch out for the snitch or-“

His body slammed into someone else’s and when he looked back he realised it was Oliver. He held back the smile threatening to pull on his lips, opting for a glare. “Watch where you’re going,” he barked.

“You watch it,” Oliver said back but Marcus didn’t miss the affectionate glimmer in his eyes. He walked passed him and it took far too much to not look back at him.

Pretending they didn’t like each other felt necessary as much as they didn’t want to. He remembered Oliver’s words about how they were expected to hate each other and how much truth it rang. He couldn’t think of a time a Gryffindor and Slytherin dated, ever really. Inter-house relationships happened all the time just not a Slytherin and a Gryffindor. And definitely not two captains.

Definitely not two blokes.

If anyone were to find out it’d spread through the school in minutes. Everyone would know. Everyone would make remarks. Everyone would side eye them. His whole house could turn on him. Whether it was the Gryffindor part or the gay part or a combination of both, he didn’t ever want to know.

When he got back to the common room and found Terence sat with his feet in Adrian’s lap. Terence had confided in him that Adrian liked him back and they had decided to quietly date. According to Terence, Adrian’s friends knew as well and they were okay with it too.

Even then, he was far from ready to tell Terence. All he could picture was judging eyes or a confused look. That’s what he thought at least. While Adrian and Terence both loved Quidditch, they were scrawny as hell. Well below six feet. He wasn’t that, he was the farthest thing from small yet he still ended up like this. He still didn’t understand how that worked. How he could look like this yet feel his heart in his throat at the sight of Oliver.

He was thinking too much about that. He liked Oliver, Oliver liked him. They could figure out everything else at another time. When they were out of Hogwarts and their parent’s houses.

But all that aside, Terence and Adrian seemed happy together. Terence was practically beaming at Adrian. No one was paying attention to them since it was subtle enough to not draw attention.

As he walked to his room and collapsed on his bed, he tried to picture him and Oliver in that position, how that’d draw so many eyes. Really sitting together anywhere together and not fighting would draw attention.

Fuck, he told himself he won’t think about it. But he couldn’t stop, it consumed his mind. Even when he leaves Hogwarts, even if he could keep his life out of Quidditch gossip columns, there was still his parents. Prestigious, proper, purebloods. They wouldn’t be happy if he ever told them. He could only picture anger and disappointment. He’d spent his life trying to please them yet here was the one goddamn thing he couldn’t help. He remembered their anger over him piercing his ears. They were ready to rip them out of his ears. He grimaced at the thought. His older brother was the golden child they wanted. Works at the Ministry, didn’t fail his N.E.W.Ts, was engaged to a pureblood witch, and sure as hell was too straight and narrow for any piercings or tattoos. He wouldn’t say he envied Christopher but he knew that his parents expected to be like him. He just wished they took him as he was and not as something he could bring himself to be.

Self-consciously, he touched his earrings. He wasn’t sure what made him finally decide to get them, he was in the muggle part of London a few times over the summer and passed a tattoo and piercing shop. He’d always been tempted to pierce something but that gave him the push. A few trips later and he had three on each ear, a tattoo, and plans for more.

His mind couldn’t help but drift to how much Oliver seemed to like them. He was planning to pierce his brow and septum but couldn’t while he was still at school, he was already treading the line enough with the ones in his ears. Maybe he should just get them without telling him and enjoy his reaction.

…

The game came and went. Oliver continued to feign hatred for Marcus, each squeezing the other’s hand tightly. He glared, Marcus scowled, and they played. He had to hide his panic when Fred threw his bat to the back of Marcus’s head, causing his face to hit his broom handle, giving him a bloody nose. It reminded him too much of that one specific day where Marcus was a bloodied mess.

But this time it was enough to wipe his nose with the back of his hand and continue to play like he always did.

But in the end, Gryffindor won and Oliver was ecstatic, the roar of the crowd deafening. As he cheered with his team his eyes drifted to Marcus. He was clearly disappointed but he was shouting in anger or anything.

He grinned even more, because they were already planning to meet up. He was going to celebrate with his house and sneak out to the change rooms around nine.

It was more than a little weird that a part of him was more excited to see Marcus than that he finally won the House Cup as captain. But only a little.

…

“Hey big winner,” Marcus smiled when he walked into the change rooms to a beaming Oliver. He knew the beaming came from the win but he liked to think that at least a little bit came from seeing him.

“Hey, loser,” he replied, kissing him when he sat on the bench next to him.

Marcus played with a bit of hair falling on Oliver’s forehead. “You played well.”

“You didn’t play too bad either.” He hooked his knee over Marcus’s so they were sitting closer. “Almost missed a few of my saves.” He kissed his bruised nose softly, brushing his own against it before pulling back. “Is your nose okay?”

“It’s fine,” he said, grimacing at the memory. That twin definitely got him good. Again. He thought, he wasn’t sure which one was which. “I can take it.”

“Hm,” he hummed and pressed his lips to his. Marcus smiled against his lips, running his fingers through his hair.

They’d definitely grown really close over the past few months. Marcus had let himself open up to Oliver, more than he would to other people at least. They hadn’t exactly used the word ‘boyfriends’ but at this point, it’s definitely what they were. Maybe since when Oliver stopped him from running away.

They kissed, they grazed their fingers against exposed skin. He eventually put Oliver in his mouth for the first time, a strange feeling but Oliver throwing his head back, panting, moaning in response was enough. And him doing the same to him was nice too. Oliver clearly had about as much experience as him but the warmth of it all was still really nice. It was awkward, messy, and overall weird being this close to someone for the first time. But it also a weird relief. It was a bundle of conflicting emotions but it was something he’d trade for nothing in this world.

When they finished they were ready to stay together and sleep on the bench. It obviously wasn’t an option and they’d already missed curfew. So after a last few kisses, they parted ways.

…

His heart was still racing a little from the adrenaline pumping through him when he walked through the dungeons corridor. It was unlike him to miss someone like this so it was a mystery to him how Oliver bloody Wood could have such a hold on him. He thought of the scrawny second year Keeper who was far too enthusiastic. Who was good at saving his goals. Who grinned like an idiot when he did.

It only took three years but he’d bulked up. Still grinned when he saved goals, but saved smirks for him. He was somewhere between questioning how he could ever fall for someone like that and wondering how he couldn’t.

After muttering the password, he stepped through the portrait and was greeted by an annoyed Malfoy.

“Where were you?”

He barely glanced at him before saying, “None of your business, twerp.” He went to the couch Terence and Montague were sitting, putting his feet on the table.

“You’re in a good mood for someone who just lost the House Cup,” Terence said, raising his brow.

He simply shrugged in response, idly fiddling with a loose thread on the couch.

“What?” Montague asked cocking his head to the side. “Were you with a girl?”

“Maybe,” he replied. The year was almost over, they’d never figure out it was Oliver he was meeting up with. Leaving them in confusion was amusing anyway.

“Seriously?” Montague asked, clearly intrigued. “You gonna tell us who it was?”

With a small smirk he said, “Hey, I said maybe.”

Terence rolled his eyes. “Okay, tell us when you feel like it.”

Telling them, that was out of the question. As much as he liked Oliver, telling his friends he was gay was still far out of the question. They were clearly expecting him to have been with a girl and that little expectation made it so difficult. How could he tell them when he was expected to be with a girl?

“Like I said, it’s only maybe.”

…

Leaving Hogwarts wasn’t something Oliver was necessarily ready for but he was also excited. Hogwarts had been his home for seven years but he was ready for his Quidditch career. He was going straight for Puddlemere. He knew he was good enough and maybe one day he could play for England or Scotland. Whichever he could get on.

Marcus was trying out for Montrose. They hadn’t seen each other as much as they wanted to. Marcus was at his parents’ house in Essex and Oliver was working on moving from his parents’ house in Scotland to a flat in London. It was a tiny flat that he could barely afford. But now that he was fully moved in, Marcus was coming over, finally being able to get away from his parents.

When he heard the knock at his door, he grinned and rushed to the door. When he opened the door, he saw Marcus’s usual neutral face, slouching with his hands in his pockets. Not only that, he noticed somethings different.

“More piercings?” A ring was in his septum and a stud was in his brow. He felt a tugging on his stomach because Merlin, Marcus looked really good.

“Like them, I see,” he said, a smile playing on his lips, brushing passed him into his flat. He closed his door, and turned to grin at him.

“Not gonna lie, you look real hot,” he said, as he crossed the room to wrap his arms around his neck, pressing his lips to his. He didn’t really consider himself to have a type but he couldn’t lie, Marcus looked damn good with them.

“I got more tattoos, too.”

Okay, he definitely had a type.

“Show me.”

Marcus smirked at him, clearly enjoying how he was reacting to it. He couldn’t help it, the thought of Marcus having tattoos was far too of an appealing thought.

“Considering I have some on my chest, I am under the impression you’re just trying to get me naked.”

Fuck, he hated him. “That a bad thing?”

The smirk turned into a grin, and Marcus began to tear off his robes. He felt his heart began to race. Aside from sucking each other off after the house cup, they hadn’t had sex. Or actually been close when they were half naked. He’d seen Marcus without a shirt in the showers before they’d started dating and he had to admit it was a nice sight. And when Marcus tossed his robes aside and he saw the intricate design that looked like a night sky, deep blue with stars, that started at the top of his elbow and went to the left side of his chest, stopping around his nipple. On his forearm he seemed to have completed the Quidditch theme, a Quaffle, goal posts, and a bat and bludger.

“You’re staring, Ollie,” Marcus remarked. “Like what you see, clearly.”

He met his eye and he was smirking at him. He wanted to wipe that smirk off. With his lips. He stepped forward and kissed him, one hand on his shoulder, the other resting on his left abb. Marcus kissed him back, one hand on his lower back, the other on his hip.

“You know,” Marcus mumbled against his lips. “I feel quite weird being the only one not wearing a shirt.”

He raised his brow at him. “That’s one way to get into my pants.”

“Is it working?”

He laughed and stripped off his own robe, and threw his arms around Marcus’s neck, kissing him. He felt Marcus laugh a little against his lip before kissing him back. He definitely didn’t mind his hands gripping his hips tightly.

They barely made it to the bedroom. This time it was a little less awkward than their first time, but they were closer than they were last time. Marcus was on top of him and, with the help of some charms, they finally did what they had been craving. At some point they’d decided to do it when they had a bed, where they didn’t have to worry about curfews or people walking in on them or an uncomfortable bench. So even though it was expectedly awkward, like their encounter in the change room was but it was also a relief.

…

Marcus hated weddings. The first one he remembered going to was when he was five and he hated the dress robes he had to wear. If he remembered correctly it was his Uncle’s wedding, but he got bored so quickly and ended up fidgeting, causing his mother to scold him.

Christopher getting married was definitely a huge affair to his parents. Far more important than him getting on Montrose’s reserves apparently. It was of course being held at Flint Manor, his parents wouldn’t want his brother to have it anywhere else.

He was thankful he wasn’t forced to be the Best Man – his brother’s best friend taking the role instead – but he didn’t have a choice in being a groomsman. He didn’t take his piercings out, much to his parents’ displeasure but Emily and Christopher didn’t seem to mind.

His future sister-in-law actually wasn’t too bad. He didn’t know her well at all but she was the kind of girl his parents would want Christopher to marry. Proper, eloquent, and a little passive, only around his parents really. His brother talked his ear off about how funny and smart she was so he took his word for it.

He just wanted to get through the wedding.

Christopher had really talked up the bridesmaid he had to walk down the aisle. Apparently she was one of Emily’s best friends and really sweet. He couldn’t remember her name and he didn’t really care to learn it. If it was some scheme for his brother to set him up with someone, which it clearly was, it wouldn’t work.

Merlin, he’d trade anything to spend the day with Oliver instead. He had gotten on Puddlemere’s reserves and he had been absolutely jubilant. Oliver’s happiness had always been infectious so he couldn’t help but grin when he congratulated him.

“How do I look?” Christopher asked when he was completely dressed in his dress robes. They weren’t the most modern ones, black ruffles on the sleeves.

“Like a wanker,” he couldn’t help but laugh, receiving a glare in return.

“You look fine, mate,” said the best man, giving Marcus a side eyed glare.

“Yeah, you don’t look so bad that it’d make Emily run for the hills,” Marcus added with a shrug.

His brother narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re the one without a girlfriend so don’t talk like you’re such an expert.”

There was the lump in his throat. There were the simple words thrown around, the expectance to be with a girl. He’d heard it enough on his team too, some of the players suggesting they go to the pub to look for girls. Did they ever consider he had as little interest in girls as it could get? But in the end he always ended up going, just acting like none of the girls interested him. Somehow it was easier than just telling them the truth.

His teammates weren’t his brother though. Christopher would take it different than his teammates. He could only imagine a negative reaction, yelling, disappointment. It made him cringe. It was terrifying, he was trying to set him up with a bridesmaid for Merlin’s sake.

“Fuck you,” he muttered, slumping his shoulders.

His brother and the other groomsmen didn’t seem to notice the change in his demeanour, as the best man slapped Christopher’s back, before stating it was time to go.

…

It was a relief when the wedding ended, Marcus realising he was fucking starving. Protocol meant he had to sit with the rest of the wedding party. He’d rather have that than sit with older relatives.

He didn’t really know his brother’s friends though, so he took no interest in their conversation. The bridesmaid he was partnered with didn’t seem to care about him either so he was happy he didn’t have to worry about shaking her off.

What he definitely noticed was though was one of the bridesmaids eyeing him, judgment in her eye.

Marcus had always been a confrontational person. It was really one of his worst habits. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut when he knew someone was clearly showing distaste.

“What?” he asked her, raising his brow.

Her lips slightly pursed, she replied, “Nothing.”

“Really?” he asked, raising his brow. Her eyes flicked to the raised brow, the pierced one. Ah, that’s what. “What? Never seen a piercing before?”

She met his eye and scowled. “My, aren’t you pleasant.”

The groomsmen next to her snorted. “Babe, c’mon, don’t be rude.”

She rolled her eyes, still scowling. “Just saying, it’s a wedding. Piercings aren’t appropriate”

The groomsmen eyed him, eyes flickering from the piercings on his ear to the ones on his face. “Yeah, maybe you should’ve taken them out.”

The bridesmaid snorted. “Permanently maybe, makes you look like a bit of a poofta.”

He knew it was meant to be light hearted, a bit of an off colour comment. Everyone else at the table seemed to get a laugh out of it. He wasn’t sure if the punchline was that guys like him didn’t look like pooftas or because piercings were a gay thing. He wanted to act like he wasn’t bothered but he wasn’t exactly good at that.

“My face,” he muttered taking a sip of wine. “Can do what I want.”

She shrugged. “Just saying, if you weren’t on Montrose people would get a little suspicious.”

His mind went to the previous night with Oliver. How if people had known what they’d done they’d realise that’s exactly what he was. That despite being on Montrose, despite being an athlete, despite how much he loved Quidditch, he was still this way. He liked his piercings, he wasn’t going to take them out.

“You’re on Montrose?”

The voice came from the bridesmaid he had to walk down the aisle. Her eyes had lit up in interest. He swallowed. “Just the reserves,” he corrected.

“But you’re on a Quidditch team?” she grinned. “What position?”

He shrugged. “Chaser.”

“Were you on a team at school?”

Don’t get him wrong, he loved talking about Quidditch but she seemed to care about it for other reasons. Reasons he won’t and can’t return. “Uh, yeah. I was actually the captain of my team from my fifth year.”

With her elbows on the table and her chin rested on her hand, she leaned forward and grinned. “That’s really cool.”

He wanted to run. He wanted to get out of there. He wanted to run to his room or to Oliver’s. But now he was trapped until she left for sure.

“I guess,” he shrugged, taking another sip of wine and leaning away from her.

“Think you’ll play for England?”

“I wish,” he said.

“I’ll be sure to catch your first game with Montrose,” she grinned.

He set the wine glass down, realising his hands were clammy. He wanted to leave, he wanted to run, he wanted to somehow make it clear to this woman he wasn’t interested but she seemed to have somehow convinced herself he was interested.

Thank Merlin it was his house and he could run to his room.

He stood up, knocking the table a little, the chair’s legs making a loud squeak. “Uh, I need to go,” he said. Disappointment and curiosity flashed through the bridesmaid’s eyes. Before anyone can say anything, he left the hall and tried to get to his room as fast as he could.

When he got to his room he changed out of his dress robes into normal day robes, thankful for the comfort. Oliver had training today so he couldn’t go to his flat as much as he wanted to. He had to hold out until tomorrow but fuck, he needed to see him.

A knocking at his door came and he whipped his head to the door. “Who is it?”

The bridesmaid slipped in and he wanted to scream. He wanted to slap himself, of course she might interpret him leaving as him wanting to be alone with her. His stomach churned, this was not what he wanted.

“You seem jumpy,” she remarked.

“I’m fine,” he defended. “Can you get out of my room?”

She frowned. “I thought-“

“Well you thought wrong!” he snapped. “Get out!”

She stared at him for a moment. “What? Was Dell right about you being gay?”

“No,” he said, surprisingly with a steady, convincing voice. “Just not interested.”

Her brow raised. “Oh, I get it,” she said. “You already have a girlfriend. Is she a mudblood?” He grimaced at the slur and her eyes widened. “That’s it, isn’t?”

“What part of ‘get out’ don’t you understand?” he snapped. Ironically, Oliver was a pureblood. But he wasn’t sure what’d be worse to his parents, a muggle-born girl or a pureblood bloke.

But to his relief, the bridesmaid finally gave up and left the room.

…

Oliver wasn’t sure how he felt about his teammates yet. They were okay but the blokes were definitely the sorts to frequent pubs. While Oliver wasn’t against that, the ones that were single were insistent on trying to pick up girls. He let himself suffer through it though. There was no way he’d actually tell them he was gay. Sport column’s interests were peeked from the new additions to Quidditch teams, some dirt already found out about some players. The columns finding out he was gay – and dating a player on an opposing team – was like throwing a dog a bone. And frankly, he wasn’t ready to tell people.

But all that aside, being with Marcus was something he still loved.

“So how was the wedding?” he asked, straddled on Marcus’s hips, his arms crossed his chest.

“Awful,” he yawned, rubbing his thumb against a sliver of exposed skin on his hip. “Way too big of an affair, and one of the bridesmaids was a real bitch.”

He softly laughed. “Sounds right awful.”

“It was,” he said and leaned up to brush their noses. “Would’ve much rather spent time with you.”

“I’m flattered,” he smiled, lightly pressing their lips together. “But your family can’t be that bad.”

“Nah, they are,” he huffed. “I could live here and they wouldn’t notice.”

“Well, if you want to sure,” he joked and shrieked in laughter when he poked him in the ribs.

Marcus’s grey eyes stared up at him, and his hand went to the back of his head, pushing him down so their lips met properly. He moved his hands to his face, running his fingers along the cheekbone. Chest to chest, stubble to stubble, soft lips moving slowly.

His heart swelled because fuck, Marcus drove his mind crazy. As scared as this part of him made him, his feelings for Marcus were intense. Far more intense he thought they would get. It was borderline love, if not already.

He thought back to school, their intense rivalry, their regular spats. He wondered what would’ve happened if he hadn’t followed Marcus out that night, if Marcus hadn’t kissed him, if he hadn’t stopped him from running. What would’ve happened? Would’ve he had acknowledged his feelings for Marcus? Would’ve he had realised he was gay and not just dismissed himself for overthinking? Would he still be in delirious confusion as to why he had no feeling for girls? He didn’t know. What he did know was that he felt things for Marcus he didn’t feel for others. That he couldn’t feel for girls. That it scared the hell out of him to feel this way about him and blokes but that he was happy as fuck with him. It was a mess of conflicting emotions but the ones for Marcus always won.

“I was kidding, wanker,” Marcus said affectionately against his lips.

“Well, you are welcome here any time I’m home, for the record,” he said.

A small smile played on his lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

…

“Where do you always go off too?” Christopher asked when Marcus got home. He and Emily still hadn’t moved out for no other reason than both knowing they had it better in the Manor than on their own. It was the opposite to how Marcus felt, the second he could leave this place he would.

“None of your business,” he replied, walking passed him down the corridor.

“Oh come on,” he replied, right on his tail. “You don’t train this late and I would suspect being at a pub but you don’t smell like you’ve been to one. But I noticed you’ve been gone for hours.”

“I’m starting to wish I didn’t come home if you’re so obsessed with keeping track of me,” he replied, picking up his pace.

“Marc, seriously, where were you?” his brother picked up his own speed and was now right next to him. “Were you with a girl?”

“What part of ‘none of your business’ didn’t you get?” he snapped at him.

A scowl crossed his face. People constantly told him he and Christopher could pass for twins so he was curious if that was how he looked when he scowled. “Look, I’ll be straight with you,” he said. “Jess told me what happened.”

“Jess?” he asked, not leaving the confusion out of his tone.

“The bridesmaid you were paired with. You seriously didn’t remember her name?” Marcus shrugged in response. “Well, I paired you with her since Emily thought you two would be good together. She really talked you up to her, but she said you were the farthest from interested.”

“What are you trying to say?” he asked, really wanting to just lock himself in his room.

“Are you dating a mudblood?” he tried not to flinch at the slur. “Or what, a muggle?”

“No!” he snapped, stopping in his tracks and turning to face him. “I just have a life out of this damn house! And I don’t need to detail everything about it to you!”

He went to turn and leave but he felt a tugging on his ear and yelped in pain when he realised Christopher was pulling on the earrings on his lobe. “Or,” he began to see, his tone serious and flat. “Maybe Dell’s statement about you looking like a poofta rings too true.”

He couldn’t help it, it was fight or flight, and his body seemed to decide fighting was the right thing. He socked his brother in the jaw, hard enough for him to recoil and let go of his earrings. He took the opportunity to run to his room and charming the door to stay locked.

He didn’t need his brother to catch on. He didn’t need the threat of him telling his parents. He didn’t need the shun of his parents. He wished he was more confident than this. Wished he could just tell his parents, friends, team, anyone that he felt this way. That this was just how his brain was. That maybe he was in love with a bloke. A Quidditch obsessed, overly enthusiastic, funny, smart, wonderful bloke.

But Christopher might catch on. And he’ll definitely catch on if he keeps seeing Oliver. And even if he was maybe, possibly in love with him he couldn’t see him. Because he does too much to try and please his parents. Maybe he won’t get the job they want him to and maybe he won’t take out his piercings like they want him to, but maybe enough to not see the only person he’d loved.

…

Marcus had gotten into the habit of Apparating right into his flat. He didn’t mind really, it was definitely a very Marcus thing for him to do and truthfully, Oliver had grown to love it.

He was used to Marcus Apparating in a falling to wherever he was sitting. If was sitting on the couch he’d snuggle up next to him; sitting in his bedroom, cuddle next to him on the bed. It was nice and natural for them. So natural that he wondered how they used to be at each other’s throats so much less than a year ago.

However, that day when Marcus arrived he didn’t come to sit next to him, he didn’t move from the spot he Apparated to. He looked pale, his shoulders were drooping, and he seemed to be avoiding his eye.

“Are you just gonna stand there or come cuddle with me?” he teased despite knowing Marcus didn’t look like himself.

Marcus shuffled on his feet, hands behind his back. He was hesitating, trying to tell him something that he clearly didn’t want to.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, standing up and walking closer to him. He reached out to touch his face but he stepped back from his touch. He stiffened, lowering his hand. “Marcus?” he tried again. “What is it?”

He finally met his eye, mouth in a straight line. It was reminiscent of the look he used to give him at school. Emotionless, cold. “I’m breaking up with you.”

He felt the blow, hard. The fact he said it like he didn’t care hurt. The fact they were together the night before seemingly happy hurt. He wanted to yell, scream, but he matched Marcus’s emotions, pushing away the threat of tears.

“What do you mean?” he asked him, keeping his voice steady but hurt still found its way in.

“You, me, what we’re doing, it’s done,” Marcus said but said it like there was something in the back of his throat.

“Why Marcus?” he asked. “Where is this coming from?”

He huffed. “Because maybe I don’t want to be like this, maybe I wish I could change my brain to make it normal.”

Normal. He hated that that was the word he used. But he hated even more that that was the same word he would have used. Because he still didn’t feel this thing about him was normal.

“Maybe I wish the same Marcus,” Oliver finally said. “But maybe you should’ve thought of that before you kissed me.”

“Maybe you should’ve let me run,” he shot back.

“Maybe I wish I did too!”

Marcus’s grey eyes were a storm but he felt there was more to why he was doing this. He swallowed. “What happened, Marcus? Why did you finally decide after months?”

Marcus’s shoulders tensed, looking down at his feet. “Because I’m the opposite of what my parents want me to be. Because my brother is catching on. Because they’ll want me to marry a girl despite the fact I’ll never be able to love one. Not the way I love you.”

Marcus loved him. He kind of knew he loved him but Marcus loved him too. He wanted to acknowledge it but he let it hang in the air as Marcus continued to speak.

“I know these expectations are bollocks but it’s something they hold far too much value to,” he continued. “I know I shouldn’t put them above me but I’ve disappointed them enough, I don’t want to more. I don’t want them to see me as a stain on the family’s name. I just… I want to be with you but considering everything else, the fact we’re now playing Quidditch professionally, it’s hard. I know it’s not going to go away but in my life, repression has been easier than actually facing it.”

Oliver shook his head. “Marcus, this is… fuck. I do get it, sort of. My family isn’t exactly like that but you can’t just break up with me because of it. But you can’t just live life according to them.”

“Ollie, I know I shouldn’t but they’re just in the back of my mind. My brother is getting suspicious, a bridesmaid tried to get into my pants-“

“What?!”

“And another said my piercings made me look like a poofta, okay? Don’t you get it, people are catching on and if someone sees us together…”

He nodded. “I guess they’re right when they say people can tell,” he muttered. “The blokes on Montrose insist on talking about girls?”

“Too much,” he replied.

“Well, it just further proof we’re expected to like girls. I don’t think they’ve caught on. Still, it’s the way they talk, reminding me I’m meant to like girls I guess,” he sighed. “And I hate it because I love you.” There, he said it. He was happy he said it even with Marcus’s surprised expression in response as if he hadn’t said it first. And that angered him. It angered him that he acted surprised over the concept of him loving him when it was entirely his fault for making him fall in love with him and he’s just deciding leaving him was some sort of better option. He wished he hated him, he wished he’d never let himself fall for him.

When Marcus didn’t say anything, he continued. “And it’s messy and confusing as fuck and I don’t want you to act like this is some walk in the park for me because it really isn’t, okay? If it was I’d have told my parents by now, I would tell friends, I would tell my team. But this is so fucking difficult for me as much as it is for you, okay?”

Marcus closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the silence hang between. Finally, he met his eye. “If it’s too hard than what’s the point? Of doing this.”

“Then leave.” He could feel the threat of tears but he held back. He wanted Marcus to fight, to tell him he won’t leave, to fucking take back breaking up with him.

But Marcus took out his wand and he watched him, waiting for him to show any sort of hesitance. But he Apparated out of the room.

He sat on his couch, stared at his lap and he felt the tears run down his face.

…

The next few months were a routine. Train, go home, put up with family, sleep, lose sleep from failing to forget about Oliver, repeat.

Oliver still clouded Marcus’s mind and the only thing he could do was focus on other things. But when he laid in bed Oliver was all he could think about. He was used to repressing things but Oliver filled his mind so much it was impossible.

He probably hated him by this point. Hated that he’d broken up with him for such cowardice reasons. That he broke up with him when they’d admitted they loved the other. He still questioned why he told him, it just slipped from his lips. He hated himself for still leaving when Oliver told him. For not just trying to continue without telling anyone. He’d tried getting over him but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to disappoint his parents even more.

He took his piercings out, all of them. The ones on his face and the ones in his ears. That seemed to please his parents a little bit but he was still on Montrose, he wasn’t going to trade that for a job at the Ministry. But it was still weird looking in the mirror and not seeing his piercings. He found a charm that stopped the holes from healing but he hadn’t touched his piercings in months.

He was ready to put them back in when the annual Christmas Party his parents held came. He couldn’t stand them and felt he was old enough to just hide in his room until it ended. But Adrian and Terence were coming with their parents so he’ll have to wait until they arrived so they can hide together.

Which was what he did when their parents were distracted by conversations.

“I always forget how big your house is,” Adrian said, looking up at the ceiling’s architecture as they walked down the corridor.

“It’s too big, honestly,” he replied. “I want to move out when I can, unlike Christopher.”

“He still lives here?” Terence asked. “Didn’t he get married?”

“Clearly he’d rather leech off of our parents,” he shrugged and opened the door to his room, falling straight onto his bed, his hands rested under his head.

“So,” Terence asked sitting next to him and pulling Adrian onto his lap. “How’s Montrose been?”

“Tiring but fun,” he said. “Definitely getting better so hoping I’ll be on a starting position soon.”

“You are real good,” Terence said. “Any lucky in love?”

He stared at the ceiling, debating whether he should tell them. Not exactly about Oliver but that he was dating someone people wouldn’t approve of. Maybe he should try to tell them whilst being vague.

“Well, I was,” he said, still staring at the ceiling.

“’Was’?” Adrian echoed. “You gonna tell us what happened?”

He groaned, covering his face with his hands. When he moved them away, he said, “I fucked up, okay?” he said. “I cared more about what my parents would think than them.”

Adrian frowned. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I’m an idiot, clearly,” he said. “And I don’t know what to do.”

Terence and Adrian were silent, clearly not sure what advice to offer.

Should he tell them he’s gay? He still wasn’t sure. Maybe he should just tell them, let someone know. They’d get it if he just told them.

So he took a deep breath and continued to talk. “I’m so angry with myself,” he continued. “Because I… I let my parents get in the way when I love him.”

He let his words hang in the air and he willed himself to look at them and he expected their surprised looks. He looked away, eyes back to the ceiling, waiting for them to say something.

Finally, Terence spoke. “Have you tried contacting him?

“No,” he grunted. “I doubt he wants to hear from me.”

“Have you tried?” Adrian asked.

“Well, no but what’s the point? He’s definitely too mad at me to listen.

“Try,” Terence suggested.

He wanted to, Merlin he wanted to. But Oliver was definitely pissed off at him. He should’ve stayed, he should’ve just said he was right, that it was hard for both of them and stayed because they loved each other. Did, most likely. The chances of Oliver still loving him were definitely low. And it hurt like hell.

He was still angry with himself for falling for him out of everyone he could’ve. If he fell for someone far less frustrating, far less addicting, far less goddamn incredible, maybe it would’ve been easier.

“It was months ago,” he finally said. “No point in trying.”

“C’mon, where’s that Slytherin ambition,” Terence said, poking his hip.

That was a good question. He could only conclude that it was hindered by fear. He was so goddamn scared for people to know, and he could feel his heart racing from telling Adrian and Terence.

“Surprised though?” he asked.

“About what?” Terence frowned.

“About me being… yeah.”

“Honestly, yeah,” Terence said. “Not in a bad way, you’re just…”

“Not the type?” he prompted.

“Not necessarily,” he said. “Just never got that vibe from you I guess.”

“I still wonder how I can be,” he huffed.

“Just how it is, Marcus,” Adrian said. “It doesn’t discriminate on athletic ability.”

“Then why aren’t any blokes playing Quidditch professionally this way?” he muttered.

“Maybe they are and just haven’t said they were,” Terence said. “For the same reason you won’t probably.”

Truthfully, he hadn’t considered that. But there was a reason for that.

Blokes who were athletic weren’t gay. Girls that played, sure. Not blokes. Not blokes like him. Even if his piercings had made him look like a poof, in the delightful bridesmaid’s opinion, blokes like him shouldn’t practically turn to putty from pure hormones by other blokes.

“Just forget about it, it’s over. Doesn’t matter.” He sat up and turned to them. “I have a bottle of firewhisky we can share.”

…

Oliver’s flat felt empty without Marcus visiting.

At some point he’d gotten used to falling asleep with Marcus next to him. Sleeping was easy on days after training but on the typical nights Marcus would show up, his bed felt bigger than it was.

He was angry he was still hung up on him. Angry he couldn’t just let go. He was desperate to send him a letter but he knew better than that. He tried his hardest to just focus on training. He was going to be the best Keeper Puddlemere had seen.

His mind really shouldn’t drift to Marcus’s arms, Marcus’s lips, Marcus asleep next to him.

Marcus, Marcus, Marcus.

He had to keep his mind on Quidditch, not on the man who broke his heart. The man he was still furious at for saying he loved him when he broke up with him.

He hated that even being with Marcus hadn’t lead him to feel at least a little okay with being as athletic as he was and gay. He hadn’t spoken to Percy since they’d left Hogwarts so there was no use in telling him. He hadn’t really had friends outside of Percy and the team, maybe from a little too much focus on Quidditch. He’d gotten on with his teammates fine. Not really people he’d have lifelong friendships with but at least a little pleasant.

“All I’m saying,” Nicholson said taking a sip of his rum. “Is that being hung up on exes is ridiculous.”

That bare minimum he’d given teammates he sometimes went to pubs with was that he’d gone through a breakup. It was enough for them to get why he wasn’t like his usual self the practice after Marcus had broken up with me.

“You’re so sensitive, Nicholson,” Harris said next to him rolling her eyes.

“It’s just, why be hung up on some girl who broke up with you? What’s the point?”

“Some of us have feelings?” Oliver suggested.

“That sensitivity won’t get you far on the pitch.”

“I block enough of your shots during training,” he countered.

“Touché,” he replied. “But why not just hook up with some other girl? There’s plenty here,” he said with a small gesture around the pub.

“I want to focus on my keeping, is all,” he shrugged.

“More for me then,” he shrugged.

“Not if I get to them first,” Harris said with a sly smile.

Nicholson eyes went to a spot over Oliver’s head and a grin stretched on his lips. “Oh, I see some of Montrose’s guys.”

What?

He had to stop himself from reacting far more than he should at that statement. Just because some Montrose guys were here doesn’t mean that he was here.

So casually, he turned in his seat to follow Nicholson’s gaze, who was waving them over.

It was three blokes and of course with his luck, one was Marcus and he wanted to scream.

“Is that big guy new?” Harris asked when he turned back around, definitely referring to Marcus. Just by her words, images of Marcus’s body, Marcus’s tattoos, Marcus’s strong arms flashed through his mind.

“Yeah, Chaser, I think he went to Hogwarts. You would know him, right Wood?”

He shrugged and nodded. “Yeah, I know Flint. Not well.” He forced himself to say it when Marcus was close enough to hear as Nicholson greeted one of the players.

“Oh, hey Wood,” Marcus said casually but from the flicker in his eyes he was definitely in the same state as him. “Long-time no see.”

He hated how much that statement carried. Hated how much emotion was actually in it, hidden by nothing but the fact they couldn’t tell them.

He looked at Marcus and was met with a surprise. His grey eyes were dull, he had prominent eye bags, and… he wasn’t wearing any of his piercings. And knowing Marcus, and see the state he was in, it might’ve not been something he was willing to do. He didn’t look like himself, he didn’t look like the fiery eyed, fierce, cunning man he still loved.

But now wasn’t the time to let all of that fall out.

“Yeah, surprised you were good enough to get further than Slytherin’s team,” he said with what he hoped was a convincing playful smile. “Considering you guys lost real hard in the cup.”

He felt a tugging on his stomach when he smiled. He didn’t realise how much he’d missed the natural playful teasing between them. “You barely won, Potter had that Firebolt.”

“Says the one who replaced their Seeker for Nimbus 2001’s.”

A low laugh came from one of the Montrose players. “Know each other, clearly.”

“Yeah, went to school together,” Marcus said with a shrug and slapped his shoulder. “Hope you’ve improved enough as a Keeper to be ready for the real games.”

He smiled. “Don’t worry, you’ll still have trouble getting passed me, promise.”

The three men ended up sitting next to him, Marcus sitting in the spare seat next to him and he was almost ready to murder him for that.

He wanted them to have a moment alone, and they did a few hours later. When Marcus’s teammates and Harris left, and Nicholson was distracting himself with a girl, Marcus took the opportunity.

“Can we talk? Like, properly?”

He was somewhere between grateful he asked and furious with himself he played right into his hands.

“Okay,” he said. “My flat?” A nod. So together they Apparated to his flat.

His flat felt a little more home with Marcus there.

“So, how are you?” Marcus asked awkwardly.

“As good as I can be, I guess,” he said. “You look… unlike yourself.”

“If you’re concerned about the piercings, I used a charm that prevents them from healing in case I want to put them back in.”

“No,” he shook his head. “I mean, yeah it’s weird seeing you without them but I meant physically.”

Marcus eyes drifted to his feet and he scratched the back of his head. “Guess I haven’t been sleeping well,” he said. “I’ve missed you.”

He really fucking hated him.

No you don’t.

“I guess it’s been easy – I mean, not easy but less difficult – to not because I didn’t see you constantly. I guess seeing you made me realise how much I…” he finally looked at him and it felt like his grey eyes were burning into him. “How much of an idiot I was.”

He shook his head. “You had months to write Marcus.”

“I know,” he said. “I guess I thought you hated me.”

As much as he wanted to, he didn’t. He was still hopelessly in love with him.

“I could never hate you – not after everything,” his voice broke. He thought of the childish boy who would interfere with his practice, who would make fouls during a Quidditch game, who he felt he should hate for being a Slytherin. But after seeing what he was really like, after actually getting to know him, after seeing he wasn’t as hard as he made people think, he could never hate him.

“I missed you too, by the way” he sighed and sat on his couch, cross his arms and hunching over.

“So… what? What’re we going to do?” Marcus asked, eyeing the empty space on the couch. He wanted him to sit down, he wanted him to be close, wanted to have a touch that wasn’t a pat on the shoulder, one that he felt was just an excuse to touch him.

He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “Are you going to let your parents dictate your life?”

He shuffled on his feet. “I can’t tell them – not yet.”

“And I’m not asking you to, I haven’t told mine,” he swallowed. “Just… you can’t do everything for them. I know you don’t want to disappoint them, I really do. But this is already difficult and if you always think about how they might react it’s going to be harder.”

Marcus stared at him and he slowly nodded. “I know you’re right, I really do,” he huffed. “I need to move out, maybe that’ll help.”

“You can uh… stay here if you want.” Courageous and reckless, qualities Marcus may scoff at and say “typical Gryffindor” but that’s who he was and Marcus knew that.

“I… uh… you sure? Terence has his own place. I can leech off of him.”

He swallowed. “Like I said, only if you want. Really, I mean it.”

Maybe it was too fast. It had just been a year since they’ve been together. Without the broken up period at least. Maybe it was a little too fast, they weren’t kids sneaking around together anymore (okay maybe they were just adults sneaking around together).

“Okay,” Marcus finally said. “Okay, yeah, we’ll figure everything else out.”

He nodded. They’ll figure it all out.

…

Being out of his parents’ house felt like a sort of euphoric relief. He didn’t realise how suffocating it was living in the manor. He of course didn’t tell his parents exactly what his relationship with the person he was moving in with was. He just said it was a friend from school and they didn’t care.

It was nice, honestly. Sure, they still hadn’t told anybody but it was nice being together like this. He was feeling more like himself again, especially since he’d put his piercings back in. Oliver seemed happy things were back to normal especially when the piercings were back in, leading him to relentlessly tease him about having a type, earning a blush and the smallest of nods.

That next Quidditch season they were both bumped up to the starting positions. It was a good focus with everything… happening.

It was enough for Muggle-borns to leave the country, which he guessed was smart. Oliver seemed pretty anxious about the whole situation, definitely because he had relatives married to muggles. Marcus thought of his own family, thought of all the pure-bloods and the too close for comfort biological connections. That’s what ran through his veins. That’s what was viewed as ‘right’. He thought of his (he had no clue how many greats) grandmother, Josephina Flint who was excessively anti-muggle. It was times like that Oliver would comfort like “you don’t pick your family”. But his family was what they were because of her, because she was Minister for Magic twice. Because of her popular negative views of muggles. Because it was drilled into his brain until he had to make an effort to unlearn it. He liked to consider himself not the worst since he slapped Malfoy when he directed the muggle-born slur to Potter’s friend. It’s not like he’d become a Death Eater.

“Do you think Potter’s telling the truth?” Carlson asked when they finished practice.

“I guess,” he said, pulling off his arms guards. “Diggory’s dead, right?”

“How do we know he’s not trying to get attention?” he grunted. “You knew him at all?”

He shook his head. Oliver believed him, and that was enough. He didn’t really know Potter, Malfoy particularly had a distaste for him but if Oliver believed him that was enough.

A piece of him hoped it wasn’t true, and maybe that was Carlson’s logic. Why would you want to think it’s true that there was threat of war? But Diggory couldn’t have dropped dead.

That was still a shock, Diggory being dead. He had plenty of run ins with him and always had a cheery, friendly smile when he had to shake his hand. It was a little grating but Diggory embodied all of Hufflepuff’s qualities. They weren’t friends at all but just the fact that someone he knew had been killed was terrifying, that it was much closer than stories he heard. That Diggory was just a bloke enjoying life, seen as worthy enough by the Goblet of Fire to compete in the Tri Wizard Tournament, had been murdered.

Oliver didn’t know him too well either but he always said Diggory was exactly what people said about him, a good bloke. He remembered when Potter fell off his broom and Diggory caught the snitch, and insisted they have a rematch. It’s the one time Oliver actually swallowed his pride and let the other team win. But that was the kind of person Diggory was, and he used to think he was just some pushover who was a good Seeker but a terrible captain, with the state his team was in. But really, while he still thought he was a pushover he didn’t deserve to get killed. He was probably the least deserving of something like that.

“Well, I’m still calling bullshit,” Carlson continued. “How can You-Know-Who be back?”

Marcus simply shrugged. He didn’t know what to say and honestly, Carlson was adamant on not believing Harry that there was no point in arguing with him.

…

Oliver was absolutely elated, Puddlemere had won the season’s final against Montrose and he and his team couldn’t stop cheering, carrying their Seeker Harris on their shoulders as she held the cup in one hand and was pupping her other fist. It was even better than winning the house cup.

He also couldn’t wait to rub it in Marcus’s face later.

They were used to playing against each other at this point but being in the pro leagues heightened the stakes. It wasn’t child’s play with players not taking it as seriously as they should, it was real. Marcus had seemed to have grown out of childish fouls, and had really improved as a flyer. He used that to his advantage than kicking people, probably also because the referees cared far more than Madam Hooch did.

Winning of course meant they were roped into interviews, as how it usually was. The winners usually drowned in questions.

He answered the questions sent his way. How often did he practice? How long had he been playing Quidditch? What drew him to the Keeper position? What was his regular exercise routine?

Then his least favourite type of ‘reporters’ stepped forward and that of course was the gossip columns. They were absolutely grating and asked questions far too personal.

In his time as starting Keeper, like at Hogwarts, women had taken a liking to him. Marcus had seemed to find it pretty funny and loved pointing out the articles about him.

The woman stepped up to him with her quill out and grinning at him.

“Hello, dear, I’m Anita Scorr,” she grinned. “I write for Quaffle Wonders, I was wondering if you could answer a few questions?”

He thought of what Marcus would do, what Marcus had told him to do, to tell her no, he didn’t want to answer her questions.

But he was far too polite, so he nodded. “Uh, sure, okay.”

She grinned. “So, people are wondering if you have a special lady in your life?”

He expected it but he still flinched slightly from the question. He just simply shrugged and said, “No.”

Not a lie, he definitely didn’t have a lady. His eyes drifted when he saw the black and white Quidditch robes of Montrose and he saw Marcus and Carlson walking to the showers. As he passed, Marcus caught his eye and did a little eyebrow wiggle with a small smirk. He definitely overheard. He said something to Carlson and they both stopped, probably to watch the rest of the interview unfold.

“Ah, so people are wondering what exactly your type is, then?”

He wished he could say “male” or “Marcus” but he did get enjoyment out of humouring the gossip reporters and well, Marcus was close.

“Well,” he said stuffing his hands in his pockets and flicked his eyes momently if he had a good escape route. “Not against tattoos and piercings.” And he took the chance to leave. The reporter looked a little bewildered by his answer, probably expecting something more along the lines of personality traits. He walked right to Marcus and Carlson who were laughing.

“God, those magazines are the worst,” Carlson said as they walked to the showers. “Didn’t know you were into that though, Wood.”

Marcus looked at him from the corner of his eye with the smallest smile on his lips. “Yeah, you’re far more of a freak than I thought.”

He shrugged. “We all have our things.”

When they got to the showers, some of their teams had already started to shower and seemed pretty comfortable walking around with not clothes on.

“Hey, what took you guys?” Burns, the Montrose Seeker, asked, shampoo in his hair.

“We watched Wood get interrogated by Anita Scorr,” Carlson said, starting to strip off his robes.

Nicholson groaned, his face hitting the water of his shower. “She’s literally the worst.”

Most of the guys made sounds of agreements, except Marcus.

“She never bothers me,” he said, stripping off his clothes, Oliver himself at a shower and undressed. “I think I scare her.”

Oliver snorted. “Because you’re so fucking scary, Flint.”

“I don’t think the metal in your face helps either,” the Montrose Chaser, Stantson, smiled teasingly.

“Good,” Marcus said turning on a shower. “I’d rather not be bothered by her, especially with the kind of questions she asks.”

“She still trying to figure out who’s single and who’s not?” Nicholson asked. “I swear, there was a rumour I was dating Harris.”

“Your Seeker?” Marcus asked raising his brow. “Isn’t she a lesbian?”

“See my point.”

“Aren’t most girls who play Quidditch lesbians, anyway?” asked Stantson. “Both of your other Chasers are, right?” he asked, referring to Jones and Williams, Chasers with Nicholson.

“Dating, actually,” Mulligan, one of Puddlemere’s Beater said.

“Our other Chaser Burr is, I don’t think our Beaters are but they’re beasts,” Carlson said.

Erikson, one of Puddlemere’s Beater’s, pulled his head from under the water. “They’re mostly lesbians,” he said.

Oliver ran his shampoo through his hair. It was a ridiculous conversation and from the corner of his eye he saw Marcus felt as uncomfortable as he did. What did it matter that they were gay?

“Your school was big on Quidditch, right?” Nicholson asked and it took a moment for Oliver to realise he was talking to him and Marcus. “Any on your team?”

“Never asked,” Oliver said. “But I think two of them liked each other,” he added because he did remember Katie and Alicia maybe having something, according to Angelina at least.

“No,” Marcus said, clearly not bothering to say it was because there weren’t girls on his team. Marcus had admitted it came from caring more about strength than skill and there were a lot of girls that could wipe those on the team arses on the pitch. “But, uh two of the blokes on the team are together.”

He knew about Adrian and Terence since Marcus told him they knew and what exactly prompted Marcus to tell them.

He noticed how there was an edge to Marcus’s voice. Not one others would notice but he knew Marcus well enough at this point to pick up on small things.

“Huh,” came Carlson’s voice. “Weird how that happens.”

“You still buying us drinks?” Nicholson asked, as if Marcus hadn’t said anything.

Carlson threw his head back and groaned. “C’mon, that was a joke.”

“You can’t back out, mate,” Erikson said. “Bets a bet, and we whooped your arses.”

One of the things that surprised Oliver a little about the professional Quidditch league was that rather than childish rivalries was more friendly competition. Sure there were people who didn’t like each other but most people were friendly with each other. It was a little funny when he looked back at Hogwarts where everyone took it a little too seriously and house segregation caused far too much tension.

“Hey, this one is only on you Carlson,” Marcus said. “I’m not paying for other peoples’ drinks.”

“I’m gonna make sure you buy me my drinks,” Oliver said and Marcus’s head whipped around to him, the smallest smile on his lips. He was grateful that could still be friendly to each other without raising any eyebrows. No one on their teams knew exactly what Hogwarts was like so it was easy to say they went to school together and for their teammates to shrug it off and accept there was some friendship between them, therefore friendly remarks.

“No fucking way, mate,” he said. “Put that on Carlson.”

After they left the showers, before they head to the pub everyone went to meet up with their families and friends. Terence and Adrian came for Marcus so they split as Oliver went to find his parents, Katie, Alicia, and Angelina. Fred and George were too busy working on the shop and Percy well… they’ve really fallen out of contact.

“You did amazing!” Katie said running to him and throwing her arms around him, only to be followed by Alicia.

“It was a team effort, you would know that,” he smiled when they stepped back.

“Still, your keeping was spectacular,” his dad grinned.

“You coming back with us?” Angelina asked.

“Actually the teams are going to a pub to celebrate,” he shrugged.

“Montrose too?” Katie asked, her crows drawing together in confusion.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “It’s all friendly, y’know.”

His mum laughed. “Ah, it’s good to know there’s some friendly competition.”

“Was that Flint we saw on Montrose?” Alicia asked, her eyes scanning the crowd probably trying to find him.

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging. “We’ve been kind of forced you get along.”

It was the easiest excuse to make. It was probably the only one they’d take right now, convincing them he and Marcus were begrudgingly at least attempting to get along was far easier than the truth.

“Really?” Alicia said raising her brow.

“He went to Hogwarts?” his dad asked.

“Yeah, he was the Slytherin captain,” he explained and his parents nodded in understanding, they were Gryffindor alumni after all.

“He still as much as a twat?” Angelina asked, Katie and Alicia laughing in response.

“He’s okay,” he shrugged. “I think we’ve both kind of grown up.”

“Seriously?” Alicia asked. “Never thought I’d see the day you two weren’t at each other’s throats.”

Again, he shrugged. “You want to come to the pub with us?”

“No thanks,” Alicia said. “We’ll let you have your fun with your team.”

“Yeah, don’t get too drunk,” Katie added, smiling.

“And no Aparatating if you drink,” his mum added in a stern voice. “I don’t want you losing limbs.”

…

Marcus maybe had one too many shots of firewhisky at the pub, not so much that he couldn’t walk straight but enough to be a little impulsive.

Everyone else had been drinking too and no one was paying attention to him, so this was a great chance to get an equally drunk Oliver.

He was laughing at something his teammates had said so he made his way towards them.

“Hey, mind if I steal Wood for a moment?” he asked, cutting the girl off. She looked a liltte annoyed but nodded, walking away to talk to someone else.

“You’re drunk,” Oliver observed but it came out slurred.

“You too,” he said, poking his side. Oliver only grinned and laughed.

“Hey,” Marcus said, poking him back. “Want to do something.”

He cocked his head to the side. “What?”

He grabbed his arm and tugged him towards the bathroom, to the obliviousness of everyone else. When they got to the bathroom he pushed him into a cubicle and after he locked the door he turned to him and sloppily kissed him. Oliver pulled away to laugh before wrapping his arms around his neck and pressed their lips back together.

“You are so fucking reckless,” he said against his lips but moaned when Marcus shoved his tongue into his mouth. Marcus gripped his hips tightly as he pressed him against the wall. Oliver pulled him closer before pushing his own tongue into his mouth.

He pressed his body against his, feeling his heart race in his chest. He rutted against him, and he soon realised his pants were wet.

He pulled away, and looked down at his pant. Oliver followed his gaze and he held back a laugh when he realised they both had a wet spot.

“That was quick,” Oliver said, looking back at him.

Marcus smiled. “We’ll do it properly later,” he said and kissed him. “C’mon, we better get back before anyone notices.”

After a spell to clean themselves up, they walked out of the bathroom and Nicholson came walking up to them, a confused look on his face.

“What were you doing in there?” Nicholson asked looking from Oliver to Marcus.

“I got sick, Flint made sure I didn’t vomit all over the floor,” Oliver shrugged casually.

He raised his brow. “You don’t look like someone who just got sick.”

Marcus felt his heart start to race, his mind trying to think of an excuse. Luckily, Oliver seemed to have thought it over.

“Took a chance to recover and I washed my face,” he explained with a shrug. “That’s why we were in there for so long.” His tone was casual, as if he wasn’t building on top of lies.

“Well, you are a real light weight,” Nicholson said with a teasing smile.

Oliver scowled at him. “I am not!” he argued.

Marcus laughed softly and slapped his shoulder. “You get drunk on two glasses of wine, Wood.”

He glared at him but he kept his grin on his face.

…

“No,” Marcus replied, harshness in his tone, standing at the kitchen counter.

“Marcus, I can’t not,” Oliver replied, desperation find its way into his voice.

“No! You’re going to get yourself killed,” Marcus replied, his arms crossed over his chest, his face hard. He was trying to make himself look bigger than he was, something Oliver was used to. Oliver could stand up to him fine, he knew it was an act because he was scared from his safety.

They’d been arguing about it for longer than they should’ve. Oliver wanted to go to Hogwarts to fight, Marcus didn’t.

The fight was ridiculous, really. Oliver was going to go whether Marcus did or not. But Marcus was adamant on him not going because he didn’t want him to risk his life.

“I’m going, Marcus,” he said, keeping his voice steady.

“And what if you get killed?” his voice was hard but there was a hint of fear in it, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “What if you… I…” his hard look broke, and his shoulders sagged. “What if you die and I lose you? Fuck, what if I go with you and I die and you lose me, I don’t want you to go through that.”

Oliver’s stare at him softened. He knew Marcus was scared for his safety but… Marcus didn’t want him to suffer through him dying. He shook his head. “Fucking hell, Marc,” he sighed. He just realised Marcus’s eyes were glassed over, and the sight of that caused tears to prickle in the corner of his eyes. “Look, I can handle myself. I’m going, you can’t stop me from going.” A tear ran down his cheek but he didn’t bother to wipe it away. “I know it’s dangerous, okay. But I can’t just not fight, okay? Call it a reckless Gryffindor thing, but I can’t not fight, okay?”

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “Ollie,” he said softly. “How is it going to look if I show up there? Just… really think for a second.”

He stared at him, noticing how he was avoiding his eye. “What do you mean? I don’t get what you’re saying.”

“I’m a Slytherin.”

Oh. Right. “You think people are just going to assume you’re a Death Eater by default?” he frowned.

“No, I know they will. I’ve told you what I grew up around. I’m literally directly related to someone who was anti-muggle, Ollie. And fuck, just… fuck. I don’t want to spend the entire time we’re at war assuring people I’m not a Death Eater.”

“Then stay by me,” he said. “And I’ll tell people.”

“Like they’ll believe you have any reason to trust me just because we both play in the Quidditch league? Be realistic.”

“Look,” he sighed. “Fine, just stay here or something. Run off with your parents for all I care, I’m going!”

“No! I’m not letting you go out alone!” Marcus argued, desperation in his tone.

“Then come with me!” he shot back. “Because I’m going!”

Marcus ran his fingers through his hair again and he could see the stains of tears on his face. “Fucking hell,” he breathed. “I’m scared, okay?” he said, his voice shaking. “I don’t want you to die in this fucking war that shouldn’t even be happening. I’m so fucking scared because I love you so much, you’re the last thing I want to lose,” he swallowed and wiped his tears away, crossing his arms and looking at his feet.

He took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around him. Marcus’s arms were still crossed as he did, and he could feel how tense he was.

“You bastard,” he huffed. “You fucking bastard.”

He was waiting for him to hug him back, but his arms stayed crossed across his chest, refusing to hug him back.

“I’m going,” he said. “Okay?

“I don’t want you to die,” he said barely above a whisper, then finally returned the hug. “I’ll make sure you won’t.”

…

The word that came to mind when Marcus thought of the war was ‘nauseating’.

He helped Oliver and a Gryffindor boy carry casualties to the Great Hall. He felt his stomach churn from the fact he could smell they were dead. Oliver looked distressed too but was clearly trying to hide it.

As he carried a sixth year Slytherin whose face he remembered seeing around the common room he felt sick. He was too young to be in this, still underage and he shouldn’t have been in this mess. Not a single person should’ve been.

He saw Fred Weasley dead. He decided to actually remember which one it was. He’d never really cared about him but the fact he was dead just didn’t feel right. He’d seen the joke shop he and his twin had started, it was pretty cool.

He didn’t deserve this. He even forgave him a little for beating his face with the bat after his childish remark. A remark Burr would definitely beat his arse for if he said it now.

So yeah, he definitely deserved the attack, looking back.

He found Oliver sitting with his back against the wall, his knees drawn to his chest, and his arms wrapped around himself. He sat next to him, trying to think of some words of comfort.

But he didn’t have to, Oliver just rested his head on his shoulder. He let him, resting his own head on top of it. It was comfortable, and a nice comfort in the middle of all of this. He wanted to hold his hand but maybe that was a little too intimate for the moment. They were still on thin ice with this gesture, especially if people recognised them and remembered their rivalry.

He hated that even at this point he still was scared about people knowing. He hated that it was still like this for them after four years of being together.

And honestly he was getting tired of it. They had to fucking tell people.

“When this is all over,” he said, making Oliver looked up at him, clearly surprised that he spoke. “We should tell people, about us.”

He lifted his head, sat up straight and looked at him.

“You know what, I think you’re right.”

…

They first told Katie, Alicia, and Angelina in the aftermath of the war.

“Really?” Angelina said raising her brow at them.

They both nodded and she smiled. “Yeah, makes sense.”

“You know me and Katie are dating too, right?” Alicia asked, clearly as a form of reassurance. “It’s fine.”

“Yeah, I kind of knew about you two,” Oliver said, intertwining his fingers in Marcus’s hand, Marucs letting himself smile. Oliver saw Harry from the corner of his eye looking at them as he walked passed. He didn’t seem fazed by the sight.

“Far less surprising than you two, if I’m being honest,” Katie said. “But it’s good.”

“How long?” Alicia asked.

They looked at each other, before giving their answer. “Four years,” Marcus said.

“You motherfuckers,” Angelina laughed. “When abouts?”

“March,” Oliver said and smiled when they looked even more surprised.

“That’s long,” Katie said. “Why didn’t you tell people?”

Marcus frowned and looked at Oliver who seemed in the same state he was. Oliver looked at him, questioning him. Marcus gave him the smallest shrug.

Oliver turned back to his friends. “Scared, I guess. We’re athletes and all.”

“Oh,” Angelina said frowning. “Wow, seriously?”

“You two are like, a couple of the best athletes I know,” Alicia said. “I don’t get what that has to do with it.”

Oliver cleared his throat nervously. “Guess we thought we couldn’t, and then when we go together it was difficult.”

“Oh,” Alicia replied. “I guess I get what you’re trying to say.”

Marcus’s mind ran through all the awful things he’d thought; all the excuses he’d made as to why he couldn’t be gay. It was stressful that it had such a tight hold on them for so many years.

He placed his hand on the inside of Oliver’s elbow and rested his head on his shoulder, not giving a shit who saw them and could see the gesture was clearly intimate. Oliver didn’t care either, squeezing his hand. They hadn’t had this for real and well, it was a little nice. Even if both of their hearts were beating in their chest from nerves.

…

They slowly told more of their friends. Terence and Adrian said they had suspicions after Marcus told them about his romance dilemma. George actually laughed but was overall okay with it when Oliver told him. But in a light-hearted way, assuring him that while it was surprising, he didn’t care. That was comforting. Percy was surprised and confused but he accepted it immediately. While they hadn’t seen each other in years, a run in at the great hall felt like the right time to tell him. For others, they just let people see them together and reach their own conclusions.

Their teams were an interesting experience. Deciding to tell Carlson, Harris, and Nicholson at a pub since they were all they were really friends with. Everyone else can find out when the gossip columns got a hold of it.

“So wait, was it before or after you guys were on the teams?” Nicholson asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Before,” Oliver said. “About March of ’94.”

“That’s a long time,” Nicholson said, raising his brow. “It’s whatever though,” he shrugged.

“I feel like I knew,” Harris said. “Kind of got that vibe.”

“You two were always weirdly close,” Carlson added. “Didn’t think it was this but I think it makes sense.”

“Gossip columns are going to have a field day when they find out,” Harris said. “Imagine, ‘Puddlemere Keeper, Oliver Wood, finally snatched up by least expected person’ or some bullcrap.”

Oliver laughed. “You should write for them,” he said. “It’d be a way easier job.”

“I mean, there’ve been rumours of both you you sleeping with people,” she continued. “It’s bullshit, like care about our Quidditch skills, not who we’re dating.”

Marcus looked at him. “Remember when you got on like, hottest Quidditch newbies?”

“I remember you laughing and the team giving me hell for it for months,” Oliver replied.

Nicholson threw his head back, laughing. “Oh yeah, I still have that, you were number one.”

“Yeah, you pinned it to the notice board,” he muttered and Carlson laughed.

“Well, guess Flint’ll be the envy of sexually repressed middle aged witches,” Harris said, laughing lightly.

Marcus smiled and slung his arm over his shoulders. “Oh well,” he shrugged. “Sucks to be them.”

…

Oliver could feel his whole body shaking. He knew he couldn’t put off telling his parents forever but fuck he was fucking terrified. He knew his parents loved him, he really did. But he’d spent years convincing himself this piece of him was bad and they’d hate him for it.

“You know, it’s the best way to stop your son from being a poof, having him play sport.”

He huffed, and knocked on the door, and his mum opened the door and grinned at him. She pulled him into a hug.

“Hey sweetheart,” she said and he walked passed into the lounge where his dad was sitting. “How’ve you been?”

“Good, mum,” he smiled.

“How’s practice been?” his dad asked.

“Good,” he said, as his mum went to sit. He was good at not showing he was nervous but his parents knew him better than that. And it didn’t help he kept shuffling on his feet.

“You okay, hun?” his mum asked.

He coughed. “Yeah,” he said. “Uh, I just wanted to tell you something.”

They exchanged a look, before looking back at him. “Okay, why don’t you sit?” his mum said, smiling at him a little unsure.

He shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’m okay.” He shuffled on his feet and kept his eyes on the ornament on a small table next to the couch. “So… I’m dating someone.”

His dad raised his brow. “That it?” he asked and Oliver gave him a small shrug. “Okay, what’s her name?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Uh… well… uh,” he stuttered, losing all his confidence at the simple sound of ‘her’. He took a deep breath, calming himself as his parents looked at him curiously. He let out a sigh. “Please don’t get mad; it’s Marcus.”

He could feel they were looking at him, the information sinking in. He still refused to look at them, he was too scared to see the possible looks of disappointment.

“Oliver,” his mum finally said. “It’s okay.”

He finally looked at them. His dad wasn’t hiding his surprise and his mum was giving him the kind of look she’d give him when he would’ve fallen off his broom and hurt himself.

“Can you sit,” she asked and he swallowed, sitting in the arm chair across the loveseat his parents were sat on. “We still love you, okay?”

His dad nodded. “Yes, of course it’s okay,” he said. “Surprising but… we still love you.”

“Surprising because I play Quidditch?” He needed to say it, even if it was harsh. Sometimes he wondered if this whole thing would’ve been easier if he’d given up on it or never played at all. He loved the game but fuck, he knew it was a huge reason why he was so scared.

His dad looked a little taken aback at the comment. “Where’d that come from?”

He shrugged. “I just remember Uncle Jake making a joke about… it’s a good way for me to not be like this.”

He frowned. “You remember that?” He nodded. “Oh,” he scratched the back of his head. “He always makes off colour jokes. He’s not against it or anything. Or me.”

“How long?” his mum asked. “You and Marcus I mean?”

He licked his lips. “Four years,” he replied.

She frowned. “Really?” He nodded. “Okay,” she said. “I’m happy you told us.”

His dad nodded. “This does mean we want to properly meet Marcus,” he said.

He nodded and he finally felt his body relax.

…

Telling Christopher first, that felt like the best idea. Marcus was the farthest from close to him but he will be easier to tell than his parents. Even after that confrontation a few years ago.

His brother had moved out of their parents’ house a couple years prior. He and Emily had moved into their own house in a small wizarding village near Bath.

"So you wanted to talk about something?" He asked, arms spread on the head of the couch, looking at him curiously.

"More tell, but yeah," he replied, shuffling nervously in the armchair he sat in. The room was a little awkward, they've were the farthest from the types to have heart to hearts. And he knew he was confused as to why he'd sent a letter wanting to see him when there weren't any special occasions any time soon.

"Okay, get on with it then," he prompted.

He licked his lips, fiddling with he septum piercing out of habit. His brother stared at him, waiting.

"Look, if you're dating a muggle it's fine," he said.

He finally met his eye. His brother was sitting forward, looking right at him. "I'm not," he said but understood his assumption. "I mean, I am dating someone but not a muggle or anything."

"Oh," he replied. "Okay but this is about dating someone?"

He nodded, scratching the back of his head. Finally, he huffed. "Look, it’s Oliver, okay? I'm gay alright."

He expecting confusion, anger, maybe even disgust. But instead, his brother gave him a smile. "Okay."

"Okay?" He echoed. "That's all you're gonna say?"

"I mean, I've suspected you're gay since you were five."

"What!" He stared at him, his mouth gaped open. "How?"

His brother grinned. "Mum had one of those gossip magazines and you got your hands on it. It was about some Quidditch player, don't remember who. Anyway, it called him most eligible bachelor and you asked me what a bachelor was. And when I told you you said you'd marry him then. You were genuinely upset when I told you that you couldn't."

He stared at him, trying to find the memory but he couldn't. He remembered wanting to marry some Quidditch players when he was a kid but he didn't remember telling his brother that. But maybe it was kids tended to not care about repercussions.

"Still love you though, you know that right?" His brother said.

“But what about… that whole thing a few years ago?”

Christopher bit his lip. “I guess because I felt you were lying to me,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done that and I was a real shit head. I’ve grown since then and you being like this doesn’t matter to me, you’re still my brother and I still love you, okay?”

He smiled. "Thanks Chris, seriously."

"What kind of brother would I be if I rejected you because of it?" He asked.

"Well can you help me tell mum and dad?"

"I don't love you that much."

...

He could do this, just rip it off like a band aid. He could tell his parents he’s gay easily.

His heart was still pounding as he stood outside Flint Manor. He opened the door and walked inside, hearing his loud footsteps as he walked across the marble floor.

“Hello, Master Flint,” came the squeaky voice of a house elf.

He looked down at her and gave a curt nod. “Hey,” he said. “Where’re my parents?”

“Mrs Flint is in the dining room, Mr Flint is in his office,” the house elf replied. He nodded and decided to go to find his mother first. He fiddled with his septum piercing as he stepped into the dining room, seeing his mother watch the house elves set the table.

“Mother?” he said, getting her attention, looking away from a house elf placing folded napkin on the table.

“Oh good, you’re here,” she said. Most people would probably greet their kid with a smile but she immediately went back to directing the house elves.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I need to tell you something,” he said.

She didn’t even look over at him. “Can it wait?”

He swallowed, he wasn’t going to lose his nerve, no way. “Mother, I’m gay.”

This time, she looked at him. Bright green eyes framed by curly black hair. She raised a pencilled brow at him. “You are, huh?”

He nodded and looked at his feet, playing with his septum again. “Stop playing with that,” she scolded as if he were a child refusing to sit still. He set his arm to the side and she continued to speak. “So, you said you were gay?”

He nodded, chewing on his lip. “Hm, I thought you might be.”

He frowned at her. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t ever had a girlfriend,” she said.

Okay, fair. “Uh, me and Oliver are also together,” he said.

“Hm, I do like that boy,” she said.

“Well, I do too.”

“Want me to tell your father for you?”

He looked at her, and gave her a small nod. That would make it a little easier.

He went to sit in the lounge, setting his feet on the couch and declining the house elf offer to get him some tea. He heard footsteps behind him and he turned his head to see his dad.

“Marcus, stand up,” he said. He took a deep breath, and pushed himself up. He turned to face him, intense grey eyes staring at his.

“Your… mother told me,” he said.

He nodded, stopping himself from playing with the septum ring. He really needed to kick that habit.

“Your cousin Mary is getting married next week, bring Oliver.”

He stared at his father. “Uh… okay,” he nodded.

…

“Sorry,” Marcus whispered to Oliver. “My family can get a little intense.”

“A little?” he whispered. “Swear they’d freak out if we told them how long we’ve actually been together.”

“Well, I might scream next time someone whispers ‘he’s sure a looker’ to me,” he muttered.

Oliver laughed lightly. “Yeah, they’re not exactly whispering.”

He scowled at him. “I hate you,” he muttered.

“No you don’t,” he replied, giving him such a dumb, bright smile, playfully poking his cheek.

Marcus was going to shoot something back, but he heard someone call his name. He turned his head to see Christopher walking towards them. They were sat at a table in the back of the dining hall, and he hadn’t gotten a chance to see his brother during the actual ceremony.

“Hey, Chris,” he replied.

“Hey, been looking for you,” he said and smiled at Oliver. “Oliver right?” Oliver nodded. “Great to finally meet you, my brother not too much of a handful?”

Oliver smiled. “Don’t worry, I can handle him,” he said. “Have for a while.”

He smirked and raised his brow. He looked almost exactly like Marcus but it was clear their personalities were starkly different. “How long is a while?”

They looked at each other, and Oliver shrugged. Marcus turned back to his brother. “Four years.”

He widened his eyes at him. “You fucking arse,” he laughed.

“Funnily enough that’s been the general response.”

“Four years is a long time,” he said, crossing his arms.

Marcus shrugged. “Guess it was,” he said.

“So, you gonna let the Quidditch tabloids know?”

Oliver laughed. “They’ll figure it out and have their field day.”

…

When Marcus got to practice, he noticed Carlson and Burns snickering at something on the notice board.

“What’re you two giggling about?” he asked, his bag slung over his shoulder.

“Nothing mate,” Burns grinned.

“Just get ready for practice,” Carlson added and patted his back when they walked passed him out onto the pitch. He walked up to the notice board and his eyes fell on exactly what they were laughing about.

‘Puddlemere Seeker Oliver Wood seems to have been snatched up by possibly the most surprising person; Montrose Chaser Marcus Flint’

He made a note to kill both of them later.

#mine #flintwood #prepare for the angst #and length

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