Nail Polish and Quidditch
This is a giftfic for a friend of mine (amaunet from The Road Ahead- it's a Harry Potter RPG set after Deathly Hallows.
Note to self. Make pimping post later.
Anyhow, it was supposed to be a Christmas fic, but it got....er....delayed. But it's here now! It's a collaboration between myself and zeft with our characters from RA, Meghan McCormack and Marcus Flint.
Hope you enjoy it, love. Mwah.
“Why the hell do girls do that, anyway?”
Meghan McCormack glanced up from where she was painting her toenails purple (she was also going to paint little gold stars on them) for the next Prides match, and looked through the doorway of her bathroom, raising her eyebrows at the man standing in front of her rather girly bathroom vanity, wearing nothing but a towel and attempting to comb his hair. She nearly laughed, because all of her towels were purple and green and blue striped (not to mention with pink flowers all over them), and it was a strange combination.
After appreciating the view for a moment, she sighed and spoke. “Why do girls do what, though I am a little afraid to ask such an open-ended question?”
Marcus waved his hand in her general direction. "You know, that. Polish. Stuff. No one's going to see it anyway. Waste of bloody time." He searched for his clothes. They were around...somewhere. He got on his knees and looked under the bed. Oooh, a shirt. He wondered where that had gotten to.
Meghan rolled her eyes. Honestly. “The point is that I’ve done it before every single match that I have ever played, and I haven’t ever gotten grievously injured.” Just to be on the safe side, though, she reached behind her and knocked on her wooden headboard, thus proving her next statement that “We Quidditch players are a superstitious lot. I always paint my toenails in Prides colors, and I always use a hair-tie that I nicked from Kirley to tie my hair back."
She looked over the edge of her bed. "What are you doing, anyway? Hey. Isn't that the shirt you were wearing last week?"
"Looking for my clothes," said Marcus. "I bet you hid them, didn't you?" He pulled the shirt out. It was plain black, naturally. He slipped it on.
"Oh, yes. You caught me." She leaned back onto the multi-colored pillows heaped near her headboard, waving her wand so that it blew hot air on her toes (after charming the little gold stars on them, of course). "I figured if you didn't have any clothes I could keep you here forever." She rolled her eyes again, making a face at him.
"You know, we should go clothes shopping for you," she commented. "You need some shirts that aren't black."
"And why is that, oh fashionable one?" He found some shorts and slipped them on, throwing the towel away. "Tell me what is wrong with a black wardrobe. It goes with everything."
Meghan sighed melodramatically. "'It goes with everything?' That's because everything else is black- and so of course it goes with everything else. That is black." She reached down to feel her toenails, making sure that they were dry, then leaned back, folding her arms across her chest. "It was just a suggestion."
"So," he grinned, "we are agreed that it goes with everything, and that I will NOT be changing my wardrobe." He sat down on the bed next to her. "You know when you fold your arms it only draws more attention to your boobs, right?"
Meghan gave him her best sidelong glare. "We are most certainly NOT agreed. I think something in a nice purple would go well with your eyes," she said, grinning mischievously. She unfolded her arms, reaching for her nail polish bottle again and rolling it between her hands.
"Is that a threat?"
"Absolutely." Meghan sat up straight, tapping her chin with her right index finger and thinking. "You know, there's a Prides shirt that would probably fit you in my closet." She gave him her most winning smile.
"I don't think we've known each other long enough for me to play out your biggest sexual fantasy, darling."
Meghan arched an eyebrow delicately. "And what might that be?" she asked, turning so that she was laying on her side, propping herself up on her elbow. "Please, do elaborate."
Marcus lay down and mimicked her position. "Oh, I couldn't say out loud. It's your fantasy, after all. It wouldn't be proper." He gave her a winning smile that he knew had no chance in hell of working, but at least she might laugh at the attempt.
Meghan scoffed loudly, shaking her head, but she couldn't manage to keep a chuckle from escaping. "Well, I can honestly tell you that I have no fantasy that involves you and anything to do with the Prides. I was just trying to get a little color into your wardrobe." She smiled lazily- he was actually acting slightly human for once. She wondered briefly how long it would last.
"Ha -next you'll be wanting to put fruit and vegetables in my diet," he remarked. "You are cute when you try, though."
"What, exactly, is wrong with fruits and vegetables?" she queried, making a face when he dared to call her 'cute'. Interesting word choice for Marcus, she thought. "Although- at least I'm not trying to get you to cut your hair."
"And believe me, I'm grateful for that," a devilish thought came to him, but before he could say it he needed to make sure she wasn't going to kick him where it hurt, "Cupcake."
"Cupcake?" Meghan said, her voice dangerously soft. She just looked at him, daring him to say more.
Marcus could not resist a dare. "Yes, Cupcake. Deliciously gorgeous Cupcake."
Okay. That wasn't fair. To call her gorgeous (a word he like, never used. ever.) and then call her "cupcake" in the same breath? She closed her eyes briefly.
When she opened them, he was still there. She wasn't sure if she was happy about that or not. "Stop calling me Cupcake," was all that she could muster, and even that sounded half-hearted.
Marcus laughed. "Very firm order, McCormack. I'm quaking, really. Brrr." He pretended to shiver.
Meghan frowned. "I mean it. And none of those sexy smirks, either, those don't get you out of trouble." She made a face.
"My smirks are sexy, now? Wow, you do have it bad."
Meghan rolled her eyes. "Taking it out of context, Flint. I am merely saying that you need to stop calling me Cupcake, or else I cannot be held responsible for the consequences," she informed him, pointing a finger at him.
Marcus stuck his tongue out. "Fine, I shall just refer to you as McCormack Minor for the rest of your life."
"Minor?" she repeated, looking rather offended. "Just what are you saying? And very mature, by the way," she added, gesturing to the face he was making.
"Well, your mother is McCormack Major so...you're McCormack Minor. I think as a Ravenclaw you can appreciate the logic of that."
"You know what I can appreciate the logic of? The fact that you're ridiculous." Meghan rolled her eyes, rolling over onto her back to stare at the ceiling. "What time is it, anyway?"
"What am I, your personal timekeeper now? Find out yourself." Marcus grabbed the clock that was on the bedside table and plopped it onto her stomach.
"It would have taken far less effort for you to just look and see what the clock said," Meghan drawled, shaking her head. "Must you always be so contrary?" Looking down at the clock, she swore. "It's later than I thought. And some of us have to be at the pitch at the crack of dawn tomorrow morning."
Marcus nudged her. "You know what is wonderfully relaxing and will put you to sleep right afterwards?"
"Listening to you talk about yourself?"
"I said afterwards, not during."
"Oh, yes. That is true." Meghan rolled her eyes. "Good night, Marcus." She paused, turning her head to look at him. "You going or staying?"
"That depends. Do you actually want me to go see you play tomorrow?"
"I'm not going to make you," she said, looking back up at the ceiling. "And there is the small fact that the game is against the Falcons."
"But yes. It would be nice if you were there."
Marcus cocked his head to one side and regarded her curiously. "Really?"
"Really what? That we're playing the Falcons or that I actually want you at the match?"
"That you actually want me there."
"It's that much of a shock to you?" Meghan looked back at him. "This is what I do, and I happen to enjoy having the people that....the people in my life there to watch the match."
Damn the warm and fuzzy feeling. Damn it all to hell. Quick, think of something sarcastic to say before you lose it completely. Ah, fuck it. Marcus schooled his features back into an expression of nonchalance. "Fine. Since you feel that way, I suppose I can forgive you for totally ignoring my request for sex earlier," he declared graciously. "And I suppose I can stay. Screw Adrian and his pub crawl." And because he knew it would annoy the hell out of her, Marcus decided to lean over and give her a long, deep and overly theatrical kiss. "Night, Meg."
"Pub crawl?" Meghan began to ask, but she was quickly silenced. She made sure to glare extra-sternly at him after he pulled away, though once all the lights were off she allowed herself to give in to the urge to grin like the ridiculous female that she was. And because she knew that it would annoy the hell out of him, she moved over a little until she was right up against him, her head on his shoulder. 'Night."
Note to self. Make pimping post later.
Anyhow, it was supposed to be a Christmas fic, but it got....er....delayed. But it's here now! It's a collaboration between myself and zeft with our characters from RA, Meghan McCormack and Marcus Flint.
Hope you enjoy it, love. Mwah.
“Why the hell do girls do that, anyway?”
Meghan McCormack glanced up from where she was painting her toenails purple (she was also going to paint little gold stars on them) for the next Prides match, and looked through the doorway of her bathroom, raising her eyebrows at the man standing in front of her rather girly bathroom vanity, wearing nothing but a towel and attempting to comb his hair. She nearly laughed, because all of her towels were purple and green and blue striped (not to mention with pink flowers all over them), and it was a strange combination.
After appreciating the view for a moment, she sighed and spoke. “Why do girls do what, though I am a little afraid to ask such an open-ended question?”
Marcus waved his hand in her general direction. "You know, that. Polish. Stuff. No one's going to see it anyway. Waste of bloody time." He searched for his clothes. They were around...somewhere. He got on his knees and looked under the bed. Oooh, a shirt. He wondered where that had gotten to.
Meghan rolled her eyes. Honestly. “The point is that I’ve done it before every single match that I have ever played, and I haven’t ever gotten grievously injured.” Just to be on the safe side, though, she reached behind her and knocked on her wooden headboard, thus proving her next statement that “We Quidditch players are a superstitious lot. I always paint my toenails in Prides colors, and I always use a hair-tie that I nicked from Kirley to tie my hair back."
She looked over the edge of her bed. "What are you doing, anyway? Hey. Isn't that the shirt you were wearing last week?"
"Looking for my clothes," said Marcus. "I bet you hid them, didn't you?" He pulled the shirt out. It was plain black, naturally. He slipped it on.
"Oh, yes. You caught me." She leaned back onto the multi-colored pillows heaped near her headboard, waving her wand so that it blew hot air on her toes (after charming the little gold stars on them, of course). "I figured if you didn't have any clothes I could keep you here forever." She rolled her eyes again, making a face at him.
"You know, we should go clothes shopping for you," she commented. "You need some shirts that aren't black."
"And why is that, oh fashionable one?" He found some shorts and slipped them on, throwing the towel away. "Tell me what is wrong with a black wardrobe. It goes with everything."
Meghan sighed melodramatically. "'It goes with everything?' That's because everything else is black- and so of course it goes with everything else. That is black." She reached down to feel her toenails, making sure that they were dry, then leaned back, folding her arms across her chest. "It was just a suggestion."
"So," he grinned, "we are agreed that it goes with everything, and that I will NOT be changing my wardrobe." He sat down on the bed next to her. "You know when you fold your arms it only draws more attention to your boobs, right?"
Meghan gave him her best sidelong glare. "We are most certainly NOT agreed. I think something in a nice purple would go well with your eyes," she said, grinning mischievously. She unfolded her arms, reaching for her nail polish bottle again and rolling it between her hands.
"Is that a threat?"
"Absolutely." Meghan sat up straight, tapping her chin with her right index finger and thinking. "You know, there's a Prides shirt that would probably fit you in my closet." She gave him her most winning smile.
"I don't think we've known each other long enough for me to play out your biggest sexual fantasy, darling."
Meghan arched an eyebrow delicately. "And what might that be?" she asked, turning so that she was laying on her side, propping herself up on her elbow. "Please, do elaborate."
Marcus lay down and mimicked her position. "Oh, I couldn't say out loud. It's your fantasy, after all. It wouldn't be proper." He gave her a winning smile that he knew had no chance in hell of working, but at least she might laugh at the attempt.
Meghan scoffed loudly, shaking her head, but she couldn't manage to keep a chuckle from escaping. "Well, I can honestly tell you that I have no fantasy that involves you and anything to do with the Prides. I was just trying to get a little color into your wardrobe." She smiled lazily- he was actually acting slightly human for once. She wondered briefly how long it would last.
"Ha -next you'll be wanting to put fruit and vegetables in my diet," he remarked. "You are cute when you try, though."
"What, exactly, is wrong with fruits and vegetables?" she queried, making a face when he dared to call her 'cute'. Interesting word choice for Marcus, she thought. "Although- at least I'm not trying to get you to cut your hair."
"And believe me, I'm grateful for that," a devilish thought came to him, but before he could say it he needed to make sure she wasn't going to kick him where it hurt, "Cupcake."
"Cupcake?" Meghan said, her voice dangerously soft. She just looked at him, daring him to say more.
Marcus could not resist a dare. "Yes, Cupcake. Deliciously gorgeous Cupcake."
Okay. That wasn't fair. To call her gorgeous (a word he like, never used. ever.) and then call her "cupcake" in the same breath? She closed her eyes briefly.
When she opened them, he was still there. She wasn't sure if she was happy about that or not. "Stop calling me Cupcake," was all that she could muster, and even that sounded half-hearted.
Marcus laughed. "Very firm order, McCormack. I'm quaking, really. Brrr." He pretended to shiver.
Meghan frowned. "I mean it. And none of those sexy smirks, either, those don't get you out of trouble." She made a face.
"My smirks are sexy, now? Wow, you do have it bad."
Meghan rolled her eyes. "Taking it out of context, Flint. I am merely saying that you need to stop calling me Cupcake, or else I cannot be held responsible for the consequences," she informed him, pointing a finger at him.
Marcus stuck his tongue out. "Fine, I shall just refer to you as McCormack Minor for the rest of your life."
"Minor?" she repeated, looking rather offended. "Just what are you saying? And very mature, by the way," she added, gesturing to the face he was making.
"Well, your mother is McCormack Major so...you're McCormack Minor. I think as a Ravenclaw you can appreciate the logic of that."
"You know what I can appreciate the logic of? The fact that you're ridiculous." Meghan rolled her eyes, rolling over onto her back to stare at the ceiling. "What time is it, anyway?"
"What am I, your personal timekeeper now? Find out yourself." Marcus grabbed the clock that was on the bedside table and plopped it onto her stomach.
"It would have taken far less effort for you to just look and see what the clock said," Meghan drawled, shaking her head. "Must you always be so contrary?" Looking down at the clock, she swore. "It's later than I thought. And some of us have to be at the pitch at the crack of dawn tomorrow morning."
Marcus nudged her. "You know what is wonderfully relaxing and will put you to sleep right afterwards?"
"Listening to you talk about yourself?"
"I said afterwards, not during."
"Oh, yes. That is true." Meghan rolled her eyes. "Good night, Marcus." She paused, turning her head to look at him. "You going or staying?"
"That depends. Do you actually want me to go see you play tomorrow?"
"I'm not going to make you," she said, looking back up at the ceiling. "And there is the small fact that the game is against the Falcons."
"But yes. It would be nice if you were there."
Marcus cocked his head to one side and regarded her curiously. "Really?"
"Really what? That we're playing the Falcons or that I actually want you at the match?"
"That you actually want me there."
"It's that much of a shock to you?" Meghan looked back at him. "This is what I do, and I happen to enjoy having the people that....the people in my life there to watch the match."
Damn the warm and fuzzy feeling. Damn it all to hell. Quick, think of something sarcastic to say before you lose it completely. Ah, fuck it. Marcus schooled his features back into an expression of nonchalance. "Fine. Since you feel that way, I suppose I can forgive you for totally ignoring my request for sex earlier," he declared graciously. "And I suppose I can stay. Screw Adrian and his pub crawl." And because he knew it would annoy the hell out of her, Marcus decided to lean over and give her a long, deep and overly theatrical kiss. "Night, Meg."
"Pub crawl?" Meghan began to ask, but she was quickly silenced. She made sure to glare extra-sternly at him after he pulled away, though once all the lights were off she allowed herself to give in to the urge to grin like the ridiculous female that she was. And because she knew that it would annoy the hell out of him, she moved over a little until she was right up against him, her head on his shoulder. 'Night."