That Fit Bloke with the Knotty Pearls
Title: That Fit Bloke with the Knotty Pearls
Author: Ian Anon (physixxx)
Pairing: Marcus/Oliver; Colin/Harry (mentioned)
Prompt/Challenge: None
Summary: Marcus wants to make some changes in his life.
Warning: Fluff.
Author's Notes-1: I have no idea where this came from.
Author's Notes-2: Un-beta'd. If you find an error, please let me know.
Concrit?: Always
Marcus stared at the leaflet. In fact, he had looked at it so long -- so hard -- that, were he to close his eyes, he could still read the words as clear as if he were reading it now. There was no describing how he felt at this moment, and Marcus was hardly keen on descriptive prose to begin with.
His entire life had been one long run-on sentence, with few commas and fewer periods to issue a stopping point. He had difficulty focusing on any one thing at a time: Hogwarts school texts, Quidditch "War Room" meetings; even Oliver (though admittedly, not being able to focus around Oliver was the only one out of his ever-growing list that bothered him). He mucked up dates of anniversaries, birthdays, scheduled lunches with his live-in mate of five years. You name it; Marcus forgot it. Fortunately, Oliver was a patient soul, despite evidence to the contrary. Love tends to do that to you, makes you wait for what you feel is the best thing to have ever happened to you in your entire misbegotten life.
This pamphlet, however, this string of text written as casually as a friend would say it, had maintained Marcus' attention ever since he pulled it from the owl's tethered leg. Why was this bothering him so? He had sent out for more information after all, no one forced him to ask for it. This could hardly be pinned on someone else's desires or idea for a sick prank. No one else dredged up old memories of harsh taunts growing up, of feelings of worthlessness. No one else asked him to deal with what had brought years of silent anguish down on a child who could barely walk, yet knew that others thought less of him. No one else forced him to take stock in his life and come up short.
No, the blame rested squarely on Marcus Flint's broad shoulders.
So, here he sat on the first piece of furniture he and Oliver bought together once they decided to stop being prats and start being in love, truly in love. Oblivious to his surroundings, it wasn't until Oliver flopped on the couch beside him that Marcus realised he wasn't alone.
"Hello? Earth to Flint; come in, Flint," Oliver teased.
Marcus pricked up, subtley trying to block the pamphlet from Oliver's view. "Oh, ah... yeah, hi. I mean... yeah, sorry. I was... uhm..."
"Lost in thought?" Oliver finished, playfully bumping into him with his shoulder.
"Yeah."
"Wotcha readin', then?" Oliver's neck seemed to grow several inches as he tried to look at the brochure in Marcus' lap.
"Nothing," he answered, standing up in a huff and heading down the hallway to their bedroom.
Marcus entered the room and threw himself on the bed, burying his face in the pillows. The arm holding the pamphlet dangled on the side opposite the door, just in case Oliver followed.
Of course, Oliver did follow.
Marcus tensed at the feeling of Oliver's warm hand sliding under his shirt, pressing down on his back. Before he could catch himself, Marcus let out a low moan as Oliver's relaxing hands began to massage the tension away, lifting up on the shirt to reveal strong muscles and a V shape that was -- is -- the envy of professional Quidditch players worldwide.
"Merlin, Marcus. You're so tense."
Oliver couldn't understand Marcus' muffled response.
"Seriously... I've never... seen you like this. Are ye... okay?"
No answer.
"Are we okay?"
Oliver's words were small. Make no mistake about it, Oliver fully expected things to fall apart between the two, he just never thought it would be so soon. They were, he thought, having fun... enjoying each other's company... in love. Or whatever.
Marcus flipped over, sat up, and let Oliver pull off his bush shirt. Oliver's attention, usually fixed on Marcus when undressing him, savoring every inch of his body, instead remained locked on the leaflet, or whatever it was.
"I... You're gonna think I'm stupid," Marcus said, looking Oliver square in his eyes.
Oliver gently pushed Marcus until he laid flat on his back and continued to massage his chest. "Maybe."
"No, you will."
Oliver's brow furrowed; he was getting beyond irritated. "Dammit, Flint--"
"Okay, okay," Marcus said, hurriedly, as he held up the handbill for Oliver to read.
Taking the proffered pamphlet, Oliver quickly scanned the contents.
Delatrice's Dental Dilemnas. Are your teeth more snaggled than straight? Do people ask you if you have troll in your family? Are you commonly mistaken for Fanged Fengals?
Oliver had read enough.
"Flint, wot's this rubbish, then?"
"What the fuck does it look like?" Marcus said, snatching the brochure from Oliver's grasp and turning back to lay on his stomach (making sure to hide his hands, and thus the pamphlet, under the pillows).
He didn't know which was more unnerving, the fact that Oliver now knew what the brochure was for or the dead silence that followed the revelation. Soon, however, hands were roaming over his back, paying close attention to the lower areas, making soothing circles. Oliver etched out the words 'love you' invisibly on Marcus' back. If Marcus knew that's what he was doing, he said nothing to confirm it.
"I love this part of ye're back," Oliver said, giggling as his fingers tugged lightly at the dark hairs nestled at the small of Marcus' back. "It's like a treasure trail t'ye arse." He could have sworn he heard Marcus give a faint chuckle, too.
"Marcus, it's no big deal if ye--"
"Fuck off, Wood."
The massaging stopped.
"I said 'fuck off'... I didn't say stop with the rubbing. Back to work, you."
Oliver smiled. "Ye're a royal ponce, ye know that?"
"Yes."
After several minutes of silence, Marcus lifted up on his side, propping his head up; the brochure now lay in front of them.
"You don't know what it was like, Oliver," Marcus started. "You're beautiful and you've always been beautiful. You were beautiful when you first came to Hogwarts--"
"Oh, y'mean when ye hated me?"
"Well, when I first saw you, I thought you were a girl and told everyone I fancied you... then the Sorting Hat called out your name and..."
Oliver let out a deafening bark of a laugh, turning beet red from the lack of oxygen. "Oh! My! You! Never! Told! Me! That!" he bellowed, between fits of hysterics.
"It's not funny, Wood!" Marcus bellowed, despite the fact that he, too, was laughing.
Once Oliver managed to reign himself under control, Marcus continued, "And even now... I see how everyone looks at you, how they all want you."
"Who?!" Oliver cried.
If he was truly oblivious to this fact, Marcus wasn't sure; Oliver was never much of a good actor (his commercial for WitchBix Cereal was painful) nor was he a good liar (during their less-monogamous days, Marcus always knew when Oliver had gone scurrying about town like a horny tom cat). Even still, Marcus could hardly believe that his boyfriend hadn't noticed all the stares or come-ons or hit-ons thrown at him ceremoniously.
"Do you need a ruddy list, then?"
"Yes, I think I do," Oliver answered, petulantly crossing his arms like a sore schoolboy.
"Oh, let's see. I know for a fact Viktor Krum fancied you..."
"He's married!"
"Yeah, and who did he want for his final tryst before heading off to Boyless Island?"
Marcus gave a look as if the 'who' was hardly in question.
"Rubbish," Oliver answered, pouting even more.
"And then there's Colin..."
"Creevey?? He and Harry have been together longer than we have!"
"Oh, yeah, speaking of which... don't think I didn't hear about the little proposition he gave you..."
Marcus' voice shifted two octaves, imitating not the voice of the Creevey of now, but the squeaky Harry-obsessed Creevey from his Hogwarts days. "Oh Oliver me sore bum can't take Harry anymore he's insatiable could you maybe come in once a week and help me out you'd be doing me quite the favour and Harry still fancies you after all these years and he's fit and all and I'm sure you wouldn't mind being buggered senseless by the--" at this, his voice changed back to his normal, deep tone, "Boy Who Bloody Shags Three Times a Bloody Day Because Salazar Forbid He's Not Only Good For Killing Dark Wizards But He's Also A Right Royal Fuck."
Oliver's mouth was agape, his eyes wide with shock. "Ye're mental. Absolutely mental, ye are. Colin's... proposition, as ye so wonde'fully put it -- and that, by the bye, makes it seem like such a tawdry ordeal -- was nothing like that a't'all."
"He didn't ask for a three-way?"
"Not with me he didn't."
"What?"
"You, ye little shite!" Oliver stood and Marcus drew back, almost expecting a punch in the jaw.
"What?"
"He wanted ye to bugger Harry! Figured if Harry bottomed out every now and again, he'd not be so... 'insatiable' is the word he used."
Marcus sat up, unsure whether or not to believe this new set of information. "I... I ... well... uhm... what d'you tell him?"
Oliver was standing by the window, staring out into the busy street. "What do ye think I told 'im? I told 'im to sod off."
"Wothca do that for? I wouldn’t mind a little dip in the Potter Pool..."
Oliver’s face jerked to throw him a decidedly cold glare and Marcus quickly threw up his hands in resignation. "Just kidding, just kidding."
"As if I'd let that happen," Oliver continued. "Have you seen Harry, lately? The only thing killing You-Know-Who did was make him... hotter. I can't compete with that."
"Like hell you can't." Marcus shook his head. "Waitaminute! This isn't an Oliver Wood pity-party... this is my pity-party. No crashers allowed!"
Oliver smiled, he couldn't help it. He walked back to the bed and sat, taking Marcus' hand in his, rubbing his lover's index finger with his thumb. "Marcus, I've never once asked you to fix your teeth, have I?"
Marcus ducked his head. "No."
"Why now, then, after all these years? I don't understand it."
Head still bowed, Marcus replied, "Because I want to be perfect..."
"For who?"
"Who do you think?" Marcus' voice began to raise again which prompted Oliver to cup his face in both hands, forcing their eyes to meet.
"I dunno. You tell me. For me?"
"Of course..."
"But I never asked you to do this, did I; never even hinted to it, did I?. Marcus, I like what we have and that includes ye as ye are. Your smelly feet--"
"Hey!!"
"--the mumbles in your sleep that always manage t'wake me up because I think ye're actually askin' me a question..."
"Do not!"
"--the way ye pout when you don't get your way... like right now."
"Shut up."
"How ye manage to be more catty than Draco Malfoy..."
"He learned it from me."
Another smile, another laugh.
"Seriously, Marcus, if this is what ye want, then fine. We'll do it. No biggie, yeah? But if ye think that it'll make me happier... well... I guess it will, if it makes ye happier. Otherwise, I won't notice it... because to me..."
"I'm already perfect?" Marcus said, hopefully.
"Well, I was gonna say I'm already used to those ragged things ye call 'teeth', but yes... to me ye are perfect."
And, as if to accentuate his point, Oliver leaned in and kissed him, long and deep; their tongues dancing in each other's mouths until they pulled back, breath lost.
Marcus laid on his back again and began re-reading the brochure.
"If you don't mind, Ollie, I think I'll hold on to this. You know... just in case."
Moments later, however, Oliver made him forget about Delatrice and her Dental Dilemnas, Colin and his propositions, and everything else that had been bothering him that day. Marcus never would fix his teeth, by the way, and to this day is usually referred to as "that fit bloke with the knotty pearls"... though admittedly not to neither his nor Oliver's face.
~fin
Author: Ian Anon (physixxx)
Pairing: Marcus/Oliver; Colin/Harry (mentioned)
Prompt/Challenge: None
Summary: Marcus wants to make some changes in his life.
Warning: Fluff.
Author's Notes-1: I have no idea where this came from.
Author's Notes-2: Un-beta'd. If you find an error, please let me know.
Concrit?: Always
Marcus stared at the leaflet. In fact, he had looked at it so long -- so hard -- that, were he to close his eyes, he could still read the words as clear as if he were reading it now. There was no describing how he felt at this moment, and Marcus was hardly keen on descriptive prose to begin with.
His entire life had been one long run-on sentence, with few commas and fewer periods to issue a stopping point. He had difficulty focusing on any one thing at a time: Hogwarts school texts, Quidditch "War Room" meetings; even Oliver (though admittedly, not being able to focus around Oliver was the only one out of his ever-growing list that bothered him). He mucked up dates of anniversaries, birthdays, scheduled lunches with his live-in mate of five years. You name it; Marcus forgot it. Fortunately, Oliver was a patient soul, despite evidence to the contrary. Love tends to do that to you, makes you wait for what you feel is the best thing to have ever happened to you in your entire misbegotten life.
This pamphlet, however, this string of text written as casually as a friend would say it, had maintained Marcus' attention ever since he pulled it from the owl's tethered leg. Why was this bothering him so? He had sent out for more information after all, no one forced him to ask for it. This could hardly be pinned on someone else's desires or idea for a sick prank. No one else dredged up old memories of harsh taunts growing up, of feelings of worthlessness. No one else asked him to deal with what had brought years of silent anguish down on a child who could barely walk, yet knew that others thought less of him. No one else forced him to take stock in his life and come up short.
No, the blame rested squarely on Marcus Flint's broad shoulders.
So, here he sat on the first piece of furniture he and Oliver bought together once they decided to stop being prats and start being in love, truly in love. Oblivious to his surroundings, it wasn't until Oliver flopped on the couch beside him that Marcus realised he wasn't alone.
"Hello? Earth to Flint; come in, Flint," Oliver teased.
Marcus pricked up, subtley trying to block the pamphlet from Oliver's view. "Oh, ah... yeah, hi. I mean... yeah, sorry. I was... uhm..."
"Lost in thought?" Oliver finished, playfully bumping into him with his shoulder.
"Yeah."
"Wotcha readin', then?" Oliver's neck seemed to grow several inches as he tried to look at the brochure in Marcus' lap.
"Nothing," he answered, standing up in a huff and heading down the hallway to their bedroom.
Marcus entered the room and threw himself on the bed, burying his face in the pillows. The arm holding the pamphlet dangled on the side opposite the door, just in case Oliver followed.
Of course, Oliver did follow.
Marcus tensed at the feeling of Oliver's warm hand sliding under his shirt, pressing down on his back. Before he could catch himself, Marcus let out a low moan as Oliver's relaxing hands began to massage the tension away, lifting up on the shirt to reveal strong muscles and a V shape that was -- is -- the envy of professional Quidditch players worldwide.
"Merlin, Marcus. You're so tense."
Oliver couldn't understand Marcus' muffled response.
"Seriously... I've never... seen you like this. Are ye... okay?"
No answer.
"Are we okay?"
Oliver's words were small. Make no mistake about it, Oliver fully expected things to fall apart between the two, he just never thought it would be so soon. They were, he thought, having fun... enjoying each other's company... in love. Or whatever.
Marcus flipped over, sat up, and let Oliver pull off his bush shirt. Oliver's attention, usually fixed on Marcus when undressing him, savoring every inch of his body, instead remained locked on the leaflet, or whatever it was.
"I... You're gonna think I'm stupid," Marcus said, looking Oliver square in his eyes.
Oliver gently pushed Marcus until he laid flat on his back and continued to massage his chest. "Maybe."
"No, you will."
Oliver's brow furrowed; he was getting beyond irritated. "Dammit, Flint--"
"Okay, okay," Marcus said, hurriedly, as he held up the handbill for Oliver to read.
Taking the proffered pamphlet, Oliver quickly scanned the contents.
Delatrice's Dental Dilemnas. Are your teeth more snaggled than straight? Do people ask you if you have troll in your family? Are you commonly mistaken for Fanged Fengals?
Oliver had read enough.
"Flint, wot's this rubbish, then?"
"What the fuck does it look like?" Marcus said, snatching the brochure from Oliver's grasp and turning back to lay on his stomach (making sure to hide his hands, and thus the pamphlet, under the pillows).
He didn't know which was more unnerving, the fact that Oliver now knew what the brochure was for or the dead silence that followed the revelation. Soon, however, hands were roaming over his back, paying close attention to the lower areas, making soothing circles. Oliver etched out the words 'love you' invisibly on Marcus' back. If Marcus knew that's what he was doing, he said nothing to confirm it.
"I love this part of ye're back," Oliver said, giggling as his fingers tugged lightly at the dark hairs nestled at the small of Marcus' back. "It's like a treasure trail t'ye arse." He could have sworn he heard Marcus give a faint chuckle, too.
"Marcus, it's no big deal if ye--"
"Fuck off, Wood."
The massaging stopped.
"I said 'fuck off'... I didn't say stop with the rubbing. Back to work, you."
Oliver smiled. "Ye're a royal ponce, ye know that?"
"Yes."
After several minutes of silence, Marcus lifted up on his side, propping his head up; the brochure now lay in front of them.
"You don't know what it was like, Oliver," Marcus started. "You're beautiful and you've always been beautiful. You were beautiful when you first came to Hogwarts--"
"Oh, y'mean when ye hated me?"
"Well, when I first saw you, I thought you were a girl and told everyone I fancied you... then the Sorting Hat called out your name and..."
Oliver let out a deafening bark of a laugh, turning beet red from the lack of oxygen. "Oh! My! You! Never! Told! Me! That!" he bellowed, between fits of hysterics.
"It's not funny, Wood!" Marcus bellowed, despite the fact that he, too, was laughing.
Once Oliver managed to reign himself under control, Marcus continued, "And even now... I see how everyone looks at you, how they all want you."
"Who?!" Oliver cried.
If he was truly oblivious to this fact, Marcus wasn't sure; Oliver was never much of a good actor (his commercial for WitchBix Cereal was painful) nor was he a good liar (during their less-monogamous days, Marcus always knew when Oliver had gone scurrying about town like a horny tom cat). Even still, Marcus could hardly believe that his boyfriend hadn't noticed all the stares or come-ons or hit-ons thrown at him ceremoniously.
"Do you need a ruddy list, then?"
"Yes, I think I do," Oliver answered, petulantly crossing his arms like a sore schoolboy.
"Oh, let's see. I know for a fact Viktor Krum fancied you..."
"He's married!"
"Yeah, and who did he want for his final tryst before heading off to Boyless Island?"
Marcus gave a look as if the 'who' was hardly in question.
"Rubbish," Oliver answered, pouting even more.
"And then there's Colin..."
"Creevey?? He and Harry have been together longer than we have!"
"Oh, yeah, speaking of which... don't think I didn't hear about the little proposition he gave you..."
Marcus' voice shifted two octaves, imitating not the voice of the Creevey of now, but the squeaky Harry-obsessed Creevey from his Hogwarts days. "Oh Oliver me sore bum can't take Harry anymore he's insatiable could you maybe come in once a week and help me out you'd be doing me quite the favour and Harry still fancies you after all these years and he's fit and all and I'm sure you wouldn't mind being buggered senseless by the--" at this, his voice changed back to his normal, deep tone, "Boy Who Bloody Shags Three Times a Bloody Day Because Salazar Forbid He's Not Only Good For Killing Dark Wizards But He's Also A Right Royal Fuck."
Oliver's mouth was agape, his eyes wide with shock. "Ye're mental. Absolutely mental, ye are. Colin's... proposition, as ye so wonde'fully put it -- and that, by the bye, makes it seem like such a tawdry ordeal -- was nothing like that a't'all."
"He didn't ask for a three-way?"
"Not with me he didn't."
"What?"
"You, ye little shite!" Oliver stood and Marcus drew back, almost expecting a punch in the jaw.
"What?"
"He wanted ye to bugger Harry! Figured if Harry bottomed out every now and again, he'd not be so... 'insatiable' is the word he used."
Marcus sat up, unsure whether or not to believe this new set of information. "I... I ... well... uhm... what d'you tell him?"
Oliver was standing by the window, staring out into the busy street. "What do ye think I told 'im? I told 'im to sod off."
"Wothca do that for? I wouldn’t mind a little dip in the Potter Pool..."
Oliver’s face jerked to throw him a decidedly cold glare and Marcus quickly threw up his hands in resignation. "Just kidding, just kidding."
"As if I'd let that happen," Oliver continued. "Have you seen Harry, lately? The only thing killing You-Know-Who did was make him... hotter. I can't compete with that."
"Like hell you can't." Marcus shook his head. "Waitaminute! This isn't an Oliver Wood pity-party... this is my pity-party. No crashers allowed!"
Oliver smiled, he couldn't help it. He walked back to the bed and sat, taking Marcus' hand in his, rubbing his lover's index finger with his thumb. "Marcus, I've never once asked you to fix your teeth, have I?"
Marcus ducked his head. "No."
"Why now, then, after all these years? I don't understand it."
Head still bowed, Marcus replied, "Because I want to be perfect..."
"For who?"
"Who do you think?" Marcus' voice began to raise again which prompted Oliver to cup his face in both hands, forcing their eyes to meet.
"I dunno. You tell me. For me?"
"Of course..."
"But I never asked you to do this, did I; never even hinted to it, did I?. Marcus, I like what we have and that includes ye as ye are. Your smelly feet--"
"Hey!!"
"--the mumbles in your sleep that always manage t'wake me up because I think ye're actually askin' me a question..."
"Do not!"
"--the way ye pout when you don't get your way... like right now."
"Shut up."
"How ye manage to be more catty than Draco Malfoy..."
"He learned it from me."
Another smile, another laugh.
"Seriously, Marcus, if this is what ye want, then fine. We'll do it. No biggie, yeah? But if ye think that it'll make me happier... well... I guess it will, if it makes ye happier. Otherwise, I won't notice it... because to me..."
"I'm already perfect?" Marcus said, hopefully.
"Well, I was gonna say I'm already used to those ragged things ye call 'teeth', but yes... to me ye are perfect."
And, as if to accentuate his point, Oliver leaned in and kissed him, long and deep; their tongues dancing in each other's mouths until they pulled back, breath lost.
Marcus laid on his back again and began re-reading the brochure.
"If you don't mind, Ollie, I think I'll hold on to this. You know... just in case."
Moments later, however, Oliver made him forget about Delatrice and her Dental Dilemnas, Colin and his propositions, and everything else that had been bothering him that day. Marcus never would fix his teeth, by the way, and to this day is usually referred to as "that fit bloke with the knotty pearls"... though admittedly not to neither his nor Oliver's face.
~fin