(no subject)
Title: Madly in like.
Author: Meee.
Fandom: Harry Potter.
Pairing: Wood/Flint
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Slash, Bad Language, Maulings, unbeta’dness.
Summary: None really. ^^;; Marcus is in St Mungo’s. Had this plotbunny for ages. Don't really like the fic, but still.
Oliver Wood had never liked hospitals, especially not St Mungo’s, with its never ending floors and wards full of people lying around groaning and screaming. You’d think someone would take the initiative to soundproof the walls, but obviously not.
“I’m here to see Marcus Flint?” He murmured to the Welcome Witch, who smiled cordially and boomed out a spell in a voice that made Oliver instinctively stand up straight and take his hands out of his pockets. She looked vaguely amused, and Wood grinned sheepishly, proffering a slight shrug. The witch looked down at the parchment that fluttered onto the information desk in front of her, examining the rows of names carefully, and her face darkened slightly.
“Who did you say you were here to see again?” Her cheerful smile had faltered and she looked a little pale.
“Um… Marcus Flint…” Wood told her again, trying not to let worry crawl into his voice.
“Ah… He’s in the Dai Llewellyn ward… But, he’s not very well…”
“Obviously, he’s in hospital, after all…” Wood tried to joke weakly, his chest tightening, suddenly wanting to turn around and leave.
“Yes… But… We’re only letting family see him.” She murmured, twisting her hands together awkwardly.
“I’m his mate.” Oliver gritted his teeth, fingernails digging into the soft wood of the welcome desk. “And I’m going to see him. I don’t care about any of your stupid ‘family’ rules. I’m the only family he’s got. And I want to see him.” He growled, panic clawing at his throat.
“Well… Okay, sir, this is usually quite unorthodox… But, I’ll let you through. I… I do have to ask you to please prepare yourself first.” The witch murmured, averting her eyes, shuffling through her piles of parchment with renewed interest, and waving a man with what appeared to be a muggle cassette player stuck round his nose forward.
“Thank you.” Wood managed to choke out, half walking, half jogging to find Marcus.
The journey upto the ward took what seemed like an age to Wood, and yet once he was stood outside the white doors the urge to just run away returned fiercer and more violent than before.
“Dangerous” Dai Llewellyn. Everyone in the Quidditch world knew of him, the stupidly hazardous - almost suicidal stunts idolized by kids and condemned by adults, but secretly loved by everyone. Ironic really that he was eaten by a chimera. It shouldn’t have happened. He should really, going with the odds, have smashed face first into the ground halfway through the Puddlemere v. Caerphilly match - instead he was eaten by a creature used for tourist photo opportunities. The Dangerous Dai Llewellyn ward for magical bites, wasn’t really where Wood wanted to be right now. But there was no choice in the matter. Not really.
Gearing himself, Wood pushed open the door into the dingy room, which was as bad as Arthur Weasley had described it to Oliver sometime after his snakebite.
The tiny window opposite the door let little light in, and Oliver could see the ivy from the outside pressing hard against the glass pane.
In the center of the ward a cluster of bubbles, glowed dimly, letting a pale blue light wash over all the stillness of the room, sending shadows of beds fluttering up the whitewashed walls.
Slowly and reluctantly he moved forwards, trainers loud in the echoing silence.
“Wood?” A hoarse voice, worn out and damaged managed the one syllable, and Oliver paused.
“Flint?” He asked, knowing full well who it was.
“Why are you here?” He still didn’t turn to look at the source of the voice.
“I always hang around in the Dai Llewellyn ward for kicks, don’t you know that Marcus?” He asked in a dry tone, almost smiling, then remembering the situation.
“Are you here to see me?” Bluntness, but there was hope in that raw, broken voice.
“Yes,” Wood nodded, turning around for the first time to face Flint, who’s face was still half hidden in the gloomy darkness of the room. If he was shocked, he said nothing until: "How’re you feeling?”
“How do I look?” Flint countered with a wheezy laugh, and Oliver had to ignore the prickling at the backs of his eyes.
“Ah. I don’t know. Scars can be sexy?” Wood moved closer, and Flint turned away, wincing as his battered face hit the pillows in his attempt to hide.
“Wow, you should’ve met the elephant man. I wouldn’t stand a fucking chance.” His voice cracked.
“I can’t believe you just implied that the elephant man was hot.” Wood teased softly, both of them desperately skirting round the subject of the accident. Flint turned to look at him, and for the first time Wood saw the other boy’s face completely illuminated by the harsh light.
A long, red scar stretched down the length of Marcus’ face, dragging his eye downwards and the side of his mouth up into an ironic smirk, the skin in between the scar and Flint’s nose was now just planes of smooth flesh, connected by stitches and crumples. His nose was broken violently, laced with further scratches, and one eye was swollen shut; teethmarks pressed into the pale flesh of Flint’s cheek, puncturing straight through into his mouth, leaving holes the size of knuts, raw and crimson.
“Still think scars can be sexy, Wood?” Flint’s voice was deadpan and quiet, looking anywhere other than the other boy’s face.
Wood opened his mouth, and closed it again, unsure of what to say. “Are- are you going to be okay?”
“Sure. Why not?” Marcus murmured quietly, still refusing to look at Oliver. “I used to be a troll. Now they’re gonna have to find something even worse to call me. It’ll be a challenge, I’ll give you that.” He smiled, mouth twisting slightly into a leer that held no humor whatsoever.
“You’ve never been a troll, Marcus,” Oliver told him, leaning in closer. “You don’t look bad in quidditch gear.”
“What are you, gay?” Flint tried to joke, but there was a serious question behind the jibe. Wood shrugged, and smiled coquettishly.
“Let’s say I’m a firm believer in equal opportunities, eh?” He raised his eyebrows, and moved in even closer, breath warm and stinging on Marcus’ fresh wounds. The Slytherin took in a short breath, which got caught somewhere in between his chest and his mouth, then frowned.
“Don’t piss about with me, Oliver.” He warned, and Wood wasn’t completely oblivious to the use of his first name.
“I’m deadly serious, Marcus.” His blue eyes glittered in the light of the bubbles, and he shifted closer pointedly. “You are an arrogant, suicidal maniac, with the grace and tact of a troll in an evening dress, and yet I still manage to fall in like with you.”
“You’ve fallen in like with me?” Flint didn’t look particularly convinced, and one scarred eyebrow was raised contemptuously. Wood nodded curtly.
“I have. I quite enjoy the bone crushing handshakes, to be honest,” Wood was now sat, basically in Flint’s lap, and neither boy felt it essential to make the other move.
“I didn’t know you were into that sort of stuff.” Flint laughed, the noise creaky and torn.
“Ah. You know me. Up for anything.” Wood grinned seductively, and Flint wriggled uncomfortably underneath him, desperately trying to get his crotch away from the other boy.
“It appears you’re up as well.” He sniped, and Marcus knew he’d been caught out.
“Well you do keep wriggling.” He muttered petulantly, glaring at Wood through blackened eyes. “I’m an ordinary kid, save for my tragic disfigurement. Someone wriggles, it’s gonna do something. Hormones and all that.” His face was patched red on the skin that was properly attached, the other grafts remaining pallid as always, serving only to contrast the blush even further.
“Aw. I can get off if you want.” Wood smiled, leaning into Marcus’ face, smelling of butterbeer and mint.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Marcus leant forwards the last few inches and kissed Wood gently, wincing at the pressure on the cuts on his lips, but making the most of it nevertheless. Wood grinned delightedly, and kissed back, his tongue flitting back and forth lazily over Marcus’ split lips, making them sting, serving only to drive Flint further.
Eventually the two pulled apart, Wood beaming wildly, Flint looking shy and yet definitely pleased with himself.
“I’ve fallen madly in like with you as well, Wood,” The patchy, scar tissue blush had returned, and Oliver couldn’t help finding it attractive.
“Well then. ‘S all good, isn’t it?” Wood asked, wiggling his eyebrows, and standing up. “Trolls are very sexy sometimes you know.”
“Great. So, let me get this straight. I’m second choice after John Merrick and Hagrid?” Flint grumbled mock offended, and Wood shrugged.
“Ah, I don’t want them in the way I want you. Despite their tragic disfigurements and, or troll-like looks.”
“In the way you want me?” Marcus looked vaguely confused, and Wood rolled his eyebrows.
“You know.” He tutted.
“No-oo… What?” Flint rubbed at the main scar on the side of his face, staring at wood carefully.
“For Merlin’s sake. Be my fucking boyfriend, Flint.” Wood shook his head. “You are thick sometimes.”
“Really?” Flint’s eyes widened, and he winced at the shock to the bruising. Wood nodded, and kissed him again gently.
“Really.”
---
DADAAAAH.
First thing I’ve written in ages that’s over 1.5k words long.
Originally what prompted the idea was just the fact that I liked the name of the “Dangerous Dai Llewellyn” ward.
So It took off from there.
I feel bad for mauling Marcus.
I don’t know what actually happened to him.
I’ll leave it to your imagination.
I mean no offense to either John Merrick, or Robbie Coltrane.
Legends that they are.
^^
Commentzorx?
Author: Meee.
Fandom: Harry Potter.
Pairing: Wood/Flint
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Slash, Bad Language, Maulings, unbeta’dness.
Summary: None really. ^^;; Marcus is in St Mungo’s. Had this plotbunny for ages. Don't really like the fic, but still.
Oliver Wood had never liked hospitals, especially not St Mungo’s, with its never ending floors and wards full of people lying around groaning and screaming. You’d think someone would take the initiative to soundproof the walls, but obviously not.
“I’m here to see Marcus Flint?” He murmured to the Welcome Witch, who smiled cordially and boomed out a spell in a voice that made Oliver instinctively stand up straight and take his hands out of his pockets. She looked vaguely amused, and Wood grinned sheepishly, proffering a slight shrug. The witch looked down at the parchment that fluttered onto the information desk in front of her, examining the rows of names carefully, and her face darkened slightly.
“Who did you say you were here to see again?” Her cheerful smile had faltered and she looked a little pale.
“Um… Marcus Flint…” Wood told her again, trying not to let worry crawl into his voice.
“Ah… He’s in the Dai Llewellyn ward… But, he’s not very well…”
“Obviously, he’s in hospital, after all…” Wood tried to joke weakly, his chest tightening, suddenly wanting to turn around and leave.
“Yes… But… We’re only letting family see him.” She murmured, twisting her hands together awkwardly.
“I’m his mate.” Oliver gritted his teeth, fingernails digging into the soft wood of the welcome desk. “And I’m going to see him. I don’t care about any of your stupid ‘family’ rules. I’m the only family he’s got. And I want to see him.” He growled, panic clawing at his throat.
“Well… Okay, sir, this is usually quite unorthodox… But, I’ll let you through. I… I do have to ask you to please prepare yourself first.” The witch murmured, averting her eyes, shuffling through her piles of parchment with renewed interest, and waving a man with what appeared to be a muggle cassette player stuck round his nose forward.
“Thank you.” Wood managed to choke out, half walking, half jogging to find Marcus.
The journey upto the ward took what seemed like an age to Wood, and yet once he was stood outside the white doors the urge to just run away returned fiercer and more violent than before.
“Dangerous” Dai Llewellyn. Everyone in the Quidditch world knew of him, the stupidly hazardous - almost suicidal stunts idolized by kids and condemned by adults, but secretly loved by everyone. Ironic really that he was eaten by a chimera. It shouldn’t have happened. He should really, going with the odds, have smashed face first into the ground halfway through the Puddlemere v. Caerphilly match - instead he was eaten by a creature used for tourist photo opportunities. The Dangerous Dai Llewellyn ward for magical bites, wasn’t really where Wood wanted to be right now. But there was no choice in the matter. Not really.
Gearing himself, Wood pushed open the door into the dingy room, which was as bad as Arthur Weasley had described it to Oliver sometime after his snakebite.
The tiny window opposite the door let little light in, and Oliver could see the ivy from the outside pressing hard against the glass pane.
In the center of the ward a cluster of bubbles, glowed dimly, letting a pale blue light wash over all the stillness of the room, sending shadows of beds fluttering up the whitewashed walls.
Slowly and reluctantly he moved forwards, trainers loud in the echoing silence.
“Wood?” A hoarse voice, worn out and damaged managed the one syllable, and Oliver paused.
“Flint?” He asked, knowing full well who it was.
“Why are you here?” He still didn’t turn to look at the source of the voice.
“I always hang around in the Dai Llewellyn ward for kicks, don’t you know that Marcus?” He asked in a dry tone, almost smiling, then remembering the situation.
“Are you here to see me?” Bluntness, but there was hope in that raw, broken voice.
“Yes,” Wood nodded, turning around for the first time to face Flint, who’s face was still half hidden in the gloomy darkness of the room. If he was shocked, he said nothing until: "How’re you feeling?”
“How do I look?” Flint countered with a wheezy laugh, and Oliver had to ignore the prickling at the backs of his eyes.
“Ah. I don’t know. Scars can be sexy?” Wood moved closer, and Flint turned away, wincing as his battered face hit the pillows in his attempt to hide.
“Wow, you should’ve met the elephant man. I wouldn’t stand a fucking chance.” His voice cracked.
“I can’t believe you just implied that the elephant man was hot.” Wood teased softly, both of them desperately skirting round the subject of the accident. Flint turned to look at him, and for the first time Wood saw the other boy’s face completely illuminated by the harsh light.
A long, red scar stretched down the length of Marcus’ face, dragging his eye downwards and the side of his mouth up into an ironic smirk, the skin in between the scar and Flint’s nose was now just planes of smooth flesh, connected by stitches and crumples. His nose was broken violently, laced with further scratches, and one eye was swollen shut; teethmarks pressed into the pale flesh of Flint’s cheek, puncturing straight through into his mouth, leaving holes the size of knuts, raw and crimson.
“Still think scars can be sexy, Wood?” Flint’s voice was deadpan and quiet, looking anywhere other than the other boy’s face.
Wood opened his mouth, and closed it again, unsure of what to say. “Are- are you going to be okay?”
“Sure. Why not?” Marcus murmured quietly, still refusing to look at Oliver. “I used to be a troll. Now they’re gonna have to find something even worse to call me. It’ll be a challenge, I’ll give you that.” He smiled, mouth twisting slightly into a leer that held no humor whatsoever.
“You’ve never been a troll, Marcus,” Oliver told him, leaning in closer. “You don’t look bad in quidditch gear.”
“What are you, gay?” Flint tried to joke, but there was a serious question behind the jibe. Wood shrugged, and smiled coquettishly.
“Let’s say I’m a firm believer in equal opportunities, eh?” He raised his eyebrows, and moved in even closer, breath warm and stinging on Marcus’ fresh wounds. The Slytherin took in a short breath, which got caught somewhere in between his chest and his mouth, then frowned.
“Don’t piss about with me, Oliver.” He warned, and Wood wasn’t completely oblivious to the use of his first name.
“I’m deadly serious, Marcus.” His blue eyes glittered in the light of the bubbles, and he shifted closer pointedly. “You are an arrogant, suicidal maniac, with the grace and tact of a troll in an evening dress, and yet I still manage to fall in like with you.”
“You’ve fallen in like with me?” Flint didn’t look particularly convinced, and one scarred eyebrow was raised contemptuously. Wood nodded curtly.
“I have. I quite enjoy the bone crushing handshakes, to be honest,” Wood was now sat, basically in Flint’s lap, and neither boy felt it essential to make the other move.
“I didn’t know you were into that sort of stuff.” Flint laughed, the noise creaky and torn.
“Ah. You know me. Up for anything.” Wood grinned seductively, and Flint wriggled uncomfortably underneath him, desperately trying to get his crotch away from the other boy.
“It appears you’re up as well.” He sniped, and Marcus knew he’d been caught out.
“Well you do keep wriggling.” He muttered petulantly, glaring at Wood through blackened eyes. “I’m an ordinary kid, save for my tragic disfigurement. Someone wriggles, it’s gonna do something. Hormones and all that.” His face was patched red on the skin that was properly attached, the other grafts remaining pallid as always, serving only to contrast the blush even further.
“Aw. I can get off if you want.” Wood smiled, leaning into Marcus’ face, smelling of butterbeer and mint.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Marcus leant forwards the last few inches and kissed Wood gently, wincing at the pressure on the cuts on his lips, but making the most of it nevertheless. Wood grinned delightedly, and kissed back, his tongue flitting back and forth lazily over Marcus’ split lips, making them sting, serving only to drive Flint further.
Eventually the two pulled apart, Wood beaming wildly, Flint looking shy and yet definitely pleased with himself.
“I’ve fallen madly in like with you as well, Wood,” The patchy, scar tissue blush had returned, and Oliver couldn’t help finding it attractive.
“Well then. ‘S all good, isn’t it?” Wood asked, wiggling his eyebrows, and standing up. “Trolls are very sexy sometimes you know.”
“Great. So, let me get this straight. I’m second choice after John Merrick and Hagrid?” Flint grumbled mock offended, and Wood shrugged.
“Ah, I don’t want them in the way I want you. Despite their tragic disfigurements and, or troll-like looks.”
“In the way you want me?” Marcus looked vaguely confused, and Wood rolled his eyebrows.
“You know.” He tutted.
“No-oo… What?” Flint rubbed at the main scar on the side of his face, staring at wood carefully.
“For Merlin’s sake. Be my fucking boyfriend, Flint.” Wood shook his head. “You are thick sometimes.”
“Really?” Flint’s eyes widened, and he winced at the shock to the bruising. Wood nodded, and kissed him again gently.
“Really.”
---
DADAAAAH.
First thing I’ve written in ages that’s over 1.5k words long.
Originally what prompted the idea was just the fact that I liked the name of the “Dangerous Dai Llewellyn” ward.
So It took off from there.
I feel bad for mauling Marcus.
I don’t know what actually happened to him.
I’ll leave it to your imagination.
I mean no offense to either John Merrick, or Robbie Coltrane.
Legends that they are.
^^
Commentzorx?