Eggs.
I'm allowed to use my laptop in hospital!
Success!
:]
I bring M/O fluffiness.
Because I don't want to write yet more angst for them.
Poor things don't deserve it.
:)
Title: Eggs.
Rating: PG-ish.
Pairing: Marcus/Oliver.
Summary: Remembering things is overrated.
Notes: Unbeta'd.
The first morning Oliver Wood woke up to Marcus Flint, it was quite a shock.
He’d completely forgotten the piss up after the Puddlemere win, and consequently completely forgotten being on his knees in the rain in a back alley, trapping a half bricking it, half stiff as fuck, Marcus Flint against the wall.
When he woke up on this particular morning, his mouth tasted of sawdust, and something salty and vaguely familiar, that his brain tried to ignore. He pulled on a t-shirt from the floor, that didn’t seem to belong to him, seeing as it came down to his mid thighs, and had something about ‘Saving a broom and riding a Quidditch player’ emblazoned across the front of it.
The second thing that greeted him was the smell of actual food, rather than instant stuff and things in tins. His first thought was that there were burglars of some kind in the flat, he then decided that if burglars wanted to cook him breakfast, who was he to complain?
“Good morning burglar,” He staggered into the kitchen, clinging to the doorframe, smiling idly. The burglar, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts, turned around and raised an eyebrow.
“What’re you on, Wood?” He asked in a familiar, gravelly voice.
And then it all came back to Oliver in one swift ball of thoughts with the subtlety of a troll in a china shop.
“Oh fuck,” He groaned opening his mouth to try and find a question to ask from the millions of important ones flying through his brain. Eventually he settled on the rather anticlimactic: “Flint… Wh- Why are you using muggle cooking stuff?”
Flint looked at him as if he’d just asked him to grow another head.
“Huh?”
“Well, you’re a Slytherin,” Wood babbled, waving his arms wildly. “You’re into the whole anti-muggle shit! You burn toddlers and stamp on puppies and stuff.” He eventually grumbled, as if this provided an answer. Flint snorted, and flipped an egg over in a frying pan quite artfully.
“My mum’s a squib.” He explained, humoring Wood and his panicked question. “So she taught me, okay?” He grinned, and Wood smiled back automatically.
“Did I suck you off in a back alley?” He blurted out suddenly in a voice far louder than he intended. Flint looked slightly embarrassed.
“Er… Yes. You wouldn’t really take no for an answer.” He muttered, ears going red.
“Oh.” Wood nodded, sitting down. That does sound like me. He thought.
“Eggs?” Flint asked, looking down at the food hopefully, pointing the frying pan at Wood with a tiny nervous smile.
“Oh, yeah please.” Wood nodded, pulling out plates from one of the mostly empty cupboards.
How had he suddenly got a family dynamic thing working for him?
With Flint of all people.
The two of them sat down, looking at each other awkwardly.
“Good eggs.” Wood commented, and Flint grinned.
“Thanks.” He grunted happily.
“Good to wake up to once you get over the shock.” Wood nodded pensively.
And both of them knew he wasn’t talking about eggs.
Success!
:]
I bring M/O fluffiness.
Because I don't want to write yet more angst for them.
Poor things don't deserve it.
:)
Title: Eggs.
Rating: PG-ish.
Pairing: Marcus/Oliver.
Summary: Remembering things is overrated.
Notes: Unbeta'd.
The first morning Oliver Wood woke up to Marcus Flint, it was quite a shock.
He’d completely forgotten the piss up after the Puddlemere win, and consequently completely forgotten being on his knees in the rain in a back alley, trapping a half bricking it, half stiff as fuck, Marcus Flint against the wall.
When he woke up on this particular morning, his mouth tasted of sawdust, and something salty and vaguely familiar, that his brain tried to ignore. He pulled on a t-shirt from the floor, that didn’t seem to belong to him, seeing as it came down to his mid thighs, and had something about ‘Saving a broom and riding a Quidditch player’ emblazoned across the front of it.
The second thing that greeted him was the smell of actual food, rather than instant stuff and things in tins. His first thought was that there were burglars of some kind in the flat, he then decided that if burglars wanted to cook him breakfast, who was he to complain?
“Good morning burglar,” He staggered into the kitchen, clinging to the doorframe, smiling idly. The burglar, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts, turned around and raised an eyebrow.
“What’re you on, Wood?” He asked in a familiar, gravelly voice.
And then it all came back to Oliver in one swift ball of thoughts with the subtlety of a troll in a china shop.
“Oh fuck,” He groaned opening his mouth to try and find a question to ask from the millions of important ones flying through his brain. Eventually he settled on the rather anticlimactic: “Flint… Wh- Why are you using muggle cooking stuff?”
Flint looked at him as if he’d just asked him to grow another head.
“Huh?”
“Well, you’re a Slytherin,” Wood babbled, waving his arms wildly. “You’re into the whole anti-muggle shit! You burn toddlers and stamp on puppies and stuff.” He eventually grumbled, as if this provided an answer. Flint snorted, and flipped an egg over in a frying pan quite artfully.
“My mum’s a squib.” He explained, humoring Wood and his panicked question. “So she taught me, okay?” He grinned, and Wood smiled back automatically.
“Did I suck you off in a back alley?” He blurted out suddenly in a voice far louder than he intended. Flint looked slightly embarrassed.
“Er… Yes. You wouldn’t really take no for an answer.” He muttered, ears going red.
“Oh.” Wood nodded, sitting down. That does sound like me. He thought.
“Eggs?” Flint asked, looking down at the food hopefully, pointing the frying pan at Wood with a tiny nervous smile.
“Oh, yeah please.” Wood nodded, pulling out plates from one of the mostly empty cupboards.
How had he suddenly got a family dynamic thing working for him?
With Flint of all people.
The two of them sat down, looking at each other awkwardly.
“Good eggs.” Wood commented, and Flint grinned.
“Thanks.” He grunted happily.
“Good to wake up to once you get over the shock.” Wood nodded pensively.
And both of them knew he wasn’t talking about eggs.