Plenty of Love
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,235
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,235
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Plenty of Love
(Author\'s notes - I just can\'t get enough of this pairing. This one\'s mostly fluff, with a bit of swearing and some m/m slashy-ness. As always, I own nothing and make no money from this, but I adore reviews and all of those who give them. Enjoy!)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It had been raining all day, and by the time Oliver got home, his short brown hair was plastered to his forehead and his pants were soaked below the knees. He always wondered why that happened, why his pants never got wet above the knees whenever he walked in the rain. He supposed it had something to do with the motion of his legs as he walked, keeping the raindrops from landing on certain parts of his body or something, but he’d never been one for science.
Marcus was sitting on the couch when he opened the door, stepping inside their flat to shake himself from soaked to damp. He’d been reading, but now he looked up.
“You’re dripping.”
“Pouring rain can do that to a bloke.”
“On the carpet.”
“Marcus Flint.” Oliver raised a mocking eyebrow. “Since when do you give a damn about things like that?”
“Don’t.” Marcus said, turning back to his book. Oliver sighed, heading for their bedroom and peeling off his shirt on the way. It fell in a limp, wet mass onto the hardwood floor at the foot of their bed, and before he could turn around there was something warm and soft being wrapped around him. It was a towel, to be precise. One held by Marcus.
“Dry off. Catch cold.” Is what Marcus said to him. Oliver tried to lean into the arms wrapping the towel around his shoulders, but Marcus pulled away.
“Go make me some tea.” Oliver said, rubbing his hair dry.
“Go make it yourself.”
“But I’m all wet.” Oliver whined teasingly, giving Marcus big, pleading eyes. “And cold, too.”
“For fuck’s’ake.” Marcus muttered, turning away to head for the kitchen. The flat was quiet, except for the faint sound of the gas stove heating up the water for Oliver’s tea. It was a nice place, Oliver thought. Nothing fancy for the two of them, but it had hardwood floors and a nice, thick white comforter that was indeed comforting on their big bed, a tiny kitchen, and a den with a bookshelf and an old brown couch. Oliver liked the heavy, rough sent of pine and unscented candle wax, and so that was the scent that caught one’s nose anytime they stepped through the front door.
He lay down on the bed after pulling on an old pair of sweatpants, as Marcus came back a moment later with his tea. It was black with lots of sugar, just the way he liked it. Marcus’ voice was rough and harsh and thick with a fierce cockney accent, and his hands were heavy and callused, and his teeth were as crooked and oversized as ever. But when he was like this, he was gorgeous. Oliver smiled adoringly at him as he got under the covers with him and curled up on his side, watching him sip the hot tea. The wash of sudden warmth that spread through him felt wonderful, and he put the empty cut onto the nightstand to settle down and snuggle against him.
Marcus was big, in every sense of the word. His entire body was like an unmovable mass, thick and muscular and solid. His skin was warm and rough with scars, and Oliver loved to touch him. He ran his fingers up his bare chest now, stroking his upper stomach that was as flat and hard as cobblestones. Marcus looked down at him, baring those horrid white teeth in what was almost a smile.
“You should rest.” He said faintly, taking Oliver’s shoulder to turn him over onto his side manually, forcing him to spoon against Marcus by scooting backwards. He was always like this, never asking but taking, never requesting but doing whatever the hell he wanted. It was one of the things Oliver loved most about him, as bloody annoying as it got sometimes.
“No love for Oliver tonight?” Oliver asked, looking over his shoulder to pout at Marcus. Hell, it had worked before. But this time, Marcus grunted.
“Plenty of love. No sex.”
Oliver sighed, melting internally as he always did whenever Marcus said something so bluntly, unintentionally sweet.
“I don’t know how you do that.”
“S’a gift.”
Laughing, Oliver rolled back over onto his other side to rest his head against Marcus’ solid chest, throwing one arm over his stomach. “Can I at least hold you while I sleep?”
“You don’t hold. You cling. S’times, I hafta bloody shake ya’off a’me in the mornings.”
“Who would have ever thought we’d get to the point in our lives where I’d be clinging to you for anything? Do you remember, how back in school, we hated each other?”
Marcus grunted again, shifting a bit. “Never hated you. You pissed me off, fer’sure, but I always.”
He often did that, ended a sentence on a word that didn’t make any sensible ending at all.
“What?”
“What?”
“You always what?”
“Go t’sleep, Oliver.”
“No, you always what? Loved me?”
“No. Go to sleep.”
“Please.”
“Liked you, was all. Go to fucking sleep now, yeah?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
And he snuggled against Marcus, and he didn’t seem to mind, and while there wasn’t any sex, as Marcus had said, there was plenty of love. Right before he fell asleep, Oliver Wood decided he was okay with that.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It had been raining all day, and by the time Oliver got home, his short brown hair was plastered to his forehead and his pants were soaked below the knees. He always wondered why that happened, why his pants never got wet above the knees whenever he walked in the rain. He supposed it had something to do with the motion of his legs as he walked, keeping the raindrops from landing on certain parts of his body or something, but he’d never been one for science.
Marcus was sitting on the couch when he opened the door, stepping inside their flat to shake himself from soaked to damp. He’d been reading, but now he looked up.
“You’re dripping.”
“Pouring rain can do that to a bloke.”
“On the carpet.”
“Marcus Flint.” Oliver raised a mocking eyebrow. “Since when do you give a damn about things like that?”
“Don’t.” Marcus said, turning back to his book. Oliver sighed, heading for their bedroom and peeling off his shirt on the way. It fell in a limp, wet mass onto the hardwood floor at the foot of their bed, and before he could turn around there was something warm and soft being wrapped around him. It was a towel, to be precise. One held by Marcus.
“Dry off. Catch cold.” Is what Marcus said to him. Oliver tried to lean into the arms wrapping the towel around his shoulders, but Marcus pulled away.
“Go make me some tea.” Oliver said, rubbing his hair dry.
“Go make it yourself.”
“But I’m all wet.” Oliver whined teasingly, giving Marcus big, pleading eyes. “And cold, too.”
“For fuck’s’ake.” Marcus muttered, turning away to head for the kitchen. The flat was quiet, except for the faint sound of the gas stove heating up the water for Oliver’s tea. It was a nice place, Oliver thought. Nothing fancy for the two of them, but it had hardwood floors and a nice, thick white comforter that was indeed comforting on their big bed, a tiny kitchen, and a den with a bookshelf and an old brown couch. Oliver liked the heavy, rough sent of pine and unscented candle wax, and so that was the scent that caught one’s nose anytime they stepped through the front door.
He lay down on the bed after pulling on an old pair of sweatpants, as Marcus came back a moment later with his tea. It was black with lots of sugar, just the way he liked it. Marcus’ voice was rough and harsh and thick with a fierce cockney accent, and his hands were heavy and callused, and his teeth were as crooked and oversized as ever. But when he was like this, he was gorgeous. Oliver smiled adoringly at him as he got under the covers with him and curled up on his side, watching him sip the hot tea. The wash of sudden warmth that spread through him felt wonderful, and he put the empty cut onto the nightstand to settle down and snuggle against him.
Marcus was big, in every sense of the word. His entire body was like an unmovable mass, thick and muscular and solid. His skin was warm and rough with scars, and Oliver loved to touch him. He ran his fingers up his bare chest now, stroking his upper stomach that was as flat and hard as cobblestones. Marcus looked down at him, baring those horrid white teeth in what was almost a smile.
“You should rest.” He said faintly, taking Oliver’s shoulder to turn him over onto his side manually, forcing him to spoon against Marcus by scooting backwards. He was always like this, never asking but taking, never requesting but doing whatever the hell he wanted. It was one of the things Oliver loved most about him, as bloody annoying as it got sometimes.
“No love for Oliver tonight?” Oliver asked, looking over his shoulder to pout at Marcus. Hell, it had worked before. But this time, Marcus grunted.
“Plenty of love. No sex.”
Oliver sighed, melting internally as he always did whenever Marcus said something so bluntly, unintentionally sweet.
“I don’t know how you do that.”
“S’a gift.”
Laughing, Oliver rolled back over onto his other side to rest his head against Marcus’ solid chest, throwing one arm over his stomach. “Can I at least hold you while I sleep?”
“You don’t hold. You cling. S’times, I hafta bloody shake ya’off a’me in the mornings.”
“Who would have ever thought we’d get to the point in our lives where I’d be clinging to you for anything? Do you remember, how back in school, we hated each other?”
Marcus grunted again, shifting a bit. “Never hated you. You pissed me off, fer’sure, but I always.”
He often did that, ended a sentence on a word that didn’t make any sensible ending at all.
“What?”
“What?”
“You always what?”
“Go t’sleep, Oliver.”
“No, you always what? Loved me?”
“No. Go to sleep.”
“Please.”
“Liked you, was all. Go to fucking sleep now, yeah?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
And he snuggled against Marcus, and he didn’t seem to mind, and while there wasn’t any sex, as Marcus had said, there was plenty of love. Right before he fell asleep, Oliver Wood decided he was okay with that.