“This is bullshit.”
Marcus knew he was being difficult but couldn't summon the energy to care, let alone change his attitude.
It was the seventh press conference he had attended in four days for Puddlemere United’s pre-season tour. His signing had been controversial and the press had a lot of pointed questions specifically for him.
“As a former Death Eater, do you think you deserve to be on the starting line up?”
“Do you have any apologies to make before the season starts, Flint?”
“How do your teammates feel about playing alongside a Death Eater?”
These ‘journalists’ were shit at their jobs. If they had bothered to do their research, they would know he’d been accused but acquitted. He’d admitted to being a sympathiser, but had never actually joined the ranks of the Death Eaters. Unfortunately for him, the press seemed unable to understand the difference.
“Fuck sake, Flint, you knew this was part of the deal when you signed up. Stop brooding.”
Marcus’ heart rate kicked into overdrive as he tried to ignore his body’s response to that deep voice and broad Scottish accent. The faint scent of clean linen and coconut that filled his nose as Oliver Wood stepped into his personal space was not helping matters.
Wanting to get away as soon as possible, Marcus spun on his heel and tried to push open the changing room door that Wood had walked through less than a minute ago. It didn't budge. He gave the wood a harder shove, trying not to think about a different Wood and the ways he would like to shove him against the wall and…
“What the fuck, Wood? What have you done?” his words came out more aggressively than intended, but he couldn't help it. This was the beginning of a nightmare.
It was just the two of them in the small, slightly dingy, changing room and Marcus felt the first flickers of panic. He'd managed to avoid Wood as much as possible in their pre-season training sessions, interacting with the rugged Scot only as much as was required for him to do his job. His unrequited crush on his former rival was slowly killing him, but he would die of embarrassment if Wood ever knew.
Despite his feelings for the wizard, Marcus didn't appreciate the condescending snort Wood gave before answering him.
“They’re testing security drills. The Falcons and the Harpies will be here, meaning the Potters will both be here. Security are running around like headless fwoopers trying to make sure everything’s perfect. This is one of their new lockdown spells. The doors should open up again in about ten minutes.”
Ten minutes. Alone in a small room with Wood. Marcus felt as though his throat was constricting, felt as though he wanted to climb out of his own skin.
“You alright there, Flint? You look a little pale.”
Marcus could do nothing but stare at Wood as the edges of his vision darkened, panic threatening to pull him under.
“Hey, there, Flint, stay with me, okay?”
But it wasn't okay. Wood had closed what little space had been between them, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing tightly in what Marcus could only assume was supposed to be a gesture of comfort.
Marcus made the mistake of meeting his gaze. He had been planning on telling Wood to fuck off, telling him that they might be stuck together but that didn't mean they needed to talk. But as he met Wood’s impossibly rich brown eyes, he couldn't stop the small gasp that escaped him. Nor could he miss the way Wood’s eyes momentarily darted down towards his lips, or the bob of his Adam's apple that told him Wood had swallowed.
“We should…” Marcus started, but with no idea how he would finish the sentence. Merlin, the room was too hot, his clothes too tight. Everything was too much, and still Wood was staring at him, standing well within his personal space.
“We should…” he murmured again, not because he had any new ideas about how to end the sentence, but because his brain seemed to be misfiring and apparently all he could do was stare back at Wood and repeat himself.
Without a word, without any sort of warning, Wood used the hand he’d been gripping Marcus’ shoulder with to push him roughly up against the cold brick wall of the changing room wall. For a split second, Marcus thought he had badly misread the situation and he braced for Wood to hit him.
Instead, Marcus felt his soul leave his body as Wood’s warm, insistent mouth collided with his. He felt the stars align as their bodies crashed together a moment later, all urgency and need and everything Marcus had been trying not to let himself want.
Wood wasn't gentle, and Marcus didn't want him to be. He lost himself in the frantic shedding of their clothes, in the sensation of Wood’s greedy hands on his body, the rightness that settled over him as he finally got to feel him.
Afterwards, as they dressed, Marcus couldn't help but stare at his keeper in wonder. As the doors unlocked, Oliver held out a hand to him.
“Come on, Flint, let’s give them something interesting to talk about this time.”