Chapter Text
***
Oliver
The morning of the Cup Final, Oliver awoke earlier than usual. He glanced over at Marcus, still fast asleep in the bed next to him and drooling onto his pillow. Oliver breathed a laugh. He leaned over the pillow wall they’d built and planted a chaste kiss on his temple. It didn’t count- morning kisses were fair game. Then he rolled out of bed, made his way down to the kitchen, and tried to mentally prepare for the day ahead of him.
The match was easier to wrap his head around. He’d been preparing for this for months now. Years, really. His goal since he’d learned what quidditch was was to win the Cup at least once in his life. This was the fourth time in his career that he’d made it all the way to the final match. He knew what to expect, and he’d never felt as sure he would win as he did that morning. His wedding, though... that was more difficult. It felt surreal.
There was a lot on the line today. A Cup win in his first season as captain would be huge for him. And whether he won or not, he’d be marrying Marcus. He knew the deal was that they’d do it if they won, but Oliver had decided he wanted to do it either way. He wanted Marcus to be able to shed the Flint family name. Start over as a Wood and leave behind his painful past. Plus, Oliver was way too curious about his Patronus to wait any longer.
Oliver made himself a cup of coffee, too sleepy to eat anything yet. He leaned against the counter, holding the hot mug in his hands and waiting for it to cool. Persephone jumped up next to him, nudging his arm affectionately. He bent over and kissed her on the top of her fuzzy little head.
“Your dads are getting married today,” he muttered to her softly. “We won’t be living in sin anymore.”
Persephone mewed at him.
“Well, that’s a bit rude,” Oliver said, raising a brow at her. Then he heard Marcus shuffle into the kitchen, still half asleep.
“Are you talking to the cat?” Marcus asked.
“She’s a good conversationalist,” Oliver said.
“Has two weeks without sex made you lose your mind?” Marcus asked. He dropped down into his usual seat at the kitchen table and yawned.
“Yes, let’s never do this again, please,” Oliver said with a tight smile.
Marcus gaped at him. “This was your idea!”
“It was not-”
“Oh, yes it was! You were the one who said we should make honest men of each other! You came up with the no touching thing!” Marcus argued. “I only accepted your challenge.”
“Stupid challenge,” Oliver grumbled.
“Do you forfeit, then?” Marcus asked, smirking at him.
“Fuck no,” Oliver said. “I made it this far, I can make it a few more hours.”
“Can you?” Marcus asked, his voice low. He settled back into the chair comfortably, his legs falling open as he let his eyes rove over Oliver. Oliver swallowed hard.
“Mhm,” Oliver said, his mouth clamped tightly shut. He tore his eyes away from Marcus’s terribly clingy pajama bottoms. He needed to change the subject badly. “Hungry?”
Marcus shook his head.
“Nervous?” Oliver asked, and he nodded. “Shouldn’t be. We’ve been playing better than we have in years. Maybe ever. We’ve got this.”
“You’re such an overthinker normally but when it comes to quidditch, you’re so… Relaxed,” Marcus said. “I don’t get it.”
Oliver shrugged. “It’s the one thing I’m confident that I’m good at. One of the best. I know I put in the work, and I know the other guys on the team are putting in the work too… I might be more nervous if I wasn’t playing with the best. But I am, so…”
“I wish I was like that,” Marcus mumbled. “I know I’m good, but I still get so anxious. I always feel like I’m gonna fuck it up somehow.”
“You won’t,” Oliver assured him. “You were born to play quidditch, Marcus. Honestly, I’ve never seen anyone who looks so natural up there on a broom.”
He gave Oliver a small smile, but it fell quickly. “I just… I would hate to ruin your first cup as captain.”
“You won’t,” Oliver said again. “You couldn’t. You’re half the reason we made it in the first place.”
“You reckon we’ll be married men by the end of the day, then?” Marcus asked, raising a brow at him.
“I know we will be,” Oliver said, and he reached out and caressed Marcus’s chin affectionately. For a moment, they stayed like that, but then Marcus’s eyes went wide.
“You’re touching me!” he exclaimed, laughing heartily.
“It doesn’t count!” Oliver cried, yanking his hand back. “I would touch Adrian like that, I didn’t lose!”
“Yeah fucking right,” Marcus laughed. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“You will see it!” Oliver said assuredly, folding his arms over his chest. “I didn’t lose. I would absolutely touch Adrian like that!”
“Sure,” Marcus said, though Oliver could tell he didn’t believe him. Well, he would show him. He would not lose his own stupid challenge.
***
Oliver showed Marcus in the locker room later on, while they were gearing up for the Cup Final. He was pulling on his pads over by his locker, dodging balled up socks Marcus was tossing at him.
“Why do you have so many socks in your locker?” Oliver asked. “Do you have any left at home?”
Marcus shrugged. “I just throw them in there before I get in the shower. I buy more when I run out.”
Oliver rolled his eyes. “That’s not sustainable. You’ll run out of room in your locker soon.”
“That’s why I’m emptying it out now,” Marcus said, throwing another sock ball at Oliver. It hit him on the shoulder and fell to the ground. Oliver huffed and stopped what he was doing to rapid-fire whip all the sock balls back at Marcus. Marcus tried to run but he tripped over the bench next to him, falling to the ground with a very loud crash and a groan.
“It’s crazy how much less graceful you are on your feet than you are on a broom," Oliver said.
Adrian approached, furrowing his brow at the scene before him. Marcus was getting to his feet tentatively, rubbing his shin and glaring at Oliver.
“You alright?” Adrian asked like Marcus was a toddler that had run head first into a table.
“Fine,” Marcus grumbled.
“Good. You better be. The last thing we need today is you out with a stupid, self inflicted injury,” Adrian said. Oliver smirked over at Marcus, who was sneering at the pair of them. Adrian turned to Oliver now, and he leaned back against the wall casually. “You ready?”
“I was born ready,” Oliver said, grinning as he pulled his helmet and gloves out of his locker.
“I’m a bit nervous. Been jittery all morning,” Adrian admitted. Marcus cleared his throat, giving Oliver a very pointed look. Bastard.
“Just remember the Bats’ keeper favors his left side. He injured his right shoulder at the beginning of the season,” Oliver said, then he took a step towards Adrian. “We’ve got this.” He plastered a tight smile on his face as he reached out and lovingly caressed the sharp line of Adrian’s jaw.
Adrian frowned. “What are you doing?”
Oliver shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Just… trying to help you feel better.” He pulled his hand back and ran it through his hair. Next to them, Marcus was stifling hysterical laughter.
“It’s actually stressing me out. You never touch me,” Adrian said. Oliver threw his head back in exasperation. He should’ve just admitted defeat that morning. Then he and Marcus could’ve shagged and he wouldn’t’ve had to stroke Adrian’s face like a fucking weirdo. Pucey looked over at Marcus. “What’s going on? Did you make him do that or something?”
“I didn’t make him do anything,” Marcus said. “It’s his own fault. He created this challenge for us and he lost, and now he’s trying to convince me he touches all of his friends like that because he’s a sore loser-”
“I’m not a sore loser! And I just proved it, didn’t I!?” Oliver argued, though his heart wasn’t really in it. Adrian glanced between the pair of them, looking exasperated.
“Adrian literally just said you never touch him,” Marcus said with a smug grin. “I think that means you lose.”
“Wait- what the hell even was the challenge?” Adrian asked.
“We were basically trying to see who could go longer without touching the other,” Oliver explained sheepishly. “The rule was that a touch was ok if we would touch a teammate that way. Hence… that.”
“Fucking hell,” Adrian sighed. “Keep me out of your weird sex things.”
“It wasn’t a sex thing,” Marcus clarified. “It was the opposite of a sex thing. We’re basically born again virgins.”
“Something is wrong with you two,” Adrian said, wrinkling his nose at the pair. “Don’t caress my face, please.”
“Right. Sorry,” Oliver said.
“Can he caress you elsewhere?” Marcus asked.
“Only if he buys me dinner first,” Adrian teased, winking at Oliver.
Marcus turned to look up at Oliver, an evil smirk on his face. “So, you lost. Officially.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Oliver grumbled, rolling his eyes. “I’m on litter box duty.”
“Mm,” Marcus said distractedly, glancing around. “You reckon we’ve got time for a quickie before we have to be out there?” He sidled right up next to Oliver and slipped a hand under his jersey, grabbing him by the hip. His hand was hot against Oliver's skin, his grip tight and possessive. Oliver hummed happily, melting into his touch. It felt so, so good after two weeks without it. He slung his arm around Marcus’s shoulders comfortably.
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Adrian said, and he promptly walked off.
Coach McCarthy stormed into the locker room. He took one look at Marcus’s hand under Oliver’s shirt and Oliver foaming at the mouth and said, very firmly, the way one would say it to a naughty dog, “No.”
Marcus raised a brow at him. “No?”
McCarthy gave him A Look. “You two look like a couple of animals in heat. I don’t have time to deal with whatever stunt you’re thinking about pulling right now. Keep it in your pants.” Oliver blushed, but Marcus only laughed.
“Do we pull stunts?” Oliver asked Marcus as McCarthy rushed off and ordered the room at large to hurry up and get ready.
Marcus snorted. “All we do is pull stunts.”
Oliver grimaced. “Maybe I should pay Percy more.”
“Percy gets paid plenty,” Marcus said. “Plus, he’s been cleaning up at poker night. If you want to do something for him, pay for him to get some therapy. I’m pretty sure that Parchment spread traumatized him.”
“Mm. That’s not a bad idea,” Oliver said thoughtfully. Percy saw Oliver’s naked arse more during that photoshoot than he had in his entire life, and then it was immortalized in the glossy pages of a magazine. It had taken a few weeks for him to be able to look Oliver in the eyes again after, and even longer for him to stop blushing when they made eye contact.
“I need you all ready in two minutes!” McCarthy bellowed, shooting Marcus and Oliver a warning glare. Oliver tore himself away from Marcus with a sigh. He quickly pulled on the last of his gear and took a look around the locker room. The air was charged, everyone was tense. Excited. It felt good.
Then Oliver felt a sudden, hard smack on the arse. He sucked in a sharp breath. Merlin, that fucking stung.
“Game time, babe,” Marcus said over his shoulder, jogging past him. God, he looked so good in his uniform. Even the goofy little helmet suited him.
Then another smack on the other cheek. Not quite as hard, decidedly less sure of itself. “What the-”
Adrian ran by after Marcus, smirking at Oliver. “What? I touch all my friends like that.”
Oliver barked a loud laugh. “Don’t let Marcus see you doing that. He gets jealous.”
Adrian gave him another wink. He really was quite charming for a sarcastic arsehole. He reminded Oliver of a heterosexual Albie. “Our little secret.”
“I told him to do it,” Marcus called out over the locker room noise, making Adrian roll his eyes.
***
Puddlemere won. Of course they did. Oliver knew in his bones that they would, and they won by a landslide. It was a particularly brutal game, which Marcus was always partial to. Oliver was proud, though. He didn’t start any fights. But he did finish one. He managed to land a few good hits on the Bats beater, Eurig Cadwallader, who was targeting Benjy before the snitch had even been released. Marcus got a penalty for his aggression, but Cadwallader got completely ejected from the match. Oliver had been a bit upset by the outburst at first. Marcus hadn’t gotten into a single fight all season. But then he found out that Cadwallader had been peppering his teammates with homophobic slurs from the second they kicked off the pitch, and Oliver felt much less bad. Really, what had he been expecting?
From the second the match ended, Oliver didn’t have a moment to breathe. They were swarmed by friends and family and reporters as soon as they dismounted. Then Oliver was ushered into the media room to conduct the post match press conference alongside McCarthy, and he was pelted with question after question about what was next. He couldn’t remember any of his answers, he was so dazed and giddy. It felt like a dream.
Finally, he was free to go back to the locker room, where he was immediately accosted by his teammates. He nearly jumped out of his skin when someone popped a bottle of champagne as he entered, soaking him as he laughed heartily. It was all a blur. A blissful, buzzing blur. By the time Oliver and Marcus stumbled out of the locker room, they were feeling on top of the world. They wandered out into the corridor, Oliver with his arm around Marcus’s shoulders, Marcus with his around Oliver’s waist. They walked until they came upon Oliver’s parents, standing near the exit and chatting with a man who Oliver vaguely recognized.
“Coach Lombardi?” Marcus asked, and the man spun on his heel to face them. Ah. Of course. He remembered meeting Lombardi when they visited Boston. He was a short, kindly man with a thick mustache and thinning hair. The few times they’d seen him on their trip, he wore shirts and ties. But now he was clad in a Puddlemere jumper and matching hat, and he was grinning broadly at them.
“Mars!” the man exclaimed brightly. He pulled Marcus into a hug, clapping him on the back. “What a fuckin’ game. You played beautifully.”
“I can’t believe you’re here,” Marcus said, looking a bit disoriented.
“Claire reached out,” Lombardi explained. “She said you guys were bound to win this year and she thought it would be a fun surprise to have me come out. Made me promise to come to the after party, too, but I’m not sure why. I’m not much of a partier in my old age…”
“Oh, we’ll be there, too,” Oliver’s mum said. She narrowed her eyes on her son skeptically. “She was very insistent that we come, too… Have you two got something planned?”
“Er, no, of course not,” Oliver said, but he was unable to meet her eyes.
“Sure, darling,” she said, clearly unconvinced. She stretched up on her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek, then did the same for Marcus. “You two were wonderful out there. Really, it was amazing to watch.”
“Amazing,” Mike said excitedly. “Marcus, that assist you made in the first half was really impressive. I’ve never seen someone move so…”
Oliver was distracted by the faint sound of heels clicking down at the other end of the corridor. Then, a woman cleared her throat. He glanced up at the sound, brow furrowed, and saw her. All conversation stopped as everyone turned to look at the woman. She wore very traditional robes, the purple fabric covering her from her ankles to her chin. Her heels were low and sensible, her dark hair slicked back into an impeccable bun. Her skin was so white it looked like porcelain, and her eyes were impossibly dark. She was watching them with an expression of pure vitriol.
“Marcus,” she said coldly.
He was silent for a moment, just staring at her incredulously. Finally, he said, “What are you doing here?”
“Is that any way to greet your mother?”
Oliver bristled. Philomena Flint. He couldn’t believe he didn’t see it immediately. The dark hair, the pale skin, the nearly black eyes. She had the same full, heart shaped lips as Marcus and she spoke with the posh accent he’d been trying to shed for years.
Marcus ground his teeth together. “Do you need something from me?”
“Of course not,” she said. “I saw that you won. I thought you might like to celebrate with your family.”
Oliver held his breath, glancing over at Marcus. His eyes were narrowed, his jaw tense, and he’d gone very pale. But then Mary reached out and took his hand, and he threaded his fingers through hers and squeezed, and his gaze softened. Some of the color returned to his face. Oliver had told his parents that Marcus’s family was a sore subject. He didn’t give them details, but he’d hoped his intentional vagueness would be enough to deter them from bringing them up. It worked, though it clearly made his mother’s heart ache. When they got comfortable with each other, she started fussing over Marcus like he was her own son. Oliver told her to lay off, but she wouldn’t. Marcus seemed to enjoy it well enough, though.
Marcus’s mother, it appeared, did not. Her nostrils flared as she looked down at their intertwined hands with disdain.
“I will be, thanks,” Marcus said simply.
“Is this who you’re calling your family now?” she asked, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “That’s-”
“Ok, I’ve had enough of you,” said Lombardi, rolling his eyes dramatically. Oliver did not laugh, though he wanted to very badly. “Listen, ma’am. I don’t know you. In the many years I worked with Marcus, he rarely mentioned you. But the few times he did, it was to describe something completely fucking horrific you did to him as a child. Now, maybe I’m a pessimistic asshole, but I’m having a hard time believing you came out here because you were happy for him and wanted to celebrate.”
“That’s very presumptuous of you, and I resent that. Marcus and I may have had our differences in the past, but I’m still his mother. He’s still a Flint-”
“Only for about…” Oliver glanced down at his watch, “two more hours.” His mum gave a little gasp, and Marcus looked up at him with wide eyes.
“I’m not following,” Philomena said flatly.
“Well, when two people love each other very much-” Oliver started, but he was interrupted by his own mother.
“Oliver, don’t be smart,” she said firmly, though he could see the ghost of a smug smile on her face, especially at the sound of Marcus’s warm laugh.
“We’re getting married,” Marcus explained to Philomena. “I’m taking his name. I’ll be a Wood.”
“You can’t- that’s not-” she stammered, gaping at him. Her face was growing redder by the second. “It’s unnatural.”
Marcus rolled his eyes. “It’s not. Homosexuality is seen in plenty of species. Giraffes are gay all the time.”
“Is that a Colm fact?” Oliver asked quietly, and Marcus nodded.
“Is that why Claire brought us all here?” Oliver’s dad asked. He glanced down at Marcus’s hand and saw the ring on his left finger, the heart facing out. His mouth fell open, his eyes wide.
“Yeah,” Oliver said, looking caught. This was not how he wanted to break the news. But he supposed it was fitting that it came out like this. He and Marcus did seem to be prone to the dramatics, after all. “Er… surprise!”
“Speaking of, we need to get home and change, otherwise we’ll be doing the ceremony in our trackpants,” Marcus said.
“Marcus Rodolphus-” his mother was saying, but the group paid her no mind. They were all abuzz with pre-wedding excitement now, chattering excitedly about the night ahead.
“If I’d known I would’ve gotten you guys a gift!” Lombardi complained. He started digging around in his pockets, presumably searching for cash, but Oliver stopped him with a hand on the shoulder.
“I’m wearing jeans!” Mary cried. “I wish you’d given me some warning, I would’ve packed a better outfit!”
“It’s fine, Mum. You look great. It’s gonna be very casual,” Oliver assured her.
“It’ll be too casual if we don’t get a move on,” Marcus said with urgency. Oliver smirked at him. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Nothing. Just- I’m usually the one begging you to hurry up so we can leave,” Oliver said.
“Oh, stop teasing him, Oliver,” said his mum, pulling Marcus into her arms and pressing her cheek to his.
“He’s very mean to me, Mary,” Marcus muttered, his cheeks too squished to enunciate properly.
“Don’t let him treat you like that, darling,” she said. Oliver rolled his eyes dramatically, but he couldn’t help smiling. A lifetime of this lay ahead of him, and they only had a few more hours until it was all official.
They left Philomena Flint forgotten in the corridor. Well, mostly. As they walked to the apparition point, Lombardi grumbled under his breath, “That woman reminds me of my own mother. And that is not a compliment.”
***
Marcus
Marcus worried briefly that his mother’s little surprise visit would throw him off so badly that he wouldn’t be able to produce his Patronus. But Lombardi standing up for him, and Mary being so affectionate right in front of her, and even just the look on Mike’s face when Oliver broke the news had been more than enough to fortify him for the rest of the night. He’d never had such unflinching support in his life, and it felt very good.
They stopped at home to change quickly, and then they made their way to Theo’s manor. Marcus had convinced him to throw the party at one of their poker nights. Marcus had shared the news by accident after one too many drinks, but he was glad Theo knew. He felt a bit guilty at the thought of having a guerilla wedding in his garden without his approval, and it turned out he was quite excited to be involved. His manor was an amazing spot for a rager, and he had a beautiful garden that was perfect for a secret surprise wedding. Right in the center stood a pergola draped with wisteria, the purple flowers creating a plush, mystical ceiling for those standing underneath. It really hadn’t taken much convincing to get him to host. Theo Nott was nothing if not an entertainer, and once he’d found out the party was a cover for a secret surprise wedding, he was all in.
At sunset Marcus and Oliver snuck away from the party, the Woods and Lombardi following them out to the back garden. Claire was already waiting for them out there with Nora. She was standing underneath the wisteria, grinning broadly and bouncing on her toes. Marcus took a deep breath and threaded his fingers between Oliver’s, and they made their way over, stopping just in front of her.
“Nott’s just gathering the rest of the crew,” Claire said. “He’s been quite helpful through this. He may have a career in wedding planning.”
“Well, there wasn’t exactly much to plan, was there?” Marcus pointed out, raising a brow at her. Claire only grinned mischievously.
“Let’s go, hustle people! We’re on a time crunch!” boomed a deep voice from behind them. Marcus glanced over his shoulder to find Theo ushering a small crowd of people out into the garden. They were all looking at him, their expressions a spectrum of confused and mildly amused to downright scared. Percy was the first out, looking terrified, followed by Charlie and Albie, Ruby, Fred, George, Angelina, and Adrian rounding out the rear.
“What’s going on, Theo?” Ruby asked firmly. He only grinned smugly, his gaze flickering over to Marcus and Oliver standing under the pergola. Ruby turned to face them. “Wait, is that Oliver and Mars? And… Mike and Mary?”
“Surprise!” Mary exclaimed happily, and Ruby hurried over to hug them both, squealing excitedly. Fred followed awkwardly behind her, giving Marcus and Oliver a confused look as he approached.
“That’s Tony Lombardi,” Marcus heard Adrian say to Albie and Charlie. “He was Mars’s coach on the Basilisks.”
“What the hell are you two doing?” Fred asked. Then Theo pulled a colorful bouquet of flowers from his shirt pocket, brandishing it like a muggle magician would. He shoved it into Fred’s hand. “Er, thanks, I guess.”
“I was told you agreed to be the flower girl for this affair,” Theo said.
“Oh my god,” said Ruby, her mouth falling open. She looked at Mary and Mike, and then at Marcus and Oliver. “Oh my god!”
“Is- is this your wedding!?” Fred asked, his eyebrows flying to his hairline.
“Yeah,” Marcus said, grinning broadly.
“Why didn’t you say anything!?” Percy asked, looking panic stricken. “Is- I… Am I supposed to do anything!?”
Oliver laughed. “No, it’s all done.”
“Well, not all done,” Claire said. “I’m gonna need everyone to put a pause on the questions for now. We have about two minutes until sunset and I need to get started on the bonding spell.”
Marcus’s heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t believe it was already time. Their friends and family surrounded them, waiting with baited breath as Claire started working. She had Marcus and Oliver grasp each other firmly by the wrist, and then she started reciting something in Latin. Every few sentences, she would prompt Marcus and Oliver to repeat after her. Then, right as the sun was dipping below the horizon behind them, she waved her wand over their heads. They were engulfed in a warm, bright light, golden threads snaking their way down their bodies until they reached the rings on their fingers and melted into the metal. Marcus felt warm from head to toe, then suddenly, the familiar sensation of a second heartbeat in his own chest. But it was gone as quickly as it came, and it was time for their Patronuses.
Oliver and Marcus withdrew their wands, and then they clasped their free hands together tightly. Their friends cleared the way for them and they each took a deep breath, steeling themselves. Marcus raised his wand and thought of Colm. Oliver gave his hand an encouraging squeeze.
It was their first night together in their apartment in Boston, and Colm had showed up a day early to surprise Marcus. He’d dropped his things in his room and then they parked themselves on the couch in front of the telly, watching movies and eating pizza from the shop around the corner. That couch pulled out into a bed like Nora’s did, so they spread it out and spent the night on it. They chatted until the sun came up about nothing and everything. Marcus told Colm all about Claire and Lombardi and his first few months on the team, and Colm talked about Adrian and Nora and how his mother had tried to guilt him into staying in England. It wasn’t a particularly exciting memory, but it was one of Marcus’s favorites.
They cast their charms simultaneously. Oliver’s large bird came flying out from the tip of his wand and Marcus’s weird little cat came bounding out after it, jumping and swatting at the bird as it flew. Oliver laughed loudly when he saw it.
“Is it Persephone?”
“I think so,” Marcus admitted, a sheepish grin on his face. “I didn’t realize they could be that specific.”
“That’s adorable,” Oliver beamed. “Fuck, I love you.” He took Marcus in his arms and kissed him deeply.
“I love you too,” Marcus murmured against his lips. Their friends and family cheered them, though Marcus could make out some telltale sniffling in the chaos. He thought it might be Adrian, and when he looked, he was right. The burly strawberry blond was blinking rapidly and clearing his throat, trying to look anywhere but at Marcus. But he wasn’t alone- Ruby was openly weeping into Fred’s arms, Albie was brushing away tears of his own, and even Percy was looking a bit glassy-eyed. Then Marcus felt a large hand clapping him on the back, and he pulled away from Oliver reluctantly.
“There’s an empty bedroom on the first floor just off the entrance foyer. Go to the right, and it's the first door on the left,” Theo mumbled to the two of them. “I reckon I can distract them for about fifteen minutes. Go when I say.”
Marcus nodded avidly. Wonderful. Theo Nott was excellent. Perhaps Claire was right about him having a future as a wedding planner.
“Oh, wow, that was beautiful. Congratulations, you two. And- look!” Theo pointed off into the distance, far past them, to the back of the garden. “Fireworks!” Then there was a series of loud bangs as the rapidly darkening sky filled with bright, shimmering fireworks. Everyone turned to watch in awe.
“Go now!” Theo hissed, and Marcus did not waste any time. He dragged Oliver by the hand back into the house, skillfully dodging the crowd of people who were still inside, unaware that a wedding had just occurred. They sprinted through the foyer and down the corridor that Theo had mentioned, then came to a screeching halt in front of the bedroom door. Marcus threw it open.
“Wow,” Oliver said as they stepped inside.
Marcus rolled his eyes. “Of course he did this.” The room had been turned into a makeshift honeymoon suite, complete with rose petals on the bed, candles everywhere, and low, sultry music playing from Merlin only knew where. It was very sweet, albeit a little cheesy. “He’s probably got cameras set up in here, the filthy bastard.”
“He could be standing in the corner and it wouldn’t deter me right now,” Oliver said.
Marcus laughed. “I wouldn’t say that too loud. He might hear you and try to call your bluff.”
“Let him. We’ll give him a good show,” Oliver said, and Marcus’s stomach did a flip. He tugged on Marcus’s hand and pulled him close to his body, grabbing him by the waist. “How do you feel?”
“Amazing,” Marcus breathed. Oliver rested his forehead against his, their lips barely an inch apart. Marcus took the front of his shirt in his fists, gripping tightly. “Need you. Right now.”
Oliver’s grip on him tightened and he pulled him even closer, their chests pressed against each other. He kissed Marcus slowly. So slowly it was almost torturous. Marcus was desperate. Needy. Absolutely starving. But Oliver clearly wanted to take his time. He let out a low moan as Oliver took his bottom lip between his teeth, biting it tenderly.
“Oliver, I think I might die if I don’t come in the next two minutes,” Marcus said roughly, and Oliver breathed a laugh.
“You won’t die,” Oliver said. “I don’t want to rush. We have time.”
“We only have fifteen minutes,” Marcus pointed out, and then to his despair, Oliver pulled away. He took his wand from his pocket and pointed it at the door, locking it firmly.
“We have as much time as we need,” Oliver said, and the dangerous look on his face almost made Marcus finish right there in his trousers.
“But your parents-” Marcus said, sucking in a sharp breath as Oliver trailed messy, slow, open mouthed kisses along his neck.
“Ruby will entertain them,” he said, his voice reverberating against Marcus’s throat. “Albie and Adrian will entertain Lombardi. Everyone is entertained. Are you?”
Marcus let out a pleased hum as Oliver slipped his hands under his shirt, slowly exploring every ridge and contour of his chest and stomach.
“Why?” Marcus asked, and Oliver met his eyes. “Why so slow, I mean?”
“I’ve missed you. I wanna savour this, I suppose. Savour you.” He pulled Marcus’s shirt over his head and tossed it aside. “And I know I’m gonna last all of forty five seconds once we really get going, so I thought I might try and pad the runtime a bit.”
Marcus laughed. “I suppose it would be embarrassing if we were in here for three minutes when Nott promised us fifteen.”
“Yes it would, so let me savour you,” Oliver said. He kissed and licked and sucked his way all across Marcus’s abdomen, pausing to pull at his nipple with his teeth. He kneeled in front of Marcus, taking his sweet time undoing his belt and the buttons of his trousers. Then he pulled them down along with Marcus’s underwear and took his cock in his hand, running his thumb over the tip to wipe away the precum that was already emerging. Marcus shivered at his touch. Oh, this was good. Oh, he missed this. So fucking much. Then he was in Oliver’s mouth, warm and wet and perfect. It felt so good he worried he might start crying. He let out a long, low moan as Oliver dragged his fingernails down his back and gripped him by the arse, using his body as leverage to take him deeper. His head fell back as Oliver’s fingers crept closer, closer, until they slipped inside him.
“Fuck, Oliver,” Marcus croaked, threading his fingers through his hair and tugging lightly. A deep moan rumbled from Oliver’s throat and Marcus inhaled sharply. It took all of a minute and a half for his legs to be shaking and his cock twitching, and he came with a strangled cry into Oliver’s mouth.
Oliver stood and yanked off his own shirt, tossing it aside. He kissed Marcus with some of the familiar fervor he was used to, unable to take it slowly any longer. He took Marcus’s face in his hands. “God, you’re so fucking perfect. I love you,” he said. “You’re mine.”
“Yours,” Marcus said into his mouth. He fumbled with Oliver’s belt, a bit too dazed for his fingers to work properly. He eventually managed, and before he knew it Oliver had him flat out on his back on the bed, Marcus’s ankles hiked over his shoulders.
“Marcus,” he sighed, his eyes boring down into Marcus’s as he thrust into him desperately. He turned his head and kissed the inside of Marcus’s calf, then the soft spot just next to his ankle. “You’re mine,” he said again. “I’m yours. Say it. I wanna hear you say it.”
“Oh, fuck,” Marcus murmured. Oliver increased his pace and Marcus saw stars, his body tightening around Oliver. “Mine,” he bit out as his eyes rolled back in his head.
Oliver tensed, his movements growing faster and less graceful. He stifled his loud moan by taking Marcus’s calf in his mouth, and then his movements slowed to a stop. He let his head fall back with an exhausted sigh.
“Oh my god,” he said, collapsing down onto the bed next to Marcus.
“Yeah,” Marcus grunted, turning to look at Oliver on the pillow next to him. He was watching Marcus with heavy lidded eyes, his cheeks red and his hair askew. He reached out and ran his thumb along Oliver’s jaw. “We’re married. I have a husband. Oliver fucking Wood is my husband.”
Oliver barked a laugh. “We’re fucking married.” He put his hand over Marcus’s and brought it to his lips, kissing his palm softly. “Marcus Wood,” he said tentatively.
“Marcus Wood,” Marcus repeated, beaming at him. “I like it.”
“I like you,” Oliver grinned.
“I certainly hope you do,” Marcus laughed. “You’re stuck with me now. I’m yours. You said it.”
“Mm,” Oliver hummed happily. He rolled over on top of Marcus, crushing him with his body weight for just a moment. Then he sat up, straddling Marcus at the waist. “Mine.”
Marcus sighed. “You’re gonna get me going again.”
“You just finished twice,” Oliver said, raising a brow.
“Yeah, well, it’s been a while,” Marcus said, smirking at him. “You lasted a lot longer than I’d expected you to in your evil challenge.”
“I don’t think I lost,” Oliver mused. “Adrian sabotaged me.”
Marcus rolled his eyes. “We both fucking lost. I’ve been horny and touch starved for, like, two weeks straight. I had a full on wet dream the other night, Oliver. Not just a sex dream. I came in my sleep.”
“When?” Oliver asked, rolling his hips forward, making Marcus let out a loud groan.
“Tiramisu,” he said with difficulty. Oliver smirked down at him.
Marcus moved quickly, wrapping an arm around Oliver's waist flipping them so now Oliver was the one flat on his back. His bright laugh died in his throat as Marcus started kissing his way down his neck, his chest, his stomach. He was sure their fifteen minutes were long gone, but he didn’t care. The dazed look on Oliver’s face, the delicious noises he was making while Marcus sucked little bruises onto his inner thigh- there was so way he was leaving now. Everyone else could wait. It was their wedding, after all.
***
Oliver
Marcus and Oliver emerged from the bedroom after nearly an hour, rumpled, disheveled, smelling of sex. They were barely out the door when Ruby grabbed them both by the arm and dragged them to Theo’s kitchen, admonishing them for taking too long the entire walk there. She shoved them into the room where their friends and family were all waiting expectantly. A cake sat in the middle of the island, the words “JUST GAY MARRIED” scrawled out in cursive across the top. Oliver laughed.
“Oh my god, finally,” Albie said as they walked in. He raised a brow at the state of them. “Don’t you two look…”
“Thoroughly fucked,” Theo supplied matter-of-factly, making Oliver’s father choke on his drink. Marcus grimaced, burying his face in Oliver's shoulder to hide his embarrassed flush. “Shall we have cake, then?”
They made Oliver and Marcus cut the cake together. One slice, to be precise, which Marcus immediately smashed in Oliver’s face. Oliver then took a fistful straight from the cake and threw it at Marcus, hitting him straight in the chest. Fred and George took this to mean it was open season for a full blown cake fight, and quickly the entire kitchen was covered in white frosting. It was shortly after this that Oliver’s parents decided to return to their hotel for the night, Mary giving them each a kiss on the cheek and Mike shaking Marcus’s hand firmly. The night became debaucherous from that point forward.
The house elves attempted to help everyone get cleaned up, but they all still had frosting behind their ears and in their noses for the rest of the night. Theo brought out bottles of champagne for everyone- entire bottles, each fitted with a straw. Not just the wedding party, either. Everyone in the house was wandering around with their own personal bottle, their shoes sticking to the floor as they wandered through spilt champagne.
By nine o’clock, Percy was hustling strangers at pool and Charlie was trying to see if he could get Theo up on his shoulders. Someone had managed to find a broom somewhere, and Adrian and Albie were chasing Lombardi on foot as he flew around the house, nearly crashing into every doorway and chandelier in the vicinity. Later in the night, Fred produced a tattoo gun, and Marcus somehow managed to convince Oliver to give him a tattoo on his arse, just below the dimples on his lower back that Oliver loved so much.
The tattoo was unsurprisingly shoddy, lopsided, and misspelled.
Marcus was sprawled out on his stomach on the pool table, his pants pulled down just enough to expose his arse. Ruby was standing by his head, holding Marcus's hand for support and supervising in case things went awry. Not that she was likely to be able to help much if anything did happen. She wobbled about unsteadily, and Oliver considered that maybe she was actually holding Marcus's hand so she wouldn't topple over.
“What the hell does ‘pefect’ mean?” Fred asked, squinting at the writing on Marcus’s very pale cheek.
Oliver rolled his eyes, ready to tell Fred that he was a drunken idiot, as it obviously said 'perfect,' be then he looked at the tattoo. He froze. “Fuck."
Marcus turned around to look at him, eyes wide. “You spelled it wrong!?”
"Well, I'm drunk, Marcus!" Oliver exclaimed. "I said this was a bad idea!"
"Actually, you said this was a great idea, and you said- you said you would do anything for Marcus if he keeps looking at you like that," Ruby supplied, looking remarkably sober in that moment. Oliver sneered at her.
“What were you trying to write?” Fred asked, swaying back and forth as he leaned in to get a closer look.
“Perfect,” Oliver sighed. Fred looked back at him, nose wrinkled.
“It’s a sex thing,” Marcus said with a proud grin.
“It’s not just a sex thing,” Oliver argued, his brow furrowing as he watched Marcus try to contort his body to get a better look at the tattoo.
“Put the ‘r’ just up there,” Fred said, poking Marcus’s arse right above the ‘e’ and the ‘f.’ “Nobody will know.”
“They’ll know,” Oliver said.
“Well, how many people are seeing Marcus’s arse, really?” Fred asked, taking a sip from his bottle.
“I'll know. Plus, like, a million people saw his arse in the Parchment spread,” Oliver pointed out. Fred shrugged unhelpfully.
“I think it’s nice,” Marcus insisted. “It’s poetic or something. I love my pefect tattoo.”
Everything got hazy after that. The next morning, Oliver and Marcus awoke stark naked and smeared with cake in one of Theo’s many bathtubs. He had know idea how they’d ended up there, or where they’d even found more cake. What he did know was that he was horrifically hungover and he had a terrible crick in his neck from the strange angle he’d fallen asleep in. But then he looked down at Marcus, passed out on his chest, his mouth lolling open and his lashes flecked with frosting.
It was all worth it. Every awful hangover, every stupid fight, every shitty, homophobic comment from some arsehole. He’d take it all a hundred times over if it brought him to Marcus.