A/N: Inspired by "Send me a ship and I'll give you who..." answers to FlintWood ship by littlemulattokitten on Tumblr. Go follow her, she is a real sweetie :) 3 Thanks also to my beta, Starrnobella who also helped me come up with the title and summary. Usual disclaimers apply. Muggle FlintWood AU. Enjoy xx
Goals
Marcus sipped the rich espresso, staring blankly at the screen. He raked his fingers through his hair, groaning internally. He didn't have long to get this assignment finished and try as he might, he just couldn't find a way to work in the feedback he had received without making everything he had so far feel disjointed.
The noise of the coffee shop started to get to him, making his skin tingle with an almost overbearing sensation. He tried to filter out the sounds but found himself focusing on first one conversation and then another until his ears rang. He shut his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing.
His eyes snapped open as he sensed and then witnessed Oliver drop heavily into the seat opposite him, sipping his macchiato from the takeaway cup he held in his hand, dropping his bag with his football kit next to the him, the thud reverberating up the table, jostling Marcus' work.
Marcus frowned as his hand reached out to steady the table, looking across at Oliver. His hair was still wet from his shower, little droplets working their way down his flushed face as he carded his hand through his fringe to keep it from flopping in his eyes. The tension Oliver was emitting pulsed and pricked at Marcus' already fraught mood.
Sensing his dark mood, Oliver narrowed his eyes.
"What's wrong?"
Marcus growled, gesturing to the screen. "This fucking assignment. I just can't get my head around it."
Oliver sighed, a lopsided smile breaking his tense features as he reached for the laptop, spinning it around. "Let's take a look then."
The coffee shop had quietened now, the low hum of chatter less grating. Marcus watched as Oliver tapped the keys, frowning occasionally, his gaze drifting upwards, his lips quivering as he murmured to himself thoughtfully. Marcus found his eyes drawn to the cupid's bow of Oliver's upper lip, stirring something deep within him. He watched, entranced, as his lips curved up and parted, and belatedly Marcus realised Oliver was smiling.
"Done," he informed him, a sense of triumph in his voice.
"Cheers mate, you're a life-saver," Marcus praised him, spinning the laptop round, his eyes wide as he read over the changes.
Satisfied, he snapped the laptop shut and thrust it into his leather shoulder bag as Oliver drained the last of his now cold macchiato.
"How was practice?" Marcus inquired as Oliver reached down to grab his bag.
"Don't even get me started," Oliver began, scowling hard. "We need to train longer and harder this season if we are going to win the league," he huffed as they made their way out the door and down the street to the flat their shared. "I need to devise a new training plan, but I don't even know where to begin. They lack the discipline, they lack strategy, they have no composure in the final third and no end product," he stopped in his tracks and glanced at Marcus who was chuckling softly beside him.
Marcus shook his head, "You're ranting."
Oliver's scowl deepened and Marcus briefly worried Oliver would give himself a headache.
"I am not," Oliver retorted, feeling Marcus slip his hand into his own.
"Relax, I'm just teasing," Marcus told him softly, flashing him a cheeky grin, before stepping forward and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.
Oliver nodded, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before the pair continued on.
OoOoOoOoO
Marcus hated missing Oliver's games, but he hadn't been able to switch his shift at the restaurant. Pulling into the ground, he parked up behind the clubhouse and made his way to the bar. He leant against the bar as he waited for the young girl to grab him two bottles of beer, the low thrum of the music drowned out by the spectators from both teams who mingled after the game. Laughter drifted from the player's lounge behind the bar, as Marcus made his way through the throng of people. A young girl sidled up to Marcus as he made to grab the door, stopping him in his tracks.
"Hey, so I didn't see you out on the pitch earlier, which team do you play for?" she smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Before Marcus could answer, the door in his hand thrust open, nearly knocking his arm. Instinctively he pulled away, raising his arm up to stop himself sloshing beer all over the young girl, the resulting action causing him to press up against her pert chest, as she stepped back towards the wall behind her. Marcus turned to glare at the person who had thrust the door open, only to find himself standing face to face with Oliver who glanced from Marcus to the girl and back again before shoving past him roughly on his way to the bar.
"Bud please, Jodie," Oliver called to the young girl behind the bar, who smiled obligingly before handing Oliver the bottle of beer.
"I already got you one," Marcus told him, coming to find him at the bar. "That wasn't what it looked like," he insisted, his voice dropping.
Oliver snorted derisively as he handed Jodie a five pound note, necking his beer.
"Honestly. " Marcus placed the bottles of beer on the bar, touching Oliver's arm.
Oliver jerked away, his face crimson with anger. Taking his change from Jodie, he glared daggers at Marcus before heading back towards the player's lounge.
Grabbing his beer, Marcus followed him through the door into the corridor.
"Oliver, wait, let me explain," Marcus hissed as he grabbed hold of Oliver's shoulder.
Oliver spun round, shoving Marcus hard against the wall, pressing his torso into him.
Startled by the sudden roughness he vaguely registered that Oliver was drunk. Drunk and jealous. Drunk or jealous were far easier to handle, he rued.
His thoughts tailed off to nothing as Oliver crashed his lips down on Marcus', teeth and tongues vying for dominance before he broke away, stumbling backwards, dragging his free hand across his mouth.
"What's there to explain, Marcus? You're bisexual. You like girls too. Go take Katie home and show her a good time. I'll stay here and watch the United game with the lads."
Marcus registered the hurt in Oliver's voice as he frowned.
"What the fuck are you on about?" Marcus asked him gruffly.
"Katie. She's Alfie's sister. Got a thing about strikers." Oliver slurred, turning away, not wanting Marcus to see the sense of betrayal in his eyes.
"Don't be a prick, Oliver. I'm not going to take Katie home," Marcus retorted, anger rising like bile in the back of his throat.
Oliver turned around, his soft eyes dousing the flames of Marcus temper. Marcus reached out, pulling Oliver to him, his arms snaking around his broad shoulder.
"I'm with you, you drunk dickhead," he told him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, dragging his tongue slowly across his bottom lip. He felt Oliver's free hand slip into the back pocket of his jeans squeezing his backside. Chuckling into his mouth, Marcus broke away, ghosting kisses along the column of Oliver's throat and along his jaw before biting his earlobe gently.
"I'm not taking some piece of skirt home, because I am taking you home," he promised, taking the bottle from Oliver's hand and dropping it with his own on the crates of beer stacked outside the door to the bar.
OoOoOoOoO
"You look like death," Marcus chuckled as he tossed the box of tissues at Oliver, hitting him on the head.
"I feel like death," his nasal whine making him sound quite pathetic. "And thanks," he complained, taking a fistful of tissues before half heartedly lobbing the box back at Marcus who darted away laughing.
"That was pathetic," he chuckled, flipping the switch on the kettle as Oliver snuggled deeper into the sofa, dragging the blanket around his shoulders, shivering.
"You shouldn't make fun of a sick person," Oliver moaned, before blowing his nose.
Marcus tore open the sachet of lemsip, tipping it into the cup as the kettle boiled.
"I should when it's that person's own fault they are sick," Marcus replied, pouring the hot water into the cup, stirring the pale yellow liquid.
Oliver paused mid blow, frowning into the tissue. He pulled it from his reddened nose.
"How do you work that out?" he asked, before blowing his nose again.
"You hang out with far too many people-" he stated, handing him the cup. "Don't drink that just yet, it will be too hot- it's your own damn fault if you catch whatever plague is going around," he informed him, quirking a brow, daring him to deny this was the case. Oliver frowned, trying to muster a witty retort but his head was fuzzy from the 'flu so he gave up.
Marcus reached into the Boots bag pulling out two small plastic tubs. Popping the lid off the first, he knelt down beside the sofa, dipping his finger into the first tub, coating it with the clear salve. Reaching up, he rubbed it over Oliver's sore nose as Oliver sat clutching the lemsip in his hands, too stunned to speak. Marcus reached for a tissue, wiping his fingers clean, before unscrewing the cap from the second tub, dipping his fingers in, as the menthol aroma assaulted both their noses. Taking the lemsip from Oliver and placing it on the coffee table, he reached for Oliver's worn school rugby top, lifting it up exposing his chest, causing Oliver to shudder as the draft hit his bare skin. His eyes focused on the task in hand as he rubbed the menthol salve onto Oliver's chest as he tried to suppress the stirring in his groin. Oliver said nothing as Marcus dropped his shirt back down, a soft smile on his lips as he tucked the blankets back around him.
"You're lucky you're cute," Marcus told him as he wiped his fingers clean once more. Oliver swallowed hard.
"I hate seeing you looking miserable and pathetic," Marcus whispered, his dark eyes staring into his own hazelnut orbs.
"I'm not miserable and pathetic," Oliver complained as Marcus handed him back his lemsip.
"Yes you are," he replied, standing up, gathering the rubbish and making his way over to the kitchenette. He dropped his head back over the couch, his lips grazing Oliver's ear. "But that's okay, because I like taking care of you."
OoOoOoOoO
"Oliver, this is ridiculous. It's Boxing Day. The water will be freezing," Marcus growled as he folded his arms across his chest, a deep scowl set on his face.
Oliver chuckled beside him, stripping down to his boxers.
"Where's your sense of adventure?"
"Where's your common sense?" Marcus retorted as Oliver shed his dignity. "This is how you end up with the fucking flu," Marcus shouted as Oliver ran to the water's edge.
"It's tradition," Oliver yelled back.
"It's fucking stupid," Marcus muttered, shedding his jacket.
"Just fucking do it," Oliver called as Marcus undid his belt.
"I must be fucking insane," Marcus muttered, stripping his clothes off hurriedly, not to be outdone. His pride wouldn't allow it.
Racing to the water's edge he grabbed Oliver's hand, turning him to face him, standing sideways on from the water.
"This is insane!" Marcus yelled.
"Just jump!" Oliver grinned, grabbing hold of Marcus and pulling him sideways into the frigid water.
Coming up for air, they both hissed yelling curses.
"I can't believe you made me do that!" Marcus cried, shuddering hard as he brushed his damp locks from his face.
"Just swim damn it, it's only cold if you're still," Oliver retorted, his teeth chattering.
OoOoOoOoO
Marcus sat hunched over the coffee table, scowling hard at the laptop. He couldn't make any sense of the assignment and the stress of the looming deadline was getting to him. He knew he was taking it out on Oliver, but Oliver was taking it in his stride. His season had turned a corner after Christmas and the team had won every game, taking them to second place in the league, 2 points behind the top team. One more win would put them above with a game in hand.
Dropping his head on the keyboard, Marcus groaned so loud he didn't hear Oliver come in. He sat up as he felt Oliver drop over the back of the sofa, his legs either side of his torso, his hands splayed across his biceps as he pulled him back into his chest.
Marcus relaxed into his touch, his eyes shutting as Oliver silently kneaded Marcus' aching shoulders.
"I pinched this off Lindsay," Oliver murmured, unscrewing the cap off a tub he pulled from his kit bag.
"Who?" Marcus asked distantly, his tired eyes still shut.
"The team physio," Oliver replied as he dipped his hands into the tub.
"What is it?" Marcus asked, his voice barely audible. He hadn't felt this relaxed in weeks.
"Massage wax. It's made with Almond and Olive oils, Arnica, Calendula and Hypericum," Oliver replied, rubbing his hands together before sliding them under Marcus' shirt.
"Is that why it smells funny," Marcus screwed up his nose as Oliver set to work on his tense shoulders.
"It doesn't smell funny," Oliver chuckled, ghosting a kiss against Marcus' neck.
Marcus frowned, belatedly realising Oliver's earlier words. "If you pinched this, won't you get in trouble?"
Oliver chuckled. "No dear, Lindsay know's I have it. She dropped it in my bag with a wink before we left practice. And Lindsay won't get in trouble either. She has the coach, James, wrapped around her little finger."
OoOoOoOoO
"You're not making a very good navigator, glued to that damned 'phone," Marcus complained, as he glanced at Oliver who was slouched in the passenger seat, one leg up on the dashboard.
"Relax, it's at least another 10 miles before we have to turn off," Oliver replied, his eyes still fixed on the screen.
"What's the Brighton score?" Marcus asked, eyes back on the road as Oliver glanced at him, one eyebrow raised.
"So you complain about me being on the 'phone but you want to know the Brighton score. Hello? Pot, kettle and black?!" Oliver retorted as he tapped on the Sky Sports app.
"2 nil to Palace,"
"Fuck," Marcus cursed, smacking his fist on the steering wheel.
Oliver chuckled. "School boy error. Told you before: Never bet on the early game,"
OoOoOoOoO
"What's this?" Marcus' eyes widened as he took the paper bag from Oliver.
"Lunch, you prat. I thought it would be a nice gesture on your first day in your new job," Oliver replied, sitting down on the bench next to him.
"How is your first day going anyway?" he asked before taking a bite of his own sandwich.
Marcus swallowed. "Fantastic. Coach Nick gave me a tour of the ground and introduced me to the other grounds staff. I think I understand a little more why you love it so much here," he replied. "What?"
Oliver shook his head smiling. "Just haven't seen you this happy in a while," he pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "I'm happy for you."
OoOoOoOoO
Marcus paced the living room, holding the 'phone to his ear.
"...I understand that…"
Oliver flipped the page of his book over, chancing a glance up.
"...I realise that…"
The tension in the air was thick.
"...Obviously…"
Oliver tried to focus on the text.
"...Would you just…"
Oliver watched as Marcus clenched his fist, gritting his teeth.
"...No!" he snapped. "Because I am in love with Oliver, Mother. And if you and Father cannot accept that, then we are done."
Oliver's eyes snapped up, all pretence of him reading the book shattered as Marcus ended the call, slumping heavily down into the couch. He glanced around at Oliver.
"What?" he asked, no hint of anger or malice in his voice, only confusion at the look of shock that had spread over Oliver's features.
"You just told your mother you are in love with me," Oliver stated, internally wincing at the fact he was stating the obvious.
"Yes?" Marcus slowly nodded, his voice questioning. "You're going to need to be more specific, Oliver.
Oliver closed the book. "You haven't actually told me that."
Marcus frowned, looking away, as he tried to recall a time when he had told Oliver he loved him.
"Oh," he replied, realisation dawning that no, he had not in fact, told Oliver this. He glanced back at Oliver. "Oh," he repeated, turning so he had one leg drawn up on the couch, the other planted on the floor.
"Well…" he began, but his words were cut off as Oliver launched himself at Marcus, pressing his lips to his lover's, knocking his balance as they both fell into the side of the couch.
Oliver wound his fingers into Marcus' dark locks as he deepened the kiss. Finally, they parted, Oliver sitting himself up.
"I love you too, obviously," he threw Marcus an impish grin, suddenly shy.
Marcus stood up, holding his hand out to Oliver. "Come with me," Marcus grinned.
Oliver frowned, looking up nervously.
"Where?"
"To bed. So I can show you how much I love you," Marcus replied, one eyebrow raised.
"Oh," Oliver replied quietly. "Oh."
OoOoOoOoO
Marcus stirred as he heard the front door bang shut, followed by Oliver's curse. Frowning he glanced at the clock: twenty to eleven. Practice had obviously run late.
He shut his eyes again, expecting Oliver to take a shower before coming to bed, meaning he could get at least another twenty minutes sleep. After the day he had, he definitely needed those extra twenty minutes.
Marcus frowned as the door opened, his eyes remaining shut.
Oliver slipped into the bed, wrapping an arm around Marcus as he grazed his earlobe with his lips. "I know you're not asleep, love."
"No, but i've had a shit day, so honestly I don't know if I am in the mood."
Oliver coaxed Marcus onto his back, slipping his leg over Marcus' pelvis, his lips gliding over his lovers as he kissed him. Marcus's hands travelled up over Oliver's back, his eyes snapping open as he felt the fabric.
"You're still in your kit," Marcus stated, confused.
Oliver hummed his reply, as Marcus breathed in the intoxicating aroma of sweat and cologne and that heady scent of heat rub. "You smell like a changing room," Marcus murmured, his cock twitching as Oliver ground his hips against him.
His lover hummed once more.
Suddenly fully awake, Marcus flipped Oliver over, pressing kisses to his throat, his teeth dragging his shirt away from his collarbone. "Fuck, that's hot," Marcus hissed as Oliver gripped Marcus' cock, freeing it from his pyjama bottoms.
"You should come to bed in your kit more often, Wood."
Oliver grinned, "You like that do you coach?" he asked, his voice hoarse with desire.
Marcus lifted his head from Oliver's neck, pausing, a frown on his face as he considered the idea. His frown softened into a smile. "Yes I do, Wood," he groaned, sitting up to tear the shirt from Oliver, licking and kissing his torso. Freeing his lover's cock from his shorts, he wrapped his fingers around the base blowing air onto the tip, feeling Oliver arch his back under him.
"Don't tease, Flint," Oliver moaned.
Marcus chuckled. "Who?"
"Don't tease, Coach Flint," Oliver corrected.
"Beg." Marcus instructed, his lips mere centimeters from Oliver's cock, his fingers of his other hand kneading the hot flesh of his thigh.
"Please," Oliver moaned, arching his back once more.
"Please, what?" Marcus asked, smiling up at Oliver who was writhing under his touch.
"Make me come, Coach Flint,"
"Where?"
"In your mouth," Oliver hissed, groaning as he felt Marcus' hot mouth engulf him.
"Fuck," he hissed, gripping the bed sheet in his fists.
OoOoOoOoO
Marcus sipped his beer at the bar, watching as Oliver danced drunkenly with his team mates to the 1960s hit, Twist and Shout. He chuckled, shaking his head, as his lover made a drunken fool of himself on the dancefloor with his team mates. He knew this was the song they blasted in the changing rooms every time they won a game, the music drifting out as he waited for him to emerge from the steamy room, sometimes with his kit still on and a lusty glimmer in his eye. On those occasions they didn't stop in the bar to socialise.
As Captain, Oliver had helped turn the season around and since Christmas the team had won every game, finishing 15 points clear of their second place team who also happened to be the team's local rivals. Naturally the team were in a celebratory mood at the End of Season Presentation; Oliver having been awarded 'Manager's Player' as well as 'Player's Player' had even more reason to celebrate.
Marcus chuckled as he watched Oliver grab a very drunk Lindsay and pull her into the throng of players, keen to make sure she enjoyed this moment too, having kept them all on top form as the injuries came thick and fast towards the end of the season. He knew Oliver held her in high esteem, respecting her as a friend as well as the team physio. Oliver twisted her round as she covered her face giggling, until she relented, dropping her hands to his shoulders, joining in as they yelled the chorus lyrics.
As the track ended and the familiar introduction to 'One Step Beyond' came on, the players went wild jumping up and down, belting out the well known tune, dancing about on one leg much to the amusement of the other revellers. Even Lindsay danced about on one leg until she fell over, laughing her head off, as Oliver helped her up and over to the bar.
"Hi Marcus," she greeted him, her face crimson from her earlier antics.
"Hey Linds," he replied, "I'll get them," he smiled before turning to Jodie. "Jack Daniels and Diet Coke, a bud and a J2O."
"Oh cheers, Marcus, that's very sweet of you," she stood on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. "Not drinking?"
"Driving," he smiled, clinking glasses with her. "Having a good night?"
"Yea, it's good to let my hair down. Especially after the season sicknote has given me," she winked at Oliver.
"Hey!" he complained at the nickname.
"Sicknote," Marcus chuckled. "I'll have to remember that one. I tell him all the time, it's his own fault he gets whatever plague is doing the rounds. I suspect half his injuries are his own fault too."
"Yup," she agreed, a grin plastered across her face.
"I don't think I like you two being friends after all," Oliver complained, feigning a sulk.
"You love it," Lindsay joked, playfully swatting him on the arm. "Right, children. I'm off home to my actual children now," she winked, kissing Oliver on the cheek before heading over to James and Nick to kiss them goodbye.
"She's a good girl, that one, even if she's sarcastic and her bedside manner is truly lacking in sympathy. I hope she stays next season," Oliver commented, watching her go.
"Don't worry, Lindsay's not going anywhere," James winked as he waited for Jodie to finish serving. "Next round's on me Woody. Gotta make sure we look after our star player."
Marcus nudged Oliver in the ribs. "Star player eh?"
"Yup, but only cos I have great coaches," Oliver winked.
OoOoOoOoO
Oliver turned the key in the lock, pushing the door open with a thud.
"Marcus, can you please get onto the landlord about this ruddy door... Oh," Oliver's words trailed off as he saw Marcus sat on the sofa, spoon half way between the tub of ice cream in his hands, blanket across his lap, great big tears streaming down his face.
"What happened?" Oliver asked, concern lacing his tone as he dropped his kit down, coming to the sofa.
Marcus sobbed uncontrollably as he pointed. Oliver's eyes followed his finger, confused.
"You have got to be kidding me," he groaned, throwing his hands up in the air, before dropping bodily onto the couch beside Marcus, snatching up the ice cream.
"You don't understand, Ollie!" Marcus choked out between sobs. "There was room on that raft, damn it!" He snatched the ice cream back from Oliver scowling.
"Love, can you do me one favour?" Oliver asked gently as Marcus took a bite of the ice cream.
"What?" Marcus sniffed.
"Stop watching Titanic," he grinned.
Marcus smacked him over the head with one of the throw cushions in response.
"Baby," tutted Oliver, as he pulled Marcus into his arms.
OoOoOoOoO
"No."
"Why not?" Oliver pouted.
"Because I said no," Marcus told him firmly.
"But it's a Samhain party," Oliver whined.
"And?" Marcus snorted.
"And we should do a couple's costume," Oliver stated, pushing the costumes towards him.
Marcus snatched up the hanger.
"Who is this even supposed to be anyway?" he sneered, his nose turned up as his inspected the garment.
"Loki. And I would be Thor," Oliver explained excitedly.
"Nope," Marcus stated, dropping the garment back down on the coffee table.
"Oh please," begged Oliver. "I'll do anything."
Marcus looked up, his eyebrow shooting to his hairline.
"Anything you say?" he asked, quizzically.
"Anything," Oliver promised, a twinkle in his eye.
OoOoOoOoO
Marcus nudged Oliver with his chin.
No response.
He kissed the exposed skin of his shoulder.
No response.
He grazed his skin with his teeth.
No response.
He poked him in the side, a grin spread across his face.
No response.
He shoved him in the shoulder, pouting.
No response.
"Fucking wake up, it's Christmas," Marcus yelled, startling Oliver awake much to his amusement.
"What the actual fuck?" Oliver complained, rolling over to fix a death glare at his lover.
"It's fucking Christmas, get up." Marcus laughed, sitting up on his heels, pulling Oliver up until he was sitting up in bed, the covers casually draped over his legs.
Oliver's frown softened as Marcus leant forward, capturing his lips with his own, his hands cupping his cheeks. Smiling into the kiss, Marcus nipped gently, his tongue soft and gentle in Oliver's mouth, sensual and caressing not the usual hungry and teasing.
Marcus giggled as he leant back, breaking the kiss.
Oliver half frowned, half laughed as he shook his head confused. "What?" he asked as Marcus laced their fingers together.
"I love you, Ollie."
"I love you too, Marcus. Now what's got into you?" he chuckled as Marcus kissed Oliver's fingers. This was not normal behaviour from his lover.
"Christmas," Marcus whispered, before turning in the bed, reaching into the draw of the bedside table his side of the bed.
"What's this?" Oliver asked as Marcus placed a small package in his lap that had clearly been wrapped in a department store.
"Open it," Marcus instructed, nodding to the package.
Frowning, Oliver tore the paper off, gasping as he saw the name of the very expensive jewelers in the town embossed on the lid. "You broke the £50 limit rule," Oliver admonished.
Marcus shrugged his shoulders. "You're worth it," he replied, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Open it."
With trembling fingers, he carefully, slowly, painfully slowly, lifted the lid. Time stood still as Oliver stared at the platinum band with diamonds encrusted on a diagonal stripe across the band.
"Marry me?" Marcus asked, as Oliver stared speechless at the ring.
Absently, Oliver became aware that tears were making tracks along his cheeks as he belatedly realised he was crying and nodding. Marcus reached for the ring, placing it on Oliver's ring finger, kissing his tears away as Oliver splayed his hands on Marcus' cheeks.
OoOoOoOoO
Marcus cracked an egg into the frying pan as Oliver fumbled over his tie. Chuckling, he washed and dried his hands, before stepping over to Oliver, taking the ends of the tie and gently fashioned a perfect Windsor knot before planting a kiss on his lips.
"Relax would you?" Marcus suggested as he returned to the stove, scrapping the egg onto the waiting plate. "Here, eat this," he pushed the plate in front of Oliver who was sat at the table fussing over his notes.
"No, I can't eat anything…" he began, his voice trailing off as Marcus took the notes from his hand, fixing Oliver with a stare until he took the cutlery he held out for him.
Oliver rolled his eyes. "Fine. But I need my notes back."
Marcus hummed. "After you have eaten your breakfast."
"I'm not a child," huffed Oliver as he cut up his bacon.
"I know," Marcus replied as he patted Oliver on the head.
OoOoOoOoO
Marcus shut the fridge door handing Oliver his lunch with a kiss. "We have reservations at 'The Fountain' at 8pm. Do not be late home from work," Marcus told him, reaching into the bread bin as Oliver grabbed his briefcase. He grinned, handing him a card and package.
"You thought I'd forgotten didn't you?" He quizzed, as he smirked at the blush tainting Oliver's cheeks.
"No," replied Oliver quietly. "I just assumed you wanted to do this tonight."
"No you didn't," Marcus chuckled, "You didn't know about the reservations. You thought I'd forgotten our anniversary," he kissed his lover soundly before stepping back to watch Oliver tear into the package.
Oliver smiled as he cracked open the box to reveal two beautiful silver cufflinks with a central onyx surrounded by diamonds.
"You broke the rule again," Oliver chidded, rolling his eyes as Marcus slipped them from their cushion, snapping them onto his sleeves.
"Beautiful," he whispered against his lips, "just like you."
OoOoOoOoO
Marcus lay with his head in Oliver's lap vaguely watching the television as Oliver read his book, his fingers laced absently in Marcus' dark locks.
"We should adopt," Oliver stated, not taking his eyes off the book.
"Yeah?" Marcus replied, not taking his eyes off the screen.
Oliver hummed as he used his thumb to turn the page, massaging Marcus' scalp with his fingers that teased his hair.
"One? Two? How many are we talking here?" Marcus asked not really paying any attention to the adverts on the television.
"Seven," Oliver replied, as casually as if he had been asked how many pairs of football boots he owned.
Marcus swallowed hard, turning to look up at Oliver, who gave up all pretense of reading, holding the book to one side to return Marcus' stare.
"Seven? I mean are you sure? Seven?" Marcus asked, uncertainty lacing his tone.
"Yes. Seven." Oliver replied with a nod before chucking the book on the coffee table as Marcus sat up, turning to face him.
"Just think about it, Marcus. If we get them playing football while they are little, they could be proteges," Oliver told him excitedly, his eyes lighting up like a kid at Christmas.
"Okay, that is just mad," Marcus told him, settling back into Oliver's lap as the program restarted.
"But we can adopt right?" Oliver asked, stroking Marcus' fringe out of his eyes, as Marcus turned in his lap to look back up at him. He leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead.
"Sure, whatever you want Ollie," Marcus smiled.
FIN