Disclaimer: Don't own them.
Wood's fabulous when angry. All sparks and irregular shaking. Almost flinching but the direction of the movement being forward –attack, not retreat.
"Puddlemere's not fucking old fashioned!"
"Come on, Dumbledore was a fan."
"Have you got something against Dumbledore as well, Flint?"
"Just saying that Puddlemere ought to be six feet under, as is dear Dumbles."
"Yeah? And like half of your opponents!"
I laugh. He comes in very close.
He's always as easy.
Requiring only a tweak and twist of his emotional lever. His buttons. Anything.
His every single nerve possessed by Quidditch, his core pulsating with it.
You don't need to know where to aim –just what to aim with.
Quidditch.
I see his left eye twitch. He's holding his breathe. Storing it.
"Your whole team is fucking foul, Flint." He whispers.
I grin.
"Actually it's so revolutionary –groundbreaking, that a puddle boy such as you could never understand. Still stuck in the age when bludgers were rocks."
He growls.
You need to know when to ease off. Let go. To push too much is to push him away.
He'll just slip off the bed. Detach his head from the headboard you're sharing,
and move to shout at you from somewhere by the dark window.
You have to calculate the amounts you set forth. Examine his breaths.
Too many intakes and too little emission precede actual fury.
"Oliver."
I say softly.
" 'm playing with you."
I tip my head towards him and smile, as softly as I can. He stares.
"Pretty fucking bad at playing, Flint."
He smiles meanly.
Let him think he won. Let him utter the last malevolent remark. Give him the illusion of the upper hand. And you conquer.
"It's Marcus."
"Ah, yes Marcus."
He kisses fierce, still sparking and spitting embers of temper.
He pushes you against the headboard. Clambers atop. Until you roll him over and show who reigns.
But you do stop calculating, estimating and symbolically slithering for the tiniest of moments.
He is lovely.
Background info: According to Quidditch Through the Ages Puddlemere United (founded in 1163) is the oldest Quidditch team within the British and Irish Quidditch league.
Rowling has stated that Wood went on to play for Puddlemere's reserve team after Hogwarts. In my personal opinion Flint would have fitted well into Falmouth Falcons.
(Falcons being a league team renowned for their violent gameplay and the team motto: "Let us win, but if we cannot win, let us break a few heads.")
