Marcus frowned at the contents of the trolley as Oliver perused the shelves with a childlike glee. At one end of the trolley were stacked carefully: pots of Greek yogurt, Blueberries, Cranberries and Chia; packs of Quinoa, Lentils, Spinach, Kale and Oatmeal; boxes of Green Tea; a head of Broccoli and one of Cauliflower; punnets of Strawberries; a Watermelon (which Marcus refused, despite Oliver's pleading, to be allowed to saturate with Vodka); Pistachios; eggs; Almonds; salmon filets; ginger roots and garlic bulbs; bags of apples and tins filled with all kinds of beans. The other end of the trolley however was a less than carefully organised array of sweet temptations that had appeared at the hands of Oliver.
Marcus was used to Oliver sneaking in less than healthy choices. Chocolate he was generally okay with so long as it was 90% cocoa, but pop tarts, doughnuts, petit fours, and other candied delights caused him to frown deeply.
"Don't sulk," Oliver chided as he placed the toffee covered apples into the trolley. "It's almost Halloween so these are allowed. Plus they are apples, so they are kind of healthy," he grinned. "And," he continued, a little breathless as he hefted an extra large pumpkin into the trolley, "did you not tell me that pumpkin is a superfood?"
"It is, but it doesn't exactly count if all you plan on doing is carving it!" Marcus huffed while glaring at the boxes of pop tarts Oliver moved to avoid crushing.
"You cannot be serious," Marcus complained as Oliver came to a standstill outside the little bakery next to Fortescue's. "Didn't you satisfy your sweet tooth enough today?"
"But look, Marc'," pleaded Oliver, pointing in the window, " they have gingerbread men in the shape of Quidditch players. James and Albus would love them."
Marcus rolled his eyes. "Oh for the love of...fine," he conceded, allowing Oliver to drag him inside under the pretence of stocking up on treats for the children of their friends, Harry and Ginny, who would be visiting that afternoon. When they emerged several minutes later, laden down with more than gingerbread men in the shape of Quidditch players, Marcus knew he had once again been beaten into sugary submission.
"Fuck," Marcus heard Oliver curse, stumbling through the front door, as he changed channel on the television. He glanced at his watch. 3am was actually not bad as far as drunk Oliver went. He continued to flip channels as Oliver stumbled into the lounge, flopping over the back on the sofa, one hand finding it's way into Marcus' hair.
"Hello, lover," he greeted, nuzzling into Marcus' neck.
"You reek like a brewery," Marcus complained, screwing up his nose. "And of cigarettes," he turned his attention away from the television.
"So do you," replied Oliver, pointedly.
"I smoke. You do not," Marcus reminded Oliver as he stumbled round the couch, banging his leg into the coffee table. "Geez, how much have you had?" Marcus asked, looking up at Oliver, noticing for the first time that his makeup was smudged. "Halloween post game party went well then," he muttered, turning his attention back to the television.
"It would have been better if you had been there," Oliver replied, dropping down onto the sofa next to Marcus who continued to stare at the television, changing channels.
"You know I hate those things," Marcus muttered in response.
Oliver attempted to snatch the remote from him.
"Fuck off," Marcus hissed. "You're pissed. Go to bed."
Oliver's mouth hung open for a moment. "What's got your wand in a twist?"
"You, coming home pissed at three in the morning, falling all over the place, looking like you have been making out with Dracula," Marcus retorted, pointing to red smudges on Oliver's neck. "Just piss off to bed will you?"
Oliver frowned for a moment before a lightbulb went off in his head, realisation dawning. "Matt was dressed as a killer," he told Marcus.
"So?" Marcus replied, feigning interest in an infomercial.
"So he had blood on his hands," Oliver continued. "And we played 'Dress the Mummy.' I was the Mummy. Some of Matt's blood must have got onto my neck as he wrapped the toilet paper around me," he explained, as Marcus continued to ignore him, staring at the television.
Suddenly, Oliver made a grab for the remote, lunging across Marcus' lap. Reacting instinctively, Marcus jerked away, violently, the resulting movement causing Oliver to fall onto the floor, banging his head on the coffee table.
The pair looked at each other for a moment before breaking out into laughter.
"What the fuck are you doing down there?" Marcus laughed.
"You pushed me!" Oliver accused, rubbing his head.
"Get up you clumsy idiot," Marcus instructed, reaching out a hand for Oliver to grab hold of. "I think you should go to bed," he chuckles, as Oliver struggles to stand.
"Only if you come with me," Oliver winks in reply.
"Ow! Fuck!" Oliver hissed, rubbing his leg. "Marcus, for the love of Merlin, will you move this shit!"
Marcus glanced up from the papers spread out over the coffee table. "In a minute," he huffed, scratching his head as he tried to make sense of the spreadsheets in front of him.
"Now!" Oliver all but yelled. "I am sick to the back teeth of asking you not to dump your quidditch gear in the lounge.
Marcus glared at Oliver, the two locked in a fierce stare down. Finally he relented, huffing as he got up from his work, grabbing up his broom.
"Thank you," Oliver sighed as he made his way to the kitchen.
"You're welcome," Marcus replied, blowing a kiss sarcastically before shoving the broom roughly in the closet, followed by his robes and pads.
"Must you do that?" Oliver huffed, hands coming to rest on his hips in a show of angry defiance.
"Do what?" Marcus feigned innocence.
"You know what," Oliver replied, glaring at Marcus who was now grinning.
"Oh," he mocked. "You mean this." Marcus blew another kiss.
"You know I hate that," Oliver replied, his cheeks colouring.
"You hate it, do you?" Marcus asked, crossing to Oliver, and wrapping his arms around his waist. Nuzzling at Oliver's neck he whispered, "what about these kisses?"
Oliver groaned, growing hard. "Yes, I hate them," he replied, trying to stay mad.
"Liar," Marcus replied, smiling as his teeth grazed Oliver's ear.
"Marc, wake up," Oliver mumbled as he stumbled clumsily in front of the sofa, knocking into Marcus who had fallen asleep waiting up for him.
"Marc," he tried again, giving him a shove. "Marc!"
"What the…" Marcus began, rubbing his eyes as they focused on a drunken Oliver.
"Do me some pancakes," Oliver requested, "I'm starving."
Marcus looked at his watch. "You realise its two in the morning, yeah?"
"I know, but I really, really, really, really, need pancakes," Oliver insisted, smiling at Marcus as he brushed a hand through Marcus' fringe.
Marcus stared at Oliver for a moment before relenting. "Fine."
"Yes!" Oliver fist pumped, "I love you," he called to Marcus as he made his way sleepily to the kitchen.
Oliver's frown deepened as he tried to make sense of the spreadsheets Marcus had laid out on the kitchen table the night before, begging Oliver for help. If Marcus didn't get the report in to his supervisor at Gringotts, Bill Weasley, by 6pm, he risked getting fired.
"Doesn't make sense, does it?" Marcus commented as he poured coffee into his favourite mug.
Oliver glances, up, the quill in his mouth dropping onto the table, as he stares at Marcus, all taut abs and glistening like Adonis, fresh from the shower and wearing nothing but the Calvin Klein's Oliver bought him from Muggle London during their last trip.
"Put some clothes on," he mumbles, blotting up the splash of ink on the parchment.
Marcus hums, questioningly as he sips his coffee.
"I said, put some clothes on. I'm tired of you walking around in nothing but your boxers all the time. You need trousers and a shirt," he continues as Marcus comes around behind him, dropping a kiss to his neck.
"Do you want to get fired?" Oliver asks, pausing to look sideways at Marcus.
"With this body I could get work, baby," Marcus winks, blowing a sarcastic kiss at Oliver as ducks to avoid the screwed up piece of parchment Oliver hurls at him.
Marcus sighed as he placed his briefcase down, chucking his keys in the bowl, taking off his coat. He wasn't sure how he made it through the presentation or indeed how well the goblins had taken it, but Bill had assured him over a drink in the Leaky Cauldron afterwards that it had gone okay.
"How'd it go?" Oliver calls from the sofa, reaching for the box of tissues on the coffee table.
"Okay, I guess," Marcus frowns, glancing at the television. "You aren't watching The Lake House again are you?"
Oliver flushes guiltily.
"Is that my sweater you are wearing?" Marcus asks as he flops onto the sofa, loosening his tie.
Oliver's flush deepens. "You weren't here," he replies by way of explanation.
Marcus softens. "Just don't get snot on it, you know it's my favourite one," he mumbles, pulling Oliver into his arms. "You are lucky you look sexy in my clothes," he whispers.
Oliver laughs, having had this conversation before, he knows where Marcus is going with this. "Yes, but I draw the line at wearing your old 'Quidditch Captain' shirt!"
"Oliver?" Marcus asked, frowning at him over the newspaper, concerned at the way he seemed to freeze in the middle of the kitchen, spatula in hand. "Are you alright?"
Oliver made a whimpering sound in response.
Marcus folded the newspaper in half and then proceeded to roll it up. The legs of his chair dragged noisily across the flagstone flooring as he got up and came to stand where Oliver stood literally petrified.
"Where?" he asked, watching as Oliver gestured with the spatula before swatting the spider hard with the rolled up newspaper.
"Thank you," Oliver breathed, sighing with relief.
"You're welcome," Marcus replied, pressing a kiss to Oliver's forehead briefly, before turning to throw the newspaper in the bin.
"Hey, you," Oliver greeted Marcus, a confused smile across his face as he landed on the edge of the training pitch. "What are you doing here?"
Marcus smiled, gesturing over his shoulder with a tilt of his head as Oliver pulled away from their kiss.
"Isn't that Hermione's car?" Oliver asked, still confused.
"Yep, she let me borrow it," Marcus replied, a grin plastered across his face. "Thought I'd whisk you away for the weekend to that little Bed and Breakfast you were looking at on the internet the other day," he told him, as they walked towards the changing rooms.
"It was just an email advert I got sent, I wasn't hinting…" Oliver began, but Marcus cut him off, pulling him in for a kiss.
"It's okay, I wanted to surprise you. Now hurry and get changed so we can get going," he whispered, smiling.
"What's in the box?" Marcus asked, coming to sit beside Oliver on the edge of the bed.
"Oh not much," he cryptically replied, trying to shut the lid but Marcus was quicker, stealing the box lid away before dipping his hand inside.
Oliver's cheeks flushed as Marcus pulled out ticket stubs from cinema trips, ribbons from presents, notes Marcus had left lying around the house for him to read and a cork from a bottle.
"From the bottle of wine we both loved at the vineyard next to that Bed and Breakfast," he explained.
"You're a bit of a soppy sentimental fool really, aren't you?" Marcus commented, smiling at a note that read 'I love you,' in his handwriting.
"Yes I am, but I'm your fool," Oliver replied.