Disclaimer: I don't own Marcus Flint nor Oliver Wood, they both belong to J.K. Rowling. Nor do I own the song, Shame by Robbie Williams.
Authors Note: I had this laying around on my computer for quite awhile, and figured it would be a shame if I didn't do anything with it. Enjoy.
Well, theres three versions of this story, mine and yours and then the truth. And we can put it down to circumstance, our childhood and then your youth.
Time was such a foolish concept for the Falmouth chaser. Everyone always said that after time it will get better, it will become easier, but they were all lying fucks. Time was not helping at all, in fact it was making it worst, driving him farther and farther from the moments in his life that he actually liked and reminding him that he messed up the only good thing he ever had going for him. Sitting upon his bed, staring at a picture clenched tightly in his hand was where Marcus could be found on any occasion that he had time to himself. Most will call this completely disgraceful act for the Slytherin alumni, but there comes a point in life where you no longer give two shits about what others think.
Out of some sentimental gain I wanted you to feel my pain, but it came back return to sender. I read your mind and tried to call, my tears could fill the Albert Hall, is this the sound of sweet surrender?
Deeply faded against the constant handling, Marcus never bothered to make it more vivid. To him, the faded ink seemed to speak to him, reminding him that it was the past, all done with and that he should really the grow the hell up and get over it. It was a hard concept for the man to understand, expect for these moments when he stared downward, lost at the perfect image in front of him. The flawless sculptured image of the man who was wrapped in his protective arm. The countless hours that where lost looking down at this.
What a shame we never listened, I told you through the television. And all that went away was the price we paid. People spend a lifetime this way, Oh what a shame...
Despite what the picture may seem like to the outside eye, when he was next to the Puddlemere keeper, it was the only time where he found himself truly happy. His face may be set into stone, a tight lip smile, but he always knew, that if those who looked closely enough would know that his eyes always showed the truth. The dark grey seemed only at these moments to be at their brightest against the rigid body of their beholder.
So I got busy throwing everybody underneath the bus and with your poster 30 foot high at the back of Toys-R-Us.
"Bloody fucking hell, Wood." Marcus finally spoke up to the empty room, running his hand through his already messed up hair. This is the part in his routine where he swore he was slightly loosing it, clearly speaking to a man that was far from ever being in his presence again. "I know I was a fuck up, it amazed me that you put up with me for that long, but to leave me in this mess?" His voice was quieting down to a low whisper as he watched the Oliver lean over and plant a kiss on his cheek, and then watching the picture version of himself scrunch up his face in disgust. "You really should just come back and help me Wood, I need you…"
I wrote a letter in my mind, but the words were so unkind, about a man I can't remember. I don't recall the reasons why, I must have meant them at the time, is this the sound of sweet surrender?
Absentmindedly his fingers rose to his face, lightly tracing where the image of Oliver kissed him, while images came flooding into Marcus's mind. Some were of those perfect moments, where he laid in between the sheets, with Scottish man right next to him. Watching the mans chest raise slightly with every breathe he took. Then they ventured to the times where water was running down their skin, he never knew why but put the two of them in a pool or a shower, they were bond to shag. And shagging, that was the only time he actually felt the both of them connect. His favorite memory though, the one that he kept closest to his heart was when Oliver was bustling around the kitchen cooking for the always hungry chaser. There was nothing Marcus loved more then watching his perfect boyfriend move around.
What a shame we never listened, I told you through the television. And all that went away was the price we paid. People spend a lifetime this way, Oh what a shame... Words come easy, when they're true
But as soon as the good images invaded his head, the ones he regretted where soon to follow. There was Marcus staring with confusion as Oliver nonchalantly told him to go off with someone else, since obviously he couldn't make him happy. God, did he regret not speaking up then, claiming, shouting if needed, that Oliver was the only thing that could make him happy. Then the fights come up to the front of his mind, that let every word uttered remain etched into his mind, and then the worst one of them all. Oliver standing there, telling him that there was nothing left between the two of them, nothing to hold on to. Leaving Marcus to only agree helplessly, cause he didn't know what there was left for him to do.
So I got busy throwing everybody underneath the bus and with your poster 30 foot high at the back of Toys-R-Us. Now we can put it down to circumstance, our childhood then our youth.
The front door of his flat opened, but Marcus only gave a slight cringe, annoyed at whoever it was intruding on his time. These times where the only thing keeping his sanity and having them cut short was not in the chasers favor. Knowing soon though, that whoever it was would end up walking in his room to find him, Marcus's eyes scanned the picture hungrily, before he was left with just a memory to last him till next time.
What a shame we never listened, I told you through the television. And all that went away was the price we paid. People spend a lifetime this way, and that's how they stay, oh what a shame. People spend a lifetime this way, oh what a shame. Such a shame, what a shame.
As the song came to an end, Marcus's head jerked up to the opening of the door, and a small smile overcame his face as he looked up at the man. This is what life now is. Gently sliding the picture behind his pillow, he stood up pulling Terrence Higgs onto his bed, laying the man on his back as Marcus climbed on top. Expertly moving the sacred picture away from his pillow and into the drawer as his lips kept the younger man occupied from realizing.