A/N: Hello lovely readers. Yes, I know you are all patiently waiting for me to update Bittersweet Athenaeum, and I'm so sorry for not having done that. Life over the last eight months or so has not been great. BA is still very much active in my mind and is not abandoned but for now here is a little Flintwood one shot muggle AU story. Please note when I say football for those of you who are across the pond I mean soccer ;) Love and hugs, D84 x
Football Practice
Six months they had been broken up. Six long, lonely months, Oliver reminded himself as he stared blankly at his best friend, Hermione, her words washing silently over him, white noise filling his ears.
"Oliver," Hermione sighed, "are you even hearing what I am saying? This isn't healthy." She reached across from where she was perched on the edge of the coffee table and took his hands in hers.
"Oh for the love of all that is holy," came the exasperated voice of Hermione's sister-in-law, Ginny, as she shoved Hermione out of the way, rolling up the copy of 'Sport Magazine' she had been leafing through and thwacking Oliver over the head with it.
"Snap out of it. Pre-season training starts tomorrow. Coach is expecting you to be there. I am expecting you to be there," she cried as Oliver frowned.
"You manage the ladies team," he mumbled, scratching his head absently.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "What's your point?"
"Um, that I play for the men's reserve team?" he replied, as though the answer should in fact be obvious.
"First team this season," Ginny replied emphatically as she looked pointedly at Oliver.
"We'll see," Oliver replied quietly, curling back up on the couch once more.
"Did you tell him?" Harry asked, clearing the plates away as Ginny lifted Albus out of his high chair.
"About training?" his wife replied somewhat distractedly as she took a wipe to Albus' face as the toddler giggled.
Harry raised an eyebrow at her while she studiously avoided his gaze. "Did you tell him who would be there?"
Ginny shrugged her shoulders as she hefted Albus onto her hip. "It's pre season, people come and go from clubs, Oliver knows that. Anyone could show up."
"No, did you tell him specifically about Marcus returning to the club," Harry called as Ginny made her way through to the lounge, fussing over the child, deliberately avoiding her husband's questioning.
"As I said, anyone could show up," she replied, handing a sippy cup of juice to Albus.
"So that's a no then," Harry replied, dropping into his favourite chair with a sigh.
Oliver stared at his cleats lying haphazardly against the wall where he had kicked them off after a kick about with Marcus. They were still covered in dried mud where he hadn't found the will to clean them off and put them away. Instead they had sat there untouched, unloved and uncared for; ignored as a stark reminder of how Oliver felt in Marcus' absence.
Finally, with a heavy sigh, Oliver rose from the couch and picked up the dirty cleats, shoving them into his kit bag without bothering to clean off the mud, uncaring as chunks of dried sod soiled his kit. He wasn't even sure why he was going. Maybe the fresh air would do him good, he told himself. Maybe the endorphins would numb the pain. Maybe not. For Oliver, football and Marcus were inextricably linked. Training was in fact the last place on Earth Oliver wanted to be right now, but the thought of explaining himself to Ginny filled him with such dread that he reasoned to push through the pain and just get it over with. Like going to the dentist, his tired brain interjected, the randomness of the thought making Oliver snort as he locked the front door and headed out onto the street.
Ginny nudged Oliver playfully with her arm, flashing him a triumphant smile as Oliver came to greet the management staff.
"Great to see you, Wood," the coach smiled as he shook Oliver's hand. "Looking forward to seeing you in the first team line up this season," he continued, giving him a pointed look that made Oliver blush as he smiled shyly.
"I dunno about that, coach," Oliver replied. "The competition for places is going to be tough," he reasoned.
"Isn't it always? But you were top goal scorer for the reserves last season so you should be in the mix for the first eleven," the coach countered as his gaze drifted over Oliver's shoulder at the sound of a car door slam. He pointed to his watch. "Flint, you're late," he called, his features betraying a trace of humour in his remonstration.
Oliver's blood ran cold as he turned his head to see Marcus flash a charming smile at the coach apologetically. "Traffic coming out of the city was a nightmare, sorry," he replied, seemingly oblivious to Oliver standing there, mouth agape in shock. Marcus had always played for the club's local rival, so while it was a coup to have him here from a club point of view, it was completely unexpected and somewhat unnerving for Oliver to see him stride by, slinging his kit bag over his shoulder as he headed into the changing rooms.
As Marcus ducked inside, Oliver rounded suddenly on Ginny, his face contorted in a look of abject horror and accusation. She returned the look with one of her own as she tried - and failed- to convince Oliver of her innocence. Oliver tilted his head in disbelief as Ginny flushed slightly, taking a step back, her hands held up defensively. Finally Oliver groaned in frustration and betrayal before hefting his own bag onto his shoulder and making his way into the clubhouse to change.
Oliver couldn't believe it as he pulled on a bright blue bib angrily. Not even two words had passed between the pair. Not that he wanted to talk to his ex. But after six months apart surely the least he deserved was a "how are you doing?" They had, after all, been together for six and a half years before that. He jogged towards the pitch, focusing his thoughts as he made a run into space to intercept the ball. It was good to be back, he reasoned as he slipped easily past the defender and slotted the ball in as the 'keeper dove a moment too late. A grin spread across his face as he jogged back leaving the 'keeper to retrieve the ball from the back of the net.
Oliver timed his run perfectly, picking up the pass with his left foot with one touch and then he was off, sprinting towards the goal. Then suddenly, thwack. He felt the impact on his ankle before he tumbled down, landing on the mass of a player, their legs tangled.
"Fuck," he cursed, as pain tore through him, before continuing with a barrage of curses as his eyes came into focus on who he was lying on top of.
"Flint, what the actual fuck?" he slammed an open palm into his muscular chest before pulling himself up to assess the damage to his ankle. He struggled to stand, waving away the physio who had jogged onto the pitch, concern awash on her face, as their coach laid into Flint verbally about the unnecessarily dangerous tackle.
Oliver stumbled away as Marcus half grinned, half sneered at his former lover in a look that was all too familiar to him. His chest tightened as his heart ached, a mosaic of images from their shared past flashing across his psyche, despite his attempts to block it out.
Marcus continued to sneer at Oliver for the final twenty minutes of practice before the coach blew his whistle and everyone made their way inside. Oliver hung back, ostensibly to clean off his boots as the others made their way into the changing rooms, some of the lads grabbing the bags and heading for their cars, opting to shower and change at home, some hanging back in the clubhouse to sign forms for the coming season. Marcus was known for his long showers and Oliver wanted to give him time to clear out before he headed inside.
Ginny nudged Oliver as she came to sit beside him on the benches outside the changing room. Oliver simply grunted in reply. Silently they watched as the still sneering Marcus sidled out of the changing room before heading into the bar.
"Feel like coming over for some dinner tonight?" Ginny asked, as she glanced at Oliver.
"Not tonight," Oliver sighed, before lifting himself painfully off the bench. After sitting down, his ankle was throbbing quite painfully. "Maybe later in the week. Right now I just want to get showered and go home to bed," he continued as he hobbled into the changing room.
Oliver shut his eyes, resting his forehead against the cold tiles as the hot water pounded the flesh of his back. The pain in his ankle had subsided to a dull ache now, the pain in his chest more profound as he struggled to block Marcus from his mind. Breakups were hard enough without your ex showing up at football practice and trying to take you out to boot. Shutting off the water, he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist as he padded out of the shower.
He bent over his kit bag, pulling out his tracksuit before whipping round at the sound of the door. Frowning through the steam, he stood up straight as a hand shoved him hard against the frigid wall of the changing room, his head banging off it painfully.
"What the…" he started, his eyes focusing on the predatory stance of Marcus.
"Six months. Six months we have been split up and you don't say two words to me? Like I never fucking existed to you? And you just play like that, like you could be playing against anyone, like I don't matter, that I never fucking mattered to you?" Marcus ranted, his face mere millimeters from Oliver's.
Oliver's heart pounded hard in his chest as adrenaline coursed through his veins, his head hurting from where it had banged against the wall. Oliver tried to process Marcus' words.
"What the fuck? Are you high?" he accused, half seriously. "You left me, Marc'. You show up here after six fucking months and expect what exactly? A fucking welcome wagon? You didn't say a word to me either. And if anyone is treating anyone like they never existed, it's you," he accused, shoving Marcus hard in the chest.
Marcus retaliated, shoving Oliver against the wall once more, using his muscular body to pin him there, thrusting his hips painfully into Oliver's groin, causing him to groan, half in pain and half aroused despite himself. For a moment neither said a word, prey assessing predator, as lust filled both their hungry eyes and then Marcus' lips were crashing into Oliver's as Oliver's fingers tore at Marcus, finding their way into his hair and pulling him in bruisingly deeper. Then with one violent thrust, Oliver was shoving Marcus, who stumbled into the bench behind him as Oliver's hand went to his bruised and bloodied lip.
"Fuck this, and fuck you," he yelled, pointing a finger threateningly at Marcus as he grabbed his tracksuit bottoms, his towel lying forgotten on the floor, and pulling them on, ignoring his desperately hard erection as Marcus chuckled. Shoving his sockless feet into his trainers and grabbing his car keys from the valuables bag, he grabbed his kit bag and turned to Marcus one final time.
"You don't get to walk back into my life after six fucking months Marc and kiss me like that and expect all to be forgiven. Fuck you!" He yelled, before storming out of the changing room leaving a seriously aroused Marcus chuckling in his wake.
Oliver threw his kit bag angrily into the corner of the hallway as he slammed the door shut. Alcohol probably wasn't the best solution right now but he was so pissed off he resolved to get pissed anyway. Storming into the kitchen, he grabbed a tumbler from the cupboard before rooting around for a bottle of whiskey he knew Marcus had left behind somewhere in this kitchen.
Finally locating it, he twisted off the cap and poured the amber liquid into the glass, downing it in one hit with a hiss. He actually hated whiskey but he had no beers, Draco having come by last weekend at Hermione's insistence and clearing out the fridge in an attempt to ensure he was sober enough to start preseason. He filled the glass twice more before forgoing the glass altogether, stumbling into the lounge already half cut on an empty stomach, drinking the whiskey from the bottle.
He chuckled ironically to himself as he heard the key turn in the lock.
"Figures you would have kept a spare key," he muttered, as Marcus stepped inside the lounge.
"Figures you would find my whiskey," Marcus replied, taking the bottle from Oliver's lips and rising it to his own.
"What do you fucking want, Marc?" Oliver sighed as Marcus sat down on the couch beside him.
"You, you dickhead," Marcus retorted as though it were painfully obvious, handing Oliver back the bottle, his fingers winding into the hair at the nape of his neck as Oliver took a long pull.
"You had me," Oliver spat. "You had me for six and a half fucking years and then I come home to a 'Dear John'," he continued, his words heavy with the pain he felt.
"I know", Marcus sighed, "I was a fool. I got overwhelmed and ran away from it all. Can you ever forgive me?"
Oliver tried desperately not to melt at the admission or the feeling of Marcus' fingertips caressing his skin but he felt himself pulling into Marcus as his fingers laced deeper into Oliver's hair. Soon their lips were locked in a passionate embrace, far more tender than their violent encounter earlier that afternoon and Oliver felt himself giving in more and more as Marcus leaned him back into the corner of the couch, his hands splayed across Oliver's naked torso.
Oliver groaned as Marcus' lips found the soft flesh of his neck, nipping gently at his collarbone as his hands pulled at his waistband, tugging free Oliver's erection. Tipping his head back, Oliver gasped as wet heat engulfed him, his hands grabbing at Marcus' hair, holding him back slightly as waves of pleasure crashed over him; It was a feeling he hadn't realised he had missed.
Keen to make their reunion last, Marcus lifted up, his hand wrapping round Oliver's cock, lips catching his moan of frustration at the loss in a deep kiss, his tongue gently caressing Oliver's. Standing from the couch, he tugged at Oliver's hand, pulling him up and leading the familiar way to the bedroom.
"What now?" Oliver mumbled into Marcus' sweat covered chest as they lay in the dark afterwards. "You can't expect to fuck me into forgiving you," he muttered, pressing a brief kiss to his skin with the corner of his mouth.
"I know," Marcus sighed, dragging his fingers down the arm Oliver had slung loosely across his abdomen. "I do know." He turned slightly to lay on his side, his hand cupping Oliver's cheek, feeling the lone tear that tracked across it.
"Take each day as it comes?" he asked, a hint of pleading in his voice.
Oliver shut his eyes before nodding slightly.
"Take each day as it comes," he replied.