Today's line: "It was Romeo and Juliet."
-"Oh, of course it was."
-"Mmn, it is a crowd favourite."
They have the party at Glasgow Stadium, marquees and tents sprawling across the grass. Danny himself had arranged team practise for the day, claiming that he wanted to see the team on his birthday – Oliver's suspicions that he had known full well what would happen were confirmed at the huge, so obviously false expression of surprise on his face when he walked in.
He and Aidan make separate circles for the first few hours by previous agreement; they had agreed that the press needed to spend some time with Danny first, considering that it was his event, before they came flocking to some display of affection that the two of them planned to show.
All the same, it's torture. People from all over the Quidditch scene are there, so Aidan isn't out-of-place as the only Irish player, but that doesn't stop Oliver following him with his eyes, watching the way he moves in his tight black dress-pants and mint-green shirt and half-listening to Howard showing off to the group of female journalists they've somehow managed to situate themselves beside.
"You know, I was an amateur dramatist in my day," he's saying. Oliver bites his lip to keep from laughing.
Jenny, her back to the press, takes no such precautions. "Oh, you were, were you?" she says drolly.
Howard misses the sarcasm. "Indeed I was," he says proudly. "I got three curtain-calls in my first open performance."
Oliver's teeth dig brutally into his lower lip as Jenny rolls her eyes. "I'll bet you did."
It's testament to how thick Howard really is – and perhaps an insult to the Beaters' position – that he doesn't notice that Jenny is laughing at him. "It was Romeo and Juliet," he elaborates.
"Oh, of course it was," Jenny continues, in the same flat, sarcastic tone of voice that Howard completely misses.
The burly Beater frowns pensively instead. "Mmmn, it is a crowd favourite."
Oliver's just about to join in the blatant baiting of the bigger man when there are small, strong arms around his waist and sculpted lips on his ear. "Hey there, gorgeous," Aidan rumbles behind him.
His mouth dry, Oliver turns around and smiles at his lover. "Hi," he says softly. "Are you ready?"
Aidan smiles, his arms tightening minutely around Oliver's waist. "As I'll ever be," he replies, and then tilts his head up and presses their lips together.
The music, the chatter, Jenny's laughs, fade away into the background; the Irish National Seeker is kissing him, his tongue gently flicking out to taste his lips, and he's doing it in front of so many people because he wants the world to know that Oliver is his.
They break apart to the sounds of flashing cameras and clamouring journalists, all manner of different wands pushed in his face as people shout questions at him. He reaches down and clasps the blond's hand tightly in his own, trying to sort each individual question from the hum of activity.
Some of the shouted questions make him smile – do you two train together? Have you always had a predilection for big handsome Quidditch players, Mr Lynch? – but others make him flinch and draw closer to his lover in self-defense.How many of Ireland's team secrets do you know? Have you considered that your shirt-lifting behaviour is a disgrace to the game?
Aidan squeezes his hand, and Oliver squeezes back, lifts his chin and pushes his shoulders back.
"Aidan and I are in a consenting adult relationship, separate to the competitive relationship we share through Quidditch. We do not believe that this relationship affects the way that we play the game, nor that our choice to participate in it should affect the way we are seen by others. Any further questions can be addressed to us in writing. Thanks very much."
They turn away from the press and wander purposefully towards the drinks table, Oliver's heart swelling from the knowledge of what they just did and the fact that none of the press are following them.
"Well," he says briskly, smiling at the Seeker and handing him a glass of white wine, "we're out."