Work Text:
Quidditch practice during the winter months was brutal, and not just because you had Marcus Flint as a captain, as others might expect. Was it technically his fault that you and the rest of your teammates had been out flying around when there was snow blustering sideways across the pitch and the wind was burning your cheeks raw? Yes. But you never faulted him for being dedicated. If anything you found it kind of admirable.
A hot shower in the locker room post practice did little to cut the chill that tore through the space, and yet you lingered behind under the water, dreading the thought of leaving the stall and trekking back up to the castle with wet hair, even if it was an inevitability. Eventually though, you willed yourself out of the shower and bundled up the best you could before you slung your bag over your shoulder and pushed out through the door that led from the girls’ showers into the main locker room.
At the same time, Marcus emerged from the boys showers across the way, his short black hair damp and sticking up every which way like he’d ran his fingers through it or shaken it out. He didn’t notice you at first, too preoccupied digging through the bag slung over his shoulder for something. That was alright though, because it gave you the perfect opportunity to admire just how nice he looked in the jumper he’d changed into, as you leaned against your locker a few meters away, the rest of your teammates having appeared to have already left.
You’d heard the troll comments people whispered about Marcus before, but apparently you’d missed the lesson in Defense Against the Dark Arts that covered the creatures, because you’d never heard of a troll having such nicely cut shoulders or forearms, or hands that made you wonder how skilled he’d be controlling things besides his broom.
Bloody hell, you were getting ahead of yourself. You weren’t even confident he knew how you felt.
Marcus scoffed and roughly flipped closed the flap on his bag when he’d finally given up rummaging through it, seemingly unable to find whatever he’d been searching for. He looked up for the first time since entering the room, and of course when he did, he caught you staring.
“What’re you looking at?” he asked, the corner of his mouth pulling up into that teasing little smirk you were so familiar with.
“You, obviously. Merlin, you’re thick,” you teased.
“Like looking at thick things then, do you?” he asked with a quirk of his brow, grinning like he’d already won the exchange.
He hadn’t.
“Yeah, I do.”
The words flew out of your mouth before you could stop them, leaving you no choice but to own them, cheeks hot despite the weather and with a stupidly triumphant grin on your face.
If Marcus had noticed anything off, he hadn’t acted like it. Unluckily for you, the innuendo in your words hadn’t seemed to register to him at all. He just gave a little snort like you’d said something only mildly ridiculous, and carried on as if you hadn’t attempted confessing right then and there. He really was thick. It was a bit ridiculous.
“You flew well today, ‘specially given the conditions,” he said, voice even as ever, back in captain mode as per usual after practice.
It was quite the compliment coming from him, always one to have critiques on his team’s performance. It made you smile, knowing you’d done well in his eyes.
“You too, as usual,” you said, maybe a bit too enthusiastically. At least you were good friends with Marcus, and it didn’t feel too embarrassing to stroke his ego so readily. “I feel like I was more than a little stiff, but I tried.”
Marcus of course, didn’t mind having his ego fed, and he grinned, shrugging off your assessment of your flying. “Normal to be a bit stiff when it’s this cold, you still flew better than half the others.”
“Half, hm? That’s better than I expected, thought for sure I’d be in the bottom three,” you said with a laugh.
“Not this time,” Marcus said, pulling the strap on his bag up higher on his shoulder as he made his way to the door.
You fell into stride beside him, and he’d looked like he was about to hold the door for you, but he stopped mid step. He gave you a sidelong glance, then hesitated as though he was debating something. You stopped, too.
“Do you uh, happen to have lip balm?” he wondered. “Couldn’t find mine and the wind’s been doin’ a number on me,” he added, overexplaining awkwardly as though it pained him to ask for help in any way.
But what actually mattered to you in that moment was that he did, in fact, ask. He asked you, and that made your pulse do something funny for a moment. He wanted to use your lip balm. Something personal, that went on your lips. He wouldn’t ask that of just anyone, surely. Was he finally picking up on your attempts at flirting? Was he giving you some kind of opening to make a move?
Perhaps you were clutching at straws and he was actually only asking you because you were a girl and would therefore have lip balm – which was a very practical and even necessary item given how bloody nasty it was outside right now – but you liked to think that maybe, just maybe, he was giving you the subtle little opening you’d been waiting too long for.
Marcus raised a brow at you in question which was what finally snapped you out of your internal deliberation, and you nodded hastily, trying not to stare too intently at his lips now that he’d called attention to them. You had to work quickly before either your common sense or nerves caught up with you.
“Yeah, I’ve got a few actually,” you said, unzipping one of the small front compartments on your bag and pulling out two small tubes of lip balm. “Chocolate Frog or Pumpkin Pasty?”
“Got to be Chocolate Frog,” he said as though it was the obvious choice.
“Yeah, that's a good one,” you agreed, putting the other tube back into your bag.
But instead of handing over the flavour he’d picked, you popped the cap off of it and carefully applied it to your own lips, a teasing little grin on your face that told him you knew you were being a little shit right about now.
“Winter’s been brutal, good call, reminding me to put some on before we walk back up to the castle,” you said, unconvincingly feigning nonchalance.
Marcus gave a sharp huff of a laugh. “Brilliant demonstration, now hand it over,” he said, extending a hand for the lip balm and rolling his eyes impatiently, though you knew from the little quirk in his tightly pulled lips that he was only trying to hide his amusement.
You placed the tube in his waiting palm, but you didn’t let go of it. Instead, your fingers wrapped around his hand carefully, and – oh Merlin help you, this was it. You tried not to look at the confused expression on his face before you leaned up and pressed your lips to his. The contact was brief but firm, and your hold on his hand had tightened in the moment, as you’d steadied yourself with your grip on him.
Marcus was entirely frozen. You weren’t sure if he’d remembered to breathe even after you’d taken a small step back, once you’d completed your ambush. Your heart was racing and you couldn’t remember a time you’d been more nervous for someone’s reaction, but it was him and it was practically impossible for you not to have a grin on your face as you looked up at him, watching his mouth fall open and his cheeks blush a brilliant red as he looked down at you.
“Did you just–” he asked, a breathy, shocked laugh escaping him, like he couldn’t quite figure out if the last ten seconds had actually happened or if you’d managed to hex him with confundus. “Wh–What was that?”
You let out a huff of amusement, a fond sound when it was in the context of Marcus, and you nodded, your words coming out soft when you spoke. “I don’t think I could have been any more clear, really.”
“Oh…” he muttered, clearly still processing things. Feelings and emotions, as it turned out, were more difficult for Marcus to navigate than quidditch matches were. He’d sounded delighted, though, if not still a bit surprised.
It did, eventually, click for him, though. Marcus took a step closer, closing the little bit of distance that you’d left between the two of you, and you could practically see the exact moment he gave up on wondering if he should be upset with himself for missing what was probably dozens of other signals from you, and decided to act on this one, that’d been impossible to miss.
You were ready for it when his hands met your hips, glancing down and watching with a grin as he slipped your lip balm into one of your front pockets. He didn’t say anything else, just took your chin in one hand and steadied you as he kissed your lips something hard and eager and very him.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, your body pressing up to his drawing a low groan from his chest as his lips moved against yours, deepening the kiss hungerily. Merlin, the fact that you’d made him make any sound at all had you practically giddy.
Fucking finally.
You felt his tongue against yours and one of his hands sliding into your hair and at that point you thought that maybe you were the one who wasn’t quite up to speed, because you’d imagined kissing Marcus for so long you’d been starting to think it was never going to happen. But this was real, and when your lips had to part from his with the need for breath, the way he was looking at you let you know you weren’t dreaming. You’d never seen his usually hardened features looking quite so soft before, his head tipped slightly to the side as he pulled back just enough to look at you.
“You know, if you’d wanted to kiss me, you could have just said so,” he remarked, moving back into your space and letting his forehead come to rest against yours.
You laughed, because maybe he was right. You’d tease him for being thick headed all while being upset he’d been missing your signals. “I really should have,” you agreed simply, a bit embarrassed, though overall very pleased.
“Mhm,” he hummed, pleased with himself for having gotten you to admit that he was right. It wasn’t something that happened to him often. “Could have been kissin’ for ages now,” he added with his little smirk, the confidence that he usually held with your typical banter returning to him now. His lips pressed against your cheek and you could feel him smiling.
“You could have said something too,” you argued, though there was no real heat in your words. You pulled back just a bit but your fingers curled into his coat, keeping him close.
“Didn’t know it was an option. I’m thick, that’s what you said, isn’t it?” he teased you, then paused for a moment, his voice a touch softer when he spoke again. “You got to tell me if you want things from me. I’d have said yes, you know.”
You nodded, feeling your cheeks heat up once again. That was something you could agree to do.