Day 8

Title: Day 8
Author: tarotgal
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Pairing: None
Disclaimer: Not my characters. I wish they were mine. I definitely don’t get paid for this.
Summary: Marcus Flint has recently joined Puddlemere United and is out to prove himself.
Notes: Written during my 12 Ficlets in 12 Days in 2014 project for x_posed_again

When Marcus Flint was traded to Puddlemere United, Oliver thought that, finally, their relationship would be normal. Being on the same team meant that they would never have to compete against each other on the pitch, they would never have to coordinate their schedules to find that one day a month they were both free of games and practices, they would never have to travel from England to Scotland or vice-versa to see each other. Flint was on his team, in his home, in his bed. It had seemed perfect.

But it hadn’t been perfect—not by a longshot. The very first day, Flint woke up early and made so much noise when getting up Oliver hadn’t been able to go back to sleep. Apparently, Flint—when not casually sleeping over at his boyfriend’s flat—liked to wake up early and go for a run. Every day. For miles. And Oliver should have been impressed by this, but deep down he was annoyed that Flint seemed to be trying more and working harder than he was. So, of course, he joined Flint on the runs when he wasn’t too sleepy… or when Flint actually waited for him. Flint always wanted to be the first to practice and the last to leave, which ruined Oliver’s breakfast or lunch plans every time. But he couldn’t complain because he sort of admired Flint for it, frustrating as it was.

But it wasn’t until Flint’s fifth practice with the team that Oliver realized his annoyance wasn’t just personal. Because it was clear to everyone on the pitch that Marcus Flint, their newest chaser, was trying way too hard. At every play, he rode too fast, overshooting the quaffle so he missed each catch and had to dive to grab the ball. When he threw it, he overextended, missing the mark, or he threw it too hard; Oliver was going to be icing his leg after practice for sure now. He was putting on a show—and it was a bad one. In fact, Oliver winced with embarrassment more than once when the man tried to look cool catching the ball and dropped it. And he winced again when a bludger came out of nowhere and Flint was so caught up doing some fancy flip on his broom while aiming at a goal hoop in just the right way that he didn’t see it. The ball slammed into his bicep with such force that he not only dropped the quaffle but he fell from his broom.

The team mediwizards kept him from hitting the ground, then they carted him into the locker room at once. And Oliver felt the overwhelming need to rub his hand over his face, scrubbing at a pain in his temple. The rest of practice had been good. Actually, it had been excellent. The other chasers made some excellent shots, all but one of which Oliver blocked.

He was exhausted but proud by the time he was stripping off his clothes in the locker room, looking forward to a nice, cool shower. “Wood?” Oliver lifted his head and turned to see Archibald, Puddlemere’s captain. “They need you in the healer’s room. Something with Flint.”

“What’s he doing, trying to score from there? He knows practice is over, right?”

Archie looked sympathetic. “Give him a break. It’s tough coming onto a new team. It’ll take him some time to adjust. That’s why we practice.”

If the captain could cut Flint a break, Oliver knew that he should, too. But he still balled up his sweater and threw it into his open locker space. “I’ll be right there. Thanks, Arch.”

The man slapped Oliver’s bare back, grabbed a towel, then headed to the showers.

With conflicting feelings battling inside him, Oliver headed to the healers. He was shirtless. He probably stunk and dripped with sweat. He was probably still pissed about the way Flint had performed during practice. But if the healers needed to see him, something must be very wrong. And though he wanted Marcus Flint, his teammate, to finally fit into the team, more than that he wanted Marcus Flint, his boyfriend, to be all right and uninjured.

Flint stood upright, swaying on his feet. His face lit up in a goofy grin when he saw Oliver, and he launched himself forward, almost knocking Oliver back a step or two. “They fixed my arm,” he explained, the grin making Oliver start to feel uncomfortable now. His arm was in a sling, held close against his chest, pinned between the two of them as Flint pressed himself close.

“We had to give him a pain potion. It’s not safe for him to go home on his own. He’s your flatmate, right? Could you apparate him back to your flat?”

Oliver gritted his teeth, regretting the fact that he’d been so worried. They just needed him for some side-along apparation, as if Flint were some little kid instead of a professional Quidditch player who had royally fucked up out there on the pitch making a rookie mistake. “Sure,” Oliver answered.

Marcus clung to him as Oliver brought them home. He put Flint to bed, where Flint stayed for most of the afternoon. By the evening, however, the pain potion was wearing off and he was swearing every time he forgot about his injured right arm and tried to use it to do something.

The worst was when they tried to have sex that night. Body parts were all in the wrong places at the wrong times. Flint’s elbow hit his side. With too much lube, Oliver’s cock slipped all the way out from between Flint’s cheeks when Flint moved forward when he should have moved backward. But the worst was when Flint accidentally turned and kneed Oliver in the groin. Pissed, Oliver had called the whole thing off and stormed off toward the bathroom for a cold shower. When he got back, Flint was already under the covers, grumbling about not being able to lie on his right side.


Many mornings, Oliver woke up just before sunrise to Flint crawling out of bed to go on a morning run. But, one morning, he woke up to an entirely empty bed. He reached his arm out, stroking the sheets, which were cold on Flint’s side, as if he’d been gone a long while. “Flint?” Oliver called out. He grabbed the top blanket off the bed and started through the flat, looking for Flint. As it turned out, he didn’t have to go far.

Flint was passed out on the couch with the Puddlemere United playbook spread open on his chest; he’d apparently fallen asleep reading it the night before and never come back to bed. A surge of anger competed with one of intense respect in Oliver. Finally, he picked up the playbook, closed it, set it on the table, and draped the blanket over Flint’s sleeping form. He knew he should wake the man up and tell him it was time to go running, but instead he just stood and watched the man sleep for a while. Then he went to start breakfast.

From then on, Flint slept on the couch every night with the playbook and Oliver woke up in bed alone.


“You’re dead on your feet, Flint. Do you really think going out is a good idea?” Oliver was so tired he could barely stay on his feet as he shuffled across the flat toward the kitchen for a bottle of water before he succumbed to a nap.

“Puddlemere’s visiting the kids at the hospital to cheer them up. I’ve got to go.”

Oliver shook his head. He wasn’t going. Flint didn’t have to go either. “The team’s always doing stuff like this. It’s not worth killing yourself over. There will be other chances.”

But Flint’s mind was made up. He pulled on his winter cloak. “It’s team-building. I’ve got to do this. I’ve got to prove to them that I’m part of the team now.”

Merlin forbid he do this for the kids.


Hah… har… HARSHOO!” The sneeze was so loud that Oliver could hear it through the bathroom door without the need for the Weasley twins’ extendable ears product.

Oliver climbed out of his nice, warm bed and over to the bathroom, where he leaned against the door for support as he knocked. “Flint! Open up!”

HURShooo!” Came another sudden sneeze, making Oliver jump. Then came the man’s reply, “Back off, Wood. I’b fide!”

“Oh, aye. ‘Cause you sound fine. I’m coming in whether you want me to or not.” Oliver went for the door, which was unlocked, so the man couldn’t have wanted to keep him out that badly. Flint sat on the toilet seat’s closed lid, a tissue balled up against his nose and a thermometer sticking out of his mouth. “Merlin, Flint. You look horrible.”

“I dow.” He blew his nose with a powerful honk. “Dod’t tell the healers, okay? I dod’t wadt theb fussig or keebig be frob blay… blayig… hahhh-SHIHHHhhh!” He still had the tissues clutched to his nose, which was good as the sneeze sounded wet and miserable.

“I won’t have to tell them, because you’re not going.”


“No. You’ve got to slow down, Flint. You’ve got to take it easy.”

“But we’re blayig—”

“I know our schedule. We can take the Harpies. Of course we’d do better if you were with us, but you out there on the pitch, in the cold, sneezing yer head off? That’s going to hurt us all, especially you. The only place I want you to go right now is to bed.”

“It’s the first gabe sidce I… I…” Oliver tensed, bracing himself. “I… hah-IHShhhhh!” He ditched the tissues in the bin and pulled a few fresh ones out of the box that sat on the back of the toilet tank.

Oliver waited patiently as Flint blew his nose again, harder and wetter this time around. Oliver winced at the sound, but he reached down and took the man’s arm. “Come along. I’ll help you into bed.”

But Flint jerked his arm away, resisting the touch. “Dod’t cobe dear be. I dod’t wadt to be resbodsible for you catchig this. I… I hahhh… I cad’t get adythig right. I dod’t wadt to bess you ub, too.”

Oliver leaned back against the closed bathroom door. “Mess me up? Is that why you’ve taken up residence on the couch?”

“You deed to blay well out there, so you deed your sleeb.”

Oliver walked forward and gripped Flint’s arm again. “I’ll sleep better with you beside me. I always do. And… I’ve missed you.”

Flint stood up and threw himself at Oliver. After sniffling into the man’s shirt and wrapping an arm around Oliver’s middle, he turned his head and whispered, “I’ve missed you too. But after I bade a bess of thigs… add sex ”

Oliver got him to bed and, instead of tucking him in right away, instead climbed right in and snuggled up next to him before tucking covers around them both. Spooning Flint from behind, Oliver stroked the man’s hair. “You’ve been trying too hard, Flint.”

Flint nodded. “But I’ve got to show theb they bade the right decisiod with the trade.”

“You’re not going to show them that by breaking your arm or catching a head cold.” He probably wouldn’t have gotten sick if he hadn’t been so run down—never sleeping, eating only when the thought to do so occurred to him, pushing himself to his physical limits not just for a game but for practices as well. Possibly hanging around a bunch of sick kids hadn’t done him any favors either. “Just be yourself, Flint. You’re more than good enough. They wouldn’t have traded for you if they didn’t believe that.”

Hah… hah-IHShhhhhh! Sniff! Oliver?”


“D’you have Pepper-up here?”

Oliver’s hand stopped midway through a stroke of Flint’s head. Flint couldn’t take Pepper-up potion, as messed with his sinuses and damaged his ears. “I do, but—”

“Good.” At once, Flint rolled over from his right side to his left. He pressed himself into Oliver’s chest, tucking his arms in-between the two of them and sniffling as he nuzzled close. “Because, the way my luck’s beed goidg, you’re goig to catch this frob be. Add the teab cad’t afford to lose… you. Hehh-KShffffffff

Oliver winced again as he felt the sneeze against his shirt. Still, he reached back and petted Flint’s head again. This might not be the perfect relationship he’d been dreaming of since Flint told him about the trade, but it wasn’t all bad, either. Flint just needed to relax. Becoming part of the team wasn’t the sort of thing that happened overnight. It was going to take some time. And it seemed that having a live-in boyfriend was going to take some time to figure out, too. But if there was one thing Oliver Wood was good at, it was obsessing. He would put in the effort so Flint wouldn’t have to try so hard. All Flint needed to do was be there and, preferably, stop sneezing on him. Oliver reached over to the nightstand for tissues.