I never wanted anyone like this.
It's all brand new, you'll feel it in my kiss.

-Madonna, "Crazy For You"

It's almost the same, and it is. Except this time he can't weasel out of it. Oliver has Marcus more-or-less right where he wants him. In bed. Not Oliver's bed, but the spare bed, pulled out of the couch for the night. Oliver watches him as he sleeps.

This time Marcus has changed, and Oliver knows it. He's become rougher, like a larger-grit sandpaper. Oliver feels Marcus rubbing across his mind, scraping away years of cultivated disinterest. Oliver's stint with Puddlemere United is over; he's now a full-time keeper for Ron's beloved Chudley Cannons. Marcus has moved up as well, taking a suddenly-vacated reserve spot with Puddlemere United. Given the recent turn of events, Oliver is aware of the grim irony of the situation.

Marcus wakes and growls. Definitely rougher, thinks Oliver. Marcus looks up. "Was it sympathy?" he demands. Oliver feels the answer being drawn out of him and wonders at that. Marcus's wand is in the hall closet.

"Marcus, no, I hadn't heard 'till this mor--"

"It must've been. I can't. You know I don't want places from charity."

Oliver's face grows hot. "It's not, you stupid git! Just leave it alone. I had nothing to do with that, I swear!" Marcus clearly doesn't believe him, but suffers himself to be placated just a bit. Oliver has made lunch; Marcus slept through breakfast. "Eat", Oliver commands, and shockingly enough Marcus obeys.

Midway through lunch, Marcus pauses, looks up, and says what Oliver's been expecting all day. "What do you want from me?" Oliver knew it was coming, couldn't avoid it, steeled himself for it, and yet he still aches to hear it.

"Nothing. You can just..." he trails off, waving his hand toward the sofa bed. "Whatever. Stay as long as you like. You know I won't mind." Marcus looks at him for a long moment, quietly and completely out of character. Oliver notices. "What?"

Marcus starts. "Huh?"

"You were looking at me in. You know. The." Oliver blushes.

"What?"

"The way I used to look at you."

There isn't sex, the first time, which is actually the third. There's a good deal of rather deep tongue and Oliver's ear gets licked at least once. He moans at that, and Marcus laughs, and it breaks whatever tension could have been between them about this. Apparently Oliver isn't the only one with at least buried lust.

They're familiar -- that's the only word Oliver can think of to describe the situation. Not lovers, not friends. They've done this before, but only half-seriously. Half of us were serious, Oliver thinks, and that half is sitting here pondering again. He chuckles a bit, and Marcus rolls over on the bed and looks at him.

Oliver raises his head and his eyebrow, and Marcus asks "So what's so funny? Other than your moaning." He cracks a smile. Oliver explains and Marcus nods. "You're the serious one, Wood. I'm just the brooding, evil one." He sets his face into such a scowl that Oliver is soon covering his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. He's never found Marcus really funny before.

There is something rather sobering, though, about the concept of sex between them. They haven't yet figured out how to approach it, so they avoid it. There is plenty of talk about limbs and lips and licking, but there's a gaping opening around which both of them skate, afraid to go near the hole in the ice.

Oliver finally breaks the ice on which he stands, falling into the frigid water. "Flint." He receives a grunt in response. "You know I'm thinking about it, and I know you're thinking about it, so let's stop cat-and-mousing each other, okay?"

Marcus gives him a calculated look, and then says slowly "alright", stretching the liquid sounds of the l and r like taffy. "So what is it you wanted to say?"

Oliver opens and closes his mouth. He's leapt without looking and has no backup plan. He closes his eyes and says quietly "sex". As soft as it is, it has the power of a freight train hitting Marcus between the eyes. Air leaves Marcus and he's struggling to pull it into his lungs, but Oliver has taken it away and in ransom demands the impossible.

"I. We." Marcus struggles to make sound. He's known this was coming, but this, he knows, is one of those moments for which he just can't prepare.

What strikes Marcus the most is the wanting. He's never wanted like this before. Of course he's wanted things, like a new broom at the holidays or to captain the Slytherin squad, but they're just shadows, former things. This is the now, and Marcus has a want. The barest whisper of it he can trace five years to a table under Honeydukes, but this is a sudden flash and it's upon him.

He pulls Oliver toward him and they're together. As cheesy as he knows it is, he can feel the other boy's heartbeat. It sends mystical signals through him, hitting him where he thought it couldn't. His own heart aches. The two faces come together in their signature move. When they finally part, Oliver whispers "I'm not letting you go this time." Marcus thinks he's a stupid romantic, but can't stop himself from grinning like a maniac.