Sans Oliver, Part Two

Katie left Tuesday morning before Marcus woke up, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of walking out on her or a full breakfast two mornings in a row even if it meant skipping the meal herself and bagging cold Chinese for lunch; she had gone to bed last night secure in her need to force the Chaser to face up to the complications imminent with the type of partnership he and Oliver were proposing, but thinking does as thinking will and Katie had awakened angry. For the love of Merlin, men were simpletons! "Oh yes Katie, we both want you, have wanted you for years actually, so let's all jump in the sack and stay naked for a few weeks alright?" …Not that that wasn't an enviable thought but even Katie—who had never been in a long-term relationship—knew that it took work to make them work. Even Angelina and Fred must do more then fuck.

She felt completely useless at practice, lost in thought over Marcus' emotional rejection while really trying not to think about this hypothetical threesome like a wannabe psychoanalyst. But they needed to talk out their issues right? Was it so wrong of her to ask that Marcus confront any feelings of jealousy before he accepted her into his and Oliver's bed? And had Oliver really thought about it, seeing Marcus in her arms? That boy needs to get his arse back home! Katie sighed and attempted to give a shite about her players staying on their brooms. She didn't fancy another inquisition from Alicia so today's internal worries would be left to fester, no floo calls after work or a meet-up at the pub. All she really wanted was a stiff drink and a slab of Honeyduke's chocolate. Hopefully a shot of whiskey and some warm pyjamas would do—No, no, she was starving, and a damn trainer should know better. Screw the casserole.

"Take away fish and chips and then the whiskey."

"Talkin' to yerself agin Bell?"

"Shut up Joe."

Katie hadn't thought to see Marcus that evening—he'd be at Roughage's, he'd be performing extra laps, he'd be yelling at First Years again(what the bloody hell did she know?)—so when she unlocked the door, take away under one arm and still nursing a sense of righteous indignation against closed-lipped males who claimed to want her, Katie was surprised to see the former Slytherin in a grey wife-beater washing dishes, a scent of soapy shower floating about the apartment.

"Think you can get a couple of days off?"

Katie paused, the whiplash statement causing her to eye her roommate incredulously before placing her wrapped supper on the counter.

"Are we going to go be awkward in another country?" She immediately regretted it. "I didn't mean that."

"Yeah you did. It's alright." He dropped a fork onto the crowded drying tray, giving Katie the distinct impression that it really wasn't. "So can you?"

"Why?" Katie unzipped her Arrows jacket and draped it over a chair, everything oh so casual she thought her teeth might crack. There was a soft, disgruntled sigh from the sink followed by another cleaned fork.

"Business isn't finished in Swansea and I've got a short leave from the Falcons." Another sigh. "Mother wanted me to invite you and Oliver up." Katie retrieved a towel and began drying the clean dishes while that tidbit of information settled. Yelena Flint was dispensing a personal invitation to the Flint Estates. Really.

"Oliver won't be back until Saturday."

"But you're here."

Katie bit her lip, hands stilling on a plate; should she interpret that as Marcus' stab at apology? Mental. Just because he wasn't upset now didn't mean he was repentant about last night's conversation. An ugly part of her psyche commented that this could simply be part of Marcus' own scheme to push Oliver out of their lives—his life—but Katie forcibly shoved that thought aside right after jumping on it a few times. She was not going to stroll down that arrogant road of quasi-adultery. Not only was Katie not a bundling ball of egotistical sexuality, it would mean hurting Oliver, and, like the skipping record Katie feared she was becoming, the trainer had no intention of playing Tug-Of-War.

Fortunately, the real Katie Bell truly believed that Marcus loved Oliver and vice versa.

Truly.

Stupid Alicia.

"Do I have to pretend to like your brother?"

Marcus coughed, pressing his wet hands against the sink; he turned his head.

"I don't."

"Like him, or pretend to?"

"Katie—"

"Let me make a few calls."

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The ride through Wales wasn't nearly as morose as her first journey had been with Alicia and Ter last year. Of course, this time they weren't travelling to the funeral of a man Katie had never met who happened to be the older brother of a former schoolmate whom she hadn't expected to ever see again outside the pages of Witch Weekly. There was no classic carriage cantering along solemnly, no engaged couple holding hands and caressing other parts while Katie diligently read a copy of The Quibbler; Marcus had surprisingly somehow procured a luxurious vehicle in Swansea—no chauffer of course (because Godric forbid he give up that sort of control!) since the venerable Flint Estates were not meant for prying Muggle eyes—stocked with plump red strawberries, thermoses of hot chocolate, and mineral water. Under Katie's hands the leather interior felt as if a carcass had been gummed to unbelievable softness before being transformed into posh seat covers, and as they zipped over the highway the sounds of the old roads were virtually muted, enough so that Katie wondered if Marcus hadn't laid a Charm over the car himself.

She wouldn't have put it past him, and she wasn't a fool to believe that this lovely gesture of comfort was entirely for her benefit alone. Oh Katie was grateful—her arse was grateful—but Marcus was a fan of the finer things in life and his apologies sucked. They hadn't talked much since leaving the apartment.

She had drank the hot chocolate though.

…And ate the strawberries.

"How long will your business take in town?"

"I told you we'd be here a couple of days Katie."

"No, I mean how long will my company be forced upon your family without your presence?" There had been no nice way to phrase it…well none that Katie had wished to take the time to think up…and she could have been much ruder. Marcus gave her a dry look. There was a pause where all could be heard was Katie taking a gulp of the perfectly sweetened drink and she barely had time to swallow before his mouth curved.

"I'll try not to stay away too long. I know you'd miss the stimulation—"

Katie's eyes snapped open.

"—since you won't have any chores to do."

She screwed the cap back on the thermos telling herself that the sudden flash of heat to her face was due to the residual steam and not the memory of the kind of stimulation Marcus' hands and body could offer. She caught him staring and slowly turned her head to stare out her passenger side window.

"When did you learn to drive?"

There was a masculine chuckle.

"I'm a Pureblooded wizard Katie. We don't have time for that sort of Muggle rubbish. And," he spoke over her look of indignation, "if you'd actually paid attention instead of eating all my food—"

"Your food!"

"—you would have realized that I haven't turned this circle once since we started."

Katie's mouth opened, then shut, and then the Arrows' trainer simply stared at the steering wheel underneath Marcus' grip. He was right. Even though the beautiful car moved skilfully the steering wheel itself didn't budge. Silencing Charm huh? Obviously Katie had been thinking in terms of sickles instead of galleons. She shook her head.

"Then why are you pretending?"

"I never pretend." Given that he wasn't responsible for their safety Marcus' steady eye contact was somewhat unnerving, and their recent argument wasn't being helped by the turn this conversation seemed to be taking. Marcus' green eyes were warm, inviting, like a nice liquor, and Katie suddenly didn't want to be angry at him anymore. It would have been nice to reach over to play with the black waves near his temple, smooth down the collar of his dress shirt. But that was too intimate right now and the car wasn't big enough and she still wanted answers that he hadn't been able to give. It must have showed on her face because Marcus' jaw flexed and the moment was over. "But I didn't want to offend your delicate sensibilities by putting my hands somewhere else."

"I'm going to ask your mother if she really extended an invitation for Oliver and I to come visit this week," Katie said quickly, picking invisible lint off her knee and ignoring his double entendre. Bloody child. She wore black denims, but they were new and spotless, along with a preppy little blouse and sweater combo in robin's egg blue. Katie told herself she was definitely not dressing to impress, that she merely wanted to be comfortable while not being a slob. Her thick mass of blond hair was pulled into a neat ponytail at the back of her neck, no make up, her regular old purse on the floor by her feet.

Katie thought Marcus would have a sneering response, bite her head off about distrustful House politics and bring them back to square one again. It wasn't Yelena Flint's motives she was considering however. He lifted an eyebrow but otherwise kept his eyes on the road and Katie disliked the irritation she felt at his silence. She bit her lip and took a slow, steady breath. Now who was being childish? "I'll be glad to see Freyja again," she finally offered sincerely. "How was she the last time you visited?" "I'm going to Wales. There's business that Ian shouldn't handle and according to Mother I've been a rotten big brother." Curiously, Katie saw Marcus' hands clench and release on the wheel. Had Ian been as cruel to their sister as her roommate had once feared?

"She's good," he said in a neutral voice. "She's…She's fine."

Oh. Well then.

Rather than ask anything else that could be considered a slight against his family or sarcastic even to her own ears, Katie shifted, got comfortable, and readied herself for a long silent drive.

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Fuck, she tasted like the wine and chocolate she and Freyja had been sampling earlier. All soft skin and curves and heat as they pressed desperately against each other, the front door of the apartment a barrier easily slammed away as coats and bags dropped, hands too busy touching what flesh they could reach to worry about struggling with belts and zippers to get to what they couldn't. Marcus' were busy moving deep through Katie's hair, gripping, tugging, keeping her close and sweet and there, her smell in his nostrils, his tongue in her mouth—He couldn't help it, holding her by the scalp while Katie's own palms and nails worked ditches across the span of his shoulders and back.

Their shoe-clad feet skittered across the living room floor, both knowing that the couch was their ultimate destination and Marcus hadn't the presence of mind or desire to stop and suggest her bedroom. He couldn't curse her jeans or his pants because what he had now was better than he could have ever imagined.

"Katie…oh fuck." Marcus growled into her mouth, all instinct and sensation, blood thrumming and thumping and darkened spirit soaring as her Healer's hands ripped open the collar of his business shirt, four buttons disappearing to all corners, forgotten as soon as her perfect pink lips and flashing white teeth descended to the meat and sinew of his thick throat. She was off her feet for only a moment (lifted, up in his arms, so right and tight and close in his embrace) before Marcus followed her down onto the oxblood leather, covering her body with a blanket of his own, his large frame forcing itself between accepting thighs as those strong legs immediately rose up around his own.

It was as if a switch flicked inside Marcus' brain. The heat and touch and taste and smell was too much and his cock was like a rocket launcher in his shorts.

Marcus thrust, feeding off the moans and gasps of the fucking divine creature beneath him. And thrust. His rough hands coasted up Katie's jaw line, tongue delving deep. Her hips arched, hands clutching on to him just like he often dreamed she would. And thrust and thrust and—Her top was thin and long sleeved, a beautiful ruby red that allowed his palms easy access to her stomach and—"Merlin Katie!" Her bra was satin under his fingers, strips of lacy fabric topping the slopes of her breasts like decorative parasols and just as feminine.

"Marcus—"

His mouth was on her neck, in the crook where everything connected, where sweat pooled and his bite made Katie squirm. He wanted her to keep saying his name, all breathy and out of control, panting and wanting this just as much as he did. Thrust and push and cradled by all her secrets; she was pulling the orgasm from his center, the coil of explosive lust building at the base of his spine, balls tightening, forehead furrowed.

"Marcus—"

"Yes Katie…oh fuck…"

"Marcus I—"

"Fuck Katie, oh Merlin you're gorgeous, please…" And thrust and oh oh oh…

"Marcus—"

"Katie!"

He erupted, feeling his release drip down his thighs even as the pleasure shot through and out, a condensed rippling of sensitive muscle that sent him sprawling over Katie in a muted roar because there were no words truthful enough at the moment.

"…ow."

Marcus stiffened.

No.

The mixture staining his underwear was a cold paste in the wake of that one tiny word, and the Chaser rose up on hands and knees to examine Katie's face like the Chief Healer he would never be. His maddened previously possessed heart was a rock inside his chest, stopped. He hadn't even noticed her hands had repositioned themselves at some point, no longer pulling Marcus closing but one trying to push him away. Katie's shirt was rucked up around her breasts, the plain white material of her bra visible, her other hand grazing the exposed skin of her abdomen. Marcus felt his face freeze, eyes wide at the burned red of her stomach. The white flesh had been nicked, rubbed, and two indentations screamed obscenities at him: the beak and top wing of Marcus' Falcons belt buckle.

No.

Images from more than two decades ago flashed like a speeding slide show: his mother's persistent face telling him to stay in his room; that same face hours later, mouth swollen and cut, her body shuffling down hallways, barely able to lift her feet. Malcolm Flint watching suspiciously in corners at the woman he had killed to have. Marcus, Ian, and Freyja left in the care of Finny and other house elves while his mother recovered from her husband's demands.

"…Katie?"

She shifted and Marcus wanted to throw up.

He had hurt her.

He had hurt Katie.

"Marcus I—"

Oh fuck, he needed to leave, needed to get his worthless self off of Katie's beautiful fragile body—

"Marcus!"

The Chaser couldn't look her in the eye, jawed locked for fear of spilling all his emotional baggage out through his mouth and fucking begging for Katie's forgiveness. This was why he could never have her, why Oliver was the monumentally better choice and why as soon as the Keeper returned to London he would Crucio whatever was left of Marcus' insignificant life. Oliver. Oh Merlin, he'd lost them both. This was Unforgivable, and as soon as he could untangle her legs from around his knees—

Katie's fingers trailed over his chin, his tightly closed lips, and held his jaw in place. Marcus shuddered under her questing touch but couldn't respond. "Marcus. Please." He was scum. He was fucking scum! "It's alright Marcus, I'm alright." Her voice was soft and logical, so damned gentle and he couldn't stand it. "I was just a bit uncomfortable."

Uncomfortable?

"I cut you." Each word was pulled out with a tow truck, all gravel and dripping self-hatred while Marcus concentrated on the perspiration fading beneath her hairline. "Let me up Bell."

"But I'm not finished yet."

Marcus jerked but Katie wouldn't release his chin. "Look at me. Please. I'm not finished Marcus, I need you to…" Her heels dug hard into Marcus' calves, and while he deserved the pain and more he couldn't comprehend why she hadn't punched him already, hadn't spit in his ugly face. One of her hands moved between them to undo the button-zipper combo of her denims and Marcus didn't know what to do. Didn't she understand what he had just done?

"I cut—"

"It's just a scrape Marcus," her fingers curled around to the nape of his neck slowly. "You…you were lovely. I'm glad you stayed in the moment, that you wanted me so badly. But I'm not finished Marcus. I need you to make me come." Her peaches and cream face was flushed with embarrassment, her words bold, and Marcus stayed as stone above her as Katie forcibly brought his clenched fist to her pubic mound. "I was there too Marcus," she said quietly, caressing his knuckles to relax, to follow her palm under the snug fit of her panties. And Salazar damn him, Marcus let her do it. "I was…I was almost there. So please Marcus, make me come. I want you to see it in my eyes when you make me come."

"I keep watching you and thinking, how can someone be this fucking innocent. I tried to convince myself back then that you were another Gryff actress. Fake. It has to be a joke. Nobody was—is—that good."

Marcus stretched his fingers, joints moving with the pressure of her own digits, hard gaze shifting down her forehead to latch on to her eyes and thinking how much easier this all would have been if Katie Bell were an actress or an accomplished liar, if her blush or resolute eyes were feigned. But Katie Bell was neither.

She was that good. And he was going to fight to be worthy of that innocence.

Marcus felt her slickness, felt her trembling breath on his cheek, felt her press his fingers deeper at the awkward angle within her clothes. She was so wet. Marcus felt like he was going to crack in half, unable to move unless by Katie's command. The hand at his neck moved into Marcus' hair, smoothing the ebony waves. "Right there," she whispered, her head tipping back automatically. "A—That's it Marcus. Keep going. I need you to keep going. I…Oh yes."

He was guided directly to her clit even though Marcus could feel tantalizing folds opening to him, delicate and warm. A gift. Please. Please let him do this right. Please let him follow what she wanted: a light pressure and release motion that Katie demonstrated on his knuckles, up and down, up and down. Her hard nub swelled and Marcus inhaled quickly, at odds with Katie's shallow panting. She smiled.

"Katie—"

"We'll be more patient next time," she pressed down harder on his bones, forcing Marcus' hand to bear down on her bundle of nerves. Her body surged. "I don't know what's going—Oh Merlin! I—I don't know what's on your mind but please don't stop. Be here with me Marcus!" There was a rumble in her chest and she clutched onto his wrist. Marcus lips opened in a gasp at the bite of her nails but he didn't stop moving, caressing what he could. She was shuddering and beautiful, undulating against his hand, and Marcus couldn't have looked away now even if the building had fallen down around them.

Katie twisted violently and Marcus found himself pulled into the crook of her shoulder, her arm possessive around his neck as the crest overcame her and the moans ripped free and the hand on his wrist left; Marcus blinked and slipped his fingers lower and within, suddenly needing to know the clench and flutter of Katie's body if only for a moment.

She shrieked and Marcus groaned.

"It was an accident Marcus," Katie soothed moments later. Marcus was surprised he was letting her, but only just. "And that…that was incredible."

He didn't want to leave the cocoon of her heat but it was becoming…uncomfortable…but his mind wasn't so crowded by past demons, and as he slowly brought cream coated fingers to his mouth Marcus felt more drift away. This was not something that could be acted nor brought about by pity or fear. Katie had truly wanted him and her taste was a balm. "You look tired," the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Then she should probable stay where she is."

Marcus was up and off the couch like a shot, a spell on the tip of his tongue along with Katie's juices—but ultimately useless due to the poor packing of his wand—as the blond popped up wide-eyed. Marcus nearly fell over the couch in an effort to keep the dictionary of blasphemies from exploding all over his lover.

The soft click of the door closing was deafening.

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A/N 1: What the hell am I doing.

A/N 2: 31 reviews and 11, 011 hits as of today. Thank you for your continued support and for returning to share this messed up world of my imagination with me!

A/N 3: Oliver revealed himself before Katie had an orgasm when I first wrote this part. That just didn't seem right in the re-read. Yeah…That's not something you really needed to be told. I just wanted to share.