Halrloprillalar   prillalar@gmail.com   http://prillalar.com/

August 22, 2003

RATING: PG13.

FANDOM/SPOILERS: Harry Potter. Books and movies.

SUMMARY: Marcus/Oliver. The hardest part of breaking up.

DISTRIBUTION: Archive anywhere. Email forwarding allowed.

DISCLAIMER: Rowling, not me.

NOTES: Written in 45 minutes for the contrelamontre Couch
challenge.


SECOND-HAND
by Halrloprillalar - prillalar@gmail.com

Oliver checked the address in the advert twice, then threw on the
Floo powder. "Hello?" he said, looking out of the fireplace. "I'm
here about the couch you have for sale."

There was a couch right in front of him, maybe that was the one. It
looked a lot like his old couch, actually. There was even a stain
on one of the cushions, just like his.

"Anybody home?" he called.

"I did think you'd be a little longer than this. Have some dignity,
man." Marcus Flint sat down on the couch and grinned at Oliver.

The paper crumpled in Oliver's fist. "You bastard," he said. "You
stole my couch and now you're just selling it?"

"Yes," said Marcus and leaned back, arms behind his head. "You want
to buy it? I'm sure we could come to a fair agreement."

"I'm not going to buy my own couch!"

"Then you'd best start looking for another one." Marcus picked up a
magazine from a stack on the floor and leafed through it.

Oliver was livid. "And those are my Quidditch Weeklies. *And*
you've taken them out of the protective envelopes!"

"Oh, I'm not selling these," Marcus said. "I do have a lamp you
might like, very cheap, works most of the time."

"You are, without a doubt, the most irritating, self-centred,
inconsiderate, thieving--"

"Don't forget annoying, rude, and slovenly." Marcus tossed the
magazine onto the floor and Oliver winced as the cover bent over.
"I heard it all when you were chucking me out."

"That still doesn't give you the right to rob my things!"

Marcus shrugged. "And yet I did. Now if you'll be on your way, I
want to sleep for a while. Late night." He pulled off his shirt and
stretched out on the couch.

"Not until I see what else of mine you've got." Oliver climbed out
of the fireplace into Marcus's flat. Just looking around, he saw a
jacket, three books, a broomstick servicing kit, and a wooly cap
his grandmother had made for him. He was gathering it all together
when Marcus grabbed his arm and spun him around.

"You can't have any of that back." Marcus was smiling, like he
always did when he was trying to enrage Oliver. And it always
worked. Oliver's hands were curling into fists and the blood was
rising to his face. "But if it will get you out of here, have
this." Marcus jerked Oliver close and kissed him.

That always worked too. Marcus knew just how to bite Oliver's lip
and lick the inside of his mouth and slide his hands just there,
and *there* so that Oliver was hard and ready, whether he was angry
or not.

Oliver gave up and kissed back. He clenched his fingers tight on
Marcus's arms, hoping that it hurt him.

Marcus threw Oliver onto the couch and climbed on after. When they
were finished, Marcus threw Oliver out.

Oliver never got his things back.

F I N I S

Halrloprillalar   prillalar@gmail.com   http://prillalar.com/