Daily Deviant
- there is no such thing as 'too kinky'
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21st March 2014 10:41 - Fic: Egg Hunt
Title: Egg Hunt
Author: [info]tryslora
Characters/Pairings: Marcus Flint/Percy Weasley
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: Birthday celebration!
Other Warnings: bottoms, sex toys
Word Count: 1,904
Summary/Description: Marcus didn't realize Percy was dragging him to the Ministry Egg Hunt. He might have done things a wee bit differently if he had.
Author's Notes: [info]tamlane requested a sequel to So Sane It's Driving Me Crazy, perhaps around Easter, and Marcus's POV, so here is something set a full year after that first Christmas. How could I resist Marcus?

The Ministry Easter Egg Hunt is pure hell.

“S’not where I thought we were going,” Marcus mutters to Percy, trying to get close enough to whisper but not so close that it will cause whispers among the people looking at them.

“Smile and wave,” Percy tells him. “You are here as a rising young Quidditch star, and the children need heroes.”

“Thought you hated fucking Quidditch.”

Percy gives him a small, quick smile, hidden from public view. “I do,” he whispers back. “You, on the other hand, I do not hate. And they adore you.”

Then the children are upon them, and Marcus digs deep to find his public personality, growling at them until they laugh. He is the wall of force, the villain, the speedy cannonball of the Chudley Cannons. He is known for the Flint Twist, a spiraled fall and feint that twists out at the last second, switching directions unexpectedly. He is known for playing fair but deviously, for being unafraid of going through people, and being seemingly impervious to bludgers.

It’s strange to have children that aren’t related to him looking up to him. Fucking odd, really, that there’s still some shite like this in the world they live in.

He glances sideways at Percy and swallows the thought. It’s not something they can talk about. S’best to keep Percy in the dark and keep him safe. Marcus can do that. S’the one thing he can do.

He crouches down, wincing at the uncomfortable stretch and pull, and tries not to think about how they have to be here for another bloody hour. Instead he puts on the face he reserves for Quidditch, the one that says the shite just rolls off his back and doesn’t bloody well fucking hurt when he’s been struck five times in the last hour. But it’s still distracting, and when all the eggs have been found and Percy touches his shoulder to get his attention, Marcus is only too glad to make his escape.

He slumps against the wall just inside the Ministry, out of view of parents, children, and Ministry officials; a low groan slips free.

Percy’s brows knit together. “Is there a problem?”

“When you said you needed me for something, I thought you meant fucking in the kitchen,” Marcus growls. “Not a sodding egg hunt at the Ministry.”

“Hungry?” One eyebrow lifts as Percy regards him. “I do believe I saw you in the Easter basket already, and I rather assumed you’d made a breakfast for yourself out of chocolate and eggs.”

“S’true.” Marcus can’t deny that. But his cheeks warm dark red under the scruff of a beard he’d taken to wearing, and Percy’s eyebrow goes just a bit higher.

“Then what is it?” At Marcus’s continued silence, Percy crowds forward, pushing him back into the wall, the heat of his lean body warm against Marcus. “Tell me.”

“S’the egg.”

“The egg?” Percy tilts his head. “I’m afraid I…”

“The egg.” Marcus gives him a look, begging him to understand without Marcus having to state it explicitly. He drops his gaze when Percy says nothing. “I tried every fucking egg in the sodding basket,” he mutters. “Every egg.”

It’s always such a shock to hear Percy laugh. To hear that sound bubble up around the upright attitude into a snorting sound like Percy’s trying to hold it back. Like it might break him to show that he has a sense of humor. It comes out in short, shocked sounds before Percy swallows it, lips pressed thinly and a smirk showing around the corners of his mouth. “Oh,” Percy says. “That egg. It rather seems I have one hidden egg left to hunt.”

Marcus closes his eyes as Percy’s hands drift down his backside, moulding his robes to the shape of his arse. Fingers spread his cheeks, and Marcus jerks, helpless to stay still when Percy brushes against his swollen and aching hole. “Fuck…”

“Apparition point,” Percy tells him. “Now.”

They move in a blur of motion, separating in the hallways and coming at the apparition point from different directions. They join the queue, leaving alone but arriving together in the small entryway of Percy’s fifth floor walkup. It isn’t as big as Marcus’s flat, nor as well-appointed, but Percy also has no roommates, so they spend most of their time in his flat.

“Bed,” Marcus says, dragging Percy in close, covering his mouth and drinking in his taste: chocolate and tea and a hint of raspberry from some confection or other.

“Floor,” Percy counters, and when Marcus delays, Percy pushes both hands against his chest, shoving him back as he says it again. “Floor.”

Marcus pulls Percy with him to go down in a tangle of limbs. It’s a power struggle that Marcus knows he will lose—he always does—but he has to make a show of it. He has to try to be the dominant one before he can let go and give Percy leave to strip him naked, laying him out against the wood.

“Arms over your head, there we go.” Percy’s voice is a murmur, rolling over Marcus’s skin and slipping under it until he obeys without thought.

Marcus lifts his arms, stretches out and feels the touch of a spell wrapping around his wrists, sticking him to the floor. He arches up, heels pressed into the floor, arse lifting away from the wood. The pressure is too much now, his prick hard and aching, a bead of liquid forming at the slit. Percy kneels back, still dressed except for his tie askew and his robes partly undone.

“How long have you had that in?” Percy drifts his fingers down Marcus’s thighs, meeting behind his balls, fingertips pressing where his swollen hole hides the egg. “We left for the Ministry right after you showered.”

“Then,” Marcus groans, wanting more and wanting relief. “Put it in. Thought we’d have bloody breakfast and I’d lick sodding melted chocolate off your cock and then you’d fuck me. Wanted to be open for you. Fucking ready.”

“Oh, I do believe you’re more than ready now.” Percy twists and two fingers slide in through the mess of lube Marcus left there earlier. It’s almost too much and Marcus jerks back, wanting to press into the touch and escape at the same time. He’s so fucking full, he can’t think past it, not now that Percy’s thrusting those two fingers in shallow strokes, just barely reaching the egg before he pulls back. “There are three commands that the egg will take,” Percy murmurs. “The one to retrieve it, of course, so that we shan’t have to go to St. Mungo’s to have it removed. Had I known sooner that you had placed it, however, I might have whispered Tremere.”

The sudden shiver builds inside his arse, a slow shudder at first that vibrates more strongly as Marcus moves. He cries out, everything narrowing to that one sensation, this shivering, moving, shuddering sensation deep inside of him. When he groans again, Percy undoes his tie; he twists it into a ball and shoves it into Marcus’s mouth. Marcus bites down and closes his eyes; even without being told, he knows he can simply let go.

Long fingers wrap around his prick, twisting at the head then driving down, wanking him hard and fast. It’s too rough for Marcus and he can’t help but talk around the tie, muffled words begging Percy to fuck him, just fuck him now. The shivering inside his body increases and Marcus arches up, thrusting into Percy’s hand, spurting all over his chest.

Manere,” Percy’s voice is sharp and quick, and the shiver inside of Marcus halts immediately. Another word that he can’t recognize and the fullness slips free, replaced almost immediately by Percy between his legs, robes hiked up so that he can push into Marcus, hard and deep.

The tie is taken away as Percy leans down over him, kissing him deeply. “They don’t know,” Percy whispers. “They don’t know. They can’t know. But I know. I know how much you want to be fucked. I know how you love it when I fuck into you, when I take you so fucking hard. I know you’d love it if you had the egg in you all fucking day, and I met you in the locker room and fucked you in the shower. You want to go arse up for me, Marcus Flint.”

“Yeah.” Marcus bends himself, making himself open for Percy as he pulls against the magical bindings to get more leverage. “S’good. S’fucking good.” There are words that could be said—words that maybe should be said before things get more complicated, before another fucking year goes by like one already has. There are words that are trapped by the feel of Percy’s mouth on his, by the taste of his lover and the way he fucks until the words are driven right out of Marcus’s head.

He’s never been good with words anyroad.

His body is so fucking sensitive, so ripe and hungry that every thrust makes sparks light behind his eyes. Marcus has nothing left, but he chases Percy’s orgasm with one of his own, a dry whine of need that shudders through him and leaves him filled and spent, with Percy collapsed over his chest. A whispered spell and Marcus’s hands are released; he slides them down Percy’s back then up under his robes, skin to skin, holding him there until their breath comes back to normal.

“Had I known, I might have chosen to be late this morning,” Percy murmurs, breath a hot ghost against Marcus’s skin.

“S’all right. Children were waiting.” Marcus doesn’t care now that he’s finally relaxed. His body is limp and sated, and exactly where he wants to be. S’funny how lying on the floor always gives you a look on life that you don’t have otherwise, like the whole world’s stretching out above you. And it’s okay, because there are ways you could go that might make it through.

It’s easy to look past the troubles coming this way. Easy to forget that Quidditch is just a temporary thing, and that Flints are meant for something else. That Flints can’t fuck Weasleys forever and can’t protect them either.

Easy to remember that there’s nothing better than this, not flying, not chasing, not hands in the dirt or being there for the birth of a lamb in the early days of spring.

He can’t say the words that linger there around the edges of his mind. He can’t admit what this might be, when it could still all fall apart. “S’a good day,” he murmurs instead. “Didn’t eat all the chocolate.”

“Oh? Is there a reason that you mention this?”

Marcus grins. “Chocolate melts pretty fucking easily. Thinking I might see how quickly it melts on skin.”

“If you do that, you’ll be responsible for cleaning it off.” Percy’s voice is prim and tight, but Marcus can hear the smile.

“M’sure I’ll think of something to do,” he whispers. “And m’thinking you might’ve had something in mind when you put so much bloody chocolate in the basket.” Percy silences him with a kiss, but Marcus figures he’s right.

S’not a bad thing for him to be right. And Marcus can’t think of a better way to spend Easter, now that they’re done with the sodding egg hunt.

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