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Marcus Flint (marcedflint) wrote in finnigans_rpg,

"I'm never going to live that down, am I," Marcus muttered, though it was far more of a statement than a question. "Besides, you're not really one to talk, are you Mister Wizards Quarterly Man of the Year 2004." It should probably be a little worrisome that he could remember that off the top of his head, but much like they'd done to him, the team had blown up the article and stuck it to the front of Roger's locker and kept it there for a week. It was a little difficult to forget Roger's face winking at him every time he walked through the locker room.

With a small shrug, Marcus answered, "Pastitso or moussaka, I think. I'm taking Pansy out for Italian sometime this week, so lasagne is out."

Rolling his eyes, Marcus snorted lightly. "Perfect is a bit of a stretch." He just worked hard, though more than once he'd actually been kicked out of the team gym because coach thought he was working too hard.

Although he noticed that Roger was suddenly closer than he had been, Marcus didn't pay it much mind, which was actually somehow of an accomplishment on his part. There had been a time when no one would have been able to get within two feet of him without at least an exhausting tension taking over all his muscles. He ignored the comment about ogling, because that was just asking for trouble, though he did lean forward to grab more of the food that was presented. As he sat back, he caught sight of Roger's yawn out of the corner of his eye, and that simple action made it so that the younger man immediately had all of Marcus's attention again. "You doing okay," he asked quietly, the concern evident in his voice. If Roger was getting tired, he most definitely didn't want to impose, even if the television was more than a little entrancing.