Disclaimer: I do not own Marcus Flint, Katie Bell, or any other characters created by J.K. Rowling.
They were at it again. His hands were running up her bare arms. Her lips were crushed against his own. He pulled her closer. She fumbled with his shirt, before yanking it off over his head. Her small hands slid around his bare chest, relishing the warmth. He felt the smoothness of her skin, before he picked her up. She wrapped her legs around his torso, pushing herself as close to him as she could, her arms entwined behind his neck. He did not notice that he had moved until he entered the bedroom.
It always came down to this.
It started out with simple banter, a quip from her or a snide remark from him. They would relive old times on the pitch. He would play the cruel troll and she would be the agile Gryffindor. When he was in a particularly bad mood, he'd even comment on Wood. Those days he treasured above all else. Her eyes would stare at him in the silence that would follow. She would make the conscious decision to turn away, but he never made a conscious decision when it came to her.
He was in too deep.
"Marcus," she breathed his name and he nearly lost control. He grabbed her face, kissing her with a fierceness that she craved. With a swift motion, he had her naked. She lay there, staring at him eyeing her. He did it each time, but the vision never caught him short of amazed. She always looked beautiful. He tore off his own trousers, crawling onto the mattress beside her.
She braced herself. He loved how her mouth always opened into a large "O" when he first entered her. Her eyes rolled back into her head as he continued his thrusting. He held onto her hips, desire fueling his actions. He had to have her. Each motion brought him closer. Each moan she elicted caused his lust to grow. He ran one hand up her nude form. When he reached her hair, he tangled his fingers around the blonde strands and brought her face close to his. He ran his tongue over her lips and she parted her mouth to grant him access.
One final thrust and the two collapsed in a tangle on the bed sheets.
Bell was never there when he woke up. Morning always greeted him with disappointment. He waited for the day when she would be there next to him, sending him her warmth. As he did every other morning, he rose, padded across the floor to the bathroom, and took a shower. As the water cascaded over him, he would reminisce about the prior evening. Tomorrow, he would change things. She deserved better. He would tell her tomorrow.
That was the promise he made every morning. But the moment he walked out onto the pitch, it would disappear. Seeing her there would turn him into something else, some kind of beast not yet sated. He would bark out his orders to the team, making sure to avoid eye contact with her. She would stare at him, knowingly until he sent them into the air for a scrimmage.
As the women practiced, he made sure to watch for any mistakes she made. The first time, he would call her down to correct her and issue a few blunt insults. If she messed up again, he'd take her to his office. He had told her more than once that being the captain was about making sacrifices for her team. She had to be perfect and that meant sacrificing a lot.
The first time he had had to take her into his office, they had gotten into a fight over issues from the past. He had gone as low as to call her a "Mudblood." Bell hadn't hesitated before slapping him. He had reached across him desk and in an instant had her pinned against the wall by her neck. She had not struggled, only glared at him defiantly. He had felt the urge then, the first tendril of sexual tension, rising between them. He had released her. She had stormed out, slamming the door.
The next time, he had said nothing. He brought her into the room and sat there. She added nothing in the form of conversation. He recalled how the clock had ticked away the minutes as he stared at her. Her blue eyes were filled with hate. The bruises on her pale neck revealed by her low cut uniform as a reminded of what he had done to her. He had watched her with his emerald orbs, imagining just how angry he could make her. When the clock chimed the hour, she had jumped. Their locked-gaze had broken. She had gathered up her things and bolted. He had smirked. He hadn't been the only one feeling the tension between them.
As the rule goes, the third time was the charm. Only a month after their first visit to his office, Bell had managed to get herself in trouble again. This time it was over an error she had made during a game. Enraged that she could be so ignorant, he hadn't waited five minutes after the whistle was blown to end the game. He had stalked right up to her, grabbed her, and dragged her back to his office. The rest of the team had been ordered to hit the showers.
Unlike the other two occasions, he neither shouted nor was silent. "What was that?" he had grumbled, slamming his fist into the wall. "You just cost your team the number one slot in the playoffs." She had refused to sit. She had stood by the door, arms crossed in front of her, eyes slanted down, lips pointed in an angry grimace. She had not answered him. Punching the wall again, he approached her. " Bell, if you think I'm going to let you mess up my team, then you have another thing coming."
Surprisingly, she had stepped closer to him. "You're not the only one with authority around here. I'm the captain, Flint," she had snapped.
"I'm the owner," he had growled, taking another step to close the distance between them.
Her face had been mere inches from him, when she hissed, "Fuck off."
It had all come undone then. He had wrapped his arms around her, loving the way her eyes widened in shock when he deposited a leg-numbing kiss on her lips. She hadn't tried to pry him off. She had melted like butter in his embrace. Clothing lost its appeal. Before he knew it, they were lying on the wooden floor, naked and out of breath. After that, he couldn't function without her. He had told himself that day that tomorrow he would tell her.
Now, a six months later, he still hadn't told her. Practice ended and the team retired to the shower room. Flint took his quill and scroll back to his office. Managing witch's Quidditch not his dream job, but after being dejected from the male league, he had no choice. He stared at his trophy cabinet that held his most prized brooms and several awards he had won. He started to enter nostalgia when a sharp knock came at his door. One glance at his watch told him that she was early. She was never early. He opened the door.
She threw herself at him, slamming the door behind her with her foot. She shoved him against the nearest wall, her tiny fingers wrapped around the fabric of his shirt. Her lips came down on his own, the tip of her tongue racing across his mouth. He held her against him, feeling every curve of her body. Her lips left his own, as she began laying sweet kisses down his jaw line to his neck and then to his collarbone. He let his hands roam her back under the cloth of her uniform. She didn't stall when he unclasped her bra so he could have better access to her chest.
"I can't wait," she whispered, her hot breath running over his chin as she spoke.
He apparated them to Flint Manor. The house was still except for the few house elves that were scurrying about to make dinner. He took her to his chamber, intent on fulfilling her wish. She removed his shirt, her expert hands making their way down to his pants. While she toyed with his loins, he ripped off her top, dropping his head to her breasts. She gasped and he grinned against her warm skin. Her pants came off, along with her knickers, but he kept working. Her hips bucked against him, reminding him of what they both needed.
Carefully, he positioned himself above her. He hovered for a moment, delighting in the way she squirmed with want. With one sharp thrust, he gave her what she longed for.
Tomorrow he would tell her.
When he woke up that morning, it was to the smell of vanilla. He rolled over, landing on top of Bell's sleeping form. Roused by his movement, she opened her eyes. "M-mMarcus?" she mumbled, running hand through her tangled blonde hair. He did not move. She reached up, pulling him back down on top of her. He relaxed, savoring her warmth. She cuddled closer to him, her silky hair tickling his chest as she buried her head in the nape of his neck.
Today, he realized, was the day. Today he had to tell her.
"Katie," he began, using a softer voice than he was used to. "I lo-,"
She silenced him, placing a finger against his lips. He saw something in her eyes, an emotion that was unfamiliar to him: uncertainty. She sat up, moving out from under him. At first she didn't say anything, though he could tell she was trying. She pulled her knees up to her chin, staring at her toes. "I have to leave the team," she said quietly, a tear running down her cheek.
Marcus didn't think he had heard her correctly. "What?"
"I-," a sob broke free. "I have to l-leave the team," she choked out.
Her tears stopped. She brushed the remains away with the back of her hand. The fear was back in her eyes. She took a deep breath and paused, then another deep breath.
"Katie, tell me why," he demanded.
She turned her face to him. "I'm pregnant."
They were only words, but they were the two most crucial words he had ever heard from a woman. He was stunned, excieted, angry, confused. He sat back against the bedrest, unsure what to say. "Is it...I mean, well, is it mine?"
The tears came back, forcefully. "Yes, you ignorant prat, of course it is!" She was shaking now, scared and vulnerable, but he couldn't reach out to her...not yet.
"How long have you known?"
"A couple of weeks," she admitted.
Anger pulsed through him. "When were you going to tell me!" She would not answer him. She kept her face down, her arms laced around her legs. He started to put his hand on her back, but when he came in contact with her, she flinched. He yanked away. "You weren't going to tell me," he sighed.
"No," she whispered. "I didn't think you wanted to be a father."
That hurt more than her slap. He felt as if all the breath in his lungs had left him. They both sat apart from one another. The clock on his counted away the minutes of silence. Marcus felt his throat constricting, out of anger or despair he wasn't sure. She hadn't wanted to tell him. She was going to vanish and never let him know he had fathered a child. Did she still hate him as she had that first day? He stared at her. She looked so small and fragile, not the assertive woman he had slept with last evening. Had he done that to her?
He had to know how she felt. He had to tell her. Tomorrow was never going to come for them if he didn't tell her now. Going against his instincts, he pulled her into his arms. She remained still, no more words, no more tears. He rested his chin on the top of her head.
"Katie, I love you." She pushed on his chest, staring up at him. "I have known since the moment you came into my office." Her eyes were wide and white as they had been that day. He ran his hand over her stomach. It was still flat from all her exercise. "I want you to marry me," he continued. "I want you to have this baby and...I want to be a father."
She started to cry again, but he knew these tears were different. He wished he had told her before. He could have lost her. If she hadn't stayed this morning, would she have come to the pitch at all? If she hadn't stayed, would he have ever known about his child? He held her tighter, afraid that she would disappear. Katie kissed his arms. He stared down at her blood-shot eyes. "I love you," he told her again, kissing her damp cheeks.
"I love you too."
Tomorrow was the step that he hadn't wanted to take, but in the end, he had learned that if he didn't let go of today and embrace tomorrow, tomorrow would never come.