Cursed Love || A Scorbus Story

Six: In Which Two Boys and A Woman Have an Identity Crisis

Waking up alone on the couch he had previously been sharing with Oliver, Percy groaned, rubbing his face and finding that he no longer had his glasses. He could smell bacon and something frying---possibly potatoes.

Sitting up, the blanket fell away from his shoulders, cold air hitting his exposed arms and neck, making him wince.

Rubbing his face some more, he peered over the back of the couch, seeing Oliver in the kitchen, only his back and hips visible from where the small table cut them off.

He could hear their WWN radio playing softly, the voices barely able to be heard over the sound of cooking food. Oliver must have felt Percy's eyes on him, because he turned, grinning widely.

"Morning, da'," he said in his thick Scottish accent. Percy grunted in response. "Want some breakfast? Well, lunch, I mean."

"Sure," Percy replied, sighing as he stood. Taking a detour to their room, he changed out of the clothes he wore under his Speciality Healers robes, shivering in his t-shirt. Back in the kitchen, he tugged on Oliver's jumper. "Can I have this, please?"

Oliver looked at him, raising an eyebrow. They were almost the same height, Oliver just the tiniest bit taller, still burly from his years as a Quidditch player for both Hogwarts and Puddlemere United. Now, he was a coach, only needed on some weekdays and game days, which Percy went to, cheering on Oliver's former team and kissing him congratulations when they won.

"If you want me to get undressed---" Oliver began with a sly grin, his hands gripping the hem of his jumper until Percy kissed him on the lips, stopping him mid-sentence. It was a soft kiss, a good morning kiss, as Percy often put it after tough nights spent with nightmares and insomnia caused by the war. Now that those nightmares weren't a nightly occurrence, the good morning kisses were given every day multiple times.

"I'll just wear one of mine," Percy told him, placing a soft pat on Oliver's sturdy chest.

"Ah, here," Oliver said, tugging his jumper over his head, handing it to Percy, leaving him shirtless. His chest was smooth, abdomen toned and his arms strong. Percy had to stop himself from kissing Oliver roughly, tugging him into their bedroom by the belt loop of his jeans.

"Thanks," the redhead said, tugging it over his head, pine and pomegranate filling his senses and muddling his mind. Oliver kissed his cheek, a surge of pride swelling in his chest as he made the forty-six-year-old man blush as red as his hair. "Sod off."

"Want to leave the breakfast-lunch for later? We can have something else instead," he whispered to Percy, lips brushing the spot just under his ear, one thumb running along Percy's hip.

"I'm starving, though," Percy whined. "I didn't get to eat something for supper yesterday at all."

Oliver sighed and grinned. "I don't think you understand what I'm trying to say."

"Oh, I do," Percy told him with a grin. "I'm just teasing, you know."

Oliver sighed. "Go sit down, da', and I'll bring you breakfast."

Raising an eyebrow, Percy peered over Oliver's arm. "You're actually cooking? And you haven't burned the flat down?"

"I can cook perfectly fine, thank you," Oliver huffed, making Percy grin. He took a sip of Oliver's sweet and got coffee before sitting at the small table, patiently waiting for his husband to set the plate in front of him.

"How long have you been up, Ollie?"

"Ah, just over an hour. I couldn't bear to wake you, da', so I just did a bit of tidying up so you wouldn't have to worry about it." He set the plate loaded with bacon and potatoes, an Oliver special. He grinned widely, obviously proud of himself. "Enjoy."