marcus/oliver/percy + breakfast & bickering for @inimitablebiscuit
To any stranger looking in, Sunday breakfast at the Wood-Flint-Weasley household was something of a mess.
Mess- a dastardly understatement.
It went something like this.
Percy would get up earliest, used to getting up early and rushing to the Ministry, and he would begin to make breakfast. He was a good chef, being a direct descendant of Molly Weasley, and Marcus and Oliver took advantage of this fact as often as they could.
Percy didn't mind. He liked cooking, and he loved the smug satisfaction he felt when they enjoyed the food.
Percy Weasley had always been a perfectionist.
This Sunday was no different from any other Sunday-- the only day of the week where they were all free, lounging about the house in their boxers and doing nothing together.
Percy got up and flicked through an old recipe book. He could do pancakes, or a full English, or smoothie bowls, or waffles or-
Full English. There was no point even looking at different recipes when he always made the same one. It was their favourite, and he was a people pleaser
When Percy started on the bacon, cooking it the muggle way, like his mum taught him, Marcus fumbled his way out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes and swearing as he stubbed his toe on the table leg.
"Good morning, Marcus." He said wryly, stifling a laugh.
If Marcus Flint was known for something, it was that he had a dirty mouth. It could put any sailor and their wife to shame.
"Fuck off." Marcus answered glumly, yawning.
Percy started on sausages, and they chatted aimlessly about the most recent scandal in the papers, a Skeeter concoction, most likely.
Oliver finally made his appearance, his brown hair a mess on his head and his eyes lidded. His eyelashes fluttered as he took his seat next to Marcus.
"G'morning." Oliver mumbled, his Scottish lilt gruff and thick in the mornings. Marcus pulled him into a one armed hug and kissed him on the forehead.
It was a sight that could warm the coldest of hearts, and Percy was no exception. It felt so right, to be so relaxed, with two people he loved, after spending his entire life working.
Percy set out their plates and took his place at the table, finally. The smell of the me wafted through the house and he smiled at the sight of Marcus and Oliver practically salivating at the sight. He sipped his tea, three sugars and a cream, waiting for Marcus to react.
And he did. He always did, every Sunday.
"How can you drink that!" Marcus bemoaned, staring haughtily at the offending tea. "Three fucking sugars. Ridiculous. Much too sweet."
"I'll have you know-" Percy gathered himself into the air he held when he was Head Boy in Hogwarts, putting on his most pompous voice. "That I like my tea sweet."
"That is not sweet." Marcus complained. "It is a cup of sugar."
"Quit picking on him," Oliver flicked Marcus's forehead. "He made your breakfast."
Marcus glared at Percy, as if it was somehow his fault that Oliver was scolding him. It was a glare that withered many opponents, in his career, but it did not work on Percy.
"Yeah, Marcus." Percy said snootily, adjusting his glasses exaggeratedly, looking at Marcus over them. "I made your breakfast."
Marcus flipped him off, and they all laughed.
Sundays were Percy's favourite day because the three of them had a routine. All three of them liked the concept of routines--it was methodical, relaxing.
Percy woke up first. Marcus second, Oliver last. They ate breakfast, bickered over the tea, and they finished up. They had the entire day to themselves. The rest of the week, they were busy- Percy working around the Ministry, Marcus playing with the Magpies, and Oliver playing with Puddlemere. Percy would go some days not seeing them at all until they went to bed.
He was proud. They were all very accomplished. But it got stressful.
"Thanks for breakfast, Perce." Oliver came up and hugged him from behind. Marcus didn't say anything, smarting from their weekly argument about tea, but he pecked him on the cheek.
Never too stressful, though, Percy thought fondly, sipping his tea, watching Marcus and Oliver elbow each other as they cleaned up the kitchen.
He always felt better after their Sunday routine.
