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wook77Title: Of Quidditch, Trains and Footie Matches
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wook77
Rating: Hard R
Pairing(s): Dean Thomas/Seamus Finnigan
Summary: What's the best way to cope with turning thirty and realising that your life isn't what you'd planned? Go on a road trip with your best mate. It's just too bad for Dean and Seamus when even that doesn't go according to plan.
Warnings: none
Word Count: ~11,800
Author's Notes: Originally written forgoneoffthelump at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hp_springsmut. She was very patient in waiting for the story as I worked through block after block after... ♥. For my betas (nefernat, best_of_five, maple_mahogany, miz_thang88, kaalee), so much love and thanks. The remaining mistakes are, obviously, my own. Finally – many thanks to midnitemaraud_r for her patience and handholding as I ironed this story out. Also - I think this one is a story that I've a bit of meta on because of the research and such. We'll see.
"If we're going to see fucking West Ham, then we're fucking well going to see the Kestrels!" Seamus insists as he throws his hands in the air.
"We're not going west just to go east, it doesn't make any sense," Dean responds as he points at the map laid out on Seamus's desk within his office in the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters.
"Portkeys! Think like a wizard, fuck's sake!" Seamus shouts as he circles around the desk to point at the map. "Portkey can take us anywhere, see? We can be here and then over there to get your bloody football match in the next day."
"Portkeys cost money, Seamus, money we don't want to spend." Dean's voice is placid and calm.
"If we're going to all your footie matches, we're going to see a couple of Quidditch matches. That means we gotta take Portkeys, then that means we gotta take Portkeys."
"Where're we going to get the money for all those Portkeys?" Dean cocks an eyebrow and Seamus crosses his arm and glares.
"We'll figure something out. Fair's fair. 'Sides, at least the tickets to the Quidditch matches are free unlike your footie games."
"All right, yeah," Dean agrees and they both look at the map and then look at one another again. "This is insane, you know that, right?"
"Only turn thirty once, mate. Might as well do something barmy to celebrate it." Seamus reaches out and pinches Dean on the elbow. "You talk to your boss, yet?"
"Yeah, I've a three month leave of absence, you?"
"Same." Seamus taps the map. "This is going to be the best trip ever."
"Agreed," Dean says and then they continue taking notes, looking at the game schedules and locations to figure out when to see who play where.
~~London~~
The trip starts out ace. First match and West Ham upsets Sunderland three to one. Dean and Seamus exchange hugs with one another and high fives with the rest of the West Ham supporters that surround them. They'd been mocked at the start of the match when Sunderland had been up one to nothing. Barbs were traded and voices were raised in either taunts or exultation as West Ham gained and then held on to the lead. By the time they're hugging and celebrating, their voices are gone. That doesn't much matter as they're going to be off for a pint or two to soothe the throat.
Besides, West Ham's a shite team, both Dean and Seamus know this as much as they know anything. Hell, everyone there knew going in that West Ham was the underdog of the match. That only makes victory that much sweeter as the mass of fans slowly make their way from the stadium to nearby pubs. Seamus and Dean go to their favourite and push their way through the crowd. The fight song erupts from a group of blokes nearest to the bar and Seamus and Dean tap them on their shoulders as they pass and join in.
"Oi!" One of the men near them shouts. He pounds Seamus on the shoulders and then repeats the gesture with Dean. He then steps between them and, with an arm swung over both, sways in time to the fight song. Seamus exchanges a look with Dean and they carefully extricate themselves before sliding further down the bar.
"Brilliant match," Seamus says as he grabs up another pint glass.
"Yeah, it was so cool when…" the rest of what Dean had to say disappears in the noise of the crowded pub. Considering the way Dean's hands are flailing, Seamus assumes that it's about one play or another. Seamus nods along, as if he can hear what Dean has to say. He's no lip reader but he tries anyway, staring as Dean's lips curl and purse.
"You want to get out of here?" Seamus is startled out of the trance Dean's lips lured him in to by the sound of Dean's raised voice.
"Aye, can do that." Seamus finishes off his pint, slaps the glass on the bar and heads back out into the sunshine. Dean follows and then slings an arm over Seamus's shoulders.
They both start humming the fight song one more time. Seamus feels rather drunk on excitement. This game and West Ham winning is the perfect start to their trip.
"Too right it is," Dean agrees. Seamus looks up at him and then realises that he said the last bit out loud.
"Just wait until the Kestrels win, then we'll really be having a fantastic trip."
"As if that'd ever happen." Seamus sneaks his hand up behind Dean and smacks him against the back of his head. In response, Dean pulls Seamus in tight and rubs his knuckles across Seamus's scalp. When they break apart, laughing so hard they're close to tears, Dean's arm is still around Seamus's shoulders.
~~**~~
The train rumbles along the tracks as they make their way to Bulgaria. Seamus leans against Dean, trying to get a kip. Back when they'd planned the trip, they'd decided they'd not spring for a compartment but Seamus regrets that right now. A sleeper would've been just about perfect so that Seamus could sleep without worrying over falling off Dean or the traffic of people walking back and forth.
"Stop moving, trying to sleep," Dean mumbles from where he's leaning against the glass.
"Can't get comfortable," Seamus answers as he shifts once more. "Going to fall off in me sleep, I just know it."
"Here," Dean says before he slings an arm around Seamus's shoulder, holding him close and secure. "Better?"
"Yeah, ta," Seamus says and starts to drift off to sleep. He doesn't really question the way that he feels so much safer with Dean's arm around him. Nor does he realise that he reaches up and twines their fingers together. He doesn't feel the way that Dean squeezes their fingers.
When they wake, Seamus can't quite place where they are or what they're doing. For just a moment, Seamus wonders if they're on their way to Hogwarts because it feels just like it did. Then realisation dawns and Seamus remembers that he's thirty years old and he's… he's holding Dean's hand like it's a lifeline. Their fingers are entwined and Dean's palm is just the slightest bit sweaty.
Dean snuffles and Seamus jumps, pulling away from Dean's shoulder. He's uncomfortable even though he hasn't a clue why. He jumps once again when Dean asks, "All right?"
"Yeah, you?"
"Yeah, got a bit of sleep. This window's awful, though. We should get some pillows and shrink them so we can use them next ride."
"We should Confound someone so we can get a compartment."
"We should take Portkeys," Dean says, clearly mocking Seamus's accent as he winks. Seamus erupts with laughter at the dry tone and impersonation.
"Aye, that we should but they cost too much money," Seamus tries Dean's accent but he's rather shite at impersonations. Dean laughs anyway.
"Gotta piss, budge over," Dean stands and shimmies through the narrow spot between Seamus's legs and the seat in front and then disappears down the car to the loo. Seamus is glad for the interruption and disappearance as it gives him a moment to think about how comfortable and secure he'd felt.
It's just friendship. Hell, they've been friends for over nineteen years, course he's going to feel comfortable and secure riding next to his best mate. It's not the first time and it won't be the last, especially not with the amount of travelling they're planning on getting in during the next three months.
Dean comes back and gives Seamus's shoulder a squeeze as he passes once more. As he's sitting, he says, "Almost to Austria."
"Yeah? So we missed most of Germany? Guess we'll get to see it later."
"Bulgaria here we come." Dean leans over and nudges Seamus with his shoulder and Seamus does the same. When Dean bumps his knees against the seat in front of them, he yelps, "Tell me again why the hell the short blighter's on the aisle and I'm crammed in here next to the window."
"Cause you wanted it."
"Fuck off, Finnigan. I wanted the aisle. It'd be nice to stretch out."
"And have me clamouring over you every time I'm wanting a fag? If that's the way you want it," Seamus says as he stands in the aisle and waits for Dean to move. Dean looks at him with an odd, twisted expression and stays where he's at. "Well?"
"I'll stay here. Don't need you climbing all over me," Dean finally says.
"Oh fuck off; if you weren't such a tree, I wouldn't have to." Seamus flips a rude gesture in Dean's direction and sits back down. Their legs brush but Seamus ignores it. The seats are close together and it was unexpected; that's why he looks towards Dean and catches that twist of expression across Dean's face.
"Can't help that you're just a short little monkey."
"Fuck off."
"So creative, I can see why you're so high up at work."
"Fuck off," Seamus responds and then starts to laugh. "Fucking wanker, mate. You're a bloody fucking wanker."
~~Vrasta, Bulgaria~~
"Come on, you blighters! Come on!" Seamus cheers as he surges to his feet as the Seeker for the Caerphilly Catapults rockets past on his broom. The Quaffle passes back and forth but Seamus only has eyes for the way the Seeker chases after the Snitch.
The match has been rather close the entire time. The Vrasta Vultures, currently up by thirty points, are winning but if Caerphilly can get the Snitch… then Seamus would win twenty galleons from the lads back in the office. Only problem with that is that Krum is the Seeker. Even though Krum's rather old for a Seeker, his flying is still reminiscent of the way he'd flown during the Quidditch World Cup. Seamus remembers the way that he and Dean had run wild through the camp, having a fantastic time cheering for Ireland.
That's part of the reason that Seamus had wanted to do this trip. He remembers how much fun they'd had when they were young, can still remember the innocence of their enjoyment of the match before the Death Eaters had attacked. He wants to regain a bit of that innocence now that they're both thirty and stuck in careers and flats and bills and everything that went with being adults. Just a small break from all that responsibility and Seamus thinks that he'll be able to go back to it and accept that he really is an adult now.
"You see that? Look! Krum sees the Snitch!" Dean pokes him in the arm, distracting him from his reflections and they both watch as Krum soars into the air. Seamus can feel the galleons being handed over as Krum loses the Caerphilly Seeker and snatches victory. "That's a pint you owe me, mate!"
"Fuck off," Seamus says fairly good-naturedly. A bet's a bet and Seamus had hoped for the long shot. Should've known not to bet against Krum. Dean laughs and swings an arm around Seamus's shoulder as they walk out of the stands. The weight of the arm is comfortable and familiar so Seamus reaches up and squeezes his hand and leaves it as is.
~~**~~
Another train and another long ride results in Seamus and Dean napping on the train. When Seamus wakes, his hand is on Dean's inner thigh. He can feel Dean's pulse in the veins that run just under the skin. His hand twitches and inches further up. He wants to pull it back but he's afraid that Den will wake up and how the hell does one explain why one is feeling up their best mate's inner thigh?
Dean mutters something under his breath and shifts, pulling Seamus closer with the arm swung around him. Seamus is pressed in so close that he feels like he's surrounded by Dean. Surprisingly comfortable with it, Seamus keeps his breath shallow as he thinks about the way that Dean makes him question himself. They've been mates for how long now and he hasn't really had these sorts of questions before. Sure, there was that time back in fifth year that he'd watched Dean shower but then again, he'd watched everyone shower and no one had really appealed the way that girls had.
"Budge up, my arm's in a cramp," Dean whispers as he pulls his arm from around Seamus.
"Yeah, sorry." Seamus shifts so that they can manoeuvre into more comfortable positions.
"No worries." Dean sounds unconcerned and his arm is all twisted with Seamus's so that his hand rests over Seamus's hand on his upper thigh. "Know where we're at?"
"No idea. Got to get there soon, right?" Seamus's hand starts to sweat as he pretends not to notice where it is. He wants to remove it, hide his hand away but he also wants to inch up further, maybe brush his fingers against Dean's bulge. It's that last thought that has him yanking his hand away quickly.
"Yeah, hopefully, train's not the best place to sleep. Whose idea was it to go Muggle?" Dean's voice sounds off but Seamus can't quite figure out why.
"Your brilliant idea. Mine was Portkeys, remember?" Seamus sits up and looks over at Dean who is studiously looking out the window. His reflection is obscured and Seamus feels like he should apologise but he's not at all certain what for.
"Right. Well, at least this game's going to be cool. Liverpool never does exhibition games."
"Yeah, thank God for that sister city thing all right," Seamus says while rolling his eyes. He has no idea why Dean wants to see Liverpool play so badly. It's not like the game counts for anything, after all. If it makes Dean happy, though, then Seamus is more than willing to go along with it.
"Just wait, you'll like it. There's this player, Xabi Alonso, he's brill. Can really move and he even spent time near your place."
"What was he doing in that shite neighbourhood?" Seamus says with a grimace. His flat's not exactly in the best neighbourhood in London but it's what he could afford and that's what counts as far as he's concerned. Dean smacks the side of his head.
"Your mum's place, then."
"Oh? He was in Ireland? What for?" Seamus smacks Dean's head. "And there's no call for hitting me."
"You know you like it," Dean says and then smacks Seamus again.
"You're such an arse."
"You love it." Dean smacks him once more, this time on the shoulder. "Xabi, though, he was there to learn English. Not sure why he'd go to Ireland what with the way you talk, though."
"You're in for it. Soon as there aren't any witnesses, your arse is mine. Swear by all that's holy, I am going to make you pay for all your shite." Seamus fumbles for his wand and looks around, hoping some of the Muggles will need to go to the loo or into a smoking car for a smoke, anything so that he can hex Dean.
"You love me and you know it." Dean grins at him and holds on to his hand, keeping him from casting and breaking the Statute of Secrecy. "Don't want to get sacked, do you?"
"Damn it," Seamus curses and then hides his wand once more. "You and your stupid logic."
~~Cologne~~
When they exit the train station, Seamus goggles at the cathedral in front of him. It's monstrous, with gothic pillars stretching into the sky. It's one of the grandest cathedrals he's seen and he's been to a fair few. They're a fascination for him, the pomp and circumstance of the worship, the many varieties and accoutrements. He's across the square and up the many stairs before he realises. When he gets inside, the cathedral echoes around him and he feels rather peaceful inside.
Churches always have this effect on him. It might be that he didn't grow up in the Church. What with the way his Muggle da left his mam when he turned up magical, his mam never held much faith in the church. The fascination with churches started as a rebellion against his mam and continues because he loves the history and peace within them.
"It's beautiful," Dean whispers from next to him and Seamus startles out of his contemplations of the interior of the church.
"Aye, it is," Seamus agrees and then looks to Dean. "Mind if we walk around a bit?"
"No, it's cool."
They wander in the middle of the various Muggle tourists as they take in different aspects. All those worries about becoming an adult and being mired in responsibility disappear along with the newer worries of just why he's wanting Dean's arm around him once more. The conversations wash over him, background noise in a myriad of languages. Some, he knows and some he doesn't.
"Ves la escultura allí? …"
"Dann hat Harriet Bill gesagt…"
"Café Richard is just down the way, are you…"
When his stomach growls, the mood is broken. Seamus looks over to Dean to see if he'd heard it and, from the grin across that face, Seamus assumes he had. He asks, "Lunch?"
"Yeah, let's find something."
"Want to follow that couple to the café they mentioned?" Seamus gestures towards the couple heading out of the church in front of them.
"Sure, why not?"
They follow to a café and when given the choice, Dean and Seamus choose to sit outside. That way, they're able to watch the people as they walk past. The continued view of the cathedral is still stunning.
"What's next? Head to the hostel?" Dean asks as they sit.
"That or maybe we could wander? We've a few days, might be nice to walk around. I'm sick of being in trains and rooms. Stretching our legs would be a nice change." As Dean nods, the waitress comes and takes their order. Seamus orders the Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte and Dean goes for a slice of apple pie. They both order the hot chocolate.
"Walking off the pie would be good. You're getting old and fat," Dean says as he pokes Seamus's belly.
"Fuck off, you fucking wanker," Seamus gasps back as he avoids the questing fingers. In desperation, he captures Dean's fingers and holds them tight. Those weird feelings are back just as real as Dean's hand in his. "No fatter'n you."
"Face it, you're getting old and fat whereas I'm young and skinny and spry." Dean isn't trying to remove his fingers but Seamus convinces himself that he's holding on to them just in case Dean decides to renew the attack.
"Arse."
A waiter comes, sets down their desserts and then looks at their hands and then back at them. He grins and then walks away. Seamus flushes and lets go before sneaking a look at Dean to see if he noticed the waiter. Dean's just staring back at him and there's that weird, uncomfortable silence thing again. Seamus feels like he should say something, anything, to fill it or at least distract from it. His mind, for once, is completely blank and so he just grabs his fork and starts eating the Black Forest cherry cake. The flavour explodes over his tongue and he moans at the richness. It's divine, beyond divine.
"Watch those noises, else people think I'm touching you under the table," Dean remarks. His voice is odd and forced sounding, making Seamus look over. There's that stare again, the one that says that Dean can see right through him into the weird desires he's experiencing. It also says that Dean wants him to say something back, say the right thing and Seamus doesn't know what Dean thinks is the right thing. Hell, Seamus doesn't know what the right thing is.
"Cake's rich, don't think I'm going to be up for that walk. Want to head to the hostel and grab a nap?" Considering Dean's previous statement, Seamus flushes at the implications. "Err, in separate beds. Without you touching me under the table or anything. Christ, you know what I mean."
Dean laughs; another response that sounds forced, and then starts to eat his pie. "Yeah, I do. No worries, mate."
They devolve back into silence and, after finishing, gather their things. It's too quiet between them the entire time that they're riding the bus and then checking in to the hostel. Seamus wants to break the silence but he can't stop sneaking glances at Dean, wondering what to say or what he did say that brought on this mood. They're silent as they head in to their room, unshrink their belongings and change.
Seamus sneaks peeks at Dean as he changes, watching the way that his muscles ripple as he pulls his t-shirt up over his head. His fingers itch with the want to touch the tight stomach and lean chest, to feel those ribs and touch all that skin. He wants to know what those nipples feel like under his fingers.
It's wrong, really really fucking wrong. He's not gay. Fuck's sake, he was dating Parvati until about two months ago. He likes sports and he's a slob. He doesn't know the difference between blue and green most times let alone the different shades and nuances and all that shit. Gay men always seem to know that shit, at least from what all he's heard.
"Going to take a shower, back in a bit," he says abruptly and gathers his things, going in to the private bathroom. Mechanically stripping off all his clothes and then turning on the water, he doesn't even realise that he's getting wet until the water hits his face. His brain's just too consumed with the whole discussion and watching Dean in a new way and what it means and everything.
He unwraps the soap and runs it over his body. As he rubs across his chest and then down over his stomach and then up the other side of his chest, he wonders what it would feel like to have Dean touching him like this. Dean's hands are so much larger than his own so they could cover more skin; wash him faster so that they'd be able to do so much more before the water turns off. He wonders where the spray of the water would hit Dean and if they'd be able to kiss. He wonders how Dean would kiss him.
He's only kissed girls before this. He's always been the one in control but he wonders if Dean would wrest that control away from him, grab on and not let go as he touches Seamus. Bet he would, Seamus thinks to himself and then realises that he's said it out loud. Not only that but his hand's around his cock and he's tugging on it, thumbing the slit and he's painfully hard.
Damned already, he thinks and continues with the fantasy, with Dean pressing him against the wall of the shower and them lining up face to face, skin to skin. Dean's face would go blurry with the way that they're so close together, just touching each other's cocks, wanking one another. They'd stare, that weird stare that Dean keeps giving him, and Dean's hand would rest against the shower wall as he leans in to Seamus. The water, hot and pounding, would rain down on them as they wank.
Seamus cries out as he comes, spilling over his hand. In the aftermath, he's horrified. He's just wanked to a fantasy with his best mate. More, he came during a fantasy about his best mate. Snapping off the water, he barely towels himself off before sitting on the toilet with his head in his hands. It's as he's cursing himself that he hears Dean knock on the door with a worried, "Mate? You ok in there?"
"Yeah, be out in a second," Seamus calls back. He's feeling off-kilter and he can't conceive of how he's going to meet Dean's eyes.
"Mate?" Dean knocks on the door again after another few minutes pass. "I'm coming in, if you're decent. Hell, I'm coming in if you're not."
Seamus checks his pants and puts his damp towel over his waist regardless of the fact that everything's covered. Dean opens the door and Seamus tries for a grin.
"What're you doing in here?" Dean says as he opens the door further.
"Wanting a fag." It's the first thing he can think of to say but it only brings back the image from films of the couple smoking after sex and what with the way that Seamus's fantasy went, he feels rather awkward with the words out there and flushes.
"So go get one, nothing stopping you." Dean steps into the room and leans against the sink.
"Think I'm going to try to quit," he announces though it's the first he's even thought of it.
"Yeah? Good on you since it makes you smell like fags all the time," Dean agrees with a wink.
"Fuck off, arse," Seamus curses and tosses a rude gesture towards Dean. Dean grabs his fingers and squeezes before letting go.
"Sure that was what you were thinking about?" Dean's suddenly serious.
"Yeah, I'm sure."
"All right, then, I'm off for a nap." Dean turns towards the door before looking over his shoulder. "Coming?"
"Yeah, it'll be nice not to be stuck with your boney shoulder for a pillow. Maybe I can get some real sleep."
"You're an ungrateful arse." Dean laughs while he's saying it.
"Don't I know it." Seamus stands and keeps the towel in front of him before gesturing for Dean to head towards the room. "Budge, mate, you're blocking the way."
Dean bows deeply and then walks into the room. They both crawl in to the small beds. It's still bright daylight but between the train ride, the stress of this thing with Dean and the aftermath of the wanking, Seamus is quite certain he can sleep for days. It's just too bad that that certainty is made a lie by the way that Seamus lays there and watches Dean sleep. Dean's hand curls in on itself, a loose fist pressed up against his face. Peaceful and still, he lays on his side, facing towards Seamus, and Seamus envies him that stillness. Even in sleep, Seamus doesn't stop. Sometimes, he wonders if he can ever turn off his brain. Like right now, Seamus rather sarcastically thinks.
"I can hear you thinking way over here, knock it off and sleep," Dean mutters.
"Fuck off," he says without any heat. Closing his eyes, he finally drifts off to sleep where his dreams are haunted by Dean and touching and that odd, odd look. When he wakes, he stares at Dean once more until Dean opens his eyes and looks at him with that stupid fucking look one more time.
"Dinner?" Seamus asks as he looks away, towards the ceiling where there aren't any weird feelings or questions brewing.
"Yeah, sure," Dean responds. Seamus avoids looking at Dean – there's no way he's sneaking glances as Dean raises his hands over his head and the shirt drifts down his arms and then covers up that hard chest that makes Seamus wants to just lick and taste – and then they head to a nearby curry spot.
"Want that walk now?" Dean asks as they head out of the restaurant.
"Yeah, walk along the river all right with you?" Dean nods in response and they head down the stairs and then start strolling along beside the Rhine. It's a different sound than the small creek near his house back in Ireland. It's loud but at the same time, it's peaceful and soft. It also provides something to pay attention to other than the way that they're walking so close together. He's all too cognizant of the brush of arm to arm, back of the hand to back of the hand, as they step in time. Silence stretches between them, letting the river fill it, until it's a giant canyon that Seamus doesn't think he can possibly span. He keeps sneaking glances at Dean and he keeps catching Dean staring at him. Seamus wants to say something, do something, because this is too much like the café earlier.
Remembering the café sparks the idea. He looks over at Dean and, in a taunting tone, offers, "Come on, old man, race you."
"What're you on? You want to race? Here? Now?"
"Aye. You're the one telling me 'm fat and old. Now's your chance to be proving it." Seamus puts his hands in his armpits and flaps them while making clucking noises. "You chicken."
"'M no chicken," Dean responds to the taunting and Seamus can feel that awkwardness slipping away along the Rhine, "Just ain't going to race along a busy walk with all these people around."
Seamus looks around and sees two couples further down. Other than that, the walk is empty. He stops his chicken impersonation and shakes his head sadly before patting Dean on the arm. He says as seriously as he's able, "It's all right, mate, I know your age is catching up with you. We don't have to race, wouldn't want to have you hurt your arthritic knees. We've got too many stops to go yet on this trip."
"How far?" Dean demands.
"Sorry?" Seamus plays dumb. "No, no, it's all right, really. You're getting up there in years. Body can't function like it used to."
"How far you want to race, you little wanker?"
"How far can your knees take?"
"It's not going to take me far to kick your arse so you tell me how far you want your embarrassment to last," Dean taunts back, cracking his knuckles and faking stretches.
"Down to the fifth bench?" Seamus gestures towards one of the benches, just under the bridge.
"Yeah, good. One, two and then go?"
"Not one, two, three and then go?" Seamus arches a brow. "So eager to get your arse kicked?"
"Fuck off, mate, one, two and then go." They take their positions and then Dean counts, "One, two – "
"Go!" Seamus shouts and then surges ahead. For the first few metres, he's ahead but then Dean's long legs carry him past.
For the last ten metres, he runs backwards, calling insults, "Come on, you cocky little son of a bitch, thought you were going to kick my arse. Who's got the arthritic knees now, you goatfucker? Fucking hell, you're short and slow!"
"Fuck. Off," Seamus enunciates clearly. Unable to resign himself to losing – a fate that he hates – Seamus barely warns Dean by grinning at him before lunging forward, tackling Dean to the ground. As Dean groans, Seamus scrambles to his feet and makes it past the bench first.
"Long legs aren't a match for brains, you arse!" Seamus dances in the shadows under the bridge. Just as he finishes turning to continue, he's slammed against the bridge supports.
"You cheated!" Dean snarls into his face.
"You're a sore loser is all. We didn't say nothing about just running."
"It's a race, not rugby, you cheating prick," Dean snarls again and pushes Seamus against the cool iron once more. Their faces are centimetres apart and Seamus doesn't answer as he's too busy staring at Dean's lips. "You even listening to me?"
"Not really, no," Seamus answers before he thinks.
"You're such an arsehole," Dean says without any heat and that look comes on his face again. Seamus looks up from Dean's lips to see Dean staring at his lips and fuck if that isn't one of the hottest things Seamus has never contemplated before. Dean whispers, "Stop me now."
"Huh?" Seamus comes out of the stupor. Before he can absorb just what Dean meant, Dean's kissing him, lips pressing lightly and then firmly against his own. At first, he's shocked into inaction but then he opens his lips to protest – it had to be in protest – and Dean's tongue slips inside. Seamus is lost against the onslaught of the wetslipslide friction of their tongues touching one another, gliding along and tangling. As hands drift up from his shoulders to his face, Seamus echoes the gesture. He touches Dean's cheeks and then delves into Dean's hair.
Their noses bump and Seamus twists to the side so that he can better kiss Dean, increase the pressure of lip against lip, tongue against tongue. He needs a better angle so he can bite at Dean's lip, breathe in that little bit of air that's expelled when he does it. Dean moans again and then he holds Seamus's head in place. The light tug of his hair being pulled causes Seamus to moan which, in turn, causes Dean to whisper, "Fuck, Seamus, fuck."
Hearing his name breaks the moment. Seamus pulls back and looks around. They're under a bridge outside a cathedral along the Rhine where anyone, anyone, can see them. It'd be fairly obvious to any onlooker what they'd been doing with the way that Dean's leaning in to him and that they're both hard. Seamus's cock throbs at the reminder and notice and Seamus pulls back a bit further. His heart's pounding loud and hard enough that his pulse echoes like drums in his ears. He can't believe they were snogging. In public. Snogging. Dean and him.
"Fuck," he says and continues to look everywhere but at Dean. He doesn't see anyone else, not even those other couples. That brings him up short. Other couples? Since when were Dean and him a couple? "Fuck," he repeats.
"Seamus, I'm sorry," Dean starts to say something else but Seamus shoves him away and takes off running. This chase isn't like that friendly game of chase before. Seamus runs as if the hounds of hell are on his heels. He can hear Dean calling his name for the first bit so he races up a set of stairs and then into the streets. After awhile, he slows and, when he can't hear Dean any longer, sits on a bench.
His head falls into his hands. Jesus fucking Christ, he mutters under his breath as he just sits there and wonders what the hell just happened. First the train ride, then the wanking and the dreams and more wanking and more dreams; it's all mixed up and weird. This trip had been an awful idea from start to finish. Just because they're getting up there in years doesn't mean that Seamus has to be suddenly gay for his best friend. Hell, they're not even getting up there in years; they're just having a hard time being thirty.
Seamus looks up and watches the people walk past his perch. Each and every one of them walks with a purpose, as if not only the current destination but the rest of the path for their lives are well-known. They're all moving with purpose while Seamus sits completely lost and fumbling along his own path. He hates this, hates sitting here and wondering what the hell is going on with his life. Why did Dean kiss him? He could've ignored this entire thing if Dean hadn't kissed him. But now, there's no ignoring that, there's no way he can do that. That kiss is just too big, too present. Too much.
He can't go back to the hostel, to the room they're sharing. Dean'll be there eventually and he'll want to talk about the kiss. Seamus doesn't want his apology because it isn't Dean's fault, not entirely. After all, it isn't like Seamus had resisted or something. He'd been right there, sticking his tongue down Dean's throat and touching. They'd both been rubbing against each other. It had felt so good, too.
As the sun finishes its downward path, Seamus finally gets up from the bench and walks along the street until he comes back to the cathedral. The spires jut into the coloured sky and he goes back inside. With the odd lighting, he can just barely make out the large stained glass window and its myriad colours. It soars into the ceiling far above Seamus's head and he watches as the sun finishes going down and the colours drain from the windows. His brain finally stops churning with the mixed up feelings from the kiss and dreams. Instead, he lets the peace flow over him.
When finally the light disappears, he gets up and then goes to a deserted area so he can Apparate to the alley behind the hostel. The peace stays with him – clinging by its fingertips but still there – as he walks through the building and then into the room. The first thing he sees is Dean sitting on the side of his bed, head in his hands with his arms on his knees. The position mirrors the one Seamus had been in so closely that Seamus realises that Dean's just as mixed up as he is.
"Just about to go look for you, wasn't sure that you hadn't been mugged or something," Dean says without looking up.
"Went back to the cathedral, wanted to take a look at the glass at sunset." It's a lie but it's better than the truth as far as Seamus is concerned.
The silence spreads thick about the room. It's uncomfortable and Seamus thinks he might just choke on it.
"We all right?" Dean finally asks.
"Nothing much to it, right?" Seamus responds as he goes to his bed and sits on the edge, facing Dean.
Dean looks up, face twisting, and then says, "Right. Nothing to it."
"Yeah, we're all right," Seamus says. He can't seem to look away from Dean who seems like he wants Seamus to say something else.
"Yeah, all right. Game tomorrow, might as well get some sleep."
"Yeah, all right."
Dean's the first to look away and then he slides in between the sheets, turning his back on Seamus as he curls into a ball. That lost feeling sweeps over Seamus again, taking the little bits of peace with it. When nothing else is said, Seamus slips in between his own sheets and then grabs his wand and whispers, "Nox".
Surprisingly enough, Seamus goes right to sleep. Even more of a surprise, he doesn't dream about anything. When he comes awake, he wonders if, maybe, the reason he didn't dream was because all those dreams are in his life already, so he doesn't need them right now. Much prefer 'em in the dreams, though, he thinks to himself before getting out of bed and heading in to the loo to take a piss.
When he opens the door, he realises what sort of idiot he is as he hears the shower going. More, he can hear Dean taking a shower. Even more, he can hear Dean wanking in the shower. Seamus hardens and presses a palm against his cock, trying to think about moving away from the door, shutting it and pretending that this, too, never happened. Only, the way that Dean's moaning and hissing keeps him entranced with the door open.
"Fuck, Seamus," he hears as Dean comes. It's then that he realises that he's fucking his hand, thrusting his hips against his palm and he's getting rubbed raw by the fabric of his pants. Hoping like hell that he hadn't moaned or made a sound, Seamus shuts the door as quietly as he can, pulls his pants down and then presses his forehead against the wall and wanks fast and hard. He comes, spilling over his hand, after only two short tugs. Yanking his pants back up, he grabs his wand, spells his hands clean and then knocks on the door.
"You about done in there? Gotta piss," he shouts through the door.
"Yeah, give me a minute." The water shuts off and then Dean walks out – rivulets of water racing down his chest to disappear into the white terry cloth around his hips – and salutes. "All yours."
"Thanks," Seamus says before racing into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He's flushed to a bright red; he can feel it without even looking in the mirror. Forgetting about needing to piss, he gets in to the shower and turns on the water as cold as it can get. As soon as he's clean enough, he's back out of the shower and then towelling off when he realises that he had left his clothes out in the room.
Muttering and cursing, he decides to screw up his courage and go out there. The worst that can happen is that he'll get another hard-on in front of Dean and then Dean'll know that the kiss hadn't been 'nothing'. "Mind over matter, Finnigan. You're more than your cock," he whispers to himself and then slings the towel around his hips and steps out in to the room.
Dean looks up quickly and then looks down just as fast while Seamus walks across the room to his clothes and turns his back on Dean. He shucks the towel and is all too conscious of his bare bum aiming right at Dean. Dressing quickly, he keeps his back turned until he's fully dressed from t-shirt to denims to trainers. When he turns around, Dean's reading some papers about the game.
"Game starts around noon. We should probably head over there."
"Breakfast?" Seamus asks as his stomach grumbles.
"On the way?" Dean's almost bouncing where he's sitting and when he looks up, the tension from the night before is gone, replaced by excitement.
"Yeah, can't have you missing even a minute of this," Seamus says before walking over and slapping Dean's shoulder. "Come on, then."
"Don't think I don't hear the sarcasm there, mate, doesn’t matter though. Just wait until you see Xabi play. You'll change your tune soon enough." Dean grabs the tickets before standing. "All right, let's go."
They make the trek in silence. As they near the stadium, they join the crowds of fellow football fans and even Seamus starts feeling the excitement. Sure, this is an exhibition game and it means shite but it's hard not to be excited to see one of the top teams play. Chants and slogans are traded between the fans of either team. It's all in fun as jeers and cheers are exchanged while they're taking their seats. Seamus joins in on the teasing; tossing out a few of the phrases he's learned in his years with Dean and his football mania.
They're close to the field, close enough that when the players come out, Seamus can see the muscles rippling on their arms and legs. Dean points out Xabi Alonso and Seamus can't stop staring as the man runs across the field.
"Fucking hell," he breathes out as he watches the muscles contract and move.
"Man can play, let me tell you," Dean says.
Seamus barely hears him though as he's too caught up in the play of muscles rippling. When Xabi bends over to touch his toes in a stretch, Seamus can't help but stare at his arse. He surreptitiously checks to see if his mouth is hanging open – it is – and then looks over at Dean.
"Can't wait to see it," Seamus finally answers.
They watch the players get set up and then the match starts. They stop talking and start yelling as the ball starts to make its way towards Liverpool's goal. It sweeps back towards Cologne and then once more towards Liverpool. Xabi makes a move, kicking the ball between the legs of a Cologne player, moves around him and then kicks the ball as hard as he can from his own half. Seamus leans forward, stands and then cheers with the rest of the Liverpool fans as they watch the goalie race back towards his net but he's too late. The ball tumbles in and the crowd goes wild at the feat. Dean and Seamus exchange high fives and then watch as Xabi leaps onto another player and kisses him full on the lips. They let go and then mess with each other's hair. Seamus looks at Dean and Dean looks at Seamus and there's that weird tension again.
"That's Gerrard, he's the captain," Dean explains.
"Ah, that explains it," Seamus says even though it's obvious that it doesn't.
"They're mates is all," Dean sounds so nervous, making Seamus retreat into what he considers normal guy behaviour: he punches Dean's shoulder.
"No worries at all, I get it."
The match continues and Seamus ignores the flutters in his gut and the way that they increase every time his arm brushes against Dean's. He also does a damn fine job of ignoring the way that every brush of their skin against one another causes his cock to throb.
During the break, Seamus and Dean grab some food and then resume their seats. They're quiet, a normally unheard of state between the two. Seamus finally can't take the silence anymore and blurts out, "He do that often?"
"Not too often, no," Dean answers. "They were just excited about the goal, I think."
Seamus flushes. He hadn't been referring to the kiss at all. Instead, he'd been referring to the way that Xabi had scored from the opposite end of the field. "I, um, that is, I meant the goal. Pretty hard to score that long, yeah?"
"Yeah, he's done it before but yeah, it's impressive." Dean pauses for a minute. "Thought you meant the hugging and things."
"Mates can kiss, it doesn't mean anything," Seamus hastens to add.
"Right. Course." They both pause as the teams pour on to the field again.
The excitement of the match starts again even though it's obvious that Liverpool is going to win, what with the score being six to one in favour of them. Seamus can't quite keep his eyes off of Xabi, can't stop watching the play of muscles. He looks to Dean and sees Dean looking from the field to Seamus and back again.
"He's a brilliant player, isn't he?" Dean leans over and yells in to Seamus's ear.
"Aye, you were right. Match is fantastic, glad you talked me in to coming. I can see why you were excited about it."
"Yeah, looks a bit like you, doesn't he?" Dean asks and then points towards the field.
"Who's that?" Seamus asks as he watches the players move.
"Xabi."
"Oh, yeah, maybe? I dunno."
"He does," Dean says quite firmly.
"So 'm not fat and old then?"
"Guess not," Dean says and Seamus looks to his face just in time to catch the wink.
"Fucking well told you so," Seamus responds. He then looks to the field and exclaims, "Oh holy fuck, what're they doing?"
"Jersey exchange, traditional at the end of a game." Seamus barely hears Dean's explanation as he watches Xabi and one of the Cologne players take their jerseys off and trade them. Seamus can't take his eyes off those biceps, not even when he hears Dean say, "Yeah, looks like you."
TO PART II
Author:
wook77Rating: Hard R
Pairing(s): Dean Thomas/Seamus Finnigan
Summary: What's the best way to cope with turning thirty and realising that your life isn't what you'd planned? Go on a road trip with your best mate. It's just too bad for Dean and Seamus when even that doesn't go according to plan.
Warnings: none
Word Count: ~11,800
Author's Notes: Originally written for
goneoffthelump at hp_springsmut. She was very patient in waiting for the story as I worked through block after block after... ♥. For my betas (nefernat, best_of_five, maple_mahogany, miz_thang88, kaalee), so much love and thanks. The remaining mistakes are, obviously, my own. Finally – many thanks to midnitemaraud_r for her patience and handholding as I ironed this story out. Also - I think this one is a story that I've a bit of meta on because of the research and such. We'll see. "If we're going to see fucking West Ham, then we're fucking well going to see the Kestrels!" Seamus insists as he throws his hands in the air.
"We're not going west just to go east, it doesn't make any sense," Dean responds as he points at the map laid out on Seamus's desk within his office in the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters.
"Portkeys! Think like a wizard, fuck's sake!" Seamus shouts as he circles around the desk to point at the map. "Portkey can take us anywhere, see? We can be here and then over there to get your bloody football match in the next day."
"Portkeys cost money, Seamus, money we don't want to spend." Dean's voice is placid and calm.
"If we're going to all your footie matches, we're going to see a couple of Quidditch matches. That means we gotta take Portkeys, then that means we gotta take Portkeys."
"Where're we going to get the money for all those Portkeys?" Dean cocks an eyebrow and Seamus crosses his arm and glares.
"We'll figure something out. Fair's fair. 'Sides, at least the tickets to the Quidditch matches are free unlike your footie games."
"All right, yeah," Dean agrees and they both look at the map and then look at one another again. "This is insane, you know that, right?"
"Only turn thirty once, mate. Might as well do something barmy to celebrate it." Seamus reaches out and pinches Dean on the elbow. "You talk to your boss, yet?"
"Yeah, I've a three month leave of absence, you?"
"Same." Seamus taps the map. "This is going to be the best trip ever."
"Agreed," Dean says and then they continue taking notes, looking at the game schedules and locations to figure out when to see who play where.
The trip starts out ace. First match and West Ham upsets Sunderland three to one. Dean and Seamus exchange hugs with one another and high fives with the rest of the West Ham supporters that surround them. They'd been mocked at the start of the match when Sunderland had been up one to nothing. Barbs were traded and voices were raised in either taunts or exultation as West Ham gained and then held on to the lead. By the time they're hugging and celebrating, their voices are gone. That doesn't much matter as they're going to be off for a pint or two to soothe the throat.
Besides, West Ham's a shite team, both Dean and Seamus know this as much as they know anything. Hell, everyone there knew going in that West Ham was the underdog of the match. That only makes victory that much sweeter as the mass of fans slowly make their way from the stadium to nearby pubs. Seamus and Dean go to their favourite and push their way through the crowd. The fight song erupts from a group of blokes nearest to the bar and Seamus and Dean tap them on their shoulders as they pass and join in.
"Oi!" One of the men near them shouts. He pounds Seamus on the shoulders and then repeats the gesture with Dean. He then steps between them and, with an arm swung over both, sways in time to the fight song. Seamus exchanges a look with Dean and they carefully extricate themselves before sliding further down the bar.
"Brilliant match," Seamus says as he grabs up another pint glass.
"Yeah, it was so cool when…" the rest of what Dean had to say disappears in the noise of the crowded pub. Considering the way Dean's hands are flailing, Seamus assumes that it's about one play or another. Seamus nods along, as if he can hear what Dean has to say. He's no lip reader but he tries anyway, staring as Dean's lips curl and purse.
"You want to get out of here?" Seamus is startled out of the trance Dean's lips lured him in to by the sound of Dean's raised voice.
"Aye, can do that." Seamus finishes off his pint, slaps the glass on the bar and heads back out into the sunshine. Dean follows and then slings an arm over Seamus's shoulders.
They both start humming the fight song one more time. Seamus feels rather drunk on excitement. This game and West Ham winning is the perfect start to their trip.
"Too right it is," Dean agrees. Seamus looks up at him and then realises that he said the last bit out loud.
"Just wait until the Kestrels win, then we'll really be having a fantastic trip."
"As if that'd ever happen." Seamus sneaks his hand up behind Dean and smacks him against the back of his head. In response, Dean pulls Seamus in tight and rubs his knuckles across Seamus's scalp. When they break apart, laughing so hard they're close to tears, Dean's arm is still around Seamus's shoulders.
The train rumbles along the tracks as they make their way to Bulgaria. Seamus leans against Dean, trying to get a kip. Back when they'd planned the trip, they'd decided they'd not spring for a compartment but Seamus regrets that right now. A sleeper would've been just about perfect so that Seamus could sleep without worrying over falling off Dean or the traffic of people walking back and forth.
"Stop moving, trying to sleep," Dean mumbles from where he's leaning against the glass.
"Can't get comfortable," Seamus answers as he shifts once more. "Going to fall off in me sleep, I just know it."
"Here," Dean says before he slings an arm around Seamus's shoulder, holding him close and secure. "Better?"
"Yeah, ta," Seamus says and starts to drift off to sleep. He doesn't really question the way that he feels so much safer with Dean's arm around him. Nor does he realise that he reaches up and twines their fingers together. He doesn't feel the way that Dean squeezes their fingers.
When they wake, Seamus can't quite place where they are or what they're doing. For just a moment, Seamus wonders if they're on their way to Hogwarts because it feels just like it did. Then realisation dawns and Seamus remembers that he's thirty years old and he's… he's holding Dean's hand like it's a lifeline. Their fingers are entwined and Dean's palm is just the slightest bit sweaty.
Dean snuffles and Seamus jumps, pulling away from Dean's shoulder. He's uncomfortable even though he hasn't a clue why. He jumps once again when Dean asks, "All right?"
"Yeah, you?"
"Yeah, got a bit of sleep. This window's awful, though. We should get some pillows and shrink them so we can use them next ride."
"We should Confound someone so we can get a compartment."
"We should take Portkeys," Dean says, clearly mocking Seamus's accent as he winks. Seamus erupts with laughter at the dry tone and impersonation.
"Aye, that we should but they cost too much money," Seamus tries Dean's accent but he's rather shite at impersonations. Dean laughs anyway.
"Gotta piss, budge over," Dean stands and shimmies through the narrow spot between Seamus's legs and the seat in front and then disappears down the car to the loo. Seamus is glad for the interruption and disappearance as it gives him a moment to think about how comfortable and secure he'd felt.
It's just friendship. Hell, they've been friends for over nineteen years, course he's going to feel comfortable and secure riding next to his best mate. It's not the first time and it won't be the last, especially not with the amount of travelling they're planning on getting in during the next three months.
Dean comes back and gives Seamus's shoulder a squeeze as he passes once more. As he's sitting, he says, "Almost to Austria."
"Yeah? So we missed most of Germany? Guess we'll get to see it later."
"Bulgaria here we come." Dean leans over and nudges Seamus with his shoulder and Seamus does the same. When Dean bumps his knees against the seat in front of them, he yelps, "Tell me again why the hell the short blighter's on the aisle and I'm crammed in here next to the window."
"Cause you wanted it."
"Fuck off, Finnigan. I wanted the aisle. It'd be nice to stretch out."
"And have me clamouring over you every time I'm wanting a fag? If that's the way you want it," Seamus says as he stands in the aisle and waits for Dean to move. Dean looks at him with an odd, twisted expression and stays where he's at. "Well?"
"I'll stay here. Don't need you climbing all over me," Dean finally says.
"Oh fuck off; if you weren't such a tree, I wouldn't have to." Seamus flips a rude gesture in Dean's direction and sits back down. Their legs brush but Seamus ignores it. The seats are close together and it was unexpected; that's why he looks towards Dean and catches that twist of expression across Dean's face.
"Can't help that you're just a short little monkey."
"Fuck off."
"So creative, I can see why you're so high up at work."
"Fuck off," Seamus responds and then starts to laugh. "Fucking wanker, mate. You're a bloody fucking wanker."
"Come on, you blighters! Come on!" Seamus cheers as he surges to his feet as the Seeker for the Caerphilly Catapults rockets past on his broom. The Quaffle passes back and forth but Seamus only has eyes for the way the Seeker chases after the Snitch.
The match has been rather close the entire time. The Vrasta Vultures, currently up by thirty points, are winning but if Caerphilly can get the Snitch… then Seamus would win twenty galleons from the lads back in the office. Only problem with that is that Krum is the Seeker. Even though Krum's rather old for a Seeker, his flying is still reminiscent of the way he'd flown during the Quidditch World Cup. Seamus remembers the way that he and Dean had run wild through the camp, having a fantastic time cheering for Ireland.
That's part of the reason that Seamus had wanted to do this trip. He remembers how much fun they'd had when they were young, can still remember the innocence of their enjoyment of the match before the Death Eaters had attacked. He wants to regain a bit of that innocence now that they're both thirty and stuck in careers and flats and bills and everything that went with being adults. Just a small break from all that responsibility and Seamus thinks that he'll be able to go back to it and accept that he really is an adult now.
"You see that? Look! Krum sees the Snitch!" Dean pokes him in the arm, distracting him from his reflections and they both watch as Krum soars into the air. Seamus can feel the galleons being handed over as Krum loses the Caerphilly Seeker and snatches victory. "That's a pint you owe me, mate!"
"Fuck off," Seamus says fairly good-naturedly. A bet's a bet and Seamus had hoped for the long shot. Should've known not to bet against Krum. Dean laughs and swings an arm around Seamus's shoulder as they walk out of the stands. The weight of the arm is comfortable and familiar so Seamus reaches up and squeezes his hand and leaves it as is.
Another train and another long ride results in Seamus and Dean napping on the train. When Seamus wakes, his hand is on Dean's inner thigh. He can feel Dean's pulse in the veins that run just under the skin. His hand twitches and inches further up. He wants to pull it back but he's afraid that Den will wake up and how the hell does one explain why one is feeling up their best mate's inner thigh?
Dean mutters something under his breath and shifts, pulling Seamus closer with the arm swung around him. Seamus is pressed in so close that he feels like he's surrounded by Dean. Surprisingly comfortable with it, Seamus keeps his breath shallow as he thinks about the way that Dean makes him question himself. They've been mates for how long now and he hasn't really had these sorts of questions before. Sure, there was that time back in fifth year that he'd watched Dean shower but then again, he'd watched everyone shower and no one had really appealed the way that girls had.
"Budge up, my arm's in a cramp," Dean whispers as he pulls his arm from around Seamus.
"Yeah, sorry." Seamus shifts so that they can manoeuvre into more comfortable positions.
"No worries." Dean sounds unconcerned and his arm is all twisted with Seamus's so that his hand rests over Seamus's hand on his upper thigh. "Know where we're at?"
"No idea. Got to get there soon, right?" Seamus's hand starts to sweat as he pretends not to notice where it is. He wants to remove it, hide his hand away but he also wants to inch up further, maybe brush his fingers against Dean's bulge. It's that last thought that has him yanking his hand away quickly.
"Yeah, hopefully, train's not the best place to sleep. Whose idea was it to go Muggle?" Dean's voice sounds off but Seamus can't quite figure out why.
"Your brilliant idea. Mine was Portkeys, remember?" Seamus sits up and looks over at Dean who is studiously looking out the window. His reflection is obscured and Seamus feels like he should apologise but he's not at all certain what for.
"Right. Well, at least this game's going to be cool. Liverpool never does exhibition games."
"Yeah, thank God for that sister city thing all right," Seamus says while rolling his eyes. He has no idea why Dean wants to see Liverpool play so badly. It's not like the game counts for anything, after all. If it makes Dean happy, though, then Seamus is more than willing to go along with it.
"Just wait, you'll like it. There's this player, Xabi Alonso, he's brill. Can really move and he even spent time near your place."
"What was he doing in that shite neighbourhood?" Seamus says with a grimace. His flat's not exactly in the best neighbourhood in London but it's what he could afford and that's what counts as far as he's concerned. Dean smacks the side of his head.
"Your mum's place, then."
"Oh? He was in Ireland? What for?" Seamus smacks Dean's head. "And there's no call for hitting me."
"You know you like it," Dean says and then smacks Seamus again.
"You're such an arse."
"You love it." Dean smacks him once more, this time on the shoulder. "Xabi, though, he was there to learn English. Not sure why he'd go to Ireland what with the way you talk, though."
"You're in for it. Soon as there aren't any witnesses, your arse is mine. Swear by all that's holy, I am going to make you pay for all your shite." Seamus fumbles for his wand and looks around, hoping some of the Muggles will need to go to the loo or into a smoking car for a smoke, anything so that he can hex Dean.
"You love me and you know it." Dean grins at him and holds on to his hand, keeping him from casting and breaking the Statute of Secrecy. "Don't want to get sacked, do you?"
"Damn it," Seamus curses and then hides his wand once more. "You and your stupid logic."
When they exit the train station, Seamus goggles at the cathedral in front of him. It's monstrous, with gothic pillars stretching into the sky. It's one of the grandest cathedrals he's seen and he's been to a fair few. They're a fascination for him, the pomp and circumstance of the worship, the many varieties and accoutrements. He's across the square and up the many stairs before he realises. When he gets inside, the cathedral echoes around him and he feels rather peaceful inside.
Churches always have this effect on him. It might be that he didn't grow up in the Church. What with the way his Muggle da left his mam when he turned up magical, his mam never held much faith in the church. The fascination with churches started as a rebellion against his mam and continues because he loves the history and peace within them.
"It's beautiful," Dean whispers from next to him and Seamus startles out of his contemplations of the interior of the church.
"Aye, it is," Seamus agrees and then looks to Dean. "Mind if we walk around a bit?"
"No, it's cool."
They wander in the middle of the various Muggle tourists as they take in different aspects. All those worries about becoming an adult and being mired in responsibility disappear along with the newer worries of just why he's wanting Dean's arm around him once more. The conversations wash over him, background noise in a myriad of languages. Some, he knows and some he doesn't.
"Ves la escultura allí? …"
"Dann hat Harriet Bill gesagt…"
"Café Richard is just down the way, are you…"
When his stomach growls, the mood is broken. Seamus looks over to Dean to see if he'd heard it and, from the grin across that face, Seamus assumes he had. He asks, "Lunch?"
"Yeah, let's find something."
"Want to follow that couple to the café they mentioned?" Seamus gestures towards the couple heading out of the church in front of them.
"Sure, why not?"
They follow to a café and when given the choice, Dean and Seamus choose to sit outside. That way, they're able to watch the people as they walk past. The continued view of the cathedral is still stunning.
"What's next? Head to the hostel?" Dean asks as they sit.
"That or maybe we could wander? We've a few days, might be nice to walk around. I'm sick of being in trains and rooms. Stretching our legs would be a nice change." As Dean nods, the waitress comes and takes their order. Seamus orders the Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte and Dean goes for a slice of apple pie. They both order the hot chocolate.
"Walking off the pie would be good. You're getting old and fat," Dean says as he pokes Seamus's belly.
"Fuck off, you fucking wanker," Seamus gasps back as he avoids the questing fingers. In desperation, he captures Dean's fingers and holds them tight. Those weird feelings are back just as real as Dean's hand in his. "No fatter'n you."
"Face it, you're getting old and fat whereas I'm young and skinny and spry." Dean isn't trying to remove his fingers but Seamus convinces himself that he's holding on to them just in case Dean decides to renew the attack.
"Arse."
A waiter comes, sets down their desserts and then looks at their hands and then back at them. He grins and then walks away. Seamus flushes and lets go before sneaking a look at Dean to see if he noticed the waiter. Dean's just staring back at him and there's that weird, uncomfortable silence thing again. Seamus feels like he should say something, anything, to fill it or at least distract from it. His mind, for once, is completely blank and so he just grabs his fork and starts eating the Black Forest cherry cake. The flavour explodes over his tongue and he moans at the richness. It's divine, beyond divine.
"Watch those noises, else people think I'm touching you under the table," Dean remarks. His voice is odd and forced sounding, making Seamus look over. There's that stare again, the one that says that Dean can see right through him into the weird desires he's experiencing. It also says that Dean wants him to say something back, say the right thing and Seamus doesn't know what Dean thinks is the right thing. Hell, Seamus doesn't know what the right thing is.
"Cake's rich, don't think I'm going to be up for that walk. Want to head to the hostel and grab a nap?" Considering Dean's previous statement, Seamus flushes at the implications. "Err, in separate beds. Without you touching me under the table or anything. Christ, you know what I mean."
Dean laughs; another response that sounds forced, and then starts to eat his pie. "Yeah, I do. No worries, mate."
They devolve back into silence and, after finishing, gather their things. It's too quiet between them the entire time that they're riding the bus and then checking in to the hostel. Seamus wants to break the silence but he can't stop sneaking glances at Dean, wondering what to say or what he did say that brought on this mood. They're silent as they head in to their room, unshrink their belongings and change.
Seamus sneaks peeks at Dean as he changes, watching the way that his muscles ripple as he pulls his t-shirt up over his head. His fingers itch with the want to touch the tight stomach and lean chest, to feel those ribs and touch all that skin. He wants to know what those nipples feel like under his fingers.
It's wrong, really really fucking wrong. He's not gay. Fuck's sake, he was dating Parvati until about two months ago. He likes sports and he's a slob. He doesn't know the difference between blue and green most times let alone the different shades and nuances and all that shit. Gay men always seem to know that shit, at least from what all he's heard.
"Going to take a shower, back in a bit," he says abruptly and gathers his things, going in to the private bathroom. Mechanically stripping off all his clothes and then turning on the water, he doesn't even realise that he's getting wet until the water hits his face. His brain's just too consumed with the whole discussion and watching Dean in a new way and what it means and everything.
He unwraps the soap and runs it over his body. As he rubs across his chest and then down over his stomach and then up the other side of his chest, he wonders what it would feel like to have Dean touching him like this. Dean's hands are so much larger than his own so they could cover more skin; wash him faster so that they'd be able to do so much more before the water turns off. He wonders where the spray of the water would hit Dean and if they'd be able to kiss. He wonders how Dean would kiss him.
He's only kissed girls before this. He's always been the one in control but he wonders if Dean would wrest that control away from him, grab on and not let go as he touches Seamus. Bet he would, Seamus thinks to himself and then realises that he's said it out loud. Not only that but his hand's around his cock and he's tugging on it, thumbing the slit and he's painfully hard.
Damned already, he thinks and continues with the fantasy, with Dean pressing him against the wall of the shower and them lining up face to face, skin to skin. Dean's face would go blurry with the way that they're so close together, just touching each other's cocks, wanking one another. They'd stare, that weird stare that Dean keeps giving him, and Dean's hand would rest against the shower wall as he leans in to Seamus. The water, hot and pounding, would rain down on them as they wank.
Seamus cries out as he comes, spilling over his hand. In the aftermath, he's horrified. He's just wanked to a fantasy with his best mate. More, he came during a fantasy about his best mate. Snapping off the water, he barely towels himself off before sitting on the toilet with his head in his hands. It's as he's cursing himself that he hears Dean knock on the door with a worried, "Mate? You ok in there?"
"Yeah, be out in a second," Seamus calls back. He's feeling off-kilter and he can't conceive of how he's going to meet Dean's eyes.
"Mate?" Dean knocks on the door again after another few minutes pass. "I'm coming in, if you're decent. Hell, I'm coming in if you're not."
Seamus checks his pants and puts his damp towel over his waist regardless of the fact that everything's covered. Dean opens the door and Seamus tries for a grin.
"What're you doing in here?" Dean says as he opens the door further.
"Wanting a fag." It's the first thing he can think of to say but it only brings back the image from films of the couple smoking after sex and what with the way that Seamus's fantasy went, he feels rather awkward with the words out there and flushes.
"So go get one, nothing stopping you." Dean steps into the room and leans against the sink.
"Think I'm going to try to quit," he announces though it's the first he's even thought of it.
"Yeah? Good on you since it makes you smell like fags all the time," Dean agrees with a wink.
"Fuck off, arse," Seamus curses and tosses a rude gesture towards Dean. Dean grabs his fingers and squeezes before letting go.
"Sure that was what you were thinking about?" Dean's suddenly serious.
"Yeah, I'm sure."
"All right, then, I'm off for a nap." Dean turns towards the door before looking over his shoulder. "Coming?"
"Yeah, it'll be nice not to be stuck with your boney shoulder for a pillow. Maybe I can get some real sleep."
"You're an ungrateful arse." Dean laughs while he's saying it.
"Don't I know it." Seamus stands and keeps the towel in front of him before gesturing for Dean to head towards the room. "Budge, mate, you're blocking the way."
Dean bows deeply and then walks into the room. They both crawl in to the small beds. It's still bright daylight but between the train ride, the stress of this thing with Dean and the aftermath of the wanking, Seamus is quite certain he can sleep for days. It's just too bad that that certainty is made a lie by the way that Seamus lays there and watches Dean sleep. Dean's hand curls in on itself, a loose fist pressed up against his face. Peaceful and still, he lays on his side, facing towards Seamus, and Seamus envies him that stillness. Even in sleep, Seamus doesn't stop. Sometimes, he wonders if he can ever turn off his brain. Like right now, Seamus rather sarcastically thinks.
"I can hear you thinking way over here, knock it off and sleep," Dean mutters.
"Fuck off," he says without any heat. Closing his eyes, he finally drifts off to sleep where his dreams are haunted by Dean and touching and that odd, odd look. When he wakes, he stares at Dean once more until Dean opens his eyes and looks at him with that stupid fucking look one more time.
"Dinner?" Seamus asks as he looks away, towards the ceiling where there aren't any weird feelings or questions brewing.
"Yeah, sure," Dean responds. Seamus avoids looking at Dean – there's no way he's sneaking glances as Dean raises his hands over his head and the shirt drifts down his arms and then covers up that hard chest that makes Seamus wants to just lick and taste – and then they head to a nearby curry spot.
"Want that walk now?" Dean asks as they head out of the restaurant.
"Yeah, walk along the river all right with you?" Dean nods in response and they head down the stairs and then start strolling along beside the Rhine. It's a different sound than the small creek near his house back in Ireland. It's loud but at the same time, it's peaceful and soft. It also provides something to pay attention to other than the way that they're walking so close together. He's all too cognizant of the brush of arm to arm, back of the hand to back of the hand, as they step in time. Silence stretches between them, letting the river fill it, until it's a giant canyon that Seamus doesn't think he can possibly span. He keeps sneaking glances at Dean and he keeps catching Dean staring at him. Seamus wants to say something, do something, because this is too much like the café earlier.
Remembering the café sparks the idea. He looks over at Dean and, in a taunting tone, offers, "Come on, old man, race you."
"What're you on? You want to race? Here? Now?"
"Aye. You're the one telling me 'm fat and old. Now's your chance to be proving it." Seamus puts his hands in his armpits and flaps them while making clucking noises. "You chicken."
"'M no chicken," Dean responds to the taunting and Seamus can feel that awkwardness slipping away along the Rhine, "Just ain't going to race along a busy walk with all these people around."
Seamus looks around and sees two couples further down. Other than that, the walk is empty. He stops his chicken impersonation and shakes his head sadly before patting Dean on the arm. He says as seriously as he's able, "It's all right, mate, I know your age is catching up with you. We don't have to race, wouldn't want to have you hurt your arthritic knees. We've got too many stops to go yet on this trip."
"How far?" Dean demands.
"Sorry?" Seamus plays dumb. "No, no, it's all right, really. You're getting up there in years. Body can't function like it used to."
"How far you want to race, you little wanker?"
"How far can your knees take?"
"It's not going to take me far to kick your arse so you tell me how far you want your embarrassment to last," Dean taunts back, cracking his knuckles and faking stretches.
"Down to the fifth bench?" Seamus gestures towards one of the benches, just under the bridge.
"Yeah, good. One, two and then go?"
"Not one, two, three and then go?" Seamus arches a brow. "So eager to get your arse kicked?"
"Fuck off, mate, one, two and then go." They take their positions and then Dean counts, "One, two – "
"Go!" Seamus shouts and then surges ahead. For the first few metres, he's ahead but then Dean's long legs carry him past.
For the last ten metres, he runs backwards, calling insults, "Come on, you cocky little son of a bitch, thought you were going to kick my arse. Who's got the arthritic knees now, you goatfucker? Fucking hell, you're short and slow!"
"Fuck. Off," Seamus enunciates clearly. Unable to resign himself to losing – a fate that he hates – Seamus barely warns Dean by grinning at him before lunging forward, tackling Dean to the ground. As Dean groans, Seamus scrambles to his feet and makes it past the bench first.
"Long legs aren't a match for brains, you arse!" Seamus dances in the shadows under the bridge. Just as he finishes turning to continue, he's slammed against the bridge supports.
"You cheated!" Dean snarls into his face.
"You're a sore loser is all. We didn't say nothing about just running."
"It's a race, not rugby, you cheating prick," Dean snarls again and pushes Seamus against the cool iron once more. Their faces are centimetres apart and Seamus doesn't answer as he's too busy staring at Dean's lips. "You even listening to me?"
"Not really, no," Seamus answers before he thinks.
"You're such an arsehole," Dean says without any heat and that look comes on his face again. Seamus looks up from Dean's lips to see Dean staring at his lips and fuck if that isn't one of the hottest things Seamus has never contemplated before. Dean whispers, "Stop me now."
"Huh?" Seamus comes out of the stupor. Before he can absorb just what Dean meant, Dean's kissing him, lips pressing lightly and then firmly against his own. At first, he's shocked into inaction but then he opens his lips to protest – it had to be in protest – and Dean's tongue slips inside. Seamus is lost against the onslaught of the wetslipslide friction of their tongues touching one another, gliding along and tangling. As hands drift up from his shoulders to his face, Seamus echoes the gesture. He touches Dean's cheeks and then delves into Dean's hair.
Their noses bump and Seamus twists to the side so that he can better kiss Dean, increase the pressure of lip against lip, tongue against tongue. He needs a better angle so he can bite at Dean's lip, breathe in that little bit of air that's expelled when he does it. Dean moans again and then he holds Seamus's head in place. The light tug of his hair being pulled causes Seamus to moan which, in turn, causes Dean to whisper, "Fuck, Seamus, fuck."
Hearing his name breaks the moment. Seamus pulls back and looks around. They're under a bridge outside a cathedral along the Rhine where anyone, anyone, can see them. It'd be fairly obvious to any onlooker what they'd been doing with the way that Dean's leaning in to him and that they're both hard. Seamus's cock throbs at the reminder and notice and Seamus pulls back a bit further. His heart's pounding loud and hard enough that his pulse echoes like drums in his ears. He can't believe they were snogging. In public. Snogging. Dean and him.
"Fuck," he says and continues to look everywhere but at Dean. He doesn't see anyone else, not even those other couples. That brings him up short. Other couples? Since when were Dean and him a couple? "Fuck," he repeats.
"Seamus, I'm sorry," Dean starts to say something else but Seamus shoves him away and takes off running. This chase isn't like that friendly game of chase before. Seamus runs as if the hounds of hell are on his heels. He can hear Dean calling his name for the first bit so he races up a set of stairs and then into the streets. After awhile, he slows and, when he can't hear Dean any longer, sits on a bench.
His head falls into his hands. Jesus fucking Christ, he mutters under his breath as he just sits there and wonders what the hell just happened. First the train ride, then the wanking and the dreams and more wanking and more dreams; it's all mixed up and weird. This trip had been an awful idea from start to finish. Just because they're getting up there in years doesn't mean that Seamus has to be suddenly gay for his best friend. Hell, they're not even getting up there in years; they're just having a hard time being thirty.
Seamus looks up and watches the people walk past his perch. Each and every one of them walks with a purpose, as if not only the current destination but the rest of the path for their lives are well-known. They're all moving with purpose while Seamus sits completely lost and fumbling along his own path. He hates this, hates sitting here and wondering what the hell is going on with his life. Why did Dean kiss him? He could've ignored this entire thing if Dean hadn't kissed him. But now, there's no ignoring that, there's no way he can do that. That kiss is just too big, too present. Too much.
He can't go back to the hostel, to the room they're sharing. Dean'll be there eventually and he'll want to talk about the kiss. Seamus doesn't want his apology because it isn't Dean's fault, not entirely. After all, it isn't like Seamus had resisted or something. He'd been right there, sticking his tongue down Dean's throat and touching. They'd both been rubbing against each other. It had felt so good, too.
As the sun finishes its downward path, Seamus finally gets up from the bench and walks along the street until he comes back to the cathedral. The spires jut into the coloured sky and he goes back inside. With the odd lighting, he can just barely make out the large stained glass window and its myriad colours. It soars into the ceiling far above Seamus's head and he watches as the sun finishes going down and the colours drain from the windows. His brain finally stops churning with the mixed up feelings from the kiss and dreams. Instead, he lets the peace flow over him.
When finally the light disappears, he gets up and then goes to a deserted area so he can Apparate to the alley behind the hostel. The peace stays with him – clinging by its fingertips but still there – as he walks through the building and then into the room. The first thing he sees is Dean sitting on the side of his bed, head in his hands with his arms on his knees. The position mirrors the one Seamus had been in so closely that Seamus realises that Dean's just as mixed up as he is.
"Just about to go look for you, wasn't sure that you hadn't been mugged or something," Dean says without looking up.
"Went back to the cathedral, wanted to take a look at the glass at sunset." It's a lie but it's better than the truth as far as Seamus is concerned.
The silence spreads thick about the room. It's uncomfortable and Seamus thinks he might just choke on it.
"We all right?" Dean finally asks.
"Nothing much to it, right?" Seamus responds as he goes to his bed and sits on the edge, facing Dean.
Dean looks up, face twisting, and then says, "Right. Nothing to it."
"Yeah, we're all right," Seamus says. He can't seem to look away from Dean who seems like he wants Seamus to say something else.
"Yeah, all right. Game tomorrow, might as well get some sleep."
"Yeah, all right."
Dean's the first to look away and then he slides in between the sheets, turning his back on Seamus as he curls into a ball. That lost feeling sweeps over Seamus again, taking the little bits of peace with it. When nothing else is said, Seamus slips in between his own sheets and then grabs his wand and whispers, "Nox".
Surprisingly enough, Seamus goes right to sleep. Even more of a surprise, he doesn't dream about anything. When he comes awake, he wonders if, maybe, the reason he didn't dream was because all those dreams are in his life already, so he doesn't need them right now. Much prefer 'em in the dreams, though, he thinks to himself before getting out of bed and heading in to the loo to take a piss.
When he opens the door, he realises what sort of idiot he is as he hears the shower going. More, he can hear Dean taking a shower. Even more, he can hear Dean wanking in the shower. Seamus hardens and presses a palm against his cock, trying to think about moving away from the door, shutting it and pretending that this, too, never happened. Only, the way that Dean's moaning and hissing keeps him entranced with the door open.
"Fuck, Seamus," he hears as Dean comes. It's then that he realises that he's fucking his hand, thrusting his hips against his palm and he's getting rubbed raw by the fabric of his pants. Hoping like hell that he hadn't moaned or made a sound, Seamus shuts the door as quietly as he can, pulls his pants down and then presses his forehead against the wall and wanks fast and hard. He comes, spilling over his hand, after only two short tugs. Yanking his pants back up, he grabs his wand, spells his hands clean and then knocks on the door.
"You about done in there? Gotta piss," he shouts through the door.
"Yeah, give me a minute." The water shuts off and then Dean walks out – rivulets of water racing down his chest to disappear into the white terry cloth around his hips – and salutes. "All yours."
"Thanks," Seamus says before racing into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He's flushed to a bright red; he can feel it without even looking in the mirror. Forgetting about needing to piss, he gets in to the shower and turns on the water as cold as it can get. As soon as he's clean enough, he's back out of the shower and then towelling off when he realises that he had left his clothes out in the room.
Muttering and cursing, he decides to screw up his courage and go out there. The worst that can happen is that he'll get another hard-on in front of Dean and then Dean'll know that the kiss hadn't been 'nothing'. "Mind over matter, Finnigan. You're more than your cock," he whispers to himself and then slings the towel around his hips and steps out in to the room.
Dean looks up quickly and then looks down just as fast while Seamus walks across the room to his clothes and turns his back on Dean. He shucks the towel and is all too conscious of his bare bum aiming right at Dean. Dressing quickly, he keeps his back turned until he's fully dressed from t-shirt to denims to trainers. When he turns around, Dean's reading some papers about the game.
"Game starts around noon. We should probably head over there."
"Breakfast?" Seamus asks as his stomach grumbles.
"On the way?" Dean's almost bouncing where he's sitting and when he looks up, the tension from the night before is gone, replaced by excitement.
"Yeah, can't have you missing even a minute of this," Seamus says before walking over and slapping Dean's shoulder. "Come on, then."
"Don't think I don't hear the sarcasm there, mate, doesn’t matter though. Just wait until you see Xabi play. You'll change your tune soon enough." Dean grabs the tickets before standing. "All right, let's go."
They make the trek in silence. As they near the stadium, they join the crowds of fellow football fans and even Seamus starts feeling the excitement. Sure, this is an exhibition game and it means shite but it's hard not to be excited to see one of the top teams play. Chants and slogans are traded between the fans of either team. It's all in fun as jeers and cheers are exchanged while they're taking their seats. Seamus joins in on the teasing; tossing out a few of the phrases he's learned in his years with Dean and his football mania.
They're close to the field, close enough that when the players come out, Seamus can see the muscles rippling on their arms and legs. Dean points out Xabi Alonso and Seamus can't stop staring as the man runs across the field.
"Fucking hell," he breathes out as he watches the muscles contract and move.
"Man can play, let me tell you," Dean says.
Seamus barely hears him though as he's too caught up in the play of muscles rippling. When Xabi bends over to touch his toes in a stretch, Seamus can't help but stare at his arse. He surreptitiously checks to see if his mouth is hanging open – it is – and then looks over at Dean.
"Can't wait to see it," Seamus finally answers.
They watch the players get set up and then the match starts. They stop talking and start yelling as the ball starts to make its way towards Liverpool's goal. It sweeps back towards Cologne and then once more towards Liverpool. Xabi makes a move, kicking the ball between the legs of a Cologne player, moves around him and then kicks the ball as hard as he can from his own half. Seamus leans forward, stands and then cheers with the rest of the Liverpool fans as they watch the goalie race back towards his net but he's too late. The ball tumbles in and the crowd goes wild at the feat. Dean and Seamus exchange high fives and then watch as Xabi leaps onto another player and kisses him full on the lips. They let go and then mess with each other's hair. Seamus looks at Dean and Dean looks at Seamus and there's that weird tension again.
"That's Gerrard, he's the captain," Dean explains.
"Ah, that explains it," Seamus says even though it's obvious that it doesn't.
"They're mates is all," Dean sounds so nervous, making Seamus retreat into what he considers normal guy behaviour: he punches Dean's shoulder.
"No worries at all, I get it."
The match continues and Seamus ignores the flutters in his gut and the way that they increase every time his arm brushes against Dean's. He also does a damn fine job of ignoring the way that every brush of their skin against one another causes his cock to throb.
During the break, Seamus and Dean grab some food and then resume their seats. They're quiet, a normally unheard of state between the two. Seamus finally can't take the silence anymore and blurts out, "He do that often?"
"Not too often, no," Dean answers. "They were just excited about the goal, I think."
Seamus flushes. He hadn't been referring to the kiss at all. Instead, he'd been referring to the way that Xabi had scored from the opposite end of the field. "I, um, that is, I meant the goal. Pretty hard to score that long, yeah?"
"Yeah, he's done it before but yeah, it's impressive." Dean pauses for a minute. "Thought you meant the hugging and things."
"Mates can kiss, it doesn't mean anything," Seamus hastens to add.
"Right. Course." They both pause as the teams pour on to the field again.
The excitement of the match starts again even though it's obvious that Liverpool is going to win, what with the score being six to one in favour of them. Seamus can't quite keep his eyes off of Xabi, can't stop watching the play of muscles. He looks to Dean and sees Dean looking from the field to Seamus and back again.
"He's a brilliant player, isn't he?" Dean leans over and yells in to Seamus's ear.
"Aye, you were right. Match is fantastic, glad you talked me in to coming. I can see why you were excited about it."
"Yeah, looks a bit like you, doesn't he?" Dean asks and then points towards the field.
"Who's that?" Seamus asks as he watches the players move.
"Xabi."
"Oh, yeah, maybe? I dunno."
"He does," Dean says quite firmly.
"So 'm not fat and old then?"
"Guess not," Dean says and Seamus looks to his face just in time to catch the wink.
"Fucking well told you so," Seamus responds. He then looks to the field and exclaims, "Oh holy fuck, what're they doing?"
"Jersey exchange, traditional at the end of a game." Seamus barely hears Dean's explanation as he watches Xabi and one of the Cologne players take their jerseys off and trade them. Seamus can't take his eyes off those biceps, not even when he hears Dean say, "Yeah, looks like you."
TO PART II
