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wook77Smutmas reveal is up.
I fail at anon. Most of you all guessed I wrote this and you were right. Someday, I might just shock you though.
Title: A Root So Deep (1/2)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wook77
Recipient:kaalee
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Seamus/Dean
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based in the world created by J.K.Rowling. As such, none of these characters belong to me. No harm is meant and no profit is made.
Summary: There is an Irish proverb that states, "when the root is deep, there is no need to fear the wind". Seamus is about to learn how deep the root of his friendship with Dean truly is.
Author's Note: Many many thanks to one very special person (ficlette that inspired so much of this. Also thanks to my cadre of betas and cheerleaders - anasuede,ficlette,fiona_fawkes,irrevokable,oconel,wendy and yodels, - without whom this story wouldn't be the work it is. The phrases that begin each section are all Irish proverbs or blessings. All Gaelic has been translated by The English-Irish Dictionary.
May the hinges of our friendship never grow rusty.
Not for the first time, Seamus cursed whatever Fates had determined that he would be a stereotypical Irishman when it came to height and looks. That Harry was the only boy shorter than him didn't do much to help out his sense of ire and outrage as he looked at Dean Thomas on the platform as he boarded the Hogwarts Express.
Since the beginning of the summer, Dean had to have grown at least six inches while Seamus only grew two and wasn't that just unfair?
"Oi! Thomas! What did ye eat over the summer, you runty bastard?" Seamus gave a friendly cuff to Dean's shoulder which was about eye level and reinforced how very small Seamus was, comparatively.
"Can't help that you're stunted, mate." Without pausing, Dean embraced Seamus while pounding on his back.
Even if they had spent the summer apart, they were still Dean and Seamus, Seamus and Dean, best mates until the end.
It felt good to be heading back to Hogwarts.
May the friendships you make,
Be those which endure,
And all of your grey clouds
Be small ones for sure.
When Dean made the Quidditch team, Seamus cursed his Irish roots once more. His temper had flared; he'd said things he regretted. They didn't speak for days and weren't those the loneliest days of Seamus's life? More so than the beginning of Fifth Year when he'd trusted his mam and the Daily Prophet and not his friends. He'd been ostracized, but at least Dean had still been speaking to him.
Seamus knew--absolutely knew--that the reason they weren't speaking this time was his own blasted pride and that was part of being Irish as well. It wasn't that he didn't notice the glances towards him or the aborted conversation attempts from Dean. It was that he wasn't Dean's equal, he wasn't good enough to get on a team that had allowed a Second Year and that burned him, singed the pride something good.
Dean knew him better than he'd thought though, which he realised when his mate battered the sense back into him. Literally. It saved his pride that they grappled to a resolution instead of Seamus admitting he'd been a sap about the whole thing.
As they lay panting on the floor of their shared room, it was then that Seamus noticed the way Dean's chest rose as he breathed. He noticed the sheen of sweat on that skin and, when he realised his noticing, shoved it deep inside.
The noticing became an almost obsession for him. Seamus catalogued that Dean preferred potatoes to rice, liked Astronomy better than Runes and had eyes for Ginny Weasley.
The last burnt as Dean drifted from Seamus again, spent more time with her than him. Instead of his pride, it was his heart that fell victim. He was invited along on Hogsmeade Weekend but second best, one-too-many, wasn't where he wanted to be so he turned the invitation down and watched as the pair walked, hand-in-hand, into Madame Puddifoot's. Seamus didn't want to be there, couldn't want to be the one sitting across the table and receiving those looks.
It had to be something else.
It is a long road that has no turning.
After Dumbledore died, things changed. Seamus rebelled against his mam for the first time in his life. He was going to be staying at Hogwarts for the funeral but more than that, he was going to be coming back to Hogwarts for his Seventh Year or joining Harry in his quest, whatever that was.
He was going to stay with Dean. His mam wasn't happy that Seamus wasn't going back to Ireland where she thought it safe. But then, she hadn't believed You-Know-Who was back either so Seamus didn't much trust her opinion on this. There were things that a man needed to do and it was time he acted like a man. After all, Dean had changed. Changed too much if one were to ask Seamus. Not only had he grown taller than ever but his mood and personality changed as well. It felt as if he'd become a man while Seamus was still stuck in childhood.
It was during this summer that Dean found out the truth of his father. Seamus was there to hold Dean as his mate sobbed out his confusion. He wanted to sob out his own confusion as to why he was stirring even as he held Dean.
"We'll find out who he is, I'll be there for you." Seamus rubbed his hands over Dean's hair and back, comforting and wanting something he couldn't name.
Half a loaf is better than no bread.
It worried Seamus when Dean seemed to recover a few days later. It was too quick and his laugh seemed contrived and forced. When Dean tossed himself into Harry's plans, helping out where he could, Seamus tagged along behind, watching and noticing and worrying all the while. They stayed on the outskirts of the war effort, only really helping when Hermione or Ron or some of the Order members Harry trusted were far too busy to do it.
This meant that they spent a lot of their time in out of the way places, looking through old newspaper articles or watching suspected Death Eaters. When Hogwarts didn't reopen for their Seventh Year, Seamus and Dean were in Exeter hunting down rumours of a possible Death Eater murder from before Harry dispatched You-Know-Who the first time round. According to Hermione, there was some tie from back then to now, not that they really knew what it was and what to look for.
They'd been in the town for so long that they ended up moving out of the lodging house and getting a flat, small and dingy though it was. It was cheaper and considering that their funds were limited, it made more sense. There was only one main room, housing the bed and a bare-bones kitchen, and the loo.
Seamus was driving Dean barmy after only a week of living so closely and he knew it. The flat was such close quarters and Seamus stuck close. He refused to think of himself as acting like a mother hen but he was. It was just that Dean was so quiet and withdrawn and Seamus hated the silence between them. He needed to see Dean smile so he took to telling off-colour jokes, making light of people in the newspaper articles they dug through for the mission and taking the piss out of the people they talked to about any unsolved murders from years past. Really, it was only a matter of time before Dean snapped. If Seamus were honest with himself, he'd acknowledge that that was what he'd been going for.
"Fucking hell, mate, can you be serious for five minutes? Just five fecking minutes? I'm not asking a lot but all this racket and noise? I can't take it much longer, I swear I can't."
"It's already too serious, you're too serious, the research is too serious, this whole thing is too serious. I'm trying to get you to laugh. You haven't laughed since..." Seamus stopped speaking, it was still awkward to even bring up Dean's father situation.
"Since when? Since I found out that my mum has lied to me all these years? Since I found out that my dad isn't my dad at all? Since I've lost who I am?" Seamus's fear came back when Dean crumpled to the floor of the flat, hands on his head, fisted tightly into his hair. Seamus stood there, staring, not knowing what to do.
"How've you lost who you are? You're still Dean." He was honestly confused. Dean was Dean, it was a fact of life and one of those immutable things.
"But I'm not, am I? I'm not anything I thought I was. I don't know me anymore, Shay." As Dean's hands pulled against his hair, Seamus crossed the room and put a hand on his shoulder, shy, hesitant.
"You're Dean, mate. You've a talent with the pen, a brain that puts Hermione to shame when you choose to use it and none of what makes you you changes just because your da isn't your blood da. Come on now, off the floor. I'm hungry and it's your turn to cook." Seamus's words seemed to penetrate and Dean slowly uncurled his hands from his hair.
"Heh," The laugh sounded a bit forced but it wasn't completely false so Seamus wasn't going to push. "It's always my turn to cook, you lazy tosser, there's a curry place down the way."
Seamus pulled Dean to his feet and they left the flat, bumping and arguing over the attributes of one dish over the other.
Seamus started to relax as Dean's mood improved over the next week. It was during this time that they finally caught a break in their research. After poring over old newspapers, they found their unsolved murder in the area.
John Thomas, 27, was found dead this morning. There was no immediate cause of death and foul play is suspected.
Seamus stared at the name as Dean continued to page through paper next to him. Wordlessly, he handed the document over to Dean, who read it, carefully laid it down on the table and then walked out of the library. Seamus started to follow when the librarian insisted that he clean up their mess. Wishing he could flick his wand and be done with it, he was forced to fold the papers together and put them back in the archive.
By the time he was back at the flat, Dean was nowhere to be seen. Seamus's heart raced as he tried to think of where Dean would go and he came up blank. Their things were still there, shoes piled together and dirty laundry intertwined. Dean certainly wouldn't have left without his sketchbook.
As Seamus panicked, looking everywhere, under the bed, in the shower, out on the small balcony that was really just a landing for a fire escape, Dean walked in and went into the loo without a word. The door clicked shut and sounded very final to Seamus's ears.
"Dean? Mate? Alright, there?" He banged on the door but there was no response other than the spray of the shower turning on. "I hate when you're silent, if you don't answer me, I'm coming in."
There was still no answer and, true to his word, Seamus opened the door. Steam rose as he poked his head in. What he saw had him stammering and blushing. Dean, starkers and better than anything Seamus had ever dreamed - not that he would acknowledge dreaming of Dean because dreaming of your best mate simply wasn't done, not even when they were the best wet dreams he'd ever had - was stepping into the shower. Muttering an apology, he backed out quickly, shutting the door.
As he chastised himself, pacing back and forth across the room, Seamus hated that he was hard, harder than he'd ever been before. He cursed himself, his libido, his damnable noticing. He willed himself to calm down, thought the most unattractive thoughts, McGonagall in her knickers pole-dancing, but nothing helped.
Dean, water hog that he was, took the world's longest showers and Seamus wondered if he had time to rub one off before Dean would come out and wonder why Seamus was masturbating. Looking from the door of the bathroom to the small balcony back to the door while pressing a palm to his groin, Seamus reached a decision. He'd take care of it, curse himself, go to Confession and do his penance. Dean would never have to know.
Thanking whatever deity had seen fit to make the railing of the balcony so sturdy, he slipped outside and moaned as he opened his trousers. Shooting a quick look back towards the loo, Seamus breathed a sigh of relief when the door didn't open. He spat into his hand and then gripped his cock tightly. His motions were frantic as he pulled and tugged, the image of Dean's arse in his mind. When that wasn't quite enough, he wondered what Dean would have done if he'd walked into the room, stripped off his clothes and joined his mate in the shower. Would Dean have turned and embraced him, touched his chest, his navel? Would Dean have touched his cock?
In his mind's eye, his hand was no longer his own. Instead, it was Dean's, those long graceful fingers curled around him. The orgasm ripped through him, shocking him in its intensity while he cried out Dean's name.
"Yeah?" Dean's voice was too close, far too close for Seamus as he stuffed himself back into his pants, wiping his hand off on them.
"Just wondering how much longer you'd be taking in the shower or if there'd be hot water left for me." Seamus hoped, prayed that Dean hadn't noticed what he'd been doing. He was more than disgusted enough with himself, he didn't need Dean hating him as well.
"All done. You need a go?" Surely Dean hadn't meant it that way, had he? "Seamus? Need a shower?"
"Right, um, yeah. Thanks." One more surreptitious check of his trousers to insure they were fastened and Seamus scurried into the bathroom.
May you always walk in sunshine.
It was while Seamus and Dean were picking up the pieces of Dean's history and family that Harry defeated Voldemort. The owl was succinct and jubilant, but there in Exeter it was hard to echo the feelings because the more they discovered about John Thomas, the more they could see what had made him so very unique. Dean became more withdrawn and taciturn and even Seamus couldn't break him out of it.
"Let's go back home, mate. Nothing more to find out here and maybe your mam has some stories to share," Seamus cajoled but was met with a blank stare. "'M right and you know it."
"Yeah, let's go."
Seamus hated that Dean looked defeated. That night, he curled around Dean, pulling in tight and holding him as he shivered and Seamus thought he might be crying.
Their journey home was relatively quick and Mrs. Thomas greeted them with a smile and hugs. Dean clung tightly to his mother as Seamus watched. He felt odd and out of place as the whispers between them started and Seamus fidgeted from one foot to the other, cocking his hip and cracking his knuckles. His eyes drifted about the room, noticing that the wallpaper was starting to look dated and possibly peeling, looking anywhere but at his mate and his mam.
Finally, and it couldn't have come soon enough for Seamus, they broke apart and then Mrs. Thomas was bringing him into the hug. Pressed between the squishy softness of Mrs. Thomas and the hard warmth of Dean, Seamus breathed deeply, inhaling the scents of home and family. Mrs. Thomas smelled like fresh bread and flowers, a combination that reminded him of his own mam.
The tears and the laughter, the friendliness of the greeting was very different from his own mam, though. His mam was too aware of the dangers that they'd been in, too knowledgeable about the Wizarding world. As such, it was easy for Mrs. Thomas to give that easy greeting. For his mam there would have been tears and scoldings, admonishments that he shouldn't have gotten involved and wasn't Harry just a touch off. Even with the stress of the confession about Dean's true father, there was an easiness here that Seamus appreciated.
It was over dinner that night that they finally talked about Dean's father. The stories, scarce though they were, seemed to center Dean more than Seamus had been able to. The small twinge of jealousy was pushed down as unworthy of the moment, unworthy of mention. He'd rather Dean be happy than the moody and emotional person he'd been these last months, really he would. It just singed the pride that it wasn't Seamus making him happy.
Mrs. Thomas sent them out of the kitchen, turning down their offer to help clean up after the meal and they made their way out into the garden. When they sat on the steps Seamus couldn't help sitting close enough to press, shoulder to shoulder, against Dean. The silence was companionable and Seamus was tempted to fill it by telling Dean of his wank, of the want of Dean's hand on his cock and the weight of Dean in his bed.
Before he could, Dean spoke, "Thanks, mate. I don't know what I would've done without you, probably gone nuts inside of a week. Don't know how you put up with me, really."
"Nothing to it." Seamus watched as Dean bent over and scooped up a handful of pebbles before tossing them out into the garden in the scanty light. "I love you."
Seamus froze when he admitted it because he hadn't meant it, not in the way that Dean would take it, anyway. Why hadn't he realised before this moment? Why had he said it? As his mind raced to find something to lighten the admission, Dean chuckled.
"Love you, too, but I wouldn't have put up with your moodswings like you did me." Dean bumped his shoulder against Seamus, sending him off-balance while his words put Seamus back on an even keel. They were friendly and Dean hadn't read into Seamus's words.
"I'm just a better person, then, what with loving you more than you love me." Dean wasn't ever going to know the truth of those words.
May St. Patrick guard you wherever you go and guide you in whatever you do.
After the war, after Hogwarts reopened, life started centering itself. Their NEWTs weren't nearly as stressful as they'd feared but that was due more to their status as 'War Heroes' than their own base of knowledge as far as Seamus was concerned. As they started to heal from the aftermath and damage from the War, Seamus and Dean looked to the future and discussed their options. Dean wanted to go to Art School, a Muggle school somewhere, anywhere that wasn't connected to the war or his father. Seamus, on the other hand, felt a bit aimless and lost the more Dean discussed leaving.
The inevitable happened and Dean was accepted to a school in France of all places. Seamus wasn't ashamed of his clinging to his mate at the airport and the tears that came after Dean walked towards security were dashed away. It was his Irish showing, he decided, that he could be that sentimental. After all, they were growing up and Seamus wasn't good with people leaving him like this.
It was tempting to fill the time without Dean by moping in the runty flat he'd secured but Dean would chastise him if he knew. Instead, Seamus applied at a pub and started to tend the bar. His talent for lending an ear or telling a tale came in handy as he quickly became a favourite amongst the regulars. One lad, in particular, caught his eye. Braeden was part of the after-work crowd and would watch Seamus, following him about the room and always being the one to request a drink for his mates.
Only after they'd gone out and Braeden was on his knees, Seamus urging him to suck harder, that he realised that Braeden looked like Dean. That thought was more than enough to send him flying over the edge and coming with a growl. When he shifted to his knees to return the favour, Seamus thought of Dean, remembered the sight of that stolen interruption of Dean's shower, the curve of his arse and the want and the need of the wank afterwards. He remembered his dreams since that night, of touching Dean in this way and when the lad came, Seamus swallowed and tried to not gag though it was his first time doing this.
Seamus finally accepted that he preferred the company of blokes, Lavender Brown notwithstanding. He was so very nervous when he owled both his mam and Dean to tell them. Dean's answer was teasing and accepting. His mam, although not as accepting was, nonetheless, resigned.
It was only when he called out Dean instead of Braeden and Braeden didn't notice that Seamus realised he was using Braeden. Without giving more explanation then necessary - it's not you, it's me - Seamus ended the relationship. That Dean was due back to London in a week didn't factor into the decision.
May the strength of three be in your journey.
Their hug seemed to go on forever when Seamus went with Dean's family to the airport to collect his mate. Dean's whispered, "I missed you, mate," warmed Seamus's soul. That warmth slowly became claustophobic as Dean settled back into life in London and started dating. Dating, from Seamus's point of view, anyone other than Seamus while Seamus waited and wanted. It didn't matter that they were all girls.
Their time together became a recitation of the wonders of whatever girl it was that Dean was seeing at the time, while Seamus felt more and more trapped by his job and his lack of a social life and Dean. It was time, he decided, to go out and seek his fortune. It was time Seamus gave up the obsession with Dean. In order to achieve that, he resolved, he needed to leave London. He spun the globe and pointed a finger to pick a spot.
When he moved to Amsterdam, the separation from Dean hurt but it couldn't possibly hurt more than watching him grinning at Elizabeth, his latest flame and the one that looked like she would last. There was no need to learn another language as the patrons seemed to all speak English. In a few months, he'd adapted to the lifestyle and enjoyed tending the bar at a small pub in the Leidseplein area.
He left Amsterdam when he called out Dean and the bloke's name was Cort.
Heading back to London, Seamus listened to Dean rhapsodize about Dierdre, a beautiful Irish lass that had a wonderful lilt to her voice that reminded Seamus of Dublin. He couldn't take the proximity to Dean for more than a week, though. Spinning the globe once more, Seamus settled on Madrid.
Spanish was surprisingly easy for him to learn. The drinks and the lifestyle appealed to him and he stayed there longer than he had lasted in Amsterdam. On a rare day off, he wandered the Prado with a grin, thinking of how Dean would have spent hours staring at one painting after another, waxing on about brushstrokes and types of paint.
He left Madrid when he cried out Dee and her name was Sofia.
When he arrived back in London, it felt like the city had changed so much that it didn't fit, like a favourite shirt from childhood tried on for a lark. Like that same shirt, it wasn't that the city had changed, it was that Seamus had changed. As the noise of the gathered group of friends rose to a small roar, he shifted in his seat uncomfortably. The conversations ranged from the discussion of Neville's dating habits and who really thought that Neville would date so much to how Dean had a thing for Irish lasses and it must have been dealing with Seamus for all those years. Dean shot back that if they had an arse like Seamus, he'd be satisfied.
Everyone laughed at the joke but Seamus. After the table quieted, he realised that everyone was looking at him for a reaction. Not sure what they'd been discussing, Seamus merely flashed a rude gesture and they all laughed and fell back into whether Harry was ever going to settle down. Glad that the spotlight was off of him, Seamus realised that Dean had, at some point, gotten his nose pierced. The small silver ball fascinated him and, without thinking, he reached out a hand and touched it. Dean merely grabbed his hand, squeezed it and gave him a wink. Flustered, Seamus pondered that perhaps if Amsterdam and Madrid and London didn't fit, Boston would.
Boston was welcoming and although England and the States purported to speak the same language, Seamus found that the American version was harder to learn than any of the other languages. The Americans found his brogue attractive and it was fairly easy to find work in an Irish pub. When he thickened the accent, the tips rolled in and so Seamus made sure to play up his Irish. The girls tittered when he greeted them and the lads grinned when he wished them luck. The city was quite proud of its Irish heritage but Seamus didn't quite fit. He did his best, though, for much longer than he'd stayed in either Amsterdam or Madrid.
He left Boston when he cried out Dean and the gent's name was Seth.
Here's that we may always have a clean shirt, a clean conscience, and a guinea in our pocket.
London wasn't quite what he'd wanted in his life. It was too dirty, too smelly, too British and he was Irish enough to admit that he still bore a bit of a grudge, especially after Boston. But it had his friends, it had Dean and that was more important than grudges from his ancestors.
With his rucksack on his back, he hopped onto the tube. The pretty lass that smiled and flirted with him on the way had him grinning and he tipped his head as he got off to transfer to another line. Another transfer after that, he reached his stop and stood in front of a pub.
The Witching Hour was an old pub, standing where it had for hundreds of years. It had been sorely neglected under previous owners for years and looked it. The paint was crumbling, the sign was barely hanging and there were a few broken windows in the place. All in all, it was perfectly within Seamus's budget. Unlocking the door, it stuck before he put a shoulder to it, those things didn't much matter to Seamus though since he didn't see the grime and cobwebs, didn't see the cracked bar top or broken furniture. He saw what he'd make of it through a bit of sweat and hard work.
As he contemplated the bar, gazing and dreaming, his mobile rang, scaring him out of his stupor. "Finnigan."
"'S new in your world?" Seamus grinned at the sound of Dean's voice. His mate didn't know that he was back in London and Seamus wasn't going to tell him until he had the pub fixed up a bit.
"Moving into a new place." He wouldn't have thought it but he could hear the eye roll over the line.
"Another one? Where are you now?" Dean didn't approve of Seamus's moving around and well he knew it.
"Somewhere drafty, mate. People talk funny here, you'd love it." A little bit of misleading never hurt a surprise as far as Seamus was concerned.
"I'll keep London, thanks. You coming anytime soon?"
It was hard to bite back the laugh but he did his best. "To London? Why'd I want to be there? Too many British around."
Dean laughed. "Right well, are the girls pretty?"
"Sure'n I'm not caring much about that. What's wrong with Karin or Mary or whoever it is you're dating now?"
"Not seeing anyone at the mo', I'm too demanding I've been told." Seamus's heart gave a hopeful jump.
"You're just holding out for me, I know."
"Right, of course. Look, I'll let you get back to moving, yeah? Call me when you're settled and we'll catch up."
"Sure, yeah." He flipped his mobile closed and surveyed the pub once more.
A week later, the building was crawling with workers, putting in the new bar top, plumbing the taps, refinishing the kitchen and floors and moving new furniture in. The walls, though, Seamus left alone except for a scrubbing. Another month of work and it was finally ready for the surprise.
"Dean, I'm needing a favour.”
"Course you are. What is it?"
"A friend's bought a pub, needs some artwork for the walls. Would you go see him?"
"Not my sort of art, Seamus. Get a muralist." The exasperation in Dean's voice had Seamus grinning. It was the perfect mood to unveil his move.
"Don't be a wanker. Just go look and give the guy a few ideas for his walls. You'll like him, I promise. Maybe even have a mate in London that'll drag your sorry arse out of your flat a time or two." He counted, one, two and…
"Fine, but I'm not painting it." There was his Dean, so predictable.
Seamus gave him the directions and arranged a time later that day for Dean to stop by, promising that the 'mate' would be waiting for him.
Dean's reaction was gratifying as he walked through the door to find Seamus sitting at the bar, grinning like a loon. The stop, double take and dropped jaw were just what Seamus wanted.
"Shut your gob and the door, you'll let flies in."
"You…" Dean walked quickly towards the bar while Seamus slid off his stool and approached as well. They met with a fierce hug.
It had been too long since he'd seen his mate, far too long with only the sound of his voice on the other side of the phone. Seamus inhaled the scent that made Dean Dean and finally relaxed.
"I'm still not painting it." Seamus laughed into Dean's neck.
It was good to be back in London.
May you have the hindsight to know where you've been, the foresight to know where you're going and the insight to know when you're going too far.
Two nights later, when Dean walked through the door into the pub just as they were closing for the evening, Seamus felt much lighter. His first day and night in the open pub was complete.
"We're closed, you'll have to find another pub." Seamus called out and laughed when Dean responded with a crude gesture and a laugh of his own. Walking past his mate, he locked the door and then turned and leaned against it. Christ but it felt amazing to see Dean again, it'd been too long.
"Shay, it's good to see you." Dean's voice rippled across Seamus's skin and that familiar nickname sent a flutter deep inside. Seamus wanted more than was proper and pushed it down. He'd been in his fantasies for so long and it had been so lonely; all those nights in Vienna had only deepened the need for Dean. Not wanting to embarrass himself, Seamus had resisted the urge to call Dean nightly when the loneliness had threatened to swallow him whole.
"What can I get you to drink?" Pushing off the door, Seamus went around back of the bar and fiddled with the rest of the mess left after a thankfully busy night.
"Surprise me," Dean said with a laugh and Seamus thought of how much a surprise it would be if he walked over, cupped Dean's cheek and kissed him. That wasn't what he'd meant of course but it didn't stop the image.
"Want me to get you drunk and take advantage of you or just a friendly pint?" He hoped his voice was steady and assured, friendly and teasing and not needy and wanting. While he waited for a response, Seamus began building a Guinness for himself.
"I'll have what you're having, whichever that might be." As Dean took a seat at the bar, Seamus grabbed another glass and started on the second Guinness.
"Sure you're man enough? Guinness'll put hair on your chest and that's something you're sorely lacking." He finished and placed one in front of Dean before walking around the bar with his own.
"'S good to have you here. I've missed you," Seamus said as he sat down next to Dean.
"I've missed you too, mate. You going to stick around for awhile this time?" When he was bumped across the shoulder, Seamus grinned at Dean before taking a drink.
"Thought I might what with this," he gestured at the pub around him, "all belonging to me, of course. Can't leave my girl when I just got her. Besides, I can't be leaving you alone, now can I? You'd wallow all alone in your flat, you antisocial tosser. A vacation, though, yes, that would be lovely when things get too much." Seamus's voice trailed off as he realised he'd been thinking out loud.
"I could handle that," A smile beamed on Dean's face before he suddenly stopped. "I mean, I think that'll be good for you. Maybe it'll stop you from being so antsy all the time. I swear, if we weren't in London, you'd never have a permanent home. Don't know how you do it, myself, but then we've always been different like that."
Seamus stared. What had Dean meant by that? What could he handle?
"Angsty? I'm not the brooding artist sitting home alone all the time, now am I?" Seamus paused and took a drink and realised that Dean was getting low and his was to the foam. "'Nother, mate?"
Seamus stood and couldn't help brushing his shoulder across Dean's back as he went to the tap once more and built two more. "I just need to be somewhere else sometimes, that's all. Don't need a permanent place, it doesn't matter, my home is certain people and as long as I go back to them, then that's what matters."
"I didn't say angsty, and I do not brood, you twat. I said 'antsy'. You're all over the place. A ball of energy. Sometimes I wonder how I ever keep up with you."
"Right, heard wrong, sorry, mate." Seamus flushed and continued fiddling with the glass. "It's easy to keep up with me. Just stay in one place and I always come back." Christ but his voice sounded sad and that wasn't what he wanted for the night. He was back in town, his pub was a success, Dean was here and he should be happy.
"Go ahead, tell me all about your life abroad and how much you missed me."
At Dean's request, Seamus thought of Vienna. It'd been fun for the most part, he couldn't deny it. The loneliness for home had coloured the experience though.
"Vienna was interesting but it has nothing on London. German's a hell of a language but I prefer my Irish, thanks." Seamus finished building the drinks and brushed past Dean once more, inhaling as he went. It was a small matter to brush his arm over Dean's as he sat the beer in front of his mate.
He was being reckless but the closeness was getting to him and it was almost too much. Had that been a tremor? He wrote it off to a flight of fancy.
"Couldn't imagine you trying to speak German. I bet the people in Vienna didn't have a clue what you were trying to say." Dean chuckled. "You should be glad you're back here, where we at least have a little chance of understanding you."
"Verpiss dich," Seamus muttered before looking up and laughing lightly. "I did better than you in Paris. Your French is horrendous. No wonder you can't pull the birds, you can't speak the language of love."
Grinning as he said it, Seamus cuffed Dean across the shoulder, allowing his hand to rest for a moment before dropping it back to the bar.
"Sure, sure," Dean said bemusedly. "Rub it in my face that you're more worldly than I am."
"So what did you do without me, then?" Before Dean could answer, Liam stepped through from the kitchen to sign off for the night and Seamus muttered, "excuse me" before standing in the doorway with the man, letting him know he'd be in sometime in the afternoon to check in and then waved him off.
"Where were we? Oh, yes, you were going to be telling me all about how much you missed me." Seamus remained standing slightly behind Dean.
"Was I?" he asked, eyes avoiding Seamus's in the glass. "Yes, well, you know. I was an utter mess without you. Didn't even leave my bed the whole time you were gone. Ask Harry, he had to come over and give me a sponge bath once a week so I wouldn't permanently stick to my sheets." Dean laughed.
Seamus felt himself harden in his trousers at the idea of Dean lying in bed, rubbing one off as he thought of Seamus until his sheets were sticky and damp. He knew it wasn't what Dean meant but he couldn't help his mind conjuring up images.
Before he could think or realise, Seamus leaned in until he pressed his face into the crook of Dean's neck and breathed. His arms went around until they circled Dean's chest.
"I always knew you'd pine without me, mate. But I'm flattered you touched yourself that much." He laughed lightly as he rubbed his nose into Dean's neck.
In the glass behind the bar, Dean looked down at Seamus's arms encircling his chest and his eyes fluttered closed, the image being too much. "Shay..." he whispered.
Seamus'd meant it to be friendly, he'd done it a million times including that one time when he'd had a cold.
This time, oh please Lord I will never sin again if this is really happening, Dean's breath stuttered and Seamus could feel his rippling pulse under his hands and his friend was straight, so very straight that he couldn't possibly have muttered Seamus's name in that shaky voice.
"Dean..." Seamus breathed out before pressing his lips against the skin he'd just rubbed his nose against. "damnaín, go maithe tú," he mouthed against the skin, the taste of Dean on his lips.
His touch was whisper soft as he licked lightly at the same spot. Instead of pushing him away, Seamus watched Dean's eyes flutter shut in the mirror and his nostrils flare as he inhaled deeply. Could he… was he… was there a chance?
Seamus hadn't meant this to happen, not tonight, not ever. This was his best mate but that went to the wayside as Dean's hand came up to touch his, press it closer, hold it close, rub against it. That friction sent Seamus over the edge and he pushed closer until they touched, chest to back for the length of Seamus's torso. It was too much and not enough at the same time.
He was shaky as he pressed his lips against Dean's skin once more and then again, closer to his ear. Again and his lips brushed Dean's lobe and then once more, his lips were where lobe met cheek and he whispered, "Please".
Nothing prepared him for Dean shifting and then they were kissing, lips touching, almost chaste as Seamus's eyes fluttered shut. It was surreal and felt like one of Dean's paintings, all muted colour and light but with a thread of passion running throughout. I'm dreaming, he thought as Dean pressed harder and Seamus responded by opening his mouth and touching his tongue against Dean's lips. As he did so, his eyes flew open again, not wanting to miss anything and that included the intimately blurred dark skin in front of his eyes and the clutching of Dean's hand against his, bruising it with the force of the grasp.
If this is a dream, I don't want to wake, he pleaded to God as Dean turned so that they were touching, chest to chest and the pressure of their lips, the closed-mouth kissing increased until it pulled a moan from deep within Seamus's chest. The feather light touch on his hip had Seamus shuddering. His pants were too tight, he was too warm, this was too much.
Opening his mouth further, Seamus sucked in Dean's lower lip before biting down on it lightly. Nudging with his knee, he opened Dean's legs so that he could step closer until he felt the racing heartbeat against his own.
"Open for me," he demanded, his teeth still lightly clasping Dean's lower lip.
The response was a shudder before Dean's mouth opened and his tongue swept out, touching and tasting his mouth, letting Seamus touch and taste. Dean's hand grabbed the back of his head, taking command. When Dean's legs fell open, he stepped between them before they closed around him.
When they paused for a breath, Dean muttered, gravelly and deep, "Shay" and that was enough for Seamus to reassure himself that this was happening and Dean knew that it was Seamus in his arms, not a girl. Not even in Seamus's dreams, though, had Dean's voice sounded like that. He pressed closer, responding to the implicit command of that graceful hand. The roughness of the voice had fire scorching across his body as Seamus damned their clothing for being between them.
With the twining of their tongues, Seamus knew that there was no going back to being just friends. Not with the knowledge of what it truly felt like to be kissed by Dean. He couldn't finish the thought as Dean bit his tongue. With shaking and frantic hands, Seamus tugged at Dean's shirt until he could pull it free of the waistband and the heat of that smooth skin flooded his palms.
"A gràdh," he sighed before pressing back, harder and much more frantically. If they paused long enough, Seamus was so very afraid that Dean would remember that he was straight and that Seamus was his mate. Seamus preferred to concentrate on the feel of their erections pressing together and the delicious friction of the subtle rubbing back and forth that Seamus found himself doing.
Their lips were parted only a moment as Dean's hands lifted the hem of Seamus's shirt and the fabric of Seamus's shirt passed over his face. Before it hit the ground, Seamus had reclaimed his position.
The touch on his chest had Seamus shuddering, fighting for control. He hadn't come in his pants since the Yule Ball when Lavender Brown had brushed her tits against him; he'd been a kid back then, inexperienced and the feel of a breast in his hand had been enough.
But this was Dean and he was touching Seamus. Sparks, icy hot and shattering, raced through his body when Dean brushed a nipple. Seamus worried that Dean would miss the softness of a female breast, remember that Seamus was a man and hard where he was accustomed to soft.
For once, Seamus was taller than Dean and that felt unbelievable as he took control the kiss, hand on the back of Dean's neck, holding his head in place as he ravaged his mouth, tongues touching and eyes still open. If Seamus closed his eyes, it would be a dream.
"More, please, more..." he pleaded with an aching in his gut. Seamus thrust forward, lining their bodies up and pressing Dean back into the bar.
"God, Shay," Dean said, his hands pulling Seamus closer by his broad shoulders. "Yes."
When Dean said his name like that, wanting, needing, Seamus had to reach a hand down and press against his groin to keep himself from coming right there.
Dean moved his lips downwards, kissing and tasting Seamus's chest. The feel of Dean's mouth on his chest had Seamus's head lolling backwards, a keening moan erupting from his mouth, his hand frantically pressing.
"So long, so much..." Seamus's other hand, still on the back of Dean's neck, twined into the dreds there and held on. If he let go, he would lose this and not now, please Lord, not now.
The feel of Dean's hand brushing his away and the little touches on his stomach and oh Christ Dean was undoing his belt.
"Stop, please, not here." Seamus put his hands over Dean's to stop because if he kept going, Seamus was going to embarrass himself. "Flat, please yes, upstairs..."
For a moment, after he said stop and Dean froze, Seamus was sure that Dean would completely stop and say they couldn't do this but then, "Fuck, Shay, anything," came and Seamus let out the breath he didn't know he was holding.
Without saying another word, Seamus pulled Dean from the barstool, giving him back the height advantage but he didn't care as he tugged Dean through the door to the kitchens.
On the steps leading to the flat, Seamus gained a few inches and latched his lips onto Dean's once more, threading his fingers into Dean's hair and not letting go, never let go.
Seamus reached behind Dean for the knob and lost track of what he was doing when Dean hooked his fingers into the waistband of Seamus's trousers, seeming too eager to wait.
"The bedroom," Dean urged. He kissed Seamus again, unwilling to stop even for a minute. "The bedroom."
The knob seemed to be covered in oil and constantly relocating itself or it could have been that Seamus was so intent on the kiss that he couldn't concentrate long enough to open the door.
Finally, he ripped his lips from Dean's and swung the door open. Seamus couldn't wait to make it to the bedroom, though. Instead, he shut the door, pressing Dean against it. He made short work of pulling Dean's shirt over his head before sliding Dean's belt out of the loops. The button was next. It felt amazing to slide his hand down between the zip and Dean's pants, the slight burr of the zipper sliding down his palm. His hands were rougher than he'd wanted as he thrust his hands into Dean's pants and pushed both pants and denim to the floor.
Breaking the kiss, Seamus took a moment to look at Dean's body, completely naked in front of him with his denims in a pool at his feet. He goggled at the rings in Dean's nipples.
"When did you get those?" Seamus panted out as Dean's head came forward to rest against his own.
"Does it matter?" Dean's hands were on his belt once more and Seamus closed his eyes, forehead touching forehead. When his denims joined Dean's on the ground, Seamus stepped out of them before leaning forward and taking a nipple ring into his mouth and pulling with his teeth. The moan was more than enough encouragement to him and Seamus grabbed the other one and gave it a tug as he continued to mouth the other. The tip of his tongue slipped into the little ring and he curled it back into his mouth.
The brief sharp pain of Dean pulling his hair was a reward in and of itself as Seamus found himself pressed to Dean's chest. Letting go of the other ring, Seamus slid his hand down Dean's chest until his fingers brushed across the ridges of the hard stomach before he felt the dripping head of Dean's cock against the back of his hand. Before he could think, Seamus lifted his hand to his mouth and sucked the wetness off his hand.
"Fuck, that's hot." Dean's voice reminded Seamus that Dean could see what he was doing and, from the moaned words, he figured that Dean approved.
"Yeah?" Seamus gripped Dean's cock in his hand as he sunk onto his knees. "What about this, then?" With that, Seamus licked across the tip and felt Dean's cock jump. Grinning, Seamus licked from base to tip first on the left side, then the right and then the underside, tracing the vein that ran along the length. Dean's grip in his hair tightened further until it almost reached the point of pain.
"Wanna taste you, taste all of you," Seamus didn't pause after he spoke before he leaned forward and took the tip into his mouth.
"Fuck, oh God, Shay, Shay," Dean's hands urged Seamus further down and it was a pleasure to take more in. Yes and please and fuck poured out of Dean's mouth as Seamus continued to bob until Dean pulled him away.
"Gonna come if you keep doing that," Seamus grinned at Dean's words before licking the slit and then standing, close enough that their cocks touched. He burrowed his face into the crook of Dean's neck. As he took both pricks into hand, he bit the juncture of neck and shoulder and then licked the pain away.
Dean's hand joined his and it didn't take long before they came, shuddering and panting and breathing out each other's name. Seamus was amazed, frankly, that he hadn't collapsed to the ground. Forehead to forehead again, Seamus could see a small bead of sweat about to drip off Dean's nose and reached a hand to wipe it off.
There was no reason that Seamus could think of that that small touch did what it did but he was pushed backwards while Dean grabbed his pants and denims and pulled them up before scanning the room, looking anywhere but at Seamus. Muttering, "Fuck it," Dean quietly went through the door and the click of it shutting broke Seamus's confused trance.
Seamus ran after him but was too late, Dean was nowhere in sight.
What butter and whiskey will not cure there's no cure for.
He hadn't returned any of Seamus's owls. He hadn't picked up his mobile. He hadn't stopped by. Hell, Dean hadn't talked to any of their mates. It was almost like he'd disappeared from the face of the Earth for the past month and Seamus was going crazy with worry. The only thing saving his sanity was that when he'd called Dean's job, his mate had answered, professional and abrupt. Seamus hung up and thought, this wasn't supposed to be.
Thanking whatever deity had brought Liam to him and given him the wisdom to hire the Irishman, Seamus begged off for the night and took a bottle up to his flat where he proceeded to become stereotypically-Irish drunk.
The music and talk from the pub drifted up the stairs but Seamus ignored it for his own singing, a morose song about lovers being separated. He toasted the empty space of the couch next to him, "Slaínte, Dean," and tipped the bottle back once more.
"Didcha know that I've been in love with you since Seventh Year? Broke my heart, you did, when you didn't see it but I got over it, didn't I? Been fucking waiting for you, mate, waiting for you to realise that you love me too but you don't, do you?" Toasting the air again, Seamus went to drink and was shocked to discover that the bottle was empty.
"I'm a fucking cliché, aren't I? Fuck this." Seamus stumbled into the kitchen where he threw the empty bottle away before tripping his way to the small table by the window.
Miss you, mate. Please.
Seamus's scrawl was almost illegible but he didn't realise that as he gave the note to his owl and sent it winging off towards Dean.
Part 2
I fail at anon. Most of you all guessed I wrote this and you were right. Someday, I might just shock you though.
Title: A Root So Deep (1/2)
Author:
wook77Recipient:
kaaleeRating: NC-17
Pairing: Seamus/Dean
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based in the world created by J.K.Rowling. As such, none of these characters belong to me. No harm is meant and no profit is made.
Summary: There is an Irish proverb that states, "when the root is deep, there is no need to fear the wind". Seamus is about to learn how deep the root of his friendship with Dean truly is.
Author's Note: Many many thanks to one very special person (
ficlette that inspired so much of this. Also thanks to my cadre of betas and cheerleaders - anasuede,ficlette,fiona_fawkes,irrevokable,oconel,wendy and yodels, - without whom this story wouldn't be the work it is. The phrases that begin each section are all Irish proverbs or blessings. All Gaelic has been translated by The English-Irish Dictionary.Not for the first time, Seamus cursed whatever Fates had determined that he would be a stereotypical Irishman when it came to height and looks. That Harry was the only boy shorter than him didn't do much to help out his sense of ire and outrage as he looked at Dean Thomas on the platform as he boarded the Hogwarts Express.
Since the beginning of the summer, Dean had to have grown at least six inches while Seamus only grew two and wasn't that just unfair?
"Oi! Thomas! What did ye eat over the summer, you runty bastard?" Seamus gave a friendly cuff to Dean's shoulder which was about eye level and reinforced how very small Seamus was, comparatively.
"Can't help that you're stunted, mate." Without pausing, Dean embraced Seamus while pounding on his back.
Even if they had spent the summer apart, they were still Dean and Seamus, Seamus and Dean, best mates until the end.
It felt good to be heading back to Hogwarts.
Be those which endure,
And all of your grey clouds
Be small ones for sure.
When Dean made the Quidditch team, Seamus cursed his Irish roots once more. His temper had flared; he'd said things he regretted. They didn't speak for days and weren't those the loneliest days of Seamus's life? More so than the beginning of Fifth Year when he'd trusted his mam and the Daily Prophet and not his friends. He'd been ostracized, but at least Dean had still been speaking to him.
Seamus knew--absolutely knew--that the reason they weren't speaking this time was his own blasted pride and that was part of being Irish as well. It wasn't that he didn't notice the glances towards him or the aborted conversation attempts from Dean. It was that he wasn't Dean's equal, he wasn't good enough to get on a team that had allowed a Second Year and that burned him, singed the pride something good.
Dean knew him better than he'd thought though, which he realised when his mate battered the sense back into him. Literally. It saved his pride that they grappled to a resolution instead of Seamus admitting he'd been a sap about the whole thing.
As they lay panting on the floor of their shared room, it was then that Seamus noticed the way Dean's chest rose as he breathed. He noticed the sheen of sweat on that skin and, when he realised his noticing, shoved it deep inside.
The noticing became an almost obsession for him. Seamus catalogued that Dean preferred potatoes to rice, liked Astronomy better than Runes and had eyes for Ginny Weasley.
The last burnt as Dean drifted from Seamus again, spent more time with her than him. Instead of his pride, it was his heart that fell victim. He was invited along on Hogsmeade Weekend but second best, one-too-many, wasn't where he wanted to be so he turned the invitation down and watched as the pair walked, hand-in-hand, into Madame Puddifoot's. Seamus didn't want to be there, couldn't want to be the one sitting across the table and receiving those looks.
It had to be something else.
After Dumbledore died, things changed. Seamus rebelled against his mam for the first time in his life. He was going to be staying at Hogwarts for the funeral but more than that, he was going to be coming back to Hogwarts for his Seventh Year or joining Harry in his quest, whatever that was.
He was going to stay with Dean. His mam wasn't happy that Seamus wasn't going back to Ireland where she thought it safe. But then, she hadn't believed You-Know-Who was back either so Seamus didn't much trust her opinion on this. There were things that a man needed to do and it was time he acted like a man. After all, Dean had changed. Changed too much if one were to ask Seamus. Not only had he grown taller than ever but his mood and personality changed as well. It felt as if he'd become a man while Seamus was still stuck in childhood.
It was during this summer that Dean found out the truth of his father. Seamus was there to hold Dean as his mate sobbed out his confusion. He wanted to sob out his own confusion as to why he was stirring even as he held Dean.
"We'll find out who he is, I'll be there for you." Seamus rubbed his hands over Dean's hair and back, comforting and wanting something he couldn't name.
It worried Seamus when Dean seemed to recover a few days later. It was too quick and his laugh seemed contrived and forced. When Dean tossed himself into Harry's plans, helping out where he could, Seamus tagged along behind, watching and noticing and worrying all the while. They stayed on the outskirts of the war effort, only really helping when Hermione or Ron or some of the Order members Harry trusted were far too busy to do it.
This meant that they spent a lot of their time in out of the way places, looking through old newspaper articles or watching suspected Death Eaters. When Hogwarts didn't reopen for their Seventh Year, Seamus and Dean were in Exeter hunting down rumours of a possible Death Eater murder from before Harry dispatched You-Know-Who the first time round. According to Hermione, there was some tie from back then to now, not that they really knew what it was and what to look for.
They'd been in the town for so long that they ended up moving out of the lodging house and getting a flat, small and dingy though it was. It was cheaper and considering that their funds were limited, it made more sense. There was only one main room, housing the bed and a bare-bones kitchen, and the loo.
Seamus was driving Dean barmy after only a week of living so closely and he knew it. The flat was such close quarters and Seamus stuck close. He refused to think of himself as acting like a mother hen but he was. It was just that Dean was so quiet and withdrawn and Seamus hated the silence between them. He needed to see Dean smile so he took to telling off-colour jokes, making light of people in the newspaper articles they dug through for the mission and taking the piss out of the people they talked to about any unsolved murders from years past. Really, it was only a matter of time before Dean snapped. If Seamus were honest with himself, he'd acknowledge that that was what he'd been going for.
"Fucking hell, mate, can you be serious for five minutes? Just five fecking minutes? I'm not asking a lot but all this racket and noise? I can't take it much longer, I swear I can't."
"It's already too serious, you're too serious, the research is too serious, this whole thing is too serious. I'm trying to get you to laugh. You haven't laughed since..." Seamus stopped speaking, it was still awkward to even bring up Dean's father situation.
"Since when? Since I found out that my mum has lied to me all these years? Since I found out that my dad isn't my dad at all? Since I've lost who I am?" Seamus's fear came back when Dean crumpled to the floor of the flat, hands on his head, fisted tightly into his hair. Seamus stood there, staring, not knowing what to do.
"How've you lost who you are? You're still Dean." He was honestly confused. Dean was Dean, it was a fact of life and one of those immutable things.
"But I'm not, am I? I'm not anything I thought I was. I don't know me anymore, Shay." As Dean's hands pulled against his hair, Seamus crossed the room and put a hand on his shoulder, shy, hesitant.
"You're Dean, mate. You've a talent with the pen, a brain that puts Hermione to shame when you choose to use it and none of what makes you you changes just because your da isn't your blood da. Come on now, off the floor. I'm hungry and it's your turn to cook." Seamus's words seemed to penetrate and Dean slowly uncurled his hands from his hair.
"Heh," The laugh sounded a bit forced but it wasn't completely false so Seamus wasn't going to push. "It's always my turn to cook, you lazy tosser, there's a curry place down the way."
Seamus pulled Dean to his feet and they left the flat, bumping and arguing over the attributes of one dish over the other.
Seamus started to relax as Dean's mood improved over the next week. It was during this time that they finally caught a break in their research. After poring over old newspapers, they found their unsolved murder in the area.
John Thomas, 27, was found dead this morning. There was no immediate cause of death and foul play is suspected.
Seamus stared at the name as Dean continued to page through paper next to him. Wordlessly, he handed the document over to Dean, who read it, carefully laid it down on the table and then walked out of the library. Seamus started to follow when the librarian insisted that he clean up their mess. Wishing he could flick his wand and be done with it, he was forced to fold the papers together and put them back in the archive.
By the time he was back at the flat, Dean was nowhere to be seen. Seamus's heart raced as he tried to think of where Dean would go and he came up blank. Their things were still there, shoes piled together and dirty laundry intertwined. Dean certainly wouldn't have left without his sketchbook.
As Seamus panicked, looking everywhere, under the bed, in the shower, out on the small balcony that was really just a landing for a fire escape, Dean walked in and went into the loo without a word. The door clicked shut and sounded very final to Seamus's ears.
"Dean? Mate? Alright, there?" He banged on the door but there was no response other than the spray of the shower turning on. "I hate when you're silent, if you don't answer me, I'm coming in."
There was still no answer and, true to his word, Seamus opened the door. Steam rose as he poked his head in. What he saw had him stammering and blushing. Dean, starkers and better than anything Seamus had ever dreamed - not that he would acknowledge dreaming of Dean because dreaming of your best mate simply wasn't done, not even when they were the best wet dreams he'd ever had - was stepping into the shower. Muttering an apology, he backed out quickly, shutting the door.
As he chastised himself, pacing back and forth across the room, Seamus hated that he was hard, harder than he'd ever been before. He cursed himself, his libido, his damnable noticing. He willed himself to calm down, thought the most unattractive thoughts, McGonagall in her knickers pole-dancing, but nothing helped.
Dean, water hog that he was, took the world's longest showers and Seamus wondered if he had time to rub one off before Dean would come out and wonder why Seamus was masturbating. Looking from the door of the bathroom to the small balcony back to the door while pressing a palm to his groin, Seamus reached a decision. He'd take care of it, curse himself, go to Confession and do his penance. Dean would never have to know.
Thanking whatever deity had seen fit to make the railing of the balcony so sturdy, he slipped outside and moaned as he opened his trousers. Shooting a quick look back towards the loo, Seamus breathed a sigh of relief when the door didn't open. He spat into his hand and then gripped his cock tightly. His motions were frantic as he pulled and tugged, the image of Dean's arse in his mind. When that wasn't quite enough, he wondered what Dean would have done if he'd walked into the room, stripped off his clothes and joined his mate in the shower. Would Dean have turned and embraced him, touched his chest, his navel? Would Dean have touched his cock?
In his mind's eye, his hand was no longer his own. Instead, it was Dean's, those long graceful fingers curled around him. The orgasm ripped through him, shocking him in its intensity while he cried out Dean's name.
"Yeah?" Dean's voice was too close, far too close for Seamus as he stuffed himself back into his pants, wiping his hand off on them.
"Just wondering how much longer you'd be taking in the shower or if there'd be hot water left for me." Seamus hoped, prayed that Dean hadn't noticed what he'd been doing. He was more than disgusted enough with himself, he didn't need Dean hating him as well.
"All done. You need a go?" Surely Dean hadn't meant it that way, had he? "Seamus? Need a shower?"
"Right, um, yeah. Thanks." One more surreptitious check of his trousers to insure they were fastened and Seamus scurried into the bathroom.
It was while Seamus and Dean were picking up the pieces of Dean's history and family that Harry defeated Voldemort. The owl was succinct and jubilant, but there in Exeter it was hard to echo the feelings because the more they discovered about John Thomas, the more they could see what had made him so very unique. Dean became more withdrawn and taciturn and even Seamus couldn't break him out of it.
"Let's go back home, mate. Nothing more to find out here and maybe your mam has some stories to share," Seamus cajoled but was met with a blank stare. "'M right and you know it."
"Yeah, let's go."
Seamus hated that Dean looked defeated. That night, he curled around Dean, pulling in tight and holding him as he shivered and Seamus thought he might be crying.
Their journey home was relatively quick and Mrs. Thomas greeted them with a smile and hugs. Dean clung tightly to his mother as Seamus watched. He felt odd and out of place as the whispers between them started and Seamus fidgeted from one foot to the other, cocking his hip and cracking his knuckles. His eyes drifted about the room, noticing that the wallpaper was starting to look dated and possibly peeling, looking anywhere but at his mate and his mam.
Finally, and it couldn't have come soon enough for Seamus, they broke apart and then Mrs. Thomas was bringing him into the hug. Pressed between the squishy softness of Mrs. Thomas and the hard warmth of Dean, Seamus breathed deeply, inhaling the scents of home and family. Mrs. Thomas smelled like fresh bread and flowers, a combination that reminded him of his own mam.
The tears and the laughter, the friendliness of the greeting was very different from his own mam, though. His mam was too aware of the dangers that they'd been in, too knowledgeable about the Wizarding world. As such, it was easy for Mrs. Thomas to give that easy greeting. For his mam there would have been tears and scoldings, admonishments that he shouldn't have gotten involved and wasn't Harry just a touch off. Even with the stress of the confession about Dean's true father, there was an easiness here that Seamus appreciated.
It was over dinner that night that they finally talked about Dean's father. The stories, scarce though they were, seemed to center Dean more than Seamus had been able to. The small twinge of jealousy was pushed down as unworthy of the moment, unworthy of mention. He'd rather Dean be happy than the moody and emotional person he'd been these last months, really he would. It just singed the pride that it wasn't Seamus making him happy.
Mrs. Thomas sent them out of the kitchen, turning down their offer to help clean up after the meal and they made their way out into the garden. When they sat on the steps Seamus couldn't help sitting close enough to press, shoulder to shoulder, against Dean. The silence was companionable and Seamus was tempted to fill it by telling Dean of his wank, of the want of Dean's hand on his cock and the weight of Dean in his bed.
Before he could, Dean spoke, "Thanks, mate. I don't know what I would've done without you, probably gone nuts inside of a week. Don't know how you put up with me, really."
"Nothing to it." Seamus watched as Dean bent over and scooped up a handful of pebbles before tossing them out into the garden in the scanty light. "I love you."
Seamus froze when he admitted it because he hadn't meant it, not in the way that Dean would take it, anyway. Why hadn't he realised before this moment? Why had he said it? As his mind raced to find something to lighten the admission, Dean chuckled.
"Love you, too, but I wouldn't have put up with your moodswings like you did me." Dean bumped his shoulder against Seamus, sending him off-balance while his words put Seamus back on an even keel. They were friendly and Dean hadn't read into Seamus's words.
"I'm just a better person, then, what with loving you more than you love me." Dean wasn't ever going to know the truth of those words.
After the war, after Hogwarts reopened, life started centering itself. Their NEWTs weren't nearly as stressful as they'd feared but that was due more to their status as 'War Heroes' than their own base of knowledge as far as Seamus was concerned. As they started to heal from the aftermath and damage from the War, Seamus and Dean looked to the future and discussed their options. Dean wanted to go to Art School, a Muggle school somewhere, anywhere that wasn't connected to the war or his father. Seamus, on the other hand, felt a bit aimless and lost the more Dean discussed leaving.
The inevitable happened and Dean was accepted to a school in France of all places. Seamus wasn't ashamed of his clinging to his mate at the airport and the tears that came after Dean walked towards security were dashed away. It was his Irish showing, he decided, that he could be that sentimental. After all, they were growing up and Seamus wasn't good with people leaving him like this.
It was tempting to fill the time without Dean by moping in the runty flat he'd secured but Dean would chastise him if he knew. Instead, Seamus applied at a pub and started to tend the bar. His talent for lending an ear or telling a tale came in handy as he quickly became a favourite amongst the regulars. One lad, in particular, caught his eye. Braeden was part of the after-work crowd and would watch Seamus, following him about the room and always being the one to request a drink for his mates.
Only after they'd gone out and Braeden was on his knees, Seamus urging him to suck harder, that he realised that Braeden looked like Dean. That thought was more than enough to send him flying over the edge and coming with a growl. When he shifted to his knees to return the favour, Seamus thought of Dean, remembered the sight of that stolen interruption of Dean's shower, the curve of his arse and the want and the need of the wank afterwards. He remembered his dreams since that night, of touching Dean in this way and when the lad came, Seamus swallowed and tried to not gag though it was his first time doing this.
Seamus finally accepted that he preferred the company of blokes, Lavender Brown notwithstanding. He was so very nervous when he owled both his mam and Dean to tell them. Dean's answer was teasing and accepting. His mam, although not as accepting was, nonetheless, resigned.
It was only when he called out Dean instead of Braeden and Braeden didn't notice that Seamus realised he was using Braeden. Without giving more explanation then necessary - it's not you, it's me - Seamus ended the relationship. That Dean was due back to London in a week didn't factor into the decision.
Their hug seemed to go on forever when Seamus went with Dean's family to the airport to collect his mate. Dean's whispered, "I missed you, mate," warmed Seamus's soul. That warmth slowly became claustophobic as Dean settled back into life in London and started dating. Dating, from Seamus's point of view, anyone other than Seamus while Seamus waited and wanted. It didn't matter that they were all girls.
Their time together became a recitation of the wonders of whatever girl it was that Dean was seeing at the time, while Seamus felt more and more trapped by his job and his lack of a social life and Dean. It was time, he decided, to go out and seek his fortune. It was time Seamus gave up the obsession with Dean. In order to achieve that, he resolved, he needed to leave London. He spun the globe and pointed a finger to pick a spot.
When he moved to Amsterdam, the separation from Dean hurt but it couldn't possibly hurt more than watching him grinning at Elizabeth, his latest flame and the one that looked like she would last. There was no need to learn another language as the patrons seemed to all speak English. In a few months, he'd adapted to the lifestyle and enjoyed tending the bar at a small pub in the Leidseplein area.
He left Amsterdam when he called out Dean and the bloke's name was Cort.
Heading back to London, Seamus listened to Dean rhapsodize about Dierdre, a beautiful Irish lass that had a wonderful lilt to her voice that reminded Seamus of Dublin. He couldn't take the proximity to Dean for more than a week, though. Spinning the globe once more, Seamus settled on Madrid.
Spanish was surprisingly easy for him to learn. The drinks and the lifestyle appealed to him and he stayed there longer than he had lasted in Amsterdam. On a rare day off, he wandered the Prado with a grin, thinking of how Dean would have spent hours staring at one painting after another, waxing on about brushstrokes and types of paint.
He left Madrid when he cried out Dee and her name was Sofia.
When he arrived back in London, it felt like the city had changed so much that it didn't fit, like a favourite shirt from childhood tried on for a lark. Like that same shirt, it wasn't that the city had changed, it was that Seamus had changed. As the noise of the gathered group of friends rose to a small roar, he shifted in his seat uncomfortably. The conversations ranged from the discussion of Neville's dating habits and who really thought that Neville would date so much to how Dean had a thing for Irish lasses and it must have been dealing with Seamus for all those years. Dean shot back that if they had an arse like Seamus, he'd be satisfied.
Everyone laughed at the joke but Seamus. After the table quieted, he realised that everyone was looking at him for a reaction. Not sure what they'd been discussing, Seamus merely flashed a rude gesture and they all laughed and fell back into whether Harry was ever going to settle down. Glad that the spotlight was off of him, Seamus realised that Dean had, at some point, gotten his nose pierced. The small silver ball fascinated him and, without thinking, he reached out a hand and touched it. Dean merely grabbed his hand, squeezed it and gave him a wink. Flustered, Seamus pondered that perhaps if Amsterdam and Madrid and London didn't fit, Boston would.
Boston was welcoming and although England and the States purported to speak the same language, Seamus found that the American version was harder to learn than any of the other languages. The Americans found his brogue attractive and it was fairly easy to find work in an Irish pub. When he thickened the accent, the tips rolled in and so Seamus made sure to play up his Irish. The girls tittered when he greeted them and the lads grinned when he wished them luck. The city was quite proud of its Irish heritage but Seamus didn't quite fit. He did his best, though, for much longer than he'd stayed in either Amsterdam or Madrid.
He left Boston when he cried out Dean and the gent's name was Seth.
London wasn't quite what he'd wanted in his life. It was too dirty, too smelly, too British and he was Irish enough to admit that he still bore a bit of a grudge, especially after Boston. But it had his friends, it had Dean and that was more important than grudges from his ancestors.
With his rucksack on his back, he hopped onto the tube. The pretty lass that smiled and flirted with him on the way had him grinning and he tipped his head as he got off to transfer to another line. Another transfer after that, he reached his stop and stood in front of a pub.
The Witching Hour was an old pub, standing where it had for hundreds of years. It had been sorely neglected under previous owners for years and looked it. The paint was crumbling, the sign was barely hanging and there were a few broken windows in the place. All in all, it was perfectly within Seamus's budget. Unlocking the door, it stuck before he put a shoulder to it, those things didn't much matter to Seamus though since he didn't see the grime and cobwebs, didn't see the cracked bar top or broken furniture. He saw what he'd make of it through a bit of sweat and hard work.
As he contemplated the bar, gazing and dreaming, his mobile rang, scaring him out of his stupor. "Finnigan."
"'S new in your world?" Seamus grinned at the sound of Dean's voice. His mate didn't know that he was back in London and Seamus wasn't going to tell him until he had the pub fixed up a bit.
"Moving into a new place." He wouldn't have thought it but he could hear the eye roll over the line.
"Another one? Where are you now?" Dean didn't approve of Seamus's moving around and well he knew it.
"Somewhere drafty, mate. People talk funny here, you'd love it." A little bit of misleading never hurt a surprise as far as Seamus was concerned.
"I'll keep London, thanks. You coming anytime soon?"
It was hard to bite back the laugh but he did his best. "To London? Why'd I want to be there? Too many British around."
Dean laughed. "Right well, are the girls pretty?"
"Sure'n I'm not caring much about that. What's wrong with Karin or Mary or whoever it is you're dating now?"
"Not seeing anyone at the mo', I'm too demanding I've been told." Seamus's heart gave a hopeful jump.
"You're just holding out for me, I know."
"Right, of course. Look, I'll let you get back to moving, yeah? Call me when you're settled and we'll catch up."
"Sure, yeah." He flipped his mobile closed and surveyed the pub once more.
A week later, the building was crawling with workers, putting in the new bar top, plumbing the taps, refinishing the kitchen and floors and moving new furniture in. The walls, though, Seamus left alone except for a scrubbing. Another month of work and it was finally ready for the surprise.
"Dean, I'm needing a favour.”
"Course you are. What is it?"
"A friend's bought a pub, needs some artwork for the walls. Would you go see him?"
"Not my sort of art, Seamus. Get a muralist." The exasperation in Dean's voice had Seamus grinning. It was the perfect mood to unveil his move.
"Don't be a wanker. Just go look and give the guy a few ideas for his walls. You'll like him, I promise. Maybe even have a mate in London that'll drag your sorry arse out of your flat a time or two." He counted, one, two and…
"Fine, but I'm not painting it." There was his Dean, so predictable.
Seamus gave him the directions and arranged a time later that day for Dean to stop by, promising that the 'mate' would be waiting for him.
Dean's reaction was gratifying as he walked through the door to find Seamus sitting at the bar, grinning like a loon. The stop, double take and dropped jaw were just what Seamus wanted.
"Shut your gob and the door, you'll let flies in."
"You…" Dean walked quickly towards the bar while Seamus slid off his stool and approached as well. They met with a fierce hug.
It had been too long since he'd seen his mate, far too long with only the sound of his voice on the other side of the phone. Seamus inhaled the scent that made Dean Dean and finally relaxed.
"I'm still not painting it." Seamus laughed into Dean's neck.
It was good to be back in London.
Two nights later, when Dean walked through the door into the pub just as they were closing for the evening, Seamus felt much lighter. His first day and night in the open pub was complete.
"We're closed, you'll have to find another pub." Seamus called out and laughed when Dean responded with a crude gesture and a laugh of his own. Walking past his mate, he locked the door and then turned and leaned against it. Christ but it felt amazing to see Dean again, it'd been too long.
"Shay, it's good to see you." Dean's voice rippled across Seamus's skin and that familiar nickname sent a flutter deep inside. Seamus wanted more than was proper and pushed it down. He'd been in his fantasies for so long and it had been so lonely; all those nights in Vienna had only deepened the need for Dean. Not wanting to embarrass himself, Seamus had resisted the urge to call Dean nightly when the loneliness had threatened to swallow him whole.
"What can I get you to drink?" Pushing off the door, Seamus went around back of the bar and fiddled with the rest of the mess left after a thankfully busy night.
"Surprise me," Dean said with a laugh and Seamus thought of how much a surprise it would be if he walked over, cupped Dean's cheek and kissed him. That wasn't what he'd meant of course but it didn't stop the image.
"Want me to get you drunk and take advantage of you or just a friendly pint?" He hoped his voice was steady and assured, friendly and teasing and not needy and wanting. While he waited for a response, Seamus began building a Guinness for himself.
"I'll have what you're having, whichever that might be." As Dean took a seat at the bar, Seamus grabbed another glass and started on the second Guinness.
"Sure you're man enough? Guinness'll put hair on your chest and that's something you're sorely lacking." He finished and placed one in front of Dean before walking around the bar with his own.
"'S good to have you here. I've missed you," Seamus said as he sat down next to Dean.
"I've missed you too, mate. You going to stick around for awhile this time?" When he was bumped across the shoulder, Seamus grinned at Dean before taking a drink.
"Thought I might what with this," he gestured at the pub around him, "all belonging to me, of course. Can't leave my girl when I just got her. Besides, I can't be leaving you alone, now can I? You'd wallow all alone in your flat, you antisocial tosser. A vacation, though, yes, that would be lovely when things get too much." Seamus's voice trailed off as he realised he'd been thinking out loud.
"I could handle that," A smile beamed on Dean's face before he suddenly stopped. "I mean, I think that'll be good for you. Maybe it'll stop you from being so antsy all the time. I swear, if we weren't in London, you'd never have a permanent home. Don't know how you do it, myself, but then we've always been different like that."
Seamus stared. What had Dean meant by that? What could he handle?
"Angsty? I'm not the brooding artist sitting home alone all the time, now am I?" Seamus paused and took a drink and realised that Dean was getting low and his was to the foam. "'Nother, mate?"
Seamus stood and couldn't help brushing his shoulder across Dean's back as he went to the tap once more and built two more. "I just need to be somewhere else sometimes, that's all. Don't need a permanent place, it doesn't matter, my home is certain people and as long as I go back to them, then that's what matters."
"I didn't say angsty, and I do not brood, you twat. I said 'antsy'. You're all over the place. A ball of energy. Sometimes I wonder how I ever keep up with you."
"Right, heard wrong, sorry, mate." Seamus flushed and continued fiddling with the glass. "It's easy to keep up with me. Just stay in one place and I always come back." Christ but his voice sounded sad and that wasn't what he wanted for the night. He was back in town, his pub was a success, Dean was here and he should be happy.
"Go ahead, tell me all about your life abroad and how much you missed me."
At Dean's request, Seamus thought of Vienna. It'd been fun for the most part, he couldn't deny it. The loneliness for home had coloured the experience though.
"Vienna was interesting but it has nothing on London. German's a hell of a language but I prefer my Irish, thanks." Seamus finished building the drinks and brushed past Dean once more, inhaling as he went. It was a small matter to brush his arm over Dean's as he sat the beer in front of his mate.
He was being reckless but the closeness was getting to him and it was almost too much. Had that been a tremor? He wrote it off to a flight of fancy.
"Couldn't imagine you trying to speak German. I bet the people in Vienna didn't have a clue what you were trying to say." Dean chuckled. "You should be glad you're back here, where we at least have a little chance of understanding you."
"Verpiss dich," Seamus muttered before looking up and laughing lightly. "I did better than you in Paris. Your French is horrendous. No wonder you can't pull the birds, you can't speak the language of love."
Grinning as he said it, Seamus cuffed Dean across the shoulder, allowing his hand to rest for a moment before dropping it back to the bar.
"Sure, sure," Dean said bemusedly. "Rub it in my face that you're more worldly than I am."
"So what did you do without me, then?" Before Dean could answer, Liam stepped through from the kitchen to sign off for the night and Seamus muttered, "excuse me" before standing in the doorway with the man, letting him know he'd be in sometime in the afternoon to check in and then waved him off.
"Where were we? Oh, yes, you were going to be telling me all about how much you missed me." Seamus remained standing slightly behind Dean.
"Was I?" he asked, eyes avoiding Seamus's in the glass. "Yes, well, you know. I was an utter mess without you. Didn't even leave my bed the whole time you were gone. Ask Harry, he had to come over and give me a sponge bath once a week so I wouldn't permanently stick to my sheets." Dean laughed.
Seamus felt himself harden in his trousers at the idea of Dean lying in bed, rubbing one off as he thought of Seamus until his sheets were sticky and damp. He knew it wasn't what Dean meant but he couldn't help his mind conjuring up images.
Before he could think or realise, Seamus leaned in until he pressed his face into the crook of Dean's neck and breathed. His arms went around until they circled Dean's chest.
"I always knew you'd pine without me, mate. But I'm flattered you touched yourself that much." He laughed lightly as he rubbed his nose into Dean's neck.
In the glass behind the bar, Dean looked down at Seamus's arms encircling his chest and his eyes fluttered closed, the image being too much. "Shay..." he whispered.
Seamus'd meant it to be friendly, he'd done it a million times including that one time when he'd had a cold.
This time, oh please Lord I will never sin again if this is really happening, Dean's breath stuttered and Seamus could feel his rippling pulse under his hands and his friend was straight, so very straight that he couldn't possibly have muttered Seamus's name in that shaky voice.
"Dean..." Seamus breathed out before pressing his lips against the skin he'd just rubbed his nose against. "damnaín, go maithe tú," he mouthed against the skin, the taste of Dean on his lips.
His touch was whisper soft as he licked lightly at the same spot. Instead of pushing him away, Seamus watched Dean's eyes flutter shut in the mirror and his nostrils flare as he inhaled deeply. Could he… was he… was there a chance?
Seamus hadn't meant this to happen, not tonight, not ever. This was his best mate but that went to the wayside as Dean's hand came up to touch his, press it closer, hold it close, rub against it. That friction sent Seamus over the edge and he pushed closer until they touched, chest to back for the length of Seamus's torso. It was too much and not enough at the same time.
He was shaky as he pressed his lips against Dean's skin once more and then again, closer to his ear. Again and his lips brushed Dean's lobe and then once more, his lips were where lobe met cheek and he whispered, "Please".
Nothing prepared him for Dean shifting and then they were kissing, lips touching, almost chaste as Seamus's eyes fluttered shut. It was surreal and felt like one of Dean's paintings, all muted colour and light but with a thread of passion running throughout. I'm dreaming, he thought as Dean pressed harder and Seamus responded by opening his mouth and touching his tongue against Dean's lips. As he did so, his eyes flew open again, not wanting to miss anything and that included the intimately blurred dark skin in front of his eyes and the clutching of Dean's hand against his, bruising it with the force of the grasp.
If this is a dream, I don't want to wake, he pleaded to God as Dean turned so that they were touching, chest to chest and the pressure of their lips, the closed-mouth kissing increased until it pulled a moan from deep within Seamus's chest. The feather light touch on his hip had Seamus shuddering. His pants were too tight, he was too warm, this was too much.
Opening his mouth further, Seamus sucked in Dean's lower lip before biting down on it lightly. Nudging with his knee, he opened Dean's legs so that he could step closer until he felt the racing heartbeat against his own.
"Open for me," he demanded, his teeth still lightly clasping Dean's lower lip.
The response was a shudder before Dean's mouth opened and his tongue swept out, touching and tasting his mouth, letting Seamus touch and taste. Dean's hand grabbed the back of his head, taking command. When Dean's legs fell open, he stepped between them before they closed around him.
When they paused for a breath, Dean muttered, gravelly and deep, "Shay" and that was enough for Seamus to reassure himself that this was happening and Dean knew that it was Seamus in his arms, not a girl. Not even in Seamus's dreams, though, had Dean's voice sounded like that. He pressed closer, responding to the implicit command of that graceful hand. The roughness of the voice had fire scorching across his body as Seamus damned their clothing for being between them.
With the twining of their tongues, Seamus knew that there was no going back to being just friends. Not with the knowledge of what it truly felt like to be kissed by Dean. He couldn't finish the thought as Dean bit his tongue. With shaking and frantic hands, Seamus tugged at Dean's shirt until he could pull it free of the waistband and the heat of that smooth skin flooded his palms.
"A gràdh," he sighed before pressing back, harder and much more frantically. If they paused long enough, Seamus was so very afraid that Dean would remember that he was straight and that Seamus was his mate. Seamus preferred to concentrate on the feel of their erections pressing together and the delicious friction of the subtle rubbing back and forth that Seamus found himself doing.
Their lips were parted only a moment as Dean's hands lifted the hem of Seamus's shirt and the fabric of Seamus's shirt passed over his face. Before it hit the ground, Seamus had reclaimed his position.
The touch on his chest had Seamus shuddering, fighting for control. He hadn't come in his pants since the Yule Ball when Lavender Brown had brushed her tits against him; he'd been a kid back then, inexperienced and the feel of a breast in his hand had been enough.
But this was Dean and he was touching Seamus. Sparks, icy hot and shattering, raced through his body when Dean brushed a nipple. Seamus worried that Dean would miss the softness of a female breast, remember that Seamus was a man and hard where he was accustomed to soft.
For once, Seamus was taller than Dean and that felt unbelievable as he took control the kiss, hand on the back of Dean's neck, holding his head in place as he ravaged his mouth, tongues touching and eyes still open. If Seamus closed his eyes, it would be a dream.
"More, please, more..." he pleaded with an aching in his gut. Seamus thrust forward, lining their bodies up and pressing Dean back into the bar.
"God, Shay," Dean said, his hands pulling Seamus closer by his broad shoulders. "Yes."
When Dean said his name like that, wanting, needing, Seamus had to reach a hand down and press against his groin to keep himself from coming right there.
Dean moved his lips downwards, kissing and tasting Seamus's chest. The feel of Dean's mouth on his chest had Seamus's head lolling backwards, a keening moan erupting from his mouth, his hand frantically pressing.
"So long, so much..." Seamus's other hand, still on the back of Dean's neck, twined into the dreds there and held on. If he let go, he would lose this and not now, please Lord, not now.
The feel of Dean's hand brushing his away and the little touches on his stomach and oh Christ Dean was undoing his belt.
"Stop, please, not here." Seamus put his hands over Dean's to stop because if he kept going, Seamus was going to embarrass himself. "Flat, please yes, upstairs..."
For a moment, after he said stop and Dean froze, Seamus was sure that Dean would completely stop and say they couldn't do this but then, "Fuck, Shay, anything," came and Seamus let out the breath he didn't know he was holding.
Without saying another word, Seamus pulled Dean from the barstool, giving him back the height advantage but he didn't care as he tugged Dean through the door to the kitchens.
On the steps leading to the flat, Seamus gained a few inches and latched his lips onto Dean's once more, threading his fingers into Dean's hair and not letting go, never let go.
Seamus reached behind Dean for the knob and lost track of what he was doing when Dean hooked his fingers into the waistband of Seamus's trousers, seeming too eager to wait.
"The bedroom," Dean urged. He kissed Seamus again, unwilling to stop even for a minute. "The bedroom."
The knob seemed to be covered in oil and constantly relocating itself or it could have been that Seamus was so intent on the kiss that he couldn't concentrate long enough to open the door.
Finally, he ripped his lips from Dean's and swung the door open. Seamus couldn't wait to make it to the bedroom, though. Instead, he shut the door, pressing Dean against it. He made short work of pulling Dean's shirt over his head before sliding Dean's belt out of the loops. The button was next. It felt amazing to slide his hand down between the zip and Dean's pants, the slight burr of the zipper sliding down his palm. His hands were rougher than he'd wanted as he thrust his hands into Dean's pants and pushed both pants and denim to the floor.
Breaking the kiss, Seamus took a moment to look at Dean's body, completely naked in front of him with his denims in a pool at his feet. He goggled at the rings in Dean's nipples.
"When did you get those?" Seamus panted out as Dean's head came forward to rest against his own.
"Does it matter?" Dean's hands were on his belt once more and Seamus closed his eyes, forehead touching forehead. When his denims joined Dean's on the ground, Seamus stepped out of them before leaning forward and taking a nipple ring into his mouth and pulling with his teeth. The moan was more than enough encouragement to him and Seamus grabbed the other one and gave it a tug as he continued to mouth the other. The tip of his tongue slipped into the little ring and he curled it back into his mouth.
The brief sharp pain of Dean pulling his hair was a reward in and of itself as Seamus found himself pressed to Dean's chest. Letting go of the other ring, Seamus slid his hand down Dean's chest until his fingers brushed across the ridges of the hard stomach before he felt the dripping head of Dean's cock against the back of his hand. Before he could think, Seamus lifted his hand to his mouth and sucked the wetness off his hand.
"Fuck, that's hot." Dean's voice reminded Seamus that Dean could see what he was doing and, from the moaned words, he figured that Dean approved.
"Yeah?" Seamus gripped Dean's cock in his hand as he sunk onto his knees. "What about this, then?" With that, Seamus licked across the tip and felt Dean's cock jump. Grinning, Seamus licked from base to tip first on the left side, then the right and then the underside, tracing the vein that ran along the length. Dean's grip in his hair tightened further until it almost reached the point of pain.
"Wanna taste you, taste all of you," Seamus didn't pause after he spoke before he leaned forward and took the tip into his mouth.
"Fuck, oh God, Shay, Shay," Dean's hands urged Seamus further down and it was a pleasure to take more in. Yes and please and fuck poured out of Dean's mouth as Seamus continued to bob until Dean pulled him away.
"Gonna come if you keep doing that," Seamus grinned at Dean's words before licking the slit and then standing, close enough that their cocks touched. He burrowed his face into the crook of Dean's neck. As he took both pricks into hand, he bit the juncture of neck and shoulder and then licked the pain away.
Dean's hand joined his and it didn't take long before they came, shuddering and panting and breathing out each other's name. Seamus was amazed, frankly, that he hadn't collapsed to the ground. Forehead to forehead again, Seamus could see a small bead of sweat about to drip off Dean's nose and reached a hand to wipe it off.
There was no reason that Seamus could think of that that small touch did what it did but he was pushed backwards while Dean grabbed his pants and denims and pulled them up before scanning the room, looking anywhere but at Seamus. Muttering, "Fuck it," Dean quietly went through the door and the click of it shutting broke Seamus's confused trance.
Seamus ran after him but was too late, Dean was nowhere in sight.
He hadn't returned any of Seamus's owls. He hadn't picked up his mobile. He hadn't stopped by. Hell, Dean hadn't talked to any of their mates. It was almost like he'd disappeared from the face of the Earth for the past month and Seamus was going crazy with worry. The only thing saving his sanity was that when he'd called Dean's job, his mate had answered, professional and abrupt. Seamus hung up and thought, this wasn't supposed to be.
Thanking whatever deity had brought Liam to him and given him the wisdom to hire the Irishman, Seamus begged off for the night and took a bottle up to his flat where he proceeded to become stereotypically-Irish drunk.
The music and talk from the pub drifted up the stairs but Seamus ignored it for his own singing, a morose song about lovers being separated. He toasted the empty space of the couch next to him, "Slaínte, Dean," and tipped the bottle back once more.
"Didcha know that I've been in love with you since Seventh Year? Broke my heart, you did, when you didn't see it but I got over it, didn't I? Been fucking waiting for you, mate, waiting for you to realise that you love me too but you don't, do you?" Toasting the air again, Seamus went to drink and was shocked to discover that the bottle was empty.
"I'm a fucking cliché, aren't I? Fuck this." Seamus stumbled into the kitchen where he threw the empty bottle away before tripping his way to the small table by the window.
Seamus's scrawl was almost illegible but he didn't realise that as he gave the note to his owl and sent it winging off towards Dean.
Part 2
