FIC: fucking things up quite royally, thank you ~ seamus/dean ~ light R
title: fucking things up quite royally, thank you
author: kaalee
pairing: Seamus/Dean
word count: ~1490 words
rating: light R
prompt: Lust
a/n: Written for my Seamus/Dean claim at 50_smutlets. This story continues the arc of the previous three. Many thanks to the beautiful danijo1 for the beta. Dedicated to thenotoriousso4 on the very, very belated occasion of her birthday. *gropes shamelessly* ♥
:: previous::
fucking things up quite royally, thank you
seamus/dean, rated light R
::
Someone fancies him.
Someone that he knows -- someone in Gryffindor -- fancies him.
Dean feels oddly giddy as he walks through the corridor, thinking about the paper Lav gave him at lunch. He'd tucked it away into a private compartment of his satchel, but he keeps thinking about it.
It's sort of nice. Mostly. What with all the crap he got himself into before, following Seamus into the shower and all.
He turns to Seamus, punches his shoulder and says, "I'm bloody sick of all this boring shite everyone's doing all the time now. So much moping and secrecy. I think we ought to..." he lets the words trail off in case anyone's listening, but he looks at Seamus conspiratorially, and says a small prayer inside his head.
Because really, it's been rough recently. He'd fucked things up so royally that time when Seamus had been in the shower. Dean remembers that like a shiver of ice down his shirt. He never, never, should have done that. Seamus has been sort of reserved and off since then, and Dean would do just about anything to get him back to normal. He knows he's a prick. Best mates don't follow each other into the shower and wank to the thought of what was going on behind the shower curtain.
They don't.
Dean suddenly comes back to himself when Seamus smiles that smile his mum had once called roguish, sending Seamus to the dictionary for a definition for the first time in months.
"Yeah, mate," Seamus says, glancing around and then lowering his voice. "Nev's out doing something or other with the other prefects and I've still got about a fifth of the bottle left, so it's good."
It's good.
::
It is good.
Dean's forgotten how much he enjoys the muzzy-drunk feeling he gets after a few nips of the Irish Whiskey Seamus sneaks out of his mum's house every term. They're giggling about something, Dean can't remember anymore, but every time they look at each other, one of them dissolves into a fresh bit of laughter and the sheer insanity of everything just feels completely magnified.
"Best tits you've ever seen?" Dean asks, continuing a conversation that Seamus started about four years ago. They lapse into it regularly, and it's much more fun when they're drinking.
"Racheli Meir," Seamus says immediately. "They weren't all that big, but her nipples were so pink they made my lips tingle."
"No, really?" Dean laughs.
"Aye, they did."
"That would be particularly odd if you were eating ice cream at the same time."
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"Ice cream makes your lips tingle, too."
"That doesn't make any sense at all," Seamus laughs. "You git."
"Wanker," Dean says, shaking his head and changing the subject. "You never saw her tits."
"I did. Just after I saw your sister's."
"I don't think you want to start that game, Finnigan."
"Just finishing it, mate."
"Alright. Enough, then. Strangest place you've ever pulled yourself off."
Seamus laughs then, lapsing into silence while he thinks. It's always been a bit of a joke, how often Seamus wanks. It's a bit legendary, and used to be quite well known amongst the blokes in their year, not just in Gryffindor. Dean had always wondered how Seamus found the time.
"You just want to think about me naked," Seamus says, flopping down onto his stomach and pulling his tongue at Dean. "Guess you can't help it, aye? Everyone wants to. It's like a sickness."
"Or a plague."
Though, Dean has to admit he's thought about it. Rather a lot, actually. Ever since that time outside the shower, Dean can't help but see Seamus and a mottle of unforgivable thoughts wash over him. Seamus's smile is crooked and he's a lot taller than he was, even a year ago. Things that were just 'Seamus' before (his crooked grin, the way he shifts his hips forward when he stands) now intrigue Dean and invade his mind at the most inconvenient times.
Like now.
It's no help that Seamus has just rolled onto his back and put his hands behind his head because now his t-shirt is riding up and Dean can see the indentation just below Seamus's sharp hipbones. It's more than distracting; it's like an entire other track of his mind that's inescapable. So, he changes the subject. He's got to or he won't be able to concentrate and the alcohol will spill hidden truths from his lips.
"Somebody fancies me," Dean says, beaming. He knows it sounds stupid and Seamus has never been so obviously starved for companionship that he needs to share such self-congratulatory things, but...
Someone fancies him. It's sort of a big deal, actually.
Seamus shifts uncomfortably on the bed, watching only the ceiling before he says, "Who do you think it is, mate?"
"Dunno," Dean says, feeling oddly miserable all of a sudden. For the first time in months, someone really, truly fancies him and all he can think about is what Seamus's skin would feel like under his tongue. "Probably some second year that I'd go to hell for if I even tried to feel up her tits."
"Maybe it's Colin," Seamus says.
Dean looks up sharply and sees Seamus pressing his lips together and staring at the ceiling.
"A bloke?" he asks.
"Yeah," Seamus says defensively. "There something wrong with that?"
Probably, Dean thinks. There's probably something completely wrong and unnatural about it -- the way you'd hear his grandmother tell it -- but as far as he's concerned, nothing can be wrong if it's about Seamus.
"Guess not," Dean says, trying for levity. "S'long as they'll suck my cock, I've really got nothing to worry about."
Seamus swallows uncomfortably and shifts again on the bed. Dean can't figure out why they're not looking at each other, why the spot where their knees are touching is tingling madly, why the air feels suddenly so palpable, and why he's about to do something he'd never do if he actually considered it.
Turning over onto his side, Dean touches Seamus's stomach lightly. It's okay, really, they usually touch each other a lot. Seamus sucks his breath; he still doesn't look at him. Dean takes a deep breath and leans closer. He wrings every thought out of his head with as much might as he can muster; he does not want to think about this. Not yet. He touches Seamus's belt and the light touch of skin jolts a wet shock of electricity through him.
Lust fogs his mind and the air blurs until muddled light emanates only from Seamus.
"I know who I fancy," Dean says quietly. Seamus finally looks at him; his eyes are such a deep blue that they almost seem to glow.
"You do?"
Their lips barely move and they're miles closer together than they were just moments ago. Dean has the sudden image of dipping into Seamus's trousers, of touching his cock lightly until it's so hard that his hand is caught inside and he has to unfasten them or he'll lose all circulation. He envisions licking his palm, coating it until it's sticky-wet, and wrapping it around Seamus's cock. He can even see it in his mind, about as long as his own, but thinner and surrounded by reddish-gold. Dean imagines the wiry softness of Seamus's curls under his hand, can see Seamus jerking upward and cursing, completely undone with the feeling of it all. He can see Seamus unfastening his trousers and pushing them down, crawling on top of Dean until the long length of both of them are pressed together. Dean can almost feel it, the hot hardness of Seamus against Dean with nothing between them but skin and their own dizzying want. Thoughts spark like flashes in his mind: they're rocking together, panting and breathless and so completely wrapped up in each other that there is truly nothing else.
Dean wonders what Lavender or Parvati would think if they found out it's Seamus he fancies so desperately.
"Yeah," Dean breathes. "She's--"
Seamus's eyes widen suddenly and he pulls away like Dean's touch burns him. He stumbles off Dean's bed and backs away several steps.
"I don't feel well," he says, turning and running toward the loo. "Gonna be sick."
Dean doesn't hear any retching sounds, just the sound of the toilet and the water running. When Seamus comes out, he walks to his own bed and pulls the curtains shut.
"You alright?" Dean calls softly.
"Yeah," Seamus says after a small eternity. "Night, mate."
Dean slumps backward, completely miserable. He can't believe what he just said. One odd, stray thought and he misspeaks, sending Seamus barreling away and ruining everything. Staring up at the wrinkled gathers of his bed curtains, Dean replays every minute of the past hour, his frustration growing when he hears his own mistake spoken aloud, over and over.
Because here he goes again: fucking things up quite royally.
Thank you very much.
::
:: next::
~thank you so much for reading! ♥
[ table]
author: kaalee
pairing: Seamus/Dean
word count: ~1490 words
rating: light R
prompt: Lust
a/n: Written for my Seamus/Dean claim at 50_smutlets. This story continues the arc of the previous three. Many thanks to the beautiful danijo1 for the beta. Dedicated to thenotoriousso4 on the very, very belated occasion of her birthday. *gropes shamelessly* ♥
:: previous::
fucking things up quite royally, thank you
seamus/dean, rated light R
::
Someone fancies him.
Someone that he knows -- someone in Gryffindor -- fancies him.
Dean feels oddly giddy as he walks through the corridor, thinking about the paper Lav gave him at lunch. He'd tucked it away into a private compartment of his satchel, but he keeps thinking about it.
It's sort of nice. Mostly. What with all the crap he got himself into before, following Seamus into the shower and all.
He turns to Seamus, punches his shoulder and says, "I'm bloody sick of all this boring shite everyone's doing all the time now. So much moping and secrecy. I think we ought to..." he lets the words trail off in case anyone's listening, but he looks at Seamus conspiratorially, and says a small prayer inside his head.
Because really, it's been rough recently. He'd fucked things up so royally that time when Seamus had been in the shower. Dean remembers that like a shiver of ice down his shirt. He never, never, should have done that. Seamus has been sort of reserved and off since then, and Dean would do just about anything to get him back to normal. He knows he's a prick. Best mates don't follow each other into the shower and wank to the thought of what was going on behind the shower curtain.
They don't.
Dean suddenly comes back to himself when Seamus smiles that smile his mum had once called roguish, sending Seamus to the dictionary for a definition for the first time in months.
"Yeah, mate," Seamus says, glancing around and then lowering his voice. "Nev's out doing something or other with the other prefects and I've still got about a fifth of the bottle left, so it's good."
It's good.
::
It is good.
Dean's forgotten how much he enjoys the muzzy-drunk feeling he gets after a few nips of the Irish Whiskey Seamus sneaks out of his mum's house every term. They're giggling about something, Dean can't remember anymore, but every time they look at each other, one of them dissolves into a fresh bit of laughter and the sheer insanity of everything just feels completely magnified.
"Best tits you've ever seen?" Dean asks, continuing a conversation that Seamus started about four years ago. They lapse into it regularly, and it's much more fun when they're drinking.
"Racheli Meir," Seamus says immediately. "They weren't all that big, but her nipples were so pink they made my lips tingle."
"No, really?" Dean laughs.
"Aye, they did."
"That would be particularly odd if you were eating ice cream at the same time."
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"Ice cream makes your lips tingle, too."
"That doesn't make any sense at all," Seamus laughs. "You git."
"Wanker," Dean says, shaking his head and changing the subject. "You never saw her tits."
"I did. Just after I saw your sister's."
"I don't think you want to start that game, Finnigan."
"Just finishing it, mate."
"Alright. Enough, then. Strangest place you've ever pulled yourself off."
Seamus laughs then, lapsing into silence while he thinks. It's always been a bit of a joke, how often Seamus wanks. It's a bit legendary, and used to be quite well known amongst the blokes in their year, not just in Gryffindor. Dean had always wondered how Seamus found the time.
"You just want to think about me naked," Seamus says, flopping down onto his stomach and pulling his tongue at Dean. "Guess you can't help it, aye? Everyone wants to. It's like a sickness."
"Or a plague."
Though, Dean has to admit he's thought about it. Rather a lot, actually. Ever since that time outside the shower, Dean can't help but see Seamus and a mottle of unforgivable thoughts wash over him. Seamus's smile is crooked and he's a lot taller than he was, even a year ago. Things that were just 'Seamus' before (his crooked grin, the way he shifts his hips forward when he stands) now intrigue Dean and invade his mind at the most inconvenient times.
Like now.
It's no help that Seamus has just rolled onto his back and put his hands behind his head because now his t-shirt is riding up and Dean can see the indentation just below Seamus's sharp hipbones. It's more than distracting; it's like an entire other track of his mind that's inescapable. So, he changes the subject. He's got to or he won't be able to concentrate and the alcohol will spill hidden truths from his lips.
"Somebody fancies me," Dean says, beaming. He knows it sounds stupid and Seamus has never been so obviously starved for companionship that he needs to share such self-congratulatory things, but...
Someone fancies him. It's sort of a big deal, actually.
Seamus shifts uncomfortably on the bed, watching only the ceiling before he says, "Who do you think it is, mate?"
"Dunno," Dean says, feeling oddly miserable all of a sudden. For the first time in months, someone really, truly fancies him and all he can think about is what Seamus's skin would feel like under his tongue. "Probably some second year that I'd go to hell for if I even tried to feel up her tits."
"Maybe it's Colin," Seamus says.
Dean looks up sharply and sees Seamus pressing his lips together and staring at the ceiling.
"A bloke?" he asks.
"Yeah," Seamus says defensively. "There something wrong with that?"
Probably, Dean thinks. There's probably something completely wrong and unnatural about it -- the way you'd hear his grandmother tell it -- but as far as he's concerned, nothing can be wrong if it's about Seamus.
"Guess not," Dean says, trying for levity. "S'long as they'll suck my cock, I've really got nothing to worry about."
Seamus swallows uncomfortably and shifts again on the bed. Dean can't figure out why they're not looking at each other, why the spot where their knees are touching is tingling madly, why the air feels suddenly so palpable, and why he's about to do something he'd never do if he actually considered it.
Turning over onto his side, Dean touches Seamus's stomach lightly. It's okay, really, they usually touch each other a lot. Seamus sucks his breath; he still doesn't look at him. Dean takes a deep breath and leans closer. He wrings every thought out of his head with as much might as he can muster; he does not want to think about this. Not yet. He touches Seamus's belt and the light touch of skin jolts a wet shock of electricity through him.
Lust fogs his mind and the air blurs until muddled light emanates only from Seamus.
"I know who I fancy," Dean says quietly. Seamus finally looks at him; his eyes are such a deep blue that they almost seem to glow.
"You do?"
Their lips barely move and they're miles closer together than they were just moments ago. Dean has the sudden image of dipping into Seamus's trousers, of touching his cock lightly until it's so hard that his hand is caught inside and he has to unfasten them or he'll lose all circulation. He envisions licking his palm, coating it until it's sticky-wet, and wrapping it around Seamus's cock. He can even see it in his mind, about as long as his own, but thinner and surrounded by reddish-gold. Dean imagines the wiry softness of Seamus's curls under his hand, can see Seamus jerking upward and cursing, completely undone with the feeling of it all. He can see Seamus unfastening his trousers and pushing them down, crawling on top of Dean until the long length of both of them are pressed together. Dean can almost feel it, the hot hardness of Seamus against Dean with nothing between them but skin and their own dizzying want. Thoughts spark like flashes in his mind: they're rocking together, panting and breathless and so completely wrapped up in each other that there is truly nothing else.
Dean wonders what Lavender or Parvati would think if they found out it's Seamus he fancies so desperately.
"Yeah," Dean breathes. "She's--"
Seamus's eyes widen suddenly and he pulls away like Dean's touch burns him. He stumbles off Dean's bed and backs away several steps.
"I don't feel well," he says, turning and running toward the loo. "Gonna be sick."
Dean doesn't hear any retching sounds, just the sound of the toilet and the water running. When Seamus comes out, he walks to his own bed and pulls the curtains shut.
"You alright?" Dean calls softly.
"Yeah," Seamus says after a small eternity. "Night, mate."
Dean slumps backward, completely miserable. He can't believe what he just said. One odd, stray thought and he misspeaks, sending Seamus barreling away and ruining everything. Staring up at the wrinkled gathers of his bed curtains, Dean replays every minute of the past hour, his frustration growing when he hears his own mistake spoken aloud, over and over.
Because here he goes again: fucking things up quite royally.
Thank you very much.
::
:: next::
~thank you so much for reading! ♥
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