DRABBLE: costume ~ seamus/dean, pg13
In honor of Hallowe'en ♥♥♥...
costume
seamus/dean, 200 words, pg13
::
Dean looks so dashing, Seamus wonders if he'll make it through the night.
Dressed in elegant gentleman's robes from two hundred years ago, Dean still commands attention with any slight movement of his hands. Seamus sees Dean murmur a polite 'Excuse me,' and watches the pretty witch move, nodding absently, then doing an immediate double take, her eyes and others following him across the room.
Smiling, Seamus moves to meet Dean, sweeping into his arms for the first dance of the Hallowe'en Ball. Dean's smile captures him, holds him frozen in glittered time as their hands twirl a warm waltz of their own.
He guides Seamus through steps they have exhaustively practiced. Dean's hands say more than he speaks: forgiving missteps and promising a tender, private dance later. Seamus starts to imagine that his own deepest fear might now rival Dean's of third year.
When the dance is over, the images running through Seamus's head (dark fingers tracing the centre of his chest, rounded nails scratching shivers across his abdomen, a warm palm cupping him as he fights for restraint...) threaten to undo him.
Then again, to die under the ministrations of Dean's hands is really no punishment at all.
::
~thank you so much for reading! ♥♥
costume
seamus/dean, 200 words, pg13
::
Dean looks so dashing, Seamus wonders if he'll make it through the night.
Dressed in elegant gentleman's robes from two hundred years ago, Dean still commands attention with any slight movement of his hands. Seamus sees Dean murmur a polite 'Excuse me,' and watches the pretty witch move, nodding absently, then doing an immediate double take, her eyes and others following him across the room.
Smiling, Seamus moves to meet Dean, sweeping into his arms for the first dance of the Hallowe'en Ball. Dean's smile captures him, holds him frozen in glittered time as their hands twirl a warm waltz of their own.
He guides Seamus through steps they have exhaustively practiced. Dean's hands say more than he speaks: forgiving missteps and promising a tender, private dance later. Seamus starts to imagine that his own deepest fear might now rival Dean's of third year.
When the dance is over, the images running through Seamus's head (dark fingers tracing the centre of his chest, rounded nails scratching shivers across his abdomen, a warm palm cupping him as he fights for restraint...) threaten to undo him.
Then again, to die under the ministrations of Dean's hands is really no punishment at all.
::
~thank you so much for reading! ♥♥