Strange-Eyed Constellation, Post 3
Title: Strange-Eyed Constellation
Pairing(s): Past Fred/Seamus, Seamus/Dean, eventual Fred/Seamus/Dean, Ron/Harry
Rating: This chapter hard R
Summary: War can make strange bedfellows; peacetime allows kindred spirits to join together. Seamus discovers both, and in being true to the baffling desires of his heart, believes that love needn't come exclusively in pairs.
A/N: my thanks to auntee_mame for the written beta; exceeding gratitude to wolfiekins and callumjames for letting me read aloud and giving me insightful feedback while I write this; also for their enthusiasm over what's certainly a rare trio. The title comes from Thomas Hardy's poem "Drummer Hodge."
Chapter Notes: My gratitude to Wolfie for the use of his creation, Un-Robed!, yet again.
Previous Posts:
Part 1
Part 2
The flat was dark as usual when Seamus sauntered quietly through the living room. He glanced at the cracked open door to Dean's room; chances were he was asleep, not being quite the night owl that Seamus was. He listened for a moment, hearing nothing from the room.
"Dean?" he whispered in a hush. A low snuffling sounded in reply.
Having established that he wasn't awake, Seamus took a pull from his flask before heading out to their small patio. The stars had been shocking in their clarity, and Seamus wanted a bit more time to stare in awe at them. Astronomy was one of the only subjects Seamus had done well in at Hogwarts, having studied the night sky on his own since he was a young boy. He marvelled at the glistering expanse for some time, his thoughts turning to Dean as they so often did. Things were spectacular between the two of them; he could barely keep his hands off Dean and the feeling appeared to be mutual, if the constant bloom of hickeys hidden under Seamus' clothes was any indication. But becoming lovers had changed Seamus' perceptions in unexpected ways to do with Dean's blindness. He'd readily accepted that fact before, but now he'd become uncharacteristically thoughtful about things Dean could never see- or never see again. Seamus was now hyper aware of moving things around, and careful of the candles he lit. Dean told Seamus to quit acting like his fucking mother, and that had mostly settled things. Still, Seamus wished that they could stargaze together- he wanted them to do everything together, as full of sentimental tripe as that was.
At last he forced himself back inside, ready to curl up next to Dean. After brushing his teeth, he cast a faint Lumos at the end of his wand so he could see, shed his clothes, and eased next to his lover under the thin sheet. Dean shifted slightly as Seamus spooned at his side.
"'re home," Dean mumbled sleepily.
"Yeah." Seamus kissed the side of his neck, a faint salty flavour lingering on Dean's skin.
"Got a note from Harrynron," Dean said, his voice sluggish. "Like a Howler, so I could hear it. They want to have us over. Something about swimming."
"They've a nice pool, so I've heard," Seamus said, snuggling closer. "When've we been invited?"
"Saturday," Dean replied through a yawn, pulling Seamus' arm over his waist despite the warm evening. "But I've not got a suit."
"We can go buy one," Seamus said, the vision of Dean in a skimpy pair of Speedos flashing in his mind.
"Hmmmph."
Seamus fell quickly to sleep, imagining lying next to Dean on a comfortable deck chair, smirking as his former classmates ogled his beloved.
* * * * *
"Are you sure?"
"Yes! Bloody hell, I've ridden with you loads of times!" Dean said, exasperated.
"Fine, okay. Hold on."
Seamus gunned his motorbike to life, grinning inwardly. He'd bought his motorcycle a couple of months after the War as a kind of 'Praise Merlin, I'm still alive' gift for himself. He knew that he and Dean made a striking pair on it: Dean with this long, shorts-clad legs and his wiry arms wrapped around him; Seamus himself with his leather trousers and the matching wide oxblood leather wristbands that he wore all the time. He drove them through London to Harrod's, determined that Dean would get a bathing suit to enjoy the afternoon and evening over at their friends' house. Seamus basked in the looks they got, cruising along the streets until he got to a nearby car park. Dean got out his walking stick, another Muggle coping mechanism he used when out in unfamiliar areas. He hated being dependent on anybody. Seamus knew this, so he didn't offer his arm. Now that they were a couple, however, he felt no guilt whatsoever in draping his arm around the back of Dean's waist, sticking the tops of his fingers in Dean's right back pocket.
They made their way to the swimwear section where Seamus picked out a few suits per Dean's specifications and escorted Dean to a fitting room. Seamus had covertly snagged a pair of Speedos, and when Dean asked to be handed a pair, Seamus thrust the small bit of spandex into his hands. Dean ran his elegant fingers over the silky material, his expression turning to one of utter incredulity.
"You're fucking joking!" he exclaimed, holding up the pair of Speedos, the suit a cerulean shimmer of stretchy near-nothingness. "I'm not even going to try this on. I can't try this on! Hand me a normal pair of togs, you git. Just because you perv on my arse doesn't mean I'm about to put it out on display wearing something like that."
"But Dean," Seamus wheedled. "You're gorgeous. Your body's thin and muscley and fuck, I'll want to jump all over you in it. C'mon, be open minded."
"NO," Dean growled.
"Sirs? Do you need assistance?" The clerk's anxious but intrigued voice sounded outside of their changing room. Seamus had noticed him giving Dean's arse more than a once-over, feeding Seamus' perhaps unhealthy smugness of being obviously with Dean. "You do know that for health reasons you must keep your undergarments on when trying on swimwear."
"Yes, we know," Seamus called out.
"Shay. No."
"Dean. Just try it, please?"
Dean rolled his eyes. "Bloody hell, no. I'm going to buy a proper pair of surfer shorts. Here, hand me the ones with the 32" waist and corded tie."
"You're no fun," Seamus sulked, but he did as requested. "You're an Adonis, with a perfect body," he prattled on, watching Dean as he quickly took off his tracksuit shorts and pulled on the long bathing suit. "Not like me, and me pudge," Seamus said ruefully, poking at the soft belly currently laced into his trousers.
"Don't hear me complaining," Dean said with a warm smile that made Seamus' heart trip over itself. He adjusted the cording at the waist. "I think these are a bit big. What do you think?"
Seamus didn't even try to be objective. "They cover up too much of you."
"Shay," Dean warned. "Honestly."
"They're a bit big," Seamus said reluctantly. "Try the next size down. Or eat more."
Ten minutes later they were buying a pair of brightly patterned surfer shorts, though Seamus had noted what size Dean wore, filing the information away for a future purchase.
"Want to go for a bit of a ride?" Seamus asked as they made their way back to the car park. "We've not been out on Seth in a while."
"Sure! Sun's pretty nice, isn't it?" Dean observed, slowing his footsteps and tilting his head toward the sky like a flower to light.
"You'd know, Mister I Like To Sunbathe Nude," Seamus said, slipping his hand into Dean's back pocket again. They manoeuvred around some cars and got into the ancient lift to take them down to the bottom level.
Dean shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't burn. And I'm not totally nude, at least not lying on my back. That'd be painful."
When they got to Seth, the name Seamus had given to his motorcycle, Seamus handed Dean's helmet over to him.
"Thanks, for this," Dean said, leaning forward uncertainly and patting the air until he made contact with Seamus' shoulder.
"Thanks for going out in public with me. You've had your share of looks, mate." Seamus moved closer to Dean, noting Dean's furrowed brows. "Interested looks, that is," Seamus clarified.
Dean seemed to be concentrating on something. With a bit of fumbling, he put the helmet back on a handlebar. "Are we mostly alone?"
Seamus glanced about. "Yeah. Why?"
Dean lowered his head, bumping noses with Seamus before sliding his lips against Seamus' mouth. "'Cause I want to kiss you." His words were a warm exhalation of need. Seamus replied by snaking his arm around Dean's waist, pulling their bodies together as Dean's tongue delved into Seamus' mouth.
After long, slick moments passed by, their kissing becoming more greedy and intense, Dean moved back, panting slightly. "We'd better take that ride now before I rub you raw," he said, his hands anchored on Seamus' backside, continuing to grind his hips into Seamus'.
"I don't go to work 'til four," Seamus said, his pulse galloping at his temple and his thickening cock very interested in an afternoon shag. "Plenty 'o time."
"Good."
With a last chaste kiss, Dean shuffled back slightly, retrieved his helmet, and waited for Seamus to get on the motorbike. Seamus grinned like a loon, half-aroused, straddling his motorcycle with his less and less inhibited lover securely lodged behind him. He could definitely get used to feeling like this.
* * * * *
Saturday came, warm and sunny- an idyllic and frankly surprisingly gorgeous day, given some of the Muggle weather forecasts Seamus had heard on their Wireless. Dean made a dozen devilled eggs to take with them, with Seamus hovering around to answer a few questions and get the ingredients in usage order. Seamus had taken the easy way out and bought a few large bags of crisps and some dip. While Dean artistically sprinkled paprika on the eggs, feeling his way around the serving plate with his fingers, Seamus went off and packed their suits, towels, spare set of clothes, sunblock and sunning oil. There were sun repelling spells, of course, but Seamus liked the smell of sunscreen and he adored the scent of the oil Dean used when he sunbathed on their patio. Plus, it was yet another excuse to rub his hands all over Dean's skin, and vice versa. With a mischievous smile, Seamus tucked the azure wisp of bathing suit into the bottom of his duffel. He'd gone back to Harrod's and bought the more revealing suit, hoping he could convince Dean to wear it. Seamus wasn't entirely sure why he was so obsessed by the idea of Dean in the pair of Speedos, the shiny blue fabric clinging to his arse, his nicely-shaped cock nestled in the fabric, leaving nothing to the imagination Okay, so it was pretty bloody obvious why he wanted Dean in that suit. He wanted to show Dean off, though, too. It wasn't that Harry and Ron weren't unattractive, they were alright in their own ways, but they didn't do anything for Seamus, that was for sure
The tinkling sound of shattered porcelain and Dean's loudly yelled "FUCK!" snapped Seamus out of his reverie. He ran into the kitchen to see Dean nudging his toes at a splattered mess of devilled eggs and plate shards. His expression was livid, his eyes narrowed as he aimed his wand at a section of ruined plate and cast a Reparo.
"Here, I'll get it," Seamus offered, but Dean's angry look gave him pause.
"I fucking HATE THIS!" Dean bellowed, shuffling to the side and onto a sharp-edged sliver of serving platter before Seamus could warn him. "Ow! Dammit!"
"Stand still!" Seamus barked, kneeling down and placing his hands on Dean's shins to give Dean some bearing as to his body's location. "Pick up your foot."
Dean continued a ceaseless litany of invectives muttered under his breath. Seamus plucked out the bit of ceramic which had managed to cut deeply enough that blood began dripping down over Seamus' hands.
"You're bleeding," he told Dean. "Let's go to the bathroom. I'll wash it out and cast a suturing spell."
Dean only made an angry rumbling sound in reply, but he took Seamus' arm and hobbled down the hallway. Seamus did his best to ignore the seething ire radiating off Dean as he took care of the wound. It didn't take too long, however, for Dean's overreaction to get to him.
"What's wrong with ye?" he asked once the suture had closed the clean slice. "It was just eggs. The plate's fixed."
"I'm fucking blind," Dean said, his voice dripping scorn. "I'm a menace. I'm not fucking good for anything. Can't see you, I run into things if they're not exactly where I expect them to be, I barely go out of the flat by myself. I-" His hands became menacing fists, burrowed against his legs. "I can't paint anymore- oh gods, Shay. I miss it so fucking much."
Dean let out a primal, heart-rending sob, the anguish so piercing it made Seamus tear up himself. He held onto Dean as he cried and cried, trying to absorb the ragged coughs and wails as Dean's frustration, anger and loss poured out of him. For long moments Seamus ran his hands up and down Dean's back, rocking him slightly and murmuring soothing noises. At last Dean's sobbing became a string of syrupy wordless lamentations; eventually he was quiet save his sniffling.
Seamus was painfully aware that any words he chose to try and console this man so dear to him would only be flat, fragmented hints of what he truly meant. But he felt that he needed to say something.
"I love you so much, Dean," Seamus said quietly, leaning across Dean to get some loo paper and placing it in Dean's hand. Dean thanked him and blew his nose. "I feel like a right git- you'd just seemed to be doing so well, but I'd not asked ye how you really felt about all that you've had to deal with. You can punch holes in the wall, mate; I'll nudge yer wand to get it dead on if you want, but your Reparo spells are the best I've ever seen."
A weak smile tried to lodge on Dean's lips before sliding away. "Thanks. Really." He rubbed under his nose before accepting another handout of loo paper. "It's not that I was going to be a great artist or anything, y'know, but at least I could've kept drawing for fun, or painting. It's made me nearly mad ever since we've been flatmates. I have all these drawings of you, and our mates from Hogwarts, and I'd wanted to paint you here, just like I used to. And now, now " He took in a shuddering breath. Seamus, feeling as useful as a fake wand, put his hand on Dean's knee, rubbing the bony knob underneath the joint with his thumb.
"Not that I would've done gargantuan portraits of you naked and framed them to put above the fireplace, but I can't even see you to know how you look. I miss people's faces; I hate that I hear everything so clearly and I can nearly tell when you're winking or have that wicked smile on your face, but I only really see it when I'm asleep." He let out a deep sigh and Seamus couldn't stop himself; he draped himself onto the tops of Dean's legs, placing his head sideways and holding on under Dean's knees.
"Don't mean to be all woe is me," Dean said, leaning back against the tank and running his fingers through Seamus' hair. "Could be worse, of course. Could be dead. And you've got a few deep scars, don't you?"
"Oh yeah." Seamus' skin looked as though much of the War had been fought directly on him. His face had had dodged some of the worst ones, but it was only due to luck. He rubbed his cheek against the slightly scratchy hair on Dean's leg. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked hopefully, even though he knew there really wasn't. Dean's blindness didn't bother him, but it did weigh heavily on him at times. It was absolutely nothing like the deep suffering that Dean had been keeping to himself, to be sure.
"No, but thanks. Well, give me a kiss, and then help me figure out what to take. I'd like a drink, but reckon I should wait 'til we get over to Harry and Ron's."
"I'm bringing a bottle of Absinthe; you won't be lacking," Seamus promised. He pecked a kiss on Dean's knee before getting up from the floor, his knees cracking. Placing his hands on Dean's shoulders, he straddled Dean's lap and leaned in to place a deep, half-open kiss on Dean's lips. Dean's lips pressed sweetly against Seamus', a bit of damp still on the tips of Dean's long eyelashes brushing against Seamus' eyelids. He wondered how he'd done so long without this precious, elemental aspect of his best friend. Dean had never been as physical a person as Seamus, but after years as friends, hugging Dean had become less like holding a tree trunk and more an actual affectionate, comforting gesture.
"Let's go and get you out in the sun," Seamus said, mouthing a dry kiss at the corner of Dean's mouth.
"You just want to show off in front of Ron and Harry," Dean said, his voice mock-accusatory.
"And what if I do? I'm really bloody happy. You're fucking gorgeous, and you're me " he stopped for dramatic pause.
"I'm not your boyfriend," Dean said, one lip curling up into a sneer, but there was no bite in his words.
"Nah. You're me Dean."
* * * * *
"Hi! Glad you could make it! Ah- hmmmm," Ron pronounced meaningfully as he welcomed Dean and Seamus to the house he and Harry shared in the hamlet of Homely Downs. "I wondered when or if you'd come around, but I see that things've gone well. Congratulations, both of you."
His forehead furrowed, Seamus looked at the knowing glint in Ron's eyes. "What the bloody hell code was that?!" he asked.
"Yeah, hey Ron. Thanks for having us over," Dean said as Seamus guided him through the doorframe. "What're you on about?" Dean asked, similarly confused.
Ron's smile blazed. "Well, not to be rude, but you both seem quite content. Satisfied. I don't need to do an auralic to tell that your magic has imprinted on each other."
Dean swept his stick in front of him, tapping the leg of a dark ochre leather couch. He stopped and glanced in Seamus' direction. Seamus lifted his head high, adjusting his duffle bag in his left arm and wrapping his other arm around the back of Dean's waist.
"Yeah, we're pretty bloody content. Or I am-" he started before Dean cut him off, draping his arm over Seamus' shoulders.
"Seamus is an absolutely brilliant kisser and all kinds of other things I'm not going to elaborate on." Dean's voice was a rich marbling of defiance and affection. "We're more than flatmates, if that's what you're getting at. So no flirting with him or I'll have to hex you. He's mine." Dean squeezed Seamus' bicep with his hand.
"Hey, Dean and Seamus!" Harry's voice preceded his appearance from around a corner. "Oh!"
Seamus watched bemusedly as Harry saw their posture and figured out that things had changed between Dean and him. He'd felt a flush creep stealthily from his chest halfway up his neck at Dean's possessive commentary; he'd never had anyone claim him so blatantly before, at least not in public.
"We're shagging, okay? Now who's going to be a gentleman and get me a drink?" Dean said, tugging on Seamus to move them along.
Ron snorted. "I'll be bartender and let Harry take you 'round. What would you like?"
"Firewhiskey," Dean said authoritatively.
"Two," Seamus seconded.
"Right! They'll be poolside once Harry gives you the tour. Not that it'll take that long," he said with a huffed laugh.
"Thanks," Dean said, moving his arm so that he stood alone.
"Well," Harry began, "this is the living room."
Harry gave them a brisk tour of their home, and Seamus thanked Harry inwardly at how well he did in guiding Dean about stairs and furniture, explaining the rooms' layouts and describing some of the knickknacks and the pictures that adorned the walls without it seeming laboured or forced. Seamus gaped at many of the framed photographs; of all things, Harry had taken a shine to photography after the War. The Daily Prophet had initially tried to recruit him to their staff, but once Harry had realised just how conservative the editorial staff was in regards to queer wizards, he'd treated their offers with outspoken derision. Instead, he'd taken his talent over to Un-Robed!, a tasteful but still sexually explicit magazine geared for the small wizarding gay male culture. Perhaps due partially to his fame, Un-Robed!'s subscriptions had more than tripled since he'd come on board. There were a couple of discreet outtake photographs of recognisable faces - and bodies - including Oliver Wood. What primarily captured Seamus' eye, however, were the casual portraits of Ron, mostly clothed, but there were a few nudes as well.
"Dean, you'd flip out over some of these prints," Seamus said, walking at his side as they made their way downstairs.
"Do you like them?" Harry asked, a hint of embarrassment tinged in his voice as he scratched his shoulder blade. "I disillusion a lot of them when Molly comes to visit. She knows what I do for a living, of course, but still- Ron says he doesn't need his mum seeing his bits out on display." He grinned crookedly, and Seamus felt a twinge of guilt at having housed some uncharitable thoughts about Harry's and Ron's flagrant pride and happiness.
"S'pose it's all right that I can't see them either," Dean said, a smile tugging at his lips.
"Ah, good," Ron said, two tumblers full of firewhiskey in his hands as they went through the sliding glass doors to the pool outside. "Seamus, Dean, here y'go."
They accepted the proffered beverages before Dean took off with Ron around the rectangular pool and small Jacuzzi at the end. His walking stick made a tinny, repetitive tapping sound as he swung it in front of him from left to right. Harry poured himself some wine and came back to join Seamus.
"How's the pub?" he asked, clinking their glasses together before Seamus took a long swallow of the potent firewhiskey.
"Great! Malcom's a good boss, the customers are usually fun to serve, and I'm a natural," he said with a wink.
"You were in school!" Harry exclaimed with a small laugh.
"Yeah. Well, I like my days. There's a lot of routine, but it suits me. Living with Dean's been fantastic and now, well, it's really fucking fantastic."
"No pun intended, I'm sure," Harry said, snorting into his glass.
"I think it's time to get in!" Ron declared as he and Dean approached. "Why don't you two go to the guest room to change."
"We brought food, too. Shay?" Dean tilted his head, his milky eyes roving toward where Seamus and Harry stood.
"Got it. It's nothing special- some crisps, and a platter of meats and cheese. Finger food," Seamus said, edging closer to Dean. "You want I should bring them outside or put them in the kitchen?"
"Out here's fine."
They put their drinks down, and then Seamus led Dean back into the house and a bright viridian and yellow striped room. After closing the door, he engorged the duffel bag and began rifling through it. He handed Dean the suit he'd bought, who took it with a slight twist to his lips.
"What?" Seamus asked, pulling his t-shirt over his head.
"Dunno. Guess I, well, maybe I wish I'd listened to you at Harrod's. Wouldn't mind showing off a bit after all, if you really think I'm all that to look at."
"Oh, I do," Seamus said, his voice husky. He yanked at Dean's shirt until Dean pulled it off. Seamus wrapped his arms over Dean's waist, their torsos pressed together. He licked at one of Dean's dark nipples and Dean moaned, making a frustrated whimper as Seamus tugged it gently to hardness in his teeth.
"Not fair, Shay," he said, his long fingers massaging Seamus' arse. "I can't go out there with a bloody hard-on like I'm twelve or something."
"All right, I'll leave ye be. For now," Seamus crooned, cradling Dean's jaw in his hands and guiding Dean's lips to his for a deep, open-mouthed kiss. Their tongues danced a wet, sensuous tango that left Seamus with his own cock growing to attention.
"Not helping," Dean said, the words rumbling from his chest as they broke apart.
"I have something for you," Seamus said, certain the smug happiness could be heard in his voice.
"I should be worried," Dean joked, unzipping his shorts while holding onto a bedpost. He adjusted his heavy cock, pressing down on it in an attempt to subdue it to a more flaccid state.
"No. Just hold out your hand."
Dean did as bidden and Seamus placed the folded pair of Speedos onto his palm.
"You didn't," Dean chuckled, bringing the suit up to his nose to sniff at the stretchy fabric.
"Yeah, I really did," Seamus said proudly. "Now put it on and be quick about it. We've some serious drinking to do."
"You have a one track mind," Dean said with a wide smile.
"Yep. Well, no, two tracks. You and drinking."
Dean sniggered, stepping into the small suit before adjusting the elastic under the curve of his rounded arsecheeks. "Do I really-"
"Yes! Bloody hell! C'mon."
Once back outside, Dean made his way to the chair he'd laid a claim to, spreading out his towel before unfolding his long frame into it with a contented sigh. Ron let out a long, low wolf-whistle.
"I'll just be getting my camera," Harry said, the chair creaking as he made to stand up.
"You bloody well will not!" Dean yelled, but he Seamus could tell that he felt flattered by the attention.
"That's right. The only one who gets to perve on that fine arse is me," Seamus said, puffing out his chest and pulling his chair closer to Dean's.
"Must admit I wasn't looking at his arse," Ron leered. "More firewhiskey?"
"YES," Seamus and Dean answered in tandem.
The sultry afternoon eased through the gloaming into an equally lazy, warm night. The four friends chatted, noshed, paddled around on a couple of floats that Harry conjured, and drank. Copiously. Seamus had started prattling on, pointing out the beginnings of the first twinkling constellations in the darkening sky when Ron plopped a fascinating layered drink on the table next to him. Seamus leaned over to sniff it, looking at the two chartreuse bands with a near-black layer in the middle.
"What on Circe's tits is this?" he slurred slightly. "I'm the bartender, and I don't know what it is. You've-" he held it up to his face. "Good on you, mate! You found me absinthe. But "
"Of all people!" Ron laughed loudly. "It's an Irish volcano. Bitter Banshee, Guinness, and absinthe."
"I'll not be able to get home after I have something like that!" Dean said, though he accepted his own glass. "Fuck, I'll not be able to get out of my chair. Can we sleep over?"
"Hoped you would," Harry said, easing up onto his elbow and giving them a sloppy, heartfelt grin. "Slumber party. S'like being back at Howarts."
"Sentimental prat," Ron said, twisting Harry's nipple and he yelped.
"Fuck off," Harry said half-heartedly, aiming a swat at Ron's abdomen.
"'S'not bad. Wicked vicious," Seamus said with approval. "How'd you come up with it?"
"I didn't. Fred did. Well, both of the twins. Speaking of Fred, d'you mind going to see him?" Ron's tone had become less playful, and the suggestion met with a low growl from Dean. "Not that he's my responsibility, but he's been in a right bad state. You were there for him during the War, tentmates and all that. You went to Wheezes' re-opening, right?"
Seamus knocked back half of the strong drink, even though he knew he'd regret it. Once he quit coughing, he said, "Yeah. Dean and I went."
"Thought I saw you there. Anyway, he's not been himself. I know he took it really, really hard when George was killed, but you seemed to do a world of good for him. Don't you keep up? You probably know what's going on more than I do."
"I doubt it," Seamus said a bit bitterly.
Through the cottony fuzziness of his imbibing, it occurred to him that Harry and Ron didn't know he and Fred had been lovers and had had a deep emotional pull to each other. Or so Seamus had believed. Dean continued to make a barely audible displeased rumbling noise as Harry pressed the point.
"Did you get in a row or something? Seems strange," Harry said, cocking his head and straightening his glasses that had gone askew when he'd rubbed at his nose.
"Yeah, kind of. Nothing big," Seamus lied outright, wanting to steer away from the topic as quickly as possible. "I'll go see him next week, promise. Don't know that I can help much, but I'll visit him at Wheezes."
Seamus could hear Dean's fuming in the heavy breaths through his nose.
"Good on you. Thanks," Ron said, toasting him. "He's always saying what a great bloke you are, whenever we meet up at the Badger."
"He does?" Seamus spluttered.
"I'm getting in the Jacuzzi," Dean said darkly.
"Want help?" Seamus scrambled out of his chair, barely averting a near-catastrophe of glasses, towels and bruised ankles.
"No," Dean insisted, scowling.
"Dean, what's the matter?" Harry asked, his voice full of concern. "Sorry to bring up the War-"
"It's not bloody that. I just want to sit and enjoy the bubbles, alright?!" Dean carefully extracted himself from his chair, but Harry was in full worried host mode and wouldn't let it rest.
"But-"
"Harry, will you go get me some chocolate?" Ron asked plaintively, not paying a whit of attention to the quickly passing drama between Dean and Seamus.
"What? Oh, sure. You'd better come with. I don't know which ones you want. Oh, and I have an idea " he paused and whispered something into Ron's ear but Seamus had quit paying attention.
He joined Dean in the swirling bubbles, relaxing against one of the jets and daringly putting his feet out to rub against Dean's shins. Dean didn't shift away, and Seamus felt he was making headway. He also didn't think he'd done anything wrong, but he didn't want Dean to be mad at him, regardless.
"Why're you mad?" Seamus asked once they were alone.
"Because Fred's a prick. You don't owe him anything."
Seamus pondered that for a moment. "True enough, but it couldn't hurt. Just to see what's going on. He was a decent bloke "
Dean let out a deep breath. "Okay, fine. You're not going to shag him while you visit, are you?"
"Fuck, no!" That thought honestly hadn't even crossed his mind, despite the amount he'd had to drink.
"Good." Dean stretched out his hand and Seamus clasped it willingly. "C'mere, and kiss me like you mean it."
Seamus didn't need to be asked twice. He scooted over and folded up his legs so that he sat in Dean's lap, facing him. He took his time placing a swath of soft kisses along Dean's forehead and cheeks before settling on his lips. Dean opened his mouth with a low moan of pleasure and they simply sat, letting their tongues slide and tangle for a while, the bubbles swirling around them. Eventually Seamus drew back, though he shifted just a bit to more fully feel Dean's thickening erection against the base of his arse.
"Pretty brilliant day, eh?" he said quietly.
Dean's hand came up from the water and with his thumb, he traced Seamus' lips.
"Reckon so."
"Oy! Lovebirds! We're off to bed!" Ron's voice shouted from the glass doors.
Both Seamus and Dean's heads turned at the sound, and Seamus grinned. Ron lounged in the doorframe in a pair of boxers, Harry plastered behind him, his head resting against Ron's shoulder. "Just make yourselves at home. We'll see you in the morning."
"Thanks, guys," Dean called back. "We're not far behind you."
"G'night!" Harry said, and then the door slid shut.
"You really ready to go in?" Seamus asked, wriggling his arse further into Dean's lap.
"Well, I'm ready to get in bed," he replied slyly.
"Let's go, then."
After brushing their teeth, Seamus cast a Nox on the lamp in the corner. Dean had already collapsed into the decadently soft bed, smoothing his hands over the silky cotton of the sheets. Seamus crawled up on the bed, burrowing half on and half off of Dean. Hands wandered over steely and soft skin, incautious kissed smeared over lips and necks, muffled groans and panting heralded their untidy releases. Seamus had fallen half-asleep, his hand still loosely grasped around Dean's torpid cock when Dean Accio'ed his wand to clean them up.
"'Night," he said through a yawn. "Oh, will you get us some water? We're going to wake up dying of thirst, what with all we drank today."
"Nnnnhrrrrrrrr " Seamus groused inarticulately.
"Go on." Dean pushed him, forcing Seamus awake.
"Fine." Rolling his eyes for his own benefit, Seamus shuffled into the kitchen and found a couple of bottles of water in their fridge. Once back in bed, he stretched out, a tired smile playing on his lips when Dean put an arm over his ribcage. Moments later he was asleep.
..:~TBC~:..
Pairing(s): Past Fred/Seamus, Seamus/Dean, eventual Fred/Seamus/Dean, Ron/Harry
Rating: This chapter hard R
Summary: War can make strange bedfellows; peacetime allows kindred spirits to join together. Seamus discovers both, and in being true to the baffling desires of his heart, believes that love needn't come exclusively in pairs.
A/N: my thanks to auntee_mame for the written beta; exceeding gratitude to wolfiekins and callumjames for letting me read aloud and giving me insightful feedback while I write this; also for their enthusiasm over what's certainly a rare trio. The title comes from Thomas Hardy's poem "Drummer Hodge."
Chapter Notes: My gratitude to Wolfie for the use of his creation, Un-Robed!, yet again.
Previous Posts:
Part 1
Part 2
The flat was dark as usual when Seamus sauntered quietly through the living room. He glanced at the cracked open door to Dean's room; chances were he was asleep, not being quite the night owl that Seamus was. He listened for a moment, hearing nothing from the room.
"Dean?" he whispered in a hush. A low snuffling sounded in reply.
Having established that he wasn't awake, Seamus took a pull from his flask before heading out to their small patio. The stars had been shocking in their clarity, and Seamus wanted a bit more time to stare in awe at them. Astronomy was one of the only subjects Seamus had done well in at Hogwarts, having studied the night sky on his own since he was a young boy. He marvelled at the glistering expanse for some time, his thoughts turning to Dean as they so often did. Things were spectacular between the two of them; he could barely keep his hands off Dean and the feeling appeared to be mutual, if the constant bloom of hickeys hidden under Seamus' clothes was any indication. But becoming lovers had changed Seamus' perceptions in unexpected ways to do with Dean's blindness. He'd readily accepted that fact before, but now he'd become uncharacteristically thoughtful about things Dean could never see- or never see again. Seamus was now hyper aware of moving things around, and careful of the candles he lit. Dean told Seamus to quit acting like his fucking mother, and that had mostly settled things. Still, Seamus wished that they could stargaze together- he wanted them to do everything together, as full of sentimental tripe as that was.
At last he forced himself back inside, ready to curl up next to Dean. After brushing his teeth, he cast a faint Lumos at the end of his wand so he could see, shed his clothes, and eased next to his lover under the thin sheet. Dean shifted slightly as Seamus spooned at his side.
"'re home," Dean mumbled sleepily.
"Yeah." Seamus kissed the side of his neck, a faint salty flavour lingering on Dean's skin.
"Got a note from Harrynron," Dean said, his voice sluggish. "Like a Howler, so I could hear it. They want to have us over. Something about swimming."
"They've a nice pool, so I've heard," Seamus said, snuggling closer. "When've we been invited?"
"Saturday," Dean replied through a yawn, pulling Seamus' arm over his waist despite the warm evening. "But I've not got a suit."
"We can go buy one," Seamus said, the vision of Dean in a skimpy pair of Speedos flashing in his mind.
"Hmmmph."
Seamus fell quickly to sleep, imagining lying next to Dean on a comfortable deck chair, smirking as his former classmates ogled his beloved.
* * * * *
"Are you sure?"
"Yes! Bloody hell, I've ridden with you loads of times!" Dean said, exasperated.
"Fine, okay. Hold on."
Seamus gunned his motorbike to life, grinning inwardly. He'd bought his motorcycle a couple of months after the War as a kind of 'Praise Merlin, I'm still alive' gift for himself. He knew that he and Dean made a striking pair on it: Dean with this long, shorts-clad legs and his wiry arms wrapped around him; Seamus himself with his leather trousers and the matching wide oxblood leather wristbands that he wore all the time. He drove them through London to Harrod's, determined that Dean would get a bathing suit to enjoy the afternoon and evening over at their friends' house. Seamus basked in the looks they got, cruising along the streets until he got to a nearby car park. Dean got out his walking stick, another Muggle coping mechanism he used when out in unfamiliar areas. He hated being dependent on anybody. Seamus knew this, so he didn't offer his arm. Now that they were a couple, however, he felt no guilt whatsoever in draping his arm around the back of Dean's waist, sticking the tops of his fingers in Dean's right back pocket.
They made their way to the swimwear section where Seamus picked out a few suits per Dean's specifications and escorted Dean to a fitting room. Seamus had covertly snagged a pair of Speedos, and when Dean asked to be handed a pair, Seamus thrust the small bit of spandex into his hands. Dean ran his elegant fingers over the silky material, his expression turning to one of utter incredulity.
"You're fucking joking!" he exclaimed, holding up the pair of Speedos, the suit a cerulean shimmer of stretchy near-nothingness. "I'm not even going to try this on. I can't try this on! Hand me a normal pair of togs, you git. Just because you perv on my arse doesn't mean I'm about to put it out on display wearing something like that."
"But Dean," Seamus wheedled. "You're gorgeous. Your body's thin and muscley and fuck, I'll want to jump all over you in it. C'mon, be open minded."
"NO," Dean growled.
"Sirs? Do you need assistance?" The clerk's anxious but intrigued voice sounded outside of their changing room. Seamus had noticed him giving Dean's arse more than a once-over, feeding Seamus' perhaps unhealthy smugness of being obviously with Dean. "You do know that for health reasons you must keep your undergarments on when trying on swimwear."
"Yes, we know," Seamus called out.
"Shay. No."
"Dean. Just try it, please?"
Dean rolled his eyes. "Bloody hell, no. I'm going to buy a proper pair of surfer shorts. Here, hand me the ones with the 32" waist and corded tie."
"You're no fun," Seamus sulked, but he did as requested. "You're an Adonis, with a perfect body," he prattled on, watching Dean as he quickly took off his tracksuit shorts and pulled on the long bathing suit. "Not like me, and me pudge," Seamus said ruefully, poking at the soft belly currently laced into his trousers.
"Don't hear me complaining," Dean said with a warm smile that made Seamus' heart trip over itself. He adjusted the cording at the waist. "I think these are a bit big. What do you think?"
Seamus didn't even try to be objective. "They cover up too much of you."
"Shay," Dean warned. "Honestly."
"They're a bit big," Seamus said reluctantly. "Try the next size down. Or eat more."
Ten minutes later they were buying a pair of brightly patterned surfer shorts, though Seamus had noted what size Dean wore, filing the information away for a future purchase.
"Want to go for a bit of a ride?" Seamus asked as they made their way back to the car park. "We've not been out on Seth in a while."
"Sure! Sun's pretty nice, isn't it?" Dean observed, slowing his footsteps and tilting his head toward the sky like a flower to light.
"You'd know, Mister I Like To Sunbathe Nude," Seamus said, slipping his hand into Dean's back pocket again. They manoeuvred around some cars and got into the ancient lift to take them down to the bottom level.
Dean shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't burn. And I'm not totally nude, at least not lying on my back. That'd be painful."
When they got to Seth, the name Seamus had given to his motorcycle, Seamus handed Dean's helmet over to him.
"Thanks, for this," Dean said, leaning forward uncertainly and patting the air until he made contact with Seamus' shoulder.
"Thanks for going out in public with me. You've had your share of looks, mate." Seamus moved closer to Dean, noting Dean's furrowed brows. "Interested looks, that is," Seamus clarified.
Dean seemed to be concentrating on something. With a bit of fumbling, he put the helmet back on a handlebar. "Are we mostly alone?"
Seamus glanced about. "Yeah. Why?"
Dean lowered his head, bumping noses with Seamus before sliding his lips against Seamus' mouth. "'Cause I want to kiss you." His words were a warm exhalation of need. Seamus replied by snaking his arm around Dean's waist, pulling their bodies together as Dean's tongue delved into Seamus' mouth.
After long, slick moments passed by, their kissing becoming more greedy and intense, Dean moved back, panting slightly. "We'd better take that ride now before I rub you raw," he said, his hands anchored on Seamus' backside, continuing to grind his hips into Seamus'.
"I don't go to work 'til four," Seamus said, his pulse galloping at his temple and his thickening cock very interested in an afternoon shag. "Plenty 'o time."
"Good."
With a last chaste kiss, Dean shuffled back slightly, retrieved his helmet, and waited for Seamus to get on the motorbike. Seamus grinned like a loon, half-aroused, straddling his motorcycle with his less and less inhibited lover securely lodged behind him. He could definitely get used to feeling like this.
* * * * *
Saturday came, warm and sunny- an idyllic and frankly surprisingly gorgeous day, given some of the Muggle weather forecasts Seamus had heard on their Wireless. Dean made a dozen devilled eggs to take with them, with Seamus hovering around to answer a few questions and get the ingredients in usage order. Seamus had taken the easy way out and bought a few large bags of crisps and some dip. While Dean artistically sprinkled paprika on the eggs, feeling his way around the serving plate with his fingers, Seamus went off and packed their suits, towels, spare set of clothes, sunblock and sunning oil. There were sun repelling spells, of course, but Seamus liked the smell of sunscreen and he adored the scent of the oil Dean used when he sunbathed on their patio. Plus, it was yet another excuse to rub his hands all over Dean's skin, and vice versa. With a mischievous smile, Seamus tucked the azure wisp of bathing suit into the bottom of his duffel. He'd gone back to Harrod's and bought the more revealing suit, hoping he could convince Dean to wear it. Seamus wasn't entirely sure why he was so obsessed by the idea of Dean in the pair of Speedos, the shiny blue fabric clinging to his arse, his nicely-shaped cock nestled in the fabric, leaving nothing to the imagination Okay, so it was pretty bloody obvious why he wanted Dean in that suit. He wanted to show Dean off, though, too. It wasn't that Harry and Ron weren't unattractive, they were alright in their own ways, but they didn't do anything for Seamus, that was for sure
The tinkling sound of shattered porcelain and Dean's loudly yelled "FUCK!" snapped Seamus out of his reverie. He ran into the kitchen to see Dean nudging his toes at a splattered mess of devilled eggs and plate shards. His expression was livid, his eyes narrowed as he aimed his wand at a section of ruined plate and cast a Reparo.
"Here, I'll get it," Seamus offered, but Dean's angry look gave him pause.
"I fucking HATE THIS!" Dean bellowed, shuffling to the side and onto a sharp-edged sliver of serving platter before Seamus could warn him. "Ow! Dammit!"
"Stand still!" Seamus barked, kneeling down and placing his hands on Dean's shins to give Dean some bearing as to his body's location. "Pick up your foot."
Dean continued a ceaseless litany of invectives muttered under his breath. Seamus plucked out the bit of ceramic which had managed to cut deeply enough that blood began dripping down over Seamus' hands.
"You're bleeding," he told Dean. "Let's go to the bathroom. I'll wash it out and cast a suturing spell."
Dean only made an angry rumbling sound in reply, but he took Seamus' arm and hobbled down the hallway. Seamus did his best to ignore the seething ire radiating off Dean as he took care of the wound. It didn't take too long, however, for Dean's overreaction to get to him.
"What's wrong with ye?" he asked once the suture had closed the clean slice. "It was just eggs. The plate's fixed."
"I'm fucking blind," Dean said, his voice dripping scorn. "I'm a menace. I'm not fucking good for anything. Can't see you, I run into things if they're not exactly where I expect them to be, I barely go out of the flat by myself. I-" His hands became menacing fists, burrowed against his legs. "I can't paint anymore- oh gods, Shay. I miss it so fucking much."
Dean let out a primal, heart-rending sob, the anguish so piercing it made Seamus tear up himself. He held onto Dean as he cried and cried, trying to absorb the ragged coughs and wails as Dean's frustration, anger and loss poured out of him. For long moments Seamus ran his hands up and down Dean's back, rocking him slightly and murmuring soothing noises. At last Dean's sobbing became a string of syrupy wordless lamentations; eventually he was quiet save his sniffling.
Seamus was painfully aware that any words he chose to try and console this man so dear to him would only be flat, fragmented hints of what he truly meant. But he felt that he needed to say something.
"I love you so much, Dean," Seamus said quietly, leaning across Dean to get some loo paper and placing it in Dean's hand. Dean thanked him and blew his nose. "I feel like a right git- you'd just seemed to be doing so well, but I'd not asked ye how you really felt about all that you've had to deal with. You can punch holes in the wall, mate; I'll nudge yer wand to get it dead on if you want, but your Reparo spells are the best I've ever seen."
A weak smile tried to lodge on Dean's lips before sliding away. "Thanks. Really." He rubbed under his nose before accepting another handout of loo paper. "It's not that I was going to be a great artist or anything, y'know, but at least I could've kept drawing for fun, or painting. It's made me nearly mad ever since we've been flatmates. I have all these drawings of you, and our mates from Hogwarts, and I'd wanted to paint you here, just like I used to. And now, now " He took in a shuddering breath. Seamus, feeling as useful as a fake wand, put his hand on Dean's knee, rubbing the bony knob underneath the joint with his thumb.
"Not that I would've done gargantuan portraits of you naked and framed them to put above the fireplace, but I can't even see you to know how you look. I miss people's faces; I hate that I hear everything so clearly and I can nearly tell when you're winking or have that wicked smile on your face, but I only really see it when I'm asleep." He let out a deep sigh and Seamus couldn't stop himself; he draped himself onto the tops of Dean's legs, placing his head sideways and holding on under Dean's knees.
"Don't mean to be all woe is me," Dean said, leaning back against the tank and running his fingers through Seamus' hair. "Could be worse, of course. Could be dead. And you've got a few deep scars, don't you?"
"Oh yeah." Seamus' skin looked as though much of the War had been fought directly on him. His face had had dodged some of the worst ones, but it was only due to luck. He rubbed his cheek against the slightly scratchy hair on Dean's leg. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked hopefully, even though he knew there really wasn't. Dean's blindness didn't bother him, but it did weigh heavily on him at times. It was absolutely nothing like the deep suffering that Dean had been keeping to himself, to be sure.
"No, but thanks. Well, give me a kiss, and then help me figure out what to take. I'd like a drink, but reckon I should wait 'til we get over to Harry and Ron's."
"I'm bringing a bottle of Absinthe; you won't be lacking," Seamus promised. He pecked a kiss on Dean's knee before getting up from the floor, his knees cracking. Placing his hands on Dean's shoulders, he straddled Dean's lap and leaned in to place a deep, half-open kiss on Dean's lips. Dean's lips pressed sweetly against Seamus', a bit of damp still on the tips of Dean's long eyelashes brushing against Seamus' eyelids. He wondered how he'd done so long without this precious, elemental aspect of his best friend. Dean had never been as physical a person as Seamus, but after years as friends, hugging Dean had become less like holding a tree trunk and more an actual affectionate, comforting gesture.
"Let's go and get you out in the sun," Seamus said, mouthing a dry kiss at the corner of Dean's mouth.
"You just want to show off in front of Ron and Harry," Dean said, his voice mock-accusatory.
"And what if I do? I'm really bloody happy. You're fucking gorgeous, and you're me " he stopped for dramatic pause.
"I'm not your boyfriend," Dean said, one lip curling up into a sneer, but there was no bite in his words.
"Nah. You're me Dean."
* * * * *
"Hi! Glad you could make it! Ah- hmmmm," Ron pronounced meaningfully as he welcomed Dean and Seamus to the house he and Harry shared in the hamlet of Homely Downs. "I wondered when or if you'd come around, but I see that things've gone well. Congratulations, both of you."
His forehead furrowed, Seamus looked at the knowing glint in Ron's eyes. "What the bloody hell code was that?!" he asked.
"Yeah, hey Ron. Thanks for having us over," Dean said as Seamus guided him through the doorframe. "What're you on about?" Dean asked, similarly confused.
Ron's smile blazed. "Well, not to be rude, but you both seem quite content. Satisfied. I don't need to do an auralic to tell that your magic has imprinted on each other."
Dean swept his stick in front of him, tapping the leg of a dark ochre leather couch. He stopped and glanced in Seamus' direction. Seamus lifted his head high, adjusting his duffle bag in his left arm and wrapping his other arm around the back of Dean's waist.
"Yeah, we're pretty bloody content. Or I am-" he started before Dean cut him off, draping his arm over Seamus' shoulders.
"Seamus is an absolutely brilliant kisser and all kinds of other things I'm not going to elaborate on." Dean's voice was a rich marbling of defiance and affection. "We're more than flatmates, if that's what you're getting at. So no flirting with him or I'll have to hex you. He's mine." Dean squeezed Seamus' bicep with his hand.
"Hey, Dean and Seamus!" Harry's voice preceded his appearance from around a corner. "Oh!"
Seamus watched bemusedly as Harry saw their posture and figured out that things had changed between Dean and him. He'd felt a flush creep stealthily from his chest halfway up his neck at Dean's possessive commentary; he'd never had anyone claim him so blatantly before, at least not in public.
"We're shagging, okay? Now who's going to be a gentleman and get me a drink?" Dean said, tugging on Seamus to move them along.
Ron snorted. "I'll be bartender and let Harry take you 'round. What would you like?"
"Firewhiskey," Dean said authoritatively.
"Two," Seamus seconded.
"Right! They'll be poolside once Harry gives you the tour. Not that it'll take that long," he said with a huffed laugh.
"Thanks," Dean said, moving his arm so that he stood alone.
"Well," Harry began, "this is the living room."
Harry gave them a brisk tour of their home, and Seamus thanked Harry inwardly at how well he did in guiding Dean about stairs and furniture, explaining the rooms' layouts and describing some of the knickknacks and the pictures that adorned the walls without it seeming laboured or forced. Seamus gaped at many of the framed photographs; of all things, Harry had taken a shine to photography after the War. The Daily Prophet had initially tried to recruit him to their staff, but once Harry had realised just how conservative the editorial staff was in regards to queer wizards, he'd treated their offers with outspoken derision. Instead, he'd taken his talent over to Un-Robed!, a tasteful but still sexually explicit magazine geared for the small wizarding gay male culture. Perhaps due partially to his fame, Un-Robed!'s subscriptions had more than tripled since he'd come on board. There were a couple of discreet outtake photographs of recognisable faces - and bodies - including Oliver Wood. What primarily captured Seamus' eye, however, were the casual portraits of Ron, mostly clothed, but there were a few nudes as well.
"Dean, you'd flip out over some of these prints," Seamus said, walking at his side as they made their way downstairs.
"Do you like them?" Harry asked, a hint of embarrassment tinged in his voice as he scratched his shoulder blade. "I disillusion a lot of them when Molly comes to visit. She knows what I do for a living, of course, but still- Ron says he doesn't need his mum seeing his bits out on display." He grinned crookedly, and Seamus felt a twinge of guilt at having housed some uncharitable thoughts about Harry's and Ron's flagrant pride and happiness.
"S'pose it's all right that I can't see them either," Dean said, a smile tugging at his lips.
"Ah, good," Ron said, two tumblers full of firewhiskey in his hands as they went through the sliding glass doors to the pool outside. "Seamus, Dean, here y'go."
They accepted the proffered beverages before Dean took off with Ron around the rectangular pool and small Jacuzzi at the end. His walking stick made a tinny, repetitive tapping sound as he swung it in front of him from left to right. Harry poured himself some wine and came back to join Seamus.
"How's the pub?" he asked, clinking their glasses together before Seamus took a long swallow of the potent firewhiskey.
"Great! Malcom's a good boss, the customers are usually fun to serve, and I'm a natural," he said with a wink.
"You were in school!" Harry exclaimed with a small laugh.
"Yeah. Well, I like my days. There's a lot of routine, but it suits me. Living with Dean's been fantastic and now, well, it's really fucking fantastic."
"No pun intended, I'm sure," Harry said, snorting into his glass.
"I think it's time to get in!" Ron declared as he and Dean approached. "Why don't you two go to the guest room to change."
"We brought food, too. Shay?" Dean tilted his head, his milky eyes roving toward where Seamus and Harry stood.
"Got it. It's nothing special- some crisps, and a platter of meats and cheese. Finger food," Seamus said, edging closer to Dean. "You want I should bring them outside or put them in the kitchen?"
"Out here's fine."
They put their drinks down, and then Seamus led Dean back into the house and a bright viridian and yellow striped room. After closing the door, he engorged the duffel bag and began rifling through it. He handed Dean the suit he'd bought, who took it with a slight twist to his lips.
"What?" Seamus asked, pulling his t-shirt over his head.
"Dunno. Guess I, well, maybe I wish I'd listened to you at Harrod's. Wouldn't mind showing off a bit after all, if you really think I'm all that to look at."
"Oh, I do," Seamus said, his voice husky. He yanked at Dean's shirt until Dean pulled it off. Seamus wrapped his arms over Dean's waist, their torsos pressed together. He licked at one of Dean's dark nipples and Dean moaned, making a frustrated whimper as Seamus tugged it gently to hardness in his teeth.
"Not fair, Shay," he said, his long fingers massaging Seamus' arse. "I can't go out there with a bloody hard-on like I'm twelve or something."
"All right, I'll leave ye be. For now," Seamus crooned, cradling Dean's jaw in his hands and guiding Dean's lips to his for a deep, open-mouthed kiss. Their tongues danced a wet, sensuous tango that left Seamus with his own cock growing to attention.
"Not helping," Dean said, the words rumbling from his chest as they broke apart.
"I have something for you," Seamus said, certain the smug happiness could be heard in his voice.
"I should be worried," Dean joked, unzipping his shorts while holding onto a bedpost. He adjusted his heavy cock, pressing down on it in an attempt to subdue it to a more flaccid state.
"No. Just hold out your hand."
Dean did as bidden and Seamus placed the folded pair of Speedos onto his palm.
"You didn't," Dean chuckled, bringing the suit up to his nose to sniff at the stretchy fabric.
"Yeah, I really did," Seamus said proudly. "Now put it on and be quick about it. We've some serious drinking to do."
"You have a one track mind," Dean said with a wide smile.
"Yep. Well, no, two tracks. You and drinking."
Dean sniggered, stepping into the small suit before adjusting the elastic under the curve of his rounded arsecheeks. "Do I really-"
"Yes! Bloody hell! C'mon."
Once back outside, Dean made his way to the chair he'd laid a claim to, spreading out his towel before unfolding his long frame into it with a contented sigh. Ron let out a long, low wolf-whistle.
"I'll just be getting my camera," Harry said, the chair creaking as he made to stand up.
"You bloody well will not!" Dean yelled, but he Seamus could tell that he felt flattered by the attention.
"That's right. The only one who gets to perve on that fine arse is me," Seamus said, puffing out his chest and pulling his chair closer to Dean's.
"Must admit I wasn't looking at his arse," Ron leered. "More firewhiskey?"
"YES," Seamus and Dean answered in tandem.
The sultry afternoon eased through the gloaming into an equally lazy, warm night. The four friends chatted, noshed, paddled around on a couple of floats that Harry conjured, and drank. Copiously. Seamus had started prattling on, pointing out the beginnings of the first twinkling constellations in the darkening sky when Ron plopped a fascinating layered drink on the table next to him. Seamus leaned over to sniff it, looking at the two chartreuse bands with a near-black layer in the middle.
"What on Circe's tits is this?" he slurred slightly. "I'm the bartender, and I don't know what it is. You've-" he held it up to his face. "Good on you, mate! You found me absinthe. But "
"Of all people!" Ron laughed loudly. "It's an Irish volcano. Bitter Banshee, Guinness, and absinthe."
"I'll not be able to get home after I have something like that!" Dean said, though he accepted his own glass. "Fuck, I'll not be able to get out of my chair. Can we sleep over?"
"Hoped you would," Harry said, easing up onto his elbow and giving them a sloppy, heartfelt grin. "Slumber party. S'like being back at Howarts."
"Sentimental prat," Ron said, twisting Harry's nipple and he yelped.
"Fuck off," Harry said half-heartedly, aiming a swat at Ron's abdomen.
"'S'not bad. Wicked vicious," Seamus said with approval. "How'd you come up with it?"
"I didn't. Fred did. Well, both of the twins. Speaking of Fred, d'you mind going to see him?" Ron's tone had become less playful, and the suggestion met with a low growl from Dean. "Not that he's my responsibility, but he's been in a right bad state. You were there for him during the War, tentmates and all that. You went to Wheezes' re-opening, right?"
Seamus knocked back half of the strong drink, even though he knew he'd regret it. Once he quit coughing, he said, "Yeah. Dean and I went."
"Thought I saw you there. Anyway, he's not been himself. I know he took it really, really hard when George was killed, but you seemed to do a world of good for him. Don't you keep up? You probably know what's going on more than I do."
"I doubt it," Seamus said a bit bitterly.
Through the cottony fuzziness of his imbibing, it occurred to him that Harry and Ron didn't know he and Fred had been lovers and had had a deep emotional pull to each other. Or so Seamus had believed. Dean continued to make a barely audible displeased rumbling noise as Harry pressed the point.
"Did you get in a row or something? Seems strange," Harry said, cocking his head and straightening his glasses that had gone askew when he'd rubbed at his nose.
"Yeah, kind of. Nothing big," Seamus lied outright, wanting to steer away from the topic as quickly as possible. "I'll go see him next week, promise. Don't know that I can help much, but I'll visit him at Wheezes."
Seamus could hear Dean's fuming in the heavy breaths through his nose.
"Good on you. Thanks," Ron said, toasting him. "He's always saying what a great bloke you are, whenever we meet up at the Badger."
"He does?" Seamus spluttered.
"I'm getting in the Jacuzzi," Dean said darkly.
"Want help?" Seamus scrambled out of his chair, barely averting a near-catastrophe of glasses, towels and bruised ankles.
"No," Dean insisted, scowling.
"Dean, what's the matter?" Harry asked, his voice full of concern. "Sorry to bring up the War-"
"It's not bloody that. I just want to sit and enjoy the bubbles, alright?!" Dean carefully extracted himself from his chair, but Harry was in full worried host mode and wouldn't let it rest.
"But-"
"Harry, will you go get me some chocolate?" Ron asked plaintively, not paying a whit of attention to the quickly passing drama between Dean and Seamus.
"What? Oh, sure. You'd better come with. I don't know which ones you want. Oh, and I have an idea " he paused and whispered something into Ron's ear but Seamus had quit paying attention.
He joined Dean in the swirling bubbles, relaxing against one of the jets and daringly putting his feet out to rub against Dean's shins. Dean didn't shift away, and Seamus felt he was making headway. He also didn't think he'd done anything wrong, but he didn't want Dean to be mad at him, regardless.
"Why're you mad?" Seamus asked once they were alone.
"Because Fred's a prick. You don't owe him anything."
Seamus pondered that for a moment. "True enough, but it couldn't hurt. Just to see what's going on. He was a decent bloke "
Dean let out a deep breath. "Okay, fine. You're not going to shag him while you visit, are you?"
"Fuck, no!" That thought honestly hadn't even crossed his mind, despite the amount he'd had to drink.
"Good." Dean stretched out his hand and Seamus clasped it willingly. "C'mere, and kiss me like you mean it."
Seamus didn't need to be asked twice. He scooted over and folded up his legs so that he sat in Dean's lap, facing him. He took his time placing a swath of soft kisses along Dean's forehead and cheeks before settling on his lips. Dean opened his mouth with a low moan of pleasure and they simply sat, letting their tongues slide and tangle for a while, the bubbles swirling around them. Eventually Seamus drew back, though he shifted just a bit to more fully feel Dean's thickening erection against the base of his arse.
"Pretty brilliant day, eh?" he said quietly.
Dean's hand came up from the water and with his thumb, he traced Seamus' lips.
"Reckon so."
"Oy! Lovebirds! We're off to bed!" Ron's voice shouted from the glass doors.
Both Seamus and Dean's heads turned at the sound, and Seamus grinned. Ron lounged in the doorframe in a pair of boxers, Harry plastered behind him, his head resting against Ron's shoulder. "Just make yourselves at home. We'll see you in the morning."
"Thanks, guys," Dean called back. "We're not far behind you."
"G'night!" Harry said, and then the door slid shut.
"You really ready to go in?" Seamus asked, wriggling his arse further into Dean's lap.
"Well, I'm ready to get in bed," he replied slyly.
"Let's go, then."
After brushing their teeth, Seamus cast a Nox on the lamp in the corner. Dean had already collapsed into the decadently soft bed, smoothing his hands over the silky cotton of the sheets. Seamus crawled up on the bed, burrowing half on and half off of Dean. Hands wandered over steely and soft skin, incautious kissed smeared over lips and necks, muffled groans and panting heralded their untidy releases. Seamus had fallen half-asleep, his hand still loosely grasped around Dean's torpid cock when Dean Accio'ed his wand to clean them up.
"'Night," he said through a yawn. "Oh, will you get us some water? We're going to wake up dying of thirst, what with all we drank today."
"Nnnnhrrrrrrrr " Seamus groused inarticulately.
"Go on." Dean pushed him, forcing Seamus awake.
"Fine." Rolling his eyes for his own benefit, Seamus shuffled into the kitchen and found a couple of bottles of water in their fridge. Once back in bed, he stretched out, a tired smile playing on his lips when Dean put an arm over his ribcage. Moments later he was asleep.
..:~TBC~:..