Leigh!fic | Beyond the Bottom of the Bottle (1/1) | Seamus Finnigan/Padma Patil
Title: Beyond the Bottom of the Bottle (1/1)
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Characters: Seamus Finnigan/Padma Patil
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 481
Summary: He tries to remember. He tries to forget. But Seamus can never escape.
Author’s Notes: Written for this week's posting at hp_humpdrabbles, using the prompt: "Never allow loneliness to drive you into the arms of someone you don't belong with."
It was wrong. Seamus knew it was wrong. He knew that in the morning, he'd wake up, look in the mirror, and hate the reflection he saw there. He knew that there was a special level of Hell for what he was doing; he considered the crippling hangovers as fitting punishment for his actions.
But the alcohol didn't help. He'd found his way to the bottom of so many bottles of whiskey, he'd begun to lose track. They were piled high by the recycling bin, those empty testaments to the fortitude of his liver. His flat was in shambles after he'd ripped away everything that reminded him of her: throw pillows burnt to a crisp, the colorful cotton sheets she'd preferred torn to shreds.
There were empty spots on the wall where he'd yanked down the paintings she'd hung, and the kitchen was a mess of broken, colorful crockery. Her incense and candles were tossed out with the rubbish.
It was a sloppy attempt to erase every reminder of Parvati Patil from his life.
He would never been free of her, though. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face; he heard her laugh, he saw her lithe body stretched out in their bed -- he saw the body that was not his own cover hers. He heard her gasp of pleasure when Zacharias Smith filled her.
He tried to find solace in his work. He searched for salvation in the bottle. And in a fit of desperation and loneliness, he tried to lose himself in the arms of another woman.
Perhaps Seamus could blame it on the whiskey -- it clouded his judgement. But forgetting one woman was difficult enough without his other lover sharing her face.
Padma was the polar opposite of Parvati; analytical where her twin was disorganized and flighty, grounded in science while Parvati's head was in the clouds. But she was there, and she was just as drunk as he, and it was all too easy to pretend for one night that his world hadn't been turned on its head. Because despite it all, Seamus was still in love with Parvati.
Damn her. Damn him to the depths of Hell for being so masochistic.
She looked like her twin, though. It was all that mattered to his whiskey-clouded mind. Her breasts looked and felt the same when he suckled at them, her body was just as hot as her sister's when he pushed her skirt up around her hips and slid his fingers into her knickers. She came the same way Parvati did; nails digging into his back as her hips jerked in response, moaning in pleasure.
He knew it was wrong. The sun would rise and shine the light on his perverted attempt to mend his broken heart, and Seamus would hate himself once more.
He just couldn't bring himself to care anymore.
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Characters: Seamus Finnigan/Padma Patil
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 481
Summary: He tries to remember. He tries to forget. But Seamus can never escape.
Author’s Notes: Written for this week's posting at hp_humpdrabbles, using the prompt: "Never allow loneliness to drive you into the arms of someone you don't belong with."
It was wrong. Seamus knew it was wrong. He knew that in the morning, he'd wake up, look in the mirror, and hate the reflection he saw there. He knew that there was a special level of Hell for what he was doing; he considered the crippling hangovers as fitting punishment for his actions.
But the alcohol didn't help. He'd found his way to the bottom of so many bottles of whiskey, he'd begun to lose track. They were piled high by the recycling bin, those empty testaments to the fortitude of his liver. His flat was in shambles after he'd ripped away everything that reminded him of her: throw pillows burnt to a crisp, the colorful cotton sheets she'd preferred torn to shreds.
There were empty spots on the wall where he'd yanked down the paintings she'd hung, and the kitchen was a mess of broken, colorful crockery. Her incense and candles were tossed out with the rubbish.
It was a sloppy attempt to erase every reminder of Parvati Patil from his life.
He would never been free of her, though. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face; he heard her laugh, he saw her lithe body stretched out in their bed -- he saw the body that was not his own cover hers. He heard her gasp of pleasure when Zacharias Smith filled her.
He tried to find solace in his work. He searched for salvation in the bottle. And in a fit of desperation and loneliness, he tried to lose himself in the arms of another woman.
Perhaps Seamus could blame it on the whiskey -- it clouded his judgement. But forgetting one woman was difficult enough without his other lover sharing her face.
Padma was the polar opposite of Parvati; analytical where her twin was disorganized and flighty, grounded in science while Parvati's head was in the clouds. But she was there, and she was just as drunk as he, and it was all too easy to pretend for one night that his world hadn't been turned on its head. Because despite it all, Seamus was still in love with Parvati.
Damn her. Damn him to the depths of Hell for being so masochistic.
She looked like her twin, though. It was all that mattered to his whiskey-clouded mind. Her breasts looked and felt the same when he suckled at them, her body was just as hot as her sister's when he pushed her skirt up around her hips and slid his fingers into her knickers. She came the same way Parvati did; nails digging into his back as her hips jerked in response, moaning in pleasure.
He knew it was wrong. The sun would rise and shine the light on his perverted attempt to mend his broken heart, and Seamus would hate himself once more.
He just couldn't bring himself to care anymore.