Fic for auntbijou: Other Side of the Rainbow (Dean/Seamus) (R)
Title: Other Side of the Rainbow
Author: wook77
Pairing: Dean/Seamus, mentions of Seamus/Hermione
Rating: R (for language and wanking)
Wordcount: 5208
Warnings: Cursing, wanking, slash
Disclaimer: All recognisable parts of the world of HP belong to JKR and associated business partners. I make no profit from this work.
Summary: A wedding, a dance, a pub and a kiss. Sometimes it only takes one thing to awaken desires and sometimes it takes four things.
A/N: Written for auntbijou for the For the Love of the Irish Fic Fest. She originally requested that the author be kind to Seamus and I've done my best. Beta'd by yodels, unintendedmuse and ficlette. Any remaining mistakes are my own. Finally, many thanks to kaalee for giving me the opportunity to participate when I forgot to sign up originally.
Also - Day 2 of the Advent Fic Calendar!
Seamus sometimes wondered if part of his problem, the root of it, was that he was Irish. He wondered if that want for what was just out of reach, for the other side of the rainbow and the smarmy leprechaun and his sodding pot of gold, was bred into him like the temper, the red hair and the freckles.
If it was, then he had it in spades and that had him cursing, in Irish of course, because cursing in English was too much for him at this moment. If he were to be a cliché or a stereotype, then he'd do it to the best of his abilities. He possessed the stubborn pride that had him fighting with Harry longer than he'd meant to back in Fifth Year.
Even as the music surrounded him and his mam demanded that he dance with his sister, Seamus forced a smile, though all he wanted was to continue cursing everything about himself. It was easier to blame the heritage, his mam, the land, anyone but himself for his stubbornness, his pride and his rashness. Grabbing his sister about the waist, he spun her onto the dance floor. The song was fast and for that he sent a prayer of thanks winging up towards the heavens because there wasn't breath for talking, not when the steps were intricate and demanding.
When the reel ended Seamus hurried away before his mam could catch him once more to ask him to do something or other as it was his sister's big day and he should be the supportive older brother. He didn't want to spend more time than necessary with his sister's new husband, as he was boring, staid and stuck on himself. If there was one sort of personality he hated, it was prat and this lad had that in spades.
Growing up as they had, he could understand Breeda's wish and want for normalcy, but never for boringness. It had to have been hard to watch their mam send the broom flying with a flick of her wand and not have the gift to do the same. But to choose someone that would never understand their family? It seemed an affront and Seamus was willing to be the one that bore that grudge.
The strains of 'Jug of Punch' came out of the reception hall as the door opened and shut somewhere behind him, but Seamus ignored it as he lit a fag and leaned against the brick. It wasn't that he begrudged his sister her happiness or even her boring tosser, it was that he'd been first to fall in love and that should count for something.
That, too, was something that Seamus blamed on being Irish and sentimental and that sodding rainbow. He'd fallen in Fourth Year, but what kid knows what he wants, really? Not back then. He hadn't quite realised what it was that had him falling for Hermione, but he'd always been certain that he was the lad for her if she'd just stop looking to Ron. She'd never stopped and Seamus had finally put that sliver of hope and the first bloom of love to the side, though it was still there, churning inside him when he got together with the remaining Gryffs for an annual lunch.
Seamus hated those meals with a passion. He hated seeing Neville with Ginny, smiling and cooing over one another, hated to see Dean with whatever bloke he was dating at the time. Hated to see them all so sodding happy when he had never been more miserable in his life. There were times that he felt like he was doing penance as he toiled as an actor and server at Bunratty Castle in County Clare. He poured on the accent, thickening it for the tourists as he greeted and worked the crowds.
"Deep thoughts?" Dean's deep voice barely gave warning as his lanky frame crossed Seamus's sight.
Dean was the only one that Seamus didn't hate, though he did hate that Dean dated, was open in his preferences and his self. Seamus always felt like he was hiding too much of himself. It didn't make much sense to Seamus so he ignored the thought.
"Just avoiding the crowd, mate. Not quite in the mood for prancing about," Seamus said as he offered his fag to Dean.
"No thanks. Not enjoying yourself, then? It's not every day that your sister gets married." Dean leaned against the wall next to Seamus, Seamus's shoulder pressing against Dean's bicep. That was another thing he'd always begrudged Dean and blamed on his heritage. Seamus hated that he was the size of a pixie and had to settle for wiry and quick when Dean was all lithe grace like a dancer.
"Thank God for small blessings," With the hand not holding the fag, Seamus kissed his index finger and then sent his fist towards the sky. Dean laughed as he'd been meant to and then sobered.
"What's wrong, then?" As he asked, Dean bumped against Seamus and Seamus retaliated by bumping him back.
"It's not fair, is it? That she should get the one she wants and I'm stuck here doing without." Seamus hated the petulant tone to his voice, hated that he sounded like a five year old that was bitter he'd not been given the dolly his sister'd received.
"Some of us deal without all the time, it's how we deal that's important." Dean sounded too serious for the discussion, like he knew far too much about doing without and Seamus wondered who it was that Dean wanted.
"'M sorry that Derrick broke it off with you." Seamus stood straighter so that he could sling an arm over Dean's shoulders.
"I'm not." Dean sounded sad and Seamus regretted his impulses and the fact he couldn't control his tongue. He'd not meant to drag Dean down into his own morass of emotion. Dean was always the even-tempered one, the one that let Seamus rage and rant, and yet never seemed affected by it.
"Come on, we won't be missed." With that, Seamus tightened his grip around Dean and tugged him away from the reception.
"You can't leave, it's your sister, mate." Dean protested, but Seamus refused to listen.
"I'll lie about it then, no worries, they won't know the difference anyway. Too many people." His arm was tired from stretching so Seamus switched to Dean's waist and wondered at the stirring in the pit of his stomach as Dean fit snug against him, his arm shifting to swing up to Seamus's shoulders. They must look a sight, Seamus decided, Dean so tall and beautiful and Seamus so short and cocky.
They got a few funny looks as they rambled along together, Seamus almost pulling Dean along. The looks didn't bother Seamus though Dean tried to pull away a few times. Seamus merely tightened again and again until Dean pried Seamus's fingers from his waist. Grinning, Seamus turned his fingers in Dean's grip to hold his hand.
"Let go," Dean hissed without opening his mouth and Seamus only gave him a cocky grin in return. "Do you want everyone thinking you're a poof? Let go."
Laughing at Dean's ineffectual tugging, Seamus held on, twining their fingers. "Who cares, Dean? Let 'em think what they want."
"Stop it, it's not funny!" Dean finally succeeded at pulling his hand away. He sounded upset and when Seamus turned to look, he could see that Dean looked far too upset about such a silly gesture.
"What are you worrying over now?"
"Not here and not now. You always have to push, don't you? Never satisfied with doing what's asked," Dean spat before continuing down the street. Seamus raced after him, grabbing his sleeve.
"What's got your knickers twisted?" Seamus demanded as he puffed out his chest and held on tightly, afraid that Dean would continue off without him if he were to let go.
"Nothing, just," the word dragged out into an uncomfortable silence with Seamus staring at Dean and Dean staring at Seamus with something in his face that Seamus couldn't quite figure out, "nothing. Forget it."
"Fine, let's get a pint then." Letting go, Seamus walked off, wondering why he wanted to know why Dean was so upset about Seamus touching his hand.
Stalking into Durty Nelly's Bar, Seamus waved at that barkeep before taking a booth towards the back of the local section, unwilling to put up with the tourists in the main section. Unlike most days, the sight of the Owenagarney River flowing didn't soothe his nerves as he'd hoped. It'd been a shite day that was only getting worse as far as he was concerned. First his sister got herself hitched to a man he hated and now Dean was pissed at him for doing just what he always did.
He didn't push and prod, when Dean asked him to stop, he stopped. Sometimes. Mostly. Alright, so he sometimes continued to take the piss but that was a time honoured tradition between them, dammit. Dean'd never gotten mad before, not to this extent. His stomach churned as he wondered if Dean had just Apparated to the Portkey station in Shannon or if he'd be in the pub shortly. Dean was the one constant in his life and the idea that it would disappear had him scared. Seamus didn't much want to think about the thrill he'd had with Dean's hand touching his shoulder.
Seamus felt relieved when Dean stalked into the pub as Seamus's pint was set in front of him. He could take Dean being mad at him, he couldn't take Dean ripping the rug out from under him and leaving so abruptly.
"Pint of Harp's, please," Dean ordered with a calm quiet voice that told Seamus Dean was still pissed at him and wasn't likely to not be any time soon. Their waitress strode off and they sat there, looking anywhere but at each other.
"Sorry," Seamus muttered after the waitress had come, taken their money and gone. The silence was too much, there was never this awkwardness between them and Seamus hated that too, hated that he'd caused it, that Dean'd caused it, that it was there at all.
"Not your fault, it's mine. Just sometimes, you don't stop and it gets to me." Dean stared into the glass while Seamus fiddled with the handle on his. "You're always touching me."
"Sure'n that's a fact. You've never minded before. Don't see why you'd mind today, is all." Seamus added Dean's soft hesitant tone to the list of things he hated. He hated tiptoeing and not knowing what to say or do around Dean, they weren't like that. There was something there, dancing on the edge of his notice but he was too fixated on the voices and the conversation to worry about figuring it out.
"I didn't mind but this is your home, you want them thinking you're gay? Christ, Shay, you have to live here and I'll respect that even if you won't." There was a bit of passion in Dean's voice and Seamus thought finally.
"Now I'm one of the bashers, the queer haters? Fuck you," Seamus spat before grabbing his mug and taking a large swig.
"I didn't say that and you know it. I'm saying that I don't want people thinking the wrong thing of you!" Dean's voice was a fierce whisper as he gestured, tossing his hands about and pushing his legs forward so that they brushed, calf to calf, with Seamus's. He told himself that it was the thrill of working out their tiff and not the touch, but Seamus didn't do anything to move away.
"I don't care what they think of me. It doesn't much matter if they're thinking I'm queer or not. It's not an insult." Seamus pressed his leg against Dean's and saw Dean's eyes go wide before he pulled his legs back.
"Don't do that!" Dean hissed as he pressed his palms against the table.
"The fuck?" Clueless, Seamus wasn't sure what he was asking or even reacting to.
"You're always touching! Can't you stop for five minutes? I can't do this, not now." Dean stood and started towards the door. Seamus, gobsmacked, stared at the door to the pub as Dean went through it before rushing after him.
Seamus grabbed Dean by the shirt and tugged him into the alley. "What the fuck is going on here, Dean?"
"This, alright? This!" Dean fisted his hands into Seamus's hair before he crushed his lips to Seamus's. For just a moment, Seamus stayed still. Then Dean switched his angle, nipped at Seamus's lower lip and he couldn't stop his hands from circling Dean and pulling him closer. The feel of Dean's hands, tight in his hair and pressing against his ears had him opening his mouth. As Dean's tongue swept into his mouth, touching finally, a moan welled up and out.
It was the moan that stopped Seamus and had him wrenching his mouth from Dean's. "What the fuck, mate?"
Dean only panted against his neck before pulling back and mumbling, "Sorry, shite, I'm sorry."
"You kissed me." Seamus's hand came up to touch his lips as he wondered.
"Jesus, Shay, fuck," Dean shook his head as he cursed before he mumbled, "sorry."
The crack of Apparition echoed and Seamus was left alone in the alley, unsure what had just happened and why he'd enjoyed kissing his best mate quite so much.
~*~*~*~*~*~
His family hadn't really questioned his absence by much. They did, however, question the whereabouts of Dean, and Seamus couldn't think of a reason so he steered the conversation away from it. He didn't see the contemplative looks his mam gave him as he unknowingly touched his lips every once in awhile.
It wasn't until that night when he went to wash that he started to get upset at Dean. As he dragged his hands through his hair rubbing in the shampoo, the feel of Dean's hands, that sharp pull, came back to him and his cock stirred. Closing his eyes, he leaned against the wall of the small shower and fisted his cock while that face, that fierce demanding wanting face of Dean's flashed in his mind's eye. It didn't take anything other than that to have Seamus coming like a randy twelve year old.
"Christ," he muttered as he sank to the floor of the shower and rested his head on his knees, hot water sluicing over his head and back as he tried to ignore what had just happened. He had just came harder than he ever had, with another person or with only his hand. He stayed on the floor long enough that the water timed off and slowed to a trickle before stopping completely. Grabbing onto the bar built into the back of the shower stall, he pulled himself up, knees still weak and unable to ignore that he'd just rubbed one off to Dean, fucking Dean.
Doing his best to dismiss the image and thankful that his tarrying on the shower floor had rinsed most of the shampoo, he tried to ignore the tug and pull of his hands through his hair and the way they brushed his ears, so much gentler than Dean's hands had been. Instead, he concentrated on getting the rest of the soap rinsed from his body. He tried to ignore the wonder of what it would feel like to have Dean's rough callused hands rubbing across his skin instead of the towel. He most definitely didn't wonder what it would feel like to have Dean's eyes on him as he dressed. He picked up his wand and cast a drying charm on his hair before he crawled into bed and extinguished the lights. When it was dark, he flopped an arm over his head and laid his other hand on his stomach.
Sleep came in fits and starts in the face of the need to touch himself but Seamus refused to wank to Dean again. He wouldn't, not his best mate. If he was going to fantasise, then he'd fantasise about Hermione as he'd done for years. He'd remember the cascade of curls and the way she would smile and laugh at his jokes, ignoring her books for one blissful moment after another. As he remembered that grin and the way she'd chew her lower lip, sucking it into her mouth as she concentrated, Seamus cursed himself. His cock didn't move, didn't stir and he cursed Dean as well. Dean and his kissing in an alley and the way it had felt to have their hands pressed palm to palm and then Seamus's cock twitched.
He squelched the images. He wasn't going to do it. Instead, he flipped onto his stomach and gripped the pillow tightly with both hands.
In the morning, he dressed and made his way to Bunratty Castle where he put on a good show for the tourists. He also found himself looking at the men, wondering if, perhaps, he might be attracted to them. There was one, in particular, that caught his attention. The man was tall and lean, his dark skin gleamed in the sunlight. As he stared, the man turned and stared back. The moment dragged on until his female companion tapped his shoulder. With the moment broken, Seamus turned and poured on the Irish charm for the group from Germany standing next to him.
"Fuck this," he muttered as he found himself searching the crowd for the black man. He wasn't going to think about Dean or compare anyone to him. Dean was his mate, was male and most definitely wasn't female. He liked breasts, dammit. He wasn't going to wonder what it would feel like to lay his hands over that hard chest or feel his firm stomach. He wasn't and that was that.
After the day that didn't seem to ever want to end, Seamus hurried home. Waving off his mother, he ran up the stairs and into his room where he slammed the door. His trousers and pants were around his ankles quickly as he rubbed his cock, while closing his eyes and leaning against the door. "Jesus, fuck, Dean, fuck, fuck, fuck," he chanted before he came, knees collapsing as he slid down the door.
"That's it," he vowed as he tucked himself back into his trousers and then went to the desk. He grabbed parchment and scribbled out Why the fuck did you kiss me? What were you thinking?
Before he could change his mind, he sent his small owl winging out the window the with correspondence. It was barely out of view before he doubted the tone of the message. He hadn't meant it that way. What he'd really meant was "why am I wanking to thoughts of you? Why didn't you do it before? Why me?" but he wasn't sure that he could write it.
~*~*~*~*~*~
It'd been two weeks, two sodding weeks since Dean's lips had pressed against his. Two weeks, when they'd never gone over a week without sending an owl or speaking on the phone. Seamus had sent owl after owl, raging in one and apologising in the next. His owl always came back without a return and Seamus cursed, in English and in Irish, that it didn't carry a letter from Dean. His room was littered with crumpled paper, rejected missives too painful to send or too personal to share, all tumbling out of his waste basket to hide under his bed and crunch under his feet as he walked about his room. His voicemails went unreturned as he called almost daily.
"Christ, Dean, stop being a fucking wanker and pick up the phone. I'm tired of your voicemail, just how long do you think you can hide from me? You think I'm going to give up on talking to you? You think I don't miss you? Just pick up the next time, please." Seamus hung up and hated himself for begging at the end, the pleading tone struck at his pride more than the wanking and panting Dean's name. He'd kissed a bloke down at the pub, after closing and it'd left him blank but he'd felt the hard chest under his hands and thought about Dean and couldn't help the small stir. He'd kissed one of the tourist girls after giving her a personal tour of the town. They'd had a brilliant lunch but then he'd gone and kissed her and hadn't felt a thing though she had a tumble of tangled curls and bit her lip when she was concentrating.
He was tired of the loneliness and the moping about the house. He was tired of avoiding his mam's odd looks and the conversations between her and his da that always stopped when he came into the room. Christ but he was tired of it all but he didn't know what to do, not when he was so fucking confused.
"Can't do this much longer, please, just pick up the phone. Pick up the fecking phone or drop a fecking owl or, Christ, Dean, please, just please... I have to talk to you." Seamus held the phone to his face without hanging up, pressing the handset into his forehead before whispering, "Please."
~*~*~*~*~*~
His mam was waiting for him at breakfast. He hated the look in her eyes, the one that said they'd be having a Very Important Conversation over the rashers. She, at least, had the courtesy to wait until his plate was full before starting.
"What happened with Dean, then?" Her tone was light and conversational, and Seamus swallowed wrong, choking.
"Nothing happened. I told you, he had to get back to London. Something came up unexpectedly and he sends his apologies," he stammered after he finally curbed the coughing.
"Then what are these?" Seamus stared, horrified, as his mam finished her question by putting letter after letter, wrinkles smoothed out, on the table in front of him. The top one had his face flaming, his mam had read his unsent I wank to you.
"I..." Seamus's voice trailed off as he stared at the stack of parchment he'd left scattered about his room. He couldn't get mad at his mam, not when he'd known that she cleaned up after him, always had. It'd been stupid of him to leave them like that, she would have to see them. As he searched for something, anything, to explain, she came around the table and held him, arms circling him. "I don't know, he kissed me, mam. Kissed me like I was the only thing on earth for him and I kissed him back." She hummed as he confessed.
"It's always been him for you, hasn't it?" Her lips pressed against the crown of his head and he leaned back into her warmth.
"Thought it was Hermione, thought for sure that it was her until he kissed me." Her quiet acceptance had him sniffling and he hated that he was tempted to cry.
"When I was a girl, there was this boy that lived down the lane from me. I'd come back from Hogwarts and he'd smile at me. We'd flirt a spell and he'd ask me about school. I thought we were destined to be together and then one summer, I came home and he was kissing this beautiful girl. We'd only ever been friends but I hadn't seen that. I was too busy painting a fantasy of a cottage in town and me big with child. All the while, your da was waiting for me to come to my senses." He could feel her grin against his scalp before she pressed a kiss. "It's a tough road you've chosen, a very tough road."
"He won't talk to me, call, send a bloody owl, nothing." He reached up his arms to hold hers as they crossed over his chest.
"Then you'll have to go to him, won't you?" She squeezed him tightly before letting go. "Your breakfast is getting cold, eat up or you won't have the energy for it."
He'd begrudged his mam so much, that she'd passed on the magic to him and not to his siblings, that she'd picked a Muggle instead of a Wizard, that she'd made sure he was so very Irish. At the moment, though, he loved her more than he'd ever thought possible. Everything seemed so very clear to him.
~*~*~*~*~*~
While he rapped on the door, he couldn't help bouncing on the balls of his feet. He wasn't sure why he'd decided to come here straight from the Portkey station, only that he hadn't been able to put it off as it'd grown bigger and bigger the more he thought about it. When the door opened, he breathed a sigh of relief that it was who he'd come so far for and before his courage could fail, he pressed his lips against theirs, felt them part in surprise. His fingers twined into the curls and he was glad that he didn't feel anything as his tongue swept in.
"Oi! What the fuck are you doing, Finnigan?" Ron's angry voice interrupted the kiss. Seamus broke off and grinned at Hermione and Ron.
"Thanks for that," he laughed in relief as he turned on his heel and started down the hallway. Ron's hand was heavy on his shoulder as he was flipped around.
"What the fuck was that, Finnigan? For the sake of years, I'll give you one fucking sentence." Ron pressed Seamus back against the wall, hand pulled back and aimed for his face.
"I'm in love with Dean." The words were light as he watched Ron's face change from ire to shock. "I thought it was Hermione but it wasn't, couldn't be. It's Dean, always has been but I had to know, you ken? I'm in love with Dean."
"You're nuts is what you are." Ron shook his head and went back towards their flat while Hermione hugged him.
"Congratulations, Seamus." She bussed his cheek before hurrying after Ron.
His steps were light as he grabbed his rucksack and left the building. After looking at his watch, he realised that if he hurried, he'd still be able to catch Dean at work.
When he entered Shelter, the homeless advocacy group based in London, he asked for Dean and made sure to thicken his accent. He gave a made up name and took the seat he was pointed to. When Dean came round the corner, he stopped and goggled as Seamus stood and approached.
"Thanks for seeing me, I know it's last minute but I appreciate it." Seamus stuck out his hand and Dean still stared. "Something on me face?"
"No, no, not at all." Dean sounded gobsmacked and put upon all at the same time.
"Are we going to do this here?" Seamus tried not to sound hurt that Dean hadn't taken his hand. He pulled it back, shoving it deep into the pocket of his coat.
"Just let me, that is, let me get my things and we'll go out...somewhere," Dean looked a bit lost and Seamus reached out, putting his hand on the flailing arm as Dean gestured.
"I can go, if that's what you want."
"No," Dean shook his head as he whispered, "just, look, I'll be right back? Don't go."
It was hard for Seamus not to fidget or pace as he waited what seemed hours but, as he looked at his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes, realised it was shorter than he'd ever thought before Dean was saying his goodbyes to the receptionist. The low timbre had him hardening and wanting to press his palm over his groin.
"Ready?" Seamus hoped his voice sounded as steady as he'd planned.
"N... yeah, sure, when'd you get in? Hungry?" Dean wasn't looking at Seamus, sounded like he was talking to a stranger.
"I could eat, yeah. Got in a bit ago," Seamus edged closer to Dean while the crowds ebbed around them. Their arms brushed and Seamus tried again, hand grabbing for Dean's, folding it into his own, fingers twining together.
"What are you doing?" Dean looked panicked and tried to pull away. Seamus only held tighter.
"'M holding your hand, what do you think I'm doing?" It was a struggle to keep his tone light considering that not only was Seamus in foreign territory with the whole dynamic of two men holding hands but that he wasn't sure where they were.
"Why are you doing this?" Dean stopped on the pavement while they were knocked about by the crowd.
"Let's sit down and we'll talk then. 'M not letting go so deal with it, yeah?" Seamus started again, tugging Dean along behind him even though he didn't know where they were going. Glad that he was ahead of Dean so he couldn't see his face, Seamus finally felt Dean's hand relax in his, even felt the slight clasping and unclasping of Dean's hand.
They went into a curry place that looked as good as any other. The place was practically empty and Seamus offered a prayer for it as they sat down on opposite sides of the small table.
"There a reason you haven't returned my owls or my calls?" Seamus felt feral as he asked but kept his tone light. It sounded false even to his ears. He wanted, needed to know just what had happened and though he had his own suspicions, he wanted Dean to tell him.
"I apologised, didn't I? I'm trying to forget it happened." That hurt and burned at Seamus's pride, especially as he'd spent the last few weeks reliving it in his dreams and his fantasies.
"What if I don't want to forget? Haven't you listened to any of the fecking messages I've left? Not read any of those fecking owls, either, have you?" Seamus's light tone disappeared in the face of that hurt.
"Of course I've listened to them. I've replayed...I've listened and I read your owls. I had to deal with how'd I'd messed up first. I was going to call you." Dean wouldn't look at Seamus so he reached out a hand and cupped Dean's chin, forcing him to look.
"I've wanked to you, to that look on your face before you kissed me." Dean's face switched from panicked to gobsmacked in a blink. It was gratifying and reassuring.
"You've..." Seamus nodded as Dean trailed off.
"I didn't come to see you first, yeah? I went to see Hermione, kissed her proper," Seamus watched the hurt churn across Dean's face.
"Where's your girl, then?" Dean sounded petulant and Seamus was honest enough to admit that it felt good to get a bit of his own confusion and hurt back.
"He's right here acting like I'm speaking a foreign language when he knows I can barely use English." Seamus smirked while he waited for the reaction, wanting Dean to do something other than pout or act confused.
"Did you just call me a girl?" Dean's grin started to spread.
"My girl." They grinned and this time, it was Dean's hand that crept across the table to hold his.
As always, I'd love to hear what you think
Author: wook77
Pairing: Dean/Seamus, mentions of Seamus/Hermione
Rating: R (for language and wanking)
Wordcount: 5208
Warnings: Cursing, wanking, slash
Disclaimer: All recognisable parts of the world of HP belong to JKR and associated business partners. I make no profit from this work.
Summary: A wedding, a dance, a pub and a kiss. Sometimes it only takes one thing to awaken desires and sometimes it takes four things.
A/N: Written for auntbijou for the For the Love of the Irish Fic Fest. She originally requested that the author be kind to Seamus and I've done my best. Beta'd by yodels, unintendedmuse and ficlette. Any remaining mistakes are my own. Finally, many thanks to kaalee for giving me the opportunity to participate when I forgot to sign up originally.
Also - Day 2 of the Advent Fic Calendar!
Seamus sometimes wondered if part of his problem, the root of it, was that he was Irish. He wondered if that want for what was just out of reach, for the other side of the rainbow and the smarmy leprechaun and his sodding pot of gold, was bred into him like the temper, the red hair and the freckles.
If it was, then he had it in spades and that had him cursing, in Irish of course, because cursing in English was too much for him at this moment. If he were to be a cliché or a stereotype, then he'd do it to the best of his abilities. He possessed the stubborn pride that had him fighting with Harry longer than he'd meant to back in Fifth Year.
Even as the music surrounded him and his mam demanded that he dance with his sister, Seamus forced a smile, though all he wanted was to continue cursing everything about himself. It was easier to blame the heritage, his mam, the land, anyone but himself for his stubbornness, his pride and his rashness. Grabbing his sister about the waist, he spun her onto the dance floor. The song was fast and for that he sent a prayer of thanks winging up towards the heavens because there wasn't breath for talking, not when the steps were intricate and demanding.
When the reel ended Seamus hurried away before his mam could catch him once more to ask him to do something or other as it was his sister's big day and he should be the supportive older brother. He didn't want to spend more time than necessary with his sister's new husband, as he was boring, staid and stuck on himself. If there was one sort of personality he hated, it was prat and this lad had that in spades.
Growing up as they had, he could understand Breeda's wish and want for normalcy, but never for boringness. It had to have been hard to watch their mam send the broom flying with a flick of her wand and not have the gift to do the same. But to choose someone that would never understand their family? It seemed an affront and Seamus was willing to be the one that bore that grudge.
The strains of 'Jug of Punch' came out of the reception hall as the door opened and shut somewhere behind him, but Seamus ignored it as he lit a fag and leaned against the brick. It wasn't that he begrudged his sister her happiness or even her boring tosser, it was that he'd been first to fall in love and that should count for something.
That, too, was something that Seamus blamed on being Irish and sentimental and that sodding rainbow. He'd fallen in Fourth Year, but what kid knows what he wants, really? Not back then. He hadn't quite realised what it was that had him falling for Hermione, but he'd always been certain that he was the lad for her if she'd just stop looking to Ron. She'd never stopped and Seamus had finally put that sliver of hope and the first bloom of love to the side, though it was still there, churning inside him when he got together with the remaining Gryffs for an annual lunch.
Seamus hated those meals with a passion. He hated seeing Neville with Ginny, smiling and cooing over one another, hated to see Dean with whatever bloke he was dating at the time. Hated to see them all so sodding happy when he had never been more miserable in his life. There were times that he felt like he was doing penance as he toiled as an actor and server at Bunratty Castle in County Clare. He poured on the accent, thickening it for the tourists as he greeted and worked the crowds.
"Deep thoughts?" Dean's deep voice barely gave warning as his lanky frame crossed Seamus's sight.
Dean was the only one that Seamus didn't hate, though he did hate that Dean dated, was open in his preferences and his self. Seamus always felt like he was hiding too much of himself. It didn't make much sense to Seamus so he ignored the thought.
"Just avoiding the crowd, mate. Not quite in the mood for prancing about," Seamus said as he offered his fag to Dean.
"No thanks. Not enjoying yourself, then? It's not every day that your sister gets married." Dean leaned against the wall next to Seamus, Seamus's shoulder pressing against Dean's bicep. That was another thing he'd always begrudged Dean and blamed on his heritage. Seamus hated that he was the size of a pixie and had to settle for wiry and quick when Dean was all lithe grace like a dancer.
"Thank God for small blessings," With the hand not holding the fag, Seamus kissed his index finger and then sent his fist towards the sky. Dean laughed as he'd been meant to and then sobered.
"What's wrong, then?" As he asked, Dean bumped against Seamus and Seamus retaliated by bumping him back.
"It's not fair, is it? That she should get the one she wants and I'm stuck here doing without." Seamus hated the petulant tone to his voice, hated that he sounded like a five year old that was bitter he'd not been given the dolly his sister'd received.
"Some of us deal without all the time, it's how we deal that's important." Dean sounded too serious for the discussion, like he knew far too much about doing without and Seamus wondered who it was that Dean wanted.
"'M sorry that Derrick broke it off with you." Seamus stood straighter so that he could sling an arm over Dean's shoulders.
"I'm not." Dean sounded sad and Seamus regretted his impulses and the fact he couldn't control his tongue. He'd not meant to drag Dean down into his own morass of emotion. Dean was always the even-tempered one, the one that let Seamus rage and rant, and yet never seemed affected by it.
"Come on, we won't be missed." With that, Seamus tightened his grip around Dean and tugged him away from the reception.
"You can't leave, it's your sister, mate." Dean protested, but Seamus refused to listen.
"I'll lie about it then, no worries, they won't know the difference anyway. Too many people." His arm was tired from stretching so Seamus switched to Dean's waist and wondered at the stirring in the pit of his stomach as Dean fit snug against him, his arm shifting to swing up to Seamus's shoulders. They must look a sight, Seamus decided, Dean so tall and beautiful and Seamus so short and cocky.
They got a few funny looks as they rambled along together, Seamus almost pulling Dean along. The looks didn't bother Seamus though Dean tried to pull away a few times. Seamus merely tightened again and again until Dean pried Seamus's fingers from his waist. Grinning, Seamus turned his fingers in Dean's grip to hold his hand.
"Let go," Dean hissed without opening his mouth and Seamus only gave him a cocky grin in return. "Do you want everyone thinking you're a poof? Let go."
Laughing at Dean's ineffectual tugging, Seamus held on, twining their fingers. "Who cares, Dean? Let 'em think what they want."
"Stop it, it's not funny!" Dean finally succeeded at pulling his hand away. He sounded upset and when Seamus turned to look, he could see that Dean looked far too upset about such a silly gesture.
"What are you worrying over now?"
"Not here and not now. You always have to push, don't you? Never satisfied with doing what's asked," Dean spat before continuing down the street. Seamus raced after him, grabbing his sleeve.
"What's got your knickers twisted?" Seamus demanded as he puffed out his chest and held on tightly, afraid that Dean would continue off without him if he were to let go.
"Nothing, just," the word dragged out into an uncomfortable silence with Seamus staring at Dean and Dean staring at Seamus with something in his face that Seamus couldn't quite figure out, "nothing. Forget it."
"Fine, let's get a pint then." Letting go, Seamus walked off, wondering why he wanted to know why Dean was so upset about Seamus touching his hand.
Stalking into Durty Nelly's Bar, Seamus waved at that barkeep before taking a booth towards the back of the local section, unwilling to put up with the tourists in the main section. Unlike most days, the sight of the Owenagarney River flowing didn't soothe his nerves as he'd hoped. It'd been a shite day that was only getting worse as far as he was concerned. First his sister got herself hitched to a man he hated and now Dean was pissed at him for doing just what he always did.
He didn't push and prod, when Dean asked him to stop, he stopped. Sometimes. Mostly. Alright, so he sometimes continued to take the piss but that was a time honoured tradition between them, dammit. Dean'd never gotten mad before, not to this extent. His stomach churned as he wondered if Dean had just Apparated to the Portkey station in Shannon or if he'd be in the pub shortly. Dean was the one constant in his life and the idea that it would disappear had him scared. Seamus didn't much want to think about the thrill he'd had with Dean's hand touching his shoulder.
Seamus felt relieved when Dean stalked into the pub as Seamus's pint was set in front of him. He could take Dean being mad at him, he couldn't take Dean ripping the rug out from under him and leaving so abruptly.
"Pint of Harp's, please," Dean ordered with a calm quiet voice that told Seamus Dean was still pissed at him and wasn't likely to not be any time soon. Their waitress strode off and they sat there, looking anywhere but at each other.
"Sorry," Seamus muttered after the waitress had come, taken their money and gone. The silence was too much, there was never this awkwardness between them and Seamus hated that too, hated that he'd caused it, that Dean'd caused it, that it was there at all.
"Not your fault, it's mine. Just sometimes, you don't stop and it gets to me." Dean stared into the glass while Seamus fiddled with the handle on his. "You're always touching me."
"Sure'n that's a fact. You've never minded before. Don't see why you'd mind today, is all." Seamus added Dean's soft hesitant tone to the list of things he hated. He hated tiptoeing and not knowing what to say or do around Dean, they weren't like that. There was something there, dancing on the edge of his notice but he was too fixated on the voices and the conversation to worry about figuring it out.
"I didn't mind but this is your home, you want them thinking you're gay? Christ, Shay, you have to live here and I'll respect that even if you won't." There was a bit of passion in Dean's voice and Seamus thought finally.
"Now I'm one of the bashers, the queer haters? Fuck you," Seamus spat before grabbing his mug and taking a large swig.
"I didn't say that and you know it. I'm saying that I don't want people thinking the wrong thing of you!" Dean's voice was a fierce whisper as he gestured, tossing his hands about and pushing his legs forward so that they brushed, calf to calf, with Seamus's. He told himself that it was the thrill of working out their tiff and not the touch, but Seamus didn't do anything to move away.
"I don't care what they think of me. It doesn't much matter if they're thinking I'm queer or not. It's not an insult." Seamus pressed his leg against Dean's and saw Dean's eyes go wide before he pulled his legs back.
"Don't do that!" Dean hissed as he pressed his palms against the table.
"The fuck?" Clueless, Seamus wasn't sure what he was asking or even reacting to.
"You're always touching! Can't you stop for five minutes? I can't do this, not now." Dean stood and started towards the door. Seamus, gobsmacked, stared at the door to the pub as Dean went through it before rushing after him.
Seamus grabbed Dean by the shirt and tugged him into the alley. "What the fuck is going on here, Dean?"
"This, alright? This!" Dean fisted his hands into Seamus's hair before he crushed his lips to Seamus's. For just a moment, Seamus stayed still. Then Dean switched his angle, nipped at Seamus's lower lip and he couldn't stop his hands from circling Dean and pulling him closer. The feel of Dean's hands, tight in his hair and pressing against his ears had him opening his mouth. As Dean's tongue swept into his mouth, touching finally, a moan welled up and out.
It was the moan that stopped Seamus and had him wrenching his mouth from Dean's. "What the fuck, mate?"
Dean only panted against his neck before pulling back and mumbling, "Sorry, shite, I'm sorry."
"You kissed me." Seamus's hand came up to touch his lips as he wondered.
"Jesus, Shay, fuck," Dean shook his head as he cursed before he mumbled, "sorry."
The crack of Apparition echoed and Seamus was left alone in the alley, unsure what had just happened and why he'd enjoyed kissing his best mate quite so much.
~*~*~*~*~*~
His family hadn't really questioned his absence by much. They did, however, question the whereabouts of Dean, and Seamus couldn't think of a reason so he steered the conversation away from it. He didn't see the contemplative looks his mam gave him as he unknowingly touched his lips every once in awhile.
It wasn't until that night when he went to wash that he started to get upset at Dean. As he dragged his hands through his hair rubbing in the shampoo, the feel of Dean's hands, that sharp pull, came back to him and his cock stirred. Closing his eyes, he leaned against the wall of the small shower and fisted his cock while that face, that fierce demanding wanting face of Dean's flashed in his mind's eye. It didn't take anything other than that to have Seamus coming like a randy twelve year old.
"Christ," he muttered as he sank to the floor of the shower and rested his head on his knees, hot water sluicing over his head and back as he tried to ignore what had just happened. He had just came harder than he ever had, with another person or with only his hand. He stayed on the floor long enough that the water timed off and slowed to a trickle before stopping completely. Grabbing onto the bar built into the back of the shower stall, he pulled himself up, knees still weak and unable to ignore that he'd just rubbed one off to Dean, fucking Dean.
Doing his best to dismiss the image and thankful that his tarrying on the shower floor had rinsed most of the shampoo, he tried to ignore the tug and pull of his hands through his hair and the way they brushed his ears, so much gentler than Dean's hands had been. Instead, he concentrated on getting the rest of the soap rinsed from his body. He tried to ignore the wonder of what it would feel like to have Dean's rough callused hands rubbing across his skin instead of the towel. He most definitely didn't wonder what it would feel like to have Dean's eyes on him as he dressed. He picked up his wand and cast a drying charm on his hair before he crawled into bed and extinguished the lights. When it was dark, he flopped an arm over his head and laid his other hand on his stomach.
Sleep came in fits and starts in the face of the need to touch himself but Seamus refused to wank to Dean again. He wouldn't, not his best mate. If he was going to fantasise, then he'd fantasise about Hermione as he'd done for years. He'd remember the cascade of curls and the way she would smile and laugh at his jokes, ignoring her books for one blissful moment after another. As he remembered that grin and the way she'd chew her lower lip, sucking it into her mouth as she concentrated, Seamus cursed himself. His cock didn't move, didn't stir and he cursed Dean as well. Dean and his kissing in an alley and the way it had felt to have their hands pressed palm to palm and then Seamus's cock twitched.
He squelched the images. He wasn't going to do it. Instead, he flipped onto his stomach and gripped the pillow tightly with both hands.
In the morning, he dressed and made his way to Bunratty Castle where he put on a good show for the tourists. He also found himself looking at the men, wondering if, perhaps, he might be attracted to them. There was one, in particular, that caught his attention. The man was tall and lean, his dark skin gleamed in the sunlight. As he stared, the man turned and stared back. The moment dragged on until his female companion tapped his shoulder. With the moment broken, Seamus turned and poured on the Irish charm for the group from Germany standing next to him.
"Fuck this," he muttered as he found himself searching the crowd for the black man. He wasn't going to think about Dean or compare anyone to him. Dean was his mate, was male and most definitely wasn't female. He liked breasts, dammit. He wasn't going to wonder what it would feel like to lay his hands over that hard chest or feel his firm stomach. He wasn't and that was that.
After the day that didn't seem to ever want to end, Seamus hurried home. Waving off his mother, he ran up the stairs and into his room where he slammed the door. His trousers and pants were around his ankles quickly as he rubbed his cock, while closing his eyes and leaning against the door. "Jesus, fuck, Dean, fuck, fuck, fuck," he chanted before he came, knees collapsing as he slid down the door.
"That's it," he vowed as he tucked himself back into his trousers and then went to the desk. He grabbed parchment and scribbled out Why the fuck did you kiss me? What were you thinking?
Before he could change his mind, he sent his small owl winging out the window the with correspondence. It was barely out of view before he doubted the tone of the message. He hadn't meant it that way. What he'd really meant was "why am I wanking to thoughts of you? Why didn't you do it before? Why me?" but he wasn't sure that he could write it.
~*~*~*~*~*~
It'd been two weeks, two sodding weeks since Dean's lips had pressed against his. Two weeks, when they'd never gone over a week without sending an owl or speaking on the phone. Seamus had sent owl after owl, raging in one and apologising in the next. His owl always came back without a return and Seamus cursed, in English and in Irish, that it didn't carry a letter from Dean. His room was littered with crumpled paper, rejected missives too painful to send or too personal to share, all tumbling out of his waste basket to hide under his bed and crunch under his feet as he walked about his room. His voicemails went unreturned as he called almost daily.
"Christ, Dean, stop being a fucking wanker and pick up the phone. I'm tired of your voicemail, just how long do you think you can hide from me? You think I'm going to give up on talking to you? You think I don't miss you? Just pick up the next time, please." Seamus hung up and hated himself for begging at the end, the pleading tone struck at his pride more than the wanking and panting Dean's name. He'd kissed a bloke down at the pub, after closing and it'd left him blank but he'd felt the hard chest under his hands and thought about Dean and couldn't help the small stir. He'd kissed one of the tourist girls after giving her a personal tour of the town. They'd had a brilliant lunch but then he'd gone and kissed her and hadn't felt a thing though she had a tumble of tangled curls and bit her lip when she was concentrating.
He was tired of the loneliness and the moping about the house. He was tired of avoiding his mam's odd looks and the conversations between her and his da that always stopped when he came into the room. Christ but he was tired of it all but he didn't know what to do, not when he was so fucking confused.
"Can't do this much longer, please, just pick up the phone. Pick up the fecking phone or drop a fecking owl or, Christ, Dean, please, just please... I have to talk to you." Seamus held the phone to his face without hanging up, pressing the handset into his forehead before whispering, "Please."
~*~*~*~*~*~
His mam was waiting for him at breakfast. He hated the look in her eyes, the one that said they'd be having a Very Important Conversation over the rashers. She, at least, had the courtesy to wait until his plate was full before starting.
"What happened with Dean, then?" Her tone was light and conversational, and Seamus swallowed wrong, choking.
"Nothing happened. I told you, he had to get back to London. Something came up unexpectedly and he sends his apologies," he stammered after he finally curbed the coughing.
"Then what are these?" Seamus stared, horrified, as his mam finished her question by putting letter after letter, wrinkles smoothed out, on the table in front of him. The top one had his face flaming, his mam had read his unsent I wank to you.
"I..." Seamus's voice trailed off as he stared at the stack of parchment he'd left scattered about his room. He couldn't get mad at his mam, not when he'd known that she cleaned up after him, always had. It'd been stupid of him to leave them like that, she would have to see them. As he searched for something, anything, to explain, she came around the table and held him, arms circling him. "I don't know, he kissed me, mam. Kissed me like I was the only thing on earth for him and I kissed him back." She hummed as he confessed.
"It's always been him for you, hasn't it?" Her lips pressed against the crown of his head and he leaned back into her warmth.
"Thought it was Hermione, thought for sure that it was her until he kissed me." Her quiet acceptance had him sniffling and he hated that he was tempted to cry.
"When I was a girl, there was this boy that lived down the lane from me. I'd come back from Hogwarts and he'd smile at me. We'd flirt a spell and he'd ask me about school. I thought we were destined to be together and then one summer, I came home and he was kissing this beautiful girl. We'd only ever been friends but I hadn't seen that. I was too busy painting a fantasy of a cottage in town and me big with child. All the while, your da was waiting for me to come to my senses." He could feel her grin against his scalp before she pressed a kiss. "It's a tough road you've chosen, a very tough road."
"He won't talk to me, call, send a bloody owl, nothing." He reached up his arms to hold hers as they crossed over his chest.
"Then you'll have to go to him, won't you?" She squeezed him tightly before letting go. "Your breakfast is getting cold, eat up or you won't have the energy for it."
He'd begrudged his mam so much, that she'd passed on the magic to him and not to his siblings, that she'd picked a Muggle instead of a Wizard, that she'd made sure he was so very Irish. At the moment, though, he loved her more than he'd ever thought possible. Everything seemed so very clear to him.
~*~*~*~*~*~
While he rapped on the door, he couldn't help bouncing on the balls of his feet. He wasn't sure why he'd decided to come here straight from the Portkey station, only that he hadn't been able to put it off as it'd grown bigger and bigger the more he thought about it. When the door opened, he breathed a sigh of relief that it was who he'd come so far for and before his courage could fail, he pressed his lips against theirs, felt them part in surprise. His fingers twined into the curls and he was glad that he didn't feel anything as his tongue swept in.
"Oi! What the fuck are you doing, Finnigan?" Ron's angry voice interrupted the kiss. Seamus broke off and grinned at Hermione and Ron.
"Thanks for that," he laughed in relief as he turned on his heel and started down the hallway. Ron's hand was heavy on his shoulder as he was flipped around.
"What the fuck was that, Finnigan? For the sake of years, I'll give you one fucking sentence." Ron pressed Seamus back against the wall, hand pulled back and aimed for his face.
"I'm in love with Dean." The words were light as he watched Ron's face change from ire to shock. "I thought it was Hermione but it wasn't, couldn't be. It's Dean, always has been but I had to know, you ken? I'm in love with Dean."
"You're nuts is what you are." Ron shook his head and went back towards their flat while Hermione hugged him.
"Congratulations, Seamus." She bussed his cheek before hurrying after Ron.
His steps were light as he grabbed his rucksack and left the building. After looking at his watch, he realised that if he hurried, he'd still be able to catch Dean at work.
When he entered Shelter, the homeless advocacy group based in London, he asked for Dean and made sure to thicken his accent. He gave a made up name and took the seat he was pointed to. When Dean came round the corner, he stopped and goggled as Seamus stood and approached.
"Thanks for seeing me, I know it's last minute but I appreciate it." Seamus stuck out his hand and Dean still stared. "Something on me face?"
"No, no, not at all." Dean sounded gobsmacked and put upon all at the same time.
"Are we going to do this here?" Seamus tried not to sound hurt that Dean hadn't taken his hand. He pulled it back, shoving it deep into the pocket of his coat.
"Just let me, that is, let me get my things and we'll go out...somewhere," Dean looked a bit lost and Seamus reached out, putting his hand on the flailing arm as Dean gestured.
"I can go, if that's what you want."
"No," Dean shook his head as he whispered, "just, look, I'll be right back? Don't go."
It was hard for Seamus not to fidget or pace as he waited what seemed hours but, as he looked at his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes, realised it was shorter than he'd ever thought before Dean was saying his goodbyes to the receptionist. The low timbre had him hardening and wanting to press his palm over his groin.
"Ready?" Seamus hoped his voice sounded as steady as he'd planned.
"N... yeah, sure, when'd you get in? Hungry?" Dean wasn't looking at Seamus, sounded like he was talking to a stranger.
"I could eat, yeah. Got in a bit ago," Seamus edged closer to Dean while the crowds ebbed around them. Their arms brushed and Seamus tried again, hand grabbing for Dean's, folding it into his own, fingers twining together.
"What are you doing?" Dean looked panicked and tried to pull away. Seamus only held tighter.
"'M holding your hand, what do you think I'm doing?" It was a struggle to keep his tone light considering that not only was Seamus in foreign territory with the whole dynamic of two men holding hands but that he wasn't sure where they were.
"Why are you doing this?" Dean stopped on the pavement while they were knocked about by the crowd.
"Let's sit down and we'll talk then. 'M not letting go so deal with it, yeah?" Seamus started again, tugging Dean along behind him even though he didn't know where they were going. Glad that he was ahead of Dean so he couldn't see his face, Seamus finally felt Dean's hand relax in his, even felt the slight clasping and unclasping of Dean's hand.
They went into a curry place that looked as good as any other. The place was practically empty and Seamus offered a prayer for it as they sat down on opposite sides of the small table.
"There a reason you haven't returned my owls or my calls?" Seamus felt feral as he asked but kept his tone light. It sounded false even to his ears. He wanted, needed to know just what had happened and though he had his own suspicions, he wanted Dean to tell him.
"I apologised, didn't I? I'm trying to forget it happened." That hurt and burned at Seamus's pride, especially as he'd spent the last few weeks reliving it in his dreams and his fantasies.
"What if I don't want to forget? Haven't you listened to any of the fecking messages I've left? Not read any of those fecking owls, either, have you?" Seamus's light tone disappeared in the face of that hurt.
"Of course I've listened to them. I've replayed...I've listened and I read your owls. I had to deal with how'd I'd messed up first. I was going to call you." Dean wouldn't look at Seamus so he reached out a hand and cupped Dean's chin, forcing him to look.
"I've wanked to you, to that look on your face before you kissed me." Dean's face switched from panicked to gobsmacked in a blink. It was gratifying and reassuring.
"You've..." Seamus nodded as Dean trailed off.
"I didn't come to see you first, yeah? I went to see Hermione, kissed her proper," Seamus watched the hurt churn across Dean's face.
"Where's your girl, then?" Dean sounded petulant and Seamus was honest enough to admit that it felt good to get a bit of his own confusion and hurt back.
"He's right here acting like I'm speaking a foreign language when he knows I can barely use English." Seamus smirked while he waited for the reaction, wanting Dean to do something other than pout or act confused.
"Did you just call me a girl?" Dean's grin started to spread.
"My girl." They grinned and this time, it was Dean's hand that crept across the table to hold his.
As always, I'd love to hear what you think