Fic: Clubs, Pubs and Alleys (Deamus Rating: NC-17)
Title: Clubs, Pubs and Alleys
Author: wook77
Pairing: Dean Thomas/Seamus Finnigan with implied Dean/Seamus/Ron/Harry/Michael/Neville (ish)
Warnings: mostly pwp
Rating: Hard R to NC-17
Wordcount: ~4000
Summary: They've taken to pubcrawling to pass the time. Only problem is that they're straight. Seamus wants Dean anyway.
Author's Note: Loosely inspired by the Sandbach Rugby Team on iTV2's show Generation XCess. The link goes to a short clip but there's actually a 14-15 minute video that is just awesome. Beta'd by yodels but all remaining mistakes are my own. Finally, this one is dedicated to nefernat just for being so awesome (you know why :D).
They've taken to to getting together to pubhop. These weekly meetings make the war seem less real. Distance makes it less painful and, six months after Voldemort's gone, they're all starting to be able to forget the terror and chaos of the past year and a half. They're all there - Harry, Neville, Ron, Michael, Zach, Dean, and him - and they all drink. A lot. In the morning when he's feeling like shite, Seamus'll say that it's too much but during the night, it's almost enough.
It's only when he's pissed out his skull that he's willing to act on what he wants, and that's Dean. As they pour into the next club, elbowing and shouldering one another, they're trolleyed and feeling lovely, thanks. In fact, Seamus is feeling lovely enough that he's the first to drop trou and dance in his boxers, not caring at all if his dick pops out because, really, no one expects the Irish to be well-hung anyway, right? It's freeing to dance about with the brush of sweat-drenched flesh against sweat-drenched flesh. He likes the feel of the cotton of Dean's shirt against his back. He especially likes the feel of Dean biting on his ear from behind and then whispering right into his ear, "Cock's popped out, mate."
Seamus always leans back into that touch and shouts over his shoulder, "put it back in then."
Dean's hands - long sinew and soft flesh - are marvelous as they cup his prick and tuck it away, back into his boxers. Dean doesn't let go of Seamus's ear, keeps it between his teeth as he leans around and they both watch the way the dark hand engulfs the pale flesh. Seamus is man enough - straight enough - to resist bucking into that hand.
They're all just fucking around, really. Blowing off steam and taking the piss for the girls that are all around. There isn't a girl out there that doesn't want a couple of blokes kissing, as far as Seamus is concerned. It's a game, a release that happens far away from the world that they know where they're all supposed to be so upstanding and responsible
The more they drink, the more flirtatious Seamus gets. Most nights, by this point, they're all in their boxers and pants and Seamus maneuvers so that he can take a lick at Michael's nipples, nipping them slightly and enjoying the way Michael's hands grab the back of his head and hold him pressed against flat, hard chest. He moves on to Ron and they kiss, tongues entwining. Harry presses up behind them, grinding his cock into Seamus's ass and Seamus presses back against it while Ron leans forward to keep the pressure on his own cock. He's further and further from Dean but it doesn't matter because there are so many bodies around him and he knows what's coming next.
It's at this moment - week in and week out - that Seamus will look up as he's mouthing against Ron's neck and he'll see Dean watching, standing there in the middle of the dance floor, the only one still and watchful as bodies swirl. Dean's taller than everyone there and the music goes muffled, the flesh around him blurs and the colours merge but Dean's face stays clear. It's this one moment when Seamus wonders what Dean would do if he went down on him right then and there, just swallowed his cock whole in front of God, country and the pub.
He hasn't had the balls to do it just yet. There'll come a time that he'll be drunk enough for it but, as Michael tugs on his hair and Neville clamps his teeth down on his neck while Ron and Harry maneuver around his arched body to kiss each other, Seamus knows that it isn't right now. He hasn't had nearly enough to drink.
Flagging down one of the girls, he orders another pint for everyone and hands her his wallet. She'll come back with it or she won't but it won't much matter because regardless, Dean's watching Seamus in the middle of the writhing bodies of their friends. Dean's watching Seamus. Seamus. Not Ron, not Harry, not Neville, not Michael. He's watching the way they all surround Seamus and it's like a giant symphony of flesh as they touch and kiss and bite and lick and moan and buck and feel. God, it's so glorious just to feel again, for another night, he can feel everything except what he really wants and that's what gets him because they always end up like this. Dean's always watching and Seamus is always searching for a way to feel.
Ron's hands slide around him to clamp onto Harry's waist and push him closer and Harry's pulling down Seamus's boxers and he feels the press of Harry's cock into his arse and that feels just about amazing. His dick's popped out again but this time, as it thrusts out, Ron's dick is right there too and the brush of both of them together is fucking bloody brilliant, especially as Harry's hands wrap around both of their cocks. Michael and Neville slip to the side and start kissing as they dance and Dean's still bloody watching. When Ron slides in for another kiss, Seamus won't break eye contact with Dean and he shifts his face so that Ron's kiss lands against his cheek, open-mouthed and wet.
Breaking their ritual, Dean shakes himself and turns. There's a tiny voice in Seamus's head that's demanding and strident. It's shouting, now or never, now or never, get over there you fucking idiot or you're going to fucking lose this, you're going to lose all of this!
The only problem is that there's another little voice that's protesting, you're straight, what are you thinking of doing? You're all just playing at gay, it's a lark, a bonding experience, they're all going to go home to their girlfriends and you'll go home to a wank. Leave it and stay where you're at. You're both straight, you fucking git, and if you go after him, you won't be. You'll be a poofter, a shirtlifter, an arsebandit, a buttfucker.
Seamus isn't quite sure which voice to listen to as Ron bites down on his collarbone and Harry grinds into his arse. Dean's almost off the dance floor, almost disappearing and the first voice grows louder - Christ Jesus, Finnigan, get the fuck over there or it's all over! Don't you see it? Can't you see how fucked you're going to be if this ends? It's so loud that he can't even begin to hear the music and he decides, Fuck it, Carpe Dean or whatever the fuck that saying is and pulls out from between Harry and Ron, leaving them to touch each other.
Tossing a rude gesture to a bird as she crooks her pinky finger at him, he tugs up his pants and goes rushing off the dance floor to Dean. He's almost too slow, Dean's almost done climbing the steps to head to the bar or maybe the door.
"Oi, Thomas!" Seamus yells without any sort of regard to the people around him. Dean hesitates and then keeps walking. Seamus, heart pounding from more than the dancing, runs after him until he can grab an arm and swing Dean around to look at him. "Where you off to?"
"I'm for home." Dean sounds off, but he's smiling so Seamus doesn't know which signal to listen to.
"Want company?" Seamus offers as the girl he'd given his wallet to hands it back and takes the drinks down into the mass of bodies.
"Nah, stay. Have fun." Dean pulls Seamus's hand off his arm, gives it a squeeze, and then walks out of the pub. Seamus feels mildly empty.
~~**~~
They're all there, the following week, except for Dean. He's called off, something about being ill or some such rubbish.
Seamus leaves early, it just feels routine and boring. And there's no Dean.
~~**~~
Dean's got plans the following week.
Seamus curses and buys a round. Then another. And another. By the end of the night, he knows he's not going to remember the way that he's fucking Michael's hand there in an alley.
~~**~~
Yet fucking again, Dean's called off and Seamus is beginning to think that there's something going on.
Especially when Dean hasn't picked up his mobile in two weeks when it's Seamus calling. When it's Harry or Ron or Michael, there isn't a problem. When it's Seamus, though, there's problems with reception and messages saying "oh so sorry, mate, must've called back while you weren't available. We'll get together, soon."
Seamus calls off, himself. He spends all his time with his mobile in his pocket and the windows open for an owl, just in case.
~~**~~
The next week, Seamus decides that 'fuck it' is the appropriate response so he heads to the first pub to meet the rest. Dean's standing there as if he hasn't been avoiding Seamus for weeks. It's tempting to stride right over and punch him hard, right in the stomach. Instead of something that might piss everyone off, he breathes deep inoutinout and then walks over as if the past three weeks hasn't happened at all.
"We ready, boys? Corner, you think you'll be able to keep up this week? Dean's been off his training so he'll be lagging, you might stand a chance of not being the first to pass out." When Corner flips him a rude gesture, Seamus leans forward and sucks the fingers into his mouth. "Shit, Corner, you taste like arse."
"Fuck off, Finnigan." Another rude gesture and they walk into the first pub. Seamus studiously avoids looking at Dean. Since he has yet to drink, he's not quite drunk enough for the confrontation that's sure to come.
The first pub blurs into the second pub which blurs into the third and it's not until the fourth that they're drunk enough to start getting up to their usual antics. This time, however, as Seamus dances around in his boxers, there's no Dean. That favoured moment when time slows, bodies blur and music quiets, comes too soon and Dean is standing there staring while Seamus dances on his own.
Carpe Dean, he mutters in his head and the thought makes him giggle. He dances towards Dean, returning Ron's grabbing groping kiss as he does so. When they're done, he looks up to see Dean's face twisting and he hurries, pushing off Neville and then he's right there with Dean. He grins as he touches, naked chest to cotton-covered chest, and then he leans back and starts to unbutton the shirt. Dean shivers and then his hands shift to hold onto Seamus's. He looks suddenly furious and Seamus doesn't understand it.
"Not doing this, Seamus," he yells as he squeezes Seamus's hands. The two don't seem to go together so Seamus leans in further and licks the slight opening at the 'v' of Dean's shirt. Dean bucks away and hisses, "Stop it."
"Not going to, been wanting to do this awhile," Seamus says against that flesh and then frees one of his hands to open Dean's shirt a bit more. The large tattoo on Dean's chest slowly reveals itself as Seamus fumbles with button after button. There's simply no way, not in this surreal time-slurring moment that Seamus can resist licking the dark swirls and lines of the tribal pattern. As he leans forward, Dean murmurs, chest vibrating under Seamus's hands, and he takes it for acquiescence. He traces each dark mark, tasting the salty sweaty skin. A girl in the background screams and Seamus's expression turns naughty. He licks again while he pushes the shirt as far as open as he can before darting in and licking his way across to Dean's dusky nipple. When he nips it hard, Dean rears back, pulling it from between teeth.
"Fuck's sake, Seamus," Dean groans and then, before Seamus knows what the fuck is going on, starts to storm off the dance floor. This time, though, unlike a month previous, Seamus isn't going to allow it. Not this time, not another three weeks with no contact but awkward messages. Not more time wondering what they're doing and where they're going and where they've been. He reaches out and grabs Dean's arm, hauling on it with a strength that surprises even him.
Reeled in, Dean turns and slams into Seamus's chest. After grunting with the impact, Seamus grabs the back of Dean's neck and then mashes his lips against Dean's, pushing them together so hard that teeth clack and lips are pinched. He's drunk enough that the kiss lacks finesse, it's too much teeth, too much pressure, and too much need. As far as he's concerned, he doesn't much care about finesse when he's got the taste of Dean on his lips.
Slipping his tongue between Dean's lips, he licks across the white teeth and then sweeps his way deep into Dean's mouth. The taste of Dean - alcohol, cigarettes, smoke, curry and Dean - burst on his tongue and he moans into Dean's mouth. Dean's hands spear into his hair, nails scraping across ears, and holds his head in place while they kiss. The sounds around them recede even further, barely a murmur though the music pounds so loudly that the bass vibrates in his chest.
Seamus bucks forward and feels the answering hardness. He moans into Dean's mouth once more while his hands shift and explore, touching as much flesh as they can by tugging Dean's shirt from his trousers and then running up and then down that skin. There's a small bump under his fingers and he rubs across it again and then again. It's a small imperfection that he's never noticed but he really wants to see it now, explore all of Dean's skin so that he can map all the little imperfections.
Dean pulls back abruptly and the glares at Seamus. "Lay off."
"What? Thought you were enjoying this," Seamus says with a leer and then rubs their groins together again.
"You're trolleyed and you'll regret this in the morning. Lay off." Dean tries to pull back further but Seamus grabs him and holds him in place, even Dean looks surprised at the strength in the grip.
"Fuck that, barely had shit to drink and you know it. You don't want to be kissing me, then fucking say that, not this altruistic bullshit you're spouting."
"You're a dick, Finnigan, a complete and utter dick. I'm trying to look out for your drunken arse and…" Dean throws his hands in the air while he rants before interrupting himself. He leans forward and kisses Seamus with quite a bit more skill than Seamus had been able to reach. Grinding their erections together, Dean's taken complete control and Seamus lets him, lets him take and grab whatever he wants because Seamus doesn't know quite what to do or even what he wants. All he knows is that this is divine.
Christ but there's this mixed up messed up need in him and it's coupled with more questions than he can possibly process. Thoughts, what the fuck is he thinking, why the fuck does he think this is a good idea, will they still be friends?, all blend into one big thought, If he does that again, I swear to all that is holy that I will never sin again. I will go to church every oh fuck me that's just the way, that right there, that's perfect and thank the fucking maker I didn't finish that thought before Dean...
Neville comes up and licks Seamus's neck. Seamus swats at him, growling, "fuck off" but it's too late, the moment's ruined. By the time Seamus finishes growling at Neville, Dean's taken off through the crowd and Seamus loses him in the crowd, even considering how he towers over everyone.
"Fucking hell, couldn't you see I was in the middle of something?" Seamus shoves Neville and then storms out of the pub.
He walks into the alley, hoping for a clear place to Apparate home. He's gone and fucked it all up with kissing Dean like that. Now he's got to think of how to deal with the ramifications, how to fucking deal with the silence from Dean. Either that or he'll have to figure out how to break through it and see where they're at and where they're going. As he stalks down the alley, muttering to himself about Neville and his pisspoor timing, Seamus stumbles into Dean, who grabs him and shoves him against the brick wall. They're intimately close and Seamus is half-tempted to lean forward and suck in that lower lip that's slightly swollen from kissing him. The only thing stopping him is the pissed off expression on Dean's face.
"What was that all about in there, Shay?" Dean's so close that Seamus can feel the breath that punctuates the snarl.
"Wanted a kiss, got one." He's half flippant and half serious but between the buzz of the alcohol and the blur of Dean, he's lucky that his words are understandable.
"So it's just part of the game? Next kiss going to be Nev or Harry? Going to snog them, too?" Dean's expression darkens but his voice sounds hurt, instead. It's then that the light bulb goes off and Seamus realises that maybe, just maybe, Dean's as mixed up messed up as he is.
He reaches up and cups Dean's cheek. When Dean shies away from it, he moves his hand again before speaking, "Fuck, no. Just from you, of course."
"Oh yeah? Since when? You were snogging Corner a few weeks ago. Nev, too. Hell, I think practically-married Ron got a snog, too."
"I don't know, since you've been spending time with Luna? It's been there for awhile, can't tell you when it started, just realised it awhile back." Seamus slides his hand to grip the back of Dean's neck and pulls his head in close until they're touching forehead to forehead with Dean leaning down.
"Then why haven't you snogged me before?" Dean whispers and Seamus can tell from years of experience that it's the voice he uses when he's scared and unsure.
"Afraid of how you'd react." Seamus gives a bark of laughter. "Hell, I was afraid of how I'd react. Wanted it so much but you're, well, you're you and I'm me and… and they're all just flirtations, you know? They go home to their girlfriends and I go back to my flat and wonder. Why do you think I drink so much? Can pretend that it's the drink and not the want for why I'm touching you. Fuck but since you got that tattoo on your chest, I've been wanking for you."
Dean makes a choked sound and Seamus thinks that maybe he'd gone too far. Briefly, he wonders if he could blame the confession on the alcohol but somehow, especially after that last little bit, he doesn't think that he'll really be able to carry it off.
"We can pretend that this conversation didn't happen, if you want," Seamus offers. He shifts his hand, letting go of Dean's neck, and tries to move away. Only problem is that he's trapped there between the wall and Dean.
"Whatever happened to no regrets?" Dean asks after a long silence.
"Fuck's sake, you're my best mate. I'd rather not have you not talking to me again because I happened to mention my wanking habits."
"Avoided you because I was too busy wanking for you." It's said so low that Seamus swears he didn't hear what he thought he heard.
"Sorry, mate, but err, what? Could've sworn that you said that you didn't call cause you were wanking about me."
Dean laughs, stilted and awkward but it's still lighter than a moment before, "Aye, was wanking to you. Every time I heard your voice, I popped wood."
"No fucking way," Seamus goggles and throws his head back, promptly hitting the brick wall.
"Yeah, just about."
"Christ, Dean, we could've been fucking this entire time if you'd just grown a pair." Seamus lightly smacks Dean on the cheek.
"Sod off, Finnigan, thought you were straight except for the messing around with the guys."
"Am straight since you're such a fucking girl over this whole thing." This time, Dean slaps Seamus. "Oi! Watch it there, you're damaging the goods and if you know what's good for you, you'll stop that shit."
"Oh yeah? What're you going to do if I don't?" Dean smacks Seamus one more time.
"This," Seamus says before grabbing his wand and banishing all of Dean's clothes so that he's starkers there in the alley. Anyone walking past could see him and the thought arouses Seamus.
"Fucking hell, Shay, it's cold out, you bastard."
"Me parents were married, thanks, wanker. Come on then, do it again. I dare you." Seamus reaches down with his empty hand and grabs a hold of Dean's cock.
"Not when you've got your hand there. I'm not stupid."
"Thought so. Good lad," Seamus says it condescendingly.
"You going to do anything with it or just hold on?"
"Maybe I will, maybe I won't. Depends on if you're going to be doing anything in return."
"You propositioning me?" Dean laughs and ruins the flirtatious mood. Seamus tugs Dean's cock and the laughter abruptly stops. "Right, I'll get on that, then. You'll tell me what you like?"
"When've I ever not told you something?" Seamus pauses at the eyebrow raise from Dean. "Right, besides the whole wanting-to-snog-you thing."
"Fourth year, Lavender's tits. Never did tell me what colour her nipples were." Dean starts to undo Seamus's trousers and the cool air makes him shiver. "Where're your boxers? Aren't you rubbed raw?"
"Never wear 'em, not for weeks, anyway." When Dean grabs Seamus's cock, Seamus shivers again. "Pinkish brown, mate, now can we stop talking about birds and get to fucking each other?"
Tilting his head, Seamus kisses Dean again. It doesn't much matter that they're in an alley beside a club where their friends could come out at any moment, not when Dean's hand is on his cock while the other holds his head and his mouth fucks Seamus's. Christ but the way his tongue is moving makes Seamus's knees go weak and there's that buzzy blurry feeling again.
He's coming all over Dean's hand disgustingly quick. It's embarrassing. He flushes red but keeps moving his hand because it's not just about him, no matter what his cock thinks. He lectures his cock in his head, a running diatribe of you will not embarrass me again. You will not embarrass me again. Oh, right, there you are, fucking piece of shit, you little fucker. Try to stay hard for longer than a minute, yeah?
"Again?" Dean asks, stunned. Seamus grins, trying to play off the quickness as he fists Dean's cock. He hasn't a clue if he's doing it right or not but Dean had said that he'd tell Seamus if he was fucking it up, right? God, he hopes he's right.
"Yeah, just like that, bit tighter and, yeah, yeah, that's perfect, perfect hands, Seamus, feels better than I imagined and I imagined it to feel pretty, oh God, like that," Dean's muttering as he's thrusting his hips, fucking Seamus's hand. For his part, Seamus starts fucking Dean's hand again.
It's not perfect and, to be honest, it's not the best he's ever had, but it is Dean and that counts for more than he can possibly put a price on. He lasts longer this time, longer than Dean, at least. Dean comes on his hand and then Seamus lets go, coming as Dean bites down on his earlobe.
They lean in against one another again, forehead to forehead, and it's fucking brilliant. They're in an alley and it's filthy and the bricks are hard and Dean's completely starkers.
"Wanna see my next trick?" Seamus asks as they're panting each other's air in and out.
"Is it going to get my clothes back?"
"Not going to need them," Seamus says before they Apparate out of the alley and into his bedroom.
"Yeah, alright, this is better."
"Thought so."
As always, I'd love to hear what you thought.
Author: wook77
Pairing: Dean Thomas/Seamus Finnigan with implied Dean/Seamus/Ron/Harry/Michael/Neville (ish)
Warnings: mostly pwp
Rating: Hard R to NC-17
Wordcount: ~4000
Summary: They've taken to pubcrawling to pass the time. Only problem is that they're straight. Seamus wants Dean anyway.
Author's Note: Loosely inspired by the Sandbach Rugby Team on iTV2's show Generation XCess. The link goes to a short clip but there's actually a 14-15 minute video that is just awesome. Beta'd by yodels but all remaining mistakes are my own. Finally, this one is dedicated to nefernat just for being so awesome (you know why :D).
They've taken to to getting together to pubhop. These weekly meetings make the war seem less real. Distance makes it less painful and, six months after Voldemort's gone, they're all starting to be able to forget the terror and chaos of the past year and a half. They're all there - Harry, Neville, Ron, Michael, Zach, Dean, and him - and they all drink. A lot. In the morning when he's feeling like shite, Seamus'll say that it's too much but during the night, it's almost enough.
It's only when he's pissed out his skull that he's willing to act on what he wants, and that's Dean. As they pour into the next club, elbowing and shouldering one another, they're trolleyed and feeling lovely, thanks. In fact, Seamus is feeling lovely enough that he's the first to drop trou and dance in his boxers, not caring at all if his dick pops out because, really, no one expects the Irish to be well-hung anyway, right? It's freeing to dance about with the brush of sweat-drenched flesh against sweat-drenched flesh. He likes the feel of the cotton of Dean's shirt against his back. He especially likes the feel of Dean biting on his ear from behind and then whispering right into his ear, "Cock's popped out, mate."
Seamus always leans back into that touch and shouts over his shoulder, "put it back in then."
Dean's hands - long sinew and soft flesh - are marvelous as they cup his prick and tuck it away, back into his boxers. Dean doesn't let go of Seamus's ear, keeps it between his teeth as he leans around and they both watch the way the dark hand engulfs the pale flesh. Seamus is man enough - straight enough - to resist bucking into that hand.
They're all just fucking around, really. Blowing off steam and taking the piss for the girls that are all around. There isn't a girl out there that doesn't want a couple of blokes kissing, as far as Seamus is concerned. It's a game, a release that happens far away from the world that they know where they're all supposed to be so upstanding and responsible
The more they drink, the more flirtatious Seamus gets. Most nights, by this point, they're all in their boxers and pants and Seamus maneuvers so that he can take a lick at Michael's nipples, nipping them slightly and enjoying the way Michael's hands grab the back of his head and hold him pressed against flat, hard chest. He moves on to Ron and they kiss, tongues entwining. Harry presses up behind them, grinding his cock into Seamus's ass and Seamus presses back against it while Ron leans forward to keep the pressure on his own cock. He's further and further from Dean but it doesn't matter because there are so many bodies around him and he knows what's coming next.
It's at this moment - week in and week out - that Seamus will look up as he's mouthing against Ron's neck and he'll see Dean watching, standing there in the middle of the dance floor, the only one still and watchful as bodies swirl. Dean's taller than everyone there and the music goes muffled, the flesh around him blurs and the colours merge but Dean's face stays clear. It's this one moment when Seamus wonders what Dean would do if he went down on him right then and there, just swallowed his cock whole in front of God, country and the pub.
He hasn't had the balls to do it just yet. There'll come a time that he'll be drunk enough for it but, as Michael tugs on his hair and Neville clamps his teeth down on his neck while Ron and Harry maneuver around his arched body to kiss each other, Seamus knows that it isn't right now. He hasn't had nearly enough to drink.
Flagging down one of the girls, he orders another pint for everyone and hands her his wallet. She'll come back with it or she won't but it won't much matter because regardless, Dean's watching Seamus in the middle of the writhing bodies of their friends. Dean's watching Seamus. Seamus. Not Ron, not Harry, not Neville, not Michael. He's watching the way they all surround Seamus and it's like a giant symphony of flesh as they touch and kiss and bite and lick and moan and buck and feel. God, it's so glorious just to feel again, for another night, he can feel everything except what he really wants and that's what gets him because they always end up like this. Dean's always watching and Seamus is always searching for a way to feel.
Ron's hands slide around him to clamp onto Harry's waist and push him closer and Harry's pulling down Seamus's boxers and he feels the press of Harry's cock into his arse and that feels just about amazing. His dick's popped out again but this time, as it thrusts out, Ron's dick is right there too and the brush of both of them together is fucking bloody brilliant, especially as Harry's hands wrap around both of their cocks. Michael and Neville slip to the side and start kissing as they dance and Dean's still bloody watching. When Ron slides in for another kiss, Seamus won't break eye contact with Dean and he shifts his face so that Ron's kiss lands against his cheek, open-mouthed and wet.
Breaking their ritual, Dean shakes himself and turns. There's a tiny voice in Seamus's head that's demanding and strident. It's shouting, now or never, now or never, get over there you fucking idiot or you're going to fucking lose this, you're going to lose all of this!
The only problem is that there's another little voice that's protesting, you're straight, what are you thinking of doing? You're all just playing at gay, it's a lark, a bonding experience, they're all going to go home to their girlfriends and you'll go home to a wank. Leave it and stay where you're at. You're both straight, you fucking git, and if you go after him, you won't be. You'll be a poofter, a shirtlifter, an arsebandit, a buttfucker.
Seamus isn't quite sure which voice to listen to as Ron bites down on his collarbone and Harry grinds into his arse. Dean's almost off the dance floor, almost disappearing and the first voice grows louder - Christ Jesus, Finnigan, get the fuck over there or it's all over! Don't you see it? Can't you see how fucked you're going to be if this ends? It's so loud that he can't even begin to hear the music and he decides, Fuck it, Carpe Dean or whatever the fuck that saying is and pulls out from between Harry and Ron, leaving them to touch each other.
Tossing a rude gesture to a bird as she crooks her pinky finger at him, he tugs up his pants and goes rushing off the dance floor to Dean. He's almost too slow, Dean's almost done climbing the steps to head to the bar or maybe the door.
"Oi, Thomas!" Seamus yells without any sort of regard to the people around him. Dean hesitates and then keeps walking. Seamus, heart pounding from more than the dancing, runs after him until he can grab an arm and swing Dean around to look at him. "Where you off to?"
"I'm for home." Dean sounds off, but he's smiling so Seamus doesn't know which signal to listen to.
"Want company?" Seamus offers as the girl he'd given his wallet to hands it back and takes the drinks down into the mass of bodies.
"Nah, stay. Have fun." Dean pulls Seamus's hand off his arm, gives it a squeeze, and then walks out of the pub. Seamus feels mildly empty.
~~**~~
They're all there, the following week, except for Dean. He's called off, something about being ill or some such rubbish.
Seamus leaves early, it just feels routine and boring. And there's no Dean.
~~**~~
Dean's got plans the following week.
Seamus curses and buys a round. Then another. And another. By the end of the night, he knows he's not going to remember the way that he's fucking Michael's hand there in an alley.
~~**~~
Yet fucking again, Dean's called off and Seamus is beginning to think that there's something going on.
Especially when Dean hasn't picked up his mobile in two weeks when it's Seamus calling. When it's Harry or Ron or Michael, there isn't a problem. When it's Seamus, though, there's problems with reception and messages saying "oh so sorry, mate, must've called back while you weren't available. We'll get together, soon."
Seamus calls off, himself. He spends all his time with his mobile in his pocket and the windows open for an owl, just in case.
~~**~~
The next week, Seamus decides that 'fuck it' is the appropriate response so he heads to the first pub to meet the rest. Dean's standing there as if he hasn't been avoiding Seamus for weeks. It's tempting to stride right over and punch him hard, right in the stomach. Instead of something that might piss everyone off, he breathes deep inoutinout and then walks over as if the past three weeks hasn't happened at all.
"We ready, boys? Corner, you think you'll be able to keep up this week? Dean's been off his training so he'll be lagging, you might stand a chance of not being the first to pass out." When Corner flips him a rude gesture, Seamus leans forward and sucks the fingers into his mouth. "Shit, Corner, you taste like arse."
"Fuck off, Finnigan." Another rude gesture and they walk into the first pub. Seamus studiously avoids looking at Dean. Since he has yet to drink, he's not quite drunk enough for the confrontation that's sure to come.
The first pub blurs into the second pub which blurs into the third and it's not until the fourth that they're drunk enough to start getting up to their usual antics. This time, however, as Seamus dances around in his boxers, there's no Dean. That favoured moment when time slows, bodies blur and music quiets, comes too soon and Dean is standing there staring while Seamus dances on his own.
Carpe Dean, he mutters in his head and the thought makes him giggle. He dances towards Dean, returning Ron's grabbing groping kiss as he does so. When they're done, he looks up to see Dean's face twisting and he hurries, pushing off Neville and then he's right there with Dean. He grins as he touches, naked chest to cotton-covered chest, and then he leans back and starts to unbutton the shirt. Dean shivers and then his hands shift to hold onto Seamus's. He looks suddenly furious and Seamus doesn't understand it.
"Not doing this, Seamus," he yells as he squeezes Seamus's hands. The two don't seem to go together so Seamus leans in further and licks the slight opening at the 'v' of Dean's shirt. Dean bucks away and hisses, "Stop it."
"Not going to, been wanting to do this awhile," Seamus says against that flesh and then frees one of his hands to open Dean's shirt a bit more. The large tattoo on Dean's chest slowly reveals itself as Seamus fumbles with button after button. There's simply no way, not in this surreal time-slurring moment that Seamus can resist licking the dark swirls and lines of the tribal pattern. As he leans forward, Dean murmurs, chest vibrating under Seamus's hands, and he takes it for acquiescence. He traces each dark mark, tasting the salty sweaty skin. A girl in the background screams and Seamus's expression turns naughty. He licks again while he pushes the shirt as far as open as he can before darting in and licking his way across to Dean's dusky nipple. When he nips it hard, Dean rears back, pulling it from between teeth.
"Fuck's sake, Seamus," Dean groans and then, before Seamus knows what the fuck is going on, starts to storm off the dance floor. This time, though, unlike a month previous, Seamus isn't going to allow it. Not this time, not another three weeks with no contact but awkward messages. Not more time wondering what they're doing and where they're going and where they've been. He reaches out and grabs Dean's arm, hauling on it with a strength that surprises even him.
Reeled in, Dean turns and slams into Seamus's chest. After grunting with the impact, Seamus grabs the back of Dean's neck and then mashes his lips against Dean's, pushing them together so hard that teeth clack and lips are pinched. He's drunk enough that the kiss lacks finesse, it's too much teeth, too much pressure, and too much need. As far as he's concerned, he doesn't much care about finesse when he's got the taste of Dean on his lips.
Slipping his tongue between Dean's lips, he licks across the white teeth and then sweeps his way deep into Dean's mouth. The taste of Dean - alcohol, cigarettes, smoke, curry and Dean - burst on his tongue and he moans into Dean's mouth. Dean's hands spear into his hair, nails scraping across ears, and holds his head in place while they kiss. The sounds around them recede even further, barely a murmur though the music pounds so loudly that the bass vibrates in his chest.
Seamus bucks forward and feels the answering hardness. He moans into Dean's mouth once more while his hands shift and explore, touching as much flesh as they can by tugging Dean's shirt from his trousers and then running up and then down that skin. There's a small bump under his fingers and he rubs across it again and then again. It's a small imperfection that he's never noticed but he really wants to see it now, explore all of Dean's skin so that he can map all the little imperfections.
Dean pulls back abruptly and the glares at Seamus. "Lay off."
"What? Thought you were enjoying this," Seamus says with a leer and then rubs their groins together again.
"You're trolleyed and you'll regret this in the morning. Lay off." Dean tries to pull back further but Seamus grabs him and holds him in place, even Dean looks surprised at the strength in the grip.
"Fuck that, barely had shit to drink and you know it. You don't want to be kissing me, then fucking say that, not this altruistic bullshit you're spouting."
"You're a dick, Finnigan, a complete and utter dick. I'm trying to look out for your drunken arse and…" Dean throws his hands in the air while he rants before interrupting himself. He leans forward and kisses Seamus with quite a bit more skill than Seamus had been able to reach. Grinding their erections together, Dean's taken complete control and Seamus lets him, lets him take and grab whatever he wants because Seamus doesn't know quite what to do or even what he wants. All he knows is that this is divine.
Christ but there's this mixed up messed up need in him and it's coupled with more questions than he can possibly process. Thoughts, what the fuck is he thinking, why the fuck does he think this is a good idea, will they still be friends?, all blend into one big thought, If he does that again, I swear to all that is holy that I will never sin again. I will go to church every oh fuck me that's just the way, that right there, that's perfect and thank the fucking maker I didn't finish that thought before Dean...
Neville comes up and licks Seamus's neck. Seamus swats at him, growling, "fuck off" but it's too late, the moment's ruined. By the time Seamus finishes growling at Neville, Dean's taken off through the crowd and Seamus loses him in the crowd, even considering how he towers over everyone.
"Fucking hell, couldn't you see I was in the middle of something?" Seamus shoves Neville and then storms out of the pub.
He walks into the alley, hoping for a clear place to Apparate home. He's gone and fucked it all up with kissing Dean like that. Now he's got to think of how to deal with the ramifications, how to fucking deal with the silence from Dean. Either that or he'll have to figure out how to break through it and see where they're at and where they're going. As he stalks down the alley, muttering to himself about Neville and his pisspoor timing, Seamus stumbles into Dean, who grabs him and shoves him against the brick wall. They're intimately close and Seamus is half-tempted to lean forward and suck in that lower lip that's slightly swollen from kissing him. The only thing stopping him is the pissed off expression on Dean's face.
"What was that all about in there, Shay?" Dean's so close that Seamus can feel the breath that punctuates the snarl.
"Wanted a kiss, got one." He's half flippant and half serious but between the buzz of the alcohol and the blur of Dean, he's lucky that his words are understandable.
"So it's just part of the game? Next kiss going to be Nev or Harry? Going to snog them, too?" Dean's expression darkens but his voice sounds hurt, instead. It's then that the light bulb goes off and Seamus realises that maybe, just maybe, Dean's as mixed up messed up as he is.
He reaches up and cups Dean's cheek. When Dean shies away from it, he moves his hand again before speaking, "Fuck, no. Just from you, of course."
"Oh yeah? Since when? You were snogging Corner a few weeks ago. Nev, too. Hell, I think practically-married Ron got a snog, too."
"I don't know, since you've been spending time with Luna? It's been there for awhile, can't tell you when it started, just realised it awhile back." Seamus slides his hand to grip the back of Dean's neck and pulls his head in close until they're touching forehead to forehead with Dean leaning down.
"Then why haven't you snogged me before?" Dean whispers and Seamus can tell from years of experience that it's the voice he uses when he's scared and unsure.
"Afraid of how you'd react." Seamus gives a bark of laughter. "Hell, I was afraid of how I'd react. Wanted it so much but you're, well, you're you and I'm me and… and they're all just flirtations, you know? They go home to their girlfriends and I go back to my flat and wonder. Why do you think I drink so much? Can pretend that it's the drink and not the want for why I'm touching you. Fuck but since you got that tattoo on your chest, I've been wanking for you."
Dean makes a choked sound and Seamus thinks that maybe he'd gone too far. Briefly, he wonders if he could blame the confession on the alcohol but somehow, especially after that last little bit, he doesn't think that he'll really be able to carry it off.
"We can pretend that this conversation didn't happen, if you want," Seamus offers. He shifts his hand, letting go of Dean's neck, and tries to move away. Only problem is that he's trapped there between the wall and Dean.
"Whatever happened to no regrets?" Dean asks after a long silence.
"Fuck's sake, you're my best mate. I'd rather not have you not talking to me again because I happened to mention my wanking habits."
"Avoided you because I was too busy wanking for you." It's said so low that Seamus swears he didn't hear what he thought he heard.
"Sorry, mate, but err, what? Could've sworn that you said that you didn't call cause you were wanking about me."
Dean laughs, stilted and awkward but it's still lighter than a moment before, "Aye, was wanking to you. Every time I heard your voice, I popped wood."
"No fucking way," Seamus goggles and throws his head back, promptly hitting the brick wall.
"Yeah, just about."
"Christ, Dean, we could've been fucking this entire time if you'd just grown a pair." Seamus lightly smacks Dean on the cheek.
"Sod off, Finnigan, thought you were straight except for the messing around with the guys."
"Am straight since you're such a fucking girl over this whole thing." This time, Dean slaps Seamus. "Oi! Watch it there, you're damaging the goods and if you know what's good for you, you'll stop that shit."
"Oh yeah? What're you going to do if I don't?" Dean smacks Seamus one more time.
"This," Seamus says before grabbing his wand and banishing all of Dean's clothes so that he's starkers there in the alley. Anyone walking past could see him and the thought arouses Seamus.
"Fucking hell, Shay, it's cold out, you bastard."
"Me parents were married, thanks, wanker. Come on then, do it again. I dare you." Seamus reaches down with his empty hand and grabs a hold of Dean's cock.
"Not when you've got your hand there. I'm not stupid."
"Thought so. Good lad," Seamus says it condescendingly.
"You going to do anything with it or just hold on?"
"Maybe I will, maybe I won't. Depends on if you're going to be doing anything in return."
"You propositioning me?" Dean laughs and ruins the flirtatious mood. Seamus tugs Dean's cock and the laughter abruptly stops. "Right, I'll get on that, then. You'll tell me what you like?"
"When've I ever not told you something?" Seamus pauses at the eyebrow raise from Dean. "Right, besides the whole wanting-to-snog-you thing."
"Fourth year, Lavender's tits. Never did tell me what colour her nipples were." Dean starts to undo Seamus's trousers and the cool air makes him shiver. "Where're your boxers? Aren't you rubbed raw?"
"Never wear 'em, not for weeks, anyway." When Dean grabs Seamus's cock, Seamus shivers again. "Pinkish brown, mate, now can we stop talking about birds and get to fucking each other?"
Tilting his head, Seamus kisses Dean again. It doesn't much matter that they're in an alley beside a club where their friends could come out at any moment, not when Dean's hand is on his cock while the other holds his head and his mouth fucks Seamus's. Christ but the way his tongue is moving makes Seamus's knees go weak and there's that buzzy blurry feeling again.
He's coming all over Dean's hand disgustingly quick. It's embarrassing. He flushes red but keeps moving his hand because it's not just about him, no matter what his cock thinks. He lectures his cock in his head, a running diatribe of you will not embarrass me again. You will not embarrass me again. Oh, right, there you are, fucking piece of shit, you little fucker. Try to stay hard for longer than a minute, yeah?
"Again?" Dean asks, stunned. Seamus grins, trying to play off the quickness as he fists Dean's cock. He hasn't a clue if he's doing it right or not but Dean had said that he'd tell Seamus if he was fucking it up, right? God, he hopes he's right.
"Yeah, just like that, bit tighter and, yeah, yeah, that's perfect, perfect hands, Seamus, feels better than I imagined and I imagined it to feel pretty, oh God, like that," Dean's muttering as he's thrusting his hips, fucking Seamus's hand. For his part, Seamus starts fucking Dean's hand again.
It's not perfect and, to be honest, it's not the best he's ever had, but it is Dean and that counts for more than he can possibly put a price on. He lasts longer this time, longer than Dean, at least. Dean comes on his hand and then Seamus lets go, coming as Dean bites down on his earlobe.
They lean in against one another again, forehead to forehead, and it's fucking brilliant. They're in an alley and it's filthy and the bricks are hard and Dean's completely starkers.
"Wanna see my next trick?" Seamus asks as they're panting each other's air in and out.
"Is it going to get my clothes back?"
"Not going to need them," Seamus says before they Apparate out of the alley and into his bedroom.
"Yeah, alright, this is better."
"Thought so."
As always, I'd love to hear what you thought.