FIC: Stupid Girl Habits, Seamus/Dean ~light R
title: stupid girl habits
author: kaalee
pairing: Seamus/Dean
word count: ~1330 words
rating: light R
prompt: Love
a/n: Written for my Seamus/Dean claim at 50_smutlets. This is becoming a bit of a story arc, so it might be helpful, but not necessary, to read the other pieces [ here]. Dedicated to evil_erato, because, shamefully, I never wrote her any of the w00bies for her birthday. ♥ Many thanks to danijo1 for looking this over so quickly and not squishing my head.
:: previous::
stupid girl habits
seamus/dean, rated light R
::
Seamus leans against the wall in an abandoned area of the stairwell, cursing inwardly.
He doesn't know who to blame, but he's quite sure it has something to do with all of the stupid girl habits that have always floated around him. There are so many, really, and they exhale them out like bad breath. But, then everything gets all stuck in the air and he can't help but breathe it in. If he wasn't surrounded by girls all the fucking time, it probably would have been an entirely different thing all together.
But, it isn't.
And he doesn't.
It's a right pain, though. Really.
::
All of the girls around him -- even those back home -- always spend time sighing and getting stupid over the blokes around them. They'd sigh and giggle, brushing the tips of their breasts lightly when they speak -- tweaking their nipples, Seamus's sister tells him later, to make their nipples stand out -- and detailing bits of fantasies they'd had during lessons or whatever had gone on that day.
They also spend time writing their names alongside different blokes' surnames, squealing when something sounds particularly on, their handwriting obscenely lurid with loops and fancy curves.
He doesn't mean to spend time with the lasses -- but they're all that he lives with at home, and his mam never lets him out of the neighborhood to hang out with any of the blokes from town. Hence, most of his waking exposure growing up has been to the female of the species.
So, that's why. It has to be.
::
In the very middle of being fifteen and home for the summer with the events of the end of the year pushed down in his mind, Seamus had been torn between watching Oliver O'Shea run down the lane in town on a rare errand (such perfect golden curls he had; manly, for a boy) and gluing his eyes to Rachel Agostino (something about the dark Italian of her eyelashes made his lips dissolve).
When he'd come back into himself that day -- it had felt like hours, but probably not long in reality -- he'd suddenly realized that he was hard. Over a bloke. Or the Italian lass. Christ.
He'd felt underwater almost -- like being drunk, but with more nourishment
To this day, he can't figure out which of them got him that way.
Fuck.
::
Now? Things are a mess.
A right, fucking, arse-ended mess, and there isn't anything he can do about it.
Well, not until after a good wank anyway.
::
In the middle of lessons, he'd been doodling again, completely unbeknownst to him until a tell-tale head bob woke him from his stupor and he caught sight of the paper as it caressed the air, floating haphazardly to the floor and landing in the worst possible place.
Parvati's feet.
A small sheet of parchment, with a small heart, and Dean Thomas written, quite obviously, in the center.
In his own hand.
Parvati had seen it out of the corner of her eye and reached down to pick it up, looking curiously until her eyes had widened and she'd elbowed Lavender with a suppressed giggle. Seamus had then looked down to see the doodles that remained in the margins of his notes and sucked in his breath: Seamus + Dean and then: ♥Dean
Fucking hell.
::
"This is great!" Lavender had said in the corridor while Parvati nodded vigorously. "Someone fancies Dean. Now we just have to figure out who."
Seamus had looked around to see if anyone had heard them. Luckily, no one paid them much heed anymore, so he was safe (in a manner of speaking) for now.
As Seamus waved Dean on to the Great Hall, saying he'd catch up later, he'd caught another bit of Lavender and Parvati's conversation:
"It's love," Parvati sighed dreamily. "Now we just have to figure out who it is."
::
It's the last thing he'd heard before he left the group of them ('Coward!' his mind had shouted at him) and it's rolling over and over in his mind like a rock that gathers speed as it rolls downhill.
Love?
Seamus thinks of it like a bitter, nasty curse word, that if he spoke it aloud, his mam would spell his mouth full of rocks or a perhaps a viscous soapy mess and glare at him disapprovingly.
It's not love. It's nothing like that. It's so clearly the far reaching opposite of love that Seamus is nearly sure he would retch with the power of it.
Plus, it's all because of those stupid, idiotic habits that the lasses around him everywhere have.
That's got to be it.
::
It's not love. It's stupid, idiotic brainwashing is what it is. It's a conspiracy. It's another scheme to completely unseat him (though he's not sure exactly why the people that run the world want to unseat him, but there's got to be a reason).
It's why he dropped his entire pile of clothes when he saw Dean in a towel early this morning. It's why he ditched Dean in the first place after class. It's why he's currently hiding under one of the stairwells, avoiding the dust and crawling spiders, and battling with his psyche.
It's why he was fucking writing Dean's name alongside his own as though he has no shame or he has spontaneously turned into a girl.
Seamus reaches down quickly to make sure his dick is still there, a fit of inexplicable panic suddenly compelling him to check.
The relief is short lived, though, considering. Because having an enormous erection in the corridor has absolutely nothing to do with his best mate. It's about having stupid girl habits that never, never would have happened if he'd grown up with brothers.
::
If he'd grown up with brothers, he'd have a lot more know-how, and a lot less doubt. He wouldn't be standing here, thinking about what it would feel like if Dean were to walk in here right now... if Dean were to find him hiding and stalk over confidently, kissing him until they both forget how to breathe. He wouldn't be thinking about what it would feel like to be pressed hard against the wall with their hips rocking together, their lips wet with lazy, unrushed certainty.
He wouldn't be thinking of kneeling in front of Dean, opening his trousers and tasting the stale, sweet tang that Dean would surely have. He can't imagine what it would feel like to actually put his mouth on someone else's prick, but he's seen Dean: long and slim, jutting out from a thin patch of wiry hair that starts in a thin line under his navel and widens as it trails down.
Seamus doesn't think about following that line with his fingers and he doesn't think about Dean breathing raggedly above him, saying, "God, Shay. Please don't stop." He doesn't imagine what it would feel like to have Dean's fingertips tingling in his scalp, and he doesn't imagine what it would feel like to have Dean pulse down his throat, gasping and rocking his hips and smiling at him like Seamus has done something just the other side of amazing.
No, he doesn't think any of that.
Shutting his eyes, Seamus reaches into his trousers and forces his mind into a twisted parody of tits and naked women making eyes at him. It's frantic and quick, and one of the most unsatisfying wanks ever.
But... he's no girl.
::
When Seamus walks into the Great Hall, hoping like hell he looks alright, he sees Dean holding the parchment with his name on it and grinning. He watches Dean shove it into his bag and he punches Dean's shoulder as he shoves him over to sit down.
"What's going on?" he asks.
Dean takes a drink and then smiles crookedly at Seamus. "Someone fancies me," he whispers conspiratorially. "I reckon I can finally now get a shag."
::
:: next::
~thank you so much for reading! ♥
[ table]
author: kaalee
pairing: Seamus/Dean
word count: ~1330 words
rating: light R
prompt: Love
a/n: Written for my Seamus/Dean claim at 50_smutlets. This is becoming a bit of a story arc, so it might be helpful, but not necessary, to read the other pieces [ here]. Dedicated to evil_erato, because, shamefully, I never wrote her any of the w00bies for her birthday. ♥ Many thanks to danijo1 for looking this over so quickly and not squishing my head.
:: previous::
stupid girl habits
seamus/dean, rated light R
::
Seamus leans against the wall in an abandoned area of the stairwell, cursing inwardly.
He doesn't know who to blame, but he's quite sure it has something to do with all of the stupid girl habits that have always floated around him. There are so many, really, and they exhale them out like bad breath. But, then everything gets all stuck in the air and he can't help but breathe it in. If he wasn't surrounded by girls all the fucking time, it probably would have been an entirely different thing all together.
But, it isn't.
And he doesn't.
It's a right pain, though. Really.
::
All of the girls around him -- even those back home -- always spend time sighing and getting stupid over the blokes around them. They'd sigh and giggle, brushing the tips of their breasts lightly when they speak -- tweaking their nipples, Seamus's sister tells him later, to make their nipples stand out -- and detailing bits of fantasies they'd had during lessons or whatever had gone on that day.
They also spend time writing their names alongside different blokes' surnames, squealing when something sounds particularly on, their handwriting obscenely lurid with loops and fancy curves.
He doesn't mean to spend time with the lasses -- but they're all that he lives with at home, and his mam never lets him out of the neighborhood to hang out with any of the blokes from town. Hence, most of his waking exposure growing up has been to the female of the species.
So, that's why. It has to be.
::
In the very middle of being fifteen and home for the summer with the events of the end of the year pushed down in his mind, Seamus had been torn between watching Oliver O'Shea run down the lane in town on a rare errand (such perfect golden curls he had; manly, for a boy) and gluing his eyes to Rachel Agostino (something about the dark Italian of her eyelashes made his lips dissolve).
When he'd come back into himself that day -- it had felt like hours, but probably not long in reality -- he'd suddenly realized that he was hard. Over a bloke. Or the Italian lass. Christ.
He'd felt underwater almost -- like being drunk, but with more nourishment
To this day, he can't figure out which of them got him that way.
Fuck.
::
Now? Things are a mess.
A right, fucking, arse-ended mess, and there isn't anything he can do about it.
Well, not until after a good wank anyway.
::
In the middle of lessons, he'd been doodling again, completely unbeknownst to him until a tell-tale head bob woke him from his stupor and he caught sight of the paper as it caressed the air, floating haphazardly to the floor and landing in the worst possible place.
Parvati's feet.
A small sheet of parchment, with a small heart, and Dean Thomas written, quite obviously, in the center.
In his own hand.
Parvati had seen it out of the corner of her eye and reached down to pick it up, looking curiously until her eyes had widened and she'd elbowed Lavender with a suppressed giggle. Seamus had then looked down to see the doodles that remained in the margins of his notes and sucked in his breath: Seamus + Dean and then: ♥Dean
Fucking hell.
::
"This is great!" Lavender had said in the corridor while Parvati nodded vigorously. "Someone fancies Dean. Now we just have to figure out who."
Seamus had looked around to see if anyone had heard them. Luckily, no one paid them much heed anymore, so he was safe (in a manner of speaking) for now.
As Seamus waved Dean on to the Great Hall, saying he'd catch up later, he'd caught another bit of Lavender and Parvati's conversation:
"It's love," Parvati sighed dreamily. "Now we just have to figure out who it is."
::
It's the last thing he'd heard before he left the group of them ('Coward!' his mind had shouted at him) and it's rolling over and over in his mind like a rock that gathers speed as it rolls downhill.
Love?
Seamus thinks of it like a bitter, nasty curse word, that if he spoke it aloud, his mam would spell his mouth full of rocks or a perhaps a viscous soapy mess and glare at him disapprovingly.
It's not love. It's nothing like that. It's so clearly the far reaching opposite of love that Seamus is nearly sure he would retch with the power of it.
Plus, it's all because of those stupid, idiotic habits that the lasses around him everywhere have.
That's got to be it.
::
It's not love. It's stupid, idiotic brainwashing is what it is. It's a conspiracy. It's another scheme to completely unseat him (though he's not sure exactly why the people that run the world want to unseat him, but there's got to be a reason).
It's why he dropped his entire pile of clothes when he saw Dean in a towel early this morning. It's why he ditched Dean in the first place after class. It's why he's currently hiding under one of the stairwells, avoiding the dust and crawling spiders, and battling with his psyche.
It's why he was fucking writing Dean's name alongside his own as though he has no shame or he has spontaneously turned into a girl.
Seamus reaches down quickly to make sure his dick is still there, a fit of inexplicable panic suddenly compelling him to check.
The relief is short lived, though, considering. Because having an enormous erection in the corridor has absolutely nothing to do with his best mate. It's about having stupid girl habits that never, never would have happened if he'd grown up with brothers.
::
If he'd grown up with brothers, he'd have a lot more know-how, and a lot less doubt. He wouldn't be standing here, thinking about what it would feel like if Dean were to walk in here right now... if Dean were to find him hiding and stalk over confidently, kissing him until they both forget how to breathe. He wouldn't be thinking about what it would feel like to be pressed hard against the wall with their hips rocking together, their lips wet with lazy, unrushed certainty.
He wouldn't be thinking of kneeling in front of Dean, opening his trousers and tasting the stale, sweet tang that Dean would surely have. He can't imagine what it would feel like to actually put his mouth on someone else's prick, but he's seen Dean: long and slim, jutting out from a thin patch of wiry hair that starts in a thin line under his navel and widens as it trails down.
Seamus doesn't think about following that line with his fingers and he doesn't think about Dean breathing raggedly above him, saying, "God, Shay. Please don't stop." He doesn't imagine what it would feel like to have Dean's fingertips tingling in his scalp, and he doesn't imagine what it would feel like to have Dean pulse down his throat, gasping and rocking his hips and smiling at him like Seamus has done something just the other side of amazing.
No, he doesn't think any of that.
Shutting his eyes, Seamus reaches into his trousers and forces his mind into a twisted parody of tits and naked women making eyes at him. It's frantic and quick, and one of the most unsatisfying wanks ever.
But... he's no girl.
::
When Seamus walks into the Great Hall, hoping like hell he looks alright, he sees Dean holding the parchment with his name on it and grinning. He watches Dean shove it into his bag and he punches Dean's shoulder as he shoves him over to sit down.
"What's going on?" he asks.
Dean takes a drink and then smiles crookedly at Seamus. "Someone fancies me," he whispers conspiratorially. "I reckon I can finally now get a shag."
::
:: next::
~thank you so much for reading! ♥
[ table]