New HP fic
Feb. 12th, 2005 09:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thrihyrneProbably the oddest pairing I've tried to write yet, though I still think that there was a reason why it took me 20 pages to get George and Remus together in a believable fashion.
But for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
finniganfans and my fascination with Ireland that began in elementary school, here y'go.
Title: These Hot Days
Pairing: Seamus/Draco
Genre: Romance
Rating: NC-17
Length: fairly short, 9'ish pages; a little over 5,000 words
Summary: Post-Hogwarts and post-War, Draco finds his former tent-mate, who's made a name and his own wealth by creating "Bitter Banshee." In the meantime, Seamus has discovered origami, and despite several misunderstandings, they end up together.
Author's Notes: eternal gratitude to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
seventines, who actually lives in Ireland, and pawed through my mishmash of quasi-Scottish/British/Australian and made Seamus sound Irish.
As always to my flist: if squicked, or uninterested, please don't read. I won't be offended.
Seamus was sitting at the countertop of his small kitchen surrounded by brightly coloured pieces of paper, when he sensed a flickering in his house wards. He wasn’t expecting anyone, but neither did he have the painful, instinctive clenching sensation in his stomach that tended to accompany nasty things like Dementors. He’d honed those “gut reactions” during the War, and they’d kept him alive, an attribute about himself he was especially fond of, since he was still breathing and all.
He’d done quite well since the War. His persistent pursuits into turning various liquid substances into myriad quasi-alcoholic products beginning in his first year at Hogwarts had finally served him well; eventually he managed to create a chrysoprasic, gently undulating liqueur that he named Bitter Banshee. Rather unexpectedly, people in wizarding Japan took to it first, and he’d spent months in the Pacific working with small companies to import and distribute the potent green beverage which allegedly was as soothing as the wind in the heathers, according to adverts in any and all publications in which Seamus could buy advertising. Of course, if one drank too much of it, most likely one would prefer to be buried in said heather-covered hills, but that wasn’t his problem, now was it?
It was in Japan where he’d taken to origami. He wasn’t the most patient man in the world, but he’d also never been drawn to participating in sports, and he couldn’t begin to fathom the various gymnastic feats pursued by massive Sumo wrestlers. Folding paper, especially with a book of directions in front of him, was surprisingly rewarding. He moved on to Australia, distributing his Bitter Banshee and faring better socially. Seamus grew to love Muggle VB (Victoria Bitter beer) more than he should have. He also spent a lot of time on the beach, learning to surf, at least on a rudimentary level, and quite enjoyed the physiques of many buff surfer men. Unfortunately, his skin tone wasn’t made for that climate and sun, and while he enjoyed some brilliant snogging sessions with bronzed Aussie wizards, he knew he couldn’t stay. Too much sun, too many freckles, and he was tired of explaining that he was from Ireland, not Scotland.
He’d returned to his homeland via a fortnight with Neville and Dean in their London flat. They’d also thankfully endured and survived the War with precious few repercussions, their love lives were in a shambles, and he gratefully joined in their despair, and several bottles of Firewhiskey. He’d never told them of his particular gender preferences, which made their discussions a bit awkward.
“The women in Japan?” Neville asked, hopefully.
“They dressed like, well, Two Years. In a really pervy, plaid way. Skirts really short,” Seamus replied.
“As though that’s a problem,” Neville sulked.
“But the birds in Australia,” Dean said, a knowing wicked grin on his face.
“Too brutish,” Seamus said, taking a long pull on his pint. He wasn’t about to reveal that he couldn’t have cared less about the women on the beach, not that the Aussie witches didn’t try to change his mind.
The unfortunate truth was that he harboured a ridiculous fancy for a successful, turncoat Death Eater Slytherin. Bringing himself back to the present, Seamus roused himself from his flurry of memories and waited to see if someone actually mounted his stairs. Moments later, there was an insistent rapping on his door, which he promptly opened. Quite beyond all reason, the person whom he he’d both loathed and wanted desperately at varying times in his life stood ramrod straight in his doorframe, dressed to the nines.
“Malfoy,” Seamus said, extending his arm and giving Draco a firm handshake. “You’re looking well, post-War and all that. What brings you here? Are you after getting lost?”
Draco paused for a moment before equaling Seamus’ bone-crushing greeting.
“No. I’m here quite on purpose. May I come in?”
Seamus stepped back into his kitchen, waving vaguely toward the space behind him. “But of course. Tea?” he asked, his manners kicking in after registering that the blond, hair slicked and wearing full dress robes, was now standing in his short entryway and was gazing at the piles of square papers strewn on the countertop.
“No, I’d rather some of your famous brew.”
“I don’t brew it. It’s a potion, Malfoy.”
“Regardless. I couldn’t possibly visit the maker of the famous Bitter Banshee and not have some.”
Shrugging, Seamus went to his pantry and took out a bottle. He tried not to stare at Draco’s long white fingers drumming some infernal and unheard tune on the worktop as he poured his guest a drink. He tried equally hard not to stare at Draco’s pale throat, but again failed abysmally, so he poured some for himself as recompense at the completely ridiculous situation in which he found himself.
“Sláinte.” He toasted his uninvited guest, then spent some time taking in the cut of Draco’s robes, the tailored trousers, and even the signet ring on his hand, all of which could only mean…
“You’re here to buy me out.” Seamus had been propositioned enough times on multiple continents to know what it meant to be approached by men who were overdressed for a Thursday afternoon.
Draco smiled: a cold, feral grin.
Seamus didn’t return it. “Forget it, Malfoy. My company isn’t for sale.” He gave a well-practised and condescending twitch of his freckled nose. “Make your own, if you can figure out the recipe.”
Draco drained the rest of his liqueur, then looked around the kitchen, his eyes alighting on the myriad squares of bright paper. “And this is?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
Seamus twiddled his thin glass between his fingers. “Origami. Why? D’you like it?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he hoped desperately that the faint strain of neediness would remain unheard to Malfoy’s ears.
“It’s fascinating. And odd.” Draco’s grey eyes grew wide as saucers as he stared at the swans, boxes, and a multi-sided greatrhombiicosadodecahedron that had taken Seamus months to fathom, much less put together. Draco’s gaze lit on the project he’d been working on before being so rudely interrupted. “What is that supposed to be?”
Seamus remorsefully poured another dram of the liquid that had made him independent and wealthy, but not brought him any closer to personal happines. The Bitter Banshee had, however, managed in the past five minutes to bring the object of his affections into his house, though Draco seemed capable only of making fun of his hobby.
“S’a raccoon. I’m trying to make a fucking origami raccoon. Have your laugh, then leave. I’m not selling.”
Draco eyed him warily before pushing his glass forward to have some more of the greenapple-coloured liquid. “You seem to come at quite a price, Finnigan.”
Seamus gave Draco a dirty look. “Like I said. I’m not for sale.”
They toasted each other, years of history scudding in their wake as they drank.
“So you say.” Draco’s words dripped sibilantly from his tongue, and Seamus wished that he’d never been attracted to the jubilant look on the Slytherin’s face after a winning Quidditch match in their sixth year; wished he’d never had to share a tent with him for weeks on end during the dismal War; wished that Draco had never tracked him to his solitary home.
But of course. Like attracted like. Malfoy always came out on top, and now he was seeking out others who had done the same. It was just that Seamus wanted the man to have sought him out for personal reasons, not business. Just as Seamus had pressed his lips together in a thin line, trapping the slur against all Malfoys everywhere and the one in his kitchen in particular, Draco’s demeanour suddenly changed.
“Bloody hell, Finnigan!” Draco exclaimed, his haughty veneer vanishing with his explosion of profanity. “This stuff is really wicked. I don’t suppose that offer of tea still stands?”
Seamus grinned through his shock. “’Course it does. Give me just a minute.” He got up and tapped at his kettle. It began steaming merrily as he heard a rustling of paper behind him. “Sugar and milk?” he asked. Where they had been stationed during the War, condiments for their tea existed merely as fond memories from their days as students.
“Yes, please. Very milky and sweet. Oh, and congratulations on your ranking in Witch’s Weekly,” Draco said, smoothing out a folded set of pages on the table.
Seamus almost dropped both mugs. “You saved that rubbish?” he asked incredulously before handing Draco his tea.
“Rubbish? It’s not just anyone who’s in the 30 Most Eligible Bachelors Under Thirty,” Draco said snidely, his more usual snobbish tone returning to his voice. “Though given all you’ve done as an entrepreneur, I thought you should have at least been in the top ten.”
Seamus sank into his chair with a thud. “You,” he said haltingly. “You thought about me? Are you daft? You can’t stand me!”
Draco took a polite sip of his tea before giving Seamus a disarming smile. “That was ages ago. And you shouldn’t underestimate the effect of saving my life more than once,” he said, twisting his cup around the saucer. “But this obsession with the Kestrals- honestly.”
Seamus immediately took the bait, launching into a tirade about his beloved Kenmore Kestrals. He was stupefied when his brain managed to catch up to his mouth, realising that he and ruddy Draco ruddy Malfoy were having a good-natured, extensive argument about Quidditch.
In his kitchen. Over a months-old article that Draco had saved because Seamus was in it.
A quarter of an hour later, Draco threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Well, I suppose I’ll just have to show you what you’re missing. The Magpies play a week from today. If you’ve the time, I’d appreciate your joining me.” He stood up from the table, and Seamus stood as well.
“Malfoy, I must say you’re more than a bit confusing,” Seamus admitted, walking around the table to grasp the other man’s hand. “But I wouldn’t be a Finnigan if I turned down the offer of a free match.”
“That’s the spirit,” Malfoy said, delight shining in his expression. “We successful single men need to stick together.”
Seamus deflated a bit at the thought of being single. “Right you are. ‘Til next Thursday, then.” He watched Draco retrieve his wool overrobe from a grasping coat rack, a gift from Ron given when Seamus had made his first business deal.
“Looking forward to it.” In a swirl of dark robes Malfoy left the house, shutting the door firmly behind him. Seamus waited until he could feel the magic pass through his wards, and there was silence. He slumped back into his chair.
Which one is he? Seamus wondered, confusedly. Trying to take over my bloody company Malfoy, or ‘Hey mate, let’s go watch Quidditch’ Malfoy? Seamus stared at his cold tea for a while, then made up his mind to settle on the latter. He looked through his folding papers until he found an almost bilious green colour with tiny white flowers.
He’d been looking for an excuse to learn to make a dragon, and that reason had just been in his house. Mouth quirked, Seamus began folding.
***
Four days later Seamus ducked into the Three Broomsticks through the back entrance, greeting Rosmerta with a purposefully sloppy kiss across her cheek once she turned around.
“Seamus, you devil,” she said, her voice heavy with affection. “I didn’t think I’d see you until tomorrow!”
“Ah, but Rosie, I know you do your stocking on Sunday. And besides,” he waggled his eyebrows, “I don’t want to be a part of some boring routine of yours, now do I?” He hefted the box of bottles and perched it as much as he could on his fairly nonexistent hips. “I s’pose young Geoffrey’s tending bar?”
She nodded and smiled before returning to her task of arranging bottles of Firewhiskey, wine, butterbeer and all kinds of substances even Seamus couldn’t identify. “There’s not many folks for him to worry about. Go on in and put your Banshees on the floor next to that ancient brandy. I’ll never sell it, now that Professor Snape’s gone,” she said, wistfully before inclining her head at the door to the pub.
Seamus opened the door and took his merchandise into the mostly-empty room. The bright brilliance of Draco’s unmistakable white-blond hair shone despite the dim light, and Seamus almost dropped his box. He caught Geoffrey Pennywhistle’s eye, who stopped washing glasses and waved his wand at the bar so a flap rose and Seamus was able to come behind. He deposited the bottles in the spot Rosmerta requested before going back into the main section of the pub, taking a seat next to Draco, who greeted him by way of a raised eyebrow.
“Malfoy,” Seamus said, befuddled. “What’re you doing here?”
“What does it look like?” Draco said meaningfully, raising a glass of red wine.
“But I’d’ve thought that you’d only go to upscale places,” Seamus said as Geoffrey made a disgruntled noise, placing a shot of Firewhiskey on the bar.
“So you think about me, do you?” Malfoy leered.
“Didn’t say that,” Seamus said insultedly, even if it were true.
“Well, actually, you did, and I’m flattered.” Draco’s voice took on the more friendly tone he’d had at Seamus’ house. “I was feeling spontaneous, and suffering a modicum of nostalgia, and a smidge of loneliness. So I decided to come here.” He gave Seamus an intrigued look. “You’ll never guess what I dreamt of last night.”
“Not a clue.” Seamus tossed back his Firewhiskey, which was promptly refilled by the shaggy-haired apprentice bartender. “Some beautiful Veela-like woman writhing above you while you count your galleons?”
Draco looked both nauseous and affronted. “Merlin, Seamus, are you really that unobservant? I shudder to think about your other qualities aside from your sickening levels of loyalty and inexplicable talent at potions.” He took a long drink of his wine.
“Excuse me?” Seamus’ short temper began to flare. “I was the one who saved your arse more than once. And had to share that bloody bedroll. You should be bloody grateful for my loyalty, you ungrateful-”
“I dreamt of Benvolio, my dear Seamus.” Draco idly twisted the glass in his long fingers.
“You what?” Seamus was flabbergasted, both by Draco’s use of his given name, and that of their often-fought-over bedroll, nicknamed Benvolio. It had been toward the end of the War, and all items of warmth were in short supply. He and Malfoy, like all on the front lines, slept little, but when they did, both men had tried to pull as much of their shared blanket on themselves. Seamus had given the abused blanket a nickname, and in the frigid dark of night when neither of them could possibly sleep, he’d told Draco about the Muggle story of Romeo and Juliet, explaining the reference. As a child, Seamus’ father had read the story aloud to him.
During that time, Seamus had become exceedingly fond of the formerly-pompous Slytherin, and assumed (correctly, he was sure) that Draco would never imagine that Seamus felt wretched because he saw the two of them in the light of that Shakespeare play. Seamus had kept his feelings hidden, though he made sure that his classmate who’d forsaken all of his family and most of his former Hogwarts’ housemates to fight against the Death Eaters had remained alive. Despite their former animosities, Seamus did everything in his power to prevent Draco’s untimely demise, all while ensuring that he saved his own skin as part of the process.
“You dreamt about Benvolio?” Seamus now repeated, almost gulping his Firewhiskey. Out of habit, he pulled a piece of ever-present origami paper out of a pocket in his robe and began folding the first thing that came to mind.
“Yes.” The intense gaze of Draco’s grey eyes caught the Irishman unawares and he could only stare back in return. “I don’t suppose I ever told you about the other sorts of dreams I had back then, or have continued to have in the time following.”
“Most definitely not. We were barely on speaking terms, you’ll remember,” Seamus reminded him. He drew in a deep breath when Draco unexpectedly placed a hand on his upper arm, despite being in a public space.
“I remember and regret so much now,” Draco said softly. “Would you care for a walk? I could stand a breather, I think.”
Seamus nodded, stunned. He looked down at the origami animal he’d made – a dragon - which he quickly pocketed before rummaging through his robes for a few sickles. Geoffrey saw what he was doing and frowned.
“You know Madam Rosmerta won’t take your money, so don’t even try,” the young barman said pointedly.
Seamus grinned. “Can’t help it!” he said as Draco smoothly slid from his stool to the floor. “After you.” He gestured to the front door while Draco paid for his wine, leaving a tip so large that Geoffrey was still staring at the coinage when the two men left the stuffy air of the Three Broomsticks.
They walked the cobbled paths of Hogsmeade in companionable silence, enjoying the crisp tang of early autumn until Draco ducked into an alleyway Seamus had never before noticed. He unerringly followed the blond man and was astounded when he found himself pushed against a stony wall, Draco’s face mere inches from him, standing authoritatively with his strong fingers on Seamus’ waist.
“Veela? Women?” he breathed against Seamus’ lips. “The galleons I can fathom, but after all of those nights together, how could you not have realised that I wasn’t like that?”
Seamus’ mind spun faster than one of the twins’ Catherine Wheels fireworks, but then it promptly shut down altogether as he felt tender lips on his, an unfamiliar but welcome tongue insistently attempting entry to Seamus’ mouth.
Seamus was going to answer Draco’s question, honestly, but then Malfoy was sucking on Seamus’ bottom lip, and Seamus was rather moaning than speaking, and threading his fingers through what should surely be illegally fine hair. He tasted wine, and some kind of spicy warmth as Draco’s tongue moved against his own. Ridding himself of any caution, Seamus mashed their mouths together, feeling the backside of Draco’s perfectly straight teeth for the first time with his tongue, unsurprised that the heroics going on in their joined mouths was finding equal interest in his groin.
This carnal intrigue was apparently shared by Draco, who rubbed his growing erection sinuously against Seamus until the taller man moved his hands up Draco’s arms and then regrettably pushed him a shade away from himself.
“You fancy blokes?” Seamus panted, unsure and unconvinced he wasn’t merely part of some Grand Malfoy Plan of Indignity to which he would not parlay.
“Only a few,” Draco replied, his pupils widened with desire. “I wanted you. I incorrectly assumed you were uninterested.” He pressed back into Seamus’ body, which arched insistently against the other man’s.
“Why’d you never tell me?” Seamus asked before nipping at Draco’s ear, earning a low groan.
“Tell you? I figured I’d never have Benvolio’s warmth again, much less yours.” Draco had insinuated his hands under Seamus’ robes and shirt and was clasping at the back of Seamus’ ribs. “The Romeo and Juliet story. Two people from opposite ends of the spectrum, but who fall in love just the same. I’d thought, well, I was sure I was wrong, but I suppose I’d hoped that you were thinking of the two of us as you told me about it.”
Seamus claimed Draco’s lips as he finished his sentence, clasping Draco’s head in his wide fingers. “’Course I did, you Slytherin git. I just figured you’d want nothing to do with me, so why would I’ve been obvious?”
They kissed again, languorous, new and delicious.
All of a sudden Seamus thought of the Firewhiskeys he’d had, and how he must taste, and drew back from Draco’s lips. “Oh, fecking hell, Malfoy, why didn’t you say something about how awful my breath must be?” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, mortified, and got out his wand to cast a cleansing charm on himself.
“You taste like you, you Gryffindor git.” Draco grasped at Seamus’ wand, lowering it slowly. “If you’d like to know, I have all sorts of toothbrushes and mouthwashes at my home, though I quite like the way you taste, drink or no.” Draco’s hands were slithering down Seamus’ front to the prominent bulge in his mundane trousers. He’d not expected to meet anyone he cared about while out doing his few delivery rounds, after all, much less discovering that the man with whom he’d had a ridiculous fascination would inexplicably be both interested in him, and even randy.
Draco ruddy Malfoy. Who, during those sleepless nights he’d tentatively draped an arm over during their reconnaissance work in the War. His Romeo… no, wasn’t Juliet from the better-off family? Still. Two opposites, if ever there were.
“Where’s your place? Seamus asked, moving his hands down Draco’s body so they were becoming happily acquainted with the other man’s narrow buttocks. “Because you did just invite me, didn’t you?” He sniffed at Draco’s neck, inhaling a very pleasing piney/broom polish scent before swiping his tongue across a swath of Draco’s pale skin.
“Let’s go to my house in Ireland,” Draco murmured against Seamus’ cheekbone. “You won’t have so far to Apparate.”
Seamus felt as though a bucket of cold water had been dumped on him.
“We haven’t even left fucking Hogsmeade and you’re already thinking of getting rid of me?” he fumed, pushing Draco away from him. It was obvious that all Draco was interested in was a quick shag, before tossing Seamus out the door to return to his bachelor’s house where he belonged. “Never mind. Just, oh, forget it. I’ll see you on Thursday at the match,” he said dejectedly, tucking his shirt back into his casual trousers until Draco placed his hands on Seamus’ hips.
“That wasn’t what I meant,” Draco insisted, perturbed. “You live in Ireland. I had hoped, perhaps incorrectly, that you would be interested in spending the afternoon, or the evening, or both.” He gave Seamus a lascivious look. “I wouldn’t dare presume you’d care to stay the night, though I suspect that I’ll make the offer. Assuming that you wished to return to your home, it seemed the most amenable if you didn’t have to Apparate too far, hence the offer to go to my home in Ireland.”
Draco stood, gently massaging Seamus’ lower back, awaiting the other man’s expected heated diatribe, which fizzled under Draco’s neutral scrutiny.
“My apologies, Malfoy,” Seamus mumbled. “I’ve been known to jump to conclusions, y’know?” He smiled ruefully, lifting a hand to trace Draco’s jaw, shuffling forward a bit so he was pressed, gratefully, against the frame of the slighter man. “Let’s go, then.”
Draco’s teeth gleamed in the early dusk as they Apparated together.
***
It was the sheets that ultimately undid Seamus. He’d never cared much about what was on his bed - it was for sleeping, now wasn’t it? - despite the fact that he tended to sleep in the nude. Malfoy’s sheets were silken, though not silk. They were some other extraordinary fibre that rustled sensuously as Seamus writhed against them on his back, Draco lying prone against him.
They’d arrived at Draco’s house clutched in each other’s arms. It was a part of Ireland that Seamus had never visited, but the air managed to smell the same regardless. Without many words save those of muffled “Oh Merlin”s and “feel so good, yes there, please,” Seamus and Draco entered Draco’s house and quickly rid themselves of most of their clothes. Draco had been rubbing Seamus’ turgid cock through his boxers when Seamus stopped kissing long enough to ask a question.
“You’re not getting into my trousers because you’re thinking I’ll sell my company, are you?” he asked, breathless.
Draco rolled his eyes even as he continued his ministrations. “With my money, I could buy you out in the blink of an eye, Finnigan. I’m getting into your trousers because you’re letting me. In addition, I’ve wanted to do this for years, you well-hung, reasonably articulate, blissfully skilled kisser and entrepreneurial genius.”
Seamus momentarily stopped breathing. He’d just been dealt several accolades by the man he’d felt was forever unattainable, and whose dexterous fingers were making themselves very familiar with a part of Seamus’ anatomy that very much wanted to be exceedingly familiar with the other man. In every sense. All senses, for that matter.
“I’m not really a genius,” Seamus managed as he stripped off his boxers. He tumbled onto the bed, trying to keep Draco’s lips as close to him as possible, whether on his mouth, or nibbling on Seamus’ left nipple as the Irishman jutted his hips up from the coverlet. “But I’m glad that you’re interested in what’s in me trousers, ‘cause, Merlin!” Seamus gasped as Draco’s pink tongue lapped at the juncture of his inner thigh and very taut, sensitive sacs.
“Just Draco is fine,” the blond drawled before swallowing Seamus’ cock in one smooth gesture.
Seamus was in heaven, or something quite similar. He’d yearned for Malfoy for years, seeing past the acerbic remarks, the rude commentary, the unrepeatable diatribes, the unforgivable racism…
For a moment, the logical element in Seamus’ mind took over. He couldn’t stand Malfoy! Except that he could, and he’d been attracted to him for years. In fact, beyond all reason, Seamus wanted to be absolutely pummeled and possessed by him. In a lucid flash of self-cognizance, Seamus recognised that while he wanted to be in charge of his own money, travel schedule, and Banshee distribution details down to the knut, he’d quite possibly found his ideal sexual and emotional partner in his former classmate. Draco might use him to fulfill his own desires, but Seamus rather liked the idea that this could be one area of his life in which he didn’t have to be in charge, and could, in fact, be told what to do.
“Turn over,” Draco said, as though he’d instantaneously learned how to read Seamus’ thoughts, his thoughts as blatantly obvious as the messages expressed in tea leaves to Professor Trelawny. Seconds later Seamus was on his knees, face pressed into an impossibly soft pillow. He was moaning, stretched from the inside as Draco tenderly thrust into his arse with slicked, closely-manicured fingers, seeking for that spot he knew would make Seamus cry out his name: Draco, not Merlin, nor any Muggle deity. Seamus did, wriggling and begging unabashedly, freckled arse in the air and grasping at the fine sheets underneath him.
Seamus held his breath for a second time when he was breached before bucking back into the sensations, wiping the sweat above his eyebrows on the back of his hand as his body silently screamed for more, and more, and more, and Draco was tugging on his cock and there seemed to be some stray feathers drifting around his head and he was blissfully filled and…
Oh…
***
“Bloody birds. Not exactly what I had in mind for a first aubade, my dear Finnigan.”
Seamus rubbed at his eyelids, wondering just for an instant where the fuck he was and what to do with his raging morning erection and bollocks but he was lying on nice sheets and Merlin’s beard that voice was like sex on toast.
“Aubade?” Seamus croaked, understanding wading through his muddy morning thoughts. “Draco!” he exclaimed, his left hand grasping toward the other man who sat, refined, drinking a cup of tea.
“Yes, so I am,” he replied before blowing steam off the top of his cup. “You’re looking thoroughly shagged and well rested, I’m pleased to see.”
Seamus tugged a hand through his hair, his memory racing through the previous day’s events. He grinned. “Thoroughly shagged and well rested. Though another shag could certainly be on the cards,” he said meaningfully, looking down at his groin. “Not that you weren’t amazing, Draco, and Merlin knows, but, oh- c’mere, you devil. ‘S’a new day, which brings new opportunities.”
A smile flitted across Draco’s face as he carefully placed his hot tea on the bedside table and straddled Seamus’ abdomen. “Like attracts like, you know,” he murmured, allowing his dark green robe to open before he let it drop off of his shoulders. “We’ve both always wanted things a bit beyond our reach, and beyond what others might understand. It makes us a good pair, if you’re not adverse to that thought.”
Seamus ground his hard cock against Draco’s, clasping the slighter man’s hips. “It may be autumn, but I’d have to side with out friend Benvolio the bedroll in regards to hot days… and even warmer nights.”
Draco gazed snidely at Seamus before a genuine smile warmed his expression. “I’m just looking forward to how hot and bothered you may be after the Magpies match. Don’t forget, it’s on Thursday.” He rubbed purposefully against Seamus’ groin.
“Draco,” Seamus paused while garnering all the courage he could manage at the early hour, “You could tie me up, if you wanted. I trust you, and you’re fucking hot as hell. Just-”
“Sssshhhhhh,” Draco hissed fondly as he retrieved his wand. “As I said, like attracts like, and I,” he cast a spell that bound Seamus’ hands and ankles to the bedposts, “like,” he feasted on Seamus’ mouth despite the Irishman’s protestations of morning breath and the need of a cleaning spell, “you.”
Seamus shuddered under the loving onslaught to his body, only then noticing that his origami dragon was dancing languidly in the air near the bed. The accepting gesture from his new lover made Seamus lick his lips seconds before Draco claimed them as his own, again and again.
***
The title comes from Romeo and Juliet, Act III, Scene I:
Benvolio: For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.
But for
finniganfans and my fascination with Ireland that began in elementary school, here y'go.Title: These Hot Days
Pairing: Seamus/Draco
Genre: Romance
Rating: NC-17
Length: fairly short, 9'ish pages; a little over 5,000 words
Summary: Post-Hogwarts and post-War, Draco finds his former tent-mate, who's made a name and his own wealth by creating "Bitter Banshee." In the meantime, Seamus has discovered origami, and despite several misunderstandings, they end up together.
Author's Notes: eternal gratitude to
seventines, who actually lives in Ireland, and pawed through my mishmash of quasi-Scottish/British/Australian and made Seamus sound Irish.As always to my flist: if squicked, or uninterested, please don't read. I won't be offended.
Seamus was sitting at the countertop of his small kitchen surrounded by brightly coloured pieces of paper, when he sensed a flickering in his house wards. He wasn’t expecting anyone, but neither did he have the painful, instinctive clenching sensation in his stomach that tended to accompany nasty things like Dementors. He’d honed those “gut reactions” during the War, and they’d kept him alive, an attribute about himself he was especially fond of, since he was still breathing and all.
He’d done quite well since the War. His persistent pursuits into turning various liquid substances into myriad quasi-alcoholic products beginning in his first year at Hogwarts had finally served him well; eventually he managed to create a chrysoprasic, gently undulating liqueur that he named Bitter Banshee. Rather unexpectedly, people in wizarding Japan took to it first, and he’d spent months in the Pacific working with small companies to import and distribute the potent green beverage which allegedly was as soothing as the wind in the heathers, according to adverts in any and all publications in which Seamus could buy advertising. Of course, if one drank too much of it, most likely one would prefer to be buried in said heather-covered hills, but that wasn’t his problem, now was it?
It was in Japan where he’d taken to origami. He wasn’t the most patient man in the world, but he’d also never been drawn to participating in sports, and he couldn’t begin to fathom the various gymnastic feats pursued by massive Sumo wrestlers. Folding paper, especially with a book of directions in front of him, was surprisingly rewarding. He moved on to Australia, distributing his Bitter Banshee and faring better socially. Seamus grew to love Muggle VB (Victoria Bitter beer) more than he should have. He also spent a lot of time on the beach, learning to surf, at least on a rudimentary level, and quite enjoyed the physiques of many buff surfer men. Unfortunately, his skin tone wasn’t made for that climate and sun, and while he enjoyed some brilliant snogging sessions with bronzed Aussie wizards, he knew he couldn’t stay. Too much sun, too many freckles, and he was tired of explaining that he was from Ireland, not Scotland.
He’d returned to his homeland via a fortnight with Neville and Dean in their London flat. They’d also thankfully endured and survived the War with precious few repercussions, their love lives were in a shambles, and he gratefully joined in their despair, and several bottles of Firewhiskey. He’d never told them of his particular gender preferences, which made their discussions a bit awkward.
“The women in Japan?” Neville asked, hopefully.
“They dressed like, well, Two Years. In a really pervy, plaid way. Skirts really short,” Seamus replied.
“As though that’s a problem,” Neville sulked.
“But the birds in Australia,” Dean said, a knowing wicked grin on his face.
“Too brutish,” Seamus said, taking a long pull on his pint. He wasn’t about to reveal that he couldn’t have cared less about the women on the beach, not that the Aussie witches didn’t try to change his mind.
The unfortunate truth was that he harboured a ridiculous fancy for a successful, turncoat Death Eater Slytherin. Bringing himself back to the present, Seamus roused himself from his flurry of memories and waited to see if someone actually mounted his stairs. Moments later, there was an insistent rapping on his door, which he promptly opened. Quite beyond all reason, the person whom he he’d both loathed and wanted desperately at varying times in his life stood ramrod straight in his doorframe, dressed to the nines.
“Malfoy,” Seamus said, extending his arm and giving Draco a firm handshake. “You’re looking well, post-War and all that. What brings you here? Are you after getting lost?”
Draco paused for a moment before equaling Seamus’ bone-crushing greeting.
“No. I’m here quite on purpose. May I come in?”
Seamus stepped back into his kitchen, waving vaguely toward the space behind him. “But of course. Tea?” he asked, his manners kicking in after registering that the blond, hair slicked and wearing full dress robes, was now standing in his short entryway and was gazing at the piles of square papers strewn on the countertop.
“No, I’d rather some of your famous brew.”
“I don’t brew it. It’s a potion, Malfoy.”
“Regardless. I couldn’t possibly visit the maker of the famous Bitter Banshee and not have some.”
Shrugging, Seamus went to his pantry and took out a bottle. He tried not to stare at Draco’s long white fingers drumming some infernal and unheard tune on the worktop as he poured his guest a drink. He tried equally hard not to stare at Draco’s pale throat, but again failed abysmally, so he poured some for himself as recompense at the completely ridiculous situation in which he found himself.
“Sláinte.” He toasted his uninvited guest, then spent some time taking in the cut of Draco’s robes, the tailored trousers, and even the signet ring on his hand, all of which could only mean…
“You’re here to buy me out.” Seamus had been propositioned enough times on multiple continents to know what it meant to be approached by men who were overdressed for a Thursday afternoon.
Draco smiled: a cold, feral grin.
Seamus didn’t return it. “Forget it, Malfoy. My company isn’t for sale.” He gave a well-practised and condescending twitch of his freckled nose. “Make your own, if you can figure out the recipe.”
Draco drained the rest of his liqueur, then looked around the kitchen, his eyes alighting on the myriad squares of bright paper. “And this is?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
Seamus twiddled his thin glass between his fingers. “Origami. Why? D’you like it?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he hoped desperately that the faint strain of neediness would remain unheard to Malfoy’s ears.
“It’s fascinating. And odd.” Draco’s grey eyes grew wide as saucers as he stared at the swans, boxes, and a multi-sided greatrhombiicosadodecahedron that had taken Seamus months to fathom, much less put together. Draco’s gaze lit on the project he’d been working on before being so rudely interrupted. “What is that supposed to be?”
Seamus remorsefully poured another dram of the liquid that had made him independent and wealthy, but not brought him any closer to personal happines. The Bitter Banshee had, however, managed in the past five minutes to bring the object of his affections into his house, though Draco seemed capable only of making fun of his hobby.
“S’a raccoon. I’m trying to make a fucking origami raccoon. Have your laugh, then leave. I’m not selling.”
Draco eyed him warily before pushing his glass forward to have some more of the greenapple-coloured liquid. “You seem to come at quite a price, Finnigan.”
Seamus gave Draco a dirty look. “Like I said. I’m not for sale.”
They toasted each other, years of history scudding in their wake as they drank.
“So you say.” Draco’s words dripped sibilantly from his tongue, and Seamus wished that he’d never been attracted to the jubilant look on the Slytherin’s face after a winning Quidditch match in their sixth year; wished he’d never had to share a tent with him for weeks on end during the dismal War; wished that Draco had never tracked him to his solitary home.
But of course. Like attracted like. Malfoy always came out on top, and now he was seeking out others who had done the same. It was just that Seamus wanted the man to have sought him out for personal reasons, not business. Just as Seamus had pressed his lips together in a thin line, trapping the slur against all Malfoys everywhere and the one in his kitchen in particular, Draco’s demeanour suddenly changed.
“Bloody hell, Finnigan!” Draco exclaimed, his haughty veneer vanishing with his explosion of profanity. “This stuff is really wicked. I don’t suppose that offer of tea still stands?”
Seamus grinned through his shock. “’Course it does. Give me just a minute.” He got up and tapped at his kettle. It began steaming merrily as he heard a rustling of paper behind him. “Sugar and milk?” he asked. Where they had been stationed during the War, condiments for their tea existed merely as fond memories from their days as students.
“Yes, please. Very milky and sweet. Oh, and congratulations on your ranking in Witch’s Weekly,” Draco said, smoothing out a folded set of pages on the table.
Seamus almost dropped both mugs. “You saved that rubbish?” he asked incredulously before handing Draco his tea.
“Rubbish? It’s not just anyone who’s in the 30 Most Eligible Bachelors Under Thirty,” Draco said snidely, his more usual snobbish tone returning to his voice. “Though given all you’ve done as an entrepreneur, I thought you should have at least been in the top ten.”
Seamus sank into his chair with a thud. “You,” he said haltingly. “You thought about me? Are you daft? You can’t stand me!”
Draco took a polite sip of his tea before giving Seamus a disarming smile. “That was ages ago. And you shouldn’t underestimate the effect of saving my life more than once,” he said, twisting his cup around the saucer. “But this obsession with the Kestrals- honestly.”
Seamus immediately took the bait, launching into a tirade about his beloved Kenmore Kestrals. He was stupefied when his brain managed to catch up to his mouth, realising that he and ruddy Draco ruddy Malfoy were having a good-natured, extensive argument about Quidditch.
In his kitchen. Over a months-old article that Draco had saved because Seamus was in it.
A quarter of an hour later, Draco threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Well, I suppose I’ll just have to show you what you’re missing. The Magpies play a week from today. If you’ve the time, I’d appreciate your joining me.” He stood up from the table, and Seamus stood as well.
“Malfoy, I must say you’re more than a bit confusing,” Seamus admitted, walking around the table to grasp the other man’s hand. “But I wouldn’t be a Finnigan if I turned down the offer of a free match.”
“That’s the spirit,” Malfoy said, delight shining in his expression. “We successful single men need to stick together.”
Seamus deflated a bit at the thought of being single. “Right you are. ‘Til next Thursday, then.” He watched Draco retrieve his wool overrobe from a grasping coat rack, a gift from Ron given when Seamus had made his first business deal.
“Looking forward to it.” In a swirl of dark robes Malfoy left the house, shutting the door firmly behind him. Seamus waited until he could feel the magic pass through his wards, and there was silence. He slumped back into his chair.
Which one is he? Seamus wondered, confusedly. Trying to take over my bloody company Malfoy, or ‘Hey mate, let’s go watch Quidditch’ Malfoy? Seamus stared at his cold tea for a while, then made up his mind to settle on the latter. He looked through his folding papers until he found an almost bilious green colour with tiny white flowers.
He’d been looking for an excuse to learn to make a dragon, and that reason had just been in his house. Mouth quirked, Seamus began folding.
***
Four days later Seamus ducked into the Three Broomsticks through the back entrance, greeting Rosmerta with a purposefully sloppy kiss across her cheek once she turned around.
“Seamus, you devil,” she said, her voice heavy with affection. “I didn’t think I’d see you until tomorrow!”
“Ah, but Rosie, I know you do your stocking on Sunday. And besides,” he waggled his eyebrows, “I don’t want to be a part of some boring routine of yours, now do I?” He hefted the box of bottles and perched it as much as he could on his fairly nonexistent hips. “I s’pose young Geoffrey’s tending bar?”
She nodded and smiled before returning to her task of arranging bottles of Firewhiskey, wine, butterbeer and all kinds of substances even Seamus couldn’t identify. “There’s not many folks for him to worry about. Go on in and put your Banshees on the floor next to that ancient brandy. I’ll never sell it, now that Professor Snape’s gone,” she said, wistfully before inclining her head at the door to the pub.
Seamus opened the door and took his merchandise into the mostly-empty room. The bright brilliance of Draco’s unmistakable white-blond hair shone despite the dim light, and Seamus almost dropped his box. He caught Geoffrey Pennywhistle’s eye, who stopped washing glasses and waved his wand at the bar so a flap rose and Seamus was able to come behind. He deposited the bottles in the spot Rosmerta requested before going back into the main section of the pub, taking a seat next to Draco, who greeted him by way of a raised eyebrow.
“Malfoy,” Seamus said, befuddled. “What’re you doing here?”
“What does it look like?” Draco said meaningfully, raising a glass of red wine.
“But I’d’ve thought that you’d only go to upscale places,” Seamus said as Geoffrey made a disgruntled noise, placing a shot of Firewhiskey on the bar.
“So you think about me, do you?” Malfoy leered.
“Didn’t say that,” Seamus said insultedly, even if it were true.
“Well, actually, you did, and I’m flattered.” Draco’s voice took on the more friendly tone he’d had at Seamus’ house. “I was feeling spontaneous, and suffering a modicum of nostalgia, and a smidge of loneliness. So I decided to come here.” He gave Seamus an intrigued look. “You’ll never guess what I dreamt of last night.”
“Not a clue.” Seamus tossed back his Firewhiskey, which was promptly refilled by the shaggy-haired apprentice bartender. “Some beautiful Veela-like woman writhing above you while you count your galleons?”
Draco looked both nauseous and affronted. “Merlin, Seamus, are you really that unobservant? I shudder to think about your other qualities aside from your sickening levels of loyalty and inexplicable talent at potions.” He took a long drink of his wine.
“Excuse me?” Seamus’ short temper began to flare. “I was the one who saved your arse more than once. And had to share that bloody bedroll. You should be bloody grateful for my loyalty, you ungrateful-”
“I dreamt of Benvolio, my dear Seamus.” Draco idly twisted the glass in his long fingers.
“You what?” Seamus was flabbergasted, both by Draco’s use of his given name, and that of their often-fought-over bedroll, nicknamed Benvolio. It had been toward the end of the War, and all items of warmth were in short supply. He and Malfoy, like all on the front lines, slept little, but when they did, both men had tried to pull as much of their shared blanket on themselves. Seamus had given the abused blanket a nickname, and in the frigid dark of night when neither of them could possibly sleep, he’d told Draco about the Muggle story of Romeo and Juliet, explaining the reference. As a child, Seamus’ father had read the story aloud to him.
During that time, Seamus had become exceedingly fond of the formerly-pompous Slytherin, and assumed (correctly, he was sure) that Draco would never imagine that Seamus felt wretched because he saw the two of them in the light of that Shakespeare play. Seamus had kept his feelings hidden, though he made sure that his classmate who’d forsaken all of his family and most of his former Hogwarts’ housemates to fight against the Death Eaters had remained alive. Despite their former animosities, Seamus did everything in his power to prevent Draco’s untimely demise, all while ensuring that he saved his own skin as part of the process.
“You dreamt about Benvolio?” Seamus now repeated, almost gulping his Firewhiskey. Out of habit, he pulled a piece of ever-present origami paper out of a pocket in his robe and began folding the first thing that came to mind.
“Yes.” The intense gaze of Draco’s grey eyes caught the Irishman unawares and he could only stare back in return. “I don’t suppose I ever told you about the other sorts of dreams I had back then, or have continued to have in the time following.”
“Most definitely not. We were barely on speaking terms, you’ll remember,” Seamus reminded him. He drew in a deep breath when Draco unexpectedly placed a hand on his upper arm, despite being in a public space.
“I remember and regret so much now,” Draco said softly. “Would you care for a walk? I could stand a breather, I think.”
Seamus nodded, stunned. He looked down at the origami animal he’d made – a dragon - which he quickly pocketed before rummaging through his robes for a few sickles. Geoffrey saw what he was doing and frowned.
“You know Madam Rosmerta won’t take your money, so don’t even try,” the young barman said pointedly.
Seamus grinned. “Can’t help it!” he said as Draco smoothly slid from his stool to the floor. “After you.” He gestured to the front door while Draco paid for his wine, leaving a tip so large that Geoffrey was still staring at the coinage when the two men left the stuffy air of the Three Broomsticks.
They walked the cobbled paths of Hogsmeade in companionable silence, enjoying the crisp tang of early autumn until Draco ducked into an alleyway Seamus had never before noticed. He unerringly followed the blond man and was astounded when he found himself pushed against a stony wall, Draco’s face mere inches from him, standing authoritatively with his strong fingers on Seamus’ waist.
“Veela? Women?” he breathed against Seamus’ lips. “The galleons I can fathom, but after all of those nights together, how could you not have realised that I wasn’t like that?”
Seamus’ mind spun faster than one of the twins’ Catherine Wheels fireworks, but then it promptly shut down altogether as he felt tender lips on his, an unfamiliar but welcome tongue insistently attempting entry to Seamus’ mouth.
Seamus was going to answer Draco’s question, honestly, but then Malfoy was sucking on Seamus’ bottom lip, and Seamus was rather moaning than speaking, and threading his fingers through what should surely be illegally fine hair. He tasted wine, and some kind of spicy warmth as Draco’s tongue moved against his own. Ridding himself of any caution, Seamus mashed their mouths together, feeling the backside of Draco’s perfectly straight teeth for the first time with his tongue, unsurprised that the heroics going on in their joined mouths was finding equal interest in his groin.
This carnal intrigue was apparently shared by Draco, who rubbed his growing erection sinuously against Seamus until the taller man moved his hands up Draco’s arms and then regrettably pushed him a shade away from himself.
“You fancy blokes?” Seamus panted, unsure and unconvinced he wasn’t merely part of some Grand Malfoy Plan of Indignity to which he would not parlay.
“Only a few,” Draco replied, his pupils widened with desire. “I wanted you. I incorrectly assumed you were uninterested.” He pressed back into Seamus’ body, which arched insistently against the other man’s.
“Why’d you never tell me?” Seamus asked before nipping at Draco’s ear, earning a low groan.
“Tell you? I figured I’d never have Benvolio’s warmth again, much less yours.” Draco had insinuated his hands under Seamus’ robes and shirt and was clasping at the back of Seamus’ ribs. “The Romeo and Juliet story. Two people from opposite ends of the spectrum, but who fall in love just the same. I’d thought, well, I was sure I was wrong, but I suppose I’d hoped that you were thinking of the two of us as you told me about it.”
Seamus claimed Draco’s lips as he finished his sentence, clasping Draco’s head in his wide fingers. “’Course I did, you Slytherin git. I just figured you’d want nothing to do with me, so why would I’ve been obvious?”
They kissed again, languorous, new and delicious.
All of a sudden Seamus thought of the Firewhiskeys he’d had, and how he must taste, and drew back from Draco’s lips. “Oh, fecking hell, Malfoy, why didn’t you say something about how awful my breath must be?” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, mortified, and got out his wand to cast a cleansing charm on himself.
“You taste like you, you Gryffindor git.” Draco grasped at Seamus’ wand, lowering it slowly. “If you’d like to know, I have all sorts of toothbrushes and mouthwashes at my home, though I quite like the way you taste, drink or no.” Draco’s hands were slithering down Seamus’ front to the prominent bulge in his mundane trousers. He’d not expected to meet anyone he cared about while out doing his few delivery rounds, after all, much less discovering that the man with whom he’d had a ridiculous fascination would inexplicably be both interested in him, and even randy.
Draco ruddy Malfoy. Who, during those sleepless nights he’d tentatively draped an arm over during their reconnaissance work in the War. His Romeo… no, wasn’t Juliet from the better-off family? Still. Two opposites, if ever there were.
“Where’s your place? Seamus asked, moving his hands down Draco’s body so they were becoming happily acquainted with the other man’s narrow buttocks. “Because you did just invite me, didn’t you?” He sniffed at Draco’s neck, inhaling a very pleasing piney/broom polish scent before swiping his tongue across a swath of Draco’s pale skin.
“Let’s go to my house in Ireland,” Draco murmured against Seamus’ cheekbone. “You won’t have so far to Apparate.”
Seamus felt as though a bucket of cold water had been dumped on him.
“We haven’t even left fucking Hogsmeade and you’re already thinking of getting rid of me?” he fumed, pushing Draco away from him. It was obvious that all Draco was interested in was a quick shag, before tossing Seamus out the door to return to his bachelor’s house where he belonged. “Never mind. Just, oh, forget it. I’ll see you on Thursday at the match,” he said dejectedly, tucking his shirt back into his casual trousers until Draco placed his hands on Seamus’ hips.
“That wasn’t what I meant,” Draco insisted, perturbed. “You live in Ireland. I had hoped, perhaps incorrectly, that you would be interested in spending the afternoon, or the evening, or both.” He gave Seamus a lascivious look. “I wouldn’t dare presume you’d care to stay the night, though I suspect that I’ll make the offer. Assuming that you wished to return to your home, it seemed the most amenable if you didn’t have to Apparate too far, hence the offer to go to my home in Ireland.”
Draco stood, gently massaging Seamus’ lower back, awaiting the other man’s expected heated diatribe, which fizzled under Draco’s neutral scrutiny.
“My apologies, Malfoy,” Seamus mumbled. “I’ve been known to jump to conclusions, y’know?” He smiled ruefully, lifting a hand to trace Draco’s jaw, shuffling forward a bit so he was pressed, gratefully, against the frame of the slighter man. “Let’s go, then.”
Draco’s teeth gleamed in the early dusk as they Apparated together.
***
It was the sheets that ultimately undid Seamus. He’d never cared much about what was on his bed - it was for sleeping, now wasn’t it? - despite the fact that he tended to sleep in the nude. Malfoy’s sheets were silken, though not silk. They were some other extraordinary fibre that rustled sensuously as Seamus writhed against them on his back, Draco lying prone against him.
They’d arrived at Draco’s house clutched in each other’s arms. It was a part of Ireland that Seamus had never visited, but the air managed to smell the same regardless. Without many words save those of muffled “Oh Merlin”s and “feel so good, yes there, please,” Seamus and Draco entered Draco’s house and quickly rid themselves of most of their clothes. Draco had been rubbing Seamus’ turgid cock through his boxers when Seamus stopped kissing long enough to ask a question.
“You’re not getting into my trousers because you’re thinking I’ll sell my company, are you?” he asked, breathless.
Draco rolled his eyes even as he continued his ministrations. “With my money, I could buy you out in the blink of an eye, Finnigan. I’m getting into your trousers because you’re letting me. In addition, I’ve wanted to do this for years, you well-hung, reasonably articulate, blissfully skilled kisser and entrepreneurial genius.”
Seamus momentarily stopped breathing. He’d just been dealt several accolades by the man he’d felt was forever unattainable, and whose dexterous fingers were making themselves very familiar with a part of Seamus’ anatomy that very much wanted to be exceedingly familiar with the other man. In every sense. All senses, for that matter.
“I’m not really a genius,” Seamus managed as he stripped off his boxers. He tumbled onto the bed, trying to keep Draco’s lips as close to him as possible, whether on his mouth, or nibbling on Seamus’ left nipple as the Irishman jutted his hips up from the coverlet. “But I’m glad that you’re interested in what’s in me trousers, ‘cause, Merlin!” Seamus gasped as Draco’s pink tongue lapped at the juncture of his inner thigh and very taut, sensitive sacs.
“Just Draco is fine,” the blond drawled before swallowing Seamus’ cock in one smooth gesture.
Seamus was in heaven, or something quite similar. He’d yearned for Malfoy for years, seeing past the acerbic remarks, the rude commentary, the unrepeatable diatribes, the unforgivable racism…
For a moment, the logical element in Seamus’ mind took over. He couldn’t stand Malfoy! Except that he could, and he’d been attracted to him for years. In fact, beyond all reason, Seamus wanted to be absolutely pummeled and possessed by him. In a lucid flash of self-cognizance, Seamus recognised that while he wanted to be in charge of his own money, travel schedule, and Banshee distribution details down to the knut, he’d quite possibly found his ideal sexual and emotional partner in his former classmate. Draco might use him to fulfill his own desires, but Seamus rather liked the idea that this could be one area of his life in which he didn’t have to be in charge, and could, in fact, be told what to do.
“Turn over,” Draco said, as though he’d instantaneously learned how to read Seamus’ thoughts, his thoughts as blatantly obvious as the messages expressed in tea leaves to Professor Trelawny. Seconds later Seamus was on his knees, face pressed into an impossibly soft pillow. He was moaning, stretched from the inside as Draco tenderly thrust into his arse with slicked, closely-manicured fingers, seeking for that spot he knew would make Seamus cry out his name: Draco, not Merlin, nor any Muggle deity. Seamus did, wriggling and begging unabashedly, freckled arse in the air and grasping at the fine sheets underneath him.
Seamus held his breath for a second time when he was breached before bucking back into the sensations, wiping the sweat above his eyebrows on the back of his hand as his body silently screamed for more, and more, and more, and Draco was tugging on his cock and there seemed to be some stray feathers drifting around his head and he was blissfully filled and…
Oh…
***
“Bloody birds. Not exactly what I had in mind for a first aubade, my dear Finnigan.”
Seamus rubbed at his eyelids, wondering just for an instant where the fuck he was and what to do with his raging morning erection and bollocks but he was lying on nice sheets and Merlin’s beard that voice was like sex on toast.
“Aubade?” Seamus croaked, understanding wading through his muddy morning thoughts. “Draco!” he exclaimed, his left hand grasping toward the other man who sat, refined, drinking a cup of tea.
“Yes, so I am,” he replied before blowing steam off the top of his cup. “You’re looking thoroughly shagged and well rested, I’m pleased to see.”
Seamus tugged a hand through his hair, his memory racing through the previous day’s events. He grinned. “Thoroughly shagged and well rested. Though another shag could certainly be on the cards,” he said meaningfully, looking down at his groin. “Not that you weren’t amazing, Draco, and Merlin knows, but, oh- c’mere, you devil. ‘S’a new day, which brings new opportunities.”
A smile flitted across Draco’s face as he carefully placed his hot tea on the bedside table and straddled Seamus’ abdomen. “Like attracts like, you know,” he murmured, allowing his dark green robe to open before he let it drop off of his shoulders. “We’ve both always wanted things a bit beyond our reach, and beyond what others might understand. It makes us a good pair, if you’re not adverse to that thought.”
Seamus ground his hard cock against Draco’s, clasping the slighter man’s hips. “It may be autumn, but I’d have to side with out friend Benvolio the bedroll in regards to hot days… and even warmer nights.”
Draco gazed snidely at Seamus before a genuine smile warmed his expression. “I’m just looking forward to how hot and bothered you may be after the Magpies match. Don’t forget, it’s on Thursday.” He rubbed purposefully against Seamus’ groin.
“Draco,” Seamus paused while garnering all the courage he could manage at the early hour, “You could tie me up, if you wanted. I trust you, and you’re fucking hot as hell. Just-”
“Sssshhhhhh,” Draco hissed fondly as he retrieved his wand. “As I said, like attracts like, and I,” he cast a spell that bound Seamus’ hands and ankles to the bedposts, “like,” he feasted on Seamus’ mouth despite the Irishman’s protestations of morning breath and the need of a cleaning spell, “you.”
Seamus shuddered under the loving onslaught to his body, only then noticing that his origami dragon was dancing languidly in the air near the bed. The accepting gesture from his new lover made Seamus lick his lips seconds before Draco claimed them as his own, again and again.
***
The title comes from Romeo and Juliet, Act III, Scene I:
Benvolio: For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.