Strange-Eyed Constellation, Post 5
Jun. 29th, 2007 12:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thrihyrneA quick note: I'm going out of town for 4 days and will, in all likelihood, be mostly internet-less. Don't let that stop you from sharing your thoughts, but if I don't reply immediately, that's why. I'm so grateful to those of you journeying down this path with me and these men. Hopefully I'll write a fair amount while on the road!
Title: Strange-Eyed Constellation
Pairing(s): Past Fred/Seamus, Seamus/Dean, eventual Fred/Seamus/Dean, Ron/Harry
Rating: This chapter NC-17
Summary: War can make strange bedfellows; peacetime allows kindred spirits to join together. Seamus discovers both, and in being true to the baffling desires of his heart, believes that love needn't come exclusively in pairs.
A/N: my thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
auntee_mame for the written beta; exceeding gratitude to wolfiekins and callumjames for letting me read aloud and giving me insightful feedback while I write this; also for their enthusiasm over what's certainly a rare trio. The title comes from Thomas Hardy's poem "Drummer Hodge."
Previous Posts:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
"Oh Dean, you won't believe this!" Seamus cradled the recently-owled gift from Ron and Harry in his hands before passing it over.
"Is it a picture?" Dean asked, running his fingers along the simple cobalt frame.
"Yeah."
Seamus couldn't take his eyes off of it, the figures obviously engrossed in each other. Harry had managed to take a photograph when he'd been sitting in Dean's lap in the Jacuzzi that day they'd gone over for the afternoon— and evening, and night. They looked only at each other, kissing softly as Seamus' hands rubbed the back of Dean's head. Seamus knew he couldn't give proper voice to describe the print to Dean, limited to mere words to express just how content they looked.
"What's it of?" Dean asked as he handed it back. "Not Ron starkers, surely!"
"No, it's us. When we were at their place. In the Jacuzzi," he said, his voice softening as he watched their picture-selves, oblivious to anything except for each other.
"Oh." Dean's face relaxed and a warm smile settled on his lips. "Guess he was spying on us from inside the house."
"Ach, not spying," Seamus chided, giving Dean a swat on the arse. "Just taking a picture when we didn't know. I'm glad. Seems much more natural that way."
"If you say so. Are you going to put it on the desk?"
"Reckon so."
After a few months now of being both lovers and flatmates, they'd sold Seamus' bed to some Muggle neighbours a couple of buildings down the road and officially christened Dean's bedroom as their bedroom. Seamus' former bedroom had now become their study and catch-all room, though Seamus did make a conscious effort to keep it reasonably tidy, for Dean's sake and safety.
"Fred's invited us to go see the Green Knights— I said I thought we'd want to go. Sound good? They're playing Ballycastle."
Dean paused on his way to the refrigerator, tilting his head. "Yeah, I s'pose that'd be fun. Not been to a match in ages."
"Great. I'll owl him and let him know."
Seamus let out a breath he'd not realised he'd been holding. He and Dean had been meeting up with Fred, and sometimes Ron and Harry as well, over the past few weeks. Dean appeared convinced that Fred really wasn't going to try and move back in on Seamus, but in the dark recesses of his heart, Seamus believed that Fred would quickly and determinedly get back together with him given the opportunity. The three of them had an easy, if occasionally tense rapport when Dean's jealousy manifested itself. It was worth the awkwardness to Seamus, seeing glimpses of the Fred he'd trusted with his life during the War. More importantly, Fred hadn't been at all as morose as he'd been that first time they'd reconnected at Wheezes. And in ways that Seamus couldn't explain, and didn't even try — especially not to himself — he felt that their being together was inherently right. All three of them: Fred surviving without his twin, Dean coping without his sight, and Seamus… Well, he just knew somehow that he belonged to them both, equally. Beyond the occasional daydream of the erotic way that could manifest itself, every once in a while he caught himself imagining the three of them sharing breakfast, or two motorbikes parked next to each other in a small garage.
"I was thinking of having a lie-down outside. Join me? And maybe bring a couple of sandwiches?" Dean asked with a cheeky grin, two ales in hand. He'd become an ebony god to Seamus' eyes, so dark from his sunbathing, and so often clad in the arousingly small pair of Speedos he'd been so set against at first. Wizarding London was complaining about the heat wave, if their constant jabbering about it on the Wireless was any indication, but Seamus and Dean had no complaints.
"Yeah. I'll make a couple of cheese and tomatoes and get our towels."
"I can get them."
"Okay."
A few minutes later, Seamus took out the plate with the sandwich halves artistically arranged. There was something about being a bartender that brought out his need to constantly tidy the surfaces around him, as well as paying close attention to how things looked when served. Dean was standing behind his lounge chair, face up and eyes closed, figuring out where the sun was in the sky.
"I'll just put these on the table. The umbrella's open, don't forget."
"I won't."
Back inside, Seamus padded to their room and put on his own pair of swim trunks. They weren't quite as revealing as Dean's, but he also wasn't in it for the sun; it was the company. He'd been a bit inconsistent with some of his sunblock charms, and his usual smattering of freckles had transformed into skin that was now a bronze colour. His hair had lightened, too, much closer to true blond than he could ever remember. He rummaged through a drawer in the small chest on his side of the bed and found his pack of cigarettes before going back outside to the porch. Dean was rubbing coconut tanning oil on his arms, his legs straddling his chair. Seamus plopped down next to him on his own chaise, sniffing eagerly at the scent of warm Dean skin. He lit his cigarette with an Incendio and took a deep drag before opening one of the ales.
"I'll have one of those," Dean said, holding out his pointer and index fingers in a vee shape.
"They'll stunt yer growth," Seamus said, imitating his late mam.
"Too late. Thanks."
Seamus looked over at Dean, noting his neutral expression. He wondered if Dean was keenly feeling left out of things, being relatively isolated and not really having a large choice of careers anymore. The Phoenix Fund monies sent to him each month for being an injured veteran were certainly enough to live on; that wasn't it. Seamus worried about him feeling that he was unnecessary, or a bother. He'd known Dean practically all of his life, and knew that while Dean had never been the most career-driven bloke around, he'd never planned to spend his life lounging about— especially not with the limitations imposed on him by his blindness.
Dean stretched out one leg, pulling up the other to form a long, sleek angle, the corded muscles of his calf a glistening rampart. He'd put on sunglasses; the hexes had done all sorts of nerve damage and now his eyes were overly sensitive to light though he couldn't see. Even from this close distance, however, Dean seemed flawless. All of a sudden, inspiration struck Seamus like a Bludger.
"I really miss flying." "You should be a model!"
Their tandem sentences tumbled over each other. It took Seamus a few seconds to figure out what he'd said on top of Dean as Dean did the same.
"Yeah, right," Dean snorted dismissively.
"No, I'm serious! With those glasses on, or any dark glasses, no one would know about your eyes. You've really got the body for it," Seamus rushed on before taking a pull on his cigarette. "But the flying thing— you should've said something sooner. We can do that together, you sitting behind me. Like on Seth. Or if ye wanted, you could be on your own broom, and I'll put a binding spell of some sort on it so you'd fly behind me, at a distance."
"You're not the best flyer, Shay," Dean said, his voice apologetic. "Nothing against you, and I'd trust you, it's not that, but…"
Another plan sprang into Seamus' head, derailing his other line of thought. "Fred!"
"Fred what?"
"Fred. He's brilliant on a broom. He could take you."
Dean turned his head towards Seamus. "Are you mad? I remember exactly how he flies. He's insane!"
"Exactly!" Seamus smiled so widely his cheeks hurt. "But he'd never let anything happen to you. Flying behind Fred Weasley, that'd get your blood going, for sure."
Dean sat for a moment, finally taking another drag from his cigarette.
"That's almost out, by the way," Seamus said.
"Ta." Dean stretched out his hand for Seamus to take and stub it out. He appeared to consider Seamus' comment as he tapped on the flat plane of his stomach. "All right. But I'll be the one to ask him."
"Okay."
Seamus found himself suddenly famished. He took one of the sandwich halves and tucked into it, washing it down with a good third of his ale. Dean, too, helped himself to their lunch, until they were both full and dozed off in the warm afternoon sun.
* * * * *
A few days later, Seamus walked distractedly around the flat, discombobulated and cheesed off at himself for not having any focus. He'd spent the better part of two hours cleaning and oiling Seth, working on him in the small garden out back of their flat block. It was comforting, working on his bike. He'd never been much of one for flying, as Dean had pointed out, so he'd not spent hours polishing and trimming a broom or anything like that. He was from a long line of wizards, but he had cousins who were far more integrated into the Muggle world and he'd picked up a lot about their culture when he was growing up. Brooms and fireplaces were boring ways to travel he'd always reckoned, but motorcycles and aeroplanes were fucking brilliant.
"A flying motorcycle, now that'd be bloody unreal," he mused under his breath as he put the top on the tube of toothpaste, smearing some of the white stickiness off onto his shorts.
A thunder of clomping feet on the stairs shook Seamus from his reverie. Dean wasn't usually that noisy, which could only mean—
"We're home!" Dean yelled, the carefree words bouncing into the air.
Seamus hurriedly walked to the living room and saw Fred shutting the door behind him. Dean was swaggering; his body gave off an aura of cocky satisfaction that caused jealousy to spike through Seamus for a moment. From the scent wafting from them, Dean and Fred had gone to a pub after their aerial outing, or perhaps just back to Wheezes.
"No shite," Seamus said, running a hand down Dean's bicep as he passed so he'd know where Seamus was. "Smells as though you two've had a good time, and not just flying. Don't mind if I join ye," he announced as he walked the few paces to greet Fred. He sat perched on the arm of the couch, looking both uncomfortable but also as though he really hoped he wouldn't be asked to leave.
"Thanks for taking Dean out," Seamus said gratefully, pulling Fred up to give him a hug. "Both the flying and…"
"We went to the practise area by Ron and Harry's and flew all over. Fred was great, and scared me shitless," Dean enthused, reaching into the fridge to get two Skullsplitters. "Fred?" he asked, hefting one up so it could be seen.
"Yeah, thanks," Fred replied, giving Seamus a squeeze that allowed his hands to curl into the top of Seamus' arse. "It was good fun, honestly." Fred drew back, tugging up his denims which had begun sliding down his hips.
Seamus frowned. "You need to eat more. Both of you," he grumbled.
Fred's raised eyebrows and quirked smile made a flush bloom in Seamus' chest and quickly spiral down to his quiescent cock. "But you like skinny guys," he said provocatively as Dean walked up, holding out the ale in Fred's direction until he took it.
"So you two thought you'd go have a big time on Fred's broom then go drinking without me? I'm insulted!" Seamus said, infusing false drama into his voice and glossing over Fred's last comment. He pouted for effect until Dean waved his arm for Seamus to get near him. Dean pulled Seamus tightly against his torso, draping his arms down Seamus' back.
"Poor Fred had to deal with a bloody hard-on at his backside there for a bit," he said in a voice barely loud enough to Seamus to hear him, his sultry voice sending tendrils of desire to Seamus' increasingly interested prick. "No reason for it, but there y'go. I've been thinking of you ever since, Shay. Want you bent over the table while I'm so deep and hard inside of you…"
Seamus let out a strangled half-laugh at being seduced so outright, and as though Fred weren't there. Dean's commentary sounded absolutely fantastic, but they weren't alone. Seamus didn't like how Dean was being so blatant around Fred, who probably felt like a third wheel, and a flat tyre at that. The whole situation wasn't at all kind to him, and Seamus felt a wave of resentment at Dean's purposeful insensitivity. Despite that, he found himself saying, "Later," and giving Dean a hard pinch on the bum before easing out of his embrace.
"Well! You two obviously want to be alone," Fred said, his forced bravado a brittle glass between them.
"No, no. You don't need to go yet," Seamus insisted. "I'm just going to get a whiskey and you can tell us what ye're working on at Wheezes."
Fred made a noncommittal noise, but he followed Seamus into the kitchen, much to Seamus' surprise. "I'm hungry," he said with a shrug.
"Don't know as I have that much worth eating right now, but you're welcome to what's here," Seamus said, gesturing vaguely at the refrigerator and pantry.
"Thanks."
Fred made a show of glancing at some leftover grilled chicken and a bowl of potato salad before opening a bag of coriander crisps. Seamus poured himself a shot of firewhiskey and tossed it back. He poured himself a proper glass before crossing his arms and looking evenly at Fred.
"Peel me an orange, will you?" Dean called, sitting down on the couch.
"Sure." Seamus pursed his lips, then lifted an orange from the bowl, jabbing at the rind with his thumb.
"I really should be going," Fred said quietly.
"Why?"
"Because you two belong together, and I'm on the outside. It's to be expected. But I don't like having my nose rubbed in it." He shoved his large freckled hand savagely into the bag.
"Jes' give him some time," Seamus said in a hushed tone after a few moments had passed. "We've been best mates forever, or close enough, and he knows better than anyone how I was after you and I split. He doesn't trust you, yet." A collection of orange strips littered the counter and Seamus swept them into a neat pile before getting a small plate out of the cupboard.
"I'll just have to convince him to, then," Fred said, his words low and decisive. Determination gleamed in the brown depths of his eyes. "Even if we're nothing more than friends, I'm not letting you go again."
Bittersweet thanks bubbled up through Seamus. Fred didn't compromise on anything— in his own mind-boggling way, he'd issued a challenge, though it wasn't to Seamus. In a fit of panic, Seamus realised he didn't know how Dean would react.
"Thanks," Seamus said, impetuously grabbing behind Fred's head and kissing him hard, but chastely on the lips. "It'll all work out."
He walked a few steps out of the kitchen before turning around to retrieve his drink. "You coming?"
"Yeah, but I reckon I'll be heading home. Dean obviously has plans. I don't begrudge you," he said loudly enough for Dean to hear. He strode through the living room to stand behind Dean, placing his hands on his shoulders. "Flying does that to me too, sometimes."
"It was great to get out, and up in the wind," Dean said warmly. He didn't turn around, but he tapped his fingers on top of Fred's.
"I'd like to do it again, soon. Just take it easy, okay?" Fred glanced at Seamus, who'd opted to sit in a chair near the couch and had guzzled half of his firewhiskey.
"What d'you mean?" Dean's voice was edged with suspicion and Seamus found he wanted to shake him.
"He's yours. I know. I'm actually making a conscious attempt not to be an arsehole, and I'd appreciate you cutting me some slack. That's all."
Seamus stared at Fred then down at Dean. His expression was guardedly neutral until it transformed into something Seamus hadn't seen in ages: grudging respect.
"I can do that. Send me a Howler next time you're bored and if I'm not at the Auralibris, I'll come by the shop."
"Will do. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon."
Seamus couldn't tear his eyes away from Fred as he downed the rest of his ale, taking the empty bottle to the kitchen before heading to the front door. There was something less severe about him, unrelated to the barrier he'd managed to erect with his last few words. Seamus wondered to himself whether Fred wouldn't go out to some club tonight and fuck some anonymous bloke senseless, knowing he and Dean would be shagging for at least part of the evening. When Fred rubbed at the scar on his scalp, the difference danced blatantly into Seamus' awareness; Fred was letting his hair grow out.
"Bye Fred," Dean said through a mouthful of orange slice as he heard the door open.
"See you," Seamus echoed with a flimsy wave.
A heavy silence permeated the air as the door shut. Never one to self-censor, especially when drinking, Seamus blurted out, "Why were you being such a prick?"
"When?" Dean shot back, feeling around a slab of orange to pick off the clinging white veins.
"When you first got back here. I mean, yeah, I'm all for us having a tumble, but ye didn't need to be so bloody in your face about it in front of Fred." He swallowed the last of the firewhiskey, licking at his teeth as the burn seeped down through his chest.
"Fred's perfectly capable of finding somebody to shag. He and George weren't bad-looking or anything. Probably do him a load of good to pull some guys. Or get involved with someone. And besides, it's not like he doesn't know we're—"
"I know he knows, Dean," Seamus interrupted, Accio'ing first his wand and then the bottle of firewhiskey to pour himself another drink. "It's still rude."
"Fine! I'm sorry, okay?" Dean growled, picking at yet another orange slice, and not looking very apologetic. "I did mean it about the flying, though. It was a real rush, holding on for dear life. Nearly pissed in my pants more than once. Just made me want you, though. C'mere?" he asked plaintively, his expression so needy and irresistible that Seamus' thin wall of resistance crumbled into a heap.
"Yeah, all right."
After putting his glass on the table, Seamus took Dean's plate and encouraged him to stretch out on his back. Seamus lay down on top of him, sliding his hands underneath the wings of Dean's shoulder blades before easing his mouth against the soft expanse of Dean's lips. A dam broke in Seamus as their tongues tangled, a torrent of aching and heartbreak, of yearning and loyalty forever bruised on his heart. He wanted his body to bring together the people he loved, not force them apart. A memory of Fred, his long hair like a shaggy mane, leapt to mind, but Seamus pushed it aside. That was past, and this reality quickly consumed him. He wished Dean could see just how much Seamus wanted to drown in him, be filled up with him; Dean's cock and breath and moodiness and rapture. He rutted against Dean, their erections rubbing and grinding in a wordless language whose vocabulary was only need and friction and more.
"What'd you say about the table?" he gasped, breaking away from their kiss, chest heaving.
"Said I wanted to bend you over it," Dean said, breathing heavily. "But will that hurt you? I'd never want to do that."
"I'll be fine," Seamus reassured him. "But I'll need something to stand on," he said with chagrin. "Ye're too bloody tall."
"Oh Shay," Dean murmured, a long finger caressing the sweaty matted hair at Seamus' temple. "I just want to fucking worship you sometimes, y'know? I'd paint you, but I can't. But this…" He slid both hands down to grasp firmly at Seamus' covered arsecheeks, pulling them apart to nudge his thumbs down the cleft, making Seamus moan at the contact. "This I want to be an expert in. You've got to tell me what feels good, what I can do so you think you'll bloody explode."
Seamus made an inarticulate, growling cry. "I'm not good that that. Just get up, get undressed, put some lube on that gorgeous cock of yours and push into me. Okay?" He wasn't even embarrassed at the faint tremor in his voice, or the wet forming at the edges of his eyes.
"Gods, yes," Dean said, claiming Seamus' mouth with a sloppiness borne of desperation.
After one or two other abortive attempts to get off the couch, Seamus decided to remedy the fact that they were still dressed and Dean wasn't pounding into him.
"Change of plans," he panted. He leaned over, arm flapping against the table until he picked up his wand, and cast three spells in quick succession. The banishing spell took care of their clothes, though Seamus spared a passing thought to where in the flat they might end up; the engorging charm widened the couch, causing the coffee table to bump noisily across the floor, leaving marks on the wood; and the cleansing spell caused a tingling warmth to trickle from deep inside his body to the end of his clenching muscle. "You choose the lube," he said before licking and sucking on the side of Dean's neck, wishing the marks that he made would show up against the ebony skin.
"Accio Sylvester's!" Dean rumbled, agilely capturing the tube of slick when it came soaring into the room. "What're you up to?"
"Gonna ride ye," Seamus said, waggling his eyebrows even though Dean wouldn't see the gesture.
"Oh fuck. You're so hot." Dean passed the lubricant into his right hand, unscrewing the top and pouring a generous dollop into the palm of his dominant left hand.
"You inspire me." Seamus' pulse thundered in his head, his whole body throbbing in time with the staccato of his racing heart. He greased up two of his fingers, sitting back on his heels before pressing them into his grasping channel. "Ye always feel so good," he crooned, rubbing the slight swell of his belly against the shining pole of Dean's shaft.
"Put me in you," Dean said raggedly.
Seamus complied, rising up and placing the purpled head peeking out from its foreskin at his entrance. He eased down, letting his body adjust, basking in the resonant guttural sounds pouring from Dean's mouth. A stray thought to a picture he'd seen in his History of Magic text when he'd been shaken awake, a damp puddle where he'd been drooling, came to Seamus as he was fully seated on Dean. It was of an axis mundi, a line spanning heavenward from earth. As their bodies jostled through an awkward, arrhythmic series of thrusts and pushing, Seamus imagined Dean's cock being that connection, of him being speared again and again by this body part that frankly had a mind of its own and seemed most content when arching up toward the sky.
"Am I doing okay?" Dean asked, his hands clutching onto Seamus' hips and his feet planted on the couch. He was straining, their bodies more at odds than anything else.
"Yeah. Here, scoot up so you're sitting up more like," Seamus suggested.
With some manoeuvring, Dean could lean back against the armrest and Seamus had leverage to rock his hips with a speed he wanted. Dean followed suit, snapping up with relentless thrusts as their joined bodies fell into a pattern ancient and ceaseless as waves hitting the shore. The sound of slapping skin and groans was lust-driven chamber music, intimate and rising in tone as the tension in each of them built. The burning had transformed to sublime fullness, Seamus' arse being ploughed as his bollocks smacked against the wiry hairs at Dean's groin. When Seamus began pulling on his own cock, his release reared up, seeming to spread from the base of his spine and shuddering outwards as his come made glistening smears on Dean's abdomen. His broken cries were punctuated as Dean continued driving unflaggingly into Seamus until he came, his orgasm causing ripples on his torso as his muscles contracted and heaved.
Seamus felt as though he'd just completed a sprint, his lungs burning and blood roaring in his ears. Everything was a bit fuzzy around the edges as though the world itself needed to catch up from the bliss where he'd just been. Dean, too, seemed in his own reality, the bruising hold on Seamus' hips at last loosening as Dean sank back against the couch, relaxing his arse and thighs.
"You're fucking amazing," Dean said, the reverent words said gently as floating dandelion wisps. "I never really knew sex could be like this. Never was, before."
"Ye weren't with me," Seamus joked, squeezing his inner muscles, knowing he'd be a bit sore given their enthusiasm.
"True enough."
Leaning down to place a quick kiss on Dean's lips, Seamus eased his body off of Dean's, sprawling on top of him after Dean moved his softening cock back between his thighs. Dean cast a Terego as Seamus settled down, boneless and sated. He wished he could capture the moments like this, hoard them away in a cherished container to be relived when disappointment and monotony were bound to strike. With an inward sigh, he felt his mind becoming preoccupied with its usual catalogue of things he should be doing, rather than simply enjoying being with Dean, naked and totally satisfied.
"Should I think about dinner?" Dean asked, his lush finger pads drawing fanciful patterns on Seamus' sweat-slicked back.
"Too hot," Seamus sulked. "We've got that potato salad, and some sliced meats that're still good. D'you want me to read some more of Fang and Fury?"
Harry of all people had recommended this multi-book series with werewolves and vampires and absolutely outrageous plots. Some of it caused Dean and him to laugh aloud at its implausibility, but other parts were quite intriguing. They'd grown really fond of a couple of the more handsome of the Packmates who seemed to have definite feelings for one another, though none of it was explicit. They sometimes made up their own scenes, playing off of each other and half-pretending to be the characters. Both Seamus and Dean seemed to have inborn skills as amateur pornographers, and around each other, they truly had no shame.
"Yeah. Hand me my pants, will you? When you get up?"
"Course. Oh, um, I'm not sure where they were Banished to."
Dean huffed a small laugh. "Guess I'll get a clean pair."
It mightn't be the most conventionally exotic life, Seamus thought to himself a while later, reading aloud with Dean's feet in his lap, but it suits. He gave a passing thought to his mam, wishing she could know about his happiness. Soon, however, he was drawn back into the lives of an ill-fated pair— as everyone knows that a werewolf falling for a vampire is bound to be tragic— reading the story to his lover with relish.
..:~TBC~:..
Title: Strange-Eyed Constellation
Pairing(s): Past Fred/Seamus, Seamus/Dean, eventual Fred/Seamus/Dean, Ron/Harry
Rating: This chapter NC-17
Summary: War can make strange bedfellows; peacetime allows kindred spirits to join together. Seamus discovers both, and in being true to the baffling desires of his heart, believes that love needn't come exclusively in pairs.
A/N: my thanks to
auntee_mame for the written beta; exceeding gratitude to wolfiekins and callumjames for letting me read aloud and giving me insightful feedback while I write this; also for their enthusiasm over what's certainly a rare trio. The title comes from Thomas Hardy's poem "Drummer Hodge." Previous Posts:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
"Oh Dean, you won't believe this!" Seamus cradled the recently-owled gift from Ron and Harry in his hands before passing it over.
"Is it a picture?" Dean asked, running his fingers along the simple cobalt frame.
"Yeah."
Seamus couldn't take his eyes off of it, the figures obviously engrossed in each other. Harry had managed to take a photograph when he'd been sitting in Dean's lap in the Jacuzzi that day they'd gone over for the afternoon— and evening, and night. They looked only at each other, kissing softly as Seamus' hands rubbed the back of Dean's head. Seamus knew he couldn't give proper voice to describe the print to Dean, limited to mere words to express just how content they looked.
"What's it of?" Dean asked as he handed it back. "Not Ron starkers, surely!"
"No, it's us. When we were at their place. In the Jacuzzi," he said, his voice softening as he watched their picture-selves, oblivious to anything except for each other.
"Oh." Dean's face relaxed and a warm smile settled on his lips. "Guess he was spying on us from inside the house."
"Ach, not spying," Seamus chided, giving Dean a swat on the arse. "Just taking a picture when we didn't know. I'm glad. Seems much more natural that way."
"If you say so. Are you going to put it on the desk?"
"Reckon so."
After a few months now of being both lovers and flatmates, they'd sold Seamus' bed to some Muggle neighbours a couple of buildings down the road and officially christened Dean's bedroom as their bedroom. Seamus' former bedroom had now become their study and catch-all room, though Seamus did make a conscious effort to keep it reasonably tidy, for Dean's sake and safety.
"Fred's invited us to go see the Green Knights— I said I thought we'd want to go. Sound good? They're playing Ballycastle."
Dean paused on his way to the refrigerator, tilting his head. "Yeah, I s'pose that'd be fun. Not been to a match in ages."
"Great. I'll owl him and let him know."
Seamus let out a breath he'd not realised he'd been holding. He and Dean had been meeting up with Fred, and sometimes Ron and Harry as well, over the past few weeks. Dean appeared convinced that Fred really wasn't going to try and move back in on Seamus, but in the dark recesses of his heart, Seamus believed that Fred would quickly and determinedly get back together with him given the opportunity. The three of them had an easy, if occasionally tense rapport when Dean's jealousy manifested itself. It was worth the awkwardness to Seamus, seeing glimpses of the Fred he'd trusted with his life during the War. More importantly, Fred hadn't been at all as morose as he'd been that first time they'd reconnected at Wheezes. And in ways that Seamus couldn't explain, and didn't even try — especially not to himself — he felt that their being together was inherently right. All three of them: Fred surviving without his twin, Dean coping without his sight, and Seamus… Well, he just knew somehow that he belonged to them both, equally. Beyond the occasional daydream of the erotic way that could manifest itself, every once in a while he caught himself imagining the three of them sharing breakfast, or two motorbikes parked next to each other in a small garage.
"I was thinking of having a lie-down outside. Join me? And maybe bring a couple of sandwiches?" Dean asked with a cheeky grin, two ales in hand. He'd become an ebony god to Seamus' eyes, so dark from his sunbathing, and so often clad in the arousingly small pair of Speedos he'd been so set against at first. Wizarding London was complaining about the heat wave, if their constant jabbering about it on the Wireless was any indication, but Seamus and Dean had no complaints.
"Yeah. I'll make a couple of cheese and tomatoes and get our towels."
"I can get them."
"Okay."
A few minutes later, Seamus took out the plate with the sandwich halves artistically arranged. There was something about being a bartender that brought out his need to constantly tidy the surfaces around him, as well as paying close attention to how things looked when served. Dean was standing behind his lounge chair, face up and eyes closed, figuring out where the sun was in the sky.
"I'll just put these on the table. The umbrella's open, don't forget."
"I won't."
Back inside, Seamus padded to their room and put on his own pair of swim trunks. They weren't quite as revealing as Dean's, but he also wasn't in it for the sun; it was the company. He'd been a bit inconsistent with some of his sunblock charms, and his usual smattering of freckles had transformed into skin that was now a bronze colour. His hair had lightened, too, much closer to true blond than he could ever remember. He rummaged through a drawer in the small chest on his side of the bed and found his pack of cigarettes before going back outside to the porch. Dean was rubbing coconut tanning oil on his arms, his legs straddling his chair. Seamus plopped down next to him on his own chaise, sniffing eagerly at the scent of warm Dean skin. He lit his cigarette with an Incendio and took a deep drag before opening one of the ales.
"I'll have one of those," Dean said, holding out his pointer and index fingers in a vee shape.
"They'll stunt yer growth," Seamus said, imitating his late mam.
"Too late. Thanks."
Seamus looked over at Dean, noting his neutral expression. He wondered if Dean was keenly feeling left out of things, being relatively isolated and not really having a large choice of careers anymore. The Phoenix Fund monies sent to him each month for being an injured veteran were certainly enough to live on; that wasn't it. Seamus worried about him feeling that he was unnecessary, or a bother. He'd known Dean practically all of his life, and knew that while Dean had never been the most career-driven bloke around, he'd never planned to spend his life lounging about— especially not with the limitations imposed on him by his blindness.
Dean stretched out one leg, pulling up the other to form a long, sleek angle, the corded muscles of his calf a glistening rampart. He'd put on sunglasses; the hexes had done all sorts of nerve damage and now his eyes were overly sensitive to light though he couldn't see. Even from this close distance, however, Dean seemed flawless. All of a sudden, inspiration struck Seamus like a Bludger.
"I really miss flying." "You should be a model!"
Their tandem sentences tumbled over each other. It took Seamus a few seconds to figure out what he'd said on top of Dean as Dean did the same.
"Yeah, right," Dean snorted dismissively.
"No, I'm serious! With those glasses on, or any dark glasses, no one would know about your eyes. You've really got the body for it," Seamus rushed on before taking a pull on his cigarette. "But the flying thing— you should've said something sooner. We can do that together, you sitting behind me. Like on Seth. Or if ye wanted, you could be on your own broom, and I'll put a binding spell of some sort on it so you'd fly behind me, at a distance."
"You're not the best flyer, Shay," Dean said, his voice apologetic. "Nothing against you, and I'd trust you, it's not that, but…"
Another plan sprang into Seamus' head, derailing his other line of thought. "Fred!"
"Fred what?"
"Fred. He's brilliant on a broom. He could take you."
Dean turned his head towards Seamus. "Are you mad? I remember exactly how he flies. He's insane!"
"Exactly!" Seamus smiled so widely his cheeks hurt. "But he'd never let anything happen to you. Flying behind Fred Weasley, that'd get your blood going, for sure."
Dean sat for a moment, finally taking another drag from his cigarette.
"That's almost out, by the way," Seamus said.
"Ta." Dean stretched out his hand for Seamus to take and stub it out. He appeared to consider Seamus' comment as he tapped on the flat plane of his stomach. "All right. But I'll be the one to ask him."
"Okay."
Seamus found himself suddenly famished. He took one of the sandwich halves and tucked into it, washing it down with a good third of his ale. Dean, too, helped himself to their lunch, until they were both full and dozed off in the warm afternoon sun.
* * * * *
A few days later, Seamus walked distractedly around the flat, discombobulated and cheesed off at himself for not having any focus. He'd spent the better part of two hours cleaning and oiling Seth, working on him in the small garden out back of their flat block. It was comforting, working on his bike. He'd never been much of one for flying, as Dean had pointed out, so he'd not spent hours polishing and trimming a broom or anything like that. He was from a long line of wizards, but he had cousins who were far more integrated into the Muggle world and he'd picked up a lot about their culture when he was growing up. Brooms and fireplaces were boring ways to travel he'd always reckoned, but motorcycles and aeroplanes were fucking brilliant.
"A flying motorcycle, now that'd be bloody unreal," he mused under his breath as he put the top on the tube of toothpaste, smearing some of the white stickiness off onto his shorts.
A thunder of clomping feet on the stairs shook Seamus from his reverie. Dean wasn't usually that noisy, which could only mean—
"We're home!" Dean yelled, the carefree words bouncing into the air.
Seamus hurriedly walked to the living room and saw Fred shutting the door behind him. Dean was swaggering; his body gave off an aura of cocky satisfaction that caused jealousy to spike through Seamus for a moment. From the scent wafting from them, Dean and Fred had gone to a pub after their aerial outing, or perhaps just back to Wheezes.
"No shite," Seamus said, running a hand down Dean's bicep as he passed so he'd know where Seamus was. "Smells as though you two've had a good time, and not just flying. Don't mind if I join ye," he announced as he walked the few paces to greet Fred. He sat perched on the arm of the couch, looking both uncomfortable but also as though he really hoped he wouldn't be asked to leave.
"Thanks for taking Dean out," Seamus said gratefully, pulling Fred up to give him a hug. "Both the flying and…"
"We went to the practise area by Ron and Harry's and flew all over. Fred was great, and scared me shitless," Dean enthused, reaching into the fridge to get two Skullsplitters. "Fred?" he asked, hefting one up so it could be seen.
"Yeah, thanks," Fred replied, giving Seamus a squeeze that allowed his hands to curl into the top of Seamus' arse. "It was good fun, honestly." Fred drew back, tugging up his denims which had begun sliding down his hips.
Seamus frowned. "You need to eat more. Both of you," he grumbled.
Fred's raised eyebrows and quirked smile made a flush bloom in Seamus' chest and quickly spiral down to his quiescent cock. "But you like skinny guys," he said provocatively as Dean walked up, holding out the ale in Fred's direction until he took it.
"So you two thought you'd go have a big time on Fred's broom then go drinking without me? I'm insulted!" Seamus said, infusing false drama into his voice and glossing over Fred's last comment. He pouted for effect until Dean waved his arm for Seamus to get near him. Dean pulled Seamus tightly against his torso, draping his arms down Seamus' back.
"Poor Fred had to deal with a bloody hard-on at his backside there for a bit," he said in a voice barely loud enough to Seamus to hear him, his sultry voice sending tendrils of desire to Seamus' increasingly interested prick. "No reason for it, but there y'go. I've been thinking of you ever since, Shay. Want you bent over the table while I'm so deep and hard inside of you…"
Seamus let out a strangled half-laugh at being seduced so outright, and as though Fred weren't there. Dean's commentary sounded absolutely fantastic, but they weren't alone. Seamus didn't like how Dean was being so blatant around Fred, who probably felt like a third wheel, and a flat tyre at that. The whole situation wasn't at all kind to him, and Seamus felt a wave of resentment at Dean's purposeful insensitivity. Despite that, he found himself saying, "Later," and giving Dean a hard pinch on the bum before easing out of his embrace.
"Well! You two obviously want to be alone," Fred said, his forced bravado a brittle glass between them.
"No, no. You don't need to go yet," Seamus insisted. "I'm just going to get a whiskey and you can tell us what ye're working on at Wheezes."
Fred made a noncommittal noise, but he followed Seamus into the kitchen, much to Seamus' surprise. "I'm hungry," he said with a shrug.
"Don't know as I have that much worth eating right now, but you're welcome to what's here," Seamus said, gesturing vaguely at the refrigerator and pantry.
"Thanks."
Fred made a show of glancing at some leftover grilled chicken and a bowl of potato salad before opening a bag of coriander crisps. Seamus poured himself a shot of firewhiskey and tossed it back. He poured himself a proper glass before crossing his arms and looking evenly at Fred.
"Peel me an orange, will you?" Dean called, sitting down on the couch.
"Sure." Seamus pursed his lips, then lifted an orange from the bowl, jabbing at the rind with his thumb.
"I really should be going," Fred said quietly.
"Why?"
"Because you two belong together, and I'm on the outside. It's to be expected. But I don't like having my nose rubbed in it." He shoved his large freckled hand savagely into the bag.
"Jes' give him some time," Seamus said in a hushed tone after a few moments had passed. "We've been best mates forever, or close enough, and he knows better than anyone how I was after you and I split. He doesn't trust you, yet." A collection of orange strips littered the counter and Seamus swept them into a neat pile before getting a small plate out of the cupboard.
"I'll just have to convince him to, then," Fred said, his words low and decisive. Determination gleamed in the brown depths of his eyes. "Even if we're nothing more than friends, I'm not letting you go again."
Bittersweet thanks bubbled up through Seamus. Fred didn't compromise on anything— in his own mind-boggling way, he'd issued a challenge, though it wasn't to Seamus. In a fit of panic, Seamus realised he didn't know how Dean would react.
"Thanks," Seamus said, impetuously grabbing behind Fred's head and kissing him hard, but chastely on the lips. "It'll all work out."
He walked a few steps out of the kitchen before turning around to retrieve his drink. "You coming?"
"Yeah, but I reckon I'll be heading home. Dean obviously has plans. I don't begrudge you," he said loudly enough for Dean to hear. He strode through the living room to stand behind Dean, placing his hands on his shoulders. "Flying does that to me too, sometimes."
"It was great to get out, and up in the wind," Dean said warmly. He didn't turn around, but he tapped his fingers on top of Fred's.
"I'd like to do it again, soon. Just take it easy, okay?" Fred glanced at Seamus, who'd opted to sit in a chair near the couch and had guzzled half of his firewhiskey.
"What d'you mean?" Dean's voice was edged with suspicion and Seamus found he wanted to shake him.
"He's yours. I know. I'm actually making a conscious attempt not to be an arsehole, and I'd appreciate you cutting me some slack. That's all."
Seamus stared at Fred then down at Dean. His expression was guardedly neutral until it transformed into something Seamus hadn't seen in ages: grudging respect.
"I can do that. Send me a Howler next time you're bored and if I'm not at the Auralibris, I'll come by the shop."
"Will do. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon."
Seamus couldn't tear his eyes away from Fred as he downed the rest of his ale, taking the empty bottle to the kitchen before heading to the front door. There was something less severe about him, unrelated to the barrier he'd managed to erect with his last few words. Seamus wondered to himself whether Fred wouldn't go out to some club tonight and fuck some anonymous bloke senseless, knowing he and Dean would be shagging for at least part of the evening. When Fred rubbed at the scar on his scalp, the difference danced blatantly into Seamus' awareness; Fred was letting his hair grow out.
"Bye Fred," Dean said through a mouthful of orange slice as he heard the door open.
"See you," Seamus echoed with a flimsy wave.
A heavy silence permeated the air as the door shut. Never one to self-censor, especially when drinking, Seamus blurted out, "Why were you being such a prick?"
"When?" Dean shot back, feeling around a slab of orange to pick off the clinging white veins.
"When you first got back here. I mean, yeah, I'm all for us having a tumble, but ye didn't need to be so bloody in your face about it in front of Fred." He swallowed the last of the firewhiskey, licking at his teeth as the burn seeped down through his chest.
"Fred's perfectly capable of finding somebody to shag. He and George weren't bad-looking or anything. Probably do him a load of good to pull some guys. Or get involved with someone. And besides, it's not like he doesn't know we're—"
"I know he knows, Dean," Seamus interrupted, Accio'ing first his wand and then the bottle of firewhiskey to pour himself another drink. "It's still rude."
"Fine! I'm sorry, okay?" Dean growled, picking at yet another orange slice, and not looking very apologetic. "I did mean it about the flying, though. It was a real rush, holding on for dear life. Nearly pissed in my pants more than once. Just made me want you, though. C'mere?" he asked plaintively, his expression so needy and irresistible that Seamus' thin wall of resistance crumbled into a heap.
"Yeah, all right."
After putting his glass on the table, Seamus took Dean's plate and encouraged him to stretch out on his back. Seamus lay down on top of him, sliding his hands underneath the wings of Dean's shoulder blades before easing his mouth against the soft expanse of Dean's lips. A dam broke in Seamus as their tongues tangled, a torrent of aching and heartbreak, of yearning and loyalty forever bruised on his heart. He wanted his body to bring together the people he loved, not force them apart. A memory of Fred, his long hair like a shaggy mane, leapt to mind, but Seamus pushed it aside. That was past, and this reality quickly consumed him. He wished Dean could see just how much Seamus wanted to drown in him, be filled up with him; Dean's cock and breath and moodiness and rapture. He rutted against Dean, their erections rubbing and grinding in a wordless language whose vocabulary was only need and friction and more.
"What'd you say about the table?" he gasped, breaking away from their kiss, chest heaving.
"Said I wanted to bend you over it," Dean said, breathing heavily. "But will that hurt you? I'd never want to do that."
"I'll be fine," Seamus reassured him. "But I'll need something to stand on," he said with chagrin. "Ye're too bloody tall."
"Oh Shay," Dean murmured, a long finger caressing the sweaty matted hair at Seamus' temple. "I just want to fucking worship you sometimes, y'know? I'd paint you, but I can't. But this…" He slid both hands down to grasp firmly at Seamus' covered arsecheeks, pulling them apart to nudge his thumbs down the cleft, making Seamus moan at the contact. "This I want to be an expert in. You've got to tell me what feels good, what I can do so you think you'll bloody explode."
Seamus made an inarticulate, growling cry. "I'm not good that that. Just get up, get undressed, put some lube on that gorgeous cock of yours and push into me. Okay?" He wasn't even embarrassed at the faint tremor in his voice, or the wet forming at the edges of his eyes.
"Gods, yes," Dean said, claiming Seamus' mouth with a sloppiness borne of desperation.
After one or two other abortive attempts to get off the couch, Seamus decided to remedy the fact that they were still dressed and Dean wasn't pounding into him.
"Change of plans," he panted. He leaned over, arm flapping against the table until he picked up his wand, and cast three spells in quick succession. The banishing spell took care of their clothes, though Seamus spared a passing thought to where in the flat they might end up; the engorging charm widened the couch, causing the coffee table to bump noisily across the floor, leaving marks on the wood; and the cleansing spell caused a tingling warmth to trickle from deep inside his body to the end of his clenching muscle. "You choose the lube," he said before licking and sucking on the side of Dean's neck, wishing the marks that he made would show up against the ebony skin.
"Accio Sylvester's!" Dean rumbled, agilely capturing the tube of slick when it came soaring into the room. "What're you up to?"
"Gonna ride ye," Seamus said, waggling his eyebrows even though Dean wouldn't see the gesture.
"Oh fuck. You're so hot." Dean passed the lubricant into his right hand, unscrewing the top and pouring a generous dollop into the palm of his dominant left hand.
"You inspire me." Seamus' pulse thundered in his head, his whole body throbbing in time with the staccato of his racing heart. He greased up two of his fingers, sitting back on his heels before pressing them into his grasping channel. "Ye always feel so good," he crooned, rubbing the slight swell of his belly against the shining pole of Dean's shaft.
"Put me in you," Dean said raggedly.
Seamus complied, rising up and placing the purpled head peeking out from its foreskin at his entrance. He eased down, letting his body adjust, basking in the resonant guttural sounds pouring from Dean's mouth. A stray thought to a picture he'd seen in his History of Magic text when he'd been shaken awake, a damp puddle where he'd been drooling, came to Seamus as he was fully seated on Dean. It was of an axis mundi, a line spanning heavenward from earth. As their bodies jostled through an awkward, arrhythmic series of thrusts and pushing, Seamus imagined Dean's cock being that connection, of him being speared again and again by this body part that frankly had a mind of its own and seemed most content when arching up toward the sky.
"Am I doing okay?" Dean asked, his hands clutching onto Seamus' hips and his feet planted on the couch. He was straining, their bodies more at odds than anything else.
"Yeah. Here, scoot up so you're sitting up more like," Seamus suggested.
With some manoeuvring, Dean could lean back against the armrest and Seamus had leverage to rock his hips with a speed he wanted. Dean followed suit, snapping up with relentless thrusts as their joined bodies fell into a pattern ancient and ceaseless as waves hitting the shore. The sound of slapping skin and groans was lust-driven chamber music, intimate and rising in tone as the tension in each of them built. The burning had transformed to sublime fullness, Seamus' arse being ploughed as his bollocks smacked against the wiry hairs at Dean's groin. When Seamus began pulling on his own cock, his release reared up, seeming to spread from the base of his spine and shuddering outwards as his come made glistening smears on Dean's abdomen. His broken cries were punctuated as Dean continued driving unflaggingly into Seamus until he came, his orgasm causing ripples on his torso as his muscles contracted and heaved.
Seamus felt as though he'd just completed a sprint, his lungs burning and blood roaring in his ears. Everything was a bit fuzzy around the edges as though the world itself needed to catch up from the bliss where he'd just been. Dean, too, seemed in his own reality, the bruising hold on Seamus' hips at last loosening as Dean sank back against the couch, relaxing his arse and thighs.
"You're fucking amazing," Dean said, the reverent words said gently as floating dandelion wisps. "I never really knew sex could be like this. Never was, before."
"Ye weren't with me," Seamus joked, squeezing his inner muscles, knowing he'd be a bit sore given their enthusiasm.
"True enough."
Leaning down to place a quick kiss on Dean's lips, Seamus eased his body off of Dean's, sprawling on top of him after Dean moved his softening cock back between his thighs. Dean cast a Terego as Seamus settled down, boneless and sated. He wished he could capture the moments like this, hoard them away in a cherished container to be relived when disappointment and monotony were bound to strike. With an inward sigh, he felt his mind becoming preoccupied with its usual catalogue of things he should be doing, rather than simply enjoying being with Dean, naked and totally satisfied.
"Should I think about dinner?" Dean asked, his lush finger pads drawing fanciful patterns on Seamus' sweat-slicked back.
"Too hot," Seamus sulked. "We've got that potato salad, and some sliced meats that're still good. D'you want me to read some more of Fang and Fury?"
Harry of all people had recommended this multi-book series with werewolves and vampires and absolutely outrageous plots. Some of it caused Dean and him to laugh aloud at its implausibility, but other parts were quite intriguing. They'd grown really fond of a couple of the more handsome of the Packmates who seemed to have definite feelings for one another, though none of it was explicit. They sometimes made up their own scenes, playing off of each other and half-pretending to be the characters. Both Seamus and Dean seemed to have inborn skills as amateur pornographers, and around each other, they truly had no shame.
"Yeah. Hand me my pants, will you? When you get up?"
"Course. Oh, um, I'm not sure where they were Banished to."
Dean huffed a small laugh. "Guess I'll get a clean pair."
It mightn't be the most conventionally exotic life, Seamus thought to himself a while later, reading aloud with Dean's feet in his lap, but it suits. He gave a passing thought to his mam, wishing she could know about his happiness. Soon, however, he was drawn back into the lives of an ill-fated pair— as everyone knows that a werewolf falling for a vampire is bound to be tragic— reading the story to his lover with relish.
..:~TBC~:..