InsaneJournal

Dean hated Ireland.

Not because he was English and not because he hated the colour green and the smell of peat moss… or sheep.

Dean hated Ireland because it had made Seamus, and had made Seamus well.

And Seamus was the reason why Dean was sitting on his bed… smoking.

Really it was more of a chain smoke; which angered Dean even more because he prided himself on not smoking, but had snapped five minutes ago and broken into Seamus’ bedside table for the small cedar box that held the cigarettes Seamus loved, along with a handful of other things.

All because Dean wanted to know how Seamus would taste.

Had to know.

Because ever since second year, Dean knew that maybe, just possibly, he wasn’t exactly like other males. At first, he thought it was because he was an artist; always interested in the subtle curve of a boy’s arm, or the way the muscles pull and work in the clenching of a strong jaw, or the stretch of Quidditch-sculpted backs and the sway of hard lines and slim hips.

But it quickly became apparent in fourth year that being an artist had nothing to do with waking up in the middle of the night from a particularly intense dream about Oliver Wood sucking him off… and several other things that made his young mind blush.

Dean didn’t mind that he was gay. He didn’t shout it from the tower tops but it didn’t bother him. At least, it didn’t until he fell in love with Seamus in fifth year… Being in love with your best friend, who lives in the same room, was the reason Dean started to hate being gay. This caused him to date birds who most definitely didn’t have the right parts. Which was surprisingly easy… until he started to date Ginny.

Bloody Ginny Weasley. Dean loved everything about Ginny, and if he had to be pathetically closeted, he wouldn’t want any other beard than Ginny. She was funny and beautiful and talented and knew how to just hand about. The problem with Ginny came the first time she slipped out of her shirt. And Dean was greeted with a vast expanse of creamy skin. Which would have turned any guy on, gay or not. But Dean couldn’t just see pale, freckled skin and not think of Seamus. Millions of secret glances came flying back into his mind, of all the times Seamus had changed in plain sight; the way the muscles in his back tensed under his white, freckled skin… or the way his stomach flexed in his sleep as he tossed and turned, or the way his hips swayed and the tension in his arse when he reached to pick up something from the floor.

Holy Mother of Merlin.

At least he didn’t have to be afraid to be physical with Ginny. Because every time she took an article of clothing off, all Dean could see was Seamus. Which he only felt slightly bad about. But it worked out perfectly: for almost a blissful year he got to touch a female Seamus… except he felt so bad about it he always felt the need to be extra nice to Ginny; which apparently pissed her off because as of yesterday, Dean was minus one girlfriend. He hated not being with Ginny - especially not friends with her because she truly was an amazing person. But the worst part of not being with Ginny was not getting to taste those freckles. All Dean had was his imagination, not that Ginny let him get too far, but she gave him more than enough to accurately imagine what it would feel like to be with Seamus.

Which was why Dean was slipping into the dorm room for a wank. Today, out of all days to be particularly sexy, Seamus had forgotten to put his clothes in the pile for the wash and the house elves were so tired of picking through clothes on the surface of the dormitory that they had told Seamus in a polite, very house elf, way to bugger off. As a direct result, Seamus had no clean clothes and therefore had taken to wearing a rather thin and tight white undershirt and a pair of Dean’s football shorts.

Bloody hell.

Dean tried… he tried like hell not stare but he couldn’t handle it and made some lame excuse to fumble off after History of Magic because his trousers were so tight they were cutting off circulation to his knees. And he liked his knees. So the only clear option was to release some tension…

And since Dean hadn’t worked up the courage to snog Seamus, mostly because he was pretty sure Seamus wasn’t a poofter and that would certainly put a damper on their friendship, this was the next best thing and a perfect opportunity for a good wank.

The sun was streaming through the windows of the dorm in that lazy spring time way and Dean quickly picked the lock on Seamus’ trunk and dug down to the bottom, underneath the dress robes his mother had bought him, to find Seamus’ old cedar chest.

As Dean slipped the cigarette in between his lips, he quickly divested himself of his robes, trousers and pants and settled back against the pillows. His hand slid to his inner thighs as he imagined the contrast there, the white of the slim cigarette against his dark lips and the way the smoke whorled around in his mouth, pinching at his lungs in the most intoxicating way. The longer he imagined the more the image changed and the closer his hand came to his cock, slowly wrapping his fingers around his slim member.

He imagined the first (and only) time Ginny had given him head; the way her pale lips had turned red and swollen from his kisses and how they had looked so much like Seamus’ as they slowly wrapped around his cock. He imagined that Seamus would look him directly in the eye as he swallowed Dean’s cock whole, his freckled cheeks hollowing out as the suction increased.

His strokes became faster, twisting around his cock; his fingers sweeping over the leaking head, and soon all Dean could see and taste was Seamus’ pale skin against his dark lips, the way his salt and earthy taste lingered in his mouth- crawling its way into his veins. But most importantly, how every stroke of Dean’s lips left his lungs burning for more.

A new trickle of fantasy swept into Dean’s mind as he remembered the way Seamus looked today. Dean quickly lit a second cigarette and slowed the strokes on his cock. With a flick of his wand his cock felt slick and Dean closed his eyes again to get lost in the smoke and mirrors of his fantasy.

He imagined the pads of Seamus’ fingers, thick and calloused, pressing against his hole. So different to his own thin, dark fingers that were pressing circles around his arse. He pictured the way Seamus’ eyes would glint with mischief and before Dean could truly understand what was happening next, Seamus would slide a finger deep into Dean, making his back arch off the bed and the deep inhalation to burn his throat with cigarette smoke. Dean imagined how the press of Seamus’ finger would lead to a second and a third until all Dean could do from coming was to squeeze the base of his cock. Dean opened his eyes and quickly summoned a third smoke.

He imagined Seamus’ lips would pop off his cock with the most delicious sound and as Seamus continued to work his fingers into Dean, scissoring and pressing with the most delightful pressure, he would bend Dean in half. Dean’s long legs would be pressed to his chest and Seamus would flick his wand toward his cock. Dean knew how wonderful Seamus’ cock was: thick and covered in freckles. He knew how delightful Seamus sounded when he came, from poorly cast silencing charms at night. And he imagined that when Seamus thrust into him, his face would twist into bliss and Seamus would take him hard and fast until Dean couldn’t help but scream and whimper. Seamus’ hand stroking him fast, twisting around Dean’s leaking head until Seamus hit his prostrate one too many times and launched Dean over the edge.

But that was not what made Dean come in his fantasy. He closed his eyes tightly as he pictured the way Seamus’ face would look and how the muscles in his arms would flex and relax with each thrust until suddenly Seamus would come, his mouth open and his face a picture of bliss as his come shot into Dean’s arse and he imagined the way it would press against his prostate and how he would come a second time.

That’s what sent Dean over the edge.

“Oi! Thought ya said you din’t smoke?” Dean’s eyes flew upon to meet an amused pair of hazel eyes staring back at him. Holy fucking hell.

“I had a long day,” Dean mumbled around his, Seamus’, cigarette before pulling it out of his mouth and putting it out onto the comforter. But he couldn’t seem to find words to explain why exactly Dean had three fingers stuck up his arse and why he was covered in come and why exactly he was having one of the best wanks of his life on his best mate’s bed… ABOUT his best mate.

“Yeah?” Dean slowly tore his eyes from Seamus’ and took in Seamus; leaning against the bed post, his white t-shirt mussed and riding up- exposing a gorgeous bit of hip bone and the lazy stroke of Seamus’ hand against his obviously hard cock.

Wait… what?

Dean’s eyes snapped back up to Seamus’ face to see the ghost of a smirk developing at the corners of his mouth. What the hell was going on? Maybe Seamus wanted to wank together, like they had in fourth year… perfectly heterosexual.

But Seamus’ hand didn’t stop after Dean’s realization, it just kept up a steady slow pace; base to tip. Dean longed to see it outside the football shorts but his post climactic mind was having a difficult time understand exactly what was happening.

“Were ya thinkin’ ‘bout Gin?” Dean frowned but nodded quickly. Maybe Seamus didn’t know. But Seamus just shook his head, his hand still on his clothed cock.

“Liar. All the English, bunch of liars.” Seamus moved around the bed post was walked slowly toward Dean. Dean wanted to move… he wanted to cover himself up and run for the bathroom and lock himself in for a least an hour so that they could silently agree to forget that this ever happened. But he didn’t; he just watched Seamus’ lips as he approached.

“I think… you were thinkin’ ‘bout me. ‘Bout how you’d like me ta bugger you so hard the whole tower’d hear ya. An how you’ra a lil’ whore for my cock, aren’t ya? Beggin’ for it? Ya think I din’t know, Dean?” Seamus was so close Dean could feel his breath against his ear, the movement of Seamus’ hand over his cock had stopped. “I heard ya cry ou’ my name, like some cunt. Do ya come up here all d’time, to pound on ya cock… pretendin’ it’s me? Hmm?”

Fucking hell. Dean closed his eyes to feel the wet and the pressure and the good of Seamus’ tongue against the shell of his ear. Dean could feel himself tremble as Seamus kneeled on the bed, his arms caging Dean’s head. He couldn’t believe this was happening, like some sort of sick and twisted joke…

“Look at me.” Dean’s eyes opened just as Seamus’ mouth engulfed Dean’s. And it was hard and forceful: Seamus’ tongue plundered Dean’s mouth, sweeping and claiming him. And it was too much tongue and spit and teeth; and their noses smashed and Seamus shifted on top, thrusting his hips awkwardly against Dean’s naked cock. Seamus moaned into his mouth and Dean had to will himself to stop coming from the way the whole moan vibrated in his body.

And sloppy kisses turned into trails down his neck as Dean bucked and whimpered underneath Seamus’s body. He was heavy and heavenly. Seamus bit down hard into Dean’s shoulder and Dean fumbled to get Seamus’ shirt off. The shirt that had probably started everything. But he didn’t care because Seamus was actually lapping the come off of Dean’s stomach… and Dean couldn’t help but hear the faint ring of a bell.

“We’re late to class.” Dean gasped into the air, as Seamus attempted to wiggle out of his constraining shorts. He stopped short, looking up at Dean.

“Feck it. Rather feck you, if it sallright.”

And as their lips met again in a mesh of hard lines and carelessness, Dean thought that maybe everything was actually going to be all right. He’d have to pretend to stay mad at Ginny for a while and he’d probably be getting more stiffies in school now, but at least when Shay wanted to fight Dean would have some leverage. Because Shay liked cock… liked Dean’s cock.

Maybe they could share cigarettes.