
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/43511.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_Rowling
  Relationship:
      Seamus_Finnigan/Dean_Thomas
  Character:
      Seamus_Finnigan, Dean_Thomas
  Additional Tags:
      Romance, First_Time, Adolescent_Sexuality, Loss_of_Virginity, Sexual
      Identity, Sharing_a_Bed
  Collections:
      HP_Diversity
  Stats:
      Published: 2004-07-04 Words: 3684
****** A Seamus Thing ******
by Delphi
Summary
     Dean and Seamus share a tent at the Quidditch World Cup during Harry
     Potter and the Goblet of Fire.
Notes
     Written for the HP Rarepairs community on LJ. Challenge: First Times
"Dean?"
"...mn?"
"Pst...Dean."
"...wha'?"
"You asleep?"
Dean Thomas opened his eyes. For a puzzled moment, he had no idea where he
was—Seamus meant Hogwarts, but the air was cool and draughty and smelled of
clover—and then the darkness began to clear, and he recalled the little bedroom
in back of the charmed tent, and the campground, and the Quidditch World Cup in
less than two days.
He swallowed a yawn and stretched. "I was."
"Oh." A dim grey shadow swung down towards him: Seamus dangling head first off
the top bunk. The flash of a grin in the dark. "You were only asleep for a
minute, then. Weren't even snoring yet."
The bed creaked, and he heard Seamus drop lightly to his feet. Then he was
quickly rolling over to avoid being trampled when Seamus clambered up beside
him.
"Ouch!" He shielded his ribs. "Watch the knees, mate!"
"Sorry." Seamus was plucking at the blankets. "Budge up."
"What?" He frowned, scrubbing at his bleary eyes. "Why?"
"I'm cold, and I can't sleep. Let me in."
Dean paused. "Is...is this some kind of wizard thing?"
"Hm?" Seamus yanked the edge of the sheet out from under him.
He clutched the comforter firmly to his chest. "'Cause I gotta tell you, it
definitely isn't a Muggle thing, crawling into another bloke's bed in the
middle of the night."
A snort. "It's a Seamus-is-cold thing. Christ, you weigh a tonne. Don't you
care that I'm freezing my arse off here?"
"Not a bit."
"Prat."
"Prick."
"Aw, go soak your head," Seamus shot back amiably, wrangling the comforter from
him just long enough to worm his way under.
A pair of ice-block feet pressed against Dean's leg, making him shiver.
"See..." Seamus yanked the covers up to their chins. "...you're cold too."
Dean sighed, decided he wasn't quite awake enough to argue, and grudgingly made
room as Seamus fooled around with the bedclothes, sorting out the sheet from
the blanket from the comforter, humming off-tune under his breath and
apparently not thinking anything was remotely odd about the whole 'two boys in
one bed' thing.
He shrugged. Fair enough. Sometimes it was easier just to go along with Seamus.
This probably was a wizard thing, anyhow. He remembered reading somewhere that
back in the Middle Ages, people used to sleep ten to a bed. He supposed he was
just lucky they both didn't have to sleep with Seamus's mother. She scared him
a little.
"Okay," he said, as Seamus tugged half the pillow out from under him. "But no
hogging the covers."
"Thanks mate, you're the best."
He came to regret it barely two seconds later. Seamus set to burrowing in, all
knees and wriggling, and Dean realised with a sudden blush that there was a
whole lot of skin rubbing up against him. Arms and legs—Seamus in a singlet and
shorts and Dean only in his skivvies—and yeah, all right, he knew it was just
Seamus, but it was dark, and that was still a lot of bare parts to be moving
about all willy-nilly.
He inched away as far as he could, until he was touching the wall. After an
eternity of moving around, Seamus finally settled down with a huff.
Dean quietly sighed. Much better.
He closed his eyes and snuggled down into the blankets. At the very least,
Seamus was right; he had been a little chilled before, but now he was warming
up fast with his own human-sized blast furnace installed beside him.
It was quiet for one minute, and then another. Dean was definitely awake, and
he didn't know what he was supposed to do with his arms. He'd folded them
across his chest, and now there was no room to stretch out. He could feel
Seamus softly breathing against the side of his neck. It was cosy. But weird.
"Dean?"
Seamus poked him in the shoulder.
"Dean, whatcha thinking about?"
Dean sighed. "I'm thinking that the proper way to share a bed is to lie very
still-like and talk about football. Or Quidditch."
"Oh. Is that a Muggle thing?"
"I guess."
Seamus seemed to consider this for a moment. Then he exploded in a flurry of
bedclothes, launching himself at Dean and clinging like a limpet, pinching and
poking and tickling every spot he could reach. The whole bunk rocked on its
legs.
"I'm only half-Muggle," he declared happily as Dean fought to throw him off.
"Bloody hell!" he squawked. Seamus was climbing right on top of him.
And to his horror, he felt a very familiar twitch as his dick chose this moment
to add up half-naked and wrestling and bed and come up with entirely the wrong
conclusion. He kneed Seamus in the side.
"Half-Muggle—" he yelped, "—you're half crushing my arm here! Come on, I mean
it—you'll wake up your mum!"
For a terrifying moment it seemed like he'd have to boot Seamus clear off the
bed to keep those hands from wandering any lower, but something in his voice
must have made it clear he meant business. Seamus heaved a sigh and made a big
show of sitting up so Dean could pull free.
Dean gave his arm a rub for appearances and then quickly jammed his dick in
between his legs as he laid back down on his side. Seamus promptly curled up
beside him, sharing the pillow. Their knees bumped. The cold feet were back.
"You're always so lovely and warm," Seamus said. "It's a real gift. Gifts are
meant to be shared." He nestled in closer, then threw a lazy arm around Dean's
middle, making a little happy noise.
Dean's stomach gave a funny lurch. "What are you doing now?"
"Helping you share." Seamus puffed a warm breath against his neck.
"You're a real mate," he muttered.
Soft hair was brushing up under his chin, smelling like flowery shampoo. A
girly kind of smell. Yeah. That was why his dick was still trying to twitch its
way to freedom.
"You're comfy," Seamus sighed. "I like this."
Dean swallowed hard. Seamus had started to draw little circles on his bare
back.
Frogs' guts, he thought. Bubotuber pus...worm gizzards...that slimy stuff that
comes in newts. This usually did the trick in Transfiguration, where he always
managed to get at least one unfortunate hard-on before lunch.
Seamus was breathing deeper now. It tickled.
He squeezed his legs together only to find that his dick liked that more than
he'd thought it would. He chewed his lip. It wasn't calming down anytime soon,
and kicking Seamus out would likely only lead to another trademarked Finnigan
Pounce.
All right, he decided. This was why regular guys didn't share beds. Sometimes
Muggles really had the right of it, because getting hard in bed with your best
mate was probably a lot more wrong than getting hard behind your desk while
Professor McGonagall lectured on turning worms into nails.
He shifted back, hoping to put a little space between them, which backfired
when Seamus rolled right along with him. Dean retreated further until he hit
the wall. Stay, he willed. But no luck. The bunk gave a groan, and their feet
knocked together, and then Seamus was straightening out his legs, bringing him
a lot closer.
Dean scrambled, only managing to clunk his head against the bedpost. Seamus's
knee hit his, and his legs got out of line, and there was some...popping.
And then some pressing.
He froze. He felt himself go hot to the tips of his ears, his eyes screwing up
tight. Oh God. Don't say a word...please, Seamus, for once in your life, just
don't say one word...
Seamus quickly inched back. "Um...Dean?"
He winced. "...yeah?"
"Have you got a stiffie?"
Denial was his first instinct, and a firm no! nearly tripped off his tongue,
but something in the tone of Seamus's voice made him bite it back. His brain
sort of paused, then rewound. He was thinking of Seamus pushed up against him
and subtracting two elbows and two knees from the number of things that had
been poking into him.
His eyes widened.
"Kind of." He hesitated. "Er...you?"
"Um. Yeah," Seamus admitted, then sniggered.
So did Dean. A relieved grin split across his face. "Mind of its own, eh?"
The heavy weight that had been slowly suffocating him let up. Seamus gave him a
consolatory pat on the back, still softly laughing under his breath.
Another moment passed, then: "Dean?"
"Yeah?"
Seamus squirmed. Not nearer or away, just squirmed. Dean thought he heard him
lick his lips.
"Have you ever kissed anyone?"
From the blush that he could nearly hear in Seamus's voice, Dean guessed that
mothers and aunties didn't count.
"Nah. You?"
"Yeah."
That surprised him a little. "Really? Who?"
"A boy."
That surprised him a lot. "Yeah?"
Seamus was lying very still now. Only his fingers were moving, drumming a
nervous little rhythm against Dean's ribs. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Is that
really weird?"
Dean considered it carefully. He'd never really thought about it before. He
knew about queers all right, but only in a far-off sort of way, from the
daytime shows his mum liked to watch and the things people said. He suspected
it might be one of those things that grown-ups didn't really want you knowing
about. A couple of years ago, Dean had thought that everybody who had sex
before they were married got horrible diseases that made their bits fall off.
Only a few years before that, he'd still believed in the stork.
But he remembered some of the jokes that his step-dad and his mates liked to
tell. Insults on the football field.
"For Muggles, yeah, I think," he finally said. "My step-dad would thrash me if
he ever thought I kissed a bloke."
It didn't occur to him until after the words had left his mouth that his step-
dad thought magic was weird too.
He felt Seamus stiffen and quickly added. "But, uh, maybe it's all right with
wizards?"
"I dunno." Seamus went quiet for a moment. "No one ever tells you, do they. You
ever think about that? I mean, we're both, aren't we. Or neither. Mostly wizard
but sort of different, yeah?"
Dean knew what he meant. He thought about it a lot, actually. Especially in
summer, when coming home felt strange now and going back to Hogwarts was
normal. When his family seemed to get along just fine without him, and he
didn't know any of the programmes on the telly anymore, and his little sister
had to show him how to use the new computer at the library.
"Yeah," he said. "So who was he? When'd you do it?"
He felt Seamus's hand move around underneath the covers, reminding him of his
own throbbing problem.
"My cousin Jack. Just after school let out, my aunt and uncle came to stay with
us for a week."
Dean had to blink. "Your cousin? Er...isn't that, like, incest?"
"Not for kissing," Seamus said defensively. "You're just not supposed to marry
them unless you've got to, or else you might have a Squib or a half-wit or
something. Kissing's all right, though."
"I guess. So how'd it happen?"
"I dunno. We were just hanging about in the garden, talking, you know. And he
asked if I'd ever kissed a girl, and I said no, and he asked if I'd ever kissed
a boy, and I said no. And then he asked if I wanted to kiss him, and I said all
right. So we did."
"Huh." Dean had cousins. He couldn't really see that sort of thing coming up.
Something else occurred to him, and he frowned. "How old's he?"
"Sixteen. He goes to Beauxbatons—his mam's from Belgium."
Dean could only imagine a taller Seamus, sandy-haired and fit. He pictured them
kissing like in the movies, head tilted and mouths open, arms around each
other, only you never saw two blokes kissing in the movies. It made him sort of
antsy, thinking about it. He moved his leg a little, and his dick jerked up,
rubbing against the inside of his pants.
"Was it..." Good, he meant to ask. "...I mean, what was it like?"
He could feel Seamus shrug. "It was all right, I guess. He'd just eaten a
mutton sandwich. I can't stand mutton."
Dean chuckled. "But was it good? I mean, was it like a proper kiss?"
"Dunno. He's my cousin. Won't know until I kiss someone else, I guess."
And this time, when neither of them said anything, it was a full sort of pause,
like something big was lurking right below the surface. Dean was thinking about
Seamus kissing someone. He was thinking about being in bed with a hard-on, and
Seamus being in bed with a hard-on, and the two of them in the same bed, which
was something else entirely.
"Dean?"
His heart began to pound.
"Yeah?"
"You ever kiss a girl?"
He licked his lips.
"Nope."
"You ever kiss a boy?"
He needed to touch himself in the worst way.
"Nope."
He heard Seamus swallow.
"You...want to kiss?"
He really did.
"All right."
Seamus let out a great sigh, like he'd been holding it in forever.
It took a moment for either of them to move. Then Seamus crept a bit closer,
and Dean tilted his head a little. In the dark, he could just make out Seamus's
eyes, bright and glittering. He could feel the warm breath against his lips.
And in films, there was always that swoop, where everything went diagonal and
one person kissed while the other got kissed. But he and Seamus just ended up
meeting in the middle of the pillow, and their noses bumped at first, but then
their lips were touching, all soft and moist, and it sent a shiver all the way
down Dean's throat.
Seamus pulled back for a second, just long enough to mutter, "Open your mouth,
just a bit."
Dean wet his lips and parted them. They kissed again, and this time it came
with a swipe of tongue. French kissing, he thought. He tried it too, and their
tongues touched, which felt wet and rubbery but not as gross as he would have
expected. His whole mouth was tingling, and in the back of his mind was the
oddly exciting knowledge that he'd only have to move forward an inch to know if
Seamus was as hard as he was.
The kiss broke with a wet smack, but neither of them moved back. They lay face
to face on the pillow, their noses nearly touching. Dean's chest felt tight.
"So?" he asked, wondering how that measured up. If it actually got better.
"Well, you don't taste like mutton. Plus you've got bigger lips."
"Seamus!"
"What?" Seamus sounded miffed. "I didn't mean it like a black thing, did I? I
meant it like a Dean thing."
"A Dean thing."
"Yeah." Seamus drew a spiral on his shoulder blade. "A 'Dean, my best mate in
the whole world, who's got better lips than Cousin Jack' thing."
Dean got gooseflesh.
"You are so weird," he said, but he choked on it. Then he was the one pushing
his hips forward, and he was hard, and Seamus was hard, and they touched.
Seamus made a harsh sound in his throat, like Dean had never heard before. His
arm around Dean tightened. "What do you, um, want to do?"
Dean's heart felt like it was going to hammer right out of his chest. He could
feel Seamus's dick right up against his, and all he knew was that he really
didn't want to stop. He hesitantly put a hand on Seamus's waist. There was a
little gap of naked skin between his clothes. Really soft.
"I dunno," he said honestly. "What do you want to do?"
"Dunno," Seamus whispered. But his fingers very slowly started creeping down
Dean's side. Inch by inch, rubbing back and forth.
Dean was too afraid to move, half-terrified Seamus would stop, half-terrified
he'd keep on going just like that, lower and lower. He'd never been this hard
before without touching himself. It hurt in a good, sick, pounding way.
They kissed again—he didn't know which one of them started it—and then Seamus
was rolling back, pulling Dean with him. Dean wound up sprawled on top, his own
weight pushing his dick hard into Seamus's hip. Seamus's was jammed against his
belly, twitching, hot.
It hurt to swallow, but he had to. Kissing again meant no talking. He leaned
down and miraculously found Seamus's lips in the dark, and it was different on
top with lips mashing hard against his teeth and their chests flat together.
Seamus's mouth opened up for him, hot and slick and tasting like chocolate
frogs. Then Seamus sort of bucked up against him, and his hand came around
Dean's neck to hold him there, and something deep down in Dean's belly caught
fire when his tongue was sucked.
It was really weird. But good.
He felt like he was burning all over as he ground his lips against Seamus's,
and he couldn't help himself: when Seamus's other hand curved over his arse and
rocked him, he went with it, went with Seamus, rocking and rubbing desperately,
nearly losing it with those wet, whimpery noises Seamus was making right into
his mouth.
They were both quivering; he couldn't stop it. His dick started jerking blindly
when Seamus wriggled a hand between their bodies. There was a speedy muddle of
feet and hands as they tried to drag their shorts down, and then they both
rolled back onto their sides, legs tangled.
Barely a moment of hesitation, and then Dean was grabbing Seamus and Seamus was
grabbing him, and they both just sort of shuddered at the feel of it. Then Dean
moved his grip a little and...God, it was different. Seamus's hand was warm and
damp and rougher than Dean's own, and his dick felt different somehow, and it
was so hard, and the curls at the base of it were really soft. It was awkward
at first, giving it a rub from the wrong way around, but he turned his hand and
got the knack of it. Just quickly enough, it turned out, because the second
Seamus started stroking him, his brain went haywire.
He moaned softly, burying his face in Seamus's hair and breathing in the soap
and sweat smell of him. Seamus didn't pull hard and fast like he did, and the
soft, sneaky pleasure was driving him mad. He tried his best to return the
favour and felt a shaky smile on his lips when Seamus shivered. The feel of it
hit him like nobody's business.
"Do it tighter," he managed to whisper, those little teasing strokes too much
to handle.
Seamus obligingly closed his fist and then—oh, then it was squeezing and
tugging—he couldn't remember ever being so turned on in his life. It ached, and
his whole body felt thin-skinned and swollen. Their knuckles kept colliding,
and every few strokes something else would brush against him, so torturously
exciting he could barely breathe.
He knew he was close. His thighs were trembling, and his hand sped up on its
own, as though it still thought he was tossing himself off. Seamus made a soft,
startled sound, and he felt the first hot spurt on his fingers barely a second
before his own body spasmed. He came hard, biting down to stifle himself. He
couldn't breathe, it was so intense. Couldn't move, only let his hips jerk
about on their own, the blood rushing in his ears and the rocky shocks of
pleasure battering him over and over.
"Dean, Dean, Dean," Seamus was whispering.
He was blind for a very long time, lying perfectly still, dimly aware of being
hot, of being touched. He could feel the unsteady beat of Seamus's racing heart
echoing in his chest. His hand was wet all over. His dick was going soft, very
satisfied and smug. The room smelled like how his sheets did after a sexy
dream, times two.
Seamus cleared his throat, then fell silent. Then he cleared it again.
"Did we just..." he sounded hoarse and shaky. "...I mean, do you think this
counts as, um, doing it?"
Dean had to catch his breath to reply. "Dunno. I think so." He paused. "I'm
wiping my hand off on your shirt, just so you know."
"That's okay," Seamus muttered sleepily. "Already wiped mine on your shorts."
He laid his arm back around Dean's middle and sighed. He started to snore
barely a minute later.
Dean rolled his eyes. He wiped his hand clean and then, waiting a moment to
make sure Seamus was really asleep, experimentally licked the last bit off his
fingers. It tasted kind of...bleachy. Not bad, really. Just weird. He fumbled
about, getting his pants back on—yeah, the waistband was sticky. He briefly
considered waking Seamus and telling him to put his dick away, but he couldn't
be bothered. A yawn cracked his jaw.
His eyelids were heavy, but his brain was racing a hundred miles a second. He
took his time settling in, pulling the covers up around them, thinking. Seamus
stirred a little but didn't wake.
Dean lay with his eyes open in the dark for several minutes, looking at
Seamus's shadowy face. His heartbeat was slowing, but it thumped just as loudly
in his ear. He was sleepy, and Seamus was warm and steady beside him. He felt
really, really good.
And, he decided as he closed his eyes, he maybe wouldn't mind doing this again
sometime. Not the queer thing; he was too tired to even tackle the thought of
kissing Harry or Ron or Neville. But the Seamus thing was good.
Weird, maybe. But then, when was his life not weird?
Yeah, he thought, just before he slipped comfortably into sleep. The Seamus
thing was a bit of all right.
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