ficlet for jacito
Jul. 19th, 2004 08:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phineasjonesthis was going to be a drabble. really, it was. but now it's 467 words. oops.
“Dean. Dean, wake up.”
Dean is reluctant to open his eyes. It is either very early morning or very late night and either way, he should be asleep. And so should Seamus.
“Dean. They’re gone.”
Seamus sounds calm. And quiet and maybe sad. This is not a normal way for Seamus to sound.
Dean opens his eyes to see Seamus standing in the opening of his bed curtains, shivering and shifting from foot to foot.
“Who’s gone?” Dean asks, but even as he speaks, he notices the eerie silence in the room beyond Seamus – no snores from Neville or muttering from Ron. Nothing.
He sits up and Seamus moves into the space he creates on the bed, sitting and pulling his knees to his chin. He looks strangely young like that, and vulnerable. Dean isn’t used to him looking this way. It happens rarely – when he is asleep, when he has been caught by McGonagall, when he’s expecting an owl from home and it doesn’t come. Not that Dean watches. No. He just… notices.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Seamus is looking at him so thoughtfully, so intently that Dean finds himself flustered, at a loss for words.
“Hm?”
“They have all these… destinies. Prophecies. Families. And we’re, you know… just us.”
Us, thinks Dean. It’s true enough. For most of their classmates, DeanandSeamus is practically one word. Dean likes it that way. He like Seamus. He likes Seamus here, on his bed, warm beside him, being serious for once. “Just us,” he repeats.
“Dean…” But Seamus doesn’t continue. He looks down at his hands then up at Dean again, eyes bright and cheeks splotchy pink.
Dean has thought it too many times, what it would be like to kiss Seamus. Too many times not to do it now, in the quiet night, in their empty room. It’s only Seamus, after all, he can always pretend it was a prank.
He kisses Seamus ever so lightly, pulling away slowly enough to see that Seamus has closed his eyes. Without opening them, he reaches for Dean, pulling him back into the kiss. Dean hadn’t imagined it would be so warm or so wet. He hadn’t imagined that he would need to cling to Seamus the way he does.
Not breaking the kiss, Seamus rearranges them, extending his legs and pulling Dean down with him as he lays back against the pillows. Dean’s hand is trapped under Seamus’ back and he can feel the shifting muscle. He can feel Seamus filling his arms. He can feel every movement he makes. He can feel him breathing.
Seamus breaks away with a sigh and buries his face in the crook of Dean’s neck, arms around him squeezing fiercely. Dean feels the breath against his neck as he hears him murmur, “Just us.”
___________________________________________________________________
“Dean. Dean, wake up.”
Dean is reluctant to open his eyes. It is either very early morning or very late night and either way, he should be asleep. And so should Seamus.
“Dean. They’re gone.”
Seamus sounds calm. And quiet and maybe sad. This is not a normal way for Seamus to sound.
Dean opens his eyes to see Seamus standing in the opening of his bed curtains, shivering and shifting from foot to foot.
“Who’s gone?” Dean asks, but even as he speaks, he notices the eerie silence in the room beyond Seamus – no snores from Neville or muttering from Ron. Nothing.
He sits up and Seamus moves into the space he creates on the bed, sitting and pulling his knees to his chin. He looks strangely young like that, and vulnerable. Dean isn’t used to him looking this way. It happens rarely – when he is asleep, when he has been caught by McGonagall, when he’s expecting an owl from home and it doesn’t come. Not that Dean watches. No. He just… notices.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Seamus is looking at him so thoughtfully, so intently that Dean finds himself flustered, at a loss for words.
“Hm?”
“They have all these… destinies. Prophecies. Families. And we’re, you know… just us.”
Us, thinks Dean. It’s true enough. For most of their classmates, DeanandSeamus is practically one word. Dean likes it that way. He like Seamus. He likes Seamus here, on his bed, warm beside him, being serious for once. “Just us,” he repeats.
“Dean…” But Seamus doesn’t continue. He looks down at his hands then up at Dean again, eyes bright and cheeks splotchy pink.
Dean has thought it too many times, what it would be like to kiss Seamus. Too many times not to do it now, in the quiet night, in their empty room. It’s only Seamus, after all, he can always pretend it was a prank.
He kisses Seamus ever so lightly, pulling away slowly enough to see that Seamus has closed his eyes. Without opening them, he reaches for Dean, pulling him back into the kiss. Dean hadn’t imagined it would be so warm or so wet. He hadn’t imagined that he would need to cling to Seamus the way he does.
Not breaking the kiss, Seamus rearranges them, extending his legs and pulling Dean down with him as he lays back against the pillows. Dean’s hand is trapped under Seamus’ back and he can feel the shifting muscle. He can feel Seamus filling his arms. He can feel every movement he makes. He can feel him breathing.
Seamus breaks away with a sigh and buries his face in the crook of Dean’s neck, arms around him squeezing fiercely. Dean feels the breath against his neck as he hears him murmur, “Just us.”