Title: Questions
Fanon/Canon: Fanon - HP
Rating: PG
Warnings: Um. Boy!kissing?
Words: 631
"Hullo, Harry."
"Seamus," Harry nods distractedly, looking about him for somewhere to toss his robes, which are dirty and wet with rain. He decides on the chair beside his bed, and tosses them over the back. He fetches a dry, warm jumper from his trunk and pulls it on, takes off his glasses, rubs at his eyes to get the rain out, and cleans his glasses on his jumper before putting them back on.
When he shakes damp hair out of his eyes, he sees Seamus hasn't moved from his spot in front of the door.
Also, his head is tilted slightly to the side, and his eyes are trained on Harry.
"Seamus?" Harry asks lightly, running a hand through his hair to dry it. Seamus is looking at him as if he can't figure something out, and is looking for an answer in Harry's face. Then it's as if he realises what he's doing. He grins a little, shakes his head, and strides over toward his bed.
"How was the game?" he asks, drawing the canopy aside to sit on the edge, bringing his knees up to rest his chin on them.
Harry grunts, and flops onto the mattress beside him.
"That bad, eh?" Seamus smirks. Harry grunts again in reply. Then he sits up.
"Hey, where've Dean and Ron and Neville got to?" he asks, looking around at the empty beds.
"Not sure," Seamus replies. "I saw some folks sitting in the Common Room on my way up, they might be down there." Harry nods, and yawns hugely.
"Weren't you at the match?" he asks Seamus. He is looking at him in that puzzled way again, and Harry is beginning to grow unnerved. He continues, uncertainly. "'Cause I didn't see you in the stands with the other boys, see, so I just wondered --"
Seamus cuts him off by suddenly leaning over and kissing him on the mouth. Harry's eyes fly open, and he pulls back, shoving Seamus away with a dirt-streaked hand. Seamus returns to his previous position, his arms hugging his knees. He looks more smug than ashamed, Harry notes as he gapes at him.
"What -- where'd -- why'd," he splutters, and Seamus is nearly grinning now, and it's driving him insane, why the bloody hell would he -- and then Harry is leaning over and kissing Seamus back, without having the slightest clue why. Seamus hardly misses a beat, and unfolds his arms and legs to bring a hand up to pull Harry closer. He kisses softly, sweetly, nothing like the rough, violent, tongue-down-your-throat way Harry has seen some people kiss, and Harry still has no idea what he's doing or why he's doing it but it doesn't feel wrong, exactly, only new and strange.
When Seamus slips his tongue past Harry's lips, he meets it with his own, a feeling like liquid fire shooting down his spine into his stomach when they touch. He tangles his fingers in Seamus' hair, and pulls him onto his lap. Seamus is soft and warm, and smells like freshly laundered clothes and soap and something like nuts, and Harry has forgotten the hard, cold rain and mud that was whipping his body a mere half-hour earlier.
He has forgotten about Gryffindor's near-loss, and Malfoy's taunts, and his Potions essay due the next day that he hasn't touched.
He doesn't even worry about the other boys sharing their dormitory, and what they would think if they opened the door and were met by the sight of Seamus straddling Harry, their hands inside each other's shirts, kissing and groaning quietly and moving against each other.
He only cares about his lapful of comforting, gentle, Irish boy. He has stopped thinking why, and what,and how.
All he thinks is yes.