Disclaimer: I don't own them, sadly.
Notes: This is a first-time story totally unrelated to my other series.
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"Dammit, Shay, won't you stay *still*?!"
Seamus is sitting on the couch opposite from me, failing miserably to stay in his pose.
"I had a lot of caffeine!"
"You knew you would have to sit."
"*You* wanted to draw me at feckin' three in the morning."
"Yeah, 'cause everybody's gone now. Sit still for five minutes, then you can have a break."
"Grhmmmm."
Sometimes, I just want to strangle him. The feeling intensifies as he shifts, and the shadows on his body nearly reverse.
"Seamus!"
"Why should I do this?"
"Because- because I helped you play that prank on Snape."
"I gave you some chocolate for that."
"I found your tie yesterday when you were late for class."
"If I were you, I'd be drawing while you've got me sitting still."
"Oh, right."
Oh, God- he's got that Look on his face, the one that says "I'm gonna have fun with you now."
"Or...." he says.
"Or what?"
"Or maybe you just want me to stay here so you can stare at my beautiful body."
I splutter and nearly drop my sketchbook. "What?!"
"Yep. You're hot for this leprechaun."
"Don't be stupid," I mutter, and try to resume drawing.
"Prove it."
"Seamus, you're loony. You've had to much caffeine and too little sleep."
"And too little shagging."
"Whatever. Look, the sooner you let me finish this, the sooner we can go to bed."
"Okay."
I'm surprised. "Okay? You're not gonna argue?"
"Nope. Hurry up and draw."
Amazed, I finish the sketch. It's not that bad, considering all the changes.
"How's it look?"
"Okay, under the circumstances."
"So are we done now?"
"Yep."
He jumps to his feet and runs up the stairs. I follow, mulling over what he said. Seamus was just being an idiot, right?
I'm too tired to bother with pajamas, so I just strip to my shorts and crawl into bed.
Right next to a similarly-clad, short, hotheaded, crazy Irish boy.
"Seamus! What the *hell* are you doing in my bed?!"
"You said we could go to bed."
Oh. Oh, no.
"Seamus, you arse, I didn't mean it like that."
"You didn't say what you meant."
"Look, I'm really not in the mood for a joke right now."
"What *are* you in the mood for?"
"Sleep."
"Sure?"
"Yes."
"Dean, are you gay?"
"How did we jump from sleep to questioning my sexuality?"
"I wouldn't mind if you were, y'know." He's inching closer to me, and our naked sides are touching. I swallow hard.
"Well, I'm not, so just go to sleep, okay?"
"Prove it," he whispers. "Prove what?" I'm stalling.
"Prove that you're not gay."
"How?"
"Tell me that you don't like this." His hand is around the back of my head, pulling our faces closer- and oh, God, he's kissing me.
I don't pull away from him as fast as I should.
"Well?" He's not smiling, and I feel uneasy.
"What the bloody *fuck* did you do that for?"
"So you're not gay."
"Didn't you hear what I said before?"
He doesn't answer; instead he starts to climb across me to get to his own bed.
Along the way, his knee collides with a very stubborn, rock-solid erection I had been hoping to hide.
"Aha! If you're not gay, then what's this?"
"How do you know I didn't have it before?" Not the best answer, but better than the alternative.
"You didn't have it when you got in bed." I splutter for a few seconds, trying to form an indignant sentence.
"You didn't answer me."
Think fast.
"Uh- you smell like flowers."
He's laying on top of me, our noses nearly touching.
"Are you saying you got a stiffie because I used my sister's shampoo?"
"Erm- yeah!"
"Thomas, you have got to learn to lie better."
He's kissing me again, and something hard is poking into my hipbone, something I'm trying really hard not to think about.
"Mmmph- Shay!"
"What?"
"Are *you* gay?"
"Guess so. I love you, don't I?"
What!
He's attacking my neck with his mouth, making me writhe under his insistent grip. My dick is begging for attention, attention that I crave and dread.
Our pants have been disposed of. We're actually doing this.
His hand is circling us, stroking and squeezing. I moan quietly, and a soft blush erupts on my face.
Our hips are rocking together, hands working, pulling. We're breathing hard and irregularly; I'm inhaling Seamus's floral scent, with that underlying layer of *boy*
Three more tugs and it's over. I groan quietly into his soft, sandy hair.
"Seamus-"
"Sure you're not gay?"
"No. Kiss me."
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Please R&R! I should be back at my series now, just had to get this one out of my system.