Ultimate OTP Competition: color: magenta
An exercise in silliness and self-indulgence. Unsure if this counts as using magic outside of school but I figure I'll just let it go.
"Now hold on there, Dean, old sport." Fred or George, he wasn't sure which, accosted him as he and Seamus were inspecting the shelf of Daydream Charms, causing him to jump about a foot and nearly drop the box he was holding. "This here is a product with a high potential to produce fantasies of a, shall we say, more erotic nature—" Here, George (by his name tag) gave Seamus an exaggerated wink. "—So if you think we'll be selling any to our baby sister's boyfriend, you are sorely mistaken."
"Do you mean to say you're selling porn?" asked Seamus incredulously while Dean tried to formulate a response.
"Of course not. It depends completely on the intentions of the consumer." George grinned knowingly. "Though we don't pretend not to know what goes on in the heads of sad, randy bastards like yourselves. Isn't that right, Fred?"
Fred, who was hurrying by after a small girl squeezing a pygmy puff rather more tightly than it could withstand, called back, "Lots of experience."
"Right." With a faux-apologetic smirk, George tugged the box from Dean's hand. "I'll see you around, boys." He slapped him forcefully on the back and swept off in a flourish of magenta robes.
"You could've chosen someone like Lavender, you know," muttered Seamus. "She hasn't got any brothers."
They dragged their things back to the Thomas house on the Underground. It was a much lighter haul than the years before, without potion ingredients, divination paraphernalia, or massive history books. Seamus, however, was weighed down with a great deal of Weasley merchandise.
"When are you ever going to need any of this crap?" Dean asked him, reluctant to reference fake wands or Canary Creams in public
"I'm supporting an independent local business," he replied loftily.
"Right," said Dean.
As soon as they were in his room and out of sight, Seamus nudged him in the ribs. "Dean, hey."
"Yeah?"
"Catch." He lightly tossed something at him and Dean caught it against his chest. Grinning, he turned it over to read the front.
"Thanks, mate."
"Thought I'd pick a couple up." Seamus flashed him a smile in return. "Want to try 'em?"
The small box Dean held in his hand was decorated with a garish illustration of a knight and princess. "Contents good for one use," he read off the back side. "May cause unfocused expression, and/or slight drooling. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is not responsible for missed information while in use." He arched his eyebrows. "Sounds a bit—"
But Seamus was already opening his box. What looked like a small pink marble bounced onto the bedspread. They both stared down at it.
"What is that?"
Seamus fished a folded paper out of the bottom of the box. "'Tap the enclosed orb twice with your wand to activate the charm." He scooped up his marble and flopped onto the bed. "S'pose we ought to get comfortable."
"What if someone comes in?" asked Dean, glancing back toward the door. "They'll think we've done drugs, or something."
"I dunno, make something up." Seamus creaked around on the bed and threw his legs over the side in an effort to find the best position. "It'll be fun."
Dean shrugged and sat on the floor, resting his head against the side of the mattress.
"You doing it?" asked Seamus.
"Yeah. You?"
He heard Seamus take a deep breath above him. Purposefully, he ripped open his box and tapped the little magenta orb within.
He was walking across the Quidditch pitch with a broom in hand. He'd just been flying. Adrenaline-euphoria sang through him, energizing his every nerve. He opened his mouth to take a deep breath in, and the sharp chill of the air stung his sore lungs brilliantly.
"You're exhausting." Dean laughed as Seamus's playful, lilting voice floated toward him from behind. "I'm damn glad I'll never have to play against you."
"You're the only one who plays against me," he replied.
"Well, you'll get on the team no question." Seamus slung his free hand around his hips. "And start getting to kick Slytherin's arse, or whoever. What we have—" He winked. "That's just friendly competition."
Dean pushed against his shoulder in affectionate exasperation.
The locker rooms were enclosed and warm, a shock against their cold skin. "Eugh," moaned Seamus, "I need a shower."
"Mm, definitely." Dean felt his muscles ache all of a sudden, and the thought of hot water running over them was divine.
Seamus threw his gloves down on the bench and shed his outer robe. He seemed absolutely comfortable, tossing his things around as if he owned the place, pulling his shirt over his head without a scrap of modesty. Dean couldn't help but watch him, until Seamus turned and gave him a brazen smirk.
"Can you undress yourself, Dean, or do you need help?"
He wasn't sure what to say. The sheer flirtatious confidence amazed him—that's what it was, of course. It seemed perfectly obvious that he was being flirted with, and he found that it didn't bother him in the slightest. On the contrary, it was a bit thrilling.
He couldn't take his eyes off Seamus as he reached for his hand and slowly pulled off his glove. The action was so simple and gently done, but it lit a fire in him. Seamus chuckled softly. His fingers drifted around Dean's wrists, up his arm, over his tense shoulders, exciting but not enough. By the time the first kiss happened he was expecting it, waiting for it.
For the life of him he couldn't imagine why they'd never done this. Why hadn't he ever wondered how Seamus would kiss, or what his skin would feel like under his hands? Why hadn't he ever wanted to touch him like this, to fuck him—because that's what he wanted now, that's where this was going.
They stumbled up against the wall. It was as if they'd opened the floodgates and couldn't stop, couldn't get enough of each other. It must have been minutes. Dean breathed in the heady scent of him, pressed against him, craving all of him, and then it was over.
It wasn't like waking up from an actual dream. There was no dizzy period where he wasn't sure what was real—and for that he was unendingly grateful, because that could have been disastrous. All of a sudden he was just perfectly alert, and perfectly aware of the absolute absurdity of the last half-hour.
"Dean? Yours over?" Seamus had woken too and was beginning to stir on the bed.
"Yeah," he said, as nonchalantly as he could.
His first assumption was that Fred and George were fucking with him. "Ha ha, he's dating our sister, let's make him incredibly uncomfortable." And it sure worked, if that was the intention. Seamus was peering down at him curiously and it was all he could do to forget what he'd seen in those eyes. With regular weird dreams, he could barely remember them within a few minutes of waking. But he could recall everything that happened in the Quidditch lockers as if he'd just lived it.
"Are you okay?" asked Seamus. Apparently he was doing a poor job of nonchalance.
"Oh, yeah," said Dean. "That was just a bit weird. What was yours?"
Seamus launched himself off the bed as if he'd been bursting to tell the story. "It was wicked. I was on this other planet—everyone could sort of apparate around all these different planets, see—so then I met this bloke who—"
Normal Seamus, making him laugh and doing normal, nonsexual Seamus things, was comforting. It made him feel loads better as the minutes went on, made him understand that dream had been like other dreams at its core: meaningless and full of nonsensical decisions. Seamus-in-real-life wasn't like that. He'd never say things like that, he'd never throw himself at anyone so openly. And Dean would never… Would he?
He watched Seamus appraisingly. He wasn't altogether unhandsome, but plain, and he didn't have a sexy bone in his body. Too familiar, hardly fanciable.
And Seamus didn't want him, so that was that.
"Wow," he said at appropriate points during the tale, or "Cool" sometimes. Seamus seemed to accept it as okay enough.