It's just Seamus, he could have told himself, but knew that there was no way to put 'just' in front of anything about today. It was 'just' another Hogsmeade weekend, but after the events of the last one, his life had been changed, possibly forever. It was 'just' Seamus, his best mate, who he'd loved before he knew what the word really meant. It was 'just' a date, actually, their first one, though neither of them was calling it that. And suddenly he was agonizing over what to wear when meeting Seamus for a hot butterbeer. Debating how to greet him, too: with their usual manly one-armed hug, or with a kiss, one that would get Seamus all pliant and breathless the way he'd been last time?

And more than that, how was Seamus feeling abut what happened the last time? Did he go home and freak out, wondering what the fuck he'd got himself into? Was he going to tell Dean that it had all been a mistake, that he needed more time, or it hadn't been what he thought it was?

His letters hadn't been much help. They were more frequent than before but that wasn't saying much. They were more frequent than they'd come during the typical summer between their school years, but after so many months' silence, it was to be expected. There was nothing in the tone to give him a clue; he thought he sensed a note of flirtation, but it was always so hard to tell with Seamus, which is why he'd driven him mad for so many years, possibly. The trouble was that Dean was just terrified to keep his hopes up, not when they'd been raised so high and dashed so completely the day after the battle.

But he kissed you. With tongue. He kissed you and rubbed up against you and looked like he'd been hit with a Bludger after. And that smile. That one you'd never seen before. The one you're never gonna forget.

Dean tried to steady his shaking hands as he buttoned up his shirt, wrapped a scarf around his neck and picked up his winter coat. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out of his dorm into the unknown.

He never ought to have doubted his heart. Seamus hadn't been content to wait inside the Three Broomsticks as planned. Instead, he was at the head of the main street in Hogsmeade, grinning from ear to ear and bouncing on the balls of his feet as he spotted Dean. Dean felt his heart constrict at the sight, and it took a moment to catch his breath.

"Hey, man," he said, a stupid grin on his face as Seamus launched himself toward him, stopping mere inches away from him. For the first time, it occurred to Dean that a kiss of greeting was probably a bad idea, at least in present company and on a crowded street. And he hated that, because he was dying to touch Seamus in a way that properly expressed the emotion that was swelling up inside him.

"You got taller, you wanker," Seamus said, nudging him in the elbow as they both turned to walk the street together.

Seamus was his touchstone, and walking beside him seemed to make everything right all of a sudden, for so many reasons. He started to turn toward the pub, but Seamus stopped him. "Three Broomsticks was full up, no matter how much I tried to charm Rosmerta. Have to settle for the Hog's Head, I'm afraid."

"Full up?" Dean asked, taken aback. He could see an empty table or three through the window, and for that matter, when had Seamus objected to drinking standing up, anyway? "Looks like they've got room, at least to me."

"Aye, well, there's a meeting of the Board of Governors," Seamus explained. "And they want the best, of course. But Aberforth swore he gave me his cleanest room. It's not bad, actually. I've been cleaning it up a bit meself."

Dean was having trouble finding his voice, and when it finally came, it wasn't much more than a whisper. "You got…a room? A bedroom?"

"Are ye daft? Of course I did. Not gonna snog you in the middle of the street, am I? Not that we didn't already do that…sort of."

'Snogging," Dean breathed, a bit relieved and a bit disappointed. Well, Seamus had said he wanted to take things slowly, hadn't he?

Seamus grinned. "Ye didna think I was that easy, did you, mate? Not until the third date, that's my rule, just as me mam taught me. And you'd better buy me flowers, too."

"You arse," Dean, said, his laughter coming from deep in his chest.

Seamus' next words seemed a bit less certain, actually, as if he wasn't sure of the reaction he'd get or he was embarrassed to admit it. "I've got lunch up there, and a bottle of whiskey, and we can bring up pints, and send for more, I just…There's a lot I want to say, and talk about, and ...I reckon I didn't want an audience, you know?"

Dean's heart was in his throat and he swallowed with a very great effort. "Yeah, I know," he said quietly.

"Can't imagine how you held all this in for as long as you did," Seamus said, meeting his eyes. "It just…sort of eats you up, not being able to talk to anyone about it, not being able to talk to each other, really."

"Yeah, I know," Dean repeated, and reached out as if he was going to take Seamus hand but thought better of it.

"So, about that room-" he said, and Seamus grinned in response, quickening his pace as they made their way to the dodgy side of Hogsmeade.

He expected people to stare at them as they made their way to the staircase, but if anybody was, they weren't making it obvious. The room itself was nothing to write home about, but considering the rest of the place, it really wasn't bad. It was also apparent that Seamus had gone to some effort, and Dean was touched. There was food that clearly hadn't come from Aberforth's kitchen, and a cheerful fire going in the corner.

Dean strode to the window, watching the students as they avoided the snowflakes that were just beginning fall softly. He turned to Seamus, dropping his bag on the floor next to the window. The bed was between them, probably normal-sized as pub beds went, but looming quite large in his mind. Possibly Seamus' too, Dean supposed.

It was covered in a faded patchwork quilt, and it actually looked almost inviting. Dean tried not to think of what might lurk underneath, however. The bright colours might have hidden any number of frightening things.

Seamus cleared his throat, and Dean snapped back to attention. "So, would you like a drink or something?"

Dean relaxed a bit. "Yeah, mate, that'd be…maybe something to steady my hands. Can't believe how fucking nervous I am."

Seamus snorted. "Aye, man. I hear that."

"Seamus, I-" Dean started, and he then he stopped, wondering what he meant to say. He was nervous and Seamus was nervous and that was probably a good thing. It meant that they both realized this really mattered.

Instead, he took off his coat and threw it onto the chair by the window. He was starting on his scarf when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. One moment Seamus was across the bed, ostensibly turning to pour a drink, and the next minute he was on Dean, all arms and legs and lips and tongue and Dean felt a roaring in his ears, or maybe it was that brilliant sound Seamus had made as he leapt. For a moment, he was stunned into immobility, but he got his bearings soon enough and held him tightly, trying to absorb the warmth of his body.

He maneuvered Seamus over to the bed, lowering them both to the mattress. He had to calm his racing heart somehow, or he'd be pushing Seamus farther than he was prepared to go. But he didn't want to, that was the trouble. He wanted to tear Seamus' clothes off and touch and taste, and…

And anyway, who jumped on whom, for that matter? Seamus didn't seem to be uncertain about this. Dean gave in, just a little, pinning Seamus to the mattress, propping himself up on his hands to start licking his way down Seamus' neck, slipping long fingers under the hem of Seamus' shirt and tracing circles over his stomach. Stomachs were a safe enough choice, right? Going up seemed too much like feeling a girl up at the moment, but going lower…that was something else entirely. And besides, he had his crotch pressed up against Seamus,' and his cock was clearly quite interested in the proceedings. It'd be a shame to stop all that, wouldn't it?

Seamus' stomach had clenched in response to his touch, and he'd sucked in a breath, raising a leg (maybe on purpose?) to maximize the contact.

"Fuck," Dean muttered under his breath, and it was almost too much, this urgency, this perfect alignment of their bodies. It felt too good, too strong, and he hardly recognized this needy, greedy person who just wanted to take, to feel when there was so much they needed to work through first. Or did they? The last time they spoke, Seamus had insisted he wanted to ease into it, and Dean's conscience was buzzing in his ear.

"Shay, you're killing me," he said. "Never imagined you'd…my head is spinning."

Seamus' body tensed underneath him and he threw his head back, groaning and exposing his throat to Dean, tempting him further.

"Aye, mate, it's just…" He rolled over onto his side, running his hands through his hair and breathing heavily. "How he hell did I miss this all this time?" he asked. "Ever since last month…or maybe it was a bit before this—I mean, you've never been out of my mind much, but you were just there, you know, mixed in with the everyday things like my school bag or my toothbrush. Never gave it much thought. I mean—I thought about you, of course, but I never thought about you. And now you're everything and I can't do a blessed thing without you being in front of my eyes, in my ears, even when you're not really there. I'm feeling all twitchy, like I'm late for a dose of potion and it fucking hurts not having you around, you know?

"I know," Dean said, sitting up and throwing his legs off the side of the bed. "Believe me, I know."

Rising from the bed with a noisy squeak, he went to the bottle, pouring a shot and knocking it back. Last year, he might have choked over it, but his time with Ted had improved his ability to handle liquor. He could feel the alcohol as it hit his bloodstream, relaxing him, warming his limbs.

Pouring another shot and yet another for Seamus, he made his way back to the bed. "Cheers," he said, and Seamus tapped his glass against Deans, grinning.

"I should be insulted, man. The very least you could do is say, 'To us,' after you've turned down an offer of me body. Bit more of this sort of thing and I'll be thinking you've stopped fancying me."

Dean laughed, reaching for Seamus' hand and laying it deliberately on his flies. Seamus fingers curled around him automatically. "I fancy you. A few more minutes of that and you've have had trouble walking, trust me."

It had been the wrong thing to say, apparently, for Seamus' face had reddened then gone pale, and he looked away.

Dean frowned, wishing he could take it back. He moved over to the table of food and picked up a pastie, the scent reminding him of dozens of Hogsmeade days like this one, sharing one of Rosmerta's pies as they wandered from shop to shop. He wondered if Seamus had been trying to be sentimental. Or romantic. He couldn't help snorting as he thought it.

Carrying one over to Seamus, he handed it to him, letting his fingers brush his friend's as he passed it on. "Told you," he said. "You're safe from me. Won't do anything you want to do. It was a joke, mate."

Seamus smiled and exhaled a bit. "But you do want to…I mean, eventually. That's what this is about, isn't it? And I just don't…"

Dean leant down, trying to catch his friend's eyes. "There's lots of things we can do, you know. I had no idea how much there was, but I'm beginning to get an idea."

"Catching up on queer porn, are you, mate?"

Dean laughed wryly. "No. Well, yeah, but that wasn't my idea, actually. Sort of got talked into it, and it was horrifying. Enlightening, though, which was the point, I suppose."

Seamus' eyes widened. "Who've you been looking at porn with? You've been talking to someone? About this?"

Too late, Dean realized what a mistake he'd made and he bit his lip. No help for it, though, and he really didn't want to lie, or even withhold information. "I…er, over the summer. I mean; I reckoned it'd be better to see. If it was just you, I mean. So there was somebody I met—at the shore, on holiday. He sort of liked the idea, you know, that I'd never…"

Seamus looked stricken and Dean felt defensive. "I mean, I had to know, didn't I? And you…you were something that was never gonna happen."

"You said…you said that it had nothing to do with bits. You said it was just me."

Oh, why oh why had he said anything? Or better yet, why couldn't he have waited, just a few months? Dean tried to remind himself how he'd felt after he left the castle and returned to his family. It had seemed even lonelier than the year in hiding had, because no one around him had any idea what he'd been through. And there was that complete absence of the hope he'd carried with him on the run. "Oh, come off it, Seamus. Don't tell me you didn't go and shag as many birds as possible this summer trying to prove your masculinity. I know you better than you think, mate. My guess'd be four, at least. Seven if you started playing with the band again.

Seamus had the decency to look guilty, at least, though he didn't bother trying to defend himself. After a long silence, he looked back up. "And…?"

Dean shook his head. And what?"

"And…how was it?" The look on Seamus' face, the confusion in his eyes, was something that bothered Dean. A lot.

"It wasn't you. It was all right, it was brilliant in a way, but it wasn't you. Had a better time with Luna, actually, because…well I liked her. This bloke was…exhausting…"

Seamus looked at him as if he'd made a joke, and he supposed he had, though not intentionally.

"Not that way, I just mean switched on all the time. Playacting at being something. Trying too hard, maybe. The way he walked and talked, the way he was always looking past me. He took me out and it was like I was a prize or something. You know, like he was wearing a sign that he'd recruited me into some sort queer club. "

Seamus snorted, though Dean saw a bit of something in his eyes that might have been jealousy or even pain.

"I just…I mean, I thought that with everything you said, that I would be…"

"You were. Or you did. You're the first person who ever made me feel…that way," Dean said. "And I hope you understand...when we…what we did, last month…that was and still is the most amazing thing I ever felt. Besides, like I said, there's a million different things to do. I'm sure we could come up with lots of firsts together. Like maybe er…Well, you said you didn't want me to…I mean that was his thing. He really liked it. A lot. So he never did it to me. Didn't even ask. I'd let you, though."

Seamus reddened again, closing his eyes and chewing off his thumbnail.

"Not today, maybe," Dean added hurriedly. "But someday. Seems a big thing, at least for you and me. We would work up to it. But I could make you feel good. I'd really like that."

Seamus was watching him intently, and Dean felt his heart in his throat as he waited. This was all going to take some considering--to work out how the dynamics of their years of friendship could transform into a working relationship. They were both used to being the pursuer, and there was a fine line between being aggressive and being pushy. Or he thought so, anyway.

But it was hard not to push, seeing him like this and having wanted him for so long.

Whatever was going through Seamus' mind, though, he seemed to have worked through it, because he set aside the untouched pie and began unbuttoning his shirt. Dean was afraid he was going to bite through his own lip; he was trying so hard to remain still. When Seamus had stripped down to his pants, he looked at Dean expectantly, and Dean just gaped at him, wondering what he wanted.

Seamus finally smiled, though he looked a bit nervous. "What was it you said about making me feel good? Did ye have something specific in mind, then?"

Dean finally remembered to breathe, and it came out something like a sob as he clambered over to Seamus, wondering where to touch first. The face—that seemed like a good idea—he knew it almost as well as he did his own, and he pulled Seamus close for a kiss. This one was slower and might have had a better technique to it, but it was no less desperate.

Seamus was feeling bolder, apparently, for his hands were moving over Dean's chest, making quick work of the buttons on his shirt and then spreading it open, stroking bare skin as if it were something fine and beautiful. Dean wondering if his heart was going to burst from his chest, it was beating so hard, and he was sure that Seamus could feel it. And anyway, why was he so afraid to touch?

Everything he had dreamed of touching, that he'd tried not to look at but saw every time he closed his eyes was his to explore. He closed his eyes, letting his hands cover Seamus back, tracing the bumps of his spine and the ridges of wiry muscle underneath his skin. It was so much better than he'd imagined. And Seamus' mouth, his familiar face pressed so close, his tongue tracing the inside of Dean's lip, his teeth, nipping—Dean was drowning in sensation and they'd hardly done a thing, really. He meant to change that, though.

With a groan, he pushed Seamus back against the pillow, making his way back down his neck, letting his tongue trace the sinew, tasting the spot where Seamus' pulse fluttered. Had he actually done that to him? Apparently so, because he had the pleasure of feeling the moan as it came up Seamus' throat, the very sound that had haunted him so many nights from the next bed, he'd been desperate to know what Seamus was doing to himself to cause it. Now he'd caused it himself, hadn't he?

Seamus had slid his hands around to Dean's back, and Dean was close to moaning himself.

Gathering courage, he kissed lower, uncertain whether Seamus would enjoy the same sort of attention to his nipples that a girl might. No harm in trying, he thought, and got quite an interesting reaction from Seamus as he let his tongue circle one and then drew it between his lips. Seamus swore softly underneath his breath and thrust against Dean's body, and Dean returned the movement in kind, his body responding seemingly of its own accord. Lord, what he wanted, what he needed, and he suspected that given the smallest bit of encouragement, Seamus would be his for the taking. Or the giving. He wasn't sure quite how it was going to work.

Or maybe he was, and he was just being a bloody Hufflepuff about it. He certainly had no issues with the acts themselves, he was just afraid that he would somehow be too eager and frighten Seamus off. Which was pretty stupid, actually, because Seamus tended to think with his cock more than his brain, and everyone knew that. So if Dean could only engage his cock, his brain would follow meekly, wouldn't it? Or at least his brain would take a long time to catch on, which had to be a good thing.

Dean let his mouth creep lower, peppering kisses over Seamus' ribcage and using his tongue to dip into his navel, making Seamus spine arch and bring all that taut flesh even closer, driving Dean mad. He was so focused on each delicious bit of Seamus that he was discovering close up that he never really considered his destination until it quite literally reared up to meet him, poking through the gap in Seamus' pants in an entirely too friendly manner.

Not that there was ever any doubt that he would be compelled to taste, to wrap his lips around what was more than he'd expected to result from his untrained efforts, but was gratifying, all the same. He'd seen Seamus in this state more times than he could count and always frowned as he'd attributed it to Lavender's habit of fiddling with the fourth button on her shirt, or Ginny's bum as she bent forward on her broom or Parvati's eyes or the way that Hermione used to suck the bottom of her quill when an Arithmancy problem perplexed her. But it wasn't any of them that had Seamus this turned on—it was his lips and his hands and his body was pressing Seamus' body into the ancient mattress, hard muscle and gangly limbs and desire sinking into musty feathers.

So maybe it had been a compelling impulse, but he'd never imagined that it would feel so bloody right to have Seamus' cock sliding in and out of his lips, teasing the back of his throat, or to be overcome by the scent of Seamus in such a concentrated area, or to have Seamus hands gripping his hair almost to the point of pain.

He hadn't expected to feel this power, to feel Seamus utterly destroyed underneath him, whimpering and shivering and turning Dean's name into a song or a chant or something and then finally shouting as he fell apart and lost control within Dean's mouth. He hadn't expected be so shaken by the whole thing.

Seamus, on the other hand, seemed as if he never planned on moving again, and he looked positively decadent there, arms and legs all askew, sweaty and panting. He finally groaned, reaching out blindly to touch Dean. "You….you…bloody buggering fuck!" he said, and Dean had to shake his head at the situation.

"No buggering," he said, laughing softly. "I thought we agreed. Which pretty much rules out fucking, unless you've got a better way of doing it."

Seamus laughed out loud and propped himself up on one elbow. "Aye, no buggering. Don't think I could manage it anyway." He swallowed, and seemed to grow a bit more serious as he looked Dean over. "So, where'd you learn to do that, then?"

"I didn't," Dean said. "I mean I haven't…" Looking at Seamus was compounding the problem he was having, and he shifted slightly to get more comfortable.

Seamus seemed pleased and the look he was giving Dean had something more than jealousy averted or speculation in it. He grinned, and Dean felt his heart skip a beat.

"My turn," he said, and Dean's throat went dry as Seamus crawled over to him and coaxed him back against the bed with kisses. Glorious kisses. Rough, sloppy, I-don't-give-a-shite-that-you've-had-my-cock-in-your-mouth kisses. Kisses that had Dean wondering why Seamus didn't have a line of fellow students following him around the school begging for a chance to do it again, given what Dean knew about the extent of Seamus' kissing experience at school.

And that wasn't even taking into account the way that Seamus hands felt on him when his skin was sensitive to the point of pain from arousal. Seemingly innocuous places on his body were suddenly brought to painful awareness, as Seamus made dispensed with his shirt and tortured him with clever fingers and then hot, moist lips. It hadn't occurred to him that Seamus would be as interested in his body as he'd been in Seamus,' but it was fairly clear that Seamus was enjoying himself immensely.

He went to work on Dean's flies and raised an eyebrow as Dean's cock sprang free from behind the zipper, and it was only then that is apparent self-assuredness faltered. Curiosity, though, that was written all over his face, and Dean nearly lost it completely at the first uncertain caress of Seamus' fingers. "Like that, yes" Dean said, groaning and arching off the bed. "Please, don't stop," he added, as Seamus tugged down his pants and wrapped his fingers around it. There was that look of concentration that Seamus used to get in Charms class when he was determined not to mess up yet again, and there was wonder and possibly a bit of amusement, too. Well, it probably was a bit absurd, Dean supposed, to be stroking your best mate's prick in broad daylight on a lumpy bed in a dingy room when you've known each other for seven years. Or maybe it was silly to be so pleased about it, but things weren't easy in Dean's mind to work out when he was having trouble stringing thoughts together at all. It just felt so bloody right, and he covered Seamus hand with one of his own, looking down at the contrast between dark and light and dark. They were a sodding zebra, weren't they, and wouldn't that have made an interesting thing to draw? Maybe something abstract, something that would have people turning their heads to see if it was a zebra or something somewhat obscene, and then they'd wonder if it was just their dirty mind playing tricks.

And then Dean wasn't thinking at all, because Seamus had looked up from their joined hands and his eyes were locked with Dean's and there was something so intense and scared and overwhelmed in them that Dean wanted to wrap his arms around Seamus and shield him from it. Though maybe now Seamus would really understand that this wasn't playing around, that this was huge and was going to change everything and possibly ruin everything, but there was a chance that it could be the best thing to ever happen to them. And then Seamus kissed him again, and Dean fought the urge to shut his eyes tight even though Seamus' face was so close it was blurred. He choked out Seamus' name and came all over their joined hands, and Seamus shivered and kissed Dean's forehead, murmuring one of those Irish words he'd never bothered translating. It could have been swearing, but Dean thought it sounded like an endearment.

"I love you," Dean said, his voice sounding small and shaken, and he could hear Seamus as he swallowed and he could see the pulse at his throat going at Firebolt speed.

"Love you, too, man," Seamus said, making Dean shudder one last time, seeing things through a blur of tears. This was everything he'd ever wanted, and he could only pray that he wouldn't somehow muck things up.