Disclaimer: These characters are the exclusive property of Ms. J. K. Rowling. Anyone else who claims to own them is very much mistaken. I am not J. K. Rowling. This said, I don't own them. In fact, I really own nothing of value and I'm making no money at all from this. So it really would be silly to sue me, don't you think?
For those of you who don't know, this is a series co-written with my friend Jana. It was her idea but as it is over ten stories long and consists of nine couples (four slash) I offered to help her with it. We split it 50/50 and this is the result. Well…part of it. Hope you like it.
Warning: One word. Slash. nods So if this offends you please save us all some trouble and refrain from reading it and flaming me. Thanks.
Written by pottergirl.
A/N: This is it. My first completed slash story. Woohoo! Mind you, I'm working on two more on paper and a third in my head… Oh, well. Companion to "It's Either Your Best Friends… part one: Seamus" Gee…that wasn't obvious…grin
Oh! And in case you'd forgotten, I'll love you forever if you review!
It's Either Your Best Friend…
(part two: Dean)
part of the "Just Another Cliché" series
He heard him. He heard him shift as he began to emerge from sleep. Heard him slide out of bed. He even heard the whisper of his robe as he slipped it on. Heard the creak of the floor boards and then of the window seat. Then, a few moments later, the same sounds reversed. The soft awakening of his lover for the previous night, said lover's almost silent departure. The opening of drawers and gathering of clothing. Soft footsteps and, finally, the sound of what he knew to be a scalding hot shower being turned on.
Dean had been awake for hours. He never could sleep when there was any other person in Seamus's bed. Consequently, he had gotten virtually no sleep since the end of sixth year. It hurt him to hear others call Seamus the 'Hogwarts slut' or 'Gryffinwhore', but not near as much as it hurt to know it was true.
He had stolen a glimpse of the two of them as they slept. He always did, no matter who it was. Every night he heard the two of them enter, whoever the other was, he resolved not to look and not to care anymore. And every morning, after perhaps and hour of sleep filled with dreams of perfect pale skin dotted with freckles, soft deep blue eyes, and soft sandy blonde hair, he would be unable to resist, and his heart would break again.
Today had been no exception.
He curled into a tight ball as a lone tear made its way down his cheek.
*****
He had gotten up and dressed long before Seamus had finished his shower. He had been in the Common Room for a good twenty minutes before Seamus came down. Luckily he had been able to stop his tears before then.
Since the first morning he'd found a sleeping Seamus entwined with a sleeping someone else Dean had learned to draw while crying. Every time the scene ripped and clawed at something deep inside him but every time it was so beautiful he had to draw it.
The mornings Seamus had been alone in bed had been even more beautiful. But even those were bittersweet. There would be one morning, maybe two, and it would stop. There had been one glorious week, a fortnight before the end of sixth year, when he'd sworn off girls. But on the eighth morning Dean had discovered Seamus and the first boy who had shared his bed.
He should have known, of course, he'd been unable to sleep.
Now he sat in a deep gold armchair, drawing this morning's scene. He had decided today to try pen and ink. The result was far angrier than he had expected. He looked at the rendering and was unable to suppress a smirk. A Muggle psychologist would have a field day with this picture. 'The violent strokes seem to show anger and pain, the lack of detail on the lover suggesting, of course, anonymity, the red ink symbolizes anger and passion…'
He frowned. Something was off… Then realized what it was that seemed wrong. Seamus's back. Hmm…if he put another line just there…perfect.
He knew the planes of Seamus's body exactly. He could draw a flawless likeness blindfolded, probably. Every ripple of every muscle, the curve of his back, of his legs… But only as an artist, a friend, not a lover, not as he'd like to. He'd relearn it all, this time with touch, not sight.
A bitter, sobbing laugh escaped his lips. Of all the people to fall in love with…
He added to the mess of Seamus's hair on the pillow, new tears following old tracks down his face.
He turned his head slightly upon hearing a gasp over his shoulder and was face to face with his friend. His best friend, frozen in place, unable to look away from the picture he was drawing.
Oh God! The picture! He slammed the book shut, knowing it was too late. Then the blonde was trying to take it from him. It slipped from his hands, he was just too tired to fight, and he hid his face as Seamus looked through his work.
He knew exactly what he would be finding. Pictures of him. Almost exclusively. Seamus studying, sleeping, alone and with others, flying, flirting…
And the last one. One of the only pictures he'd ever colored…pale freckled skin contrasting with rich brown and two faces with expressions of pure contentment.
"Dean. Oh, Dean, I'm so sorry. I…I love you!"
He froze. He would wake or Seamus would laugh and mock him or…
He felt two slim calloused hands cup his chin and his own hands fell from his face.
No, he was awake. And Seamus had never been cruel to anyone intentionally, much less him…
Warm lips began to kiss away his tears.
That could only mean…
A pause and then Seamus's lips were on his.
…that he meant it.
Dean slid his arms around Seamus's waist to his back, returning the kiss.
"I love you, too."
The End
A/N: Okay, totally unrelated to story. So, I'm thinking about writing a crossover-ish thing between A Life Less Ordinary and HP, similar to my Pride and Prejudice story. The problem is I can't decide on what couple or who should be the "angels" or minor characters or anything. I'm very open to suggestions, so please inspire me when you review. (Hint: review) Thanks.