Title: Midnight Serenade
Author: prostheticballerina aka ladyhurt
Rating: PG
Summary: "The day ahead is full of possibilities, in this time between hot sticky summer and the sparkling frosting of snow in winter."
Warning: SLASH, Seamus/Dean. That means Yoai, or boy-on-boy action. Please don't bitch if you don't like it.
Author's Notes: Autumn Challenge for the Deamus community. I love them to bits and pieces.
The prompt was thus:
'It was one of those perfect English autumnal days which occur more frequently in memory than in life.'
P.D. James
--
When I look back at the long days of summers past, the image that strays across my lids is that of messy golden strands and sparkling eyes the colour of the sea. A hidden smile, which could blossom with childish eagerness on a whim, a body that continuously moved and a soul so vibrant it is near blinding.
I remember a time when wakening did not mean the smell of death and decay, when each breath was not strangled by the threat of loss and the horrible worry that accompanied a rare quiet moment.
When his name is mentioned - usually in passing and always accompanied by a quick glance in my direction, a nervous frown, and an awkward pause – his face is conjured on it's own into my mind, but it not his strained smile on his deathbed, his eyes dulled and skin pale without the blood that instead seeped through his robes and onto my hands. He deserves a better memory than that – something like an autumn day, complete with changing leaves and a setting sun, that earthy smell and the warmth that seeps through your bones and gives you goose bumps of pleasure.
--
The wind brushes Seamus' hair from his eyes, and he squints into the sun that is setting low on the horizon. A child in play laughs behind him. Neither Seamus nor his companion can find any reason to move from their comfortable spot on the park bench. London is unusually quiet in this secluded area, still inside the walls of trees that save the boys from the city's bright lights and blaring noise. They are old enough to appreciate the rarity, but young enough to not be saddened by it.
Seamus glances over at his friend and smiles, a small smile of secrets and mystery and mischief.
"Hey Dean, you know what we should do?"
Dean looks over, and is caught up in Shay's golden hair and the shimmer of Irish skin and the way his eyes seem to glow in the sun – and then he shakes his head a little and it is just Shay, Best Friend and All Around Good Guy, and grins as well.
"What's that, Shay?"
It's a game, not quite a contest, but a game of questions that they've played every day since Seamus arrived at Dean's home and watched over the city in awe, like a refugee who looks upon their new home in blissful appreciation. At first it had been plans of watching a gripping Muggle movie at the cinema, staying out past curfew, and baiting Muggles with tricks that would make the Weasley twins proud. Quickly Seamus' ideas had flourished into swimming in the neighbour's pool at midnight and visiting dance clubs with girls dressed all in black and men who eyed them with blatant unconcern. Seamus made Dean do things the other lad had never bothered to before, things you couldn't do by yourself but thought about when you were half-asleep and wishing you were back at school, and then feeling guilty about not wanting to spend more time with your family.
"We should go skinny dipping. In a lake."
Dean isn't sure what to say next, and opens his mouth to what would be a logical explanation that would break Seamus' dream to bits and leave a frown of disappointment on his fresh, pleased face. Despite the absence of a lake, and the fact they had to get up early the next morning to buy their school supplies, and Dean's mother would kill them both without a moments notice if she found out - Dean's opened mouth closes, and he nods in acceptance, and wonders in amusement why he bothers.
The silvery moon has replaced the sun, shining her haunting light onto the black water, creating the allusion of spilled ink. Dean wants to pick up a piece of charcoal between his fingers and capture the vivid picture of the lake and the moon and the lone figure at the water's edge. The person turns and yells at Dean impatiently, to get his naked behind over there before bits of him he'd deemed important froze in the chill of the night air. Dean laughs at him, and soon his clothes join Shay's, a little pile of socks and trousers and under things, intimately entwined in the grass. The image of Seamus, body half plunged into the water and walking slowly backwards, his hips swaying, is far too erotic for Dean, and he jumps off the dock, far beyond Seamus into unknown depths. His heated body is shocked by ice, and in the crucial moment where he must kick upward to emerge, the strong undercurrent pulls him deeper. He struggles, hands grabbing at the surface so close and yet so far away. The moon is clouding over, but from the sky or his failing vision Dean does not know. His movements fault, lungs fill with the beautiful darkness surrounding him, and he plunges into the welcoming black of unconsciousness.
The next moment hands grasp his unknowing body and strong arms pull him to the surface. He is dragged to shore, with sand scraping his back and another body half covering his, movements rapid and spastic. A mouth closes over his, borrowed breath breathed back into his drained body. He is half-awake and throwing up what seems to be several pints of lake water, and those familiar arms are wrapped generously around his waste and back to hold him up. When he has recovered, water safely expelled, he falls exhausted into waiting arms. He hears Seamus crying, small sobs into his shoulder of relief and guilt, and is surprised until he realizes that he too is crying, though his tears are of shock. Seamus blames himself, and waits for the explosion of rage and accusation that doesn't come. Dean clings to him as a dying man to a lifeline; he feels he deserves this moment of intimacy and closeness in payment for his ordeal. Moments pass unbidden, until Dean begins to notice the smooth hard chest he is pressed against, and the drops of water that fall elegantly down from Seamus' hair, to his neck, kissing and teasing the glowing skin. Pulling away, Dean tries terribly hard not to blush, because they are both very naked and the last thing he needs is to react to the smooth legs that are wound through his and the groin pressed to his thigh. Hands grasp his face desperately, and Dean finds himself face to face with his savior, the eyes burden with guilt and red from crying, and is suddenly caught up in the impulse to kiss that bitter frown away. Tears are leaking from the corners of Seamus' eyes, and Dean reaches up and brushes them away with loving delicacy. Both are leaning forward, noses are brushing against each other, tickling their senses with blissful teasing. Seamus' lips are on Deans, and they are kissing, kissing, and despite the awkward bumping of teeth and neither knowing where to put their hands, it is utterly wonderful. Dean can't help but think how nothing has ever compared to this, not even when he'd made out with that Hufflepuff girl behind a suit of armor in the dungeons. But then he realizes, with sudden joy, that nothing matters anymore but Shay and his lips and his hair winding through Dean's fingers and the sand that has crept into the most uncomfortable of places…
And when they pull apart, seconds like ages, Seamus smiles a softer smile than Dean has ever seen, grasps their hands together and helps them both to stand. Dean looks down at the fingers that are as closely tangled as the clothes they had abandoned, and smiles back.
"Let's go home."
--
In the cool autumn morning one dark-skinned boy looks down at the dusty blond hair splayed across his pillow and feels a comfortable warmth rise in his chest. Heart filled with the knowledge that no matter where he is, this boy will be with him, to laugh with him and talk him into ridiculous adventures, Dean settles back into his pillows, a soft smile on his face. The day ahead is full of possibilities, in this time between hot sticky summer and the sparkling frosting of snow in winter.
--
End