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seedeeCharacters: Luna/Seamus/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1,750
Summary: When the battle is over, and the bodies are counted, there's living to be done. Lucky are those who don't have to do it alone.
Author's notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thimble_kiss who kindly donated for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
help_haiti in return for my services. I hope this is what you had in mind, and I hope you like this. I've tried very hard this time not to blow things up to distract from the words. You know how hard that is for me, especially because you're so much better at it. Thank you, tania_sings, for your invaluable beta help.
No, stay. Time to go to bed, lovely.
"No," Luna says and takes Seamus's hand. He looks at both of them - Dean is holding her other hand - and tells himself that he should go. The day is almost over, the bodies are covered, the smoke has cleared away, and he is just tired and wants a warm bed, a blanket and the dark bliss of unconscious sleep.
She squeezes his hand and tells him to 'come with us'.
His heart stings a little when she uses the word 'us'. Seamus thought there could be no pain left after the battle and the day that followed. And yet it stings with every 'us' and every touch and every gesture between them.
Once upon a time, Seamus was part of 'us'. First with Dean, his best friend and almost brother. He has always been the person who knew all of Seamus's secrets and who understood him. Later came Luna, who literally kissed him better after he thought that nothing could ever heal the wounds that were left on his skin and his soul. Her lips made it bearable - soft against his own, soothing on his scars, hard and brave in the face of their enemy.
They sleep together that night. They lie in one bed, enlarged by a Ravenclaw charm, holding hands, Luna in the middle. She holds Seamus's right and Dean's left one, and soon after the light goes out, Dean reaches for Seamus's other hand, closing the circle. They are dirty and tired and worn. But they are.
They shower in the morning. Neither has the heart to leave the others, so they undress in silence, help each other pull off their clothing when arms hurt too much to lift and legs are too sore to bend. They are battered and bruised and cut, and too young in their old skin - or too old in their young skin.
The water is hot. The bodies next to Seamus radiate additional heat as they step into the shower and wash each other, rubbing soft, soapy flannels over their skin. Luna's beautiful, and Dean is beautiful, and Seamus feels worn out and inadequate.
As if reading his thoughts, Dean says he feels old. Seamus throws a flannel at him, and Luna giggles with her wet hair hanging heavy down her back. It's a start.
...
"Stay," Seamus says, taking Luna's hand, pulling her back onto their comfortable couch. He listens to a game, and Quidditch is boring without her commentary. There is something about Luna's company that Seamus enjoys to the point of needing it. He thinks it's the razor sharp mind combined with a bluntness that's bordering on naivety and the ability to take nothing too serious, including herself and him.
She laughs and sits back down, placing her bare feet in his lap. Every toenail is painted a different colour and on each is a smiling face.
Dean is working and won't come back to the flat until late in the afternoon. There will be ale and take-away and laughter, and maybe they'll go out tonight.
Luna flicks her wand at the wireless, turning up the volume and humming happily as Seamus starts to rub her feet. It's a purring sound that pools low in his stomach; there where no sound of another's girl should ever pool.
He lets his head fall back and closes his eyes, the sound of her and the wireless, and the feel of her feet grounding him. She has done that a lot - grounding him. Luna has settled down in that place in his life that she's molded for herself with self-assurance and stunning efficiency. In a way, she keeps him together even more so than Dean. She has welcomed him as a part of Dean and he's become a part of her. They have built a life that is shared in almost every way.
When the only limit he has is their bedroom door when it is closed, it is greedy and ungrateful to imagine her naked and spread beneath him.
...
"Time to go to bed," Dean says and grabs Seamus around the wrist, pulling him off the couch and to his feet.
They sleep together when Luna isn't there. The bed is empty without her, Dean says; he doesn't like sleeping alone. Seamus doesn't like sleeping alone either. He enjoys talking and joking and nudging until they both fall asleep. It's nicer here than in his own bed that is just a wall away.
He looks up at the ceiling which isn't visible in the dark, only an empty black hole above him. The reason he looks up is the barely visible curve of a naked shoulder to his left. Shoulders, Seamus has come to realise, are dangerous and teasing. No matter if the shoulder is delicate and pale with stray freckles, or broad and dark with defined muscles.
Seamus turns his head like he knew he would. His nose brushes Dean's skin, and he can smell him, musky and rich. He sighs a little as if he were sleeping and tilts his head. Only a sick man would feign sleep in order to press his lips against his best mate's skin in the dark, while the best friend who ought to be like a brother, is sleeping. A sick man, or a desperate one.
His heart stings a little at the thought of Dean and Luna naked and sweaty, having a connection that Seamus craves to have as well. He's jealous of both of them, and happy for them, too. He can often hear them slipping from moaning to laughing and back, comfortable with each other.
Sometimes he wishes there were more limits than the closed bedroom door. But a world without Luna running naked and giggling from the shower to the bedroom, or a world where he's not allowed to share a couch with Dean - both lying side by side - or a world where he couldn't watch them snog and touch would be a sad world. A sad world is worse than a stinging heart, Seamus decides, inhaling deeply.
...
"Lovely," Luna says and licks her lips.
Seamus holds her with his arms wrapped around her waist in the middle of the kitchen where they cleaned the dishes and directed the forks in a play fight over which of them would get to have the last cinnamon biscuit. Two minutes ago, Luna laughed and she glowed and she stumbled and Seamus caught her. It didn't stop there. She looked up at him with her beautiful bright eyes and her beautiful bright smile and her hair that is always ready for a day outside in the sun.
A minute ago, Seamus kissed her. When she looked up at him and smiled, her lips slightly parted, pressing against his front, covered in soap suds, Seamus leaned down and kissed her so very soft. He caught her lips with his own, realising that now that the taste of her is fresh in his mind, it would kill him slowly and painfully not to be able to do it again - if Dean doesn't kill him first.
The thought of Dean makes him freeze, because Dean is right there. Seamus looks up and meets the eyes of his best friend. They are dark and unreadable. Seamus lets go of Luna, straightens up, prepares himself for the blow that would follow. He deserves it.
Luna steps back as Dean approaches. Seamus feels her surprisingly strong hand slip into his own. She squeezes. The expected punch never comes.
Dean leans down and kisses Seamus's cheek, and Seamus clings to Luna's hand as if it was his anchor. Dean's lips are lush and soft and tickle him as they slide across his skin, dry and tentative. He holds Luna's hand while he's kissing Dean, hardly moving for fear of losing either. There's an almost audible click as things fall into place that have been out of place since Seamus can remember.
There are hands on his hips and hands in his hair and hands on his face, and Seamus doesn't know which belongs to whom. He just knows that the hand he holds belongs to his Luna, and the tongue that slips past his lips and touches his own in a maddening, sweet slide belongs to his Dean.
...
It's not always fun and roses.
Dean is moody, and Luna is like sand running through his fingers. Sometimes Seamus cleans the kitchen, cooks dinner, eats it, cleans the kitchen again without even one of them coming out of their room or back from work or getting up from the couch because they're engrossed in a project or a place where mere mortals can't follow. She's like the moon, and he's like the stars, and Seamus hangs between them like an overgrown sphere, trying to shed some light but mostly just dangling along.
There are times when Seamus is not himself. He's angry and spiteful, scratching scars that can't be seen from the outside but itch and claw and tear at his skin. They come at night or during the day, often when he least expects it - and they always come strong. When it starts now, he doesn't have to watch the ceiling. He can trust Luna and Dean with his anger. He can give it to them to take care of it.
They hold him when he rages. Luna's sweet mouth distracts him; Dean's strong hands guide him.
People assume it's all about sex. How could they not? Luna is gorgeous with her pert breasts and round arse and how utterly open she is. She's feminine and delicate and more often than not, she is the one in charge. Dean, on the other hand, is dark and firm and male enough to take Seamus's breath away with his force. There's licking and sucking and grinding and stroking and there is fucking.
There is also jealousy. It helps that all of them know that this is the most dangerous of them all. It is vile and sneaky and comes with the help of little voices only they can hear. It asks whether they really need him when Seamus can hear them giggling in the shower. Seamus sees it in Dean's face when he comes home from a business trip and spots a red mark on Luna's slender neck. It's in Luna's eyes when Seamus shares a joke with Dean she doesn't understand.
Seamus believes that this might be the only thing that could break them. But he's determined not to let that happen. Because he needs them and they need him, and he's been a part of 'us' all along.
... 
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1,750
Summary: When the battle is over, and the bodies are counted, there's living to be done. Lucky are those who don't have to do it alone.
Author's notes: Written for
thimble_kiss who kindly donated for help_haiti in return for my services. I hope this is what you had in mind, and I hope you like this. I've tried very hard this time not to blow things up to distract from the words. You know how hard that is for me, especially because you're so much better at it. Thank you, tania_sings, for your invaluable beta help."No," Luna says and takes Seamus's hand. He looks at both of them - Dean is holding her other hand - and tells himself that he should go. The day is almost over, the bodies are covered, the smoke has cleared away, and he is just tired and wants a warm bed, a blanket and the dark bliss of unconscious sleep.
She squeezes his hand and tells him to 'come with us'.
His heart stings a little when she uses the word 'us'. Seamus thought there could be no pain left after the battle and the day that followed. And yet it stings with every 'us' and every touch and every gesture between them.
Once upon a time, Seamus was part of 'us'. First with Dean, his best friend and almost brother. He has always been the person who knew all of Seamus's secrets and who understood him. Later came Luna, who literally kissed him better after he thought that nothing could ever heal the wounds that were left on his skin and his soul. Her lips made it bearable - soft against his own, soothing on his scars, hard and brave in the face of their enemy.
They sleep together that night. They lie in one bed, enlarged by a Ravenclaw charm, holding hands, Luna in the middle. She holds Seamus's right and Dean's left one, and soon after the light goes out, Dean reaches for Seamus's other hand, closing the circle. They are dirty and tired and worn. But they are.
They shower in the morning. Neither has the heart to leave the others, so they undress in silence, help each other pull off their clothing when arms hurt too much to lift and legs are too sore to bend. They are battered and bruised and cut, and too young in their old skin - or too old in their young skin.
The water is hot. The bodies next to Seamus radiate additional heat as they step into the shower and wash each other, rubbing soft, soapy flannels over their skin. Luna's beautiful, and Dean is beautiful, and Seamus feels worn out and inadequate.
As if reading his thoughts, Dean says he feels old. Seamus throws a flannel at him, and Luna giggles with her wet hair hanging heavy down her back. It's a start.
"Stay," Seamus says, taking Luna's hand, pulling her back onto their comfortable couch. He listens to a game, and Quidditch is boring without her commentary. There is something about Luna's company that Seamus enjoys to the point of needing it. He thinks it's the razor sharp mind combined with a bluntness that's bordering on naivety and the ability to take nothing too serious, including herself and him.
She laughs and sits back down, placing her bare feet in his lap. Every toenail is painted a different colour and on each is a smiling face.
Dean is working and won't come back to the flat until late in the afternoon. There will be ale and take-away and laughter, and maybe they'll go out tonight.
Luna flicks her wand at the wireless, turning up the volume and humming happily as Seamus starts to rub her feet. It's a purring sound that pools low in his stomach; there where no sound of another's girl should ever pool.
He lets his head fall back and closes his eyes, the sound of her and the wireless, and the feel of her feet grounding him. She has done that a lot - grounding him. Luna has settled down in that place in his life that she's molded for herself with self-assurance and stunning efficiency. In a way, she keeps him together even more so than Dean. She has welcomed him as a part of Dean and he's become a part of her. They have built a life that is shared in almost every way.
When the only limit he has is their bedroom door when it is closed, it is greedy and ungrateful to imagine her naked and spread beneath him.
"Time to go to bed," Dean says and grabs Seamus around the wrist, pulling him off the couch and to his feet.
They sleep together when Luna isn't there. The bed is empty without her, Dean says; he doesn't like sleeping alone. Seamus doesn't like sleeping alone either. He enjoys talking and joking and nudging until they both fall asleep. It's nicer here than in his own bed that is just a wall away.
He looks up at the ceiling which isn't visible in the dark, only an empty black hole above him. The reason he looks up is the barely visible curve of a naked shoulder to his left. Shoulders, Seamus has come to realise, are dangerous and teasing. No matter if the shoulder is delicate and pale with stray freckles, or broad and dark with defined muscles.
Seamus turns his head like he knew he would. His nose brushes Dean's skin, and he can smell him, musky and rich. He sighs a little as if he were sleeping and tilts his head. Only a sick man would feign sleep in order to press his lips against his best mate's skin in the dark, while the best friend who ought to be like a brother, is sleeping. A sick man, or a desperate one.
His heart stings a little at the thought of Dean and Luna naked and sweaty, having a connection that Seamus craves to have as well. He's jealous of both of them, and happy for them, too. He can often hear them slipping from moaning to laughing and back, comfortable with each other.
Sometimes he wishes there were more limits than the closed bedroom door. But a world without Luna running naked and giggling from the shower to the bedroom, or a world where he's not allowed to share a couch with Dean - both lying side by side - or a world where he couldn't watch them snog and touch would be a sad world. A sad world is worse than a stinging heart, Seamus decides, inhaling deeply.
"Lovely," Luna says and licks her lips.
Seamus holds her with his arms wrapped around her waist in the middle of the kitchen where they cleaned the dishes and directed the forks in a play fight over which of them would get to have the last cinnamon biscuit. Two minutes ago, Luna laughed and she glowed and she stumbled and Seamus caught her. It didn't stop there. She looked up at him with her beautiful bright eyes and her beautiful bright smile and her hair that is always ready for a day outside in the sun.
A minute ago, Seamus kissed her. When she looked up at him and smiled, her lips slightly parted, pressing against his front, covered in soap suds, Seamus leaned down and kissed her so very soft. He caught her lips with his own, realising that now that the taste of her is fresh in his mind, it would kill him slowly and painfully not to be able to do it again - if Dean doesn't kill him first.
The thought of Dean makes him freeze, because Dean is right there. Seamus looks up and meets the eyes of his best friend. They are dark and unreadable. Seamus lets go of Luna, straightens up, prepares himself for the blow that would follow. He deserves it.
Luna steps back as Dean approaches. Seamus feels her surprisingly strong hand slip into his own. She squeezes. The expected punch never comes.
Dean leans down and kisses Seamus's cheek, and Seamus clings to Luna's hand as if it was his anchor. Dean's lips are lush and soft and tickle him as they slide across his skin, dry and tentative. He holds Luna's hand while he's kissing Dean, hardly moving for fear of losing either. There's an almost audible click as things fall into place that have been out of place since Seamus can remember.
There are hands on his hips and hands in his hair and hands on his face, and Seamus doesn't know which belongs to whom. He just knows that the hand he holds belongs to his Luna, and the tongue that slips past his lips and touches his own in a maddening, sweet slide belongs to his Dean.
It's not always fun and roses.
Dean is moody, and Luna is like sand running through his fingers. Sometimes Seamus cleans the kitchen, cooks dinner, eats it, cleans the kitchen again without even one of them coming out of their room or back from work or getting up from the couch because they're engrossed in a project or a place where mere mortals can't follow. She's like the moon, and he's like the stars, and Seamus hangs between them like an overgrown sphere, trying to shed some light but mostly just dangling along.
There are times when Seamus is not himself. He's angry and spiteful, scratching scars that can't be seen from the outside but itch and claw and tear at his skin. They come at night or during the day, often when he least expects it - and they always come strong. When it starts now, he doesn't have to watch the ceiling. He can trust Luna and Dean with his anger. He can give it to them to take care of it.
They hold him when he rages. Luna's sweet mouth distracts him; Dean's strong hands guide him.
People assume it's all about sex. How could they not? Luna is gorgeous with her pert breasts and round arse and how utterly open she is. She's feminine and delicate and more often than not, she is the one in charge. Dean, on the other hand, is dark and firm and male enough to take Seamus's breath away with his force. There's licking and sucking and grinding and stroking and there is fucking.
There is also jealousy. It helps that all of them know that this is the most dangerous of them all. It is vile and sneaky and comes with the help of little voices only they can hear. It asks whether they really need him when Seamus can hear them giggling in the shower. Seamus sees it in Dean's face when he comes home from a business trip and spots a red mark on Luna's slender neck. It's in Luna's eyes when Seamus shares a joke with Dean she doesn't understand.
Seamus believes that this might be the only thing that could break them. But he's determined not to let that happen. Because he needs them and they need him, and he's been a part of 'us' all along.
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no subject
on 2010-02-09 10:34 am (UTC)I still maintain that this is different from what I usually write. Which is a good thing - I really enjoyed writing it and I'm glad that people like it. "A Walk in the World" is mainly lovely because of Alfonso. Nods. I'm a fan of Alfonso.
*squishes you*
no subject
on 2010-02-09 01:47 pm (UTC)I'm a fan of Alfonso, too! But I maintain that the loveliness was due to Seamus (and I'm positive that he agrees with me. Just ask him. :D).
no subject
on 2010-02-09 11:10 pm (UTC)