Harry Potter, Not For the Faint of Art

Title: Not For the Faint of Art [Seamus/Dean]
Rating/Warnings: NC-17 for public sex.
Summary: Seamus has been having a bit of fun at Dean’s expense, involving volatile art supplies.
AN: during a last-second edit, i realized i had the boys ‘scatting’ papers rather than ‘scattering’ them. heh, that’s quite a different kink than i intended…this bit stemmed from a cameo appearance that Seamus made in my story “What Exactly ARE the Duties of a Head Boy?”

Not For the Faint of Art

Snuggled companionably on Seamus’ bed to study, Dean gave a half-hearted swear when he dropped his quill. He stuck out his tongue when Seamus snickered at his expense, and Seamus remarked that he shouldn’t oughta tease when they both had exams to study for.

Punching Seamus in the shoulder, Dean clamored off the bed only to discover that his quill had rolled into the distant reaches of the space underneath Seamus’ bed. He grumbled as he fumbled his wand out of his pocket and lit it, because there was no way he was going under there without being able to see what he was touching.

Seamus gave an appreciative glance at the arse wriggling as Dean worked his way under the bed before returning to his textbook. There was a short silence broken only by Dean’s shufflings before he gave a sharp “OI!”

“All right?” Seamus asked, barely looking up. He heard Dean scuffling his way violently back out from underneath the bed, and looked over the edge to find the other boy glaring at him, dustnifflers stuck in his hair and waving a yellow box in an accusatory manner.

The box read “Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes Official Exploding Charcoals: Not for the Faint of Art!”.

“Exploding Charcoals!” Dean exclaimed. “It’s been you all along, hasn’t it?!”

Seamus tried to hold back a guilty grin, but didn’t quite manage it. He offered a half-hearted ‘sorry’ around his snickers.

“Don’t you sorry me!” Dean shouted. “You’ve been slipping these in my sketchbox all year, it’s been driving me mad! Do you know what it’s like to casually reach for a new charcoal in the middle of a drawing, and then WHAM! you’ve got charcoal everyplace, in your hair and your eyes and up your nose and I swear to god, Seamus Finnigan, if you don’t stop laughing this minute, I’m shoving one of these up your arse!”

Seamus was laughing so hard by now that he was clutching his sides, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Tossing the box on the bed in disgust, Dean turned to stomp out angrily but Seamus caught at his wrist.

“No, don’t,” he gasped around giggles. “C’mon, I’m sorry, it’s only fun.” When Dean continued to glare, Seamus gulped a huge breath to calm down and tugged Dean down to sit beside him. “They didn’t really blow up anything, right? No harm done. Besides, I thought you’d catch on that it was me right away. That was the whole idea.”

“You wanted me to know it was you blowing up my charcoals?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

“It was before…this…” Seamus waved a hand vaguely to indicate both of them and his hand still on Dean’s wrist. “I just wanted you to pay attention to me, really, and you were drawing all the time so I thought…I dunno…” Seamus flushed and dropped eyes when Dean continued to stare at him.

“You are such an IRA reject,” Dean rolled his eyes after a moment. “Only you would try to tell somebody you fancied them by blowing up their stuff. Why didn’t you stop then, if that’s all you wanted?”

“Er, it was…kind of hot, really,” Seamus blushed even harder. “You’d have to get a shower, and you’d come out still all worked up, but wet…just wearing a towel…” Seamus stopped himself, swallowing. He finally raised his eyes to find Dean watching him, eyes wide. He looked a little flushed himself, although it was hard to tell against his dark skin. Seamus was opening his mouth to apologize again when Dean pressed forward suddenly, knocking Seamus onto his back and scattering books and parchments to the ground. Dean slid on top of Seamus easily and straddled him, pinning him to the bed, before bending to kiss him fiercely.

“Mmmph,” Seamus gasped into Dean’s mouth, arching when fingers slid under his jumper and grazed his sides with skin rough from immersion in all manner of paints and potion ingredients. Slipping a hand around Dean’s neck, Seamus pulled him closer, stroking Dean’s tongue with his own.

“You so owe me for all those explosions,” Dean growled when he lifted his head for air. Seamus took advantage of the lull to pull Dean’s shirt out of the way and squirmed out of his own, pushing his erection up into Dean as much as possible.

“What about taking it…aaahhhh…in trade?” Seamus asked, struggling to retain his grasp of English as Dean sucked the skin over his collarbone. “What do you say to an orgasm per charcoal? Even exchange?”

Dean paused and lifted his head, to peer at Seamus, lips wet and breathing hard.

“Any time I want?” he asked. Seamus nodded. “Any place I want?” Seamus chewed his bottom lip for a second before nodding again. Dean’s face lit up with an expression that Seamus was not entirely comfortable with, but then Dean accepted the terms before kissing him again, and Seamus forgot all about the stupid charcoals.

He remembered well enough the next day during Herbology. He was placidly replanting his Shrieking Begonia when a warm body shoved him up against his bench, and a familiar length pressed into his arse.

“Right now,” Dean whispered in his ear, and Seamus was hard immediately, even as he flushed from embarrassment. He protested weakly that they were in class, but Dean pointed out that he was the last bench in the corner, and everybody else was busy fighting with the rather hostile plants, and furthermore the screaming vegetation was the perfect cover.

Seamus hadn’t quite said yes yet before Dean was pulling his robes up to his waist, and slipping a hand around to undo Seamus’ trousers, and then Dean was stroking his balls with one hand and the other was pushing slick fingers into Seamus, and Seamus was saying “yes, yes” several times very fast.

Seamus concentrated on looking straight ahead and not being suspicious, even as Dean’s fingertips massaged his prostate. He felt that he was doing a good job right up until he caught eyes accidentally with Professor Sprout just as Dean gave his sac a particularly pleasing tweak. Only Harry’s Begonia crashing to the ground at that exact moment saved Seamus from some awkward explaining and possibly coming right on Sprout’s shoes. In order to prevent any more incidents, Seamus squeezed his eyes shut just in time to wallow in the feel of the thick head of Dean’s cock replacing his fingers.

When Dean used the hand on Seamus’ erection to push him back onto his own cock, Seamus’ moan would’ve clearly alerted the whole class if his Begonia hadn’t already been squawking at the top of its lungs.

Fingers digging into the rough wood of the greenhouse bench, Seamus pushed back, taking Dean even deeper, until Dean thrust him forward into his hand. Dean’s breath was hot and wet on his neck, and Seamus stifled a whimper when lips suckled his earlobe before Dean nipped it sharply. Dean pressed his thumb into the pulsing vein on the underside of Seamus’ cock, and Seamus came suddenly, jerking backwards to fuck himself on Dean’s cock even deeper as he spilled over Dean’s hand.

“Mmmm,” Dean whispered, tongue flicking the inside of Seamus’ ear, “so good…I could be talked into…hunh…counting your orgasms toward your debt if they’re all as pretty as that.”

Seamus couldn’t get enough air to reply and only moaned softly as Dean thrust into him harder, his grip on Seamus clutching convulsively as he came a minute later.

He slipped out before they got caught and tugged Seamus’ robes down, as Seamus fumbled for his wand and murmured a Cleaning Charm.

“Two down, ninety-eight to go,” Dean said, smirking and giving Seamus’ arse a discreet pinch.

Seamus had no intention of pointing out that it had only been a fifty-count box of charcoals.

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