Title: In Which Seamus and Dean Miss Each Other and Check Out Girls
Author: wook77 and green_amber
Characters: Seamus, Lavender, Dean, Luna
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: voyeurism, wanking
Themes/kinks chosen: Kinky Kollab!
Word Count: 3206
Summary: Eh, the title pretty much says it all. ;)
Author's notes: Thanks and ♥ to wook77 for being such an awesome writing buddy (*hums Twilight Zone theme again*), and misfit_ragdoll for the hand-holding.





Dear Dean,

The Carrows caught me yesterday and beat me bloody Things're good here. Neville says hi and so does Parvati, Lavender and the rest. Haven't heard from you in a bit so I'm worried. Tell me you're ok, at least.

~S


Seamus,

Hi, it's me. Sorry it's been a while--there was some trouble excitement on the road and I wasn't in a position to write much for a bit there. Some people died. It was pretty awful and I Don't worry about me, though, I'm safe now. I can't tell you exactly where I am--you never know who's watching the post these days and I think there's a Fidelius on the place anyway--but I'm OK, and I'm staying with some nice people.

I've heard some nasty things about what school's like these days. If they've hurt you Let me know if I need to come up there and kick anyone's arse, all right?

Tell them all I said hi.

Dean


***


It was easier not to think of it, Dean reflects, when he was on the run. There was always something to do then--make camp, keep watch, avoid the Snatchers, break camp--and the very strangeness of sleeping under the open sky made the whole thing feel like someone else's life, like it was something that had nothing to do with what he'd known before.

Here, though, lying awake on the sofa in Bill and Fleur's sitting room, listening to the night sounds, there's no way around it. It's just enough like being at school to remind him of exactly how it's not like school. His own breath mingles with Harry's and Ron's in a familiar syncopation; the rise and fall of the sea outside makes a fourth, though Neville's snoring had never been quite that loud.

There should be five.

Dean throws off the covers in frustration, craving air, gets to his feet. He lets himself out of the cottage as quietly as he can manage and walks along the cliff's edge, walks to where a narrow rocky path winds down to the thin strip of beach. He hitches up Bill's old pajama pants as he goes and feels a chill breeze against his ankles (Bill's more built than Dean, and not quite as tall). The moon illuminates the way, keeping him from stumbling on the uneven ground.

There's someone else out here, he realizes, someone parting the ocean with sure, graceful strokes. It's spring, but still too cold at night to be swimming, and Dean wonders what kind of nutter would be out here freezing her arse off on purpose. And he's pretty sure it's a her by the heavy mass of hair that swishes behind her as she swims, though he can't make out her features from this distance, or the color of her sodden hair.

The woman starts to rise from the water. Moonlight glances off her hair and Dean sees that it's pale, and between that and the blue cast from the moonlight on her skin he thinks it's Fleur at first. Bugger, he thinks, crouching behind a boulder. She'll hex me into next Tuesday for watching her swim, even though it was an accident, and if she doesn't, Bill will.

And that's why he's still curled up behind the rock when the girl emerges from the water.

Nude.

She's not Fleur, and Dean grins when he sees who she really is.

He's been watching Luna for weeks. Just watching her experiment with her new wand, watching all the random barmy things she does. He's not really sure how it started. He tells himself it's just because she's the only single bird at Shell Cottage, or maybe that Fleur's emitting secret veela pheromones that make everybody hornier than usual. All he knows for sure is that Seamus would take the piss if it got back to him that Dean, while holed up in a tiny house with the former Fleur Delacour, is ogling Loony Lovegood instead.

She plucks a sprig of sea hawthorn from her tangled hair, looks at it, then smiles and tucks it behind her ear, and Dean knows he's lying to himself. He knows why he watches. Everything at Shell Cottage is the same one day to the next. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Griphook closet themselves in the smallest bedroom to plot--to plot something; Dean doesn't know what it is and wishes he could help, but he's not in their confidence. Bill and Fleur putter about the house, fixing things that don't need fixing, cleaning things that don't need cleaning, making small talk even though the answer to "How are you today?" never changes around here. The worst part of it, to Dean, is himself. He paces the house, paces the garden, tries to read everything on the Weasleys' shelves and can't concentrate. He writes letters that say nothing. He wants to be out there doing something, and no matter how many times he reminds himself to be thankful for the roof over his head and the fact that he's not in any immediate danger at the moment, he's bored witless.

Luna is the only one at Shell Cottage who ever does anything he can't predict. Dean knows the real reason he's watching her is that she's like a bloody streak of gold against the grey, though he'll be damned if he ever says that out loud. It sounds like some fourth-year girl's shite poetry.

She steps out of the surf and onto the beach, water sluicing from her breasts and the curls between her legs. Dean's suddenly very glad it's too cold for swimming, because he can see even from up here that her nipples are hard little peaks. He shifts a little, rubs his cock through his pajama bottoms, his groan drowned by the pounding waves.

Pathetic, he tells himself even as he decides why the hell not and shoves his hand down his pants to take himself in hand. Seamus would never do a loser thing like this. If he was here, if he wanted her, he'd have blarneyed her into bed weeks ago. Shay's always been able to pull girls. Dean remembers Seamus's grin the morning after the Yule Ball, back in fourth year, and it doesn't help one bit.

Luna picks up a towel and starts drying herself off, rubbing the terrycloth everywhere Dean wishes his hands were. He fists his cock harder, wondering what her hand would feel like there (smaller, still cold from the swim), and he's not going to last, it's been too long. He bites down on his other hand to keep from crying out.

Dean slumps back against the rocks and sighs. His pajama bottoms are a sticky mess and they're not even his trousers anyway and he's still a sorry wanker who tosses off while watching girls swim.

The hem of Fleur's old bathrobe drags on the ground as Luna ascends the path. There's no way to keep her from seeing him, so Dean just makes sure his junk's put away and tries to look casual, absurdly glad it's dark out so maybe she won't see the splotch on his bottoms.

"Hello, Dean," she says cheerily when she spots him.

He manages a smile. "Hi, Luna."

"Not sleeping well?"

"No," he admits.

"I think that's perfectly normal," she says. "I'm not either. Want to come back to to the house with me? I'll make some tea."

"Er," says Dean. "No thanks. I think I just want to...sit out here and think for a while."

Luna nods. "Everyone needs time to think sometimes. Good night, then." Her hem rustles on the pebbles of the path again as she leaves him with his thoughts and his hopefully-not-too-ruined pajamas.

"Night," he says.


***


He'll feel bad about it later, much later, but for now, he can't resist watching the way the bubbles from her hair trickle down her back. Her hair cascades down her back as she lathers it, her arms raised above her head and then skimming down the long, blonde length. He can feel himself hardening as he watches from deep within his blankets through his bruised and swollen eyes.

Until now, Seamus had cursed the Crabbe, Goyle and the Carrows for the beating he'd received. The broken ribs, the swollen face, the constant headache, all of it's been worth it because he can lay here and watch as Lavender arches her back, her wet hair pulling away from her skin, while her breasts jut forward. Seamus can see her nipples, relaxed and dusky on the pale flesh and he wants to lick them, suck them into his mouth and taste them, make them hard. He wants to see them turn into pebbles in his palms as he squeezes her full breasts.

She has a beautiful spine, one that he's never seen before though he told Dean he had. Seamus isn't stupid, of course he's going to tell Dean that he made it all the way with Lavender Brown after the Yule Ball. What's he supposed to say? The truth? That he kissed her, grabbed her breast and then she slapped him? Then again, Dean's not stupid either so Dean probably hadn't believed him either.

While Seamus has been thinking about Dean, Lavender's still been lathering her hair, the soap bubbles cascading down her back and ass. They puddle in the curve of her spine, just over the rise of her buttocks and he shifts so that he can press his palm against his cock. He'd never thought of showering as so sensual and arousing. He showers every day and he's never gotten turned on. Except that time with Dean, soapy hands touching bare skin.

Rolling over, Seamus squints and watches as Lavender raises both her hands and runs them through her hair as she rinses whatever girly stuff that's currently bubbling and foaming all over it. It's hard to hold back a moan, groan, as her spine curves further and she looks over her shoulder back towards the common area. He watches as she sighs at the open door. As tempted as he was to shrink further into the blankets, he stays where he is. He's in the dark and she's lit so there's not much chance that she can see him. But if he moves… if he moves, she might stop and that'll mean that he won't be able to watch her tilt her face into the stream of water from the shower. Breathing a sigh of relief as she goes back to rinsing, he groans, again, as her hands skim over her breasts and then down her sides.

Lavender grabs a bottle, squeezing something creamy onto her hands and then they skim over the long lengths again, massaging and rubbing whatever it is into her hair. Then, she grabs a cloth and after pouring a measure of liquid soap over it, she lathers her body, starting at her toes. Kicking her leg out, she runs the cloth over the pointed digits and then skims along her arch. She's practically kissing her knee and the flexibility astounds Seamus, astounds and arouses him. If she can do that, then what else can she do? His mind tempts and teases him with images of her on her back with her knees pressed to her ears as he thrusts into her.

Crabbe snogging Bulstrode. Crabbe in a dress snogging a naked Bulstrode. Crabbe in a short dress snogging a naked Bulstrode while Goyle watches. The images don't do much to relax his arousal. Seamus is going to come in his pants if he doesn't turn away. Just as he starts to turn away, Lavender sweeps the cloth over her ass and then turns, delving between her legs and then up over her abdomen, leaving a soapy trail behind. The water hits her back as she shimmies away from it. Her breasts jiggle with the movement.

Seamus's hand is in his pants, firmly wrapped around his cock and squeezing, before he realises. Fuck, he thinks as he gives it a tug. He's wanking while watching Lavender bathe. There's something completely wrong with this and he's going to have to confess to her. Or someone.

Just… he'll do it later because she's lathering her collarbones and shoulders and arms and, oh dear Lord, her breasts. Her legs are wide apart as she washes and he can see the blonde thatch between her legs. Watching her hand delve between her legs and then down her thighs, watching her bend over and drag the cloth down her other leg, Seamus can't help himself. His hand is fast and furious as he pulls on his cock, once, twice, three times. He bites the pillow as he comes.


***


Dean,

Glad you're alright. We're all good here, too especially Lavender. I watched her shower and I thought of that time you and I . I miss you and I don't care that you'll think I'm a girl over saying it.

~S.


Seamus,

I miss you too, so I guess we can be girls together. I couldn't sleep the other night and I started thinking about us in the dormitory. Remember that time when

You'll never believe this, but somehow, after all this time, I still have my coin. I guess the Snatchers didn't I was talking to Luna this morning and I know something's coming--you'll let me know if anything happens, right? If it comes to a fight, I want to be there beside you.

Dean


***


The coin is still heated in Dean's pocket as he and Luna climb into the tunnel. Dean feels like he just swallowed a hundred Cornish pixies, and he wishes the light would quit flickering on the walls like that. It's only making him more nervous than he already is.

Luna's close, very close. Dean's hand brushes hers and he almost, almost, clasps his fingers around hers, but pulls back before the impulse overtakes him. It's not fair to her, he thinks. I want her but I want him too and what if I'm only thinking about any of this because I've had cabin fever for months and now we might all be about to die, and what kind of bloke am I, wanting both, and

He grasps at his wand, wanting to feel its reassuring solidity, its harnessed power, and then remembers--how does he keep forgetting?--that the Snatchers confiscated it long ago. The pixies ramp up their assault. Fuck, Thomas, what the hell do you think you're going to do to them without a sodding wand? All he knows is that if they've hurt Seamus, never mind that he's never been in anything more serious without a wand than a boys' shoving match over football, he's going to make the Death Eaters wish they'd never been born.

"Are you nervous?" asks Luna.

"N-no," Dean stammers out, too quickly; he can hear the tremor in his own voice and hopes she'll chalk it up to an echo in the tunnel.

"It's all right, Dean. It's perfectly normal to be nervous." And then she takes his hand, and he's squeezing it tight before he has the chance to really think about it.

"I suppose maybe I am," he says, smiling. "A little bit."

"I like you, you know," she says. "I thought you should know that. In case one of us gets killed."

Pixies and a bushel of Chocolate Frogs, merrily leaping away.

Luna pats the back of Dean's hand lightly with her fingers. "And I know you like him too. I don't mind, though."

There's no need to ask who she means.

He's still at a loss for words when he hears a muffled chaos of voices just ahead.

He knows Seamus is waiting.

The door swings open.


***


The message went out about three hours ago and so Seamus paces. Back and forth. Side to side. He holds his DA coin in his hand and wills it to tell him something, anything, about Dean. There're so many things churning in his gut that he doesn't even know what to feel first. There's the guilt from watching Lavender in the shower; he still hasn't talked to her about it and he doesn't think he will. There's excitement that Dean's coming; God above but he's missed Dean. There's the missing and the wanting and the needing and the fear and the nerves and everything all wrapped up into one big miserable ball of emotion.

He can't express it out loud no matter how many times Parvati or Lavender ask him about it. He can't say, I miss my best mate more than anyone else in my life including my mam and I can't quite get the image of Dean in the shower out of my head so now I'm nervous that that'll be all I see if, when he comes. Instead, he just keeps pacing and avoiding eye contact with Lavender. In fact, he does his best not to even look at her while he walks around.

Neville stops him, pats him on the shoulder and says, "They'll be here."

"Yeah, I know," he says back and then keeps walking as Neville leaves.

Parvati stops him and says, "Dean's fine. He would've said something in his owls if he wasn't."

"Yeah, I know," he says back and then keeps walking.

Lavender stops him and says, "You're going to wear a hole through the floor soon. Why don't you sit down? You need to talk?"

He flushes and stumbles over his words as he tries to keep from blurting out what he'd done, "Yeah, no, that's alright, not necessary, good."

"That didn't make any sort of sense, Seamus," she touches his shoulder and steers him towards a sofa. Her hand burns into his shoulder as he remembers how it looked as it cupped her breast. That brings his mind right back to how he'd wanked while she'd done it. Which then swung his mind right back to the way that he'd felt even more turned on as he'd remembered Dean in the shower. By the time they reach the couch, he's flaming red, redder than Ginny's hair, definitely. He's saved when Neville re-enters the room with Harry, Ron and Hermione.

And no Dean.

Worry churns even further as they all rush over and start talking over one another. He's just as loud as everyone. Everyone's so excited about doing something that they don't notice that he's louder than normal. He's glad of it, very glad of it, as he only ever gets this loud when he's upset and nervous and…

And there's Dean. He roars, louder than he'd ever thought possible and the conversation comes to a halt as he runs over to Dean and holds on as if his very life depended on it.