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Seamus Finnigan (openbottle) wrote in finnigans_rpg,

Seamus opened his mouth to protest - then shut it again when he couldn't think of a legitimate reason to do so. He didn't want Dean to leave, but it would only take a few minutes and Seamus knew it was ridiculously needy to complain over such a small fragment of time. Nothing bad was going to happen while Dean was away.

"No moving," Seamus agreed, because now that he was settled on the couch he really didn't want to get up and go anywhere. He cupped the mug carefully in both hands as Dean handed it over, lifting it and draining it in one swallow. It tasted foul - which only reassured him of its strength. The weaker pain potions could be masked with sugary tastes, but the good stuff was always bitter and unpleasant. In direct disobedience with his own words, he handed the cup back to Dean (who was hovering conveniently close for such a task) and then slid down to lie properly on the couch, his toes butting against the armrest as he slowly, carefully, stretched out. Even though the potion would take a few minutes to kick in, lying was infinitely better than sitting and Seamus breathed easier.

Still trying to make himself comfortable, Seamus slipped the button of his jeans and tugged his t-shirt down to cover the slight gape. His waistband was far from tight on him, but even so the loosening seemed to ease the throb of the pain. He turned his head to look up at Dean, catching his wand movement out of the corner of his eye. "I haven't been sleeping," he said, somewhat sheepishly. He seemed to have swallowed his anger with the potion, and was left feeling emotionally numb. If that could spread to physically numb, he'd be too grateful to complain.