Dean was finding the summer not what he’d expected. Well, he didn’t know what he’d expected, really; during the war he couldn’t see past the end of it. But now it was over, and Dean had moved to London to attend a Muggle art school, while Seamus was headed to Greece in the fall for three years of further mediwizard training. Seamus had decided the best way to spend his summer was to stay with Dean in his new flat off Diagon Alley and have as much sex as humanly possible. And since they were both creative fellows, they’d been doing quite a bit of experimenting. This led to a lot of showers and a deep gratitude for cleaning charms because they would have had to launder the sheets embarrassingly frequently.
So when, one morning, Seamus said, “I want to try something,” it was nothing surprising.
What was surprising was that he was saying it in the shower, because they’d tried—of course they’d tried—but the shower was just big enough for them both to stand in; not quite enough room to fuck and neither could kneel before the other, and as for both of them in the tub Dean by himself scarcely fit. Nice enough shower as tiny garret flats went, though.
“In here?” Dean asked.
“No,” Seamus replied. “Just get clean.” He illustrated his meaning by soaping up his hand, then bending over slightly to slip a finger into his arse.
“Oh,” Dean said, his breath catching as he watched.
Seamus rinsed his hand in the spray from the shower, then turned and bent over. “Rinse me?” he asked.
Seamus looked over his shoulder at Dean. “Trust me, you’ll be glad.”
Dean reached for the shower nozzle as Seamus bent over a bit more and spread his cheeks. It wasn’t a rare occurrence, Seamus presenting his arse to Dean, but it still made Dean a little cloudy-headed, and his cock started to show interest. He rinsed Seamus all over, but when he aimed the spray at Seamus’s little hole the other man hummed.
“Like that?” Dean asked.
“It’s refreshing,” Seamus said. He stood and turned to face Dean and yeah, his cock was getting hard, too. “Your turn.”
Dean did as Seamus had, cleaning himself and then bending over for Seamus’s makeshift bidet and he was right—it was refreshing.
They dried off and as Dean followed Seamus out of the bathroom he thought he might have an inkling of what Seamus was planning, but Seamus was unpredictable enough that it could be anything, really. He sat down in the middle of the bed they hadn’t bothered to make. It was still early so the room was bright and airy and the sheets freshly clean and cool to the touch.
“Right, on your front,” Seamus said, crawling onto the bed.
Dean rolled over and Seamus arranged him so he was kneeling, head on a pillow, legs pulled up under his chest.
“Hmm, let’s see,” Seamus said. He draped himself over Dean, arms around his chest, and planted a kiss at the nape of his neck. “Your back is so beautiful,” he said, then dragged his tongue down Dean’s spine, fingers following to trace the muscles, and Dean relaxed under his touch as he always did. Seamus shifted, moving further down the bed.
“Nervous?” Seamus asked.
“No?” Dean said, though he still was a little. What if he hated it? What if he loved it but Seamus found it distasteful?
What if it was just odd?
“You shouldn’t be,” Seamus said, his kisses getting lower on Dean’s body. Seamus’s hands were on his buttocks now, spreading them apart, and all Dean could think was what did he have for dinner last night?
Then Seamus kissed him, right there, and Dean couldn’t think of anything but the soft feel of Seamus’s lips. Seamus licked him, quickly and cautiously, and Dean’s shoulders sank further into the bed.
“Yeah?” Seamus asked.
“Yeah,” Dean replied.
“Cool,” Seamus said, and got back to it. Now he was bold enough to stick his tongue inside, first shallow and then deeper, and Dean started feeling fuzzy around the edges. He’d got used to firm but slippery things pushing their way into his arse—fingers, Seamus’s cock, the anal plug they’d purchased. But this was entirely different, wet and soft, teasing, not as much about penetration as stimulation. Seamus wasn’t touching him with his hands anymore, only his tongue, and Dean felt strangely naked and exposed, which was a turn on just by itself.
Dean moaned and bit his lip, rocking back into Seamus and wrapping a hand around his own cock, which was demanding his attention.
“Hey,” Seamus said, pulling back, “what about fucking me?”
“Can’t wait that long,” Dean muttered.
“Like it that much, do ya?” Seamus said, snickering, but he not only got back to it, he pushed Dean’s hand away from his cock and took over. His other hand started fondling Dean’s balls, rolling them softly with his fingers the way he did when he sucked Dean off, the way he knew Dean liked. It felt like a blow job and a hand job all at once—the wet softness of his tongue and lips and the firm strokes of his hand.
Dean felt taken care of, a warm note humming under the urgency of the orgasm that Seamus was wringing out of him with tongue and palm and fingers. He clung to the pillow, needing something to ground him, something to hold him up as he fell apart. A few more strokes and he was there, coming into the sheets and shouting with it. Seamus stayed with him until he was done and sagged down on the bed.
“Wow,” Dean said, once he got his breath back. “That was a good idea.”
“Thanks,” Seamus said, grinning. “My turn.”