Seamus drained the rest of his pint, wiping foam from his upper lip and grinning at Neville. “Ready to have your arse handed to you at darts?” he asked.
“We’ll see whose arse belongs to whom before the evening’s done.” Neville grinned at Seamus before emptying his own pint. “Do you think you can handle losing?”
“That sounds like a bet in the making,” Seamus said. “Best two out of three? Winner gets to ensure the loser is well and truly sore tomorrow.”
Neville’s grin widened. “That sounds like a win-win situation to me. All right, you’re on.”
Slinging his arm companionably around Neville’s shoulders, they made their way to the bar. “I need some darts, Rosmerta,” Seamus said. “Neville here seems to think he can beat me.”
“Seamus needs a good dose of humility, is what he needs,” Neville said. “That, and another pint of your best. Make that two.”
Collecting their darts and their fresh pints the pair walked toward the dartboard located in the back of the pub, well away from the other tables. “Sore losers first,” Neville said with a smirk, gesturing grandly toward the dartboard.
“We’ll see about that!” Giving Neville a surreptitious squeeze, Seamus drank a swallow of ale and set the glass on the table before stepping forward. Taking aim he scored a doubles 15, a 9 and a 17. “Let’s see you beat that.”
“If you insist.” Neville stepped up to the line, studying the placement of Seamus’s darts, eyes narrowing in concentration. His first dart only hit 6. Ignoring the derisive snort behind him, Neville let fly again and hit doubles 20. His third dart squarely struck the bullseye. Pulling the darts from the cork, he handed them back to Seamus, smirking slightly.
Seamus eyed him, shaking his head. “When did you get so good at darts?”
“I take my victories where I find them,” Neville replied, standing back so Seamus could take his place behind the line. “Surely you didn’t think growing plants was my only talent?”
“I wouldn’t say only talent.” Seamus waggled his eyebrows lasciviously, laughing when Neville blushed.
Seamus won the next round, making them even; but Neville easily took the third, scoring an outer bull and a double 15.
“Best three out of five?” Seamus asked hopefully.
“Not a chance,” Neville replied, gathering the darts and handing them to Seamus. “Give those back to Rosmerta, won’t you? I’ll get our coats.”
Bidding Rosmerta a good night, they stepped outside into the crisp night air. Once they were well and truly alone Neville wrapped both arms around Seamus and Apparated them back to their flat. The crack had barely faded before he had Seamus pressed against the wall, stripping off their coats and tugging at his jumper, hips grinding together.
“I am going to fuck you so hard into the mattress you’ll still see the dents your knees made the next morning,” Neville whispered, drawing Seamus into a fierce, open-mouthed kiss. “You’re going to beg me for it before we’re done.”
Seamus whimpered at the inherent promise behind the words, hands already undoing Neville’s trousers. “We should have begun playing darts together earlier,” he gasped, pulling Neville into another feverish kiss. “We’ll have to start playing more often.”
“Good idea,” Neville answered, nudging Seamus toward the bedroom. “I might even let you win occasionally.”