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Make It Better

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The little cottage didn’t have a name, but it was theirs, had felt like theirs the first time they walked into it. The previous owners, a witch couple, had grown old and died there, sustained by a large family of children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and when their daughter learned that Seamus and Dean were about to start a family themselves, she wanted the home to go to no one but them. It was as if the cottage had been waiting for them.

Moving-in day was easier with magic; no need to ask friends to help them get their things from their London flat up to the cottage. That ease didn’t mean, however, that Dean had suddenly become sure-footed; backing up into one of the bedrooms he missed the slight rise of the threshold and tripped, twisting as he fell to the floor.

“What happened?” Seamus asked, after he trotted in from the other room. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, moving to stand up. “Just tripped over the—ow!” he said, and sat back down with a thud.

Seamus knelt on the floor next to Dean. “Where?”

“My knee,” he said, rubbing it. “Probably just twisted it when I fell.”

“Yeah,” Seamus said, pulling out his wand. “Straighten it out for me?”

Dean did so. Seamus put his hands on Dean’s knee as he moved it this way and that at Seamus’s direction.

“It’s a sprain,” Seamus pronounced.

“Dammit,” Dean said.

“Not a problem,” Seamus replied. He muttered a few words and Dean could feel bits moving inside his knee, under the skin, as if some tendons or muscles or whatever had slid back into place. “There,” Seamus said. “And I’ll kiss it to make it better.” He leaned over and did so, only the kiss was less a peck and more Seamus treating Dean’s knee like a salt lick.

Dean suddenly felt out of breath. “I hope you don’t kiss your patients like that.”

“Nah,” Seamus said, his mouth moving up to Dean’s thigh. “Are you saying I’m inappropriate?”

“Just establishing that this is a bit more than kiss it and make it better.”

Seamus shrugged. “All the boxes are inside,” he said, “and we have to christen the house sometime.”

“So you came in here with that in mind?”

“No, I came in here because I heard you fall, and then I healed you, and then I got distracted by your legs in these shorts.” Seamus grinned at him, a predatory glint in his eye.

“Are you taking advantage of my injured state?” Dean asked.

“You’re all fixed,” Seamus said, standing. “Which means you could carry me off to the bed I just finished making up and have your wicked way with me.”

“Since you’re propositioning me, I think it’s up to you to do the carrying,” Dean said.

“Don’t think I won’t,” Seamus replied.

In the morning they lay in bed, curled around each other, still a bit tired from the day before. The cottage already felt like home, even if their things were still in boxes. “Shay?”

“Mmm?” Seamus mumbled into his chest.

“You’ll be healing the kids when they stumble, won’t you?”

Seamus looked at Dean. “I’ll have to,” he said, “if they’re as clumsy as you.”

For this, Dean smacked the back of his head.

“Ow!” Seamus said, laughing. “Did I bruise your ego? Here, let me kiss it and make it better.”