Work Header

Best Laid Plans

Work Text:

"And this is Manet's Olympia. Very shocking in its time. Still a bit of a kick to the senses now, even though the subject matter is no longer all that scandalous. Whaddya think?" Mark Finnigan looked down at the boy at his side. "Shay?"

"It's lovely," Seamus said. He wondered why, exactly, his Uncle Mark had thought a weekend in Paris would take his mind off Dean Thomas if all they were going to do was look at art. Dean was art. Art was Dean.

"Just lovely?" Mark asked. "Don't you have anything more to—"

"I like how unashamed she is," he replied. "Even though she's a little tired."

As they walked past more paintings, Seamus wondered how it was possible to miss anyone so much. It was only the Christmas holiday. He would see Dean again for New Year's Eve. But they had only just begun before they had to be separated. Their last night together was a blur and sometimes he wondered if it had even really happened, if they had really had expressed all that pent up emotion and snogged themselves silly. He woke up the next morning snug in his bed with Dean's arms around him, but all too soon there was a flurry of packing, a race to Hogsmeade, a sleepy train ride, and then they were parted for nearly two weeks. It was too soon. Too much had yet to be said. What if Dean, upon reflection, changed his mind?

Well, he would know in two days.

Seamus pulled himself out of his thoughts in front of another painting of four people at a picnic in the woods. The two men were talking, no doubt about intellectual things. A woman in the background was bathing in the pond. And in the foreground, a woman sat, her nudity seemingly unnoticed by the two men. She looked out at the viewer, as unashamed of her nudity as Olympia had been. Her comfort at being unclothed with these men stirred something in Seamus.

"Naked picnic," he whispered.

Mark shook his head. "It's called Le Dejeuner sur L'Herbe, Seamus."

"Right," he replied, nodding.


Two nights later, back in Mark's London flat, Seamus emerged from the guest bedroom clad in a black cotton robe, carrying one of the extra blankets.

"Seamus? Dean will be here soon, aren't you going to get dressed?" Mark asked.

Seamus looked up from where he knelt spreading the blanket across the living room floor. "No, this is what I'm wearing."

Mark shook his head; he had long since given up on understanding exactly what his decidedly eccentric nephew was up to at any given time. "Right, well, I'm off to the party, and I'll be staying with Ted after, so I suppose I'll see you sometime tomorrow afternoon." Mark and some friends were throwing a New Year's Eve party at their studio a few blocks away, leaving the flat to Seamus and Dean.

Seamus, who was scattering throw pillows around the floor, simply nodded.

"You have my mobile number if you need anything."

"We won't," he replied, laying a clean white sheet atop the blanket, between the pillows.

"And you're not to go out carousing. The market is fine, but—"

Seamus walked up to Mark and laid a hand on his shoulder. "We'll have no reason to go out. Have a nice time at your party." He walked past Mark into the small kitchen and began pulling containers of various mediterranean mezes out of the fridge—olives, stuffed grape leaves, meats and cheeses, roasted and marinated vegetables.

"Seamus, one never has a nice time at one's own party."

"Well, I'm sure everyone else will."

Mark sighed. As he reached for his coat, the door buzzer sounded. "Are you ready for him?" he asked.

"Will be, by the time he gets up here," Seamus replied as he set out the food and drink on the sheet.

Mark pressed the buzzer to open the downstairs door, then walked out of the flat. Seamus had just enough time to dim the lights and light some candles before he heard a knock on the door. Quickly he pulled open the shade to reveal the city lights outside the window, then crossed the living room and opened the front door.

Dean Thomas stood in the hall, a satchel in one hand. He was clad in jeans and Seamus could see a t-shirt peeking through the neck of his woolen cloak. He stood for a moment, staring at Seamus, and then reached out with his free hand to pull Seamus in for a kiss.

Locked together, but awkward because of their difference in height, they stumbled through the door into the flat. Seamus kicked the door closed with one foot and Dean dropped his bag, using his other hand to pull Seamus even closer. Seamus walked backward, steering them into the kitchen, and their lips parted briefly so Seamus could hop up onto the counter and Dean could shed his cloak, which he tossed atop his satchel in the entryway.

Seamus grabbed hold of Dean's shoulders and pulled him forward, between his legs, and they were snogging again, grinding against each other, Seamus's robe falling open. Every touch of Dean's hands and lips and his whole body, really, was like fire against his skin. How could he have forgotten in only a week what this felt like?

Dean pulled back, taking a breath. "Seamus, I—"

"I know," Seamus said, pressing his lips along Dean's collarbone. "Do it." He slipped one leg between Dean's and ran his knee along Dean's crotch, feeling the hardness trapped inside. "C'mon." Seamus scooted forward slightly on the countertop, wrapping around Dean, so that he could rub his cock against Dean's thigh while also stimulating Dean. They kissed and Dean pushed forward against Seamus, who arched up to meet him, and they bucked frantically. Dean was moaning into the kiss, his fingers digging into Seamus's neck and lower back and Seamus was clinging to Dean's shoulders, riding his thigh and trying to thrust with him.

Dean shouted first, pulling Seamus impossibly closer. Seamus could feel a hint of wetness against his thigh and then he was coming into the side of his robe, and the thrusting stopped. Dean sagged a bit so Seamus lay his head back against the upper cabinet, letting Dean lean on him, and glanced at the clock on the oven.

"You must have missed me," Seamus said, "because that took less than five minutes."

After a quick clean up with the dish rag and the shedding of their clothing, Seamus and Dean sat on the sheet in the living room. "Are you going to explain?"

Seamus merely handed him a postcard between opening the various containers of food that sat between them.

"But the men in this are clothed," Dean said.

"And you would have been, too," Seamus said, "but you soiled your clothes." He winked.

Dean thought for a moment, as he was wont to do. "No," he said.

"No?" Seamus asked. "No food? No sex? Be specific."

"No, I wouldn't have wanted to sit on this blanket eating, fully clothed, while you were naked. That would've been weird."


"But nothing," Dean replied. "You're not my concubine or my mistress or whatever this woman is supposed to be. You're my boyfriend. No."

The boyfriend in question scowled.

Dean was looking around at the food now. "I know how you are when you get an idea into that head of yours," he said. "Just because I make sketches of you doesn't mean that you're my model and we're going to have some tragic love affair or whatever. There must have been some great artists at some point who just loved someone without all the drama." He looked up. "Seriously, I think we've had enough drama already and there's a war coming, remember?"

Seamus deflated a little. "So you don't want to look at me naked?" he asked.

"I didn't say that," Dean replied. "I just don't want to be wearing clothes when I do."

He cocked his head. "But you don't like it when people look at you."

Dean smiled shyly, looking down at his hands. "I like it when you do."

"Yeah?" he asked, grinning.

He nodded, biting his lip. "So," Dean said, "what is all this food?"

Seamus relaxed a bit. So their New Year's picnic wasn't going to be exactly how he'd planned it. Now he could stare at Dean, which had to be a good thing.

Seamus leaned against Dean, full but not overly so, contemplating another change. They'd eaten dinner, talked about their holidays, and had a couple of glasses of champagne each. Just sitting there naked together was lovely and comfy and yeah, a little hot; they each sported the start of an erection, showing interest but in no particular hurry. Seamus felt pleasantly fuzzy, like all sharp edges had been rounded off. "So," he said.

"Hmm?" Dean asked. "You said not to eat too much, so I'm assuming there's a 'part two' coming."

"Part three," Seamus said, "after what happened in the kitchen."

"Right, so part three," Dean replied.

"Originally," Seamus said, "I thought we might do that eating an ice cream sundae off each other thing, but I dunno. Now it just seems like an awful mess, and I don't really want to get all sticky with sugar."

"Yeah, kinda elaborate," Dean said. He shifted slightly to rest Seamus's head better against his shoulder, and wrapped an arm around him. "We could have some regular sundaes, later."

"But there is one more present I want to give you," he said.

"Oh really?" Dean asked.

Seamus sat up and turned, flinging a leg over Dean and sitting in his lap. He leaned forward, close enough to kiss his boyfriend. "My arse."

"Your what?" Dean asked, even though it had already become habit for him to put his hands on said arse whenever Seamus sat in his lap.

"I figure," Seamus said, sitting up a bit, "that tonight is a good opportunity. No one is going to walk in on us, or wonder what we're doing. We can take our time. And, I dunno, I've been thinking about it for a long time, with you. Since before, you know—"

"Before our first kiss which was all of ten days ago?" Dean asked.

"Well, when you put it like that," Seamus replied. "But I mean, I think that was part of why I said no to my ex, when he asked. I didn't realize until that moment that I'd always just figured my first time doing that would be with you. So I reckon I've been thinking about it for oh, months now. Haven't you?"

"Thinking, yeah," Dean admitted. "But not, you know, thinking it would happen."

"Come on, Dean," Seamus said. "You kinda knew it would."

Dean looked at Seamus for a long moment. "Maybe, maybe part of me did. And then part of me didn't think it ever would."

"Well, now it can," Seamus said, smiling.

"Yeah," Dean said, and smiled back. "Yeah, now it can."

Seamus leaned in again, and they kissed, slow and easy. "Good," he said.

"Slow," Dean said. "Don't wanna …"

"Hurt me?" Seamus murmured. "We'll go slow."

"Um, do you have any … you know …"

"Yeah, it's in the pocket of my robe," Seamus said. "The Muggle stuff."

Dean nodded. "You want to do it here on the floor?"

"I dunno," Seamus said, sighing. "Kinda don't wanna move, but I don't wanna sleep here either."

"Ugh," Dean said. "That's worth getting up for."

Once they were up they decided to tidy up the living room, which woke them both up a bit. They put the food in the fridge—Seamus hesitated about the olive oil for a moment, thinking it would be more romantic to use that than some chemical goop in a tube, before deciding it was impractical for his first time—and brought the half empty bottle of champagne with them into the bedroom.

Seamus stopped off in the bathroom, just to make sure nothing horribly embarrassing would happen, and then Dean decided he should too, and then finally they were in the bedroom together.

"It's weird," Seamus said, pulling the covers off before getting on the bed. "I thought I'd be nervous but I'm kinda not."

Dean looked at him for a long moment. "Yeah, I guess I'm not, either."

Seamus smiled, and held out the tube. "So I guess we should, you know, fingers first," he said. "And yours are longer than mine. I mean, I could do it—have you ever done it? I mean, to yourself?"

Dean was trying to work out the cap of the lube, which didn't seem to want to twist. "Um, yeah, actually," he said.

"It's a flip-top," Seamus said. "Good, then you—I mean, you've like, you know, a sweet spot and such?"

Dean flipped the top and some squirted out. He giggled a little. "There's an 'and such'?" he asked.

Seamus rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know," he said, getting a bunch of lube on his fingertips. "So how do you want to, you know, sit or whatever?"

"I know it isn't supposed to be the best way," Seamus said, "but I would rather see everything that's going on," he said. "Besides, looking at you always makes me feel calmer."

Dean cocked his head. "I thought you said you weren't nervous?"

"Well, I'm not, but you haven't put your fingers up my arse yet," Seamus said. He leaned back against the pillows and spread his legs wide, bending his knees slightly.

"Jesus," he whispered.


"I mean, that's, fuck, that's really hot, what you're doing."

"Yeah?" Seamus asked. "Tell me."

Dean stopped and took a breath, concentrating on Seamus, waiting for the words to come. "I guess, you're so open, every way. Wide open and wanting and waiting for me."

Seamus smiled, slow and sly. "Then get started."

Dean slid one finger into Seamus, and if he'd thought he was hot before, it was nothing to watching Seamus's eyelids flutter and his breath hitch. "All right?"

"Yeah, yeah," Seamus said. "Keep going."

"Yeah?" Dean asked, sliding in another finger and wiggling it just a little. He could feel Seamus's body shudder around him, even more when he started to scissor his fingers, twisting them a little, feeling for that spot. And then Seamus, the little shit, started chuckling. "You're laughing at me?" Dean asked.

"You look like when you draw," Seamus said. "Concentrating, and your tongue sticking out a little at the corner of your mouth."

"Nice look," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Dead sexy, you mean," Seamus said. "I like being what you're concentrating on."

"Attention whore," Dean said.

Suddenly Seamus's eyes flew open, his hands grabbing the sheet under him. "I—wow," he whispered.

Dean grinned. "Who's laughin' now, huh?"

"Better be goin'," Seamus managed, "or I'm gonna get there without ya."

"Three," Dean said firmly, backing it up with another finger, "cause I hate to brag, but …"

Seamus waved one hand. "I know, I know," he said, panting just a little. "Believe me, I know."

Dean leaned in then and kissed Seamus, careful not to brush against his cock as he did. "Hot."

"You too," he said. "Let me do you. Where's the lube?"

Dean reached back and handed it to him, and Seamus was glad for it as focusing on dribbling it straight from the tube to Dean's dick distracted him from Dean sliding his fingers out of Seamus's arse. He felt empty, suddenly, and if Dean had thought he was wide open and wanting before, well, he sure wasn't waiting. He slathered the lube on Dean's cock and it felt harder, somehow, when he thought of it being buried inside him.

"Still good?" Dean asked.

Seamus looked up at Dean, and, well, so what if his cock was kinda big and seemed kinda hard and he was a little worried? It was still Dean, and Dean wouldn't hurt him; he was the gentlest person Seamus knew. If Seamus said something, Dean would stop even if he was having a good time. "Yeah," he said. "Do it." He sat back again, and handed one of the pillows to Dean before tipping his hips up.

Dean slid the pillow under Seamus, and then breathed a bit, willing himself to calm down. It wouldn't do anyone any good for him to go slamming into Seamus, or go off before anything had really happened. He took his cock gently in hand, his other placed gently on Seamus's hip, and eased the tip into Seamus. "Yeah?"

Seamus nodded. "Yeah. Fuck yeah."

Dean slid in another bit, and tucked his other hand behind Seamus's shoulder. "God," he said.

Seamus put his hands behind his knees and opened his legs a little more. "Do it."

He pushed in a bit more, and wow, it was so tight, he felt a little dizzy. "Seamus."

"More, I want it," Seamus said, grunting a little. "More, don't stop just go slow."

Dean was holding himself up by his hands now, like a push up, his eyes moving from Seamus's eyes to where his dick was steadily disappearing inside him. "Damn, Shay," he said. "This is …"

"Yeah," Seamus said. "Yeah."

And then he had slid in all the way, and their bodies were nestled together, closer than close, and Dean thought nothing could be more perfect, more natural, than the way they fit together. He bent his arms and kissed Seamus, who smiled.

"Tickles," he said.


"Your, um, your hair, against my arse. It tickles a little."

"Hadn't thought of that."

"Me neither," Seamus said, and he was smiling. "You'd best start moving, or I'll use my feet to move you myself."

And so Dean did, more rocking than thrusting at first. Then he found his rhythm and put some muscle into it. He couldn't last long, surrounded by all that slick heat, and by Seamus going "oh oh oh" in his ear. And he didn't—he came, very suddenly, right then, and was sorry for it.

Catching his breath he looked down and saw that Seamus was still hard. It took most of his strength to push himself up onto one hand and grab Seamus's cock with the other, stroking him firmly two, three, four times until he was coming too, open mouthed and panting, so gorgeous that he had to lean over and kiss him. Seamus's arse contracted all around Dean's softening cock as he came and Dean thought next time, he'd try to get it in reverse order, because that was the hottest bit yet.

Dean pulled out carefully and flipped over on his back next to Seamus. "Damn," he said, panting.

"Yeah," Seamus replied.

"You always have the best ideas."

"I know, right?" Seamus sat up suddenly. "Hey, what time is it?"

Dean looked down at the clock. "Five minutes to."

He grinned. "Come on, grab the bottle."

They stopped off in the bathroom for a quick rubdown with a facecloth before moving back out into the living room. The lights of the city streamed into the darkened room, making it bright enough for them to find a couple of cups to pour the rest of the champagne into. They stood in front of the window, still naked, their arms around each other, and when the bells started ringing and the fireworks went off they kissed.

"Best new year ever," Dean said.

"Definitely," Seamus replied. "And I didn't even plan it that way."