Drabbles

Coming of age in the midst of a war wasn’t what Dean had expected for himself. He also hadn’t expected that his swift descent — or rather, rise — from puberty to adulthood would have brought with it another biological revelation. 

But here he was, back at Hogwarts in the aftermath of the war, sorting through wreckage both literal and metaphorical. Because how did one go back to school – back to sharing a bloody tiny dorm room – with someone who now represented an entirely new vacancy in what Dean had thought was a fully-formed sexuality? When the sort of partnered fighting he wanted with Seamus was less kill-or-be-killed and more…grappling for control amid a tangle of sheets?

So far, he didn't know the answer. Seamus had seemed the same as always, jocular and affectionate in a brotherly sort of way, and the way they'd fallen back into their usual rapport after Dean had returned back to school felt both supremely comforting and like he was getting his tail rubbed the wrong direction. It made him feel prickly and charged, every touch now a zap to his system. 

He'd had lots of time to miss Seamus while wandering England, first alone and then with Ted and the others. Lots of time to realize the sort of bond he'd formed with the person he'd been practically joined at the hip with. So coming back - coming home - only to find Seamus the same as always...he didn't know how to manage it. 

Most evenings, Dean retreated to the privacy of the Prefect’s bathroom. He wasn’t a Prefect – not officially – but McGonagall had opened the bathroom up to the returning Eighth Years as a tiny perk in payment for the collateral damage of their final year, and Dean was quite happy to utilize the room most of his peers seemed largely unimpressed by.

He’d been on the run for most of his final year to avoid imprisonment for his unprovable blood status and though he’d preferred the fearful open to the derelict Malfoy Manor dungeon, he’d have committed something close to murder for a decent bath. He loved a good bath, and this one – up in the Prefect’s bathroom – happened to be fucking glorious. 

Dean inhaled the mildly scented steam, eyes falling back along with his head as he rested against the lip of the bath, arms outstretched along the cool tile while bubbles popped like tiny fireworks against the warmed skin of his chest. 

Bliss. Solitary, silent bliss. Devoid of grinning Irishmen who made his chest tight and his trousers tighter. 

Dean knew the meaning of yearning. He’d wanted after his father, first, and then when that wound had been patched up by the arrival of his step-father, he’d wished for a fellow Thomas in the house. But his newly married mother was happy, and the subsequent, staggered arrival of his sisters further filled the hole in his chest. He'd yearned next for his family, eleven years old and watching them on the other side of the platform, knowing he'd be the only one from his home to make the magical journey north. The variety of his yearning had shifted after that, focusing on tangible things and better grades and Quidditch team positions.

But the flavor of yearning that brewed in his gut when he heard Seamus’s voice or caught his grin or bent heads together to scheme and natter and confide…it was a like a rich, strong mead. Sweet on his tongue, spiced and warming down to his core, only to settle sickly and thick in his stomach, fluttering and churning with a bitterness that sometimes made him ill.

He snorted derisively into the quiet bathroom. He was literally sick with love for that Irish git. It was a shame the Irish git didn’t seem to love him back.

“Oh! Sorry.” The surprised voice was polite, and coming from the door.

Dean cracked an eye, peering over to see who’d been daft enough to ignore the locked door and, subsequently, the pile of clothes he’d left only feet inside it. 

“S’right,” he said easily, squinting through the steam. “No harm done.”

“I should have realized it was locked for a reason. I just presumed it was vacant and passcode-sealed.” The figure raised a hand in apology, and Dean saw that it was, unexpectedly–

“Diggory?” he blurted, eyes widening to take in the shape of the man to confirm what he’d seen through the foggy air.

“Hi. Yes.” Cedric laughed, the sound easy and relaxed. “Thomas, right? Sorry. Minerva said I was welcome to use the baths but I don’t think she intended for me to intrude on you.”

He wouldn’t put it past her, the old minx. Dean waved a hand disarmingly.

“No problem. But what’re you doing at the castle?” As far as Dean knew, Cedric had been steadily employed alongside his father at the Ministry, and not in a position that would cross over into academics. 

“They needed help with the restoration,” Cedric said, taking a hesitant step closer, his gaze dropping to Dean’s outstretched arm and slowly sliding inward. “So I volunteered.”

Dean made a sound of acknowledgement. Bloody do-gooder Hufflepuffs. Even if they were extremely fit and had nice laughs and ever nicer arses, particularly in a Quidditch kit. The intrusive thought brought his eyebrows up. Huh. Maybe he’d been toeing the line of heterosexuality for longer than he’d thought.

Cedric was still just standing there, his eyes wandering slowly over the skin left exposed by the bubbles and filmy water. It felt good to be looked at. Dean hadn’t felt the warmth of attention since Ginny, and even then it had felt half-performative and half-cathartic – perhaps for him as much as her. Seamus never looked at him with half as much interest as Cedric was; Seamus’s eyes never strayed when Dean stripped his shirt off to change in the dorms – in fact, Seamus full-on averted his eyes. It was infuriating and demoralizing and fucking heartbreaking. 

So seeing Cedric’s gaze slip from his shoulders to his chest filled Dean with a potent sense of worthiness. After a moment, Cedric’s eyes flicked back up to Dean’s and he cleared his throat.

“Well,” he said, tone still easy but politely apologetic. “I’ll leave you to it. And I’ll be more conscientious about locks in the future.”

“It’s a big bath,” Dean said, before Cedric could step away. “And you’ve come all this way.”

Cedric paused, then slowly tilted his head. “Yeah?”

Dean slipped his arms off the edge, sliding sideways on the bench to leave space for Cedric to step in. He politely averted his gaze, Seamus-style, pretending to admire the taps to the left while he listened to Cedric hesitate and then begin to strip to his right. For a moment, the only sound was the soft crush of clothing sliding on skin and then on tiles, and then Dean saw Cedric step into the bath in his periphery. He’d left his boxer-briefs on – thoughtful – but then waded through the water in nothing but them – sinful and sexy to the point that Dean couldn’t help but have a stare of his own. 

Cedric seated himself across from Dean on one of the benches that ran the circumference of the tub.

“So…” he leaned back, lifting his arms along the back in a mimicry of Dean’s earlier pose. “What’re you mulling over?”

Dean’s brows lifted. “Who says I’m mulling anything over?”

Cedric tilted his head to indicate their surroundings. “It’s a bath. It’s the optimal place for mulling, at least in my experience.”

“Ah.” Dean dragged his hand through the water beside him, wondering how much to divulge. Cedric was, for all intents, an outsider. Different House, different year, probably different in all the ways that might be relevant for a confession of the nature Dean might make.

But different had never meant bad, not to Dean, and Cedric was looking at him with an open, kind expression that felt like an invitation. Fuck it, he thought. Someone ought to know, if not Shay. 

“Turns out I’m in love with my best friend,” Dean said dryly. He swirled his fingers through the water again, not looking at Cedric.

“And I take it that’s not a good thing?” Cedric prompted.

“Ha.” The sound might have been a laugh, but wasn’t. “Not sure I’m his type.”

Cedric made a little ah sound in his throat. After a moment, he spoke again. “But you’re not certain?”

“Well, he doesn’t look at me. Not like that. Even though I’m not exactly timid with giving him opportunities to look. We share a dorm, so…” Dean finally raised his eyes, wanting to give Cedric a there you go look, but Cedric’s cool grey eyes were intent on him and so the look melted into something softer, closer to do you understand?

Cedric held his gaze for a moment. “Perhaps he’s not sure he’s allowed to look.” 

Dean snorted. “He’s not the sort to shy away if he wants something. So, it’s got to be that he’s not into it. Or not into me, I suppose. Which actually…” Dean inhaled slowly, the smoldering ashes of unworthiness flickering to life. “…makes sense. I’m not much to turn a bloke over.” 

Cedric's brows twitched together, expression genuinely confused. “Sorry, you don’t mean...you don't think you’re attractive? Not that it matters when it comes to love but…really?”

The bath water was suddenly sweltering. “Women like me fine,” Dean said, feeling self-conscious about the brag, true enough though he’d found the statement to be. “I just think I’m just not a man’s man.”

Cedric’s brows softened, mouth curving up into a soft smile. “Not that my opinion matters, but that’s absolutely untrue.”

“Right.” Dean sent a matching smile back at Cedric. “Well, thanks.”

He heaved a sigh and scrubbed a damp hand over his face, then up through his hair. He was sweating, but when he raised his arms back out the tub, the air suddenly felt too cool. Goosebumps prickled, tightening his nipples in a way that suddenly felt obvious and inappropriate. He lowered his arms back into the water, and heaved another sigh, heart racing when a quick glance across the bath showed that Cedric’s attention hadn’t wavered.

He’d been a Seeker, Dean suddenly recalled. It seemed his instincts to spot tiny flashes of hyperactivity and discern the cause for it hadn’t been dulled. 

“You don’t believe me?” Cedric asked. His voice was still friendly – kind – but it held a new depth to it now. Disbelief and a warm sort of incredulity. 

“You don’t have to be nice to me,” Dean said, voice forcibly light. “You don’t even know me.”

“I thought we were discussing how attractive you are to men,” Cedric said, smile tugging up higher on one side, “not how close of friends we are.” 

The next swallow Dean performed felt tight. “Yeah…right. Good point.”

“So in case you need to hear it: I’m a man,” Cedric said, as if it wasn’t blatantly obvious as he sat there, practically naked, all broad chest and thick arms and a jaw that Dean could practically feel the edge of under his palms, “and I’m attracted to you. As a man.”

What did one say to something like that? 

Dean wet his lips, an act that drew Cedric’s gaze and elicited a mirrored action over his own full mouth. 

“I know you’re in love with someone else,” Cedric continued after a moment, “but I find I’d rather like to prove to you how very sexy you are. On the off-chance it gives you the motivation to go after the man you really want. Because I promise you, Thomas–”

“Dean,” Dean corrected automatically, and Cedric flashed him a grin.

“–Dean, that if he’s ignoring the signs you're giving him, it’s either because they’re too subtle or he’s just as scared as you, or he's regretfully straight. It’s not because you’re not attractive to men.”

It was tempting. Dean thought of Seamus, sandy-haired and boyish, his soulfriend and, very possibly, soulmate. If nothing else, getting over his personal imposter syndrome about the sort of partner he could be would be a service to any future relationship with Shay. And maybe he just needed to get laid. It had been...eons.

“How would you prove it?” Dean asked after a moment. His heart was pounding, with nerves and the thrill of his current circumstances.

Cedric smiled, teeth glinting with the broadness of it. “Can I come over there?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah.”

Water sluiced down the planes of Cedric’s torso as he stood from the bench, wading through the chest-high water in a few strides until he was right in front of Dean. 

“Ever been kissed by a man?” Cedric asked, the question unassuming and easy.

Dean shook his head. “Nope.”

“Saving it?” Cedric tilted his head, eyes kind but heated.

“Nope.”

The little laugh that escaped Cedric made Dean’s stomach flip. “Could you give me a yes at some point?” 

“Yeah.” Dean exhaled his own version of a laugh. “Yes, you can kiss me.”

“Brilliant.” Cedric sank down slightly, drifting between Dean’s thighs and planting on hand on the ledge over Dean’s shoulder. “Feel free to kiss me back, by the way.”

Dean laughed, properly this time, and Cedric pressed his responding smile against Dean’s lips. It was strange to kiss someone bigger than him; someone who smelled like sandalwood and spice rather than vanilla and musk. Strange but delicious. He pressed back, instinctively deepening the kiss, and Cedric made a soft sound of pleasure at his responsiveness. When his tongue dragged over Dean’s lip, confident but careful, Dean didn’t hesitate to let him in. 

The kiss expanded, turning from a simple exploration to something headier, until Dean found himself pressed back against the lip of the tub, their chests sliding together in the suds, causing a different sort of firework to scatter across Dean’s skin. When Cedric’s thigh pushed a little higher between Dean’s, he couldn’t help his groan. Cedric gentled their kiss but kept close, tilting his head so he could trail little kisses down Dean’s jaw to his ear.

“Believe me yet?” Cedric murmured, voice low. 

“Starting to, yeah,” Dean breathed. Cedric’s thigh was inches from where Dean’s cock was bobbing in the water, unrestrained by fabric or any sense of propriety, and the realization that he was naked and pressed up against another bloke was finally sinking in. Snogging Cedric felt twice as electric as snogging Ginny had – and that was saying something because that feisty little witch could kiss – and Dean’s thoughts felt sluggish under the haze of arousal coursing through him. 

Cedric pressed another kiss to the hollow below Dean’s ear and Dean couldn’t help the way his hips jerked. He needed a hand around his cock – his own, if need be, but ideally…

“Think you could prove it to me a little more?” he asked, tilting his head to give Cedric more skin to brush with his lips.

“Mm.” Cedric braced himself on the knee between Dean’s thighs, lifting one hand off the ledge to dip down into the water. Dean sucked in a steadying inhale, preparing for his touch, but Cedric’s hand dragged down his arm to find his hand instead. Dean only had half a second to feel a flash of disappointment before Cedric was tugging Dean’s hand to center, rotating their wrists and pressing Dean’s palm against an extremely hard cock, barely held back by sodden black cotton.

“Oh fuck,” Dean blurted.

“Feel that?” Cedric curled their fingers around his erection, mouth still close to Dean’s ear. “That’s because of you, Dean.”

It seemed incredible. Somewhat surreal, certainly, but… incredible. 

“Fuck,” Dean said again. 

His own cock was throbbing and it was a confusing relief to know that he wasn’t just gay for Seamus. There was power in knowing oneself and it sent a tremulous sort of joy through him, to know at least this much for certain about his biology. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, then laughed. “Sorry, I don’t mean thank you, but…” He cut himself off, putting more intention behind his hand and then sending the other up out of the water to tangle in Cedric’s hair, holding him close. “Actually, yeah I do. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Cedric dotted a series of smiles down the length of Dean’s neck, groaning against his skin when Dean’s fingers tightened their grip. “I’m happy to prove it to you as much as you’d like so…just tell me when you want to stop. No pressure.”

Dean hummed. “I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling some pressure,” he joked, and squeezed around Cedric meaningfully, then leaned into his red and gold. “Can I get you off?” 

The little nip of teeth might have been an accident – judging by the way Cedric dropped a quick kiss over the mark – but the sharpness of the sensation burned through Dean all the same. 

“Absolutely,” Cedric drew back to meet Dean’s eye. “And you? Can I touch you?”

“I’m dying for it,” Dean groaned, and pulled Cedric’s mouth back to his. 

They did their best to kiss but by the time they had one another’s cocks in hand, Cedric’s pants sinking to the depths, it was closer to passively sharing breath than it was any sort of mindful motion. Dean had wanked himself innumerable times and so leaned into the muscle memory of it, letting his fist glide up and down over Cedric, squeezing with a little rotation at the crown and at the base.

There was a moment of dissonance when the motion of his hand wasn’t matching up with the strokes he could feel over his own cock, but after a few pumps, it hardly even registered. Cedric, too, seemed adept and Dean wondered absently whether it was all from personal study, too, or if he’d wanked blokes off in the bath or dorms or Quidditch locker rooms during his matriculation. 

The image of Cedric, straight from the pitch, still sweaty and exerted and – fuck – triumphant from a well-played match, pushing someone against the locker room wall and earning himself yet another victory had Dean throbbing urgently into his fist.

“God,” he choked out. “Fuck, Ced, I might–fuck, I’m so close.”

“Go on,” Cedric murmured, tone indulgent. “Come for me, yeah? That’s a good lad. Come nice and hard.”

“Jesus–” Dean felt his orgasm surge, vision spotting as the pressure inside tightened until all he could do was squeeze his fist around Cedric and fuck up into the other man’s hand. He came in a series of hard pulses, choking on a moan that Cedric licked right out of his mouth.

“–outstanding,” Cedric was murmuring, when Dean’s ears stopped ringing. “Did so well, didn’t you?” 

“Yes,” Dean mumbled automatically, then sucked in a deep breath. “Fucking hell, that was insane.” 

“Good.” Cedric kissed the side of his mouth, then the full bottom lip. “That’s so good to hear. You come so beautifully.” 

Belatedly, Dean realized he’d lost his grip on Cedric. He searched through the water, only to collide with Cedric’s wrist, working himself over.

“Oh.” Dean almost apologized for interrupting, but then his brain fully came back online. “Oh, wait. I want to.” He tugged on Cedric’s wrist hopefully. 

“I’m so close,” Cedric grit out, but he let go of himself all the same, huffing out a little breath as he did so. 

“Good,” Dean assured him. “Because you almost just made me black out, so I’m not sure I have much handjob finesse left in me at the moment.” 

Cedric panted a laugh, bracing himself on both arms either side of Dean, chin tucked to stare at the motion of Dean’s arm. He did seem close, judging by the way Dean could feel his cock flexing in his palm even with the water as a dampener. 

Dean tried to copy the motion Cedric had done over him, a slightly different variation to his typical method but nothing highly complex. With Cedric leaned over him, his vision was full of damp chest and rosy nipples and the heaving flex of abdominals, Cedric’s breaths labored enough to cause ripples where he breached the surface on every circuit. 

“You’re so hot,” Dean groaned, eyes greedy and hand insistent. “And so nice. Making me feel better about myself and…and so generous with your time. And this insane body. I…fuck, I want to make you come so badly.” He let his head drop back against the edge of the tub to stem his ramblings, looking up into the expansive-black of Cedric’s gaze, pupils blown wide. “Come for me,” he begged. “I need it. Is this enough? Do you–?”

The rest of his question was lost when Cedric dipped his head, crushing his mouth to Dean’s in a ferocious kiss. His hips curled inward, fueled with a sudden urgency and Dean felt the rhythmic throbbing as Cedric came into his fist.

“So good,” Cedric hissed, teeth nipping at Dean’s lip. “More than enough. Perfect.” 

Dean whimpered a helpless sound, letting Cedric kiss him again as their hips stilled and hands gentled, all the points of their physical contact turning lazy and satisfied. After a moment, Cedric sighed happily and leaned back, raising a brow.

“That proof enough?” he teased, grinning again with a looseness that revealed a dimple in his left cheek.

“If I say no, will you do it again?” Dean returned, sending out a smirk of his own.

Cedric laughed, sliding off the bench to drift down to his neck in the bathwater. “If you say yes, I’ll do it again,” he returned cheekily, then pressed his lips together in an expression composed of encouragement and, oddly, pride. “Will you give your bloke a proper try now?” 

Dean pictured Seamus in Cedric’s place, damp from bathwater and pink-cheeked from orgasm. It warmed the hollow place in his chest, heart constricting with his fervent desire for that image to become a reality. 

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I actually think I will.” 

Cedric beamed, and it was such an unexpected reaction to see on the face of one lover about to be passed over for another that Dean couldn’t help shake his head in puzzlement.

“I don’t get it,” he admitted. “Why are you being so…cool about this?”

Cedric laughed, shaking his head once and drifting backward until he was against the far edge again. He extended his arms out, flicking his damp hair back off his face, looking supremely relaxed.

“I’m here to help restore the castle,” he said simply. “This feels like it counts.” 

When Dean just stared, Cedric laughed again. 

“You just gave me a no-strings handjob,” Cedric reminded him. “I’m not claiming to be a saint over here, Dean. You needed cheering up and trusted me to help you. As a Hufflepuff, you should know that me getting off over it was practically a guarantee.”

Dean barked a laugh, the sound echoing off the walls around them and reflecting itself in another beaming smile from the man across from him. 

“Of course,” he smiled. “Fucking Hufflepuffs. Sappy perverts, the lot of you.”

Cedric snorted. “Indeed. So go on, then. Be a fucking Gryffindor. Go get your man.” He raised a brow in challenge.

Yeah, Dean thought. I absolutely fucking will.