Dec 11 | for @GoldenTruth813

“Okay, okay, who’s next?” said Ron, still laughing at the last sketch.

“Do Seamus,” Luna said, and everyone kind of stopped laughing, their chuckles trailing off into a tense quiet as their eyes zeroed in on Seamus’s blushing face like he was a bloody Snitch.

“Naw,” Seamus said, laughing. “I’m not sure I want to know what Dean’s artistic eye sees on my face.”

Harry snorted, snuggled in closer to Malfoy—who Seamus still couldn’t get used to seeing around at their weekly pub nights—and said, “C’mon, Shay. You afraid of all the freckles?”

“I don’t have that many freckles,” Seamus insisted. He took a long pull from his Guinness, added slyly, “Not nearly as many as Ron’s brother Charlie does on his bum, anyway.”

“Seamus!” Ron said, aghast. “Unnecessary information!”

“I agree,” Dean said, quietly. Seamus caught his eye, his facing heating even further. “No one wants to know about Charlie Weasley’s sex life.”

But what about my sex life? Seamus wondered. 

Dean was only three months out of his breakup with Mandy Brocklehurst—Greg’s cousin, apparently; he’d set them up earlier in the year and Seamus had never expected it to last as long as it had (which was four months)—but there were times…had always been times, really…when Seamus had thought maybe…

“I think you’d have a lovely caricature, Seamus,” Parvati said. “You’ve got such nice bone structure. 

Lavender nodded, “Yeah, such a nice, strong jawline!”

“Let’s see what Dean thinks of his jawline!” Ginny said. “Go on, Dean, do Seamus.”

Seamus choked, barely kept himself from asphyxiating. Dean’s eyes flickered to his throat from across the table, his gaze that same calm, thoughtful look he usually wore, even when he was up to his gills in drink. He grabbed a handful of nuts and started popping them into his mouth, super casually, to cover up his nervousness.

Meanwhile, Dean continued to stare at Seamus with that intense gaze while his long fingers flew across his sketchbook, pressing charcoal into the paper. Ginny and Lavender tried to peak over, but Dean drew the sketchbook to his chest and glared at them until they sat back, laughing.

Seamus took another drink of his Guinness. This one seemed to be taking a lot longer than the other caricatures Dean had done tonight. Everyone’s eyes were flicking back and forth between him and Dean and it made all the strange, tamped-down feelings Seamus had felt since fifth year wobble to the surface of his mind. He wanted—

“Need to start over,” Dean muttered, and quickly flipped to the next page, hiding the original drawing from their group. Everyone groaned. “Shut up,” Dean said, pleasantly, as he started in on the next one.

“So, er, Lav,” Seamus said, desperate to get the attention off him. “How’s your apprenticeship with Madam Malkin going?”

“Brilliant!” Lavender said, and struck a pose so they could better see the gold-embroidered sleeves and neckline of her fashionable pink robes. “I made this frock last week! It was my first solo project and Madam Malkin gave me full marks!”

“Wow, Lav,” said Hermione. “That’s really good. I wish I could sew.”

“Oh, I could teach you!” Lavender exclaimed. “I’ve never got to teach anyone anything!”

“Ah, great!” said Hermione. 

“Dud can sew,” Greg added in is slow, deep voice. “You know that?”

“Greg!” Dudley hissed, his face pinkening. Seamus smirked, glad he wasn’t the only one now. “My mum made me learn during that year we were, er, in a safe house,” Dudley added to the group, his face flaming. 

“He made our curtains,” Greg added. 

“Those curtains!” Malfoy exclaimed. “The ones I thought were from the Louis XIV era? You told me you’d found them in the attic at your mother’s house!”

Greg shrugged, amused.

“It’s finished,” Dean said, and everyone’s attention immediately switched to him and the sketchbook. 

Dean flipped it around so they could all see it. They all burst out laughing. The Seamus in the picture was covered in freckles (but not too many), with an overly firm jaw, and an exaggerated cowlick, but the part that really made Seamus’s insides shiver was how accurate his eyebrows were. Caricature-Seamus was wearing that coy, devious expression he was usually caught wearing in photographs, as he licked an over-large candy cane.

“It’s him!” Harry crowed. “Looks just like that face he makes when he’s up to something!”

“Which is always,” Ginny said, cackling.

“Actually, only about sixty-percent of the time,” Luna objected.

“Guys!” Seamus said, his face flaming again. “I don’t even like peppermint.”

“You like licking things, though, I heard,” Ron said, smug.

“Ron!” Ginny exclaimed. “That’s our brother he licked! We don’t want to know, remember?”

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” Ron said, grimacing. “Forget I said anything. Wish I could forget I said anything.”

The conversation moved back to Lavender’s apprenticeship and her and Hermione’s work on Werewolf Rights. Dean went quietly back to his sketchbook, ignoring everyone else. Seamus fiddled with his Guinness, though there wasn’t much more than dregs left. 

“Lemme out, ya wankers,” Seamus said to Harry and Malfoy. Then, to the table, “Anyone for another?”

There were a chorus of ‘Me’s!’ and instructions on what to get and Seamus waved ‘em all off because he was just going to tell Hannah to give everyone what they ordered last time. He was far too tipsy at this point to remember twelve different bar orders.

Seamus got to the bar and gave Hannah the order. She went off pour all the drinks and Seamus leant against the bar while he waited.

“Shay.”

Seamus froze, turned around. Dean was standing right there, far closer than was necessary, but not at all unwelcome. “Hey, Dean. You want something different?”

Dean cracked a smile, like that had been a joke. “I want something, yeah. Don’t know if it’s any different from what I’ve always wanted, though.” 

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, pressed it into Seamus’s hands. “This was the first version.”

Seamus frowned at him, took the paper. He unfolded it carefully, not wanting to smudge any of the charcoal. It took a moment for him to realize what he was seeing because—because surely not!—but then his face went hot and he pressed the drawing to his chest to hide it. 

“Dean!” Seamus whispered. 

Dean just looked at him, head cocked to the side just a bit. Waiting.

Slowly, looking around to make sure no one else was paying attention, Seamus pulled the paper out to look again. In this caricature, Seamus was nearly the same as the other. Same freckles, same eyebrows, same cheeky look. But he wasn’t licking a candy cane here. 

He was licking a cock. And it didn’t take much to see it was Dean’s cock. Dean’s cock that was dripping exaggerated pre-come all over Seamus’s fingers, his thigh muscles tensing. And then there was Dean’s mouth, stretched wide over Seamus’s freckled dick, both of ‘em looking like they were about to lose it.

“I’ve never done sixty-nine,” Seamus said, stupidly.

Dean cracked a smile. Stepped closer. “Want to?”

“Yeah,” Seamus said breathlessly. “Fuck these wankers. They can get their own drinks.”

Dean’s hand came up and squeezed Seamus’s waist and Seamus was sure he’d entered a fairy circle and the wee folk were taking him through to the Otherworld. 

“Come back to mine,” Dean said.

Seamus nodded mutely. “Anywhere, yeah.”

Dean grinned at him, his hand sliding down to grab hold of Seamus’s hand, and they sneaked out of the pub into the snow flurries and the cold air, Seamus still clutching the drawing in his hand like a lifeline. 

Seamus didn’t mind the cold. With Dean, he felt warm and safe and he was pretty sure this was what he should have been doing all along. But if there was one thing Seamus knew, it was that it was never too late to fix something, as long as you were still breathin’.