heather11483 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
heathershaped) wrote2008-06-29 10:31 am
heathershaped) wrote2008-06-29 10:31 am
Entry tags:
Drabble: Just After (Dean/Seamus)
Title: Just After
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling.
Rating: PG13, I suppose, though smut is probably heavily implied
Warnings: None
Word Count: 494
Prompt: Microwaves
A/N: Forthe_rainbow_jen, from the drabble meme I posted a few weeks ago. Sorry this took forever! It seems my fic muse visits whenever it damn well pleases. *mutters at it* Also, my first go at Deamus. They're kind of fun. *g*
Summary: Seamus and Dean are hungry.
Seamus hitches up his trousers, not bothering to button them before he pads out of the tiny bedroom and into the kitchen that is, impossibly, even smaller. He scratches at his stomach and scrubs his hand over his head, glancing over his shoulder at Dean, who's close behind him, noting the slow, satisfied smile that must be mirrored on his own face.
"What've you got to eat, then?" They're always ravenous, just after.
Dean tilts his head as he leans back against the counter, squinting at the fridge as if he could see through the door. "I dunno ... something. I haven't been to the market in," he brings a hand across his chest to rub a kink out of his shoulder, "well."
Seamus smirks, rests an elbow on the counter. "Lazy sod."
"Bugger off, wanker; I just moved. I'm sure there's something in here." Dean walks the few paces it takes to get to his fridge, flushing as Seamus reaches out to pinch the curve of muscle at his hip.
"Aye; we'll just brush the fuzz off it and be good to go." Seamus chuckles and lets his gaze rove around the kitchen as Dean roots through the fridge. Bloody place is just as small as the old one, albeit closer to Dean's studio. Even with the work space he has just up the street, Dean's got his sitting room cluttered with stuff; always says he doesn't like being away from his tools, his work. It's not really a wonder he never buys food.
Seamus can imagine it, though. It'd be, for Dean, like leaving his hands at work, or some such. And Seamus quite likes Dean's hands.
When Dean surfaces, arms laden with meat and cheese not too far past the sell-by date, Seamus is resting an elbow on the counter, poking at the black box in front of him. "What's this, mate?"
Dean is rather more focused on Seamus' hair curling damply past the nape of his neck and the bead of sweat currently following the tapered line of his back. "Hmm? Oh, that's just my microwave. I'm sure I've told you about those at some point. You know -- cooks things fast. Budge up, mate," he murmurs, brushing against Seamus' arm as he sets the ingredients on the cramped counter. "Hell of a lot easier than the stove."
Not bothering to make room as Dean squeezes up next to him, Seamus flutters his eyelashes. "Goin' to cook me somethin' fast and hot, then?"
"No, you arse," Dean nudges against Seamus, hip to hip and arm to arm. "We're having sandwiches. C'mon, give me some room."
"And what if I like crowdin' you?" There's a faint bite mark on Dean's shoulder, and Seamus closes his mouth over it.
"Thought you were hungry?" Dean's next breath leaves him quickly when Seamus' teeth graze the spot (again). Seamus lifts his head and grins slowly, and it's all the answer Dean needs.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling.
Rating: PG13, I suppose, though smut is probably heavily implied
Warnings: None
Word Count: 494
Prompt: Microwaves
A/N: For
the_rainbow_jen, from the drabble meme I posted a few weeks ago. Sorry this took forever! It seems my fic muse visits whenever it damn well pleases. *mutters at it* Also, my first go at Deamus. They're kind of fun. *g*Summary: Seamus and Dean are hungry.
Seamus hitches up his trousers, not bothering to button them before he pads out of the tiny bedroom and into the kitchen that is, impossibly, even smaller. He scratches at his stomach and scrubs his hand over his head, glancing over his shoulder at Dean, who's close behind him, noting the slow, satisfied smile that must be mirrored on his own face.
"What've you got to eat, then?" They're always ravenous, just after.
Dean tilts his head as he leans back against the counter, squinting at the fridge as if he could see through the door. "I dunno ... something. I haven't been to the market in," he brings a hand across his chest to rub a kink out of his shoulder, "well."
Seamus smirks, rests an elbow on the counter. "Lazy sod."
"Bugger off, wanker; I just moved. I'm sure there's something in here." Dean walks the few paces it takes to get to his fridge, flushing as Seamus reaches out to pinch the curve of muscle at his hip.
"Aye; we'll just brush the fuzz off it and be good to go." Seamus chuckles and lets his gaze rove around the kitchen as Dean roots through the fridge. Bloody place is just as small as the old one, albeit closer to Dean's studio. Even with the work space he has just up the street, Dean's got his sitting room cluttered with stuff; always says he doesn't like being away from his tools, his work. It's not really a wonder he never buys food.
Seamus can imagine it, though. It'd be, for Dean, like leaving his hands at work, or some such. And Seamus quite likes Dean's hands.
When Dean surfaces, arms laden with meat and cheese not too far past the sell-by date, Seamus is resting an elbow on the counter, poking at the black box in front of him. "What's this, mate?"
Dean is rather more focused on Seamus' hair curling damply past the nape of his neck and the bead of sweat currently following the tapered line of his back. "Hmm? Oh, that's just my microwave. I'm sure I've told you about those at some point. You know -- cooks things fast. Budge up, mate," he murmurs, brushing against Seamus' arm as he sets the ingredients on the cramped counter. "Hell of a lot easier than the stove."
Not bothering to make room as Dean squeezes up next to him, Seamus flutters his eyelashes. "Goin' to cook me somethin' fast and hot, then?"
"No, you arse," Dean nudges against Seamus, hip to hip and arm to arm. "We're having sandwiches. C'mon, give me some room."
"And what if I like crowdin' you?" There's a faint bite mark on Dean's shoulder, and Seamus closes his mouth over it.
"Thought you were hungry?" Dean's next breath leaves him quickly when Seamus' teeth graze the spot (again). Seamus lifts his head and grins slowly, and it's all the answer Dean needs.