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“But we do this every time we hang out!” Seamus said from across the table, his foot knocking against Dean’s. “Something else has to happen to make this a date.”
“Let’s go home then,” Dean said, mildly amused but with a hint of something else that Seamus couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“Did you not hear me? We have to do something different.”
“Do you trust me?” Dean asked, leaning forward on his elbows, a plate of food half finished and forgotten.
“Yes,” Seamus replied easily, leaning forward too, as if Dean was about to let him in on a secret.
“Then come on,” his best friend (no, boyfriend, as of that morning) grabbed his hand, guiding him to stand up and beckoning him out of the cafe they had found.
Rain soaked them before they even had the chance to apparate. The moment they appeared in their flat with a pop, Dean cast a drying spell on them.
“So what about this is different?” Asked Seamus with a grin, walking away from Dean and flopping down on the couch.
Dean pretended to think about it, tapping his chin before gently taking a seat next to him. He reached out, taking Seamus’ cheek in his hand. He let a finger brush over a particularly dense cluster of freckles, right under his left eye.
“Okay…” he said. “That’s different.”
“Seamus,” Dean said.
Dean had said his name many times over the years. The first time, where he took his time to pronounce it, making sure he would get it right. In the Gryffindor dorms, whispered as they laid together under the duvet, talking the night away. Shouted from across the classroom, when they had been separated by their teacher for ‘talking too much’, but Dean just absolutely had to show him something, not caring if doing so got him into trouble.
Seamus had heard it sobbed, coming from Dean’s mouth sounding devastated as he asked if anyone had seen Seamus, because there were dead bodies piling up in the infirmary and he hadn’t found his best friend yet. He had heard it muttered in disbelief as he stumbled forward, grabbing onto the back of Dean’s shirt before he collapsed out of sheer exhaustion.
Seamus had heard Dean say his name so many times, but this one was different.
It made pixies dance in his stomach, made blood rush up to rouge his cheeks, the colour blossoming between his freckles. It made him want to lean forward and close the gap between them.
Dean got there first.
He said it again as he leaned in, and this time Seamus got to taste it on his lips.
Seamus wasn’t sure what kind of kisser he expected Dean to be, but either way he was surprised. While brief, the kiss was confident, the hand on Seamus’ cheek guiding his head to the side so that they slotted together perfectly. When Dean retreated it was only for a moment.
“Is that different enough for you?” He asked softly.
Seamus didn’t think he could form words so instead he lunged forward, pushing Dean down on the sofa and kissing him again, this time for as long as he damn well pleased. Dean was eager to comply, his hands roaming his body, devouring every morsel of Seamus he was giving him.
They moved slowly, savouring every part of it. They had all the time in the world. They knew one another so well now, but this was a new part of each other to explore, and Dean intended to be extremely thorough in his exploration indeed.