Au Naturál

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i

Dean is surprised when Seamus asks him to draw him. He wants to tell Seamus that he has sketchbooks full of him, but he bites his tongue and asks only, 'Why?'

Seamus just grins and Dean tells himself he doesn't mean for it to be coy. He finds himself agreeing even as Seamus says 'Au naturál' and Dean is too shocked to take it back. Doesn't want to; there is no picture like that gracing the pages of his sketchbooks.

Dean blinks at Seamus' retreating back, cheeks purpled with blush as he calls out, 'When?'

Seamus just smirks over his shoulder.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ii

Dean spends the day half hard and trying not to look at Seamus.

Seamus, who sits next to him in every class, who's knee brushes repeatedly against his during meals. Seamus, who can't possibly know what he's done to Dean.

Only Dean thinks he must know, because he looks far smugger than usual and he keeps touching him.

A hand on his shoulder during Potions, leaning in close to breathe his boredom during History of Magic, standing close enough in Herbology that his shoulder brushes against Dean's side whenever he reaches for Kallorie seeds.

Dean's sure he's going to explode.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

iii

Harry is at Quidditch practice, Neville is studying Potions with Hermione and Ron is systematically defeating any challengers at Wizarding Chess.

Dean is trying to write his Transfiguration essay and Seamus is fidgeting, leg jiggling against Dean's, and biting his lip softly, slyly.

The dorm is empty.

Seamus stands, stretching, and Dean can't help following the movement with his eyes, can't help wanting.

Seamus looks at him, catches Dean looking, and smirks. 'Now.'

He doesn't wait for a response, just turns and walks - saunters - up the stairs to the dormitory, once again leaving Dean blinking, bewildered and aroused behind him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

iv

Dean's feet feel weighted with lead, throat dry as he takes the stairs slowly.

His heartbeat is pounding in his ears and he's afraid to open the door to the dorm, unsure of what he'll find within.

Taking a deep breath he pushes it open, holding it he steps into the room, eyes downcast. He walks to the foot of his bed, opening his trunk and pulling out his sketchbook and charcoals.

It's Seamus' voice, low and sultry and teasing, saying, 'How do you plan on drawing me if you won't look at me?' that finally makes him look up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

v

Seamus is lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, his other arm draped along his side as if it is decoration.

He's wearing that same coy smile, an air of confidence and nothing else.

Seamus is naked.

Dean swallows, tells himself not to look there and feels himself blush hotter watching Seamus' smile grow wicked.

Sitting on his bed, Dean props his sketchbook open on his lap and just looks at Seamus. Takes in the messy hair and pale, lightly freckled skin. The excited light in his eyes and growing arousal.

Ducking his head, Dean begins to draw.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

vi

Dean's surprised that his hands aren't trembling and by the time he's halfway through the sketch he's so hard he can barely breathe.

Beautiful is the only word he can wrap his brain around and he clings to it. It becomes his mantra and he doesn't realize heÕs said it aloud until Seamus' voice stops him.

It's soft and, for the first time, unsure, 'Do you really think I'm beautiful?'

Dean's hands fumble, heart thudding slow and thick in his chest.

He looks up from the page to Seamus' mouth, lower lip worried between blunt, white teeth.

Shifts his gaze to Seamus'.

On a breath he'd been holding unaware, 'Yes.'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

vii

Dean has never known fear like the fear that grips him in the heartbeat between his answer and Seamus' smile.

'Good,' Seamus murmurs and Dean feels sick.

It may as well have been a declaration of love as far as Dean is concerned, but Seamus seems to take it as little more than a boost to his already over-inflated ego.

He goes back to his drawing and doesn't see Seamus' face fall.

Dean wishes that he'd lied or, better yet, that he didn't find Seamus attractive. Wishes, secretly, that Seamus thought Dean was too.

Without looking up, 'It's finished, Seamus.'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

viii

Seamus comes to sit by Dean without dressing. Soft, 'Can I see it?'

Dean swallows and nods, passing him the sketchbook. He's afraid of looking at Seamus' face, afraid to watch his reaction and stares at his hands instead.

'Oh,' Seamus murmurs, 'It's great. Really, it's beautiful,' wanting to trace the lines with his fingers but afraid of smearing the lines.

Shuffling closer, 'Dean?'

Strained, 'Yeah?'

'Why won't you look at me?'

Seamus' voice is too close for Dean to handle and he shifts back, shrugging, 'I look at you all the time Seamus,' Lower, hurt, 'You just never notice.'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ix

Seamus sucks in an audible breath, 'Why won't you look at me now?'

Dean sighs, forces himself to look at Seamus and raises an eyebrow. His face is open, honest and Dean's heart starts thudding in his chest again.

Seamus scoots closer until their thighs are almost seamed together. Dean can feel the heat coming off him, blinking in surprise as Seamus places a hand on his thigh.

Dean had thought Seamus was too close before, but now he's leaning in and he's way too close, whispering, 'I noticed.'

And then Seamus is kissing Dean, slow and soft and earnest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

x

It's wetter and clumsier than Dean had imagined it would be and much, much better.

Someone's making a low, pleased sound in the back of their throat and it takes Dean a moment to realize it's him as he threads his fingers through Seamus' hair, tugging lightly.

Seamus tastes sweet, like hope and his mother's famed apple turnovers. Dean thinks he tastes better than chocolate and tells him so, earning him a bashful laugh and a faint blush.

'Been wanting to do that for a while,' Seamus murmurs, pulling back.

Dean smiles, tugging his hair before moving back himself, 'Good.'

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