Revenge

Revenge

What possibly bothered Seamus the most was that Dean wouldn't look him in the eye. Not, he knew, because of any sort of disappointment or mental trauma garnered from the sight of a Slytherin in bed with him. No, it was because every damn time he caught Seamus' gaze, he burst out laughing.

Nott, slick bastard that he was, left Gryffindor amid the catcalls and Ron's angry spluttering with a wide, self-satisfied grin plastered on his face. And when the five boys finally made it down to the Great Hall for dinner - Hermione had eventually given in and doled out measured amounts of pain potions, as, when it came right down to it, she could be coaxed into doing nearly anything for Ron and Harry - Seamus was stewing in an angry, embarrassed snit.

The blond Slytherin kept sending him smug, knowing smirks across the hall, Neville was permanently red-faced, Harry was, unexpectedly, mildly amused by it all, Ron was visibly and vocally disgusted, and Dean, as previously mentioned, was close to hysterics.

"I'm going to get him for this," Seamus growled under his breath, shifting uncomfortably in his seat because, well, he was sore. Damn the fucker.

Dean snickered down at his plate, and echoed in a murmur, "Get him."

Seamus flicked a piece of corn at him. "Revenge," he clarified.

Harry smiled indulgently. "Revenge on a Slytherin? Bound to backfire, mate. Even if you manage it, you know, you're just inviting more trouble. Unless trouble's what you're looking for," he added, waggling his brows suggestively.

Dean stuffed a slice of bread in his mouth, muffling chuckles.

Seamus glared at them both. "He can't just get away with it."

"Get away with what? You're the one who let him shag you last night," Harry pointed out, and bread bits flew out of Dean's mouth as he failed to stifle a guffaw. "Two way street and all."

"I didn't let him do anything," Seamus protested in a hiss, throwing nervous glances around the table and hoping no one else had heard Harry. "I was blind, stinking drunk, and it's entirely his fault!"

"Don't recall him pouring whiskey down your throat. Or forcing you to declare you were going to marry Ogden," Harry said. "Or maybe you just wanted to marry the bottle. It was hard to tell."

Seamus scowled. "Shut up, Harry."

"And you really loved Dean," the dark-haired boy went on, causing Dean to shove an apple in his mouth and turn his head aside.

"You were too pissed to even move, Harry. Can't see how you remember last night at all," Seamus bit out.

"Could we stop talking about this?" Ron asked, expression sour.

"Also, if you're talking eye-for-an-eye revenge?" Harry continued idly, ignoring Ron. "I have a feeling Nott really wouldn't have a problem with that."

"I meant humiliation, Harry. Embarrassment. Not," he waved a hand, and Harry's smile widened, mock-innocent.

"Not what?"

Seamus narrowed his eyes at him. "I'm not going to say it in the Great Hall, you fuck."

"I vote for dropping this line of conversation completely," Ron said, clutching his fork and glaring steadfastly at Harry. "Who's with me? Neville?"

Dean gave up trying to stuff food in his mouth and leant onto the table with an elbow, fingers pressing into the bridge of his nose, laughter bubbling out of him in waves. A group of girls a couple seats down from him gave them all curious stares, and Harry's mouth twitched.

"Stop laughing, Dean," Seamus demanded.

"You've," he gasped between chuckles, "you've traumatized Ron. We've seen Nott naked. Oh gods, I'm dying." He slid down low in his seat, in serious danger of slipping off completely into a heap of harsh giggles.

They had seen the bloke naked, of course, since apparently Nott had little to no modesty and refused to get dressed under the cover of Seamus' blankets. Embarrassing the Slytherin would probably take more than a little bit of extra effort, really.

Harry's shoulders started to shake, and he bit his lip, eyes dancing.

"Um," Neville started hesitantly, "what about the game?"

"What about it, Nev?" Fed up with Dean and Harry, Seamus was close to stalking out of the hall in a huff. The only thing stopping him was the thought of Nott's laughter, and the knowing sneers that would follow him for days. Fucking bastard.

"The game on Wednesday. It's um... well... everyone'll be there, won't they?" Neville's fingers twisted together in front of his plate, and he gave Seamus a small grin.

"Every..." Seamus trailed off, looking dazedly over at the other boy. "Everyone'll be there. Fuck, Nev, you're brilliant!"

"See, I don't think this is such a smart idea," Harry protested mildly.

"It's perfect." The venue, the crowds, the enormous potential for school-wide mortification.

"When you broke his nose," Harry said, "Goyle practically snapped your back with his club. I really can't see how anything on the pitch would end up in your favor."

"He's right," Dean wheezed, swiping a hand under his nose and then dabbing his eyes with the edge of his robe sleeve. "You'd have to make it so that, whatever you did, he wouldn't know it was you. Right?"

Seamus beamed at him, suddenly in a much cheerier mood. "Right."

"And there's no way in hell you could pull that off, Seamus. Sorry."

***

Seamus skulked off to the library directly after dinner to hone his plan for sweet, sweet retribution, sending Nott what he thought was a suitably wicked, up-to-no-good grin from across the hall.

Dean and Harry were completely wrong. Well, all right, maybe not completely. When he sat down to think about it, pulling out his parchment and ink, really getting down to the nitty-gritty details, he realized there were definite faults to his logic.

For one, he'd conveniently forgotten in his excitement that he really wasn't very good at revenge. Reaping vengeance. Making others pay for their evil-doings. Mainly, others were making Seamus pay for his evil-doings, since Dean had been spot on about his inconspicuousness. Not only was he a horrendous liar with an expressive, easily read face, he had the bad habit of bragging about his exploits. With flare.

There was absolutely nothing sneaky or stealthy about Seamus. He preferred to think of himself as refreshing, but mostly his dorm mates thought he was a loud-mouth with little to no sense of personal space. So he liked to cuddle. Or hover. Annoy the crap out of people. Whatever. So what?

"You realize, Irish, that nothing good can come of that."

Seamus clapped his hands over the paper sitting in front of him and tilted his head back to look up at the Slytherin. "What?"

Nott carded his fingers through Seamus' hair, gripping the ends tightly before bending down to swipe his tongue along his jaw.

"Stop that," Seamus rasped, pushing Nott's face away and shaking his head out of his grasp.

The blond Slytherin smirked down at him, nodding to the now revealed wording at the top of Seamus' parchment, Master Plan of Revenge for Limey Slytherin Bastard, Theodore Nott. "Longish title there, Finnigan," he mocked.

"I'm Irish. We're longwinded." He meant to grumble, of course, but it turned out a little too good-natured, poking fun at himself with a decided lack of sarcasm.

Nott pulled out the chair next to him and dropped gracefully into it, giving Seamus a long, slow assessing look. "And how are we this evening?" he asked finally.

Seamus narrowed his eyes. "Fine."

"Really?" Nott drawled, smoothing his palm along the Gryffindor's thigh.

"I'm not drunk now, Nott," Seamus pointed out completely ineffectually, as he hadn't made a move to remove Nott's hand. And he really didn't think he wanted to. Seamus wasn't stupid.

"And we're in the library." Nott nodded slowly, fingers walking the fabric of Seamus' robe until the seam opened and they could slip inside.

"Right," Seamus squeaked, then cleared his throat and said again, "right."

The other problem with his plan of revenge, of course, was that Seamus had a notoriously short attention span. The bulk of Gryffindor knew not to give him sweets after ten in the morning, and caffeine of any sort was never a good idea. He was easily distracted, his mind making leaps and bounds, and his thoughts derailed so often that occasionally he wouldn't make any sense at all.

So Nott managed to nip his revenge plot in the bud with the mere swipe of his fingers over Seamus' groin. Fuck.

"I'm not allowed sugar," Seamus breathed, hands curling around the edge of the table. He was vaguely aware that the comment hadn't made much sense out of context, but Nott gamely leaned closer.

"Sure you are, Irish," he said in a hush, palm pressing against him firmly for far too short a time before easing back, Seamus' hips blindly trying to follow.

"I." Seamus licked his lips, turning his head to look into Nott's pale eyes. "Revenge?" he asked lamely.

Nott chuckled. "Not just now, eh? Right now," he went on softly, fingers unerringly finding the zip of his trousers, easing it down along the Gryffindor's hard length. "Now we're going to do this. All right, Irish?"

The last query was a growl, and really didn't call for an answer. Which was fortunate, given that Seamus couldn't formulate many words past "fuck" and "don't" and "sweet Merlin" as Nott's deft fingers curled around his cock. Seamus' mouth fell open, his body clearly remembering intensely what his mind had left fuzzy.

"You know what I like about you?" Nott asked breathily. He squeezed his hand and Seamus jumped, a strangled cry bursting softly from his lips, Nott's grip on him warm and firm, the clenching driving him mad, the strokes not nearly enough. "Shhhh," the Slytherin urged, bending over to lick at his lips, a half-satisfied, half-hungry look on his face. "What I like about you," he continued, "is we're in the library, and you don't fucking care, do you, puppy?"

Seamus shook his head emphatically, because fuck he didn't care, his hips rolling against the large hand, a small keening sound threading thinly out of his throat. If anyone stumbled on them, there was no way in hell they'd not know exactly what was going on.

"I could slip down between your knees," Nott rasped, voice a low threat. "Slide my mouth along your stomach. Lick at you until your balls tighten and you're begging. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Finnigan?"

Well, duh.

"Are you going to promise?"

Really, Nott had to stop asking questions while wanking him. It broke his concentration. "What?" he panted, then whined when all the movement stopped.

"No revenge," he whispered against his cheek. "No revenge or you don't get this." He jerked his hand, and Seamus' eyes nearly rolled back into his head. "Promise?"

"Fuck, yes," Seamus burst out. "Promise." At that point, he'd have given over his first born. Although with his current predilections, progeny really didn't seem likely. And then he opened his eyes, and Nott's mouth was right there, wide and red, and the Slytherin's gaze was intent on his hand, on Seamus' dick, and hot liquid curled low in his belly, tightening and then releasing in a spangle of stars.

***

"So," Dean said as he sat down beside Seamus at breakfast, "thought up your grand revenge scheme yet?"

Mouthful of eggs, Seamus shook his head. He grinned around the rim of his juice glass, taking a big gulp, and Dean ducked his head and eyed him suspiciously.

"Why not?"

Seamus shrugged. "No reason." No reason that he'd willingly disclose, at least. Well... who was he kidding? He leant in close and whispered, "If I play my cards right, I'm pretty sure I can have Nott all to myself."

Dean's brows rose. "Change of plans, then?"

"You could say that." Seamus shoveled in another forkful of eggs, mind idly outlining a completely different plan of attack. He was better at romance than revenge, anyway.