idea_of_sarcasm (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
idea_of_sarcasm) wrote2006-10-12 01:05 am
idea_of_sarcasm) wrote2006-10-12 01:05 am
Entry tags:
Look But Don't Touch *All Ages* Seamus/Hermione
Title: Look But Don’t Touch
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
idea_of_sarcasm
Rating: PG-13. Maybe
Pairing: Seamus/Hermione
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Harry Potter. I don’t write with caplocks enough to even pretend.
A/N: A ficlet forinell for being an amazing person. Sorry the smut bunny didn’t oblige, but I think it’s maybe that I’ve never written this pairing. Or even read anything in this pairing.
Of course the world could use more Seamus. Right now I’m picturing an Irish accented voice talking dirty to me…….sorry, back on track. On to the fic.
**********************************************
Look but don’t touch.
The mantra runs through her mind as she watches him laugh at one of Ron’s spectacularly tasteless jokes. He always laughs loudly, never bothering to temper his reaction. She envies that as much as she is mesmerized by it. There is no self-consciousness in him, despite his background and the fact he is far from movie star handsome.
It’s not a crime that she keeps sneaking glances at his smiling face. Nobody will notice if she laughs more at his McGonnagal impersonation than Ron’s joke. She’s sitting at a table in the common room with the boys of Gryffindor, she doubts they would notice a thing unless she reached across the table and snogged him.
That idea holds a certain element of appeal, but it’s more the stuff of the daydreams she entertains when she’s lying in bed at night.
If she only watches him, there will be no chance of rejection. If she doesn’t let him know how she feels, he can’t shoot her down. And if she keeps it entirely to herself there is no chance of hurting anybody else for no reason, because she doesn’t want to estrange Ron, not now. And it would be Harry too, by extension.
Not worth it even if she wants to. They will be leaving the following night when the professors have a staff meeting scheduled and supervision will be lax. None of the adults had been supportive of their plan to go hunting for the remaining horcruxes, so they would be doing it behind everyone’s back. The plan itself is dangerous enough, but rebelling against authority is the aspect that scars her most.
Seamus Finnigan will never grace the covers of magazines, muggle or wizard, but it’s never been about looks with her. At least not since that embarrassing month fawning over Gilderoy Lockhart. But he always holds the door for her in a way most boys don’t, and it makes her blush even though he does it for all the girls. Maybe for her, manners are an aphrodisiac; a rather depressing thought. But even if that’s the case, it’s not the only thing that makes her sneak glances his way during class; his mind, his sense of humour, his bravery, and the fact he’s not a pureblood. That, and the voice.
Definitely the voice.
She loves the lilt in his voice, the hint of Ireland. She loves the way that he says her name, even if he doesn’t do it often enough. She can almost hear it when she pictures his face at night.
“Oi, Hermione,” Ron’s voice snaps her out of her daze, “Earth to Hermione.”
For a moment she’s scared they’ve caught her this time when Seamus’ eyes linger on her after her eyes snap away from him, but their faces are only full of friendly amusement at having caught the normally attentive Hermione daydreaming.
“Sorry,” she blushes even as she apologizes, but they are already turning away, back to a discussion about the new broom models.
She’s about to go back to her pleasant past time of not touching Seamus when she finds he is already staring back at her. It unnerves her enough that she can’t decide where to look, so she picks a spot just as above his head and stares there, diligently not looking at his face. Even in her peripheral vision he looks so cute, if not slightly befuddled while he stares at her, unnerving her a little more.
This time the temptation is greater to reach across the table and pull him closer to her to they could kiss. She bets he’d be better at it than Viktor, who’d been rather rough and fumbling, even with her inexperienced view. She’s leaving tomorrow and won’t likely see him again, there’s no reason……
“I need to go, uh, to the library,” she shoots to her feet before she can do anything stupid and embarrass herself. She would launch into a longer explanation, but the group gives her only a cursory wave goodbye before ignoring her again.
She wanders away from the common room and out into the main hall, her mind and her hormones raging. She knows better, she’s always known better, but sometimes she has problems remembering. Boys are for looking, not for touching. She is not some femme fatale. Seamus is for looking, not for touching.
She’s still going through her rambled internal monologue when she feels a hand on her arm, and all thought and speech stop when she turns to find Seamus beside her.
“Guh?” Somehow that intelligible syllable was supposed to convey ‘Hello Seamus, how can I help you?’.
It makes her even more nervous when he doesn’t say anything, but then he’s leaning over and her mind goes blank just before he kisses her. She supposes she’s fortunate that her body can respond from some kind of ingrained instinct, even if her mind doesn’t understand she’s supposed to be enjoying this. Because if she were thinking straight, it would be rather nice. His lips are gentle but persistent, and when he slips her a little tongue it surprises her at first.
He’s definitely better at this whole business than Viktor ever was.
She almost moans in disappointment when he pulls back, but catches herself just in time. She would think she had just imagined the whole encounter, but his hand is still warm against her cheek, cradling her face. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.” His declaration makes her melt against him, and it’s even more from the sentiment than the accent.
“Fjkeroden,” she replies, which to her mind means ‘Me too, that was bloody amazing’.
And then she does the most out of character thing she could possibly imagine. She kisses him back, straining to her toes so she can press more fully against him, and lets her hand rest on his shoulders and fist in the softness of his jumper. She can even feel the brush of his thighs against hers, and she begins to understand exactly why McGonnagal teaches every fifth year girl the contraception charm
Normally she’d be worried that somebody would see them, but today she is throwing caution to the wind. In less than twenty-four hours she’s sneaking off to go risk life and limb without adult supervision. Somehow she thinks the professors might be a little more upset at that than witnessing some public displays of affection.
She even thinks she might let him slip his hand under her sweater if he tried. But of course he doesn’t, she wouldn’t like him this much if he were the type of bloke who would.
When she pulls back he looks a little stunned, and she’s glad for it. Maybe it will keep his mind off the other slags in the school while she’s off risking her life to save his (she thinks it sounds better that way). She’s not going to ask him to wait for her; two minutes ago she wasn’t even thinking they would ever be more than friends. But that doesn’t mean she won’t hex the breasts off any girl who tries to move in on him while she’s gone.
“Touching is definitely better than looking,” she tells him fervently, still not quite in her right mind - and from the look on his face her statement makes as much sense to him as the nonsense before.
Author:
idea_of_sarcasmRating: PG-13. Maybe
Pairing: Seamus/Hermione
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Harry Potter. I don’t write with caplocks enough to even pretend.
A/N: A ficlet for
inell for being an amazing person. Sorry the smut bunny didn’t oblige, but I think it’s maybe that I’ve never written this pairing. Or even read anything in this pairing. Of course the world could use more Seamus. Right now I’m picturing an Irish accented voice talking dirty to me…….sorry, back on track. On to the fic.
**********************************************
Look but don’t touch.
The mantra runs through her mind as she watches him laugh at one of Ron’s spectacularly tasteless jokes. He always laughs loudly, never bothering to temper his reaction. She envies that as much as she is mesmerized by it. There is no self-consciousness in him, despite his background and the fact he is far from movie star handsome.
It’s not a crime that she keeps sneaking glances at his smiling face. Nobody will notice if she laughs more at his McGonnagal impersonation than Ron’s joke. She’s sitting at a table in the common room with the boys of Gryffindor, she doubts they would notice a thing unless she reached across the table and snogged him.
That idea holds a certain element of appeal, but it’s more the stuff of the daydreams she entertains when she’s lying in bed at night.
If she only watches him, there will be no chance of rejection. If she doesn’t let him know how she feels, he can’t shoot her down. And if she keeps it entirely to herself there is no chance of hurting anybody else for no reason, because she doesn’t want to estrange Ron, not now. And it would be Harry too, by extension.
Not worth it even if she wants to. They will be leaving the following night when the professors have a staff meeting scheduled and supervision will be lax. None of the adults had been supportive of their plan to go hunting for the remaining horcruxes, so they would be doing it behind everyone’s back. The plan itself is dangerous enough, but rebelling against authority is the aspect that scars her most.
Seamus Finnigan will never grace the covers of magazines, muggle or wizard, but it’s never been about looks with her. At least not since that embarrassing month fawning over Gilderoy Lockhart. But he always holds the door for her in a way most boys don’t, and it makes her blush even though he does it for all the girls. Maybe for her, manners are an aphrodisiac; a rather depressing thought. But even if that’s the case, it’s not the only thing that makes her sneak glances his way during class; his mind, his sense of humour, his bravery, and the fact he’s not a pureblood. That, and the voice.
Definitely the voice.
She loves the lilt in his voice, the hint of Ireland. She loves the way that he says her name, even if he doesn’t do it often enough. She can almost hear it when she pictures his face at night.
“Oi, Hermione,” Ron’s voice snaps her out of her daze, “Earth to Hermione.”
For a moment she’s scared they’ve caught her this time when Seamus’ eyes linger on her after her eyes snap away from him, but their faces are only full of friendly amusement at having caught the normally attentive Hermione daydreaming.
“Sorry,” she blushes even as she apologizes, but they are already turning away, back to a discussion about the new broom models.
She’s about to go back to her pleasant past time of not touching Seamus when she finds he is already staring back at her. It unnerves her enough that she can’t decide where to look, so she picks a spot just as above his head and stares there, diligently not looking at his face. Even in her peripheral vision he looks so cute, if not slightly befuddled while he stares at her, unnerving her a little more.
This time the temptation is greater to reach across the table and pull him closer to her to they could kiss. She bets he’d be better at it than Viktor, who’d been rather rough and fumbling, even with her inexperienced view. She’s leaving tomorrow and won’t likely see him again, there’s no reason……
“I need to go, uh, to the library,” she shoots to her feet before she can do anything stupid and embarrass herself. She would launch into a longer explanation, but the group gives her only a cursory wave goodbye before ignoring her again.
She wanders away from the common room and out into the main hall, her mind and her hormones raging. She knows better, she’s always known better, but sometimes she has problems remembering. Boys are for looking, not for touching. She is not some femme fatale. Seamus is for looking, not for touching.
She’s still going through her rambled internal monologue when she feels a hand on her arm, and all thought and speech stop when she turns to find Seamus beside her.
“Guh?” Somehow that intelligible syllable was supposed to convey ‘Hello Seamus, how can I help you?’.
It makes her even more nervous when he doesn’t say anything, but then he’s leaning over and her mind goes blank just before he kisses her. She supposes she’s fortunate that her body can respond from some kind of ingrained instinct, even if her mind doesn’t understand she’s supposed to be enjoying this. Because if she were thinking straight, it would be rather nice. His lips are gentle but persistent, and when he slips her a little tongue it surprises her at first.
He’s definitely better at this whole business than Viktor ever was.
She almost moans in disappointment when he pulls back, but catches herself just in time. She would think she had just imagined the whole encounter, but his hand is still warm against her cheek, cradling her face. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.” His declaration makes her melt against him, and it’s even more from the sentiment than the accent.
“Fjkeroden,” she replies, which to her mind means ‘Me too, that was bloody amazing’.
And then she does the most out of character thing she could possibly imagine. She kisses him back, straining to her toes so she can press more fully against him, and lets her hand rest on his shoulders and fist in the softness of his jumper. She can even feel the brush of his thighs against hers, and she begins to understand exactly why McGonnagal teaches every fifth year girl the contraception charm
Normally she’d be worried that somebody would see them, but today she is throwing caution to the wind. In less than twenty-four hours she’s sneaking off to go risk life and limb without adult supervision. Somehow she thinks the professors might be a little more upset at that than witnessing some public displays of affection.
She even thinks she might let him slip his hand under her sweater if he tried. But of course he doesn’t, she wouldn’t like him this much if he were the type of bloke who would.
When she pulls back he looks a little stunned, and she’s glad for it. Maybe it will keep his mind off the other slags in the school while she’s off risking her life to save his (she thinks it sounds better that way). She’s not going to ask him to wait for her; two minutes ago she wasn’t even thinking they would ever be more than friends. But that doesn’t mean she won’t hex the breasts off any girl who tries to move in on him while she’s gone.
“Touching is definitely better than looking,” she tells him fervently, still not quite in her right mind - and from the look on his face her statement makes as much sense to him as the nonsense before.