In Line

Neville pulled back the hangings on his bed, his face flushed and his eyes bright. "Guys! Guess what?!"

Dean lifted his gaze from the Potions homework over which he and Seamus were currently bent to take in Neville's red cheeks and bare upper-half. "Oi, Longbottom, put some clothes on! Damn near blinded me."

At that, Harry and Ron stopped mid-discussion and turned towards Neville's bed. Ron shook his head. "Seriously, Nev, that's way more nipple than I need to see."

"Sorry. No, listen!" Neville said, yanking the hangings around himself. "I did it!"

"Did what?" Seamus set down his quill.

"I did it! I got it past my shoulder!"

Harry and Ron exchanged a bewildered glance, but Seamus cottoned on right away. "Longbottom! You filthy rotten wanker! I thought you were fucking ill and having a fucking kip! And you did not."

"I did! I've been trying! I just did it!"

A chorus of disgust went up, and Ron pitched his quill across the room. It bounced off Neville's shoulder and thumped onto the carpet. "That's right foul."

"And it's a lie, anyhow," Seamus snorted.

"I'm not lying! Come have a look! I hit the headboard!"

More groaning. Harry shook his head, staring into his own lap.

Dean crumpled his parchment into a tight ball and tossed it, but it missed and caught in Neville's bed curtains. "You think anyone wants to have a look at your spunk, you fucking dirty bastard?"

Seamus dumped his quill and book off his lap and hopped to his feet. "I'll have a look. Show me, then."

Ron balked. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Finnigan? You don't go sticking your nose in another man's spunk, you fucking poof."

"He's bluffing! There's nothing there! I guaran-fucking-tee it, Weasley." Seamus strode over to Neville's bed and yanked back the hangings. Immediately, he shoved them closed and backed away. "Jaysus H. Christ Almighty, Longbottom! Could you button your fucking trousers?"

"Well I didn't think you were going to…"

Seamus covered his eyes with one hand and waved the other in brisk, dismissive gesture. "Just put it away and zip!"

"What the fuck were you doing wanking, anyway? Have some fucking respect! You've got roommates, man!" Dean threw another bit of crumpled parchment, and it bounced off the hangings and fell to the floor.

Neville's muffled voice came from behind them. "I Silenced it, didn't I? And I lost my Transfiguration notes, and my shoe kept growing teeth and trying to bite me… so I gave up."

"Oh, and you thought you'd just pull one off instead, then, in the middle of the day, did you? Couldn't think of anything else to do? You need a fucking hobby."

Harry grinned. "That is his hobby. Innit it, Nev? Can't turn a shoe into a clock, but your bloody Silencing charm's a real gem. Seamus! I've got two Galleons that say he's telling the truth."

"You're on then, mate!" Seamus leaned across the room and shook Harry's hand just as Neville emerged again from behind his hangings.

"Only two?" Neville asked. "I could've made you a rich man, Harry!"

Ron shifted his gaze between Seamus, Harry, and Neville. "I've got three, then," he said, reaching out a hand.

Seamus laughed. "Oh, like fuck you do, Weasley. Show me first!"

Ron scowled. "What's it matter? You're going to lose, anyway. Neville's the fucking Gryffindor Wank Champion, yeah? If he can't deliver, then…"

Harry shrugged. "I've got him covered if we lose."

Seamus turned towards Dean, who was leaning back against his bed watching the proceedings and looking amused. "You want in on this, mate?"

Dean put his hands up in a defensive gesture. "I just ordered a bloody year's worth of Skiving Snackboxes. Piss-poor, I am. And you won't catch me betting against Captain Wanker, anyhow."

"Suit yourself, then." Seamus looked back at Neville. "All right, Longbottom. Let’s see it."

Neville pulled his hangings back all the way and scooted up onto his knees on the mattress. He pointed proudly towards the headboard. "I told you, Seamus!"

Seamus peered cautiously in the direction of Neville's finger. "I see nothing, Longbottom."

"It's there! Look! It's just… dripped down a bit."

Disgusted noises rose up from every direction, and Ron snatched up Harry's quill this time and threw it across the room. Neville ducked. "It's not my fault you waited too long!"

Seamus leaned down so his knees pressed against the edge of the mattress. "Oh, terrific, you fucking piglet. You've got it on your pillow, anyway. Good aim. That's nice. Lay your head down in a puddle o'nut custard."

"It's right there!" Neville leaned in closer and jabbed his finger at a spot a few centimetres above the corner of the pillowcase.

Seamus leaned forward even more to examine the evidence. "All right," he hollered over his shoulder. "I've got something. But… I'm sorry, Good Sirs, I can't verify that that is, in fact, semen."

"What the bloody hell else would it be?" demanded Ron. "You've just said he's got it on his pillow!"

"Aye. Positive identification there. White? Check. Nasty? Check. Wet? Check. Looks like drool or some shite on the headboard, though. Sorry 'bout that. Fork it over, mates." Seamus held out an empty palm.

"Not so fast," Harry said. "Who drools on their headboard?"

"Who splooges on their headboard?" Seamus countered.

"Me!" Neville insisted. "Finally! Do you have any idea how long I've been trying for that?"

"I'm not even going to ask you why you've set your goals up that way, Longbottom, but that," Seamus said, pointing emphatically at the spot, "is questionable come at best. And besides!" he continued over grumbling from Harry and Ron, "even if it is, how do we know you didn't just sit back on your bloody knees and wank it onto the headboard?"

"Because it's on my pillow, too! And look at it! If I wanked onto the headboard, there'd be more of it, wouldn't there? And why would I lie, anyway?"

"Seriously, Finnigan. Who makes that shite up?" Ron scoffed.

"The same fucking wanker who polishes his fucking broomstick with his mates in the room, maybe? Just trying to keep you honest, boys," Seamus said, shaking his head.

"We need an impartial judge," Harry decided, nodding his head firmly. "Oi, Dean! Get over here!"

"Oh, no. No fucking way, Potter. I am not the Jizz Judge. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not in your fucking lifetime."

"Well, you're certainly qualified," Seamus said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and laughing.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean growled back.

"You ought to get yourself some Charms lessons from Longbottom; that's all I'm saying."

"That was once, you fucking arsehole! Sod off!"

Harry, Ron, Neville, and Seamus all sniggered, and Dean narrowed his eyes, refusing to meet their stares.

"Oh, God, Padma! Oh, fuck! Just like that!" Seamus intoned, his voice rising into a falsetto.

"Fuck you!" Dean leapt to his feet and came flying across the room, his Potions book raised menacingly over his head.

Seamus leapt sideways and collapsed into a heap on the floor, shaking with hilarity. "Ohhhhh, Padma!" he moaned, holding his stomach and curling into a ball as Dean leaned down and smacked him over the head with the book. Seamus grabbed onto the book and yanked, and Dean lost his footing and tumbled down, landing squarely on Seamus's bony hip.

"Well, since you're over here," Seamus snickered, punching Dean in the arm.

Dean backhanded Seamus across the shoulder and pulled himself to his feet, panting and shaking his head, trying not to laugh. "Fine! Fine! Just shut your fucking holes, all of you!" Rolling his eyes at Neville, he said, "Well? Let's have a look, then, shall we, you fucking wanker?"

"There!" Neville gasped, still chuckling wildly, and pointed at the headboard.

Dean took a perfunctory look and declared it, "Come. That's fucking come. There. Happy? You jizzed on your bloody headboard Longbottom, well done."

"You didn't even look!" Seamus hollered, heaving himself off of the floor.

"It's come, Seamus, for Christ's sake! Tell me you don't know what fucking come looks like! Or have you not hit puberty yet, you skinny little twat? Give up your Galleons and give it a fucking rest!"

"Fine! It's come then. But how do you know he didn't just wank onto the headboard?"

"I don't! I wasn't fucking watching, was I? For all I know, it's not even his. For all I know, he's got fucking Malfoy hiding under his sheets wanking his tiny pecker raw!"

"Nice, Thomas. Real nice. Now Harry's going to be having his bloody nightmares again," Ron sniggered as Harry swatted him in the arm.

"You lost, mate," Harry said and stuck out his hand. "Five Galleons."

"I maintain that the method by which the semen met the headboard cannot be verified."

Harry rolled his eyes. "What is this, the bloody Wizengamot?"

"I was lying on my back wanking!" Neville insisted. "Who wanks onto their bloody headboard, anyway?"

"Scammers, that's who!"

"I wasn't trying to scam anybody! The bet didn't come up 'til after! For Merlin's sake, Seamus, I was just playing with myself!"

At that, Ron collapsed back onto the bed, roaring with laughter, and Harry joined him, tears springing to his eyes. Dean had settled back onto the floor, and he buried his face in his hands. "You heard the man, Finnigan," he said. "He was just playing with himself. Fair enough."

Even Seamus was biting back a laugh by this point. "Fine! Let's settle it, then. Winner take all."

Gasping for breath, Ron sat up. "What are you bloody talking about?"

"A wank-off, that's what."

"You are a wank-off," Dean muttered.

Seamus leaned down and pitched the book at him, missing by a couple of centimetres. "Me and Neville. Good old fashioned competition, mates. Winner gets the Galleons."

"How did I get involved in this?!" Neville said. "I didn't bet a bloody thing! I haven't got any Galleons, anyway!"

"You're wanking for Harry and Ron," Seamus said.

Ron snorted. "Think I'll take a pass on that one."

"Me, too, mate," Harry laughed. "Think I'd rather write forty inches for Snape than get in the line of fire there. He's right dangerous with that thing. You saw for yourself."

"Well, I can do better," Seamus said and shrugged.

"Oh, like fuck you can, you arrogant little prick," Dean laughed.

"I can! That's what I'm saying! Me and Nev. Right here, right now. He wins, Harry and Ron get their Galleons. I win, I do."

"And what, exactly, determines the winner?" Ron asked, his interest piqued.

"Easy, mate. Who shoots it the farthest."

Harry burst into renewed peals of laughter. "Brilliant. Who gets to judge that one?"

"The ruler, that's who," Seamus said, bending to fish one out from behind his bedside table.

"For measuring your dick, is it? Seeing if it's grown?" Dean smirked.

"No. Too short," Seamus grinned. "Need a fuckin' yardstick for that one."

Dean raised his eyebrows, artfully ignoring Seamus's comment. "Don't think this is exactly a fair sort-out. Neville's just had a go, hasn't he? Can't be expected to be on top of his game."

"No, I'm good to go!" Neville said suddenly. "I can do it again!"

"Fucking nutter, you are," Ron said. "I'm not trusting you with my Galleons two minutes after you blew your wad. That's mad."

"Fine, then you do it, too," Seamus said.

"Sorry?" Ron looked at him as though he'd lost his mind.

"You, too, then. If you think you can do better."

"Considering I didn't just wank myself senseless, I could definitely do better."

"Then have at it! You and Neville, and I'll still beat your arses!"

"Fine, then, you loopy fuck. You're on!" Ron stuck out his hand, and Seamus shook it a bit harder than was really necessary.

Seamus grinned. "I'll take Harry, too, while I'm at it! How 'bout it, Potter? You trust Weasley and Longbottom with the family fortune?"

Harry laughed. "If you can't trust Neville to wank properly, who can you trust?"

Ron elbowed Harry in the ribs. "But he's just wanked. He's bound to be a bit off, yeah?"

"You're not up to the job?" Harry asked facetiously.

"We're talking Galleons here, mate," Ron said, his face going grave. "Better odds if you play along, don't you think? I mean, it can't exactly hurt."

"It can if you do it wrong," Dean chimed in from the floor.

"That happen to you often, Thomas?" Ron asked. A third ball of parchment came zooming towards Ron's head, and Ron nearly fell into Harry's lap trying to avoid it.

Harry shoved him back up. "All right, then," he said. "Count me in."

Seamus shook Harry's hand vigorously. "Good man, Potter. Good man. Too bad you're going to be the Boy Who Paid Up after this one, though."

Harry laughed. "I've got two of the best wankers I know on my side. I'm not worried."

Dean's voice came up from the floor again. "You should be. Seamus stayed with me last summer. That fucker wanks like it's his job."

"Only 'cause your mam's such a lash, though! I'm telling ya, boss, she had me chubbed up all fuckin' month!" Seamus ducked down to safety next to Neville's bed in a fit of laughter, and Dean's hex slammed into the foot of it, causing a corner of the bedframe to crash to the floor. Neville pitched forward and had to scramble for the bedpost to keep from falling.

"Enough of the horseshite," Seamus said, poking his head cautiously up over the mattress. "We’ve got business, gentlemen."

"Right," said Ron. "Thomas, you oughta join up with us after that one. Defend your mum's honor and all that."

Dean looked incredulous. "You've never met my mum, have you Weasley? She'd whack his silly pecker off in half a second. And she's a Muggle."

"Oh, she'd whack my pecker off all right," Seamus snorted, dodging a second hex that cracked the post where Neville's hand had been a few seconds earlier.

"Knock it off!" Neville yelled. "You're gonna get me in the bollocks, and then we're one-third down!"

"No matter," Seamus said, reaching for his fly. "It's a lost cause anyway, mates."

"What the fuck are you doing?" Ron demanded, as Seamus pulled his zip down.

"Gettin' down to business! I want my Galleons!"

"Right… here?!" Ron spluttered.

"Well, how else are we going to make sure it's fair?"

"So, you're just going to wank. Right here. In front of all of us."

"Not all of us," Dean muttered, standing up. "I'm going to the fuckin' library. You nutty poofs have fun."

"You're not going anywhere, mate," Seamus said. "We need the Jizz Judge."

"Fulfilled my duties there for the day," Dean said. "One look at Longbottom's drippy spunk was enough for me. I know you're all gone in the head, but you can't tell me you can't work a fucking ruler for yourselves."

"Someone's got to keep us in line," Seamus said archly. His voice stopped Dean in his tracks.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

Seamus pulled his wand from his belt loop and aimed it at the floor. He drew a neat, red line from one side of the room to the other. "Gotta stay behind that," he said.

"And…?"

"And, you bastard, your job is to make sure we do. You know. Make sure we don't get all carried away in the moment." Seamus smirked.

"So we're all wanking right here. In front of everybody." Ron looked wary. His ears were turning an alarming shade of scarlet.

"That's the idea, mate. Like I said, just trying to keep us honest."

"You're mad."

"So you forfeit, then?"

"I didn't say that!"

"Then get behind the line, get your fucking todger out, and let's get on with it!"

Ron looked sidelong at Harry, who was working up a blush of his own. Dean was still standing near the doorway, curious now to see how things were going to play out. Neville was already behind the line bouncing a bit on the balls of his feet, looking even more excited than he had been earlier.

"For fuck's sake, Longbottom," Seamus said with a grin. "You’d think you were the one getting the Galleons."

"Can I bet some, too?" Neville asked.

"You said you haven't got any!"

"Ron doesn't, either."

"Yeah, but Harry said he'd cover him."

"I'm not covering Neville, too!" Harry said, his fingers playing at his belt buckle.

"Not much faith in your team, yeah?" Seamus teased.

"Be careful," Harry answered. "You'll be shining Slytherin shoes for spare change, you keep egging us on over here."

"Suit yourself!" Seamus shrugged and stepped behind the line, his hands pushing at the waist of his jeans.

"Wait!" Harry said.

Everyone's eyes turned his way.

"How much do you want to bet, Neville?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows.

"However much you want to give me, Harry. I know I've got this one, though. For sure. I mean, you should've seen it!"

Seamus and Ron made matching scandalized faces, and Harry held back a laugh. "Three Galleons for you, too, then?"

"Brilliant."

"All right, then?" Seamus asked, looking around.

Ron stood up off the end of his bed between Harry and Neville. Dean still hadn't moved from his post near the doorway.

"Are we going to do this standing up?" Ron asked. "I mean, that's a bit strange, don't you think?"

"Of course not, you tosser," Seamus said. "Take it out and sit down."

"Right." Ron shifted uncomfortably.

Seamus shimmed his jeans down over his hips and kicked them aside, and Neville followed suit. Harry and Ron eyed each other surreptitiously, and then Harry shrugged his shoulders and pulled his belt through the loops with a flourish. Averting his eyes, Ron slipped his button through its hole and pulled at his zip.

Harry stepped out of his trousers first, trying to keep his eyes on the floor, and he felt rather than saw Ron's jeans drop to the carpet beside him. One blue-and-white-socked foot kicked them backwards under the bed.

Seamus coughed, sounding a bit uncomfortable for the first time. "Right, then. Pants, too."

Neville's were off in a snap. He folded them carefully and laid them atop his trousers. Ron edged sideways as Neville's bare arse bumped against his thigh when he bent down. "For fuck's sake," Ron muttered.

"Sorry!" Neville responded cheerfully. He was already hard, his erection bobbing happily in front of him.

"For fuck's sake!" Ron said again. "That didn't take long, did it?"

Harry sniggered, and Neville shrugged. "Never have a problem with it, really. Give me a minute or so and I'm good to go again!"

"Oh, well, thank Merlin for that." Ron rolled his eyes.

Seamus turned so that his back was to Neville, and he peeled his shorts off one leg at a time. Dropping them to his feet, he turned to face forward, covering himself with his hands.

"Shy all of a sudden, Finnigan?" Dean's voice came from across the room, where he was standing, eyebrows raised, taking it all in.

"Oh, you know, I try to keep a lid on the goods, else everybody's gonna want some. You know how it goes."

"Right. Well, I don't think I'll be needing that yardstick after all, yeah?"

"Who said you were getting close enough?" Seamus snapped, biting his lower lip. ""Sides, I'm a grower, not a shower. Not that you can see anything, anyway, can you?"

Harry laughed again. Suddenly emboldened, he stripped his pants off and tossed them over his shoulder. Like Seamus, he held his hands open-palmed between his legs. Unabashed, Neville peered around Ron.

"The fuck, Longbottom?" Ron muttered.

Neville shrugged again. "Just curious, is all."

"Well, take your curiosity somewhere else. This isn't a curious competition, now is it?"

Harry smiled to himself at the protective tone in Ron's voice, colour coming swiftly into his cheeks. He jerked a shoulder Ron's way. "You're the last one, mate," he said.

"Right," Ron mumbled. He hooked his thumbs through the elastic of his Y-fronts and fidgeted with them. Under his lashes, he glared at Neville, who was not doing a terrific job of keeping his eyes to himself. "Could you give a man some privacy?" he growled.

"Sorry," Neville said, and turned to face Seamus, who was staring dutifully down at his hands.

Ron gathered his courage and yanked his pants down to his knees, then kicked them sharply aside. As if trying to prove himself unabashed, he curled his hands into fists and held them in front of his thighs. Unlike Neville, he was, as of yet, unresponsive.

Seamus coughed again. "Well. Let's get down, yeah?" He sank to his knees, his hands still hiding his cock from view. Everybody else followed suit. "Err… on three, then? And it's not about speed," he added. "Just… distance."

"Yup," Neville said.

Ron nodded shortly.

"Got it," Harry answered.

Dean stood up on his toes, peering over the top of his bed and trying not to be noticed.

"One… two… three."

Without a second thought, Neville threw himself into his task. He arranged himself on his knees, legs apart, and closed his eyes. With one hand, he cupped his bollocks gently, rolling them through his fingers. With the other, he began stroking himself lightly, base to tip, in a slow, teasing motion.

Beside him, Ron was staring down at his crotch, bottom lip held tight between his teeth, taking deep breaths as quietly as he could manage. He focused his attention, but his shoulders were tense and his posture uncomfortable. He half-heartedly rubbed at his cock, trying to coax it into hardness, but his success was minimal.

On Neville's other side, Seamus had positioned himself on his knees, also. When he had assured himself that nobody was watching (when he looked up, Dean pulled his head back around the hangings), he shut his eyes and jammed two fingers into his mouth. Breathing shallowly through his nose, he sucked on them hard, hooking them behind his teeth and getting them wet and slippery. It took him all of twenty seconds to forget that he was completely exposed, and by the time he had four fingers in his mouth, he was hard enough to drive nails. (So was Dean.)

Harry kept trying to catch Ron's eye, mostly for reassurance, but he was having no luck. Ron stared down at himself, his face and ears bright red, and Harry felt warmth pooling in his belly as he watched what amounted to, basically, a non-display. He ran his thumb over the head of his cock in light little circles, and it sprang to life in short order. Harry licked a sloppy stripe up the center of his palm, took himself in his fist, and began working in quick, short strokes.

Harry's breathing turned ragged and thin as he went, and the sound went straight to Ron's bollocks. Between Neville's rhythmic slap, slap, slap and Harry's breath, Ron felt suddenly very, very overwhelmed. And very, very turned-on. He swallowed hard and closed his hand around his cock, which was now responding with what could only be described as high enthusiasm. Keeping his lip between his teeth, he squeezed his eyes shut and circled his palm over the head of his cock, pre-come slicking up his hand and his own breath catching in his throat.

In a surprising turn of events, Neville, whose previous epic wank had begun this entire thing, appeared to be ahead, as far as timing was concerned. He had found a steady pace and was now rocking his hips in time with his hand, raising his arse up off of his ankles and squeezing his bollocks in what would undoubtedly have been a painful-looking manner, had anyone (besides Dean) been watching. His breathing had become short and shallow, and his mouth had dropped open. He was making soft little sounds – lots of mmmm's and ohhhhhh's – and his eyelids were twitching furiously. If there was even a hint of embarrassment anywhere, he certainly wasn't showing it.

Meanwhile, Seamus had worked himself into a veritable frenzy of movement. He had curled his wet hand around his cock – and he was, indeed, a grower rather than a shower, Dean noted, and quite satisfactorily so – and was jerking himself so fast that he was a blur, as much so here as in his everyday life, really. He now had the fingers of his other hand in his mouth, and he was biting down and sucking for all he was worth, muffled noises slipping out around them and disappearing into Neville's cacophony. When he added a brutal little twist at the end of his upstroke, his hand flew out of his mouth, and his fingertips dug sharply into his thigh.

(Nobody heard it, but it was at this point that Dean drew a hissing breath and unzipped his fly to relieve the pressure.)

Ron still had his eyes squeezed shut, and he didn't notice Harry's eyes locked on him from underneath his lashes (Harry's glasses had long been abandoned and sat atop his pants), which was probably a good thing, as Harry would have been terribly humiliated but equally unable to stop. Ron's lip was red and painful-looking, and he had risen up tall on his knees, his back in an arch, gripping himself hard and stroking even harder. The lean muscle in his arms rippled under his freckled skin, and he looked completely lost in his thoughts. Caught up in his own sensations, Harry found himself hoping – just a little, perhaps – that they were of him.

This was enough to make Harry moan aloud, and when he did, he saw Ron jerk a little, as though something had hit him particularly hard. He did it again and got the same response. Ron was breathing hard now, and he was catching up to Neville, who, by the sound of things, was teetering right on the edge.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh…" Neville's noises had grown short and clipped, and he was up off of his feet completely now, as tall as he could get (still nowhere near Ron), holding his cock out straight and pushing his hips forward. "Oh!" he said, finally, high and hard, and his hips jerked themselves out of rhythm as he came. Sweat was sliding down his face and had pooled above his upper lip, and he was flushed and blissed-out and grinning. With a heavily satisfied sigh, he sank back down and leaned against the bed, not bothering to see how he'd done this time, just happy.

(By this time, Dean had abandoned all pretense of leaving and had settled himself onto the floor directly across from Seamus, eyes trained on him through heavy lids, cock out in his hand, doing his damndest to keep up with his rhythm.)

Neville's final sounds had brought Ron right to the edge, and he was thrusting shallowly into his own left hand as his right clutched desperately against the side of his thigh for purchase. He was biting back the noises that were fighting to get out of his throat, and when he finally came, it was with a strangled grunt that knocked against his teeth. Reflexively, his hand shot out, and he grabbed onto Harry's wrist, which was dangling at his side. "Fuck!" he swore as, without thinking, Harry twisted his hand and grabbed back. Their fingers jammed together, and Harry watched as Ron's cock pulsed a third, fourth, fifth, sixth time and he slumped down, seemingly unaware that their hands were still entwined.

Ron's grip did Harry in. His grip, and his noise, and the sight of his come, and Harry was finished. Three quick strokes, and when he came, he couldn't tell what belonged to him and what belonged to Ron. His back arched, his muscles tightened, and he held onto Ron's hand for all he was worth, melting back into himself and panting like he had just finished a marathon round of Quidditch. He and Ron avoided one another's eyes as their hands slowly came apart, and they breathed in tandem, hard and ragged and done.

The only sounds now were coming from Seamus. They were wet, slippery, and fast, and Seamus was running his mouth as always, swearing himself mad. "Oh, Christ, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!" He was totally gone, gripping his thigh bruised and almost bloody, his hand stroking and twisting and sliding at a pace he surely couldn't keep up for much longer. His voice grew high and tight and breathy, and he finished off with an "Oh, fucking hell, please," and came. Hard. So hard that his body trembled visibly and he threw his head back, his freckled throat open and exposed, his belly pulled taut as he leaned back.

(This finished Dean completely. He felt more like he was melting, or disintegrating, rather than climaxing. He was, in the end, pretty sure that he had actually won.)

Seamus collapsed down and rocked back against the bed, sweaty and pink and grinning despite himself.

By this time, Neville had recovered sufficiently. He opened his eyes and asked, calm and peaceful, "So who won?"

Dean stared back, panting and open-mouthed.

"Dean?" Neville said.

"Hmm?" Dean asked, shaking himself off a bit. Down the line, the rest of them were gathering themselves and shifting to sit upright.

"Who won?" Neville asked again.

"Oh! Right. Um…" Dean surveyed the floor in front of them. It was a mess. A filthy, disgusting, sticky, gummy, nasty mess. The worst part was that he had no idea what part of it came from who. He could feel his face going hot.

He looked up and met Neville's eyes. Neville was smiling.

"You decided to play, too, eh, mate?" Seamus said, his voice still shaky.

Dean looked towards Seamus, and he suddenly felt like his body temperature had risen ten full degrees. "Err… yeah, guess so," he finally answered.

Seamus's face broke into a grin. "So you have no bloody idea, do you, you arsehole?"

Dean averted his eyes and took a deep breath. "S'pose not."

Ron's hoarse laughter broke through. "Nice one, Thomas. You fucking wanker. You're worse'n Neville, I reckon."

Seamus wet his lips and arched his eyebrows. "I'll make it easy for you, yeah?" He pointed to the knee of Dean's trousers. "That's mine. And just from lookin', I'm gonna take a wild guess and say I win."

"How do you know it's not mine?" Dean asked.

"'Cause I was lookin' at you, you dumb bastard."

"You were looking at me when you…"

"No. I was looking at you when you came, you tosser. Think I didn't know what you were doing? That's yours," Seamus said, pointing somewhere to the left. "So that must mean that," he said, gesturing again towards Dean's knee, "is mine."

Seamus turned a triumphant glance towards Harry, but Harry was too busy looking down at the floor somewhere next to Ron, his cheeks flaming and his mouth curled into a shy-looking, satisfied smile.

Seamus shrugged. "Told you. The Boy Who Paid Up," he laughed. "Whenever you can tear your eyes away from Weasley's cock, that is."