Deamus: For anon.
“You’re really not going to let me in, are you?” Seamus asked, his voice coloured with amusement. He couldn’t help the smirk that curled up the corners of his mouth as he leaned his head back against the bathroom door. Dean had dashed inside the moment he’d caught even a small glimpse of him, and from all he could tell, he was resting all his weight against the wood on the other side to he could keep him out.
“Definitely not.” Dean replied, and he sounded so indignant that Seamus had to laugh. He could only imagine how much that infuriated him. “It’s bad luck.”
“As far as I remember, it’s only bad luck for the groom to see the bride. I don’t think either of us is a bride.” He pointed out, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice.
“It still counts.” Dean insisted, and then paused. “Wait. Are you sitting on the floor?”
“…I might be.”
“You’ll get your tux dirty. Get up.”
Seamus glanced down at himself where he was crouched on the floor. As far as he could tell, it was still only the soles of his shoes that touched the carpet of the registry office. He would still be clean and fine to go down the aisle in a few minutes, he was pretty sure.
He grinned just thinking about it. He was going to get to marry Dean. By the end of the night, he would be Mr. Finnigan-Thomas. He could smush cake into his husband’s face and try (probably fail) to carry him over the threshold of their honeymoon suite.
He really couldn’t wait. All he wanted was to see Dean- they hadn’t spent much time together in the lead up to their wedding, too busy with planning. He missed him.
“Please can I see you?” He asked, in his best puppy dog, pleading tone of voice. For a moment, he thought Dean might cave. Then,
“Forget it, Finnigan.”