Mad Finnegan

[maderr]

Alright, initially this story was supposed to be for the dooooom ficathon (it's a taboo ficathon, for those who do not know).

But I'm kinda annoyed with them right now. Since the LJ drama, they've decided that any story containing shota or incest Must Be Locked. None of the rest, no. Only those two. Even though LJ apologized and won't be suspending any more such journals. And come on, it's taboo ficathon. If they wanted to play fair, they should lock everything not just some. That's crap. I realize I can post the story here unlocked, but it's the point of the matter.

So fuck them.

I tried to let it go, but several days later it still aggravates.

If I get a chance, I'll write a new story for it, but not terribly concerned at the moment.



Mad Finnegan


Finnegan hummed softly to himself as he worked, bent over his cauldron near to toppling over but utterly oblivious to that fact. The humming broke off occasionally as he muttered steps or ingredients to himself. He swiped irritably at his hair when loose strands fell into his face.

"One thousand three…" he counted softly, then dropped in the blacknut he'd been holding, slipping back into humming as he stirred the potion. A few minutes later he picked up a delicate glass jar off to his right, stirring all the while, eyes never leaving the potion.

His brow furrowed in concentration, waiting for just the right moment…slowly he pulled out two petals of dried devil rose. He had to drop in one, wait ten seconds, then drop in the other. It couldn't be done any other way.

The door banged open and Finnegan jumped. The petals slipped from his fingers. "Uh-oh," he said softly, then bolted for the door, shoving Tate back into the hallway and yanking the door shut behind them.

A deep growl sounded in his ear as a muffled whoosh and boom came from the other side of the door.

"You startled me," Finnegan complained. "You have to clean it up."

The dragon grumbled beneath his breath about stupid humans and stupider wizards. "What were you working on?"

"Ms. Tanner wanted something 'interesting' to add to her breads for the spring festival," Finnegan said. "It would have worked perfectly if a certain dragon hadn't interrupted me and made me drop the devil rose." He glared.

Tate glared right back, then poked him in the chest with his claws. "You are not repeating what happened last year," he snarled, then turned around and stalked down the stairs, turquoise hair swaying wildly across his back.

Finnegan rubbed at his chest and pouted, debating whether to risk going back to work or finding something else to do.

The noxious smell of a fouled potion, and no small amount of smoke, trickled from beneath the door.

Sighing, he followed the dragon downstairs. "Anyway, what did you want?"

"Peace and quiet, and for you to go one day without making a mess," Tate retorted, tail lashing back and forth.

Finnegan smirked. "Missing Macklin are we? Hmm? Feeling a bit restless, Tatey my boy?"

"If I didn't think you'd make me sick," Tate retorted, "I would eat you." He drew himself up and spoke frostily. "There is someone here to see you."

Oh, bother. He didn't want more work to do. He'd planned on making the potion for Ms. Tanner and then going to play with the fish for a bit, hunt out a few more ingredients, maybe wander down to the tavern… "Then get all the information and leave it on my work table," he said, turning to go out the back door and avoid the new task altogether.

It was far too pretty out to be stuck inside doing work all day. Especially now that Tate had ruined his potion. Especially since the dratted dragon would make him clean it up, then yell at him for not doing a good enough job, then just do it himself, and then put itching spiders in Finnegan's bed for revenge.

Finnegan grinned briefly.

"Are you listening to me?" Tate demanded, tone reaching I Will Flambé You levels.

"No," Finnegan replied cheerfully. Honestly, he couldn't have picked a better dragon to bind – except maybe next time he wouldn’t get one so hideously obsessed with cleaning, except that would mean he had to do the cleaning and it was much more pleasant when someone else did it. "I said just get all the information and—"

"And I said he will only speak with you." The dragon paused, frowning in thought. "He seemed to know you."

Hmm. That could be really good or really bad. "What was his name?"

"Seamus."

Finnegan was glad they'd already ruined his potion, because if Tate had said that upstairs he would have dropped the entire jar of dried devil rose into the cauldron. He felt cold, tight, closed in. Why was there not more air in the room? "Repeat that," he said, hoping his voice did not sound as unsteady as he thought it did.

Except from the genuine worry on Tate's face, it obviously did.

"Seamus," the dragon said slowly. "Do you want me to terrorize him?"

Normally it would amuse him that his calm and ordered dragon looked cheerful at the thought of spreading a bit of panic and terror – but not with that name echoing around his head like he'd taken another whooping from a Golem. "N-no," he said, licking his suddenly dry lips. "Go – clean someone's house or something. I'll take care of him."

"This house had better be here when I get back." Tate gave him another look, and growled low in concern, then passed by him to go out the back door.

Uh. So, he should…run. No. Yes. Oh, hells. What did Seamus want? After all this time? Finnegan looked down at himself. His clothes were wrinkled, the sleeves of his simple homespun shirt rolled up, displaying the intricate runes and sigils tattooed into his skin. They went all the way up to his shoulders, then across the top of his chest and back, right up to the base of his throat. He had more…legs…

He fisted his hands tight. Stupid. He didn't care. So what if Seamus was here. It had been, what, almost three hundred years? Maybe more. It got hazy and hard to remember sometimes.

Raking a hand through his hair, wishing suddenly that he wasn't quite so messy as usual – no, he liked the way he was, he didn't care about Seamus!

Sighing, he gave up on himself and pushed open the door which led into his magic shop.

The sight of Seamus after so many, many years was a punch to the gut.

It wasn't fair. After so long, shouldn't he have stopped caring?

He should not still want to strip all those clothes away and explore every last bit of that fine body, see if he still smelled and tasted like summer – gods above, demons below, Seamus still looked so good. Dark cinnamon hair with the faintest hints of red and gold, a deep tan from all the time Seamus probably still liked to spend in the sun.

Wearing clothes that were elegant right down to the hemline, only enhancing the striking masculine beauty Seamus had always possessed.

His eyes swirled with brilliant, flashing colors as he turned away from the display of crystal balls. "Little brother," Seamus said, not even bothering to try a smile, face full of trepidation.

Finnegan told himself to relax. After this long, he could be an adult. Or something. "What do you want, Seamus? I'm pretty sure this goes against 'I never want to see you again'."

Seamus flinched. "I—"

"Drop it," Finnegan said roughly, cutting his brother off before he could bring it up. "Just tell me what you want."

A hesitation, then Seamus nodded. "I found it."

Finnegan blinked. "Found what?"

"The serpent," Seamus replied softly.

"Oh. That." That was entirely too many nasty surprises in one day. His limit was zero. This was now two. Serious violation of Finnegan's House Rules.

Seamus stepped toward him, but stopped when Finnegan backed away. "I need your help."

"There are plenty of other wizards," Finnegan said, and moved behind the counter, gripping the edge to keep his hands from trembling. "You don't need me."

"I do," Seamus said. "You're the only one who can…" he motioned impatiently, "keep up with me. The only one I trust to do so."

Finnegan laughed, the sound of a slightly higher pitch than he liked. "I can't believe you actually found it, and now you need my help to kill it."

"We promised we would," Seamus said softly, but he spoke to the floor as he said it.

That, Finnegan thought miserably, was that. "Let me get my things and give my dragon the good news of my extended absence."


*~*~*

"You look like you've been doing well for yourself," Finnegan said, darting a quick look at his brother before dropping his eyes back to the edge of the fire.

A weak laugh. "Not too poorly. It sounds like you've had quite the colorful time."

Finnegan shrugged. "I try not to be bored."

"Yes," Seamus replied. "I've heard quite a bit about how not bored Mad Finnegan tends to stay. Is it true you only partially bound that rather amusing dragon lording it over your shop?"

Grinning, always willing to talk about the dragon who had been like family almost right from the start, Finnegan looked up. "I'm not sure anyone could fully bind him, honestly. Anyway, they'd never last against his need to clean everything. A lot. The shop is his den, and he runs it better than I ever could."

Seamus gave a slight smile.

Finnegan dropped his gaze. "So what do you do now?"

"This and that," Seamus said. "Same as any wizard. Except you, who apparently does what none of us ever thought of and probably never would."

Shrugging again, Finnegan didn't reply. What was there to say? He'd been Mad Finnegan for longer than he could really remember, ever since that incident with the sorcerer that had turned him into a frog and the sorcerer into a duck. Absently his fingers strayed to his throat; his voice had never been the same after that incident.

It was a funny one, though. Some incidents…

Tension burned in his shoulders. Some incidents weren't as funny.

Like an incident that involved too much skin and a hot mouth that wouldn't stop. An incident involving too much alcohol and too little sense. An incident he wished he could forget, but after three hundred years or so he knew he never would.

Especially now that the other half of that incident had shown back up.

"So where is the serpent?" Finnegan asked dully.

"The Ivory Mountains. I don't know why it took me so long to find them there, but I guess that's why everyone says the Ivory Mountains are labyrinthine.

Uh-oh. "Umm…" Finnegan bit his lip and looked up. "Which, uh, part of the Ivory Mountains?"

Seamus frowned. "The northeast side, a few miles from the border."

Relief poured through him.

"Why?"

"I, uh, well…" Finnegan rubbed the back of his head. "I got into a bit of a…minor disagreement…nothing but a tiff really…I'm sure they've forgotten by now…with the uh, sorceress twins that live up there."

Seamus' jaw dropped. "That was you?" he asked incredulously.

Finnegan winced. "So they haven't forgotten," he said glumly. Honestly, it had been an accident. Mostly. He hadn't known it would do that, or be so permanent.

"No," Seamus said dryly. "They haven't forgotten. Except they don't quite know what their attacker looked like."

"Thank the gods for small mercies," Finnegan muttered, stabbing at the fire. "It was an accident." More or less.

Seamus suddenly burst out laughing. "Would that be similar to the accident your nurse had with the mouse?"

Finnegan smiled at the memory he'd not thought about in years. "Something like that."

"Even back then you were talented, Finn."

He dropped his poking stick in surprise, head jerking up – then dropping quickly back down again. "Don't—just—stop it, Seamus."

"I didn't mean—"

"Just stop," Finnegan said tightly. They fell into an agonizing silence, and Finnegan wished miserably he knew how to heal the rift between them – but after three hundred years…the breach was more like a canyon. Filled with memories of things they'd done that they never should have done…thoughts he never should have had…feelings he never should have felt.

Insurmountable.

He couldn't take it. Not this. Blowing up his home periodically, yes. A dragon obsessed with cleaning and fond of giving snippy orders, yes. Regular fights with sorcerers and a long-standing feud with a minotaur, yes. Being rather violently allergic to pixie dust, yes. Having everyone think him stark raving mad, yes.

Being hopelessly in love and madly in lust with his brother?

Little harder to deal with.

Seamus stirred, and Finnegan knew he was about to say something. He couldn't stand it. Turning away from the fire, he pulled out his bedroll and all but threw it down, then gathered up his cloak and stretched out with his back to the fire, staring out at the dark trees and the stars above.

Mercifully, Seamus took the hint and did not speak.

He didn't want to hear what Seamus had to say because Seamus was never going to say what he wanted to hear.

And he couldn't really blame him, because Seamus shouldn't say those things. They were brothers. Not even half, which might have made things kind of sort of all right. No. Same mother – Seamus was the masculine version of her. Same father – Finnegan was his spitting image.

Brothers didn't lust after each other. They didn't sneak looks when the other wasn't looking. They definitely didn't succumb to wine and temptation and spend one wonderful, terrible night fucking each other senseless.

He ran his hands over the tattoos on his arms, shivering slightly. He'd taken other lovers, after he'd fled from their inn room the morning after that night. Long after that night. Many lovers, each one completely different from the last, a spectrum as colorful and varied as befitted Mad Finnegan.

None of them had sated. Not a single one had hands that burned and a mouth that devoured. No one else had a voice that made him shiver and a body that fit his hands, a cock that filled him.

He'd looked and looked. Failed miserably.

Finnegan didn't know what deity or twist of fate was to blame for making him fall in love with his brother, but when he found the bastard – oh the revenge he would have.

He pulled his cloak more tightly around him, burying his face in his arm, wishing he was back in his cottage getting yelled at by Tate.

This wasn't fair. It had taken him too many long, miserable years to finally move on. To shove those damning memories of his brother far enough to the back of his mind he didn't wake feeling painfully alone, aching for something he wasn't allowed to have.

Because it wasn't just lust, though there was plenty of that.

No one had ever understood his mind the way Seamus did. Never had Seamus so much as batted an eye at Finnegan's crazy schemes, his wild ideas, his love of doing things people declared could – or maybe that was should, he never was able to remember – not be done. He'd encouraged him every step of the way.

Even when their parents had finally lost all patience, declared him completely hopeless as a proper wizard, Seamus had been there.

Of course, if he hadn't been there, the Incident would not have happened. He hadn't known until that night that Seamus watched him too…

I never want to see you again, Finn. Best if you move on, find your own way.

It hadn't been said cruelly, or coldly. Just…like it needed to be said. Seamus had been trying to be kind. What they'd done…they never should have.

He wished knowing that was enough.

Sadly, it wasn't. He still remembered every slow, sweet smile. The way Seamus always knew to make him spiced tea when he was down. How Seamus so easily caught on to his experiments and helped him fix them so things didn't explode.

He'd loved watching Seamus eat the cakes he was so fond of, or devour an apple in seconds. A pear even faster.

Seamus was always fastidious in his dress, so perfect and fine in everything he wore – without Tate's snarling. A hard worker, a skilled wizard…the perfect son, really.

Even more perfect a brother.

Too perfect, because somewhere along the way his brotherly feelings had deepened and he could not seem to undo that. He'd long ago accepted that fact – but it was much, much more difficult with Seamus so very close.

Biting his lip, wishing for once that his mind would give him some rest, Finnegan closed his stinging eyes and willed himself to sleep – but it was still a long time before he was able.

*~*~*

"How did it get all the way from home to the Ivory Mountains with no one noticing?" Finnegan asked, resettling his pack as they resumed walking.

Teleportation was an option, as were other modes, but they all took lots of energy, or costly spell components, all of which was better saved for the fight ahead of them.

A smart wizard used magic sparingly, so that he always had what he needed should trouble arise – or for pissing off cleaning-mad dragons. That was always a worthy expenditure of magic.

"How did it get from the Ivory Mountains to home?" Seamus asked wearily, the subject doing nothing to improve their already tense and miserable moods.

Seamus kept looking at him while they walked, he could feel it. Finnegan was positively twitchy from it. He'd tried rattling off lists of spell components long ago memorized and could barely get past angel hair.

Not that he had any right to complain. Seamus had been leading the way most of the morning, and Finnegan had stolen more than a few glances of that ass, struggling the whole time not to remember how it had felt in his hands because the last thing he really needed was for Seamus to turn around to warn him or ask a question and see he was more than a little hard.

Gods in heaven and demons in hell, it had been more than a few years – he should not be this hung up on his own brother still. Or at all.

Shaking his head, Finnegan turned his mind to what it should be focusing on.

He'd been away from home trying to find someone with whom he could continue his studies, a frantic call for all wizards had gone out – the source of it the city of his birth. His homeland.

When they'd gotten there, it had been too little too late – nearly all of the city had been killed, half of those eaten.

By a massive, nasty and aggressive two-headed serpent.

No one had seen it coming until too late. No one had seen where it had gone.

As they'd buried their parents, their cousins, and very nearly all their friends…they'd been numb for days. All they'd had was each other, then. They'd held tight, consoled, grieved, but never crossed that line.

That had come a year later, when all their searching had turned up not so much as a single clue as to the whereabouts of the serpent which had killed so many. Then the Incident had occurred.

Afterward, Finnegan had fled just as his brother wanted. Buried what he used to be, his old life, and built up one he liked – even if everyone did call him Mad. He'd never forgotten the serpent though…always he'd kept an ear to the wind for hints of it. But he also knew that Seamus would find it…he just had chosen to forget the part where that meant they'd have to see each other again, because they had promised to kill it together.

The trick was the two heads. One wizard could not kill a serpent of that power. Each head had its own type of magic, its own thoughts…but they could also synchronize. They were not wholly independent, nor completely dependant. It took being as quick and clever and intimate as the serpents to take them down. Thinking, knowing what the other was thinking…the sort of intimacy only shared by the best of friends…close siblings…or lovers.

Finnegan fumbled for his water skin and drank deeply, wishing his thoughts were as easy to wash away. Beside him he could feel Seamus give him an odd look, but he ignored it and put his water skin back in place, then trudged onward.

The going was getting tougher, the trudging rapidly turning to climbing. All around them was the stark white of the odd trees which dotted the Ivory Mountains. Even where they walked, nothing but field and rock, white dominated the landscape. It was an unfriendly place, cold and nearly dead to all appearances.

Most of the life would be underground – deep underground. Even deeper would be the serpent they hunted. Finnegan shuddered, thinking about the foul stench of it that had tainted the city for years…the damage it had wrought.

Caught up in his thoughts, he missed a small stone, foot slipping out beneath him, and he reeled back with a startled cry – right into strong, steadying arms, against a broad chest.

"All right?" Seamus asked, voice low, a slight roughness to it, as though he needed to clear his throat.

Finnegan pulled away, feeling as though he'd been burned. Seamus had always affected him so. "Fine," he said tightly. He continued onward, silently calling into question the exact parentage of every god and demon he could think up, then made up a few when the list proved to be far too short.

"Your tattoos," Seamus said quietly, moving up to walk alongside him as the path widened. "They're exquisite. When did you get them? Why? For a particular experiment? They struck your fancy? They must have taken hours to do…"

Finnegan didn't know what made him say it.

Perhaps it was the heat. The frustration and tension and misery – because it wasn't fair they both wanted this, or maybe Seamus didn't anymore and Finnegan was seeing things that weren't there, but either way it would never be because it was wrong and more than a little against the law and he was sick of it and they had to fight a two-headed serpent that had destroyed an entire village more than fifty miles away and no one had seen it come or go.

Regardless, he gave into one of the impulses that often added to his reputation for madness. "I got them to get rid of you," he said, locking gazes with the shifting eyes that matched his own. "I couldn't forget. Every single time I closed my eyes, and too often when they were open, all I could see was you. All I felt was you. It drove me mad." He laughed bitterly, sadly, and looked away, up the mountain, at how far they still had to go. "So I thought I'd drown it out. What better to drown out pleasure than pain? So I got the tattoos." He looked at the ground, speaking softly. "They didn't work."

Not waiting for Seamus' reply, because he knew it wouldn't be the one he wanted, Finnegan resumed walking, moving as quickly as his legs would go.

One of the things he loved best about Seamus was his decisiveness. He wasn't like Finnegan, who could change his mind a million times before settling on something – that was the reason his shop sold a thousand different things, rather than specializing in a mere handful of items like most shops.

Seamus wasn't like that. Once he decided to do something, he did it.

Oh, how he did it.

Scowling, Finnegan shook his head free of traitorous thoughts.

He and Seamus had once crossed the line – but it wouldn't have happened if Finnegan hadn't been drunk enough to push just that little bit, if Seamus hadn't been drunk enough to decide to give in.

In the morning, he'd decided it was a mistake – one not to be repeated. That had been that.

Finnegan admired it, even as he'd hated it.

Because Seamus never went back on a decision, which meant Finnegan had just spilled his guts for no reason. All it did was succeed in making him look pathetic.

Heaving a sigh, ignoring the presence he could all but feel at his back, he trudged on.

*~*~*

"I definitely smell it," Finnegan said with a grimace.

Seamus nodded, face filled with just as much disgust. "On the bright side, perhaps it cannot smell us through this stench."

Finnegan shook his head. "I wouldn't count on us being that lucky."

"I guess that would not be wise. Shall I? Or would you prefer?"

"I'll lead," Finnegan replied, settling his pack. He held out his hands and focused his magic on what he wanted, feeling it rush through him, burst as the spell was cast – and four orbs of flickering light hovered in front of him.

Waving his hands, he motioned the lights to where they should go – two low to the ground, one near his feet, the other further ahead. One right by his head, the other again sent off in the distance.

Finnegan frowned, trying to remember the last time he'd gone gallivanting in caves. Quite some time…a good fifty years of his life had been spent in a sort of haze, the aftereffects of a rather nasty curse he'd only just escaped the worst of. He was relatively certain he'd killed the sorcerer who'd cast it, but one never knew. When the backlash from countering the curse had finally gone away, he'd spent a good three days getting out of the caves he'd found himself in.

After that, there'd been the incident with that troll…

The dare from the elf…

So not for about twenty years or so. He'd have to ask Tate later.

The caves they were currently in seemed far more intricate, just at this early start. Already the web of tunnels and passages was starting. Finnegan focused on his steps, calling up a couple more mage lights. He shivered in the growing cold and pulled his cloak more tightly around him. "We'll have to go quite deep," he said softly, the sound of his voice in the vast silence of the caves startling.

"Yes," Seamus replied. "Hopefully we'll find it."

"How long should we try?"

"Three days?"

Finnegan frowned in thought, pausing as the tunnel branched into four. "Better make it five," he said. "We should have food enough for that."

"We have food for ten days, easily," Seamus said, "but this place will get to us long before that."

That was true enough. Already the silence, the dark, was making his skin crawl. Shivering, he held out a hand and began to summon his magic up again.

A warm hand covered his. "Let me," Seamus said softly, speaking far too close to his ear, and Finnegan jerked away before his brother noticed his shivers – too late, he suspected, but did not look at Seamus to discern the truth.


"You've already called up the lights," Seamus said, voice rough. He cleared his throat. "We should take the magic in turns – there's no telling what we'll need to kill them."

Nodding, because his brother was right, Finnegan stepped back and let Seamus cast the spell that would seek out a strong source of life – all other creatures would be too small to pique the spell's interest.

After a moment a tiny orb of brilliant orange light appeared, hovering over Seamus' cupped hands. He held them out, and the orb moved away to join two globes of mage light. Seamus turned back to Finnegan and smiled. "Lead the way, little brother."

Too easy. It was becoming far too easy to fall back into their patterns and rhythms. Their second day on the road, Seamus had woken him with his favorite tea made exactly the way Finnegan liked. They'd easily, without really noticing, adjusted to suit one another's strides. Took turns on watch without arguing, shared cooking and cleaning…

Finnegan hoped they found and killed the serpent soon. He couldn't take another day of this, never mind three and he wasn't even going to think about five. Focusing on the task at hand, he carefully split his attention between watching where he was going and following the orb. It bobbed and weaved through the wet, cold caves, forcing them more than once into creative contortions to fit through awkward passages.

When this was over, he was teleporting home, he didn't care how exhausted he was.

They traveled in a silence broken only by the occasional curse or muttered threat to unyielding rock. Finnegan was beginning to consider the merits of stopping for a few hours when a startled cry and the sound of something breaking came from behind him. "Seamus!" Whipping around, Finnegan snatched his brother back from the chunk of rock which had suddenly come crashing down, upsetting Seamus' balance, which ruined his, sending them both crashing to the ground.

Finnegan froze as he realized Seamus' head had wound up on his thigh, and hands landed on his calf and stomach as his brother fumbled to right himself. He watched, torn between amusement and anguish, as Seamus realized what he was doing and dismay overtook his face.

Scrambling hastily up and back, Seamus pointedly did not look at him. "My apologies," he said stiffly.

Heaving a sigh, biting back what he wanted to say, Finnegan stood up and brushed himself off. "Why did the wall give in like that?"

"Probably this entire mountain hasn't endured well against the presence of a two-headed serpent. It must wreak havoc coming and going. We should be more careful, because I have no idea what we did to push that small bit enough it tumbled." Seamus shook his head. "We're lucky it wasn't worse."

Finnegan nodded grimly. "Perhaps we should consider shielding from here on out." He swung his pack from his back and knelt on the ground, undoing the bag's fastenings and flipping it open.

"Too draining," Seamus said, a confused look overtaking his face. "You should know that. Maintaining a shield is exhausting work."

"Mm-hmm," Finnegan mumbled, rifling through the bag's contents, at last coming up with the smaller pouch he wanted. Beaming, he drew out two large vials, then stuffed everything else back inside and swung his pack back into place. He held out one of the vials; they were made of dark green glass, capped with simple cork. "Shielding potion. Took me a long time to perfect, those moldy old books of great-great-granddad's are a pain to translate. Except it has a really nasty, bitter taste. I could never figure out how to sweeten or even mellow it."

Seamus blinked. "How—never mind." He shook his head and smiled. "What else have you created that a king would sell his kingdom to obtain?"

"I have no idea," Finnegan said. "What's a kingdom worth?"

Seamus opened his mouth – then abruptly snapped it shut. "I'll ask the next king I happen to see," he said, but Finnegan knew it wasn't what he'd first intended. He wanted to know, badly, but something told him Seamus would not budge.

Instead, he watched as Seamus uncorked his vile and downed the contents in one gulp. He shuddered, and Finnegan winced in sympathy. "You're right, Finn – that's awful stuff. What have you tried?"

Frowning in thought, he swallowed his potion, shuddering at the awful taste. Like accidentally biting into the soap Tate used for cleaning the floors. Finnegan finally rattled off the list of stuff he was fairly certain he'd already tried – each at least twice, in various combinations and permutations.

"Bitter redroot," Seamus said when he'd finished, tapping the empty vial idly as he thought. "It has a different sort of bite to it, and putting such strong flavors together might somehow manage a mellowing effect."

It was Finnegan's turn to blink. "I—that's brilliant, Shay."

Seamus shrugged the words aside. "Not really. I could never come up with stuff the way you do, or take those idiotic half-baked formulas in those old books and make sense out of them. All I ever did was add little bits to your hard work." He turned away and resumed walking, not giving Finnegan a chance to reply.

Frowning, Finnegan followed after him. "Shay – we should be stopping soon. I don't know about you, but my legs are considering falling off in protest."

"A little further," Seamus said, smiling over his shoulder. "I'd hate to waste your potion."

"It'll last for about ten hours," Finnegan said. "I've got four more, and personally I'd like it to be working while I'm sleeping."

Seamus laughed. "Good point. Ah, here looks good for stopping." He halted as their narrow tunnel spilled out into an open chamber, not terribly large, but just perfect to make a small camp.

Finnegan directed his mage lights around the room, then knelt and pulled out the small sticks of faerie wood in his pack, laying them out in a tidy pile and then activating the spell within them.

On the opposite side of the fire which sprang up – smokeless, warm, perfect for such environs as this – Seamus cupped his orange searching orb and put it to sleep for the night, tucking it away in the folds of his cloak.

Picking up the pack he'd slung aside, Finnegan dug into it and came out with the hard cakes that could be softened in water to turn into a thick broth. They were made by a woman in the village, and more than once had made up his dinner after he'd made a mess and Tate refused to fix him anything.

Given what happened when he was making potions, he preferred not to attempt cooking.

They sat in silence until the broth was ready. Finnegan took a few careful sips, blowing gently on it. "So what is it you do now, Shay?"

Seamus shrugged. "Same thing I always did – I look at the work of others and figure out what they're missing. I still make charms from time to time, but you know how that goes…"

Talismans performed very specific functions that had been imbedded when the talisman was made. Amulets typically were receptacles for raw power, most often used by sorcerers though a few other creatures used them to store their own power to later use for various purposes.

Charms, by comparison, were nonsensical. They were flutes that played themselves, books that turned their own pages, random objects which played music or sang. The sorts of things people found amusing at first but quickly tired of, often leaving the charmed objects to rot somewhere forgotten. Wizards all too often were called upon to negate a charm, only to find they'd once been called upon to create the charm in question.

Seamus, for some perverse reason, had always enjoyed the work – though he preferred to create the charms, not do what people often asked. In a futile effort to forget his brother, Finnegan had long ago rid himself of the few charmed objects his brother had given him.

He had learned not to charm objects himself – he always forgot which things did what and….well…he still didn't think that one village had lifted its ban.

"I'm nowhere near your caliber," Seamus continued with a smile. "You were always the master wizard, no matter what anyone said. I'm good at tweaking, but I can't create at all." He shrugged again and sipped at his broth.

Finnegan dredged up a smile, because he hated when Seamus talked like that. "Nothing wrong with tweaking – if I was better at that small stuff, I might not blow things up so often." He laughed and shook his head. "If I didn't do so much for the village, I'm sure they would have run me off for the noise alone. I wish I had someone to tweak."

A heavy silence fell, neither one able to voice the thoughts they shouldn't be having.

Which was the saddest thing of all – they were brothers, they should be helping and supporting each other. Because of the line they'd crossed, they couldn’t even do that anymore. Not unless they wanted to repeat that mistake…

Why not, a part of him whispered. What did it matter, all these years later? No one knew he had a brother, except other wizards who they would likely rarely – if ever – see. And it wasn't like anyone had to know…

But such secrets always came out, eventually. There were laws against such acts. He didn't want something to happen to Seamus because they let baser, forbidden, emotions control their actions.

It was wrong.

Then why had it felt so right?

A few hundred years later, he still had not been able to answer that question.

Maybe, he thought bitterly, because he'd always had a taste for those things to which people said Impossible and Can't be done.

Or maybe the need to overcome what no one else could, to try what no one else would, to do things no one else dared…was just futile compensation for the one impossibility he couldn't conquer.

Weary to the point even breathing seemed an effort, Finnegan set aside his empty cup and laid out his bedroll, curling up in his cloak.

"Good night, Finn," Seamus said softly from the other side of the fire.

Finn nodded sleepily. "G'night, Shay." Only as he was drifting off did he realize that at some point he'd reverted to using the short form of his brother's name.

*~*~*

"There," Seamus breathed, the words barely audible. "That's…really it."

Finnegan nodded, starring transfixed, skin prickling with the chill of terrible memory.

Those white, opalescent scales, glimmering in the light of the mage lights…yes, he remembered those. The gigantic twin-headed serpent, easily the size of four of his cottages, lay still in a tangled knot of thick, ponderous coils.

"Asleep," Seamus muttered. "I cannot believe it's asleep."

Finnegan grinned and slowly stood up from where they'd been kneeling at the precipice of a sharp ledge overlooking the deep pit in which the serpent slept. "Rather anti-climatic, I agree – but much easier."

Frowning, Seamus nodded and stood up alongside him.

Close, so close – Seamus had not stood this close to him the whole of their journey. Finnegan glowered and focused his thoughts.

"So what shall we do?" Seamus asked.

"Beheading them would be the easiest route, of course," Finnegan replied. "So I guess we search for the heads, and cut them off simultaneously." So saying, he did not wait for a reply, but immediately leapt over the edge, magic racing through his veins as he called up the spells that would keep him from meeting an untimely demise on the ground below.

He landed light as a feather not a dozen paces from the sleeping serpent. Heart racing, he pointedly ignored the furious signing and arm-waving of his brother, whom he knew would not be pleased with his rather reckless descent.

After the waterfall, though, no distance really bothered him.

Casting a spell of silence, feeling it fall around him like soft down, Finnegan began cautiously to explore each coil of the serpent, rooting through the mess as best he could from a distance for where the heads might lie.

A few minutes later something buzzed faintly in his ear -- someone trying to get through his silence – and turned to see Seamus pointing.

One head down.

Biting his lip, Finnegan called up more power and levitated slightly. Sweat beaded on his brow as he kept himself up – there! Sighing in relief, he made his way gingerly toward the deep corner where the second head rested.

Dropping all his other spells, minus the mage lights, Finnegan glanced across the chamber to lock eyes with his brother. As one they nodded, cast.

He gagged from the stench of blood, the gruesome sight of the severed head, using more of his magic to completely levitate above the mess.

Once away from the growing pool of blood, he settled back on the ground and let out a pent up breath, shaking now that it was well and truly over.

So many years of searching…all the days getting here…

"Finn!"

He heard movement even as his brother's scream washed over him. Finnegan whipped around, eyes going wide as he saw the serpent rushing straight for him, long fangs bared, the nasty too-loud hiss suddenly filling the chamber. Even as he summoned the spells, he knew it was—

The snake's head went flying in the next moment, making rather a ghastly sound as it slammed into the stone, and Finnegan managed to throw up an armor as the dying body continued toward him. It banged hard against the impenetrable barrier, then fell flopping to the floor.

"Finn," Seamus said urgently, coming up to catch him as Finnegan slumped to the ground, thoroughly exhausted now.

Distantly Finnegan recalled he shouldn't be so close to his brother…but those arms were as warm and fine as he remembered, and after casting armor on top of everything else…



He woke with a gasp, hands shooting out frantically – then he stopped.

Where was he?

But he knew without looking exactly where he was.

Gulping, Finnegan slid out of the luxurious bed in which he'd been laid and looked around.

Seamus had always loved purple best, despite the cost of the rich dye, and the room was a testament to that fact – appointed richly in combinations of light and dark violet, mixed with deep browns and pale golds. Only the white of the bed cloths broke the color pattern.

What was he doing here, Finnegan wondered frantically. He shouldn't—he needed to be—

He spun sharply around as the door opened, and stood helplessly staring at his brother, who was dressed casually in a simple white shirt with the laces left only half done, and a faded pair of trousers that fit far too well. He had not even bothered with boots…and from the mussed state of his brown-red hair, he had likely woken up not too long ago.

"Seamus…what's going on? I should go." Trying not to tremble, because it was one thing to be traveling with a –

Everything came flooding back in a rush and he balled his hands into fists. "Three heads! It had three heads!"

Rather than the emotions he'd expected on Seamus' face, it instead flooded with guilt.

Finnegan gaped. "You knew it had three heads!"

Seamus looked shaken and contrite – but mostly just horribly confused. "They said…I just thought…" He shook his head. "When I was researching this area, someone mentioned a 'three headed' serpent in the mountains…but everyone after that only said two heads…I assumed the comment about three to be someone exaggerating, or mishearing…" He stepped closer to Finnegan. "I swear it never once occurred to me he could have been the correct one."

"And everyone says I'm the crazy one."

Seamus smiled weakly. "I'm just better at hiding it?"

A laugh escaped before Finnegan could prevent it. "Clearly. So…that means this wasn't our serpent, doesn't it?"

"I guess so," Seamus said with a sigh. "Not unless it grew that third head, which isn't something I want to think about serpents being able to do."

Finnegan shuddered at the thought. "Please, no."

"That it's not our serpent would explain why it managed to go unnoticed traveling between the Ivory Mountains and here," Seamus said, misery returning. "That never even occurred to me – I'm such an idiot!"

"Just mad like the rest of us. Well, like me."

"You're not insane," Seamus said with a sudden frown.

Finnegan shrugged. "You can use the term eccentric, if you prefer. I've never minded mad."

"That's not true," Seamus said softly, moving just the slightest bit closer. "You're not mad, you're brilliant. Always you've been smarter than anyone could stand." He hesitated. "You shine, Finn. I've always thought so." Seamus abruptly looked away, staring miserably at the ground.

"I'm mad alright," Finnegan said bitterly. "My experiments more often than not result in explosions – and I laugh. My best friend is a dragon with a passion for scrubbing floors, I spent half a year as a frog, and can't remember fifty years of my life because I fell victim to a curse I barely broke in time to keep from dying. The list of sins against my being sane could fill a library, and the greatest one in it would be the fact that I am madly in love with my older brother." He paused, feeling the thick silence. "I should go."

Even as he started to call up a transportation spell, Seamus' hands fell heavy and sure on his upper arms, holding him in place.

"Loving me doesn't make you crazy," Seamus said shakily. "It just means you have poor taste."

Finnegan blinked, and stayed silent.

Seamus' hands slid away, and he balled them into tight fists at his sides – but his eyes stayed locked with Finnegan's. "I love you too, Finn. I think I've loved you longer than you've loved me, or maybe I just figured it out sooner. I don't know. Do you know how awful it is to lust after your little brother? I helped raise you. I was responsible for you. I'm supposed to protect you, make certain you're happy…but all I ever wanted was for you never to leave me. To be happy with me -- and after I thought that, my thoughts only grew worse."

He turned away, looking out the window across the room. "That night…I knew you were braver than me, and would cross the line I couldn't, that we both shouldn't…I knew it and I let things get to the point you would try it and I would agree. It was my fault, and by acting so selfishly I failed you."

"Shay…" Finnegan moved, stepping closer, hating the anguish in his brother's voice. He slid his fingers lightly over one cheek, shivering at the shudder he could feel coursing through Seamus' body. "Why are you saying all this now?"

"Because I'm tired of it!" Seamus exclaimed, snatching his hand, holding it tight in his own, turning once more to face him. "Because every time I try to do the right thing I screw up. I drove you away, and have been miserable every single moment since. I thought I'd found the serpent, and my arrogant assumptions nearly got you killed." He looked hunted, haunted, as he held a hand up to gently touch Finnegan's face. "Because no matter how many times I tell myself it's wrong to love my little brother the way I do – it doesn't change the fact that I do love you. Madly."

Finnegan drew in a shaky breath. "Shay…I never was any good at doing what was 'right.' Every single tattoo on my body was an attempt to forget your touch. How badly I wanted to touch you." He squeezed the hand so tightly holding his. "All I ever wanted was to be with you."

"Then be with me," Seamus said roughly, and did not give him a chance to reply, but dragged him across the last bit of space dividing them, then took his mouth with a deadly focus Finnegan had never forgotten, had ever searched for in vain.

He shuddered hard and wrapped his arms around Seamus' neck, holding on for dear life as he relearned the contours of that mouth, tongues colliding, exploring, playing. He tasted like summer tea and pear, which almost made Finnegan laugh, except he was kissing his brother and it wasn't a dream but quite real and he would very likely die happy in the next moment.

"Finn," Seamus said, his voice husky. "Last chance, little brother."

"Naked," Finn said, putting his mouth to Seamus throat, tasking the skin, humming in pleasure.

Seamus laughed softly, and Finn felt the thrum of outside magic against his skin, then realized quite abruptly he was naked. "There's a trick I haven't learned."

"No?" Seamus asked. "How odd."

"Quite," Finnegan said, then grinned and shoved, sending his brother reeling back, crashing into the bed. He moved in and shoved again, spreading that fine form out for his viewing and touching pleasure.

He trailed his hands along the length of his brother's body, eyes drinking in what had so long been denied him.

"If you keep looking at me like that," Seamus said, licking his lips, eyes hot, "you won't be walking in the morning."

Finnegan smirked. How easy it was, now that the decision to be damned had been made, to fall completely into it. "I hope you have something for that."

Smirking, Seamus shifted enough to reach under one pillow, pulling out a crystal vial. "Devil rose oil," he said, then abruptly dropped it back amongst the pillows and dragged Finnegan down for a kiss that left Finn dizzy, breathless – but more focused on his mission than ever. He trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses across Seamus' chest, moaning at the flavor long-denied him but never for a moment forgotten.

"Finn." His name was said low and husky, a touch of reverence to Seamus' voice, a great deal of need. No one else said his name that way. Finn moaned again and reached up to take a deep kiss, tongue tangling with Seamus', battling for dominance before he gladly gave it up. Then the world spun as Seamus reversed their positions, pressing him down into the soft linen of the bed.

Then that hot, devouring mouth covered one nipple, teeth scraping, tongue bathing. Finn writhed, scrabbling for purchase and finding only sweet, slick flesh and soft sheets as the torture moved to his other nipple. "Shay!"

Soft laughter puffed over his wet skin, then that tongue, that tongue, lapped at his stomach, teased his belly button, before Seamus explored even lower. He nuzzled at the juncture of Finn's thigh, testing his teeth lightly, nuzzling against his skin, murmuring low and soft before he looked up. His eyes were hot – so hot, Finn tingled and burned. "Here's a scent I could never forget. You hot and heavy, aching for me. I thought about it every time I stroked myself."

Finn whimpered and let his head fall back, arching up as Seamus' maddening torture continued, pleas and groans escaping him as he begged in every way he knew.

Seamus gave – but slowly, agonizingly, nuzzling his soft inner thighs a few seconds more before moving to lap and suck at one ball, attacking it thoroughly before moving to the other. Then, when Finn thought he was going to truly go mad, Seamus finally moved to his cock, lapping at the tip, sucking it briefly, then moving to lick its length from root to top and down again.

"Shay—evil—don't—" Finn cried hoarsely as Seamus finally swallowed him whole, sucking furiously, taking him down that wet, tight throat, reminding Finn why his tongue was an evil, wonderful thing.

Hands slid up his thighs, stroking and petting, eyes watching him, hotter than ever, whirling with more colors than Finn could recall the names for.

Then he realized Seamus was motioning at him.

Mind. Work. What? Oh Finn realized with a needy gasp as fingers teased at his entrance. He looked around frantically, fumbling in the bedding, swearing softly because that wicked mouth was not helping but he did not want it to stop and aha! There it was. He snatched up the crystal vial from where it was half-buried under the pillows, pulling the stopper as he shoved it into Seamus' hand, some of the oil spilling on his own, filling the space with the sharp, not quite sweet scent of devil roses.

He swore loudly as Seamus abruptly pulled off and started to protest. "Wha—" Oh, kisses. He could taste himself in his brother’s mouth, their flavors blending together, and he could not think of anything that could possibly be more intoxicating. He clung tight to Seamus' wonderfully-broad shoulders, sweat and oil making his grip slick. "You stopped," he said.

"Mm, I've only begun," Seamus said with a grin, grinding against him, making Finn's thoughts scatter, drawing out another deep moan.

"Y-you g-got w-wicked," Finn managed through the torture, head crashing back on the pillows, which gave Seamus access to his throat, something of which his brother took full advantage.

Seamus chuckled and kissed him again, then the fragrant scent of devil roses was stronger than ever, thick and rich, tangling with the smells of sweat and musk, the fainter scents of linen and beeswax.

Then oil-slick fingers were at his entrance, and Seamus pushed one inside, stretching him with slow, torturous movements.

"More," Finn whispered, fingers sliding over his brother's skin, slipping to the sheets, knuckles turning white as he gripped them. He whimpered as the finger pressed deeper still, and spread his legs as though he were being paid for it.

Warm kisses trailed across his shoulder as Seamus obediently pushed a second finger inside him, stretching him, the burn sweet, the way those fingers crooked just so making Finn's world flash white.

"More, Shay. Not enough. N-need you."

Seamus' mouth crashed down on his, tongue fucking him as surely as those fingers.

Then the fingers slid away, to be replaced with a hard heat as Seamus slowly pushed inside. "Mmm," Finn murmured once his brother was fully seated. "Move, Shay." He smiled and rubbed their noses together, teasing. "Unless you've forgotten how I like it."

Seamus made a sound remarkably similar to one of Tate's growls, then began to move, pulling out with agonizing slowness, making Finn gasp, then slammed back in.

Finn shuddered, shouted, hands desperately searching for solid purchase, finally reaching up to grab the headboard. When Seamus thrust back in again, he met it, rocking up, panting hard, sweat stinging his eyes, muscles aching, burning but everything so good and right.

Seamus kissed him again, devouring his mouth, breaking away only to breathe, thrusts increasing in pace and force, becoming almost frantic as driving need consumed them.

Then a hand wrapped around Finn's cock, stroking in time with their thrusts.

A few firm tugs, his brother buried deeply inside him, and it was more than Finn could take. He screamed his release, coming hard enough the world went out around him. Distantly he heard his brother's scream, feeling the pulsing heat of Seamus' release inside him. Then Seamus' weight landed on top of him, panting heavily.

He stroked his brother's sweaty back with slow, languid movements, lapping at his throat. "Mm, Shay…"

"Finn," Seamus replied, turning his head to give him a sloppy but warm and welcome kiss.

Old fears suddenly washed over Finn, now that the fire was momentarily banked. "You're not going to banish me again, are you?" he asked.

"No," Seamus said softly, shifting so he could pull Finn into his embrace. "If this is madness, and we are doomed to be so forever, then I think we should at least be mad together."

Finn leaned in to give him a slow and thorough kiss. "Madness does get wearisome alone – and Tate will be ecstatic to have someone who will keep me from blowing things up."

Seamus laughed, and pulled him back for another kiss.