#butterfly kilt pin because YEAH

[twojamie-o-clock]

wish u were here

[cajunquandary]

A Beacon to Beasts

A Beacon to Beasts

AO3 Link (in the works, check back later)

Summary: While Dean is in Purgatory, he comes across some interesting monsters who help him through.

Created for @spndarkbingo​

Square Filled: Fornication

Rating: R (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Dean x Reader x Benny

Warnings: Dark Fic. Canon level violence, SMUT (p in v, biting, anal, oral, dp, unprotected sex *dont be silly wrap the willy,* all the smut, also I might be developing a praise!kink here??), angst, traumatic memories. If you squint: suicide, Destiel, Denny

Word Count: 7600

A/N: Originally published in early 2017, this is a total rewrite with the tremendous help of @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ and @wonder-cole​. You talented bitches. I love you.

Lightning spider-webbed across the sky, for a brief moment illuminating every shadow across Purgatory. The forest practically hissed in the unwelcome brightness as the trees whispered amongst themselves. A crack of thunder caused a quake larger than you’d felt in the god forsaken land ever before. It cracked the sound barrier, bent the hellscape reality at all of its slithering edges, and sent a shockwave so powerful it nearly tore apart every cell in your body. With an eerie silence, darkness fell again, and as your eyes adjusted, you could see that the beast attacking you was fleeing the other direction from whence it’d come—no, not fleeing. It was chasing the impact. 

Something pulled in your chest like a red-hot meat hook, something that sent sparks of electricity straight into your brain and signaling an overwhelming raw need. You were familiar with such will-crushing lust. Your fangs were proof. But this… this was stronger than anything you’d ever felt before. It nearly drove you mad. You could feel your mind slipping, until you took a step forward, then another, and another. The more you walked towards the source of the prior disturbance, the more sated you felt. The more whole. 

It took weeks of fighting others like you and endless backtracking to find the source—a vampire and another beast. It was a bit like a human, but no humans could be in Purgatory. Whatever it was, it was intoxicating. 

Your body shuddered at the proximity of the delicious flesh. The warmth. You were merely a moth, drawn to a flame of your own destruction. Your head swam and you reached towards the man, but another fang sped from the shadows opposite you first. This was just enough of a distraction to pull you back from the brink. 

You crouched behind a half-rotten tree, only one eye peeking from behind your cover. The human barely had time to react before the fiend had him forced into the well-trodden packed earth. His fall was hard. Your mouth watered as his pulse quickened and echoed through your soul. 

The vampire accompanying the human sent the attacker’s head flying so closely that spattered monster blood landed on your hand. The foul stench drove you deeper into the safety of the trunk. You didn’t want to be next. 

In this land, the best way to survive was to stay hidden, quiet, so you decided to follow them for the first few weeks, being careful to keep to the shadows. The thirst for the human ebbed and swelled unpredictably. At times, it was all you could do to resist the pulse exposed on his neck, especially when the man slept. 

For days you tried to figure out what the other one was, who he was, but damn, was he a monster magnet. You’d been in pretty thick shit before, but never like this. Your cover was nearly blown a few times a day, but you were thankful the two were too busy fighting their own to notice you.

“Damn, man. You’re humanity is gon get us kilt.” The vampire wiped the rancid blood from his blade on the latest dead monster’s shirt.

“Yeah well, as soon as we find Cas, we’re getting the hell out of hell.” A human in Purgatory? How? No wonder there had been such a disturbance. He must have been pulled here by a great force--one that very nearly ripped the entire existence apart. 

“Hey brother, I’m startin to think the angel don’t wanna be found. Dean, think about it. Every time we get close, he disappears again.”

“Benny—don’t.” The human stormed away from the vampire. What was going on? A human and an angel? Things must be getting really messy up top.

The vampire, Benny, turned suddenly in your direction, and you closed your eyes, hoping the thick layer of leaves and thorny bushes camouflaged you well enough. It must have, because he merely shrugged and walked after Dean.

This night was the quietest it had been since The Event. It had been hours since the last monster attack and you were almost as exhausted as they looked. It wasn’t long before the men settled down into the dust and a pile of dry brush and began to lightly snore. Usually one stood guard as the other slept, but on this occasion, both must have been too far gone to care. 

You crept slowly forward, focused completely on the human. He was so beautiful. The creases of his forehead were reduced to fine lines as he slumbered, slow, tender breath fluttering across weary-pale swollen lips, freckles and mud mixed on his cheeks, hair tousled and bloodied, yet still so soft and shiny. His lashes twitched as he dreamed. You were only a few feet away now, beginning to feel lost in the warmth radiating from him, drunk in the light from his soul.

A sharp pain through your side interrupted your trance and you collapsed into a prickly shrub. Between gulps of agony, you could just make out that you were pinned to the ground with a rough makeshift javelin, reminiscent of a butterfly pinned to a shadow box as you’d owned as a human. You screamed in pain, and if you weren’t already twice dead, you’d worry about losing too much blood.

A pair of boots came into your view. “I smelled you days ago. I know you’ve been followin’ us. Why haven’t you attacked? You workin for someone?”

You looked from under your brows, straining to see if Dean was still where he had been, but found nothing. All you could do was gasp shallowly against the burning splinters. It had been years since anyone had gotten the jump on you like this. The bit of human that was left within you prayed that this was a bad dream, that you would wake in a moment in the gently swaying safety of the treetops.

The javelin was ripped from your aching side, and you screamed again as your organs smacked back together in the loss of pressure. The vampire threw you against the nearest tree. Through the pain that overwhelmed your ability to flee, you watched in utter captivation as the human secured you with heavy, rusted chains.

The latter bent close to your face, piercing green eyes a stark contrast to the caked mud and blood spattered across pale cheeks. “Now look, you piece of shit. I’m gonna waste you like I’ve wasted every damn thing in this place. But first, you’re gonna tell me where the angel is, and why you’ve been following us. If I like your answer, I’ll make it quick. If not… well, I don’t normally like the answers.” He smirked, tilting his head just slightly as if he was considering just how he was going to end you. 

You gulped hard knowing the human meant business. You’d seen him firsthand, the violence, the rage. All this man left behind him were wide trails of blood.

You were shaking now, feverish and confused. When had your fangs come out? You retracted them in an attempt to look less intimidating and more cooperative. Between gritted teeth and a gradual tunneling of vision, you managed to respond. “I’ve been tracking you since you arrived. There was this storm, and I’ve felt a pull towards you the whole time. I-I don’t work for anyone, I swear.” His gnarly blade pressed into the soft flesh of your throat now and panic was rising  and threatening to close off your throat if the blade didn’t do it first. “I didn’t even know about the angel until earlier today when I overheard you.”

“Well. I don’t think I like your answer.” Dean sliced deeply into your arm, which produced a guttural scream from deep within your core. The blade itself didn’t hurt that bad, but whatever was on it sure did. Benny walked away, knowing what was coming. Benny was a monster—Dean was worse.

“P-please I don’t know, I just know the light—your soul is like a candle in this endless darkness. I’ve been here for so, so long and you feel like home, like safety. I crave your closeness and I don’t know the details of why, but I couldn’t hurt you.”

Benny looked over his shoulder as Dean paused. Something struck a chord. Benny walked back over and pulled Dean slightly off to the side, almost out of earshot.

“Brother, I think she’s tellin’ the truth. We should give this one a chance to talk.”

“Why? She doesn’t know anything about Cas. She’s just another monster in my way.”

“And so was I. We were both human once. Let’s hear her out. She hasn’t even fought back.”

The fatigue and injuries caught up with you. Focusing on the thick red-black ooze streaming from your wounds, sleep was finding you swiftly with your head falling forward, blood-soaked hair in your eyes and chest pulled tight against the restraints.

Dean lifted your chin with the end of his blade, remnants of your internals still glistening on the edge. Your eyes followed the length of his arm to his face where he held you in an unwavering gaze. Those eyes were greener than anything in this world—more than the trees you hid in, the brush around you, or the sparse grass beneath your feet. 

You seized your breath and relaxed your tense muscles. If this was finally what wiped you into oblivion, it would be okay, as long as you could stare into those eyes. After all, you were tired of fighting. Your mortal soul had been tired in life, grown wearier after you were turned, another century had passed before you’d been sent here after a hunter took you out. The memory flashed by: how you sat there on your knees, glad to be facing the barrel of the gun after so long that you didn’t even fight. Had you known you’d end up here, you may have fought more to stay topside. But now, you faced oblivion, or so you hoped. This would finally be the end of the suffering, the fighting.

Dean must have read the all-too-familiar look of defeat and acceptance in your face. He lowered the knife, letting your head fall forward again, and caught you in his arms as the chains broke and clattered to the dust.

He leaned you against the base of the tree. You weakly gazed upward through hooded eyes, wanting to see past the leaves to the empty sky, but couldn’t. It was all grisly branches for a hundred feet up.

“Why were you creeping up on me?” Dean pulled your attention back to them.

Battling the unconsciousness that nipped unwaveringly at the corners of your mind, you whispered, “The ache in my chest… the closer I get to you, the easier it is to handle. I wasn’t going to hurt you, I just needed to be... closer.”

“And is this better?” He motioned to the foot’s distance between you.

“Yeah,” You half-smiled through gritted teeth, the pain from your side still throbbing. It wouldn’t kill you. Nothing in Purgatory killed a monster except another monster—usually by beheading. It still hurt like a bitch, though, and left you exposed and vulnerable like a wounded animal.

He pursed his lips and shared a look with Benny, who shrugged. “I’ll stay up and watch, Dean. You get more rest before it starts again. And I’ll watch you, specifically.” The other vampire motioned at you, an intensity behind his blue eyes you could identify with. This human was meant to be protected, no matter the personal cost.

Dean was soon asleep again, his back turned to you.

The earth supporting your broken form was anything but forgiving. But still, you weren’t going to waste time whimpering to yourself now that you were a part of the misfit group. “Benny, where are you from? How long have you been here?” You wondered aloud.

He eyed you suspiciously, pausing before he answered. “I ran with a crew out of Louisiana, but we sailed all over the Americas. Been here a long time.”

You adjusted your position with a grunt. Benny’s hand was already on his weapon. “Calm down, sailor, just tryin to get comfortable... I’m from Shreveport. Been here a long time, too. Only did about two centuries up top, though.”

“Well, I’ve got a few on you then, sister. Shreveport was nice. Rolled through there a few times.” The vampire chuckled at the memory.

Even still, your body had different plans for the evening, and if anything else was said afterwards, you wouldn’t remember. Rest was in the cards that evening, even if your mind protested. Between stretches of sweet nothing, nightmarish memories flashed by in haphazard, non-chronological snippets. 

There you stood, on the bridge above deep, twisting waters. Though the wind whipped your hair wildly, you could feel nothing. Not since the day you were bit.

Then you were in the shed on your grandfather’s land, centuries before, when you were young but still so old. Had you ever had a chance? And there were fires and anthills, guns and chains. 

Before that one could go where you knew it would, you shot awake. Benny raised a concerned brow in your direction, but you couldn’t face him. Not after that. Within moments, sleep took you once again. 

The butterfly pinned in the box. Such a stark contrast was that orange and red and blue against the green felt and the glint of silver pins. You would chuckle at the sight if you could. Tiny fingers traced the outline of the glass. 

Then you were on your knees. You didn’t even fight. This? This was the day you died… the second time. By the hands of an inexperienced young hunter who was too focused on fighting with his dad to even notice you there. I mean, he practically tripped over you. The boy looked tall for his age, hazel eyes partially obscured by choppy bangs and mouth pressed into a thin line. He hesitated too long. You’d cocked your head to the side, wondering if he even had it in him to off you, and you almost felt sorry for the kid. Especially when his dad saw. The old black-haired ass berated him, belittled him. Compared him to his older brother. A disgrace, he’d said. Nothing like him, nothing like Mary. When the boy could look you in the eyes, you gave a slight nod as if to say, “It’s okay, I forgive you.” Those bright hazel eyes morphed into the moon cast over a monster wasteland. 

By morning’s light, you felt better, somewhat healed, but mostly sore. You and Benny spoke all the while, learned your ins and outs, and caught up on the situation with Dean, the toothy leviathans, the apocalypse (again), the dick angels, and everything else Dean had filled him in on weeks ago. If you weren’t in Purgatory yourself, you never would’ve believed all this. I mean, angels? C’mon. 

Sure enough, Benny was right. Beasts continued to attack in waves. There were a few close calls, and not one would speak of the whereabouts of the angel Castiel, though a few tried to save themselves by spouting lies. Dean would see right through them. It only ever took one question. “What color are the angel’s eyes?” A few had gotten lucky and guessed blue, but Dean didn’t even accept that answer. You asked once, what answer he was hoping for. He only shook his head in response. 

There were times, though, when he would describe Cas to you in the quiet of night, and it was like listening to a lost lover. Dean gave in after some months and described the angel’s eyes as full of grace, blue, but slightly glowing. And not just any blue, no. The bluest blue you could ever imagine. The purest blue. He spoke longingly about things they’d done, things he wanted to do, wanted to say. Needed to say. You would close your eyes and drift off to him mumbling stories of Cas, the fondness softening his voice.

It was dark again and the almost empty end of a particularly difficult day. You’d all sustained serious injuries from the violent fray that only seemed to become more dense as of late. You and Benny would heal quickly, but Dean wouldn’t… and you worried for him, lingering protectively close.

The weary hunter screamed in time with the monster as he thrust his knife through its eye, his voice echoing long after the lifeless body crumpled in front of him. In a rage, he threw his weapon down, stalking over to a nearby tree. He punched, kicked and threw himself against the bark until he was nearly bloodied beyond recognition. Benny could only look down, powerless to help his friend. Unable to watch any longer, you forced yourself between Dean and the tree. His eyes were closed until his bruised fists struck soft skin stretched over bone, the unexpected change in texture catching him off guard. You winced against it but grabbed his jacket in both hands, balling your own fists into it to hold him firmly in place. Jerking him forward until you were nose to nose, breath and blood mixing, you growled, “We will find him, Dean. But not if you kill yourself first.”

“Y-you sound like him,” His voice cracked and his head fell to your shoulder. You could feel his tears, hot on your frozen skin. This world was so cold and it never ceased to amaze you how he kept his warmth. You held him tightly, even as his knees buckled and swayed. By the state of those green eyes, you could see resignation and defeat creeping up on him. 

You shared a look with Benny, and he knew, too. “I’ll keep watch. You make him rest, cher.” You’d come to learn that Benny preferred to keep watch from all the years he’d had to watch his own backside here. You’d survived in hiding, while he’d made a name for himself—a killer, like Dean (not that either of them ever wanted to be.) You had to give it to him, though. After all, you’d tried to fight off everything in the beginning, but it was too tiring, like living was. So instead, you learned to thrive in shadows and whispers, moving like a ghost through whispers of the trees.

You were grateful for the moment alone with the warm beacon of a man, though. If the electricity across your skin anytime you touched the human indicated anything, it was a confirmation of your heart’s longing. You kept him pulled flush against your chest, his heartbeat so strong that it reverberated through your body. You focused on the feeling. How many centuries had it been since you felt your own beating? Dean’s was so strong it could surely support you both, you thought.

With a groan, Dean pulled the two of you down into a horizontal heap. You couldn’t make out the details of his face in the dark abyss of night, but his heart rate had shifted notably, along with his breathing. His anguish was palpable and you couldn’t help but to take some of it on as your own. He exuded it, it leaked from every pore. 

Supple lips brushed against yours, and you closed your eyes, slowly guiding one hand to his back above you and the other through his hair. It was as soft and silky as you’d hoped it was. You pulled just slightly, allowing your nails to gently spread and retract in circular motions. Dean clenched, the softest sounds carrying on the thick night air. Smiling at the reaction, you carded through the messy spikes and repeated the measure for several moments before Dean crashed into you, with his sudden need matching yours. Every kiss grew deeper, longer, and your tongues began to wrestle gently but urgently between locked lips. He grabbed at you hungrily with a certain ease, unable to hold back anymore, with palms stroking openly up and down your torso, until they slipped below your core.

You both pushed and pulled, wallowed and rolled, careful of injuries but powerless to pull away, fighting to get closer. You helped him slip from his leather jacket, and he groaned into your mouth with a tantalising mixture of pain and pleasure. The sound made you shiver, and you hastily removed yourselves from worn and tattered pants, breaking only for a moment. 

“Shh, Dean,” you whispered next to his ear. He nodded, understanding that even in this embrace, you were exposed and hunted. But with skin on skin, it was difficult to keep logic and sanity at the forefront of your mind. 

Dean slowed his pace and shifted until you were straddling him. With a touch so light it tickled, he let his hands trace every angle of your body, until he felt the latest wound and drew back suddenly. 

“It’s okay,”  you breathed into his gaping mouth. 

“No, I-- I’m sorry.” His voice was feeble, desperate. 

Taking his hand in yours, you placed it back where it’d been. It was a small gesture, but the effect it had on Dean was profound. With both hands now, he clutched your sides so tightly, it sent swells of something delicious straight to your center, before rippling out to every nerve ending exposed to the cool air, and then some. 

Just as you began to give in, a rustle from only several feet away snapped you back to reality. You shot up upon bare feet, weapon already in your hand as you scanned the malevolent shadows for the source, listening and feeling for any shift in the air. Dean lay frozen by your feet, head still spinning in weakness and lust.

In a swift turn on the balls of your feet, you faced the intruder, ready for war. 

“It’s just me, cher. I heard something and wanted to make sure you two were okay.” As Benny took in the situation, he laughed softly. “Sorry to interrupt. I’ll be over there…”

With an annoyed frown, you allowed your stance to go slack. “Thanks.”

Dean touched your leg, leaning in to kiss it lightly before planting a little nibble at your ankle. You slipped back down next to him, gasping when he quickly found your neck and nipped along your clavicle to the sweet spot in the hollow of your neck.

He was shaking slightly under the strain, but lifted himself atop you. To help keep him steady, you placed your hands on his shoulders and wrapped your legs around his torso. With a grateful kiss, he traced his tongue across your bottom lips as he lined himself at your entrance. 

His tip sank into your soaked folds and his resulting keen made you tremble beneath him, itching for more. “Dean, p-please…”

“What do you want?”

You rotated your hips against his, fighting to make him move. “Please, fuck… Dean I need you. Need more.”

Your begging tore his resolve to shreds and he sunk into you, stretching and filling you like nothing ever before. Your back arched at the sensations as they nearly overwhelmed you, drowning out the hell around you and leaving only Dean. Your heavy breathing barely registered as you whined his name. A shallow shriek betrayed you. Dean placed a calloused hand over your mouth, and it only drove you more mad. 

As he bottomed out and began short but powerful thrusts, tears gathered at the edges of your eyes. Everytime, he hit that sweet spot. Everytime, you whimpered into his hand and dug your fingers into his flesh tighter. Everytime, he moaned in response. 

It wasn’t long before those slow, drawn out jolts coiled you so tight you could barely contain yourself. Dean could sense the change as you began to rub against him, allowing the friction to take you over the edge. Right as you fell off into a fierce and roiling sea of ecstasy, Dean replaced his hand over your mouth with his own, swallowing your choppy breaths as you twitched and spasmed beneath him. 

Still lost in the swell, you felt the hunter release and fall, spent, onto your chest. You managed to wrap your arms around him and held him steadfastly, not ready to let go. It was incredible to watch Dean unravel and relax for the first time. In fact, it’d just become your favorite drug. 

Unknown to the broken lovers, a pair of “gorilla-wolves” attempted to interrupt throughout the steamy romp in the leaves, but Benny quickly took care of them. The nasty things wouldn’t have gotten as close as they had, but the vampire had been distracted by the sinfully delicious sounds coming from the far side of the tree. He’d tried to ignore it at first but found his mind wandering. It’d been ages since he’d felt the touch of another being, and the want rose up in him, a fire in his stomach.

You panted next to Dean when he rolled to the side, your injuries far from mind in the lasting rapture from being one with the human. His breathing was still ragged, but slowing. The wound on the back of his shoulder had reopened. Begrudgingly , he let you patch it again. Once dressed, you fell back to the sorry bed of leaves. Dean nuzzled into your side and let out a pained sigh as sleep found him. You could’ve sworn you heard the faintest “Don’t let me die here…” fall from his lips. Your grip on him tightened. You’d get him out if it killed you. But first, you had to find that elusive angel.

It was another month of the same routine. Days and nights ran together. The closer you got to the angel, the denser the swarm of monsters was. Even Benny seemed to be on his last leg. You offered to keep watch this time. At first Benny protested, but you shut him down.

“It’s broad daylight out here. I can see them coming from far enough off, I can give you plenty of time to wake up and fight if I can’t handle it. Don’t worry.”

He didn’t feel like protesting too much, and finally nodded, sad blue eyes locking on yours in a silent promise of trust in comradery.

A few hours passed, and you stood to stretch. A twig snapped behind you, and you twirled quickly, your knife to Benny’s throat. His hands raised. “Sorry cher, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Nearly lost your fool head. Why aren’t you resting?” You dropped your arms and stood next to the vampire, staring out through the forest again, scanning. Listening.

“I rested enough.”

“Right, that’s why you have to use that tree to support yourself.” His lips pressed into a hard smile, electric eyes dropping to the ground. When he looked back up, something in them had changed. He reached towards you, hesitant, and brushed the wavy mess of hair from your face behind your ear, hand gently gliding across your jaw until his thumb rested on your lip.

You closed your eyes and shuddered under the vampire’s touch. It was more familiar than Dean’s. You leaned into it, following as it guided you into his embrace. He was larger than Dean and still smelled of the swamp and sea. The scent was intoxicating, dragging all of your attention to Benny. 

He pulled back for a moment and cradled your face in the large, thick hands of a sailor. “You okay with this? Don’t want you to feel pressured, darlin’.”

“Mm not pressured,” you smiled up into those spirited sharp blue eyes. You lost yourself in them, completely ensnared. You could see past them, to cerulean glittering waters, could feel the lapping of them against your old boat, hear the seagulls and crows chattering as they glided on heatwaves, taste the salt on your tongue. 

You stretched up on your tiptoes, craning to taste the salt on his lips, feel the waves in the way his tongue twists. Benny must have felt the same, as he met your parted lips in a feverish kiss, maneuvering you effortlessly between himself and the tree for support until he was rutting into you.

The touch was bittersweet and starved, driving both of you as you stripped away layers. Benny pressed into you until the bark bit into your back and arms. You knocked the hat from atop his head to get closer, to guide him in, and he responded by taking the thin flesh of your neck into his mouth. Fangs drug thin scratch lines over your chest and shoulders, followed by sucking kisses. Benny grunted as he settled next to your ear, the growing bulge in his remaining trousers becoming almost painful in the restriction. 

Sensing this, you moved to loosen the last piece of his clothing until it slumped to his ankles, all the while raw, needy noises spilled from your mouth. If only you’d found each other topside, things would have been better. You wouldn’t have let that young, long-haired hunter boy and his grumpy father kill you.

In one smooth move, Benny hooked his fingers into your jeans and slid them off, until you were completely free of them. With lust in your eyes, you found his full lips once more. You bit and sucked at his bottom lip until he was throbbing against you and whispering your name in short breaths in desperation. 

With a slight adjustment in position, he grabbed your ribcage and lifted you just enough to line himself at your entrance. Hungrily, you raised your knees and rested them on his sides. You dug your nails into his shoulders in anticipation, but he didn’t keep you waiting long. With a final shift of his angle, Benny slid into you unrestrained.

His pace was unforgiving. He was rougher, more desperate, yet somehow more controlled than Dean. Pain was something you both knew too well, and found pleasure in at this moment. Neither of you had to hold back in fear of hurting the other. 

Benny muttered a long string of praises as he placed his cheek on yours and relished in the fragmented breaths and mewls leaking from your gaping mouth.

Between the friction to your front and the sharp ache in your back, the intense set of his pace brought unwanted tears to the corners of your eyes. Before you knew it, he had you biting back a scream as you came in his arms, your back digging into the tree as he held you through it. You sank your teeth into his neck, drawing blood and pushing back the sharper set as they threatened to emerge. He snarled into your ear and released, standing for a moment, relishing in your closeness.

For a time, you just remained in that position as he softened inside you, foreheads resting fondly on each other.

Dean stirred, grumbling as he woke. With a silently shared promise to continue the embrace another day, the two of you straightened yourselves back out and rounded the tree to greet the sleep-starved human.

Over the next two weeks, the three of you grew much closer. Sometimes in between attacks, you took solace in each other. Most times it was talk, but when words were too difficult and your bodies needed to feel something… else, something primal and good and pure, they would pass you between them, never straying too far.

Benny's eyes would always drift and land upon Deans. It intoxicated him, pulled at his heart in ways that tore him apart. Deep green eyes, full of hope and goodness and humanity… something fragile yet unbreakable, much like what he once saw in Andrea’s. Just like Andrea’s. As much as he tried to put her memory to rest, Dean’s gaze would always take his breath, whether they were fighting or fucking, and the feelings that washed over Benny were wild and raw.

You ventured off to scout ahead one day, leaving Benny to help Dean walk after a surprise run in with a gorilla wolf didn’t fare so well. Those things sure liked Dean. Could you blame them? As you cleared the spaces ahead, you reminisced on the first time it happened. 

It’d started innocently enough, some kissing and tender touches traded between you and Dean. You craved comfort, and his touch never disappointed. The fading daylight illuminated something… different, something new in his eyes. There was a spark of acceptance? Resignation? You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but for some reason the usually tightly wound hunter was relaxed. His movements were delicate and slow, a stark contrast to the usual quickie on the run. 

You nearly lost your balance when he stripped your pants away and traced deliberate sucking kisses down to your sweet spot. You’d had to catch yourself from falling over at the heady sensations, threading your hands into his hair and holding on for dear life (or death.) Within moments, Benny swooped in to support you from behind, snaking a strong arm around your stomach as Dean began to lick and hum and stroke you in ways you’d never felt. Your blood burned like fire, causing every inch of your skin to become more sensitive. 

Benny brushed the hair from your shoulder with his free hand, then took a fistful of it and guided your head back. With a contented sigh, he took your exposed neck into his mouth and you twitched violently between the shivers running down and the heat rising up. The contrast of Dean’s soft lips to the burn of his stubble mirrored that of the rough, blood soaked fabric of Benny’s jacket against the smooth of your skin… and it drove you mad. Your vision swelled with every wave and the sounds of the cursed world around you faded as if cotton had been shoved in your ears. 

Your legs gave way and you fell into Dean’s lap as he chuckled, watching you come undone. The orgasm hit you somewhere along the way down, untouched but wound so tightly that you couldn’t hold out another moment.

While you writhed against him, Dean held you securely to his chest with arms that crushed into your ribs and pinned your arms to your sides. Your head finally came to rest upon his shoulder, and as your senses eased back into focus, you realized that you were completely laid down upon his bare chest. Still buzzing from the high, you nuzzled into the crook of his neck and laid a small peck. Dean’s resulting smile stretched wide, and you could feel it there without even needing to see it. 

“You okay, baby?” Dean gently stroked your back up and down with one hand, and moved to tangle strong fingers in your hair to hold the base of your head tenderly with the other. 

When you found your voice, you muttered a small, “yeah, thank you.”

Benny kneeled beside you and lowered his face until your foreheads met, the three of you so impossibly close. “You up for some more, sugar?”

You smiled wryly and closed your eyes. “Yeah, I’m all yours.”

Though your limbs were but heavy gelatin, you managed to lift out of your shirt as the men undressed. Pulling Dean’s discarded coat over you like a blanket, you rested against a fallen tree and admired them. Dean was more slender, but faster and stronger. The way his muscles rippled and creased beneath pale, freckled skin reminded you of a swimmer--all lean and mean. He was graceful in every movement, like a dancer. Benny was a little more solid, built like a tank. Maybe he wasn’t as fast, but there was no going through him. You’d seen beasts hit him straight on with full power, and the vampire had barely flinched. Those fists could break anything, but his face was always… soft. Kind. Dean’s was hardened, but you couldn’t blame him. And yes, there were moments, like this, where the lines of his face smoothed, and some color returned to his cheeks. 

How you’d ever found Heaven in this Hell, you’d never come to understand. But you were ever grateful. Hopeful for a future with them topside, however it may go. 

Dean’s outstretched hand pulled you from your daydream. You took it, letting the jacket go as he helped you stand. As you stood, he continued to pull you forward until you were flush with him. He pressed a firm kiss to your scalp and rubbed his palms up and down your body. His cock twitched against your belly, and you wrapped your arms around him, squeezing just a little tighter at the new flood of arousal. 

Benny snaked his arms around you from behind, until his hands rested on your neck, not gripping, but just *there.* The weight of them naturally guided your head to fall back against his chest. He growled into your ear, “You’re so fucking beautiful. So good for us, cher.”

Your mouth fell agape and released a strangled moan as Dean kissed along your exposed neck and mumbled a steady stream of “You’re such a good girl for us, such a good fighter, a great companion.” 

With every word, a new fire raged through your veins. Your face burned hot. Dean’s hands wandered south, caressing every inch passionately. One hand found its home grasping your thigh right under your ass, and the other came to rest in your dripping folds. You bucked against the touch and right into Benny’s length resting between your cheeks. 

You whimpered, needing more, needing release. “D-Dean please, fuck. I need you. I want you inside me, please--unnghh.”

Dean teased your entrance for a moment more before the wrecked look on your face and the subtle, high pitched sounds spilling from you completely enraptured him. Benny nodded, moving his hands to steady your sides as you squirmed uncontrollably. With a swift movement, you were raised up with both of Dean’s hands cupping and spreading your ass until he lined up at your folds and let you sink down much too slowly. 

Pathetic cries filled the air as you struggled to maintain control, the stretch of him almost too much to handle and not nearly enough all at once. You shook and grabbed at anything you could hold with a flutter in your chest that threatened to make you implode. And yet, the intense feelings only grew. Benny planted himself and anchored with a strong arm outstretched and clutching to Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean bit his lip fiercely and let out a pained groan at the other man’s unyielding hold on him. His cock twitched again as he bottomed out deep inside you. The depth burned and ached, and with it your eyes came to focus on Dean’s. 

The emerald green was more prominent now, outlined by the hot blush beneath a spray of freckles. His brows were drawn tightly and jaw slack, full, pink lips parted in bliss. His breathing was erratic, and with every intake of cool evening air, Dean trembled. 

You mewled and whined, shifted against them, desperate for friction. The slightest broken smile graced the hunter’s face and he nodded, knowing but not yet ready. 

Tears already began to gather as you fought the urge to physically fight the men into submission, to finally scratch that itch. Benny didn’t leave you waiting much longer though, before he was slipping and pushing into place in your ass. The deliberate burn of him spreading you open opposite Dean left you thrashing between them. 

Dean took a deep breath in as a reminder for you to do the same. If it weren’t for him grounding you and helping you through, the black void would’ve already sucked you in as another victim. You did your best to relax and bore down, allowing Benny to fill your other hole completely to his base. 

The vampire grimaced through his own keening, the tightness of you nearly sending him over the edge right there and then. You stilled between them, already on the verge of destruction as the three of you adjusted to the new feelings washing over you in waves. 

Dean’s lips found yours, open and wanting. Taking his tongue hungrily into your mouth, you sucked and fell absolutely limp as he sucked your lower lip between his. The scent of him was utterly intoxicating, and you were ready once more. 

Benny began to move in tandem with Dean. With every movement of the both of them against your thin membrane, a wailing cry seeped between your clenched teeth. Benny was now clutching both of Dean’s shoulders so tightly that were white bloodless patches beneath each of his fingertips. This made Dean buck harder until the hunter’s eyes shut tightly and left his head bobbing backwards in lust. 

The symphony of your cries was lost beneath those of the two men, who shuddered and swayed. The sweet, sinful music flooded your mind and sent you reeling over the edge once more, clenching and swearing and falling against Benny’s outstretched arm. 

Dean’s thrusts faltered as his stuttered, “I’m.. I’m about to--”

“Just let go, brother,” Benny encouraged. 

It was the only confirmation Dean needed before his load spilled into you, sending renewed longing to your stomach as he pulsed inside you. “Fuck Dean,.. You feel so good,” you managed.

Benny came seconds later, and you relished in the full warmth of them. 

You smiled to yourself as the familiar electricity flooded your veins and leaked to your core. It may have been the first time, but every time since had only been… better. Impossibly, incredibly better. 

Upon your return, you noticed that Dean had found new strength.

“We’re closer than ever to Cas, he’s three days away by the river. We’re almost done! We can go home!” Dean was grinning widely, a spark finally back in his tired eyes.

You smiled, scooping him into a rough embrace. If Dean was happy, you were happy. Benny joined you in the bear hug. You were so ready to be topside again, and now, it was so close you could just taste it.

Your second chance.

With a start, Benny hollered and let go, leaving Dean tense and alert in your arms. Then, he threw you to the side as a beast attacked. Its whole face morphed into a shark-tooth ringed mouth, and you grimaced.

Leviathan. You must’ve been really close to that angel.

You drew your weapon as one engaged you, swung and lopped its head off easily after years of practice, until something glinting and sharp emerged where it should not have been.

You looked down, the blade bloodied and protruding through your chest, through your lungs. Unable to draw a breath, you fell to your knees.

“No!” Both Benny and Dean were yelling, voices echoing through the hostile forest. Black ooze covered them from the slain monsters. You looked up as your assailant withdrew the sizable knife from your back and placed it against your neck. It was another vampire. You looked back to the boys.

“You killed our sister, so now we’re gonna kill yours,” the voice behind you teased in a sing-songy tone. More boots shuffled into your line of view.

Benny looked absolutely broken as he charged, extra teeth bared sharply in defiance. Dean bounded to you, holding your gaze with those emerald green eyes as he expertly dodged the advances of his adversaries.

Once again, your breath was seized and you relaxed your tense muscles. If this was finally what wiped you into oblivion, it would be okay, as long as you could stare into the comforting depths of that hunter’s eyes. After all, you were tired of fighting…This would finally be the end of the suffering. To oblivion. The warmth from Dean’s soul flooded over you as he got closer, but it was too late.

Your head rolled from your body. 

Dean decimated the group of vampires in record time, the rage fully restored and urging his body forward against all odds. Once again, the hunter had become more vicious than any monster in the land. In two days, he would limp to the river and find his angel.

You, however, woke on the other side of Purgatory. Oblivion was not something that would ever come for you. There would never be a release. Despair, overcoming any hope you ever had, creeped its dark tendrils through your entire being and swiped your feet from underneath you. So that’s what happens to monsters who die in monster heaven… they get respawned and zapped to another part. Great. You were stuck in hell, too far away now to reach them in time. One day you would find a way out. You had to. But first, you would have to find the strength. Strength you may never have again. You curled into a ball, mind silent as you gave into the feeling, a single, small tear streaking a thin line from your eye into the dust. 

You were alone. Again. 

Your second chance gone along with the human and his friends.

 This was my second attempt at writing smut and maybe I got carried away??

WAYWARD PEEPS:

@carryonmywaywardcaptain​ @manawhaat @supernatural-jackles​ @jensen-jarpad @wheresthekillswitch​ @bummblebeeblue @nothin-after-79-blog​ @docharleythegeekqueen @fangirl-writing-fiction @inmysparetime0​ @impala-dreamer​ @arryn-nyxx​ @idk-life01 @attorneyl​ @deathtonormalcy56​ @xwing-baby​ @wonder-cole​ @itsangelpie-supports​ @thinkinghardhardlythinkingogblog​@icecream-and-gadreel

ANGST BABES:

@trexrambling​ @abbessolute @emptywithout​

ALL ABOUT THAT DEAN:

@akshi8278​ @will-winchester

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: A Beginning, Of Sorts

Summary: You know, I can’t even remember where this prompt came from but it cropped up in conversation after this fic involving Nick and Gloria roleplaying an escort and client. Some of us were talking about how terrible Rush would be as an escort, and someone else ( @woodelf68 perhaps?) said that they could actually see it working as a method for him to fund himself through college – minimal investment of time for maximum financial return.

Anyway, wherever it came from, this is the finished product. Nicholas Rush meets Gloria when she hires him as to escort her to a fancy party one evening…

Rated: M – fade to black, but adult themes.

=====

A Beginning, Of Sorts

Nick sighs, pushes his glasses down his nose to be able to rub the bridge, and readjusts them before looking again at the paperwork spread out in front of him, trying to make sense of it all.

PhD’s are fucking hard work. He loves maths, he loves physics, he honestly does, but right now there are numbers swimming in front of his eyes and he really doesn’t think that he’s going to get anything vaguely useful out of it tonight. With a grunt of pain from the ache in his neck, he leans back in his chair and closes his eyes, wondering whether to get some more coffee and try and plough on with it, or give it up as a bad job. He’s worked twice this week already so he thinks that he’s allowed to be knackered.

The phone, shrill and urgent and unrelenting, bursts into angry life and Nick rolls his shoulders before going to answer it. There’s only one person who’d be calling this number at this time, and he’s not entirely sure he wants to answer. Maybe he should let it go to answerphone and he’ll pick it up in the morning when he’s less tired. Maybe he should just pretend to be out, but unfortunately he’s not exactly known for being a social butterfly. Pushing these other welcome notions aside, he grabs the receiver.

“Rush.”

“Hey Nick, it’s Liz.”

He knew that it was going to be Liz. She sounds even more tired than he does. Liz isn’t her real name, he knows that much, but he’s never pried into what her name actually is.

“Hi Liz.”

“Diary says you’re available Saturday night, is that still the case?”

Nick looks down at his paperwork. Of course he’s available Saturday night, it’s not like he has a hot date with anyone except these equations, and they’re not exactly the best company. True, they’re quiet and they share all his own interests, as far as theoretical physics is concerned, but they don’t really make small talk and you can’t really wine and dine a sheaf of papers. On the other hand… He rolls his neck again, feeling the catch. He’s just so damned tired at the moment.

Still, any work is good work, and even scholarship students need to eat and sleep.

“Yeah, I’m still available.”

“Great. I’ve got a job for you.”

“When, where, who.” He doesn’t really waste on small talk with Liz. She’s calling to give him an appointment, and anything else in their interaction is somewhat awkward.

“Saturday night at seven-thirty, a young lady by the name of Gloria Miller. She wants to meet you at the Palace Hotel bar for a chat but then you’ll be going elsewhere, she wants an escort to a fancy family party out of town. Play at being the boyfriend, you know.”

Nick raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t usually get escorting jobs that involve actual escorting. He’s really not the most social person in the world, and he’s really not the most social person on Liz’s books. Sex he can do – very well even if he does say so himself. Interacting with other people… Not so great.

“Are you sure I’m the right person for this one?” he asks.

“Well, the only other guy I have available on Saturday is Danny and he’s even more of a no-go for social events than you are. Besides, she sounded nervous and he’d send her running for the hills.”

Nick has to give a snort at that. Danny caters for rather more specialised tastes.

“I can trust you with this one, can’t I? I think she just needs someone to prop her up for an evening in the face of disapproving relatives. Just be polite and attentive and keep her drink topped up, and neatly deflect any questions about when the two of you are getting married and having kids.”

“Yeah, ok.” Well, that shouldn’t be too difficult. He wonders why Miss Miller has felt the need to hire company for the evening, but decides that it’s really none of his business and he’s not paid to think about those kind of things. “I’ll be there. Dress code?”

“Smart, but not super formal. Suit and tie.”

Nick wrinkles his nose. He hates wearing ties and tries to get away without one as much as humanly possible. He only ever wears them when he’s working and even then, if he can go without he will. Unfortunately, Liz can read his silence.

“You’re wearing a damn tie, Rush.”

“All right, all right. Saturday, half-seven at the Palace. How long?”

“She’s paid up till midnight, thinks the party will be breaking up by then.” There’s a long pause at the other end of the line. “I know I don’t have to tell you this but take condoms and lube just in case. You never know.”

“Of course, Liz.”

“Payment like usual. Have fun.”

“Thanks, Liz.”

They say their goodbyes and Nick puts down the phone, staring at it for a few minutes before getting up and padding through to the kitchenette to make a fresh mug of coffee. If he’s sacrificing Saturday night to the tune of getting paid, he’ll need to keep working on these equations tonight.

X

The Palace Hotel isn’t the most expensive place his client could have chosen, but it’s certainly not the cheapest, and he wonders how old she is and how she came to be blowing her savings on hiring an escort and buying ridiculously priced cocktails in this bar. Nick readjusts his tie and takes a good look around the room, eyeing up the possible clients. He picks her out straight away. She’s sitting at the bar with a Margarita that she’s not drinking, and she meets his eyes as soon as he walks in. She’s the only one here alone, and Nick takes a moment to study her from afar before he goes over.

She’s fairly young, mid-twenties at most; his own age. That’ll make selling the fake relationship a bit easier. Long legs and soft curves encased in a classy, well-fitting little black dress. Honey-blonde hair pinned up, and pale skin. She’s very pretty, and Nick wonders again why she needs an escort for the evening.

Still, nothing to be gained by staring at her from the doorway, so he goes over.

“Miss Miller?”

She nods. “Please, call me Gloria. You must be Hamish. Thanks for coming.”

Nick admits that Hamish probably isn’t the best professional alias he could have chosen for himself, but since he’s so obviously Scottish, as Liz reminds him frequently, he thought that the best thing to do would be to play up that Scottishness. As long as none of his clients ask him to wear a kilt because he doesn’t actually own one and the last time he wore one, he was told that he looked terrible in it. When he first started in the job he had a terrible fear of being asked to wear a kilt and nothing else, because romantic fiction and ridiculous novel covers have a lot to answer for when it comes to the unnecessary objectification of Scotsmen.

“My pleasure,” he replies. He really hates parties. He hates most social occasions in general, but since this pays the bills and is earning him his PhD, he’s going to have to give in with good grace and be on his best behaviour during this one. Unless, of course, Gloria wants him to play at being an absolute arse in order to get her family off her back, the objective being that after him they’ll be happy with whoever she ends up with. Some of the more experienced escorts have had that kind of a job before, with clients who aren’t out to their parents. On the other hand, that might well backfire and lead to the awkward situation of her being put under even more pressure to replace the highly inappropriate ‘boyfriend’ and take up with someone better.

“Can I get you a drink?” Gloria asks.

Nick shakes his head. He doesn’t like drinking too much when he’s working because he likes to be fully alert and aware of his surroundings, and although he’s not been to all that many swanky parties in his time, he knows that there’s likely to be a lot of alcohol once they get there.

“Did the woman at the agency tell you what I wanted?” Gloria continues. “About the party, I mean.”

“She told me that there was going to be a party, but she didn’t give me any details.”

“It’s my grandparents,” Gloria elucidates. “They live about seven miles out of the city. They have a big pre-Christmas party every year, loads of family, friends, influential business people.” Her voice hardens on the last few words. “And every year so far since I moved out, I’ve turned up without a date, and my grandmother tries to set me up with any number of godawful would-be suitors, as if I only exist to be married off and continue the family line, and…” She breaks off. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be saying all this.”

Nick just shrugs. “You can say whatever you like, it makes no difference to me. I’m here for you, not any of your relations.”

“At any rate, this year I was determined not to turn up on my own and that’s where you come in.” She pauses. “I wanted to meet you here before so we could work out a reasonable cover story. I’m doing my Education Masters at the university, we met there.”

Nick nods. “Yes, that’s easy enough.” He wonders if their paths have ever crossed before. “What was your Bachelor?”

“Music. I play the violin; my aim is to get into an orchestra. Teaching’s a backup in case that dream falls through. You? I don’t mean in real life, obviously.”

“PhD,” Nick replies. “Which is technically the truth. You can pick the subject. Just nothing involving foreign languages, or I’ll be fucked,” he adds.

There’s a lot less nervousness in Gloria’s features now, and as she smiles, taking a sip of her margarita, her face lights up.

“Maths,” she says eventually. “You look like the mathematical sort.” She cocks her head on one side and smiles. “Am I even close to being right?”

Nick quirks an eyebrow. “That would be telling. Anything else I need to know?”

“My grandpa made his money in antiques, my dad carried on from him, and all the women in my family are professional wives.” She snorts. “They really want me to settle down, so there’ll probably be a bunch of questions about when we’re going to get married and how many kids we’ll have. If I can say one thing for my family, they’re very… eager.”

Nick just laughs. He thinks he’s going to get on with Gloria. They’re more alike than he thought would be possible, considering their vastly disparate backgrounds, but despite her obvious privilege, she seems grounded enough. He’s met enough of the other sort during the course of his ‘career’. Burning Daddy’s money away and coasting along through their classes.

“We should probably get going,” Gloria says, draining the last of her drink. “They’ll be expecting us soon.” She pauses. “I think you should know, before we go, that a bit of me is just doing this to spite my dad. He gave me a ‘dress allowance’ and told me to go and get ‘something pretty for the party’. So I did.” She pauses. “Sorry, that’s horribly insensitive.”

Nick shrugs. “It’s true, in the most brutal sense of the word.” Her frankness is refreshing, and so is her apology.

“Yes, but it’s still not a very nice thing for me to have said.”

“We’ll say no more about it. I’m flattered that you think I’m pretty.”

“Oh, you’re very pretty.” She slips her arm through his and they leave the hotel bar; there’s a taxi waiting. The drive to her grandparents’ house is quiet and awkward, but Nick’s sure that once they’re there, the uncomfortable atmosphere will dissipate a little as it will no longer be just the two of them. He’s going to be completely out of his depth, of course, but that’s par for the course, and as the newcomer to the family, no-one’s going to expect him to be the life and soul of the party in a hurry. At least, he really hopes not. As they pull up to the drive, Gloria begins to speak again and with the taxi idling outside the door, they work out a few last minute details so that they don’t end up giving all the relatives two subtly different versions of the same story. They don’t need to know everything about each other, this fake relationship doesn’t have to have been going on very long. There’s no need to fake true love and wedding bells on the horizon, just enough of a familiarity not to be suspicious. Although, Nick thinks as they walk in through the front door and he sees the vast amounts of alcohol around the place, he doesn’t think that anyone’s going to be in a position to call attention to anything suspicious any time soon.

“I’ll try and keep you close as much as possible,” Gloria says. “It would be unfair to leave you to be mobbed by all my relatives.”

She introduces him to everyone in short order, and Nick knows that he hasn’t got a cat in hell’s chance of remembering any names, so he just decides to be the arm candy that he was hired to be, keeping his mouth shut as much as possible and listening politely to all the conversations going on that he really doesn’t understand. People are talking about investments and banking on one side and probing Gloria for information about her future plans on the other side, and Nick can quite see why she needed an ally for the evening. It must be incredibly daunting for anyone to come here alone and be met with such a barrage of information and questioning from well-meaning family members who don’t really mean all that well. The main person that he has to fend off is Gloria’s grandmother, who seems to have taken quite a shine to him. Then again, from what Gloria’s told him, she would probably take a shine to any man that Gloria turned up with for the simple reason that he has the ability to get her granddaughter pregnant and produce some great-grandchildren.

“I’ve tried telling her at least sixty times that I don’t want kids, at least not until I’m thirty,” she mutters once they finally manage to extricate themselves from Grandma Miller’s grasp and are hiding out of the way of everyone behind the grandfather clock in the hall. Gloria’s on her third glass of champagne already and she knocks back the dregs. “I really hate these things. But I’m very glad you’re here.”

“I haven’t exactly done much,” Nick points out. “I’m just quiet and respectable boyfriend Hamish.”

“I know, but you exist tangibly which is the main thing, and I can always talk to you and block out everyone else. And I can complain about all my relatives to you and you won’t be offended.”

Nick laughs. “No, although you might be if I share my opinions of some of them to you. It’s all right when you’re complaining about your own family but it’s a different thing if it’s someone else doing it. It’s a bit like Scotland, I suppose. We all make disparaging remarks about various bits of our culture but as soon as someone south of the border makes those same comments, well…”

Gloria smiles. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” She glances back towards the living room where most of the party is gathered, and she sags in her high heels a little. “Do we have to go back in?”

Nick shrugs. “It’s your party and your time,” he reminds her. “I’ll just go along with whatever you do.”

Gloria looks at him sideways, twirling the stem of her champagne flute between her fingers.

“You don’t like these events, do you?”

“Honestly? No. I’m not usually first choice for this kind of thing. But I’m here.”

“Yeah, we’re both here and we’re both miserable. Come on, let’s hide. We’re both consenting adults and apparently in love, I don’t think anyone’s going to come looking for us.”

Gloria grabs his hand and leads him up the stairs; from some of the noises coming from behind closed doors, they’re not the only ones who have decided to leave the party and get up to no good. Although, Nick reasons, he doesn’t know what this particular little excursion with Gloria is going to lead to. She takes him into a small bedroom, a little bleak and sparse, no personal touches in it.

“It’s my room when I stay over,” she explains, opening the window to let some cool night air in and sitting on the windowsill, rummaging around in her little clutch bag and taking out cigarettes and a fancy lighter. “Do you mind?”

Nick shakes his head. “Not at all. I brought my own.”

Gloria laughs and pats the windowsill across from her, offering her lighter, and Nick takes it. The first drag is just what he needs after the tension in the party downstairs.

“Your name’s not really Hamish, is it?” Gloria asks presently.

“No. But I’d rather not tell you what it really is.”

“Fair enough.”

This moment here, sitting smoking in a room lit only by moonlight, is the most comfortable and relaxed that Nick’s been with Gloria all evening, and the silence that settles between them isn’t awkward like it had been before. There’s an unspoken understanding between them; he’s not really sure where it came from but it’s there and it’s nice. It’ll make the rest of the time go easily.

Gloria finishes her cigarette and leans back in the window, looking out over the vast garden beyond, and occasionally glancing back at him, her head on one side, considering him. Nick raises an eyebrow.

“What’s up?”

“I’m wondering whether it would be bad form to kiss you,” Gloria says frankly, and whilst Nick wasn’t sure what he was expecting, he’s fairly certain it wasn’t that. “Because you’re not at all how I was expecting and you’re very handsome, and I’d like to kiss you.”

Nick certainly wouldn’t mind if she kissed him. She’s certainly very lovely and his feelings towards her are positive, rather than the usual neutrality he tends to maintain with clients. He likes her.

“I’d be up for that,” he admits.

“I’m glad.”

She’s firm in her kiss, she knows what she wants, and she tastes of smoke and alcohol like so many women do. She smells expensive, like so many women do. But she’s different somehow. There’s a realness to her, which is ironic considering that the entire time he’s been with her he’s been playing a role. But there’s no pretence to her now, not like the bright, smiling, perfect daughter she had been downstairs. He likes her, it’s as simple as that, and that makes this experience so much more enjoyable for all the many, many times he has done it.

So he keeps kissing her, and she keeps kissing him back, and there’s a champagne brightness in her eyes when she pulls away, a brightness that Nick recognises all too well. It’s a good job that Liz warned him to bring condoms just in case.

X

“We should probably get back to the party.”

They’re sitting in Gloria’s four-foot single bed, Nick at the head and Gloria leaning against the wall, propped up on pillows, the ashtray on the covers between them. He doesn’t really have any desire to move, and he knows that whatever time they get back to the party, people are going to be giving them looks that immediately say that they know what they got up to whilst they were absent, but Nick really couldn’t care less about that, and to all intents and purposes, Gloria doesn’t seem to care too much about it either. But the clock is ticking down, and soon he’ll have to leave because her payment will have run out.

“Aye, we probably should.”

It’s with obvious reluctance that Gloria gets out of the bed and puts her clothes back on without self-consciousness and Nick follows her lead. Once they get back down into the main party room, it’s clear that a lot of the guests have already left. They get the usual looks, a mixture of disapproval from some of the elderly relatives and indulgent ‘they’re hot-blooded young things’ sentiment from the others. Gloria’s mother chastises her for skipping out on so much of the party and Nick listens to her deflect the veiled barbs in a wonderful display of passive aggression that he couldn’t have bettered himself. Finally, she manages to get him out of the door and into a taxi that’ll take him back to the Palace.

“Thank you,” she says as they part. “For everything. I’ve had fun tonight. Well, the bits when we weren’t at the party were fun. And the party was less awful than usual. So thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The taxi slides quietly into the night, and Nick glances back over his shoulder through the rear window at Gloria standing in the driveway, and he wonders if he’ll ever bump into her again.

X

It’s a new year and a new term and a couple of months have passed with Nick trying very much not to think about Gloria when he sees her suddenly, and suddenly, everything changes and he has no idea what to do with himself because he’s walking in one direction with his coffee and she’s walking in the other direction with her violin case and it’s inevitable that they’re going to meet in the middle of the street. She recognises him just before they collide with each other and smiles.

“Hello. How are you?”

Nick’s still somewhat stunned but manages to answer.

“Fine, thanks. You?”

“I’m good. It’s been a little while, hasn’t it?”

No-one would know that they were talking about an escorting appointment, but either way, it’s clear that they remember each other and they have been thinking about each other in the interim. Nick’s not the best at small talk, something that Liz has despaired of in the past, but they chat for a couple of minutes.

“Do you maybe want to get a coffee later?” she asks presently.

“I…” He really doesn’t know what to say to that because he does want to, but at the same time… “You know what I do in my spare time,” he warns her.

Gloria nods. “I do. It’s how we met, remember.” She shrugs. “It’s just coffee.”

Just coffee. He can do just coffee. God, he spends so much of his working life around the opposite sex that one would think that he’d know what to say to them when he meets one he knows in the street. He nods.

“All right then. That sounds good. Tuesday night?”

“Great. Although there’s one thing. I know you’re not called Hamish, but can I maybe get your actual name before we meet again?”

Nick gives a snort of laughter. “It’s Nick.”

“Pleased to meet you, Nick. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

It’s a beginning of something, Nick’s pretty sure of that as they continue down the road on their separate ways. It’s a pretty strange beginning, and he’s not sure what it’s the beginning of yet, but it’s definitely a beginning.