#i will never draw benny the same way twice sorry

[jarold-rat]

this might be my worst post yet

[illfoandillfie]

Kinktober Day 1: Rimming

Kinktober Masterlist | Regular Masterlist

Pairing: Ben Hardy x Fem!Reader

Words: 3,560

Warnings: Rimming, anal sex, some vaginal fingering, himbo Ben (mild unintentional hypnosis I guess)

A/N: Welcome to Kinktober! This is actually an idea i’ve been thinking about for quite a while. We’ve done himbo Rog and himbo Gwil so it only seemed fair to do himbo Ben and since he’s obviously an ass man......only made sense that he’d be into anal lmao. It seemed like the perfect fit for the first of these prompts. But this is the first time I’ve written (or even really thought about) rimming so I hope it’s okay!

“Geeze Ben, could you maybe close your porn next time. Didn’t really expect to see that autoplay when I woke the computer up this morning,”  Ben snorted into his plate of eggs, “Which one was it?”  “Something called Anal Punisher 3.”  “Don’t know what you’re complaining about, that’s a good one.” His eyes twinkled teasingly and he poked his tongue out as you sat in front of your own plate.  “I’m sure it is.” You chuckled, able to see the funny side now that you weren’t staring directly at close up of a porn stars arsehole, “Just not when I’m trying to check my emails on our shared desktop.”   “As if you’ve never had a cheeky wank at that computer.”  “That’s what I have a laptop for,” You laughed again, shaking your head.  “Alright, fair play. I only left it up cause you got home early last night and I had to, um, clean up.”  You rolled your eyes at the flimsy excuse.  “And if you don’t want me watching Anal Punisher 3 then maybe you should let me punish your anal....arse....fuck, you know what I mean.”  It was your turn to snort into your breakfast, Ben’s clumsy attempt at seduction nearly making you inhale the scrambled eggs. When you finally got yourself under control you said, “I don’t care if you watch it, just shut it down when you’re finished.”   “Sorry love,”  “But  y’know, if you did want to anal arse fuck me tonight I wouldn’t say no.”  Ben’s eyes lit up in excitement. He’d either not heard the joke you’d made at his expense or decided it wasn’t worth bringing up if the possibility of anal was on the table, “Serious?”  “Serious. I’ll even put my plug in when I get dressed so we don’t have to spend as much time on foreplay.”  “If I hadn’t already married you, I’d propose on the spot.” 

But by the time Ben got home he seemed more interested in just cuddling on the couch. You’d done as you said you would and worn your plug all day, constantly thinking about what would happen later that night. Right up until Ben stepped inside yawning, when you snuck off to the bathroom to remove it, realising your plans were unlikely to go ahead. You’d half expected him to fall asleep on the couch after dinner but evidently, some part of him still wanted you. He tapped his thigh and beckoned you towards him, pulling you down so he could hold you close and kiss your shoulder. Soon enough that cuddling had turned to making out, you straddling his lap as you kissed him deeply, his large hands pulling you into him, stroking whatever bare skin he could find. Without thinking you dragged your fingers through his hair. He hummed in response so you did it again, your fingers creating small, firm circles against his scalp, drawing random patterns there as you focused on keeping your lips on his and your tongues entwined. Ben made soft pleased sounds as your fingers kept up their movement, almost moaning at the sensation. You could feel him getting harder under you as you carefully rocked your hips.   “Benny?”  “Huh?”  His hands had begun to roam more, moving down to your arse, grabbing and squeezing as he pulled you against him.  “Kinda got me excited here honey. Might wanna stop if you’re too tired to carry through,”  “What?”   He seemed nearly dazed, not properly comprehending what you were saying.   You shifted your hand to his chest, drawing small circles with your finger, “I mean I’ve been thinking about you fucking me all day anyway.”  “Think?”  “Exactly, thinking about our conversation this morning. Remember? Anal Punisher 3?”  “Anal?” It was still a question but there was a tone of excitement behind the dopey confusion.  “You said you wanted to.... I kinda really want you to.”  “Mmmm,”  “I mean I get it if you’re too tired,” you said softly, stroking your palms over his biceps, “but I’m up for it now if you are. So, do you still want to?”  “Mmhmm,” but as keen as he sounded, Ben didn’t seem inclined to move to the bedroom or even to begin to undress you. He was too caught up in feeling you up and trying to kiss you again.   “Don’t you want me Benny?”  He was slow to react, eyes still shut as he nodded, speech flowing like treacle “Want - you.”  “You can have me.” You had to lean back to stop him from kissing you again. As much as you liked making out, you were getting eager for more and wanted to know where he was at.  He nodded again, not seeming to hear you, and then, when he couldn’t immediately locate your lips again, opened his eyes.   It reminded you of the time a few friends had dragged you and Ben to a hypnotists show. None of your group had been pulled on stage to experience the hypnotic powers the man claimed to have, but those who had been had all worn similar expressions to Ben. Eyes heavy lidded and almost glazed over and when they’d gone back to their seats you’d noticed that they seemed a bit dazed and confused. You’d not seen Ben look like that before. Well, maybe a bit dazed after you gave him a proper good blow job, but nothing to this extent. Not even when you edged him repeatedly. He tended to get whiny and loud rather than glassy eyed and dopey. Usually more talkative too, begging or moaning your name. This was something new.  

Curiously, you stoked his hair back off his face and asked him how he felt, tugging lightly on the ends that reached the back of his neck.  “Good,” he sighed softly, “Kiss?”  You couldn’t deny him that when he’d asked so cutely, so you leaned in to kiss him again, letting him draw you in deeply for a moment. When the chance arose you let your lips slip from his, kissing along his jaw until you reached his ear, “What else do you want?”  Ben hummed softly and then said, “Arse.”  It was unusual for Ben to be so monosyllabic. Even when he was super horny and desperate for you, he could generally get most of a coherent sentence out. Nothing that would win any literary awards of course, but enough so you knew what he meant.  “What do you mean Benny?”  “Ummm....arse.....cock.”  It sounded like it had been a struggle for him to even think of the two words he wanted but you couldn’t help but giggle, “Does that mean you want to fuck me?”  “Yeah,”  “Okay baby. But you have to do everything I say, understand?”  Ben nodded.  “Can you do what I say Benny? Be a good boy and follow my instructions?”  He nodded again, “Yes. Please.”  You kissed him once more, trying not to laugh too much, and then scooted off his lap.  Ben whined as soon as the physical contact was broken.  “If you want my arse we gotta move to the bedroom,”  He frowned as if he didn’t quite understand but let you take his hand all the same and followed you to the bedroom. 

Ben’s hands began to wander again when you stopped to open your bedroom door, grasping your hips and then dropping lower to rest against your behind.   It was hard to ignore the tingle the light contact sent through you but you bit down on your rising need as you turned and grasped Ben’s hands, “Gotta wait for that Benny. Just a little longer.” You stepped back towards the bed and Ben smiled dopily as you pulled him along. “I mean I’m ready but not all the way. But if you help get me lubed up you can fuck my arse for as long as you want.”  It was like a light turned on inside Ben’s mind. His eyes still had that unfocused look but they were wider and he was nodding enthusiastically.  “You gonna undress me or should I start for you?” You laughed and when he didn’t immediately move you began pulling your shirt off over your head, too eager to wait. You reached behind you to unclasp your bra, “C’mon Benny. Help me out.”  Ben blinked twice before he seemed to understand but was soon offering his help, pulling the bra from your arms, gently cupping your breasts as he revealed them, thumbs falling into a familiar rhythm rubbing back and forth over your nipples. Still moving slowly, Ben leaned in and kissed your throat, humming in response as you pressed your chest into his hands and sighed contentedly. But he clearly had something else on his mind because soon enough his hands fell, fingers picking at the waistband of your leggings. Indulging him you quickly shed your pants, turning so he could see the thing he really wanted as you stripped off the final layer of clothing. Ben watched intently as you wiggled your hips teasingly and eked the waistband of your knickers down a few inches. And then something changed. 

You felt it in the air, a shift in energy, but even that wasn’t enough to prepare you as Ben growled and lunged forward, his hands tight on your waist as he lifted you onto the bed, barely giving you time to settle on your hands and knees before he dived in behind you.   All you could manage was to gasp his name as he rushed to tear your underpants down your thighs. But your surprise at his sudden movement doubled as he spread your cheeks and buried his face between them. He’d licked you like that once or twice but only when he’d been eating your pussy and teasingly snuck his tongue elsewhere as you tried to recover from your orgasm. This was entirely different.  

It felt similar to the vaguely tickly sensation he made you feel when he was helping you relax before a round of anal, when he would tease you with light strokes from his fingers until you were shivering and wanting more. But there was more heat to it. His breath hot and his tongue wet as he traced your hole. You felt like you’d been completely lit up from within, like he’d suddenly discovered a hundred more nerve endings than he usually hit. And adding to all the physical sensations of Ben’s fingers holding you open and his mouth exploring your darkest nooks, was the feeling of doing something properly filthy. You’d felt the same when you and Ben first tried anal, completely depraved at enjoying something so taboo. That feeling had lessened as you did it more, your enjoyment then stemming from Ben’s improved skills more than the act itself. But with your head against the sheets and your arse in the air you remembered why you’d liked feeling so downright dirty. It only heightened your desire and made every caress of Ben’s tongue sweeter.  

Of course, best of all was just how into Ben was. You wondered how he could possibly be breathing when every second seemed to be taken up with moans and groans as he feasted on you. The noises started softly as he tantalized you with hard licks against your arsehole and the surrounding area. But as his tongue explored deeper, as he pressed into you, making your arse feel slick and hot with his drool and making your pussy throb, he got louder. He seemed to enjoy you more and more, as if he’d never eaten anything as satisfying in his life. That was enough to have you shaking. You were already wet from grinding against him on the couch but the ways he was touching you and how thoroughly he was enjoying it had you positively soaked.   “Finger me Benny,” you gasped, trying to maintain some of the control you’d intended to have.  Ben did as you asked, never able to deny you what you craved, but it wasn’t up to his usual standard. His fingers weren’t as deft as normal, moving awkwardly and out of time. It was as if his fingers were trying to work off of muscle memory alone, his mind too consumed with something else to take any notice of your cunt.   With a needy whine you clumsily disentangled one fist from the sheets and batted Ben’s hand out of the way, replacing it with your own.  Ben didn’t make any indication that he’d noticed you start touching yourself, except to tighten his grip on your arse, holding you firmly as you began to writhe against your fingers. He happily went back to gripping a cheek in each hand, pulling them wide to give himself better access to your arsehole.   It seemed that wearing your plug had been a good idea because Ben found it easy to press his tongue into you, licking around and making your muscles tighten before withdrawing and sinking in again.   And that stimulation plus your own fingers in your cunt made you moan wantonly into the bedding.  Ben answered with his own long, loud moan of desire, sending a shiver along your spine. It was enough to tip you over the edge, your fingers massaging a spot within you as Ben rapidly tongued your hole. 

You rode out your high before letting your fingers slip back to tangle in the sheets once more, but Ben showed no signs of stopping. He might very well have kept up the intoxicating performance all night if you hadn’t whined his name. Even that wasn’t enough to make him stop entirely, just slow down and hum.  “Ben? Benny?” you gasped, as he readjusted his grip on you, “You gonna fuck me or what?”  Ben groaned as if he didn’t want to stop tasting you but wanted to move on to other things as well. And you were on the verge of instructing him to get the lube when you felt his fingers. He reached under you, two digits carefully tracing along your cunt, sliding through the creamy evidence of your earlier orgasm. He didn’t break contact, his fingers just as softly sliding along your crack and up to your arsehole. And then they were pushing against the ring of muscle.  Usually he’d take his time applying lube but he seemed too lost in the moment to remember it. You didn’t mind too much though. Lube might have made it a touch more comfortable but wearing the plug had helped loosen you up and Ben had thoroughly coated everything with his saliva and your own cum. His fingers breached you moderately easily, making you shiver and whine at the feeling of being filled again.   “God it’s a good thing we do this a lot,” you half sighed, half laughed into the sheets, as Ben’s fingers sank another inch into you.  Ben’s only response was to lean forward and lick around where his fingers were penetrating you, humming happily as he did so. 

Ben seemed inclined to spend just as long fingering you as he did licking you, but the way his fingers moved inside you quickly had you worked up and eager for more.   “God Ben. You’re hard right?”  Ben only pumped his fingers into you faster but you took it as a yes.  "So fuck me already. Please Benny,” It came out whinier than you’d expected so you cleared your throat and tried a proper demand, “I need your cock in my arse now Ben.”  You weren’t sure it would be enough to get Ben’s attention. He seemed too engrossed in fingering you to even hear what you were saying. But thankfully, something broke through his blinders.  Suddenly, his fingers disappeared. It was followed by the sound of his pants coming down and then you felt the head of his cock against your back entrance.  “Wait,” You gasped, “Wait. Lube.”  Ben repeated the word lube in a grunt, shifting hips slightly so he could run his shaft along your soaked cunt. You felt him between your lips, as if he were teasing you, sliding back and forth, coating his length in your juices.   A moment later, he returned to your other hole, his hands on your hips to pull your arse back onto him.  Ben let out a satisfied groan as he sank into you but you were panting roughly, almost seeing stars with how good it felt to finally be filled the way you wanted to be. Once or twice your breath hitched, the discomfort of his size pushing into you exacerbated by the lack of proper lube. But it wasn’t enough to truly bother, certainly not enough to stop. The fact that just seeing your arse had made Ben snap into an animalistic, almost feral demeanour had made you impossibly horny. And you were desperate for him to fuck you properly now he was fully sheathed in your arsehole’s tight embrace.   Ben moaned at the feeling, vocalising your own desire. And then he said something.   “What was that Benny?” you asked, unable to comprehend him.  “Fuck....arse......hngggg.....arse.....” he said though you were sure you were missing something. But as nonsensical as it was it was still hot. Knowing Ben was so desperate for this, for you, knowing you could make him babble incomprehensibly. It was insanely hot.   And then he began to fuck you.   You whined and brought your hand to your pussy again, finding your clit, though Ben’s frantic thrusts made it hard to keep the contact consistent.  

You screamed when you came, voice tearing out of your throat as Ben roughly pounded into you, his hips almost bruising hard against your arse.   It was nearly impossible for you to breathe under so much pleasure and you panted for air as the orgasm subsided.  But Ben was still going, still thrusting into you furiously, grunting with the effort as he neared his own release.   You gasped his name and told him to cum, trying to not get swept away by the feeling of his cock moving inside you, wanted him to keep going almost as much as you wanted to feel his semen warm you from the inside out, and drip out of you.   Your request was enough to make him shudder to a halt, his hands squeezing your hips tightly as he released himself with a groan.  He thrust a few more times and your limbs gave out. You felt them wobble and then collapse under you, Ben’s body pressing you into the mattress as he sank down too, still trying to fuck you.  

It took you saying his name twice before he stopped though he made a reluctant sort of a sound when he realised he had to pull out.  “Well if you didn’t fuck me so well you probably could have gone on a bit longer,” you laughed as he, somewhat grudgingly, pushed himself to his feet.  With a satisfied groan you rolled over and stretched your arm out to grab Ben’s hand so you could pull him onto the bed too.   He lay on his front, sighing as his head fell into the crook of your neck, his body resting almost entirely over yours.   You were half being crushed by his weight but you enjoyed it. It was comforting and warm and you softly drew your hands over his back as you caught your breath properly.  Ben was quiet as he lay there until, some ten minutes later, he suddenly pushed himself to his knees, blinking at you. His eyes still had a vaguely unfocused appearance but the more he blinked the more normal he seemed.   “Are you okay?” He asked slowly.  You laughed and nodded, “More than okay. Lie back down, I’m too tired to sit up.”  He compiled with your request, lowering himself again but this time on his back, “I have no idea what just came over me, babe.”  With a sigh you shifted to your side, propping your head up on one hand, “What do you mean?”  “All I know is I saw your arse and just needed it, more than anything else, more than air, I just wanted you.”  “Gotta admit, it was a little unexpected,” you lay your palm on Ben’s chest, his skin still flushed and warm to the touch, “But ummmm, definitely didn’t hate it.”  His hand landed gently on top of yours, holding you against his heart, “Did I use any lube at all?”  “Only spit and my cum.”  “Fucking hell. Are you sure you’re okay?”  “It’s fine Benny. If I’d needed anything else I would have made you stop. If I’m honest....kind of made it hotter.”  “Babe!”  “Not in a weird way! I’m not going to let you get away without lube all the time.” You laughed, “Just knowing you wanted me so badly was nice.”  “I always want you badly.”  You patted Ben’s chest softly, your heart fluttering, “Does that mean you’d want to eat my arse again another time?”  “You liked it?”  “Well you were very thorough.”  Ben groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes which just made you laugh again.  “I did enjoy it,” you said softly, deciding to put him out of his misery, “Wasn’t necessarily expecting it but it felt really good.”  “Well that’s something. I still don’t understand what just happened though.”  “What’s that saying...Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth?” 

Taglist: @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @ilovequeenmorethanyou @johndeaconshands @borhapbois @stardust-galaxies @cherries-n-rocknroll @rogersslave @scorpiogemini 

[sleepysailorghost]

Benny's Big Score

It turns out that New Reno was not a great place.

It seemed like a good idea at the time, a solution to his problems. But it wasn't.

New Reno was dirty, but not in the same glimmery-glittery way that New Vegas was. It wasn't like when he had come to Vegas for the first time, the Bootstraps with him. He was alone. There were no chairmen to protect him, no brothers willing to die with him.

Sitting in the dingy bar, he curses the courier under his breath.

"Oh, don't get me started on Couriers." a melodic voice chimed in. A smooth-voiced ghoul in a fancy pre-war tuxedo sat down on the barstool next to Benny. "You wouldn't know the half of it."

"A courier done you wrong too?"

"I gave as good as I got." the ghoul replied, and in him, Benny recognized that they were both well-dressed men who had been chased out by couriers.

"And yet we're still sitting here in this bar, ring-a-ding." Benny took a sip of his drink. Disgusting as it was (and expensive!), Benny's pride as a Bootstrap and leader of the Chairmen kept him from spitting it out. "Say, who are you anyhow?"

The ghoul rolled his eyes under the sunglasses he wore.

"200 years ago everyone knew my name. Dean Domino's the name, don't wear it out."

Benny's eyes widened.

"That for real? Where ya been hiding out all this time?" Benny questioned, leaning on the bar counter. "Could have used you back in New Vegas."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." Dean answered smoothly. Benny prodded at him again in his "Ring-a-Ding-Ding" fashion, and Dean sighed before answering. "The Sierra Madre."

"Woah, let's keep it in the grove. You," He paused for emphasis. "Are the ghoulified version of prewar icon Dean Domino and you've been hiding out in the casino in the land of the dead?"

"Yes, I suppose if you put it like that."

"I'm the Ben-man, the kingpin of the whole Strip." Benny said, bitterly drinking from his glass. "Or I was."

"Taken down by a courier?" Dean snarked.

"Ain't that a kick in the head. You think you put one in the ground but then they follow you home and try and climb in your bed. Ruin your damn plans. But I'll be back."

"The courier-I never caught their name-banned me from Vegas. They threated to kill me if they ever saw me again. As if they'd get the chance."

"You and me, we're men cut from the same cloth." Benny said, and Dean looked over him.

"Are we really?"

"Yeah, we're both men screwed over by couriers when we could've been kings!" Benny rubbed his hand over his jaw, and then continued. "Y'know...we oughta get together sometime. We could get revenge on the Mojave Express and I have a lot of draw in New Vegas. I could even get you a job preforming in the Tops. Hell, even the Lucky 38."

"Why not?" Dean agreed. Thinking a moment, he asked. "That courier you knew, did they have a large scar on their head?"

"They did actually...a gift from me. Tie, I think that's their name. Well, it's what their boy-toy sniper-type called them when they weren't trying to jump into bed with me."

"Two birds with one stone." Dean said. "Shall we?"

"Yeah, pal."

It took time to get back to New Vegas. This gave them time to plan and plot and scheme about how to get their revenge on the courier.

More or less, it was easy for them to get into the Strip. After all, this was the land that Benny was Chairman of. He was also very skilled with computers, so it wasn't a challenge for Benny to hack into the securitrons.

Their first stop in Vegas was Mick and Ralph's. Throwing a cap to the crier boy outside the story, Benny asked "Are your old men inside?"

The boy responded and Benny strolled into the building like he owned it. Explaining to Dean, he added, "It helps to bring flowers home."

"Benny." Mick greeted shortly.

"Mick, my guy! How's the family?" Benny sidled up to the store owner. "Say, have you gotten any flowers in lately?"

Mick sighed and retreated to the back room. He returned with a wilted bouquet.

"I've only got these in because of Pacer. You know how he's gonna get, you're throwing of his plans with" Mick complained, but Benny cut him off.

"Tell him to send all his complaints to the Tops!" He exclaimed and snatched the bouquet. It was dry and wilty, formed from common Mojave plants rather than one made from Vault-Tec's greenrooms. It must have come in with Crimson Caravans, Benny thought, but Swank would like it well enough.

He shoved a couple caps into Mick's hand-underpaying people was something that got him into trouble before.

"To the Tops!" He called, and Dean followed him.

"Ugh. How things have changed." Dean groaned. "What have you done with the place?"

"Seal it, Dean-o! I've got a man to see. Our plan won't work without Swank."

The man in the check-in window looked up when Benny said his name.

"Shit, Benny. I haven't seen you in ages."

"Missed you too, Swank. You didn't even kiss me goodbye."

"You're not supposed to be here. I know you tried to kill that courier."

"C'mon, Swank. You've gotta let me explain." He gestured with the bouquet. "I brought you flowers."

Swank looked like he was conflicted, but then he sighed.

"Fine. Explain then, boss."

"Alright, so the courier. I did try and kill that courier, but I had good reason for it. You've got to believe me. I needed the platinum chip."

"You can't just keep saying I have to let you explain and I have to believe you. It doesn't work that way. But I'll bite. What's a platinum chip and why did you need it?"

"It's what we need. If we have it, we can upgrade the securitrons and then we won't need the NCR or the Legion or House to protect New Vegas." He smiled bitterly. "It would have been freedom for all of us."

Swank looked at Benny silently.

"I know why I failed now. I needed you and the Chairmen. I needed you."

That seemed to certify it for Swank. He inhaled deeply and then exhaled.

"Alright Benny. But this is the last time. You mess this up and it'll be the end-not just for you and me, but for all of us." He made cautious and firm eye contact with Benny. "What's the plan?"

"You're the man, Swank!" Benny shouted excitedly and leaned over the weapon-check counter to wrap a hand around Swank's shoulder and pull him down for a kiss. Releasing him, he continued. "Oh, it's a doozy of a plan."

Swank looked around and then signalled to another Chairman.

"You take over here." He said, and stepped out from behind the weapon check counter.

The plan was a doozy, Swank thought as he walked from the Tops to the Lucky 38. He hoped the Courier was staying there tonight. If not, he'd have to regroup with Benny and Dean to send them to the Atomic Wrangler instead.

Night had fallen quickly over New Vegas in the hours after Benny had made up with Swank, but his thoughts were quickly interrupted when Swank bumped into someone.

"Watch it," He barked. Looking at the young woman, he realized she was a courier-she had a courier's duster loosely over a purple shirt-but not the one they were going to kill.

"Eh? Did you need something?" She said, "I'm going to Show Low."

It was a dangerous route for a courier because it went right into Legion teritory, but Swank didn't care. It seemed like a good idea at the time, a solution to his problems. But it wasn't.

"Sorry. Good luck!" He said and continued on route to the Lucky 38.

"You too?" Swank heard, but there was a lot of noise. The Strip was loud.

Arriving at the Lucky 38, he let himself in. The collar weighed heavily in his pocket, but he knew that was just in his head. It couldn't weigh more than a pound or two.

"Hello?" he called. "I need to speak to the Courier? It's really important..."

There wasn't any response for a moment. Then the elevator chimed and two people exited.

One was the Courier, and the other was a bitter-faced sniper with an NCR beret.

"Oh...Mr. Tops?" The courier said. "Did you need something? We were just on our way out..."

"Yes, and it's very important. And it can't wait." Swank replied

The little computer on the Courier's arm beeped.

"Alright, what's going on?"

"Sit down, this is very important news." The courier sat down. The sniper stood to the side.

His hands were starting to sweat and he wiped them on his suitpants. Ugh, he could almost hear Benny scolding him for dirtying it.

"I've discovered..." He spoke softly...and the courier leaned into hear better. Just as they planned. "Sorry."

With that, he swiftly reached into his coat pocket and snapped the collar around the courier's neck. It latched closed and armed before they could even move.

They startled back, but it was of no use.

"Recognize it, courier?" a charismatic and smooth voice called as Dean Domino and Benny Gecko strolled into the lobby of the Lucky 38.

The Courier's face was fearful, but the sniper's eyes were full of rage. Their hands clawed at their throat, but it was futile against the explosive collar.

"I wouldn't do that, Pussycat." Benny's voice chimed in. "It's rigged to blow. But I'm sure you knew that. According to my new friend here, you've had some experience with them."

"Dean." They said quietly. " You were warned. I told you what I'd do if I ever saw you again. I'll kill you even if I have to take you down with me."

"Geez, Domino, what'd you do to make 'em hate you so bad?" Benny ran a hand through his hair. "I shot them in the head-twice, even-and left them for dead. And they still tried to sleep with me! Oh, and I wouldn't go making any moves there, friend, unless you'd like your little courier blown to bits. Or do, it would make it easier on me."

"I believe it was that I had their little friend's vocal cords ripped out. Or maybe it was the whole threatening to blow them up." Dean answered. "I never narrowed it down."

"Wow, Benny!" the Pip-Boy beeped. "I never thought I'd see you again! You keep some interesting friends!"

"Yes-Man?" Benny questioned, and then waved it aside. "Eh, never mind. When I've got the platinum chip, I can fix whatever they did to you."

"Yes-Man," Antietam said, dropping their hands from their neck "Could you keep it down? I'm about to get blown up."

"No, you're not." Boone reassured them quietly. "Gotta be some way to take these guys out..."

Internally, Antietam was weighing whether it was worth it to charge Dean and take him down with them. But there was a likelihood of Boone being injured in the blast, so it wasn't going to work out.

"Now, now Courier..." Dean said. "Where did you take the treasure when you ran off? You ruined over two hundred years worth of revenge."

The courier wanted to lash out, but they reigned their temper in.

"You ruined it...You ruined the whole Sierra Madre, did you know that? It could have been a safe haven, a shelter from the nuclear anihilation. But you couldn't tolerate what you percieved as an insult to your ego! And you ruined Vera's life-she was dying and you blackmailed her!" Their vitreolic rant paused. It wasn't the whole sad story, but the only one who knew that was Antietam. And they were too angry and biased against Dean to really care that their rant was biased. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Woah, let's calm down, Pussycat. You keep yourself under control or one of us might just forget ourselves and hit that button. We wouldn't want that, now would we? Let's get down to business." Christine and Veronica ran downstairs.

"Hey, what's going on? We heard commotion." Veronica said, and then when she saw the situation, she put her hands on her hips. "Are you guys having a party without me?"

Christine, on the other hand, growled.

"Dean." It came out in Vera's voice, and if Dean had skin, it would have gone pale with fear. As it was, it broke his composure.

"So it worked." He said finally.

"Alright, don't make any moves!" Benny shouted. "You try anything and I'll blow your friend to smithereens."

"Who are these guys?" Veronica asked.

"Some guys who tried to kill Tie before, I think." Boone answered

"Dean Domino, Swank Gecko-Pierce, and I'm the pro from Dover." Benny barked. "Now I want answers! Where's the platinum chip?"

None of them answered.

"I guess none of you value the Courier's life, seeing as none of you are providing answers." He pulled Maria from his pocket. "No matter. We'll start with the boy toy."

With that, he leveled Maria at Boone.

"Things are getting a little heated, Benny." Swank said, making eye contact with the checker-suited man.

"Stop." The Courier said. "I'll tell you where I hid the chip. Just let my friends go."

"Benny, this is getting more heated than I thought it would." Swank noted.

"Can it, Swank. We're about to get some answers!" Benny responded.

"It's in the dresser in the motel in Novac. Let my friends go, Benny."

"It's like it doesn't even matter to you!" Benny exclaimed. "It-" Swank cut him off by setting a hand on Benny's outstretched arm.

"Benny, calm down. We don't have time for his right now."

"Yeah, Benny, calm down." Dean chimed in, although it was clearly mocking him, which Benny picked up on immediately.

"You got something to add, Deano?" Benny snarked back.

"You know, Ben-man, I think I'm tired of playing accomplice. I'm so tired of playing second fiddle...I think I'll kill you and your friends and claim New Vegas for my own."

"Yeah, that's not happening." Benny fired back. He pointed Maria at Dean. "It's been real and it's been great, but it's not real great."

He fired.

"Shit, Benny, you missed." Swank said, to which Benny responded "Shut up, I know I missed."

He shot again and again and Dean didn't move, until he slumped to the ground, full of lead.

"Well, that's a bust." Benny said. "Hey, whataya say, Courier? We can burry the hatchet with this guy and work together. I won't kill you or your little friends and you won't kill me and Swank. Fair's fair, right?"

It was a stretch-even now, Christine and Veronica's nimble fingers were removing the explosive collar from the angry courier's throat. But Benny had always been a gambling man.

[yelenasdog]

romance and espionage (eggsy unwin x fem reader)

genre: fluff w/ whole lotta angst

summary: who knew names could be such a touchy subject?

words: 2.4k

warnings: literally saying fuck everyother sentence, kissing, golden circle spoilers (is that a thing? idk), mentions of harry’s supposed death, mentions of roxy’s death, guns, and i think thats it.

ok, all my cm moots don’t judge me. 

a/n: ight so uhh as i’m posting this i’m finding out taron is an incel so that’s kinda oW but uhh i haven’t seen the secret service, i just rewatched the golden circle the other night and hyperfixated on taron so... uh here’s this LMAO. also! this takes place after the golden circle, and reader took roxy’s spot as lancelot. ok enjoy!!

♔♂♔

“God, Eggsy, would you quiet down?!”

He snarled meanly in a way that could make Bennie and Jet’s metallic forms cower in fear, his thin lips turning into a grimace.

“Don't call me that here. It’s Galahad, and Galahad only.”

The other agent only scoffed, rolling her eyes.

Lancelot’s surroundings were dark, although quite stunning nonetheless. It was clear and starry night sky, perfect for romance, the worst for espionage. The air felt so refreshing on her skin, allowing her to feel free in some way, even just for a moment, which she savoured, as a feeling such as that was rare in her line of work.

Now, if the girl had been with someone other than the annoying, prickish, and (even though it pained her to the highest degree to say it) handsome fellow, she maybe would have tried to have a little fun to pass the time. Maybe fool around a bit, fraternize with a coworker, eh?

But alas, ever the one with amazing luck, she was stuck with him. 

Which meant rather than perhaps getting crescent shaped markings on her hips from a quick rondevu under the indigo sky and sparkling stars, so roughly placed to match the moon that hung in it, she was crouching uncomfortably, only wishing that the former scenario was taking place.

 Not that she meant with fucking Eggsy, of course.

Well ok, maybe, just a tad.

“Fine, have it your way, Galahad.” She flailed her arms about in a jazz hand motion, making the blondy roll his twinkly eyes in a boyish manner. She fought the urge to grin widely, a warm feeling blooming in her chest, even at his obvious arrogance and upset towards her.

She wanted to blame his feelings towards her on her being a freshmen agent, recruited right after the convergence of Kingsman and Statesman in an effort to rebuild the organization. She had been childhood friends with Roxy, who had long ago tried to get Y/n to join the agency. When faced with her friend’s death, she wanted to honor her wishes, even if this wish was a little, well, extreme.

He only sighed in response to Y/n, tapping the side of his thick rimmed glasses twice.

Y/n’s eyes followed his hands as he did so, enjoying what she was seeing a great amount. She bit her bottom lip subconsciously, losing all focus that was there to begin with.

“Lancelot? Lancelot? For fucks sake, Y/n!”

She snapped her head up, her eyes becoming magnified even further through the faux tortoise shell glasses that Unwin would never admit framed her face wonderfully.

No, not a chance.

He wouldn’t dare even let the thought about how the soft skin of her freckled nose looked even more kissable, her eyes even more full of depth and wonder, or how kind and sweet she looked when she tucked a stray strand of hair away from her face. All because of the damned glasses. Never.

So rather, he settled for pointing over to where the subject of their stakeout was now standing, gun in hand as he conversed with one of his comrades.

But although her body followed his, listening to his directions, most of the information was going in one ear out the other, her brilliant mind occupied by a certain agent and his endeavors.

She was hard in thought, wondering about names of all things. A simple subject, easy to address, you would think. But apparently it was not so, not at all.

You see, Eggsy never had called Y/n by her name. It was always either “Lancelot”, or “Agent”, Y/n only being used for the exception of if he needed to quickly grab her attention.

And on the flip side, she was never allowed to call him anything other than Galahad. Agent was sparse, it put her on very thin ice, close to splitting at any second with no prior notice.

Now obviously, with Y/n being Y/n, she was determined to crack his rough exterior, despite however much he presented himself as “unbreakable”. (His words, not hers.) So, much to his displeasure, she often called out a quick “Oi, Unwin!”, or a “Jesus, Eggsy!” whenever he got in her way, which usually resulted in a similar distasteful glance to what she was recieving now being shot in her direction.

“Alright, Eggsy, I’m thinking that his partner is-“ She used her glasses X-Ray feature, confirming her suspicions. “The partner is in the abandoned pharmacy across the street, should we wait or go now?” He was silent, staring straight ahead, scrutinizing nothing in particular with a stare that was set in stone. 

She whistled lowly, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Eggsyyy-“

“Lancelot, would you shut the hell up! Don’t fucking call me that!” He stood up, leaving a vulnerable feeling Y/n in his wake.

Y/n’s jaw was suddenly like it was wired shut. She was paralyzed, unable to speak, only keeping her gaze fixated on Galahad.

“Look, I’m sorry-“

“Yeah, well good, then! When will you ever learn, we’re not friends, nor will we ever be. Get it through you’re fuckin’ head. It’s like you think you’re Roxy or some shit-“

Sadness and guilt turned to anger rather quickly for Y/n at his unfortunate choice of words.

“Stop it! Would you please, just stop it! For fucks sake!” Her voice was harsh, something he never would had never expected out of Y/n. Tears sprung into her eyes, and her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, no doubt drawing crimson liquid in the process. She tasted iron on her tongue, feeling it seep into her taste buds.

“Lancelo-“

“Fucking hell, shut the fuck up! Really, please, Galahad, listen to me, for once in your life.” She was the one who shot up, inching closer to him with every word. The sticks and leaves crunched under her feet, causing her to cringe at the sound, hoping it didn’t alert the targets.

He nodded solemnly, his jaw locking up, and his hands she had been admiring only seconds before clamped into fists at his sides.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, Harry’s words of “remember your training” ringing through her head. She internally began chanting it like a mantra of sorts.

But if she was being honest, she couldn't quite remember a chapter in the Kingsman handbook (that she most definitely did read during training) that talked about emotional distress due to your coworker who you’re extremely attracted to calling you only by your dead best friend's name, but hey, who knows.

“I know I'm not Roxy. Nobody else could ever be Roxy. I know that, you know that, hell, she knew that. And I would say that you have no idea how it feels to be reminded of one of your closest friends who is dead every time someone calls you by a name that feels as if it isn’t your own, but you do, Galahad. Or you did. But now Harry is back and- and Roxy, well Roxy is gone!”

A single tear slipped out of her left eye. The agent in front of her felt a strong urge wipe away the tears he now felt guilty for playing a large part in. But he resisted, his hands remaining stuck to his side.

“So why would you do this? Say these things, act this way, when you know I have to live every day with you for some reason calling me Lancelot in every situation and me having to call you Galahad all the same! Maybe I shouldn’t have stepped up to be Lancelot when Roxy was killed, if I can’t handle it, can’t handle the dehumanization that comes with only being known as an emotionless fuckin’ agent to you.” 

She stopped, hanging her head. She looked over to the flickering neon lights of the pharmacy, watching the outlines of the targets move around.

“I honestly have no idea if any of that made sense, or if I’m just rambling, I don’t fucking have the slightest idea what the fuck I’m even doing anymore.” Her voice got significantly more quiet, her sentences reduced to mumbles.

Aside from the target and his partners yelling at each other, it was so silent you could hear a pin drop.

His usually stern tone he took with the girl was softer now as he spoke, “You made perfect sense.”

She gave him a half smile before continuing, feeling oddly validated by his words. 

“But what I’m trying to say, Galahad, is that I’m a fucking human being. I have a life outside of this Godforsaken job, and-and emotions, too! I mean, I might even have kids that you don’t know about!”

He internally rolled his eyes, yet again fighting another urge, this time to smile widely at Y/n. Weird.

“Do you have kids I don’t know about-“

“Of course I don’t!”

They shared a short laugh as their words overlapped, harmonizing in a sweet way, their voices like thick and golden honey. Weird.

The two were then succumbed to a blanket of comfortable silence, but only for a short moment before the hushed whispers of Unwin’s voice were heard.

“D’you wanna know why?”

Y/n cocked her head, beckoning him to go on with whatever it was he was going to say. “Why what?”

“Why I only call you Lancelot, why I don’t let you call me Eggsy.”

She nodded, sitting down once more and tucking her leg under her chin in a manner that Eggsy found endearing and adorable. It distracted him slightly, but not long enough for his starry eyed staring to become creepy. Not that Y/n would have it in her capacity to ever think that of him, if she was being honest.

“If I start to think of you as ‘Y/n’, rather than Lancelot things get too real. If you hurt, o-or if you get kidnapped, or God forbid- die.” He momentarily paused, looking up to meet Y/n’s eyes.

“It would make it all too real. I can’t do that, Y/n. After what happened to Harry and then Roxy, and everyone else,” he shook his head, his expression showing him close to crying at the thought of what he was speaking of.

“I can’t lose you too.”

It was like her soul had become visibly lighter, feeling an unimaginable relief flood throughout her system at his proclamation. She was able to come down from her, so to say, “high” almost as soon as she had started it, placing her hands on his, using them as leverage to pull herself up.

“You can’t be so afraid, Galahad. You gotta, you know,” she shrugged, offering him a small smile.

“Live a little.” She moved to look down to meet his eyes where his head was suspended in shame, forcing him to look back up.

“And also, try not to let your fear turn you into a dick, which is by all means just a suggestion.” Y/n laughed at the last bit, smiling and glancing to the side slightly.

They both shared a second laugh together, and it seemed as if for a short while, time stopped. It was just the two of them, features illuminated by the pale moonlight. No target, no saving the world, nothing. Just them. 

So he reached forward, unsure if what he was doing was the right thing, just like always. The damn question of righteousness was engrained in his brain, restricting him like it did majority of the time. But for once, he decided to disregard it in it’s entirety.

So throwing all caution to the wind, unable to contain himself any longer, he closed the small gap left between the two, connecting their lips in a long awaited kiss.

One of his hands flew to the side of her face, the other wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer with a squeal. He laughed into the union, and she only smiled. One of her hands went to entangle itself with his on her waist, the other resting on his shoulder.

She could smell his cologne that he most definitely should not have been wearing per Kingsman on the job regulations, and welcomed the scent, doing her best to commit it to memory, a permanent reminder of what it felt like to be so close to the man.

After what seemed like a long time (but never long enough, honestly) they pulled away, panting for breath. Their foreheads rested on each other’s, the cool night air flowing around them, calming the pair completely.

Still struggling to catch his breath, Eggsy reached forward, taking both of her hands. He ran small circles over her knuckles in a way that made her heart flutter, before dropping them gently, reaching a hand out.

“Let's start over.”

She giggled and widely grinned, and he swore it was becoming his favorite thing in existence when she would do either of those wondrous things.

“Come on, put her there.” He shook his hand slightly making a silly face as well, widening his eyes and looking back and forth from his hand and her face. She placed it in his, proudly smirking as she did so. Their shiny rings clanged, which resulted in another small giggle errupting from her throat.

 He shook it back and forth, a sly smile painting itself on his lips. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Eggsy Unwin.”

She quirked an eyebrow, retracting her hand momentarily, letting it linger in the air.

“Eggsy, hmm? Bit of an odd name, don’t you think?”

He scoffed, placing his hand over his heart in false offense.

“Well if it’s so bad, what’s yours then?”

“Y/n Y/l/n.”

He looked to his feet momentarily, lifting his hands on either side of his head. “I digress, you win.”

She bit her bottom lip again, wincing as she hit the same spot from before. She ran her tongue over it, breathing out quickly.

“I’m not so sure. I think Eggsy is growing on me.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.”

They smiled at each other like lovesick teenagers, still lost within the moment.

And although the bubble of ignorant bliss they were in was something the two of them never wanted to leave, it was sadly inevitable that it would be popped at some point in time.

And almost like an alarm to wake them up from a beautiful dream, gunfire was able to be heard ringing throughout the building across the way.

They pulled apart with a groan coming from Y/n, and a “For fucks sake” from Eggsy. With displeasure lacing their expressions, they began to run towards the pharmacy when Y/n felt a hand tug at her wrist.

“Y/n wait!”

Her eyes widened as she looked at him as if he was a mad man, only slowing to a backwards jog. She gestured around her to the burst of red and orange explosions that were now going off around her, screaming “What?!”

He sprinted to catch up with her forcing her to come to a complete stop with a firm hold on her shoulders.

“Eggsy, come on! Lets go- Ah!”

He cut her off with a firm kiss, gripping the sides of her head, scrunching his fingers in her hair. She let a small moan slip out at the feeling, which he responded to by chuckling. He then pulled away, a shit eating grin written on his face. 

She stood in shock, unable to move from her place. He started running, turning over his shoulder.

“Come on, Y/n, keep up!”

Not focusing on where he was going, he tripped over himself, letting out a small yell of surprise. Y/n laughed loudly, going to chase after him with a miniscule shake of her head at his antics.

But nonetheless, the only thing going through Y/n’s mind during that situation that should have been horrifying, was that maybe she was wrong all this time.

Romance and espionage did go well together, especially when it was with Y/n and Eggsy.

♔♂♔

hello!!! so this was a multi-fandom account to begin with anyways so honestly i feel like i should start a seperate masterlist for “hj’s hyperfixations”. but yah this was my first fic for him and idk if i’ll do another but i hope u enjoyed this! also it’s my bday tomorrow (sept 7th) so this is a self indulgent fic. as a treat. ok love u bye!

xx hj

also avery asked me to tag her so @spideyspencer​ LMAO i’m so sorry for this mess.

[thebrotherswholoved]

Day Two: “Secret Santa”

“How much homework d’you got?”

Sam’s sitting there, staring at the eraser of a number two pencil, trying to make it implode. Maybe if he has no pencil he won’t have to take the exam?

“Sam?”

Oh, yeah. Jessica’s sitting cross legged on the table beside him, legs knocking into the nearby bookcase just filled to the brim with knowledge: useless and obsolete knowledge, at least. That section of the library is history. Oh, shit, will Gottesman put Assyrian culture on the test?!

“Samuel Winchester, what is going on inside that big head of yours?” Jess flirts in that shameless, up-in-the-clouds air about her that made the entire junior varsity football team fall for her.

Sam thinks she’s cute. That said, he doesn’t think she’s hot and she’s definitely not his type, but she’s sweet and bakes delicious pastries for the environmental awareness club’s bake sale. She’s the type of girl any guy, girl, or anybody in between would be lucky to have—just not him. Jess would be his type if she had short hair. And a more phallic pubic area.

He’d usually make conversation and let his dimples do the talking to protect her from eminent rejection on his part, but he’s too fucking stressed right now to do anything but dissociate and stare at the damn pencil he’s holding.

“Mostly elephants,” he mutters, flicking at the wood like a syringe. He just came from his anatomy course, so he’s in a doctor-y mood.

The blonde snorts a bit, covers her nose, and tries to cover up her ‘crudeness’ with a dainty chuckle. “Elephants? Why the hell are you thinking of elephants, beautiful mind?”

“I’m trying to remember who they trampled in that one damn war, I think it’s the Persian one?” He blows air through his teeth and rolls the writing utensil away until it hits his pre-calculus book. “And I’m wondering if they can trample me.”

“You’ll do fine, Sam,” she slides off the table, tiny plaid skirt pleating with her in the motion. That just reminds him of how scratchy his own plaid tie is against his throat. Damn uniforms. “It’s Reid you need to worry about. He’s gonna kill my grade.”

This draws a chuckle from the lanky freshman, long hair—that just barely abides by the dress code—dangling in his face.

“Like, with the test or wielding a sword?”

“Yes,” Jess sighs and prepares to leave to her next period. “Alright, nerd. Good luck with your elephants, or whatever.”

Sam lets out a breathy laugh and turns to look out the window at the snow falling into the bleak mid morning air. He wishes he could go and frolic out there—maybe even practice his physics by zigzagging around an open area to prove his hypothesis.

“You Sam Winchester?”

Jumping out of his skin, he turns around and is met with the sight of Benny, a boy in his English class he’s never spoken to.

“Uh...yes?” He stutters. This boy is intimidating: he’s a sophomore in remedial English, a jock, and a total dickhead to freshmen. Especially nerdy freshmen on the robotics team—great, this is exactly what he needs right now.

Before he can offer any explanation up for why this guy is even in a library, a tiny package is being tossed into his hands and Benny is trudging away to go beat up a mathlete or something.

The small box is wrapped in what appears to be the Sunday comics from the newspaper, and judging by the date on one of the sides, it was yesterday’s paper. The job is poor, but the haste the person who wrapped it was in seems to be kind-of endearing. There’s a dollar store bow taped onto the top of the gift, and Sam feels an impulse to be as delicate as possible.

Unwrapping the thin pages covering the present and opens the box, he feels his heart drop into his lungs at what he finds. It’s a necklace with thin black thread and a golden pendant in the shape of some ancient figure’s head. Whoever this is, they know his style—it’s absolutely beautiful.

When he takes it into his hands like a wounded dove, a note falls out as well. It’s written with erasable ink on loose leaf notebook paper and folded into uneven quarter squares. The handwriting betrays the presentation, however: beautiful cursive glides across the page in narrow strokes of the shitty blue-inked pen used. In shock, he holds the note in both hands while still thumbing over the blunt edges of the pendant.

“Sam—

God, that’s a pretty name. It suits you, you know: you’re totally a Sam. A pretty name for a pretty boy.

Sorry, I know I suck at this. I’m only writing because I’m too fucking scared to talk to you. I know I’ll blush and make a fool of myself, and that’s not attractive.

We’ve met twice before. Once in September when you worked as a library aide and helped me find a barcode on a Stephen King novel, and again last week when I picked up your pencil for you. Each of those times I had to walk away and breathe for a minute because you just stole my suaveness and tore it to shreds.

I want you to wear this necklace all week, okay? My uncle gave it to me, and I don’t do jewelry, but I thought it’d look good on you. It’s supposed to bring good luck to the wearer, not like you’ll need it. You just seemed stressed.

If I have the balls, I’ll try to talk to ‘ya soon in person.

Awkwardly,

Your Secret Santa”

Sam’s hands are trembling with excitement and trepidation at the note. Someone likes him—and it’s a boy! He’s never had another guy like him, ever. Then again, who the hell is this boy with beautiful handwriting?

He helped a lot of people check out books in September, and lots of Stephen King novels were read. Plus, he’s fucking clumsy. Literally everyone has had to pick up his pencil for him!

It’s gonna be a long week.

•••

For the love of god, let his suffering end!

Sam wants to bang his head against his locker until he passes out. This secret santa gig coupled with the seven midterms he’s taken this week have successfully steeped his brain in anxiety. His last exam period just got let out and yes, elephants were included; but now, he has no distraction from the whole crush scenario.

The brunette fumbles with his amulet in stressed anticipation as his steps quicken, eager to escape the hallway and get to his locker. Over the course of the last five days, he’s received four more notes in the same penmanship, each one making his heart melt. Sure, it’s no Shakespeare but it’s unique and genuine.

His fingers tremble as he twists the number dial lock: 11-02-83. Expecting a note, he begins scanning the blue walls of the metal rectangle but finds nothing but that same handwriting in erasable marker on the door:

“Turn around.”

By the time he whips around, brown hair following the action, he’s neglected to notice that everyone has cleared the hallway and is standing with giddy smiles and phones on video. The only person in this vacant zone is a tall, sandy blonde, freckled junior boy.

Holy shit. It’s Dean fucking Smith.

His hand finds the necklace and he tries to breathe but can’t find the willpower to do so. His brain is running into overdrive trying to decide if this is real or not. The footsteps nearing him seem real and so do the calloused, motor-oil-stained fingers wrapping around his hand in a cautious way, Dean being afraid of something Sam can’t quite place.

“Do you like it?” The boy runs his fingers through his spiked hair and bites his lip, cheeks blushing beet red.

“I love it.” Sam blurts out before his sense of reason can muffle his heart. Exhaling, he relaxes a bit. “I really love it.”

Dean lets out a breath and lets his thumb roll over the soft skin on the back of the younger’s hand. “Good. I hoped you would.”

Sam’s heart is beating out of his chest like in one of those wacky cartoons, but he steps forward and rocks back on his heels. Bravery rising, his hand moved from his own to cup under his chin, emerald eyes scanning his lips.

“Can I kiss you?”

He doesn’t need to ask twice. Sam’s head seems to nod before the taller man can even finish his question, and Dean’s eyes flicker with excitement before closing. The gap between them is closed and chapped lips meet peppermint chapstick as their worlds collide. The crowd is cheering but they can’t hear anything. Both boys are far too focused on the taste of each other on their tongues and when they part, Dean drops his bad boy act and wraps him in a hug.

Arms tightening around his neck in response, Sam brings his lips to Dean’s ear and smiles.

“You have beautiful handwriting.”

[ficsbydob]

Interactions in a Coffee House

Fandom: Disney Descendants

Ship: Bal

Word Count: 2350

Summary: The coffee shop AU no one asked for.

also found on AO3

Every day for the last three months, a dark purple hair petite girl would sit in the same table in the dark secluded corner of the café, drawing and ordering the same “blackest coffee you have” – her exact words. At first she was like every other customer to Ben, except most days she’d pay for her drink with chump change and never get a refill even though she was there twice as long as everyone else. After the first month passed, he started to take more of an interest – out of complete curiosity of course.  He noticed that occasionally she would have other people with her, either separately or as a small group. A smaller boy with white hair who always had a dog with him (the owner wanted to do something about it but it seemed that it was a service dog of some sort) who would be doing homework – or at least that’s what Ben guessed – well she drew. Another guy, this one taller with long black hair, who spent most of his time flirting with anyone that looked his way. And the last person was another girl, she sketched almost as much as the purple hair girl did but she also would occasionally have a collection of chemistry books with her.

For two months straight, Ben had to endure constant teasing from Lonnie, the one person who made working at the café bearable, because he couldn’t keep his eyes off the mystery girl. He’d even give her a free refill every once and awhile, saying it’s on the house (which really was just deducted from his paycheck). Lonnie just couldn’t figure out why Ben didn’t just try to strike up a conversation with the girl, ask her on a date or anything for that matter.

Ben wasn’t really sure why either.

But when he came into work after school one afternoon and didn’t see the girl in her spot, he was taken aback. His whole shift he continued to look for her, but she never came. The next day, the same thing. She wasn’t there and she didn’t show up. By the end of the week, though it could be stupid, he was honestly starting to worry for her.

He was behind the counter, staring at her table – occupied by someone else – when Lonnie came up to him. “Missing your favorite customer huh?” She rested her elbow on his shoulder, looking in the same direction he was.

“It’s just weird,” came his reply.

“She’s probably sick or something. Or they moved. Or she died.” Ben looked over at his friend, eyebrows raised with a small, bemused smile. “Not everything is a happy ending King Ben.” She tapped his head and walked away to do her rounds.

He shook his head, rolling his eyes. “King Ben?” The voice startled him, making him turn slightly to see who had spoken. It was the girl. She was staring at him with a raised

He let out an airy laugh. “I was Homecoming king two years in a row, she won’t let me live it down.” She gave a nod, seeming unimpressed. He licked his lips, “Right. So the usual?” As he spoke, he started reaching for a cup, getting ready to fill up a glass with the blackest black coffee they got.

“Yeah.” She leaned forward, “But can you make it to go.” His hand stopped before moving toward their to-go cups, giving a nod.

“One blackest black coffee to go.” He set it down on the counter in front of her, “That’ll be four fifty-three.” She gave him a five and they exchanged change and that was that. It was probably their longest conversation they’ve had since she started coming to his place of work.

Lonnie came back, a smirk on her face, “Did you get her number yet?” He rolled his eyes, ignoring her and heading to the back.

“Chad, let it go,” Ben was walking out of the away locker rooms from Isle High, they had just won their lacrosse game but Chad, a curly haired blonde kid who’s been Ben’s friend since basically their birth, wouldn’t shut up about Isle’s number 8 and the “cheap shot” he took. “Even with that cheap shot,” though truthfully, Ben didn’t think it was, “we won.”

Chad didn’t want to let it go however, and continued to go off about. Ben rolled his eyes, deciding it wasn’t worth arguing about or getting his friend to move on, and moved ahead of his friend. He was turning a corner when he walked into someone. “Oh, sorry!” He moved back and looked down to see a full head of purple hair. “Oh! It’s you. Hi.” A smile appeared on his face as he saw coffee shop girl. Her eyebrows scrunched together, her head tilting to the side. Smile faltering a bit, he opened his mouth again, “I work at –“

“At the Coffee House. King Ben.” His smile grew again.

“Yup. That’s me.” A small pause, “So you go to Isle High?”

“Unfortunately.”

“I’m sure it can’t be that bad.”

She let out a huff, “Yeah, the gang activity really gives it that cozy safe feeling everyone wants for their children.”

He let out a laugh, “That’s fair. I’m sure it can get pretty interesting though.”

She shrugs, “It does keep you on your toes.” He glanced down at his sweatshirt, sporting the Auradon Prep school logo, before looking back up at him, a smirk on her lips. Just than the rest of his team started piling out of the guest locker rooms. “I’ll see you around King Ben.” She tapped his chest before moving along.

And see him around she did, of course, every day as she sat back in her usual spot, either by herself or with her friends. She didn’t talk to him much, outside of maybe thanking him for a refill and calling him King Ben.

He’s starting to regret her overhearing Lonnie.

On one of his days off, he came into his work place with a couple of his friends from school. Lonnie still had to work and after her shift ended the whole group planned to go to some party Aubrey, Ben’s ex, heard about. Lonnie constantly gives Ben crap for still being friends with Aubrey, she was never a huge fan on his ex.

Aubrey had gone up to order everyone’s drink, the money in hand, when she called out “Benny Boo,” across the café. He looked up, eyebrows raised, “What did you want again?”

“White Mocha Latte,” came his reply, not even bothered by the nickname Aubrey won’t stop using on him. It’s not like it bothered him or anything so he didn’t really see a reason to make her stop.

That was another thing Lonnie gave him crap about.

“Hey Benny Boo,” a mocking tone came from behind him. He turned around to see the mystery girl standing behind him, smirk in place.

“Hey,” he gave her a smile in return.

“Who comes to their place of work on the day off?” He gave a shrug.

“We have the best coffee in the city.”

She tilted her head to the side, “Pretty sure you’re biased.”

“And yet, I see you here every day,” he countered.

This time it was her turn to shrug. She gave a once over all his friends before deciding they weren’t worth her time before eyes where back on Ben. He probably shouldn’t be assuming but he felt like it was a safe bet from the look of uninterest resting on her face.

“Guess this means I won’t be getting my free refill.”  She crinkled her nose, flashed him a small smile and continued on her way out the café.

From that point on, their interactions almost always happened that way. Some sort of small banter. He even finally learned her name, Mal. He maybe, sort of, really enjoyed how it sounded. Mal.

And he didn’t miss the looks her friend, the other drawer, would give him as he give Mal her free refill. Or when he’d stop by to ask what she was drawing – not that Mal would ever let him see. Apparently he hasn’t earned enough cred with her to get the privilege of seeing her works. He would just shake his head every time she pulled her sketch book to her chest, hiding the sketch from his eyes. But when he would go to clean her table after she left, there would be rare moments that she’d leave one her sketches behind. He might have started to collect them.

A couple more months went by and eventually Ben got familiar with Mal her whole group. He learned the other artist was named Evie, the boy with the white hair was Carlos, and the taller one was Jay. Jay actually ended up being the guy that Chad wouldn’t shut about when Auradon Prep went up against Isle. When Ben found that out he gave Jay a compliment, telling him he was impressed by the hit.

Out of all four of them, he noticed that Evie always had the most money. Whenever they four were together, she’d pay for everyone’s drinks and treat them to a snack of some sort as well.

They were all pretty great, in Ben’s opinion, and he enjoyed when they came in because it was four more people who made working at a café filled with mostly pretentious high school and college kids that much more bearable.

He was bringing them their drinks when Evie looked at him, “Ben.” From the tone of her voice alone, he knew that he wanted out. He was too nice to say that however.

Whatever it was that she was going to say, Mal didn’t seem particularly happy about it. “E.” Her tone holding a sort of warning.

It did nothing.

“Don’t you think Mal would look beautiful in this?” She held up a sketch of a dress. Ben didn’t really know much about fashion and he didn’t have the type of imagination to think of what that dress would look made up, but he could tell that it was a very good drawing of a dress.

He glanced over at Mal, placing down her drink in front of her, “Um.” He looked back at Evie, “I think she’d look beautiful in anything.”

“Awe,” she smiled brightly at him, placing her notebook down. “Not sure how that helps me convince her to go to the dance though.” She shook her head, looking over at her friend.

He looked over at Mal, “What dance?”

Evie answer. “Our Winter Formal. M thinks they’re a waste of time.”

“Because they are,” Mal replied back.

Ben shrugged, looking to Evie than Mal. “Dances can be fun. If you go with the right people. Anyone ask you?”

Mal just rolled her eyes, Evie speaking up again. “A couple of people. But M said no to all of them.”

Ben opened his mouth to ask why but Mal was already answering his question, “Because, E, it’s a waste of time.”

“M, it’s not! It’ll be fun!”

Mal, however, seem very certain in her revolution that it’d be a waste of her time. Ben left them to it, knowing that if he stuck around their table much longer and his manager saw he would get yelled at. Again. He’d look over at them, of course, through the rest of the night but it was busier than usually so he didn’t really get a chance to stop by again.

He also couldn’t get the fact the Isle was having a Winter Formal out of his mind. Honestly, it’d be pretty cool to go to a dance with Mal, he might have even thought about asking her to prom but if she thought dances where pointless it might not even be worth bringing it up.

He was making a to-go drink for some business major who almost always wore some hard rock metal band whenever he came in when Evie walked up to the counter. She didn’t even greet him properly when she opened her mouth to say, “Would you go with Mal to the Winter Formal?”

He glanced up at her, eyebrows coming together, “I thought she didn’t want to go. Y’know, they were pointless and stuff.” He placed the cup on the counter and reached for a lid.

“That’s all true. But!” He looked up at her again, shaking his head and handing the drink over to college kid, “She needs to go! This is our senior year and she’s never once gone to a dance.”

“What makes you think she’d go with me?” He moved back to the machines to clean up his mess.

“She likes you.” He nodded, knowing that was a given. Evie leaned over the counter, “Ben, she really likes you.”

His cleaning slowed down. Looking up at Evie, he licked his lips, “That doesn’t mean she’d want to go with me though.”

“Will you at least ask her?”

He paused, looking over at her usual table where she was watching them with curiosity. “Yeah, of course.”

He did ask her too, he waited until she came up to his counter for a free refill – though he has an inkling that she knows for a fact that they weren’t actually free – and just popped the question. It was no real surprise to Ben that she said no – that didn’t stop the disappointment however. She told him the same thing he heard her tell Evie, that it was a waste of time. But what surprised him is she suggest that instead they do something together. “Go to a movie or something.”

He smiled, nodding his head, “Yeah. Okay.”

She took her refill from him, “Okay. You’re paying.” She winked at him, holding up her cup as if to imply he does with her refills and moved back to her table with Evie.

Maybe down the road he’ll ask her to go to prom with him but for right now, he’ll take what he could get.

[asthora]

The Last Dance

The Courier and Benny have their final face off and there’s only so much room for ambition in New Vegas.  Eventual Courier x Benny.

Crazy.

Goddamn mother-fucking crazy.

Benny doesn’t know if he means himself or the broad bathed in blood who’s just smashed in a Legionnaire's head with the heel of her boot.  God, he thinks he fucking loves her.  

Ha, love!

He’s confusing love for lust.  He does that often.  Once, he thought he loved a hooker but when he realized he remembered every detail about her tits, but not her name, he threw the notion of love out the window.  This is similar.  He knows the courier’s tits too.  Saw them a couple of nights ago in his suite.  Thought he would never see them again but hey, he’s thinking he might have a chance at round two if she decides to let his mangy ass go free.

A fucking pipe dream.

The courier empties a clip then uses the butt of her rifle to break one guy’s jaw then another poor soul’s nose.  Her companion, a man with a buzz cut who screams NCR even without the stupid beret, finishes them off with a few efficient shots to the gut.  Benny has never seen so much blood in his life.  Something about it is arousing.  Or rather, watching the courier do her dance of death is arousing.  The bodies, the blood, the severed limbs, it’s somehow just the right background for this celestial wasteland bitch.

How can this be the same gal he ravaged in his bed a few nights ago?  He wonders if he made it up.  A dream he conjured.  No, he couldn’t have.  The image of the courier laid out across his bed like a four course meal has been the only way he’s been able to survive the fucking nightmare he’s endured in this camp.  That night was real, just like this impossible slaughter is real.

He’s wandered into the world’s best show.  A front row seat to the showdown of the century.  She unceremoniously beheads Caesar.  Takes a fucking baseball bat to his head like it’s 2077.  A home fucking run.  Then his goddamn lapdog, Vulpes, the most evil son of a bitch from here to New Vegas and back, is just laid out like a nice steak, butchered and bloodied and fucked over until he’s ground brahmin and the courier is standing over his body triumphantly.

Benny can’t believe he bagged this broad.  

She’s a nightmare.  A daydream.  A scourge on this earth and she isn’t finished purifying the desert just yet.

The courier moves on, leaving the confines of the tent while he stays put on his knees, tied up like slaughterhouse brahmin waiting for the send off.

“Christ,” he says under his breath.

Off to the side, the severed head of Caesar is looking back at him with wide, startled eyes.  What a sight.  Any other day he would rejoice, the great Caesar is dead!  But he’d like to rejoice in the comfort of The Tops or at least somewhere that isn’t the dying black heart of the Legion.

He waits patiently, because that’s all he can do.  He listens to the sound of bullets flying and grown men screaming.  He wonders about the logistics of taking out the entire Legion camp, something the NCR has been wanting to do since the skirt wearing assholes plopped down across the Colorado.  He guesses it all came down to the fact that she had the balls where the NCR’s turned blue.   Then it helped that she had the jump on them.  She had Caesar's trust.  Never did the wrinkly old bastard think that a woman could send him flying from his pedestal.  Maybe that was all she needed.

A risky move, one Benny isn’t sure he would make, but he trusts the courier to do things right.  She has more luck than Lady Luck herself.  She’s also batshit crazy.

He’s beginning to wonder if the crazy broad is ever coming back when a weird silence settles over the camp.  There isn’t even any pathetic moaning of survivors.  The bitch killed them all.  He laughs into the void.

Dead!

The flap of the tent rustles and Benny straightens and lifts his chin, as if that’s going to help him look any more authoritative while he’s down on his knees like a New Vegas tramp.  He supposes he should have taken this time to think of how he could convince her to let him live.  But, the time has passed, and he blames dehydration and an empty stomach for the poor judgement call.

He’s as good as dead.

The courier walks towards him.  She takes big strides, walks with shoulders thrown back and her chin held high as if she’s going somewhere important.  She crouches right in front of him, so close he could count the freckles that pepper the bridge of her nose if he was so inclined.

“So pussycat,” he says.  “What’s next?”

She cocks her head  and gives him a shit-eating grin.  If he was nervous before, he’s sweating bullets now.  To think just seconds ago he was pondering walking out of this camp a free man.  The look in the courier’s eyes is downright devilish.

“I didn’t really plan this far,” she answers.  A lie.   Of course she did.  She’s like him, she sees all the angles and plans appropriately.  She knows exactly what she’s going to do and she’s gonna let him sweat over it for a few minutes.

“Time keeps on ticking, babydoll.  If you don’t make up your mind soon, we’ll be dancing in the dark.”  He laughs, but it sounds brittle and forced.  Fuck.  Charming his way out of this one is out of the question.

She laughs too.  “I like the dark.”

The courier stands up and puts a hand on her hip.  She’s wearing next to nothing, ripped jeans and a white tank top that has a few holes and more than one blood stain.  How is she not dead?  Maybe it’s all the crazy in her that keeps her kicking.  If two bullets to the noggin can’t send her off, the Legion can’t touch her.  She’s goddamn immortal and he doesn’t have a chance up against her.

“I get it pussycat.  Fair is fair.   And eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.  I deserve the worst,” he says.  Trying to woo her cold cold heart with pitiful moaning isn’t his best card, but doesn’t have the ideal hand to work with.  He’s going to count his blessings and remember she didn’t stick him with that switchblade she had stuffed in her bra the other night.  She’s had the chance to kill him.  Or maybe she was just waiting for this moment.

She raises an eyebrow.  “So you’re ready to die?”

“Well,” he gives her his slickest smile, the one that makes broads collapse into his arms.  “I wouldn’t say ready.  Just accepting and  thanking god above that a barn-burner like yourself is the one to bump me off and not some common wasteland fink.”

“You know how to charm a girl, Benny.” She deadpans.

“It’s a talent, what can I say?”

She lets out a long sigh.  He can tell she’s thinking, but he isn’t sure about what.  Which way to kill him perhaps?  Is she considering crucifixion?  He wouldn’t put it past her.  But maybe, the cross isn’t her style.  A good throat slash perhaps, or maybe she wants to send him out the same way he tried to kill her.  Bam bam.  

He wishes she would just do it so he wouldn’t have to keep waiting.  He’s been on his knees for so long that his legs have gone numb.  The first few hours were torture.  He felt every grain of Mojave sand through his slacks, biting his skin and eventually making him bleed.  He doesn’t feel anything anymore, wishes that the feeling would extend to his racing heart and sweaty armpits.  He wishes she would just kill him so the fear would go away.  He hates fear.

But she doesn’t seem to want to get the show on the road because she just stands there.  She looks at him for awhile.  She chews on her lip.  Circles him, running a hand through his greasy hair.  He would like it if she wasn’t tearing at the roots.  At one point she stops and starts cleaning the blood from her fingernails with water from her canteen and a decently clean portion of his dusty checkered coat.  Benny wants to fucking scream.

“Pussycat-”

“No,” she says.  “Don’t speak.  I’m enjoying the silence.”

She goes back to her circling.  This time she has a knife.  Sometimes she pokes him with it.  Gentle, not hard, just enough to sting but not enough to draw blood.  He knows he’s being teased.  Oh, she is a nasty one.  Every single jab chips away at his oh so holy pride, his carefully crafted cool cat image.  The bitch knows where to hit him where it hurts and he isn’t sure if he should applaud her or fucking lunge and try to rip her throat out with his teeth.

Woah.  Slow down there Benny-boy.

What a thought.  What a very tribal thought.  

Goddamnit, she’s wearing him down.  He has to focus.

But he’s tired, dehydrated, and he’s pretty sure he has a concussion from all those beatings the Legion so kindly gave him.  And she keeps going and going and going.  When he think she’s going to stop, she doesn’t.  He’s a doormat.  The courier wipes her boots on his slacks, spits in his hair, prods his bruises until he makes unholy noises.

Fuck he hates her.  He loves her.

At one point, her companion, the NCR fuck with the stupid hat, comes in to check on her but she waves him away and keeps up her torture.  Isn’t she afraid of Legion reinforcements?  Doesn’t she want to get out of here?  Move on with her life and leave him bleeding into the desert like the rest of her enemies?

Benny tries to think of it in a good light.  He’s the worst of the worst.  Her number one bad guy.  He’s getting the star treatment.  Caesar wasn’t important enough for her to kick and toss around in the dirt.  He should feel flattered.  That helps prop up his ailing ego a bit.  He holds onto that as she slaps him.  Once, twice, ow.

She crouches in front of him again.  She’s even closer this time.  Like really close, like oh boy, he can smell her.  Fuck.  Her baby blues are shining like neons.  She smells like sweat and blood and gunpowder.  A heady blend of the wasteland’s choice aromas.  She smells like Boot Rider, looks like New Vegas.

“I think I’m done,” she says.  “I’m getting bored.  You aren’t mouthy today, Benny.  I’m disappointed.”

He gives a tired smile.  “Sorry, honeybaby.  You caught me on a bad day.  Blame the concussion and the broken ribs.”

The courier pats him on the shoulder.  “You’ve been a good sport, Benny.  The best out of this whole goddamn game.”

“Well now I’m flattered, baby.  You’ve been 18 karat yourself, a real gasser.” He says.

“Ready for the send out?” She whispers.

“Endsville, next stop.”

The courier smiles and runs her finger along the rusted blade of her knife.  So she’s going with the classic hack and slash.  Here she is again, catching him off guard.  What a broad.

He thinks about closing his eyes but he ain’t a fink.  He squints a little instead.  He doesn’t want to seem too eager to meet the executioner’s axe.  She leans in closer, closer, closer.  The edge of the blade is up against his throat.  It’s warm like it’s sucked up some of the Legion blood and now has a dark heart of its own.

He waits.

Any minute now.

Tick tock.

Why the fuck is she taking so long?

The courier lowers her blade and the rope around his wrists suddenly falls into the dirt.  Is this a joke?  He looks down at his bleeding wrists and flexes his fingers.  They’re stiff.  The blood rushing back into his hands is painful and his vision goes blurry for half a second.  He isn’t sure if he should rejoice just yet.  What if this is a trick?  Another cruel torture device?  He watches her carefully as she reaches behind her and pulls out Maria.

Fuck.  Maria.

His number one broad.  His companion.  His first love.

She sets it before him gently as if she were setting down a puppy.  The courier looks up at him.

“I can’t fucking kill you.  I would like to but it just doesn’t feel right.  You deserve worse than death.  Life will fuck you over more than I can.” She says.

“You letting your number one most wanted walk free?”  He can’t believe it.  He just can’t.  The bitch is crazier than he thought!  He was ready to die and now he gets to live?  No, this isn’t how this works.  This isn’t how the law of the wasteland goes.  Like he said, and eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.  That’s how it goes here, that’s how it’s always been.  Even in Vegas.

The courier smiles.  “You’re a fucking prick and I hate you with every fiber of my being.  I’ll kill you one day but it isn’t today.”  She throws her canteen at his feet and stands.

“So this is it?  You just gonna let me go free?” He says, clumsily grabbing Maria and checking the clip.  One bullet.

She bites her lip.  “Free is a relative term.  I have one rule.  You can’t come to Vegas.  You step one goddamn foot across the line and I’ll blow you sky high.”

His heart drops to his stomach.  His golden city gone.  His goddamn home snatched away like a child’s toy.  Benny grinds his teeth together.  Would it be a waste to put this one bullet in her head?

Yes.

There isn’t going back to Vegas, something told him that the moment he left the courier naked and asleep in his bed.  Once he crossed into Legion territory, once his plans reached the ear of the Chairman via the courier, there was no way he could walk back into The Tops without one of his boys blowing his brains out.  He went behind their backs, lied to them.  He broke rule number one of the Boot Rider code, a code that still hadn’t faded no matter how hard he tried to scrub it out.  He’s back to being a wastelander.  A wanderer.  A nobody.  And Vegas?  Well, he trusts the courier enough to do the right thing.

“Alright,” he says.  “You’ll never see me again.  Scramsville here I come.”

“Great!  Then we’re finished here.  Time to cash out.”

He can tell it gives her great pleasure to say that.  The courier slings her rifle over her shoulder, sticks her knife in her boot, and leaves Caesar's tent for the last time.  He doesn’t move.  He doesn’t know what to do next.  All he’s got is a checkered coat, one bullet, a half empty canteen, and the memory of a golden city in the middle of the desert.  The courier has taken it all from him.  Every moment of pain, every trial, every move he’s ever made has been for nothing.

If Benny were a man of superstition, which is isn’t of course, he would maybe chalk it all up to fate.  But fate ain’t a thing.  There’s the doing and the done and the rise and the fall and this here is the fall and he’s got no one to blame but himself.  A plan ain’t perfect when you fuck up murdering the one person who needed killing the most.  So this right here, this whole fucked up situation, the reason he’s on his knees beside Caesar's detached head, is because he couldn’t do it right.

No more blaming the Courier for his mistakes.  Time to own up, stop being a fink.  Benny knows he could keep crying in the rain over spilled brahmin milk but that’s not the Vegas thing to do, that ain’t the Boot Rider code.   So he stands, shakily at first, his knees wobbling like an old man’s and when the world stops jumping and jiving he puts one foot in front of the other, unsure of where he’s going for the first time in his life.  Benny walks, his city’s lights forever behind him.

Note: This is the first part of a longer story I’m trying out. There is more just not sure when I’ll post the rest.

[fictionalabyss]

Mate for life.

Pairing: Benny x Vamp!Reader

Words : 2265

Warnings: Smut

Part 2 of 2

I’m not sure how long we stood in the shower like that. But the water got cold, and Benny didn’t seem to mind. He held me as long as I needed him to.

“I’m sorry for hitting you.” I finally said, my face buried into his chest. “I just..”

He pulled back, and I looked up at him. “No need, darlin’. Come on, lets get you dry again.” He turned off the shower and stepped out. He handed me a towel and started pulling off his wet clothes, letting them fall to the floor. I watched him as he got down to his boxers. He grabbed himself a towel to wrap around his waist before letting those fall too. He turned and looked at me. “Need privacy?”

I shook my head, and blushed. I know he saw how I was looking at him. There’s no way he could have missed it. I turned so my back was to him, and pulled off the wet shirt. I could feel his eyes on my back as I wrapped the towel around myself. “I don’t have anything else to wear.”

“Come on, we’ll find something that fits.” He reached out his hand. I stared at  it for a second. Did he really want to hold my hand, or was he afraid I would try to run again? I looked up into his eyes, and he just smiled. I slowly reached my hand out and he took it in his, and lead me to the bedroom.

When we went through the kitchen, I stopped and stared at the rabbits on the floor and the mess. “I’m really sorry, Benny..”

He smiled softly “Animal blood takes some getting use to. It’s got nothing on the good stuff, I know, but the good stuff gets you killed, cher.” Then he started walking again.

When we got into his room, I sat on his bed as he dug through some drawers, and pulled out a pair of sweat pants that had a draw string. “These should work..” he placed them on the bed next to me and then he motioned to a drawer full of shirts. “You can have your pick of shirts, darlin’. I’m afraid I don’t have any undergarments for you, but yours have been on the line drying all day. They should be fine, I can get them if you like.”

You shook your head. “I’ll be fine for tonight Benny, thank you.” He grabbed a pair of sweats for himself and walked out. I moved to the drawer, and looked in. There were a couple of T-shirts, and some button up shirts. I grabbed one of the white T-shirts and pulled it on. I smiled at the smell of it. It smelt clean and crisp like the night air, but also faintly of Benny.  I pulled on the pants, tying them to keep them from falling off my hips. I stood there, unsure of what to do. Did he expect me to stay in here? I bit my lip, and opened the bedroom door slowly looking out. I could see a faint light from the living room and heard a TV. I stepped over the rabbit from earlier and made my way.

Benny was sitting on the couch, his feet up on the table.  He turned and smiled up at me as I came in to join him. I sat awkwardly on the other end of the couch. His topless form was in my range of vision. His smell was filling my nostrils. When he chuckled at what he was watching, my ears rang with the sound. I was hyper aware of every movement he made. “I don’t bite, darlin’. Not unless you want me to.” I blushed, and he chuckled at that.

We sat together watching random late night trash for hours. It was oddly enjoyable. “You getting hungry again, cher?” I groaned, my hand moving to my stomach.  He reached out and brushed my cheek with two fingers. “Rabbit didn’t agree with you, huh? We’ll try again tomorrow night, maybe I’ll be able to catch something else.” I smiled softly at him, and internally whimpered when he pulled his hand away.

I’m not sure when I fell asleep, but I woke up to Benny tucking me into his bed. “Benny…” I called out as he was shutting the door. He stopped, and turned. “Can… ” For a moment, I couldn’t speak. I was afraid. But then he smiled at me. “Can you stay with me.. please.. I really don’t want to be alone right now.. I’m scared Benny..”

He came back into the room, and got under the covers behind me. “Of course, darlin’.”

I turned and buried my face into his chest, like I had in the shower earlier. “I’ve had a bad couple of days..”

The next few days went pretty much the same. The first things he did was tow my car to behind the bar for me, and take some time off. I slept all day, and would wake up at night as he was bringing in an animal for me to feed on. If my cravings got bad, and I lost my shit, he would drag me into the shower until I calmed down. It always ended with me sobbing into his chest. I wasn’t allowed to leave the cabin at all. Not until I could control the cravings. He promised to bring me out and teach me to trap then. And the nights always ended, with my face in his chest breathing in his scent.

My fifth night with Benny was a rough one. Twice he had to haul me into the shower. Once, I locked myself in there, but he almost broke the door down. I was shaking and I felt sick. Everything was hurting and my head was pounding again. He lifted me out of the tub and brought me to the bedroom. I could see the worry etched on his face.

It had been rabbit again that night. This time I fed on it fully and kept it down. I was getting use to the taste of animal blood, but I still didn’t like it. It hadn’t been enough, but Benny hadn’t gotten any time to go back out.

He stripped me of my wet clothes, leaving me naked before him. It only made me shiver more. He tucked me into the bed and ran out promising to be back in a few minutes to just hold on and stay there. I shivered in the bed, with my eyes tightly shut, trying to keep the tears at bay. A few minutes went by and I heard the cabin door slam, His boots making their way across the floor. I thought he was coming into the room, but he didn’t. Instead I heard him moving around in the kitchen. I heard a soft curse from his lips, which brought a smile to my face despite the pain.

When he came in the room finally, he had a towel full of blood over his shoulder, from wiping his hands, and a glass that he handed me. “I hope this helps, cher. There’s another if you want it.” I took it from him and hungrily drank it down. He smiled softly at me and asked if I wanted more. I nodded and he went to get it. He brought a second glass, as full as the first had been. He had taken off his coat and boots while he got it. I didn’t down this one as quickly, and he took that as a good sign.

I watched over the glass as he unbuttoned his shirt and took it off.  I’ve never seen a man look so good in suspenders. I groaned at the sight of him, and he looked up worried but continued getting undressed. He slid his suspenders over his shoulders, and left them to hang at his hips as he pulled off his white t-shirt that he had been wearing underneath. I almost groaned again watching his muscles move. The pants came down as I finished up the last of the glass. He slid them over his thick thighs. I put the glass on the night stand, and my head fell back to the pillow with a groan. God, he was beautiful. I wasn’t cold and shaking anymore, now I felt like I was on fire. There was a heat burning in me, from deep in my core.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. It almost worked until Benny crawled into bed next to me wearing nothing but boxer briefs. Oh god. I groaned again, and he pulled me to his chest. “I got you, darlin’.” his voice was soft. I buried my face in his chest as I always did. My arms wrapping around him as best as I could, pressing myself as close to him as possible. I took a deep breath, filling my nose with his scent and dug my fingers into his back. I felt his lips brush my forehead, as they often did, but this time, a moan escaped my mouth. “Benny..”. I tried to push my hips as flush against his as I could. I was sure he could feel the heat radiating off me.

I heard a low groan that he had tried to hide. “That’s a dangerous game your playing there, darlin’.” His voice was low and husky. More so then usual. “Vamps mate for life, and I’m a hunted man.”

I tilted my head up to look at him. My heart was pounding, it sounded deafening to my ears. As I looked into his eyes, my core ached, begging for his touch, his kiss, anything. My lips met his, and I was hit with a new hunger.

I kissed him hard, and desperate as my fingers dug into his back once again. He bit my lip harder then I expected, and I opened my mouth to him. His tongue took over, and I moaned at his sweet metallic taste. He grabbed my ass, and rolled onto his back, bringing me with him.

I rolled my hips grinding down onto his growing erection. When I heard him begin to moan, I pulled away sitting up. His large hands ran over my ribs, down to my waist as I rolled my hips again. I studied his face, how he bit his lip, the lines that appeared when he furrowed his brows, how his mouth fell open when he let out another moan.

I moved so I was sitting on his thighs, and I began to slowly lower his boxers, just enough to free him. I saw his blue eyes darken as he watched me. I leaned down and licked the head, barely touching it. “Don’t make me beg, darlin’.” I smiled up at him, shifting and took him in my mouth. He pushed my hair to one side, and put his other arm behind his head. He watched as I took his length in my mouth and groaned when he felt the back of my throat. I moaned softly around him at the sound, which brought a curse from his lips. I bobbed for a while, enjoying the sounds that escaped him before he spoke again. “Get over here.”

I crawled back up to him, and once it was within reach, his fingers entered my folds and circled my clit. My mouth opened in a silent moan as I made my way closer until our lips met. I moaned into the kiss, as he slid a finger deep into me. “Benny… ” He slid in a second, and my head fell to his shoulder. His thumb rubbed my swollen clit  as his fingers worked in and out. “Fuck me, Benny… please.” I was begging, my lips and teeth against his skin. I felt a growl erupt from deep in his chest. It only made me whimper more.

His fingers left, and I felt empty. I looked up, watching as they went into his mouth. His other hand went to my cheek, his thumb pulled my lower lip down and he  put his fingers into my mouth giving me a taste of myself. He licked his lips while I licked his fingers. When he moved his hand away, my forehead was against his. I was panting with want. He lifted my hips, and lined himself up. As soon as I felt him at my entrance, I lowered myself until he was fully sheathed.

I placed my hands on his chest, getting myself upright again. His fingers dug into my waist as I rocked my hips. “Fuck Benny…” It wasn’t long before his grip on me tightened, and he was pulling me down harder as he thrust up. I screamed loud at how amazing it felt. I wasn’t sure if it was the heightened senses, or if Benny was just that good, but it was easily the best sex of my life. I tightened around him and dug my nails into his chest as I came, and he just kept going. His pace never faltered, or changed.

My head fell to his chest again, and I was panting. All I could smell was sweat, and sex, and faint traces of blood. From the glass, from the kitchen, from Benny. He hooked my chin and made me look at him. “You good, darlin’?” I nodded, and kissed him. He smiled into it and rolled so his large frame  was hovering over me. “Good, cuz I ain’t done with you yet.”

*If you like, please consider supporting my work.* 

Tagging : Supernatural - @roxyspearing @tardis-full-of-fallen-angels @mrs-celestial-dragneel-redfox23 @internationalmusicteacher @extreme-supernatural-lover

All tags - @dustycelt @gloria1097 @pearky22   @trashforwinchesters @bohowitch @reigningqueenofwords @feelmyroarrrr @thenotsoinocentthing @27bmm @sleepylunarwolf @pureawesomeness001 @winchester-smut

[whelvenwings]

The Last Word

I was rewatching that episode of Community where Abed and Troy kept hitting each other with pillows because they didn’t want their friendship to be over, and I just kind of liked the idea of an argument stretching out ridiculously long just because 2 people don’t want to stop talking ^^

college AU.

read it here on AO3!

“Dean, this is Cas - Cas, Dean,” Jo said, calling over the thudding music in the bar where they were standing, propping up the bar. She had a hand on Dean’s shoulder, and she gave him a little shake. “I’ve been meaning to introduce you guys since forever. I just know you’re gonna get on great. Cas, Dean likes philosophy, and psychology - that kind of thing!”

“I’m, uh - an armchair philosopher at best,” Dean said, throwing Jo a look that said, as clearly as he could without words, don’t play me up too much. Cas, the guy standing in front of him, was quite clearly out of Dean’s league - tall, lean, with the looks of an Athenian hero and the expression of a Roman statue, chiselled and unsmiling. Dean took a hefty swig of his drink, and smiled charmingly.

Well, he thought, you never know until you’ve tried.

“So, are you a Freud or a Jung kind of guy?” he said. Jo clapped his shoulder and moved off, evidently satisfied with the opener and feeling as though her introductory duties were complete. Dean watched after her for a second as she went, taking her social skills with her.

It wasn’t that Dean was bad in social situations - it was only that when there was just him and an undeniably cute guy, things tended to get a little... flustered. Jo, on the other hand, was perfectly at ease, and good at smoothing over the stupid things his runaway mouth tended to say -

“You can go and talk to her instead,” said Cas, and Dean started and looked back at him guiltily. Cas’ expression was unreadable, watching him watch after Jo. “Please, feel no obligation to enjoy my company.”

Dean blinked. Cas raised his eyebrows.

“I’m, uh, I’m - uh,” Dean said, wrongfooted. “I was just -”

“And I think - Jung,” Cas said, cutting through his fumbling. “Freud’s theories are too rooted in misogyny and phobia to be of any interest beyond the influential and contextual, for me.”

Dean swallowed.

This is going great, said a little voice in his head.

“Right,” he said. “Jung. Contextual. Yeah.”

Cas took a long sip of his drink, and looked out across the bar - probably hoping to see someone else he knew, Dean guessed, whom he could pretend to need to talk to, and escape this conversation.

The opportunity presented itself, and -

“You can go and talk to anyone else instead,” Dean said, before he could think twice. The sarcasm came out honey-sweet. “Please, feel no obligation to enjoy my company.”

Cas looked back at him, and for the first time, Dean saw a spark of interest in his eyes. Those full lips quirked upwards in a dry little smile.

“Touché,” Cas said.

*

“No,” Dean said, his hand tight around his glass, shaking his head with certainty. He was sitting at a corner table, tucked away, with Cas sitting at right-angles to him and watching him intently. “Nope. That argument just came straight out of your ass.”

Cas’ eyes were bright; he smiled, and shook his head.

“A colourful response, but not a particularly good one. Do you have a reason for rejecting my point?”

“Yeah, man. The reason is, my ass.”

“Oh, your ass, now. You know, perhaps you’re more into Freud than you thought.”

Dean had opened his mouth to respond, when Jo slipped into the seat beside him. She had a strange expression on her face as she looked at them both, half-smirking and sharp-eyed - as though there was a joke that only she’d understood.

“Hey,” she said, drawing out the single syllable, so that it was long and a little awkward. Dean looked at her, and then shared a glance with Cas - a glance that said, what? And a response that said, I have no idea.

Dean felt a little warmth in his chest. That moment between them had felt conspiratorial, almost.

“Sooooooooo,” Jo said. “You two seem to be getting along well.” She raised her eyebrows at the pair of them, each in turn. Dean arranged his features into scepticism, and looked over at Cas - he, too, was making a dissenting expression.

“Getting on?” Dean said incredulously. “Please.”

“Our conversation has not exactly been harmonious,” Cas agreed.

“He’s got no idea what he’s talking about, most of the time -”

“He keeps trying to convince me he’s right by referencing bodily parts.”

“If he’d pull his head out of his bodily part, then I wouldn’t have to reference it.”

“Yeah, so, you guys have been here for three hours,” Jo interrupted them, resting her cheek on her hand, leaning one elbow on the table. “You haven’t said a single word to anyone else all evening. Like, you guys do realise that when I introduced you, there were literally no strings attached, right? I didn’t rope you together or anything. Not a binding contract. You’re free to talk to other people. There’s still time.”

Three hours? Dean frowned, and looked down at his watch.

“It can’t have been three hours,” Cas said.

“Actually, it kinda can,” Dean said, lifting his wrist and twisting it so that Cas could see. “Unless you also want to deny the blatant fact of the time, as well as every other provable thing you’ve tried to ignore this evening.”

“Dean, Benny’s here, and Ash…” Jo interposed; Dean nodded.

“Yeah, yeah - I’ll be there in a sec,” he said. “I just - can you believe this guy thinks that if a tree falls in the middle of the wood, and no one’s there to hear it, it doesn’t make a sound?”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Cas said.

“But, dude.”

“Dude, what?”

Dean grinned at the way that Cas said dude. Somehow, it put him in mind of an upper-class housewife holding a dirty towel.

“Just - dude.”

“Very convincing. Would you like to go back to the ass line of debate? I found it more persuasive.”

“I’m sure you’d like it if we went back to talking about my ass,” Dean said, “but I’m trying to resolve a serious philosophical issue, here.”

He winked, and Cas rolled his eyes.

Jo cleared her throat. She was staring between them, still looking as though there was something immensely funny happening that only she understood. Dean and Cas, made suddenly aware of her presence again, were both silent - waiting on her verdict.

“You’re idiots,” she said. “But if you want to spend all night driving each other up the wall, who am I to stop you.”

She left.

They spent the whole of the rest of the night, of course, driving each other up the wall.

*

Dean’s phone beeped. He glared at it.

He was sitting in the library, trying to do some reading - his Math class wasn’t promising a passing grade, this semester, and he needed to pull it up. And he would, if he could only stop being distracted.

He sighed, and picked up the phone.

>> Cas: I told you. Sound is a sensory experience. With no one there to hear it, the tree vibrates air particles. It makes no sound.

Dean rolled his eyes, and shook his head.

sound IS the vibration of air particles, he typed back, and hit Send.

Almost immediately, his phone went off again.

>> Cas: Sound is the vibration of air particles AS PERCEIVED by the human ear.

Dean chewed his bottom lip. Cas did have a point, he thought. But there was no way Dean was letting him have the last word on this one - not after they’d spent all last night arguing about it.

He thought for a moment, and then began to type again.

not just the human ear. anything able to interpret the vibration right? so what about the ears of squirrels? rabbits? what about bees?

He threw the phone away when he’d hit Send, determined to get on with his reading.

It beeped.

Dean managed an entire thirty seconds of reading about partial differential equations, before he caved.

>> Cas: Your argument hinges on bees. I approve wholeheartedly, but I don’t think it’s in the spirit of the thought experiment.

Dean grinned, and laid his phone down.

Thirty seconds later, he’d come up with an answer. He picked it back up again.

*

“Dean, this is getting ridiculous.”

Beep.

Dean picked up his phone, sent back a quick text, and put it away again.

“Ridiculous?”

“Yes. Like, seriously ridiculous.”

Beep.

He reached for his phone -

“Dean!”

- and curled his fingers closed, and looked up, and met Jo’s eyes. They were sitting in their usual spot in the downtown burger diner they liked to go to every Friday, sipping shakes while they waited for the food to arrive.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s just -”

“Cas,” Jo finished for him. She rolled her eyes, and then looked out over the diner’s shabby interior. “Have you… you know… told him?”

“Told him what?” Dean said. His hands itched without something to do; he began to fuss with the straw of his milkshake.

“Dean. It’s been two weeks and you’re still texting him every minute of the freaking day.”

“Yeah?” Dean speared the cherry on top of his shake with the straw, and submerged it under the cream. “So?”

“So… what do you think that means?”

Dean shrugged.

“Means I haven’t won the argument yet,” he said.

When he looked up, Jo was rubbing one eyebrow with the tip of her finger, her eyes slightly out of focus; it looked almost as though she were trying to see into the far distance, into another dimension - one where presumably, Dean thought, she didn’t have to put up with this sort of thing.

“Dean. You’re going full Rebel Without a Cause.”

“I am not.”

Jo nodded at him definitively.

“You watched that movie every day for six months. This is exactly the same.”

“It’s nothing like it!”

“Oh, no?” Jo said, sipping her milkshake.

“No way. I liked that movie because it was clever, and… you know... James Dean was hot.”

Jo raised her eyebrows pointedly.

“Oh,” Dean said. “Oh, right, I get it.” He pulled a face. “You think I’m doing this because I’m into Cas?”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. Jo gave a little astonished laugh.

“You’re seriously going to try to tell me that you’re not into Cas?” She gestured with her straw. “Go on, then. Convince me.”

Dean swallowed.

“I’m just not.”

“Sure, uh huh, right. You’ve texted him twenty-three times in the last half an hour. That’s literally almost every minute.”

“Every minute and twenty seconds,” Dean muttered. The math studying had paid off, just barely. “You were counting?”

“It’s something to do. I was hoping to make it to a nice round fifty before the hour was up.” She shook her head. “You’re obsessed with the guy, Dean.”

“You know what?” he said, going on the offence. “All this focus on Cas - what are you doing talking to Cas, why do you keep texting Cas, why are you so obsessed with Cas… to be honest, it just makes you sound jealous.” Jo’s mouth dropped open. Dean nodded sadly. “Yeah, weren’t expecting me to notice, huh? But let’s not try to pretend you haven’t been dreaming about his big blue eyes and soulful stare and strong hands and muscular arms, and -”

He cut himself off when he saw the look on Jo’s face.

“Uh huh,” she said. “Yup. It’s definitely me who has the thing for Cas. Look, what’s the big deal? So you like him, so what? Just ask him out!”

Dean focused for a second on his milkshake, trying to find where the cherry had ended up.

The only problem with that plan, he thought, was the fact that Cas was so incredibly far out of his league that he didn’t stand a chance - there was nothing especially flirtatious about their texts, after all, and Cas hadn’t made any kind of move on him back at the bar. The only way Dean got to keep talking to Cas was by stringing out this stupid argument for as long as he possibly could. And if there was no way he was ever going to get to date Cas, then Dean didn’t want to make things awkward by telling Jo how he felt. If he did, there’d always be that look in her eyes whenever Cas came up in conversation - or, worse, when they were at the same party or night out. Dean had to convince Jo that he didn’t have any feelings for Cas - aside from mild annoyance, and a determination to beat him in an argument - just so that he could potentially hang out with Cas in peace, some time, without Cas or anyone else ever needing to find out that Dean had a small crush.

Very small. Tiny. Negligible, really.

“Listen,” Dean said aloud. “I’m just trying to get the last word. Look.” He picked up his phone and pulled up his messages with Cas, and turned the screen to face Jo. “Does this look like the conversation of two people who are into each other?

Jo squinted, and pulled the phone out of Dean’s hands so that she could read it. He let her, knowing exactly what she’d see:

<< Dean: does

>> Cas: doesn’t

<< Dean: does

>> Cas: doesn’t

<< Dean: does

>> Cas: doesn’t

<< Dean: does

>> Cas: doesn’t

<< Dean: does

>> Cas: doesn’t

“Oh, God,” Jo said. “How long have you been - is this still about whether or not the tree makes a sound?”

Dean coughed.

“Maybe,” he said. He pulled the phone back, quickly texted out does, and sent it.

Beep, went his phone, almost immediately. Dean didn’t open it; he set it down on the table, and repressed his smile.

“See?” he said to Jo. “All I want is the last word in this argument. That’s all.”

*

“You’ve reached Castiel.”

“Dude. What kind of greeting is that? Say ‘hello’ like a normal person.”

“... hello, Dean.”

Dean, sitting in his car at the side of the road, pressed the phone closer to his ear.

“How, uh… how are you?” he said.

“It just happens.”

Dean frowned.

“Huh?”

“You asked how I am. How is it that I am? And I said, it just happens.”

Dean let out a laugh, and shook his head.

“Asshole. You never answer anything straight.”

“There’s an obvious joke there, which I will refrain from making.”

Dean smiled. His car ticked as she cooled, the night wide and open around her.

“Why did you call, Dean?”

Dean opened his mouth, and then closed it. The truth was, he wasn’t sure; he’d been driving back from out of town, a visit to his brother, and suddenly he’d been seized by a kind of reckless bravery - and, even though it was almost two in the morning, a kind of certainty that if he rang, he’d get through.

“Wanted to ask if you knew the time,” he said lightly.

Cas was silent for a moment; when he spoke, there was a smile in his voice.

“You’d do better to ask your watch.”

“Nah. My watch is pretty bad at answering the phone.”

Another pause - not an uncomfortable one, Dean hoped.

“Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“It’s a nice night out.”

There was the sound of movement; Dean imagined Cas getting up, twitching his curtains aside, and looking up at the sky, at the empty street.

“Are you out there in it?” Cas said.

“Always am, somewhere.”

“Except if you were in here with me. Then you wouldn’t be.”

Dean paused to consider that fully. The silence drew out as his imaginings coloured themselves in beautifully.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Are you alone?”

Dean paused. He looked at the empty car - looked at the empty spaces between his fingers - looked up and out, at the empty sky.

“Define… alone.”

“Is there - anyone with you?”

Dean shrugged.

“You,” he said.

Silence, again. Warmer than before.

“Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“Why - why don’t you think the tree makes a noise?” he said. He heard Cas huff a little breath of laughter, and cleared his throat. “I mean - I mean I know why, but like - why do you like the idea?”

“Like it?” Cas seemed taken aback by the thought.

“Sure.”

“I don’t know that I do like it. I just think it’s right.”

Dean frowned, and shifted in his seat.

“If you don’t like it, why would you let it be right?”

Cas was quiet.

“I suppose because I don’t think I have the power to change it,” he said, after several long moments. “It simply is.” He breathed out. “And there are... elements... of the idea, that are likeable.”

“Yeah?”

“Well… if there is no one there to hear a tree fall, it makes no sound. If there is no one there to... see a star fall, it sheds no light. Things are just sequences of particles moving over and around each other, until we perceive them - and form order from them, find significance and beauty. Meaning starts and ends with us.”

“Mmmmm,” Dean said.

“You don’t like that?”

“Not so much.”

“You might be fighting a losing battle with the universe, then.”

Dean lifted a shoulder diffidently.

“Maybe,” he said. He wondered if he should hang up. Cas probably needed to go to bed.

Cas, though, didn’t seem to be thinking of sleeping.

“What would you like?” he asked.

Dean let out a breath.

“I think I’d like…” he began, and then frowned, and started again. He’d been thinking about this, on the drive homeward. “I don’t like that meaning only comes from us. I don’t want to be the only thing that brings any significance to all of the things that are going on around us.”

“No?”

“No. I mean, if a tree falls in the woods and no one is there to hear it, why is no one there? Why aren’t they watching that tree? What if the tree is important, and we don’t know it? What if it’s old, what if it matters, and we aren’t looking. Why can’t it have some… intrinsic… meaning, that it keeps even when it’s forgotten about?”

He shook his head, and looked out of the windscreen; above him, the stars pinned the sky to the roof of the world, keeping everything in its order.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I just - someday, I’m not gonna be here. You’re not gonna be here. Someday, none of us are going to be here. And it won’t have mattered at all. None of this, all the pain and the happiness, all the - the shit that we go through as humans - none of it will matter anymore. Because no one will be there to hear the sound. And I don’t like that so much.”

There was a long pause. Dean used it to think about how stupid it was for him to bare himself, his thought process, like this - to a person he rarely agreed with, and had a crush on, who didn’t like him back.

“Maybe the universe will remember us,” Cas said. Dean gave a soft little snort.

“What, you and me?”

“Well, I meant humanity as a whole. But I suppose - humanity could mean you and me.”

“The universe has no parts to remember us with,” Dean said.

“For now, it has us,” Cas said. “Maybe when we’re gone, it’ll have something else.”

“Mmmmm.”

“Do you like that more?”

“Yeah. I like that more.”

“I’m glad. I like it, too.”

They stayed on the line for a few minutes longer, not talking. When Dean started up his car again, Cas rang off.

Dean wasn’t sure who that gave the last word to - Cas, for speaking; himself, for starting the car; or Cas, again, for hanging up. He wondered if it mattered.

He drove home, and wondered if the universe was using him to watch, and remember.

*

Dean walked into the burger diner the next Friday night, to find that the usual booth already had two occupants. One, looking smug and pleased with herself enough to earn the tautology, was Jo. The other, wearing an expression that was distinctly more confused, was -

“Cas,” Dean said blankly. He and Jo were sitting on the same side of the booth; when Dean slid opposite them, Jo stood up.

“Alright then,” she said. “You guys just have a nice dinner tonight, OK? I would say it’s on me, but hey, I’m a student. So have a great night on yourselves. And if you love me, you’ll actually get whatever is happening between you two sorted.” She began to walk away, still talking. “I mean, it’s asking a lot, since you’re both pretty far up your own - what was it - bodily parts, but a girl can dream.” She was threading her way through the tables, calling back to them, drawing attention from the whole diner - her voice carrying over the clatter and chatter. “I mean, maybe you could start with not talking about freaking trees in the wood for once. Just an idea, you know, I wouldn’t want to step on your toes.”

At the door, she turned, and gave them a smile and a wave.

“Bye!” she called, and was gone.

Dean and Cas both stared after her for several long seconds.

Dean turned back to face Cas first, and watched him staring after Jo a little longer. When he did look round, Cas raised an eyebrow.

“Please... feel no obligation to enjoy my company,” Dean said, and Cas nodded.

“Good,” he said. “So, I came here under the impression that I would be joining a large party of people.”

Damn it, Jo.

“Guess it’s a party of two,” Dean said, trying for a smile. His heart was thudding in his chest, making him feel young and nervous and stupid. There was nothing for his hands to do, so he clasped them on the table top.

“My favourite kind,” Cas said, with just the right balance of irony and sincerity. He looked at Dean, and his gaze was different, definitely, to how it had been the last - and first - time they’d seen each other, almost two months ago. It was warmer; more respectful, and closer, somehow. Cas felt closer.

Or maybe that was just the booth they were sitting in. Dean had never considered it to be an intimate space, before, but having his knees brush against Cas’ beneath the table was making him blush like a maid. It was amazing, he thought, how a whisper of one person’s touch could be more exciting than another person’s naked body on your own. It was amazing, and it was terrible, because it made that whisper worth the world - it weighted the nearly-weightless too heavily.

Cas was watching him, apparently as content with the silence as Dean; his eyes weren’t leaving Dean’s face.

The touch of his knee, the subtle graze, became a soft press.

“Cas -” Dean said, hushed.

“Hey! What can I get you guys to drink?” said a new voice, peppy and unfamiliar; Dean sat back in his seat so fast that he cracked his elbow against the table.

“Um,” he said, trying to read Cas’ expression out the corner of his eye, and having little success. “Um, can I get - just a chocolate shake?”

“Two,” Cas said, and the waiter nodded, smiling in a glazed way, and moved off.

Dean looked back at Cas.

“Anyway,” he said. “Uh… yeah.”

He didn’t quite dare to move closer again, to look needy enough to want the press of Cas’ leg back against his own. It had probably been accidental.

He picked at an imaginary spot on the tablecloth. When he looked back up at Cas, he didn’t know what to say. Awkwardness had forced its way between them like a wedge; the silence, now, was one full of questions. Dean picked the one he wanted to ask most, in that moment.

“Look,” he said, “do you wanna get out of here?”

“Out?”

“Yeah. It just feels a bit -”

“Weird?”

“Yeah. We could go for a drive, if you wanted, or something...”

He smiled as Cas nodded, and raised his hand to grab the waiter’s attention.

“Hey, buddy, can we get those shakes to go?”

*

This was better, Dean thought. This was how it should be. Not in a grubby little diner, surrounded by tired wait staff and the scent of food - no, it was better out here. In his car, with the air pushing through the open windows and tousling their hair, and the road flat and wide below them, and the starry sky above. And Cas drinking his milkshake through the straw with his lips pursed as though for a kiss, his t-shirt tight to his arms. And Dean’s hands on the steering wheel, shaking with exhilaration and love for the moment.

This was better.

He drove them out beyond the city limits, heading onto the dark and quiet roads.

When he pulled up on one side, eventually, it could have been in the same place as where he’d stopped before to make the call to Cas. He wasn’t certain; it was hard to tell in the dark. It could have been, and that was the important thing.

He turned off the engine.

“I’ve never driven anywhere like that,” Cas said. Dean turned to look at him, and for a moment they only grinned and stared at each other, riding the adrenaline spike of speed and togetherness.

“I like going fast sometimes,” Dean said.

Cas took a sip of his milkshake.

“Not always, though,” Dean added.

“Some things are better slow,” Cas agreed.

Dean wondered if they were both talking about the same thing. Knowing Cas, he could be talking about the milkshake in his hand, or the gentle death of the sun, or anything in between. It was all important to Cas.

He cleared his throat.

“So…” he said.

“Jo seemed to think we had something to talk about,” Cas said. He looked over at Dean, who blinked at him, and then nodded.

“Sure,” he said. “And it wasn’t allowed to be trees.”

Cas dipped his head, smiling dryly.

“It’d serve her right if we didn’t talk about anything,” Dean said. Cas nodded.

“Or perhaps we should only talk about trees,” he said. “Just to really twist the knife.”

“What, like how they make sounds in the woods when they fall?”

“When people are there to hear them, yes -” Cas said.

“Even when they’re not!” Dean insisted. Cas thinned his lips in annoyance; Dean tried his best not to look at them too hard.

“How many times, Dean,” Cas said. “A sound requires two - a maker and a perceiver. A sound can’t happen with just one of them! It’s like - it’s like - one hand trying to clap, or -”

“One person trying to kiss,” Dean said, the words out of his mouth before he’d thought them through.

They shared a glance, and then quickly looked away.

“Yes,” Cas said, his tone striking a minor note, now, rather than major - a little hesitant. “Like a kiss.”

He said the word ‘kiss’ as though it was precious, Dean thought. He found he was struggling a little with breathing, and cleared his throat. It didn’t help overly much.

“Dean…” Cas said, and then stopped. Dean glanced over at him, and he saw it there - a look in Cas’ eyes that said everything Dean didn’t know how to put into words. A look that knew where it needed to be, but not how to get there; a look that wanted, without knowing what was right to take.

“Are you alone?” Cas said - and Dean understood him, this time. Are you lonely?

“No,” Dean said. “I’m with you.”

This time, Cas’ smile lacked all dryness, all irony. He looked younger; bright-eyed, hopeful. Dean couldn’t help but reach for him - pull him in with a single light touch on his cheek, that asked, that begged -

They swung in close, close enough to breathe each other’s breath. Cas put his thumb over Dean’s lips, the press of it shuddering through Dean’s entire body; they stared, eyes steady and locked, breath coming a little fast for them both.

Slowly, Cas’ thumb stroked away to the crook of Dean’s mouth.

“Kiss me,” Dean said.

And Cas did.

Perhaps the universe would forget about this night, Dean thought, driving away from the spot later, his lips tasting like another person in the best way. Perhaps, after he was gone, there would be no one left to recall the way Cas felt beside him, or the meaning of the brush of his hand - the beauty and terror of him, a person who could make Dean crumble with a touch. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, somehow, if one day it was forgotten. Dean had seen it, Dean had felt it.

For as long as he could be, he was the universe. And he would remember.

[jarold-rat]

Big if true!

Bichos raros.... tal vez enamorados...

extra stuff.. part two maybe... foreshadowing... i guessss......