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battle-goats · 8 years ago

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The reason why will make you believe in love at first sight.

My piece for the Viktuuri Reverse Big Bang. The amazing art is by @allociaorin.

Words contained power, be it mundane or magical. To harness words, was to harness the innate magic within oneself. The name for this basic, yet universal form of spellcasting had many of its own names across the world. In Japan, they called it kotodama. It was the oldest and most respected form of casting.

The second child of the Katsuki family held more potential magically than the three previous generations of the family had. Katsuki Yuuri was powerful, there was no doubt about it. By the time he was five, the necessity of formal training became incredibly obvious. But his parents were at a loss on what to do do with him. Neither of them were powerful, nor could they do much with their magic. They’d done the only thing they could think of and signed him up for a magical cram school.

Yuuri had picked up on kotodama quickly. Incredibly so. He was far ahead of the curve, but not even that wasn’t enough to give him the necessary energy expenditure he needed for fine control. It wasn’t until Mari had suggested dance that they found what they needed to help Yuuri.

Yuuri loved dance. It was calming in a way he didn’t expect. It was exhausting of course, but Minako-sensei never pushed beyond his limits. He was here primarily as an outlet for his magic, so it wasn’t like he was expected to be incredible at ballet. But he fell in love with the artistry of it. The long, graceful lines, the smooth arches of the body. So, he kept going. He got better, and better at it. By the time he was twelve and his body was gearing up for growth spurts and more hair, and less flexibility, Minako-sensei asked him about doing it professionally.

Yuuri hadn’t considered that. He knew that dance, just about any kind of art outside of traditional ritual was quietly frowned upon. Especially in Japan. It wasn’t seen as a viable use of one’s magic. Even tho the arts were just as old as language, it was often seen as lesser. Especially in the eyes of scholars. It was commonly believed that it couldn’t possibly support a career. His parents encouraged him, but always made it clear that his choices would have their support, no matter what it was.

In the end, Yuuri chose not to pursue dance as a career. After Minako-sensei had explained all that being a career dancer would entail, Yuuri wasn’t so sure he could do it. That he was cutout for the pressure of it.

Minako-sensei had been disappointed, but understood. Dance had become more than an outlet. It was an escape for him now. She wouldn’t take that away from him, or turn it into anything else. Everyone needed hobbies, after all.

So Yuuri had gone into academia, studying and teaching kotodama. After spending three of his four years of university in Detroit, Yuuri began work on his Master’s degree in kotodama. With how traditional the subject was, Yuuri had struggled to find a decent topic for his dissertation.

But he’d found it while watching television and a news report on a new idol group that was making it big in Tokyo.

Combining non-traditional art and kotodama. It had made perfect sense. His adviser hadn’t been so sure, but had approved the topic after much convincing. A year’s worth of research and development, Yuuri presented his topic to a panel of professors and was handed his second degree and an offer to teach.

He’d jumped at the opportunity, and that lead him to today.

Sitting in his childhood bedroom while his old ballet teacher and the world’s foremost dancer, Viktor Nikiforov, stood on the other side of the door, loudly discussing choreography. He couldn’t believe this was his life now. It was too unbelievable. Ten years ago, Yuuri never would have expected this to happen. But it was reality. The slightly red indent from where he’d pinched his arm and his nail had bit into the skin was proof of that.

“Yuuri, I know you’re awake in there. Come out and we can talk,” Minako-sensei called. Yuuri grumbled and shuffled to the door. He opened it and frowned at the pair waiting for him. For a moment, he’d hoped that he was imagining and it really wasn’t Viktor Nikiforov standing there. And yet, there he stood, all silver hair, and bright blue eyes, and pale skin.

“I don’t know what you’re expecting from me. I don’t want to dance. It’s a hobby, a way to unwind. I never wanted it to be anything more than that. Minako-sensei, you know I can’t handle that kind of pressure,” Yuuri said.

“But Yuuri, you’re incredible. I know that you could do great things,” Viktor said. Yuuri glanced at the other man and sighed.

“Look, I’m sorry you’ve wasted your time by coming here, but that video never should have seen the light of day. There never should have been a video at all. It clearly gave you the wrong impression. I don’t dance professionally. It’s a hobby, a way to unwind. I thought about it once, but, I didn’t want to put that kind of pressure on myself. I’m sorry, but I’m not what you’re looking for.”

It was Viktor’s turn to sigh and frown.

“I understand, Yuuri, I won’t force you into doing something you don’t want. My apologies,” Viktor said. Without another word, Viktor walked away.

Yuuri watched him go in surprise. He hadn’t expected it to be quite so easy. He’d fully expected the great Viktor Nikiforov to whine and bully until he got his way. It seemed like something that he would do. But obviously Yuuri had been wrong.

Minako-sensei was still watching him though, nor had she walked away like Viktor had.

“Yuuri, are you sure this is what you want?” she asked. Yuuri glanced at her.

“I - I’ve never wanted dance to feel like work. And that’s exactly what it was going to become if I’d decided to make a career of it. You know that. So I don’t know why you’re so insistent on this.”

“He came here for a reason, Yuuri. And it wasn’t to see Katsuki Yuuri, the dumpy academic who buries himself in research and student essays. He came to see Yuuri the dancer. The dancer who has been hidden from the world for too long, in my opinion. But if this is your decision, then I have no right to impinge on that.”

“It is. I would probably just disappoint him in the long run,” Yuuri said.

“If you say so. But this is an incredible opportunity for you. I know that you looked up to him for a long time, and even admired him. Maybe take this chance to get to know him in a more private setting,” Minako-sensei said with a sly smile and a wink. Yuuri blushed and retreated back into his room so he could be embarassed about that old childish crush in solitude.

Yuuri knew he couldn’t hide in his room forever. It was still cherry blossoms viewing season, and he had to come out and help eventually. He finally dragged himself into one of the inn’s uniforms and made his way down to the kitchen. His mother was in the kitchen cooking and plating dishes. He grabbed the next finished tray and he checked the ticket that was written in his sister’s scrawl. He spent the next two hours running food and drink orders two and from the kitchen. Mari took a quick smoke break

Mari came back and sent Yuuri to see to the laundry in the washer. He quickly tossed another load of towels and robes into the wash and set about hanging the load he’d pulled out to dry. The damp towels were heavy, and his arms felt a little weak and noodly when he was done.

“I’m out of shape if that tired me out,” he muttered. Yuuri knew that he’d gotten a bit soft around the middle, and only exercising and adjusting his diet to include far less calories could fix that. He returned to the kitchen and his mother handed him a tray and told him to go eat.

Yuuri walked out into the common area where guests were having dinner to see Viktor wearing one of the inn’s robes, obviously just having come from the baths. He was happily eating his way through the deluxe katsudon.

“Wait, Viktor, you’re a guest?” Yuuri asked. He sat down at the table with the bowl of pork ramen his mother had plied him with in the kitchen.

“Well of course. I decided I was going to stay here if I was going to be working with you. I’ve already pre-paid my stay so I’ll be here for a little while longer,” Viktor answered. Yuuri stared in shock. This man had been so sure that Yuuri would jump at the chance to work with him that he’d paid for his stay in advance. It was incredible to hear. And insanely presumptive. Yuuri hastily finished his own dinner before heading for the reception desk his father was parked behind.

“Dad, how long is Viktor staying?” Yuuri asked. His father clicked through the computer to Viktor’s reservation information and Yuuri balked. He’d paid for an entire two months in advance! Yuuri silently left his father and returned to the table Viktor was seated at.

“T-two months,” was all he said.

Viktor grinned at him. Even with rice and a bit of egg stuck to his face, he still looked ridiculously handsome.

“That’s right! I thought I’d be here for a while, while we worked, but since you’ve turned me down, I don’t want the money to go to waste, so now this’ll just be a two month vacation instead!”

Yuuri couldn’t believe he could be so optimistic. He never came across this way in interviews. In fact, he was quite distant in interviews, even when discussing personal matters. But then again, Viktor was a public figure. It would make sense for him to be distant, to maintain a separation of his personal and professional life.

“Hey, Yuuri, is there a dance studio in town I can use? I might be on vacation, but I have to keep training,” Viktor said.

“Oh, um, just Minako-sensei’s place. Dance isn’t popular in a small town like Hasetsu. To be honest, outside of traditional ritual dance, it’s not popular at all, here in Japan. You’d have to go to up to Fukuoka to find another place,” Yuuri said. He knew the likelihood of that happening was slim. Viktor was in a foreign country with no grasp of the language. He’d want to stick to what he already knew. Which meant that if Yuuri wanted to dance at Minako-sensei’s studio, Viktor couldn’t be there at the same time.

Yuuri felt the coming presence of his familiar. The lithe little fox hopped up onto his back and draped across his shoulders. He raised a hand to give her a scratch behind the ears. Her long bushy tail swept across his back.

“Hmph, so this is the silly human who thinks he’s good enough to court you,” she said. Her thoughts echoed in Yuuri’s mind, and it was a sensation he was sure he’d never be accustomed to. Even after twelve years, being able to speak to her telepathically was strange.

“Court? What are you talking about? He liked my dancing. That’s all,” Yuuri insisted. She just huffed against his ear and rolled off his shoulders to approach Viktor.

“Oh, who is this?” Viktor asked. He looked up at Yuuri for an answer.

“This is my familiar. She’s curious about you. We don’t get too many foreigners in town and you’re especially powerful,” Yuuri said. She sniffed at Viktor’s extended hand before turning away to curl up in Yuuri’s lap. She looked to be dozing off when two dogs bounded into the room.

“Oh, Makkachin, did you make a friend?” Viktor asked when the large poodle settled at his side. Yuuri’s dog, a toy poodle named Vicchan climbed atop Yuuri’s familiar and promptly fell asleep. There was more gray in his muzzle than Yuuri remembered there being. Yuuri petted Vicchan, he’d missed his pet. Unlike his familiar who could go with him wherever he wanted, Vicchan had stayed home while he’d been away at university. And then, when he graduated, he couldn’t bring himself to separate Vicchan from the only home he’d ever known at the hot spring. So Vicchan had stayed.

Makkachin came up to Yuuri and sniffed at his face and neck in curiosity. Yuuri reached out and petted the larger down when his pink tongue lashed across his face in a wet stripe. Yuuri squeaked and fell backwards to escape. Though, Makkachi gleefully followed, his tail wagging to the speed of a blur.

Yuuri gently pushed Makkachin away so he could sit back up, and Viktor reached out and pulled Makkachin away by the scruff. Yuuri sat up and wiped the dog drool from his face. He smiled at the pair as Viktor quietly scolded Makkachin, who seemed to listen intently to his master.

Vicchan yipped for attention from Yuuri’s lap. Yuuri happily gave the smaller poodle enthusiastic scratches in his favorite spots. Someone had washed him recently, his fur was soft and the curls weren’t tangled at all.

“Yuuri, is this your dog?” Viktor asked. Makkachi was resting next to Viktor, his tail swishing over the tatami mats.

“Yes, his name is V-Vicchan,” he stuttered. He realized his predicament with having named his dog after the man sitting before him. Thankfully, Viktor couldn’t read Japanese so had no clue that Vicchan’s tags actually read Viktor. “He’s quite old now, though.”

Yuuri ran a hand down Vicchan’s back, taking in the graying hair around his eyes and muzzle. He was younger than Makkachin, but being a toy poodle, his natural lifespan was shorter. Yuuri knew he didn’t have much longer with Vicchan, and it made him sad. But also glad he was spending this time at home. At least when the time came, he wouldn’t have to get the news while he was elsewhere.

Vicchan clambered out of Yuuri’s lap to lay down beside Makkachin. The two poodles looked ready for naps, as evidenced by their slow blinks. They looked really cute together. Yuuri smiled fondly.

Viktor watched Yuuri intently. He was a strange young man. He was both shy, and yet confident. He was caring and loving towards his friends and family, but had given Viktor something of a cold reception. Which, he honestly didn’t blame Yuuri for. He’d realized his mistake in showing up so out of the blue.

He’d made assumptions about Yuuri, and those assumptions had left him floundering, and now he was committed to a two month vacation. But maybe, being in such close quarters with Yuuri would get the other man to open up, change his mind. Maybe even dance for him, with him again.

The dance they’d shared in Sochi nearly five months ago had seemed like a dream at first. The connection between them was electric and lit a fire in Viktor that he hadn’t experienced in so long. Nothing else had come of that night. They hadn’t slipped away for a stolen moment. But Viktor had managed to get a hold of Yuuri’s cell phone by accident, and with it unlocked to take a photo, Viktor had added his number to Yuuri’s contact list. Which wasn’t overly long, he’d noted. Except he’d heard nothing from Yuuri at all after that. Not until Christophe had linked him that video of Yuuri dancing to one of his pieces.

There had been no music, just the sound of Yuuri’s breaths and movements. But the camera had picked up on the tendrils of Yuuri’s magic as it became visible to the eye with every move. And though the piece had had different meaning to Viktor, it was clear that Yuuri’s magic was searching. Seeking out Yuuri’s match, now that they’d come so close together.

Viktor wasn’t ready to give up on Yuuri. If Yuuri was well and truly not interested, he’d walk away. He wouldn’t force or push, that wasn’t the type of man he wanted to be. He’d leave and hope that the emptiness he’d been experience since December would fade with time.

“Viktor? You said you’d need to keep practicing? I can show you where Minako-sensei’s studio is, if you want?” Yuuri asked him.

“Sure, but not tonight. It’s a little late for that now, how about tomorrow morning?” Viktor suggested. Yuuri gave him a small smile. Still guarded, but it was genuine.

“Okay, tomorrow morning then. Minako-sensei doesn’t usually open until ten, but she usually lets me in early. We can be over there by eight or nine if you want.”

“Sure.”

Yuuri seemed to hesitate about something, but didn’t say anything more. Instead he picked up the scattered dishes of their meals to return them to the kitchen. Viktor watched him go and sighed. If he was fortunate enough to have Yuuri eventually return his interest, then Viktor would consider himself the luckiest man alive. Now if only he could get Yuuri to look at him as more than a guest at his family’s inn.

Yuuri showed Viktor how to get to Minako-sensei’s studio, let him in and left. He wasn’t interested in dancing today. He had his own work to go over. Especially if he wanted to try for tenure again next year. He still hadn’t made up his mind about it, but didn’t see many options for himself. He’d only ever seen the two paths before him. Academia, or dance. Never both.

He’d sat in his room, typing at his laptop, revising some of his research. It was slow going, and his interest in the topic had waned greatly. It didn’t help that he had two dogs and a familiar trying to get his attention. Though between the three, Chihoko was succeeding. Her ability to communicate with him certainly helped in that respect.

“Hey, come on, let me work, guys,” he chided. Makkachin nosed at the stack of books sitting at the corner of his desk. He edged it away so that the stack couldn’t fall. He gave Makkachin a pat on the head. Once all the animals had calmed and settled down, Yuuri lost himself in his work.

The door opened and Yuuri looked up at the sound and turned the chair. Viktor stood in the doorway with a tray in his hands.

“You’ve been in here all day, Yuuri. Have you eaten at all?” he asked. Viktor stepped inside with the tray.

“You didn’t have to do that, Viktor. But thank you,” Yuuri said. He quickly closed his laptop and pushed his work aside to make room.

“Nonsense. You’ve been working hard all day. You need to eat!”

The tray was set down and Yuuri eagerly picked up the chopsticks. He ate quickly once he realized just how hungry he was. It didn’t take him long to finish his meal and he set it back down on the tray. He’d take it down to the kitchen later. Yuuri pulled his laptop closer again, ready to get back to work now that he’d eaten.

“Yuuri.”

He jumped in his seat at Viktor’s voice. He’d assumed the other man had left already. Yuuri turned to see Viktor standing behind him, seemingly waiting for something.

“Yes, Viktor?”

“Come with me to the ballet studio,” Viktor said. His tone was completely serious and brooked no argument.

“Viktor it’s way too late for that. Plus I just had a heavy meal. We can go tomorrow,” Yuuri said. Viktor stared at him for a moment.

“Fine, but I’m holding you to it,” Viktor finally said. He walked out of Yuuri’s room and shut the door behind him. Yuuri turned back to his work once again.

Yuuri finished his warm up stretches and bounced on the soles of his feet. Viktor had already taken command of sound system and had picked out some music for himself. Yuuri didn’t recognize it, but it was lively and bouncy. Very fast paced. It wasn’t what he was looking for to start with, but he could work with it.

Yuuri took a few deep breaths and lost himself in the music. As he fell deeper into the beat and let go of his thoughts, the world fell away. All that remained was the music, and his body. He moved slowly at first, not quite keeping time to the music. One beat to the music’s two. He could feel his magic moving, responding. And Chihoko was too. She was even wilder than he, moving frenetically, guiding their combined magic any which way she wanted. But this wasn’t about her, it was about him. And the other man in the studio. Yuuri’s movements brought him closer to Viktor, and as he spun, he reached out and grabbed Viktor by the hand and they fell together.

Chihoko backed off as soon as Viktor’s magic rose up to meet with Yuuri’s. They danced beautifully together, Yuuri led as he turned Viktor around across the floor. The individual colors of their magic, Viktor’s light, icy blue and Yuuri’s brighter teal mingled together in a dance more ancient and complex than what their owners were doing. Yuuri jokingly dipped Viktor fearlessly. They stared into each other’s eyes, and Yuuri had never been so aware in his life.

They were here, together, moving as one. The music didn’t even matter anymore. They created the music themselves. They whirled and leapt together as they reached their crescendo together. The world was gone, and all that remained was them.

The spell broken when applause met them. They ended up on their knees somehow, cradled together, their breaths coming in harsh pants.

“That was amazing!”

They turned to see Minako-sensei smiling and clapping. They had completely forgotten about her. Their magic settled, but both were left with a tingling sensation running across their bare skin. They were flushed, and the air was thick and heavy with the energy spread around them. Somehow, this felt like so much more than a dance.

If Yuuri could describe it, the closest thing it felt like was sex. To magic, what they had just danced held nearly no difference. A mingling of breath and body, the joining of their power. It was as if they had become one in this small dance studio.

Yuuri slowly let go of Viktor and straightened up. He fought down the blush that was rising across his face. He knew it was from embarrassment and not from exertion. He’d forgotten that they were technically in public. That someone else was in the room, watching them.

“E-excuse me,” Yuuri mumbled. He pushed passed Minako-sensei and out into the corridor. He needed to cool down and calm down. This wasn’t what he was expecting when he danced with Viktor. Not only had he nearly lost control of his magic entirely, but he felt like this had happened before.

Something about it had felt incredibly familiar, and he couldn’t say why. It was frustrating. Chihoko slipped out the door to sit at his feet.

“This is the first time you haven’t fought me during a dance,” she said. Yuuri sighed.

“I wasn’t fighting you. I’d forgotten you were even there. I was so focused on Viktor. It was a rush to dance with him like that.”

“Any dance you perform with Viktor will be that way, if it is not ritual. You are two souls becoming one. I wasn’t kidding when I said that Viktor had come here to court you. He has known already what you are just learning now. You are meant to be. Not as simply Viktor and Yuuri. But as one, a pair in union. He has felt the longing of your heart and soul, and it awoke in him. You are soulmates, Yuuri.”

“Soulmates aren’t a real thing. For all the magic in this world, that’s the one thing that isn’t real,” Yuuri said.

“Perhaps not in the sense of a profound bond that it is often portrayed as. But magic knows when a vessel has found it’s match. It’s a rare thing, when there are so many in this world. But it can happen. As it has happened to you and Viktor. Accept what the gods are gifting you with, Yuuri.”

Chihoko nudged against him and went back inside. Yuuri sighed and leaned against the wall. Viktor popped out and smiled and Yuuri.

“Come on, Yuuri. Let’s take a walk,” he declared. Yuuri stared at him for a moment before he nodded and ducked inside to grab his stuff. They walked away from town to an empty beach. Yuuri recognized it as one he came to, when he wanted to be alone. It was a nice spot. They sat on a beached log and stared out at the dark waves.

“I came here Yuuri, in part because of that video I saw. You were incredible. There was no music, but I swear I could hear it anyway. I was utterly entranced by you. It was like…like there was no one else in the world but you. It moved something in me. And I had to see you again.”

“Again?” Yuuri asked. He knew for a fact that if he’d met Viktor somewhere already, he’d know it.

“We met at that conference in Sochi, last year. You gave a lecture on words of power and alternative casting.”

Yuuri wanted to run away. That had to have been the worst night of his life. And Viktor had been there. Had seen him screw up royally.

“You’re research was incredible, but you were so nervous. It showed every time you opened your mouth. But I talked to you later, at the banquet reception. You seemed so much more calm then,” Viktor said with a laugh. “I realized later it was because you were drunk.”

“Wait? We talked? I don’t remember this at all,” Yuuri said. Viktor just smiled.

“Like I said, you were very drunk. I’m quite certain you were blackout drunk by the end of the night,” Viktor said. Yuuri just stared at him. He recalled waking up with the worst hangover of his life the morning after the conference dinner. But he had no recollection of the dinner itself.

“Oh my God, that is so embarrassing! Not to mention really unprofessional of me. I can’t believe noone said anything to me. Not a word! Everyone just let me make a fool of myself. That’s so mortifying,” Yuuri ranted as he brought his hands up to his face to hide. He jumped when Viktor’s hand came down on his shoulder.

“We didn’t just talk though. You basically gave me your entire lecture from memory, and then insisted I dance with you. I had never felt such a rush in my life. And when the night was over, I knew I had to see you again. I even left my contact information in your phone. But you never called.”

“What?!”

Yuuri fished his phone out of his pocket and quickly scrolled through the contact list. Sure enough, near the bottom was the name Viktor, along with a phone number and email address.

“I thought that was someone’s idea of a joke!”

Viktor only laughed.

“I figured as much when I didn’t hear from you. But I’m here now. But the question I have for you, Yuuri, is, do you want me here?”

Yuuri stared at Viktor for a long while. The question was unexpected, and he wasn’t sure how to answer. But it was clear just from looking at Viktor that he didn’t have to answer right away. He slowly turned to look out over the slate grey sea. The sky was overcast and it made everything look washed out. Yuuri stood up and hummed.

“I guess, I just want you to do what you want,” Yuuri finally said. He turned to face Viktor again and smiled. Viktor stood and stepped towards him.

“Them for now, I’d like to stay here, with you,” Viktor said. He held out his hand and Yuuri took it slowly for a short, firm shake.

Viktor had been with them for a few more weeks, and he went to Minako-sensei’s dance studio once every other day to train. Sometimes Yuuri went with him, most of the time, he didn’t. Sometimes he’d go to the studio at night after the few lessons Minako gave were over. While he’d enjoyed dancing with Viktor, he was more than a little afraid of it happening again.

At least, that’s what he told himself. Chihoko of course, knew better. And she always gave him a disappointed look when he was trying to avoid going to the studio with Viktor. As much as he’d enjoyed the rush of dancing with Viktor, he still didn’t fully understand what it meant. All his efforts to look into it only found him on less than reputable websites discussing the idea of soulmates and resonant magic. There was no real science or study behind it. Just speculation. Yuuri had debated contacting colleagues and contemporaries of his to ask about the subject, but he didn’t want to be laughed at.

The idea of a soulmate was a romantic one. But he couldn’t be sure it was really a thing. The idea of two people who were compatible in every way, down to how their magic interacted. That was something incredibly powerful. His cursor hovered over the “Send” button on his email client. He was one click away from asking a colleague in his department their opinion on soulmates.

There was a knock at the door and it opened. Yuuri panicked and slammed the laptop shut. He winced at the noise and hoped he hadn’t damaged the device.

“Yuuri~! Come drink with me!” Viktor said. He stood in the doorway, a bottle of sake in one hand, a silly grin on his face. Yuuri could swear it looked heart-shaped.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Yuuri said. Considering the last time he’d had anything to drink in Viktor’s presence.

“Please, Yuuri. I’ll be leaving in a week and a half. For me~,” Viktor wheedled. Yuuri sighed. He was at home, in a safe environment surrounded by family. What was the worst that could happen?

A lot. Apparently. They’d polished off two bottles between them and Yuuri was working on the third.

“Viktor you are amazing. Like, you’re just the greatest dancer I’ve ever met in the entire world. Like. Just the best.”

Yuuri had a vague idea he was drunk. He knew he was drinking alcohol, but he was too drunk to know just how drunk he was. Viktor wasn’t much better.

“Really Yuuri? That’s wonderful!”

“Yeah, you’re almost as amazing a dance partner as Chihoko,” Yuuri hiccuped. The bottle of sake in his hands sloshed around as he waved his arms around. They felt noodly.

“Chihoko?”

“Yeah! Chihoko is just great! One of the greatest things to happen to me my whole life,” Yuuri slurred.

“Who’s Chihoko?” Viktor asked. Yuuri thought he looked a lot more sober.

“You know! Chihoko. You’ve met Chihoko,” Yuuri said. He took a long drink from the bottle. Viktor reached over and grabbed at it. The bottle was slowly pried from his loose fingers and Viktor drank from it.

“No, I don’t know Chihoko.”

“Yeah you do! Great, soft, Chihoko. Oh! Oh, oh, oh! Viktor. Did you know, did you - know, that when two people share a drink from the same cup, or whatever. It’s a - uh - an indirect kiss,” Yuuri said. He sounded very proud of himself for getting that sentence out.

“Oh? Then why don’t we make it a direct kiss?” Viktor asked. He scooted closer to Yuuri and put the bottle down on the short table they sat at.

“A direct kiss?”

“Yeah!”

Viktor brought a hand up and stroked a hand over Yuuri’s cheek and ran his fingers through Yuuri’s hair. He pulled Yuuri closer and their lips met. Mostly. They had very nearly missed, they were so drunk. It was messy and there was a little too much spit, but neither of them cared.

Their magic mingled as they finally brought their bodies together in an act more intimate than dance. Viktor’s hands ran down Yuuri’s back and dragged him ever closer. Yuuri moaned into the kiss and slowly their hands traveled over their bodies.

“Hey, hey, hey, not in the dining room.”

They broke apart with a gasp to see Mari standing over them. Unfortunately, they were both too intoxicated to much care.

“M-Mari-‘nee,” Yuuri grumbled.

“Go make out with your boyfriend in your room,” she said. Yuuri stared at her for a moment before he stumbled to his feet.

“Okay.”

He helped Viktor to his feet and they slowly made their way out of the common room and stumbled up the stairs to Yuuri’s room. They made it to the bed where they peppered kisses on each other’s faces and giggled.

“Yuuri. I want to stay here. With you,” Viktor said.

“Are you sure?” Yuuri asked. Viktor just nodded and kissed him again.

“But. We can talk some more when we wake up. Now, I just want to sleep here,” Viktor said. He kicked off his slippers and settled himself down on the bed properly. He rolled over onto his side and wrapped an arm around Yuuri.

“Yeah. Okay. Let’s sleep.”

They slowly drifted off to sleep side by side, the sake buzzing through their veins. Neither had slept so well in so long as they did that night.

When Yuuri woke up, it was nearly noon and his hangover violently reminded him of that night in Sochi. Most of the night was hazy, and he was overheated in his bed, which seemed to have shrunk to half its size.

He rolled over slowly and took a moment to breath as his stomach churned. He really hoped he didn’t need to throw up. Just thinking about it made it worse. But it didn’t seem like he was going to. Which was a good thing, because Viktor was in the way. He had no idea why Viktor was in his bed, but they were both fully dressed. In fact, they were in yesterday’s clothes still.

That was definitely a surprise.

Viktor was waking up slowly. His eyes cracked open and he grunted as he was inundated with sunlight.

“Ugh.”

“Morning Viktor. How do you feel?”

“Like my liver hates me,”

“Okay, let’s get up and see if Mari-'nee has any of pain meds we can have. And something greasy to eat,” Yuuri said. He nudged Viktor to get him to start moving. Viktor slowly sat up and groaned as he took a moment to just breath.

“Oh, Yuuri, who’s Chihoko?” Viktor asked. Yuuri paused.

“Viktor, you’ve met Chihoko. Several times!” Yuuri said. Viktor looked utterly confused by his words.

“Ummmm”

“Viktor, Chihoko is the name of my familiar,” Yuuri said.

“Oh.”

Viktor didn’t say a word for a long while. As if he was trying to assimilate the new information.

“So, when you said that I’m the best dance partner you’ve had since Chihoko, that’s what you meant?” VIktor asked him.

“Uh, yeah, I don’t really remember that part of the conversation. But yeah. I love dancing with you Viktor. I really do,” Yuuri said. He reached out and placed a hand on Viktor’s.

“How much of last night do you remember?” Viktor asked. Yuuri thought for a moment.

“Uhhhhh, I think I remember asking you to stay? But I think this is a conversation we should have once we’re sobered up,” Yuuri said. Viktor nodded and stood up slowly. Yuuri climbed off the bed and took Viktor’s hand again.

“So, breakfast? And some pain meds,” Viktor said. Yuuri nodded and winced at the motion. They left Yuuri’s room to see Makkachin, Vicchan and Chihoko were seated at the door, waiting for the two men.

“Good morning,” Yuuri said. He leaned over to pet the two dogs and picked up Chihoko, who quickly settled herself across his shoulders.

“Good morning, Chihoko,” Viktor said. He smiled, now knowing that Chihoko that was just Yuuri’s familiar and not some mystery woman he’d have to compete with.

They made their way down to the dining room, and no one present said a word over the fact that they were wearing yesterday’s clothes and easily looked like they’d just rolled out of bed after a night of drinking.

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” Mari said. She held out a tray with some pain medication and glasses of water. Both men took it gratefully and Mari left and returned with two plates of eggs and bacon for them to eat.

“Greasy food has never looked so delicious,” Viktor said. He dug in gratefully and quickly ate through his plate. Yuuri ate a little more slowly, but enjoyed it nonetheless. Once their food was consumed, Mari brought them both some coffee. Yuuri grimaced at the bitterness, but knew that it was certainly helping his hangover greatly.

The cups were drained and they sat in the dining room a little while longer. There weren’t too many guests at this point. Cherry blossom season was over, and they wouldn’t get another rush of guests until summer started.

“Why don’t we get ourselves cleaned up, have a quick soak, and then we can go somewhere to talk?” Yuuri suggested.

“Sure.”

They were sat on the beach again. Staring out over the overcast sky. Yuuri hoped the clouds cleared up. It could be such a nice day.

“Last night, I said I wanted you to stay with me. I still want that to be the case, if you will have me,” Yuuri said.

“I’d like that very much, Yuuri.”

“These two months have probably been the happiest I’ve had in a long time. And, while I haven’t completely worked out what I want to do for my career. I do know that I want you to be in my future. For as long as you want,” Yuuri said.

Viktor was silent for a while. Long enough for Yuuri to start worrying. Viktor stepped up closer to Yuuri and took his hands.

“Yuuri. I think I’ve been in love with you since you swept me off my feet in Sochi last year. And spending this time with you, getting to know you, I know that I could very well spend the rest of my life with you. If you will have me.”

Yuuri smiled up at Viktor. He shook a hand free and used it to wrap around the back of Viktor’s neck and drag him down.

“I would like that very much,” he whispered just before he pressed their lips together.

One year later, Yuuri stood in front of a massive lecture hall, and every seat was occupied. The students were only a few years younger than he was, but they were all here for his class. He checked his lecture notes and a copy of his syllabus were all in order, the glint of the overhead lights caught on the gold band on his hand. With a small smile, he spun it around his finger once. He cleared his throat and lightly tapped the mic situated on the lectern. The hall quieted and he took a deep breath.

“Good morning, I am Professor Katsuki and welcome to Alternative Magics 10: Modern Art and Casting,” Yuuri said as he glanced at his lecture notes. The back door squeaked open and Yuuri caught Viktor slipping in with a quick wave. Yuuri nodded and kept going as Viktor made his way to the front of the hall and settling down in a single empty seat in a corner.

He carried on with his lecture, and going through the syllabus. Once he neared the end he quickly wrapped up his lecture.

“That’s all for today, please make sure to turn in your attendance slips in the basket at the back. Thank you for coming, and I hope to see you all again, next time.”

The class was ajourned and the students filed out. Viktor hopped up from his seat and approached Yuuri as he packed up his things.

“A riveting lecture, Professor,” he said. Yuuri smiled and picked up his small stack of papers.

“It was only the first day,” he said. Viktor took the stack from him and kissed him lightly.

“Yes, but did you see how full the room was? I was lucky to get a seat. And they were riveted. Absolutely drawn in by you,” Viktor insisted. He took Yuuri’s hand and they walked out of the lecture hall.

“Let’s drop that off in my office and we’ll go grab lunch,” Yuuri said.

“Perhaps, I can tempt you to spend lunch in your office?” Viktor suggested with a raise of his eyebrows. Yuuri laughed and nudged him with an elbow.

“You’re terrible, and no, we are not doing that.”

“I’ll convince you one day. After all, I convinced you to marry me.”

“If you’ll recall, I’m the one who proposed. And we aren’t married yet,” Yuuri said. He opened his office door and tossed his papers onto his already crowded desk. Viktor shut the door and pulled him in for a longer kiss.

“And, I cannot wait to be Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov.”

“Me either.”

#yoibb17 #yoi #viktuuri

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sophisticated-angel · 8 years ago

Text

Halfway

Character: Dean Winchester

Warning: Cheating (depending on who’s side you take)

Word Count: 5,945

Pairing: Almost Dean x Reader

Summary: The reader has no desire for permanent relationships. No man can give her what she wants, so she calls them “halfways”. She knows Dean, and though they both seem to harbor an attraction for one another, he wants something that will last.

Loosely Based on the Song Halfway by Parachute.

Story

You are ten and throwing rocks at the ducks floating in a pond in the park. At this age, your aim is accurate but not accurate enough to get a notable success streak. Even if it was, the rocks are too small to do any damage; the ducks startle and quack a bit on the off chance you hit one of them. The park is damp and chilly, shrouded in a thin afternoon fog. It’s too cold here for most people which makes it perfect for you. Dean shows up after you throw your sixth rock.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you answer.

Wordlessly, he picks up his own rock and chucks it at the nearest duck. It hits the bird dead on the wing, and it waddles away in surprise. You’ve met Dean a few times before, brief visits when his dad came to town on business, but you never pay much attention to him because he’s older. Mostly you play with Sam, who is your age.

“Where’s Sam?” you ask.

“On the swings.” Dean throws another rock. This one misses and hits the water with a plop. “This park sucks.”

“I like the ducks.”

“Then why do you throw stuff at them?”

“That’s all there is to do.”

“Yeah. This park sucks.” Two more rocks are thrown in succession, and then the flock decides they’ve been harassed enough and moves farther out in the pond. You and Dean watch them go. “I’ve got a BB gun in my dad’s car,” Dean says. “Want to get that and really have some fun with those ducks?”

“Nah. They won’t come back if we do that.”

“Eh. Wanna catch a movie?”

“Don’t have money.”

“Don’t need money to sneak in. Wanna go?”

You shrug. “Sure.”

Discarding your last stones, you abandon the pond and the ducks and head out of the park. Sam skips over to join you, brushing wood chips out of his dark hair.

“We should go to Vegas,” Sam says to you.

“Too expensive.”

“The Grand Canyon?”

“Too hot.”

“So are the Everglades.”

“There are alligators in the Everglades, Sam.”

“So?”

“I want to see an alligator.”

“What’s this about going to the Everglades?” Dean inquires.

“Me and Sam are gonna run away when we’re older,” you explain.

It’s a plan that has been in the making since the brothers’ last visit. You and Sam share a dislike for your current lives, so you’ve been conspiring to hit the road as soon as one of you can drive. The plan is to tour the States, all fifty if possible.

“You can come too, Dean,” Sam adds. “That way me and (y/n) won’t have to drive all the time.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Thanks.”

“I’m gonna have lots of boyfriends,” you say. “I’ll keep them until they get boring, and then I’ll break up with them.”

“Little young to be a maneater, aren’t you?”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing. What movie do you two snots want to see?”

You share a look with Sam. “Something R-rated.”

* * * * *

You are sixteen and still hanging out at the park. Instead of rocks you carry a BB gun and a pocketful of pellets, and you fully intend to use every one. For now you sit on the swings and smoke a cigarette while you wait for some poor animal to get in range of the gun. The cigarettes are a new habit. You aren’t sure where you picked it up, just that you sometimes smoke, usually when stress is at its peak.

“Get that thing out of your mouth.” A hand flicks the cigarette from between your lips. “You’ll get lung cancer or some crap.”

“Relax, Dean. I smoke like one a week.”

“One a week will turn into one a day, and before you know it you’ll be burning through a pack a day. Quit now while it’s still easy.” Dean takes the swing next to you. It sways a bit under his weight.

“Like you’ve never smoked.”

“Never.”

“Pot counts.”

“Fine. I’ve smoked once.”

You chuckle. Having seen Dean Winchester doped up on pain meds, you can only imagine what he’d be like high on pot. It was last year when you saw how he was on acceptable drugs. Your dad pressured you into working a hunt with the older brother, and it ended with him getting a couple of cracked ribs, you breaking a wrist, and both of you running away from a string of cops that were on your tail. After that, your dad stopped pushing you to hunt, and you haven’t asked about it since.

“Heard about your breakup,” says Dean. “Tough break.”

“He was an idiot anyway. I’m over it.”

“I’ll shoot him if you want.”

“He’s not worth it.”

“You gonna hit him with that BB gun yourself?”

“This is for shooting ducks.”

“You used to like the ducks.”

“Still do. They make great target practice.”

“Damn.”

Sighing, you toe the gun at your feet. “Man, as soon as I turn eighteen, I am out of here.”

“Not happy?”

“Nope. I need out. Is Sam up for running away still?”

“Sammy’s thinking about going to college and settling down. Don't tell my dad.”

“Boring.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Guess I’ll have to go by myself then.”

He nods. “Go for it.”

“Mm.” Resting your head on the chain of the swing, you look Dean up and down.

He’s barely twenty years old, and already he looks accustomed to carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Standing, he has an imposing, easy stance; sitting, he gives the impression of owning the place. Girls flock to him, and in the one month of high school you had together, you felt cool when he hung out with you in the halls. Anyone who doesn’t think he’s a catch is an idiot.

You kiss him now, for no apparent reason. You don’t have a crush on him, you aren’t desperate for a rebound, you just want to kiss him. So you kiss him. It’s warm, but the suddenness makes it stiff and a little awkward. Both of you hold your breath, and when you pull away, he’s staring unblinking at you. Biting your lip, you scoop up the BB gun and fire a shot at a passing squirrel. The pellet misses, burrows harmlessly into the damp earth, and the squirrel scampers to safety. Dean jumps at the noise.

“What the hell was that?” he breathes.

“Just trying to bag a squirrel.”

“Not that, the . . . the-”

“The kiss?” You shrug and fire at a second squirrel. This one misses too. “It was just a kiss. They happen.”

“Not between us, they don't. You’re my best friend!”

“It was a kiss, Dean. Geez.” From your jacket you pull a new cigarette, but Dean smacks it out of your hand before you can get a lighter.

“Get rid of the damn smokes!”

With a huff, you tuck the gun under your arm and get up from the swings. You practically jog out of the park, leaving Dean and the kiss behind you.

* * * * *

You are twenty-one and have finally moved out of your childhood house. It was never a home, just four walls and a roof that protected you from outside elements, not so much from an oppressive lifestyle and negligent parenting. Anyway, it was probably cram-packed with asbestos and lead and mold. Your little apartment is much better than that old house. Your cigarette and BB gun days are over, traded out for a job and the adventures of bill paying. Presently, Dean Winchester is shacking up with you, using your ever vacant parking spot for his car and sharing your bed. He’s a gifted lover who brings home burgers and beer, but you don’t consider him permanent. Gifted or not, he’s not your ‘boyfriend’, and he won’t be here forever. None of them have ever lasted very long.

“Is it alright if Sam comes over?” he asks when you come home today.

“I thought Sam was in college.” Setting your purse on the table, you head to your bedroom to change into something more comfortable.

“He is, but it’s spring break, and he’s still not on speaking terms with Dad. I just haven’t seen him in a while, and I know you haven’t either.” He speaks utterly unfazed while you strip down in front of him. “It’s just for a couple of days. His buddies are going to Washington next week.”

“Washington?”

“Law geeks, remember?”

“Ah. Well, I suppose he can stay. He’ll have to sleep on the couch.”

“Thanks.”

There comes a knock at the door just as you pull on one of Dean’s t-shirts, and you raise an eyebrow questioningly.

“That would be Sam . . .”

Hands on your hips, you mutter “really?” as you walk past him and to the door. On the other side stands Sam, a backpack slung over his shoulder. He looks worn out from his long drive, and he smells like he hasn’t showered in couple of days. Still, you embrace him.

“Damn, you got tall,” you observe. “Finally got that growth spurt, huh?”

“I guess so.” He pauses, looking you up and down, not missing your pantslessness. “Dean just asked if I could stay, didn’t he?”

“Of course not. He asked weeks ago.”

Sam laughs. “I’m sorry about him.”

“I’m used to it. You coming in or what?”

Through dinner and after, Sam regales you of his adventures in higher education. He turns out to be the boring kind of student, so nothing he’s done is too exciting. He tells you of the time he thought he smoked pot but it turned out to be oregano, of the appallingly tame parties he’s attended and hosted, the kegger where a couple of jocks streaked across campus (shamefully, he has no photo evidence of this), the girl or two that tried to come on to him but was discouraged by his incessant nerdiness, and the nights he stayed up for hours cramming for midterms. None of you are really interested in the movie playing on TV.

Eventually you persuade Sam to use your shower, and while the movie plays out, Dean falls asleep stretched out across the couch with his feet on your lap. Credits roll, and Sam returns, this time in sweats and a bleach-stained t-shirt. He stuffs his dirty clothes into his backpack and then observes his unconscious brother, and you observe him.

Since you last saw him, he’s changed. There’s the mental shift from hardened hunter to educated boy with a dream, but the physical change is what you always return to. No longer is he the skinny, gawky, uncoordinated teenager with too-long arms and bangs in front of his eyes. Now he’s grown into his limbs, developed muscle, and holds his still-narrow shoulders straight and confidently. His thick, damp hair, wavy in places, frames his face rather than obscures it, and his head is carried gracefully by his slender neck. The dimple on his cheek appears when he smiles, which he seems to do more often and more honestly now.

“I see I won’t be sleeping on the couch,” he comments.

“We can make him move.”

“Have you ever tried that? Once he’s out, he’s out. I can sleep on the floor.”

“Wanna sleep with me?”

“You mean - in bed with you?”

“Yeah. It’s cold in my room. Thin blankets.”

“Um, that’s okay.” He blushes furiously. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You won’t.” Standing, you stretch. “You coming or not?”

He hesitates, scratching his head and averting his eyes, so you step over to him and kiss him full on the mouth. Your thumbs hook his waistband, and you finish with a kiss on his dimple.

“You got tall, Winchester. That growth spurt hit all of you?”

An hour later, Sam’s fingers card your hair, and your t-shirt is bunched and twisted around your waist. His own lies at the foot of the bed where you tossed it earlier. Lazily, he kisses your ear and sighs contentedly.

“I heard about your dad,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“He was a dick. I’m over it.”

“Heard anything from your mom lately?”

“Nope.”

“I figured she’d at least try to call you or something.”

“Are we gonna talk about my family life all night?”

“I’m just trying to be sensitive.”

“There’s nothing worth being sensitive about. Trust me.” Rolling over, you brace yourself above him. “Now, are we gonna go for round two, or are you too tired?”

He grins and meets your lips halfway, hands finding your waist. Focused on him, you don’t hear the shuffling in the living room, the footsteps drawing near your bedroom, or the door opening. You do startle out of it when Dean chokes on air when he sees what he’s walked into.

“What the hell is this?”

“Damn, Dean. A little privacy?” you wipe Sam’s spit from your mouth and sit up. Beneath you, Sam hurriedly grabs for the blankets,

Dean, eyes wide in disbelief, scoffs and turns to stalk out of the room. You get up and follow him, and Sam scrambles to pull on his pants.

“Dean, what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” He wheels on you, angry heat rising to his cheeks. “How the hell can you ask that?”

“Geez. Maybe because you seem upset?”

“Let me lay this out for you: I just walked in on you sleeping with my brother.”

“Yeah? And?”

“And? And? And you’re with me, (y/n)!” He jabs a finger into his chest. “You’ve been sleeping with me. You just cheated on me!”

“We’re not in a relationship! There’s nothing to cheat on!”

“So I mean nothing to you?”

From behind you, Sam timidly breaks in, “Dean, I had no idea.”

“Shut up, Sam!” Dean barks, shoulders trembling.

“I like you, okay?” you say. “I do. You’re just - you’re not everything I want.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You bite your lip, thinking of an explanation. “It means you’re a halfway. You’re good, but you’re not it.”

“And that makes it okay to sleep around on me?”

“Come on, Dean. I know you do the same thing.”

“No,” he states flatly. “I don’t.”

“Do you think we’re dating?”

“I thought you might appreciate my loyalty.” He laughs bitterly. “I guess not.”

“Dean-”

“I think I should go.” Turning on his heel, he shoves on his shoes and grabs his car keys from beside the kitchen sink. Moments later, he exits the apartment with a slam of the door. Your ears ring in the sudden silence.

Sam appears beside you, fully dressed now and carrying his backpack. “I, um, I’m going to leave too,” he says. “It was nice seeing you again.”

He offers a small smile, and then he’s gone too. From the hallway the brothers’ voices come, first Dean’s harsh one, and then Sam is yelling right back at him, and then you hear your next door neighbors shouting for them to keep it down. They fade as they get farther away. Soon they’re gone altogether.

Adjusting your shirt - Dean’s, you remember - you return to your room, curl up in bed, and sleep until morning.

* * * * *

You are twenty-nine and hightailing it out of the suburbs where you just torched a mother changeling. Your apartment and your job have been things of the past for almost eight years. After that episode with the Winchesters, domestic living lost its appeal, so you turned to hunting as an alternative. Growing up, your family, mostly your parents and a few extended relatives, hunted, but you were spared the hassle of moving around all the time. You didn’t really do much actual hunting after that one job with Dean as a teenager, but you’ve since learned that all the travelling is quite freeing. It reminds you of what you planned as a kid - running away to see the sights and never following anybody’s rules. You’ve been to Vegas, to the Grand Canyon, to the Everglades, always hunting but making time for pleasure when you can.

There are a number of men who have been left waiting for a girl who will never show, not after the first night. You never explicitly say that they’ll see you again, but you don’t say they won’t, either. They’re halfways, all of them, a good time and nothing more. Permanence is something you shy away from; it holds you back and ruins the freedom you’ve only recently found.

Speeding away from the ashes of the monster, you wipe soot from your face with a wet wipe. You drive for hours until you find an exit leading to a fairly populated corner of some random town, bypassing the strip club and making your way to a rundown little bar with a sign that only partially lights up. There’s an empty parking spot near the door, and you pull into it and turn the car off.

“Scotch, neat,” you tell the bartender, and she fills up a glass with a practiced motion and slides it across the counter to you.

“Scotch, huh?” comes a man's voice. “Thought you were more of a whiskey girl.”

Looking over, you see Dean taking the stool beside you. Sam sits on his other side. Both brothers are dressed in the only thing they seem to own: flannel and a pair of worn out jeans. They look cleaner than you can ever remember them being, and they've aged, not only in years but also in their souls. Dean has lost that boyish twinkle in his eye, and Sam looks more tired of the world than he used to.

“And in Vegas I was a Three M's girl.”

“Three M's?”

“Martinis, mojitos, and margaritas.”

“In one night?”

“Once or twice.”

“Agents Weisman and Ferrato, nice to see you again!” The bartender chirps. “What can I get you?”

“Two beers, sweetheart.” Dean replies.

“Two beers, on the house.” She sets the bottles on the counter, and as she turns away, Dean flashes her a wink, and she blushes.

“Oh the house?” You lift one eyebrow. “What'd you do, Agent Weisman?”

“Broke up a fight. I think one of them was her ex.”

“Well, she obviously appreciated it.”

“Believe me, she did.” Smirking, Dean takes a drink.

“Nice, Dean,” Sam mutters.

“So, Vegas. How'd you fare?”

You shrug. “Didn't have a lot of time for just fun, but I did come out ahead.”

“By how much?”

“Like ten bucks.”

“Hey, ten bucks'll get you a decent drink.”

“That's exactly where it went.”

Dean laughs and takes another drink of his beer. A couple minutes later, the two of you glance over at Sam to find him speaking to a very pretty girl who's intentions are glaringly obvious. Sam says something to her, politely trying to turn her down, but Dean intervenes.

“You aren't trying to hurt the nice girl's feelings, are you?” He shrugs apologetically at the woman.

“No, I'm only-”

“Sam, if you don't get out of here, I will personally disown you.” With that, Dean presses his car keys into his brother's palm and waves towards the door.

Finally, with the girl on his arm, Sam leaves the bar carrying his beer bottle. With a proud grin on his face, Dean turns back to the bar and drains the last of his own drink. By now you're on your second scotch and enjoying the warm feeling spreading to your extremities.

“It's been a while,” Dean says after a long pause.

“Eight years.” You nod. “How've you been?”

“Dead, alive, and a number of other things.” He laughs bitterly, gazing at his empty bottle.

Silently, you down a mouthful of scotch, and then you say what you've been wanting to say for years. “I'm sorry about what I did. I didn't think you'd mind, but if I'd known you would, I wouldn't have done it.”

Dean shakes his head. “I'm over it.”

“You sure?”

“Very. I've got bigger problems, and I've done worse things.”

“You got a girl someplace?”

“Unless you count one night stands, no, I don't.”

So he's still single, and he's still as hot as ever. A shadow of scruff darkens his jaw and lends him a dangerous air. He's like a fine wine. He only gets better with age. What is he now, thirty-three?

“Alright, I've had enough scotch for one night, and Sam took your car. Want a ride?”

“Sure.”

Standing, you leave a bill on the counter for your drinks and let Dean escort you out to the parking lot. The night is a cool one, and goosebumps rise on your exposed arms. You get to your car, and Dean begins to offer to drive, but you cut him off with a kiss. You grab his shirt collar and pull him in, backing him against the car door. He lets out an “mmph” but gets into it half a second later. Just as he does, you pull away, leaving him hanging.

“You wanna?” you murmur.

Dean simply nods before taking control of the situation. In what looks like one motion, he unlocks the car and opens the door, and then he eagerly guides you into the backseat where he begins the motions of foreplay he used eight years ago: another kiss, then a path of them across your jaw and down your neck, a mix of tenderness and restraint, while his hands grip your waist. It's when he reaches the neckline of your t-shirt that you take over, pushing him back and straddling his hips and returning his kisses while your own hands work at unbuttoning his shirt.

“Stop,” he huffs suddenly and grabs one of your wrists.

“I haven't even gotten one button. How can you be too worked up yet?”

“Wait, alright? Hold on a second.” Bracing one arm on the headrest, he sits up with you still on his lap. “What am I to you?”

“And by that you mean . . .?”

“Am I just a good lay-”

“You're an amazing lay.” You grin and go in for a kiss.

Dean pulls away, even puts a hand on your shoulder to hold you off. “What was it you said I was last time? A halfway? Am I still a halfway?”

You shrug. “Yeah. Why? Is that not okay with you?”

He sighs and leans his head against the window. “I can't do this again.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don't want to be used like that again. I don't want invest time into a relationship if my partner isn't there for me as much as for her.” He gets out from under you and gets out of the car, straightening his shirt.

“Dean, wait.” You follow him into the dark parking lot. “If this is about me sleeping with your brother, I already said I was sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. And I won't do it this time. I won't sleep with other people if you think it's cheating.”

“That's not the problem.” He purses his lips and looks into space. “You don't want me, not really. You think I'm fun, that I'm useful, but after a while I'll lose my appeal, and you'll move on. You don't want to stay with me any longer than you can hold your breath.”

You fold your arms across your chest. “I'm sorry I don't want permanence, Dean.”

“I do.” He jabs a finger into his chest. “Everything else I know goes away, so excuse me for wanting something that'll last a while.”

“So what do you want me to do? I can't change who I am because you don't like it.”

“I'm not asking you to.” He licks his lips thoughtfully and hands you your keys. “Maybe I'll see you in a few years, and maybe things will be different, but right now . . .”

“I get it.” You twirl your keys and turn back to your car.

“Goodbye, (y/n).”

* * * * *

You're thirty-four and have left hunting mostly behind you. There are occasions where you get out and do a little hands-on, but it's not as fun as it used to be, and it's a relief to return to your penthouse apartment at the end of the day. When you half-retired, you decided that you deserved to live in a little luxury, and a couple of cons and lies on credit card forms allowed for just that. To keep people from getting suspicious, you pass yourself off as an event planner and even work the occasional gig to really sell it.

Compared to how it used to be, your life has settled quite a bit. It's steady, predictable, and there's no chance for an adrenaline rush spurred on by torching a changeling. Not two years ago you would have gagged at the thought of living like this, but now you're happy with it. Honestly, it's kind of nice not worrying about dying all the time.

The event you're planning presently is a retirement dinner party for a CEO of some big company. You don't know anything about him or his company besides their names, and that's as far as you want to care. A perk of being the person running the event is that everyone working for you already mostly knows what to do, so all you have to do is show up and make sure things don't fall into chaos. It's a rather cushy job, and you do have some fun doing it. Because the dinner is tonight, all that's left is some finishing touches – flowers, place settings, sound checks, etc. As soon as everything is in place, you're out of here, and you plan to enjoy a hot bath and a long nap.

“Mic one isn't working, and mic two has terrible feedback,” an attendant informs you.

“Okay, well, don't we have more than two microphones?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“So try those and see if they do work. If there's still an issue, go find Evan. He's the sound guy, not me.”

Nodding, the attendant rushes off to fix the microphones, and you look over the list on the clipboard in your hands. You still have to make sure the hall will be closed off once the party starts. The hotel hosting the event has been pretty good with doing their job, but it can't hurt to double check. Lesser mistakes have been made in better locations. Tucking the clipboard under your arm, you head for the front desk, your heels clicking on the marble floor, and the sound echos in the grand foyer. Staff dressed in red uniforms and white gloves populate the area, attending to incoming guests and doing whatever else it is they have to do.

“(y/n)!” a new voice echos behind you.

When you turn, you see a vaguely familiar man striding towards you. It takes you a second to recognize him, and your eyes go wide. It's Dean, but it doesn't look like Dean. This man is too clean, too well-kept to be the man you've known since childhood. Instead of flannel he wears a pale blue button down shirt, and his jeans look brand new. Even his shoes lack scuff marks and crusted dirt. He's clean shaven, his hair has been combed, and as he draws closer a light fragrance floats your way.

“Dean Winchester, are you wearing perfume?”

“It's cologne, actually.”

“Same thing. Come here, you.” Smiling, you pull him in for a hug. Yes, he's wearing perfume, and it smells damn good on him.

“What you doing here?” he asks when you break apart. “Last place I ever thought I'd see you was in the city.”

“Last thing I ever thought I'd see you be was presentable,” you tease. “I'm planning a retirement dinner, and later I'm going back to my penthouse for a nice evening in.”

“Penthouse?” Dean's eyes go wide. “How'd you pull that off?”

“Not legally.”

“The job isn't legit either, is it?”

“Nope.”

He laughs. “That's the (y/n) I know. So you've settled down now? No more bouncing around, no more Three M's?”

“Three M's?”

“Martinis, mojitos, and margaritas. Vegas, remember? The days of your wild youth?”

“I spent my youth throwing rocks and shooting BB pellets at ducks.”

“And you never bagged a single one.”

Everything you've ever done together comes flooding back, especially the most recent encounters. Twice now you've left him – or he's left you might be more accurate – because you didn't want a steady relationship. Impermanence gave you a high like an addictive drug, and you two didn't fit. Living like that was fine back then, it really did make you happy, but things have changed for you. Dean was never bad to you, never did anything but care – even in bed he made sure you got more out of it than he did – but you didn't realize that until you could look back on those times with a different mindset. Now you're ready for something different, something permanent, and here is a man who has been waiting for permanent his whole life. He obviously likes you, and now he's exactly what you want.

Just as you open your mouth to speak again, a pretty, dark-haired woman appears out of nowhere and stands by his side. She's a little younger than him, maybe younger than you, and she dresses like a girl raised in the wealthy upper class. There isn't a wrinkle or out-of-place hair to be seen, and she practically oozes sophistication and money. Confused, you watch her take his hand and smile up at him.

“Hey, babe,” she purrs. “Where've you been?”

“Felicity, this is (y/n). (y/n), Felicity.”

“Oh! This is (y/n)!” Felicity smiles, showing too-white teeth, and extends her free left hand for you to shake. “Dean's told me all about you!”

Once you reorient yourself to be able to take her left hand, you shake it a little stiffly, and then you notice the diamond ring on her finger. She notices you noticing and immediately brightens up more than you thought was possible even for her.

“He proposed last month!” she exclaims.

“He? You mean Dean?” Your heart leaps into your throat, and your hands shake when she lets go, still flashing her ring.

“Yes! It was all very romantic. We were at dinner, and suddenly he pulls out a little box, and inside is this ring! I was wondering when he would do it. I mean, we've been together for two years!” She giggles, a girlish tittering noise that makes you cringe. Dean doesn't seem to be bothered by it, but he blushes and sticks his hands in his pockets.

“Two years, huh?”

Dean shrugs. “Guess she thought I was worth waiting for.”

“Ah.” You swallow hard. “So when's the wedding?”

“Saturday. Rehearsal dinner tonight, bachelor and bachelorette parties tomorrow, and then the big day. Her dad rented out an entire country club for the rehearsal dinner and the reception and then two suites here for the parties.”

“Wow. Sounds a little fancy. Didn't think you were a big fan of stuff like that.”

“Oh, Daddy's old money,” Felicity interrupts. “He owns like thirty restaurants and three football teams, and my family's always been really good in business. I have six cousins who are lawyers in the federal government, two of my uncles are in the FBI, and then one of my second cousins is a model who married a celebrity basketball player.”

“That's . . . nice.”

“Yeah, we're all proud of cousin Maisie.” Dean hugs her shoulders. “She ain't as good as you though, sweetheart.”

Felicity giggles again and kisses him. When she slips her hand in his back pocket, you feel the sudden urge to puke all over her designer shoes. With that comes the prickle of tears forming in your eyes. This isn't fair. Dean loves you, not this shallow, spoiled, tittering Daddy's girl who stuffed him into button downs and dress shoes. He can't want this. There's no way he could be happy having a wedding worthy of royalty and then living in a mansion. Yet, you can't bring yourself to say any of this. You're absolutely sure about him, but then there's the chance that you're wrong. What if you called him out, and it turned out that he is truly happy? Wouldn't that be embarrassing.

Forcing a smile, you clear your throat. “Well, I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got a dinner that starts in two hours and a list of things that still need to get done.”

“We won't keep you then,” says Dean. “Anyway, we gotta make sure those rooms are all set for tomorrow. Call me sometime, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod. “Congratulations, you guys. I'm happy for you. Really.”

Dean smiles and thanks you, and then you turn away before he can notices the tears brimming in your eyes. Walking away quickly, you head into the dining hall where your staff is bustling to get everything finalized and pass off the clipboard to the first person you see with instructions to take over. You head out a back door, not bothering to hail a taxi but instead walking all the way back to your apartment building, somehow managing to keep it together until the elevator opens to the top floor and you make it into your penthouse.

The moment you sink down in front of the picture window, you let everything out. Every ounce of anger within you and the hope you had for Dean, now battered and useless, comes pouring out. Your tears fall onto the white carpet, dampening the strings and glistening in the sunlight. For a moment, you try to be happy for Dean and Felicity, you really do, but it's pointless, and you can't feel anything but hatred and jealousy for that spoiled little bitch.

But didn't he always say he wanted permanence? Isn't that why he never wanted to try again with you? You're the one who missed the opportunity. Dean finally found what he wanted, and there's no reason you shouldn't be happy for him, but it just won't work. It's all your fault. With this burning you up on the inside and hot tears running down your face, you curl up on the floor and drift off into a restless sleep. Meanwhile, somewhere in the city, Dean prepares to marry the girl who can give him what you never would.

#supernatural #dean winchester #reader insert #song fic #halfway #parachute #x-reader #one shot #sophisticated-angel

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