Fic: Silent in Flames, 1/2
Jan. 30th, 2007 12:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nilchanceSo, the beautiful and wonderful ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mona1347 requested a pairing for her birthday. Er...this isn't it. The elder Bros. Winchester stubbornly refused to bonk. Sooo, since we knew that you liked Of Bastard Saints, hopefully this is an acceptable substitute. Happy birthday, sweetie!
Title: Silent in Flames
Authors:nilchance and beanside
Rating: NC:17
Pairing: Dean/Andrew (OMC)
Disclaimer: We don't own them. Used without permission.
A/N: This is a prequel to OBS, a little more of Andrew and Dean's relationship, with love to Mona on her bday.
With Big and Rich blaring on the jukebox, Dean thought he might just be in hell. But then, the bartenders hopped onto the bar and started moving, and he revised it, just a little. Purgatory, then.
The waitress with the sweet smile and the rack came over, glancing at his beer. “Can I get you another?”
“Sure, sweetheart,” he drawled, flashing her the patented Winchester smile. “Sounds like a good idea.” As he watched her walk away, a sharp vibration at his hip made him glance down. It stopped after one burst, which meant a text message. Jesus, about time Dad had something for him to do. It’d been a quiet week, and that was starting to play on his nerves. If ever he’d needed the hunt, it was now.
He flipped open the cell and looked at the little screen.
New Msg: Ftr. A. Murphy
Andrew? Dean thought, smiling. God, it had been a while. But that was how they’d always worked. He opened the message.
Scored tix to a Met concert in Philly on Tues. Interested?
Grinning, Dean paid the girl for the beer and headed out onto the patio where the music was muted by the closed doors. October in Denver didn’t really invite outdoor drinking. Still grinning, he dialed his father.
“Hey, Dean,” his father’s voice came on, that warm growl that Dean missed hearing more often. “How’s it going?”
“Not bad. Kinda quiet this week, though.”
“Yeah. I know. Where’re you at now?”
“Denver,” Dean sighed. “I hit a poltergeist last week. Which is why I’m calling. If you don’t have anything pressing for me, I’m gonna head east for a few days.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” John said. “Usually shit lays low until closer to Halloween.”
“Yeah, I figured,” Dean said. “Where are you working?”
John snorted. “After the last poltergeist turned out to be a six year old trying to freak out his teenage sister—and succeeding, I might add, I decided to take a couple days, visit Jim.”
“You okay?” Dean asked.
John was quiet for a second, then chuckled ruefully. “You know me too well. Little bastard had hooked up fishing line to float shit. One of them was a steak knife.”
“Shit. How bad?”
“Three stitches and a lot of cursing. But it hit my gun arm, so I considered it a vacation.”
Dean smiled, hearing Pastor Jim’s snort from the other end. “Don’t believe him, Dean,” Jim called. “I had to threaten to tranquilize him.”
“Anyhow,” John said. “I got the stitches out this morning, so I’ll be heading out tomorrow, probably. I can cover things for a couple days. What’s going on out east?”
“Metallica concert,” Dean murmured. “Andrew got tickets.”
“Sounds right up your alley,” John said. “Have fun. Hell, might as well take all of next week, if you want.”
“Will do. Take it easy, Dad.”
“You too,” John returned. He hung up without another word, one little superstition they all shared. If you didn’t say goodbye, you’d talk again.
With a little smile, Dean quickly punched in Andrew’s number.
“Father Murphy,” came the brisk greeting.
“Hey, Andrew,” Dean returned. “Long time no talk.”
“Dean,” Andrew returned, voice warming. “No shit. I fucking hate this parish. A bunch of needy assholes who think they’re special because they’ve got money.”
“Dude, I can feel the priestly love from here,” Dean laughed. “So, what’s this about a concert?”
“One of the parishioners I actually like works for the Wachovia Center. He got me two tickets, so of course I thought of you.”
“I’m touched, man. Really,” Dean teased.
“You could be,” Andrew said cheerfully. “So, can you make it?”
“It’s what, Friday today?” Dean asked.
“Ah, the luxury of the slacker. Yes, Dean, it’s Friday.”
“I can make it. Probably get there around noon on Tuesday, stick around for a couple days, maybe till the weekend, if you’re not busy.”
“Consider my schedule cleared. Hang on a second?”
Dean heard a muffled voice on the other end for a moment before Andrew came back on.
“Okay, gotta go. Have to marry a rich-bitch princess to Prince Charming number three,” Andrew muttered. “Call me when you get into Philly.”
“Will do. Have fun,” Dean laughed, leaning back against the rough wooden wall.
It would be good to see Andrew again, he thought. It had been nearly a year since the last time Dean had made it to Philadelphia, to visit him when he first got put on this post.
Really, with his weird-ass life, Andrew was one of the handful of constants. He’d turned up on Jim’s doorstep a month or two before the first time John Winchester had dragged his battered, bleeding self into the church to get holy water and found a serious six year old tugging him into his bedroom, where a spider-demon had its ugly face shoved through the open window.
Two days later, Dad had brought them back to Minnesota, so he could give Jim the fast and dirty lesson on how to protect himself. Instead, Dean had ended up killing the spider’s mate, blowing it apart with the thirty eight and silver rounds, while John had been waylaid by their offspring.
After that, they’d spent a few weeks a year with Jim. It was to Andrew that Dean had made his shameful admission that he thought he might be bi, only to be shocked when Andrew happily informed him that he didn’t particularly like girls at all.
Then, there was the summer when he was sixteen and the fucking troll had snapped his leg. He’d spent eight weeks at Jim’s, bored out of his mind until Andrew had gotten out the Lord of the Rings trilogy from the library. It was over the Two Towers that they’d kissed for the first time; clumsy and sweet. Andrew had pulled back before it turned into anything, but it was a start.
Dean closed his eyes, letting the memories wash over him. Andrew tutoring him in calculus during his senior year, ending up straddling Dean’s lap, the kisses surer, hotter. The first blowjob Dean had ever given, Andrew’s voice breaking as he found his rhythm. And the first time, slow and nervous and hot in Jim’s office while he and Dad were taking care of a ghost-infested house.
There had been a couple times since, but with Dean’s life as a hunter, and Andrew going to seminary in Connecticut, they didn’t get to hook up that often. Still, he had a certain fondness for Andrew, considered him one of the few true friends he allowed himself. It was nice to have someone who knew the score, and would be there for him, no questions asked. Even if Andrew did like Nirvana. Whiny bitch.
Dean cruised back through the bar, leaving his bottle on the table along with a tip. He’d spent more than a little time exploring Denver’s nightlife, going through beer and pretty girls at about the same rate. Before Denver, it had been the same routine in Boulder. Before Boulder, Sante Fe, and so on. Hadn’t been a great month and a half.
Nice thing about Andrew was, he didn’t pry. Andrew didn’t talk around things, people, places, like a huge void had opened up in the world. It’d be a few days off, talking Zeppelin and drinking beer and listening to Andrew bitch about people Dean had never met.
He could handle that.
He slid into the Impala, turned the key, felt her purr under his hand. He smiled for her, genuine and tired, and turned the radio up. The Doors crackled where his tape had a glitch, washing the memory of schlocky country music off his mind. He pulled out of his spot and started driving again, into a different state and state of mind.
****
The midday sun was sharp in a brutally blue sky as the Impala rolled into Philadelphia’s Society Hill, which seemed to translate as ‘we’re rich and we like to be obnoxious about it and by the way, our city’s older than yours.’ There were fucking cobblestones on the streets, which hadn’t been a good idea back when people had to shovel their own horse shit.
It was unforgivable now. And that wasn’t the freeway-driving hangover talking, damn it.
Dean pulled the Impala into an open spot in the church parking lot, next to the pocket-sized, lime green Beetle he recognized as Andrew’s. Damn car looked like you could pull it back on the carpet. Sliding out of the driver’s seat, he stretched back against the side door, grimacing as his back cracked. That was what he got for sleeping in the lot of a truckstop to make up time, after the incubi problem in Indiana he’d stopped to fix. He’d still turned up about an hour late.
And if he never saw another demon pretending to be a boybander, crooning about ‘baby baby, we can be together forever ooh’, he could die a happy man.
Dean pushed his sunglasses further up his nose and went to find Andrew. He’d called him, left a text message, but Andrew hadn’t picked up. As Dean climbed the few stairs up to the front of the church, he could see why: there was an older man standing in front of Andrew, blocking his exit.
“-protecting the sanctity of marriage, don’t you agree?”
Andrew raised an eyebrow, his expression frozen and obviously uncomfortable. Before he could open his mouth, Dean slid up on his side and threw an arm around Andrew’s lean shoulders. Felt Andrew jerk, startled.
Well, someone was out of practice. Jim would smack him if he knew.
Leaning in, Dean pressed a loud kiss to Andrew’s cheek and perked, “Hi, pumpkin!”
Andrew blinked at him for a second, then smiled brightly. “Hey… you.” Turning to the older man, who was gaping at them, Andrew said, “Mr. Matthews, this is- Cliff. Cliff Burton. An old school friend. Cliff, this is Mr. Matthews, one of our parishioners.”
“Charmed,” Dean drawled, holding out his hand. Mr. Matthews took it hesitantly, glancing sidelong at Andrew. Dean resisted the urge to wipe his palm off when he took his hand back. “Anyway, Andy, I don’t want to pester you. I’ll just-“
“No, no, it’s fine.” Andrew looked at Mr. Matthews. “Unless there’s anything else you wanted to say, Mr. Matthews? About family values?”
Mr. Matthews considered Dean, all six foot something of him in steel-toed boots, and gave a queasy grin. “No, I think… I think it can wait until next week, Father. Thank you.”
“No problem. That’s what I’m here for.” Andrew gave Mr. Matthews’ retreating back a little wave. “Go with God!”
As Mr. Matthews disappeared into the parking lot, Andrew turned under Dean’s arm and said dryly, “I hope you get herpes, you jackass.”
“Dude, at least give me a hug before you give me herpes.” Wrapping his arms around Andrew, Dean closed his eyes and squeezed him hard. Andrew smelled good, like church incense and clean, warm skin. “Hi.”
Affection rich in his voice, Andrew murmured against Dean’s throat, “Hi. Only you make me feel this short, you know.”
“Midget.” Dean pulled back, grinning down at Andrew. “Defending your parish?”
“Ha. The fucking parish can defend itself for a few days. Not like they listen to me anyway. They start bitching about each other in the parking lot, and then they go home and kick their dog and disown their children.” Andrew sighed. “Seriously, I don’t know how Jim puts up with it.”
Dean shrugged. “You’re asking the wrong guy, Godboy.” Reaching out, Dean slid his thumb under Andrew’s collar and tugged it free. Holding it up between them for Andrew to see, Dean deliberately put it in his jeans pocket. “Anyway, you’re off the clock. You going to feed me?”
“You’re paying. I haven’t gotten much pool hustling in. Funny, but the outfit makes people suspicious.” Andrew started walking, even as he was unbuttoning his shirt. Much to Dean’s disappointment, there was another one under it. Sliding his shirt off, Andrew tied it loosely around his hips.
“Sounds like a plan. You know somewhere good?”
“Yeah. You can leave your car here. It’s only a few blocks.” Andrew stopped at his car and grabbed a denim jacket out of the trunk. He shrugged it on and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “They’ve got one dollar drafts on Tuesdays, too.”
“Dude. Lead the way.” Dean grinned, falling in behind Andrew.
“I kinda figured.” Andrew slowed down, letting Dean catch up, and looped an arm around his waist. “I’m glad you could make it. It’s been too long, man.”
Dean felt his smile soften into something genuinely fond. “Yeah, it has. I need to get out this way more often.”
“My door’s always open, you know that. At least for a fellow Zeppelin fan. If you start with Manilow again, all bets are off.” Andrew stopped in front of a hole in the wall bar. “Here we go.”
The bar was perfect, cool and quiet, with the dim sunlight filtering in through the blinds. Andrew slid into a booth and motioned the waitress over. “Two of whatever you’ve got on tap, and keep ‘em coming.”
She nodded, slapping a menu down on the table.
Dean glanced down at the menu. “Jesus, I’m starving,” he muttered.
“The cheese-steaks are pretty good.”
“That what you having?” Dean asked as the waitress headed back over with their beers. “Two cheese-steaks, please.”
Andrew watched as he drained half his beer in one gulp. “So, you wanna tell me what’s going on?”
“Huh?” Dean asked, taking another solid gulp of his beer.
“Right after I talked to you, your father called me,” Andrew said carefully. “He’s worried about you, but he wouldn’t tell me why.”
“Oh. It’s no big-“
“So, what’d Sam do this time?” Andrew asked blandly.
“I really don’t want to talk about it,” Dean muttered, draining the beer and motioning the waitress over for another.
“Tough shit. You look like hell. I mean, you look like damned pretty hell, but still.”
“Jealous?”
Andrew raised an eyebrow.
Dean sighed, looking into the second beer. “I went up to visit—actually, that’s bullshit. I’ve never visited him. I’ve never been allowed in his apartment.”
“But, you know about his girlfriend,” Andrew protested.
Dean shook his head, feeling the oncoming fuzziness from the alcohol. Breakfast had been a long time ago, he realized. “Never met her. I only know because, well…I stalked him. Just a little.” He took another healthy swallow of his beer.
“Okay.” And only Andrew would say that and mean it.
“Anyhow, I was going to be up there, so I called, to see if he would be willing to do our normal five minute meeting at the diner outside of town. And he stared right at his cell, and let it go to voice mail. Twice.”
“You know this because?”
“I was watching him. So, I went to a bar, had a beer or two, and when I came out, I had a message from him.”
“What’d he say?”
Dean hesitated. “He said that he wants me out of his life. Not to call, not to send postcards, not to visit. Just to leave him alone.”
Andrew winced. “Oh man. He’ll get over it, just give him a couple of weeks.”
“It was in May. Five months ago.” Dean flashed a smile at the waitress as she set down their food.
“Shit. What can I say? He’s a douchebag, Dean.” Andrew slid around on the bench until he was next to Dean. “I’m really sorry.”
“Mm.” After a grudging moment, Dean leaned his head on Andrew’s shoulder. “Y’know, some days? I wish I had your family issues. As in none to worry about.”
“No,” Andrew murmured, “you really don’t. What’d your dad do?”
“Nothing new. I just get so fricking tired of following orders, and being the good son. And now with me hunting on my own, I hardly ever see him, and when I do, he acts like Sam died, for fuck's sake. When he’s not saying how proud he is of Sam for leaving. Which is about when I could use help getting the knife out of my back.”
“You know your dad doesn’t subscribe to earth logic. He’s very good and noble and all that, but he’s human.” Andrew glanced up, flashing a smile at the waitress as she dropped off their order. “Thanks. Anyway, humans fuck up. It’s kind of what we do. We fuck up, we hurt each other trying to do the right thing. Even Sam.”
“Sam does the right thing for Sam,” Dean muttered.
“Which is exactly what you and John always told him to do.” Andrew slid Dean’s food under his hand, stared at him until Dean picked it up and took a vicious bite. “Not quite fair on Sam. You do everything you can to keep him innocent, whatever that means, and then you bitch because he doesn’t understand? It’s not Sam’s fault that the schools you applied to were full up that year, or that you didn’t bother to apply again. And hey, I know I love it when people stalk me.”
“He didn’t see me, dude. I’m not frickin’ stupid.” Dean gave him a sour look. “Whose side are you on?”
“Yours. I’m just telling you-“
“Then drop it.”
“- that he didn’t cut you off because he doesn’t love you.” Andrew shook Dean a little. “I know you, Dean. You go through more damn mental contortions to keep yourself on the cross. Can’t admit that hey, maybe you have a nasty habit of pushing people away before they get in your head.”
Fuck. For a moment, Dean hated Andrew, his easy answers, his sympathy for Sam. Sam was fucking them all over, leaving them open to be hurt or killed, and Andrew was defending him? Sam had left. Sam was the traitor. Dean wasn’t the one who was supposed to be on trial here, damn it.
“Yeah. It’s just my issues. Nobody leaves. Mom didn’t die, and Dad-“ Dean stopped sharply, staring into his beer. Then he shook his head. “All right, fucking Freud, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. And sometimes Sam just needs to get clubbed in the head like a baby harp seal. What seats do we have?”
“Decent ones. The owner of the venue had a minor demon living in his basement. Wham, bam, get thee behind me, and suddenly I’ve got myself free tickets and seats so close you can see the pyros scorch Kirk Hammett’s nose-hairs.” Andrew took a bite, chewed, and watched Dean eat for a moment. Then he slid an arm around Dean’s waist. “Who’d you tell to watch Sam?”
A muscle flexed in Dean’s jaw for a second. Then he sighed. “Dad and Katya are switching off. He’s got his nice, safe life.”
“Yeah.”
“He’ll be fine.”
“You telling me or yourself that?” Andrew tipped his beer into Dean’s glass, filling it back up to the brim. “He’s a Winchester. You trained him. He’s safe as houses. Let him have his little finding himself bullshit thing.”
“Fuck,” Dean muttered. “Couldn’t he just follow Phish around or something? Eat soy and be obnoxious about it?”
“Hey, at least he didn’t join a commune. Or the priesthood.” Andrew let his hand slip under Dean’s jacket, molding his palm to Dean’s side. His hand was warm through the thin shirt, and Dean could feel the outline of Andrew’s fingertips. “Your back’s tight. What, are you sleeping in the car?”
“You know, I threw it out from climbing up on that cross.”
“Don’t be a bitch,” Andrew sighed. “It’s my job to point out blind-spots, that’s all.”
Dean snorted. “And I’m your fixer-upper? Fuck you, padre.”
“No, I like you as is. Stubborn, cranky, good-hearted bastard that you are.” Sliding his thumb across the leather of Dean’s belt, Andrew gave him a heavy-lidded smile. “And I’m the one who’ll suck your cock and make you see God, so don’t give me grief.”
Dean slanted him a look. He felt his mouth curve on a slow, answering smile. “Think I’m going to let you?”
Dropping his voice below the murmur of the restaurant, Andrew purred, “Think you have a choice?”
“You’re so cute when you’re trying to be bossy,” Dean shot back, his smile sliding into his best aggravating grin. “I’ve got eight inches and about forty pounds on you, dude. You know I always win.”
Andrew raised an eyebrow. “Oh, it’s like that.”
“It’s exactly like that.”
“Mm. We’ll see when we get home. Finish your sandwich there, Thor. Godsmack’s opening, so I’d like to get there sometime this year.”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s only two, dude. Get your panties untwisted.”
Still, Dean ate. For the first time in a while, he actually finished without his cell phone ringing or his appetite being interrupted by some nightmare tangle of hate-fear-love going off behind his eyes. When Andrew ordered him another beer, Dean drank it. It was his off night, and he could usually handle six beers before it affected his aim anyway.
Andrew talked a lot, aimlessly. Independent local bands he liked. Parishioners he didn’t. Movies he’d seen, books he’d read. How Caleb and Joshua were doing. Arguments about whether Led Zeppelin should be covered, whether Nirvana was overrated, whether Courtney Love was actually a harpy. It was uncomplicated, relaxing.
Which was why when Andrew said, “I want to show you why I scream when you fuck me,” Dean damn near choked on his beer.
“What? Dude- I-“ Dean blinked at him. “What?”
Andrew smiled that slow, dark smile that looked somehow at home on his sweet face. “I want to slide my fingers inside you, fuck you with them while I blow you. We’ll see where it goes from there.”
“Andrew-“ Dean said uncomfortably. “I don’t know, I’m not-“
“I know. I’m not asking you to let me fuck you. I know it kinda freaks you out. I’m just asking you to let me touch you a little. If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”
“I-“ Dean looked ready to protest.
Andrew laid a finger over his mouth. “Just think about it, okay? I’d love to show you how good it can really be, take care of you how you’ve always taken care of me.”
Dean shivered at the low rasp of Andrew’s voice. Truth be told, he had always wondered why Andrew went supernova when he fucked him. But finding out meant giving up control, which wasn’t really in Dean’s vocabulary. Instead of answering, he turned his head, bending to capture Andrew’s lips in a slow, easy kiss.
It barely took a heartbeat for Andrew to respond, lips parting, fingers curling into Dean’s waistband to brush his skin. After another heartbeat, Dean felt the hesitant swipe of Andrew’s tongue brushing his lower lip, a graze of teeth that left him shuddering and instantly hard. Jesus. Dean lifted his head, breathing unsteadily.
“Fuck,” Andrew whispered. “If it wasn’t Godsmack and Met.”
Dean laughed a little shakily. “Yeah. Damn, padre.”
Dean tossed a few bills onto the table, gave their waitress a wink and followed Andrew out into the day. It was drizzling now. Damn MidAtlantic weather.
Andrew started down the street, glancing back at Dean. “I figure we can leave our cars, take a cab, unless that’s a problem. My apartment’s right here.” He turned abruptly, ducking in a narrow entranceway, and pulling his keys out, sliding them into the lock of the metal grate. “South Street is kind of a party area at night,” he explained. “Basically safe, but it keeps people from pissing on your trashcans.” He glanced back at Dean. His lips quirked. “You can leave whatever hardware you’ve got on you here. They always use metal detectors at Wachovia.”
“What’s so funny?” Dean asked skeptically.
“Nothing. I’m just glad to see you.” Andrew walked up the stairs.
“Did you miss me, sweetheart?” Dean teased as Andrew unlocked the door.
The moment the door shut, Dean found himself pressed against it, Andrew’s fingers yanking his head down, lips finding his roughly. “Yeah, I missed you, you asshole,” Andrew muttered, his hips tilting against Dean’s thigh, rubbing himself against the worn denim. He shuddered, nipping at Dean’s lower lip. “You knew that.”
“Mm.” Gripping Andrew’s hips, Dean grinned against his mouth and spun him. “Show me anyway.”
Andrew’s breath grunted out as his back hit the door. As soon as he got his breath back, it was leaving him again at the feeling of Dean’s knee sliding between his thighs, pinning him there. Andrew growled low in his throat, gripping the back of Dean’s neck and arching up into another kiss, deep and hot. They were struggling, grappling.
Shivering at the blunt kiss of Andrew’s nails against the back of his neck, Dean broke away, pressing his mouth against the underside of Andrew’s jaw. Andrew’s breath hitched as he stretched into Dean, leaning his throat back to give better access. Andrew whispered, “Yeah, fuck, love your mouth-“
Dean laughed low in his throat, pulled back enough to murmur, “You’ll love it more when it’s wrapped around your cock, padre. Now let go of my neck. I know what I’m doing.”
Andrew set his nails a little deeper, the sharp sting making Dean shiver. “You really want me to?” Andrew growled. “You like it to hurt, Winchester. Don’t think I don’t remember.”
Dean leaned into him, ruthlessly pinning Andrew’s hips against the door as he tugged Andrew’s jacket off. Andrew’s hands were doing the same, yanking Dean’s leather jacket down his arms. Their clothes tangled together on the floor.
“What happened to Godsmack?” Dean muttered, bending to nip at Andrew’s throat.
Andrew hissed, arching against him. “Not til seven thirty. S’only three.”
“Thank God,” Dean returned, feeling those talented hands fumbling with his belt buckle.
Andrew bared his teeth, and spun Dean, pressing his back against the door again. “I thought you’d approve.” With an almost feline grace he slid to his knees, taking Dean’s jeans with him.
“Hey, whoa, no roses?” Dean teased. “What kind of girl do you think I- ah, god.”
“Missed this,” Andrew purred, curling his hand around Dean’s cock, stroking along the length with a practiced flick of his wrist.
“Jesus, Andrew,” Dean groaned. Straining up into the touch, he grabbed at the door. “Fuck-“
“Later,” Andrew said dryly. His thumb slid over the head of Dean’s cock, slow slick circles. He grinned as the back of Dean’s head thumped against the door. “Easy there, tiger. Don’t give yourself a concussion.”
“S’okay. Hard head.” Shifting his thighs apart, Dean slid his hand into Andrew’s hair. Not pushing, just holding. He met Andrew’s eyes, licked his own dry lips. “C’mon,” he breathed.
With a crooked smile, Andrew murmured, “What? This?” Leaning forward, he dragged his tongue up the underside of Dean’s cock. As Dean’s breath hitched out, Andrew smirked. “Don’t let your knees go.”
“Don’t be a cockteasing bastard,” Dean returned. “I’m rock steady, dude.”
Letting his tongue drag across the head, Andrew grinned. “Is that a challenge?”
Dean didn’t reply, just met Andrew’s eyes with a smirk.
Laughing low in his throat, Andrew wasted no time, mouthing his way down Dean’s length, tongue flickering over his balls for a moment before his hand took over.
Dean hissed a breath as Andrew took him in his mouth, that perfect heat that was just made for his cock. Which was sort of insane when he thought about it, but God, he couldn’t think with Andrew moving on him like that. Like slow devastation, whiting out the inside of Dean’s eyelids.
Distantly, Dean heard himself talking, his voice low and dirty as he gripped the back of Andrew’s head. “So good, yeah. Use that pretty fucking mouth.” Andrew’s eyes slid up, dark with lazy heat. Dean shuddered, smirking down at him. “That what you wanted?”
Andrew gripped Dean’s hip hard enough to leave marks, fingers digging in as he drew back. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, Andrew purred, “I wanted to push you down and make you beg.”
“I don’t-“ Dean shut his eyes tightly, arching against the unforgiving pressure of Andrew’s grip on his hip as the other hand started to slowly, torturously jerk him off again. “-Beg.”
“Mm-hmm. And you don’t whimper, either.” Andrew’s teeth scraped low on Dean’s belly. “You’re full of shit.”
Dean bit his lip opening his eyes. “Nope.”
Andrew smiled sweetly. “Loser buys first round?”
“You’re on.” Dean growled.
Without another word, Andrew lowered his head again, eyes holding Dean’s as he licked deliberate circles around the head, moaning low in his throat at the taste, then wrapped his lips around the head, flickering his tongue over it lightly.
Dean set his jaw, breathing hard. Jesus, he should have remembered what Andrew’s mouth was like. Fucking heaven.
Agonizingly slowly, Andrew slid down him, until Dean could feel his throat working around the head of his cock, felt it slide past, until Andrew had taken him all. Dean jerked, gasping, hips twitching in Andrew’s grip.
After a long few moments, Andrew lifted again, smirking. “Is that what you want? Do you want to fuck my mouth?” He licked along the underside, enjoying the way Dean squirmed. “Oh yeah. You want that. Taste so good, Dean. Love feeling you on my tongue. I want you to choke me. Want you to lose it.”
Dean growled low in his throat. He grabbed Andrew’s hair, tugging hard until Andrew’s head snapped back, eyes squeezed shut in rapture. “Don’t push me, padre,” Dean warned. He wasn’t the skinny teenager Andrew had first touched. Wasn’t as easy-going as he had been. He’d seen things, done things. And every time he left Andrew, he came back a little bit… warped.
Andrew didn’t get that. Or maybe he just didn’t care. He saw Dean collect muscle and scars, and took it as due. He’d been raised in a church that sheltered hunters. Grew up like Dean, with rough folk who shoved and swore and came into Christmas service with blood still under their fingernails.
He accepted Dean without blinking. It scared the hell out of Dean sometimes, wondering how much more Andrew would accept from him before it was all over.
Like Dean being a maudlin son of a bitch while he was getting a blowjob. Jesus Christ.
Andrew laughed. “Where’s your control, oh mighty hunter?”
“Left in the car. Andrew-“
Andrew opened his eyes, pinning Dean with a look. He seemed older than he was sometimes. Carried his extra year and a half like he was actually Dad’s age, or Jim’s. Years and years wrapped up in a whole lot of pretty. “I trust you,” he said softly. “Let it go, Dean.”
Dean closed his eyes against the emotion clogging his throat suddenly. Dammit, he hated it when Andrew did that. Somehow, the bastard just knew when his thoughts were getting the best of him, knew the words to bring him low. It was really fucking annoying.
Andrew slid up his body, arms sliding around him tightly. “Let it go,” he repeated.
Dean opened his eyes, managing a smirk. “Easy for you to say, padre.”
Andrew smiled, a little sad. “No, it’s not.”
“Jesus, I’m sorry, Andrew. It’s been a shitty few months. I shouldn’t have-“
“If you say you shouldn’t have burdened me with your crappy company, or anything like it, I’m going to smack you, Winchester,” Andrew warned, blue eyes narrowed.
“I-“
“Shut up. You act like this is some sort of weird pity-fuck I throw your way, or like you take advantage of me once a year,” Andrew growled. “It’s not. You’re my friend. And I love you dearly, but for once, leave the goddamned cross at the door, okay? Can’t we spend one week having a good time?”
Dean blinked. “Whoa. What brought that on?”
“Every time I see you, you hesitate more, like you’re afraid the shit you’ve seen or done is going to rub off on me.”
“Andrew, you don’t-“
“No, I don’t. You’re right. And you don’t know what I’ve done, either.” Andrew lifted his eyes, and Dean winced. He’d seen that look before, in his own eyes, in his father’s. It was the look of someone who’d seen the horrors of the world, and let fall the pieces of themselves that’d they carved away to survive.
It was, Dean realized abruptly, the look he’d never wanted to see from Andrew. The look he’d fought not to see in Sam’s. That was why Sam had shied away. To keep from seeing what Dean was: not much more than the monsters they fought.
He pulled Andrew close. “I’m sorry, you’re right,” he murmured. “Sorry, Drew.”
Andrew turned, maneuvering them to the couch, and shoving Dean down on it. “Shut up now, Winchester.”
Dean raised an eyebrow as Andrew straddled him, pressing their cocks together and rocking his hips. “Jesus, bossy bastard.”
Andrew just gave him that smile, the one that made the pit of his stomach go liquid, and Dean felt himself smiling back. “Okay,” he heard himself say. “Yeah. You can try.”
“What?” Andrew asked.
“You can finger me,” Dean said, feeling a little breathless. “No guarantees beyond that, but you can try.”
Andrew narrowed his eyes again. “Is this because you feel sorry for me, bitch?”
“No.” Dean relaxed, let Andrew see the truth. What he did to Dean every single time.
The smile that slid across Andrew’s face was like sunlight. After a moment, it changed to something darker, wicked. Hot as hell. Then, Andrew lifted his hand, dragging his tongue across the palm. It was all the warning Dean got before Andrew wrapped his hand around them both and started grinding against him.
“Jesus, did they offer pole dancing at seminary?” Dean gritted.
“Took it instead of the perving on small children class,” Andrew managed, bending forward to sink his teeth into Dean’s shoulder, hips jerking harder.
Dean arched up, moaning low in his throat. “So tight, god, Andrew,” he growled. “So good.”
“Yeah,” Andrew gasped, watching Dean through his eyelashes. “Going to make you come so hard.”
Dean uncurled his fingers from the arm of the couch and reached up to curl in the soft golden hair. “Jesus, Andrew, shut up,” he muttered, pulling him down for a kiss.
Andrew tensed, and Dean swallowed the little broken noise he made. Dean felt the hot rush against him, felt Andrew’s hand get slick, tightening even more on them.
Still shuddering, Andrew pulled his lips free, pressing forward to bite at Dean’s throat. The pain wound with the pleasure, intensifying it, until with a hoarse noise, Dean arched, shuddering as Andrew’s mouth worked at his shoulder, nipping hard. Then he was freefalling, only the nip of teeth and the bite of Andrew’s blunt nails in his neck keeping him together.
When he could breathe again, Dean lifted his head, meeting a pair of bemused blue eyes. “What?”
Andrew glanced down. “Um. I think I have a t-shirt you can borrow. Sorry about that.”
Dean followed his gaze. “On Lemmy, man?”
“I think he’ll live with some spooge, Dean.” Andrew got up slowly, stretching and kicked his shoes and pants off, wandering towards the bedroom.
Dean followed him slowly, eyes running over the apartment for the first time. It was…nice. Simple, kind of plain, but comfortable. It was very Andrew. Especially the bedroom, one wall lined with bookcases built into the wall with a myriad of books on demons and angels, holy texts of every culture Dean had ever heard of, and a few he hadn’t. He trailed a finger down the spine of an old book, the Latin on the cover so ancient that Dean could barely decipher it. Something about the Morning Star, he thought, turning to watch Andrew dig through his closet.
With a sigh, Dean sat on the bed, leaning back on his elbows. He hadn’t realized how tightly wound he’d been getting since the shit with Sammy. Now, sitting here, flopped back on Andrew’s bed, enjoying the play of lean muscle under Andrew’s golden skin, he felt like the weight of the world was gone. “Nice bed,” he commented, bouncing a little, running his fingertip over the soft black comforter.
“Thanks,” Andrew said, voice muffled. “What, you take a medium or large, right?”
“Yeah,” Dean said. “Nothing girly, or so help me-“
Andrew came out with a Metallica t-shirt emblazoned with a flaming, fanged skull. “How’s this?”
“Dude,” Dean said fondly, stripping off the Motorhead shirt.
“I figured.” Andrew tossed it and dug in his closet, pulling out a pair of well-worn jeans and shimmying into them.
Dean swallowed hard. Something about that ass in a pair of jeans just dried his mouth right the fuck out. Worst of all, Andrew knew it—knew damned well that every straight woman and gay man would be looking at him, wanting him.
Knew that Dean would be looking, wanting.
It was enough to make his dick twitch hopefully. “Down boy,” he muttered.
Andrew pulled a faded, snug t-shirt on, and Dean licked his lips. “Winchester, if you don’t stop that, we’re not making the concert,” Andrew warned, lips curling.
Dean smirked, lifting his eyes to meet Andrew’s. “Doing what?”
“You’re such an ass.” Andrew smacked Dean’s shoulder and bent, grabbing a pair of black leather boots from under the bed. “Don’t even. You’re John Winchester’s son, and you haven’t been able to pull off the innocent look since you were ten.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Dean folded his arms behind his head, watching Andrew as he flopped on the bed and pulled on his boots. “Why ten?”
“Because then I found out that you were an evil little bastard.”
“I was an evil little bastard all along. Shows what you know.” Dean smirked. “You put one cherry bomb in the holy water and they never let you forget it.”
“No. You put one cherry bomb in the holy water, and then let your slightly older but infinitely more innocent-“
“Ha.”
“- partner in crime take the fall for you.” Andrew shook his head, grinning as he laced his boots up. “I think my hands still smell like Lysol from all the mopping Jim made me do.”
“Hey. I cleaned guns for the rest of the night. Going senile in your old age?”
Andrew twisted, poking Dean in the stomach. “You loved cleaning guns. You went all zen. Only goddamn time you sat still.”
“Dude,” Dean said mildly, “I was in school for six hours, and then I was in the car, and then I was scouting with Dad. It’s amazing that I ever slept.”
“You didn’t. Still don’t.”
“Eh. I’ll sleep when-“
“If you say when I’m dead, I’m going to have to hurt you.” Andrew straightened finally, studying his laces with a bit too much intensity before sneaking a look at Dean. “I’m not planning to let you get much sleep then, either.”
Dean forced a smile. “Damn Catholics.”
“Episcopalians.”
“Same difference, right?”
“Dude,” Andrew said sourly. “Them’s fighting words. We’re like Catholics minus the Pope, the celibacy, the saints and the stick up the ass.”
“Except when you’re into that.” Dean blinked hard, then pushed himself up on his elbows. Lying flat on Andrew’s bed was not exactly conducive for making the concert. Too damn comfortable. Fucking hedonist with his comfy-ass bed and his high thread count sheets and God, it must be nice to have your own bed all the time. And a fridge full of cold beer, and access to meals, and a shower where you weren’t half afraid to let your feet touch the floor.
Good thing Andrew’s car sucked, or Dean might get a complex.
Andrew was a stationary sort of guy. Always had been. He found his spot, and he settled in roots. It was the kind of life Sam had left them for, and the kind that would probably drive Dean fricking nuts in two weeks flat.
Which was the usual route those thoughts took Dean on. The kind that went, ‘what the hell is Andrew doing with you anyway?’ (Other than the sex, which was pretty goddamn fantastic.) The kind that stirred Dean’s paranoia at the same time it made his gut twist.
mona1347 requested a pairing for her birthday. Er...this isn't it. The elder Bros. Winchester stubbornly refused to bonk. Sooo, since we knew that you liked Of Bastard Saints, hopefully this is an acceptable substitute. Happy birthday, sweetie!Title: Silent in Flames
Authors:
nilchance and beansideRating: NC:17
Pairing: Dean/Andrew (OMC)
Disclaimer: We don't own them. Used without permission.
A/N: This is a prequel to OBS, a little more of Andrew and Dean's relationship, with love to Mona on her bday.
With Big and Rich blaring on the jukebox, Dean thought he might just be in hell. But then, the bartenders hopped onto the bar and started moving, and he revised it, just a little. Purgatory, then.
The waitress with the sweet smile and the rack came over, glancing at his beer. “Can I get you another?”
“Sure, sweetheart,” he drawled, flashing her the patented Winchester smile. “Sounds like a good idea.” As he watched her walk away, a sharp vibration at his hip made him glance down. It stopped after one burst, which meant a text message. Jesus, about time Dad had something for him to do. It’d been a quiet week, and that was starting to play on his nerves. If ever he’d needed the hunt, it was now.
He flipped open the cell and looked at the little screen.
New Msg: Ftr. A. Murphy
Andrew? Dean thought, smiling. God, it had been a while. But that was how they’d always worked. He opened the message.
Scored tix to a Met concert in Philly on Tues. Interested?
Grinning, Dean paid the girl for the beer and headed out onto the patio where the music was muted by the closed doors. October in Denver didn’t really invite outdoor drinking. Still grinning, he dialed his father.
“Hey, Dean,” his father’s voice came on, that warm growl that Dean missed hearing more often. “How’s it going?”
“Not bad. Kinda quiet this week, though.”
“Yeah. I know. Where’re you at now?”
“Denver,” Dean sighed. “I hit a poltergeist last week. Which is why I’m calling. If you don’t have anything pressing for me, I’m gonna head east for a few days.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” John said. “Usually shit lays low until closer to Halloween.”
“Yeah, I figured,” Dean said. “Where are you working?”
John snorted. “After the last poltergeist turned out to be a six year old trying to freak out his teenage sister—and succeeding, I might add, I decided to take a couple days, visit Jim.”
“You okay?” Dean asked.
John was quiet for a second, then chuckled ruefully. “You know me too well. Little bastard had hooked up fishing line to float shit. One of them was a steak knife.”
“Shit. How bad?”
“Three stitches and a lot of cursing. But it hit my gun arm, so I considered it a vacation.”
Dean smiled, hearing Pastor Jim’s snort from the other end. “Don’t believe him, Dean,” Jim called. “I had to threaten to tranquilize him.”
“Anyhow,” John said. “I got the stitches out this morning, so I’ll be heading out tomorrow, probably. I can cover things for a couple days. What’s going on out east?”
“Metallica concert,” Dean murmured. “Andrew got tickets.”
“Sounds right up your alley,” John said. “Have fun. Hell, might as well take all of next week, if you want.”
“Will do. Take it easy, Dad.”
“You too,” John returned. He hung up without another word, one little superstition they all shared. If you didn’t say goodbye, you’d talk again.
With a little smile, Dean quickly punched in Andrew’s number.
“Father Murphy,” came the brisk greeting.
“Hey, Andrew,” Dean returned. “Long time no talk.”
“Dean,” Andrew returned, voice warming. “No shit. I fucking hate this parish. A bunch of needy assholes who think they’re special because they’ve got money.”
“Dude, I can feel the priestly love from here,” Dean laughed. “So, what’s this about a concert?”
“One of the parishioners I actually like works for the Wachovia Center. He got me two tickets, so of course I thought of you.”
“I’m touched, man. Really,” Dean teased.
“You could be,” Andrew said cheerfully. “So, can you make it?”
“It’s what, Friday today?” Dean asked.
“Ah, the luxury of the slacker. Yes, Dean, it’s Friday.”
“I can make it. Probably get there around noon on Tuesday, stick around for a couple days, maybe till the weekend, if you’re not busy.”
“Consider my schedule cleared. Hang on a second?”
Dean heard a muffled voice on the other end for a moment before Andrew came back on.
“Okay, gotta go. Have to marry a rich-bitch princess to Prince Charming number three,” Andrew muttered. “Call me when you get into Philly.”
“Will do. Have fun,” Dean laughed, leaning back against the rough wooden wall.
It would be good to see Andrew again, he thought. It had been nearly a year since the last time Dean had made it to Philadelphia, to visit him when he first got put on this post.
Really, with his weird-ass life, Andrew was one of the handful of constants. He’d turned up on Jim’s doorstep a month or two before the first time John Winchester had dragged his battered, bleeding self into the church to get holy water and found a serious six year old tugging him into his bedroom, where a spider-demon had its ugly face shoved through the open window.
Two days later, Dad had brought them back to Minnesota, so he could give Jim the fast and dirty lesson on how to protect himself. Instead, Dean had ended up killing the spider’s mate, blowing it apart with the thirty eight and silver rounds, while John had been waylaid by their offspring.
After that, they’d spent a few weeks a year with Jim. It was to Andrew that Dean had made his shameful admission that he thought he might be bi, only to be shocked when Andrew happily informed him that he didn’t particularly like girls at all.
Then, there was the summer when he was sixteen and the fucking troll had snapped his leg. He’d spent eight weeks at Jim’s, bored out of his mind until Andrew had gotten out the Lord of the Rings trilogy from the library. It was over the Two Towers that they’d kissed for the first time; clumsy and sweet. Andrew had pulled back before it turned into anything, but it was a start.
Dean closed his eyes, letting the memories wash over him. Andrew tutoring him in calculus during his senior year, ending up straddling Dean’s lap, the kisses surer, hotter. The first blowjob Dean had ever given, Andrew’s voice breaking as he found his rhythm. And the first time, slow and nervous and hot in Jim’s office while he and Dad were taking care of a ghost-infested house.
There had been a couple times since, but with Dean’s life as a hunter, and Andrew going to seminary in Connecticut, they didn’t get to hook up that often. Still, he had a certain fondness for Andrew, considered him one of the few true friends he allowed himself. It was nice to have someone who knew the score, and would be there for him, no questions asked. Even if Andrew did like Nirvana. Whiny bitch.
Dean cruised back through the bar, leaving his bottle on the table along with a tip. He’d spent more than a little time exploring Denver’s nightlife, going through beer and pretty girls at about the same rate. Before Denver, it had been the same routine in Boulder. Before Boulder, Sante Fe, and so on. Hadn’t been a great month and a half.
Nice thing about Andrew was, he didn’t pry. Andrew didn’t talk around things, people, places, like a huge void had opened up in the world. It’d be a few days off, talking Zeppelin and drinking beer and listening to Andrew bitch about people Dean had never met.
He could handle that.
He slid into the Impala, turned the key, felt her purr under his hand. He smiled for her, genuine and tired, and turned the radio up. The Doors crackled where his tape had a glitch, washing the memory of schlocky country music off his mind. He pulled out of his spot and started driving again, into a different state and state of mind.
****
The midday sun was sharp in a brutally blue sky as the Impala rolled into Philadelphia’s Society Hill, which seemed to translate as ‘we’re rich and we like to be obnoxious about it and by the way, our city’s older than yours.’ There were fucking cobblestones on the streets, which hadn’t been a good idea back when people had to shovel their own horse shit.
It was unforgivable now. And that wasn’t the freeway-driving hangover talking, damn it.
Dean pulled the Impala into an open spot in the church parking lot, next to the pocket-sized, lime green Beetle he recognized as Andrew’s. Damn car looked like you could pull it back on the carpet. Sliding out of the driver’s seat, he stretched back against the side door, grimacing as his back cracked. That was what he got for sleeping in the lot of a truckstop to make up time, after the incubi problem in Indiana he’d stopped to fix. He’d still turned up about an hour late.
And if he never saw another demon pretending to be a boybander, crooning about ‘baby baby, we can be together forever ooh’, he could die a happy man.
Dean pushed his sunglasses further up his nose and went to find Andrew. He’d called him, left a text message, but Andrew hadn’t picked up. As Dean climbed the few stairs up to the front of the church, he could see why: there was an older man standing in front of Andrew, blocking his exit.
“-protecting the sanctity of marriage, don’t you agree?”
Andrew raised an eyebrow, his expression frozen and obviously uncomfortable. Before he could open his mouth, Dean slid up on his side and threw an arm around Andrew’s lean shoulders. Felt Andrew jerk, startled.
Well, someone was out of practice. Jim would smack him if he knew.
Leaning in, Dean pressed a loud kiss to Andrew’s cheek and perked, “Hi, pumpkin!”
Andrew blinked at him for a second, then smiled brightly. “Hey… you.” Turning to the older man, who was gaping at them, Andrew said, “Mr. Matthews, this is- Cliff. Cliff Burton. An old school friend. Cliff, this is Mr. Matthews, one of our parishioners.”
“Charmed,” Dean drawled, holding out his hand. Mr. Matthews took it hesitantly, glancing sidelong at Andrew. Dean resisted the urge to wipe his palm off when he took his hand back. “Anyway, Andy, I don’t want to pester you. I’ll just-“
“No, no, it’s fine.” Andrew looked at Mr. Matthews. “Unless there’s anything else you wanted to say, Mr. Matthews? About family values?”
Mr. Matthews considered Dean, all six foot something of him in steel-toed boots, and gave a queasy grin. “No, I think… I think it can wait until next week, Father. Thank you.”
“No problem. That’s what I’m here for.” Andrew gave Mr. Matthews’ retreating back a little wave. “Go with God!”
As Mr. Matthews disappeared into the parking lot, Andrew turned under Dean’s arm and said dryly, “I hope you get herpes, you jackass.”
“Dude, at least give me a hug before you give me herpes.” Wrapping his arms around Andrew, Dean closed his eyes and squeezed him hard. Andrew smelled good, like church incense and clean, warm skin. “Hi.”
Affection rich in his voice, Andrew murmured against Dean’s throat, “Hi. Only you make me feel this short, you know.”
“Midget.” Dean pulled back, grinning down at Andrew. “Defending your parish?”
“Ha. The fucking parish can defend itself for a few days. Not like they listen to me anyway. They start bitching about each other in the parking lot, and then they go home and kick their dog and disown their children.” Andrew sighed. “Seriously, I don’t know how Jim puts up with it.”
Dean shrugged. “You’re asking the wrong guy, Godboy.” Reaching out, Dean slid his thumb under Andrew’s collar and tugged it free. Holding it up between them for Andrew to see, Dean deliberately put it in his jeans pocket. “Anyway, you’re off the clock. You going to feed me?”
“You’re paying. I haven’t gotten much pool hustling in. Funny, but the outfit makes people suspicious.” Andrew started walking, even as he was unbuttoning his shirt. Much to Dean’s disappointment, there was another one under it. Sliding his shirt off, Andrew tied it loosely around his hips.
“Sounds like a plan. You know somewhere good?”
“Yeah. You can leave your car here. It’s only a few blocks.” Andrew stopped at his car and grabbed a denim jacket out of the trunk. He shrugged it on and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “They’ve got one dollar drafts on Tuesdays, too.”
“Dude. Lead the way.” Dean grinned, falling in behind Andrew.
“I kinda figured.” Andrew slowed down, letting Dean catch up, and looped an arm around his waist. “I’m glad you could make it. It’s been too long, man.”
Dean felt his smile soften into something genuinely fond. “Yeah, it has. I need to get out this way more often.”
“My door’s always open, you know that. At least for a fellow Zeppelin fan. If you start with Manilow again, all bets are off.” Andrew stopped in front of a hole in the wall bar. “Here we go.”
The bar was perfect, cool and quiet, with the dim sunlight filtering in through the blinds. Andrew slid into a booth and motioned the waitress over. “Two of whatever you’ve got on tap, and keep ‘em coming.”
She nodded, slapping a menu down on the table.
Dean glanced down at the menu. “Jesus, I’m starving,” he muttered.
“The cheese-steaks are pretty good.”
“That what you having?” Dean asked as the waitress headed back over with their beers. “Two cheese-steaks, please.”
Andrew watched as he drained half his beer in one gulp. “So, you wanna tell me what’s going on?”
“Huh?” Dean asked, taking another solid gulp of his beer.
“Right after I talked to you, your father called me,” Andrew said carefully. “He’s worried about you, but he wouldn’t tell me why.”
“Oh. It’s no big-“
“So, what’d Sam do this time?” Andrew asked blandly.
“I really don’t want to talk about it,” Dean muttered, draining the beer and motioning the waitress over for another.
“Tough shit. You look like hell. I mean, you look like damned pretty hell, but still.”
“Jealous?”
Andrew raised an eyebrow.
Dean sighed, looking into the second beer. “I went up to visit—actually, that’s bullshit. I’ve never visited him. I’ve never been allowed in his apartment.”
“But, you know about his girlfriend,” Andrew protested.
Dean shook his head, feeling the oncoming fuzziness from the alcohol. Breakfast had been a long time ago, he realized. “Never met her. I only know because, well…I stalked him. Just a little.” He took another healthy swallow of his beer.
“Okay.” And only Andrew would say that and mean it.
“Anyhow, I was going to be up there, so I called, to see if he would be willing to do our normal five minute meeting at the diner outside of town. And he stared right at his cell, and let it go to voice mail. Twice.”
“You know this because?”
“I was watching him. So, I went to a bar, had a beer or two, and when I came out, I had a message from him.”
“What’d he say?”
Dean hesitated. “He said that he wants me out of his life. Not to call, not to send postcards, not to visit. Just to leave him alone.”
Andrew winced. “Oh man. He’ll get over it, just give him a couple of weeks.”
“It was in May. Five months ago.” Dean flashed a smile at the waitress as she set down their food.
“Shit. What can I say? He’s a douchebag, Dean.” Andrew slid around on the bench until he was next to Dean. “I’m really sorry.”
“Mm.” After a grudging moment, Dean leaned his head on Andrew’s shoulder. “Y’know, some days? I wish I had your family issues. As in none to worry about.”
“No,” Andrew murmured, “you really don’t. What’d your dad do?”
“Nothing new. I just get so fricking tired of following orders, and being the good son. And now with me hunting on my own, I hardly ever see him, and when I do, he acts like Sam died, for fuck's sake. When he’s not saying how proud he is of Sam for leaving. Which is about when I could use help getting the knife out of my back.”
“You know your dad doesn’t subscribe to earth logic. He’s very good and noble and all that, but he’s human.” Andrew glanced up, flashing a smile at the waitress as she dropped off their order. “Thanks. Anyway, humans fuck up. It’s kind of what we do. We fuck up, we hurt each other trying to do the right thing. Even Sam.”
“Sam does the right thing for Sam,” Dean muttered.
“Which is exactly what you and John always told him to do.” Andrew slid Dean’s food under his hand, stared at him until Dean picked it up and took a vicious bite. “Not quite fair on Sam. You do everything you can to keep him innocent, whatever that means, and then you bitch because he doesn’t understand? It’s not Sam’s fault that the schools you applied to were full up that year, or that you didn’t bother to apply again. And hey, I know I love it when people stalk me.”
“He didn’t see me, dude. I’m not frickin’ stupid.” Dean gave him a sour look. “Whose side are you on?”
“Yours. I’m just telling you-“
“Then drop it.”
“- that he didn’t cut you off because he doesn’t love you.” Andrew shook Dean a little. “I know you, Dean. You go through more damn mental contortions to keep yourself on the cross. Can’t admit that hey, maybe you have a nasty habit of pushing people away before they get in your head.”
Fuck. For a moment, Dean hated Andrew, his easy answers, his sympathy for Sam. Sam was fucking them all over, leaving them open to be hurt or killed, and Andrew was defending him? Sam had left. Sam was the traitor. Dean wasn’t the one who was supposed to be on trial here, damn it.
“Yeah. It’s just my issues. Nobody leaves. Mom didn’t die, and Dad-“ Dean stopped sharply, staring into his beer. Then he shook his head. “All right, fucking Freud, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. And sometimes Sam just needs to get clubbed in the head like a baby harp seal. What seats do we have?”
“Decent ones. The owner of the venue had a minor demon living in his basement. Wham, bam, get thee behind me, and suddenly I’ve got myself free tickets and seats so close you can see the pyros scorch Kirk Hammett’s nose-hairs.” Andrew took a bite, chewed, and watched Dean eat for a moment. Then he slid an arm around Dean’s waist. “Who’d you tell to watch Sam?”
A muscle flexed in Dean’s jaw for a second. Then he sighed. “Dad and Katya are switching off. He’s got his nice, safe life.”
“Yeah.”
“He’ll be fine.”
“You telling me or yourself that?” Andrew tipped his beer into Dean’s glass, filling it back up to the brim. “He’s a Winchester. You trained him. He’s safe as houses. Let him have his little finding himself bullshit thing.”
“Fuck,” Dean muttered. “Couldn’t he just follow Phish around or something? Eat soy and be obnoxious about it?”
“Hey, at least he didn’t join a commune. Or the priesthood.” Andrew let his hand slip under Dean’s jacket, molding his palm to Dean’s side. His hand was warm through the thin shirt, and Dean could feel the outline of Andrew’s fingertips. “Your back’s tight. What, are you sleeping in the car?”
“You know, I threw it out from climbing up on that cross.”
“Don’t be a bitch,” Andrew sighed. “It’s my job to point out blind-spots, that’s all.”
Dean snorted. “And I’m your fixer-upper? Fuck you, padre.”
“No, I like you as is. Stubborn, cranky, good-hearted bastard that you are.” Sliding his thumb across the leather of Dean’s belt, Andrew gave him a heavy-lidded smile. “And I’m the one who’ll suck your cock and make you see God, so don’t give me grief.”
Dean slanted him a look. He felt his mouth curve on a slow, answering smile. “Think I’m going to let you?”
Dropping his voice below the murmur of the restaurant, Andrew purred, “Think you have a choice?”
“You’re so cute when you’re trying to be bossy,” Dean shot back, his smile sliding into his best aggravating grin. “I’ve got eight inches and about forty pounds on you, dude. You know I always win.”
Andrew raised an eyebrow. “Oh, it’s like that.”
“It’s exactly like that.”
“Mm. We’ll see when we get home. Finish your sandwich there, Thor. Godsmack’s opening, so I’d like to get there sometime this year.”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s only two, dude. Get your panties untwisted.”
Still, Dean ate. For the first time in a while, he actually finished without his cell phone ringing or his appetite being interrupted by some nightmare tangle of hate-fear-love going off behind his eyes. When Andrew ordered him another beer, Dean drank it. It was his off night, and he could usually handle six beers before it affected his aim anyway.
Andrew talked a lot, aimlessly. Independent local bands he liked. Parishioners he didn’t. Movies he’d seen, books he’d read. How Caleb and Joshua were doing. Arguments about whether Led Zeppelin should be covered, whether Nirvana was overrated, whether Courtney Love was actually a harpy. It was uncomplicated, relaxing.
Which was why when Andrew said, “I want to show you why I scream when you fuck me,” Dean damn near choked on his beer.
“What? Dude- I-“ Dean blinked at him. “What?”
Andrew smiled that slow, dark smile that looked somehow at home on his sweet face. “I want to slide my fingers inside you, fuck you with them while I blow you. We’ll see where it goes from there.”
“Andrew-“ Dean said uncomfortably. “I don’t know, I’m not-“
“I know. I’m not asking you to let me fuck you. I know it kinda freaks you out. I’m just asking you to let me touch you a little. If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”
“I-“ Dean looked ready to protest.
Andrew laid a finger over his mouth. “Just think about it, okay? I’d love to show you how good it can really be, take care of you how you’ve always taken care of me.”
Dean shivered at the low rasp of Andrew’s voice. Truth be told, he had always wondered why Andrew went supernova when he fucked him. But finding out meant giving up control, which wasn’t really in Dean’s vocabulary. Instead of answering, he turned his head, bending to capture Andrew’s lips in a slow, easy kiss.
It barely took a heartbeat for Andrew to respond, lips parting, fingers curling into Dean’s waistband to brush his skin. After another heartbeat, Dean felt the hesitant swipe of Andrew’s tongue brushing his lower lip, a graze of teeth that left him shuddering and instantly hard. Jesus. Dean lifted his head, breathing unsteadily.
“Fuck,” Andrew whispered. “If it wasn’t Godsmack and Met.”
Dean laughed a little shakily. “Yeah. Damn, padre.”
Dean tossed a few bills onto the table, gave their waitress a wink and followed Andrew out into the day. It was drizzling now. Damn MidAtlantic weather.
Andrew started down the street, glancing back at Dean. “I figure we can leave our cars, take a cab, unless that’s a problem. My apartment’s right here.” He turned abruptly, ducking in a narrow entranceway, and pulling his keys out, sliding them into the lock of the metal grate. “South Street is kind of a party area at night,” he explained. “Basically safe, but it keeps people from pissing on your trashcans.” He glanced back at Dean. His lips quirked. “You can leave whatever hardware you’ve got on you here. They always use metal detectors at Wachovia.”
“What’s so funny?” Dean asked skeptically.
“Nothing. I’m just glad to see you.” Andrew walked up the stairs.
“Did you miss me, sweetheart?” Dean teased as Andrew unlocked the door.
The moment the door shut, Dean found himself pressed against it, Andrew’s fingers yanking his head down, lips finding his roughly. “Yeah, I missed you, you asshole,” Andrew muttered, his hips tilting against Dean’s thigh, rubbing himself against the worn denim. He shuddered, nipping at Dean’s lower lip. “You knew that.”
“Mm.” Gripping Andrew’s hips, Dean grinned against his mouth and spun him. “Show me anyway.”
Andrew’s breath grunted out as his back hit the door. As soon as he got his breath back, it was leaving him again at the feeling of Dean’s knee sliding between his thighs, pinning him there. Andrew growled low in his throat, gripping the back of Dean’s neck and arching up into another kiss, deep and hot. They were struggling, grappling.
Shivering at the blunt kiss of Andrew’s nails against the back of his neck, Dean broke away, pressing his mouth against the underside of Andrew’s jaw. Andrew’s breath hitched as he stretched into Dean, leaning his throat back to give better access. Andrew whispered, “Yeah, fuck, love your mouth-“
Dean laughed low in his throat, pulled back enough to murmur, “You’ll love it more when it’s wrapped around your cock, padre. Now let go of my neck. I know what I’m doing.”
Andrew set his nails a little deeper, the sharp sting making Dean shiver. “You really want me to?” Andrew growled. “You like it to hurt, Winchester. Don’t think I don’t remember.”
Dean leaned into him, ruthlessly pinning Andrew’s hips against the door as he tugged Andrew’s jacket off. Andrew’s hands were doing the same, yanking Dean’s leather jacket down his arms. Their clothes tangled together on the floor.
“What happened to Godsmack?” Dean muttered, bending to nip at Andrew’s throat.
Andrew hissed, arching against him. “Not til seven thirty. S’only three.”
“Thank God,” Dean returned, feeling those talented hands fumbling with his belt buckle.
Andrew bared his teeth, and spun Dean, pressing his back against the door again. “I thought you’d approve.” With an almost feline grace he slid to his knees, taking Dean’s jeans with him.
“Hey, whoa, no roses?” Dean teased. “What kind of girl do you think I- ah, god.”
“Missed this,” Andrew purred, curling his hand around Dean’s cock, stroking along the length with a practiced flick of his wrist.
“Jesus, Andrew,” Dean groaned. Straining up into the touch, he grabbed at the door. “Fuck-“
“Later,” Andrew said dryly. His thumb slid over the head of Dean’s cock, slow slick circles. He grinned as the back of Dean’s head thumped against the door. “Easy there, tiger. Don’t give yourself a concussion.”
“S’okay. Hard head.” Shifting his thighs apart, Dean slid his hand into Andrew’s hair. Not pushing, just holding. He met Andrew’s eyes, licked his own dry lips. “C’mon,” he breathed.
With a crooked smile, Andrew murmured, “What? This?” Leaning forward, he dragged his tongue up the underside of Dean’s cock. As Dean’s breath hitched out, Andrew smirked. “Don’t let your knees go.”
“Don’t be a cockteasing bastard,” Dean returned. “I’m rock steady, dude.”
Letting his tongue drag across the head, Andrew grinned. “Is that a challenge?”
Dean didn’t reply, just met Andrew’s eyes with a smirk.
Laughing low in his throat, Andrew wasted no time, mouthing his way down Dean’s length, tongue flickering over his balls for a moment before his hand took over.
Dean hissed a breath as Andrew took him in his mouth, that perfect heat that was just made for his cock. Which was sort of insane when he thought about it, but God, he couldn’t think with Andrew moving on him like that. Like slow devastation, whiting out the inside of Dean’s eyelids.
Distantly, Dean heard himself talking, his voice low and dirty as he gripped the back of Andrew’s head. “So good, yeah. Use that pretty fucking mouth.” Andrew’s eyes slid up, dark with lazy heat. Dean shuddered, smirking down at him. “That what you wanted?”
Andrew gripped Dean’s hip hard enough to leave marks, fingers digging in as he drew back. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, Andrew purred, “I wanted to push you down and make you beg.”
“I don’t-“ Dean shut his eyes tightly, arching against the unforgiving pressure of Andrew’s grip on his hip as the other hand started to slowly, torturously jerk him off again. “-Beg.”
“Mm-hmm. And you don’t whimper, either.” Andrew’s teeth scraped low on Dean’s belly. “You’re full of shit.”
Dean bit his lip opening his eyes. “Nope.”
Andrew smiled sweetly. “Loser buys first round?”
“You’re on.” Dean growled.
Without another word, Andrew lowered his head again, eyes holding Dean’s as he licked deliberate circles around the head, moaning low in his throat at the taste, then wrapped his lips around the head, flickering his tongue over it lightly.
Dean set his jaw, breathing hard. Jesus, he should have remembered what Andrew’s mouth was like. Fucking heaven.
Agonizingly slowly, Andrew slid down him, until Dean could feel his throat working around the head of his cock, felt it slide past, until Andrew had taken him all. Dean jerked, gasping, hips twitching in Andrew’s grip.
After a long few moments, Andrew lifted again, smirking. “Is that what you want? Do you want to fuck my mouth?” He licked along the underside, enjoying the way Dean squirmed. “Oh yeah. You want that. Taste so good, Dean. Love feeling you on my tongue. I want you to choke me. Want you to lose it.”
Dean growled low in his throat. He grabbed Andrew’s hair, tugging hard until Andrew’s head snapped back, eyes squeezed shut in rapture. “Don’t push me, padre,” Dean warned. He wasn’t the skinny teenager Andrew had first touched. Wasn’t as easy-going as he had been. He’d seen things, done things. And every time he left Andrew, he came back a little bit… warped.
Andrew didn’t get that. Or maybe he just didn’t care. He saw Dean collect muscle and scars, and took it as due. He’d been raised in a church that sheltered hunters. Grew up like Dean, with rough folk who shoved and swore and came into Christmas service with blood still under their fingernails.
He accepted Dean without blinking. It scared the hell out of Dean sometimes, wondering how much more Andrew would accept from him before it was all over.
Like Dean being a maudlin son of a bitch while he was getting a blowjob. Jesus Christ.
Andrew laughed. “Where’s your control, oh mighty hunter?”
“Left in the car. Andrew-“
Andrew opened his eyes, pinning Dean with a look. He seemed older than he was sometimes. Carried his extra year and a half like he was actually Dad’s age, or Jim’s. Years and years wrapped up in a whole lot of pretty. “I trust you,” he said softly. “Let it go, Dean.”
Dean closed his eyes against the emotion clogging his throat suddenly. Dammit, he hated it when Andrew did that. Somehow, the bastard just knew when his thoughts were getting the best of him, knew the words to bring him low. It was really fucking annoying.
Andrew slid up his body, arms sliding around him tightly. “Let it go,” he repeated.
Dean opened his eyes, managing a smirk. “Easy for you to say, padre.”
Andrew smiled, a little sad. “No, it’s not.”
“Jesus, I’m sorry, Andrew. It’s been a shitty few months. I shouldn’t have-“
“If you say you shouldn’t have burdened me with your crappy company, or anything like it, I’m going to smack you, Winchester,” Andrew warned, blue eyes narrowed.
“I-“
“Shut up. You act like this is some sort of weird pity-fuck I throw your way, or like you take advantage of me once a year,” Andrew growled. “It’s not. You’re my friend. And I love you dearly, but for once, leave the goddamned cross at the door, okay? Can’t we spend one week having a good time?”
Dean blinked. “Whoa. What brought that on?”
“Every time I see you, you hesitate more, like you’re afraid the shit you’ve seen or done is going to rub off on me.”
“Andrew, you don’t-“
“No, I don’t. You’re right. And you don’t know what I’ve done, either.” Andrew lifted his eyes, and Dean winced. He’d seen that look before, in his own eyes, in his father’s. It was the look of someone who’d seen the horrors of the world, and let fall the pieces of themselves that’d they carved away to survive.
It was, Dean realized abruptly, the look he’d never wanted to see from Andrew. The look he’d fought not to see in Sam’s. That was why Sam had shied away. To keep from seeing what Dean was: not much more than the monsters they fought.
He pulled Andrew close. “I’m sorry, you’re right,” he murmured. “Sorry, Drew.”
Andrew turned, maneuvering them to the couch, and shoving Dean down on it. “Shut up now, Winchester.”
Dean raised an eyebrow as Andrew straddled him, pressing their cocks together and rocking his hips. “Jesus, bossy bastard.”
Andrew just gave him that smile, the one that made the pit of his stomach go liquid, and Dean felt himself smiling back. “Okay,” he heard himself say. “Yeah. You can try.”
“What?” Andrew asked.
“You can finger me,” Dean said, feeling a little breathless. “No guarantees beyond that, but you can try.”
Andrew narrowed his eyes again. “Is this because you feel sorry for me, bitch?”
“No.” Dean relaxed, let Andrew see the truth. What he did to Dean every single time.
The smile that slid across Andrew’s face was like sunlight. After a moment, it changed to something darker, wicked. Hot as hell. Then, Andrew lifted his hand, dragging his tongue across the palm. It was all the warning Dean got before Andrew wrapped his hand around them both and started grinding against him.
“Jesus, did they offer pole dancing at seminary?” Dean gritted.
“Took it instead of the perving on small children class,” Andrew managed, bending forward to sink his teeth into Dean’s shoulder, hips jerking harder.
Dean arched up, moaning low in his throat. “So tight, god, Andrew,” he growled. “So good.”
“Yeah,” Andrew gasped, watching Dean through his eyelashes. “Going to make you come so hard.”
Dean uncurled his fingers from the arm of the couch and reached up to curl in the soft golden hair. “Jesus, Andrew, shut up,” he muttered, pulling him down for a kiss.
Andrew tensed, and Dean swallowed the little broken noise he made. Dean felt the hot rush against him, felt Andrew’s hand get slick, tightening even more on them.
Still shuddering, Andrew pulled his lips free, pressing forward to bite at Dean’s throat. The pain wound with the pleasure, intensifying it, until with a hoarse noise, Dean arched, shuddering as Andrew’s mouth worked at his shoulder, nipping hard. Then he was freefalling, only the nip of teeth and the bite of Andrew’s blunt nails in his neck keeping him together.
When he could breathe again, Dean lifted his head, meeting a pair of bemused blue eyes. “What?”
Andrew glanced down. “Um. I think I have a t-shirt you can borrow. Sorry about that.”
Dean followed his gaze. “On Lemmy, man?”
“I think he’ll live with some spooge, Dean.” Andrew got up slowly, stretching and kicked his shoes and pants off, wandering towards the bedroom.
Dean followed him slowly, eyes running over the apartment for the first time. It was…nice. Simple, kind of plain, but comfortable. It was very Andrew. Especially the bedroom, one wall lined with bookcases built into the wall with a myriad of books on demons and angels, holy texts of every culture Dean had ever heard of, and a few he hadn’t. He trailed a finger down the spine of an old book, the Latin on the cover so ancient that Dean could barely decipher it. Something about the Morning Star, he thought, turning to watch Andrew dig through his closet.
With a sigh, Dean sat on the bed, leaning back on his elbows. He hadn’t realized how tightly wound he’d been getting since the shit with Sammy. Now, sitting here, flopped back on Andrew’s bed, enjoying the play of lean muscle under Andrew’s golden skin, he felt like the weight of the world was gone. “Nice bed,” he commented, bouncing a little, running his fingertip over the soft black comforter.
“Thanks,” Andrew said, voice muffled. “What, you take a medium or large, right?”
“Yeah,” Dean said. “Nothing girly, or so help me-“
Andrew came out with a Metallica t-shirt emblazoned with a flaming, fanged skull. “How’s this?”
“Dude,” Dean said fondly, stripping off the Motorhead shirt.
“I figured.” Andrew tossed it and dug in his closet, pulling out a pair of well-worn jeans and shimmying into them.
Dean swallowed hard. Something about that ass in a pair of jeans just dried his mouth right the fuck out. Worst of all, Andrew knew it—knew damned well that every straight woman and gay man would be looking at him, wanting him.
Knew that Dean would be looking, wanting.
It was enough to make his dick twitch hopefully. “Down boy,” he muttered.
Andrew pulled a faded, snug t-shirt on, and Dean licked his lips. “Winchester, if you don’t stop that, we’re not making the concert,” Andrew warned, lips curling.
Dean smirked, lifting his eyes to meet Andrew’s. “Doing what?”
“You’re such an ass.” Andrew smacked Dean’s shoulder and bent, grabbing a pair of black leather boots from under the bed. “Don’t even. You’re John Winchester’s son, and you haven’t been able to pull off the innocent look since you were ten.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Dean folded his arms behind his head, watching Andrew as he flopped on the bed and pulled on his boots. “Why ten?”
“Because then I found out that you were an evil little bastard.”
“I was an evil little bastard all along. Shows what you know.” Dean smirked. “You put one cherry bomb in the holy water and they never let you forget it.”
“No. You put one cherry bomb in the holy water, and then let your slightly older but infinitely more innocent-“
“Ha.”
“- partner in crime take the fall for you.” Andrew shook his head, grinning as he laced his boots up. “I think my hands still smell like Lysol from all the mopping Jim made me do.”
“Hey. I cleaned guns for the rest of the night. Going senile in your old age?”
Andrew twisted, poking Dean in the stomach. “You loved cleaning guns. You went all zen. Only goddamn time you sat still.”
“Dude,” Dean said mildly, “I was in school for six hours, and then I was in the car, and then I was scouting with Dad. It’s amazing that I ever slept.”
“You didn’t. Still don’t.”
“Eh. I’ll sleep when-“
“If you say when I’m dead, I’m going to have to hurt you.” Andrew straightened finally, studying his laces with a bit too much intensity before sneaking a look at Dean. “I’m not planning to let you get much sleep then, either.”
Dean forced a smile. “Damn Catholics.”
“Episcopalians.”
“Same difference, right?”
“Dude,” Andrew said sourly. “Them’s fighting words. We’re like Catholics minus the Pope, the celibacy, the saints and the stick up the ass.”
“Except when you’re into that.” Dean blinked hard, then pushed himself up on his elbows. Lying flat on Andrew’s bed was not exactly conducive for making the concert. Too damn comfortable. Fucking hedonist with his comfy-ass bed and his high thread count sheets and God, it must be nice to have your own bed all the time. And a fridge full of cold beer, and access to meals, and a shower where you weren’t half afraid to let your feet touch the floor.
Good thing Andrew’s car sucked, or Dean might get a complex.
Andrew was a stationary sort of guy. Always had been. He found his spot, and he settled in roots. It was the kind of life Sam had left them for, and the kind that would probably drive Dean fricking nuts in two weeks flat.
Which was the usual route those thoughts took Dean on. The kind that went, ‘what the hell is Andrew doing with you anyway?’ (Other than the sex, which was pretty goddamn fantastic.) The kind that stirred Dean’s paranoia at the same time it made his gut twist.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-01-30 06:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-22 05:03 pm (UTC)*grin* Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2007-01-30 07:13 pm (UTC)I'm going to go read the second part to this and then I'm going to find the OBS series and read, and probably re-read.
Thanks, girls, for sharing!
no subject
Date: 2007-02-22 05:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-31 03:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-22 05:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 01:15 am (UTC)It’s not Sam’s fault that the schools you applied to were full up that year, or that you didn’t bother to apply again.
Doesn't John tell Bobby in BS that Dean got a full ride to MIT?
Of course it's just a small thing in an otherwise fabulous fic, and I may be remembering wrong anyway, but I thought I'd ask.
no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 04:16 pm (UTC)Again, thank you so much!