sasha_dragon (sasha_dragon) wrote,

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Strangers In The Night, NC-17, Dean Winchester/ Neal Caffrey

Title: Strangers In The Night.
Word Count:
14805, (I may have got carried away)
After Sam has turned his back on hunting, Dean has continued to fight the coming Apocalypse.  Exhausted, lonely and hurting he sits in a New York bar, a dark haired stranger walks through the door and by the morning helps give him the strength to keep fighting on.
Dean Winchester/ Neal Caffrey
  I don’t own either Supernatural or White Collar, no matter how much I wish I did.  These wonderful characters belong to other people, although I would happily give a home to Dean and Neal.
This story was born of a conversation about how hot Jensen and Matt would be together, what started as PWP, became, a tale of Dean set early season five, after Sam had gone and before The End. I take the blame for this entirely, and will protect the identity of the person who inspired this, please direct all torch welding mobs to me, thank you.  As always many thanks go tobigj52  my truly awesome beta and images for my banner are from, andreas_ri . 


Strangers in the night


Dean sat on the bar stool, a shot of whiskey in front of him. He’d been nursing the same drink for the last thirty minutes.  He didn’t want to get drunk tonight, just like he didn’t want to be alone, but Sam had gone again.  Telling Dean he was done with hunting; that he didn’t want to be Lucifer’s vessel and he was done fighting the coming Apocalypse.   

Dean couldn’t help but still feel a little angry with Sam; all he’d wanted was time to get his head round Sam’s betrayal with Ruby.  He knew that Sam thought what he was doing was right, but fuck, he’d been warned by him, angels and as it turned out, Pamela and still he continued.   But Sam hadn’t been prepared to wait for Dean to regain his equilibrium, and had walked away while Dean had struggled to just forgive and forget. After the way he’d treated him like crap he really couldn’t blame him for wanting to be anywhere but where his screw-up of a big brother was.  Dean felt as if he was drowning under an ocean of guilt and grief, so he’d thrown himself at every hunt that had come his way.  From werewolves to vampires, vengeful spirits to demons, Dean had become an unstoppable force, never resting, always pushing forward.   Cas was bringing more and more fuglies to Dean’s attention in an attempt to stop the end of the world, and now with the Enochian sigils carved into his ribs, his and Cas’ only contact was by phone.   

The phone which was now switched off in his jacket pocket - it had to happen, Dean was crashing, burning out, and it had come to a head in New York of all places.  He had just finished toasting a Raw Head; he had stopped in a random bar for a drink and to just take some time to catch his breath.  His phone had rung and when he saw ‘Cas’ flash up on the display, Dean had started to bring the phone up to answer when he saw his hand was shaking.  He looked at himself in the mirror behind the bar and Dean wasn’t sure if he recognized himself.  His face was pale and gaunt, there were dark smudges under his eyes and he looked worn out. 

He sat and stared at himself and in one decisive movement he turned the phone off and slipped it into his pocket; the world could survive without him for one night.  He lowered his head and looked at nothing in particular. He had never felt so alone, and yet less than five feet in any direction there were people surrounding him, but as far as Dean was concerned he may as well be in the bar alone. 

He slowly turned the shot glass round and round in his fingers. He really should get back to his motel room and clean himself up, yet more bruises to add to his collection plus a healthy set of claw marks from his last hunt that had yet to heal fully. But he couldn’t bring himself to go back to the roach-infested room alone, knowing his sleep would be disturbed, that is, if he slept at all.  Dean glanced round the bar at the women there; he knew even looking as tired as he did he was the best-looking guy in the bar.  He wasn’t being immodest, just honest; he had no real competition in the room tonight.  He could have his pick of the women in the room. There was the blonde with the business suit who kept shooting him lust-filled glances, the brunette in the green dress who had openly checked him out as he sat down.  Dean could go on, but he didn’t feel like giving chase tonight. 

He went back to his contemplation of the amber liquid in the glass and let his mind wander. Just then the bar door opened. Dean lifted his eyes to see who had come in, thankful of his long girly eyelashes that Sam frequently mocked him for; the thought brought a smile to his lips at the memory.  He looked through his eyelashes at the new arrival and his breath caught in his throat at what he saw. 

The man was six foot in height, dressed impeccably, a man with natural style and grace.  Black wavy hair longer than Dean’s but shorter than Sam’s.  From beneath his lashes Dean could just see a faint smile grace the man’s features as he scanned the room. He had paused as he entered, a natural enough gesture but Dean could tell he was checking the room out - finding exits, easy escape routes sizing up threats to himself.  In a matter of seconds he had threat assessed the room, checking out the ladies as he went.  Dean was sizing the man up himself; he was a predator, although he didn’t give off the vibe of one of his kind of predators.  Also he didn’t strike Dean as a violent man. He sensed the man could defend himself if need be, but he preferred to use brain rather than brawn. Dean surmised he was a thief and a charming one at that, the kind of man who could steal your soul away even as you willingly handed over your diamonds. Suddenly Dean’s evening looked a little brighter. 

As Neal walked into the bar he was trying to rid himself of the frustration that had built up over the course of the last few days.  He and Peter had clashed over their latest case and once again Peter was failing to trust the con man and thief.  Neal was angry because, again, a vital clue to finding Kate had been snatched away from him.  This wasn’t his usual kind of bar, it wasn’t trendy or filled with beautiful people. It was a quiet bar - the place office workers went to end their day. It was right on the edge of Neal’s electronic tether - a petty gesture that would annoy Peter but at this moment in time he would take any small victory he could. 

Neal felt restless. He wanted some company tonight, maybe a willing warm body to go to sleep next to and say an easy goodbye to the next morning.  It had been a long time since he’d felt a need like this, not since he had been with Kate.  His eyes had swept the room and he knew there wasn’t a woman in here he couldn’t leave with, but he couldn’t do that to Kate. He knew it was still cheating with a man but he would feel better about sleeping with a man rather than a woman. 

Neal didn’t see the problem of spending the night with a man, sex was sex. He was flexible about gender when it came to physical connections. It had gotten him close to some of his biggest marks and it was something that Peter had yet to figure out about him.  Neal had then turned his attention to the men in the room; there were several likely candidates, physically appealing.  Then a figure caught his eyes not because he moved but quite the opposite. In fact, it was the man’s stillness that caught Neal’s attention. 

He allowed his gaze to sweep nonchalantly over the hunched figure at the bar, broad shouldered, but he couldn’t make out much more about the body due to the black trench coat he wore.  Neal checked out the man’s clothes, cheap suit and shoes - a uniform rather than what he was comfortable wearing. Then Neal was aware of a prickling sensation between his shoulders, his fight or flight radar picking up another predator in the room. He was being watched.  Neal walked in cautiously, feeling no aggression from the watcher, just a mild curiosity. He relaxed a little as he approached the bar, realizing there was someone in here tracking him.  The night could be looking up, after all. 

Neal reached the bar and got onto the bar stool next to the man in the black trench coat.  Under the pretence of looking at what was on offer to drink he focused his gaze on the mirror and used it to look at the man he sat by. He’d been right in his assessment of his clothes, perfunctory, no real style as if the man had no interest.  Neal felt that was a shame now he managed to get a closer look at him. Athletic build, possibly taller than himself, he held himself with an air of watchfulness and Neal knew that this was the man who had been watching him. 

Neal turned his head slightly. To a casual observer it was so he could catch the eye of the bartender, but it gave him the chance to get a better look at his bar-stool neighbour.  The head was bowed and he was slowly turning a shot glass round and round, watching intently as the whiskey inside of it swirled with the movement. Neal examined his profile. It was almost classical - a straight nose, with full lips, high cheekbones, with a strong jaw line.  There was a smattering of freckles he could discern, even in this light.  The longest eyelashes Neal had ever seen captured his attention, and there was a half-smile playing on his lips. 

While Neal had been studying Dean, Dean had returned the favour.  When he had sat down by him Dean took the chance to look at him - medium build, his expensive suit fitting him perfectly when he undid his coat.  When he had tried to attract the bartender’s attention Dean lifted his eyes and used the mirror to take a good look. The man was gorgeous - light-blue eyes that burnt with intelligence, fine features that wouldn’t look out of place on a top male model.  It was the way he was at ease with himself that held Dean’s attention.  He wondered if the man was looking for company. To Dean, sex was a simple physical release, and he tended to take where it was offered.  With women, even the trashiest of them there was the dance of courtship, lies and pretence.  Right at this time Dean didn’t have the energy for that, he just didn’t want to be alone tonight. He wondered how to approach the man next to him. 

The bartender nodded to Neal and approached him, “What’ll it be, then?” 

“Whiskey, please, no ice.”  Dean shivered slightly at the man’s voice, a pleasant melodic sound. He wondered what it would sound like calling out his name. 

The whiskey soon appeared in front of Neal and for a few moments he emulated Dean’s glass, turning before taking a drink, “Whoa, that’s pretty... yeah.”  Neal’s eyes watered at the taste of the cheap whiskey, causing the man next to him to smile.  Even in profile that smile transformed his face, crinkles appeared at his eyes, and the full lips twitched in amusement at his reaction to the drink.   

Neal bit his lip, watching the other man carefully. There was an air of danger about him. He’d seen his type before, a fighter, maybe even a killer, but it was coupled with an air of weariness as if he carried a heavy burden on those shoulders of his. He reminded Neal of a wolf, sleek, powerful, a hunter, but one that was separated from his pack, lost and alone, with nowhere to call home. 

Neal stared at his drink in silence. For once he didn’t want to plan meticulously, he just wanted to feel; to be in the now; let tomorrow take care of itself; to lose himself in another human being’s embrace.  He was hoping he read the way the man’s eyes had followed him across the room correctly and how carefully he watched him now. 

“There is a bottle of thirty-year-old single malt back at my apartment, and two glasses.”  Neal turned to look at the other man, ready to step back if he read the situation wrong.  For a few seconds nothing happened then the man straightened up and turned to look at Neal. 

It took nearly all of Neal’s self control not to just let his jaw drop - the man was simply stunning.  Had he been around in Renaissance Italy he would have sparked a war between the great artists over who would paint him or have him model for a sculpture.  Although, if it came down to it, he thought Michelangelo would take Da Vinci in a fight.  He always had the impression that Michelangelo would fight dirty; in fact, it stirred in Neal a desire to draw him.  Beauty like that shouldn’t be allowed to just fade and vanish from the world.  Now he had seen him properly, Neal was determined to continue with the pursuit if his advance was welcome. 

Dean smirked back at the man, his eyes coming to life at the sound of his voice.  The smirk was cocky, answering the other man’s challenge, “You’re pretty sure of yourself? I could be waiting for someone.” 

Neal fought the urge to offer a cheesy comeback. Instead he levelled at intense look at the man, “No, I don’t think so. I just don’t want to drink alone tonight and I’m sure you feel the same.”  He set the words down like a challenge, waiting to see if it would be accepted. Even at this stage either man could break away, no harm, no foul. 

He watched as the other man considered the implication of the offer, working out strategies, places where he should be, whether it was safe.  Neal knew the moment the man mind up his mind, the tension that had sat on his shoulders just seemed to melt away. His green eyes had lowered and he licked nervously at his lips, but decision made he looked back at Neal. The smirk was back, not as cocky, but there. 

Neal felt it would at least be polite to tell the man he was taking home for sex his name. He held out his hand.  “Hi, I’m Neal, Neal Caffrey.  He gave a smile as he spoke, surprising himself when he used his real name when he had so many aliases at his disposal. Tonight he didn’t want to struggle to recall his name, and he wanted to focus his attention on his companion. 

Dean took the offered hand and shook it, “Well, hi there, Neal. I’m Dean Winchester.”  Dean gave Neal his real name without a moment’s hesitation. He’d seen the tracking anklet Neal was wearing when he’d sat down and Dean was checking him out.  The fact that Neal was so relaxed told him they weren’t going to be interrupted by cops or Feds anytime soon, and if things got really hairy then he’d use his one call to ring Cas and bamf the hell out of Dodge and deal with the pissed-off angel later. 

When they had shook hands Neal had felt the strength in the grip, not crushing or trying to prove a point.  The hand was roughened from physical work, at odds with the suit Dean wore; Neal was fascinated by the man seated beside him.  He’d enjoy tonight and not just for the physical aspect, but for the chance to study Dean. 

“Shall we?  Unless you want another drink here?”  Neal motioned to the drink Dean held in his hand, he swiftly picked up the glass and drained it in one swallow. 

“No, I’m good to go, if you are.”  Dean’s voice was deep and whisky roughened, but Neal found it as sexy as the rest of the man.  He was also intrigued by Dean’s attitude; he’d expected more machismo from him, the alpha wolf in charge.  Instead there was hesitancy as if Neal would walk away if Dean didn’t obey orders; the man was a paradox and becoming more fascinating by the second. 

“After you, then.”  Neal slid from his stool and made a gesture towards the door. Dean smiled in return and started to walk towards the door just in front of Neal. He watched as Dean walked away; he moved with an easy grace and swagger, a gunslinger’s walk.  They reached the door and Neal moved close, pressing gently against Dean. He reached over to open the door for him, and the reason was twofold. Firstly, it was to get close - a chance to brush against Dean in a mostly innocent gesture and more importantly, to check him for weapons.   In a matter of seconds Neal had discovered the gun in his waistband, at least one knife and he suspected there would be more, but this didn’t deter him from taking Dean home with him. 

Dean looked over his shoulder as Neal opened the door for him, “My, such a gentleman. Are you sure you feel safe with me?”  Dean grinned, fluttering his eyes lashes comically. 

As they stepped outside, Neal leaned in even closer and whispered, “The real question is, are you safe with me?”  Dean shivered at the heat in those words, and his heart sped up.  Neal fell into step beside him, walking close, but not too close. To anyone watching it looked as if two friends were out for an evening stroll. 

As they walked few words were exchanged. Neal constantly watched and assessed Dean, and he could tell that Dean had not lied to him during their brief conversations.  That he was passing through after finishing a job in New York, and he would be gone by tomorrow; his work took him all over and that he had no attachments.  He had sounded wistful when he had admitted that, but that brief moment had passed and Dean had leered at Neal and winked. 

When they arrived at June’s, Dean had stared at the house in astonishment. Neal smiled easily, “It’s not mine; I live in the annex. I hope you don’t mind slumming it.”  Dean had thrown back his head and laughed, a genuine relaxed smile lighting up his face and Neal committed it to memory. Dean had many expressions and he was enjoying cataloguing them.

 They walked quietly through the opulent home, Dean’s eyes roving everywhere. Neal led him to his apartment and let them inside.  Closing the door behind them, Neal waited to see what Dean would do.  Part of him expected to have his clothes ripped off and find himself being ravaged on the table, but again, that slight hesitancy in Dean; he waited to see what Neal would do.  Neal found it exhilarating to be the aggressor in this situation. He walked forward and called over his shoulder as he peeled off his coat and hung it up. 

“Take your coat off and get comfortable. I’ll go get us those drinks.”  As he moved towards where the single malt was, he turned his back to Dean. He was allowing Dean the chance to disarm himself without being too obvious.  When Neal returned with the drinks Dean had also taken off his jacket and slightly loosened his tie.  He hadn’t sat down. Neal offered him the drink and Dean took it but instead of tossing it right back he took a sip, savouring the burn of the liquor as it slipped down, licking at his lips to capture every last drop. 

Neal emulated Dean’s action and considered that in his line of work it was imperative that he could read people; at times his life had depended on it.  Dean was one of the most intriguing men he’d ever had the chance to study.  Dean hadn’t said much, but he didn’t need to as his face was so expressive, there was no need for words. Although for the most it was an impassive mask, there were the slightest of nuances that gave a great deal away.  What his face didn’t reveal his eyes did.  One look into those haunted, hunted eyes and he knew you could spend a life time studying the mystery that was Dean Winchester and still have only scratched the surface. For as much as his eyes showed there was so much more that was hidden, such as the vulnerability at the core of him. 

As Neal sipped his own drink he continued his scrutiny of Dean. There was something about him, a heady intoxicating mix of danger and vulnerability that made Neal almost light headed.  He knew the man in front of him could kill him in a heartbeat but he felt an urge to protect him and look after him.  But from what he’d read of Dean he would not thank him for it.  So hel decided to give Dean what he came looking for, sex. But not the throwing each other round the apartment sex, Neal wanted to take this slower and more gentle. 

Dean watched as Neal finished his drink and suddenly there was a flare of anticipation in his gut. There was a calculating gleam in those ice-blue eyes and Dean wanted to see where this went.  From the moment Neal had walked into the bar he had wanted him. So when he’d made him do the running Dean had been more than happy to follow.  He’d enjoyed Neal’s tentative probing conversations, his making sure that Dean would indeed be gone in the morning and that his walk on the wild side wouldn’t be waiting when the girlfriend had gotten home. 

When they had been walking back to Neal’s home, Neal had accidently ‘bumped ‘ into Dean a couple of times, and Dean knew he’d been checking for weapons. He’d been impressed that Neal had found his gun, two of his knives, but he’d missed the one of them and he hadn’t found his F.B.I. badge yet.  As far as Dean was concerned this was simply about getting laid. It was refreshing not to have to talk about his feelings or how he was.  This was sex, pure and simple and it was fun to let someone else take the lead for a change. 

Neal stepped forward and took the glass out of Dean’s hand, and they looked at one another. Dean’s eyes swept down again to look at the anklet; he glanced back and saw a slight look of consternation cross Neal’s features.  “I’m not gonna ask so you don’t have to tell. Is there any chance of getting to the main event tonight? I’m kind of on a schedule.”  Dean smirked at Neal, biting at his lip. 

Neal put his hands on Dean’s hips and returned the smirk. He looked over at Dean’s coat and jacket, spotting where Dean had secreted his weapons. He nodded to the coats, “Likewise, and why rush, we got all night.”   

Dean smiled at Neal nodded “Touché! Now, are you gonna kiss me or spend the evening shooting me longing looks? I can get that at home, so to speak.”  Dean pulled Neal closer to him as an invitation. 

Neal willingly accepted the invite and leaned forward for the kiss. As expected it was a duel for dominance, both men attempted to gain control of the kiss.  Neal brought his hand up and cupped the back of Dean’s head and gently pressed his growing erection against Dean’s.  Neal increased the pressure on those full lips, running his tongue lightly across them. Neal shifted position again, pressing harder against Dean, his other hand slipped down to cup Dean’s firm ass.  At that, Dean moaned and his lips slipped apart and Neal let his tongue glide past his lips and began to take charge of the kiss.  He felt Dean melting into the touches; Dean’s hands resting on his hips. Neal swirled his tongue round Dean’s, pulling his own tongue back drawing Dean’s tongue to follow. 

Finally Neal broke the kiss, breathing heavily. Dean swayed slightly in the aftermath of the kiss, his green eyes darkening with arousal and he moved to undo Dean’s tie.  Dean allowed him to take control, watching as Neal worked. 

Slipping the tie from the collar of the button-down, Neal began to slowly open the buttons. As he did he bent forward and kissed at the skin it revealed, trailing light kisses from Dean’s jaw down his neck to where his wife beater began. Once the button-down was open completely, Neal slowly slipped it from Dean’s shoulders. He continued to rain kisses down on every available piece of newly-revealed skin he could. 

Neal dropped the shirt on top of Dean’s coats. As he turned back to look at the other man it was then he noticed the bruising on the pale skin of his arms.  When you did what he did for a living you accepted the risk you would be hurt, but Neal was concerned at the amount of bruising he could see and wondered what the wife beater hid.  And he noticed how they ranged from fleshly blooming, to faded  to a sickly yellow tinge.  Dean appeared not to have noticed Neal’s scrutiny of his body; he just continued to hold onto Neal’s hips. 

Neal gently ran his hand along Dean’s ribs noting the slight flinch when he found a particularly tender spot.  Neal appraised the situation like he would a job. He needed to see how badly hurt Dean actually was without destroying the mood completely.  Neal could sense that Dean needed what was happening here in his apartment. Something told him that the other man was close to breaking point and another rejection would shatter him completely. 

He made a quick decision, and he moved back to Dean again, kissing his shoulder, moving slowly back up his neck to his ear, grazing the ear lobe with his teeth. “Want to take a shower?” Neal whispered, making Dean shiver as his breath wafted over the sensitive skin. 

Dean looked amused and once again the smirk appeared, “Are you saying I smell?” His bravado was undermined by a look of tension as if he was waiting to be summarily dismissed, found wanting in some way. 

“No, I just want you naked and wet. Coming?”  Neal made the question a dare, knowing that Dean would never refuse it.  He moved past Dean, walking towards the bathroom. He knew that Dean was following him. 

Once in the bathroom Neal waited for Dean. Once Dean joined him, he again moved up close to Dean, captured those addictive lips of his again. Neal kissed Dean and his hands moved to his belt, his nimble fingers madeshort work of Dean’s belt and the button and flies on his dress pants. Soon Dean found his pants were on the floor and Neal pulled him forward so he stepped out of them. 

Dean looked down at himself as he stood there in his wife beater, boxers, shoes and socks.  Neal was still fully clothed, “How come I’m the only one getting naked here?  When you said naked and wet I thought you meant both of us? So you do think I smell.”  Dean smiled as he spoke. 

Neal started to get undressed, “As hot as you are, even you are going to have trouble pulling off the whole sex with the socks on thing. Besides, they’ll get wet in the shower.”  Neal took off his own shirt and pants.  He was soon naked and watching Dean as he looked appreciatively at him.

Dean was impressed with Neal’s body - athletic, graceful, and his mouth watered at the sight of Neal’s cock.  It was erect and he just wanted to taste it.  He quickly finished getting undressed himself and stood staring into Neal’s blue eyes. 

Neal quickly turned on the shower once Dean finished stripping, setting the temperature so it was not too hot then he took Dean by the hand and led him into the shower.  Once they were both under the warm spray, he began to explore Dean’s body.  He had been shocked when he finally saw the full extent of the bruising, so he used the chance to run his fingers over Dean’s body to check the man was alright.  He was careful of the claw marks he saw there. They were red and painful looking, running along Dean’s ribs. So that’s what had made him flinch.  Neal knew that Dean didn’t want a nurse maid and he was more than ready for this but it didn’t mean that he had to add to the damage already there. 

Neal gently pushed Dean up against the wall, slipping his leg between Dean’s.  He kissed Dean hard, leaving him breathless, his hands skimming down Dean’s body. Without a word Neal stepped back and spun Dean round so he faced the wall of the shower, pushing him against it. He then proceeded to kiss his way down the muscular back, running his hands down his back, coming to halt on Dean’s ass, gently squeezing the firm globes.   

Dean groaned at the way Neal was touching him; it was driving him crazy. Each soft, deft touch was making his skin tighten and tingle, the talented fingers seemed to be everywhere at once.  When Neal had spun him round he fully expected to be fucked where they stood. Had the roles had been reversed Dean would have indulged in a little ‘clean’ fun. Instead, Neal had continued with his teasing touches, covering every inch of him with kisses. What with that and the warm water that cascaded over his skin Dean wondered how much more he could take. 

Neal could hear Dean’s breathing becoming rapid and uneven; he shuddered as Neal pressed up against his back his cock rubbing up and down the crease of his ass as Neal held onto Dean’s hips. Neal gently bit the back of Dean’s neck, causing him to moan with pleasure. 

Neal pulled Dean away from the wall and snaked his arm round Dean’s waist. Tilting his head to one side, he kissed Dean’s neck and moved lower to the junction between his shoulder and neck.  His other hand stroked up Dean’s athletic torso. Neal felt muscle there, not the kind sculpted in the gym but from the result of hard physical labour. His fingers traced the abs, and traveled higher. He teasingly stroked at the nipples, giving them a playful pinch making Dean shudder again. He gave one final nip at Dean’s shoulder, he let go of Dean and turned him round so they were face to face. His cock throbbed with need, and he could see how hard Dean had gotten. 

Neal held Dean close, never letting his eyes leave Dean’s for a second. He rubbed against Dean, their cocks slid together, the contact caused Dean’s eyes to roll back and he gave a slight whimper.  Neal moved his hand lower and grasped both cocks in his hand.  Dean’s head fell forward, resting on Neal’s shoulder as he began to stroke up and down, slowly at first, squeezing gently, coaxing both of them towards orgasm. 

“Dude, are you trying to kill me?”  Dean mumbled into his neck, and Dean thrust up into Neal’s hand causing Neal to groan at the friction on his own cock with the movement. Dean lifted his head and grinned at him and rolled his hips again, grinding against Neal even harder, making Neal whimper. “Can’t let you do all the hard work, man.”  With that, Dean took Neal’s face in his hands and planted a heated, open-mouthed kiss on his lips, nipping and sucking at Neal’s bottom lip, all the while moaning as he sped up his thrusts into Neal’s fist. 

Neal gasped when Dean moved, his hips snapping up as he pumped at both cocks with increasing speed. Dean’s sinuous movements were helping to bring Neal rushing towards orgasm; he could feel it approaching, burning low down in his gut. He gave a twist on the two cocks, attempting to regain control of the situation, knowing the Dean was dictating the pace. Well, two could play that game.   Neal twisted his wrist again and flicked at the slit in Dean’s cock with his thumb, making Dean moan low and almost pained.  Neal could feel Dean’s movements becoming jerky and he knew it wouldn’t be long before Dean came. Determined that they would come together, he returned Dean’s kiss, and increased the pressure and pace from his hand. He felt his own balls tighten and then Dean’s hands flew up to his shoulders, hanging on desperately to him.  Dean threw his head back and Neal seized the chance to lean forward and kiss his neck. Neal felt himself start to come so he bit down on Dean’s neck.  The sudden sharp pain tipped him over the edge with Neal; he felt come splattering over their bodies and then being washed away by the shower. 

They stood clinging to one another as their orgasms ripped through them.  Neal wasn’t sure who was holding who up as he continued to gently stroke their cocks through the aftershocks. He stilled when he heard Dean whimper slightly from too much stimulation. Dean’s head had fallen forward again, resting on Neal’s shoulder, his legs wobbly.  Neal didn’t feel in much better shape; he knew they needed to get out of the shower before they ended up in a tangled heap on the floor.  He reached past Dean’s slumped form and turned the water off.  Managing to make his legs work, Neal pulled Dean out of the shower with him. 

“Hey, are you still with me? I thought you wanted to get to the main event.  This was just the hors d’oeuvre; the main course is yet to come.”  Neal stroked Dean’s face, and Dean leant into the touch, quivering slightly at the contact. 

“Huh, I’m more of a cheeseburger man myself but I always leave room for pie.”  Dean’s green eyes had focused again, and they sparkled with mischief. 

Neal laughed softly and picked up a towel. He quickly dried himself down and moved Dean to stand in front of him.  Dean found himself standing in front of the bathroom mirror, taking in the sight of all the damage to his body and how tired he looked.  He blushed and looked away; he didn’t need reminding of his life at that moment in time. 

Neal had picked up another towel and he began to dry Dean off; Dean went to take the towel from him, “Hey, I can dry myself off, dude. I thought we were getting to the main course?”  Neal stilled his hand by placing his own over the top of it. Dean was still looking over his shoulder at Neal. 

Neal kept looking at the mirror, not meeting Dean’s eyes. Finally Dean got the message and turned back to the mirror.  When he was looking in the mirror Neal pressed his lips to Dean’s ear, “You do know how beautiful you are, don’t you?  I expect you hear it all the while, but it doesn’t mean it’s not true.  Now just relax and enjoy yourself, Dean.” The hushed words brought goose bumps up on Dean’s skin. He felt his eyes slip closed at Neal’s presence behind him. When Neal didn’t move Dean opened them once more. 

Neal started to dry Dean off, using slow and gentle strokes down his body, his one hand rested on Dean’s hip.  Neal kept eye contact with Dean, watching him react to each touch. He was very responsive to the contact, Neal let the towel fall to the floor.  Neal trailed his fingers down Dean’s chest, causing his breath to hitch. He let his thumb brush across his other hip, and slowly Dean’s cock twitched.  He feathered a row of light kisses across the back of Dean’s neck and once again he gave a soft moan that almost turned to a purr. 

 Neal was studying Dean in the mirror, and he realized why Dean was so responsive to touch. He’d seen it before. Starve someone of physical affection and any touch was almost overwhelming. Neal continued to let his hands play over Dean’s bruised flesh, careful not to press too hard on the worst of the marks.  Finally Dean was practically squirming in front of the mirror, his face flushed and his pupils dilated. He was biting and licking at his lips and Neal slowly brought his hands higher up his body caressing and stroking his fingers over his nipples, twisting them slightly between his fingers causing Dean to keen softly. 

While Neal had been tormenting him Dean had watched him through the mirror, looking for any sign of pity in his blue eyes. Instead, all he saw was heat in those eyes as he continued to work Dean over.  He felt helpless in the other man’s arms, and he didn’t want it to stop. It felt good to have someone take care of him, if only for the one night. 

 Neal pressed close to Dean and he took this opportunity to tease Neal. He began to rub his ass slowly up and down against Neal’s cock, feeling it twitch and slowly stir back to life.  Dean used the mirror the same way Neal had to judge the effect he was having on the other man. Dean was still deciding whether he was going to be fucked or do the fucking tonight. Dean bent forward slightly, bracing his arms on the vanity unit, grinding his ass even harder against Neal. Dean let his eyelids flutter and tilted his head back, elongating his neck. Through half-closed eyes he watched Neal’s control start to slip, he ran his tongue over his lower lip before biting down on it and moaning softly. 

Neal gave a moan answering Dean’s, a flush crept over Neal’s pale skin and Dean was enjoying watching his composure slip. It was time to take this to the bedroom; there was no way he was going to be fucked over the bathroom sink, tempting as it would have been to watch Neal through the mirror.  “I don’t know about you but I think it’s time we took this show on the road. Bedroom, or would you like a performance right here?”  Dean’s voice had dropped to a growl. 

The sound of Dean’s voice snapped Neal out of the haze that had washed over him. He’d been so busy watching Dean in the mirror he’d started to lose control. He’d gripped Dean’s hips so tightly that there would be fresh bruises.  But, judging by the way Dean had just moved even faster he wasn’t going to be complaining any time soon.  After Dean had spoken Neal took him by the hand, and walked him out of the bathroom. He turned out the light, leaving the towels on the floor. Normally he would never dream of leaving the room in a mess. Sadly, he knew that the towels would still be on the floor tomorrow but Dean would be gone.

Strangers In The Night Part 2.



Tags: fic, hurt dean, supernatural

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