SpN fic post: Dark On The Ridge 3/4
1/16/09 12:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: Dark On The Ridge (4parts/complete)
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean (implied). Dean/OMC
Rating:NC-17
Word Count: part1: 2907 part2: 3461 part3: 3715 part4: 2745
Summary: Sam yearns for Dean, Dean's somewhat oblivious, and there's a ghost story, too.
all chapters
Sam left Dean snoring in bed, swiped his keys and drove out to the ridge on his own. He stood at the edge of the drop off and looked down. The drop-off wasn't all that steep, a person could just about manage it on all fours, he thought, but coming around that corner at speed meant flying off the road, rolling over and over, being shredded to bloody bits in a crumbling metal coffin….
Sam shook himself. That was kind of morbid, even for him. He wandered back to the car and sat up on the hood, watching the sun break through clouds higher up the hills. He thought about the case, about breakfast…about Dean. Specifically, where he was going at night. Sam hadn't noticed any change in Dean's attitude towards any of the girls in town, hadn't noticed any of them looking at Dean with that I've seen your 0-face look. He wondered…could Dean be meeting up with someone from out-of-town?
When he slid off the hood, his foot came down into tire tracks in the dirt. He noticed boot prints, and sets of sneaker prints overlapping them. He recognized the boot prints as Dean's, the tire tracks as the Impala's. Who did the sneakers belong to? The very large sneakers. Large, man-size sneakers. He fought down a stab of jealousy so sharp it made him gasp, and shook his head. Idiot. If there was a guy on this planet who loved tail more than Dean…well, he personally wouldn't want to know because that guy would be really creepy, Sam was sure.
He drove back into town, stopping to drop the car at the motel and finding Dean still snoring, decided he'd head into town, instead of pulling a chair up to his bedside and watching him sleep. Or tracing the fine lines at his eyes, his mouth…smoothing back his sweat damp hair.
Yeah. Because doing that would definitely put him squarely in that Creepy Guy category. Coffee. What he needed was coffee and lots of it, maybe a Danish or a bagel whatever was this area's equivalent.
Once outside the room, he decided, out of the kindness of his heart, that he'd get Dean a coffee and something to eat too because he was awesome like that, and even if Dean was being a jerk and ignoring him, he'd be the bigger man.
20
Sam was just about to slide the cardboard box holding their two coffees and blueberry Danish across the front seat when a shadow fell against the window and he whirled. "Geez—Pete. You scared the hell out of me."
Pete grinned at him. "Hey, writer boy." He raised thick eyebrows at the two jumbo take-out cups in the tray. "Drink a lot of coffee, hunh?"
"No. this is for my—my partner. Who's a lazy son-of-a-bitch and won't get up."
Pete glanced away, and looked uncomfortable for a moment. "Yeah…so. You wanted more info on the road. I'll tell you what I know. Mind you, it's not much."
"Great!" Sam glanced at the coffees and Danish in the paper tray he was holding. "So, um…how do you take your coffee?"
Pete said, "Strong. Black. The only right way to drink coffee."
Sam grinned. "Then how about some breakfast," he said, and handed Pete Dean's coffee.
They were sitting on top of a rickety old picnic table parked on the lookout on the ridge—a sort of long ago flail at a non-existent tourist trade, drinking coffee, and Pete was telling Sam about what it was like in the town when he was a kid. He talked about the night of the first accident, and told him that, yes; he'd known the first victim. They'd been buddies.
"It messed me up for a while, Trey dying like that, so young. Donna—she's my wife—she helped me through it."
Pete was quiet then, staring out sightless at the sky, remembering. Sam got the feeling he was leaving stuff out, but figured he shouldn't push it. Pete sighed then, leaned over, elbows on his knees and cup clutched in his hands. Sam noticed a pendent swinging against Pete's chest and it was distinctive enough that he asked Pete about it.
"Oh, this?" He pinched it between his thumb and index finger and raised it. "My wife gave it to me—supposed to keep me safe or something. She always was into that new age-crystals stuff. Had a fit if I took it off so I wore it all the time, got to be a habit."
Sam nodded. "Yeah, my brother wears a pendent I gave him when we were kids. Never takes it off either. Do you mind—?"
Pete held it out, and Sam cupped it in his hand. The design looked familiar. Pete said, "I got it from her after a couple of accidents on the ridge. Said she wanted to keep me safe—I drive for one of the companies in town."
Sam nodded. The thing had nothing in common with any of the signs he knew that promised protection for travelers. There were what looked like letters cut in around the circular edge and a suggestion of a star, or a stick-figure man in the center—it was done in a very old style. Sam rubbed his thumb over it. It was textured, a little bumpy. He realized what he'd taken for black wire was black hair....
Pete leaned back and the pendent slipped out of Sam's fingers. "It looks so peaceful out here. It's been a pretty long time since I've sat here. Back in the day, I did come out here a lot…most of the kids in town used to. There was a little road back there, behind the trees. Private." Pete smiled and Sam chuckled.
"You met your wife out here?"
Pete glanced at him. "Not exactly. Well, it's time I got back into town."
Sam grabbed their garbage, and crammed it into the take-out bag, tossed it into the back seat. They brushed shoulders as they slid past each other and Sam felt a brief flare of warmth that embarrassed him. Pete jerked away, and smiled weakly, and Sam had a sudden flash…he was willing to bet Donna had never seen that 'private' little road behind the trees.
21
He'd had just enough time to hand off the keys to Dean, and start to take his coat off when Dean tossed him a "bye, be back later" and was gone.
Sam growled. Was he going to meet up with Sneakers? Bastard. Maybe he should give Pete a call, see if he wanted to meet him at the diner…he could tell him he wanted him to go over some pages from his 'book'. And forget to bring the pages? Sam flopped into the chair at the table he was using as a desk. Or, he could ask him why his wife believed that pendent would protect him. Sam toed off his shoes. Or he could just sit here like a lump and see if he could track down the symbol…Sam idly clicked through a few bogus sites promising protection from all sorts of evil, mostly evil neighbors bent on putting roots on, wondered if Pete had gone out there to the ridge with his friend when they were kids—if he'd parked on that private road. Pete was definitely not one hundred per cent straight. Sam wasn't Mr. Party Guy, but he wasn't totally clueless either. He knew interest when he saw it. And guilt.
22
"I like it out here, don't you?"
"Well, it's cold as a well-diggers asshole, and we're two six foot guys trying to share a seat wide as a saltine, but other than that, it's just peachy. Lucky for you I was dying to get in this awesome car."
"Oh—you just want me for my car!" Cap laughed, and a warm wave swept Dean from head to toe. Why couldn't he and Sam laugh like this, sit like this…Sam was so…hunh? What?
"Hey mister, you here with me?" Dean became aware of fingers under his chin, gently coaxing his head up. "I hope you're here with me. Dean." His name was breathed onto his mouth as Cap slowly pulled him closer.
Dean shuddered, his jeans suddenly too tight for comfort. "I—I'm here. Oh God, I'm so here," he said, and even with the damn heater going full blast, he could see his breath flow out white into the air. So fucking cold…except where Cap touched him, there it burned.
Cap laughed softly. "Dean, Dean. I love you. You're just so…don’t punch me if I say sweet, please. But you are. Not in some sugary way, y'know. Just…" He licked a little circle on Dean's collarbone, and made a contented sound. "Sweet."
Dean blushed, refusing to admit just how good that made him feel. "Fucking idiot, sweet's the last damn thing I am. But—why'd you say that--did you mean it? Not 'sweet'. Before."
Cap pulled away from Dean's chest, eyebrows raised, and Dean colored a little more. He started to stutter, pissed off that he'd been so stupid. "Nothing, nothing damn it, I didn't mean—"
Fingers laid over his lips stopped him from pulling away, blue eyes locked with his, gleamed with a bright light that Dean could only describe as happy. "I meant exactly what I said. Love you. It doesn't matter how long we've known each other, I just do. You feel the connection too, don’t you? I mean…geez, I hope you do. I'll feel really stupid if you don't…."
There it was, his fucking Achilles heel--big wounded eyes, hurt puppy face that he couldn't resist—it was like he was hard-wired to fall for that look, no matter if the eyes were bright blue, or hazel, he was powerless. Powerless when Cap took his hand, opened the door and pulled him into the god-awful tiny back seat. "It's kind of saltine sized too, but we can make it, I think. Dean." Cap pushed and pulled and arranged him until he was straddling Cap's lap, and it made Dean burn—by the time Cap had him how he wanted him, Dean was so hard, he thought he'd die. Cap was smiling, rubbing Dean's hips with firm strokes of his thumbs. "Pretty," he whispered.
Dean fell towards Cap, weak, no defense left against him. He didn’t want any defense against Cap. He wanted Cap kissing him, touching him, his chest, his dick—Dean shuddered so hard it hurt. He wanted to feel Cap come down his throat—wanted Cap to fuck him, God, so bad…
They kissed like they were starving for each other, Cap mumbling against Dean's mouth, sucking at his tongue, licking and pulling moans out of him, making him beg….
Cap rubbed the bulge pushing up against Dean's zipper, scratched his nails against the denim, driving sensation into his dick. "Trevor," Cap mumbled into his neck, and sucked a sharp, hot rose into his skin.
"Yeah, okay," Dean gasped. His head was swimming, and it took him a moment to realize 'Trevor' wasn't some kind of gay code for "fuck me." Cap didn't say anything else though, he just shoved those huge hot hands under his shirts, slid them up and up....
"Wha—" Dean held his arms up when Cap urged him to, let him pull his shirt off with the undershirt, leaned forward and latched onto a nipple, sucked it until Dean was grinding, rubbing hard against Cap and moaning. Cap wiggled a hand between them, undid Dean's pants, and undid his own. Dean was embarrassed—his shorts were so wet, he was so wet that Cap's hand slid around his dick like it was oiled.
"Dean, oh, you're a good boy, aren't you? You want it so bad, don’t you?" He reached under Dean, and rubbed a finger over his hole, so light a touch it was barely there—Dean could pretend it wasn't happening, he wasn't grinding down against it. "You want it, right. You'd let me fuck you here if I asked, wouldn't you?"
"Cap!" Dean shuddered all over, and pre-come spurt hot and wet between them.
"Trevor, that's my real name…I love that you call me Cap, but if I'm going to fuck you, you need to know my real name."
Dean jerked hard—their dicks crossed and rubbed in the space between them, sent a fresh wild wave of sensation through him. This thing—this thing was incredible. He was losing it, like a kid his first time. "Yes, I want that, I want you to fuck me, Tre—Trevor. Yeah, whatever, I want that."
Trevor stopped what he was doing. "Dean. Dean," he said, and shook Dean gently. "Have you ever—have you ever done this—" He circled Dean's hole—"with any one? Anything?" he grinned wickedly.
Dean hid his face against Trevor's shoulder, shook his head, too strung out to speak, so hot he couldn't keep his hands off his own dick, and Cap—Trevor--groaned.
"Oh fuck, we probably shouldn't do this in the car then, lover."
"Oh shit, yes we should, it's the perfect place and we're going to do it—I know we need condoms, and lube, and—lube. Which I have in my pocket because, it’s good for all kinds of stuff and I stole some from the mart earlier." Dean prayed his mouth would Just. Fucking. Stop.
Cap laughed, and threw his arms around Dean. "I love you so much Dean. You're a miracle, you really are."
23
He had the feeling Pete's wife had created the haunted car. Revenge, maybe? Pete's "friend" had been the first victim…but he'd died. Why was it ongoing? Once she got what she wanted, it should have disappeared. Not only that, Donna had given her husband a protection that made him essentially invisible to supernatural forces. Invisible…why? Why make him invisible—
Sam sat back in his chair, his mouth hanging open, the ache in his neck and shoulders completely forgotten. He felt like he was drowning, like he'd forgotten how to breathe-- How the fuck…
He called Bobby.
24
Dean's head dropped back on Cap's shoulder, and he groaned. "Fuck, Cap—fuck, it kind of…kind of hurts."
He shivered, and his dick softened. Cap mouthed Dean's back, rubbed his thumbs where his dick stretched the tight ring of Dean's ass. "I know, let me—" Cap shifted, spread his legs wider and slouched a little; he splayed one hot hand against Dean's stomach, pulled Dean tight against his chest and wrapped the other one around his dick. Cap started stroking, slow, murderously slow, so that Dean felt every little bit of it, felt pulled away from pain, so fucking slowly. Dean arched over Cap's arm and Cap started to move, shallow thrusts, letting him get used to it, "My good boy. You're so pretty, you're my boy. You're so sexy. I'm watching you suck my dick up, it's the hottest thing, I wish you could see, so hot...I love you, you're such a good, good, boy…."
Dean was quivering now, moaning, begging Cap not to stop, to never stop, "Please, come on, please, come on, Cap—Trevor, *please*!" Feeling Trevor start to come was all it took to push Dean over the edge. He felt like he was being torn to bits, turned inside out, the pleasure was so intense, so deep, so overwhelming. He'd *never* felt anything like it in his life.
25
"No. It's not going to work for your brother. I'm sorry Sam. I know it seems like it should, but what you're describing is a specific spell, made to protect against ghosts—with the symbols you’re describing it's against a specific ghost. Whoever did this probably *made* the ghost, you know?"
"No, I don't." Sam felt the cloud of black despair settle over him again. For a few glorious minutes, he'd thought…fuck, he'd thought he'd saved Dean. "What the hell does that mean? Who the fuck makes a ghost?"
Bobby was quiet for a bit, and Sam was afraid he'd pushed it. Dean had always been the one who could get away with more…when he spoke again, Bobby's voice was soft. Fuck. Even worse than Bobby being pissed off at him, was Bobby was feeling sorry for him.
"I'm real sorry, son. I am. See, what I mean is, the person who did this knew the ghost, most likely killed the poor son of a bitch. The person with this pendent? Was important to the ghost—like a—a parent, or a lover, a brother—"
Sam almost dropped the phone. "Ah—what? I missed that."
"I said, the person has some strong connection to the dead one, and the pendent keeps the ghost from haunting them, driving the loved one crazy. Sometimes, they don’t mean to. It's just—unfinished business, y'know?"
Sam pondered Bobby's words after he hung up. Donna had done something wrong. Something evil. And now, the whole town was paying for it. He should probably talk to Pete again—and this Donna, if he could. He stuck a few items in the deep pockets of an old Carhartt jacket—a sawed-off, shells filled with salt and iron filings, and hoped that was all he would need.
He locked the motel room door behind him, turned--and did a double-take. The Impala was there—sitting in the lot. Empty. What the fuck, someone had picked Dean up and he hadn’t noticed?
He ran back into the room and fished around in his duffle. He pulled out the extra keys he had stuffed down in the seam. Crap. He checked his watch. Not only that, but Dean had been gone four hours—it was dusk. The time had slipped completely away from him.
26
"You can stay with me," Cap said." You can be with me, for as long as you want, and I promise you, you'll always be happy, and you'll always be safe. That's why I wanted us to take my car. I'm ready and I think you are. I'll love you, Dean, the way you want, the way no one else ever could. We can go from here. Right now."
Dean listened to Cap, tried to listen mostly. He was wiped out, dripping sweat, the cold in the car a distant memory. He felt like heat was bubbling and popping right under his skin, flaring to prickly life inside his mouth, his nose, his ass. His eyes itched and burned so he kept them shut, and licked his lips…he tasted sweat, tangy and salt. He was snugged back up against Cap's chest, their pants still around their ankles. Bet they looked stupid from the outside, Dean snickered sleepily.
Cap was still talking, so he nodded, trying to remember why what Cap was suggesting was a bad idea. Honestly, the best he somewhat clearly imagine, was a nice cool shower—would be good right about now, or a long soak in a tub, or maybe just catch a few z's, he was that fucking wrung out. He wondered if that was how Sammy felt after. Or did Sammy pitch? Catching was good, too, it was way fucking good. He shifted and winced and Cap chuckled, and it made him smile. He was about a hot second from purring….
"Hey…next time, we can switch if you want--" Dean rolled his head, cracked an eyelid and gave Cap a look. "--or we can just talk a little," Cap finished with a warm smile. Dean leaned into Cap's touch, he was stroking all of Dean's skin he could reach, waves and waves of summer heat filling him, soothing him--
Talk. His brother was a big one for talking. Dean yawned. Wonder what Sammy was doing right now, should call him….
Dean's phone dropped to the ground and under the seat. Cap was licking burning little circles into his neck, sucking gently on his earlobe. Amazing how he knew where all Dean's spots were…..
27
"Hi Pete. I was wondering…would you mind if I talked to your wife?" Sam was standing on Pete's porch, doing his best to ignore the sting of icy little flakes, trying to sweep them off his lashes and look sincere at the same time. "For, ah…the story? More local flavor." He grinned, like the cold wasn't biting his cheeks….
Pete looked at him quizzically, obviously wondering, and rightly so, why in the hell he'd show up on his doorstep in the middle of the night on—oh, wow. "It's Christmas Eve, isn’t it? I'm sorry--"
Pete made a dismissive gesture. "'S'okay, we just got back from church a little bit ago. The kid's are home, tucked up. As for talking to Donna, well, it'd be kinda hard, but maybe not impossible for someone who's intimate with the other side, hunh?"
Sam stopped short. A searing wave of cold shot through him that had nothing to do with the ice pelting him…he swallowed and said, "What do you mean?"
"What do I mean?" Pete came out on the porch. "You know, you—writer of the supernatural? Donna's been gone for a while. Cancer."
Sam cursed inwardly. Another fucking dead-end. There went any chance of finding out what she did—or how to reproduce it. He took a deep breath, and decided, what the hell. "Pete, I figure we got very little time before this thing pops up again. I think—and I know what this sounds like—I think your wife accidentally created a thing—an evil force—that's taken on a life of it's own. It's killing people out there on the ridge. I--fuck. If she's gone, I have no damn idea how to stop it. I don't know what she did."
Pete came down off the porch. "I know about it. I think, I kind of figured it out a few years back. This thing all began this same time, forty years ago. I think…she cursed him, or the road, or something…and then he came back. For me." Pete held up the necklace. "This makes me invisible to him. If I take it off--"
"He'll make your life miserable." Sam looked at him, trying to feel sympathy, but he felt nothing…this man let people die. He'd known—or suspected, and didn't do anything, didn't try.
Pete shook his head. "No, I think he'll take me with him."
part 4
tbc
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean (implied). Dean/OMC
Rating:NC-17
Word Count: part1: 2907 part2: 3461 part3: 3715 part4: 2745
Summary: Sam yearns for Dean, Dean's somewhat oblivious, and there's a ghost story, too.
all chapters
Sam left Dean snoring in bed, swiped his keys and drove out to the ridge on his own. He stood at the edge of the drop off and looked down. The drop-off wasn't all that steep, a person could just about manage it on all fours, he thought, but coming around that corner at speed meant flying off the road, rolling over and over, being shredded to bloody bits in a crumbling metal coffin….
Sam shook himself. That was kind of morbid, even for him. He wandered back to the car and sat up on the hood, watching the sun break through clouds higher up the hills. He thought about the case, about breakfast…about Dean. Specifically, where he was going at night. Sam hadn't noticed any change in Dean's attitude towards any of the girls in town, hadn't noticed any of them looking at Dean with that I've seen your 0-face look. He wondered…could Dean be meeting up with someone from out-of-town?
When he slid off the hood, his foot came down into tire tracks in the dirt. He noticed boot prints, and sets of sneaker prints overlapping them. He recognized the boot prints as Dean's, the tire tracks as the Impala's. Who did the sneakers belong to? The very large sneakers. Large, man-size sneakers. He fought down a stab of jealousy so sharp it made him gasp, and shook his head. Idiot. If there was a guy on this planet who loved tail more than Dean…well, he personally wouldn't want to know because that guy would be really creepy, Sam was sure.
He drove back into town, stopping to drop the car at the motel and finding Dean still snoring, decided he'd head into town, instead of pulling a chair up to his bedside and watching him sleep. Or tracing the fine lines at his eyes, his mouth…smoothing back his sweat damp hair.
Yeah. Because doing that would definitely put him squarely in that Creepy Guy category. Coffee. What he needed was coffee and lots of it, maybe a Danish or a bagel whatever was this area's equivalent.
Once outside the room, he decided, out of the kindness of his heart, that he'd get Dean a coffee and something to eat too because he was awesome like that, and even if Dean was being a jerk and ignoring him, he'd be the bigger man.
Sam was just about to slide the cardboard box holding their two coffees and blueberry Danish across the front seat when a shadow fell against the window and he whirled. "Geez—Pete. You scared the hell out of me."
Pete grinned at him. "Hey, writer boy." He raised thick eyebrows at the two jumbo take-out cups in the tray. "Drink a lot of coffee, hunh?"
"No. this is for my—my partner. Who's a lazy son-of-a-bitch and won't get up."
Pete glanced away, and looked uncomfortable for a moment. "Yeah…so. You wanted more info on the road. I'll tell you what I know. Mind you, it's not much."
"Great!" Sam glanced at the coffees and Danish in the paper tray he was holding. "So, um…how do you take your coffee?"
Pete said, "Strong. Black. The only right way to drink coffee."
Sam grinned. "Then how about some breakfast," he said, and handed Pete Dean's coffee.
They were sitting on top of a rickety old picnic table parked on the lookout on the ridge—a sort of long ago flail at a non-existent tourist trade, drinking coffee, and Pete was telling Sam about what it was like in the town when he was a kid. He talked about the night of the first accident, and told him that, yes; he'd known the first victim. They'd been buddies.
"It messed me up for a while, Trey dying like that, so young. Donna—she's my wife—she helped me through it."
Pete was quiet then, staring out sightless at the sky, remembering. Sam got the feeling he was leaving stuff out, but figured he shouldn't push it. Pete sighed then, leaned over, elbows on his knees and cup clutched in his hands. Sam noticed a pendent swinging against Pete's chest and it was distinctive enough that he asked Pete about it.
"Oh, this?" He pinched it between his thumb and index finger and raised it. "My wife gave it to me—supposed to keep me safe or something. She always was into that new age-crystals stuff. Had a fit if I took it off so I wore it all the time, got to be a habit."
Sam nodded. "Yeah, my brother wears a pendent I gave him when we were kids. Never takes it off either. Do you mind—?"
Pete held it out, and Sam cupped it in his hand. The design looked familiar. Pete said, "I got it from her after a couple of accidents on the ridge. Said she wanted to keep me safe—I drive for one of the companies in town."
Sam nodded. The thing had nothing in common with any of the signs he knew that promised protection for travelers. There were what looked like letters cut in around the circular edge and a suggestion of a star, or a stick-figure man in the center—it was done in a very old style. Sam rubbed his thumb over it. It was textured, a little bumpy. He realized what he'd taken for black wire was black hair....
Pete leaned back and the pendent slipped out of Sam's fingers. "It looks so peaceful out here. It's been a pretty long time since I've sat here. Back in the day, I did come out here a lot…most of the kids in town used to. There was a little road back there, behind the trees. Private." Pete smiled and Sam chuckled.
"You met your wife out here?"
Pete glanced at him. "Not exactly. Well, it's time I got back into town."
Sam grabbed their garbage, and crammed it into the take-out bag, tossed it into the back seat. They brushed shoulders as they slid past each other and Sam felt a brief flare of warmth that embarrassed him. Pete jerked away, and smiled weakly, and Sam had a sudden flash…he was willing to bet Donna had never seen that 'private' little road behind the trees.
He'd had just enough time to hand off the keys to Dean, and start to take his coat off when Dean tossed him a "bye, be back later" and was gone.
Sam growled. Was he going to meet up with Sneakers? Bastard. Maybe he should give Pete a call, see if he wanted to meet him at the diner…he could tell him he wanted him to go over some pages from his 'book'. And forget to bring the pages? Sam flopped into the chair at the table he was using as a desk. Or, he could ask him why his wife believed that pendent would protect him. Sam toed off his shoes. Or he could just sit here like a lump and see if he could track down the symbol…Sam idly clicked through a few bogus sites promising protection from all sorts of evil, mostly evil neighbors bent on putting roots on, wondered if Pete had gone out there to the ridge with his friend when they were kids—if he'd parked on that private road. Pete was definitely not one hundred per cent straight. Sam wasn't Mr. Party Guy, but he wasn't totally clueless either. He knew interest when he saw it. And guilt.
"I like it out here, don't you?"
"Well, it's cold as a well-diggers asshole, and we're two six foot guys trying to share a seat wide as a saltine, but other than that, it's just peachy. Lucky for you I was dying to get in this awesome car."
"Oh—you just want me for my car!" Cap laughed, and a warm wave swept Dean from head to toe. Why couldn't he and Sam laugh like this, sit like this…Sam was so…hunh? What?
"Hey mister, you here with me?" Dean became aware of fingers under his chin, gently coaxing his head up. "I hope you're here with me. Dean." His name was breathed onto his mouth as Cap slowly pulled him closer.
Dean shuddered, his jeans suddenly too tight for comfort. "I—I'm here. Oh God, I'm so here," he said, and even with the damn heater going full blast, he could see his breath flow out white into the air. So fucking cold…except where Cap touched him, there it burned.
Cap laughed softly. "Dean, Dean. I love you. You're just so…don’t punch me if I say sweet, please. But you are. Not in some sugary way, y'know. Just…" He licked a little circle on Dean's collarbone, and made a contented sound. "Sweet."
Dean blushed, refusing to admit just how good that made him feel. "Fucking idiot, sweet's the last damn thing I am. But—why'd you say that--did you mean it? Not 'sweet'. Before."
Cap pulled away from Dean's chest, eyebrows raised, and Dean colored a little more. He started to stutter, pissed off that he'd been so stupid. "Nothing, nothing damn it, I didn't mean—"
Fingers laid over his lips stopped him from pulling away, blue eyes locked with his, gleamed with a bright light that Dean could only describe as happy. "I meant exactly what I said. Love you. It doesn't matter how long we've known each other, I just do. You feel the connection too, don’t you? I mean…geez, I hope you do. I'll feel really stupid if you don't…."
There it was, his fucking Achilles heel--big wounded eyes, hurt puppy face that he couldn't resist—it was like he was hard-wired to fall for that look, no matter if the eyes were bright blue, or hazel, he was powerless. Powerless when Cap took his hand, opened the door and pulled him into the god-awful tiny back seat. "It's kind of saltine sized too, but we can make it, I think. Dean." Cap pushed and pulled and arranged him until he was straddling Cap's lap, and it made Dean burn—by the time Cap had him how he wanted him, Dean was so hard, he thought he'd die. Cap was smiling, rubbing Dean's hips with firm strokes of his thumbs. "Pretty," he whispered.
Dean fell towards Cap, weak, no defense left against him. He didn’t want any defense against Cap. He wanted Cap kissing him, touching him, his chest, his dick—Dean shuddered so hard it hurt. He wanted to feel Cap come down his throat—wanted Cap to fuck him, God, so bad…
They kissed like they were starving for each other, Cap mumbling against Dean's mouth, sucking at his tongue, licking and pulling moans out of him, making him beg….
Cap rubbed the bulge pushing up against Dean's zipper, scratched his nails against the denim, driving sensation into his dick. "Trevor," Cap mumbled into his neck, and sucked a sharp, hot rose into his skin.
"Yeah, okay," Dean gasped. His head was swimming, and it took him a moment to realize 'Trevor' wasn't some kind of gay code for "fuck me." Cap didn't say anything else though, he just shoved those huge hot hands under his shirts, slid them up and up....
"Wha—" Dean held his arms up when Cap urged him to, let him pull his shirt off with the undershirt, leaned forward and latched onto a nipple, sucked it until Dean was grinding, rubbing hard against Cap and moaning. Cap wiggled a hand between them, undid Dean's pants, and undid his own. Dean was embarrassed—his shorts were so wet, he was so wet that Cap's hand slid around his dick like it was oiled.
"Dean, oh, you're a good boy, aren't you? You want it so bad, don’t you?" He reached under Dean, and rubbed a finger over his hole, so light a touch it was barely there—Dean could pretend it wasn't happening, he wasn't grinding down against it. "You want it, right. You'd let me fuck you here if I asked, wouldn't you?"
"Cap!" Dean shuddered all over, and pre-come spurt hot and wet between them.
"Trevor, that's my real name…I love that you call me Cap, but if I'm going to fuck you, you need to know my real name."
Dean jerked hard—their dicks crossed and rubbed in the space between them, sent a fresh wild wave of sensation through him. This thing—this thing was incredible. He was losing it, like a kid his first time. "Yes, I want that, I want you to fuck me, Tre—Trevor. Yeah, whatever, I want that."
Trevor stopped what he was doing. "Dean. Dean," he said, and shook Dean gently. "Have you ever—have you ever done this—" He circled Dean's hole—"with any one? Anything?" he grinned wickedly.
Dean hid his face against Trevor's shoulder, shook his head, too strung out to speak, so hot he couldn't keep his hands off his own dick, and Cap—Trevor--groaned.
"Oh fuck, we probably shouldn't do this in the car then, lover."
"Oh shit, yes we should, it's the perfect place and we're going to do it—I know we need condoms, and lube, and—lube. Which I have in my pocket because, it’s good for all kinds of stuff and I stole some from the mart earlier." Dean prayed his mouth would Just. Fucking. Stop.
Cap laughed, and threw his arms around Dean. "I love you so much Dean. You're a miracle, you really are."
He had the feeling Pete's wife had created the haunted car. Revenge, maybe? Pete's "friend" had been the first victim…but he'd died. Why was it ongoing? Once she got what she wanted, it should have disappeared. Not only that, Donna had given her husband a protection that made him essentially invisible to supernatural forces. Invisible…why? Why make him invisible—
Sam sat back in his chair, his mouth hanging open, the ache in his neck and shoulders completely forgotten. He felt like he was drowning, like he'd forgotten how to breathe-- How the fuck…
He called Bobby.
Dean's head dropped back on Cap's shoulder, and he groaned. "Fuck, Cap—fuck, it kind of…kind of hurts."
He shivered, and his dick softened. Cap mouthed Dean's back, rubbed his thumbs where his dick stretched the tight ring of Dean's ass. "I know, let me—" Cap shifted, spread his legs wider and slouched a little; he splayed one hot hand against Dean's stomach, pulled Dean tight against his chest and wrapped the other one around his dick. Cap started stroking, slow, murderously slow, so that Dean felt every little bit of it, felt pulled away from pain, so fucking slowly. Dean arched over Cap's arm and Cap started to move, shallow thrusts, letting him get used to it, "My good boy. You're so pretty, you're my boy. You're so sexy. I'm watching you suck my dick up, it's the hottest thing, I wish you could see, so hot...I love you, you're such a good, good, boy…."
Dean was quivering now, moaning, begging Cap not to stop, to never stop, "Please, come on, please, come on, Cap—Trevor, *please*!" Feeling Trevor start to come was all it took to push Dean over the edge. He felt like he was being torn to bits, turned inside out, the pleasure was so intense, so deep, so overwhelming. He'd *never* felt anything like it in his life.
"No. It's not going to work for your brother. I'm sorry Sam. I know it seems like it should, but what you're describing is a specific spell, made to protect against ghosts—with the symbols you’re describing it's against a specific ghost. Whoever did this probably *made* the ghost, you know?"
"No, I don't." Sam felt the cloud of black despair settle over him again. For a few glorious minutes, he'd thought…fuck, he'd thought he'd saved Dean. "What the hell does that mean? Who the fuck makes a ghost?"
Bobby was quiet for a bit, and Sam was afraid he'd pushed it. Dean had always been the one who could get away with more…when he spoke again, Bobby's voice was soft. Fuck. Even worse than Bobby being pissed off at him, was Bobby was feeling sorry for him.
"I'm real sorry, son. I am. See, what I mean is, the person who did this knew the ghost, most likely killed the poor son of a bitch. The person with this pendent? Was important to the ghost—like a—a parent, or a lover, a brother—"
Sam almost dropped the phone. "Ah—what? I missed that."
"I said, the person has some strong connection to the dead one, and the pendent keeps the ghost from haunting them, driving the loved one crazy. Sometimes, they don’t mean to. It's just—unfinished business, y'know?"
Sam pondered Bobby's words after he hung up. Donna had done something wrong. Something evil. And now, the whole town was paying for it. He should probably talk to Pete again—and this Donna, if he could. He stuck a few items in the deep pockets of an old Carhartt jacket—a sawed-off, shells filled with salt and iron filings, and hoped that was all he would need.
He locked the motel room door behind him, turned--and did a double-take. The Impala was there—sitting in the lot. Empty. What the fuck, someone had picked Dean up and he hadn’t noticed?
He ran back into the room and fished around in his duffle. He pulled out the extra keys he had stuffed down in the seam. Crap. He checked his watch. Not only that, but Dean had been gone four hours—it was dusk. The time had slipped completely away from him.
"You can stay with me," Cap said." You can be with me, for as long as you want, and I promise you, you'll always be happy, and you'll always be safe. That's why I wanted us to take my car. I'm ready and I think you are. I'll love you, Dean, the way you want, the way no one else ever could. We can go from here. Right now."
Dean listened to Cap, tried to listen mostly. He was wiped out, dripping sweat, the cold in the car a distant memory. He felt like heat was bubbling and popping right under his skin, flaring to prickly life inside his mouth, his nose, his ass. His eyes itched and burned so he kept them shut, and licked his lips…he tasted sweat, tangy and salt. He was snugged back up against Cap's chest, their pants still around their ankles. Bet they looked stupid from the outside, Dean snickered sleepily.
Cap was still talking, so he nodded, trying to remember why what Cap was suggesting was a bad idea. Honestly, the best he somewhat clearly imagine, was a nice cool shower—would be good right about now, or a long soak in a tub, or maybe just catch a few z's, he was that fucking wrung out. He wondered if that was how Sammy felt after. Or did Sammy pitch? Catching was good, too, it was way fucking good. He shifted and winced and Cap chuckled, and it made him smile. He was about a hot second from purring….
"Hey…next time, we can switch if you want--" Dean rolled his head, cracked an eyelid and gave Cap a look. "--or we can just talk a little," Cap finished with a warm smile. Dean leaned into Cap's touch, he was stroking all of Dean's skin he could reach, waves and waves of summer heat filling him, soothing him--
Talk. His brother was a big one for talking. Dean yawned. Wonder what Sammy was doing right now, should call him….
Dean's phone dropped to the ground and under the seat. Cap was licking burning little circles into his neck, sucking gently on his earlobe. Amazing how he knew where all Dean's spots were…..
"Hi Pete. I was wondering…would you mind if I talked to your wife?" Sam was standing on Pete's porch, doing his best to ignore the sting of icy little flakes, trying to sweep them off his lashes and look sincere at the same time. "For, ah…the story? More local flavor." He grinned, like the cold wasn't biting his cheeks….
Pete looked at him quizzically, obviously wondering, and rightly so, why in the hell he'd show up on his doorstep in the middle of the night on—oh, wow. "It's Christmas Eve, isn’t it? I'm sorry--"
Pete made a dismissive gesture. "'S'okay, we just got back from church a little bit ago. The kid's are home, tucked up. As for talking to Donna, well, it'd be kinda hard, but maybe not impossible for someone who's intimate with the other side, hunh?"
Sam stopped short. A searing wave of cold shot through him that had nothing to do with the ice pelting him…he swallowed and said, "What do you mean?"
"What do I mean?" Pete came out on the porch. "You know, you—writer of the supernatural? Donna's been gone for a while. Cancer."
Sam cursed inwardly. Another fucking dead-end. There went any chance of finding out what she did—or how to reproduce it. He took a deep breath, and decided, what the hell. "Pete, I figure we got very little time before this thing pops up again. I think—and I know what this sounds like—I think your wife accidentally created a thing—an evil force—that's taken on a life of it's own. It's killing people out there on the ridge. I--fuck. If she's gone, I have no damn idea how to stop it. I don't know what she did."
Pete came down off the porch. "I know about it. I think, I kind of figured it out a few years back. This thing all began this same time, forty years ago. I think…she cursed him, or the road, or something…and then he came back. For me." Pete held up the necklace. "This makes me invisible to him. If I take it off--"
"He'll make your life miserable." Sam looked at him, trying to feel sympathy, but he felt nothing…this man let people die. He'd known—or suspected, and didn't do anything, didn't try.
Pete shook his head. "No, I think he'll take me with him."
part 4
tbc
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(no subject)
1/16/09 05:48 am (UTC)But I don't want it to end, Mommy. *crosses arms and sulks* I like these boys!!!
XD
(no subject)
1/16/09 06:03 am (UTC)There's another story coming right after this one, if that helps? *G*
I'll miss Trevor terribly! He's so cute!
Thanks a million! I'm so happy that you think I've got the voice down--it's fun to write but easy to get self-indulgent with him. :) And I hang my head in shame but I love throwing in the sneaky incestuous thoughts. It's waaaaaay too much fun!
(no subject)
1/16/09 12:12 pm (UTC)See? See? I was right to be creeped out!!
*flails more*
Eeeeeee!
(no subject)
1/16/09 02:35 pm (UTC)(no subject)
1/16/09 07:33 pm (UTC)