SpN: Non Timebo Mala 19/?
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roxyTitle: Non Timebo Mala
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Dean/OCs, Sam/OCs, Dean/Sam
Rating: hard R for barely hinted at sex...*sigh*
Word Count: 2443
Spoilers: might be considered spoilery for All Hell Breaks Loose
Summary: Sam Winchester is looking for the ultimate weapon, one that will destroy the demon who destroyed his family. Dean Kane was raised to be a maker of weapons. He was just the man Sam needed.
Notes/Warnings: This is my AU version of the Colt's making. Increeeedibly AU. It's completely a child of my wild imaginings, thus, expect anachronisms and flagrant display of personal fanon. Warnings for sex ( occasional het and M/M, incest, rape.)
The fellow inclined his head a bit and met Dean's eyes. He smiled, a small, kind bow of his lips and said, "Thanks much, Mr. Kane. My name's Archibald Joseph, but I'd be pleased for you to call me Archie."
The work flew with Archie helping. What Dean had figured would take a couple of weeks—more--had been whittled down considerably. He walked around the yard, gazing up at the roof, his brow furrowed as he thought. Another few days, not more than three or so.
He sighed, and headed back to the house. He passed the pile of damaged shingles he'd set to burn, shied from the smoke that rose up black and thick from it. The smoke throbbed and wavered in the light breeze sweeping through the yard…the sight made Dean uneasy. He circled wider around the fire and crossed the yard, side-skipping to keep from stumbling over one of the many ginger cats always about the place.
Dean climbed the porch steps, fell to a stop, and stared…a wild wave of heat rushed through him, chased by guilt. But not enough to stop him looking at Archie, in the kitchen, washing off the day's dirt and sweat. He sighed ruefully. He knew it was wrong, but. It was just; Archie was so damn good to look at. Handsome, tall, broad shoulders and…every day he spent with Archie convinced him more and more that he was the mysterious figure in his dreams. This was what that silly hearth spell had brought to him. He should let Dotty know that love had found him after all.
On his part, least ways.
Thing was, he couldn't figure out how to ask, and Archie hadn't actually given any sign of being of the same nature. Dean dropped his eyes and heaved another sigh. If wishes were horses, he'd be a rich, rich man….
* * *
They ate dinner, and Archie outlined what he thought should be their next job—"that is, if you'd care for me to stay on after the roof?" he asked shyly and Dean could only smile and nod and hope he didn't look like a pixilated mooncalf.
"Well, that's good. I'm glad. I've been a very long time traveling and I'm glad of the chance to stop…for a while."
"You must have been many places, seen so many things…do you enjoy it that much, being on the move like that?" Dean asked. He thought it wasn't all that forward a question to ask Archie, not after working side by side this week…this very long, frustrating, entertaining week….
Dean poured them both a little whiskey, and set the bottle on the table. Archie's eyes lit up. He grabbed his glass, leaned back in the chair and assumed a position Dean recognized from Waller about to launch into a tale. Dean grabbed his own glass and settled also, happily ready to listen.
"I do like it, yes--by nature I'm a wanderer, I fear. I started out in New York, yes, all the way from there," he said, and smiled at Dean's look. "My grown life, free from family, began at sea. I was pretty green, quite a little chap, when I made my way aboard my first vessel." He stopped, took a sip of whiskey. "As it turned out, cabin boy was not much easier a life than trying to wrest a living from the streets. Regular meals though, and a guaranteed place to sleep. Most of the time the crew were kind…my last voyage was the best for me. I met my dear friend Sam aboard, and we became close as brothers for a number of years after. That, my friend, was an interesting life. Wandering the country, working towards a goal together—life can be harder, believe me." He winked at Dean and Dean felt a tiny spark of…jealousy.
"It was in Sam's employ that I learned to read, to temper my speech. I was a horrible little thing before meeting him, but by the time we parted ways—well, I think those years were beyond valuable to me, and hopefully to him too. He gave me a gift to remember him by, and to assure me I always had a place at his side. Since then, I've traveled the country, doing what I will, and living how I will. It's a decent life, truly it is. Hard at times, but it's by my rule, so—" Archie smiled, shrugged and tossed down what remained in his glass.
Dean nodded. Archie was unique—he'd never met anyone like him. He and this Sam sounded happy together. He wondered why he'd left him, and hesitantly asked Archie just that.
Archie shrugged. "It was time. Sam Colt taught me everything I needed to know. I had a vague idea of heading to Boston; becoming a gentleman's gentleman…I may have over-shot Massachusetts by a bit."
Archie was suddenly quiet. He tilted his head, brushed his black hair out of his eyes. The gesture drew Dean's eyes to the sweep of Archie's cheek, his neck…the streak of grey at his temple that made his hair look blacker….
"Dean, my friend…" Archie's tone held question, and a little amusement. "…are you asking if Samuel Colt and I had…a closer attachment than friendship?"
Dean felt the tips of his ears burning, and Archie laughed softly. "No, Sam and I have a great friendship, nothing beyond that. He's like a brother to me." He smiled at Dean and eased his hand slowly across the table. "Now why would you want to know such a thing, hmm?"
Dean felt that dying of embarrassment might be a thing to be hoped for, at the same time, he felt on edge, powerless with…hope. Archie's hand touched his and hope became a sharp, painful, tug inside, a helpless fluttering in his chest. Where Archie's hand rested on his it burned, like sparks, into his skin.
"Dean…."
Dean's eyes closed, his lips parted. His head was swimming. Archie's hand left his and Dean tried to swallow a sigh of disappointment. Before he could move, there was warmth along his back, and big hands on his shoulders. "Pretty boy, have you ever…"
A warm touch, Archie's finger tracing the bow of his lower lip made him shiver. Dean shook his head. That childhood kiss was long and long ago. "Not with, I mean, never with a man."
Archie's voice was in his ear, soft lips tickling the shell when he spoke again. "Then I shall be very, very careful of you, pretty boy."
Dean shuddered deeply, terrified but wanting it so very much.
Archie took his hand to lead him slowly step by step, up into Dean's room, letting Dean have all the time he needed to run, time to stop them. Every thing that Archie did was slow, deliberate. In Dean's room, he took his clothing off, balancing from one foot to the other, taking off boots and socks, pulling his shirt over his head, slowly unbuttoning his pants, eyes on Dean's the entire time. He stopped at the buttons of his union suit, fingers toying with them. "Shall I go on?" he asked and Dean was beyond the use of words, nodding frantically. He gasped out loud when Archie was finally unclothed. He was brown all over, miles of brown, smooth, skin. He was broad in the shoulders, muscled like a man who worked hard every day, his prick…Dean wanted to glance away but his eyes kept coming back to it. Thicker than his, dark and rising as he watched. He glanced up at Archie's eyes and Archie was smiling, confident, assured….
Archie pushed lightly against Dean's chest--he fell flat against the bed. "Let me take your shoes off?" Dean nodded. "Let me take everything off?" he asked, and Dean gasped, nodded again.
He slid the buttons of Dean's shirt loose, in the same maddeningly slow way he had his own. Dean's heart slammed against his ribs as each came loose, his breath rasped dry and hot in his throat. He asked Dean over and over again if he wished him to stop, and Dean wished mightily he'd just shut up and go faster about this business…"tell me what you want," Archie asked and at every question Dean's answer was "don’t stop, show me. Tell me what to do…."
He kissed Dean the way he'd done everything—slowly and thoroughly, watching and feeling what Dean did in response to him. Dean melted, he fell to bits. He moaned and shivered and begged for things he had no words for, no idea of, he just knew that Archie had it in his power to make him feel more than anything he'd ever felt before and he wanted it completely and immediately.
"This is something I like," Archie said. "If you don't like it, tell me." He started stroking Dean, and though he'd had this before, it was world's different. Archie's broad strong hand carried him like Dotty's never could. Dean was arching off the bed in minutes, his hand wrapped around Archie's wrist. Not holding him back, just wanting to feel the twist and turn of muscle as Archie brought him undone. Dean moaned louder and louder the closer he came, and then Archie's warm mouth pressed to the tip of his prick. He mouthed a kiss there and then, wonderful wet, slippery heat engulfed him. All it took was a swipe or two of that broad wet tongue over his prick and he was screaming. It scared him, this insane feeling--orgasm was a brief tightening, a release and after that, a comfortable feeling. This—this was a wild drop off a cliff's edge; this was liquid fire filling him, exploding out of his prick. He was soaring high, blind and deaf and happy. When he felt the bed beneath him again, he wanted to cry….
"Hey, pretty boy, look at me. It's over, you're alive," he smiled and kissed Dean's cheeks, his mouth. "Don't cry."
Dean was offended. He wasn't crying. He didn’t cry.
Archie laid himself over Dean, wet skin against skin, he moved purposefully against him, and Dean found himself getting hard again. It shocked him…he didn’t know he could do that. He didn't know another body against his own could feel like that…and shit, Archie was right. Tears rolled down his cheek, and Archie held him, cheek to cheek and told him it was fine, and every thing was all right, and to let go, let it all go, and whether Archie meant tears or something else, it was those words that pushed him over the edge again. Archie groaned, a long, low sinuous breath of sound and came with him, moaning 'pretty boy, my pretty boy' in his ear....
"He was like a father to me. No one understood. Tobe—my pa, he saved my life. I think he saved it a couple of times…"
They were sprawled out on Archie's bed, sharing apple slices between them, and Dean watched Archie eat them as if he'd never seen a person eat before. Archie smirked, pushed a slice between Dean's lips and nibbled the end until they were mouth to mouth—and Dean cuffed him. "Fool," he muttered and pretended he wasn't pleased by the kiss.
Archie tossed Dean another slice before taking one for himself. "Fortunate man you were, Dean. Mr. Kane sounds like a fine person. I've worked side by side with quite a few colored men. I've never found a real difference. A man is a man." Archie shrugged. "I do wish I'd been granted the privilege of meeting him, to compliment him on the fine job he did raising you. Just knowing you, I can tell what a good man he was."
"He was that. A hell of a man and a hell of a blacksmith. And I hope the town gets that I'm just as good as he was." Dean frowned, his mind turned towards the idle forge.
Archie kicked his long legs up and rested his feet atop the bed's footboard. "Give them time. Give yourself time. It's hard to adjust to change, but they'll remember who taught you."
Dean shrugged. "I reckon." He shook himself, trying to fling off the somber mood that'd settled on him. Archie rolled to his side, looking at Dean in that way that made Dean feel as if he'd been turned inside out.
"I'd like to show you something," he said. He walked over to the small chest under the window, and brought out his bag. Dean's heart gave an unpleasant lurch…was Archie getting ready to tell him he was leaving?
Archie came back to the bed and dropped something wrapped in a piece of worn cotton on Dean's lap. "Remember the gift Sam gave me, I told you about that—"
Dean nodded and Archie pulled the fabric open. Dean looked down on a perfect wooden replica of a gun.
"That's what Sam and I worked on. This gun can be replicated perfectly by fairly unskilled hand. Made in a factory, just like…shoes, or hats. See how the pieces come together?" Archie pulled a few pieces away, connected them again.
"So, you and your Sam were trying to put me and the gunsmiths out of business?" Dean asked, teasing Archie a little. It fascinated him how the pieces fit, almost as if they wanted to come together.
"Oh, no, no—we still need people to design them—just not. Build them. Um. Maybe I didn't think this all the way through—I'm sure you're not as likely as me to share my passion for the piece." He colored faintly and Dean laughed.
"No, it's beautiful. May I?" At Archie's yes, he took the gun apart, marveling at how it fit together, how it would load and fire. "It's a beautiful thing, Archie. I would love to build this. Sam is a smart man. It'd be a pleasure to meet him."
Archie beamed as if he's been the one to design the model, watched Dean reassemble the gun. He took it and laid it back in his bag. "Sam worked hard to bring this into production. The support he should have had…"he stopped, shrugged. "Family," he said.
Dean guessed he should have understood the tone in which Archie said the word 'family' but he didn't. When Archie was back in bed with him, Dean hesitated for a moment before saying, "So…I'm planning on turning over the vegetable garden tomorrow…."
Archie looked thoughtful. "That would be a good three or four days work," he mused, gazing up at the ceiling until Dean shifted uneasily. Archie cut his eyes toward Dean and smirked. "Are you looking for ways to keep me here, young Master Kane?"
"Shut up," Dean mumbled and blushed bright when Archie laughed. Taking the plate and knife from Dean, he leaned over him, and pressed a kiss into his neck.
"I'm not going anywhere Dean," he whispered.
part 20
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Dean/OCs, Sam/OCs, Dean/Sam
Rating: hard R for barely hinted at sex...*sigh*
Word Count: 2443
Spoilers: might be considered spoilery for All Hell Breaks Loose
Summary: Sam Winchester is looking for the ultimate weapon, one that will destroy the demon who destroyed his family. Dean Kane was raised to be a maker of weapons. He was just the man Sam needed.
Notes/Warnings: This is my AU version of the Colt's making. Increeeedibly AU. It's completely a child of my wild imaginings, thus, expect anachronisms and flagrant display of personal fanon. Warnings for sex ( occasional het and M/M, incest, rape.)
The fellow inclined his head a bit and met Dean's eyes. He smiled, a small, kind bow of his lips and said, "Thanks much, Mr. Kane. My name's Archibald Joseph, but I'd be pleased for you to call me Archie."
The work flew with Archie helping. What Dean had figured would take a couple of weeks—more--had been whittled down considerably. He walked around the yard, gazing up at the roof, his brow furrowed as he thought. Another few days, not more than three or so.
He sighed, and headed back to the house. He passed the pile of damaged shingles he'd set to burn, shied from the smoke that rose up black and thick from it. The smoke throbbed and wavered in the light breeze sweeping through the yard…the sight made Dean uneasy. He circled wider around the fire and crossed the yard, side-skipping to keep from stumbling over one of the many ginger cats always about the place.
Dean climbed the porch steps, fell to a stop, and stared…a wild wave of heat rushed through him, chased by guilt. But not enough to stop him looking at Archie, in the kitchen, washing off the day's dirt and sweat. He sighed ruefully. He knew it was wrong, but. It was just; Archie was so damn good to look at. Handsome, tall, broad shoulders and…every day he spent with Archie convinced him more and more that he was the mysterious figure in his dreams. This was what that silly hearth spell had brought to him. He should let Dotty know that love had found him after all.
On his part, least ways.
Thing was, he couldn't figure out how to ask, and Archie hadn't actually given any sign of being of the same nature. Dean dropped his eyes and heaved another sigh. If wishes were horses, he'd be a rich, rich man….
They ate dinner, and Archie outlined what he thought should be their next job—"that is, if you'd care for me to stay on after the roof?" he asked shyly and Dean could only smile and nod and hope he didn't look like a pixilated mooncalf.
"Well, that's good. I'm glad. I've been a very long time traveling and I'm glad of the chance to stop…for a while."
"You must have been many places, seen so many things…do you enjoy it that much, being on the move like that?" Dean asked. He thought it wasn't all that forward a question to ask Archie, not after working side by side this week…this very long, frustrating, entertaining week….
Dean poured them both a little whiskey, and set the bottle on the table. Archie's eyes lit up. He grabbed his glass, leaned back in the chair and assumed a position Dean recognized from Waller about to launch into a tale. Dean grabbed his own glass and settled also, happily ready to listen.
"I do like it, yes--by nature I'm a wanderer, I fear. I started out in New York, yes, all the way from there," he said, and smiled at Dean's look. "My grown life, free from family, began at sea. I was pretty green, quite a little chap, when I made my way aboard my first vessel." He stopped, took a sip of whiskey. "As it turned out, cabin boy was not much easier a life than trying to wrest a living from the streets. Regular meals though, and a guaranteed place to sleep. Most of the time the crew were kind…my last voyage was the best for me. I met my dear friend Sam aboard, and we became close as brothers for a number of years after. That, my friend, was an interesting life. Wandering the country, working towards a goal together—life can be harder, believe me." He winked at Dean and Dean felt a tiny spark of…jealousy.
"It was in Sam's employ that I learned to read, to temper my speech. I was a horrible little thing before meeting him, but by the time we parted ways—well, I think those years were beyond valuable to me, and hopefully to him too. He gave me a gift to remember him by, and to assure me I always had a place at his side. Since then, I've traveled the country, doing what I will, and living how I will. It's a decent life, truly it is. Hard at times, but it's by my rule, so—" Archie smiled, shrugged and tossed down what remained in his glass.
Dean nodded. Archie was unique—he'd never met anyone like him. He and this Sam sounded happy together. He wondered why he'd left him, and hesitantly asked Archie just that.
Archie shrugged. "It was time. Sam Colt taught me everything I needed to know. I had a vague idea of heading to Boston; becoming a gentleman's gentleman…I may have over-shot Massachusetts by a bit."
Archie was suddenly quiet. He tilted his head, brushed his black hair out of his eyes. The gesture drew Dean's eyes to the sweep of Archie's cheek, his neck…the streak of grey at his temple that made his hair look blacker….
"Dean, my friend…" Archie's tone held question, and a little amusement. "…are you asking if Samuel Colt and I had…a closer attachment than friendship?"
Dean felt the tips of his ears burning, and Archie laughed softly. "No, Sam and I have a great friendship, nothing beyond that. He's like a brother to me." He smiled at Dean and eased his hand slowly across the table. "Now why would you want to know such a thing, hmm?"
Dean felt that dying of embarrassment might be a thing to be hoped for, at the same time, he felt on edge, powerless with…hope. Archie's hand touched his and hope became a sharp, painful, tug inside, a helpless fluttering in his chest. Where Archie's hand rested on his it burned, like sparks, into his skin.
"Dean…."
Dean's eyes closed, his lips parted. His head was swimming. Archie's hand left his and Dean tried to swallow a sigh of disappointment. Before he could move, there was warmth along his back, and big hands on his shoulders. "Pretty boy, have you ever…"
A warm touch, Archie's finger tracing the bow of his lower lip made him shiver. Dean shook his head. That childhood kiss was long and long ago. "Not with, I mean, never with a man."
Archie's voice was in his ear, soft lips tickling the shell when he spoke again. "Then I shall be very, very careful of you, pretty boy."
Dean shuddered deeply, terrified but wanting it so very much.
Archie took his hand to lead him slowly step by step, up into Dean's room, letting Dean have all the time he needed to run, time to stop them. Every thing that Archie did was slow, deliberate. In Dean's room, he took his clothing off, balancing from one foot to the other, taking off boots and socks, pulling his shirt over his head, slowly unbuttoning his pants, eyes on Dean's the entire time. He stopped at the buttons of his union suit, fingers toying with them. "Shall I go on?" he asked and Dean was beyond the use of words, nodding frantically. He gasped out loud when Archie was finally unclothed. He was brown all over, miles of brown, smooth, skin. He was broad in the shoulders, muscled like a man who worked hard every day, his prick…Dean wanted to glance away but his eyes kept coming back to it. Thicker than his, dark and rising as he watched. He glanced up at Archie's eyes and Archie was smiling, confident, assured….
Archie pushed lightly against Dean's chest--he fell flat against the bed. "Let me take your shoes off?" Dean nodded. "Let me take everything off?" he asked, and Dean gasped, nodded again.
He slid the buttons of Dean's shirt loose, in the same maddeningly slow way he had his own. Dean's heart slammed against his ribs as each came loose, his breath rasped dry and hot in his throat. He asked Dean over and over again if he wished him to stop, and Dean wished mightily he'd just shut up and go faster about this business…"tell me what you want," Archie asked and at every question Dean's answer was "don’t stop, show me. Tell me what to do…."
He kissed Dean the way he'd done everything—slowly and thoroughly, watching and feeling what Dean did in response to him. Dean melted, he fell to bits. He moaned and shivered and begged for things he had no words for, no idea of, he just knew that Archie had it in his power to make him feel more than anything he'd ever felt before and he wanted it completely and immediately.
"This is something I like," Archie said. "If you don't like it, tell me." He started stroking Dean, and though he'd had this before, it was world's different. Archie's broad strong hand carried him like Dotty's never could. Dean was arching off the bed in minutes, his hand wrapped around Archie's wrist. Not holding him back, just wanting to feel the twist and turn of muscle as Archie brought him undone. Dean moaned louder and louder the closer he came, and then Archie's warm mouth pressed to the tip of his prick. He mouthed a kiss there and then, wonderful wet, slippery heat engulfed him. All it took was a swipe or two of that broad wet tongue over his prick and he was screaming. It scared him, this insane feeling--orgasm was a brief tightening, a release and after that, a comfortable feeling. This—this was a wild drop off a cliff's edge; this was liquid fire filling him, exploding out of his prick. He was soaring high, blind and deaf and happy. When he felt the bed beneath him again, he wanted to cry….
"Hey, pretty boy, look at me. It's over, you're alive," he smiled and kissed Dean's cheeks, his mouth. "Don't cry."
Dean was offended. He wasn't crying. He didn’t cry.
Archie laid himself over Dean, wet skin against skin, he moved purposefully against him, and Dean found himself getting hard again. It shocked him…he didn’t know he could do that. He didn't know another body against his own could feel like that…and shit, Archie was right. Tears rolled down his cheek, and Archie held him, cheek to cheek and told him it was fine, and every thing was all right, and to let go, let it all go, and whether Archie meant tears or something else, it was those words that pushed him over the edge again. Archie groaned, a long, low sinuous breath of sound and came with him, moaning 'pretty boy, my pretty boy' in his ear....
"He was like a father to me. No one understood. Tobe—my pa, he saved my life. I think he saved it a couple of times…"
They were sprawled out on Archie's bed, sharing apple slices between them, and Dean watched Archie eat them as if he'd never seen a person eat before. Archie smirked, pushed a slice between Dean's lips and nibbled the end until they were mouth to mouth—and Dean cuffed him. "Fool," he muttered and pretended he wasn't pleased by the kiss.
Archie tossed Dean another slice before taking one for himself. "Fortunate man you were, Dean. Mr. Kane sounds like a fine person. I've worked side by side with quite a few colored men. I've never found a real difference. A man is a man." Archie shrugged. "I do wish I'd been granted the privilege of meeting him, to compliment him on the fine job he did raising you. Just knowing you, I can tell what a good man he was."
"He was that. A hell of a man and a hell of a blacksmith. And I hope the town gets that I'm just as good as he was." Dean frowned, his mind turned towards the idle forge.
Archie kicked his long legs up and rested his feet atop the bed's footboard. "Give them time. Give yourself time. It's hard to adjust to change, but they'll remember who taught you."
Dean shrugged. "I reckon." He shook himself, trying to fling off the somber mood that'd settled on him. Archie rolled to his side, looking at Dean in that way that made Dean feel as if he'd been turned inside out.
"I'd like to show you something," he said. He walked over to the small chest under the window, and brought out his bag. Dean's heart gave an unpleasant lurch…was Archie getting ready to tell him he was leaving?
Archie came back to the bed and dropped something wrapped in a piece of worn cotton on Dean's lap. "Remember the gift Sam gave me, I told you about that—"
Dean nodded and Archie pulled the fabric open. Dean looked down on a perfect wooden replica of a gun.
"That's what Sam and I worked on. This gun can be replicated perfectly by fairly unskilled hand. Made in a factory, just like…shoes, or hats. See how the pieces come together?" Archie pulled a few pieces away, connected them again.
"So, you and your Sam were trying to put me and the gunsmiths out of business?" Dean asked, teasing Archie a little. It fascinated him how the pieces fit, almost as if they wanted to come together.
"Oh, no, no—we still need people to design them—just not. Build them. Um. Maybe I didn't think this all the way through—I'm sure you're not as likely as me to share my passion for the piece." He colored faintly and Dean laughed.
"No, it's beautiful. May I?" At Archie's yes, he took the gun apart, marveling at how it fit together, how it would load and fire. "It's a beautiful thing, Archie. I would love to build this. Sam is a smart man. It'd be a pleasure to meet him."
Archie beamed as if he's been the one to design the model, watched Dean reassemble the gun. He took it and laid it back in his bag. "Sam worked hard to bring this into production. The support he should have had…"he stopped, shrugged. "Family," he said.
Dean guessed he should have understood the tone in which Archie said the word 'family' but he didn't. When Archie was back in bed with him, Dean hesitated for a moment before saying, "So…I'm planning on turning over the vegetable garden tomorrow…."
Archie looked thoughtful. "That would be a good three or four days work," he mused, gazing up at the ceiling until Dean shifted uneasily. Archie cut his eyes toward Dean and smirked. "Are you looking for ways to keep me here, young Master Kane?"
"Shut up," Dean mumbled and blushed bright when Archie laughed. Taking the plate and knife from Dean, he leaned over him, and pressed a kiss into his neck.
"I'm not going anywhere Dean," he whispered.
part 20
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