Chapter Text
Dean’s head is pounding. When he cracks his eyes open, it’s barely light out. It takes a minute for him to remember where he is. Seth is still asleep next to him. It’d be a crime to wake him. He’s so pretty like this. Face completely relaxed. All soft and dreamy.
But Dean’s gotta piss. Real bad. So he opens the door as quiet as he can. He’d just whip it out and go right next to the car, but he’s also got cotton-mouth like a motherfucker. So he makes his way inside to get some water and whatnot.
It’s quiet in the house. There’s people passed out on various pieces of furniture. Bryan’s on the couch, curled up with Brie, Nikki’s twin sister. Well. That’s an interesting development. Good for him.
There’s no doubt in Dean’s mind that Roman’s somewhere upstairs with Becky. Whether or not they’ve done the no-pants dance is anybody’s guess. They might never get around to it. But Roman’s happy, that’s what matters.
Dean takes care of business. Chugs some water. Even washes his face off. Psychedelics always leave him with a grimy feeling. Like he really needs to shower. He doesn’t figure he’s been gone long when he climbs back into the car.
Seth is awake now, though.
Just barely. He squirms closer when Dean lies down again. Dean drapes an arm around him. He’d be fine with goin’ back to sleep for a bit. Usually on Sundays Roman would be taking off early so he could still go to church and avoid the Wrath of Hunter. Dean’s gonna bet on that not happening this morning, considering what a drunk, rowdy night it was.
But then Seth rolls on top of him. Kisses his neck. Seth shifts his weight so he can unbutton Dean’s pants. It don’t take much to get Dean hard. A minute of Seth playing with his cock, and Dean’s ready to go.
“Shit,” Seth mumbles. “Want you in me so bad.”
“Fuck, baby.” Dean grabs Seth’s ass. Squeezes. “Don’t tease me like that.”
“We probably shouldn’t. The car’s gonna smell like sex.”
“Yeah… it’d be a real bad idea.”
“Fuck it.”
Seth rolls off of Dean and wiggles out of his pants. Then he’s reaching in the back of the seat pocket on the driver’s side, and he pulls out some condoms. And lube. He flops down next to Dean, slicks up his fingers, and slips one inside himself. Dean might groan just a little bit. Because he’s never seen anything sexier in his damn life.
He can’t help himself. He’s gotta squeeze the base of his cock. Give it a few strokes. Just staring at Seth.
“Yer so fuckin’ hot.” He kisses Seth on the shoulder. “Can’t wait to feel you, baby.”
Seth moans. His little dick is already shiny at the tip. Dean stops touching himself in favor of touching Seth. Not even really jacking him off, just palming his cock, feeling it twitch.
“The things I wanna do to you.” Dean’s just letting his mouth run at this point. “Bet we could get you to come just from bein’ fucked. You’re so sensitive.”
Seth slips another finger in. He’s whimpering. Already flushed. Dean stops playing with Seth’s cock. Cups his chin instead and pulls him into an actual kiss. He don’t really care about the morning breath. Not when Seth’s lips are so soft. Not when he makes such pretty noises.
He just gets louder when Dean pushes his shirt up and starts teasing his nipples. Pinching them. Rubbing them. Getting them stiff and swollen. He kind of wants to help with the whole fingering thing, but Seth probably knows what he needs better than Dean does. There’s always time to learn later.
Seth starts pawing at Dean’s jeans, trying to get them off. Dean takes the hint, strips out of them. Seth practically throws a condom at him.
“You sure you’re ready for me, darlin’? I don’t wanna hurt ya.” Dean tears the foil and tries not to make a face as he rolls the latex down over his cock.
“Yes,” Seth breathes, legs spread like a truck-stop whore.
Dean supports himself on one arm and positions his cock with the other. Seth’s so tight. It don’t seem like he’s actually gonna fit. But then the head of his dick pops inside the slick heat of Seth’s body and he’s already seeing stars.
Seth fists his hands in the blanket. Mouth half-open. Eyes closed. Dean almost wishes he had a camera, just so he could capture this exact moment and keep it forever. Seth’s the sort of pretty people write poems about. You could compare him to a perfect sunset, or fresh blooming lilies, or some other romantic metaphoric bullshit like that.
Dean pushes forward slowly. They both need the time to adjust. Even after he bottoms out, he don’t see any reason to hurry. He just starts with lazy thrusts, grinding into Seth dirty and deep. Seth is gasping. Mouthing things that might be words, or might just be nonsense.
“So good, baby,” Dean whispers. “You feel fuckin’ amazing.”
Seth’s dick is rubbing against Dean’s stomach. It’s so sticky. The sensation tugs at something hot and primal at Dean’s core. It makes him wanna cover Seth in bite-marks and scratches like a wild beast claiming his territory. At the same time, he also wants to cradle Seth real close like he’s made of porcelain, and never let anything or anyone make him sad ever again.
He’s not sure which train of thought’s more dangerous.
The windows are starting to fog up. Dean snaps his hips a little harder. Chasing that sweet drag of friction that’s lighting fires under his skin. The car rocks on its wheels. Seth shifts around a bit, and then suddenly he’s moaning real loud. Wrapping his legs around Dean’s waist. Arching his back.
They must have found the right spot. So Dean just tries to keep it there at that same angle and pace. He can feel Seth trembling underneath him. Seth lets go of the blanket, and tries to slip his hand between them, but Dean grabs both of Seth’s wrists and pins them down.
“Now hold on a second.” Dean stops moving. “I thought we’d been over this.”
“Please, please, please.” Seth is already way past desperate. It’s so satisfying. That Dean barely has to nudge to get him begging.
“Please, what?”
“Please let me come—I’m so close—”
“I thought we were gonna try to see if you could finish like this.” Dean grins. He rocks into Seth, real slow again. Still holding his wrists down.
Seth whines. His whole body is tense. Almost seems like he’s gonna hyperventilate or somethin’. Dean picks up a little speed. Gets Seth whining and trying to buck back against his thrusts. Seth’s poor dick is leaking. It wouldn’t take much, that’s for sure. But Dean can hold off for a while longer. So, why not push the limit?
“C’mon, darlin’. You can do it. Just let it happen.”
“Daddy.” Seth sounds so distressed. Out of it. The word’s a little slurred like he’s still drunk.
And that knocks Dean for a loop. He just honestly has no idea what to do with it. He doesn’t stop. It feels way too good to stop. Hell. Why not just go with it?
“Yeah, baby?” Dean’s voice might crack a little.
“Please,” Seth squeaks. There’s no other word for it. It looks like he’s gonna cry. Fuck. Dean can’t take it.
He caves, lets go of Seth’s wrists and jerks him off. It’s sloppy. But gets the job done. Seth comes about five seconds later. Muscles fluttering and clenching around Dean. His jizz puddles on his stomach then starts to drip down his sides. The blanket is ruined.
Dean’s over the edge before much longer. He collapses on top of Seth, still shuddering with the aftershocks.
After a couple minutes, Dean pulls out. Gets rid of the condom. Leaves a window cracked so the car can air out. He flops on his back. Seth presses up against him. Clingy as usual after an orgasm.
Dean’s still trying to wrap his head around what just happened. Does he ask about it? Is it better not to draw any attention to it? He doesn’t really mind if that’s what Seth wants to call him when they fuck. But… he would’ve appreciated a little warning?
He ain’t great at talkin’ about things, though. Why do today what can be put off till tomorrow? Or, y’know. Never.
***
Uncle Otis used to say it's not who you’re fighting, it’s what. Everybody’s got something, deep down at their core, that's dark and aching, constantly trying to claw its way to freedom. The best fighters know how to surrender and just let it out. Unleash it all on some other poor bastard.
He never did say what he was fighting when he went out in the ring. But you could tell, when it just up and consumed him. His eyes would go a little glassy and he’d stop trying to defend himself. He’d lay into whoever happened to be in front of him with such viciousness, it’d usually end in a clean knockout.
There was a period, maybe a year before he died, when Uncle Otis was living on their couch. Well. Part time on the couch. Part time in the same room as Dean’s mama, but he tries not to think too hard about that.
They fought a lot, Mama and Uncle Otis. Not physically. They’d just have spectacular shouting matches while Dean sat at the kitchen table pushing food around his plate and pretending to eat dinner. Plates’d get broken. The neighbor’s dog would start howlin’. Sometimes old Paulie would show up in his cruiser to see what the fuss was all about. Dean was too small to really do much about it. Uncle Otis was at least twice his size. The couple times Dean tried to get between the two of them, he got a black eye and a bloody nose respectively. Course, that resulted in his uncle getting kicked out on the street for a few days. But then he’d come back with flowers, and candy, and apologies, and he’d wind up on the couch again.
It was a strange little cycle.
Dean sometimes wonders how much of that runs in the family. If it's genetics that make him feel like a spring coiled too tight when he goes more than a few weeks without inflicting or suffering some sorta physical violence.
Today, he picked a fight with AJ. Kevin has been avoiding him since Dean near knocked his teeth out in the locker room, and AJ is the next easiest person to rile up. All you gotta do is tell him that his chin-length fluffy brown hair makes him look like a dyke and his mama gives bad head.
In retrospect, Dean maybe shoulda waited until after school. But it's not the first time he's had his face slammed into the asphalt of the outdoor basketball court. It won't be the last.
“Take it back, you little shit.” AJ pushes Dean’s face to the ground again. He’s got a hold of Dean’s hair. His bony knees are digging into Dean’s back.
“What?” Dean mumbles. “I used a condom.”
“My sister is a goddamned virgin, take it back.”
Dean’s cheek is scraped up pretty bad at this point. His ribs ache from AJ kicking him. He’s giddy with it. He feels alive for the first time in days.
Part of him feels bad for dragging Alexa’s name through the mud just to get at AJ. She’s cute, even if she might be even more of a psycho than Char. But people know not to take him seriously. It's not like the small crowd that's gathered around them is listening to what he's saying anyway.
“S’pose that's still true if we ain't counting anal. Y’shoulda heard her beg for it.”
And his head gets knocked again the court again. And again. And again. His ears are ringing. His vision’s gone all blotchy. He might pass out.
Next thing he knows the weight is off him and AJ is hollerin’ something to the effect of put me down you asshole.
“Run along now.” Roman’s voice is deeper than usual. That's how he gets when he wants to sound threatening.
And AJ must fuck off, since next thing Dean knows he’s being hauled into a sitting position. Roman’s kneeling in front of him cupping his chin.
“Your face is a mess,” Roman huffs after a minute. “What the hell, Dean?”
What's there to say? Dean just shrugs. Laughs even though he sounds hoarse. Crazy. That’s his thing ain’t it?
The crowd has dispersed. Huh. Dean might have actually gone under a minute. He can still feel the sting of raw, torn flesh. Warm blood dripping down his face.
“C’mon.” Roman lets out a weary sigh. “Let's get you cleaned up.”
He manages to prop Dean on his feet and puts an arm around him. Dean can stagger, but it's a long, shaky road to the bathroom.
He sits on the edge of a sink as Roman dabs at his face with a wet paper towel, trying to wash some of the carnage away. He's silent and scowling. It's only a matter of time before the lecture starts.
“Why’d you do that?” Roman demands once Dean isn't oozing quite so much red all over the place.
“AJ’s a douchebag. I wanted to punch him.”
“Looks like you mostly laid down and just let him wail on you. There was barely a scratch on him.”
“S’what if I did?” Dean knows he's slurring his words. He's still disoriented. All floaty and calm the way he only gets after breaking himself against someone else’s fists.
“I don’t like watching you self destruct. Even if it’s your favorite pastime.”
“I know, babycakes.” Dean winks. It twinges. Any facial movement is probably gonna sting for a bit. “But you like the excitement. Gotta keep you guessing and all.”
“Dean, I’m serious. What do you even think shit like this accomplishes?”
“I gotta maintain the scrappy trailer rat rep, don’t I?”
“No. You really don’t.”
Dean looks down at his ripped up shoes. They’re covered in rusty red stains. Like his jeans, and his shirt. He should feel guilty. He doesn’t. He doesn’t feel anything besides the body-wide throbbing.
Seth hasn’t really talked to him in about a week. He’s been outright avoidant. Dean hasn’t felt like cornering him or nothin’. Things are just. Tense. He don’t know what to do besides leave it well enough alone.
He’s always been better at getting punched than having any sort of difficult conversation. Both things relieve the stress. Make him stop clenching his jaw until his teeth feel like they’re gonna shatter and he’s got a massive tension headache. Some sorts of pain are easier to deal with than others. It’s just a fact.
Dean claps a hand on Roman’s shoulder. “I’m fine, buddy. No sense gettin’ all worked up.”
“If you say so.” Roman lets out a heavy sigh.
“Whadaya say we ditch the rest of the day and go get drunk in a parking lot?”
“That sounds like a terrible idea.”
“I’m not hearing a no.”
“Is it gonna stop you from finding AJ after school and picking another fight?”
“It most certainly would.”
“Fine. Let’s go.”