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Dean runs into Victor again on a salt and burn just outside of Paintsville, Kentucky – almost a month to the day after he supposedly died. He shoots him with a salt round, and chalks it up to surprise. It’s more caution than anything, but it would be rude, he thinks, to say ‘I thought you might be a ghost’. After that crocotta case, Dean’s not taking reality for granted. His days are already numbered – no reason to check out early.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Isn’t probably the nicest thing Dean could greet the guy with, but he’s not accustomed to running into long lost friends in the middle of a case.
“Hunting a ghost,” Victor replies, brushing the lingering grains of rock salt from the front of his canvas jacket. Dean’s relieved that none seem to have caught what little skin is exposed. He knows from experience, salt rounds hurt like a bitch.
“Back up,” Dean demands, still stuck on the whole ‘not dead’ bit. “How are you alive? How are you here?”
Victor leans against the wall of the abandoned farm house they find themselves in, and the rotten wood squeals under his weight.
“After you left the station, you and Sam. I went outside to make a call, back to headquarters. Whole station went up in flames, not ten feet away. I took cover.”
“Shit,” Dean curses under his breath. Victor’s eyes rise to meet his, and he expects to find some sort of accusation there. An acknowledgement that all of this was Dean’s fault. All he finds is a knowing warmth.
“Building’s wasted, right? But this kid, this little girl, walks right out the front door. Like it’s nothing. And then just – disappears.”
“Lilith,” Dean mutters, their assumption confirmed. He hates being right.
“Lilith?”
“Demon. She’s, um. It’s complicated. But she’s got it out for us. Big time.”
“Seems like,” Victor agrees, smile curling his lips. Dean can’t help staring. “Where is Sam, anyway?”
“Supposed to be workin’ the case, covering bases. Probably, he’s fuckin’ around with Ruby.”
“Still?”
“Yeah, still,” Dean snorts a laugh, shakes his head. “Look, I know we…but I gotta check.” He pulls a flask of holy water out of his jacket and unscrews the cap. “You mind?”
“Go ahead,” Victor replies, smile loosening, until it’s just an upward tendency of his cheeks, lips a flat line, businesslike.
He splashes him with holy water, and all it does is make his hand and sleeve wet. He unsheathes a silver knife, makes eye contact, asking without saying a word. Victor nods his consent, one smooth tilt of his jaw, and pulls up his sleeve. Dean slices a thin line through his arm hair, watches the blood bead, red and innocent, before Victor drags his jacket cuff back down to his wrist.
“Sorry, just, you know.”
“I get it,” Victor assures him, his tone warm. Fond, maybe. “I’ve been one of them before. Hopefully never again.”
“Hopefully, yeah.”
“You find the bones, or…?” Victor asks, after Dean spends too long just sort of staring at him. He’s glad Victor is alive. One less thing to weigh on his conscience before he takes his trip downstairs.
“It’s not…the bones were already burned. We gotta burn the house, I think. Guy built it himself, probably has some blood, sweat, and tears left behind, you know?”
“Makes sense,” Victor replies, easy. “You’re the expert,” he adds, and Dean blushes despite himself, at the way he says it. He could easily make it something mocking, but he says it earnestly.
They make their way out of the house, Dean having thoroughly salted it before running into his ally. When they light the dry wood, it goes up almost too easily, and Dean can hear the furious shrieking of a ghost somewhere within as its remains are consumed by the flames.
“Hunting?” Dean asks, and Victor laughs, though there’s something heavy behind the sound.
“Yeah. I couldn’t stop thinking about it – about what I said, about feeling like I’d been wasting my life. And here was this opportunity to just – start over. Leave my phone on the scene, just…walk away. Do something different. Something that might actually help people.”
“Hunting’s…you know it’s a hard job, right? I mean, tracking us had to teach you that much, at least.”
“I know.” Victor stares ahead at the fire, and Dean stares at the side of his face, the round of his cheek, the sweat making it shine. “Just…kind of like a challenge.” He turns to face Dean, catches him staring. Dean knows he knows, what he wants. Dean knows that he knew Dean wanted it, back in Colorado. Maybe before that, though you’d never get Dean to admit it.
“We should clear out, before the fire department gets here.”
“We should,” Victor agrees, not making any movement towards his vehicle – a beat up Ford ranger, all white, though it’s streaky with mud.
“We could…I mean, Sam’s busy. So we could…”
“Yeah, we could,” Victor replies, his eyes giving away nothing. Dean stares into them anyway.
“You got a motel room? We’ve been strapped for cash, been sleepin’ in the car.”
“I do,” Victor says, smile sliding into his expression, incremental and a little disbelieving.
“Well,” Dean starts, swallowing around the sudden anxious lump in his throat, flashing a smile of his own, “lead the way.”
+++
Victor’s motel room wasn’t any better than what Dean would’ve picked for himself, and there was something comforting about that, something that eased his nerves. They were equals, in this. Victor wasn’t an FBI suit anymore, and Dean’s not some white-trash mark he’s chasing.
It’s Victor who undressed first, stripping his jacket and shirt in quick succession. It was strange to see him in something that isn't fit for law enforcement, the Carhartt and henley not quite fitting the image he had of the man in his mind. It was even more strange to see him shirtless, broad muscled chest covered in a layer of soft dark hair, thicker where it led down into his jeans. His eyes caught on his upper pectoral, on the left.
“You got one,” Dean breathed, sweating under his own layers, leather locking in his body heat unpleasantly.
“Seemed prudent,” Victor agreed, stepping closer. He slid Dean’s jacket back, over the crests of his shoulders, let it fall to the floor. There was something perversely thrilling about that, about mistreating the garment he was usually so careful with. His hands were big, bigger than Dean’s, and the feel of them skimming over his abdomen as he lifted Dean’s shirt off sent pleasant shivers down his spine. “Like I said, you’re the expert.” This time it was teasing, but in the best way. Their eyes met, now that they were both shirtless, and the smile in Victor’s eyes was kind – admiring, even.
“Yeah,” Dean whispered, breathless with desire. Victor reached out and brushed his fingertips over Dean’s anti-possession tattoo, identical to his own. It was the last straw. Dean leaned in and kissed him, and Victor kissed back, lips softer than anyone else Dean had ever kissed. They were still kissing when he felt Victor’s hands on his fly, moving efficiently. Before long, they were both down to their boxers, and Dean could see the outline of Victor’s cock under the navy blue fabric of his underwear. He wasn't much bigger than Dean, but he was thick.
Victor seemed oblivious to Dean’s new preoccupation with his dick, corralling him against the foot of the bed with a relentless campaign of kisses, trailing lines of them over his jaw, down his throat, nipping at his collarbone. Dean loved it, and he didn’t have time for it. He didn’t have time for much of anything, these days.
“Fuck me,” Dean whispered in his ear while Victor sucked a hickey into the base of his neck.
“Yeah?” Victor asked, coming up to look at him, to search his face for any sign of distress. It was sweet. It was more than most guys he’d been with had ever done.
“Yeah, you fucked a guy before?”
“S’been a while,” Victor replied, and it was the first hint of nervousness he’d shown. Dean was rendered momentarily speechless by how cute it was.
“C’mon, it’s like ridin’ a bike,” Dean urged. He really wanted that dick in his ass, he wasn’t going to let a bit of stage fright ruin their good time.
“The hell it is,” Victor laughed, and Dean laughed right along with him before retorting –
“It is for me,” with a lascivious wink. “Seriously, nothing to worry about. Just – lay back,” Dean added, moving around to switch their positions, guiding Victor onto the bed before following him up.
He pulled down his boxers, all the way, discarding them in the direction of the rest of their clothes, near the door, before leaning down to admire him. His initial assessment had been correct. He was about as long as Dean, a healthy six inches, but more than half again as thick. As he stared, Victor’s cock twitched, like the very act of observing it was arousing to him, and Dean figured he’d wasted plenty of time already.
Opening his mouth wide, he took him in, just a few inches to start, licking hard lines over his foreskin, rolling it back from the head with his tongue. Victor made a low sound of surprise, emanating more from his throat than his mouth, and his hands came down to clutch needily at Dean’s shoulders, his neck, the back of his head. Normally, he was all for a bit of petting and hair pulling, but he was relentless, and more than a little distracting. After a little over a minute of this, he popped off and gave Victor the stink eye.
“You think you can keep your hands to yourself, big guy?”
“And what if I can’t?” Victor fired back. Dean sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, pretending at more frustration than he felt.
“Then you can really keep your hands to yourself. Because you’re gonna be jerkin’ this one out.”
“Alright, alright,” Victor relented, smiling as Dean bent down to suck him down again, going deeper this time. He was good for about thirty seconds before his hands drifted back down to press on him, not hard enough to actually make him do anything he wasn’t already doing, but enough to be annoying. Dean pulled off again and got up from the bed. Victor, worried he’d actually fucked this up with his impatience, moved to rise from the bed but Dean held out a hand to stop him.
“Stay,” he instructed, before asking, “you still got cuffs, agent?”
Victor stared at him for a long second, lips parted in gentle disbelief, before his brain caught up to the situation.
“My bag. Side zipper pocket. Keys, too.”
Dean removed them and strutted back over to the bed, deliberately making a bit of a show out of it, aware of how his own cock was silhouetted in his black underwear. He got on the bed and straddled Victor, crawling up his body, cuffs in hand, and secured one to Victor’s right wrist. He brought Victor’s arms up toward the headboard, looping the short chain between the cuffs behind one wooden slat before securing the other side to his left wrist.
“Much better,” Dean whispered in his ear before slipping back down his body. Victor watched him with wide eyes as he took him in again, this time all the way to the base, his swollen glans bumping the back of his throat pleasantly. He heard the metallic clink of Victor struggling lightly against his restraints, along with the harsh puffs of his exhales. It would be easy to make him come, just like this, but Dean wanted more.
Again, he pulled away, straddling Victor’s thighs with his own. Neither of them were small, though Victor was a few inches shorter. Dean’s body was leaner, though, just this side of underfed, whereas Victor was robust, well-muscled. His thighs were almost twice as thick as Dean’s, and the feeling of them flexing underneath his own was enough to send a drop of precome dripping into his boxers, adding to the growing wet spot there.
“Lube?” Dean asked, sitting up straight, letting Victor take in his body with his eyes. His fingers twitched where they hung in their bindings, futile wishes to touch.
“Yeah,” Victor said after a few seconds, like he’d forgotten how to speak and only just remembered. “Yeah, there’s a packet in the bathroom, zipper pouch, on the counter. Condoms, too.”
Dean rose slowly, letting Victor get a good look at his ass as he went.
“Be right back,” Dean said as he walked towards the bathroom, adding a sarcastic, “don’t go anywhere.”
Victor’s chuckle carried after him as he fished around for lube and condoms in the toiletry bag on the counter. He found both, nestled between the usual travel sized soaps and such that one tended to accumulate over the course of a life spent on the road.
He came back to the bedroom, his quarries held aloft in victory. Before he even took another step towards the bed, he dropped his boxers to the floor, his own cock springing free, heralded by a gasp from Victor.
“Dean,” Victor grunted, hips twitching in search of stimulation. He shushed him, coming back over to the bed and straddling him again, this time a bit higher up, knees planted on either side of his waist. His cock dripped precome onto Victor’s sternum, and the poor guy stared at it like he’d give anything to lick it off. Setting the condom aside for the moment, Dean opened the lube packet and smeared most of it onto the middle and index fingers of his right hand, leaving a little behind for later.
Locking eyes with Victor, he reached behind himself and prodded one wet finger against himself. He knew his expression changed, as that first finger slid in, and Victor never took his eyes off of Dean’s face, experiencing everything vicariously through his reactions alone. He didn’t so much as glance down to watch him fuck himself on his fingers. Dean would moan, and Victor would moan right back, like just the thought of Dean’s pleasure was itself intoxicating.
“You ready?” Dean asked, more breathless than he intended. Victor’s jaw dropped a little, like he hadn’t really expected to actually make it to this point, but he nodded several times, as though worried Dean would misinterpret his enthusiastic consent.
Satisfied with that response, Dean opened the condom and discarded the wrapper somewhere on the sheets, leaning back to roll it onto Victor’s cock without even looking, instead watching the play of anticipation and relief over his features as Dean stroked him for the first time in almost ten minutes. Squeezing the last bit of lube out of the packet, Dean finished prepping Victor’s cock with a few slippery strokes to his latexed length, then tilted his pelvis forward and inched his knees back, one hand steadying himself on the mattress, the other holding Victor’s cock upright, until he felt the slick tip pressing against his asshole. He couldn’t stifle his satisfied grin as he sank down onto him, just two inches at first, enough that they both felt that initial high together.
“Dean,” Victor said after a few seconds of stillness, “Dean,” he repeated, like his name was its own set of instructions. In a way, it was, because he knew exactly what Victor wanted. He pressed down, taking the rest of him one agonizingly slow inch at a time, the stretch just shy of painful. When he bottomed out, they both let out wavering exhales, and Dean leaned forward until their foreheads were touching, sweat mingling above their brows.
“See?” Dean whispered, trying to sound more composed than he was, “just like ridin’ a bike.”
His shitty joke was rewarded with a beautiful smile from Victor, who took that moment as an opportunity to take back a little control, bucking his hips up to thrust into him. Dean flattened against his chest, overcome by the depth of sensation, before shakily rising back up to regain his balance.
“Not quite,” Victor murmured, repeating the motion, but continuing, thrusting in a slow, forceful rhythm while Dean clutched at his own thighs, bracing himself as best he could as Victor took charge. He was mesmerized by the sweaty plateau of Victor’s abs below him, the way they tightened on every upward thrust. He ran his palms over them, dug his fingers into his pecs. He could hear himself groaning one long, winding low note, but couldn't figure out how to be quiet.
As they went, Victor increased the pace, grunting with exertion every few thrusts. Dean shifted his weight so he could help, rising up and dropping down to meet him as best he could. His adjustment changed the angle somewhat, his prostate getting a bit more direct attention with every pass, and he’d done this often enough to know he didn’t have long to go.
“You close?” Dean asked on an exhale, meeting Victor’s hazy eyes.
“Mmhmm,” Victor hummed, jaw clenched as he continued his thrusting, too focused to speak.
“I’m close,” Dean agreed, taking himself in hand. He hadn’t touched his own cock essentially at all yet, and the feeling of his hand on that sensitive flesh wrung an embarrassing whimper out of him. He glanced up at Victor, to see if he’d clocked it, and Victor was just staring at him, open-mouthed and hungry-eyed. He made the noise again, stroking his own dick with purpose now, and watched Victor shudder in pleasure at the sound.
It was that facial expression, the way Victor’s eyes rolled back a little upon hearing him, that sent Dean over the edge. He came hard, clenching around Victor’s cock, tipping forward so hard that he had to brace one hand on the headboard to keep from falling on his face. It brought their faces close together, and impulsively, riding the aftershocks of his orgasm, he leaned down and kissed Victor, languid and appreciative. Not the kind of kiss you engage in during casual sex, making the most of your afterglow.
Victor made a choked off sound into Dean’s mouth, and he felt the sudden twitching heat of his orgasm where he was still buried inside him. They paused like that, panting against one another’s lips, neither one coherent enough to move just yet – though Victor couldn’t even if he’d wanted to. Dean was the first to come back down to reality, feeling around the sheets for the handcuff key, finding it at last near the edge of the duvet.
Even after he unlocked the cuffs, it took Victor a second to realize he could use his hands again, but once he figured that out, Dean was done for. In one surprisingly elegant motion, he pulled his softening cock out of Dean’s ass and stripped the used condom off, plunking it in the bedside trash. Before Dean could do or say a thing, he found himself wrapped in Victor, spooned so tightly that he could feel Victor’s chest rising and falling against his shoulder blades with every breath.
“Uh, Vic…?” Dean asked, putting on a macho affect that seemed incongruent with the moment he found himself in.
“Shut up,” Victor muttered good-naturedly into Dean’s hair. “I just…need a minute.”
“Yeah, okay,” Dean agreed. Honestly, he needed a minute himself. It was nice to be held by another person, especially someone who knew him, who knew what he was, what he’d done, and wasn’t afraid to touch him.
“It’s lonely,” Victor said, after a few quiet minutes pressed against each other. “Hunting,” he clarified, after Dean failed to respond.
“I know,” Dean replied, because it was true. He’d learned that a long time ago.
“I never really thought about…I mean, for so long, I thought you guys were fucking crazy. And when you showed me what’s out there…it just, never occurred to me. That some of the stuff I knew about you guys was still true. The no connections shit. Sam going to college. Everything with your dad…”
“It’s not just me, man. Most hunters are…really fuckin’ lonely. Just kinda how it shakes out.”
“When I worked at the Bureau…I was lonely then, you know? But I had…I don’t know. Coworkers, I guess. I was a regular at the deli across the street, I saw people…I had a life. I didn’t think I did, but I had one. And now…I don’t.”
“You miss it?” Dean asked, genuinely curious. He’d never had a life, really. He wouldn’t have a life in even the most literal sense, soon enough. Victor’s hands, warm where they held his chest, his hip, soothed him, chased his thoughts of Hell away, if only for the moment.
“No,” Victor replied – decided – after a long pause. He sounded utterly certain, the word shaped through a smile that Dean could hear, though he couldn’t see it in his current position. “I don’t miss it.”
He dropped a series of kisses over Dean’s shoulder, his neck, behind his ear. Dean sighed, let himself droop into the solid heat of his embrace.